' THi « i!iRAE2ES ^ In compliance with current copyright law, BookLab, Inc. produced this replacement volume to replace the irreparably deteriorated original owned by Columbia University Libraries 1992. This photocopy was produced on paper that meets the ANSI Standard Z39.48-1984. THE HISTORY OF CIVILIZA- TION FROM THE FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE TO THE FRENCH REVOLUTION ^ a* BY FRANCOIS PIERRE GUILLAUME GUIZOT FORMERLY PROFESSOR OF HISTORY IN THE FACULTY OF LITERATURE AT PARIS, AND MINISTER OF PUBLIC INSTRUCTION VOLUME I NINTH AMERICAN, FROM THE SECOND ENGLISH EVITION, WITH OCCASIONAL NOTES BY C. S. HENRY, D. D. PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY AND HISTORY IV THE UNIVERSITY OP THE CITY OF NEW YORK NEW YORK D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 1897 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year lSi2, by D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, In tlio Ckrk's Oflice of tbo District Court of the United States for the Soutliern District of New Yorli. PREFACE TO THE THIRD AMERICAN EDITION Thf, adoption of this work as a text-book by nuincious in stitutions, and the demand for a third edition within so short a period, indicate the favorable estimation in which it is held in this country. In complying with the request of the publishers to superin- tend the present edition, the editor has seen fit to add a few noies, which, if of no value to the accomplished historical scholar, may perhaps be of some use to the younger student. He takes this occasion to ofTer a few observations on the study of history, and on the use which he conceives may bt made of works like the present. The study of history is a necessary part of a thorough edu- cation Aside from its more immediate practical advantages a full and familiar knowledge of history is requisite to the most liberal cultivation of the mind. Accordingly, the study of history has always h id a place in the course of instruction pursued in our higher institutions. Precisely here, however, lies a serious difiiculty. History 18 not^ like many of the other studies prescribed in such a course, a science whose leadmg principles can be systemati- cally exhibited within a moderate compass, and of which ,i complete elementary knowledge can be imparted within a limited time There is, properly speaking, no short road to a competent knowledge of history For any valuable purpose 6 PBEFACU. there ia really no such thing as an elementary study of historj'. It is not worth while to study it at all, unless it be thoroughly studied. A thorough knowledge of it cannot, however, be imparted in the lecture room ; it must be acquired by be student himself in the solitary labor of the closet. The niosl accomplished instructer can do nothing more than to assiai him in pursuing his investigations for himself. He muat study special histories. He must carefully examine the best Bources, — if possible, the original sources. He must make himself familiar with the details — at least o[ all the mosJ important portions — of .he history of the world This is the work of years. It is obvious, therefore, that a thorough knowledge of his lory can never be acquired in the time allowed for its stud} in the usual course of public instruction. The same thiniJ may perhaps be said to hold true of other studies. To a cer- tain extent it does. Still, in regard to most of the othei studies, more can be done within the allotted time towards ac- quiring a competent knowledge of them, than can be done in regard to history. A good foundation may be laid ; a suc- cessful beginning may be made. In respect to h'story it is far more difficult. In what way, therefore, to occupy the time allotted to his- tory to the best advantage, is a perplexing problem. To devote the whole period to the study of some compena uf universal history, contaiiiing a summary or abridgment of all the special histories of the world, is a very connnoij method. Yet such works, from the nature of the case, caiA bt- Dut little more to the young student than a barren mass of dates, names, and dead facts. Wo might as well expect tc gain a correct and lively impression of the form, features, and fcxpression of a living man from the contemplation of iho hu- man skeleton, as to acquire a true knowledge of histur) from such abridgments alone. " Abridgments," as Professoi Smyth well remarKs^ ' have their use, but to read them as i PREFAOB. y more summary method of acquiring historical knowledge, is not their use, nor can be. When the detail is tolerably knowr,, he summary can then be understood, but not before. Sum- maries may always serve most usefully to revive the know ledge which has been before acquired, may throw it into pioper shapes and proportions, and leave it in this state upon the memory, to supply the materials of subsequent reflection But general histories, if they are read first, and before the particular history is known, are a sort of chain, of which the links seem not connected ; contain representations and state ments, which cannot bo unjorstood, and therefore cannot be remembered ; and exhibit to the mind a succession of objects 5Jid images, each of which appears and retires too rapidly to be surveyed ; and, when the whole vision has passed by, as 60on it does, a trace of it is scarcely found to remain. Were I to look from an eminence over a country which I had never before seen, I should discover only the principal objects ; the villa, the stream, the lawn, or the wood. But if the landscape before me had been the scene of my childhood, or lately of m.y residence, every object would bring along with it all its attendant associations, and the picture that was presented to the eye would be the least part of the impression that was received by tlie mind. Such is the difference between read- ing general histories before, or after, the particular histories to which they refer." I must not, indeed, omit to observe," continues the same writer, '* that there are some parts of history so obscure and of 80 little importance, that general accounts of them arc all that can eithei be expected or acquired. Abridgments and general histories must here be used. Not that much can o« hu8 received, but that much is not wanted, and that what Jttlc is necessary may be thus obtained. " must also confess that general histcries may in like manner be resorted to, for the purpose of acquiring a genera] notion of the great leading features of any particular history 9 PREFACE. they may be to the student what maps are to the Ira vi Her, and give an idea of the nature of the country, and of the mag nitude and situation of tne towns through which lie is to pass ; thoy may teach him what he is to expect, and at what points te is to be the most diligent in his inquiries. *' Viewed in this lignt, general histories may be considered &6 of great importance, and that even before the perusal of lUe particular histories to which they refer ; but they urns never be resorted to except in the instances, and for the pur poses just mentioned ; — they must not be read as substitutes for more minute and regular histories, nor as short methods of quiring knowledge."* While, therefore, the time devoted to history in oui usual course of public instruction may not be altogether lost, even if wholly employed in the study of some general compendium there is yet great danger that its fruit will be merely the me- chanical acquisition of a mass of dead facts, soon forgotten. The zealous teacher will naturally feel a strong desire to lead his pupils to a more intimate acquaintance with the living spirit of history, the true meaning and significance of its mere facts. In this view resort is often had to such works as this of Guizot and others, which treat of what is called the philosophy of history. But in such works a knowledge of the facts wh.ch are made the basis of generalization and reflection, is almost wholly presumed ; while the young stu- dent, from ignorance of the details of history, or a too slight acquamtance with them, may not be in a condition to under- stand, much less to judge for himself of the force and justness of, the general views presented to him, — at all events, is ex- Dosed to the danger of getting the habit of too easily taking .•pon trust, of acquiescence without insight. Against all these Jaugers the faithful teacher must do his best to protect the student. The most proper time to study such works is im • Smyth's Lectures on Modem History, vol. 1. p. 6. — Am. eo. FREFAUB. ItnibtL'Jly when a thorough historical knowledge of the facts upon which they rest is acquired. Some one such work may however, under the guidance of a competent teacher, bo road with benefit by tlie young student. Even if there be some things which he cannot adequately appreciate till he shal have gained a more minute knowledge of the historical de- tails ; even if there be some things which for the ptcsent he mist leave unsettled or take upon trust, — he will still gain the advantage of having his attention directed to the great prob- lems which history presents for solution ; he will form an iflea of what is meant by the most general spirit of history; he will have learned that the mere external events of history are worthy of record only as significant of the moral spirit of humanity ; and he will be guided in his future study of the facts and details of special histories by a more determinate aim, and a more enlightened interest. At the same time it is extremely desirable that the student should in the course of his elementary education be led tc accomplish thoroughly some portion, however small, of the great task of the historical scholar ; that some epoch, or por tion of an epoch, some interesting and important event, at (east, forming a sort of historical whole, should be selected and miniteiy studied, till he is thoroughly familiar with all its details, and perfectly comprehends the coimexion, meaning, and consequences, of all the facts. This should be done foi the purpose of teaching him how to investigate and comparej combine and reflect for himself In the impossibility, then, of communicating a thorougb krowledge of history during the usual course of public in struction tf/us much, it is conceived, should be attempted- - lo add to the study of some judicious compend of ur.iversai nistory, that of some good specimen of philosophical gene- ralization of historical facts, and the thorough investigatioip of some snnriority of the latter , 39 State of Europe at the Fall of the Ro- man Empire ., 41 Preponderance of cities 41 Attempts at political reform made by the emperors 45 R*»cripts of Honorius and Theodo- Kius II 45 Power in the name of empire 48 The Christian Church 48 The various states in which it had existed down to the fifth century. 50 The clergy possessed of municipal ofTices 53 Good and evil influenceof the .nurch 54 The Barbarians 55 They introduce into the modem world the sentiments of pcrsontd Independence and loyalty.. 57 Sketch of the various elements of civi- lization at the beginning of tha fifth century M LECTURE in. It POLITICAL LEOITIMACT — CO-EZISTBNCB OF ALL THE 8TSTEMS OF OOVBRNUBIIt IN THE FIFTH CENTUBT — ATTEMPTS TO RB-OROANIIE SOCIETY. Ml the variou* systems of civilization lay claim to l''^itimarT Explanation of political legitimacy. . . . Co-exisleiice of all the various iyi- cems of government in the fijfth century iurtability of the i ate of peraons, estates, domains, and instita- t>.ons Two causes— one material, the con- tinuation of the invasions •eiond moral, the sentiment of ego- tist individualism, peculiar to the lurbariani 66 The elementary principles of civiLzi^ tion have been, 1. The want of order H 2 Remembrances of the ex jCk.. ., Tt 3. The Christian Church 34 4. The barbarians , 79 Attempts at organization • 7S 1. By the barbarians 75 8. Bytheci'.ies 76 3. By the church of Spain 77 4. By Charlemagne— Alfred 7tl The German aud Saracen invasion ar rested 80 Tlie feuda' rratem begins 81 n CONTENTd. LECTURE IV. THE FEUDAL SYSTEM PAQB. Mecesjary alliance of *acts and theo- ries 82 Preponderance of country life 87 Orguiiizalion uf a. little feudal bo- ciety 88 iiJluciii;e uf feudalism upon the dispo- sition of a proprietor of a fief.. . ... 89 Upon tlie spirit of family 89 Hatred of the people for the .tudal sys- tem 93 Pnests could do but little foi the serfs. 93 PAGE. Impossibility of regula' i rgiJiiutiot. i/ the feudal system » !>1 1st. No great authority UG 2d. No public power '/! 3d. DilTiculties of the ftderative tyi^ tern 3« Right of resistance inherent iu the feuda'. system W Influence of feudalism good for the de- velopment of individual man 100 Bad fur social order 101 LECTURE V. THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH Rf liglon a principle nf association. . • . 104 f jice not essei "ial to govenimont. ... 110 Conditions neoessarj to th« legitimacy of a government 113 I. Power in the hands of the most worthy 112 3. Kespei;t lor tne liberties of the governed 112 The church being a corporation and nut a caste, answered to the first of these conditicr.s ., 113 Vgi ,ous modes of nomination and elec- tion in the church 114 It failed in the second condition by tho unlawful extension of the principle of authority IH And by its abusive employment of force 117 Activity and liberty of mind within the church 119 Connexion of the church with prin- ces 121 Principle uf the independence of spirit- ual authority 123 Claims of the church to dominion over temporal powers 'Ti LECTURE \l. THE CHRISTIAN CHUBCH Se| 1. I'he imperial church Ill 2. The barbarian church— duveU'p- ment of the principle of the sepa- ration of the two powers 243 The monastic orders 143 3. The feudal church 144 Attempts at organization I4S Want of reform I4S Gregory VU 148 4. The theucratjc church 14? Revival of free inquiry 147 Abelard, &.C • . . . 147 Agitation in the municipalities.. Hi No connexion between these two facta 14S \.ECTURE VII. BISE OV FREE CITIEa. A sketch of the diflferent itates of cities in the twelfth and eigh- teenth centuries 150 Twofold question : — tl Affranci.isemenl of cities 154 State of cities fron. the flftii to thr lentil centuries 55 Their decline and reviviil 15S - Innurrection of the cimimunt 150 . Cbaiten , 16) Social and moral e Beets of the af franchisement of the cities. . . . I*** { the civilization of Eu- rope > 173 t« (listinctife and fundamental charac- ter 175 When this character began to hppsHr. . 175 •:*t8 of Europe from the twelfth to the sixteenth century 175 P/OB The Crusades : Tncir cliaranter , ITJ Their moral and social causes 179 These cniisps cease at the end of the thirteenth century I8J Effects of the crusades upon civiJi- zation 199 LECTURE IX MONARCHY. Important part of monarchy in the his- tory of Europe 193 In the history of the world 194 Pnin ransoa of its Importance 1U5 Twofold point of view under which monarchy should be considered.. 195 l»f. Its peculiar and permanent char- acter 195 It is the personification of legitimate sovereignty 196 Within what limits 196 2d. Its flexibility and diversity 200 The Europein monarchy seems the result of the various species of monarchy 200 Of tho barbarian monarchy 201 Of the imperial monarchy 203 Of the feudal monarchy 200 Of modern monarchy, properly so call- ed, and of its true -^aracter 20fl LECTURE X. ATTEMPTS AT OBO ANIZATION. ittempts to reconcile the various so- cial elements of modem Europe, so as to make them live and act in common— to form one society under one same central power. . . . 2J0 9t. Attempt at theocratic organiza- tion 213 Why It failed 213 Four principal obstacles 213 Faults of Gregory VII 210 Re-action against the dominion of the church 217 On the part cif the people 217 On the part of the sovcreigTis 217 M. Attempts at republican organiza- •.ion 218 Italian republics — then vices 220 Cities of the south of France 823 Crusade against the Albigenses.. .. 223 The Swiss confederacy 223 Free cities of Flanders and the Rhine ; 229 Hanseatic League 333 Struggle betwcfjn the feudal nobility and the cities 223 3d. Attempts at mixed organization. . . 224 The States-general of France 224 The Cortes of Spain and Portugal. . 225 The Parliament of England 22« Bad success of all these attempts 828 Causes of their failure 228 General tendency of Europe 338 LECTURE XL CEN1BALIZATI0N, PIPL0MA:T, ETC. Particular characr.er >f the fifteenth century 229 Progressive centralizations of nations and governments 230 (it. Of France 231 Formation of the national spirit of France 232 Formation of tho French territory.. 232 I ouis XI., manner of governing. . . . 234 11. Ol Spain 235 W. Of Germany 236 Ith 01 England 2.36 Hh Of Italy 237 Rijo if the exterior relaticns of states and of diplomacy 239 Agitation of religious opinions 24< Attempt at aristocratic reform in the church 211 Councils of Constance and Bale 241 Attempt at popular reform 243 John IIuss 243 Revival of ancient literature 244 Admiration for antiquity 243 Classic school 245 General activity 24f Voyages, travels, inventions &c 24 Cor: .xision 2^ 14 CONTENTS LECTURE Xn. THE REFOBMATIOIf. PiQB. Difficulty ol unravelling geueral facts 111 modem history 248 Picture of Europe iu the fixteenth cen'ury 249 D wger of precipitate generalizations. . 253 /irious causes ass.gned for the refor- mation 254 (ti predomiu;inl cl.aractenstic — the in- (utrection of 'iie nunian iiiiacl FAafi against absolute power ip lotellec- tuul affairs 25! Proofs of this fact 2S1 P''ogres8 uf the reformation in different countries 254 ^yeak side of tke reformatina 260 Tha Jesuits 269 Analogy between the rero.tilions if civil and roligiout society liA LECTURE XMI. THB ENGLISH BKVOLUTION. General character of the English revo- lution 269 Its principal rauses 270 Rather politicirf than religious 27 1 Three sreat paities succeed one an- other in its i.rogrejs 275 Ipt. The pu"'" monarchy reform party 275 td. The constitutiona' reform party. ., 276 3d. The republ..,an party 278 They all fail 278 Cnmwell 279 Restoration of the Stuarts 2AI The le{;itimute administration 282 Profligate administrations 2H3 National administration 2S3 Rev(j|iition of 1688 in England and Eu- rope 285 LECTURE XIV THB FRENCH BEVOLUTION. liiHerences and resemblances in the progress of civilization in England and on the continent 287 Pr-po'iderance of France in Europe in the seventeenlti and eighteenth centuries 891 ft .he sevenlet'iitb by the French government "^ Cn the eighteenth by'he count ▼ ittelf. S93 Conclaeicn (ouis XV »3 TAHtE OP C^HiBMPoaABV &ovnnBioe>>, Of his wars 2'J4 Of his diplomacy 295 Of his administration 298 Of his legislation 299 Canaes of its prompt ilecline 306 France in t.ie eighteenth century 3fH Ebseiitial characteristic! of the philu Bophical revolution 30!) 905 ?fl7 GENERAL HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION m MODERN EUROPE, fROM THB FALL OP THE ROMAN EMP'RE TO THE PRBNOB REVOLUTION. LECTURE I. CIVILIZATION IN GENERAL. Being called upon to give a course of lectures, and havii\g considered what subject would be most agreeable and con- venient to fill up the short space allowed us from now to the close of the year, it has occurred to me that a general sketch of the History of Modern Europe, considered more especial- ly with regard to the progress of civilization — that a general survey of the history of European civilization, of its origin, its progress, its end, its character, would be the most profitable H\i\iject upon which I could engage your attention. I say European nvilization, because there is evidently so BtrikinjT a uniformity {unite) in the civilization of the different states of Europe, as fullj lo warrant this appellation. Civili- zation has flowed to them all from sources so much alike — il is so connected in them all, notwithstanding the great differ- ences of time, of place, and circumstances, by the same prin- ciples, and it so tends in them all to bring about the same re- sults, that no one will doubt the fact of there being a civiliza- tion essentially European. At the same time it must be observed that this civilizatior cannot be found in — its history cannot be collected from, the history of any single state of Europe. However similar in ittj general appearance thrcughout the whole, its varietv is noi 16 OENE-IAL HISTORY OF THB less remarkable, ncir has it ever yet developed itself completely .n any particular country. Its characteristic features arc widely spread, and w^e shall be obliged to seek, as occasior may require in England, in France, in Germany, ir Spain, or he elements of its history. The situation in which we are pluced, as Frenchman, ftiTords us a great advantage for entering upon the study of European civilization ; for, without intending to flaUcr the country to which I am bound by so many ties, I cannot but regard France as the centre, as the focus, of the civilization of Europe. It would be going too far to say that she has al ways been, upon every occasion, in advance of other nations, Italy, at various epocns, has outstripped her in the arts ; Eng- land, as regards political institutions, is by far before her ; and, perhaps, at certain moments, we may find other nations of Europe superior to her in various particulars : but it must still be allowed, that whenever France has set forward in the career of civilization, she has sprung forth with new vigor, and has soon come up with, or passed by, all her rivals. Not only is this the case, but those ideas, those institutioiia which promote civilization, but whose birth must be referred to other countries, have, before they could become general, oi produce fruit, — before they could be transplanted to othoi lands, or benefit the common stock of European civilization, been obliged to undergo in France a new preparation : it is from France, as from a second country more rich and fertile, that they have started forth to make the conquest of Europe. There is noi a single great idea, not a single great principle of civilization, which, in order to become universally spread, has not first passed through France. There is, indeed, in the genius of the French, something of a sociableness, of a sympathy, — something which spreads Itself with more facility and energy, than in the genius of any other people : it may be in the language, or the particular turn of mind of the French nation ; it may bo in their mannerf^, or that their ideas, being more popular, present themselves more clearly to the masses, penetrate among them with great- er ease ; but, in a word, clearness, sociability, sympathy, are ihe particular characteristics of France, of its civilization ; uud these qualities render it eminently qualified to march al the head of Ejropean civilization. In studying, vhen, the history of this great fact, it is neither an ai biliary choice, nor coi.vention. that leads up to makt CIVILIZATION OF MODERN EUROPE. 19 France the central point from which we shall study it ; but il 8 because we feel that in so doing, we in a manner place our- selves in the very heart of civilization itself — in the heart of ♦he very fact which we desire to investigate. I say fact, and I say it advisedly : civilization is. just as much a fact as any other — it is a fact which like any olhei may be studied, described, and have its history recounted. It has iicen the custom for some time past, and very proper- ly, to talk of the necessity of confining history to facts ; no- thing can be more just ; but it would be almost absur \ to sup- pose that there are no facts but such as are matei.al atid visible : there are moral, hidden facts, which are no less real than balllos, wars, and the public acts of government. Besidtb these individual facts, each of which has its proper name, there are others of a general nature, without a name, of which it is impossible to say that they happened in such a year, oi on such a day, and which it is impossible to confine within any precise limits, but which are yet just as much facts as the battles and public acts of which we have spoken. That very portion, indeed, which we are accustomed to hear called the philosophy of history — which consists in showing the relation of events with each other — the chain which connects them — the causes and effects of events — this is history just as much as the description of battles, and all the other exterior events which it recounts. Facts of this kind are undoubtedly more difficult to unravel ; the historian is mor'>. liable to deceive himself respecting them ; it requires more skill to place them distinctly before the reader ; but this diffi- culty does not alter their nature ; they still continue not a whit the less, for all this, to form an essential part of history. Civilization is just one of these kind of facts ; it is so gene ral in its natuio that it can scarcely be seized ; so complicated that it can scarcely be unravelled ; so hidden as scarcely to be discernible. The difficulty of describing it, of recounting \u history, is apparent and acknowledged ; but its existence its worthiness to be described and to be recounted, is not less certain and manifest. Then, respecting civilization,, what a number of problems remain to be solved ! It may be asked, 't is even now disputed, whether civilization be a good or an evil ? One party decries it as teeming with mischief to man, ubile another lauds it as the means 63' which he will attair 18 GENERAL HISTOAV 01 THB his higliest dignity and excellence.^ Again, it is asked whether this fact is universal — whether there is a general civilization of the whole human race — a course for humanity to rjn — a destiny for it to accomplish; whether nations have not transmitted from age to age something to their successors which is never lost, but which grows and continues as a coni' nion stock, and will thus be carried on to the end of all things For my part, I feel assured that human nature has such a des tiny ; that a general civilization pervades the human race ; Jiat at every epoch it augments ; and that there, consequently, • This dispute turns upon the greater or less extension given to the terra. Uivilizatioa may be taken to signify merely the multiplication ol artificial wants, and of the means and refinements of physical en- joyment. It may also be taken to imply both a state of physical weU being and a state of superior intellectual and moral culture. It is only in the former sense that it can be alleged that civiliza- tion is an evil. Civilization is properly a relative term. It refers to a certain state of mankind as distinguished from barbarism. Man is formed for society. Isolated and solitary, his reason would remain perfectly undeveloped. Against the total defeat of his destination for rational development God has provided by the domestic relations. Yet without a further extension of the social ties, man would still remain comparatively rude and uncultivated — never emergmg from barbarism. In proportion as the social re- lations are extended, regulated and perfected, man is softened.- omeliorated, cultivated. To this improvement various social con- ditions combine; but as the political organization of society — the STATE — is that which first gives security and permanence to all the others, it holds the most important place. Hence it is from the political organization of society, from the establishment of the BTATE, (in Latin civitas,) that the word civilization is taken. Civilization, therefore, in its most general idea, is an improved condition of man resulting from the establishment of social order ji place of the individual independence and lawlessness of the savage or barbarous life. It may exist in various degrees; it is WJsceptible of continual progress: and hence the history of civiliia- uon is the liistory of the progress of tiie human race towards reali.?- uig the idea of humanity, through the extension and perfection of the social relations, and as afl'ected, advanced or retarded, by the character cf the various political and civil institutions which hnvu CKiRted. CIVILIZATION OF MODERN EOllUPE. 19 !s a uriivcrsal history of civilization to be written. Nor havt! \ any hesitation in assorting that this history is the most lujblo, he most interesting of any, and that it comprehends every other. Is it not indeed clear that civilization is the grf^at fact iv which all others merge ; in which they all end, in which they ure all condensed, in which all others find their importance ' Take all the facts of wliich the history of a nation is com- |>os3d, all the facts which we are accustomed to consider ap he elements of its existence — take its institutions, its com nierce, its industry, its wars, the various details of its govern ment ; and if you would form some idea of them as a whole, if you would see their various bearings on each oilier, if you would appreciate their value, if you would pass a judgment upon them, what is it you desire to know ? Why, what they have done to forward the progress of civilization — wliat part they have acted in tliis great drama, — what influence they havr exercised in aiding its advance. It is not only Iiy tliis that we form a general opinion of these facts, but it is by this stand- ard that we try them, tliat we estimate their true value. These are, as it were, the rivers of whom we ask how much water they have carried to the ocean. Civilization is, as it wore, the grand emporium of a people, in which all its wealth — all the elements of its 'ife — al' the powers of its existence are stored up. It is so true ihat we judge of minor facts ac- cordingly as they aflect tlii.s greater one, that even some which are naturally detested and hated, which prove a heavy ca- lamity to the nation upon which they fall — say, for instance, despotism, anarchy, and so forth, — even these are partly for- given, their evil nature is partly overlooked, if they have aid ed in any considerable degree the march of civilization. Wherever the progress of this principle is visible, together with the facts which have urged it forward, we are tempted to forget the price it has cost — we overlook the dearness of the purchase. Again, there are certain facts which, properly speaking, can not be called social — individual facts which rather concern the human intellect than public life : such are religious doctrines, philosophical opinions, literature, the sciences and arts. All those seem to ofler themselves to individual man for hia improvement, instruction, or amusement ; and to be directed ratlier to his intellecirual melioration and pleasure, than to his Focial condition. Yet still, how cAen do these facts com« be- 2 20 GENERAL HISTORY OK THB fore us — how often are we compelled to consider lliem as in fluencing civilization ! In all times, in all countries, it lias neen the boast of religion, that it has civilized the people among whom it has dwelt. liiterature, the arts, and sciences, have put in their claim for a share of this glory ; and mankind has ocen ready to laud and honor them whenever it has felt that this praise was fairly their due. In the same manner, facts the most important — facts of themselves, and indepen- dently of their exterior consequences, the most suldime in their nature, have increased in importance, have reached a higher degree of sublimity, by their connexion wiih civiliza lion. Such is the worth of this great principle, that it gives a value to all it touches. Not only so. but there are even cases, in which the facts of which we have spoken, in which philosophy, literature, the sciences, and the arts, are especial- ly judged, and condemned or applauded, according lo iheii intiuence upon civilization. Before, however, we proceed to the history of this fact, so important, so extensive, so precious, and which seems, as il were, to imbody the entire life of nations, let us consider it for a moment in itself, and endeavor to discover what il really is. I shall be careful here not to fall into pure philosophy ; 1 shall not lay down a certain rational principle, and tlien, by deduction, show the nilure of civilization as a consequence there would be too many chances of error in pursuing this method. Still, without this, we shall be able to find a fact to establish and to describe. For a long time past, and in many countries, the word ">• ilizution has been in use; ideas more or less clear, awl of wider or more contracted signification, have been attached to it ; still il has boon constantly employed and generally under Blood. Now, it is the popular, common signiiicution of ihia word that we must investigate. In the usual, general accep- tation of terms, there will nearly always be found more truth han in the seemingly more precise and rigorous dotinitiona of science. Il is common sense which gives to words theii oopular signification, and common sense is the genius of hu- manity. The popular sipviification of a word is formetl by do- nees and whilt the facts il represents are themselvts ])resent As often as a lact comes before us which seems to answer t( CIVILFZATION OF MOI/ERN tUROPE. 21 he signification of a known term, this term is naturally ^)• plied to it, its signification gradually extending and enlarging Itself, so that at last the various facts and ideas which, from the nature of things, ought to be brought together and imbo- died in this term, will be found collected and imbodied in i( When, on the contrary, the signification of a word is deter mined by science, it is usually done by one or a very few indi viduals, who, at the time, are u ider the influence of some particular fact which has taken possession of their imagina tion. Thus it comes to pass that scientific definitions are, in general, much narrower, and, on that very account, much less correct, than the popular significations given to words. So, in 'he investigation of the meaning of the word civilization as a fact — by seeking out all the ideas it comprises, according to the common sense of mankind, we shall arrive much near- er to the knowledge of the fact itself, by than attempting lo give our own scientific definition of it, though this might at first appear more clear and precise. 1 shall commence this investigation by placing before you a series of hyj)othescs. I shall describe society in various conditions, and shall then ask if the state in which I so de scribe it is, in the general opinion of mankind, the state of a peojile advancing in civilization — if it answers to the signifi- cation which mankind generally attaches to this word. First, imagine a people whose outward circumstances are easy and agreeable ; few taxes, few hardships ; justice is fairly administered ; in a word, physical existence, taken al- together, is satisfactorily and happily regulated. But with all this the moral and intellectual energies of this people are studiously kept in a state of torpor and inertness. It can hardly be called oppression ; its tendency is not of that char- s ;ter — it is rather compression. We are not without exam- ples of this state of society. There have been a great number of little aristocratic republics, in which the people have been thus treated like so many flocks of sheep, carefully tended, physically happy, but without the least intellectual and moral activity. Is this civilization ? Do we recognise here a peo- ple in a state of moral and social advancement ? Let us take ai.other hypothesis. Let us imagine a people who&e outward circimistances are less favorable and agreea- ble ; still, however, supportable As a sct-ofl^, its intellectua. 22 aENEKAi. hisTORy of tub and moral cravings have not here been entirely neglected. A certain range has been allowed them — some few pure and eleva- ted sentiments have been here distributed ; religious and moral notions have reached a certain degree of improvement ; bu* (he greatest care has been taken to stifle every principle Oi liberty. The moral and intellectual wants of this people are pro-, ided for in the way that, among some nations, the physical wants have been provided for ; a certain portion of truth ia doled out to each, but no one is permitted to help himself — o seek for truth on his own account. Immobility is tho character of its mora', life ; and to this condition are fallen most of the populations of Asia, in which theocratic govern nient restrains the advance of man : such, for example, is the state of the Hindoos. I again put the same question as be- fore — Is this a people among whom civilization is going on ^ 1 will change entirely the nature of the hypothesis ; sup pose a people among whom there reigns a very large stretch of personal liberty, but among whom also disorder and in- equality almost everywhere abound. The weak are oppress- <;d, afllicted, destroyed ; violence is the ruling character of the social cond'tion. Every one knows that such has been the state of Europe. Is this a civilized state ? It may whhout doubt contain germs of civilization which may progressively shoot up ; but the actual state of things which prevails in this society is not, we may rest assured, what the common sense of mankind would call civilization. I pass on to a fourth and last hypothesis. Every indivi dual here eiijoys the widest extent of liberty ; inequality is rare, or, at least, of a very slight character. Every one does as he likes, and scarcely differe in power from his neighbor.'^ But then nere scarcely such a thing is known as a general interest ; here exist but few public 'deas ; hardly any public feeling; but little society: in short, the life and faculties o( individuals are put forth and spent in an isolated state, with but little regard to society, and with scarcely a sentiment of its influence. Men here exercise no influence upon one mother ; they leave no traces of their existence. GeneraiioD af\< r generation pass away, leaving society just as thoy found il. Such is the condition of the various tribes of savages ; liber- ty and equality dwell among dicm, but no touch of civilization. I could easily nudtiply these hypotheses ; but I presume Uiat I hitve s^ono far enough to show what is the popular and Tihlural eignification of the word civilization CIVILIZATION OF MODERN EUROP1!. ^3 It [^ evident tl at none of tlie states which I have just de- sciibed will correspond witli the common notion of niajikind respecting tliis term. It seems to me that the first idea com prised in the word civilization (and this may be gathered frora the \arious examp Jes which I have placed before yon) is the Motion of progress, of development. It calls up within us th« notion of a people advancing, of a people in a coiirse of im provement and melioration. Now what is this progress ? Wha is this development % In this is the great difliculty. The etymology of the word seems sufliciently obvious — it points at once to the improve meiit of civil life. The first notion which strikes us in pro- nouncing it is the progress of society ; the melioration of tho social state ; the carrying to higher perfection the relations between man and man. It awakens within us at once the no tion of an increase of national prosperity, of a greater activity and better organization of the social relations. On one hand there is a manifest increase in the power and well-being of society at large ; and on the other a more equitable distribu- tion of this power and this well-being among the individuals of which society is composed. But the word civilization has a more extensive signification ;han this, which seems to confine it to the mere outward, physical organization of society. Now, if this were all, the human race would be little better than the inhabitants of an ant-hill or bee-hive ; a society in which nothing was sought for beyond order and well-being — in which the highest, the sole aim, would be the production of the means of life, and their equitable distribution. V But our nature at once rejects this definition as too narrow It tells us that man is formed for a higher destiny than this That this is not the full development of his character — that civ- ilization comprehends something more extensive, something more complex, something superior to the perfection of socia. relations, of social power and well-being. That this is so, we have not merely the evidence of otu nature, and that derived from the signification which the com- mon sense of maiddnd has attached to the word ; but we have likewise the evidence of facts. No one, for example, will deny that there are commm.ilieB in which (lie social state of man is better — in which the means of life are better supplied, are n ore rapidly produced, are bet- ttrt distributed, than in others, wMch yet will be pron^unccJ 24 nRNERAL HISTORY OF THE by tlie unanimous voice of mankind to be superioi in poi'U of civilization. Take Rome, for example, in the splendid days of tlie repub- lic, at the close of the second Punic war ; the moment of hex greateat virtues, when she was raj)idly advancing to the era pire of the world — when her social condition was evidently improving. Take Rome again under Augustus, ai ihe coix- mencement of her decline, when, to say the least, the pro- gressive movement of society halted, when bad principles seemed ready to prevail : but is there any person who would not say that Rome was more civilized under Augustus than in the days of Fabriciufj or Cincinnalus 1 Let us look further : let us luok at France in the seven- teenth and eighteenth centuries. In a merely social point of view, as respects the quantity and the distribution of well- being among individiials, France, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, was decidedly inferior to several of tlic other states of Europe ; to Holland aiul England in particular Social activity, in these countries, was greater, increased more rapidly, and distributed its fruits more equitably among indivi- duals. Yet consult the general opinion of mankind, and i will tell you that France in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries was the most civilized country of Europe. Europe has not hesitated to acknowledge this fact, and evidence of its truth will be found in all the great works of European litera- ture. It appears evident, then, that all that we understand by this term is not comprised in the simple idea of social well-being and happiness ; and, if we look a little deeper, we discovel that, besides the progress and melioration of social life, an- other development is comprised in our notion of civilization • namely, the development of individual life, the development of the human mind and its faculties — tlie development of man himself It is this dcvelojinient which so strikingly manifested ilseJf in France and Rome at these epochs ; it is this expansion of human •.ntclligence which gave to them so great a degree of superiority in civilization. In these countries the godlike principle v/hich distinguishes man from the brute exhibited Itself with peculiar grandeur and power , and compensated in the eyes of the world for the defects of their social system The?e communities had still many social conquests to make , ^ul they had already plorified tliemselvcs by the intelle(;tnaJ rivu.IXATION OF MODERN EUROPR 25 pnd moral vict(»ries they had acliieveJ. Many of the con- iTiiioncos of life were liere wanting ; from a considerable portion of the connnunity were still withheld their natural rights and political privileges : but see the number of illus- trious individuals wlu) lived and earned the applause and ap- probation of their fellow-men. Here, too, literature. Science, ftiid art, attained extraordinary perfection, and shone in more splendor than perhaps they had ever done before. Now, (vhorever this takef, place, wherever man sees these glorious idols of his worsliip displayed in their full lustre, -wlicrevor l\c sees this fund of rational and refined enjoyment (or the godlike part of his nature called into existence, there he re- :ognises and adores civilization. Two clcmeiils, then, seem to be comprised in the great fact which we call civilization; — two circumstances are necessary to its existence — it lives upon two conditions — it reveals itself by two symptoms : the progress of society, the progress of mdividuals ; the melioration of the social system, and the ex- pansion of the mind and faculties of man. Wherever the exterior condition of man becomes enlarged, quickened, and improved ; wherever the intellectual nature of man distin- guishes itself by its energy, brilliancy, and its grandeur ; wherever these two signs concur, and they often do so, nut- withstanding the gravest imperfections in the social system, there man proclaims and applauds civilization. Such, if I mistake not, would be the notion mankind in general would form of civilization, from a simple and rational inquiry into the meaning of the term. This view of it is con- tirmed by History. If we ask of her what has been the char- acter of every great crisis favorable to civilization, if we ex- amme those great events which all acknowledge to have car- ried it forward, we shall always find one or other of the two elements which I have just described. They have all been epochs of individual or socia.1 improvement; events which have either wrought a change in individual man, in his opin- ions, his manners ; or in his exterior condition, his situation »s regards his relations with his fellow-men. Christianity, for exam])le • I allude not merely to the first moment of its appearance, but to the first centuries of its existence-— Chris- tianity was in no way addressed to the social condition of man ; it distinctly disclaimed all interfeience with it. Ii conv cnauded ihe slave to obey his master. t attacked none of the grea< evib, none o*" the gross acts of injustice, by whicb 28 GENERAL HISTORY OP THE ihe social system of that day waj disfijrured : yet who but will acknowledge that Christiaifity has been cne of the greatest promoters of civilization ? And wherefore ? Because it lias changed the interior condition of man, his opinions, his seu' timents : because it has regenerated his moral, his intellecUi&l tharacter. We have seen a crisis of an opposite nature ; a crisia aflecting not the intellectual, but the outward condition of man, which has changed and regenerated society. Tliis al3«i we may rest assured is a decisive crisis of civilization. If we search history through, we shall everywhere find the same result ; we shall meet with no important event, which had a direct inlluence in the advancement of civilization, which has not exercised it in one of the two wavs I have just mentioned. Having thus, as I hope, given you a clear notion of tlui two elements of which civilization is composed, let us now see whether one of them alom would be sullicient to constitute it: whether either the development of the social condition, or the development of the individual man taken separately, de- serves to be re^irded as c^ivilization ? or whether these two events are so intimately connected, that, if they are not pro- duced siundtaneously, they are nevertheless so intimuiely con- nected, that, sooner or later, one uniformly produces the other ? There are three ways, as it seems to me, in which we may proceed in deciding this question. First : we may investi- gate the nature itself of the two elements of civilization, and see whether by that they are strictly and necessarily bound together. Secondly : we may examine historically whether, in fact, they have manifested themselves separately, or whethei one has always produced the other. Thirdly : we may cou- Hult connnon sense, i. e., the general opinion of mankind. Let us first address ourselves to the general opinion of mankin 1 — lo common sense. When any great change takes place in the state of a cun- try — when any great development of social prosperity is ac- COinplislied within it — any revolution or reform in the powers inil privileges of saciety, this ikew event naturally has its (id- v«>rHaiicB. It is necessarily con isted and opposed. Now CIVILIZATION OF MODEHN EUROPE. 21 irliat fl-6 tho olijcclions wliidi tlio adversaries of 8uch revohi fions bring ag;iniat flioin ? They assert that tliis progress of tlie social condition is at* tended with no advantage ; that it does not improve in a cor- -esponding degree the moral state — the intellectual powers o* man ; that it is a faL.o, deceitful progress, which proves detri mental to his moral character, to the true interests of his bet ter nature. On tho other hand, this attack is repulsed witk much force by the friends of the movement. They maintain that tho progress of society necessarily leads to the progress oi intelligence and morality ; that, in proportion as the social life is better regulated, individual life becomes more refined and virtuous. Thus the question rests in abeyance between the opposers and partisans of the change. But reverse this hypothesis ; suppose the moral develop- ment in progress. "What do the men who labor for it gener- ally hope for ? — What, at the origin of societies, have lh# founders of religion, the sages, poets, and philosophers, who .have labored to regulate and refine the manners of mankind, promised themselves ? What but the melioration of .ho so- cial condition : the more equitable distribution of the olessings of life ? What, now, let me ask, should be inferred from this dispute and from those hopes and promises ? It may, I think, be fairly inferred that it is the spontaneous, intuitive convic tion of mankind, that the two elements of civilization — the so cial and moral development — are intimately connected ; that, at the approach of one, man looks for the other. It is to this natural conviction, we appeal when, to second or combat either one or the other of the two elements, we deny or attest ita union with the other. We know that if men were persuaded that tho melioration of tho social condition would operate against the expansion of the intellect, they would almost op- pose and cry out against the advancement of society. On the other hand, when we speak to mankind of improving society by improving its individual members, we find them willing U believe us, and to adopt the principle. Hence we may affirm that it IS the intuitive belief of man, that these two elements of civilization are intimately connected, and that they reciprocally produce one another. If we now examine the history of the world we shall have the same residt. We sball find tliat every expansion of hu- •nau intelligence has proved of advantage to society ; and tha' an OIJNERAl, HISTORY DF THE all tlie great advances in the social condition have turnod tc the profit of humanity. One or other of these facts may pre dominate, may shine forth with greater splendor for a season, and impress upon the movement its own particular character. At times, it may not be till after the lapse of a long interval, %fter a thousand transformations, a thousand obstacles, tbat jhe second shows itself, and comes, as it were, to complete the civilization which the first had begim ; but when we look close y we easil}' recognise the link by which they are con- oected. The movements of Providence are not restricted to narrow bounds : it is not anxious to deduce to-day the conse- quence of the premises it laid down yesterday. It may defer this for ages, till the fulness of time shall come. Its logic will not be less conclusive for reasoning slowly. Providence moves through time, as the gods of Homer through space — it makes a step, and ages have rolled away ! How long a time, how many circumstances intervened, before the regeneration of the moral powers of man, l)y Christianity, exercised its great, its legitimate influence upon his social condition 1 Yd who can doubt or mistake its power ? If we pass from history to the nature itself of the two facts which constitute civilization, we are hifalUbly led to the same -esult. We have all experienced this. If a man makes a mental advance, some mental discovery, if he acquires some new idea, or some new faculty, what is the desire that takea possession of him at the very moment he makes it ? It is the desire to promulgate his sentiment to the exterior world — to publish and realize his thought. When a man acquires anew truth — when his being in his own eyes has made an advance, has a:quired a new gift, immediately there becomes joined to this acquirement the notion of a mission, lie feels obliged, impelled, as it were, by a secret interest, to extend, to carry out of himself the change, the melioration which has been ac- complished wiildn him. To what, but this, do' we owe the exertions of great reformers ? The exertions of those great oenefactors of the human race, who have changed the face of the world, after having first been changed themselves, havo b«en stimulated and governed by no other impulse than Uiis. So mucii for the change which takes place in the intellec tual man. Let us now consider him in a social state A revolution ia made in the condition of society. Rights and CIVILirAlION OF jfODERN EUROPE 29 propprfy arc inoro equitably (lisfrilndoil ainoiifr iiidividimls • this is as miicli as to say, the appearance of the world is pu rer — is more beautiful. The state of things, both as respeclfl governments, and as respects men in their relations with each other, is improved. And can there bie a question whether the sight of this goodly spectacle, whether the melioration of this external condition of man, will have a corresponding influence uponhi!) moral, his individual character — upon humanity? Such a doubt wouhl belie all that is said of the authority of exam- ple and of the power of habit, which is founded upon nothing but the conviction that exterior facts and circumstances, if good, reasonable, well-regulated, are followed, sooner or later. more or less completely, by intellectual results of the same nature, of the same beauty : that a world better governed, bct- •er regulated, a world in which justice more fully prevails, renders man himself more just. That the intellectual man then is instructed and improved by the superior condition of society, and his social condition, his external well-being, me- liorated and refined by increase of intelligence in iiulividuals : that the two elements of civilization are strictly connected: that ages, that obstacles of all kinds, may interpose between them — that it is possible they may undergo a thousand trans- formations before they meet together ; but that sooner or latei this union will take place is certain ; for it is a law of theii nature that they should do so — the great facts of history beai witness that such is really the case — the instinctive belief of man proclaims the same truth. Thus, though I have not by a great deal advanced all that might be said upon this subject, I trust I have given a tolera bly correct and ade juate notion, in the foregoing cursory ac- count, of what civilization is, of what are its offices, and what its imj)ortance. I might here quit the subject ; l»ul I cannot part with it, without placing before you another question, which here naturally presents itself — a question not purely historical, but rather, I will not say hypothetical, but conjee tural ; a question which we can see here but in part; but which, however, is not less real, but presses itself upon oiii rioUcc at every turn of thought. Of the two developments, of which we have just now NpokoTi, and which together constitute civiliza ion — of »ht 30 OUNl^K^L IiISTi)RY OF THE ievelopmeiit of society on one part, and of the expansion o( numan intelligence on the other — which is me end ? whicli are the means ? Is it for the improvement of the social con- dition, for the melioration of his existence upon the earth, that man fully developes himself, his mind, his faculties, his sentiments, his ideas, his wliole being ? Or is the meliora- tion of the social condition, the progress of society, — is in d^sd society itself merely the theatre, the occasion, the mo- ti/e and excitement for the development of the ir;Jividual? in a word, is society formed for the individual, '7r the indi- rMual for society 1 Lpon the reply to this quesiion depends our knowledge of whether the destiny of man is [urtdy social, whether society exhausts and absorbs the entire man, or whether he bears within him something foreign, something superior to his existence in this world 1 One of the greatest philosophers and most distinguished men of the present age, whose words become indelibly en- graved upon whatever spot they fall, has resolved this (pies* lion ; he has resolved it, at least, according to his own con- viction. The following are his words : " Hmnan societies are born, live, and die, upon the earth ; there they accomplish their destinies. But they contain not the wliole man. After his engagement to society there still remains in him the more noble part of his nature ; those high faculties by which he elevates himself to God, to a future life, and to the unknown blessings of an invisible world. VVe, individuals, each with a separate and distinct existence, with an identical person, we. truly beings endowed with immortality, we have a higher des- tiny than that of states."* I shall add nothing on this subject ; it is not my province to handle it • it is enough for me to have placed it before you. It haunts us again at the close of the history of civilization. — Where the history of civilization ends, when there is no niore to be said of the present life, man invincibly denumds if all is over — if that be the end of all things ] This, then. is the last problem, and the grandest, to which the history of civilization can lead us. It is sufficient that I have marked ite place, and its sublime character.^ • Opinion De Royer Collard, sur If projet de loi rclatifau sac nlege, pp. 7 et 1". "^ Man can be compTehended cnly as a free moral being, tlmt ly, as a rational beiui?: but as a ratiuiial buiii^ it is unnossible to com- CIVIMZATION OF MODERN EUROPE 31 From the foregoing remarks, it becomes evident that the history of civilization may be considered from two differeiil points of view — may be drawn from two different sources The historian may take np his abode (hiring tlie time prescrib- ed, say a series of c(Mitnries, in the human soul, or with some particiihir nation. He may study, describe, rebate, all the cir- Cinnsiances, all the transformations, all the revolutions, wnicli may have taken place in the intellectual man ; and when he had done this he would have a history of the civilization among the people, or during the period which he had chosen. He might proceed dillerently: instead of entering into the in- terior of man, he might take his stand i;i the external world. He might take his station in the midst of the great theatre of life ; instead of describing the change of ideas, of the senti- ments of the indi\idual being, he might describe his exterior preherid his existence, if it be limited to the present world. In the very nature of human reason and of the relations of the human race to it, lies the idea of the destination of the race for a suner- tnundano and eternal sphere. Reason is the germ of a develop ment which is not and cannot be reached here below. To doubt that it is destined for development, and that there is a correspond- ing sphere, is contradictory: it is to doubt whether the fruit, un- folding from the blossom, is destined by its constitution to ripen. Herein, while the delusion of certain philosophical theories re- specting Human Perfectibility is made apparent, may be seen nevertheless the correct idea of man's earthly life. It is that of a continual progress, a reaching towards that perfection, the notion and desire of which lies in the nature of his reason. Humanity in all its social efforts has always been governed by the idea of a perfection never yet attained All human history may in one view be regarded as a series of attempts to realize thia idea. As individual man can attain the ideal perfection o^ his nature only as a rational being, by the harmony of all his powers with his reason ; so it is equally clear that humanity can realize the idea of Bocial perfection only as a rational society, by the union and broth- pi hood of the human family, and the harmony of all individuals with the Divine reason. How far it may be m the intentions of Divine Providence that the human race shall realize tnis perfection, tt may be impossible to determine. Certain it is, that it can nevei Oe brought about by any mere political institutions, by checks and wunltrcheclcs of interest, by any balance of international powers. Only Christianity can effect this universal brotherhood of nations, ftnd bind the human family together in a rational that is a fro* moral socictv Hi GENERAL HISFORy OF THB circumstances, the events, the revoU.;ions of his social condi lion. These two poriior.s, these two histories of civilization, are strictly connected with each other ; they are the counter- part the reflected image of one another. They may, how- ever^ be separated. Perhaps it is necessary, at least in the beginning, in order to be exposed in detail and with clearnesS( lliat they should be. For my part I have no intention, upon iho present occasion .0 enter upon the history of civilization in the human mind the history of the exterior events of the visible and social world is that to which I shall call your at »ention. It would give me pleasure to be able to display be- fore you the phenomenon of civilization in the way I under' stand it, in all its bearings, in its widest extent — to place be- fore you all the vast questions to which it gives rise. But, for the present, I must restrain my wishes ; I nmst confine my self to a narrower field : it is only the history of the social state that I shall attempt to narrate. My first object will be to seek out the elements of Eu- ropean civilization at the lime of its birth, at the fall of the Roman empire — to examine carefully society such as it was in the midst of these famous ruins. I shall endeavor to pick out these elements, and to place them before you, side by side ; I shall endeavor to put them in motion, and to follow them in their progress through the fifteen centuries which have rolled away since that epoch. \Ve sliall not, 1 think, proceed far in this study, without being convinced that civilization is still in its infancy. How distant is tlie liuman ndnd from the perfection to which it may attain — from the perfection for wh'ch it was created! How incapable are we of grasping the whole future destiny of man ! Let any one even descerul into his own mind — let him picture there the higliest point of perlection lo which man, to which so- ciety may attain, that he can conceive, that he can hope ; — let him then contrast this picture with the present state of the world, and he will feel assured that society and civilization are still in their childhood : that however great the distancj they have advanced, that which they have before them is in comparal)ly, is infinitely greater. This, however, should noi lehsen the pleasure with which we contemplate our present coitdition. When you have run over with me llie great epochs Ol civilization during the last fifteen centuries, you will see. up to our Mme, how painful, how stormy, has been the condi- tion of man ; how hard has been his iOt, not oidv out vardl} CIVILIZATION OF MODERN fiUROPE. 93 IS regards society, but internally, as regards llic intellectual man. For fifteen centuries the human mind has suflered as much as the human race. You will see that it is oidy lately that the human mind, perhaps for the first time, has arrived, imperfect though its condition still be, to a state where some peace, some harmony, some freedom is found. The same holds with regard to society — its immense progress is evident —the condition of man, compared with what it has been, is easy and just. In thiiddng of our ancestors we may almost apply 10 ourselves the verses of Lucretius : — «* Suave mari magno, tnrbantibus sequora ventis, E terra magnum allerius spectaie laborem." Without any great degree of pride we may, as Sthenelas is made to do in Homer, Hf^x ""• '^a^pw i'^y' vt'""^^? cvxoi^ce' vvai>, ■' Keturn thanks to God that we are ir finitely better than our fathers." We must, however, take care not to deliver ourselves up too fully to a notion of our happiness and our improved condition It may lead us into two serious evils, pride and inactivity ; — It may give us an overweening confidence in the power and success of the human mind, of its present attainments ; and, at the same time, dispose us to apathy, enervated by the agree- ableness of our condition. I know not if this strikes you as it does nie, but in my judgment we continually oscillate be- tween an inclination to complain without sufiicient cause, and to be too easily satisfied. We have an extreme susceptibility of mind, an inordinate craving, an ambition in our thoughts, in our desires, and in the movements of our imagination ; yet when we come to practical life — when trouble, when sacrifi' ces, when efforts are required for the attainment of our object, we sink into lassitude and inactivity. We are discouraged almost as easily as we had been excited. Let us not, how- ever, sufier ourselves to be invaded by either of these vices. Let us estimate fairly what our abilities, our knowledge, our power enable us to do lawfully ; and let us aim at nothing that we ciunot lawfully, justly, prudently— with a proper respect to the great principles upon which our social system, our ciyi- Ii2a*ioi is based — attain. The age of barbarian Europe, with Its bruie ibrce, its violence, its lies and deceit, — the habitua.' pracicc undi-rwhich Europe groaned during four or five cen- tll^ie^^ aro passed riway for ever, and has given place to a bet 84 GENERAL HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION. :er order of things. We trust that the time now approaches when man's condition shall be progressively improved by the foice of reason and truth, when the brute part of nature shall be crushed, thai the godlike spirit may unfoUl. In the moan time let us be cautious that no vague desires, that no extrava- gant theories, the time for which may not yet be come, carry ua beyond the bounds of prudence, or beget in us a discon cent with our present state. To us much has been given, of us much will be required. Posterity will denumd a strict ac- count of our conduct — the public, the government, all is now open to discussion, to examination. Let us then attach our Bcives firmly to the principles of our civilization, to justice, to the laws, to liberty : and never forget, that, if we have the light to demand that all thirgs shall be laid open before U9, and jiidgrd by us, we likewise are before the world, wlia wiU .-ixaminc us, and judge us according to our works. LECTURE !!.• IP E(TROfaAN CIVILIZATION IN PARTICCLAR: ITS DIWTIN ODISHINO CHARACTERISTICS ITS SUPERIORITY US ELB MRNTS. In the preceding Lecture, I endeavored to give an expla- nation o( civilization in general. Without referring to any civilization in particular, or to circumstances of time and place I essayed to place it before you in a point of view purely phi* (osophical. I purpose now to enter upon the History of the Civilization of Europe ; but before doing so, before going mto its j)roper history, I must make you acquainted with the peculiar character of tliis civilization — with its distinguishing features, bo tliat you may be able to recognise and distinguish European civilization from every other. When we look at the civilizations which have preceded that of modern Europe, whether in Asia or elsewhere, including even those of Greece and Rome, it is impossible not to be etruck with the unity of character which reigns among them. Each appears as though it had emanated from a single fact, from a single idea. One might almost assert that society was inider the influence of one single principle, which universally prevailed and determined the character of its institutions, its maimers, its opinions — in a word, all its developments. ^ In Egypt, for example, it was the theocratic principle that took j)ossession of society, and showed itself in its manners, m its monuments, and in all that has come down to us of Egj-ptian civilization. In India the same phenomenon occuth •-it is still a repe. tion of the almost exclusively prevailing • This lecture, in the original, is introduced by a {^vj worrla. «a 9rhich the author olTers to explain privately any points of his ais- jourse, not well understood, to such as shall apply ; also to state that he is obliged frequently to make assertions without being able, from the short lime allu'ted to him, to give the proofs they ••eeiu to require. 3 tfU GENKRAL HIS TOllY OF inlluence (/f theocracy. In other regions a difierent orgaaizH lion may be observed — perhaps the domination of a conqiiof ing caste : and where such is ihe case, the principle of force lakes entire possession of society, imposing upon it its lawa and its character. In another place, perhaps, we discover Bo:i3.y under the entire influence of the democratic principle; such \\ as the case in the commercial republics which covered the coasts of Asia Minor and Syria — in Ionia aiid Phrenicia In a word, whenever we contemplate the civilizations of llie ancients, we find them all impressed with one ever-pre- vailing character of unity, visible ir. their institutions, theii ideas, and manners — one sole, or at least one very prepon- derating influence, s«ems tc govern and determine all things. I do not mean to aver that this overpowering influence of one single principle, of one single form, prevailed without any exception in the civilization of those states. If we go back to their earliest history, we shall find that the varioua powers which dwelt in the bosom of these societies fre- quently struggled for mastery. Thus among the Egyptians, he Etruscans, even among the Greeks and others, we may observe the warrior caste struggling against that of the priests. In other places we find the spirit of clanship strug- gling against the spirit of free association, the spirit of aristo- cracy against popular rights. These struggles, however, mostly cook place in periods beyond the reach of history, and no evi- dence of them is left beyond a vague tradition. Sometimes, indeed, these early struggles broke out afresh M a later period in the history of the nations ; but in almost every ca«e they were quickly terminated by the victory of one of the powers which sought to prevail, and which then took .sole possession of society. The war always ended by the domination of some special principle, which, if not exclusive, M at least greatly preponderated. The co-existence and strife of various principles among these nations were no more than 1 passing, an accidental circumstance. Fiom this cause a remarkable unity cliaracteriz(?s most ol the civilizations of antiquity, the resi^lts of which, hoveve; vrerc very dilFerent. In one nation, as in Greece, the unity jf tho social principle led to a development of wonderful ra pidiiy ; no other people ever ran so brilliant a career in ao bliort a time. But Greece hac)/ hardly become glorious, befVri; bIjo appeared worn out : her decline, if not quite so rav^id i>f CIVIMZATION IN MODERN EUROPE 37 lor rise, was strangely smlden. It seetns as if tlie principlf, which called Greek civilization into life was exhausted. Nc Dihor came to invigorate it, or supply its place. In other states, say, for example, in India and Egypt, A'here ayain ordy one principle of civilization prevailed, the result was dillerent. Society here became stationary; simplicity jToduced monotony ; the country was not destroyed ; society continued to exist ; but there was no progression ; it remained torpid and inactive. To this same cause must be attributed that character of ty- ranny which prevailed, under various names, and the mosl Oj)posite forms, in all the civilizations of antiquity. Society bc^longed to one exclusive power, which could bear with no other. Every principle of a different tendency was proscrib- ed. The governing principle would nowhere sufi'er by its side the manifestation and influence of a rival principle. This character of simplicity, of unity, in their civilization is equally impressed upon their literature and intellectual pro- ductions. Who tlial has run over the monuments of Hindoo literature lately introduced into Europe, but has seen that they are all struck from the same die ? They all seem the result of one same fact ; the expression of one same idea. Re- ligious and moral treatises, historical traditions, dramatic po- etry, epics, all bear tlie same physiognomy. The same charac- ter of unity and monotony shines out in these works of mind and fancy, as we discover in their life and institutions. Even in Greece, notwithstanding the immense stores of knowledge and intellect which it poured forth, a wonderful unity still pre- vailed in all relating to litrrature and the arts, How diflerent to all this is the case as respects the civili nation of modern Europe ! Take ever so rapid a glance at this, and it strikes you at once as diversified, confused, and fclormy. All the principles of social organization are found existing togethei within it ; powers temporal, powers spirit- ual, the tlicocratic, monarchic, aristocratic, and democratic oisments, all classes of society, all the social situations, art jumbled together, and visible within it ; as well as infinite gradations of liberty, of wealth, and of influence. These ra- rinus powers, too, are found here in a state of continual struggle «mong themselves, without any one having su/Hcient force tf J8 QK.VESAL HISTORY or master the others, and take sole possession of society. Among the ancients, a* every great epoch, all coinmnnities sejin cast m the same mould : it was now pure monarchy, now theocrac) or democracy, that became the reigning principle, each in its fiirn reigning absoluiely. But modern Europe contains r\ amples of all ^hese systems, of all the attempts at social or- ganization , pure and mixed monarchies, theocracies, rt publica more or less aristocratic, all live in common, side by side, at [)ne and the same t.me ; yet, notwithstanding their diversity, they all bear a certain resemblance to eac.i other, a kind of family likeness which it is impossible to mistake, and which ^hows them to be essentially European In the moral character, in the notions and sentiments of Europe, we find the same variety, the same struggle. Theo- cratical opinions, monarchical opinions, aristocratic opinions democratic opinions, cross and jostle, struggle, become inter- woven, limit, and modify each other. Open the boldest trea- tises of the middle age : in none of them is an opinion carried }o its final consequences. The advocates of absolute power ilinch, almost unconsciously, from the results to which their Joctriiie would carry them. We see that the ideas and influ- ences around them frighten them from pushing it to its utter- most point. Democracy felt the same control. That imper- tuibable boldness, so striking in ancient civilizations, nowhere found a place in the European system. In sentiments we discover the same contrasts, the same variety; an indomita- ble taste for independence dwelling by the side of the greatest aptness for submission ; a singular fidelity between man and man, and at the same time an imperious desire in each to do his own will, to shake off all restraint, to live alone, without troubling himself with the rest of the world. Minds were -xn much diversified as society. The same characteristic is observable in literature. It cannot be denied that in what relates .o the form and beauty uf art, modern Europe is very inferior to antiquity ; but if we look at her literature as regards depth of feeling and ideas, it will be found nore powerful and rich. Tlie human mind tian bei n employed upon a greater number of ol)jects, us labor.^ littve been more diversified, it has gone to a greater dejnh Its imperfection in 'brm is owing to this very cause. The more plenteous an'\ rich the materials, the greater is the dif CIVILIZATION JN MODERN EUROPE. 39 ht;ulty of forcing tlicm into a pure and simple form. Thai ivliich gives beauty to a composition, tliat which in works of art we call form, is the clearness, the simplicity, the symbo' lical unity of tlie work. With the prodigious diversity of ideas and sentiments which belong to European civilization, Uie diflicully to attain this grand and chaste simplicity ha? btjon increased. In e^ery part, then, we find this character of variety to pre fail in modern civilization. It has undoubtedly brought with it this inconvenience, that when we consider separately any particular development of the human mind in literature, in the arts, in any of the ways in which human intelligence may go forward, we shall generally find it inferior to the correspond- ing development in the civilization of antiquity ; but, as a set- off to this, wlien we regard it as a whole, European civiliza- tion appears incomparably more rich and diversified : if each particular fruit has not attained the same perfection, it has ripened an infinitely greater variety. Again, European civil- ization has now endured fifteen centuries, and in all that time it has been in a state of progression. It may be true that it has not advanced so rapidly as the Greek ; but, catching new impulses at every step, it is still advancing. An unbounded ca- reer is open before it ; and from day to day it presses forward to the race with increasing rapidity, because increased free- dom attends upon all its movements. While in other civiliza- tions the exclusive domination, or at least the excessive pre- ponderance of a single principle, of a single form, led to ty- ranu)', in modern Europe the diversity of the elements of so- cial order, the incapability of any one to exclude the rest, gave birth to the lil)orty which now prevails. The inability of the various principles to exterminate one another comj)elled each to endure the others, made it necessary for them to live in common, for them tu enter into a sort of mutual understand- ing. Each consented to have only that part of civilization which fell to its share. Thus, while everywhere else the predominance of one principle has produced tyranny, the I'lriety of elements of European civilization, and the constant R arfare in which they have been engaged, have given birth iii ^.urope 10 that liberty which we prize so dearly. It is this which g'ves to European civilization its real, its immense superiority — it is this which ftrms its esrent'al, it*" 40 GENERAL HISTORY Of lislinttive character. And if, carrying our views slili I'urthci we penetrate beyond the surface into the very nature of things we shall find that this superiority is legitimate — that it is ac knowledged by reason as well as proclaimed by facts. Quit- ting for a moment European civilization, and taking a glance at the world in general, at the common course of earthlj things, what is ihe character we find it to bear ? What do we here perceive 1 Why just that very same diversity, thai very same variety of elements, that very same struggle which is so strikingly evinced in European civilization. It is plain enough that no single principle, no particidar organization, no simple idea, no special power has ever been permitted lo ob- tain possession of the world, to mould it into a durable form, and to drive from it every opposing tendency, so as to reign Itself supreme. Various powers, principles, and systems here intermingle, modify one another, and struggle incessantly — ■ now subduing, now subdued — never wholly conquered, never conquering. Such is apparently the general state of the world, while diversity of forms, of ideas, of principles, their strug- gles and their energies, all tend towards a certain unity, certain ideal, which, though perhaps it may never be at- tained, maidiind is constantly approaching by dint of liberty and labor. Hence European civilization is the reflected im- age of the world — like the course of earthly things, it is nei- ther narrowly circumscribed, exclusive, nor stationary. For the first time, civilization appears to have divested itself of its special character : its development presents itself for the first time under as diversified, as abundant, as laborious an aspect as the great theatre of the universe itself. European civilization has, if I may be allowed the expres- sion, at last penetrated into the ways of eternal truth — into the scheme of Providence ; — it moves in the ways which God has prescribed. This is the rational principle of its superiority. Let it not, I beseech you, be forgotten — bear in mind, as » n proceed with these lectures, that it is in this diversity ol" elements, a-id their constant struggle, that the essential char- acter of om civilization consists. At present I can do no mort' han assert this ; its proof will be found in the facts I shaU bring before you. Still 1 think you will acknowledge it to bf I confirmati in of this ap«er'.ic)n, if i can show yo\i that the sauses, and the elements of the character which 1 havo yxX CIVILIZATION N MODERN EUROPE. 41 lUiibiiled to it, can be traced to the very cradle of our civiliza* tion. If, I say, at the very moment of her birth, at the vcrj hour in which the Roman empire fell, I can show you, in the state of the vvorhl, t)ie circumstances which, from tlie begin- ning, liave concurred to give to European civilization iha aijOtated and diversified, but at the same time prolific chaiac lor which distingnislies it, I think I shall have a strong claiit. upon your assent to its truth. In order to accomplish this, I shall begin by investigating the condition of Europe at the fall of the Roman empire, so thai we may discover in its in- stitutions, in its opinions, its ideas, its sentiments, what were the elements which the ancient world bequeathed to the mo- dern. And upon these elements you will see strongly impres- sed the character which I have just described. It is necessary that we should first see what the Roman empire was, and how it was formed Rome in its origin wa.s a mere municipality, a corporation. The Roman government was nothing more than an assem- blage of institutions suitable to a population enclosed within the walls of a city ; that is to say, they were municipal iiisti tutions ; — this was their distinctive character. This was not peculiar to Rome. If we look, in this period, at the part of Italy which surrounded Rome, we find nothing but cities. What were then called nations were nothing more than confederations of cities. The Latin nation was a con- federation of Latin cities. The Etrurians, the Samnites, the Sabines, the nations of Magna Grancia, were all composed in the same way. At this time there were no country places, no villages ; at least the country was nothing like what it is in the present day. It was cultivated, no doubt, but it was not peopled. The proprietors of lands and of country estates dwelt in cities ; they left these occasionally to visit their rural property, wliero they usually kept a certain number of slaves ; but that which we now call the country, that scattered population, sometimes in lone houses, sometimes in hamlets and villages, and which everywhere dD's our land with agricultural dvi^ellings, was al- ogether unknown in ancient Italy. And »vLat was the case when Rome extended her boundB- i2 OENERAL HISTORY OF / ries 1 li' we follow her history, we shall find that .sat i;oij I nuered or founded a host of cities. It was with cit'es shi fought, it was with cities she treated, it was into cities sin' I sent colonies. In short, the history of the conquest of the I world by Rome is the history of the conquest and foundatioi ' of a vast number of cities. It is true that in the East the es tension of the Roman domin'on bore somewhat of a differeni character • he population was not distributed there in th«' same way as in the western world ; it was under a social sys tem, partaking more of the patriarchal form, and was conse- quently njuch less concentrated in cities But, as we have only to do with the population of Europe, I ihall not dwell upon what relates to that of the East Confining ourselves, then, to the West, we shall fuid the fact to be such as I have described it. In the Gaids, in Spain, we meet with jiothing but cities. At any distance from these, the country consisted of marshes and forests. Examine the character of the monuments left us of ancient Rome — the old Roman roads. We find great roads extending from city CO city ; but the thousands of little by-paths, which now inter- sect every pari of the country, were then unknown. Neilhei do we find any traces of that immense number of lesser ob jects — of churches, castles, country-seats, and villages, whi<,h were spread all over the country during the middle ages , Rome has left no traces of this kind ; her oidy bequest con- I sists of vast monuments impressed with a municipal charac- ter, destined for a numerous population, crowded into a single I spot. In whatever point of view you consider tlie Roman i world, you meet with this almost exclusive preponderance of '. cities, and an absence of country populations and dwellingh \ This municipal character of the Roman world evidently ren \ dered the unity, the social tie of a greal state, extremely dilfi- cult to establish and maintain. A municipal corporation like Rome might be able to con quer the world, but it was a much more difiicult task to govern it, to mould it into one compact body. Thus, when the work fleemed done, when all the West, and a great part of tho East, had submitted to the Roman yoke, we find an inunense DOSt of cities, of little states formed for separate existencf and independence, breaking heir chains, esc'iping an every CrTILIZATTON IN MODERN EUROPE 43 Jldc. This was ono of the causes which made the est;ibhsh- ment of the f^iipire necessary; which called for a more con centrated form of government, one better able to hold together elements which had so few points of cohesion. The empire endeavored to unite and to bind together this extensive ont) scat'ercd society ; and to a certain point it succeeded tfC' twcr^n the reigns of Augustus and Dioclesian, during the very lime that her admirable civil legislation was being carried tc perfection, that vast and despotic administration was establish- ed, which, spreading over the empire a sort of chain-work of functionaries subordinately arranged, firmly knit together the people and the imperial court; serving at the same time to con- vey to society the will of the government, and to bring to tho government the tribute and obedience of society. ^ 8 Dioclesian, A. D. 284, must be regarded as the first who at- tempted to substitute a regularly organized system of oriental nionarcliy, with its imposing ceremonial, and its long gradation ol dignities, proceeding from the throne as the centre of all authority and the source of all dignity, in place of the former military despot- ism, supported only upon, and therefore always at the mercy of, ihe preturian guards. This system was still further perfected by Constantine the Great, A. D. 324, who introduced several important changes into the constitution of the empire. He divided the empire into four great prefectures; the East; Illyricum ; Italy ; and Gaul. The four pretorian prefects created by Dioclesian were retained by Constantine; but with a very material change in their powers. He deprived them of all military command, and made them merely civil governors in the four prefectures. He consolidated still more his monarchical system by an organi- .^aiion of ecclesiastical dignities corresponding with the gradations of the civil administration. This system continued substantially unchanged at the division ol the empire, A. D. 395, and was perpetuated after that period. Each of the empires was divided into two prefectures, and the prefectures into diocesses, in the following manner : Ea9TKRN Esn-iRE. Prefectures. I. The East. II. IlLVR».2UM. Diocesses. 1. The East 2. Ejrypt. Asia Minor. Pontus. Thrace. 1. Macedonia (nil Greece). iJ. Dacia (within the Danubei ■44 GENERAL HISTORS OV I . This sysieni, besides rallying the forces, a ;(] liolling lo / gether the elements, of the Roman world, ir.iroduced 'wiili I v/onderful celerity into society a taste fur despotism, for ce n I tral power. It is truly astonishing to see how rapidly this in- coherent assemblage of little republics, this association of \ niunicipal corporations, sunk into an humble and obedifcoi \ respect for the sacred name of emperor. The necessiiy foi Western Empire. Prefectures, Diocesses. 1. Italy. I. Italy. \ 2. Illyria (Pannunia, etc.). 3. Africa. I\ Spain 2. Tlie Gauls. 3. Britain. Each of these diocesses was divided mto prov'iices, of wbich in both empires iliere were one hundred and seventeua ; and the pro- vinces into cities. Imperial Adminislratton. Household. — The court officers were : tlie Grand Chamberlain , two Ca])iaiiis of the Guard; Master of the Offices; Qiiajstor or Chancellor ; Keeper of the Privy Purse [comes reruin privatarum), whose funciiuas are to be distinguished from those of the Ministei of the public treasury. Provincial administration. — In each prefecture a Prefcctus pre- torio, at tbe bead of the civil administration. In each diocess u Vicar of tbe prefect. In each province a President. Tbe cities were governed by Duumvirs and a Defensor. Mililarij organization. — After tbe Guards and Household troops, ranked tbe legions and the auxiliaries. Tbese were commanded in each prefecture by a Major General of tbe Militia ; a command- er of ibe cavalry, a commander of tbe infantry; military dukci' and counts, legionary prefects, etc. Judiciary. — Cafes of special iinporta"ace reset vcd for the emperoi wore decided by tbe quaestor; ordinary matters by various magiS" iraies, according to tl eir relative magnitude. An appeal lay from tlie defensor .o tbe duumvirs, from tbe duumvirs to tbe president, from the presiJeit to the vicar, from tbe vicar to the prefectus pre torio. Finances. — Tiie revenues were passed, by tbe collectors of cities, into tbe bauds of tbe provincial receivers, and tbence, tbrougb a higher grade of treasurers, .o tbe minister othe public treasury. - Vid. Dcs Mic.hf.^s, Hist, d.i Moyen A^e. CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 45 '-sliiMishitig some tie between all these parts of the Roman \ vrorld must have been very apparent and powerful, otiierwise ive can hardly conceive how the spirit of despotism could sn / easily have made its way into the minds and almost into tho / Rfloclions of the people. -. / !♦. was with this spirit with this administrative organiza- l\in, and with the military S3'stem connected with it, that the Human empire struggled against the dissolution whi^h was working within it, and against the barbarians who attacked it from without. But, though it struggled long, the day at length' arrived when all the skill and power of despotism, when all the pliancy of servitude, was insufficient to prolong its fate. In the fourth century, all the ties wliich had held this innnense body together seem to have been loosened or snapped ; the barl)arians broke in on every side ; the provinces no longer resisted, no longer troubled themselves with the general des- tiny. A.t this crisis an extraordinary idea entered the minds of one or two of the emperors : they wished to try whether the hope of general liberty, whether a confederation, a sys- tem something like what we now call the representative sys- tem, would not better defend the Roman empire than the des- potic administration which already existed. There is a man- date of Honorius and the younger Theodosius, addressed, in the year 418, to the prefect of Gaul, the object of which waa to establish a sort of representative government in the south of Gaul, and by its aid still to preserve the unity of empire. Rescript of the Emperors Honorius and Theodosius the Younger^ ■iddressed, in the year 418, to the Prefect of the Gauls, residing at Aries. "Honorius and Theodosius, Augusti, to Agricoli, Prefect of the Gauls. " In consequence of the very salutary representation which youi Magnificence has made to us, as well as upon otiier information obviously advantageous to the republtc, we decree, in order that they may have the force of a perpetual law, tiiat the followins; regula- t ons should be made, and that obedience should be paid to them by the inliabitants of our seven province?,* and which are such as tiey themselves should wish for and require. Seeing that from * Viount;, the two Aciiutainea, Noveropopolana, the two Narbonnes^ and tho proviic* of the Maritime A!p» IQ GENERAL HISTORY Ok motives, both of punlic and private utility, resfonsible pers( ^s of special deputies should be seat, not only by each province, buv bv each city, to your Magnilicence, not only to render up accounts, hi t also to treat ol' such mailers as concern the bteresl of landed pro- prietors, we have judged that it would be both convenient anl highly advantageous to have annually, at a fixed period, and U Ja'le from the present year, an assembly for the inhabitants of th it the it*.l if the prefecture of the Gauls : lie desired also that it uhould be ix his uniue ; b«il jutl-iD) was more |>oweiful llian his wiJl. » Pi-iU'niud wu* Prefect of the Ga'ils betwocu 402 ajid 408 CIVILIZATION IN MODERN KUROl'E., 47 jgiiin in fyrco, by the prudent exercise of our auihoniy. Thus., tl.in, dear and well-beloved cousin Agricoli, your Magnificence, conforming to oir present ordinance and the custom establislied by jour predecessors, will cause the following regulations to be ol>- served in the provi'^ces: — " It will be necessary to make known unto all persons honored vith public functions or proprietors of domains, and to all thejudg es o/ prrvinces, that they must attend in council every year m the city of A.rles, between tht Ides of August and September, the day's of corvccation and of session to be fixed at pleasure. " Novempopulana and the second Aquilaine, being the most a is- tant provinces, shall have the power, according to castotn, to send, if ;heir judges should be detained by indispensable duties, deputit* in their stead. "Such persons as neglect to attend at the place appointed, and within the prescribed period, shall pay a fine: viz., judges, five pounds of gold; members of the curiae and other dignitaries, three pounds.* " By this measure we conceive we are granting great advan- tages and favor to the inhabitants of our provinces. We have alsf the certainty of adding to the welfare of the city of Aries, to tlic fidelity of which, according to our father and countryman, we owe so mucli.t "Given the 15th of the calends of May; received at Aries the 10th of the calends of June." Notwithstanding this call, the provinces and cities refused the proffered boon ; nobody would name deputies, noiic would go to Aries. This centralization, this unity, was opposed to the primitive nature of this society. The spirit of locality, and of municipality, everywhere reappeared ; the impossi oility of reconstructing a general society, of building up the whole into one general state, became evident. The cities confining themselves to the affcirs of their own corporations, shut themselves up within their own walls, and the empirn rell, hccatise none woidd belong to the empire ; because citi rens wished but to belong to their city. Thus the Roman empire, at its fall, was resolved into the elements of whiclj it had been composed, and the preponderance of mmiicipa] rule and government was again everywhere visible. The * The municipal corps of ;he Roman cities were called ctRl«, ai>(1 tbr niA-.r.licrB ot the«e jolics, wl 1 »3re verj numerous, ctiRiAi.es. t CouiC.iutK.c th« Seci.af, husbaud of Placidia, wbon. B,>iiaii-ig hnj t-tkcn for bU co^ kB^-ar in 4Vl 48 GENERAL HISTORY OF Ronitin vvorld uaJ been formed of cities, and to cities again it relumed.* This municipal system was the bequest of the ancient Roman civilization to mocern Europe. It had no doubt become fee- ble, irreg\ilar, and very inferior to what it had been at an ear- lier period ; but it was the only living principle, the only one that retained any form, the only one that survived the general destruction of the Roman world. When 1 say the only one, I mistake. There was another phenomenon, another idea, which likewise outlived it. I mean the remembrance of the empire, and the title of the em- peror, — the idea of imperial majesty, and of absolute power attached to the name of emperor. It must be observed, then, that the two elements which passed from the Roman civilization into ours were, first, the system of munic'pal cor- porations, its habits, its regulations, its principle of libeii) - a general civil legislation, common to all ; secondly, the idea of absolute power ; — the principle of order and the principlfl of servitude. ' Meanwhile, within the very heart of Roman society, there had grown up another society of a very diHerent nature, founded upon difTcrent principbs, unimated by dilTcrenl sen- timents, and which has brought into European civilization elements of a widely different character ; I speak of the Christian r'lurch. I say the Christian church, and not Chris- tianity, between which a broad distinction is to be made. At the end of the fourth century, and the beginning of the fifth, Christianity was no longer a simple belief, it was an institu- tion — it had formed itself into a corporate body. It had its * That the municipal spirit should have been stronger than any more general sentiment binding the citizens to the empire, was natural, not only because their interests were more immediately concerned in the municipal administration, but because tiie pcoph; had some voice and influence in the government of the cities, while hey had none in the general government. Though the municipal fna^isirates, the duumvirs and defensors, were a part of that vast chain of administrative functionaries proceeding from the imperial throne, and linked to it, yet they were chosen rrom the municipai 6«Date (decurions) and nominated bv the people. CIVILl/IATION IN MODERN f.UROPE. 40 government, a body of priests ; a settled ecclesiastical polity ior the regulation of their different functions ; revenues ; in Jcpoiident means of influence. It had the rallying pointa suitable to a great society, in its provincial, national, and ge:a oral councils, in which were wont to be debated in common the adairs of society. In a word, the Christian religion, a', this epoch, was no longer merely a religion, it was a church Had it not been a church, it is hard to say what would ht-ve been its fate in the general convulsion which attended the overthrow of the Roman empire. Looking only to world- ly means, putting out of the question the aids and superin- tending power of Divine Providence, and considering oidy the natural offec's of natural causes, it would bo difficult to say how Christianity, if it had continued what it was at first, a mete belief, an individual conviction, could havi withstood the shock occa8ioned by the dissolution of the Roman empire and the invasion of the barbarians. At a later period, when it had even become an institution, an established church, it fell in Asia and the North of Africa, upon an invasion of a like kind — that of the Mohammedans ; and circumstances seem to point out that it was still more likely such would have been its fate at the fall of the Roman empire. At this time there existe(' none of those means by which in the present day moral influ ences become established or rejected without the aid of iusti tutions ; none of those means by which an abstract truth nov^ makes way, gains an authority over mankind, governs their actions, and directs their movements. Nothing of this kind existed in the fourth century ; nothing which could give to sim- ple ideas, to personal opinions, so much weight and power. Hence I think it may be assumed, that only a society firmly established, under a powerful government and rules of disci- pline, could hope to bear up amid such disasters — could hope JO weather so violent a storm. I think, then, humanly speak' ing, thai it is not too much to aver, that in the fourth and fi'^th c«;niuries it was the Christian church that saved Christianity ; that it was the Christian church, with its institutions, iUs niagistiates, its authority — the Christian church, which strug- gled so vigorously to prevent the interior dissolution of the empire, which struggled against the barbarian, and which, in /act, ovfircame the barbarian ; — it was this church, I say, thai cooame the great connecting link — the principle of civilization oclvveen the Roman and the barbarian world. It is the atati 50 GENERAL HISTORY OF ol ihe church, then, rather than religion strictly undersiood,- rath< r than that pure and simple faith of the Gospel which all Irue Dolicvers nuist regard as its highest triumph, — that we must looK. at in the fifth century, in order to discover what influ- ence Chiistianity had from this time upon modern civilization, and what are the elements it has introduced into it. Let us sec what at this epoch the Christian church retlly wus. If we look, still in an entirely worldly point of view — if wc look ai the changes which Christianity underwent from ite first rise to the fifth century — if we examine it, (still, I re- repeat, not in a religious, but solely in a political sense,) we shall find that it passed through three essentially diflercnt states. In its infancy, in its very babyhood. Christian society pre- sents itself before us as a simple association of men possess- ing the same faith and opinions, the same sentiments and feel- ings. The first Christians met to enjoy together their conuiion emotions, their conmion religious convictions. At this lime we find no settled form of doctrine, no settled rules of disci- pluie, no body of magistrates. Still, it is perfectly obvious, that no society, however young, ( however feebly held together, or whatever its nature, can ex- ist without some moral power which animates and guides it ; \ and thus, in the various Christian congregations, there were men who preached, who taught, who morally governed the congregation. Still there was no settled magistrate, no dis- cipline ; a simple association of believers in a common faith, with common sentiments and feelings, was the first condition of Christian society. But the moment this society began to advance, and almost at its birth, for we find traces of them in its earliest documents there gradually became moulded a form of doctrine, rules ofdis cipline, a body of magistrates : of magistrates called npcaBirtpot Of cWe/s, who afterwards became priests ; oi iniaKoitoi, inspect- ors or overseers, whu became bishops ; and of ii&Kovoi, or dea aons, whoso ofiicc was he care of the poor and the distrihu tion of a'ms. ClVILrZATIOS' IN MODERN EUROPE. D! .t is almost im|i(fssihle to determine tlie precise functions »l these m;igistr;ifes ; tlie line of demarcation was prjbably »ery vague and wavering; yet here was the embryo of insti (dtions. Still, however, there was one prevailing cliaractei !i! this second epoch : it vva!> that the power, the authority the preponderating influence, still remained in the hands of the general body of believers. It was they who decided is tho election of magistrates, as well as in the adoption of rule? i)f discipline and doctrine. No separation had as yet taken place between the Christian government and the Christian people ; neither as yet existed apart from, or indepcndentlj of, the other, and it was still the great body of Christian be- lievers who exercised the principal influence in the society.' In the third period all this was entirely changed. Tho\ clergy were separated from the people, and now formed a \ distinct body, with its own wealth, its own jurisdiction, its I own constitution; in a word, it had its own government, and ) formed a complete? society of itself, — a society, too, provided / with all the means of existence, independently of the society / to which it applied itself, and over which it extended its in- fluence. This was the third state of the Christian church, 5 It is fair to say that this and the preceding paragraphs touch upon several disputed points. Contrary to the assertions here made, it has by many been always strongly maintained that frona the outset not only were there Christians, but there was a Church ; not only "a simple association of belie\ers," but an organized body ; and that the con litution, government, and main rules of discipline of the church were distinctly and even divinely settled; and that the determination of none of thes^^ things was ever left to the popular voice or will of " the great body of Christian believers." At the same time it is admitted by those who hold this view, that from and after the time of Constantine, the original constitu- tion of the church, without being destroyed, was overlaid by a vast body of human additions, ^articularly by the hierarchy, or long gradation of ecclesiastical dignities and powers rising upward from the prmiitive bishop to the patriarch, and that by these and other lesults of the alliance of Christianity with the empire, the simpli- city of the church was corrupted, its purity endangered, and the primitive relations of t.ie clergy and people injuriously ^HTected. In th s view, therefore, the general correclners of the author's re- inarks in regard to the state of the church in what he terms th< •third period" will be admitted, even by those who may questiof Jie justness of his preceding statementH. 4 52 GENkRAL H STORY OP and in this state it existed at the opening of the hlih cernii-v The government wus not yet completely separated from tin people ; for no such govenimenl as yet existed, and less so io religious matters than in any other ; but, as respects the re- lation between the clergy and Christians in geuer-il it was »ll3 clergy who governed, and governed almost without control / Bi:t, besides the influence which the clergy deri\ed froir '^ their spiritual functions, they possessed considerable power over society, from their having become chief magisi rates in the city corporations. We have already seen, that, strictly speaking, nothing had descended from the Roman empire, ex- cept its municipal system. Now it had fallen out that by the vexations of despotism', and the ruin of the cities, the curiales, or officers of the corporations, had sunk into insignificance and inanity ; while the bishops and the great body of the clergy, full of vigor and zeal, were naturally prepared to guide and watch over them. It is not fair to accuse the clergy of ^asurpation in this matter, for it fell out according to the com- mon course of events : the clergy alone possessed moral strength and activity, and the clergy everywhere succeeded to power — such is the common law of the universe. The change which had taken place in this respect shows Itself in every part of the legislation of the Roman Emperors at this period. In opening the Theodosian and Justinian codes, we find innumerable enactments, which place the management of the municipal affnirs in the hands of the clergy and bishops. I shall cite a (ew. Cod. Just., L. I., tit. iv., De Epxscofilt audientta, ^ 26. — With regard to the yearly afl'airs of the cities, (wliclher as rcspucls the ordinary city revenues, the funds arising from ilie city estates, from legacies or particular gifts, or from any other source; whether as respects the management of liie public works, of the magazines oi irovisions, of the aqueducts ; of the maintenance of the public bathfj *.he ciiy gates, of the building of walls or towers, the repairing o1 nidges and roads, or of any lawsuit in which the city miy be engageii on account of public or private interests,) we ordain as follows: — The right reverend bishop, and three men of gooJ report, front jmong the chiefs of the city, shall assemble togetiicr; every yeai The attempt was thus early made to render the governinen. entirely independent of the people under its authorn} -co take p»(sscssion of their mind and life, without the conviction of their reason or tlie consent of their will. The church, more :iver, endeavored with all her might to establish the principle of theocracy, to usurp temporal authority, to obtain universal dominion. And when she failed in this, when she found she could not obtain absolute power for herself, she did what was almost as bad: to obtain a share of it, she leagued herself with temporal rulers, and enforced, with all her might, their claim to absolute power at the expense of the liberty of tht subject. Such then, I think, were the principal elements of civiliza- tion which Europe derived, in the fifth century, from the Churcli and from the Roman empire. Such was the state of the Roman world when the barbarians came to make it theii prey ; and we have now only to study the barbarians them- selves, in order to be acquainted with the elements which were united and mixed together in the cradle of our civilisa- tion. It must be here understood that we have nothing to do with the history of the barbarians. It is enough for our purpose to know, that wi h the exception of a few Slavonian tribes, such as the Alans, they were all of the same German origin : and that they were all in pretty nearly the same state of civili- zation. It is true that some little difference might exist in this respect, accordingly as these nations had more or less intercourse with the Roman world ; and there is no doubt but the Goths had made a greater progress, and had become more r«3fined than the Franks ; but in a general point of view, and with regard to the matter before us, these little diflerences are of no consc(iuence whatever. A general notion of the state of society among the barba- rians, such, at least, as will enable us to judge of what they have contributed towards modern civilization, is all that we require. This information, small as it may appear, it is now Ahnost impossible to obtain. Respecting the municipal sys- tem of the Romans and the state of the Church we may form 56 GENERAL HISTOR\ OF a tolerally accurate idea. Their influence has lasted to ll»e present times ; we have vestiges of them in many of our in^ stitutions, and possess a thousand means of becoming ac- quainted with them ; but the maimers and social state of tbt barbarians have completely perished, and we are driven U) conjecture what tney were, either from a very few eucicnl nistorical remains, or by an efi'ort of the imagination. There is one sentiment one in particular, which it is Dccessary to understand before we can form a true picture of 8 barbarian; it is the pleasure of personal indepcndonce — the pleasure of enjoying, in full force and liberty, all his powers in the various ups and downs of fortune ; the fondness for activity without labor; for a life of enterprise and adventure. Such was the prevailing character and disposition of the bar- barians ; such were the moral wants which put these immense masses of men into motion. It is extremely difhcult for us, in the regidated society in which we move, to form anything like a correct idea of this feeling, and of the influence which it exercised upon the rude barbarians of the fourth and Hfth centuries. There is, however, a history of the Norman con- quest of England, written by M. Thierry, in which the char- acter and disposition of the barbarian are depicted with nmch life and vigor. In this admirable work, the motives, tht; incli- nations and impulses that stir men into action in a state of life bordering on the savage, have been felt and described in a truly masterly manner. There is nowhere else to be found 80 correct a likeness of what a barbarian was, or of his course of life. Something of the same kind, but, in my opinion, much inferior, is found in the novels of Mr. Cooper, in which he depicts the manners of the savages of America. In these scenes, in the sentiments and social relations whicli tiiese savages hold in the midst of their forests, there is unquestion- ably something which, to a certain point, calls up before us the manners of the ancient Germans. No doubt these pic lures are a little imagiiiative, a little poetical ; the worst fea tures in the life and manners of the barbarians are not given in all their naked coarseness. I allude not merely to the evils wliich these manners forced into the social condition, but to the inward individual condition of the barbarian himself There is in this passionate desire for personal indepenJence something of a grosser, more material character than wt »«hould suppose from the work of M. Tluerry ; a dcjjree ol CIVILIZATION IN AODEKS EUROPE. ^7 brutality, of headstrong passion, of apathy, which we do nd discover in his details. Still, notwithstanding this alloy of l)rutal and stupid selfishness, there is, if we look more pro- foundly into the matter, something of a noble and moral char- acter, in this taste for independence, which seems to derive its power from our moral nature. It is the pleasure of feeling one's self a man ; the sentiment of personality ; of human qpontaneity in its unrestricted development. It was the rude barbarians of Germany who introduced this Bentiinent of personal independence, this love of individual liberty, into European civilization ; it was unknown among the Romans, it was unknown in the Christian Church, it waa unknown in nearly all the civilizations of antiipiity. The liberty which we meet with in ancient civilizations is politi- cal liberty ; it is the liberty of the citizen. It was not about his personal liberty that man troubled himself, it was about his liberty as a citizen. He formed part of an association, and to tliis alone he was devoted. The case was the same in the Christian Church. Among its members a devoted at- tachment to the Christian body, adevotedness to its laws, and an earnest zeal for the extension of its empire, were every- where conspicuous ; the spirit of Christianity wrought a change in the moral character of man, opposed to this prin- ciple of independence ; for under its influence his mind strug- gled to extinguish its own liberty, and to deliver itself up en- <^ ij>-ely to the dictates of his faith. But the feeling of person n dl independence, a fondness for genuine liberty displaying it self withou* regard to consequences, and with scarcely any other aim uian its own satisfaction — this feeling, I repeat, was unknown to the Romans and to the Christians. We are in- debted for it to the barbarians, who introduced it into Euro- pean civilization, in which, from its first rise, it has played so considerable a part, and has produced such lasting and bene . ficial results, that it must be regarded as one of its fundamen- y tal principles, and » ould not be passed without notice. There is another a second element of civlization, which \\ wo likewise inherit from the barbarians alone : I mean mill- jj I'iry oatronage, the tie which became formed between indivi- luals, between warriors, and which, without destroying the liberty of any, without even destroying in the commencement the equality up to a certain point which existed between them, laid 'he foundation of a graduated subordination, and was thf >8 OEXERAL HISTORY OP / origin of that aristocratical organization -vhich, at a liter p»> / riod, grew into the feudal system. The gorm of th's coimexiou was the attachment of man to man ; the fidelity whicli united individuals, without apparent necessity, without any obliga- tion arising from the general principles of society. In none of the ancient republics do you see any example of individuala particularly and freely attached to other individuals. They were all attached to the city. Among the barbarians this tio I was formed between man and man ; first by the relationship I of companion and chief, when they came in bands to overrun p Europe ; and at a later period, by the relationship of sovereign / and vassal. This second principle, which has had so vast an '/'( influence in the civilization of modern Europe — this devoted- 11 ^ ness of man to man — came to us entirely from our German '"^ ( ancestors ; it formed part of their social system, and was adopted into ours. Lot mo now ask if I was not fully justified in stating, as 1 did at the outset, that modern civilization, even in its infancy, was diversified, agitated, and confused ? Is it not true that we find at the fall of the Roman empjre nearly all the ele- ments which are met with in the progressive career of our civilization \ We have found at this epoch three societies all difl'erent ; first, municipal society, the last remains of the Ro- man empire ; secondly. Christian society ; and lastly, barba- rian society. We find these societies very difl'erently organ- ized ; founded upon principles totally opposite ; inspiring men with sentiments altogether difierent. We find the love of the most absolute independence by the side of the most devoted submission ; military patronage by the side of ecclesiastical domination ; spiritual power and temporal power everywhere together ; the canons of the church, the learned legislation of the Ronrans, the almost unwritten customs of the barbarians; everywhere a mixture or rather co-existence of nations, of languages, of social situations, of maimers, of ideas, of impres- sions, the most diversified. These, I think, afford a sulHcieitJ proof of the truth of the general character which I have ea- deaviirod to picture of oui civilizatior. There is no denying that we owe to this confusion, this diversity, this tossing an I jostling of elements, the slow pro- gress of Europe, the storfus by which slie has been buffeted, tlie miseries to wliicb ofttimes she has been a pr'jy but CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 59 lM)wevei dear these have cost us, we must not regard thoin with uinniiiylcd regret. In nations, as well as in individuals the good fortune to have all the faculties called into action, so as to ensure a full and free development of the various powers both of mind and body, is m advantage not too dearly paiil for by the labor and pain with which it is attended. What we might call the hard fortune of European civilization — the rouble, the toil it has undergone — the violence it has suflered in iis course — have been of infinitely more service to the pro ^css of humanity than that tranquil, smooth simplicity, in which other civilizations have run their course. I shall now halt. In the rude sketch which I have drawn, 1 trust you wiP recognise the general features of the world such as it appear 3d upon the fall of the Roman empire, as well as the various blements which conspired and mingled together to give birth lO European civilization. Henceforward these will move and ict under our notice. We shall next put these in motion, and Ree how they work together. In the next lecture 1 shall en- deavor to show what they became and what they performed iv, the epoch which is called the Barbarous Period; that is to say, the period during which the chaos of invasion continued.' ' The remarkable crisis, when the Romans and the barbarians were contending for the empire of the world, should be well com- piehended by lue student. Gibbon will furnish the history : Caesar and Tacitus are the original sources for a knowledge of the German character. It was a struggle between civilization and barbarism: the latter triumphed ; the Dark Ages were the result. Frequent border wars had been maintained with the Germans on the Rhine from the time of Julius Caesar, when the conquee; of Gaul had extended the bounds of the empire to that river. But after the time of Caracalla, 212, the conflict became inces- sant : new tribes of Germans began to appear and press upon thf frontier, making continual predatory irrufitions into the Roman ter- ritory, but efTecting no pv.'rmanent establishment. At length, in 376, 'he Huns, entering Europe from northern Asia, aubdiicd or drove before them the Sclavonian and Gothic tribes, precipitated the Visigoths across the Danube wit.hin the limits of the lioman Empire. Then began the struggle for the empire. Wave followed wave Si the great migration of nations — a movement which continued to roil tumulluously over Europe for more than three centuries afiei the downfall of the Western Empire. Tlu various tribes of barbarians wnose names appear m thf! hi* tory ol this period belonged to three distinct races* 30 6ENERAL HISTORY OF CIVILIZATION 1. The Scythian — comprising the Huns, the Alani, Avan, Bul- garians, Hungarians, Turks, and Tariars. 2. The Sciavoniaii — to which belcnged the Bosnians, the Sei rians, Croatians, etc.; the Wendi, foles, Bohemians, Moravians Pomeranians, Wiltsians, Lusatians, etc.; the Livonians and Lithu anians. 3. The German — including the Alemanni, a confederation ol tribes of which the Suevi were the chief; the Bavarians, Mar comanni, Quadi, Hermunduri, Heruli ; the Gepidai, the Goths the Francs, the Prisons ; the Vandals, Burgundians, Rugii, Lom- bards; the Angli, and Saxons. The final exlinction of the Roman Empire of lit West is dated m 476, when the imperial throne was subverted by Odoacer, lead- er of the mixed multitude of barbarian auxiliaries. But it should be remembered that previous to this event Rume had been twice taken and sacked, first by Alaric and the Visigoths in 4 10, next by Genseric and the Vandals in 455; and that /our barbarian kingdoms had been established within the limits of the empire : the kingdom of the Burgundians in 413 ; of the Suevi in 419 ; of the Visigoths in 419; of Carthage by llie Vandals in 439. In 493 the power of Odoacer was deoiroyed, and the Ostro- Gothic kingdom of Italy established by Thecjdoric the Great. Thus, before the end of the fifth century, the Vandals were mas- ters of Africa ; the Suevi, of a part of Spain ; the Visigoths of the rest, together with a large part of Gaul ; ihe Burgundians of that part of Gaul lying on the Rhone and Saone ; the Ostro-Guths of nearly all Italy; while the Francs under Clovis had begun (481 — 496) the career of conquest, which in the next and following cen- turies resulted in the overthrow of those kingdoms, the esiahlish- iu»?nt of the Frankish Jominion, and the formation for a time of a Dew oeoln? of gravity .or Europe under Charlemagno. LECTURE III. 3F POMTICAL LEGITIMACY CO-EXISTENCE OF ALL THE ftV» TKMS OF OOVERNMENT IN THE FIFTH CENTURY —ATTEMI'Tfi 10 REOkOANIZE SOCIETY. In my last lecture, I brought you to what may he called the porch to the history of modern civilization. 1 briefly placed before you the primary elements of European civilization, as found when, at the dissolution of the Roman empire, it was yet in its cradle. I endeavored to give you a preliminary sketch of their diversity, their continual struggles with each other, and to show you that no one of them succeeded in obtaining tlie mastery in our social system ; at least such a mastery as would imply the complete subjugation or expulsion of the others. We have seen that these circumstances form the dis- tinguishing character of European civilization. We will to- day begin the history of its childhood in what is commonly called the dark or middle age, the age of barbarism. It is impossible for us not to be struck, at the first glance at this period, with a fact which seems quite contradictory to th« siatoineni we have just made. No sooner do we seek for in- formation respecting the opinions that have been formed rela- tive to the ancient condition of modern Europe, than we find that the various elements of imr civilization, that is to say, monarchy, theocracy, aristocracy, and democracy, each would have us believe that originally, European society belonged to i> alone, and that it i?as only lost the power it then possessed by the usurpation of the other elements. Examine all that haa been written, all that has been said on this sul>ject, and you will find that every author who has attempted to build up a •ystem which should represent or explain our origin, has isserled the exclusive predominance of one or other of these elements of European civilization. First, there is the school of civilians, attached to the feu- lal system, among whom we may mention Boulainvilliers as S2 'iENERAL HISTORY OF Hit most celebrated, who boldly asserts, that, at ihe downfall of tlie Roman empire, it was the conquering nation, forminj^ afterwards the nobility, who alone possessed authority, oi right, or power. Society, it is said, was their domain, of which kin/{.s and people have since despoiled them ; antf hence, llie aristocratic organization is -Ulirmed to have boec in Europe the primitive and genuine form. Next to this school we may place he advocates of monar- chy, the Abbe Dubois, for example, v^ho maintains, on the. other side, that it was to royalty that E-iropean society be- longed According to him, the German kings succeeded to all the rights of the lU/man emperors ; they were even invited in by the ancient nations, among others by the Gauls and Sax- ons ; tliey alone possessed legitimate authority, and all the conquests of the aristocracy were only so many encroach- ments upon the power of the monarchs. The liberals, republicans, or democrats, whichever you may choose to call them, form a third schoo'i. Consult the Abbe de Mably. According to tliis school, tlie government by which /ociety was ruled in the fifth century, was composed of free institutions ; of assemblies of freemen, of the nation proj)er- iy so called. Kings and nobles enriched themselves by tlie spoils of this primitive Liberty ; it has fallen under their re- peated attacks, but it reigned before them. Another power, however, claimed the right of governing society, and upon much higher grounds than any of these. Monarchical, aristocratic, and popular pretensions were all of a worldly nature : the Church of Rome founded her pre- tensions upon her sacred mission and divine right. By hei labors, Europe, she said, had attained the blessings of civi lizatior and truth, and to her alone belonged the right ti; govern it. Here then is a difficulty which meets us at the very outi;et. We have stated our belief that no one of the elements of European civilization obtained an exclusive mastery over it, in the whole course of its history, that they lived in a con- Btant slate of proximity, of amalgamation, of strife, and of compromise ; yet here, at our very first step, we are met by the directly opposite opinion, that one or other of these elements, even ir. .he very infancy of civilization, even in the very heart ^f barbarian Europe, took entire possession of sociei) . And I* is Jiot iu one country alone, it is in every nation of i'^urop" CIVILIZATION IN MCDFRN EUuOPE 63 nat the various principloa of our civilization, under forms n jttle varied, at epochs a little apart, have displayed these irreconcilable pretensions. The historic schools which I have enumerated arc met with everywhere. Tills lac 3 important, not in itself, but becn^nsc it reveals some other facts which make a great figure in our history By this simultaneous advancement of claims the most opposeJ o the exclusive possession of power, in the first stage of ;aodern Europe, two important facts are revealed ; first, tho princijile, the idea of political legitimacy ; an idea which has played a considerable part in the progress of European civili- zation. The second is the particular, the true character '^f tho stale of barbarian Europe during that period, which now more expressly demands attention. It is my task, then, to explain these two facts ; and to 8\ow you how they may be fairly deduced from the early struggle of the pretensions which I have just called to your notice. Now what do these various elements of our civilization, — what do theocracy, monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy aim at, when they each endeavor to make out that it alono was the first which held possession of European society? Is it any thing beyond the desire of each to establish its sole claim to legitimacy ? For what is political legitimacy ? Evi- dently nothing more than a right founded upon antiquity, upor duration, which is obvious from the simple fact, that piiority of time is pleaded as the source of right, as proof of legiti- mate power. But, observe again, this claim is not peculiar to one system, to one element of our civilization, but is made alike by all. Tho political writers of the Continent have been in the habit, for some time past, of regarding legitimacy as belonging, exclusively, to the monarchical system. This ia an error ; legitimacy may be found in all the systems. It hag already been shown that, of the various elements of our civi- lization, each wished to appropriate it to itself. But advance a few steps further into the history of Europe, dnd you will fce«- social forms of government, the most opposed in prin- ciples, aliko ill possess on of this legitimacy. The Italian and Swiss aristocracies and democracies, the little republic A San Marino, as well as the most powerful monarchies, have considered themselves legitimate, and have been acknowledge*/ H GENERAL HISTORY OF as such , all founding their claim to this title upon the un tiquity of their institutions ; upon *.he historical i)riority ?ni duration of their particular system of government. If we leave modern Europe, and turn our attention toother times and to other countries, wo shall everywhere find this same notion prevail respecting political legitimacy. It every- where attaches itself to some portion of government ; to som^ institution ; to some form, or to some maxim. There is no country, no time, in which you may not discover some por- tion of the social system, some pul)lic authority, that has as- sumed, and been acknowledged to possess, this character ol legitimacy, arising from anticjuity, prescription, and duration Let us for a moment see what this legitimacy is ? of vvhai U is composed ? what it requires ? and how it found its way into European civilization? / You will find that all power — •! say all, without distinction / — owes its existence in the first place partly to force. I dc / not say that force alone has been, in all cases, the foundation j of power, or that this, without any other title, could in every I case have been established by force alone. Other claims un- doubtedly are requisite. Certain powers become established in consequence of certain social expediencies, of certain re- lations with the state of society, with its customs or opinions. But it is impossible to close our eyes to the fact, that violence has sullied the birth of all the authorities in the world, what ever may have been their nature or their form. / This origin, however, no one will acknowledge. All au- thorities, whatever their nature, disclaim it. None of them will allow themselves to be considered as the offspring of fcTce. Governments are warned by an invincible instinct that force is no title — that might is not right — and that, while they rest upon no other foundation than violence, they are entirely destitute of right. Hence, if we go back to some distant pe- riod, in which the various systems, the various powers, are 'ound struggling one against the other, we shall hear them each exclaiming, " I existed before you ; my claim is the old- est ; mj claim rests upon other grounds than force; society belonged to ir.e before this state of violence, before this strife in which you now find me. I was legitimate ; I have boei/ opposed, and my rights have been torn from me.'' This faci lIouo proves that the idea of violence is not thi- foundutKui tf jjoliticai legitimacy, — that it rests upon sonw OIVll.IZATION IN MODERN EbROPE, 65 Other basis. This disavowal of violence made by every sys- tem, proclaitns, as plainly as facts can speak, that there is another legitimacy, the true foundation of all the others, the legitimacy of reason, of justice, of right. It is to this origin that they seek to link themselves. As they feel scandalipjci/ at the very idea of being the ofTspring of force, they pretend to be invested, by virtue of their antiquity, with a difl'ereul title. The first characteristic, then, of political legitimacy, is to disclaim violence as the source of authority, and to asso- ciate it with a moral notion, a moral force — with the notion of justice, of right, of reason. This is the primary element from which tjie principle of political legitimacy has sprung forth. It has issued from it, aided by time, aided by prescrip- tion. Let us see how. Violence presides at the birth of governments, at the birth of societies ; but time rolls on. He changes the works of violence. He corrects them. He corrects them, simply be- cause society endures, ai\d because it is composed of men. Man bears within himself certain notions of order, of justice, of reason, with a certain desire to bring them into play — he wishes to see them predominate in the sphere in which he moves. For this he labors unceasingly ; and if the social eyslem in which he lives, continues, his labor is not in vain. Man naturally brings reason, morality, and legitimacy into the world in which he lives. Independently of the labor of man, by a special law of Providence whicb it is impossible to mistake, a law analogous to that which rules the material world, there is a certain de- gree of order, of intelligence, of justice, indispensable to the duration of human society. From the siniple fact of its du- ration we may argue, that a society is not completely irration- al, savage, or inicjuitous ; that it is not altogether destitute of intelligence, truth, and justice, for without these, society can- not hold together. Again, as society develops itself, it hv comes stronger, more powerful ; if the social system is con- diuially augmented by the increase of individuals who accejrt ar.d approve its regulations, it is because the iction of time gradually introduces into it more right, more intelligence, more justice ; it it is because a gradual approximation is made in Its affairs to the principles of true legitimacy. Thus forces itself into the world, and from the world into the mind of man, the notion ol political legitimacy. Its foun 36 OENt.lAL HISTORY OF iation in the first place, at least to a certain exter.t, is morul legiiiinacy — is justice, intelligence, Lnd truth ; it next obtains the sanction cf time, which gives reason to believe that alTair.^ are conducted by reason, that the true legitimacy has been iti- iroduced. At the epoch which we are about to study, yoi; will find violence i-nd fraud hovering over the cradle of mon- archy, aristocracy, democracy, and even over the church it- self; you will see this violence and fraud everywhere gradually abated ; and justice and truth taking their place in civili- zation. It is this introduction of justice and truth into our social system, that has nourished and gradua'ly matured poli- tical legitimacy ; and it is thus that it lias taken firm root in modern civilization. All those tlien who have attempted at various times to set up this idea of legitimacy as the foundation of absolute pow- er, have wrested it from its true origin. Ii has noihing to do with absolute power. It is under the name of justice and righteousness that it has made its way into the woill and found footing. Neither is it exclusive. It belongs to no par- ty in particular ; it springs up in all systems where truth and Justice prevail. Political legitimacy is as nuich attached to iberty as to power; to the rights of individuals as to the forms under which are exercised the public functions. As we go on we shall find it, as I said before, in systems the mosi opposed ; in the feudal system ; in the frcic cities of Flanders and Germany ; in the republics of Italy, as well as in monar- chy. Il is a quality which appertains to all the divers ele- ments of our civilization, and which it is necessary should be well understood before entering upon its history. The second fact revealed to us by that simultaneous ad- vancement of claims, of which I spoke at the beginning of this lecture, is the true character of what 's 3allcd the period of barliarism. Each of the elements of European civiliza lion pretends, that at this epoch Europe belonged to it alene ; hente we may conclude that it really belonged to no one of them. When any particular kind of government prevails iu the world, there is no difiiculty in recognising it. When we r.onie to the tenth century, wo acknowledge;, without hesita- lion the prepomlerance of feudalism. At the seventeenth wo hive no hesitation in asserting, that the monarchical principle prevails. If we turn our eyes to the free conunuruties of Flanders, to the republic? of Italy, we confess at once the CIVILIZATICN IN MODERN EUROPE. 6"? (Modomiiianco of democracy. Whenever, indeed, anj out {.iiiiciple really bears sway in ?ociety, it cannot be mistaken. Thtj dispute, then, that has arisen among the various sy* (ouis wliich hold a part in European civilization, respecting which I)ore chief sway at its origin, proves that they all ex isted there together, without any one of them having prevail- ed 90 generally as to give to society its form or its name. This is, indeed, the character of the dark age : it was a cliaos of all the elements ; the childhood of all the systems ; a universal jumble, in which even strife itself was neithet pcriiKuicnl nor systematic. By an examination of tlie tocial system of this period under its various forms, I could show you that in no part of them is there to be found anything like a general principle, anything like stability. I shall, however, con fine myself to two essential particulars — the state of per- sons, the state of institutions. This will be sufficient to give a general picture of society. We find at this time four classes of persons : 1 st. Freemen, that is to say, men who, depending upon no superior, upon no patron, held their property and life in full liberty, without be- ing fettered by any obligation towards another individual. 2d The Lucdes, Fideles, Antrustions, &c., who were connected at first by the relationship of companion and chief, and after- wards by that of vassal and lord, towards another individua' to whom they owed fealty and service, in consequence of a grant of lands, or some other gifts 3d. Freedmen 'l-th. Slaves. But were these various classes fixed ? Were men once placed in a certain rank bound to it ? Were the relations, in which the difierent classes stood towards each other, regulai or peimanent 1 Not at all. Freemen were contirmally chang- ing their condition, and becoming vassals to nobles, in consid- eration of some gift which these might have to bestow ; while others were falling into the class of slaves or serfs. Vassals were continually struggling to shake off the yoke of patronage, X) regain llieir independence, to return to the class of freemen. Every part of societ)- was in motion. There was a continual passing and repassing from one class to the other. No man continued long in the same rank tin rank continued long the :aine 5 88 OENEKAL HISTOKY OF Property was in much the same state. 1 need scarceij icH you. that j)0ssess-.f>ns were distinguished into allodial, oi entirely free, and beneficiary, or such as were held by ten* lire, with certain obligations to be discharged towards a supe* rior. Some writers attempt to trace out a regular and estab lished system with respect to the latter class of proprietors and lay it down as a rule that benefices were at first bestowed for a determinate number of years ; that they were afterw ardu granted for life ; and finally, at a later period, became heredi- tary. The attempt is vain. Lands were held in all these various ways at the same time, and in the same places. Be- nefices for a term of years, benefices for life, hereditary bene- fices, are found in the same period ; even the same lands, within a few years, passed through these difl!*erent states. There was nothing more settled, nothing more general, in the state of lands than in the state of persons. Everything shows the difficulties of the transition from the wandering life to the settled life ; from the simple personal relations which existed among the barbarians as invading migratory hordes, to the mixed relations of persons and property. During this transi lion all was confused, local, and disordered. In institutions we observe the same unfixedness, the samt chaos. We find here three difl^erent systems at once before us: — 1st. Monarchy; 2d. Aristocracy, or the proprietorship of men and lands, as lord and vassal ; and, 3dly. Free insti- tutions, or assemblies of free men deliberating in connnon. No one of these systems entirely prevailed. Free institutions existed ; but the men who should have formed part of these assemblies seldom troubled themselves to attend them. Ba ronial jurisdiction was not more regularly exercised. Monar- chy, the most simple institution, the most easy to determine, here had no fixed character ; at one time it was elective, a. another hereditary — here the son succeeded to hi? father, there the election was confined to a family ; in another place it was open to all, jiurely elective, and the choice fell on a distant relation, or perhaps a stranger. In none of these sys- tems can we discover anything fixed ; all the institutions, w well as the social conditions, dwelt together, continually con founded, continually changing. The same unsettledness existed with regard to states , ihej iverc created, suppressed, united, and divided ; no goveru' mor»8 no fr'Titiers no nations ; a general iunible :^f situ \li3n3 CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE CO principles, events, races, languages . such was barbarian Europe. Let us now fix the limits ol this extraordinary peiiod. Its origin is strongly defined ; it began with the fall of the Roman empire. But where did it close ? To settle this question, we must find out the cause of this state of society ; we must see wha» "were the causes of barbarism. I think 1 can point out two : — one material, arising from exterior circumstances, from the course of events ; the other, moral, arising from the mind, from the intellects of man. The material, or outward cause, was the continuance of invasion ; for it must not be stipposed that the invasions of the barbarian hordes stopped all at once in the fifth century. Do not believe that because the Roman empire was fallen, and kingdoms of barbarians founded upon its ruins, that the move- ment of nations was over. There are plenty of facts to prove that this was not the case, and that this movement lasted a long time after the destruciion of the empire. If we look to the Franks, or French, we shall find even the tirst race of kings continually carrying on wars beyond the Rhine. We see Clotaire, Dagobert, making expedition after expedition into Germany, and engaged in a constant struggle with the Thuringiajis, the Danes, and the Saxons who occu- pied the right bank of that river. And why was this but be- cause these nations wished to cross the Rhine and get a share in the spoils of the empire 1 How came it to pass tliat the Franks, established in Gaul, and principally the Eastern, or Austrasian Franks, much about the same time, threw them- selves ir such large bodies upon Switzerland, and invaded Italy by crossing the Alps ? It was because thsy were push- ed forward by new populations from the north-east. Thos«i invasions were not mere pillaging inroads, they were not ex- peditions undertaken for the purpose of plunder, they weif the result of necessity. The people, disturbed in their own seUlemcnts, pressed forward to better their fortune and find new abodes elsewhere. A new German nation entered upon the arena, and founded the powerful kingdom of the Lombards ai Italy. In Gaul, or France, the Merovinginian dynasty 4a ve way to the Carlo vingian ; a change which is now gf;n rO GENERAL hiSTORY OF erally ackno A'ledged to have been, properly speakirg, a new irruption of Franks into Gaul — a movement of nations, whicli substituted the Eastern Franks for the Western. Under the bocond race of kings, we find Charlemagne playing the same nart against the Saxons, which the Merovinginian princcfi played against the Thuringians : he carried on an unceasing war against the nations beyond .he Rliine, who were pi^t- cipitated upon the west oy the Wiltzians, the Swabians, she Bohemians, and the various tribes of Slavonians, who trod on the heels of the German race. Throughout tin? north-east emigrations were going on and changing the face of affairs. In the south, a movement of the same nature took place. While the German and Slavonian tribes pressed along the Rhine and Danube, the Saracens began to ravage and conquer the various coasts of the Mediterranean. The invasion of the Saracens, however, had a character peculiarly its own. In them the spirit of conquest was united with the spirit of proselytism ; the sword was drawn as well for the pronudgation of a faith as the acquisition of territory. There is a vast difference between their invasion and that of the Germans. In the Christian world spiritual force and tem poral force were quite distinct. The zeal for tlie propagation of a faitli and the lust of conquest are not inmates of the same bosom. TliG Germans, after their conversion, preserved tlic- same manners, the same sentiments, the same tastes, as be- fore ; they were still guided by passions and interests of a worldly nature. They had become Christians, but not mis- sionaries. The Saracens, on the contrary, were both con- querors and missionaries. The power of the Koran and of tho sjvvord was in the same hands. And it was this peculiarity which, I think, ^"ive to Mohammedan civilization the wretch- ed character which it bears. It was in this union of the tem poral and spiritual powers, and the confusion which it created between mor.al authority and physical force, that that tyranny was born which seems inherent in their civilization. This I t Hugh Capet. Taken in connexion with the codes, they indicate the character of the people, and the changes in the state of society. The original sources of S.iformation are the work of Lindenbro- gius for the codes, of Baluze foi the capitularies. The general reader will find something on the subject in Gibbon and in Mon- tesquieu ; but Butler's Hort and correct abuses ; to amend the mal-administration o^ juafice, and to render him an account of all that was wrong; and afterwards by the general assemblies or parliaments as they have been called of the Champ de Mars, which he held more regularly than any of his prcdcscessors. These assem- blies he made nearly every considerable person in his domin- ions to attend. They were not assemblies formed for the preservation of the liberty of the subject, there was nothing in them I)carii.g any likeness to the deliberations of our own Jays. Hut Charlemagne found them a means by which he could become well informed of facts and circumstances, and by which he could introduce some regulation, some unity, into the restless and disorganized populations he had to govern. In whatever point of view, indeed, we regard the reign of Charlemagne, we always find its leading characteristic to be a desire to overcome barbarism, and to advance civilization. We see this conspicuously in his foundation of schools, in his collecting of libraries, in his gathering about him the learned of all countries ; in the favor he showed towards the influencfi of the church, for everything, in a word, which seemed like. ly to operate beneficially upon society in general, or the in- dividual man. An attempt of the same nature was made -;ry soon after- wards in England, by Alfred the Great. These are some of the means which were in operation, from the filth to the ninth century, in various parts of Europe vhich seemed likely to put an end to barbarism. None of them succeeded. Charlemagne was unable lo es- tablish his great empire, and the system of government by nrhich he wished to ri.le it. The church succeeded no better 60 OENERAL HI8T0RV OK in its attempt in Spain to found a system of theocracy. And though in Italy and the south of France, Roman civilization made several attempts to raise its head, it was not till a later period, till towards the end of the tenth century, that it in reality acquired any vigor. Up to this time, every effort to pul an end to barharism failed : they supposed men more advan- ced than they in reality were. They all desired, under va- rious formSj to establish a society more extensive, or bettei regulated, than the spirit of the age was prepared for. The attempts, however, were not lost to mankind. At the com- mencement of the tenth century, there was no longer any visi- ble appearance of the great empire of Charlemagne, nor of the glorious councils of Toledo, but barbarism was drawing nigh its end. Two great results were obtained : 1. The movement of the invading hordes had been stopped coth in the north and in the south. Upon the dismemberment .f the empire of Charlemagne, the states, which became formed upon the right bank of the Rhine, opposed an eflectual barrier to the tribes which advanced from the west. The Danes and Normans are an incontestable proof of tliis. Up to this time, if we except the Saxon attacks upon England, the invasions of the German tribes by sea had not been very considerable : but in the course of the ninth century ihey be came constant and general. And this happened, because in- vasions by land had become exceedingly difficult ; society had acquired, on this side, frontiers nore fixed and secure ; and that portion of the wandering nations, which could not be pressed back, were at least turned from their ancient course, and compelled to proceed by sea. Great as undoubtedly was the misery occasioned to the west of Europe by the incur- sions of these pirates and nnuauders, they still were nnich less hurtful than the invasions by land, and disturbed much less generally the newly-forming society. In the soutli, the case was much the same. The Arabs had settled in Spain and the struggle between them and the Christians still con- tinued ; but this occasioned no new emigration of nations IJands of Saracens still, from time to time, infested the coc^stt of the Mediterranean, but the great career of Islamism wa; arrested. 2. In the interior ot Europe we begin at this time to nee the wandering life aedine • oopidations became fixed ; etitatci CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 81 ind landed possessions became settled ; the relations between man and man no longer varied from day to day under the in- fluence of force or chance. The interior and moral condi- tion of man himself began to undergo a change ; his ideas bis sentiments, began, like his life, to assume a more fixed fharactcr. He began to feel an attachment to the place ii. nliich he dwelt; to the connexions and associations which he hero formed ; to those domains which he now calculated flpor. leaving to his children ; to that dwelling which hereafter became his castle ; to that miserable assemblage of serfs and slaves, which was one day to become a village. Little socie- ties everywhere began to be formed; little states to be cut out according to the measure, if I may so say, of the capaci- ties and prudence of men. There, societies gradually became connected by a tie, the origin of which is to be found in the manners of the German barbarians : the tie of a confederation which would not destroy individual freedom. On one side .ve find every considerable proprietor settling himself in his domains, surrounded only by his family and retainers ; on the other, a certain graduated subordination of services and rights existing among ail these military proprietors scattered over the land. Here we have the feudal system oozing at last out of (he bosom of barbarism. Of the various elements of our civi- lizations, it was natural enough that the Germanic element should first prevail. It was already in possession of power ; it had conquered Europe : from it European civilization was to receive its first form — its first social organization. The character of this form — the character of feudalism, and the influence it has exercised upon European civilization — will be the object of my next lecture ; while in the very bosom of this system, in its meridian, we shall, at every step, meet with the other elements of our own social system, monarchy, the church, and the communities or free citim. We shall feel pre-assured tliat these were not destined to fall under this feudal form, to which they adapted themselves while struggling against it; and that we may look forward *!) the hour when victory ivill declare itself for them in iluii turn. f ECTURE IV THE FEUDAL SYSTEM. I HAVE thus far endeavored to give you a view of 'ho stale oi Europe upon the fall of the Roman empire ; of iis .state in the fir&^ pt-riod of modern history — in the period of barbarism. We have seen that at the end of the period, towards the be- ginning of the tenth century, the first principle, the first sys- tem, which took possession of European society, was the feu- dal system — that out of the veiy bosom of barbarism sprung feudalism. The investigation of this system will be the sub- ject of the present lecture. 1 need scarcely remind you that it is not the liistory of events, properly so called, that we propose to consider. 1 shall not here recount the destinies of the feudal system. The '>ubject which engages our attention is the history of civiliza- tion ; it is tnat general, hidden fact, which we have to seek tor, out of ail the exterior facts in which its exi.stenco ia ;;ontained. ^If Thus the events, the social crisises, the various state's hrough which society has passed, will in no way interest us, jxcept so far as iney are connected with the growth of civili- zation ; we have only to learn from them how they have re- tarded or forwaraeu this great work; what they have given it, , , and what they have withheld from it. It is only in this poini ^\ of view that we shad consider the feudal system. In the first of these lectures we settled wliat civilization waa i we endeavored to discover its elements ; we saw that \t consisted, on one side, in thp development of man himself, if the individual, of humanity; on the other, of his outward -if social condition. VVI.en then we come to any event, to any ijystem, to any general condition of society, we have this two- fold question to put to it : What lias it done for or against tlic Jevelopment of man — for or against the development of so- niely 1 It wiil, however, be at once seen that, in the inves oiyii.i7;ATroN in modern furope. gg (i fat ion \\p: )i:ivo uiulortrikcn, it will he impossililo for us no? to cOMio in contact with some of the grandest questions in moral piiil(»sophy. When we would, for example, know in what an event, a system, has contrihuted to the progress of man and of society, it is necessary that we should know who' \\ is the true development of society and of man ; and be en /) allied to detect those developments which are deceitful, \\\e- / gitiinate, — which pervert instead of meliorate, — which causey Ihein to retrograde instead of to advance. We shall cot at<^ tempt to elude tliis task. I3y so doing wc should mutilate and weaken our ideas, as well as the facts themselves. Be- sides, the present state of the vvorld, the spirit of the age, compels us at once fraidcly to welcome this inevitable alliance of pliilosophy and history. This indeed forms a striking, perhaps the essential, char- acteristic of the present times. We are now compelled to consider — science and reality — theory and practice — right and fact — and to make them move side by side. Down to the present time these two powers have lived apart. The world lias been accustomed to see theory and practice following two dilTerent routes, unknown to each other, or at least never \ meeting. When doctrines, when general ideas, have wished \ o intermeddle in affairs, to influence the world, it has only \ been able to effect this under the appearance and by the aid of fanaticism. Up to the present time the government of hu- man societies, the direction of their affairs, have been divided between two sorts of influences ; on one side theorists, men ' who would rule all according to abstract notions — enthusiasts ; ; on tlie other, men ignorant of all rational principle, — experi- / meniaiists, whose oidy guide is expediency. This state of / things is now over. The vvoi d will no longer agitate for tho sake of some abstract principle, some fanciful theory — some Utopian go\'ernmen. which can only exist in the imagination of an enthusip^r, ; noT will it put up with practical abuses and oppro'isions, however favored by prescription and expediency, wher'f they are opposed to the just principles and the legiti« mate end of government. To ensure respect, to obtain con- fident'C, governing powers must now unite theory and prac- tice : hey must know and acknowledge the influence of both. 'I hey must regard as well principles as facts ; must respect oolfi truth and necessity — must shun, on one hand, the blind pride '»f tho fanatic theorist, and. on the other, the no less a GENERAL HlbTORY OP blind pride of the libertine practician. To thib better state of things we have been brought by the progress of the human niinil anil the progress of society. On one side tlie huiiiar. inind is so elevated and enlarged that it is able to view nl once, as a whole, the subject or fact which comes undei itp notice v* ith all the various circumstances and principles which tflecl it — these it calculates and combines — it so opposes, liixes, and arranges them — that while the everlasting principle Im p'aced boldly and prominently forward so as not to be mis- liken, care is taken that it shall not be endangered, that its progress shall not be retarded by a negligent or rash estimato of the circumstances which oppose it. On the other side, social systems are so improved as no longer to shrink from the light of truth ; so improved, that facts may be brought to the test of science — practice may be placed by the side of theory, and, notwithstanding its many imperfections, the com- parison will excite in us neither discouragement nor disgust. ' 1 shall give way, then, freely to this, natural tendency — to 'this spirit of the age, by passing continually from the investi- gation of circumstances to the investigation of ideas — from an exposition of facts to the consideration of doctrines Per- haps there is, in the present disposition of the public, anothei reason in favor of this method. For some time past there has existed among us a decided taste, a sort of predilection foi facts, for looking at things in a practical point of view. We have been so much a prey to the despotism of abstract ideas of theories, — they have, in some respects, cost us so dear, 'hat we now regard them with a degree of distrust. We like betior to refer to facts, to particular circumstances, and to judge ?nd act accordingly. Let us not complain of this. It is a new advance — it is a grand step in knowledge, and towards the empire of truth ; provided, however, we do not sufl'er our- Behes to be carried too far by this disposition — provided thai we do not forget that truth alone has a right to reign in the world ; that facts have no merit but in proportion as they beai (ts stamp, and assimilate themselves more and more to its image ; that all true grandeur proceeds from mind ; that sll expansion belongs to it. The civilization of F'rance posseso* Wj fhis peculiar character • it has never been wanting in in- t'llcctual grandeur. It has always been rich in ideas. The power of mind has been great in French society — greater, jjerhaps, than anywhere else. It must not lose this happv ^wivilege- it must not fall into hat lower, that somewhat mu CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 86 erial condition which prevails in other societies. lntelli« ^eiice, llieorios, must still maintain in France the same rank which thoy have hitherto occupied. I shall not then attempt to shun 'hese general and philo- sophical questions : I will not go out of my way to seek thent, but when circumstances bring them naturally before me, I shall attack them without hesitation or embarrassment. Thia will be the case more than once in considering the feudal Bystein as connected with the history of Eur'^pean civilization A great proof that in the tenth century the feudal system was necessary, and the only social system practicable, is the universality of its adoption. Wherever barbarism ceascJ, feudalism became general. This at first struck men as the triumph of chaos. All unity, all general civilization seemed gone ; society on all sides seemed dismembered ; a multitui'd of petty, obscure, isolated, incoherent societies arose. Thio appeared, to those who lived and saw it, universal anarchy — tlie dissolution of all things. Consult the poets and historians of tlie day : they all believed that the end of the world was at hand. Yet this was, in truth, a new and real social system which was forming : feudal society was so necessary, so in- evitable, so altogether the only consequence that could flow from the previous state of things, that all entered into it, all adopted its form. Even elements the most foreign to this system, the church, the free communities, royalty, all were constrained to accommodate themselves to it. Churches be- came sovereigns and vassals ; cities became lords and vas- sals ; royalty was hidden under the feudal suzerain. All things were given in fief, not only estates, but rights and pri- vileges : the right to cut wood in the forests, the privilege of fishing. The churches gave their surplice-fees in fief: the revenues of baptism — the fees for churching women. In the same manner, too, that all the great elements of society wero drawn within the feudal enclosure, so even the smallest poi' lions, the most trifling circumstances of common life, became aubjcct to feudalism. In observing the feudal system thus taking possession of cveiy part of society, one might be apt, at first, to believe that the essential, vital principle of feudalism everywhere pre- vailed. This would be a grand mistake. Although tliey pu ^6 GENERAL H/STORY OP on the feudal form, yet the institutions, the elements ol eo- ciety which were not analogous to the feuda! sys'.uin, did not lose their nature, the principles by which they uere discin guished The feudal church, for example, never ceased 11) a moment to be anmiated and gc verned at bottom by tlie prin- ciples of theocracy, and she never for a moment relaxed hei endeavors to gain for this the predominancy. Now she oagued with royalty, now with the pope, and now with the people, to destroy this system, whose livery, for the time, slie was compelled to put on. It was the same with royalty and the free cities : in one the principle of monarchy, in tlie others the piinciple of democracy, continued funtiiinentally to pre- vail: and, notwithstanding their feudal appearance, these va- rious elements of European society constantly labored to de- liver themselves from a form so foreign to their nature, and lo put on that which corresponded with their true and vital principle. Though perfectly satisfied, therefore, of the universality of the feudal y6(/7n, we must take care not to conclude on that ac- count, that the feudal principle was equally universal. We must be no less cautious not to take our ideas of feudalism indifferently from every object which bears its physiognomy. In order to know and understand this system thoroughly — to unravel and judge of its effects upon modern civilization — we must seek it where the form and spirit dwell together ; we must study it in the hierarchy of the laic possessors of fiefs in the association of the conquerors of the European territory. This was the true residence of the feudal system, and into this we will now endeavor to penetrate. I said a few words, just now, on the importance of ques- tions of a moral nature ; and on the danger and inconvenience of passing them by without proper attention. A matter of a Jotally opj)osile character arises here, and demands our con- sideration , it is one which has been, in general, loo mucli neglected. I allude to the physical condition of society ; to the changes which take place in the life and manners of a people in consequence of some new event, some revolution, 6ome new state into which it may be thrown. These changes have not always been sufficiently attended to. The modifica- tion which these great crisises in the history of the world have wrought in ihe material existence of mankind — in the physical conditions if 'he relations of nuiu lo one another— CIVILIZAriON IN MODERN KUROPE. 81 nave not been investigated with so much advantage as the) might have been. These modifications have more influence apon the general body of society than is imagined. Every one knows how much has been said upon the influence of climate, and of ilie importance which Montesquieu attached to it. Now if we regard only the direct influence of climate upon man, perhaps it has not been so extensive as is gencrallj sup- Eosed ; it is, to say the least, vague and difllcult to appreciate ; ut the indirect influence of climate, that, for example, which arises from the circumstance that in a hot country man lives in the open air, while in a cold one he lives shut up in his habitation— that he lives here upon one kind of food, and there upon another, are facts of extreme importance ; inas- much as a simple change in physical life may have a power- ful eflect upon the course of civilization. Every great revolu- tion leads to modifications of this nature in the social system, and consequently claims our consideration. The establishment of the feudal system wrought a change \ of this kind, wliicli had a powerful and striking influence upon \ European civilization. It changed the distribution of the \ population. Hitherto the lords of the territory, the conquer- \ ing population, had lived united in masses more or less nu- merous, either settled in cities, or moving about the country in bands , but by the operation of the feudal system these men were brought to live isolated, each in his own dwelling, at long distances apart. You will instantly perceive the influ- j ence which this change must have exercised upon the charac- / ter and progress of civilization. The social preponderance — ' the government of society, passed at once from cities to the country ; the baronial courts of the great landed proprietors took the place of the great national assemblies — the public body was lost in the thousand little sovereignties into which every kingdom was split. This was the first consequence — ■ a cgnsequence purely physical, of the triumph of the feiidal system. The more closely we examine this circumstance, the more clearly and forcibly will its effects present them- selves to our notice. Let us now examine this society in itself, and trace, out its Influence upon the progress of civilization. We will take feudalism, in the first place, in its most simple state, in its primitive fundamental form. We will visit a j«sN MODERN KUKOPE. 89 ne mart of it ; they are of another origin, and immeasurably beneath if. Five or six individuals, at a vast height above them, and at iho same time foreigners, make up the feudal family. Is it not evident that the peculia;ity of its situation mujt liavo given to this family a peculiar character ? Confined, concen- trated, cal'^^ upon continually to defend itself; mistrusting, or It 'cast shutting itself up from the rest of the world, even from its servants, in-door life, domestic manners must natural- ly have ac(iuired a great preponderance. We cannot keep out of sight, that the grosser passions of »ho chief, the con- stantly passing his time in warfare or hunting, opposed a con- siderable obstacle to the formation of a strictly domestic so- ciety. But its progress, though slow, was certain. The chief, however violent and brutal his out-door exercises, must habitually return into the bosom of his family. He there finds his wife and children, and scarcely any but them ; they alone are his constant companions ; they alone divide his sorrows and soften his joys ; they alone are interested in all that con- cerns him. It could not but happen in such circumstances, that domestic life must have acquired a vast influence ; nor is there any lack of proofs that it did so. Was it not in the bosom of the feudal family that the importance of women, that the value of the wife and mother, at last made itself known ^ In none of the ancient communities, not merely speaking of those in which the spirit of family never existed, but in those in which it existed most powerfully — say, for example, in the patriarchal system — in none of these did women ever attain to anything like the place which they acquired in Europe under the feudal system. It is to the progress, to the pre- ponderance of domestic manners in the feudal halls and castles, that they owe this change, this improvement in their condition. The cause of this has been sought for in the pe- culiar manners of the ancient Germans ; in a national respect which they are said to have borne, in the midst of their for- ests, to the female sex. Upon a single phrase of Tacitua, Germanic patriotism has founded a high degree of superiority — of primitive and ineffable purity of manners — in the rela- tions between the two sexes among the Germans. Pure chimeras ! Phrases like this of Tacitus — sentiments and customs analogous to those of the Germans of old, arc found m the narratives of a host of writers, who have seen, or in- quired into, the manners of savage and barbarous tribes. ITicre is nothing primitive, nothing peculiar to a certain race / 92 GENERAL HISTORY OF in thii matter. Ic was in the effects of a very ilecickd ho cial situation — it was in the increase and preponderanco of domestic manners, that the importance of the female sex in Europe had its rise, and the preponderance of domestic niiin- ners in Europe very early became an essential characuiiistio m the feudal system. A second circumstance, a fresh proof of the nfluence of d»)mestic life, forms a striking feature in the picture ol a tea dc.1 family . I mean the principle of inheritance — the spirit of perpetuity which so strongly predominates in its charai cer This spirit of inheritance is a natural off-shoot of the spirit of family, but it nowhere took such deep root as in the leudal system, where it was nourished by the nature of the property with which the family was, as it were, incorporated, 'i'he fief differed from other possessions in this, that it constantly required a chief, or owner, wha could defend it, manage it, ditcharge the obligations by which it was held, and thus maintain its rank in the general association of the great pro- prietors of the kingdom. There thus became a kind of iden- .ification of the possessor of the fief with the fief itself, and with all its future possessors. This circumstance powerfully tended to strengthen and knit together the ties of family, already so strong by the nature of the feudal system itself. Quitting the baronial dwelling, let us now descend to the little population that surrounds it. Everyihing here wears a different aspect. The disposition of man is so kindly and good, that it is almost impossible for a number of individuals to be placed for any length of time in a social situation with- out giving birth to a certain moral tio between them : senti- ments of protection, of benevolence, of alleclion, spring up naturally. Thus it happened in the feudal system. There can be no doubt, but that after a certain time, kind and friend- ly feelings would grow up between the feudal lord and hi»'. serfs. This, however, took place in spite of their relative situation, and by no means through its influence. Considered in itself, this situation was radically vicious. There was nothing morally conunon between the holder of the fief and his serfs. Tlicy formed part of his estate ; they were hia property; and under this word property arc comprised, not CIVILIZATION IN MODKRN KUROPE 93 )nly all the rights whicli we delegate to the public /nagislrate o exercise in the name of the state, but likewise all those Rhich we possess over private property : the right of making aws, of levying taxes, of inflicting punishment, as well as that of disposing of them — or selling them. There existed not, in fact, between the lord of the domain and its cultivators, so fur as we consider the latter as men, either rights, guaran tec, or society. From this I believe has arisen that almost universal, invin- cible hatred which country people have at all times borne to the feudal system, to every renuiant of it — to its very pamo. We are not without examples of men having submitted to the hf>avy yoke of despotism, of their having become at customed to it, nay more, of their having freely accepted it. Religious despotism, monarchical despotism, have more than once ob tained the sanction, almost the love, of the population whicli > they governed. But feudal despotism has always been rc- nulsed, always hateful. It tyrannized over the destinies of men, without ruling in their hearts. Perhaps this may bo partly accounted for by the fact, that, in religious and monar- chical despotism, authority is always exercised by virtue of some belief or opinion common to both ruler and subjects ; ho is the representative, the minister, of another })ower superior to all human powers. He speaks or acts in the name of Di- vinity or of a common feeling, and not in the name of man himself, of man alone. Feudal despotism differed from this; it was the authority of man over man ; the domination of tho personal, capricious will of an individual. This perhaps is the only tyranny to which man, much to his honor, never will »ulimit. Wherever in a ruler, or master, he sees but the in dividual man, — the moment that the authority which presses upon liim is no more than an individual, a human will, one like his own, he feels mortified and indignant, and struggles against the yoke which he is compelled to bear. Such was the true, the distinctive character of the feudal power, and mch was the origin of the hatred which it has never ceased In inspire. The re igious element which was associated with the feu dal power was but little calculated to alleviate its yoke. I lo not see how the influence of the priest could be very great 111 the society which I have just described, or that he could Have much success in legitimizing the connexion between the enslaved people and the lordly proprietor The r.hiirch has ex 94 GENERAL HISTORY OF ercised a very powerful influence in the civilizaiijn of Europo. but then It has been by proceeding in a general manner — b) changing the general dispositions of mankind. When we en ter intimately into the little feudal society, properly so called, we find the influence of the priest between the baron and liis »erfs to have been very slight. It most frequently happened that he was 'uS rude and nearly as much under control as the • erf himselt ; and therefore not very well fitted, either by his position or talei»ts, to enter into a contest with the lordly ba- ron. We must, to be sure, naturally suppose, that, called upon 18 he was by his office to administer and to kt?p alive amonu these poor people the great moral truths of Christianity, he became endeared and useful to them in this respect ; he con- soled and instructed them ; but I believe he had but little power to soften their hard condition. Having examined the feudal system in its nulest, its sim plest form ; having placed before you the principal conse- quences which flowed from it, as respects the possessor of the fief himself, as respects his family, and as respects the population gathered about him ; let us now quit this narrow precinct. The population of the fief was not the only one in the land : there were other societies more or less like his own of which he was a member — with which he was con- nected. What, then, let us ask, was the influence which this general society to which he belonged might be expected to exercise upon civilization ? One short observation before we reply : both the possessoi of the fief and the priest, it is true, formed part of a general society ; in the distance they had numerous and frequcni connexions ; not so tho cultivators — the serfs. Every time that, in speaking of the population of the country at this pe- riod, we make use of some general term, which seems to con- vey tho idea of one single and same society — such ft)r exaiU' pie as the word people — we speak without truth. For thiii population there was no general society — its existence waa purely local. Beyond the estate in which they dwelt, the sen's had no relations whatever, — no cormexion eitlier with persons, things, or government. For them there existed nc 30mnion destiny, no common country — they formed not a na- tion. When we speak of the feudal association as a wholti t J8 only the great proprietors 'ha» are alluded to. CIVILIZATION IN MODERN I.UROI'E. 95 Let i.« n )w see what the relations of the little feudal so uiefy were with the general society to which it hei(j. anJ what consequences these relations may be expected to have .ed to ill the progress of civilization. We all know what the (es were which bound together the pos!»o.sors of fiefs ; what conditions were attached to theii possessions ; what were the obligations of service on one j?art, and of protection on the other. I sliall not enter into a detail of these obligations ; it is enough for the present purpose that you have a general idea of them. This system, howevsr, Becined naturally to pour into the mind of every possessor of a fief a certain number of ideas and moral sentiments — ideaj of duty, sentiments of afiection. That the principles of fidelity, dcvotedness, loyalty, became developed, and maintained by tlie relations in which the possessors of fiefs stood towardi' one another, is evident. The fact speaks for itself. The attempt was made to change these obligations, these duties, these sentiments, and so on, into laws and institutions. It is well Known that feudalism wished legally to settle whi.i services the possessor of a fief owed to his sovereign ; what services he had a right to expt ^,t from him in return ; in wha' cases the vassal might be callet. upon to furnish military ar pecuniary aid to his lord ; in what way the lord might obtain the services of his vassals, in those afiairs, in which they were not bound to yield them by the mere possession of their fiefs. The attempt was made to place all these rights under the protection of institutions founded to ensure their respect. Thus the baronial jurisdictions were erected to administer jus- tice between the possessors of fiefs, upon complaints duly laid before their common suzerain. Thus every baron of any coc- Bideration collected his vassals in parliament, to debate in common the afl^airs which required their consent or concu;- rence. There was, in short, a combination of political, judi- cial, and military means, which show the attempt to organize the feudal system — to convert the relations between the pos- sessors of fiefs into laws and institutions. But these laws, these institutions, had no stability — no guarantee. If it should be asked what is a political guarantee, I am jompelled to look back to its fundamental character, and tc dtato that this is the constant txistence, in the bosom of society, tl a will, of an authority disposed and in a condition to impose 96 GENERAL HISTORJf OF a law upon the wills and powers" of private individuals — u pTitbrce their obedience to the comrnon rule, to make them respect the general law. 'Ihere are only two systems of political guarantees possi- ble ■ thc-e must be either a will, a particular power, so supe- rior to the others thai none of them can resist it, but are obliged to j'ield to its aulhority whenever it is interposed ; or, on ine itliur, a public will, the result of the concurrence — of the de- fclopment of the wills of individuals, and which likewise is ill a condition, when once it has expressed itself, to make it- Bt If obeyed and respected by all. These are the oidy two systems of political guarantees pos- sible ; the despotism of one alone, or of a body ; or free gov- ernment. If we examine the various systems, we shall lind that they may all be brought under one of these two. "Well, neither of these existed, or could exist, under the feudal system. "Without doubt the possessors of fiefs were not all equal among themselves. There were some much more powerful llian otiiers ; and very many sulliciently powerful to oppress die weaker. But there was none, from the king, the first of proprietors, downward, who was in a condition to impose law upon all the others ; in a condition to make himself obeyed. Call to mind that none of the permanent means of power and infiuence at this time existed — no standing army — no regular taxes — no fixed tribunals. The social authorities — the insti- tutions, had, in a manner, to be new formed every time they were wanted. A tribunal had to be formed for every trial — an army to be formed for every war — a revenue to be formed every time that money was needed. All was occasional — accidental — special ; there was no central, permanent, inde- pendent means of government. It is evident that in such a system no individual had the power to enforce his will upon O'hers ; to compel all to respect and obey the general law. On the other hand, resistance was easy, in proportion as repression was difficult. Shut up in his castle, with but a amall number of enemies to cope with, and aware that other vassals in a like situation were ready to join and assist him, the possessor of a fief found but little difficulty in defending himself. VIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 97 It must then, I tliink, be confessed, tliat the first system of oolitical guarantees — namely, that which would make all re- sponsible to the strongest — has been shown to be impossible under the feudal system. The other system — that of free government, of a publi ; oower, a public authority— ^was just as impracticable. The reaaon is simple enough. When we speak now of a public rwwer, of what we call the rights of sovereignty — that is, the right of making laws, of imposing taxes, of inflicting punish- ment, we know, we bear .n mind, that these rights belong to nobody ; that no one has, on his own account, the right to punish others, or to impose any burden or law upon them. These are rights which belong only to the great body of so- ciety, which are exercised only in its name ; they are ema- nations from the people, and held in trust for their benefit. Thus it happens that when an individual is brought before an authority invested with these rights, the sentiment that pre- dominates in his mind, though perhaps he himself may be un- conscious of it, is, that he is in the presence of a public le- gitimate authority, invested with the power to command him, an authority which, beforehand, he has tacitly acknowledged. This was by no means the case under the feudal system. The possessor of a fief, within his domain, was invested with all the rights and privileges of sovereignty ; he inherited them *^ith the territory ; they were a matter of private property. What are now called public rights were then private rights ; what are now called public authorities were then private au- thorities. When the possessor of a fief, after having exercised sovereign power in his own name, as proprietor over all the population which lived around him, attended an assembly, at- tended a parliament held by his sovereign — a parliament not in general- very numerous, and composed of men of the same grade, or nearly so, as himself — he did not carry with him any notion of a public authority. This idea was in direct contra- diction to all about him — to all his notions, to all that he had done within his own domains. All he saw in these assemblies were men in\-ested with the same rights as himself, in the same situation as himself, acting as he had done by virtue of their own personal title. Nothing led or compelled him to bco or acknowledge in the very highest portion of the govern- ment, or ii: the institutions which we call public, that charac- ter of superiority or generality which seems to us bound u^' 98 GENERAL HISTORY OF jeiih the no.ion ol political power. Hence, if he was diswatis fied with its decision, he refused to concur in it, and perhaps called in force to resist' it. Force, indeed, was the true and usual guarantee of righ. under the feudal s/stem, J" force can be called a guarantee Every law continually had recourse to force to make iiseH respected ur acknowledged. No institution succeeded unde; it. This was so perfectly felt that institutions were scarcely liver applied to. If the agency of the baronial courts or pal [iaments of vassals had been of any iu)j)ortance, we should find them more generally employed than from history, they appear to have been. Their rarity proves .heir insignificance. This is not astonishing. There is another reason for w more profound and decisive than any 1 have yet adduced. Of all the systems of government and political guarantee it may be asserted, without fear of contradiction, that the most difficult to establish and render eflectual is the federative sys- tem ; a system which consists in leaving in each place oi province, in every separate society, all that portion of govern- ment which can abide there, and in taking from it only so much of it as is indispensable to a general society, in order to carry it to the centre of this larger society, and there to imbody it under the form of a central government. This federative system, theoretically the most simple, is found in practice the most complex ; for in order to reconcile the de- gree of independence, of local liberty, which is permitted to remain, with the degree of general order, of general submis- sion, which in certain cases it supposes and exacts, evidently requires a very advanced state of civilization — requires, in- deed, that the will of man, that individual liberty, should con- cur in the establishment and maintenance of the system much more than in any other, because it possesses less than any luher the means of coercion. The federative system, then, is one which evidently requires the greatest maturity of reason, of morality, of civili/atiou in ino society tD which it is applied. Yet we find tliat this wae ihe kind of government which the feudal system attempted to establish : for feudalism, as a whole, was truly a confedera- ion. It rested upon the same principles, for example, at hose or. which is based, in the present day, the federative e78t3Tli of the United Stctes of America. It atfected to letvt'. in Itie hands of each greai proprietor all that portion of tho e^vciiimoTJi, of sovereignt7, which could be exercised thero CIMLIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 99 »n(l to carry U) the suzerain, or to the general asscinhly of ha rons, the least possible portion of power, and only this in cases of absolute necessity. You will easily conceive the im possibility of establishing a system like this in a world of Ignorance, of brute passions, or, in a word, where the rnorrj condition of man was so imperfect as under the feudal system The very nature of such a government was in opposition tn ihe notions, the habits and manners of the very men to whom it was to be applied. How then can we be astonished at tho bad success of this attempt at organization ? Wg have now considered the feudal systc.n, first, in its most simple element, in its fundamental principle ; and then in its collective form, as a whole : we have examined it under these two points of view, in order to see what it did %nd what it might have been expected to do ; what has been its influence on the progress of civilization. These investigations, I think, bring us to this tvvofold conclusion : — 1st. Feudalism seems to have exercised a great, and, upon the whole, a salutary influence upon the intellectual develop- ment of individuals. It gave birth to elevated ideas and feel- ings in the mind, to moral wants, to grand developments of character and passion. 2dly. With regard to society, it was incapable of establish- ing either legal order or political guarantee. In the wretched state to which society had been reduced by barbarism, in which it was incapable of a more regular or enlarged form, the feudal system seemed indispensable as a step towards re- dssociation ; still this system, in itself radically vicious, could neither regulate nor enlarge society. The only political right v/hich the leudal system was capable of exercising in Euro- pean society, was the right of resistance : I will not say legal resistance, for there can be no question of legal resistance in a society so little advanced. The progress of society con- sists pre-eminently in substituting, on one hand, public au' tliority for private will ; and, on the other, legal resistance foi uidividual resistance. This is the great end, the chief pei fection, of social ordei ; a large field is left to personal liber- ty, but when personal liberty offends, when it becomes neces- sary to call it to account, our only appeal is to public reason, public reason is placed in the judge's chair to pass sentence an the charge which is preferred against individual lib<^rtv r 100 GENERAL HISTORY OF Such is the system of legal order ard of legal resistance You will easily perceive, that there was nothing 1 earing anj resemlilance to this in the feudal system. 'I'he right of ro sistance, which was maintained and practised in this system was fhe right of personal resistance ; a terrible and anti-so- cial right, inasmuch as its only appeal i^s to brute force — Ui war — which is the destrut.tion of society itself; a right, how ever, which ought never to be entirely erased from the mind of man, because by its abolition he puts on the fetters of ser- ritude. The notion of the right of resistance had been ban- ished from the Roman community, by the general disgrace and infamy into which it had fallen, and it could not be re- generated from its ruins. It could not, in my opinion, have sprung more naturally from the principles of Christian so ciety. It is to the feudal system that we aie indebted for its re-introduction among us. The glory of civilization is to render this principle for ever inactive and useless ; the glory of the feudal system is its having constantly professed and defended it Such, if I am not widely mistaken, is the result of our in- vestigation of the feudal community, considered in itself, in its general principles, and independently of its historical pro- gress. If we now turn to facts, to history, we shall find it to have fallen out, just as might have been expected, that the feu- dal system accomplished its task ; that its destiny has been conformable to its nature. Events may be adduced in proof of all the conjectures, of all the inductions, which I have drawn from the nature and essential character of this system. Take a glance, for example, at the general history of feu- dalism, from the tenth to the thirteenth centuries, and say, is it not impossible to deny that it exercised a vast and salutary influence upon the progress of individual man — upon the de- velopment of his sentiments, his disposition, and his ideas ? Where can we open the history of this period, without dis- covering a crowd of noble sentiments, of splendid achieve- ments, of beautiful developments of humanity, evidently gen- erated in the bosom of feudal life. Chivalry, which in reality 'isars scarcely the least resemblance to feudalism, was never- iheiess its offspring. It was feudalism which gave birth to tikat romantic thirst and foijdness for all that is noble, gene- To appreciate the views taken in the foregoing lecture, a know- edge of the peculiar institutions and customs of the Feudal Sys- ieni, and of the historical facts connected with its rise and pro- pess, is requisite. The lecture might, within the same space, have Seen more lull and instructive in these respects, with advantage to tlie (lis(|uisiiions here presented. The needful information must be 8U| plied hy ilie lecturer, or the student must seek it for himself. The second chapter uf Hallam's Middle Ages will perhaps best fur aish within a brief coin|)ass all that is necessary. The Feudal System, as a completely organized institution, can- not be said to have extended much beyond the limits of the em- pire founded by Charlemagne, which it will be remembered includ- ed France, Germany, Italy, and part of Spain. In France and Ger- many its working is best displayed. The germs of the system existed, without doubt, long before the time of Charlemagne; but its full develepmeut is dated from the tenth century. Previous to this time, an important step in the pro- gress of the system had been taken by tlie conversion of benefices (or lands granted by the kngs to their vassals upon condition of military service) into hereditary fiefs. But the event which com- pletely established the Feudal System, subverting in the sequel the royal authority, and destroying the Carlovingian dynasty, was the act of Charles the Bold, who, m 879, made the governments of the counties hereditary. These provinces thus became great fiefs, the dukes and counts rendering homage indeed to the crown, but as to the rest exercising independent authority, and controlling all the lesser feudatories within their former jurisdiction. It must be borne in mind that the Feudal System was both cause and efi'ect of the wretched state of society during the times when it prevailed ; whatever has been said of its benefits must be taken tr'th great (|ualifications, and at all events applies almost wholly to the feudal proprietors; the lower classes, the mass of the people, were subject to every species of lawless oppression. By the year 1300, the system was substantially overthrown, although a great many of the odious and oppressive exactions which it entailed upon the peasantry, the cultivators of the soil, were perpetuated lown to the .French Revolution. The causes of its decline were loe growth of the rojal power, the increase of commerce -tlic ri.*» o^ the free citiea--and the fcvniatioit of a vniddle class. LECTURE V. THE CHURCH. Having investigated tlje nature and influence cf the feudal system, I shall take the Christian Church, from tlie fifth to the twelfth cent\iry, as the subject of the present lecture. 1 Bay the Christian Church, because, as I have observed once before, it is not about Christianity itself, Christianity as a re- ligious system, that I shall occupy your attention, but the church as an ecclesiastical society — the Christian hierarchy. This society was almost completely organized before the close of the fifth century. Not that it has not undergone nmny and important changes since that period, but from tliis time the church, considered as a corporation, as the government of the Christian world, may be said to have attained a com plete and independent existence. A single glance will be sufficient to convince us, that there existed, in the fifth century, an immense difference between the state of the church and that of the other elements of Euro* pean civilization. You will remember that I have pointed out, as primary elements of our civilization, the municipal system, the feudal system, monarchy, and the church. The munici* pal system, in the fifth century, was no more than a fragment of the Roman empire, a shadow without life, or definite form. The feudal system was still a chaos. Monarchy existed only in name. All the civil elements of modern society were either in their decline or infancy. The church alone pos- sessed youth and vigor ; she alone possessed at the same time K definite form, with activity and strength ; she alone posse ts- ed at once movement and order, energy and system, that is to «ay, the two greatest means of influence. Is it not, let me ask you, by mental vigor, by intellectual movement on one side, luid by order and discipline on the other, that all institutiona acquire their power and influence over society ? The church, uioreover awakened attention to, and agitated all 'he great CIVIMZATION IN M(JDEKN RUUOI'K. 105 .luestions which interest man ; slie busied herself with all tho ^reat problems of his nature, with all he had to hojie or feai '"or futurity. Hence her influence upon modern civilization nas been so powerful — more powerful, perhaps, than its mosi violent adversaries, or its most zealous defenders, have sup- posed. They, eager to advance or abuse her, have onl) Try gardsd the church in a contentious point of view; and viii: *hat contracted spirit which controversy engenders, ao» 'jould they do her justice, or grasp the full sco])e of her swa) ' To us, the clnirch, in tho fifth century, appears as an of' yanized and independent society, interposed between tlie mas- ters of the world, the sovereigns, the possessors of temporal power, and the people, serving as a connecting link between them, and exercising its influence over all. To know and completely understand its agency, then, wc must consider it from three difl^erent points of view : we musi consider it first in itself — we must see what it really wae, what was its internal constitution, what the principles which there boro sway, what its nature. We must next consider it in its relations with temporal rulers —kings, lords, and others; and, finally, in its relations with the people. And when by this threefold investigation we have formed a complete picture of the church, of its principles, its situation, and the influence which it exercised, we will verify this picture by history ; we will see whether facts, whether what we properly call events, from the fifth to the twelfth cen'ury, agree with the conclu- eions which our threefold examination of the church, of ita own nature, of its relations with the masters of the world, and with the people, had previously led us to come to respecting it. Let us first consider the churcti in itself, its internal condi- tion, its own nature. The first, and perhaps the most important fact that demands n\^r attention here, is its existence ; the existence of a gov- tnmierit of religion, of a priesthood, of an ecclesiastical cor- ^ration. In the opinion of many enlightened persons, the very notion •)f a religious corporation, of a priesthood, of a government of religion, is absurd. They believe that a religion, whose ob- ect is the establishment of a clerical body, of a priesthoof^ 106 GENERAL HISTORt^ OF legally constituted in short, of a goverrniient of religion, must exercise, upon the whole, an influence more dangerous than useful. In their opinion religion is a matter purely individual betwixt man and God ; and that whenever religion loses thi.i charac.er, whonever an exterior authority interferes between the individual and the object of his religious belief, that iy between him and God, religion is corrupted, and society in danger. It will not do to pass by this question without taking u deeper view of it. In order to know what has been the influ- ence of the Christian Church, we must know what ought to be, from the nature of the institution itself, the influence off church, the influence of a priesthood. To judge of lliis influ- ence we must inquire more especially whether religion is, in fact, purely individual ; whether it excites and gives birth to nothing beyond this intimate relation between each individual and God ; or whether it does not, in fact, necessarily become a source of new relations between man and man, and so ne- cessarily lead to the formation of a religious society, and from that to a government of this society. If we reduce religion to what is properly called religious feeling — to that feeling which, though very real, is somowhal vague, somewhat uncertain in its object, and which we can hcarcely characterize but by naming it — to that feeling which addresses itself at one time to exterior nature, at another to the inmost recesses of the soul ; to-day to the imagination, to-morrow to the mysteries of the future ; which wanders everywhere, and settles nowhere ; which, in a word, exhausts both the world of matter and of fancy in search of a resting- place, and yet finds none — if we reduce religion to this feel- mg ; then, it would seem, it may remain purely individual Such a feeling may give rise to a passing association ; it may it will indeed, find a pleasure in sympathy ; it will feed upon It, it will be strengthened by it ; but its fluctuating and doubt- ful character will prevent its becoming the principle of per- manent and extensive association ; will prevent it from ac- commodating itself to any system of precepts, of discipline, ■)f forms ; will prevent it, in a word, from giving birth to a aocioly, to a religious government. IJut either I have s.trangely deceived myself, or this reli- ^ous feeling does not comprthcnd the whole religious nature .f man. Religion, in my opin'on, is quite another thing. anJ mfir.ifely more compr"hensivt than this. CIVILIZATION IN MODERN tlfROPB. 107 Joined to the destinies and nature of man, there aie a num- >er of problems whoso sohition we cannot work out in the present life ; these, though connected with an order o( ihinga strange and foreign to the world around us, and apparently be- yond the reach of human faculties, do not the less invincibly torment the soul of man, part of whose nature it seems to be anxiously to desire and struggle for the clearing up of the mystery in which they are involved. The solution of tluae problems, — the creeds and dogmas which contain it, or at leasl ire sujiposed to contain it — such is the first object, the first source, of religion. Another road brings us to the same point. To those among us who have made some progress in the study of moral phi- losophy, it is now, I presume, become sufRcienlly evident, that morality may exist independently of religions ideas ; that tlie distinction between moral good and moral evil, the obliga- tion to avoid evil and to cleave to that which is good, are Jaws as much acknowledged by man, in his proper nature, as the laws of logic ; and which spring as much from a principle within him, as in his actual life they find their application. But granting these truths to bo proved, yielding up to morality its independence, a question naturally arises in the human mind : whence cometh morality, whither doth it lead 1 This obligation to do good, which exists of itself, is it a fact stand- ing by itself, without author, without aim 1 Doth it not con- ceal, or rather doth it not reveal to man, an origin, a destiny, reaching beyond this world ? By this question, which rises spontaneously and inevitably, morality, in its turn, leads man to the porch of religion, and opens to him a sphere from which he has not borrowed it Thus on one side the problems of our nature, on the other the necessity of seeking a sanction, an origin, an aim, for morality, open to us fruitful and certain sources of religion Thus it presents itself before us under many other aspects besides that of a simple feeling such as I havo described. It presents itself as an assemblage : First, of doctrines called into existence by the problems rhich man finds in himself. Secondly, of precepts which correspond with these doc lines, and g've to natural morality a signification and sane '.ion 108 GENEKAi HISrORV OF Thirdly, and kslly, of promises which address tlieinsclif* to the hopes of humanity respecting futurity. This is trul/ what constitutes religion. This is really what it is at bottom, and not a mere form of sensibility, a sally o( iho imagina.ion, a species of poetry. Religion thus brought back to its true element, to us 08- tience, no longer appears as an allair purely individual, but as a powerful and fruitful principle of association. Would you regard it as a system of opinions, of dogmas ? The answer is, truth belongs to no one ; it is universal, absolute ; all men are prone to seek it, to profess it in common. Would you rest upon the precepts which are associated with the doc- trines ? The reply is, law obligatory upon one is obligatory upon all — man is bound to promulgate it, to bring all under its authority. It is the same with respect to the promises which religion makes as the rewards of obedience to its faith and its precepts ; it is necessary they should be spread, and that these fruits of religion should be ollered to all. From the essential elements of religion then is seen to .spring up a re- ligious society ; and it springs from them so infallibly, that the word which expresses the social feeling with the greatest energy, which expresses our invincible desire to propagate ideas, to extend society, is proselytism — a term particularly applied to religious creeds, to which it seems almost exclu- sively consecrated. A religious society once formed, — when a certain numbei of men are joined together by the same religious opinions and belief, yield obedience to the same law of religious precepts, and are inspired with the same religious hopes, they need a government. No society can exist a week, no, not even an hour, without a government. At the very instant in which a society is formed, by the very act of its formation it calls .^^ forth a government, which proclaims the conmion truth that holds them together, which promulgates and maintains the precepts that this truth may be expected to bring forth. That U religious society, like all others requires a controlling pow- er, a government, is implied in the very fact that a society (I'dBtU. And not only is a government necessary, but it naturally %rises of uself. I cannot spare much time to show how governments rise and become established in society in gene CIVILIZATION IN MODERN KUROI'E. ) 09 ,al. I 3\.all only remark, that when matters are left to take their natural course, when no exterior force is applied to drivv iliem from their usual route, power will fall into the hands oi the most capahle, of the most worthy, into the hands of those who will lead society on its way. Are there thoughts of « military expedition ? the bravest will have the command, h s.vciety anxious about some discovery, some learned enter- prise ? the most skilful will bo sought for. The same will tftke place in all other matters. I "t but the common order of things be observed, let the natural ii etiuality of mer. freely ilisplay itself, and each will find the station that he is best fit- ted to fill. So as regards religion, men will be found no more equal in talents, in abilities, and in power, than they are in other matters : this man has a more striking a.ethod than others in proclaiming the doctrines of religion and making converts ; another has more power in e nforci ng religious pre- cepts ; a third may excel in exciting reliJBfc hopes and emo- tions, and keeping the soul in a devout ij^^oly frame. The same ineiiuality of faculties and of influenclf which gives rise to power in civil society, will be found to exist in religious society. Missionaries, like generals, go forth to conrjuer. So that while, on the one hand, religious government naturally flows from the nature of religious society, it as naturally de velops itself, on the other, by the simple effect of human faculties, and their unequal distribution. Thus the moment that religion takes possession of a man n religious society begins to be formed ; and the moment this religious society appears it gives birth to a government. A grave objection, however, here presents itself: in thie ^ase there is nothing to command, nothing to impose ; m Kind of fori e can here be legitimate. 'I'here is no place foi government, because here the most perfect liberty ought to prevail. Be it so. But is it not forming a gross and degrading idea of government to suppose that it resides 07ihj, to suppose that it resides chiefly, in the force which it exercises to make \izel' obeyed, in its coercive element ? Let us quit religion for a moment, and turn to civil govern- ments. '1 race with me, 1 beseech you, the simple march of circumstances. Society exists. Something is to be done, no matter what, in its name and for its interest; a /aw has to bt llO GENERAL HiaTORY OF executed some measure to be adopted, a judgment tc be pr« aounced. Now, certainly, there is a proper method of sup plying these social wants , there is a proper law to make^ a proper measure to aaopt, a proper judgment to prouounctt Whatever may be the matter in hand, whatever may be the interest in question, there is, upon every occasion, a truth which must be discovered, and which ought to decide tha matter, and govern the conduct to be adopted. The first business of government is to seek this trutli, is to discover what is just, reasonable, and suitable to society. When this is found, it is proclaimed : the next business is to introduce it to the public mind ; to get it approved by the men upon whom it is to act ; to persuade them tlit it is reasui able. In all this is there anything coercive 1 Not at all. Suppose now that the truth which ought to decide upon the affair, no matter what ; suppose, I say, that the truth being found and proclaim- ed, all understandings shoidd be at once convinced ; all wills at once determined ; that all should acknowledge that the government was right, and obey it spontaneously. There is nothing yet of compulsion, no occasion for the employment of force. Does it follow then that a government does not ex- ist ? Is there nothing of government in all this? To be sure there is, and it has accomplished its task. Compulsion appears not till the resistance of individuals calls for it — till the idea, the decision which authority has adopted, fails to obtain the approbation or the voluntary submission of all. Then government employs force to make itself obeyed. This is a necessary consequence of human imperfection ; an imper- fection which resides as well in power as in society. There is no way of entirely avoiding this ; civil governments will always be obliged to have recourse, to a certain degree, to compulsion. Still it is evident they are not made up of com- pulsion, because, whenever they can, they are glad to do without it, lO the great blessing of all ; and their highest point of perfection is to be able to discard it, and to trust to meana purely moral, to their influence upon the understanding : so ihat, in proportion as government can dispense with compul- sion and force, tne more faithful it is to its true natui'e, and the betier it fulfils the purpose for whicli it is sent. This ia lo^ to slirink, 'his is not to give way, as people commonly cry i>ut ; it is merely acting in a diflerent manner, in a manner Tiuoh more general and powerful. Those governiiuuita which wiploy tlie most coimulsion perform nmch less dan tho8»'. CIVIKZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. HI r' I'ch scarcely ever have recourse to it. Governnient, l)j ad dressing itself to the understanding, by engaging the free-wil of its sul)jccts, by acting by means purely intellectual, in Btead of contracting, expaiuls and elevates itself; it is thee Ihrit it accomplishes most, and attains to the grandest objects On the contrary, it is when government is obliged to be con- ftanlly employing its physical arm that it becomes weak and rojliained — thtt it does little, and does that little badly. The essence of government then by no means resides ir c )mj)ulsion, in the exercise of brute force ; it consists more especially of a system of means and powers, conceived fol the purpose of discovering upon all occasions what is best to be dot\e ; for the purpose of discovering the truth which by right ought to govern society, for the purpose of persuadnig all men to acknowledge this truth, to adopt and respect it willingly and freely. Thus 1 think I have shown that tho necessity for, and the existence of a goveriunent, are very con oeivable, even though there should be no room for compul- sion, even though it should be absolutely forbidden. This is exactly the case in the government of religious so- ciety. There is no doubt but compulsion is here strictly for- bidden ; there can be no doubt, as its only territory is the con- science of man, but that every species of force must be ille- gal, whatever may be the end designed. Ihil governnien does not exist the less on this account. It still has to perform all the duties which we have just now enumerated. It is in- cumbent upon it to seek out tiie religious doctrines which re- solve t] e problems of human destiny; or, if a general system of faith beforehand exists, in which these problems are al- ready resolved, it will be its duty to discover and set forth its consequences in each particular case. It will be its duty to pronmlgate and maintain the precepts which correspond to its doctrines. It will be its duly to preach them, to teach them, and, if society wanders from them, to bring it back again to ho right path. No compulsion ; but the ii vcstigation, the pn^achiiig, the teaching of religious truths; t/ie administering *o religious wants; admonishing; censuring; this is tlie task tthich religious government has to perform. Suppress all force and coercion as much as you desire, still you will see til the essential questions connected with the organization ol I government present themselves before you, and d^mand » 112 GENERAL HISTORV OF solution 7 he quosiion for example, whetlier a Lody jf le- ligious magistrates is necessary, or whether it is poseiblj lo trust to the religious nspiration of indiviiluals ? 'Phis ques- tion, which is a subject of debate between most religious tc- cieties and that of the Quakers, will always exist, it must al- ways remain a matter of discussion. Again, granting a bcdy of religious magistrates to be necessary, the question arisrs Frhether a system of equality is to be preferred, or an hierarch- al constitution — a graduated series of powers 1 This q\ies- iion will not cease because you take from the ecclesiastical magistrates, whatever they may be, all means of compulsion Instead then of dissolving religious society in order to have the right to destroy religious government, it must be acknow- ledged that religious society forms itself naturally, that re- ligious government flows no less naturally from religious so- ciety, and that the problem to be solved is on what condition? this government ought to exist, on what it is based, what are its principles, what the conditions of its legitimacy ? This is the investigation which the existence of religious government as of all others, compels us to undertake. The conditions of legitimacy are the same in the govern- ment of a religious society as in all others. Thev may be reduced to two : the first is, that authority should be placed and constantly remain, as eflTectually at least as the iiiiperfec tion of all human affairs will permit, in the hands of the best the most capable ; so that the legitimate superiority, v/hich lies scattered in various parts of society, may bo thereby drawn out, collected, and delegated to discover the social law — to exercise its authority. The second is, that the authority thus legitimately constituted should respect the legitimate liberties of those over whom it is called to govern. A good system for the formation and organization of authority, a good eystem of securities for liberty, are the two conditions in which the goodness of government in general resides, whether civil or religious. And it is by this standard that all govermnenlu eho'ild be judged. Instead, then, of reproaching the Church, the governmont of the Clirisi\an world, with its existence, let us exainiue how t was constituted, arid see wheth(,r its principles correspor.i^ with the two ess'^Qtia'. conditions of all good go 'ernment. CHrlLIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE 113 liCt U8 examine the Church in tliis twofold jyOi^nt of view. In the first place, with regard to the formation and trans- "nissinn of authority in the Cliurch, tliere is a word, which hae jften beon made use of, which I wish to get rid of altogether I mean the word caste. This word has been too frequently ap plied to tlie Cliristian clergy, but its application to that body Is both improper and unjust. The idea of hereditary right j» inhereiti to the idea of caste. In every part of the world, in every country in which the system of caste has prevailed — iii Egypt, in India — from the earliest time to the present day — you will find that castes have been everywhere essentially hereditary : they are, in fact, the transmission of the same rank and condition, of the same power, from father to son Now where there is no inheritance there is no caste, but a corporation. The esprit de corps, or that certain degree of love and interest which every individual of an order feels to wards it as a whole, as well as towards all its members, has its inconveniences, but differs very essentially from the spirit of caste. The celibacy of the clergy of itself renders the ap- plication of this term to the Christian Church altogether im- proper. The important consequences of this distinction cannot have escaped you. To the system of castes, to the circumstance of inheritance, certain peculiar privileges are necessarily at- tached ; the very definition of caste implies this. Where the same functions, the same powers become hereditary in th( same families, it is evident that they possess peculiar privi leges, which none can acquire independently of birth. This is indeed exactly what has taken place wherever the religious government has fallen into the hands of a caste ; it has be- come a matter of privilege ; all were shut out from it but those who belonged to the families of the caste. Now nothing like this is to be found in the Christian Church. Not only is the Church entirely free from this fault, but she has constantly maintained the principle, that all men, whatever their origin \CQ equally privileged to enter her ranks, to fill her highest offices, to enjoy her proudest digt\ities. The ecclesiastical car«or, particularly from the fifth to the twelfth century, was open to all. The church was recruited from all ranks of so- ci'J.y, from the lower as well as the higher, indeed, most fre- quently from the lower. When all around her fell under the ryranny of privilege, she alone maintained the principle of ''quality, of competition ?nd emulation ; she alone called the 114 GENERAL Hit. »"ORY OK superior of all classes to ihe possession of power. This i« the first great corisccjuence whicli naturally llowed from ihi fact that the Church was a corporation and not a caste. I will show you a second. It is the inherent nature of ;xV castes to posiess a degree of immobility. This assertion re- qmr 3S no proof. Turn over the pages of history, and you wil find that wherever the tyranny of castes has predommatel society, whethei religious or political, has universally become sluggish and torpid. A dread of improvement was certaiidy introduced at a certain epoch, and up to a certain point, into (he Christian Church. But whatever regret this may cost us It cannot be said that this feeling ever generally prevailed It cannot be said that the Christian Church ever remained in<- active and stationary. For along course of centuries she was always in motion ; at one time pushed forward by her oppo- nents without, at others driven on by an inward impulse — bj the want of reform, or of interior development. The church, indeed, taken as a whole, has been constantly changing — constantly advancing — her history is diversified and progres- sive. Can it be doubted that she was indebted for this to the admission of all classes to the priestly offices, to the continual filling up of her ranks, upon a principle of equality, by which a stream of young and vigorous l)lood was ever (lowing into her veins, keeping her unceasingly active and stirring, and defending her from the reproach of apathy and inunobility which might otherwise have triumphed over her ' Hut how did the Church, in admitting all classes to power satisfy herself that they had the right to be so admitted ? How did she discover and proceed in taking from the bosom of so- ciety, the legitimate superiorities who should have a share in her government 1 In the church two principles were in full vigor : fust, the election of the inferior by the superior, which >n fact, was nothing more thai choice or nomination ; secondly, the election of the superior by the subordinates, or election properly so called, and such as we conceive to be election in file present day. The ordination of priests, for example, the power of raising a man to the priestly oflice, rested solely with the superior He alone made choice of the candidate for holy orders. Tho case was the sarr.o in the collation to cerlaiu ecclesiastical benefices, such as those attached to feudal grants, and some (ihers ; it was the superior whether king, pope, or lord, whc = triM7,ATT0N IN MODERN EUROPE lit nominated to the benefice. In otlier cases the 'lue principle jf election prevailed. The hishops had been, for a h>ng time, >nd were still, often, in the period under consideration, elect- p(l bv the inferior clergy ; even the people sometimes took part in them. In monasteries the abbot was elected by the monks At Rome, the pope was elected by the college of cardinals ; and, at an earlier date, even all the Roman clerg) had a voice in his election. You may here clearly observe, then, the two princij)les, the choice of the inferior by the su- perior, and the election of the superior by the subordinates ; which were admitted and acted upon in the Church, particu- larly at the period which now engages our attention. It was by one of these two means that men were appointed to the various offices in the Church, or obtained any portion of ec- clesiastical authority. These two principles were not only in operation at the same time, but being altogether opposite in their nature, a constant struggle prevailed between them. After a strife foi centuries, after many vicissitudes, the nomination of the infe- rior by the superior gained the day in the Christian Church. Yet, from the fifth to the twelfth century, the opposite prin- ciple, the election of the superior by the subordinates, con- tinued generally to prevail We must not be astonished at the co-existence of these two opposite principles. If we look at society in general, at the common course of affairs, at the manner in which authority ie there transmitted, we shall find that this transmission is some- times effected by one of these modes, and sometimes the other. The Church did not invent them, she found them in the providential government of human things, and borrowed hem from it. There is somewhat of truth, of utility, in both. Their combination would often prove the best mode of dis- covering legitimate power. It is a great misfortune, in nfiy opinion, that only one of them, the choice of the inferior by the superior, should have been victorious in the Church. The second, however, was never entirely banished, but under va- rious nannes, with more or less success, has re-appeared in everj epoch, with at least sufficient force to protest against, ind interrupt, prescription." •« The disliiiction between the power of conferring ihe authority to exercise the spiritua. functions of an ecclesiastical office, ana the rio;ht of d»*8ignating the person upon whom the authority «hall 116 GENERAL HISTORV Of The Chrisiian Church, at the period of which wo an speaking, ilerivod nn iniinense force from its respect foi aquality aiul tlie various kinds of legitimate superiority. It •vas the most popular society of ihe time — the most accessible { it alone opened its arms to ail the talents, to all the ambitious- ly noble of our race. To this, above all, it owed its grciil ness, ui least certainly much more than to its riches, and tl.t illegiamate means which it but too often employed. With regard to the second condition of a good government, namely, a respect for liberty, that of the Church leaves much to bo desired. Two bad principles here met together. One avowed, forming part and parcel, as it were, of the doctrines of the Church ; the other, in no w-ay a legitimate consequence of hei doctrines, was introduced into her bosom by human weakness. The first was a denial of the rights of individual reason — the claim of transmitting points of faith from the highest au- thority, downwards, throughout the whole religious body without allowing to any one the right of examining tliem for hin^self But it was more easy to lay this down as a principle ihan to carry it out in practice ; and the reason is obvious, for a conviction cannot enter into the human mind unless the hu man mind first opens the door to it ; it cannot enter by force In whatever way it may present itself, whatever name it may invoke, reason looks to it, and if it forces an entrance, it is because reason is satisfied. Thus individual reason has al ways continued to exist, and under whalevei name it may be conferred for any particular place, should be borne in mind. The former, by the established constitution of the Church and by universal practice, always belonged exclusively to the bishops: they alone ordained the inferior clergy; they alone consecrated ilie bishops. In regard to the latter the practice varied : sometimes, he person designated was elected by the clergy and peojile, which was the primitive mode, sometimes by the clergy; some- times by the temporal sovereign. But in no case did tiie peo|)le oi the prince imagine tl»emselves competent to consecrate, to confe] upon the person they had selected for bishop, the spiritual powert liertaining to tlie functions of the see or benefice. Tliis was always referred to the bishops, witn whom it rested to confer or withhold those powers, witlicut which the designation by people or nrince veas of no effect. This remark, of course, applies only to the sa- sred or spiritual orders; the authority of priors, abbots, etc wa« lerived from their election. CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPR 117 )iav9 been disguised, has always considered and reflected upon the ideas which have been attempted to be forced upor. It. Still, however, it must be admitted but as too true, that reason often becomes impaired ; that she loses her power, be comes mutilated and contracted — that she may be brouglit no* only to make a sorry use of her faculties, but to make a more Ijnii'od use of them than she ought to do. So far indeed the b:td principle wliich crept into the Church took effect, but vith regard to the praclical and complete operation of this principle, it nover took place — it was impossible it ever should. The second vicious principle was the right of compulsion assumed by the Romish church ; a right, however, contrary to the very nature and spirit of religious society, to the origin of the Cliurch itself, and to its primitive maxims. A right, too, disputed by some of the most illustrious fathers of the Church — by St. Ambrose, St. Hilary, St. Martin — but which, nevertheless, prevailed and became an important feature in its history. The right it assumed of forcing belief, if these two wo'ds can stand togetlier, or of punishing faith physically, of persecuting heresy, that is to say, a contempt for the legiti- mate liberty of human thought, was an error which found its way into the Romish church before the beginning of the fifth century, and has in the end cost her very dear. If then we consider the state of the Church with regard to the liberty of its members, we must confess that its principles in this respect were less legitimate, less salutary, than those which presided at the rise and formation of ecclesiastical power. It must not, however, be supposed, that a bad prin- ciple radically vitiates an institution ; nor even tha. it does it all the mischief of which it is pregnant. Nothing tortures history more than logic. No sooner does the human mind seize upon an idea, than it draws from it all its possible con- sequences ; makes it produce, in imagination, all that it would in reality be capable of producing, and then figures it down in history with all the extravagant additions which itself has con- juTod up. This, however, is n ;thing like the truth. Events are not so prompt in their consequences, as the human mind hi its deductions. There is in all things a mixture of good aiid evil, so profound, so inseparable, that, in whatever pari yov penetrate, if even you descend to the lowest elements of ftociety, or into the soul .tself, you will there find these twc wnciples dwelUng together, developing themselves side by pide perpetually struggling a id juarrelling with each otbei 118 GENERAL HtSTORY n» but neither of il.em ever obtaining a complete victory, oi abso lutely dcfetroying its fellow. Human nature never readies tc Uie extreme eitlier of good or evil. It passes, without ceasing from one to the oilier ; it recovers itself at the moment whe.i il teems lost for ever. It slips and loses ground at the monuMii «*hcn it seems to ha'e assumed the firmest position. We again discover here that character of discordance, ol tForsity, of .strife, to which I formerly called your attention, ifa the fundamental character of European civilization. Be- ajdes this, there is another general fact which characterizes the government of the Church, which we n ust not pass over without notice. In the present day, when the idea of govern- ment presents itself to our mind, we know, of whatever kind it may be, that it will scarcely pretend to any authority be- yond the outward actions of men, beyond the civil relations between man and man. Governments do not profess to carry their rule further than this. With regard to human thought, to the human conscience, to the intellectual powers of man • with regard to individual opinions, to private morals, — with 1 these they do not interfere ; this would be to invade the do \', main of liberty. The Christian Church did, and was bent upon doing, exact- / ly the contrary. What she undertook to govern was the hu- / / man thought, human liberty, private morals, individual opi- ; ' lions She did not draw up a code like ours, which took ac- i / count only of those crimes that are at the same time ofTensivo I ; to morals and dangerous to society, punishing them only I , when, and because, they bore tins twofold character ; but pro I ; pared a catalogue of all those actions, criminal more particu- ■ iarly in a moral poin of view, and punished them all under the name of sins. Her aim was their entire suppression. In a word, (he government of the Church did not, like our modern governments, direct her attention to the outward man, or to the purely civil relations of men among themselves ; she addressed herself to the inward man, to the thought, to the conscience ; in fact, to that which of all things is most hid- den and secure, most free, and which spurns the least re- straint. The Church, then, by the very i ature of its under- taking, combined with the nature of some of the pri: cipica ujjon which its government was founded, stood in great peril of falling into tyranny ; of an illegitimate employment of forco \r\ the mean time, this force was encountered by a resistancr CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 119 Rlllun the Church itself, which it could never overcome Human thought and liberty, however fettered, however con fined for room and space in which to exercise their faculties .oppose with so much energy every attempt to enslave them, ihat their reaction makes even despotism itself to yield, and aivc up something every moment. This took place in the ^«Ty bosom of the Christian Church. We have seen heresj proscribed— the right of free inquiry condemned ; a conteni|>t ihown for individual reason, the principle of the nnperativc transmission of doctrines by human authority eVablished. And yet where can we find a society in which individual reason , more boldly developed itself than in the Church \ What are ', sects and heresies, if not the fruit of individual opinions < \ These sects, these heresies, all these oppositions which arose in the Christian Church, are the most decisive proof of the life and moral activity which reigned within her : a life stormy, i painful, sown with perils, with errors and crimes— yet splen- did and mighty, and which has given place to the noblest de- ' vclopments of intelligence and mind. But leaving t'le oppo- sition, and looking to the ecclesiastical governmcm itself-- how does the case stand here ? You will find it constituted, you will find it acting, in a manner quite opposite to what you would expect from some of its principles. It denies the right of inquiry, it wishes to deprive individual reason of its liber- ty ; yet it appeals to reason incessantly ; practical liberty ac- tually predominates in its affairs. What are its institutions, its means of action 1 Provincial councils, national councils, general councils; a perpetual correspondence, a perpetual publicatijn of letters, of admonitions, of writings. No govern- ment ever went so far in discussions and open deliberations. «)ne might fancy one's self in the midst of the philosophical schools'of Greece. But it was not here a mere discussion, it was not a simple search after truth that here occupied the attention ; it was questions of authority, of measures to be taken, of decrees to be d.xwn up, in short, the business of a government. Such indeed was the energy of intellectual life in the bosom of this government, that it became its predomi- nant, universal character; to this all others gave way; and that which shone forth from all its part?, was the exercise of reason and liberty. '^ " There ai e severa. things in the foregoing paragraph? not quit? ftcc.jrately put. 120 GENERAL HISTORV (»F I am far, notwitlistanding all this, from believing ihat the /icious principles, which I have endeavored to exp.ain, and The assumption of the right, or the exercise of the power t •.oerce faitli, to punish physically for religious opinions, cannot in- leed be too strongly condemned. It was a monstrous tyranny eX' iTcised by tiie Churcli at this period. The right of sepai-aling I'ruin its society such as rejected the fundamental articles of its constiiu- :i'.-n, is entirely a dilferent thing — being a right inherent in every .lisociation, nol to advert here to any grounds on which the obli'^a- 'tan to do so was thought to rest. Again ; in regard to the authority of the Church and the " rights of individual reason" — here undoubtedly, in the corrupt ages of the Church, monstrous abuses ^rew up; yet these abuses should be dis- tinguished from the primitive principle, from the perversion c*" which they sprang — the principle whicli required implicit faith in all matters divinely revealed. — It is incorrect, too, to represent the Church, even at its most corrupt period, as maintaining " the prin- •^in!? of the imperative transmission of doctrines by human an- ihorily established." The absolute subjection of all Church au- thority, as well as of the individual members of the Church, to the authority of the Divine Word, was always held. Nor, again, does the Church deserve the praise given to it in the text of acting in its councils in opposition to its principles. In the councils, the Church no doubt exercised to a certain extent the right inherent in all ordinary associations of legislating for itself In all matters relating to rites, ceremonies, and doctrines, not con- sidered to be definitively settled by Divine appointment, these coun- cils exercised the power of determining by their own authority. In all such matters there was scope for "discussion, deliberation," an.1 arbitrary preference. But when the question was concerninf any fundamental article of faith, the statement that "one might fancy one's self in the midst of the philosophical schools of Greece," is anything but true. They never dreamed of settling any &uch question by excogitation, speculation, reasoning. The appeal was to the ^acred Scriptures as the ultimate and absolute authority. It was a matter of interpretation. If the sacred writ- ings were not clear and decisive in themselves of the point in ques- tion, the next and only inquiry was, what could be historically uucertained to have been the interpretation sanctioned by the uni versal consent of the Church from the Apostolic age downwards, — and that was held to be decisive. Such was always the theory of the Church as to the authority of its councils: it wasnever imagined that the ascertained consent of the Church universal from the primitive age, in regard to a qnest'on of interpretation bearing on an article of faith, could be se' aside, by any discussion ir Tote, by any speculation or reasoning. Thus, from not distinguishing things quite distinct, the author's censure on the one band, and his praise on the other, niav convoy an erroneous iinnressi(jn. C'VILIZATIO.V IN MODERN EUROPE. I'il nhich, in my opiiiion, existed in the Christian Churcli, exist- ed there without producing any eflect. In tlie period now under review, they already bore very bitter fruits ; at a later period tliey l)ore others still more bitter ; still they did not produce all the evils which might have been expected, they lid not choke the good which sprang up in the same soil. 3uch was the Church considered in itself, in its inierior, in ilij own nature. Let us now consider it in its relations with sovereign8,\ with the holders of temporal authority. This is the second ^' poll, of view in which I have promised to consider it. ) • When at the fall of the western empire, when, instead o{\ the ancient Roman government, under which the Church had \ been born, under which she had grown up, with which she had common habits and old connexions, she found herself surrounded by barbarian kings, by barbarian chieftains, wan- dering from place to place, or shut up in their castles, with whom she had nothing in common, between whom and her there was as yet no tie — neither traditions, nor creeds, nor feelings ; her danger appeared great, and her fears were equally so. One only idea became predominant in the Church ; it was to \ take possession of these new-comers — to convert them. The | relations of the Church with the barbarians had, at first, ) scarcely any other aim.'-' To gain these barbarians, the most effective means seemed Vv to be to dazzle their senses and work upon their imagination // Thus it came to pass that the number, pomp, and variety of ) >3 Some of the barbarians had embraced Christianity before their invasion of ihe Roman Empire. Among these were the Goths, converted in the fourth century by their bishops Theophilus and Qlphilas; the Heruli, the Suevi, the Vandals, and perhaps the Lombards. They were converted by Arian missionaries, and embraced that form of Christianity. In the sixth and seventh cen- >uries "he Suevi, Visigoths, and Lombards adopted the orthodox j Hiiti: the Heruli, Vandals, and Ostro-Goths adhered to Arianism. Tlie remarks of the text can therefore be applied literally only \ .1' the Bttrgundians, Francs, etc., by whom the first conquerors of d»e empire were swept away. Still, the Church had much to df ' cvrn ill brinjjinsr under her full inflfence the first barbarians. IZ'Z GENERAL HISTORY OF ;'/ reiigioua ceremonies were at this epoch wonderfrJl)' incrcast d. ,' 'I'hc ancient chronicles particularly show, that it was prin ! cipally in this way that the Church worked upon the hjrb,?- \ ri ins. She converted them by grand spectacles Bet even when they had become settled and converted, £von after th»^- growth of some common ties between them, the danger of Jie Church was not over. The brutality, the unthinking, the unreflecting character of the barbarians weie so great, that the new faith, the new feelings with which they had been inspired, exercised but a very slight empire ovei them. When every part of society .'Vll a prey to violence, the Church could scarcely hope altogether to escape. To save herself she announced a principle, which had already been set up, though but very vaguely, under the empire ; tlie sepU- j-ation of spiritual and temporal power, and their mutual in- dependence. It was by the aid of this principle that the Church dwelt freely by the side of the barbarians ; she main- tained that force had ho authority over religious belief, hopes, or promises, and that the spiritual and temporal worlds are completely distinct. You caimot fail to see at once the beneficial consequences which have resulted from this principle. Independently of the temporary service it was of to the Church, it has had the inestimable uflect of founding in justice the separation of the two authorities, of preventing one from controlling the other, In addition to this, the Church, by asserting the independence of the intellectual world, in its collective form, prepared the independence of the intellectual world in individuals — the in- dependence of thought. The Church declared tliat the sys- tem of religious belief could not be brought under the yoke of force, and each individual has been led to hold the same language for himself. The principle of free inquiry, the liberty of individual thought, is exactly the same as that of the independence of the spiritual authority in general, with regard to temporul power. The desire for liberty, unfortunately, is but a step from tlie i^Hiro for power. The Church soon passed from one lo the other. Wiien she had established her independence, it was In accordance with the natural course of ambition that she should attempt to rai«e her spiritual authority al)Ove temporal authority. We must not, however, suppose tliat this daini CIMMZAIION IN MODERN EUROPE. 123 lad any other origin than the weaknesses of humanity , 3oine of these are very profound, and it is of imoortance that they should be known. When liberty prevails in the intellectual world, when tho thoughts and consciences of men are not enthralled by a pow- BT which calls in question their right of deliberating, of do riding, and employs its authority against them ; when there Is no visible constituted spiritual government laying claim t<) ihe right of dictating opinions ; in such circumstances, the idea of the domination of the spiritual order over the tempo- lal could scarcely spring up. Such is very nearly the present .i state of the world. But when there exists, as there did in the \ tenth century, a government of tho spiritual order ; when the I l)Uinan thought and conscience are subject to certain laws, lo | certain institutions, to certain authorities, which have arro- gated to themselves the right to govern, to constrain them; in short, when spiritual authority is established, when it has ed'ectively taken possession, in the name of right and power, of the human reason and conscience, it is natural that it should go on to assume a domination over the temporal order ; that it should argue : " What ! have I a right, have I an authority \ over that which is most elevated, most independent in man — \ over his thoughts, over his interior will, over his conscience ; and have I not a right over his exterior, his temporal and ma- j terial interests ? Am I the interpreter of divine justice and ' truth, and yet not able to regulate the affairs of this world ac- / cording to justice and truth 1" The force of this reasoning shows that the spiritual order \ had a natural tendency to encroach on the temporal. This \ tendency was increased by the fact, that the spiritual order, ', at this time, comprised all the intelligence of the age, every ' possible development of the human mind. There was but ' 9U{y science, theology ; but one spiritual order, the theological ; all the other sciences, rhetoric, arithmetic, and even musi.", cei.tred in theology. ^ 'I'he spiritual power, finding itself thus in possession of sU ' the intelligence of the age, at the head of all intellectual an- ' ti>ity, was naturally enough led to arrogate to iiself the gene- ral government of the world. A seconJ cause, which very much favored its views, wzs 124 GENERAL HISTORV OF , j.'lhc dieadful state of the temporal order, the violence and 'iiiiiquity which prevailed in all temporal governments. ' For some centuries past j?aen might speak, with a degree nl .confidence, of temporal power; but temporal power, at the I epoch of which we are speaking, was mere brutal force, u .' syetenj of rapine and violence. The Church, however im ,'• fierfoct might be her notions of morality and justice, was i)i- I tiEitely superior to a temporal government such as this ; an.l 'tlie cry of the people continually urged her to take its placj / When a pope or bishop proclaimed that a sovereign had //lost his rights, that his subjects were released from their oath / of fidelity, this interference, though undoubtedly liable to the , greatjst abuses, was often, in the particular case to which it was direcied, just and salutary. It generally holds, indeed, ' that where liberty is wanting, religion, in a great measure supplies its place. In the tenth century, the oppressed na- tions were not in a state to protect themselves, to defend their rights against civil violence — religion, in the name of Heaven, placed itself between them. This is one of the causes which most contributed to the success of the usurpations of the Church. There is a third cause, which, in my opinion, has not been sufficiently noticed. This is the manifold character and situa- tion of the leaders of the Church ; the variety of asj)ecta under which they appeared in society. On one side they were prelates, members of the ecclesiastical order, a portion of the spiritual power, and as such independent : on the other, they were vassals, and by this title formed one of the links of civil feudalism. But this was not all : besides being vas- sals, they were also subjects. Something similar to the an- cient relations in vhich the bishops and clergy had stood to- wards the Roman emperors i.ow existed between the clergy and the barbarian sovereigns. A series of causes, which it would be teilious to detail, had brought the bishops to look upon the barbarian kings, to a certain degree, as the succes- sors of tlie fioman emperors, and to attribute to them tlic eame rights. The heads of the clergy then had a tlireefold slmracter • first, they were ecclesiastics, and as such held to ihe performance of certain duties ; secondly, they were feudaj viuisals, with the rights and obligations of such ; thirdly, thoy were .mere subjects, and as such brund to render obedience to an ali&ulute sovereign. Observe the necessary conb'ijuencc CIVILIZATION IN MODEIIN EUROPE. 123 jt t» f civil and criminal Ingislation. We know to what a terrible^ extent, notwitlistaiuling some few principles of liberty, this l was absurd and wrotclied ; we have read of the irrational and Biiperstitions proofs to which the barbarians occasionally had recourse — their trial by battle, their ordeals, their « his master, shall strike, or attempt to strike him with his arm, with a btone, or by any other means ; and the master, in defending him- eelf, kills the slave in his anget, the master shall in nowise be lia- ble to the punishment of bomicide. But it will be necessary to ttove that the fact has so happened; and that by ilie testimony oi r*ath of the sla>es, malj or '"male, who witnessed it, and also by •Jie oath of the person himself who committed the deed. Whoso- '»er from pure malice shall kill a slave himself, or employr anothci CIVIUZA nON IN MODERN F.l'UOrF, 135 do BO, without his having been publicly tried, shall bt consider id infatiious, sliall be declared incapable of giving evidence, shall :.e banisncd for life, and his property be given to his nearest leirs."— (For. J'ud. L. VI. tit. V., 1. 12.) There is anoider circumstance connected with tl <; ii\8tila- 'ions of the Chinch, which has not, in general, been so much ttoticed as it deser>es. I allude to its penitentiary systenr, jvhich is the more interesting in the present day, because, bo far as the principles and applications of moral law arc con- cerned, it is almost completely in unison with the notions of modern i)lulosophy. If we look closely into the nature of the punishments inflicted by the Church at public penance, which was its principal mode of punishing, we shall find that their object was, above all other things, to excite repentance in the soul of the guilty ; in that of the lookers on, the moral terror of example. But there is another idea which mixes itself up with this — the idea of expiation. I know not, generally speaking, wlicther it be possible to separate the idea of ptmish- ment from tliat of expiation ; and whether there be not in all punishment, independently of the desire to awaken the guilty to repentance, and to deter those from vice who might be un- der temptation, a secret and imperious desire to expiate the wrong committed. Putting this question, however, aside, it is stifficiently evident that repentance and example were the ob- jects proposed by the Church in every part of its system of penance. And is not the attainment of these very objects the end of every truly philosophical legislation ? Is it not for the sake of these very principles that the most eidightened law- yers have clamored for a reform in the penal legislation of Europe ? Open their books — those of Jeremy Bentham for example — and you will be astonished at the numerous resem- blances which you will everywhere find between their plans of punishment and those adopted by the Church. We may be quite sure that they have not borrowed them from her ; and the Church could scarcely foresee that her example would one (lav be quoted in support of the system of philosophers not very remarkalile for their devotion. i'Mnally, she endeavored by every means in her powtir to suppress the frequent recourse which at this period was had to violence and the continual wars to which society was so Dionc Ji IS well known what the truce of God was. as weU (36 GENERAL HISTORY Of as a number Oi other similar measures by which the OhurcL hoptcl to prevent the emplojTiient of physical force, a\»d to iu- Iroduce into the social system more order and gentlenesa The facts under this head are so well known, that 1 shall nol go intc any detail concerning them '* Having now run over the principal points to which I wish- ed to draw attention respecting the relations of tlie Church to the people ; having now considered it under the three as- pects, which I proposed to do, we know it within and with- out ; in its interior constitution, and in its twofold relations with society. It remains for us to deduce from what we have learried by way of inference, by way of conjecture, its gene- ral influence upon European civilization. This is almost done to our hands. The simple recital of the facts of the predomi- nant principles of the Church, both reveals and explains its influence : the results have in a manner been brought before us with the causes. If, however, we endeavor to sum them up, we shall be led, I think, to two general conclusions The first is, that the Church has exercised a vast and im portant influence upon the moral and intellectual order of Eu rope ; upor the notions, sentiments, and manners of society This fact n evident ; the intellectual and moral progress of Europe has been essentially theological. Look at its history from the fifth to the sixteenth century, and you will find throughott that theology has possessed and directed the hu- man mind ; every idea is impressed with theology ; every " The • Truce of God" was a rei^ulation prohibiting all private warfare (t duels on tlie holydays, from Tliursday evening to Sun- day evening in each week, also during llie season of Advent and Lent, and on the "octaves," or eighth day, of tl»e great festivals. This rule was first introduced in Aquitaine in 1017; tiien in France ind Burgundy; subsequently into Germany, England, and the Netherlands. During the eleventh century it was enjoined by spe- cial decrees of numerous councils of the Church. Wiioever en- giiged in private quarrels on the prohibited days was excoinmuni- :uted. The Chorch endeavored by tliis regulation to restrict an(i .mtigate evils which it could not entirely rp()ress. The Truce o^ Uud was also made oinding in regard to certain places, as church- re, convents, ?iospilals; also certain persons, as clergymen, and ic ^•UL'ml all unarmed and defenceless nersons. CIVILIZATION [N MODERN EUllOPR. 137 luestioii that lias been started, whether philosophical, politi cal, or historical, has been considered in a religious point oi view. So powerful, indeed, has been the authority of the (Church in matters of intellect, that even the mathematical and physical sciences have been obliged to submit to its doctrines. The spirit of theology has been as it were the blood whict \ has circulated in the veins of the European world down to th» 1 time of Bacon md Descartes. Bacon in England, and Des- //| cartes in France, were the first who carried the human mind I cut of the pale of theology. We shall find the same fact hold if we travel through the regions of literature : the habits, the sentiments, the language of theology there show themselves at every step. This influence, taken altogether, has been salutary. It not only kept up and ministered to the intellectual movement in Europe, but the system of doctrines and precepts, by whose authority it stamped its impress upon that movement, was in- calculably superior to any which the ancient world had known. The influence of the Church, moreover, has given to the development of the human mind, in our modern world, aii ex- tent and variety which it never possessed elsewhere. In the East, intelligence was altogether religious: among the Greeks, it was almost exclusively human : there human culture — hu- manity, properly so called, its nature and destiny — actually disappeared ; here it was man alone, his passions, his feel- ings, his present interests, which occupied the field. In our world the spirit of religion mixes itself with all but exclude* nothing. Human feelings, human interests, occupy a con siderable space in every branch of our literature ; yet the re ligious character of man, that portion of his being which con nects him with another world, appears at every turn in them •^11. Could modern intelligence assume a visible shape we should recognise at once, in its mixed character, the finger of man and the finger of God. Thus the two great sources of human development, humanity and religion, have been open at the same time and flowed in plenteous streams. Not with- slandirig all the evil, all the abuses, which may have crept into the Church — notwithstanding all the acts of tyranny of vN'hich she has been guilty, we must still acknowledge her in- tlLcnoe upon the progress and culture of the human intellect ,« nave been beneficial ; that she has assisted in its develop- ment rather than its compression, in its exiensioi rather thar ifp confinement J38 GENERiL HISTORY OF The case is widely diiferent wliea we look at the Church in a political point of view. By softening the rugged tnan- oers and sentiments of the people ; by raising her roicc against a great number of practical barbarisms, and doing what she couid to expel them, there is no doubt but the Church Ifvrgely contributed to the melioration of the social condition; but witn regard to politics, prop-erly so called, with regard U) tU that concerns ;he relations between the governing and ttu governed — between power and liberty — I cannot conceal my ooinion, that its influence has been baneful. In this respect the Church has ahvays showii herself as the interpreter and defender of two systems, equally vicious, that is, of theocracy, and of the imperial t\"ranny of the Roman empire — that is to say, of despotism, both religious and civil. Examine all ii-s institutions, all its laws ; peruse its canons, lock at its pro- cedure, and you will everywhere find the maxims of theocracy or the empire to predominate. In her weakness, the Church sheltered herself under the absolute power of the Roman Emperors ; in her strength she laid claim to it herself, vmdei the name of spiritual power. We must not here coniine our- selves to a few particular facts. The Chiirch has often, no doub', set up and defended the rights of the people against the bad government of their rulers ; often, indeed, has she ap- proved and excited insurrection ; often too has she maintained ihe rights and interests of the people in the presence of their sovereigns. But when the question of political securities came into debate between power and libertj- ; when any step was taken to establish a system of permanent institutions, which might efteciually protect liberty from the invasions of |X)wer in general ; the Church always ranged herself on the side of despotism. This should not astonish us, neither should we be too ready to attribute it to any j>anicular failing in the clergy, or to any pardcular rice in the Church. There is a more profound and powerful cause. ' What is the object of religion \ of any religkm, tme « / fclse : It is to govern the htiman passions, the human wilL ;' / All religion is a restraint, »n authority, a govermneiiU It enmes in the name of a divine law, to subdue, to mortiiy hu- j njan nature. It is then to human liberty thai it directly op- I poses itself. It is himian liberty that resists it, and thai u I wishes to o\ercome This is the grand object of religUHi, its ati^on, 'ts hope. / CIVItlZATU N IN MODERN EVROPR. 139 Bat while it is with human liberty that all religions h'd.re U' contend, while they aspire to reform the will of man. they bave no means by which they can act upon him — they have DO moral jtower over h'm, but through his own will, his liber- ty. When they make use of exterior means, when they re- Boi: to force, to seduction — in short, make us^^ of means op- posed to the free consent of man, they treat him as we treat water, wind, or any power entirely physical : they fail in their object ; they attain not their end ; they do not reach, they cannot govern the will. Before religions can really accom ' plibh their task, it is necessary that they should be accepted by the free-will of man : it is necessar\- that man should sub- mit, but it must L»e willingly and freely, and that he still pre serves his liberty in the rr.idsl of this submission. It is in his that resides the double problem which religions are called :ipon to resolve. They have too oAen mistaken their object. They have re- |arded liberty as an obstacle, and not as a means ; they have orgotten the nature vi the power to which they address them- i selves, and have conducted themselves towards the human Boul as they would towards a material force. It is this error that has led them to ran^e themselves on the side of power, on the side of despotism, against human liberty ; rogarding it as an adversary, they have endeavored to subjugate rather than to protect it. Had religions but fairly considered their means of operation, had they not suffered themselves to be drawn away by a natural but deceitful bias, they would have seen that liberty is a condition, without which man carmoi be moral- ly governed ; that religion neither has nor ought to have any means of influence not strictly moral : they would have re- spected the will of man in their attempt to govern it. They have too often forgotten this, and the issue has been that re- ligious power and liberty have sulTered together. I will not push further this investigation of the general col sequences that have followed the influence of the Church up- on European civilization. I have summed them up in thi.i ii'uble result, — a great and salutar}' influence upon its mora^ md intellectual condition ; an influence rather hurtful thau tcneficial to its political condition. We have now to try oui !ifc3'?rtions by facts, to verify by history what we have as yei nrJy deduced from the nature and si'.uitiori oJ ecclesiastical 3i>citly Let us now ?ee what was th'' destiny ol the Chris [40 GENERAL HISTORV OV rian Church from the fifth to the twelfth century, ami v/hethi r the principles which 1 have laid down, the results which I have endeavored to draw from them, have really been isu :h ae I have represented them. Let me caution you, however, against supposing that I'liose principles, diese results, appeared all at once, and as cAiailj as they are here set forth by me. We are apt to fall into tht. great and connnon error, in looking at the past through cen- turies of distance, of forgetting moral chronology ; we are apt to forget — extraordinary forgetfulness ! that history is es- sentially successive. Take the life of any man — of Oliver Cromwell, of Cardinal Richelieu, of Gustavus Adolphus. He enters upon his career ; he pushes forward in life, and rises ; great circumstances act upon him ; he acts upon great cir- cumstances. He arrives at the end of all things — and then it is we know him. But it is in his whole character ; it is as a complete, a finished piece ; such in a manner as he is turn- ed out, after a long labor, from the workshop of Providence. Now at his outset he was not what he thus became ; he was not completed — not finished at any single moment of his life ; he was formed successively. Men are formed morally in the same way as they are physically. They change every day. Their existence is constantly undergoing some modification The Cromwell of 1650 was not the Cromwell of 1640. It is true, there is always a large stock of individuality ; the same man still holds on ; but how many ideas, how many senti- ments, how many inclinations have changed in him! Wliat a number of things he has lost and acquired ! Thus, at what- ever moment of his life we may look at a man, he is never Buch as we see him when his course is finislied. This, nevertheless, is an error into which a great numhe: / :t{ historians have fallen. When they have acquired a com ( plete idea of a man, have settled his character, they see him in this same character throughout his whole career. With them, it is the same Cvomweli who enters parliament in 1628, and who dies in the palace of White-Hall thirty years after- wards. Just such mistakes as these we are very apt to fall into with regard to ins-titutions and general influences. I cau- lion you against them. I have laid down in '.heir complete form, as a whole, the principles of the Church, and the conse ^uences which may be deduced from them. Be assured, how aver, that historically this picture is not true. All it repre seutt) has taken place disiointedjy, sucrs^ssively ; haa beei CIVII.r/ATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 141 »cntlcrc(l here aiul tlicre ox'or space and time. Expect not tc\ find, in the recital of events, a similar completeness or whale, \ rhe same pronijit and systematic concatenation. One principle j ivill be visible here, another there ; all will be incomplete, I t\neqi)al, dispersed ; we must come to modern times, to th»'/ I nd of its career, before we can view it as a whole. I ahall nowlay before you the various states through whicli 'he Church passed from the fifth to the twelfth century SVe may not find, perhaps, the complete demonstration of the ■tatements which I have made, but W6 shall see enough, I ap- prehend, to convince us that Jiey are founded in truth. The first state in which we see the Church in the fifth cen- tury, is as the Church imperial — the Church of the Roman E-mpire. Just at the time the Empire fell, the Church believ- ed she had attained the summit of her hopes :*after a long struggle, she had completely vanquished paganism. Gratian, tlie last emperor who assumed the pagan dignity of sove- reign pontiff, died at the close of the fourth century. The Church believed herself equally victorious in her struggle against heretics, particularly against Arianism, the principal heresy of the time. Theodosius, at the end of the fourth cen- tury, put them down by his imperial edicts ; and had the double merit of subduing the Arian heresy and abolishing the worship of idols throughout the Roman world. The (^hurch, then, was in possession of the government, and had ootained the victory over her two greatest enemies. It was at thip moment that the Roman Empire failed her, and she stood ii the presence of new pagans, of new heretics — in the pres ence of the barbarians — of Goths, of Vandals, of Burgun- dians and Franks.'^ The fall was immense. You may easily imagine that an adectionate attachment for the Empire was tor a long time preserved in the Romish Church. Hence we B ie her cherish so fondly all that was left of it — municipal |;i)vornment and absolute power. Hence, when she had sue •5 These barbarians, it will be remembered, followed the Arian heresy, both those who embraced Christianity before the invasion >i the Empire, and those who did so after that event. The Bur- ffundiRns, converted by Arian missionaries in 433, adopted tht f/3'.liolif; faith about 517. The Franks, following the example of Clov/s. embraced the orthodox faith in 497. 142 GENERAL IIISTOKV Of ceedtd in converting the barbarians, she endeavored to re-e* lablish the Empire ; she called upon the barbarian kings, eht conjured them to become Roman emperors, to assume the privilege of Roman emperors ; to enter into the same rela lions vvith the Cliurch which had existed between her and the Roman Empire. This was the great object for which the tiishops of the fifth and sixth centuries labored. Such *as ilve general state of the Church. / The attempt could not succeed — it was impossible to make- I Roman Empire, to mould a Roman society out of barbarians. [,ike the civil world, the Church herself sunk into barbarism. This was her second state. Comparing the writings of the monkish ecclesiastical chroniclers of tlie eighth century with those of the preceding six, the difference is immense. AH re- mains of Roman civilization had disappeared, even its very lan- guage — all became buried in complete barbarism. On one side the rude barbarians, entering into the Church, became bishops and priests ; on the other, the bishops, adopting the barbarian life, became, without quitting their bishopricks, chiefs of b;ind.i of marauders, and wandered over the country, pillaging and de- : stroying like so many companies of Clovis. Gregory of Tours I gives an account of several bishops who thus passed their lives, and among others Salone and Sagittarius. Two important facts took place while the Church continued in this state of barbarism. The first was the separation of the spiritual and temporal ' powers. Nothing could be more natural than the birth of this principle at this epoch. The Church would have restored the absolute power of the Roman Empire that she might par- take of it, but she could not ; she therefore sought her safety in independence. It became necessary that she should be able in all parts to defend herself by her own power ; for she was threatened in every quarter. Eveiy bishop, every priest, isaw the rude chiefs in their neighborhood interfering in the affairs of the Church, that they might procure a slice of its wealth, its territory, its power ; and no other means of defence accmed left bat to say, "The spiritual order is completely / separated from the temporal ; you have no right to interfete 1/ with it." This principle became, at every point of attack, tht ; Icfi^nsivo armor of the Church against barbarism. A sec( \id Important fact which took place at this same pe / CIVILIZAI' ON IN MODERN EUROPR. 143 nod, was iho establisnmenl of the monastic orders in the w esl. It was at the coininoncement of the sixth centniy that St. Benedict published the rules of his order for the use of the .nonks of the west, then few in number, but who from thifl ime prodifiiously increased. The monks at this epoch did not yet belong to the clerical body, but were still reoarded aa % part of ttio laity. Priests and even bishops were sometimes nhoscn from among them ; but it was not till the close of tho lifth and beginning of the sixth century that monks in general were considered as belonging to the clergy, properly so called. Priests and bishops now entered the cloister, thiidcing by so doing they advanced a stop in their religious life, and incieas- tjd the sanctity of their oilicc. The ii\onastic life thus all at once became exceedingly popular throughout Europe. The monks had a greater power over the imagination of the bar- barians than the secular clergy. The simple bishop and priest had in some measure lost their hold upon the minds of bar- barians, who were accustomed to see them every day ; to maltreat, perhaps to pillage ttiem. It was a more important / matter to attack a monastery, a body of holy men congregated / ia a holy place. Monasteries, therefore, became during this f barbarous period an asylum for the Church, as the Church was I for the laity. Pious men here took refuge, as others in the |/ East had done before in the Thebias, in order to escape the/ worldly life and corruption of Constantinople.'^ ^ '8 St Anthony, born in the year 251, is said to have laid the foun- dation of the monastic orders about 305, by giving rules to the Christian recluses who had withdrawn to the deserts of Thebias in Upper Egypt. His discipline was carried by some of his disciples into Syria. Subsequently St. Basil (born 326) founded a convent in Pontus. The first community of monks in Gaul was established by St. Martin of Tours, who about 375 built the famous convent of Marmoutiers. lie had previously founded one at Milan in Italy. The discipline of the Egyptian monks was introduced at the be- ginning of the fifth century into Provence, by St. Honoratius and 8t. Cassian ; the former of whom established a monastery at Le- rins, the latter at Marseilles. There were, however, no regular monastic vows or public profession till the sixth century. They were then introduced by 5»t. Benedict, first in a monastery founded by him at Monte Casiao aear Naples, in 529. The strict rules established by him were ^ ."adopted into all the European convents. By their vows the monkj \ were obliged to poverty, chastity, and obedience : their rules ot hscipiine required them to devote their time to study, atid to lab"". , witb their hands. ' 144 GENERAL HISTORV OF These, then, are the two most important facts in the hittory of the j Church, during the period of barbarism. First, the separation of the spiritual and temporal powers ; and, secondly, the introduction and establishment of the monastic orders in the West. Towards the end of this period of barbarism, a fresh attempt M as made to raise up a new Roman empire — I allude to the lUeinpt of Charlemagne. The Church and the civil sovereign igiin contracted a close alliance. The holy see was full of docility while this lasted, and greatly increased its power The attempt, however, again failed. The empire of Charle- magne was broken up ; but the advantages which the see of Rome derived from his alliance were great and permanent. The popes hencefo.ward were decidedly the chiefs of tha Christian world. TJpon the death of Charlemagne, another period of imsei lledness and confusion followed. The Church, together with civil society, again fell into a chaos ; again with civil society she arose, and with it entered into the frame of the feudal system. This was the third state of the Church. The dis- solution of the empire formed by Charlemagne, was followed oy nearly the same results in the Church as in civil life ; all unity disappeared, all became local, partial, and individual Now began a struggle, in the situation of the clergy, such as had scarcely ever before been seen : it was the struggle of the feelings and interest of the possessor of the fief, with the feelings and interest of the priest. The chiefs of the clergy were placed in this double situation ; the spirit of the priest and of the temporal baron struggled within them for mastery. The ecclesiastical spirit naturally became weakened and di Durir.g the dark period from the sixth century to the ninth, thi> monks rendered areai services to the cause of religion, letters, and I'.ivilizaiion. By their industrious hands waste forests and barren jinds were converted into ricli and productive gardens; in ilie con- rents were preserved all the remains of ancient learning; tiiere missionaries were educated. Reverence for these institutions, and gratitude for the beneGtJ. ihey cunferred, led to gifts anoJ endow^ments on (he part of the ^lous laity, until at length tne monasteries became as notorious foi riches luKury, and corruption, a& they were at first for simplicity devot. 7 Gregory VII. (Hildebrand) succeeded Alexander II. in the Papal chair 1073. He virtually governed the Church during the lime of his predecessor, and was indeed the real author of the de- cree of Nicholas II., 1059, by which the power of nominating ind confirming the pope was taken from the German emperors and vest- ?d iu the cardinals. His whole life was devoted to aggrandizing llu' (lowtr of the Holy See. His talents were great, and his energy udomitable. He died 1085. For the rise and progress of the Pa- f,al power, see Hallam's Bliddle Ages, Chap. VII., aud Ranke's Hi* tory of the Popes. The Pajial power was at its height from the time of Innocent III., 1191, to that of Boniface VIIL, 1294, after which it senaibh JHi'lined CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 147 WM« soAerely felt anJ cried out for with a zeal that would no! be said nay. About this time Robert De Moleme established his severe rule at Cileaux ; about the same time flourished St Norbert, and llie reform of the canons, tlie reform of Cluny and, at last, tho groat reform of St. Bernard. A general for mentation reigned within the monasteries : the old monks Jid •\ot. like this ; in defvjnding themselves, they called these re- forms an attack upon their liberty ; pleaded the necessity of conforming to the manners of the times, that it was impossible vO return to the discipline of the primitive Church, and treat- ed all these reformers as madmen, as enthusiasts, as tyrants. Dip into tlie history of Normandy, by Ordericu? Vitalius, and you will meet with these complaints at almost every page. All this seemed greatly in favor of the Church, of its unity, and of its power. While, however, the popes o^ Rome sough* to usurp the government of the world, while the monasteries enforced a better code of morals and a severer form of dis- cipline, a few mighty, though solitary individuals protested in favor of human reason, and asserted its claim to be heard, its right to be consulted, in the formation of man's opinions. The greater part of these philosophers forbore to attack common- ly received opinions — I mean religious creeds ; all they claim- ed for reason was the right to be heard — all they declared was, that she had the right to try these truths by her own tests, and that it was not enough that they should be merely affirm- ed by authority. John Erigena, or John Scotus, as he is more frequently called, Roscehn, Abelard, and others, became the noble interpreters of individual reason, when it now be- gan to claim its lawful inheritance. It was tlie teaching and writings of these giants of their days that first put in motion that desire for intellectual liberty, which kept pace with the reform of Gregory VII., and St. Bernard. If we examine tho general character of this movement of mind, we shall find that it sought not a change of opinion, that it did not array itself against the received system of faith ; but that it simply idvocated tlie right of reason to work for itself — in short, the nght of free inquiry. I'he scholars of Abelard, as he himself tell us, in his in- troduction to T/ieoIogy, requested him to give them " some philosopliical arguments, such as were fit to satisfy their miiids ; begged that he would instruct them, not merely to re peat what he taught them, but to understand it ; for no one car 10 148 GENERAL HISTORT OF believe that whi^h he does not comprelieiid, and iiis absurd it set out to preacii to otliers concerning things which neilhei those who teach nor those who learn can understand. What other end can the study of philosophy have, if not to lead ua to a knowledge of God, to which all studies should be subor dinate ? For what purpose is the reading of profane authors and of books which treat of worldly alhiirs, jerniitted to be- lievers, if not to enable them to understand tlie truths of the Holy Scriptures, and to give them the abilities necessary to defend them ? It is above all things desirul)le for this pur- pose, that we should strengthen one another with all the pow- ers of reason ; so that in questions so dilhcult and complica- ted as those which form the object of Christian faith, you may be able to hinder the subtilties of its enemies from too easily corrupting its purity." The importance of this hrst attempt after liberty, or this re birth of the spirit of free inquiry, was not long in making it- self felt. Though busied with its own reform, the Church soon took the alarm, and at once declared war against these new reformers, whose methods gave it more reason to fear than their doctrines. This clamor of human reason was the grand circumstance which burst forth at the close of the eleventh and beginning of the twelfth centuries, just at the time when the Church was establishing its theocratic and mo- nastic form. At this cpocli, a serious struggle for the lirst time broke out between the clergy and the advocates of free inquiry. The quarrels of Abelard and St. Bernard, the coun- cils of Soissons and Sens, at which Abelard was condemned, were nothing more than the expression of this fact, which holds so important a place in the history of modern civiliza- tion. It was the principal occurrence which afl'ected the Church in the twelfth century ; the point at which we will, for the present, take leave of it. But at this same instant another power was put in motion, which, though altogether of a difl'erent character, was per- haps one of the most interesting and important in the pro- (^ress of society during the middle ages — I mean the iiistiiu- Son of free cities and boroughs ; or what is called the I'nfran- chisement of the connnons. IIow strange is tlie inconsisten- cy of grossness and ignorance ! If it had been told to these tarly citizens who vindicated their liberties with such enthu- siasm, that there were certain men who cried out for the rights of human Teason, the right of free iiKjuirv, nun who-i! CIVILIZAFION IN MODERN EUROI'K. 149 ihther kind of defence ; everything exposed, everything an easy «l)oi[ to the first depredator, the town ready to fall into the huiids of the first assailant. The burgess is alarmed at ihf 152 GENERAL HISTORY OF jisecurity of this Tree city, which he finds ii so defenceless and unprotected a condition. He then proceeds into the heart of the town ; he inquires bow things are going on, what ia the nature of its government, and the character of its inhabi- tants. He learns that there is an authority not resident witli ii its walls, which imposes whatever taxes it pleases to levy up( i: theAi without their consent ; which requires tliem to keep up a militia, and to serve in the army without their inclination being consulted. They talk to him about the magistrates about the mayor and aldermen, and he is obliged to hear thai the burgesses have nothing to do with their nomination. He learns that the municipal government is not conducted by the burgesses, but that a servant of the king, a steward living at a distance, has the sole management of their aflairs. In ad- dition to this, he is informed that they are prohibited from as- sembling together to take into consideration matters innne- diately concerning themselves, that the church bells have ceased to announce public meetings for such purposes. The burgess of the twelfth century is struck dumb with confusion — a moment since he was amazed at the greatness, the im- portance, the vast superiority which the " tiers etat" so vaunt- ingly arrogated to itself; but now, upon examination, he finds them deprived of all civic rights, and in a state of thraldom and degradation far more intolerable than he had ever before witnessed. He passes suddenly from one extreme to the other, from the spectacle of a corporation exercising sovereign power to a corporation without any power at all : how is it possible that he should understand this, or be able to recon- cile it ? his head must be turned, and his faculties lost in won- der and confusion. Now, let us burgesses of the nineteenth century imagine, in our turn, that we are transported back into the twelfth. A twofold appearance, but exactly reversed, presents itself to us iu a precisely similar manner. If we regard the allaiis ol the public in general — the state, the government, the country, the nation at large, we shall neither see nor hear anything el burgesses ; they were mere ciphers — of no importafjce oi consideration whatever. Not only so, but if we would know in what estimation they held themselves as a body, whal H-cight, what influence they attached to themselves with r«i- -bpect to their relations towards the government of France as i oalioii we shall receive a reply to our inquiry in language esf CIVIMZA riON IN MODK.RN EUROPE. 153 pvcssivo of deep Inimility and timidity ; while wc sliall find their masters, the lords, from wlioin they subsequent y wrested their franchises, treating them, at least as far as words po witli a pride and scorn truly amazing; yet these indignities ilo not appear, iii the slightest degree, to provoke or astonish ilieir submissive vassals. But let us enter one of these free cities, and see what o going on within it. Here things take quite another turn : wo find ourselves in a fortified town, defended by armed burgess- es. These burgesses fix their own taxes, elect their own magistrates, have their own courts of judicature, their own pul)lic assemblies for deliberating upon public measures, froa» which none are excluded. Thoy make war at their own ex perisc, even against their suzerain — maintain their own militia. In short, they govern themselves, they are sovereigns. Here we have a similar contrast to that which made Fra:icc, of the eighteenth century, so perplexing to the burgess of ll e Iwelftli ; the scenes only are changed. In the present day the burgesses, in a national point of view, are everything — municipalities nothing; formerly corporations were every thing, while the burgesses, as respects the nation, were no thing. From this it will appear evident that many things, many extraordinary events, and even many revolutions, muM have happened between the twelfth and the fifteenth centu- ries, in order to bring about so great a change as that which lias taken place in the social condition of this class of so- ciety. But however vast this change, there can be no doubt but that the commons, the third estate of 1789, politically speaking, are the descendants, the heirs of the free towns ol the twelfth century. And the present hauehty, ambitious French nation, which aspires so high, which proclaims so pompously its sovereignty, and preteiuls not only to have re- generated and to govern itself, but to regenerate and rule the whole world, is indisputably descended from those very free towns which revolted in the twelfth century — with ?reat spirij and courage it must be allowed, but with no nobler obje':* ihan that of escaping to some remote corner of the land froLi tlie vexatious tyranny of a few nobles. It would be in voin to expect that tlie condition of the free towns in the twelfth century will reveal the causes of a meta 'norphosis such as this, which rc.<:ulted from a series of eventi 164 GEXERAL HISTORY OF liat took jilace between the twelfth and eighteenth centuries t is in these events tliat we shall discover t!ie causes of this change as we go on. Nevertheless, the origin of the " tieri itat" has played a striking part in its history ; and though wc may not be able therein to trace out the whole secret of its destiny, we shall, at least, there meet with the seeds of it; ihat which it was at first, again occurs in that which it is be- come, and this to a much greater extent than might be pre- Btimed from appearances. A sketch, however imperfect, of the state of the free cities in the twelfth century, will, I think, convince you of this fact. In order to understand the condition of the free cities at that time properly, it is necessary to consider them in two points of view. There are two great questions to be deter- mined : first^ that of the enfranchisement of the commons, or cities — that is to say, how this revolution was brought about, what were its causes, what alteration it effected in the con- dition of the burgesses, what in that of society in general, and in that of all the other orders of the state. The second ques- tion relates to the government of the free cities, the internal ccnaition of the enfranchised towns, with reference to the b'jrgesses residing witliin them, the principles, forms and customs that prevailed among them. From these two sources — namely, the change introduced into the social position of the burgesses, on the one hand, and from the internal government, by their municipal economy, on the other, has flowed all their influence upon modern civiliza- tion. All the circumstances that can be traced to their in- fluence, may be referred to one of those two causes. Aa Boon, then, as we thoroughly understand, and can satisfac- torily account for, the enfranchisement of the free cities on the one hand, and the formation of their government on the other, we shall be in possession of the two keys to their hig' tory. In conclusion, I shall say a {ew words on the great di- versity of conditions in the free cities of Europe. The fact* which 1 am about to lay before you are not to be applied in- discriminately to all the free cities of the twelfth century — to those of Italy. Spain, England, and France alike; many of ihera undoubtedly were nearly the same in them all, but the points ol differer.ce are great and important. I shall point them out to j'our notice us I proceed. We shall meet will CIVILIZATION IN MODERN KUKUt-C 155 llicm again at a more advanced stage of our civiliziilion, and can then examine them more closely. Tn acquainting ourselves with the history of the enfran- chisement of the free towns, we must remember what was the Btate of those towns between the fifth and eleventh centurion —from the fall of the Roman empire to the time when muni- i;i[)al revolution conunenced. Here, I repeat, the diflerencos je striking: the condition of the towns varied amazingly in llie (lifrerent countries of Europe ; still there are some farts jchich may be regarded as nearly common to them all, and jt is to these that I shall confine my observations. When I have gone through these, I shall say a few words more par- ticularly respecting the free towns of France, and especially those of the north, beyond the Rhone and the Loire ; these will form prominent figures in the sketch I am about to make. After the fall of the Roman empire, between the fifth arid tenth centuries, the towns were neither in a state of servitude nor freedom. We here again run the same risk of error in the employment of words, that 1 spoke to you of in a pre- vious lecture in describing the character of men and events. When a society has lasted a considerable time, and its lan- guage also, its words acquire a complete, a detertninate, a pre- cise, a sort of legal official signification. Time has introduced into the signification of every term a thousand ideas, which are awakened within us every time we hear it pronounced, but which, as they do not all bear the same date, are not all suitable at the same time. The terms " servitude axxd freedom" for example, recall to our minds ideas far more precise and definite than the facts of the eighth, ninth, or tenth centuries to which they relate. If we say that the towns in the eighth century were in a state of freedom, we say by far too much : Vie attach now to the word "freedom''^ a signification which does not represent the fact of the eighth century. We sh:)ll fall into the same error, if we say that the towns were in a state of servitude ; for this term implies a state of things very dilforen; from the circumstances of the municipal towns of those days. I say again, then, that the towns were neithei in a state of freedom nor servitude : they suffered all the evih U» wliich vveakness is liable : they were a prey to the con- imial depredations, rapacity, and violence of the strong : yet, turtwithstanding these horrid disorders, their impoverished anJ 156 «ENKRAL HISTORY OF diminishing population, tVe towns had, and still maintained, a ceriair» degree of importance : in most of thenj there was a clergyman, a bishop wlio exercised great authority, wlio j)03- sussed great .influence over the people, served as a tie be- tween them and their conquerors, thus maintaining the city in a sort of independence, by throwing over it the proteclinj' shield of religion. Besides this, there were still left in llu {owns some valuable fragments of Roman institutions. \Vc are indebted to the careful researches of MM. de Savigny, Hullmann, Mdle. de Lezardieic, &c., for having furnished uq with many circumstances of this nature. We hear often, al this period, of the convocation of the senate, of the curiaj, of public assemblies, of municipal magistrates. Matters of po- lice, wills, donations, and a multitude of civil transactions, were concluded in the curioi by the magistrates, in the same way that they had previously been done under the Iloman municipal goverrmient. These remains of urban activity and freedom wore gradual- ly disappearing, it is true, from day to day Barbarism and disorder, evils always increasing, accelerated depopulation. The establishment of the lords of the country in the provin- cei, and (he rising preponderance of agricultural life, became another cause of the decline of the cities The bishops th'^mselvos, after they had incorporated themselves into the feudal frame, attached much less importance to their munici pai life. Finally, upon the triumph of the feudal system, the toA'ns, without falling into the slavery of the agriculturists, Wiire entirely subjected to the control of a lord, were includ- ed in some fief, and lost, by this title, somewhat of the inde- pendence which still remained to them, and which, indeed, they had continued to possess, oven in the most barbarous limes — even in the first centuries of invasion. So that from iha fifth century up to the time of the complete organization of the feudal system, the stale of the towns was continually jolting worse. When once, however, the feudal system was fairly esJaL lihhed, when every man had taken his place, and becam'j fiied as it were to ^he soil, when the wandering life had en- tirely ceased, the towns again assumed some importance — a now activity began to display itself within them. This ii na iuiprising. Human activity, as we all know, is like the fer CIVILtZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 157 cility of the soil, — when the disturbing process is over, it itv appears and makes all to grow and blossom ; wherever there appears the least glinmiering of peace and order the hopes ol man are excited, and with his hopes his industry. This iy what took place in the cities. No sooner was society a little settled under the feudal system, than the proj)rietors of fiefs began to feel new wants, and to acquire a certain degree of taste for iinprovemcnt and melioration ; this gave rise to some littlo connnerce and industry in the towns of their domains; wealth and population increased witliin them, — slowly forcer- fain, but still they increased. Among other circt'mstances which aided in bringmg this about, tliere is one which, in my opinion, has not been sufliciently noticed, — I mean the asy- lum, the protection which the churches aflbrded to fugitives. Before tlie free towns were constituted, before they were in a condition by their power, their fortifications, to offer an asylum to tlio desolate population of the country, when there was no place of safety for them but the church, this circumstance alone was sufficient to draw into the cities many unfortunate persons and fugitives. These sought refuge either in the church itself or within its precincts ; it was not merely the lower orders, such as serfs, villains, and so on, that sought this protection, but frequently men of considerable rank and wealth, who might chance to be proscribed. The chronicles of the times are full of examples of this kind. We find men .ately powerful, upon being attacked by some more powerful neighbor, or by the king himself, abandoning their dwellings, and carrying away all the property they could rake together, entering into some city, and placing themselves under the pro- jection of a church : they became citizens. Refugees of this sort had, in my opinion, a considerable influence upon the pro- gress of the cities ; they introduced into them, besides their wealth, elements of a population superior to the great mass of their inhabitants. We know, moreover, that when once ai assemblage somewhat considerable is formed in any place that other persons naturally flock to it ; perhaps from finding It a place of greater security, or perhaps from that sociable disposition of our nature which never abandons us.-" "Upon the establishment of the feudal system, "every town, except within the royal domains, was subject to some lord. Id episcopal cities, the bishop possessed a considerable authority and in n^any there was a class of resident nobility. It is probabh 158 GENERAL HISTORY Of By the concurrence of all these causes, the cities rega.ned a small portion of power as soon as tlie feudal sysleni be- came somewhat settled. IJut tlie security of the citizens was not. restored to an equal extent. The roving, wandering life- had, it is true, ir a great measure ceased, but to the conqucr- on, to the new f roprietors of the soil, this roving life was one great means of gratifying their passions. When they desiied to pillage, they made an excursion, they went afar to seek a belter fortune, aru)ther domain. When they became mor« ituled, when they considered it necessary to renoi'nce theii predatory exneditions, the same passions, the same gross de- sires, still remained in full force. But the weight of these now fell upon those whoni they found ready at hand, uj)on the powerful of the world, upon the cities. Instead of going afai to pillage, they pillaged what was near. The exactions of the proprietors of fiefs iqion the burgesses were redoubled at the end of the tenth century. Wbenever the lord of the do- main, by wliich a city was girt, fell a desire to increase his wealtli, he gratified his avarice at the expense of the citizens, It was more particularly at this period tliat the citizens com- plained of the total want of commercial security. Merchants, on returning from their trading rouuds, could not, with safety, return to their city. Every avenue was taken possession of by the lord of the domain and his vassals. The moment in which industry commenced its career, was precisely that in which security was most wanting. Notbing is more galling to an active spirit, than to be deprived of the long-anticipated pleasure of enjoying the fruits of his industry. When robbed of this, he is far more irritated and vexed than when made to Buffer in a state of being fixed and monotonous, than when that which is lorn from him is not the fruit of his own ac- tivity, has not excited in hiui all the joys of hope. There is in the progressive movement, which elevates a man of a popu- lation tovk'ards a new fortune, a spirit of resistance against llftt the proportion of freemen was always greater than in the fcuntry ; some sort of retail trade, and even of manufacture, must have existed in the rudest of the middle ages, and conseijucntly acme little capital was required for liieir exercise. Nor was it so easy to oppress a collected body, as the scattered and dispirited jullivators of the soil. Probably, therefore, tiie condition of iht towns was at all times by far the more tlerable servitude." — Iful am, ]^''iddle Ages, Cr.ap. ii. pt. 2 CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 159 jiiquity anJ violence much ni(»re energetic than in any othci situation. Such, then, was the state of cities during the course of the enth century. They possessed more strength, more import- ai CO, more wealth, more interests to defend. At the same 'ime, it became more necessary than ever to defend them, foi hese interests, their wealth and tiieir strength, became ob- joc.s of (losiro to the nobles. With tlio moans of resistance, the danger and didiculty increased also. Ihjsidos, the feudal system gave to all connected with it a perpetual examj^le of resistance ; the idea of an organized energetic government, capable of keeping society in order and regul?rity by its inter- vention, had never presented itself to the spirits of that period. On the contrary, there was a perpetual recurrence of indivi- dual will, refusing to submit to authority. Such was the con- duct of the major part of the holders of fiefs towards their suzerains, of the small proprietors of land to the greater ; so tliat at the very time when the cities were oppressed and tor- mented, at the moment when they had new and greater inter- ests to sustain, they had before their eyes a contiimal lesson of insurrection. 'J'he feudal system rendered this service to mankind — it has constantly exhibited individual will, display- ing itself in all its power and energy. The lesson prospered • in spite of their weakness, in spite of the prodigious inequality which existed between them and the great proprietors, their lords, the cities everywhere broke out into rebellion against ihem It is difficult to fix a precise date to this great event — this general insurrection of the cities. The commencement of t)ie;r enfranchisement is usually placed at the beginning of the eleventh century. But in all great events, how many un- known and disastrous efforts must have been made, before the successful one ! Providence, upon all occasions, in order to «ccomj)lish its designs, is prodigal of courage, virtues, sacri- fices — finally, of man ; and it is only after a vast number of unknown attemj^s apparently lost, after a host of noble heari.n bave fallen into despair — convinced that their cause was losi — that it triumphs. Such, no doubt, was the case in the struggle of the free cities. Doubtless in tlie eighth, ninth, md tenth centuries there were many attempts at resistance .nany eflbrts made for freedom : — many attempts to escaf< t60 GENERAL HISTORY OF irom bondage, wh.cli not only were unsuccessful, but tlm r^ meinbrance of which, from their ill success, has remained without glory. Still we may rest assured that these attempts had a vast influence upon succeeding events: they kept alive and maintained the spirit of liberty — they prepared the grcil insuirection of the eleventh century. I say insurrection, and I say it advisedly. The enfranchise- Cient of the towns or communities in the eleventh century was the fruit oi' a real insurrection, of a real war — a war dc' clared by the population of the cities against their lords. Tha first fa .it which we always meet with in annals of this nature, is the rising of the burgesses, who seize whatever arms they can lay their hands on ; — it is the expulsion of the people of the lord, who come for the purpose of levying contributions, some extortion ; it is an enterprise against the neighboring castle ; — sucli is always the character of the war. If the in- surrection fails, what docs the conqueror instantly do 1 Ho orders the destruction of the fortifications erected by the citizens, not oidy around their city, but also around each dwell ing. We see that at the very moment of confederation, aftei having promised to act in common, after having taken, in com mon, the corporation oath, the first act of each citizen was to put his own house in a state of resistance. Some towns, the names of which are now almost forgotten, the little comnm- nity of Vezelai, in Nevers, for example — sustained againsi their lord a long and obstinate struggle. At length victory de clared for the Abbot of Vezelai ; upoi. the spot he ordered the demolition of the fortifications of ihe houses of the citi- zens ; and the names of many of the heroes, whose fortified houses were then destroyed, are still preserved. Let us enter the interior of these habitations of our ances- tors ; let us examine the form of their construction, and tlie mode of life which this reveals ; all is devoted to war, every thing is impressed with its character. 'I'ho construction of the house of a citizen of the twelfth century, so far, at least, as we can now obtain an idea of it, A^as something of this kind : it consisted usually of three stories, one room in each that on the ground floor served aa a gcneriil eating room for the family ; the first story was much elevated for the sake of security, and this is the most remark- able circumstance in the construction. The room in this btory was the habitation of the master of the house and hi£ Kk'ifo. The house was, \n general, flanked wi/h an anirulai CIVILIZATION IN MODERN EIROFE. Id n'ver, iisi.ally square: another symptom of war; another iieans of defence. The second story consisted again of a single room ; its use is not known, hut it prohably served foi ilie cliildren and domestics AI)ove tliis in most houses, wan 1 small philform, evidently intended as an ol)servatory o» watch-tower. Every feature of the buiUling bore the appear- 'ince of war Tliis was the decided characteristic, the true name of tne movement, which wrought out the freedoir. of the f(ti'?s. After a war has continued a certain time, whatever. may be the belligerent parties, it naturally leads to a peace. The tieaiies of peace between the cities and their adversaries were so many charters. These charters of the cities were so many positive treaties of peace between the burgesses and their lords. The insurrection was general. When I say general, I do noi mean that there was any concerted plan, that there was any coalition between all the burgesses of a country ; nothing like it took place. Hut the situation of all the towns being nearly the same, they all were liable to the same danger ; a prey to the same disasters. Having acquired similar means of resistance and defence, they made use of those means at nearly the same time. It may be possible, also, that the force of example did something ; that the success of one or two communities was contagious. Sometimes the charters appear to have been drawn up from the same model ; for instance, tliat (if Noyon served as a pattern for tliose of Beauvais, St, Quentin, and others ; I doubt, however, whether example had 80 great an influence as is generally conjectured. Communi- cation between dilTerent provinces was difficult and of rare occurrence ; the intelligence conveyed and received by hear- Gay and general report was vague and uncertain ; and there is itiuch reason for believing that the insurrection was rather the result of a similarity of situation and of a general spon taneous movement. When I say general, I wish to be under stood simply as saying that insurrections took place every- where ; they did not, I repeat, spring from any unanimoxw ccncerted movement : all was particular, local ; each comniu nily rebelled on it^ own account, against its owir lord, uncoa- Qoctea with any t tner place. The vicissitudes of the struggle were great Not only dii) 162 GENERAI HISTOnV OV success change from one side to the other, but even aftei peace uas in apfearance concnuled, after the charter had heeo Bolemnly sworn to by both parties, they violated and eiudeo its articles in all sorts of ways. Kings acted a pronnrienl part in the ahernations of these struggles. I shall speak of these more in detail when I come to' royalty itself. Tot, much has probably been said of the effects of royal influence upon the struggles of the people for freedom. These f (feet* have been oAen contested, sometimes exaggerated, and .n my jpinion, sometimes greatly underrated. I shall here confino inyself to the assertion that royalty was often called upon to interfere in these contests, sometimes by the cities, sometimes by their lords ; and that it played very different parts ; acting now upon one principle, and soon after upon another ; that it was ever changing its intentions, its designs, and its conduct; but that, taking it altogether, it did much, and produced a groat er portion of good than of evil. In spite of all these vicissitudes, notwithstanding the per- petual violation of charters in the twelfth century — the free- dom of the cities was consummated. Europe, and parlicidav- ly France, which, during a whole century, had abounded in insurrections, now aboutided in charters ; cities rejoiced in them with more or less security, but still they rejoiced ; tlio event succeeded, and the right was acknowledged. Let us now endeavor to ascertain the more immediate re- sults of this great fact, and what changes it produced in the situation of the burgesses as regarded society. And, at first, as regards the relations of the burgesses with the general govermnent of the country, or with what we now call the state, it effected nol.hing ; they took no part in thia more than before ; all remained local, enclosed witliin tlie imits of the fief. One circumstance, however, renders this assertion not etrictly true: a, connexion now began to be formed betweeu tho cities and the king. At one time the people called upon the king for support and protection, or solicited him to gua- ranty the charter which had been promised or sworn to. Al another the barons invoked the julicial interference of tht king between them and the burgesses. At the niques* of oiu tii other of the two parties, from a multitude of various causca CIVIMZATION IN MODERN EUROPE. 16.1 v,yaUy \v.is called upon to interfere in the quarrel, whence re- lullcJ a froquciil and close connexion between the citizens \nd the king. In consequence of this connexion the cities pccame a part of the state, they began to have relations with (ho general government Ahhough all still remained ocal, yet a new general class of society became formed by the enfranchisement of the :;om- nons. No coalition of the burgf^sses of dilTeront cities \n\d t ikcn place ; as yet they had as a class no public or goncrni existence. Hut the country was covered with men engaged in similar pursuits, possessing the same views and interests the same manners and customs ; between whom there could not fail to be gradually formed a certain tie, from which origi- nated the general class of burgesses. This formation of a great social class was the necessary result of the local enfran- chisement of the burgesses. It must not, however, be suppos- ed that the class of which we are speaking was then what it has since become. Not only is its situation greatly changed, but its elements are totally difTerent. In the twelfth century, this class was almost entirely composed of merchants or small traders, and little landed or house proprietors who had taken uj) their residence in the city. Three centuries afterwards there were added to this class lawyers, physicians, men of let- ters, and the local magistrates. The class of burgesses was formed gradually and of very difterent elements : history gives us no accurate account of its progress, nor of its diver- sity. When the body of citizens is spoken of, it is erroneous- ly conjectured to have been, at all times, composed of the same elements. Absurd supposition ! It is, perhaps, in the diversity of its composition at difTerent periods of history that we should seek to discover the secret of its destiny ; so long as it was destitute of magistrates and of men of letters, so long it remained totally unlike what it became in the sixteenth century ; as regards the state, it neither possessed the same character nor the same importance. In order to form a just idea of the changes in the rank and influence of this portion af society we must take a view of the n mv professions, the afcW ir.oral situations, of the new intellectual state whicli gra- lually arose within it. In the twelfth century, I must repeat, ho body of citizens consisted only of small merch mts oi traders, who, after having finished their purchases and sales ;etirod to their houses in the city or town ; and of little n^o 11 164 GENERAL HISTORV OP prietors of houses or lands whc had there taken up their resi- dence. Such was the European class of citizens, *-i its pri. niary elements The third great result of the enfranchisement of the citici was the struggle of classes ; a struggle which constitutes th{ very fact of modern history, and of which it is full. Modern Europe, indeed, is born of this struggle botweer. the different classes of society. I have already shown that iu other places this struggle has been productive of very difl'er- enl consequences ; in Asia, for example, one particular class has completely triumphed, and the system of cables has suc- ceeded to that of classes, and society has there fallen inio a state of immobility. Nothing of this kind, thank God ! ha.« laken place in Europe. One of the cl^^-ses has not conquer- ed, has not brought the others into subjection; no class has been able to overcome, to subjugate the others ; the struggle, instead of rendering society stationary, has been a principal cause of its progress ; the relations of the different classes with one another ; the necessity of combating and of yielding by turns ; the variety of interests, passions, and excitements ; the desire to conquer without the power to do so : from all this has probably sprung the most energetic, the most produc- tive principle of development in European civilization. This struggle of the classes has been constant ; enmity has grown up b(!tween them; the infinite diversity of situation, of inter- ests, and of manners, has produced a strong moral hostility ; vet they have progressively approached, assimilated, and un- derstood each other ; every country of Europe has seen arise and develop itself within it a certain public mind, a certain community of interests, of ideas, of sentiments, which have triumphed over this diversity and war. In France, for example in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the moral and so- cial separation of classes was still very profound, yet there can be no doubt but that their fusion, even then, was far ad vanctd ; that even then there was a real French nation, no' con.siating of any class exclusively, but of a commixture of th": whole ; all animated with the same feeling, actuated by on^j common social principle, firmly knit together by the bond of nationality. Thus, from the bosom of variety, enmity, and discord, has iflHued thai Ua ional unity, now become so conspicuous is irvxlern Europe ; that nationality whose tend(!ncv is to d- cess, that humility of speech, (tliough perhaps coupled with firmness of purpose,) which is so deeply stamped on tlie char- acter of the burgesses, not oidy of the twelfth century, but even of their most remote descendants. They had no taste for great enterprises ; if chance pushed them into such, they became vexed and embarrassed ; any resp. nsibility was a burden to them ; they felt themselves out of their sphere, and endeavored to return into it ; they treated upon easy terms. Thus, in running over the history of Europe, and especially of France, we may occasionally find municipal communities esteemed, consulted, perhaps respected, but rarely feared ; they seldom impressed their adversaries with the notion that they were a great and formidable power, a power truly politi- cal. There is nothing to be astonished at in the weakness of the modern burgess ; the great cause of it may be traced to his origin, in those circumstances of his enfranchisement which I have just placed before you. The loftiness of ainbi tion, independent of social conditions, breadth and boldness of political views, the desire to be employed in public aflairs. the full consciousness of the greatness of man, considered aa such, and of the power that belongs to him, if he be capable of exercising it ; it is ihese sentiments, these dispositions, which, of entirely modern growth in Europe, are the offspring of modem civilization, and of that glorious and powerful gen- erality which characterizes it, and which will never fail to se- cure to the public an influence, a weight in the government of the country, that were constantly wanting, and deservedly wanting, to the burgesses oui ancestors As a set-off to this, in the contests which they had to su'i- "^n respecting their local interests — in this narrow field, the),' acquired and displayed a degree of energy, devotedness, per- jevorance, and puiience, which has never been surpasaod Pbe didicul'.y of the enterprise was so groat, they had tc CIVILIZATION \N MODKRN EUROPE. 167 ilruggle against such perils, that a display of ccuragi' fJmoH f'jyoiid example became necessary. Our notions of the bur gess of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, and of liis life ire very erroneous. The picture which Sir Walter Scott has lirawn in Qucntin Durward of the burgomaster of Liege, fat, inactive, without experience, without daring, and caring foi notliing I)ut passing liis life in ease and enjoyment, is oidy fit- ted for the stage ; the real burgess of tliat day had a coat of niail continuallj on his back, a pike constanlly in his hand ; his life was nearly as stormy, as warlike, as rigid as ihat of t!ie nobles with whom he contended. It was in these every- day perils, in combating the varied dangers of practical life, hat lie acquired that bold and masculine character, that de- cermined exertion, which have become more rare in the softer activity of modern times. None, however, of these social and moral efTects of the en- franchisement of corporations became fully developed in the tw(dfth century ; it is oidy in the course of the two following centuries that they showed themselves so as to be clearly dis- cerned. It is nevcrtlieless certain that the seeds of these effects existed in the primary situation of the commons, in the iiiodc! of their enfranchisement, and in the position which the burgesses from that time took in society ; I think, tlierefore, thai 1 liave done right in bringing these circumstances before you to-day. Let us now penetrate into the interior of one of those cor- porate cities of the twelfth century, that we may see how it was governed, that we may now see wliat principles and what fads prevailed in the relations of tlie burgesses with one an other. It must be remembered, that in speaking of the mu- nicipal .system bequeathed by the Roman empire to the mo- dern world, I took occasion to say, that the Koman world was a. great coalition of municipalities, which had previously been as sovereign and independent as Rome itself. Each o{ those cities had formerly been in the same condition as Ro.ne » 'ittle free republic, making peace and war, and governing Itself by its own will. As fast as these became incorporated into the Roman world, those rights which cons'.iliite sove- reignty — the righ of v/ar and peace, of legislation, taxation, &e. —were transferred from each city to the central govisrn- ment at Rome. There remained then but one municipal liovereigniy. Rome reigned over a vast number of mjniei 168 GENERAL HISTOBV OF palitics, iv'hich and nothing left beyond a civic existence The municipal system became essentially changed : it was no longer a political government, but simply a mode of adminis- tration, 'lliis was the grand revolution which was consum- mated under the Roman empire. The municipal system be- came a mode of administration ; it was reduced to the gcvern- nient of local affairs, to the civic interests of the city. This is the state in which the Roman empire, at its fall, left the cities and their institutions. During the chaos of barbarism, notions and facts of all sorts became embroiled and confused ; the various attributes of sovereignty and administration were confounded. Distinctions of this nature were no longer re- garded. Affairs were suffered to run on in the course dictated by necessity. The municipalities became sovereigns or ad- ministrators in the various places, as need might require Where cities rebelled, they re-assumed the sovereignty, foi the sake of security, not out of respect for any political theory nor from any feeling of their dignity, but that they might have the nieans of contending with the nobles, whose yoke they had thrown oil'; that they might take upon themselves the right to call out the militia, to tax themselves to support the war, to name their own chiefs and magistrates ; in a word, to govern themselvfis. The internal government of the city was their means of defence, of security. Thus, sovereignty again returned to the municipal system, which had been deprived of it by the conquests of Rome. City corporations again be came sovereigns. This is the political characteristic of their enfranchisement. I do not, however, mean to assert, that this sovereignty was complete. Some trace of an exterior sovereignty always may be found ; sometimes it was the baron who retained the right to send a magistrate into the city, with whom the muni- cipal magistrates acted as assessors ; perhaps he had the right to collect certain revenues ; in some cases a fixed tri- bute was assured to him. Sometimes the exterior sovereignt) of the community was in the hands of the king. The cities themselves, in their turn, entered into the feu dal system ; they had vassals, and became suzerains ; and by this title post^essed that portion of sovereignty which was in herent in the suzerainty. A great confusion arose between the rights which they held from their feudal position, and tlioso which they had acquired by their insurrection ; and by ihia double title they held the sovereignty CIVIMZATION IN MODERN EUROPE 169 Let US see, as far as the very scanty sources left us will allow, liow the internal government of the cities, at least in ihe more early times, was managed. The entire body of the inlinhilants formed the cominimal assembly ; all tliose who hid taken the communal oath— and all who dwell within the wnlls were obliged to do so — were summoned, by the tolling af the boll, to the general assembly. In this were named the .nr.gistrales. The number chosen, and the power and pro- (^jcdiiigs of the magistrates, differed very considerably. Af- liT ciioosiiig tho m;igistrat(!S, tho asflombliefl disHolvcMl • and the magi.slratcs governed almost alone, sufficiently arbitrarily, being imdei no further responsibility than the new elections, or, perhaps popular outbreaks, which were, at this time, the great guarantee for good government. You wil; observe ihat the internal oiganization of the mu- nicipal towns is reduced to two very simple elements, the gen- eral assembly of the inhabitants, and a government invested with almost arbitrary power, under the responsibility of insur- rections, — general outbreaks. It was impossible, especially while such maimers prevailed, to establish anything like a regular government, with proper guarantees of order and du- ration. The greater part of the population of these cities were ignorant, brutal, and savage to a degree which rendered them exceedingly difficult to govern. At the end of a veiy short period, there was but little more security within these communities than there had been, previously, in the relations of the burgesses within the baron. There soon, however, became formed a burgess aristocracy. The causes of this are easily understood. The notions of that day, coupled with certain social relations, led to the establishment of trading companies legally constituted. A system of privileges be- came introduced into the interior of the cities, and, in the end a great inequality. There soon grew up in all of them a cer- tain number of considerable, opulent burgesses, and a popula- tion, more or less numerous, of workmen, who, notwithstand ing their inferiority, had no small influence in the affairs of the community. The free cities thus became divided into an ajiper class of burgesses, and a population subject to all the ;rror^, all the vices of a mob. The superior citizens thus found themselves pressed between two great difficulties • first, :li'j arduous one of governing this inferior turbulent popula lion and secondly, that of m 'ihstanding the continual attempts 170 GENERAL HISTORY OF of ihe ancient master of the borough, who sought to regain his former power. Such was the situation of their aflairs, noi niily m France, but in Europe, down to the sixteenth century 'J'liis, perhaps, is '.he cause which prevented these conunuiii fifs from taking, in several countries of Europe, and especiai- \y in France, that high political station whicli seemed proper- 3 to belong to them. Two sj)irits were unceasingly at worii within them: among the inferior population, a blind, licen» tious, furious spirit of democracy; among the superior bur- gf sses, a spirit of timidity, of caution, and an excessive do- eire to accommodate all dilferences, whether with the kin£{, or with Us ancient proprietors, so as to preserve peace and ordei ii\ the bosom of the community. Neither of these spirits could raise the cities to a high rank in the state. Al. tliese efl'ects did not become apparent in the twelfth cen- tury ; still we may foresee thein, even in the character of the insurrt ction, in the manner in which it broke out, in tlie state nf the diiferent elements of the city population. Such, if I mistake not, are the principal characteristics, the general results, both of the enfranchisement of the cities and of their internal government. I have already premised, that hese facts were not so uniform, not so universal, as I have represented them. There are great diversities in the history of the Eurojjean free cities. In the south (jf France and ia Italy, for example, the Konian municij)al system prevailed , liie population was not nearly so divided, so uneipial, as in the north. Here, also, the municipal organization wa.s much better ; perhaps the eflect of Roman traditions, perhaps of the better state of the population. In the north, it was the feudal system that prevailed in the city arrangements. Here all Bjemed subordinate to the struggle against the barons. The cities of the south paid much more regard to their internal con- stitution, to the work of melioration and progress. We see, from the beginning, tliat they will become free repuldics. The career of those of the north, above all tliose of France, show- ed itself, from the first, more rude, more incomj)lete, destined ii3 leas perfect, less beautiful developments. If we run ovtr Ifioee of Germany, Spain, and England, we shall lind among 'J.om many other dilferences. I cannot particularizo them, l;iit "ihall notice some of them, as we advance in tlie history of civilization. All things at their origin are nearly confound- ed 'n one and Uie same physiognomv : it is only ia theii CIVILIZAIION IN MODERN EUROPE. 171 llior-growth tliat ihcir variety shows itself. Then begins u new development which urges forward societies towards thai free and lofty unity, the glorious object of tl'e eflorts and wishes of mankind.'" '" Ilallanrs Middle Ages, Chap. ii. pt. 2, treating of the causp