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BOHN'S STANDARD LIBRARY.
GUIZOT'S
HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION.




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THE


HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION,
k,   L."    *: ~7'....'~,'......... - S.
FROMI TIIE FALL OF TIlE ROMAN EMPIRE
TO THIE FRENCH REVOLUTION.


BY F. GUIZOT,
AUlTIIO)I OF "HISTORY OF TIIE ENGLISI REVOLUTION OF 1(640."
TRANSLATED BY WILLIAM IIAZLITT, ESQ.
Of the Middle Temple, ]Barristcr-at-Law.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
H. G. BOHN, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
M DCCC LVI.




LONDON:
SAVILL AND EDWARDS, PIIlNTrRS, CHAIDOS STREET,
COV ENT G ADE N.




ADVERTISEMENT.


THE following Lectures were delivered by M. Guizot, in the
years 1828, 1829, and 1830, at the Old Sorbonne, now the
seat of the Faculte des Lettres, of Paris, on alternate days
with MM. Cousin and Villemain, a triad of lecturers whose
brilliant exhibitions, the crowds which thronged their lecture
rooms, and the stir they excited in the active and aspiring
minds so numerous among the French youth, the future
historian will commemorate as among the remarkable appearances of that important era.
The first portion of these Lectures, those comprising the
General History of Civilization in Europe, have already
appeared amongst us; the Lectures on the Iistory of Civilization in France are now for the first time introduced to
English readers; a circumstance, from their high value, well
calculated to surprise those who are not acquainted with the
utter want of system in our adoption of the great productions
of the continent; a want of system which has hitherto kept
the English public in well-nigh total ignorance of the best
works, of the best continental writers, and which it is one
of the leading purposes of the EUROPEAN LIBRARY to obviate. Of these Lectures, it is most justly observed by the
Edinburgh Review: " there is a consistency, a coherence, a
comprehensiveness, and, what the Germans would term,




Vi                  ADVERTISEMENT.
many-sidedness, in the manner of I. Guizot's fulfilment of his
task, that manifests him one to whom the whole subject is
familiar; that exhibits a full possession of the facts which have
any important bearing upon his conclusions; and a deliberateness, a matureness, an entire absence of haste or crudity, in
his explanations of historical phenomena, which give evidence of a general scheme so well wrought out and digested
beforehand, that the labours of research and of thought
necessary for the whole work seem to have been performed
before any part was committed to paper." The same writer
laments that a knowledge of M. Guizot's writings is even
now not a common possession in this country. It will be
rendered such by the pages of the EUROPEAN LIBRARY.
W. IAZLITT.




BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF M. GUIZOT.'
ON the 8th of April, 1794, three days after the bloody victory
of Robespierre over Danton, Camille Desmoulins, and the men
of the Committee of Clemency, the scaffold was prepared at
Nimes for a distinguished advocate, who was also suspected
of resistance to the will of the terrible triumvirate, and desolation had seated itself at the fireside of one of the worthiest
families of the country. A woman, all tears, was beseeching
God for strength to support a fearful blow; for the executioner
at that moment was rendering her a widow, and her two
children orphans. The eldest of these, scarcely seven years
old, already wore upon his contemplative countenance the
stamp of precocious intellect. Misfortune is a species of hothouse; one grows rapidly within its influence. This child,
who had no childhood, was Frangois Pierre Guillaume Guizot.
Born a Protestant, on the 4th of October, 1787, under the
sway of a legislation which refused to recognise the legal
union of his parents and denied him a name and social rank,
young Guizot saw the Revolution, with the same blow, restore
him definitively to his rightful place in God's world, and make
him pay for the benefit by the blood of his father. If we
designed to write anything more than a biography, perhaps
we might find in this concurrence of circumstances the first
germ of that antipathy which the statesman afterwards manifested, almost equally for absolute monarchies and for democratic governments.
After the fatal catastrophe just related, Madame Guizot
I Chiefly from the Galerie des Contemporains Illustres, 3rd edition.
Paris, 1840.
b




Viii


BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE


left a city which was filled with such bitter recollections, and
went to seek at Geneva consolation in the bosom of her
family, and a solid education for her children. Young Guizot,
placed at the gynmnasium of Geneva, devoted his whole soul
to study. His first and only playthings were books; and
at the end of four years, the advanced scholar was able to
read in their respective languages the works of Thucydides
and Demosthenes, of Cicero and Tacitus, of Dante and
Alfieri, of Schiller and Goethe, of Gibbon and Shakespere.
His last two years at college were especially consecrated to
historical anti philosophical studies. Philosophy, in particular,
had powerful attractions for him.  I-is mind, endowed by
nature with an especial degree of logical strength, was quite
at home, was peculiarly enabled to unfold and open in the
little Genevese republic, which has preserved something of
the learned and inflexible physiognomy of its patron, John
Calvin.
Iaving completed his collegiate studies with brilliant success, in 1805, M. Guizot proceeded to Paris to prepare himself
for the bar. It is well known that the law schools had disappeared amid the revolutionary whirlwind.  Several private
establishments had been formed to supply the deficiency; but
AM. Guizot, not caring for an imperfect knowledge of the profession, resolved upon mastering it in solitude. At once poor
and proud, austere and ambitious, the young man found himself cast into a world of intrigue, frivolity, and licentiousness.
The period between the Directory and the Empire was a
mlultiform, uncertain, dim epoch, like all periods of transition.
Violently agitated by the revolutionary blast, the social
current had not yet entirely resumed its course. Many of
the ideas which had been hurled to the ground were again
erect, but pale, enfeebled, tottering, and, as it were, stunned
by the ter;ible blow which had prostrated them.  Some
superior mins were endeavouring to direct into a new path
the society which was rising from its ruins; but the mass,
long debarre:l from material enjoyments, only sought full use
of the days (1' repose which they feared to see too soon ended.
IHence that clhar.icter of general over-excitement, that dissoluteness of morals which well nigh brought back the times
of the Regency.
The serious and rigid nature of the Genevese scholar




OF M. GUIZOT.


ix


sufficed to preserve him from the contagion. The first year
of his residence at Paris was one of sadness and isolation.
He fell back upon himself, like all men who, feeling themselves strong, want the means of making essay of their
strength.
The following year he became attached as tutor to the
household of M3. Stapfcr, minister for Switzerland at the
French court, where he experienced almost paternal kindness,
and had opened to him treasures of philosophical learning
well calculated to direct and promote his intellectual development. This connexion gave him admission to the salon of
M. Suard, where all the most distinguished minds of the
epoch were wont to assemble, and where he saw for the first
time the woman who was destined to exercise so noble and
beneficial an influence over his whole life.
The circumstance which brought about the marriage of M.
Guizot was somewhat tinged with romance. Born of a distinguished family, which had been ruined by the Revolution,
Mademoiselle Pauline de Meulan had found resources in an
education as solid as varied, and, to support her family, had
thrown herself into the trying career of journalism. At the
period in question, she was editing the Publiciste. A serious
malady, however, brought on by excess of toil, obliged her to
interrupt labours so essential to the happiness, the existence
of those she loved. tier situation threatened to become very
critical; she was almost in despair, when one day she received
an anonymous letter, entreating her to be tranquil, and offering to discharge her task during the continuance of her illness. The letter was accompanied by an article admirably
written, the ideas and the style of which, by a refinement of
delicacy, were exactly modelled upon her own. She accepted
this article, published it, and regularly received a similar contribution until her restoration to health. Profoundly affected
by such kindness, she related the affair in the salon of M.
Suard, exhausting her imagination in endeavours to discover
her unknown friend, and never thinking for a moment of a pale,
serious young man, with whom she was scarcely acquainted,
and who listened to her in silence, as she pursued her conjectures. Earnestly supplicated through the columns of the journal
to reveal himself, the generous incognito at last went in person to receive the well merited thanks. It was the young man
b 2




X


BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE


just alluded to, and five years afterwards Mademoiselle de
Meulan took the name of Madame Guizot.
During the five years, M. Guizot was occupied with various
literary labours. In 1809, he published his first work, the
Dictionnaire des Synonyme, the introduction to which, a
philosophical appreciation of the peculiar characteristics of the
French language, displayed that spirit of precision and method
which distinguishes M. Guizot. Next came the Vies des
Poetes Franfais; then a translation of Gibbon, enriched with
historical notes of the highest interest; and next, a translation
of a work of Rehfus, Spain in 1808.
All these works were produced before the author had
reached the age of twenty-five, a fact from which the character
of his mind may be judged.
In 1812, his talents were sufficiently well known to induce
M. de Fontanes to attach him to the university by appointing
him assistant professor of history in the Faculty of Letters.
Soon afterwards, he obtained complete possession of that Chair
of Modern History, in connexion with which he has left such
glorious recollections. There was formed his friendship with
M. Royer-Collard, then professor of the history of philosophy
-a friendship afterwards closely cemented by time.
This first portion of M. Guizot's life was exclusively
literary. It has been attempted to make him out at this
period an ardent legitimist, caballing and conspiring in secret
to hasten the return of the Bourbons. We have discovered
no fact that justifies the assertion. By his wife, by his literary
relations, and by his tastes, he belonged, it is true, to a certain
class, who retained, amid the roughness of the empire, traditions of the elegance and good taste of the aristocracy of the
previous age. A sort of philosophical varnish was very much
in fashion among the literati of that class, whom Napoleon
used to denominate ideologists. They ideologized, in truth, a
great deal; but they had little to do with politics. And it is
well known, moreover, that it was requisite for the pen of the
Chantre des Martyrs to devote itself entirely to the task of
reviving the well nigh forgotten memory of the Bourbons in
the heart of a generation which had not beheld their fall.
The events of 1814 found M. Guizot in his native town of
Nimes, whither he had gone to visit his mother after a long
separation. On his return, the young professor was indebted




OF M. GUIZOT.


xi


to the active friendship of Royer-Collard for his selection by
the Abbe de Montesquiou, then Minister of the Interior, to
fill the post of Secretary-General in his department. This was
the first step of M. Guizot in the path of politics. Although
he was placed in a secondary position, his great abilities
exerted a considerable influence upon the administrative
measures of the time. The partisans of. the liberal cause
reproached him especially with having, in conjunction with
Royer-Collard, prepared that severe law against the press
which was presented to the Chambers of 1814 by   I. de
Montesquiou, and also with having taken a seat in the committee of censorship, by the side of MI. de Frayssinous. On
the other hand, the ultra-royalist faction was indignant at
hearing an insignificant plebeian, a professor, a protestant,
employed in affairs of state, with a court abbe, talk of constitutional equilibrium, of balance of powers; to see him
endeavouring to conciliate monarchical ideas with the new
interests created by the Revolution. In the eyes of the one
party, he did too little, in the eyes of the other, too much;
Napoleon's return from Elba released him from his difficult
position. After the departure of the Bourbons, he resumed
his functions in the Faculty of Letters; and two months
after, when the fall of the emperor became evident to all, he
was charged by the constitutional royalists with a mission to
Ghent, to plead the cause of the Charter before Louis XVIII.,
and to insist upon the absolute necessity of keeping M. de
Blacas, the chief of the old regime party, from all participation in affairs. This is the statement of the affair given by
his friends, and what seems to prove that it was in fact the
object of M. Guizot's mission, is, that a month afterwards, on
his return into France, the king dismissed MI. de Blacas, and
published the proclamation of Cambrai, in which he acknowledged the faults of his government, and added new guarantees to the Charter.
Every one knows what violent storms agitated the Chamber
of 1815, composed of the most heterogeneous elements, and
wherein the majority, more royalist than the king himself,
constantly opposed every measure calculated to reconcile the
country to the dynasty of the Bourbons.    To say that
M. Guizot then filled the office of Secretary-General, in the
department of justice under the Marquis de Barbe-Marbois.




xii


BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE


is to say that, whilst lie conceded much, too much, perhaps,
to the demands of the victorious party, he endeavoured to
arrest, as far as he could, the encroaching spirit of the partisans of absolute royalty.  His first political pamphlet, Du
Gouvernement Representatif, et de l'Etat actuel de la France,
which he published in refutation of a work by M. de Vitrolles,
gave the criterion of his governmental ideas, and placed him
in the ranks of the constitutional royalist minority, represented
in the Chamber by Messrs. Royer-Collard, Pasquier, Camille
Jourdain, and de Serres. It was about this epoch, after the
victory of the moderate party, the dissolution of the Chamber
of 1815, and the accession of the ministry of the Duke Decazes, that a new word was introduced into the political language of France. It has not been consecrated by the dictionary of the French Academy, for want, perhaps, of ability to
give it a precise definition; but it appears to us desirable to
furnish, if not its signification (which would be a difficult
matter), at least its history.
It is well known that prior to 1789, the Doctrinaires were
an educational body.  1I. Royer-Collard had been educated
in a college of Doctrinaires, and in the debates of the Chamber
his logical and lofty understanding always impelling him to
sum up the question in a dogmatical form, the word doctrine
was often upon his lips, so that one day a wag of the royalist
majority cried out, Voilt bien les doctrinaires! The phrase
took, and remained as a definition, if not clear, at all events
absolute, of the political fraction directed by Royer-Collard.
Let us now explain the origin of that famous canape de la
doctrine, which awakens ideas as vague as the divan of the
Sublime Porte. One day, Count Beugnot, a doctrinaire,
was asked to enumerate the forces of his party. "Our
party," he replied, " could all be accommodated on this canape
(sofa)." This phrase also was successful, and the changes were
rung on it to such a degree that the multitude came to regard
the doctrinaires as a collection of individuals, half-jesuits,
half-epicureans, seated like Turks, upon downy cushions, and
pedantically discoursing about public affairs.
The reaction consequent upon the assassination of the Duke
de Berri is not yet forgotten. The Decazes ministry fell, and
the firmest supporters of the constitutional party were driven




OF M. GUIZOT.


Xiii


from office. Messrs. Royer-Collard, Camille Jourdain, and de
Barante left the council of state; M. Guizot accompanied
them, and from that moment until the accession of the Martignac cabinet, of 1828, his political life was an incessant
struggle against the administration of Villele. Whilst the
national interests of France had eloquent defenders in the
Chambers, M. Guizot, who was still too young to be permitted to ascend the tribune, sustained the same cause in
writings, the success of which was universal. We cannot
here analyze the entire series of the occasional productions of
M. Guizot from 1820 to 1822. In one he defends the system
of the Duke Decazes, trampled upon as revolutionary by the
counter revolution; in another he investigates the cause of
those daily conspiracies which appear to him to be insidiously
provoked by the agents of government for the overthrow of
constitutional institutions. Elsewhere, in his work, entitled
La Peine de Shfort 2Matiere Politique, without pretending
to erase completely from our laws the punishment of death,
even for political crimes, he demonstrates, in a grave and
elevated style, that power has a deep interest in keeping
within its scabbard the terrible weapon which transforms
into persecutors those who brandish it, and into martyrs those
whom it smites.
Among these political lucubrations, there is one which
strikes us as worthy, in many respects, of special mention.
In his treatise upon Des Moyens d'Opposition et de Gouvernement dans l'Etat actuel de la France, published in
1821, MI. Guizot completely lays bare the nature of his
political individuality, and furnishes both an explanation of
his past, and the secret of his future career. It was not an
ordinary opposition, that of MI. Guizot. lie defends the
public liberties, but he defends them in his own way, which
is not that of all the world. He may be said to march alone
in his path, and if he is severe towards the men whom he
combats, he is not less so towards those who are fighting
with him.
In his view, the capital crime of the Villele ministry was
not the abuse of power in itself, but rather the consequences of
that abuse which placed in peril the principle of authority by
exposing it to a fatal conflict.




xiv


BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE


Unlike other polemical writings, which are usually altogether negative and dissolving, those of M. Guizot are
eminently affirmative, governmental, and constituent. When
the word right comes from his pen, you may be sure that the
word duty is not far off; and never does he put his finger on
an evil without indicating at once what seems to him a
remedy.
At the height of his strife with the ministry, M. Guizot
was engaged in developing, from his professional chair, amid
the applause of a youthful and numerous audience, the various.phases of representative government in Europe, since
the fall of the Roman empire, inf the course of lectures given
in the following pages. The minister revenged himself upon
the professor for the assaults of the publicist: the lectures were
interdicted in 1825. Retiring into private life, after having
passed through high political functions, M. Guizot was still
poor; but his pen remained to him. Renouncing the inflammatory questions of the moment, he undertook a series
of great historical works, which the biographer may confidently praise; for his merits as an historian have never been
denied. Then were successively published, the Collection des
Memoires relatifs a la Revolution d'Angleterre; the Histoire
de la Revolution dcAngleterre, en 1640; which forms one of
the previous volumes of the European Library; a Collection
des Memoires relatifs a l'Histoire de France; and, finally, Essais
sur Histoire de France, a work by which he carried light
into the dark recesses of the national origin. At the same
time he presented the public with historical essays upon
Shakespere and upon Calvin, a revised translation of the works
of the great English dramatist, and a considerable number of
political articles of a high order in the Revue Francaise.
In 1827, death deprived him of the companion of his
labours-that beloved wife, whose lofty intelligence and
moral strength had sustained him amid the agitations of his
career. It was sad, though calm, philosophical, Christian, that
parting scene between the husband and the dying wife, and
their young son, soon about to follow his mother to the tomb.
Though born and bred a catholic, Madame Guizot had just
before this joined the faith of her husband; that husband
now soothed the last moments of his beloved partner by




OF M. GUIZOT.


XV


reading to her, in his grave, solemn, impressive tones, one of
the finest productions of Bossuet, his funeral oration upon the
Queen of England.'
Some time afterwards, M. Guizot became one of the most
active members of the society Aide-toi, le ciel t'aidera, the
object of which was to defend, in all legal modes, the freedom   of elections against the influence of power.  The
Villele ministry fell, and that of Martignac restored M. Guizot to his professorial chair and to the circle of admiring
students, whom he proceeded to delight with his lectures on
the History of Civilization in France. A short time after
the formation of the Polignac cabinet, he was elected deputy
for Lisieux, and voted for the address of the 221, adding to
his vote these words: "Truth has already trouble enough in
penetrating to the council of kings; let us not send it there pale
and feeble; let it be no more possible to mistake it than to
doubt the loyalty of our sentiments."  He wished to oblige
power to live, but power was determined to die. On the
26th of July he returned from Nimes to Paris; on the
27th he drew up the protest of the deputies against the ordinances-a protest more respectful than hostile, manifesting a
conservative spirit, dreading rather than desiring a revolution. Power deemed it seditious; the people pronounced it
feeble and timid: events proved the people were right.
In the meeting at M. Lafitte's, on the 29th, when all minds
were intoxicated with triumph, M. Guizot, ever exclusively
occupied with the immediate necessity of regulating the revolution, rose and insisted upon the urgency of at once constituting a municipal commission whose especial duty should
be the re-establishment and maintenance of order. On the
30th, this commission appointed him provisional minister of
public instruction; on the 31st, he read in the chamber the
proclamation conferring the lieutenant-generalship of the,ingdom on the Duke of Orleans. During the period preceding the ceremony of the 9th of August, he was busied with
the general recomposition of the administration of public
affairs, and the revision of the charter, his organizing activity
1 M. Guizot, in 1828, married Mademoiselle Eliza Dillon, the niece of
his first wife, according, it is said, to the earnest entreaties of the latter
previous to her death.




xvi


BIOGRAPIICAL NOTICE


having caused him to be transferred to the then most difficult
post, the ministry of the interior. In a few days, seventy-six
prefects, one hundred and seventy-six sub-prefects, thirtyeight secretaries-general, were removed and replaced. In the
draft of the new charter, he enlleavoured, but without success,
to lower to twenty-five years the age required for eligibility
as a representative.
The first ministry of July, formed in a moment of enthusiasm, was as ephemeral as the excitement of the three days.
Personal differences, for a time effaced by great events and a
common interest, re-appeared more marked than ever, when
it became necessary to consolidate the work so rapidly effected.
The impulse was still too strong, too near its source, to be
guided. The principle of order was compelled to yield to that
of liberty; M. Guizot retired.
The history of the Lafitte cabinet is well known. After
its dissolution on the 13th of March, the conservative element,
at first trampled under foot, raised itself erect, potent, imperious, in the person of Casimir Perier. For the first time since
July, a compact, resolute and durable majority was formed in
the Chambers. This governmental army, hitherto undisciplined and confused, was divided into three distinct corps,
manoeuvring with unanimity and harmony, under the orders
of the fiery minister-the left wing, composed of a goodly
fraction of the old liberal opposition of the Restoration, was
commanded by M. Thiers, the brilliant deserter from the camp
of 3I. Lafitte; the right wing, formed of the old constitutional
monarchists, marched under the banner of AM. Guizot, the man
of inflexible and conservative will; as to the centre, an aggregation of the undecided and wavering of all sides, it was astonished to find for the first time in M. Dupin, the most eccen-'
trie and restive of men, a chief obedient to the word of command an(l eager for the fray.
Supported by this triple phalanx, the ministry of the 13th
was able to make head against opposition in the Chambers,
to overcome insurrection in the streets, force the gates of
Ancona, and consolidate the system established in July by
rescuing it from the exaggeration of its principle.
After the death of Casimir Perier, his captains for some
time disputed among themselves the command; M. Thiers
and M. Guizot shook hands, and the cabinet of the 11th o.




OF M. GUIZOT.


xvii


October, 1832, was formed.  Upon the proceedings of their
administration, M. Guizot exercised a sustained and often
preponderant influence.
Whatever may be thought of their acts, there was one
exclusively appertaining to the department of M. Guizotthat of public instruction-so glorious, that all parties, the
most hostile to the man, have emblazoned it with unqualified
approbation. The great and noble law of the 28th of June,
1833, as to primary instruction, conceived, prepared, sustained
and executed by M. Guizot, will ever remain one of the
grandest creations of our time: the principle of popular
education, adopted and proclaimed by the Revolution of '89,
but arrested by the social tumults of the last fifty years,
at last received its full development beneath the auspices
of M. Guizot. Eleven thousand parishes, that is to say, onefourth of France, previously destitute of that primary instruction which makes the honest man and the good citizen,
have seen erected by the side of the humble parish church,
the modest school-house, where the children of the poor
resort for knowledge, that other bread of the soul which is to
support them  through the rough trials of life. Volumes
might be formed of the detailed instructions addressed by
M. Guizot, in reference to this law, to prefects, rectors,
mayors, and committees of examination; they are models of
precision and clearness. The finest of these productions is
undoubtedly the circular to the teachers of the parishes. In
its few pages there is, perhaps, as much true eloquence, as
much poetry of style and of thought, as in the most admirable
works of the epoch. With what touching familiarity does
the minister stretch forth his hand to the poor, obscure village
preceptor! how he elevates him in the eyes of all, and especially in his own! how he fills him with the importance of
his mission! IIe is almost his friend, his colleague, his
equal! For both are striving, each in his sphere, to secure
the repose and glory of the country. And then with what
paternal solicitude does the statesman, from the recesses of
his cabinet, enter into the most insignificant details of the
relations of the teacher with children, parents, the mayor, and
the curate! " No sectarian or party spirit," he exclaims, " ml
your school; the teacher must rise above the fleeting quarrels
which agitate society! Faith in Providence, the sanctity of




xviii


BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE


duty, submission to parental authority, respect for the laws,
the prince, the rights of all, such are the sentiments he must
seek to develop." Can there be anything more affecting
than the following simple picture of the painful duties of the
teacher and the consolations he must find within himself:
" There is no fortune to be made, there is little renown to be
gained in the painful obligations which the teacher fulfils.
Destined to see his life pass away in a monotonous occupation, sometimes even to experience the injustice or ingratitude of ignorance, he would often be saddened, and perhaps
would succumb, if he derived courage and strength from no
other sources then the prospect of immediate or merely personal reward. Hle must be sustained and animated by a
profound sense of the moral importance of his labours; the
grave happiness of having served his fellow-creatures, and obscurely contributed to the public welfare, must be his compensation, and this his conscience alone can give. It is his glory
not to aspire to aught beyond his obscure and laborious condition, to exhaust himself in sacrifices scarcely noticed by
those whom they benefit, to toil, in short, for man, and to
expect his recompence only from God."
Couple these pages of patriarchal gentleness with the
pitiless language of M. Guizot in presence of a revolt; hear
him thundering from the tribune against the wicked tail of
the Revolution; behold him reading Bossuet to his dying wife,
or throwing with stoic hand the first piece of earth on the
coffin of his son; and say, if there be not something strange,
grand, immense, in this individuality, in which we find at
once the fiery zeal of Luther, the unctuous mildness of
3Ielancthon, the impassibility of Epictetus, the simple kindliness of Fenelon, and the inflexible severity of Richelieu.
After an existence of four years, the cabinet of the 11th
of October was dissolved by two causes, one external, the
other internal. The public perils at an end, it was deemed
too repressive by the Chambers; the majority which had
supported it was enfeebled and dislocated, whilst dissensions
broke out in its councils between M. Guizot and M. Thiers.
The former retired, but did not enter into open hostilities
until the formation of the Mole ministry, on the 15th of
April, 1838, the policy of which he thus severely denounced:
"It is a policy without principle and without banner, made
up of expedients and pretexts, ever tottering, leaning on




OF M. GUIZOT.


xix


every side for support, and advancing, in reality, towards
no object; which tampers with, foments, aggravates that uncertainty of men's minds, that relaxation of heart, that want
of faith, consistency, perseverance, energy, which cause disquiet to the country, and weakness to power." To fortify
power, I. Guizot threw himself into the coalition. Many
think that he failed in his purpose. We will not decide the question; it is certain that the governmental car was for an instant
stopped, and the cause dear to M. Guizot brought into peril.
Called upon by the Soult ministry of lMay 12, 1839, to
replace Marshal Sebastiani, as the representative of France at
the court of St. James's, retained in that office by the
ministry of the 1st March following, and charged with the
defence of the interests of France, in the stormy question of
the East, M. Guizot appeared at first in London under the
most favourable auspices. His literary reputation, his calm,
grave dignity, his thorough knowledge of English manners,
language, and literature, his protestantism, all these features
combined to conciliate for him the suffrages of the haughtiest
and most fastidious of all aristocracies.  His society was
universally sought; no French ambassador, since Chateaubriand, had created so great a sensation. At the Foreign
office, too, everything seemed to be smoothed for him, and
arrangements of a satisfactory nature appeared to be on the
eve of completion, when the Syrian insurrection broke out,
and nM. Guizot's position was changed.
The results of the treaty of the 15th July are well known;
there is no need for us to go into a detail of the circumstances under which the ministry of the 1st March fell, and
M. Guizot was called upon to form the Soult-Guizot cabinet
of the 29th Oct. 1840, himself accepting the office of
Minister of Foreign Affairs, which he has ever since retained.
nI. Guizot may be considered in four points of view-as a
private individual, as a writer, as an historian, as an orator
and politician.
The virtue of the man has never been called in question.
"The morals of MI. Guizot," says one of his most violent
political foes, " are rigid, and pure, and he is worthy, by the
lofty virtue of his life and sentiments, of the esteem of all
good men."
As a writer, his style is one that may be recognised among
a thousand. With his pen in his hand, he takes a firm,




XX


BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE


decided tone, goes straight to his object, is not exempt from
a species of stiffness, and particularly affhcts abstract terminology; the form in which he envelopes his thoughts is a little
obscure, but the thought is so clear, so brilliant, that it always
shines through.
As an historian, lie has rendered eminent service to science.
I-le is one of the chiefs of that modern historical school
which has taught us to emerge from the present to go and
examine the past, and no longer to measure the men and
things of former times by our standards of to-day.
As an orator, his manner is dignified and severe. Small
and frail in person, he is lofty and proud in bearing; his voice
is imposing and sonorous; his language, -ether calm  or
vehement, is always pure and chastened; it has more energy
than grace, it convinces rather than moves. When he ascends
the tribune, friends and enemies all open their ears; there is
no more talking, little coughing, and nobody goes to sleep.
Much has been said of the political versatility of M. Guizot,
of his sudden changes, of his former opposition and his
present servility; but, from his words, his writings, and his
acts at every epoch, we have derived the profound conviction,
that, save a few trifling exceptions of detail, his general and
distinctive characteristic as a politician is tenacity and consistency; such as he was under the Decazes ministry, or in
the opposition to Villele, such he appears to us to be now.
Let us explain our idea without flattery and without enmity.
Providence has imposed upon society an eternal problem,
the solution of which it has reserved to itself. There has
been, and there always will be; a conflict between two opposite principles, right and duty, power and liberty. In presence
of these two hostile elements, which the eminent minds of all
ages have essayed to conciliate, no one can remain perfectly
calm, perfectly impartial. Mathematical truths belong to the
head; people do not become excited about them; political
truths act upon both the head and the heart; and no one
can guard himself from an involuntary movement of attraction or repulsion in relation to them, according to his nature, to the bent of his mind, to his individuality.  Some
are especially inclined to liberty, others are more disposed to
power; some would play the mirister, others the tribune;
these have the instinct of authority, those the sentiment
of independence. Now, M3. Guizot is essentially one of the




OF M. GUIZOT.


xxi


latter; his is an elevated and progressive intellect, but
domineering by nature, and governmental by conviction.
In his eyes, the France of our day, founded upon two great
victories of the principle of liberty, is naturally prone to
abuse its triumph, and of the two elements equally necessary
for social life, the feeblest at present, the vanquished one, is
power.
Setting out from this idea, 31. Guizot seeks to re-establish
the equilibrium between the two bases of the edifice, giving
to the one what the other has too much of, and combining
this arrangement of forces within certain limits, with certain
measures, the details of which are too long and too complicated to be gone into here.
If we read with attention the political writings of 31.
Guizot, during the period of the Restoration, we shall soon
discover, through all his attacks upon the agents of power,
a real sympathy for power itself. Legitimacy exaggerates its
rights.  Pushed on by imprudent friends and insidious
enemies, it drives full sail upon a rock: from the height
where he has placed himself, M. Guizot sees the danger,
rebukes those who manage the vessel, and even after it has
struck, continues to exclaim, " 'Bout ship!"
The Revolution of July discomposed, perhaps, for an
instant, but did not discourage M. Guizot; thus, on the 29th,
when the principle which is the object of his solicitude had fallen
beneath the popular assault, we behold him earnest to raise it
by degrees, and revive its strength, and at length urging it
boldly in the direction which he wished it to take before its fall.
What, in short is M. Guizot?
He is, above all, a man of power and of government, and
at the same time the most independent of men-submissive
to the yoke of self-imposed principles, but bearing his head
erect in all questions as to persons; a politician of great
worth, and estimating himself at that worth; more convinced
than enthusiastic; more proud of the approbation of his
conscience than of the homage of the crowd; gifted in a
supreme degree with that strength of will and perseverance
which make the statesman, a mortal foe to all that resembles
disorder, and capable, if things were to come to their worst,
of throwing himself, without hesitation, into the arms of
despotism, which he does not love, rather than undergo the
anarchy which he abhors.




I




CONTENTS
HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.
FIRST LECTURE
Object of the course-History of European civilization-Part taken by
France in the civilization of Europe-Civilization a fit subject for narrative-It is the most general fact in history-The ordinary and popular
meaning of the word civilization-Two leading facts constitute civilization: 1. The development of society; 2. The development of the individual-Demonstration-These two facts are necessarily connected the
one with the other, and, sooner or later, produce the one the other-Is
the destiny of man limited wholly within his actual social condition?The history of civilization may be exhibited and considered under two
points of view-Remarks on the plan of the course-The present state
of men's minds, and the prospects of civilization......  p. 1
SECOND LECTURE.
Purpose of the lecture-Unity of ancient civilization-Variety of modern
civilization-its superiority-Condition of Europe at the fall of the
Roman empire-Preponderance of the towns-Attempt at political reform
by the emperors-Rescript of Honorius and of Theodosius I1.-Power
of the name of the Empire-The Christian church-The various stages
through which it had passed at the fifth century-The clergy exercising
municipal functions-Good and evil influence of the church-The barbarians-They introduce into the modern world the sentiments of personal independence, and the devotion of man to man-Summary of the
different elements of civilization in the beginning of the fifth century...................         p. 21
THIRD LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-All the various systems pretend to be legitimate —
What is political legitimacy?-Co-existence of all systems of govern
ment in the fifth century-Instability in the condition of persons,
properties, and institutions-There were two causes of this, one
material, the continuation of the invasion: the other moral, the selfish
C




xxiv


CONTENTS.


sentiment of individuality peculiar to the barbarians - The germs
of civilization have been the necessity for order, the recollections
of the Roman empire, the Christian church, and the )arbarians-Attempts at organization by the barbarians, by the towns, )by the church
of Spain, by Charlemagne, and Alfred-The German and Arabian invasions cease-The feudal system begins........            p. 44
FOURTII LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Necessary alliance between facts and doctrinesPreponderance of the country over the towns-Organization of a small
feudal society-Influence of feudalism upon the character of the possessor
of the fief, and upon the spirit of family —Hatred of the people towards the
feudal system-The priest could do little for the serfs-Impossibility of
regularly organizing feudalism: 1. No powerful authority; 2. No public
power; 3. Difficulty of the federative system-The idea of the right of
resistance inherent in feudalism-Influence of feudalism favourable to
the development of the individual, unfavourable to social order. p. 63
FIFTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Religion is a principle of association-Constraint
is not of the essence of government-Conditions of the legitimacy of a
government: 1. The power must be in the hands of the most worthy;
2. The liberty of the governed must be respected-Tlie church being
a corporation, and not a caste, fulfilled the first of these conditions-Of
the various methods of nomination and election that existed therein-It
wanted the other condition, on account of the illegitimate extension of
authority, and on account of the abusive employment of force-Alovement and liberty of spirit in the bosom of the church-Relations of the
church with princes-The independence of spiritual power laid down as
a principle-Pretensions and cffbrts of the church to usurp the temporal power.................     p. 84
SIXTI LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Separation of the governing and the governed party
in the church-Indirect influence of the hdity upon the clergy-The
clergy recruited from all conditions of society-Influence of the church
upon the public order and upon legislation-The penitential systemThe development of the human mind is entirely theological-The church
usually ranges itself on the side of power-Not to be wondered at; the
aim of religions is to regulate human liberty-Different states of the
church, from the fifth to the twelfth century-ist. The imperial church
-2nd. The barbaric church; development of the separating principle
of the two powers; the monastic order-3rd. The feudal church; attempts at organization; want of reform; Gregory VII.-The theocratical
church-Regeneration of the spirit of inquiry; Abailard-Movement
of the boroughs-No connexion between these two facts.. p. i04




CONTENTS.


XXV


SEVENTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Comparative picture of the state of the boroughs at
the twelfth and the eighteenth century-Double question-ist. The
enfranchisement of the boroughs-State of the towns from the fifth to
the tenth century-Their decay and regeneration-Comimunal insurrection-Charters-Social and moral effects of the enfranchisement of the
boroughs-2nd. Internal government of the boroughs-Assemblies of
the people-M\agistrates-High and low burghership-Diversity of the
state of the boroughs in the different countries of Europe.. p. 125
EIGIITII    LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Glance at the general history of European civilization-Its distinctive and fundamental character-Epoch at which that
character began to appear-State of Europe from the twelfth to the
sixteenth century-Character of the crusades-Their moral and social
causes-These causes no longer existed at the end of the thirteenth
century-Effects of the crusades upon civilization....   p. 145
NINTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Important part taken by royalty in the history of
Europe, and in the history of the world-True causes of this importance
-Two-fold point of view under which the institution of royalty should
be considered —st. Its true and permanent nature-It is the personification of the sovereignty of right-With what limits-2nd. Its flexibility
and diversity-European royalty seems to be the result of various kinds
of royalty-Of barbarian royalty-Of imperial royalty-Of religious
royalty-Of feudal royalty-Of modern royalty, properly so called, and
of its true character............ p. 161
TENTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Attempts to reconcile the various social elements of
modern Europe, and to make them live and act in common, in one society, and under one central power —st. Attempt at thcocratical organization-Why it failed-Four principal obstacles-Faults of Gregory VII,
-Reaction against the domination of the church-On the part of the
people-On the part of the sovereigns-2nd. Attempt at republican
organization-Italian republics-Their defects-Towns in the south of
France-Crusade of the Albigenses-Swiss confederation-Boroughs of
Flanders and the Rhine —l-Hanseatic league —Struggle between the
feudal nobility and the boroughs-3rd. Attempt at a mixed organization
- States-general of France- Cortes of Spain and Portugal - English
parliament-Peculiar state of Germany-Ill success of all their attempts
-From what causes-General tendency of Europe.... p. 17




xxvi


CONTENTS.


ELEVENTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Special character of the fifteenth century-Progressive centralization of nations and governments-1st. Of France-Formation of the national French spirit-Government of Louis XI.-2nd.
Of Spain-3rd. Of Germany-4th. Of England-5th. Of Italy-Origin
of the external relations of states and of diplomacy —Movement in religious ideas-Attempt at aristocratical reform-Council of Constance
and Basle-Attempt at popular reform-John Huss-Regeneration of
literature-Admiration for antiquity-Classical school, or free-thinkers
-General activity-Voyages, discoveries, inventions-Conclusion.
p. 195
TWELFTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Difficulty of distinguishing general facts in modern
history-Picture of Europe in the sixteenth century-Danger of precipitate generalization-Various causes assigned to the Reformation-Its
dominant character was the insurrection of the human mind against absolute power in the intellectual order-Evidences of this fact-Fate of
the Reformation in different countries-Weak side of the ReformationThe Jesuits-Analogy between the revolutions of religious society. and those of civil society...........   p. 213
THIRTEENTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-General character of the English revolution-Its
principal causes-It was more political than religious-The three great
parties in it: 1. The party of legal reform; 2. The party of the political revolution; 3. The party of the social revolution-They all fail
-Cromwell-The restoration of the Stuarts-The legal ministry-The
profligate ministry-The revolution of 1688 in England and Europe.
p. 230
FOURTEENTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Difference and likeness between the progress of civilization in England and on the Continent-Preponderance of France in
EIurope in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries-In the seventeenth
century by reason of the French government' —In the eighteenth by
reason of the country itself-Of the government of Louis X1V.-Of his
wars-Of his diplomacy-Of his administration-Of his legislationCauses of his rapid decline-Of France in the eighteenth centuryEssential characteristics of the philosophical revolution-Conclusion of
the course..................  p. 248




CONTENTS.


xxvii


HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.
FIRST LECTURE.
Object of the course-Two methods of studying in detail the history of
European civilization-Reasons for preferring the study of the history
of the civilization of a particular country-Reasons for studying that
of France-Of the essential facts which constitute the perfection of
civilization- Comparison of the great European nations under this
point of view-Of civilization in England-Germany —Italy —SpaiinFrance-French civilization is the most complete, and offers the most
faithful representation of civilization in general-That the student has
other things to bear in mind besides the mere study-Of the present 
prevailing tendencies in the intellectual order - Of the prevailing
tendencies in the social order-Two problems resulting therefromTheir apparent contradiction-Our times are called upon to solve them
-A third and purely moral problem, rendered equally important by the
present state of civilization-The unjust reproaches of which it is the
object-The necessity of meeting them —All science, in the present
day, exerts a social influence-All power should tend to the moral perfection of the individual, as well as to the improvement of society in
general.................. p. 269
SECOND LECTURE.
Necessity of reading a general history of France before we study that of
civilization - M. de Sismondi's work —Why we should study the
political state of a country before its moral state, the history of society
before that of man-The social state of Gaul in the 5th century-Original
monuments and modern works descriptive of that sulbject-Difference
between the civil and religious society of that period-Imperial government of Gaul-The provincial governors-Their official establishments
-Their salaries-Benefits and defects of the administration-Fall of
the Roman empire-Gaulish society: 1. The senators; 2. The curiales;
3. The people; 4. The slaves- Public relations of these various
classes-Decline and helplessness of Gaulish civil society-Causes of
this-The people attach themselves to the religious community p. 289




xxviii


CONTENTS.


THIRD LECTURE.
Object of the Lecture-Variety of the principles and forms of religious
society in Europe-Classification of the different systems, 1. According
to the relations of the church in the state; 2. According to the internal
constitution of the church-All these systems assign their origin to the
primitive church-Critical examination of these pretensions-They have
all a certain degree of foundation-Fluctuation and complexity of the external situation and internal position of Christian society from the first
to the fifth century-Predominant tendencies-Prevalent facts of the
fifth century-Causes of liberty in the church at this period-The
election of bishops-Councils-Comparison    of religious with  civil
society-Of the chiefs of these two societies-Letters of Sidonins
Apollinaris................. p. 316
FOURTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-What must be understood by the moral state of a
society-Reciprocal influence of the social state upon the moral state,
and of the moral state upon the social state-At the fourth century, civil
Gaulish society alone possessed institutions favourable to intellectual development —CGaulish schools-Legal situation of the prafessors-Religious society has no other mediums of development and influence than
its ideas-Still one languishes and the other prospers —Decline of the
civil schools-Activity of the Christian society-Saint Jerome, Saint
Augustin, and Saint Paulin of Nola-Their correspondence with GaulFoundation and character of monasteries in Gaul-Causes of the difference of the moral state of the two societies-Comparative view of the
civil literature -and the Christian literature in the fourth and fifth centuries-Inequality of the liberty of mind in the two societies-Necessity
for religion lending its aid to studies and letters.. p. 3s6
FIFTI LECTURE.
Of the principal questions debated in Gaul in the fifth century-Of Pelagianism —()f the method to follow in its history-Of the moral facts
which gave place to this controversy: 1st, of human liberty; 2nd, of the
impotency of liberty, and the necessity for an external succour; 3rd, of
the intluentce of external circumstances upon liberty; 4th, of the moral
changes which happen in the soul witlhout man attributing them to his
will-Of the questions which naturally arose from these facts-Of the
special point of view under which we should consider them in the
Christian church in the fifth century-History of Pelagianism at Rome,
in Africa, in the East, and in Gaul-l'elagius-Celestius-Saint Augustin - Ilistory of semi-'elagiatlisn - Cassienas - Faustus - Saint
Prosper of Aqnitaine- Of predesitinaion-lnlfluencc tld general resullts
of this controversy......... p. 3t7




CONTENTS.


xxix


SIXTI    LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-General character of the literature of the middle
ages-Of the transition from pagan philosophy to Christian theologyOf the question of the nature of the soul in the Christian church-The
ancient priests for the most part pronounced in favour of the system of
materialism-Efforts to escape from it-Analogous march of ideas in
pagan philosoplhy-Commencement of the system of spirituality-Saint
Augustin, Nemesius, Mamertius Clandienus-Faustus, bishop of IiezHis arguments for the materiality of the soul —Mamertius Claudienus
answers him-Importance of Mamertius Claudienus in Gaul-Analysis
of, and quotations from his treatise on the nature of the soul-The
dialogue of Evagrius between Zacheus the Christian and Apollonius the
philosopher-Of the effects of the invasion of the barbarians upon the
moral state of Gaul.............. p. 390
SEVENTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Of the Germanic element in modern civilizationOf the monuments of the ancient social state of the Germans: 1. Of
the Roman and Greek Listorians; 2. Of the barbaric laws; 3. Of national traditions-They relate to very different epochs-They are often
made use of promiscuously-Error which results therefrom-The work
of Tacitus concerning the manners of the Germans-Opinions of the
modern German writers concerning the ancient Germanic state-What
kind of life prevailed there, was it the wandering life, or the sedentary
life?-Of the institutions-Of the moral state-Comparison between
the state of the German tribes and that of other hordes-Fallacv of most
of the views of barbarous life-Principal characteristics of the true influence of the Germans upon modern civilization.... p. 410
EIGHTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Description of the state of Gaul in the last half of
the sixth century-True character of the German invasions —Cause of
errors on this subject-Dissolution of Roman society: 1. In rural
districts; 2. In towns, though in a lesser degree-Dissolution of German society: 1. Of the colony or tribe; 2. Of the warfaringg bandElements of the new social state: 1. Of commencing royalty, 2. Of
commencing feudalism; 3. Of the church after the invasion-Summary
p. 433
NINTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-False idea of the Salic law-History of the formation
of this law-Two hypotheses upon this matter-Eighteen manuscripts
- Two texts of the Salic law - M. Wiarda's work upon the history




XXX                         CONTENTS.
and exposition of the Salic law —Prefaces attached to the manuscripts-Value of national traditions concerning the origin and compilation of the Salic law-Concerning its tendencies-Itf  essentially a
penal code-1st. Of the enumeration and definitib  f offences in thy
Salic law; 2nd. Of penalties; 3rd. Of criminal prrLdure-Transitore
character of their legislation....;     p. 451
TENTH LECTURE. 
Object of the lecture-Is the transitory character of the Saliq law found in
the laws of the Ripuarians, the Burgundians, and the Visigoths? —st,
The law of the Ripuarians —The Ripuarian Franks-History of the
compilation of their law-Its contents-Difference between it and the
Salic law-2nd, The law of the Burgundians-History of its compilation
-Its contents-Its distinctive character-3rd, The law of the Visigoths
-It concerns the history of Spain more than that of France-Its general character-Effect of Roman civilization upon the barbarians.  p. 472




HISTORY
OF
'CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.
LECTURE THE FIRST.
Object of the course-History of European civilization-Part taken by
France in the civilization of Europe-Civilization a fit subject for narrative-It is the most general fact in history-The ordinary and popular
meaning of the word civilization-Two leading facts constitute civilization: 1. The development of society; 2. The development of the individual-Demonstration-These two facts are necessarily connected tile
one with the other, and, sooner or later, produce the one the other-Is
the destiny of man limited wholly within his actual social condition?The history of civilization may be exhibited and considered under two
points of view-Remarks on the plan of the course-The present state
of men's minds, and the prospects of civilization.
GENTLEMEN,
I AM deeply affected by the reception you give me, and
which, you will permit me to say, I accept as a pledge of the
sympathy which has not ceased to exist between us, notwithstanding so long a separation-Alas! I speak as though you,
whom I see around me, were the same who, seven years ago,
used to assemble within these walls, to participate in my then
labours; because I myself am here again, it seems as if all my
former learers should be here also; whereas, since that period,
a change, a mighty change, has come over all things.    Seven
years ago we repaired hither depressed with anxious doubts
and fears, weighed down with sad thoughts and anticipations;
we saw ourselves surrounded with difficulty and danger; we
felt ourselves dragged on towards an evil which we essayed to
B




2


HISTORY OF


avert by calm, grave, cautious reserve, but in vain. Now, we
meet together, full of confidence and hope, the heart at peace,
thought free. There is but one way in which we can worthily
manifest our gratitude for this happy change; it is by bringing
to our present meetings, our new studies, the same calm tranquillity of mind, the same firm purpose, which guided our
conduct when, seven years ago, we looked, from day to day,
to have our studies placed under rigorous supervision, or,
indeed, to be arbitrarily suspended. Good fortune is delicate,
frail, uncertain; we must keep measures with hope as with
fear; convalescence requires well nigh the same care, the
same caution, as the approaches of illness. This care, this
caution, this moderation, I am sure you will exhibit.  The
same sympathy, the sane intimate conformity of opinions, of
sentiments, of ideas, which united us in times of difficulty and
danger, and which at least saved us from grave faults, will
equally unite us in more auspicious days, and enable us to
gather all their fruits. I rely with confidence upon your cooperation, and I need nothing more.
The time between this our first meeting and the close of
the year is very limited; that which I myself have had,
wherein to meditate upon the Lectures I am about to deliver,
has been infinitely more limited still.  One great point,
therefore, was the selection of a subject, the consideration of
which might best be brought within the bounds of the few
months which remain to us of this year, within that of the
few days I have had for preparation; and it appeared to me,
that a general review of the modern history of Europe, considered with reference to the development of civilization-a
general sketch, in fact, of the history of European civilization,
of its origin, its progress, its aim, its character, might suitably
occupy the time at our disposal. This, accordingly, is the
subject of which I propose to treat.
I have used the term European civilization, because it is
evident that there is an European civilization; that a certain
unity pervades the civilization of the various European states;
that, notwithstanding infinite diversities of time, place, and
circumstance, this civilization takes its first rise in facts
almost wholly similar, proceeds everywhere upon the same
principles, and tends to produce well nigh everywhere analogous results. There is, then, an European civilization, and it




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


3


is to the subject of this aggregate civilization that I will
request your attention.
Again, it is evident that this civilization cannot be traced
back, that its history cannot be derived from the history of
any single European state. If, on the one hand, it is manifestly characterized by brevity, on the other, its variety is no
less prodigious; it has not developed itself with completeness, in any one particular country. The features of its physiognomy are wide-spread; we must seek the elements of its
history, now in France, now in England, now in Germany,
now in Spain.
We of France occupy a favourable position for pursuing
the study of European civilization. Flattery of individuals,
even of our country, should be at all times avoided: 'it is
without vanity, I think, we may say that France has been
the centre, the focus of European civilization. I do not pretend, it were monstrous to do so, that she has always, and
in every direction, marched at the head of nations. At different epochs, Italy has taken the lead of her, in the arts;
England, in political institutions; and there may be other
respects under which, at particular periods, other European
nations have manifested a superiority to her; but it is impossible to deny, that whenever France has seen herself thus
outstripped in the career of civilization, she has called up fresh
vigour, has sprung forward with a new impulse, and has soon
found herself abreast with, or in advance of; all the rest. And
not only has this been the peculiar fortune of France, but we
have seen that when the civilizing ideas and institutions which
have taken their rise in other lands, have sought to extend
their sphere, to become fertile and general, to operate for the
common benefit of European civilization, they have been
necessitated to undergo, to a certain extent, a new preparation
in France; and it has been from France, as from a second
native country, that they have gone forth to the conquest of
Europe. There is scarcely any great idea, any great principle of civilization, which, prior to its diffusion, has not
passed in this way through France.
And for this reason: there is in the French character something sociable, something sympathetic, something which mnakes
its way with greater facility and effect than does the national
genius of any other people; whether from our language,
B2




4


HISTORY OF


whether from the turn of our mind, of our manners, certain it
is that our ideas are more popular than those of other people,
present themselves more clearly and intelligibly to the masses,
and penetrate among them more readily; in a word, perspicuity, sociability, sympathy, are the peculiar characteristics of
France, of her civilization, and it is these qualities which
rendered her eminently fit to march at the very head ci'
European civilization.
In entering, therefore, upon the study of this great fact,
it is no arbitrary or conventional choice to take France as the
centre of this study; we must needs do so if we would place
ourselves, as it were, in the very heart of civilization, in the
very heart of the fact we are about to consider.
I use the term fact, and I do so purposely; civilization is
a fact like any other-a fact susceptible, like any other, of
being studied, described, narrated.
For some time past, there has been much talk of the necessity of limiting history to the narration of facts: nothing can
be more just; but we must always bear in mind that there
are far more facts to narrate, and that the facts themselves
are far more various in their nature, than people are at first
disposed to believe; there are material, visible facts, such as
wars, battles, the official acts of governments; there are
moral facts, none the less real that they do not appear on the
surface; there are individual facts which have denominations
of their own; there are general facts, without any particular
designation, to which it is impossible to assign any precise
date, which it is impossible to bring within strict limits, but
which are yet no less facts than the rest, historical facts, facts
which we cannot exclude from history without mutilating
history.
The very portion of history which we are accustomed to
call its philosophy, the relation of events to each other, the
connexion which unites them, their causes and their effects,these are all facts, these are all history, just as much as the
narratives of battles, and of other material and visible events.
Facts of this class it is doubtless more difficult to disentangle
and explain; we are more liable to error in giving an account
of them, and it is no easy thing to give them life and animation, to exhibit them in clear and vivid colours; but this




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


5


difficulty in no degree changes their nature; they are none
the less an essential element of history.
Civilization is one of these facts; a general, hidden, complex fact; very difficult, I allow, to describe, to relate, but
which none the less for that exists, which, none the less for
that, has a right to be described and related. We may raise
as to this fact a great number of questions; we may ask, it
has been asked, whether it is a good or an evil? Some bitterly deplore it; others rejoice at it. We may ask, whether
it is an universal fact, whether there is an universal civilization of the human species, a destiny of humanity; whether
the nations have handed down from age to age, something
which has never been lost, which must increase, form a larger
and larger mass, and thus pass on to the end of time? For
my own part, I am convinced that there is, in reality, a general
destiny of humanity, a transmission of the aggregate of civili- /
zation; and, cons-quently, an univer'sal history of civilization
to be written. But 'without raising questions so great, so
difficult to solve, if we restrict ourselves to a definite limit of
time and space, if we confine ourselves to the history of a
certain number of centuries, of a certain people, it is evident
that within these bounds,,civilization is a fact which can be
described, related-which is history. I will at once add, that
this history is the greatest of all, that it includes all.
And, indeed, does it not seem to yourselves that the fact
civilization is the fact par excellence-the general and definitive fact, in which all the others terminate, into which they all
resolve themselves? Take all the facts which compose the history of a nation, and which we are accustomed to regard as the
elements of its life; take its institutions, its commerce, its industry, its wars, all the details of its government: when we
would consider these facts in their aggregate, in their connexion, when we would estimate them, judge them, we ask
in what they have contributed to the civilization of that
nation, what part they have taken in it, what influence they
have exercised over it. It is in this way that we not only
form  a complete idea of them, but measure and appreciate
their true value; they are, as it were, rivers, of which we ask
what quantity of water it is they contribute to the ocean?
For civilization is a sort of ocean, constituting the wealth of
a people, and on whose bosom all the elements of the life of




6


HISTORY OF


that people, all the powers supporting its existence, assemble
and unite.  This is so true, that even facts, which fiom their
nature are odious, pernicious, which weigh painfully upon
nations, despotism, for example, and anarchy, if they have
contributed in some way to civilization, if they have enabled
it to make an onward stride, up to a certain point we pardon them, we overlook their wrongs, their evil nature; in a
word, wherever we recognise civilization, whatever the facts
which have created it, we are tempted to forget the price it
has cost.
There are, moreover, facts which, properly speaking, we
cannot call social; individual facts, which seem to interest the
human soul rather than the public life: such are religious
creeds and philosophical ideas, sciences, letters, arts.  These
facts appear to address themselves to man with a view to his
moral perfection, his intellectual gratification; to have for
their object his internal amelioration, his mental pleasure,
rather than his social condition. But, here again, it is with
reference to civilization that these very facts are often considered, and claim to be considered.
At all times, in all countries, religion has assumed the
glory of having civilized the people; sciences, letters, arts,
all the intellectual and moral pleasures, have claimed a share
in this glory; and we have deemed it a praise and an honour
to them, when we have recognised this claim on their part.
Thus, facts the most important and sublime in themselves,
independently of all external result, and simply in their relations with the soul of man, increase in importance, rise in
sublimity from their affinity with civilization.  Such is the
value of this general fact, that it gives value to everything it
touches.  And not only does it give value; there are even
occasions when the facts of which we speak, religious creeds,
philosophical ideas, letters, arts, are especially considered and
judged of with reference to their influence upon civilization;
an influence which becomes, up to a certain point and during
a certain time, the conclusive measure of their merit, of their
value.
What, then, I will ask, before undertaking its history,
what, considered only in itself, what is this so grave, so vast,
so precious fact, which seems the sum, the expression of the
whole life of nations?
/




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


7


I shall take care here not to fall into pure philosophy; not
to lay down some ratiocinative principle, and then deduce
from it the nature of civilization as a result; there would be
many chances of error in this method. And here, again, we
have a fact to verify and describe.
For a long period, and in many countries, the word civilization has been in use; people have attached to the word ideas
more or less clear, more or less comprehensive; but there it
is in use, and those who use it, attach some meaning or other
to it. It is the general, human, popular meaning of this word
that we must study.  There is almost always in the usual
acceptation of the most general terms, more accuracy than in
the definitions, apparently more strict, more precise, of
science. It is common sense which gives to words their ordinary signification, and common sense is the characteristic of
humanity. The ordinary signification of a word is formed
by gradual progress, and in the constant presence of facts; so
that when a fact presents itself which seems to come within
the meaning of a known term, it is received into it, as it were,
naturally; the signification of the term extends itself, expands,
and by degrees, the various facts, the various ideas which
from the nature of the things themselves men should include
under this word, are included.
When the meaning of a word, on the other hand, is determined by science, this determination, the work of one individual, or of a small number of individuals, takes place under
the influence of some particular fact which has struck upon
the mind. Thus scientific definitions are, in general, much
more narrow, and, hence, much less accurate, much less true,
at bottom, than the popular meanings of the terms. In
studying as a fact the meaning of the word civilization, in
investigating all the ideas which are comprised within it,
according to the common sense of mankind, we shall make a
much greater progress towards a knowledge of the fact itself;
than by attempting to give it ourselves a scientific definition,
however more clear and precise the latter might appear at
first.
I will commence this investigation by endcavouring to
place before you some hypotheses: I will describe a certain
number of states of society, and we will then inquire whether
general instinct would recognise in them the condition of




8


HISTORY OF


a people civilising itself; whether we recognise in them the
meaning which mankind attaches to the word civilization?
First, suppose a people whose external life is easy, is full
of physical comfort; they pay few taxes, they are free from
suffering; justice is well administered in their private relations
-in a word, material existence is for them altogether happy,
and happily regulated. But at the same time, the intellectual
and moral existence of this people is studiously kept in a
state of torpor and inactivity; of; I will not say, oppression,
for they do not understand the feeling, but of compression.
We are not without instances of this state of things.  There
has been a great number of small aristocratic republics in
which the people have been thus treated like flocks of sheep,
well kept and materially happy, but without moral and intellectual activity. Is this civilization? Is this a people civilizing itself?
Another hypothesis: here is a people whose material existence is less easy, less comfortable, but still supportable.  On
the other hand, moral and intellectual wants have not been
neglected, a certain amount of mental pasture has been served
out to them; elevated, pure sentiments are cultivated in
them; their religious and moral views have attained a certain
degree of development; but great care is taken to stifle in
them  the principle of liberty; the intellectual and moral
wants, as in the former case the material wants, are satisfied;
each man has meted out to him his portion of truth; no one
is permitted to seek it for himself. Immobility is the characteristic of moral life; it is the state into which have fallen
most of the populations of Asia; wherever theocratic dominations keep humanity in check; it is the state of the Ilindoos,
for example.  I ask the same question here as before; is this
a people civilizing itself'?
I change altogether the nature of the hypothesis: here is
a people amnong whrom is a great display of individual liberties, but where disorder and inequality are excessive: it is
the empire of force and of chance; every man, if he is not
strong, is oppressed, sulffrs, perishes; violence is the predominant feature of the social state.  No one is ignorant' that
Europe has passed through this state. Is this a civilized
state?  It may, doubtless, contain principles of civilization
which will develop themselves by successive degrees; but




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


9


the fact which dominates in such a society is, assuredly, not
that which the common sense of mankind call civilization.
I take a fourth and last hypothesis: the liberty of each
individual is very great, inequality amongst them is rare, and
at all events, very transient. Every man does very nearly
just what he pleases, and differs little in power from his neighbour; but there are very few general interests, very few
public ideas, very little society,-in a word, the faculties and
existence of individuals appear and then pass away, wholly
apart and without acting upon each other, or leaving any
trace behind them; the successive generations leave society
at the same point at which they found it: this is the state of
savage tribes; liberty and equality are there, but assuredly
not civilization.
I might multiply these hypotheses, but I think we have
before us enougjh to explain what is the popular and natural
meaning of the word civilization.
It is clear that none of the states I have sketched corresponds, according to the natural good sense of mankind, to this
term. Why? It appears to me that the first fact comprised
in the word civilization (and this results from the different
examples I have rapidly placed before you), is the fact of
progress, of development; it presents at once the idea of a people
marching onward, not to change its place, but to change its
condition; of a people whose culture is condition itself, and
ameliorating itself. The idea of progress, of development,
appears to me the fundamental idea contained in the word,
civilization. What is this progress? what this development?
Herein is the greatest difficulty of all.
The etymology of the word would seem to answer in a clear
and satisfactory manner: it says that it is the perfecting of
civil life, the development of society, properly so called, of
the relations of men among themselves.
Such is, in fact, the first idea which presents itself to the
understanding when the word civilization is pronounced; we
at once figure forth to ourselves the extension, the greatest
activity, the best organization of the social relations: on the
one hand, an increasing production of the means of giving
strength and happiness to society; on the other a more
equitable distribution, amongst individuals, of the strength
and happiness produced.




10


HISTORY OF


Is this all? Have we here exhausted all the natural,
ordinary meaning of the word civilization?  Does the fact
contain nothing more than this?
It is almost as if we asked: is the human species after all a
mere ant-hill, a society in which all that is required is order
and physical happiness, in which the greater the amount of
labour, and the more equitable the division of the fruits of
labour, the more surely is the object attained, the progress
accomplished.
Our instinct at once feels repugnant to so narrow f definition of human destiny. It feels at the first glance, that the
word, civilization, comprehends something more extensive,
more complex, something superior to the simple perfection of
the social relations, of social power and happiness.
Fact, public opinion, the generally received meaning of the
term, are in accordance with this instinct.
Take Rome in the palmy days of tile republic, after the
second Punic war, at the time of its greatest-irtues, when it
was marching to the empire of the world, when its social state
was evidently in progress. Then take Rome under Augustus,
at the epoch when her decline began, when, at all events, the
progressive movement of society was arrested, when evil
principles were on the eve of prevailing: yet there is no one
who does not think and say that the Rome of Augustus was
more civilized than the Rome of Fabricius or of Cincinnatus.
Let us transport ourselves beyond thie Alps: let us take
f     tthe France of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries: it is
evident that, in a social point of view, considering the actual
amount and distribution of happiness amongst individuals, the
France of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries was inferior to some other countries of Europe, to I-olland and
to England, for example. I believe that Ain Holland and in
England the social activity was greater, was increasing more
rapidly, distributing its fruit more fully, than in France, yet
ask general good sense, and it will say that the France of the
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries was the most civilized
country in Europe. Europe has not hesitated in her afirmative reply to the question: traces of this public opinion,
as to France, are found in all the monuments of European
literature.




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


11


We might point out many other states in which the prosperity is greater, is of more rapid growth, is better distributed
amongst individuals than elsewhere, and in which, nevertheless, by the spontaneous instinct, the general good sense of
men, the civilization is judged inferior to that of countries
not so well portioned out in a purely social sense.
What does this mean? what advantages do these latter
countries possess? What is it gives them. in the character of
civilized countries, this privilege? what so largely compensates
in the opinign of mankind for what they so lack in other
respects? /
A de elopment other than that if social life has been
gloriously manifested by them; the development of the individual, internal life, the development of man himself, of his
faculties, his sentiments, his ideas. If society with them be
leas perfect than elsewhere, humanity stands forth in more
grandeur and power. There remain, no doubt, many social
conquests to be made; but immense intellectual and moral
conquests are accomplished; worldly goods, social rights, are
wanting to many men; but many great men live and shine
in the eyes of the world. Letters, sciences, the arts, display
all their splendour. Wherever mankind beholds these great
signs, these signs glorified by human nature, wherever it sees
created these treasures of sublime enjoyment, it there recognises and names civilization.
'Two facts, then, are comprehended in this great fact; it
subsists on two conditions, and manifests itself by two symptoms: the development of social activity, and that of individual activity; the progress of society and the progress of
humanity. Wherever the external condition of man extends
itself, vivifies, ameliorates itself; wherever the internal nature
of man displays itself with lustre, with grandeur; at these two
signs, and often despite the profound imperfection of the
social state, mankind with loud applause proclaims civilization.
' Such, if I do not deceive myself, is the result of simple
and purely common-sense examination, of the general opinion
of mankind. If we interrogate history, properly so-called,
if we examine what is the nature of the great crises of civilization, of those facts which, by universal consent, have propelled it onward, we shall constantly recognise one or other




12


HISTORY OF


of the two elements I have just described. They are always
crises of individual or social development, facts which have
changed the internal man, his creed, his manners, or his external condition, his position in his relation with his fellows.
Christianity, for example, not merely on its first appearance,
but during the first stages of its existence, Christianity in no
degree addressed itself to the social state; it announced aloud,
that it would not meddle with the social state; it ordered the
slave to obey his master; it attacked none of the great evils,
the great wrongs of the society of that period. Yet who will
deny that Christianity was a great crisis of civilization? Why
was it so?  Because it changed the internal man, creeds,
sentiments; because it regenerated the moral man, the intellectual man.
We have seen a crisis of another nature, a crisis which addressed itself, not to the internal man, but to his external
condition; one which changed and regenerated society. This
also was assuredly one of the decisive crises of civilization.
Look through all history, you will find everywhere the same
result; you will meet with no important fact instrumental in
the development of civilization, which has not exercised one
or other of the two sorts of influence I have spoken of.
Such, if I mistake not, is the natural and popular meaning of
the term; you have here the fact, I will not say defined, but
described, verified almost completely, or, at all events, in its
general features. We have before us the two elements of
civilization. Now comes the question, would one of these two
suffice to constitute it; would the development of the social
state, the development of the individual man, separately presented, be civilization?  Would the human race recognise it
as such? or have the two facts so intimate and necessary a
relation between them, that if they are not simultaneously
produced, they are notwithstanding inseparable, and sooner
or later one brings on the other.
We might, as it appears to me, approach this question on
three several sides.  We might examine the nature itself of
the two elements of civilization, and ask ourselves whether by
that alone, they are or are not closely united with, and necessary to each other. We might inquire of history whether
they had manifested themselves isolately, apart the one from
the other, or whether they had invariably produced the one


I*




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


13


the other. We may, lastly, consult upon this question the
common opinion of mankind-common sense. I will address
myself first to common sense.
When a great change is accomplished in the state of a
country, when there is operated in it a large development
of wealth and power, a revolution in the distribution of the
social means, this new fact encounters adversaries, undergoes
opposition; this is inevitable. What is the general cry of the
adversaries of the change? They say that this progress of
the social state does not ameliorate, does not regenerate, in
like manner, in a like degree, the moral, the internal state of
man; that it is a false, delusive progress, the result of which
is detrimental to morality, to man. The friends of social development energetically repel this attack; they maintain, on
the contrary, that the progress of society necessarily involves
and carries with it the progress of morality; that when the
external life is better regulated, the internal life is refined
and purified. Thus stands the question between the adversaries and partisans of the new state.
Reverse the hypothesis: suppose the moral development in
progress: what do the labourers in this progress generally
promise? What, in the origin of societies, have promised
the religious rulers, the sages, the poets, who have laboured
to soften and to regulate men's manners?  They have promised the amelioration of the social condition, the more equitable distribution of the social means. What, then, I ask
you, is involved in these disputes, these promises?  What do
they mean? What do they imply?
They imply that in the spontaneous, instinctive conviction
of mankind, the two elements of civilization, the' social development and the moral development, are closely connected
togethert that at sight of the one, man at once looks forward
to the other. It is to this natural instinctive conviction that
those who are maintaining or combating one or other of tl:e
two developments address themselves, when they affirm or
deny their union. It is well understood, that.if we c:n
persuade mankind that the amelioration of the social state will
be adverse to the internal progress of individuals, we shall
have succeeded in decrying and enfeebling the revolution in
operation throughout society. On the other hand, when we
promise mankind the amelioration of society by means of the




14


HISTORY OF


amelioration of the individual, it is well understood that the
tendency is to place faith in these promises, and it is accordingly made use of with success. It is evidently, therefore,
the instinctive belief of humanity, that the movements of
civilization are connected the one with the other, and reciprocally produce the one the other.
If we address ourselves to the history of the world, we
shall receive the same answer.  We shall find that all the
great developments of the internal man have turned to the
profit of society; all the great developments of the social state
to the profit of individual man. We find the one or other of
the two facts predominating, manifesting itself with striking
effect, and impressing upon the movement in progress a distinctive character. It is, sometimes, only after a very long
interval of time, after a thousand obstacles, a thousand transformations, that the second fact, developing itself, comes to
complete the civilization which the first had commenced. But
if you examine them closely, you will soon perceive the bond
which unites them.   The march of Providence is not restricted to narrow limits; it is not bound, and it does not
trouble itself, to follow out to-day the consequences of the
principle which it laid down yesterday. The consequences
will come in due course, when the hour for them has arrived,
perhaps not till hundreds of years have passed away; though
its reasoning may appear to us slow, its logic is none the less
true and sound. To Providence, time is as nothing; it strides
through time as the gods of Homer through space: it makes
but one step, and ages have vanished behind it. How many
centuries, what infinite events passed away before the regene
ration of the moral man by Christianity exercised upon the
regeneration of the social state its great and legitimate influence. Yet who will deny that it any the less succeeded?
If from history we extend our inquiries to the nature itself
of the two facts which constitute civilization, we are infallibly
led to the same result. There is no one who has not experienced this in his own case. When a moral change is operated in man, when he acquires an idea, or a virtue, or a
faculty, more than he had before-in a word, when he develops himself individually, what is the desire, what the want,
which at the same moment takes possession of him? It
is the desire, the want, to communicate the new senti



CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


ment to the world about him, to give realization to his
thoughts externally. As soon as a man acquires anything,
is soon as his being takes in his own conviction a new deve-:opment, assumes an additional value, forthwith he attaches;o this new development, this fresh value, the idea of posses-;ion; he feels himself impelled, compelled, by his instinct, by
n inward voice, to extend to others the change, the amelioration, which has been accomplished in his own person. We
owe the great reformers solely to this cause; the mighty men
who have changed the face of the world, after having changed
themselves, were urged onward, were guided on their course,
by no other want than this. So much for the alteration
which is operated in the internal man; now to the other. A
revolution is accomplished in the state of society; it is better
regulated, rights and property are more equitably distributed
among its members-that is to say, the aspect of the world
becomes purer and more beautiful, the action of government,
the conduct of men in their mutual relations, more just, more
benevolent. Do you suppose that this improved aspect of
the world, this amelioration of external facts, does not re-act
upon the interior of man, upon humanity? All that is said
as to the authority of examples, of customs, of noble models,
is founded upon this only: that an —external fact, good, wellregulated, leads sooner or later, more or less completely, to
an internal fact of the same nature, the same merit; that a
world better regulated, a world more just, renders man himself more just; that the inward is reformed by the outward,
as the outward by the inward; that the two elements of civilization are closely connected the one with the other; that
centuries, that obstacles of all sorts, may interpose between
them; that it is possible they may have to undergo a thousand transformations, in order to regain each other; but
sooner or later they will rejoin each other: this is the law
of their nature, the general fact of history, the instinctive faith
of the human race.
I think I have thus-not exhausted the subject, very far
from it-but, exhibited in a well-nigh complete, though cursory manner, the fact of civilization; I think I have described
it, settled its limits, and stated the principal, the fundamental
questions to which it gives rise. I might. stop here; but I
cannot help touching upon a question which meets me at-this
point; one of those questions which are not historical ques



16


HISTORY OF


tions, properly so called; which are questions, I will not call
them hypothetical, but conjectural; questions of which man
holds but one end, the other end being permanently beyond
his reach; questions of which he cannot make the circuit, nor
view on more than one side; and yet questions not the less
real, not the less calling upon him for thought; for they present themselves before him, despite of himself, at every
moment.
Of those two developments of which we have spoken, and
which constitute the fact of civilization, the development of
society on the one hand and of humanity on the other, which
is the end, which is the means?  Is it to perfect his social
condition, to ameliorate his existence on earth, that man develops himself, his faculties, sentiments, ideas, his whole
being?-or rather, is not the amelioration of the social condition, the progress of society, society itself, the theatre, the
occasion, the mobile, of the development of the individual, in a
word, is society made to serve the individual, or the individual
to serve society? On the answer to this question inevitably
depends that whether the destiny of man is purely social;
whether society drains up and exhausts the whole man; or
whether he bears within him something extrinsic-something
superior to his existence on earth.
A man, whom I am proud to call my friend, a man who
has passed through meetings like our own to assume the first
place in assemblies less peaceable and more powerful; a man,
all whose words are engraven on the hearts of those who hear
them, M. Royer-Collard, has solved this question according,
to his own conviction at least, in his speech on the Sacrilege
Bill. I find in that speech these two sentences: " Human
societies are born, live, and die, on the earth; it is there their
destinies are accomplished...... But they contain not the
whole man. After he has engaged himself to society, there
remains to him the noblest part of himself, those high faculties
by which he elevates himself to God, to a future life, to
unknown felicity in an invisible world....... We, persons
individual and identical, veritable beings endowed with immortality, we have a diiferent destiny from that of states."'
I will add nothing to this; I will not undertake to treat the
l Opinion de M. Royer-Collard sur le Projet de Loi relatif au Sacrilege,
pp. 7, 17.




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


17


question itself; I content myself with stating it. It is met
with at the history of civilization: when the history of civilization is completed, when there is nothing more to say as to
our present existence, man inevitably asks himself whether
all is exhausted, whether he has reached the end of all things?
This, then, is the last, the highest of all those problems to
which the history of civilization can lead. It is sufficient for
me to have indicated its position and its grandeur.
From all I have said, it is evident that the history of civilization might be treated in two methods, drawn from two
sources, considered under two different aspects. The historian
might place himself in the heart of the human mind for a
given period, a series of ages, or among a determinate people;
lie might study, describe, relate, all the events, all the transformations. all the revolutions, which had been accomplished
in the internal man; and when lie should arrive at the
end, lie would have a history of civilization amongst the
people, and in the period hle had selected. Ie may proceed
in another manner: instead of' penetrating the internal man,
lie may take his stand-he may place himself in the midst of
the world; instead of describing the vicissitudes of the ideas,
the sentiments, of the individual being, he may describe external facts, the events, the changes of the social state. These
two portions, fiese two histories of civilization, are closely
connected with each other; they are the reflection, the image
of each other. Yet, they may be separated; perhaps, indeed,
they ought to be so, at least at the onset, in order that both
the one and the other may be treated of in detail, and with
perspicuity. For my part, I do not propose to study with
you the history of civilization in the interior of the human
soul; it is the history of external events, of the visible and
social world that I shall occupy myself with. I had wished,
indeed, to exhibit to you the whole fact of civilization, such. as
I can conceive it in all its complexity and extent, to set forth
before you all the high questions which may arise fiom it.
At present, I restrict myself; mark out my field of inquiry
within narrower limits; it is only the history of the social
state that I purpose investigating.
We shall begin by seeking all the elements of European
civilization in its cradle, at the fall of the Romyan empire;
C




18


IHISTORY OF


we will study with attention society, such as it was, in the
midst of those famous ruins.  We will endeavour, not to resuscitate, but to place its elements side by side; and when we
have done so, we will endeavour to make them move, and
follow them in their developments through the fifteen centuries which have elapsed since that epoch.
I believe that when we have got but a very little way into
this study, we shall acquire the conviction that civilization is
as yet very young; that the world has by no means as yet
measured the whole of its career. Assuredly human thought
is at this time very far from being all that it is capable of
becoming; we are very far from comprehending the whole
future of humanity: let each of us descend into his own
mind, let him interrogate himself as to the utmost possible
good he has formed a conception of and hopes for; let him
then compare his idea with what actually exists in the world;
he will be convinced that society and civilization are very
young; that notwithstanding the length of the road they have
come, they have incomparably further to go. This will lessen
nothing of the pleasure that we shall take in the contemplation of our actual condition. As I endeavour to place
before you the great crises in the history of civilization in
Europe during the last fifteen centuries, you will see to what
a degree, even up to our own days, the condition of man has
been laborious, stormy, not only in the outward and social
state, but inwardly, in the life of.the soul. During all those
ages, the human mind has had to suffer as much as the human
race; you will see that in modern times, for the first time,
perhaps, the human mind has attained a state, as yet very
imperfect, but still a state in which reigns some peace, some
harmony. It is the same with society; it has evidently made
immense progress; the human condition is easy and just,
compared with what it was previously; we may almost, when
thinking of our ancestors, apply to ourselves the verses of
Lucretius:"Suave mari magno, turbantibus equora ventis,
E ter:-a magnum aiterius spectare laborem."1
"'Tis pleasant, in a great storm, to contemplate, fiom a safe position on
shore. the perils of some ships tossed about by the furious winds and the
stormy Geean."




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


19


We may say of ourselves, without too much pride, as Sthe.
nelus in lomner:HtLECS Tt7i rTlrtpo:W tLy' atiEivOVE EV 'jX(6pe' flvat.1
Let us be careful, however, not to give ourselves up
too much to tle idea of our happiness and amelioration, or
we may fall into two grave dangers, pride and indolence; we
may conceive an over-confidence in the power and success
of the human nind, in our own enlightenment, and, at the
same time, suffer ourselves to become enervated by the luxurious ease of our condition. It appears to me that we are
constantly fluctuating between a tendency to complain upon
light grounds, on the one hand, and to be content without
reason, on the other. We have a susceptibility of spirit, a
craving, an unlimited ambition in the thought, in our desire,
in the movement of the imagination; but when it comes to
the practical work of life, when we are called upon to give
ourselves any trouble, to make any sacrifices, to use any
efforts to attain the object, our arms fall down listlessly by
our sides, and we give the matter up in despair, with a
fiacility equalled only by the impatience with which we had
previously desired its attainment.  We must beware how we
allow ourselves to yield to either of these defects. Let us
accustom ourselves duly to estimate beforehand the extent of
our force, our capacity, our knowledge; and let us aim at
nothing which we feel we cannot attain legitimately, justly,
regularly, and with unfailing regard to the principles upon
which our civilization itself rests. We seem at times tempted
to adopt the very principles which, as a general rule, we
assail and hold up to scorn-the principles, the right of the
strongest of barbarian Europe; the brute force, the violence,
the downright lying which were matters of course, of daily
occurrence, four or five lhndred years ago. But when we
yield for a moment to this desire, we find in ourselves neither
the perseverance nor the savage energy of the menl of that
period, who, suffering greatly from their conditior, were naturally anxious, and incessantly essaying, to emancip)ate tlhermselves from it.  We, of the present day, are content with our
1 " Thank Heaven, we are infinitely better than those v'ho went before
118. '
c2




20                    HISTORY OF
condition; let us not expose it to danger by indulging in
vague desires, the time for realizing which has not come.
Much has been given to us, much will be required of us; we
must render to posterity a strict account of our conduct; the
public, the government, all are now subjected to discussion,
examination, responsibility. Let us attach ourselves firmly,
faithfully, undeviatingly, to the principles of our civilization-justice, legality, publicity, liberty; and let us never
forget, that while we ourselves require, and with reason,
that all things shall be open to our inspection and inquiry,
we ourselves are under the eye of the world, and shall, in our
turn, be discussed, be judged.




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


21


SECOND LECTURE.
lPulrpose of the lecture-Unity of ancient civilization-Variety of modern
civilization-Its superiority-Corrdition of Europe at the fall of the
Roman empire-Preponderance of the towns-Attempt at political reform
by the emperors-Rescript of Honorius and of Theodosius II.-Power
of the name of the Empire-The Christian church-The various stages
through which it had passed at the fifth century-The clergy exercising
municipal functions-Good and evil influence of the church-The barbarians-They introduce into the modern world the sentiments of personal independence, and the devotion of man to man-Summary of the
different elements of civilization in the beginning of the fifth century.
IN meditating the plan of the course with which I propose
to present you, I am  fearful lest my lectures should possess
the double inconvenience of being very long, by reason of the
necessity of condensing much matter into little space, and,
at the same time, of being too concise.
I dread yet another difficulty, originating in the same
cause: the necessity, namely, of sometimes making affirmations
without proving them.    This is also the result of the narrow
space to which I find myself confined.      There will occur
ideas and assertions of which the confirmation must be postponed.   I hope you will pardon me for sometimes placing
you under the necessity of believing me upon my bare word.
I come even now to an occasion of imposing upon you this
necessity.
I have endeavoured, in the preceding lecture, to explain
the fact of civilization in general, without speaking of any
particular civilization, without regarding circumstance of time
and place, considering the fact in itself, and under a purely




22


IIISTORY OF


philosophical point of view. I come, to-day, to the history
of European civilization; but before entering upon the narrative itself; I wish to make you acquainted, in a general
manner, with the particular physiognomy of this civilization;
I desire to characterize it so clearly to you, that it may appear
to you perfectly distinct from all other civilizations which
have developed themselves in the world. This I am going to
attempt, more than which I dare not say; but I can only
affirm it, unless I could succeed in depicting European society
with such faithfulness, that you should instantly recognise it
as a portrait. But of this I dare not flatter myself.
When we regard the civilizations which have preceded that
of modern Europe, whether in Asia or elsewhere, including
even Greek and Roman civilization, it is impossible to help
being struck with the unity which pervades them. They
seem to have emanated from a single fact, from a single idea;
one might say that society has attached itself to a solitary
dominant principle, which has determined its institutions, its
customs, its creeds, in one word, all its developments.
In Egypt, for instance, it was the theocratic principle which
pervaded the entire community; it reproduced itself in the
customs, in the monuments, and in all that remains to us of
Egyptian civilization.  In India, you will discover the same
fact; there is still the almost exclusive dominion of the theocratic principle. Elsewhere you will meet with another
organizing principle-the domination of a victorious caste;
the principle of force will here alone possess society, imposing
thereupon its laws and its character. Elsewhere, society will
be the expression of the democratic principle; it has been
thus with the commercial republics which have covered the
coasts of Asia Minor and of Syria, in Ionia, in Phenicia.
In short, when we contemplate ancient civilizations, we find
them stamped with a singular character of unity in their
institutions, their ideas, and their manners; a sole, or, at
least, a strongly preponderating force governs and determines all.
I do not mean to say that this unity of principle and form
in the civilization of these states has always prevailed therein.
When we go back to their earlier history, we find that the
various powers which may develop themselves in the heart




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


23


of a society, have often contended for empire. Among the
Egyptians, the Etruscans, the Greeks themselves, &c., the
order of warriors, for example, has struggled against that of
the priests; elsewhere, the spirit of clanship has struggled
against that of free association; the aristocratic against the
popular system, &c. But it has generally been in antehistorical times that such struggles have occurred; and thus
only a vague recollection has remained of them.
The struggle has sometimes reproduced itself in the course
of the existence of nations; but, almost invariably, it has
soon been terminated; one of the powers that disputed for
empire has soon gained it, and taken sole possession of the
society. The war has always terminated by the, if not exclusive, at least largely preponderating, domination of some particular principle. The co-existence and the combat of different
principles have never, in the history of these peoples, been
more than a transitory crisis, an accident.
The result of this has been a remarkable simplicity in the
majority of ancient civilizations. This simplicity has produced
different consequences. Sometimes, as in Greece, the simplicity of the social principle has led to a wonderfully rapid
development; never has any people unfolded itself in so
short a period, with such brilliant effect. But after this
astonishing flight, Greece seemed suddenly exhausted; its
decay, if it was not so rapid as its rise, was nevertheless
strangely prompt. It seems that the creative force of the
principle of Greek civilization was exhausted; no other has
come to renew it.
Elsewhere, in Egypt and in India, for instance, the unity
of the principle of civilization has had a different effect;
society has fallen into a stationary condition. Simplicity has
brought monotony; the country has not been destroyed,
society has continued to exist, but motionless, and as if
frozen.
It is to the same cause that we must attribute the character
of tyranny which appeared in the name of principle and
under the most various forms, among all the ancient civilizations. Society belonged to an exclusive power, which would
allow of the existence of none other. Every differing tendency was proscribed and hunted down. Never has the




24


HISTORY OF


ruling principle chosen to admit beside it the manifestation
and action of a different prilliple.
This character of unity of civilization is equally stamped
upon literature and the works of the mind. Who is unacquainted with the monuments of Indian literature, which have
lately been distributed over Europe?  It is impossible not to
see that they are all cast in the same mould; they seem all to
be the result of the same fact, tie expression of the same
idea; works of religion or morals, historical traditions, dramatic
and epic poetry, everywhere the same character is stamped;
the productions of the mind bear the same character of simplicity and of monotony which appears in events and institutions.  Even in Greece, in the centre of all the riches of
the human intellect, a singular uniformity reigns in literature and in the arts.
It has been wholly otherwise with the civilization of modern
Europe.  Without entering into details, look upon it, gather
together your recollections: it will immediately appear to you
varied, confused, stormy; all forms, all principles of social
organization coexist therein; powers spiritual and temporal;
'elements theocratic, monarchical, aristocratic, democratic; all
'iOders, all social arrangements mingle and press upon one
another; there are infinite degrees of liberty, wealth, and influence.  These various forces are in a state of continual
strugrgle among themselves, yet no one succeeds in stifling
the others, and taking possession of society.  In ancient times,
at every great epoch, all societies seemed cast in the same
mould: it is sometimes pure monarchy, sometimes theocracy or
democracy, that prevails; but each, in its turn, prevails completely. Modern Europe presents us with examples of all
systems, of all experiments of social organization; pure or
mixed monarchies, theocracies, republics, more or less aristocratic, have thus thrived simultaneously, one beside the
other; and, notwithstanding their diversity, they have all a
certain resemblance, a certain family likeness, which it is impossible to mistake. 
In the ideas and sentiments of Europe there is the same
variety, the same struggle.   The theocratic, monarchic,
aristocratic, and popular creeds, cross, combat, limit, and
modify each other. Open the boldest writings of the middle




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


25


ages; never there is an idea followed out to its last consequences. The partisans of absolute power recoil suddenly
and unconsciously before the results of their own doctrine;
they perceive around them ideas and influences which arrest
them, and prevent them from going to extremities. The
democrats obey the same law. On neither part exists that
imperturbable audacity, that blind determination of logic,
which show themselves in ancient civilizations. The sentiments offer the same contrasts, the same variety; an energetic
love of independence, side by side with a great facility of
submission; a singular faithfulness of man to man, and, at the
same time, an uncontrollable wish to exert free will, to shake
off every yoke, and to live for oneself;, without caring for
any other. The souls of men are as different, as agitated as
society.
The same character discovers itself in modern literatures. I We cannot but agree that, as regards artistic form
and beauty, they are very much inferior to ancient literature;
but, as regards depth of sentiment and of ideas, they are far
more rich and vigorous. We see that the human soul has
been moved upon a greater number of points, and to a greater
depth. Imperfection of form results from this very cause.
The richer and more numerous the materials, the more difficult it is to reduce them to a pure and simple form. That
which constitutes the beauty of a composition, of that which
we call form, in works of art, is clearness, simplicity, and a
symbolic unity of workmanship. With the prodigious diversity of the ideas and sentiments of European civilization, it
has been much more difficult to arrive at this simplicity, this
clearness.
On all sides, then, this predominant character of modern
civilization discovers itself:  It has, no doubt, had this disadvantage, that, when we consider separately such or such a
particular development of the human mind in letters, in the
arts, in all directions in which it can advance, we usually
find it inferior to the corresponding development in ancient
civilizations; but, on the other hand, when we regard it in
the aggregate, European civilization shows itself incomparably
richer than any other; it has displayed, at one and the same
time, many more different developments. Consequently, you




26


HISTORY OF


find that it has existed fifteen centuries, and yet is still in a
state of continuous progression; it has not advanced nearly so
rapidly as the Greek civilization, but its progress has never
ceased to grow. It catches a glimpse of the vast career which
lies before it, and day after day it shoots forward more rapidly,
because more and more of freedom   attends its movements.
Whilst, in other civilizations, the exclusive, or, at least, the
excessively preponderating dominion of a single principle, of
a single form, has been the cause of tyranny, in modern
Europe, the diversity of elements, which constitute the social
order, the impossibility under which they have been placed
of excluding each other, have given birth to the freedom
which prevails in the present day. Not having been able to
exterminate each other, it has become necessary that various
principles should exist together,-that they should make between them a sort of compact. Each has agreed to undertake
that portion of the development which may fall to its share;
and whilst elsewhere the predominance of a principle produced
tyranny, in Europe liberty has been the result of the variety
of the elements of civilization, and of the state of struggle in
which they have constantly existed.
This constitutes a real and an immense superiority; and if
we investigate yet further, if we penetrate beyond external
facts into the nature of things, we shall discover that this
superiority is legitimate, and acknowledged by reason as
well as proclaimed by facts.  Forgetting for a moment European civilization, let us turn our attention to the world in
general, on the general course of terrestrial things.  What
character do we find?  How goes the world?  It moves precisely witl this diversity and variety of elements, a prey to
this constant struggle which we have remarked in European
civilization.  Evidently it has not been permitted to any
single principle, to any particular organization, to any single
idea, or to any special force, that it should possess itself of
the world, moulding it once for all, destroying all other
influences to reign therein itself exclusively.
Various powers, principles, and systems mingle, limit each
other, and struggle without ceasing, in turn predominating, or predominated over, never entirely conquered or conquering. A variety of forms, of ideas, and of principles, then,




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


27


struggles, their efforts after a certain unity, a certain ideal
which perhaps can never be attained, but to which the human
race tends by freedom and work; these constitute the general
condition of the world. European civilization is, therefore, the
faithful image of the world: like the course of things in the
world, it is neither narrow, exclusive, nor stationary. For the
first time, I believe, the character of specialty has vanished
from civilization; for the first time it is developed as variously,
as richly, as laboriously, as the great drama of the universe.
European civilization has entered, if we may so speak, into
the eternal truth, into the plan of Providence; it progresses
according to the intentions of God. This is the rational account of its superiority.
I am  desirous that this fundamental and distinguishing
character of European civilization should continue present
to your minds during the course of our labours. At present I can only make the affirmation: the development of
facts must furnish the proof. It will, nevertheless, you will
agree, be a strong confirmation of my assertion, if we find,
even in the cradle of our civilization, the causes and the
elements of the character which I have just attributed to
it; if, at the moment of its birth, at the moment of the fall
of the Roman empire, we recognise in the state of the world,
in the facts that, from the earliest times, have concurred to
form European civilization, the principle of this agitated
but fruitful diversity which distinguishes it. I am about to
attempt this investigation. I shall examine the condition of
Europe at the fall of the Roman empire, and seek to discover, from institutions, creeds, ideas, and sentiments, what
were the elements bequeathed by the ancient to the modern
world. If, in these elements, we shall already find impressed
the character which I have just described, it will have
acquired with you, from this time forth, a high degree of
probability.
First of all, we must clearly represent to ourselves the
nature of the Roman empire, and how it was formed.
Rome was, in its origin, only a municipality, a corporation. The government of Rome was merely the aggregate of
the institutions which were suited to a population confined




28


HISTORY OF


within the walls of a city: these were municipal institutions,
-that is their distinguishing character.
This was not the case with Rome only. If we turn our
attention to Italy, at this period, we find around Rome
nothing but towns. That which was then called a people
was simply a confederation of towns. The Latin people was
a confederation of Latin towns. The Etruscans, the Samnites,
the Sabines, the people of Gracia Mlagna, may all be described
in the same terms.
There was, at this time, no country-that is to say, the
country was wholly unlike that which at present exists; it
was cultivated, as was necessary, but it was uninhabited.
The proprietors of lands were the inhabitants of the towns.
They went forth to superintend their country properties, and
often took with them a certain number of slaves; but that
which we at present call the country, that thin populationsometimes in isolated habitations, sometimes in villageswhich everywhere covers the soil, was a fact almost unknown
in ancient Italy.
When Rome extended itself, what did she do?  Follow
history, and you will see that she conquered or founded
towns; it was against towns that she fought, with towns that
she contracted alliances; it was also into towns that she sent
colonies. The history of the conquest of the world by Rome
is the history of the conquest and foundation of a great
number of towns. In the East, the extension of Roman
dominion does not carry altogether this aspect: the population there was otherwise distributed than in the West-it was
much less concentrated in towns. But as we have to do here
with the European population, what occurred in the East is
of little interest to us.
Confining ourselves to the West, we everywhere discover
the fact to which I have directed your attention. In Gaul,
in Spain, you meet with nothing but towns.  At a distance from the towns, the territory is covered with marshes
and forests. Examine the character of the Roman monuments, of the Roman roads. You have great roads, which
reach from one city to another; the multiplicity of minor
roads, which now cross the country in all directions, was
then unknown; you have nothing resembling that countless




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


29


number of villages, country seats, and churches, which have
been scattered over the country since the middle ages. Rome
has left us nothing but immense monuments, stamped with
the municipal character, and destined for a numerous population collected upon one spot.  Under whatever point of
view you consider the Roman world, you will find this almost
exclusive preponderance of towns, and the social non-existence of the country.
This municipal character of the Roman world evidently
rendered unity, the social bond of a great state, extremely
difficult to establish and maintain.  A  municipality like
Rome had been able to conquer the world, but it was much
less easy to govern and organize it. Thus, when the work
appeared completed, when all the West, and a great part of
the East, had fallen under Roman dominion, you behold this
prodigious number of cities, of little states, made for isolation
and independence, disunite, detach themselves, and escape, so
to speak, in all directions. This was one of the causes which
rendered necessary the Empire, a form of government more
concentrated, more capable of holding together elements so
slightly coherent.  The Empire endeavoured to introduce
unity and combination into this scattered society. It succeeded up to a certain point. It was between the reigns
of Augustus and Diocletian that, at the same time that civil
legislation developed itself, there became established the vast
system of administrative despotism which spread over the
Roman world a network of functionaries, hierarchically distributed, well linked together, both among themselves and with
tie imperial court, and solely applied to rendering effective
in society the will of power, and in transferring to power the
tributes and energies of society.
And not only did this system succeed in rallying and
in holding together the elements of the Roman world, but
the idea of despotism, of central power, penetrated minds
with a singular facility. We are astonished to behold rapidly
prevailing throughout this ill-united assemblage of petty republics, this association of municipalities, a reverence for the
imperial majesty alone, august and sacred. The necessity of
establishing some bond between all these portions of the
Roman world must have been very pressing, to ensure so




30


HISTORY OF


easy an access to the mind for the faith and almost the
sentiments of despotism.
It was with these creeds, with this administrative organization, and with tile military organization whicl w-as combined
with it, tllat the Roman empire stru-ggled against the dissolution at work inwardly, and against tile invasion of the
barbarians froml without. It struggled for a long time, in a
continual state of decay, but always defending itself. At last
a moment came in which dissolution prevailed: neither the
skill of despotism nor tile indifference of servitude sufficed to
support this huge body. In the fourth century it everywhere
disunited and dismembered itself; the barbarians entered on
all sides; the provinces no longer resisted, no longer troubled
themselves concerning tile general destiny. At this time, a
singular idea suggested itself to some of the emperors: they
desired to try whether hopes of' general liberty, a confederation-a system analogous to that which, in the present day,
we call representative government-would not better defend
the unity of' the Roman empire than despotic administration.
Here is a rescript of' lIonorius and Theodosius the younger,
addressed, in tlle year 418, to the prefect of Gaul, the only
purIpose of which was to attempt to establish in tile south of
Gaul a sort of representative government, and, with its aid,
to maintain the unity of the empire.
"Rescript of the emperors ITonorius and Theodosius the
younger, addressed, in tile year 418, to the prefect of
thle Gauls, sitting in the town of Arles.
" Honorius and Theodosius, Augusti, to Agricola, prefect
of tile Gauls:
Upon the satisfactory statement that your Magnificence
has made to us, among other information palpably advantageous to the state, we decree the force of law in perpetuity
to the following ordinances, to -which the inhabitants of our
seven provinces will owe obedience, they being such that
they themselves might have desired and demanded them.
Seeing that persons in office, or special deputies, firom motives
of public or private utility, not only from each of the provinces, but also from every town, often present themselves
before your Magnificence, either to render accounts or to




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


31


treat of things relative to the interest of proprietors, we have
judged that it would be a seasonable and profitable thing that,
from the date of the present year, there should be annually,
at a fixed time, an assemblage held in the metropolis-that is,
in the town of Arles, for the inhabitants of the seven
provinces.  By this institution we have in view to provide
equally for general and particular interests.  In the first
place, by the meeting of the most notable of the inhabitants
in the illustrious presence of the prefect, if motives of public
order have not called him elsewhere, the best possible information may be gained upon every subject under deliberation.
Nothing of that which will have been treated of and decided
upon, after a ripe consideration, will escape the knowledge of
any of the provinces, and those who shall not have been present at the assembly will be bound to follow the same rules of
justice and equity.  Moreover, in ordaining that an annual
assembly be held in the city of' Constantinc,1 we believe that
we are doing a thing not only advantageous to tile public good,
but also adapted to multiply social relations. Indeed, the city
is so advantageously situated, strangers come there in such
numbers, and it enjoys such an extensive commerce, that
everything finds its way there which grows or is manufactured
in other places. All admirable tilngs that the rich East,
perfimcd Arabia, delicate Assyria, fertile Africa, beautiful
Spain, valiant Gaul produce, abound in this place with such
profusion, that whatever is esteecied magnificent in the
various parts of the world seems there the produce of the
soil. Besides, the junction of the Rhone with the Tuscan sea
approximates and renders almost neighbours those countries
which the first traverses, and the second bathes in its windings.  Thus, since the entire earth places at the service of
this city all that it has most worthy-since the peculiar productions of all countries are transported hither by land, by
sea, and by the course of rivers, by help of sails, of oars, and of
waggons-how can our Gaul do otherwise than behold a benefit
in the command which we give to convoke a public assembly
in a city, wherein are united, as it were, by the gift of God, all
the enjoyments of life, and all the facilities of commerce?
I Constantine the Great hadl a singular liking for the town of Arles. It
was he who established there tlhe seat of tile Gaulish prefecture; lie desired
also that it should bear his name, but custom prevailed against his wish.




'HISTORY OF


"The illustrious prefect Petronius,l through a laudable and
reasonable motive, formerly commanded that this custom
should be observed; but as the practice thereof was interrupted by the confusion of the times, and by the reign of
usurpers, we have resolved to revive it in vigour by the
authority of our wisdom.    Thus, then, dear and beloved
cousin Agricola, your illustrious Magnificence, conforming
yourself to our present ordinance, and to the custom established by your predecessors, will cause to be observed
throughout the provinces the following rules:
"' Let all persons, who are honoured with public functions,
or who are proprietors of domains, and all judges of provinces,
be informed that, each year, they are to assemble in council in
the city of Aries, between the ides of August and those of
September, the days of convocation and of sitting being determined( at their pleasure.
"' Novem Populinia and the second Aquitaine, being the
most distant provinces, should their judges be detained by
indispensable occupations, may send deputies in their place,
according to custom.
"' Those who shall neglect to appear at the place assigned
and at the time appointed, shall pay a fine, which, for the
judges, shall be five pounds of gold, and three pounds for the
members of the curice2 and other dignitaries.'
" We propose, by this means, to confer great advantages
and favour on the inhabitants of our provinces.  We feel,
also, assured of adding to the ornaments of the city of Arles,
to the fidelity of which we are so much indebted, according
to our brother and patrician.3
"Given on the 1lth of the calends of May; received at
Aries on the 10th of the calends of June."
The provinces and the towns refused the benefit; no
one would nominate the deputies, no one would go to Aries.
Centralizaticn and unity were contrary to the primitive character of that society; the local and munificent spirit reappeared everywhere, and tlhe impossibility of reconstituting
1 Petronius was prefect of the Gauls between the years 402( and 108.
2 The municipal bodies of Romanl towns were called curice, and the members of those bodies, who were very numerous, were called curialcs.
a Constantine, the second husband of Placidius, whom IIonorius had
chosen for cAllcague in 421.




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


33


a general society or country became evident. The towns
confined themselves, each to its own walls and its own
affairs, and the empire fell because none wished to be of the
empire, because citizens desired to be only of their own city.
Thus we again discover, at the fall of the Roman empire, the
same fact which we have detected in the cradle of Rome,
namely, the predominance of' the municipal form and spirit.
'The Roman world had returned to its first condition; towns
had constituted it; it dissolved; and towns remained.
In the municipal system we sec what ancient Roman
civilization has bequeathed to modern Europe; that system
was very irregular, much weakened,- and far inferior, no
doubt, to what it had been in earlier times; but, nevertheless,
the only real, the only constituted system whiclh had outlived
all the elements of the Roman world.
VtVWhen I say alone, I make a mistake. Another fact,
another idea equally survived: the idea of tlhe empire, the
name of emrperor, the idea of imperial majesty, of' an absolute and sacred power attached to the name of emperor.
These are the elements which Roman has transmitted to
European civilization; upon one hand, the municipal system,
its habits, rules, precedents, the principle of freedom; on the
other, a general and uniform civil legislation, tlhe idea of
absolute power, of sacred majesty, of tile emperor, the principle of order and subjection.
IBut there was formed at the same time, in the heart of
the Roman society, a society of a very diff:rcent nature,
founded upon totally diffirent principles, animated by different sentiments, a society whlicih was about to infuse into
modern European society elements of a character wholly
different; I speak of the Christian church,. I say, the Christian churche, and not Christianity. At the end of the fourth
and at the beginning of the fifth century, Christianity was
no longer merely an individual belief, it was an institution;
it was constituted; it hlad its government, a clergy, an
hierarchy calculated for the different functions of the clergy,
revenues, means of independent action, rallying   poin:ts
suited for a great society, provincial, national, and general
councils, and the custom of' debating in common upon the
affairs of the society. In a word, Christianity, at this epoch,
was not only a religion, it was also a church.
D




34


HISTORY OF


Had it not been a church, I cannot say what might
have happened to it amid the fall of the Roman empire. I
confine myself to simply human considerations; I put aside
every element which is foreign to the natural consequences of
natural facts: had Christianity been, as in the earlier times,
no more than a belief, a sentiment, an individual conviction,
we may believe that it would have sunk amidst the dissolution
of the empire, and the invasion of the barbarians. In later
times, in Asia and in all the north of Africa, it sunk under
an invasion of the same nature, under the invasion of the
Moslem barbarians; it sunk then, although it subsisted in the
form of an institution, or constituted church. With much
more reason might the same thing have happened at the
moment of the fall of the Roman empire. Th'ere existed, at
that time, none of those means by which, in the present
day. moral influences establish themselves or offer resistance,
independently of institutions; none of those means whereby a
pure truth, a pure idea obtains a great empire over minds,
governs actions, and determines events. Nothing of the kind
existed in the fourth century to give a like authority to ideas
and to personal sentiments. It is clear that a society strongly
organized and strongly governed, was indispensable to struggle
against such a disaster, and to issue victorious from such a
storm. I do not think that I say more than the truth in
affirming that at the end of the fourth and the commencement
of tle fifth centuries it was the Christian church that saved
Christianity; it was the church with its institutions, its
magistrates, and its power, that vigorously resisted the internal dissolution of the empire and barbarism; that conquered
the barbarians and became the bond, the medium, and the
principle of civilization between the Roman and barbarian
worlds. It is, then, the condition of the church rather than
that of religion, properly so called, that we must look to, in
order to discover what Christianity has, since then, added
to modern civilization, and what new elements it has introduced therein.  What was the Christian church at that
period?
When we consider, always under a purely human point of
view, the various revolutions which have accomplished themselves during the development of Christianity, from the time
of its origin up to the fifth century; if, I repeat, we consider




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


35


it simply as a community and not as a religious creed, we
find that it passed through three essentially different states.
In the very earliest period, the Christian society presents
itself as a simple association of a common creed and common
sentiments; the first Christians united to enjoy together the
same emotions, and the same religious convictions. We find
among them no system of determinate doctrines, no rules,
no discipline, no body of magistrates.
Of course, no society, however newly born, however
weakly constituted it may be, exists without a moral power
which animates and directs it. In the various Christian congregations there were men who preached, taught, and morally
governed the congregation, but there was no formal magistrate, no recognised discipline; a simple association caused
by a community of creed and sentiments was the primitive
condition of the Christian society.
In proportion as it advanced-and very speedily,,ince
traces are visible in the earliest monuments-a body of doctrines, of rules, of discipline, and of magistrates, began to
appear; one kind of magistrates were called Trpe;vrEpot, or
ancients, who became the priests; another, TrtK-'oTrot, or inspectors, or superintendents, who became bishops; a third
&taKovot, or deacons, who were charged with the care of the
poor, and with the distribution of alms.
It is scarcely possible to determine what were the precise
functions of these various magistrates; the line of demarcation
was probably very vague and variable, but what is clear is
that an establishment was organized.  Still, a peculiar character prevails in this second period: the preponderance
and rule belonged to the body of the faithful. It was the
body of the faithful which prevailed, both as to tie choice of
functionaries, and as to the adoption of discipline, and even
doctrine. The church government and the Christian people
were not as yet separated.  They did not exist apart from,
and independently of, one another; and the Christian people
exercised the principal influence in the society.
In the third period all was different. A clergy existed
who were distinct from the people, a body of priests who had
their own riches, jurisdiction, and peculiar constitution;
in a word, an entire government, which in itself was a complete society, a society provided with all the means of exD2




36


HISTORY OF


istence, independently of the society to which it had reference, and over which it extended its influence.  Such was the
third stage of the constitution of the Christian church; such
was the form in which it appeared at the beginning of the
fifth century. The government was not completely separated
from  the people; there has never been a parallel kind of
government, and less in religious matters than in any others;
but in the relations of the clergy to the faithful, the clergy
ruled almost without control.
The Christian clergy had moreover another and very different source of influence.  The bishops and the priests
became the principal municipal magistrates.  You have seen,
that of the Roman empire there remained, properly speaking,
nothing but the municipal system. It had happened, from
the vexations of despotism and the ruin of the towns, that
the curiales, or members of the municipal bodies, had become
discouraged and apathetic; on the contrary, the bishops, and
the body of priests, full of life and zeal, offered themselves
naturally for tile superintendence and direction of all matters.
We should be wrong to reproach them for this, to tax them
with usurpation; it was all in the natural course of things;
the clergy alone were morally strong and anilmated; they
became everywhere powerful.    Such is the law of the universe.
The marks of this revolution, are visible in all the legislation of the emperors at this period.  If you open tlme code,
either of Theodosius or of' Justinian, you will iilnd numerous
regulations vwhich remit municipal aflairs to the clergy and
the bislhops. llere are some of them:
"C Cod. Just. I. 1. tit. IV., de episcopali audlictfi. ~ 26.With respect to the yearly affairs of' cities, -whether they
concern the ordinary revenues of tile city, either from funds
arising from the property of the city, or firom private gifts or
legacies, or fiorm any other source; whether public works, or
dep(ts of provisions, or aqueducts, or the mahitenance of
baths, or ports, or the construction of walls or towers, or the
repairing of bridges or roads, or trials in wllich the city may
be engaged in reference to public or private interests, we ordain
as follows:-Tlie very pious bishop, and three notables chosen
from amongst the first men of the city, shall meet together;
they shall, each year, examine the works done; they shall take




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


37


care that those who conduct them, or who nave conducted
them, shall regulate them with precision, render their accounts,
and show that they have duly performed their engagements in the administration, whether of the public monuments, or of the sums appointed for previsions or baths,
or of expenses in the maintenance of roads, aqueducts, or any
other work.
"Ibid. ~ 30.-With regard to tie guardianship of young
persons of the first or second age, and of all those for whomr
the law appoints guardians, if their fortune does not exceed
50() aurei, we ordain that the nomination of the president of
the province shall not be waited for, as this gives rise to great
expenses, particularly if the said president do not reside in
the city in whicl it is necessary to provide the guardianship.
The nomination of guardians shall in such case be made by
the magistrate of the city...... in concert with the very pious
bishop and other person or persons invested with public offices,
if there be more than one.
"Ibid. I. 1, tit. L V., de defensoribus, ~ 8.-We desire that
the defenders of the cities, being well instructed in the holy
mysteries of the orthodox faith, be chosen and instituted by
the venerable bishops, the priests, the notables, the proprietors,
and the curiales. As regards their installation, it shall be
referred to the glorious power of the pretorian prefect, in
order that their authority may have infused into it more solidity and vigour from the letters of admission of his MIagnificence."
I might cite a great number of other laws, and you would
everywhere meet with the fact which I have mentioned: between the municipal system of the Romans, and that of the
middle ages, the municipal-ecclesiastic system interposed; the
preponderance of the clergy in the affairs of the city succeeded
that of the ancient municipal magistrates, and preceded the
organization of the modern municipal corporations.
You perceive what prodigious power was thus obtained by
the Christian church, as well by its own constitution, as by
its influence upon the Christian people, and by the part which
it took in civil affairs. Thus, from that epoch, it powerfully
assisted in forming the character and furthering the development of modern civilization. Let us endeavour to sum up
the elements which it from that time introduced into it.




38


HISTORY OP


And first of all there was an immense advantage in the
presence of a moral influence, of a moral power, of a power
which reposed solely upon convictions and upon moral creeds
and sentiments, amidst the deluge of material power which at
this time inundated society. Had the Christian church not
existed, the whole world must have been abandoned to purely
material force. The church alone exercised a moral power.
It did more: it sustained, it spread abroad the idea of a rule,
of a law superior to all human laws. It proposed, for the
salvation of humanity, the fundamental belief, that there
exists, above all human laws, a law which is denominated,
according to periods and customs, sometimes reason, sometimes the divine law, but which, everywhere and always, is
the same law under different names.
In short, with the church originated a great fact, the
separation of spiritual and temporal power. This separation
is the source of liberty of conscience; it is founded upon no
other principle but that which is the foundation of the most
perfect and extended freedom of conscience. The separation
of temporal and spiritual power is based upon the idea that
physical force has neither right nor influence over souls, over
conviction, over truth. It flows from the distinction established
between the world of thought and the world of action, between
the world of internal and that of external facts. Thus this
principle of liberty of conscience for which Europe has struggled so much, and suffered so much, this principle which prevailed so late, and often, in its progress, against the inclination
of the clergy, was enunciated, under the name of the separation of temporal and spiritual power, in the very cradle of
European civilization; and it was the Christian church which,
from the necessity imposed by its situation of defending itself
against barbarism, introduced and maintained it.
The presence, then, of a moral influence, the maintenance
of a divine law, and the separation of the temporal and spiritual powers, are the three grand benefits which the Christian
church in the fifth century conferred upon the European
world.
Even at that time, however, all its influences were not
eqrfaily salutary.  Already, in the fifth century, there
appeared in the church certain unwholesome principles, which
have played a great part in the development of our civiliza



CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


39


tion. Thus, at this period, there prevailed within it the separation of governors and the governed, the attempt to establish
the independence of governors as regards the governed, to
impose laws upon the governed, to possess their mind, their
life, without the free consent of their reason and of their will.
The church, moreover, endeavoured to render the theocratic
principle predominant in society, to usurp the temporal power,
to reign exclusively.  And when it could not succeed in
obtaining temporal dominion, in inducing the prevalence of
the theocratic principle, it allied itself with temporal princes,
and, in order to share, supported their absolute power, at the
expense of the liberty of the people.
Such were the principles of civilization which Europe
in the fifth century derived from the church and from the
Empire. It was in this condition that the barbarians found
the Roman world, and came to take possession of it. In order
to fully understand all the elements which met and mixed in
the cradle of our civilization, it only remains for us to study
the barbarians.
When I speak of the barbarians, you understand that
we have nothing to do here with their history; narrative is not our present business.  You know that at this
period, the conquerors of the Empire were nearly all of the
same race; they were all Germans, except some Sclavonic
tribes, the Alani, for example. We know also that they were
all in pretty nearly the same stage of civilization. Some difference, indeed, might have existed between them in this
respect, according to the greater or less degree of connexion
which the different tribes had had with the Roman world. Thus
no doubt the Goths were more advanced, possessed milder
manners than the Franks. But in considering matters under
a general point of view, and in their results as regards ourselves, this original difference of civilization among the barbarous people is of no importance.
It is the general condition of society among the barbarians
that we need to understand.  But this is a subject with
which, at the present day, it is very difficult to make ourselves
acquainted. We obtain without much difficulty a comprehension of the Roman munici;pal system, of the Christian
church; their influence has been continued up to our own
days. We find traces of it in numerous institutions and actual




40


HISTORY OF


facts; we have a thousand means of recognising and explaining them. But the customs and social condition of the barbarians have completely perished.  We are compelled to
make them out either from the earliest historical monuments,
or by an effort of the imagination.
There is a sentiment, a fact, which, before all things, it is
necessary that we should well understand, in order to represent faithfully to oneself the barbaric character: the pleasure
of individual independence; the pleasure of enjoying oneself
with vigour and liberty, amidst the chances of the world and
of life; the delights of activity without labour; the taste for an
adventurous career, full of uncertainty, inequality, and peril.
Such was lthe predominating sentiment of the barbarous state,
the moral want which put in motion these masses of human
beings.  In the present day, locked up as we are in so
regular a society, it is difficult to realize this sentiment to
oneself with all the power which it exercised over the barbarians of the fourth and fifth centuries.  There is only one
work, which, in my opinion, contains this characteristic of
barbarism, stamped in all its energy: " The History of the
Conquest of England by the Normans," of M. Thierry, the
only book wherein the motives, tendencies, and impulses
which actuate men in a social condition, bordering on barbarism, are felt and reproducedwith a really Homeric faithfulness. Nowhere else do we see so well the nature of a barbarian and of the life of a barbarian.  Something of this sort
is also found, though, in my opinion, in a much lower degree,
with much less simplicity, much less truth, in Cooper's
romances upon the savages of America. There is something
in the life of the American savages, in the relations and the
sentiments they bear with them in the middle of the woods,
that recals, up to a certain point, the manners of the ancient
Germans. No doubt these pictures are somewhat idealised,
somewhat poetic; the dark side of the barbaric manners and
life is not presented to us in all its grossness. I speak not
only of the evils induced by these manners upon the social
state, but of the internal and individual condition of the
barbarian himself. There was, within this passionate want
of personal independence, something more gross and more
material than one would be led to conceive from the work of
M. Thierry; there was a degree of brutality and of apathy




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


41


which is not always exactly conveyed by his recitals. Nevertheless, when we look to the bottom of the question, notwithstanding this alloy of brutality, of materialism, of dull,
stupid selfishness, the love of independence is a noble and a
moral sentiment, which draws its power from the moral nature
of man; it is the pleasure of feeling oneself a man, the sentiment of personality, of human spontaneity in its free development.
It was through the German barbarians that this sentiment was introduced into European civilization; it was
unknown in the Roman world, unknown in the Christian
church, and unknown in almost all the ancient civilizations.
When you find liberty in ancient civilizations, it is political
liberty, the liberty of the citizen: man strove not for his personal liberty, but for his liberty as a citizen: he belonged to
an association, he was devoted to an association, he was ready
to sacrifice hirnself to an association. It was the same with
the Christian church: a sentiment of strong attachment to
the Christian corporation, of devotion to its laws, and a lively
desire to extend its empire; or rather, the religious sentiment induced a reaction of man upon himself, upon his soul,
an internal effort to subdue his own liberty, and to submit
himself to the will of his faith. But the sentiment of personal
independence, a love of liberty displaying itself at all risks,
without any other motive but that of satisfying itself; this
sentiment, I repeat, was unknown to the Roman and to the
Christian society. It was by the barbarians that it was
brought in and deposited in the cradle of modern civilization, wherein it has played so conspicuous a part, lhas produced such worthy results, that it is impossible to help reckoning it as one of its fundamental elements.
There is a second fact, a second element of civilization, for which we are equally indebted to the barbarians:
this is military clientship; the bond which established itself
between individuals, between warriors, and wlich, without
destroying the liberty of each, without even in the beginning
destroying, beyond a certain point, the equality which almost
completely existed between then, nevertheless founded an
hierarchical subordination, and gave birth to that aristocratical organisation, which afterwards became feudalism. The
foundation of this relation was the attachment of man to man,




42


HISTORY OF


the fidelity of individual to individual, without external necessity, and without obligation based upon the general principles
of society. 1n the ancient republics you see no man attached
freely and especially to any other man; tlley were all attached
to the city. Among the barbarians it was between individuals that the social bond was formed; first by the relation of
the chief to his companion, when they lived in the condition
of a band wandering over E1urope; and, later, by the relation
of suzerain to vassal.  Thllis second principle, which has
played so great a part in the history of modern civilization,
this devotion of man to man, came to us from the barbarians;
it is from their manners that it has passed into ours.
I ask you, was I wrong in saying at the beginning,
that modern civilization, even in its cradle, had been as
varied, as agitated, and as confused as I have endeavoured to
describe it to you in the general picture I have given
you of it?  Is it not true that we have now discovered, at the
fall of the Roman empire, almost all the elements which
unite in the progressive development of our civilization?
W'e have found, at that time, three wholly differcent societies:
the municipal society, the last remains of the Roman empire;
the Christian society; and the Barbaric society. We find
these societies very variously organized, founded upon totally
different principles, inspiring men with wholly different sentiments; we find the craving after the most absolute independence side by side witl the most complete submission; military
patronage side by side with ecclesiastical dominion; the
spiritual and temporal powers everywhere present; the canons
of the church, the learned legislation of tlhe Romans, the
almost unwritten customs of the barbarians; everywhere the
mixture, or rather the coexistence of the most diverse races,
languages, social situations, manners, ideas; and impressions.
Herein I think we have a sufficient proof of the faithfulness
of the general character under which I have endeavoured to
present our civilization to you.
No doubt, this confusion, this diversity, this struggle,
have cost us very dear; these have been the cause of the slow
progress of Europe, of the storms and sufferings to which
she has been a prey. Nevertheless, I do not think wve need
regret them. To people, as well as to individuals, the chance
of the most complete and varied development, the chance




CIVILIZATION1 IN EUROPE.
of an almost unlimited progress in all directions, compen
sates of itself alone for all that it may cost to obtain the
right of casting for it. And, all things considered, this state,
so agitated, so toilsome, so violent, has availed much more
than the simplicity with which other civilizations present 
themselves; the human race has gained thereby more than it
has suffered.
We are now acquainted with the general features of the
condition in which the fall of the Roman empire left the
world; we are acquainted with the different elements which
were agitated and became mingled, in order to give birth to
European civilization. Henceforth we shall see them advancing
and acting under our eyes. In the next lecture I shall endeavour to show what they became, and what they effected in the
epoch which we are accustomed to call the times of barbarism;
that is to say, while the chaos of invasion vet existed.




HISTORY OF


THIRD LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-All the various systems preten(l to be legitimateWhat is political legitimacy?-Co-existence of all systems of govern
ment in the fifth century-Instability in the condition of persons,
properties, and institutions-There were two causes of this, one
material, the continuation of the invasion; the other moral, the selli.ht
sentiment of individuality peculiar to the barbarians —The germs
of civilization have been the necessity for order, the recollections
of the Roman empire, the Christian church, and the barbarians-Attemrpts at organization by the barbarians, by the towns, by the church
of Spain, by Charlemagne, and Alfred-The German and Arabian invasions cease-The feudal system begins.
I IAVE placed before you the fundamental elements of European civilization, tracing them   to its very cradle, at the
moment of the fall of the Roman empire. I have endeavoured
to give you a glimpse beforehand of their diversity, and their
constant struggle, and to show you that no one of them succedede in reigning over our society, or at least in reigning
over it so completely as to enslave or expel the others. We
have seen tllat this was the distinguishing character of European civilization. We now come to its history at its commencement, in the ages which it is customary to call the
barbarous.
At the first glance we cast upon this epoch, it is impossible
not to be struck with a fact which seems to contradict what
we have lately said.     When you examine certain notions
which are accredited concerning the antiquities of modern
Europe, you will perceive that the various elements of our
civilization, the monarchical, theocratical, aristocratical, and
democratic'l principles, all pretend that European society
originally belonged to them, and that they have only lost the




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


45


sole dominion by the usurpations of contrary principles. Question all that has been written, all that has been said upon this
subject, and you will see that all the systems whereby our
beginnings are sought to be represented or explained, maintain the exclusive predominance of one or other of the elements of European civilization.
Thus there is a school of feudal publicists, of whom the
most celebrated is MI. de Boulainvilliers, who pretend that,
after the fall of' thle lomarn empire, it was the conquering
nation, subsequently becomle the nobility, which possessed all
powers and rights; that society was its domain; that kings
and peoples have despoiled it of this domain; that aristocratic
organization was the primitive and true form of Europe.
Beside this school, you will find that of the monarchists, the
abbe Dubos, for instance, who maintain, on the contrary, that
it was to royalty European society belonged. The German
kings, say they, inherited all the rights of the Roman emperors; they had even been called in by the ancient nations,
the Gauls among others; they alone ruled legitimately; all
the acquisitions of the aristocracy were only encroachments
upon monarchy.
A third party presents itself, that of the liberal publicists,
republicans, democrats, or whatever you like to call them.
Consult the abbe de Mably; according to him, it is to tlhe
system of free institutions, to the association of free men, to
the people properly so called, that the government of society
devolved from the period of the fifth century: nobles and
kings enriched themselves with the spoils of primitive freedom; it sank beneath their attacks, indeed, but it reigned
before them.
And above all these monarchical, aristocratical, and popular
pretensions, rises tie theocratical pretension of tile church,
who aflirms, that in virtue of her very mibsion, of her divine
title, society belonged to her; that sle alone had the right to
govern it; that she alone was the legitimate queen of tihe
European world, won over by her labours to civilization. and
to truth.
See then the position in which we are Ilare  ced! ":re fancied
we had shown that no one of' tile elemenlts of Europleanl
civilization lad exclusively ruled in tle course of its history;
that those elements had existed in a constant state of vicinity,




46


HISTORY OF


of amalgamation, of combat, and of compromise; and yet, at
our very first step, we meet with the directly contrary
opinion, that, even in its cradle, in the bosom of barbaric
Europe, it was such or such a one of their elements which
alone possessed society. And it is not only in a single country, but in all the countries of Europe, that, beneath slightly
different forms, at different periods, the various principles of
our civilization have manifested these irreconcilable pretensions. The historical schools we have justcharacterized, are
to be met with everywhere.
This is an important fact,-important not in itself, but
because it reveals other facts which hold a conspicuous
place in our history. From this simultaneous setting forth
of the most opposite pretensions to the exclusive possession of power in the first age of modern Europe, two
remarkable facts become apparent. The first the principle,
the idea of political legitimacy; an idea which has played a
great part in the course of European civilization. The second
the veritable and peculiar character of the condition of barbaric Europe, of that epoch with which we are at present
especially concerned.
I shall endeavour to demonstrate these two facts, to deduce them successively from this combat of primitive pretensions which I have just described.
What do the various elements of European civilization,
the theocratical, monarchical, aristocratical, and popular
elements pretend to, when they wish to appear the first
who possessed society in Europe? Do they not thus pretend to have been alone legitimate?  Political legitimacy is
evidently a right founded upon antiquity, upon duration;
priority in time is appealed to as the source of the right, as
the proof of the legitimacy of power. And observe, I pray
you, that this pretension is not peculiar to any one system, to
any one element of our civilization; it extends to all. In
modern times we are accustomed to consider the idea of
legitimacy as existing in only one system, the monarchical.
In this we are mistaken; it is discoverable in all. You have
already seen that all the elements of our civilization have
equally desired to appropriate it. If we enter into the subsequent history of Europe, we shall find the most different
social forms and governments equally in possession of their




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


47


character of legitimacy.  The Italian and Swiss aristocracies
and democracies, the republic of San Marino, as well as the
greatest monarchies of Europe, have called themselves, and
have been regarded as legitimate; the former, like the latter,
have founded their pretension to legitimacy upon the antiquity of their institutions, and upon the historical priority and
perpetuity of their system of government.
If you leave Europe and direct your attention to other
times and other countries, you everywhere meet with this
idea of political legitimacy; you find it attaching itself
everywhere to some portion of the government, to some institution, form, or maxim. There has been no country, and no
time, in which there has not existed a certain portion of the
social system, public powers; which has not attributed to itself,
and in which has not been recognised this character of legitimacy, derived from antiquity and long duration.
What is this principle? what are its elements? how has it
introduced itself into European civilization?
At the origin of all powers, I say of all without any distinction, we meet with physical force. I do not mean to
state that force alone has founded them all, or that if, in their
origin, they had not had other titles than that of force, they
would have been established. Other titles are manifestly
necessary; powers have become established in consequence of
certain social expediences, of certain references to the state
of society, manners, and opinions. But it is impossible to
avoid perceiving that physical force has stained the origin of
all the powers of the world, whatever may have been their
character and form.
Yet none will have anything to say to this origin; all
powers, whatever they may be, reject it; none will admit
themselves the offspring of force. An unconquerable instinct warns governments that force does not found right,
and that if force was their origin, their right could never be
established. This, then, is the reason why, when we go back
to early times, and there find the various systems and powers
a prey to violence, all exclaim, "I was anterior to all this, I
existed previously, in virtue of other titles; society belonged
to me before this state of violence and struggle in which you
meet with me; I was legitimate, but others contested and
seized my rights."




48


HISTORY OF


This fact alone proves that the idea of force is not the
foundation of political legitimacy, but tlmat it reposes upon a
totally different basis.  WhAat, indeed, is done by all these
systems in thus formally disavowing force?     They themselves proclaim  that there is anotller kind of legitimacy,
the true foundation of all others, tlle legitimacy of' reason,
justice, and right; and this is the origin with which they
desire to connect themselves. It is because they wish it not
to be supposed that they are tlhe offspring of force, that they
prctend to be invested in the name of their antiquity, with a
different title.  The first characteristic, then, of political
legitimacy, is to reject physical force as a source of power,
and to connect it with a moral idea, with a moral force, with
the idea of right, of' justice, and of reason.  This is the fundamnental element fronm which tlhe principle of political legitin macy las issued.  It has issued thence by the help of antiquity and long duration.  And in this mannier:
After pllysical force has presided at the birth of all governments, of all societies, time progresses; it alters the works of
force, it corrects them, corrects them by the very fact that a
society endures, and is composed of men. Man carries within
himself certain notions of order, justice, and reason, a certain
desire to induce their prevalence, to introduce them  into tlie
circumstances among which he lives; lie laboulrs unceasingly
at this task; and if the social condition in which lie is placed
continues, lie labours always wxitlh a certatin effict. lMan places
reason, morality, and legitimacy in the world in which lie lives.
Independently of the work of man, by a law of Providence whlich it is implossible to mistake, a law1 analogous
to tllat wlhich regulates the material world, there is a certain
nmeasure of order, reasoin, and justice, which is ablsolutely
necessary to the duration of a society.   From   tle single
fact of' its duration, we may conclude that a society is not
wholly absurd, insensate, and iniquitous; tlhat it is not utterly
deprived( of that element of reason, truth, and justice, which
alone gives life to societies.  If, moreover, tle society develops itself; if it becomes more vigorous and more powerful, if the social condition fiom  day to day. is accepted by a
greater numiber of men, it is beceause it gatllers by the action
of' time more reason, justice. and righlt; because circumstances
regulate themselves, step by step, according to true legitimacy.




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


49


Thus the idea of political legitimacy penetrates the world,
and men's minds, from the world. It has for its foundation
and first origin, in a certain measure at least, moral legitimacy, justice, reason, and truth, and afterwards the sanction
of time, which gives cause for believing that reason has won
entrance into facts, and that true legitimacy has been introduced into the external world. At the epoch which we are
about to study, we shall find force and falsehood hovering over
the cradle of royalty, of aristocracy, of democracy, and of the
church herself; you will everywhere behold force and falsehood reforming themselves, little by little, under the hand of
time, right and truth taking their places in civilization. It
is this introduction of right and truth into the social state,
which has developed, step by step, the idea of political legitimacy; it is thus that it has been established in modern civilization.
When, therefore, attempts have at different times been made
to raise this idea as the banner of absolute power, it has been
perverted from its true origin. So far is it from being the
banner of absolute power, that it is only in the name of right
and justice that it has penetrated and taken root in the world.
It is not exclusive; it belongs to no one in particular, but
springs up wherever right develops itself. Political legitimacy attaches itself to liberty as well as to power; to individual
rights, as well as to the forms according to which public functions are exercised. We shall meet with it, in our way, in the
most contrary systems; in the feudal system, in the municipalities of Flanders and Germany, in the Italian republics,
no less than in monarchy. It is a character spread over the
various elements of modern civilization, and which it is necessary to understand thoroughly on entering upon its history.
The second fact which clearly reveals itself in the simultaneous pretensions of which I spoke in the beginning, is the
true character of the so called barbarian epoch. All the elements of European civilization pretend at this time to have
possessed Europe; it follows that neither of them predominated. When a social form predominates in the world, it
is not so difficult to recognise it. On coming to the tenth
century we shall recognise, without hesitation, the predominance of the feudal system; in the seventeenth century we
shall not hesitate to affirm that the monarchical system prel




50


HISTORY OF


vails; if we look to the municipalities of Flanders, to the
Italian republics, we shall immediately declare the empire of
the democratic principle. When there is really any predominating principle in society, it is impossible to mistake it.
The dispute which has arisen between the various systems
that have had a share in European civilization, upon the
question, which predominated at its origin, proves, then,
that they all co-existed, without any one of them prevailing
generally enough, or certainly enough to give to society its
form and its name.
Such, then, is the character of the barbarian epoch; it was
the chaos of all elements, the infancy of all systems, an universal turmoil, in which even strife was not permanent or
Systematic. By examining all the aspects of the social state
at this period, I might show you that it is impossible anywhere to discover a single fact, or a single principle, which
was anything like general or established. I shall confine
myself to two essential points: the condition of individuals,
and the condition of institutions. That will be enough to
paint the entire society.
At this period we meet with four classes of persons1. The free men; that is to say, those who depended upon no
superior, upon no patron, and who possessed their property
and regulated their life in complete liberty, without any bond
of obligation to any other man.  2. The leudes, fideles,
anstrustions, &c., bound at first by the relation of companion
to chief, and afterwards by that of vassal to suzerain, to another man, towards whom, on account of a grant of lands, or
other gifts, they had contracted the obligation of seryice.
3. The freedman. 4. The slaves.
But were these various classes fixed? Did men, when
once they were inclosed in their limits, remain there? Had
the relations of the various classes anything of regularity and
permanence? By no means. You constantly behold freemen who leave their position to place themselves in the service of some one, receiving from him some gift or other, and
passing into the class of leudes; others you see who fall into
the class of slaves. Elsewhere leudes are seen struggling to
separate themselves from their patrons, to again become independent, to re-enter the class of freemen. Everywhere you
behold a movement, a continual passage of one class into




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


51


another; an uncertainty, a general instability in the relations
of the classes; no man remaining in his position, no position
remaining the same.
Landed properties were in the same condition. You know
that these were distinguished as allodial, or wholly free, and
beneficiary, or subject to certain obligations with regard to a
superior: you know how an attempt has been made to establish, in this last class of properties, a precise and defined
system; it has been said that the benefices were at first
given for a certain determinate number of years, afterwards
for life, and that finally they became hereditary. A vain
attempt! All these kinds of' tenure existed without order
and simultaneously; we meet, at the same moment, with
benefices for a fixed time, for life, and hereditary; the same
lands, indeed, passed in a few years through these different
states. There was nothing more stable in the condition of
lands than in that of individuals. On all sides was felt the
laborious transition of the wandering to the sedentary life,
of personal relations to the combined relations of men and
properties, or to real relations. During this transition all is
confused, local, and disordered.
In the institutions we find the same instability, the same
chaos. Three systems of institutions co-existed: royalty;
aristocratic institutions, or the dependence of men and lands
one upon anbther; and free institutions, that is to say, the
assemblies of free men deliberating in common. Neither of
these systems was in possession of society; neither of them
prevailed over the others. Free institutions existed, but the
men who should have taken part in the assemblies rarely
attended them.   The signorial jurisdiction was not more
regularly exercised. Royalty, which is the simplest of institutions, and the easiest to determine, had no fixed character;
it was partly elective, partly hereditary. Sometimes the
son succeeded the father; sometimes a selection was made
from the family; sometimes it was a simple election of a
distant relation, or of a stranger. In no system will you find
anything fixed; all institutions, as well as all social situations,
existed together, became confounded, and were continually
changing.
In states the same fluctuation prevailed: they were erected
and suppressed, united and divided; there were no boundaries,
E 2




HISTORY OF


no governments, no distinct people; but a general confusion
of situations, principles, facts, races, and languages: such was
barbarous Europe.
Within what limits is this strange period bounded?  Its
origin is well marked; it begins with the fall of the Roman
empire. But when did it conclude? In order to answer this
question, we must learn to what this condition of society is
to be attributed, what were the causes of this barbarism.
I think I can perceive two principal causes: the one material, arising from without, in the course of events; the
other moral, originating from within, from man himself.
The material cause was the continuation of the invasion.
We must not fancy that the invasion of the barbarians ceased
in the fifth century; we must not think that, because Rome
was fallen, we shall immediately find the barbaric kingdoms
founded upon its ruins, or that the movement was at an end.
This movement lasted long after the fall of the empire; the
proofs of this are manifest.
See the Frank kings, even of the first race, called continually to make war beyond the Rhine; Clotaire, Dagobert
constantly engaged in expeditions into Germany, fighting
against the Thuringians, Danes, and Saxons, who occupied
the right bank of the Rhine. Wherefore?  Because these
nations wished to cross the river, to come and take their share
of the spoils of the empire. WVhence, about the same time,
those great invasions of Italy by the Franks established in
Gaul, and principally by the Eastern or Austrasian Franks?
They attacked Switzerland; passed the Alps; entered Italy.
Why? Because they were pressed, on the north-east, by
new populations; their expeditions were not merely forays
for pillage, they were matters of necessity; they were disturbed in their settlements, and went elsewhere to seek their
fortune. A new Germanic nation appeared upon the stage,
and founded in Italy the kingdom of the Lombards. In Gaul,
the Frank dynasty changed; the Carlovingians succeeded the
Merovingians. It is now acknowledged that this change of
dynasty was, to say the truth, a fresh invasion of Gaul by
the Franks, a movement of nations, which substituted the
eastern for the western Franks. The change was completed;
the second race now governed.  Charlemagne commenced
against the Saxons what the Merovingians had done against the




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


53


Thuringians; he was incessantly engaged in war against the
nations beyond the Rhine. Who urged these on? The Obotrites, the Wiltzes, the Sorabes, the Bohemians, the entire
Sclavonic race which pressed upon the Germanic, and from
the sixth to the ninth century compelled it to advance towards
the west. Everywhere to the north-east the movement of
invasion continued and determined events.
In the south, a movement of the same nature exhibited
itself: the Moslem Arabs appeared. While the Germanic
and Sclavonic people pressed on along the Rhine and Danube,
the Arabs began their expeditions and conquests upon all the
coasts of the Mediterranean.
The invasion of the Arabs had a peculiar character. The
spirit of conquest and the spirit of proselytism were united.
The invasion was to conquer a territory and disseminate a
faith. There was a great difference between this movement
and that of the Germans. In the Christian world, the spiritual
and temporal powers were distinct. The desire of propagating a creed and making a conquest, did not co-exist in the
same men. The Germans, when they became converted, preserved their manners, sentiments, and tastes; terrestrial passions and interests continued to rule them; they became
Christians, but not missionaries. The Arabs, on the contrary, were both conquerors and missionaries; the power of
the sword and that of the word, with them, were in the same
hands. At a later period, this character determined the unfortunate turn taken by Mussulman civilization; it is in the
combination of the spiritual and temporal powers, in the
confusion of moral and material authority, that the tyranny
which seems inherent in this civilization originated. This I
conceive to be the cause of the stationary condition into
which that civilization is everywhere fallen. But the fact
did not make its appearance at first; on the contrary, it
added prodigious force to the Arab invasion. Undertaken
with moral passions and ideas, it immediately obtained a
splendour and a greatness which was wanting to the German
invasion; it exhibited far more energy and enthusiasm, and
far differently influenced the minds of men.
Such was the state of Europe, from the fifth to the
ninth century: pressed on the south by the Mahometans,
on the north by the Germans and the Sclavonic tribes, it




54


HISTORY OF


was scarcely possible that the reaction of this double invasion
should do other than hold the interior of Europe in continual
disorder. The populations were constantly being displaced,
and forced one upon the other; nothing of a fixed character
could be established; the wandering life recommenced on all
sides. There was, no doubt, some difference in this respect
in the different states: the chaos was greater in Germany
than in the rest of Europe, Germany being the focus of the
movement; France was more agitated than Italy. But in no
place could society settle or regulate itself; barbarism continued on all sides, from the same cause that had originated it.
So much for the material cause, that which arose from the
course of events. I now come to the moral cause, which
sprang from the internal condition of man, and which was no
less powerful.
After all, whatever external events may be, it is man himself who makes the world; it is in proportion to the ideas,
sentiments, and dispositions, moral and intellectual, of man,
that the world becomes regulated and progressive; it is upon
the internal condition of man that the visible condition of
society depends.
What is required to enable men to found a society with
anything of durability and regularity? It is evidently necessary that they should have a certain number of ideas sufficiently extended to suit that society, to apply to its wants, to
its relations. It is necessary, moreover, that these ideas should
be common to the greater number of the members of the
society; finally, that they should exercise a certain empire
over their wills and actions.
It is clear, that if men have no ideas extending beyond
their own existence, if their intellectual horizon is confined
to themselves, if they are abandoned to the tempest of their
passions and their wills, if they have not among them a certain number of notions and sentiments in common, around
which to rally, it is clear, I say, that between them no
society is possible, and that each individual must be a principle of disturbance and dissolution to any association which
he may enter.
Wherever individuality predominates almost exclusively,
wherever man considers no one but himself, and his ideas
do not extend beyond himself; and he obeys nothing but




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


55


his own passions, society (I mean a society somewhat extended and permanent) becomes for him almost impossible. Such, however, was the moral condition of the conqukrors of Europe, at the time upon which we are now
occupied. I remarked in my last lecture that we are indebted
to the Germans for an energetic sentiment of individual
liberty, of human individuality. But in a state of extreme
barbarism and ignorance, this sentiment becomes selfishness
in all its brutality, in all its insociability. From the fifth
to the eighth century it was at this point among the Germans.
They cared only for their own interests, their own passions,
their own will: how could they be reconciled to a condition
even approximating to the social?  Attempts were made to
prevail upon them to enter it; they attempted to do so themselves. But they immediately abandoned it by some act of
carelessness, some burst of passion, some want of intelligence.
Constantly did society attempt to form itself; constantly was
it destroyed by the act of man, by the absence of the moral
conditions under which alone it can exist.
Such were the two determining causes of the barbarous
state. So long as these were prolonged, barbarism endured.
Let us see how and when they at last terminated.
Europe laboured to escape from this condition. It is in
the nature of man, even when he has been plunged into such
a condition by his own fault, not to desire to remain in it.
However rude, however ignorant, however devoted to his
own interests and to his own passions he may be, there is
within him a voice and an instinct, which tells him that he
was made for better things, that he has other powers, another
destiny. In the midst of disorder, the love of order and of
progress pursues and harasses him.  The need of justice,
foresight, development, agitates him even under the yoke of
the most brutal selfishness. He feels himself impelled to
reform the material world, and society, and himself; and he
labours to do this, though unaware of the nature of the want
which urges him. The barbarians aspired after civilization,
while totally incapable of it, nay more, detesting it from the
instant that they became acquainted with its law.
There remained, moreover, considerable wrecks of the
Roman civilization. The name of the Empire, the recollection of that great and glorious society, disturbed the memories




56


HISTORY OF


of men, particularly of the senators of towns, of bishops, priests,
and all those who had had their origin in the Roman world.
Among the barbarians themselves, or their barbaric ancestors, many had been witnesses of the grandeur of the Empire;
they had served in its armies, they had conquered it. The
image and name of Roman civilization had an imposing influence upon them, and they experienced the desire of imitating,
of reproducing, of preserving something of it. This was
another cause which urged them to quit the condition of barbarism I have described.
There was a third cause which suggests itself to every mind;
I mean the Christian church. The church was a society
regularly constituted, having its principles, its rules, and its
discipline, and experiencing an ardent desire to extend its
influence and conquer its conquerors. Among the Christians
of this period, among the Christian clergy, there were men
who had thought upon all moral and political questions, who
had decided opinions and energetic sentiments upon all subjects, and a vivid desire to propagate and give them empire.
Never has any other society made such efforts to influence
the surrounding world, and to stamp thereon its own likeness,
as were made by the Christian church between the fifth and
the tenth centuries. When we come to study its particular
history, we shall see all that it has done. It attacked barbarism, as it were, at every point, in order to civilize by
ruling over it.
Finally, there was a fourth cause of civilization, a cause
which it is impossible fitly to appreciate, but which is not
therefore the less real, and this is the appearance of great
men. No one can say why a great man appears at a certain
epoch, and what he adds to the development of the world;
that is a secret of Providence: but the fact is not therefore
less certain. There are men whom the spectacle of anarchy
and social stagnation strikes and revolts, who are intellectually shocked therewith as with a fact which ought not to
exist, and are possessed with an unconquerable desire of
changing it, a desire of giving some rule, somewhat of the
general, regular, and permanent to the world before them. A
terrible and often tyrannical power, which commits a thousand crimes, a thousand errors, for human weakness attends
it; a power, nevertheless, glorious and salutary, for it gives




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


57


to humanity, and with the hand of man, a vigorous impulse
forward, a mighty movement.
These different causes and forces led, between the fifth and
ninth century, to various attempts at extricating European
society from barbarism.
The first attempt, which, although but slightly effective,
must not be overlooked, since it emanated from the barbarians themselves, was the drawing up of the barbaric laws:
between the sixth and eighth centuries the laws of almost all
the barbarous people were written. Before this they had not
been written; the barbarians had been governed simply by
customs, until they established themselves upon the ruins
of the Roman empire. We may reckon the laws of the
Burgundians, of the Salian and Ripuarian Franks, of the
Visigoths, of the Lombards, the Saxons, the Frisons, the
Bavarians, the Alemanni, &c. Here was manifestly a beginning of civilization; an endeavour to bring society under
general and regular principles. The success of this attempt
could not be great: it was writing the laws of a society which
no longer existed, the laws of the social state of the barbarians before their establishment upon the Roman territory,
before they had exchanged the wandering for the sedentary
life, the condition of nomade warriors for that of proprietors.
We find, indeed, here and there, some articles concerning the
lands which the barbarians had conquered, and concerning
their relations with the ancient inhabitants of the country;
but the foundation of the greater part of their laws is the
ancient mode of life, the ancient German condition; they
were inapplicable to the new society, and occupied only a
trifling place in its development.
At the same time, another kind of attempt was made in
Italy and the South of Gaul. Roman society had not so completely perished there as elsewhere; a little more order and
life remained in the cities.  There civilization attempted
to lift again its head. If, for example, we look to the kingdom of the Ostrogoths in Italy under Theodoric, we see even
under the dominion of a barbarous king and nation the municipal system, taking breath, so to speak, and influencing
the general course of events. Roman society had acted upon
the Goths, and had to a certain degree impressed them with
its likeness. The same fact is visible in the south of Gaul.




58


HISTORY OF


It was at the commencement of the sixth century that a Visigoth king of Toulouse, Alaric, caused the Roman laws to be
collected, and published a code for his Roman subjects under
the name of the Breviarium Aniani.
In Spain it was another power-namely that of the church,
which tried to revive civilization. In place of the ancient
German assemblies, the assemblies of warriors, it was the
council of Toledo which prevailed in Spain; and although
distinguished laymen attended this council, the bishops had
dominion there. Look at the law of the Visigoths; you will
see that it is not a barbarous law; it was evidently compiled by the philosophers of the time, the clergy. It abounds
in general ideas, in theories, theories wholly foreign to
barbarous manners. Thus: you know that the legislation of
the barbarians was a personal legislation-that is to say,
that the same law applied only to men of the same race.
The Roman law governed the Romans, the Frank law
governed the Franks; each people had its law, although
they were united under the same government and inhabited
the same territory.  This is what is called the system of
personal legislation, in opposition to that of real legislation
fixed upon the territory. Well, the legislation of the Visigoths was not personal, but fixed upon the territory. All
the inhabitants of Spain, Visigoths and Romans, were subject
to the same law. Continue your investigation, and you will
find yet more evident traces of philosophy.  Among the
barbarians, men had, according to their relative situations,
a determinate value; the barbarian, the Roman, the freeman,
the vassal, &c., were not held at the same price, there was a
tariff of their lives. The principle of the equal value of men
in the eye of the law was established in the law of the Visigoths. Look to the system of procedure, and you find, in
place of the oath of' compurgatores, or the judicial combat,
the proof by witnesses, and a rational investigation of the
matter in question, such as might be prosecuted in a civilized society. In short, the whole Visigoth law bears a wise,
systematic, and social character. We may perceive herein
the work of the same clergy who prevailed in the councils of
Toledo, and so powerfully influenced the government of the
country.
In Spain, then, up to the great invasion of the Arabs, it




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


59


was the theocratic principle which attempted the revival of
civilization.
In France the same endeavour was the work of a different
power; it came from the great men, above all from Charlemagne. Examine his reign under its various aspects; you
will see that his predominating idea was the design of
civilizing his people. First, let us consider his wars. He
was constantly in the field, from the south to the north-east,
from the Ebro to the Elbe or the Weser. Can you believe that
these were mere wilful expeditions, arising simply from the
desire of conquest? By no means. I do not mean to say
that all that he did is to be fully explained, or that there
existed much diplomacy or strategetic skill in his plans; but
he obeyed a great necessity-a strong desire of suppressing
barbarism. Hie was engaged during the whole of his reign
in arresting the double invasion-the Mussulman invasion on
the south, and the German and Sclavonic invasion on the
north. This is the military character of the reign of Charlemagne; his expedition against the Saxons had no other origin
and no other purpose.
If you turn from his wars to his internal government, you
will there meet with a fact of the same nature-the attempt
to introduce order and unity into the administration of all the
countries which he possessed. I do not wish to employ the
word kingdom nor the word state; for these expressions
convey too regular a notion, and suggest ideas which are little
in harmony with the society over which Charlemagne presided. But this is certain, that being master of an immense
territory, he felt indignant at seeing all things incoherent,
anarchical, and rude, and desired to alter their hideous condition. First of all he wrought by means of his misst domznici, whom he dispatched into the various parts of his territory, in order that they might observe circumstances and
reform them, or give an account of them to him. Hie afterwards worked by means of general assemblies, which he held
with much more regularity than his predecessors had done.
At these assemblies he caused all the most considerable persons of the territory to be present. They were not free
assemblies, nor did they at all resemble the kind of deliberations with which we are acquainted; they were merely a
means taken by Charlemagne of being well informed of facts,




60


HISTORY OF


and of introducing some order and unity among his disorderly
populations.
Under whatever point of view you consider the reign of
Charlemagne, you will always find in it the same character,
namely, warfare against the barbarous state, the spirit of
civilization; this is what appears in his eagerness to establish
schools, in his taste for learned men, in the favour with
which he regarded ecclesiastical influence, and in all that
he thought proper to do, whether as regarded the entire
society or individual man.
An attempt of the same kind was made somewhat later in
England by king Alfred.
Thus the different causes to which I have directed attention, as tending to put an end to barbarism, were in action
in some part or other of Europe from the fifth to the ninth
century.
None succeeded. Charlemagne was unable to found his great
empire, and the system of government which he desired to
establish therein. In Spain, the church succeeded no better in
establishing the theocratic principle. In Italy and in the south
of Gaul, although Roman civilization often attempted to rise
again, it was not till afterwards, towards the end of the tenth
century, that it really re-acquired any vigour. Up to that
time all efforts to terminate barbarism proved abortive; they
supposed that men were more advanced than they truly were;
they all desired, under various forms, a society more extended
or more regular than was compatible with the distribution of
power and the condition of men's minds. Nevertheless, they
had not been wholly useless. At the beginning of the tenth
century, neither the great empire of Charlemagne nor the
glorious councils of Toledo were any longer spoken of; but
barbarism had not the less arrived at its extreme termtwo great results had been obtained.
I. The movement of the invasions on the north and south
had been arrested: after the dismemberment of the empire of
Charlemagne, the states established on the right bank of the
Rhine opposed a powerful barrier to the tribes who continued
to urge their way westward. The Normans prove this incontestably; up to this period, if we except the tribes which
cast themselves upon England, the movement of maritime
invasions had not been very considerable. It was during the




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


61


ninth century that it became constant and general. And this
was because invasions by land were become very difficult,
society having, on this side, acquired more fixed and certain
frontiers. That portion of the wandering population which
could not be driven back, was constrained to turn aside and
carry on its roving life upon the sea. Whatever evils were
done in the west by Norman expeditions, they were far less
fatal than invasions by land; they disturbed dawning society
far less generally.
In the south, the same fact declared itself. The Arabs were
quartered in Spain; warfare continued between them and the
Christians, but it no longer entailed the displacement of the
population. Saracenic bands still, from time to time, infested
the coasts of the Mediterranean; but the grand progress of
Islamism had evidently ceased.
II. At this period we see the wandering life ceasing, in its
turn, throughout the interior of' Europe; populations established themselves; property became fixed; and the relations
of men no longer varied from day to day, at the will of
violence or chance. The internal and moral condition of man
himself began to change; his ideas and sentiments, like his
life, acquired fixedness; he attached himself to the places
which he inhabited, to the relations which he had contracted there, to those domains which he began to promise
himself that he would bequeath to his children, to that
dwelling which one day he will call his castle, to that miserable collection of colonists and slaves which will one day
become a village. Everywhere little societies, little states,
cut, so to speak, to the measure of the ideas and the wisdom
of man, formed themselves. Between these societies was
gradually introduced the bond, of which the customs of barbarism contained the germ, the bond of a confederation which
did not annihilate individual independence.  On the one
hand, every considerable person established himself in his
domains, alone with his family and servitors; on the other
hand, a certain hierarchy of services and rights became established between these warlike proprietors scattered over the
land. What was this?  The feudal system rising definitively
from the bosom of barbarism. Of the various elements of
our civilization, it was natural that the Germanic element
should first prevail; it had strength on its side, it had con



62                    HISTORY OF
quered Europe; from it Europe was to receive its earliest
social form and organization. This is what happened. Feudalism, its character, and the part played by it in the history
of European civilization, will be the subject-matter of my
next lecture; and, in the bosom of that victorious feudal
system, we shall meet, at every step, with the other elements of
our civilization-royalty, the church, municipal corporations;
and we shall foresee without difficulty that they are not
destined to sink beneath this feudal form, to which they
become assimilated, while struggling against it, and while
waiting the hour when victory shall visit them in their turn.




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


63


FOURTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Necessary alliance between facts and doctrinesPreponderance of the country over the towns-Organization of a small
feudal society-Influence of feudalism upon the character of the possessor
of the fief, and upon the spirit of family-Hatred of the people towards the
feudal system-The priest could do little for the serfs-Impossibility of
regularly organizing feudalism: 1. No powerful authority; 2. No public
power; 3. Difficulty of the federative system-The idea of the right of
resistance inherent in feudalism-Influence of feudalism favourable to
the development of the individual, unfavourable to social order.
WVE have studied the condition of Europe after the fall of
the Roman empire, in the first period of modern history, the
barbarous. We have seen that, at the end of this epoch, and
at the commencement of the tenth century, the first principle,
the first system that developed itself and took possession of
European society, was the feudal system; we have seen that
feudalism was the first-born of barbarism.      It is, then, the
feudal system which must now be the object of our study.
I scarcely think it necessary to remind you that it is not
the history of events, properly speaking, which we are considering.  It is not my business to recount to you the destinies
of feudalism.   That which occupies us is the history of civilization; this is the general and hidden fact which we seek
under all the external facts which envelop it.
Thus events, social crises, the various states through which
society has passed, interest us only in their relations to the
development of civilization; we inquire of them solely in
what respects they have opposed or assisted it, what they have
given to it, and what they have refused it. It is only under
this point of view that we are to consider the feudal system.




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IIISTORLY OF


In the commencement of these lectures we defined the na
ture of civilization; we attempted to investigate its elements;
we saw that it consisted, on the one hand, in the development
of man himself, of the individual, of humanity; on the other
hand, in that of his external condition, in the development of
society. Whenever we find ourselves in the presence of an
event, of a system, or of a general condition of the world, we
have this double question to ask of it, what has it done for
or against the development of man, for or against the development of society?
You understand beforehand, that, during our investigations, it is impossible that we should not meet upon our
way most important questions of moral philosophy. When
we desire to know in what an event or a system has contributed to the development of man and of society, it is absolutely needful that we should be acquainted with the nature
of the true development of society and of man; that we should
know what developments are false and illegitimate, perverting instead of ameliorating, causing a retrogressive instead of
a progressive movement.
We shall not seek to escape from this necessity. Not
only should we thereby mutilate and lower our ideas and the
facts, but the actual state of the world imposes upon us the
necessity of freely accepting this inevitable alliance of philosophy and history. This is precisely one of the characteristics,
perhaps the essential characteristic of our epoch. We are
called upon to consider, to cause to progress together, science
and reality, theory and practice, right and fact. Up to our
times, these two powers have existed separately; the world
has been accustomed to belold science and practice following
different roads, without recognising each other, or, at least,
without meeting. And when doctrines and general ideas
have desired to amalgamate with events and influence the
world, they have only succeeded under the form  and by
means of the arm of fanaticism. The empire of human
societies, and tile direction of their affairs, have hitherto
been shared between two kinds of influences: upon one hand,
the believers, the men of general ideas and principles, the
fanatics; on the other, men strangers to all rational principles, who govern themselves merely according to cir-.
cumstances, practicians, freethinkers, as the seventeenth cen



CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


65


tury called them. This condition of things is now ceasing;
neither fanatics nor free-thinkers will any longer have dominion.
In order now to govern and prevail with men, it is necessary to
be acquainted with general ideas and circumstances; it is necessary to know how to value principles andfacts, to respect virtue
and necessity, to preserve oneselffrom the pride of fanatics, and
the not less blind scorn of free-thinkers. To this point have we
been conducted by the development of the human mind and
the social state: upon one hand, the human mind, exalted and
freed, better comprehends the connexion of things, knows
how to look around on all sides, and makes use of all things
in its combinations; on the other hand, society has perfected
itself to that degree, that it can be compared with the truth;
that facts can be brought into juxta-position with principles,
and yet, in spite of their still great imperfections, not inspire
by the comparison invincible discouragement or distaste. I
shall thus obey the natural tendency, convenience, and the necessity of our times, in constantly passing from the examination of circumstances to that of ideas, from an exposition of
facts to a question of doctrines. Perhaps, even, there is
in the actual disposition of men's minds, another reason
in favour of this method. For some time past a confirmed taste, I might say a sort of predilection, has
manifested itself among us, for facts, for practical views, for
the positive aspect of human affairs. We have been to such
an extent a prey to the despotism of general ideas, of
theories; they have, in some respects, cost us so dear, that
they are become the objects of a certain degree of distrust.
We like better to carry ourselves back to facts, to special circumstances, to applications. This is not to be regretted;
it is a new progress, a great step in knowledge, and towards the empire of truth; provided always that we do not
allow ourselves to be prejudiced and carried away by this disposition; that we do not forget that truth alone has a right
to reign in the world; that facts have no value except as
they tend to explain, and to assimilate themselves more and
more to the truth; that all true greatness is of thought; and
that all fruitfulness belongs to it. The civilization of our
country has this peculiar character, that it has never wanted
intellectual greatness; it has always been rich in ideas; the
power of the human mind has always been great in French
F




66


HISTORY OF


society; greater, perhaps, than in any other. We must not
lose this high privilege; we must not fall into the somewhat
subordinate and material state which characterizes other
societies. Intelligence and doctrines must occupy in the
France of the present day, at least the place which they have
occupied there hitherto.
We shall, then, by no means avoid general and philosophical questions; we shall not wander in search of them,
but where facts lead us to them, we shall meet them without
hesitation or embarrassment. An occasion of doing so will more
than once present itself, during the consideration of the feudal
system in its relations to the history of European civilization.
A  good proof that, in the tenth century, the feudal
system was necessary, was the only possible social state, is
the universality of its establishment.  Wherever barbarism
ceased, everything took the feudal form. At the first moment,
men saw in it only the triumph of chaos; all unity, all general
civilization vanished; on all sides they beheld society dismembering itself; and, in its stead, they beheld a number of minor,
obscure, isolated, and incoherent societies erect themselves.
To contemporaries, this appeared the dissolution of all
things, universal anarchy. Consult the poets and the chroniclers of the time; they all believed themselves at the end of
the world. It was, nevertheless, the beginning of a new and
real society, the feudal, so necessary, so inevitable, so truly
the only possible consequence of the anterior state, that
all things entered into it and assumed its form. Elements,
the most foreign to this system, the church, municipalities,
royalty, were compelled to accommodate themselves to
it; the churches became suzerains and vassals, cities had
lords and vassals, royalty disguised itself under the form of
suzerainship. All things were given in fief, not only lands,
but certain rights, the right, for instance, of felling in forests,
and of fishing. the churches gave in fief their perquisites,
from their revenues from baptisms, the churchings of women.
Water and money were given in fief. Just as all the general
elements of society entered into the feudal frame, so the
smallest details, and the most trifling facts of common life,
became a part of feudalism.
In beholding the feudal form thus taking possession of all
things, we are tempted to believe, at first, that the essential




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE,


67


andl vital principle of feudalism everywhere prevailed. But
thtis is a mistake. In borrowing the feudal form, the elements
and institutions of society which were not analogous to the
feudal system, did not renounce their own nature or peculiar
principles. The feudal church did not cease to be animated
and governed, at bottom, by the theocratic principle; and it
laboured unceasingly, sometimes in concert with the royal
power, sometimes with the pope, and sometimes with the
people, to destroy this system, of which, so to speak, it wore
the livery. It was the same with royalty and with the corporations; in the one the monarchical, in the other the democratical principle, continued, at bottom, to predominate.
Notwithstanding their feudal livery, these various elements
of European society constantly laboured to deliver themselves
from a form which was foreign to their true nature, and to
assume that which corresponded to their peculiar and vital
principle.
Having shown the universality of the feudal form, it becomes very necessary to be on our guard against concluding from this the universality of the feudal principle,
and against studying feudalism indifferently, whenever we
meet with its physiognomy. In order to know and comprehend this system thoroughly, to unravel and judge of its
effects in reference to modern civilization, we must examine
it where the form and principle are in harmony; we must study
it in the hierarchy of lay possessors of fiefs, in the association of the conquerors of the European territory. There
truly resided feudal society; thereupon we are now to enter.
I spoke just now of the importance of moral questions, and
of the necessity of not avoiding them. But there is a totally
opposite kind of considerations, which has generally been too
much neglected; I mean the material condition of society,
the material changes introduced into mankind's method of
existing, by a new fact, by a revolution, by a new social state.
We have not always sufficiently considered these things; we
have not always sufficiently inquired into the modifications
introduced by these great crises of the world, into the material
existence of men, into the material aspect of their relations.
These modifications have more influence upon the entire
society than is supposed. Who does not know how much the
influence of climates has been studied. and how much imF2




68


HISTORY OF


portance was attached to it by Montesquieu. If we regard
the immediate influence of climate upon men, perhaps it is
not so extensive as has been supposed; it is, at all events,
very vague and difficult to be appreciated. But the indirect
influence of climate, that which, for example, results from
the fact, that, in a warm country, men live in the open air,
while, in a cold country, they shut themselves up in their
houses, that, in one case, they nourish themselves in one
manner, in the other, in another, these are facts of great importance, facts which by the simple difference of material
life, act powerfully upon civilization. All great revolutions
lead to modifications of this sort in the social state, and these
are very necessary to be considered.
The establishment of the feudal system produced one of
these modifications, of unmistakeable importance; it altered
the distribution of the population over the face of the
land. Hitherto the masters of the soil, the sovereign population, had lived united in more or less numerous masses
of men, whether sedentarily in cities, or wandering in bands
through the country.   In consequence of the feudal system, these same men lived isolated, each in his own habitation, and at great distances from one another. You will
immediately perceive how much influence this change was
calculated to exercise upon the character and course of civilization. The social preponderance, the government of society,
passed suddenly from the towns to the country; private property became of more importance than public property;
private life than public life. Such was the first and purely
material effect of the triumph of feudal society. The further
we examine into it, the more will the consequence of this
single fact be unfolded to our eyes.
Let us investigate this society in itself, and see what
part it has played in the history of civilization. First of all,
let us take feudalism in its most simple, primitive, and fundamental element; let us consider a single possessor of a fief in
his domain, and let us see what will become of all those who
form the little society around him.
He establishes himself upon an isolated and elevated spot,
which he takes care to render safe and strong; there he
constructs what he will call his castle. With whom dyes he
establish himself? With his wife and children; perhaps some




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


69


freemen, who have not become proprietors, attach themselves
to his person, and continue to live with him, at his table.
These are the inhabitants of the interior of the castle. Around
and at its foot, a little population of colonists and serfs gather
together, who cultivate the domains of the possessor of the
fief. In the centre of this lower population religion plants a
church; it brings hither a priest. In the early period of the
feudal system, this priest was commonly at the same time the
chaplain of the castle and the pastor of the village; by and
bye these two characters separated; the village had its
own pastor, who lived there, beside his church. This, then,
was the elementary feudal society, the feudal molecule, so to
speak. It is this element that we have first of all to examine.
We will demand of it the double question which should be
asked of all our facts: What has resulted from it in favour of
the development, 1. of man himself, 2. of society?
We are perfectly justified in addressing this double question
to the little society which I have just described, and in placing
faith in its replies; for it was the type and faithful image of
the entire feudal society.  The lord, the people on his
domains, and the priest; such is feudalism upon the great as
well as the small scale, when we have taken from it royalty
and the towns, which are distinct and foreign elements.
The first fact that strikes us in contemplating this little
society, is the prodigious importance which the possessor of
the fief must have had, both in his own eyes, and in the eyes
of those who surrounded him. The sentiment of personality,
of individual liberty, predominated in the barbaric life. But
here it was wholly different; it was no longer only the liberty
of the man, of the warrior; it was the importance of the proprietor, of the head of the family, of the master, that came to
be considered. From this situation an impression of immense
superiority must have resulted; a superiority quite peculiar,
and very different from everything that we meet with in the
career of other civilizations. I will give the proof of this. I take
in the ancient world some great aristocratical position,
a Roman patrician, for instance: like the feudal lord, the
Roman patrician was head of a family, master, superior. He
was, moreover, the religious magistrate, the pontiff in the
interior of his family. Now, his importance as a religious
magistrate came to him from without; it was not a purely




70


HISTORY OF


personal and individual importance; he received it from on
high; he was the delegate of the Divinity; the interpreter of
the religious creed.  The Roman patrician was, besides,
the member of a corporation which lived united on the
same spot, a member of the senate; this again was an
importance which came to him   from  without, from  his
corporation, a received, a borrowed importance.   The
greatness of the ancient aristocrats, associated as it was
with a religious and political character, belonged to the
situation, to the corporation in general, rather than to the
individual. That of the possessor of the fief was purely
individual; it was not derived from any one; all his rights,
all his power, came to him from himself. le was not a
religious magistrate; he took no part in a senate; it was in
his person that all his importance resided; all that he was, he
was of himself, and in his own name. What a mighty influence must such a situation have exerted on its occupant!
What individual haughtiness, what prodigious pride-let us
say the word-what insolence, must have arisen in his soul!
Above himself there was no superior of whom he was the
representative or interpreter; there was no equal near him;
no powerful and general law which weighed upon him; no
external rule which influenced his will; he knew no curb
but the limits of his strength and the presence of danger.
Such was the necessary moral result of this situation upon
the character of man.
I now proceed to a second consequence, mighty also, and
too little noticed, namely, the particular turn taken by the
feudal family spirit.
Let us cast a glance over the various family systems. Take
first of all the patriarchal system of which the Bible and oriental
records offer the model. The family was very numerous; it
was a tribe. The chief, the patriarch, lived therein in common
with his children, his near relations, the various generations
which united themselves around him, all his kindred, all his
servants; and not only did he live with them all, but he had
the same interests, the same occupations, and he led the same
life. Was not this the condition of Abraham, of the patriarchs, and of the chiefs of the Arab tribes, who still reproduce
the image of the patriarchal life?
Another family system presents itself, namely, the clan, a




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


71


petty society, whose type we must seek for in Scotland
or Ireland.  Through this system, very probably, a large
portion of the European family has passed. This is no longer
the patriarchal family. There is here a great difference
between the situation of the chief and that of the rest of the
population. They did not lead the same life: the greater
portion tilled and served; the chief was idle and warlike.
But they had a common origin; they all bore the same name;
and their relations of kindred, ancient traditions, the same
recollections, the same affections, established a moral tie, a
sort of equality between all the members of the clan.
These are the two principal types of the family society presented by history. But have we here the feudal family?
Obviously not. It seems, at first, that the feudal family bears
some relation to the clan; but the difference is much greater
than the resemblance. The population which surrounded the
possessor of the fief were totally unconnected with him; they did
not bear his name; between them and him there was no kindred, no bond, moral or historical. Neither did it resemble
the patriarchal family. The possessor of the fief led not the
same life, nor did he engage in the same occupations with
those who surrounded him; he was an idler and a warrior,
whilst the others were labourers. The feudal family was not
numerous; it was not a tribe; it reduced itself to the family,
properly so called, namely, to the wife and children; it lived
separated from the rest of the population, shut up in the
castle. The colonists and serfs made no part of it; the
origin of the members of this society was different, the
inequality of their situation immense. Five or six individuals,
in a situation at once superior to and estranged from the
rest of the society, that was the feudal family.  It was
of course invested with a peculiar character. It was narrow,
concentrated, and constantly called upon to defend itself
against, to distrust, and, at least, to isolate itself from, even
its retainers. The interior life, domestic manners, were
sure to become predominant in such a system.     I am
aware that the brutality of the passions of a chief, his
habit of spending his time in warfare or the chase, were a
great obstacle to the development of domestic manners. But
this would be conquered; the chief necessarily returned home
habitually; he always found there his wife and children; and




72                    HISTORY OF
these well nigh only; these would alone constitute his permanent
society-they would alone share his interests, his destiny.
Domestic life necessarily, therefore, acquired great sway.
Proofs of this abound. Was it not within the bosom of the
feudal family that the importance of women developed itself?
In all the ancient societies, I do not speak of those where
the family spirit did not exist, but of those wherein it was
very powerful in the patriarchal life, for instance, women
did not hold at all so considerable a place as they acquired
in Europe under the feudal system. It was to the development and necessary preponderance of domestic manners in
feudalism, that they chiefly owed this change, this progress in
their condition. Some have desired to trace the cause to the
peculiar manners of the ancient Germans; to a national respect which, it is said, they bore towards women amidst their
forests. Upon a sentence of Tacitus, German patriotism has
built I know not what superiority, what primitive and uneradicable purity of German manners, as regards the relations of the two sexes. Mere fancies! Phrases similar to that
of Tacitus, concerning sentiments and usages analogous to
those of the ancient Germans, are to be found in the recitals
of a crowd of observers of savage or barbarous people. There
is nothing primitive therein, nothing peculiar to any particular race. It was in the effects of a strongly marked social
position, in the progress and preponderance of domestic manners, that the importance of women in Europe originated;
and the preponderance of domestic manners became, very
early, an essential characteristic of the feudal system.
A second fact, another proof of the empire of domestic life,
equally characterises the feudal family: I mean the hereditary
spirit, the spirit of perpetuation, which evidently predominated therein. The hereditary spirit is inherent in the family
spirit; but nowhere has it so strongly developed itself as
under the feudal system. This resulted from the nature of the
property with which the family was incorporated. The fief
was unlike other properties: it constantly demanded a
possessor to defend it, serve it, acquit himself of the
obligations inherent in the domain, and thus maintain it in
its rank amidst the general association of the masters of the
soil. Thence resulted a sort of identification between the
actual possessor of the fief and the fief itself, and all the series
of its future possessors.




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


73


This circumstance greatly contributed to fortify and make
closer the family ties, already so powerful by the very nature
of the feudal family.
I now issue from the seignorial dwelling, and descend
amidst the petty population that surrounds it.  Here all
things wear a different aspect. The nature of man is so good
and fruitful, that when a social situation endures for any
length of time, a certain moral tie, sentiments of protection,
benevolence, and affection, inevitably establish themselves
among those who are thus approximated to one another, whatever may be the conditions of approximation. It happened
thus with feudalism. No doubt, after a certain time, some
moral relations, some habits of affection, became contracted
between the colonists and the possessor of the fief. But this
happened in spite of their relative position, and not by reason
of its influence. Considered in itself, the position was radically wrong. There was nothing morally in common between the possessor of the fief and the colonists; they constituted part of his domain; they were his property; and under
this name, property, were included all the rights which, in
the present day, are called rights of public sovereignty, as
well as the rights of private property, the right of imposing
laws, of taxing, and punishing, as well as that of disposing of
and selling. As far as it is possible that such should be the
case where men are in presence of men, between the lord and
the cultivators of his lands there existed no rights, no guarantees, no society.
Hence, I conceive, the truly prodigious and invincible
hatred with which the people at all times have regarded the
feudal system, its recollections, its very name. It is not
a case without example for men to have submitted to oppressive despotisms, and to have become accustomed to them;
nay, to have willingly accepted them. Theocratic and
monarchical despotisms have more than once obtained the
consent, almost the affections, of the population subjected to
them. But feudal despotism has always been repulsive and
odious; it has oppressed the destinies, but never reigned over
the souls of men. The reason is, that in theocracy and monarchy, power is exercised in virtue of certain words which
are common to the master and to the subject; it is the representative, the minister of another power superior to all human




74


HISTORY OF


p,)wcr; it speaks and acts in the name of the Divinity or of
a general idea, and not in the name of man himself, of man
alone. Feudal despotism was altogether different; it was the
p:)wer of the individual over the individual; the dominion of
the personal and capricious will of a man. This is, perhaps,
the only tyranny of which, to his eternal honour, man will
never willingly accept. Whenever, in his master, he beholds
a mere man, from the moment that the will which oppresses
him appears a merely human and individual will, like his
own, lie becomes indignant, and supports the yoke wrathfully.
ISuch was the true and distinguishing character of feudal
Ipower; and such was also the origin of the antipathy which
it lias ever inspired.
The religious element which was associated with it was
little calculated to ease the burden. I do not conceive that
the influence of the priest, in the little society which I have
just described, was very great, nor that lie succeeded much
in legitimating the relations of the inferior population with
the lord. The church has exerted a very great influence
upon European civilization, but this it has done by proceedings of' a general character, by changing, for instance, the
general dispositions of men.  When    we enter closely
into the petty feudal society, properly so called, we find that
tlhe influence of the priest, between the colonists and the
lord, scarcely amounted to anything.  Most frequently he
was himself rude and subordinate as a serf, and very
little in condition or disposition to combat the arrogance of
the lord. No doubt, called, as he was, to sustain and develop
somewhat of moral life in the inferior population, he was dear
and useful to it on this account; he spread through it somewhat
of consolation and of life; but, I conceive, he could and did
very little to alleviate its destiny.
I have examined the elementaryfeudal society; I have placed
before you the principal consequences which necessarily flowed
from it, whether to the possessor of the fief himself, or his
family, or the population congregated around him. Let us now
go forth from this narrow inclosure. The population of the fief
was not alone upon the land; there were other societies,
analogous or different, with which it bore relation. What
influence did the general society to which that population
belonged, necessarily exercise upon civilization?




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


75


I will make a brief remark, before answering this question:
It is true that the possessor of the fief and the priest be.
longed, one and the other, to a general society; they had, at a
distance, numerous and frequent relations. It was not the
same with the colonists, the serfs: every time that, in order
to designate the population of the country at this period, we
make use of a general word, which seems to imply one and
the same society, the word people, for example, we do not
convey the truth. There was for this population no general
society; its existence was purely local. Beyond the territory
which they inhabited, the colonists had no connexion with any
thing or person.  For them there was no common destiny, no
common country; they did not form a people. When we
speak of the feudal association as a whole, it is only the
possessors of the fiefs that are concerned.
Let us see what were the relations of the petty feudal
society with the general society with which it was connected,
and to what consequences these relations necessarily led as
regards the development of civilization.
You are acquainted with the nature of the ties which
united the possessors of the fiefs among themselves, with the
obligations of service, on the one hand, of protection on the
other. I shall not enter into a detail of these obligations; it
suffices that you have a general idea of their character. From
these obligations there necessarily arose within the mind of
each possessor of a fief, a certain number of moral ideas and
sentiments, ideas of duty, sentiments of affection. The fact
is evident that the principle of fidelity, of devotion, of loyalty
to engagements, and all sentiments connected therewith, were
developed and sustained by the relations of the possessors of
the fiefs between themselves.
These obligations, duties, and sentiments, endeavoured to
convert themselves into rights and institutions. Every one
knows that feudalism desired legally to determine what were
the services due from the possessor of the fief towards his
suzerain; what were the services which he might expect in
return; in what cases the vassal owed pecuniary or military
aid to his suzerain; in what forms the suzerain ought to obtain the consent of his vassals, for services to which they
were not compelled by the simple tenure of their fiefs.
Attempts were made to place all their rights under the




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HISTORY OF


guarantee of institutions, which aimed at insuring their being
respected. Thus, the seignorial jurisdictions were destined to
render justice between the possessors of the fiefs, upon claims
carried before their common suzerain.  Thus, also, each lord
who was of any consideration assembled his vassals in a
parliament, in order to treat with them concerning matters
which required their consent or their concurrence. In short,
there existed a collection of political, judicial, and military
means, with which attempts were made to organise the feudal
system, converting the relations between the possessors of
fiefs into rights and institutions.
But these rights and these institutions had no reality, no
guarantee.
If one is asked, what is meant by a guarantee, a political
guarantee, one is led to perceive that its fundamental character
is the constant presence, in the midst of the society, of a will,
of a power disposed and in a condition to impose a law upon
particular wills and powers, to make them  observe the
common rule, and respect the general right.
There are only two systems of political guarantees possible:
it is either necessary  there should be a particular will
and power so superior to all others, that none should be able to
resist it, and that all should be compelled to submit to it as
soon as it interferes; or else that there should be a public
will and power, which is the result of agreement, of the development of particular wills, and which, once gone forth
from them, is in a condition to impose itself upon, and to
make itself respected equally by all.
Such are the two possible systems of political guarantees:
the despotism of one or of a body, or free government.
When we pass systems in review, we find that all of them
come under one or other of these heads.
Well, neither one nor the other existed, nor could exist,
under the feudal system.
No doubt the possessors of the fiefs were not all equal
among themselves; there were many of superior power, many
powerful enough to oppress the weaker.  But there was no
one, beginning from the first of the suzerains, the king,
who was in condition to impose law upon all the others,
and make himself obeyed. Obser e that all the permanent
means of power and action were wanting: there were
no permanent troops, no permanent taxes, no permanent




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tribunals. The social powers and institutions had, after
a manner, to recommence and create themselves anew
every time they were required. A tribunal was obliged
to be constructed for every process, an army whenever there
was a war to be made, a revenue whenever money was
wanted; everything was occasional, accidental, and special;
there was no means of central, permanent, and independent
government. It is plain that, in such a system, no individual
was in a condition to impose his will upon others, or to cause
the general rights to be respected by all.
On the other hand, resistance was as easy as repression
was difficult.  Shut up in his castle, having to do only with
a small number of enemies, easily finding, among vassals of
his own condition, the means of coalition, and of assistance,
the possessor of the fief defended himself with the greatest
facility.
Thus, then, we see that the first system of guarantees, the
system which places them in the intervention of the strongest,
was not possible under feudalism.
The other system, that of a free government, a public
power, was equally impracticable; it could never have arisen
in the bosom of feudalism. The reason is sufficiently simple.
When we speak, in the present day, of a public power, of
that which we call the rights of sovereignty, the right of
giving laws, taxing, and punishing, we all think that those
rights belong to no one, that no one has, on his own account,
a right to punish others, and to impose upon them a charge, a
law. Those are rights which belong only to society in the
mass, rights which are exercised in its name, which it holds
not of itself, but receives from the Highest. Thus, when an
individual comes before the powers invested with these rights,
the sentiment which, perhaps without his consciousness,
reigns in him is, that he is in the presence of a public and
legitimate power, which possesses a mission for commanding
him, and he is submissive beforehand and internally.
But it was wholly otherwise under feudalism. The possessor of the fief, in his domain, was invested with all
the rights of sovereignty over those who inhabited it;
they were inherent to the domain, and a part of his private
property. What are at present public rights were then private rights; what is now public power was then private
power. When the possessor of a fief, after having exercised




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HISTORY OF


sovereignty in his own name, as a proprietor over all the
population amidst which he lived, presented himself at an
assembly, a parliament held before his suzerain, a parliament
not very numerous, and composed in general of men who
were his equals, or nearly so, he did not bring with him, nor
did he carry away the idea of a public power. This idea was
in contradiction to all his existence, to all that he lhad been
in the habit of doing in the interior of his own domains.  lie
saw there only men who were invested with the same rights
as himself, who were in the same situation, and, like him,
acted in the name of their personal will. Nothing in the
most elevated department of the government, in what we call
public institutions, conveyed to him, or forced him to recognise this character of superiority and generality, which is inherent to the idea that we form to ourselves of public powers.
And if he was dissatisfied with the decision, he refused to
agree with it, or appealed to force for resistance.
Under the feudal system, force was the true and habitual
guarantee of right, if, indeed, we may call force a guaralntee.
All rights had perpetual recourse to force to make themselves
recognised or obeyed. No institution succeeded in doing this;
and this was so generally felt that institutions were rarely
appealed to. If the seignorial courts and parliaments of vassals
had been capable of influence, we should have met with them
in history more frequently than we do, and found them exerting more activity; their rarity proves their invalidity.
At this we must not be astonished; there is a reason for it
more decisive and deeply seated than those which I have
described.
Of all systems of government and political guarantee, the
federative system is certainly the most difficult to establish
and to render prevalent; a system which consists in leaving
in each locality and each particular society all that portion of
the government which can remain there, and in taking from
it only that portion which is indispensable to the maintenance
of the general society, and carrying this to the centre of that
society, there to constitute of it a central government. The
federative system, logically the most simple, is, in fact, the
most complex. In order to reconcile the degree of local independence and liberty which it allows to remain, with the
degree of general order and submission which it demands and




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79


supposes in certain cases, a very advanced degree of civilization is evidently requisite; it is necessary that the will of
man, that individual liberty should concur in the establishment
and maintenance of this system, much more than in that of
any other, for its means of coercion are far less than those of
any other.
The federative system, then, is that which evidently requires the greatest development of reason, morality, and
civilization, in the society to which it is applied. Well, this,
nevertheless, was the system which feudalism endeavoured
to establish; the idea of general feudalism, in fact, was that
of a federation.  It reposed upon the same principles on
which are founded, in our day, the federation of the United
States of America, for example.  It aimed at leaving in the
hands of each lord all that portion of government and
sovereignty which could remain there, and to carry to the
suzerain, or to the general assembly of barons, only the least
possible portion of power, and that only in cases of absolute
necessity. You perceive the impossibility of' establishing
such a system amidst ignorance, amidst brutal passions-in
short, in a moral state so imperfect as that of man under feudalism. The very nature of government was contradictory to the
ideas and manners of the very men to whom it was attempted
to be applied. Who can be astonished at the ill success of
these endeavours at organization?
We have considered feudal society, first, in its most simple
and fundamental element, then in its entirety. We have
examined, under these two points of view, that which it
necessarily did, that which naturally flowed from it, as to
its influence upon the course of civilization. I conceive
that we have arrived at this double result:
First, federalism has exerted a great, and, on the whole, a
salutary influence upon the internal development of the
individual; it has awakened in men's minds ideas, energetic
sentiments, moral requirements, fine developments of character and passion.
Secondly, under the social point of view, it was unable to establish either legal order or political guarantees; it
was indispensable to the revival in Europe of society, which
had been so entirely dissolved by barbarism, that it was incapable of a more regular and more extended form; but the




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HISTORY OF


feudal form, radically bad in itself, could neither regulate nor
extend itself. The only political right which the feudal
system  caused to assert itself in European society was the
right of resistance,-I do not say legal resistance, that could
not have place in a society so little advanced.  The progress
of society consists precisely in substituting, on the one hand,
public powers for particular wills; on the other, legal, for
individual resistance. In this consists the grand aim, the
principal perfection of the social order; much latitude is left
to personal liberty; then, when that liberty fails, when it
becomes necessary to demand from it an account of itself,
appeal is made to public reason alone, to determine the
process instituted against the liberty of the individual.  Such
is the system of legal order and of legal resistance.  You
perceive, without difficulty, that under feudalism  there
existed nothing of this sort. The right of resistance which
the feudal system maintained and practised was the right of
personal resistance-a terrible, unsocial right, since it appeals
to force and to war, which is the destruction of society itself;
a right which, nevertheless, should never be abolished froni
the heart of man, for its abolition is the acceptation of servitude. The sentiment of the right of resistance had perished
in the disgrace of Roman society, and could not rise anew
from its wreck; it could not come more naturally, in my
opinion, from the principle of the Christian society.  To
feudalism we are indebted for its re-introduction into the
manners of Europe. It is the boast of civilization to render
it always useless and inactive; it is the boast of the feudal
system to have constantly professed and defended it.
Such, if I do not deceive myself, is the result of an
examination of feudal society, considered in itself;, in its
general elements, and independently of historical development. If we pass on to facts, to history, we shall see that
has happened which might have been looked for; that
the feudal system has done what it was fitted to do; that its
destiny has been in conformity with its nature. Events may
be adduced in proof of all the conjectures and inferences
which I have drawn from the very nature of this system.
Cast a glance upon the general history of feudalism
between the tenth and thirteenth centuries; it is impossible
to mistake the great and salutary influence exerted by it




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


upon the development of sentiments, characters, and ideas.
We cannot look into the history of this period without meeting with a crowd of noble sentiments, great actions, fine
displays of humanity, born evidently in the bosom of feudal
manners. Chivalry, it is true, does not resemble feudalismnevertheless, it is its daughter: from feudalism issued this
ideal of elevated, generous, loyal sentiments.  It says much
in favour of its parentage.
Turn your eyes to another quarter: the first bursts of
European imagination, the first attempts of poetry and of
literature, the first intellectual pleasures tasted by Europe
on its quitting barbarism, under the shelter, under the wings
of feudalism, in the interior of the feudal castles, that all
these were born. This kind of development of humanity
requires a movement in     the soul, in life, leisure, a
thousand conditions which are not to be met with in the
laborious, melancholy, coarse, hard existence of the common
people. In France, in England, in Germany, it is with
the feudal times that the first literary recollections, the first
intellectual enjoyments of Europe connect themselves.
On the other, if we consult history upon the social influence of feudalism, its answers will always be in harmony
with our conjectures; it will reply that the feudal system
has been as much opposed to the establishment of general
order as to the extension of general liberty. Under whatever
point of view you consider the progress of society, you find
the feudal system acting as an obstacle.  Therefore, from the
earliest existence of feudalism, the two forces which have
been the grand motive powers of the development of
order and liberty-on one hand the monarchical power, the
popular power on the other; royalty, and the people-have
attacked and struggled against it unceasingly. Some attempts
have, at different times, been made to regulate it, and construct out of it a state somewhat legal and general: in
England, such attempts were made by William the Conqueror
and( his sons; in France, by St. Louis; in Germany, by
many of the emperors. All attempts, all efforts have failed.
The very nature of feudal society was repugnant to order
and legality. In modern ages, some men of intellect have
attempted to re-establish feudalism as a social system; they
have desired to discover therein a legal, regulated, and
0




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HISTORY OF


progressive state; they have made of it an age of gold.
But ask them to assign the age of gold to some particular place
or time, and they can do no such thing: it is an Utopia
without a date, a drama for which we find, in past times,
neither theatre nor actors. The cause of this error is easy to
discover, and it equally explains the mistake of those who
cannot pronounce the name of feudalism without cursing it.
Neither one party nor the other has taken the pains to consider the double aspect under which feudalism presents itself;
to distinguish, on the one hand, its influence upon the individual development of man, upon sentiments, characters,
and passions, and, on the other, its influence upon the social
state. The one party has not been able to persuade itself
that a social system, in which so many beautiful sentiments,
so many virtues are found-in which they behold the birth of
all literatures, and in which manners assume a certain elevation and nobility-can have been so bad and fatal as it is pretended. The other party has only seen the wrong done by
feudalism to the mass of the population, the obstacles opposed
by it to the establishment of order and liberty; and this
party has not been able to believe that fine characters, great
virtues, and any progress, can have resulted from it. Both
have mistaken the double element of civilization; they have
not understood that it consists of two developments, of which
the one may, in time, produce itself' independently of the
other; although, after the course of centuries, and by means
of a long series of circumstances, they must reciprocally call
forth and lead to each other.
For the rest, that which feudalism was in theory it was in
fact; that to which theory pointed as likely to result from it,
has resulted from it. Individuality and energy of personal
existence, such was the predominating trait among the conq(uerors of the Roman world; the development of individuality
necessarily resulted, before all things, from the social system
which was founded by and for themselves. That which man
himself brings to a social system, at the moment of his
entrance, his internal and moral qualities, powerfully influence
the situation in which he establishes himself. The situation,
in turn, re-acts upon these qualities, and strengthens and
develops them. The individual predominated in the German
society; it was for the benefit of the development of the in



CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.             83
dividual that feudal society, the daughter of German society,
exerted its influence. We shall again find the same fact in
the different elements of civilization; they have remained
faithful to their principle; they have advanced and urged on
the world in the direction which they first entered. In our
next lecture, the history of the church and of its influence,
from the fifth to the twelfth century, upon European civilization, will furnish us with another and a striking illustration
of this fact.




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HISTORY OF


FIFTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Religion is a principle of association-Constraint
is not of the essence of government-Conditions of the legitimacy of a
government: 1. The power must be in the hands of the most worthy;
2. Tile liberty of the governed must be respectede-The church being
a corporation, and not a caste, fulfilled the first of these conditions-Of
the various methods of nomination and election that existed therein-It
wanted the other condition, on account of the illegitimate extension of
authority, and on account of the abusive employment of force —Movement and liberty of spirit in the bosom of the churchl-Relations of the
church with princes-The independence of spiritual power laid down as
a principle-Pretensions and efforts of the church to usurp the tern
poral power.
rWE have examined the nature and influence of the feudal
system; it is with the Christian church, from the fifth to the
twelfth  century, that we are now to occupy ourselves: I
say, with the church; and I have already laid this emphasis,
because it is not with Christianity properly speaking, with
Christianity as a religious system, but with the church as an
ecclesiastical society, with the Christian clergy, that I propose
to engage your attention.
In the fifth century, this society was almost completely
organized; not that it has not since then undergone many
and important changes; but we may say that, at that time,
the church, considered as a corporation, as a government of
Christian people, had attained a complete and independent
existence.
One glance is enouigh to show us an immense difference
between the state of the church and that of the other elements
of European civilization in the fifth century. I have mentioned, as the fundamental elements of our Nivilization, the




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85


municipal and feudal systems, royalty, and the church.  The
municipal system, in the fifth century, was no more than the
wreck of the Roman empire, a shadow without life or determinate form.  The feudal system had not yet issued from the
chaos. Royalty existed only in name. All the civil elements
of modern society were either in decay or infancy.  The
church alone was, at the same time, young and constituted; it
alone had acquired a definite form, and preserved all the
vigour of early age; it alone possessed, at once, movement
and order, energy and regularity, that is to say, the two great
means of influence. Is it not, let me ask you, by. moral life,
by internal movement, on the one hand, and by order and
discipline on the other, that institutions take possession of
society?  The church, moreover, had mooted all the great
questions which interest man; it busied itself with all the
problems of his nature, and with all the chances of his destiny.
Thus its influence upon modern civilization has been very
great, greater, perhaps, than even its most ardent adversaries,
or its most zealous defenders have supposed.  Occupied with
rendering it services, or with combating it, they have
regarded it only in a polemical point of view, and have therefore, I conceive, been unable either to judge it with equity,
or to measure it in all its extent.
The Christian church in the fifth century presents itself as
an independent and constituted society, interposed between
the masters of the world, the sovereigns, the possessors of the
temporal power on the one hand, and the people on the other,
serving as a bond between them, and influencing all.
In order completely to know and comprehend its action, we
must therefore consider it under three aspects: first of all we
must regard it in itself, make an estimate of what it was, of
its internal constitution, of the principles which predominated
in it, and of its nature; we must then examine it in its relation to the temporal sovereignties, kings, lords, and others;
lastly, in its relations to the people. And when from  this
triple examination we shall have deduced a complete picture
of the church, of its principles, its situation, and the influence
which it necessarily exercised, we shall verify our assertions
by an appeal to history; we shall find out whether the facts
and events, properly so called, from the fifth to the twelfth
century, are in harmony with the results to which we have




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HIISTORY OF


been led by the study of the nature of the church, and of its
relations, both with the masters of the world and with the
people.
First of all, let us occupy ourselves with the church in itself,
with its internal condition, and its nature.
The first fact which strikes us, and perhaps the most important, is its very existence, the existence of a religious
government, of a clergy, of an ecclesiastical corporation, of it
priesthood, of a religion in the sacerdotal state.
With many enlightened men, these very words, a body
of priesthood, a religious government, appear to determine
the question. They think that a religion which ends in a
body of priests, a legally constituted clergy, in short, a
governed religion: must be, taking all things together, more
injurious than useful. In their opinion, religion is a purely individual relation of man to God; and that whenever the relation loses this character, whenever an external authority
comes between the individual and the object of religious creeds,
-namely, God-religion is deteriorated, and society in danger.
W~e cannot dispense with an examination of this question.
In order to ascertain what has been the influence of the
Christian church, we must know what ought to be, by the
very nature of the institution, the influence of a church and
of a clergy. In order to appreciate this influence, we must
find out, first of all, whether religion is, in truth, purely
individual, whether it does not provoke and give birth to
something more than merely a private relation between each
man and God; or whether it necessarily becomes a source
of new relations between men, from which a religious society
and a government of that society necessarily flow.
If we reduce religion to the religious sentiment properly
so called, to that sentiment which is very real, though somewhat vague and uncertain as to its object, and which we can
scarcely characterize otherwise than by naming it,-to this
sentiment which addresses itself sometimes to external nature,
sometimes to the innermost recesses of the soul, to-day to
poetry, to-morrow to the mysteries of the future, which, in a
word, wanders everywhere, seeking everywhere to satisfy
itself, and fixing itself nowhere,-if we reduce religion to this
sentiment, it seems evident to me that it should remain purely
individual. Such a sentiment may provoke a momentary




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87


association between men; it can, it even ought to take pleasure in sympathy, nourishing and strengthening itself thereby.
But by reason of its fluctuating and doubtful character, it
refuses to become the principle of a permanent and extensive
association, to adapt itself to any system of precepts, practices,
and forms; in short, to give birth to a religious society and
government.
But either I deceive myself strangely, or this religious
sentiment is not the complete expression of the religious
nature of man. Religion, I conceive, is a different thing,
and much more than this.
In human nature and in human destiny there are problems
of which the solution lies beyond this world, which are connected with a class of things foreign to the visible world, and
which inveterately torment the soul of man, who is fixedly
intent upon solving them. The solution of these problems,
creeds, dogmas, which contain that solution, or. at least,
flatter themselves that they do, these constitute the first object
and the first source of religion.
Another path leads men to religion. To those among you
who have prosecuted somewhat extended philosophical studies,
it is, I conceive, sufficiently evident at present that morality
exists independently of religious ideas; that the distinction of
moral good and evil, the obligation to shun the evil, and
to do the good, are laws, which, like the laws of logic, man
discovers in his own nature, and which have their principle
in himself, as they have their application in his actual
life. But these facts being decided, the independence of
morality being admitted, a question arises in the human
mind-Whence comes morality?    To what does it lead?  Is
this obligation to do good, which subsists of itself, an isolated
fact, without author and aim?  Does it not conceal from, or
rather, does it not reveal to man a destiny which is beyond
this world? This is a spontaneous and inevitable question,
by which morality, in its turn, leads man to the door of
religion, and discovers to him a sphere from which he had
not borrowed morality.
Thus, in the problems of our nature, upon one hand, and
in the necessity of discovering a sanction, origin, and aim for
morality, on the other, we find assured and fruitful sources of
religion, which thus presents it-c f' under aspects very different




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HISTORY OF


from that of a mere instrument, as it has been described; it
presents itself as a collection —st, of doctrines called forth by
problems which man discovers within himself; and, of precepts which correspond to those doctrines, and give to natural
morality a meaning and a sanction; 3rd, of promises which
address themselves to the hopes of humanity in the future.
This is what truly constitutes religion; this is what it is at
bottom, and not a mere form of sensibility, a flight of the
imagination, a species of poetry.
Reduced in this manner to its true elements and to its
essence, religion no longer appears as a purely individual
fhct, but as a powerful and fruitful principle of association.
Consider it as a system of creeds and dogmas: truth belongs
to no one; it is universal, absolute; men must seek and profess it in common.   Consider the precepts that associate
themselves with doctrines: an obligatory law for one is such
for all; it must be promulgated, it must bring all men under
its (empire.  It is the same with the promises made by
religion in the name of its creeds and precepts: they must be
spread abroad, and all men must be called to gather the
fiuits of them. From the essential elements of religion, then,
you see that the religious society is born; indeed, it flows
therefrom so infallibly that the word which expresses the most
energetic social sentiment, the most imperious necessity of
propagating ideas and extending a society, is the word proselytism, a word which applies above all to religious creeds,
and, indeed, seems to be almost exclusively consecrated to
them.
The religious society being once born, when a certain
number of' men become united in common religious creeds,
under the law of' common religious precepts, and in common
religious hopes, that society must have a government. There
is no society which can survive a week, an hour, without a
government. At the very instant in which the society forms
itself, and even by the very fact of its formation, it calls a
government, which proclaims the common truth, the bond of
the society, and promulgates and supports the precepts which
originate in that truth. The necessity for a power, for a
government over the religious society, as over every other,
is implied in the fact of the existence of that society. And
not only is government necessary, but it naturally forms




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89


itself. I must not pause for any time to explain how government originates and establishes itself in society in general. I
shall confine myself to saying that, when things follow their
natural laws, when external force does not mix itself up with
them, power always flies to the most capable, to the best, to
those who will lead society towards its aim. In a warlike
expedition, the bravest obtain the power. Is research or
skilful enterprise the object of an association? the most
capable will be at the head of it. In all things, when the
world is left to its natural course, the natural inequality of
men freely displays itself, and each takes the place which lie is
capable of occupying. Well, as regards religion, men are no
more equal in talents, faculties, and power, than in the other
cases; such a one will be better able than any other to expound religious doctrines, and to cause them to be generally
adopted; some other bears about him more authority to
induce the observance of religious precepts; a third will excel
in sustaining and animating religious emotions and hopes in
the souls of men. The same inequality of faculties and influence which gives rise to power in civil society, originates it
equally in religious society. Missionaries arise and declare
themselves like generals. Thus, as, on one hand, religious
government necessarily flows from the nature of religious
society, so, on the other, it naturally develops itself therein
by the mere effect of the human faculties and their unequal
partition. Therefore, fiom the moment at which religion is
born in man, religious society develops itself; and from the
moment at which religious society appears, it gives rise to its
government.
But now a fundamental objection arises: there is nothing
in this case to ordain or impose; nothing coercive. There'
is no room for government, since unlimited liberty is required
to exist.
It is, I conceive, a very rude and petty idea of government
in general, to suppose that it resides solely, or even principally, in the force which it exerts to make itself obeyed in its
coercive element.
I leave the religious point of view; I take civil government. I pray you follow with me the simple course of facts.
The society exists: there is something to be done, no matter
what, in its interest and name; there is a law to make, a




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HISTORY OF


measure to take, a judgment to pronounce. Assuredly there
is likewise a worthy manner of fulfilling these social wants;
a good law to make, a good measure to take, a good judgment
to pronounce. Whatever may be the matter in hand, whatever may be the interest in question, there is in every case
a truth that must be known, a truth which must decide the
conduct of the question.
The first business of government is to seek this truth, to
discover what is just, reasonable, and adapted to society.
When it has found it, it proclaims it. It becomes then necessary that it should impress it upon men's minds; that the
government should make itself approved of by those upon
whom it acts; that it should persuade them of its reasonableness. Is there anything coercive in this? Assuredly
not. Now, suppose that the truth which ought to decide
concerning the affair, no matter what, suppose, I say, that
this truth once discovered and proclaimed, immediately all
understandings are convinced, all wills determined, that all
recognise the reasonableness of the government, and spontaneously obey it; there is still no coercion, there is no room
for the employment of force. Is it that the government did
not exist? is it that, in all this, there was no government?
Evidently there was a government, and it fulfilled its task.
Coercion comes then only when the resistance of individual
will occurs, when the idea, the proceeding which the government has adopted, does not obtain the approbation and voluntary submission of all.  The government then employs force
to make itself obeyed; this is the necessary result of human
imperfection, an imperfection which resides at once in the
governing power and in the society. There will never be
Many way of completely avoiding it; civil governments will
ever be compelled to have recourse, to a certain extent, to
coercion. But governments are evidently not constituted by
coercion: whenever they can dispense with it, they do, and to
the great profit of all: indeed, their highest perfection is to
dispense with it, and to confine themselves to methods purely
moral, to the action which they exert upon the understanding;
so that the more the government dispenses with coercion,
the more faithful it is to its true nature, the better it fulfils
its mission. It is not thereby reduced in power or contracted, as is vulgarly supposed; it acts only in another man



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ner, and in a manner which is infinitely more general and
powerful. Those governments which make the greatest use
of coercion, succeed not nearly so well as those which employ
it scarcely at all.
In addressing itself to the understanding, in determining the
will, in acting by purely intellectual means, the government,
instead of reducing, extends and elevates itself; it is then
that it accomplishes the most and the greatest things. On
the contrary, when it is obliged incessantly to employ coercion, it contracts and lessens itself, and effects very little, and
that little very ill.
Thus the essence of government does not reside in coercion, in the employment of force; but that which above all
things constitutes it, is a system of means and powers, conceived with the design of arriving at the discovery of what is
applicable to each occasion; at the discovery of truth, which
has a right to rule society, in order that afterwards the minds
of men may be brought to open themselves to it. and adopt it
voluntarily and freely. The necessity for, and the actual
existence of a government are thus perfectly conceivable,
when there is no occasion for coercion, when even it is absolutely interdicted.
Well, such is the government of the religious society. Undoubtedly, coercion is interdicted to it; undoubtedly, the employment of force by it is illegitimate, whatever may be its
aim, for the single reason that its exclusive territory is the
human conscience: but not the less, therefore, does it subsist; not the less has it to accomplish all the acts I have
mentioned. It must discover what are the religious doctrines
which solve the problems of the human destiny; or, if there
exists already a general system of creeds whereby those
problems are solved, it must discover and exhibit the consequences of that system, as regards each particular case;
it must promulgate and maintain the precepts which correspond to its doctrines; it must preach and teach them,
in order that, when the society wanders from them, it may
bring it back.   There must be no coercion; the duties
of this government are, examining, preaching, and teaching
religious virtues; and, at need, admonishing or censuring.
Suppress coercion as completely as you will, you will yet
behold all the essential questions of the organisation of a




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government arise and claim solutions.  For example, the
question whether a body of religious magistrates is necessary,
or whether it is possible to trust to the religious inspiration of individuals (a question which is debated between
the majority of religious societies and the Quakers), will
always exist, it will always be necessary to discuss it. In
like manner, the question, whether, when it has been agreed
that a body of religious magistrates is necessary, we should
prefer a system of equality, of religious ministers equal among
themselves, and deliberating in common, to an hierarchical
constitution, with various degrees of power; this question
will never come to an end, because you deny all coercive
power to ecclesiastical magistrates, whosoever they may be.
Instead, then, of dissolving religious society in order that we
may have the right of destroying religious government, we
must rather recognise that the religious society forms itself
naturally, that the religious government flows as naturally
from the religious society, and that the problem to be solved
is to ascertain under what conditions this government should
exist, what are its foundations, principles, and conditions
of legitimacy. This is the real investigation which is imposed by the necessary existence of a religious government as
of all others.
The conditions of legitimacy are the same for the government of a religious society as for that of any other; they
may be reduced to two: the first, that the power should
attach itself to and remain constantly in the hands of the best
and most capable, as far, at least, as human imperfection will
allow of its doing so; that the truly superior people who exist
dispersed among the society should be sought for there,
brought to light, and called upon to unfold the social law, and
to exercise power: the second, that the power legitimately
constituted, should respect the legitimate liberties of those
over whom   it exercises itself.  In these two conditions,
a good system of forming and organizing power, and a good
system of guarantees of liberty, consists the worth of government in general, whether religious or civil; all governments
ought to be judged according to this criterion.
Instead, then, of taunting the church, or the government of
the Christian world, with its existence, we should find cut
how it was constituted, and whether its principles corres



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ponded with the two essential conditions of all good government. Let us examine the church in this twofold view.
As regards the formation and transmission of power in the
church, there is a word which is often used in speaking of the
Christian clergy, and which I wish to discard; it is the word
caste. The body of ecclesiastical magistrates has often been
called a caste. Look round the world; take any country in
which castes have been produced, in India or Egypt; you will
see everywhere that the caste is essentially hereditary; it is
the transmission of the same position, and the same power,
from father to son.   Wherever there is no inheritance,
there is no caste, there is a corporation; the spirit of a
corporation has its inconveniences, but it is very different
from  the spirit of the caste.  The word caste, cannot
be applied to the Christian church.  The celibacy of the
priests prevents the Christian church fiom ever becoming
a caste.
You already see, to a certain extent, the consequences of this
difference. To the system of caste, to the fact of inheritance,
monopoly is inevitably attached. This results from the very
definition of the word caste. When the same functions and
the same powers become hereditary in the same families, it is
evident that privilege must have been attached to them, and
that no one could have acquired them independently of his
origin. In fact, this was what happened; wherever the religious government fell into the hands of a caste, it became a
matter of privilege; no one entered into it but those who belonged to the families of the caste. Notling resembling this
is met with in the Christian church; and not only is there no
resemblance found, but the church has continually maintained
the principle of the equal admissibility of all men to all her
duties and dignities, whatever may have been their origin.
Thle ecclesiastical career, particularly from the fifth to the
twelfth century, was open to all. The church recruited herself from all ranks, alike from the inferior as well as the superior; more often indeed from the inferior. Around her all
was disposed of under the system of privilege; she alone maintained the principle of equality and competition; she alone
called all who were possessed of legitimate superiority to
the possession of power. This was the first great consequence
which naturally resulted from her being a body, and not a
caste.




9t


HISTORY OF


Again, there is an inherent spirit in castes, the spirit
of immobility. This assertion needs no proof. Open any
history, and you will see the spirit of immobility imprinted
upon all societies, whether political or religious, where the
system of castes dominated. The fear of progress, it is true,
was introduced at a certain epoch, and up to a certain point,
in the Christian church. But we cannot say that it has
dominated there; we cannot say that the Christian church has
remained immovable and stationary; for many long ages she
has been in movement and progress; sometimes provoked by
the attacks of an external opposition, sometimes impelled from
within, by desires of reform and internal development. Upon
the whole, it is a society which has continually changed and
marched onwards, and which has a varied and progressive
history. There can be no doubt that the equal admission of
all men to the ecclesiastical functions, that the continual recruiting of the church according to principles of equality, has
powerfully contributed to maintain, and incessantly reanimate
within it, its life and movement, to prevent the triumph of
the spirit of immobility.
How could the church who thus admitted all men to
power assure herself of their right to it?  Iow could she
discover and bring to light, from the heart of society, the
legitimate superiorities which were to share the government?
Two principles were in vigour in the church: first, the
election of the inferior by the superior-the choice. the nomination; secondly, the election of the superior by the subordinates-that is, an election properly so called, what we
understand as such in the present day.
The ordination of priests, for instance, the power of making
a man a priest, belonged to the superior alone. The choice
was exercised by the superior over the inferior. So, in the collation of certain ecclesiastical benefices, among others, benefices
attached to the feudal concessions, it was the superior-king,
pope, or lord-who nominated the incumbent; in other cases,
the principle of election, properly so called, was in force.
The bishops had long been, and at the epoch which occupies
us were still very often, elected by the body of the clergy
sometimes even the congregations interfered. In the interior of monasteries, the abbot was elected by the monks. At
Rome, the popes were elected by the college of cardinals, and




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at one time even the whole of the Roman clergy took part in
the election. You thus see the two principles-the choice of
the inferior by the superior, and the election of the superior
by the subordinate-acknowledged and acted upon in the
church, especially at the epoch under consideration. It was
by one or other of these means that she nominated the men
called upon to exercise a portion of the ecclesiastical power.
Not only were these two principles co-existent, but being essentially different, there was a struggle between them. After
many centuries and many vicissitudes, the nomination of the
inferior by the superior gained the mastery in the Christian
church; but as a general thing, from the fifth to the twelfth
century, it was the other principle, the choice of the superior by
the subordinate, which still prevailed. And do not be surprised at the co-existence of two principles so dissimilar.
Regard society in general, the natural course of the world,
the manner in which power is transmitted in it, you will
see that this transmission is brought into force sometimes
according to one of these principles and sometimes according
to the other. The church did not originate them; she found
them in the providential government of human things, and
thence she borrowed them. There is truth and utility in
each of them; their combination will often be the best means
of discovering the legitimate power. It is a great misfortune, in my opinion, that one of these two, the choice of the
inferior by the superior, should have gained the mastery in
the church; the second, however, has never entirely prevailed; and under various names, with more or less success, it has been reproduced in all epochs, so as at all events
to enter protest and interrupt prescription.
The Christian church derived, at the epoch which occupies
us, immense strength from its respect for equality and legitimate superiorities. It was the most popular society, the
most accessible and open to all kinds of talent, to all the
noble ambitions of human nature. Thence arose its power,
much more than from its riches, or from the illegitimate
means which it has too often employed.
As regards the second condition of a good government,
respect for liberty, there was much to wish for in the church.
Two evil principles met in it; the one avowed, and, as it
were, incorporated in the doctrines of the church; the other




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introduced into it by human weakness, and not as a legitimlate
consequence of doctrines.
The first was the denial of the right of individual
reason, the pretension to transmit creeds down through
the whole religious society, without any one having the right
to judge for himself. It was easier to lay down this principle than to make it actually prevail. A conviction does
not enter into the human intellect unless the intellect admits
it; it must make itself acceptable.  In whatever form it presents itself, and whatever name it evokes, reason weighs it;
and if the creed prevail, it is from being accepted by reason.
Thus, under whatever form they may be concealed, the action
of the individual reason is always exerted     upon the
ideas which are sought to be imposed upon it. It is very true
that reason may be altered; it may to a certain extent abdicate and mutilate itself; it may be induced to make an ill use
of its faculties, or not to put in force all the use of them to which
it has a right; such, indeed, has been the consequence of the ill
principle admitted by the church; but as regards the pure
and complete influence of this principle, it never has been,
and never can be, put into full force.
The second evil principle is, the right of constraint which
the church arrogates to herself,-a right contrary to the very
nature of religious society, to the very origin of the church,
and her primitive maxims,-a right which has been disputed
by many of the most illustrious fathers, St. Ambrose, St.
IIilary, St. Martin, but which has, notwithstanding, prevailed
and become a dominant fact.   The pretension of forcing to
believe, if two such words can stand in juxta-position, or of
physically  punishing  belief, the persecution of heresy,
contempt f)r the legitimate liberty of human thought, this
is an error which was introduced into the church even before
the fifth century; and dearly has it cost her.
If, then, we consider the church in relation to the liberty
of her members, we perceive that her principles in this
respect were less legitimate and less salutary than those
whillch presided at the formation of the ecclesiastical power.
It must not be supposed, however, that an evil principle
radically vitiates an institution, nor even that it is the cause
of all the evil which it carries in its breast.  Nothing more
fitiLifies history than logic: when the human mind rests




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97


upon an idea, it draws from it every possible consequence,
makes it produce all the effect it is capable of producing, and
then pictures it in history with the whole retinue. But
things do not happen in this way; events are not so prompt
in their deductions as the human mind. There is in all
things a mixture of good and evil so profound and invincible, that wherever you penetrate, when you descend into
the most hidden elements of society or the soul, you find
there these two orders of existent facts developing themselves side by side, combating without exterminating one
another. Human nature never goes to the extremity either
of evil or good; it passes incessantly from one to the other,
erecting itself at the moment when it seems most likely to
fall, and weakening at the moment when its walk seems
firmest. We shall find here that character of discordance,
variety, and strife, which I have remarked as being the fundamental characteristic of European civilization. There is
still another general fact which characterizes the government of the church, and of which it is necessary to take
notice.
At the present day, when the idea of government presents
itself to us, whatever it may be, we know that there is no pretension of governing other than the external actions of manthe civil relations of men among themselves; governments
profess to apply themselves to nothing more. With regard
to human thought, human conscience, and morality, properly
so called, with regard to individual opinions and private
manners, they do not interfere; these fall within the domain
of liberty.
The Christian church did or wished to do directly the contrary; she undertook to govern the liberty, private manners, and
opinions of individuals. She did not make a code like ours,
to define only actions at once morally culpable and socially
dangerous, and only punishing them in proportion as they
bore this two-fold character.  She made a catalogue of all
actions morally culpable, and under the name of sins she
punished all with the intention of repressing all; in a word, the
government of the church did not address itself, like modern
governments, to the external man, to the purely civil relations
of men among themselves; it addressed itself to the internal
man, to the thought and conscience, that is to say, to all that
H




98


HISTORY OF


is most private to him, most free and rebellious against constraint.  The church, then, from the very nature of her
enterprise, together with the nature of some of the principles
upon which she founded her government, was in danger of
becoming tyrannical, and of employing illegitimate force.
But at the same time the force encountered a resistance which
it could not vanquish.  However little movement and space
are left them, human thought and liberty energetically re-act
against all attempts to subdue them, and at every moment
compel the very despotism which they endure to abdicate.
Thus it happened in the bosom of the Christian church.
You have seen the proscription of heresy, the condemnation
of the right of inquiry, the contempt for individual reason,
and the principle of the imperative transmission of doctrines
upon authority. Well! show one society in which individual
reason has been more boldly developed than in the church!
W-hat are sects and heresies, if they are not the fruit of
individual opinions?  Sects and heresies, all the party of
opposition in the church, are the incontestable proof of the
moral life and activity which reigned in it; a life tempestuous
and painful, overspread with perils, errors, crimes, but noble
and powerful, and one that has given rise to the finest developments of mind and intellect.  Leave the opposition,
look into the ecclesiastical government itself; you will find
it constituted and acting in a manner very different from
what some of its principles seem to indicate. It denied the
right of inquiry, and wished to deprive individual reason of
its liberty; and yet it is to reason that it incessantly appeals,
and liberty is its dominant fact. What are its institutions
and means of action? provincial councils, national councils,
general councils, a continual correspondence, the incessant
publication of letters, admonitions, and writings. Never did.
a government proceed to such an extent by discussion and
common deliberation. We might suppose ourselves in the heart
of the Greek schools of philosophy; and yet it was no mere
discussion, or seeking for truth that was at issue; it involved
questions of' authority, of adopting measures, of promulgating decrees; in fine, of a government. But such in the very
heart of this government was the energy of intellectual life,
that it became the dominant and universal fact, to which all




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99


others gave way; and what shone forth on all sides, was the
exercise of reason and liberty.
I am far from inferring that these bad principles which I
have attempted to set forth, and which, in my opinion, existed
in the system of the church, remained in it without effect.
At the epoch which now occupies us, they already bore but
too bitter fruit, and were destined at a later period to bear
fruit still more bitter: but they have not accomplished all the
evil of which they were capable, they have not stifled all the
good which grew in the same soil. Such was the church,
considered in itself, in its internal construction and nature.
I now pass to its relations with the sovereigns, the masters of
temporal power. This is the second point of view under
which I promised to consider it.
When the Empire fell-when, instead of the ancient Roman
system, the government, in the midst of which the church had
taken birth, with which she had arisen, and had habits in
common, and ancient ties, she found herself exposed to those
barbarian kings and chiefs who wandered over the land, or
remained fixed in their castles, and to whom neither traditions, creeds, nor sentiments, could unite her; her danger was
great, and as great was her terror.
A single idea became dominant in the church: this was
to take possession of the new comers, to convert them. The
relations between the church and the barbarians had, at first,
scarcely any other aim. In influencing the barbarians, it was
necessary that their senses and their imagination should be
appealed to. We therefore find at this epoch a great augmentation in the number, pomp, and variety of the ceremonies of
worship. The chronicles prove that this was the chief means
by which the church acted upon the barbarians; she converted them by splendid spectacles. When they were established and converted, and when there existed some ties
between them and the church, she did not cease to run many
dangers on their part. The brutality and recklessness of the
barbarians were such, that the new creeds and sentiments
with which they were inspired exercised but little empire
over them. Violence soon reassumed the upper hand, and
the church, like the rest of society, was its victim. For her
defence she proclaimed a principle formerly laid down under
a2...




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HISTORY OF


the Empire, although more vaguely,-this was the separation
of the spiritual from the temporal power, and their reciprocal
independence. It was by the aid of this principle that the church
lived freely in connexion with the barbarians; she maintained
that force could not act upon the system of creeds, hopes, and
religious promises; that the spiritual world and the temporal
world were entirely distinct. You may at once see the salutary consequences resulting from this principle.  Independently of its temporal utility to the church, it had this inestimable effect, of bringing about, on the foundation of right,
the separation of powers, and of controlling them by means of
each other.  Moreover, in sustaining the independence of
the intellectual world, as a general thing, in its whole extent,
the church prepared the way for the independence of the
individual intellectual world,-the independence of thought.
The church said that the system of religious creeds could not
fall under the yoke of force; and each individual was led to
apply to his own case the language of the church. The
principle of free inquiry, of liberty of individual thought, is
exactly the same as that of the independence of general
spiritual authority, with regard to temporal power.
Unhappily, it is easy to pass from the desire for liberty to
the lust for domination. It thus happened within the bosom
of the church; by the natural development of ambition and
human pride, the church attempted to establish, not only the
independence of spiritual power, but also its domination over
temporal power. But it must not be supposed that this pretension had no other source than in the weaknesses of human
nature; there were other more profound sources which it is
of importance to know.
When liberty reigns in the intellectual world; when thought
and human conscience are not subjected to a power which
disputes their right to debate and decide, or employs force
against them; when there is no visible and constituted spiritual government, claiming and exercising the right to dictate
opinions; then the idea of the domination of the spiritual over
the temporal order is impossible. Nearly such is the present state of the world. But when there exists, as there did
exist in the tenth century, a government of the spiritual
order; when thought and conscience come under laws, institutions, and powers, which arrogate to themselves the right
~b. 




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


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of commanding and constraining them; in a word, when
spiritual power is constituted, when it actually takes possession of human reason and conscience, in the name of right
and force, it is natural that it should be led to assume the
domination over the temporal order, that it should say:"How! I have right and influence over that which is most
elevated and independent in man; over his thought, his internal will, and his conscience, and shall I not have right over
his exterior, material, and passing interests! I am the interpreter of justice and truth, and am I not allowed to regulate
worldly affairs according to justice and truth?" In very
virtue of this reasoning, the spiritual order was sure to
attempt the usurpation of the temporal order. And this was
the more certain from the fact that the spiritual order embraced every development of human thought at that time; there
was but one science, and that was theology; but one spiritual
order, the theological; all other sciences, rhetoric, arithmetic,
even music, all was comprised in theology.
The spiritual power, thus finding itself at the head of all
the activity of human thought, naturally arrogated to itself the
government of the world. A second cause tended as powerfully to this end-the frightful state of the temporal order,
the violence and iniquity which prevailed in the government
of temporal societies.
We, for many centuries, have spoken at our ease of the
rights of temporal power; but at the epoch under consideration, the temporal was mere force, ungovernable brigandage.
The church, however imperfect her notions still were concerning morality and justice, was infinitely superior to such
a temporal government as this; the cries of the people continually pressed her to take its place. When a pope, or the
bishops, proclaimed that a prince had forfeited his rights, and
that his subjects were absolved from their oath of fidelity, this
intervention, without doubt subject to various abuses, was
often, in particular cases, legitimate and salutary. In general,
when liberty has failed mankind, it is religion that has had
the charge of replacing it. In the tenth century, the people
were not in a state to defend themselves, and so make their
rights available against civil violence: religion, in the name
of Heaven, interfered. This is one of the causes which have
most contributed to the victories of the theocratical principle.




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HISTORY OF


There is a tlird, which I think is too seldom remarked: the
complexity of situation of tlhe heads of thle church, the variety
of' aspects under which they have presented themselves in
society.  On one hand, they were prelates, members of the
ecclesiastical order, and part of the spiritual power, and by this
title independent; on the other, they were vassals, and, as such,
enraged in the bonds of civil feudalism.  This is not all;
besides being vassals, they were subjects; some portion of the
ancient relations between the Roman emperors, and the bishops,
and the clergy, had now passed into those between the clergy
and the barbarian sovereigns. By a series of causes which
it would be too tedious to develop, the bishops had been led
to regard, up to a certain point, the barbarian sovereigns as
the successors of the Ronan emperors, and to attribute to
them all their prerogatives.  The chiefs of the clergy, then,
had a three-fold character: an ecclesiastical character, and
as such, an independent one; a feudal character, one,
as such, bound to certain duties, and holding by certain
services; and, lastly, the character of a simple subject, and
as such, bound to obey an absolute sovereign.  Now mark
the result.  Tle temporal sovereigns, wlho were not less
covetous and ambitious than the bisiops, availed themselves ot
their rights as lords or sovereigns, to encroach upon the spiritual
independence, and to seize upon the collation of benefices,
the nomination of bishops, &c. The bishops, on their side,
often entrenched themselves in their spiritual independence,
in order to escape their obligations as vassals or subjects;
so that, on either hand, there was an almost inevitable
tendency which led tlhe sovereigns to destroy spiritual independence, and the heads of' the clurcl to make spiritual
independence a means of universal domination.
The result has been shown in facts of which no one is
ignorant: in the quarrels concerning investitures, and in the
struggle between the priesthood and the empire. Thie various
situations of the ihcads of tile church, and the difficulty 01
reconciling them, were tihe real sources of the uncertainty and
contest of' these pretensions.
Lastly, tile church had a third relation with the sovereigns,
which was for her the least favourable and the most unfortunate of thein all.  Slhe laid claim to coaction, to the right of
restraining and puniislling heresy; but she had no means ot




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.            103
doing this; she had not at her disposal a physical force; when
she had condemned the heretic, she had no means of executing
judgment upon him. What could she do?   She invoked the
aid of what was called the secular arm; she borrowed the
force of civil power, as a means of coaction.  And she
thereby placed herself, in regard to civil power, in a situation
of dependence and inferiority. A  deplorable necessity to
which she was reduced by the adoption of the evil principle
of coaction and persecution.
It remains for me to make you acquainted with the relations of the church with the people; what principles were
prevalent in them, and what consequences have thence resulted
to civilization in general.  I shall afterwards attempt to
verify the inductions we have here drawn from the nature
of its institutions and principles, by means of history, facts,
and the vicissitudes of the destiny of the church from the fifth
to the twelfth century.




HISTORY OF


SIXTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Separation of the governing and the governed party
in the church-Indirect influence of the laity upon the clergy-The
clergy recruited from all conditions of society-Influence of the church
upon the public order and upon legislation-The penitential systemThe development of the human mind is entirely theological-The church
usually ranges itself on the side of power-Not to be wondered at; the
aim of religions is to regulate human liberty-Different states of the
church, from the fifth to the twelfth century-lst. The imperial church
-2nd. The barbaric church; development of the separating principle
of the two powers; the monastic order-3rd. The feudal church; attempts at organization; want of reform; Gregory VII.-The theocrotical
church-Regeneration of the spirit of inquiry; Abailard-Movement
of the boroughs-No connexion between these two facts.
WE were unable, at our last meeting, to terminate the inquiry
into the state of the church from     the fifth to the twelfth
century. After having decided that it should be considered
under three principal aspects,-first, in itself alone, in its
internal constitution, and in its nature as a distinct and independent society; next, in its relations to the sovereign and
the temporal power; and lastly, in its relations with the
people,-we have only accomplished the two first divisions of
this task.  It now remains for me to make you acquainted
with the church in its relations with the people. I shall
afterwards endeavour to draw from     this three-fold inquiry a
general idea of the influence of the church upon European
civilization from the fifth to the twelfth century. And lastly,
we will verify our assertions by an examination of the facts,
by the history of the church itself" at that epoch.
You will easily understand that, in speaking of the relations
of the church with the people, I am forced to confine myself




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to very general terms. I cannot enter into a detail of the
practices of the church, or of the daily relations of the clergy
with the faithful. It is the dominant principles and grand
effects of the system and of the conduct of the church towards
the Christian people, that I have to place before you.
The characteristic fact, and, it must so be called, the
radical vice of the relations of the church with the people, is
the separation of the governing and the governed, the noninfluence of the governed in their government, the independence of the Christian clergy with regard to the faithful.
This evil must have been provoked by the state of
man and of society, for we find it introduced into the
Christian church at a very early period. The separation
of the clergy and the Christian people was not entirely
consummated at the epoch under consideration; there was,
on certain occasions, in the election of bishops for instance,
at least in some cases, a direct intervention of the Christian people in its government.    But this intervention
became by degrees more weak, and of more rare occurrence;
it was from the second century of our era that it began visibly
and rapidly to decline. The tendency to the isolation and
independence of the clergy is, in a measure, the history of
the church itself, from  its very cradle. From thence, it
cannot be denied, arose the greater portion of those abuses
which, at this epoch, and still more at a later period, have
cost so dear to the church. We must not, however, impute
them solely to this, nor regard this tendency to isolation as
peculiar to the Christian clergy. There is in the very nature
of religious society a strong inclination to raise the governing
far above the governed, to attribute to the former something distinct and divine. This is the effect of the very
mission with which they are charged, and of the character
under which they present themselves to the eyes of people,
and such an effect is more grievous in the religious society
than in any other. What is it that is at stake with the
governed? Their reason, their conscience, their future destiny,
that is to say, all that is most near to them, most individual,
and most free. We can conceive, to a certain point, that
although great evil may result therefrom. a man may abandon
to an external authority the direction of his material interests,
and his temporal destiny. We can understand the philo



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sopher, who, when they came to tell him that his house was on
fire, answered, " Go and inform my wife; I do not meddle in the
household affairs." But, when it extends to the conscience, the
thought, and the internal existence, to the abdication of selfgovernment, to the delivering oneself to a foreign power, it is
truly a moral suicide, a servitude a hundred-fold worse than
that of the body, or than that of the soil. Such, however, was
the evil which, without prevailing entirely, as I shall immediately show, gradually usurped the Christian church in its re
lations with the faithful. You have already seen that, for the
clergy themselves, and in the very heart of the church,
there was no guarantee for liberty. It was far worse beyond
the church, and among tle laity. Among ecclesiastics, there
was, at least, discussion, deliberation, and a display of individual faculties; there the excitement of contest supplied, in
some measure, the want of liberty.  There was none of tilis
between the clergy and the people. Tile laity took part in
the government of the church as mere spectators. Thus
we see springing up and prevailing at a very early period,
the idea that theology and religious questions and afltirs, lare
the privileged domain of the clergy; that the clergy alone
have the righlt, not only of deciding, but of takinglr part
therein at all; that in any case the laity can have no kind of
right to interfere. At tlie period under consideration, this
theory was already in full power; centuries, and terrible revolutions were necessary to conquer it, to bring back within
the public domain, religious questions and science.
In principle, tlien, as well as in fact, the legal separation of
the clergy and the Christian people was almost consummated
before tle twelfth century.
I would not have you suppose, however, that even at this
epoch tle Clhristian people were entirely without influence in
its government. Tlie legal interlvention was wanting, but
not influence —that is allost impossible in any government,
still more so in a government founded upon a belief common
both to the governing and tlhe governed.  Wherever this
community of ideas is developed, or wherever a similar iltellectual lmovement prevails with the government and the
people, there must necessarily exist a connexion between
thile, whliid no vice in the organization canL entirely destroy.




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To explain myself clearly, I will take an example near to us,
'n;d from tile political order: at no epoch in the history of
'France las the F't nchl people llad less legal influence on its
golvernment, tby nl(eans of' institutions, than in the sevenleenth and eighteenth centuries, under Louis XIV. and
Louis XV.
No one is ignorant that at this period nearly all official
and direct influence of the country in the exercise of authority
had peri:hed; yet there can be no doubt that the people and
the country then exercised upon the government far more
influence than in other times-in the times, for instance,
when the states-general were so often convoked, when the
parliament took so important a part in politics, and when the
legal participation of the people in power was much greater.
It is because there is a force which cannot be inclosed by
laws, which, when need is, can dispense with institutions: it
is the force of ideas, of the public mind and opinion. In
France, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, there was
a public opinion which was much more powerful than at any
other epoch. Although deprived of the means of acting
legally upon the government, it acted indirectly by the empire
of ideas, which were common alike to the governing and the
governed, and by the impossibility which the governing felt
of taking no note of the opinion of the governed. A similar
fact happened in the Christian church from the fifth to the
twelfth century; the Christian people, it is true, were deficient in legal action, but there was a great movement of mind
in religious nmatters-this movemtent brought the laity and
the ecclesiastics into conjunction, and by this means the
people influenced the clergy.
In all cases in the study of history, it is necessary to hold,
as highly valuable, indirect influences; they are much more
efficacious, and sometines lmore salutary. than is generally
supposed. It is natural thalt men should wilsh their actions
to be prompt and evident, s!iould desire the plleasure of participating in their success, power, arnd triumph. 'Thisi is not
always possible, not always even useful.  There are times
iand situations in which indirect and unseen influences are
alone desirable and practicable.  I will take another exanple
from the political order. More than once, especially in 1641,




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the English parliament, like many other assemblies in similar
crises, has claimed the right of nominating directly the chief
officers of the crown, the ministers, councillors of state, &c.;
it regarded this direct action in the government as an
immense and valuable guarantee. It has sometimes exercised this prerogative, and always with bad success. The
selections were ill concerted, and affairs ill governed. But
how is it in England at the present day?  Is it not the influence of parliament which decides the formation of the
ministry, and the nomination of all the great officers of
the crown? Certainly; but then it is an indirect and general
influence, instead of a special intervention.  The end at
which England has long aimed is gained, but by different
means; the first means which were tried had never acted
beneficially.
There is a reason for this, concerning which I ask your
permission to detain you for a moment.    Direct action
supposes, in those to whom it is confided, far more enlightenmnent, reason, and prudence: as they are to attain the
end at once, and without delay, it is necessary that they
should be certain of not missing that end.  Indirect influences, on the contrary, are only exercised through
obstacles, and after tests which restrain and rectify them;
before prospering, they are condemned to undergo discussion,
and to see themselves opposed and controlled; they triumph
but slowly, and, in a measure, conditionally. For this reason,
when minds are not sufficiently advanced and ripened to
guarantee their direct action being taken with safety, indirect influences, although often insufficient, are still preferable. It was thus that the Christian people influenced their
government, very incompletely, in much too limited an extent,
I am convinced-but still they influenced it.
There was also another cause of approximation between the
church and the people; this was the dispersion, so to speak,
of the Christian clergy amongst all social conditions. Almost
everywhere, when a church has been constituted independently of the people whom it governed, the body of priests
las been formed of men nearly in the same situation; not
that great inequalities have not existed among them, but, upon
the whole, the government has appertained to colleges of
priests living in common, and governing, from the depths of




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the temple, the people under their law. The Christian church
was quite differently organized. From the miserable habitation of the serf, at the foot of the feudal castle, to the king's
palace itself, everywhere there was a priest, a member of
the clergy. The clergy was associated with all human conditions. This diversity in the situation of the Christian
priests, this participation in all fortunes, has been a grand
principle of union between the clergy and the laity, a principle which has been wanting in most churches invested
with power. The bishops and chiefs of the Christian clergy
were, moreover, as you have seen, engaged in the feudal
organization, and were members, at one and the same time,
of a civil and of an ecclesiastical hierarchy. Hence it was
that the same interests, habits, and manners, became common to both the civil and religious orders. There has been
much complaint, and with good reason, of bishops who
have gone to war, of priests who have led the life of laymen. Of a verity, it was a great abuse, but still an abuse far
less grievous than was, elsewhere, the existence of those
priests who never left the temple, and whose life was totally
separated from that of the community. Bishops, in some
way mixed up in civil discords, were far more serviceable
than priests who were total strangers to the population, to all
its affairs and its manners.  Under this connexion, there was
established between the clergy and the Christian people a
parity of destiny and situation, which, if it did not correct,
at least lessened the evil of the separation between the
governing and the governed.
This separation being once admitted, and its limits determined (the attainment of which object I have just attempted)
let us investigate the manner in which the Christian church
was governed, and in what way it acted upon the people under
its command. On the one hand, how it tended to the development of man, and the internal progress of the individual; and
on the other how it tended to the amelioration of the social
condition.
As regards the development of the individual, I do not
think, correctly speaking, that, at the epoch under consideration, the church troubled itself much in the matter; it endcavoured to inspire the powerful of the world with milder
sentiments, and with more justice in their relations with the




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weak; it maintained in the weak a moral life, togetlher with
sentiments and desires of a nmore elevated order tlhan tlose to
which their daily destiny conldemned tlem.   Still, for the
development of the individllual, properly so call((le, and for in,
creasing the worth of min.i's per'sol.nal nature, I do not tlink
tlat at this period the (cllmr1el d(id t.mulh, at all events not
among the laity. What it (id (cfl'ect was confined to tl(e
ecclesiastical society; it conc..erned('   itself much wtithl tlhe
development or time (clergy, and tlhe instruction of the priests;
it had for them schools, an11  all the institutions whicl tihe
deplorable state of society petrmiitted. But they were ecclesiastica l schools destined omly ll   the instruction of'the clergy,
beyond this, tle churcl nacted only indirectly anld b  very
dilatory meains upon the I'ogress of ideas and ma1:.ners.  It
doubtless provoked general activity of minl, by the career
which it opened to all those wilom it judged capable of serving
it;-but this was all that it did at this period towards the
intellectual development of the laity.
It worked more, I believe, and that in a more eflicaciolu.
manner, towards the amelioration of social society. There can
be no doult thllt it struggled resolutely against the great
vices of tle social state, against slavery, for instance.  It has
often been repeated, tlhat the abolition of slavery aniong
modern people is entirely due to Christians. That I think is
saying too much: slavery existed for a long period in the
heart of Clristian society, without it being particularly
astonished or irritated. A multitude of causes, and a great
development in other ideas and principles of civilization, were
necessary for the abolition of this iniquity of all iniquities.
It cannot be doulted, however, that the church exerted its
influence to restrain it.  We have an undeniable proof of
this.  The greater part of the forms of enfranchisement, at
various epochs, were based upon religious principles: it is
in the name of religious ideas, upon hopes of tlhe future,
and upon the religious equality of mankind, that enfranechisement has almost always been pronounced.
The church worked equally for the suppression of a crowd of
bararous (ustoms, and for tle amnelioration of the criminal and
civil legislation.  You know how monstrous and absurd this
legisl:ticn then was, despite some principles of liberty in it;
you also know what ridiculous proofs, such as judicial combat,




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


11I


and even the simple oaths of a few men, were considered as the
only means of arriving at the truth. The church endeavoured
to substitute in their stead more rational and legitimnate means.
I have already spoken of the difference which may be observed
between the laws of tie Visigoths, issued chiefly from the
councils of Toledo, and other barbarous laws. It is impossible to compare them without being struck by the immense
superiority of the ideas of the church in matters of legislation, justice, and in all that interests the search for truth and
the destiny of mankind. Doubtless many of these ideas were
borrowed from the Roman legislation; but had not the church
preserved and defended them, if it had not worked their propagation, they would, doubtless, have perished. For example,
as regards the employment of the oath in legal procedure;
open the law of the Visigoths, and you will see with what
wisdom it is used:
"Let the judge, that he may understand the cause, first
interrogate the witnesses, and afterwards examine the writings,
to the end that the truth may be discovered with more certainty, and that the oath may not be needlessly administered.
The search for truth requires that the writings on either side
be carefully examined, and that the necessity for the oath,
suspended over the heads of the parties, arrive unexpectedly.
Let the oath be administered only in those cases when the
judge can discover no writings, proof, or other certain evidence
of the truth." (For. J Ad. 1. ii. tit. i. 21.)
In criminal matters, the relation between the punishments
and the offences is determined according to philosophical and
moral notions, which are very just.  One may there recognise the efforts of an enlightened legislator struggling against
the violence and want of reflection of barbarous manners. The
chapter, De ccede et mnorte hominum, compared with laws
corresponding thereto in other nations, is a very remarkable
example. Elsewhere, it is the damage done which seems to
constitute the crime, and the punishment is sought in the
material reparation of pecuniary composition. I Here the crime
is reduced to its true, veritable, and moral element, the intention. The various sllades of criminality, absolutely involuntary
homicide, homicide by inadvertency, provoked homicide, homicide with or without premeditation, are distinguished and
defined nearly as correctly as in our codes, and the punisk



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HISTORY OF


ments vary in just proportion. The justice of the legislator
went still further. He has attempted, if not to abolish, at
least to lessen the diversity of legal value, established among
n-men by the laws of barbarism. The only distinction which he
kept up, was that of the free man and the slave. As regards
free men, the punishment varies neither according to the
origin nor the rank of the deceased, but solely according to
the various degrees of moral culpability of the murderer.
With regard to slaves, although not daring to deprive the
master of all right to life and death, he at least attempted
to restrain it, by subjecting it to a public and regular procedure. The text of the law deserves citation.
" If no malefactor or accomplice in a crime, should go unpunished, with how much more reason should we condemn
those who have committed homicide lightly and maliciously!
Therefore, as masters, in their pride, often put their slaves to
death, without fault on their part, it is right that this licence
should be entirely extirpated, and we ordain that the present
law be perpetually observed by all. No master or mistress
can put to death without public trial any of their male or
female slaves, nor any person dependent upon them. If a
slave, or any other servant, shall commit any crime which
will render him liable to capital punishment, his master, or
accuser, shall immediately inform the judge, or the count, or the
duke, of the place where the crime was committed. After an
investigation into the affair, if the crime be proved, let the
culprit undergo, either through the judge or his own master,
the sentence of death which he merits: provided, however,
that if the judge will not put the accused to death, he shall
draw up a capiital sentence against him in writing; and then
it shall be in the power of the master either to kill him or
spare his life. At the same time, if the slave by a fatal
audacity, resisting his master, shall strike, or attempt to strike,
him with a weapon or stone, and if the master, while defending himself, should kill the slave in his rage, the master shall
not receive the )unishlment due to a homicide; but it must be
proved that this really was the fiact. and that, by the testimony
or oath of the slaves, male or fei:male, whlo may have been
present, and by the oath of the author of the deed himself.
Whoever in pure malice, whether with his own hand or
by that of another, shall kill his slave without public




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113


judgment, shall be reckoned infamous, and declared incapable of bearing testimony, and shall pass the remainder of his
life in exile or penitence, and his goods shall fall to his nearest
heir, to whom the law accords the inheritance." (For. Jud.
1. vi. tit. v. 1. 12.)
There is one fact in the institutions of the church, which is
generally not sufficiently remarked: it is the penitential system, a system so much the more curious to study in the present day, from its being, as regards the principles and applications of the penal law, exactly in accordance with the ideas
of modern philosophy. If you study the nature of the punishments of the church, and the public penances which were its
principal mode of chastisement, you will see that the chief
object is to excite repentance in the soul of the culprit, and
moral terror in the beholders, by the example. There was
also another idea mixed with it, that of expiation. I know
not, as a general thing, if it be possible to separate the idea of
expiation from that of punishment, and whether there is not in
all punishment, independently of the necessity of provoking
repentance in the culprit, and of deterring those who might
be tempted to become so, a secret and imperious want to expiate the wrong committed. But, leaving aside this question,
it is evident that repentance and example are the ends proposed by the church in its whole penitential system.  Is
not this, also, the end of a truly philosophical legislation?
Is it not in the name of these principles, that the most enlightened jurists of this and the past century have advocated
the reform of the European penal legislation? Open their
works, those of Bentham for instance, and you will be surprised by all the resemblances which you will meet with
between the penal means therein proposed, and those enmployed by the church. They certainly did not borrow them
from her, nor could she have foreseen that one day her
example would be invoked to aid the plans of the least
devout of philosophers. Lastly, she strove by all sorts of
means to restrain violence and continual warfare in society.
Every one knows what was the truce of God, and numerous
measures of a similar kind, by which the church struggled
against the employment of force, and strove to introduce more
order and gentleness into society. These facts are so well
known, that it is needless for me to enter into details. Such
I




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are the principal points which I have to place before you concerning the relations between the church and the people. We
have considered it under the three aspects which I first announced; and have gained an inward and outward knowledge
of it, both in its internal constitution and its twofold position. It now remains for us to deduct from our knowledge,
by means of induction and conjecture, its general influence
upon European civilization. This, if I mistake not, is a work
almost completed, or at least far advanced; the simple announcement of the dominant facts and principles in the church,
show and explain its influence; the results have, in some
measure, already passed before your eyes with the causes. If,
however, we attempt to recapitulate them, we shall, I think,
be led to two general assertions.
The first is, that the church must have exercised a very
great influence upon the moral and intellectual orders in
modern Europe, upon public ideas, sentiments and manners.
The fact is evident; the moral and intellectual development
of Europe has been essentially theological. Survey history
from the fifth to the twelfth centuries; it is theology that possessed and directed the human spirit; all opinions are impressed by theology; philosophical, political, and historical
questions, are all considered under a theological point of view.
So all powerful is the church in the intellectual order, that
even the mathematical and physical sciences are held in submission to its doctrines. The theological spirit is, in a manner, the blood which ran in the veins of the European world,
down to Bacon and Descartes. For the first time, Bacon in
England, and Descartes in France, carried intelligence beyond
the path of theology.
The same fact is evident in all branches of literature;
theological habits, sentiments, and language, are manifest at
every step.
Upon the whole, this influence has been salutary; not only
has it sustained and fertilized the intellectual movement in
Europe, but the system of doctrines and precepts, under the
name of which it implanted the movement, was far superior
to anything with which the ancient world was acquainted.
There was at the same time movement and progress.
The situation of the church, moreover, gave an extent and
a variety to the development of the human mind in the




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modern world, which it had not possessed previously1 In the
east, intellect is entirely religious; in Greek society, it is exclusively human; in the one, humanity, properly so called, that
is, its actual nature and destiny, vanishes; in the other, it is
man himself, his actual passions, sentiments, and interests
which occupy the whole stage. In the modern world, the
religious spirit is mixed up with everything, but it excludes nothing. Modern intellect has at once the stamp of
humanity and of divinity. Human sentiments and interests
occupy an important place in our literature; and yet the
religious character of man, that portion of his existence which
links him to another world, appears in every step; so that the
two great sources of man's development, humanity and religion, have flowed at one time, and that abundantly; and
despite all the evil and abuses with which it is mixed, despite
many acts of tyranny, regarded in an intellectual point of
view, the influence of the church has tended more to develop
than compress, more to extend than to confine.
Under a political point of view, it is otherwise. There can
be no doubt that in softening sentiments and manners, in
crying down and exploding numerous barbarous customs, the
church has powerfully contributed to the amelioration of the
social state; but in the political order, properly so called, as
regards the relations between the government and the subject,
between power and liberty, I do not think that, upon the
whole, her influence has been beneficial. Under this relation,
the church has always presented itself as the interpreter and
defender of two systems, the theocratic or the Roman imperial
system, that is, of despotism, sometimes under a religious, and
sometimes under a civil form. Take all her institutions, and
all her legislation; take her canons and procedure; and you
will always find, as the dominant principle, theocracy or the
empire.  If weak, the church sheltered herself under the
absolute power of the emperors; if strong, she claimed the
same absolutism on her own account, in the name of her
spiritual power. We must not confine ourselves to particular
facts or special instances. The church has, doubtless, often
invoked the rights of the people against the bad government
of the sovereigns; and often even approved of, and provoked
insurrection; has often maintained, in face of the sovereign, the
rights and interests of the people. But when the question
2




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IIISTORY OF


of political guarantees has arisen between power and liberty,
when the question was of establishing a system of permanent
institutions, which might truly place liberty beyond the
invasions of power, the church has generally ranged upon
the side of despotism.
One need not be much astonished at this, nor charge the
clergy with too great a degree of human weakness, nor suppose it a vice peculiar to the Christian church. There is a
more profound and powerful cause. What does a religion
pretend to? It pretends to govern the human passions and
the human will. All religion is a restraint, a power, a
government. It comes in the name of divine law, for
the purpose of subduing human nature. It is human liberty,
then, with which it chiefly concerns itself; it is human
liberty which resists it, and which it wishes to overcome.
Such is the enterprise of religion, such its mission and its
hope.
It is true, that although human liberty is what religions
concern themselves with, although they aspire to the reformation of the will of man, they have no moral means of acting
upon him but through himself, by his own will. When they
act by external means, by force, seduction, or any means, in
fact, which are foreign to the free concurrence of man, when
they treat him as they would water or wind, as a material
power, they do not attain their end, they neither reach nor
govern the human will. For religions to accomplish what
they attempt, they must make themselves acceptable to liberty
itself; it is needful that man should submit, but he must do
so voluntarily and freely, and must preserve his liberty in the
very heart of his submission. This is the double problem
which religions are called upon to solve.
This they have too often overlooked; they have considered liberty as an obstacle, not as a means; they have
forgotten the nature of the force to which they address
themselves, and have treated the human soul as they would a
material force. It is in following this error that they have
almost always been led to range themselves on the side of
power and despotism against human liberty, regarding it only
as an adversary, and taking more pains to subdue than to
secure it. If religions had turned their means of action to
good account, if they had not allowed themselves to be
carried away by a natural but deceitful inclination, they




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117


would have seen that it is necessary to guarantee liberty in
order to regulate it morally; that religion cannot, nor ought
to act except by moral means; they would have respected the
will of man in applying themselves to govern it. This they
have too often forgotten, and religious power has ended in
itself suffering as much as liberty.
I will go no further in the examination of the general consequence of the influence of the church upon European civilization. I have recapitulated them in this twofold result; a
great and salutary influence upon the social and moral order,
an influence rather unfortunate than beneficial on the political order, properly so called. We have now to verify our
assertions by facts, to verify by history that which we have
deduced from the mere nature and situation of the ecclesiastical society. Let us see what was the fate of the Christian
church from the fifth to the twelfth century, and whether the
principles which I have placed before you, and the results
which I have attempted to draw from them, were really
developed, as I have ventured to describe.
You should be~careful not to suppose that these principles
and consequences have appeared at the same periods, and
with the same distinctness that I have represented them. It
is a great and too common an error, when considering the
past at the distance of many centuries, to forget the moral
chronology, to forget (singular obliviousness!) that history is
essentially successive. Take the life of a man, of Cromwell,
Gustavus Adolphus, or cardinal Richelieu. He enters upon
his career, he moves and progresses; he influences great
events, and he in his turn is influenced by them; he arrives
at the goal. We then know him; but it is in his whole, it is,
as it were, such as he has issued after much labour from
the workshop of Providence. But at starting he was not
what he has thus become; he has never been complete and
finished at any single period of his life; he has been formed
progressively. Mlen are formed morally as physically; they
change daily; their being modifies itself without ceasing; the
Cromwell of 1650 was not the Cromwell of 1640. There
is always a groundwork of individuality; it is always the
Same man who perseveres; but how changed are his ideas,
sentiments, and will! What things has he lost and acquired!
-At whatever moment we look upon the life of man, there is




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HISTORY OF


no time when it has been what we shall see it when its term
is attained.
It is here, however, that most historians have fallen into
error; because they have gained one complete idea of man,
they see him such throughout the whole course of his career.
For them, it is the same Cromwell who enters parliament
in 1628, and who dies thirty years afterwards in the palace of
Whitehall. And with regard to institutions and general influences, they incessantly commit the same error. Let us guard
against it; I have represented to you the principles of the
church in their entirety, and the development of the consequences. But remember that historically the picture is not
correct; all has been partial and successive, cast here and
there over space and time. We must not expect to find this
uniformity, this prompt and systematic connexion, in the
recital of facts. Here we shall see one principle springing
up, there another; all will be incomplete, unequal, and dispersed. We must come to modern times, to the end of the
career, before we shall find the entire result. I shall now
place before you the various states through which the church
passed between the fifth and the twelfth century. We cannot collect an entire demonstration of the assertions which
I have placed before you, but we shall see sufficient to
enable us to presume they are legitimate.
The first condition in which the church appears at the
fifth century is the imperial state, the church of the Roman
empire. When the Roman empire was on the decline, the
church thought herself at the term of her career, and that her
triumph was accomplished. It is true, she had completely
vanquished paganism. The last emperor who took the rank
of sovereign pontiff, which was a pagan dignity, was the
emperor Gratian, who died at the end of the fourth century.
Gratian was called sovereign pontiff, like Augustus and
Tiberius. The church likewise thought herself at the end
of her struggle with the heretics, especially with the Arians,
the chief heretics of the day. The emperor Theodosius,
towards the end of the fourth century, instituted against
them a complete and severe legislation. The church then
enjoyed the government and the victory over its two most
formidable enemies. It was at this moment that she saw the
Roman empire fail her, and found herself in the presence




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of other pagans and heretics, in the presence of the barbarians, Goths, Vandals, Burgundians, and Franks.  The
fall was immense. You may easily conceive the lively
attachment for the empire which must have been preserved
in the bosom of the church. Thus we see her strongly
adhering to what remained of it-to the municipal system
and to absolute power. And when she had converted the
barbarians, she attempted to resuscitate the empire; she
addressed herself to the barbarous kings, conjured them to
become Roman emperors, to take all the rights belonging to
them, and enter into the same relations with the church as
that which she had maintained with the Roman empire.
This was the work of the bishops between the fifth and the
sixth centuries, the general state of the church.
This attempt could not be successful; there were no means
of re-forming the Roman society with barbarians. Like
the civil world, the church herself fell into barbarism. This
was its second state. When one compares the writings of
the ecclesiastical chroniclers of the eighth century with those
of preceding ages, the difference is immense. Every wreck
of Roman civilization had disappeared, even the language;
everything felt itself, as it were, cast into barbarism. On the
one hand, barbarians entered the clerical order, and became
priests and bishops; and on the other hand, the bishops adopted
a life of barbarism, and without quitting their bishoprics,
placed themselves at the head of bands, overrunning the
country, pillaging, and making war, like the companions of
Clovis. You will find in Gregory of Tours mention of several
bishops, among others Salonus and Sagittarius, who thus
passed their lives.
Two important facts developed themselves in the bosom of
this barbarous church. The first is, the separation of spiritual
and temporal power. This principle took its rise at this epoch.
Nothing could be more natural. The church not having succeeded in resuscitating the absolute power of the Roman empire,
and sharing it herself, was forced to seek safety in independence. It was necessary that she should defend herself on
all sides, for she was continually threatened. Each bishop and
priest saw his barbarous neighbours incessantly interfering
in the affairs of the church, to usurp her riches, lands, and
power; her only means of defence was to say, " The spiritual




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order is totally separate from the temporal; you have not
the right to interfere in its affairs."  This principle, above
all others, became the defensive arm of the church against
barbarism.
A second important fact belonged to this epoch, the development of the monastic order in the west. It is known that at
the commencement of the sixth century, St. Benedict instituted
his order among the monks of the west, who were then trifling
in number, but who have since prodigiously increased. The
monks at this epoch were not members of the clergy, they were
still regarded as laymen. No doubt priests, or even bishops,
were sought for among them; but it was only at the end of the
fifth and beginning of the sixth century, that the monks, in
general, were considered as forming a part of the clergy, properly so called. We then find that priests and bishops
became monks, believing that by so doing they made a fresh
progress in religious life. Thus the monastic order in Europe
took all at once a great development. The monks struck the
fancy of the barbarians far more than the secular clergy.
Their number was as imposing as their singularity of life.
The secular clergy, the bishop or simple priest, were common
to the imagination of the barbarians, who were accustomed
to see, maltreat, and rob them. It was a much more serious
affair to attack a monastery, where so many holy men were
congregated in one holy place. The monasteries, during the
barbaric epoch, were an asylum for the church, as the church
was for the laity. Pious men there found a refuge, as in the
east they sheltered themselves in the Thebaid, to escape a
worldly life and the temptations of Constantinople.
Such are the two great facts in the history of the church,
which belong to the barbaric epoch; on one side, the development of the principle of separation between the spiritual
and temporal power; on the other, the development of the
monastic system in the west.
Towards the end of the barbaric epoch, there was a new
attempt to resuscitate the Roman empire made by Charlemagne. The church and the civil sovereign again contracted a
close alliance. This was an epoch of great docility, and hence
one of great progress for papacy.  The attempt again failed,
and the empire of Charlemagne fell; but the advantages which
the church had gained from his alliance still remained with




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her. Papacy found herself definitively at the head of Christianity.
On the death of Charlemagne, chaos recommenced; the
church again fell into it as well as civil society, and only left
it to enter the frame of feudalism. This was its third state.
By the dissolution of the empire of Charlemagne, there happened almost the same thing in the ecclesiastical order as in
the civil order; all unity disappeared, all became local, partial, and individual. There then commenced in the situation
of the clergy a struggle which it had never experienced
before. This was the struggle between the sentiments and
interests of the fief-holder, and the sentiments and interests of the priest. The chiefs of the church were placed
between these two positions, each tended to overcome the
other; the ecclesiastical spirit was no longer so powerful
or so universal; individual interest became more influential,
and the desire for independence and the habits of a feudal
life, loosened the ties of the ecclesiastical hierarchy. There
was then made in the bosom of the church an attempt to
remedy the effects of this relaxation.  They sought in
various quarters, by a system of federation, and by communal
assemblies and deliberations, to organise national churches.
It is at this epoch, and under the feudal system, that we find
the greatest number of councils, convocations, and ecclesiastical assemblies, both provincial and national. It was in
France, more especially, that this attempt at unity seemed
followed with the greatest ardour. Hincmar, archbishop of
Rheims, may perhaps be considered as the representative of
this idea. His constant care was to organise the French
church; he sought and put in force all the means of correspondence and union which might bring back some unity into
the feudal church. We find Hincmar maintaining on the
one side the independence of the church with regard to its
temporal power, and on the other its independence with
regard to papacy; it was he who, knowing that the pope
wished to come into France, and threatened the bishops with
excommunication, said, Si excommunicaturus venerit, excommunicatus abibit. But this attempt to organise the feudal
church succeeded no better than the attempt to organise the
imperial church had done. There were no means of establishing unity in this church. Its dissolution was always in



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creasing. Each bishop, prelate, and abbot, isolated himself more
and more within his diocese or his monastery. The disorder
increased from the same cause. This was the time of the
greatest abuses of simony, of the entirely arbitrary disposition
of ecclesiastical benefices, and of the greatest looseness of
manners among the priests. This disorder greatly shocked
the people and the better portion of the clergy. We thence
see at an early time, a certain spirit of reform appear in
the church, and the desire to seek some authority which
could rally all these elements, and impose law upon them.
Claude, bishop of Turin, and Agobard, archbishop of Lyons,
originated in their dioceses some attempts of this nature; but
they were not in a condition to accomplish such a work.
There was within the whole church but one force adequate
to it, and that was the court of Rome, the papacy. It was,
therefore, not long ere it prevailed. The church passed
during the course of the eleventh century into its fourth
state, that of the theocratical or monastical church. The
creator of this new form of church, in so far as a man can
create, was Gregory VII.
We are accustomed, to represent to ourselves Gregory
VII. as a man who wished to render all things immoveable, as an adversary to intellectual development and
social progress, and as a man who strove to maintain the
world in a stationary or retrograding system.  Nothing
can be so false. Gregory VII. was a reformer upon the
plan of despotism, as were Charlemagne and Peter the
Great.  He, in the ecclesiastical order, was almost what
Charlemagne in France, and Peter the Great in Russia were
in the civil order. He wished to reform the church, and
through the church to reform society, to introduce therein
more morality, more justice, and more law-he wished to
effect this through the holy see, and to its profit.
At the same time that he strove to subject the civil world
to the church, and the church to papacy, with an aim of
reform and progress, and not one of immobility or retrogression, an attempt of the same kind, and a similar movement, was produced in the heart of monasteries. The desire
for order, discipline, and moral strictness, was zealously
shown. It was at this period that Robert de Moleme introduced a severe order at Citeaux. This was the age of St.




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Norbert and the reform of the prebendaries, of the reform of
Cluni; and lastly, of the great reform of St. Bernard. A general
ferment reigned in the monasteries; the old monks defended
themselves, declared it to be an injurious thing, said that
their liberty was in danger, that the manners of the times
must be complied with, that it was impossible to return to
the primitive church, and treated all the reformers as madmen, dreamers, and tyrants. Open the history of Normandy,
by Orderic Vital, and you will continually meet with these
complaints.
All therefore seemed tending to the advantage of the
church, to its unity and power. While papacy sought to
seize upon the government of the world, and while monasteries
reformed themselves in a moral point of view, some powerful
though isolated men claimed for human reason its right to be
considered as something in man, and its right to interfere
in his opinions. The greater part of them did not attack
received doctrines nor religious creeds; they only said that
reason had a right to test them, and that it did not suffice
that they should be affirmed upon authority. John Erigena,
Roscelin, and Abailard were the interpreters through whom
reason once more began to claim her inheritance; these were
the first authors of the movement of liberty which is associated
with the movement of reform of Hildebrand and St. Bernard.
When we seek the dominant character of this movement, we
find that it is not a change of opinion, or a revolt against the
system of public creeds-it is simply the right of reasoning
claimed on the behalf of reason. The pupils of Abailard
asked him, as he himself tells us in his Introduction to Theology, "for philosophical argument calculated to satisfy the
reason, supplicating him to instruct them, not to repeat what
he taught them, but to understand it; because nothing can be
believed without being understood, and it is ridiculous to
preach things which neither he who professes, nor those
whom he teaches, can understand..... To what purpose
were the study of philosophy, if not to lead to the study of
God, to whom all things should be referred? With what
view are the faithful permitted to read the writings which
treat of the age and the books of the Gentiles, unless to prepare them for understanding the Holy Scriptures, and the
necessary capacity for defending them? In this view, it is




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especially necessary to be aided with all the force of reason,
so as to prevent, upon questions so difficult and complicated
as arc those which form the object of the Christian faith, the
subtleties of its enemies from easily contriving to adulterate
the purity of our faith."
The importance of this first attempt at liberty, this regeneration of the spirit of inquiry, was soon felt. Although
occupied in reforming herself, the church did not the less
take the alarm. She immediately declared war against these
new reformers, whose methods menaced her more than their
doctrines.
This is the great fact which shone forth at the end of the
eleventh and beginning of the twelfth century, at the time
when the state of the church was that of the theocratical or
monastic. At this epoch, for the first time, there arose a
struggle between the clergy and the freethinkers.  The
quarrels of Abailard and St. Bernard, the councils of Soissons
and Sens, where Abailard was condemned, are nothing but
the expression of this fact, which holds so important a position in the history of modern civilization. It was the principal circumstance in the state of the church at the twelfth
century, at the point at which we shall now leave it.
At the same time, a movement of a different nature
was produced, the movement for the enfranchisement of
the boroughs. Singular inconsistency of rude and ignorant
manners! If it had been said to the citizens who conquered
their liberty with so much passion, that there were men who
claimed the rights of human reason, the right of free inquiry
-men whom the church treated as heretics-they would
have instantly stoned or burnt them. More than once did
Abailard and his friends run this risk. On the other hand,
those very writers who claimed the rights of human reason,
spoke of the efforts for the enfranchisement of the boroughs
as of an abominable disorder, and overthrow of society. Between the philosophical and the communal movement, between
the political and the rational enfranchisement, war seemed to
be declared.  Centuries were necessary to effect the reconciliation of these two great powers, and to make them understand that their interests were in common. At the twelfth
century, they had nothing in common.




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SEVENTI        LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Comparative picture of the state of the boroughs at
the twelfth and the eighteenth century-Double question-1st. The
enfranchisement of the boroughs-State of the towns from the fifthi to
the tenth century-Their decay and regeneration-Communal insurrection-Charters-Social and moral effects of the enfranchisement of the
boroughs-2nd. Internal government of the boroughs-Assemblies of
the people-Magistrates-High and low burghership-Diversity of the
state of the boroughs in the different countries of Europe.
WE have conducted, down to the twelfth century, the history
of the two great elements of civilization, the feudal system
and the church.  It is the third of these fundamental elements,
I mean the boroughs, which we now have to trace likewise
down to the twelfth century, confining ourselves to the same
limits which we have observed in the other two.
We shall find ourselves differently situated with regard to
the boroughs, from what we were with regard to the church
or the feudal system. From the fifth to the twelfth century,
the feudal system and the church, although at a later period
they experienced new developments, showed themselves almost
complete, and in a definitive state; we have watched their
birth, increase, and maturity. It is not so with the boroughs.
It was only at the end of the epoch which now occupies us,
in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, that they take up any
position in history; not but that before then they had a history
which was deserving of study; nor is it that there were not
long before this epoch traces of their existence; but it was
only at the eleventh century that they became evidently visible
upon the great scene of the world, and as an important
element of modern civilization. Thus, in the feudal system
and the church, from the fifth to the twelfth century, we have




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seen the effects born and developed from the causes. Whenever, by way of induction or conjecture, we have deduced certain principles and results, we have been able to verify them by
an inquiry into the facts themselves. As regards the boroughs,
this facility fails us; we are present only at their birth. At
present I must confine myself to causes and origins. What
I say concerning the effects of the existence of the boroughs,
and their influence in the course of European civilization, I
shall say in some measure by way of anticipation. I cannot
invoke the testimony of contemporaneous and known facts.
It is at a later period, from the twelfth to the fifteenth century,
that we shall see the boroughs taking their development, the
institution bearing all its fruit, and history proving our assertions. I dwell upon this difference of situation in order to
anticipate your objections against the incompleteness and prematurity of the picture which I am about to offer you. I will
suppose, that in 1789, at the time of the commencement of
the terrible regeneration of France, a burgher of the twelfth
century had suddenly appeared among us, and that he had
been given to read, provided he knew how, one of the
pamphlets which so powerfully agitated mind; for example,
the pamphlet of M. Sieyes-""Who is the third estate?"
His eyes fall upon this sentence, which is the foundation of the pamphlet: "The third estate is the French
nation, less the nobility and the clergy." I ask you, what
would be the effect of such a phrase upon the mind of such a
man? Do you suppose he would understand it? No, he
could not understand the words, the French nation, because
they would represent to him no fact with which he was
acquainted, no fact of his age; and if he understood the
phrase, if he clearly saw in it this sovereignty attributed to
the third estate above all society, of a verity it would appear
to him mad, impious, such would be its contradiction to all
that he had seen, to all his ideas and sentiments.
Now, ask this astonished burgher to follow you; lead him
to one of the French boroughs of this epoch, to Rheims,
Beauvais, Laon, or Noyon; a different kind of astonishment
would seize him: he enters a town; he sees neither towers,
nor ramparts, nor burgher militia; no means of defence;
all is open, all exposed to the first comer, and the first occupant. The burgher would doubt the safety of this borough;




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he would think it weak and ill-secured.  He penetrates
into the interior, and inquires what is passing, in what manner it is governed, and what are its inhabitants.  They
tell him, that beyond the walls there is a power which
taxes them at pleasure, without their consent; which convokes
their militia, and sends it to war, without their voice in the
matter. He speaks to them of magistrates, of the mayor,
and of the aldermen; and he hears that the burghers do not
nominate them. He learns that the affairs of the borough are
not decided in the borough; but that a man belonging to
the king, an intendant, administers them, alone and at a
distance.  Furthermore, they will tell him that the inhabitants have not the right of assembling and deliberating
in common upon matters which concern them; that they
are never summoned to the public place by the bell of
their church. The burgher of the twelfth century would
be confounded. First, he was stupified and dismayed at the
grandeur and importance that the communal nation, the
third estate, attributed to itself; and now he finds it on
its own hearthstone, in a state of servitude, weakness, and
nonentity, far worse than anything which he had experienced. Ie passes from one spectacle to another utterly
different, from the view of a sovereign burghership to that
of one entirely powerless. How would you have him comprehend this,-reconcile it, so that his mind be not overcome.
Let us, burghers of the nineteenth century, go back to the
twelfth, and be present at an exactly corresponding double
spectacle.  Whenever we regard the general affairs of a
country, its state, government, the whole society, we shall
see no burghers, hear speak of none; they interfere in
nothing, and are quite unimportant. And not only have
they no importance in the state, but if we would know what
they think of their situation, and how they speak of it, and
what their position in regard to their relation with the government of France in general is in their own eyes, we shall find
in their language an extraordinary timidity and humility.
Their ancient masters, the lords, from whom they forced
their franchises, treat them, at least in words, with a haughtiness which confounds us; but it neither astonishes nor irritates them.




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HISTORY OF


Let us enter into the borough itself; let us see what passes
there. The scene changes; we are in a kind of fortified place
defended by armed burghers: these burghers tax themselves,
elect their magistrates, judge and punish, and assemble for
the purpose of deliberating upon their affairs. All come to
these assemblies; they make war on their own account against
their lord; and they have a militia. In a word, they govern
themselves; they are sovereigns. This is the same contrast
which, in the France of the eighteenth century, so much
astonished the burgher of the twelfth; it is only the parts
that are changed. In the latter, the burgher nation is all, the
borough nothing; in the former, the burghership is nothing,
the borough everything.
Assuredly, between the twelfth and the eighteenth century,
many things must have passed-many extraordinary events,
and many revolutions have been accomplished, to bring about,
in the existence of a social class, so enormous a change.
Despite this change, there can be no doubt but that the third
estate of 1789 was, politically speaking, the descendant and
heir of the corporations of the twelfth century. This French
nation, so haughty and ambitious, which raises its pretensions so high, which so loudly proclaims its sovereignty,
which pretends not only to regenerate and govern itself, but
to govern and regenerate the world, undoubtedly descends,
principally at least, from the burghers who obscurely though
courageously revolted in the twelfth century, with the sole
end of escaping in some corner of the land fiom the obscure
tyranny of the lords.
Most assuredly it is not in the state of the boroughs in
the twelfth century that we shall find the explanation of such
a metamorphosis: it was accomplished and had its causes
in the events which succeeded it from the twelfth to the
eighteenth century; it is there that we shall meet it in its progression. Still the origin of the third estate has played an
important part in its history; although we shall not find there
the secret of its destiny, we shall, at least, find its germ: for
what it was at first is again found in what it has become,
perhaps, even to a greater extent than appearances would
allow of our presuming. A picture, even an incomplete one,
of the state of the boroughs in the twelfth century, will, I
think, leave you convinced of this.




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The better to understand this state, it is necessary to
consider the boroughs fiom two principal points of view.
There are two great questions to resolve: the first, that of
the enfranchisement of the boroughs itself-the question
how tile revolution was operated, and from what causes-whlat
c!ainge it brought into the situation of the burghers, what
effect it lias had upon society in general, upon the other
classes, and upon the state. The second question relates
only to the government of the boroughs, the internal condition!t' tile enfranchised towns, the relations of the burghers:among tlemselves, and the principles, forms, and manners
wich domninated in the cities.
It is from these two sources, on the one hand, from the
change introduced into the social condition of the burghers,
and on the other, fiom their internal government and their
communal condition, that all their influence upon modern
civilization originated. There are no ficts produced by this
influence, but which should be referred to one or other of
these causes. When, therefore, we shall have summed them
up, w.hen we thloroughly understand, on one side, the enfranchiserment of tle boroughs, and on the other, the government
of the boroughs, we shall be in possession, so to speak, of
the tawo keys to their history.
Lastly, I shall say a word concerning the various state of
the boroughs thllrouhout Europe. The facts which I am
about to place before you do not apply indifferently to all
the boroluhs of the twelfth century, to the boroughs of Italy,
Spain, 1Engl:anld, or F1rance; there are certainly some which belong to all, but the differences are great and important. I shall
point them out in plssing; we shall again encounter them in a
later period of civilization, and we will then investigate them
more cl>oselv.
To understand the enfranchisement of the boroughs, it is
necessary to recallto your minds what was the state of the
towns fiom the fifth to the eleventh century-from the fall of
tlhe Roman empire down to the commencement of the communal revolution.  Here, I repeat, the differences were very
great; tlie state of the towns varied prodigiously in the
various countries of Europe; still there are general facts
which may be affirmed of almost all towns; and I shall
try to confine myself to them. When I depart from this
restriction, what I say more especially will apply to the
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HISTORY OF


boroughs of France, and particularly to the boroughs of the
north of France, beyond the Rhone and the Loire. These
will be the prominent points in the picture which I shall
attemlpt to trace.
After the fall of the Roman empire, from the fifth to the
tenth century, the condition of the towns was one neither
of servitude nor liberty.  One runs the same risk in the
employment of words, that I spoke of the other day in the
)ainting of men and events. When a society and a language
llas lollg existed, the words take a complete, determined,
and precise sense, a legal and official sense, in a manner.
Time has introduced into the sense of each term a multitude
of ideas, which arise the moment that it is pronounced, and
which, not belonging to the same date, are not applicable
alike to all times. For example, the words servitude and
liberty call to our minds in the present day ideas infinitely
more precise and complete than the corresponding facts of
the eighth, ninth, or tenth centuries. If we say that, at the
eighth century, the towns were in a state of liberty, we say
far too much; in the present day we attach a sense to the
word liberty, which does not represent the fact of the eighth
century. We shall fall into the same error if we say that
the towns were in a state of servitude, because the word
implies an entirely different thing from the municipal facts of
that period.
I repeat that, at that time, the towns were neither in a state
of servitude nor liberty; they suffered all the ills which accompany weakness; they were a prey to the violence and continual depredations of the strong; but yet, despite all these
fearful disorders, despite their impoverishment and depopulation, the towns had preserved, and did still preserve a
certain importance: in most of them there was a clergy, a
bisliop. vwho by the great exercise of power and his influence,
u])o  l the population, served as a connecting link between
them ald( their conquerors, and thus maintained tie town in
a kind of' independence, and covered it with tle shield of
religion.  \loreover, there remained in the towns many
wrecks of loman institutions. One meets at tlhis epoch (and
many facts of' this nature have been collected by M.M. de
Savigny and IIullnan, MAademoiselle de Lezardicre, &c.)
with frequent convocations of the senate, of the curia; there




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is mention made of public assemblies and municipal magistrates. The affairs of the civil order, wills, grants, and a
multitude of acts of civil life, were legalised in the curia by
its magistrates, as was the case in the Roman municipality.
Tlle remains of urban activity and liberty, it is true, gradually
disappeared. Barbarism, disorder, and always increasing misfortunes, accelerated the depopulation. The establishment of
the masters of the land in the rural districts, and the growing
preponderance of agricultural life, were new causes of decay
to the towns.   The bishops themselves, when they had
cltered the frame of feudalism, placed less importance on
tlheir municipal existence. Finally, when feudalism had complltely triumphed, the towns, without falling into the servil ude of serfs, found themselves entirely in the hands of a lord,
ilclosed wlithin some fief, and robbed of all the independence
wliicli had been left to them, even in the most barbarous
tinei in the first ages of the invasion.  So that from the
tiftli century, down to the time of the complete organization
(t' feudalism, the condition of the towns was always upon tlhe
declile.
lWhen once feudalism was thoroughly established, when
each man had taken his place, and was settled upon his land,
when the wandering life had ceased, after some time the
towns again began to acquire some importance, and to display
anew some activity. It is, as you know, with human activity
as with the fecundity of the earth; from the time that commrotion ceases, it reappears and makes everything germinate
andl flourish. With the least glimpse of order and peace,
man takes hope, and with hope goes to work. It was thus
with the towns; the moment that feudalism was a little fixed,
new wants sprang up among the fief-holders, a certain taste
for progress and amelioration; to supply this want, a little
commerce and industry reappeared in the towns of their
domain; riches and population returned to them; slowly, it is
true, but still they returned. Among the circumstances wrhich
contributed thereto, one, I think, is too little regarded; this
is the right of sanctuary in the churches.  Before the
boroughs had established themselves, before their strength
and their ramparts enabled them to offer an asylum to the
afflicted population of the country, when as yet they had no
safety but that afforded by the church, this sufficed to draw
K2




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HISTORY O.F


into the towns many unhappy fugitives.  They came to
shelter themselves in or around the church; and it was not
only the case with the inferior class, with serfs and boors, who
sought safety, but often with men of importance, rich outlaws.
The chronicles of the time are filled with examples of this
nature. One sees men, formerly powerful themselves, pursued
by a more powerful neighlbour, or even by the king himself,
who abandon their domains, carrying with them all they can,
shut themselves up within a town, and putting themselves
under the protection of the church, become citizens. These
kind of refugees have not been, I think, without their influence upon the progress of the towns; they introduced into
them riches, and elements of a superior population to the
mass of their inhabitants. Besides, who knows not, that
when once an association is in part formed, men flock to
it, both because they find more safety, and also for the mere
sake of that sociability which never leaves them?
By the concurrence of all these causes, after the feudal
government was in some manner regulated, the towns regained
a little strength. Their security, however, did not return to
them in the same proportion. The wandering life had ceased,
it is true, but the wandering life had been for the conquerors,
for the new proprietors of the soil, a principal means of satisfying their passions. When they had wished to pillage, they
made an excursion, they went to a distance to seek another
fortune, another domain. When each was nearly established,
when it becanle necessary to renounce this conquering vagrancy, there was no cessation of their avidity, their inordinate
wants, nor their violent desires. Their weight, then, fell on
the )people nearest at hand, upon the towns. Instead of going
to a distance to pillage, they pillaged at home. The extortions of tile nobility upon the burgesses were redoubled from
the commencement of the tenth century. Whenever the proprietor of a domain in which a town was situated had any fit
of avarice to satisfy, it was upon the burgesses that he exercised his violelce. This, above all, was the epoch in which
the com:plaints of the burgesses against the absolute want of
security of comrnerce, burst forth. The merchants, after
having made tleir journeys, were not permitted to enter their
towns in peace; the roads and approaches were incessantly
beset by the lord and his followers. The time at which




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133


industry was recommencing, was exactly that in which
security was most wanting. Nothing can irritate a man more
than being thus interfered with in his work, and despoiled of
the fruits which he had promised himself from it. Hle is far
more annoyed and enraged than when harassed in an existence
which has been some time fixed and monotonous, when that
which is carried from him has not been the result of his
own activity, has not excited in his bosom all the pleasures
of hope. There is, in the progressive movement towards
fortune of a man or a population, a principle of resistance
against injustice and violence far more energetic than in
any other situation.
This, then, was the position of the towns during the tenth
century; they had more strength, more importance, more
riches, and more interests to defend. At the same time, it
was more than ever necessary to defend them, because this
strength, these interests, these riches, became an object of
envy to the lords. The danger and evil increased with the
means of resisting them. Moreover, the feudal system gave
to all those who participated in it the example of continued
resistance; it never presented to the mind the idea of an
organised government, capable of ruling and quelling all by
imposing its single intervention. It offered, on the contrary,
the continuous spectacle of the individual will refusing submission. Such, for the most part, was the position of the
possessors of fiefs towards their superiors, of the lesser lords
towards the greater; so that at the moment when the towns
were tormented and oppressed, when they had new and most
important interests to sustain, at that moment they had before
their eyes a continual lesson of insurrection. The feudal
system has rendered one service to humanity, that of incessantly showing to men the individual will in the full display
of its energy. The lesson prospered: in spite of their weakness,
in spite of the infinite inequality of condition between them
and their lords, the towns arose in insurrection on all sides.
It is difficult to assign an exact date to this event. It is
generally said, that the enfranchisement of the commons commenced in the eleventh century; but, in all great events, how
many unhappy and unknown efforts occur, before the one
which succeeds! In all things, to accomplish its designs,
Providence lavishly expends courage, virtues, sacrifices, in a




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ItSiTO[itY       OF


word, man himself; and it is only after an unknown number of
unrecorded labours, after a host of noble hearts have succumbed in discouragement, convinced that their cause is lost,
it is only then that the cause triumphs.    It doubtless
happened thus with the commons.  Doubtless, in the eighth,
ninth, and tenth centuries, there were many attempts at resistance, and movements towards enfranclhisement, which not
only were unsuccessful, but of which the memory remained
alike without glory or success. It is true, however, that
these attempts have influenced posterior events; they reanimated and sustained the spirit of liberty, and prepared the
way for the great insurrection of the eleventh century.
I say designedly, insurrection.  The enfranchisement ot
the commons in the eleventh century was the fruit of a veritable insurrection, and a veritable war, a war declared by the
population of the towns against their lords. The first fact
which is always met with in such histories, is the rising of the
burgesses, who arm themselves with the first thing that comes
to hand; the expulsion of the followers of the lord who have
come to put in force some extortion; or it is an enterprise
against the castle; these are always the characteristics of the
war. If the insurrection fails, what is done by the conqueror?
lie orders the destruction of the fortifications raised by the
citizens, not only round the town but round each house. One
sees at the time of the confederation, after having promised to
act in common, and after taking the oath of mutual aid, the
first act of the citizen is to fortify himself within his house.
Some boroughs, of which at this day the name is entirely
obscure, as, for example, the little borough of Vezelay in
Nivernois, maintained a very long and energetic struggle
against their lord. Victory fell to the abbot of Vezelay; he
immediately enjoined the demolition of the fortifications of the
citizen's houses; the names of many are preserved, whose fortified houses were thus immediately destroyed.
Let us enter the interior of the habitations of our ancestors;
let us study the mode of their construction and the kind of
life which they suggest; all is devoted to war, all has the
character of war.
This is the construction of a citizen's house in the twelfth
century, as far as we can follow it out: there were generally three floors, with one room upon each floor; the room




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on the ground floor was the common room, where the family
took their meals; the first floor was very high up, by way
of security; this is the most remarkable characteristic
of the construction.  On this floor was the room which
the citizen and his wife inhabited. The house was almost
always flanked by a tower at the angle, generally of a square
form; another symptom of war, a means of defence. On
the second floor was a room, the use of which is doubtful, but
which probably served for the children, and the rest of the
family. Above, very often, was a small platform, evidently
intended for a place of observation. The whole construction
of the house suggests war. This was the evident character,
the true name of the movement which produced the enfranchisement of the commons.
When war has lasted a certain time, whoever maybe the
belligerent powers, it necessarily leads to peace. The treaties
of peace between the commons and their adversaries were the
charters. The borough charters are mere treaties of peace
between the burgesses and their lord.
The insurrection was general. When I say general, I do
not mean that there was union or coalition between all the
citizens in a country: far from it. The situation of the commons was almost everywhere the same; they were everywhere
a prey to the same danger, afflicted with the same evil.
Having acquired almost the same means of resistance and defence, they employed them at nearly the same epoch. Example,
too, may have done something, and the success of one or two
boroughs may have been contagious. The charters seem
sometimes to have been drawn after the same pattern; that of
Noyon, for example, served as a model for those of Beauvais,
St. Quentin, &c. I doubt, however, whether example had
so much influence as has been supposed. Communications
were difficult and rare, and hearsay vague and transient; it
is more likely that the insurrection was the result of a similar
situation, and of a general and spontaneous movement. When
I say, general, I mean to say that it took place almost everywhere; for, I repeat, that the movement was not unanimous
and concerted, all was special and local: each borough was
insurgent against its lord upon its own account; all passed in
its own locality.
The vicissitudes of the struggle were great. Not only did




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HISTORY OF


success alternate, but even when peace seemed established,
after the charter had been sworn to by each party, it was
violated and eluded in every way. The kings played a great
part in the alternations of this struggle. Of this I shall speak
in detail when I treat of royalty itself. Its influence in the
movement of communal enfranchisement has been sometimes
praised, perhaps too highly; sometimes, I think, too much
undervalued, and sometimes denied. I shall confine myself at
present to saying that it frequently interfered, sometimes invoked by the boroughs and sometimes by the lords; that it
has often played contrary parts; that it has acted sometimes
on one principle, sometimes on another; that it has unceasingly
changed its intentions, designs, and conduct; but that, upon
the whole, it has done much, and with more of good than of
evil effect.
Despite these 'vicissitudes, despite the continual violations
of the charters, the enfranchisement of the boroughs was consummated in the twelfth century. All Europe, and especially
France, which for a century had been covered with insurrections, was covered with charters more or less favourable; the
corporations enjoyed them with more or less security, but still
they enjoyed them. The fact prevailed, and the right was
established.
Let us now attempt to discover the immediate results of
this great fact, and what changes it introduced into the condition of the burgesses, in the midst of society.
In the first place, it changed nothing, at least not in the
commencement, in the relations of the burgesses with the
general government of the country-with what we of the
present day call the state; they interfered no more in it than
heretofore: all remained local, inclosed within the limits of
the fief.
One circumstance, however, should modify this assertion.
a bond now began to be established between the citizens and
the king. At times, the burgesses had invoked the aid of the
king against their lord, or his guarantee, when the charter
was promised or sworn to. At other times, the lords had invoked the judgment of the king between themselves and the
citizens. At the demand of either one or other of the parties,
in a multitude of different causes, royalty had interfered in the
quarrel; from thence resulted a frequent relation, and sometimes a rather intimate one, between the burgesses and the




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king. It was by this relation that the burgesses approached
the centre of the state, and began to have a connexion with
the general government.
Notwithstanding that all remained local, a new and
general class was created by the enfranchisement.    No
coalition had existed between the citizens; they had, as a
class, no common and public existence. But the country
was filled with men in the same situation, having the same
interests, and the same manners, between whom a certain
bond and unity could not fail of being gradually established,
which should give rise to the bourgeoisie. The formation of
a great social class, the bourgeoisie, was the necessary result
of the local enfranchisement of the burghers.
It must not be imagined that this class was at this time
that which it has since become. Not only has its situation
changed, but its elements were entirely different: in the
twelfth century it consisted almost entirely of merchants,
traders carrying on a petty commerce, and of small proprietors
either of land or houses, who had taken up their residence in
the town. Three centuries after, the bourgeoisie comprehended besides, advocates, physicians, learned men of all
sorts, and all the local magistrates.  The bourgeoisie was
formed gradually, and of very different elements; as a general
thing, in its history no account is given of its succession or
diversity.  Wherever the bourgeoisie is spoken of, it seems
to be supposed that at all epochs it was composed of the same
elements. This is an absurd supposition. It is perhaps in
the diversity of its composition at different epochs of history
that we should look for the secret of its destiny.  So long as
it did not include magistrates nor men of letters, so long as it
was not what it became in the sixteenth century, it possessed
neither the same importance nor the same character in the
state.  To comprehend the vicissitudes of its fortune and
power, it is necessary to observe in its bosom the successive
rise of new professions, new moral positions, and a new intellectual state. In the twelfth century, I repeat, it was composed of only the small merchants, who retired into the
towns after having made their purchases and sales, and of the
proprietors of houses and small domains who had fixed their
residence there. IHere we see the European burgher class
in its first elements.
The third great consequence of the enfranchisement of the




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HISTORY OF


commons was the contest of classes, a contest which con.
stitutes the fact itself, and which fills modern history. Modern
Europe was born from the struggle of the various classes of
society. Elsewhere, as I have already observed, this struggle
led to very different results: in Asia, for example, one class
completely triumphed, and the government of castes succeeded
to that of classes, and society sunk into immobility.  Thank
God, none of this has happened in Europe. Neither of the
classes has been able to conquer or subdue the others; the
struggle, instead of becoming a principle of immobility, has
been a cause of progress; the relations of the principal classes
among themselves, the necessity under which they found
themselves of combating and yielding by turns; the variety of
their interests and passions, the desire to conquer without the
power to satisfy it; from all this has arisen perhaps the most
energetic and fertile principle of the development of European
civilization.  The classes have incessantly struggled; they
detested each other; an utter diversity of situation, of
interests, and of manners, produced between them a profound
moral hostility: and yet they have progressively approached
nearer, come to an understanding, and assimilated; every
European nation has seen the birth and development in its
bosom of a certain universal spirit, a certain community of
interests, ideas, and sentiments, which have triumphed over
diversity and war. In France, for example, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the social and moral separation of the classes was still very profound; yet the fusion
was advancing; still, without doubt, at that time there was a
veritable French nation, not an exclusive class, but which
embraced them all, and in which all were animated by a
certain sentiment in common, having a common social existence, strongly impressed, in a word, with nationality. Thus,
from the bosom of variety, enmity, and war, has arisen in
' modern Europe the national unity so striking in the present
day, and which tends to develop and refine itself, from day
to day, with still greater brilliancy.                 -:
Such are the great external, apparent, and social effects of
the revolution which at present occupies us. Let us investigate its moral effects, what changes it brought about in the
soul of the citizens themselves, what they became, what, in
fact, they necessarily became morally in their new situation,




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There is a fact by which it is impossible not to be struck
while contemplating the relation of tile burghers towards the
state in general, the government of the state, and the general
interests of the country, not only in the twelfth century, but
also in subsequent ages; I mean the prodigious timidity of
the citizens, their humility, the excessive modesty of their
pretensions as to the government of the country, and tlhe
facility with which they contented themselves. Nothling is
seen among them of the true political spirit, which aspires to
influence, reform, and govern; nothing which gives p)roof or
boldness of thought, or grandeur of ambition: one minght call
sensible-minded, honest, freed men.
There are but two sources in the sphere of politics fiom
which greatness of ambition or firmness of thougl(t can arise.
It is necessary to have either the feeling of immense importance, of great power exercised upon the destiny of others,
and in a vast extent-or else it is necessary to bear within
oneself a feeling of complete individual independence, a confidence in one's own liberty, a conviction of a destiny foreign
to all will but that of the man himself. To one or other of
these two conditions seem to belong boldness of thought,
greatness of ambition, the desire of acting in an enlarged
sphere, and of obtaining great results.
Neither one nor the other of these conditions entered into
the condition of the burghers of the middle ages. These,
as you have just seen, were only important to themselves;
they exercised no sensible influence beyond their own town,
or upon the state in general. Nor could they have any great
sentiment of individual independence. It was in vain that
they conquered, in vain that they obtained a charter. The
citizen of a town, in comparing himself with the inferior lord
who dwelt near him, and who had just been conquered, was
not the less sensible of his extreme inferiority; he was not
filled with the haughty sentiment of independence which
animated the proprietor of the fief; he held not his portion
of liberty from himself alone, but from his association with
others; a difficult and precarious succour. Hence that character of reserve, of timidity of spirit, of retiring modesty,
and humility c- language, even in conjunction with a firmness of conduct, which is so deeply imprinted in the life of
the citizens, not only in the twelfth century, but even of their




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HISTORY OF


descendants.  They had no taste for great enterprises; and
when fat fforced them among them, they were uneasy and
embarrassed; the responsibility annoyed them; they felt that
they were out of their sphere of action, and wished to return
to it; they therefore treated on moderate terms. Thus one
finds in the course of European history, especially of France,
that the bourgeoisie has been esteemed, considered, flattered,
and even respected, but rarely feared; it has rarely produced
upon its adversaries an impression of a great and haughty
power, of a truly political power. There is nothing to be
surprised at in this weakness of the modern bourgeoisie;
its principal cause lay in its very origin, and in the circumstances of its enfranchisement, which I have just placed
before you. A high ambition, independently of social conditions, enlargement and firmness of political thought, the
desire to participate in the affairs of the country, the full
consciousness of the greatness of man as man, and of the
power which belongs to him, if he is capable of exercising it,
these are in Europe sentiments and dispositions entirely
modern, the fruit of modern civilization, the fruit of that
glorious and powerful universality which characterizes it, and
which cannot fail of insuring to the public an influence
and weight in the government of the country, which were
always wanting, and necessarily so, to the burghers our
ancestors.
On the other hand, they acquired and displayed, in the
struggle of local interests which they had to maintain in
their narrow stage, a degree of energy, devotedness, perseverance, and patience, which has never been surpassed. The
difficulty of the enterprise was such, and such the perils
which they had to strive against, that a display of unexampled courage was necessary. In the present day, a very
false idea is formed of the life of the burghers in the twelfth
and thirteenth centuries. You have read in one of the novels
of Walter Scott, Quentin Durward, the representation he
has given of the burgomaster of Liege; he has made of him
a regular burgher in a comedy, fat, indolent, without experience or boldness, and wholly occupied in passing his life
easily. WVhereas, the burghers of this period always had a
coat of mail upon their breast, a pike in their hand; their life
was as tempestuous, as warlike, and as hardy, as that of the




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lords with whom they fought.   It was in these continual
perils, in struggling against all the difficulties of practical life,
that they acquired that manly character, and that obstinate
energy, which is, in a measure, lost in the soft activity of
moldern times.
None of tlesc social or moral effects of the enfranchisement
of the boroughs had attained their development in the twelfth
century; it is in the following centuries that they distinctly
appeared, and are easily discernible.  It is certain, however,
that the germ was laid in the original situation of the boroughs,
in thle manner of their enfranchisement, and the place then
taken by the burghers in society.  I was, therefore, right in
placing them before you alone. Let us now investigate the
interior of the borough of the twelfth century; let us see
low it was governed, what principles and facts dominated in
tlie relations of the citizens among themselves.
You wvill recollect that in speaking of the municipal system,
bqllea.lthed by the Roman empire to the modern world, I told
y(ou that the Roman empire was a great coalition of municipalities, formerly sovereign municipalities like Rome itself.
]'ach of' these towns had originally possessed the same existence as Rome, hadl once been a small independent republic,
making peace land war, and governing itself as it thought
pro)per. In proportion as they became incorporated with the
loioman cmpire, tlhe rights which constitute sovereignty, the
riglit of pIeace anl war, the right of legislation, the right of
taxation. <&c., left each town and centred in Rome.  There
re'llai:ned but onle sovereign mlunicipality, Rome, reigning
cv(\e a large number of municipalities which had now only a
civil existence. 'lhe municipal system cianged its character;
and( irs;tead of beingr  a political government and a system of
sovee'(.(iiglty, it becamne a mode of administration.
T']is wi; thle  irieat revolution which was consummated
un111.lT t!e 1loi:nan e(npire. Tlie municipal system became a
1:(,le ct' a:!listr:ltiion, was reduced to tile (overnmient of
1(.;I ' i':-s.::-ld tlhe civic inteleests of tile city.  This was
t!ie (on;'i"' i;o iil ii(cl the towrns and their institutions were
1 l'r;it,!  iiol o: ' the Roman enpire. In tile midst of the
c;;,,> c'!,Ii, l;i.ms:itl, all id(eas, as well as facts, were in utter
t.,'i:ijisli;!ll ti:ci attirbibt(es of sovereignty and of the adii'..'i.tti(ii were confouindedl.  The'se distinctions were no




142


IISTORY OF


longer attended to. Affairs were abandoned to the course of
necessity. There was a sovereign, or an alministrator, in each
locality, according to circumstances.  When the towns rose
in insurrection, to recover some security, they took upon
themselves the sovereignty.  It was not, in any way, for the
purpose of following out a political theory, nor from a feeling
of their dignity; it was that they might have the means of
resisting the lords against whom  they rebelled that they
appropriated to themselves tle right of levying militia, of
iaxation for the purposes of war, of themselves nominating
tlheir chiefs and magistrates; in a word, of governing themselves.  The government in the interior of the towns was
the means of defence and security.  Thus sovereignty reentered the municipal system, from w^hich it had been eradicated by the conquests of Rome. The boroughs again became
sovereign. We have here the political character of their
enfranchisemen,.
It does not follow that this sovereignty was complete. It
always retained some trace of external sovereignty: sometimes the lord preserved to himself the right of sending
a magistrate into the town, who took for his assessors the
municipal magistrates; sometimes he possessed the right of
receiving certain revenues; elsewhere, a tribute was secured
to him.  Sometimes the external sovereignty of the community lay in the hands of the king.
The boroughs themselves having entered within the frame
of feudalism, had vassals, became suzerains, and by virtue
of this title partly possessed themselves of tle sovereignty
which was inherent in the lord paramount.  This caused a
confusion between the rights which they bad fron   their
feudal position, and those which they had conquered by their
insurrections; and under this double title the sovereignty
belonged to them.
Thus we see, as far as can be judged from very deficient
monuments, how government was administered, at least in the
early ageIs, in the interior of a borough.  The totality of the
inhabitants formed tlhe assembly of the borough; all those who
had sworn the borough oath (and whoever lived within the
walls was obliged to do so) were convoked by the ringing of
a bell to the general assembly.' It was there that they
nominated thle maaistrates. The number and form of the




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143


magistracy were very various. The magistrates being once
nominated, the assembly was dissolved, and the magistrates
governed almost alone, somewhat arbitrarily, and without
any other responsibility than that of the new elections, or
popular riots, which were the chief mode of responsibility
in those times.
You see that the internal organization of boroughs reduced
itself to two very simple elements; the general assembly
of tile inhabitants, and a government invested with an almost
arbitrary power, under the responsibility of insurrections
and riots. It was impossible, principally from  tlhe state of
manners, to establish a regular government, with veritable
guarantees for order and duration.   The greater portion
of the population of the boroughs was in a state of' ignorance,
brutality, and ferocity, which it would have been very difficult
to govern. After a short time, there was almost as little
security in the interior of the borough as there had formerly
been in the relations between the burgher and the lord.
There was formed, however, very quickly a superior bourgeoisie. You easily comprehend the causes.  The state of
ideas and of social relations led to the establishmrent of industrial professions, legally constituted corporations.  Tle
system  of privilege was introduced into the interior of
boroughs, and from this a great inequality ensued. There
was shortly everywhere a certain number of rich and important burghers, and a working population more or less
numerous, which, in spite of its inferiority, had an important
influence in the affairs of the borough.  The boroughs were
then divided into a high bourgeoisie, and a population subject
to all the errors and vices of a populace.  The superior
bourgeoisie found itself pressed between the immense dificulty of' governing the inferior population, and the incessant
attempnts of the ancient master of the borough, who sought
to re-establish his power.  Such was its situation, not only
ill France but in all Europe, down to the sixteenth century.
This perhaps has been the chief means of pieventing tile
corporations, in most European nations, and especially in
France, from possessing all the important political influence
which they might otherwise have lad. Two principles carried
on incessant warfare within themr; in the inferior population,
a blind, unbridled, and ferocious spirit of democracy; and,




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HIISTORY OF


as a consequence, in the superior populatinn, a spirit of
timidity at making agreements, an excessive facility of conciliation, wellther in regard to the king, the ancient lords,
or in re-establishing soile peace anld order in tlie interior of
the borough.  Each of these primciples could not but tend
to deprive tile corporation of any great influence in tle state.
All these effects were not visible in the twelfth century;
still, however, one miglht foresee them in tile very character
of the insurrection, in the manner of its conllmen(elll(ent,
and in the condition of the various elements of the communal population.
Such, if I mistake not, are the principal charact.ristics and
the general results of the enfranchisement of the boroughs
and of their internal government.   I forewarn you, that
these facts were neither so uniform  nor so universal as I
have broadly represented them.  There is great diversity
in the history of boroughs in Europe.   For example, in
Italy and in the south of France, the Roman municipal
system dominated; there was not nearly so much diversity
and inequality here as in the north, and tile communal
organization was much better, either by reason of tile Roman
traditions, or from  the superior condition of tile polpulation.
In the north, the feudal system prevailed in the communal
existence; there, all was subordinate to the struggle against
the lords. The boroughs of the south were more occupied
with their internal organization, amelioration, and progress; they thought only of becoming independent republics.
The destiny of tile northern boroughs, in France particularly, slowed themselves more and more incomplete, and
destined for less fine developments.  If wc glance at the
boroughs of Germany, Spain, and Enghlmd, we shall find
in them  other differences. I shall not enter into these
details; we shall remark some of them as we advance in the
history of civilization.  In tleir origin, all tilings are nearly
confounded under one physiognomy; it is only by successive
developments thlat variety shows itself. Th'en commences
a new developmenlt which urges society towards free and
highl unity, tlie glorious end of' all the efforts and wishles of
the human race.




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


i45


EIGHTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Glance at the general history of European civilization-Its distinctive and fundamental character-Epoch at which that
character began to appear-State of Europe from the twelfth to the
sixteenth century-Character of the crusades-Their moral and social
causes-These causes no longer existed at the end of the thirteenth
century-Effects of the crusades upon civilization.
I HAVE not as yet explained to you the complete plan of my
course. I commenced by indicating its object; I then passed in
review European civilization without considering it as a whole,
without indicating to you at one and the same time the point
of departure, the route, and the port, the commencement, the
middle, and the end. We have now, however, arrived at an
epoch when this entire view, this general sketch of the region
which we survey, has become necessary.    The times which
have hitherto occupied us in some measure explain themselves, or are explained by immediate and evident results.
Those upon which we are about to enter would not be understood, nor even would they excite any lively interest, unless
they are connected with even the most indirect and distant
of their consequences.
In so extensive a study, moments occur when we can no
longer consent to proceed, while all before us is unknown
and dark; we wish not only to know whence we have come
and where we are, but also to what point we tend.  This is
what we now feel.  The epoch to which we are approaching
is not intelligible, nor can its importance be appreciated
except by the relations which unite it to modern times. Its
true meaning is not evident until a later period.
We are in possession of almost all the essential elements
of European civilization. I say almost, because as yet I have
L




146


HISTORY OF


not spoken to you of royalty. The decisive crisis of the development of royalty did not take place until the twelfth
or even thirteenth century; it was not until then that the institution was really constituted, and that it began to occupy
a definite place in modern society. I have, therefore, not
treated of it earlier; it will form the subject of my next lecture.
With this exception, I repeat, we have before us all the great
elements of European civilization: you have beheld the
birth of feudal aristocracy, of the church, the boroughs; you
have seen the institutions which should correspond to these
facts; and not only the institutions, but also the principles
and ideas which these facts should raise up in the mind.
Thus, while treating of feudalism, you were present at the
cradle of the modern family, at the hearth of domestic life; you
have comprehended, in all its energy, the sentiment of individual independence, and the place which it has held in
our civilization. With regard to the church, you have seen
the purely religious society rise up, its relations with the
civil society, the theocratical principle, the separation of the
spiritual and temporal powers, the first blows of persecutions, and the first cries of the liberty of conscience. The
rising boroughs have shown you glimpses of an association founded upon altogether other principles than those of
feudalism and the church, the diversity of the social classes,
their struggles, the first and profound characteristics of modern
burgher manners, timidity of spirit side by side with energy
of soul, the demagogue spirit side by side with the legal spirit.
In a word, all the elements which have contributed to the
formation of European society, all that it has been, and, so
to speak, all that it has suggested, have already met your
view.
Let us now transport ourselves to the heart of modern
Europe: I speak not of existing Europe, after the prodigious
metamorphoses which we have witnessed, but of Europe in
the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. I ask you, do you
recognise the society which we have just seen in the twelfth
century?  What a wonderful difference!  I have already
dwelt upon this difference as regards the boroughs: I afterwards tried to make you sensible of how little the third estate
of the eighteenth century resembled that of the twelfth. If
we make the same essay upon feudalism and the church, we




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


147


shall be struck with the same metamorphosis. There was
no more resemblance between the nobility of the court of
Louis XV. and the feudal aristocracy, or between the church
of cardinal de Bernis and that of the abbot Suger, than between the third estate of the eighteenth century and the
bourgeoisie of the twelfth century. Between these two epochs,
although already in possession of all its elements, society was
entirely transformed.
I wish to establish clearly the general and essential character of this transformation. From the fifth to the twelfth
century, society contained all that I have described.  It
possessed kings, a lay aristocracy, a clergy, burghers, labourers,
religious and civil powers-in a word, the germs of every..
thing whrich is necessary to form a nation and a government,
and yet there was neither government nor nation. Throughout the epoch upon which we are occupied, there was nothing
bearing a resemblance to a people, properly so called, nor to a
veritable government, in the sense which the words have for
us in the present day. We have encountered a multitude of
particular forces, of special facts, and local institutions; but
nothing general or public; no policy, properly so called, nor
no true nationality.
Let us regard, on the contrary, the Europe of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; we shall everywhere see two
leading figures present themselves upon the scene of the world,
the government, and tile people. The action of a universal
power upon the whole country, and the influence of the
country upon the power which governs it, this is society,
this is history: the relations of the two great forces, their
alliance, or their struggle, this is what history discovers and
relates. The nobility, the clergy, and the burghers, all these
particular classes and forces, now only appear in a secondary
rank, almost like shadows effaced by those two great bodies,
the people and its government.
This, if I mistake not, is the essential feature which distin
guishes modern from primitive Europe; this is the metamorphosis which was accomplished from the thirteenth to the
sixteenth centuries.
It is, then, from the thirteenth to the sixteenth century, that
is to say, in the period which we are about to enter upon, that
the secret of this must be sought for; it is the distinctive chaJ 2




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racter of this epoch that it was employed in converting primitive Europe into modern Europe; and hence its historical importance and interest. If it is not considered from this point of
view, and unless we everywhere seek what has arisen from it,
not only will it not be understood, but we shall soon be
weary of, and annoyed by it. Indeed, viewed in itself, and
apart from its results, it is a period without character, a period
when confusion continues to increase, without our being able
to discover its causes, a period of movement without direction,
and of agitation without result. Royalty, nobility, clergy,
bourgeoisie, all the elements of social order seem to turn
in the same circle, equally incapable of progress or repose.
They make attempts of all kinds, but all fail; they attempt
to settle governments, and to establish public liberties; they
even attempt religious reforms, but nothing is accomplished
-nothing perfected.  If ever the human race has been
abandoned to a destiny, agitated and yet stationary, to labour
incessant, yet barren of effect, it was between the thirteenth
and the fifteenth centuries that such was the physiognomy of
its condition and its history.
I know of but one work in which this physiognomy is
truly shown; the Ilistoire des dues de Bourgogne, by NM. de
Barante. I do not speak of the truth which sparkles in the
descriptions of manners, or in the detailed recital of facts, but
of that universal truth which makes the entire book a faithful
image, a sincere mirror of the whole epoch, of which it at
the same time shows the movement and the monotony.
Considered, on the contrary, in its relation to that which
follows, as the transition from the primitive to the modern
Europe, this epoch brightens and becomes animated; we discover in it a totality, a direction, and a progress; its unity
and interest consist in the slow and secret work which is
accomplished in it.
The history of European civilization may then be summed
up into three grand periods:-lst, A period which I shall
call the period of origins, of formation-a time when the
various elements of our society freed themselves from the
chaos, took being, and showed themselves under their native
forms with the principles which animated them. This period
extended nearly to the twelfth century. 2nd, The second
period is a time of essay, of trial, of groping; the various




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elements of the social order drew near each other, combined,
and, as it were, felt each other, without the power to bring
forth anything general, regular, or durable. This state was
not ended, properly speaking, till the sixteenth century. 3rd,
The period of development, properly so called, when society in
Europe took a definite form, followed a determined tendency,
and progressed rapidly and universally towards a clear and
precise end. This commenced at the sixteenth century, and
now pursues its course.
Such appears to me to be the spectacle of European civilization in its whole, and such I shall endeavour to represent it
to you. It is the second period that we enter upon now.
We have to seek in it the great crises and determinative
causes of the social transformation which has been the result
of it.
The crusades constitute the first great event which presents itself to us, which, as it were, opens the epoch of which
we speak. They commenced at the eleventh century, and
extended over the twelfth and thirteenth. Of a surety, a
great event; for since it was completed, it has not ceased to
occupy philosophic historians; even before reading the account
of it, all have foreseen that it was one of those events which
change the condition of the people, and which it is absolutely
necessary to study in order to comprehend the general course
of facts.
The first characteristic of the crusades is their universality;
the whole of Europe joined in them-they were the first
European event. Previously to the crusades, Europe had
never been excited by one sentiment, or acted in one cause;
there was no Europe.   The crusades revealed Christian
Europe. The French formed the vans of the first army of
crusaders; but there were also Germans, Italians, Spaniards,
and English. Observe the second, the third crusade; all the
Christian nations engaged in it. Nothing like it had yet been
seen.
This is not all: just as the crusades form an European
event, so in each country do they form a national event. All
classes of society were animated with the same impression,
obeyed the same idea, abandoned themselves to the same
impulse.  Kings, lords, priests, burghers, countrymen, all
took the same part, the same interest in the crusades. The




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moral unity of nations was shown-a fact as novel as the
European unity.
When such events happen in the infancy of a people, at a
time when men act freely and spontaneously, without premeditation, without political intention or combination, one
recognises therein what history calls heroic events-the heroic
age of nations. In fact, the crusades constitute the heroic
event of modern Europe-a movement at once individual
and general, national, and yet unregulated.
Thlat such was really their primitive character is verified
by all documents, proved by all facts. Who were the lirst
crusaders that put themselves in motion? Crowds of the
populace, who set out under the guidance of Peter the lIXln lit,
witlout preparation, without guides, and without chlieit, flllowed rather than guided by a few obscure knighllts; they
traversed Germany, the Greek empire, and dispersed or
perished in Asia Minor.
'The superior class, the feudal nobility, in their turn became
eager in the cause of the crusade. Under the command of
Godefroi de Bouillon, the lords and their followers set out full
of ardour. When they had traversed Asia, Minor, a fit of indifference and weariness seized the chiefs of the crusaders. They
cared not to continue their route; they united to make conquests
and establish themselves. The common people of the army
rebelled; they wished to go to Jerusalem-the deliverance of
Jerusalem was the aim of the crusade; it was not to gain
principalities for Raimond de Toulouse, nor for Bohemond,
nor for any other, that the crusaders came. The popular,
national, and European impulsion was superior to all individual wishes; the chiefs had not sufficient ascendancy over the
masses to subdue them to their interests. The sovereigns,
who had remained strangers to the first crusade, were at last
carried away by the movement, like the people. The great
crusades of the twelfth century were commanded by kings.
I pass at once to the end of the thirteenth century. People
still spoke in Europe of the crusades, they even preached
them with ardour. Tlhe popes excited the sovereigns and
the people-they held councils in recommendation of the Ioly
Land; but no one went there-it was no longer cared for.
Something had passed into the European spirit and European
society that put an end to the crusades. There were still




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Some private expeditions. A. few lords, a few bands, still
set out for Jerusalem; but the general movement was evidently
stopped; and yet it does not appear that either the necessity
or the facility of continuing it had disappeared. The Moslems
triumphed more and more in Asia. The Christian kingdom
founded at Jerusalem had fallen into their hands. It was
necessary to reconquer it; there were greater means of success
than they had at the commencement of the crusades; a large
number of Christians were established, and still powerful,
in Asia Minor, Syria, and Palestine. They were better
acquainted with the means of travelling and acting. Still
nothing could revive the crusades. It was clear that the two
great forces of society-the sovereigns on one side and the
people on the other-were averse to it.
It has often been said that this was lassitude-that Europe
was tired of thus falling upon Asia. We must come to an
understanding upon this word lassitude, which is so often
used upon similar occasions; it is strangely inexact. It is
not possible that human generations can be weary with what
they have never taken part in; weary of the fatigues undergone by their forefathers. Weariness is personal, it cannot
be transmitted like a heritage. Men in the thirteenth century were not fatigued by the crusades of the twelfth: they
were influenced by another cause. A great change had taken
place in ideas, sentiments, and social conditions. There were
no longer the same wants and desires. They no longer thought
or wished the same things.  It is these political or moral
metamorphoses, and not weariness, which explain the different
conduct of successive generations. The pretended lassitude
which is attributed to them is a false metaphor.
Two great causes, one moral and the other social, threw
Europe into the crusades. The moral cause, as you know,
was the impulsion of religious sentiment and creeds. Since
the end of the seventh century, Christianity had been
struggling against 3Iahommedanism; it had conquered it in
Europe after being dangerously menaced; it had succeeded in
confining it to Spain. Thence also it still constantly strove to
expel it. The crusades have been represented as a kind of
accident, as an event unforeseen, unheard of, born solely of the
recitals of pilgrims on their return from Jerusalem, and of the
preachings of Peter the Iermit. It was nothing of the-kind.




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The crusades were the continuation, the zenith of the grand
struggle which had been going on for four centuries between
Christianity and Mahommedanism.   The theatre of this
struggle had been hitherto in Europe; it was now transported
into Asia. If I put any value upon those comparisons and
parallels, into which some people delight at times to press,
suitably, or not, historical facts, I might show you Christianity
running precisely the same career in Asia, and undergoing
the same destiny as MIahommedanism in Europe. Mahbommedanism was established in Spain, and had there conquered
and founded a kingdom and principalities. The Christians
did the same in Asia. They there found themselves, with
regard to Mahommedans, in the same situation as the latter
in Spain with regard to the Christians. The kingdom ot
Jerusalem and the kingdom of Grenada correspond to each
other. But these similitudes are of little importance. The
great fact is the struggle of the two social and religious
systems; and of this the crusades was the chief crisis. In that
lies their historical character, the connecting link which
attaches them to the totality of facts.
* There was another cause, the social state of Europe in the
eleventh century, which no less contributed to their outburst.
I have been careful to explain why, between the fifth and
the eleventh century, nothing general could be established in
Europe. I have attempted to show how everything had become
local, how States, existences, minds, were confined within a
very limited horizon. It was thus feudalism had prevailed.
After some time, an horizon so restricted did not suffice; human
thought and activity desired to pass beyond the circle in which
they had been confined. The wandering life had ceased, but
not the inclination for its excitement and adventures. The
people rushed into the crusades as into a new existence, more
enlarged and varied, which at one time recalled the ancient
liberty of barbarism, at others opened out the perspective of
a vast future.
Such, I believe, were the two determinating causes of the
crusades of the twelfth century. At the end of the thirteenth
century, neither of these causes existed. MIen and society
were so much changed, that neither the moral impulsion nor
the social need which had precipitated Europe upon Asia,
was any longer felt. I do not know if many of you have read




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the original historians of the crusades, or whether it has ever
occurred to you to compare the contemporaneous chroniclers
of the first crusades, with those at the end of the twelfth and
thirteenth centuries; for example, Albert d'Aix, Robert the
Monk, and Raymond d'Agiles, who took part in the first
crusade, with William of Tyre and James de Vitry. When
we compare these two classes of writers, it is impossible not
to be struck by the distance which separates them. The
first are animated chroniclers, full of vivid imagination, who
recount the events of the crusades with passion. But they
are, at the same time, men of very narrow minds, without an
idea beyond the little sphere in which they have lived; strangers
to all science, full of prejudices, and incapable of forming any
judgment whatever upon what passes around them, or upon
the events which they relate. Open, on the contrary, the
history of the crusades by William of Tyre: you will be surprised to find almost an historian of modern times, a mind
developed, extensive and free, a rare political understanding
of events, completeness of views, a judgment bearing upon
causes and effects. James de Vitry affords an example of a
different kind of development; he is a scholar, who not only
concerns himself with what has reference to the crusades, but
also occupies himself with manners, geography, ethnography,
natural history; who observes and describes the country. In
a word, between the chroniclers of the first crusades and the
historians of the last, there is an immense interval, which
indicates a veritable revolution in mind.
This revolution is above all seen in the manner in which
each speaks of the Mahommedans. To the first chroniclers, and
consequently to the first crusaders, of whom the first chroniclers
are but the expression, the Mahommedans are only an object
of hatred. It is evident that they knew nothing of them,
that they weighed them not, considered them not, except
under the point of view of the religious hostility which existed
between them; we discover no trace of any social relation;
they detested and fought them, and that was all. William of
Tyre, James de Vitry, and Bernard the Treasurer, speak
quite differently of the Mhussulmans: one feels that, although
fighting them, they do not look upon them as mere monsters;
that to a certain point they have entered into their ideas; that
they have lived with them, that there is a sort of relation, and




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even a kind of sympathy established between them. William
of Tyre warmly eulogises Noureddin-Bernard the Treasurer, Saladin. They even go so far as to compare the manners and conduct of the Mussulmans with those of the Christians; they take advantage of the Mussulmans to satirize the
Christians, as Tacitus painted the manners of the Germans
in contrast with the manners of the Romans. You see how
enormous the change between the two epochs must have
been, when you find in the last, with regard to the enemies
of the Christians, to those against whom the crusades were
directed, a liberty and impartiality of spirit which would have
filled the first crusaders with surprise and indignation.
This, then, was tlhe first and principal effect of tle crusades,
a great step towards the enfranchisement of mind, a great
progress towards more extensive and liberal ideas. Commenced
in the name and under the influence of religious creeds, the
crusades removed from religious ideas, I will not say their
legitimate influence, but the exclusive and despotic possession
of the human mind. This result, doubtless altogether unforeseen, was born of many causes. The first is evidently the
novelty, extension, and variety of the spectacle which was
opened to the view of the crusaders. It happened with them
as with travellers. It is a common saying that the mind of
travellers becomes enlarged; that the habit of observing various
nations and manners, and different opinions, extends the ideas,
and frees the judgment from old prejudices.  The same fact
was accomplished among these travelling nations who were
called crusaders: their minds were opened and elevated, by
seeing a multitude of different things,.and by observing other
manners than their own. Thiey also found themselves in
juxtaposition with two civilizations, not only different from
their own, but more advanced; the Greek on the one hand,
and the Mahommiedan on the other. There can be no doubt
that the Greek society, although enervated, cperverted, and
falling into decay, had upon the crusaders the effect of a more
advanced, polished, and enligltened society tllan their own.
The MIalhommnedan society afforded them a spectacle of tlhe
same nature. It is curious to observe in the old chronicles
the impression which the crusaders made upon the MIussulmans; these latter regarded them at first as barbarians, as
the rudest, most ferocious, and most stupid class of men they




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had ever seen. The crusaders, on their part, were struck with
the riches and elegance of manners of the Mussulmans. To
this first impression succeeded frequent relations between the
two people. These extended and became much more important
than is gelerally supposed. Not only had the Christians of
the east habitual relations with the Mussulmans, but the
west and the east became acquainted, visited and mixed
with each other.  It is not long since that one of those
scholars who lionour France in the eyes of Europe, I. Abel
Remnusat, discovered the existence of relations between the
Mongol emperors and the Christian kings. Mongol ambassadors were sent to the Frank kings, to Saint Louis among
others, to treat for an alliance with them, and to recommence
the crusades in the common interest of the Mongols and the
Christians against the Turks. And not only were diplomatic
and official relations thus cstablished between the sovereigns;
frequent and various national relations were formed. I quote
the words of M. Abel Remusat.1
"Many Italian, French, and Flemish monks, were charged
with dip)lomnatic missions to the Great Khan. Mongols of
distinction came to Rome, Barcelona, Valentia, Lyons, Paris,
London, Northampton; and a Franciscan of the kingdom
of Naples was archbishop of Pekin. Ils successor was a
professor of theology of tlhe f'culty of Paris. But how many
others, less known, werc drawn after these, either as slaves,
or attracted by the desire for gain, or guided by curiosity
into countries till then unknown!  Chance has preserved the
names of some: the first who came to visit the king of
Hungary, on the part of the Tartars, was an Englishman,
banished from  his country'for certain crimes, and who,
after wandering all over Asia, ended by taking service among
the Mongols. A Flemish shoemaker met in the depths of
Tartary a woman from Mtetz, named Paquette, whlo had been
carried off from IIungary; a Parisian goldsmith, whose brother
was established at Paris, upon the great bridge; and a young
man from the environs of Rouen, who had been at the taking of
Belgrade. He saw, also, Russians, IIungarians, and Flemings.
A  chorister, lnamed Robert, after having travelled over


1 Afimoires sur les Relations Politiques des Princes Chretiens avec les
Empereurs Mongols. D)euximrne MAe.oire, pp). 151 —157.




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Eastern Asia, returned to finish his days in the cathedral of
Chartres. A Tartar was purveyor of helmets in the army
of Philip the Handsome; John de Plancarpin found near
Gayouk a Russian gentleman, whom he calls Temer, who was
serving as an interpreter; many merchants of Breslaw,
Poland, and Austria, accompanied him in his journey to
Tartary.  Others returned with him by way of Russia; these
were Genoese, Pisans, and Venetians.   Two merchants,
whom chance had led to Bokhara, consented to follow a
Mongol ambassador sent by Koulagou to Khoubilai. They
sojourned several years both in China and Tartary, returned
with letters from the Great Khan to the pope; again returned
to the Great Khan, taking with them the son of one of them,
the celebrated Marco Polo, and again quitted the court of
Khoubilai to return to Venice. Travels of this kind were not
less frequent in the following century. Among the number are
those of Sir John Mandeville, an English physician, of Oderic
of Friuli, of Pegoletti, of William de Bouldeselle, and several
others; and we may suppose, that those whose memorials are
preserved, form but the least part of w l:lt were undertaken, and
that there were at this period more per'-uns capable of executing
long journeys than of writing an account of them. Many of
these adventurers remained and died in the countries which
they visited. Others returned to their country as obscure as
when they left it; but with an imagination filled with what
they had seen, relating it to their family, exaggerating, no
doubt, but leaving around them, amidst absurd fables, useful
remembrances and traditions capable of bearing fruit. Thus
in Germany, Italy, and France, in the monasteries, in the
castles of the lords, and even down to the lowest ranks of
society, were deposited precious seeds destined before long
to germinate. All these unknown travellers carried the arts
of their native land into the most distant countries, brought
back other knowledge no less precious, and thus made, without
being aware of it, more advantageous exchanges than all those
of commerce.  By these means, not only the trade in silk,
porcelain, and Indian commodities was extended and facilitated-new routes opened to commercial industry and activity
-but, what was of much more importance, foreign manners,
unknown nations, extraordinary productions, offered themselves
in crowds to the minds of the Europeans, confined, since the fall




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of the Roman empire, within too narrow a circle. They began
to know the value of the most beautiful, the most populous, and
the most anciently civilized of the four quarters of the globe.
They began to study the arts, creeds, and idioms of its inhabitants, and there was even talk of establishing a professorship
of the Tartar language in the university of Paris. Romantic
narrative, when duly discussed and investigated, spread on
all sides more just and varied notions. The world seemed
to open on the side of the east; geography took a great stride,
and the desire for discovery became the new form which
clothed the adventurous spirit of the Europeans. The idea
of another hemisphere ceased to present itself as a paradox
void of all probability, when our own became better known;
and it was in searching for the Zipangri of Marco Polo that
Christopher Columbus discovered the New World."
You see, by the facts which led to the impulsion of the
crusades, what, at the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries,
was the new and vast world which was thrown open to the
European mind. There can be no doubt but that this was
one of the most powerful causes of development, and of the
freedom of mind which shone forth at the end of this great
event.
There is another cause which merits observation. Down
to the time of the crusades, the court of Rome, the centre of
the church, had never been in communication with the laity,
except through the medium of ecclesiastics, whether legates
sent from the court of Rome, or the bishops and the entire
clergy. There had always been some laymen in direct relation with Rome; but, taken all together, it was through the
ecclesiastics that she communicated with the people. During
the crusades, on the contrary, Rome became a place of passage
to the greater part of the crusaders, both in going and in
returning. Numbers of the laity viewed her policy and
manners, and could see how much of personal interest influenced religious controversy. Doubtless this new knowledge
inspired many minds with a hardihood till then unknown.
When we consider the state of minds in general, at the
end of the crusades, and particularly in ecclesiastical matters,
it is impossible not to be struck by one singular fact: religious
ideas experienced no change; they had not been replaced by
contrary or even different opinions. Yet minds were in



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finitely more free; religious creeds were no longer the only
sphere in which it was brought into play; without abandoning them, it began to separate itself fiom them, and carry
itself elsewhere. Thus, at the end of the thirteenth century,
the moral cause which had determined the crusades, which
at least was its most energetic principle, had vanished; the
moral state of Europe was profoundly modified.
The social state had undergone an analogous change.
Much investigation has been expended upon what was the
influence of the crusades in this respect; it has been shown
how they reduced a large number of fief-holders to the necessity of selling them to their sovereigns, or of selling charters
to the boroughs in order to procure the means of following
the crusade. It has been shown that by their mere absence,
many of the lords must have lost the greater portion of their
power. Without entering into the details of this inquiry, we
may, I think, resolve into a few general facts, the influence
of the crusades upon the social state.
They greatly diminished the number of petty fiefs and
small domains, of inferior fief-holders; and they concentred
property and power in a smaller number of hands. It is
with the commencement of the crusades that we see the
formation and augmentation of large fiefs, and great feudal
existences.
I have often regretted that there is no map of France
divided into fiefs, as there is of its division into departments,
arrondissements, cantons, and parishes, in which all the fiefs
should be marked, wAith their extent and successive relations
and changes. If we were to compare, with the aid of such a
map, the state of' France before and after the crusades, we
should see how many fief's had vanished, and to what a degree
the great and middle fiefs had increased. This. was one of the
most important facts to which the crusades led.
Even where the petty proprietors preserved their fiefs,
they no longer lived as isolated as formerly. The great fiefholders became so many centres, around which the smaller
ones converged, and near to which they passed their lives.
It had become necessary, during the crusades, for them to
put themselves in the train of the richest and most powerful
to receive succour from him; they had lived with him, partaken of his fortune, gone through the same adventures,




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When the crusaders returned home, this sociability, this
habit of living near to the superior lord, remained fixed
in their manners. Thus as we see the augmentation of the
great fiefs after the crusades, so we see the holders of those
fiefs holding a much more considerable court in the interior
of their castles, having near them a larger number of gentlemen who still preserved their small domains, but did not
shut themselves up within them.
The extension of the great fiefs and the creation of a certain number of centres of society, in place of the dispersion
which formerly existed, are the two principal effects brought
about by the crusades in the heart of feudalism.
As to the burghers, a result of the same nature is easily
perceptible. The crusades created the great boroughs. Petty
commerce and industry did not suffice to create boroughs
such as the great towns of Italy and Flanders were. It was
commerce on a great scale, maritime commerce, and especially
that of the east, which gave rise to them; it was the crusades
which gave to maritime commerce the most powerful impulsion
it had ever received.
Upon the whole, when we regard the state of society at
the end of the crusades, we find that this movement of dissolution, of the dispersion of existences and influences, this
movement of universal localization, if such a phrase be permitted, which had preceded this epoch, had ceased, by a movement with an exactly contrary tendency, by a movement of
centralization. All now tended to approximation. The lesser
existences were either absorbed in the greater, or were
grouped around them. It was in this direction that society
advanced, that all its progress was made.
You now see, why, towards the end of the thirteenth
and fourteenth centuries, neither people nor sovereigns
any longer desired the crusades; they had no longer either
the need or desire for them; they had been cast into them
by the impulsion of the religious spirit, and by the exclusive
domination of religious ideas upon the whole existence; this
domination had lost its energy. They had sought, too, in
the crusades a new life, more extensive and more varied; they
now began to find it in Europe itself, in the progress of social
relations. It was at this epoch the career of political aggrandizement opened itself to kings. Wherefore seek kingdoms




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in Asia, when they had them to conquer at their own doors?
Philip Augustus went to the crusades against his will: what
could be more natural?  He had to make himself king of
France. It was the same with the people. The career of
riches opened before their eyes; they renounced adventures
for work. For the sovereigns, the place of adventures was
supplied by policy; for the people, by work on a great scale.
One single class of society still had a taste for adventure:
this was that portion of feudal nobility who, not being in a
condition to think of political aggrandizement, and not liking
work, preserved their ancient condition and manners. They
therefore continued to rush to the crusades, and attempted
their revival.
Such, in my opinion, are the great and true cffects of the
crusades: on one side, the extension of ideas, the enfranchisement of mind; on the other, the aggrandizement of
existences, Wand a large sphere opened to activity of all kind:
they produced at once a greater degree of individual liberty,
and of political unity. They aided the independence of man
and the centralization of society. Much has been asked as
to the means of civilization-which they directly imported
from the east; it has been said that the chief portion of the
great discoveries which, in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, called forth the development of European civilizationthe compass, printing, gunpowder-were known in the east,
and that the crusaders may have brought them thence.
This, to a certain point, is true. But some of these assertions
are disputable. That which is not disputable is this influence,
this general effect of the crusades upon the mind on one
hand, and upon society on the other hand; they drew European
society from a very straightened track, and led it into new
and infinitely more extensive paths; they commenced that
transformation of the various elements of European society
into governments and peoples, which is the character of
modern civilization. About the same time, royalty, one of
those institutions which have most powerfully contributed to
this great result, developed itself. Its history, from the birth
of modern states down to the thirteenth century, will form
the subject of my next lecture.




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NINTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Important part taken by royalty in the history of
Europe, and in the history of the world-True causes of this importance
-Two-fold point of view under which the institution of royalty should
be considered —st. Its true and permanent nature-It is the personification of the sovereignty of right-With what limits-2nd. Its flexibility
and diversity-European royalty seems to be the result of various kinds
of royalty-Of barbarian royalty-Of imperial royalty-Of religious
royalty-Of feudal royalty-Of modern royalty, properly so called, and
of its true character.
IN our last lecture, I attempted to determine the essential
and distinctive character of modern European society, as
compared with primitive European society; I believe that
we discovered in this fact, that all the elements of the
social state, at first numerous and various, reduce themselves
to two: on one hand the government, and on the other, the
people. Instead of encountering the feudal nobility, the
clergy, the kings, burghers, and serfs, as the dominant powers
and chief actors in history, we find in modern Europe but
two great figures which alone occupy the historic scene, the
government and the country.
If such is the fact in which European civilization terminates,
such also is the end to which we should tend, and to which
our researches should conduct us. It is necessary that we
should see this grand result take birth, and progressively
develop and strengthen itself.    We are entered upon the
epoch in which we may arrive at its origin: it was, as you
have seen, between the twelfth and the sixteenth century that
the slow and concealed work operated in Europe which has
led our society to this new form  and definitive state.  We
M




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have likewise studied the first great event, which, in nm
opinion, evidently and powerfully impelled Europe in this
direction, that is, the crusades.
About the same epoch, almost at the moment that the
crusades broke out, that institution commenced its aggrandizement, which has, perhaps, contributed more than anything to
the formation of modern society, and to that fusion of all the
social elements into two powers, the government and the
people; royalty.
It is evident that royalty has played a prodigious part in
the history of European civilization; a single glance at facts
suffices to convince one of it; we see the development of
royalty marching with the same step, so to speak, at least for
a long period, as that of society itself; the progress is mutual.
And not only is the progress mutual, but whenever society
advances towards its modern and definitive character, royalty
seems to extend and prosper; so that when the work is consummated, when there is no longer any, or scarcely any other
important or decisive influence in the great states of Europe,
than that of the government and the public, royalty is the
government.
And it has thus happened, not only in France, where the
fact is evident, but also in the greater portion of European
countries: a little earlier or a little later, under somewhat
different forms, the same result is offered us in the history of
society in England, Spain, and Germany. In England, for
example, it was under the Tudors, that the ancient, peculiar
and local elements of English society were perverted and dissolved, and gave place to the system of public powers; this
also was the time of the greatest influence of royalty. It was
the same in Germany, Spain, and all the great European
states.
If we leave Europe, and if we turn our view upon the
rest of the world, we shall be struck by an analogous fact;
we shall everywhere find royalty occupying an important
position, appearing as, perhaps, the most general and permanent of institutions, the most difficult to prevent, where it did
not formerly exist, and the most difficult to root out where it
had existed. From time immemorial it has possessed Asia.
At the discovery of America, all the great states there were
found with different combinations, subject to the monarchical




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system. When we penetrate into the interior of Africa,
wherever we meet with nations in any way extensive, this is
the prevailing system. And not only has royalty penetrated
everywhere, but it has accommodated itself to the most
diverse situations, to civilization and to barbarism, to manners
the most pacific, as in China, for example, and to those in
which war, in which the military spirit dominate. It has
alike established itself in tie heart of the system of castes, in
the most rigorously classified societies, and in the midst of a
system of equality, in societies which are utter strangers to
all legal and permanent classification.  Here despotic and
oppressive, there favourable to civilization and even to liberty,
it seems like a head which may be placed upon a multitude of
different bodies, a fruit that will spring from the most dissimilar germs.
In this fact, we may discover many curious and important
consequences.  I will take only two.  The first is, that it is
impossible such a result should be the fruit of mere chance, of
force or usurpation alone; it is impossible but that there
should be a profound and powerful analogy between the
nature of royalty, considered as an institution, and the nature,
whether of individual man, or of human society. Doubtless,
force is intermixed with the origin of the institution; doubtless, force has taken an important part in its progress; but
when we meet with such a result as this, when we see a great
event developing and reproducing itself during the course of
many centuries, and in the midst of such different situations,
we cannot attribute it to force. Force plays a great part, and
an incessant one, in human affairs; but it is not their principle,
their primum mobile; above force and the part which it plays,
there hovers a moral cause which decides the totality of
things. It is with force in the history of societies, as with
the body in the history of man. The body surely holds a
high place in the life of man, but still it is not the principle
of life. Life circulates within it, but it does not emanate
from it. So it is with human societies; whatever part force
takes therein, it is not force which governs them, and which
presides supremely over their destinies; it is ideas and moral
influences, which conceal themselves under the accidents of
force, and regulate the course of the society. It is a cause of
this kind, and not force, which gave success to royalty.
M2




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A second fact, and one which is no less worthy of remark,
is the flexibility of the institution, its faculty of modifying,
and adapting itself to a multitude of different circumstances.
Mark the contrast: its form is unique, permanent, and simple;
it does not offer that prodigious variety of combinations
which we see in other institutions, and yet it applies itself to
societies which the least resemble it. It must evidently allow
of great diversity, and must attach itself, whether in man
himself or in society, to many different elements and principles.
It is from not having considered the institution of royalty
in its whole extent; from not having on the one hand penetrated to its peculiar and fixed principle, which, whatever
may be the circumstances to which it applies itself, is its
very essence and being-and on the other, from not having
estimated all the varieties to which it lends itself, and all
the principles with which it may enter into alliance; it is, I
say, from not having considered royalty under this vast and
twofold point of view, that the part taken by it in the
history of the world has not been always comprehended, that
its nature and effects have often been misconstrued.
This is the work which I wish to go through with you,
and in such a manner as to take an exact and complete estimate of the effects of this institution in modern Europe,
whether they have flowed from its own peculiar principles
or the modifications which it has undergone.
There can be no doubt that the force of royalty, that moral
power which is its true principle, does not reside in the sole
and personal will of the man momentarily king; there can
be no doubt that the people, in accepting it as an institution,
philosophers in maintaining it as a system, have not intended
or consented to accept the empire of the will of a man, essenrially narrow, arbitrary, capricious, and ignorant.
Royalty is quite a distinct thing from the will of a man,
although it presents itself in that form; it is the personification of the sovereignty of right, of that will, essentially
reasonable, enlightened, just, and impartial, foreign and superior to all individual wills, and which in virtue of this title
has a right to govern them. Such is the meaning of royalty
in the minds of nations, such the motive for their adhesion.
Is it true that there is a sovereignty of right, a will which




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16 


possesses the right of governing men? It is quite certain
that they believe so; because they seek, and constantly have
sought, and indeed cannot but seek, to place themselves
under its empire. Conceive to yourselves the smallest
assembly of men, I will not say a people: conceive that
assembly under the submission to a sovereign who is only
so de facto, under a force which has no right except that
of force, which governs neither according to reason, justice,
nor truth; human nature revolts at such a suppositionit must have right to believe in. It is the supremacy of
right which it seeks, that is the only power to which man
consents to submit. What is history but the demonstration of this universal fact?  What are the greater portion of the struggles which take place in the life of nations,
but an ardent effort towards the sovereignty of right, so
that they may place themselves under its empire? And
not only nations but philosophers believe in its existence, and
incessantly seek it.  What are all the systems of political
philosophy, but the search for the sovereign of right?
What is it that they treat of, but the question of knowing
who has a right to govern society? Take the theocratical,
monarchical, aristocratical, or democratical systems, all of
them boast of having discovered wherein the sovereignty of
right resides; all promise to society that they will place it
under the rule of its legitimate master. I repeat, this is the
end alike of all the works of philosophers, of all efforts of
nations.
How should they but believe in the sovereignty of right?
How should they but be constantly in search of it? Take the
most simple suppositions; let there be something to accomplish, some influence to exercise, whether upon society in
its whole, or upon a number of its members, or upon a
single individual; there is evidently always a rule for this
action, a legitimate will to follow  and apply. Whether
you penetrate into the smallest details of social life, or whether you elevate yourselves to the greatest events, you will
everywhere encounter a truth to be proved, or a just and
reasonable idea to be passed into reality:  This is the
sovereign of right, towards which philosophers and nations
have never ceased and never can cease to aspire.
Up to what point can the sovereignty of right be represented




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HISTORY OF


in a general and permanent manner by a terrestrial force or
by a human will?  How far is such a supposition necessarily
false and dangerous?  What should be thought in particular of the personification of the sovereignty of right under
the image of royalty?  Upon what conditions, within what
limits is this personification admissible? Great questions,
which I have not to treat of here, but which I could
not resist pointing out, and upon which I shall say a word
in passing.
I affirm, and the merest common sense will acknowledge,
that the sovereignty of right completely and permanently can
appertain to no one; that all attribution of the sovereignty ot
right to any human power whatsoever, is radically false and
dangerous. Hence arises the necessity for the limitation of
all powers, whatever their names or forms may be; hence
the radical illegitimacy of all absolute power, whether its
origin be from conquest, inheritance, or election. People
may differ as to the best means of seeking the sovereign of
right; they may vary as to place and times; but in no place,
no time, can any legitimate power be the independent possessor of this sovereignty.
This principle being laid down, it is no less certain that
royalty, in whatever system it is considered, presents itself as
the personification of the sovereign of right.  Listen tote
theocratical system: it will tell you that kings are the image
of God upon earth; this is only saying that they are the per-\
sonification of sovereign justice, truth, and goodness. Address
yourself to the jurisconsults; they will tell you that the king
is the living law; that is to say, the king is the personification
of the sovereign of right, of the just law, which has the
right of governing society. Ask royalty itself, in the system
of pure monarchy; it will tell you that it is the personification
of the State, of the general interest. In whatever alliance
and in whatever situation you consider it, you will always find
it summing itself up in the pretension of representing and
reproducing the sovereign of right, alone capable of legitimately governing society.
There is no occasion for astonishment in all this. What
are the characteristics of the sovereign of right, the characteristics derivable from his very nature? In the first place
he is unique; since there is but one truth, one justice, there




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can be but one sovereign of right.    He is permanent,
always the same; truth never changes. H-e is placed in a
superior situation, a stranger to all the vicissitudes and
changes of this world; his part in the world is, as it were,
that of a spectator and judge. Well! it is royalty which externally reproduces, under the most simple form, that which
appears its most faithful image, these rational and natural
characteristics of the sovereign of right. Open the work in
which M. Benjamin Constant has so ingeniously represented
royalty as a neutral and moderating power, raised above the
accidents and struggles of social life, and only interfering at
great crises. Is not this, so to speak, the attitude of the
sovereign of right in the government of human things?
There must be something in this idea well calculated to impress the mind, for it has passed with singular rapidity from
books to facts. One sovereign made it in the constitution of
Brazil the very foundation of his throne; there royalty is
represented as a moderating power, raised above all active
powers, as a spectator and judge.
Under whatever point of view you regard this institution,
as compared with the sovereign of right, you will find that
there is a great external resemblance, and that it is natural for
it to have struck the minds of men. Accordingly, whenever
their reflection or imagination turned with preference towards
*  jre contemplation or study of the nature of the sovereign
of right, and his essential characteristics, they have inclined
towards royalty. As, in the time of the preponderance of
religious ideas, the habitual contemplation of the nature of
God led mankind towards the monarchical system, so when
the jurisconsults dominated in society, the habit of studying,
under the name of the law, the nature of the sovereign of
right, was favourable to the dogma of his personification in
royalty. The attentive application of the human mind to the
contemplation of the nature of the sovereignty of right
when no other causes have interfered to destroy the effect,
has always given force and credit to royalty, which presents
its image.
Moreover, there are times peculiarly favourable to this
personification: these are the times when individual powers
display themselves in the world with all their risks and
caprices; times when egotism dominates in individuals, whether




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from ignorance and brutality, or from  corruption.  Then
society, abandoned to the contests of personal wills, and unable
to raise itself by their free concurrence to a common and
universal will, passionately long for a sovereign to whom all
individuals may be forced to submit; and the moment any
institution, bearing any one of the characteristics of the
sovereignty of right, presented itself, and promised its empire
to society, society rallied round it with eager earnestness, like
outlaws taking refuge in the asylum of a church. This is
what has been seen in the disorderly youth of nations, such as
we have surveyed. Royalty is admirably adapted to epochs
of vigorous and fruitful anarchy, so to speak, when society
desires to form and regulate itself, without knowing how to
do so by the free concord of individual wills. There are other
times when, from directly opposite causes, it has the same
recommendation. Why did the Roman empire, so nearly in
a state of dissolution at the end of the republic, subsist for
nearly fifteen centuries afterwards, under the name of that
empire, which, after all, was but a continual decay, a lengthened agony? Royalty alone could produce such an effect; that
alone could hold together a society which selfishness incessantly tended to destroy. The imperial power struggled for
fifteen centuries against the ruin of the Roman world.
Thus there are times when royalty alone can retard the
dissolution of society, and times when it alone accelerates its
formation. And in both these cases, it is because it represents
more clearly and powerfully than any other form the sovereignty of right, that it exercises this power upon events.
From whatever point of view you may consider this institution, and at whatever epoch, you will acknowledge then that
its essential characteristic, its moral principle, its true aud
inmost meaning is the image, the personification, the presumed interpreter of this unique, superior, and essentially
legitimate will, which alone has the right of governing society.
Let us now regard royalty from the second point of view,
that is to say, in its flexibility, in the variety of parts which
it has played, and the effects which it has produced; it is
necessary that we should give the reason of these features,
and determine their causes.
Here we have an advantage; we can immediately enter
upon history, and upon our own history. By a concourse of




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singular circumstances, it has happened, that in modern
Europe royalty has assumed every character under which it
has shown itself in the history of the world. If I may be
allowed to use an arithmetical expression, European royalty
is the sum total of all possible species of royalty. I will run
over its history from the fifth to the twelfth century; you
will see how various are the aspects under which it presents
itself, and to what an extent we shall everywhere find this
character of variety, complication, and conflict which belongs
to all European civilization.
In the fifth century, at the time of the great German invasion, two royalties are present; the barbarian and the
imperial royalty, that of Clovis and that of Constantine;
both differing essentially in principles and effects. Barbaric
royalty is essentially elective; the German kings were elected,
although their election did not take place with the same forms
which we are accustomed to attach to the idea; they were
military chiefs, who were bound to make their power freely
acceptable to a large number of companions who obeyed them
as being the most brave and the most able among them.
Election is the true source of barbaric royalty, its primitive
and essential characteristic.
Not that this characteristic in the fifth century was not
already a little modified, or that different elements had not
been introduced into royalty. The various tribes had had
their chiefs for a certain time; some families had raised
themselves to more trust, consideration, and riches than others.
Hence a commencement of inheritance; the chief was now
mostly elected out of these families. This was the first differing principle which became associated with the dominant principle of election.
Another idea, another element, had also already penetrated
into barbaric royalty: this was the religious element. We
find among some of the barbarous nations, among tie Goths,
for example, that the families of their kings descended from tile
families of their gods, or from those heroes of whom they had
made gods, such as Odin. This is the situation of the kings
of Homer, who sprang from gods or demi —gods, and by reason
of this title were the objects of a kind of religious veneration,
despite their limited power.
Such, in the fifth century, was barbaric royalty, already




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varying and fluctuating, although its primitive principle still
dominated.
I take imperial, Roman royalty; this is a totally different
thing; it is the personification of the state, the heir of the
sovereignty and majesty of the Roman people.  Consider
the royalty of Augustus and Tiberius; the emperor is the
representative of the senate, the comitia, and the whole
republic; he succeeded them, and they are summed up in his
person. Who would not recognise this in the modesty of
language of the first emperors; of those, at least, who were men
of sense, and understood their situation? They felt themselves
in the presence of the late sovereign people who had abdicated in their favour; they addressed them as their representatives and ministers. But, in fact, they exercised the whole
power of the people, and that with the most formidable intensity. It is easy for us to understand such a transformation;
we have ourselves witnessed it; we have seen the sovereignty
pass from the people to a man; that is the history of Napoleon. He also was the personification of the sovereign people;
he unceasingly repeated to it, " Who like me has been elected
by eighteen millions of men? Who like me is the representative of the people Republique Francaise?"  And when
upon one side of his coinage we read, The French Republic,
and upon the other, Napoleon, Empereur, what does this
mean, if not the fact which I have described, the people
become king?
Such was the fundamental character of imperial royalty,
which it preserved for the three first centuries of the empire:
it was not till Diocletian that it took its definitive and complete form. It was then, however, upon the point of undergoing a great change; a new royalty had almost appeared.
Christianity laboured for three centuries to introduce the
religious element into society. It was under Constantine
that it met with success, not in making it the prevalent fact,
but in making it play an important part. Here royalty presents
itself under a different aspect; its origin is not earthly; the
prince is not the representative of the public sovereignty; he
is the image of God, his representative and delegate. Power
came down to him from above, while in imperial royalty
it came from below. These are two utterly different situations, and have entirely different results. The rights of




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liberty, political guarantees are difficult to combine with
the principle of religious royalty; but the principle itself is
elevated, moral, and salutary. Let us see the idea which was
formed of the prince in the seventh century, in the system of
religious royalty. I take it from the canons of the councils
of Toledo.
"<The king is called king (rex,) because he governs justly,
(recte).  If he act with justice (recte), he legitimately possesscs the name of king; if he act with injustice, he miserably
loses it.  Our fathers, therefore, said, with good reason: Rex
ejus, eris si recta facis, si autem nonfacis, non eris.  The two
principal royal virtues are justice and truth, (science of the
reason).
" The royal power is bound, like the people, to respect the
laws.... Obedience to the will of Heaven, gives to us and
to our subjects wise laws, which our greatness and that of
our successors is bound to obey, as well as the whole population of our kingdom....
"God, the creator of all things, in disposing the structure of
the human body, has raised the head on high, and has willed
that the nerves of all the members should proceed therefrom.
And he has placed in the head the torch of the eyes, to the
end that from thence may be viewed all things that might be
prejudicial. He has established  the power of intellect,
charging it to govern all the members, and wisely to regulate
their action.... It is first necessary, then, to regulate what
relates to princes, to watch over their safety, and to protect
their life, and then to order what relates to the people; so that
in guaranteeing, as is fitting, the safety of kings, they at
the same time guarantee, and more effectually, that of the
people."'
But, in the system of religious royalty, another element,
quite different from that of royalty itself, almost always introduced itself. A new power took its place by the side of it,
a power nearer to God, to the source whence royalty emanates,
than royalty itself: this was the clergy, the ecclesiastical
power which interposed itself between God and kings, and
between kings and the people; so that royalty, the image of
divinity, ran a chance of falling to the rank of an instrument


1 Forum Judicum, i. lib. 2; tit. i. 1. 2, 1. 4.




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HISTORY OF


of the human interpreters of the divine will. This was a new
cause of diversity in the destinies and effects of the institution.
Here, then, we see, what in the fifth century were the
various royalties which manifested themselves upon the ruins
of the Roman empire: the barbaric royalty, the imperial
royalty, and the rising religious royalty. Their fortunes were
as various as their principles.
In France, under the first race, barbaric royalty prevailed;
there were many attempts of the clergy to impress upon it the
imperial or religious character; but election in the royal
family, with some mixture of inheritance and religious ideas,
remained dominant. In Italy, among the Ostrogoths, imperial
royalty superseded the barbarian customs. Theodoric asserted
himself the successor of the emperors. You need only read
Cassiodorus, to acknowledge this character of his government.
In Spain, royalty appeared more religious than elsewhere;
as the councils of Toledo were, I will not say the masters, but
the influencing power, the religious character dominated, if
not in the government, properly so called, of the Visigoth
kings, at least, in the laws with which the clergy inspired
them, and the language which it made them speak.
In England, among the Saxons, barbarian manners subsisted
almost entire. The kingdoms of the heptarchy were merely the
domains of various bands, having each its chief. The military
election is more evident there than elsewhere.  AngloSaxon royalty is the most perfect type of barbaric royalty.
Thus from the fifth to the twelfth century, three kinds of
royalty manifested themselves at the same time, in general
facts; one or other of them prevailed, according to circumstances, in each of the different states of Europe.
The chaos was such at this epoch, that nothing universal
or permanent could be established; and, from one vicissitude
to another, we arrive at the eighth century, without royalty
having anywhere taken a definitive character. Towards the
middle of the eighth century, with the triumph of the second
race of the Frank kings, events generalized themselves and
became clearer; as they were accomplished upon a greater
scale, they were better understood, and led to more results.
You will shortly see the different royalties distinctly succeed
and combine with each other.




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At the time when the Carlovingians replace the MIerovingians, a return of barbaric royalty is visible; election again
appears. Pepin causes himself to be elected at Soissons.
When the first Carlovingians give the kingdoms to their sons
they take care to have them accepted by the chief persons
in the states assigned them; when they make a partition, they
wish it to be sanctioned in the national assemblies. In a word,
the elective principle, under the form of public acceptation,
reassumes some reality. You bear in mind, that this change
of dynasty was like a new invasion of the Germans in the
west of Europe, and brought back some shadow of their
ancient institutions and manners.
At the same time we see the religious principle introduced
more clearly into royalty, and playing therein a more important part. Pepin was acknowledged and crowned by the
pope. He had need of religious sanction; it had already
a great power, and he courted it. Charlemagne took the
same precaution; religious royalty was developing. Still
under Charlemagne this character did not dominate; imperial
royalty was evidently what he attempted to resuscitate.
Although he closely allied himself to the clergy, and made
use of them, he was not their instrument. The idea of a
great state, of a great political unity, the resurrection of the
Roman empire, was the favourite idea, the dream of Charlemagne's reign. He died, and was succeeded by Louis le
Debonnaire. Every one knows what character the royal
power instantly assumed; the king fell into the hands of the
clergy, who censured, deposed, re-established, and governed
him; religious royalty, late subordinate, seemed on the point
of being established.
Thus, from the middle of the eighth to the middle of the
ninth century, the diversity of three kinds of royalty manifested itself in important, closely connected, and palpable
events.
After the death of Louis le Debonnaire, in the dissolution
into which Europe fell, the three species of royalty disappeared almost simultaneously; all became confusion. After
some time, when the feudal system prevailed, a fourth
royalty presented itself, different from any that we have
yet seen; this was feudal royalty. This is confused, and
very difficult to define. It has been said that the. king




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in the feudal system was sovereign of sovereigns, lord of
lords, that he held by sure ties, from one class to another,
the entire society; that in calling around him his vassals,
then the vassals of his vassals, he called the whole nation,
and truly showed himself a king. I do not deny that this
was the theory of feudal royalty; but it is a mere theory,
which has never governed facts. That general influence of
the king by the means of an hierarchical organization, those
ties which united royalty to the entire feudal society, are the
dreams of publicists. In fact, the greater part of the feudal
lords were at this epoch entirely independent of royalty; a
large number scarcely knew the name, and had little or no
connexion with it. All the sovereignties were local and
independent: the title of king, borne by one of the feudal
lords, expressed rather a remembrance than a fact.
This was the state of royalty during the course of the
tenth and eleventh centuries. In the twelfth, with the reign
of Louis le Gros, the aspect of things began to change. We
more often find the king spoken of; his influence penetrated
into places where hitherto he had never made way; his part
in society became more active. If we seek by what title, we
shall recognise none of the titles of which royalty had
hitherto been accustomed to avail itself. It was not as the
heir of the emperors, or by the title of imperial royalty, that
it aggrandized itself and assumed more coherence; nor was
it in virtue of election, nor as the emanation of divine
power. All trace of election had disappeared, the hereditary
principle of succession had become definitively established;
and although religion sanctioned the accession of kingrs, the
minds of men did not appear at all engrossed with the religious character of the royalty of Louis le Gros. A new
element, a character hitherto unknown, produced itself in
royalty; a new royalty commenced.
I need not repeat that society was at this epoch in a
prodigious disorder, a prey to unceasing violence.  Society had in itself no means of striving against this deplorable state, of regaining any regularity or unity. The feudal
institutions, those parliaments of barons, those seigneurial
courts, all those forms under which, in modern times, feudalism has been represented as a systematic and organised
regime, all this was devoid of reality, of power; there was




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nothing there which could re-establish order or justice; so
that, amidst this social desolation, none knew to whom to
have recourse for the reparation of any great injustice, or to
remedy any great evil, or in any way to constitute anything
resembling a state. The name of king remained; a lord bore
it, and some few addressed themselves to him. The various
titles under which royalty had hitherto presented itself;
although they did not exercise any great control, were still
present to many minds, and on some occasions were recognised. It sometimes happened that they had recourse to the
king to repress any scandalous violence, or to re-establish
something like order in any place near to his residence, or
to terminate any difference which had long existed; he was
sometimes called upon to interfere in matters not strictly
within his jurisdiction; he interfered as the protector of
public order, as arbitrator and redresser of wrongs. The
moral authority which remained attached to his name, by
degrees attracted to him this power.
Such is the character which royalty began to take under
Louis le Gros, and under the administration of Suger. Then,
for the first time, we see in the minds of men the idea,
although very incomplete, confused, and weak, of a public
power, foreign to the powers which possessed society, called
to render justice to those who were unable to obtain it by
ordinary means, capable of establishing, or, at least, of commanding order; the idea of a great magistrate, whose essential character was that of maintaining or re-establishing
peace, of protecting the weak, and of ending differences
which none others could decide. This is the entirely new
character under which, dating from the twelfth century,
royalty presented itself in Europe, and especially in France.
It was neither as a barbarous royalty, a religious royalty,
nor as an imperial royalty, that it exercised its empire; it
possessed only a limited, incomplete, and accidental power,
the power, as it were, (I know of no expression more exact)
of a great justice of peace for the whole nation.
This is the true origin of modern royalty; this, so to
speak, is its vital principle; that which has been developed
in the course of its career, and which, I do not hesitate in
saying, has brought about its success. At the different epochs
of history, we see the different characters of royalty reappear;




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we see the various royalties which I have described attempting by turns to regain the preponderance. Thus the clergy
has always preached religious royalty; jurisconsults laboured
to resuscitate imperial royalty; and the nobles have sometimes wished to revive elective royalty, or the feudal. And
not only have the clergy, jurisconsults, and nobility, striven
to make dominant in royalty such or such a character; it
has itself made them all subservient to the aggrandizement of
its power; kings have sometimes represented themselves as
the delegates of God, sometimes as the successors of the
emperors, according to the need or inclination of the moment;
they have illegitimately availed themselves of these various
titles, but none of them has been the veritable title of
modern royalty, or the source of its preponderating influence.
It is, I repeat, as the depositary and protector of public
order, of universal justice, and common interest —it is under
the aspect of a great magistracy, the centre and union of
society-that it has shown itself to the eyes of the people, and
has appropriated their strength by obtaining their adhesion.
You will see, as we advance, this characteristic of modern
European royalty, which commenced at the twelfth century,
under the reign of Louis le Gros, strengthen and develop
itself, and became, so to speak, its political physiognomy.
It is through it that royalty has contributed to the great
result which characterizes European societies in the present
day, namely, the reduction of all social elements into two,
the government and the country.
Thus, at the termination of the crusades, Europe entered
the path which was to conduct it to its present state; and
royalty took its appropriate part in the great transformation.
In our next lecture we shall study the different attempts
made at political organization, from the twelfth to the sixteenth century, with a view to maintain, by regulating it,
the order, then almost in ruin. WV7e shall consider the efforts
of feudalism, of the church, and even of the boroughs, to
constitute society after its ancient principles, and under its
primitive forms, and thus defend themselves against the,eaeral metamorphosis which was in preparation.




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.?V7


TENTI LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Attempts to reconcile the various social elements of
modern Europe, and to make them live and act in common, in one society, and under one central power-Ist. Attempt at theocratical organization-Why it failed-Four principal obstacles-Faults of Gregory V'l.
-Reaction against the domination of the church-On the part of the
people-On the part of the sovereigns-2nd. Attempt at republican
organization-Italian republics-Their defects-Towns in the south of
France-Crusade of the Albigenses-Swiss confederation-Boroughs of
Flanders and the Rhine  Ilanseatic league -Struggle between the
feudal nobility and the boroughs-3rd. Attempt at a mixed organization
- States-general of France - Cortes of Spain and Portugal - English
parliament-Peculiar state of Germany-Ill success of all their attempts
-From what causes-General tendency of Europe.
I wisi to determine correctly, and at the outset, the object of
this lecture.
You will recollect, that one of the first facts which struck
us in the elements of ancient European society, was their
diversity, separation, and independence. The feudal nobility,
clergy, and boroughs, had a situation, laws, and manners; all
entirely different; they were so many societies which governed
themselves, each upon its own account, and by its own rules
and power.    They stood in relation and came in contact, but
there was no true union; they did not form, properly speaking, a nation, a State.
The fusion of all these societies into one has been accomplished; it is precisely, as you have seen, the distinctive
fact, the essential character of modern society.  The ancient
social elements are reduced to two, the government and the
people; that is to say, the diversity has ceased, that similitude has led to union.   But before this result was consumN




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mated, and even with a view to its prevention, many efforts
were tried to make all particular societies live and act in
common, without destroying their diversity or independence.
It was not wished to strike a blow in any way prejudicial to
their situation, privileges, or special nature, and yet to unite
them in a single State, to form of them one nation, to rally
them under one and the same government.
All these attempts failed. Te' result which I have just
mentioned, the unity of modern society, proves their ill success. Even in those European countries where some traces
of the ancient diversity of social elements, in Germany, for
example, where there is still a true feudal nobility and a
bourgeoisie; in England, where a national church is in possession of special revenues and a particular jurisdiction, it is
clear that this pretended distinct existence is but an appearance, an illusion; that these special societies are politically
confounded with the general society, absorbed in the State,
governed by the public powers, in subjection to the same
system, and carried away in the current of the same ideas, and
the same manners. I repeat that, where even the form of it
still subsists, the independence of the ancient social elements
has no reality.
Still these attempts to make them co-ordinate without
transforming them, to attach them to a national unity without
abolishing their diversity, have held an important place in
the history of Europe; they partly fill the epoch which now
occupies our attention, that epoch which separates primitive
frorm modern Europe, and in which the metamorphosis of
European society was accomplished. And not only has it
occupied an important place therein, but it has also greatly
influenced posterior events, and the manner in which the
reduction of all social elements into two, the government
and the public, has been brought about. It is, therefore, of
consequence to properly estimate and thoroughly understand
all the essays at political organization which were made from
the twelfth to the sixteenth century, to create nations and
governments, without destroying the diversity of the secondary societies placed side by side. Such will be our business
in this lecture.
It is a difficult and even a painful task. These attempts at




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political organization have not all been conceived and directed
with a good intention; many of them have had no other views
but those of selfishness and tyranny. More than one, however,
has been pure and disinterested; more than one has really had
for its object the moral and social good of mankind. The
state of incoherence, violence, and iniquity in which society
was then placed, shocked great minds and elevated souls, and
they incessantly sought the means of escaping from it. Still,
even the best of these noble essays have failed; and so much
courage and virtue, so many sacrifices and efforts, have been
lost: is it not a heart.rending spectacle?  There is even
one thing still more painful, the source of a sadness still
more bitter: not only have these attempts at social amelioration failed, but an enormous mass of error and evil has been
mixed up therein.; Despite the good intention, the greater
part were absurd, and indicated a profound ignorance of
reason, justice, the rights of humanity, and the foundations
of the social state; so that not only has success been wanting
to mankind, but they have merited their failures. We here,
then, have the spectacle, not only of the hard destiny of
humanity, but also of its weakness. One may here see how
the merest instalment of truth suffices so to occupy the greatest
minds, that they entirely forget all the rest, and become blind
to everything which does not come within the straightened
horizon of their ideas; how a mere glimpse of justice in a
cause suffices to make them lose sight of all the injustice
which it involves and permits. This outburst of the vices
and imperfection of man, is, in my opinion, a contemplation
even more melancholy than the misery of his condition; his
faults weigh more heavily upon me than his sufferings. The
attempts which I have to describe, exhibit each of these
spectacles. It is necessary to go through with them, and to
be just towards those men, those ages, who have so often
gone astray, and have so cruelly failed, and who, notwithstanding, have displayed such high virtues, made such noble
efforts, merited so much glory!
The attempts at political organization formed from the
twelfth to the sixteenth century, are of two kinds: the object
of the one was to bring about the predominance of a particular social element, whether the clergy, the feudal nobility,
N2




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or the boroughs; to make all the others subordinate to this,
and on these terms to establish unity. The other proposed
to itself to reconcile all the particular societies, and make
them act in common, leaving to each its liberty, and guaranteeing its share of influence. The first class of these attempts
is much more liable to the suspicion of selfishness and tyranny
than the second. They have, in fact, oftener been tainted
with these vices; they are indeed, by their very nature,
essentially tyrannical in their means of action. Some of
them, however, may have been-in fact, have been-conceived
with pure views for the good and progress of humanity.
The first which presents itself is the attempt at a theocratical organization-that is to say, the design of subduing
the various classes of society to the principles and empire of
the ecclesiastical society. You will call to mind what I have
said concerning the history of the church. I have endeavoured to show what principles have been developed
within it, what was the share of legitimacy of each, how they
were born of the natural course of events, what services they
have rendered, and what evil they have brought about. I
have characterized the various states into which the church
passed from the eighth to the twelfth century; I have shown
the state of the imperial church, the barbarian, the feudal,
and lastly, the theocratical church. I suppose these recollections to be present to your minds; I shall now endeavour
to indicate what the clergy did to dominate in Europe, and
why they failed.
The attempt at theocratical organization appeared at a
very early period, whether in the acts of the court of Rome,
or in those of the clergy in general; it naturally resulted
from the political and moral superiority of the church, but
we shall find that it encountered, from the first, obstacles
which, even in its greatest vigour, it did not succeed in
removing.
The first was the very nature of Christianity. Wholly
different in this respect from the greater number of religious
creeds, Christianity was established by persuasion alone, by
simply moral means; it was never, from the time of its
birth, armed with force. In the early ages, it conquered
by the Word alone, and it only conquered souls. Hence it
happened, that even after its triumph, when the church was




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181


in possession of great riches and consideration, we never find
her invested with the direct government of society. Her
origin, purely moral, and merely by means of persuasion, was
found impressed in her condition. She had much influence,
but she had no power. She insinuated herself into the
municipal magistracies, she acted powerfully upon the emperors and their agents, but she had not the positive administration of public affairs, the government, properly so called.
Now a system of government-the theocratical, or any othercannot be established in an indirect manner by mere force of
influence; it is necessary to administer, command, receive
taxes, dispose of revenues, govern, in a word, actually to
take possession of society. When nations and governments
are acted upon by persuasion, much may be effected, and a
great empire exercised; but there would be no government,
no system would be founded, the future could not be provided
for. Such has been, from its very origin, the situation of
the Christian church; she has always been at the side of the
government of society, but she has never removed it, and
taken its place: a great obstacle which the attempt at theocratical organization could not surmount.
She met, at a very early period, with a second obstacle.
The Roman empire once fallen, and the barbarian states
founded, the church found herself among the conquered.
The first thing necessary was to escape this situation;
the work she had to commence by converting the conquerors, and thus raising herself to their rank.  When
this task was accomplished, and the church aspired to domination, she encountered the pride and resistance of the
feudal nobility.  This was a great service rendered to
Europe by the feudal laity: in the eleventh century, nations
were almost entirely subjected to the church-sovereigns
were scarce able to defend themselves; the feudal nobility
alone never received the yoke of the clergy, never humbled
themselves before it.  One need only recal the general
physiognomy of the middle ages to be struck by the singular
mixture of haughtiness and submission, of blind credulity and
freedom of mind, in the relations between the lay lords and
the priests: we there see some wreck of their primitive condition. You will call to mind how I endeavoured to represent to you the origin of feudalism, its first elements, and the




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manner in which the elementary feudal society was formed
around the habitation of the fief-holder. I remarked how,
in that society, the priest was below the lord. Well, there
always remained in the heart of the feudal nobility a recollection and feeling of this situation; it always regarded itself,
not only as independent of the church, but as superior
to it, as alone called to possess and really govern the country; it was always willing to live in concord with the
clergy, but so as to guard its own interests, and not to give
in to those of the clergy. During many centuries, it was the
lay aristocracy which maintained the independence of society
with regard to the church-that haughtily defended it when
kings and people were subdued. It was the first to oppose,
and perhaps contributed more than any other power to the
failure of the attempt at, a theocratical organization of society.
A third obstacle was likewise opposed, of which, in general,
but little account has been held, and often even its effects
been misconstrued.
Wherever a clergy has seized upon society, and subjected it
to a theocratical organization, it is upon a married clergy that
this empire has devolved, upon a body of priests recruiting
themselves from their own bosom, and bringing up their
children from their very birth in and for the same situation.
Examine history: look at Asia, Egypt; all the great theocracies are the work of a clergy which is a complete society
in itself, which suffices for its own wants, and borrows
nothing from without.
By the celibacy of priests, the Christian clergy was in
an entirely different position; it was obliged, in order to its
perpetuation, to have continual recourse to the laity; to seek
from abroad, in all social positions and professions, the means
of duration. In vain did the esprit-de-corps labour afterwards to assimilate theso foreign elements; something of the
origin of the new comers always remained; burghers or nobles,
they always preserved some trace of their ancient spirit,
their former condition. Doubtless celibacy, in placing the
Catholic clergy in an entirely special situation, foreign to the
interests and common life of mankind, has been to it a chief
cause of isolation; but it has thus unceasingly forced it into
connexion with lay society, in order to recruit and renew
itself therefrom, to receive and undergo some part of the




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moral revolutions which were accomplished in it; and I do not
hesitate to say that this necessity, constantly renewing, has
been much more prejudicial to the success of tle attempt at
theocratical organization, than the esprit-de-cor]ps, strongly
maintained by celibacy, has been able to promote it.
The church finally encountered, within her own bosom,
powerful adversaries to this attempt. Much has been said
concerning the unity of the church; and it is true she has
constantly aspired to it, and in some respects has happily
attained it. But let us not be deceived by the pomp of words,
nor by that of partial facts. What society has presented
more civil dissensions, or undergone more dismenmberment
than the clergy?  What nation has been more divided, more
disordered, more unfixed than the ecclesiastical nation? The
national churches of the majority of European countries
almost incessantly struggled against the court of Rome;
councils struggled against popes; heresies have been innumerable and constantly renewing, schism always in readiness; nowhere has there been such diversity of opinions,
such fury in contest, such parcelling out of power. The
internal life of the church, the divisions which have broken
out in it, the revolutions which have agitated it, have,
perhaps, been the greatest obstacles to the triumph of that
organization which she has attempted to impose upon society.
All these obstacles were in action and visible in the very
cradle of the great attempt which we have in review. They
did not, however, prevent its following its course, nor its being
in progress for many centuries. Its most glorious time, its day
of crisis, so to speak, was in the reign of Gregory VII., at the
end of the eleventh century. You have already seen that the
dominant idea of Gregory VII. was to subjugate the world to
the clergy, the clergy to the papal power, and Europe to a
vast and regular theocracy. In this design, as far as it may be
permitted us to judge of events at such a distance, this great
man committed, in my opinion, two great faults; one the
fault of a theorist, the other of a revolutionist. The first was
that of ostentatiously displaying his plan, of systematically
proclaiming his principles on the nature and rights of spiritual
power, of drawing from them beforehand, like an intractable
logician, the most distant consequences. IHe thus menaced
and attacked all the lay sovereignties of Europe, before being




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assured of the means of conquering them. Success in human
affairs is neither obtained by such absolute proceedings, nor
in the name of )hilosoplical argument. Moreover, Gregory
VII. fell into the common error of revolutionists, that of
attempting more than they can execute, and not taking the
possible as the measure and limit of their efforts. In order to
hasten the domination of his ideas, he engaged in contest with
the Empire, with all the sovereigns, and with the clergy itself.
He hesitated at no consequence, nor cared for any interest,
but haughtily proclaimed that he willed to reign over all
kingdoms as well as over all minds, and thus raised against
him, on one side, all the temporal powers, who saw themselves
in pressing danger, and on the other, the free-thinkers, who
began to appear, and who already dreaded the tyranny over
thought.  Upon the whole, Gregory perhaps compromised
more than he advanced the cause he wished to serve.
It, however, continued to prosper during the whole of the
twelfth and down to the middle of the thirteenth century.
This is the time of the greatest power and brilliancy of the
church, though I do not think it can be strictly said that she
made any great progress in that epoch. Down to the end of
the reign of Innocent III. she rather cultivated than extended
her glory and power. It was at the moment of her greatest
apparent success that a popular reaction declared itself against
her, in a large portion of Europe. In the south of France,
the heresy of the Albigcnses broke forth, which took possession of an entire, numerous, and powerful community. Almost
at the same time, in the north, in Flanders, ideas and desires
of the same nature appeared. A little later, in England,
Wickliff attacked with talent the power of the church, and
founded a sect which will never perish. Sovereigns did not
long delay entering the same path as the people. It was at
the commencement of the thirteenth century that the most
powerful and the ablest sovereigns of Europe, the emperors
of the house of Hohenstaufen, succumbed in their struggle
with the papacy. During this century, Saint Louis, the most
pious of kings, proclaimed the independence of the temporal
power, and published the first Pragmatic Sanction, which has
leen the basis of all others. At the commencement of the
fourteenth century, the quarrel broke out between Philip le
Bel and Boniface VIII.; the king of England, Edward I.




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185:


was not more docile towards Rome. At this epoch, it is clear,
the attempt at a theocratical organization has failed; the
church, henceforth, will be on the defensive; she will no
longer undertake to impose her system upon Europe; her
only thought will be to preserve what she has conquered. It
is from the end of the thirteenth century that the emancipation of the European lay society really dates; it was then that
the church ceased to pretend to the possession of it.
She had long before renounced this claim, in the very sphere
in which she seemed to have had the best chance of success.
Long since, upon the very threshold of the church, around
her very throne in Italy, theocracy had completely failed, and
given place to an entirely different system-to that attempt at
a democratical organization, of which the Italian republics are
the type, and which, from the eleventh to the sixteenth century, played so brilliant a part in Europe.
You recollect what I have already related of the history of
the boroughs, and the manner in which they were formed.
In Italy, their destiny was more precocious and powerful
than anywhere else; the towns there were much more numerous and wealthy than in Gaul, Britain, or Spain; the Roman
municipal system remained more full of life and regular
there.
The country parts of Italy, also, were much less fit to become the habitation of their new masters, than those of the rest
of Europe. They had everywhere been cleared, drained, and
cultivated; they were not clothed with forests; here the barbarians were unable to follow the hazards of the chase, or to
lead an analogous life to that of Germany. Moreover, one
part of this territory did not belong to them. The south of
Italy, the Campagna di Roma, and Ravenna, continued to
depend upon the Greek emperors. Favoured by its distance
from the sovereign and the vicissitudes of war, the republican system, at an-early period, gained strength and developed
itself in this part of the country. And not only the whole of
Italy was not in the power of the barbarians, but even where
the Barbarians did conquer it, they did not remain in tranquil
and definitive possession. The Ostrogoths were destroyed and
driven out by Belisarius and Narses. The kingdom of the
Lombards succeeded no better in establishing itself. The
Franks destroyed it; and, without destroying the Lombard




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population, Pepin and Charlemagne judged it expedient to
form an alliance with the ancient Italian population, in order
to struggle against the recently conquered Lombards. The
barbarians, then, were not in Italy, as elsewhere, the exclusive
and undisturbed masters of the land and of society.  Hence
it was, that beyond the Alps, only a very weak, thin, and
scattered feudalism was established. The preponderance, instead of passing into the inhabitants of the country parts, as
had happened in Gaul, for example, continued to appertain to
the towns. When this result became evident, a large portion
of the fief-holders, either from free-will or necessity, ceased
to inhabit tile country, and settled in the cities. Barbarian
nobles became burghers. You may imagine what power and
superiority this single fact gave the Italian towns as compared with the other boroughs of Europe. What we have
remarked in these latter, was the inferiority and timidity of the
population. The burghers appeared to us like courageous
fireed men painfully struggling against a master who was
always at their gates. The burghers of Italy were very different; the conquering and the conquered population mixed
within the same walls; the towns had not to defend themselves from a neighbouring master; their inhabitants were
citizens, from all time free, at least the majority of them, who
defended their independence and their rights against distant
and foreign sovereigns, at one time against the Frank kings,
at another against the emperors of Germany. Hence, the
immense and early superiority of the towns of Italy: while
elsewhere even the poorest boroughs were formed with infinite
trouble, here we see republics, States Arise.
Thus is explained the success of the attempt at republican
organization in this part of Europe. It subdued feudalism
at a-very early period, and became the dominant form of
society. But it was little calculated to spread or perpetuate
itself; it contained but few germs of amelioration, the necessary condition to extension and duration.
When we examine the history of the republics of Italy,
from the eleventh to the fifteenth century, we are struck
with two apparently contradictory yet incontestable facts.
We find an admirable development of courage, activity, and
genius, and in consequence great prosperity; there is there
a movement and liberty which is wanting to the rest of




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Europe. Let us ask, what was the real condition of the inhabitants, how their life was passed, what was their share of
happiness? H-ere the aspect changes; no history can be
more melancholy and gloomy. There is, perhaps, no epoch
or country in which the position of man appears to have
been more agitated, subject to more deplorable mischances,
or where we meet with more dissensions, crimes, and misfortunes. Another fact is manifest at the same time; in the
political system of the greater part of the republics liberty
continually diminished. The want of security was such,
that the factions were inevitably forced to seek refuge in a
system less tempestuous though less popular than that with
which the state had commenced. Take the history of Florence,
Venice, Genoa, Milan, Pisa; you will everywhere see that
the general course of events, instead of developing liberty,
and enlarging the circle of institutions, tends to contract
it, and to concentre the power within the hands of a small
number of men. In a word, in these republics, so energetic,
brilliant, and wealthy, two things were wanting: security of
life, the first condition of a social state, and the progress of
institutions.
Thence a new evil, which did not allow of the extension
of the attempt at republican organization. It was from
without, from foreign sovereigns, that the greatest danger
was threatened to Italy.  Yet this danger had never the
effect of reconciling these republics and making them act
in concert; they would never resist in common a common
enemy. Many of the most enlightened Italians, accordingly, the best patriots of our time, deplore the republican system of Italy in the middle ages as the real cause ot
its never having become a nation. It was parcelled out, they
say, into a multitude of petty people, too much under the
control of their passions to allow of their confederating, or
constituting themselves a state.  They regret that their
country, like the rest of Europe, has not passed through a
despotic centralization, which would have formed it into a
nation, and have rendered it independent of foreigners.
It seems, then, that the republican organization, even under
the most favourable circumstances, did not contain within
itself, at this epoch, the principle of progress, of duration,
extension-that it had no future. Up to a certain point, one




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may compare the organization of Italy in the middle ages to
that of ancient Greece. Greece also was a country full of
petty republics, always rivals and often enemies, and sometimes rallying towards a common end. The advantage in
this comparison is entirely with Greece. There can be no
doubt that, although history gives us many instances of
iniquity in them, too, there was more order, security, and
justice, in the interior of Athens, Lacedaemon, Thebes, than
in the Italian republics. Yet how short was the political
existence of Greece! What a principle of weakness existed
in that parcelling out of power and territory!  When Greece
came in contact with great neighbouring states, with Macedonia and Rome, she at once succumbed. These small
republics, so glorious and still so flourishing, could not form
a coalition for defence. Iow much stronger was the reason
for the same result happening in Italy, where society and
human reason had been so much less developed and less firm
than among the Greeks.
If the attempt at republican organization had so little
chance of duration in Italy, where it had triumphed, where
the feudal system had been vanquished, you may easily conceive that it would much sooner succumb in the other parts
of Europe.
I will rapidly place its destinies before you.
There was one portion of Europe which bore a great
resemblance to Italy; this was the South of France and the
neighbouring Spanish provinces, Catalonia, Navarre, and
Biscay. There likewise the towns had gained great development, importance, and wealth. Many of the petty lords
were allied with the burghers; a portion of the clergy had
likewise embraced their cause; in a word, the country was in
a situation remarkably analogous to that of Italy. Accordingly, in the course of the eleventh century, and at the commencement of the twelfth, the towns of Provence, Languedoc,
and Aquitaine, aimed at a political flight, at forming themselves into independent republics, just like those beyond the
Alps. But the south of France was in contact with a very
strong feudalism, that of the north. At this time occurred
the heresy of the Albigenses, and war broke out between feudal
and municipal France.   You know the history of the
crusade against the Albigenses, under Simon de Montfort.




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This was the contest of the feudalism of the north against
the attempt at democratical organization of the south.
Despite the southern patriotism, the north carried the day;
political unity was wanting in the south, and civilization
was not sufficiently advanced for men to supply its place by
concert. The attempt at republican organization was put
down, and the crusade re-established the feudal system in
the south of France.
At a later period, the republican attempt met with better
success in the mountains of Switzerland. There the theatre
was very straitened: they had only to struggle against a
foreign sovereign, who, although of a superior force to the
Swiss, was by no means among the most formidable sovereigns of Europe. The struggle was courageously sustained.
The Swiss feudal nobility allied themselves in a great measure with the towns; a powerful succour, which, however,
altered the nature of the revolution which it aided, and
imprinted upon it a more aristocratic and less progressive
character than it seemed at first intended to bear.
I now pass to the north of France, to the boroughs of
Flanders, the banks of the Rhine, and the Hanseatic league.
There the democratical organization triumphed fully in the
interior of the towns; yet we perceive, from its outset, that
it was not destined to extend itself, or to take entire possession of society. The boroughs of the north were surrounded
and oppressed by feudalism, by lords and sovereigns, so that
they were constantly on the defensive. It is clear that all
they did was to defend themselves as well as they could, they
essayed no conquests. They preserved their privileges, but
remained shut up within their own walls. There the democratical organization was confined and stopped short; if we
go elsewhere, into the country, we do not find it.
You see what was the state of the republican attempt; triumphant in Italy, but with little chance of success or progress; vanquished in the south of Gaul; victorious on a
small scale, in the mountains of Switzerland; in the north, in
the boroughs of Flanders, the Rhine, and the IIanseatic
league, condemned never to pass beyond the town walls.
Still, in this position, evidently inferior in force to the other
elements of society, it inspired the feudal nobility with a prodigious terror. The lords were jealous of the wealth of the




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HISTORY OF


boroughs, and feared their power; the democratical spirit
penetrated into the rural districts; the insurrections of the
peasants became more frequent and obstinate. A great coalition was formed among the feudal nobility against the boroughs, almost throughout Europe. The party was unequal;
the boroughs were isolated; there was no understanding or
communication between them; all was local. There existed,
indeed, a certain sympathy between the burghers of various
countries; the successes or reverses of the towns in Flanders
in the struggles with the dukes of Burgundy, certainly
excited a lively emotion in the French towns; but this
emotion was transitory and without result; no tie, no real
union, was established; nor did the boroughs lend strength
to one another. Feudalism, then, had immense advantages
over them. But, itself divided and incoherent, it did not
succeed in destroying them.  When the struggle had lasted
a certain time, when they had acquired the conviction that a
complete victory was impossible, it became necessary to acknowledge the petty republican burghers, to treat with them,
and to receive them as members of the state. Then a new
order commenced, a new attempt at political organization,
that of mixed organization, the object of which was to reconcile all the elements of society, the feudal nobility, the
boroughs, clergy, and sovereigns, and to make them live and
act together, in spite of their profound hostility.
All of you know what are the States-general in France,
the Cortes in Spain and Portugal, the Parliament in England,
and the Diets in Germany. You know, likewise, what were
the elements of these various assemblies; the feudal nobility,
the clergy, and the boroughs, collected at them with a view
to unite themselves into a single society, into one state, under
one law and one power. They all, under various names, have
the same tendency and design.
I shall take, as the type of this attempt, the fact which is
tile most interesting and the best known to us, namely, the
States-general in France. I say the best known to us; yet I
am convinced that the name of States-general awakens in
your minds only vague and incomplete ideas. None of you
can say what there was fixed or regular in the States-general
of France, what was the number of their members, what the
subjects of deliberation, or what the periods of convocation




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and the duration of sessions; nothing is known of these things;
it is impossible to draw from history any clear, general, or
universal results as to this subject. When we examine closely
the character of these assemblies in the history of France,
they look like mere accidents, political last resource alike for
people and kings; as a last resource for kings when they had
no money, and knew not how to escape from their embarrassments; and as a last resource for the people when the evil
became so great that they knew not what remedy to apply.
The nobility were present in the States-general; the clergy
likewise took part in them; but they came full of indifference,
for they knew that this was not their great means of action,
that they could not promote by it the real part th.ey took in
the government.   The burghers themselves were scarcely
more eager about it; it was not a right which they took an
interest in exercising, but a necessity which they tolerated.
Thus may be seen the character of the political activity of
these assemblies. They were sometimes utterly insignificant,
and sometimes terrible. If the king was the strongest, their
humility and docility were carried to an extreme; if the
situation of the crown was unfortunate, if it had absolute need
of the States, they fell into faction, and became the instruments of some aristocratical intrigue, or some ambitious
leaders. In a word, they were sometimes mere assenblies of
notables, sometimes regular conventions. Thus their works
almost always died with them; they promised and attempted
much, and did nothing. None of the great measures which
have really acted upon society in France, no important reform
in the government, the legislation, or the administration, has
emanated from the States-general. It must not, however, be
supposed that they were without utility or effect; they have
had a moral effect, of which too little account is generally
taken; they have been, from one epoch to another, a protest
against political servitude, a violent proclamation of certain
tutelary principles; for example, that the country has the
right to impose taxes, to interfere in its own affairs, and to
impose a responsibility upon the agents of power.
That these maxims have never perished in France, is to be
attributed to the States-general, and it is no small service to
render to a people, to maintain in its manners, and renew in
its thoughts, the remembrances and rights of liberty.  The




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HISTORY OF


States-general have possessed this virtue, but they have never
been a means of government; they have never entered into
the political organization; they have never attained the end
for which they were formed, that is to say, the fusion into
a single body of the various societies which divided the
country.
The Cortes of Spain and Portugal offer us the same result.
In a thousand circumstances, however, they are different.
The importance of the Cortes varies according to place
and time; in Aragon, and Biscay, amidst the debates concerning the succession to the crown, or the struggles against
the Moors, they were more frequently convoked and more
powerful. In certain Cortes, for example, in those of Castile,
in 1370 and 1373, the nobles and the clergy were not called.
There is a crowd of details which it is necessary should be
taken into account, if we look closely into events. But in
the general view to which I am obliged to confine myself, it
may be said of the Cortes, as of the States-general of France,
that they have been an accident in history, and never a system, political organization, or a regular means of government.
The destiny of' England was different. I shall not now
enter upon this subject in detail. I propose to devote one
lecture especially to the political life of England; I shall
now merely say a few words upon the causes which have
imparted to it a direction entirely different from that of the
continent.
And first, there were no great vassals in England, no subject in a condition to strive personally against royalty. The
English barons and great lords were obliged to coalesce in
order to resist in common. Thus have prevailed, in the high
aristocracy, the principle of association and true political
manners. Moreover, English feudalism, the petty fief-holders,
have been gradually led, by a series of events which I cannot
enumerate at present, to unite themselves with the burghers,
to sit with them in the House of Commons, which thus possessed a power superior to that of the continental assemblies,
a force truly capable of influencing the government of the
country. Let us see what was the state of the British parliament in the fourteenth century. The House of Lords was
the great council of the king, a council actively associated in
the exercise of power. The House of Commons, composed




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of the deputies of the petty fief-holders, and of burghers, took
scarcely any part in the government, properly so called, but
it established rigllts, and very energetically defended private
and local interests.  The parliament, considered as a whole,
did not yet govern, but it was already a regular institution,
a means of government adopted in principle, and often, in
fact, indispensable. Thus the attempt at junction and alliance
between the various elements of society, with a view to form
of them a single political body, a regular State, was successful in England, rwhile it had failed everywhere on the continent.
I shall say but a few words as to Germany, and those
only to indicate the dominant ch.aracter of its history.
There, the attempts at fusion, unity, and general political
organization, were followed with little ardour.  The various
social elements remained much more distinct and independent
than in the rest of Europe. If a proof is wanted, one may
be found in modern times.   Germany is the orfly country
in which the feudal election long took part in the creation
of royalty. I do not speak of Poland, nor the Sclavonian
nations, which entered at so late an age into the system of
European civilization.  Germany is likewise the only country of Europe where ecclesiastical sovereigns remained; which
preserved free towns, having a true political existence and
sovereignty.  It is clear that the attempt to combine in a
single society tie elements of primitive European society, has
there had much less activity and effect than elsewhere.
I have now placed before you the great essays at political
organization in Europe down to the end of the fourteenth
century and the beginning of the fifteenth.  You have seen
them all fail. I have endeavoured to indicate in passing,
the causes of this ill success; indeed, truly speaking, they are
reduceable to one. Society was not sufliciently advanced for
unity; everything was as yet too local, too special, too narrow,
too various in existence, and in men's minds. There were
neither general interests nor general opinions capable of coIntrolling particular interests and opinions. The most elevated
and vigorous minds had no idea of administration, nor of true
political justice. It was evidently necessary that a more active
and vigorous civilization should first mix, assimilate, and, so
to speak, grind together all these incohereint e.ments; it was
OVU~WI  L-U I




194                  HISrTORY OF
first necessary that a powerful centralization of interest, laws,
manners, and ideas, should be brought about; in a word, it
was necessary that a public power and public opinion should
arise. We have arrived at the epoch when this great work
was consummated. Its first symptoms, the state of mind
and manners during the course of the fifteenth century, the
tendency towards the formation of a central government, and
a public opinion, will form the subject of our next lecture.




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


l^:s


ELEVEN TH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Special character of the fifteenth century-Progressive centralization of nations and governments —st. Of France-Formation of the national French spirit-Government of Louis XI.-2nd.
Of Spainl-3rd. Of Germnany-4th. Of England-5th. Of Italy-Origin
of the external relations of states and of diplomacy —Movement in religious ideas-Attempt att aristocratical refornm-Council of Constance
anld Basle-Attempt at popular reform-John Iluss-Regeneration of
literature-Admiration for antiquity-Classical school, or free-thinkers
-General activity-Voyages, discoveries, inventions-Conclusion.
WE touch the threshold      of modern history, properly so
called-the threshold of that society which is our own, of
which the institutions, opinions, and manners were, forty
years ago, those of France, are still those of' Europe, and still
exercise so powerful an influence upon us, despite the metamorphosis brought about by our revolution.       It was with
the sixteenth  century, as I have already said, that modern society really commenced.      Before entering upon it,
recal to your minds, I pray you, the roads over which
we have passed.     We have discovered, amidst the ruins
of the Roman empire, all the essential elements of the Europe of the present day; we have seen them        distinguish
and aggrandize themselves, each on its own account, and
independently.   We recognised, during the first epoch of
history, the constant tendency of these elements to separation, isolation, and a local and special existence.  Scarcely
was this end obtained-scarcely had feudalism, the boroughs,
and the clergy each taken its distinct form  and place, than
we see them tending to approach eacl other, to reunite, and
form  themselves into a general society, into a nation and
o2




Y46                    IISTORY OF
a government. In order to arrive at this result, the various
countries of Europe addressed themselves to all the different systems which co-existed in its bosom; they demanded
the principle of social unity, the political and moral tie,
from theocracy, aristocracy, democracy, and royalty. Ilitherto,
all these attempts had failed; no system or influence had
known how to seize upon society, and by its empire to insure
it a truly public destiny.  We have found the cause of this
ill success in the absence of universal interests and ideas.
We have seen that all was, as yet, too special, individual,
and local; that a long and powerful labour of centralization was necessary to enable society to extend and cement
itself at the same time, to become at once great and regular-an end to which it necessarily aspired. This was the
state in which we left Europe at the end of the fourteenth
century.
She was far from understanding her position, such as I
have endeavoured to place it before you. She did not know
distinctly what she wanted or what she sought; still she applied herself to the search, as if she knew. The fourteenth cen
tury closed. Europe entered naturally, and, as it were, instinctively, the path which led to centralization. It is the characteristic of the fifteenth century to have constantly tended to
this result; to have laboured to create universal interests and
ideas, to make the spirit of speciality and locality disappear,
to reunite and elevate existences and minds; in fine, to
create, what had hitherto never existed on a large scale,
nations and governments. The outbreak of this fact belongs
to the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries; it was in the
fifteenth thatt it was preparing. It is this preparation which
we have to investigate at present-this silent and concealed
work of centralization, whether in social relations or ideas, a
work accomplished by the natural course of events, without
premeditation or design.
Thus man advances in the execution of a plan which he
has not himself conceived, or which, perhaps, le does not
even understand. lie is the intelligent and free artificer
of a work which does not belong to him. lie does not recognise or comprehend it until a later period, when it mani
fests itself outwardly and in realities; and even then he
understands it but very incompletely.  Yet it is by him, it is




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by the development of his intellect and his liberty that it is
accomplished. Conceive a great machine, of which the idea
resides in a single mind, and of which the different pieces
are confided to different workmen, who are scattered, and are
strangers to one another; none of them knowing the work as
a whole, or the definitive and general result to which it concurs, yet each executing with intelligence and liberty, by
rational and voluntary acts, that of which he has the charge.
So is the plan of Providence upon the world executed by
the hand of mankind; thus do the two facts which manifest
themselves in the history of civilization co-exist; on the one
hand, its fatality, that which escapes science and the human
will-and on the other, the part played therein by the liberty
and intellect of man, that which he infuses of his own will by
his own thought and inclination.
In order properly to comprehend the fifteenth century-to
obtain a clear and exact idea of this prelude, as it were, of
modern society-we will distinguish the different classes of
facts. We will first examine the political facts, the changes
which have tended to form both nations and governments.
Thence we will pass to moral facts; we will observe the
changes which have been produced in ideas and manners,
and we will thence deduce what general opinions were in
preparation. As regards political facts, in order to proceed
simply and quickly, I will run over all the great countries
of Europe, and show you what the fifteenth century made of
them-in what state it found and left them.
I shall commence with France. The last half of the fourteenth century and the first half of the fifteenth were, as you
know, the times of great national wars-the wars against the
English. It was the epoch of the struggle for the independence
of France and the French name against a foreign dominion.
A glance at history will show with what ardour, despite a
multitude of dissensions and treasons, all classes of society in
France concurred in this struggle; what patriotism took possession of the feudal nobility, the burghers, and even the
peasants. If there were nothing else to show the popular
character of the event than the history of Joan of Arc, it
would be a more than sufficient proof. Joan of Arc sprang
from the people. It was by the sentiments, creed, and passions of the people that she was inspired and sustained. She




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I-i TOR Y OF


was looked upon with distrust, scorn, and even enmity, by
the people of the court and the chiefs of the army; but she
had the soldiers and the people ever on her side. It was
the peasants of Lorraine who sent her to the succour of the
burghers of Orleans. No event has more strikingly shown
the popular character of this war, and the feeling with which
the whole country regarded it.
Thus began the formation of French nationality. Up to
the reign of the Valois, it was the feudal character which
dominated in France; the French nation, the French min(l,
French patriotism, did not as yet exist. Withl the Valois
commenced France, properly so called. It was in the course
of their wars, through the phases of their destiny, that the
nobility, the burghers, and the peasants, were for the first
time united by a moral tie, by the tie of a common name, a
common honour, and a common desire to conquer the enemy.
But expect not to find there as yet any true political spirit,
nor any great purpose of unity in the government and institutions, such as we conceive them in the present day. Unity,
in the France of this epoch, resided in its name, its national
honour, and in the existence of a national royalty, whatever it might be, provided the foreigner did not appear
therein.  It is in this way that the struggle against the
English powerfully contributed to the formation of the
French nation, to impel it towards unity. At the same
time that France wa ththus morally forming herself, and the
national spirit was being developed, she was also forming
herself materially, so to speak-that is to say, her territory
was being regulated, extended, strengthened.  T'his was the
period of the incorporation of the greater part of the provinces
which have become France. Under Charles VII., after the
expulsion of the English, almost all the provinces which they
had occupied, Normandy, Angoumois, Touraine, Poitou,
Saintonge, &c., became definitively French. Under Louis
XI., ten provinces, three of which were afterwards lost and
regained, were united to France; namely, Roussillon and
Cerdagne, Burgundy, Franche-Comte, Picardy, Artois,
Provence, Maine, Anjou, and Perche. Under Charles VIII.
and Louis XII., the successive marriages of Anne with
these two kings brought us Brittany. Thus, at the same




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epoch, and during the course of the same events, the national
territory and mind were forming together; moral and material France conjointly acquired strength and unity.
Let us pass from the nation to the government; we shall
see the accomplishment of similar facts, shall move towards
the same result. Never had the French government been
more devoid of unity, connexion, and strength, than under
the reign of Charles VI. and during the first part of that
of Charles VII. At the end of this latter reign, the aspect
of all things changed. There was evidently a strengthening,
extending, and organizing of power; all the great means
of government-taxes, military force, law,-were created
upon a great scale, and with some uniformity. This was
the time of the formation of standing armies-free companies,
cavalry-and free archers, infantry.  By these companies
Charles VII. re-established some order in those provinces which had been desolated by the disorders and
exactions of the soldiery, even after war had ceased.
All contemporary historians speak with astonishment of
the marvellouseffects of the free companies. It was at the
same epoch that the poll-tax, one of the principal revenues
of the kingdom, became perpetual; a serious blow to the
liberty of the people, but which powerfully contributed to
the regularity and strength of the government. At this
time, too, the great instrument of power, the administration
of justice, was extended and organized; parliaments multiplied. There were five new parliaments constituted within
a very short period of time: under Louis XI., the parliament of
Grenoble (in 1451), of Bordeaux (in 1462), and of Dijon
(1477); underLouis XII., the parliaments of Rouen (in 1499)
and of Aix (in 1501). The parliament of Paris, also, at this
time greatly increased in importance and firmness, both as
regards the administration of justice, and as charged with the
policy of its jurisdiction.
Thus, as regards military force, taxation, and justice,
that is, in what constitutes its very essence, government in
France, in the fifteenth century, acquired a character of
permanence and regularity hitherto unknown; public power
definitively took the place of the feudal powers.
At the same time another and far different change was




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IIISTORY OF


brought about; a change which was less visible, and which
has less impressed itself upon historians, but which was perhaps of still more importance-namely, the change which
Louis XI. effected in the manner of governing.
Much has been said concerning the struggle of Louis XL
against the higii  nobles of the kingdom, of their abasement,
and of his favour towards the burghers and the lower classes.
There is truth in this, although much of it is exaggerated; it
is also true, that the conduct of Louis XI. towards the
different classes oftener troubled than served the state. But
he did something much more important.   Up to this time,
the governmenlt had proceeded almost entirely by force and
by material means. Persuasion, address, the managing men's
minds, and leading them  to particular views, in a word,
policy-policy, doubtless, of falsehood and imposition, but
also of management and prudence, had hitherto been but
little attended to. Louis XI. substituted in the government
intellectual in place of material means, artifice instead of
force, the Italian policy in place of the feudal. Look at the
two men whose rivalry occupies this epoch of our history,
Charles le Temeraire and Louis XI. Charles was the representative of the ancient form of governing; he proceeded
by violence alone, he appealed incessantly to war, he was
incapable of exercising patience, or of addressing himself to
the minds of men in order to make them instruments to his
success. It was, on the contrary, the pleasure of Louis XI.
to avoid the use of force, and take possession of men individually by conversation, and the skilful handling of interests
and minds. IHe changed neither the institutions nor the external system, but only the secret proceedings, the tactics or
power. It was left for modern times to attempt a still greater
revolution, by labouring to introduce, alike into political
means as into political ends, justice instead of selfishness, and
publicity in place of lying fraud. It is not less true, however,
that there was great indication of progress in renouncing the
continual employment of force, in invoking chiefly intellectual
superiority, in governing through mind, and not by the ruin
of existences. It was this that Louis XI. commenced, by
force of his high intellect alone, amidst all his crimes and
faults, despite his bad nature.




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201


From France I pass to Spain; there I find events of the
same nature; it was thus that the national unity of Spain was
formed in the fifteenth century; at that time, by the conquest
of the kingdom of Grenada, the lengtlened struggle between
the Christians and the Arabs was put an end to. Then, also,
the country was centralized; by the marriage of Ferdinand
the Catholic and Isabella, thll two principal kingdoms of Castile and Aragon were united under one power. As in France,
royalty was here extended and strengthened; sterner institutions, and which bore a more mournful name, served as
its fulcrum; instead of parliament, the inquisition arose. It
contained in germ what it was to be, but it was not then the
same as in its maturer age. It was at first rather political than
religious, and intended rather to maintain order, than to defend the faith. The analogy extends beyond institutions, it
is found even in the persons. With less artifice, mental
movement, and restless and busy activity, the character and
government of Ferdinand the Catholic resemble that of Louis
XI.   I hold as unimportant all arbitrary comparisons and
fanciful parallels; but here the analogy is profound, and visible
alike in general facts and in details.
We find the same in Germany. It was in the middle of
the fifteenth century, in 1438, that the house of Austria returned to the Empire, and with it the imperial power acquired a permanence which it had never possessed before;
election afterwards did little more than consecrate the hereditary successor. At the end of the fifteenth century, Msaximilian I. definitively founded the preponderance of his house,
and the regular exercise of central authority; Charles VII. first
created in France a standing army, for the maintenance of
order; MAaximilian was also the first, in his hereditary states, to
attain the same end by the same means. Louis XI. established the post-office in France; and Maximilian introduced
it into Germany. Everywhere the same progressions of civilization were similarly cultivated for the good of central power.
The history of England in the fifteenth century consists of
two great events; without, the struggle against the French,
and within, that of the two Roses, the foreign and the civil war.
These two so dissimilar wars led to the same result. The struggle against the French was sustained by the English peoplewith




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IIISTORY OF


an ardour which profited only royalty. This nation, already
more skilful and firm than any other in keeping back its forces
and supplies, at this epoch abandoned them to its kings without foresight or limit. It was under the reign of Henry V.
that a considerable tax, the customs, was granted to the king
from the commencement of his reign, until his death. When the
foreign war was ended, or almost so, the civil war, which had
York been associated with it, continued alone; the houses of
at first and Lancaster disputed for the throne. When they
came to the end of their bloody contests, the high English
aristocracy found itself ruined, decimated, and incapable of
preserving the power which it had hitherto exercised. The
coalition of the great barons could no longer influence the
throne. The Tudors ascended it, and with Henry VII. in
1485, commenced the epoch of political centralization, and
the triumph of royalty.
Royalty was not established in Italy, at least not under that
name; but this matters little as regards the result. It was in
the fifteenth century that the republics fell; even where the
name remained, the power was concentred in the hands of
one or more families; republican life was extinct. In the
north of Italy, almost all the Lombard republics were absorbed
in the duchy of Milan. In 1434, Florence fell under the
domination of the Medicis; in 1464, Genoa became subject
to the Milanese. The greater portion of the republics, great
and small, gave place to sovereign houses. The pretensions
of foreign sovereigns were soon put forth upon the north
and south of Italy, upon the Milancse on one side, and on the
kingdom of Naples on the other.
Upon whatever country of Europe we turn our eyes, and
whatever portion of its history we may consider, whether it
has reference to the nations themselves, or to their governments, to the institutions or the countries, we shall everywhere see the ancient elements and forms of society on the
point of disappearing. The traditional liberties perish, and
new and more concentrated and regular powers arise. There
is something profoundly sad in the fall of the old European
liberties; at the time, it inspired the bitterest feelings. In
France, Germany, and, above all, in Italy, the patriots of
the fifteenth century contested with ardour, and deplored
with despair, this revolution, which, on all sides, was bringing




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about what might justly be called despotism. One cannot
help admiring their courage and commiserating their sorrow;
but, at the same time, it must be understood that this revolution was not only inevitable, but beneficial also. The primitive system of Europe, the old feudal and communal liberties,
had fhiled in the organization of society. What constitutes
social life is security and progress. Any system which does
not procure present order and future progress, is vicious, and
soon abandoned.  Such was the fate of the ancient political
forms, the old European liberties, in the fifteenth century.
They could give to society neither security nor progress.
These werc sought elsewhere, from other principles and other
means. This is the meaning of all the facts which I have
just placed before you.
From the same epoch dates another fact, which has held
an important place in the political history of Europe. It was
in the fifteenth century that the relations of governments between themselves began to be frequent, regular, permanent.
It was then, for the first time, that those great alliances were
formed, whether for peace or war, which at a later period
produced the system of equilibrium. Diplomacy in Europe
dates from the fifteenth century. Towards the end of this
century you see the principal powers of Continental Europe,
the popes, the dukes of Milan, the Venetians, the emperors of
Germany, and the kings of Spain and of France, form connexions, negotiate, unite, balance each other. Thus, at the
time that Charles VII. formed his expedition to conquer the
kingdom of Naples, a great league was formed against him,
between Spain, the pope, and the Venetians. The league of
Cambrai was formed some years later, (in 1508,) against the
Venetians. The holy league, directed against Louis XII.,
succeeded in 1511 to the league of Cambrai.  All these
alliances arose from Italian policy, from the desire of various
sovereigns to possess Italy, and from the fear that some one
of them, by seizing it exclusively, should acquire an overpowering preponderance. This new order of facts was highly
favourable to the development of royalty. On the one hand,
from the nature of the external relations of states, they can
only be conducted by a single person or a small number of
persons, and exact a certain secrecy; on the other, the people
had so little foresight, that the consequences of an alliance of




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HIISTORY


this kind escaped them; it was not, for them, of any internal
or direct interest; they cared little about it, and left such
events to the discretion of the central power.  Thus diplomacy, at its birth, fell into the hands of the kings, and the
idea that it belonged exclusively to them, that the country,
eithough free, and having the right of' voting its taxes and
interfering in its affairs, was not called upon to mix itself' in
external matters-this idea, I say, was established in almost
all European minds, as an accepted principle, a maxim  of
common law.    Open English history at tlhe sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries, you will see what power this idea
exercised, and what obstacles it opposed to English liberties
under the reigns of' Elizabeth, James I., and Charles I. It
was always under the name of this principle that peace and
war, commercial relations, and all external afflirs, appertained
to the royal prerogative; and it was by this that absolute
power defended itself against the rights of the country.
Nations have been excessively timid in contesting this part
of prerogative; and this timidity has cost them the more dear,
since, from the epoch upon which we are now entering, that
is to say, the sixteenth century, the history of Europe is
essentially diplomatic.  External relations, during nearly
three centuries, are the important fact of history. Within,
nations became regulated, the internal government, upon the
continent, at least, led to no more violent agitations, nor
absorbed public activity. It is external relations, wars,
negotiations, and alliances, which attract attention, and fill
the pages of history, so that the greater portion of the destiny
of nations has been abandoned to the royal prerogative and
to central power.
Indeed, it was hardly possible it should be otherwise. A
very great progress in civilization, and a great development of
intellect and political skill are necessary, before the public
can interfere with any success in affairs of this kind. Prom
the sixteenth to the eighteenth century, the people were very
far from being thus qualified.  Sec what took place under
James I. in England, at the commencement of the seventeenth
century: his son-in-law, the elector-palatine, elected king of
Bohemia, lost his crown; he was even robbed of his hereditary
states, the palatinate.  The whole of protestantism was interested in his cause, and for that reason, England testified a




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lively ilterest towards him.  There was a powerfulebullition
of public opinion to force king James to take the part of his
son-in-law, and regain for him the palatinate. Parliament
furiously demanded war, promising all the means for carrying
it on. James was unwilling; he eluded the matter, made
some attempts at negotiation, sent some troops to Germany,
and then camne to tell parliament that ~900,000 sterling were
necessary to maintain the contest with any clance of success.
It is not said, nor indeed does it appear to have been the
case, that his calculation was exaggerated. But the parliamernt recoiled with surprise and terror at the prospiect of
such a charge, and it unwillingly voted ~70,000 sterling to
re-establish a prince, and reconquer a country three hundred
leagues from England.   Such was the political ignorance
and incapacity of the public in matters of this kind; it
acted without knowledge of facts, and without troubling
itself with any responsibility. It was not, then, in a condition to interfere in a regular or efficacious manner. This
is the principal cause of the external relations falling into
the hands of the central power; that alone was in a condition
to direct them, I do not say for the public interest, for it
was far from being always consulted, but with any continuity
or good sense.
You see, under whatever point of view the political history
of Europe at this epoch is presented to us, whether we turn
our eyes upon the internal state of nations, or upon the relations of nations with each other, whether we consider the
administration of war, justice, or taxation, we everywhere
find the same character; everywhere we see the same tendency to the centralization, unity, formation, and preponderance of general interests and public powers. This was the
secret work of the fifteenth century, a work which did not as
yet lead to any very prominent result, nor any revolution,
properly so called, in society, but which prepared the way
for all of them. I shall immediately place before you facts of
another nature, moral facts, facts which relate to the development of the human mind, and universal ideas. There also
we shall acknowledge the same phenomenon, and arrive at
the same result.
I shall commence with a class of facts which has often occupied us, and which, under the most various forms, has




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always held an important place in the history of Europe,
namely, facts relative to the church. Down to the fifteenth
century we have seen in Europe no universal and powerful
ideas acting truly upon the masses, except those of a religious
nature. We have seen the church alone invested witl the
power of regulating, promulgating, and prescribing them.
Often, it is true, attempts at independence, even separation, were formed, and the church had much to do to overcome them. But hitherto she had conquered them; creeds
repudiated by the church had taken no general and permanent possession of the minds of the people; the Albigenses
themselves were crushed. Dissension and contest were of
incessant occurrence in tile heart of the church, but without
any decisive or eminent result. At the beginning of the fifteenth century, an entirely different fact announced itself;
new ideas, a public and avowed want of change and reform,
agitated the church herself. The end of the fourteenth and
commencement of the fifteenth century were marked by tile
great schism of the west, the result of the translation of the
holy see to Avignon, and of the creation of two popes, one at
Avignon, the other at Rome. The struggle between these
two papacies is what is called the great schism of the west.
It commenced in 1378. In 1409, the council of Pisa wishing
to end it, deposed both popes, and nominated a third, Alexander V. So far from being appeased, the schism became
warmer; there were three popes instead of two. The disorder and abuses continued to increase.  In 1414, the
council of Constance assembled, at the summons of the
emperor Sigismond. It proposed to itself a work very different fiom nominating a new pope; it undertook the reform
of the church. It first proclaimed the indissolubility of the
general council, and its superiority over the papal power; it
undertook to make these principles prevalent in the church,
and to reform the abuses which had crept into it, above all
the exactions by which the court of Rome had procured supplies. For the attainment of this end, the council nominated
what we will call a commission of inquiry, that is to say, a
college qf reform, composed of deputies of the council taken
from different nations; it was the duty of this college to seek
what were the abuses which disgraced the church, and how
they might best be remedied. and to make a report to the




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council, which would consult upon the means of execution.
But while the council was occupied in this work, the question was mooted as to whether they could proceed in the reformation of abuses, without the visible participation of the
chief of the church, without the sanction of the pope. The
negative was passed by the influence of the Romanist party,
supported by honest, but timid men; the council elected
a new pope, Martin V., in 1417. The pope was desired to
present on his part a plan of reform in the church. This
plan was not approved, and the council separated. In 1431
a new council assembled at Basle with the same view. It
resumed and continued the work of reform of the council of
Constance, and met with no better success. Schism broke
out in the interior of the assembly, the same as in Christianity.
The pope transferred the council of Basle to Ferrara, and
afterwards to Florence. Part of the prelates refused to obey
the pope, and remained at Basle; and as formerly there had
been two popes, so there were now two councils. That of
Basle continued its projects of reform, and nominated its
pope, Felix V. After a certain time, it transported itself to
Lausanne; and in 1449 dissolved itself, without having
effected anything.
Thus papacy carried the day, and remained in possession
of the field of battle and the government of the church. The
council could not accomplish what it had undertaken; but
it effected things which it had not undertaken, and which
survived it. At the time that the council of Basle failed in
its attempts at reform, sovereigns seized upon the ideas which
it proclaimed, and the. institutions which it suggested. In
France, upon the foundation of the decrees of the council of
Basle, Charles V. formed the 1Pragmatic Sanction, which he
issued at Bourges in 1438; it enunciated the election of
bishops, the suppression of first fruits, and the reform of the
principal abuses which had been introduced into the church.
The Pragmatic Sanction was declared in France the law of the
state. In Germany, the diet of Mayence adopted it in 1439,
and likewise made it a law of the German empire. What
the spiritual power had unsuccessfully attempted, the temporal power seemed destined to accomplish.
New reverses sprang up for the projects of reform. As
the council had failed, so did the Pragmatic Sanction. In




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Germany it perished very abruptly. The diet abandoned it in
1448, in consequence of a negotiation with Nicholas V. In
1516, Francis 1. likewise abandoned it, and in its place substituted his Concordat with Leo X.   The princes' reform
did not succeed any better than that of the clergy. But
it must not be supposed that it entirely perished.   As
the council eflected things which survived it, so also the
Pragmatic Sanction had consequences which it left behind,
and which played an imnportant p)art in modern history. T'he
principles of' the council of Basle were powerful and fertile.
Superior men, and men of energetic character, have adopted
and supported then. John of I'aris, D'Ailly, Gerson, and
many distinguished men of the fifteenth century, devoted
themselves to their defence. In vain was the council dissolved; in vain was the lPragmatic Sanction abandoned; its
general doctrines upon the governmlent of the church, and upon
the reforms necessary to be carried out, had taken root in
France; they were perpetuated; they passed into the parliaments, and became a powerful opinion. They gave rise first to
the Jansenists, and afterwards to the Gallicans. All this series
of maxims and eflbrts tending to reform the church, which
commenced with the council of Constance, and terminated
with the four propositions of Bossuet, emanated from the
same source, and were directed towards the same end; it
was the same fact successively transformed. It was in vain
that the attempt at legal reform in the fifteenth century failed;
not the less has it taken its place in the course of civilization
-not the less has it indirectly exercised an enormous influence.
The councils were right in pursuing a legal reform, for that
alone could prevent a revolution. Almost at the moment
when the council of Pisa undertook to bring the great schism
of the west to a termination, and the council of Constance to
reform the church, tlhe first essays at popular religious reform
violently burst forth in Bohemia.   The predictions and
progress of John Huss date from 1404, at which period
lie began to teach at IPrague.  Iere, then, are two reforms
marching side by side; the one in the very heart of the
clhurch, attempted by the ecclesiastical aristocracy itself-a
wise, but embarrassed and timid reform; the other, outside
and against the church, violent and passionate. A contest




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209


arose between these two powers and designs. The council
summoned John Huss and Jerome of Prague to Constance,
and condemned them as heretics and revolutionists. These
events are perfectly intelligible to us at the present day. We
can very well understand this simultaneousness of separate
reforms-enterprises undertaken, one by the governments, the
other by the people, opposed to one another, and yet emanating
from the same cause and tending to the same end, and, in fine,
although at war with each other, still concurring to the same
result. This is what occurred in the fifteenth century. The
popular reform of John Huss was for the instant stifled; the
war of the Hussites broke forth three or four years after the
death of the irmaster. It lasted long, and was violent, but
the Empire finally triumphed.  But as the reform of the
councils had failed, as the end which they pursued had not
been attained, the popular reform ceased not to ferment. It
watched the first opportunity, and found it at the commencement of the sixteenth century. If the reform undertaken by
the councils had been well carried out, the Reformation
might have been prevented. But one or the other must
have succeeded; their coincidence shows a necessity.
This, then, is the state in which Europe was left by the
fifteenth century with regard to religious matters-an aristocratical reform unsuccessfully attempted, and a popular reform
commenced, stifled, and always ready to re-appear. But it
was not to the sphere of religious creeds that the fermentation
of the human mind at this epoch was confined. It was in the
course of the fourteenth century, as you all know, that Greek
and Roman antiquity were, so to speak, restored in Europe.
You know with what eagerness Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio,
and all their contemporaries sought for the Greek and Latin
manuscripts, and published and promulgated them, and what
noise and transports the least discovery of this kind excited.
In the midst of this excitement, a school was commenced
in Europe which has played a very much more important
part in the development of the human mind than has generally been attributed to it: this was the classical school.
Let me warn you from attaching the same sense to this word
which we give to it in the present day; it was then a very
different thing from a literary system or contest. The classical
school of that period was inflamed with admiration, not only
p




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for the writings of the ancients, for Virgil and IIomer, but
for the whole of ancient society, for its institutions, opinions,
and philosophy, as well as for its literature. It must be confessed that antiquity, under the heads of politics, philosophy,
and literature, was far superior to the Europe of the fourteenth
and fifteenth centuries. It cannot therefore be wondered at that
it should exercise so great a sway, or that for the most part
elevated, active, refined, and fastidious minds, should take a
disgust at the coarse manners, confused ideas, and barbarous
forms of their own times, and that they should devote themselves with enthusiasm to the study, and almost to the worship
of a society at once more regular and developed. Thus was
formed that school of free thinkers which appeared at the
commencement of the fifteenth century, and in which prelates, jurisconsults, and scholars, met together.
Amidst this excitement happened the taking of Constantinople by the Turks, the fall of the Eastern empire, and the
flight into Italy of the Greek fugitives. They brought
with them a higher knowledge of antiquity, numerous manuscripts, and a thousand new means of studying ancient
civilization.  The redoubled admiration and ardour with
which the classical school was animated may easily be
imagined. This was the time of the most brilliant development of the high clergy, particularly in Italy, not as regards
political power, properly speaking, but in point of luxury and
wealth; they abandoned themselves with pride to all the
pleasures of a voluptuous, indolent, elegant, and licentious
civilization-to the taste for letters and arts, and for social
and material enjoyments. Look at the kind of life led by
the men who played a great political and literary part at
this epoch-by Cardinal Bembo, for instance; you will be
surprised at the mixture of sybaritism and intellectual development, of effeminate manners and hardihood of mind.
One would think, indeed, when we glance over this epoch,
when we are present at the spectacle of its ideas and the
state of its moral relations, one would think we were living
in France in the midst of the eighteenth century. There is
the same taste for intellectual excitement, for new ideas, for
an easy, agreeable life; the same effeminateness and licentiousness; the same deficiency in political energy and moral
faith, with a singular sincerity and activity of mind. The




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literati of the fifteenth century were, with regard to the
prelates of the high church, in the same relation as men
of letters and philosophers of the eighteenth century with
the high aristocracy; they all had the same opinions and
the same manners, lived harmoniously together, and did not
trouble themselves about the commotions that were in preparation around them. The prelates of the fifteenth century,
commencing with Cardinal Bembo, most certainly no more
foresaw Luther and Calvin than the people of the court
foresaw the French revolution. The position, however, was
analogous.
Three great facts, then, present themselves at this epoch
in the moral order: first, an ecclesiastical reform attempted
by the church herself; secondly, a popular religious reform;
and finally an intellectual reform, which gave rise to a school
of free thinkers. And all these metamorphoses were in preparation amidst the greatest political change which had
taken place in Europe, amidst the work of centralization of
people and governments.
This was not all. This also was the time of the greatest
external activity of mankind; it was a period of voyages,
enterprises, discoveries, and inventions of all kinds. This
was the time of the great expeditions of the Portuguese
along the coast of Africa, of the discovery of the passage of the
Cape of Good Hope by Vasco de Gama, of the discovery of
America by Christopher Columbus, and of the wonderful
extension of European commerce. A thousand new inventions came forth; others already known, but only within a narrow sphere, became popular and of common use. Gunpowder
changed the system of war, the compass changed the system
of navigation. The art of oil painting developed itself, and
covered Europe with masterpieces of art: engraving on
copper, invented in 1460, multiplied and promulgated them.
Linen paper became common; and lastly, fiom 1436 to 1452,
printing was invented; printing, the theme of so much declamation and so many common-places, but the merit and
effects of which no common-place nor any declamation can
ever exhaust.
You see what was the greatness and activity of this
century-a greatness still only partially apparent, an activity,
the results of which have not yet been fully developed.
r2




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Violent reforms seem unsuccessful, governments strengthened,
and nations pacified. It might be thought that society was
preparing to enjoy a better order of things, amidst a more
rapid progress. But the powerful revolutions of the sixteenth century were impending: the fifteenth had been preparing them. They will be ti  abject of my next lecture.




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TWELFTI LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Difficulty of distinguishing general facts in modern
history-Picture of Europe in the sixteenth century-Danger of precipitate generalization —Various causes assigned to the Reformation-Its
dominant character was the insurrection of the human mind against absolute power in thel'intellectual order-Evidences of this fact-Fate of
the Reformation in different countries-Weak side of the ReformationThe Jesuits-Analogy between the revolutions of religious society
and those of civil society.
WE have often deplored the disorder and chaos of European
society; we have complained of the difficulty of understanding and describing a society thus scattered, incoherent, and
broken up; we have longed for, and patiently invoked, the
epoch of general interests, order, and social unity. We
have now   arrived at it; we are entering upon the epoch
when all is general facts and general ideas, the epoch of
order and unity. We shall here encounter a difficulty of
another kind.  Hitherto we have had much trouble in connecting facts with one another, in making them co-ordinate, in
perceiving whatever they may possess in common, and distinguishing some completeness. Everything reverses itself in
modern Europe; all the elements and incidents of social life
modify themselves, and act and react on one another; the
relations of men among themselves become much more
numerous and complicated. It is the same in their relations
with the government of the state, the same in the relations of
the states among themselves, the same in ideas and in the
works of the human mind. In the times which we have gone
through, a large number of facts passed      away isolated,
foreign to one another, and without reciprocal influence.




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We shall now no longer find this isolation; all things touch,
commingle, and modify as they meet. Is there anything more
difficult than to seize the true unity amid such diversity, to
determine the direction of a movement so extended and complex, to recapitulate this prodigious number of various elements so clearly connected with one another; in fine, to
ascertain the general dominant fact, which sums up a long
series of facts, which characterizes an epoch, and is the
faithful expression of its influence and its share in the
history of civilization?  You will measure with a glance
this difficulty, in the great event which now occupies our
attention. We encountered, in the twelfth century, an event
which was religious in its origin if not in its nature, I
mean the crusades.  Despite the greatness of this event,
despite its long duration and the variety of incidents to
which it led, we found it difficult enough to distinguish its
general character, and to determine with any precision
its unity and its influence. We have now to consider the
religious revolution of the sixteenth century, usually called
the Reformation. Permit me to say, in passing, that I shall
use the word reformation as a simple and understood term,
as synonymous with religious revoluticn, and without implying any judgment of it. You see, at the very commencement, how difficult it is to recognise the true character of
this great crisis, to say in a general manner what it was and
what it effected.
It is between the commencement of the sixteenth and the
middle of the seventeenth century that we must look for the
Reformation; for that period comprises, so to speak, the life
of the event, its origin and end.  All historical events
have, so to speak, a limited career; their consequences are
prolonged to infinity; they have a hold upon all the past
and all the future; but it is not the less true that they
have a particular and limited existence, that they are
born, that they increase, that they fill with their development a certain duration of time, and then decrease and
retire from the scene in order to make room for some new
event.
The precise date assigned to the origin of the Reformation
is of little importance; we may take the year 1520, when
Luther publicly burnt, at Wittemberg, the bull of Leo X.




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which condemned him, and thus formally separated himself from the Roman church. It was between this epoch
and the middle of the seventeenth century, the year 1648, the
date of the treaty of Westphalia, that the life of the Reformation was comprised. Here is the proof of it. The first and
greatest effect of the religious revolution was to create in
Europe two classes of states, the Catholic states and the Protestant states, to place them opposite each other, and open the
contest between them.    With many    vicissitudes, this
struggle lasted from  the commencement of the sixteenth
century down to the middle of the seventeenth. It was by
the treaty of Westphalia, in 1648, that the Catholic and Protestant states at last acknowledged one another; agreed to,
then, a mutual existence, and promised to live in society and
peace, independently of the diversity of religion.  Dating
from 1648, diversity in religion ceased to be the dominant
principle of the classification of states, of their external
policy, their relations, and alliances. Up to this epoch, in
spite of great variations, Europe was essentially divided into
a Catholic and a Protestant league. After the treaty of Westphalia, this distinction vanished; states were either allied or
divided upon other considerations than religious creeds..At
that point, then, the preponderance, that is to say, the
career, of the Reformation stopped, although its consequences
did not then cease to develop themselves.  Let us now
glance hastily over this career; and without doing more than
naming events and men, let us indicate what it contains.
You will see by this mere indication, by this dry and incomplete nomenclature, what must be the difficulty of recapitulating a series of facts so varied and so complex-of recapitulating them, I say, in one general fact; of deterniining what
was the true character of the religious revolution of the sixteenth century, and of assigning its part in the history of
our civilization. At the moment when the Reformation broke
forth, it fell, so to speak, into the midst of a great political
event, the struggle between Francis I. and Charles V.,
between France and Spain; a contest, first for the possession of Italy, afterwards for that of the empire of Germany, and, lastly, for the preponderance in Europe. It was
then the house of Austria elevated itself, and became
dominant in Europe. It was then, also, that England, under




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Henry VIII., interfered in continental politics with more
regularity, permanence, and to a greater extent than she had
hitherto done.
Let us follow the course of the sixteenth century in France.
It was filled by the great religious wars of the Protestants and
Catholics, the means and the occasion of a new attempt of
the great lords to regain the power they had lost. This
is the political purport of our religious wars, of the League,
of the struggle of the Guises against the Valois, a struggle
which ended by the accession of Henry IV.
In Spain, during the reign of Philip II., the revolution of
the United Provinces broke out. The inquisition and civil
and religious liberty waged war under the names of the duke
of Alva and the prince of Orange. While liberty triumphed
in Holland by force of perseverance and good sense, she
perished in the interior of Spain, where absolute power prevailed, both lay and ecclesiastical.
In England, during this period, Mary and Elizabeth
reigned; there was the contest of Elizabeth, the head of Protestantism, against Philip II. Accession of James Stuart to
the throne of England; commencement of the great quarrels
between royalty and the English people.
About the same time, new powers were created in the
north. Sweden was reinstated by Gustavus Vasa, in 1523.
Prussia was created by the secularising of the Teutonic order.
The powers of the north then took in European politics a
place which they had never hitherto occupied, the importance
of which was soon to be shown in the thirty years war.
I return to France. The reign of Louis XIII.; Cardinal
Richelieu changed the internal administration of France, entered into relations with Germany, and lent aid to the Protestant party. In Germany, during the last part of the sixteenth century, the contest took place against the Turks;
and at the commencement of the seventeenth century the
thirty years war, the greatest event *of modern Eastern
Europe. At this time flourished Gustavus Adolphus, Wallenstein, Tilly, the duke of Brunswick, and the duke ofWeimar,
the greatest names that Germany has yet to pronounce.
At the same epoch, in France, Louis XIV. ascended the
throne; the Fronde commenced.   In England, the revolution which dethroned Charles I., broke out.




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I only take the leading events of history, events whose
name every one knows; you see their number, variety, and
importance. If we seek events of another nature, events
which are less apparent, and which are less summed up in
names, we shall find this epoch equally full. This is the
period of the greatest changes in the political institutions
of almost all nations, the time when pure monarchy prevailed in the majority of great states, whilst in HIolland
the most powerful republic in Europe was created, and in
England constitutional monarchy triumphed definitively, or
nearly so. In the church, this was the period when the
ancient monastic orders lost almost all political power, and
were replaced by a new order of another character, and
the importance of which, perhaps erroneously, is held as
far superior to theirs, the Jesuits.  At this epoch, the
council of Trent effaced what might still remain of the
influence of the councils of Constance and Basle, and secured the definitive triumph of the court of Rome in the
ecclesiastical order.  Let us leave the church, and cast a
glance upon philosophy, upon the free career of the human
mind; two men present themselves, Bacon and Descartes, the
authors of the greatest philosophical revolution which the
modern world has undergone, the chiefs of the two schools
which disputed its empire. This also was the period of the
brilliancy of Italian literature, and of the commencement of
French and of English literature. And lastly, it was the time
of the foundation of great colonies and the most active developments of the commercial system. Thus, under whatever
point of view you consider this epoch, its political, ecclesiastical, philosophical, and literary events are in greater number,
and more varied and important, than in any century preceding
it. The activity of the human mind manifested itself in
every way, in the relations of men between themselves, in
their relations with power, in the relations of states, and
in purely intellectual labours; in a word, it was a time for
great men and for great things. And in the midst of this
period, the religious revolution which occupies our attention
is the greatest event of all; it is the dominant fact of this
epoch, the fact which gives to it its name, and determines its
character. Among so many powerful causes which have
played so important a part, the Reformation is the most power



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HISTORY OF


ful, that in which all the others ended, which modified
them all, or was by them modified. So that what we have to
do at present is to truly characterise and accurately sum up
the event which in a period of the greatest events dominated
over all, the cause which effected more than all others in a
time of the most influential causes.
You will easily comprehend the difficulty of reducing facts
so various, so important, and so closely united, to a true
historical unity. It is, however, necessary to do this. When
events are once consummated, when they have become history,
what are most important, and what man seeks above all things,
are general facts, the connexion of causes and effects. These,
so to speak, are the immortal part of history, that to which all
generations must refer in order to understand the past, and
to understand themselves. The necessity for generalisation
and rational result, is the most powerful and the most
glorious of all intellectual wants; but we should be careful
not to be contented with incomplete and precipitate generalisations. Nothing can be more tempting than to give
way to the pleasure of assigning immediately and at the
first view, the general character and permanent results of an
epoch or event. The human mind is like the will, always
urgent for action, impatient of obstacles, and eager for
liberty and conclusions; it willingly forgets facts which impede and cramp it; but in forgetting, it does not destroy
them; they subsist to condemn it some day and convict it of
error. There is but one means for the human mind to escape
this danger; that is, courageously and patiently to exhaust
the study of facts before generalising and concluding. Facts
are to the mind what rules of morality are to the will. It
is bound to know them and to bear their weight; and it is
only when it has fulfilled this duty, when it has viewed and
measured their whole extent, it is then only that it is permitted
to unfold its wings, and take flight to the high region where
it will see all things in their totality and their results. If it
attempt to mount too quickly, and without having gained a
knowledge of all the territory which it will have to contemplate from thence, the chance of error and failure is very
great. It is the same as in an arithmetical calculation,
where one error leads to others, ad infinitum.  So in history,
if in the first labour we do not attend to all the facts, if we




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give ourselves up to the taste for precipitate generalisation,
it is impossible to say to what mistakes we may be led.
I am warning you in a measure against myself. I have
only made, and, indeed, could only make, attempts at generalisation, general recapitulations of facts which we have not
studied closely and at large. But having arrived at an epoch
when this undertaking is much more difficult than at any
other, and when the chances of error are much greater, I
have thought it a duty thus to warn you. That done, I shall
now proceed and attempt as to the Reformation what I have
done as to other events; I shall endeavour to distinguish its
dominant fact, to describe its general character, to say, in a
word, what is the place and the share of this great event in
European civilization.
You will call to mind how we left Europe at the end of the
fifteenth century. We have seen, in its course, two great
attempts at religious revolution and reform: an attempt at
legal reform by the councils, and an attempt at revolutionary reform in Bohemia by the Hussites; we have seen
them stifled and failing one after the other; but still we have
seen that it was impossible the event should be prevented,
that it must be reproduced under one form or another; that
what the fifteenth century had attempted, the sixteenth would
inevitably accomplish. I shall not recount in any way the
details of the religious revolution of the sixteenth century: I
take it for granted that they are almost universally known.
I attend only to its general influence upon the destinies of
the human race.
When the causes which determined this great event have
been investigated, the adversaries of the Reformation have imputed it to accidents, to misfortunes in the course of civilization; for example, to the sale of indulgences having been
confided to the Dominicans, which made the Augustines
jealous: Luther was an Augustin, and, therefore, was the
determining cause of the Reformation.  Others have attributed it to the ambition of sovereigns, to their rivalry with
the ecclesiastical power, and to the cupidity of the lay nobles,
who wished to seize upon the property of the church. They
have thus sought to explain the religious revolution merely
from the ill side of men and human affairs, by suggestions of
private interests and personal passions.




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On the other hand, the partisans and friends of the Reformation have endeavoured to explain it merely by the necessity for reform in the existing abuses of the church; they
have represented it as a redressing of religious grievances, as
an attempt conceived and executed with the sole design of
reconstituting a pure and primitive church. Neither of these
explanations seems to me sound. The second has more truth
in it than the first; at least it is more noble, more in unison
with the extent and importance of the event; still I do not
think it correct. In my opinion, the Reformation was neither an accident, the result of some great chance, of personal
interest, nor a mere aim at religious amelioration, the fruit
of an Utopia of humanity and truth. It had a far more
powerful cause than all this, and which dominates over all
particular causes. It was a great movement of the liberty
of the human mind, a new necessity for freely thinking and
judging, on its own account, and with its own powers, of facts
and ideas which hitherto Europe had received, or was held
bound to receive, from the hands of authority. It was a
grand attempt at the enfranchisement of the human mind; and,
to call things by their proper names, an insurrection of the
human mind against absolute power in the spiritual order.
Such I believe to'be the true, general, and dominant character
of the Reformation.
When we consider the state, at this epoch, of the human
mind on the one hand, and on the other, that of the church
which governed the human mind, we are struck by this
twofold fact: on the part of the human mind there was
much more activity, and much more thirst for development and empire than it had ever felt. This new activity was the result of various causes, but which had been
accumulating for ages. For example, there had been ages
when heresies took birth, occupied some space of time, fell,
and were replaced by others; and ages when philosophical
opinions had run the same course as the heresies.  The
labour of the human mind, whether in the religious or in the
philosophical sphere, had accumulated from the eleventh to
the sixteenth century: and at last the moment had arrived
when it was necessary that the result should appear. Moreover, all the means of instruction, created or encouraged in
the very bosom of the church, bore their fruits.  Schools




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had been instituted: from these schools had issued men with
some knowledge, and their number was daily augmented.
These men wished at last to think for themselves, and on
their own account, for they felt stronger than they had ever
yet done. Finally arrived that renewal and regeneration of
the human mind by the restoration of antiquity, the progress
and effects of which I have described to you.
The union of all these causes at the commencement of the
sixteenth century, impressed upon the mind a highly energetic movement, an imperative necessity for progress.
The situation of the government of the human mind, the
spiritual power, was quite different; it, on the contrary, had
fallen into a state of indolence and immobility. The political
credit of the Church, of the court of Rome, had very much
diminished; European society no longer belonged to it; it had
passed into the dominion of lay governments. Still the spiritual
power preserved all its pretensions, all its splendour and external importance. It happened with it, as it has more than
once done with old governments. The greater part of the
complaints urged against it were no longer applied. It is not
true that the court of Rome in the sixteenth century was very
tyrannical; nor is it true that its abuses, properly so called,
were more numerous, or more crying than they had been in
other times. On the contrary, perhaps ecclesiastical government had never been more easy and tolerant, more disposed
to let all things take their course, provided they did not
put itself in question, provided it was so far acknowledged
as to be left in the enjoyment of the rights which it had
hitherto possessed, that it was secured the same existence,
and paid the same tributes. It would willingly have left
the human mind in tranquillity, if the human mind would
have done the same towards it. But it is precisely when
governments are least held in consideration, when they are the
least powerful, and do the least evil, that they are attacked,
because then they can be attacked, and formerly they could
not be.
It is evident, then, by the mere examination of the state of
the human mind, and that of its government at this epoch,
that the character of the Reformation must have been a new
impulse of liberty, a great insurrection of the human intellect.
Do not doubt but this was the dominant cawe, the cause which




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rose above all the others-a cause superior to all interests,
whether of nations or sovereigns-superior also to any mere
necessity for reform, or the necessity for redressing of grievances which were then complained of.
I will suppose that after the first years of the Reformation,
when it had displayed all its pretensions, set forth all its
grievances, the spiritual power had suddenly fallen in with its
views, and had said-" Well, so be it.  I will reform everything; I will return to a more legal and religious order; I
will suppress all vexations, arbitrariness, and tributes; even
in doctrinal matters, I will modify, explain, and return to the
primitive meaning. But when all grievances are thus redressed, I will preserve my position-I will be as formerly,
the government of the human mind, with the same power and
the same rights." Do you suppose that on these conditions
the religious revolution would have been content, and would
have stopped its progress? I do not think it. I firmly believe
that it would have continued its career, and that after having
demanded reformation, it would have demanded liberty. The
crisis of the sixteenth century was not merely a reforming
one, it was essentially revolutionary.  It is impossible to
take from it this character, its merits and its vices; it had all
the effects of this character.
Let us cast a glance upon the destinies of the Reformation;
let us see, especially and before all, what it effected in the
different countries where it was developed. Observe that it
was developed in very various situations, and amidst very unequal chances. If we find that in spite of the diversity of
situations, and the inequality of chances, it everywhere pursued a certain end, obtained a certain result, and preserved a
certain character, it will be evident that this character, which
surmounted all diversities of situation, and all inequalities of
chances, must have been the fundamental character of the
event-that this result must have been its essential aim.
Vell, wherever the religious revolution of the sixteenth
3entury prevailed, if it did not effect the entire enfranchisement of the human mind, it procured for it new and very
great increase of liberty. It doubtless often left the mind to
all the chances of the liberty or servitude of political institution; but it abolished or disarmed the spiritual power, the
systematic and formidable government of thought. This




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is the result which the Reformation attained amidst the most
various combinations. In Germany, there was no political
liberty; nor did the Reformation introduce it. It fortified
rather than weakened the power of princes. It was more
against the free institutions of the middle ages than favourable
to their development. Nevertheless, it resuscitated and maintained in Germany a liberty of thought greater, perhaps, than
anywhere else.
In Denmark, a country where absolute power dominated,
where it penetrated into the municipal institutions, as well as
into the general institutions of the state, there also, by the
influence of the Reformation, thought was enfranchised and
freely exercised in all directions.
In IHolland, in the midst of a republic, and in England,
under constitutional monarchy, and despite a religious
tyranny of long duration, the emancipation of the human
mind was likewise accomplished. And, lastly, in France, in
a situation which seened the least favourable to the effects of
the religious revolution, in a country where it had been
conquered, there even it was a principle of intellectual independence and liberty. Down to 1685, that is to say, until
the revocation of the edict of Nantes, the Reformation had
a legal existence in France. During this lengthened period
it wrote and discussed, and provoked its adversaries to write
and discuss with it. This single fact, this war of pamphlets
and conferences between the old and new opinions, spread in
France a liberty far more real and active than is commonly
believed-a liberty which tended to the profit of science, the
honour of the French clergy, as well as to the profit of thought
in general. Take a glance at the conferences of Bossuet
with Claude upon all the religious polemics of that period,
and ask yourselves whether Louis XIV. would have allowed
a similar degree of liberty upon any other subject. It was
between the Reformation and the opposite party that there existed the greatest degree of liberty in France during the seventeenth century. Religious thought was then far more bold,
and treated questions with more freedom than the political
spirit of Fenelon himself in 'elemaclus. This state of things
did not cease until tie revocation of the edict of Nantes.
Now, from 1685 to the outburst of the human mind in the
eighteenth century, there were not forty years; and the influ



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ence of the religious revolution in favour of intellectual
liberty had scarcely ceased, when that of the philosophical
revolution commenced.
You see that wherever the Reformation penetrated, wherever it played an important part, victorious or vanquished,
it had as a general, dominant, and constant result, an immense
progress in the activity and liberty of thought, and towards
the emancipation of the human mind.
And not only had the Reformation this result, but with
this it was satisfied; wherever it obtained that it sought. for
nothing further, so much was it the foundation of the event,
its primitive and fundamental character. Thus, in Germany
it accepted, I will not say political servitude, but, at least,
the absence of liberty. In England, it consented to the constitutional hierarchy of the clergy, and the presence of a
church with quite as many abuses as there had ever been in
the Romish church, and far more servile.
Why should the Reformation, so passionate and stubborn
in some respects, show itself in this so easy and pliant? It was
because it had obtained the general fact to which it tended,
the abolition of spiritual power, the enfranchisement of the
human mind. I repeat, that wherever it attained this end,
it accommodated itself to all systems and all situations.
Let us now take the counter-proof of this inquiry; let us
see what happened in countries into which the religious revolution had not penetrated, where it had been stifled in the
beginning, where it had never been developed. H-istory
shows that there the hunan mind has not been enfranchised;
two great countries, Spain and Italy, will prove this. Whilst
in those European countries where the Reformation had taken
~ an important place, the human mind, during the three last
centuries, has gained an activity and a freedom before unknown, in those where it has not penetrated it has fallen.
during the same period, into effeminacy and indolence; so
that tile proof and counter-proof have been made, so to speak,
sirmultan:eouly, and given the same result.
Imnuls(e of tloughlt, and the abolition of absolute power in
the spiritulal or(der, are therefore the essential character of the
lefo!rmtnation,, the most general result of its influence, and the
donilinalt fic(t of its desti:iy
I designedly say, thefact. The emancipation of the human




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mind was in reality, in the course of the Reformation, a fact
rather than a principle, a result rather than an intention. In
this respect, I think the Reformation executed more than it
had undertaken; more perhaps than it had even desired.
Contrary to most other revolutions, which have remained far
behind their wishes, of which the event is far inferior to the
thought, tie consequences of the revolution surpassed its
views; it is greater as an event than as a plan; what it
effected it did not fully foresee, nor fully avow.
What were the reproaches with which its adversaries constantly upbraid the Reformation?  Which of its results did
they in a manner cast in its teeth to reduce it to silence?
Two principal ones. 1st. The multiplicity of sects, the
prodigious licence allowed to mind, the dissolution of the
religious society as a whole. 2nd. Tyranny and persecution.
"You provoke licence," said they to the reformers; " you
even produce it; and wlhen you have created it, you wish to
restrain and repress it. And how do you repress it?  By
the most severe and violent means. You yourselves persecute heresy, and by virtue of an illegitimate authority."
Survey and sum up all the great attacks directed against
the Reformation, discarding the purely dogmatical questions;
these are tie two fundamental reproaches to which they
always reduce themselves.
The reformed party was greatly embarrassed by them.
When they imputed to it the multiplicity of sects, instead of
avowing them, and maintaining the legitimacy of their development, it anathematized them, deplored their existence,
and denied them. Taxed with persecution, it defended itself
with the same embarrassment; it alleged the necessity; it had,
it said, the right to repress and punish error, because it was
in the possession of truth; its creed and institutions alone 
were legitimate; and if the Roman churcll had not the right
to punish the reformers, it was because she was in the wrong
as against them.
And when the reproach of persecution was addressed to
the dominant party in the Reformation, not by its enemies,
but by its own offspring, when the sects which it anathematized said to it, " We only do what you have done; we only
separate ourselves, as you separated yourselves," it was still
Q




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HISTORY OF


more embarrassed for an answer, and often only replied by
redoubled rigour.
In fact, while labouring for the destruction of absolute
power in the spiritual order, the revolution of the sixteenth
century was ignorant of the true principles of intellectual
liberty; it enfranchised the human mind, and yet pretended
to govern it by the law; in practice it was giving prevalence
to free inquiry, and in theory it was only substituting a legitimate in place of an illegitimate power. It did not elevate
itself to the first cause, nor descend to the last consequences of
its work. Thus it fell into a double fault; on the one hand, it
neither knew nor respected all the rights of human thought;
at the moment that it clamoured for them on its own account,
it violated them with regard to others; on the other hand,
it knew not how to measure the rights of authority in the intellectual order; I do not speak of coercive authority, which
in such matters should possess none, but of purely moral
authority, acting upon the mind alone, and simply by way of
influence.  Something is wanting in most of the reformed
countries, to the good organization of the intellectual society,
and to the regular action of ancient and general opinions.
They could not reconcile the rights and wants of tradition
with those of liberty; and the cause doubtless lay in this fact,
that the Reformation did not fully comprehend and receive
its own principles and effects.
Hence, also, it had a certain air of inconsistency and narrow-mindedness, which often gave a hold and advantage over
it to its adversaries. These last knew perfectly well what
they did, and what they wished to do; they went back to
the principles of their conduct, and avowed all the consequences of it. There was never a government more consistent and systematic than that of the Roman church. In
practice the court of Rome has greatly yielded and given way,
much more so than the Reformation; in theory, it has much
more completely adopted its peculiar system, and kept to a
much more coherent conduct. This is a great power, this full
knowledge of what one does and wishes, this complete and
rational adoption of a doctrine and a design. The religious
revolution of the sixteenth century presented in its course a
striking example of it. Every one knows that the chief
power instituted to struggle against it was the order of Jesuits.




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.           227
Throw a glance upon their history; they have everywhere
failed. Wherever they have interfered to any extent, they
have carried misfortune into the cause with which they
mixed. In England they ruined kings; in Spain, the people.
The general course of events, the development of modern
civilization, the liberty of the human mind, all these powers
against which the Jesuits were called upon to contest, fought
and conquered them. And not only have they failed, but
call to mind the means they have been obliged to employ.
No splendour or grandeur; they brought about no great
events, nor put in motion powerful masses of men; they have
acted only by underhanded, obscure, and subordinate means;
by ways which are nothing suited to strike the imagination, to conciliate that public interest which attaches to great
things, whatever may be their principle or end. The party
against which it struggled, on the contrary, not only conquered,
but conquered with splendour; it did great things, and by
great means; it aroused the people, it gave to Europe great
men, and changed, in the face of day, the fashion and form
of states. In a word, everything was against the Jesuits,
both fortune and appearances; neither good sense which
desires success, nor imagination which requires splendour,
were satisfied by their career. And yet nothing can be
more certain than that they have had grandeur; that a great
idea is attached to their name, their influence, and their history. How so?
It is because they knew what they were doing, and what
they desired to do; because they had a full and clear acquaintance with the principles upon which they acted, and
the aim to which they tended; that is to say, they had greatness of thought and greatness of will, and this saved them
from the ridicule which attaches itself to constant reverses
and contemptible means. Where, on the contrary, the event
was greater than the thought, where the actors appeared to
want a knowledge of the first principles and last results of
their action, there remained something incomplete, inconsistent,
and narrow, which placed the conquerors themselves in a
sort of rational and philosophical inferiority, of which the influence has been sometimes felt in events. This was, I
conceive, in the struggle of the old against the new spiritual order, the weak side of the Reformation, the circumQ2




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stance which often embarrassed it, and hindered it from defending itself as it ought to have done.
We might consider the religious revolution of the sixteenth
century under many other aspects. I have said nothing, and
have nothing to say, concerning its dogmas, concerning its
effect on religion, and in regard to the relations of the human
soul with God and the eternal future; but I might exhibit
it to you in the diversity of its relations with the social order,
bringing on, in all directions, results of mighty importance.
For instance, it awoke religion amidst the laity, and in the
world of the faithful. Up to that time, religion had been,
so to speak, the exclusive domain of the clergy, of the
ecclesiastical order, who distributed the fruits, but disposed
themselves of the tree, and had almost alone the right to
speak of it.  The R.eformation caused a general circulation
of religious creeds; it opened to believers the field of faith,
which hitherto they had had no right to enter. It had, at
the same time, a second result-it banished, or nearly
banished, religion from  politics; it restored the independence of the temporal power. At the very moment when, so
to speak, religion came again to the possession of the faithful,
it quitted the government of society. In the reformed countries, notwithstanding the diversity of ecclesiastical constitutions, even in England, where that constitution is nearer to
the ancient order of things, the spiritual power no longer
makes any serious pretensions to the direction of the temporal
power.
I nmiht enumerate many other consequences of the Reformation, but I must check myself, and rest content with
hav-ing placed before you its principal character, the emancipationi of the human mind, and the abolition of absolute
power in tile spiritual order-an abolition which, no doubt,
was not compllete, but nevertheless formed the greatest step
that has, up to our days, been taken in this direction.
]Bebfre concluding, I must pray you to remark the striking
similarity o~i destiny whlich, in the history of modern Europe,
preseiits itself as existing between the civil and religious
societies, in tile revolutions to which they have been subject.
Thle Christian society, as we saw -when I spoke of the
church, began by being a perfectly free society, and formed




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229


solely in virtue of a common creed, without institutions or
government, properly so called, and regulated only by moral
powers, varying according to the necessity of the moment.
Civil society commenced in like manner in Europe, or partially at least, with bands of barbarians; a society perfectly
free, each one remaining in it because he thought proper,
without laws or constituted powers. At the close of this
state, which could not co-exist with any considerable development, religious society placed itself under an essentially
aristocratic government; it was the body of the clergy, the
bishops, councils, and ecclesiastical aristocracy, which governed
it. A fact of the same kind happened in civil society at the
termination of barbarism; it was the lay aristocracy, the lay
feudal chiefs, by which it was governed. Religious society
left the aristocratic form to assume that of pure monarchy;
that is the meaning of the triumph of the court of Rome over
the councils and over the European ecclesiastical aristocracy.
The same revolution accomplished itself in civil society:
it was by the destruction of aristocratical power that royalty
prevailed and took possession of the European world. In the
sixteenth century, in the bosom of religious society, an insurrection burst forth against the system of pure monarchy,
against absolute power in the spiritual order. This revolution brought on, consecrated, and established free inquiry in
Europe. In our own days we have seen the same event
occurring in the civil order. Absolute temporal power was
attacked and conquered.   Thus you have seen that the
two societies have undergone the same vicissitudes, have
been subject to the same revolutions; only religious society
has always been the foremost in this career.
We are now in possession of one of the great facts of
modern society, namely, free inquiry, the liberty of the human
mind. We have seen that, at the same time, political centralization almost everywhere prevailed. In my next lecture
I shall treat of the English revolution; that is to say, of the
event in which free inquiry and pure monarchy, both results
of the progress of civilization, found themselves for the first
time in conflict.




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THIRTEENTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-General character of the English revolution —Is
principal causes-It was more political than religious-The three great
parties in it: 1. The party of legal reform; 2. The party of the political revolution; 3. The party of the social revolution-They all fail
-Cromwell-The restoration of the Stuarts-The legal ministry-The
profligate ministry-The revolution of 1688 in England and Europe.
You have seen that during the sixteenth century all the elements and features that had belonged to former European
society resolved themselves into two great facts, free inquiry,
and the centralization of power. The first prevailed among
the clergy, the second among the laity. There simultaneously
triumphed in Europe the emancipation of the human mind,
and the establishment of pure monarchy.
It was scarcely to be expected but that sooner or later
a struggle should arise between these two principles; for
they were contradictory; the one was the overthrow of
absolute power in the spiritual order, the other was its
victory in the temporal; the first paved the way for the
decay of the ancient ecclesiastical monarchy, the last perfected
the ruin of the ancient feudal and communal liberties. The
fact of their advent being simultaneous, arose, as you have
seen, from the revolution in religious society advancing
with a more rapid step than that in the civil society: the one
occurred exactly at the time of the enfranchisement of the
individual mind, the other not until the moment of the centralization of universal power under one head. The coincidence of these two facts, so far from springing out of their
similitude, did not prevent their inconsistency. They were




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each advances in the course of civilization, but they were advances arising from dissimilar situations, and of a different
moral date, if I may be allowed the expression, although
cotemporary.  That they should run against one another
before they came to an understanding was inevitable.
Their first collision was in England.  In the struggle
of free inquiry, the fruit of the Reformation, against the
ruin of political liberty, the fruit of the triumph of pure monarchy; and in the effort to abolish absolute power both in
the temporal and spiritual orders, we have the purport of the
English revolution, its share in the course of our civilization.
The question arises, why should this struggle take place
in England sooner than elsewhere? wherefore should the
revolutions in the political order have coincided more closely
with those in the moral order, in that country, than on the
continent?
Royalty in England has undergone the same vicissitudes
as on the continent: under the Tudors, it attained to a concentration and energy which it has never known since. It
does not follow that the despotism of the Tudors was more
violent, or that it cost dearer to England than that of their
predecessors. I believe that there were at least as many
acts of tyranny and instances of vexation and injustice, under
the Plantagenets, as under the Tudors, perhaps even more.
And I believe, likewise, that at this era the government of
pure monarchy was more harsh and arbitrary on the continent than in England.   The new feature under the
Tudors was, that absolute power became systematic; royalty
assumed a primitive and independent sovereignty; it adopted
a style hitherto unknown.   The theoretical pretensions
of Henry VIII., of Elizabeth, of James I., or of Charles I.,
are entirely different to those of Edward I. or Edward III.;
though the power of these two last kings was neither less
arbitrary nor less extensive. I repeat, that it was the principle, the rational system of monarchy, rather than its practical power, which experienced a mutation in England during
the sixteenth century: royalty assumed absolute power, and
pretended to be superior to all laws, to those even which it
had declared should be respected.
Again, the religious revolution was not accomplished in




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HIIITORY OF


England in the same manner as on the continent; here it
was the work of the kings themselves. Not but that in this
country, as elsewhere, there had long been the germs of;
and even attempts at a popular reformation, which would
probably, ere long, have been carried out. But Ienry VIII.
took the initiative; power became revolutionary. The result
was that, in its origin at least, as a redress of ecclesiastical
tyranny and abuse, and as the emancipation of the human
mind, the Reformation was far less complete in England than
on the continent.  It consulted, and very naturally, the
interest of its authors.  The king and the retained episcopacy
shared the riches and power, the spoils of the preceding
government, of the papacy. It was not long before the
consequence was felt. It was said that the Reformation was
finished; yet most of the motives which had made it necessary still existed. It reappeared under a popular form; it exclaimed against the bishops as it had done against the court
of Rome; it accused them of being so many popes. As often
as the general character of the religious reformation was
compromised, whenever there was question of a struggle
with the ancient church, all portions of the reformed party
rallied, and made head against the common enemy; but the
danger passed, the interior struggle recommenced; popular
reform again attacked regal and aristocratical reform, denounced its abuses, complained of its tyranny, called upon
it for a fulfilment of its promises, and not again to establish
the power which it had dethroned.
There was, about the same time, a movement of enfranchisement manifested in civil society, a need for Ipolitical
freedom, till then unknown, or at least powerless. During the
sixteenth century, the commercial prosperity of England increased with excessive rapidity; at the same time, territorial wealth, landed property, in a great measure changed
hands. The division of land in Elngland in the sixteenth
century, consequent on the ruin of the feudal aristocracy and
other causes, too many for present enumeration, is a fact deserving more attention than has yet been given to it. All
documents show us the number of landed proprietors increasing to an immense extent, and the larger portion of
the lands passing into the hands of the gentry, or inferior
nobility, and the citizens.  The upper house, the higher




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nobility, was not nearly so rich at the commencement of the
seventeenth century as the House of Commons. There was
then at the same time a' great development of commercial
wealth, and a great mutation in landed property. Amidst
these two influences came a third-the new movement in the
minds of men. The reign of Elizabeth is, perhaps, the
greatest period of English history for literary and philosophical activity, the era of lofty and fertile imaginations; the
puritans without hesitation followed out all the consequences
of a vigorous although narrow doctrine; the opposite class of
minds, less moral and more free, strangers to any principle or
method, received with enthusiasm everything which promised
to satisfy their curiosity or feed their excitement. Wherever
the impulse of intelligence brings with it a lively pleasure,
liberty will soon become a want, and will quickly pass from
the public mind into the government.
There was on the Continent, in some of those countries
where the Reformation had gone forth, a manifestation of
a similar feeling, a certain want for political liberty; but the
means of satisfying it were wanting; they knew not
where to look for it; no aid for it could be found either
in the institutions or in manners; they remained vague and
uncertain, seeking in vain to satisfy their want. In England,
it was very different: there the spirit of political freedom,
which reappeared in the sixteenth century, following the
Reformation, found its fulcrum and the means of action in
the ancient institutions and social conditions.
Every one knows the origin of the free institutions
of England; it is universally known how the union of
the great barons in 1215, forced- Magna Charta from King
John. What is not so generally known is, that the great
charter was from time to time recalled and again confirmed
by most of the succeeding kings. There were more than
thirty confirmations of it between the thirteenth and the
sixteenth century. And not only was the charter confirmed,
but new statutes were introduced for the purpose of maintaining and developing it. It therefore lived, as it were,
without interval or interruption. At the same time, tie House
of Commons was formed, and took its place among the supreme
institutions of the country. It was under the Plantagenets
that it truly struck root; not that it took any great part in




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the state during that period; the government did not, properly speaking, belong to it, even in the way of influence;
it only interfered therein at the call of the king, and then
always reluctantly and hesitatingly, as if it was more fearful
of engaging and compromising itself than desirous of augmenting its power. But when the matter in hand was the
defence of private rights, the families or fortune of the
citizens, in a word, the liberties of the individual, the I-ouse
of Commons acquitted itself of its duty with much energy
and perseverance, and founded all those principles which
have become the basis of the English constitution.
After the Plantagenets, and especially under the Tudors,
the House of Commons, or rather the entire parliament, presented itself under a different aspect. It no longer defended
the individual liberties, as under the Plantagenets. Arbitrary detentions, the violation of private rights, now become
much more frequent, are often passed over in silence. On
the other hand, the parliament took a much more active
part in the general government of the state. In changing the
religion and in regulating the order of succession, Henry
VIII. had need of some medium, some public instrument, and
in this want he was supplied by the parliament, and especially
by the House of Commons. Under the Plantagenets it had
been an instrument of resistance, the guardian of private
rights; under the Tudors it became an instrument of government and general policy; so that at the end of the sixteenth
century, although it had undergone almost every species of
tyranny, its importance was much augmented, its great power
began, that power upon which the representative government depends
When we glance at the state of the free institutions of
England at the end of the sixteenth century, we find
first, fundamental rules and principles of liberty, of which
neither the country nor the legislature had ever lost sight;
second, precedents, examples of liberty, a good deal mixed,
it is true, with inconsistent examples and precedents, but
sufficing to legalize and sustain the claims, and to support
the defenders of liberty in any struggle against tyranny or
despotism; third, special and local institutions, replete with
germs of liberty; thejury, the right of assembling, and of
being armed; the independence of municipal administrations




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-tnd jurisdictions; fourth, and last, the parliament and its
power, of which the crown had more need than ever, since
it had lavished away the greater part of its independent
revenues, domains, feudal rights, &c., and was dependent for
its very support upon the national vote.
The political condition of EngLind, therefore, in the sixteenth century was wholly different from that of the continent. In spite of the tyranny of the Tudors, and systematic
triumph of pure monarchy, there was still a fixed fulcrum,
a sure means of action for the new spirit of liberty.
There were, then, two national wants in England at this
period: on one side was the need of religious revolution and
liberty in the heart of the-reformation already commenced;
and on the other, was required political liberty in the
heart of the pure monarchy then in progress; and in the
course of their progress these two wants were able to invoke
all that had already been done in either direction. They
combined.  The party who wished to pursue religious
reformation, invoked political liberty to the assistance of its
faith and conscience against the king and the bishops.
The friends of political liberty again sought the aid of the
popular reformation. The two parties united to struggle
against absolute power in the temporal and in the spiritual
orders, a power now concentrated in the hands of the king.
This is the origin and purport of the English revolution.
It was thus essentially devoted to the defence or achievement of liberty. For the religious party it was a means, and
for the political party an end; but with both, liberty was the
question, and they were obliged to pursue it in common.
There was no real religious quarrel between the episcopal and
the puritan party; little dispute upon dogmas, or concerning
faith; not but that there existed real differences of opinion
between them, differences of great importance; but this was
not the principal ] oint. Practical liberty was what the puritans
wished to force from the episcopal party: it was for this that
they strove. There was also another religious party who had
to found a system, to establish its dogmas, ecclesiastical constitution, and discipline; this was the presbyterian party: but
although it worked to the utmost of its power, it did not in
this point progress in proportion to its desire. Placed on the
defensive, oppressed by the bishops, unable to act without




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the assent of the political reformers, its allies and chief supporters, its dominant aim was liberty, the general interest
and common aim of all the parties, whatever their diversity, who concurred in the movement. Taking everytling
together, the English revolution was essentially political; it
was brought about in the midst of a religious people and in a
religious age; religious thoughts and passions were its instruments; but its chief design and definite aim were political, were devoted to liberty, and the abolition of all absolute
power.
I shall now glance at the different phases of this revolution,
and its great parties; I shall then connect it with the general
course of European civilization; I shall mark its place and
influence therein; and show you by a detail of the facts, as at
the first view, that it was the first blow which had been
struck in the cause of free inquiry and pure monarchy, the
first manifestation of a struggle between these two great
powers.
Three principal parties sprang up in this great crisis, three
revolutions in a manner were comprised in it, and successively
appeared upon the scene. In each party, and in each revolution, two parties are allied, and work conjointly, a political
and a religious party; the first at the head, the second followed, but each necessary to the other; so that the twofold
character of the event is impressed upon all its phases.
The first party which appeared was the party of legal reform, under whose banner all the others at first ranged
themselves.  When the English revolution    commenced,
when the long parliament was assembled in 1640, it was
universally said, and by many sincerely believed, that the
legal reform would suffice for all things; that in the ancient
laws and customs of the country, there was that which would
remedy all abuses, and which would re-establish a system of
government entirely conformable to the public wishes. This
party loudly censured, and sincerely wished to prevent the
illegal collecting of taxes, arbitrary imprisonments, in a word,
all acts disallowed by the known laws of the country. At
the root of its ideas was the belief in the king's sovereignty,
-that is, in absolute power. A secret instinct warned it,
indeed, there was something false and dangerous therein;
it wished, therefore, to say nothing of it; pushed to the




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extremity, however, and forced to explain itself, it admitted
in royalty a power superior to all human origin, and above
all control, and, when need was, defended it. It believed at
the salme time that this sovereignty, absolute in theory, was
bound to observe certain forms and rules; that it could not
extend beyond certain limits; and that these rules, forms,
and limits, were sufficiently established and guaranteed in
the great charter, in the confirmatory statutes, and in the
ancient laws of the country.  Such was its political idea.
In religious matters, tile legal party thought that the episcopal power was excessive; that the bishops had too mucl
political power, that their jurisdiction was too extensive,
and that it was necessary to overlook and restrain its exercise.  Still it firmly supported the episcopacy, not only as
an ecclesiastical institution, and as a system  of church
government, but as a necessary support for the royal prerogative, as a means of defending and maintaining the
supremacy of the king in religious matters. The sovereignty
of the king in the political order being exercised according to
known forms, and within the limits of acknowledged rules,
royalty in the religious order should be sustained by the
episcopacy; such was the two-fold system of the legal party,
of which the chiefs were Clarendon, Colepepper, Lord Capel,
and Lord Falkland himself, although an ardent advocate of
public liberty, and a man who numbered in his ranks almost
all the high nobility who were not servilely devoted to the
court.
Behind these followed a second party, which I shall call the
party of the political revolution: these were of opinion that
the ancient guarantees and legal barriers had been and still
were insunlicient; that a great clange, a regular revolution
was necessary, not in the forms, but in the realities of government: that it was necessary to withdraw fiom the king and
his council the independence of their power, and to place the
political preponderance in the Iouse of Commons; tlat the
government, properly so called, should belong to this assembly
and its cliefs.  This party did not give an account of their
ideas and intentions as clearly and systematically as I have
done; but this was the essence of its doctrines, of its political tendencies.  Instead of the sovereignty of the king,
pure monarchy, it believed in the sovereignty of the House




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HISTORY OF


of Commons as the representative of the country. Under
this idea was hidden that of the sovereignty of the people,
an idea, the bearing of which, and its consequences, the
party was very far from contemplating, but which presented
itself, and was received under the form of the sovereignty of
the House of Commons.
A religious party, that of the presbyterians, was closely
united with the party of the political revolution. The presbyterians wished to bring about in the church a revolution
analogous to that meditated by their allies in the state.
They wished to govern the church by assemblies, giving
the religious power to an hierarchy of assemblages agreeing
one with the other, as their allies had invested the I-ouse
of Commons with the political power. But the presbyterian
revolution was more vigorous and complete, for it tended to
change the form as well as the principle of the government
of the church, while the political party wished only to moderate the influences and preponderating power of institutions,
did not meditate an overthrow of the form of the institutions
themselves.
But the chiefs of the political party were not all of them
favourable to the presbyterian organization of the church.
Many of them, as for instance, Hampden and Holles, would
have preferred, it seems, a moderate episcopacy, confined to
purely ecclesiastical duties, and more freedom of conscience.
But they resigned themselves to it, being unable to do without their fanatical allies.
A third party was yet more exorbitant in its demands: this
party asserted that an entire change was necessary, not only
in the form of government, but in government itself; that the
whole political constitution was bad. This party repudiated
the past ages of England, renounced the national institutions
and memories, with the intention of founding a new government, according to a pure theory, or what it supposed to be
such. It was not a mere reform in the government, but a
social revolution which this party wished to bring about.
The party of which I just now spoke, that of the political
revolution, wished to introduce important changes in the re* lations between the parliament and the crown; it wished to
extend the power of parliament, particularly that of the Ilouse
of Commons, giving them  the nomination to high public




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offices, and the supreme direction in general affairs; but its
projects of reform extended very little further than this. For
instance, it had no idea of changing the electoral, judicial, or
municipal and administrative systems of the country. The
republican party meditated all these changes, and proclaimed
their necessity; and, in a word, wished to reform, not only
the public administration, but also the social relations and the
distribution of private rights.
This party, like that which preceded it, was partly religious and partly political. The political portion included the
republicans, properly so called, the theorists, Ludlow, Harrington, Milton, &c. On that side were ranged the republicans from interest, the chief officers of the army, Ireton,
Cromwell, and Lambert, who, more or less sincere at the
onset, were soon swayed and guided by interested views and
the necessities of their situations. Around these collected the
religious republican party, which included all those enthusiasts
who acknowledged no legitimate power except that of Jesus
Christ, and who, while waiting for his advent, wished to be
governed by his elect. And, lastly, the party was followed
by a large number of inferior freethinkers, and fantastical
dreamers, the one set in hope of licence, the others of equality
of property and universal suffrage.
In 1653, after a struggle of twelve years, all these parties
had successively failed, at least, they had reason to believe
they had failed, and the public was convinced of their failure.
The legal party, which quickly disappeared, had seen the
ancient laws and constitution disdained and trodden under
foot, and innovation visible upon every side. The party of
political reform saw parliamentary forms perish under the new
use which they wished to make of them; they saw the House
of Commons, after a sway of twelve years, reduced, by the
successive expulsion of the royalists and the presbyterians,
to a very trifling number of members, and those looked upon
by the public with contempt and detestation, and incapable
of governing. The republican party seemed to have succeeded better: it remained, to all appearance, master of the
field of battle, of power; the Iouse of Commons reckoned
no more than from fifty to sixty members, and all of these
were republicans. They might fairly deem themselves and
declare themselves masters of the country. But the country




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nISTORY OF


absolutely rejected them; they could nowhere carry their
resolutions into effect; they exercised no practical influence
either over the army or over the people. There no longer
subsisted any social tie, any social security; justice was no
longer administered, or, if it was, it was no longer justice,
but the arbitrary rendering of decrees at the dictation of
passion, prejudice, party. And not only was there an entire
disappearance of security fiom the social relations of men,
there was none whatever on the highways, which -were
covered with thieves and robbers; material anarchy as well
as moral anarchy, manifested itself in every direction, and
the Iouse of Commons and the Republican Council were
wholly incapable of repressing either the one or the other.
The three great parties of the revolution had thus been
called successively to conduct it, to govern the country according to their knowledge and will, and they had not been able
to do it; they had all three of them completely failed; they
could do nothing more.  " It was then," says Bossuet, "that
a man was found who left nothing to fortune which he could
take from it by council or foresight;" an expression full of
error, and controverted by all history. N ever did man leave
more to fortune than Cromwell; never has man hazarded
more, gone on with more temerity, without design or aim,
but determined to go as far as fate should carry him. An
unlimited ambition, an admirable faculty of extracting from
every day and circumstance some new means of progress, the
art of turning chance to profit, witlout pretending to rule it,
all these were Cromwell's. It was with Cromwell as perhaps
it has been with no other man in his circumstances; lie sufficed
for all the most various phases of the revolution; lie was a
man fo' its first and latest epochs; first of all, lie was the
leader of insurrection, the abettor of anarcly, the most fiery
of the English revolutionists; afterwards the man for the
anti-revolutionary reaction, for the re-establishment of order,
and for social organization; thus performing singly all the
parts which, in the course of revolutions, are divided among
the great.est actors.  One can hardly say that Cromwell was
a Mirab.ltt; lie wanted eloquence, and although very active,
did not make any show during the first years of the Long
'Parliament. But he was successively a Danton and a Buona-;arte. lie, more than any others, had contributed to tlhe




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overthrow of power; and he raised it up again because none
but he knew how to assume and manage it; some one must
govern; all had failed, and he succeeded. That constituted
his title. Once master of the government, this man, whose
ambition had shown itself so bold and insatiable, who, in his
progress, had always driven fortune before him, determined
never to stop, now displayed a good sense, prudence, and
knowledge of the possible, which dominated all his most violent passions. I-Ie had, no doubt, a great love for absolute
power, and a strong desire to place the crown on his own head,
and establish it in his family. He renounced this last design,
the danger of which he saw in time; and as to the absolute
power, although, in fact, he exercised it, he always knew that
the tendency of his age was against it; that the revolution
in which he had co-operated, and which he had followed
through all its phases, had been directed against despotism,
and that the imperishable desire of England was to be governed
by a parliament, and in parliamentary forms. Therefore he
himself, a despot by inclination and in fact, undertook to have
a parliament and to govern in a parliamentary manner. He
addressed himself unceasingly to all parties; he endeavoured
to form a parliament of religious enthusiasts, of republicans,
of presbyterians, of officers of the army. He attempted all
means to constitute a parliament which could and would
co-operate with him. IIe tried in vain: all parties, once
seated in Westminster, wished to snatch from him the power
which he exercised, and rule in their turn. I do not say that
his own interest and personal passion were not first in his
thoughts; but it is not therefore the less certain that, if he had
abandoned power, he would have been obliged to take it
up again the next day. Neither puritans nor royalists, republicans nor officers, none, besides Cromwell, was in condition to govern with any degree of order or justice. The
proof had been shown. It was impossible to allow the parliament, that is to say, the parties sitting in parliament, to take
the empire which they could not keep. Such, then, was the
situation of Cromwell; he governed according to a system
which he knew very well was not that of the country; he
exercised a power acknowledged as necessary, but accepted
by no one. No party regarded his dominion as a definitive
government. The royalists, the presbyterians, the republi.
R




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HISTORY OF


cans, the army itself, the party which seemed most devoted to
Cromwell, all were convinced that he was but a transitory
master. At bottom, he never reigned over men's minds; he
was never anything but a make-shift, a necessity of the
moment. The protector, the absolute master of England, was
all his life obliged to employ force in order to protect his
power; no party could govern like him, but no party wished
him for governor: he was constantly attacked by all parties
at once.
At his death the republicans alone were in a condition to
seize upon power; they did so, and succeeded no better than
they had done before. This was not for want of confidence,
at least as regards the fanatics of the party. A  pamphlet of Milton, published at this period, and full of talent
and enthusiasm, is entitled, "A ready and easy way to establish a free commonwealth." You see what was the blindness
of these men. They very soon fell again into that impossibility of governing which they had already experienced.
Monk undertook the conduct of the event which all England
looked for. The restoration was accomplished.
The restoration of the Stuarts in England was a deeply
national event. It presented itself with the advantages at
once of an ancient government, of a government which rests
upon its traditions, upon the recollections of the country, and
with the advantages of a new government, of which no recent
trial has been made, and of which the faults and weight have
not been experienced. The ancient monarchy was the only
species of government which for the last twenty years had
not been despised for its incapacity and ill-success in the administration of the country. These two causes rendered the
restoration popular; it had nothing to oppose it but the remnants of violent parties; and the public rallied around it
heartily. It was, in the opinion of the country, the only
means of legal government; that is to say, of that which the
country most ardently desired. This was also what the
restoration promised, and it was careful to present itself
under the aspect of a legal government.
The first royalist party which, at the return of Charles II.,
undertook the management of affairs was, in fact, the legal
party, represented by its most able chief, the chancellor
Clarendon. You are aware that, from 1660 to 1667, Cla



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rendon was prime minister, and the truly predominating
influence in England. Clarendon and his friends reappeared
with their ancient system, the absolute sovereignty of the
king, kept within legal limits, and restrained, in matters
of taxation, by parliament, and in matters of private rights
and individual liberties, by the tribunals; but possessing, as
regards government properly so called, an almost complete
independence, the most decisive preponderance, to the exclusion, or even against the wishes, of the majority in parliament, especially in the House of Commons. As to the rest,
they had a due respect for legal order, a sufficient solicitude
for the interests of the country, a noble sentiment of its dignity, and a grave and honourable moral tone: such was the
character of Clarendon's administration of seven years.
But the fundamental ideas upon which this administration
rested, the absolute sovereignty of the king, and the government placed beyond the influence of the preponderating
opinion of parliament, these ideas, I say, were obsolete, impotent. In spite of the reaction of the first moments of the
restoration, twenty years of parliamentary rule, in opposition
to royalty, had irremediably ruined them. A new element
soon burst forth in the centre of the royalist party: freethinkers, rakes, and libertines, who participated in the ideas
of the time, conceived that power was vested in the Commons,
and, caring very little for legal order or the absolute sovereignty of the king, troubled themselves only for their own
success, and sought it whenever they caught a glimpse of any
means of influence or power. These formed a party which
became allied with the national discontented party, and
Clarendon was overthrown.
Thus arose a new system of government, namely, that of
that portion of the royalist party which I have now described:
profligates and libertines formed the ministry, which is called
the ministry of the Cabal, and many other administrations
which succeeded it. This was their character: no care
for principles, laws, or rights; as little for justice and for
truth; they sought upon each occasion to discover the
means of succeeding: if success depended upon the influence
of the Commons, they chimed in with their opinions; if it
seemed expedient to flout the House of Commons, they did
so, and begged its pardon on the morrow. Corruption was
R2




244


HISTORY OF


tried one day, flattery of the national spirit, another; there
was no regard paid to the general interests of the country, to
its dignity, or to its honour; in a word, their government
was profoundly selfish and immoral, a stranger to all public
doctrine or views; but, at bottom, and in the practical administration of affairs, very intelligent and liberal. Such was the
character of the Cabal, of the ministry of the earl of Danby,
and of the entire English government, from 1667 to 1679.
Notwithstanding its immorality, notwithstanding its contempt
of the principles and the true interests of the country, this
government was less odious and less unpopular than the ministry of Clarendon had been: and why? because it was
much better adapted to the times, and because it better understood the sentiments of the people, even in mocking
them. It was not antiquated and foreign to them, like that ot
Clarendon; and though it did the country much more harm,
the country found it more agreeable. Nevertheless, there
came a moment when corruption, servility, and contempt or
rights and public honour were pushed to such a point that
the people could no longer remain resigned. There was a
general rising against the government of the profligates. A
national and patriotic party had formed itself in the bosom of
the House of Commons. The king decided upon calling its
chiefs to the council. Then came to the direction of affairs
lord Essex, the son of him who had commanded the first
parliamentary armies during the civil war, lord Russell, and
a man who, without having any of their virtues, was far
superior to them  in political ability, lord Shaftesbury.
Brought thus to the management of affairs, the national
party showed itself incompetent; it knew not how to possess
itself of the moral force of the country; it knew not how tf
treat the interests either of the king, the court, or of any of
those with whom it had to do. It gave to no one, neither to
the people nor to the king, any great notion of its ability and
energy. After remaining a short time in power, it failed.
The virtue of its chiefs, their generous courage, the nobleness
of their deaths, have exalted them in history, and have justly
placed them in the highest rank; but their political capacity
did not answer to their virtue, and they knew not how to
wield the power which could not corrupt them, nor to secure
the triumph of the cause for the sake of which they knew
how to die.




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This attempt having failed, you perceive the condition ot
the English restoration; it had, after a manner, and like the
revolution, tried all parties and all ministries, the legal
ministry, the corrupted ministry, and the national ministry;
but none had succeeded. The country and the court found
themselves in much the same situation as that of England in
1653, at the end of the revolutionary tempest. Recourse
was had to the same expedient; what Cromwell had done for
the good of the revolution, Charles II. did for the good of his
crown: he entered the career of absolute power.
James II. succeeded his brother. Then a second question
was added to that of absolute power; namely, the question of
religion. James II. desired to bring about the triumph of
popery as well as that of despotism. I-ere, then, as at the
beginning of the revolution, we have a religious and a
political warfare, both directed against the government. It
has often been asked, whet would have happened had
William III. never existed, or had he not come with his
Hollanders to put an end to the quarrel which had arisen
between James II. and the English nation? I firmly believe
that the same event would have been accomplished. All
England, except a very small party, had rallied, at this epoch,
against James, and, under one form or another, it would have
accomplished the revolution of 1688. But this crisis was
produced by other and higher causes than the internal state
of England. It was European as well as English. It is here
that the English revolution connects itself by facts themselves,
and independently of the influence which its example may
have had, with the general course of European civilization.
While this struggle, which I have sketched in outline, this
struggle of absolute power against civil and religious liberty,
was taking place in England, a struggle of the same kind
was going on upon the continent, very different, indeed, as
regards the actors, forms, and theatre, but at bottom the
same, and originated by the same cause. The pure monarchy
of Louis XIV. endeavoured to become an universal monarchy;
at least it gave reason for the fear that such was the case; and in
fact, Europe did fear that it was. A league was made in Europe,
between various political parties, in order to resist this attempt, and the chief of this league was the chief of the party
in favour of civil and religious liberty upon the continent,




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IIISTORY OF


William, prince of Orange.  The protestant republic of
Holland, with William at its head, undertook to resist the
pure monarchy represented and conducted by Louis XIV.
It was not civil and religious liberty in the interior of the
states, but their external independence which was apparently
the question.  Louis XIV. and his adversaries did not
imagine that, in fact, they were contesting between them the
question which was being contested in England.   This
struggle went on, not between parties, but between states; it
proceeded by war and diplomacy, not by political movements
and by revolutions. But, at bottom, one and the same question was at issue.
When, therefore, James II. resumed in England the contest
between absolute power and liberty, this contest occurred just
in the midst of the general struggle which was going on in
Europe between Louis XIV. and the prince of Orange, the
representatives, severally, of the two great systems at war upon
the banks of the Scheldt, as well as on those of the Thames.
The league was so powerful against Louis XIV. that, openly,
or in a hidden but very real manner, sovereigns were seen
to enter it, wlho were assuredly very far from being interested in favour of civil and religious liberty. The emperor
of Germany and pope Innocent XI. supported William III.
against Louis XIV.   William  passed into England, less
in order to serve the internal interests of the country than
to draw it completely into the struggle against Louis XIV.
HIe took this new kingdom as a new power of which he was
in want, and of which his opponent had, up to that time,
made use against him. While Charles II. and James II.
reigned, IEngland belonged to Louis XIV.; he had directed
its external relations, and had constantly opposed it to Holland.  England was now snatched from the party of pure
and universal monarchy, in order to become the instrument
and strongest support of the party of religious liberty. This
is the European aspect of the revolution of 1688; it was
thus that it occupied a place in the total result of the
events of Europe, independently of the part which it played
by means of its example, and the influence which it exercised
upon minds in the following century.
Thus you see that, as I told you in the beginning, thle
true meaning and essential character of this revolution was




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.            247
the attempt to abolish absolute power in temporal as well as
spiritual things. This act discovers itself in all the phases
of the revolution-in its first period up to the restoration,
in the second up to the crisis of 1688-and whether we
consider it in its internal development or in its relations with
Europe in general.
It now remains for us to study the same great event upon
the continent, the struggle of pure monarchy and free inquiry,
or, at least, its causes and approaches. This will be the
subject of our next lecture




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FOURTEENTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Difference and likeness between the progress of civilization in England and on the Continent-Preponderance of France in
Europe in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries-In the seventeenth
century by reason of the French government-In the eighteenth by
reason of the country itself-Of the government of Louis X1 V.-Of his
wars-Of his diplomacy-Of his administration-Of his legislationCauses of his rapid decline-Of France in the eighteenth centuryEssential characteristics of the philosophical revolution-Conclusion of
the course.
IN my last lecture I endeavoured      to determine the true
character and political meaning of the English revolution.
We have seen that it was the first shock of the two great
facts to which all the civilization of primitive Europe reduced
itself in the course of the sixteenth century, namely, pure
monarchy, on one hand, and free inquiry on the other; those
two powers came to strife for the first time in England.
Attempts have been made to infer from this fact the existence
of a radical difference between the social state of England
and that of the continent; some have pretended that no comparison was possible between countries of destinies so different; they have affirmed that the English people had
existed in a kind of moral isolation analogous to its material
situation.
It is true that there had been an important difference
between English civilization, and the civilization of the continental states,-a difference which we are bound to calculate.
You have already, in the course of my lectures, been enabled
to catch a glimpse of it. The development of the different
principles and elements of society occurred in England simul



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249


taneously, and, as it were, abreast; at least, far more so than
upon the continent. When I attempted to determine the
peculiar physiognomy of European civilization as compared
with the ancient and Asiatic civilizations, I showed you
the first varied, rich, and complex; that it never fell
under the dominion of an exclusive principle; that therein
the various elements of the social state were modified, combined, and struggled with each other, and had been constantly
compelled to agree and live in common. This fact, the general
characteristic of European civilization, has above all characterized the English civilization; it was in England that this
character developed itself with the most continuity and
obviousness; it was there that the civil and religious orders,
aristocracy, democracy, royalty, local and central institutions,
moral and political developments, progressed and increased
together, pell-mell, so to speak, and if not with an equal
rapidity, at least always within a short distance of each other.
Under the reign of the Tudors, for instance, in the midst of
the most brilliant progress of pure monarchy, we see the
democratical principle, the popular power, arising and strengthening itself at the same time. The revolution of the seventeenth century burst forth; it was at the same time religious
and political.  The feudal aristocracy appeared here in
a very weakened condition, and with all the symptoms of
decline: nevertheless, it was ever in a position to preserve a
place and play an important part therein, and to take its
share in the results. It is the same with the entire course of
English history: never has any ancient element completely
perished; never has any new element wholly triumphed, or
any special principle attained to an exclusive preponderance.
There has always been a simultaneous development of different forces, a compromise between their pretensions and
their interests.
Upon the continent, the progress of civilization has been
much less complex and complete. The various elements of
society-the religious and civil orders —monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy, have developed themselves, not together
and abreast, but in succession. Each principle, each system
has had, after a certain manner, its turn. Such a century
belongs, I will not say exclusively, which would be saying
too much, but with a very marked preponderance, to feudal




250


HISTORY OF


aristocracy, for example; another belongs to the monarchical
principle; a third to the democratical system.
Compare the French with the English middle ages, the
eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth centuries of our history with
the corresponding centuries beyond the channel; you will find
that at this period, in France, feudalism was almost absolutely
sovereign, while royalty and the democratical principle were
next to nullities. Look to England: it is, indeed, the feudal
aristocracy which predominates; but royalty and democracy
were nevertheless powerful and important.
Royalty triumphed in England under Elizabeth, as in
France under Louis XIV.; but how many precautions was it
obliged to take; to how many restrictions-now from the
aristocracy, now from the democracy, did it submit! In
England, also, each system and each principle has had its day
of power and success; but never so completely, so exclusively,
as upon the continent; the conqueror has always been compelled to tolerate the preserve of his rivals, and to allow each
his share.
With the differences in the progress of the two civilizations, are connected advantages and disadvantages, which
manifest themselves, in fact, in the history of the two
countries. There can be no doubt, for instance, but that
this simultaneous development of the different social elements
greatly contributed to carry England, more rapidly than any
other of the continental states, to the final aim of all societynamely, the establishment of a government at once regular
and free. It is precisely the nature of a government to concern itself for all interests and all powers, to reconcile them,
and to induce them to live and prosper in common; now,
such, beforehand, by the concurrence of a multitude of causes,
was the disposition and relation of the different elements of
English society: a general and somewhat regular government
had therefore less difficulty in becoming constituted there.
So, the essence of liberty is the manifestation and simultaneous action of all interests, rights, powers, and social
elements. England was therefore much nearer to its possession than the majority of other states. For the same reasons,
national good sense, the comprehension of public affairs,
necessarily formed themselves there more rapidly than elsewhere; political good sense consists in knowing how to esti



CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


251


mate all facts, to appreciate them, and render to each its
'share of consideration; this, in England, was a necessity ot
the social state, a natural result of the course of civilization.
On the other hand, in the continental states, each system,
each principle having had its turn, having predominated
after a more complete and more exclusive manner, its development was wrought upon a larger scale, and with more grandeur and brilliancy. Royalty and feudal aristocracy, for
instance, came upon the continental stage with far greater
boldness, extension, and freedom. Our political experiments,
so to speak, have been broader and more finished: the result
of this has been that political ideas (I speak of general ideas,
and not of good sense applied to the conduct of affairs) and
political doctrines have risen higher, and displayed themselves
with much more rational vigour. Each system having, in
some measure, presented itself alone, and having remained a
long time upon the stage, men have been enabled to consider
it in its entirety, to mount up to its first principles, to fbllow
it out into its last consequences, and fully to unfold its
theory. Whoever attentively observes the English character,
must be struck with a twofold fact-on the one hand, with
the soundness of its good sense and its practical ability; on
the other, with its lack of general ideas, and its pride as to
theoretical questions.  Whether we open a work upon
English history, upon jurisprudence, or any other subject,
it is rarely that we find the grand reason of things, the
fundamental reason.  In all things, and especially in the
political sciences, pure doctrine, philosophy, and science,
properly so called, have prospered much better on the Continent than in England; their flights have, at least, been far
more powerful and bold; and we cannot doubt but that the
different developments of civilization in the two countries
have greatly contributed to this result.
For the rest, whatever we may think of the advantages or
disadvantages which this diff'crence has entailed, it is a real
and incontestable fact, the fact which most deeply distinguishes
England from the continent. But it does not follow, because
the different principles and social elements have been there
developed more simultaneously, here more successively,
that, at bottom, the path and the goal have not been one and




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HISTORY OF


the same. Considered in their entirety, the continent and
England have traversed the same grand phases of civilization;
events have, in either, followed the same course, and the
same causes have led to the same effects. You have been
enabled to convince yourselves of this fact from the picture
which I have placed before you of civilization up to the sixteenth century, and you will equally recognise it in studying
the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The development
of free inquiry, and that of pure monarchy, almost simultaneous in England, accomplished themselves upon the continent at long intervals; but they did accomplish themselves,
and the two powers, after having successively preponderated
with splendour, came equally, at last, to blows. The general
path of societies, considering all things, has thus been the
same, and though the points of difference are real, those of
resemblance are more deeply seated.  A rapid sketch of
modern times will leave you in no doubt upon this subject.
Glancing over the history of Europe in the seventeenth
and eighteenth centuries, it is impossible not to perceive that
France has advanced at the head of European civilization.
At the beginning of this work I have already insisted upon
this fact, and I have endeavoured to point out its cause.
We shall now find it more striking than ever.
The principle of pure monarchy, of absolute royalty, predominated in Spain under Charles V. and Philip II., before
developing itself in France under Louis XIV. In the same
manner the principle of free inquiry had reigned in England
in the seventeenth century, before developing itself in France
in the eighteenth. Nevertheless, pure monarchy and free
inquiry came not from  Spain and England to take possession of the world. The two principles, the two systems
remained, in a manner, confined to the countries in which
they had arisen. It was necessary that they should pass
through France in order that they might extend their conquests; it was necessary that pure monarchy and free inquiry
should become French in order to become European. This
communicative character of French civilization, this social
genius of France, which has displayed itself at all periods,
was thus more than ever manifest at the period with which we
now occupy ourselves. I will not further insist upon this
fact; it has been developed to you with as much reason as




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253


brilliancy in other lectures wherein you have been called
upon to observe the influence of French literature and philosophy in the eighteenth century. You have seen that philosophic France possessed more authority over Europe, in
regard to liberty, than even free England. You have seen
that French civilization showed itself far more active and
contagious than that of any other country.  I need not,
therefore, pause upon the details of this fact, which I mention only in order to rest upon it my right to confine my
picture of modern European civilization to France alone.
Between the civilization of France and that of the other
states of Europe at this period, there have, no doubt, been
differences, which it would have been necessary to bear in
mind, if my present purpose had been a full and faithful exposition of the history of those civilizations; but I must go
on so rapidly that I am compelled to omit entire nations and
ages, so to speak. I choose rather to concentrate your attention for a moment upon the course of French civilization, an
image, though imperfect, of the general course of things in
Europe.
The influence of France in Europe, during the seventeenth
and eighteenth centuries, presents itself under very different
aspects. In the former, it was French government that
acted upon Europe, and advanced at the head of general
civilization. In the latter it was no longer to the government, but France herself, that the preponderance belonged.
In the first case, it was Louis XIV. and his court, afterwards France and her opinion, that governed minds and
attracted attention. In the seventeenth century there were
peoples who, as peoples, appeared more prominently upon
the scene, and took a greater part in events, than the French
people. Thus during the thirty years war, the German
nation, in the English revolution, the English people, played,
in their own destinies, a much greater part than was played,
at this period, by the French, in theirs.  So, also, in the
eighteenth century, there were governments stronger, of
greater consideration, and more to be dreaded, than the
French government. No doubt Frederick II., Catherine II.,
and Maria Theresa, had more influence and weight in Europe
than Louis XV.; nevertheless, at both periods, it was
France that was at the head of European civilization, placed




2,54


IIISTORY OF


there, first, by its government, afterwards, by itself; now by
the political action of its masters, now by its peculiar intellectual development.
In order to fully understand the predominant influence in
the course of civilization in France, and therefore in Europe,
we must study, in the seventeenth century, French government, in the eighteenth, French society. We must change
the plan and the drama according as time alters the stage
and the actors.
When wve occupy ourselves with the government of Louis
XIV., when we endeavour to appreciate the causes of his
power and influence in Europe, we scarcely think of anything but his renown, his conquests, his magnificence, and
the literary glory of his time. It is to external causes that
we apply ourselves, and attribute the European preponderance of the French government. But I conceive that
this preponderance had deeper and more serious foundations. We must not believe that it was simply by means of
victories, fetes, or even master-works of genius, that Louis
XIV. and his government, at this epoch, played the part
which it is impossible to deny them.
Many of you may remember, and all of you have heard
speak of the effect which the consular government produced
in France twenty-nine years ago, and of the condition in
whicl it found our country.   Without, was impending
foreign invasion, and continual disasters were occurring in
our armies; within, was an almost complete dissolution of
power and of the people; there were no revenues, no public
order; in a word, society was prostrate, humiliated, and disorganised: such was France on the advent of the consulate
government. Who does not recal the prodigious and fellicitous activity of this government, that activity which, in a
little time, secured the independence of the land, revived
national honour, reorganized the administration, remodelled
the legislation, and, after a manner, regenerated society under
the hand of power?
Well, the government of Louis XIV., when it commenced,
did something analogous to this for France; with great difference of times, proceedings, and forms, it pursued and
attained nearly the same results.
Recal to your memory the state into which France was




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255


fallen after the government of cardinal Richelieu, and during
the minority of Louis XIV.: the Spanish armies always on
the frontiers, sometimes in the interior; continual danger of
an invasion; internal dissensions urged to extremity, civil
war, the government weak and discredited at home and
abroad.  Society was perhaps in a less violent, but still
sufficiently analogous state to ours, prior to the eighteenth
Brumaire. It was from this state that the government of
Louis XIV. extricated France. His first victories had the
effect of the victory of Marengo: they secured the country,
and retrieved the national honour. I am about to consider
this government under its principal aspects-in its wars, in
its external relations, in its administration, and in its legislation; and you will see, I imagine, that the comparison of which
I speak, and to which I attach no puerile importance (for I
think very little of the value of' historical parallels), you will
see, I say, that this comparison has a real foundation, and
that I have a right to employ it.
First of all let us speak of the wars of Louis XIV. The
wars of Europe have originated, as you know, and as I have
often taken occasion to remind you, in great popular movements. Urged by necessity, caprice, or any other cause,
entire populations, sometimes numerous, sometimes in simple
bands, have transported themselves from  one territory to
another. This was the general character of European wars
until after the crusades, at the end of the thirteenth century.
At that time began a species of wars scarcely less different
from modern wars than the above. These were the distant
wars, undertaken no longer by the people, but by governments, which went at the head of their armies to seek states
and adventures afar off. They quitted their countries, abandoned their own territories, and plunged, some into Germany,
others into Italy, and others into Africa, with no other motives than personal caprice. Almost all the wars of the
fifteenth and even of a part of the sixteenth century were
of this description. Wvhat interest —I speak not of a
legitimate interest —but what possible motive had France
that Charles VIII. should possess the kingdom of Naples?
This evidently was a war dictated by no political consideration: the king conceived that he had a personal right
to the kingdom  of Naples, and with a personal aim, and




256


HISTORY OF


to satisfy his personal desire, he undertook the conquest of a
distant country, which was in no way adapted for annexation
to his kingdom; which, on the contrary, did nothing but
compromise his power externally, and internally, his repose.
It was the same with the expedition of Charles the Fifth to
Africa. The latest war of this kind was the expedition of
Charles XII. against Russia. The wars of Louis XIV. had
no such character; they were the wars of a regular government, fixed in the centre of' its states, and labouring to make
conquests around it, to extend or consolidate its territory; in
a word, they were political wars.
They may have been just or unjust; they may have cost
France too dearly; there are a thousand reasons which might
be adduced against their morality and their excess; but they
bear a character incomparably more rational than the antecedent wars: they were no longer undertaken for whim or adventure; they were dictated by some serious motive; it was
some natural limit that it seemed desirable to attain; some
population speaking the same language that they aimed at
annexing; some point of defence against a neighbouring
power, which it was thought necessary to acquire. No doubt
personal ambition had a share in these wars; but examine one
after another of the wars of Louis XIV., particularly those of
the first part of his reign, and you will find that they had truly
political motives; and that they were conceived for the interest
of France, for obtaining power, and for the country's safety.
The results are proofs of the fact. France of the present day
is still, in many respects, what the wars of Louis XIV. have
made it. The provinces which he conquered, Franche-Comte,
Flanders, and Alsace, remain yet incorporated with France.
There are sensible as well as senseless conquests: those of
Louis XIV. were of the former species; his enterprises have
not the unreasonable and capricious character which, up to
his time, was so general; a skilful, if not always just and- wise
policy, presided over them.
Leavingf the wars of Louis XIV., and passing to the consideration of his relations with foreign states, of his diplomacy,
properly so called, I find an analogous result. I have insisted
upon the occurrence of the birth of diplomacy in Europe at the
end of the fifteenth century. I have endeavoured to show how
the relations of governments and states between themselves




CIVILiZATION IN EtROpE.


257.' to that time accidental, rare, and transitory, became at
b   period more regular and enduring; how they took a
t-avcter of great public interest; how, in a word, at the end
d tie fifteenth, and during the first half of the sixteenth century, diplomacy came to play an immense part in events.
Nevertheless, up to the seventeenth century, it had not Been,
truly speaking, systematic; it had not led to long alliances,
or to great, and above all, durable combinations, directed,
according to fixed principles, towards a constant aim, withl
that spirit of continuity which is the true character of established governments. During the course of the religious
revolution, the external relations of states were almost completely under the power of the religious interest; the Protestant and Catholic leagues divided Europe. It was in the
seventeenth century, after the treaty of Westphalia, and under
the influence of the government of Louis XIV., that diplomacy changed its character. It then escaped from the exclusive influences of the religious principle; alliances and
political combinations were formed upon other considerations.
At the same time it became much more systematic, regular,
and constantly directed towards a certain aim, according to
permanent principles. The regular origin of this system of
balance in Europe belongs to this period. It was under
the government of Louis XIV. that the system, together
with all the considerations attached to it, truly took,possession of European policy. When we investigate what was the
general idea in regard to this subject, what was the predominating principle of the policy of Louis XIV., I believe that
the following is what we discover:
I have spoken of the great struggle between the pure
monarchy of Louis XIV., aspiring to become universal
nonarchy, and civil and religious liberty, and the independence of states, under the direction of the prince of
Orange, William III. You have seen that the great fact of
tbis period was the division of the powers under these two
tenners. But this fact was not then estimated as we estimate
it now; it was hidden and unknown even to those who accomplshed it; the suppression of the system of pure monarchy
and the consecration of civil and religious liberty was at
bottom, the necessary result of the resistance of Holland and
its allies to Louis XIV.; but the question was not thus
__.. _         s5




CIVILIZATION IN EUOPE.


up to that time accidental, rare, and transitory, 
this period more regular and enduring; how th
character of great public interest; how, in a word,
of the fifteenth, and during the first half of the sixtec
tury, diplomacy came to play an immense part in
Nevertheless, up to the seventeenth century, it had n(
truly speaking, systematic; it had not led to long all.
or to great, and above all, durable combinations, dir.
according to fixed principles, towards a constant aim,
that spirit of continuity which is the true character of e
blished governments.  During the course of the religi,
revolution, the external relations of states were almost cor
pletely under the power of the religious interest; the Pro
testant and Catholic leagues divided Europe. It was in the
seventeenth century, after the treaty of Westphalia, and under
the influence of the government of Louis XIV., that diplomacy changed its character. It then escaped from the exclusive influences of the religious principle; alliances and
political combinations were formed upon other considerations.
At the same time it became much more systematic, regular,
and constantly directed towards a certain aim, according to
permanent principles. The regular origin of this system of
balance in Europe belongs to this period. It was under
the government of Louis XIV. that the system, together
with all the considerations attached to it, truly took possession of European policy. When we investigate what was the
general idea in regard to this subject, what was the predominating principle of the policy of Louis XIV., I believe that
the following is what we discover:
I have spoken of the great struggle between the pure
nonarchy of Louis XIV., aspiring to become universal
nonarchy, and civil and religious liberty, and the inde-,endence of states, under the direction of the prince of
)range, William III. You have seen that the great fact of
his period was the division of the powers under these two
anners. But this fact was not then estimated as we estimate
now; it was hidden and unknown even to those who accomlished it; the suppression of the system of pure monarchy
id the consecration of civil and religious liberty was, at
)ttom, the necessary result of the resistance of Holland and
s allies to Louis XIV.; but the question was not thus
s




HISTORY OF


lunciated between absolute power and liberty.,en often said that the propagation of absolute
i the predominant principle of the diplomacy of
V.; but I do not believe it. This consideration.o very great part in his policy, until latterly, in his
Thie power of France, its preponderance in Europe,.nbling of rival powers, in a word, the political interest
trength of the state, was the aim which Louis XIV.
antly pursued, whether in fighting against Spain, tlhe
eror of Germany, or England; he acted far less with a
xv to the propagation of absolute power than from a desire
' the power and aggrandizement of France and of its
government. Among many proofs, I will adduce one which
emanates from Louis XIV. himself. In his Memoirs, under
the year 1666, if I remember right, we find a note nearly
in these words:"I have had, this morning, a conversation with Mr. Sidney,
an English gentleman, who maintained to me the possibility
of reanimating the republican party in England. Mr. Sidney
demanded from me, for that purpose, 400,000 livres. I told
him that I could give no more than 200,000. IHe induced
me to summon from Switzerland another English gentleman, nanled Ludlow, and to converse with him of the same
design."
And, accordingly, we find among the Memoirs of Ludlow,
about the same date, a paragraph to this effect:"I have received from the French government an invitation to go to Paris, in order to speak of the affairs of my
coultry; but I am distrustful of that government."
And Luidlow remained in Switzerland.
You see that the( diminution of the royal power in England
was, at this time, the aim of Louis XIV.  I-He fomented
internal dissensions, and laboured to resuscitate the republicain party, to prevent Charles II. from becoming too powertui in his country.  During the embassy of Barillon in
I linland, the same fact constantly reappears.  Whenever
taec authority of Charles seemed to obtain the advantage, and
thle national party seemed on the point of being crushed, the
Fr.el.:h  b ambassador directed his influence to this side, gave
nlloil'y to the chiefs of the opposition, and fought, in a word,
agai nst absolute power, when that became' a means of




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


259


weakening a rival power to France. Whenever you attentively consider the conduct of external relations under
Louis XIV., it is with this fact that you will be the most
struck.
You will also be struck with the capacity and skill of
French diplomacy at this period. The names of M.M. de
Torcy, d'Avaux, de Bonrepos, are known to all well-informed
persons. When we compare the despatches, the memoirs,
the skill and conduct of these counsellors of Louis XIV. with
those of Spanish, Portuguese, and German negotiators, we
must be struck with the superiority of the French ministers;
not only as regards their earnest activity and their application to affairs, but also as regards their liberty of spirit.
These courtiers of an absolute king judged of external events,
of parties, of the requirements of liberty, and of popular revolutions, much better even than the majority of the English ministers themselves at this period. There was no diplomacy in
Europe, in the seventeenth century, which appears equal to
the French, except the Dutch. The ministers of John de Witt
and of William of Orange, those illustrious chiefs of the
party of civil and religious liberty, were the only ministers
who seemed in condition to wrestle with the servants of the
great and absolute king.
You see, then, that whether we consider the wars of
Louis XIV., or his diplomatical relations, we arrive at the
same results. We can easily conceive that a government
which conducted its wars and negotiations in this manner,
should have assumed a high standing in Europe, and presented itself therein, not only as drcadworthy, but as skilful
and imposing.
Let us now consider the interior of France, the administration and legislation of Louis XIV.; we shall there discern
new explanations of the power and splendour of his government.
It is difficult to determine with any degree of precision,
what we ought to understand by administration in the government of a state. Nevertheless, when we endeavour to investigate this fact, we discover, I believe, that, under the most
general point of view, administration consists in an aggrelgate
of means destined to propel, as promptly and certainly as
possible, the will of the central power through all parts of
s2




260


HISTORY OF


society, and to make the force of society, whether consisting
of men or money, return again, under the same conditions,
to the central power. This, if I mistake not, is the true aim,
the predominant characteristic of administration. Accordingly we find that in times when it is above all things needful
to establish unity and order in society, administration is the
chief means of attaining this end, of' bringing together, of
cementing, and of uniting incoherent and scattered elements.
Such, in fact, was the work of the administration of Louis XIV.
Up to this time, there had been nothing so difficult, in France
as in the rest of Europe, as to effect the penetration of the
action of the central power into all parts of society, and to
gather into the bosom of the central power the means of force
existing in society.  To this end Louis XIV. laboured, and
succeeded, up to a certain point; incomparably better, at least,
than preceding governments had done. I cannot enter into
details: just run over, in thought, all kinds of public services, taxes, roads, industry, military administration, all the
establishments which belong to whatsoever branch of' adninistration; there is scarcely one of which you do not find either
the origin, development, or great amelioration under Louis
XIV. It was as administrators that the greatest men of his
time, Colbert and Louvois, displayed their genius and exercised their ministry. It was by the excellence of its administration that his government acquired a generality, decision,
and consistency which were wanting to all the European
governments around him.
Under the legislative point of view, this reign presents to
you the same fact. I return to the comparison which I have
already made use of, to the legislative activity of the consular
government, to its prodigious work of revising and generally
recasting the laws. A work of the same nature took place
under Louis XIV.   The great ordinances which he promulgated, the criminal ordinance, the ordinances of procedure,
commerce, the riarine, waters, and woods, are true codes,
which were constructed in the same manner as our codes,
discussed in tle council of state, some of them under the
presidency of Lamoignon.  There are men whose glory consists in having taken part in this labour and this discussion,
M. Pussort, for instance. If we were to consider it in
itself, we should have much to say against the legislation of




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261


Louis XIV.; it was full of vices, which now fully declare
themselves, and which no one can deny; it was not conceived in the interest of true justice and of liberty, but
in the interest of public order, and for giving more regularity and firmness to the laws. But even that was a great
progress; and we cannot doubt but that the ordinances of
Louis XIV., so very superior to anything preceding them,
powerfully contributed to advance French society in the
career of civilization.
You see that under whatever point of view we regard this
government, we very soon discover the source of its power
and influence. It was the first government that presented
itself to the eyes of Europe as a power sure of its position,
which had not to dispute its existence with internal enemies
-tranquil as to its dominions and the people, and intent
only on governing. Up to that time, all European governments had been unceasingly thrown into wars, which deprived them of security as well as leisure, or had been
so beset with parties and internal enemies, that they were
compelled to spend their time in fighting for their lives.
The government of Louis XIV. appeared as the first which
applied itself solely to the conduct of affairs, as a power
at once definitive and progressive; which was not afraid of
innovating, because it could count upon the future.  There
have, in fact, existed very few governments of such an innovating spirit.  Compare it with a government of the same
nature, with the pure monarchy of Philip II. in Spain; it
was more absolute than that of Louis XIV., and yet far less
regular and less tranquil. But how did Philip II. succeed
in establishing absolute power in Spain? By stifling the
activity of the country, by refusing to it every species of
amelioration, by rendering the condition of Spain completely
stationary. The government of Louis XIV., on the contrary, showed itself active in all kinds of innovations, favourable to the progress of letters, of arts, of riches, and, in a
word, of civilization.  These are the true causes of its preponderance in Europe; a preponderance such that it became
upon the continent, during the whole of the seventeenth century, the type of government, not only for sovereigns, but
even for nations.
And now we inquire-and it is impossible to help doing




262


IIISTORY OF


so-haw it happened that a power, thus brilliant, and, judge
ing from the facts which I have placed before you, thus well
established, so rapidly fell into decline? how, after having
played such a part in Europe, it became, in the next century,
so inconsistent, wea, and inconsiderable? The fact is incontestable. In the seventeenth century the French government
was at the head of European civilization; in the eighteenth
century it disappeared; and it was French society, separated
from its government, often even opposed to it, that now preceded and guided the European world in its progress.
It is here that we discover the incorrigible evil and the infallible effect of absolute power. I will not go into any
detail concerning the faults of the government of Louis XIV.;
he committed many: I will speak neither of the war of the
Spanish succession, nor of the revocation of the edict of
Nantes, nor of excessive expenses, nor of many other of the
fital measures that compromised his fortunes. I will take the
merits of the government as I have described them.  I
will agree that perhaps there has never existed an absolute
power more fully recognised by its age and nation, nor one
which has rendered more real services to the civilization of
its country and of Europe in general. But, by the very fact
that this government had no other principle than absolute
power, and reposed upon no other base than this, its decline became sudden and well merited. What France, under Louis XIV.,
essentially wanted, was political institutions and forces, independent, subsisting of themselves, and, in a word, capable of
spontaneous action and resistance. The ancient French institutions, if they merited that name, no longer existed: Louis
XIV. completed their ruin. IHe took no care to endeavour to
replace them by new institutions; they would have cramped
him, and he did not choose to be cramped. All that appeared
conspicuous at that period was will, and the action of central
power. The government of Louis XIV. was a great fact, a
fact powerful and splendid, but without roots. Free institutions are a guarantee, not only of the wisdorm of governments, but also of their duration. No system can endure
except by means of institutions. When absolute power has
endured, it has been supported by true institutions, sometimes
by the division of society into strongly distinct castes, sometimes by a system of religious institutions. Under the reign




CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.


263


of Louis XIV. institutions were wanting to power as well as
to liberty. In France, at this period, nothing guaranteed
either the country against the illegitimate actions of the
government, or the government itself against the inevitable
action of time. Thus we see the government helping on
its own decay. It was not Louis XIV. alone who was be
coming aged and weak at the end of his reign: it was the
whole absolute power. Pure monarchy was as much worn
out in 1712 as was the monarcl himself: and the evil was so
much the more grave, as Louis XIV. had abolished political
morals as well as political institutions. There are no political
morals without independence. H-e alone who feels that he
has a strength of his own is always capable either of serving
or opposing power. Energetic characters disappear with independent situations, and dignity of soul alone gives birth to
security of rights.
This, then, is the state in which Louis XIV. left France
and  power: a society in full development of riches,
power, and all kinds of intellectual activity; and, side by
side with this progressive society, a government essentially stationary, having no means of renewing itself, of
adapting itself to the movement of its people; devoted, after
half a century of the greatest splendour, to immobility and
weakness, and already, during the life of its founder, fallen
into a decline which seemed like dissolution.  Such was the
condition of France at the conclusion of the seventeenth century, a condition which impressed the epoch that followed with
a direction and a character so different.
I need hardly say that the onward impulse of the human
mind, that free inquiry was the predominating feature, the
essential fact of the eighteenth century. You have already
heard much concerning this fact from this chair; already you
have heard that powerful epoch characterised by a philosophical orator, and by that of an eloquent philosopher. I
cannot pretend, in the short space of time which remains to
me, to trace all the phases of the great moral revolution
which then accomplished itself. I would, nevertheless, fain
not leave you without calling your attention to some cha -
racteristics which have been too little remarked upon.
The first,-one which strikes me most, and which I have
already mentioned, is the, so to speak, almost complete disap



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IIISTORY OF


pearance of the government in the course of the eighteenth
century, and the appearance of the human mind as the principal and almost the only actor.
Except in that which is connected with external relations under the ministry of the due de Choiseul, and in certain great concessions made to the general tendency of
opinion, for instance, in the American war; except, I say,
in some events of this nature, perhaps there has scarcely ever
been so inactive, apathetic, and inert a government as was the
French government of this period. Instead of the energetic,
ambitious government of Louis XIV., which appeared everywhere, and put itself at the head of everything, you have
a government which laboured only to hide itself, to keep itself
in the background, so weak and compromised did it feel itself
to be.  Activity and ambition had passed over wholly to
the people. It was the nation, which, by its opinion and its
intellectual movement, mingled itself with all things, interfered in all, and, in short, alone possessed moral authority,
which is the only true authority.
A second characteristic which strikes me, in the condition
of the human mind in the eighteenth century, is the universality of free inquiry. Up to that time, and particularly in
the seventeenth century, free inquiry had been exercised
within a limited and partial field; it had had for its object
sometimes religious questions, sometimes religious and political questions together, but it did not extend its pretensions
to all subjects. In the eighteenth century, on the contrary, the
character of free ini inquiry is universality; religion, politics, pure
philosophy, man and society, moral and material nature, all
at the same time became the object of study, doubt, and system; ancient sciences were overturned, new sciences were
called into existence. The movement extended itself in all
directions, although it had emanated from one and the same
impulse.
This movement, moreover, had a peculiar character;
one which, perhaps, is not to be met elsewhere' in the
history of the world: it was purely speculative. Up to that
time, in all great human revolutions, action had commingled
itself with speculation.  Thus, in the sixteenth century, the
religious revolution  n ean with ideas, with purely intellectual
discussions, but it very soon terminated in events. The heads




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265


of intellectual parties soon became the heads of political parties;
the realities of life were mixed with the labour of the understanding. Thus, too, it happened in the seventeenth century,
in the English revolution. But in France, in the eighteenth
century, you find the human spirit exercising itself upon ail
things, upon ideas which, connecting themselves with the
real interests of life, seemed calculated to have the most
prompt and powerful influence upon facts. Nevertheless, the
leaders and actors of these great discussions remained strangers to all species of practical activity-mere spectators, who
observed, judged, and spoke, without ever interfering in
events. At no other time has the government of facts, of
external realities, been so completely distinct from the government of' minds. The separation of the spiritual and tenperal orders was never completely real in Europe until the
eighteenth century. For the first time, perhaps, the spiritual
order developed itself wholly apart from the temporal order:
an important fact, and one which exercised a prodigious
influence upon the course of events. It gave to the ideas of
the time a singular character of ambition and inexperience;
never before had philosophy aspired so strongly to rule the
world, never had philosophy been so little acquainted with the
world. It became obvious that a day must arrive for coming
to facts; for the intellectual movement to pass into external
events; and as they had been totally separated, their meeting
was the more difficult, the shock far more violent.
How can we now be surprised with another character of
the condition of the human mind at this epoch, I mean its
prodigious boldness?  Up to that time its greatest activity
had always been confined by certain barriers; the mind of
man had always existed amidst facts, whereof some inspired it with caution, and, to a certain extent, checked its
movements. In the eighteenth century, I should be at a loss
to say what external facts the human mind respected, or what
external facts exercised any empire over it: it hated or
despised the entire social state. It concluded, therefore, that
it was called upon to reform all things; it came to consider
itself a sort of creator; institutions, opinions, manners, society,
and man himself, all seemed to require reform, and human
reason charged itself with the enterprise. What audacity
equal to this had ever before been imagined by it!




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HISTORY OF


Such was the power which, in the course of the
eighteenth century, confronted what still remained of the
government of Louis XIV. You perceive that it was impossible to avoid the occurrence of a shock between these
two so unequal forces. The predominant fact of the English
revolution, the struggle between free inquiry and pure
monarchy, was now also to burst forth in France. No doubt
the differences were great, and these necessarily perpetuated
themselves in the results; but, at bottom, the general conditions were similar, and the definitive event had the same
meaning.
I do not pretend to exhibit the infinite consequences of
this struggle. The time for concluding this course of lectures
has arrived; I must check myself. I merely desire, before
leaving you, to call your attention to the most grave, and, in
my opinion, the most instructive fact which was revealed to us
by this great struggle. This is the danger, the evil, and
the insurmountable vice of absolute power, whatever form,
whatever name it may bear, and towards whatever aim it
may direct itself. You have seen that the government of
Louis XIV. perished by almost this cause only. Well, the
power which succeeded it, the human mind, the true sovereign of the eighteenth century, suffered the same fate; in
its turn, it possessed an almost absolute power; it, in its turn,
placed an excessive confidence in itself.  Its onward impulse was beautiful, good, most useful; and were it necessary that I should express a definitive opinion, I should
say that the eighteenth century appears to me to have been
one of the greatest ages of history, that which, perhaps, has
done the greatest services for humanity, that which has in
the greatest degree aided its progress, and rendered that
progress of the most general character: were I asked to
pronounce upon it as a public administration, I should
pronounce in its favour. But it is not the less true that,
at this epoch, the human mind, possessed of absolute
power, became corrupted and misled by it; holding established facts and former ideas in an illegitimate disdain
and aversion; an aversion which carried it into error and
tyranny. The share of error and tyranny, indeed, which
mingled itself with the triumph of human reason, at the end
of this century, a portion which we cannot conceal from our



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267


selves, was very great, and which we must proclaim and not
deny; this portion of error and tyranny was chiefly the result
of the extravagance into which the mind of man had been
thrown, at this period, by the extension of his power.
It is the duty, and, I believe, it will be the peculiar merit
of our times, to know that all power, whether intellectual or
temporal, whether belonging to governments or peoples, to
philosophers or ministers, whether exercising itself in one
cause or in another, bears within itself a natural vice, a
principle of weakness and of abuse which ought to render
it limited. Now nothing but the general freedom  of all
rights, all interests, and all opinions, the free manifestation
and legal coexistence of all these forces, can ever restrain
each force and each power within its legitimate limits, prevent it from encroaching on the rest, and, in a word, cause
the real and generally profitable existence of free inquiry.
Herein consists for us the grand lesson of the struggle which
occurred at the end of the eighteenth century, between absolute temporal power and absolute spiritual power.
I have now arrived at the term which I proposed to myself.
You remember that my object, in commencing this course,
was to present you with a general picture of the development
of European civilization, from the fall of the Roman empire
to our own days. I have traversed this career very rapidly,
and without being able to inform you, far from it, of all
that was important, or to bring proofs of all that I have said.
I have been compelled to omit much, and often to request
you to believe me upon my word. I hope, nevertheless, that
I have attained my aim, which was to mark the grand crises
in the development of modern society. Allow me yet one
word more.
I endeavoured, in the beginning, to define civilization, and
to describe the fact which bears this name. Civilization
seemed to me to consist of two principal facts: the development of human society, and that of man himself; on the one
hand, political and social development; on the other, internal
and moral development. I have confined myself so far to
the history of society.  I have presented civilization only
under the social point of view; and have said nothing of the
development of man himself. I have not endeavoured to
unfold to you the history of opinions, of the moral progress




268       HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE.
of humanity. I propose, when we meet again, to confine
myself especially to France, to study with you the history of
French civilization; to study it in detail, and under its
various aspects. I shall endeavour to make you acquainted,
not only with the history of society in France, but also
with that of man; to be present with you at the progress of
institutions, of opinions, and of intellectual works of all
kinds; and to arrive thus at a complete understanding of the
development of our glorious country, in its entirety. In
the past as well as in the future, our country may well lay
claim to our tenderest affections.
END OF TEE HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE,




HISTORY
OF
CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE,
from thc jaIl of tfjc   eoman 'Empire.
LECTURE THE FIRST.
Object of the course-Two methods of studying in detail tle history of
European civilization-Reasons for preferring the study of the history
of the civilization of a particular country-Reasons for studying that
of France-Of the essential facts which constitute the perfection of
civilization- Comparison of the great European nations under this
point of view-Of civilization in England-Germany-Italy-SpainFrance-French civilization is the most complete, and offers the most
faithful representation of civilization in general-That the student has
other things to bear in mind besides the mere study-Of the present
prevailing tendencies in the intellectual order - Of the prevailing
tendencies in the social order —Two problems resulting therefromTheir apparent contradiction-Our times are called upon to solve them
-A third and purely moral problem, rendered equally important by the
present state of civilization-The unjust reproaches of which it is the
object-The necessity of meeting them-All science, in the present
day, exerts a social influence-All power should tend to the moral per.fection of the individual, as well as to the improvement of society in
general.
MANY    of you will call to mind       the  nature   and aim    of
a course of lectures which were brought to a close some
months since. That course was cursory and of a general
nature. I then attempted, in a very short period of time, to
place before you an. historical view of European civilization.




270


HISTORY OF


I hastened, as it were, from point to point, confining myself
strictly to general facts and assertions, at the risk of being
sometimes misunderstood and perhaps discredited.
Necessity, as you know, imposed this method upon me; but
in spite of this necessity I should have been much pained by
the inconveniences which arose from it, had I not foreseen that
in a future course I should be enabled to remedy it; and
had I not proposed to myself; at the time, to colmplete. at
some future period, the outline which I then traced, and of
leading you to the general results which I placed before
you, by the same path which I myself had followed, an
attentive and complete study of the facts. Such is the end
at which I now aim.
Two methods offer themselves as tending to the attainment
of the proposed end. I might either recommence the course
of last summer, and review the general history of European
civilization in its whole extent, by giving in detail that which
it was impossible to give in mass, and by again passing
over with more leisurely steps that ground which before was
gone over in almost breathless haste. Or I might study the
history of civilization in a single great country, in one of the
principal European nations in which it has been developed,
and thus, by confining the field of my researches, be the
better enabled thoroughly to explore it.
The first method seemed to offer serious inconveniences.
It would be very difficult, if not impossible, to maintain any
unity in a history with so extensive a range, and which, at
the same time should be perfect in all its details. We discovered last summer, that there was a true unity running
through European civilization; but this unity is only visible
in general actions and grand results. We must ascend the
highest mountain before the petty inequalities and diversities of the surface will become invisible, and before we can
discover the general aspect, and the true and essential nature
of the entire country. When we quit general facts and wish
to look into particulars, the unity vanishes, the diversities
again appear, and in the variety of occurrences one loses
sight of both causes and effects; so that to give a detailed
history, and still to preserve some harmony, it is absolutely
necessary to narrow the field of inquiry -




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271


There is also another great objection to this method, in
the immense extent and diversity of knowledge which it
presupposes and requires both in the  speaker and   his
audience. Those who wish to trace with moderate accuracy
the course of European civilization should have a sufficiently
intimate acquaintance, not only with the events which have
passed among each people, with their history, but likewise
with their language, literature, and philosophy, in short,
with all phases of their career; a work which is evidently
almost impossible, and certainly so in the time which we
could spend upon it.
It appears to me, that by studying the history of civilization in one great European nation, I shall arrive more
quickly at the desired result. The unity of the narrative will
then, indeed, be compatible with details; there is in every
country a certain national harmony, which is the result of the
community of manners, laws, language, and events, and this
harmony is imprinted in the civilization. We may pass from
fact to fact without losing sight of the whole picture. And
lastly, though I will not say that it can easily be done, it is yet
possible to combine the knowledge necessary for such a work.
I have therefore decided upon this second method, upon
that of abandoning the general history of European civilization, in all the nations which have contributed thereto, and
confining myself to the civilization of one country, which,
if we note the differences between it and other countries,
may become, for our purpose, an image of the whole destiny
of Europe.
The choice of method being once made, that of a nation
easily follows; I have taken the history and civilization of
France. I shall certainly not deny having experienced a
sensation of pleasure while making this choice. No one
will deny that the emotions of patriotism are legitimate, provided they be sanctioned by truth and reason.  Some there
are, in the present day, who seem to fear that patriotism
suffers much from the enlargement of ideas and sentiments,
arising from the actual state of European civilization; they
predict that it will become enervated, and lose itself in cosmopolitism. I cannot share such fears. In the present day,
it will be with patriotism as with all human actions, feelings,




272


HISTORY OF


and opinions. It is condemned, I admit, incessantly to
undergo the test of publicity, of inquiry and discussion; it
is condemned no longer to remain a mere prejudice, habit, or
a blind and exclusive passion; it must give a reason for itself.
It will be oppressed by this necessity no more than any
natural and legitimate feelings are; on the contrary, it will
become refined and elevated. These are the tests to which
it must submit, and it will soar above them. I can truly
say. if any other history in Europe had appeared to nle
greater, more instructive, or better suited to represent the
general course of civilization than that of France, I should
have chosen it. But I have reasons for selecting France;
independently of the special interest which its history has for
us, France has long since been proclaimed by all Europe
the most civilized of its nations. Whenever the opinion of the
struggle has not been between the national all-love, when one
seeks the true and disinterested opinion of people in the
ideas and actions wherein it manifests itself indirectly,
without taking the form  of a controversy, we find that
France is acknowledged to be the country in which civilization has appeared in its most complete form, where it has
been most communicative, and where it has most forcibly
struck the European imagination.
And we must not suppose, that the superiority of this
country is solely attributable to the amenity of our social
relations, to the gentleness of our manners, or to that easy
and animated life which people so often come to seek among
us. There can be no doubt that it partly arises from these
attributes; but the fact of which I speak has more profound
and universal causes: it is not a fashion, as might have been
supposed when the question was concerning the civilization of
the age of Louis XIV., neither is it a popular ebullition, as
a view of our own times would lead us to suppose. The preference which the disinterested opinion of Europe accords to
French civilization is philosophically just; it is the result of
an instinctive judgment, doubtless in some measure confused,
but well based, upon the essential elements and general
nature of civilization.
You will call to mind the definition of civilization I attempted to give in the commencement of the former course
of lectures. I there sought to discover what ideas attach




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73v


themselves to this word in the common sense of men. It
appeared to me, on a reference to general opinion, that
civilization essentially consists of two principles; the improvement of the exterior and general condition of man, and
that of his inward and personal nature; in a word, in the
improvement both of society and of humanity.
And it is not these two principles of themselves, which
constitute civilization; to bring it to perfection, their intimate
and rapid union, simultaneousness, and reciprocal action, are
absolutely necessary.  I showed that if they do not always arrive conjointly-that if, at one time, the improvement
of society, and at another, that of individual man, progresses
more quickly or extends further, they are not the less necessary the one to the other; they excite each other, and sooner
or later will amalgamate. When one progresses for any
length of time without the other, and when their union is
long interrupted, a feeling of regret, and of a painful hiatus
and incompleteness, seizes the spectators. If an important
social improvement, a great progress in material well being is
manifested among a people without being accompanied by
intellectual improvement, or an analogous progression in
mind; the social improvement seems precarious, inexplicable,
and almost unjust. One asks what general ideas have produced and justified it, or to what principles it attaches itself.
One wishes to assure oneself that it will not be limited to particular generations, to a single country; but that it will spread
and communicate itself, and that it will fill every nation.
And how can social improvement spread and communicate
itself but by ideas, upon the wings of doctrines? Ideas alone
mock at distance, pass over oceans, and everywhere make
themselves received and comprehended. Besides, such is the
noble nature of humanity, that it cannot see a great improvement in material strength, without aspiring to the moral
strength which should be joined with it and direct it; something subordinate remains imprinted on social improvement,
as long as it bears no fruit but mere physical prosperity, as
long as it does not raise the mind of man to the level of his
condition.
So, on the other hand, if any great intellectual improvement appears, unaccompanied by a social progress,. one feels
uneasy and surprised. It seems as if we saw a beautiful tree
T




27 4


HISTORY OF


devoid of fruit, or a sub bringing with it neither heat nor fertility. One feels a kind of disdain for ideas thus barren and
not seizing upon the external world. And not only do we
feel a disdain for them, but in the end we doubt their reasonable legitimacy and truth; one is tempted to believe them
chimerical, when they show themselves powerless and incapable of governing human condition. So powerfully is man
impressed with the feeling that his business upon earth is to
transform  the ideal into the actual, to reform and regulate
the world which he inhabits according to the truth he
conceives; so closely are the two great elements of civilization, social and intellectual development, bound to GnlC another;
so true is it that its perfection consists, not only in their
union, but in their simultaneousness, and in the extent,
facility, and rapidity with which they mutually evoke and
produce themselves.
Let us now endeavour to regard from this point of view
the several nations of Europe: let us investigate the particular characteristics of the civilization in each particular case,
and inquire how far these characteristics coincide with that
essential, fundamental, and sublime fact which now constitutes
for us the perfection of civilization. We shall thus discover
which of the various kinds of European civilization is the
most complete, and the most conformable to the general type
of civilization, and, consequently, which possesses the best right
to our attention, and best represents the history of Europe.
I begin with England. English civilization has been especially directed towards social perfection; towards the
amelioration of the external and public condition of men;
towards the amelioration, not only of their material but also of
their moral condition; towards the introduction of more
justice, more prosperity into society; towards the development of right as well as of happiness.
Nevertheless, all things considered, in England the development of society has been more extensive and more glorious
than that of humanity; social interests and social facts have,
in England, nlaintained a more conspicuous place, and have
exercised more power than general ideas: the nation seems
greater than the individual. This is so true, that even the
philosophers of England, men who seem devoted by their profession to the development of pure intelligence-as Bacon,




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275


Locke, and the Scotch philosophers-belong to what one may
call the practical school of philosophy; they concern themselves, above all things, with direct and positive results; they
trust themselves neither to the flights of the imagination, nor
to the deductions of logic: theirs is the genius of common
sense. I turn to the periods of England's greatest intellectual
activity, the periods when ideas and mental movements occupied the most conspicuous place in her history: I take the
political and religious crisis of the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries. No man is ignorant of the mighty movement which
was going on at that time in England. Can any one, however,
tell me of any great philosophical system, of any great general
doctrines since become law in Europe, which were born of
this movement? It has had immense and admirable results;
it has established rights, manners; it has not only powerfully
influenced social relations, it has influenced the souls of men;
it has made sects and enthusiasts, but it has hardly exalted
or extended - at all events, directly - the horizon of the
human mind; it has not ignited one of those great intellectual torches which illuminate an entire epoch. Perhaps
in no country have religious creeds possessed, nor at the
present day do they possess more power than in England;
but they are, above all things, practical; they exert a great
influence over the conduct, happiness, and sentiments of
individuals; but they have few general and mental results,
results which address themselves to the whole of the human
race. Under whatever point of view you regard this civilization, you will discover this essentially practical and social
character. I might investigate this development in a more
extended degree; I might review every class of English
society, and I should everywhere be struck with the same
fact. In literature, for instance, practical merit still predominates. There is no one who will say that the English
are skilful at composing a book, the artistical and rational
arrangement of the whole, in the distribution of the parts, in
executing, so as to strike the imagination of the reader with
that perfection of art and form, which, above all things, gratifies the understanding.  This purely intellectual aim in
works of genius is the weak point of English writers, whilst
they excel in the power of persuasion by the lucidity of their
expositions, by frequently returning to the same ideas, by the
T2




276


HISTORY OF


evidence of good sense, in short, by all the ways of leading to
practical effects.
The same character is seen, even in* the English language.
It is not a language rationally, uniformly, and systematically
constructed; it borrows words on all sides, from the most
various sources, without troubling itself about maintaining
any symmetry or harmony. Its essential want is that logical
beauty which is seen in the Greek and Latin languages: it
has an appearance of coarseness and incoherence. But it
is rich, flexible, fitted for general adaptation, and capable of
supplying all the wants of man in the external course of life.
Everywhere the principle of utility and application dominates
in England, and constitutes at once the physiognomy and the
force of its civilization.
From England I shall pass to Germany. The development of civilization has here been slow and tardy; the
brutality of German manners has been proverbial throughout Europe for centuries. Still when, under this apparent
grossness, one seeks the comparative progress of the two
fundamental elements of civilization, we find that, in Germany,
intellectual development has always surpassed and left behind
social development, that the human spirit has there prospered
much more than the human condition.
Compare the intellectual state of the German reformers at
the sixteenth century-Luther, Melancthon, Bucer, and many
others-compare, I say, the development of mind which is
shown in their works with the contemporaneous manners of
the country. What a disparity! In the seventeenth century,
place the ideas of Leibnitz, the studies of his disciples, and
the German universities, by the side of the manners which
prevailed, not only among the people, but also among the
superior classes; read, on one side, the writings of the
philosophers, and, on the other, the memoirs which paint
the court of the elector of Brandenburg or Bavaria. What
a contrast! When we arrive at our own times, this contrast
is yet more striking. It is a common saying in the present
day, that beyond the Rhine, ideas and facts, the intellectual
and the real orders, are almost entirely separated.  No
one is ignorant of what has been the activity of spirit in
Germany for the last fifty years; in all classes, in philosophy,
history, general literature, or poetry, it has advanced very far.
It may be said that it has not always followed the best path;




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one may contest part of the results at which it has arrived;
yet concerning its energy and extensive development it is
impossible to dispute. But assuredly the social state and
public condition have not advanced at the same pace. Without
doubt, there also progress and amelioration have been made;
but it is impossible to draw a comparison between the two
facts. Thus, the peculiar character of all. works in Germany,
in poetry, philosophy, or history, is a non-acquaintance with
the external world, the absence of the feeling of reality. One
perceives, in reading them, that life and facts have exercised
but little influence upon the authors, that they have not preoccupied their imagination; they have lived retired within
themselves, by turns enthusiasts or logicians. I Just as the
practical genius everywhere shows itself in England, so the
pure intellectual activity is the dominant feature of German
civilization.
In Italy we shall find neither one nor the other of these
characters. Italian civilization has been neither essentially
practical as that of England, nor almost exclusively speculative
as that of Germany; in Italy, neither great development of
individual intelligence, nor social skill and ability have been
wanting; the Italians have flourished and excelled at one and
the same time in the pure sciences, the arts and philosophy,
as well as in practical affairs and life. For some time, it is
true, Italy seems to have stopped in both of these progressions; society and the human mind seem enervated and
paralysed; but one feels, upon looking closely, that this is not
the effect of an inward and national incapacity; it is from
without that Italy is weighed down and impeded; she resembles a beautiful flower that wishes to blossom, but is compressed in every part by a cold and rude hand. Neither
intellectual nor political capacity has perished in Italy; it
wants that which it has always wanted, and which is everywhere one of the vital conditions of civilization,-it wants
faith, the faith in truth.  I wish to make myself correctly
understood, and not to have attributed to my words a different
sense from that which I intend to convey. I mean here,
'by faith, that confidence in truth, which not only causes it to
be held as truth, and which satisfies the mind, but which gives
men a confidence in right to reign over the world, to
govern facts, and in its power to succeed. It is by this
feeling that, once having possession of truth, man feels called




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upon to introduce it into external facts, to reform them,
and to regulate them according to reason. Well, it is this
which is almost universally wanted in Italy; she has been
fertile in great minds, and in universal ideas; she has been
thronged with men of rare practical ability, versed in the
knowledge of all conditions of external life, and in the art of
'onducting and managing society; but these two classes of
men and facts have remained strangers to each other. The
men of universal ideas, the speculative spirits, have not believed in the duty, perhaps not even in the right, of influencing society; although confident in the truth of their principles,
they have doubted their power. Men of action, on the other
hand, the masters of society, have held small account of
universal ideas; they have scarcely ever felt a desire to
regulate, according to fixed principles, the facts which came
under their dominion. Both have acted as if it was desirable
merely to know the truth, but as if it had no further influence,
and demanded nothing more. It is this, alike in the fifteenth
century and in later times, that has been the weak side of
civilization in Italy; it is this which has struck with a kind
of barrenness both its speculative genius and its practical
ability; here the two powers have not lived in reciprocal confidence, in correspondence, in continual action and reaction.
There is another great country of which, indeed, I speak
more out of consideration and respect for a noble and unhappy
nation, than from necessity; I mean Spain. Neither great
minds nor great events have been wanting in Spain; understanding and human society have at times appeared there in
all their glory; but these are isolated facts, cast here and there
throughout Spanish history, like palm-trees on a desert. The
fundamental character of civilization, its continued and universal progress, seems denied in Spain, as much to the human
mind as to society. There has been either solemn immobility,
or fruitless revolutions.  Seek one great idea, or social
amelioration, one philosophical system or fertile institution,
which Spain has given to Europe; there are none such: this
nation has remained isolated in Europe; it has received as
little from it as it has contributed to it. I should have reproached myself, had I wholly omitted its name; but its
civilization is of small importance in the history of the civilization of Europe.
You see that the fundamental principle, the sublime fact of




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general civilization, the intimate and rapid union, and the
harmonious development of ideas and facts, in the intellectual and real orders, has been produced in neither of the
great countries at which we have glanced. Something is
essentially wanting in all of them to complete civilization;
neither of them offers us the complete image, the pure type of
civilization in all its conditions, and with all its great characteristics.
In France it is different. In France, the intellectual and
social development have never failed each other.  Here
society and man have always progressed and improved, I
will not say abreast and equally, but within a short distance
of each other. By the side of great events, revolutions, and
public ameliorations, we always find in this country universal
ideas and corresponding doctrines.  Nothing has passed in
the real world, but the understanding has immediately seized
it, and thence derived new riches; nothing within the doTinion of understanding, which has not had in the real world,
and that almost always immediately, its echo and result.
Indeed, as a general thing, in France, ideas have preceded
and impelled the progress of the social order; they have been
prepared in doctrines, before being accomplished in things,
and in the march of civilization mind has always taken the
lead.  This two-fold character of intellectual activity and
practical ability, of meditation and application, is shown in all
the great events of French history, and in all the great classes
of French society, and gives them an aspect which we do not
find elsewhere.
At the commencement of the twelfth century, for example,
burst forth the great movement for the enfranchisement of
the Commons, a great step in social condition; at the same
time was manifested a vivid aspiration after freedom  of
'thought. Abailard was contemporary with the citizens of Laon
and Vezelay. The first great struggle of free-thought against
absolute power in the intellectual order, is contemporaneous
with the struggle of the citizens for public liberty. These
two movements, it is true, were apparently foreign to each
other; the philosophers had a very ill opinion of the insurgent
citizens, whom they treated as barbarians; and the citizens, in
their turn, when they heard them spoken of, regarded the
philosophers as heretics. But the double progress is not the
less simultaneous.




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Quit the twelfth century; take one of the establishments
which have played the most conspicuous part in the history
of mind in France, the University of Paris.   No one is
ignorant of what have been its scientific labours, dating from
the thirteenth century; it was the first establishment of the
kind in Europe. There was no other in the same age which
had so important and active a political existence. The University of Paris is associated with the policy of kings, and
with all the struggles of the French clergy against the court
of Rome, and those of the clergy against the temporal power;
ideas developed themselves, and doctrines were established in
its bosom; and it strove almost immediately to propagate
them in the external world. It was the principles of the
University of Paris which served as the standard of the
reformers at the councils of Constance and Basle; which were
the origin of, and sustained the Pragmatic Sanction of
Charles VII.
Intellectual activity and positive influence have for centuries been inseparable in this great school. Let us pass to
the sixteenth century, and glance at the history of the
Reformation in France; it has here a distinguishing character; it was more learned, or, at least, as learned as elsewhere,
and more moderate and reasonable. The principal struggle
of erudition and doctrine against the Catholic church was
sustained by the French Reformers; it was either in France
or Holland, and always in French, that so many philosophical,
historical, and polemical works were written in this cause;
it is certain, that at this epoch, neither in Germany nor in
England, was there so much spirit and learning employed;
the French Reformation, too, was a stranger to the flights
of the German anabaptists and the English sectarians; it was
seldom it was wanting in practical prudence, and yet one
cannot doubt the energy and sincerity of its creed, since for
so long a period it withstood the most severe reverses.
In modern times, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the intimate and rapid union of ideas with facts, and
the development both of society and of man as an individual,
are so evident, that it is needless to insist upon them.
We see, then, four or five great epochs, and four or five
grand events, in which the particular character of French
civilization is shown. Let us take the various classes of our




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society; let us regard their manners and physiognomy, and we
shall be struck with the same fact. The clergy of France is
both learned and active, it is connected with all intellectual
works and all worldly affairs as reasoner, scholar, administrator; it is, as it were, neither exclusively devoted to
religion, science, nor politics, but is constantly occupied in
combining and conciliating them all. The French philosophers also present a rare mixture of speculation and practical
knowledge; they meditate profoundly and boldly; they seek
the pure truth, without any view to its application; but they
always keep up a sympathy with the external world, and
with the facts in the midst of which they live; they elevate
themselves to the greatest height, but without ever losing
sight of the earth. Montaigne, Descartes, Pascal, Bayle,
almost all the great French philosophers, are neither pure
logicians nor enthusiasts. Last summer, in this place, you
heard their eloquent interpreter1 characterize the genius of
Descartes, who was at the same time a man of science and a
man of the world. "Clear, firm, resolved, and daring, he
thought in his study with the same intrepidity with which he
fought under the walls of Prague;" having an inclination
alike for the movement of life and for the activity of thought.
Our philosophers have not all of them possessed the same
genius, nor experienced the same adventurous destiny as
Descartes; but almost all of them, at the same time that they
sought truth, have comprehended the world.  They were
alike capable of observing and of meditating.
Finally, in the history of France, what is the particular
trait which characterizes the only class of men who have there
taken a truly public part, the only men who have attempted
to thoroughly bring the country within its administration, and
to give a legal government to the nation, the French magistracy and the bar, the parliaments and all that surrounds
them?   Is it not essentially this mixture of learning and
practical wisdom, this respect for ideas and facts, for science
and its application?  Wherever pure knowledge is exercised,
in erudition, philosophy, literature, or history, everywhere you
encounter the parliaments and the French bar; they take part,
at the same time, in all affairs, both public and private; and they
have had a hand in all the real and positive interests of society.
1 M. Villemain.




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From whatever point of view we regard France, we shall
discover this two-fold character.  Tile two essential principles of civilization are there developed in a strict correspondence. There man has never been wanting in individual
greatness; nor has his individual greatness been devoid of
public importance and utility. Much has been said, especially
latterly, of good sense as a distinguishing trait of French
genius. This is true; but it is not a purely practical good
sense, merely calculated to succeed in its enterprises; it is an
elevated and philosophical good sense, which penetrates to
the roots of ideas, and comprehends and judges them in all
their bearings, while at the same time it attends to external
facts. This good sense is reason; the French mind is at the
same time reasoning and reasonable.
To France, then, must be ascribed this honour, that her
civilization has reproduced more faithfully than any other
the general type and fundamental idea of civilization. It is
the most complete, the most veritable, and, so to speak, the
most civilized of civilizations. This it is has given her the
first rank in the disinterested opinion of Europe. France
has proved herself at once intelligent and powerful, rich in
ideas, and in the means of giving effect to those ideas. She
has addressed herself at once to the intellect of the nations,
and to their desire for social amelioration; she has aroused at
once imagination and ambition; she has manifested a capability
of discoveringr the truth, and of making it prevail. By this
double title, she has rendered herself popular, for this is the
double want of humanity.
5We are, then, fully entitled to regard civilization in France
as having the first claim on our attention, as being the most
important in itself, the most fruitful of consequences.  In
studying it, we must earnestly regard it under the double
aspect I have indicated, of social development and of intellectual development; we must closely watch the progress
of ideas, of mind, of the interior individual man, and of his
exterior and general condition.  Considering it upon this
principle, there is not in the general history of Europe any
great event, any great question which we shall not meet with
in our own. We shall thus attain the historical and scientific
object which we proposed to ourselves; we shall be constantly
present at the spectacle of European civilization, without




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being ourselves lost in the number and variety of the scenes
and actors.
But we have before us, as I conceive, something more, and
something more important than a spectacle, or even than
study; unless I am altogether mistaken, we seek something
beyond mere information. The course of civilization, and in
particular that of the civilization of France, has raised a
great problem, a problem peculiar to our own time, in which
all futurity is interested, not only our own future but that of
humanity at large, and which we, we of the present generation, are, perhaps, especially called upon to solve.
What is the spirit which now prevails in the intellectual
world, which presides over the search after truth, in whatever direction truth is sought? A spirit of rigorous reserve,
of strict, cautious prudence, a scientific spirit, a philosophical
spirit pursuing a philosophical method. It is a spirit which
carefully observes facts, and only admits generalization slowly,
progressively, concurrently with the ascertainment of facts.
This spirit has, for more than a half century past, manifestly
prevailed in the conduct of the sciences which occupy themselves in the material world; it has been the cause of their
progress, the source of their glory; and now, every day it
infuses itself more and more deeply into the sciences of the
moral world, into politics, history, philosophy.  In every
direction the scientific method is extending and establishing
itself; in every direction the necessity is more and more felt
of taking facts as the basis and rule of our proceedings; and
we all fully understand that facts constitute the subject
matter of science, and that no general idea can be of any real
value, unless it be founded upon, and supported throughout
its progress by facts. Facts are now in the intellectual order,
the power in authority.
In the real order, in the social world, in the government,
in the public administration, in political economy, we perceive
a different tendency; there prevails the empire of ideas, of
reasoning, of general principles, of what is called theory.
Such is evidently the flature of the great revolution which
has developed itself in our time, of all the labours of the
eighteenth century; and the feature is not merely one characterizing a crisis, a period of transient agitation; it is the permanent, regular, calm characteristic of the social state which




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is now establishing, or, at all events, announcing itself in
every direction-a social state, which has its basis on discussion and publicity, that is to say, on the empire of public
reason, on the empire of doctrines, of convictions common to
all the members of the society. On the one hand, then, never
before have facts held so large a place in science; on the
other, never before have ideas played so leading a part in the
outer world.
Matters were very different a hundred years ago: then, in
the intellectual order, in science properly so called, facts were
but slightly consulted, but little respected; reason and imagination gave themselves full career, and men yielded without
hesitation to the wildest impulses of hypothesis, dashing on
recklessly, with no other guide than the thread of deduction.
In the political order, on the contrary, in the real world, facts
were all powerful, were admitted without a doubt or a murmur,
as the authority alike dejure and defacto. Men complained,
indeed, of particular facts, but scarcely ever ventured to contest them; sedition itself was more common in those times
than freedom of thought. He who should have claimed for
an idea, though in the name of truth itself, any place in the
affairs of this world, would have had reason to repent of his
temerity.
The course of civilization, then, has reversed the former
order of things: it has established the empire of facts where
once the free movement of mind dominated, and raised ideas
to the throne once filled exclusively by facts.
This proposition is so true, that the result stated forms a
marked feature in the reproaches of which modern civilization
is made the object. Whenever the adversaries of that civilization speak of the actual condition of the human mind, of
the direction of its labours, they charge it with being hard,
dry, narrow. This rigorous positive method, this scientific
spirit, cramps, say they, the ideas, freezes up the imagination,
takes from the understanding its breadth, its freedom, confines, materialises it. When the question turns upon the
actual state of societies, upon what societies are attempting,
are effecting, these same men exclaim: " Out upon chimeras!
Place no faith in theories: it is facts alone which should be
studied, respected, valued; it is experience alone which should
be believed."  So that modern civilization is accused at once




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of dryness and of dreamy reverie, of hesitation and of precipitation, of timidity and of temerity. As philosophers, we
creep along the earth; as politicians, we essay the enterprise
of Icarus, and we shall undergo the same fate.
It is this double reproach, or rather this double danger, which
we have to repel. We are called upon, in fact, to solve the
problem which has occasioned it. We are called upon to
confirm, more and more, in the intellectual order, the empire
of facts-in the social order, the empire of ideas; to govern
our reason more and more according to reality, and reality
according to our reason; to maintain at once the strictness of
the scientific method, and the legitimate empire of the intellect. There is nothing incongruous or inconsistent in this, far
from it; it is, on the contrary, the natural, necessary result o.
the position of man, as a spectator of the world, and of his
mission as an actor in its mighty drama. I take nothing
for granted here, I make no comment; I merely describe
what I see before me. We are thrown into the midst of a
world which we neither invented nor created; we find it
before us, we look at it, we study it: we must needs take it
as a fact, for it subsists out of us, independently of us; it is
with facts our mind exercises itself; it has only facts for
materials; and when it comes to the general laws resulting
from them, the general laws themselves are facts like any
others. So much for our position as spectators. As actors,
we proceed in a different way: when we have observed external facts, our acquaintance with these develops in us ideas
which are of a nature superior to them; we feel ourselves
called upon to reform, to perfectionate, to regulate that which
is; we feel ourselves capable of acting upon the world, of extending therein the glorious empire of reason. This is the
mission of man: as spectator, he is subject to facts; as actor,
he takes possession of them, and impresses upon them a more
regular, a more perfect form. I was justified, then, in saying
that there is nothing incongruous, nothing self-contradictory
in the problem which we have to solve. It is quite true,
however, that there is a double danger involved in this double
task: it is quite true, that in studying facts, the understanding
may be overwhelmed by them; that it may become depressed,
confined, materialized; it may conceive that there are no
other facts than those which strike us at first glance, which




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present themselves directly, obviously before us, which make
themselves palpable to the senses; a great and grievous error:
there are facts, facts so remote as to be obscure, facts vast,
sublime, most difficult to compass, to observe, to describe, but
which are none the less facts, and facts which man is, none
the less, absolutely called upon to study and to know. If he
fail to make himself acquainted with them, if he forget them,
the character of his thought will be inevitably and prodigiously
lowered, and all the learning which he may possess will bear
the impress of that abasement. On the other hand, it is
quite possible for intellectual ambition, in its action upon the
real world, to be carried away, to become excessive, chimerical; to lose itself in its eagerness to extend too far and too
rapidly the empire of its ideas over external things. But this
double danger itself proves the double mission whence it
origilnates; and this mission must be accomplished, the problem
must be solved, for the actual condition of civilization lays it
down with perfect clearness, and will not permit it to be lost
sight of. Henceforth, whosoever, in the search after truth,
shall depart from the scientific method, will not be in a position to take the study of facts as the basis of intellectual development; and whosoever, in administering the affairs of
society, shall refuse the guidance of general principles and
ideas, of doctrines, will assuredly achieve no permanent success, will find himself without any real power; for power and
success, whether rational or social, now wholly depend upon
the conformity of our labours with these two laws of human
activity, with these two tendencies of civilization.
This is not all; we have still a far different problem to solve.
Of the two which I have laid down, the one is scientific and
the other social; the one concerns pure intelligence, the study
of truth; the other applies the results of this study to the
external world. There is a third, which arises equally from
the present state of civilization, and the solution of which
is equally prescribed to us; a moral problem which refers
not to science, not to society, but to the internal development
of each of us to the merit, the worth of the individual man.
In addition to the other reproaches of which, as I have said,
our civilization is made the object, it is accused of exercising
a baleful effect upon our moral nature. Its opponents say,
that by its everlastingly disputative spirit, by its mania for




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discussing and weighing everything, for reducing everything
to a precise and definite value, it infrigidates, dries up, concentres the human soul; that the result of its setting up a
pretension to universal infallibility, of its assumption of a superiority to all illusion, all impulse of the thought, of its affecting
to know the real value of all things, will be that man will
become severally disgusted with all the rest of the world,
will become absorbed in self. Further, it is said, that owing
to the tranquil ease of life in our times, to the facility and
amenity of social relations, to the security which prevails
throughout society, men's minds become effeminate, enervated; and that thus, at the same time that we acquire the
habit of looking only to oneself, one acquires also a habit of
requiring all things for oneself, a disposition to dispense with
nothing, to sacrifice nothing, to suffer nothing.  In a word,
it is asserted that selfishness on the one hand, and captious
effeminacy on the other, the dry hardness of manners, and
their puerile enervation, are the natural matter-of-course
results of the actual condition of civilization; that highsouled devotion and energy, at once the two great powers and
the two great virtues of man, are wanting, and will be more
and more wanting, in the periods which we call civilized, and
more especially in our own.
It were easy, I think, to repel this double reproach, and to
establish: 1, the general proposition, that the actual condition of civilization, considered thoroughly and as a whole,
by no means as a matter of moral probability, induces as its
results selfishness and effeminacy; 2, the fact that neither
devotion nor energy have been found to be wanting, in time
of need, to the civilized members of modern times. But this
were a question which would carry us too far. It is true,
the actual state of civilization imposes upon moral devotion
and energy, as upon patriotism, as upon all the noble thoughts
and feelings of man, an additional difficulty.  These great
faculties of our nature have hitherto often manifested themselves somewhat fortuitously, in a manner characterized by
no reflection, by no reference to motives; so to speak, at
random. Henceforth they will be bound to proceed only
upon the basis of reason; legitimacy of motives, and utility of
results will be required of them. Doubtless, this is an additional weight for nature to raise up ere she can manifest her



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self in all her grandeur; but she will raise it up. Never
yet has human nature been wanting to herself, never has
she failed of that which circumstances have required at her
hands; the more has been asked of her, the more she has
given. Her revenue ever more than keeps pace with her
expenditure. Energy and devotion will derive from other
sources, will manifest themselves under other forms. Doubtless, we possess not fully as yet those general ideas, those
innate convictions which must inspire the qualities I speak
of; the faith which corresponds with our manners is as yet
weak, shadowy, tottering; the principles of devotion and
energy which were in action in past times are now without
effect, for they have lost our confidence. It must be our
task to seek out until we discover principles of a character
to take strong hold of us, to convince our minds and to move
our hearts at one and the same time. These will inspire
devotion and energy; these will keep our minds in that state
of disinterested activity, of simple, unsophisticated stedfastness which constitutes moral health. The same progress of
events which imposes the necessity of doing this upon us,
will supply us with the means of doing it.
In the study, then, upon which we are about to enter, we
have to aim at far more than the mere acquisition of knowledge; intellectual development cannot, may not remain an
isolated fact. We are imperatively called upon to derive
from it, for our country, new materials of civilization; for
ourselves, a moral regeneration.  Science is a beautiful
thing, undoubtedly, and of itself well worth all the labour
that man may bestow upon it; but it becomes a thousand
times grander and more beautiful when it becomes a power;
when it becomes the parent of virtue. This, then, is what
we have to do in the course of these lectures: to discover the
truth; to realise it out of ourselves in external facts, for the
benefit of society; in ourselves, to convert it into a faith
capable of inspiring us with disinterestedness and moral
energy, the force and dignity of man in this world. This is
our triple task; this the aim and object of our labour; a
labour difficult of execution and slow of progress, and which
success, instead of terminating, only extends. But in nothing,
perhaps, is it given to man ever to arrive at the goal he has
proposed to himself; his glory is in advancing towards it.




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


2S9)


SECOND LECTURE.
Necessity of reading a general history of France before we study that of
civilization -M. de Sismondi's work —Why we should study the
political state of a country before its moral state, the history of society
before that of man-The social state of Gaul in the 5tb century-Original
monuments and modern works descriptive of that subject-Difference
between the civil and religious society of that period-Imperial government of Gaul-The provincial governors-Their official establishments
-Their salaries-Benefits and defects of the administration-Fall of
the Roman empire-Gaulish society: 1. The senators; 2. The curiales;
3. The people; 4. The slaves -Public relations of these various
classes-Decline and helplessness of Gaulish civil society-Causes of
this-The people attach themselves to the religious community.
BEFORE entering upon the history of French civilization, I
would engage those among you who propose to make a serious
study of the subject, to read with attention one of the larger
histories of France, which may serve, as it were, for a frame
in which to place the facts and ideas we shall together collect.
For I do not propose to relate to you the course of what are
more especially called events, which yet it is indispensable for
you to know. Of all the histories of France I could point
out to you, the best beyond any question is that of        I. de
Sismondi. It is no part of my intention to enter here into a
discussion of the merits and defects of that work, but I will,
in a few words, indicate to you what you will more peculiarly
find there, and what I advise you more peculiarly to seek
there. Considered as a critical exposition of the institutions,
the political development, the government of France, the Histoire des Frant ais of M. de Sismondi is incomplete,' leaving
1 M. Guizot speaks of the first twelve volumes of the Paris edition.
U




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in my opinion something to be desired. Speaking of the
volumes already published, I should say that its account of
the two epochs most important for the political destiny of
France, the reign of Charlemagne and that of St. Louis, is,
perhaps, among the feeblest portions of the work. As a
history of intellectual development of ideas, it is deficient, to
a certain extent, in depth of research, and in exactness as to
results.  But, as a narrative of events, as a picture of the
revolutions and vicissitudes of the social state, of tlhe mutual
relations of the various classes of society at different periods,
of the progressive formation of the French nation, it is a work
of the highest order, a work whence instruction of the most
valuable kind is to be derived. You may, perhaps, find occasion to desire in it somewhat more impartiality, somewhat
greater freedom of imagination; you may, perhaps, detect in
it, at times, too much of the influence upon the writer's mind
of contemporary events and opinions; but, nevertheless, it is
a prodigious, a splendid work, infinitely superior to all those
-whiich preceded it, and one whicl, read with attention, will
admirably prepare you for the studies we are about to pursue.
It is part of my plan, whenever we approach a particular
epoch, or a crisis of French society, to point out to you the
original literary monuments which are extant witl respect to
it, and the principal modern works which have treated of
the subject.  You will thus be enabled to test for yourselves,
in the crucible of your own studies, the results which I shall
endeavour to lay before you.
You will remember that I proposed to consider civilization
in its aggregate, as a social development, and as a moral development, in the history of the mutual relations of man, and
in that of ideas; I shall accordingly examine each epoch
under this double aspect. I shall commence in every case
wvith the study of the social state.  I am quite aware that
ii so doing, I shall not begin with the beginning: the social
state derives, among a number of other causes, from the
noral state of nations; creeds, feelings, ideas, manners, precede the external condition, tlhe social relations, the political
institutions; society, saving a necessary and powerful reaction, is tlat whichi men make it.  Conformably with true
chronology, with the internal and moral chronology, we
ought to study man before society. But the true historic




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order, the order in which facts succeed one another, and re —
ciprocally create each other, diifers essentially from the scientific order, from the order in which it is proper to study them.
In reality, facts develop themselves, so to speak, from within
to without; causes inward produce effects outward. Study, on
the contrary-study, science, proceed, and properly proceed,
from without to within. It is with the outward that its attention is first occupied; it is the outward which it first seizes
upon, and following which, it advances, penetrates on and on,
until by degrees it arrives within.
And here we come to the great question, the question so
often and so well treated, but not as yet, perhaps, exhausted,
the question between the two methods of analysis and synthesis; the latter, the primitive method, the method of creation; the other, the method of the second period, the scientific method. If science desired to proceed according to the
method of creation, if it sought to take facts in the order according to which they reproduce each other, it would run a
great risk, to say the least, of missing the full, pure source of
things, of not embracing the whole broad principle, of arriving
at only one of the causes whence effects have sprung; and thus
involved in a narrow, tortuous, fallacious path, it would wander
more and more remote from the right direction; and instead
of arriving at the veritable creation, instead of finding the
facts such as they really are, such as they really produce one
the other, it would give birth to mere valueless chimeras,
grand, indeed, in appearance, but in reality, notwithstanding
the amount of intellectual wealth expended in their pursuit,
utterly frivolous and of no account.
On the other hand, were science, in proceeding from without to within, according to its own proper method, to forget
that this is not the primitive productive method, that facts
in themselves subsist and develop themselves in another
order than that in which it views them, it might in time also
forget that it was preceded by facts, it might exclude from its
remembrance the very fbundation of things, it might be
dazzled with itself, it might fancy that it was reality; and it
would thus speedily become a mere combination of appearances and terms, as vain, as fallacious as the hypothesis and
deductions of the contrary method.
It is high11ly important not to lose sight of this distinction
u 2




292


HISTORY OF


and its consequences; we shall meet with them again more
than once on our way.
In a former lecture, on seeking in the cradle of European
civilization for its primitive and essential elements, I found,
on the one side, the Roman world, on the other, the barbarians.
In commencing, therefore, in any quarter of Europe, the
study of modern civilization, we must first investigate the
state of Roman society there, at the moment when the Roman
empire fell, that is to say, about the close of the fourth and
the opening of the fifth century.  This investigation is peculiarly necessary in the case of France. The whole of Gaul
was subject to the Empire, and its civilization, more especially in its southern portions, was thoroughly Roman. In
the histories of England and of Germany, Rome occupies a
less prominent position; the civilization of these countries, in
its origin, was not Roman, but Germanic; it was not until a
later period of their career that they really underwent the
influence of the laws, the ideas, the traditions of Rome. The
case with our civilization was different; it was Roman from
its very outset. It is characterised, moreover, by tills  eculiar feature, that it drew nourishment from both the sources
of general European civilization. Gaul was situated upon the
limits of the Roman world and of the Germanic world. The
south of Gaul was essentially Roman, the north essentially Germanic.  Germanic manners, institutions, influences, prevailed
in the north of Gaul; Roman manners, institutions, influences,
in the south. And here we already recognise that distinctive
character of French civilization, which I endeavoured to demonstrate in my first lecture, namely, that it is the most
complete, the most faithful image of European civilization in
the aggregate. The civilization of England and of Germany
is especially Germanic; that of Spain and Italy especial!y
Roman; that of France is the only one which participates
almost equally of the two origins, which has reproduced, from
its outset, the complexity, the variety of the elements of
modern society.
The social state of Gaul, then, towards the end of the
fourth and the commencement of the fifth century, is the
first object of our studies. Before entering upon it, I will
mention what are the great original monuments, and what
the principal modern works on the subject which I would
advise you to consult.




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


Of the original monuments, the most important, beyond all
doubt, is the Theodosian code.  Montesquieu, though he does
not exactly say so, is evidently' of opinion that this code constituted, in the fifth century, the whole Roman law, the entire
body of loman legislation.  It constitutes nothing of the
sort. The Theodosian code is a collection of the constitutions
of the emperors, from Constantine to Theodosius the younger,
and was published by the latter in 438. Independently of
these constitutions, the ancient Senatus Consulta, the ancient
Plebiscita, the law of the Twelve Tables, the Pretorian Edicts,
and the opinions of the jurisconsults, constituted a part of
the Roman law. Just previously, by a decree of Valentinian III. in 426, the opinions of five of the great lawyers,
Papinian, Ulpian, Paul, Gaius, and Modestinus, had expressly
been invested with the force of law. It were, however,
quite accurate to say that, in a practical point of view, the
Theodosian code was tile most important law book of the
Empire; it is, moreover, the literary monuinent which diffuses the greatest light over this period.2
The second original document to which I would invite your
attention, is the Notitia Imperii Romani, that genuine impe
rial almanac of the fifth century, giving lists of all the functionaries of the empire, and presenting a complete review of
the whole of its administration, of all the relations between
the government and its subjects.3  The _Notitia has been
illustrated with the greatest learning by the jurisconsult Pancirolus; I know of no work which contains so many remarkable and curious facts as to the interior of Roman society.
I will refer you, for a third original source, to the great
collections of the acts of the councils.  Of these there are
two; the collections of the councils held in Gaul, which were
published by Pere Sirmond,4 with a supplementary volume
compiled by Lalande,5 and the general collection of councils,
compiled by the Pere Labbe.6
' Esprit des Lotx, xxviii. chap. 4.
2 Six vols. folio, avec les Conmmentazres de J. Godefroy. Ritter, Leipsig,
1738.
3 The best edition is that printed in the 7th vol. of the Thesaurus Antiquitatumn Romalarum of Graevius.
4 Three vols. folio. Paris, 1629.  u One vol. folio. Paris, 16t0.
* Eighteen vols. folio. Paris, 1072.




2o94


HIISTORY OF


Of modern works connected with the subject, I will first
mention those French productions which I think you may
consult with great advantage.
1. There is the Theorie des Lois politiques de la Mionarchie
Francaise, a work very little known, published at the commencement of the revolution.' It was compiled by a woman,
Mademoiselle de Lezardiere, and consists of very little more
than original texts, legislative and historical, illustrating the
condition, the manners, the constitutions, of the Franks and
Gauls from the third to the ninth century; but these texts
are selected, arranged, and translated with a skill and exactness rarely to be met with.
2. You will permit me to point out to you, in the second
place, the Essais sur l'liistoire de France that I myself have
published,2 inasmuch as in them I have more especially applied
myself to retracing, under its different aspects, the state of
society in Gaul, immediately before and immediately after
the fall of the Roman empire.
As to ecclesiastical history, Fleury's appears to me the
best.
Those who are acquainted with the German, will do well
to read,
1. The History of the Roman Law in the Middle Ages, by
M. de Savigny,3 a work the purpose of which is to show that
the Roman law has never perished in Europe, but is to
be met with throughout the period extending from the fifth
to the thirteenth centuries, in a multitude of institutions,
laws, and customs. The moral state of society is not always
accurately appreciated in this work, nor represented with
fidelity; but as to facts, its learning and critical acumen are
of a superior character.
2. The General History of the Christian Church, by MI.
Ilenke;4 a work incompletely developed, and which leaves
much to be desired in reference to the knowledge and appreciation of facts, but learned and judicious in the criticisms it
furnishes, and characterized by an independence of spirit too
seldom met with in works of this nature.
3. The Manual of Ecclesiastical History of MI. Gieseler,


I In 1792; eight vols. 8vo. Paris.      2 One vol. 8vo. Paris.
3 Six vols. 8vo.      4 Six vols. 8vo. 4th ed. Brunswick, 1800.




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


295


the latest and most complete, upon this subject, of those
learned summaries so extensively diffused in Germany, and
which serve as guides when we are desirous of entering upon
any particular study.
You have probably remarked that I point out here two
classes of works; the one relating to civil, the other to ecclesiastical history. I do so for this reason; that at the period
we speak of, there existed in the Roman world two very
different societies-the civil society and the religious society.
They differed not only in their object, not only in that they
were governed by principles and by institutions entirely dissimilar, not only in that the one was old and the other young;
there existed between them a diversity far more profound,
far more important. The civil society, to all outward appearances, seemed Christian, equally with the religious society. The great majority of the European kings and nations
had embraced Christianity; but, at bottom, the civil society
was pagan. Its institutions, its laws, its manners, were all
essentially pagan.  It was entirely a society formed by
paganism; not at all a society formed by Christianity.
Christian civil society did not develop itself till a later
period, till after the invasion of the barbarians; it belongs,
in point of time, to modern history. In the fifth century,
whatever outward appearances may say to the contrary,
there existed between civil society and religious society
incoherence, contradiction, contest; for they were essentially
different both in their origin and in their nature.
I would pray you never to lose sight of this diversity; it
is a diversity which alone enables us to comprehend the real
condition of the Roman world at this period.
What then was this civil society, nominally Christian, but
in reality the pagan?
Let us first consider it in its outward, most obvious aspect,
in its government, in its institutions, its administration.
The empire of the west was divided, in the fifth century,
into two prefectures, that of Gaul and that of Italy.  The
prefecture of Gaul comprised three dioceses-that of Gaul,
that of Spain, and that of Britain.  At the head of the prefecture was a pretorian-prefect; at the head of each diocese
a vice-prefect.
The pretorian-prefect of Gaul resided at Treves. Gaul




296


HISTORY OF


was divided into seventeen provinces, the affairs of each of
which were administered by a governor of its own, under the
general orders of the prefect. Of these provinces, six were
governed by consulares,l the other eleven by presidents.2
As to the mode of administration, there existed no important distinction between these two classes of governors; they
exercised in reality the same power, differing only in rank
and title.
In Gaul, as elsewhere, the governors had two kinds of
functions:
1st. They were the emperor's immediate representatives,
charged, throughout the whole extent of the Empire, with the
interests of the central government, with the collection of
taxes, with the management of the public domains, the
direction of the imperial posts, the levy and regulation of the
airnies-in a word, with the fulfilment of all the relations between the emperor and his subjects.
2nd. They had the administration of justice between the
subjects themselves. The whole civil and criminal jurisdiction was in their hands, with two exceptions. Certain towns
of Gaul possessed what was called jus Italicum-the Italian
law. In the municipia of Italy, the right of administering
justice to the citizens, at least in civil matters and in the
first instance, appertained to certain municipal magistrates,
Duumnviri, Quatuorviri, Quinquenvales, ~Ediles, Pretores, &c.
It has been often stated that the case was the same out of
Italy, in all the provinces as a rule, but this is a mistake: it
was only in a limited number of these towns assimilated to
the Italian municipia, that the municipal magistrates exercised any real jurisdiction; and this in every instance subject
to an appeal to the governor.
There was also, subsequent to the middle of the fourth
century, in almost all the towns, a special magistrate, called
defensor, elected not merely by the curia or municipal body,
but by the population at large, whose duty it was to defend
1 Viennensis. Lugdunensis Ima"; Germania Superior, Germania Inferior,
Belgica Ima and 2"('1.
2 Alpes Marilimae, Alpcs Pennina, Sequanensis ima"; Aqnitanica ImT
and 2nda; Novempopulonia, Narbonensis 1"" and 2nla; Lugdunensis I""
and 3ma; Lugduncnsis Senonensis.




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


297


the interests of the people, even against the governor himself,
if need were. The defensor exercised in such matters the
jurisdiction in the first instance; he also acted as judge in
that class of cases, which we now term police cases.
With these two exceptions, the governors alone adjudicated all suits; and there was no appeal from them except
direct to the emperor.
This jurisdiction of theirs was exercised in the following
manner:-In the first ages of the Empire, conformably with
ancient custom, he to whom the jurisdiction appertained,
prator, provincial governor, or municipal magistrate, on a
case being submitted to him, merely determined the rule of
law, the legal principle according to which it ought to be
adjudged. He decided, that is to say, the question of law
involved in the case, and then appointed a private citizen,
called the judex, the veritable juror, to examine and decide
upon the question of fact. The legal principle laid down by
the magistrate was applied to the fact found by the judex,
and so the case was determined.
By degrees, in proportion as imperial despotism established
itself, and the ancient liberties of the people disappeared, the
intervention of the judex became less regular.  The magistrates decided, without any reference to this officer, certain
matters which were called extraordinarice cognitiones. Diocletian formally abolished the institution in the provinces; it
no longer appeared but as an exception; and Justinian testifies, that in his time it had fallen completely into desuetude.
The entire jurisdiction in all cases tllen appertained to the
governors-agents and representatives of the emperor in all
things, and masters of the lives and fortunes of the citizens,
with no appeal from their judgments but to the emperor in
person.
In order to give you an idea of the extent of their power,
and of the manner in which it was exercised, I have drawn
up from the NTotitia Imperii Romani-a list of the officers
of a provincial governor; a list exactly similar to that which
we might at the present day derive from the Almanach Royal,
of the official establishment of a government office, or a prefecture. They are the officers of the pretorian prefect whom
I am about to introduce to you, but the governors subordinate
to the pretorian prefect, the consulares, correctores, pre



298


IlISTOR Y OF


sides, exercised, under his superintendence, the same powers
with himself; and their establishments were almost entirely
the same as his, only on a smaller scale.
The principal officers of a prletorian prefect were:
1. Princeps, or primiscrinius officii.  He cited before
the tribunal of the prefect those who had business there: he
drew up the judgments: it was upon his order that accused
persons were taken into custody.  His principal business,
however, was the collection of taxes.  He enjoyed various
privileges.
2. Cornictlarius.-IIe made public the ordinances, edicts,
and judgments of the governor.  His post was one of very
great antiquity; the tribunes of the people had their cornicularius, (Val. Maximus, I., vi. c. 11.)  He was so entitled
because he carried with him, as a distinctive badge, a horn,
of which he made use, in all probability, to impose silence on
the crowd when lie was about to perform his official duty.
The prcco, or herald, was under his direction, and he had a
large establishment of clerks.  His period of office was only
a year.  He was a species of recorder.
3. Acdjutor, a supplementary officer, whose services appear
to have been due to all the other functionaries, when required; his specific business was to arrest accused persons, to
superintend the infliction of the torture, &c. I-He had an office
of his own.
4. Commentariensis, the director of prisons, an officer
higher in rank than our gaolers, but having the same functions; he had the internal regulation of the prisons, conducted
the prisoners before the tribunals, furnished them with provisions when they were destitute, had the torture administered
to them, &c.
5. Actuarii vel ab actis.-These officers drew up contracts
for the citizens, and all such deeds as the law required to bear
a legal character, such as wills, grants, &c. They were the predecessors of our notaries.  As the actuarii attached to the
office of the pretorian prefect or of the preses, could not be
everywhere, the decemvirs and other municipal magistrates
were authorised to act as their deputies.
6. LYumerarii.-These were the keepers of the accounts.
The ordinary governors had two, called tabularii; the prmatorian prefects four:-l. The NAumerarius Bonorumn, who




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


299


kept an account of the funds appertaining to the exchequer,
the revenues of which went to the comes rerum privatarum;
2. The numerarius tributorum, who was intrusted with
the accounts of the public revenues, which went to the
erarium, and to the account of the sacred donatives; 3. The
numerarius auri, who received the gold drawn from the
provinces, had the silver money he received changed into
gold, and kept the accounts of the gold mines within his
district; 4. The numerarius operum publicorum, who kept
the accounts of the various public works, such as forts, walls,
aqueducts, baths, &c., all of which were maintained by a third
of the revenues of the cities, and by a land tax levied on and
according to occasion.  These numerarii had under their
orders a large body of clerks.
7. Sub-adjuva; an assistant to the adjutor.
8. Curator epistolarum.-This was the secretary who had
charge of the correspondence; he had a number of subordinates, called epistolares.
9 Regerendarius.-The officer charged to transmit to the
prefect the petitions of the subject, and to write the answers.
10. Exceptores.-They wrote out all the documents relating to the judgments given by the prefects, and read them
before his tribunal; they were under the direction of a primicerius. They may be assimilated to our registrars.
11. Singularii, or Singulares, Ducenarii, Centenarii, c3fc.Officers commanding a sort of military police attached to the
service of the provincial governors. The singulares attended
these functionaries as a guard, executed their orders in the
province, arrested accused parties, and conducted them to
prison. They acted as collectors of the taxes; the office of
the ducenarii, (captains of two hundred men, or cohortales,)
of the centenarii, the sexagenarii, was the same.
12. Primilipus.-The chief officer of these cohortales; it
was his especial charge to superintend the distribution of
provisions to the soldiers, in the name of the pretorian prefect,
and to inspect the provisions previous to delivery.
It is obvious that only the more prominent employments
are indicated here, and that these officers must have had a
great many others under their direction. In the offices of the
pr3etor of Africa, there were 398 persons employed, in those
of the count of the East, 600. Independently of their number,




300


tHISTORY OF


you perceive, from the nature of their functions, that the
jurisdiction of the provincial governors co!nprehended all
things, all classes, that the whole society had to do with them,
and they with the whole of society.
I will now direct your attention, for a moment, to the
salaries which these officers received; you may derive from
this information some rather curious illustrations of the social
state of the period.
Under Alexander Severus, according to a passage in his
biographer Lampridius,' the governors of a province received
twenty pounds of silver and one hundred pieces of gold,2 six
pitchers (phialas) of wine, two mules, and two horses, two
state suits, (vestes forsenes), and one ordinary suit (vestes
domesticas), a bathing tub, a cook, a muleteer, and, lastly, (I
have to solicit your pardon for this detail, but it is too characteristic to be omitted,) when they were not married, a concubine, quod sine his esse non possent, says the text. When
they quitted office, they were obliged to return the mules, the
horses, the muleteer, and the cook. If the emperor was
satisfied with their administration, they were allowed to retain
the other gifts he had bestowed upon them; if he was dissatisfied, they were compelled to give him four times the value of
what they had received.  Under Constantine, the part payment in goods still subsisted; we find the governors of two
great provinces, Asiana and Pontus, receiving an allowance
of oil for four lamps.  It was not until the reign of Theodosius II., in the first half of the fifth century, that this mode
of paying the governors was altogether discontinued. The
subordinate employes, however, continued, down to the time
of Justinian, to receive in the eastern empire a portion of
their salaries in provisions and other goods. I dwell upon
this circumstance because it furnishes a striking idea of the
inactive state of commercial relations, and of the imperfect
circulating medium of the Empire.
The facts I have stated, which are perfectly clear, make
equally evident the nature of the government under our consideration; an utter absence of independence on the part of
the various functionaries; all of them subordinate one to the
other, up to the emperor, who absolutely disposes and decides
1 Chap. xlii.      2 About 1501.




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


301


the fate of them all. No appeal for the subject from the
functionary, but to the emperor; nothing like co-ordinate
co-equal powers, destined to control and limit one another, is
to be met with. All proceeds straight upwards or downwards, on the principle of a sole, strict hierarchy. It is a
pure, unmitigated, administrative despotism.
Do not, however, conclude from what I have stated, that
this system of government, this administrative machinery, was
instituted for the sole behoof of absolute power, that it never
aimed at or produced any other effect than that of promoting
the views of despotism. In order to appreciate the matter
fairly, we must present to our minds a just idea of the state
of the provinces, and more especially of Gaul, at the moment
preceding that when the empire took the place of the republic.
There were two powers in authority, that of the Roman proconsul, sent to administer, for a temporary period, such or such
a province, and that of the old national chiefs, the governors
whom the country obeyed before it passed under the Roman
yoke. These two powers were, upon the whole, more iniquitous, in my opinion, and more noxious in their operation,
than the imperial administration which superseded them. I
can conceive no affliction more fearful for a province than the
government of a Roman proconsul, a greedy tyrant, coming
there for a greater or less period, in the sole view of making
his fortune, and giving unchecked way for a time to all the
impulses of grasping self-interest, to all the caprices of absolute power. I do not mean to say that these proconsuls were
every one a Verres or a Piso, but the great crimes of a period
enable us in their history to estimate the measure of iniquity
in that period; and if it required a Verres to arouse the indignation of Rome, we may fairly judge how far a proconsul
might go, so that he kept within the limits outstepped by the
more daring monster denounced by Cicero. As to the ancient
chiefs of the country, theirs was, I have no doubt, a government altogether irregular, oppressive, barbarous. The civilization of Gaul, when it was conquered by the Romans, was
very inferior to that of Rome: the two powers which held
sway there were, on the one hand, that of the priests, the
Druids; on the other, that of the chiefs, whom we may assimilate with the more modern chiefs of clans. The ancient
social organization of the country part of Gaul, had, in point




302


HISTORY OF


of fact, a close resemblance to that of Ireland or of the Highlands of Scotland in later times; the population clustered
round the more considerable personages, round the great landed
proprietors: Vercingetorix, for example, was probably a chief
of this description, the leader of a multitude of peasantry and
of petty landholders connected by personal considerations with
his domains, with his family, with his interests.  This system
may doubtless give birth to lofty and honourable sentiments, it may inspire those who live under it with powerfully
marked habits and associations, with strong mutual attachments; but it is, on the whole, far from favourable to the
progress of civilization. There is nothing regular, nothing
comprehensive in it; the ruder passions have full and unchecked
sway; private warfare is incessant; manners make no advance;
the decision of all questions is entirely a matter of individual
or local interest; every feature in the system is an obstacle
to the increase of prosperity, to the extension of ideas, to the
rich and rapid development of man and of society. When
therefore the imperial administration came into operation in
Gaul, however bitter may have been the resentment and
regret which naturally filled patriotic minds, we can entertain
no doubt that it was more enlightened, more impartial, more
guided by general views and by considerations of really public
interests, than the old national government had been. It was
neither mixed up with jealousies of family, city, or tribe, nor
fettered to savage and stagnant ideas and manners by prejudices of religion or birth.  On the other hand, the new
governors, invested with more permanent functions, controlled, up to a certain point, by the imperial authority, were
less grasping, less violent, less oppressive than the proconsuls
of the senate had been. We accordingly observe with the
progress of the first, second, and even the third centuries, a progress in the prosperity and civilization of Gaul. The towns
grew rich, and extended themselves; the freemen became
more and more numerous. It had been, amongst the ancient
Gauls, a custom, or rather a necessity, for the individual freemen to place themselves under the protection of some great
man, to enrol themselves under the banner of a patron, as
the only mode of effecting security for themselves.  This custom, without entirely disappearing, abated in the first ages of
imperial administration; the freemen assumed a more inde



CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


303


pendent existence, which proves that their existence was better
secured by the general operation of the laws, by the public
power.  There was greater equality introduced among the
various classes, none of whom. were now arbitrarily excluded
from the attainment of fortune and power. Manners were
softened, ideas expanded, the country became covered with
roads and buildings. Everything indicated a society in course
of development, a civilization in progress.
But the benefits of despotism are shortlived; it poisons
the very springs which it lays open. If it display a merit,
it is an exceptional one; if a virtue, it is created of circumstances; and once this better hour has passed away, all the
vices of its nature break forth with redoubled violence, and
weigh down society in every direction.
In proportion as the Empire, or more properly speaking, the
power of the emperor, grew weaker, in proportion as it found
itself a prey to external and internal dangers, its wants grew
greater and more urgent; it required more money, more men,
more means of action of every description; it demanded more
and more at the hands of the subject nations, and at the same
time did less and less for them in return. The larger reinforcements of troops were sent to tie frontiers to resist the barbarians, the fewer of course remained to maintain order in the
interior.  The more money there was spent at Constantinople
or at Rome to purchase the services of auxiliaries, or to
bribe dangerous courtiers, the less had the emperor to expend
upon the due administration of the provinces. Despotism
thus found itself at once more exacting and more feeble,
necessitated to take more from the people, and incapable of
protecting for them the little it left them.  This double
evil had fully developed itself at the close of the fourth century.  Not only at this epoch had all social progress ceased,
but a retrograde movement was sensibly felt; the empire was
invaded in every direction, and its interior swept and devastated by bodies of barbarians; the population fell off; more
especially in the provinces; in the towns, all pullic works
were put a stop to, all embellislhments suspended; the free
men once more went in crowds to solicit the protection of
some powerful ciiet. Such are the incessant complaints of tll
Gaulish writers of the fourth an(d ifthl centuries, of Salvienis,
for example, in his work De Gubernatione Dei, perlhaps the




304


HISTORY OF


most vivid and most interesting picture that we have of the
period. In a word, in every direction we see manifesting
themselves unequivocal symptoms of the decline of the
government, of the desolation of the land.
At length the evil grew so great, that the Roman empire
found itself unable to go on; it began by recalling its
troops; it said to the provinces, to Britain, to Gaul: " I can no
longer defend you: you must take care of yourselves."  Ere
long it ceased to govern them, as it had ceased to protect
them: its administrative officers withdrew as its armies had
done. This was the fact which was accomplished in the
middle of the fifth century. The Roman empire fell back
in every direction, and abandoned, either to the barbarians or
to themselves, the provinces which it had taken so much
pains to conquer.
What, more especially in Gaul, was the society thus left to
itself, thus compelled to provide for itself? How was it constituted?  What means, what strength had it with which to
protect itself?
Four classes of persons, four different social conditions,
existed at this period in  -aul. 1. The senators; 2. the
curiales; 3. the people, properly so called; 4. tie slaves.
The distinct existence of the senatorial families is attested
by all the monuments of the period. We meet with the
designation at every step, in the legislative documents, and in
the historians. Did it indicatefamilies whose members beionged
or had belonged to the Roman senate, or did it merely refer to
the municipal senators of the Gaulisl towns? This is a legitimate question, since the senate of each town, the municipal
body known under the name of curia, often also called itself
sen$ate.
Thlera can be little doubt, T think; that it meant families
which had belonged to the Roman senate. The emperors,
who filled up that senate just as they pleased, used to recruit
it fiom the provinces with members of tile most distinguished
families in the principal cities. 'Those who had occupied high
local offices, who had acted, for instance, as provincial governors, were entitled to expect a seat in the Roman senate; at
a later period, the same favour was granted to persons who
had been nominated to certain honorary charges: and ultimately the possession of a mere title, that of clarissinmus




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305


which was conferred in the same way that the title of baron
or count is now, was sufficient to give its holder a seat in the
senate.
This quality gave certain privileges which raised the
senators to a position superior to that of the other citizens.
1, the title itself; 2, the right to be tried by a special tribunal: when a senator had to be tried for a capital offence, the
magistrate was obliged to asssociate with himself five assessors drawn by lot; 3, exemption from torture; 4, exemption
from filling municipal offices, which at this time had become
a very serious burden.
Such was the condition of the senatorial families. It were,
perhaps, extravagant to say that they formed a class of
citizens essentially distinct from the rest. for the senators
were taken from all classes of the population; we find even
freedmen among them-and the emperor could at any time
deprive them, or any of them, of the privileges he had conferred.  But, at the same time, as these privileges were real
and substantial, and, moreover, hereditary, at least in reference
to children born after the elevation of the father to the
senatorial dignity, we may fairly point to them as creating an
essential distinction in social relations, as manifesting the
principle, or at all events, the very decided appearance of a
political aristocracy.
The second class of citizens was that of the curiales or
decutriones, men of easy circumstances, members, not of the
Roman senate, but of the curia or municipal body of their
own city. I have in my Essai sutr l'Iistoire de France drawn
up. a sunmary of laws and facts relative to the curiales; and in
order to give an exact picture of their condition, I will, with
your permission, introduce this summary here:
The class of curiales comprised all such inhabitants of
towns, whether natives (municipes) or settlers (incole) as
possessed landed property to the extent of not less than
twenty-five acres (jugera), and were not included in any
way among the privileged persons exempt from curial
functions.
Persons belonged to this class either by origin or by nomination.
Every son of a curialis was himself a curialis, and bound
to fulfil all the duties inherent in that quality.
x




306


HISTORY OF


Every inhabitant of a town, trader or otherwise, who
acquired landed property to the extent of twenty-five acres
and upwards, was liable to be claimed by the curia. and
could not refuse to join it.
No curialis was allowed by any personal and voluntary act
to relinquish his condition.  They were prohibited from
living in the country, from entering the army, from accepting
offices which would relieve them from municipal functions,
until they had exercised all these functions, from that of
simple member of the curia up to that of first magistrate of
the city. Then, and not till then, were they permitted to
become soldiers, public functionaries, and senators.  The
children born to them before their elevation remained in the
class of curiales.
They were not allowed to become priests unless they
transferred their property to some one who was willing to
become a curialis in their place, or to the curia itself.
The curiales were constantly endeavouring to relinquish
their condition, and we accordingly find a multitude of laws
prescribing the rigorous pursuit of all such as had fled, or
surreptitiously entered the army, or the order of priests,
or the senate, or into public functions, and ordering them,
when discovered, to be compelled to return to their curia.
The functions and duties of the curiales thus forcibly confined within their curia, were as follow:1. To administer the affairs of the municipium, its revenue
and its expenditure, either deliberatively as a private member
of the curia, or executively as a municipal magistrate. In
this double situation, the curiales were not only responsible
for their own individual conduct, but they were called upon
to provide for the wants of the town out of their own means,
if the civic revenue was insufficient.
2. To collect the public taxes. Here also they were themselves responsible if they failed to levy the full amount
imposed. Any lands subject to the land-tax which were
abandoned by their possessors reverted to the curia, who
were bound to pay the tax in respect of them, until some one
was found who was willing to take the land and its liabilities
upon himself. If no such person appeared, the tax continued
to be made up amongst the other proprietors.
3. No curialis could sell, without the permission of the




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307


provincial governor, the property in respect of which he was
a curialis.
4. Heirs of curiales, not themselves members of the curia,
and the widow or inheriting daughter of a curialis who
married a man not a curialis, were obliged to resign a fourth
of their property to the curia.
5. Curiales without children could only dispose by will of
a fourth of their property. The other three-fourths went to
the curia.
6. They were not allowed to absent themselves from the
municipium, even for a limited time, without the permission
of the provincial governor.
7. If they quitted their curia without such permission, and
could not, after a certain interval, be found, their property
was confiscated for the benefit of the curia.
8. The burden of the impost designated Aurum Coronarium, which was a tribute paid to the prince on certain
solemn occasions, fell solely upon the curiales.
By way of compensating the curiales for these heavy incumbrances, they were:1. Exempt from the torture, except in very grave cases.
2. Exempt from certain corporeal and ignominious punishments, which were reserved for the lower classes.
3. After having gone through the whole series of' municipal offices, those who had managed to escape the ruinous risks
which had presented themselves at every stage of their progress, were exempt from serving any municipal office for the
future, enjoyed certain honours, and not unfrequently received the title of comes.
4. Decayed decuriones were maintained at the expense of
the town.
I need not point out to you how hard and oppressive this
condition was-into what a state it necessarily tended to reduce the burgher class in all the towns. We accordingly
find every indication that this class became, day after day,
less numerous. There are no documents from which we can
form any satisfactory idea of the number of curiales. A list of
the members of each curia, album curice, was, indeed, drawn
up every year; but these lists have disappeared. IM. de
Savigny cites one, after Fabretti, the album of' Canusium,
(Canosa,) a small town of Italy. It is for the year 223, and
x2




308


HISTORY OF


sets down the number of the curiales of that town at a hundred
and forty-eight. Judging from their extent and comparative
importance, the larger towns of Gaul, Aries, Narbonne,
Toulouse, Lyons, Nismes, had far more than this number.
There can be no doubt, indeed, that such was the case in the
earlier periods; but as I have said, the curiales became constantly fewer and fewer, and at the epoch on which we are
now engaged, there were scarcely more than a hundred o.
them in the very largest cities.
The third class of the Gaulish community consisted of the
people, especially so called,-the plebs. This class comprehended, on the one hand, the petty landholders, whose property was not sufficient to qualify them for the curia; on the
other, the small tradespeople and the free artisans. I have
no observations to make with reference to the petty landholders in this class; they were probably very few in number;
but with reference to the free artisans, it is necessary to
enter into some explanations.
You are all aware that under the republic and in the earlier
years of the empire, operative industry was a domestic profession, carried on by the slaves for the benefit of their masters. Every proprietor of slaves had whatever mechanical
production he required manufactured in his own house; he
had slave-blacksmiths, slave-shoemakers, slave-carpenters,
slave-ironworkers, &c. And he not only employed them in
making things for himself, but he sold the products of their
industry to freemen, his clients and others, who had no slaves
of their own.
By one of those revolutions which work on slowly and unseen until they become accomplished and manifest at a particullar epoch, whose course we have not followed, and whose
origin we never trace back, it happened that industry threw off
the domestic menial character it had so long worn, and that
instead of slave artisans, the world saw free artisans, who
worked, not for a master, but for the public, and for their
own profit and benefit. Tllis was an immense change in
the state of society, a change pregnant with incalculable results.  When and how it was operated in the Roman world,
I know not, nor has any one else, I believe, identified its precise date; but at the period we are now considering, at the
commencement of the fifth century, it was in full action; there




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


309


were in all the large towns of Gaul a numerous class of free
artisans, already erected into corporations, into bodies formally
represented by some of their own members. The majority of
these trade-corporations, the origin of which is usually assigned
to the middle ages, may readily be traced back, more especially in the south of Gaul and in Italy, to the Roman world.
Ever since the fifth century, we come upon indications ot
them, more or less direct, at every epoch of history; already,
at that period, they constituted in many towns one of the
principal, one of the most important portions of the popular
community.
Tile fourth class was that of slaves; of these there were
two kinds.   Ve are too much in the habit of attaching to the
word slave, one bare single idea,-of connecting with the term
one sole condition; this is an entire misconception. We must
carefully distinguish, at the period now under our consideration, between the domestic slaves and the predial or rural
slaves. As to the former, their condition was everywhere
very nearly the same; but as to those who cultivated the soil,
we find them designated by a multitude of different names.
coloni, inquilini, rustici, agricoki, aratores, tributarii, originarii, adscriptitii, each name, well nigh, indicating a difference
of condition. Some were domestic slaves, sent to a man's
country estate, to labour in the fields there, instead of working indoors, at his town-house.  Others were regular serfs of
the soil, who could not be sold except with the domain itself;
others were farmers, who cultivated the ground, in consideration of receiving half the produce; others, farmers of a higher
class, who paid a regular money rent; others, a sort of comparatively free labourers, farm-servants, who worked for
wages. Sometimes, moreover, these very different conditions
seem mixed up together under the general denomination of
coloni, sometimes they are designated under various names.
Thus, judging from appearances, and from existing terms,
a political nobility, an upper burgher class or municipal
nobility, the people especially so called, domestic or rural
slaves, in their different conditions, constituted Gaulish society, constituted the strength which subsisted in Gaul, after
the withdrawal of Rome.
But what is the real value to be attached to these appearances?  What was the real strength of this strength?  What




310


HISTORY OF


living and powerful society could the concurrences of these
various classes form?
We are in the habit of giving to every privileged class the
name of aristocracy. I do not conceive that this name properly appertains to the senatorial families of which I have
just spoken. It was an hierarchical collection of functionaries, but not an aristocracy. Neither privilege, nor wealth,
nor even with these the possession of power, are sufficient to
constitute an aristocracy. Permit me to call your attention
for a moment, to the true meaning of this term; I shall not go
far in search of it; I will consult, for the history of the word,
the language whence we have derived it.
In the more ancient Greek authors, the word apEwv, aptoroc, generally means the strongest, the person possessing the
superiority in personal, physical, material strength. We find
the term thus employed in Homer, Hesiod, and even in some
of the choruses of Sophocles; it came, perhaps, from the word
which designated the God Mars, the God of Strength, Apr.
As we advance in the progress of Greek civilization, as we
approach the period when social development gave effect to
other causes of superiority than physical force, the word
apLoroc designates the great, powerful, the most considerable,
the most wealthy; it is the title assigned to the principal
citizens, whatever the sources of their power and influence.
Going a little further, we come to the philosophers, to the
men whose work it was to elevate and purify ideas; with them
the word aptwroc is often used to convey a meaning of a far
more moral character; it indicates the best, the most virtuous,
the most able man; intellectual superiority. In the eyes of
these definers, the aristocratic government was the government of the best, that is to say, the ideal of governments.
Thus, then, physical force, social preponderance, moral
superiority-thus, so to speak, and judging from the vicissitudes in the meanings of the words, thus have these been the
gradations of aristocracy, the various states through which it
has had to pass.
And, indeed, for an aristocracy to be real, for it to merit
its name, it must possess, and possess of itself, one or the
other of these characteristics; it must have either a force of its
own, a force which it borrows from no one, and which none
can wrest from it, or a force admitted, proclaimed by the
men over whom it exercises this force. It must have either




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


311


independence or popularity. It must either have power, in
its mere personal right, as was the case with the feudal aristocracy, or it must receive power by national and free election, as is the case in representative governments. Nothing
resembling either of these characteristics is to be met with
in the senatorial aristocracy of Gaul; it possessed neither
independence nor popularity. Power, wealth, privilege, all it
had and exercised, was borrowed and precarious.    Undoubtedly the senatorial families occupied a position in society
and in the eyes of the people, for they were rich, and had filled
public offices; but they were incapable of any great effort,
incapable of carrying the people with them, or using them
either to defend or to govern the country.
Let us now turn to the second class, the curiales, and
examine what the real extent of their strength was. Judging
from appearances, these had something beyond what the
preceding class possessed; among them, the presence of principles of liberty is evident. I have already endeavoured to
explain these in the following manner, in my Essai sur le
regime Municipal Romain au V. Siecle:
1. Every inhabitant of a town, possessor of a fortune sufficient to secure his independence and the development of his
understanding, is a curialis, and as such called upon to take
part in the administration of civic affairs.
The right of curialship, then, is attached to the presumed
capacity of filling it, and not to any privilege of birth, and without any limit as to numbers; and this right is not a mere right
of election, but a right to deliberate upon and to participate
directly in the administration of affairs, a right to discuss
matters and interests, the comprehension of which, and the
ability to discuss which, it may reasonably be supposed that
all persons above the very lowest in the scale of existence
possess. The curia is not a limited and select town council,
but an assembly of all such inhabitants as come within the
curial qualification.
2. An assembly cannot act administratively; there must
be magistrates to do this. Such magistrates are all elected
by the curia, for a very limited period, and are responsible
with their fortunes for the integrity of their administration.
3. In great emergencies, when the fate of a city is in
question, or when it is proposed to elect a magistrate invested
with uncertain and more arbitrary powers, the curia itself




312


IITST()RY OF


does not su'ice; the whole population is summoned to concur
in these solemn acts.
Who, at the aspect of such rights existing, would not
imagine he recognised a petty republic, in which the municipal
life and the political life were mixed up and confounded together, in which democracy of the most unequivocal description
prevailed?  Who would imagine, for one instant, that a town
so governed formed part of a great empire, and was connected
by strict and necessary bonds with a distant and sovereign
central power?  Who would not expect to find here all the
impulsive manifestations of liberty, all the agitation, all the
faction and cabal, all the violence, all the disorder, which invariably characterize small societies, inclosed and self-governed
within their own walls?
Nothing of the sort was the fact; all these apparent principles were without life, and there were others existent,
which absolutely precluded their reanimation.
1. Such are the effects, such the exigences of the central
despotism, that the quality of curialis becomes not a right
recognised in all those who are capable of exercising it, but
a burden imposed upon all who are capable of bearing it.
On the one hand, the central government has relieved itself
of the duty of providing for any branch of the public service
in which it is not immediately interested, throwing this
duty upon the class of citizens in question; on the other
hand, it employs this class of citizens in collecting the taxes
whicl it imposes on its own peculiar account, and makes
them responsible for the full amount.  It ruins the curiales,
in order to pay its functionaries and its soldiers; it grants
its functionaries and its soldiers all sorts of practical advantages and privileges, as inducements to them to aid it in preventing the curiales fiom saving themselves from ruin. Completely null as citizens, the curiales only live to be stripped
of all they.gin as men of labour and industry.
2. The magistrates elected by the curice are, in point of
fact, mIerely tl(e imperial agents of despotism, for whose
benefit they despoil their fellow-citizens, until some opportunity or other occurs to them of getting rid of this hard obligation.
3. Their election itself is valueless, for the imperial representative in the province may annul it; a favour which they




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313


have the greatest desire to obtain at his hands; another circumstance putting them more firmly in his power.
4. Their authority is not real, for they cannot enforce it.
No effective jurisdiction is placed in their hands; they take
no step which may not be annulled. Nay, more: despotism,
perceiving more and more clearly their ill-will to the task, or
their inability to execute it, encroaches more and more, by itself
or its immediate representatives, into the sphere of their
functions. The business of the curia gradually disappears
with its powers, and a day will come when the municipal
system may be abolished at a single blow, in the still subsisting empire, " because," as the legislator will say, " all these
laws wander, as it were, vainly and without object around
the legal soil."'
Thus, then, it is seen, force, real life, were equally wanting
to the curiales, as to the senatorial families; equally with the
senatorial families, they were incapable of defending or
of governing the society.
As to the people, I need not dwell upon their situation; it
is obvious that they were in no condition to save and regenerate the Roman world. Yet we must not think them altogether so powerless, so utterly null, as is ordinarily supposed.
They were tolerably numerous, more especially in the south
of Gaul, both from the development of industrial activity
during the three first ages of Christianity, and from the circumstance of a portion of the rural population taking refuige
in the towns from the devastation of the barbarians. Besides,
with the progress of disorder in the higher ranks, the popular
influence had a tendency to increase. In times of regularity,
when the administration, its functionaries, and its troops were
on the spot, ere the curia had become altogether ruined and
powerless, the people remained in their ordinary state of inaction, or passive dependence. But when all the various
masters of the society had fallen away or disappeared, when
the dissolution of things became general, the people, in their
turn, grew to be something, and assumed, at all events, a
certain degree of activity and importance.
I have nothing to say about the slaves; they were nothing


I Nov. 46, rendered by the Emperor of the East, Leo the Philosopher
towards the close of the ninth century.




314


HISTORY OF


for themselves; how, then, could they do anything for
society? It was, moreover, the coloni who underwent well
nigh all the disasters of invasion; it was they whom the barbarians pillaged, hunted, carried away captive, pell-mell with
their cattle. I may remark, however, incidentally, that under
the Empire the condition of the slaves was greatly improved;
this is clear from its legislation.
Let us now collect all these scattered features of Gaulish
civil society in the fifth century, and form a collective idea,
as near the fact as we can, of its aggregate.
Its government was monarchical, even despotic; and yet
all the monarchical institutions and powers were falling, were
themselves abandoning their post. Its internal organization
seemed aristocratic; but it was an aristocracy without strength,
without coherence, incapable of playing a public part. A
democratic element, municipalities, free burghers, were still
visible; but democracy was as enervated, as powerless, as
aristocracy and monarchy. The whole of society was in a
state of dissolution, was dying.
And here we see the radical vice of the Roman society,
and of every society where slavery exists on a large scale,
where a few masters rule over whole herds of people. In all
countries, at all times, whatever the political system which
prevails, after an interval more or less long, by the sole effect
of the enjoyment of power, of wealth, of the intellectual development, of the various social advantages they enjoy, the
higher classes wear themselves out, become enervated, unless
they are constantly excited by emulation, and refreshed by
the immigration of the classes who live and labour below
them.  See what has taken place in modern Europe. There
has been in it a prodigious variety of social conditions, infinite gradations in wealth, liberty, enlightenment, influence,
civilization. And up all the steps of this long ladder, an
ascending movement has constantly impelled each class and
all classes, the one by the other, towards greater development, to which none was allowed to remain a stranger.
Hence the fecundity, the immortality, so to speak, of modern
civilization, thus incessantly recruited and renewed.
Nothing at all resembling this existed in the Roman
society; there, men were divided off into two great classes,
separated from each other by an immense interval; there




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.             815
was no variety, no ascending movement, no genuine democracy; it was, as it were, a society of officers, who did not
know whence to recruit their numbers, and did not, in point
of fact, recruit them. There was, indeed, from the first to
the third century, as I have just now said, a progressive
movement on the part of the lower classes of the people; they
increased in liberty, in number, in activity. But the movement
was far too slow, far too limited, to enable the people by reintegrating in time the superior classes, to save them from
their decline and fall.
Besides these, there became formed another society, young,
energetic, fruitful of results,-the ecclesiastical society. It
was around this society that the people rallied; no powerful
bond united them to the senators, nor, perhaps, to the curiales;
they assembled, therefore, around the priests and bishops.
Alien to pagan civil society, whose chiefs created therein no
place for it, the mass of the population entered with ardour
into the Christian society, whose leaders opened their arms to
it.  The senatorial and curial aristocracy  was a mere
phantom; the clergy became the real aristocracy; there was
no Roman people; a Christian people arose. It is with them
we shall occupy ourselves in the next lecture.




316


HIISTORY OF


T1hIRD LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Variety of the principles and forms of religious society
in Europe-Classification of the different systems, 1. According to the
relations of the church in the state; 2. According to the internal constitution of the church-All these systems assign their origin to the primitive church-Critical examination of these pretensions-They have all
a certain degree of foundation-Fluctuation and complexity of the external situation ald internal position of Christian society from the first
to the fifth century-Predominant tendencies-Prevalent facts of the
fifth century - Causes of liberty in the church at this period - The
election of bishops-Councils - Comparison of religious with civil
society-Of the chiefs of these two societies-Letters of Sidonius
Apollinaris.
THE subject which is now about to occupy our attention, is
the state of religious society in the fifth century. I need not
remind you of the great part it has played in the history of
modern civilization; that is a fact perfectly well understood.
Nor is it in modern history that this fact first manifested
itself; the world has seen more than one striking example of
the power of the religious society, of its ideas, its institutions,
its government.    But there is a fundamental difference to be
remarked.     In Asia, in Afriica, in    antiquity, everywhere
before the organization of Europe, religious society presents
itself under a general and simple form; this is the clear prevalence of a system, the domination of a principle: sometimes
the society is subordinate; it is the temporal power which
exercises the spiritual functions and directs the worship, and
even the faith: sometimes it occupies the chief place; it is
the spiritual power which rules the civil order. In both the
one case and the other, the position and organization of the




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


317


religious society are clear, simple, stable. In modern Europe,
on the contrary, it presents every possible variety of system;
we find in it every possible principle; it seems made up of
samples of all the forms under which it has appeared elsewhere.
Let us endeavour, for the sake of greater perspicuity, to
disintricate and classify the different principles, the different
systems which have been, in various measure, adopted into
European religious society, the different constitutions it has
received.
Two great questions here present themselves: on the one
hand, the exterior situation of the religious society, its position with reference to civil society, the relations, that is to
say, of church with state; and on the other, its interior organization, its internal government.
With both the one and the other of these questions, we
must connect the modifications of which religious society has
been the object in the particular respect.
I will first consider its external situation, its relations with
the state.
Four systems, essentially differing from one another, have
been maintained on this subject:
1. The state is subordinate to the church; in the moral
point of view, in the chronological order itself, the church precedes the state; the church is the first society, superior, eternal;
civil society is nothing more than the consequence, than an
application of its principles; it is to the spiritual power that
sovereignty belongs of right; the temporal power should
merely act as its instrument.
2. It is not the state which is in the church, but the church
which is in the state: it is the state which rules the land,
which makes war, levies taxes, governs the external destiny
of the citizens. It is for the state to give to the religious
society the form and constitution which best accord with the
interests of general society.  Whenever creeds cease to be
individual, wheriever they give birth to associations. these
come within the cognizance and authority of the temporal
power, the only veritable power in a state.
3. The church ought to be independent, unnoticed in the
state; the state has nothing to do with her; the temporal
power ought to take no cognizance of religious creeds; it




318


HISTORY OF


should let them approximate or separate, let them go on and
govern themselves as they think best; it has no right, no
occasion, to interfere in their affairs.
4. The church and the state are distinct societies, it is
true; but they are at the same time close neighbours, and
are nearly interested in one another: let them live separate,
but not estranged; let them keep up an alliance on certain
conditions, each living to itself, but each making sacrifices
for the other, in case of need, each lending the other its
support.
In the internal organization of the religious society, the
diversity of principles and forms is even still greater.
And first, we see before us two leading systems: in the
one, power is concentrated in the hands of the clergy; the
priests alone form a constituted body; the ecclesiastical society governs the religious society: in the other, the religious
society governs itself, or at least participates in the administration of its affairs; the social organization comprehends the
body of the faithful, as well as the priests.
Government in the hands of the ecclesiastical society solely
may be constituted in various ways.  1. Under the form of
pure monarchy; there are several examples of this in the
history of the world. 2. Under the form of an aristocracy;
where the bishops, for instance, each in his own diocese,
or in a collective assembly, govern the church in their
own right, without the concurrence of the inferior clergy.
3. Under a democratic form, where, for instance, the government of the church belongs to the whole body of the clergy, to
assemblies of priests all equal among themselves.
In cases where the society governs itself, the diversity of
forms is equally great.  1. The body of the faithful, the
laity, sit with the priests in the assemblies charged with the
general government of the church. 2. There is no general
government of the church; each congregation forms a several
local, independent church, which governs itself; whose members select their own spiritual chief, according to their particular views and purposes. 3. There is no distinct and permanent spiritual government at all; no clergy, no priests;
teaching, preaching, all the spiritual functions are exercised
by the body of the faithful themselves, according to circumstances, according to inspiration; there is constant change,
constant agitation.




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319


I might combine in an infinity of ways these various forms,
mixing their elements together in various proportions, and
thus create a host of other diversified forms, but with my
utmost ingenuity I could devise no combination which has
not already been exhibited to the world.
And not only have all these principles been professed, not
only have all these systems been maintained each as the only
true and legitimate system, but all of them have been brought
into practical operation, all of them have existed.
Every one knows that in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries the spiritual power claimed as its right, sometimes the
direct exercise, sometimes the indirect nomination of the temporal power. Every one sees that in England, where Parliament has disposed of the faith as of the crown of the country,
the church is subordinate to the state.  What are popery,
Erastianism,l episcopacy, presbyterianism, the independents,
the quakers, but applications of the doctrines I have pointed
out. All doctrines have become facts: there are examples of
all systems, and of all the so varied combinations of systems.
And not only have all systems been realised, but they have,
every one of them, set up a claim to historical as well as to
rational legitimacy; they have, every one of them, referred
their origin to the earliest age of the Christian church; they
have, every one of them, claimed ancient facts for their own,
as their own peculiar foundation and justification.
Nor are they wholly wrongs any of them; we find in the
first ages of the age, facts with which all of them are entitled
to claim a connexion. I do not mean to say that they are all
alike true, rationally, all alike authentic, historically, nor that
they all represent a series of different facts, through which
the church has necessarily passed. What I mean is simply,
that there is in each of these systems a greater or less proportion of moral truth and of historical reality. They have
all played a part, have occupied a place, in the history of
modern religious history: they have all, in various measure,
contributed to the work of its formation.
I will view them successively in the first ages of the church;
we shall have no difficulty in tracing them there.
1 The system in which the church is governed by the state, so named
from Erastus, a German theologian and physician of the 16th centuy, who
first maintained this principle with any distinguished effect.




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HISTORY OF


Let us first consider the external situation of the church.
and its relations with civil society.
As to the system of a church, independent, unnoticed in
the state, existing and governing itself without the intervention of the temporal power, this is evidently the primitive
situation of the Christian church.  So long as it was confined within a limited space, or disseminated only in small
and isolated congregations, the Roman government took no
notice of it, and allowed it to exist and regulate its affairs as
it thought proper.
This state of things terminated: the Roman empire took
cognizance of the Christian society; I do not refer to the
period when it took notice of it in the way of persecution, but
to that when the Roman world became Christian, when
Christianity ascended the throne with Constantine.  The
position of the church with reference to the state underwent
a great change at this epoch. It were incorrect to say that
it fell at this period under the government of the church,
that the system of its subordination to power then came into
operation. In general, the emperors (lid not pretend to regulate the faith; they took the doctrines of the church as they
found them. The majority of the questions which at a later
period excited the rivalship of the two powers had not as yet
arisen. Still, even at this period, we meet with a great
number of ficts wherein the system of the sovereignty of the
state over the church might have sought, and has, indeed,
sought its origin. Towards the close of the third and the
commencement of the fourth century, for instance, the bishops
observed an extremely humble and submissive tone with the
emperors; they were incessantly exalting the imperial majesty.
Doubtless, had it attempted to assail the independence of
their faith, they would have defended themselves, as, in point
of fact, they often did defend themselves, with energy; but
they were greatly in need of the emperors' protection so recently extended to them. But just recognised and adopted
by the temporal power, they were anxious to treat it with the
utmost respect and consideration. Besides, they could do
nothing of themselves; the religious society, or rather its
government, had at this epoch no means of carrying its will
into execution; it had no institutions, no rules, no system; it
was constantly obliged to have recourse to the intervention of




I^


CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.
the civil government, the ancient and only organized authority
'This continual necessity for a foreign sanction, gave religious
society an air of subordination and dependence, more apparent
than real; at bottom, its independence and even its power were
considerable, but still, in almost all its affairs, in all matters
affecting the interest of the church, the emperor interfered; his
consent and approbation were invariably solicited.  The
councils were generally assembled by his order; and not only
did he convene them, but he presided over them, either in
person or by deputy, and decided what subjects should be
discussed by them. Thus Constantine was present in person
at the council of Arles, in 314, and at the council of Nicea,
in 325, and, apparently at least, superintended the deliberations. I say apparently; for the mere presence of the emperor at a council was a triumph for the church, a proof of
victoryfar more than of subjection. But however this may have
been, the forms, at all events, were those of respectful subordination, the church availed herself of the power of the Empire, covered herself with its majesty; and Erastianism, independently of the national grounds upon which it proceeds, has
found, in the history of this epoch. facts which have served as
its justification.
As to the opposite system, the general and absolute sovereignty of the church, it is clear that it cannot be met with in
the cradle of a religious society; it necessarily belongs to the
period of its greatest power, of its fullest development. Yet
one may already detect glimpses of it, and very distinct
glimpses, in the fifth century.. The superiority of spiritual
over temporal interests, of the destiny of the believer as compared with that of the mere citizen, the principle enunciated
by the religious society, was already recognised and admitted
by the civil society.
We accordingly find the language of the heads of the spi
ritual society, erewhile so gentle, so reserved, so modest, now
becoming confident, bold, often even haughty; whilst, on the
other hand, that of the chiefs of the civil society, of the superiors themselves, despite the pomp still clinging round its
forms, is in reality mild and submissive. At this period, indeed, the whole framewor.k of temporal power was in a state
of rapid decay; the Empire was expiring; the imperial
power was day by day more and more nearly approaching
Y




322


HISTORY OF


the condition of an utter, of a ridiculous nonentity. The
spiritual power, on the contrary, grew stronger and stronger,
and penetrated more deeply and widely into civil society; the
church became more wealthy, her jurisdiction more extended;
she was visibly progressing towards domination. The complete fall of the Empire in the west, and the rise of the barbarous monarchies, contributed greatly to the exaltation of
her pretensions and of her power. The church had long been
under the emperors, obscure, feeble, a mere child, so to speak;
she had thence acquired a sort of reserve in her intercourse
with them; a habit of respect for their ancient power, their
name; and it is quite possible that had the Empire continued
to exist, the church would never have completely emancipated herself from this custom of her youth.  What corroborates this supposition is the fact that such has been the case in
the eastern empire; that Empire lived on for twelve centuries in a state of gradual decay; the imperial power became
5ttle more than nominal. Yet the church there never attained,
never even sought to attain the sovereignty. The Greek
church remained, with the eastern emperors, in nearly the
same relation in which the Romish church stood with the
Roman emperors. In the the  stthe Empire fell; kings covered
with furs took the place of princes clothed in purple; the
church yielded not to these new comers the same consideration, the same respect which she had paid to their predecessors. Moreover, to contend successfully against their barbarism, she found herself under the necessity of stretching to
its utmost bent the spring of spiritual power: the exaltation
of popular feeling in this direction, was her means of safety
and of action. H-ence the so rapid progress now of' those
pretensions of hers to the sovereignty, which in the fifth century were scarce perceptible.
As to the system of alliance between the two distinct and
independent societies, it is not difficult to recognise it at this
period; there was nothing precise or fixed in the conditions
of the alliance; the two powers never continued long upon
equal terms under them; they kept each in its own sphere,
and treated together whenever they happened to come in contact.
We find, then, from the first to the fifth century, in germ
and in development all the systems according to which the




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relations between church and state may be regulated; they
all of them derive their origin from facts dating from the cradle
of religious society. Let us pass on to the interior organization of this society, to the internal government of the church;
we shall arrive at the same result.
It is clear that this last form cannot be that of an infant
church: no moral association begins with the inertia of the
mass of those associated, with the separation of the people and
the government.  It is certain, accordingly, that at the outset of Christianity, the body of the faithful participated in the
administration of the affairs of the society. The presbyterian
system, that is to say, the government of the church by its
spiritual chiefs, assisted by the leading members of the body,
was the primitive system. There may be many questions
raised as to the titles, functions, and mutual relations of these
lay and ecclesiastical chiefs of the rising congregations; but
as to the fact of their concurrence in the regulation of their
common affairs, there can be no doubt.
Equally unquestionable is it that at this period the separate
societies, the Christian congregations in each town, were far
more independent of each other than they have been at any
subsequent time; there is no doubt that they governed.
themselves, perhaps not completely, bat almost so, each for
itself; and apart from the rest.  Hence the system  of the
Independents, who insist that the religious society should
have no general government, but that each local congregation should be an entire and sovereign society in itself.
No doubt, again, that in these petty Christian societies of
early date, unconnected with one another, and often without
'ehe means of preaching and teaching, no doubt that in the
absence of a spiritual leader instituted by the original founder
of the faith, it often occurred that, under the influence of an
inward impulse, some individual member of the body, of
strong mind, and endowed with the gift of acting upon his
fellows, arose and preached the word to the association to
which lie belonged.  Hence the system of the Quakers, the
system  of spontaneous individual preaching, without any
order of priests, of regular and permanent clergy.
These are some of the principles, some of the forms of the
religious societies in the first age of the Christian church.
It comprehended many others; perhaps, indeed, those which
Y 2




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HIISTORY OF


I have mentioned were not the most powerful in their
influence.
In the first place, it is incontestable that the first founders,
or, more correctly speaking, the first instruments in the foundation of Christianity, the apostles, regarded themselves as
invested with a special mission received from on high, and
that they in turn transmitted to their disciples by the laying
on of hands, or in some other form, the right to teach and
to preach. Ordination is a primitive fact in the Christian
church, hence an order of priests, a distinct permanent clergy,
invested with peculiar functions, duties, and rights.
Let us turn to another primitive fact. The particular congregations were, it is true, isolated; but the tendency of them
all was to unite, to live under one common discipline as
under one common faith; it was the tendency, the aim,
natural to every society in progress of self-formation; it is
the necessary condition of its extension, of its firm establishment.
Approximation, assimilation of the various elements, movement towards unity, such is the regular course of creation.
The first propagators of Christianity, the apostles or their
disciples, preserved, moreover, over the most distant congregations a certain amount of authority, a remote but
efficacious superintendence.  They took care to form and to
maintain ties not only of moral brotherhood, but of organizations between the particular churches. Ience a constant
tendency towards a general government of the churches, an
identical and permanent constitution.
It appears to me perfectly clear that in the minds of the
first Christians, in their common and simple feeling, the
apostles were regarded as superior to their disciples, and the
immediate disciples of the apostles as superior to their successors; a superiority purely moral, not established as an
institution, but real and admitted. In it we have the first
germ, the religious germ  of the episcopal system.  That
system derives also fro.n another source.  The towns into
which Christianity had made its way, were very unequal in
population, in wealth, in importance; and the inequality in
intellectual development, in moral power, was as great as
the  material inequality.  There owas, consequently, an
inequality, likewise, in the distribution of influence among




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the spiritual heads of the congregations.  The chiefs of the
more important, of the more enlightened towns, naturally
took the lead and exercised an authority, at first moral, then
institutional, over the minor congregations within a certain
circle around them. This was the political germ of the
episcopal system.
Thus, at the same time that we recognise in the primitive
state of the religious society the association of lay-members
with the priests in the government, that is to say, the Presbyterian system; the isolation of the particular congregations, that
is to say, the system of the Independents; free, spontaneous,
casual preaching, that is to say, the system of the Quakers:
on the other hand, we sec rising up in opposition to the
system of the Quakers, an order of priests, a permanent
clergy; in opposition to the system of the Independents, a
general government of the church; in opposition to the
Presbyterian system, the principle of inequality among the
priests themselves, the Episcopal system.
How have these principles, so various, so contrary to each
other, become developed?  To what causes have been owing
the abasement of one, the elevation of another.   And,
first, how was the transition from a government, shared by
the body of the faithful, to a government vested in the clergy
alone, accomplished? By what progress did the religious society
pass under the empire of the ecclesiastical society?
In the revolution by which this change was effected, the
ambition of the clergy, personal interests, human passions, had
a large share. I do not seek to under-estimate its proportion.
It is quite undeniable that all these causes contributed to the
result which now occupies our attention; but yet, had there
been only these causes at work, the result would never have
been realised. I have already observed, and it is a remark
I repeat on all available occasions, that no great event is
accomplished by causes altogether illegitimate. Beneath these,
or at their side, there are always legitimate causes in operation,
good and sound reasons why an important fact should be
accomplished. We have here a fresh example of this.
It is, I believe, a clear principle-a principle generally
established-that participation in power presupposes the moral
capacity to exercise it; where the capacity is wanting, participation in power comes to an end, as a matter of course.




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HISTORY OF


The right to exercise it continues virtually to reside in human
nature; but it slumbers, or rather rests only in germ, in perspective, until the capacity needed develops itself; and then
it awakens and develops itself' with the capacity.
You will remember what I said in our last lecture, as to
the state of Roman civil society in the fifth century. I endeavoured to describe its profound decay. You saw the
aristocratic classes perishing away, their numbers immensely
reduced, their influence gone-their virtue gone.
Whosoever amongst them     possessed any energy, any
moral activity, entered into the body of the Christian clergy.
There remained, in point of fact, only the mere populace, the
plebs romana, who rallied around the priests and the bishops,
and formed the Christian people.
Between this people and its new chiefs, between religious
society and ecclesiastical society, the inequality was extremely
great: an inequality not only in wealth, in influence, in social
situation, but in information, in intellectual and moral development. And the more Christianity, by the mere fact of its continuous duration, developed itself; extended itself, elevated
itself, the more this inequality increased and manifested itself.
The questions of faith and doctrine became, year after year,
more complex and more difficult of solution; the rules of
church discipline, her relations with civil society, in like
manner grew more extensive and complicated; so that in
order to take part in the administration of its affairs, there
was requisite, from epoch to epoch, a greater and still greater
development of mind, of learning, of character; in a word,
moral conditions more and more elevated, more and more
difficult to be met with; and yet, such was the general disorder in society, such the universal calamity of the period,
that the moral condition of the people, instead of growing
better, and of a higher character, fell lower and lower every
day.
We have here, after having made every allowance for the
part taken in the changle by human passions and personal
interests, we have here, I say, the true cause which transferred religious society to the empire of ecclesiastical society,
which took all power from the body of the faithful and gave
it to the clergy alone.
Let us inquire how this second revolution, of which we




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE,


327


have seen the origin, was worked out. How, in the very
bosom of ecclesiastical society, power passed from the priests
to the bishops.
We have here an important distinction to observe: the
position of the bishops in their diocese, and in relation to the
general government of the church, was, in the fifth century,
no longer what it had been. Within his diocese, the bishop
did not govern by his sole authority; he required the concurrence and assent of his clergy. This, indeed, was not an
absolute institution: the fact was not regulated in any fixed
manner, nor according to permanent forms; but the existence
of the fact is manifested by every document connected with
urban or diocesan administration. The words cum assensu
clericorum, constantly recur in the monuments of the period.
In questions, however, concerning the general government,
whether of the ecclesiastical province, or of the church at
large, the case was different; the bishops alone attended the
councils, as representatives of this government; when simple
priests appeared there it was as delegates of their bishops.
The general government of the church at this period was
entirely episcopal.
You must not, however, attach to the words which have just
occurred, the meaning which they assumed at a later period:
you must not imagine that each bishop went to the councils
solely on his own account, in virtue of his own right. He
went there as the representative of his clergy. The idea that
the bishop, the natural chief of his priests, should speak and
act everywhlere on their behalf, and in their name, was at
this period prevalent in all minds, in the minds of the bishops
themselves, and limited their power, while it practically served
as a ladder whereby they ascended higher and higher, and
gradually emancipated themselves from control.
Another cause, and one perhaps still more decisive, limited
the councils to the bishops alone: this was the small number
of priests, and the consequent inconvenience which would
have arisen from their too frequent absence from their posts.
To judge merely from the great part which they play, and,
permit me the expression, fiom the noise which they make in
the fifth century, one is disposed to imagine the priests a very
numerous body. Such was not at all the case: we have
positive indications, historical I:roofs, which show the con



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HISTORY OF


trary. In the commencement of the fifth century, for instance, we meet with a question as to the number of the
priests at Rome; and we find it mentioned, as an illustration
of the peculiar wealth and importance of that city, that she
possessed eighty churches and seventy-seven priests.
The indirect proofs we have supply the same conclusions;
the acts of the councils of the fourth and fifth centuries are
full of canons prohibiting a simple clerk from going into any
other diocese than his own to be ordained; a priest from quitting his diocese to perform duty elsewhere, or even from
travelling at all without the consent of his bishop.1 All sorts
of means were adopted for keeping the priests in their own
immediate district; they were watched with a care amounting
to the oppressive, so limited was their number, so anxious
were the other bishops to get possession of them. After the
establishment of the barbarian monarchies, the Frank or Burgundian kings, the rich and more notable chiefs, were constantly endeavouring to seduce from each other those companions, those leudes, those anstrustions, who constituted their
immediate train, their select guard: the barbarian laws are full
of enactments intended to check these attempts. We find the
kings constantly undertaking, in their mutual treaties, not to
invite to their courts, nor even to receive, their respective
leudes. The ecclesiastical legislation of the fourth and fifth
centuries exhibits similar regulations with respect to the
priests, doubtless, on the same grounds.
It was therefore a very serious affair for a priest to quit on
a distant mission the church to which he was attached; it was
difficult to replace him-the service of religion suffered in his
absence. The establishment of the representative system, in
church as in state, presupposes a sufficient body of men to
admit of one easily supplying the place of another upon occasion, and of their moving about without inconvenience to
themselves or to the society. Such was not the case in the
fifth century; and in order to have procured the attendance at
councils of the priests, indemnification and coercive measures
might perhaps have been necessary, as they were for a long
time necessary in. England, to bring the citizens to parliament.


1 See the canons of the councils of Aries, in 314, of Turin, in 397, of
Aries in 450, of Tours, in 4J.1.




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329


Everything, therefore, tended to transfer the government of
the church to the bishops; and, accordingly, in the fifth century, the episcopal system was alwost in full operation.
As to the system of pure monarchy, the only one upon
which we have not as yet remarked, because it is a system
which facts have not as yet presented to us, it was very far
from dominating at this epoch, or even from claiming to dominate; and the most practised sagacity, the most ardent
aspirations of personal ambition, could not then have foreseen
its future destinies. Not but that we see, even thus early,
the papacy increasing daily in consideration and influence;
it is impossible to read with impartiality the monuments of
the period, without perceiving that, from  every part of
Europe, applications were constantly being made to the
bishop of Rome for his opinion, nay, his decision, in matters
of faith, of discipline, in the trials of bishops, in a word, upon
all the great occasions wherein the church is interested. Very
often, indeed, it was merely an opinion for which he was asked;
and when he had given it, those of the interested parties who
disapproved of his judgment, refused to abide by it; but, on
the other hand, it was supported by a more or less powerful
party, and, as a general result, his preponderance became
more and more decided after every one of these appeals.
There were two causes which more especially contributed to
produce these references to the bishop of Rome: on the one
hand, the patriarchate principle still held sway in the church;
above bishops and archbishops, with privileges more nominal
than real, but still generally admitted in theory, there was a
patriarch presiding.  The east had several patriarchs, the
patriarch of Jerusalem, the patriarch of Antioch, the patriarch of Constantinople, of Alexandria. In the west there
was but one patriarch, the bishop of Rome; and this circumstance had a great share in the exclusive elevation of the
papacy. The tradition, moreover, that St. Peter had been
bishop of Rome, and the idea that the popes were his successors, already strongly possessed the minds of the western
Christians.
We thus clearly trace, in the first five ages, the historical
foundations of all the systems which have been cited or
applied, both as to the internal organization, and as to the
external position of the religious society. These systems are




330


HISTORY OF


far from being of the same importance; some of them have
only appeared, in passing, as mere transitory, accidental
circumstances; the others have remained for a long time in
germ, have developed themselves slowly and deliberately;
they are of different dates, and, as I have said, of very various
importance; but they are all connected with some fact, they
can all cite some authority.
When we seek what principles prevailed amidst this variety
of principles, what great results were accomplished in the
fifth century, we discover the following facts:1. The separation of the religious society and of the ecclesiastical society: a result more especially due to the extreme
intellectual and social inequality which existed between the
people and the Christian clergy.
2. The predominance of the aristocratic system in the interior organization of the ecclesiastical society: the intervention of simple priests in the government of the church became
less and less frequent, less and less influential; power concentrated itself more and more in the hands of the bishops.
3. Finally, as to the relations of the religious society with
the civil society of the church, with the state, the system in
force was that of alliance, of intercourse between powers
distinct, but in perpetual contact with each other.
These are the three great features which characterize the
state of the church at the commencement of the fifth century.
At the bare statement of them, in their general appearance
alone, it is impossible not to perceive the germs of danger,
on the one hand, in the bosom of the religious society, to the
liberty of the body of the faithful, and in the bosom of the
ecclesiastical society to the liberty of the body of the clergy.
The almost exclusive predominance of the priests over the
faithful, and of the bishops over the priests, gave clear presage of the abuses of power and of the disorders of revolutions. The men of the fifth century, however, though they
might well have conceived such fears, had no notion whatever of them; the Christian society of that period was wholly
absorbed in regulating itself, in constituting itself a fixed and
determinate body; it required, beyond all things, order, law,
government; and despite the dangerous tendency of some of
the principles which then prevailed, the liberties, both of the
people in the religious society, and of the simple priests in




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331


the ecclesiastical society, were not without reality and security.
The first consisted in the election of the bishops, a fact
which I need not seek to establish, for it is perfectly selfevident to any one who but glances over the monuments of
the period. This election was conducted neither according
to general rules, nor with permanent forms; it was altogether
irregular, various, and influenced by fortuitous circumstances.
In 374, the bishop of Milan, Auxentius, an Arian in his
opinions, being dead, his successor was about to be elected in
the cathedral.
The people, the clergy, the bishops of the province, were all
there, and all very animated; the two parties, the orthodox and
the Arians, each wished to nominate a bishop. The tumult
ended in a violent confusion. A governor had just arrived at
Milan, in the name of the emperor; he was a young man named
Ambrose. Informed of the tumult, he repaired to the church
in order to quiet it; his words, his air, were pleasing to the
people. He had a good reputation: a voice arose in the
midst of the church-according to tradition, the voice of a
child; it cried, "Let Ambrose be nominated bishop!" And,
forthwith, Ambrose was nominated bishop; he afterwards
became Saint Ambrose.
This is an example of the manner in which episcopal elections were still made at the end of the fourth century. It is
true they were not all so disorderly and sudden; but these
characteristics did not shock or astonish any one, and the day
following his elevation, Saint Ambrose was acknowledged by
all to be properly elected. Would you wish that we should
look to a posterior epoch, to the end of the fifth century, for
example? I open the collection of the letters of Sidonius
Apollinarius, the most curious, and, at the same time, the most
authentic monument of the manners of that time, especially
the manners of religious society; Sidonius was bishop of
Clermont; he himself collected and revised his letters; what
we find there written is exactly what he wished to bequeath
to posterity. Here is a letter which he addressed to his
friend Domnulus.
" SIDONIUS TO HIS DEAR DOMNULUS; HEALTH.1
"Since you desire to know what our father in Christ,


1 Book IV., Letter 25.




332


HISTORY OF


the pontiff Patient,' with his customary piety and firmness,
has done at Chalons, I can no loiger delay causing you
to share our great joy.  He arrived in this town, partly
preceded and partly followed by the bishops of the province,
assembled, in order to give a chief to the church of this city,
so troubled and unsteady in its discipline since the retirement and death of bishop Paul.
" The assembly found various factions in the town, all those
private intrigues which can never be formed but to the detriment of public iwelfare, and which were excited by a trium
virate of competitors. One of' tlem, destitute of all virtue
made a parade of nis antique race; another, like a new Apicius,
got himself supported by the applause and clamours of noisy
parasites, gained by the agency of his kitchen; a third engaged
himself by a secret bargain, if he attained the object of his
ambition, to abandon the domains of the church to the pillage
of his partisans. Saint Patient and Saint Euphronius,2 who,
setting aside all aversion and all favour, were the first to
maintain firmly and rigidly the most sound views, were not
long in learning the state of things.  Before manifesting
anything in public, they first held counsel in secret with the
bishops their colleagues; then, braving the cries of a mob
of furies, they suddenly nominated, without his having formed
any desire or having any idea of being elected, a pious man
named John, commendable from his honesty, charity, and
mildness. John had first been a reader, and had served at
the altar from his infancy; after much time and labour, he
became an archdeacon.... Ie was, therefore, a priest only
of the second order, and amidst these furious factions no
one exalted by his praise a man who asked nothing; but
neither did any one dare to accuse a man who merited only
eulogies. Our bishops have proclaimed him their colleague,
to the great astonishmient of the intriguers, to the extreme
confusion of the wicked, but with the acclamations of good
men, and without any person daring or wishing to oppose
him."
Just now we were at a popular election; here is one equally
irregular and unforeseen, brought about at once, in the midst
of the people, by two pious bishops. Here is a third, if pos1Bishop of Lyons,    2 Bishop of Autun.




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


333


sible, still more singular.  Sidonius himself is at once tile
narrator and actor of it.
The bishop of Bourges was dead: such was the ardour of
the competitors and their factions, that the town was thrown
into disorder by them, and could find no means of coming to
a decision.  The inhabitants of Bourges thought of addressing themselves to Sidonius, illustrious throughout Gaul for
his birth, wealth, eloquence, and knowledge, long since invested with the highest civil functions, and recently nominated bishop of Clermont.   They begged him to choose
them a bishop, almost in the same way as, in the infancy of
the Greek republics, the people, tired of civil storms and its
own powerlessness, sought a foreign sage to give tl.em laws.
Sidonius, rather surprised at first, nevertheless consented,
assured himself of the concurrence of the bishops, who would
have to ordain the person lwhom he alone had the charge of
electing, and repairing to Bourges, assembled the people in tle
cathedral. I will cite the letter in which he gi:ves an account
of the whole affair to Perpetuus, bishop of Tours, and sends
him the discourse which he pronounced in this assembly; they
are both rather lengthy; but this mixture of rhetoric and
religion, these literary puerilities amidst the most animated
scenes of real life, this confusion of the bel esprit and of the
bishop, make this singular society better known than all the
dissertations in the world; this society at once. old and younr,
in decline and in progress: I shall only here and there omit a
passage without interest.
"SIDONIUS TO TIHE LORD POPE PERPETUUS; HEALTTI.1
"In your zeal for spiritual reading, you go so far as to
wish to become acquainted with writings which are not in
any way worthy of your attention, or of exercising your judgment. You thus ask me to send you the discourse which I
delivered in the church to the people of Bourges, a discourse
to which neither the divisions of rhetoric, nor the movements
of the oratorical art, nor grammatical figures, have lent
fitting elegance or regularity; for on this occasion I was
unable to combine, according to tile general usage of orators,
the grave testimonies of history, the fictions of poets, the
flashes of controversy. Tlhe seditions, cabals, and diffcreees
1 Book V.1T., L..e er 9.




334


HISTORY OF


of parties, hurried me away; and if the occasion furnished
me with ample materials, affairs did not allow me time to
meditate upon them. There was such a crowd of competitors,
that two benches could not accommodate all the candidates
for a single see; all were pleasing to themselves, and each
displeasing to the rest. We could not even have done anything for the common good, if the people, more calm, had
not renounced its own judgment in order to submit itself to
that of the bishops. A few priests whispered in a corner,
but in public not a sound of disapprobation was heard from
them; for the greater part dreaded their own order no less
than the other orders.... Accept, then, this sheet: I have
dictated it, Christ is witness, in two watches of' a summer
night; but I much fear that in reading it you will think more
of it than I propose.
" THE DISCOURSE.
' Dearly beloved, profane history reports that a certain
philosopher taught his disciples patience in keeping silence,
before he disclosed to them the art of speaking, and that for this
purpose all novices observed a rigorous silence for five years,
amid the discussions of their co-disciples; so that the most
prompt minds could not be praised until a suitable time
had elapsed for them to be understood. With regard to myself, my weakness is reserved for a very different condition, I
who, before having filled with any man the more humble function of' disciple, see myself obliged to undertake with you
the task of doctor.1... But since it is your pleasure in your
error, to wish that I, devoid of wisdom, should seek for
you, with the aid of Christ, a bishop full of wisdom, and
in whose person all kinds of virtues are to be united, know
that your agreement in this desire, while it does me great
honour, also imposes upon me a great burden....
" And first, it is necessary that you should know whab
torrents of injuries await me, and to what bayings of human
voices the crowd of pretenders will give way against you...
If I should nominate one from  among the monks, if he
were even comparable with Paul, with Auton, Hilarius, or
Macarius, already do I feel resounding round my ears the


I Sidonius had just been n'ninated bishop; towards the end of 471.




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


335


noisy murmurs of an ignoble crowd of pigmies who complain,
saying: 'he they have nominated, fills the functions, not of
a bishop, but of an abbot; he is far more fitted to intercede
for souls with the celestial judge, than for bodies before the
judges upon earth.' Who will not be profoundly irritated,
at seeing the most sincere virtues represented as vices?  If
we select an humble man, they will call him  abject; if
we select one of a proud character they will treat him as
haughty; if we propose a man with but little enlightenment,
his ignorance will bring ridicule upon him; if; on the contrary, he is a scholar, his learning will be called puffed up
pride; if he be austere, they will hate him as cruel; if he be
indulgent, they will accuse him of too great facility; if simple,
they will disdain him as a beast; if full of penetration,
they will reject him as cunning; if he be exact, they will
call him peddling; if easy, they will call him negligent; if he
has an astute mind, they will declare he is ambitious; if
tranquil in his manner, they will reckon him lazy; if sober,
they will take him to be avaricious; if he eat in order to nourish
himself, they will accuse him of gormnandising; if he fast
regularly, they will tax him with ostentation.. Thus, in
whatever manner one lives, good conduct, and good qualities
will always be abandoned to the keen tongues of slander, which
resemble hooks with two barbs. And, moreover, the people
in its stubbornness, the priests in their indocility, are with
difficulty brought under monastic discipline.
"If I nominate a priest, those who have been ordained
after him will be jealous, those who have been ordained before
him will defame him; for among them there are some (and
be it said without offence to others) who think that the length
of the duration of priesthood is the only measure of merit, and
who consequently wish, that in the election of a prelate, we
should proceed not with a view to the common welfare, but
according to age...
"If, by chance, I were to point out to you a man who had
filled military offices, I should soon hear these words: ' Sidonius,
because he has passed from the secular functions to the spiritual, will not take a man fromn the religious order for a
bishop; proud of his birth, raised to the first rank by the
insignia of his dignities, he scorns the poor in Christ.' It is
for this reason that I at once make the declaration which I




3 'G 


HIISTORY OF


owe, not so much to tile charity of good pcople, as to the
suspicions of the wicked. In the name of the loly Spirit,
our Almighty God, who, by the voice of Peter, condemned
Simon the magician, for having thought that the grace of the
Holy Ghost could be bought with gold, I declare that in the
choice of the man whom I believed most wortly, I have
not been influenced by either money or favour; and that
after having examined, as much and even more than was
necessary, the individual, the time, tle province, and the town,
I have judged that he who was t!hc best suited to be given to
you, is the man whose life I sllall review in a few words.
' Simplicius, blessed of God, answers to the wishes of the
two orders both by his conduct and profession; the republic
may find in him much to admire, the churcl much to cllerish.
If we would bear respect to birth, (and the Evangelist himself
has proved to us that this consideration must not be neglected,
for Luke, in beginning the eulogy of John, reckons it a great
advantage that lhe descended from a sacerdotal race), the relations of Simplicius lave presided in the church and in tlhe tribunals; his family has been illustrious in bishops and prelates;
so that his ancestors lhave always been in possession of tlhe
power of carrying out the laws, both human and divine.... If
we look to his age, he has at once all the activity of youth and
the prudence of age.... If charity be desired, he has shown
it in profusion to the citizen, tlie priest, and the pilgrim, to the
common people as to the great; and his bread has been more
frequently and the rather tasted by him who gave nothing in
return. If the fulfilment of a mission be necessary, more than
once has Simplicius presented himnself for your town, before
kings covered with ermine and before princes adorned with
purple. -. I had almost forgotten to speak of a thing which,
notwitlhstanding, should not be omitted. Formerly, in those
ancient times of Moses, according to the Psalmist, when it was
necessary to elevate the ark of tle covenant, all Israel, in thle
desert, heaped the )roduce of its offerings at the feet of Bescleel. Afterwards, Solomon, in order to construct tle temple
of Jerusalem, put in motion the whole force of the people,
although lie had united the gifts of tle queen of the southern
country of Saba to the riches of Palestine, and to the tributes of the neighbourin in kigs. Simplicius, young, a soldier,
unaided, still under the paternal roof, though already a




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


337


father, has also constructed you a church; he was arrested in
his pious work, neither by the attachment of old men to their
property, nor by consideration for his young children; and
still his modesty is such that he has kept silence upon this
subject. And in fact, if I do not deceive myself, this man
is a stranger to all popular ambition; he seeks not the favour
of all, but only that of good men; he does not lower himself to an imprudent familiarity, but he attaches a high value
to solid friendships.... Lastly, he should especially be desired
for a bishop, because he is not in the least desirous of it; he
labours not to obtain the priesthood, but to deserve it.
"Some one will, perhaps, say to me, But how, in so short a
tine, have you learned so much concerning this man?  I
will answer him: I knew the inhabitants of Bourges before
knowing the town. I have learnt much of them on my road,
in the military service, in the relations of money and affairs,
in their travels and mine. One also learns much of things
from public opinion, for nature does not confine fame to the
narrow limits of a particular country.
" The wife of Simplicius descends from the family of the
Palladii, who have occupied professorships of letters and served
altars, with the approbation of their order; and as the character of a matron should only be called back succinctly and
with modesty, I shall content myself with affirming that this
lady worthily responds to the merit and honours of the two
families, whether of that where she was born and has grown
up, or of that into which she has passed by an honourable
choice. Both bring up their sons worthily and with all
wisdom, and the father, in comparing them with himself,
finds a new subject of happiness that his children already
surpass himself.
" And since you have sworn to acknowledge and accept
my declaration upon the subject of this election, in the
name of the Father, the Son and the IHoly Ghost, Simplicius is he whom I declare bishop of our province, and
sovereign pontiff of your town. With regard to yourselves,
if you adopt my decision concerning the man whom I have
been speaking oi; approve it conformably to your first
engagements."
It is needless to add more; these three examples are fully
sufficient thoroughly to explain what the election of bishops
z




338


HISTORY OP


was in the fifth century.  Witlout doubt, it possessed none
of the characteristics of a veritable constitution; devoid of
rules, of permanent and legal forms, abandoned to the chance
of circumstances and passions, it was not one of those powerful
liberties before which a long future opens itself, but, for the
time being, it was a genuine reality; it led to a great
movement in the interior of cities; it was an efficacious
guarantee.
There was a second, the frequent holding of councils.
The general government of the church, at this epoch, was
completely in the hands of the councils-general, national,
provincial councils.  They there discussed questions of faith
and discipline, the actions of bishops, all the great or difficult affairs of the church. In the course of the fourth
century, we find fifteen councils, and in the fifth century,
twenty-five;' and these are only the principal councils, those
of which written notices have been left; there were certainly
besides a large number of local councils, of short duration,
which have left no monument, of which even the recollection is lost.
An indirect evidence shows the importance of councils at
this epoch. Every one knows that, in England, in the origin
1 List of the principal Councils of the Fourth Century.


I


Date.   Place.             Present.
X        ~ I 


314
340
353
355
356
358
358
360
386
385
386
386
387 i
397 
I!


rles                  33 bishops, 14 priests, 23  deacons,
8 readers or exorcists.
Cologne....       14 bishops, 10 delegate priests.
Arles.
Poitiers....       The bishops of Gaul.
Beziers..
Vaison...        bi(.
Place unknown.          Ibid.
Place unknown.       Ibid.
Paris.....            Ibid.
Valencia.          21 bishops.
Bordeaux..
Trieves..
Place unknown.      The bishops of Gaul.
Nimes. 
Turin..




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


339


of representative government, at the time of the formation of
the House of' Commons, many statutes were made, prescribing the regular and frequent holding of parliaments.
The same fact appears, at the fifth century, with regard to
councils. Mlany canons-among others, those of the council
of Orange, held in 441-enact that a council shall never
separate without indicating the following council, and that
if' the misfortunes of the times prevent them from holding a
council twice a year, according to the canons, all possible
precautions shall be taken to insure that no long period
shall elapse without one.
Thus the two great guarantees of liberty in society,
election and discussion, existed, in fact, in the ecclesiastical


List of the principal Councils f' the F'filh Century.


jDate.     Place.
406i  Toulouse..
419   Valencia....
429   Place uncertain.
489   Riez..
4411  Orange..
442   Vaison..
444   Place uncertain.
451   Place uncertain.
4&52  Arles..
452   Narbonne
453   Angers.
454   Bourges 
45    Aries.
400   L-ons..
461   Tours.
463   Aries..
45    Vannes....
470   Chhlolns-sur-Saone
472   Bourges
474   Vienne
475   Aries..
475   Lyons.
495   Lyons.
496 0i  eims
499   Lyons.
25
z2


1Ilresent.
i~ 


The bishops of Gaul.
Ibid.
13 bishops, 1 delegate pricst.
16 bishops, 1 priest.
44 bishops.
The bishops of Narbonnensis prima.
8 bishops.
The bishops of Gaul.
13 bishops.
8 bishops, 1 delegate priest.
1 bishop, subscribed aiterwards.
19 bisllops.
6 bishops.
The bishops of the Lyonnese.
30 bishops.
8 bishops.




340


HISTORY OF


society of the fifth century-disordered, it is true, incomplete,
precarious, as after times have clearly proved, but, for the time
Deing, real and powerful, at once the cause and the evidence
of the movement and ardour of mind.
Now, let us put this state of the religious society by
the side of the civil society which I endeavoured to picture
in our last meeting. I shall not stay to deduce the consequences of this comparison; they hasten before the eyes, and
already must be recognised. I shall recapitulate them thus:
In the civil society, there is no people nor government;
the imperial administration is fallen, the senatorial aristocracy
is fallen, the municipal aristocracy is fallen; everywhere
there is dissolution; power and liberty are struck by the
same sterility, the same nullity. In religious society, on the
contrary, a very animated people and a very active government show themselves.  The causes of anarchy and tyranny
are numerous, but liberty is real, and power also. Everywhere, the germs of a very energetic popular activity, and a
very strong government, develop themselves. It is, in a
word, a society replete with the future, a stormy future,
charged with good and with evil, but powerful and fertile.
Do you wish that we should prosecute this comparison any
further? We have hitherto considered only general facts,
the public life, so to speak, of the two societies. Do you
wish that we should penetrate into the domestic life, into the
interior of houses? that we should seek how, on the one side,
men of note in civil society, and on the other the chiefs o.
the religious society, are employed, how they pass their time?
It is worth while to address this question to the fifth century,
because its answer cannot but be instructive.
At the end of the fourth and in the fifth century, there
was in Gaul a large number of important and honoured men,
long invested with the great charges of the state, semipagans, semi-Christians,-that is, having taken no part, and
not wishing to take any part in religious matters;
men of mind, literati, philosophers, full of desire for study
and intellectual pursuits; rich, and living in magnificence.
Such, at the end of the fourth century, was the poet Ausonius,
count of the imperial palace, questor, pretorian-prefect, consul,
and who possessed much beautiful property in Saintonge
and near Bourdeaux; such, at the end of the fifth century,




CIVILIZATION IN fRANCE.


341


was Tonance Ferreol, prefect of Gaul, in   great credit
with the kings of the Visigoths, and whose domains were
situated in Languedoc and Rouergue, upon the borders of
the Gardon, and near Milhau; Eutropius, also prefect of the
Gauls, a platonist by profession, who lived in Auvergne;
Consencius, of Narbonne, one of the richest citizens of the
south, and whose country house, called Octaviana, situated upon the road to Beziers, passed for the most magnificent in the province. These were the great lords of Roman
Gaul; after having occupied the superior posts of the
country, they lived upon their estates far from the mass of
the population, passing their time in the chase, or fishing,
in amusements of all kinds; they had fine libraries, often a
theatre, where they played the dramas of some Rhetor,
their client: the rhetorician, Paul, had his comedy, the
Delirus, played at the house of Ausonius, composed himself the music for the interludes, and presided at the representation. At these entertainments were combined intellectual discussions, literary conversation; the merits of the
ancient authors were canvassed; their works examined, commented upon; the guests made verses upon all the petty incidents of life. In this way passed time, agreeable, smooth,
varied, but enervated, egoistical, sterile; stranger to all
serious occupation, to all powerful and general interest. And
I speak here of the most honourable remnant of the Roman
society, of men who were neither corrupt, profligate, nor
debased, who cultivated their intellect, and who were disgusted with the servile manners and the decay of their age.
See what was the life of a bishop; for example, of Saint
Hilary, bishop of Arles, and of Saint Loup, bishop of Troyes,
at the commencement of the fifth century.
Saint Hilary arose very early in the morning: he always
dwelt in the town; from the time that he arose, any one who
wished to see him was received. He heard complaints, adjusted differences, performed the office of a justice of the
peace. He afterwards repaired to the church, performed
service, preached, taught, sometimes many hours consecutively. Returned home, he took his repast, and while this
lasted he heard some pious reading; or else he dictated,
and the people often entered freely, and listened.  He
also performed manual labour, sometimes spinning for the




342


HISTORY OF


poor, sometimes cultivating the fields of his church. Thus
passed his day, in the midst of the people, in grave useful
occupations, of a public interest, which, every hour, had
some result.
The life of Saint Loup was not exactly the same; his
manners were more austere, his activity less varied; he lived
severely; and the rigidity of his conduct, the assiduity of his
prayers, were incessantly celebrated by his contemporaries.
Thus he exercised more ascendancy by his general example
than by his actions in detail. He struck the imagination of
men to such a point, that according to a tradition, the truth of
which is of little importance-true or false, it equally shows
contemporaneous opinion-Attila, in quitting Gaul, carried
Saint Loup with him to the banks of the Rhine, supposing
that so sainted a man would protect his army. Saint Loup
was besides of a cultivated mind, and took an active interest
in intellectual development. He was solicitous in his diocese
about schools and pious reading; and when it was necessary
to go and contend against the doctrines of Pelagius in
Britain, it was upon his eloquence, as well as that of Saint
Germain d'Auxerre, that the council of 429 confided for
success.
What more need be said? the facts speak clearly; between
the great lords of the Roman society and the bishops, it is
not difficult to say where the power was, to whom the future
belonged.
I will add one fact, indispensable to the completion of this
picture of Gaulish society in the fifth century, and of its singular state.
The two classes of men, the two kinds of activity which I
have just placed before your eyes, were not always as distinct,
as separate as one would be tempted to believe, and as their
difference might cause it to be supposed.  Great lords,
scarcely Christians, ex-prefects of Gaul, men of the world
and of pleasure, often became bishops.  They ended, even,
by being obliged so to do, if they wished to take any part in
the moral movement of the epoch, to preserve any real importance, to exercise any active influence.  This is what
happened to Sidonius Apollinaris, as to many others. But,
in becoming bishops, they did not completely lay aside their
habits, their tastes; the rhetorician, the grammarian, the




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343


man of wit, the man of the world and of pleasure, did not
always vanish under the episcopal mantle; and the two societies, the two kinds of manners sometimes showed themselves
singularly mixed up together. Here is a letter from Sidonius,
a curious example and monument of this strange alliance.
He writes to his friend Eriphius:
" SIDONIUS TO HIS DEAR ERIPHIUS; HEALTH.
C You are always the same, my dear Eriphius; neither the
chase, the town, nor the fields attract you so strongly, that
the love of letters cannot still detain you. You direct me to
send you the verses which I made at the request of your
father-in-law,' that respectable man who, in the society of
his equals, was equally ready to command or to obey. But
as you desire to know in what place and upon what occasion
those verses were made, to the end better to understand this
valueless production, lay the blame only on yourself if the
preface be longer than the work.
"We were met at the sepulchre of Saint Just,2 illness
preventing you from joining us. Before day, the annual
procession was made, amidst an immense populace of both
sexes, that could not be contained in the church and the
crypt, although surrounded by immense porticoes; after
the monks and priests had performed morning service,
alternately singing the psalms with great sweetness, each
retired-not very far, however-to the end that all might
be ready for tierce, when the priests should celebrate the
divine sacrifice. The narrow dimensions of the place, the.
crowd which pressed around us, and the large quantity of lights,
had choked us; the oppressive vapour of a night still bordering upon summer, although cooled by the first freshness
of an autumnal dawn, made this inclosure still warmer.
While the various classes of society dispersed on all sides, the
chief citizens assembled round the tomb of the consul
Syagrius, which was not at the distance of an arrow-shot.
" Some were seated under the shade of an arbour formed
of stakes covered with the branches of the vine; we were
1 Philimathius.
2 Bishop of Lyons, towards the end of the fourth century. His fete is
celebrated on the 2nd of September.




344


HISTORY OF


stretched upon the green turf embalmed with the perfume
of flowers. The conversation was sweet, cheerful, pleasant;
moreover (and this was far more agreeable), there was
no question either of powers or tributes; no word which
could compromise, nor person who could be compromised.
Whosoever could in good terms relate an interesting history,
was sure to be listened to with earnestness. Nevertheless,
no continuous narration was made, because gaiety frequently interrupted the discourse. Tired at length of this
long repose, we desired to do something else. We soon
separated into two bands, according to ages, one party loudly
demanded the game of tennis, the others a table and dice.
For myself, I was the first to give the signal for tennis,
because I love it, as you know, as much as books. On the other
side, my brother Dominicius, a man full of kindness and cheerfulness, seized the dice, shook them, and struck with his dicebox, as if he had sounded a trumpet, to call players to him.
As to us, we played a good deal with the crowd of scholars,
so as to reanimate by this salutary exercise the vigour of
our limbs stiffened by too long repose. The illustrious Philimathius himself, as says the poet of Mantua,
" Ausus et ipse manu juvenum tentare laborem,"
constantly mixed with the players at tennis. He succeeded very
well at it when he was younger, but now, as he was often driven
from the middle, where people were standing, by the shock of
some running player; as at other times, if he entered the
arena, he could neither make way nor avoid the ball, and as
frequently overthrown, he only raised himself with pain from
the unlucky fall, he was the first to leave the scene of the
game, heaving sighs, and very much heated: this exercise had
swollen the fibres of the liver, and he experienced poignant
pains. I left off at once, charitably to cease at the same time
as he, and thus save our brother from feeling embarrassed at
his fatigue. We then seated ourselves again, and soon he
was forced to ask for water to bathe his face; they brought
him some, and at the same time a napkin covered with hair
which had been washed and was by chance suspended from a
cord, held by a pulley before the folding door of the house
of the porter. While he leisurely dried his cheeks, he
said to me: 'I wish you would dictate for me a quatrain




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


345


upon the cloth that has rendered me this office.' 'Be it so,'
I answered.  'But,' added he, 'let my name be contained
in these verses.' I replied, that what he asked was feasible.
Well!' he replied, 'dictate them.' I then said to him
with a smile; ' Know, however, that the muses will soon be
irritated if I attempt to meddle with their choir amidst so
many witnesses.'  He then answered very briskly, and yet
with politeness (for he is of great readiness of imagination
and an inexhaustible fund of wit): ' Rather take care, lord
Solius, that Apollo does not become far more irritated, if
you attempt to seduce his dear pupils in secret and alone.'
You may imagine the applause excited by this prompt and well
turned answer. Then, and without further delay, I called
his secretary, who was there already, tablets in hand, and I
dictated to him a quatrain to this effect:
"'Another morning, whether in going out of the hot-bath,
or when the chase has heated his brow, may the handsome
Philimathius still find this linen to dry his dripping face, so
that the water may pass from his forehead into this fleece
as into the throat of a drinker!'
" Scarcely had your Epiphanius written these verses when
they announced to us that the hour was come when the bishop
came forth, and we immediately arose."
Sidonius was then bishop, and doubtless many of those
who accompanied him to the tomb of Saint Just and to that
of the consul Syagrius, who participated with him in the
celebration of divine service, and at the game of tennis, in
the chaunting of the psalms, and in the taste for trifling
verses, were bishops like him.
We are now at the end of the first question which we
laid down: we have considered the social state of civil and
religious, Roman and Christian Gaul, at the fifth century.
It remains for us to study the moral state of the same epoch,
the ideas, the doctrines, the sentiments which agitated it; in
a word, the internal and intellectual life of men. This will
form the subject of the next lecture.




346


HISTORY OF


FOURTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-What must be understood by the moral state of a
society-Reciprocal influence of the social state upon the moral state,
and of the moral state upon the social state-At the fourth century, civil
Gaulish society alone possessed institutions favourable to intellectual development-Gaulish schools-Legal situation of the professors-Religious society has no other mediums of development and influence than its
ideas-Still one languishes, and the other prospers-Decline of the civil
schools-Activity of the Christian society-Saint Jerome, Saint Au gustin,
and Saint Paulin of Nola-Their correspondence with G-aul-Foundation and character of monasteries in Gaul-Causes of the difference of
the moral state of the two societies-Comparative view of the civil literature and the Christian literature in the fourth and fifth centuries
Inequality of the liberty of mind in the two societies-Necessity for
religion lending its aid to studies and letters.
BEFORE entering into the examination of the moral state of
Gaulish society at the end of the fourth and at the commencement of the fifth century, I must be allowed to say a few words
as to the nature of this part of my task.        These words,
moral state, have, in the eyes of some people, a somewhat
vague appearance.    I would wish to determine their meaning
with precision.   Moral sciences, now-a-days, are accused of a
want of exactitude, of perspicuity, of certainty; they are reproached as not being sciences. They should, they may be
sciences, just the same as physical sciences, for they also
exercise themselves upon facts.      Moral facts are not less
real than   others:  man has not invented them: he discovered and named them; he takes note      of them every moment of his life; he studies them      as he studies all that
surrounds him, all that comes to his intelligence by the




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


347


interposition of his senses. Moral sciences have, if the expression be allowed, the same matter as other sciences; they
are, then, not by any means condemned by their nature to be
less precise or less certain. It is more difficult, I grant, for
them to arrive at exactitude, perspicuity, precision. Moral
facts are, on the one hand, more extended and more exact, and,
on the other, more profoundly concealed, than physical facts;
they are at once more complex in their development, and
more simple in their origin. Hence arises a much greater
difficulty of observing them, classifying them, and reducing
them to a science. This is the true source of the reproaches
of which the moral sciences have often been the subject.
Mark their singular fate: they are evidently the first upon
which the human race occupied itself; when we go back to
the cradle of societies, we everywhere encounter moral facts,
which, under the cloak of religion or of poetry, attracted the
attention, and excited the thought of men. And yet, in
order to succeed in thoroughly knowing them, scientifically
knowing them, all the skill, all the penetration, and all the
prudence of the most practised reason is necessary. Such,
therefore, is the state of moral sciences, that they are at once
the first and the last in the chronological order; the first,
the necessity which works upon the human mind; the last,
that it succeeds in elevating to the precision, clearness, and
certainty, which is the scientific character. We must not,
therefore, be astonished nor affrighted by the reproaches
which they have incurred; they are natural and legitimate:
let it be known that neither the certainty nor the value of the
moral sciences are in the least affected by them; and thence
let this useful lesson be drawn, that, in their study, in the observation and description of moral facts, it is necessary, if
possible, to be still more nice, exact, attentive, and strict
than in anything else. Profiting by the lesson, I commence
by determining with precision, what I intend to convey by
these words-the moral state of society.
We have hitherto been occupied with the social state of
Gaul, that is, the relations of men among themselves, and their
external and natural condition. This done, the social relations described, are the facts, whose aggregate constitutes
the life of an epoch, exhausted? Certainly not: there remains to be studied the internal, the personal state of men,




348


HISTORY OF


the state of souls, that is, on one side, the ideas, doctrines,
the whole intellectual life of man; on the other, the relations
which connect ideas with actions, creeds with the determinations of the will, thought with human liberty.
This is the twofold fact which constitutes, in my opinion,
the moral state of a society, and which we have to study in
the Gaulish society of the fifth century.
According to a very general opinion, I might dispense with
insisting long upon this inquiry. It has often been said that
the moral state depends upon the social state, that the relations of men between themselves, the principles or customs
which preside in these relations, decide their ideas, their sentiments, their internal life; that governments and institutions make the people. This was a dominant idea in the
last century, and was produced, under different forms, by
the most illustrious writers of the age, Montesquieu, Voltaire,
the economists, the publicists, &c. Nothing is more simple:
the revolution that the last century brought forth was a
social revolution; it was far more occupied in changing the
respective situation of men, than their internal and personal
disposition; it desired rather to reform society than the individual. Who will be surprised that it was everywhere
preoccupied with what it sought, with what it did-that it
was too much taken up with the social state? Yet there
were circumstances which might have served to have warned
it: it laboured to change the relations, the external condition
of men; but what were the instruments, the fulcrum of its
work? ideas, sentiments, internal and individual dispositions:
it was by the aid of the moral state that it undertook the reform of the social state. The moral state, then, must be
acknowledged to be, not only distinct from, but, to a certain
point, independent of the social state; it should be seen that
situations, institutions are not all, nor do they decide all, in
the life of nations; that other causes may modify, contend
with, even surmount these; and that if the external world
acts upon man, man in his turn acts upon the world. I
would not, that it should be thought I reject the idea
which I combat; far from it; its share of legitimacy is
great: no doubt but that the social state exercised a powerful
influence upon the moral state. I do not so much as wish
that this doctrine should be exclusive; the influence is shared




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and reciprocal: if it be correct to say that governments make
nations. it is no less true that nations make gove nments.
The question which is here encountered is higher and greater
than it appears: it is a question whether events, the life
of the social world, are, as the physical world, under the empire of external and necessary causes, or whether man himself,
his thought, his will, concur to produce and govern them;
a question what is the share of fatality and that of liberty in
the lot of the human race.  A question of immense interest,
and which I shall one day perhaps have occasion to treat
in the manner which it merits; at present, I can only assign
it its place, and I content myself by claiming for liberty, for
man himself, a place, a great place, among the authors of
events in the creation of history.
I return to the inquiry into the moral state of civil society
and religious society in Gaul, in the fourth and fifth
centuries.
If institutions could do all, if laws supplied and the means
furnished to society could do everything, the intellectual state
of Gaulish civil society at this epoch would have been far superior to that of the religious society. The first, in fact, alone
possessed all the institutions proper to second the development
of mind, the progress and empire of ideas. Roman Gaul was
covered with large schools. The principal were those of
Treves, Bordeaux, Autun, Toulouse, Poitiers, Lyons, Narbonne, Aries, Marseilles, Vienne, Besancon, &c. Some were
very ancient; those of Marseilles and of Autun, for example,
dated from the first century. They there taught philosophy,
medicine, jurisprudence, literature, grammar, astrology, all
the sciences of the age. In the greater part of these schools,
indeed, they at first taught only rhetoric and grammar; but
towards the fourth century, professors of philosophy and law
were everywhere introduced.
Not only were these schools numerous, and provided with
many chairs, but the emperors continually took the professors of new measures into favour. Their interests are, from
Constantine to Theodosius the younger, the subject of frequent imperial constitutions, which sometimes extended,
sometimes confirmed theii privileges.  Here are the principal of these:




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HISTORY OF


1. Constantinusl Augustus to Volusianus (in 321).-" ATe
order that physicians, grammarians, and the other learned
professors be for the future, they and the property they possess in their respective cities, exempt from all municipal
charges, but that, nevertheless, they may be capable of being
invested with the honores.  We forbid them to be harassed
by law, or that any wrong be done them. If any one annoys
them, let him be prosecuted by the magistrates, to the end
that they themselves may be spared that trouble, and let
him pay one hundred thousand pieces to the exchequer; if a
slave offend them let him be whipped by his master before
him he has offended; and if the master has consented to the
outrage, let him pay twenty thousand pieces to the exchequer,
and let his slave remain in pledge till the whole sum be
delivered.  We order to be paid to the said professors
their salaries; and  as they must not be charged with
onerous functions, we allow them to have tle honores conferred upon them when they desire, but we do not oblige them
to it."3 33a^
2. Constantinus Augustus to the people (in 133).-" Confirming the good deeds of our divine predecessors, we order
that physicians and professors of letters, as well as their wives
and children, be exempt from all public functions and charges;
that they be not included in the service of the militia, nor
obliged to receive guests, or to acquit themselves of any
charge, to the end that they may have more facility to instruct
many people in the liberal studies and the above-mentioned
professions." 4
3. Gratianus Augustus to Antonius, pretorian prefect of
the Gauls (in 376).-" In the heart of the great cities which,
in all the diocese confided to your Magnificence, flourish
with illustrious masters, let the best preside over the education of youth (we mean the rhetoricians and grammarians
in the Attic and Roman tongues), let the orators receive from
1 Probably praetorian prefect.
2 There was a distinction made in the Roman cities and municipalities
between the munera, municipal functions of an inferior class, which conferred no privileges; and the honorcs, superior functions, regular magistracies, to which certain privileges were attached.
a Cod. Theod., 1. 111., tit. 3., 1. i.  4 Ibid. 1. 3.




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the exchequer twenty-four rations;1 let the less considerable number of twelve rations be, according to    usage,
accorded to Greek and Latin grammarians.  And to the end
that the cities which enjoy metropolitan rights may select
famous professors, and as we do not think that each city
should be left free to pay its rhetoricians and masters according to its inclination, for the illustrious city of Treves
we wish to do something more; accordingly, let thirty rations
be there granted to the rhetoricians, twenty to the Latin
grammarian, and twelve to the Greek grammarian, if a
capable one can be found."2
Valentinian, Honorius, Theodosius II. issued many similar
decrees. After the Empire was divided among many masters,
each of them concerned himself rather more about the prosperity of his states and the public establishments which were
in them. Thence arose a momentary amelioration, of which
the schools felt the effects, particularly those of Gaul, under
the administration of Constantius Clorus, of Julian, and of
Gratian.
By the side of the schools were, in general, placed other
analogous establishments. Thus, at Treves there was a grand
library of the imperial palace, concerning which no special
information has reached us, but of which we may judge by the
details which have reached us concerning that of Constantinople. This last had a librarian and seven scribes constantly
occupied-four for Greek, and three for Latin. They copied
both ancient works and new works. It is probable that the
same institution existed at Treves, and in the great towns of
Gaul.
Civil society, then, was provided with means of instruction
and intellectual development.  It was not the same with
religious society. It had at this epoch no institution especially devoted to teaching; it did not receive from the state
any aid to this particular aim. Christians, as well as others,
could frequent the public schools; but most Qf the professors
were still pagans, or indifferent in religious matters, and, in
their indifference, had sufficient ill-will towards the new
1 Anz4ona, a certain measure of wheat, oil, and other provisions, probably
what was necessary for the daily consumption of a single person, /ujprjftov.
2 Cod. Theod., XIII., tit. 3., b. 11.




352


HlISTORY OF


religion.  They therefore attracted very few  Christians.
The sciences which they taught, grammar and rhetoric, pagan
by origin, dominated by the ancient pagan mind, had besides
but little interest for Christianity. Lastly, it was for a long
time in the inferior classes, among the people, that Christianity
was propagated, especially in the Gauls, and it was the superior
classes which followed the great schools. Moreover, it was
hardly until the commencement of the fourth century that the
Christians appeared there, and then but few in number.
No other source of study was open to them. The establishments which, a little afterwards, became, in the Christian
church,the refuge and sanctuaryof instruction, the monasteries,
were hardly commenced in the Gauls. It was only after the year
360 that the two first were founded by Saint Martin-one at
Liguge, near Poitiers, the other at Marmoutiers, near Tours;
and they were devoted rather to religious contemplation than
to teaching.
Any great school, any special institution devoted to the
service and to the progress of intellect, was at that time, therefore, wanting to the Christians; they had only their own ideas,
the internal and personal movement of their thought. It was
necessary that they should draw everything from themselves;
their doctrines, and the empire of their doctrines over the
will-the desire which they had to propagate themselves, to
take possession of the world-that was their whole power.
Still the activity and intellectual strength of the two societies
were prodigiously unequal. With its institutions, its professors,
its privileges, the one was nothing and did nothing-with its
single ideas, the other incessantly laboured and seized everything.
All things in the fifth century attest the decay of the civil
schools. The contemporaneous writers, Sidonius Apollinaris
and Mamerti us Claudianus, for example, deplore it in every page,
saving that the young men no longer studied, that professors
were without pupils, that science lan(uished and was being
lost. They attempted, by a multitude of petty expedients, to
escape the necessity of long and vigorous studies. This was
~a time of abbreviators of history, philosophy, grammar, and
rhetoric; and they evidently proposed to themselves not to
propagate instruction in the classes who would not study, but
to spare the labour of science to those who could but would




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not devote themselves to it. It was especially the young
men of the superior classes who frequented the schools; but
these classes, as has been seen, were in rapid dissolution.
The schools fell with them; the institutions still existed, but
they were void —the soul had quitted the body.
The intellectual aspect of Christian society was very different. G aul, in the fifth century, was under the influence of
three spiritual chiefs, of whom  none lived there: Saint
Jerome' residing at Bethlehem, Saint Augustin2 at Hippo,
Saint Paulin3 at Nola: the latter only was a Gaul by birth.
They truly governed Gaulish Christianity; it was to them
that it addressed itself on all occasions, to receive ideas, solutions, councils. Examples abound. A priest, born at the foot of
the Pyrenees, and who was called Vigilantius, travelled to Palestine. -le there saw Saint Jerome, and engaged with him in
controversy concerning some questions of ecclesiastical doctrine or discipline. Upon his return to the Gauls, he wrote conccrning what he regarded as abuses. He attacked the worship
of martyrs, their relics, the miracles worked at their tombs,
frequent fasts, austerities, even celibacy.  Scarcely was his
work published, than a priest, named Reparius, who lived in
his neighbourhood, probably in Dauphiny or Savoy, acquainted Saint Jerome with it, giving him an account at large
of the contents of the book, and of its danger, as he said.
Saint Jerome immediately answered Reparius, and his answer
is a first refutation, which promises a second more in detail.
Reparius and another neighbouring priest, Didier, immediately sent to Bethlehem by a third priest, Sisinnius, the
writings of Vigilantius; and in less than two years after the
commencement of the contest, Saint Jerome sent into the
Gauls a complete refutation, which rapidly spread there.
The same fact took place almost at the same moment between Gaul and Saint Augustin, upon the subject of the
heresy of Pelagius concerning free - will and grace; there
was the same care on the part of the Gaulish priests to
inform  the grand bishop of everything; the same activity
on his part to answer their questions, to remove their doubts,
to sustain, to direct their faith.  Every heresy which
I Born in 331, died in 420.  2 Born in 354, died in 430.
3 Born in 354, died in 431.
A A




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IISTORY OF


threatened, every question which arose, became, between
the Gauls on one side, and Hippo, Bethlehem, and Nola on
the other, the occasion of a long and rapid succession of
letters, messages, journeys, pamphlets.  It was not even
necessary that a great question should arise, that general
and pressing religious interest should be involved.  Simple
Christians, and women, were pre-occupied with certain ideas,
certain scruples; light was wanting to them; they had recourse
to the same doctors, the same remedies. A woman of Bayeux,
IHedibie, and at the same time a woman of Cahors, Algasie,
drew up, in order to address them to Saint Jerome, the one
twelve, the other eleven questions concerning philosophical,
religious, historical matters: they asked him the explanation
of certain passages of the Holy Scriptures; they wisled to
know from him what were the conditions of moral perfection, or what conduct should be pursued in certain circumstances of life. In a word, they consulted him as a family
spiritual director; and a priest named Apodemus set out from
the heart of Brittany, charged to carry these letters into
the heart of Palestine, and to bring back the answers. The
same activity, the same rapidity of circulation reigned in the
interior of Gaulish Christianity. Saint Sulpicius Severus, the
companion and friend of Saint Martin of Tours, wrote a Life
of that saint while still living.  It spread everywhere, in
Gaul, in Spain, and in Italy; copies of it were sold in all the
great towns; bishops sent for it with eagerness. Whenever
a religious desire, doubt, or difficulty was manifested, doctors
laboured, priests travelled, writings circulated. And this
was no easy thing, this quick and vast correspondence.
Physical means were wanting; the roads were few and perilous; questions had far to be carried, and long to wait for an
answer; active zeal-immovable, inexhaustible patience-was
necessary; lastly, that perseverance in moral wants was necessary which at all times is a rare virtue, and which can alone
supply the imperfection of institutions.
Nevertheless, institutions began to rise, and to be regulated
among the Christians of Gaul. The foundation of the greater
portion of the large monasteries of the southern provinces
belongs to the first half of the fifth century. That of Saint
Faustin at Nimes, and another in his diocese, has been
attributed to Saint Castor, bishop of Apt about 422. About




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355


the same time, Cassienus founded at Marseilles that of Saint
Victor; Saint Honoratus and Saint Caprais that of Lerins,
the most celebrated of the age, in one of the isles of Hyeres;
rather later arose that of Condat or Saint Claude in FrancheComte, that of Grigny in the diocese of Vienne, and many
others of less importance. The primitive character of the
Gaulish monasteries was entirely different from that of the
eastern monasteries. In the east, the monasteries were chiefly
for the purposes of solitude and contemplation; the men who
retired into the Thebaid desired to escape pleasures, temptations, and the corruption of civil society; they wished to abandon
themselves, far from social intercourse, to the transports of their
imagination, and to the rigours of their conscience. It was
not until a later period that they drew near each other in places
where at first they had been dispersed, and anchorites or
solitaries became cenobites, KOLvoi3tol, living in common. In the
west, despite the imitation of the east, monasteries had a
different origin; they began with life, in common with the
desire, not of isolation, but of union. Civil society was a prey
to all kinds of disorders; national, provincial, or municipal, it
was dissolving on all sides; a centre and an asylum was entirely wanting to men who wished to discuss, exercise themselves, live together; they found one in the monasteries;
thus monastic life, in its rise, had neither the contemplative
nor solitary character; on the contrary, it was highly social
and active; it kindled a focus of intellectual development; it
served as the instrument of fermentation and propagation of
ideas. The monasteries of the south of Gaul were philosophical schools of Christianity; it was there that intellectual
men meditated, discussed, taught; it was from thence that
new ideas, daring thoughts, heresies, were sent forth. It was
in the abbeys of Saint Victor and of Lerins that all the great
questions of free will, predestination, grace, original sin, were
the most warmly agitated, and where the Pelagian opinions,
for fifty years, found the greatest nourishment and support.
It will be seen that the intellectual state of religious society,
and that of civil society, cannot be compared; on one side
all is decay, languor, inertia; on the other, all is movement,
eagerness, ambition, progress. What are the causes of such
a contrast?  It is necessary to know from whence so striking
a difference arose, how it continued, why each day it was
AA2




356


HISTORY OF


aggravated: by this only shall we arrive at a full knowledge
and comprehension of their moral state.
There were, I believe, two great causes for the fact which I
have just described: 1st. the very nature of the subjects,
questions, intellectual labours with which the two societies
occupied themselves: 2nd. the very unequal freedom of minds
in one and the other.
Civil literature, if I may use the expression, presents at this
epoch in Gaul only four kinds of men and of works: grammarians, rhetoricians, chroniclers, and poets; poets not on a large
scale, but on a small one, makers of epithalamiums, inscriptions, descriptions, idyls, eclogues. These are the subjects upon
which what remained of the Roman mind exercised itself:
Christian literature was entirely different. It abounded in
philosophers, politicians, and orators; it agitated the most important questions, the most pressing interests. I shall now
place before you, always taking heed to confine myself to
Gaul, some proper names and some titles, a comparative view of
the principal writers and works of the two literatures. You
yourselves will deduce the consequences.
I do not here pretend to. give a biographical or literary
enumeration, however far from complete. I only point out
the most eminent names and facts.
Among the grammarians with whom civil literature was
crowded, I shall name, 1st, Agroetius or Agritius, professor
at Bordeaux about the middle of the fourth century, by whom
we have remaining a treatise, or fragment of a treatise
on the property and varieties of the Latin tongue; Latin synonymes, for example, temperantia, temperatio and temperies,
percitssus and perculsus; the author rests upon examples drawn
from the best authors-Cicero, Iorace, Terence, Livy, &c.for the distinctions which he establishes. 2nd, Urbicus, also
professor at Bordeaux, celebrated chiefly for his profound
knowledge of the Greek language and literature. 3rd, Ursulus and I-armonius, professors at TrYves. -Harmonius collected the poems of Iomer, adding thereto notes on false
readings, interpretations, &c.
By the side of the grammarians are the rhetoricians, whose
business was not only with teaching eloquence, but with
writing discourses, panegyrics on all the chief circumstances of
life, upon the occasion of fetes, civil solemnities, the death or




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accession of an emperor, &c. Twelve of these bravuras of vain
eloquence have been specially preserved and collected. The
four principal panegyrists are-first, Claudius Mamertinus,
author of an eulogy on the emperor Maximian, delivered
at Treves, the 20th of April, 292, the day on which the
foundation of Rome was celebrated; secondly, Eumenius, professor of eloquence at Autun, author of four discourses
delivered from 297 to 311, in the presence and in honour of
Constantius Chlorus, and of Constantine; thirdly, Nazarius,
professor at Bordeaux, author of a panegyric on Constantine,
fourthly, Claudius Mamertinus, perhaps the son of the first,
author of a discourse delivered in 362 before Julian.
Among the Gaulish and pagan chroniclers of this epoch, the
most distinguished is Eutropius, who wrote his abridgment
of Roman history about the year 370.
I might extend the list of poets at pleasure, but it will
not be complained of that I only name three of them. The
most fertile, the most celebrated, and incontestably the most
spiritual and elegant, is Ausonius, who was born at Bordeaux
about 309, and died upon one of his estates in 394, after having
filled the highest public offices, and composed-first, one hundred-and-forty epigrams; secondly, thirty-eight epitaphs;
thirdly, twenty idyls; fourthly, twenty-four epistles; fifthly,
seventeen descriptions of towns, and a multitude of small
poems upon such subjects as the professors of Bordeaux, the
persons and incidents of his family, the twelve Caesars, the
seven wise men of Greece, &c. &c.
An uncle of Ausonius, named Arborius, of Toulouse, has
left a small poem, addressed to a young girl too finely dressed,
Ad virginem nimis cultam.
A poet of Poitiers, Rutilius Numatianus, who lived for
some time at Rome, and who returned to his country about
the year 416, upon his return wrote a poem entitled Itinerarium; or de Reditu; a curious work enough for details oi
places, manners, and for the anger of the poet, against the
invasion of society by the Jews and the monks.  He was
evidently a pagan.
I pass to the Gaulish Christian society at the same epoch.
The first name that I meet with is that of Saint Ambrose;
although he passed his life in Italy, I reckon him as a Gaul,




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HISTORY OF


for he was born at Treves, about the year 340. His works
have been collected in two volumes folio. They contain
thirty-six different works-religious treatises, commentaries
upon the Bible, discourses, letters, hymns, &c. The most
extensive, and also the most curious, is entitled De Officiis
Ministrorum, (concerning the duties of ministers of the
church.)
At a future period I shall, perhaps, return to this work in
detail; at present I only wish to explain its character. You
would be tempted to believe, from the title, that it was
a treatise upon the particular duties of priests, and on the
manner in which they should acquit themselves of their
duties. You would be deceived; it is a complete moral
treatise, in which the author, while on the subject of priests,
passes in review all human duties; he there sets down and
resolves a multitude of questions of practical philosophy.
By the side of Saint Ambrose I shall place Saint Paulin,
born, like him, in Gaul (at Bordeaux, about the year 353), and
who died, like him, a bishop, in Italy (at Nola, in 431). Many
of his works, among others his book against the pagans, are
lost; all that remains of him are some letters and poems;
but letters, at this period, had a very different importance
from what they have in modern times. Literature, properly
so called, held but little place in the Christian world; men
wrote very little for the sake of writing; for the mere pleasure
of manifesting their ideas; some event broke forth, a question
arose, and a book was often produced under the form of a
letter to a Christian, to a friend, to a church. Politics, religion, controversy, spiritual and temporal interests, general
and special councils-all are met with in the letters of this
time, and they are among the number of its most curious
monuments.
I have already named Saint Sulpicius Severus, of Toulouse1 (or of some other town of Aquitaine, for his origin is
not known with certainty), and his Life of Saint Martin, of
Tours. He moreover wrote a Sacred History, one of the
first essays at ecclesiastical history attempted in the west; it
reaches from the beginning of the world up to the year 400,
and contains many important facts which are not found
elsewhere.
1 Born about 355, died about 420.




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Nearly at the same time, or rather later, the monk Cassienus,1 a provincial by birth, as it would appear, though
he lived for a very long time in the east, published at Marseilles, at the request of Saint Castor, bishop of Apt, his
Institutions and his Conferences, works written for the purpose of making the western world    acquainted with the
origin, principles, practices, and ideas, of the eastern monks.
It was at this period, as you have heard, that most of the
earlier monasteries in southern Gaul were founded by the
co-operation of Cassienus himself; so that these books of his
were prepared to meet an actual and practical want.
It recurs to me that before Cassienus I should have mentioned Saint IHilary, bishop of Poitiers, one of the most
active, most upright, and most eminent chiefs of the Gaulish
church,2 who wrote a number of works, all of them of limited
extent, but all highly important in their time. They are, in
fact, for the most part, mere pamphlets upon the various
questions which were then engaging attention. After Christianity had grown beyond its infancy, the more eminent
bishops had two parts to play at one and the same timethat of philosopher and that of statesman.  They possessed
the empire over ideas, or, at all events, the preponderating
influence in the intellectual order; and they had also to
administer the temporal affairs of the religious society. They
were called upon concurrently to fulfil two missions-to
mediate and to act, to convince and to govern. Hence the
prodigious variety, and hence also the haste, which very often
characterise their writings. These, in general, were works
got up altogether for the occasion-pamphlets intended, now
to solve a question of doctrine, now to discuss a matter of
business, to enlighten a soul, or oppose a civil disorder, to
answer a heresy, or to obtain a concession from the government. The works of Saint Hilary are more especially impressed with this character.
A monk, who was possibly acquainted with Saint Hilary,
since he lived for some time with St. Martin of Tours,
Evagrius, wrote two dialogues, entitled-the one, Conference
between Theophilus, a Christian, and Simon, a Jew —the
other, Conference between Zacheus, a Christian, and Apollo

I Born about 360, died about 4410.


' Died about 368.




360


HISTORY OF


nius, a philosopher-curious monuments of the manner in
which a Christian monk of the end of the fourth century
framed in his mind the question, on the one hand, between
Judaism and Christianity; and on the other, between Christianity and philosophy.
A little later than this, a priest of Marseilles, Salvienus, a
native of Tr6ves, wrote his treatise Of Avarice, a treatise on
religious morality, and his book, which I have already mentioned, De Gubernatione Dei, a work remarkable both as a
picture of the social state and manners of the period, and as
an attempt to acquit Providence from any share in the
miseries of the world, the blame of which he entirely throws
upon mankind themselves.
The Pelagian schism gave rise to a vast number of works,
among which, however, I will only mention those of Saint
Prosper of Aquitaine, and especially his poem, Against Ingrates, one of the happiest efforts of philosophical poetry that
ever emanated from the bosom of Christianity. His Chronicle,
which extends from the origin of the world to the year 455,
is not without importance.
While the question of free will and of grace was agitating
the whole church, and more especially that of Gaul, that of
the immateriality of the soul was being more quietly discussed in the Narbonnese, between Faustus,1 bishop of Riez,
who maintained that the soul is material, and Mamertius
Claudienus,2 priest of Vienne, and brother of the bishop
Saint Mamertius, who defended the contrary opinion. The
letter in which Faustus sets forth his views, and the treatise
of Mamertius Claudienus, entitled On the Nature of the Soul,
are amongst the most curious monuments of the state of the
human mind in the fifth century, and I therefore propose to
make you acquainted with them in detail at a future period.
Of the Christian literature of this period, I will cite but
one more name, that of Gennadius, priest at Marseilles, who
in his work entitled, Treatise on Illustrious Men, or Ecclesiastical Authors, from the middle of the fourth century to the end
of the fifth, has given us more information on the literary
history of the period than we find anywhere else. When you
compare these two lists, dry and incomplete as they are, of


1 Died in 490.


2 Died about 473




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authors and of works, do not the names, the titles alone, explain the difference in the intellectual state of the two societies?
The Christian writers address themselves at once to the
highest interests of thought and of life; they are active and
potent at once in the domain of intellect, and in that of
reality; their activity is rational, and their philosophy popular;
they treat of things which alike stir up the soul of the
anchorite in his solitude, and of nations in their cities. The
civil literature, on the contrary, has no reference to questions
either of principle or of passing events, to either the moral
wants or the household sentiments of the masses; it is entirely
a literature of convention and luxury, of coteries and of
schools, wholly and solely devoted, from the very nature of
the subjects which engage its attention, to the passing entertainment of the nobles and the wits.
This is not all; we find another and a far different cause
for the diversity of the moral condition of the two societies:
liberty, that is to say, liberty of mind, was entirely wanting
to the one, while in the other it was real and powerful.
Indeed, it was impossible but that liberty should be wholly
wanting     to the civil literature; that literature belonged to
civil society, to the old Roman world; it was its image, its
amusement; it bore all its characteristics,-decay, sterility,
futility, servility. The very nature, however, of the subjects
upon which it exercised itself, rendered the presence of these
characteristics very endurable. It kept entirely apart from
all the great moral questions, from all the real interests of
life, that is to say, from every career in which freedom of
mind is indispensable. Grammar, rhetoric, minor poetry,
very readily adapt themselves to servitude. To compile Latin
synonymes like Agrcecius-to criticise, like Arborius, a girl
over dressed-or even to celebrate, like Ausonius, the beauties
of the Moselle, required neither freedom nor, in truth, even
movement of mind. This subordinate literature has more
than once prospered extremely well under despotism, and in
the decline of societies.
In the very heart of the schools, there was an entire absence
of liberty; the whole of the professors were removable at
any time. The emperor had full power, not only to transfer
them from one town to another, but to cancel their appointment whenever he thought fit. Moreover, in a great many




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HISTORY OF


of the Gaulish towns, the people themselves were against
them, for the people were Christians, at least in a great
majority, and as such had a distaste for schools which were
altogether pagan in origin and intention. The professors,
accordingly, were regarded with hostility, and often maltreated; they were, in fact, quite unsupported except by the
remnant of tne higher classes, and by the imperial authority,
which still maintained order, and which having heretofore
often persecuted the Christians solely in compliance with the
clamorous demands of the people, now, in the fourth century,
protected the pagans against the people, either fromi an abstract
desire to preserve order, from deference to the wishes of' distinguished citizens, themselves pagans or indifferent about
the matter, or out of that respect for old institutions, old
principles, which an old government ever retains. You may
thus readily perceive, in how dependent, powerless, precarious, painful a position the professors were placed. That
of the students was scarcely any better. They were the
object of a multitude of inquisitorial, vexatious, police regulations, against which they had no practical security. 1 will
read to you an edict of Valentinian, which will give you a
clear idea of their situation; the edict itself only refers to tlhe
students of the school at Rome, but the other schools of the
empire were conducted upon analogous rules and principles:
" Valentinian, Valerius, and Gratian, to Olybrius, Prefect
of Rome. (370.)
" 1. All persons coming to study at Rome, must immediately upon their arrival lay before the master of the census1
letters from the provincial governors who have given them
permission to travel, setting forth their place of abode, their
age, their name, condition, and description. 2. They must declare, also, at the same time, what studies they intend more
especially to pursue. 3. They must let the census office know,
from time to time, their place of abode in Rome, so that the
officers of that department may see to their following out the
studies which they have indicated as the object of tleir pursuit. 4. The aforesaid officers are charged to take care that


1 A magistrate, some of whose functions were analogous with those of
our prefect of police.




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863


the students conduct themselves at the lectures in a becoming
manner, avoiding all occasion of gaining an ill reputation, and
taking no part in any of those private associations among
themselves, which we regard as very little short of crimes;
they are not to visit the theatre too frequently, nor to indulge
in overfeasting and revelry. Any student who shall forget
the dignified demeanour due from him who pursues the liberal
arts, shall be publicly beaten with rods, put on board some
vessel, and, ignominiously expelled the city, be sent back
whence he came. They who apply themselves assiduously to
their studies, may remain in Rome until their twentieth year;
should they then omit to return home of their own accord, let
the prefect have them removed, whether they will or no.
And that these regulations may be properly attended to, your
Higih Sincerity will forthwith direct the chief officers of the
census department to have drawn up, every month, a report
upon the said students, setting forth how many there are, who
they are, whence they came, their general character, and who
of them, their time in Rome being completed, have to be sent
back to Africa, or other provinces.... Let a copy of these
reports be annually sent to us, that, thereby made acquainted
with the merits and acquirements of the students, we may
judge how far any of them are necessary or desirable for our
service."1
Some of these precautions may very possibly have been, in
certain cases, necessary and proper; but it is at the same time
quite clear that in the system of which they were a leading, a
dominant feature, in the schools of whose discipline they formed
the basis, there was no liberty.
In Christian literature, on the contrary, liberty manifests
itself in full luxuriance: the activity of mind, the diversity of
opinion publicly declared, are of themselves sufficient to prove
the fact of this liberty. The human mind does not spread its
wings so broadly, so energetically, when it is loaded with
irons. Liberty, besides, was inherent in the intellectual situation of the church: she was labouring at the formation of her
doctrines, which, as to a great number of points, she had not
as yet promulgated or fixed. From time to time, some question was raised by an event, by a polemical writing; it was
1 Cod. Theod. 1. xiv. t. ix. 1. i.




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HIISTORY OF


then examined and discussed by the chiefs of the religious
society; and the decision formed, the belief adopted, the dogma
was in due time proclaimed. It is evident that, in such a
period as this, there must exist liberty, precarious, perhaps,
and transitory, but still real, and. to a considerable extent,
practical.
The state of the legislation against heresy was not as yet
mortal to it; the principle of persecution, the idea that truth
had a right to govern by force, occupied men's minds, but it
did not yet dominate in facts. Civil power began to lend a
strong hand to the church against the heretics, and to be
severe against them; they were exiled, certain functions were
interdicted them, they were despoiled of their property; some
even, as the Priscillianists, in 385, were condemned to death:
the laws of the emperors, especially those of Theodosius the
Great, were full of menaces and provisions against heresy; the
course of things, in short, evidently tended to tyranny: civil
power, however, still hesitated to make itself the instrument
of doctrines; the greatest bishops, Saint Hilary, Saint Ambrose, Saint Martin, still cried out against all capital condemnation of heretics, saying that the church had no right to
employ other than spiritual arms. In a word, although the
principle of persecution was in progress, and in very threatening progress, liberty was still stronger: a dangerous and
tempestuous liberty, but active and general; a man was an
heretic at his peril; but he might be one if he pleased; and
men might sustain, they did sustain, their opinions, for a long
period, with energy, with publicity. It will suffice to glance
at the canons of the councils of this epoch in order to be convinced that liberty was still great: with the exception of two
or three great general councils, these assemblies, particularly
in Gaul, scarcely concerned themselves with anything more
than discipline; questions of theory, of doctrine, appeared
there rarely and only upon great occasions; it was more
especially the government of the church, her situation, the
rights and duties of priests, that they treated of and decided
upon: a proof that, in numerous points, diversity of ideas was
admitted and debate still open.
Thus, on one side, the very nature of the labours, and on
the other the situation of minds, fully explain the intellectual




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superiority of the religious society over the civil society;
the one state was earnest and free, the other servile and
frivolous: what is there to add?
But one final observation, one, however, which is not
without importance, and which, perhaps, fully explains why
civil literature was on the point of death, while religious
literature lived and prospered so energetically.
For the culture of mind, for the sciences, for literature, to
prosper by themselves, independently of all near and direct
interest, happy and peaceable times are requisite, times of
contentment and good fortune for men. When the social
state becomes difficult, rude, unhappy, when men suffer much
and long, study runs a great risk of being neglected and
of declining. The taste for pure truth, the appreciation of the
beautiful, apart from all other desire, are plants as delicate as
they are noble; they must have a pure sky, a brilliant sun, a
soft atmosphere; amid storms they droop the head and fade.
Intellectual development, the labour of mind to attain truth,
will stop unless placed in the train, and under the shield, of
some one of the actual, immediate, powerful interests of
humanity. This is what happened at the fall of the Roman
empire: study, literature, pure intellectual activity, were
unable alone to resist disasters, sufferings, universal discouragement; it was necessary that they should be attached
to popular sentiments and interests; that they should cease
to appear a luxury, and should become a need. The Christian
religion furnished them with the means; by uniting with
it, philosophy and literature were saved the ruin which
menaced them; their activity had then practical, direct
results; they showed an application to direct men in their
conduct, towards their welfare.  It may be said without
exaggeration that the human mind proscribed, beaten down
with the storm, took refuge in the asylum of churches and
monasteries; it supplicatingly embraced the altars, and entreated to live under their shelter and in their service, until
better times permitted it to re-appear in the world and to
breathe the free air
I shall not go any further into this comparison of the moral
state of the two societies in the fifth century; we know
enough of it, I think, to understand them both clearly. It is




366                   HISTORY OF
now necessary to enter deeper into the examination of the
religious society, alone living and fertile; it is necessary to
seek to discover what questions occupied it, what solutions
were proposed to it, what controversies were powerful and
popular, what was their influence upon the life and actions
of mankind. This will be the subject of our next lectures.




oIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


FIFTH LECTURE.
Of the principal questions debated in Gaul in the fifth century-Of Pelagianism-Of the method to follow in its history-Of the moral facts
which gave place to this controversy: 1st, of human liberty; 2nd, ofthe
impotency of liberty, and the necessity for an external succour; 3rd, of
the influence of external circumstances upon liberty; 4th, of the moral
changes which happen in the soul without man attributing them to his
will-Of the questions which naturally arose from these facts-Of the
special point of view under which we should consider themn in the
Chrisisan church in the fifth century-History of Pelagianism at Rome,
in Africa, in the East, and in Gaul-Pelagius-Celestius-Saint Augustin-History of semi-Pelagianism- Cassienus -Faustus -Saint
Prosper of Aquitaine-Of predestination-Influence and general results
of this controversy.
IN the last lecture, I attempted to picture, but only under its
general features, the comparative moral state of civil society
and of religious society in Gaul at the fifth century. Let us
enter deeper into the examination of religious society, the
only one which furnishes ample matter for study and reflection.
The   principal questions which      occupied   the Gaulish
Christian society in the fifth century were —st, Pelagianism,
or the heresy of Pelagius, the principal opponents of which
were Saint Augustin; 2nd, the nature of the soul, debated
in the south of Gaul between bishop Faustus and the priest
MIamertius Claudienus; 3rd, various points of worship and of
discipline, rather than of doctrine, such as the worship of
the martyrs, the value to be attached to fastings, austerities,
celibacy, &c.; these, as you have seen, were the objects to
which Vigilantius applied his writings; 4th, the prolongation
of the struggle of Christianity against Paganism    and Judaism, the theses of the two dialogues of the monk Evagrius,




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HISTORY OF


between the Jew Simon and the Christian Theophilus, and
the Christian Zacheus and the philosopher Apollonius.
Of all these questions, Pelagianism was by far the most
important: it was the great intellectual controversy of the
church in the fifth century, as Arianism had been in the
fourth.  It is with its history that we are now about to
occupy ourselves.
Every one is aware that this controversy turned upon the
question of free-will and of grace, that is to say, of the relations between the liberty of man, and the Divine power, of
the influence of God upon the moral activity of men.
Before proceeding with the history of this affair, I will indicate the method upon which I propose to proceed.
The mere statement of the question will show you that it
was one not peculiar either to the fifth century or to
Christianity, but that it is a universal problem common to all
times and all places, and which all religions, all systems of
philosophy, have propounded to themselves, and have endeavoured to solve.
It has, therefore, manifest reference to primitive, universal,
moral facts, facts inherent in human nature, and which
observation may discover there. I will, in the first place,
seek out these facts; I will endeavour to distinguish in man
in general, independently of all considerations of time, place,
or particular creed, the natural elements, the first matter, so
to speak, of the Pelagian controversy. I shall bring these
facts to light, without adding anything thereto, without retrenching anything therefrom, without discussing them, solely
applied to prove and describe them.
I shall then show what questions naturally flowed from
natural facts, what difficulties, what controversies, arose out
of them, independently of all particular circumstances of time,
place, or social state.
This done, and, if I may so express myself, the general
theoretical side of the question once thoroughly established,
I shall determine under what special point these moral facts
should be considered at the fifth century, by the defenders of
the various opinions in debate.
Finally, after having thus explained from what sources
and under what auspices Pelagianism was born, I shall recount
its history; I shall attempt to follow, in their relations and




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their progress, the principal ideas which it suscitated, in order
properly to understand what was the state of mind at the
moment when this great controversy arose, what it did
therein, and at what point it left it.
I must request your most scrupulous attention, especially
in the examination of the moral facts to which the question
attaches itself: they are difficult properly to understand, to
express with precision; I should wish nothing should be wanting to them in clearness and certainty, and I have hardly time
to indicate them in a cursory manner.
The first, that which forms the foundation of the whole
quarrel, is liberty, free will, the human will. In order to
understand this fact exactly, it must be disengaged from all
foreign element, and strictly reduced to itself. It is, I believe,
for want of this care that it has been so often but ill comprehended; men have not placed themselves in front of the fact
of liberty, and of that alone; they have seen and described it,
so to speak, mixed up with other facts which occupy a very
close position to it in moral life, but do not the less essentially
differ from it. For example, they have made human liberty
to consist in the power to deliberate and choose between
motives of action; the deliberation and judgment which proceed therefrom have been considered as the essence of free
will. It is nothing of the kind. These are acts of intellect,
and not of liberty; it is before the intellect that the different
motives of action, interests, passions, opinions, &c., appear;
the intellect considers, compares, estimates, weighs, and finally
judges them. This is a preparatory work, which precedes
the act of will, but does not in any way constitute it.  When
the deliberation has taken place, when man has taken full
cognizance of the motives which presented themselves to him,
and of their value, then comes an entirely new fact, entirely
different, the fact of liberty; man takes a resolution, that is to
say, commences a series of facts which have their source in
himself, of which he looks upon himself as the author, which
arise because he wishes it, and which would not arise unless
he wished it, which would be different if he desired to produce them differently. Remove all recollection of intellectual
deliberation, of motives known and appreciated; concentre
your thoughlt and that of the man who takes a resolution at the
very moment that it occurs to him, when he says: " I will,
B B




370


IIISTORY OF


I will do so," and ask yourself, ask him, if he could not
will and do otherwise. Of a surety, you will answer-he will
answer, " Yes."   Here the fact of liberty is shown: it
resides complete in the resolution which man takes after
deliberation: it is the resolution which is the proper act of
man, which subsists by him, and by him alone; a simple act,
independent of all the facts which precede it, or surround it;
identical in the most diverse circumstances; always the same,
whatever may be its motives and its results.
Man sees this act just as he produces it; he knows himself
to be free, lie is conscious of his liberty. The conscience is
that faculty which man possesses of contemplating what passes
within him, of being present at his own existence, of being as
it were a spectator of himself:  Whatever may be the facts
which are accomplished within man, it is by the fact of conscience that they are shown to him; the conscience attests
liberty, the same as sensation, as thought; man sees, knows
himself free, as he sees, as lie knows himself thinkling, reflecting, judging. People have often attempted, even now they
attempt to establish, between these various facts, some sort of
inequality of clearness, of certainty: they rise against what
they call the assumption of introducing the facts of conscience,
unknown and obscure facts, into science; sensation, perception, say they, these are clear, proved; but the facts of conscience, where are they? what are they? I do not think there
is any need to insist long on this point: sensation, perception,
are facts of conscience as well as liberty; man sees them in the
same manner, with the same degree of light, and of certainty.
He may lend his attention to certain facts of conscience,
rather than others, and forget or misunderstand those which
he regards not: the opinion to which I have this moment
made allusion is proof of this: but when he observes himself
in a complete manner, when he is present without losing any
part of it, at the spectacle of his internal life, he has little
trouble in being convinced that all the scenes pass upon the
same stage, and are known to him on the same principle and
in the same manner.
I desire that the fact of human liberty, thus reduced to its
proper and distinctive nature, should remain fully present to
your thought; for its confusion with other facts, bordering
upon, but different from it, was one of the chief causes of




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trouble and debate in the great controversy with which we
ta e to occupy ourselves.
A second fact, equally natural, equally universal, played a
considerable part in this controversy.
At the same time that man felt himself fiee, that he saw
in himself the faculty of commencing, by his will alone  a
series of facts, he also acknowledged that his will was placed
under the empire of a certain law which, according to the
occasions to which it applied itself, took different names, moral law, reason, good sense, &c. IHe is fiee; but, in his own
thlought, his freedom is not arbitrary; he may use it in a
senseless, unjust, guilty manner; and each time that he uses
it, a certain rule must preside at it.  The observation of this
rule is his duty, the task of his liberty.
I-Ie will soon see that he never fully acquits himself of this
task, nor acts perfectly according to reason, moral law; that,
always free, that is to say, morally capable of conforming
himself to this rule, he, in fact, does not accomplish all that
he ought, or even all that he can. Upon every occasion, when
he scrupulously interrogates himself, and sincerely answers
himself, he is forced to say: " I might have done so and so, if
I had chosen;" but his will was enervated, backward; it
went neither to the end of its duty, nor of its power.
This fact is evident, one of which all may give witness;
there is even this singularity, that the feeling of this weakness of the will becomes often so much the more clear, so
much the more pressing, as the moral man is developed and
perfected: the best men, that is, those who have best conformed their will to reason, to morality, have often been the
most struck with their insufficiency, the most convinced of the
profound inequality between the conduct of man and his task,
between liberty and its law.
Hence arises a sentiment which is found under various
forms, in all men; the feeiing of the necessity of an external
support, of a fulcrum for the human will, a power which may
be added to its present power, and sustain itt t need. Man
seeks on all sides to discover this fulcrum, this aiding
power; he demands it in the encouragements of friendship, in
the councils of the wise, in the example, the approbation of
those like himself; in the fear of blame; there is no one but
has every day, in his own conduct, a thousand proofs to cite
B B 2




372


HISTORY OF


of this movement of the soul, eager to find beyond itself an
aid to its liberty, which it feels at once to be real and insufficient. And as the visible world, the human society, do not
always answer to his desire, as they are afflicted with the same
unsufficingness which is seen in his own case, the soul goes
beyond the visible world, above human relations, to seek this
fulcrum of which it has need: the religious sentiment develops itself; man addresses himself to God, and invokes his
aid. Prayer is the most elevated, but not the only form,
under which the universal sentiment of the weakness of human
will, this recourse to an external and allied power, is manifested.
And such is the nature of man, that when he sincerely
asks this support, he obtains it, that his merely seeking it is
almost sufficient to secure it. Whosoever, feeling his will
weak, sincerely invokes the encouragement of a friend, the
influence of wise councils, the support of public opinion, or
addresses himself to God by prayer, soon feels his will
fortified, sustained, in a certain measure, and for a certain
time. This is a fact of daily experience, and which is easy of
verification.
Here is a third whose importance should not be forgotten;
I mean the influence of circumstances independent of man
upon the hunman will, the empire of the external world upon
liberty. No one denies the fact, but it is necessary to
estimate it with exactness, for, if I do not deceive myself, it
is generally ill comprehended.
I just now distinguished liberty from the deliberation which
precedes it, and which is accomplished by the intellect. Now
the circumstances independent of man, whatsoever they be,
the place, the time when the man was born, habits, manners,
education, events, influence in no way the act of liberty,
such as I have endeavoured to describe it; it is not reached
nor modified by them; it always remains identical and complete, whatever the motives wlich call it forth. It is upon
these motives, in the sphere where intellect displays itself,
that external circumstances exercise and exhaust their power.
The age, the country, the world, in the heart of which life
passes away, infinitely vary the elements of the deliberation
which precedes the will: in consequence of this variation,
certain facts, certain ideas, certain sentiments, in this intellec



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tual labour, are present or absent, near or at a distance,
powerful or weak; and the result of this deliberation, that is
to say the judgment formed upon the motives, is greatly
affected by it. But the act of the will which follows it remains
essentially the same: it is only indirectly, and by reason of
the diversity of the elements introduced into the deliberation,
that the conduct of men undergoes this influence of the
external world. One illustration, I hope, will make me
fully understood. In accordance with the customs of his
tribe, to fulfil what he regards as a duty, a savage reluctantly
kills his aged and infirm father: a European, on the contrary,
supports his parent, tends him, devotes himself to the alleviation
of his old age and infirmities; nothing assuredly can be more
different than the ideas which, in the two cases, constitute the
groundwork of the deliberation which precedes the action,
and the results which accompany it: nothing more unequal
than the legitimacy, the moral worth of the two actions in
themselves, but as to the resolution, the free and personal
act of the European, and of the savage, are they not alike, if
accomplished with the same intention, and with the same
degree of effort?
Thus the influence of circumstances independent of the
will, upon the motives and the consequences of free action, is
immense, but that is the only field in which it exercises itself:
the lower fact placed between deliberation and exterior action,
the fact of liberty, remains the same, and accomplishes itself
in like manner amidst the most varying elements.
I now come to the fourth and last of the great moral facts,
a knowledge of which is indispensable, before we can comprehend the history of Pelagianism. There are many others
which I might enumerate; but these are of minor importance,
obvious results of those which I here describe, and I have no
time to enter into an account of them.
There are certain changes, certain moral events, which
accomplish and manifest themselves in man without his being
able to refer their origin to an act of his will, or being able
to recognise their author.
This assertion may at first glance surprise some of you; I
will endeavour to illustrate it by analogous facts, which occur
more frequently within the domain of intelligence, and are
more readily apprehended.




374


HISTORY OF


There is no one who at some time or other of his life after
laboriously seeking some idea, some reminiscence, has not fallen
asleep in the midst of the search without having succeeded in
it, and next morning, on awaking, found the desired object
fully present to his mind.  There is no scholar to whom it has
not occurred to have retired to rest without having acquired the
lesson he has been studying, and to have arisen next morning
and learned it without the least difficulty. I might show
many other illustrations of the same description: I select
these as the simplest and most incontestable.
I deduce from them this consequence: independently of the
voluntary and deliberate activity of the will, a certain interior
and spontaneous labour accomplishes itself in the understanding of man, a labour which we do not direct or control, of
which we have no opportunity of observing the progress, and
yet a real and productive labour.
There is, after all, nothing strange in this; every one of us
brings with him into the world'an intellectual nature of his
own. Man, by the operation of his will, directs and modifies,
exalts or debases his moral being, but he does not create it;
he has received it, and received it endowed with certain individual dispositions, with a spontaneous force. The inborn
diversity of men in the moral point of view, as in the physical,
is beyond dispute. Now, in the same way that the physical
nature of each man develops itself spontaneously and by its
own virtue, so, in the same way, though in a very unequal
degree, there is operated in his intellectual nature, set in
motion by his relations with the external world, or by his will
itself, a certain involuntary, imperceptible development, and,
to use an expression, which I only avail myself of because it
figuratively expresses the idea I wish to convey, a sort of
vegetation, bearing naturally, and in due course, its fruits.
That which takes place in the intellectual order, happens
in like manner in the moral order. Certain facts occur in
the interior of the human soul which it does not refer to itself;
which it does not recognise as the work of its own will; there
are certain days, certain moments, in which it finds itself in a
different moral state from that which it was last conscious of
under the operation of its own will. It cannot trace back
the progress of the change to its source; it had nothing to du
with it, it took place without its concurrence.  In other




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words, the moral man does not wholly create himself; he is
conscious that causes, that powers external to himself, act
upon him and modify him imperceptibly; in his moral life, as
in his future destiny, there are points utterly inexplicable to
him, of which lie knows nothing.
Nor is it necessary, to convince himself of this fact, that he
should turn to those great moral revolutions, those sudden,
marked changes, which the human soul, undoubtedly, may at
times experience, but which ever receive a high colouring
from the imagination of the narrators, and of which it is difficult to form an adequate appreciation. It is only necessary
to look into oneself, to discover there more than one example
of these involuntary modifications. Tlere is no one, who, on
observation of his internal life, will not easily recognise that
the vicissitudes, the development of his moral being, are not
all the result, either of the action of his will, or of the external circumstances that are known to him.
Such are the principal moral facts connected with the
Pelagian controversy, such as human nature, simple, universal
nature, communicates them to us, apart from the historical
details, the particular circumstance of Pelagianism itself. You
at once see, that from these facts alone, still apart from all
special and accidental elements, there results a multitude of
questions, the groundwork of many a grave discussion. And,
in the first place, we may question the reality of the facts
themselves: all of them, indeed, are not equally exposed to
this danger; the fact of human liberty, for instance, is more
evident, more irresistible, than any of the rest; yet even this
has been denied, as all things may be denied, seeing that there
are no bounds to the vast field of error.
Admit the facts, acknowledge them fully: then comes the
question, whether we may not be mistaken as to the place
which each occupies, or to the part which each plays in the
moral life; we may have measured inexactly their extent, their
importance; we may have given too large or too small a part
to liberty, to external circumstances, to the weakness of the
will, to unknown influences, &c.
Again, altogether different explanations of the facts themselves may be suggested. In reference, for example, to the
involuntary, imperceptible changes which occur in the moral
state of man; it may be said that these are assignable to some




376


IIISTORY OF


want of due attention on the part of the soul, to its not re
membering all that passes within itself, to its having forgotten
some act of the will, some resolution, some impression, which
has produced consequences, the thread of which it has not
followed, the development of which it has not observed. Or,
to explain these obscure, doubtful facts of the moral life, recourse may at once be had to a direct, special action, of God
upon man, to a permanent relation between the action of God
and the activity of man. Or, finally, attempts may be made
to reconcile these facts together in various ways; to reduce
them into a system upon such or such a principle, to refer
them to such or such a general doctrine upon the nature and
destiny of man and of the world. Thus, in a variety of ways,
an infinity of questions may arise; from the nature alone of
the facts under consideration, taken in themselves and in their
generality, they are a fruitful subject of discussion.
And how much wider still the field of controversy, when
particular, local, temporary causes vary still more the point of
view under which we regard these questions, modify the cognizance which the human mind takes of them, diverting its
inquiries into one direction rather than into another, giving
greater or less prominence, greater or less effect to this or to
that fact. This, which always happens, happened of course
in the fifth century. I have endeavoured to reascend with
you to the natural and purely moral sources of the Pelagian controversy: it is now necessary that we should consider
its historical origins; they are no less necessary to the proper
comprehension of it.
In the bosom of the Christian churcn, the moral facts which
I have described were, as a matter of inevitable course, considered in various points of view.
Christianity was an essentially practical revolution, not a
mere scientific, speculative reform. Its prominent aim was
to change the moral state, to govern the life of men; and not
only that of particular men, but of whole nations, of the entire
human race.
This was a prodigious innovation. The Greek philosophy,
at least since the period when its history becomes clear and
certain, was essentially scientific, was applied far more to the
research of truth than to the reformation and direction of
manners. There were only two of its schools which took a




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somewhat different direction. It entered into the formal
plan of the stoics, and of the new Pllatonists, to exercise a
moral influence, to regulate the conduct, as well as to enlighten
the understanding; but their ambition in this respect was
limited to a small number of disciples-to a sort of intellectual
aristocracy.
It was, on the contrary, the special and characteristic
design of Christianity to effect a moral reformation, a universal
reformation-to govern throughout the world, in the name of
its doctrines, the will and the life of men.
As an almost inevitable consequence, among the moral
facts which constitute our nature, the chiefs of the Christian
society would apply themselves especially to give prominence
to those which are more peculiarly calculated to exercise
a reforming influence, to bring about with greater promptitude practical effects. Towards these would the attention of the great bishops, of the fathers of the church, be
drawn; for from them they derived the means of impelling
Christianity onward in its career, and of accomplishing their
own mission.
Again, the fulcrum of the moral Christian reformation was
religion; it was religious ideas, the relations of man with the
Divinity, of the present with the future life, that constituted
her force.  Her chiefs accordingly would, among moral
facts, prefer and favour those whose tendency is religious,
which belong to the religious part of our nature, and are, so
to speak, placed on the limits of present duties, and of future
hopes, of morality and of religion.
The wants of Christianity, and its means of action for
effecting moral reform, and governing men, varied necessarily
with time and place: it had to address itself in the human
soul now to one fact, now to another; to-day, to one condition
of things-to-morrow, to another. It is evident, for instance,
that at various times, from the first to the fifth century, the
task of the chiefs of the religious society was not uniformly
the same, and could not be accomplished by the same means.
The predominant fact of the first century was the struggle
against paganism-the necessary efforts to overthrow  an
order of things odious to the state of men's souls-tle work,
in a word, of revolution, of war. There was incessant necessity for appealing to the spirit of liberty, of examination,




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HISTORY OF


to the energetic display of the will; this was the moral fact
which Christian society of this period invoked and displayed
constantly, on all occasions.
In the fifth century, things were in a different situation.
The war was at an end, or nearly so-the victory achieved.
The Christian leaders had now to regulate the religious
society, to promulgate its articles of faith, to order its discipline, to constitute it, in a word, on the ruins of that pagan
world over which it had triumphed. These vicissitudes are
to be met with in all great moral revolutions. I need not
give you further instances of it. You perceive that at this
period it was no longer the spirit of liberty which it was
necessary constantly to invoke. That which was now to be
cultivated in its turn, was a disposition in the people favourable to the establishment of rule, of order; to the exercise of
power.
Apply these considerations to the natural and moral facts
which I have pointed out as the sources of the Pelagian controversy, and you will easily distinguish those whose development the chiefs of the church were more especially called
upon to promote in the fifth century.
There was another cause which modified the point of view
under which they considered our moral nature. The facts
which relate to human liberty, and the problems which arise
out of those facts, are not isolated facts or isolated problems;
they are closely connected with other facts, with other problems still more general and complex; for instance, with the
question of the origin of good and evil, with the question
of the general destiny of man, and its essential relations with
the designs of God as to the world. Now, upon these higher
questions, there already existed in the church determinate
doctrines, fixed propositions, accepted solutions; so that
when new questions arose, the chiefs of the religious society
had to adapt their ideas to the general ideas, to the established
opinions. IHence for them this complicated situation: certain
facts, certain moral problems attracted their attention; they
might have examined and judged them as philosophers, with
all the freedom of their minds, apart from all external considerations, from all but the scientific point of view; but then they
were invested with an official power; they were called upon to
govern their people, to regulate their actions, and to direct their
E~-' —  -' —r~~' ~  ~' 'V




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379


will. HI-cnce apractical political necessity, which weighed down
upon the philosophic operation and turned it aside. Nor
was this all; philosophers and politicians, they were at the
same time compelled to the functions of pure logicians, to
conform implicitly on all occasions to the consequences of
certain principles, of certain immutable doctrines. They thus,
as it were, played three parts at once, underwent at once
three yokes; they had to consult at one and the same time
the nature of things, practical necessity, and hope. Whenever a new question arose, whenever they were called upon
to take cognizance of moral facts to which they had not as
yet applied particular attention, they had to think and to
act in this triple character, to fulfil this triple mission.
This, however, was not, in the religious society, the position of all its members; there were many Christians who
did not regard themselves as called upon, on the one hand, to
direct the moral government of the church, nor as bound, on
the other, to follow out, through all its consequences, its
system of doctrines. Among the numbers so situated, there
could not fail to arise men who assumed the right of observing and of acquiring for themselves such or such moral facts,
without taking much heed to their practical influences, or
to their place in, and connexion with, a general system; men
with minds less capacious, less powerful than those of the
great chiefs of the church, but who, having fuller career in a
less crowded field, imposing upon themselves a simpler and
more easy task, might very well arrive at more precise and
definite knowledge upon particular points. Thus arose the
heresiarchs.
Thus arose Pelagianism. You are by this time, I hope,
acquainted with the great preliminary, and, as it were, external circumstances which influenced its destiny; you have
before you: 1, the principal natural facts upon which the
dispute turned; 2, the questions which naturally arose out of
those facts; 3, the special point of view under which these
facts and these questions were considered in the fifth century by the leaders of the religious society, and by the active
and investigating minds which spring up in its bosom. Thus
possessed of the guiding thread, the illuminating torch, we
may now advantageously proceed to the history of the Pelagian controversy itself.




380


HISTORY OF


The controversy arose early in the fifth century. The
question of free will, and of the action of' God upon the
human soul, had, indeed, already occupied the attention of
the Christians, as is attested by the letters of St. Paul, and
by many other monuments; but the facts brought forward
had been either accepted or rejected, as the case might be,
almost without discussion. Towards the close of the fourth
century, men began to examine them more closely; and some
of the chiefs of the church already began to entertain some
uneasiness on the subject. "WVe must not," says St. Augustin
himself, " we must not discourse much of grace to men who
are not yet Christians, or thoroughly confirmed Christians;
for it is a knotty question, and one which may give the faith
much trouble."
About the year 405, a British monk, Pelagius (this is the
name given him by the Greek and Latin writers; his real
name, it appears, was Morgan), was residing at Rome.
There has been infinite discussion as to his origin, his moral
character, his capacity, his learning; and, under these various
heads, much abuse has been lavished upon him; but this
abuse would appear to be unfounded, for, judging from the most
authoritative testimony, from that of St. Augustin himself,
Pelagius was a man of good birth, of excellent education, of
pure life. Aresident, as I have said, at Rome, and now a
man of mature age, without laying down any distinct doctrines, without having written any book on the subject, Pelagius began, about the year I have mentioned, 405, to talk
much about fiee will, to insist urgently upon this moral fact,
to expound it. There is no indication that he attacked any
person about the matter, or that he sought controversy; he
appears to have acted simply upon the belief that human
liberty was not held in sufficient account, had not its due
share in the religious doctrines of the period.
These ideas excited no trouble in Rome, scarcely any
debate. Pelagius spoke freely; they listened to him quietly.
His principal disciple was Celestius, like him a monk, or so
it is thought at least, but younger, more confident, of a more
daring spirit, and more determined to prosecute the consequences of his opinions to the end.
In 411, Pelagius and Celestius are no longer at Rome;
we find them in Africa, at Iippo and at Carthage. In the




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381


latter town, Celestius put forth his ideas: a controversy was
immediately begun between hlim and the deacon Paulinus, who
accused him of heresy before the bishop. In 412 a council
was assembled; Celestius appeared there, and vigorously defended himself; he was excommunicated, and, after having in
vain essayed an appeal to the bishop of Rome, passed into
Asia, whither Pelagius, it seems, had preceded him.
Their doctrines spread; they found in the islands of the
Meditcrranean, among others in Sicily and at Rhodes, a favourable reception; they sent to Saint Augustin a small work
of Celestius, entitled Deirnitiones, which many people were
eager to read. Hilary, a Gaul, wrote to him about it with
great uneasiness. The bishop of lHippo began to be alarmed;
he saw in these new ideas error and peril.
At first, among the fiacts relative to the moral activity
of man, that of free will was almost the only one with which
Pelagius and Celestius seemed to be occupied.  Saint Augustin was of the same belief as they, and had more than
once proclaimed it; but other facts, in his opinion, ought to
occupy a place by the side of this one; for example, the in
sufficiency of the human will, the necessity for exterior
aid, and the moral changes which happen in the soul, without
her being able to claim them. Pelagius and Celestius seemed
to count these nothing: this was the first cause of the contest
between them   and the bishop of IHippo, whose greater
mind considered moral nature under a greater number of
aspects.
Besides, Pelagius, by the almost exclusive importance which
he gave to free-will, weakened the religious side of the Christian
doctrine, and strengthened, if I may use tie expression, the
human side. Liberty is the fact of man; he appears there
alone. In the insufficiency of the human will, on the contrary, and in the moral changes which it does not claim,
there is a place for Divine intervention. Now, the reforming
power of the church was essentially religious; it could not
but lose, under the practical point of view, from a theory
which placed in the first rank a fact with whlich religionl had
nothing to do, and left in the shade those in which its influence found occatsion for exe(rcise.
Saint Augustin w\as the chlief of the doctors of the church,
called upon more than any other to maintain tlhe general




382


HISTORY OF


system of her doctrines. Now, the ideas of Pelagius and
of Celestius seemed to him in contradiction with some of
the fundamental points of the Christian faith, especially with
the doctrine of' original sin and of redemption. I-e attacked
them, therefore, in a triple relation: as a philosopher, because
their knowledge of human nature was, in his eyes, narrow
and incomplete; as a practical reformer, and charged with the
government of the church, because, according to him, they
weakened his most efficacious means of reformation and
government; as a logician, because their ideas did not exactly
agree with the consequences deduced from the essential principles of the faith.
You see, from that time, what a serious aspect the quarrel
took: everything was engaged in it, philosophy, politics, and
religion, the opinions of Saint Augustin and his business, his
self-love and his duty. He entirely abandoned himself to
it, publishing treatises, writing letters, collecting information, which came to him from all parts, prodigal of refutations, and of counsels, and carrying into all his writings, all
his proceedings, that mixture of passion and mildness, of
authority and of sympathy, extent of mind and logical rigour,
which gave him so rare a power.
Pelagius and Celestius, on their side, did not remain inactive; they had found powerful friends in the east. If Saint
Jerome fulminated against them at Bethlehem, Johln, bishop
of Jerusalem, zealously protected them: he convoked, on their
account, an assembly of the priests of his church. Orosius, the
Spaniard, a disciple of Saint Augustin, and who happened to
be in Palestine, repaired thither, and stated all that had
passed in Africa upon the subject of Pelagius, as well as the
errors of whicll he was accused. On the recommendation of
bishop John, Pelagius was called; they asked him if he really
taught what Augustin had refuted.  " What is Augustin
to me?" answr(red lie. Many present were shocked. Augustin was then the most celebrated and most respected
doctor of the church. They desired to expel Pelagius, and
even to excommunicate him; but John turned aside the blow,
caused Peligius to be seated, and interrogated him, saying,
" It is I who am Augustin here; it is me that thou shalt
answer." Pelagius spoke Greek, his accuser Orosius spoke




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


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only Latin; the members of the assembly did not understand
him; they separated without deciding anything.
A short time afterwards, in the month of' December, 415, a
council was held in Palestine, at Diospolis, the ancient
Lydda, composed of fourteen bishops, and under the presidency of Eulogius, bishop of Caesaria. Two Gaulish bishops,
exiles fiom their sees, Hcros, bishop of Arles, and Lazarus,
bishop of Aix, had addressed to him a new accusation against
Pelagius. They were not present at the council, alleging
illness, and probably informed that he was little favourable
to them.  Pelagius appeared there, still protected by the
bishop of Jerusalem: they interrogated him concerning his
opinions; he explained them, modified them, adopted all that
the council presented to him as the true doctrine of the
church, recounted what lie had already suffered, spoke of
his relations with many holy bishops, with Augustin himself, who, two years previously, had written him a letter intended to contest some of his ideas, but full of benevolence
and mildness. The accusation of I-Ieros and of Lazarus was
read, but only in Latin, and by the interposition of' an interpreter. The council declared itself satisfied; Pelagius was
acquitted and declared orthodox.
The report of this decision soon arrived in Africa, from
Africa into Europe, from city to city. As soon as Saint
Augustin was informed of the results of the council of Diospolis, although he had not yet received its acts, he put everything in motion to resist their effects.
About the same time an incident occurred in Palestine
which threw a gloomy hue over tile cause of Pelagius. He
remained at Jerusalem, and there had professed his ideas with a
greater degree of assurance. A violent commotion broke out
at Bethlehem against Saint Jerome and the monasteries which
were formed near him: serious excesses were committed,
houses were pillaged, burnt, a deacon killed; and Jerome was
obliged to seek safety in a tower. The Pelagihns, it is
said, were the authors of these disorders: nothing proves
this, and I am rather inclined to doubt it; still there was
room for suspicion; it was generally believed, and a great
clamourarose; Saint Jerome wrote to the bishop of Rome,
Innocent I., about it, and Pelagianism was seriously compromised.




384


HISTORY OF


Two solemn councils sat this year (416) in Africa, at Carthage and at Milevum; sixty-eight bishops were present at the
one, sixty-one at the other. Pelagius and his doctrincs were there
formally condemned; the two assemblies informed the pope ot
their decision, and St. Augustin wrote to him privately, with
four other bishops, giving him a more detailed account of the
whole affair, and induced him to examine Pelagius in order
to proclaim truth and anathematise error.
On the 27th January, 417, Innocent answered the two
councils, to the five bislops, and condemned the doctrines of
Pelagius.
IHe did not deem himself beaten; two months afterwards,
Innocent died; Zosimus succeeded him; Celestius returned
to Rome; lie obtained from the new pope a new examination, at
which he probably explained his opinion, as Pelagius had at
Diospolis; and on the 21st September, 417, Zosimus informed
the bishops of Africa, by three letters, that he had scrupulously
employed himself in this affair; that he had heard Celestius
himself, at a meeting of priests held in the church of Saint
Clement; that Pelagius had written to him to justify himself;
that lie was satisfied with their explanations, and had reinstated them in the communion of the church.
Hlardly had these letters arrived in Africa, when a new
council met at Cartilage (in May, 418); two hundred and three
bishopsI were present at it; in eight express canons it condemned the doctrines of Pelagius, and addressed itself' to tile
emperor 1-onorius in order to obtain from him, against the
heretics, measures which might place the church under shelter
from peril.
From 418 to 421, appeared many edicts and letters of the
emperors Honorius, Thleodosius II., and Constantius, whlich
banished Pelagius, Celestius, and their partisans, fiom Roml,
and all towns where they should attempt to propagate tlleir
fatal errors.
Pope Zosimus did not long resist the authority of the couIncils and of the emperors; he convoked a new assembly, in order
to hear Celestius again; but Celestius liad quitted Rome, and
Zosimus wrote to the bishops of Africa that lie had condemnel
the Pelagians.; According to others, two  unlllud d. and foilrteen.




CIVIL1ZATION IN FRANCE..385


The quarrel continued yet some time; eighteen bishops of
Italy refused to subscribe to the condemnation of Pelagius;
they were deprived of their sees, and banished into the east.
The triple decision of the council, the pope, and the emperor,
gave a death-blow to this cause. After the year 418, we
discover, in history, no trace of Pelagius. The name of
Cclestius is sometimes met with until the year 427; it then
disappears. These two men once off the scene, their school
rapidly declined. The opinion of Saint Augustin, adopted
by the councils, by the popes, by the civil authority, became
the general doctrine of the church. But the victory had
yet to cost he. some struggles; Pelagianism dying, left an
heir; the semi-Pelagians engaged in the struggle which the
Pelagians could not maintain.
In the south of Gaul, in the heart bf the monasteries of
Saint Lerins and of Saint Victor, where boldness of thought
then took refuge, it appeared to some men, among others to
Cassienus, the monk of whom I have already spoken, that the
fault of Pelagius was in being too exclusive, and not holding
sufficient account of all the facts relative to human liberty;
and to its relation with the Divine power. The insufficiency
of the human will, for example, the necessity for exterior
relief, the moral revolutions which operate in the soul, and
are not its work, were, he felt, real, important facts, that should
neither be disputed nor even neglected. Cassienus admitted
them fully, loudly, thus giving to the doctrine of free-will
something of the religious character which Pelagius and
Celestius had so much weakened. But, at the same time, he
disputed, more or less openly, many of the ideas of Saint
Augustin; among others, his explanation of the moral reformation and progressive sanctification of nan. Saint Augustin
attributed them to the direct,.immediate, special action of
God upon the soul, to grace, properly so called, a grace to
which man had not title of himself, and which proceeded from
absolutely gratuitous gift, fiom the free choice of the Divinity.
Cassienus allowed more efficacy to the merits of man himself, and maintained that his moral amelioration was partly
the work of his own will, which drew upon him divine support, and produced, by a natural concatenation, although often
unseen, the internal clanges by which the progress of sanctification made itself known.
c c




386


HISTORY OF


Such, between.the semi-Pelagians and their redoubtable
adversary, was the principal subject of controversy: it commenced about the year 428, upon letters from Prosper of
Aquitaine and from Hilary, who had hastened to inform Saint
Augustin that Pelagianisrm was again rising under a new
form. The bishop of Ilippo immediately wrote a treatise
entitled: De Prsedestinatione Sanctorum et de dono persererantice. Prosper published his poem Against Ingrates; and
the war of pamphlets and letters regained all its activity.
Saint Augustin died in 430; Saint Prosper and Hilary
alone remained charged with prosecuting his work. They
went to Rome, and had the semi-Pelagians condemned by
pope Celestin. However modified this doctrine was, it was
but little favourable in the church; it reproduced a heresy
already vanquished; it weakened, although to a less degree,
the religious influence of morality and of government; it was
in discord with the general course of ideas, which tended to
give the greater share to the Divine intervention on every
occasion; it would have fallen almost without resistance, if a
directly contrary doctrine, that of the predestinarians, had not
appeared and lent it a few moments' power and credit.
From the writings of Saint Augustin upon the impotence
of human will, the nullity of its merits, and the perfectly
free and gratuitous nature of Divine grace, some refractory
logicians deduced the predestination of all men, and the irrevocability of the decrees of God as to the eternal lot of every one.
The first manifestations of this doctrine in the fifth century are
obscure and doubtful; but from the time that it appeared, it
shocked the good sense and moral equity of most Christians.
Accordingly, the semi-Pelagians took up the combat, and
presented their ideas as the natural counterpoise of such
an error. Such was especially the claracteristic which was
laboured to be impressed upon semi-Pelagianism, about the
year 445, by Faustus, bishop of Rlitz, whom I have already
named, and of whom, at a later period, I shall speak more
particularly; he presented himself as a kind of mediator
between the Pelagians and the predestinarians. " It is necessary," said he, "in the question of the grace of God and the
obedience of man, to keep to the middle path, and incline
neither to the right nor to the left."  According to him,
Pelagius and Saint Augustin were both of them too exclusive:




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


387


one allowed too much to human liberty and not enough to the
action of God; the other was too forgetful of human liberty.
This species of compromise at first obtained much favour in
the Gaulish church; two councils met, one at Aries, in 472, the
other at Lyons, in 473, formally condemned the predestinarians, and charged Faustus to publish a treatise which he had
written against them, entitled, Of Grace and of the Liberty
of the Human Will, even ordering him to add some further
developments.  This, however, was but a day's respite fbr
semi-Pelagianism, a glimmer of fortune; it was not long in
again falling into discredit.
While still living, Saint Augustin had been accused of advocating the doctrine of predestination, the total abolition of
free-will, and he had energetically defended himself from it.
He deceived himself, I think, as a logician, in denying a consequence which inevitably resulted from his ideas, on the one
hand, concerning the impotence and corruption of the human
will-on the other, concerning the nature of the Divine intervention and fore-knowledge.
But the superiority of Saint Augustin's mind saved him,
on this occasion, from the errors into which logic had nearly
brought it, and he was inconsistent precisely because of his
lofty reason. Allow me to dwell a moment on this moral fact,
which alone explains the contradictions of so many fine
geniuses: I shall take an example near to us all, and one
of the most striking. Most of you, of course, have read the
Contrat Social of Rousseau; the sovereignty of number, of the
numerical majority is, as you know, the fundamental principle of the work, and Rousseau, for a long time, follows out the
consequences of it with inflexible rigour; a time arrives, however, when he abandons them, and abandons them with great
effect; he wishes to give his fundamental laws, his constitution, to the rising society; his high intellect warned him that
such a work could not proceed fiomn universal suffrage, from
the numerical majority, from the multitude: " A God," said he,
"must give laws to men.".... It is not magistracy, it is not
sovereignty.... It is a particular and superior function, which
has nothing in common with the human empire.1  And hereupon he sets up a sole legislator, a sage; thus violating his
1 Contrat Social, b. ii. ch. vii.
c c 2




388


HISTORY OF


principle of the sovereignty of number, in order to turn to an
entirely different principle, to the sovereignty of intellect, to
the right of superior reason.
The Contrat Social, and almost all the works of Rousseau,
abound in similar contradictions, and they are, perhaps, the
clearest proof of the great mind of the author.
It was by an inconsistency of the same kind that Saint
Augustin resolutely repelled the predestination which had been
mputed to him. Others, afterwards, acute dialecticians,
unhesitatingly went on to this doctrine and settled to it:
for him, when he perceived it, enlightened by his genius,
he turned aside, and without entirely retracing his steps,
took fliiht in another direction, in absolutely refusing to
abolish liberty. The church acted like Saint Augustin; it
had adopted his doctrines concerning grace, and on this score
condemned the Pelagians and semi-Pelagians; she likewise
condemned the predestinarians, thus taking from Cassienus and
Faustus, and from their disciples, the pretext by favour of
which they had somewhat regained the ascendant. SemiPelagianism from that time did nothing but decline; Saint
Cesarius, bishop of Aries, at the commencement of the sixth
century, again declared war against it, as Saint Augustin and
Saint Prosper had done: in 529, the councils of Orange and
Valencia condemned it; in 330, pope Boniface II., in his turn,
struck it with a sentence of anathema, and it soon ceased, for
a long time, at least, to agitate minds. Predestination experienced the same fate.
None of these doctrines gave rise to a sect, properly so called:
they were not separated from the church, nor did they constitute a distinct religious society; they had no organization, no
worship: they were mere opinions debated between men of mind;
more or less accredited, more or less contrary to the official doctrine of the church, but which never threatened her with a
schism. Accordingly, of their appearance, and of the debates
which they excited, there only remained certain tendencies,
certain intellectual dispositions, not sects nor veritable schools.
We meet at all epochs in the course of European civilization,
1st, With minds preoccupied especially with what there is of
humanity in our moral activity, with the fact of liberty, and
which thus attach themselves to thePelagians. 2nd, With minds
more especially struck with the power of God over man, with




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.            389
Divine intervention in human activity, and inclined to make
human liberty vanish under the hand of God; these hold with
the predestinarians. 3rd, Between those two tendencies was
placed the general doctrine of the church, which strove to
take into account all natural facts, human liberty and Divine
intervention; denies that God effects all in man, that man can
do all without the assistance of God, and thus establishes itself, perhaps with more of reason than of scientific consistency, in the regions of good sense, the true country of the
human mind, which always returns there, after having strayed
in all directions. (Post longos errores.)




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SIXTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-General character of the literature of the middle
ages-Of the transition from pagan philosophy to Christian theologyOf the question of the nature of the soul in the Cllristian churcll-The
ancient priests for the most part pronounced in favour of the system of
materialism-Efforts to escape from it-Analogous march of ideas in
pagan philosophy-Commencement of the system of spirituality-Saint
Augustin, Nemesius, Mamertius Claudienus-Faustus, bishop of RiezHis arguments for the materiality of the soul —Mamertius Claudienus
answers him-Importance of Mamertius Claudienus in Gaul-Analysis
of, and quotations from his treatise on the nature of the soul-The
dialogue of Evagrius between Zacheus the Christian and Apollonius the
philosopher-Of the effects of the invasion of the barbarians upon the
moral state of Gaul.
BETWEEN the question which occupied us in the last lecture,
and that with which we shall now occupy ourselves, the difference is very great. Pelagianism was not only a question,
but also an event; it gave rise to parties, interests, passions;
it put in movement councils, emperors; it influenced the fate
of many men. The question of the nature of the soul produced nothing of the kind; it was carried on between a few
able men in a corner of the empire. In the last lecture, I had
many facts to recount; at present I have to speak of books
and of arguments.
I pray you to mark the course of our studies. We commenced by examining the social state, the external and public facts; we then passed to the moral state of Gaul; we
sought it first in general facts, in the entirety of society;
then in a great religious debate, in a doctrine, an active powerful doctrine, which became an event; we will now      study it
in a simple philosophical discussion. We shall thus penetrate
more and more into the interior of men's minds; we first con



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sidered facts, then ideas mingled with facts, and subject to
their influences; we will now consider ideas by themselves.
Before entering upon the question, permit me to say a few
words upon the general character of the literary writers of
this period and of the middle ages in general.
If you compare, on the one hand, ancient literature, Greek
and Roman literature, and on the other hand, modern literature, especially so called, with that of the middle ages, the
principal points, which, as I think, will strike you, will be the
following:
In ancient literature, the form of the works, the art of their
composition, and the language, are admirable; even when its
materials are poor, the ideas false or confused, the workmanship is so skilful, that it cannot fail to please; manifesting in
the author, a mind at once natural and refined, whose inward
development far surpasses its acquired knowledge, which has
an exquisite appreciation of the beautiful, and a peculiar aptitude for reproducing it.
In modern literature, since the sixteenth century for instance, the form is very often imperfect; there is frequently a
deficiency at once of nature and of art, but. the groundwork is
in general sound; we meet with less and less of gross ignorance, of wanderings from the question, of confusion; method,
common sense, in a word, artistic merit, is the prominent
feature; if the mind is not always satisfied, it is at least very
seldom shocked; the spectacle is not invariably a fine one, but
chaos has disappeared.
The intellectual labours of the middle ages present a different aspect; as a general proposition, they are entirely deficient in artistic merit; the form is rude, fantastic; they are
full of divergences, of incoherent ideas; they manifest a state
of mind, crude, uncultivated, alike without interior development or acquired knowledge, and accordingly neither our
reason nor our taste is satisfied. This is the reason why they
have been forgotten, why Greek and Roman literature have
survived, and will eternally survive the people among whom
it respectively arose. Yet under this so imperfect form,
amidst this so strange medley of ideas and of facts, ill understood and ill combined, the books of the middle ages are very
remarkable monuments of the activity and wealth of the
human mind; we meet in them      with many vigorous and




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HISTORY OF


original conceptions; important questions are often sounded
to their lowest deptls, flashes of philosophical truth, of literary
beauty, glance at every moment from the darkness; the mineral in this mine is altogether in a rough state, but the metal is
plentiful, and well merits our research.
The writings of the fifth and sixth centuries, moreover,
have a character and an interest peculiar to themselves. It
was the period at which ancient philosophy was giving way
before modern theology, in which the one was becoming
transformed into the other; in which certain systems became
dogmas, certain schools sects. These periods of transition are
of great importance, are, perhaps, in the historical point of
view, the most instructive of all. It is at these periods only
that we are able to view simultaneously and face to face
certain facts, certain states of man and of the world, which
are generally only to be seen by themselves, and separated by
whole centuries; they are the only periods, therefore, in which
it is easy for us to compare these facts and these states, to
explain them, connect them together. The human mind is
but too prone to walk in but one single path, to see things
but under one partial, narrow, exclusive aspect, to place itself
in prison; it is, therefore a very fortunate circumstance for
it, when it is compelled, by the very nature of the spectacle
placed before its eyes, to look around it in all directions, to
embrace a vast horizon, to contemplate a great number of
different objects, to study the great problems of the world
under all their aspects, and in all their various solutions. It
is more especially in the south of Gaul that this character of
the fifth century manifests itself: You have seen the activity
which prevailed in the religious society, and, among others,
in the monasteries of Lerins and Saint-Victor, the focus of
so many daring opinions. The whole of this movement of
mind did not emanate from Christianity; it was in the same
districts, in the Lyonnese. the Viennese, the Narbonnese,
Aquitaine, that ancient civilization in its decline concentrated itself. It was here that it still exhibited most life.
Spain, Italy herself, were at this period far less active than
Gaul, far less rich in literature and in literary men. We must,
perhaps, attribute this result to the development which had
been assumed in these provinces by Greek civilization, and
to the prolonged influence there of its philosophy. In all




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the great towns of southern Gaul, at Marseilles, at Aries, at
Aix, at Vienne, at Lyons itself; the Greek language was
understood and spoken. There were regular Greek exercises under Caligula, in the Athanacum, an establishment at
Lyons, especially devoted to that purpose; and in the beginning of the sixth century, when Cesarius, bishop of Aries,
required the faithful to sing with the clergy previous to the
sermon, many of the people sang in Greek. We find among
the distinguished Gauls of this period philosophers of all the
Greek schools; some are mentionned as Pythagoreans, others
as Platonists, others as Epicureans, others as Stoics.
The Gaulish writings of the fourth and fifth century,
among others that which I am about to introduce to you, the
treatise of Mamertius Claudienus, On the XNature of the
Soul, quote passages from philosophers whose names even
we do not meet with elsewhere. In short, there is every evidence that, in the philosophical as in the religious point of
view, Greek and Roman as well as Christian Gaul was at
this period the most animated, the most living portion of the
Empire; of the western empire at all events. It is here,
accordingly, that the transition from pagan philosophy to
Christian theology, from the ancient world to the modern, is
most strongly marked, most clearly observable.
In this movement of mind, it was not likely that the question
of the nature of the soul should remain long untouched. From
the first century upwards, we find it the subject of discussion
amongst the doctors of the church, the majority of whom
adopted the material hypothesis; passages to this effect are
abundant. I will select two or three, which leave no doubt
as to the prevalent opinion on the subject. Tertullian says
expressly:
"< The corporeality of the soul is perfectly manifest to all
who read the gospel. The soul of a man is there represented
suffering its punishment in hell; it is placed in the midst of
the flame; it feels a tormenting agony in the tongue, and it
implores, from the hand of a soul in bliss, a drop of water to
cool it.... There can be nothing of all this without the presence of the body. The incorporeal being is free from every
description of restraint, from all pain or from all pleasure, for
it is in the. body alone that man is punished or rewarded.'
I De Animd, 5, 7.




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IIISTORY OF


"Who does not see," asks Arnobius, "that that which is
ethereal, immortal, cannot feel pain."1
" We conceive," says St. John of Damascus, "we conceive
of incorporeal and invisible beings, in two ways: by essence
and by grace; the former incorporeal by nature, the latter only
relatively, and in comparison with the grossness of matter.
Thus, God is incorporeal by nature; as to angels, devils,
and men's souls, we only call them incorporeal by grace, and
comparatively with the grossness of matter."2
I might multiply ad infiniturn similar quotations, all
proving that in the first ages of our era, the materiality of
the soul was not only the admitted, but that it was the
dominant opinion.
After a while, the church manifested a tendency to quit
this opinion. We find the fathers placing before themselves
every argument in favour of immateriality. The sentence I
have just quoted from St. John of Damascus itself gives a
proof of this; you find him laying down a certain distinction between material beings.  The philosophical fathers
entered upon the same path, and advanced in it with more
rapid strides. Origen, for instance, is so astonished at the
idea of a material soul having a conception of immaterial
things, and arriving at a true knowledge, that he concludes
it to possess a certain relative immortality, that is to say, that
material in relation with God, the only being truly spiritual; it
is not so in relation with earthly things, with visible and
sensual bodies.3
Such was the course of ideas in the heart of pagan philosophy; in its first essays dominated both the belief in the
immateriality of the soul, and at the same time a certain progressive effort to conceive the soul under a more elevated, a
more pure aspect.  Some made of it a vapour, a breath;
others declared it a fire; all wished to purify, to refine, to
spiritualize matter, in the hope of arriving at the end to
which they aspired. The same desire, the same tendency
existed in the Christian church; still the idea of the materiality of the soul was more general among the Christian
doctors from the first to the fifth century, than among the


1 Adversus Gentes, ii.          2 De Orthodoxafide, ii. 3, 12.
3 Origen, de Principiis, 1. i. c. 1.1. 2. c. 2.




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pagan philosophers of the same period. It was against the
pagan philosophers, and in the name of the religious interest,
that certain fathers maintained this doctrine; they wished that
the soul should be material in order that it might be recompensed or punished, in order that in passing to another life
it might find itself in a state analogous to that in which it
had been upon earth; in fine, in order that it should not
forget how inferior it is to God, and never be tempted to
compare itself with Him.
At the end of the fourth century, a kind of revolution concerning this point was wrought in the breast of the church;
the doctrine of the immateriality of the soul, of the original
and essential difference of the two substances, appeared
there, if not for the first time, at least far more positively,
with far more precision than hitherto. It was professed
and maintained-first, in Africa, by Saint Augustin in his
treatise de quantitate Animce; secondly, in Asia, by Nemesius, bishop of Emessa, who wrote a very remarkable work
upon the nature of man (7repLaVoS0g dvOpwTrov); thirdly, in
Gaul, by Mamertius Claudienus, de natura Animal. Confined
to the history of Gaulish civilization, this last is the only one
with which we have to occupy ourselves.
This is the occasion upon which it was written. A man
whom you already know, Faustus, bishop of Riez, exercised a
great influence in the Gaulish church; born a Breton, like
Pelagius, he came-it is not known why-into the south of
Gaul. He became a monk in the abbey of Lerins, and in 433
was made abbot of it. He instituted a great school, where
lie received the children of rich parents, and brought them
up, teaching them all the learning of the age. He often conversed with his monks upon philosophical questions, and, it
appears, was remarkable for his talent of improvisation.
About 462 he became bishop of Riez. I have spoken of the
part taken by him in the semi-Pelagian heresy, and of his
book against the predestinarians. He was of an active, independent spirit, rather intermeddling, and always eager to
mix in all the quarrels which arose. It is not known what
called his attention to the'nature of the soul: he treated of it
at length in a long philosophical letter addressed to a bishop,
and in which many other questions are debated; he declares
himself for materiality, and thus sums up his principal arguments:




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HISTORY OF


1. Invisible things are of one kind, incorporeal things of
another.
2. Everything created is matter, tangible by the Creator;
is corporeal.
3. The soul occupies a place. 1. It is enclosed in a body.
2. It is not to be found wherever its thought is. 3. At all
events, it is to be found only where its thought is. 4. It is distinct from its thoughts, which vary, which pass on, while it
is permanent and always the same; 5. It quits the body at
death, and re-enters it by the resurrection; witness Lazarus;
6. The distinction of hell and heaven, of eternal punishments
and rewards, proves that even after death souls occupy a
place, and are corporeal.
4. God alone is incorporeal, because he alone is intangible
and omnipresent.'
These propositions, laid down in so unhesitating and distinct
a manner, are not elaborated to any extent; and such details
as the author does enter into are taken in general from the
theology, narratives, and authority of the holy scriptures.
The letter of Faustus, which, circulated anonymously,
occasioned considerable excitement; Mamertius Claudienus,
brother of St. Mamertius, bishop of Vienne, and himself a
priest in that diocese, answered it in his treatise On the
Nature of the Soul, a work of far higher importance than the
one which it refuted... Mamertius Claudienus was in his day
the most learned, the most eminent philosopher of southern
Gaul; to give you an idea of his reputation, I will read a
letter written shortly after the philosopher's death, to his
nephew Petreius, by Sidonius Apollinarius, a letter, I may
observe, stamped with all the ordinary characteristics of this
writer, exhibiting all the puerile elaboration of the professed
bel esprit, with here and there just perceptions, and curious
facts.
" SIDONIUS TO HIS DEAR PETREIUS.2    HEALTH.3
"I am   overwhelmed with affliction at the loss which our
age has sustained in the recent loss of your uncle Claudienus:
i I have adopted the text of Faustus, inserted in the edition of the Treatise
on the Nature of the Soul, by Claudienus, published, with notes, by Andrew
Schoff and Gaspard Barti, at Zwickau, in 1665.
g Son of the sister of Mamertius Claudienus.  3 Lib. iv. ep, ii.




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we shall never see his like again. He was full of wisdom and
judgment, learned, eloquent, ingenious; the most intellectual
man of his period, of his country. He remained a philosopher,
without giving offence to religion; and though he did not indulge in the fancy of letting his hair and his beard grow,
though he laughed at the long cloak and stick of the philosophers, though he sometimes even warmly reprehended these
fantastic appendages, it was only in such matters of externals
and in faith, that he separated from his friends the Platonists.
God of HIeaven! what happiness was ours whenever we repaired to him for his counsel. How readily would he give
himself wholly to us, without an instant's hesitation, without
a word, a glance of anger or disdain, ever holding it his
highest pleasure to open the treasures of his learning to those
who came to him for the solution of some, by all others insoluble, question! Then, when all of us were seated around
him, he would direct all to be silent, but him to whom-and
it was ever a choice which we ourselves should have madehe accorded the privilege of stating the proposition; the
question thus laid before him, he would display the wealth of
his learning deliberately, point by point, in perfect order,
without the least artifice of gesture, or the slightest flourish of
language. When he had concluded his address, we stated
our objections syllogistically; he never failed to refute at
once any propositions of ours which were not based upon
sound reason, and thus nothing was admitted without undergoing mature examination, without being thoroughly demonstrated. But tiat which inspired us with still higher respect,
was that he supported, without the least ill humour, the dull
obstinacy of some amongst us, imputing it to an excusable
motive, we all the while admiring his patience, though unable to imitate it. No one could fear to seek the counsel, in
difficult cases, of a man who rejected no discussion, and
refused to answer no question, even on the part of the most
foolish and ignorant persons. Thus much for his learning:
enough concerning- his studies and his science; but who can
worthily and suitably praise the other virtues of that man,
who, always renembering the weaknesses of humanity.
assisted the priests with his work, the people with his discourses, the afflicted with his exhortations, the forsaken with
his consolations, prisoners with his gold; the hungry received




398


HISTORY OF


food from him, the naked were clothed by him. It would, I
think, be equally superfluous to say any more upon this
subject...
" Here is what we wished to have said at first: in honour of
the ungrateful ashes, as Virgil says, that is to say, which
cannot give us thanks for what we say, we have composed
a sad and piteous lamentation, not without much trouble,
for having dictated nothing for so long, we found unusual
difficulty therein; nevertheless, our mind, naturally indolent,
was reanimated by a sorrow which desired to break into tears.
This, then, is the purport of the verses:
" ' Under this turf reposes Claudienus, the pride and sorrow
of his brother Mamertius, honoured like a precious stone by
all the. bishops. In this master flourished a triple science,
that of Rome, that of Athens, and that of Christ: and in the
vigour of his age, a simple monk, he achieved it completely
and in secret. Orator, dialectician, poet, a doctor learned in
the sacred books, geometrician, musician, he excelled in
unravelling the most difficult questions, he struck with the
sword of words the sects which attacked the Catholic faith.
Skilful at setting the psalms and singing, in front of the
altars, and to tile great gratitude of his brother, he taught
men to sound instruments of music.   lIe regulated, for
the solemn feasts of the year, what in each case should be
read. IIe was a priest of the second order, and relieved his
brother from the weight of the episcopacy; for his brother
bore the ensigns, and he all the duty.  You, therefore,
reader, who afflict yourself as if nothing remained of such
a man, whoever you be, cease to sprinkle your cheeks and this
marble with tears; the soul and the glory cannot be buried in
the tomb.'
"These are the lines I have engraved over the remains
of irnm who was a brother to all...."
It was to Sidonius that Mamertius Claudienus had dedicated his work.
It is divided into three books. The first is the only truly
philosophical one; the question is there examined in itself,
independently of every special fact, of all authority, and under
a purely rational point of view. In the second the author
invokes authorities to his aid; first that of the Greek philosophers-then, that of the Roman philosophers-lastly, the sacred




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writings, Saint Paul, the Evangelists, and the fathers of the
church. The special object of the third book is to explain,
in the system of the spirituality of the soul, certain events,
certain traditions of the Christian religion; for example, the
resurrection of Lazarus, the existence of the angels, the apparition of the angel Gabriel to the Virgin Mary; and to show
that, so far from contradicting them, or being embarrassed by
them, this system admits them and makes at least as much of
them as any other.
The classification is not as rigorous as I have made it out:
the ideas and arguments are often mixed; philosophical discussions appear here and there in the books which arc not
devoted to them; still, upon the whole, the work is not wanting in either method or precision.
I shall now place before you the summary of it, as prepared
by Mamertius Claudienus himself, in ten theses or fundamental
propositions, in the last chapter but one of the third book. I
shall then literally translate some passages, -which will enable
you to understand, on one hand, with what profundity and
with what force of mind the author has penetrated into the
question; on the other, what absurd and fantastical conceptions could, at this epoch, be combined with the most elevated
and the most just ideas:
"Since many of the things which I have asserted in this
discussion," says Mamertius Claudienus, " are scattered, and
might not easily be retained, I wish to bring them together,
compress them, place them, so to speak, in a single point,
under the mind's eyes.
" 1st. God is incorporeal; the human soul is the image of
God, for man was made in the image and likeness of God.
Now a body cannot be the image of an incorporeal being; therefore the hurman soul, which is tile image of God, is incorporeal.
"2nd. Everything which does not occupy a determined
place is incorporeal. Now the soul is the life of the body;
and, living in the body, each part lives as truly as the whole
body. There is, therefore, in each part of the body, as much
life as in the whole body; and the soul is that life. Thus,
that which is as great in the part as in tie whole, in!a small
space as in a large, occupies no space; therefore the soul
occupies no place.  That which occupies no place is not
corporeal; therefore the soul is not corporeal.




400


HISTORY OF


'" 3rd. The soul reasons, and the faculty of reasoning is inherent in the substance of the soul. Now, the reason is incorporeal, occupies no position in space; therefore the soul is
incorporeal.
" 4th. The will of the soul is its very substance, and when
the soul chooses it is all will. Now will is not a body; therefore the soul is not a body.
" 5th. Even so the memory is a capacity which has nothing
local; it is not widened in order to remember more of things;
it is not contracted when it remembers less of things; it immaterially remembers material things. And when the soul
remembers, it remembers entire; it is all recollection. Now,
the recollection is not a body; therefore, the soul is not a
body.
"6th. The body feels the impression of touch in the part
touched; the whole soul feels the impression, not by the entire
body, but in a part of the body. A sensation of this kind
has nothing local; now what has nothing local is incorporeal;
therefore the soul is incorporeal.
" 7th. The body can neither approach nor absent itself from
God; the soul does approach and does absent itself from them
without changing its place; therefore the soul is not a body.
"8th. The body moves through a place, from one place to
another; the soul has no similar movement; therefore the
soul is not a body.
"9th. The body has length, breadth, and depth; and that
which has neither length, breadth, nor depth, is not a body.
The soul has nothing of the kind; therefore the soul is not a
body.
"10th. There is in all bodies the right hand and the leftthe upper part and the lower part, the front and the back; in
the soul there is nothing of the kind; therefore the soul is incorporeal."1
H-ere are some of the principal developments in support
of these propositions:
I. You say that the soul is one thing, the thought of the
soul another: you ought rather to say, that the things upon
which the soul thinks... are not the soul; but thought is
nothing but the soul itself.
ZI


Book iii. chap. 14, pp. 201, 202.




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401


" The soul, you say, is in such profound repose, tlat it has
no thought at all. T'his is not true; the soul can change its
thought, but not be without thought altogether.
" What do our dreams signify if not that, even when the
body is fatigued and immersed in sleep, the soul ceases not to
think?
"What greatly deceives you concerning the nature of the
soul, is that you believe that tie soul is one thing, and its
faculties another. What the soul thinks is an accident, but
that which thinks is tle substante of the soul itself.1
"II. The soul sees that which is corporeal through the medium of the body; what is incorporeal it sees by itself. Without
the intervention of the body, it could see nothing corporeal,
coloured, or extensive; but it sees truth, and sees it with an immaterial view. If; as you pretend, the soul, corporeal itself, and
confined within an external body, can see of itself a corporeal
object, surely nothing can be more easy to it than to see the
interior of that body in which it is confined6 Well, then, do
this-apply yourself to this work; direct inward this corporeal
view of the soul, as you call it; tell us how the brain is disposed,
where the mass of the liver is situated; where and what is the
spleen.... what are the windings and texture of the veins,
the origins of the nerves..... H-ow! you deny that you are
called upon to answer concerning such things: and wherefore
do you deny it?  Because the soul cannot sec directly and of
itself corporeal things.  Why can it not, then, that w-lich is
never without thinking-that is to say, without seeing?  Because it cannot see corporeal objects without the medium of
the corporeal view. Now, the soul which sees certain things
of itself; but not corporeal things, sees, tlerefore, with an incorporeal view; now an incorporeal bcinm c can alone see with
an incorporeal view; therefore the soul is incorloreal.2
"1II. If the soul is a body, what then is that which tile soul
calls its body, if not itself. Either tle soul is a body, and in
that case it is wrong to sa y my bodCy, it ough-t rather to say
me, since it is itself; or if tlhe soul is right in saying mny botdy
as we suppose, it is not a body.3
' IV. It is not without reason that it is said that memory 's
I Book'i. chap. 24, p. 8:.  2 Book iii. chap. 9, pp. 187, 188.
3 J3ook  i. chlia. J1, p;. i3.
D D




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HISTORY OF


common to men and to animals; storks and swallows return to
their nest, horses to their stable; dogs recognise their master. But as the soul of animals, although they retain the
image of places, has no knowledge of its own being, they
remain confined to the recollection of corporeal objects which
they have seen by the bodily senses; and, deprived of the
mind's eye, they are incapable of seeing, not only what is
above them, but themselves.'
"V. A formidable syllogism, which is thought insolvable,
is addressed to us; the soul, it is said, is where it is, and is
not where it is not. The anticipation is, that we shall be
driven to say, either that it is everywhere, or that it is nowhere: and then it will be rejoined, if it is everywhere, it is
God; if it is nowhere, it is non-existent. The soul is not
wholly in the whole world, but in the same way that God is
wholly in the whole universe, so the soul is wholly in the
whole body. God does not fill with the smallest 'part of himself the smallest part of the world, and with the largest the
largest; he is wholly in every part and wholly in the whole;
so the soul does not reside in parts in the various parts of the
body. It is not one part of the soul which looks forth
through the eye and another which animates the finger; the
whole soul lives in the eye and sees by the eye, the whole
soul animates the finger and feels by the finger.2
"VI. The soul which feels in the body, though it feels by
visible organs, feels invisibly. The eye is one thing, seeing
another: the ears are one thing, hearing another; the nostrils
are one thing, smelling another; the mouth one thing, eating
another; the hand one thing, touching another. We distinguish by the touch what is hot and what cold, but we do
not touch the sensation of the touch, which in itself is neither
hot nor cold; the organ by which we feel is a perfectly different thing from the sensation of which we are sensible." 3
You will readily admit that these ideas are deficient neither
in elevation nor profundity; they would do honour to the
philosophers of any period; seldom have the nature of the
soul and its unity been investigated more closely or described
with greater precision. I might quote many other passages


I Book i. chap. 21, p. 65.   2 Book iii. chap. 2, p. 164.
a Book i. chap. 6, p. 31.




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403


remarkable for the subtlety of perception, or energy of debate, and, at times, for a profound moral emotion, and a
genuine eloquence.
I will read to you two extracts from the same book of the
same man; Mamertius Claudienus is replying to the argument of Faustus, who maintains that the soul is formed of
air, reasoning upon the ancient theory which regarded air,
fire, earth, and water as the four essential elements of nature:
" Fire," says he, " is evidently a superior element to air, as
well by the place which it occupies as by its intrinsic power.
This is proved by the movement of the terrestrial fire, which,
with an almost incomprehensible rapidity, and by its own
natural impulse, reascends towards heaven as towards its own
country. If this proof be not sufficient, here is another: the
air is illumined by the presence of the sun, that is to say fire,
and falls into darkness in its absence. And a still more
powerful reason is, that air undergoes the action of fire and
becomes heated, while fire does not undergo the action of air,
and is never made cold by it. Air may be inclosed and retained in vases; fire never. The preeminence of fire, then, '
clearly incontestable. Now, it is from fire (that is to say, from
its light) that we derive the faculty of sight, a faculty common
to men and to animals, and in which, indeed, certain irrational
animals far surpass man in point of both strength and of delicacy. If, then, which is undeniable, sight proceeds from fire,
and if the soul, as you think, is formed of air, it follows that
the eye of animals is, as to its substance, superior in dignity
to the soul of man."'
This learned confusion of material facts and of intellectual facts, this attempt to establish a sort of hierarchy of
merit and of rank among the elements, in order to deduce
from them philosophical consequences, are curious evidences
of the infancy of science and of thought.
I will now quote, in favour of the immateriality of the soul,
an argument of as little value in itself, but less fantastic in its
outward appearance. "Every incorporeal being is superior,
in natural dignity, to a corporeal being; every being not con
fined within a certain space, to a localized being; every indivisible being to a divisible being.  Now, if the Creator,


1 Book i. chap. 9, p 38


D D 2




-.01


HISTORY OF


W:ivereignly powerful and sovereignly good, has not created,
as he ought to have done, a substance superior to the body,
and similar to himself, it is either that he could not or would
not; if he would, and could not, almightiness was wanting to
him; if he could, and would not (the mere thought is a crime),
it could only have been through jealousy. Now, it is impossible that the sovereign power cannot do what it wills, that
sovereign goodness can be jealous. It results that he both
could and would create the incorporeal being; final result,
he did create it."'
Was I wrong in speaking just now of the strange combinations, the mixture of high truths and gross errors, of admirable
views and ridiculous conceptions, which characterize the
writings of this period-those of MIamertius Claudienus, I
may add, present fewer of these contrasts than do those of
most of his contemporaries.
You are sufficiently acquainted with this writer to appreciate his character; taken as a whole, his work is rather philoso)phical than theological, and yet the religious principle is
manifestly predominant throughout, for the idea of God is the
starting point of every discussion in it. The author does
not commence by observing and describing human, special,
actual facts, proceeding through them up to the Divinity:
God is with him the primitive, universal, evident fact; the
fundamental datum to which all things relate, and with which
all things must agree; he invariably descends from God to
man, deducing our own from the Divine nature. It is evidently from religion, and not from science, that he borrows
this method. But this cardinal point once established, this:loiical plan once laid down, it is from philosophy that he
draws, in general, both his ideas and his manner of expressing
thlin; his language is of the school, not of the church; he
al)peals to reason, not to faith; we perceive in him, sometimes
tlie academic'ian, sometimes the stoic, more frequently the
platonist, but always the philosopher, never the priest, though
the Christian is apparent, is manifest in every page.
I have thus exhibited the fact which I indicated in the
outset, the fusion of pagan philosophy with Christian theology, the metamorphosis of the one into the other. And it is


I Book i. chap. v. p. 26.




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remarkable, that the reasoning applied to the establishment of
the spirituality of the soul is evidently derived from the
ancient philosophy rather than from Christianity, and that the
author seems more especially to aim at convincing the theologians, by proving to them that the Christian faith has nothing
in all this which is not perfectly reconcilable with the results
derived from pure reason.
It might be thought that this transition from ancient philosophy to modern theology would be more manifest, more
strongly marked in the dialogue of the Christian Zacheus and
the philosopher Apollonius, by the monk Evagrius, where the
two doctrines, the two societies, are directly confronted and
called upon to discuss their respective merits; but the discussion is only in appearance, exists, in fact, only on the
title-page. I am not acquainted with any work, with any
monument, which proves more clearly the utter indifference
with which the popular mind regarded paganism. The philosopher Apollonius opens the dialogue in an arrogant tone,
as if about utterly to overwhelm the Christian, and to deliver
over to general scorn any arguments which he may adduce.'
" If you examine the matter with care," says he, " you will
see that all other religions and all other sacred rites had
rational origins; whereas, your creed is so utterly vain and
irrational, that it seems to me none but a madman could
entertain it."
But this arrogance is sterile: throughout the dialogue
Apollonius does not advance one single argument, one solitary
idea; he proves nothing, he confutes nothing; he does not
open his lips except to suggest a topic to Zacheus, who, on
his part, takes no notice whatever of paganism nor of the
philosophy of his adversary, does not refute them, scarcely
makes here and there an allusion to them, and only occupies
himself relating history and describing the Christian faith so
as to show forth its entirety and authority.  Doubtless, the
book is the work of a Christian, and the silence which he makes
his philosophers preserve does not prove that philosophers
were really silent. But such is by no means the character ofthe first debates of Christianity with the ancient philosophy,


1 Dialogue of Zacheus and Apollonius, in the Spicilegium of D'Achery,'
vol. x. p. 3.




40b


HISTORY OF


when the latter was still living and powerful. Christianity
at that time condescended to notice the arguments of its adversaries; it spoke of them, it refuted them; the controversy
was a real and an animated one. In the work before us there
is no longer any controversy at all; the Christian indoctrinates and catechises the philosopher, and seems to consider
that this is all that can be required of him.
Nay, he even makes this a matter of concession, a favour;
discussions with pagans had by this time become a sort of
superfluity in the eyes of the Christians.
" Many persons," says Evagrius, in the preface to his book,
" think that we should despise, rather than refute, the objections advanced by the Gentiles, so vain are they, so devoid
of true wisdom; but, in my opinion, such scorn were worse
than useless. I see two advantages in instructing the Gentiles;
in the first place, we prove to all how holy and simple our
religion is; and secondly, the heathen thus instructed come
at last to believe that which, unknowing, they had despised.... Besides, by approaching the candle to the eyes of the
blind, if they do not see its light, they at all events feel its
warmth." This last phrase appears to me a fine one, full of
a sympathetic sentiment.
There is one thing only which appears to me remarkable
in this dialogue: it is that here the question is broadly laid
down between rationalism and the Christian revelation; not
that this subject is more really or more extensively developed
than any other: it is only in a few sentences that the idea
manifests itself, but from these it is evident that the question
was full in the minds of all controversialists, and formed, as it
were, the last intrenchment behind which philosophy defended itself. Apollonius, as you have seen, makes it an
especial charge against the Christian doctrine that it is irrational; to this Zacheus replies: "It is easy for every one to
understand and appreciate God, that is to say, if the Divine
Word is compatible with your notion of wisdom... for your
view is, that the sage believes nothing out of himself, that he
is never deceived, but that he of himself knows all things infallibly, not admitting that there is anything whatever either
hidden or unknown, or that anything is more possible to the
Creator than to the creature. And it is more especially against




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


407


the Christians that you make use of this mode of reasoning."'
And elsewhere: " The understanding follows faith, and the
human mind knows only through faith the higher things
which come near God."2
It were a curious study to consider the state of rationalism
at this period, the causes of its ruin, and its efforts, its various
transformations in order to avert that ruin: but it is an inquiry which would carry us too far, and, besides, it was not
in Gaul that the grand struggle between rationalism and
Christianity took place.
The second dialogue of Evagrius, between the Christian
Theophilus and the Jew Simon, is of no sort of importance;
it is a mere commentary, a mere trifling controversy on a few
scriptural texts.
I might mention to you, and make extracts from, a great
number of other works of the same period and the same class.
This, however, were unnecessary, as I have selected from
among them the two most remarkable, the most characteristic,
the most calculated to convey an accurate idea of the state of
mind, and of its activity at this period. That activity was
great, though exclusively confined within the limits of the
religious society; whatever vigour and life had remained to
the ancient philosophy, passed over to the service of the
Christians; it was under the religious form, and in the very
bosom of Christianity, that were reproduced the ideas, the
schools, the whole science of the philosophers; but subject to
this condition, they still occupied men's minds, and played an
important part in the moral state of the new society.
It was this movement which was arrested by the invasion
of the barbarians and the fall of the Roman empire: a hundred
years later we do not find the slightest trace of what I have
been describing to you; the discussions, the travels, the
correspondence, the pamphlets, the whole intellectual activity
of Gaul in the seventh century, all these had disappeared.
Was this loss of any consequence? was the movement thus
pui a stop to by the invasion of the barbarians an important
and fruitful movement? I doubt it very much. You will
perhaps remember my observations on the essentially practical
character of Christianity; intellectual progress, science, especi1 Page 3.        2 Page 9.




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IIISTORY OF


ally so called, was not at all its aim; and although it had a
connexion upon several points with the ancient philosophythough it had been very willing to appropriate the ideas of
that philosophy, and to make the most of it, it was by no
means anxious for its preservation, nor to replace it by any
other philosophy.  To change the manners, to govern the
life of men, was the predorminant idea of its leaders.
5Moreover, notwithstanding the freedom of mind which
practically existed in the fifth century, in the religious society,
the principle of liberty male no progress there. It was, on
the contrary, the principle of authority, of the official domination over intellect by general and fixed rules, which sought
the ascendancy. Though still powerful, intellectual liberty was
on the decline; authority was rapidly taking its place; every
page of the writings of this period proves the fact. It was,
indeed, the almost inevitable result of the very nature of the
Christian reformation; moral, rather than scientific, it proposed to itself as its leading aim to establish a law, to govern
men's will; it was consequently authority that was above all
things needful to it; authority in the existing state of manners was its surest, its most efficacious means of action.
Now, what the invasion of the barbarians, and the fall of
the Roman empire more especially arrested, even destroyed,
was intellectual movement; what remained of science, of
philosophy, of the liberty of mind in the fifth century, disappeared under their blows. But the moral movement, the
practical reformation of Christianity, and the official establishment of its authority over nations, were not in any way
affected; perhaps even they gained instead of losing: this
at least, I think, is what the history of our civilization, in
proportion as we advance in its course, will allow us to conjecture.
The invasion of the barbarians, therefore, did not in any,
way kill what possessed life; at bottom, intellectual activity
and liberty were in decay; everything leads us to believe
that they would have stopped of themselves; the barbarians
stopped them more rudely and sooner. That, I believe, is all
that can be imputed to them.
We have now arrived at the limits to which we should
confine ourselves, to the end of the picture of the Roman
society in Gaul at the time when it fell: we are acquainted




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.            409
with it, if not completely, at least in its essential features.
In order to prepare ourselves to understand the society which
followed it, we have now to study the new element which
mixed with it, the barbarians.  Their state before the invasion, before they came to overthrow the Roman society,
and were changed under its influence, will form the subject
of our next lecture.




410


HISTORY OF


SEVENTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Of the Germanic element in modern civilizationOf the monuments of the ancient social state of the Germans: 1. Of
the Roman and Greek historians; 2. Of the barbaric laws; 3. Of national traditions-They relate to very different epochs-They are often
made use of promiscuously-Error which results therefrom-The work
of Tacitus concerning the manners of the Germans-Opinions of the
modern German writers concerning the ancient Germanic stateWhat kind of life prevailed there? was it the wandering life, or the sedentary life?-Of the institutions-Of the moral state-Comparison
between the state of the German tribes and that of other hordes-Fallacy
of most of the views of barbarous life-Principal characteristics of the
true influence of the Germans upon modern civilization.
WE approach successively the various sources of our civilization. We have already studied, on one side, what we call
the Roman element, the civil Roman society; on the other,
the Christian element, the religious society.     Let us now
consider the barbaric element, the German society.
Opinions are very various concerning the importance of
this element, concerning the part and share of the Germans
in modern civilization; the prejudices of nation, of situation,
of class, have modified the idea which each has formed of it.
The German historians, the feudal publicists, M. de Boulainvilliers, for example, have in general attributed too
extensive an influence to the barbarians; the burgher publicists, as the abbe Dubos, have, on the contrary, too much
reduced it, in order to give far too large a part to Roman
society; according to the ecclesiastics, it is to the church
that modern civilization is the most indebted. Sometimes
political doctrines have alone determined the opinion of the




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


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writer; the abbe de Mably, all devoted as he was to the
popular cause, and despite his antipathy for the feudal
system, insists strongly upon the German origins, because
he thought to find there more institutions and principles of
liberty than anywhere else.  I do not wish to treat at
present of this question; we shall treat of it, it will be resolved
as we advance in the history of French civilization. We
shall see from epoch to epoch what part each of its primitive
elements has there played, what each has brought and
received in their combination. I shall confine myself to
asserting beforehand the two results to which I believe
this study will conduct us:-First, that the state of the
barbaric element in modern civilization has, in general,
been made a great deal too much of. Second, its true share
has not been given it: too great an influence upon our
society has been attributed to the Germans, to their institutions, to their manners; what they have truly exercised
has not been attributed to them; we do not owe to them all
that has been done in their name; we do owe to them what
seems not to proceed from them.
Until this twofold result shall arise under our eyes, from
the progressive development of facts, the first condition,
in order to appreciate with accuracy the share of the Germanic element in our civilization, is to correctly understand
what the Germans really were at the time when it commenced, when they themselves concurred in its formation;
that is to say, before their invasion and their establishment
on the Roman territory; when they still inhabited Germany
in the third and fourth centuries.  By this alone shall we
be enabled to form an exact idea of what they brought
to the common work, to distinguish what facts are truly of
German origin.
This study is difficult. The monuments where we may
study thebarbarians before the invasion are of three kinds;
first, the Greek or Roman writers, who knew and described
them from their first appearance in history up to this epoch;
that is to say, from Polybius, about one hundred and fifty
years before Christ, down to Ammianus Marcellinus, whose
work stops at the year of our Lord 378. Between these two
eras a crowd of historians, Livy, Caesar, Strabo, Pomponius
Mela, Pliny, Tacitus, Ptolemy, Plutarch, Florus. Pausanias,




412


HIISTORY OF


&c., have left us information, more or less detailed, concerning
the German nations; secondly, writings and documents posterior to the German invasion, but which relate or reveal
anterior facts; for example, many Chronicles, the Barbaric
laws, Salic, Visigoth, Burgundian, &c.; thirdly, the recollection
and national traditions of the Germans themselves concerning
their fate and their state in the ages anterior to the invasion,
reascending up to the first origin and their most ancient
history.
At the mere mention of these documents, it is evident that
very various times and states are comprehended in them. The
Roman and Greek writers, for example, embrace a space of
five hundred years, during which Germany and her nations
were presented to them in the most different points of view.
Then came the first expeditions of the wandering Germans,
especially that of the Teutones and the Cimbrians. Rather
later, dating from Caesar and Augustus, the Romans, in their
turn, penetrated into Germany; their armies passed the
Rhine and the Danube, and saw the Germans under a new
aspect and in a new state. Lastly, from the third century,
the Germans fell upon the Roman empire, which repelling and
admitting them alternately, came to know them far more intimately, and in an entirely different situation from what they
had done hitherto. Who does not perceive that, during this
interval, through so many centuries and events, the barbarians and the writers who described them, the object and the
picture, must have prodigiously varied?
The documents of the second class are in the same case:
the barbaric laws were drawn up some time after the invasion;
the most ancient portion of the law of the Visigoths belonged
to the last half of the fifth century; the Salic law may have
been written first under Clovis, but the digest which we have
of it is of a far posterior epoch; the law of the Burgundians
dates from the year 517.
They are all, therefore, in their actual form, much more
modern than the barbaric society which we wish to study.
There can be no doubt but that they contain many facts, that
they often describe a social state anterior to the invasion;
there can be no doubt but that the Germans, transported into
Gaul, retained much of their ancient customs, their ancient
relations. But there can also be no doubt here that, after the




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413


invasion, Germanic society was profoundly modified, and
that these modifications had passed into laws; the law of the
Visigoths and that of the Burgundians are much more Roman
than barbarian; three fourths of the provisions concern facts
which could not have arisen until after these nations were established upon Roman soil. The Salic law is more primitive, more
barbaric; but still, I believe it may be proved that, in many
parts-among others, in that concerning property-it is of
more recent origin. Like the Roman historians, the German
laws evidence very various times and states of society.
According to the documents of the third class, the national
traditions of the Germans, the evidence is still more striking:
the subjects of these traditions are almost all facts, so far anterior as probably to have become almost foreign to the state of
these nations at the third and fourth centuries; facts which
had concurred to produce this state and which may serve to
explain it, but which no longer constituted it.  Suppose, that,
in order to study the state of the highlanders of Scotland
fifty years ago, one had collected their still living and popular
traditions, and had taken the facts which they express as
the real elements of Scotch society in the eighteenth century:
assuredly the illusion would be great and fruitful of error. It
would be the same and with much greater reason, with regard
to the ancient German traditions; they coincide with the
primitive history of the Germans, with their origin, their
religious filiatioq, their relations with a multitude of nations
in Asia, on the borders of the Black sea, of the Baltic sea;
with events, in a word, which, doubtless, had powerfully
tended to bring about the social state of the German tribes
in the third century, and which we must closely observe, but
which were then no longer facts but only causes.
You see that all the monuments that remain to us of
the state of the barbarians before the invasion, whatever
may be their origin and their nature, Roman or German,
traditions, chronicles, or laws, refer to times and facts very
far removed from one another, and among which it is very
difficult to separate what truly belongs to the third and
fourth centuries.  The fundamental error, in my opinion, of
a great number of German writers, and sometimes of the
most distinguished, is not having sufficiently attended to this
circumstance: in order to picture German society and man



414


HISTORY OF


ners at this epoch, they have drawn their materials pell-mell
from the three sources of documents I have indicated, from
the Roman writers, from the barbaric laws, from the national
traditions, without troubling themselves with the difference
of times and situations, without observing any moral
chronology. Hence arises the incoherence of some of these
pictures, a singular mixture of mythology, of barbarism,
and of rising civilization, of fabulous, heroic, and semipolitical ages, without exactitude and without order in the
eyes of the more severe critic, without truth for the imagination.
I shall endeavour to avoid this error; it is with the state
of the Germans, a little before the invasion, that I desire to
occupy you; that is what it imports us to know, for it was that
which was real and powerful at the time of the amalgamation of the nations, that which exercised a true influence
upon modern civilization.  I shall in no way enter into
the examination of the German origins and antiquities; I
shall in no way seek to discover what were the relations
between the Germans and the nations and religions of
Asia; whether their barbarism was the wreck of an ancient
civilization, nor what might be, under barbaric forms, the
concealed features of this original society. The question
is an important one; but it is not ours, and I shall not stop
at it. I would wish, too, never to transfer into the state of
the Germans, beyond the Rhine and the Danube, facts which
belong to the Germans established upon Gaulish soil. The
difficulty is extreme. Before having passed the Danube or
the Rhine, the barbarians were in relation with Rome; their
condition, their manners, their ideas, their laws, had perhaps
already submitted to its influence.  How separate, amidst
notices so incomplete, so confused, these first results of foreign
importation? I-ow decide with precision what was truly
Germanic, and what already bore a Roman stamp? I shall
attempt this task; the truth of history absolutely requires it.
The most important document we possess concerning the state
of the Germans, between the time when they began to be known
in the Roman world, and that in which they conquered it, is
incontestably the work of Tacitus. Two things must be here
carefully distinguished: on one side, the facts which Tacitus




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


415


has collected and described; on the other, the reflections which
he mixes with them, the colour under which he presents
them, the judgment which he gives of them. The facts are
correct: there are many reasons for believing that the father
of. Tacitus, and perhaps himself, had been procurator of Belgium; he could thus collect detailed information concerning
Germany; he occupied himself carefully in doing so; posterior
documents almost all prove the material accuracy of his descriptions. With regard to their moral hue, Tacitus has
painted the Germans, as Montaigne and Rousseau the savages,
in a fit of ill humour against his country: his book is a satire
on Roman manners, the eloquent sally of a philosophical
patriot, who is determined to see virtue, wherever he does
not happen to find the disgraceful effeminacy and the learned
depravation of an old society. Do not suppose, however, that
everything is false, morally speaking, in this work of angerthe imagination of Tacitus is essentially vigorous and true;
when he wishes simply to describe German manners, without
allusion to the Roman world, without comparison, without deducing any general consequence therefrom, he is admirable,
and one may give entire faith, not only to the design, but to
the colouring of the picture. Never has the barbaric life been
painted with more vigour, more poetical truth. It is only
when thoughts of Rome occur to Tacitus, when he speaks of
the barbarians with a view to shame his fellow-citizens; it is
then only that his imagination loses its independence, its
natural sincerity, and that a false colour is spread over his
pictures.
Doubtless, a great change was brought about in the state
of the Germans, between the end of' the first century, the
epoch in which Tacitus wrote, and the times bordering on the
invasion; the frequent communications with Rome could not
fail of exercising a great influence upon them, attention to
which circumstance has too often been neglected. Still the
ground-work of the book of Tacitus was true at the end of the
fourth as in the first century. Nothing can be a more decisive
proof of it than the accounts of Ammianus Marcellinus, a mere
soldier, without imagination, without instruction, who made
war against the Germans, and whose brief and simple descriptions coincide almost everywhere with the lively and learned
colours of Tacitus. We may, therefore, for the epoch which




416


HISTORY OF


occupies us, give almost entire confidence to the picture of the
manners of the Germans.
If we compare this picture with the description of the
ancient social state of the Germans, lately given by able
German writers, we shall be surprised by the resemblance.
Assuredly the sentiment which animates them is different; it
is with indignation and sorrow that Tacitus, at corrupted
Rome, describes the simple and vigorous manners of the
barbarians; it is with pride and complaisance that the modern
Germans contemplate it; but from these diverse causes rises
a single and identical fact; like Tacitus, nay, far more than
Tacitus, the greater part of the Germans paint ancient Germany. her institutions, her manners, in the most vivid colours;
if they do not go so far as to represent them as the ideal or
society, they at least defend them from all imputation of barbarism. According to them: 1st, the agricultural or sedentary life prevailed there, even before the invasion, over the
wandering life; the institutions and ideas which create landed
property were already very far advanced; 2nd, the guarantees of individual liberty, and even security, were efficacious;
3rd, manners were indeed violent and coarse, but at bottom
the natural morality of man was developed with simplicity
and grandeur; family affections were strong, characters lofty,
emotions profound, religious doctrines high and powerful;
there was more energy and moral purity than is found under
more elegant forms, in the heart of a far more extended intellectual development.
When this cause is maintained by ordinary minds, it
abounds in strange assumptions and ridiculous assertions.
Heinrich, the author of an esteemed History of Germany,
will not have it that the ancient Germans were addicted
to intoxication;1 Meiners, in his History of the Female Sex,
maintains that women have never been so happy nor so virtuous as in Germany, and that before the arrival of the
Franks, the Gauls knew not how either to respect or to love
them.2
I shall not dwell upon these puerilities of learned patriotism; I should not even have touched upon them, if they
were not the consequence, and as it were, the excrescence
I Reichlsgeschichite, vol. i. p. 69.
2 Geschichte des TVeiblichen Geschlechts, vol. i. p1. 198




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


417


of a system, maintained by very distinguished men, and
which, in my opinion, destroys the historical and poetical idea
which is formed of the ancient Germans. Consideririg things
at large, and according to mere appearances, the error seems
to me evident.
How   can it be maintained, for example,-that German
society was well nigh fixed, and that the agricultural life
dominated there, in the presence of the very fact of migrations, of invasions, of that incessant movement which drew
the Germanic nations beyond their territory? How can we
give credit to the empire of manorial property, and of the
ideas and institutions which are connected with it, over men
who continually abandoned the soil in order to seek fortune
elsewhere?  And mark, that it was not only on the frontiers
that this movement was accomplished; the same fluctuation
reigned in the interior of Germany; tribes incessantly
expelled, displaced, succeeded one another: some paragraphs
from Tacitus will abundantly prove this:
" The Batavians," says he, " were formerly a tribe of the
Catti; intestine divisions forced them to retire into the
islands of the Rhine, where they formed an alliance with the
Romans." (Tacitus, de Morib. Germanorum, xxix.)
" In the neighbourhood of the Tencteres were formerly
the Bructeres; it is said, however, that now the Chamaves and
the Angrivarians possess the district, having, in concert
with the adjoining tribes, expelled and entirely extirpated
the ancient inhabitants." (ib. xxxii.)
"The Marcomannians are the most eminent for their
strength and military glory; the very territory they occupy
is the reward of their valour, they having dispossessed its
former owners, the Boians." (ib. xlii.)
"Even in time of peace the Cattians retain the same
ferocious aspect, never softened with an air of humanity.
They have no house to dwell in, no land to cultivate, no
domestic cares to employ them. Wherever they chance to be,
they live upon the produce they find, and are lavish of their
neighbours' substance, till old age incapacitates them for these
continuous struggles." (ib. xxxi.)
" The tribes deem it an honourable distinction to have their
frontiers devastated, to be surrounded with immense deserts.
They regard it as the highest proof of valour for their
E




418


HISTORY OF


neighbours to abandon their territories out of fear of them;
moreover, they have thus an additional security against
sudden attacks." (Caesar, de Bell. Gall. vi. 23.)
Doubtless, since the time of Tacitus, the German tribes,
more or less, had made some progress; still, assuredly, the
fluctuation, the continual displacement had not ceased, since
the invasion became daily more general and more pressing.
Hence, if I mistake not, partly proceeds the difference
which exists between the point of view of the Germans and
our own. There was, in fact, at the fourth century, among
many German tribes or confederations, among others with
the Franks and Saxons, a commencement of the sedentary,
agricultural life; the whole nation was not addicted to the
wandering life. Its composition was not simple; it was not
an unique race, a single social condition. We may there
recognise three classes of men: 1st, freemen, men of honour
or nobles, proprietors; 2ndly, the lidi, liti, lasi, &c., or
labourers, men attached to the soil, who cultivated it for
masters; 3rdly, slaves properly so called. The existence of
the first two classes evidently indicate a conquest; the class
of freemen was the nation of conquerors, who had obliged
the ancient population to cultivate the soil for them. This
was an analogous fact to that which, at a later period, in
the Roman empire, gave rise to the feudal system. This
fact was accomplished at various epochs, and upon various
points, in the interior of Germany. Sometimes the proprietors and the labourers-the conquerors and the conquered
-were of different races; sometimes it was in the bosom of
the same race, between different tribes, that the territorial
subjection took place; we see Gaulish or Belgian colonies
submit to German colonies, Germans to Slavonians, Slavonians to Germans, Germans to Germans. Conquest was
generally effected upon a small scale, and remained exposed
to many vicissitudes; but the fact itself cannot be disputed;
many passages in Tacitus positively express it:
"The slaves, in general, are not arranged in their several
employments in household affairs, as is the practice at Rome.
Each has his separate habitation or home. The master considers him as ai agrarian dependent, who is obliged to furnish,
by way of rent, a certain quantity of grain, of cattle, or of
wearing apparel. The slave does this, and there his servi



CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


419


tude ends. All domestic matters are managed by the master's
own wife and children. To punish a slave with stripes, to
load him with chains, or condemn him to hard labour, is
unusual." (lb. xxv.)
Who does not recognise in this description, ancient inhabitants of the territory, fallen under the yoke of conquerors.
The conquerors in the earliest ages, at least, did not cultivate. They enjoyed the conquest-sometimes abandoned to
a profound idleness, sometimes excited with a profound passion
for war, hunting, and adventures. Some distant expedition
tempted them; all were not of the same inclination-they
did not all go; a party set off under the conduct of some
famous chief; others remained, preferring to guard their first
conquests, and continued to live upon the labour of the
ancient inhabitants. The adventurous party sometimes returned laden with booty, sometimes pursued its course, and
went to a distance to conquer some province of the empire,
perhaps found some kingdom. It was thus that the Vandals,
the Suevi, the Franks, the Saxons, were dispersed; thus
we find these nations over-running Gaul, Spain, Africa,
Britain, establishing themselves there, beginning states, while
the same names are always met with in Germany-where, in
fact, the same people still live and act. They were parcelled
out: one part abandoned themselves to the wandering life;
another was attached to the sedentary life, perhaps only
waiting the occasion or temptation to set out in its turn.
Hence arises the difference between the point of view of
the German writers, and that of our own; they more especially
were acquainted with that portion of the German tribes which
remained upon the soil, and was more and more addicted to the
agricultural and sedentary life; we, on the contrary, have been
naturally led to consider chiefly the portion which followed
the wandering life, and which invaded western Europe. Like
the learned Germans, we speak of the Franks, the Saxons,
the Suevi, but not of the same Suevi, the same Saxons, the
same Franks; our researches, our words, almost always
refer to those who passed the Rhine, and it is in the state of
wandering bands that we have seen them appear in Gaul,
in Spain, in Britain, &c. The assertions of the Germans
chiefly allude to the Saxons, the Suevi, the Franks who
EE2




420


HISTORY OF


remained in Germany; and it is in the state of conquering
nations, it is true, but fixed, or almost fixed in certain parts
of the land, and beginning to lead the life of proprietors, that
they are exhibited by almost all the ancient monuments of
local history. The error of these scholars, if I mistake not, is
in carrying the authority of these monuments too far backtoo anterior to the fourth century,-of attributing too remote a date to the sedentary life, and to the fixedness of
the social state in Germany; but the error is much more
natural and less important than it would be on our part.
With regard to ancient German institutions, I shall speak
of them in detail when we treat especially of the barbarian
laws, and more especially of the Salic law. I shall confine
myself at present to the characterizing, in a few words, their
state at the epoch which occupies us.
At that time, we find among the Germans the seeds of the
three great systems of institutions which, after the fall of the
Roman empire, contested for Europe. We find there: 1st,
assemblies of freemen, where they debate upon the common
interests, public enterprises, all the important affairs of the
nation; 2ndly, kings, some by hereditary title, and sometimes
invested with a religious character, others by title of election, and especially bearing a warlike character; 3rdly, the
aristocratical patronage, whether of the warlike chief over his
companions, or of the proprietor over his family and labourers.
These three systems, these three modes of social organization
and of government may be seen in almost all the German
tribes before the invasion; but none of them are real, efficacious. Properly speaking, there are no free institutions,
monarchies, or aristocracies, but merely the principle to
which they relate, the germ from whence they may arise.
Everything is abandoned to the caprice of individual wills.
Whenever the assembly of the nation, or the king, or the
lord, wished to be obeyed, the individual must either consent, or disorderly brute force obliged him. This is the
free development and the contest between individual existences and liberties; there was no public power, no government, no state.
With regard to the moral condition of the Germans at this
epoch, it is very difficult to estimate it. It has been made




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


421


the text of infinite declamation in honour of or against civilization of savage life, of primitive independence or of developed
society, of natural simplicity or of scientific enlightenment; but we are without documents enabling us to estimate the true nature of these generalities. There exists,
however, one great collection of facts, posterior, it is true, to
the epoch of which we are speaking, but which yet presents
a sufficiently faithful image of it; this is the Histoire des
Francs, by Gregory of Tours, unquestionably, of all others,
the work which furnishes us with the most information, which
throws the clearest light upon the moral state of the barbarians; not that the chronicler made it any part of his plan,
but, in the ordinary course of his narrative, he relates an
infinite number of private anecdotes, of incidents of domestic
life, in which the manners, the social arrangements, the moral
state, in a word, the man of his period, are exhibited to us
more clearly than in any other work we possess.
It is here that we may contemplate and understand this
singular mixture of violence and deceit, of improvidence and
calculation, of patience and bursts of passion; this egoism of
interest and of passion, mixed with the indestructible empire
of certain ideas of duty, of certain disinterested sentiments:
in a word, that chaos of our moral nature which constitutes
barbarism; a state of things very difficult to describe with precision, for it has no general and fixed feature, no one decided
principle; there is no proposition we can make it, which we
are not compelled the next instant to modify, or altogether to
throw aside. It is humanity, strong and active, but abandoned to the impulse of its reckless propensities, to the incessant mobility of its wayward fancies, to the gross imperfection of its knowledge, to the incoherence of its ideas, to the
infinite variety of the situations and accidents of its life.
It were impossible to penetrate far enough into such a
state, and reproduce its image, by the mere aid of a few dry
and mutilated chronicles, of a few fragments of old poems, of
a few unconnected paragraphs of old laws.
I know but of one way of attaining anything like a correct
idea of the social and moral state of the German tribes-it is
to compare them with the tribes who, in modern times, in
various parts of the globe, in North America, in the interior
of Africa, in the North of Asia, are still almost in the same




422


HISTORY OF


degree of civilization, and lead very nearly the same life.
The latter have been observed more nearly, and described
in greater detail; fresh accounts of them reach us every day.
We have a thousand facilities for regulating and completing
our ideas with respect to them; our imagination is constantly
excited, and at the same time rectified, by the narratives of
travellers. By closely and critically observing these narratives, by comparing and analyzing the various circumstances,
they become for us as it were a mirror, in which we raise up
and reproduce the image of the ancient Germans. I have
gone through this task; I have followed, step by step, the
work of Tacitus, seeking throughout my progress, in voyages
and travels, in histories, in national poetry, in all the documents which we possess concerning the barbarous tribes in
the various parts of the world, facts analogous to those
described by the Roman writer. I will lay before you the
principal features of this comparison, and you will be
astonished at the resemblance between the manners of the
Germans and those of the more modern barbarians-a resemblance which sometimes extends into details where one
would have had not the slightest idea of finding it.


1.
"To retreat, if you afterwards
return to the charge, is considered
prudent skill, not cowardice."-De
Moribus Germanorum. vi.
2
" Their wives and mothers accompany them to the field of battle;
and when their relatives are wounded,
count each honourable gasl, and
suck the blood.  They are even
daring enough to mix with the com

1.
" Our warriors do not pique themselves upon attacking the enemy in
front, and while lie is on his guard;
for this they must be tel to one."
Choix de Litt. edif. Missions d'Amerique, vii. 49.
" Savages do not pride themselves
upon attacking the enemy in front
and by open force. If, despite all
their precautions and their address,
their movements are discovered, they
think the wisest plan is to retire."Robertson's I-list. of America, ii.
The heroes of Homer fly whenever, finding themselves the weaker
party, they have the opportunity.
2.
"The Tungusian women in Siberia go to war as well as their husbands; and they have as rough treatment."-Meiners' Hist. of the Female Sex, i. 18, 19.
"At the battle of Yermuk, in




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


423


batants, taking refreshments to them
and reaarimating their courage."lb. vii.
" They have accounts of armies
put to the rout, who have been
brought to the charge by the women
and old men preventing their flight."
-lb. viii.
3.
" There is in their opinion some
thing sacred in the female sex, and
even the power of foreseeing future
events; the advice of the women,
therefore, is frequently sought, and
their counsels respected."-lb.
4.
" Their attention to auguries, and
the practice of divination, is conducted with a degree of superstition
not exceeded by any other nation..... The branch of a fruit tree is
cut into small pieces, which being
all distinctly marked, are thrown at
random on a white cloth. If a question of public interest be depending,
the high priest performs the ceremony; if it be only a private matter,
the master of the family officiates.
Having invoked the gods, with his
eyes devoutly raised to heaven, he
holds up three times each segment
ot the twig, and, as the marks rise in
succession, interprets the decrees of
fate.
" The practice of consulting the
notes and flight of birds is also in
use among them."-Ib. x.


Syria, in 636, the last line was occupied by the sister of Dezar, with
the Arabian women, who were accustomed to wield the bow   and the
lance. Thrice did the Arabs retreat
in disorder, and thrice were they
driven back to the charge by the reproaches and blows of the women."Gibbon's Hist. of the Dec. and Fall
of the Roman Empire.
3
" When a national war breaks
out, the priests and diviners are consulted; sometimes, even, they lake
the advice of the women." -   ob.
Hist. of America, ii.
" The Hurons, in particular, pay
particular respect to women." —
Charlevoix, Hist. of Canada.
" The Gauls consulted the women
in important affairs; they agreed with
Hannibal that if the Carthaginians
had to complain of the Gauls, they
should carry their complaint before
the Gaulish women, who should be
the judges of them."-Mem. de
I'Academ. des Inscrip. xxiv. 374, MIemoire de 1'Abbe Fenel.
4.
"This mode of divination, by
rod, has some relation with divination by arrow, which was in usage
throughout the East. When Turkmans were established in Persia,
after the defeat of the Ghaznevides,
(A.D. 1038,) they chose a king by
writing upon arrows the names of
the different tlibes, of the different
families of the tribes, taken by lot,
and of the different members of the
family."-Gibbon, Hist. of the Decl.
and Fall of the Roman Empire, xi.
224.
" Presages drawn from the song and
flight of birds were known among
the Romans, among the Greeks,
among the greater part of the savages of America, Natchez, Moxes,
Chequites, &c."-Lett. edif. vii. 255,
viii. ]41, 264.




424


HISTORY OF


5.
"The   kings in  Germany owe
their election to the nobility of their
births; the generals are chosen for
their valour. The power of the former is not arbitrary or unlimited;
the latter command more by warlike
example than by their mere orders;
to be of a prompt and daring spirit
in battle, to appear in the front of.
the lines, insures the obedience of
the soldiers, admirers of valour.
The whole nation takes cognizance
of important affairs. The princes
and chiefs gain attention rather by
the force of their arguments than by
any authority. If their opinion is
unsatisfactory to the warriors, the
assembly reject it by a general murmur.   If the proposition pleases,
they brandish their javelins."-Ib.
vii. 11.
6.
"In that consists his dignity; to
be surrounded by a band of young
men is the source of his power; in
peace, his highest ornament, in war,
his strongest bulwark. Nor is his
fame confined to his own country; it
extends to foreign nations, and he is
then of the first importance, if he
surpasses his rivals in the number
and courage of his followers. If, in
the course of a long peace, a tribe
languishes under indolence,the young
men often seek in a body a more active life with another tribe that is
engaged in war. The new chief must
show his liberality; he must give to
one a horse, to another a shield, to
another a blood-stained and victorious spear; to all plentiful food
and potations. These are their only
pay."-Ib. xiii.
7.
" When the State has no war
on its hands, the men pass their
time partly in the chase, partly in
sloth and gluttony.  The intrepid
warrior, who in the field braved
every danger, becomes in time of


5.
"Savages know among themselves
neither princes nor kings.  They
say in Europe that they have republics; but these republics have no
approach to stable laws. Each family looks upon itself as absolutely
free; each Indian believes himself
independent. Still they have learned
the necessity of forming among them
a kind of society, and of choosing
a chief whom they call cacique, that
is to say, commander. In order to
be raised to this dignity, it is necessary to have given striking proofs of
valour."-Lett. edif. viii. 133.
6.
"The most powerful order among
the Iroquois is that of warlike chiefs.
It is first necessary that they
should be successful, and that they
should by no means lose sight' of
those who follow them; that they
should deprive themselves of what.
ever is dear to themselves in favour
of their soldiers."-M — m. sur les
Iroquois, in the Varidtes Litteraires,
i. 543.
"The influence of the warlike
chiefs over the young men is more or
less great, according as they give
more or less, as they more or less
keep open table."-Joulnal des Campagnes de M. de Bougainville in
Canada, in the Varietes Litteraires,
i. 488.
7.
"With the exception of some
trifling huntings, the Illinois lead
a perfectly indolent life. They pasJ
their time in smoking and talking,
and that is all. They remain tranquil upon their mats, and pass their




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


425


peace a listless sluggard. The management of his house and lands
he leaves to the women, to the old
men, and to the other weaker portions of his family."-Ib. xv.
8.
"The Germans, it is well known,
have no regular cities, nor do they
even like their houses to be near
each other. They dwell in separate
habitations, dispersed up and down,
as a grove, a spring, or a meadow,
happens to invite. They have villages, but not in our fashion, with
connected buildings.  Every tenement stands detached."-Ib. xvi.
9.
" They are almost the only bar.
barians who content themselves with
one wife. There are, indeed, some
cases of polygamy among them, not,
however, the effect of licentiousness,
but by reason of the rank of the
parties."-Ib. xviii
10.
" It is not the wife who brings a
dowry to her husband, but the husband who gives one to his bride;
not presents adapted for female
vanity, but oxen, a caparisoned
horse, a shield and spear and sword."
-lb.1


time in sleeping or making bows.
As to the women, they labour from
morning till night like slaves."Lett. edif. vii. 32, 867. See also
Robertson's History of America, ii.
8.
"The villages of the American
savages and of the mountaineers of
Corsica, are built in the same way;
they are formed of houses scattered
and distant from one another, so that
a village of fifty houses sometimes
occupies a quarter of a league
square."-Volney, Tableau des Etata
Unis d'Amerique, 48 —486.
9.
"Among the savages of North
America, in districts where the means
of subsistence were rare, and the difficulties of raising a family very great,
the man confined himself to a single
wife."-Robertson's Hist. of America.
" Although the Moxes (in Peru)
allow polygamy, it is rare for them
to have more than one wife; their
poverty will not allow of their having
more."-Lett. edif., viii. 71.
" Among the Guaranis (in Paraguay) polygamy is not permitted to
the people; but the caciques may
have two or three wives."-lb. 261.
10.
This takes place wherever the
husband buys his wife, and where
the wife becomes the property, the
slave of her husband.   " Among
the Indians of Guiana the women
have no dowry on marrying.    An
Indian, who wishes to marry an


1 There is no doubt that the Germans bought their wives: a law of the
Burgundians declares -" If any one dismiss his wife without a good
reason, he must give her a sum equal to what he paid for her."-Tit. xxxiv..
Theodoric, king of the Ostrogoths, in giving his niece in marriage to
Hermanfried, king of the Thuringians, writes to him, by the hand of Cassiodorus: " We inform you that on the arrival of your envoys, they punctually delivered to us the horses harnessed with the silver trappings, be



426


HISTORY OF
Indian woman, must make considerable presents to the father;a canoe, bows and arrows, are
not sufficient; he must labour a
year for his fiture father-in-law,
cook for him, hunt for him, fish for
him, &c. Women among the Guanis are true property." - MS.
Journal of a Residence in Guiana, by
M. de M.
"It is the same among the Natchez, in many Tartar tribes in
Mingr6lia, in Pegi, among many
Negro tribes in Africa."-Lett. edif.
vii. 221; Lord Kaime's Sketches of
the History of Man, i. 18 —186.


11.
Populous as the country is, adultery is rarely heard of; when detected
the punishment is immediate, and
inflicted by the husband. Hle cuts
off the hair of his guilty wife, and
having assembled her relations, expeis her naked from his house, pursuing her with stripes through the
village.-ID. xix.
12.
It is generally late before their
young men enjoy the pleasures of
love, and consequently they are not
exhausted in their youth. Nor are
the virgins married too soon.-Ib. xv.


11.
It is pretended that adultery was
unknown among the Caribbees of the
islands, before the establishment of
the Europeans.-Lord Kaime, i. 207.
"Adultery among the savages of
North America is generally punished
without form or process, by the husband, who Sometimes severely beats
his wife, sometimes bites off her
nose."-Lang's Travels among the
different savage nations of North
America, 177. See also the History
of the American Indians by James
Adair, (1775) 144; Varietes Litteraires, i. 458.
12.
The coldness of wandering savages, in matters of love, has often been
remarked: Bruce was struck with
it among the Gallas and Shangallas,
on the frontiers of Abysinia: Levaillant, among the IHottentots. " The
Iroquois know and say that the use
of women enervates their courage
and their strength, and that, wishing
to be warlike, they should abstain


fitting royal marriage horses, the price you, after the custom of the Gentiles,
gave us for our niece."-Cassiodorus, Varior., iv. 1.
Down to a very recent period, the betrothing in Lower Saxony was called
brudkop, that is to say, brautkauf [vide purchase ].-Adelung, History
of the Ancient Germans, 301.




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


427


13.
The uncle on the mother's side
regards his nephews with an affection nothing inferior to that of their
father. With some, this relationship
is held to be the strongest tie of consanguinity, insomuch that in demanding hostages, maternal nephews are
preferred, as the most endearing objects, and the safest pledges.-Ib.
14.
"To adopt the quarrels as well as
the friendships of their parents and
relations, is held to be an indispensable duty."-lb. xxi.


from using them, or use fhem with
moderation."- Mem. sur les Iroquois,
in the Varietes Litteraires i. 455; see
also Volney, Tabl. des Etats-Unis,
448; Malthus's Essays upon the
principle of Population, i. 50; Robertson's Hist. of America, ii. 237.
Among the Greenlanders, the girls
marry at twenty; it is the same
among most of the northern savages.
— Meiner's Hist. of the Female Sex,
i. 29.
13.
Among the Natchez, "it is not
the son of the reigning chief who
succeeds to his father; it is the son
of his sister.... This policy is
founded on the knowledge of the
licentiousness of their wives; they
are sure, say they, that the son of
the sister of the great chief, is of the
blood royal, at least on his mother's
side."-Lett. edif. vii. 217.
Among the Iroquois and the Hurons, the dignity of a chief always
passes to the children of his aunts,
of his sisters, or of his nieces on
the maternal side.-Mceurs des Sauvages, by father Lafitau, i, 73. 471.
14.
"Every one knows that this feature is found among all nations in
the infancy of civilization, where as
yet there was no public power to
protect or punish. I shall cite but
one example of this obstinacy of
savages in taking vengeance; it appears to me striking and very analogous to what is recounted of the
Germans by Gregory of Tours and
other characters.
" An Indian, of a tribe established
on the Maroni, a violent and bloodthirsty man, had assassinated one of
his neighbour.s of the same village;
to escape the resentment of the
family of his enemy, he fled, and
established himself at Simapo, at
a distance of four leagues from our
desert; a brother of the deceased
did not delay following the murderer.




428


HISTORY OF


15.
"Hospitality is nowhere more
liberally observed. To turn any
man from their door was regarded as
a crime."-Ib.
16.
"A German delights in the gifts
which he receives; yet in bestowing,
he imputes nothing to you as a
favour, and for what he receives, he
acknowledges no obligation."-lb.
17.
"To devote both day and night to
deep drinking, is a disgrace to no
man."-Ib. xxii.
18.
"They have but one sort of
public spectacle; the young men
dance naked amidst swords and
javelins pointed at their breasts."lb. xxiv.


On his arrival at Simapo, the captain
asked him what he came there to do.
' I came,' said he, ' to kill Averani,
who has killed my brother.'  '1
cannot prevent you,' said the captain to him. But Averani was warned
during the night, and fled with his
children. His enemy, informed of his
departure, and that he had repaired
by the interior towards the river
Apronague, resolved to follow him.
' I will kill him,' said he, ' though lie
flee to the Portuguese.'  He immediately set out. We know not whether
he attained his end."-Journal Manuscript d'un sejour a la Guyanne par
M. de M.
]5.
"The hospitality of all savage
nations is proverbial."-See in the
Histoire de l'Academie des Inscriptions, iii. 41, the extract from a
memoir of M. Simon, and a number
of accounts of travellers.
16.
"It is the same with the American
savages; they give and receive with
great pleasure, but they do not think
of, nor will they accept any acknowledgment. 'If you have given me
this,' say the Galibis, 'it is because
you have no need of it.' "-Aublet.
Histoire des Plantes de la Guyane
Francaise, ii. 110.
17.
"The inclination of savage nations
for wine and strong liquors is universally known; the Indians of
Guiana take long journeys to procure it; one of them, of the colony
of Simapo, replied to M. de M ---
who asked him where they were
going: to drink, as our peasantry
say: to the harvest, to the fair."Manuscript Diary of a Residence in
Guiana, by M. de M -.
18.
"Love does not enter the least
into the dances of the NorthAmerican
savages; they are only warlike
dances." - Robertson's History of
America, ii. 459-46l.




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


429


19.
"They yield to gambling with
such ardour, that when they have
lost everything else, they place their
own liberty on the hazard of the
die."-Ib.
20.
It was not in order to succeed in
love, or to please, that they decked
themselves, but in order to give themselves a gigantic and terrible appearance, as they might have decked
themselves to go before their enemies."-Ib. c. 38.
21.
From the age of early manhood
they allow their hair and beard to
grow, until they have killed an
enemy."-Ib. c. 31.


19.
"The Americans play for their
furs, their domestic utensils, their
clothes, their arms, and when all is
lost, we often see them risk, at a
single blow, their liberty.
20.
"When the Iroquois choose to
paint their faces it is to give themselves a terrible air, with which they
hope to intimidate their enemies; it is
also for this reason that they paint
themselves black when they go to
war."-Varietes Litteraires, i. 472.
22.
After the Indians are twenty years
old they allow their hair to grow.
-Lett. edif., viii. 261.
The custom of scalping, or taking
off the hair of their enemies, so
common among the Americans, was
also practised among the Germans:
this is the decalvare mentioned in
the laws of the Visigoths; the
capillos et cutem detrahere, still in
use among the Franks towards the
year 879, according to the annals
of Fulda; the hetlinan of the AngloSaxons, &c.-Adelung, Ancient History of the Germans, 303.


Here are numerous citations; I might extend them much
more, and might almost always place, side by side with the
most trifling assertion of Tacitus concerning the Germans,
an analogous assertion of some modern traveller or historian,
concerning some one of the barbarous tribes at present dispersed over the face of the globe.
You see what is the social condition which corresponds to
that of ancient Germany: what, then, must we think of those
magnificent descriptions which have so often been drawn?
Precisely that which we should think of Cooper's romances,
as pictures of the condition and manners of the savages of
North America. There is, without doubt, in these romances
and in some of the works in which the Germans have
attempted to depict their wild ancestors, a sufficiently vivid
and true perception of certain parts and certain periods of
barbarous society and life —of its independence, for in



430


HISTORY OF


stance; of the activity and indolence which it combines; of
the skilful energy which man therein displays against the
obstacles and perils wherewith material nature besieges
him; of the monotonous violence of his passions, &c. &c.
But the picture is very incomplete-so incomplete that the
truth of even what it represents is often much changed by it.
That Cooper, in writing of the Mohicans or the Delawares,
and that the German writers, in describing the ancient
Germans, should allow themselves to represent all things
under their poetic aspect-that, in their descriptions, the
sentiments and circumstances of barbarous life should become
exalted to their ideal form-i.< very natural, and, I willingly
admit, is very legitimate: the ideal is the essence of poetry
-history itself is partial to it; and perhaps it is the only
form under which times gone by can be duly represented.
But the ideal must also be true, complete, and harmonious;
it does not consist in the arbitrary and fanciful suppression
of a large portion of the reality to which it corresponds.
Assuredly, the songs which bear the name of Homer, form
an ideal picture of Greek society; nevertheless, that society
is therein reproduced in a complete state, with the rusticity
and ferocity of its manners, the coarse simplicity of its
sentiments, and its good and bad passions, without any design
of particularly drawing forth or celebrating such or such of
its merits and its advantages, or of leaving in the shade its
vices and its evils.
This mixture of good and evil, of strong and weakthis co-existence of ideas and sentiments apparently contradictory-this variety, this incoherence, this unequal development of human nature and human destiny-is precisely the
condition which is the most rife with poetry, for through it
we see to the bottom of things, it is the truth concerning
man and the world; and in the ideal pictures which poetry,
romance, and even history, make of it, this so various and
yet harmonious whole ought to be found, for without it the
true ideal will be wanting, no less than the reality. Now it
is into this fault that the writers of whom I speak have
always fallen; their pictures of savage man and of savage
life are essentially incomplete, formal, factitious, and wanting
in simplicity and harmony. One fancies that one sees melodramatic barbarians and savages, who present themselves to




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display their independence, their energy, their skill, or such
and such a portion of their character and destiny, before the
eyes of spectators who, at once greedy of, but worn out with
excitement, still take pleasure in qualities and adventures
foreign to the life they themselves lead, and to the society
by which they are surrounded. I know not whether you are
struck, as I am, with the defects of the imagination in our
times. Upon the whole, it seems to me that it lacks nature,
facility, and extension; it does not take a large and simple
view of things in their primitive and real elements; it
arranges them theatrically, and mutilates them under the
pretence of idealizing them. It is true that I find, in the
modern descriptions of ancient German manners, some
scattered characteristics of barbarism, but I can discover
nothing therefrom of what barbarous society was as a whole.
If I were obliged to sum up that which I have now said
upon the state of the Germans before the invasion, I confess I should be somewhat embarrassed. We find therein
no precise and well defined traits which may be detached
and distinctly exhibited; no fact, no idea, no sentiment
had as yet attained to its development, or as yet presented
itself under a determinate form; it was the infancy of all
things, of the social and moral states, of institutions, of relations, of man himself; everything was rough and confused,
There are, however, two points to which I think I ought to
direct your attention:
1st. At the opening of modern civilization, the Germans
influenced it far less by the institutions which they brought
with them from Germany, than by their situation itself,
amidst the Roman world. They had conquered it: they were,
at least upon the spot where they had established themselves,
masters of the population and of the territory. The society
which formed itself after this conquest, arose rather from this
situation, from the new life led by the conquerors in their
relations with the conquered, than from the ancient German
manners.
2nd. That which the Germans especially brought into the
Roman world was the spirit of individual liberty, the need,
the passion for independence and individuality. To speak
properly, no public power, no religious power, existed in
ancient Germany; the only real power in this society, the only




432


HISTORY OF


power that was strong and active in it, was the will of man;
each one did what he chose, at his own risk and peril.
The system of force, that is to say, of personal liberty, was
at the bottom of the social state of the Germans. Through
this it was that their influence became so powerful upon the
modern world. Very general expressions border always so
nearly upon inaccuracy, that I do not like to risk them.
Nevertheless, were it absolutely necessary to express in few
words the predominating characters of the various elements
of our civilization, I should say, that the spirit of legality, of
regular association, came to us from the Roman world, from
the Roman municipalities and laws. It is to Christianity, to
the religious society that we owe the spirit of morality, the
sentiment and empire of rule, of a moral law, of the mutual
duties of men., The Germans conferred upon us the spirit
of liberty, ofr liberty such as we conceive of, and are acquainted with it, in the present day, as the right and property
of each individual, master of himself, of his actions, and of
his fate, so long as he injures no other individual. This is a
fact of universal importance, for it was unknown to all preceding civilizations: in the ancient republics, the public power
disposed all things; the individual was sacrificed to the
citizen. In the societies where the religious principle predominated, the believer belonged to his God, not to himself.
Thus, man hitherto had always been absorbed in the church
or in the state. In modern Europe, alone, has he existed and
developed himself on his own account and in his own way,
charged, no doubt, charged continually, more and more heavily
with toils and duties, but finding in himself his aim and his
right. It is to German manners that we must trace this
distinguishing characteristic of our civilization. The fundamental idea of liberty, in modern Europe, came to it from its
conquerors.




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EIGHTIH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-True character of the German invasions —Cause of
errors on this subject-Description of the state of Gaul in the last half of
the sixth century-Dissolution of Roman society: 1. In rural districts;
2. In towns, though in a lesser degree-Dissolution of German society
1. Of the colony or tribe; 2. Of the warfaring band-Elemeuts of the
new social state: 1. Of commencing royalty; 2. Of commencing feudalism; 3. Of the clturch, after the invasion;-Summary.
WE are now in possession of the two primitive and fundamental elements of French civilization; we have studied, on
the one hand, Roman civilization, on the other, German
society, each in itself; and prior to their apposition.  Let
us endeavour to ascertain what happened in the moment at
which they touched together, and became confounded with
one another; that is to say, to describe the condition of Gaul
after the great invasion and settlement of the Germans.
I should wish to assign to this description a somewhat
precise date, and to inform  you, beforehand, to what age and
to what territory it especially belongs. The difficulty ot
doing this is great.  Such, at tils epoch, was the confusion
of things and minds, that the greater part of the facts have
been transmitted to us without order and without date,
particularly general facts, those connected with institurions,
with tlhe rclittions of the different classes, in a word, with
the social c(t)nlition; facts which, by nature, are the least
apparent and the least precise. Tlley are omitted or strangely
confused in contemporary monuments; we must, at every
step, guiess at and restore their chronology. Ilappily, the
accuracy of this chronology is of less importance at this
epoch than at any other.   No doubt, between the sixth and
eg:,hlth cenrtulie.s, the state of Gaul must have changed; relaF V




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tions of men, institutions and manners must have been modified; less, however, than we might be tempted to believe.
The chaos was extreme, and chaos is essentially stationary.
When all things are disordered and confounded to this degree, they require much time for unravelling and re-arranging
themselves; much time is needed for each of the elements to
return to its place, to re-enter its right path, to place itself
again in some measure under the direction and motive force
of the special principle which should govern its development.
After the settlement of the barbarians upon the Roman
soil, events and men revolved for a long time in the same
circle, a prey to a movement more violent than progressive.
Thus, from the sixth to the eighth century, the state of
Gaul changed less, and the strict chronology of general facts
is of less importance than we might naturally presume from
the length of the interval. Let us, nevertheless, endeavour
to determine, within certain limits, the epoch of which we are
now to trace the picture.
The true Germanic people who occupied Gaul were the
Burgundians, the Visigoths, and the Franks. Many other
people, many other single bands, of Vandals, Alani, Suevi,
Saxons, &c.,' wandered over its territory; but of these,
some only passed over it, and the others were rapidly
absorbed by it; these are partial incursions which are
without any historical importance. The Burgundians, the
Visigoths, and the Franks, alone deserve to be counted
among our ancestors. The Burgundians definitively established themselves in Gaul between the years 406 and
413; they occupied the country between the Jura, the
Saone, and the Durance; Lyons was the centre of their
dominion. The Visigoths, between the years 412 and 450,
spread themselves over the provinces bounded by the Rhone,
and even over the left bank of the Rhone to the south of the
Durance, the Loire, and the Pyrenees: their king resided at
Toulouse. The Franks, between the years 481 and 500,
advanced in the north of Gaul, and established themselves
between the Rhine, the Scheldt, and the Loire, without including Brittany and the western portions of Normandy;
Clovis had Soissons and Paris for his capitals. Thus, at the
end of the fifth century, was accomplished the definitive occupation of the territory of Gaul by the three great German
'ribes.




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The condition of Gaul was not exactly the same in its
various parts, and under the dominion of these three nations.
There were remarkable differences between them. The
Franks were far more foreign, German, and barbarous,
than the Burgundians and the Goths. Before their entrance
into Gaul, these last had had ancient relations with the
Romans; they had lived in the eastern empire, in Italy; they
were familiar with the Roman manners and population. VWe
may say almost as much for the Burgundians. Moreover,
the two nations had long been Christians. The Franks, on
the contrary, arrived from Germany in the condition of
pagans and enemies. Those portions of Gaul which they
occupied became deeply sensible of this difference, which is
described with truth and vivacity in the seventh of the
"Lectures upon the History of France," of M. Augustin
Thierry. I am inclined, however, to believe that it was
less important than has been commonly supposed. If I do
not err, the Roman provinces differed more among themselves than did the nations which had conquered them. You
have already seen how much more civilized was southern
than northern Gaul, how much more thickly covered with population, towns, monuments, and roads. Had the Visigoths
arrived' in as barbarous a condition as that of the Franks,
their barbarism would yet have been far less visible and less
powerful in Gallia Narbonensis and in Aquitania; Roman
civilization would much sooner have absorbed and altered
them. This, I believe, is what happened; and the different effects which accompanied the three conquests resulted
rather from the differences of the conquered than from that
of the conquerors.
Besides, this difference, sensible so long as we confine ourselves to a very general view of things, becomes effaced, or
at least very difficult to be perceived, when we go farther on
with the study of the society. It may be said that the
Franks were more barbarous than the Visigoths; but, that
being said, we must stop. In what consisted the positive differences between the two peoples, in institutions, ideas, and
relations of classes?  No precise record contains an answer
to this question. Finally, the difference of condition in the
provinces of Gaul, that difference, at least, which was referable to their masters, soon disappeared or became greatly
F F2




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HISTORY OF


lessened. About the year 534, the country of the Burgundians fell under the yoke of the Franks; between the
years 507 and 542, that of the Visigoths became subject to
nearly the same fate. In the middle of the sixth century,
the Frank race had spread itself and obtained dominion
throughout Gaul. The Visigoths still possessed a part of
Languedoc, and still disputed the possession of some towns
at the foot of the Pyrenees; but, properly speaking, Brittany excepted, the whole of Gaul was, if not governed, at
least overrun by the Franks.
It is with the Gaul of this epoch that I desire to make you
acquainted; it is the state of Gaul about the last half of
the sixth century, and, above all, of Frankish Gaul, that I
shall now endeavour to describe. Any attempt to assign
a more precise date to this description would be vain and
fertile in errors. No doubt there was still, at this epoch,
much variety in the condition of the Gaulish provinces;
but I shall attempt to estimate it no farther, remaining
satisfied with having warned you of its existence.
It seems to me that people commonly form to themselves
a very false idea of the invasion of the barbarians, and
of the extent and rapidity of its effects.  You have, in your
reading upcn this subject, often met with the words inundation, eart/quai'k,  con!flaration.  These are the terms
which have been employed to characterize this revolution.
I think that they are d(eceltive, that they in no way
represent the manner in wvhich this invasion occurred, nor
its immediate results. ExaIrgeration is natural to human
language; words express the impressions which man receives
from  facts, rather than the fiacts themselves; it is after
having passed through the mind of mian, and according to
the impressions which they linve prod(leced thereupon, that
facts are described and nramed.   i'ut tlee impression is
never the complete and faithful image of tie fact. In the
first place, it is individual, which the fact is not; great
events, tle invasion of a foreign people, for instance, are
related by tlose whlo have been personally affected, as
victims, actors, or spectators: they Irelate the event as
they have seen it; thley characterize it according to what they
have known or unde,,rgone. Ile lwho has seen his house or
his village burnt, will, tprhaps, call the invasion a confla



CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


437


gration; to the thought of another, it will be found arrayed
in the form of a deluge or an earthquake. These images
are true, but are of a truth which, if I may so express myeelf, is full of prejudice and egoism; they re-produce the
impressions of some few men; they are not expressions of
the fact in its entire extent, nor of the manner in which it
impressed the whole of the country.
Such, moreover, is the instinctive poetry of the human
mind, that it receives from facts an impression which is
livelier and greater than are the facts themselves; it is its
tendency to extend and ennoble them; they are for it but
matter which it fashions and forms, a theme upon which it
exercises itself, and from which it draws, or rather over which
it spreads beauties and effects which were not really there.
Thus, a double and contrary cause fills language with illusion;
under a material point of view, facts are greater than man,
and he perceives and describes of them only that which
strikes him personally; under the moral point of view, man
is greater than facts; and, in describing them, he lends them
something of his own greatness.
This is what we must never forget in studying history,
particularly in reading contemporary documents; they are at
once incomplete and exaggerated; they omit and amplify: we
must always distrust the impression conveyed by them, both
as too narrow and as too poetical; we must both add to
and take from it. Nowhere does this double error appear
more strongly than in the narratives of the Germanic invasion;
the words by which it has been described in no way represent it.
The invasion, or rather, the invasions, were events which
were essentially partial, local, and momentary. A  band
arrived, usually far from numerous; the most powerful,
those who founded kingdoms, as the band of Clovis, scarcely
numbered from 5,000 to 6,000 men; the entire nation of the
Burgundians did not exceed 60,000 men. It rapidly overran a limited territory; ravaged a district; attacked a city,
and sometimes retreated, carrying away its booty, and sometimes settled somewhere, always careful not to disperse itself
too much. We know with what facility and promptitude such
events accomplish themselves and disappear.  Houses are
burnt, fields are devastated, crops carried off, men killed or




438


IIISTORY OF


led away prisoners: all this evil over, at the end of a few
days the waves close, the ripple subsides, individual sufferings
are forgotten, society returns, at least in appearance, to its
former state.  This was the condition of things in Gaul
during the fourth century.
But we also.know that the human society, that society
which we call a people, is not a simple juxta-position of
isolated and fugitive existence: were it nothing more, the
invasions of the barbarians would not have produced the
impression which the documents of the epoch depict; for a
long while the number of places and men that suffered therefrom was far inferior to the number of those who escaped.
But the social life of each man is not concentrated in the material space which is its theatre, nor in the passing moment; it
extends itself to all the relations which he has contracted upon
different points of the land; and not only to those relations
which he has contracted, but also to those which he might
contract, or can even conceive the possibility of contracting;
it embraces not only the present, but the future; man lives
in a thousand spots which he does not inhabit, in a thousand
moments which, as yet, are not; and if this development of
his life is cut off from him, if he is forced to confine himself
to the narrow limits of his material and actual existence, to
isolate himself in space and time, social life is mutilated, and
society is no more.
And this was the effect of the invasions, of those apparitions of barbarous hordes, short, it is true, and limited, but
reviving without cessation, everywhere possible, and always
imminent: they destroyed, 1st, all regular, habitual, and easy
correspondence between the various parts of the territory;
2nd, all security, all sure prospect of the future; they broke
the ties wlhich bound together the inhabitants of the same
country, the moments of the same life; they isolated men,
and the days of each man. In many places, and for many
years, the aspect of the country might remain the same; but
the social organization was attacked, the members no longer
held together, the muscles no longer played, the blood no
longer circulated freely or surely in the veins: the disease
appeared sometimes at one point, sometimes at another: a
town was pillaged, a road rendered impassable, a bridge
destroyed; such or such a communication ceased; the culture




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


439


of the land became impossible in such or such a district: in
a word, the organic harmony, the general activity of the
social body, were each day fettered and disturbed; each day
dissolution and paralysis made some new advance.
Thus was Roman society destroyed in Gaul; not as a
valley is ravaged by a torrent, but as the most solid body is
disorganisedby the continual infiltration of a foreign substance.
Between all the members of the state, between all the moments of the life of each man, the barbarians continually intruded themselves. I lately endeavoured to paint to you the
dismemberment of the Roman empire, the impossibility under
which its masters found themselves of holding together the
different parts, and how the imperial administration was
obliged to retire spontaneously from  Britain, from Gaul,
incapable of resisting the dissolution of that vast body.
What occurred in the Empire occurred equally in each province; as the Empire had suffered disorganization, so did each
province; the cantons, the towns detached themselves, and
returned to a local and isolated existence. The invasion
operated everywhere in the same manner, and everywhere
produced the same effects. All the ties by which Rome had
been enabled, after so many efforts, to combine together the
different parts of the world; that great system of administration, of imposts, of recruiting, of public works, of roads, had
not been able to support itself. There remained of it nothing
but what could subsist in an isolated and local condition, that
is to say, nothing but the wrecks of the municipal system.
The inhabitants shut themselves up in the towns, where they
continued to govern themselves nearly as they had done of
old, with the same rights, by the same institutions. A thousand circumstances prove this concentration of society in
towns; here is one which has been little noticed. Under the
Roman administration, it is the governors of provinces, the
consuls, the correctors, the presidents who fill the scene, and
reappear continually in the laws and history; in the sixth
century, their names become much more rare; we, indeed,
still meet with dukes and counts, to whom the government of
the provinces was confided; the barbarian kings strove to
inherit the Roman administration, to preserve the same officers,
and to induce their power to flow in the same channels; but
they succeeded only very incompletely, and with great dis



440


HISTORY OF


order; their dukes were rather military chiefs than administrators; it is manifest that the governors of provinces had no
longer the same importance, and no longer played the same
part; the governors of towns now filled history; the majority
of these counts of Chilperic, of Gontran, of Theodebert,
whose exactions are related by Gregory of Tours, are counts
of towns established within their walls, and by the side of
their bishop. I should exaggerate were I to say that the
province disappeared, but it became disorganized, and lost all
consistency, and almost all reality. Tlle towns, the primitive
elements of the Roman world, survived almost alone amidst
its ruin. The rural districts became the prey of the barbarians; it was there that they established themselves with their
men; it was there that they were about to introduce by
degrees totally new institutions, and a new organization,
but till then the rural districts will occupy scarcely any place
in society, they will be but the theatre of excursions, pillages,
and misery.
Even within the towns the ancient society was far from
maintaining itself strong and entire. Amidst the movement
of the invasions, the towns were regarded above all as fortresses; the population shut themselves therein to escape
from the hordes which ravaged the country. When the barbarous immigration was somewhat diminished, when the new
people had planted themselves upon the territory, the towns
still remained fortresses: in place of having to defend themselves against the wandering hordes, they had to defend themselves against their neighbours, against the greedy and turbulent possessors of the surrounding country. There was
therefore little security behind those weak ramparts. Towns
are unquestionably centres of population and of labour,
but under certain conditions; under the condition, on the
one hand, that the country population cultivate for them; on
the other, that an extended and active commerce consume the
products of the citizen's labour. If agriculture and commerce
decay, towns must decay; their prosperity and their power
cannot be isolated.  Now you have just seen into what
a condition the rural districts of Gaul had fallen in the sixth
century; the towns were able to escape for some time, but
from day to day the evil threatened to conquer them. Finally,
it did conquer them, and very soon this last wreck of the




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


441


Empire seemed stricken with the same weakness, and a prey
to the same dissolution.
Such, in the sixth century, were the general effects of the
invasion and establishment of the barbarians upon Roman
society; that was the condition in which they had placed it.
Let us now inquire, what was the consequence of these facts,
with regard to the second clement of modern civilization, the
German society itself?
A great mistake lies at the bottom of most of the researches
which have been made upon this subject. The institutions
of the Germans have been studied in Germany, and then transported just as they were into Gaul, in the train of the Germans. It has been assumed that the German society was in
much the same condition after as before the conquest; and
persons have reasoned from this postulate in determining the
influence of the conquest, and in assigning to it its part in the
development of modern civilization. Nothing can be more
false and more deceptive. The German society was modified,
defaced, dissolved, by the invasion, no less than the Roman
society. In this great commotion a wreck was all that
remained to each; the social organization of the conquerors
perished like that of the conquered.
Two societies-at bottom perhaps more like each other than
has been supposed, distinct, nevertheless-subsisted in Germany: first, the society of the colony or tribe, tending to a
sedentary condition, and existing upon a limited territory,
which it cultivated by means of labourers and slaves; second,
the society of the warfaring horde, accidentally grouped around
some famous chief, and leading a wandering life. This manifestly results from the facts which I have already described
to you.
To the first of these two societies, to the tribes, are, in a certain measure, applicable those descriptions of the condition of
the ancient Germans by modern Germans, concerning which I
have already spoken. When, in fact, a tribe, small in number as
were all the tribes, occupied a limited territory; when each head
of a family was established upon his domain, in the midst of
his people, the social organization which has been described
by these writers might well exist, if not completely and
effectively, at least in the rough sketch; the assembly of proprietors, of heads of families, decided upon all matters; each




442


HISTORY OF


horde had its own assembly; justice was dispensed to them by
the freemen themselves, under the direction of the aged;
a kind of public polity might arise between the confederate
hordes; free institutions were then under the form in which
we meet them in the infancy of nations.
The organization of the warfaring band was different;
another principle presided in it, the principle of the patronage
of the chief, of aristocratic clientship, and military subordination. It is with regret that I make use of these last words;
they are ill suited to barbarian hordes; yet, however
barbarian men may be, a kind of discipline necessarily introduces itself between the chief and his warriors; and in
this case there must assuredly exist more arbitrary authority,
more forced obedience, than in associations which have not
war for their object. The German warfaring band therefore
contained a political element that was not possessed by the
tribe. At the same time, however, its freedom was great: no
man engaged therein against his will; the German was born
within his tribe, and thus belonged to a situation which was
not one of his choice; the warrior chose his chief and his
companions, and undertook nothing but with the consent of
his own free will. Besides, in the bosom of the warfaring
band, the inequality was not great between the chiefs and
their men; there was nothing more than the natural inequality
of strength, skill, or courage; an inequality which afterwards
becomes fruitful, and which produces sooner or later immense
results, but which, at the outset of society, displays itself
only in very narrow limits. Although the chief had the
largest share of the booty, although he possessed more horses
and more arms, he was not so superior in riches to his companions as to be able to dispose of them without their consent; each warrior entered the association with his strength
and his courage, differing very little from the others, and
at liberty to leave it whenever he pleased.
Such were the two primitive German societies: what did
they become by the fact of the invasion? what change
did it necessarily work upon them? By ascertaining this
alone it is that we can learn what German society truly was
after its transplantation to the Roman soil.
The characteristic fact, the grand result of the invasion, as
regards the Germans, was their change to the condition of




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


443


proprietors, the cessation of the wandering life, and the definitive establishment of the agricultural life.
This fact accomplished itself gradually, slowly, and unequally; the wandering life continued for a long time in Gaul,
at least it so continued for a great number of the Germans.
Nevertheless, when we have estimated all these delays and
disorders, we see that, in the end, the conquerors became proprietors, that they attached themselves to the soil, that landed
property was the essential element of the new social state.
What were the consequences of this single fact, as regards
the regulation of the warfaring band and of the tribe?
As to the tribe, remember what I have told you of the
manner of its territorial establishment in Germany, of the
manner in which the villages were constructed and disposed.
The population was not condensed therein; each famiiy, each
habitation was isolated and surrounded with a plot of cultivated ground.   It is thus that nations, who have only
arrived at this degree of civilization, arrange themselves,
even when they lead a sedentary life.
When the tribe was transplanted to the soil of Gaul, the
habitations became yet further dispersed; the chiefs of families
established themselves at a much greater distance from one
another; they occupied vast domains; their houses afterwards
became castles. The villages which formed themselves around
them were no longer peopled with men who were free, who
were their equals, but with labourers who were attached to
their lands.  Thus, in its material relations, the tribe became
dissolved by the single fact of its new establishment.
You may easily guess what effect this single change was
calculated to exert upon its institutions. The assembly of freemen, wherein all things were debated, was now got together
with much greater difficulty. So long as they had lived
near to one another, there was no need of any great art, or
wise combinations, in order that they might treat in common of
their affairs; but when a population is scattered, in order that
the principles and forms of free institutions may remain
applicable to it, great social development is necessary, riches,
intelligence, in short, a thousand things are necessary, which
were wanting to the German horde, transported suddenly
to a territory far more extensive than that which it
had hitherto occupied.  The system which regulated its




444


IIISTORY OF


existence in Germany now perished. In looking over the
most ancient German laws-those of the Allemanni, Boii,
and Franks-we see that, originally, the assembly of freemen
in each district was held very frequently, at first, every week,
and afterwards, every month. All questions were carried
before it; judgments were given there, and not only criminal,
but also civil judgments: almost all acts of civil life were
done in its presence, as sales, donations, &c. When once the
tribe was established in Gaul, the assemblies became rare and
difficult; so difficult, that it was necessary to employ force
to make the freemen attend: this is the object of many
legal decrees. And if you pass suddenly from the fourth
to the middle of the eighth century, you find that at this last
epoch there were in each county but three assemblies of freemen in the year: and these not regularly kept, as is proved
by some of Charlemagne's laws.
If other proofs were necessary, here is one which deserves
to be noticed. When the assemblies were frequent, freemen,
under the name of rachimburgi, arhimanni, boni homines,
and in various forms, decided upon affairs. When they no
longer attended, it became necessary, upon urgent occasions,
to, supply their places; and thus we see, at the end of the
eighth century, the freemen replaced in judicial functions by
permanent judges.  The scabini, or sheriffi of Charlemagne,
were regular judges. In each county, five, seven, or nine freemen were appointed by the count, or other local magistrate,
and charged to present themselves at the assembly of the
country to decide upon cases.  The primitive institutions
were become impracticable, and the judicial power passed
from the people to the magistrates.
Such was the state into which the first element of German
society, the colony or tribe, fell after the invasion and under
its influence. Politically speaking, it was disorganised, as
Roman society had been. As to the warfaring band, facts
accomplished themselves in another way, and under a different
form, but with the same results.
iWhen a band arrived anywhere, and took possession of the
land, or of a portion of it, we must not believe that this occupation took place systematically, or that the territory was
divided by   lots, and that each warrior received one,
proportionate to his importance or his rank.  The chiefs




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


445


the band, or the different chiefs who were united in it,
appropriated to themselves vast domains. The greater part
of the warriors who had followed them continued to live
around them, with them, and at their table, without possessing
any property which belonged especially to them. The band
did not dissolve into individuals of whom each became a proprietor; the most considerable warriors entered almost alone
into this situation. IHad they dispersed themselves, in order
that each one might establish himself upon a spot of the
territory, their safety amidst the original population would
have been compromised; it was necessary that they should
remain united in groups. Moreover, it was by the life in
common that the pleasures of the barbarians, gaming, the
chase, and banquets, could alone subsist. How could they
have resigned themselves to isolation?  Isolation is only
supportable in a laborious condition; man cannot remain idle
and alone. Now, the barbarians were essentially idle; they
therefore required to live together, and many companions
remained about their chief, leading upon his domains pretty
nearly the same life which they had led before in his train.
But from these circumstances it arose that their relative
situation was completely altered. Very soon a prodigious
inequality sprang up between them: their inequality no longer
consisted in some personal difference of strength or of courage,
or in a more or less considerable share of cattle, slaves, or
valuable goods.  The chief, become a great proprietor, disposed of many of the means of power; the others were always
simple warriors; and the more tihe ileas of property established
and exteldv,-l tllhrnmselves in men's minds, the more was inequality, with its effects, developed. At this period we find
a great number of freemen falling by degrees into a very
inferior position. The laws speak constantly of freemen, of
Franks livi:ir upon the lands of another, and reduced almost
to the sitlutionl of the labourers.'  The band, regarded as a
peculiar society, reposed upon two facts-the voluntary association of thee warriors in order to lead in common a wandering life, and their equality. These two facts perished in the
results of the invasion.  On one hand, the wandering life
ended-on the other, inequality introduced itself, and increased from day to day, among the sedentary warriors.
l'ss: is sur!'L is.'Wir,.' rI  Fr':e c, pp. 1pp. ( - 11-.




4,16


HISTORY OF


The progressive parcelling out of lands, during the three
centuries after the invasion, did not change this result.
There are none of you who have not heard of the fees
that the king, or the great chiefs who occupied a vast
territory, distributed to their men, to attach them to their
service, or to recompense them  for services done. This
practice, in proportion as it extended, produced, upon what
remained of the warfaring band, effects analogous to those
which I have pointed out to you.    On one hand, the
warrior upon whom the chief had conferred the fee, departed to inhabit it, —a new source of isolation and individuality; on the other, this warrior had usually a certain number of men attached to him; or he sought and found men who
would come to live with him upon his domain;-a new source
of inequality. Such were the general effects of the invasion
upon the two ancient Germanic societies, the tribe and the
wandering band.   They became equally disorganized, and
entered upon totally different situations, upon totally new
relations. In order to bind them among themselves anew, in
order to form society anew, and to deduce from that society
a government, it became necessary to have recourse to other
principles, to other institutions.  Dissolved, like Roman
society, German society, in like manner, furnished to the
society which followed it nothing but wrecks.
I hope that these expressions, society dissolved, society which
perished, do not mislead you, and that you understand them
in their right sense. A society never dissolves itself, but
because a new  society is fermenting and forming in its
bosom; the concealed work it is there going on which tends
to separate its elements, in order to arrange them under new
combinations.  Such a disorganization shows that facts are
changed, that the relations and dispositions of men are no
longer the same; that other principles and other forms are
ready to assume the predominance. Thus, in affirming that,
in the sixth century, ancient society, Roman as well as German, was dissolved in Gaul by the results of the invasion, we
say that, by the same causes, at the same epoch, and upon
the same ground, modern society began.
Wec have no means of explaining or clearly contemplating this
first labour; the original sources, the original creation, is profoundly concealed, and does not manifest itself outwardly until




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


447


later, when it has already made considerable progress.
Nevertheless, it is possible to foresee it; and it is important
that you should know, at once, what was fermenting and
being formed beneath this general dissolution of the two
elements of modern society; I will endeavour to give you an
idea of this in few words.
The first fact of which we catch a glimpse at this period, is
a certain tendency to the development of royalty. Persons
have often praised barbarian at the expense of modern royalty,
wrongfully, as I think: in the fourth and in the seventeenth centuries this word expresses two institutions, two
powers which are profoundly different from each other. There
were, indeed, among the barbarians, some germs of hereditary royalty, some traces of a religious character inherent in
certain families descended from the first chiefs of the nations,
from heroes become gods. There can, however, be no doubt
but that choice, election, was the principal source of royalty,
and that the character of warlike chiefs predominates in the
barbarous kings.
When they were transplanted to the Roman territory, their
situation changed. They found there a place which was
empty, namely, that of the emperors. Power, titles, and a
machine of government with which the barbarians were
acquainted, and of which they admired the splendour and soon
appreciated the efficacy, were there; they were, of course,
strongly tempted to appropriate these advantages. Such,
indeed, was the aim of all their efforts. This fact appears
everywhere: Clovis, Childebert, Gontran, Chilperic, Clotaire,
laboured incessantly to assume the names and to exercise the
rights of the Empire; they wished to distribute their dukes
and their counts as the emperors had distributed their consuls, their correctors, and their presidents; they tried to reestablish all that system of taxes, enlistment, and administration which had fallen into ruin.   In a word, barbaric
royalty, narrow and crude as it was, endeavoured to develop
itself, and fill, in some measure, the enormous frame of imperial
royalty.
For a long while the course of things was not favourable
to it, and its first attempts were attended with little success;
nevertheless, we may see, from the beginning, that something
of the imperial royalty will remain to it; that the new




448


HISTORY OF


royalty will by and bye gather a portion of that imperial
inheritance, the whole of which it desired to appropriate at
the first; immediately after the invasion, it became less warlike, more religious, and more politic than it had hitherto been,
that is to say, it assumed more of the character of the imperial
royalty.  Here, if I mistake not, is the first great fact of that
labour which was about to give birth to the new society; that
fact is not clearly manifest as yet, but glimpses of it are
easily to be caught.
The second great fact is the birth of the territorial aristocracy. Property, for a long time after the settlement of
the barbarians, seemed uncertain, fluctuating and confused,
passing from one hand to another with surprising rapidity.
Nevertheless, it is clear that it prepared to become fixed in
the same hands, and to regulate itself.  The tendency of
fees is to become hereditary; and, in spite of the obstacles which oppose it, the principle of inheritance prevails therein more and more.     At the same time there
arose between the possessors of the fees that hierarchical
organization which afterwards became the feudal system.
We must not transport into the sixth and seventh centuries
the feudalism  of the thirteenth; nothing like it then existed; the disorder of property and personal relations was
infinitely greater than under the feudal system; nevertheless all things concurred, on the one hand, to render property fixed; on the other, to constitute the society of the
proprietors according to a certain hierarchy.  As we have
seen royalty dawning from the end of the sixth century, so,
likewise, we may discover, from that period, the dawn of
feudalism.
Fimally, a third fact also developed itself at this epoch.
I have engaged your attention with the state of the church;
you have seen what power it had, and how it was, so to
speak, the sole living remnant of Rloman society.  Xfh(en the
barbarians were established, let us see in what situation the
church found itself, or, at least, what that situation soon became.   The bishops were, as you know, the natural chiefs of
the towns; they governed the people in the interior of each
city, they represented them in the presence of the barbarians,
they were their magistrates within, and their protectors
without.  The clergy were therefore deeply rooted in tle




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


449


municipal system, that is to say, in all that remained of
Roman society. And they very soon struck root in other
directions; the bishops became the counsellors of the barbarous
kings; they counselled them upon the conduct which they
ought to observe towards the vanquished people, upon the
course they ought to take in order to become the heirs of
the Roman emperors. They had far more experience and
political intelligence than the barbarians, who came fresh
froom Germany; they had the love of power, they had been
accustomed to serve and to profit by it. They were thus the
counsellors of the nascent royalty, Awhile they remained the
magistrates and patrons of the still surviving municipality.
Behold them connected on the one hand with the people, on
the other with thrones. But this was not all; a third position
now opened itself to them; they became great proprietors; they
entered into that hierarchical organization of manorial property
which, as yet, scarcely existed but in tendency; they laboured
to occupy, and soon succeeded in occupying, a considerable
place therein. So that at this epoch, while yet the new
society was in its first rudiments, the church was already
connected with all its parts, was everywhere in good repute
and powerful; a sure sign that it would be the first to attain
dominion; as happened.
Such were the three great facts-obscure as yet, but visibleby which the new social order announced itself, at the end of
the sixth and the beginning of the seventh century. It is, I
believe, impossible to mistake them; but, in recognising them,
we must remember that neither of theni had as yet taken the
position and the form which it was to retain. All things
were still mixed and confused to such a degree, that it
must have been impossible for the shrewdest sight to have
discerned any of the characteristics of the future. I have
already had occasion to say, and in your studies you have
had opportunities of becoming convinced, that there exists
no modern system, no pretension to power, which has not
discovered grounds for its legitimacy in these beginnings of
our society. Royalty regards itself as the only heir of the
Roman empire. The feudal aristocracy asserts that, at that
time, it possessed the entire country, men and lands; the
towns affirm that they succeeded to all the rights of the
Roman municipalities; the clergy, that they then shared
G e




450                    HISTORY OF'
all power.  This singular epoch has lent itself to all the requirements of party spirit, to all the hypotheses of science; it
has furnished arguments and arms to nations, to kings, to
grandees, to priests, to liberty as well as to aristocracy, to
aristocracy as well as to royalty.
The fact is, it carried all things in its bosom, theocracy,
monarchy, oligarchy, republics, mixed constitutions; and all
things in a state of confusion which has allowed each to see
all that it chose to see therein.  The obscure and irregular
fermentation of the wrecks of former society, German as well
as Roman, and the first labours of their transformation into
elements of the new society, constituted the true condition of
Gaul during the' sixth and seventh centuries, and this is the
only character we can assign to it.




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461


NINTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-False idea of the Salic law-History of the formation of this law-Two hypotheses upon this matter-Eighteen manuscripts- Two texts of the Salic law - M. WViarda's work upon the
history and exposition of the Salic law-Prefaces attached to the manuscripts-Value of national traditions concerning the origin and compilation of the Salic law-Concerning its tendencies-It is essentially a
penal code-ist. Of the enumeration and definition of offences in the
Salic law; 2nd. Of penalties; 3rd. Of criminal procedure-Transitory
character of this legislation.
WE are to occupy ourselves now with the barbarian laws, and
especially with the Salic law, upon which I must give certain
minute details, indispensable to a knowledge of the true character of this law, and of the social state which is indicated
thereby.   People have been deeply, and for a long while,
deceived upon this point.   A greatly exaggerated importance
has been attributed to the Salic law.    You are acquainted
with the reason of this error; you know that at the accession
of Philippe-le-Long, and during the struggle of Philippe-deValois and Edward III. for the crown of France, the Salic
law was invoked in order to prevent the succession of women.
and that, from that time, it has been celebrated by a crowd of
writers, as the first source of our public law, as a law
always in vigour, as the fundamental law       of monarchy.
Those who have been the most free from this illusion, as, for
example, Montesquieu, have yet experienced, to some degree,
its influence, and have spoken of the Salic law with a respect
which it is assuredly difficult to feel towards it when we attriGG 2




45?


HISTORY OF


hute to it only the place that it really holds in our history.
We might be tempted to believe that the majority of the
awriters who have spoken of this law had studied neither its
history nor its scope; that they were equally ignorant of its
source and of its character. These are the two questions which
we have now to solve: we must learn, on the one hand, in
what manner the Salic law was compiled, when, where, by
whom, and for whom; on the other, what the object and plan
of its dispositions were.
As regards its history, I pray you to recal that which I
hlave already told you touching the double origin and the incoherence of the barbarous laws; they were, at once, anterior
and posterior to the invasion; at once, German, and Germanokoman: they belonged to two different conditions of society.
This character has influenced all the controversies of which
the Salic law has been the object; it has given rise to two
hypotheses: according to one, this law was compiled in Germany, upon the right bank of the Rhine, long before the
conquest, and in the language of the Franks; everything in its
provisions which is not suitable to that period, and to ancient
German society, according to this hypothesis, was introduced
afterwards, in the successive revisions which occurred after
the invasion. According to the other hypothesis, the Salic
law was, on the contrary, compiled after the conquest, upon
the left bank of the Rhine, in Belgium or in Gaul, perhaps in
the seventh century, and in Latin.
Nothing is more natural than the conflict of these hypotheses; they necessarily arose from the Salic law itself. A
peculiar circumstance tended to provoke them.
In the manuscripts which remain to us, there are two texts
of this law: the one unmixedly Latin; the other Latin also,
but mixed with a great number of German words, of glosses,
and of expositions, in the ancient Frankish tongue, intercalated in the course of the articles. It contains two hundred
and fifty-three intercalations of this kind.  The second text
was published at Basil, in 1557, by the juris-consult, John
Herold, from a manuscript in the Abbey of' Fulda. The
purely Latin text was published, for the first time, in Paris,
withoult (late, or t!e nmime of the editor; amid. for the second
time, by John Dutillet, also in lPais, in 1573. Both texts
lave since gone through many editions.




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


453


Of these two texts there exist eighteen manuscripts —
namely, fifteen of the unmixedly Latin text, and three of
that in which Germanic words appear. Of these manuscripts,
fifteen have been found upon the left bank of the Rhine, in
France, and only three in Germany. You might be inclined
to suppose that the three manuscripts found in Germany, are
those which contain the German glosses: but such is not the
case; of the three manuscripts with the comments, two only
come from Germany, the third was found in Paris; of the fifteen
others, fourteen were found in France, and one in Germany.
The fifteen manuscripts of the unmixedly Latin texts are
pretty nearly alike. There are, indeed, some various readings
in the prefaces, the epilogues, and in the arrangement or the
compilation of the articles, but these are of little importance.
The three manuscripts containing the German comments differ
much more widely; they differ in the number of titles and
articles, in their arrangement, even in their contents, and still
more in their style. Of these manuscripts, two are written
in the most barbarous Latin.
Here, then, are two texts of the Salic law which support
the two solutions of the problem; the one appears rather of a
Roman origin, the other more entirely Germanic. Thus the
question assumes this form: of the two texts, which is the
most ancient?-to which of them should priority be attributed?
The common opinion, especially in Germany, attributes
the'highest antiquity to the text which bears the German
gloss. There are, indeed, some arguments which seem, at
first sight, to support this view. The three manuscripts of
this text bear the words, Lex Salica antiqua, antiquissima,
vetustior; whilst, in those of the unmixedly Latin text, we
commonly read: Lex Salica recentior, erendata, reformata.
If we referred the question to these epigraphs, it would be
resolved.
Another circumstance seems to lead us to the same solution.
Several manuscripts contain a kind of preface, in which the
history of the Salic law is related. The following is the
most comprehensive. You will immediately see what conse

If I do not err, M. Pertz has recently discovered two others; but nothing
has as yet been published concerning them.




454


HISTORY OF


quences are to be deduced from it concerning the antiquity of
the law:
" The nation of the Franks, illustrious, founded by God,
mighty in arms, firm in treaties of peace, profound in council,
noble and healthy in body, of a singular fairness and beauty,
bold, active, and fierce in fight; lately converted to the
catholic faith, free fiom heresy; while it was yet under a
barbarous belief seeking the key of' knowledge by the inspiration of God, desiring justice, and observing piety according to the nature of its qualities: the Salic law was dictated
by the chiefs of their nation, who, at that time, commanded
therein.
"Four men were chosen of many-namely, Wisogast,
Bodogast, Salogast, and WTindogast,' in the places called Salagheve, Bodogheve, Windogheve. These men met in three
mals,2 discussed with care all judicial processes, treated of
each in particular, and dedreed their judgment in the following manner. Afterwards, when, with the help of God,
Choldwig the long-haired, the beautiful, the illustrious king
of the Franks, had received the first catholic baptism, everything in this covenant that was considered unfitting was
amended with perspicuity by the illustrious kings, Choldwig,
Childeberg, and Chlotaire; and in this manner was the following decree produced:
"' Honour to Christ who loves the Franks! May he preserve their kingdom, and fill their chiefs with the light of his
grace! May he protect their army; may he give them signs
which shall bear witness to their faith, awarding unto them
joys of peace and an entire felicity!  May the Lord Jesus
Christ direct in the ways of piety those who govern! For
this is the nation which, small in number but valorous and
powerful, shook from its head the hard yoke of the Romans,
and which, after having recognised the sacredness of baptism,
sumptuously adorned with gold and precious stones the bodies
of the holy martyrs whom the Romans had burnt with fire,
massacred, mutilated with the sword, or delivered to be torn
to pieces by wild beasts.
1 Gast means guest; gheve or guau, canton, district; salogast is the guest
inhabiting the canton of Sale; bodog(ast, the guest of the canton of Bode, &c.
2 1allum, an assembly of free men.




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


455


'm Concerning the inventors of laws and their order."Moses was the first of all those who expounded, in sacred
letters, the divine laws to the Hebrew nation. King Phoroneus was the first to establish laws and judgments among
the Greeks; Mercury Trismegistus gave the first laws to
the Egyptians; Solon gage the first laws to the Athenians;
Lycurgus established the first laws among the Lacedemonians,
by the authority of Apollo; Numa Pompilius, who succeeded
to Romulus, gave the first laws to the Romans. Afterwards,
because the factious people would not tolerate its magistrates, it created decemvirs to write laws, and these placed
upon twelve tables the laws of Solon, translated into Latin.
They were: Appius Claudius Sabinus, T. L. Genutius, P. Sestius Vaticanus, T. Veturius Cicurinus, C. Julius Tullius,
A. 3Ianilius, P. Sulpicius Camerinus, Sp. Postumius Albus,
P. Horatius Pulvillus, T. Romilius Vaticanus. These decemvirs were nominated to write the laws. The consul
Pompey was the first to desire that the laws should be
written in books; but he did not prosecute his desire from
the dread of calumniators.  Caesar afterwards began this
work, but he was killed before he completed it.  Little
by little the ancient laws fell into disuse through age and
neglect; but although they were no longer used, it was nevertheless necessary that they should be known. The new
laws began to count from Constantine and his successors;
they were mixed and without order. Afterwards, the august
Theodosius II., in imitation of the Codes of Gregory and of
Hermogcnes, caused the constitutions given out since Constantine to be collected and arranged under the name of each
emperor; and this is called, after himself, the Theodosian
Code. Afterwards, each nation selected, according to its
customs, the laws which were suited to it; for a long custom
passes for a law: law is a written constitution; custom is
usage founded upon antiquity, or unwritten law; for the
word law is derived from the word legere (lex a legendo),
because it is written; custom is a long habit founded solely
upon manners; habit is a certain right which is established
by manners, and which is regarded as law; law is all that
which has already been established by reason, which is agreeable to good discipline and profitable to salvation; but we
call that habit which is in common use.




456


HISTORY OF


"Theodoric, king of the Franks, when he was at Chalons,
selected the wise men of his kingdom, and those who were
learned in ancient laws, and dictating to them himself, he
commanded them to write the laws of the Franks, of the
Allemanni, of the Boii, and of all the nations which were
under his power, according to the customs of each. He added
what was necessary thereto, and took away what was improper, and amended, according to the laws of the Christians,
that which was according to the ancient pagan customs. And
of that which king Theodoric was unable to change, on
account of the great antiquity of the pagan customs, king
Childebert began the correction, which was finished by king
Chlotaire.  The glorious king Dagobert renewed all these
things by means of the illustrious men, Claudius, Chadoin,
Domagne, and Agilof; he caused to be transcribed, with
ameliorations, the ancient laws, and gave them written to
each nation. Laws are made in order that human wickedness
should be restrained by fear, that innocence should be shielded
from all danger in the midst of the wicked, that the wicked
should dread punishment, and that they should curb their
lust for nischief.
" This has been decreed by the king, the chiefs, and all the
Christian people who dwell in the country of the Merovingians.
*    *    *     *    *    *     *
In the name of Christ:" Here commences the compact of the Salic law.
"Those who have written the Salic law are Wisogast,
Aregast, Salogast, Windogast, in Bodham, Saleham, and
Widham...."
From this preface, from the words antiqua, vetustior, inserted in a text, and from some other analogous indications, it
has been concluded -st. That the Salic law was written
before the invasion, beyond the Rhine, and in the language of
the Franks. 2nd. That the manuscript mixed with German
words was the most ancient, and that it contained the remains
of the primitive text.
The most learned work in which this controversy has been
recapitulated is that of M. Wiarda, entitled, " listoire et
explication de la loi Salique," and published at Bremen in
J 808. I will not carry you through the labyrinth of discus



CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


457


sions which he engages in upon the different questions which
his work embraces; but merely point out his principal results.
They are generally supported by sufficient proofs, and the
criticism upon them is very careful.
According to MI. Wiarda, the text mixed with German
words-in the copies, at least, which we possess of it-is not
more ancient than the other; one might be tempted, indeed,
to believe it more modern.  Two articles especially seem to
indicate that this is the case:-1 st. Title 61, entitled De Chrenecruda,1 which treats of the cession of property, is found alike
in both texts; but the purely Latin text gives it as a rule
in vigour, while the text with the German gloss adds: " In
present times this no longer applies."  2nd. Under title 58,
~ 1st, the text with the gloss runs thus: "According to the
ancient law, whoever disinterred or stripped a dead and
buried body, was banished," &c. This law, described here as
ancient, exists in the unmixedly Latin text without any
observation
It is impossible to deny that these two passages of the text
with the gloss seem to indicate posterior date.
From this comparison of the texts, M. Wiarda passes to an
examination of the preface, and easily discovers irnprobabilities and contradictions therein. Many manuscripts have no
preface; in those which have, they vary much. Even that
which I have just read to you is composed of incoherent
parts; the second part, from the words, the inventors of laws,
&c. &c., is copied textually in the treatise Of Etymologies and
Origins, by Isidore of Seville, a writer of the seventh century;
the third, from these words: Theodoric, king of the Franks,
is also found at the head of a manuscript of the law of the
Bavarians. The names of the first compilers of the law of the
Salian Franks are not the same in the preface and in the body
of the law itself. From these, and many other circumstances,
MI. Wiarda concludes that the prefaces are merely additions
written at the head of the text, by the copyists, who collected,
each in his own fashion, the popular reports, and that therefore no authority is to be attributed to them.
Moreover, none of the ancient documents, none of the first


1 That is to sav, concerniing green herbage, from ancient German words
which answer to the modern words gruii, green, and kraIut, herb or plant.




458


IIISTORY OF


chroniclers who have minutely related the history of the
Franks, neither Gregory of Tours, nor Frcdegaire, for instance, speak of any compilation of their laws. WVe must
come down to the eighth century in order to find a passage in
which such compilation is mentioned, and then it is in one of
the most confused and most fabulous chronicles of tile time,
the Gesta Francorum, that we read:
"After a battle with the emperor Valentinian, in which
their chief, Priam, fell, the Franks left Sicambria, and came
to establish themselves in the regions of Germany, at the
extremity of the river Rhine.... There they elected king
Pharamond, son of Marcomir, and, elevating him upon their
shields, they proclaimed him the long-haired king; and then
they began to adopt a law which their ancient gentile
councillors, Wisogast, Windogast, Aregast, and Salogast,
wrote in the German villages of' Bodecheim, Salecheim, and
Windecheim."  (Gesta Franc. c. 3.)
It is upon this paragraphl that all the prefaces, inscriptions
or narratives, placed at the head of manuscripts, are founded;
they have no other warrant, and merit no more faith.
After having thus discarded the indirect documents advanced in support of the high antiquity and of the purely
German origin of this law, M. Wiarda comes directly to the
question, and conceives, 1st, That the Salic law was written
for the first time upon the left bank of the Rhlline, in Belgium,
upon the territory situated between the forest of Ardennes,
the Meuse, the Lys, and the Scheldt; a country which, for a
long time, was occupied by the Salian Franks, whom especially this law governed, and from whom it received its name;
2nd, that, in none of the texts actually existing does this
law appear to go further back than the seventh century;
3rd, that it has never been written except in Latin. This
is acknowledged with regard to all other barbarous laws,
the Ripuarian, Bavarian, and Allemannic laws; and nothing
indicates that the Salic law was an exception. Moreover,
the Germanic dialects were not written before the reign of
Charlemagne; and Otfried of' Weissemburg, the translator
of the Gospel, calls tle Frankish tongue, even in the ninth
century, linguam indisciplina7bilem.
Such are the general results of the learned labour of M.
Wiarda; and, upon the whole, I believe that they are legiti.




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459


mate. I-Ie even places too little importance upon a kind of
proof, which is, in my opinion, more forcible than the greater
portion of those which he has so ingeniously examined-I
mean, the contents themselves of the Salic law, and the facts
which are clearly deducible therefiom.  It seems evident to
me, from the dispositions, the ideas, and the tone of their
law, that it belongs to a period at which the Franks had for
a long time existed amidst a Roman population. It constantly
makes mention of the Romans; and not as of inhabitants
scattered thinly here and there over the territory, but as of a
population numerous, industrious, agricultural, and already
reduced, in great part at least, to the condition of labourers.
We also perceive from this law, that Christianity was not of
recent date among the Franks, but that it already held an
important place in society and men's minds.  Churches,
bishops, deacons, clerks, are often treated of; and we may
recognise, in more than one article, the influence of religion
upon moral notions, and the change which it had already
wrought upon barbarous manners. In short, the intrinsic
proof, derivable from the law itself, appears to me conclusive
in favour of the hypothesis maintained by MI. Wiarda.
I believe, however, that the traditions which, through so
many contradictions and fables, appear in the prefaces and
epilogues annexed to the law, have more importance, and
merit more consideration, than he gives them. They indicate that, from the eighth century, it was a general belief,
a popular tradition, that the customs of the Salian Franks
were anciently collected-they were Christians before, in a
territory more German than that which they now occupied.
However little their authenticity, and however defective the
documents where these traditions are preserved may be,
they at least prove that the traditions existed. We are not
obliged to believe that the Salic law, such as we have it, is of
a very remote date, nor that it was compiled as recounted, nor
even that it was ever written in the German language; but
that it was connected with customs collected and transmitted
from generation to generation, when the Franks lived about
the mouth of the Rhine, and modified, extended, explained,
reduced into law, at various times, from that epoch down
to the end of the eighth century-this, I think, is the reasonable result to which this discussion should lead.




460


EllSTORY OF


Allow me, before quitting the work of M. Wiarda, to call
your attention to two ideas which are developed there, and
which contain, in my opinion, a large portion of truth. The
Salic law, according to him, is, properly speaking, no law at
all, no code; it was not compiled and published by a legal,
official authority, whether that of a king, or of an assembly of
the people or great men. lie has been disposed to see in it a
mere enumeration of customs and judicial decisions-a collection made by some learned man, some barbarian priest-a collection analogous to the Mirror of the Saxons, to the Mirror
of the Swabians, and many other ancient monuments of the
Germanic legislation, which have evidently only this character.
M1. Wiarda founds the conjecture upon the example of many
other nations at the same degree of civilization, and upon a
number of ingenious arguments. One has escaped himperhaps, the most conclusive; this is a text of the Salic law
itself. There we read:" If any one strips a dead person before he is placed in the
earth, let him be condemned to pay 1800 deniers, which make
45 sous; and, according to another decision, (in alia sententia,)
2500 deniers, which make 62 sous and a-half."'
This is evidently not a legislative text, for it contains two
different penalties for the same crime; and the words, according to another decision, are exactly those which would be found
in the language of jurisprudence, in a collection of decrees.
M. Wiarda thinks, moreover, and this will confirm the preceding opinion, that the Salic law does not contain all the
legislation, all the law of the Salian Franks. We find, in
fact, in the monuments of the ninth, tenth, and eleventh
centuries, a certain number of cases which are called rules
secundum legen salicam, and of which the text of that law
makes no mention. Certain forms of marriage, certain rules
of affiancing, are expressly called secundun legem salicanz,
which do not figure there at all. From whence one might
conclude that a large number of the customs of the Salian
Franks had never been written, and form no part of the text
which we possess.
Here are a grea:t many details, and I have suppressed many
more; I have given only the result of the controversies of


I Pact. Leg. Sal., ed. Herold, tit. xvii. de Expoliationibus, ~ 1,




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


461


which the history of the Salic law alone has been the object.
It is from not having given proper attention to it, from not
having scrutinized with care the origins and vicissitudes of
this law, that such strange mistakes have been fallen into as
to its character. Let us now enter into the examination of
the legislation itself, and endeavour to bring to bear upon it
a rather close criticism, for here also people have strangely
fallen into vagueness and declamation.
The two texts are of unequal extent: the text, mixed
with Germanic words, contains 80 titles and 420 articles or
paragraphs; the purely Latin text has but 70, 71, 72 titles,
according to the different manuscripts, and 406, 407, or 408
articles.  One manuscript, that of Wolfenbuttel, a very confused one in its arrangements, contains even a greater number.
At the first aspect it is impossible not to be struck with
the apparent utter chaos of the law. It treats of all things-of
political law, of civil law, of criminal law, of civil procedure, of
criminal procedure, of rural jurisdiction, all mixed up together
without any distinction or classification. If we were to write
out, each on a separate piece of paper, the various articles of
our various codes, and after having thrown them together
into an urn, draw them out as each presented itself, the order,
or rather disorder, in which chance would throw them, would
differ very little from their arrangement in the Salic law.
When we examine this law more closely, we perceive that
it is essentially a penal regulation, that in it the criminal law
occupies the first, and, indeed, almost the whole place. The
political law makes its appearance quite incidentally and indirectly, and in reference only to institutions, to facts which
are regarded as established, and with the foundation or even
declaration of which the law looks upon itself as having
nothing to do; as to the civil law, it contains some enactments
of a more precise and distinct nature, to the preparation of
which much attention seems to have been paid. The same is
the case with regard to civil procedure. As to criminal procedure, the Salic law appears to consider almost every point
established and understood; all that it does under this head,
is to supply a few obvious deficiencies, and to lay down in
certain cases the duties of judges, of witnesses, &c. Pains and
penalties are here entirely dominant; the great aim is to
repress crime, and to inflict punishment. It is & penal code.




462


HISTORY OF


It contains three hundred and forty-three penal articles, and
but sixty-five upon all other subjects.
Such, indeed, is the character of all legislations in their
infancy; it is by penal laws that nations make the first visible
steps-the first written steps, if I may use the expressionout of barbarism.  They have no idea of writing the political
law; the powers which govern them, and the forms in which
those powers are exercised, are clear, certain, understood
facts: it is not in this period of their existence that nations
discuss constitutions.  The civil law exists in like manner as
a fact; the mutual relations between men, their covenants
and agreements, are left to the rules of natural equity, are
conducted according to certain fixed principles, certain generally admitted forms. The legal settlement of this portion of
law does not take place until after a much fuller development
of the social state. Whether under a religious form, or under
one purely secular, the penal law is the first that makes its
appearance in the legislative career of nations; their first
effort towards the perfecting of civil life consists in raising
barriers against, in proclaiming, beforehand, punishments for
excesses of individual liberty. The Salic law belongs to this
period of the history of our society.
In order to acquire a true knowledge of this law. apart
from the vague assertions and discussions of which it has
been made the object, let us endeavour to consider it-first,
in the enumeration and definition of crimes; secondly, in its
application of punishments; thirdly, in its criminal procedure.
These are the three essential elements of all penal legislation.
I. The crimes taken cognisance of in the Salic law are
almost all of them classed under two heads: robbery, and
violence against the person. Of three hundred and fortythlree articles in the penal law, one hundred and fifty have
reference to cases of robbery, and of these seventy-four
relate to and assign punishments for the stealing of animalstwenty, namely, to pig stealing; sixteen to horse stealing;
thirteen to the stealing of bulls, cows, and oxen; seven to
sheep and goat stealing; four to dog stealing; seven to bird
stealing; and seven to bee stealing. Under these heals the
laws enter into the most minute details; the crime and the
punishment vary according to the age and sex of the thief,
the number of animals stolen, the place and time of the robbery, &c.




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


463


Cases of violence against the person furnish matter for
113 articles, of which 30 relate to mutilation in every possible
variety, 24 to violence against women, &c.
I need proceed no further in this enumeration of crimes.
They exhibit to us in a clear light two marked characteristics
of the law: 1st, it belongs to a society in a very low and
inartificial state. Open the criminal codes of another period,
you find a far greater variety in the classes of crimes, while
in each class the specification of cases is infinitely less detailed;
we recognise at once more various facts and more general
ideas.  The crimes set forth here are, for the most part, such
only as may be anticipated in a condition of things under
which mankind becomes more united, however simple their
relations may be, however monotonous their life. 2nd. It is
also evidently a very coarse and brutal society, in which the
confusion of individual wills and forces is carried to an extremity, where there is no kind of public power to prevent their
excesses, where the safety of persons and properties is every
instant in peril.  This absence of all generalization, of all
attempt to give a simple and common character to crimes,
attests at once the want of intellectual development, and the
precipitation of the legislator. It combines nothing; it is
under the influence of a pressing necessity; it takes, so to
speak, every action, every case of robbery, of violence in the
very fact, in order to immediately inflict a penalty upon them.
Rude itself, it had to do with rude men, and had no idea but
of adding a new article of law whenever a new crime was
committed, however trifling its difference from those it had
already contemplated.
II. From the crimes let us pass to the punishments, and
let us see what was the character of the Salic law in this
respect.
At the first glance, we shall be struck with its mildness.
This legislation, which as to crimes reveals such violent
and brutal manners, contains no cruel punishments, and
not only is it not cruel, but it seems to bear a singular
respect towards the person and liberty of men: of free men,
that is to say; for whenever slaves or even labourers are in
question, cruelty reappears-the law abounds in tortures and
in corporeal punishments for them; but for free men, Franks
and even Romans, it is extremely moderate.  There are but




464


IIISTORY OF


few cases of the punishment of death, and from this criminals
could always redeem themselves; no-corporeal punishments,
no imprisonments.    The only punishment put forth in
writing in the Salic law, is composition, uehrgeld, w idrigeld'-that is, a certain sum which the guilty person was
obliged to pay to the ofiended person, or to his family. To
the ielhrgeld is added, in a great number of cases, what the
German laws call the fred,2 a sum paid to the king or to the
magistrate, in reparation for the violation of public peace.
The penal system of the law reduces itself to this.
Composition is the first step of criminal legislation out of
the system of personal vengeance. The right concealed under
this penalty, the right which exists at the foundation of the
Salic law, and all barbaric laws, is the right of each man to
do justice to himself; to revenge himself by force; war
between the offender and the offended.    Composition is
an attempt to substitute a legal system for this war; it is the
right of the offender, by paying a certain sum, to protect
himself from the vengeance of the offended; it obliges the
offended party to renounce the employment of force.
Be careful, however, not to suppose that it had this effect
from its origin; the offended party for a long time preserved
the privilege of choosing between composition and war, of
refusing the wehrireld, and having recourse to vengeance.
The chronicles and documents of all kinds leave no doubt on
the subject. I am inclined to think that at the eighth century
composition was obligatory, and the refusal to be contented
therewith was regarded as a violence, not as a right; but
assuredly, it had not alvays been so, and composition was at
first only a rather inefficacious attempt to put an end to the
disorderly contest of individual force-a kind of legal ofebr
fiom the offender to the offended.
In Germany, and especially in later times, a far higher
idea has been attached to it. Men of learning and of rare
minds have been struck, not only with the respect for the
power and liberty of man which appears in this kind of
penalty, but with many other characteristics which they think
1 Probibition money, (from wheren, wlharen, bezwahren,) guarantee. See
my Essais sur tHistoire de France, p. 197,
2 From frieden, peae.




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


465


are to be recognised in it. I shall arrest your attention but
upon one: what, from the time that we consider things under
an elevated and moral point of view, what is the radical
vice of modern penal legislations? They strike, they punish,
without troubling themselves to know whether the guilty party
accepts the penalty or not, whether he acknowledges his wrong,
whether his will does or does not concur with the will of the
law; they act only by constraint, justice cares not to appear to
him she condemns, under other features than those of force.
Composition has, so to speak, an entirely different penal physiognomy; it supposes, it involves the avowal of wrong by the
offender; it is, in its way, an act of liberty; he may refuse it,
and run the risk of the vengeance of the offended; when he
submits to it, he acknowledges himself guilty, and offers reparation for the crime. The offended party, on his side, in
accepting the composition, reconciles himself with the
offender; he solemnly promises to forget, to abandon vengeance: so that composition as a penalty has characteristics
much more moral than the punishments of more learned
legislations; it gives evidence of a profound feeling of morality and liberty.
I here resume, in bringing them to more precise terms, the
ideas of some moder      n German writers; amon others, of a young
man lately dead, to the great sorrow of science, MI. Rogge, who
has set them forth in an Essay upon the Judicial System of the
Germans, published at Halle, in 1820. Among many ingenious views, and some probable explanations of the ancient
social German state, there is, I think, in this system a universal mistake, a great want of understanding man and barbaric society.
The source of the error, if I mistake not, is the very false
idea which is frequently formed of the liberty which seemed
to exist in the earliest age of nations. There can be no doubt
but that, at this epoch, the liberty of individuals was, in fact,
very great.  On the one hand, there existed between men
inequalities but little varied, and little powerful; those which
arose from wealth, from antiquity of race, and from a multitude of complex causes, could not yet have been developed,
or have produced anything more than very transitory effects.
On the other hand, there was no longer any, or scarcely
any, public power capable of holding in check or restraining
Ii U




466


IHISTORY OF


individual wills. Men were firmly governed neither by other
men nor by society: their liberty was real; each did almost
what he wished according to his power, at his own risk and
perils. I say according to his power; this co-existence of
individual liberties was, in fact, at this epoch a mere contest
of powers; that is, warfare between individuals and families,
war incessant, capricious, violent, and barbarous as the men
who carried it on.
This was not society; and it was not long before they
found this out; efforts were made on all sides to escape fiom
such a state, in order to enter upon social order. The evil
everywhere sought its remedy. Thus it was ordered by this
mysterious life, this secret power which presides over the
destinies of the human race.
Two remedies appeared: 1st, inequality between men
declared itself; some became rich, others poor; some noble,
some obscure; some were patrons, others clients; some masters,
others slaves. 2ndly. Public power developed itself; a collective force arose, which, in the name and interest of society,
proclaimed and executed certain laws. Thus originated, on
the one side, aristocracy, and on the other, government-that
is to say, two methods of restraining individual will, two
means of subduing many men to a will different from their
own.
In their turn the remedies became evils; the aristocracy
tyrannized, and the public power tyrannized; this oppression
led to a disorder, different from the first, but profound and
intolerable. Still, in the heart of social life, by the sole effect
of its continuance, and by the concurrence of numerous influences, individuals, the sole real beings, developed, enlightened,
and perfected themselves; their reason was less contracted,
their will less irregular; they began to perceive that they
might live very well in peace without so great an amount of
inequality or public power-that is to say, that society could
subsist very well without so dear a sacrifice to liberty.  At
this time, just as there had been an effort for the creation
of public power, and for inequality between men, so now
there commenced an effort which tended to the attainment
of a contrary end, towards the reduction of the aristocracy
and the government; that is to say, society tended towards
a state which. externally, at least, and judging only from that




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE..467


point of view, resembled what it had been in its earliest age,
at the free development of individual wills, in that situation
in which each man did what he pleased, and at his own risk
and peril.
If I have explained myself clearly, you now know where the
great mistake lies of the admirers of the barbarous state:
Struck, on the one hand, by the slight development, whether
of public power, or of inequality, and on the other, by the
extent of individual liberty which they met with, they thence
concluded that society, despite the rudeness of its forms, was
at bottom, in its normal state, under the empire of its legitimate principles, such, in fact, as, after its noblest progressions, it evidently tends again to become. They forgot
but one thing; they did not trouble themselves to compare men
themselves, in these two terms of social life; they forgot that
in the first, coarse, ignorant and violent, governed by passion,
and always ready to have recourse to force, they were incapable of living in peace according to reason and justice-that
is to say, of living in society, without an external force compelling them. The progress of society consists, above all,
in a change in man himself, in his being rendered capable
of liberty-that is to say, of governing himself according to
reason. If liberty perished at the beginning of the social
career, it was because man was incapable, while keeping it,
of advancing in it; his recovering and exercising it more and
more, is the end and perfection of society, but it was by
no means the primitive state, the condition of barbarous
life.  In the barbarous life, liberty was nothing but the
empire of force-that is to say, the ruin, or rather the absence,
of society. It is thence that so many men of talent have
deceived themselves concerning the barbaric legislations, and
particularly concerning that which now occupies us. They
have there seen the principal external conditions of liberty,
and in the midst of these conditions they have placed the
sentiments, ideas, and men of another age. The theory of
composition, I have just stated, has no other source: its incoherence is evident; and instead of attributing so much moral
worth to this kind of penalty, it should be regarded only
as a first step out of a state of warfare and the barbarous
struggle of forces.
III. With regard to criminal procedure, the manner of the
n 1 2




468


HISTORY OF


prosecution and judgment of offences, the Salic law is very
imperfect, and almost silent; it takes the judicial institutions
as a fact, and speaks neither of tribunals, judges, nor forms.
One meets here and there, as to summoning, the appear..
ance in court, the obligations of witnesses and judges, the
proof by hot water, &c., a few special dispositions; but in
order to complete them, to reconstruct the system of institutions and manners to which they attach themselves, it is
necessary to carry our investigations far beyond the text, and
even the object of the law. Among the features of information which they contain concerning criminal procedure, I shall
arrest your attention upon two points only, the distinction of
fact and law, and the compurgators or conjuratores.
When the offender, upon the citation of the offended party,
appeared in the mal, or assembly of free men, before the
judges, no matter whom, called upon to decide, counts, rachimburgs, ahrimans, &c., the question submitted to them was,
what the law commanded as to the alleged fact: people did
not come before them to discuss the truth or falsehood of
the fact; they fulfilled before them the conditions by which
this first point should be decided; then, according to the
law under which the parties lived, they were required to
determine the rate of composition and all the circumstances
of the penalty.
As to the reality of the fact itself, it was established
before the judges, in various ways, by recourse to the judgment of God, the test of boiling water, single combat, &c.,
sometimns by the depositions of witnesses, and most frequently  by the oath of the conjuratores.   The accused
came attended by a certain number of men, his relations,
neighbours, or friends-six, eight, nine, twelve, fifty, seventytwo, in certain cases even a hundred-who came to make oath
that he had not done what was imputed to him. In certain
cases, tile offended party also had his conjuratores. There was
there neither interrogation, nor discussion of evidence, nor,
properly speaking, examination of the fact; the conjuratores
simply attested, under oath, the truth of the assertion of the
offended party, or the denial of the offender. This, as regards
the discovery of facts, was the great means and general system
of the barbarous laws: the conjucratores are mentioned less
frequently in the law of the Salian Franks, than in the other




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


469


barbarous laws-in that of the Ripuarian Franks, for instance;
yet there is no doubt that they were everywhere equally in
use, and the foundation of criminal procedure.
This system, like that of composition, has been an object
of great admiration to many learned men; they have seen
in it two rare merits; the power of the ties of family,
friendship, or neighbourhood, and the confidence placed by
the law in the veracity of man: " The Germans," says Rogge,
"have never felt the necessity for a regular system of proofs.
What may appear strange in this assertion vanishes, if one is
thoroughly impressed, as I am, with a full faith in the nobility
of character, and, above all, the unbounded veracity of our
ancestors."'
It would be amusing to pass from this sentence to Gregory
of Tours, the poem of the Niebelungen, and all the poetical
or historical monuments of the ancient German manners:
to the artifice, deceit, and want of faith, shown there at every
step, sometimes with the most dexterous refinement, and
sometimes with the coarsest audacity. Can you believe that
the Germans were any different when before their tribunals
than in common life, and that the registers of their law-suits,
if such things as registers then existed, should give the lie to
their history?
I do not attach any special reproach to them for these
vices; they are the vices of all barbarous nations, in all
epochs, and under every zone; American traditions bear
witness to it, as well as those of Europe, and the Iliad as
well as the Niebelungen. I am far, too, from denying that
natural morality in man, which abandons him in no age
or condition of society, and mixes itself with the most brutal
empire of ignorance or passion. But you will readily comprehend, what, in the midst of such manners, the oaths of the
conjuratores must very frequently have been.
With regard to the spirit of tribe or family, it is true, it
was powerful among the Germans; of this, among many
other proofs, the conjuratores give one; but it had not all the
causes, nor did it produce all the nmoral consequences which
are attributed to it: a man accused was a man attacked; his
neighbours followed and surrounded him before the tribunal


1 Ueber das gerichtwesen der Germnanen, Preface, p. 6.




470


HISTORY OF


as at a combat. It was between families that the state of
warfare subsisted in the heart of barbarism: can we be surprised that they should group and put themselves in movement when, under such a form, war menaced them?
The true origin of the co7juratores was, that all other
means of establishing facts were almost impracticable. Think
what such an inquiry exacts, what a degree of intellectual
development and public power are necessary in order to confront the various kinds of proofs, to collect and contest
the evidence, to bring the witnesses before the judges, and
to obtain truth from them in the presence of the accusers
and the accused. Nothing of this was possible in the society
governed by the Salic law; and it was neither from choice
nor moral combination that they then had recourse to the
judgment of God and the oath of relations, but because they
could neither do, nor apprehend anything better.
Such are the principal points of this law which seemed to
me to merit your attention. I say nothing of the fragments
of political law, civil law, or civil procedure, which are
found dispersed through it, nor even of that famous article
which orders that " Salic land shall not fall to women; and
that the inheritance shall devolve exclusively on the males."
No person is now ignorant of its true meaning. Some dispositions, relative to the forms by which a man may separate
himself from his family,1 the getting free of all obligation of
relationship, and entering upon an entire independence, are
very curious, and give a great insight into social life; but
they hold an unimportant place in the law, and do not determine its end. I repeat, that it is essentially a penal code,
and you now comprehend it under this view. Considering it
in its whole, it is impossible not to recognise in it a complex,
uncertain, and transitory legislation. One feels at every
moment the passage from one country into another, from one
social state into another social state, from one religion into
another religion, and from one language into another language;
almost every metamorphosis which can take place in the life
of a nation is stamped upon it. Its existence also was precarious and brief; from the tenth century, perhaps, it was
replaced by a multitude of local customs, to which, of a


1 Tit. lii. ~ 1-3.




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.            471
surety, it had contributed a great deal, but which were
likewise drawn fiom other sources, in the Roman law, the
canon law, and the necessities of circumstances; and when,
in the:irteenth century, they invoked the Salic law, in
order to egulate the succession to the crown, it had certainly
been a long time since it bad been spoken of; except in remembrance, and upon some great occasion.
Three other barbarian laws ruled over the nations established in Gaul, those of the Ripuarians, the Burgundians,
and the Visigoths; these will form the subject of our next
lecture.




472


HISTORY OF


TENTH LECTURE.
Object of the lecture-Is the transitory character of the Salic law
found in the laws of the Ripuarians, the Burgundians, and the Vislgoths?-1st, The law of the Ripuarians-The Ripuarian FranksHistory of the compilation of their law-Its contents-Difference between it and the Salic law-2nd, The law of the Burgundians-History
of its compilation-Its contents-Its distinctive character-3rd, The
law of the Visigoths-It concerns the history of Spain more than that
of France-Its general character-Effect of Roman civilization upon
the barbarians.
IN our last lecture, the character which, on summing up,
appeared to us dominant and fundamental in the Salic law,
was that of being a transitory legislation, doubtless essentially
German, yet distinguished by a Roman stamp; which would
have no future; and which showed, on the one hand, the
passage from the German into the Roman social state, and
on the other, the decay and fusion of the two elements for
the good of a new society, to which they both concurred, and
which began to appear amidst their wreck.
This result of the examination of the Salic law will be
singularly confirmed, if the examination of the other barbarous laws likewise lead us to it; still more, if we find in
these various laws, different epochs of transition, different
phases of transformation, which may be imperfectly discovered in the other; if we recognise, for example, that the
law of the Ripuarians, the law of the Burgundians, and the
law of the Visigoths, are in some measure placed in the same
career as the Salic law, at unequal distances, and leave us, if
the term be permitted, products more or less advanced in the
combination of the German and Roman society, and in the
formation of the new state which was to be the result.




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


473


It is to this, I believe, that the examination of the three
laws will, in fact, conduct us, that is to say, of all those which,
within the limits of Gaul, exercised any true influence.
The distinction between the Ripuarian Franks and the
Salian Franks is known to you; these were the two principal
tribes, or rather the two principal collections of tribes of the
great confederation of the Franks. The Salian Franks probably took their name from the river Yssel, (Ysala,) upon the
banks of which they were established, after the movement of
nations which had driven them into Batavia; their name was
therefore of German origin, and we may suppose that it was
given them by themselves.  The Ripuarian Franks, on the
contrary, evidently received theirs from the Romans. They
inhabited the banks of the Rhine. As the Salian Franks
advanced towards the south-west, into Belgium and Gaul,
the Ripuarian Franks spread also towards the west, and
occupied the territory between the Rhine and the Meuse, to
the forest of Ardennes.  The first became, or well nigh,
the Franks of Neustria; the last, the Franks of Austrasia.
These two names, without exactly corresponding to the primitive distinction, reproduce it faithfully enough.
At the beginning of our history, the two tribes appear for
a time re-united in a single nation and under a single empire.
I will read to you, upon this subject, the account of Gregory
of Tours; always, without his knowing it, the truest painter
of the manners and events of this epoch. You will there
see what, at that time, was understood by the words union of
nations and conquest.
" When Clovis came to battle against Alaric, king of the
Goths, he had for an ally the son of Sigebert-Claude, (king
of the Ripuarian Franks, and who resided at Cologne,)
named Chloderic. This Sigebert limped, from a blow on the
knee which he had received at the battle of Tolbiac, against
the Germans.... King Clovis, during his sojourn at Paris,
sent secretly to the son of Sigebert, saying to him: ' Your
father is aged, and he limps with his bad leg: if he should
die, his kingdom belongs to you of right, as well as our friendship.' Seduced by this ambition, Chloderic formed the project of killing his father.
" Sigebert had gone out of the town of Cologne, and,
having passed the Rhine, was walking in the forest of Bu



474


HISTORY OF


conia; he slept at noon in his tent; his son sent assassins
against him and procured his death, in the hope that he
should possess his kingdom. But, by the judgment of God,
he fell into the very grave which lie had maliciously dug for
his father. IIe sent to king Clovis messengers announcing
the death of his father, and said to him: ' My father is dead,
and I have in my power his treasures and his kingdom. Send
to me and I will willingly give you what treasures you please.'
Clovis returned for answer: ' I return thee thanks for thy
good will, and pray thee show thy treasures to my deputies,
after which thou shalt possess them all.' Chloderic then
showed his father's treasures to the deputies. Whilst they
examined them, the prince said: ' This is the coffer in which
my father was accustomed to amass his gold coin.' They
said to him, ' Plunge your hand to the bottom, in order to
find all.' Having done this, and while he stooped low, one
of the deputies raised his axe and broke his skull. Thus did
this unworthy son suffer the same death which he had inflicted
on his father. Clovis learning that Sigebert and his son were
dead, came to this same town, and having convoked all the
people, he said to them: ' Listen to what has happened.
While I was sailing upon the river Scheld, Chloderic, my
cousin's son, alarmed his father by telling him that I wished
to kill him. As Sigebert fled through the forest of Buconia,
Chloderic sent murderers after him, who put him to death;
he himself was assassinated, I know not by whom, at the
moment of his opening his father's treasures. I am  no
accomplice in these things. I could not shed the blood of my
friends, because it is forbidden; but since these things have
happened, I have some advice to give you. If it is agreeable
to you, follow it. Have recourse to me; put yourselves
under my protection.'  The people answered these words
by plaudits of hand and mouth; and having raised him upon
a shield, they created him their king. Clovis then received
the kingdom  and treasures of Sigebert. Every day God
caused his enemies to fall into his hands, and augmented his
kingdom, because he walked with an upright heart before the
Lord, and did the things that were pleasing in his sight."'
I Gregory of Tours, in my Collection des Menmoires de THistoire de
france, i. pp. 101-107.




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


475


This union of the two nations, if such a fact may bear the
name, was not of long duration. On the death of Clovis, his
son, Theodoric, was king of the eastern Franks; that is
to say, of the Ripuarian Franks; lie resided at Metz. To
him is generally attributed the compilation of their law.
This, in fact, is indicated by the preface of the Salic law,
which I have already read, and which is likewise found at
the beginning of the Bavarian law.    According to this
tradition, then, the law of the Ripuarians should be placed
between the years 511 and 534.   It could not have, like
the Salic, the pretension of ascending to the right-hand
bank of the Rhine, and to ancient Germany.     Still its
antiquity must be great.  I am inclined to abridge it, in
its actual form at least, of nearly a century of existence. The
preface, which describes it as digested under Theodoric,
attributes to this chief also the law of the Germans; now it
is almost certain that this was not digested until the reign of
Clotaire II., between the years 613 and 628; this is what
the best manuscripts give us reason to suppose. The authority of this preface, therefore, becomes very doubtful with
regard to the law of the Ripuarians; and, after an attentive
comparison of the evidence, I am inclined to believe that
it was only under Dagobert I., between the years 628
and 638, that it took the definite form under which it has
reached us.
Let us now pass to the history of its contents. I have
submitted it to the same analysis as the Salic law. It contains 89 or 91 titles, and (according to various distributions)
224 or 227 articles; namely, 164 of penal law, and 113 of
political or civil law, and civil or criminal procedure. Of
the 164 articles of penal law, we reckon 94 for violence
against persons, 16 for cases of theft, and 64 for various
offences.
At the first glance, according to this simple analysis, the
Ripuarian law agood deal resembles the Salic law; it is also
an essentially penal legislation, and gives evidence of nearly
the same state of manners. Still, when regarded more closely,
we discover important differences. I spoke to you at our last
meeting of the conjuratores, or compurgators, who, without,
properly speaking, bearing witness, came to attest by their




476


HISTORY OF


oath the truth or falsehood of the facts alleged by the offended
or the offender. The conjuratores held a specially important
place in the law of the Ripuarians. There is mention made of
them in fifty-eight articles of this law, and on every occasion it
minutely regulates the number of the compurgators, the forms
of their appearance, &c. The Salic law speaks much more
rarely of them-so rarely, that some persons have doubted
whether the system of the conjuratores was in force among
the Salian Franks. This doubt does not seem well founded.
If the Salic law has scarcely spoken of it, it is because it looked
upon the system as an established and understood fact, of
which there was no need to write.   Besides, everything
indicates that this fact was real and powerful. What were
the reasons for its frequent insertion in the law of the Ripuarians? I will presently give the only explanation of this
that I can catch a glimpse of.
Another custom is also much more frequently mentioned
in the Ripuarian than in the Salic law; I mean judicial
combat. There are many traces of it in the Salic law; but
the Ripuarian law formally institutes it in six distinct articles.
This institution, if such a fact merits the name of institution,
played too important a part in the middle ages to allow of our
not endeavouring to understand it at the moment that it
appears for the first time in laws.
I have endeavoured to show how composition-properly
speaking, the only punishment of the Salic law-was a first
attempt to substitute a legal system in place of the right of
war, in place of vengeance, and the contest of physical force.
Judicial combat was an attempt of the same kind; its aim was
to subdue war itself, individual vengeance, to certain forms and
rules. Composition and judicial combat were intimately connected, and simultaneously developed themselves. A crime
had been committed, a man offended; it was generally believed that he had a right to revenge himself, to pursue by
force the reparation of the wrong to which he had been
subjected. But a commencement of law, a shadow of public
power interfered, and authorized the offender to offer a certain
sum to repair his crime. But, originally, the offended party
had the right to refuse the composition, and to say-" I
will exercise my rignt of vengeance, I desire war."  Then
the legislator, or rather the customs, for we personify under




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


477


the name legislator, mere customs which for a long period
had no legal authority, the customs then interfered, saying
-"If you wish to revenge yourself, and make war upon
your enemy, you must do so according to certain terms, and in
the presence of certain witnesses."
Thus was judicial combat introduced into the legislation as
a regulation of the right of war, a limited arena opened to
vengeance. Such was its first and true source; the recourse
to the judgment of God, the truth proclaimed by God himself in the issue of the combat, are ideas whose association
with it is of later date, when religious creeds and the Christian
clergy played an important part in the thought and life of the
barbarians. Originally, judicial combat was only a legal form
of the right of the strongest-a form much more explicitly
recognised in the law of the Ripuarians than in the Salic
law.
Judging from the two differences, one would be, for the
moment, inclined to suppose that the first of these two laws
was the most ancient. In fact, there can be no doubt that
the system of the conjuratores and judicial combat belonged to
the primitive German society. The Ripuarian, therefore, would
seem their most faithful image. It was nothing of the kind.
And, first, these two differences, which seemed to give to
this law a more barbarous physiognomy, themselves indicate an effort, a first step out of barbarism, for they give
evidence of the design, if not to abolish it, at all events to
regulate it.
Silence upon this subject leaves all things under the empire of custom-that is to say, of violence and chance: tile
Ripuarian law attempted in writing, by determining the
custom, to convert it into law-that is to say, to render it
fixed and general.  A certain symptom of a more modern
date, and of a society rather more advanced.
Besides, there were other differences between these two
laws which incontestably prove this result.
1st, You have seen, by the simple enumeration of tile
articles, that civil law held a greater place in the Ripuarian
than in the Salic law. There penal law always dominated.
Still the law is less exclusively a penal code; the procedure,
the rule of evidence, the state of persons, property and its
various modes of transmission-in a word, all parts of legisla



478


HISTORY OF


tion not penal, are, at least indicated in it, and often with a
great deal of precision.
2nd, Moreover, and this is an important fact, royalty
appeared more in the Ripuarian law than in the other. It
appeared but little in a political relation: it was not a question
of royal power, nor the manner of exercising it; but it was
a question of the king, as of an individual more important
in all respects, and with whom  the law should specially
occupy itself: It regarded him, above all, as a proprietor or
patron, as having vast domains, and upon these domains serfs
who cultivated them-men engaged in his service or placed
under his protection; and by reason of this title they accorded
to him, to himself or those belonging to him, numerous and
very important privileges. I will give a few examples.
"I. If any one carry off by violence anything belonging to
one of the king's men, or to any one attached to the church,
he shall pay a composition treble what he would have had to
pay had the crime been committed towards any other Ripuarian."-Tit. xi. ~ 4.
" II. If'the crime be committed by a man attached to the
church, or to one of the king's domains, he shall pay half the
composition which another Frank would have paid. In
case of denial, he must appear with thirty-six compurgators."
-Tit. xviii. ~ 5.
"III. A man attached to the domains of the king, Roman
or frecdman, cannot be the object of a capital accusation."Tit. lx. ~ 22.
" IV. If he be summoned to appear in justice, he shall
make known his condition by a declaration which he shall
affirm upon the altar; after which proceedings with regard
to him shall be different from those with regard to the Ripuarians."-Ibid. ~ 23.
V. Slaves belonging to the king or to a church do not
plead by means of a defender; but they defend themselves,
and are allowed to justify themselves by oath, without being
obliged to answer the summonses which may be addressed to
them."-Ibid. ~ 24.
"VI. If any one shall seek to overthrow a royal charter
without being able to produce another repealing the first,
he shall answer this attempt with his life."-Tit. lvii. ~ 7.
" VII. Whoever shall commit treason towards the king




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


479


shall forfeit his life, and all his goods shall be confiscated."Tit. lxxi. ~ 1.
The Salic law says nothing of this kind; here royalty has
evidently made an important progress.
3rd. The same difference exists between the two laws with
regard to the churclh; the articles which I have just read
completely prove it; the church is everywhere assimilated to
royalty; the salme privileges are accorded to her lands and
her labourers.
4th. One discovers, also, in the Ripuarian law, a rather
more marked influence of the Roman law; it does not confine
itself to mentioning it merely in order to say that the Romans
lived under its empire; it accepts some of its provisions.
Thus, in regulating the formula of enfranchisement, it says:
" We desire that every Ripuarian Frank, or freed man,
who, for the good of his soul, or for a sum, wishes to free his
slave in the forms indicated by the Roman law, present himself at the church, before the priests, deacons, and all the
clergy and people...." (The formuila of enfranchisement
follow.)-Tit. lx. ~ 1.
This, although a slight, is a real indication of a more
advanced society.
5th. Lastly, when we read the Ripuarian law attentively
in its whole, we are struck with a character less barbarous
than that of the Salic law. The provisions are more precise
and extensive; we discover more purpose in them, and
purpose more matured and political, and inspired by more
universal views.  They are not always mere customs which
they digest; the legislators say at times, "VWe establish, we
order."l  In fact, everything indicates that this legislation, if
not in its form, at least in the ideas and manners which are
its foundation, belongs to a posterior epoch, to a state somewhat less barbarous, and shows a new step in the transition
from the German to the Roman society, and from these two
societies to a new society arising from their amalgamation.
From the law of the Ripularians let us pass to that of the
Burgundians, and let us see if we shall there find the same
fact.
The compilation of the law of the Burgundians fluctuates


Tit. lxxvi. ~ 1. lit. xc.




480


HISTORY OF


between the year 467 or 468, the second of the reign of
Gondebald, and the year 534, the time of the fall of this
kingdom under the arms of the Franks. Three parts, probably of different dates, compose this law. The first, which
comprehends the first forty-one titles, evidently belongs to
king Gondebald, and appears to have been published before
the year 501. From the forty-second title, the character of
the legislation changes. The new laws are scarcely anything
more than modifications of the old ones; they explain, reform,
complete, and announce them definitely. From the consideration of many facts, into the details of which I shall
not enter here, one is inclined to believe that this second
part was digested and published towards the year 517,
by Sigismond, the successor of Gondebald. Lastly, two supplements form a third part, added to the law, under the
positive name of Additanmenta, probably also by Sigismond,
who died in 523.
The preface, placed in front of the text, confirms these
conjectures; it is evidently composed of two prefaces of different epochs; one by King Gondebald, and the other by
King Sigismond. Some manuscripts have attributed the latter
also to Gondebald; but those which give it to Sigismond certainly merit the preference.
This preface throws light upon questions much more important than the date of the law, and at once clearly distinguishes it from the two laws which have just occupied our
attention. It is necessary that I should read it to you
throughrout.
" aThe most glorious king of the Burgundians, after having,
for the interest and repose of our people, deliberately reflected
upon our institutions and those of our ancestors, and upon
what, in every matter and every business, is expedient for
honesty, regularity, reason, and justice, we have weighled all
this in our great assemblies; and as much by our advice as
theirs, we have ordered the following statutes to be written,
to the end that the laws may remain eternal:" By the grace of God, in the second year of the most
glorious Lord King Sigismund, the book of ordinances touching the eternal maintenance of the laws past and present, made
at Lyons the 4th day of the calends of April.
"By love ofjustice, through which God becomes favourable




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


481


to us, and by which we acquire power upon earth, having first
held counsel with our counts and nobles, we have applied.ourselves to regulate all things in such a.manner that integrity
and justice in judgments may dispel all corruption. All
those who are in power, counting from this day, must judge
between the Burgundian and the Roman according to the
tenour of our laws, composed and amended by common accord;
in such manner that no person shall hope or dare, in a judgment or law-suit, to receive anything of one of the parties
by way of. gift or advantage; but that the party having
justice on his side shall obtain it, and that to this end the
integrity of the judge shall suffice. We think it our duty to
impose this duty on ourselves, to the end that no one, in what
case soever, shall tempt our integrity by solicitations or
presents, thus, from love of justice, repelling far from ourselves, what, throughout our kingdoms, we interdict all
judges from doing. Our treasury shall no longer pretend
to exact more as penalty than is found established in the laws.
Let the nobles, counts, counsellors, domestics, and mayors
of our house, the chancellors and counts of cities and
districts, both Burgundians and Romans, as well as all
deputy judges, even in case of war, know then that they are
to receive nothing for causes treated or judged before them;
and that they shall ask nothing of the parties by way of promise or recompence. The parties shall not be forced to
compound with the judge in such a manner that he shall
receive anything. If any of the said judges allow themselves to be corrupted, and, despite our laws, be convicted
of receiving a recompence in a law-suit or judgment, however justly tried, for the example of all, if the crime be
proved, let him be punished with death, in such a manner,
however, that he who is convicted of venality, having been
punished himself, his possessions be not taken from his
children or legitimate heirs. With regard to the secretaries
of deputy judges, we think that, for their fee in cases, a third
of a penny should be allowed them in causes above ten solidi;
below that sum they must demand less. The crime of venality
being interdicted under the same penalties, we order that
Romans be judged according to Roman laws, as was done by
our ancestors; and let these latter know that they shall
receive in writing the form and tenour of the laws according
II




482


HISTORY OF


to which they shall be judged; to the end that no person
can excuse himself upon the score of ignorance. As regards
what may have been ill judged formerly, the tenour of the
ancient law must be preserved. We add this, that if a judge
accused of corruption cannot in any way be convicted, the
accuser shall be liable to the penalty which we have ordered
to be inflicted upon a prevaricating judge.
"If some point be found unprovided for in our laws, we order
that it be referred to our judgment, upon that point only. If
any judge, whether barbarian or Roman, through simplicity or
negligence, judge not a cause upon which our law has determined, and if he be exempt from corruption, let him know
that he shall pay thirty Roman solidi, and that the parties
being interrogated, the cause shall be judged anew. We add
that if, after having been summoned three times, the judges
decide not; and if he whose cause it is thinks it should be
referred to us; and if he prove that he has summoned his
judges three times, and has not been heard, the judge shall
be condemned to a fine of twelve solidi. But if any person,
in any case whatsoever, having neglected to summon the
judges three times, as we have prescribed, dares to address
himself to us, he shall pay the fine which we have established for a tardy judge. And in order that a cause may
not be delayed by the absence of the deputy judges, let no
Roman or Burgundian count presume to judge a cause in
the absence of the judge before whom it should be tried,
to the end that those who have recourse to the law may not
be uncertain as to the jurisdiction. It has pleased us to
confirm this series of our ordinances by the signature of the
counts, to the end that the rule which has been written by
our will, and the will of all, be preserved by posterity, and
have the solidity of an eternal compact." (Here follow the
signatures of thirty-two counts).
Without going further, from this preface only the difference of the three laws is evident; this latter is not a mere
collection of customs, we know not by whom digested, nor
at what epoch, nor with what view; it is a work of legislation, emanating from a regular power, with a view to public
order, which offers some truly political characteristics, and
gives evidences of a government, or, at least, the design of a
government.




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


483


Let us now enter into the law itself; it does not belie the
preface.
It contains 110 titles, and 354 articles, namely: 142 articles of civil law, 30 of civil or criminal procedure, and 182
of penal law. The penal law is divided into 72 articles
for crimes against persons, 62 for crimes against property,
and 44 for various crimes.
These are the principal results to which we are conducted by the examination of the provisions thus classified:
I. The condition of the Burgundian and the Roman is
the same; all legal difference has vanished: in civil or criminal
matters, whether as offended or offenders, they are placed
upon a footing of equality. The texts abound in proofs of it.
I select some of the most striking:1. "Let the Burgundian and the Roman be subjected to
the same condition."-Tit. x. ~ 1.
2. "If a young Roman girl be united to a Burgundian
without the consent or knowledge of her parents, let her
know that she shall receive none of her parents' possessions."
-Tit. xii. ~. 5.
3. " If any free Burgundian enter into a house for any
quarrel, let him pay six solidi to the master of the house,
and twelve solidi as a fine. We wish in this that the same
condition be imposed upon the Rcmans and the Burgundians."
-Tit. xv. ~. 1.
4. " If any man travelling on his private business, arrive
at the house of a Burgundian and demand hospitality of him,
and if the Burgundian show him the house of a Roman, and
this can be proved, let the Burgundian pay three solidi to
him whose house he pointed out, and three solidi by way of
fine."-Tit. xxxviii. ~. 6.
These regulations certainly exhibit care to maintain the
two people on the same footing. We thus read in Gregory
of' Tours: "King Gondebald instituted, in the country now
named Burgundy, the most mild laws, in order that the
lRomans might not be oppressed.1
II. The penal law of the Burgundians is not the same
as that of the Franks.  Composition had always existed


2 Tom. i. p. 96, of my Collection des Me7moires rclalifs a l'Ilistozre Hd
IFrance.




494


HTISTORY OF


in it, but it was no longer the sole penalty; corporal penalties appeared; we find also certain moral penalties; the
legislator attempted to make use of shame.        Already,
even, it invented strange punishments, such as are'so often
found in the legislation of the middle ages.  If; for example,
a hunting sparrow-hawk was stolen, the robber was condemned to let the sparrow-hawk eat six ounces of flesh from
his body, or to pay six solidi. This is but a piece of fantastical
savageness; but it indicated attempts at punishment very
different from the ancient German customs.   The difference
manifests itself also by other symptoms; crimes are much
more various, fewer of them are against persons, and we see
some arise which bespeak more regular and complicated social
relations.
III. Civil right and procedure also occupy a much greater
place in the law of the Burgundians than in the two preceding laws.  They form the subject of nearly half the articles;
in the law of the Ripuarians they only occupy two-fifths,
and only the sixth of the Salic law. One need only open
the laws of Gondebald and Sigismund in order to perceive
there a multitude of provisions upon successions, testaments,
bequests, marriages, contracts, & c.
IV. One even meets there with some positive marks of the
Roman law.    We could scarcely discover any traces of such
a fact in the Ripuarian law; here it is plainly visible, particularly in what concerns civil law; nothing can be more
simple; civil law was rare and weak in barbarous laws; from
the time that the progress of civil relations furnished the
matter, as it were, it was from  the Roman legislation that
they were obliged to borrow the form.
Here are two provisions where the imitation is certain:
1.                             1.
" If a Burgundian woman, after  " Let no person be ignorant that
tie death of her husband, enters, if women, the lawful time being
as happens, into a second or a  passed, enter into a second marriage,
t'lird marriage, and if she has sons  having children by the former marly each marriage, let her possess in  riage, they shall preserve, during
asufruct, while she lives,2 the nuptial their life, the usufruct of what they


I See the first Supplement, tit. x.
2 Dum advivit ustifructu possideat.




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


485


donation; but after her death, each
of her sons shall come into the possession of what his father gave to his
mother; and thus the woman has no
right to give, sell, or alienate anything that she received as a nuptial
donation."-Tit. xxiv. ~ 1.
2.
"Bequests and testaments made
among our people shall be valid
when five or seven witnesses have
set thereto, as best they can, their
seal or signature."-Title, xliii. ~ 2.


received' at the time of their marriage, the property coming entire to
their children, to whom   the most
sacred laws preserve the right of it
after their parents' death." —  od.
Theod., liv. iii. tit. viii. 1. 3; Ibid. 1. 2.
2.
"In codicils that are not preceded
by a testament, as in wills, the mediation of five or seven witnesses
must never be     wanting." -Cod.
Theod. liv. iv., tit. iii. 1. 1.


I might indicate other apparent analogies.
V. Lastly, the law of the Burgundians clearly shows that
royalty had made great progress among that people. Not
that it is more in question there than elsewhere; it was not
in question at all in a political point of view; the Burgundian
law is the least political of the barbarian laws, the one
which most exclusively confines itself to penal and civil law,
and contains the fewest allusions to general government;
but by this law in its whole, by its preface, and by the
tone and spirit of its compilation, one is reminded at every
step that the king is no longer merely a warrior chief, or
merely a great proprietor; and that royalty has left its barbarous condition, in order to become a public power.
You see all this gives evidence of a more developed and
better regulated society; the Roman element prevails more
and more over the barbarous element; we visibly advance in
the transition from one to the other, or rather in the work of
fusion which is to combine them   together.  What the
Burgundians appear to have chiefly borrowed from   the
Roman empire, independently of some traits of civil law,
is the idea of public order, of government properly so called;
hardly can we catch a glimpse of any trace of the ancient
German assemblies; the influence of the clergy does not
appear dominant; it was royalty which prevailed, and strove
to reproduce the imperial power.
The Burgundian kings seems to have the most completely
followed the emperors and reigned after their model. Perhaps


I Dum advixerit in uslqfructu possideat (Interpret.)




486


HISTORY OF


the cause should be sought for in the date of their kingdom,
which was one of the earliest founded, while the organization
of the empire still existed, or nearly so; perhaps, also, their
establishment, enclosed within narrower limits than those of
the Visigoths or the Franks, may have promptly invested it
with a more regular form. However this may be, the fact
is certain, and characterizes the nation and its legislation.
It continued in vigour after the Burgundians had passed
under the yoke of the Franks; the formulas of Marculf and
the capitularies of Charlemagne prove it.1 We find it even
formally mentioned in the ninth century by the bishops
Agobard and Hincmar; but few men, they observe, now live
under this law.
III. The destiny of the law of the Visigoths was more
important, and of greater duration. It formed a considerable
collection, entitled Forum judicum, and was successively
digested, from the year 466, the epoch of the accession of
king Euric, who resided at Toulouse, to the year 701, the
time of the death of Egica or Egiza, who resided at Toledo.
This statement alone announces that, in this interval, great
changes must have taken place in the situation of the people
for whom the law was made. The Visigoths were first
established in the south of Gaul; it was in 507 that Clovis
drove them hence, and took from them all Aquitaine; they
only preserved on the north of the Pyrenees a Septimani.
The legislation of the Visigoths, therefore, is of no importance
in the history of our civilization until this epoch; in later
times, Spain is almost solely interested in it.
While he reigned at Toulouse, Euric caused the customs
of the Goths to be written; his successor, Alaric, who was
killed by Clovis, collected and published the laws of his
Roman subjects under the name of Breviarium.      The
Visigoths, then, at the commencement of the sixth century
were in the same situation as the Burgundians and the Franks;
the barbarous law and the Roman law were distinct; each
nation retained its own.
When the Visigoths were driven into Spain, this state
was altered; their king, Chindasuinthe (642-652) fused
the two laws into one, and formally abolished the Roman
I Maarculf, b. i. f. 8; capit. 2 a 813. Baluze, 1505.




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


487


law; there was from  that time but one zode, and one
nation.  Thus was substituted among the Visigoths the
system of real laws, or according to territory, in the place of
personal laws, or according to origin or races.  This last had
prevailed and still prevailed among all barbarous nations,
when Chindasuinthe abolished it from among the Visigoths.
But it was in Spain that this revolution was completed; it
was there that from Chindasuinthe to Egica, (642-701) the
Forumjudicum was developed, completed, and took the form
under which we now see it. As long as the Visigoths occupied
the south of Gaul, the compilation of their ancient customs
and the Breviarium alone ruled the country. The Forum
judicum has, therefore, for France, only an indirect irterest:
still it was for some time in vigour in a small portion of
southern Gaul; it occupies a great place in the general
history of barbarous laws, and figures there as a very remarkable phenomenon. Let me, therefore, make you acquainted with its character and its whole.
The law of the Visigoths is incomparably more extensive
than any of those which have just occupied our attention.
It is composed of a title which serves as a preface, and twelve
books, divided into 54 titles, in which are comprehended
595 articles, or distinct laws of various origins and date. All
the laws enacted or reformed by the Visigoth kings, from
Euric to Egica, are contained in this collection.
All legislative matters are there met with; it is not a collection of ancient customs, nor a first attempt at civil reform;
it is a universal code, a code of political, civil, and criminal
law: a code systematically digested, with the view of providing for all the requisites of society. It is not only a code,
a totality of legislative provisions, but it is also a system of
philosophy, a doctrine. It is preceded by, and here and
there mixed with dissertations upon the origin of society, the
nature of power, civil organization, and the composition and
publication of laws, and not only is it a system, but also a
collection of moral exhortations, menaces, and advice. The
Forum judicum, in a word, bears at once a legislative, philosophical, and religious character; it partakes of the several
properties of a law, a science, and a sermon.
The course is simple enough; the law of the Visigoths was
the work of the clergy; it emanated from the councils of




488


HISTORY OF


Toledo. The councils of Toledo were the national assemblies
of the Spanish monarchy.  Spain has this singular characteristic, that, from the earliest period of its history, the clergy
played a much greater part in it than elsewhere; what the
field of Mars or May was to the Franks, what the Wittenagemote to the Anglo-Saxons, and what the general assembly
of Pavia was to the Lombards, such were the councils of
Toledo to the Visigoths of Spain. It was there that the laws
were digested, and all the great national affairs debated.
Thus, the clergy was, so to speak, the centre around whichl
grouped royalty, the lay aristocracy, the people and the
whole of society. The Visigotl code is evidently tlhe work
of the ecclesiastics; it has the vices and the merits of their
spirit; it is incomparably more rational, just, mild. and
exact; it understands much better the rights of humanity, the
duties of government, and the interests of society; and it
strives to attain a much more elevated aim than any other of
the barbarous legislations. But, at the same time, it leaves
society much more devoid of guarantees; it abandons it on
one side to the clergy, and on the other to royalty. Tlhe
Frank, Saxon, Lombard, and even Burgundian laws, respect
the guarantees arising from ancient manners, of individual
independence, the rights of each proprietor in his domains,
the participation, more or less regular, and more or less extensive, of freemen in the affairs of the nation, in judgments,
and in the conduct of the acts of civil life. In the Forum
iudicum, almost all these traces of the primitive German
society have disappeared; a vast administration, semi-ceclesiastical and semi-imperial, extends over society. I surely need
not observe, for your thoughts will have outrun my words,
that this is a new and prodigious step in the route on which
we proceed.  Since we have studied the barbarous laws, \we
advance more and more towards tile same result, the fusion of
the two societies becomes more and more general and profound;
and in this fusion, in proportion as it was brought about, the
Reman element, whether civil or religious, dominated more
and more. The Ripuarian law is less German than the Salic;
the law of the Burgundians less so than the Ripuarian law;
and the law of the Visigoths still less so than that of the Bur
gundians. It is evidently in this direction that the river
flows, towards this aim that the progress of events tends.




CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.


489


Singular spectacle! Just now we were in the last age
of Roman civilization, and found it in full decline, without
strength, fertility, or splendour, incapable, as it were, of subsisting; conquered and ruined by barbarians; now all of a
sudden it reappears, powerful and fertile; it exercises a prodigious influence over the institutions and manners which
associate themselves with it; it gradually impresses on them its
character; it dominates over and transforms its conquerors.
Two causes, among many others, produced this result; the
power of a civil legislation, strong and closely knit; and the
natural ascendency of civilization over barbarism.
In fixing themselves and becoming proprietors, the barbarians contracted, among themselves, and with the Romans,
relations much more varied and more durable, than any
they had hitherto known; their civil existence became much
more extensive and permanent. The Roman law alone could
regulate it; that alone was prepared to provide for so many
relations.  The barbarians even in preserving their customs,
even while remaining masters of the country, found themselves taken, so to speak, in the nets of this learned legislation, and found themselves obliged to submit, in a great
measure, doubtless not in a political point of view, but in
civil matters, to the new social order. Besides, the mere sight
of Roman civilization exercised great influence on their imagination.  What now moves ourselves, what we seek with
eagerness in history, poems, travels, novels, is the representation of a society foreign to the regularity of our own;
it is the savage life, its independence, novelty, and adventures. Very different were the impressions of the barbarians;
it was civilization which struck them, which seemed to them
great and marvellous; the remains of Roman activity, the
cities, roads, aqueducts, and amphitheatres, all that society
so regular, so provident, and so varied in its fixednesstlese were the objects of their astonishment and admiration. Although conquerors, they felt themselves inferior to
the conquered; the barbarian might despise the Rolan individually; but the Roman empire in its whole appeared
to him something superior; and all the great men of the
age of conquests, the Alarics, the Ataulphs, the Theodorics,
and many others, while destroying and throwing to the




490       HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION IN FRANCE.
ground the Roman empire, exerted all their power to imitate it.
These are the principal facts which manifested themselves
in the epoch which we have just reviewed, and, above all,
in the compilation and successive transformation of the barbaric laws. We shall seek, in our next lecture, what remained
of the Roman laws to govern the Romans themselves, while
the Germans were applying themselves to writing their own.
XND OF VOL. 1.








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