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 MEMOIR 
 
 4 
 
 ROBERT WHEATON, 
 
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 SELEQTIONS FROM HIS WRITINGS. 
 
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 I- 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 TICKNOR, REED, AND FIELDS, 
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 ,^ HDCCCLIV.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, bj;. 
 
 TICKNOR, REED, AND FIELDS, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 THuaaroif, tobkt, aho ncnaoH, rnmmu.
 
 Ac 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 MEMOIR 1-124 
 
 { SBLBCTIONS FROM HIS WRITINGS. 
 
 The Soukces of the Divina Comuedia . . . . 127 
 
 Jasmin, the Barber Poet 158 
 
 Coquebel's Experimental Christianitt . . 182 
 
 The Revolution in Prussia 213 
 
 The Revolution of 1848 in Sicily .... 271 
 
 Schmidt's History of the Albigenses . . . 301 
 
 Thiers's History of the Cons0l.\te and the Empire 344 
 
 Memoir of the late Dr. "Wheaton .... 373 
 
 'f --8 ^H^ '? ^. '^
 
 MEMOm. 
 
 Egbert Wheaton, the youngest child of Henry and 
 Catherine Wheaton, was born in New York on the 5th 
 of October, 1826. A few months after his birth his 
 father was appointed Charge d'Affaires to Denmark, 
 and sailed for that country in June, 1827. The first 
 ten years of Robert's life, with the exception of a short 
 visit to this country at too early an age for him to re- 
 ceive any durable impression, were spent in Copenha- 
 gen. Every facility for education is afforded in that 
 capital ; teachers are numerous and moderate in their 
 charges, being for the most part young men studying 
 for the different professions, and bearing the expressive 
 title of Candidal., who are glad of an opportunity to 
 acquire the means of pursuing their own studies. 
 Robert and Henry Edward, his elder and only brother, 
 therefore received private instruction from teachers 
 qualified for the task. Their mother was almost inva- 
 riably present at their lessons, and exacted from her 
 sons that respect and submission towards those who 
 taught them, which are the surest means of enabling 
 the young to profit by what they learn, as well as of 
 softening the task of education to the teacher. After
 
 2 MEMOIR OF 
 
 he grew up, Robert, recurring one day to some event 
 connected with his childhood, which he was fond of 
 doing, said that he recollected having been punished 
 but once by his mother, and that it was on the follow- 
 ing occasion. 
 
 The young man who came daily to give him lessons, 
 had just lost his mother, and this misfortune, joined to 
 ill health, poverty, and the cares of a numerous family, 
 rendered him really an object of compassion. The 
 children were enjoined on no account to say or do any 
 thing to annoy him during the lesson. But Robert, 
 with the thoughtlessness of childhood, disobeyed this 
 injunction, and the punishment inflicted on him, al- 
 though no very severe one, probably had the desired 
 effect, as the circumstance seemed to have made an 
 indelible impression on his mind. 
 
 The study of modern languages formed an essential 
 part of Robert's early education. Owing to the close 
 connection of Denmark with the duchies of Schleswig 
 and Holstein, German is universally taught and spoken 
 in the former country, and as a child he spoke it with 
 perfect fluency. He likewise understood and spoke 
 Danish, and was taught French at the same time. 
 With History, to which attention is more closely directed 
 in the old countries of Europe than in our own, he was 
 early made familiar, but his memory was not laden 
 with dry facts and dates, and the knowledge he ac- 
 quired was adapted to a child's mind. His father, with 
 whom History was a favorite subject of thought and 
 study, was in the habit of selecting the best historical 
 works that issued from the English press, as presents 
 for his children, and frequently talked with them of the
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 3 
 
 great characters of whom they had been reading. 
 Almost the only novels he himself read with much 
 pleasure, were those of Scott, and these he freely 
 placed in the hands of his children, as making History 
 attractive, and at the same time breathing a sound and 
 healthy tone of mind, particularly agreeable to him. 
 Whenever he proposed taking his children to the theatre, 
 it was to see what he called ' a good tragedy,' or in 
 other words, one of Oehlenschlager's or Schiller's his- 
 torical plays. With the latter Robert was very familiar, 
 and there was in after-life no poet whom he quoted so 
 often as Schiller, whose noble thoughts never failed to 
 call forth those warm feelings which lay concealed 
 under so calm, and, to a careless observer, so unimpas- 
 sioned an exterior. 
 
 As a child, Robert's complexion was exceedingly 
 brilliant, and gave the impression of perfect health. 
 At the age of six years a bust of him was taken by 
 Bissen, then young and, almost unknown, now a cele- 
 brated artist, and was considered an excellent likeness. 
 But the charm of his face, at that time, consisted rather 
 in the mantling color of his cheek, his beautiful golden 
 hair parted on a brow of snowy whiteness, and the 
 open, ingenuous expression of his countenance, than in 
 regularity of feature. Compared to his studious and 
 dreaming brother, Robert was fond of noisy and active 
 play, and a curious proof of the entire difference in 
 their characters and tastes was, that when they played 
 together there was a mutual understanding that a cer- 
 tain portion of the time should be devoted to Edward's 
 quiet and imaginative amusements, and the rest to 
 Robert's more stirring and childlike games, although
 
 4 MEMOIR OF 
 
 the natural impetuosity of the latter sometimes led him 
 to break through this self-imposed restraint rather sooner 
 than had been agreed upon, or than stiited his brother. 
 Neither having attended schools, they had formed no 
 intimacies with other boys of their age, and they were 
 dependent on each other for amusement and society 
 more than is usually the case ; and while Edward relied 
 upon Robert's superior judgment, and probably always 
 would have done so in all matters connected with 
 practical life, the latter looked up to him with the fond 
 admiration which the precocity of his mind in some 
 respects, and his extensive information justified. 
 
 The climate of the Island of Zealand is not unlike 
 that of England, the frequent rains and the moisture 
 from the sea serving constantly to renew the freshness 
 of the grass and foliage, while the beauty and abun- 
 dance of its beech woods, with their almost transparent 
 leaves and white bark, give a peculiar character to its 
 scenery. The Dyre hauge, or Deer Park, is a mag- 
 nificent forest about four miles from Copenhagen. It 
 is a royal domain, in which the king reserves the right 
 to hunt, but which, at all limes open to the public, is 
 a favorite resort of the inhabitants of the capital, who 
 spend much of their time in out-of-door exercise and 
 amusements. The road leading to this park runs along 
 the seashore, and is studded at short intervals with 
 pretty country-seats, embowered in lilacs and laburnums, 
 to which the Danes give the poeticaUname of * golden 
 rain.' On a clear day the opposite coast of Sweden 
 is discernible from this road, and at all times the blue 
 Baltic, dotted with the red and white sails of fishing 
 boat?, afibrds a pleasant prospect. Large vessels are
 
 EGBERT WHEATON. 5 
 
 frequently seen passing up and down the Sound on 
 their way to Copenhagen or St. Petersburg, saluted as 
 they pass from the battery of Trekroner (Three 
 Crowns), which defends the entrance to the harbor of 
 Copenhagen. In his journal, written in 1827, Mr. 
 Wheaton mentions the Russian fleet passing through 
 the Sound on its way from Greece, after the battle of 
 Navarino. He usually resided in this neighborhood 
 during the summer months, and it was perhaps owing 
 to the fact that Robert's happy childhood was passed near 
 the sea, that the sight of the ocean always gave him 
 such intense pleasure. While in the country, a young 
 German, simple-hearted and conscientious, came from 
 town eveiy afternoon to give him lessons, and at sun- 
 set, when the hours of study were over, would walk in 
 the garden with him, repeating the poetry with which 
 his memory was stored, or talking of the journey 
 throughout Europe, which, like so many of his coun- 
 trymen, during his student-life he performed chiefly on 
 foot. Occasionally he would at Robert's request, com- 
 pose verses on a given subject, and how much Robert 
 prized them and the associations they called to his 
 mind, may be inferred from his having carefully copied 
 them into his note-book some twelve years afterwards. 
 In the north of Europe, Christmas is kept as a season 
 of great festivity, and the custom, so often alluded to 
 by Hans Anderson and Fredrike Bremer, of covering 
 a tree with brilliant tapers and fanciful ornaments, is 
 universal. Easter, likewise, is observed with consider- 
 able solemnity, and Paschal eggs curiously painted, 
 with lambs of snow-white wool, bearing the red banner 
 of the cross, are bestowed on children, to remind them
 
 6 MEMOIR OF 
 
 of the joyful anniversary of the most solemn Christian 
 festivals. These seasons never passed unnoticed in 
 Mr. Whcaton's family, and when years had elapsed 
 and death had invaded the domestic circle, they became 
 to Robert the occasion of melancholy reflection. 
 Easter was associated in his mind with such tender 
 memories of childhood, of the dawn of life and open- 
 ing Spring, that he could never read that beautiful 
 passage where Goethe so admirably describes the effect 
 produced upon Faust by the Easter Hymn which pene- 
 trates his solitary study, without irrepressible emotion. 
 
 It was Robert's good fortune to associate from child- 
 hood with persons of high principle and cultivated 
 minds, and although before he left Copenhagen he 
 might be considered too young to profit much by the 
 conversation of those who visited at the house of his 
 parents, the impressions made on him at that time 
 doubtless had their influence upon his character and 
 manners. There is usually a good deal of esprit de 
 corps among diplomats, or, as has been cleverly said, 
 a sort of free-masonry that binds them together and 
 makes them recognisable everywhere. This was pe- 
 culiarly the case in Copenhagen, where the diplomatic 
 corps lived on the most amicable terms. 
 
 Although Mr. Whcaton's position made him ac- 
 quainted with the officers of the Danish government, 
 and his personal tastes with the literary men of the 
 country, his more intimate circle consisted chiefly of 
 members of the corps diplomatique, who, if not all 
 men of talent, were necessarily men of considerable 
 general information and polished manners. 
 
 The chaplain of the British Legation, Mr. J. W.
 
 ROBERT WHEATON, 7 
 
 Warter, a most gentlemanlike, cultivated and amiable 
 man, who afterwards became the son-in-law of Robert 
 Southey, was a constant visitor at the house, and in the 
 habit of bestowing much notice and regard on the 
 two boys. They did not attend his chapel, however, 
 their mother preferring to read family prayers morning 
 and evening, and on Sundays, chapters from the New 
 Testament and a portion of the Church Service. It 
 was, perhaps, because never compelled in childhood to 
 listen to long sermons which he gould not understand, 
 and religion not being a hackneyed theme with him, 
 that he afterwards felt so strong an interest in the 
 services he attended, and never considered them as a 
 mere routine. Some of his views on the subject of 
 public worship will be found in his journal and letters. 
 It was in the year 1835, that Mr. Wheaton was 
 removed to Berlin, but his family were detained in 
 Copenhagen until the following summer, by the severe 
 illness of one of its members. They left that capital 
 and the friends they had found there with sincere 
 regret, and Mr. Wheaton often recalled the years he 
 spent there, engaged in his diplomatic duties and 
 literary labors, as among the happiest of his life. 
 To Robert, the recollections connected with Denmark 
 were always very dear ; the streets, the public walks 
 and drives, were all associated in his mind with pleas- 
 ant memories ; the language, harsh as it may seem 
 to those unaccustomed to it, sounded gratefully in his 
 ear, and within the last year of .his life, having occa- 
 sion to see some Danish seamen on business, he 
 remarked to a friend, that he never met a Dane 
 without a feeling of strong gratification, and a con-
 
 8 MEMOIR OF 
 
 viction that he must be honest and kind-hearted like 
 the persons he had known in that country. . 
 
 Denmark was indeed the happy home of his child- 
 hood, and as Oehlenschlager, the Danish poet, truly 
 says: 
 
 Og ingensteds er Roser rode, 
 Og ingensteds er Tome smaa, 
 Og ingensteds er Duun saa blode, 
 Som de, vor Barndom hwilte paa.* 
 
 In Berlin, Robert and his brother were placed at a 
 day-school or gymnasium, where a system was pur- 
 sued so little in accordance with their refinement of 
 habit and thought, that after a few months they were 
 removed from this institution, and a private tutor 
 provided for them. A young man from the Rhenish 
 Provinces, who spoke and wrote French and German 
 with equal fluency, and came highly recommended, 
 was the person whom Mr. Wheaton chose as instructor 
 for his sons. But the pleasure of passing some time in 
 a large capital seemed to have been this young man's 
 chief motive for accepting a responsibility he was 
 ill calculated to sustain, and after a year passed in the 
 family, he was dismissed. Robert gave a striking 
 proof of his straight-forwardness and sense of honor, 
 by not seeking to conceal from his parents the inatten- 
 
 To the kindness of Professor Longfellow we are indebted 
 for the following translation of these lines : 
 
 Ab ! nowhere is the rose so red, 
 Anil nowhere is the thorn so small, 
 And nowhere is the down so soft, 
 As those our chiklhood rested oa.
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 
 
 9 
 
 tion and carelessness of his tutor, who wasted the 
 time of his pupils in frivolous conversation .concerning 
 the visitors he saw every evening in the drawing-room. 
 On the contrary, he complained of this, and ex- 
 pressed great satisfaction when his tutor left. Indeed, 
 from his boyhood he seems to have entertained the 
 highest sense of the duties and responsibilities attached 
 to the task of education. 
 
 At this period of Robert's life, his mind may be 
 said to have been greatly under the influence of his 
 brother, to whom, as we have before said, he looked 
 up with admiring fondness. Edward was indeed an 
 uncommon boy. His disposition was sweet, humble, 
 and yielding ; if reproved, the tears would roll silently 
 down his cheek, but he never uttered a hasty or impa- 
 tient word. His complexion was exquisitely delicate, 
 his cheek round, soft, and fair as that of an infant, 
 and his hazel eyes full and lustrous. They were 
 generally cast down, but when he raised them, his 
 whole soul seemed to shine through them. Exquisite- 
 ly neat in his person, his clothes were never soiled, his 
 books never defaced, nor his playthings broken, and 
 the presence of a spot upon his hands, a blot of ink 
 on his paper, or a dog-ear in his books, gave him posi- 
 tive pain. He knew nothing of the sports that other 
 boys delight in ; it was even with the utmost difficulty 
 that he could be prevailed upon to take the exercise 
 so necessary to his health. His greatest pleasure was 
 reading, and when he went out to walk or drive, he 
 usually carried a book with him. His favorite lounge 
 in Berlin was in Asher's bookstore, Unter den Linden. 
 Thither he went almost daily and returned home with
 
 10 MEMOIR OF 
 
 some new book, which he wished his father to buy. 
 There was another source from which he derived 
 much entertainment. Wood-cuts, representing the prin- 
 cipal characters in popular plays, are sold in every 
 part of Germany for the amusement of children. 
 These he colored, and having fastened them to wooden 
 stands, either invented dramatic scenes which he made 
 them perform, or repeated passages from some of the 
 French tragedies. In all his plays the imagination 
 had a great share. As an instance of this, he was 
 in the habit of imagining himself in the French 
 Academy, and with his brother for his sole auditor, 
 would make speeches in the name of d'Alembert, 
 La Harpe, or some other celebrated academician of 
 the eighteenth century. With the names and history 
 of the principal men of that time, he was as familiar 
 as with those of the persons who surrounded him in 
 real life. Like most individuals of delicate constitu- 
 tion, he was averse to early rising, and equally so to 
 retiring early, which, as he suffered constantly from 
 headache, his parents felt it a duty to insist upon. 
 But night after night, when under the lamp suspended 
 in his father's study, he sat poring over some favorite 
 book, he would, when reminded that it was time to 
 go to bed, request, with tears in his eyes, to be allowed 
 * just to finish that one chapter.' And it was difficult to 
 resist importunities urged in so childlike a manner. 
 Although the Arabian Nights and other works of the 
 imagination afforded him great delight, he read and 
 studied intently works of an entirely different char- 
 acter. History, geography, and chronology, particu- 
 larly engaged his attention. The Atlas of Lesage,
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 11 
 
 (or rather of Count Las Cases, the faithful companion 
 of Napoleon at St. Helena, who, during the emigra- 
 tion, had assumed this fictitious name,) lay ever open 
 before him, and one day as he was bending over it, his 
 mother said : ' I should think you must have read that 
 entirely through.' He looked up, and while a smile 
 peculiar to him, for there was a great deal of quiet 
 humor in his nature, stole over his face, he replied : 
 ' This is the third time I have read it through.' 
 
 It is rather singular that, with an intellect so early 
 developed, and with such a fund of general informa- 
 tion as he had acquired, he should seldom have put 
 pen to paper. But a few of his letters are remaining, 
 yet they are strikingly characteristic of the system 
 which marked every thing he did. The manuscript 
 books he left contain chiefly chronological tables, but 
 that he had within him the materials for becoming a 
 distinguished man, no one who knew him could well 
 doubt, and that, childlike as he was in many respects, 
 he vaguely aspired after distinction, may be inferred 
 from his curious habit of inscribing on the cover of 
 some of his manuscript books : ' (Euvres completes de 
 Henri Edonard W.^ His plans for reading and 
 writing seemed to have reference to that future which 
 he was never destined to see. French was the lan- 
 guage he preferred, in which he read most, and which, 
 through his familiarity with the best French authors, 
 he had taught himself to write correctly before visiting 
 France. He had read many of the works of Fenelon 
 and Bossuet, Racine and Voltaire, and led his brother 
 to do so likewise. Mr. Wheaton had visited France 
 immediately on leaving college, and had spent some
 
 13 MEMOIR OF 
 
 time at Poitiers, for the purpose of studying the French 
 language and attending the courts of law. The kind- 
 ness he then met with, and the pleasant recollections of 
 that period of his life, gave him a strong feeling of 
 attachment to that country, and made him anxious that 
 his sons should have an opportunity of profiting, as ho 
 had done, by its various resources. Satisfied, too, that 
 the system of public instruction pursued in Berlin was 
 better calculated to meet the wants of young men than 
 of boys, and that a course of private instruction in that 
 city had its disadvantages for one destined to live in 
 a free country, he determined to place Robert at a 
 French boarding-school. In August, 1838, he entered 
 the institution of Mr. D., designed for the preparation 
 of pupils for college. Edward's health being as 
 before said, extremely delicate, it was not thought 
 advisable to send him from home at that time, and he 
 remained in Berlin. 
 
 Until that period, Robert had never passed a single 
 night away from his parents' roof, and he felt the 
 separation from them deeply. It was not that he 
 regretted the comforts and luxuries of home, but the 
 society of his parents and sisters and the companion- 
 ship of his brother. Every line of the letters he wrote 
 at that time, show how difficult it was for him to 
 become reconciled to living far from them, and in 
 each he entreats, in the most earnest manner, that 
 tince it must be so, they will, at least, write him 
 often. 
 
 Notwithstanding his extreme desire to be with his 
 brother, he had even at this early age sufficient ob- 
 servation and maturity of character to think that a
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 13 
 
 public school, like that which he attended, would never 
 suit the peculiar habits and tastes of Edward, ^hose 
 intellect was of that description which baffles the 
 guidance of a schoolmaster, and must be allowed full 
 scope in the attainment of learning. Beside this, his 
 abstracted manner, which caused one of his mother's 
 friends to name him 'the Dominie,' was not such as 
 to meet with much quarter from schoolboys, and the 
 sensitive dread of ridicule which early characterized 
 Robert, made him shrink from seeing Edward exposed 
 to it. His parents, however, judged otherwise, and 
 towards the end of 1839 Edward entered the same 
 Institution, and Mr. Wheaton having .obtained leave of 
 absence from government, passed the winter in Paris 
 with his family, in the hope that the boys would both 
 have become sufficiently accustomed to their school to 
 make it practicable to leave them in the spring. And 
 indeed Edward seemed contented far beyond what had 
 been anticipated, and it was thought that associating 
 with other boys would be of real use in developing 
 and strengthening his character, but these hopes were 
 not destined to be realized. 
 
 Towards the end of March, 1840, he was suddenly 
 and violently attacked with scarlet fever, and expired 
 after an ilhiess of three days, unconscious of the void 
 his loss would create in the hearts of those who loved 
 him. ......... 
 
 On no one did this blow fall more heavily than on 
 Robert, who never entirely recovered from it. One 
 short night of agony seemed to have produced an 
 entire change in his whole being. Had his grief been 
 noisy and vehement like that of most children, it
 
 14 MEMOIR OF 
 
 would doubtless have been as evanescent, but quiet 
 and Concentrated, it was alike touching and terrible to 
 behold, and made a lasting impression on his heart 
 and character. The Rev. Dr. Lowell, of Boston, then 
 in Paris, visited the family daily. To the consolation 
 which he so well knew how to impart, Robert listened 
 with earnest attention, and from that time the anticipa- 
 tion of another and ar happier state of existence was 
 never far from his thoughts. 
 
 The two following notes, written after his return to 
 school, will doubtless be read with interest. They are 
 addressed to his eldest sister, and written in French, 
 the language ha usually adopted in communicating 
 with his sisters : 
 
 Dear M , 
 
 ' I write you because I promised to do so, for I have 
 really nothing to tell you ; but one ought always to be 
 able to write a letter, and the event which three 
 months ago tore asunder the ties which till then had 
 been unbroken, cannot but furnish us a subject of 
 reflection. I noticed yesterday that mamma was still 
 very sad ; but she should endeavor for the sake of 
 those who are left her, not to forget, that were 
 impossible, but to console herself, and by so doing 
 to comfort us likewise. The goodness 6f God may 
 be traced in this ua in all other decrees of his infinite 
 wisdom. When he sent us this affliction he spared us 
 so severe an illness, and has since preserved our 
 health. Before this event, nothing was wanting; we 
 were happy, if it is possible to be so in this world. 
 This sorrow was necessary, for if we were perfectly
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 15 
 
 happy on the earth, we should feel too much regret at 
 leaving it. It is desirable that some beloved lleing 
 should act as forerunner, and calling to us from 
 heaven, should entreat us to live in unity, that we may 
 all meet again in a better world.' 
 
 ' I write to you to-day, dear M , I scarcely know 
 
 why, but probably for my own gratification. In look- 
 ing over the papers I spoke to you of yesterday, I 
 found the chronological table he made in Coj^enhagen, 
 in 1834, and also the drama I mentioned. The hand- 
 writing is very singular, and the orthography likewise. 
 I will bring them to you on Saturday, for if nothing 
 prevents, I shall be with you at five on that day. Tell 
 mamma to go out often, and to be resigned as far as 
 possible to the cruel loss she has met with. I cannot 
 ask or wish her to forget what has happened. It 
 would be contrary to nature ; but let her endeavor to 
 be calm, believe that it is for the best, and remain 
 firm in the conviction that God has takea-^are of him, 
 and that we shall see him again in a better world. 
 This we may ask of her, and this she ought to grant. 
 The more I think of it, the more impossible it seems 
 that he should have left us, especially as no one here 
 speaks of him. I cannot conceive how three days can 
 have made such ravages ! But, dear sister, let us seek 
 in fraternal love a consolation for this misfortune ; let 
 us love each other tenderly, more tenderly than ever, 
 so that when God demands our souls we may not 
 have to reproach ourselves with not having loved one 
 another. Let us love our mother, too, and endeavor 
 to please her. Adieu, dear M , I have found more
 
 16 MEMOIR OF 
 
 to say than I thoufrht I should, but I have written of 
 whdl is continually in my thoughts. I see so many 
 things which belonged to him, that I cannot, even if I 
 would, (and why should I wish to?) cease thinking of 
 the dear brother we have lost, and whom we shall 
 certainly meet again in another world, if we do our 
 duty towards God and man.' 
 
 It is impossible for those who know how well the 
 after-life of the writer corresponded to the sentiments 
 expressed in these lines, to read them without deep 
 emotion. The same unwavering faith which supported 
 him then, supported him in another and more terrible 
 affliction ; the same hope of a blessed immortality con- 
 tinued to animate him ; the same warm affection and 
 sympathy to bind him to those whom he loved. 
 
 But a few days after his brother's death, he said to 
 his mother, ' How I wish I could be with him ! ' ' You 
 would not wish to die and leave me ? ' was the reply. 
 *If it were God's will, I would rather die than live,' he 
 said solemnly. And this feeling was not the mere 
 ebullition of childish grief; it followed him through 
 life, and it is at times a melancholy consolation to those 
 who have loved and lost him, that he considered a long 
 earthly pilgrimage as no blessing. 
 
 As an only son, Robert had now become more than 
 ever precious to his family ; and it was neither desir- 
 able that he should return to Germany, nor that he 
 should be left alone in Paris. It was therefore decided 
 that his mother should remain with him until his studios 
 were completed. After a short though delightful ex- 
 cursion in Switzerland, during his summer vacation in
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 17 
 
 1840, accompanied by his family, Robert returned to 
 his school in Paris. It was then that he commenced 
 attending the religious lectures (Cours de Religion) of 
 M. Athanase Coquerel. 
 
 It is the custom throughout Europe, both among 
 Catholics and Protestants, to cause all young persons to 
 pass through a regular course of religious instruction 
 before they enter on the business of life. This instruc- 
 tion is not left to the care of parents who may or may 
 not be sensible of its importance, nor to Sunday-school 
 teachers, who are often too young and inexperienced 
 to be suited to the task. It devolves upon the clergy, 
 whose knowledge and profession command the respect 
 it is so desirable should be felt for those whose duty i 
 is to instruct on this subject. At the moment of leav- 
 ing school, young persons attend a course of religious 
 lectures, are subsequently examined by the clergyman 
 who gives it, in order to ascertain whether they have 
 profited by his instruction, and if the examination prove 
 satisfactoiy, are admitted to the Communion. And 
 what epoch of life could be better suited than the one 
 chosen for the participation in this sacred rite ? The 
 cares of the world, its business and its pleasures, have 
 not at that period claimed the largest share of the time 
 and thoughts of the young communicants, great tempta- 
 tions have not yet assailed them, their good resolutions 
 are still unshaken, their piety is lively and earnest, and 
 their faith unwavering. 
 
 The clergymen of the French Reformed Church are 
 
 all educated at Geneva, or at the Theological Schools, 
 
 founded by Napoleon at Strasburg and Montauban. 
 
 They differ materially, however, in the opinions they 
 
 2
 
 18 MEMOIR OF 
 
 hold, some of them adhering closely to the tenets of 
 Calvin, and denying to all Reformed Christians the 
 right of departing from them ; while others teach that 
 to be a good Christian or a good Protestant, a blind ac- 
 quiescence in the doctrines of that great Reformer is 
 not indispensable and ought not to be required. The 
 Rev. M. Coquerel is among the latter, for although his 
 faith in the leading doctrines of orthodox Christianity 
 is firm and unwavering, he is always disposed to admit 
 the right of others to differ from him in opinion. No 
 two minds, he constantly repeats, can arrive at exactly 
 the same degree and kind of faith, and therefore noth- 
 ing can be more unjust and uncharitable than to quar- 
 rel with those who do not believe as we do. All his 
 sermons and lectures breathe this liberal spirit, united to 
 the most fervent piety. 
 
 Like all the clergymen of the French Reformed 
 Church, M. Coquerel devotes a considerable portion of 
 his time to the instruction of the young. A little work, 
 prepared by himself, and called Cours de Religion^ 
 contains the heads of what he afterwards devclopes in 
 his lectures, of which his pupils take notes, enlarging 
 upon them at home, so that the understanding is exer- 
 cised as well as the memory, andthey are induced to 
 reflect on the subject to which their attention is drawn. 
 M. Coquerel looks over what they have written, and if 
 he perceives that they have misunderstood h'ta meaning, 
 sets them right, and by asking them some judicious 
 questions, assists them in arranging their own ideas and 
 rendering them more distinct. His language is simple, 
 though elegant, his explanations lucid and satisfactory, 
 and his manner so earnest and impressive that it com-
 
 KOBERT WHEATON. 19 
 
 mands the entire attention and respect of his hearers. 
 He occasionally enlivens his lecture by anecdotes of 
 distinguished men of our own or other days, by the 
 incidents drawn from his personal experience, and by 
 allusions to the discoveries of modern science, all of 
 which, in his opinion, tend to establish more fii-mly the 
 truth of Revelation. His religious belief is of the 
 most cheerful kind. It does not tend to separate the 
 Christian from the world, but teaches him how to live 
 in it, perform its duties, and join in the innocent enjoy- 
 ments of life, with the thought of immortality ever 
 before him. 
 
 During the winter of 1840-41, Robert constantly 
 attended M. Coquerel's church, and was in the habit of 
 writing out his sermons. Although, strictly speaking, 
 he never considered the forms of public worship of 
 real importance, he preferred that of the French Re- 
 formed Church to any other, as combining great sim- 
 plicity with impressiveness. The service opens with a 
 chapter from the New Testament, read by the clerk, 
 after which a psalm is sung, and the Ten Command- 
 ments read. The clergyman then enters the pulpit, 
 and repeats a written confession of sins, to which the 
 congregation mentally respond. Another psalm is then 
 sung, followed by an extemporaneous prayer from the 
 officiating clergyman, and by the sermon. After the 
 sermon, the Apostles' Creed and prayers for the mem- 
 bers of government and the legislative bodies, for the 
 sick and afflicted, are read, and the benediction con- 
 cludes the service. 
 
 Besides the regular services on Sunday, the seasons 
 of Christmas, Easter, Pentecost (or Whitsunday), and
 
 20 MEMOIR OF 
 
 the Ascension, are all commemorated in the French 
 Protestant Churches, whether Lutheran or Reformed, 
 and those descendants of the Huguenots who live in 
 places where no Protestant worship is held, usually 
 come to Paris on one of these great festivals, for the 
 purpose of partaking of the Communion with their fel- 
 low-believers. 
 
 It was on the day of Pentecost (Whitsunday), 1841, 
 that, having finished his course of religious instruction 
 and passed the necessary examination, Robert Wheaton 
 was received into the Reformed Church, and permitted 
 to partake of the Communion, which he did with the 
 warmest feelings of piety and reverence, always re- 
 newed whenever he repeated the solemn commemora- 
 tion of the Saviour's suffering and love. 
 
 In the summer of 1841, Mr. Wheaton revisited 
 Paris, and was induced to yield to Robert's earnest re- 
 quest that he might leave his school. Every thing there 
 had become distasteful to him, for every thing reminded 
 him painfully of his brother, and he had lost his only 
 congenial companion, a young Englishman, several 
 years his senior, who, having finished his education, 
 had returned to England. This friend had shown him 
 unvarying kindness from the time he entered the 
 school, and having acquired considerable influence over 
 him, was of use in forming his character. They con- 
 tinued to correspond frequently until Robert left Europe, 
 
 and there was scarcely one of Mr. 's letters but 
 
 contained some good advice, playfully though feelingly 
 expressed. 
 
 The warmth and even tenderness of his friend's 
 feelings towards him won Robert's heart, and the fre-
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 21 
 
 quent admonitions of Mr. , by increasing his re- 
 spect for him, strengthened his attachment. It was a 
 charming trait in Robert's character that he never re- 
 ceived advice ungraciously, however unpalatable it 
 might be, but constantly endeavored to profit by it. He 
 always listened to the reprimands of his music teacher 
 with the greatest patience and good humor, repeating 
 the same passage over and over again. He respected 
 this young teacher because he had a frank and inde- 
 pendent character, understood his art thoroughly and 
 taught it conscientiously. Indeed, this was the only 
 teacher at his school whom Robert really liked, being 
 constantly annoyed at the carelessness and inattention 
 of most of them ; and there is a curious note of his, in 
 which he speaks of having dismissed a tutor who gave 
 him private lessons in Latin at this establishment, be- 
 cause he came irregularly, a proof of decision of 
 character and conscientiousness not very common at 
 the age of fourteen. Of the Principal of the school 
 he always spoke as of a gentlemanlike, amiable man, 
 though his extreme lenity to the errors of his scholars, 
 and to the inattention of the subordinate teachers, often 
 surprised him. Dr. Arnold would have been a master 
 after Robert's heart, and Dr. Arnold would have de- 
 lighted in such a pupil. 
 
 Mr. Whcaton now became desirous that his son 
 should embrace the profession of engineering, as being 
 both honorable and lucrative in this country. Robert 
 therefore began to apply himself to the study of math- 
 ematics and drawing, with a person highly and de- 
 servedly recommended for this branch. During two 
 years he pursued this occupation with a zeal and per-
 
 22 MEMOIR OF 
 
 severance the more praiseworthy, because it was not 
 naturally congenial to him. A large portfolio filled 
 with drawings and plans most carefully executed, bear 
 witness to his industry during that time. But his 
 instructor, a shrewd and observing man, was soon 
 convinced that the health of his pupil was not suf- 
 ficiently strong to bear the exposure and hardships 
 incident to the practice of engineering. He therefore 
 advised him to turn his attention to architecture, a pro- 
 .fession which stands much higher in Europe than in 
 our country, as it is devoted to the erection of buildings 
 of great elegance and magnificence ; and to be an 
 architect it is necessary to be also an artist. At first 
 Robert seemed to like this idea, but discouraged by 
 communications from some friends of his father in the 
 United States, he gradually lost his interest in it, and 
 begged to be allowed to return to his classical studies. 
 This was granted, and in 1843 he entered the excellent 
 school of M. M. Barbe and Massin, which was a branch 
 of the College Charlemagne. 
 
 While pursuing his mathematics, he had not alto- 
 gether laid aside his classical studies. During the 
 winter evenings, M. dci Santo Mango, a Neapolitan of 
 high birth, but exiled from his country on account of 
 political offences, and compelled to teach, came to give 
 him instruction in Latin. This gentleman being intel- 
 lectual and extremely well informed, Robert had great 
 pleasure in conversing with him on subjects connected 
 with history, politics, literature, etc., as well as in read- 
 ing the Latin authors with him. In a letter written in 
 1842, his father says: 'I am glad you are getting 
 through VirgH so pleasantly under the guidance of Santo
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 23 
 
 Mango. Reading such a poet alone is but dull work, 
 but it is still more dull to read with a mere pedant.' 
 
 And in another letter he says : ' I received with 
 great pleasure your letter with the Latin translation of 
 Petrarch's Sonnet. It is now before me, and I find the 
 Latin verses very good. There is no better exercise 
 for acquiring a complete knowledge of that language 
 than the making of verses. Hence it is universally- 
 adopted in the public schools of England. I am glad 
 you find both pleasure and profit in Santo Mango's 
 lessons. It is a great advantage to read the classics 
 with an intelligent master who knows how to lighten 
 the labor. I hope you will persevere in this line, as it 
 must be an agreeable relaxation from your mathemati- 
 cal studies. Chancellor d'Aguesseau, I think, says: 
 " Le changement d'occupation est toujours un delasse- 
 ment." Indeed he knew no other.' 
 
 Robert always recurred to the year spent at M. 
 Barbe-Massin's Institution with pleasure, as one of 
 the most profitable of his life. At the same time it 
 was not devoid of such recreation as suited his taste. 
 
 At this time, and as long as he was in Paris, his 
 evenings were almost invariably spent at home. He 
 remained in his own room reading and writing till nine 
 o'clock, then went to the drawing-room, and after 
 taking a cup of tea, went to the piano, where he often 
 remained several hours. He had early felt the influ- 
 ence of that musical cultivation which pervades Con- 
 tinental Europe, taking different forms of expression, 
 according to the various elements it finds with which 
 to work. In sunny Italy, nature developes the most 
 beautiful voices, and careful culture, combined with
 
 24 MEMOIR OF 
 
 her harmonious language, forms there the most perfect 
 singers. But in the North, music is looked upon as 
 a science, studied with all the serious perseverance 
 peculiar to its inhabitants, and there instrumental music 
 may be heard in the greatest perfection. In the 
 eighteenth century a new impulse was given to the 
 study of music, and since that period it has formed a 
 branch of education, seldom neglected even by persons 
 of moderate means, so that it is rare to meet, among 
 educated members of society, with persons who have 
 not some appreciation of the art. Its soothing and 
 refining influences are not, however, confined to any 
 particular class. To say nothing of the opera, which 
 we find in every small town of Italy and Germany, 
 public .-concerts and excellent military music give 
 inncMjent pleasure and gratification to the peasant and 
 to liie artisan. These influences, of course, acted on 
 Robert's natural taste for music, which seemed to 
 increase with every year. It was encouraged by his 
 mother, hoaelf very fond of music, and never dis- 
 couraged by his father, who, either from want of early 
 cultivation or of natural ear, was debarred from what 
 he always felt must be so great an enjoyment, and to 
 the studious man so desirable a rela-xation. 
 
 There was nothing from which Robert derived so 
 much pleasure as an evening at the Italian Opera, and 
 during the winters of 1842-43, he often went thither 
 with his mother and sisters. This, of course, con- 
 duced greatly to improve his musical taste. He also 
 continued to take lessons from the teacher we have 
 before mentioned, himself a thorough musician, who 
 took great delight in teaching so apt a scholar. In a
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 25 
 
 sudden burst of enthusiasm he would sometimes ex- 
 claim : ' If I were you, I would be one of the first 
 pianistes in Europe ! ' 
 
 Robert played with exquisite taste and feeling ; 
 brilliant music he seldom selected for his own per- 
 formance, usually preferring the profound, melancholy, 
 and harmonious compositions of Beethoven, Dohler, 
 Henselt, Chopin, Beyer, etc., and some other com- 
 posers of 'the day who suited his style of playing. 
 Music was so great a source of enjoyment to him, 
 that a friend of his in this country once said, that 
 though he, himself, knew not a note of music, and 
 that in some cases it alrnost annoyed him, he always 
 took pleasure in sitting in Robert's room while he 
 played, because he seemed to derive such intense 
 satisfaction from it. 
 
 He often expressed regret that music should be so 
 little understood in this country, and was at times dis- 
 couraged in his own attempts by the want of stimulus. 
 The loss of voice, occasioned by the bronchial affec- 
 tion from which he suffered during the last two years 
 of his life, was a serious privation to him. Well 
 acquainted with the scientific principles of music, he 
 understood the art of composition, and often sought in 
 it a resource against a weary hour. 
 
 Although he did not go into society with his fomily, 
 he had, particularly when Ws father was in Paris, 
 opportunities of seeing distinguished men at home. 
 The Danish poet, Oehlenschlager, spent a winter in 
 Paris, and often visited them, so also Dr. Bowring, an 
 old and valued friend of his family ; Alfred de Vigny, 
 the author of Cinq-Mars ; M. Leon Faucher, the editor
 
 26 MEMOIR OF 
 
 of the Courrier Franpais ; the poet Mamiani, at that 
 time an exile, but afterwards the Minister of Pius IX. ; 
 Leopard!, another Italian man of letters, who now 
 shares the fate of Poerio and other Neapolitan liberals. 
 With these gentlemen he conversed, though always 
 very modestly, for without any undue dilTidence or 
 affected humility as to his own capacity, he felt deeply 
 that respect for persons older than himself and of 
 acknowledged merit, which an European education so 
 strongly inculcates. When he did not converse, he 
 listened with great attention, and as his memory was 
 excellent, his head clear, and his power of discrimi- 
 nating character remarkable in one so young, he could 
 not but profit by being a listener when in the society 
 of such men. 
 
 In 1844 he spent his vacation, during the months of 
 August and September, at Fontainebleau, where his 
 father joined the family. Robert enjoyed his residence 
 ^there exceedingly. Every morning after breakfast he 
 went with his sisters to the beautiful forest, where they 
 remained all the forenoon wandering beneath the 
 magnificent old trees, or reclining on moss-clad stones, 
 inhaling the fragrance of the wild thyme, gathering 
 the rose-colored heath which grows there in such 
 profusion, or watching the green and golden lizards as 
 they crept out to sun themselves. 
 
 Some evenings were spent at the house of Count 
 d'Andigne, to whom a common friend had given a 
 letter of introduction, and where an opportunity offered 
 of seeing something of French provincial society, so 
 different from that of the capital. The Count was 
 quite an elderly person, and had served in America
 
 KOBEET WHEATON. 27 
 
 under Rochambeau ; his wife, the daughter of a 
 French emigre, was born in America, and had re- 
 ceived from her parents the 'harmonious name of 
 Oneida. She had three grown-up sons, but with the 
 vivacity of a Frenchwoman joined in all their amuse- 
 ments, and being an excellent horsewoman, always 
 rode out with them. Robert, who was extremely fond 
 of this exercise, often joined these riding parties. 
 
 After leaving the Institution of M. Barbe-Massin, 
 which he did on passing his examination, and being 
 admitted to the Baccalaureat, Robert attended lectures 
 at the Sorbonne and at the College de France. He 
 frequently spoke of them in his letters to his father, 
 which were all written in French, and from which we 
 will now give some extracts. 
 
 (Translated) ' Paris, July, 1845. 
 
 ' All the lectures at the Sorbonne and at the College 
 de France are closing one by one, as all the professors 
 feel the necessity of breathing a little fresh air. M. 
 Ozanam terminated his lectures on Dante by a rapid 
 and eloquent sketch of the influence which Dante 
 exercised on Italian literature, an influence which he 
 of course considers as immense. He said that Pe- 
 trarch owed him much, though reluctant to admit it ; 
 that Ariosto borrowed whole lines of his in his own 
 great poem ; and that Tasso not only took the descrip- 
 tion of Hell from him, but also his admired episode of 
 Sofronia and Olindo, for that, without the Beatrice of 
 Dante, he could have had no conception of that 
 Christian virgin ; and finally, that after the bad taste 
 of the seventeenth and part of the eighteenth century,
 
 28 
 
 MEMOIR OF 
 
 the Italy of our time had taken Dante for her guide. 
 He concluded with a very eloquent passage, in which 
 he said, that when a country still produced such men 
 as Pellico, Manzoni, Grossi, etc., no one had any 
 right to accuse it of having fallen very low ! As Mr. 
 O. is a zealous Catholic and a devout follower of 
 Dante, it is not astonishing that he should think Italy 
 less degraded than she really is. He imagines that she 
 is supposed to have declined because her inhabitants 
 are still attached to ancient superstition and belief, 
 while he sees in this one of her claims to the respect 
 and admiration of the world. I have just bought his 
 work on Dante and the Philosophy of the thirteenth 
 century. There are beautiful things in it ; I am sure 
 you would read it with pleasure. It is sometimes 
 deficient in clearness, but that arises from the nature 
 of the subject which he looks at from a Mediajval 
 point of view. It has been translated into Italian and 
 German several times. Why do you not write some- 
 thing on Thiers' History.? The subject would suit 
 you. Or why not write some Etudes on the History 
 of Florence ? It would be a preparation for your 
 Complete History. 
 
 ' I am continuing my translation of Don Carlos. 
 What do you think the best way to learn to write a 
 language ? I stand in great need 'of some means of 
 learning to write English.' 
 
 ' Paris, April Sth, 1645. 
 
 * On Thursday M. Michelet recommenced his lec- 
 tures, which he had suspended during the Easter 
 vacation. He gave us an interesting one on Property
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 29 
 
 in France. He says that there are in France twenty 
 million proprietors on a population of twenty-four 
 millions, while in England there are but thirty-two 
 thousand on fourteen millions. What a prodigious 
 difference ! It is to this cause that he attributes the 
 love which the Frenchman bears his countiy. He 
 says, and he is right, that we never see them leaving 
 their country like the English, or emigrating en masse 
 like the Germans. " He is wedded to the earth," 
 says Michelet in his singular language. He told us 
 that in visiting the department of the Arriege last 
 year, he saw with astonishment what the peasants there 
 achieve over rebellious nature. The high ground is 
 covered' with bare rocks, which they pound till they 
 are reduced to powder, then descending into the 
 valleys they contrive, by dint of labor, to bring up a 
 little earth which they mix with this powder, and thus 
 compose a soil on which they can begin to plant. 
 " This is greater," said Michelet, " this is more mar- 
 vellous than many wonders which the world admires, 
 while this remains unknown. The bridge of the Gard, 
 constructed by the Romans, is nothing compared to 
 this." It seems to me that the strength of France lies 
 in this infinite subdivision of the soil, and although 
 the English regret it because it cuts up the country 
 and offends the eye, I prefer a country where this is 
 the case, to one where thirty-two thousand individuals 
 hold in their hands and for their own profit that which 
 God made for all. In France, when you pass along 
 the road and see those little patches of different colors 
 which cover the ground, you have the satisfaction of 
 knowing that each of those patches is the property
 
 30 MEMOIR OF 
 
 of a man, who from that very fact feels himself a 
 man. 
 
 ' M. Quinct still continues to hold forth. He has 
 recently given us two very remarkable lectures on 
 Mahometanism. He admires Mahomet, sis every one 
 must who considers the immense empire, at once 
 temporal and spiritual, which he founded. As you 
 may suppose, he did not speak of the Past of Ma- 
 hometanism and the East, without speaking of its 
 Future. " Can the East regenerate herself ? " he 
 asks. " And on the other hand who can carry into 
 the East the principle of new life from the West ? 
 Will the Church of Rome terminate the new war 
 between the Gospel and the Koran ? How can we 
 hope that the clergy will do in our day what it could 
 not accomplish during the religious ardor which dis- 
 tinguished the Crusades ? " ' 
 
 July, 1845. 
 
 ' I should much like to spend six weeks or two 
 months with you in Berlin. As the Cours de Droit do 
 not open until November, I can with perfect facility 
 spend the above-named time with you. The expense 
 would not be great, and the advantage would be im- 
 mense. I am of opinion that travelling is an important 
 part of a young man's education. In a short journey 
 one acquires more ideas than in a year's residence in 
 the same place. I have just been reading the fourth 
 volume of Thiers. It is as good, perhaps better, than 
 the others. I suppose the English will not be very 
 well satisfied with his account of the rupture of the 
 Peace of Amiens. For my part, I think Thiers is
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 31 
 
 hardly to be accused of too great partiality. He 
 appears to me to treat Napoleon quite severely enough 
 with regard to the affair of the Duke d'Enghien. I 
 have finished my translation of Don Carlos, quite a 
 colossal work, forming three hundred and twenty-three 
 pages ! I am reading Chesterfield's Letters ; they are 
 witty and amusing, but not very edifying, au point de 
 vue de la morale. Write soon, dear papa, and give your 
 sanction to my projected journey. I wish so much to 
 see you and converse with you before the winter 
 commences. 
 
 * When I am not at the lectures I busy myself with 
 the History of Florence, than which nothing is more 
 attractive to me. Materials for this history abound ; all 
 those old chronicles which relate to events from day to 
 day, and almost from hour to hour, are of great value. 
 I know that one must be on one's guard, for some of 
 these are all Ghibelline, others all Guelph, but by 
 confronting them and making allowance for the party 
 spirit which pervades them, one may get at the truth. 
 I wish very much that you would devote yourself to 
 this history, and write a work, which I am sure would 
 be successful. 
 
 ' The origin of Florence, like that of every thing else 
 in this world, is rather obscure, but from the little I 
 have read on the subject at the Bibliotheque du Roi, I 
 suppose it would not be difficult to prove that Florence 
 was an Etruscan city, and that Sylla established his 
 soldiers there to reward them for all their labors. Many 
 of the old Florentine authors affirm that Sylla himself 
 founded the city. Others say that the city sprung from 
 Fiesole, or rather that Fiesole itself was founded by a
 
 OK MEMOIR OF 
 
 prince of the name of Apolonius immediately after the 
 deluge. These authors likewise represent this Apolo- 
 nius as the founder of the princely family who reigned 
 in Troy, connecting by this link the city sung by Homer 
 with one of the greatest cities of the Middle Ages. 
 These are fables, doubtless, but even fables are inter- 
 esting when they relate to the infancy of a great people. 
 ' Among the really interesting things on this subject 
 I have found at the Bibliothcque, is a work published 
 during the last century by Lami, an Italian. It is 
 called Lezione cL'Antichitd Toscane e particolarmente 
 della cittd di Firenze. If you can find it at Berlin, 
 pray read it.' 
 
 In August, Robert went to spend some weeks in the 
 family of an American gentleman at Havre, with 
 whose son he was on intimate terms. In a letter written 
 immediately after his arrival, he says, after giving a 
 lively and amusing sketch of some of his fellow pas- 
 sengers : 
 
 * But all this, I suppose you think, has nothing to do 
 with the Seine and its beauties. True, but how can 
 one describe the beauties of nature without being an 
 artist or a poet ? I am neither the one or the other, 
 still the sight of Nature always moves me deeply. It 
 is difficult to imagine any thing prettier or richer than 
 the banks of the Seine. Now you see high hills, 
 whose sides are covered with woods and dotted with 
 houses, now large pasture-grounds which must resemble 
 those of England. After passing Quillebteuf, the river 
 grows gradually wider, and the slight motion you feel 
 in the vessel tells you that you are approaching the
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 33 
 
 ocean, ^t 8 o'clock in the evening we entered the 
 port of Havre de Grace. 
 
 Ingonville, August, 1845. 
 
 * My dear Father, 
 ' I arrived here on the 13th, and was most kindly 
 received. Ingonville is what may be called a sort of 
 village, just outside the gates of Havre, and delightfully 
 situated on the hill. From the house we have a fine 
 view of the sea, of which I was very glad to catch a 
 glimpse after having been deprived of that pleasure so 
 many years. It reminds me of Copenhagen and the 
 happy days we passed there. I shall remain here until 
 the end of the month, then return to Paris, and proceed 
 from thence to Berlin. ... I am sorry to see by the 
 papers that religion is likely to occasion more blood- 
 shed in Europe. The emeute at Leipzig seems to me 
 quite a serious thing. I had always hoped that in future 
 there would be but one kind of proselytism persua- 
 sion. In what light is this new Catholicism (which in 
 fact is but a new form of Protestantism) viewed in 
 Prussia ? Marochetti has just made a miserable statue 
 of the Duke of Orleans, and the king is foolish enough 
 to have it placed on the Place du Louvre, where no 
 statue but that of Louis XIV. or Napoleon should be 
 erected.' 
 
 ' Havre, August, 1845. 
 
 ' The longer I am here, the more I feel how wonder- 
 ful is the sea ! Nothing can give a better idea of im- 
 mensity and of eternity. There is something very sad, 
 and for that reason, something grand and beautiful in 
 3
 
 34 MEMOIR OF 
 
 beholding it every day bathing the same shore, now 
 advancing a little more, now a little less, but never 
 overstepping the limits which God has set. What a 
 dreadful storm was that of Tuesday ! I returned from 
 ,Trouville about an hour before it began.' 
 
 The storm alluded to was one during which the 
 daughter of Victor Hugo was drowned. 
 
 His father having yielded to his request that he 
 might spend a few weeks at Berlin, Robert left Paris 
 for that city early in the autumn. The following 
 letters were written during his absence : 
 
 * Frankfort, Sept 9th, 1845. 
 
 *As the diligence docs not leave for Leipzig until 
 this afternoon, I will write you a long letter. I left 
 Cologne on Sunday by the steamboat and reached Cob- 
 lentz at five. From Cologne to Bonn, the country is 
 very flat and not in the least attractive, and to add to 
 jny ennui, there were none but Germans on board. I 
 was reduced to doing as they did, viz. : to smoke and 
 think, if indeed they do think, for they confide their 
 thoughts to no one. Fortunately, at Bonn two young 
 Belgians came on board, and what was even^tter than 
 the Belgians, the Siebengebirg and the Drachenfels 
 came in sight. From that moment we had a succes- 
 sion of wonders, each more wonderful than the last, 
 but which I shall not attempt to describe, and yet that 
 part of the Rhine between Cobientz and Mayence, 
 which I saw yesterday, is much finer. When we ar- 
 rived at Cobientz, the two Belgians and I went to see 
 Stolzenfcls, the castle repaired by the King of Prussia,
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 35 
 
 and in which he received the Queen of England. 
 Unfortunately it was too late for us to see the apart- 
 ments, but we were able to enjoy a magnificent view 
 of the Rhine. The weather must have been very bad 
 to make Queen Victoria so ill-humored. She met with 
 the most complete failure every where on the Rhine. 
 She gave <500 towards the " Dombau " at Cologne, but 
 not long ago the Council assembled to propose that this 
 sum, which they considered too paltry for the purpose, 
 should be returned to Her Majesty to be distributed 
 among the poor in Ireland ! But while they were delib- 
 erating, the police entered the hall and put an end to 
 this project. The other day, as I was entering Cologne, 
 I had the pleasure of meeting the queen, who entered 
 the railroad station as I left it. She had two carriages 
 with two horses only, and was preceded by two soldiers 
 on horseback ; not a creature showed itself in the streets 
 to see her pass. It seems that the authorities here did 
 some foolish things. Thus, when she arrived at Bonn, 
 it was raining hard, and the landing-place was covered 
 with mud, yet they did not throw down a carpet or even 
 a plank for her to step on. She was extremely angry, 
 
 I hear Jenny Lind is here, and the 
 
 people are wild about her ; unfortunately I shall not be 
 able to hear her. The newspapers tell wonders of her 
 performances, and say that men's minds are so much 
 occupied with her that if you ask for any thing in a 
 shop, the man behind the counter replies, Jenny Lind. 
 At the table d'hote, on board the boat, I talked with a 
 German who said that from my accent he should never 
 have known I was not a " born German." (Geborner 
 Deutsche.) And then he added, as he heard me
 
 36 MEMOIR OF 
 
 speaking French with the Belgian travellers, I must be 
 from the French frontier. I explained to him where I 
 did come from, which made him stare. I talked about 
 Beethoven with this old German, who went into 
 ecstasies. If my " pecuniary resources," as our friend 
 would say, would admit, I should go and spend a week 
 or two at Wiesbaden or Hamburg, which is very 
 fashionable this year, but the said resources will only 
 take me to Berlin. I shall be two nights in the post- 
 wagen, going to Leipzig ; that will be the most fatiguing 
 part of my journey, for I have now come two hundred 
 leagues without feeling more fatigued than if I had 
 only been as far as Versailles. This is admirable ! I 
 shall not see Lord Westmoreland, in Berlin, for I saw 
 his name on the Fremdenlisle (list of strangers). I 
 have met but two or three Frenchmen since I left Paris. 
 It is surprising how little they travel. Victor Hugo 
 says in his Travels on the Rhine, that in Germany the 
 napkins are sheets, and the sheets napkins. He is 
 right ; every morning I find my bedclothes on the 
 floor. You must either freeze under a sheet or melt 
 under a feather-bed. I have just dined with the usual 
 German accompaniment of music. The public mind 
 here is engrossed with religious questions ; at the book- 
 sellers you see nothing but works on these subjects, 
 and you cannot take up a newspaper without seeing that 
 there have been disturbances somewhere. Germany 
 is very much agitated. God knows what it will lead 
 to. The portraits of Ronge, the head of the new 
 religious party, are to be seen every where. I shall 
 read some of these works in Berlin, and perhaps I shall 
 be able to understand what it is all about.'
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 37 
 
 ' Berlin, Sept. 12th, 1845. 
 
 ' My dear A , 
 
 ' I have just arrived, and hasten to write you not only 
 to inform you of my arrival, but likewise to ask your 
 pardon for not having written to you on your birthday. 
 My journey so completely upset all my ideas of time, 
 that I allowed the 8th to pass without thinking of it, 
 and when I wrote you from Frankfort I was, like all 
 travellers, too much occupied with myself to think 
 much of others. My journey is ended, and I can now 
 wish you for your fete, what I wish you all the year 
 all that you can desire of health and happiness. I 
 frankly confess that I have been to blame, and I hope 
 that my frankness will induce you to forgive me. It 
 has not been in my power this year, as heretofore, to 
 offer you in person some slight token of my affection, 
 but fortunately you do not require that to believe in it. 
 The thought that I had not written you has haunted 
 me from the time I left Frankfort till I arrived here. I 
 found papa well. Our faithful Stine [a Danish servant, 
 who had lived many years in the family] was surprised 
 and delighted to see me. She says she should not 
 have known me if she had met me on the street. I 
 sleep on the same bed I had seven years ago. A sad 
 recollection, for the other bed is broken like him who 
 slept on it. " If I could but have seen poor Edward 
 come back too ! " said Stine. Those words, when 
 every thing is so soon forgotten, touched me. But I 
 am writing of what is sad, and yet I know not how to 
 do otherwise. Every thing here speaks of a time 
 which is no more, and renews those regrets which time 
 can but increase. It is a bad habit we have fallen into
 
 WJ MEMOIR OF 
 
 never to speak of him wc have lost. I see not why a 
 departed friend should be banished from the daily con- 
 versation of those who remain behind 
 
 I have seen no one yet, but shall go to the F.'s this 
 evening. Berlin produced a singular impression on 
 me ; the streets arc too wide and empty, and you 
 enter the city under such unfavorable auspices, sand 
 and pine-trees being the only intimations you have that 
 you are approaching a large capital. I am only spesdc- 
 ing of first impressions. I have no time to write more, 
 as 1 wish my letter to leave to-day that you may not 
 be anxious.' 
 
 In a letter dated Sept, 22, he says : 
 
 ' The admiration which for some time was felt for 
 the king has wonderfully diminished. Nothing is now 
 said of a Constitution. It is thought that he has good 
 intentions, but that his brothers will not hear of it. He 
 has become very stout, and looks carcwoni and fatigued, 
 and his appearance in public excites little enthusiasm. 
 Madame Franchet and I discuss the king constantly. 
 She always defends him, which makes me smile, and I 
 am called ires moqueur. She has told me a pretty 
 anecdote of him. A deputy from the Rhenish 
 provinces was very anxious about his wife, whom he 
 knew to be dangerously ill. The king saw him one 
 day, and asked after her; the deputy expressed the 
 anxiety he felt. The king, meeting him again at 
 dinner, said : " I can give you news of your wife ; she 
 is much better." The telegraph being in the hands of 
 government, the king had availed himself of his 
 privilege to make the necessary inquiries.'
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 39 
 
 In another letter Robert says : ' I am anxious to 
 embrace you all again. Berlin is not like that famous 
 river of mythology ; it does not cause one to forget. 
 I find, indeed, that it reminds me of many things.' 
 
 'Dresden, Oct. 5th, 1845. 
 
 . . . . ' How strange is human destiny ! Last 
 year at this time I should scarcely have believed that 
 I should pass my next birthday in Dresden, and God 
 only knows where I shall pass my twentieth. When 
 that time comes, a philosopher would say the best and 
 happiest part of my life will have gone. Such is the 
 general opinion. Not mine, however, for if I believed 
 it, I should not have a very high estimate of human 
 happiness.' 
 
 ' Berlin, Oct. 10th. 
 
 ' On my return from Dresden, I found your two 
 letters, dear A., and thank you for remembering my 
 birthday. We were absent a week, and while we 
 were gone the Duke of Cambridge came, and Lord 
 Westmoreland, (the British Minister,) gave him a ball, 
 which I lost. So much for society, now for politics. 
 Every one here is talking of the king's reply to the 
 municipality of Berlin, which some months since made 
 him an address on the subject of Pietism. The king 
 sent for them, and told them that it did not concern 
 them, as he alone had any thing to say about religious 
 matters. The municipality wished to reply imme- 
 diately, but the king spoke for a quarter of an hour, 
 without giving them time to utter a word, and then 
 saying : " 1 dismiss you graciously," {Ich enllasse
 
 40 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Euch in gnaden^) turned on his heel and left the 
 apartment. The good men stood a moment in amaze- 
 ment, and then, collecting themselves, left the palace 
 and adjourned to the town-house, where they signed a 
 protestation. It was said before the revolution of 
 1830, that the French were dancing on a volcano ; 
 the same might be said of the Germans. Saxony is 
 
 greatly agitated, and Leipzig, as says, is the 
 
 first German town that has insulted an hereditary 
 prince. You remember that in August, Prince John 
 of Saxony passed through Leipzig, and that the mob 
 threw stones at his carriage. He escaped by a mira- 
 cle, for in turning a corner, his carriage came neur 
 being upset, and had that happened, he would un- 
 doubtedly have been massacred. Notwithstanding so 
 recent an example, the King of Prussia continues his 
 old system. Kings live and do not learn. I begin 
 to think of my return, notwithstanding the flattering 
 manner in which I am received here. I know how 
 much such politeness is worth. Au resle, there is no 
 harm in my becoming a little accustomed to society, 
 and in learning that after all men are very much 
 alike every where. Only very superior minds are dis- 
 similar from others. Papa says I am a very good 
 judge of men. I had rather know myself to be 
 inferior to the men with whom I meet, than to feel 
 myself superior. There is to me something humiliat- 
 ing in the feeling, for I have not self-love enough not 
 to suppose that a man of mature age must be peu de 
 chose, if I am superior to him. 
 
 * We have been to the theatre several times since 
 I last wrote. On Saturday they gave Othello, an
 
 ROBERT "WHEATON. 41 
 
 admirable translation of Shakspcare ; not very well 
 
 played, with the exception of lago. On Monday, 
 
 .Wilhelm Tell, most admirably got up. Last night we 
 
 saw Faust. Fraulein von Hagn's acting in the prison 
 
 scene was very effective. Tell M I was delighted 
 
 with the scene where Faust, on the point of drinking 
 the poison, is stopped by the sound of voices singing 
 (to Prince Radziwill's beautiful music) Christ ist 
 erstanden ! The words of Faust, " The tear flows, 
 earth holds me again," produce the most touching 
 effect. After hearing such sublime things, it was hard 
 
 to go and finish the evening at Madame , listening 
 
 to all the commonplaces which society demands. I 
 do not know whether I am misanthropical or not, but 
 society seems to me a wretched thing. 
 
 ' I went yesterday to the Sing Academic with Pro- 
 fessor Lichtenstein. To-morrow I am going once 
 more to hear his daughter play, and some day I shall 
 go to hear Litoff, a distinguished pianist. I long to 
 put my hands on a piano, for I feel now like a soul 
 without a body.' 
 
 This visit to Berlin was of use to Robert, because 
 it gave him an opportunity of comparing France and 
 Germany, and, as has been happily said, ' To compare 
 is to judge.' He was much struck by the strong feeling 
 of caste which exists every where in Germany, and 
 by the absence of all freedom of political discussion. 
 He returned to France more prepossessed than ever 
 in favor of a country of which he said, in a letter 
 written to his father as early as 1843, ' Liberty of 
 thought in politics, of belief in religion, and of
 
 43 MEMOIR OF 
 
 action in both, are enjoyed here in the highest de- 
 gree.' 
 
 Ahhough in his habits, manners, and tastes, he 
 might be said to be essentially aristocratic, in the 
 better sense of that word, he loved that equality which 
 is so remarkable a feature in the social system of 
 France, and expressed the strongest aversion to all 
 institutions and customs, that have a tendency to 
 encourage any distinctions but those which are the 
 natural result of talent and merit. In a letter written 
 after he came to this country, he says : ' I have 
 always detested aristocracies as such. This is a point 
 on which my ideas have never varied since I first 
 began to think. There exists no inequality between 
 men, but that of intellect and education. That of 
 manner founded on social conventions is quite ridicu- 
 lous. I know but one kind of politeness, which has 
 been nowhere better defined than in the Gospel : " Do 
 unto others as you would have them do unto you." 
 This confession of faith resembles the programme of 
 a minister at the opening of a session. Let us hope 
 it is more sincere ! ' 
 
 Such could scarcely have been his feelings had he 
 grown up in Germany, and in this, as in all other 
 respects, his parents had no reason to regr* having 
 given the preference to a French over a German 
 education. Of all the countries of Europe, Franco 
 and Italy were those in whose prosperity and progress 
 he took the warmest interest, as will be remembered 
 by those persons who were in the habit of conversing 
 witk him on European politics. His views on all 
 isubjects connected with social or political life resem*
 
 ROBERT WnEATON. 43 
 
 bled those of a much older person, they were at once 
 so moderate and so liberal. He learnt Italian with 
 great ease, and was a warm admirer of Dante. The 
 melody of smooth versification had no great charm 
 for him, as is often the case with those persons who 
 are most accessible to the influence of musical har- 
 mony; he only enjoyed those poets whose thoughts 
 were lofty and deep-felt as those of the great Floren- 
 tine. Still he fully appreciated the beauties of the 
 Italian language, its wonderful combination of sweet- 
 ness and energy. He often speculated on the future 
 destinies of Italy, and delighted to meet an intelligent 
 Italian with whom he could talk of them. Several of 
 the articles he wrote were on episodes of Italian 
 history, and among the literary labors he had planned 
 for himself, one or two of the most important were 
 connected with Italian literature. 
 
 It was in the Institution of M. Barbe-Massin that 
 Robert first formed an acquaintance with two young 
 men, with whom so much of his time in Paris was 
 passed, that it is necessary to say something of them. 
 M. Anatole de M., the elder of the three, was the only 
 son of a lawyer, and was destined by his father for 
 the bar, but his tastes leading him to prefer a literary 
 life, his father did not insist upon his following the 
 profession. Extremely well read in French literature 
 and in the histoiy of art, even when Robert first knew 
 him, they could not but derive much pleasure from 
 each others' conversation. M. Charles H., the only 
 son of a widowed mother, also well versed in the best 
 French authors, and eager for information on all sub- 
 jects, had as enthusiastic a fondness for music as
 
 44 MEMOIR OF 
 
 Robert himself, which naturally drew them together. 
 Every evening on his way home to a six o'clock 
 dinner, Robert joined them, and thoy walked along 
 together talking of the books they were reading, stop- 
 ping occasionally to look at the prints with which the 
 print-shops on the Boulevards are crowded, or discus- 
 sing the last Italian opera they had heard. They 
 subsequently attended the lectures at the Sorbonne 
 together, frequently went together to hear the sermons 
 of the celebrated Dominican, Pere Lacordaire, during 
 Advent, or during Lent those of the eloquent and 
 persuasive Abbe de Ravignan ; they spent mornings 
 at the Louvre, and evenings at the Concerts du Con- 
 servatoire ; they walked, read, and talked together. 
 In one word, they were inseparable. Their sources 
 of interest were so numerous and varied, and Paris 
 offers such a constant succession of objects to stimu- 
 late, and quicken the intellect, that if they passed a 
 day or two without meeting, they wrote to each other. 
 The subjects of these letters are various, religion, 
 philosophy, literature, music, painting, all have a place 
 in them. Politics alone, in which Robert took so 
 strong an interest, but to which his two friends were 
 indifferent, are seldom mentioned. A few extracts 
 from some letters written by them during Robert's 
 absence in 1844-45, although the grace and charm 
 of them must be lost in a translation, will give an 
 idea of the pursuits and studies they enjoyed in 
 common.
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 45 
 
 'St. Quentin, Sept. 1845. 
 
 . . . . ' They have a splendid Museum in this 
 place, of which half the people here know nothing, 
 as you may suppose. One man supplied it, I mean 
 Latour, the king of Pastel painters, as Eosalba was 
 their queen. All that is not by him, with the excep- 
 tion of a beggar of Callot's and some other little 
 pictures, is not worth looking at. There are nearly 
 one hundred works of his, pastels, oil paintings, (these 
 are curious but inferior to the others,) sketches, and 
 studies of heads, from which he afterwards painted 
 portraits. If all these were in a room at the Louvre, 
 it would be one of the finest in the Musee des Dessins, 
 and that is saying a great deal, for you know what the 
 Musee des Dessins is ! To know Latour, you must 
 come here, it is only here you can study him. The 
 Louvre has but three of his works; they are chefs 
 d'ceuvre, it is true, but here there are as many as twenty 
 equally fine. In Germany there is a collection of Ro- 
 salba's of the same sort, and she is the only pastel 
 painter who can be compared to Latour, and who is 
 perhaps superior to him, though not in truth and life. 
 For grace and coloring she is a true Venetian ! I believe 
 that at Dresden there are many portraits by Rosalba ; 
 if you go there you will see them. The Louvre has 
 but four pastels by this artist, (poor Louvre !) but they 
 are very fine. Dresden is the place one must visit to 
 see Rosalba, as St. Quentin is to see Latour. These 
 are the capitals of their kingdoms. 
 
 . . . . ' I saw yesterday the engraving of the 
 large fresco of the Last Judgment, which Cornelius 
 painted or caused to be painted, (as he designed it.
 
 48 MEMOIR OF 
 
 it is all one,) in the Church of St. Louis, at Munich. 
 I am sorry your journey does not take you in that 
 direction, 90 that you might see it. But you will see 
 at Berlin his Christ delivering the Just from Hell, 
 and Kaulback's "Battle of the Huns." When you 
 are there I shall not excuse you ; you must tell me 
 about all the pictures and statues you see. 1 shall not 
 describe Cornelius' picture to you ; it would take too 
 long and be difficult to understand ; but we will exam- 
 ine the engraving together and then talk about it. 
 
 . . . . * 1 congratulate you upon having seen 
 the Adoration of the Shepherds, by Philippe de 
 Champagne. As for me, with the best will in the 
 world, I could not. I recollect having discovered a 
 little red which must belong to the traditional mantle 
 of Mary, and in the middle of the picture a little 
 yellowish white, which I suppose must be the swad- 
 dling-clothes of the infant, and that is all. Why in 
 the world do they light tapers in broad daylight before 
 the picture of Philippe de Champagne ? Is it to 
 smoke it .'' But since you have seen it, and think it 
 fine, I am satisfied; it will reconcile you to that old 
 painter, who, simple and severe as he is, and 1 may 
 say a Jansenist in painting as he was at heart, is none 
 the less an immortal master ! 
 
 * An old miniature painter, named Vincent, died at 
 Glichy the other day. He had not painted for a great 
 while, and although not in absolute poverty, his means 
 were scanty and his situation sad for one who had 
 seen bettor days. The little he had was sold, and 
 my uncle bought his table, filled with his brushes, 
 colors, etc., and an enormous portfolio full of cngrav-
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 47 
 
 ings of every kind. We have found a great many 
 drawings of the old man's ; studies, sketches, some 
 unfinished portraits which are very good, and a great 
 many old caricatures, among which is a very singular 
 one. My father and uncle both remember having 
 seen it before, and say it made quite a sensation when 
 it appeared in 1810 or 1812. It is a caricature of the 
 Emperor, made by the Royalist party. His hat is 
 the eagle; his head is composed of dead bodies; the 
 seams of his coat are rivers, the Elbe, the Rhine, etc. 
 On his breast the cross of the Legion of Honor is rep- 
 resented by a large spider, whose web extends over the 
 coat until it reaches these rivers. Notwithstanding all 
 these ignoble accessories, the head is fine and powerful. 
 It is a curious thing now and that is what time 
 makes of almost every thing. 
 
 . . . . ' I am living like a hermit at present. 
 You are all out of town, my father is travelling, and I 
 am alone. From ten o'clock in the morning I draw, or 
 I go to the Louvre ; in the evening I read, or walk out 
 a little to take the air. Although I am constantly 
 occupied, and never feel a moment's ennui, I am 
 melancholy enough, but this is nothing new. For some 
 time past, whenever I have been alone, and not distrait 
 by the conversation of those I love, I become sad. 
 The evening before C. went away, I felt so overcome, 
 that on leaving him I walked for some time, although 
 it was late, in order to recover myself. While walk- 
 ing, I composed a letter, which would have been the 
 longest you ever read had I written it, but as it was a 
 very sad one, it was better I did not. There is so 
 much in life that is sad, that it is not worth while to
 
 48 MEMOIR OF 
 
 seek for causes of melancholy ; to be sure one cannot 
 always help doing so. But, religiously speaking, I am 
 in a singular state. Possibly doubt and uncertainty 
 may one day lead me to dogmatism, but it will be a 
 strange road. There are but three things now of 
 which I feel certain : the existence of God ; the im- 
 mortality of the soul, or a succession of lives in which 
 we shall expiate the faults we have committed, and at 
 length attain sovereign happiness ; and lastly, what will 
 seem very singular to you the Trinity. There is 
 something magnificent, something sublime in that 
 idea, but it is a dogma more essentially metaphysical 
 and philosophical than religious, addressing itself more 
 to the mind than to the heart, and does not lead to 
 prayer. In vain I read Pascal, and I constantly read 
 him ; I think him sublime, but he does not convince 
 me. It is strange that a mind, which, compared to 
 these great minds, is as nothing, can find in its own 
 thoughts something different from them, and perhaps 
 even (I only say perhaps) be right in doing so! . . . 
 For a long time our churches have only been works of 
 art to me. Since I have seen them en deshabille and 
 at all hours, I have been very much disenchanted. To 
 see those old women who think themselves certain of 
 reaching heaven, or rather of earning a few sous 
 by mumbling their prayers, to see the churches 
 cleaned out as our rooms are every rhorning, and the 
 priests putting on their robes, and their pious looks in 
 the sacristy, produces a strange effect and discredits 
 the sanctuary, I assure you. But this is no subject for 
 bad jesting, and were I to read over this letter, I should
 
 ROBERT WIIEATON. 49 
 
 probably tear it as I generally do when I allow my pen 
 
 too much liberty 
 
 Anatole.' 
 
 * My dear R , 
 
 ' I begin to write you, but shall I send this letter, or 
 shall I destroy it as I have done so many others ? 
 Every time I write a letter, two thoughts come into my 
 mijid ; the fii*st is, there are things one can write, 
 though one cannot say them, and that tempts me to 
 begin ; the other, that a letter rarely finds the one to 
 whom it is addressed in the same frame of mind, under 
 the influence of the same emotions, as he who wrote it, 
 and that checks my inclinations 
 
 ' I have just seen A,, who tells me he is to pass the 
 evening at your house, and I feel as though by writing 
 I should have passed a part of it with you. When I 
 reached home last Saturday evening, I fell to thinking of 
 what has often before been the subject of my thoughts, 
 but particularly on that evening when your mother, 
 your sisters, you and I were taking tea around the oval 
 table. There was something delightful in the simplicity 
 of that little family circle, composed of persons differ- 
 ing so much in taste and character, at a ball the day 
 before, and now so quiet, and I, a stranger, in the 
 midst. There is in the society of some women some- 
 thing so agreeable, so refined, and in such good taste, 
 that it is refreshing to the soul, and I feel all the com- 
 fort and happiness you must derive from it. But at 
 that very moment I thought of your departure for Ber- 
 lin, and of what is still farther off, and this idea, which 
 1 tried to avert, recurred to me as soon as I was alone. 
 4
 
 OV MEMOIR OF 
 
 I said : Robert and his family will leave us in a few 
 months; we are such blind creatures that we shall 
 separate as though it was only for two or throe months, 
 and it may be for many years, perhaps even for life, 
 it is true that life is short ! . . . . Continuing my 
 reverie, I thought that I might again meet you in ten 
 or fifteen years. How many events of every kind will 
 have agitated us ; how much we shall bo changed ! If 
 in ten years we were again seated around that little 
 table, what changes will have taken place ! Yet, after 
 you are all gone, I shall ever see you as you now are, 
 with the same features, the same voice, the same hair ! 
 But in ten years, how many of us will be left, and I, 
 where shall I be ? God only knows. But I can write 
 no more, and I assure you it requires an effort not to 
 tear this letter. Do not read it twice. 
 
 * Charles.* 
 
 In 1846 Mr. Wheaton was recalled by the adminis- 
 tration of Mr. Polk. He remained in Berlin till the 
 month of August of that year, to receive his successor 
 and present him at court. Robert remained in Paris, 
 where, in company with his two friends, he was attend- 
 ing the law lectures. He there commenced keeping 
 a Journal, some extracts of which will show the cur- 
 rent of his thoughts and feelings at that time. 
 
 [JotTRMAI., 1846.] 
 
 On the first page he says : ' I can conceive nothing 
 more interesting than, after the lapse of years, to open 
 a note-book and see what were our thoughts at the 
 period at which it was written ; to see whether we have
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 51 
 
 remained the same, whether we have made any pro- 
 gress, or whether which would be a painful thing 
 we had grown worse. I hope that my good resolution 
 of keeping a diary will remain unshaken, and that 
 when in years from now I look back on the strange, 
 fanciful thoughts of a young man of twenty, I may 
 not have to say that they are better than those of the 
 
 following years Read some of 
 
 Byron's letters. I am more than ever an admirer of 
 this astonishing genius. He certainly had his weak- 
 nesses, greater than those of other distinguished men, 
 but what surprising facility ! I am disposed to compare 
 Byron with Rossini both powerful and so touching, 
 when they please, and yet both so full of mockery. 
 They both seem to throw away their treasures with 
 the same prodigality. I could scarcely justify the 
 levity with which Byron speaks in his correspondence 
 of those sublime subjects on which he has written 
 some of his most admirable poetry, if I were not fully 
 convinced that this levity was affected in order to rid 
 himself of the insupportable cant of those who, when 
 certain subjects are mentioned in their presence, put on 
 what the French call une figure de circonstance, and 
 affect an enthusiasm they are far from feeling.' 
 
 This passage is strikingly characteristic. There was 
 nothing so offensive to Robert's nature, principles and 
 taste, as any species of insincerity, and an affectation 
 of feeling, of admiration or of enthusiasm was so dis- 
 tasteful to him, that it immediately checked all similar 
 expressions on his part, and caused him to retire within 
 himself, as it were, and draw over his really deep and 
 warm feelings an impenetrable veil of coldness and
 
 99 MEMOIR OF 
 
 reserve. With his strong love of truth, in every shape, 
 he was always gentle in the expression of it, never in- 
 truding his opinion, and seldom expressing his disap- 
 probation except by silence. 
 
 'June 10th. Got up at seven. Translated a few 
 words of Thierry. I have some idea of translating 
 and trying to publish his Dit Annees d'' Etudes Hislori- 
 ques. It would be $i good exercise in English, and 
 might also be useful as a Jirst work. I do not feel as 
 yet the power to create. It will come, I hope. I must 
 first acquire the necessary facility in writing. It will 
 be easy after that to find an interesting subject. If I 
 ever distinguish myself, it will probably bo in this line. 
 History will be my forte, if I ever have any. Thi^ 
 desire of becoming known, and not dying without leav- 
 ing a name, is it the ambition of a small mind, or the 
 proper feeling of a mind destined to be distinguished ? 
 Alas! I do not feel the courage to execute what my 
 mind would willingly design. 
 
 June 13th. Bought " Burke on the Sublime." 
 Read the Preface and the Introduction. He says : 
 " Whatever turns the soul inward on itself tends to 
 concentrate its forces and to fit it for greater and 
 stronger flights of science." How very true this is ! 
 In these few words I find a complete refutation of those 
 who deny the use of philosophical inquiries. The 
 man of the world does not study philosophy, merely for 
 the satisfaction of resolving with more or less accuracy 
 those problems which have been discu.ssed since tho 
 beginning of the world ; he studies philosophy to 
 strengthen his soul and to give it the necessary power 
 to attain the highest objects of our destiny. Philo-
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 53 
 
 sophical studies have rather the same effect on the soul 
 as mathematics on the judgment. Therefore no edu- 
 cation can be considered as complete without these two 
 important branches being sufficiently attended to. 
 
 'June 15th. Went to Ozanam's Cours. He lec- 
 tured on Alfred. Very interesting, as usual. Read a 
 letter just published of M. de Maistre to the Marquise 
 de C, on the death of her son. He of course takes 
 this occasion to express his horror of the French Revo- 
 lution. It is very natural that he should feel thus. I 
 can well understand that the aristocracy who had so 
 much to suffer from this Revolution should have looked 
 upon it as something approaching a general chaos ; but 
 that my countrymen should look with such horror on a 
 Revolution which, whatever may have been the ex- 
 cesses committed at the time, was nevertheless the 
 signal for a general regeneration throughout Europe, is 
 a thing that can, I think, only be accounted for when 
 wc reflect that we have inherited many of the aristo- 
 cratic notions of our ancestors. It seems to me that 
 an American ought always to sympathize with the 
 noble and generous feelings which gave rise to this 
 memorable Revolution. He must of course turn away 
 with horror from the bloody deeds which made Madame 
 Roland exclaim: "Oh! Liberty! what crimes are 
 committed in thy name ! " but wc ought to bless the 
 announcement to the Old World of the great Christian 
 principle : All men are equal. M. de Maistre must 
 have been a man of a powerful mind to have under- 
 stood, notwithstanding his prejudices, that the French 
 Revolution was a great event which would necessarily 
 change the whole state of the world.
 
 <{l 
 
 MEMOIR OP 
 
 * June 16th. Began to translate a fragment of Con- 
 stantine, which has been read at the Institut by Amed6e 
 Thierry. I am delighted with the improvement I make 
 in the writing of English. 
 
 * June 17th. I am going on with my translation, 
 and I hope to get it published. It is difficult, however, 
 to hit upon the subject which may be likely to please 
 the general reader. I never could make up my mind 
 to translate unworthy books, or to write them to satisfy 
 the corrupt taste of the multitude. To sell one's pen ! 
 what a, degrading thought ! Better to starve than get 
 one's living thus. 
 
 * June 19th. I have finished my translation. I 
 have again a desire to study some historical subject. 
 This little extract about Constantino has, I suppose, 
 inspired me with this notion. How interesting but 
 how difficult would be a history of Florence! If ever 
 1 write any thing, it will be on this subject, I think. 
 ... I am much struck by the different modes of 
 writing history, and the singular manner in which 
 these different ways coincide with the epochs in which 
 they are chiefly employed. The favorite system now 
 is to take a period, that is, the events which are 
 grouped around some great man, idea, or fact. Such, 
 for example, as Mignet's two works, " Antonio Perez," 
 and "La Succes.sion d'Espagne." No history could 
 be more serious, especially when to the severity which 
 such periods naturally impose upon an author, he adds 
 the manner of collecting and producing his materials 
 adopted by M. Mignet. I yesterday found a little bit 
 of paper written when studying philosophy, containing 
 my remarks against a belief in the eternity of man.
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 55 
 
 I cannot believe that man is eternal as God is eternal. 
 And yet, there are people who profess this doctrine, 
 and who at the same time believe in the eternity of 
 hell ! If wc arc eternal as God is eternal, it can only 
 be in losing our identity in the entity of God ; if we 
 arc destined to eternal torments, how can we be 
 absorbed in the spirit of God ? For my part, I cannot 
 imagine. In this case, it would only be those who are 
 saved, (what an immense and incomprehensible word, 
 in the religious system of those who believe in eternal 
 punishment,) who are eternal. I think we can only 
 become immortal. An eternal being is he who has 
 had no beginning and who will have no end ; an 
 immortal being is he who has had a beginning but 
 who will live forever. Hell is not a place ; it is a 
 state in which the soul finds itself. I do not believe 
 that the righteous and the wicked are separated ; they 
 dwell in the same place, but it seems to each a place 
 of eternal bliss or of immense suffering, according as 
 their soul is tranquil or agitated by the remembrances 
 of their past life : 
 
 " The mind is its own place, and in itself 
 Can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven ! " 
 
 ' If this be true, we must necessarily have a certain 
 recollection of our past life ; if so, how can we not 
 remember that we were created ; how then can we 
 fancy ourselves eternal ? ' 
 
 'June 24th. I was much touched last evening by 
 the grief of Monsieur de M. at the loss of his wife. 
 In speaking of her his voice trembled as if she had 
 died but yesterday. How moved he was in mention-
 
 96 MEMOIR OF 
 
 ing those long evenings which lie is now obliged to 
 pass alone! Alone, what u dreadful word when one 
 has been accustomed to all the pleasures of domestic 
 life. There is more poetry in such an affection than 
 in all the puerilities of which we read. In such 
 affections and in the noble pursuits of a pure ambition, 
 lies all the poetry of life ! ' 
 
 'June 28th. Read d'Azeglio's pamphlet on the 
 "Ultimi casi della Romagna." His theory is very 
 good. Partial or provincial insurrections can never 
 free Italy from the tyranny to which it is at present 
 subjected. After dinner went with Madame P. to see 
 Quinet. He is very amiable, and one feels perfectly 
 at ease with him. We talked about America and 
 France. He is quite of my opinion, that there are 
 two causes for the dislike of America to France. 
 1st. Because the Americans fancy that the French 
 are all without religion; and 2d, because we belong 
 to an English race. This is the only thing that can 
 possibly explain the little sympathy of my countrymen 
 for France and the great Revolution which gave to 
 Europe a new impulse. Quinet is a great admirer 
 
 of the works of Emerson He is much 
 
 grieved at the material tendency things are taking 
 here. The bourgeoisie made the revolution of 1830, 
 the bourgeoisie have their king, and form a sort of 
 caste, of aristocracy. If there must be an aristocracy, 
 I prefer that of birth to that of wealth.' 
 
 July 5th. Went with the W.'s to Versailles, to 
 visit Vemet in his atelier. He is very amusing and 
 good-humored. I asked him how he could let Jazet 
 engrave his pictures a la maniere noire. " Ce que
 
 KOBEET WHEATON. 57 
 
 je fais rCest ni assez corse ni assez serieux pour etre 
 hurine^^'' was his reply. I am sure it is impossible 
 for any one to show a more thorough knowledge of 
 himself than this answer evinces. 
 
 ' July 18th. Anatole came to see me yesterday 
 evening. We were both sad. Talked about his 
 mother and Edward. I believe this is the first time 
 his name has been written in my journal. It is not 
 that I do not often think of him and of the exquisite 
 pleasure I should have had in the possession of a 
 brother. He was certainly not at all calculated for 
 this world, and yet ' 
 
 In August, 1846, Robert went to England with his 
 father. The contrast between the life and gaiety of 
 Paris, the beauty of its public buildings with the dull, 
 smoky appearance of London, and the absence of 
 tasteful or magnificent edifices, struck him very forci- 
 bly. A sudden indisposition, too, which confined him 
 to the house for some days, prevented him from 
 enjoying his visit, and he was glad to return to Paris. 
 During the ensuing winter he continued to attend the 
 law lectures, wrote some letters on various subjects 
 which were published in the New York Courier and 
 Enquirer, and also the article on Dante, which ap- 
 peared that year in the North American Review. At 
 this time he became veiy anxious to decide upon the 
 profession he was to follow, and to have some regular 
 occupation, so that, although the idea of leaving 
 Europe was very painful to him on some accounts, 
 his regret at parting from his friends and the scenes 
 of his early days, was mingled with bright anticipa-
 
 58 MEMOIR OF 
 
 tions of futurc usefulness and success in his own 
 country. 
 
 On the 17th of April, 1847, Mr. Whcaton and his 
 family embarked at Havre, and landed at New York 
 on the 19th of May. The voyage, though long, was 
 not unpleasant, and it was impossible to enjoy it more 
 than did Robert, who was constantly well and on 
 deck. 
 
 Mr. Whcaton immediately went to Rhode Island, 
 his native State, and where almost all his relations 
 continued to reside. Robert passed the summer there, 
 with the exception of a short visit to New York, at 
 the' time of the public dinner offered to his father in 
 that city, on his return to his native country after an 
 absence of twenty years. In September, he went to 
 Cambridge, there to prosecute his law studies. Had 
 diplomacy in this country formed a separate study 
 and offered a permanent occupation, as is the case in 
 Europe, he would have preferred a diplomatic life to 
 any other. Or had his means been such as to give 
 him ample leisure and opportunities to pursue the 
 necessary studies, he would, by devoting himself to 
 literary pursuits, have sought to distinguish himself as 
 an historian. But situated as he was, it becanx; neces- 
 sary that he should choose a profession, likely to prove 
 a lucrative one. He had at that time little taste for 
 the law, but he became by degrees more and more 
 interested in it, and was certainly possessed of some 
 qualities likely to insure his success. He had quick 
 insight into character, great self-control and easy com- 
 mand of language. Besides, he was passionately fond 
 of eloquence, and there was no gift ho valued more
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 59 
 
 highly, or would have desired so mucli for himself, as 
 that of touching the heart and convincing the under- 
 standing by the power of oratory. 
 
 Some passages from his journal and letters, will 
 show what were his first impressions with regard to 
 Cambridge and its society, and the general tenor of 
 his thoughts at that time. 
 
 'Sept. 15th. I am now established in my rooms. 
 
 A pleasant situation How I should like to 
 
 find a friend here. But, alas ! there is nothing ' more 
 difficult I shall never find a better oppor- 
 tunity of studying English history than the present. 
 If ever I do any thing I have fancied it would be in 
 the historical line. Yet I sometimes doubt if I have 
 perseverance enough. 
 
 'Sept. 16th. Read Schlegel's Lectures on Litera- 
 ture. Had I succeeded in getting Hallam's Consti- 
 tutional History, I should not have examined the 
 catalogue and asked for Schlegel. My thoughts would 
 then not have been thrown into their present channel. 
 I have the intention of working a great deal this 
 winter, I have so much to learn and so many facili- 
 ties for learning. I suppose I shall often be in my 
 unhappy, discontented moods this winter. A solitary 
 room, snow on the ground, and a howling wind, can 
 only be made tolerable by hard study. 
 
 'Sept. 17th. Took tea at Mr. Longfellow's. He 
 lent me Jasmin's poems, with which I am delighted. 
 . . . . How can one set about reading Blackstone 
 after such charming poetry ? 
 
 'Sept. 19th. I like Cambridge. The quiet of the
 
 60 MEMOIR OF 
 
 place, and the literary atmosphere I breathe, dispose 
 
 me to work 
 
 'Oct. 5th. Read Schlegel on Dramatic Art. I 
 agree with him as to the great importance of this 
 branch of art in a civilized society. If we proscribe 
 the theatre, we should proscribe the arts in general. 
 The theatre, as it appears to me, is a popular mani> 
 festation of combined art. I like to recall the words 
 inscribed over the stage in the theatre at Copenhagen, 
 " Ei blot til Lyst." (Not for amusement only.) 
 These words remind me of my childhood. Happy 
 days! . . . To-day is rhy twenty-first birthday. 
 These anniversaries cause us to look back on our past 
 life, and involuntarily to ask of ourselves, if wo are 
 better than we were a year ago. I am happier than 
 I was last year. Why so? . . . . I read over 
 this morning the letter which my sister M. wrote me 
 on my twentieth birthday. May I always read it with 
 the same emotion ! How these sweet emotions of the 
 heart purify and elevate us above the paltry things of 
 this world ! . . . . What Schlegel says of the 
 invisible sympathy subsisting in an audience is very 
 good. One of the ends of civilization is to establish 
 this electric chain between men. Are we collected 
 together in a community, for the purpose of labor 
 solely } Should we not participate in each other's 
 joy and sorrow .'.... I never could accustom 
 myself to the way in which this line of Schiller, 
 " Ich kann nicht Fursten diener etn," was listened 
 to in Berlin. Such a sentiment should either be con- 
 demned or applauded by a discriminating and excita- 
 ble audience.
 
 ROBEHT WHEATON. 61 
 
 ; *Oct. 7th. Went to a party at last evening. 
 
 Not amused. How stupid, strange, and misanthropic 
 
 I must appear There is an excellent 
 
 article in the North American on the social condition 
 of England. Much of the misery in that country is 
 undoubtedly to be attributed to the atrocious system 
 of primogeniture and entail. But how abolish such 
 laws without overthrowing the whole social fabric .'* 
 If the aristocracy were destroyed, what would become 
 of that model government ? 
 
 'Oct. 10th. I have been thinking of Paris, and 
 the different way in which Sunday is passed here. 
 How pleasant to see so many persons going out to 
 breathe the fresh air, to enjoy themselves, and to bless 
 God in a different though perhaps as sincere a manner 
 as those who pass their Sunday within four cold walls. 
 How I miss M. Coquerel's preaching ! He never 
 spoke of impossible virtues, nor proposed to man a 
 system of sterile contemplation 
 
 ' Nov. 6th. Read Gibbon. How miserable is 
 this way of attacking religion. If a man has the 
 misfortune not to believe, why not state his reasons 
 frankly ? . . . . 
 
 'Nov. 11th. I am growing every day more unfit 
 for the ordinary society into which a man is thrown. 
 . . . . I wrote to-day the most lugubrious, mis- 
 anthropical letter to A. that ever was written. The 
 only time when I feel as if 1 lived to some purpose is 
 when I am writing. The only difficulty lies then 
 perhaps in a want of regular occupation. 
 
 'Nov. 19th. I am in rather better spirits this 
 week. Jean Paul says, " Ernste Thdtigkeit sohut
 
 03 MEMOIR OF 
 
 mit dem Leben aus.^'' Ho is right. Whenever I am 
 occupied I am more contented. I wish I had some 
 regular occupation during the day, with sufficient 
 leisure for literature. I should then, I imagine, be 
 nearly satisfied. I never expect to be so entirely. 
 Ambition is a fatal quality without extraordinary 
 talents. I sincerely envy the man possessed of a 
 tranquil sense of duty, which enables him to follow 
 without regret a laborious profession. I can hardly 
 expect that my desire for fame will ever be satisfied, 
 as I feel that I have not genius. 
 
 *Dec. 26th. Read Lord Lindsay on Christian Art. 
 . . . . In my opinion, religious art in our day 
 has no meaning in the way it is handled. The 
 religion of the past has gone by, yet artists compose 
 as if that religion were still in all its vigor. I do 
 not see why the rational Christianity which is fast 
 gaining ground should be fatal to religious painting. 
 Can the beautiful and touching scenes of the Gospel 
 not be as well portrayed by the understanding Chris- 
 tian of the nineteenth century, as by the superstitious 
 Catholic of the Middle Ages ? . . . . Religion, 
 that is, aspirations after what is beautiful, good, and 
 true, must be at the basis of all our admiration, 
 whether in art or poetry. Take, for example, all 
 descriptions of nature. They owe their beauty to the 
 religious feeling they awaken. It is not the descrip- 
 tion we admire, but the sentiment which it arouses 
 within us 
 
 ' Dec. 25th. Passed the evening at Milton. We 
 had a Christmas Eve. The children seemed to enjoy 
 It These festive days, which called forth so much
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 63 
 
 joy and gaiety when we were children, no longer 
 awaken any but sad recollections when we have grown 
 into manhood ; at least 1 find it so. 
 
 [exteacts fkom letters.] 
 
 Sept., 1847. 
 
 ' Dear Mother, 
 ' I had a pleasant ride in the cars with Burns 
 and Wilson. The latter has many peculiar char- 
 acteristics of style, but is a delightful writer. 
 What he says of Bums might well apply to Byron. 
 " Burns and such men as Burns showed the whole 
 world their dark spots by the very light of their genius, 
 and having died in what may be called their youth, 
 there tlie dark spots still are, and men point at them 
 with their fingers." Strange that you who are so hard 
 upon Byron, who certainly suffered enough to atone for 
 his errors, should never mention the faults of Bums. 
 I say strange, I should rather say natural, for we never 
 see the faults of those we like. This book came very 
 apropos after reading Jasmin. They are kindred 
 spirits, although the one is surely greater than the other. 
 I quote the following passage, for I hate to feel alone, 
 " And during these seven years, when his life was the 
 cheerless gloom of a hermit, with the moil of a galley- 
 slave, think ye not that the boy-poet was happy, mere- 
 ly because he had the blue sky over his head and the 
 green earth beneath his feet ? He who ere long in- 
 vested the most common of all the wild flowers with 
 immortal beauty to all ages, far beyond that of the 
 rarest, till a tear, as of pity, might fall down manly 
 cheeks on the dew-drops nature gathers on ' its snawie 
 bosom, sunward spread.' "
 
 64 MEMOIR OF 
 
 * What a pleasure to find some men in tliis dull, 
 prosaic world capable of feeling the beauties of a poet, 
 and of speaking of them as if they had souls, and not 
 as some critics do. 
 
 ' I continue to be on quite intimate terms with . 
 
 I believe he is somewhat at a loss to understand that a 
 person who has always lived at courts should bo simple 
 and unassuming. Whatever my faults, a desire to 
 associate with great people was never one of them. 
 
 * Tell grandpapa I have begun his Gibbon, and shall 
 read it with care. There is in it a petty spirit of hos- 
 tility to religion, which is very contemptible. In the 
 eye of the Christian it must take much from the great- 
 ness of a writer who seems to attack religion as a child 
 attacks a bigger boy from behind, and by all sorts of 
 mischievous tricks.' 
 
 In a letter to his mother, written in November, 1847, 
 he suggests that while his sisters were absent in New 
 York, she and his father should board in Boston, and 
 says : ' You will have one of your children near you, 
 if not the one most necessary to you, at least one who 
 loves you as well, and would do any thing to make you 
 happy. Alas ! that it is not in his power ! It must be 
 a serious trial to you to be separated from M. and A., 
 but I hope better times will come, and surely they will. 
 For my own part, I have little hope of ever seeing 
 again that quiet and delightful family circle, which 
 must have boon the object of envy to all feeling hearts. 
 Is it so in all human lives, or is our case an exception ? 
 Must the time inevitably come when the circle is broken 
 up, and each member of a family scattered about the
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 65 
 
 world ? In moments of sadness and dejection, I always 
 think of a line of my favorite poet : 
 
 * " Existence may be borne, it is but for a day." 
 
 and I say it not as he did, in the bitterness of an un- 
 satisfied ambition, but in a truly Christian spirit. I am 
 decidedly wrong in writing you in such a melancholy 
 strain, for it rather becomes me to cheer your prospects. 
 There is a bright side to all things, however. Let us 
 look at it.' 
 
 'December, 1847. 
 
 * Dearest Mother, 
 
 * You are wrong in supposing I am not perfectly 
 contented at present. It is infinitely more in keeping 
 with my nature to exaggerate my dark thoughts and 
 feelings than to overrate my moments of happiness 
 and contentment. I have been reading Chateaubriand. 
 His Genie du Christianisme, as a whole, I do not, 
 of course, like, but there are many fine passages in 
 it, and, one which I will quote, as it gives a pretty 
 good picture, clothed in better language than I can 
 command, of the state of my own boyish mind : 
 
 ' " II reste a parler d'un etat de Tame, qui ce nous 
 semble n'a pas encore ete bien observe, c'est celui qui 
 precede le developpement des passions, lorsque nos 
 facultes, jeunes, ardentes, mais renfermees, ne se sont 
 exercees que sur elles-memes, sans but et sans objet. 
 Plus les peuplcs avancent en civilisation, plus cet etat 
 du vague des passions augrpente, car il arrive une 
 chose fort triste. Le grand nombre des exemples que 
 Ton a sous les yeux, la multitude des livres qui traitent 
 5
 
 66 MEMOIR OF 
 
 dc I'hoinmc ct dc ses scntimcns, rcndent habiU>s sans 
 experience. On est detrompe sans avoir joui; il nstti 
 encore des desirs et I'on n'a plus d' illusions ; 1' imagi- 
 nation est riche, abondantc et niervcilleusc, I'cxistence 
 pauvre, seche et desenchantee. Ou habite avec un 
 coBur plein un monde vide, et sans avoir use de rien 
 en est desabuse de tout. L'amertume que cet etat de 
 Tame repand sur la vie est incroyable." 
 
 ' The only remedy for it is indifference, and I am 
 going to try it. Study in the morning, read no poetry, 
 and pay visits in the evening; if that does not cure a 
 man of spleen and soi-disant misanthropy, I don't 
 know what will ! 
 
 ' I read the other day, Channing's discourse oil the 
 loss of the Lexington. Read it ! There is eloquence, 
 religion, heart, and every thing that is wanted in a 
 sermon. None of that absurd timidity which makes 
 preachers think that they cannot speak of the realities 
 of life. The more I read Channing the more I admire 
 him. It is not necessary for every preacher to be a 
 man of genius. Heart is the thing wanting, and if he 
 have not that, let him go plough the field, or take part 
 in politics. How is it possible for men who would be- 
 come quite excited if they were discussing the political 
 or financial condition of the country, to preach as 
 though it were an irksome duty ? How is it possible 
 for a man to get up in the pulpit and find nothing to 
 ay ? Has he no recollections which he might conjure 
 up, no hopes which he might communicate to his 
 hearers .? '
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 67 
 
 ' December, 1847. 
 
 ' Dearest Mother, 
 
 ' I had a letter from New York the other day. A. 
 tells me she has been reading another of those innu- 
 merable books written by American travellers in 
 Europe, entitled, Old Wine in New Bottles. She was 
 reading with perfect indifference, when she came to 
 the following passage in the description of the Cemetery 
 of Pere-la- Chaise : 
 
 ' " I found two graves which interested me extremely. 
 On one the inscription was as follows : 
 
 H. E. W. 
 
 Born in New York, June 21st, 1824. 
 
 Died in Paris, April 2d, 1840. 
 
 ' " Around them pots of fresh flowers and garlands 
 showed that though far from home, they still had friends 
 to watch over their remains. From the slab of the 
 first I took the shell of a snail, which I found thereunto 
 adhering, and shall bear it to the United States as a 
 memorial of this visit." 
 
 ' With my views of life and death, nothing can be 
 more remote from my mind than to wish for an^ instant 
 that Edward should again be among us, and yet I could 
 not read the passage without deep emotion. His has 
 indeed been the happy lot ! I think with the poet : 
 
 ' " To die, 
 To sleep, and with a sleep to say we end 
 The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks 
 Which flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation 
 Devoutly to be wished ! " 
 
 ' And yet we cannot but cast a look of regret towards 
 the past, egotistical regret, unworthy of the friend, un-
 
 68 MEMOIR OF 
 
 worthy of the Christian. How many thousand recol- 
 lections are brought to our mind by a single word I 
 The peaceful hours of childhood, the innocent, careless 
 pastimes of that happy age, when no passions, no am- 
 bitious views can break our rest ! How beautifully 
 Byron has said it: 
 
 ' " But ever and anon of griefs subdued 
 
 There comes a token like a scorpion's sting, 
 
 Scarce seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued ; 
 
 And slight withal may be the things which bring 
 
 Back on the heart the weight which it would fling 
 
 Away for ever : it may be a sound 
 
 A tone of music summer's eve or spring 
 
 A flower the wind the ocean which shall wound, 
 
 Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound. 
 
 * " And how and why we know not, nor can trace 
 
 Home to its cloud this lightning of the mind. 
 
 But feel the shock renew'd, nor can efface 
 
 The blight and blackening which it leaves l)ehind, 
 
 Which out of things familiar, undesign'd. 
 
 When least we deem of such, calls up to view 
 
 The spectres whom no exorcism can bind. 
 
 The cold, the changed, perchance the dead, anew. 
 
 The mourn'd, the loved, the lost too many ! yet how few ! " 
 
 ' In reading these lines, you will not say that Byron 
 did not feel. The power of poetry to bring tears to 
 the eye has seldom been carried farther than this. 
 Happy are they who feel such poetry ! Many tears 
 will they shed in their life ! Many are the deep feel- 
 ings which will tear their hearts, but yet who can pity 
 them } Who can wish to deprive them of the only 
 real joy of man in life emotion } 1 would not, 
 although I feel how much it would be for my interest.
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 69 
 
 I would not exchange with the cold and heartless man, 
 who walks through life with the regularity of a clock, 
 
 no " not for the sea's worth ! " 
 
 Something too much of this. My piano has arrived. 
 The ground is covered with snow this morning, a dreary 
 spectacle in a countiy place like Cambridge, but such 
 weather is, I think, far more healthy both for body and 
 mind than the warm weather we have had lately. A 
 southerly wind always seems to bring with it sweet 
 perfumes of romance, and, God knows, romance had 
 better be avoided in this monotonous life.' 
 
 In a letter written at the close of the year 1847, to 
 a person who had the charge of him in childhood, and 
 to whom he was much attached, he says : ' As we 
 advance in life, this time of the year becomes rather a 
 time of sadness than of rejoicing. We cannot but 
 look back upon the past and mourn for those who are 
 no longer with us to partake in the gaiety of the season. 
 I may safely say that since Edward died, Christmas 
 has been to me a day of sad and melancholy recollec- 
 tions rather than a day of pleasure. How happy we 
 were as children ! With what joy we looked forward 
 to the coming day ! Alas ! all this has gone never to 
 return. Excuse me for dwelling on these sad thoughts, 
 I Cannot help it, out of the fulness of the heart the 
 mouth spcaketh, and my heart is full. ... I would 
 not, God knows, wish him who is gone to be again 
 among us. Not those who are gone are to be mourned 
 for, but those who remain behind.' 
 
 To his youngest sister he writes : 
 
 Januarj', 1843. 
 
 ' My dear A , 
 
 ' I have allowed some time to pass without writin
 
 70 MEMOIR OF 
 
 to you, and I scarcely know whore to begin. A 
 new year has just opened, and like every other year 
 will, I suppose, pass too quickly. On the 1st, my article 
 on M. Coquerel's Experimental Christianity appeared. 
 
 , who never flatters, praised it. I hope at some 
 
 future time to do something far better ; in the mean 
 time, these articles prove that although educated in 
 Paris, which is commonly considered the most frivolous 
 of places, I can think of something serious. I like Cam- 
 bridge, I see people who please me, and I know what is 
 going on in the intellectual world. At our table we 
 talk on literary and scientific subjects, seldom of politics. 
 Added to this, I have found a friend to whom I can 
 say all I think with the certainty of being understood.' 
 
 The Dane Professorship of Harvard College had 
 been offered to Mr. Wheaton, and accepted by him. 
 After a visit to Washington, the object of which, that 
 of settling to his satisfaction a lawsuit respecting the 
 copyright of his ' Reports,' was unsuccessful, he re- 
 turned to Providence where he purposed to write his 
 lectures. But his health, which had been gradually 
 failing after his return to his native country, now gave 
 way, and towards the middle of February it became 
 evident that he must renounce the Professorship. . ! . 
 This was a bitter disappointment to Robert, who had 
 fondly hoped that in the spring he would be reunited to 
 his family. The intense anxiety and pain caused by 
 his father's illness can only be appreciated by those 
 who at that time saw him intimately. The following 
 letter to his eldest sister, then in Washington with some 
 friends, was written under the influence of these 
 feelings.
 
 ROBEET WHEATON. 71 
 
 ' March Cth, 1848. 
 
 ' My dear M , 
 
 ' The day after to-morrow will be your birthday, 
 and I would not allow the anniversary to pass without 
 writing you a few lines, if only to repeat how much 
 I love you, and to express my heartfelt regrets that 
 the year which has elapsed has brought us no nearer 
 the happiness which all seek here below, but that we 
 are farther from it than we have ever been before. 
 In the anxieties and disappointments which are our 
 portion now, I console myself with the thought that 
 we have had as great a share of happiness in this 
 world as falls to the lot of most human beings. In 
 the course of a human existence, a few happy years 
 are perhaps all we can expect. Such we have 
 enjoyed while others are seeking them in vain. This 
 thought brings great consolation with it, and I like 
 to recall it and find in it new strength when weary 
 with the present and anxious for the future. I wish 
 I could offer you something more encouraging, but 
 know not how. Those days which in all the illusion 
 of youth we call festive days, now appear to me but 
 as days of sad reflection to those who have suffered, 
 and I pity those who know not the purifying effects 
 of great afflictions, nor the luxury of tears. Such 
 days are calculated to make us look into our own 
 hearts and compare what we are with what we have 
 been. As we advance in life we become more and 
 more convinced, that our happiness does not depend 
 on external circumstances, but rather on the manner 
 in which we bear those trials and the afflictions with 
 which God has strewn our path. Of terrestrial happi- 
 ness we may say with Corneille :
 
 73 MEMOIR OF 
 
 ' " Corame elle a I'eclat du verre, 
 lle en a la fragilii6." 
 
 Such happiness ought not to be our aim, but rather 
 a holy and peaceful resignation. In moments of faith 
 and piety, when we rise above the miseries of this 
 world, it is not difficult for us to feel thus, but it is 
 not always easy to maintain this elevation in our 
 thoughts and wishes. Who has not felt jnoments of 
 doubt, of lukewarmncss ? Even I who am often 
 reproached with never having been young, even I 
 have felt what life might be, when mind and heart 
 were equally satisfied, but I confess I no longer feel 
 this. Life appears to me nothing more than a vast 
 field in which each one is trying to get the start of 
 his neighbor, and to obtain a position. What sadness, 
 what bitterness in that word a position. Duty on 
 the one hand, inclination on the other ; between these 
 two mortal enemies we pass through life. But enough 
 of this my courage fails me when I allow myself 
 to dwell on painful thoughts.' .... 
 
 To his youngest sister he writes : 
 
 March 9th, 1848. 
 
 * My dear A , 
 
 * I was at Mrs. on Monday. The young 
 
 ladies had gone out, and I spent the evening with 
 Mr. and Mrs. . She is always charming, supe- 
 rior both in heart and intellect. On Tut^sday I 
 went to Boston to hear Mr. B lecture on phi- 
 losophy. The lecture was truly excellent, the sub- 
 ject was Fatalism. .-. ,*'fi , What a sad doctrine! 
 and how much better to make one's self master
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 73 
 
 of one's own destiny, submitting at the same time to 
 Providence, I have always thought that an especial 
 Providence watched over our family, and I now think 
 so more than ever. The French professor at the 
 college has been taken ill ; I have been asked to take 
 his place temporarily, and shall probably ultimately 
 obtain it as a permanency. I shall have to give a 
 lesson of three hours, three times a week. The 
 lessons being in the afternoon, I shall not be prevented 
 from continuing my law studies. I am most happy at 
 this unexpected circumstance, for I have long sought 
 a regular occupation, one that would give me a certain 
 responsibility and raise me in my own esteem. I 
 have just begun Mr. Norton's work on the Unity of 
 God. It is admirably thought and written. He ex- 
 presses a thought which I am told has excited great 
 indignation, viz. : that no one really believes now in 
 the Trinity. I had this thought at so early an age, 
 that it did not strike me on reading the book. . . . 
 I read two sermons of Buckminster the other day 
 on the character of Peter and Paul, which are very 
 fine. What a charming and touching life was his ! 
 To be a prey to the most dreadful illness, and to have 
 such faith and resignation, argues no common soul. 
 But 1 must leave you, though I have still much to 
 say.' 
 
 On the 11th of March, his father breathed his last. 
 Notwithstanding his state of health, his death was 
 
 unexpected, and Robert was not with him 
 
 It would be too painful a task to attempt to describe 
 tlic agony of his grief. He had lived with his father
 
 74 MEMOIR OF 
 
 as few sons do, admiring him, looking up to him, yet 
 communicating with the most perfect unreserve with 
 him, and scarcely realizing the difference in their 
 ages, and to lose him at the moment when he was 
 about entering on the duties of life, and when he 
 felt that he most needed his advice and support, was 
 an overwhelming blow. How deeply he felt it, the 
 following lettdr shows. We should remark that he 
 was in the habit of writing to his mother in English, 
 but that his letters to his sisters were invariably in 
 French. 
 
 < April 4tb, 1848. 
 
 * My dear M , 
 
 ' I am once more in Cambridge, and my first occu- 
 pation is to write to you. My silence was doubtless 
 understood, and you could not have attributed it to 
 forgetfulness. What could I say in the first moments of 
 such a bereavement? What consolation could I offer? 
 In such cases there is nothing to be said ; if any balm 
 is to be found for such grief, it is within ourselves 
 we must seek it. Those who have gathered up real 
 treasures, that is, true and sincere piety, find them- 
 selves rich in days of sorrow, for we have neither 
 time nor sufficient calmness to seek them at the 
 moment they are most necessary. Such a treasure 
 you possess ; I have it also, and I venture to affirm it, 
 for mine is not the glory. I have written to M. 
 Coquerel, to whom I owe much the knowledge of 
 " Christ and of Christ crucified," and the unshaken 
 belief in immortality, immediately afler death. I have 
 confidence in this sublime thought. Our father whom
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 75 
 
 we love and mourn, has already entered upon a new 
 sphere of activity, where, freed from all earthly 
 trammels, from all earthly cares, he can act from 
 eternity to eternity. He sees us, too, I love to think, 
 he knows what we are doing. And why should this 
 not be ? There is nothing in the mourning of a whole 
 family to inflict pain upon a blessed soul. Purified 
 and spiritualized, the immortal soul must attach more 
 importance to the spiritual state of those who grieve 
 for it, than to their temporal state. And in respect 
 to this, our father's spirit must rejoice that we who 
 have not seen, still believe. If you can procure them, 
 read Mr. Greenwood's " Sermons of Consolation." 
 You will find they contain many passages calculated 
 to calm your doubts and confirm your faith. How 
 strange ! The evening on which our father passed 
 
 away, I was at the 's. I sang " hell ' alma ! " 
 
 and on going away, C put into my hands Green- 
 wood's Sermons, advising me to read them. Before 
 going to bed, I read one, the next morning I read 
 another. I was calm and prepared. G. came and 
 told me the cruel truth. Must one not say with 
 Wallenstcin, " Es giebt kcinen Zufall." 
 
 ' Adieu, love me ; we are so little while on this 
 earth, that we must not fail to cultivate the affections, 
 for death comes, and with it regrets at not having been 
 united. What is there in life worth troubling one's 
 self about, or making the subject of discussion ? Let 
 us live in peace, let each of us perform our respective 
 duties, and we shall be happy in the only sure way. 
 
 ' I shall accept for the next term the place of 
 French Instructor in the college here. It is the best
 
 76 MEMOIR OF 
 
 thing I can do. Mr. wishes me to go abroad. 
 
 I do not desire it. Why place the ocean between us, 
 when we have so short a time to be together } ' 
 
 Robert was at this time in his twenty-second year ; 
 he had never before been separated from his family 
 for any length of time, he had been accustomed to 
 depend on his father more than is usual with young 
 men of that ago in this country, and his long resi- 
 dence abroad had made him almost a stranger here. 
 He had now, as it were, to begin life anew, to make 
 to himself new interests, to enter upon a settled occu- 
 pation, to learn to r^ly upon himself only, and instead 
 of seeking support from others, to give it in his t\im. 
 He did all this and he did it nobly. Although obliged 
 to dispense with many of the luxuries and enjoyments 
 to which he had been accustomed, with the comforts 
 of home and with the pleasures of the domestic circle, 
 which to one who set so high a value on family 
 affection, were more necessary than aught else, no 
 murmur ever escaped him. He applied himself cheer- 
 fully to the task of instruction, and indeed took a 
 deep interest in it, and devoted the rest of his time 
 to useful reading, to his improvement in writing Eng- 
 lish, and to his law studies. Although he continued 
 to feel the want of some of the resources a large 
 city offers, he became in time really attached to 
 Cambridge. The tone of its society was congenial 
 to him, and he felt that he was appreciated here. 
 The peculiarity of his position as an American, and 
 yet a stranger in America, was felt, and at the time 
 of his great bereavement he found the interest and
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 77 
 
 sympathy he so much needed. To the kindness of 
 Mr. and Mrs. Norton he was indebted for many 
 pleasant hours passed at their house ; in Mr. Long- 
 fellow and Mr. Bowen he always found the kindest 
 encouragement in his literary pursuits, and there were 
 other persons, both of his own age and older, whose 
 society and conversation made his leisure hours pass 
 agreeably, and prevented him from dwelling on pain- 
 ful recollections. Although many of his letters breathe 
 a spirit of despondency, it must not be supposed that 
 such was the constant tone of his mind. There wer6 
 times when he enjoyed life as much as at others he felt 
 its sorrows deeply. He was capable of great en- 
 thusiasm ; fine music, poetry, or eloquence, by rous- 
 ing all the warmest emotions of his nature, gave him 
 that intensify of pleasure which only noble souls can 
 feel. There were times, too, when his anticipations of 
 the future, his hopes of usefulness and success in life 
 were bright and sanguine, and at such times he was 
 undoubtedly as happy as most persons. He was, as 
 we have already said, peculiarly sensitive to every 
 change of temperature, and for that very reason, no 
 one, perhaps, ever derived more enjoyment from fine, 
 unclouded weather. Often on one of those bright days 
 in April or May, which all the population of busy Paris 
 pours forth to enjoy, he would say to his sisters, with 
 one of those smiles which those who knew him well 
 cannot forget, ' This is the perpetual spring of the 
 garden of Eden.' The autumn weather in our climate 
 he also enjoyed extremely, and usually was in good 
 spirits while it lasted. In his short though frequent 
 visits to his family in Providence, he always endeavored
 
 ^ MEMOIR OF 
 
 to cheer them by a lively account of the little incidentB 
 of his life in Cambridge, or by repeating to them any 
 amusing anecdotes he had heard there or in Boston. 
 These he told with considerable spirit, for he had a 
 - keen sense of the ridiculous and a talent of mimicry, 
 though he rarely exercised it, and then with great good 
 nature. His language in conversation, as well as in 
 writing, though simple and devoid of all affectation, 
 was usually well chosen, and in one who had so perfect 
 a command of the French language, it was rather re- 
 markable, not only that he never hesitated for an 
 English word, but that when the choice between a 
 Norman and a Saxon word was left him, he usually 
 preferred the latter. 
 
 It was Mr. Wheaton's intention to bring out a new 
 edition of his History of the Northmen, and he had 
 made an arrangement with Messrs. Appleton & Co. 
 for that purpose. He had written an Introduction of 
 several pages, and proposed to add a chapter on the 
 Normans in Sicily, and some interesting notes, which 
 the progress of historical research during the last 
 twenty years rendered desirable. Robert hoped, with 
 the aid of the materials collected by his father, still to 
 complete the work, but after some consideration, Messrs. 
 A. & Co. declined to undertake its publication. In a 
 letter written April 1 Itli, 1848, he says : 
 
 * My dear A , 
 
 ' I have been so hard at work on " The Northmen " 
 for some days past, that it has been impossible for me 
 to write you. Having determined to take more 
 exercise, I walk now every day for a couple of hours,
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 79 " 
 
 and feel the better for it. Have you seen the last 
 news from Europe ? Lamartine shows a good deal of 
 moral and physical courage, but it is to be feared that 
 he may be too conservative for the masses. It seems 
 to me impossible that with his habits of thought, he 
 should ever become a demagogue. Some newspapers 
 propose a ver\' sensible measure. It is to remove the 
 Assembly from Paris to some provincial town. In a 
 country where for fifty years all the governments that 
 have succeeded each other have centralized every thing 
 in the capital, it would be impossible, however, though 
 it is quite true that there can be no real liberty of dis- 
 cussion in a city like Paris. . . . The weather 
 now is exquisite, real spring weather. This is the 
 season of the year that I prefer, as much for the recol- 
 lections of the past as for the present. Yesterday 
 
 evening I made my first visit to the 's, who had 
 
 urged me to come. As you may suppose, it was a 
 trying visit, particularly in perspective, but I am glad I 
 have been, for now I feel that I can go again. I met 
 
 Mr. L the other day. He spoke of papa and 
 
 " The History of the Northmen ; " he is glad I am at 
 work on it. ... I was looking over a work of 
 Lamennois the other day and saw this phrase, which 
 applies very well to the present state of France : " One 
 of the most dangerous follies of our age is to imagine 
 that a state may be constituted or a society formed from 
 one day to the other, as you raise a manufactory." 
 The only thing I have heard about the French exiles 
 that has really touched me, was to learn that the 
 mother of M. Guizot had attended the French Protes- 
 tant Church in London. After a life so noble as hers,
 
 QO MEMOIR OF 
 
 after having sufTered so much, it is hard for her to be 
 again exiled ! She had almost the right to hope that 
 for her all earthly revolutions were at an end, and that 
 she might contemplate in peace the greatness of her 
 son, to which she so much contributed. When we be- 
 hold such reverses, when such misfortune may assail 
 us on all sides, we are tempted to exclaim with Lamar- 
 tine : 
 
 * " Ainsi toujours pouss6s vers de nouveaux rivages, 
 Ne jwur^-ons nous jamais sur I'ocean des ages 
 Jeter I'aacre un seal jour ? " 
 
 * There are moments in life, especially at this season 
 of the year, when the greatest happiness would be to 
 stop, to contemplate, to dream ! But no, we must on- 
 wards, always onwards ! There is no repose here 
 below. 
 
 ' On my return I found a very kind letter from M. 
 Berenger,* asking me for some notes on papa's life 
 and works, in order to make a report to the Academy 
 of Moral and Political Sciences. I should like to send 
 them to him immediately. Will you assist me to 
 furnish them ? ' 
 
 [extracts from journal, 1848.] 
 June 8th. I have been reading Channing's Me- 
 moirs, etc. Am again induced to write a journal ^ 
 not of what I do but of what 1 think. There is truly 
 matter enough. How many thoughts, how many reso- 
 lutions we let go by without noticing them as we should. 
 
 M. Berenger, a member of that section of the French 
 Institute of which ^U. Whealon was a curressponding member.
 
 ^mm0>^ 
 
 ROBERT WHEAT ON. 81 
 
 The perusal of the memoirs of a man like Dr. Chan- 
 ning has somewhat the same influence as intercourse 
 with a good and great man. We feel as if we too 
 would like to reach that pure and serene mental condi- 
 tion, which is the only true source of happiness in this 
 world. What I the most admire in Channing is that 
 vivid and bright conception of a future state, of which 
 he seems to speak as of a thing which he had himself 
 seen. Could I but constantly keep before me so con- 
 soling, so soothing a belief! It is nothing to be 
 virtuous, religious, and full of lofty inspirations by im- 
 pulse ! Pascal was right : 
 
 " La vertu sejuge $ur ce que Von fait d'ordinaire." 
 
 Prayer is undoubtedly the greatest means of attaining 
 to a Christian life. I feel all the importance of this 
 
 spiritual communion with our Creator 
 
 Prayer should be entirely mental, spiritual, and I know 
 not how to abstract myself from all form in order to 
 
 hold this communion with God 
 
 ' June 10th. Mr. Bowen came to see me this 
 morning, and we talked about many interesting subjects. 
 He rather startled me by the question whether I had 
 never had any idea of studying theology. How one 
 word can at times throw you into a perfect whirlwind 
 
 of thought B. thinks too well of me in 
 
 supposing that I am fit for the ministry. What a 
 responsibility ! What a task ! Too much for one so 
 weak, so fluctuating as I am. But then would there 
 be any ministers of the Gospel, if the standard were 
 placed so high ? Is that, however, a reason sufficient 
 for placing it lower .-' ' 
 6
 
 8S MEMOIR OP 
 
 [letters.] 
 
 Cambridge, April 11th, 1848. 
 
 ' Dearest Mother, 
 
 ' I had a long letter from Mr. Osgood yesterday. It 
 was very kind. He desires me much to write on the 
 Catechism of M. Coquerel. I answered him, saying 
 that I was very busy at present, but offering to do any- 
 thing in my power for the advancement of Christian 
 education. I gave him my views on the subject very 
 freely, and asked for his. 
 
 ' I am actively engaged with " The Northmen," a 
 most charming occupation to me. It seems almost 
 like living over again, to tread the path which has been 
 trodden by one whom we have loved. How many 
 recollections are brought to my mind by this work. 
 Copenhagen and all its childish associations. Paris, 
 where he was quite happy when preparing the French 
 edition of the Northmen. It seems at times when I 
 meet with a difficulty that I could go and ask him to 
 solve it. So deeply is habit rooted within us ! 
 
 < Cambridge, Hay 4tb, 1848. 
 
 . . . . ' Notwithstanding my desire to be with 
 you, I believe it is better for me to be .here. Sur- 
 rounded by persons who do not recall our misfortune, I 
 find more strength for my labors, and God knows I 
 require it. I am happy to tell you that I have received 
 the official appointment as French Instructor in the 
 College, with a salary of five hundred dollars, which 
 will probably be increased to six hundred dollars. 
 This will make me feel independent, one of the great- 
 est earthly blessings ! I see the N 's very often j
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 83 
 
 they are very kind, and when I think of the happiness 
 we might have enjoyed here, I feel very sad. I never 
 pass by the house which we would have inhabited, 
 without thinking of the hopes of tranquil domestic 
 happiness which I had formed. They are now vanished. 
 How little we know whether we shall ever realize the 
 plans we form ! ' 
 
 In the month of August, 1848, Robert heard Dr. 
 Bushnell deliver an oration before the Phi Beta Kappa 
 Society at Cambridge, and was much delighted with it. 
 In speaking of the dinner given on that occasion, he 
 says : ' Mr, Parsons called upon Mr. Osgood to say 
 something on the subject of the loss which the society, 
 the country, and the civilized world had sustained in 
 the person of Henry Wheaton, with which Mr. Osgood 
 complied with true feeling. . . . All my friends 
 seem interested in my welfare. I look forward to the 
 coming season with much pleasure, I should say happi- 
 ness, if we could only all once more be together. I 
 confidently trust that we may soon be reunited. In the 
 meanwhile your love for me will, I am confident, 
 enable you to bear this temporary separation. I should 
 be more contei>ted with this separation if all the advan- 
 tages were not on my side.' 
 
 ' Cambridge, Sept. 8th, 1848. 
 
 * My dear A , 
 
 ' I cannot do better than to reply to your kind letter 
 on your birthday. I know how painful are these annual 
 returns of days which in childhood were dear to us, 
 but I cannot let this day pass without assuring you anew
 
 Bft MEMOIR OF 
 
 of all my affection and of my lively desire to see you, 
 and all who are dear to me, as happy as they would 
 wish. But happiness is scarcely of this world, and all 
 we can hope to attain here is a tranquil and contented 
 mind. For myself, I am happy at present I have 
 that which I have long desired, a regular occupation. 
 I feel that I am not altogether useless, and that although 
 my activity is exercised on a narrow field, I am doing 
 something. It is an admirable discipline for the mind 
 to know that a certain number of persons depend upon 
 you, and that your presence, if only for the most trivial 
 thing, is necessary at certain hours.' 
 
 October, 184S. 
 
 ' Dear M , 
 
 * I have nothing new to communicate. My life is 
 monotonous, but it suits me. Nothing is better for me 
 than regular occupation. My class still interests me, 
 but Ollendorff I abhor. I have been reading Lessing 
 for the first time. It is a pity the Germans do not 
 adopt his style more frequendy ; it is clear and simple 
 as a French author.' 
 
 ' Dec. lUb, 1846. 
 
 * My beloved Mother, 
 ' It was a charming custom, that of my childhood, 
 to write you a letter on this day. I renew it now, not 
 that words can express to you, or reveal to any one 
 how much I love you, but because I know that a line 
 from me will cast a gleam of light over your first 
 widowed birthday. If anything could have added to 
 my affection for one who had devoted her life to her
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 85 
 
 cliildren, who has lived in and for them, the sad expe- 
 rience of the past year would do it. You are now, in 
 the language of the world, my only surviving parent. 
 I am no longer the protected, but the protector. 
 Heaven grant me the force of character, the firmness 
 of purpose and of principle necessary for this duty. 
 My debt of gratitude to you is too great for me ever to 
 hope to discharge it. Should I be able to spread over 
 your declining years some rays of gladness, my fondest 
 hopes will have been realized, and I shall pursue the 
 journey of life with the consciousness of having wiped 
 away, as far as lay in my power, a few of the tears 
 which the loss of him whom we all mourn, must cause 
 you to shed. My heart is full to overflowing. . . . 
 
 I will say no more If, as I cannot but 
 
 believe, those who precede us in death still are with us, 
 are not our immortals with us now ? I feel as if they 
 were blessing, encouraging, giving us comfort.' 
 
 * Cambridge, Dec. Slst, 1848. 
 
 ' My dear M , 
 
 * This is the last time I shall write the date '48, but 
 not the last time I shall recall the year which has left 
 such profound traces in our lives. This morning I 
 heard a fine sermon from Dr. Walker on the proper 
 employment of time. 
 
 ' You will be much surprised to-morrow at seeing me, 
 and I am happy to think how much pleasure it will give 
 you. Healy is really too kind, but he wished so much 
 to take my likeness that I could not refuse to sit. My 
 friends are much pleased with it. The truth is, it was 
 painted con amore. I talked with a young Frenchman 
 a greater part of the sittings.'
 
 86 MEMOIR OF 
 
 This is indeed an admirable likeness. The smootli 
 brown hair, the soft greyish eyes with their long dark 
 lashes, so full of tenderness and soul, the fair, noble 
 forehead, the mouth so beautifully formed and so ex- 
 pressive, all are there ! It is Robert in all the bright- 
 ness of youth and hope, as he looked at those brief 
 intervals of his short life when, well in health and 
 spirits, he felt no fears and anxieties for the future. 
 His countenance, which struck the ordinary beholder, 
 wets one peculiarly attractive to those accustomed to 
 watch its varying expression. There was, as has been 
 truly said, ' a moral beauty ' about him which caused 
 his image to remain indelibly stamped on the memory 
 of those who knew him. As he grew up he became ^ 
 tall and slender, but he had none of the awkwardness 
 which often attends great height ; on the contrary, his 
 movements were easy and dignified, and the action of 
 his white and well-shaped hands was remarkably 
 graceful. 
 
 The winter vacation of that year he spent with his 
 mother and sisters in Providence. It was soon after 
 his relurn to Cambridge that the following letter to his 
 eldest sister was written : 
 
 ' March 7th, 1849. 
 
 ' My dear M , 
 
 ' I scarcely have the courage to write you again on 
 your birthday, though, strange to say, I write with less 
 sadness than I did last year. I recall with what anguish 
 I then wrote. Now I am calm, and can again assure 
 you of my affection and of the regret I feel that we 
 are still destined to live apart. I am more and more
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 87 
 
 convinced that God was merciful in taking from the 
 trials and deceptions of this world him from whom for 
 a time we are separated. With his delicate organiza- 
 tion, how could he have been happy under the circum- 
 stances in which he was placed ? Here the young take 
 the place of the old in more rapid succession than is 
 the case in Europe, and death is preferable to anxiety 
 and neglect. This is but a small consolation to those 
 he has left behind, you will say. True and I feel it 
 the more as the sad anniversary approaches. All 
 which I suffered last year at this time comes back to 
 my mind, and I cannot but repeat that we are strange 
 beings. When we recall the past, the sleepless hours, 
 the tears we shed, and more than these, the concen- 
 trated grief which finds no way to vent its bitterness, 
 we ask ourselves how we ever recovered, how we can 
 again take part in the vanities and struggles of life ? 
 But it must be so. We thought ourselves cast down 
 forever, and we can rise from the border of the grave 
 in which we seemed to have buried all our hopes, to 
 exclaim with Posa, ^'Acli ! das Leben ist dock schon!" 
 Yes, life is beautiful, notwithstanding the thorns which 
 wound us on our path, notwithstanding the tombs which 
 open under our feet. Beautiful indeed is life in those 
 moments of faith, when it appears like the entrance to 
 another existence, like the vestibule to the temple of 
 eternity. Beautiful when we do our duty, when we 
 try to make others happy, when we love each other as 
 we have done, and God grant may do to our latest 
 breath, and even longer, until that supreme moment 
 when we shall be united in the love of God. I have 
 nothing to offer you to-morrow, excepting the wish that
 
 de 
 
 MEMOIR OP 
 
 you may be resigned to the present and liopeful for the 
 future.' 
 
 In another letter, written in the month of April, 
 1849, speaking of a proposal made to him through the 
 medium of a friend, with regard to a diplomatic ap- 
 pointment, he says : ' I was much pleased with this 
 proposition, not that I shall accept it, but because it 
 shows that I have many kind friends ready to serve me 
 without my request. It is a new proof how much we 
 owe that kind parent, who was so unhappy at the 
 thought of his inability to leave us a fortune. If I saw 
 you more happily situated, in a hojne, I might try to 
 obtain a diplomatic post abroad. The situation of 
 Europe would render such a post very interesting at 
 this moment. Cosmopolite as 1 am, it would be an ex- 
 cellent school in which to study general politics and to 
 perfect my knowledge of history. But so long as you 
 have not a home of your own to indemnify you for all 
 you have lost, I cannot consent to add to your other 
 trials that of being separated from me.' 
 
 In another letter on the same subject, he adds : 
 ' I have but one wish at present ; it is to establish you 
 all here. As to myself, I leave my reputation to the 
 future. If God grants me time, 1 have no doubts or 
 fears on the subject. I might appear vain were I to 
 make such a remark to a stranger. You know me 
 well enough to be assured that I am only frank. I 
 have made the good resolution to study law seriously. 
 I believe this is what I ought to do : to finish my law 
 studies better than I began them, and open an office
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 8 
 
 Beside this good resolution, I am determined to give 
 way no more to spleen, but to see every thing couleur 
 de rose. Every one inclined to indulge in a morbid 
 state of mind should learn by heart the sentence of 
 Lord Bacon : " In the world's theatre, God and the 
 angels only have a right to be spectators.'" I purpose 
 writing several articles during the vacation. With such 
 occupation, I shall feel the tranquillity which will enable 
 me to pass my vacation happily and peacefully with 
 you.' 
 
 ' March, 1849. 
 
 * Dearest Mother, 
 
 ' I am extremely 
 
 contented just now. Things seem to spring up on 
 every hand without any effort on my part, so that I 
 must feel confident in the future. With many kind 
 friends, sufficient talent though I am not disposed to 
 overrate that which I possess I think my chance of 
 success is very great. All 1 could wish is to see my 
 family in a more agreeable situation, and that I hope 
 will be brought about before long.' .... 
 
 May 31st, 1849. 
 
 ' My dearest Mother, 
 ' I have again allowed a longer time than I intended 
 to elapse without writing you. I am generally, how- 
 ever, too busy to write in the day, and I have of late 
 devoted my evenings to walking, from which, added to 
 the shower bath, I already feel many good effects. 
 The action of the body upon the mind is one of the 
 most singular phenomena which our singular nature 
 affords. I find that since I take exercise and use cold
 
 90 MEMOIR OF 
 
 water, I am less nervous than I was, and more con-^ 
 tented and good-natured than before. You must not 
 expect, however, when I come to Providence next 
 week, to see an extremely fat, robust, and jolly indi- 
 vidual. Indeed, I doubt whether you would wish to see 
 such lin^ne, for you would not know him. I shall 
 spend a^eater part of next week with you. 
 The more I live, the more I find that it is in vain for us 
 to cling to anything in this world. Everything, even 
 what is apparently the most desirable, is but transient. 
 Why, even the Europe in which we lived for twenty 
 years, has disappeared from off the earth ! If we 
 could only feel at every moment of our lives that such 
 is really the case, and that therefore it is useless to 
 attach any value to aught but genius and virtue, for 
 they are not of the world, but rather formed here for 
 development of which we have no conception now, 
 how happy we should be ! How tranquilly we should 
 encounter all the misfortunes, all the trials, all the petty 
 annoyances of life, to me far more difficult to bear 
 than those serious afflictions which wring the heart but 
 do not break the spirit, which elevate and sanctify 
 while they seem for a time to have crushed all hope. 
 I have always felt that the only moments in life when 
 we live as we were intended to live, are those calm 
 moments of tranquil resignation which succeed the first 
 agony and the first stupor occasioned by a heavy afflic- 
 tion. You 'have seen me in such moments you know 
 what I mean. But I did not write to make you weep, 
 and as I see the tears rise, let me wipe them away as I 
 would all those which you may be called upon to shed. 
 I can do it by telling you that I am happy, as far as
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 91 
 
 one of my constitution can be happy. Happy in the 
 firm conviction tliat a life of successful labor awaits 
 me ; happy too, that I, with all my imperfections, have 
 been able to shed on your existence and on that of my 
 sisters, some of their brightest rays. Why should I, 
 with false modesty, deny to myself that such is the 
 case? 
 
 The summer vacation was spent, as usual, in Prov- 
 idence. When Robert returned to Cambridge, he 
 busied himself in writing an article on M. Coquerel's 
 most important work, of which he speaks as follows in 
 a letter to his eldest sister : 
 
 'October, 1849. 
 
 * Dear M , 
 
 ' I have just finished my article on M. Coquerel's 
 Experimental Christianity. I do not think it very 
 good, and if it succeeds, it will be owing to the subject. 
 I have re-read and meditated on this work, which is 
 admirable. How happy to believe all it contains, and 
 to believe with the fervor of the author. To-day we 
 believe, to-morrow we doubt, and in the intervals we 
 are indifferent, living on from day to day without think- 
 ing of the morrow. But it would be too great a boon 
 never to doubt. We should anticipate on immortality. 
 When once we have believed, faith seldom entirely 
 leaves us. I have faith when I am advancing. When 
 I doubt, I remain stationary or go back.' 
 
 ' October 26th, 1849. 
 
 * Dearest Mother, 
 
 * I am quite ashamed at having let so many days go 
 by without writing you a line ; but with a regular occu-
 
 92 MEMOIR OF 
 
 pation like mine time flies so fast, that one is surprised, 
 on looking back, to see how much of that precious 
 article slips away almost unperceived. You will b^ 
 
 delighted to hear that I am quite sociable 
 
 On the whole, I think I have never enjoyed Cambridge 
 more than now. I should indeed be quite happy if I 
 could but see those I love in more fortunate circum- 
 stances. Byron has beautifully expressed the feelings 
 which at times come over me, in those lines begin- 
 ning, 
 
 " But ever and anon of griefs subdued," etc. 
 
 I regret to say that Mr. is dangerously ill ; not 
 
 expected to live many days, but fully prepared to die, 
 and perfectly aware of his situation. I pray God that 
 such may be my end. I feel most sincerely for his 
 family. It will be a blow from which they can scarcely 
 recover. It almost seemed an intrusion to break in 
 upon the family circle, which may so soon be broken 
 up. Alas ! I feel too bitterly all which that word 
 implies. 
 
 * I have taken to music with renewed zeal of late, 
 and shall thus find much enjoyment this winter I trust.' 
 
 * December 25th, 1849. 
 
 * Dearest Mother, 
 
 ' Christmas once more ! How the years pass by, 
 and how little they bring with them of gladness ! We 
 should not complain, however. Hope is still left tis, 
 and if I could always be full of hope, I should always 
 be happy. 
 
 ' I send some books for the little ones. It is truly a
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 98 
 
 pleasure for me to make presents on this day, as I 
 know how sad it is to have passed the age when such 
 things conjure joy and wipe away the tear which ever 
 and anon comes starting to the eye. To you, what 
 can I give ? I feel that nothing can equal my love or 
 adequately express it. If I have caused you one 
 unnecessary sorrow, one uncalled-for tear during the 
 past year, forgive me and remember only my love. 
 
 A merry Christmas to all the family ; a 
 
 contented one to you. Who can be merry who has 
 lived to see many returns of these anniversaries, 
 without being reminded of those beautiful lines of 
 Longfellow : 
 
 *' There is no flock, however watched and tended, 
 But one dead lamb is there ; 
 There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, 
 But has one vacant chair." ' 
 
 ' January 6th, 1850. 
 
 ' My dear A , 
 
 * I have been very sad for the last fortnight, which 
 accounts for my not having written you as I ought to 
 have done. I have now recovered and am going to 
 make amende honorable. You will ask me why I have 
 been sad ? In my turn I will ask you how I can be 
 otherwise at this season of the year ? How many 
 recollections Christmas and New Year's day awaken ! 
 How many resolutions made and broken ! How many 
 hopes formed and deceived ! The saddest things about 
 these periodical returns of certain anniversaries conse- 
 crated by the sweet recollections of youth, is, that you 
 seem every time to be further from the ideal you have
 
 94 MEMOIR OF 
 
 dreamed of. And who has not dreamed of one, either 
 of ambition or of love ? Even those natures the 
 coolest in appearance, are not without their illusions. 
 . . . . I am reading Shirley at this moment, and 
 am much interested in it, I scarcely know why. The 
 woman who wrote it, for I persist in believing it to 
 be the production of a woman, has a great deal of 
 talent, but there is something incomplete and even 
 coarse in the talent. Have you read it ? I find in it 
 my portrait at fourteen, " A soul of thirty in a body 
 of fourteen." This is sad but true. 
 
 ' We had a magnificent sermon from Dr. Walker 
 this morning. He reviewed the fifty years which have 
 just closed, beginning of course with Napoleon. He 
 was very eloquent in saying that the nothingness of 
 human greatness had never been more apparent than 
 in the career of the Emperor. All that he did for his 
 own aggrandizement has disappeared from the earth ; 
 all that he did from love of mankind still remains an 
 imperishable monument.' 
 
 ' I have not written anything since my article on the 
 Albigenses, and shall probably not before spring. I 
 shall be in P;-ovidence next week, and intend to do no 
 work during the vacation. Perhaps I may study Italian 
 a little with you.' 
 
 It was his custom to spend every vacation with his 
 family ; but these intervals of leisure, as will appear 
 from the close of the above letter, were not seasons of 
 idleness or mental inactivity. Several of the articles 
 he published were written in Providence, and others 
 which he never found time to complete commenced.
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 95 
 
 He was fond of reading aloud, and as he was anxious 
 to perfect himself in doing so, he read to his mother 
 for an hour or two almost every day. In the politics 
 of Europe he never ceased to take a lively interest, as 
 was natural in one who had been accustomed to hear 
 them discussed from childhood by his father and other 
 diplomats. All that relates to France particularly in- 
 terested him. He read eagerly not only the French 
 papers, but every brochure of any value that fell in his 
 way, and many were the hours he spent, standing with 
 his arm resting on the mantel-piece, as v(as his habit, 
 talking of the changes which had taken place in that 
 country, and speculating on their probable results. All 
 the enthusiasm which was excited both in France and 
 in this country by the establishment of a Republic 
 there, never for a moment influenced his opinions ; he 
 constantly predicted its speedy downfall. In the study 
 of history, as we have before said, he always found 
 great pleasure. It was proposed to him in this year to 
 prepare an universal history for the use of scholars. 
 He set about the task with great alacrity, as it was one 
 that promised to be both agreeable and advantageous 
 to him, but his other occupations did not allow him long 
 to pursue it. A gentleman, himself an admirable 
 scholar, saw the sketch of the plan of this work on 
 his table one day, and expressed great surprise when 
 he learned that Robert had made it without referring to 
 any historical works. This instance will suffice to show 
 that for one so young he was remarkably well-read in 
 history, and that his memory was excellent. At the 
 same time we must add, that so far was this faculty 
 from being mechanical, that it was difficult for him to
 
 96 MEMOIR OF 
 
 commit a page to memory literally, though he could 
 retain the sense of every sentence on it and give it 
 in the connection in which it stood. It was his darling 
 scheme to devote himself to some great historical work 
 which would confer on him a lasting reputation ; but in 
 this, as in all his earthly hopes, it was his lot to be 
 disappointed. Indeed, his health and strength never 
 sufficed to perform one half the work he planned for 
 himself, and would so gladly have executed. 
 
 It was at the end of the winter vacation of 1850, 
 that, his studies at the Law School being completed, he 
 determined upon entering a lawyer's office in Boston. 
 He was fortunate enough to be admitted into that 
 of Messrs. R. H. Dana, Jr. and F. E. Parker, for whom 
 he felt the highest respect, and whose influence 
 on him was excellent. He had sometimes doubted 
 whether he had any talent for the bar, but these gen- 
 tlemen convinced him that it was only the practical 
 familiarity with business that he wanted. He had 
 dreaded that, in the active pursuit of the legal profes- 
 sion, he would be compelled to abandon much that was 
 of great interest to him, history, European politics, 
 6ic., but they showed him that his familiarity with 
 modern languages, and general information respecting 
 Europe, might be of service to him, and he learned 
 from their own example that a close attention to the 
 details of a lawyer's profession was not incompatible 
 with taste and cultivation. They satisfied him, too, on 
 another point, and that to him the most important of 
 all, that it was possible to be very successful at the 
 bar without ceasing to be stricdy honorable and con- 
 scientious. His spirits rose, his views of life became
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 97 
 
 more cheerful, his personal hopes brighter ; he felt 
 that he was rapidly acquiring the practical knowledge 
 in which he had previously been deficient, and that he 
 was deriving constant instruction as well as enjoyment 
 from the society of Mr. Dana and Mr. Parker, and was 
 encouraged by the deep interest they took in his suc- 
 cess. While at the Law School he had formed an 
 intimacy with two gentlemen of his own age, to whom 
 he became warmly attached,, and as their offices 
 were in the same building with those in which he was 
 studying, he saw them daily. In their friendship and 
 sympathy he found the greatest pleasure, so that, on 
 the whole, the year passed in the office of Messrs. 
 Dana and Parker may be considered as the happiest 
 he knew after leaving Europe. 
 
 The inconvenience of going from Cambridge to 
 Boston, and the time he would have lost by doing so, 
 led him during the four years he passed there to 
 decline almost all the invitations he received to large 
 parties, and the reserve natural to him preventing him 
 from visiting much socially, many of his evenings were 
 passed alone in his room. Yet he was far from being, 
 unsocial. During the last year he was in, Paris, he 
 went frequently with his father to the weekly recep^ 
 lions of some friends, and derived much pleasure from 
 the conversation of the persons he met there j and had 
 he lived under the same roof with his mother and 
 sisters here, he would undoubtedly have gone more 
 into society. At their entreaty he often promised to do 
 so, but, as he himself said, his good resolutions in this 
 respect were again and again broken. There was one 
 7
 
 "98 MEMOIR OF 
 
 house, however, at which, during the last two years of 
 his life, much of his leisure time was spent. The want 
 of a ' home,' so often alluded to in his letters and felt 
 so keenly by him, was compensated, as far as it could 
 be, by the cordial and affectionate welcome he always 
 received from both Mr. and Mrs. Felton, who consid- 
 ered hirh, to use his own expression, * V enfant de la 
 maison.' The letter from Prof Felton, at the end of 
 this Memoir, will show how much he was beloved and 
 how deeply mourned by the whole family. 
 
 < Cambridge, Much Sth, 1850. 
 
 * My dear M , 
 
 * Even had I not received a letter from you last 
 evening I should have written to you this morning. It 
 is not well to give up old traditions, particularly when 
 they are good. I need not assure you of my affection. 
 I Only write that you may know I have thought of you. 
 Here I am again in Cambridge, but under different cir- 
 cumstances. I am about entering the office of Messrs. 
 Dana and Parker as a law student, where I think there 
 
 is every reason why I should be contented 
 
 Since my return I have been occupied in arranging 
 papers, and am determined to publish the life and 
 correspondence of our dear father. I must do it at 
 my leisure, as it must be well done. There is a great 
 
 He had not relinquished his connection with Harvard 
 University on leaving the Law School, and continued to the 
 last to take a heartfelt interest in the progress of his pupils, 
 who evinced their sense of it by their respect and attention 
 while he lived, and by the spontaneous tribute of afTection and 
 regret they paid to his memory.
 
 KOBEET WHEATON. 99 
 
 charm in reading over these old letters ; they carry 
 me back to other times, and I seem nearer to him 
 whom we so deeply mourn. They give me a higher 
 idea, if possible than before, of that clear and profound 
 intellect, and of the noble character which wanted 
 little of being perfect.' 
 
 ' Boston, March 14th, 1850. 
 
 ' Dearest Mother, 
 ' Here I am in an office, and extremely busy what 
 with writing and copying. I am delighted at having 
 made this change ; it will be of the greatest advantage 
 to me to see how business is done. 1 shall also make 
 new and useful acquaintances, and lead a more active 
 life than I have done heretofore. My scheme of walk- 
 ing in and out has been most unfortunately defeated by 
 the state of the weather, which has been terrible of 
 
 late I need not tell you how much my 
 
 thoughts have been with you this week. I believe, 
 however, that we are now all of us free from any 
 selfish feeling at the recollection of his and our suffer- 
 ing. When such is the case, such anniversaries have 
 rather a soothing than a depressing influence.' . . . 
 
 ' Boston, March, 1850. 
 
 ' Dear A , 
 
 ' I have just read in the omnibus a little pamphlet on 
 " Atheism in France," translated from Lamartine's 
 " Conseiller du Peuple.^'' There is some vagueness as 
 to the religion he would wish to establish, but with that 
 exception it is an eloquent tirade against Socialism, 
 Communism, &c. He predicts, and it is not neces-
 
 190 MEMOIR OF 
 
 sary to be a prophet to do so, that without some 
 change in religious matters, the Republic must perish 
 in France. I have the ninth volume of Thiers for you, 
 and will bring it you soon. He says : " I am not, and 
 never have been the flatterer of the populace, although 
 condemned to live at a time when it rules." You see 
 that he has the same courage as ever, and as little love 
 for the Republic' 
 
 ' Boston, April Sth, 1E50. 
 
 Dearest Mother, 
 
 * I have only time to write a line in reply to your 
 last letter on the subject of business. . . . Would 
 to God that I could do something myself for you all 
 whom I love so dearly. Alas ! I cannot, and must con- 
 tent myself for the present with maintaining myself 
 without being of any expense to any one, and without 
 touching the small allowance which you have. Better 
 times will come, I feel confident, and I trust before 
 long. It grieves me to the verj' heart and poisons all 
 my happiness to know you to be unhappy. But enough 
 of this.' .... 
 
 ' May, 1850. 
 
 * Dear A , 
 
 ' I passed this morning with Mr. J. F., on board the 
 steamship America. It was so long since I had been 
 on the sea, that it gave me great pleasure. 1 confess 
 
 that I was reluctant to go ashore again 1 
 
 am glad to hear of your saccess in drawing. So agree- 
 able an employment cannot fail to make your time 
 pass pleasantly. As for me, I am not doing much in
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 101 
 
 the way of music, which is my art. I am always 
 hoarse, though I cough less. I play a little every 
 
 The interest Robert had now begun to take in the 
 law, is shown by the half-playful account he gives in 
 the following letter, of his first appearance in Court : 
 
 'June 19th, 1850. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, dear A , for not having 
 
 written you for so long a time ; but it has been so 
 warm, and I have been so much occupied with my 
 first cause, which I pleaded yesterday, that I was not 
 disposed to write. Mr. C. has returned to Cambridge, 
 that is the only change in my life there. In Boston, as 
 you see, I have become quite a man of business. I 
 succeeded in having my first client acquitted of a part 
 of the accusation against her, so that she was only sen- 
 tenced to a small fine. This is fortunate, as she has 
 been five weeks in prison. Mr. Parker was in New 
 York, and regrets very much not having been present 
 at my debut. I consider it quite a step to have 
 appeared in public as a lawyer. 
 
 ' I have just read Guizot's hrocJiure on the English 
 Revolution, and will bring it the first time I come to 
 Providence. What an admirable writer ! How much 
 simplicity, eloquence and strength. He never seeks 
 for effect as some writers do. Did you read the speech 
 he made a short time since before the Biblical Society 
 of Paris ? If he had done differently, things would, 
 perhaps, not be where they now are. He might, per- 
 haps, have sowed good Protestant seed on that soil
 
 102 MEMOIR OF 
 
 composed of indifference and incredulity. I am not 
 yet cured of my early ideas. France can only be 
 saved by Protestantism, and that is the only point of 
 view in which the Republic seems desirable. With a 
 king, France will always have a Catholic tendency, 
 it matters little whether his name be Henry V. or Louis 
 Napoleon.' 
 
 In August of this year, he and his sisters spent a 
 fortnight in New Haven, while the Scientific Congress 
 was assembled there. It was the only visit of any 
 length that they had ever made with Robert, and it is 
 impossible to imagine how much being together added 
 to the pleasure they all derived from it. . Dr. Welles, 
 at whose house they were, took a warm interest in 
 Robert, expressed some anxiety about his health, and 
 urged upon him the necessity of taking more exercise. 
 He especially recommended riding. Of this exercise, 
 as we have before said, Robert was very fond ; but 
 want of time, and even more the expense of keeping 
 a horse, prevented him after he left Paris from follow- 
 ing his taste. On his return from New Haven, how- 
 ever, he rode frequently in obedience to Dr. Welles' 
 advice, and seemed to derive benefit from the exercise, 
 but the cold weather at the close of the autumn pre- 
 vented him from continuing it. In October, he writes 
 thus: 
 
 ' My dear A , 
 
 * I have been riding about the country for the last 
 two days. Yesterday I dined at Milton, and to-day I 
 stopped at Brookline to dinner. The country is beau-
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 103 
 
 tiful now, and I think my rides have done me good ; 
 at least Mr. P. says I look better to-day. Although 
 
 I still cough, my cold is really better I 
 
 have become once more a philosopher as little Arthur 
 Healy * used to say, that is, I am reading philosoph- 
 ical books at present. I am now reading another work 
 of Morell's, entitled History of Philosophy in the Nine- 
 teenth Century. I intend to pursue these studies, and 
 read Kant's Kritik der reinen Vernunft. These 
 studies interested me greatly formerly, but of late 1 
 have neglected them. The truth is, I find very little 
 time for them. 
 
 ' I was a great deal with Mr. Dana during Mr. 
 Parker's absence ; he is very fond of conversation, 
 and, when we had nothing else to do, we talked 
 a great deal. I hope mother will not be prevented 
 from coining to Milton. I shall have so much pleasure 
 in showing her Cambridge and my bachelor's estab- 
 lishment I trust the day will come when 
 
 we shall be once more united, and not obliged to say 
 in writing how much we love each other.' . . . 
 
 ' October 21st, 1850. 
 
 * Dearest Mother, 
 
 * I am grieved to find that in spite of my assurances 
 
 The son of Mr. H. the artist, a remarkably fine and intel- 
 ligent child, whom his parents had the misfortune to lose two 
 years since. R., who was extremely fond of children, and 
 whose gentle manners made him very attractive to them, liked 
 to play with this little boy. It was while he was at M. Barb 
 Massin's school, and much engrossed by his philosophical 
 studies, that the child learnt to call him jphilosophe.
 
 104 MEMOIR OF 
 
 that my cold is much better, you should still be so 
 anxious about me. I trust, however, that when I tell 
 you I have just returned from VVatcrtown, where I sang 
 three cavatinas and five duetts, you will believe me 
 
 when I say that my cough is not very bad 
 
 Regarding your proposed arrangements, I need not say 
 that whatever will make you most comfortable will 
 ever be my most ardent wish. Why cannot you come 
 here and make me a visit of a few days ? A change 
 of air and scene, of however short duration, will, I am 
 sure, be beneficial to you. I cannot offer you much, 
 excepting my company during my leisure moments. 
 Just muster up a little courage and come down Thurs- 
 day.' 
 
 ' December Ist, 1850. 
 
 * Dearest Mother, 
 ' You will be happy to learn that I am scarcely at all 
 troubled with my cough. I have not seen the doctor 
 once since Saturday. You see I consider myself off 
 the sick list. I continue, however, to obey his advice 
 and expose myself as little as possible. The only 
 thing which annoys me now is a hoarseness, which 
 prevents me from reading much aloud or singing. I 
 suppose time or a change of air will be the best reme- 
 dies for this. If I can possibly do so, I shall go. South 
 during the vacation. Mr. P., whom I consider my 
 
 moral physician, advises it by all means 
 
 His plan for me is no doubt the best one : To go to 
 Washington during the vacation, see as much as 1 can 
 of society of every description, and then return in good 
 spirits to devote myself to the law, sans arriere peri'
 
 ROBERT WHEA.TON. J(^ 
 
 see As usual, my little note is all taken 
 
 up with myself. Am I not very selfish when my situa- 
 tion is so much more pleasant than yours ? You must 
 bear with me, however, as I am the spoiled child of the 
 family, and likely to continue so. How this fine scheme 
 of spending my vacation in amusing myself is to be 
 carried out, I do not know.' .... 
 
 December 11th, 1850. 
 
 ' Dearest Mother, 
 
 ' You will not receive this little note on your birth- 
 day, but it will show you that I have not forgotten the 
 day, if such assurance you needed. I got your letter 
 yesterday ; it was very welcome. It is so rare for you 
 to write a whole letter, that it is the more appreciated 
 when you do. My cough continues still the same, 
 though I follow the doctor's prescription, and do not go 
 out in the evening. 
 
 ' I have not yet set about writing anything. I am 
 still surrounded with books on French histoiy, and have 
 three articles commenced : one on Chateaubriand, one 
 on Thiers, and one on the Conversion of the Germans 
 to Christianity. But I merely wrote to assure you of 
 my affection, and to wish you many tranquil returns of 
 this day. That another year may find us more happily 
 situated than at present, is my ardent wish ; but let us 
 not complain, for alas ! who knows what another year 
 may bring forth .? ' 
 
 December 30th, 1850. 
 
 ' Dearest Mother, 
 * Nothing wonderful has occurred since I last wrote. 
 Mr. P. still insists on my going away during the
 
 106 MEMOIR OF 
 
 vacation. He says, very wisely, that I am either well 
 or not well. If the former, I should spend the vaca- 
 tion in Boston, and there attend the office. If the latter, 
 I should travel. I have not yet made up my mind what 
 to do. If I could, there probably would be no occasion 
 for my doing anything. . . . One moment I think 
 I will go off South, and the next I feel as if I ought not 
 to do it.' 
 
 < Boston, January Sd, 1851. 
 
 * My dear A , 
 
 ' Your letter which I received this morning gave me 
 great pleasure. I thank you for your interest, of which 
 I have scarcely shown myself worthy with all my com- 
 plaints. You are right ; I am sad, deeply sad, and for 
 the reasons you enumerate : want of money, the pain 
 of your position, fatigue, and I believe, also, the state 
 of my health, which docs not allow me to look with an 
 indifferent eye on all the sorrows and disappointments 
 of life. In my present state, to travel would be of 
 service to me; indeed, I have come to consider it 
 as absolutely necessary. Mr. P. who interests 
 himself in me, suggests that I should go to Havana, 
 Charleston, or the Mediterranean. I do not know what 
 
 to decide What do you advise } It seems 
 
 to me that it is my duty to endeavor de me retremper 
 un peu, to endeavor to gain strength morally and 
 physically, and then to return to work, without which I 
 can never be happy. Do not be troubled at all I have 
 now said. I have replied categorically to your letter, 
 and I hope you will give me credit for not destroying 
 this letter now it is finished. Whatever resolution I
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 107 
 
 take with regard to the vacation, I shall come and see 
 you next week.' 
 
 It may be imagined from the tenor of this letter, how 
 much anxiety his family must have felt at the time, and 
 how great was their relief when they found that he had 
 decided to go to the South for a few weeks, although 
 this determination deprived them of the pleasure of his 
 society during the vacation. He set out for Philadel- 
 phia towards the end of January, intending to pass a 
 few days with Mr. and Mrs. Charles Willing, in that 
 city. But a sudden indisposition detained him there 
 for a month. When a child he had, after suffering 
 during the summer from the aguean fever, a common 
 malady in the damp climate of Denmark, been 
 severely attacked by rheumatism in the feet and legs, 
 and although for many years he had felt no return of 
 it, the attack he had in Philadelphia was very similar. 
 He received the most tender care and attention from 
 the friends at whose house he was, as well as from his 
 uncle. Dr. Walter V. Wheaton, U. S. A., and was not 
 allowed by them to leave until quite recovered. When 
 again able to travel, he proceeded to Baltimore, Wash- 
 ington and Charleston, stopping several days in each of 
 these cities, all of which were new to him. He had 
 always enjoyed travelling, and as his health improved 
 his spirits rose, and the tone of his letters was unusually 
 cheerful and sprightly. His friends at Cambridge, un- 
 willing that he should return there before the weather 
 had become mild and settled, kindly obtained permis- 
 sion for him to protract his absence after the college 
 term had commenced, and one of his friends, although
 
 108 MEMOIR OF 
 
 engaged in the profession of the law in Boston, had the 
 kindness to supply his place as French instructor, until 
 his return. In May he arrived in Providence, and those 
 who loved him felt the most entire satisfaction at the 
 evident improvement in his health, and at the cheerful- 
 ness with which he resumed his active duties. In July 
 he was admitted to the Boston Bar, and writes thus to 
 his mother on the occasion : 
 
 'Boston, July 11th, 1851. 
 
 * Dearest Mother, 
 
 ' You will be as much astonished as I am at the 
 enclosed card. The whole thing has been done up in 
 such an incredibly short time, that I can hardly realize 
 I am indeed a Counsellor and Attorney.' 
 
 After relating the circumstances attending his en 
 trance into business, he contiuues : 
 
 *I have, as usual, in everything that regards my 
 prospects in life, only to congratulate myself on the 
 warm friends I have. The only thing I regret about 
 the arrangement is, that I shall not be able to spend as 
 much of my time with you this summer as I had in- 
 tended. I feel quite happy, I assure you, at this sudden 
 immersion into the profession. I call it an immersion, 
 for it is very like a cold bath in the river. I am sure 
 you will be happy to know that I am at last fairly 
 started on the business of life.' 
 
 During the summer he continued to come frequently 
 to Providence to see his family, and Sunday being his 
 only leisure day, he generally came on Saturday even- 
 ing, and returned to Boston on Monday morning.
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 109 
 
 What words can describe the happiness of those 
 brief visits, the interest with which the arrival of the 
 cars was watched, the delight with which the sound of 
 his quick step was welcomed ; for, slow and dignifiea as 
 were his habitual movements, he always bounded up 
 those stairs ! . . . . 
 
 In August his grandfather died. Dr. Wheaton was 
 a man of strong and cultivated intellect, and had re- 
 tained his faculties unimpaired to the advanced age of 
 ninety. His illness was a short one, he retained his 
 senses to the last moment of his life, and passed away 
 without a struggle. A short notice of him, written by 
 Robert, appeared in the Providence Journal, and will 
 be found at the end of this volume. 
 
 As Mrs. Wheaton had remained in Providence solely 
 to smooth her father's declining years, she, of course, 
 now determined to leave that place and establish her- 
 self in Cambridge, in order to be near her son. About 
 this time his friends in Boston, who watched him from 
 day to day, feeling renewed fears concerning him, had 
 suggested a plan which would enable him to spend 
 some time abroad, in order that he might avoid the 
 severity of a New England winter. But his grand- 
 father's death interrupted this plan, as he could not 
 think of leaving his mother and sisters at such a 
 moment, although he felt an evident desire to revisit 
 Europe and renovate both mind and body. He even 
 said to his sisters, ' If you were all settled in a com- 
 fortable home of your own, I think I might go.' 
 
 On Saturday, September 27th, Robert came to Prov- 
 idence as usual, to pass the Sunday with his family. 
 The cars were thrown off the track, and the train did
 
 110 MEMOIR OF 
 
 not arrive until late in the evening. The weather 
 being damp, he took cold. On Sunday, although he 
 re^ aloud for some time, as was his habit when with 
 his^other, and even went out to tea, he complained of 
 feeling languid and rheumatic, and retired to rest at an 
 early hour, saying he should not leave the next day 
 before the eleven o'clock train. 
 
 On Monday he was unable to sit up, but supposing 
 his indisposition nothing but a severe cold, his family 
 felt no real uneasiness, merely regretting that he should 
 be detained, as he seemed to attach so much importance 
 to the regular discharge of his duties. During the suc- 
 ceeding days he suflered intense pain in the head, and 
 was bled twice, but without experiencing much relief. 
 Still, although weak, feverish, and exhausted, he con- 
 tinued to express an interest in all around him, asked 
 to have the papers read to him, and dictated notes 
 to his intimate friends concerning his office and his 
 French class. In the night of the 6th of October, a 
 sudden and alarming change took place. From that 
 time he had but brief intervals of consciousness, but 
 his thoughts, when they wandered, were all directed to 
 that which had chiefly occupied him during health, 
 the wish to see his mother and sisters in a comfortable 
 and pleasant home, the progress of his pupils at Cam- 
 bridge, the state of France, where so many happy 
 days of his short life had been spent 
 
 But why linger over hours, the remembrance of 
 which wrings the heart of those who loved him so ten- 
 derly ? . . . . All that medical aid could do was 
 done for him ; he was attended by Dr. Miller and Dr. 
 Mauran, two of the most skilful and experienced phy-
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. Ill 
 
 sicians in that city, and by his cousin, Dr. Rivers, who 
 never left him night or day. But all their efforts were 
 vain to conquer the disease, pronounced by them a 
 rheumatic fever. 
 
 If the foregoing pages have given any idea of what 
 he was, the agony felt by his family when all hope for 
 this world was over, may be imagined, if not, no 
 words can describe it. 
 
 On the 9th of October, 1851, four days after he had 
 attained his twenty-fifth year, Robert died. His last 
 words were characteristic of his life and faith. 
 
 ' Mother ! ' he exclaimed, suddenly rousing from the 
 state of apathy in which for some hours previous he 
 had lain, ' Mother, read the prayer ! ' 
 
 The voice, the accent, can never be forgotten by 
 those who heard them. 
 
 We cannot close this Memoir without mentioning the 
 general and heartfelt regret his death occasioned. It 
 has seldom fallen to the lot of so young a man to have 
 inspired so much esteem we may add so much 
 admiration. As soon as it became known that he was 
 ill, his friends in Boston and Cambridge came in 
 person or wrote to inquire in what way they could 
 serve him, and there was no exertion they were not 
 willing to make for him. In Providence, although he 
 had lived there less, the same interest was evinced. 
 The reputation of his father, his personal worth, and 
 the general conviction that the happiness of his family 
 was completely bound up in him, combined to make 
 all who knew him anxious that he should be spared, 
 and many were the prayers offered up for his life.
 
 112 MEMOIR OF 
 
 There was a charm about him which won even those 
 who had seen him but casually, and caused persons 
 of all ages, and of all classes of society, to share in 
 the anxiety felt as to the result of his illness and in 
 the overwhelming sorrow his early death occasioned. 
 The finished education he had received, his moral and 
 intellectual qualities, had raised the highest expecta- 
 tions ; the son of a distinguished man, it was hoped 
 that he would be equally distinguished but a few 
 short days sufficed to blight the hopes so fondly enter- 
 tained, and to leave a void which no earthly consolation 
 can ever fill ! 
 
 At the earnest request of his friends, it was deter- 
 mined that his funeral should not be private. At a 
 meeting of the students of Cambridge, called by their 
 own impulse, they asked permission of the Faculty to 
 attend the funeral. Special leave was given, and a 
 delegation of ten from each of the classes went to 
 Providence and joined in the services, and followed his 
 body to the tomb. His older friends desired to perform 
 a last act of respect, and from among their number the 
 pall was borne by Professors Longfellow, Felton, and 
 Agassiz, of Cambridge; Richard H. Dana, Jr., of Bos- 
 ton ; George William Curtis, of New York ; and Messrs. 
 Henry Anthony, Thomas Hoppin and Thomas P. 
 Shepard, of Providence. 
 
 He was borne to the tomb, to which a few weeks 
 before his grandfather, and a few years before his 
 father had been laid by this often afflicted family ; and 
 the dull, cold rain of the evening was but too consonant 
 with the feelings of those who survived the husband, the 
 grandfather, the only son and the only brother.
 
 ROBERT WIIEATON. 113 
 
 From among the notices which appeared of Robert 
 Wheaton in the public press of Boston and New York, 
 the following is selected, taken from the New York 
 Evening Post, a tribute to the memory of one of 
 whom it may be truly said, 
 
 ' He had kept 
 The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept.' 
 
 * The funeral of Robert Wheaton took place on 
 Monday last. It was a tribute of affection and respect 
 such as few men so young have ever won by the simple 
 force of character. Mr. Wheaton was, as yet, too 
 young to have made his name coldly honored for itself, 
 but he was old enough to have knit to himself, in the 
 most manly regard, by the beauty and grace of his 
 character, and by the variety and extent of his accom- 
 plishments, a troop of friends among those men of 
 genius and of the profoundest attainments in every 
 kind, among whom the chances of life had thrown 
 him. 
 
 ' All those men felt, and those who knew him best 
 felt most strongly, the singular promise of his powers. 
 To his brilliant and successful career, to the worthy 
 wearing of the paternal mantle, they looked forward 
 with entire conviction, and, as friends, with sympathetic 
 pride. It was not to be. Through the golden gate of 
 worldly success, which seemed, to their eyes, to be 
 opening before him, he was not to pass. The sad light 
 of his eye was, perhaps, prophetic. That rare matu- 
 rity, that sweet gravity, were pledges that we did not 
 understand. Charmed with the promise, we forgot that 
 whom the Gods love die young.
 
 114 MEMOIR OF 
 
 ' Those friends who were, of all men in the coun- 
 try, probably, most fitted to appreciate, by understand- 
 ing, his value, came on Monday to perform the last 
 service of friendship. Mr. Longfellow, Professor Agas- 
 siz and Professor Felton, who were all his associate 
 teachers in the University at Cambridge, united with 
 Richard H. Dana, Jr., under whose direction Mr. 
 Wheaton had pursued his legal studies, and with hon- 
 oring and sympathizing townsmen, in bearing the pall. 
 From each class in the University with which Mr. 
 Wheaton was connected, a representation of ten at- 
 tended the last offices, with many of those personal and 
 particular friends whom he had gathered around him 
 in the city of his adoption. 
 
 * They came to honor in the dead that which alone 
 is permanently honorable in the living, the lofty but 
 gracious character, and the admirable employment of 
 peculiar powers, which distinguished Robert Wheaton. 
 
 ' It was a weeping autumnal day, no unmeet symbol 
 of the feelings that hallowed the event. At the house 
 the Rev. Dr. Hall, and at the tomb the Rev. Dr. 
 Crocker, breathed over the departed the words the 
 Great Consoler spake. That they may console, that 
 serene faith may scatter the sorrow in those hearts 
 which have the best right to grieve, even as the setting 
 sun at evening dispersed the clouds which had wept all 
 day, is the abiding wish even of those who cannot but 
 say, 
 
 " The good die first, 
 And those whose hearts are dry as summer's dust, 
 Burn to the socket." ' 
 
 On the Sunday following his death, the Rev. Dr.
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 115 
 
 Hall, of Providence, the clergyman and friend of his 
 family, preached a sermon from the words, * For now 
 we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face. 
 Now I know in secret; then shall I know even as 
 I am known,' the close of which was as follows : 
 
 ' He, whose beautiful spirit thus early and calmly 
 passed, was born the same year that gave birth to 
 Henry Wheaton. And now, there lies in death near 
 us, the only son of Henry Wheaton, a young man of 
 equal promise, of equal piety, called at nearly the 
 same age, more suddenly, yet seemingly expecting and 
 ready. It is an event which may well suggest such 
 thoughts as these which I have offered, for every one 
 who speaks of it, speaks of its " mysteriousness." It 
 is mysterious, startling, silencing. It speaks too loudly 
 and solemnly for others to speak much. The voice of 
 all such events is, " Be still, and know that I am God." 
 We do know that, and, therefore, are not wholly igno- 
 rant of the character or design of this providence. It 
 is not all mystery. Death is a teacher, not silent 
 but eloquent. We hear, we feel, we bow and trust. 
 We will wait. The revelation of this life may resolve 
 the problem in part; the future will resolve it alto- 
 gether. The removal of the young and the good is 
 inscrutable but less dark, far less melancholy than 
 the death of the unprepared. To see the opening 
 minds, the fast-maturing, rich in knowledge and virtue, 
 loved by all, and leaned upon peculiarly by the nearest 
 and the endeared, to see such depart, and leave a 
 sudden, fathomless void, is beyond and above us. None 
 will attempt to interpret it all. Humbler, wiser and 
 more consolina: is it to wait in faith. But there are
 
 116 MEMOIR OF 
 
 darker events, and more fearful mysteries. Rlesscd 
 are they who mourn only the good, for they arc com- 
 forted. Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord ; 
 for the gentle and struggling spirit may pray, even 
 young, to rest from its labors, and its works, though 
 fearly begim, will follow it. Its task is finished. The 
 work given it to do, it has done. No longer does it 
 struggle, no longer faint, nor fear for itself or the loved 
 ones ; for it sees face to face now, and knows even as 
 it is known.' 
 
 Among the earthly consolations to the afilicted, no 
 mean place is to be given to those testimonials of 
 respect for the deceased which friendship offers. From 
 these, with the permission of their writers, we make 
 such extracts and selections as may aid our analysis of 
 his character. 
 
 ' The cheerfulness of a lawyer's actual life had a 
 good influence over him ; he grew much more inter- 
 ested, and applied himself with energy to his studies 
 and to his business. He worked rapidly and earnestly, 
 putting his whole mind on the task ; and soon cleared 
 his way through legal distinctions. He was fitted for 
 the law by the acuteness and accuracy of his mind. 
 He would have been a good speaker, too, though he 
 always said that he should not. On one occasion, 
 when he defended a person charged with an assault, he 
 told me that he was surprised by the ease with which 
 he addressed the jury. Indeed, he wanted no faculty 
 of a thorough lawyer ; and I very much wished him to 
 place his affections upon a profession that would have 
 been sure to reward them. But his habits led him to
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 117 
 
 prefer a literary life ; and he often speculated on the 
 
 chance of his leading it It 
 
 would not be easy to describe to you the effect 
 which his familiar intercourse had upon his friends. 
 His manners were a constant charm. They were quiet 
 and modest, but their whole tone was delightful, and 
 he could attract or distance those about him with an 
 ease which I always envied. He never lost this gen- 
 tleman-like manner in his freest moments. His use of 
 language was elegant, very nice ; but not more nice 
 than his thoughts. This delicacy, both of intellect and 
 feeling which was seen in his use of words, showed 
 itself more beautifully in the shades of deference or 
 affection with which he met those about him. His 
 manner was not the same to any two persons ; it 
 changed with a happy instinct, and while it was very 
 simple, was full of variety. His peculiar smile, not 
 easily called out ; his voice which he seldom raised, 
 but which always secured silence ; and the reserve 
 which I fancy only his best friends quite overcame, 
 were fascinating to the young men about him. . . 
 . . . He had many friends ; he analyzed them 
 and knew them thoroughly. Indeed, in his quiet life 
 at Cambridge, he meditated quite closely enough for 
 his happiness on human life and men. He rendered 
 unto all their dues, and they returned him their full 
 affection. But he had always that grace which comes 
 from a warm heart, whose impulses he watched, per- 
 haps too carefully, and which he dreaded almost sensi- 
 tively to bestow upon any person not quite worthy.' 
 
 The following tribute is even the more valuable
 
 118 MEMOIR OF 
 
 from its having been confidential to another, with no 
 thought in writing it of its reaching the family of the 
 deceased. 
 
 Boston, October 18th, 1853. 
 
 ' My dear Madam, 
 
 * I trust you will not consider me as obtruding the 
 feeling and opinion of others upon you, if I send you 
 the following extract from a letter I received from my 
 father : 
 
 * " I took up the paper to-day, and without having any 
 knowledge of Robert Wheaton's illness, read the ac- 
 count of his death. It came with a shock upon me. 
 Though I had but a slight acquaintance with him, I felt 
 interested in him, partly, I suppose, on account of his 
 father, but quite as much from that combination of 
 manliness and refinement that marked his chamcter. 
 Mr. Parker, who sal opposite to him in the office, day 
 after day, for so long a time, must feel deeply his 
 sudden death. Then, there arc his mother and sisters 
 left alone. They must have lopked up to him as their 
 only protector, in this (of late to them) hard world. 
 They must have had high hopes and an honest pride 
 in him. And these are taken from them now. In 
 afflictions of such a nature, however heavy they may 
 be, is it not true that almost the first feeling that stirs 
 the heart of every right-minded man, is that of the 
 goodness and love of God ? How is it that some griefs 
 could be borne by men before Christ came and spoke 
 to us, and then died for us } I know not how. IIow 
 distinctly Wheaton is now standing before in< his 
 form, his voice, his smile ! I never think of death as
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 119 
 
 something entire in itself. Life is always with it, if 
 not in it, to me, and this because of our immortality. 
 Is it not so ? Amen and Amen ! " 
 
 ' Again, in a note I had from him to-day, he says : 
 
 * " I do not wonder at his being so present to you. 
 There was something morally beautiful in Mr. Whea- 
 ton." 
 
 * With the greatest regard, I am, my dear Madam, 
 
 * Your true and obedient servant, 
 
 ' Richard H. Dana, Jr. 
 ' Mrs. Henry Wheaton.' 
 
 Soon after his death, excellent daguerreotypes 
 made from his portrait by Healy were sent to some 
 of his friends. The subjoined letter from Mr. Dana 
 was in reference to this. 
 
 ' Boston, October 18th, 1851. 
 
 * My dear Miss Wheaton, 
 
 ' I had been anxious to know whether there was a 
 portrait of your brother, and on entering the room on 
 the melancholy day, I shared the general satisfaction 
 of his friends at finding the beautiful picture by 
 Healy, I immediately determined to have a daguer- 
 reotype made from it for my own use, and have often 
 taken a sad pleasure in the thought that I could have by 
 me something that would constantly revive the counte- 
 nance of my friend. 
 
 ' Having spoken to Col. Rivers about it, I was on the 
 point of writing to him, when this beautiful, thoughtful 
 gift from Mrs. Wheaton reached me. 
 
 ' I can hardly express the heartfelt gratification I 
 receive from it, increased by the knowledge that it is
 
 120 MEMOIR OF 
 
 the gift of his mother. I shall teacli my children to 
 regard it with the feelings due to the memory of one 
 to whom their father was attached with a more peculiar 
 interest than to any men of his own general period of 
 life. How naturally one repeats the emotions of Cow- 
 per towards the noble art which so perpetuates the 
 presence of a friend.' 
 
 The reader, it is hoped, will join in the gratification 
 of the writer for the permission to publish the following 
 letters : 
 
 *To George Rivers, Esq. 
 
 ' Boston, October 18th, 1851. 
 
 ' Dear Rivers, 
 ' On my return from Washington I find your favor 
 of October 10th. It was with inexpressible grief that 
 I read, under the telegraphic head, of Robert Whea- 
 ton's death. I admired him very much. He was 
 young, but ripe in culture beyond any person of his 
 age, and was a most beautiful character. I trust his 
 family will be consoled, though their sorrow must be 
 great. Ever sincerely yours, 
 
 ' Charles Sumner.' 
 
 New Yorlc, October 14th, 1851. 
 
 * My dear Friend, 
 I cannot realize what cause it is that now moves me 
 to write to you, for the thought that Robert has gone 
 not to return, seems to me like some fearful dream. 
 Every time I think of it, the same thought presents 
 itself, and it is only by repeated assurances of the fact 
 from friends and from the newspapers, that the reality
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 131 
 
 is clear. When the word first came, I felt like sitting 
 down in utter despondency, as if all a man's efforts 
 were of no avail, and the best hopes were but a bril- 
 liant mockery, and the sooner the phantom of life was 
 gone, the better. So much worth and promise, such 
 discipline of mind and heart for years, such manly 
 energy and such graceful culture all passed away 
 how utterly overwhelming is the very thought! What 
 could we say were it not for the assurance given by 
 this very shock that this life is at best but a fragment, 
 and longer or shorter it needs another sphere to fulfil 
 its orbit ? 
 
 ' I had no thought of Robert's danger when I saw you 
 last, nor had you then. I supposed it was a slight cold 
 that would soon pass. I never dreamed of such a 
 result. You will not ask me to help you disguise your 
 grief, but will seek rather to see all its depth, and find 
 comfort passing its bitterness. A noble, high-minded 
 son and brother deserves such grief as you will feel, as 
 long as life lasts. 1 share it with you so far as a friend 
 may without presumption do. What a tie he was 
 between your later and former years what a con- 
 stant presence of his father's principles, taste and 
 experience what a memory and what a hope his 
 very life was to you how you must have rejoiced in 
 such a combination of accomplishment with solidity, 
 refined grace and manly integrity ! You will be strong- 
 minded enough to rejoice in these treasures even now, 
 and to feel what Lord Ormond felt when he said that 
 he would not exchange the memory of his deceased 
 son for the noblest living youth in Christendom. You 
 will be grateful to God even now for what has been
 
 122 MEMOIR OF 
 
 given you, and Memory will find a helper in immortal 
 hope. 
 
 ' I am not skilled in 'the decent commonplaces of 
 condolence, and to you certainly can write without dis- 
 guise. I have always felt a personal interest in Robert, 
 and a few weeks ago, when his card came to me in the 
 country, I wrote some words of greeting for our paper, 
 which I thought might inform friends here of his pros- 
 pects and conciliate interest in his professional welfare. 
 I should have rejoiced heartily in the success, so sure to 
 him had years been spared, and should have allowed 
 no occasion to pass without expressing my good-will, 
 only regretting that humble influence that so restricts 
 my ability. If possible, I should have been present 
 at the last rites, word of which came but a few hours 
 before the time appointed. 
 
 * I had a fellow-feeling for Robert beyond the exter- 
 nal courtesies of society, and from hard experience 
 could sympathize with him in the bereavement that 
 left him to such conflicts with fortune. How pleasantly 
 he spoke to me last summer at the Phi Beta Kappa fes- 
 tival at Cambridge, and now, as I write, his calm, 
 cheerful smile is before me as vividly as then, I have 
 written a few words of remembrance in the Christian 
 Inquirer of this week, which you will see. Not think- 
 ing to say a tithe of my feelings now, but to express my 
 cordial sympathy and to pray God's blessing on you 
 and your children, I remain, 
 
 ' Ever cordially yours, 
 
 ' Samuel Osgood.'
 
 ROBERT WHEATON. 123 
 
 ' Cambridge, October 23, 1851. 
 
 ' My dear Miss Wheaton, 
 ' I am veiy much obliged to you for remembering 
 me in your unspeakable affliction. The likeness of 
 Robert, which you had the kindness to send me, I shall 
 keep as a precious memorial of one, who was to me 
 as one of my own household, and whose early death I 
 shall never cease to deplore. My acquaintance with 
 Robert began in his connection with the college as 
 French instructor, and gradually ripened into great 
 intimacy and affection. The modesty and reserve of 
 his character made it impossible to know him well at 
 once ; but by degrees we came to understand the sin- 
 gular gentleness, dignity, and purity of his mind ; his 
 rare gifts ; his various accomplishments, and the charm 
 of his polished, intelligent and amiable conversation. 
 I do not think I have ever known a young man of more 
 gentleman-like qualities and manners, or of more spot- 
 less integrity of purpose and conduct. His friendship 
 was to me and my family a great and constant satis- 
 faction ; and we looked forward to the enjoyment of it 
 for many pleasant years. His presence was always a 
 delight to my household, and his departure a regret. 
 The last night he passed in Cambridge was at my 
 house, in a chamber we have long called " Wheaton's 
 room," and which was always ready to receive him. 
 We expected him to return and pass the Sunday with 
 us, little dreaming that the Saturday morning's pleasant 
 breakfast was to be the last time we should see him 
 alive. I seem to see him at this moment in my study ; 
 his voice, low and gentle as a woman's, is still sound- 
 ing in my ears, and whenever I think of a circle of
 
 121 MEMOIR OF ROBERT WHEATON. 
 
 friends around me, his figure is among the foremost. 
 I cannot bring my mind to the conviction tliat he has 
 gone away from us forever. 
 
 * I need not say how deeply we all sympathize with 
 you in your grief. I need not suggest the topics of 
 consolation to which your thoughts naturally fly. I can 
 only say that I shall always remember him ; that in 
 losing him, I have lost one of the joys of life ; that in 
 looking back upon his career, I see nothing to regret 
 but its too early conclusion ; nothing in his character to 
 wish otherwise ; nothing ever said by him to wish 
 unsaid, or done by him to wish were undone. 
 
 ' With kindest regards to your mother and sister on 
 the part of Mrs. Felton and myself, I am ever truly 
 yours, C. C. Felton.'
 
 ARTICLES 
 
 WRITTEN BY ROBERT WHEATON, 
 
 SELECTED FROM KEVIEWS AND MAGAZINES.
 
 THE SOURCES OF THE DIVINA COMMEDIA. 
 
 1. La Divine Comedie avant Dante. Par M. Charles La- 
 BiTTE. [La Revue des Deux Mondes. Septembre, 1842.] 
 Paris. 
 
 2. Etudes sur les Sources Poetiques de la Divine Comedie. 
 Par A. J. OzANAM. Paris : Lecoffre & C"'"- 1845. 
 
 The object of these two interesting essays is to show 
 the sources whence Dantp drew his poetic inspiration. 
 Such an undertaking would have excited general dis- 
 approbation some forty or fifty years ago, and the two 
 learned persons whose works we have before us would 
 have been accused of wishing to depreciate the genius 
 of the great Florentine poet. No such feeling is now 
 entertained ; literary criticism having made so much 
 progress of late years, we are all convinced, that to 
 subject the works of men of genius to such an analy- 
 sis is not to diminish their glory, but rather to add to it, 
 inasmuch as it shows their superiority to their prede- 
 cessors. In the proper sense of the word, it is not 
 given to man to create ; God alone possesses this power. 
 The man of genius, like the architect who in executing 
 the plan he has conceived makes use of the rough 
 stone, may collect and arrange those materials which he 
 finds dispersed in the world, but he can never give life
 
 128 THE SOURCES OF 
 
 to that which is not. His task is to put order in the 
 place of disorder, to give light to that which was veiled 
 in darkness. Thus it is with Dante. He found the 
 materials which he used for the composition of his 
 immortal poem, he collected them, and gave them the 
 unity and harmony which the man of genius alone can 
 impart to his works. To require that he should lead us 
 through the three regions of eternal life, without follow- 
 ing any other light than that of his own genius, without 
 having gathered any of the flowers which bloom so pro- 
 fusely through the works of the ancients, without any 
 precedents to justify the bold imaginings of his Muse, 
 and without having profited by those legends so frequent 
 in the poetic and imaginative religion of the Middle 
 Ages, is to ask more than man can give. 
 
 On studying with attention the Divina Commedia, it 
 is impossible not to see that Dante was indebted to his 
 predecessors and contemporaries for some of the great- 
 est beauties of his poem. The treasures of antiquity, 
 as well as those of Christianity, were made to contrib- 
 ute to the formation of 
 
 ' the sacred work that made 
 Both heayea and earth copartners in the toil,'* 
 
 a work which, after a lapse of five hundred years, still 
 excites the admiration of all, of the Protestant as well 
 as the Catholic, and even of those who are, in general, 
 averse to meditating upon death and eternity, the two 
 great subjects which Dante sang. 
 
 * ' II poema sacro 
 Al quale ha posto mano e cielo e terra.' 
 
 Faradito, Cant. XXV.
 
 THE DIVINA COMMEDIA. 129 
 
 We may trace in the Divina Commcdia three dis- 
 tinct sources of inspiration ; the writings of the 
 ancients, the poetic visions of the Middle Ages, and 
 external circumstances, including the works of art 
 which in Dante's time were so plentifully scattered 
 throughout Europe. We shall endeavor to examine 
 successively how far Dante was indebted to each of 
 these sources. To those who, from their admiration 
 for the great poet, or from their taste for literary an- 
 tiquities in general, may feel interested in this subject, 
 we recommend the perusal of the two works now under 
 review. They are, we believe, with the exception of 
 an article in the Edinburgh Review for September, 
 1818, written by Ugo Foscolo, the only attempts which 
 have as yet been made to elucidate a subject of so 
 much interest to the literary world. 
 
 The first source from which sprung the Divina Com- 
 ' media is to be found in the works of antiquity. At all 
 times the imaginations of the Greeks were accustomed 
 to visions of things beyond this world. Homer had led 
 Ulysses into the realms of Pluto; Euripides, in the 
 Alcestis and the Hercules Furens, had represented his 
 heroes descending into Hades ; Sophocles had shown 
 the son of Jupiter and Alcmene canying off Cerberus. 
 Similar marvellous narratives formed the subjects of 
 two tragedies of iEschylus, the Psychagogia and the 
 Adventures of Sisyphus, both unfortunately lost to us. 
 These fables were well adapted to please the imagin- 
 ative inhabitants of Greece, who were always inclined 
 to look beyond this world for that retribution which 
 cannot be found in our present state of existence. 
 9
 
 130 THE SOURCES OF 
 
 But we must not seek in the works of the Greek 
 poets for anything beyond fine descriptions and poetical 
 images of a future state. We must not look for tliose 
 pure and spiritual delineations of eternal life, which 
 Plato alone had dimly conceived before they were 
 fully brought to light by divine revelation. The Greek 
 poets, in so frequently laying the scene of dramatic 
 and epic action in another world, have merely shown 
 that this was a favorite subject with the people for whom 
 they wrote. Plato has done more ; he has led us still 
 farther into the kingdom of Death. He has shown, 
 with a sense of justice which had never before been 
 witnessed in pagan antiquity, the punishments and 
 rewards reserved for those who have left this world. 
 In the narrative of Her, an Armenian soldier, Plato has 
 given a description of the invisible world. * This 
 soldier, says Plato, was killed in battle. Ten days 
 after his death, his body was found on the field in a 
 perfect state of preservation. It was placed on a 
 funeral pile to be burned, when life returned, and Her 
 rose to relate to the bystanders what he had seen. 
 
 * As soon as my soul had left the body,' said he, ' I 
 arrived, together with a great number of other souls 
 at a most wonderful place. In the ground were two 
 openings, close together, and in the heavens were two 
 other openings, which corresponded with those in the 
 earth. Between these two regions were seated the 
 judges. As soon as they had passed sentence on a 
 soul, they ordered it, if it was one of the just, to take 
 the road up to heaven, which was to the right ; they 
 
 The Republic. Book X.
 
 THE DIVINA COMMEDIA. 131 
 
 had previously placed on its breast a label inscribed 
 with the judgment which had been pronounced in its 
 favor. If, on the contrary, it was the soul of one con- 
 demned, it was ordered to turn to the left, and to enter 
 one of tho openings in the ground ; each carried on its 
 back an inscription enumerating all the wicked actions 
 it had committed during its life. When I presented 
 myself, the judges decreed that I should return to the 
 world to relate what I had seen, and ordered me to 
 hear and to notice everything that should take place.' 
 
 Her then describes the manner in which the souls 
 were punished or rewarded. His narrative does not at 
 all resemble the descriptions of the infernal regions so 
 common among the poets of antiquity. There is some- 
 thing in it more elevated, more pure, more terrible; it 
 seems to be the first step towards that doctrine which, 
 a few centuries later, regenerated the world. We must 
 not say that Plato placed unlimited trust in such nar- 
 ratives ; but he knew the vast importance of these 
 symbolic representations of moral truths. In his Phsedo, 
 he has said, * To maintain that all these things are as 
 I relate them would not be possible for a man of sense ; 
 but whether all I have said about the souls and the 
 place of their abode is true or not, if the soul is really 
 immortal, it seems to me that it may be believed with- 
 out danger.' 
 
 Five centuries after Plato, we find a similar narrative 
 in a work of Plutarch : De his qui a numine sero pu- 
 niuntur. Thespesius of Cilicia returns to the world 
 after his death, and relates Avhat he had seen. ' He 
 had lived,' says Plutarch, ' in the indulgence of sensual
 
 132 THE SOURCES OF 
 
 pleasures. His vision of eternity sanctified and purified 
 him.' 
 
 The Romans, whose literature is, after all, but an 
 admirable imitation of that of Greece, the reflection of 
 a brilliant light, naturally transferred to their works 
 the taste of the former for the marvellous. Cicero, in 
 the last book of his Republic, has given us the Dream 
 of Scipio, which, in the work of the Roman philoso- 
 pher, takes the place of Plato's Vision of Her. Scipio 
 the younger, in a dream, imagined that his ancestor, 
 Scipio Africanus, appeared to him, and after pointing 
 out to him the brilliant career which awaited him, pre- 
 pared him for his destiny by explaining to him the 
 economy of the system of the universe. Transported 
 to the top of a celestial temple, Scipio, in the midst of 
 the souls which are wandering along the milky-way, 
 listens to the seven notes of the eternal music of the 
 spheres. He gazes upon the stars which surround 
 him, and contemplates with awe the immense spaces in 
 which they are suspended ; and when at last he dis- 
 covers our little world, and the small space which the 
 Roman empire occupies, he turns away to hide his 
 shame. Struck by the admirable spectacle which he 
 has witnessed, he vows to rise above this world, and to 
 aspire with all his power to this supreme felicity. In 
 this admirable fragment, Cicero has collected all his 
 doctrines on God, on nature, and on man. 
 
 But the images of a world of spirits are still more 
 vivid in another and more popular work, Virgil's 
 iEneid. In the sixth book of this poem, the Roman 
 poet has given an epitome of the whole religious sys- 
 tem of his country. He has shown the origin and
 
 THE UIVINA COMMEDIA. 133 
 
 destiny of the soul, and has combined the philosophical 
 doctrines of his times with all the pomp and majesty 
 of the Greek mythology. In fact, he may be said to 
 have opened the road to the infernal regions ; for all 
 his imitators faithfully crowd after him, and follow him 
 to the cavern of the terrible sibyl. The descent to the 
 regions of death and darkness becomes an easy under- 
 taking, facilis decensus Averno. Ovid leads Orpheus 
 and Juno to them ; Silius Italicus shows Scipio visiting 
 Avernus ; Statius has given no less than three descrip- 
 tions of the infernal regions ; and Valerius Flaccus and 
 Claudian have followed the common example. The 
 dramatists are not in this respect outdone by the epic 
 poets. It is remarkable, also, that in the fights of the 
 gladiators a figure bearirg the attributes of Pluto, with 
 a hammer in his hand, came into the arena to take 
 away the bodies of the dead. The poets of the time 
 of the decline of the Roman empire treat these pop- 
 ular descriptions, and the belief of the multitude, with 
 the greatest contempt. Seneca says, that they are 
 nothing but words devoid of sense.* In the eyes of 
 Juvenal, they are are fables to be believed only by 
 ' children too young to pay at the public baths.' t 
 
 Dante, it is probable, was only indirectly indebted to 
 the Greeks for the general conception or the details of 
 his poem, for it is still a question how far he was ac- 
 quainted with the Greek language ; but to the Romans 
 he certai'nly owed much. He tells us, that, after the 
 
 * * Rumores vacui, verbaque inania.' Troad, Act II. 
 t ' Nee pueri credunt, nisi qui nondum sere lavantur.' Juv., 
 Sat. n., 152.
 
 134 THE SOURCES OF 
 
 death of Beatrice, he sought for consolation in the 
 works of Cicero.* He then read the Somnium Scipi- 
 onis, and, like the great Roman general, overpowered 
 by the admirable vision there related, he determined to 
 rise above the world, and to concentrate all his thoughts 
 on the mysteries of another life. But to Virgil he 
 was particularly indebted. There is ample evidence of 
 this in the first canto of the Inferno, for there he has 
 himself said, in speaking to Virgil: 'Thou art my 
 master and my guide, thou art he from whom I took 
 the beautiful style which has done me so much honor.' t 
 The part which he has ascribed, in his poem, to the 
 great Latin poet, shows how well he must have been 
 acquainted with the jEneid. In his eyes, as in those of 
 most men of the Middle Ages, Virgil was the repre- 
 sentative of the religious belief of the ancients, in its 
 purest form. He had, as it was then believed, prophe- 
 sied in one of his Eclogues, the advent of Christ. As 
 we have already said, he did not, in the sixth book of 
 the JEne'id, follow exclusively the precepts of any one 
 school of philosophy. Whilst he professed the pure 
 and spiritual doctrines of Plato, he did not express any 
 contempt for the mysteries of Eleusis, or the poetic 
 conceptions of the Pythagoreans. These considera- 
 tions had given rise during the Middle Ages to a pecu- 
 liar veneration for the name of Virgil. By the people 
 he was considered as a magician ; by the men of 
 
 *Convito, 11, 13. 
 
 t Tu se' lo mio maestro c '1 mio autore, 
 Tu se' solo colui da cu' io tolsi 
 Lo bello stile, che m' ha fatto onore.' 
 
 Inferno, Canto I., 85 - 88.
 
 . THE DIVINA COMMEDIA. 135 
 
 learning, as a prophet. On the subject of his life and 
 death ttie most curious legends were in circulation. 
 He figured in the old Mysteries, and there is even an 
 old Spanish ballad entitled Vergilios. It is not sur- 
 prising, then, that Dante should have chosen him for 
 his guide during the first part of his supernatural in- 
 itiation into the mysteries of eternity. He was prob- 
 ably acquainted, also, with a number of the minor 
 Latin poets ; for, notwithstanding the religious zeal of 
 these times, and the treasures of learning and elo- 
 quence which Christianity had given to the world, the 
 cultivation of Greek and Roman letters was never 
 entirely abandoned. In 1325, we find a master of 
 grammar, named Vital, employed in the University of 
 Bologna, at a fixed stipend, to comment upon the works 
 of Cicero and of Ovid. In the monasteries, the pas- 
 sion for antiquity was carried to such an extent, that, 
 even as early as the eleventh century, a German monk 
 complains bitterly of the great abuses to which this 
 taste for Juvenal and Horace might give rise, and 
 accuses himself of having given too much time to the 
 reading of Lucan. But, as M. Ozanam very justly 
 observes, it is in Latin, and in making use of the same 
 measure as these poets, that this monk expresses his 
 complaints and regrets. 
 
 Such are the sources, in the ancient literature of the 
 Greeks and the Romans, to which Dante is chiefly 
 indebted. If we now turn to the literature of the East 
 for descriptions of another world, we shall find an 
 abundance of curious and instructive material. But it 
 must be remarked, that the Jewish and Hindoo writers 
 can have exercised on Dante's poem but an indirect
 
 136 THE SOURCES OF 
 
 and rather vague influence, and that it is only when 
 we consider them as one more link of that chai which 
 unites the inspiration of the Florentine poet with those 
 traditions which have occupied and interested the hu- 
 man race at all times, that they can be studied in con* 
 nection with the Divina Commedia. A rapid analysis 
 of these works will show what were the notions of 
 these people on the subject of a future state. 
 
 Although full of the most poetic images, the Hebrew 
 Scriptures contain little or nothing on this topic. There 
 is no complete description of hell to be found, and the 
 few expressions which are used to designate it convey 
 but a vague idea to the mind of the reader. Even the 
 visions of Elias, of Ezekiel, or of Enoch, do not give 
 any details respecting it. In the Hindoo literature, on 
 the contrary, there is much on the subject. In the 
 Maha-Barata, we find the description of the journey of 
 Ardjuna to the heaven of India. In the Atharva-Veda, 
 that most ancient of poems, we see the young Brahmin 
 Tadkjita sent by his father to the king of Death, from 
 whose kingdom no living man ever returned. The 
 king, touched by the obedience of Tadkjita, sends him 
 back to earth, after having granted him three gifts, 
 which he may choose as he likes. After he has asked 
 for two, which are granted, the conversation between 
 them continues thus. Tadkjita says, ' This is my 
 third request ; among those who discuss these matters, 
 there are many contradictions. Some say there is 
 nothing beyond this world, and that, when the body 
 perishes, nothing remains ; others think that the soul 
 is distinct from the body, and that, when the body dies, . 
 the soul enters another world, where it is treated ac-
 
 THE DIVINA COMMEDIA. 137 
 
 cording as it has merited. I therefore wish that you 
 should instruct me, in order that I may learn which of 
 these opinions is true.' The king of Death replied, 
 ' On this subject the gods themselves are in doubt ; it is 
 a subtile matter which escapes the powers of the intel- 
 ligence.' Tadjkita said, ' O King ! this is my great 
 desire, and I have no other desire stronger than this.' 
 The king of Death replied, ' Ask me to grant you a 
 great number of children, and that they may live a 
 long time, each one living to the age of a hundred 
 years ; ask me to give you the world and all its riches ; 
 ask me to grant you a long life, or anything else you 
 like ; only do not ask me to answer that one question, 
 What happens after death ? For none of those who 
 are dead ever return to the world to tell this to the liv- 
 ing.' Tadjkita rejoined, ' You say, Ask me to grant 
 you a long life. But if in the end I must die, what 
 shall I gain by living many years ? Keep therefore 
 for yourself the world and its riches, and a long life. 
 I have but one wish ; that is, that you should instruct 
 me. I ask this because I live in the world, and because 
 I fear death and old age. I ask you to teach me some- 
 thing which shall prevent my fearing either old age or 
 death.' The king, touched by the earnestness of his 
 request, informs him of the state of the soul after 
 death, and sends him back to the world with the cer- 
 tainty of a future existence.* 
 
 ^ Similar scenes are to be found in some of the songs 
 of the Edda. In the Vafthrudnis-mal, the giant Vaf- 
 thrudnir informs Odin of what he has seen in the 
 
 * Oupnek 'hat. Vol. II. 37.
 
 138 THE SOURCES OF 
 
 Valhalla, and in the darker regions of death.* In the 
 Vegtams-quida, Odin mounts his horse, Sleipner, and 
 descends into the infernal regions, there to consult the 
 spirit of a prophetess respecting the fate of Balder, 
 the youngest and the fairest of the human race, t Thus 
 we find analogous ideas on the subject of a future state 
 in the literature of all nations, even of those the most 
 remotely connected. This is not surprising, when we 
 reflect that the earliest application which was made of 
 poetry was to religious subjects. Quintilian tells us, 
 that poetry was destined to preserve sacred doctrines, 
 to express the decrees of the oracles, and to animate 
 devotion. Thus the common origin of all poetry ex- 
 plains the singular resemblances we find between the 
 Hindoo and Scandinavian literatures, resemblances 
 which would otherwise be inexplicable. 
 
 We have seen how far the ancients succeeded in 
 penetrating the mysteries of our spiritual nature and 
 future destiny. We have witnessed the isolated at- 
 tempts of poets and philosophers, and the combined 
 eflforts of whole nations, to explain Avhat is to be the 
 state of the soul after death. How vague and unsatis- 
 factory are the results of these undertakings ! But 
 life and immortality were brought to light by the gospel, 
 and what had been the subject of the doubtful medita- 
 tions of men of science since the beginning of the 
 world was made evident to the followers of the new 
 
 For an analysis of this part of the VaAhrudnis-mal, see 
 Wheaton's History of the Northmen, p. 68. 
 
 f See a translation in verse of this Saga, in Spenser's Mis- 
 cellaneous Poetry, "Vol. I., p. 50.
 
 THE DIVINA COMMEDIA. 139 
 
 religion. Still, as a society of men cannot exist with- 
 out some kind of poetry to gratify their imaginations, 
 the New Testament soon became the source of poetic 
 inspiration. All the narratives, which in the sacred 
 books had been designedly left unfinished, were soon 
 completed, according to the taste of the early ages of 
 our era. We need mention but one example of this, 
 that of the legends relative to the Virgin Mary. The 
 mother of the Saviour is mentioned but once in the 
 New Testament after the death of her son, because at 
 the foot of his cross all the interest she inspired van- 
 ishes ; her sacred character disappears, she is no longer 
 superior to any other woman. The legendary spirit, 
 however, which at so early a period sprung out of the 
 new faith, did not respect the silence of Scripture on 
 this subject. A narrative of the life and death of the 
 Virgin was invented ; the popular belief penetrated 
 into the church ; and even at the present day, all Ro- 
 man Catholics celebrate the 15th of August as the day 
 of the ascension of the Virgin. The multitude had 
 free access to the sanctuary ; consequently the sanc- 
 tuaiy was not always respected. The mysteries of 
 another life had been laid open to all men ; they no 
 longer feared to gaze upon those secret regions where 
 retribution awaits those who have left this life. Our 
 Saviour and his apostles had never attempted to give 
 any description of heaven or of hell ; the poetic and 
 zealous spirit of the new Christians did not hesitate to 
 supply this omission. Hence the vast number of le- 
 gends and visions which pervade the literature of the 
 Middle Ages, and which were not destined to receive a 
 definitive and permanent form until Dante combined 
 
 %
 
 140 THE SOURCES OF 
 
 them in liis immortal work, and gave to them the sanc- 
 tion of genius. Wc shall endeavor to show how much 
 influence they exercised on Dante's invention, to give 
 a general idea of the nature of these legends, and 
 to analyze as rapidly as possible some of those which 
 may prove the most illustrative of our subject. 
 
 Among the legends of the Middle Ages, it is neces- 
 sary to distinguish those which belonged in common to 
 all nations from those which seem to have been the 
 property of some particular race. In the collection of 
 poetic traditions entitled Legenda Aurea, published 
 during the thirteenth century, by Giacopo de Varaggio, 
 we find many legends that were popular throughout all 
 Europe. Such are the narratives of the visions of 
 St. Carpus and St. Christina, which were in circulation 
 during the first centuries of our era. We are struck 
 by the mildness of spirit which pervades these early 
 legends. But if it is remembered, that, when these 
 legends were composed, Origen was teaching that all 
 the sufferings of hell are but expiatory, and inculcating 
 the doctrine of the final redemption of mankind, we 
 shall not be surprised at this. 
 
 The most striking of the legends given by Giacopo 
 de Varaggio is that of referring to the descent of Christ 
 into hell. This legend is taken from the apocryphal 
 Gospel of Nicodemus. The narrative commences on 
 the day of the resurrection of the Lord. While the 
 Jewish priests are in deliberation, two men, Lucius and 
 Carinus, risen from the dead, are introduced into the 
 synagogue. They relate that, as they were in dark- 
 ness with the patriarchs, a brilliant light suddenly ap- 
 peared, and the father of all men, Adam, was filled 

 
 i 
 
 THE DIVINA COMMEDIA. 141 
 
 with joy, and exclaimed, 'This is the light of the 
 Author of all things, who promised to send us his 
 light.' And Isaiah said, 'This light is that of the 
 Son of God, of which I prophesied that the people 
 which was walking in darkness should see the splendor.' 
 And Satan, the Prince of death, said to Hell, 'Be 
 prepared to receive Jesus, who prided himself on being 
 the Son of God, and who is but a man who fears to 
 die ; for he said, " My soul is sorrowful even unto 
 death." I have tempted him, I have excited the people 
 against him, and prepared his cross ; the moment is at 
 hand when I shall bring him prisoner to this place.' 
 And Hell answered and said, ' Is it the same Jesus 
 wbo ordered Lazarus to rise from the dead ? ' 'It is 
 be,* replied Satan. ' Then,' cried Hell, ' I beseech 
 thee, by thy power and my own, not to bring him here ; 
 for when I heard his voice, 1 trembled and could not 
 hold Lazarus, who suddenly escaped and rose in the 
 air, like an eagle.' But while Hell was thus speaking, 
 a voice like thunder was heard to say, ' Princes, 
 open your gates, your eternal gates, and let the King 
 of Glory enter.' At the sound of this voice, the de- 
 mons shut the gates of bronze with iron bars. But 
 David, on seeing them, said, ' I prophecied that he 
 would break the gates of. bronze.' And the voice was 
 again heard to say, ' Open your gates, and let the 
 King of Gloiy enter.' Hell then said, ' Who is 
 this King of Glory f ' And Daniel answered, * The 
 Lord strong and powerful, the Lord of Hosts ; it is he 
 who is called the King of Glory.' At that moment, 
 the King of Glory himself appeared, and taking Adam 
 by the hand, said to him, ' Peace be with thee, and
 
 142 THE SOURCES OF 
 
 all those of thy race who shall be just.' And the Lord 
 left Hell, and all those who were just followed him. 
 The archangel Michael opens the gates of paradise to 
 tlie multitude. There appears a man bearing on his 
 shoulder the sign of the cross ; this man was the thief 
 who was crucified with Christ, and to whom our Sa- 
 viour had predicted that he should that day be in para- 
 dise with him.* 
 
 Here crlds this curious legend, which, if it had but 
 little authority in the eyes of the theologian,* has at 
 least been a source to which Milton and Klopstock did 
 not disdain to look for poetical descriptions*. Another 
 curious legend, among those which belonged ip com- 
 mon to all the nations of Europe, is that of the vis^pn 
 of the three monks, Sergius, Theophilu* affd Hygiflus. 
 They wished to discover the spot where heaven nd . 
 earth touch each other ; that is to say, the terrestrial M 
 paradise. After having travelled through mdifi and fl 
 I^rsia, they arrived in a most delightful country, w in ro ^ 
 seemed to reign an eternal spring. They here i'ounda 
 fawn and a dove, who led them thro^jgh hell, wlinrc 
 they heard cries of * Mercy ! mercy ! ' and a formida- 
 ble voice saying, ' This is the place of punishment ! ' 
 into the blessed regions, where the just enjoy the per* 
 petual contemplation of God. After having thus visited 
 all the mysteries of eternity, they returned to their 
 convent, but other monks had taken their place. 
 They saw their own names nearly effaced on the 
 list of persons who had previously inhabited the con- 
 vent ; seven centuries had elapsed since they had left 
 
 Legenda Aurea, De Btsurrcctione Domini.
 
 THE DIVINA COMMEDIA. 143 
 
 it. * This legend, says M. Labitte, shows 'something 
 of the stories of the Golden Age, mingled with the 
 splendors of the Arabian Nights, and the aspirations 
 of an ascetic life.' These two fictions are among the 
 most important of those in general circulation. We 
 have now to consider those which differ from each 
 other according to the peculiar genius, or the degree of 
 civilization, of the people among whom they had their 
 origin. Each of the great nations of Europe had its 
 own cyclus of legends, as it had its own laws and its 
 peculiar manners and customs. 
 
 In Germany, religious visions are found in greater 
 number than in any other region ;^ and they bear a 
 character of severity and terror which seldom belongs, 
 at l^st in the same degree, to the legendary poetry of 
 other nations. It was natural that it should be so in 
 the land where the Catholic faith had encountered the 
 greatest difficulty in taking root. It was deemed neces- 
 ary to use terror as a means of conviction with a bar- 
 irous people, who lived in an open state of polygamy 
 
 'late as the eleventh century, and whose emperors 
 ''made tlte'most corrupt use of ecclesiastical patronage. 
 
 Tlio 111 Ilk Othlo mentions no less than seven visions 
 i the i>unishments reserved for the wicked, t He 
 i!so relates the curious adventure of a knight named 
 VoUark. As he was going to a nuptial festivity with 
 some of his friends, he lost his way in a forest. Pres- 
 ently a knight dressed in black accosted him, and of- 
 
 ^**'^' 
 
 Manuscript in the Royal Library of Paris, fifteenth century, 
 No. 7762. 
 
 f Othlonis monachi Ratisbonensis Liber visionum turn sua- 
 rum turn aliarum.
 
 144 THE SOURCES OF 
 
 fered him shelter for the night. Vollark accepted the 
 invitation, and entered the castle of his host. The 
 tables were covered with gold, silver and precious 
 stones, and around them were seated the most hideous 
 figures. This sight filled Vollark with astonishment 
 and fear. ' All these riches,' said his host, * are those 
 taken by men from their churches ; they work for me.* 
 The poor knight then remembered that his host had 
 called himself Nithard, that is to say, the Evil One ; 
 but as Vollark lived in the fear of God, Nithard had 
 no power over him, and he was enabled to return to his 
 companions. 
 
 One of the most remarkable among the German 
 visions is that of Wettin, monk of the monastery of 
 Reichenau.' * Two days before his death, Wettirj, was 
 transported in spirit, and conducted by his guardian 
 angel through the three abodes of immortal life. He 
 there sa\y the condemned given up to the most dread 
 ful punishments, rolled in torrents of fire, buried in 
 coffins of lead, and surrounded by clouds of smoke. ^ 
 Among those who were condemned to suffer he rccog-^jB 
 nised many priests and monks, f He asotfj^d the 
 mountain of purgatory, where bishops who had been 
 remiss in the discharge of their duties, and rapaciou^|^ 
 noblemen and princes, were condemned to expiate 
 their sins. Among the latter, ho saw Charlemagne 
 punished for incontinence. At last he entered heaven, 
 and having passed through the midst of the holy mar- 
 tyrs and virgins, he arrived at the throne of God, who 
 
 Acta Sanctorum Ordinis S. Benedicti, IV., pars 2, p. 268 
 f Compare these punishments with those described by Dante 
 in his Inferno, CsuQto XI.
 
 THE DIVINA COMMEDIA. 145 
 
 promised him eternal life on condition that he should 
 return to the world to relate what he had seen. In the 
 vision of St. Anscharius, we find, in the description of 
 paradise, much of the spirituality which pervades the 
 narrative of Dante. ' He saw neither sun nor moon, 
 nor the heavens nor arth, for everything there was 
 incorporeal.' * In the visions mentioned by St. Boni- 
 face, t the founder of the church in Germany, one is 
 struck by the gentleness of spirit which seems to have 
 dictated them; still, the principal aim of the legends of 
 Germany, as already said, was to strike terror into the 
 heart of the believer. 
 
 The same gloomy and severe character is stamped 
 upon many of the French legends. The French, who 
 had derived many of their manners and customs from 
 their neighbors the Germans, preserved them down to 
 a very late period. We find a manifesto of the thir- 
 teenth century, in which the Sicilians complain of the 
 barbarism of the French, because, instead of taking 
 their instruction from Italy, they sought on the other 
 side of the Rhine for their laws and customs. J At 
 the period of the decline of the Carlovingians, the 
 French legends were particularly fearful. The descent 
 into hell of a woman named Frothilda is recorded. 
 She there foresaw the exile of Louis d'Outremer, and 
 
 * Vita S. Amcharii, auctore Eemberto. ' Sol vero nee luna 
 necquaquam lucebant ibi, nee cesium ac terra ibidem visa 
 sunt, nam cuncta erant incorporea.' 
 
 f S. Bonifacii EpistolcR. 
 
 % Vide Amari, Storia del Vespro Siciliano. 
 10 
 
 %
 
 146 THE SOURCES OF 
 
 the consequent disturbances which were to spread grief 
 and sorrow throughout the kingdom.* Berthold visits 
 the abode of the damned, and there sees Charles the 
 Bald, an archbishop, and several priests, punished for 
 their crimes, t Andrade is present at the council of 
 God, and hears him ask the angels what is the cause of 
 all the wickedness which exists on earth ; he is told 
 that it is the fault of the bad kings who reign in the 
 world. But who are these kings ? for I know them 
 not.' The emperor Louis and his son Lotharius then 
 appear, and God tells them that they must obey the 
 church, if they wish to preserve their crowns. J One 
 of the most celeljrated French legends is that of the 
 vision of Charles the Bald. One night he saw before 
 him a figure dressed in white, which placed in his hand 
 the end of a thread that seemed to be all of fire, and 
 ordered him to follow it. He thus enters the infernal 
 labyrinth, where he witnesses the punishment of bish- 
 ops who had misused the authority given to them by 
 their clerical character; passing through tlie midst of 
 molten lead, he hears dreadful lamentations, and dis- 
 tinguishes these words : 'The punishment of the great 
 is great.' In purgatory, he sees his father, Louis, 
 plunged in boiling water. At last, the heavens open, 
 and his grandfather Lothaire appears, and predicts to 
 him the fall of his race and his own abdication. ^ In 
 these legends we are particularly struck by the courage 
 
 * Ampere, Jlistoire Litteraire de France, Tom. III., p. 283. 
 t Ibid., Tom. III., p. 117. 
 I Ibid., Tom. III., p. 119. 
 ^ Ibid., Tom. III., p. 120,
 
 THE DIVINA COMMEDIA. 147 
 
 with which the vices and crimes of the great were 
 attacked by their contemporaries ; they formed the 
 morality of histoiy. But, this opposition to the en- 
 croachments or abuse of power not only existed in 
 the legends of France ; it passed into the church, 
 and mass was said against tyrants, missa contra tyrant 
 nos. 
 
 In England and Ireland, we find two very celebrated 
 legends, the Purgatory of St. Patrick, and the Vision 
 of St. Tundale. The first mentioned was one of the 
 most popular legends of the Middle Ages. It was well 
 known in France, and was translated both into ItalJin 
 and Spanish.* An English knight is the hero of this 
 legend. He undertakes to visit purgatory, and for this 
 purpose enters a cavern in an island of Lake Dungal, 
 which had formerly been open to St. Patrick. Hence 
 the legend is called the Purgatory of St. Patrick. The 
 terrible threats of the demons who strive to prevent him 
 from entering do not intimidate him ; he continues to 
 advance, and sees the condemned suffering the most 
 horrible punishments. Some of them are crucified or 
 devoured by serpents ; others, quite naked, are exposed 
 to the cold winds of winter. Among those thus tortur- 
 ed he recognizes many of his friends and companions. 
 At last he comes to a narrow bridge thrown over the 
 abyss ; as he approaches, it grows wider, and he is en- 
 abled to pass. He then enters the garden of Eden, 
 
 * Calderon adapted this legend to the stage, and as late as 
 1764 we find the ballad of La Cuera de San Patricio published 
 at Madrid. There is on this subject a learned essay in English 
 by Mr Wright. 
 
 c
 
 148 THE SOURCES OF 
 
 peopled by those who are not sufficiently pure to enter 
 the kingdom of God, and lastly he sees the glory of the 
 Lord in all its effulgence. Then he returns to the world, 
 where he lives a better life than he had previously done. 
 The vision of St. Tundale, and that of the Northum- 
 brian, Dritheim, are very similar to that of St. Patrick, 
 and wc shall therefore not attempt to analyze them.* 
 The legend of St. Brendan deserves, however, to be 
 noticed. It is one of tiie most curious of all the le- 
 gends of the Middle Ages. St, Brendan had left the 
 island of Erin in search of the land promised to those 
 \^o should lead a holy life. After haying seen the 
 island called the Paradise of Birds, the abode of 
 those half- fallen angels who neither took part with Satan 
 nor resisted his audacious undertaking, he discovers 
 hell, whose volcanic summit rises above the ocean. 
 He here sees Judas, who betrayed the Lord, and to 
 whom in his infinite mercy Christ has granted one day 
 of respite from his sufferings. At last, he discovers the 
 terrestrial paradise that he was looking for, and then 
 returns to his country. Dante was unquestionably ac- 
 quainted with this legend, for among all the poetic 
 effusions of the Middle Ages not one was better known. 
 It was popular as late as the sixteeenth century, for at 
 the time of Luther many rich men were ruined by the 
 immense sums of money they expended in order to 
 discover the unknown country of St. Brendan. This 
 apocryphal land also figures in a diplomatic negotiation 
 between Spain and Portugal; and in 1721, we find a 
 
 * See the Vision of St. Tundale, published by Mr. Turnbull, 
 Edinburgh, 1843 j and that of Driihelm in Bede, Hist. Ecchs., 
 Lib. v., c. 13.
 
 THE DIVINA COMMEDIA. 149 
 
 ship sailing from Spain in the direction of the Canary 
 Islands, in search of this fabulous island. * 
 
 There are but few religious legends to be found in the 
 annals of Spain. The romantic and chivalric ballads 
 so popular in that country excluded all other poetry. 
 The Cid had too much to do on earth to be able to visit 
 the mysteries of another world ; and it is worthy of 
 remark, that, instead of transporting him to heaven, as 
 other poets have done with their heroes, Sepulveda, in 
 one of his ballads, represents St. Peter visiting him 
 thirty days before his death, in order to prepare him 
 for his end. 
 
 In the cursory view we have taken of the different 
 legends of European nations on the subject of another 
 world, we have now reached the country of Dante, 
 and, as might be supposed, we find traditions which 
 must have exercised a still greater influence on his 
 poem. He was acquainted with the poetic legends of 
 other nations from the books which he read, or from the 
 narratives of travellers who had visited the different 
 countries of Europe. He found those of his native 
 land at every step. During the Middle Ages, Italy may 
 be said to have been itself a legend. If he opened a 
 book which was in every one's hand, the Fioretti di San 
 Francesco, he must have seen some of those touching 
 stories which were related of the holy man ; he must 
 have become acquainted with that charming legend of 
 
 * M. Labitte supposes that this legend may have indirectly 
 inspired Columbus, and that in the unknown land of St. Bren- 
 dan, whilst Dante sought for his invisible world, Columbus 
 looked for the New World. 
 

 
 150 THE SOURCES OF 
 
 three thieves who came one day to the monastery of 
 Monte Casale. The porter had refused to open the 
 gate to them ; St. Francis ordered him to go and look 
 after them, and when he should Imve fouml them to 
 2isk their pardon, and to offer them bread and wine, at 
 the same time recommending them to reform and to 
 lead in future a more holy life. The porter obeyed, 
 and the thieres were so much touched, that they began 
 to reflect on the sinful life they had hitherto led, and 
 went immediately to ask pardon of St. Francis. He 
 received them, and shortly after they took orders. 
 Two of them soon died, and their souls went to heaven ; 
 the third survived, and, after doing penance for fifteen 
 yeart, he one night had a vision. He fancied that he 
 was transported to the top of a high mountain, to the 
 brink of a precipice which filled his soul with terror. 
 The angel who led the way threw him into the abyss, 
 and, following him, ordered him to rise and to come* 
 with him. They traversed a long valley, filled with 
 sharp-pointed stones, at the end of which a troop of 
 horrible demons seized upon him, and threw him into 
 a blazing furnace. When he had' got out of the fur- 
 nace, he came to a narrow and slippery bridge, under 
 which was rolling a torrent full of scorpions and ser- 
 pents. In the middle of the bridge, the angel rose in 
 the air and alighted on a mountain. The good thief, 
 on finding himself thus alone, was filled with terror, 
 and, not knowing what to do, he recommended himself 
 to God ; he presently began to feel wings growing on 
 his shoulders, and, without waiting for them to have 
 attained their full growth, he sought to fly. Twice he 
 fell, but at the third attempt be succeeded in rejoining
 
 THE DIVINA COMMEDIA. 151 
 
 his companion. At this moment, St. Francis, who had 
 died a short time previous, appeared to him, and intro- 
 duced him into a magnificent palace ^situated on the 
 mountain, where, having shown him all the treasures it 
 contained, he ordered him to return for seven days to 
 earth. The good thief then awoke ; seven days after 
 this vision, he died.' * 
 
 When Dante visited the convent of Benedictine 
 monks at Florence, he must have found in their library 
 the celebrated vision of Alberic, who, having passed 
 through purgatory, finds himself before the dread tri- 
 bunal where the human race is finally judged. A sinner 
 was awaiting his sentence ; his crimes were inscribed 
 in a book by the angel of vengeance. But in the latter 
 days of his life, the sinner had shed one tear of re- 
 pentance ; it had been gathered up by the angel of 
 mercy, who lets it fall on the book, and it effaces all 
 trace of what was written there, t 
 
 But it was not only in the legendary and poetic tra- 
 ditions of his country that Dante found those doubts 
 and elevated speculations respecting the particulars of 
 another life, which agitated the Middle Ages. In one 
 of the sermons of Gregory the Seventh, which Dante 
 was doubtless acquainted with, there is a remarkable 
 passage concerning the sufferings which await the sin- 
 ner in another world. When, in the little town of Arezzo, 
 Gregory, then only cardinal, preached this sermon, 
 
 * Fioretti di San Francesco, cap. 25. 
 
 t This legend was written by the monks of Monte Casale, 
 and published for the first time by JMr. Cancellieri, at Rome, in 
 1818. It reminds one of the beautiful passage of Sterne, 
 where the recording angel washes out the oath of Uncle Toby 
 with a tear.
 
 153 THE SOUBCES OF 
 
 he was not preoccupied with any poetic thought ; his 
 aim was only to convince his auditory that neither 
 prince nor baron could, with impunity, touch the pos- 
 sessions of the church. In order to attain his object, 
 he recounted the following fiction in his sermon. A 
 holy man who had descended into hell had there seen 
 a ladder standing in the midst of the flames and fire of 
 everlasting justice. All the men who belonged to the 
 family of a certain German baron, who had usurped 
 the domains of the church of Mentz, were condemned 
 to come on this ladder after their death. The latest 
 comer placed himself on the uppermost step of the 
 ladder, and those who had preceded him descended a 
 step, so that one after the other they were plunged into 
 the horrible abyss. 
 
 In the chronicle of Malaspina, Dante no doubt read 
 the adventure of the Marquis Hugues of Brandenburg, 
 who, having followed the Emperor Otto the Third to 
 Italy, got lost, by the visitation of God, in a forest, in 
 the neighborhood of Florence, and there discovered a 
 forge in which several men seemed to be at work. But 
 he soon saw that the workmen were quite black, and that 
 instead of iron, they were beating human beings on the 
 anvil. He was told that these were condemned souls, 
 and that his would be treated in the same manner, if 
 he did not repent. On hearing this, the Marquis rec- 
 ommended himself to the Holy Virgin, and after his 
 return to Germany, he sold all his property in order to 
 found seven new monasteries.* 
 
 The Dialogues of St. Gregory the Great, however, 
 
 * Ricordano Malaspina, Istoria^ c. 48.
 
 THE DIVINA COMMEDIA. 153 
 
 was the classical book of Italian legendary literature ; 
 but it would detain us too long to analyze all the le- 
 gends in it, and others which were in circulation in 
 Italy. Those that we have mentioned suffice to show 
 the spirit of the religious poetry of that country. They 
 are full of that energy so natural to Italian poetry of 
 all ages, but at the same time a spirit of mildness per- 
 vades them, which is not to be found in the legends of 
 Germany or of France. The higher degree of civil- 
 ization of Italy, and the vast authority which the Catho- 
 lic faith had in that land, naturally imparted more of 
 the mild and humble spirit of the gospel to its poetry. 
 The visions of paradise are more numerous than in 
 the more barbarous countries of the North, and it may 
 safely be said that such legends as that of Alberic 
 could have been found in no other country than Italy. 
 We havd now seen liow much the works of the an- 
 cients and those of the Middle Ages contributed to- 
 wards the formation of the Divina Commedia. But 
 there remains yet another source from which Dante 
 may have drawn much of his inspiration. During 
 those ages when the Roman Catholic faith prevailed 
 universally, the mysteries of a future state were not 
 only celebrated by poets and men of letters ; they were 
 sculptured by the great artists of tne time. The ca- 
 thedrals which then rose up, as if by magic, in all parts 
 of Europe, were filled with images of another world. 
 It is impossible that Dante should have entered any of 
 the churches of Pisa or Rome without being powerfully 
 impressed by all that surrounded him. On the doors 
 of the church of Santa Maria di Orvieto, he must have 
 seen the bas-reliefs sculptured by Nicholas of Pisa,
 
 154 THE SOURCES OF 
 
 aided by some German workmen, in whicii the artist 
 had represented the last judgment, the joys of paradise 
 and the tortures of hell. It was very common thus to 
 represent on the exterior of great religious monuments 
 the visions of a future state ; it seemed as if the artist 
 wished the passer-by to be struck by the spectacle of 
 the sufferings which awaited him if he erred from the 
 right path in this world, and thus to induce him to enter 
 the church, there to prostrate himself before the altar, 
 and humbly to acknowledge his frailty. If he actually 
 entered, another spectacle immediately caught his eye ; 
 consolation seemed to surround him on all sides. On 
 the stained glass of the windows, he discovered the 
 holy virgins who had suffered martyrdom ; and above 
 the organ he saw the rose, which generally represented 
 the nine choruses of angels surrounding the throne of 
 God.* 
 
 But the imaginative people of those times would not 
 have been satisfied to behold these supernatural images 
 merely carved in stone or marble. They wished to 
 see them animated, and a soul breathed into them. 
 Hence those Mysteries in which the legends of the 
 wise and foolish virgins, or the history of the Virgin, 
 were performed. A Mystery representing the infernal 
 regions was acted at Florence in 1304, at the foot of 
 
 It was, no doubt, in visiting some charch that Dante con- 
 ceived the idea of representing heaven in the form of a rose, 
 on the leaves of which were seated the blessed. 
 ' In forma dunque di Candida rosa 
 Mi si mostrava la milizia santa, 
 Che nel suo sangue Cristo fece sposa.' 
 
 Paradiso, Canto XXXI.
 
 THE DIVINA COMMEDIA. 155 
 
 the bridge, alia Carraia. Demons were seen perse- 
 cuting tlic condemned. The number of persons as- 
 sembled on the bridge caused it to give way, and a 
 great many were drowned. * Thus,' says Villani, ' what 
 was announced as a mere amusement became a reality, 
 and many persons actually went to visit the invisible 
 world,' * 
 
 The subject that Dante chose was, as we have seen, 
 far from being original. Like all men of genius, he 
 understood, that, to be illustrious, it is not necessary to 
 work with materials which have never before been 
 used, but that the only subjects worthy the meditations 
 and the labors of a great nind are those which have at 
 all times agitated the human heart, and filled it with 
 the strongest emotions. The materials of the Divina 
 Commedia were everywhere to be found. Dante was 
 surrounded by images which awakened and kept alive 
 in him the habit of meditating on these awful subjects. 
 The prophecies and visions of futurity were scattered 
 throughout Europe ; they only required that a master 
 mind should appear, capable of embodying them in 
 one great poem. Dante appeared ; from his very 
 youth he had deeply meditated the problem of human 
 destiny, and in the life of an exile, where he had learnt 
 ' how salt is the bread of others, and how hard the 
 road is going up and down the stairs of others,' he 
 
 * Villani, Storia. Dante was already banished from his na- 
 tive land when this Mystery was performed. It is nevertheless 
 probable, that this tragical event may have had some influence 
 on his ardent imagination, and some persons have even gone 
 so far as to suppose that this Mystery first gave rise to his im- 
 mortal poem.
 
 156 THE SOURCES OF 
 
 acquired that strength of character and power of 
 thought which adversity alone can give, and without 
 which even the man of genius cannot bring forth all 
 that his intelligence conceives. Nothing was wanting 
 but to decide the moment when he should commence 
 his great undertaking. This moment was at hand. 
 
 On the 21st of February, 1300, Boniface the Eighth 
 published a bull granting plenary indulgence to all 
 those who should visit the tombs of the blessed apostles 
 St. Peter and St. Paul during a fortnight. The capital 
 of the Christian world was thronged with strangers 
 from all parts of Europe. Not less than two millions 
 of persons are said to hav visited Rome during this 
 period. Among the strangers who then went to that 
 city were two Florentines, both of whom were forcibly 
 struck by this extraordinary spectacle. One of them was 
 Giovanni Villani, who there first conceived the plan of 
 his great historical work ; * the other was Dante, t 
 who, amazed and confounded at the sight of this vast 
 multitude crowding round the tombs of the two great 
 apostles, to seek for the pardon of their sins, then re- 
 solved to put in execution the plan he had so long med- 
 itated. He felt how much he required the pardon of 
 his own faults, for he too ' had lost the straight path.' 
 He resolved to repent, and to make known his repent- 
 ance to the world ; he determined to write the Divina 
 
 
 
 Storia Fiurentina. 
 
 t There can be no doubt that Dante was at Rome at this 
 lime. We know that he was several limes intrusted with di- 
 plomatic missions to the papal court, and many passages of his 
 poem prove that he was an eye-witness of the imposing spec- 
 tacle of the Jubilee.
 
 THE DIVINA COMMEDIA. 157 
 
 Commcdia. Thus, having for years studied the works 
 of the ancients, and the poetic legends of his own 
 times, having long meditated upon the mysteries of 
 eternal life, a single event sufficed to induce him to 
 commence his immortal task. The death of Beatrice 
 had first given him the idea of describing the terrors 
 and felicities of another world ; the Jubilee of 1300 
 filled his soul with that ardent faith and spirit of peni- 
 tence so necessary for the execution of this design. 
 Thus it is with the man of genius; events which to 
 ordinary minds bear no peculiar stamp impress his im- 
 agination ; and things, which seem in general to be of 
 no importance, receive from him a life which they did 
 not before possess. Michael Angelo could shape the 
 rude stone into a Venus or an Apollo ; Dante could 
 compose the Divina Commedia out of the discordant 
 materials which he collected, and make the world forget 
 the sources from which he had gathered them, till the 
 curious researches of a later generation should again 
 rescue them from oblivion.
 
 JASMIN, THE BARBER POET.* 
 
 Las Papillotas ! Such is the title of the two 
 volumes of poetry we have before us a title which 
 would be singular indeed, if it were not accounted for 
 by the profession of the author. Jasmin is, indeed, a 
 coiffeur, and performs the menial offices of his pro- 
 fession with all the accuracy of a Figaro ; but when 
 his work is done, he does not, like so many of the 
 brotherhood, spend liis time in laying in a stock of 
 scandal and gossip, which he may retail the next 
 morning, when standing behind the chair of some fair 
 lady, whose chief delight it often is, to listen to such 
 stories. No ! Jasmin, when he has laid aside his 
 razors and his curling-tongs, devotes to the Muses his 
 hours of leisure. This contrast between the vulgar 
 occupation of the poet of Agen, and the truly beautiful 
 poetry we find in his works, is particularly striking, in 
 an age when poetry seems to have sought a refuge in 
 the higher classes of society, and to have become 
 rather the passetenu of the man of fortune than the 
 conscientious expression of a popular feeling. The 
 
 Las Papillotas de Jasmin Coiffeur, Membre de la Societal 
 de Sciences ct Arts d'Agen. Agen : 1835, 1842. 2 vols 8vo.
 
 JASMIN, THE BARBER POET. 159 
 
 class of poets to which Jasmin belongs is, at present, 
 very limited. He is essentially a popular poet. Sprung 
 from the lower orders of society, an artisan himself, he 
 has, in all his poetic effusions, addressed himself to 
 the muhitude, not to the select few. In former times 
 it was not uncommon to find a poet thus devoted to the 
 entertainment and to the instruction of the crowd. 
 Judging of past ages, by means of that knowledge 
 of general facts which history affords for history 
 deigns not to descend into the details of every private 
 life we almost fancy that there was a time when 
 poetry circulated in the world, as freely as the air we 
 breathe, when every man was a poet, if not to 
 create, at least to understand and to feel. When the 
 atmosphere is full of mists and vapors, objects seen at 
 a distance appear larger than nature ; so when we 
 look back into the past, things become magnified, and 
 we involuntarily exaggerate their dimensions. It is 
 perhaps thus in the present case ; but yet we think it 
 may be said, that among the ancients, as well as 
 during the middle ages, poetry was more widely dif- 
 fused, and had a more direct and powerful influence 
 on the destinies of mankind, than it has in modern 
 times. The distance which separated the poet from 
 those who listened to his verses, was then less great 
 Between them there seemed to be established an 
 electric chain. He often borrowed from the people 
 images, which he returned, after having given to them 
 a new lustre, a new brilliancy, as the glass refracts 
 the rays of the sun with increased intensity. The 
 earlier Greek bards went from place to place reciting 
 their verses, until they became indelibly engraved in
 
 160 JASMIN, THE BARBER POET. 
 
 the hearts of their hearers. In the middle ages, the 
 minstrel, or the troubadour, was the favorite of all 
 classes. In the castle of the feudal baron, he would 
 arouse the ardent and chivalrous spirit of the guests 
 assembled around the festive board, by the recital of 
 the noble exploits of Arthur and his barons, or the 
 valor of those devoted Christians, who crossed the seas 
 to rescue the sepulchre of their Saviour from an infidel 
 foe ; or else he would bewail, in strains so pathetic, 
 the untimely fate of some fair maiden, that every eye 
 would be moistened with tears of pity and compassion. 
 But it was not alone in the mansions of the great, that 
 the voice of the poet was heard. The peasant, too, 
 would lend an ear to his songs, and himself repeat 
 them, to beguile the weary hours of labor; and, alasl 
 how weary must those hours have been, when he 
 knew that it was not he who was to enjoy the fruits 
 of this labor, but his tyrannical master. How different 
 is the occupation of the poet in our own times ! Shut 
 up in the narrow confines of a densely populated city, 
 or at best, inhabiting some country-seat, in which he is 
 fortunate indeed, if, at every hour of the day, the 
 shrill whistle of a railroad train does not break in upon 
 his meditations, the only means he possesses of acting 
 on his fellow-men, is the press a powerful engine 
 indeed, but how inferior, when the heart is to be 
 touched, to the varied tones of the poet's voice when 
 lie recites his own verses. The poet, now, is the 
 invisible being who sets the puppets on the stage in 
 motion ; in former days he was himself the actor. 
 We may indeed be touched by the thoughts which he 
 he expresses, for there is a secret harmony between
 
 JASMIN, THE BARBER POET. Iffl 
 
 (lifTcrcnt minds, which enables them to communicate 
 without any material intermediary ; but still, we think 
 that the poet, who addressed himself directly to the 
 public, could more easily awaken deep emotions in the 
 breast of his hearers. Let us not, however, be mis- 
 apprehended. We would not be understood to express 
 a regret for the past. This is but a simple statement 
 of facts. We belong not to that class of worshippers 
 of all that is gone by, who, in their admiration for 
 what no longer exists, forget the beauties and the 
 blessings of the present hour. The progress of civili- 
 zation modifies everything. Poetry, in an age of 
 material improvement, and of scientific discovery, 
 cannot be the same as in an age when love and 
 war seemed alone to reign in the world. But it may 
 still, it does still exist, although modified in its mani- 
 festation. At a period of high intellectual culture, 
 poetry must, of course, partake in some degree of the 
 philosophical spirit of the times. Happy then, when it 
 does not take the form of the stately and almost 
 supernatural indifference of a Goethe, or the im- 
 passioned scepticism of a Byron ! But even in these 
 ages of improved civilization, the simple voice of pure 
 and natural poety is still at times heard. In an age of 
 poUtical and social reform, like our own, when all the 
 idols of the past are falling, one by one, to the ground, 
 there are still some poets, whose poetry flows on in 
 a calm and tranquil stream, and fills the soul with 
 nought but pure and healthful instructions. Nature 
 delights in these contrasts. In a barren soil, she, at 
 times, brings forth flowers ; at the foot of the glaciers, 
 she places verdant meadows and genial springs, as if 
 11
 
 162 JASMIN, THE BAHBER f OET. 
 
 to show that, even when she seems to have become 
 extinct, she can, by the secret forces of which shells 
 the mistress, arise with renovated vigor. Thus in 
 ages of comparative barbarity, sjie often unexpectedly 
 bursts forth with astonishing force and brilliancy ; and 
 in ages when civilization seems to have reached so 
 high a pinnacle, as to leave nothing more for her to 
 do, she still asserts her power, and shows that she is 
 greater than civilization. She is not particular either 
 about the garb in which genius is clothed. She often 
 spurns the vase of pure and elegant form, and pours 
 her richest gifts into a recipient of more homely shape 
 and material. High intellectual culture is not always 
 the necessary companion of genius. It is not alone by 
 the contemplation and study of masterpieces, that the 
 poet is enabled to produce works of which he may 
 say, with the great Roman poet, 
 
 ' Exegi monumentum aere perennius.' 
 
 Imitation is useless. The poet may, it is true, 
 borrow from others, but even that which he borrows 
 must be new created within him, if it is to go forth 
 in a poetic form. He must surround liimself by that 
 spiritual solitude, in which the voice of the world tn&y 
 yet be heard, but in which it only reaches him in a 
 purer and more hallowed tone. Such a poet may well 
 be found in the lower ranks of society. There is, 
 indeed, a youthful force and vigor of intellect in those 
 whose faculties have not been wasted on too vast a 
 number of objects. Their thoughts are concentrated 
 on some few great points. Unincumbered by the 
 immense mass of knowledge which ages have accumu-
 
 JASMIN, THE BARBER POET. 163 
 
 lated, they can, when genius lends them wings, take 
 the most bold and lofty flights. Such a child of nature 
 is Jasmin, the barber poet. 
 
 Jaqucs Jasmin, or Jaqueon Jansemin, (as he is 
 called in his native gatois,) was born in the year 1787 
 or 1788 at Agen. His father was a tailor, who, 
 although he did not know how to write, composed 
 almost all the principal couplets which were sung in 
 the popular festivities of the neighboring country. 
 Jaques' father and mother were both poor, but he 
 was as happy as a prince when he was a child, for he 
 had not yet learnt the meaning of those two words 
 rich and poor. Until the age of ten, he spent almost 
 all his time in the open air, playing with his little 
 companions or cutting wood. In the long winter 
 evenings, he would sit at the family fireside on his 
 grandfather's knee and listen to those wonderful stories 
 which we all have -heard as children, but which in the 
 child of genius may be said to be the first cause 
 which develops the poetic inspiration with which he 
 is endowed. But these happy days could not last. 
 One day, as he was playing in the street, he saw 
 his grandfather taken to the hospital, ' Why have 
 you left us ? Where are you going ? ' were the boy's 
 questions at this melancholy sight. ' To the hospital,' 
 was the reply ; ' it is there that the Jansemins must 
 die.' Five days afterwards the old man was no more. 
 From that time Jasmin knew how poor he was. How- 
 bitter was this experience to him ! He felt no longer 
 any interest in his childish pastimes. As he has 
 himself beautifully expressed it, if anything drew from 
 him a smile, it was but like tlie pale rays of the sun
 
 164 JASMIN, THE BARBER POET. 
 
 on a rainy day. One morning, however, he saw his 
 mother with a smiling countenance. What then had 
 happened? Slie had succcilcil in iraininir admittance 
 for him in a charity school. In six nioiitlis afterwards 
 he could read ; in six months more, he could assist in 
 the celehration of mass; in another six months, he 
 could sing the Tantum ergo, and in two years from 
 the time when he first went to school he was admitted 
 into a seminary. Here, however, he remained but 
 six months. He was expelled from thence on account 
 of a rather suspicious adventure with a peasant jzirl, and 
 perhaps still more because he had eaten some sweet- 
 meats belonging to the director of the establishment. 
 The despair of his family was great at this unexpected 
 event, for they had been furnished with bread at least 
 once a week from the seminary. They were now 
 without money and without bread ! But what will a 
 mother not do for her children ! His mother had a 
 ring her wedding ring: she sold it, and the children 
 had bread once more, at least for a few days. He 
 was now to learn a trade ; he became the apprentice 
 of a hair-dresser, and as soon as he could, opened 
 a shop. His skill as a coiffeur, and, we may add, the 
 charming verses which he had already composed, soon 
 brought him customers. He married, and his wife, 
 who at first objected to his wastiiiL: his time in \vriting 
 poetry, soon urged him to do so wlicn she found that 
 this employment was likely to be profitable. He has 
 since then been able to buy the house in which he 
 lives. The first, perhaps, of his family, he has ex- 
 perienced that feeling of inward satisfaction wliieli the 
 right of possession is so apt to confer, when it has
 
 JASMIN, THE BARBER POET. 165 
 
 been purchased by the meritorious labors of the hand 
 and the head. He now enjoys that honest mediocrity 
 which seems to be the height of his worldly ambition. 
 Such are the only circumstances of Jasmin's life which 
 we have been able to gather from the poetical auto- 
 biography entidcd, ' Mons Souhenis.'' The life of a 
 poet is not always interesting. Not unfrequently, its 
 most striking features are the poetic flowers he has 
 himself strewed on his path. 
 
 We have already said that Jasmin was a popular 
 poet. To be this, in the true sense of the word, it is 
 necessary to speak the language of the people. This 
 Jasmin has understood. With the exception of two or 
 three pieces in the collection we have before us, all 
 his poems are written in his native patois. But he not 
 only makes use of this language, he defends it against 
 all attacks as the last distinguishing mark between his 
 countrymen and the inhabitants of the rest of France. 
 Among his poems, there is a reply to the discourse of 
 a Mr. Dumon, member of the Chamber of Deputies, in 
 which that gentleman, after having paid, it is true, a 
 just tribute to the genius of the Gascon poet, said that 
 it was not even desirable that the patois should be 
 maintained. The reply of Jasmin is full of an ardent 
 patriotic spirit, and is a noble defence of his native 
 language. 
 
 ' The greatest misfortune,' he says, ' which can befall a 
 man in this world, is to see an aged mother, sick and infirm, 
 stretched out on her bed and given over by the doctors. At 
 her pillow, which we do not leave for an instant, our eye 
 fixed on hers and our hand in her hand, we may for a day 
 revive her languishing spirits ; but alas ! she lives to-day
 
 166 JASMIN, THE BARBER POET. 
 
 but to die to-morrow ! This is not the case, however, with 
 that enchantress, that nnr.sical laiifjnaffe, our second mother; 
 learned Frenchmen have sentenced her to death for the last 
 three hundred years, but she still lives; her words still 
 resound. Seasons pass by her, and hundreds of tliousands 
 
 will yet pass.* Tiiis language is the language 
 
 of labor; in the city and in the country, it may be found 
 in every house. It takes man at the cradle and leads 
 him on to the tomb. Oh, such a language is not easily 
 
 destroyed Relieve us from our sufferings, 
 
 but leave us our language! We like to sing even in the 
 midst of distress. It seems as if in singing tlie gall of 
 
 grief became less bitter But the honor of 
 
 the country demands it; we will learn French: it is our 
 language, too; we are Frenchmen. Let the people learn it. 
 They will then have two languages, one for the sansfa^n, 
 the other for making visits.' 
 
 We give the first two strophes of this poem in the original, 
 as an example of the language and style of Jasmin : 
 
 L'on pu grand possomen que truque I'homme, aci, 
 Aco quand nosiro may, bieillo, feblo, desfeyto, 
 
 S'arremozo tonto, et s'allioyto, 
 
 Conndannado pel medici. 
 A soun triste cabes que jamay l'on non- quitto, 
 L'el sur son el et la ma dins sa ma, 
 Ponden-be, per un jour rebiscoula sa bilo ; 
 Mais helas ! aney bion per s'escanti donraa. 
 N'es pas atal, Monssu, d'aquelo ensourcillayro 
 D'aquelo longo muzicayro 
 Nostro segundo may ; de saben francimans. 
 La conndannon a mort dezunpey tres cens ans ; 
 Tapla bion saquela ; tapla sons mots brounzinon ; 
 Ches elo, las sazons passon, sonen, tindinen ; 
 El cent-milo-miles enquero y passaren, 
 
 Sounaran, et tindinaran.
 
 JASMIN, THE BARBER POET. 167 
 
 There is indeed no vestige of its ancient indepen- 
 dence, to which a nation clings more eagerly than to 
 its language. It has always been the endeavor of 
 conquerors to destroy the national language of a con- 
 quered nation, as the only means of becoming entirely 
 its master. And in truth, what can be more precious 
 to a people, which has lost its independence, than to 
 refer to its days of freedom in the language of its 
 fathers ? When once this tie, which binds it to the 
 past, is destroyed, but little remains of its primitive 
 character. The differences between languages are not 
 arbitrary ; they are the expression of the individual 
 genius of the nation to whom they belong. And yet 
 there are men, in this age of wild Utopian schemes, 
 who, in order to carry out their ideas of social reform, 
 would wish to leave but one common language to 
 mankind. We say nothing of the practicability of 
 such a project, which could not even be executed 
 by the means which the tyrannical government of a 
 half civilized country employs to extirpate the lan- 
 guage of the unfortunate Poles, but the very idea is 
 monstrous in itself. Those barbarians, who poured 
 into Europe at the downfall of the Roman empire, 
 have been accused of vandalism because they de- 
 stroyed the monuments of art which they found on 
 their road. But what was their vandalism, when com- 
 pared with that of these modem innovators ? To 
 destroy all the different dialects of the world to make 
 room for one common language, is not only to destroy 
 all the masterpieces of the past, but to cut in the 
 blossom all future literature. Instead of the beautiful 
 and varied form, which human thought now assumes
 
 168 JASMIN, THE BARBEE POET. 
 
 according to the language in which it is expressed, we 
 should have but one stereotyped, monotonous and uni- 
 form literature, which would itself soon die for want of 
 any impulse or stimulus from without. Fortunately, 
 however, there is nothing to be feared on this ground. 
 You may persecute a popular dialect and endeavor to 
 stifle it in its growth, it will still come forth, even as 
 the wild flower at times springs up in the cultivated 
 soil. Wales has been for centuries subject to England, 
 and Brittany to France, and yet they have maintained 
 their original dialect. Even at this day the Welshman 
 and the peasant of la Basse Bretagne understand each 
 other better than they would understand those whom 
 they call their countrymen. And the Gascon patois, 
 against which" innumerable regulations have been 
 made, which is forbidden to be spoken in the schools 
 of Gascony, can still make itself heard through the 
 voice of Jasmin. He can say of his maternal dialect, 
 notwithstanding the persecutions to which it has been 
 subjected, what Galileo said of the earth : E pur si 
 muoi^e. 
 
 The two finest poems of Jasmin are unquestionably, 
 'VAhuglo de Caslel-Cueille; (The Blind Girl of 
 Castel-Cuellie,) and Frangonneto* The first is the 
 touching story of a poor blind orphan. The first canto 
 opens with the description of the preparations for a 
 country wedding. ' At the foot of that high mountain 
 where stands Castcl-Cueille, at the season when the 
 fruit begins to ripen on the trees, this song was heard on 
 
 * The first of these two poems has been translated into 
 English v'rse by Lady Georgina Fullerlon
 
 JASMIN, THE BARBER POET. 169 
 
 a Wednesday, the eve of St. Joseph's day. The paths 
 should bear flowers, so lovely a bride is about to go 
 forth ; they should bear flowers, they should bear fruits, 
 so lovely a bride is about to pass.' The bride and Bap- 
 tists, her intended, are going, according to the custom 
 of the country, to gather branches of laurel to scatter 
 before the door of the church and before the houses of 
 the guests. But the bridegroom is silent ; he speaks 
 not to Angele ; he caresses her not. * On seeing them 
 so cold, so indifferent, you would think they were great 
 folks ! ' The sadness of Baptiste is not, however, 
 without a cause. His affections are elsewhere engaged. 
 At the foot of the hill lives the young and tender Mar- 
 garet, the prettiest girl in the village. Baptiste was her 
 lover, they were to have been married, but alas ! Mar- 
 garet has lost her sight after a severe illness, and Bap- 
 tiste, who has just returned to the village, is, in order 
 to fulfil the wishes of his father, about to marry Angele, 
 thinking all the while of Margaret. Meanwhile nothing 
 but merriment and mirth are to be heard in the fields, 
 until Jeanne the old fortune-teller appears. She ex- 
 amines the hand of the bride, and exclaims : ' God 
 grant, giddy Angele, that in marrying the unfaithful 
 Baptiste thou mayest not cause a grave to be opened 
 to-morrow.' This sinister prediction interrupts for a 
 moment the gaiety of the scene, but the clear voices of 
 the young girls might soon be heard again singing their 
 merry songs. In the young the memory of grief is 
 but short. Baptiste, however, is still sad and silent. 
 The second canto shows us Margaret in her solitary 
 chamber. Baptiste has been three days in the village, 
 and has not yet been to see her. ' And yet he knows,'
 
 no JASMIN, THE BARBER POET. 
 
 she exclaims, ' that he is the star, the sun of my night ! 
 He knows that I have counted every instant since first 
 he left me ! Oh, let him come again and fulfil his 
 promise, that I may keep mine. Without him, what is 
 this world to me ? What pleasure have I ? The light 
 of day shines for others, but alas, for me it is always 
 night ! How dark it is without him ! When he is by 
 my side, I think no more of the light of day ! The 
 sky is blue, but his eyes are blue ; they are a heaven 
 of love for me ! a heaven full of happiness, like that 
 over my head ! . . . . Where is Baptiste ! He 
 hears me no longer when I call him ! Like the ivy 
 which lies drooping on the ground, I need some sup- 
 port ! But who knows ? perhaps he has abandoned 
 me ! Alas, what a thought ! They must bury me 
 then! But I will banish it from me ! Baptiste will re- 
 turn ! Oh, he will return ! I have nothing to fear ! 
 He swore it in the name of the Saviour ! He could 
 not come so soon ! He is weary, sick perhaps. He 
 intends perchance to surprise me. But I hear some- 
 body ! Now then is an end to all my sufferings ! My 
 heart does not deceive me ! It is he ! there he is P 
 The door opens but Baptiste does not appear ; her 
 little brother Paul enters, saying : ' The bride has just 
 passed ! I have seen her. Say, sister, why were we 
 not invited ? alone of all her friends we arc not there.' 
 There is in this scene a touch of nature which many 
 poets would perhaps have scorned to delineate, on the 
 ground that it was too trivial. The cry of Margaret, 
 My heart deceives me not,' when she is all the while 
 mistaken, is admirable. Her heart is so full of hope 
 and confidence that she naturally takes the first ^ound
 
 JASMIN, THE BARBER POET. 171 
 
 she hears to be that of the footsteps of her beloved. 
 How true and how beautiful ! In the heart of woman 
 there are such treasures of constancy and devotion, 
 that she is feelingly alive to the smallest, the most un- 
 important circumstance which can still make her doubt 
 the infidelity of the one she loves. Alas ! what a fath- 
 omless depth of despair there must be in her heart 
 when she no longer can doubt ; when she must believe. 
 Margaret meanwhile questions the child and discov- 
 ers that Baptiste is the bridegroom. Jeanne, the sor- 
 cei'css, comes in and endeavors to console the young 
 girl, as if there were any consolation for such sorrows 
 but time or death. ' You love him too well,' she says, 
 ' pray God that you may not love him so much.' * The 
 more I pray God, the more I love him, but it is no sin, 
 may he not yet be mine ? ' Jeanne replies not. Marga- 
 ret understands this silence, but she affects to appear 
 contented, and the old woman leaves her, believing that 
 she is still undeceived. The third and last canto opens 
 on the following morning the morning of the day 
 on which the wedding is to be celebrated. How differ- 
 ently wei'e two young girls awaiting that sunrise. The 
 one, the queen of the day, is preparing for her wedding ; 
 on her head she places a wreath, on her breast a nose- 
 gay of flowers ; and in the midst of happiness she for- 
 gets to say a prayer. The other, alone and blind, has 
 neither wreath nor flowers. Her eyes are full of tears ; 
 she throws herself down on her knees and prays to 
 God to pardon her the sin she is about to commit. But 
 it is time to go to the church. Angele, surrounded by 
 her friends, goes as in triumph. Margaret, leaning on 
 her brother, wends her steps too towards the church.
 
 172 JASMIN, THE BARBER POET. 
 
 But before leaving her room, she has concealed in her 
 bosom a dagger. As they approach the church, they 
 hear the sound of the melancholy o^fray singing his 
 doleful song. ' Dost thou not hear that sound, sister ? 
 Dost thou remember the night our poor father died 
 we heard this sound ? He said to thee : " My child, 
 take care of Paul, for I feel that I am going to leave 
 you." We all shed tears. Our father died, and was 
 buried here. Here is his grave, and the cross is still 
 on it. But why dost thou draw me so near to thee, as if 
 thou wouldst smother me .'' ' Alas, poor Margaret ! It 
 seemed to her as if a voice from the grave had cried : 
 My child ! what art thou going to do ? But Paul hur- 
 ries her on ; they have entered the church. The bride 
 is at the altar. Baptiste has pronounced the fatal * Yes,' 
 when a well-known, voice exclaims at his side : ' It is 
 he ! Baptiste, thou wished for my death : let my blood 
 be the holy water of this wedding ! ' She is about to 
 stab herself, but surely a guardian angel protects her, 
 for just as she is going to strike, she falls dead. Her 
 grief had killed her ! Everything then changes. In- 
 stead of the gay songs of the morning, the solemn De 
 Profundis is heard, and everything seems to say : The 
 paths should sigh and weep, so beautiful is the one who 
 is dead I 
 
 We are fully aware how impossible it is to give a 
 correct idea of the beauties of a poetical composition 
 by means of an analysis. The critic can no more con- 
 vey to his readers a true notion of the poetic flowers of 
 a work, which he can but dissect as the anatomist dis- 
 sects a body, in order to lay bare the lifeless skeleton, 
 than the engraver can, with his burin, represent the
 
 JASMIN, THE BARBER POET. 173 
 
 coloring and the general effect of a picture. But yet 
 by his work, the engraver may give to him who sees it a 
 desire to behold the original from whence it is taken 
 a desire, which he perhaps would never have felt, had 
 it not been awakened within him by this even imperfect 
 representation. So, too, may we not hope that our 
 readers will wish to see the original from which we 
 have taken this faint sketch ? This poem first awaken- 
 ed the literary men of France, and in a measure the 
 public itself, to a sense of the merit of Jasmin. In 
 1835 he was called upon to read it before the Academy 
 of Bordeaux, and excited by his impassioned delivery 
 an almost unparalleled enthusiasm. He had a similar 
 honor conferred on him in 1840, when he was invited 
 to read the poem of Franconneto before a still larger 
 audience in the city of Toulouse. 
 
 The scene of this poem is laid in the south of France, 
 in the 16th century, at the time of the persecution of 
 the Huguenots, when the cruel Marquis of Montluc was 
 covering the country with blood and tears, in the name 
 of a God of mercy. The scene opens at a moment of 
 comparative peace and quiet. The peasants are as- 
 sembled to dance on the green turf. Among them is 
 Frangonneto la Poulido de las Poulidos, (the belle 
 of all belles.) Like all belles, however, Franconneto is 
 capricious. Surrounded by admirers, she leaves them 
 to hope or to despair, according as they may be of a 
 desponding or cheerful disposition, without pronouncing 
 in favor of any particular one. But in the course of 
 the evening she will be obliged at least to show some 
 degree of partiality, for it is the custom to allow the 
 dancer, who can succeed in tiring his partner out, to
 
 174 JASMIN, THE BARBER POET. 
 
 take a kiss. What a struggle there was for this kiss I 
 William, John, Louis, Peter and Paul are out of breath 
 without having obtained the disputed prize ! But here 
 comes Marcel the soldier, to whom Franjonneto is en- 
 gaged, but for whom she cares perhaps less than for 
 any of her other admirers. Surely he who is accus- 
 tomed to all the hardships of war, will succeed in tiring 
 out a young girl. But when the will is good the weak- 
 est girl is strong ! Marcel is outdone ; he is obliged 
 to stop. Pascal the smith rushes forward, and in a 
 moment has tb-ken his place ; but hardly has Franyon- 
 neto taken a turn with him, when she stops, and holding 
 up her cheek, receives the kiss. The air rings with the 
 applause of the peasants at the triumph of Pascal. But 
 Marcel the soldier, the favorite of Montluc, is not thus 
 to be trifled with. ' You took my place too quickly, 
 young man I ' he exclaims, and adds a blow to the in- 
 sult. How easily a storm succeeds to the calm I A 
 kiss and a blow ! Glory and shame ! Light and dark- 
 ness ! Life and death ! Hell and Heaven ! All these 
 things fill at once the ardent soul of Pascal. When a 
 man is thus cowardly attacked, he needs not to be a 
 gentleman or a soldier to avenge the insult without fear. 
 No look at him ! A tempest is not worse ! His eyes 
 flash fire, his voice thunders ! and seizing Marcel by 
 the waist, he hurls him to the ground. He does not 
 wish to kill him. He is satisfied. His generosity does 
 not disarm Marcel, however ; he wishes to continue the 
 fight, but Montluc appears and puts an end to the quar- 
 rel. The soldier is obliged to obey, but between his 
 teeth he might be heard to mutter : ' They love her 
 and do all they can to cross my love ; she laughs at
 
 JASMIN, THE BARBER POET. 175 
 
 my expense. By St. Marcel, my patron, they shall 
 pay for it, and Franjonneto shall have no other husband 
 but me.' 
 
 Between the first and second cantos, two or three 
 months have elapsed. We again find the peasants met 
 to celebrate New Year's eve, and Franfonneto is still 
 the queen of beauty. The festive meeting is however 
 interrupted by the appearance of the man of the Black 
 Wood, the dread of the neighboring country, who comes 
 to announce that the father of Franronneto became a 
 Huguenot before dying, and sold her soul to an evil 
 spirit. Ill luck to him who shall venture to marry her. 
 When her husband shall take the bridal wreath from 
 her brow, the Demon will take possession of her soul, 
 and wring his neck. ' Great words, high sounding com- 
 parisons could not express the appearance of the peas- 
 ants, who at this dreadful prediction seemed to be 
 changed into stones.' Franfonneto alone remains un- 
 moved. She believes at first that it is but a joke, but 
 when she finds all her companions shrink back from 
 her, she falls insensible to the ground. She is now 
 shunned by all her companions. When she goes to 
 church, they all avoid her. Pascal alone has not aban- 
 doned her, and even does not fear to offer her the 
 blessed bread at the altar. What a moment was that 
 for her ! ' One would would think that the bread of a 
 resuscitated God had recalled her to life. But why 
 does she blush ? Oh, it is because the angel of love 
 has blown a little of his flame on the embers which lay 
 lurking in her heart. Oh, it is because something 
 strange, something new, hot as fire, soft as honey, has 
 taken root and is growing up in her breast. Oh, it is
 
 176 JASMIN, THE BARBER POET. 
 
 because she lives with another life ; she knows and she 
 feels it! The world and the priest are alike forgotten, 
 and in the temple of God she sees but one man, the 
 man whom she loves, the man whom she can thank.' 
 She returns home, and then 'she does what we all 
 may do; she dreams with open eyes, and without stone 
 or hammer, she builds a little castle, in which by the 
 side of Pascal everything is happiness.' But alas! 
 why must she awaken from this dream ? She was 
 thinking of love, but reality now breaks in on her with 
 its cold and iron hand ; she remembers the prediction 
 that he who marries her must die. In despair she falls 
 on her knees before the image of the blessed Virgin. 
 'Holy Mother!' she exclaims, 'without thee I am 
 lost. I love Pascal. I have neither father nor mother, 
 and they all say that I am sold to an evil spirit. Take 
 pity on me. Save me if this be true ! or if they deceive 
 me, prove it to my soul. I will offer thee a candle at 
 Notre-Dame. Virgin so good, show me by some infal- 
 lible sign, that thou receivest it with pleasure.' Short 
 prayers, when sincere, ascend rapidly to heaven. Sure 
 that she has been heard, the young girl thinks inces- 
 santly of her purpose. At times, however, she trem- 
 bles ; fear paralyzes her speech. And then again hopo 
 shines in her heart, as a flash of lightning in the dark 
 of the night. The solemn day has come. She goes 
 to the church and presents her offering at the shrine of 
 the Virgin ; but alas ! her hopes are in an instant blight- 
 ed. No sooner has she lighted the candle on the altar, 
 than a violent peal of thunder is heard, and the light is 
 extinguished. No doubt can now remain ! She is 
 condemned to a cruel fate ! The peasants are exas-
 
 JASMIN, THE BARBER POET. 177 
 
 perated, and resolve to set fire to her house. The flames 
 are already spreading over it, when Pascal interferes 
 and endeavors to save her. But he comes not alone. 
 Marcel is behind him. ' Wilt thou marry me ? ' he 
 exclaims. Pascal makes the same offer. Fran9onneto, 
 after a struggle between love and duty, accepts Pascal's 
 offer. ' I love you,' Pascal, she says, ' and wished to 
 die alone. But you demand it. I can resist no longer, 
 and if it is our destiny, let it be so, let us die together.' 
 Two weeks after this scene, the marriage procession 
 might be seen winding its way down the hill. But Pas- 
 cal's mother entreats him not to proceed ; his fate is 
 decreed, she says, he will surely die. Pascal feels the 
 tears running down his cheeks, but still he holds the 
 hand of his beloved. How those tears affect him, but 
 love is yet the stronger. ' Take care of my mother, if 
 anything happens to me,' he says to Marcel. But the 
 soldier, too, is shedding tears. ' Pascal,' he exclaims, 
 ' in love as in war, an artifice is permitted. I forged 
 the whole story of Franconneto's being sold to an evil 
 spirit. I paid the sorcerer to frighten you with it, in 
 the hope of forcing Franconneto to marry me. But 
 alas ! she preferred thee. I then resolved to avenge 
 myself by putting you both to death. I would have 
 led you to the nuptial chamber, and then have blown 
 you up with myself. Everything was prepared for 
 this crime. But thy mother has disarmed my anger by 
 her tears. She recalls to my mind my own mother, who 
 is no more. . Live for her sake. Thou hast nothing 
 more to fear from me ; thy paradise descends now on 
 earth. I have nobody left. I return to the wars. To 
 12
 
 178 JASMIN, THE BARBER POET. 
 
 cure me of my love, a cannon-ball is perhaps better 
 than such a crime.' He speaks and disappears. The 
 marriage is celebrated. But here the poet stops. He 
 had colors to depict grief ; he has none wherewith to 
 represent such happiness ! 
 
 Beauties of the highest order are profusely scattered 
 throughout both poems. They are of that kind, how- 
 ever, which makes it extremely difficult, not to say im- 
 possible, to render them in any language but that of 
 the original. The patois dialect, in which Jasmin writes, 
 is full of softness and simplicity, but, at the same time, 
 energetic as the race to whom it belongs. In making 
 use of such a dialect, the poet is not obliged, as the 
 French writer is, to weigh every word, in order to as- 
 certain whether it is worthy to be used or not in a poetic 
 composition. Moliere and Beranger are the only two 
 French poets, who seem to be so perfectly master of 
 the language in which they write, as to be able to ex- 
 press all their thoughts without circumlocution. To 
 this perhaps, in a great measure, may be ascribed the 
 popularity of the great comic writer, and if we may so 
 say, the anticipated immortality of the greatest of mod- 
 ern French poets, Beranger. To us many of the French 
 poets who are most admired, and deservedly so, appear 
 very much as would a laborer who wore every day his 
 Sunday dress. They are unfit for performing their 
 common duties for fear of soiling their borrowed dress. 
 From the heights on which they strive to dwell, they 
 can take no part in the ordinary svents of life. It 
 seems to us that the merit of the poet is not to ennoble 
 things by so disguising them as to make it sometimes 
 even difficult to recognize them, but to present them in
 
 JASMIN, THE BARBER POET. 179 
 
 their natural state, although in a poetic form. That 
 nature, when left to hei"self, is never vulgar, is a pre- 
 cept which the poet should always bear in mind. Look, 
 for example, at the peasant. He is rough, rude in his 
 speech, but he is not vulgar. Take him to a city, and 
 in six months, he will be essentially so. In endeavor- 
 ing to make people forget his humble origin, he will 
 show how out of place he is. AVhen you saw him in 
 the field, you thought him even gi*aceful in his move- 
 ments. In his new, and to him, uncomfortable dress, 
 you find him awkward. And so it is with everything 
 in nature. Leave things in the place which nature as- 
 signs to them, and you will find them all that they 
 should be. But when, no matter from what cause, the 
 beautiful order of nature has been jjerverted, that which 
 was wont to appear noble and beautiful, is so deformed 
 as to become common and sometimes hideous. The 
 poet then need not fear to represent things as they are. 
 He will make the peasant speak the language of the 
 peasant, and the lord the language of the lord : for 
 what would be vulgarity in the one is but nature in the 
 other. Jasmin is well aware of this. We never find 
 him endeavoring to give to his verses a borrowed dig- 
 nity. They are always drawn from the life. 
 
 Jasmin has had to resist the temptation which is 
 thrown in the way of every distinguished man in 
 France, that of establishing himself in the capital. He 
 has resisted it with a constancy worthy of the highest 
 praise. The inducements must have been strong. In 
 Paris, he would have lived in those literary circles in 
 which his talents would have been fully appreciated ; 
 but at the same time he would have experienced the
 
 180 JASMIN, THE BARBER POET. 
 
 envy of rival authors. At Agen, on the contrary', he 
 lives quietly and admired by all his countrymen. We 
 find among his poems an epistle addressed to a rich 
 farmer of the neighborhood of Toulouse, who had stren- 
 uously urged his going to the metropolis to make his 
 fortune. There is in this piece of poetry an energy 
 and a vivacity of expression, which must have been 
 anything but agreeable to the person to whom it was 
 addressed. ' And you too, sir,' he says, ' do not fear 
 to trouble the peace of my days and nights, but write 
 to me to carry my guitar and comb to the great city of 
 kings ! There, you say, my poetic vein and the verses 
 by which I am already known, would cause a stream of 
 dollars to flow into my shop. You might, sir, during a 
 whole month, sing the praises of this golden rain you 
 might tell me that fame is but smoke ! glory nought but 
 glory, but that money is money ! I would not even 
 thank you. Money ! Is money anything to a man who 
 feels burning in his breast the flame of poetry ? I am 
 happy and poor with my loaf of rye, and the water 
 
 from my fountain I enjoy eveiything. 
 
 Nothing makes me sigh. I have cried long enough ; I 
 mean to make amends for it. Wiser than in the days 
 of my youth, I begin to feel in' this world, which we 
 must all leave so soon, content which passes riches.' 
 
 The muse of Jasmin is generally of a serious turn, 
 but there are, nevertheless, two humorous pieces in the 
 collection before us, which are very excellent. The 
 one is a description of a journey which the poet once 
 took, and in which his travelling companions were qui- 
 etly discussing the merits of Jasmin, without being at 
 all aware that he was sitting by their side. The reader
 
 JASMIN, THE BARBER POET. 181 
 
 can easily imagine to what amusing scenes such a mis- 
 take might give rise. The other, entitled Le Chaliiari, 
 is a mock heroic poem, like Boileau's Lutrin, and 
 Pope's Rape of the Lock, and which, had it been writ- 
 ten at an earlier period, might have claimed a place by 
 the side of those two capital poems. The nineteenth 
 century is not exactly the best period for writing a par- 
 ody of a style of composition which is now and we 
 trust ever will be out of fashion. A satire on the 
 manners and customs of the Middle Ages would be al- 
 most as well adapted to our times. There are many 
 other poems in the works of Jasmin which are well 
 worthy of notice, but we have neither the leisure nor 
 the desire to write out an index of the two octavo vol- 
 umes before us ; we therefore dismiss the subject, sin- 
 cerely wishing that no person who admires true poetry, 
 will take our word for the beauties contained in the 
 poems of Jasmin, but that he will judge for himself. 
 We are much mistaken, or he will feel something of 
 the pleasure we have ourselves experienced in perusing 
 them, and, we may add, in endeavoring to make them 
 known.
 
 COQUEREL'S EXPERIMENTAL CHRISTIANITY.* 
 
 It is a common opinion, and one which we regret to 
 see so prevalent in our own country, that the French 
 nation is a nation without religion, and even without 
 religious aspirations. If any horrible crime is commit- 
 ted in France, there are hundreds to be found who will 
 exclaim, What else could be expected in a country 
 where there is no religion ? These are grave imputa- 
 tions, and, as it seems to us, require some proofs to 
 support them. That the French do not willingly accede 
 to the present religion of France is a fact which we 
 would not even wish to deny, for it is on this fact we 
 found our belief that religious feeling is not extinct in 
 that country. The time when Catholicism could exer- 
 cise any real influence over the French people has 
 passed away, never more to return. Catholicism is but 
 nominally the religion of the majority of the French 
 nation. Does it, however, follow, that in the hearts of 
 tliose who have deserted the altars of the Church of 
 Rome, the pure flame of religion has become extinct ? 
 By no means. It is, indeed, impossible for man to 
 
 * Le Christianisme Experimental. Par Athanase Coquerel, 
 I'un des Pasteurs de I'Eglise Reformce de Paris. Paris : 1847. 
 12mo. pp. 527.
 
 COQUEREL's experimental CHRISTIANITY. 183 
 
 eradicate from his breast that religious instinct which 
 God himself has implanted within it. He may, for a 
 time, seem no more to hear its voice, but he will sooner 
 or later be again obliged to acknowledge its existence. 
 So, too, a nation may, during a period of religious and 
 social convulsion, no longer obey the dictates of this 
 impulse, and abandon itself entirely to all the uncer- 
 tainty and horror of scepticism and materialism. But 
 when the revolutionary storm has subsided, when a 
 nation has obtained that political or social freedom for 
 which it struggled, it will feel, that, to enable man to 
 bear the sorrows and disappointments which await him 
 in this world, a cold and lifeless philosophical system is 
 inadequate. It will then, once more, seek for an altar 
 where it may offer up its prayers to God. This has 
 been the case in France. Since that revolution, which 
 was caused, perhaps, as much by the scepticism of the 
 eighteenth century as by the vices of the Regent or of 
 Louis XV., the French begin to feel the necessity of a 
 religion in harmony with their real spiritual wants. 
 
 If this view of the present condition of France is 
 not often taken, it is because we are apt to form our 
 idea of the moral and social condition of a people from 
 the extremes of society. This is unjust. It is not by 
 what we see among a gay and heartless aristocracy, or 
 in those classes that are plunged into the depths of mis- 
 ery and of vice, the necessary companion of misery, 
 that an opinion of this kind is to be formed. If such 
 were the only means of judging of the morality of a 
 people, how low would England stand in our estimation ! 
 It is from the condition of the middle classes, that is to 
 say, the majority of the nation, that we must judge of
 
 184 COQUEREl's experimental CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 the whole nation. If these classes arc content with 
 their imperfect form of worship, or if they are devoid 
 of religious sentiment, then, and then only, may we 
 despair of the future religious progress of a nation. If 
 we look at the middle classes in France, we shall not, 
 however, find any cause of despair. We shall there 
 find many thousands of Catholics, who, were it not for 
 that mysterious sympathy which binds every man to 
 the faith of his fathers, and to that mode of worship 
 which he was taught to profess when a child, would 
 abandon their religion and become membws of some 
 Protestant church. We have ourselves known some 
 who, although truly religious, never had taken the sa- 
 crament, because they were unwilling to conform to the 
 usage of their church preparatory to this ceremony, 
 unwilling to confess their sins to a sinner like them- 
 selves. We have known others, again, who did not 
 believe in the Trinity, or who denied the infallibility of 
 the Pope. And yet all these persons sincerely and 
 honestly believed themselves Catholics Tranquillize 
 the conscientious anxieties of such persons, convince 
 them that it is not only not wrong to abandon a church 
 to which one does not truly belong, but that it is the 
 duty of every Christian to join the church whose doc- 
 trines are the most in harmony with his own, and they 
 would soon be found, we doubt not, at the foot of some 
 Protestant pulpit. 
 
 M. Coquerel's work is intended to present to these 
 Christians, who have renounced the religion of the past, 
 but who are still doubtful as to the path which they shall 
 now follow, a complete religious system, which may 
 serve as the foundation of their future faith. Firm and
 
 COQUEREL's experimental CHRISTIANITY. 185 
 
 tranquil in his belief that France will one day be a 
 Protestant country, M. Coquerel has devoted all his 
 powers to the realization of this, his most ardent wish. 
 The energies of a highly gifted mind, an impassioned 
 and touching eloquence, and the treasures of a truly 
 Christian heart, have been alike directed towards this 
 great object. After thirty years of uninterrupted labor 
 as a preacher, first in the French Protestant church at 
 Amsterdam, and afterwards as one of the pastors of 
 the Reformed Church of Paris, he has at last published 
 the work we have before us. M. Coquerel belongs to 
 that class of Christians who think, that, as there were 
 reformers before the Reformation, so too there may be 
 reformers in every age ; and that, however much we 
 may be indebted to those immortal men who first freed 
 the world from the yoke of Romanism, we may differ 
 widely from them in their manner of interpreting the 
 Scriptures. An intolerant Protestantism, that is to say, 
 a religious system in which liberty of conscience is the 
 first word, but which ends with the solemn and horrible 
 declaration, that there is only one church in which man 
 can be saved, is as unfit for our age as the Roman Cath- 
 olic faith. A new system is, then, to be sought. In 
 this system, faith in God as a Father, in Christ as a 
 Saviour, and in immortality as the continuation of our 
 present existence, must be included. But faith will not 
 alone be required. We are confident that man will be 
 judged, not according to his belief, if that belief be sin- 
 cere, but according to his actions. And must it not be 
 so ? If every Protestant has a right to read his Bible, 
 and therein to find his faith, how can it be expected 
 that all men should believe alike ? Who can suppose
 
 186 COQUEREl's EXPEBIMENTAL CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 that tlic simple-hearted laborer, who on the Sabbath 
 reads the Bible to his family, should understand it and 
 interpret it as a Luther or a Calvin, a Chalmers or a 
 Cliaiining ? No. The time is fast approaching when 
 there will be a large class of Christians, who, when 
 asked to what religious denomination they belong, will 
 simply reply, We are disciples of Christ ; Christ has 
 taught us to love God as a Father, to love each other, 
 and to do by others as we would wish to be done by ; 
 we are Christians, not theologians. And when, at last, 
 the number of those who profess these liberal views 
 shall have so increased as to spread all over the world, 
 when all nations shall meet together to offer up prayers 
 at the same altar, then, and then only, Christianity will 
 have accomplished its object in this world. How beau- 
 tiful is this anticipation of the future condition of the 
 human race ! How soothing to the heart of the Chris- 
 tian, amidst the dissensions which now agitate mankind 
 and divide them into innumerable sects, each of which 
 is willing to assert that it alone is possessed of the truth ! 
 There are many Christians, however, who may think 
 that such a system savors too much of Rationalism. If 
 they peruse M. Coquerel's volume, they will see, we 
 think, that they are mistaken. They will see that the 
 author, while he maintains our right to investigate, by 
 the light of our reason, the various and difficult prob- 
 lems which surround us, at the same time shows that 
 we shall necessarily, sooner or later, be stopped in our 
 investigations, and be obliged to seek for another guide, 
 or run the risk of remaining forever in darkness and 
 uncertainty. Such a system assigns to philosophy and 
 to religion each its true place. Their respective posi-
 
 COQITEREL's experimental CHRISTIANITY. 187 
 
 tions have been often strangely misapprehended. They 
 have been viewed, not as successive stages of the same 
 science, but as rival methods of teaching the same 
 truths. If this were the case, then either the one or 
 the other would be useless. If with the light of our 
 reason alone we could penetrate into the deepest re- 
 cesses of our souls and solve the dark mysteries which 
 envelope our existence, if philosophy could give a sat- 
 isfactory answer to those questions which have per- 
 plexed the wisest, What ami.? Whence come I? 
 Whither am I going.? then might we not ask, To 
 what purpose religion ? Might not Christ have remained 
 in his glory on the right hand of the Father, instead of 
 taking a human form and submitting to all the evils at- 
 tendant on a human life ? Might he not have spared 
 himself the sufferings of the most cruel of deaths ? A 
 correct view of our own nature will show us that phi- 
 losophy is but the introduction to religion, the vestibule 
 of the temple. Free to choose between good and evil, 
 ignorance and knowledge, man may content himself 
 with the imperfect and uncertain instructions of philoso- 
 phy, or complete his knowledge by the aid of religion ; 
 he may read the first volume of his history, and neglect 
 the second ; he may pause in the vestibule of the tem- 
 ple as in a labyrinth, or take one step more, lift the veil 
 which covers the sanctuary, and penetrate into the deep- 
 est mysteries of our being. 
 
 A work, founded on this distinction between philoso- 
 phy and religion, must necessarily begin with a minute 
 and careful examination of the nature, the faculties and 
 the desires of man. Let us endeavor to follow M. Co- 
 querel in this research.
 
 188 COQUEREL's experimental CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 Man has the consciousness of his own existence, and 
 of his individuality. He alone, of all the animals that 
 inhabit this earth, has a clear and distinct notion of him- 
 self and of what surrounds him. From this conviction 
 naturally result two facts, that man has not always 
 existed, and that the source whence his life has sprung 
 is not within himself. Man knows that he has not al- 
 ways existed, because, as he has the consciousness of 
 a present, he would, then, have also within himself the 
 evidence of a past existence. He, moreover, knows 
 that he did not create himself; for if he had the power 
 of creation, he would also have the power of maintain- 
 ing his existence. On a further examination, man dis- 
 covers within himself different powers or tendencies, 
 which may be thus classed : 1. the intellectual power, 
 the object of which is knowledge ; 2. the moral power, 
 the object of which is virtue ; 3. the affective power, 
 which leads man to desire to form certain relations with 
 his fellow-creatures ; 4. the feeling power, which tends 
 to a complete satisfaction of man's desire, to perfect 
 happiness; 5. the religious power, which induces man 
 to seek for an object which he may adore. 
 
 The ideal notion of knowledge, of virtue, of love, of 
 happiness, and of religion, which man has conceived in 
 all stages of civilization, is but the object of these pow- 
 ers or tendencies. To deny that such an ideal exists is 
 to declare that all the faculties, all the powers, of man 
 are directed towards an unattainable object. This ideal 
 does exist ; it is the object of our life ; it must be at- 
 tained. 
 
 These few and simple observations on the nature and 
 the desires of man, at once destroy three of the most
 
 COQUEREL's experimental CHRISTIANITY. 189 
 
 erroneous philosophical systems which have ever existed 
 in the world, pantheism, pyrrhonism, and absolute 
 spiritualism. 
 
 We know that we exist ; we feel our individuality. 
 There is, then, something in nature which is not God. 
 Pantheism is destroyed. 
 
 This consciousness of our existence is alike fatal to 
 a system of absolute doubt ; since this one fact, at least, 
 is indisputable and undisputed. 
 
 And, finally, a system of absolute spiritualism can 
 no longer subsist ; for the knowledge we have of our- 
 selves and of what is not us, teaches us that matter 
 exists. 
 
 From these considerations, man rises to a higher 
 and purer conception, that of the existence of God. 
 He feels that God exists ; for, if God did not exist, the 
 religious tendency which he finds within himself, would 
 be without an object. God is the ideal of the mind. 
 This ideal is one. God is one. How simple and how 
 beautiful are these thoughts ! I am ; and because I am, 
 God is. That which it is vain to seek to prove by a 
 philosophical demonstration is made evident by the re- 
 ligious instinct we have within us, and is alike revealed 
 to the greatest and the most humble minds. If God is 
 one, everything that is not God is created. Man, then, 
 was created by God. The object of this creation is the 
 complete satisfaction of all the powers and tendencies 
 of man. Arrived at this degree of knowledge, we are 
 stopped by an impenetrable mystery, that of our liberty. 
 We cannot comprehend how God, who has created us 
 and who watches over us, should have left us entire lib- 
 erty to use as we like the faculties with which we have
 
 190 COQUEREL's experimental CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 been endowed. To this mystery, as to all mysteries, 
 there is no ansvwpr. We all believe in our liberty and 
 at the same time in the omniscience of God ; but we can- 
 not reconcile these two notions, which seem contradic- 
 tory. To understand this mystery, it would be necessary 
 to understand how God, when he had created the world, 
 withdrew his almighty hand from his work. We are 
 as much at a loss to comprehend how God leaves the 
 heavenly bodies suspended in the universe, or how, 
 after having formed the material world, he allows it to 
 follow its laws, as to know how we can enjoy our liberty 
 while God sees all that we are doing. The field in 
 which this liberty is to be exercised is boundless, for the 
 object of the powers of which we have recognized the 
 existence within us is infinite. We can always approach 
 nearer to God, or separate ourselves more from him. 
 ' What a distance,' says our author, ' between him to 
 whom it was said, " Where is thy brother Abel ? " or 
 him of whom the Saviour said, " It had been good for 
 that man if he had not been born," and a Moses, with 
 whom " the Lord spake as a man speaketh unto his 
 friend," or a St. Paul, who desires to leave the world 
 " to be with Christ ! " And yet neither of these exam- 
 ples shows the last degree of separation, or the most 
 complete union between God and man.' An eternal 
 life can alone suffice for man to fulfil his destiny and 
 to approach the throne of God. However high he may 
 have risen, he will still have to eiscend. The angels 
 are even ' charged with folly ' by God ; the heavens 
 themselves, that is, those who people them, ' are not 
 clean in his sight.' Man is, then, immortal. If the 
 object of all our faculties, of all our desirfis, is God,
 
 COQUEREL's experimental CHRISTIANITY. 191 
 
 must we not be immortal ? Would the narrow limits 
 of a condition, which, whether after years or centuries, 
 must end, be sufficient for the accomplishment of our 
 destiny ? No. The time can never come when we 
 shall possess sufficient science to authorize us to say, 
 We know enough. The time can never come, when 
 our religious aspirations will be so completely satisfied, 
 that we shall feel ourselves near enough to God. The 
 time can never come, when our affijctions will be so 
 entirely gratified, that we can say. We have loved 
 enough. We are immortal, and during the successive 
 stages of our immortality, we shall have the same con- 
 sciousness of individuality that we have during our 
 present existence. If we were to lose that conscious- 
 ness, it would be matter of little or no importance to 
 us whether we were immortal or not. The activity of 
 man is uninterrupted. Thus generation after genera- 
 tion follow on that eternal road, at the end of which is 
 the Infinite. 
 
 ' A new principle is an inexhaustible source of new 
 views.' This remark of a distinguished French philos- 
 opher * is perfectly correct. If we take the principles 
 which we have laid down as the basis of our philosophi- 
 cal and religious system, we shall view in a different 
 light many of the most difficult and interesting prob- 
 lems of our destiny. We shall regard the notions of 
 time and space, for example, as the necessary corolla- 
 ries of these principles. Space is but the stage on which 
 our activity is to be exercised ; time, the successive gra- 
 dations through which we must pass, in order to make 
 
 * Vauvenargues, Maxime 211.
 
 192 COQUEREl's experimental CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 that progress which we all so ardently desire. The 
 terrestrial paradise, that golden age of virtue and in- 
 nocence, of which all nations have dreamed, is the 
 time when we were fulfilling our destiny, when we 
 were advancing towards God ; the fall of man, that fatal 
 moment, when, instead of following the higher tenden- 
 cies of his nature, he first trod that path which must 
 lead him farther and farther from his Creator. From 
 this change in the moral condition of man has resulted 
 physical suffering. It is difficult to comprehend how so 
 intimate a connection can exist between the moral and 
 the physical world ; but it w.ould be still more difficult 
 to understand how a world, created for a pure and in- 
 nocent being, could continue the same after the fall of 
 that being. 
 
 Applied to each individual life, the principles we 
 have established will throw much light on some points 
 that now seem obscure. Thus, our birth will appear to 
 us but as our first entrance upon that sphere of activity, 
 which is the world we now inhabit ; life, but the length 
 of time allotted us for our mortal task ; and death, but 
 the moment when, throwing aside our mortal body, 
 as a traveller, fatigued and harassed by the length of 
 his route, throws off his soiled and dusty garments 
 when he has arrived at his home, we shall take pos- 
 session of the new and better organization which awaits 
 us on the other side of the grave. The moment of our 
 death is, then, the moment of our resurrection. Be- 
 tween our life and our immortality there is nothing, 
 nothing but that solemn moment, which to the unbe- 
 liever and to the bigot is so full of gloom, but which to 
 the true Christian is only a moment of rejoicing and
 
 COQUEREL's experimental CHRISTIANITY. 193 
 
 the true Christian is only a moment of rejoicing and 
 of thanksgiving, for to him that moment is but as 
 the delivery of a soul from its prison-house. The 
 declaration of Christ to the repentant malefactor, 
 ' To-day shalt thou be with me in paradise,' may, 
 then, be interpreted literally. And, finally, we shall 
 better understand what is meant by the end of the 
 world. What death is to an individual, the end of 
 the world will be to the race. When all the resources 
 of this earth shall have been exhausted, all its mys- 
 teries unravelled, all its beauties admired, it will 
 become useless, and be cast aside as an instrument 
 that can no longer be made serviceable. As to the 
 moment when this final and solemn conclusion of 
 the destinies of mankind in this world will take place, 
 Christ himself has said, ' But of that day and that 
 hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels which are 
 in heaven, neither the Son, but the Father.' But 
 this we do know, that that moment need not be a 
 subject of dark and gloomy forebodings. On the 
 contrary, it will be an epoch of glory for mankind. 
 It will be the last triumph of man in this world, his 
 final deliverance from the shackles of matter. 
 
 This view of the nature of man, and the contra- 
 diction we find between his faculties and his present 
 condition, naturally leads us to the thought, that he 
 is not in the position for which he was created 
 None of his legitimate aspirations or desires are 
 satisfied. With an ideal conception of what our 
 faculties should attain, we are ever prevented from 
 realizing this conception. The fable of Tantalus is 
 the history of mankind. It is natural that we should 
 13
 
 194 COQUEREl's experimental CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 seek a remedy for this evil. Thus for the first 
 time, in this eiperimenlal system, the idea of a Ve- 
 demption is suggested. The object of a redemption 
 must be to stop man in the course which is es- 
 tranging him from his Creator, and to place liim 
 once more on the right path. Such a redemption, 
 being intended for the whole human race, could not 
 be produced by a secret agency working in the heart 
 of each individual. It must be manifested in the 
 person of a Saviour. The nature of the being who 
 is to undertake so important a work must be of that 
 kind which will enable him to hold communion with 
 God, and at the same time to take a human form 
 and live amongst men as one of them. If a Saviour 
 had appeared in the world of so sublime and divine- 
 like a nature as to fill his contemporaries with more 
 of awe than of love, his mission would have been in 
 vain. To show man the path which he is to tread, it 
 is necessary that a Saviour should tread this path him- 
 self. He must go through all the diflbrent stages of 
 a human life, he must die, he must rise from the dead. 
 In all outward aspects he must belong to the country 
 and to the age which are chosen for his mission. The 
 moment selected for the appearance of a Saviour in 
 the world seems at first to be a matter of little impor- 
 tance. It is not so, however. If man has the power 
 to separate himself more and more from God, the 
 time might come when he could no longer retrace 
 his steps and tread once more the path which leads 
 him towards his Maker. It was, then, necessary 
 that the Redeemer of the world should appear at that 
 precise moment when evil had reached its highest
 
 COQUEREL's experimental CHRISTIANITY. 195 
 
 point of intensity. If he had come into the world 
 before that moment, the liberty of man would not 
 have been respected ; had he come after that mo- 
 ment, it would have been too late ; his mission would 
 have been in vain. 
 
 At a certain period in the history of mankind such 
 a Saviour was given to the world. That he was the 
 Saviour is proved by the time of his coming, at a 
 moment when virtue and truth seemed alike banish- 
 ed from the world, when man had fallen so low 
 that he did not even attempt to assert his rights as a 
 member of the human race, but accepted his abject 
 and degraded condition as a matter of course and 
 without a murmur, at a time when the gladiator 
 consented to lay down his life in the bloody amphi- 
 theatre for the amusement of an indolent and cor- 
 rupt assembly, at a time, finally, when, in the 
 midst of orgies of which history blushes to record 
 the obscenity, the rich were wont to place on their 
 tables an ivory skeleton, as a memento of the brevity 
 of life, and when ' Let us eat and drink, for to- 
 morrow we die,' was a common and favorite maxim, 
 Jesus Christ then appeared; the world was arrested 
 in its progress towards evil ; the world was overcome. 
 since then the progress of mankind has been constant 
 on the road of peace, truth, and charity. There 
 may have been, in the eighteen centuries which have 
 elapsed since Christ came into the world, moments 
 when mankind have seemed to retrograde, but no 
 one can honestly deny that each successive age of the 
 Christian era has been superior to the preceding. 
 
 That Jesus Christ was the Saviour is, moreover,
 
 196 COQUEREL's experimental CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 proved by the place selected for his mission. Sit- 
 uated near the Mediterranean Sea, Palestine may 
 be considered as the historical centre of the Old 
 World. Originating in such a position, the new 
 faith could the sooner spread to neighboring countries. 
 Had its birthplace been more remote from the West- 
 ern world, the stationary and immovable habits of the 
 Asiatic race might have stifled it in its blossom. If, 
 on the contrary, its birthplace had been in Eu- 
 rope, there would have been danger, with the ardent 
 and changeable character of the race which inhab- 
 its that continent, that the tradition of the coming 
 of Christ would have been so disfigured and per- 
 verted by the time he did appear in the world, that 
 he would not have been recognized, but have been re- 
 ceived as a stranger. No nation was better qualified 
 than the Jews to be the guardians of the promise of a 
 Saviour. That it was necessary that the mission of 
 Jesus Christ should be announced to the world, 
 scarcely needs to be proved. If it be true that the 
 redemption was a necessary complement of the 
 creation, the notion of a Saviour must have existed 
 ever since the fall of man. Hence, also, the notion 
 of a revelation, that is to say, a book in which 
 the coming of a Saviour is announced, and in which 
 is contained the realization of this promise. A reve- 
 lation must be in part divine, in part human. The 
 divine part of a revelation is called inspiration. To 
 the idea that parts of the Scriptures arc inspired, it 
 is objected by some that God in creating man must 
 have given him faculties which would enable him to 
 discover truths without any subsequent Divine inter-
 
 COQXTEREL's experimental CHRISTIANITY. 197 
 
 vention. Those who reason thus, forget that man 
 is not what God made him. If man had followed 
 the path which might have led him nearer and near- 
 er to his Creator, he would have required no assist- 
 ance from above. The necessity of a redemption 
 is the sole cause of this mysterious communication 
 between God and man. Without sin, no redemption 
 is requisite ; without a redemption, inspiration is un- 
 unecessary. Others object to inspiration on the 
 ground that it is an inexplicable mystery. How 
 presumptuous are those who reason thus! Do they 
 not see, that, in order to understand how God 
 transmits his thoughts to man, it would be necessary 
 to know how God thinks ? 
 
 There is another objection to inspiration, which, 
 at fii'st view, seems to be better founded. It has 
 been asked, What proof have we of the truth of 
 inspiration? It were indeed vain for a man to de- 
 clare himself inspired, and to pretend to speak in 
 the name of God, if he could give no proof of the 
 veracity of his statement. An assertion so extra- 
 ordinary requires some evidence. This evidence 
 cannot be internal. A man may call himself in- 
 spired, and may believe himself so, and yet be a 
 madman. Some external evidence is necessary. 
 This evidence may be of two kinds. The truth of 
 inspiration may be proved by a prophecy or by a 
 miracle. The annunciation of coming events has 
 been considered as a violation of human liberty. 
 This is but another view of the great question of 
 human liberty, and does in no way render the mys- 
 tery greater. If God is God, that is to say, if he
 
 198 COQITEREL's experimental CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 is an omniscient being, we must admit that none of 
 our actions are hidden from him. If, then, at times, 
 for some great purpose, he makes known to the 
 world events which would otherwise remain hidden 
 in the future, we cannot conceive that the liberty 
 of man is more affected than if these events were 
 not foretold. God knows that the Saviour has a 
 false friend who is about to betray him, and the 
 Saviour himself announces the crime of Judas. We 
 do not see in what way the liberty of Judas is more 
 affected than if this event had not been announced. 
 
 The power of prophecy must of course be con- 
 sidered as a great proof of the truth of inspiration. 
 But this proof is not sufficient. Such evidence can 
 be conclusive only for those who live, not at the 
 time when the prophecy is made, but at the moment 
 when it is accomplished. The contemporaries of 
 him who calls himself inspired must also have some 
 proof of the veracity of this assertion. If he pos- 
 sesses the power of performing miracles, he will be 
 believed. A miracle has commonly been defined to 
 be a momentary suspension of the laws of nature. 
 This definition is evidently erroneous. To declare 
 that an event has taken place in virtue of a mo- 
 mentary suspension of the laws which govern the 
 world, it would be necessary to know all these laws. 
 Where is the man who would presume to pretend 
 to so much knowledge? The views of our author 
 on this important subject are as follows. As the 
 object of the redemption of mankind was to lead 
 the world back to the state it was in before the fall 
 of man, it must have the power to revive for a
 
 COQTTEREL's EXPEKIMENTAL CHRISTIANITY. 199 
 
 time those forces which existed in the world prior to 
 that event, and which since then have remained la- 
 tent. A miracle, then, is simply the result of these 
 forces brought into action by the regeneration of the 
 world. Miracles thus become a necessary portion of 
 a revelation. They not only prove what we have 
 already said, that physical suffering was the result 
 of moral evil ; they moreover prove the efficacy of 
 a redemption which has the power to revive the 
 hidden forces of nature. But it may be objected to 
 this theory, that some of the events which are related 
 in the Scriptures as miraculous are in perfect harmony 
 with the well known laws of our nature. This is true ; 
 but they are nevertheless miracles, because they occur 
 by the order of some inspired man. A violent wind 
 might blow and separate the waters of the Red Sea ; 
 but that this event should have happened at the order 
 of Moses, so that the Israelites might pass through 
 the sea, it is this that constitutes the miracle. No 
 miracle occurs except on the order of one inspired ; 
 and the reason is obvious. If the miracle was in 
 contradiction to the laws of nature with which we 
 are accquainted, it would be considered as an extra- 
 ordinary event, as a phenomenon; if, on the other 
 hand, it was in perfect harmony with the laws of 
 nature of which we have a certain knowledge, it 
 would pass unnoticed. In either case, it would be 
 without use. By this theory it will be seen that M. 
 Coquerel takes nothing from the importance of the 
 miracles. He not only believes in their truth, but 
 even denies that a redemption could have been ef- 
 fected without their aid. They form an important, an
 
 200 COQUEREL's experimental CHRISTIANITY, 
 
 essential, part of revelation. They are the evidence 
 of the right of the ancient prophets to announce 
 the coming of the Saviour; they arc, moreover, the 
 guaranty of the truth of his mission. 
 
 Thus, by a natural and simple train of thought, we 
 are led to the notion of a redemption, which wc find 
 realized in history with abundant proof But were wc 
 left to our own reason, wc should still be convinced of 
 the truth of Christ's mission. Who, if it were not a 
 fact, could have imagined a life so perfect as that of 
 Jesus, under circumstances similar to those of every 
 human life ? Who could have imagined the Son of 
 God, the Messiah, the Saviour of the world, under the 
 humble garb of Jesus of Nazareth ? The mind could 
 undoubtedly have pictured to itself the ideal of human 
 perfection ; it could have clothed a being with all the 
 attributes which it would desire for itself ; but it could 
 never have imagined the solemn, yet simple, scenes 
 of the life of Christ, his birth in a manger at Beth- 
 lehem, his pure and holy life, those scenes of his 
 mortal career in which he showed himself so similar 
 to us in all things excepting sin, his tears for the death 
 of Lazarus, his joy at the success of the preaching of 
 his disciples, his humble bearing towards his mother, 
 his slow and painful death on the cross, his touching 
 farewell to his mother and to the beloved disciple, 
 and, finally, his glorious resurrection! No. Left to 
 itself, the mind would have overdrawn the picture. 
 An ideal Christ would have been either too distinct 
 from, or too similar to, those amongst whom he was 
 to live and die. 
 
 Now that we have arrived at the notion of a rcdemp-
 
 COQUEREl's experimental CHRISTIANITY. 201 
 
 tion, and find this notion has been realized in the 
 world by the mission of Jesus Christ, let us examine, 
 with our author, into the manner in which we ought to 
 understand revelation. The first thought which pre- 
 sents itself here is, that the Christian religion, as re- 
 vealed in the New Testament, has been commonly- 
 considered as mere instruction, as a theoretical collec- 
 tion of doctrines. To this view M. Coquerel objects. 
 According to him, Christianity is something far better, 
 far more practical. It is a new and salutary impulse 
 given to mankind. It addresses itself alike to all the 
 faculties, to all the tendencies, of our nature. Had it 
 been but a cold and lifeless system, like the philo- 
 sophical systems of antiquity, it would have addressed 
 itself to but one of these tendencies ; it would have ad- 
 dressed itself to the intellectual power alone. In other 
 words, Christianity is not theology. He, who reads the 
 Scriptures with a view merely to examine certain theo- 
 logical points, understands them not. He takes a part 
 of religion for the whole. He considers it merely as a 
 science, forgetting that the Saviour himself has said : 
 ' If ye know these things, happy are yp if ye do them.' 
 In the Scriptures, instruction is never considered as an 
 object, but solely as a means of attaining to a more 
 spiritual life, and to a better knowledge of God. The 
 method employed in the revelation is either to make 
 truth visible by means of indisputable facts, or to pre- 
 sent it as certain, or to state it as an axiom, or to leave 
 it in so dim and vague a light that our 'reason cannot 
 entirely understand it. 
 
 There are but few truths taught in the Scriptures by 
 the first of these methods. The greatest of these is,
 
 202 coquerel's experimental Christianity. 
 
 unquestionably, the resurrection of Christ. In an age 
 when the external appearances of death had hidden 
 from the general eye the truth of the immortality of 
 the soul, it was necessary to show by a fact that man 
 rises from the dead the same as when he descends 
 into the grave, that is to say, that his identity is pre- 
 served, that he knows his friends, and that they know 
 him. 
 
 All those truths, which are so intimately connected 
 with the Infinite as not to be susceptible of demonstra- 
 tion, are considered as certain in the Scriptures. These 
 truths are the attributes of God, our creation, our lib- 
 erty, and Divine Providence. Here is another proof 
 that revelation was not intended as a didactic work. 
 The Scriptures are full of these truths ; they form the 
 very basis of our religion ; and yet, throughout the 
 Bible, there is no demonstration of them. 
 
 The truths which are considered as axioms are those 
 which relate directly to our condition in this world. 
 Not a word is to be found in the Scriptures on the 
 organization of the family or society, on personal free- 
 dom, political order, or many other questions which 
 form the object of so much of our speculation. If the 
 Gospels were the work of man, and not of God, they 
 would be replete with theories on all these subjects. 
 How different is the work of God ! To all the errors 
 which existed in the world with regard to these im- 
 portant questions at the time of the ministry of Christ, 
 the Gospel opposes no argument, no vituperations. It 
 does not attack despotism as the most flagrant viola- 
 tion of all human rights, or polygamy as the subversion 
 of all morality. The only arms it uses against them
 
 COQTTEREl'S experimental CHRISTIANITY. 203 
 
 are the fundamental principles, the spirit, of Christi- 
 anity. ' Our religion,' says M. Coquerel, ' is the first 
 and only religion which has shown this astonishing 
 confidence in the authority of truth, to take the world as 
 it found it, without directly attacking any of its forces ; 
 to throw truth, as by chance, into the midst of it, like 
 the invisible seed which is sown by the wind, and to 
 predict that this seed will certainly take root and grow 
 into that large tree under the shade of which mankind 
 may take refuge against every error and every evil.' 
 
 There are, finally, some truths which are left in so 
 vague a light as to be incomprehensible to us in our 
 present mode of existence. To the following questions, 
 some of which have been the cause of so much strife 
 in the Christian world, the Scriptures give no satisfac- 
 tory reply : What is the divine nature of Christ ? 
 How are the soul and body united ? Does all com- 
 munication cease between the living and the dead ? 
 What will be the organization of man in another world ? 
 What is the nature of angels and demons ? These 
 questions remain unanswered, it is true, because in 
 our present condition the solution of such problems is 
 entirely unnecessary for our progress. We do not 
 mean, however, to say that an examination of these 
 curious and interesting problems must necessarily be 
 dangerous. Philosophy and religion may alike specu- 
 late on them, provided they do not attempt to give to 
 the results of their investigations an importance which 
 they cannot really possess. 
 
 In this rapid sketch of the work under review, we 
 have now arrived at a point where it becomes neces- 
 sary to inquire into the future destinies of our religion.
 
 204 coquerel's experimental Christianity. 
 
 We must now endeavor to ascertain what arc the tri- 
 umphs reserved for Christianity, both in this world and 
 throughout eternity. The first thought that naturally 
 strikes us in connection with this subject is, that Chris- 
 tianity ij the final religion of mankind. Jesus Christ 
 is the only Saviour who will ever be given to the 
 world. We have two guaranties of this fact. First, 
 the Christian religion is entirely independent of every 
 thing which surrounds it. It can exist in all places, 
 in every climate, under all governments, and with 
 every degree of civilization. How different in this 
 respect from all false religions ! You may destroy the 
 Sinai or the Calvary, Rome, Wittenberg, or Geneva, 
 and efface them from the memory of man, the 
 Christian religion will still exist. If you destroy Jeru- 
 salem and its temple, the Jewish religion has no longer 
 any meaning ; Christianity may plant its standard on 
 any shore and in every soil. False religions are de- 
 pendent even on the differences of climate which exist 
 in different countries. The symbolism of the Egyp- 
 tians cannot be conceived of elsewhere than on the 
 borders of the Nile, that of the Indians but in the 
 valley of the Ganges or the Indus ; the mythology of 
 Greece belongs to the warm and genial climate of that 
 lovely land, that of Odin to the cold and frosty climate 
 of the North. Thus independent of every thing ex- 
 ternal, Christianity must be the final religion of man- 
 kind. 
 
 The second guaranty which we have that Christian- 
 ity is the final religion of mankind, is still more con- 
 clusive. It addresses itself alike to all our powers, to 
 all our tendencies. To the intellectual power it promises
 
 coqtjerel's expekimental ciikistianity. 205 
 
 infinite knowledge ; from the moral power it demands 
 perfection ; from the affections it demands love without 
 end towards God and a similar love for our fellow-men. 
 St. John says, ' He that loveth not his brother whom 
 he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not 
 seen ? ' To the tendency toward happiness our religion 
 promises eternal felicity ; and, finally, Christianity sat- 
 isfies our religious tendency in showing us that our 
 union with God may become more and more perfect. 
 A religion which thus takes hold of man by all his 
 faculties must be the final religion of mankind. A 
 new religion would find nothing new to teach. 
 
 The influence of Christianity has been as yet of two 
 kinds. It has had a direct influence on those who 
 profess it, and an indirect influence on those who do 
 not believe in its doctrines, or who are ignorant even 
 of its existence. All the progress made in the world 
 for the last eighteen centuries may be ascribed to it. 
 But this indirect influence is not sufficient. If Chris- 
 tianity is the final religion of mankind, the time must 
 come when all men will profess its doctrines. This 
 time will come. But before our religion can become 
 the universal religion of the human race, it must un- 
 dergo different changes or modifications, which our 
 author classes under the following heads. 
 
 First, Christianity must be freed from all ecclesi- 
 astical rules. The moral and religious laws which 
 are given in the Scriptures are general, and never 
 enter into minute details of conduct. The applica- 
 tion of the law is left to each individual. The lib- 
 erty of man is thus respected. In the Gospels, we 
 do not even find any forms of prayer or of public
 
 206 coquerel's experimental Christianity. 
 
 worship prescribed ; any rules as to the rites of 
 marriage or the duties of a married life, to death 
 or mourning for the dead. Man, and man alone, has 
 attempted to prescribe a certain number of rules, 
 which cannot with impunity be transgressed. Such 
 a course is in direct opposition to the spirit of Chris- 
 tianity. It is, moreover, absurd and impracticable. 
 In endeavoring lo write down rules of conduct which 
 man must follow, who can pretend not to forget a 
 single article ? Happy would it be, however, for 
 Christianity, if the sins committed in these dangerous 
 attempts were only sins of omission.* It is a cheer- 
 ing sight to the Christian, to observe that many 
 Catholics of the present day prefer to seek in their 
 own conscience for the approbation or condemnation 
 of their actions, rather than from their confessor. 
 Christianity must, and will ultimately, be entirely 
 freed from this pernicious system. 
 
 Christianity must, in the second place, be freed 
 from all clerical hierarchy. It is evident that the 
 distinction of the layman from the priest is not as 
 old as our religion. Thus, for example, the admin- 
 istering of the sacrament was, in the early ages, a 
 family rite. The father of the family was in the 
 habit of breaking the bread and distributing it to his 
 
 * M. Coquerel published a few years ago aa admirable 
 letter to the Archbishop of Lyons, on the subject of a work 
 published in his diocese entitled, ' CoUaliones praclica? of 
 the Seminary of St. FU)ur,' a work in which are recorded 
 crimes and abominations which one would rather expect to 
 find in the Epigrams of Martial than in the productions of a 
 priest.
 
 COQUEREl's experimental CHRISTIANITY. 207 
 
 children. Whether the time will come or not when 
 Christianity can entirely dispense with all outward 
 forms of worship, and consequently with a* clergy 
 to celebrate that worship, is a question which we 
 cannot solve. The progress which our religion must 
 make in . this respect will tend to destroy all cleri- 
 cal hierarchy, to make all the ministers of God equal. 
 This progress has been attained in many Protestant 
 churches. It will finally be universal. 
 
 Christianity must, thirdly, be set free from all au- 
 thority, no matter under what name it shows itself. 
 No man and no body of men has a right to step 
 between God and the Christian. All obligatory pro- 
 fessions of faith will be abolished. 
 
 Our religion must also be delivered from all exag- 
 geration in respect to the importance of outward 
 forms. The principle, that God is spirit, and must 
 be worshipped in spirit and in truth, and that it mat- 
 ters little what are the forms of this worship, must 
 be universally adopted. A truly Christian spirit may 
 be hidden under the most absurd and vain ceremo- 
 nies. 
 
 Christianity must likewise be delivered from all 
 superstitious views as to the literal interpretation of 
 the Scriptures. 
 
 Our religion must, finally, be freed from the belief, 
 that faith in a certain dogmatic interpretation of the 
 Scriptures is necessary to salvation. Much progress 
 has already been made in 'this respect. Christian 
 communities are already beginning to he convinced 
 that a man may be truly Christian, although his in- 
 terpretation of the Scriptures be entirely opposed to
 
 208 coquerel's experimental Christianity. 
 
 their own. The conscience of the Christian world is 
 indignant, when, in our own times, a bull is issued 
 from the pontifical throne of Rome, declaring that 
 moral virtue is of no value in the sight of God, or 
 when such men as Newton, Clarke, and Locke are 
 declared to be bad Christians because they did not 
 believe in the doctrine of the Trinity. When the 
 whole world shall have been convinced that there is 
 but one faith necessary to salvation, that which each 
 man has formed for himself by the sincere and con- 
 scientious study of revelation, then the final triumphs 
 of Christianity in this world will be at hand. For 
 the last eighteen centuries man has sought in vain 
 for peace and harmony in a complete unity of doc- 
 trine and of faith. Let him seek for this peace in 
 the unity of all Christian hearts, and his search will 
 not be vain. 
 
 Such arc the changes through which Christianity 
 must pass before it can become the universal relig- 
 ion of mankind. If we now ask what changes our 
 religion must undergo before it can become the re- 
 ligion of eternity, the idea will naturally present it- 
 self, that Christianity must be freed from the notions 
 of time and space. If we view our religion in this 
 new light, we shall naturally be led to consider heaven 
 and hell, not as two distinct places, in which the 
 just arc rewarded and the sinner is punished, but as 
 two difierent dispositions of the mind. In a future 
 existence, we siiall be what we have made ourselves. 
 If we have used our faculties to approach God, we 
 shall be recompensed by the approbation of our con- 
 science ; if we have used them, on the contrary, to
 
 COQTTEREL's experimental CHRISTIANITY. 209 
 
 separate ourselves from him, we shall suffer all the 
 pangs of- an evil conscience. The question here 
 presents itself, whether these sufferings will be eter- 
 nal ; whether there is no hope of a final reconciliation 
 between God and all his children. The answer to 
 such questions is simple. It is possible for man eter- 
 nally to misuse his faculties. We have already said 
 that the road which leads him away from God is 
 as infinite as the road which leads him towards his 
 Heavenly Father. Man may, then, eternally suffer, 
 because he may eternally do wrong. But, because 
 this possibility exists, ought we to believe that it will 
 ever be realized } Is it not more in harmony with the 
 consoling instructions of our religion, to believe that 
 the time will come when God will be all in all ? We 
 have, indeed, in the nature of man, almost a certain 
 guaranty that he will not be eternally miserable. If he 
 retain the consciousness of his actions in another life, 
 he will know that he has sinned, and that therefore he 
 suffers. Is it not natural, then, to suppose that he 
 will seek to rise from his state of degradation, and 
 to join those heavenly legions who are on the road 
 of progress? We confidently believe that the time 
 will come when all beings will form but one great 
 family. We cannot but pity those who wilfully deny 
 themselves so beautiful and consoling an expectation, 
 and who believe that an eternity of suffering awaits 
 every sinner. But, alas ! what shall we say of those 
 who believe that all who do not profess the same 
 creed with themselves will be irretrievably lost? 
 We turn from such a deplorable aberration of the 
 human mind, and thank God that we do not believe 
 14
 
 210 COQUEREL's experimental CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 in so horrible a doctrine. We can cast our eyes 
 over the whole extent of this world and contemplate 
 the beings who people it, without fearing to meet the 
 eye of one yes, not even of one sentenced to 
 so hard a doom. 
 
 We liave endeavored, in the preceding pages, to 
 trace, as rapidly as possible, the principal features 
 of M. Coquerel's remarkable work. It will be seen 
 that he examines frankly and thoroughly all the prob- 
 lems which our religion suggests. Whether we accept 
 his conclusions or not, the position which he holds 
 in France and the influence which he exerts, entitle 
 his opinions to consideration, especially when delib- 
 erately expressed with a reference to the present 
 interests of society and religion. To say how soon 
 the pure Christianity of which he has given the out- 
 line in this book will be popular in France, is beyond 
 the reach of human foresight. In a country which 
 is comparatively new to so pure a faith, it can hardly 
 be expected that it should be immediately adopted. 
 But the time will certainly come, when the French, 
 as all other nations, will relinquish the superstitious 
 errors of the past, and adopt a Christianity founded 
 on a broader and more liberal basis. Our unshaken 
 confidence in the truth of our religion, and in the 
 purity of the form of Christianity which we profess, 
 renders us firm in our belief that the time will certainly 
 come, when all Christians will agree, not on theologi- 
 cal points, which will ever remain open to discussion, 
 but on all subjects essential to their progress in this 
 world and throughout the different stages of their 
 future existence. The time will come, when the
 
 COQUEREL's experimental CHRISTIANITY. 211 
 
 spiritual power of the pope will no longer be felt in 
 its influence on mankind ; perhaps the activity which 
 has rendered Pius IX. so popular is but a display of 
 that preternatural strength which not unfrcquently 
 announces an approaching dissolution. The time will 
 come, when the confessions of faith of La Rochelle 
 and of Augsburg, or the contradictory articles adopted 
 by the Church of England, will no longer be con- 
 sidered as binding. And all these changes will occur 
 without much struggle. The churches now dedicated 
 to the Roman Catholic worship will be converted into 
 Protestant temples; they will not be destroyed. The 
 tapers which burn on the altars, as if the light of 
 the sun were not a light sufficient for the worship 
 of God, will be extinguished ; the works of art which 
 adorn them will be transported to some museum; 
 the confessional will be removed ; the priest in his 
 rich and varied dresses will no longer officiate at 
 an altar stripped of all its splendor ; incense will no 
 longer rise to the Gothic roof; but multitudes will still 
 throng the church to hear the word of God read and 
 explained. 
 
 We could wish, for M. Coquerel's sake, that he 
 might live to witness these tranquil triumphs of 
 Christianity over the errors of the past. Few men, 
 indeed, have done more towards hastening the relig- 
 ious progress of their country than he. Those who 
 are acquainted with his life know how much courage 
 it has required to hold his ground in the Reformed 
 Church of Paris. Surrounded by clergymen who 
 believe in the creed of St. Athanasius, and in the 
 impossibility of salvation for those who do not accept
 
 212 COQUEHEL's experimental CHRISTIANITY. 
 
 that masterpiece of human ingenuity, he has been con- 
 stantly attacked by his colleagues in the most bitter 
 manner. To these invectives he has replied with 
 firmness, but without overstepping the limits of Ciiris- 
 tian charity. Peace and unity in the Church have 
 been the constant theme of his eloquent preaching. 
 We remember to have heard him on one occasion, 
 after having exhorted his hearers to maintain peace 
 with those of their brethren whose doctrinal views 
 differed from their own, exclaim : 'Do you not hear 
 the sound of those who are waiting at the doors of 
 this church to be admitted to commune with you? O, 
 no! You hear them not. The noise of our vain and 
 sterile disputes has buried their voice ! ' May his per- 
 severance and his courage be recompensed ! When 
 at the hour of his death he shall look around him 
 and does not see the seed which he has sown bursting 
 forth into a rich and fertile harvest, he will console 
 himself with the thought that he has done his duty, 
 and that God will do the rest. He will remember 
 that St. Paul has said ' I have planted, ApoUos 
 watered, but God gave the ' increase. '
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA, 
 
 1. Handbuch des Staatswirthschaftlichen Slatistik und Ver- 
 waltungskunde der Preussischen Monarchic. Von Dr. 
 Friedrich Benedict Weber, Professor zu Breslau. Breslau. 
 1840. 8vo. pp. 835. 
 
 2. Versuch einer Statistik des Preussischen Staaies. Von 
 Dr. Traugott Gotthilf Voigtel, Oberbibliothekare und 
 Professor der Geschichte an der Universitat zu Halle. Halle. 
 1837. 8vo. pp. 274. 
 
 3. Preussen's Staatsmttnner . Vier Lieferungen. Leipzig. 
 1841-42. 
 
 4. Augsburger Allgemeine Zeitung. Marz, April, Mai, 1848. 
 
 Amidst the events that have agitated Europe during 
 the past year, the revolution which occurred in Berlin 
 on the 18th of March deserves particular notice. The 
 commanding position which Prussia occupies as the 
 great Protestant power of Continental Europe, the past 
 history of that country to which Frederic the Great 
 imparted so bright a lustre by his military genius, and, 
 more than all, the rapid growth of a kingdom which, 
 humble and recent as is its origin, has for the last 
 half-century ranked among the most powerful states of 
 Europe, all serve to give to the political commotions 
 which agitate it an unusual degree of interest. There
 
 214 ' THE REVOLITTION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 is, indeed, something so impressive in the sight of a 
 great and powerful nation like the Prussian rising up 
 against its rulers, and overthrowing in a few hours the 
 whole political organization of the state, that it must 
 engage our attention and awaken our sympathies, even 
 at a time when revolutions, shaking and overturning 
 mighty thrones, convulsing society to its centre, and 
 arming brother against brother within the walls of a 
 common city, have become every-day occurrences. 
 And when we consider the peculiar characteristics of 
 a nation, perhaps better educated than any other in 
 Europe, a nation which has ever enjoyed the reputation 
 of being sincerely attached to its sovereigns, and which 
 was certainly never suspected of being animated by 
 that daring and restless spirit which causes a people 
 to embrace, for the sake of change, any schemes of 
 reform, however wild or absurd they may be, we feel 
 that our interest is not misplaced, for we know that 
 such a nation would not raise the standard of rebellion, 
 unless it were actuated by some powerful and just 
 motive. The lamentable events which in February 
 last changed the form of government in France the 
 only effect of which has been, as far as we are able to 
 see, to discredit republicanism in Europe may have 
 given the signal for the outbreak in Berlin. When the 
 news of another French revolution reached the capital 
 of Prussia, it was not unnatural that the people should 
 think Ithe moment was favorable for them also to take 
 up arms, and endeavor to obtain from the king some 
 political guaranties. But it would be rating the Prus- 
 sian nation far too low, to suppose that this foolish 
 desire of imitating that revolution, the importanc%' of
 
 THE EEVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 215 
 
 which, owing to the poetical halo which Lamartine 
 had succeeded in casting around it, was greatly mag- 
 nified in the eye of the distant observer, alone actuated 
 them. Nor would it be more just to attribute their 
 glorious struggle to the machinations of those who 
 profess the fantastic and absurd doctrines of com- 
 munism or socialism, which we should view but with 
 contempt, if they were not liable to produce so much 
 mischief and crime. Such a party undoubtedly exists 
 in Prussia, and has long wished to revolutionize the 
 state, and to profit by disorder and anarchy in order to 
 build up their own shattered fortunes. But this party 
 alone did not make the Revolution of Berlin, and we 
 must seek elsewhere for the cause of that mighty 
 struggle, which, for a time, seemed to endanger the 
 existence of royalty in Prussia. 
 
 In the history of all the monarchies of Europe, 
 there are two great and inevitable contests, which have 
 already taken place, or are yet to come. The first 
 is the struggle of royalty against the feudal system ; 
 the second is the struggle of the people against the 
 unlimited power of the sovereign. It was the peculiar 
 good fortune of France to experience, earlier than any 
 other European state, the first of these revolutions. 
 Louis XI. and Cardinal Richelieu much as the du- 
 plicity of their conduct is repugnant to our moral 
 feelings- did a great work for France. They labored 
 to destroy the many sovereignties which divided the 
 country, and to form one united nation under the yoke 
 of a despot. The Revolution of 1789 accomplished 
 the second change. The absolute power of the crown 
 was broken down, and its authority limited.
 
 216 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 It was not so in Germany. The first of these two 
 crises is not to be found in her history till a much 
 later period. The feudal system existed in that coun- 
 try down to the present century. The second struggle, 
 upon which the German nations have but just entered, 
 must also be accomplished. The recent revolutions at 
 Berlin and Vienna have been but progressive steps in 
 this inevitable course. This view of these events ex- 
 plains the difference in the feelings excited within us 
 by the Revolutions of Paris and of Berlin. We cannot 
 but consider the first as useless and criminal, not so 
 much a revolt against despotism, or a generous move- 
 ment in favor of liberty, as one against order and in 
 favor of the wildest anarchy. The second we regard 
 as legitimate and just. Prussia has emerged from 
 childhood. Prosperous in her commerce and industry, 
 in science and literature at the head of all German 
 nations, and alive to a sense of the importance of the 
 part which she might be called upon to play in the 
 future destinies of Germany, she could no longer bear 
 to be held in the leading-strings of paternal despotism. 
 She had been long enough deceived by her rulers ; 
 she no longer trusted in tlieir promises, but relied on 
 her own strength to assort her long-denied rights. 
 This is not the place to prove that the Revolution of 
 Paris was needless and wrong. Every impartial mind, 
 even though at first seduced by the high-sounding 
 promises of liberty, equality, and fraternity, and by 
 the pompous eloquence of Lamartine, must by this 
 time be convinced of the truth of this assertion. As 
 to the second of our propositions, that the revolution 
 which has transformed the military depotism of Prussia
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 217 
 
 into a constitutional monarchy was legitimate, we think 
 that a brief sketch of the history of that kingdom since 
 the French Revolution of '89 will sufficiently prove 
 it. 
 
 Frederic William III., the father of the present king 
 of Prussia, ascended the throne in 1797, at a time 
 when it required more than ordinary talents to wield 
 the sceptre. The treasury was nearly bankrupt, owing 
 to the folly and extravagance of the preceding king. 
 The army, which under Frederic the Great had excited 
 the admiration of Europe, had been completely dis- 
 graced by the profligacy of that monarch. Prussia 
 had been dishonored by the humiliating treaty con- 
 cluded with France, and, added to these causes of 
 difficulty within the kingdom itself, the principles of 
 the French Jlevolution were beginning to be dissemi- 
 nated throughout Europe. It was evident that the new 
 king would be obliged either to resist the growing 
 spirit of innovation, or to favor those reforms which 
 the progress of the age demanded. Fortunately for 
 Prussia, Frederic William, without being a man of 
 superior talents, had the welfare of his subjects at 
 heart, and was willing to surround himself with able 
 and faithful counsellors. The first acts of his reign 
 were calculated to render him popular. He abrogated 
 the edicts which his father had promulgated on relig- 
 ious matters and the press. He sought, as much from 
 taste as principle, to maintain the strictest neutrality in 
 European politics, but became finally involved in the 
 coalition of 1805 against France, a coalition which 
 was dissolved by the battle of Austerlitz. He was 
 obliged again to take up arms when Napoleon formed
 
 218 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 the Confederacy of the Rhine. It was his desire to 
 establish a confederacy of the states of Northern Ger- 
 many, as a counterpoise to the ambitious schemes of 
 the French emperor in the Southern states ; but he 
 could not accomplish this object. Without a single 
 ally, then, Prussia was obliged to encounter France 
 in 1806. The battle of Jena decided her fate. 
 
 It has been said by a German writer, that it was 
 Fred(^ric the Great who was defeated at Jena. There 
 is much of philosophic truth in this remark. It was he 
 who had given to Prussia a new system of laws, and 
 opened in the kingdom innumerable sources of wealth 
 and prosperity. It was he who, by humbling the pride 
 of the house of Austria, had given her that ascendency 
 which she has since enjoyed. But from the time of 
 his death in 1786, every thing had remained un- 
 changed. Not one step in advance had been taken 
 during the reign of his imbecile successor, Frederic 
 William II., and in 1806 the Prussian monarchy was 
 almost exactly in the same condition as when Frederic 
 the Great expired. The feudal system of privileged 
 and distinct classes had been maintained. The greater 
 part of the soil was in the hands of the aristocracy, 
 who could neither divide nor sell their estates, nor 
 leave them by will to a commoner. Neither could the 
 noble become the owner of the landed property of a 
 commoner, or of the farm of a peasant, nor could he 
 exercise the trade of a commoner. At a time when 
 the French Revolution was beginning to bear its fruits, 
 and to inspire the rest of Europe with a desire for 
 the reorganization of society on a more liberal and 
 equitable basis, this antiquated system in which the
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 219 
 
 accident of birth exerted so fatal an influence on the 
 whole life of a man was still in force in Prussia. 
 And it was these two powers, Prussia and France, 
 the one but a lifeless corpse, which had retained only 
 the semblance of a form after the spirit of Frederic 
 had abandoned it ; the other full of youthful vigor 
 and inspired by those principles of independence and 
 equality which had grown out of the Revolution 
 it was these two powers which met in the field of 
 Jena. 
 
 Could the result of the contest be doubtful ? Brought 
 into contact with these new-creating principles, the 
 old system crumbled into dust. Prussia fell, as many 
 thought, never more to rise. The Peace of Tilsit 
 (1807) deprived her of all her provinces between the 
 Elbe and the Rhine, as well as of her possessions in 
 Poland, including in all about five millions of subjects. 
 She was, moreover, obliged to pay 120,000,000 francs 
 to the French government, and to support 11,000 
 French troops in the very heart of the kingdom. 
 Might it not well have seemed, even to the wisest, that 
 Prussia was for ever crushed ? It was not so, how- 
 ever ; and it is not a paradox to afiirm, that nothing 
 but so heavy a blow could have saved her from 
 utter ruin. The defeat at Jena brought to light the 
 defectiveness of the old organization of the Prussian 
 monarchy. Until then, king and nobility had alike 
 opposed all plans of reform. Experience taught them 
 wisdom. Not quite a year had elapsed after that 
 memorable battle, when the king called Baron Von 
 Stein to preside over his ministry, and a new era was 
 opened in Prussian history.
 
 220 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 This distinguished man, to whom Prussia owes more 
 than to any other individual, if we except Frederic the 
 Great, had been, it is said, recommended to the king 
 by Napoleon, who called him ' un homme d'' esprit.'' 
 Stein was something more, and Napoleon himself soon 
 discovered it. He determined to reform his country, 
 to raise her from her humbled condition, and to enable 
 ner, when the moment should arrive, to free herself 
 from the yoke of foreign dominion. The principles 
 on which he proposed to found his reforms may thus 
 be summed up: 'What the state loses in extent 
 must be regained in intensity of power. That which is 
 old has perished ; everything must be created anew, 
 if Prussia is ever to resume her importance among the 
 nations of Europe. In what remains of the former 
 larger state there arc hostile elements. These must 
 be got rid of, in order to make room for a united 
 whole. The different classes arc at variance with each 
 other, on account of the favor which the one has al- 
 ways enjoyed, and of which the others did not partake. 
 Union gives strength. Equal rights to all members of 
 the state, no order being more favored than another, 
 must be introduced, if union is desired. Each citizen 
 must have the same duties towards the state. Each 
 must be personally free, and obey only one master, the 
 king, with his code of laws in his hand. And in order 
 that duties and rights may be equal, and that the 
 former be not oppressive for any one, there must be a 
 national representation, by moans of which better laws 
 may be made. Everj- man must be allowed to exer- 
 cise freely his powers, and to follow his own tastes 
 and judgment, so long as he does not pass the limits
 
 THE KEVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 221 
 
 prescribed by religion, morality, and the laws of the 
 land. All landed property must be accessible to every 
 one wishing to acquire it ; acquisition and possession 
 must be facilitated by suitable laws. The administra- 
 tion of communities by government officers, or by 
 single privileged individuals, is a dangerous practice, 
 which precludes all unity of feeling, and which must 
 be remedied. No one in the state, whether a corpo- 
 ration or an individual, should be judge in his own 
 cause. The judiciary must therefore be separated 
 from the executive. All must be governed by the 
 same laws ; consequently, there must be but one judicial 
 authority, whose verdicts shall reach alike the highest 
 and the lowest. Every one, except the criminal who 
 tramples religion, morality, and the law under foot, 
 must enjoy his liberty. The servant, too^ must be 
 free ; the contract which binds him to his chosen mas- 
 ter must not deprive him of his civil liberty. Master 
 and servant must be protected by the same law. Mental 
 cultivation elevates a people, and the higher it is car- 
 ried, the higher will be their place in the confederacy 
 of civilized nations. Education is the condition of all 
 progress in order, power, and prosperity. The state 
 must demand this education.' 
 
 No sooner had Stein accepted the difficult post which 
 had been intrusted to him, than he devoted all the 
 energies of his superior intellect to the execution of 
 the reforms of which we have given the outline. He 
 remained, however, but one year in the cabinet, and 
 could not, of course, carry out all his plans in that 
 time. What he did, however, was enough to entitle 
 him to the lasting gratitude of his country. By the
 
 222 THE REVOLTTTION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 edict of October 9th, 1807, all Prussian subjects were 
 allowed to acquire and hold property of any description 
 whatsoever. By this measure, the hereditary subjec- 
 tion of the peasantry to the proprietors of the estates 
 on which they were bom was suspended. Another 
 edict removed the absurd restrictions which had until 
 then fettered the proprietor, not only in the disposal, 
 but even in the cultivation, of his land. These two 
 edicts paved the way for the entire emancipation of 
 the Prussian people. 
 
 Another most important measure of Von Stein's 
 administration was the edict reforming the municipal 
 organization of the cities. This edict, known under 
 the name of the Stadte Ordnung, was intended to 
 give the citizens a more direct influence on all affairs 
 relating to their community. ^Frederic William I. 
 had taken from the cities almost all their privileges. 
 It was the object of his narrow and despotic policy 
 to bring everything, as much as possible, under the 
 direct influence of the central government. All mu- 
 nicipal magistracies were therefore confided to gov- 
 ernment officers. It was to do away with the evils 
 resulting from such a system that the edict just men- 
 tioned was promulgated. Its object was to awaken a 
 public spirit. The citizen was not only to take care 
 of his own property, but to have a share in the 
 interests of his community. The wisdom of such a 
 measure will be readily understood. By granting to 
 the middle classes a share in the local administration 
 of the cities in which they resided, a stronger attach- 
 ment was awakened in them for their common country. 
 Patriotism is always developed in proj)ortion as a
 
 TftE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 223 
 
 nation is admitted to take a part in the administra- 
 tion of its own affairs. Loyalty may exist under the 
 sway of a despotic ruler; but we cannot conceive 
 of patriotism without liberty. 
 
 In thus breaking down the old feudal system, and 
 granting to the cities a more liberal organization, as 
 indeed in all the other reforms of the minister, his 
 object was twofold. He wished, in the first place, 
 to prepare the nation for that struggle with France 
 which he felt must sooner or later decide the des- 
 tinies of Prussia and Germany. He understood that 
 a nation in which the larger proportion of the inhab- 
 itants have no interest at stake, but follow blindly the 
 dictates of a privileged class, was incapable of re- 
 sisting the invasion of a nation like the French, in 
 which the most perfect equality reigned, notwithstand- 
 ing the despotism of its chief. It was not by mere 
 brute force that a French army could be opposed. 
 To conquer it, it became necessary to borrow some- 
 what from the principles by which it was animated. 
 It was in consequence of this conviction, that Von 
 Stein, notwithstanding his patriotic hatred for eveiy- 
 thing French, followed the French Revolution as his 
 model in many of his proposed reforms. But he had 
 another object in view. He desired to increase the 
 power and influence of Prussia in the conduct of the 
 affairs of Germany. He himself has said, ' My 
 desire to see Prussia prosper did not proceed from a 
 blind attachment to that country, but also from the 
 conviction, that the divisions of Germany weaken her, 
 destroy her national honor and feeling, and render 
 her incapable of any good government. German
 
 224 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 princes should remember that the independence of 
 Germany depends on the moral and physical force of 
 Prussia.' It was his hope, that, by giving liberal in- 
 stitutions to Prussia, she might become the central 
 point round which would be collected the different 
 nationalities of Germany. 
 
 The measures of which wc have spoken were but 
 the first of the long series of reforms which Von Stein 
 proposed to make in the institutions of his country. 
 Unfortunately for Prussia, he was not permitted to ac- 
 complish the work which he had so nobly commenced. 
 In November, 1808, Napoleon, having learned that 
 Von Stein had formed schemes for the deliverance 
 of Germany from his dominion, forced the King of 
 Prussia to dismiss him from the public service. Pre- 
 viously to leaving the cabinet, he communicated to 
 the administration a paper in which his views as to 
 the government of the state were boldly and clearly 
 set forth. Although he signed this document, he did 
 not himself draw it up. To Schon, another Prussian 
 statesman and patriot, belongs the honor of composing 
 this valuable scheme, known as the political testa- 
 ment of Von Stein. Had the views set forth in this 
 document, which maintained that a general national 
 representation was indispensable in order that the 
 sovereign might become acquainted with the wants of 
 the people, been carried out, it is difficult to say how 
 much bloodshed and how many storms Prussia might 
 have escaped. 
 
 On Hardenberg fell the difficult task of succeeding 
 to Von Stein. Three departments of the administra- 
 tion were intrusted at once to this statesman, that
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA, 225 
 
 of Foreign Affairs, of the Interior, and of Finance. 
 The work to be done in each was imnnense, and 
 would have intimidated a less consummate statesman 
 than Hardenberg. His first care, on taking the reins 
 of government into his hands, was to-provide for the 
 payment of the sum stipulated by the treaty of Tilsit. 
 Prussia had suffered so much, and had been so im- 
 poverished by the war, that it was a subject of serious 
 discussion, whether the province of Silesia should not 
 be ceded to France in payment of the debt. Har- 
 denberg was not the man to accede to so humiliating- 
 a proposition. He effected a loan in Holland, which 
 enabled him to avert the danger with which the non- 
 payment of the French claim would have threatened 
 his country ; and he then devoted himself to the con- 
 tinuation of the reform commenced by his predecessor. 
 In his external policy, he sought for an alliance with 
 England. In his internal reforms, France was his 
 model, as it had been that of Von Stein. It was 
 his wish to attain in Prussia, by peaceful means, that 
 which in France had been the result of a stormy 
 and bloody revolution. In the following words he has 
 himself well expressed his intentions: 'My system 
 rests on this basis, that each member of the state 
 shall be free to develope and exercise his powers 
 without hindrance from the arbitrary will of another; 
 that justice shall be administered with impartiality; 
 that merit, in whatever rank it is found, shall be 
 rewarded ; and that education, true piety, and appro- 
 priate institutions shall create in our country one inter- 
 est and one spirit, upon which to found our prosperity 
 and our security.' 
 15
 
 286 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 The several edicts published during Hardenberg's 
 administration were of the utmost importance. The 
 exemption of tlie aristocracy from taxation was sus- 
 pended. All the old corporations of trades were 
 abolished, and the trades opened alike to all Prussian 
 subjects. This measure, which was one of the most 
 effectual means of breaking up the old forms of so- 
 ciety, met with considerable opposition, not only on 
 the part of those privileged families which had be- 
 longed to these corporations, but also of those philan- 
 thropists and political economists who censured it on 
 account of the increase of misery and vice which 
 it was, in their estimation, likely to produce amongst 
 the working classes. The number of unskilful master- 
 workmen, said they, would augment, whilst that of 
 the subordinate workmen would be proportionally 
 diminished, owing to the desire which every artisan 
 would experience to exercise his trade on his own 
 account. Moreover, the increase of workmen and 
 tradesmen would be entirely out of proportion to the 
 general increase of the population. Experience has 
 proved these views to have been erroneous. Statis- 
 tical returns show that, witli the exception of a few 
 trades, as those of butcher, tailor, shoemaker, baker, 
 bookbinder, carpenter, &c,, the number of tradesmen, 
 although considerably increased, has not been so 
 disproportionably to the increase of the general pop- 
 ulation ; and that the number of persons engaged 
 in such trades as those of the furrier, leather-dresser, 
 tanner, glazier, Stc., has diminished. It is also sliown, 
 that the number of workmen compared with that of 
 masters has not diminished, but in many cases in-
 
 THE KEVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 227 
 
 creased ; and also that, far from being less skilfully 
 trained than under the old organization of the trades, 
 the improvement in labor and workmanship, as a 
 general thing, has been quite marked. To every im- 
 partial judge, it must, we think, appear that the meas- 
 ure of Hardenberg was wise and politic. By opening 
 trade indiscriminately to all Prussian subjects, com- 
 petition, without which trade must always languish, 
 was excited, and industry was gradually brought to 
 its present flourishing condition. 
 
 What had been done for trade was also accom- 
 plished for agriculture. It was freed from the shackles 
 which had, until then, prevented its development. 
 By the law of September 14, 1811, the peasantry 
 first acquired the right of becoming hereditary pos- 
 sessors of the soil. Their labor was no longer to 
 profit their masters only ; they could now work for 
 themselves and their families. The good effects of 
 this measure were soon felt. In the hands of a 
 peasantry enjoying the right of possession and trans- 
 mission, agriculture improved immensely. Not only 
 was more land cultivated than had previously been 
 the case, but now that it was cultivated by those 
 who were to reap the harvests, every means was 
 taken to make it yield all that nature had intended 
 it should. There was much opposition to the pro- 
 mulgation of this edict. In the then ruined condition 
 of the country, when the larger portion of the estates 
 of the aristocracy were burdened with debts, to de- 
 prive the owners of the rents which they received 
 from their peasant-tenants was in fact to deprive them 
 of their estates. Many of these estates were sold,
 
 228 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 and frequently purchased by rich capitalists, whose 
 wealth had been acquired in trade. 
 
 Such sweeping measures, causing so much of the 
 landed property to pass into new hands, might seem un- 
 just, if we did not consider the peculiar circumstances 
 under which they had been adopted. Hardenberg felt 
 the absolute necessity of improving the condition of 
 the finances, and he saw no other means but those 
 which he used to attain his object. In viewing the 
 law which thus deprived so many of the old proprie- 
 tors of their estates in order to create a new class 
 of landholders, we should also bear in mind, that 
 all Hardenberg's measures were taken with a view 
 of preparing his country for that constitution which 
 he, as well as Von Stein, desired to give to Prussia, 
 and which she has only just acquired by means of 
 a bloody conflict. The new class of proprietors 
 formed by the legislation of September, 1811, was 
 destined to gain every day in wealth, influence, and 
 power; and Hardenberg could not but have seen, 
 that it would soon be ready to claim its share in 
 the government of the country. Had it not been 
 the intention of the minister ultimately to grant a 
 national representation, he surely would not have 
 created so powerful a force in the very heart of the 
 state. He was too profound a statesman not to fore- 
 see, that the day was not far distant, when not even 
 a military power could resist the progress of the 
 middle classes, and maintain a despotic form of gov- 
 ernment in Prussia. 
 
 While Hardenberg was carrying out his reforms 
 in the civil organization of the state, Dohna, Scharn-
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 229 
 
 horst, Gneisenau, and Grolman were, as one may 
 say, creating a new army. The army which had 
 been defeated at Jena was constituted according to 
 the principles of the old system, which Stein and 
 Hardenberg so strenuously labored to break down. 
 A nobleman alone could attain the rank of an offi- 
 cer, doubtless in virtue of the remark of Frederic 
 the Great, that a nobleman alone can know what 
 honor is. The common soldier, excluded from all 
 prospect of advancement, was a degraded being, over 
 whom his superiors exercised the most cruel tyranny, 
 whilst the peasant and the citizen feared him as one 
 to whom life and honor were alike indifferent. Many 
 foreigners were enlisted in the army. Flogging was 
 used as a means of retaining them in the service, 
 and of urging them on to battle. All this the dis- 
 tinguished military men whom we have named deter- 
 mined to reform. The barriers which prevented the 
 common soldier from rising by his valor and his in- 
 dustry to the highest rank in the army were taken 
 down. In a word, the army was thoroughly reorgan- 
 zed. The energy which was displayed in this work, 
 laid the foundations of that military system which was 
 recently admired throughout Europe for its superior 
 arrangement. 
 
 Not too soon had Prussia's statesmen commenced 
 the difficult work of reform. Before they could com- 
 plete their task as they desired, they were obliged to 
 prepare for war. Napoleon had been defeated in 
 Russia, and the French army was fast approaching the 
 Prussian frontier. The government sought to gain as 
 much time as possible ; but when war could no longer
 
 230 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 be avoided, the king although reluctantly, such was 
 his desire for peace retired to Breslau, where he 
 signed the treaty of alliance with Russia, and issued 
 the famous proclamation, calling upon his people to 
 struggle against the dominion of France, and to free 
 Germany for ever from Napoleon's despotic sway. 
 The long expected war broke out. Prussia, new- 
 created since the battle of Jena, displayed in this 
 war an energy surprising indeed, when we reflect on 
 the short time which had been allowed her for pre- 
 paration. The army, no longer resting its strength 
 on slavish discipline alone, but animated by patriot- 
 ism, and the desire not only of freeing Prussia from 
 foreign dominion, but of securing liberal institutions, 
 proved itself invincible. The French were expelled 
 from the country. History has seldom recorded a 
 more remarkable struggle, or a more glorious vic- 
 tory. 
 
 But neither has history often recorded so cruel a 
 deception as that which awaited those who had not 
 hesitated to risk their lives for their king and country. 
 The people had hoped to obtain their liberty by this 
 war, which, in their enthusiasm, they called ' the holy 
 war.' Holy, indeed, would it have been, had Prussia's 
 monarch not deceived his subjects in order to induce 
 them to take up arms. When we look back to the 
 period of Prussia's struggle for her liberties, and then 
 call to mind the long series of disappointments which 
 followed, only closed by the bloody revolution which 
 has, let us hope, insured to her for ever the precious 
 blessing of liberty, we are forcibly reminded of the 
 mournful and prophetic words written by the patriot
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 231 
 
 Arndt in 1813: 'All will have been in vain, so 
 much blood, so much labor, will have been expended 
 in vain, if our rulers, in whose hands are our 
 destinies, do not rise to a pure faith in God and the 
 people. If they still continue to seek only the grati- 
 fication of their petty ambition, the age will be con- 
 vulsed by the most dreadful revolutions, and not until 
 long after the earth has closed over our remains will 
 a new world arise.' 
 
 When the war was over, the government, instead of 
 fulfilling promises already made, continued to flatter 
 the nation by holding out to them the most cheering 
 hopes. On the 22d of May, 1815, the celebrated 
 decree, promising a constitutional form of government 
 to Prussia, was issued. This decree has been of such 
 great importance in the subsequent histoiy'of Prussia, 
 that we give it entire. 
 
 The liistory of Prussia shows, indeed, that the beneficial con- 
 dition of civil liberty, and the continuance of a just government 
 founded on order, have hitherto found as much security in the 
 qualities of the rulers, and in the harmony which exists between 
 them and the people, as is compatible with the imperfection of 
 human institutions. But wishing to consolidate them still more, 
 and to give the Prussian nation a pledge of our confidence, and 
 to posterity those principles upon which our predecessors and 
 ourselves have carried on the government of our kingdom with 
 true solicitude for the welfare of our people, in the form of a 
 written document, as a Constitution for the Prussian state, we 
 have decided as follows : 
 
 ' 1. The people shall be represented. 
 
 2. For this purpose, the provincial assemblies, wherever they 
 still exist, shall be constituted anew, and conformed to the neces- 
 sities of the times ; and Avhere none at present exist, they shall 
 be introduced.
 
 232 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 ' 3. The representatives of the country shall be chosen from the 
 provincial assemblies, and shall sit in Berlin. 
 
 '4. The authority of the representative body is limited to 
 giving counsel on all subjects of legislation which regard the 
 personal riglits of the subjects and their rights of property, 
 including taxation. 
 
 '5. A committee shall be appointed, to meet in the capital 
 without loss of time, consisting of inhabitants of the provinces 
 and enlightened officers of the state. 
 
 ' G. This committee shall occupy itself vrith the organization of 
 the provincial assemblies and of the representation, as well as 
 with the drawing up of the constitution upon the principles now 
 established. 
 
 7. The committee shall meet on the 1st of September of this 
 year.' 
 
 The expectations which this decree raised in the 
 public mind nmay easily be imagined. In the Rhenish 
 provin9es, especially, the excitement produced by its 
 promulgation was intense. It is difficult to say whether 
 the government had not counted on so strong a dis- 
 play of feeling in connection with this subject, or 
 whether it was from a sincere desire to forward the 
 ' real interests of the nation, that two years were suf- 
 fered to pass without this decree being acted upon. It 
 was not until 1817 that a committee for the forma- 
 tion of the constitution was appointed. For a few 
 months, this committee worked hard at the task con- 
 fided to them; but the king having undertaken a 
 journey in the Rhenish provinces, their labors were 
 suddenly interrupted. During the king's sojourn in 
 the western portion of his dominions, a number of pe- 
 titions and addresses were presented to him, in which 
 he was reminded in the most direct manner of his 
 promises. He hastily quitted the provinces, and re-
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 233 
 
 turned to Berlin, fully convinced, by what he had 
 seen, that the nation considered a constitution as a 
 thing of far too much importance to make it safe 
 for the government to grant one. Had his subjects, 
 like good and docile children, patiently waited until 
 it should please their royal father to fulfil his prom- 
 ises, they would no doubt sooner have obtained their 
 wished-for constitution. 
 
 By returning to Berlin, the king had hoped to es- 
 cape the complaints and reproaches of his subjects. 
 He was mistaken, however : for he had hardly reached 
 his capital, when an address, drawn up at Coblentz 
 on the 12th of January, 1818, by Gorres, the cele- 
 brated leader of the radical party in the Rhenish 
 provinces, was transmitted to him. It served but to 
 confirm the unfavorable impression which his tour on 
 the Rhine had made on his mind; and a cabinet 
 order was immediately published, declaring, ' that nei- 
 ther in the edict of May 22d, 1815, nor in Article 
 13 of the Act of the Confederation, is there any time 
 fixed for carrying the constitution into execution ; that 
 all times were not alike favorable for the introduc- 
 tion of change in the state ; that whoever reminds 
 the sovereign of the land of a promise given on his 
 own free decision, evinces criminal doubts as to the 
 inviolability of his word, and forestalls his opinion as 
 to the proper time for the introduction of the con- 
 stitution, which opinion must be as free as the first 
 decision was ; and finally, that the king would fix the 
 time when the promise of a constitution should be 
 fulfilled, and would not suffer himself to be hurried 
 by untimely representations.'
 
 234 THE BEVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 How the hopes and expectations of the nation must 
 have fallen, on perusing this singular document ! This 
 was, however, but the first step in that scries of retro- 
 grade measures which signalized the latter part of 
 Frederic William's reign. The constitution was no 
 longer thought of, and only at distant intervals was 
 it alluded to by some ardent and patriotic spirit, who 
 was soon silenced. The only act which seemed at 
 all in harmony with the liberal promises of the gov- 
 ernment was the establishment of provincial diets, 
 which, however, never proved very dangerous to the 
 general government. 
 
 But if the king did nothing towards giving his 
 subjects a larger share in the management of public 
 affairs, he continued to rule them with moderation and 
 justice, and to develope such of the institutions of the 
 country as he thought admitted of reform without en- 
 dangering the royal prerogative. To the subject of 
 education he gave much attention. As early as 1809, 
 in the midst of the dangers which then menaced 
 Prussia, he had founded the University of Berlin. 
 In 1818, he established that of Bonn, and gave to 
 those which already existed a new importance, by 
 organizing them on a broader and more liberal basis. 
 There now exist in Prussia six universities, those of 
 Greifswaldc, Konigsbcrg, Ilalle, Berlin, Breslau, and 
 Bonn. The condition of the public schools was also 
 greatly improved. We need not dwell upon the im- 
 portant changes effected in them ; the Prussian school 
 system has now for many years been a model for 
 imitation both in Europe and America. Other im- 
 provements were undertaken during the reign of Fred-
 
 THE REVOLITTION IN PRUSSIA. 235 
 
 eric William III.; roads were constructed, canals 
 opened, public buildings erected. Even during the 
 calamitous period which followed the defeat of Jena, 
 a million and a half of thalers were expended on 
 public works. 
 
 But of all the events of this important reign, none, 
 perhaps, is of greater interest than the formation of 
 the German Customs-Union {Zoll Verein). It had 
 been agreed at the Congress of Vienna, that the com- 
 mercial intercourse between the different states of 
 the German Confederation should become the subject 
 of debate at the first meeting of the Diet at Frankfort. 
 But fourteen annual meetings of the Diet at that 
 place had been held without any decisive step being 
 taken in regard to this important subject; and the 
 Prussian government finally determined to open direct 
 negotiations with the other states of the Confederation, 
 in order to regulate their commercial intercourse. 
 It is not strange that Prussia should have felt a deep 
 interest in this matter. As arranged by the treaties 
 of 1815, it is well known that the Prussian monarchy 
 presents in its geographical configuration two great 
 masses of territory, of unequal extent, and entirely 
 separated from each other. The shortest distance be- 
 tween these two distinct portions of the kingdom is 
 seven and three fourths German geographical miles.* 
 The number of petty states which intervene, each of 
 which possessed its own custom-house barriers, was a 
 serious obstacle to the development of Prussian com- 
 
 * 21.72 German geographical miles are equivalent to 100 
 English miles.
 
 236 THE KEVOLTTTION IN TRUSSIA. 
 
 merco. A treaty was therefore concluded, in 1828, by 
 the Prussian government with Hesse-Cassel and Hesse- 
 Darmstadt, by which the custom-house barriers be- 
 tween these states were broken down. In 1833, other 
 treaties were concluded, by which Bavaria, Wiirtem- 
 berg, and Saxony united with the league. Since then, 
 some other states have joined, and the Zoll-Verein 
 now comprises more than 29,000,000 of people.* 
 We cannot, without transgressing our limits, enter into 
 any details on this interesting subject. The objects 
 for which the league was formed, moreover, the 
 securing of a free commercial intcrcoui'se between 
 its several members, the establishment of uniform 
 duties, the division of the net produce of the duties 
 among the different members in proportion to their 
 population, are well known. It was, as we have 
 said, of the greatest importance to Prussia, not only 
 in a commercial point of view, but as a means of 
 acquiring a political ascendency over the smaller states 
 of the league. It might be supposed that to Prussian 
 custom-house regulations, which had already been 
 adopted, would succeed the Prussian monetary system, 
 Prussian post-offices, roads, weights, and measures. 
 Austria has steadfastly refused to join the league; 
 and it has, we believe, been generally understood, 
 that she would not have viewed with so tranquil an 
 eye the peaceful aggrandizement of her rival, if she 
 had not received assurances from the Prussian govern- 
 
 In 1847, the number of persons included in the Customs- 
 Union was 29,393,372. The gross receipts for that year were 
 26,927,727 thalers.
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 237 
 
 ment, that she would be allowed to assert an undis- 
 puted supremacy in Italy. Of course, in the present 
 condition of Europe, when nations seem to have 
 taken their, affairs into their own hands, these as- 
 surances have but little value ; and we merely allude 
 to them, as accounting for Austria's apparent apathy 
 in presence of Prussia's increasing power and influ- 
 ence. 
 
 By such enlightened measures for the internal and 
 external improvement of the kingdom, the government 
 of Frederic William III. earned the well-deserved repu- 
 tation of having zealously espoused the interests of the 
 nation. In the midst of the prosperity which reigned 
 around them, the people for a time forgot that their 
 legitimate demands for a larger share in the govern- 
 ment of the country had not been granted. The 
 effects of the Paris Revolution of 1830 were, it is 
 true, felt in Germany ; but the partial insurrections 
 to which the excitement of the popular mind gave 
 rise were soon put down by the governments against 
 which they were directed, and Germany once more 
 subsided into that quiescent state for which she has 
 become proverbial, and from which she has but just 
 been aroused. 
 
 The latter years of the reign of Frederic William 
 glided away tranquilly. The intellectual activity which 
 the people could not bestow on political questions found 
 ample room for development in matters purely literary 
 and scientific. Prussia was gradually absorbing within 
 herself most of the literature and science of Germany. 
 The press, fettered as it was with regard to political 
 discussion, continued to be the medium through which
 
 238 THE KEVOLUTION IN PRUISSA. 
 
 the results of the deep research and learning of her 
 literary men were disseminated throughout the country. 
 Ages and countries in which political liberty has been 
 most fully attained, are not always those in which in- 
 tellectual culture has reached its highest development ; 
 and we would even ask, whether to the want of that 
 liberty in Germany may not be ascribed that extraor- 
 dinary development of her literature and science, to 
 which there is no parallel in any other country in the 
 same space of time. Her whole modern literature may 
 be comprised in a period of about one hundred years ; 
 yet what treasures of learning, thought, and imagina- 
 tion are there to be found ! Far be it from us to wish 
 to justify the sovereigns of Germany in denying to 
 their subjects a due share in the management of the 
 affairs of the state. We merely question whether, if 
 her young men had been all engaged in dabbling in 
 politics, in forming parties, or in the pursuit of empty 
 political honors, her literature would have flourished as 
 it has. We doubt it. 
 
 After a long and agitated reign, Frederic William III. 
 died at Berlin, on the 7th of June, 1840. A few days 
 after his death, his political testament, which he had 
 drawn up in 1827, was published. The conclusion of 
 this document is so characteristic of his policy, that we 
 give a translation of it. 
 
 * On you, my dear Fritz, will repose all the burden of the 
 affairs of government, with the whole weight of their responsi- 
 bility. For the discharge of them, you will be better prepared 
 than most hereditary princes are by the position in which I have 
 placed you. It remains now for you to fulfil my just hopes, and 
 the expectations of the country j at least, for you to strive to do 
 so. Your principles and sentiments are a security to me that
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 239 
 
 you -will be a father to your subjects. Guard, nevertheless, 
 against the desire for innovation so generally spread around you. 
 Guard also against impracticable theories, but at the same time 
 against too exaggerated a taste for old usages ; the one is as per- 
 nicious as the other, and beneficial improvements can be attained 
 only by avoiding these two evils. The army is in a flourishing 
 condition. It has fulfilled my expectations, both in peace and 
 in war, since its reorganization. May it continually bear in 
 view its important duties ! Do not neglect, so far as in your 
 power, to promote unity among the European powers; but above 
 all, may Prussia, Russia, and Austria never separate from each 
 other. Their union may be regarded as the key-stone of the 
 European alliance.' 
 
 We shall not pause to say much of the character of 
 Frederic William's government. We trust that it is 
 sufficiently illustrated by the brief outline of his reign 
 which we have endeavored to present to our readers. 
 That, under his administration, much was done for the 
 Prussian monarchy, no one will deny. But the impar- 
 tial historian, whilst he praises the monarch who en- 
 couraged the reforms of a Von Stein and a Hardenbers, 
 will not forget that the same monarch was unmindful 
 of the promises made to his people at a period of the 
 utmost danger to Prussia. Naturally humane and just, 
 his bigotry and his blind attachment to that absolute 
 authority which he had inherited with the throne of his 
 fathers, often led him to the most arbitrary and even 
 despotic acts, and to give his consent to the measures 
 adopted by his powerful allies, Russia and Austria, to 
 crush all attempts at reform. To resist the power of 
 Napoleon, he did not, as we have seen, scruple to allure 
 his subjects by the most seductive promises, and thus 
 to induce them to leave their tranquil homes and to
 
 240 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 Struggle for the freedom of their country ; and yet, but 
 a few years after the French had been expelled from 
 Germany, a preacher at Berlin, and under his very eye, 
 could assert from the pulpit, without fear of being con- 
 tradicted, that the war of 1813-15 had been errone- 
 ously called a war of liberation, for the object of that 
 war had not been to insure liberty to Germany, but 
 merely to restore to her rulers the unlimited sovereignty 
 of which Napoleon had for a time deprived them. 
 Well might Byron say, 
 
 * Gaul may champ the bit 
 And foam in fetters ! But is earth more free ? 
 Did nations combat to make one submit, 
 Or league to teach all kings true sovereignty ? ' 
 
 Thus, faithless in politics, Frederic William III. as- 
 serted in religious matters the most complete despotism 
 over his people. -The will of the sovereign became the 
 rule of conduct for the subject. That which should be 
 the sacred tie between man and his Maker degenerated 
 into a mere oflicial relation between the king and the 
 nation. In 1817, he had by a royal decree expressed 
 the desire, that the Evangelical Lutherans and the 
 Evangelical Reformers should unite in one church, of 
 which he should be the head, and which should bear 
 the name of Christian Evangelical Church (Christliche 
 Evangelische Kirche). The people quietly submitted, 
 and although, since 1830, there have been frequent 
 attempts on the part of the old Lutheran party to 
 reconquer their former independence, and to form 
 separate churches, these cfibrts have for the most part 
 proved ineffectual, in consequence of the many and
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 241 
 
 vexatious obstacles thrown in their way by the govern- 
 ment. The king, however, in pursuance of his plan of 
 bringing all his subjects to his own narrow views of 
 religion, persecuted not only those of his people who, 
 although Protestants, professed a different creed from 
 his own, but also those Catholics who form so large a 
 proportion of the population in some of the provinces of 
 the kingdom. The long and heated debates between 
 the government and the Archbishop of Cologne in 
 1837, during which that prelate was imprisoned in the 
 fortress of Minden, place the king in the not very 
 enviable light of being probably the first sovereign in 
 Europe, since Louis XIV., who persecuted alike his 
 subjects of both the great Christian sects. 
 
 Notwithstanding these faults, which will leave an 
 indelible stain on his reign, Frederic William III. had 
 done much to entitle him to the gratitude of his people, 
 and when he died, the kingdom was in a far better 
 condition than when he ascended the throne. Never 
 before, indeed, had Prussia been so flourishing. The 
 finances, although the receipts were not very great, 
 the whole amount in 1840 being 52,680,000 thalers, of 
 which upwards of 24,000,000 were expended for the 
 army, were in perfect order, and amply sufficed for 
 the expenses of the government. The sources of rev- 
 enue in Prussia are taxation, government monopolies, 
 and some particular establishments, such as the state lot- 
 tery, the bank, &c. The most important of the indirect 
 taxes are those on imports, exports, and the transit of 
 goods, and the stamp tax. Previous to the formation of 
 the ZoU-Verein, the first mentioned of these taxes was 
 levied yearly, according to a tariff* which was revised 
 16
 
 242 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 by the government every three years. Of course, 
 since the commercial union between Prussia and many 
 of the German states has been established, the common 
 tariff adopted by them can be modified only with the 
 consent of all the parlies concerned. The only gov- 
 ernment monopolies now existing in Prussia are the 
 salt tax and the monopoly of playing-cards. 
 
 The happy condition of the finances, the improve- 
 ments which had taken place in the kingdom, the situ- 
 ation of Europe, which had enjoyed so long a peace, 
 but, more than all, the high estimation in which the 
 character of the new king was held, gave rise to the 
 liveliest hopes on his accession to the throne. As 
 prince royal, Frederic William IV. had the reputation 
 of being one of' the most intelligent and highly edu- 
 cated princes in Europe. From an early age, he had 
 been surrounded by the most distinguished men in lit- 
 erature, science, and art. Ancillon, Niebuhr, Schinkcl, 
 Ranke, and many others hardly less distinguished, had 
 contributed to the education of the young prince. Full 
 of wit and humor, as well as of imagination and fancy, 
 attached to the past, and yet ever dreaming of some 
 bright ^future, this prince, by his kindly bearing to all 
 who were deserving, and by his equitable character,^ 
 had acquired an unusual share of popularity. Had he 
 lived and died as prince royal, his memory would have 
 been cherished like that of the Duke of Orleans in 
 France. It was his misfortune to be called to a throne. 
 As prince royal, all the amiable traits of his character, 
 all the qualities of his mind, had full scope for develop- 
 ment. He could charm a circle of friends by his bril- 
 liant and eloquent conversation, he could give full scope
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 243 
 
 to his vivid imagination, and strike out new and daring 
 schemes of reform and improvement. He could do so 
 without danger either to himself or to the people ; but 
 as king, and with the power to will every whim or 
 caprice which his head had conceived, the case was 
 widely different, and since his accession to the throne, 
 he has fully exemplified the line of the French poet: 
 
 Tel brille au second rang qui s'eclipse au premier.' 
 
 We do not question his honesty or sincerity. Dur- 
 ing the eight years which have elapsed since he 
 came to the throne, he has sought to promote the 
 welfare and happiness of his people. He has devoted 
 himself with uncommon energy to the study of their 
 wants. He has labored hard, and passed nights in 
 earnest discussion with his friends and counsellors. 
 Whatever he has been able to do himself he has not 
 left to others to do. And yet, notwithstanding all 
 this, his power has been broken down and his pride 
 humbled, like that of the most miserable despot. 
 It has only been by means of a bloody revolution that 
 his subjects have obtained from him those political 
 institutions which they have so long desired, and which 
 they so confidently anticipated that he would grant 
 them on his accession to the throne. If we seek, 
 however, to account for this apparent contradic'ion, 
 the explanation will be simple. In his views on the 
 subject of the government of Prussia, the king has been 
 altogether mistaken. Instead of entering into the spirit 
 of his age, and favoring the development of democ- 
 racy, and by this word we mean nothing more than 
 what it really implies, popular government, he has
 
 244 THE EEVOLUTION IN PBUSSIA. 
 
 constantly kept his eyes fixed on the past, and sought 
 there for the ideal which he might realize in his 
 dominions. He has not understood that, in our day, 
 a sovereign, unless he imitate the despotic policy 
 of the Czar of Russia, is but the representative of 
 the will of the nation over which he rules, the dele- 
 gate to whom they have intrusted their interests, 
 without renouncing the supervision which every em- 
 ployer has over the person he employs. Instead of 
 this, he fancied that the tie between sovereign and 
 people is one of absolute authority on the one hand, 
 and of blind and passive submission on the other. 
 In his eyes, the extension of popular institutions, and 
 respect paid to the will of the nation in the adminis- 
 tration of public affairs, are not the natural results 
 of an improved civilization, but favors which a sove- 
 reign may at his pleasure grant to his subjects, as 
 a father would grant a toy to his children. 
 
 Prussia was ripe for free institutions in 1840, and 
 a finer opportunity for giving to the world a memo- 
 rable example of wisdom and moderation could not 
 have been found than that which then offered itself 
 to the king. Europe had enjoyed peace for a quar- 
 ter of a century, when, owing to the overbearing 
 attitude of the British cabinet, and the imprudence 
 of M. Thiers, then at the head of the French adminis- 
 tration, she was on the very eve of being involved 
 in a calamitous war. The motive for such a war 
 was but slight, and had the long, but ill-disguised, 
 rivalry between the powers of Europe not predisposed 
 them to embrace the most paltry pretexts for taking 
 up arms, the affairs of the East would not have ex-
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 245 
 
 cited so deep an interest. The existence or non- 
 existence of a power like that of Mehemet Ali 
 founded, as M. de Lamartine so well expressed it in 
 the Chamber of Deputies, on no more solid basis than 
 the sands of the desert would hardly have induced 
 the powers of Europe to go to war. As it was, 
 however, the danger of a general conflagration was 
 imminent. Would it not, then, have been both wise 
 and natural for the Prussian government to allow 
 its subjects to enjoy the freedom for which they had 
 been gradually fitting themselves, and thus to prepare 
 them for the war which then seemed almost inevi- 
 table .? Twenty-five years had not been, as we have 
 seen, lost upon Prussia. The people had acquired 
 political information and a taste for public affairs. 
 They were ready to take a share in the govern- 
 ment. Would it not, then, we repeat, have been the 
 part of wisdom to encourage this growing spirit, to 
 favor its development, and not to endeavor to crush 
 it, but only to confine it in its proper channels.? 
 Instead of doing so, the government simply took ad- 
 vantage of the impending alarm of war to flatter 
 Prussia's national pride, that dangerous pillow on 
 which so many nations have been lulled to sleep, 
 by reminding her of the noble deeds which had been 
 performed in the war of 1813. 
 
 The danger of war passed away, and the condition 
 of Prussia remained unchanged. And yet the en- 
 thusiasm displayed at Berlin on the 15th of October, 
 1840, would have led one to suppose that Prussia 
 was entering on a new era of progress and of liberty. 
 Tha day had been fixed for the ceremony of the
 
 246 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 homage (Huldigung) to the king, a performance 
 which in Prussia takes the place of a coronation. Thou- 
 sands had assembled on the public square in front of 
 the palace, in order to see and hear the king, who 
 was to address them from a stage erected for the 
 purpose. As soon as he appeared, surrounded by his 
 family and the great functionaries of the state, the 
 air was filled with the most rapturous applause. After 
 the oath of allegiance had been solemnly tendered by 
 the orders assembled around the monarch, the king 
 rose from his throne, and addressed the crowd in the 
 following apparently extemporaneous speech: 
 
 In this solemn moment of the homage of my German subjects, 
 I appeal to God that he may fortify by his all-powerful sanction 
 the oath which has just been pronounced, and that which you 
 are about to hear I swear to govern in the fear of God and the 
 love of mankind, with open eyes when the exigencies of my 
 people and of my times shall demand it, but with closed eyes 
 whenever justice will admit of it. I will, so far as in my power, 
 maintain peace, and with all my strength support the noble en- 
 deavors of the great powers who, for a quarter of a century, 
 have been the sentinels of the peace of Europe. I will, above all, 
 seek to maintain our country in that position to which Provi- 
 dence, by an unexampled scries of events, has raised her and 
 made her the bulwark of Germany's safety and rights. I will in 
 all things strive so to reign, that my country may recognize in 
 me the true son of a father and mother who can never be for- 
 gotten, but whose memory will endure as a blessing for ages to 
 come. 
 
 But the ways of kings arc full of tears, and worthy of com- 
 passion, when the hearts and the spirit of their people do not 
 come to their aid. Therefore, in the enthusiasm of my love for 
 my noble country, and for my subjects born to arms, liberty, and 
 obedience, I address to you one question in this all-important 
 hour. Answer me, if you can, in your own name, and in the
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 247 
 
 name of those who have sent you here. Nobles, citizens, and 
 peasants, and all of you who can hear my voice, I ask you, if, in 
 spirit and in heart, witli word and with deed, with the sacred 
 fidelity of Germans, and with the still more sacred love of Chris- 
 tians, you will aid me in my endeavors to maintain Prussia as it 
 is, and as it must remain, if it is not to perish for ever ? Will 
 you aid me to develop those qualities by which Prussia, with 
 only fourteen millions of inhabitants, has placed herself on a 
 footing with the great powers of Europe, honor, fidelity, striv- 
 ing after knowledge, right, truth, and progress, thus combining 
 at once the wisdom of age with the heroic courage of youth ? 
 Will you stand by me in this work, during days of prosperity 
 and adversity ? 0, then, answer me with that pure and solemn 
 sound of our mother-tongue, answer me with the word 
 "Yes!"' 
 
 At this point of the king's speech, the enthusiasm of 
 the crowd reached the utmost pitch. Every voice 
 gave assent to his demand. 
 
 ' This day,' continued he, ' is one of the deepest interest to 
 Prussia and to the woi'ld. But your answer was for me ; it is 
 my property ; I shall not give it up. It binds us in mutual love 
 and fidelity. It gives strength, courage, and confidence. I 
 shall never forget it, not even at my dying hour. So help me 
 God, I will maintain my oath of this day, and in witness thereof 
 I lift my right hand to Heaven. It is now for you to accom- 
 plish the festivities of the day. May the blessing of God rest 
 upon this hour ! ' 
 
 This scene, to which we know of no parallel in 
 recent times, must, indeed, have been one of deep in- 
 terest to those who had the good fortune to witness it. 
 Nor do we wonder at the enthusiasm of the people on 
 this occasion. The emotion of the speaker, the deep 
 tone of conviction with which he spoke, the originality 
 of his address, so unlike the ordinary addresses of sove-
 
 248 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 reigns to their subjects, all were calculated to excite in 
 the hearts of common hearers the liveliest hopes of a 
 king who commenced his reign under such favorable 
 auspices. But the reader will be wholly at a loss to 
 conceive how men long trained in the difficult art of 
 governing, and initiated in all the arcana of politics, 
 should have founded very sanguine hopes on so slight 
 a basis. He will ask himself how such men could 
 have been dazzled by this singular speech, this medley 
 of chivalrous and religious sentimentality, how the 
 vague and indefinite language of the king could have 
 satisfied them even for a moment. And if we call to 
 mind another speech made by the king on the same 
 day, we shall still less be able to comprehend this wide- 
 spread enthusiasm and confidence. In this speech, he 
 said : 
 
 * I know that I am indebted to God only for my crown, and 
 that I have a right to say, Let him who touches it beware ! 
 But I know also, and I proclaim it in presence of you all, that 
 this crown is a sacred deposit intrusted to my family by that all- 
 powerful God. I know that to Ilim I shall have to render an 
 account, day by day and hour by hour, of my administration. 
 If any one amongst you demands a guaranty from his king, he 
 can receive neither from me nor from any one on earth any 
 greater safeguard. Yes ! these words bind me more strongly 
 than any words engraved on bronze or inscribed on parchment ; 
 for they come from a heart which beats for you, and they will 
 take root in the convictions of your souls! ' 
 
 Now, if we heard such speeches as these uttered on 
 the stage by some feudal prince in the midst of his 
 barons and vassals, we should doubtless think them 
 very fine ; and if they were well declaimed, the least
 
 THE EEVOLTTTION IN PRUSSIA. 249 
 
 entliusiastic amongst us would applaud. But in real 
 life, in the bustle and turmoil of political contests, we 
 want something more substantial than such indefinite 
 phrases as these. Without distrusting the royal word, 
 it could hardly be expected that the Prussians would 
 long content themselves with such vague promises. 
 We go farther still. Even had the king, in conformity 
 with the expectations raised by his high-sounding lan- 
 guage, granted his subjects the most liberal institutions, 
 we question whether they would have been long con- 
 tented with a liberty resting on so doubtful a basis as 
 this. They would soon have claimed as a right what 
 they only enjoyed as a boon. Faith in the divine right 
 of kings, and in all the erroneous maxims of govern- 
 ment which result from that absurd principle, has now 
 almost entirely died out. The rights of nations must 
 rest on more solid ground than on the word of their 
 rulers. The precept of the Civil Law, Quod placuit 
 principi legis vigorem hahet, is an exploded principle. 
 Rights which are founded only on the v/ill of one man 
 are felt to be unstable and insecure ; for who can say, 
 that the power which to-day condescends to grant lib- 
 erty to a people, will not think fit to deprive them of it 
 to-morrow ? And if one could answer for the sovereign 
 who granted this liberty, who would be responsible for 
 his successor ? 
 
 But enough of this. However strange it may seem 
 to us that the king's speeches should have given rise to 
 such bright hopes, it is certain that this was the case, 
 and that the most entire confidence pervaded all classes 
 of society. The first acts of the new reign served to 
 confirm this favorable impression. All the measures
 
 250 THE REVOLTTTION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 of the government seemed to have a liberal tendency. 
 The king called to the capital all the literary and scien- 
 tific men and artists he could prevail upon to leave 
 their homes, and take up their residence in a more 
 brilliant, but, as they soon found, less independent 
 sphere. No regard was paid to political opinions in 
 the invitations addressed by the king to such persons, 
 and Berlin soon became the resort of many of the most 
 distinguished men in Germany. The brothers Grimm, 
 who had been expelled from the University of Gottin- 
 gen by the King of Hanover, Tieck, Riickert, Her- 
 wegh, Freiligrath, Cornelius, and others, were at one 
 time assembled in the Prussian capital, which seemed 
 destined to become a second Weimar. 
 
 Frederic William has been accused by his enemies 
 of calling around him these distinguished men, with a 
 view of intoxicating them with the pernicious poison of 
 royal favor, and of thus binding them by ties of grati- 
 tude and attachment to his person. We do not believe 
 that such was his intention. His motives were purer. 
 He had not calculated on the ardent and patriotic re- 
 sistance of some of the poets whom he had imprudently 
 called around him. It was his hope that he might shed 
 a new lustre on Prussia, by placing her at the head of 
 civilization in Germany ; and perhaps, also, that he 
 might turn towards matters purely literary and scientific 
 the intellectual activity which was so rapidly spreading 
 through his dominions. He did not understand that 
 high intellectual culture cannot long exist in a nation 
 without a corresponding development of their civil and 
 political liberties. How, indeed, can a distinct line of 
 demarcation be drawn between what is purely intellec-
 
 THE KEVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 251 
 
 tual and what belongs to more active life ? How can 
 you tolerate perfect freedom of discussion on religious, 
 philosophical, scientific, and literary subjects, and yet 
 prohibit any allusion to the living interests of the time? 
 The king's eyes were soon opened ; he found that he 
 had gone too far, and that he must either cause his 
 liberal course with regard to the distinguished men of 
 the day to be followed up by an equally liberal conduct 
 in politics, or must put a check on the feelings which 
 he had himself encouraged. Unfortunately, ne prefer- 
 red the latter course. Freiligrath, who was in receipt 
 of a pension from the government, was soon obliged to 
 leave Berlin ; and some of his poems, among others, 
 one entitled ' Freiheit und Recht,'' and a translation of 
 Burns's song, ' A man 's a man for a' that,' were pro- 
 hibited by the censorship, as * addressing themselves 
 to false ideas of freedom, or exciting the hostile oppo- 
 sition of the different classes of society.' Herwegh, on 
 a visit to Berlin, tvas received by the king, who con- 
 versed with him in the most friendly manner, but 
 ended by saying to him, ' Mr. Herwegh, you are the 
 second of my enemies who has been to see me. The 
 first was M. Thiers. But your eyes will be opened one 
 day, like those of Paul on the road to Damascus.' The 
 next day, Herwegh received an order to leave the 
 city. 
 
 Thus gradually were the hopes formed at the king's 
 accession to the throne blighted. Year after year 
 passed by, without any thing being done to develope 
 the political institutions of the country. It had been 
 confidently expected, that Frederic William would 
 grant a constitution founded on the principles laid
 
 252 THE REVOLTITION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 down by bis predecessor in the decree wbich we have 
 quoted. To use the somewhat figurative language of a 
 German writer, he was, like Solomon, to build the 
 temple, a work on which his royal father had consid- 
 ered himself unworthy to lay hands. Six months after 
 his accession to the throne (February, 1S41), an edict 
 rather pompously drawn up was issued, granting a 
 slight development to the constitution of the provincial 
 diets, but one which was far, very far, from answering 
 the wishes of the nation. It gave rise to somewhat 
 stormy debates in several of the provinces, and was 
 every where severely criticised. The Assemblies of 
 the provinces of Posen and Prussia Proper sent petitions 
 to Berlin, setting forth their grievances, and reminding 
 the king of his father's promises. The king's reply 
 was haughty. The precipitation with which the decree 
 had been judged was not, he said, the best way of ex- 
 ercising a happy influence on the kindly feelings which 
 dictated it. He stated, moreover, that the promises of 
 his father could not be considered as binding, as they 
 had been de facto abolished by the decree of June 5th, 
 1823, constituting the Provincial Assemblies. In the 
 course of the following year, a little further extension 
 was given to the power of these Assemblies, and com- 
 mittees were formed, which met at Berlin. 
 
 We have not space enough to follow closely the his- 
 tory of the following years, in which rumors were con- 
 stantly afloat of the promulgation of a constitution. It 
 is sufl[icient to say, that nothing was really done until 
 the year 1847, when, in the month of February, an 
 edict was unexpectedly issued, providing that a United 
 Diet should be assembled in Berlin so often as the
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 253 
 
 wants of the state, new loans, the introduction of new 
 taxes, or the increase of those already existing, should 
 require. 
 
 This Diet, formed of the members of the eight Pro- 
 vincial Diets,* besides the princes of the royal family, 
 met for the first time at Berlin on the 11th of April, 
 1847. The king opened it in person, and in a long 
 address set forth his views as to the form of govern- 
 ment suited to Prussia. In the manner of this address 
 there is something not unlike the complacency with 
 which an artist or an author points out to you the fine 
 parts of what he considers as his masterpiece. He 
 laid great stress on his divine right and absolute power, 
 but at the same time called upon his hearers to express 
 their gratitude for the voluntary concessions he had 
 made to the nation, and to admire the beautiful political 
 structure he had raised. It was evident that Frederic 
 William thought he had done a great work. The con- 
 stitution on which he had been, if we may believe his 
 own words, seven years at work, was promulgated, and 
 was now for the first time put into operation. On the 
 
 * It may not be amiss to state, that the kingdom of Prussia is 
 divided into eight provinces, viz. : Brandenburg, Pomerania, 
 Saxony, Silesia, Prussia Proper, Posen, Westphalia, and the 
 Rhenish Provinces. Each of these provinces is administered by 
 a High President {Ober PrUsident), who may be considered as 
 a royal commissary. By the law of June 5th, 1823, alluded to 
 above, each of these provinces has the right to assemble a Diet. 
 To have a seat in these Diets, it is necessary to have inherited, 
 or acquired by other means, landed property, and to have held 
 the same for ten consecutive years, to be at least thirty years 
 old, to profess the Christian religion, and to be of good moral 
 character.
 
 254 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 opening of the Diet he had staked all his hopes of 
 future fame, as the dramatic writer places all his on 
 the first performance of a new play. It proved a fail- 
 ure. How, indeed, could this miserable pasticcio of 
 the Middle Ages succeed in the midst of the nineteenth 
 century ? Not even those who had been seduced in 
 1840 by the king's language could again be carried 
 away by passages like the following : 
 
 ' As the heir of an unweakened crown, which I must and will 
 hand down unweakened to my successor, I know that I am per- 
 fectly free from all and every pledge with respect to that which 
 has not been carried out, and, above all, with respect to that 
 from the execution of which his own true paternal conscience 
 preserved my illustrious predecessor.' 
 
 And again : 
 
 ' I have reserved the right of calling together these great 
 assemblies on extraordinary occasions, when I deem it good and 
 expedient; and I will do this willingly at more frequent inter- 
 vals, if this Diet gives me the proof that I can do so without 
 prejudice to higher sovereign duties.' 
 
 He expressed in strong terms his unwillingness to 
 grant a written constitution to the people. 
 
 I know,' he said, ' that with the rights intrusted to you, I 
 grant you a costly jewel of freedom, and that you will employ it 
 faithfully. But I know, also, that many will uespise tliis jewel; 
 that to many it is not sufficient. Many, and among them very 
 worthy men, look for our safety in the perversion of the natural 
 relation between prince and people into a conventional existence, 
 granted by charter and ratified by oaths. But the example of 
 one happy country, whose constitution was not made on sheets of 
 paper, but by the lapse of centuries and by an hereditary wisdom 
 without a parallel, should not be lost upon us. If other coun- 
 tries find their happiness in manufactured and granted constitu-
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 255 
 
 tions, we may admire them ; but Prussia could not bear such a 
 I state of things. Do you asli why ? I answer, Cast your eyes pu 
 the map of Europe ; loolt at the position of our country, at its 
 component parts ; follow the line of its borders ; weigh the power 
 of our neighbors; above all, throw an enlightened glance on our 
 history. It has pleased God to make Prussia strong by the 
 sword of war from without, and by the sword of the intellect 
 from within. As in the camp, unless in cases of the most urgent 
 danger, the command must be exercised only by one person, so 
 can the destinies of our country, unless it is to fall immediately 
 from its elevation, be guided by only one will; and if the king 
 of Prussia would commit an abomination, if he were to demand 
 from his subjects the submission of slaves, he would commit a 
 far greater one, were he not to demand of them the crowning 
 virtue of freemen, I mean obedience for the sake of God and 
 conscience.' 
 
 In another passage, he thus strangely defines the 
 rights of the members of the Diet : 
 
 'Noblemen and trusty delegates, the late king, after mature 
 reflection, called the Diets into existence, according to the Ger- 
 man and historical idea of them. In this idea alone have I con- 
 tinued his work. Impress yourselves, I entreat you, with the 
 spirit of this definition. You are a German Diet in the anciently 
 received sense of the word; that is, you ai-e representatives and 
 defenders of your own rights 
 
 ' It is not your province to represent opinions, or to bring the 
 opinions of this or that school into practical operation. That is 
 wholly uii-German, and, moreover, completely useless for the 
 good of the community ; for it would necessarily lead to inextri- 
 cable difiiculties witli the crown, which must govern according 
 to the laws of the land and its own free, unbiased resolution, and 
 which cannot does not govern according to the will of the 
 majority, if it would not cause Prussia to become an empty 
 sound in Europe.' 
 
 The speech closes with a still more explicit declara-
 
 256 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 tion of the king's intention not to give into the hands of 
 the members of the Diet any of the powers with which 
 he himself was invested. If any doubts had existed 
 on the subject, the following words must have dispelled 
 them : 
 
 I have appeai-ed amongst you, and addressed you with royal 
 freedom. With the same openness, and as a proof of my confi- 
 dence in you, I here give you my royal word, that I should not 
 have called you together, had I had the smallest suspicion that you 
 would have any desire to play the part of what are called " rep- 
 resentatives of the people;" because, according to my deepest 
 and most heartfelt conviction, the throne and state would be en- 
 dangered by it, and because I recognize it as my first duty, under 
 all circumstances and events, to preserve the throne, the state, 
 and my government as they at present exist.' 
 
 We have quoted thus largely from the royal speech, 
 in order to show the true character of the institutions 
 granted to Prussia, and how little they were were cal- 
 culated to satisfy the legitimate demands of the people. 
 For what was this Diet heralded into existence with 
 such pomp and ostentation ? What was it more than a 
 show, in which the actors, if docile and obedient to the 
 voice of their manager, were to be recompensed by 
 being more frequently assembled to perform their 
 parts ; but, if disobedient, were liable to the royal 
 displeasure ? How is it possible that the king or his 
 advisers should not have foreseen, that to grant this 
 unreal mockery to the nation was far more dangerous 
 than not to grant any thing ? How could they have 
 failed to understand, that, in seven years of trustful 
 expectation and constant disappointment, the nation 
 had learned how much reliance it could place on the
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 257 
 
 fine speeches of its sovereign, and had found out the 
 necessity of taking the matter into its own hands, if it 
 ever expected to obtain any share in the management 
 of public affairs ? This was, indeed, what happened. 
 The members of the Diet took as a reality what had 
 been given to them as a sport. Like that heathen 
 actor, who, on playing the part of a Christian martyr, 
 was so carried away by the sentiments to which he was 
 giving utterance, as to have been really converted, they 
 kindled into enthusiasm by the mere acting of the par- 
 liamentary play which had been intrusted to them, and 
 changed it into something real and substantial. 
 
 An address was voted in reply to the king's speech, 
 which, although considerably modified from the one 
 originally proposed, was firm and decided in its tone. 
 The Diet thanked him in respectful language for what 
 had been granted, but expressed the desire that more 
 might be done. To this address the king replied, that 
 what had been done was not to be considered as final, 
 but rather as capable of further development (nicht als 
 abgeschlossen, vielmehr als bildungsfdhig.) The Diet 
 continued in session until the 26th of June, when it was 
 closed amidst considerable agitation, caused by the 
 bold attitude of some of the members, who had not 
 accepted the royal definition of their ofiice, but consid- 
 ered themselves as the representatives of the nation, 
 whose sacred duty it was to struggle for its rights. 
 This first session of the United Diet was but a trial of 
 strength, in which the members had acquired the con- 
 viction that they were not mere tools in the hands of the 
 king, a conviction which could not but prove fatal to 
 the king's dreams of absolute sway. No one, however, 
 17
 
 258 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 could have foreseen that they would not again assemble 
 until a bloody revolution had broken down the despotic 
 government of Prussia. 
 
 The remainder of the year 1847 passed away 
 quietly for Prussia. But leist spring, the country was 
 awakened from its apparent tranquillity by the unex- 
 pected news of the downfall of Louis Philippe, and the 
 proclamation some call it the establishment of a re- 
 public in France. This news seems to have produced, 
 from the first, the liveliest impression in Prussia, as 
 well QS throughout Germany ; and the king deemed it 
 advisable, in closing, on the 6th of March, the session 
 of the committee of the Provincial Diets, which had met 
 to revise the penal code of the kingdom, to announce 
 that in future the United Diet the convocation of 
 which, as we have seen, depended entirely upon the 
 royal pleasure should be assembled regularly every 
 four years. Greater concessions would have been 
 necessary to calm the excitement which then prevailed 
 throughout the country. The members of the com- 
 mittee were dissatisfied. 
 
 On the evening of the 8th, the students of the Uni- 
 versity of Berlin met in the Thier Garten, a park in 
 the immediate vicinity of the capital, for the purpose 
 of drawing up an address to the king, demanding the 
 further development of the rights of the people. In 
 the midst of their debate, the president of the police 
 made his appearance, and after having made himself 
 known to the principal leaders of the meeting, in- 
 formed them that he had no intention of preventing 
 their proceedings, and if they would vote a loyal 
 address to his Majesty, that he would pledge his honor
 
 THE REVOLUnOiN IN PRUSSIA. 259 
 
 to remit the same to the king in the course of a few 
 hours ; but as the king had positively determined not to 
 receive any deputation, he advised them to renounce 
 their plan of sending him one. The students, how- 
 ever, who did not wish to be thus cheated out of the 
 public demonstration they had designed making, broke 
 up the meeting, and convoked a larger assembly for 
 the following day. At this meeting, which was at- 
 tended not only by the students, but by a large num- 
 ber of citizens, an address was adopted, demanding 
 from the king entire liberty of the press and of speech, 
 an amnesty for all political offences, equal political 
 rights, trial by jury, the reduction of the standing army, 
 and the immediate convocation of the United Diet. It 
 was not until after a long debate, that the assembly 
 could decide upon the proper way of transmitting this 
 address to the king. It was finally decided, however, 
 that it should be handed to the delegates of the city, 
 then in session, for them to present it to his Majesty; 
 and in case they should refuse to do so, an audience 
 should be demanded for a deputation, which might 
 carry him the address. 
 
 The next day, (March llth,) the delegates them- 
 selves voted an address to the government, in which 
 they made very nearly the same demands, and, more- 
 over, requested that a German Parliament might be 
 convocated, as the only means of securing to Ger- 
 many that independence without which she would be 
 unable to hold her position and to assert her rights in 
 the difiicult crisis in which Europe had been involved 
 by the recent events in France. They, however, 
 declined taking charge of the popular address, and
 
 260 THE EEVOLUTION tN PRUSSIA. 
 
 resolved to send their president to the king with the 
 address which they had themselves adopted. The 
 king received him graciously, and replied, that it gave 
 him the greatest satisfaction to find that the faithful 
 citizens of Berlin were the first to lay before him their 
 grievances and their desires. He added, that he was 
 fully alive to a sense of the importance of the crisis; 
 that he had therefore determined to convoke the United 
 Diet, that an edict to that efiect was to be issued on 
 the following day, and that to that body he would con- 
 fide the future destinies of Prussia. He laid particular 
 stress on the necessity of circumspection. Courage 
 and prudence, he said, was the motto of every good 
 general. A house cannot be erected in a day, and if 
 it is to last, it must have a solid foundation. The 
 result of this interview was the convocation of the 
 Diet for the 20th of April. 
 
 Meanwhile, serious disturbances had broken out in 
 the city. As early as the 13th, the people had assem- 
 bled in front of the palace, amidst shouts for liberty 
 and freedom of the press, and skirmishes had taken 
 place between the troops and the citizens. The proc- 
 lamation issued on the following day, reminding the 
 people of the existing laws against riots, and enjoining 
 on all manufacturers and shopkeepers to prevent their 
 workmen from mingling in these tumultuous assem- 
 blies, and on all keepers of hotels or other public 
 places to prohibit under the penalty of forfeiting their 
 license to keep such places all political discussion 
 within their establishments, failed to produce the de- 
 sired eflfect. On the evening of the 14th, an immense 
 multitude assembled on the great square. Their atti-
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 261 
 
 tude was calm, and possibly no disturbances would 
 have ensued, had not a body of cavalry thrown itself 
 into the midst of the crowd. A large number of per- 
 sons were wounded in this affair. 
 
 The following day, a petition was sent from the 
 citizens to the city delegates, demanding that the 
 troops should be ordered not to take any further part 
 in the disturbances, and that the guard of' the city 
 should be confided to the citizens themselves. This 
 petition was forwarded to the government, who declared 
 that a committee should be named to take cognizance 
 of the events of the preceding day, and to provide such 
 measures as should be deemed necessary for the pres- 
 ervation of order. This assurance seemed for a short 
 time to calm the agitation which pervaded the city ; but 
 when the news of the Revolution at Vienna reached 
 Berlin, the effect of the startling intelligence on the 
 excited multitude may readily be imagined. Crowds 
 were again assembled in the streets and around the 
 palace. An armed force was once more called out, 
 and a bloody conflict was the result. Barricades were 
 formed with astonishing rapidity, and the struggle con- 
 tinued until a late hour in the night, when the mob 
 were finally completely driven back from their barri- 
 cades. 
 
 This defeat did not allay the excitement, for on the 
 following day the streets were again thronged with 
 people. They seemed even to have gained courage by 
 their first attempt at revolution, unsuccessful though it 
 had been ; for many appeared with the German tri- 
 colored ribbon (red, black, and gold) in their button- 
 holes or on their hats, and smoking, a privilege
 
 262 THE REVOLUTION IN PBUSSIA. 
 
 which had not been enjoyed for many a year in the 
 streets of Berlin. The space in front of the palace of 
 the Prince of Prussia, the king's brother, and well 
 known for his absolutist principles, seemed to be the 
 rendezvous of the crowd ; and it was feared that they 
 entertained some sinister design on the palace. The 
 day passed, however, without any serious disturbances. 
 On the morning of the 18th, a day which will be 
 long remembered in the annals of Prussian history, a 
 large number of citizens resolved to present a petition 
 to the king, assuring him of their loyal attachment, and 
 demanding the dismissal of the troops from the city, 
 the immediate organization of an armed burgher-guard, 
 liberty of the press, and the speedy convocation of the 
 Diet. But before they had time to present this petition 
 to the king, a royal edict was promulgated, granting 
 liberty of the press, and convoking the Diet for the 
 2d of April. The citizens, full of joy at what they 
 deemed the happy termination of the disturbances, 
 crowded before the palace to express their gratitude to 
 the king. Twice the king appeared on the balcony, 
 and was hailed by the enthusiastic shouts of the multi- 
 tude. After he had retired, one of the ministers came 
 forward, and requested the mob to return quietly to 
 their homes. This demand was received with mur- 
 murs by the crowd, and in their turn they demanded 
 that the soldiers, who were stationed under the palace 
 windows, should be dismissed. As this desire was not 
 complied with, they pressed forward, menacing the sol- 
 diers and brandishing their sticks. At this moment a 
 couple of shots were fired, and a scene of the utmost 
 confusion and tumult ensued. The people, amidst
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 263 
 
 cries of Treason ! Treason ! ran in every direction, to 
 raise barricades against the troops, who were advanc- 
 ing on all sides. The conflict was long and bloody. 
 For thirteen hours, the people fought against an armed 
 force of not less than twenty thousand men. At last, 
 towards morning, the combat ceased, and the king, 
 finding all resistance useless, issued a proclamation to 
 his beloved Berliners, which, after endeavoring to ex- 
 plain the sad events of the preceding day by attribut- 
 ing them to a set of lawless individuals in the crowd, 
 who had taken advantage of the accidental shots fired 
 by the troops to raise the standard of revolt, ends with 
 the following words: 
 
 ' Return to peace and tranquillity, break down the barricades 
 which still remain, and then send me men animated with the old 
 Berlin spirit, with words such as are becoming in presence of 
 your king, and I promise you that the troops shall immediately 
 evacuate the streets and the public places. Hear the paternal 
 Toice of your king, inhabitants of my beautiful and faithful city 
 of Berlin. Forget what has passed, as I desire to forget it my- 
 self, in the interest of the great destinies which, with the blessing 
 of God, await Germany and Prussia. Your gracious queen, 
 stretched on a bed of sickness, your true and faithful mother and 
 friend, joins her tearful prayers to mine.' 
 
 Had this proclamation been issued on the preceding 
 day, much bloodshed might have been prevented. As 
 it was, the people had suffered too much to be willing 
 to make the first concessions ; the struggle was re- 
 newed. Finally, at about twelve o'clock on the 19th, 
 the king at last determined to issue the order for the 
 troops to return to their barracks. Tranquillity was 
 thus restored to the capital. The people were trium- 
 phant, and they carried in solemn procession the bodies
 
 264 THE KEVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 of the slain to the palace, where the king was obliged 
 to come forward himself, and contemplate the victims 
 of his blind obstinacy. The guard of the city was 
 confided to the citizens themselves, a political amnesty 
 was granted, the unpopular ministry were dismissed, 
 in a word, all ihe wishes of the people were granted. 
 
 Of the real cause of the sad events of the 18th there 
 seems as yet to be no satisfactory account. Some say 
 that a shot was fired by accident, and caused the alarm 
 amongst the crowd ; others, that the troops fired only 
 after they were attacked by the mob. The friends of 
 the king maintain, on the other hand, that the govern- 
 ment had been informed of the designs of the Repub- 
 lican party to overthrow the existing order of things in 
 Prussia, and to follow the then seductive example of 
 France, and that, when the crowd rushed forward 
 towards the palace, it wv^ thought that the intended at- 
 tempt had commenced, and that the troops alone could 
 save the state. Be this as it may, the people had 
 attained their object, and despotism was crushed in 
 Prussia. Few excesses were committed during this 
 eventful struggle. The attempt to tear down the 
 palace of the Prince of Prussia who was supposed to 
 have given the troops the order to fire on the people 
 was fortunately checked by a workman, who rushed 
 forward and wrote on the walls the magic words, 
 'National Property.' 
 
 A few days after these memorable events, the king 
 issued a proclamation (May 22d) to his people and to 
 the German nation at large, in which he declared, that, 
 in the difficult crisis in which Germany was then 
 placed, her only safety was in her union under one
 
 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 265 
 
 chief. ' I will,' says the proclamation, ' undertake this 
 direction in the day of danger.* I have now adopted 
 the ancient colors of Germany, and placed myself and 
 my people under the banner of the German empire. 
 Prussia shall henceforth be merged in Germany.' t 
 This declaration, hailed with enthusiasm at Berlin, was 
 not received with like favor in other parts of Germany. 
 It was thought that the king intended to usurp the im- 
 perial crown. Many persons, even in Berlin, seemed 
 to have viewed the matter in the same light; for when, 
 on the morning of the 23d, the king rode in solemn 
 procession through the streets of the capital, he was 
 received with shouts of ' Long live the German empe- 
 ror.' ' No,' replied the king with vivacity, ' I bear 
 colors which are not mine ; I do not wish to usurp any 
 thing ; I wish for no crown, no dominion. I wish for 
 the freedom and unity of Gerrpany ; I wish for order. 
 I have done only what has more than once been done 
 in German history, in a moment of great danger to the 
 country ; I have placed myself at the head of the 
 whole nation ; and I am confident that the princes of 
 Germany will sympathize with me, and her people 
 support me.' 
 
 Among the many strange events which have occur- 
 red in Europe within the past year, we know of none 
 more strange than this singular declaration of Frederic 
 William. We do not agree with those who think that 
 a man must necessarily profess the same opinions 
 throughout life ; on the contrary, we think it but nat- 
 
 * Fur die Tage der Gefahr. 
 
 t Freussen geht fortan in Deutschland auf.
 
 266 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 ural that circumstances, and, above all, experience, 
 should modify nay, even entirely change the 
 political opinions of a man. We admire the 
 
 * Justum ac tenocem propositi virum,' t 
 
 who retains through a long and active public life the 
 same opinions ; but we can understand that this should 
 not always be the case; and, indeed, we see no good 
 reason why he who was a radical at twenty should not 
 be a conservative at forty. But we confess that we 
 cannot but distrust the very sudden conversion of the 
 king of Prussia, who, in a few days, passes from one 
 extremity to the other of the scale of political opinions. 
 Yesterday he was blindly attached to all the forms of 
 the past, and to-day he is the enthusiastic admirer of 
 free institutions. Yesterday he was the defender of the 
 divine right of kings, and of royal power to be limited 
 only by the free grants of the sovereign himself, and 
 to-day he not only wishes all nations to be free, but is 
 desirous of placing himself at the head of the liberal 
 movement in Germany. This savors more of policy 
 and ambition than of deep conviction. 
 
 His conduct was thus viewed in some parts of Ger- 
 many, particularly in the south and west, where were 
 again manifested those feelings of jealousy and rivalry 
 which have ever proved so fatal to the establishment of 
 political unity throughout Germany. In the Wiener 
 Zeilung appeared, shortly afterwards, a reply to the 
 king's declaration, in the name of the German nation, 
 in which it was stated, in the boldest language, that they 
 could not accept the position which the king offered 
 to take.
 
 THE KEVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 267 
 
 ' Your Majesty,' says this striking document, * is the only 
 German prince who granted the inalienable rights of his people 
 only in the midst of barricades, and on the dead bodies of the 
 best of his subjects, and vrhen his throne began to totter. The 
 German people have learnt to appreciate you, and have not con- 
 fidence in you. It is with blood-stained hands, sire, that you 
 raise the German colors which for so many years you persecuted. 
 
 The people recoil at your royal enthusiasm It was 
 
 an Austrian prince who drank a health to united Germany, 
 when the idea was scorned in Prussia. The House of Hapsburg 
 would have the history of past ages and the love of its subjects 
 on its side, did it wish to assert its ancient rights. But Austria 
 recognizes that by the representatives of the people alone can 
 the choice of an emperor be made, and that this choice must be 
 left free.' 
 
 On the 2d of April, the second session of the United 
 Diet was opened at Berlin. Not quite a year had 
 elapsed since Frederic William, with all the pomp and 
 splendor of absolute power, had harangued the first 
 Diet of the kingdom. How eventful that year had 
 been ! The Diet was this time opened by one of the 
 ministers, M. Von Camphausen, who, in a very brief 
 address, stated that the Diet had been assembled to lay 
 the foundations of the Pru^ian constitution by adopting 
 an electoral law. A loyal address was immediately 
 voted, and after a session of only eight days the Diet 
 separated. In this short period, the electoral law was 
 voted, and a grant of 40,000,000 thalers to be levied 
 in such manner as should be deemed expedient was 
 made to the government. The elections shortly after 
 took place, and on the appointed day the first Prussian 
 national assembly met. 
 
 Here we must pause in the sketch which we have 
 endeavored to give of the history of Prussia within the
 
 268 THE REVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 present century. It 1ms been our desire to show what 
 faults on the part of the government caused those sad 
 events which have convulsed a country that was wont 
 to be so tranquil. We trust that we have succeeded in 
 showing how fully the Prussians were justified in taking 
 up arms, in order to wrest from the government those 
 liberal institutions which the spirit of the age so loudly 
 demands. Here we dismiss the subject ; for within the 
 last six months, the history of Prussia has been entirely 
 absorbed in that of Germany, and our limits will not 
 permit of our entering on so vast a theme as that of the 
 German revolutionary movement. Had we even the 
 space, we should hardly venture to attempt it. Wo 
 should be deterred by the many difficulties which the 
 subject presents, for we know not where to seek a 
 guide to lead us through the dark labyrinth of German 
 affairs. And, indeed, what a spectacle Germany now 
 presents ! Elements of discord on every side a reg- 
 ulating power nowhere ; nation opposed to nation, and 
 house to house, without any visible bond which can re- 
 unite them ; the fear of reaction on the one hand, and 
 the far greater danger of anarchy on the other ; innu- 
 merable theories and plans for the regeneration of the 
 common country, and not a man to put them into exe- 
 cution ; the middle classes opposed to the aristocracy, 
 and to what remains of the feudal system ; the work- 
 ing classes filled with hatred and envy for all those 
 who hold a higher place than themselves in the social 
 scale ; the literary men and the students of the univer- 
 sities burning to realize their long cherished hopes of 
 establishing a republic ; Communism, Socialism, Four- 
 ierism pouring their poisoned doctrines into the ear of
 
 THE HEVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 269 
 
 the ignorant or the unwary ; such is the picture which 
 Germany presents I 
 
 What is to be the result of this state of things ? 
 Where is the arm that shall arrest this confusion, and 
 bring forth order from such a chaos ? Where is the 
 man possessed of virtue, wisdom, and genius sufficient 
 to unite those discordant elements, and to create, as it 
 were, a new society, a new Germany ? We look 
 in vain for such a one. Although the apparent reluc- 
 tance with which he made liberal concessions to his 
 people has greatly diminished his chance, the king of 
 Prussia may, if he act with prudence, be called to the 
 imperial throne. The dearth of great men in Germany, 
 and the distracted condition of Austria, make him un- 
 questionably the most prominent candidate for that high 
 and difficult station. But should he ever attain this 
 goal of his ambition, we very much doubt whether he 
 could succeed in establishing a permanent government. 
 We believe that Germany has yet many storms to go 
 through, many scenes of bloodshed and crime to wit- 
 ness, before she can reach that peace, tranquillity, and 
 unity which she is now seeking. The accumulated 
 errors of ages are not swept away in a day, although it 
 be a common mistake of our time to suppose so. We 
 are too prene to think that society can be remodelled, 
 and states reorganized, with the same promptitude with 
 which we erect a manufactory or lay out a railroad, 
 and to believe that the mere formation of a government 
 is sufficient to satisfy the wants of a people. But it is 
 not so. We have confidence in the ultimate good 
 which is to result from the present disturbed condition 
 of the Old World. We cannot believe that Europe is
 
 270 THE KEVOLUTION IN PRUSSIA. 
 
 again to be plunged in the horrors of barbarism, al- 
 though, in moments of despondency, one is almost 
 inclined to believe it. The ultimate result will be it 
 must be, if we believe that the events of history are 
 under the control of Providence to favor the progress 
 of civilization. Let us not, however, be impatient for 
 the result. We may not live to see it. Christianity, 
 divine as it is in its origin, and aided by prophecies and 
 miracles, has existed eighteen centuries in the world, 
 and yet one half of mankind are not yet subjected to its 
 beneficent sway. Why should we, then, hope greater 
 success for institutions purely human } 
 
 As for Germany, she will, we trust, feel that revolu- 
 tions only give an impetus to the onward progress of 
 mankind, and that on time alone depends their real and 
 permanent improvement. She will not, let us hope, be 
 dazzled by the seductive illusion of establishing at once 
 a republic. Let her rather slowly prepare for that form 
 of government which is the ultimate object of all the 
 European revolutions. To adopt such a government 
 at present would be, in our opinion, only to retard its 
 permanent establishment ; for we firmly believe that 
 there is but one country in Europe and for that very 
 reason, she is less disposed than any other to adopt the 
 name of that which she already possesses to a consid- 
 erable extent where republican institutions would not 
 in a very short time degenerate into despotism.
 
 THE REVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 
 
 La Rigenerazione ; Giomale Sforico Politico della Sicilia, 
 diretto dal Signer Luigi Tirrito. Anno primo della Ri- 
 generazione. Palermo. 1848. 
 
 In our last number, we gave a brief account of the 
 Conquest of Sicily by the Normans, and presented a 
 sketch of what may be deemed the brightest period in 
 the history of that island. Since then, the periodical, 
 the title of which is quoted above, has come to our 
 notice, and from the materials that it furnishes we can 
 frame an imperfect narrative of the struggle for inde- 
 pendence, which commenced in that land in 1848, 
 before France had broken down the barriers which 
 hemmed in the mighty flood of Revolution, and which 
 she is now as intent on rebuilding as she was then 
 eager to destroy. To render this account more intelli- 
 gible, we must first cast a glance at the former history 
 of the island, in order to show the nature of its connec- 
 tion with Naples. . 
 
 It is well known that when the family of Hohen- 
 staufFen succeeded the Norman princes in Southern 
 Italy, both Naples and Sicily were united under one
 
 272 THE REVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 
 
 government. This continued to be the case during 
 the administration of the princes of the House of 
 Anjou, until 1282, when, in consequence of the Sicil- 
 ian Vespers, the French were driven from Sicily, and 
 the island passed under the dominion of the House of 
 Arragon. The kingdoms continued to be separated 
 until Alphonso V. conquered Naples, and once more 
 united the two provinces under a common sway. When 
 the house of Arragon became extinct, both kingdoms 
 were subjected to Spain, by whose monarchs they were 
 governed until the death of Charles IL, (the last male 
 heir of the Spanish branch of the house of Austria) ; 
 when Philip having succeeded to the throne of Spain, 
 the Two Sicilies passed to the house of Austria. This 
 arrangement was not destined to last long. Elizabeth 
 Farnese, the second wife of Philip V., had succeeded 
 in procuring for her son the Duchies of Parma and 
 Tuscany. But a ducal coronet alone could not satisfy 
 her insatiable ambition, and she determined to use 
 every means in her power to obtain for him the crown 
 of the two Sicilies. Charles was enjoying the pleas- 
 ures of youth at his ducal residence at Parma, when 
 he received letters from his mother, apprizing him of 
 the plans which had been formed for his future great- 
 ness. Spain, France, and Lombardy were then in 
 league against the empire; a mighty French army, led 
 by Berwick, had passed the Rhine ; pmothcr, under the 
 command of Villars, had descended into Lombardy. 
 The object of this undertaking was to overthrow the 
 imperialists, beyond the Rhine, to drive them from 
 Lombardy, and to conquer the Two Sicilies, ' which,' 
 wrote Elizabeth to her son, ' will be yours, as soon as
 
 T^E REVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 273 
 
 they are rescued from their present possessors. Go, 
 then, and conquer ! The most splendid crown in Italy- 
 awaits you.' Charles, naturally ambitious, and sharing 
 in some degree the warlike spirit' of his ancestors, was 
 easily persuaded to obey this summons, especially as 
 he believed he had some right to the Two Sicilies, in 
 consideration of the ancient dominion which the kings 
 of Spain had exercised over them. 
 
 The expedition against Naples was successful, and 
 Charles, after he had entered the capital, and subdued 
 the different fortresses of the kingdom, determined to 
 make an attack on Sicily. The people of that island 
 desired him to be their monarch, perhaps as much 
 from the love of change, as from the natural enmity 
 of all Italians for the Germans. The Spanish fleet 
 left Naples on the 23d of August, 1734; and no sooner 
 had it appeared before Palermo, than the Viceroy fled 
 to Malta, and the city surrendered. Messina did the 
 same, and the whole island soon followed the example 
 thus given. The treaty concluded at Vienna, in 1739, 
 confirmed Charles in his new conquests, and thus the 
 Two Sicilies were again united into one kingdom. 
 
 The first object of the young king was to reform the 
 legislation of the country, which, under the dominion 
 of the house of Austria, had been much neglected. 
 But he had neither courage nor foresight enough to 
 strike a. decisive blow at all the abuses which had been 
 accumulating for centuries in the State ; and although 
 he certainly did effect some salutary reforms, he did 
 much less than a prince of a more energetic and inde- 
 pendent nature might have accomplished. The feudal 
 pretensions of the aristocracy, the exorbitant claims of 
 18
 
 274 THE REVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 
 
 the clergy, the municipal privileges of the cities, were 
 obstacles to reform, which more firmness and wisdom 
 might have overcome, but which Charles had not the 
 face to surmount. On the whole, however, when we 
 consider the misrule to which the Two Sicilies had 
 been so long accustomed, the reign of Charles was 
 rather favorable to his people. In 1759, this monarch 
 was called to the throne of Spain; and as it had been 
 stipulated in the treaty of Vienna that the Two Sicilies 
 should never again be united to the Spanish monarchy, 
 he conferred the former kingdom on his son, who com- 
 menced his reign under the name of Ferdinand IV. 
 
 The first part of his reign offers no event of impor- 
 tance; but Ferdinand's administration, during the latter 
 part of the last century, was marked by the most de- 
 spotic and inquisitorial policy. The assassination of 
 Gustavus of Sweden, the outbreak of the Revolution 
 in France, the death of Louis XVI., and the Reign of 
 Terror in Paris, were events well calculated to fill with 
 apprehension a government which had rested rather on 
 physical force than on the love of its subjects. The 
 vigilance of the police daily increased, innumerable 
 arrests on the slightest suspicion took place, and the 
 whole kingdom was in a state of constant agitation. 
 Such was its condition, when Bonaparte, at the head of 
 a republican army, entered Italy, drove the Austrians 
 out of Lombardy, and agitated every part of the pen- 
 insula with fear of change. Alarmed at the progress 
 of the French, the king of Naples declared war against 
 them, though with little prospect of waging it with 
 success. The invading army took Gaeta, Pescara, 
 and Civitella, and on the 21st of December, l"98, the
 
 THE REVOLITTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 275 
 
 royal family were obliged to leave Naples, carrying 
 with them the crown jewels and treasures of the State, 
 and leaving the unhappy country involved in domestic 
 and foreign war. On the 23d of January, the French 
 entered Naples, promising the people a bettor govern- 
 ment, and that neither persons nor property should be 
 molested. Naples was declared to be an independent 
 Republic, and was to be administered by an assembly 
 of citizens. 
 
 The French did not long occupy the city, however, 
 and on their evacuating the territory in 1799, Ferdi- 
 nand IV. was recalled to the throne. Exile had not 
 taught him wisdom, and his restoration to power was 
 the beginning of a new career of cruelty and oppres- 
 sion. In 1806, on the approach of Joseph Bonaparte 
 and Massena at the head of a powerful army, he was 
 again obliged to abandon his capital, and under the 
 protection of the English he sailed for Sicily. Joseph 
 entered Naples, and was shortly after pr6claimed king 
 of the Two Sicilies ; but two years afterwards, he was 
 called to the vacant throne of Spain, and Joachim 
 Murat became king of Naples. Meanwhile, Sicily re- 
 mained under the control of the Bourbons; and Queen 
 Caroline, taking advantage of the condition of the 
 king, who was incapable of attending to business, as- 
 sumed the reins of government. Weary of the author- 
 ity which the English were arrogating to themselves in 
 Sicily, she determined to rid herself of them, and if 
 all hope of reconquering Naples was gone, to reign at 
 least unmolested in the island. For this purpose, she 
 concluded a treaty with Napoleon, by which it was 
 agreed that the ports of Sicily should be opened to the
 
 276 THE REVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 
 
 French, on condition that they should drive the En- 
 glish away. Whilst these negotiations were pending, 
 Murat made an unsuccessful attempt to get possession 
 of the island. The negotiations between Caroline and 
 Napoleon could not be so secretly carried on as not 
 to become known to the English, who immediately 
 began to counteract the political measures of the 
 queen. 
 
 The island was in a distracted condition, and the 
 English determined to attempt to remedy the existing 
 state of things by constitutional means, before resorting 
 to open force. For this purpose, they induced the 
 government to convene a parliament ; and this assem- 
 bly, which was destined to produce radical changes in 
 the organization of the State, met in 1810. By it the 
 lands held by feudal tenure were made allodial, and 
 many baronies were abolished. To this measure, the 
 barons, who seem to have showed a most disinterested 
 and patriotic spirit, made no objection, although the 
 reform could not but injure their revenues and lessen 
 their influence. The parliament also decreed, that a 
 general assessment of the land should be made, in 
 order that the land-tax might be more equitably distrib- 
 uted; and great improvements were effected in the 
 judiciary. In these reforms, the nobility had taken a 
 large share; and the queen, finding that her power 
 was on the wane, resolved to act vigorously in support 
 of the royal authority. She caused five of the princi- 
 pal noblemen in the island to be arrested. This im- 
 prudent course defeated the object which she had in 
 view ; for the English, finding that they could no longer 
 depend upon her, especially since the nriarriage of
 
 THE HEVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 277 
 
 Maria Louisa had created a bond of union between 
 Napoleon and the queen, resolved to unite with the 
 barons. For this purpose, Lord Bentinck was sent 
 as minister to Palermo. The first thing he did was 
 to demand the liberation of the barons who had been 
 imprisoned. The queen haughtily refused, and de- 
 manded of Lord Bentinck by what right he obtruded 
 himself into the affairs of the kingdom. Finding that 
 her determination was inflexible, Bentinck left the room, 
 exclaiming, ' Either a constitution or a revolution.* 
 He immediately went to London, and having procured 
 full powers, returned to Naples in less than three 
 months. Now that he was invested with the supreme 
 command of the army, and could support his counsels 
 with an armed force, the queen found resistance use- 
 less. She was obliged to retire to a country-seat in 
 the neighborhood of Palermo, and the king was forced 
 to abdicate in favor of his son, as vice-general of the 
 kingdom. Bentinck was elected captain-general of 
 Sicily, and consequently the whole command of the 
 nation rested in his hands. These events occurred in 
 1812. 
 
 The parliament was again convoked for the purpose 
 of remedying abuses and remodelling the fundamental 
 laws. A new constitution was formed, and, after some 
 hesitation on the part of the young prince, it was sol- 
 emnly ratified. By this instrument, the legislative 
 power and the power of levying taxes were vested in 
 the parliament alone ; its decrees, when sanctioned by 
 the king, were to have the force of law. The execu- 
 tive power was committed to the king, whose person 
 was to be sacred and inviolable. The judges were
 
 278 THE REVOHTTION OF 1848 IN SICILV. 
 
 entirely independent of both king and parliament ; the 
 ministers were reponsible for every act, the senate 
 having the right of examining and impeaching them for 
 high treason. The parliament was composed of two 
 chambers ; the one for the representatives of the peo- 
 ple, the other for the peers. The power of convoking 
 parliament belonged exclusively to the king, who was, 
 however, required to assemble it once in every year. 
 These were the chief features of a constitution, which 
 was soon to be violated by the monarch, though the 
 people justly regarded it as the charter of their 
 liberties. 
 
 No sooner, indeed, had the downfall of Napoleon 
 restored Ferdinand once more to the throne of the 
 Two Sicilies, than he abolished this constitution. Such 
 treachery could not have been expected from a king, 
 who, twice an exile from a portion of his dominions, 
 had been received by the Sicilians with hospitality, and 
 had been enabled by them to support his Neapolitan 
 retainers, his expensive army, and the luxurious court 
 which he had established at Palermo. That the re- 
 mainder of his reign should have been one continued 
 struggle of the oppressed Sicilians against his despotic 
 sway, is no cause for wonder. The discontent which 
 had long been cherished at last broke out in the open 
 rebellion of 1820. This is not the place to give a full 
 account of the celebrated insurrection which then took 
 place. It is well known that the king granted a 
 constitution for Naples, and promised to restore to his 
 Sicilian subjects the constitution of 1812 ; but the ab- 
 solute powers of Europe objected to his course ; and 
 when he went to the Congress at Laybach, he found
 
 THE REVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 279 
 
 that the Emperors of Austriii and Russia, as well as 
 the King of Prussia, were determined to declare void 
 all the acts of his government subsequent to the revolu- 
 tionary movement. Instead of maintaining his right to 
 regulate the affairs of his own kingdom as he chose, 
 Ferdinand acquiesced in the proposition of the Northern 
 powers to send an army into Italy to restore him to ab- 
 solute power. He was thus enabled to return to Naples 
 once more as its absolute sovereign, but branded with 
 infamy for his treacherous conduct. Under his suc- 
 cessor, Francis, the government was maintained on the 
 same principles. 
 
 But it was reserved for the present king, Ferdinand II., 
 to complete the work of despotism, and thus to prepare 
 the way for the events of which we are about to speak. 
 When Ferdinand I. was restored to the throne of the 
 Two Sicilies, in 1815, it was with the understanding 
 that the island of Sicily should be administered as a 
 separate kingdom, possessing independent rights and a 
 separate constitution. Unmindful of this, he had no 
 sooner got possession of the throne again, than he la- 
 bored to centralize every thing in Naples. He never 
 convened the parliament of Sicily, and although the 
 constitution provided that the taxes should not exceed 
 1,847,687 07ice. without the consent of this parliament, 
 he established new taxes at his pleasure. His succes- 
 soi's followed this course, so that, in 1838, the amount 
 of money received by the government in taxation was 
 5,800,000 once. Had this money been spent in Sicily, 
 the Sicilians would have had less cause of complaint. 
 But this was not the case. Sicily should have borne 
 about a quarter part of the expenses of the united king-
 
 280 THE REVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 
 
 dom, and should have received about a third of the 
 offices ; instead of which, it had to pay about half the 
 annual expenses, and scarcely shared at all in the ad- 
 ministration of the state. In the ministry which existed 
 previously to the late insurrection, out of eleven minis- 
 ters there was only one Sicilian, and he occupied the 
 least important place. 
 
 It was the present king who consummated this de- 
 spotic work in 1837, by taking away the power of the 
 Lieutenant-Gcneral of Sicily, by abolishing the Ministry 
 of State for Sicilian aTfairs, by centralizing in Naples 
 the whole administration of the island, and by confiding 
 the most important offices in the island to Neapolitans, 
 thus reducing Sicily to the rank of a province of 
 Naples. By this means, he paralyzed its energies and 
 impoverished its people ; but he also roused the na- 
 tional indignation, and gave rise to the present struggle 
 for independence. Since the revolution of 1821, many 
 petitions, signed by large numbers of Sicilians, had 
 been addressed to the government, imploring it to 
 grant the constitution of 1812 to the island. They had 
 all proved vain, and it was not until such peaceful 
 means of attaining their object had been exhausted, 
 that the Sicilians had recourse to force. On the 12th 
 of January, 1848, the growing discontent broke out in 
 open rebellion. 
 
 The beginning of this insurrectionary movement was 
 unquestionably hastened by the cffi^ct which the liberal 
 measures of the new papal administration had pro- 
 duced throughout Italy. When Cardinal Mastai Fcrrcti 
 succeeded Gregory XVI., in the month of June, 1846, 
 it was thought that the new pope, the buon^ the gran 
 
 J;
 
 THE REVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 281 
 
 Pio, as he was enthusiastically called by the Italians, 
 was about to emancipate Italy from the state of degra- 
 dation and bondage in which she had been so long held. 
 Doubtful as any one, who is guided in his political 
 speculations by the sober dictates of his understanding 
 rather than by the seductive impulses of his heart, may 
 be as to the future prospects of Italy, he cannot but be 
 interested in the many endeavors which have been 
 made since the downfall of Napoleon, by the people of 
 that once prosperous land, to recover their indepen- 
 dence and their former standing among the nations of 
 the world. The restoration of Italian nationality un- 
 der one form or another has been the aim of all Italian 
 patriots, since 1814. The Carbonari, a political sect 
 founded in the kingdom of the Two Sicilies during the 
 stormy administration of Queen Caroline, continued for 
 a long time to be the principal secret society of Italy, 
 but was at length superseded by the sect of ' Young 
 Italy,' at whose head was Mazzini. He was driven 
 from Italy in 1831, in consequence of the share he had 
 taken in the insurrectionary movement which occurred 
 after the French revolution of 1830 ; and he maintained 
 his influence by his contributions to a journal called La 
 Giovine Italia, which he founded at Marseilles. At a 
 later period, he attracted the attention of the whole of 
 Europe, not by any merit of his own, but through the 
 conduct of the English Home Secretary, who, to satisfy 
 the demands of the Austrian government, violated the 
 secrecy of his private correspondence. He has since, 
 by his connection with the late revolutionary govern- 
 ment of Rome, become the object of admiration of the 
 radical party in Italy, France, and England, and, we
 
 282 THE REVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 
 
 are sorry to say, of many of our own countrymen, who, 
 through a mistaken zeal for republican principles, are 
 too prone to admire every fanatical demagogue who 
 may chance to rise for a few hours on the crest of a 
 revolutionary wave. We cannot see that Americans 
 are any more bound to sympathize with every radical 
 movement in Europe, which dignifies itself with the 
 name of republican, than we should be to lend a favor- 
 able ear to the ravings of our own demagogues, of 
 those, for instance, who recently kindled a civil war in 
 Rhode Island, or of the Anti-rent party who assassi- 
 nated sheriffs and constables in New York. The sym- 
 pathies of the true American should be enlisted on the 
 side of liberty and order, and when he becomes con- 
 vinced that those two blessings can only be attained in 
 Europe, at least, for the present, by a constitu- 
 tional monarchy, his sympathies should be with that 
 form of government. 
 
 It was not by Mazzini or his party that Italy could be 
 regenerated. To suppose that the Lombard and the 
 Roman, the Sardinian and the Neapolitan, would unite 
 to form one Italian republic, and that the princes who 
 had so long held these countries under their absolute 
 dominion would either resign their privileges and place 
 themselves at the head of the movement, or would yield 
 without a long and desperate resistance to the revolu- 
 tionary torrent, would be to argue little knowledge 
 either of human nature or of history. Societies like 
 the Carbonari, the Patrioti Europei, the Fedcrati, the 
 Filadelfi, the Giovine Italia, or any of the innumerable 
 associations which have arisen in Italy during the 
 present century, can do but little for the regeneration 
 
 .'^'
 
 THE REVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 283 
 
 of a countrj'. A despotic government is not over- 
 thrown, still less induced to adopt a different political 
 course, by such means. It should be met openly, 
 frankly, and lawfully, and reminded that there is a 
 power greater than any which a despotic ruler can com- 
 mand, public opinion. Moral force is the only force 
 likely to be of much avail against a government which 
 has under its control large standing armies. This truth 
 began to be understood by a large party of Italians, 
 who abandoned these secret societies, and lent a willing 
 ear to the calmer and more rational views of such men 
 as Gioberti, Balbo, and D'Azeglio. Gioberti, in his able 
 and eloquent work on the supremacy of Italy,* main- 
 tained that, in order to establish any thing like political 
 unity in the peninsula, a league of Italian princes, hav- 
 ing at their head the Pope, must be formed. Balbo 
 and D'Azeglio preached the renouncement of all vio- 
 lent measures ; according to them, the independence of 
 Italy could be attained only by peaceful measures, by 
 patience, moderation, and endurance. Arms are only 
 to be resorted to vv^hen all other means have been 
 exhausted, and when the nation is ready for such a 
 struggle. ' I hold,' says D'Azeglio, in speaking of the 
 melancholy disturbances which occurred at Rimini in 
 1845, ' I hold this movement a premature and dan- 
 gerous one, and I shall hold all such partial movements 
 as premature and dangerous. I may say boldly, that I 
 consider them as worthy of blame ; because a minority 
 has never the right to judge, whether the time has come 
 
 * Del Primato Civile e Morale degV Italiani. Per V. Gio- 
 BEKTI. 1813.
 
 284 THE REVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 
 
 or not to plunge the nation to which it belongs into the 
 great struggle for independence ; for it has not the 
 right to risk on a mere chance the subsistence, the tran- 
 quillity, the liberty, the life of an incalculable number 
 of fellow-cilizens, and, what is still more important, the 
 honor and future destinies of a whole nation.' * Balbo 
 advised his countrymen to wait until some great event 
 in Europe, such as the fall of the Ottoman Empire, 
 should render probable their success in shaking off the 
 yoke of Austrian dominion, the first and necessary step 
 for Italian independence. t In speaking of the different 
 impulses given to public opinion, we should not forget 
 the annual meetings of scientific men in different cities 
 of the peninsula, which were first organized in 1839, 
 and which, by bringing together men from different 
 parts of the country, kept alive a national spirit. Nor 
 should we forget the privilege of copyright, which has 
 been but recently extended to the whole of Italy, and 
 by means of which, the different publications issued in 
 the country were more widely circulated. 
 
 When Pius IX. was raised to the papal throne, it 
 seemed as if the golden dream of Gioberti was about 
 to be realized. The first wish of the new Papal Gov- 
 ernment appeared to be to found an administration 
 more in harmony with the spirit of the age. A general 
 amnesty was granted ; hundreds of exiles, who for 
 years had been wandering through Europe or enjoying 
 the hospitality of France and England, were allowed to 
 
 * Degli ultimi Cast Di Romagna. Di Massimo D'Azeouo. 
 1846. 
 
 t Belle Speranze d^ Italia. Di Cesabe Balbo.
 
 THE EEVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 285 
 
 revisit their native land ; many of the severest laws 
 against the press were abrogated ; the code was re- 
 vised, the administration reorganized and secularized, 
 the magistracy reformed. A new era seemed to be 
 dawning for Italy. The enthusiasm of the people 
 knew no bounds. All eyes were turned towards a 
 pope, who seemed to renounce all the political tradi- 
 tions of the Vatican, and to be ambitious of the novel 
 reputation of a reforming Sovereign Pontiff. From one 
 end of the peninsula to the other, the people were in- 
 duced to demand of their sovereigns reforms corres- 
 ponding to those which had been made at Rome. Tus- 
 cany soon followed the movement. Charles Albert, to 
 whose memory a tribute is due, in spite of the many 
 blemishes of his character, for the noble manner in 
 which he defended the cause of Italian independence, 
 and then, renouncing his honors and the dream of an 
 ambitious life, went to die in a foreign land broken- 
 hearted and despairing, was soon engaged in the 
 struggle. The other states of Italy were irresistibly 
 hurried on in the same course. Who, on seeing the 
 enthusiasm created by the Pope at that time, could 
 have foreseen the events, which have since occurred at 
 Rome, the beloved Pius driven from his capital, and 
 forced to seek refuge in the states of that contemptible 
 tyrant, Ferdinand of Naples, that Borbone, Borhon- 
 accio, Borhoncino, ferocious as Nero, and mad as Cal- 
 ligula, as the Sicilians contemptuously call him ? It is 
 a memorable lesson to remind princes and statesmen of 
 the heavy responsibility which is incurred, by attempt- 
 ing the great work of reform, unless qertain of being 
 able to stop its career whenever it becomes necessary.
 
 286 THE REVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 
 
 It is dangerous to slacken the reins of a fiery steed, 
 unless confident that you have retained the power of 
 checking him at will. 
 
 The enthusiasm to which the acts of the new papal 
 government gave rise, necessarily spread to the king- 
 dom of the Two Sicilies. Neither the despotism of 
 the government, nor the vigilance of its agents, could 
 conceal from the people the hopes which had been 
 awakened in other parts of Italy. No custom-house 
 barriers or military outposts could prevent the magic 
 words of independence and regeneration from reach- 
 ing the ears of the discontented subjects of Ferdinand 
 of Naples. Like the other nations of Italy, they were 
 too intent on their great aim, the liberty of their coun- 
 try, and too much excited by the enthusiasm of the 
 moment, to stop to consider whether a pope could 
 really be a reformer, in the sense in which that word 
 is at present understood ; whether the infallible succes- 
 sor of St. Peter could, by a stroke of his pen, undo 
 the work of his equally infallible predecessors, and 
 remodel the whole constitution of the papal govern- 
 ment ; whether the temporal power vested in the hands 
 of a sovereign, who in all spiritual matters is absolute, 
 could be other than absolute ; whether Catholicism, as 
 understood at Rome, could be reconciled with a free 
 form of government. These were questions far too 
 serious, and requiring too much reflection for the Ital- 
 ians to have meditated them as they ought, before 
 embarking on the dangerous sea of revolution. The 
 first liberal measures of a pope filled with the best 
 intentions, but unconscious of the incompatibility of 
 his authority with the reforms which the age de-
 
 THE KEVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 287 
 
 manded, were enough to dazzle the imagination of all 
 Italians, and to fill their minds with the golden dream 
 of independence. To give reality to this dream, and 
 so to direct public opinion as both to check the hasty 
 and rash ebullitions of patriotic feeling, so natural 
 amongst a people long restrained, and to rouse from 
 their apathy those whom long years of suffering and 
 passive submission had rendered almost indifferent to 
 the hopes and destiny of their country, was the hard 
 task which the intelligent men of all parts of the 
 peninsula had to perform. 
 
 There was no state in Italy in which they had more 
 difficulties to contend with, in attempting to accomplish 
 this work, than the Two Sicilies. The political differ- 
 ences between Naples and Sicily, the municipal rivalry 
 between the principal cities of the island, the indolence 
 and indifference of the Italians, the courage and ardor 
 of the Sicilians, the consequent difficulty of urging the 
 former and restraining the latter, and the want of any 
 understanding as to the course which the people ought 
 to adopt, were obstacles not easily overcome. The 
 leading patriots endeavored, however, to convince the 
 people, that the hatred which had existed between the 
 two parts of the country had been kept alive by the 
 government, which hoped by this means to keep them 
 more surely in bondage ; that the Sicilians in fact 
 loved the Neapolitans, although, by identifying the 
 people with the government, it often appeared as if 
 they cherished an invincible hatred against them ; and 
 that the Neapolitans, who were suffering the same 
 wrongs as the Sicilians, could not be suspected of 
 wishing to subjugate a country which possessed its own
 
 288 THE REVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 
 
 institutions and laws. They endeavored also to break 
 down the spirit of rivalry, which had long existed 
 between the principal cities of the island, and to check 
 the ardor and impatience of the inhabitants. 
 
 As to the means by which the regeneration of the 
 state might be accomplished, two courses were pro- 
 posed. The one was preferred by those, who, knowing 
 the character of the Neapolitan government, the obsti- 
 nacy of the king, and the devotion with which he was 
 served by the army, thought that it was necessary to 
 oppose force to force, and make an appeal to arms. 
 The other was entirely pacific, and was favored by 
 those who thought that there was no force equal to 
 moral force. They proposed that, by means of clan- 
 destine printing-presses established in the different 
 cities, the enthusiasm of the people should be kept 
 alive and prudently guided ; and that the people should 
 refuse to pay the taxes, and endeavor, by associating 
 as much as possible with the army, to gain it over to 
 the popular cause. The latter proposition was received 
 with the greatest favor, and the nation were preparing 
 to carry it out, when the Calabrians, impatient of re- 
 straint, and exasperated against the government, broke 
 out in open rebellion'. The royal troops, aided by a 
 very effectual police, soon disarmed the insurgents ; 
 but the indignation of the whole nation was roused by 
 the cruelty which the government displayed, and the 
 king perceived it would be necessary to adopt some 
 measure to tranquillize the public feeling. One of the 
 ministers, Santangelo, who had rendered himself es- 
 pecially obnoxious to the people, was dismissed ; and 
 although the honors with which he was invested in
 
 THE REVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 289 
 
 order to console him for his disgrace somewhat weak- 
 ened the effect, the feelings of the people were some- 
 what soothed. In the theatres and public places, the 
 cries of ' Long live the King, ' Long live Pope Pius,' 
 and ' Long live the Reform,' were constantly heard. In 
 Sicily, the enthusiasm at the disgrace of Santixngelo 
 was very great, for he had always been regarded as a 
 personal enemy of the people of the island. Any man- 
 ifestation of this enthusiasm was prohibited. At this 
 time, the direction of the police of Palermo was in the 
 hands of General Vial. By his inquisitorial administra- 
 tion, he had rendered himself the object of universal 
 hatred. Indeed, to judge from his conduct, one would 
 suppose that his sole object was to urge the people to 
 rebellion, in the hope that the nobility and the wealthy 
 inhabitants of the city would join him in putting down 
 any such attempt. It was thus, at least, that the people 
 understood his conduct ; for when proclamations were 
 posted up on the walls, inviting them to take up arms, 
 they immediately tore them down, declaring that the 
 police was only urging them to rebellion in order to 
 ruin them. The whole population of the island was 
 indeed united in a determination to obtain from the 
 government a constitution, and only to appeal to arms 
 when all other means should fail. There was no 
 conspiracy formed ; 
 
 ' Un popol non congiura j ognun s'intende 
 Senza accordo verun ; ' 
 
 but the whole nation might be said to have resolved to 
 accomplish this great object. No secret was made of 
 this intention, and great agitation prevailed throughout 
 19
 
 290 THE REVOLUTION OF 1818 IN SICILY. 
 
 the country. The government alone 'was blind to the 
 growing discontent, and still relied on its military force 
 to prevent any manifestation of opinion in the island. 
 At the beginning of the month of January, a proclama- 
 tion was issued from Palermo and circulated through- 
 out the island, in which the Sicilians were called upon 
 to take up arms in the following energetic language : 
 
 * Sicilians, the time for prayers is passed ; pacific protesta- 
 tions, remonstrances, and 'petitions, all have remained ineffec- 
 tual. Ferdinand has treated them all with contempt ; and a 
 people who were born free, and are now loaded with chains and 
 reduced to misery, can no longer delay to claim their legiti- 
 mate rights. To arms, sons of Sicily ! Our united force will 
 be invincible. The break of day on the 12th of January shall 
 he the glorious era of our regeneration and independence. Pa- 
 lermo will receive with transport every Sicilian who shall come 
 armed to sustain the common cause, and establish reformed 
 institutions in conformity with the progress of Europe, and the 
 will of Italy and of Pius IX. Union, order, obedience to chiefs, 
 respect to property. Robbery is declared a crime of high trea- 
 son against the country, and shall be punished as such. AVho- 
 ever may be in want, shall be supplied at the common charge. 
 Heaven will not fail to second our just undertaking. Sici- 
 lians, to arms ! ' 
 
 Even this proclamation was unheeded by the gov- 
 ernment, and the consequence was that, on the day 
 appointed, the long anticipated revolution broke out. 
 The 12th of January had been selected by the people 
 because it was the king's birthday, a day which was 
 generally celebrated by public rejoicings, but which 
 was now to serve as the epoch from which to date a 
 revolution that was to render Ferdinand the object of 
 the contempt and execration, not only of those who had 
 to suffer fr6m his cruelty and tyranny, but of all such
 
 THE REVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 291 
 
 as have one spark of generous feeling left. On the 
 morning of that day, Palermo wore a mournful aspect. 
 The streets were deserted, the shops closed, the troops 
 were confined to their barracks, and one might have 
 fancied that some dire calamity had befallen the city. 
 No agitation was visible except in the neighborhood of 
 the royal palace, which was surrounded by troops. In 
 the course of the day, however, animated groups began 
 to form in the streets. Bands of young men with arms 
 in their hands marched through different parts of the 
 city, encouraging the people, and shouting, Long live 
 the Pope ! Towards evening, the aspect of affairs be- 
 came more menacing. The troops were ordered out, 
 barricades were formed, and a conflict commenced 
 between the populace and the soldiers. But either the 
 troops sympathized with the people, or they were un- 
 willing to fight, for they were repelled at almost every 
 point without much bloodshed. During the night, the 
 people seemed to be sole masters of the city, which 
 was illuminated. The next day, however, was to de- 
 cide the struggle. The troops seemed to have gained 
 courage during the night, and on the morrow a serious 
 battle commenced between the two parties. The 
 people formed a more deliberate plan of attack, and 
 on the 14th, a number of the principal noblemen and 
 citizens of Palermo formed a Committee of Public 
 Defence. This committee was divided into four sec- 
 tions ; one for military affairs, of which Prince Pan- 
 telleria was the head ; another for finances, under the 
 direction of Marquis Budini ; a third, under Marshal 
 Settimo, for the publication of all matters of interest to 
 the people ; and the fourth for provisioning the city,
 
 292 THE REVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 
 
 under the guidance of the Duke of Monteleone. The 
 insurrection was thus organized, and the government, 
 finding no other means of subduing the insurgents, 
 resolved to bombard the city. Tbe bombardment con- 
 sequently commenced without any notice given to the 
 foreign consuls residing at Palermo. So direct a vio- 
 lation of the law of nations could not pass unnoticed ; 
 and on the 19th of January, the foreign consuls met at 
 the house of the French consul, and made a solemn 
 protest against the bombardment. The only effect of 
 this protest was to suspend hostilities for twenty-four 
 hours; and on the 21st, the firing recommenced. 
 
 But weary of carrying on hostilities which seemed to 
 be without effect on the exasperated people, the com- 
 mander of the troops sent to the Committee of Public 
 Defence to ask what were their demands, and on what 
 conditions they would lay down their arms. An en- 
 deavor to ascertain this point would have been more 
 reasonable before attacking the city in so barbarous a 
 manner. The reply of the committee was calm and 
 dignified, and must have proved to the king's brother, 
 the Count of Aquila, who was then with the Neapolitan 
 fleet which was at anchor before Palermo, that the 
 revolution was more serious than the government had 
 apprehended. ' The people,' they replied, ' care little 
 for the horrors of a bombardment, and will lay down 
 their arms when the whole of Sicily, represented in a 
 general parliament, shall have adapted to the wants of 
 the times that constitution which was solemnly con- 
 firmed by its kings, recognized by foreign powers, and 
 which has never been openly taken from the Sicilians.' 
 Meanwhile, however, the king, by a decree published
 
 THE REVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 293 
 
 on the 18th of January, had granted some concessions 
 to his Sicilian subjects. It was provided that a prince 
 of the royal family should reside in the island as Lieu- 
 tenant-General ; separate administrations were granted 
 to Naples and Sicily, and the powers of the Consulta 
 di Stato were increased. These concessions, which, 
 in fact, merely reestablished the government on the 
 same footing as in 1816, were not sufficient to satisfy a 
 people who began to be conscious of their strength. 
 The committee refused them, and once more promised 
 to lay down their arms in the hall of the parliament 
 when it should be assembled. 
 
 Hostilities were accordingly renewed. The palace 
 of the governor was stormed and taken, and the troops 
 were compelled to abandon the city, and take refuge in 
 the castle, or on board the Neapolitan fleet. The 
 castle became now the principal object of the attack of 
 the insurgents. While they were preparing to march 
 against it, the commander received despatches from his 
 government, announcing that, on the 29th of January, 
 a constitution had been granted for the kingdom of the 
 Two Sicilies. This was on the 3d of February. An 
 officer was immediately sent to the President of the 
 General Committee, to inform him of the gracious act 
 of his sovereign. An immense crowd had assembled 
 to hear the official communication of the government 
 read, and it awaited in breathless anxiety the reply of 
 the General Committee. It was as firm as their for- 
 mer replies had been. The people had taken up arms, 
 they said, in order to regain their former constitution, 
 which in 1812 had been remodelled by their parlia- 
 ment ; and they would only suspend hostilities when
 
 294 THE REVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 
 
 the parliament should have been assembled in Palermo. 
 This reply was received with unbounded enthusiasm 
 by the people. On the following day, it was resolved 
 to attack the fort of Castellamarc. On the 8th of Feb- 
 ruary it surrendered, and the tri-colored flag, inscribed 
 with the magic words, Confederazione Italiana, was 
 hoisted on the battlements. Colonel Gross, who com- 
 manded, was permitted to embark with the garrison, 
 thus leaving Palermo entirely in the hands of the 
 insurgents. 
 
 Meanwhile, the rest of Sicily had thrown off the 
 yoke of Neapolitan dominion, and the General Com- 
 mittee of Palermo had proclaimed itself a Provisional 
 Government. These auspicious events were celebrated 
 by a solemn Te Deum, executed at the cathedral ; and 
 on the evening of the 6th, the city was illuminated and 
 the theatres were opened. The writer of La Rigene- 
 razione dwells with delight on the enthusiasm dis- 
 played on this occasion. The splendid duet of Bel- 
 lini's Puritani was performed amidst the rapturous 
 shouts of the assembly. At the last words, 
 
 ' Bello e afifrontar la morte 
 Gridando liberta ! ' 
 
 the people were so transported by the words and the 
 spirited music of their lamented countryman, that they 
 arose and joined in such a chorus as had never before 
 been heard in Palermo. It is difficult for us to con- 
 ceive of the impression produced by such a scene on 
 an Italian assembly, and there is perhaps some reason 
 to distrust the success in any great undertaking of a 
 people which thus wastes its energies. We should
 
 THE REVOLITTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 295 
 
 make due allowance, however, for the excitable tem- 
 perament of a southern race, passionately fond of 
 music, and for whom, owing to the care with which the 
 governments of the different states of the Peninsula 
 guard against the performance of any music which 
 might excite the multitude, the execution of certain 
 pieces has become almost a political event. Yet those 
 who were making so noisy a demonstration, should 
 have been reminded of what M. Michelet once said to a 
 large concourse of young men who had assembled to 
 hear his lecture, and who were applauding him in the 
 most vociferous manner : ' You had better reserve your 
 strength, for you may be called upon to exercise it on 
 some more important occasion than this.' 
 
 Meanwhile, Lord Minto, the English Minister, was en- 
 deavoring to make peace between the King of Naples 
 and his Sicilian subjects. The constitution granted on 
 the 29th of January had been, as we have seen, rejected 
 by the Sicilians, who still maintained that they would 
 only lay down their arms, when they had obtained a 
 separate parliament. The government could then only 
 choose between war and this concession. Owing to the 
 intervention of Lord Minto, the latter course was fol- 
 lowed. The King sanctioned the plan of convening, a 
 Sicilian parliament, and on the 24th of February, the 
 Provisional Government issued a decree convoking the 
 parliament for the 25th of March. Thus all cause of 
 difficulty between the two countries seemed to have 
 vanished. The King of Naples had sanctioned the 
 decree for opening the parliament ; he had agreed to 
 adopt the constitution of 1812, with such modifications 
 as the progress of the age might demand ; one of his
 
 296 THE REVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 
 
 brothci-s, or one of the principal noblemen of Sicily, 
 was to govern the island as Viceroy ; a responsible 
 minister was to reside in Sicily, and money was to be 
 coined in both states. 
 
 The fickle monarch, however, fearing that he had 
 gone too far, issued on the 22d of March a document 
 in which he solemnly protested against the proceedings 
 of the Provisional Government of Sicily. They tended, 
 he said, to the dismemberment of the kingdom ; and 
 from the bearing of the Sicilians, it was evident that 
 they had determined not to come to any understanding 
 with the government. On these grounds, the king 
 considered it his duty to protest against any act which 
 should not be in accordance with the constitution he 
 had granted. He had apparently forgotten that the 
 Sicilians had refused that constitution, or perhaps, with 
 his despotic view of government, he did not understand 
 that a constitution, like any other contract, requires 
 two parties to it. This protest was only laughed at 
 by the Sicilians ; it reached Palermo on the 24th of 
 March, and on the following day, the parliament was 
 solemnly opened. The large church of San Domenico 
 was selected as the place where the ceremonies of the 
 day should take place. Thirty-three years had elapsed 
 since the last parliament had met; and the joy of the 
 people may readily be imagined, when they heard 
 the solemn peal of the bell of San Antonio, which 
 announced to the city that the representatives of the 
 nation had once more assembled. The president of 
 the Provisional Government addressed the assembly, 
 and rendered an account of the manner in which the 
 General Committee had performed the difficult and
 
 THE REVOLITTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 297 
 
 arduous task which it had undertaken. He ended by 
 declaring that the parliament of Sicily was now sol- 
 emnly opened, and then requested the two houses to 
 adjourn to the halls which had been provided for their 
 meetings, there to decide immediately upon the form 
 of the executive. The multitude then retired, but re- 
 mained till a late hour at night in the streets, par- 
 ticipating in the festivities of the occasion. On the 
 following day, the Parliament issued a decree that the 
 executive power should be entrusted to a President of 
 the government, and to six ministers to be named by 
 the President. Ruggiero Settimo was unanimously 
 elected President, and immediately formed a ministry, 
 of which Michele Amari, the distinguished author of 
 the Guerra del Vespro Siciliano,* was a member. 
 The Parliament then entered upon its labors. On the 
 13th of April, the Minister of Foreign Affairs an- 
 nounced to the Parliament, that the King of Naples 
 having sent four plenipotentiaries to represent the Two 
 Sicilies at the meeting of the Italian League which 
 was to take place at Rome, he had come to propose 
 that the Parliament should decree, that Ferdinand of 
 Bourbon had, by this act, forfeited his right to the 
 crown. This proposition was received with the great- 
 est enthusiasm, and the following decree was voted. 
 
 * The Parliament declares : 
 
 ' 1 . Ferdinand of Bourbon and his dynasty are for ever fallen 
 from the throne of Sicily. 
 
 ' 2. Sicily shall govern herself constitutionally, and call to the 
 throne an Italian Prince as soon as she shall have reformed her 
 statuto.''- 
 
 * See the JV. A. Review for April, 1847.
 
 298 THE REVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 
 
 This decree was signed by the Marquis of Torrearsa, 
 President of the Chamber of Commons, by the Duke 
 of Serradefalco, President of the Chamber of Peers, 
 and by Ruggicro Settimo, President of the Kingdom. 
 
 In conformity with this law, the second son of the 
 late king of Sardinia was called to the vacant throne, 
 on the 10th of July, under the name of Albert Ame- 
 deus I., King of Sicily. The crown was refused by 
 this Prince, and the king of Naples formally protested 
 against the act by which the Parliament had declared 
 the throne vacant, and offered it to the Sardinian 
 Prince ; and he immediately ordered an expedition to 
 be equipped against his Sicilian subjects. Conse- 
 quently, on the 29th of August, a body of 14,000 troops 
 were sent to reinforce the garrison of Messina, and the 
 city was formally summoned to surrender. The au- 
 thorities having refused, the place was bombarded, and 
 after a few days, it was compelled to yield. This 
 characteristic act of useless barbarity, which reduced 
 the once flourishing and beautiful city of Messina almost 
 to a heap of ruins, began the series of events which 
 have marked the reestablishment of Neapolitan rule in 
 Sicily. 
 
 It is not our intention to give even a sketch of the 
 bloody struggle by which Naples has once more 
 gained possession of the island. Our purpose is al- 
 ready attained, if we have given our readers any more 
 correct or definite impressions on the subject of this 
 Sicilian revolt tlian they before possessed. That a 
 revolution commenced under so favorable auspices, 
 and which at first inspired us with lively hopes, that 
 the time had at last arrived when justice was to be
 
 THE REVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 299 
 
 done to a nation which had been so long held in bon- 
 dage, that this revolution has ultimately proved un- 
 successful, should surprise no one. The regeneration 
 of Sicily depended on the regeneration of Italy ; left 
 to themselves, the islanders could do nothing. When 
 Rome fell into the hands of such men as Mazzini and 
 Garibaldi, and Charles Albert was defeated in his last 
 heroic struggle with the Austrians, the hopes of Italy 
 were crushed for the present century, perhaps forever. 
 Surely there never was a more favorable moment for 
 that unhappy country to assume her former rank among 
 the nations of the world than after the February Revo- 
 lution in France. Austria was distracted by internal 
 dissensions, and consequently lay open to every attack 
 from without ; England was unwilling, if not unable, 
 to go to war ; and France would unquestionably have 
 sent an army to the rescue of the Italians, had they 
 demanded such aid. And what have the Italians ac- 
 complished ? Although the reply may seem harsh to 
 some ears, we can but answer, nothing. They evinced 
 great enthusiasm, sang patriotic songs, unfurled the 
 Italian banner from one end of the peninsula to the 
 other, took up arms for their defence, and gave proofs 
 of courage and energy on a few occasions. But what 
 has been the result ? When the revolution commenced, 
 Rome had a liberal sovereign, who governed consti- 
 tutionally ; he was hurled from the throne, and has 
 now returned to the Vatican without having promised 
 a single political guaranty to his people ; the Lom- 
 bardo- Venetian kingdom was governed by foreigners, 
 and the foreigner still rules there. The two Sicilies 
 were subjected to the capricious sway of a Spanish
 
 300 THE REVOLUTION OF 1848 IN SICILY. 
 
 Bourbon, and he still governs them. Two years have 
 passed, during which the peninsula has been agitated 
 and impoverished by war ; her commerce has been 
 stopped ; foreign travel, which has been a source of 
 large income to her, has been impeded ; her rulers 
 have been rendered more despotic by her unsuccessful 
 efforts at shaking off their yoke ; the courage of her 
 people has come to be doubted, and less sympathy is 
 felt for her. Her future attempts at regeneration will 
 be distrusted after she has missed such an opportunity 
 as that which has just been afforded, and the world will 
 reproach her in the words of one of her own poets : 
 
 ' Mesta Italia ! . . . . 
 Qual momenlo hai tu perduto ! 
 Quel momento, oh Dio, chi sa 
 Se mai piu ritornera ! 
 Gia sorgea ringiovanita 
 L'avillita tua virtii, 
 Come mai tornar potrai 
 Al languor di servitii.' 
 
 Is it true, then, that Italy has so degenerated that 
 no hope for her remains, that she has fallen never 
 more to rise ? He must be a bold prophet who will 
 dare to answer this question now. Yet, as long as 
 there is a spark of life left in a nation whose past his- 
 tory can almost compensate for its present degradation, 
 we shall not think that all chance is lost of seeing 
 Italy once more prosperous and independent.
 
 SCHMIDT'S HISTORY OF THE ALBIGENSES. 
 
 Histoire et Doctrine de la Secte des Cathares ou Albigeois. 
 Par C. Schmidt, Professeur k la Faculte de Theologie et au 
 Seminaire Protestant de Strasbourg. Paris et Geneve. 1849. 
 2 vols. 8vo. 
 
 Among the heretical sects which menaced the safety 
 of the Church in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, 
 none is more celebrated than that of the Cathari or 
 Albigenses. Its history is deserving of peculiar atten- 
 tion. The curious system professed by its adherents, 
 in which many of the errors of paganism were so 
 strangely blended with what was most pure and spiritual 
 in Christianity, the heroism with which they struggled 
 against their powerful foes, and the cruelties to which 
 the latter subjected them during that melancholy 
 crusade which laid waste one of the richest and most 
 flourishing countries of Europe, give to their history 
 an uncommon interest. The origin of the Cathari has 
 been the subject of much controversy ; by some, they 
 have been regarded as the immediate descendants of 
 the early Manicheans ; others have maintained that
 
 302 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 
 
 they derived their doctrines from some Gnostic sect, or 
 from the Priscillianists and the Paulicians or Bogomiles. 
 Mr. Schmidt ascribes to them a Gnuco-Slavonic origin. 
 According to him, their doctrines originated in Bulgaria 
 at the beginning of the tenth century. The Slavonic 
 population of this country were converted to Chris- 
 tianity so late as the middle of the ninth century by 
 two Greek monks, Methodius and Cyrillus. These mis- 
 sionaries had allowed the neophytes to preserve their 
 national language in the celebration of the rites of the 
 Church. At a later period, this politic conduct, to 
 which the rapid conversion of the inhabitants was 
 mainly to be ascribed, was abandoned, and the use of 
 the Slavonic dialect in public worship was forbidden by 
 the most stringent regulations. The spirit of opposition 
 to which this persecution of the national language 
 that most precious jewel of a nation's inheritance 
 excited among the people, was singularly favorable to 
 the growth of heresy. That doctrines like those of the 
 Cathari, in which the instructions of Christianity were 
 so closely mingled with many pagan superstitions, 
 should have been adopted by the people, is accounted 
 for by the recent date of their conversion from heathen- 
 ism. Their former belief in the existence of an evil 
 spirit, known under the name of Czernebog or Diabol, 
 to whom they rendered a worship equal to that conse- 
 crated to God, might well prepare them for the recep- 
 tion of the new heresy, which was founded on the 
 belief in two supreme spirits, the one good and the 
 other evil. 
 
 It seems plausible, then, that this system was in- 
 vented, at the beginning of the tenth century, in some
 
 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 303 
 
 Graico-Slavonic monastery in Bulgaria, where the 
 monks, exasperated by the persecution to which the 
 national language had been subjected, were disposed to 
 shake off the yoke of the Church which had ordered 
 this great wrong. Abandoned, in the solitude of their 
 monastery, to their own meditations and studies, they 
 may have endeavored to form a religious system for 
 themselves, and have arrived at the conclusion that the 
 wqrld is governed by two principles, and that, in order 
 to become pure (/va^uooc), it is necessary to free the soul 
 from all worldly claims.* If we consider that the tra- 
 ditions of the Manichean heresy had been carefully 
 preserved in the monasteries of the East, and that, 
 
 * Cathari, from the Greek word KaSaoug, seems to have 
 been the original name of the sect. It was afterwards known 
 under different names, according to the different countries in 
 which it appeared. In Italy, its partisans were commonly 
 called Patareni, probably from a place of ill-repute at Milan, 
 where they were in the habit of meeting. In the north of 
 France and in England, they went under the appellation of 
 Publicani. The derivation of this name is somewhat obscure, 
 but according to Ducange and Mosheim, it was a corruption of 
 Pauliciani, a name by which the crusaders called them on 
 their return from the East. In the south of France, where they 
 were most numerous, they were known under the names of* 
 Texiores, from the large number of weavers who adopted their 
 doctrines ; and of Bonshommes or Albigenses, from the terri- 
 tory in which they principally resided. It is by this last name 
 that they are most commonly known. In parts of Italy, they 
 were called Cazari or Gazari, the Greek 5 being pronounced 
 as a z. The pronunciation gave rise to the German word 
 Ketzer, which afterwards became the generic name for all 
 heretics, as the word Cathari had been the generic name of 
 several of the heretical sects of the Middle Ages.
 
 304 Schmidt's histobt of the albigenses. 
 
 consequently, the Greek monks of Bulgaria must have 
 been acquainted with them ; if we remember, too, that 
 the belief that the life of man is a constant struggle 
 with the devil was one of the favorite doctrines of the 
 Middle Ages, it will not appear surprising that their 
 speculations took this form. It was not strange that 
 they should so exaggerate the power of Satan as to 
 consider him at last as the equal of the Deity. But the 
 argument which seems to have the most weight in favor 
 of our author's opinion is, that the translation of the 
 Testament in use among the Cathari of a later period 
 was from the original text commonly used in the 
 Greek Church, and which differed considerably from 
 that adopted by the Latins. 
 
 But whatever may have been the origin of the 
 heresy, it is certain that, about the middle of the tenth 
 century, it began to spread rapidly throughout Europe, 
 and at the end of the twelfth, it had attained its greatest 
 development. When, in 1198, Innocent III. ascended 
 the papal throne, the Cathari were numerous through- 
 out the whole south of Europe, and even in Flanders, 
 and parts of Germany and England ; they had suc- 
 ceeded in establishing, in the midst of an orthodox 
 .society, an heretical church, firmly organized, and 
 daily acquiring new strength by the zeal of proselytes 
 willing to lay down their lives for their faith. 
 
 It was in the south of France that the heresy had the 
 most numerous adherents. There it resisted longer 
 than in any other part of Europe the cruel war which 
 the church waged against it ; and it was not until the 
 spirit of the people of Languedoc was broken, and their 
 nationality merged in that of the French, that the sect
 
 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 305 
 
 was finally extirpated. Many causes combined to favor 
 the growth of heresy in these provinces. The state of 
 civilization, which was more advanced than in the 
 northern- parts of France, and which gave rise to a 
 feeling of jealousy and rivalry not extinguished until 
 the south was subjected to the sway of the French king, 
 the civil and political liberty which the people enjoyed, 
 and the independent tone which the Troubadours as- 
 sumed in their writings, had produced a greater 
 toleration of religious opinions than existed in any 
 other country of Europe. At the time of which we 
 are writing, this toleration was so great that the heretic 
 church was allowed to exist unmolested by the side of 
 its formidable rival ; and it was not unusual to find, in 
 the same family, Catholics and Cathari living at peace 
 with each other. Catholicism had lost many of its ad- 
 here^its by the vices of the clergy and its other profes- 
 sors. Ecclesiastical dignities were monopolized by 
 members of powerful families, who passed their lives 
 in sensual enjoyment. The clergy had become an 
 object of such general contempt, that the saying, * I 
 had rather be a priest than have done this thing,' be- 
 came as proverbial as the former one, ' I had rather be 
 a Jew.' The Troubadours, in sarcastic sirventes^ 
 openly attacked the vices and crimes of the priests and 
 monks. ' There is no crime,' says one of these poets, 
 ' for which absolution may not be obtained. For 
 money, they would give to renegades or usurers that 
 Christian burial which they would refuse to the poor, 
 who have not the means of paying for it. They pass 
 the whole year in luxurious living, buying good fish, 
 20
 
 306 SCHMHU'S HISTORY OF THE ALBIGENSES. 
 
 very white bread, and exquisite wines.' * To this de- 
 plorable condition of the clergy, who, as a chronicler of 
 the time expresses it, ' instead of feeding their flock, 
 thought only of fleecing them, and what was worse, 
 instead of endeavoring to instruct them, set them the 
 example of every vice,' the rapid growth of the sect 
 may be principally ascribed, especially as the pure and 
 virtuous lives of the heretics contrasted so favorably 
 with those of the priests. As the number of the here- 
 tics increased, the tithes in many places were no longer 
 paid. The churches, abandoned by the people, were 
 shut up and fell into ruin. On the eve of the great 
 Christian holidays, at the time when these churches had 
 been wont to be crowded with a pious multitude, assem- 
 bled to witness the pomp and splendor of the Catholic 
 service, the populace collected to perform obscene 
 dances or sing profane songs around the deserted 
 altars. The whole Catholic system seemed to be 
 crumbling into dust. Many of the most influential 
 noblemen of the country lent their aid to the heretics, 
 who, under such protection, were enabled to organize 
 their church. It was divided into several dioceses, the 
 principal of which was at Toulouse, where reigned 
 Count Raymond, who had himself joined the sect. 
 
 No sooner had Innocent III. been called to the papal 
 throne, than his attention was drawn by the Archbishop 
 of Auch to the suffering condition of the Church in 
 southern France. He at once resolved to devote all 
 his energies to the extirpation of the heresy, which, 
 
 Pierre Cardinal, apod Millot, Hist, de Troubadours. III. 
 p. 269.
 
 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 307 
 
 unless speedily counteracted, would destroy for ever 
 the authority of the Romish Church. He regarded it 
 as the sacred mission, which he was called upon to 
 accomplish, not only to root out the heresy, but to 
 exterminate the heretics. He did not look upon them 
 as men whose judgments were erroneous, and who 
 should consequently be converted by the mild applian- 
 ces of persuasion, but rather as spirits of evil, who 
 labored to corrupt mankind and to lead their followers 
 to perdition. No measures seemed too violent which 
 might accomplish his object. For this he did not hesi- 
 tate to devastate that beautiful land, which had been 
 the resort of the most learned and accomplished men 
 of the age ; for this he was willing, on the ruins of 
 that once prosperous country, to establish the Inqui- 
 sition, and to ei'ect the scaffold and the stake. Where 
 peace and civilization had reigned, war, not such sis 
 the civilization of modern times has rendered it, but 
 mediaeval war, with all the horrors which the word 
 implies, a war of extermination and ruin, was waged 
 in the name of the Church. Innocent believed that 
 his first and highest duty was to oppose the stream 
 of heretical opinions before it had overwhelmed the 
 Church which he was appointed to defend. 
 
 But before we speak of the crusade against the un- 
 fortunate Albigenses, it may be proper to present a 
 brief account of their doctrines. The task is not an 
 easy one. All the works written by members of the 
 sect have been lost, and the historian is obliged to 
 have recourse to the writings of their adversaries, in 
 order to obtain any information in respect to their 
 tenets. Hence the confusion and obscurity which pre-
 
 308 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 
 
 vail in regard to them, and wliich have even caused 
 some writers to confound the Cathari with other sects, 
 the Waldenses, for exaipple, whose doctrines 
 were on many points entirely different. Other writers, 
 distrusting the accounts given of them by Catholic 
 authors, have been led to view them far more favora- 
 bly than a close examination of the authorities will 
 warrant. Those whose religious opinions incline them 
 to sympathize with all who, in past ages, have opposed 
 the power of Rome, may naturally be unwilling to 
 place confidence in such authorities ; but we believe 
 these authorities may be consulted with safety. Many 
 of those who undertook the refutation of the doctrines 
 of the Cathari had once themselves belonged to that 
 sect, and must consequently have been acquainted with 
 its doctrines.* There are books on the subject so 
 voluminous, and giving evidence of such erudition and 
 research, that it seems hardly probable that they could 
 have been written to refute doctrines wholly imaginary. 
 A strong argument in favor of the authority of these 
 works is the fact that, whilst they agree with each 
 other in all essential points, their testimony is corrobo- 
 rated by the depositions of the witnesses and the ac- 
 cused before the inquisitorial tribunals of France and 
 Italy. It would, indeed, be desirable to have some 
 work writen by a Catharist, but none such exist, or 
 have come to light; and from the writings of the advcr- 
 
 * Of these, Reinerius Sacchoni, a natiye of Piocenza, is the 
 ooe to whom writers on this subject most frequently refer. Uis 
 work entitled, Summa dt Cutharis et Leonistis has been pub- 
 lished in the fifth volume of the Thesaurus JSTvvus Anecdot. by 
 Martene and Durand.
 
 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 309 
 
 saries of the heresy we collect the following summary 
 of the doctrines professed by its adherents. 
 
 The fundamental principle of the whole system is 
 one which .must form the basis of every spiritual re- 
 ligion ; namely, that God must contain within himself 
 every perfection. In him there can be nothing evil, 
 nor can any thing bad emanate from him. From this, 
 the Cathari infer that eveiy thing created by this God 
 must be perfect as he himself is perfect, and that, con- 
 sequently, as nothing in the visible world is perfect, 
 this world cannot be his work. All created beings 
 are limited in their attributes and full of imperfections. 
 The perfect God cannot, then, have given them life, 
 since, if they proceeded from hfm, it would be impos- 
 sible to account for their not being perfect as himself. 
 If he was not able to make them perfect, he is not 
 all-powerful. If he was able, and did not, he must 
 have been actuated by the fear that perfect creatures 
 might become as powerful as himself, and such a feel- 
 ing cannot be reconciled with the idea of a perfect 
 God. But if the perfect Deity did not create the 
 world, how came it into being ? The answer is, an 
 evil spirit must have created it. On the subject of the 
 existence of two principles, a schism took place in the 
 sect at an early period. The original Cathari main- 
 tainqfl, that the evil spirit is as absolute and eternal 
 as the good; the new party held, that the evil spirit 
 was a created being, who became evil by his own 
 free-will, and that he will ultimately be overcome and 
 destroyed. We shall examine only the first of these 
 systems, as the one more commonly received. The 
 other never made many proselytes, partly because the
 
 310 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 
 
 absolute ditheism of the primitive Cathari was firmly 
 established when the new system was first proposed, 
 and partly because the moral principles, the mode of 
 worship, and the clerical organization were precisely 
 the same for both parties. 
 
 The primitive Cathari founded, as we have said, 
 their belief in two supreme spirits on the supposed 
 impossibility of an imperfect world being the work of 
 a perfect God. They did not fail to back their asser- 
 tion by scriptural quotations. All the passages allud- 
 ing to the opposition between the flesh and the spirit, 
 between God and the world, were brought to bear on 
 their theory. The evil spirit, then, in their system, is 
 the creator of all things visible. He presides over 
 them and maintains them. The invisible world, the 
 world of spirits, is the work of the perfect God. It is 
 inhabited by celestial beings composed of a soul and a 
 spiritual body. The opposition between these two di- 
 vinities and these two creations is eternal. Each of 
 these Gods has his revelation. The Old Testament is 
 the revelation of the evil spirit ; that of the good is 
 to be found in the New Testament. The examples 
 drawn from the two books of the Bible to illustrate 
 their system are too numerous to be cited. The fol- 
 lowing, however, may give an idea of the value of 
 their reasoning on this point. The God of th^ Old 
 Testament, say they, created a man and a woman ; 
 and in the New Testament it is said, ' there is neither 
 male nor female, but ye are all one in Christ Jesus.' 
 Jehovah says: 'I will put enmity between thee and the 
 woman;' the God of the New Testament wishes, on 
 the contrary, to reconcile all things unto himself. The
 
 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 311 
 
 God of the Old Testament curses; the God of the 
 New blesses. The first repents of what he has done; 
 consequently, what he has done is bad; the second 'is 
 the Author of every good and perfect gift.' 
 
 Such were the reasons on which they founded their 
 belief that the Old and New Testaments are two dis- 
 tinct revelations. Moses, in their 6pinion, received his 
 instructions from the spirit of evil, and was himself a 
 juggler and an impostor. He is condemned to eternal 
 suffering for having obeyed the orders of his master, 
 and for having commanded his people to wage war 
 against their enemies. All the other writers of the 
 Old covenant are also reproved, as it is written, ' for as 
 many as are of the work of the law are under the 
 curse.' The consequence to be derived from this 
 absolute distinction between the two revelations was 
 inevitable. As the Old Testament was the work of the 
 Devil, its laws were not to be obeyed. St. Paul him- 
 self has said, *A new covenant has made the first old. 
 Now that which decayeth and waxes old is ready to 
 vanish away.' 
 
 If it is admitted that the universe is administered by 
 two distinct divinities, the one of whom creates what is 
 material, and the other what is spiritual, the question 
 naturally arises, how does it happen that human souls 
 have fallen under the dominion of evil .-' To this the 
 answer is, that the heavenly souls, which as we have 
 seen, were created by the perfect God, were induced 
 to descend upon earth by the machinations of the Evil 
 One. At the same time, the Cathari absolutely deny 
 free-will ; for, say they, if the perfect God had created 
 souls endowed with the liberty of doing good or evil,
 
 312 SCHMIDT^S HISTORY OF THE ALBIGENSES. 
 
 he would himself be the author of evil, which is im- 
 possible. How then are these two doctrines to be 
 reconciled ? By the following myth. The spirit of 
 evil, weary of seeing the perfect God reigning over a 
 holy and happy people, and envying them their fe- 
 licity, penetrated into heaven under the form of an 
 angel of light, and persuaded the heavenly souls to 
 follow him upon earth. Deceived by the form which 
 he had assumed, they consented to follow him and to 
 abandon their God. When the evil spirit had thus ac- 
 quired dominion over these souls, he confined them 
 in earthly bodies. In thus uniting them to matter, he 
 thought to prevent for ever their return to heaven. 
 
 This myth, on which the Cathari depended for solv- 
 ing the difficulty which arose from their negation of 
 free-will and their belief in the fall of these heavenly 
 souls, in fact explains nothing. If the inhabitants of 
 heaven did not possess the liberty of choosing between 
 good and evil, how can it be said that they consented 
 to follow the Demon to the earth? To say that they 
 were deceived by this spirit of darkness, does not solve 
 the difficulty, for their consent to leave their celes- 
 tial abode implies the power of refusing to do so, and 
 consequently the liberty of choice. The weakness of 
 the whole system is strongly exemplified here. If it 
 were true that, originally, all souls were perfect, be- 
 cause created by a perfect God; and if^on the other 
 band, all evil was derived from an evil cause, if the 
 principle of Aristotle, on which the Cathari founded 
 their belief in the existence of two supreme creators, 
 contrariorum contraria sunt principia, were admis- 
 sible to such an extent, the inevitable consequence
 
 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 313 
 
 would be that, between the two creations, tliere could 
 never be any contact. Unable to deny that such a 
 contact really exists, the Cathari were obliged to main- 
 tain that the souls of men were those of fallen angels ; 
 and as they denied their free-will, they were led to im- 
 agine the absurd fable which we have mentioned, the 
 absurdity of which is not a little increased by the fact 
 that it does not at all answer the purpose for which it 
 was intended. 
 
 This view of the xjrigin of the human race naturally 
 led the Cathari to believe in the doctrine of metempsy- 
 chosis. As God takes no part in the creation of 
 evil spirits, all the souls in the world are the same 
 which followed Lucifer from heaven. They have con- 
 sequently passed through many bodies. Some of the 
 adherents of the sect went so far as to state through 
 how many bodies each soul must pass. As these 
 souls, however, were created perfect, it is impossible 
 that they should remain for ever on earth, which the 
 Cathari regarded as the domain of the Devil and the 
 only hell which exists. All will be ultimately rescued 
 from the power of the Evil One ; all will be saved, 
 and enjoy the immortal life for which they were cre- 
 ated. This belief in the redemption of all mankind 
 was so firmly adopted by the sect, that they regarded 
 the doctrine of predestination, as laid down by Augus- 
 tine, as a monstrous error, contrary to all our notions 
 of the goodness and justice of God.* 
 
 * An adherent of the sect is said to have made use of the 
 following language with regard to this doctrine of Augustine : 
 < Quod si teneret ilium Deum, qui de mille hominlbus ab eo 
 factis, unum salvaret et omnes alios damnaret, ipsum derum-
 
 314 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 
 
 In a system which taught the necessity of the sal- 
 vation of all men, the presence of a Saviour would 
 seem to be wholly unnecessary. But the sect attrib- 
 uted a great work to Jesus Christ. After having per- 
 mitted the souls which he had created perfect, to 
 remain many thousand years under the power of the 
 demon in order to expiate their guilt, the perfect God 
 resolved to put a limit to the triumphs of his adversary 
 by sending Jesus Christ upon earth. The Cathari reject- 
 ed the Catholic view of the nature of Christ. They 
 regarded him as a being created by the Father, but 
 superior to all other created beings. The object of his 
 mission on earth was to remind the captive souls which 
 dwelt there of their celestial origin, to teach them their 
 error with regard to the God in whom they had until 
 then believed, to show them the means by which they 
 could return to the true and perfect Deity, and, finally, 
 to found a Church, in which should be received all 
 those who accept his revelations and obey his laws. 
 As the bodies of men are the work of the evil spirit, 
 and as the perfect spirit of Christ could not dwell in 
 such a body, the sect believed that the Saviour had 
 come into the world with the celestial body with which 
 souls are invested in heaven. It was in this spiritual 
 body alone that he became incarnate, and he appeared 
 in the world without having acquired a single material 
 principle. Hence his language to his supposed mother : 
 ' Woman what have I to do with thee ? ' The body in 
 
 peret et dilaceraret unguibus et dentihus tanquam perfidum, et 
 reputabat ipsum esse falsum et perfidum, et spucret in facie m 
 ejus.' Acts of the Inquisitioa of Carcassonne, 1247.
 
 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 315 
 
 which Christ appeared on eartli had the appearance of 
 humanity, but it had no wants. If he ate, or drank, 
 or slept, it was in order not to reveal his true nature 
 to the adversary, from whom he had come to rescue 
 the souls of men. 
 
 With regard to the miracles wrought by Jesus, they 
 applied to them the words of St. Paul, ' The letter 
 killeth, but the spirit giveth life,' and interpreted them 
 all spiritually. The blind, to whom Christ restored 
 their sight, are those blinded by sin; the tomb, from 
 which he called forth Lazarus, is the darkness in which 
 the sinning soul is buried ; the bread which he dis- 
 tributed to the multitude, is the word of life ; the storm 
 which he subdued, is the storm of earthly passions. 
 They reproached the Catholics bitterly for believing 
 that Christ could work visible miracles. 
 
 We have said that, in this system, one of the princi- 
 pal objects of the mission of Christ was to found a 
 Church, by admission into which men are saved. As 
 it might have been objected that there was a contra- 
 diction between maintaining that all men are saved, 
 and at the same time that, in order to be saved, it is 
 necessary to enter the Church, they obviated the diffi- 
 culty by saying that, by the necessity of becoming 
 members of the Catharist Church, they merely implied 
 that the adoption of this faith hastened the moment 
 when the souls of men should once more return to 
 their celestial abode. It might also have been objected, 
 that thousands of men had died before the Catharist 
 doctrines were known. Were they to be eternally 
 miserable ? This objection they answered by refer- 
 ring to their doctrine of the transmigration of souls.
 
 316 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 
 
 The souls of those who hnd died before the coming of 
 Christ passed through different bodies, until, at last, 
 by being received into the Catharist Church, they were 
 reconciled to God. In taking such a view of the sal- 
 vation of mankind, it, will be seen that death could 
 not have the same meaning for all men. To those 
 who have accomplished their expiation by being ad- 
 mitted to the Church, it is the termination of their 
 sufferings in this world ; freed from the shackles of 
 matter, their souls again participate in the glory and 
 happiness for which they were created. For those, 
 on the contrary, who have not accomplished their 
 period of penance, death is but the passage from one 
 body to another. The heavenly souls, which had been 
 seduced by the evil spirit, had abandoned their celes- 
 tial bodies before descending upon earth. When they 
 are again relieved from their bondage, they will take 
 possession of these bodies. This was what the Cathari 
 understood by the resurrection of the body. 
 
 If we look only to the peculiar tenets of the Ca- 
 thari, considered as matter of mere speculation, it 
 seems difficult to understand how so many Protestant 
 writers should have claimed them as brethren, and 
 almost asserted their orthodoxy. Their system, how- 
 ever, was practically established, and, as often hap- 
 pens, the practice was much better than what might be 
 legitimately inferred from the doctrine. We cannot 
 but admire the purity and holiness of the lives of these 
 heretics, and wc wonder at the simple and spiritual 
 form of worship which they established at a time when 
 the Catholic Church was displaying the full magnifi- 
 cence of its ritual, and cumbering the simplicity of
 
 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 317 
 
 Cliristianity with the invocation of saints and the expo- 
 sition of relics and images. 
 
 The whole practical tendency of the system which 
 we have sketched must have been to free men from 
 all attachment to the things of this earth. The world 
 was the work of the spirit of evil. The only way of 
 resisting sin, and effecting a total change of life, was 
 to enter the Church. Those who were admitted to the 
 Church received the sacrament called the consolamen- 
 turn, and were then considered as freed from all im- 
 purity, and they received the name of perfect. After 
 they had attained this desirable condition, they did not 
 pass their lives, as might have been expected, in idle 
 meditation, awaiting the moment when their souls 
 should be permitted to cast off the bodies in which they 
 had been confined. They went from place to place, 
 preaching and giving instruction, and also administer- 
 ing the consolamentum to those whom they deemed 
 worthy. ' We lead,' said one of them, when sum- 
 moned before the tribunal of the Inquisition at Carcas- 
 sonne, ' a hard and wandering life ; we flee from place 
 to place, like sheep in the midst of wolves ; we suffer 
 persecution like the apostles and martyrs, and yet our 
 life is holy and austere. It is passed in abstinence, in 
 prayer, and in labors which nothing can interrupt ; but 
 to us every thing is easy, for we no longer belong to 
 the world.' Their life might well be called austere. 
 The perfect were to take vows of poverty and chastity, 
 and never to resort to arms even in self-defence. 
 They were to avoid taking the life of an animal, for 
 they held that the souls of men sometimes passed into 
 the bodies of animals. They were to abstain from
 
 318 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 
 
 meat, milk, eggs, and cheese, because all animal food 
 is the work of the Devil. Vegetables, fruits, bread, 
 the oil of olives, and wine, furnished their repasts. 
 They believed that no sin was greater than marriage, 
 which they would not distinguish from adultery or 
 concubinage. They founded this doctrine on the 
 words of our Saviour, 'The children of this world 
 marry and are given in marriage ; but they which 
 shall be accounted worthy to obtain that world, and 
 the resurrection from the dead, neither marry nor are 
 given in marriage.' The perfect Cathari were gen-^ 
 erally clothed in black, and carried under their cloak 
 a leathern pouch containing a copy of the New Testa- 
 ment, which they never laid aside. They had peculiar 
 signs by which they recognized each other ; and even 
 the houses in which they lived were marked in such a 
 manner as to be easily discovered by the initiated. 
 When they travelled, they were received every where 
 with the greatest kindness. If they stopped in a vil- 
 lage or a castle, they were waited upon by the inhabi- 
 tants. Even the most powerful noblemen deemed it 
 an honor to serve them at table. 
 
 These honors compensated but poorly, however, for 
 the hardships and privations which they were obliged 
 to undergo, and the number of the perfect was never 
 very large. But the number of believers was very 
 considerable. These who were called credentes were 
 not subjected to the same rigorous discipline as the 
 perfect. They might marry, make war, and eat of 
 whatever food nature afforded, provided they confessed 
 these sins to the perfect. But unless they received the 
 consolamentum before they died, they could not be
 
 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 319 
 
 immediately saved. The consol amentum was therefore 
 frequently administered to the credentes, on their 
 death-bed. This holy rite was not, however, indis- 
 criminately administered to all those who demanded it. 
 An attempt was made first to ascertain whether the 
 dying person demanded it from conviction, or only to 
 make sure of heaven by this means. Thus, we read 
 that it was refused to a woman on the ground that it 
 would be difficult for her to adopt the strict life of the 
 perfect^ in case she recovered. In some instances, for 
 fear that those who had received the rite might again 
 fall into sin if they recovered, the perfect ordered them 
 to allow themselves to die of hunger. Horrible as this 
 may seem, it was but a natural consequence of the 
 whole Catharist system. It is singular, indeed, that 
 suicide should not have become a common occurrence 
 amongst its adherents. It could certainly not be re- 
 garded as a crime to destroy that body, which was the 
 work of the spirit of darkness, and only impeded the 
 progress of the soul. 
 
 From what has already been said, it is evident that, 
 like many reformers of a later day, the Cathari were 
 no less intolerant than their persecutors. Their church 
 was the only true church, out of which there was no 
 salvation ; they were the descendants of the early 
 apostles, the people of God upon earth, for their church 
 alone was composed of none but perfect members. 
 How, indeed, demanded they, could the Catholic 
 church, which counted among its members so many 
 men abandoned to every vice, how could it be the " glo- 
 rious church' of which St. Paul speaks, ' having neither 
 spot nor wrinkle, nor any such thing, but being holy
 
 320 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 
 
 and without blemish ? ' But their church represented 
 the Christian church in its primitive simplicity. They 
 believed, also, and in this respect they seem to have 
 erred less, that their worship was of the same char- 
 acter with that of the early Christians. The more 
 spiritual the mode of worship, the more they believed 
 it to be in harmony with the instructions of the Saviour. 
 To adore God, no particular place seemed to them 
 necessary, no vain and useless ceremonies need be 
 observed. In those places where they enjoyed the 
 most liberty, however, they had erected edifices for 
 the purposes of worship. In them there were no or- 
 naments. A bench or table, covered with a white 
 cloth, took the place of an altar. On this the New 
 Testament was always open at the first chapter of the 
 Gospel according to John. No bells admonished the 
 faithful of the hour of worship, for they regarded the 
 bells which had so long summoned men to what they 
 deemed an idolatrous worship, as an invention of the 
 devil. The forms of worship were as simple as the 
 buildings in which it was celebrated. The service was 
 performed either by a minister of the sect, or by one of 
 the perfect. It commenced by the reading of passages 
 from the New Testament, whicn were afterwards ex- 
 plained according to the doctrines of the sect ; and this 
 was followed by a benediction. Afterwards, the whole 
 assembly joined in the Lord's prayer, the only prayer 
 which they ever used. 
 
 The Cathari only recognized two sacraments, the 
 consolamentum, and the benediction of bread, or com- 
 munion. The first of these, which, as we have seen, 
 was of such vast importance, consisted merely in a
 
 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 321 
 
 minister, or one of the perfect^ laying his hands on the 
 disciple, who wished to be admitted to a full commun- 
 ion with the church, and invoking the blessing of God 
 upon him. It held the place of the Catholic baptism. 
 It was necessary to prepare by abstinence and prayer 
 for this solemn rite. For three days previous to the 
 ceremony, the candidate was not to partake of any 
 food. When he was thus prepared, he was introduced 
 in silence into the sanctuary, where the worship was 
 performed. There, the minister, holding in his hands 
 the Testament, instructed the neophyte in the tenets 
 of the sect, informing him of the austere life which he 
 would have to lead when once admitted into the true 
 Church, warning him at the same time to beware of 
 the Church of Rome, and to persevere unto death in 
 the new faith, by which alone he could attain to im- 
 mortal life. The neophyte then demanded and re- 
 ceived the benediction in the usual form, and the 
 minister handed him the Testament to kiss, and finally 
 placed it on his head, whilst the other perfect who. 
 were present advanced and touched him, thus signify- 
 ing that he was now their brother. The ceremony 
 closed with the usual church service. 
 
 As to the other sacrament of the Albigenses, the 
 benediction or breaking of bread, it took place at first 
 at every meal at which one of the perfect was present. 
 Before sitting down to the table, one of them took 
 some bread, and breaking it, handed it to those who 
 were present, saying, ' May the grace of our Lord 
 be with you.' But when the persecutions against the 
 sect commenced, this practice was limited to the great 
 religious festivals at Easter and Christmas. This cere- 
 21
 
 322 Schmidt's histobt of the albigrnses. 
 
 mony, as may be conjectured from the whole Catharist 
 system, was viewed only as a symbol of the union of 
 the members of the early Christian church. To these 
 reformers, as to many of those of a later day, the 
 bread with which they communed underwent no mys- 
 terious clmnge by the words of the minister. They 
 did not interpret literally the words of the Saviour, 
 * This is my body ; ' but considered the doctrine of 
 transubstantiation as highly blasphemous. * The priests,' 
 said they, ' make gods of paste, and afterwards eat 
 them ! How can the body of Christ, that spiritual body, 
 which had only been manifested in the world as a real 
 body, be contained in a piece of bread, which, like all 
 things material, is the work of the Demon? ' 
 
 In spite of the virtues practised by the Cathari, they 
 did not, any more than the early Christians, escape 
 the calumnies of their enemies. The power they as- 
 cribed to the spirit of evil, and the mystery with which 
 they assembled to worship, led the ignorant people to 
 believe that they adored the Devil, and to imagine tlat 
 their nocturnal meetings were consecrated to every 
 species of wickedness. They were accused of holding 
 the most absurd and licentious doctrines. There does 
 not seem to have been any foundation for such accu- 
 sations, and, indeed, many of the Catholic writers of 
 their day cannot refrain from rendering a homage to 
 their virtues, and even cite their zeal for the propaga- 
 tion of llieir faith as an example to be followed by all 
 Christians. They were, unquestionably, most ardently 
 attached to their church, and willingly encountered 
 every danger to extend its dominion. They com- 
 passed Europe for the purpose of making proselytes.
 
 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 323 
 
 Sometimes they went about openly preaching their 
 doctrines ; at other periods, they would visit, as mer- 
 chants, the great towns, in which annual fairs were 
 held, in the hope of gaining over many souls from the 
 large concourse of men from every country which 
 assembled at these periods. Nor were their efforts 
 unsuccessful. While their preaching was listened to 
 with delight, their simple and austere life deeply im- 
 pressed those whom they encountered in their travels ; 
 and many were induced to imitate their example, that 
 they might share with them the glories of eternal life. 
 
 We 'have said that Innocent III. was no sooner 
 raised to the pontificate than he determined to arrest 
 the progress of this sect, and, if possible, to erase its 
 name from the memory of man. His first step was 
 to direct a letter to the archbishops and bishops of 
 southern France, in which he said, that, owing to the 
 rapid growth of the heresy, he had determined to send 
 Reinerius and Guide, two men of much learning, as 
 his legates to Languedoc, to endeavor to bring back 
 the erring to the true church. To these two legates 
 he gave full powers. Their first duty would be to ex- 
 communicate the heretics, and to confiscate their pos- 
 sessions. If they did not then yield, the legates were 
 to call upon the noblemen of the country to take up 
 arms against them. Reinerius and Guide effected 
 nothing; and in I'^OS, the Pope appointed two Cister- 
 cian monks, Raoul and Pierre de Castelnau, to be 
 his legates. The unlimited authority with which he 
 clothed these emissaries rather retarded than favored 
 his plans ; for the clergy, irritated by the arrogant bear- 
 ing which they assumed, refused to act in concert with
 
 324 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 
 
 them. Arnauld Amalric, Abbot of Citeaux, was joined 
 with them; but fearing tliat even this powerful aux- 
 iliary would not enable them to carry out his views, 
 Innocent ordered them to preach a crusade against the 
 heretics, and he wrote a letter to Philip Augustus, in 
 which he represented to that monarch, that the time 
 had now come for the spiritual and temporal powers to 
 unite for the defence of the church. He declared it 
 to be Philip's duty, as one of the most powerful princes 
 of Christendom, to use his authority against the here- 
 tics, and that if he was unable himself to command an 
 army, he should send his son in his place. Philip was 
 not moved by this language. He was far too prudent to 
 embark in an undertaking, the issue of which seemed 
 then so uncertain. 
 
 Meanwhile, Foulques of Marseilles had been ap- 
 pointed bishop of Toulouse. The youth of this prelate 
 had been passed amidst the licentious pleasures of the 
 Troubadours. He was himself a proficient in the gay 
 science, and by his songs had charmed many a fair 
 lady. He abandoned all this and entered a convent, 
 where, in appearance, he renounced the world ; but in 
 truth, he was still pursuing self-gratification : he had 
 only changed the object of his passion. 'He had de- 
 voted,' says a French writer, ' one half of his life to 
 gallantry, he gave up the other without hesitation to the 
 cause of tyranny, murder, and plunder.'' He proved 
 a powerful auxiliary to the legates in their work of 
 persecution. The legates were also joined by twelve 
 Cistercian monks. Thus prepared, they set out, clad 
 in sumptuous attire, and attended by a splendid retinue, 
 to preach the gospel of the Roman Catholic Church
 
 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 325 
 
 throughout the country. The people murmured. One 
 day, these luxurious apostles chanced to meet Diego 
 d'Azebes, Bishop of Osma, and Dominic, one of his 
 canons, who were just returning from Rome. The 
 Bishop was astonished at such indecent display on the 
 part of Christian missionaries, and seriously remonstra- 
 ted with them. ' It is not thus,' he said, ' but on foot, 
 that you should march against the heretics.' The Cis- 
 tercians followed his advice, and he and his companion 
 became their active coadjutors. 
 
 Thus the Bishop of Osma, and Dominic, whose 
 name was afterwards to acquire a great celebrity, be- 
 gan to preach against the Albigenses. They went to- 
 gether from place to place, every where entering into 
 theological discussions with the heretics, and endeavor- 
 ing to convince them of their errors. However easy 
 it might be for the Catholics to overcome the Cathari 
 in argument, they made no progress in converting 
 them, and still less in expelling thern from the country. 
 In those places where the heretics were most numer- 
 ous, when the Catholic inhabitants were asked why 
 they did not drive them out, they replied, *We cannot; 
 we have grown up with them, and we l^now the purity, 
 the sanctity, of their lives.' The people heaped insults 
 on the missionaries. They threw dirt at the Bishop 
 and at Dominic, and spat upon them. The bishop 
 was so irritated that he called loudly upon the Lord ' to 
 let His hand fall heavily upon the heretics, as chastise- 
 ment alone could open their eyes.' Shortly afterwards 
 he returned to Spain. The monks who had come 
 from Citeaux, and who now began to despair of success, 
 went back to their convent, and Pierre de Castelnau
 
 826 SCHMIDT^S HISTOBY OF THE ALBIGENSES. 
 
 and Dominic were left alone to conduct the work of 
 persecution. 
 
 We liave already said that Raymond, Count of Tou- 
 louse, one of the most powerful noblemen in the south 
 of France, favored the heretics. From an early age 
 he had associated with them, and when he succeeded 
 his father, in 1194, he openly protected them, and al- 
 ways retained a number of the perfect at his court to 
 administer the consolamentum to him in case he should 
 be suddenly taken ill. The Pope endeavored to in-, 
 duce him to banish the Cathari from his dominions ; 
 and when he steadfastly refused, he was solemnly ex- 
 communicated. At the same time, the legate excited 
 tlie neighboring barons to make war on Raymond, who, 
 fearing an invasion of his territory, now promised 
 submission to the Pope. But this reconciliation with 
 Rome did not last long. Pierre de Castelnau publicly 
 upbraided him for his want of faith in not expelling 
 the heretics, and again excommunicated him. The 
 Count lost his temper, replied angrily, and threatened 
 Pierre with death. This imprudent speech was eager- 
 ly caught at by one of the Count's attendants, who 
 pursued the legate, and killed him as he was about to 
 embark in a boat on the Rhone. 
 
 The murder of the papal legate was the signal for 
 the crusade which had been so long meditated. The 
 Pope, exasperated at so daring a violation of his pontifi- 
 cal authority, called upon the princes of Christendom to 
 avenge the desecrated majesty of the Church. He im- 
 mediately ordered the bishops of Provence to preach a 
 crusade against the unhappy Count and his heretic sub- 
 jects, who were worse tlian the infidel Saracens. * And
 
 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 327 
 
 as,' added he in his circular to the bishops, ' according 
 to the holy Fathers, it is not necessary for one to keep 
 his faith with those who do not keep theirs towards 
 God, or who have separated from the communion of 
 the faithful, we, in virtue of our apostolic authority, re- 
 lease from their allegiance all those who think they owe 
 obedience to the Count, and we permit any Catholic 
 to pursue him, and to occupy and take possession of his 
 dominions.' 
 
 The king of France and his barons were also entreat- 
 ed to enter without delay upon this holy war against 
 the excommunicated Count. The abbot Arnauld, and 
 Navarre d'Aix, the new papal legate, went, preaching 
 the crusade throughout the country. To those who 
 should enlist in the sacred cause, Innocent promised 
 the same indulgences as to those who visited the Holy 
 Land. Many were even allowed to change their vow 
 of an expedition against the Saracens for one against the 
 Albigenses. It may readily be conceived how many 
 were glad to avail themselves of so favorable an oppor- 
 tunity of fulfilling a religious duty without making a 
 dangerous voyage across the sea, and thus to expiate a 
 life of guilt and crime. Instead of those distant expe- 
 ditions, in which so many Christians perished by the 
 arm of the infidel, or by famine and sickness, an en- 
 terprise now oflTered itself, in which, to use the words 
 of the priests who exhorted the barons to take up arms, 
 ' the labor was but small, the distance short, and yet 
 the recompense eternal.' It must not be supposed, 
 however, that all those who enlisted were actuated by 
 such pious motives. Many joined the army from the 
 hope of rich plunder ; others, from the north of France,
 
 328 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 
 
 were actuated by a jealousy toward the south, a 
 jealousy so strong that Innocent did not fail to discover 
 it and to avail himself of it. Thus a large army was 
 formed. 
 
 Raymond, to whose wavering and cowardly bearing 
 on this occasion may perhaps be ascribed the success 
 of the crusade, was so alarmed at the approach of this 
 powerful body, that he asked to be reconciled to the 
 Church, and even consented to assume the cross him- 
 self. Innocent, acting according to his favorite maxim, 
 that dissimulation is allowable towards heretics, con- 
 sented to receive the Count once more into the bosom of 
 the Church, rightly thinking that it would be easier for 
 the heretics with their most powerful pro- 
 tector enlisted on his side. He reflected, too, that when 
 the other barons who favored the heresy were reduced, 
 it would be far less difficult to break with Raymond 
 and plunge him in irretrievable ruin. 
 
 It was in the Church of St. Gilles, where the remains 
 of Pierre de Castelnau had been interred, that Ray- 
 mond was admitted to the sacraments of the church. 
 There, in presence of some twenty bishops, he was 
 obliged to take a solemn oath upon the Eucharist and 
 certain holy relics to persecute, by every means in his 
 power, the heretic Albigenses. He was then stripped 
 of his clothes, and a priest having fastened a stole 
 round his neck, led him nine times round the church, 
 scourging him all the while with a whip. After this 
 ceremony, he was admitted to receive absolution. 
 
 Influenced by the example of the Count de Toulouse, 
 his nephew, Raymond Roger, Viscount of Beziers, who 
 was well known as one of the partisans of the sect,
 
 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 329 
 
 ofTered to make his peace with the Church. The Pope 
 refused this, as he thought he might subdue him by 
 other means. The Viscount, finding that no other 
 course was left him, immediately prepared for war. 
 Leaving a large garrison in the town of Beziers, he 
 himself retired to Carcassonne, where he made every 
 effort to impede the progress of the invading army. 
 Meanwhile the crusaders, clad in their heavy armor, 
 but wearing on their breast the holy sign of the cross, 
 and carrying in their hands the pilgrim staff, to show 
 in what a sacred cause they had engaged, were ad- 
 vancing under the command of Arnauld, the Abbot of 
 Citeaux, through the valley of the Ehone, by Lyons, 
 Valence, Montelimart, and Avignon. At Valence, they 
 were met by the Count de Toulouse, who now com- 
 pleted his disgrace by actually taking up arms against 
 his persecuted countymen, whom he unquestionably 
 favored at heart. 
 
 On the twenty-second of July, 1209, the army laid 
 siege to the town of Beziers. Reginald de Montpey- 
 roux, bishop of the city, who joined the crusaders, 
 having been admitted within the walls, assembled the 
 inhabitants in the church of St. Nicaise, and exhorted 
 them to yield before the vengeance of God and the 
 Church should fall upon them. ' Go and tell the legate 
 who sent you,' was their reply, ' that our city is strong 
 and good, that our Lord will not fail to assist us in our 
 present misfortunes, and that, before we would be guilty 
 of the cowardly act which you demand of us, we would 
 eat our own children.' The bishop then returned to 
 the army, full of grief at the ill success of his endeav- 
 ors to save the unhappy inhabitants from their fate.
 
 330 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 
 
 When their bold reply was repeated to Arnauld, he 
 solemnly declared that not one stone in the city should 
 remain on another, and not one life should be spared. 
 This promise was but too strictly adhered to. The 
 town was taken, and when the leaders of the army 
 asked of the bloodthirsty abbot what they should do, 
 as they could not distinguish the heretics and the Cath- 
 olics; 'Kill them all,' was the reply; 'God will know 
 His own!' Thus was perpetrated one of the most 
 horrible massacres recorded in history. Although there 
 exists considerable discrepancy among writers as to the 
 exact number of persons who perished, it is certain 
 that not less than twenty thousand were sacrificed to 
 the blind fury of fanaticism. The town was set on 
 fire and entirely destroyed. 
 
 From BJziers the army proceeded to Carcassonne, 
 where they arrived on the first of August, having laid 
 waste the whole intermediate country. The city was 
 attacked amidst the holy chants of the church. Peter 
 of Arragon, who was the liege lord of Beziers and 
 Carcassonne, had come to endeavor to make peace 
 between his vassal and the crusaders. All he was able 
 to obtain, however, was that the Viscount should be 
 allowed to leave the city with twelve of his followers, 
 provided all the other inhabitants were abandoned to 
 the invaders. When Roger heard this proposition, he 
 exclaimed that he had rather be flayed alive than con- 
 sent to it. ' The legate,' said he, ' shall not lay hand 
 on the least of my followers, for it is I who have brought 
 them into danger.' This noble reply availed him 
 nothing. The city fell into the hands of the merciless 
 enemy; some of the inhabitants succeeded in escaping
 
 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 331 
 
 through a secret passage, and the others were put to 
 the sword. As for the Viscount, he was arrested in 
 spite of a safe conduct which he had obtained, and 
 was held prisoner in the fortress, where he soon after- 
 wards died, as many supposed, from the effects of 
 poison. 
 
 After the taking of Carcassonne, the Abbot of Citeaux 
 assembled the principal noblemen in the army, in order 
 to select one to take charge of the administration of 
 the conquered country, or, as M. Michelet expresses it, 
 in his spirited history of France, * to keep watch in 
 arms over the bodies of the dead, and over the ashes 
 of ruined cities.' The Duke of Burgundy and the 
 Counts of Nevers and St. Pol generously refused the 
 offer which was made them, saying that they had come 
 to fight against the heretics, and not to deprive the Vis- 
 count of Beziers of his dominions. Simon, Count of 
 Montfort, was less scrupulous, and after an affected 
 hesitation, he accepted the office. This man, whose 
 name is connected with the most bloody scenes of the 
 war, had but recently returned from the Holy Land, 
 where he had been distinguished not less for his valor 
 than for his blind submission to the Church, and his 
 rigorous observance of its rites. Without compassion, 
 when his fanaticism was excited, he was yet kind to his 
 followers, and ever considerate of their wants. Many 
 anecdotes are related of the strictness of his morals, 
 and his humanity towards the female prisoners who fell 
 into his hands. These virtues, uncommon as they 
 were in those times, cannot efface the recollection of 
 the misfortunes which he brought upon the flourishing 
 provinces that he was appointed to govern. Unable
 
 332 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 
 
 even to read, he felt no regard for learning and civili- 
 zation. He seemed to have but one thought, that of 
 crushing the heresy. The Church could not have 
 found a man better suited to carry out her views, and 
 in her gratitude she called hira the champion of the 
 cause of God. 
 
 It seemed as if nothing now remained to be done 
 but to convert the remaining heretics. The posses- 
 sions of the Viscount of Beziers, the most powerful 
 protector of the Cathari since Raymond of Toulouse 
 had abandoned their cause, had been wrested from 
 him, and the crusade appeared to be at an end. But 
 success had inflamed the ambition of Simon de Mont- 
 fort, and he resolved to continue the war until all the 
 provinces which the heresy had penetrated should be 
 subjected to his sway. His first act, on taking pos- 
 session of his new dominions, was to order that the 
 tithes should be immediately paid. He also estab- 
 lished new taxes in favor of the Church, and carried 
 measures generally with so high a hand, that the 
 barons, who had come to take part in the war, and 
 were already disgusted with the many scenes of cruelty 
 and bad faith they had witnessed, hastened to return 
 to their own dominions. Simon thus found himself 
 almost entirely abandoned. He was not discouraged, 
 however, and even ventured to demand of the Count 
 of Toulouse certain of his subjects who were suspected 
 of heresy, threatening him with an invasion of his 
 territory if he did not comply. So insolent a message 
 roused Raymond from his apathy. He boldly replied 
 that he did not recognize the authority of Simon, and 
 that he would only obey the mandates of the Pope.
 
 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 333 
 
 Thereupon the legate excommunicated him, and the 
 Count resolved to go to Rome in order to complain to 
 the Pope himself of the manner in which ho had been 
 treated. He arrived at Rome at the beginning of the 
 year 1210, and was graciously received by the Holy 
 Father, who refused, however, to permit him to justify 
 himself in his presence, as the Count had demanded, 
 but referred him to a council to be held at St. Gilles 
 in three months from that time. Raymond, disheart- 
 ened, hastened to leave Rome, ' where,' says a chron- 
 icler, ' he was greatly afraid of falling ill,' and returned 
 to Toulouse. At the appointed time, he appeared 
 before the council of St, Gilles, where he was examined 
 by Arnauld and his associate, the canon Theodosius. 
 He declared that all the conditions of his reconciliation 
 with Rome had been faithfully fulfilled. His mquisi- 
 tors denied this, and reproached him with not having 
 exterminated all the heretics in his dominions. The 
 Count could not restrain his tears, and the sentence 
 of excommunication was solemnly confirmed against 
 him. 
 
 Meanwhile, Simon de Montfort had succeeded in 
 levying a new army, and had commenced attacking 
 the castles in the neighborhood of his dominions, which 
 still served as places of refuge for the heretics, who 
 had been compelled to abandon the cities. One of 
 their principal strongholds was the castle of Minerve, 
 in the vicinity of Narbonne, to which Montfort laid 
 siege. It held out for a long time, but was at last 
 obliged to yield to the superior force of the assailants. 
 One of the articles of the capitulation was, that those 
 who would abjure their heretical opinions should be
 
 334 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 
 
 allowed to leave the fortress unmolested. As some of 
 the crusaders murmured against this stipulation, by 
 which they thought they might be deprived of some of 
 their victims, Arnauld reproved them, saying, ' Be 
 not alarmed ; I know these heretics. Not one will 
 recant.' Arnauld judged rightly. A priest, Guy de 
 Vaux Cemay, was entrusted with the task of conver- 
 sion; but his endeavors were vain. After they had 
 listened for some time to his eloquent exhortations, 
 they replied, ' We do not wish for your faith. We 
 have renounced the Church of Rome. You labor in 
 vain, for neither in life nor in death will we renounce 
 the opinions which we have formed.' Thereupon 
 Count Simon ordered that one hundred and forty of 
 them should be publicly burnt. This horrible death 
 did not damp the ardor of their enthusiasm, and they 
 hastened to throw themselves into the flames. After 
 this, the gates of many other castles were opened to 
 the crusaders by their tenants, who feared a similar 
 fate to that which had befallen the unhappy inhabitants 
 of Minerve. It was now evident that the only course 
 which remained for Raymond was to endeavor to resist 
 by force the invasion with which he was threatened by 
 Simon. 
 
 As yet there had been no open hostilities between 
 these two men. The ambitious leader of the crusaders 
 was only waiting, however, for a pretext to attack the 
 Count, and this was easily found. In the spring of 
 1211, Montfort had taken the castle of Lavaur, one of 
 the strongholds of the heretics. During the siege, 
 Raymond had neglected to furnish the army with pro- 
 visions. This was considered as a sufficient cause of
 
 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 335 
 
 complaint against one who had incurred the displeasure 
 of the Church, and hostilities commenced. After two 
 years of alternate success, the Count of Toulouse was 
 reduced, in 1213, to the possession of the city of Tou- 
 louse and a few of the neighboring towns. He then 
 called upon the king of Arragon to come to his as- 
 sistance. Don Pedro generously responded to this 
 appeal, and his first step was to send deputies to Rome 
 to remonstrate with the Pope against the conduct of 
 Simon of Montfort. They represented to the Pope 
 that, not content with occupying all the places inhabit- 
 ed by heretics, the leaders of the crusade had stretched 
 out their greedy hands towards lands whose inhabitants 
 were not even suspected of heresy ; that they had 
 obstinately refused to hear the justification of the 
 Count, although the latter was ready to submit to every 
 thing, even to exile, provided his dominions might pass 
 into the hands of his son. The Pope listened with 
 seeming interest to their complaints, and ordered his 
 legates to convene a council, in which it should be 
 decided whether the Count might be admitted to justify 
 hinriself. As might easily have been foreseen, this 
 favor was denied to the unfortunate Raymond. The 
 king of Arragon was greatly irritated, and solemnly 
 took the excommunicated prince under his protection. 
 On the r2th of September, 1213, he laid siege to the 
 little town of Muret, situated a few miles only from 
 Toulouse. When Montfort heard of this, he hastened 
 with the few troops he could muster to the rescue of 
 the inhabitants. Such vvsis the ardent confidence in 
 the justice of his cause which upheld him in all his 
 perils, that he did not hesitate with his few followers to
 
 336 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 
 
 attack the large force which Pedro had collected under 
 the walls of Muret. During this battle, which decided 
 the fate of the Albigenses, two French cavaliers had 
 agreed to attack the king himself, and not to assail any 
 less noble opponent. Pedro had doubtless been warned 
 of this plan, for he had exchanged armor with one of 
 his followers. The knights attacked the person who 
 wore the king's armor, but seeing how readily he 
 yielded under their blows, one of them exclaimed, ' It 
 is not the king ; he is a better knight ! ' ' True,' cried 
 Don Pedro, who was standing near; 'it is not he; I 
 am the king!' This bold declaration cost him his life; 
 and the army was so disconcerted by the death of its 
 leader, that Montfort soon succeeded in making him- 
 self master of the field. 
 
 Flushed with this important victory, he hastened on 
 to Toulouse, which did not even attempt resistance. 
 Raymond, despairing of his cause, and counting no 
 longer either on the Pope or the king of France, re- 
 tired with his son to England, where he did homage to 
 the English monarch for the county of Toulouse. He 
 was not wrong in renouncing all hope in Philip Augus- 
 tus ; for no sooner did that prine see that there was 
 not any chance of success for the Count, than he 
 allowed his son Louis to lead an army into the South. 
 It was in company with that prince that Simon de 
 Montfort entered Toulouse, and added the city and 
 county to his former possessions. 
 
 About this time, November, 1215, the celebrated 
 council of Late ran was opened at Rome. It was one 
 of the most imposing the Church had ever witnessed. 
 It had been assembled for the purpose of legislating
 
 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 337 
 
 about the heretics, and of settling definitely the quarrel 
 between Count Eaymond and the Church. It was in 
 vain that the Count himself went to Rome to plead 
 his cause. His enemies were too powerful for him, 
 and the council pronounced against him. Such was 
 the power of the Church, that not a voice was raised 
 against this iniquitous sentence. Not even the king 
 of France, whose interest it certainly was to pi"o- 
 tect a vassal, opposed it. On the contrary, he shortly 
 afterwards allowed Simon to do homage for those prov- 
 inces, ' which had been possessed by Raymond, for- 
 merly Count of Toulouse.' 
 
 The council did not separate without sanctioning a 
 project which, when matured and carried into execution, 
 was to have the most important results for the Romish 
 Church. The Spaniard Dominic, renowned alike for 
 his piety, eloquence, and charity, who, as we have seen, 
 took an active part in the events which occurred during 
 the first years of the persecution of the Cathari, had 
 formed the plan of founding a new religious order. It 
 was while engaged in the conversion of the heretics, 
 that he had been deeply impressed by the influence 
 which the Catharist preachers exercised over the peo- 
 ple, and had thought that the best means of counter- 
 acting this effect was to imitate their example, and to 
 oppose to the poor and apostolic life of the Cathari, the 
 life no less austere of monks devoted to poverty. He 
 thus conceived the plan of establishing a religious order, 
 whose members should go from place to place, preaching 
 the doctrines of the Catholic Church. Before putting this 
 scheme into execution, he proceeded to Rome to com- 
 municate it to the Pope. Innocent at first listened with^ 
 22
 
 338 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 
 
 distrust, and refused to favor the plan. ' But night, 
 that divine counsellor of men,' says a Catholic writer, 
 * brought him better thoughts. Whilst he was sleeping 
 profoundly, it seemed to him that he saw the Church 
 of St. John of Lateran, and Dominic leaning against 
 it and supporting on his shoulders its tottering walls. 
 On the morrow, he sent for the holy man, and or- 
 dered him to return to France to his companions, to 
 agree with them upon the establishment of the order.'* 
 It was not until 1216, however, after the death of Pope 
 Innocent, that the order of Dominican or preaching 
 Friars was fully organized and sanctioned by papal au- 
 thority. At the death of Dominic, in 1221, no less 
 than sixty monasteries of this order existed, and the 
 friars had commenced a zealous and successful warfare 
 against the heretics. 
 
 The severity of the sentence pronounced against 
 Count Raymond had excited the indignation of his for- 
 mer subjects. He resolved to take advantage of this 
 disposition in his favor, and to attempt to regain those 
 dominions of which he had been so unjustly depriv- 
 ed. He landed at Marseilles with his son, where they 
 were both received with acclamations. Many noble- 
 men, who had formerly opposed them, now hastened 
 to take up arms in their cause, and they proceeded in 
 triumph to Toulouse, their capital, which they succeed- 
 ed in rescuing from their enemies. Simon de Montfort 
 hastened with his troops to lay siege to this place ; but 
 the city was so well defended, that he was compelled 
 
 Mimoires pour servir au Rtlablissement de V Ordre dct 
 Freret Precheuri en France^ by the eloqueut Domiuiciui preach- 
 er, Lacordaire.
 
 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 339 
 
 to apply to Philip Augustus for aid. The king sent 
 him some troops, but they had scarcely arrived, when, 
 on the 25th of June, 1218, Montfort was killed by a 
 stone thrown from the ramparts. His death was be- 
 wailed by his followers as if he had been a martyr; 
 and the consternation produced by it was so great, that 
 his son Amaury was obliged to raise the siege, and to 
 retire to Carcassonne, where his father's remains- were 
 solemnly interred. A contemporary poet cites^ the epi- 
 taph placed on his tomb, and eloquently exclaims, ' To 
 him, who can read it aright, this epitaph says that he 
 is a saint and martyr, and that he will rise to eternal 
 life, there to wear a crown and be seated on a throne. 
 And surely it must be so, if, as I have heard, by killing 
 men and shedding blood, ruining souls and consenting 
 to murders, listening to false counsel and lighting hor- 
 rible fires, destroying the barons and degrading the 
 nobility, depriving men of their lands and encouraging 
 violence, strangling women and innocent children, 
 if by such means, a man can in this world gain the 
 kingdom of Christ, then the Count must indeed wear a 
 crown, and shine resplendent in Heaven.'* 
 
 Neither the death of Montfort, nor. that of Eaymond, 
 which occurred in 1223, put an end to the war. It 
 was continued by their successors. A new crusade 
 was preached against Raymond VII., who had succeed- 
 
 * See ' Histoire en Vers de la Croisade contrc les Hcretiques 
 Aloigeois,' published by the late M. Fauriel, in the valuable 
 Collection of Documents relating to the History of France, and 
 which contains one of the most complete accounts of the Cru- 
 sade.
 
 340 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 
 
 cd his father, and Louis VIII. of France headed the 
 army. In 1229, both parties, exhausted by the war, 
 and ardently dcsirinfr to put an end to it, agreed to sign 
 a treaty of peace at Meaux. On the 12th of April* of 
 that year, the Count of Toulouse solemnly swore, in 
 the great church of Notre Dame, in Paris, to observe 
 this treaty, humiliating to him as its stipulations were. 
 By this act, he promised allegiance to the king of 
 Franco, and thus prepared the way for the final de- 
 struction of the independence of the South. 
 
 'Thus terminated,' says Mr. Schmidt, 'the war against the 
 Albigenses. It was productive of the most important conse- 
 quences, as well for Languedoc as for the rest of France. At 
 first, the destruction of the heresy had been not only the pretext, 
 but the real cause, of the war ; soon, however, this ceased to be 
 any thing more than a pretext to obtain objects, in which the 
 interests of the Catholic faith were but little concerned. Politi- 
 cal and national interests were soon blended with those of the 
 Church, and it was not long before they formed the principal 
 motives for continuing the war, although they were still veiled 
 under the name of religion. This war was one between the 
 citizens and knights of the south and the northern barons, who 
 were allied with a fanatic and ambitious clergy. It was a war 
 of violence against right, and, as a poet expresses it, "of 
 fraud against honesty." It prepared the way for the extinction 
 of the nationality peculiar to the south of France, and the amal- 
 gamation of this generous and illustrious population with the 
 rest of the nation. If this result is one in which we shbuld re- 
 joice, the honor of it does not belong to those who effected it 
 from motives of vengeance or hatred, but to tliat Divine Provi- 
 dence, which is able to make the evil actions of men work for 
 good. As far as the primitive object of the crusade, the extir- 
 pation of heresy, is concerned, it is certain that the crusade did 
 not accomplish it. The heresy continued to reign with as much 
 power in Languedoc after the crusade, as when Innocent III.
 
 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 341 
 
 first undertook to destroy it by the force of arms. The indigna- 
 tion to which the horrors committed during the war, the ruin 
 of the prosperity of the country, the destruction of its nation- 
 ality and religious independence, and of the joyous and poetic 
 mode of life in the south, gave rise, lent new strength to the 
 heresy. For the nobility, as well as the otlier classes of society, 
 attributed the misfortunes which befell their country, not merely 
 to the cruelty of the northern French, but still more to the per- 
 fidiousness and fanaticism of the clergy. To the cours d^amour 
 had succeeded the tribunals of the Inquisition ; the gay science 
 had made way for an ardent theological controversy, the prin- 
 cipal argument of which was the stake. Instead of the poets 
 and story-tellers who had travelled through the country, only 
 the gloomy figures of monks could be seen ; and in that land 
 where formerly the glorious exploits of past ages had been sung, 
 nothing was heard but sermons urging the population to relig- 
 ious persecution. Many castles were occupied by the foreign 
 conquerors, whilst the former inmates, excommunicated by the 
 Church, lived either in exile or hidden in the thick foi'est. It is 
 easy to imagine the efiect which such a change must have pro 
 daced on the ardent imagination of the inhabitants of these 
 southern climes. Far from becoming more attached to the 
 Church, they conceived against it an implacable hatred. This 
 feeling bursts forth with energy in the lays of the last Provencal 
 poets, who complain bitterly that all their pleasures have faded 
 away. They no longer sing either love or chivalry. They only 
 write to lament the decline of their native country, and to ac- 
 cuse the French, the clergy, and above all, the Pope. These lays, 
 which breathe only sadness or revenge, were eagerly listened to 
 ty a people so easily moved by the power of poetry; they kept 
 up that feeling of enmity which made them regard the French of 
 the north as oppressors, and by fortifying them in their resist- 
 ance to a Church, which, in order to gain them over to her faith, 
 had had recourse to such barbarous means, confirmed them in 
 their attachment to the Catharist sect.' 
 
 Owing to these circumstances, it was not till the mid- 
 dle of the fourteenth century that the heresy entirely
 
 342 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 
 
 disappeared. The persecutions of the loquisition were 
 at last successful. The temporal and spiritual power 
 were closely associated in the work of destruction. 
 The archives of the tribunals of the Inquisition estab- 
 lished in Languedoc bear witness to the zeal with 
 which this odious pereccution was carried on. Aban- 
 doned by the powerful barons, which had so long 
 protected them, and weakened in numbers, the Ca- 
 thari ceased to resist, and gradually renounced their 
 faith. But the spirit which had so long sustained them 
 in opposition was not crushed. Other heretics arose in 
 their place; and when, after several centuries, owing 
 to the progress of civilization, and, above all, to the 
 invention of printing, an irretrievable schism took place 
 in the Church, it was in those cities, in those parts of 
 the country where the Cathari had been the most nu- 
 merous, that Protestant communities were most firmly 
 established. It is, indeed, a spiritual affinity between 
 the faith of the Cathari and that of Protestants which 
 makes us sympathize with the former, rather than any 
 positive resemblance between their doctrines and those 
 of the modern Reformers. Viewed as a theological 
 or a philosophical system, the Catharist heresy would 
 be entitled to little respect; but the spirit of those who, 
 in adopting it, opposed the power of Rome and endeav- 
 ored to reform its abuses, must strongly excite our ad- 
 miration. The system itself is so defective, it gives 
 such erroneous views of man and of his relations to 
 his Creator, it is so strongly imbued with errors derived 
 from paganism, that it could only have been so widely 
 spread as it was in a rude age and among an illiterate 
 people. And it is doubtful whether it would have found
 
 Schmidt's history of the albigenses. 343 
 
 so many believers even in such an age, had it not been 
 for the many circumstances which combined to favor 
 its growth. The contrast which the pure lives of the 
 Cathari offered to those of the Catholic clergy, the 
 comparative simplicity of their worship, and above all, 
 the violent measures to which the Church resorted in 
 in order to extirpate the heresy, could not have failed 
 to gain many over to their cause. Religious liberty, 
 the liberty of the. human mind to speculate on the 
 highest subjects offered to its meditation, and to con- 
 clude according to the degree of light which has been 
 imparted to it, cannot be destroyed by such means as 
 the Catholic Church adopted against the Cathari. The 
 more it is persecuted, the more powerful it becomes. 
 Those who proclaim its sacred principles before the 
 time marked by Providence for their reception may 
 perish, but from their ashes will arise others, who in 
 their turn will strive for this noble cause, and ultimate- 
 ly triumph. Thus it was with the Cathari. They, like 
 many other of the heretical sects of the Middle Ages, 
 were but the predecessors of more fortunate reform- 
 ers, who, coming at a more enlightened period of the 
 world's history, were enabled to establish on an im- 
 perishable basis the religious freedom of mankind.
 
 THIERS'S HISTORY OF THE CONSULATE AND THE 
 EMPIRE.* 
 
 This work has not yet been noticed in our pages, as 
 we hoped its publication would be completed, and that 
 we might view it as a whole. But six years have now 
 elapsed since the first volume appeared, and although 
 the tenth volume is now before us, there seems to be 
 but little prospect of its speedy completion. Wc must 
 therefore content ourselves with what has been done ; 
 and, indeed, the field seems sufficiently large. The 
 volumes published carry the story from the Revolution 
 of the 18th of Brumaire to the German campaign of 
 the year 1809. From a view of the manner in which 
 this period has been treated, we may infer the spirit in 
 which the whole work will be conceived and exe- 
 cuted. 
 
 But before we enter into any account of the book 
 itself, we would give a brief sketch of the life and la- 
 bors of M. Thiers. Few men have played a more 
 conspicuous and influential part in France during the 
 last twenty-five years, though the system which he so 
 
 * Histoire du Consulat ct de V Empire. Par M. Thiers. Paris : 
 10 vols. 8vo. 1845-1851.
 
 THIERS'S HISTORY OF THE CONSULATE. 345 
 
 strenuously labored to establish there has been over- 
 turned. He has been judged, sometimes with all the 
 partiality with which political partisans are apt to re- 
 gard their leaders, sometimes with all the severity of 
 bitter and implacable opponents ; but no one at all ac- 
 quainted with the history of the latter years of the 
 Restoration and the reign of Louis Philippe, can deny 
 that he is endowed with remarkable talents, and that, 
 whether he be regarded as a writer, a statesman, or a 
 debater, he has but few equals in France. 
 
 Louis Adolphe Thiers was born on the 15th of 
 April, 1797, at Marseilles, of an humble but respecta- 
 ble family, which, during the Revolution, had been de- 
 prived of the small fortune they had amassed in trade. 
 He was fortunate enough to obtain a fellowship in the 
 college of his native town, and was thus enabled to 
 acquire an education, which, had he depended on the 
 resources of his family alone, he probably could not 
 have attained. It was not long before he justified the 
 favor which the government had shown him, by plac- 
 ing himself at the head of the different classes through 
 which he passed. Napoleon had hoped, l)y founding 
 these fellowships in the different colleges in his empire, 
 to be able to educate young men, who, at a future peri- 
 od, might become the defenders of the despotic though 
 glorious system he was so anxious to establish perma- 
 nently in France. But even before Thiers had finished 
 his college studies, the empire had vanished, and Louis 
 XVIII. was restored to the throne of his ancestors. 
 Finding that he could no longer look to government 
 for any assistance, Thiers immediately left college.
 
 346 THIERS'S HISTORY OF THE 
 
 Obliged to choose a profession as a means of obtaining 
 a livelihood, after considerable hesitation, he entered his 
 name at the Law School of Aix. It was there that he 
 formed an intimacy with M. Mignct, the distinguished 
 secretary of the Academy of the Moral and Political 
 Sciences, which has since ripened into a friendship, 
 which neither the multifarious occupations of active 
 political life, nor literary emulation, have ever for a 
 moment impaired. 
 
 While at Aix, Thiers devoted himself with zeal to 
 the study of his profession, but without neglecting 
 mathematical and metaphysical pursuits, for which he 
 seems to have acquired a fondness at college. An op- 
 portunity of availing himself of these studies was soon 
 afforded. The city of Aix, desirous, like most of the 
 provincial cities of France, of imitating Paris in litera- 
 ry matters as well as in every thing else, had an acad- 
 emy which annually proposed prize questions. In 
 1818, the subject given out was a sketch of Vauvcn- 
 argues, an eminent writer on moral philosophy, who 
 was bom at Aix. Thiers resolved to try his fortune, 
 and his paper was read by the Academy, and received 
 general approbation. Unfortunately for the author, 
 his name was discovered before the prize was awarded; 
 and the judges, who disliked him on account of his lib- 
 eral principles, resolved not to grant any prize, but to 
 give out the same question for the following year. 
 Thiers was not thus to be defeated. With the facility 
 which has always distinguished him, he immediately 
 wrote another paper, treating the subject in an entirely 
 different manner ; and in order to make sure of the 
 victory, he sent his manuscript to a friend in Paris,
 
 CONSULATE AND THE EMPIRE. 347 
 
 who forwarded it to the Academy through the post- 
 ofiice. The result of this little stratagem was what 
 might have been expected. The provincial Academy 
 was so flattered by the honor conferred on it by the 
 metropolis, that it unhesitatingly awarded the first 
 prize to this essay, at the same time granting the sec- 
 ond to Thiers's paper of the preceding year. Their 
 surprise and mortification, on finding that both papers 
 were by the same hand, may readily be imagined. 
 This success gave Thiers considerable reputation ; but 
 he soon found that a provincial town was too small a 
 sphere of action for him. The practice of the law, 
 with all its drudgery, was ill calculated to satisfy his 
 ambition. He resolved to go to Paris ; and in the sum- 
 mer of 1821, he and his friend Mignet left Aix and di- 
 rected their course towards the capital. 
 
 The moment for visiting Paris could not have been 
 better chosen. Six years only had elapsed since the 
 Restoration of the Bourbons, and already, by the faults 
 which they had committed, they had alienated the 
 people from them. The opposition party was daily 
 gaining ground, and was threatening the government 
 with ruin. Manuel, the ardent leader of this party, 
 was devoting himself in the Chamber to the defence of 
 liberal principles. Beranger, perhaps the greatest, and 
 certainly the most popular of the French poets of the 
 age, was ai'ousing the nation from its apathy by those 
 patriotic songs which recalled so vividly the glories of 
 the Empire, and inspired feelings of hatred and re- 
 venge against a government which owed its existence 
 rather to foreign bayonets than to the will of the peo- 
 ple. Lafitte, whose name is so closely connected with
 
 348 THIEES'S HISTORY OF THE 
 
 the government established in 1830, had already begun 
 to collect around him the discontented of all parties. 
 The two newspapers which then represented the libe- 
 ral party were the Courrier Frangais and the ConstU 
 tutionnel. Mignet soon became the principal contribu- 
 tor to the former, and Thiers, through the agency of 
 Manuel, was intrusted with the political control of the 
 Constitutionnel. He soon attracted public attention by 
 the able and spirited articles which he wrote for that 
 paper, and by the eloquent manner in which he de- 
 fended, in the political salons of the day, the princi- 
 ples of his party. He did not, however, confine 
 himself exclusively to politics. Like most young men 
 who have not yet entered on the regular occupations 
 and duties of life, he seemed as yet undecided in re- 
 spect to the choice of a profession for life. In 1822, 
 we find, in the same paper in which he wrote his essays 
 on the leading political questions of the times, a series 
 of articles on art, for which he has ever entertained, 
 even amidst the cares of office and the harassing 
 duties of public life, a fond love and a discrimi- 
 nating taste. In 1823, he published an account of a 
 journey which he took in the south of France ; and al- 
 though the principal object of this work was to give a 
 sketch of the political condition of that part of the 
 country, it contains many passages in which the beau- 
 ties of nature are delineated in the most striking colors. 
 While engaged in the turbulent political discussions 
 of the day, Thiers had necessarily frequent occasion to 
 refer to the speeches and writings of the leading men 
 of the Revolution of 1789. He identified himself 
 with them, and imbibed their spirit. He believed, that,
 
 CONSULATE AND THE EMPIRE. 349 
 
 in the present degraded position of France, all her 
 hopes must rest on those who should undertake to carry 
 out the principles proclaimed during that memorable 
 crisis. One of the principal objects of the despotic 
 government of Napoleon had seemed to be, to blot out 
 from the memory of the nation the recollection of the 
 source whence it sprang ; and to a government like 
 that of the Restoration, a revolution which had abol- 
 ished the feudal rights of the aristocracy, and had pro- 
 claimed the equality of all Frenchmen, seemed the 
 incarnation of all that was monstrous. Thiers endeav- 
 ored to create an interest in the men who had endeav- 
 ored to regenerate France by violent and revolutionary 
 means ; and for this purpose, he gave his countrymen 
 a history of the generation from which they were de- 
 scended. He succeeded but too well. His history of 
 the Revolution soon made the author's name known 
 throughout France. In a short time, it was in the 
 hands of every intelligent Frenchman, and contributed 
 not a little to discredit the administration of the Bour- 
 bons, and to prepare the public mind for the Revolution 
 of 1830. In perusing this work, the reader should 
 always bear in mind the object which the author had in 
 view in writing it. It should be regarded rather as a 
 . political manifesto than as a history. Although por- 
 tions of it give evidence of the author's powers as an 
 historical writer, and some of the descriptive passages 
 are very successfully executed, the reader easily per- 
 ceives the work to be that of a politician, who is writ- 
 ing a defence of the Revolution and its principles. It 
 is evident that the author's intention is, not so much to 
 describe the different phases of that revolution, as to
 
 350 THIERS'S HISTORY OF THE 
 
 arouse his countrymen, and to induce them tb found a 
 government which should be based on the principles of 
 lil)erty and equality proclaimed in 1792. A work of 
 this sort is not written for posterity, and it is not de- 
 tracting from the author's merits to say, that it will 
 probably be but little read at a future period. The 
 work of Mignet, on the same subject, though it is also 
 marked by too much partiality, will probably liave 
 more lasting value. 
 
 But whatever may now be thought of the history of 
 the Revolution as an historical composition, its success 
 at the time of its publication was unbounded. It at 
 once placed Thiers at the head of the opposition, or 
 rather of the revolutionary fraction of that party ; 
 which was at that time divided into two distinct classes. 
 The one of which Thiers became the leader looked 
 forward with impatience to the moment of the downfall 
 of the reigning dynasty, as the only hope of France ; 
 the other, which received the name of the Doc- 
 trinaires^ and which counted in its ranks such men as 
 Guizot, Villemain, Cousin, and Remusat, believed that 
 a durable constitutional monarchy might be founded 
 with the Bourbons. Both these fractions were, how- 
 ever, opposed to the course pursued by government ; 
 they differed only as to the manner of their opposition. 
 Such was the state of feeling in the liberal party when, 
 in August, 1829, M. de Polignac was called to the 
 ministry, and it became evident at once that the admin- 
 istration was determined to resist to the utmost the just 
 claims of the nation. It was then that Thiers, Mignet, 
 and Armand Carrel decided to establish a paper called 
 the National, which should protest against the reaction*
 
 CONSULATE AND THE EMPIRE. 351 
 
 ary conduct of the ministry, and defend to the last the 
 constitutional charter. 
 
 In this journal, Thiers treated with remarkable ability 
 the principal constitutional questions of the day. The 
 true theory of a limited monarchy, the form of govern- 
 ment to which he has always been attached, and his 
 confidence in which was not shaken even by the events 
 of 1848, is admirably developed in the articles pub- 
 lished by him at that time. As a specimen of his 
 views on this subject, we translate the following ex- 
 tracts from an article entitled ' The King reigns, hut 
 does not govern.^ 
 
 ' We have again become involved in a discussion with the mftiis- 
 terial journalists concerning the form of our monarchy and the 
 limits of the royal and parliamentary power. They make an ad- 
 mission of which we hasten to take notice, namely, that in Eng- 
 land, the ministry is always chosen from the majority in Parlia- 
 ment, and receives its power from parliament alone ; that, in fact, 
 parliament chooses the ministers. They add, that it is because 
 parliament has the initiative in law-making in England, and be- 
 cause this initiative and the choice of ministers are two rights 
 that necessarily go together, that the English monarchy is not 
 the same as the French ; and thus they avoid the consequences of 
 their admission. It remains then for us to show, that with re- 
 gard to royal and parliamentary rights, there is no difference be- 
 tween the two countries. This is what we most sincerely believe. 
 We think that there is but one possible form of representative 
 monarchy, and that the differences between England and France 
 consist merely in the social condition of the two countries, that of 
 the one being still feudal and aristocratic, that of the other revo- 
 lutionized. In both, the rights of king and parliament are abso- 
 lutely the same, because they cannot vary ; because representative 
 monarchy, whether established in Spain, Italy, Germany, or Rus- 
 sia, would be in all these countries the same. It is a system of 
 which all the different parts are necessary, and cannot vary.
 
 352 THIERS'S HISTORY OF THE 
 
 'Tlic king does not administer, does not govern, but reigns. 
 Ministers administer and govern, nor can they be compelled to 
 retain a single subaltern against their will ; whereas tlic king 
 may often have a minister against his will, because, we repeat it 
 he docs not administer, he does not govern, he reigns. To reign 
 is a noble privilege, one which it is difficult to make some 
 princes understand, but which the sovereigns of England under- 
 stand perfectly. An English king is the first gentleman in his 
 kingdom. lie hunts, has a taste for horses, is fond of travelling, 
 and visits the continent, so long as he is Prince of ^Vales He is 
 even a philosopher, when it is the fashion for the nobility to be 
 philosophers. He has English pride and English ambition devel- 
 oped to the highest degree. He wishes the triumph of the Eng- 
 glish fl vg. His heart is the happiest in England after Aboukir 
 and Trafalgar. In a word, he is the highest expression of the 
 EugHsli character. The English nation respect and love in him 
 their truest representative. They enrich him, and wish that he 
 should live in a style becoming his position and the wealth of the 
 nation. The king has the feelings of a gentleman; he has his 
 preferences, his antipathies. He has the veto power ; he may 
 di-ssolve a parliament, or refuse a bill, when things seem to be too 
 much opposed to his views. But he does not govern ; he lets the 
 country govern itself. He rarely follows his inclinations in the 
 choice of his ministers ; he bikes Fox, whom he does not like, 
 and Pitt, whom he does ; he takes Canning, whom he does not 
 dismiss, and who dies in office. Chatham, having left the minis- 
 try, was still, in the opinion of the Commons, the man necessary 
 for the times. The king sends Mr. Fox to a.sk him to take office. 
 " Go and tell the king," replies he, " that when he shall send me 
 a messenger more worthy of himself and of me, I will answer so 
 honorable a message." This more worthy messenger is sent, and 
 Chatham becomes the founder of a dynasty of ministers dis- 
 agreeable to the king and rulers of the kingdom for more than 
 half a century. To reign, then, is not to govern ; it is to be 
 the truest, the highest, and the most respected representative 
 of the country. The king is the country under the form of a 
 man.'
 
 CONSULATE AND THE EMPIRE. 353 
 
 Meanwhile, government was pursuing its arbitrary 
 course, and at last crowned all its follies by the ordi- 
 nances of July, 1830, which cost the Bourbons their 
 throne. Thiers took an active part in the events which 
 ended by placing Louis Philippe on the throne, and 
 the young politician was at once admitted into the 
 councils of government. The first office he held was 
 that of Councillor of State in the financial department. 
 Shortly after he was elected a member of the Cham- 
 ber of Deputies by his native city. In -1832, at the 
 death of Casimir Perier, he. became Minister of the 
 Interior. It was during his ministry that the Duchess 
 of Beny undertook her celebrated expedition in La 
 Vendee. Much and well-merited blame has attached 
 to M. Thiers for his conduct at that time. The arrest 
 of the Duchess was undoubtedly an event which all 
 the friends of the new government considered as most 
 fortunate ; for with the failure of her undertaking, the 
 hopes of the Legitimist party were crushed until the 
 unexpected events of 1848 revived them ; yet it is 
 more than questionable whether the means resorted to 
 by the minister, in order to accomplish so desirable an 
 objectj were such as can be justified. Government be- 
 ing extremely anxious to discover the place of conceal- 
 ment of the Duchess, M. Thiers one day received an 
 anonymous note, requesting an interview in a deserted 
 alley of the Champs Elysees, as the writer had im- 
 portant secrets to reveal to him. After some hesita- 
 tion, M. Thiers went to the rendezvous, and there 
 found a man of the name of Deutz, who offered, on 
 condition of being well rewarded, to assist the govern- 
 ment in arresting the Princess. This man had been in 
 23
 
 854 THIERS^S BISTORT OF THE 
 
 the service of the Legitimists, and possessed all their 
 secrets. M. Thiers accepted his offer ; and a few 
 days afterwards, Deutz, accompanied by a police offi- 
 cer, left, Paris for Nantes, where the Duchess then was. 
 He there sought an interview with her, during which he 
 again assured her of his devotion to her cause. Hardly 
 had he left the house, however, when it was surrounded 
 by soldiers; the unfortunate Duchess was arrested, and 
 Deutz was rewarded for his base treachery. It would 
 be transgressing our limits to enter into a discussion of 
 the question, how far a government is justified in taking 
 advantage of the crimes of a subject in order to bene- 
 fit the state ; still we cannot but think, that the govern- 
 ment which has recourse to such means must always 
 lose something of its dignity, and lower itself in the 
 estimation of the nation. 
 
 We cannot follow M. Thiers through all the varied 
 phases of his political life ; it would be to write a his- 
 tory of Louis Philippe's reign. Up to the close of 
 1840, M, Thiers was several times minister, and ren- 
 dered eminent services to his country. The last cabi- 
 net of which he was a member was that of the 1st of 
 March, 1840, during which France was nearly involved 
 in a European war on the Oriental question, one of 
 the most interesting diplomatic problems that had arisen 
 for many years. This is not the place to examine 
 the political course pursued by M. Thiers at that time. 
 We would only say that whatever may be thought of 
 its prudence, it was a patriotic one. The king at first 
 favored it, thinking thereby to acquire popularity ; but 
 finding that it would necessarily lead to a war with the 
 great powers of Europe, he abandoned his minister at
 
 CONSULATE AND THE EMPIRE. 355 
 
 the eve of the opening of the Chambers, and called to 
 his councils M. Guizot. M. Thiers at once passed to 
 the ranks of the opposition, in which he continued 
 until the downfall of the king, though occasionally de- 
 fending govefnment measures, such as the regency bill, 
 and the bill for fortifying Paris, when he considered 
 them as important to the maintenance of the throne he 
 had assisted in establishing. 
 
 It was a fortunate thing for the reputation of Thiers 
 as an historian, that he should have been obliged to 
 leave the ministry ; for he thus acquired leisure to de^ 
 vote himself to the composition of the great work of 
 which we are now to speak. The first volume of the 
 history of the Consulate and the Empire was published 
 in 18l5 ; and the author has found time to publish nine 
 other volumes, in spite of the active part he has taken 
 in the debates of the legislative bodies of which he has 
 been a member. This prodigious activity of mind, and 
 the facility with which he passes from one subject to 
 another, are among his most remarkable qualities. At 
 onli time, he may be found defending at the tribune the 
 political doctrines of his party ; at another maintaining, 
 as in his work on property, the fundamental principles 
 on which society rests. Yet he finds time to collect 
 the materials for his great work, and to continue its 
 composition, not only examining attentively the docu- 
 ments contained in the archives, and innumerable pri- 
 vate memoirs, and questioning such of the actors in the 
 memorable scenes which he describes as still survive', 
 but visiting the great battle-fields, Marengo, Ulm, Aus^- 
 terlitz, Jena, Wagram, etc., of which he has given such 
 admirable and glowing descriptions. From his position^
 
 866 THIERS'S HISTORY OF THE 
 
 both as an eminent politician and a distinguished 
 author, he has, of course, had great facilities for the 
 preparation of his work. Unpublished memoirs, fam- 
 ily papers, public documents, all have been alike ac- 
 cessible to him. There are but few published works of 
 high authority on the period which he has treated. 
 Except the Memoirs of Napoleon himself, which of 
 course throw much light on his administration and his 
 campaigns, and those of General Jomini, the Dukes of 
 Gaeto, Rovigo, and Albufera, and the interesting work 
 of Thibaudeau on the Consulate, there has been but 
 little published which could be of much use to any one 
 writing such a work as that of Thiers. But the manu- 
 script memoirs of Jourdan, Macdonald, Davoust, Cara- 
 baceres, etc., have been of inestimable value to him. 
 
 There is, perhaps, another source, more available 
 than any of those mentioned ; we mean the correspon- 
 dence of Napoleon with his generals and ministers, or 
 diplomatic agents. Five or six marshals usually com- 
 manded an army under his orders, and of course were 
 constantly writing to him to inform him of their move- 
 ments, to announce an encounter with the enemy, or to 
 give an account of the condition and disposition of the 
 troops under their command. Napoleon, in his an- 
 swers, expressed his wishes and plans, his opinions, his 
 approbation or disapprobation of what had been done. 
 The same sort of relations existed between the Em- 
 peror and the other branches of the administration. 
 Napoleon, indeed, was so much in the habit of giving 
 his instructions in writing, that it was only when in 
 presence of the enemy, and when there was danger of 
 any written communication being intercepted, that he
 
 CONSULATE AND THE EMPIRE. 357 
 
 gave them verbally. Even when in Paris, he commu- 
 nicated almost entirely in writing with his ministers. 
 He dictated, with astonishing rapidity, sometimes a 
 hundred letters a day, on the most varied topics. As 
 an instance of this, when at Osterode, in Poland, in 
 1807, he wrote on the same day to the Minister of 
 Police at Paris, concerning those persons whom he was 
 to watch with special care ; to Cambaceres, about the 
 affairs of the Council of State ; to Joseph, King of 
 Naples, and to Louis, King of Holland, on the art of 
 governing new subjects ; to Madame Campan, on fe- 
 male education ; Murat, on the organization of the cav- 
 alry ; and to M. BerthoUet, for whom he had much 
 regard, for the purpose of sending him fifteen thou- 
 sand francs to enable him to settle his private affairs. 
 There exist in Paris no less than forty thousand letters 
 or oi'ders signed by him. All these documents were 
 kept among his private papers. In 1814, the Bour- 
 bons, not knowing what to do with this mass of papers, 
 had them transported to the Louvre, where they still 
 remain. It may readily be imagined what interest they 
 must possess for the historian of that period, and what 
 additional value they must lend to his writings. 
 
 Yet, in the hands of an ordinary writer, even such 
 materials would be of little value. Without a master- 
 mind to select and arrange them, to distinguish what is 
 important from the unimportant, to ascertain when 
 credit is to be given to them, or when they are to be 
 rejected as untrustworthy, they would form but an un- 
 digested and confused mass devoid of interest. In 
 order to be made generally useful, they could not have 
 fallen into better hands than those of Thiers. He has
 
 358 THIERS'S HISTORY OF THE 
 
 become penetrated with the spirit of all these docu- 
 ments, rather than with their details ; he never says 
 more than he ought on any subject, and the abundance 
 of his materials never tempts him to overstep the limits 
 of history. The work, indeed, is composed with all 
 the severity which the importance and grandeur of the 
 subject demand. The manner in which the different 
 parts are arranged is admirable. Each book bears the 
 title of the principal event or subject of which it treats, 
 and around it arc grouped with infinite art the minor 
 events or circumstances which have a natural bearing 
 on it. This arrangement is so simple, that, at first, the 
 reader is not aware how much it contributes to the 
 pleasure which the book affords and to the ease with 
 which he reads it. Nothing is easier than to make a 
 general division of a subject according to this method ; 
 the great art consists in selecting, among the minor de- 
 tails, those which belong more especially to a certain 
 part of the subject. The art of thus presenting the 
 events which he relates in their most logical order and 
 connection is one of the great merits of this work, and 
 shows at once that the historian has taken a part in the 
 active life of a statesman. It is only by this means that 
 one is enabled to take a comprehensive view of a his- 
 torical subject, and to see at a glance the relations 
 which exist between its different parts. Any one can 
 be methodical by simply following the external order of 
 events ; to be clear and logical, it is necessary that they 
 should be presented in their more philosophical and 
 iess apparent connection. 
 
 The history of the Consulate and Empire begins 
 at the point where that of the Revolution ended ; the
 
 CONSULATE AND THE EMPIRE. 359 
 
 coup d^etat of the 18th Brumairc. The author's only 
 allusion to himself is at the beginning of the work, in 
 the following simple words. 
 
 ' Fifteen years have elapsed since I traced the annals of our 
 first Resolution. Those fifteen years have been passed amidst 
 the storms of public life. I have seen the fall of an ancient 
 throne, the erection of a new one. I have seen the French Rev- 
 olution pursuing its invincible course. Although the scenes 
 which I have witnessed have caused me but little surprise, I have 
 not the vanity to suppose that I had nothing to learn from the 
 experience of men and affairs. I am confident, on the contrary, 
 of having learnt much, and of being, consequently, more fit to 
 understand and to relate the great things which our fathers did 
 during those heroic times. But I am certain that experience has 
 not chilled within me the generous sentiments of my youth ; I 
 am certain that I love as much as I ever did the liberty and glory 
 of France.' 
 
 It is, of course, not our intention to give an analysis 
 of this work. To do so would be but to present the 
 outline of a history with which every one is familiar. 
 We may better meet our readers' views by considering 
 one or more of the topics of which he treats. To us, 
 the most attractive portions of this work are those in 
 which questions of internal policy and of diplomacy 
 are treated. The narratives of those great campaigns 
 in which France acquired everlasting renown are admi- 
 rably written ; they present the details of the subject 
 with a clearness and force which could hardly be ex- 
 pected from any but a military man ; they not unfre- 
 quently are highly eloquent. But however captivating 
 they may be, it is not in them that we seek for the true 
 interest of history. We turn to those portions of the 
 work in which the author explains the internal organi-
 
 860 THIERS'S HISTORY OF THE 
 
 zation of France, the complicated negotiations which 
 ended in the signing of the Concordat, or the dissen- 
 sions in the Council previous to the promulgation of the 
 Code Napoleon. In these, the true greatness of Napo- 
 leon is revealed. Glorious as was his military career, 
 we believe that he showed more real greatness and 
 power as a legislator and administrator of France, than 
 as the hero of Marengo or Austerlitz. It is often said 
 in disparagement of Napoleon, that he founded nothing. 
 Even M. de Lamartine, in his recent history of the 
 Restoration if a political pamphlet, written to defeat 
 the ambitious schemes of the President of France, may 
 be called a history repeats this old and absurd cal- 
 umny. Of his conquests, nothing, it is true, remains. 
 Like a mighty river, which, after it has overflowed and 
 devastated large tracts of country, is obliged, by that in- 
 visible power which said to the waters, ' Thus far shalt 
 thou go, and no farther,' to return to its ancient bed, so 
 France, after having overrun the greater part of the 
 European continent, was compelled, by that same 
 power, to confine itself within its former limits. But 
 if nothing is left of the territorial conquests of Napo- 
 leon, the internal administration of France, the Code, 
 the many establishments founded by him for scientific 
 or literary purposes, the magnificent buildings which 
 he caused to be erected, still remain as monuments of 
 his genius. As a military man, he probably has had 
 equals. Hannibal, Cajsar, or Frederic may compete 
 with him ; but as a man, combining military talents of 
 the highest order with the wisdom of a statesman, a 
 legislator, and a sovereign, he stands alone in the his- 
 tory of the world.
 
 CONSULATE AND THE EMPIRE. 361 
 
 It required, indeed, a genius like that of Napoleon, 
 to reorganize France after the convulsions through 
 which she had passed. When he was appointed First 
 Consul, every thing was in confusion ; the country waq.; 
 impoverished, the administration weak and divided, the 
 judiciary badly organized. The first thing to be done, 
 then, was to remedy these evils. Accordingly, as soon 
 as the legislative bodies established by the new consti- 
 tution had commenced their labors, he proposed to 
 them two bills of the greatest importance, the one 
 relating to the administration of the country, the other 
 for the reorganization of the judicial^. These bills 
 were passed by a large majority, and thus was estab- 
 lished a system which has resisted all the storms by 
 which France has since been agitated. In establishing 
 the new system. Napoleon's object was to form a 
 strong central government, on which the departmental 
 administrations should be almost wholly dependent. 
 The constitution had placed at the head of the state 
 an executive, formed of three consuls, in one of whom 
 all the power was in reality vested ; by the side of this 
 executive was the legislative power, divided into seve- 
 ral deliberative assemblies. So, at the head of each 
 department. Napoleon placed an executive officer ap- 
 pointed by the government, called a prefect, whose 
 duty it was to execute the ordets of the general gov- 
 ernment, and, at the same time, to administer the 
 affairs of the department with the advice and consent 
 of a council elected by the people. Each department 
 was divided into arrondissements and communes. At 
 the head of each arrondissement, composed of a cer- 
 tain number of communes, was placed a sub-prefect.
 
 THIERS'S HISTORY OF THE 
 
 Finally, at the head of the commune itself was a maire, 
 dependent, like the sub-prefect, on the prefect, and 
 consequently on the head of the state in all govern- 
 lipient affairs, but the agent of the commune itself, and 
 acting for it, with the advice of the municipal council, 
 in all matters that related exclusively to it. ' Such,' 
 says M. Thiers, ' is the admirable hierarchy to which 
 France owes an administration incomparable for en- 
 ergy and precision in its action, for the accuracy of its 
 accounts, and which is so excellent that it sufficed, in 
 six months, to reestablish order in France.' 
 
 It cannot be denied, that, for the object which Napo- 
 leon had in view, that of establishing a strong gov- 
 ernment, nothing could have been more wisely plan- 
 ned than this system. That it should have taken so 
 firm root in the country as to form, at the present day, 
 one of the most serious obstacles to the establishment 
 of a republic which may truly deserve the name it 
 bears, seems to be a strong proof of that admirable 
 knowledge, or rather intuition, which Napoleon pos- 
 sessed of the wants of the French nation. Yet the 
 pernicious consequences of such a system are too nu- 
 merous to be overlooked. The whole nation is kept in 
 a state of constant dependence on government. The 
 Minister of the Interior and the Council of State, in 
 fact, decided on all the internal affairs of the various 
 departments throughout France. A mine cannot be 
 explored, a marsh drained, a road laid out, or a factory 
 built, without the authority of the minister and council. 
 The people came at last to look to government for pro- 
 tection and assistance on every occasion ; and in order 
 to enable the government to grant such assistance and
 
 CONiSULATE AND THE EMPIRE. 363 
 
 protection, it is necessary that it should wield a power 
 nearly akin to despotism. For Napoleon's object, this 
 was desirable ; but now that France is seeking to estab- 
 lish a republic, this system is found to clash with its^ 
 desire and to prevent its fulfilment. The system is, 
 indeed, fit only for a monarchical form of government. 
 It commences with the head of the administration, to 
 be called consul, emperor, or king, it matters little. 
 He is the type to be reproduced through all the differ- 
 ent stages of the administrative scale ; in the prefect, the 
 sub-prefect, and the mayor. The republican system 
 is entirely different. Instead of commencing with the 
 head of the government, and descending to the inferior 
 executive officers, the republican hierarchy if we 
 take our own republic as the model may be said to 
 commence at the bottom of the scale, with the town 
 governments ; thence it rises to the state governments, 
 and finally ascends to the chief magistrate. Before a 
 republican government can be firmly established in 
 France, she will have to modify her whole administra- 
 tive system. These remarks must not be understood 
 as detracting from the merit of Napoleon in organizing 
 the administration as he did ; for, as we have already 
 said, nothing could be better conceived for the object 
 which he desired to accomplish. 
 
 The reorganization of the judicial system proposed 
 by Napoleon, and adopted by the legislature, is not 
 open to any of the objections we have suggested against 
 the administrative system. In each arrondissement 
 was established a court called Tribunal de premiere 
 Instance, from which there was an appeal to a superior 
 tribunal, called the Tribunal d''Appel, of which twenty-
 
 364 THIEHS'S HISTORY OF THE 
 
 nine \\-ere established. Criminal causes were to be 
 tried by juries, and by one of the judges of the Cour 
 d''Appel, thus forming wlmt was called a Cour (V As- 
 sises. At the summit of the whole judicial system was 
 to be maintained the Cour de Cassation^ which had al- 
 ready been established. The object of this tribunal 
 was not to try again a cause already tried by the Tri' 
 bunal de premiere Instance, or the Cour d^Appel, but 
 merely to decide, in doubtful cases, whether the law 
 had been properly applied. This system has been 
 maintained in France, with slight modifications, ever 
 since its adoption in 1800, and has been found admira- 
 bly adapted to the wants of the nation. Several other 
 important laws were at the same time proposed, in 
 order to improve the financial condition of the country ; 
 and, among other measures taken to secure this end, 
 we may mention the establishment of the Bank of 
 France, with a capital of thirty millions. 
 
 But we must refer the reader to the work itself, if 
 he would have a complete idea of all the measures 
 adopted at that time, for the purpose of restoring order 
 in a country so thoroughly disorganized as was Franco 
 after the storms of her Revolution. It is almost impos- 
 sible to analyze his clear, and at the same time con- 
 densed, account of that wonderful period. Napoleon 
 was wise in devoting his first thoughts to the reorgan- 
 ization of the country ; for hardly had the essential 
 measures which he proposed been adopted, hardly had 
 he put an end to the civil commotions which were still 
 raging in Vendee, when war once more broke out. 
 We shall not attempt to follow M. Thiers in his de- 
 scriptions of the battles of Ulm, Genoa, Marengo, Heli-
 
 CONSULATE AND THE EMPIRE. 365 
 
 copolis, and Hohenlinden, or in his acount of the peace 
 of Lunevilte, the armed neutrality of the maritime 
 powers, or the negotiations which led to the peace of 
 Amiens, and finally to the general peace of 1801. 
 We cannot, however, resist the pleasure of translating 
 the eloquent passage by which the historian closes the 
 account of the effect produced in England by the news 
 of the peace. 
 
 * During this period, unfortunately so brief, the English nation 
 almost thought they loved France ; they admired the hero and 
 statesman by whom she Avas governed ; they cried with enthusi- 
 asm, " Long live Bonaparte." Such is liuman joy ! it is great 
 and deep only when we are ignorant of the future. Let us thank 
 God for his wisdom in closing to the eye of man the book of des- 
 tiny. How every heart would have been chilled on that day, if 
 the veil which concealed the future had suddenly dropped, and 
 the English and French had seen before them fifteen years of 
 implacable hatred and bitter war, the continent and the seas red 
 with the blood of both nations ! How terrified would France 
 have been, if, while she believed herself so great, she had dimly 
 seen in that formidable book of destiny the treaties of 1815! 
 And that hero, victorious and moderate as he was, what would 
 have been his surprise and terror, if, in the midst of his greatest 
 works, lie could have foreseen his immense errors; if, in the 
 midst of unmingled prosperity, he could have anticipated his 
 downfiill and his martyrdom ! Oh yes I Providence has done 
 well, in his impenetrable wisdom, to disclose only the present to 
 man. The present is enough for his weakness. And we, who 
 know all that then happened, and what has since happened, let 
 us try, for a moment, to revive the ignorance of that period, in 
 order to understand and to share its deep emotions.' 
 
 Having thus made peace with all the temporal pow- 
 ers of Europe, Napoleon turned his attention to the 
 affairs of the Church, and commenced those negotia-
 
 366 THIERS'S HISTORY OF THE 
 
 tions which ended by the signing of the Concordat, 
 and the reestablishment in France of the Catholic 
 Church. 
 
 The views of the First Consul on the constitution of society,' 
 says our author, in one of the finest passages of his book, ' were 
 too just and too profound for him to regard with indifVcrcTice the 
 religious disorders of France at that period. Every human soci- 
 ety needs a religious faith and a public worship. Man, thrown 
 into the midst of this universe, without knowing whence he comes 
 or whither lie is going, why he suffers, or even wliy lie exists, 
 what recompense or what punishment is reserved for the long 
 agitations of his life, beset by the contnwlictions of his fellow-men, 
 who tell him, some, that there is a God, an intelligent and con- 
 sistent Beingr, author of all things, others, that there is none ; 
 some, that there exist a right and a wrong, which are to serve 
 as the rule of his conduct; others, that there is neither right 
 nor wrong, that they are merely inventions of this world, man, 
 in the midst of these contradictions, feels the absolute, tlie irre- 
 sistible, necessity of forming a firm belief on all these points. 
 Be it true or false, sublime or ridiculous, he forms one. Ev- 
 ery where, at all times, in all countries, in antiquity as in 
 modern times, in civilized as in barbarous countries, man is 
 found bowing before some altar. Where an establislied faith 
 does not reign, a thousand sects, eager for controversy, as 
 in America, a thousand disgraceful superstitions, as in 
 China, agitate or degrade the human mind. Or if, as in 
 France in ".)3, a passing revolution destroys the ancient religion 
 of the country, man, at the very moment when he h:is talien a 
 vow no longer to have any belief, soon gives himself the lie, and 
 the insensate worsliip of the Goddess of Reason, establislied by 
 the very side of the scaffold, proves that tiiis vow was as vain as 
 it was impious. To judge him, then, by his ordinary conduct, 
 man needs a religious belief. What can be more desirable for a 
 civilized society than a national religion founded on the true sen- 
 timents of the human heart; according with the precepts of a 
 pure morality; consecrate<l by lime; and which, witiiout intoler- 
 ance or persecution, may unite, if not all, at least tiie majority, 
 of the citizens at the foot of an ancient and respected altar ?
 
 CONSULATE AND THE EMPIRE. 367 
 
 Such a belief cannot be indented, where it has not existed for 
 ages. Philosophers, even the most sublime, may create a philos- 
 ophy, and agitate, by their learning, the age to which they do 
 honor ; ihey may make you think, they cannot make you believe. 
 A warrior, covered with glory, may found an empire; he cannot 
 found a religion. That, in former ages, philosophers or heroes, 
 by attributing to themselves relations with heaven, have taken 
 possession of the mind of nations, and imposed a belief upon 
 them, may be true. But in modern times, the creator of a new 
 religion would be held as an impostor. Surrounded by terror, 
 like Robespierre, or by glory, like Bonaparte, he would be an 
 object of ridicule. In 1800, there was nothing to invent. 
 
 ' What could be more necessary than to raise again that altar 
 of St. Louis, of Charlemagne, and of Clovis, for a monient over- 
 thrown ? General Bonaparte, who would have been ridiculous 
 if he had attempted to appear as a prophet and the teacher of a 
 new revelation, was fulfilling the part which Providence assigned 
 him, by raising with his victorious hands that venerable altar, 
 and by bringing back to it those who for a short time had strayed 
 away. Only such glory as his could have sufficed for such a 
 work. Great geniuses, not only among philosophers, but among 
 kings, like Voltaire and Frederic, had thrown contempt on the 
 Catholic religion, and for fifty years given the signal for scoffing. 
 General Bonaparte, who had as much mind as Voltaire, and 
 more glory than Frederic, could alone, by his example and by 
 his respect, put an end to the mockery of the last centuiy. 
 
 ' Is it necessary with such motives as those which guided him, 
 to inquire whether he acted from religions faith, or from policy 
 and ambition ? He acted from wisdom ; that is to say, in virtue 
 of a profound knowledge of human nature. That suffices. The 
 rest is a mystery which curiosity, always natural with regard to 
 a great man, may seek to penetrate, but which is of little im- 
 portance. We may, however, say on this subject, that General 
 Bonaparte's moral constitution inclined him towards religious 
 thoughts. A superior mind is struck, in proportion with its su- 
 periority, with the beauties of creation. It is intelligence which 
 discovers intelligence in the universe ; and a great mind is more 
 capable than a little one of seeing God through his works. Gen- 
 
 kt''
 
 3G8 THIERS'S HISTORY OF THE 
 
 eral Bonaparte frequently disputed on religious and philosophi- 
 cal subjects with Monge, Lagrange, and Laplace, men whom he 
 honored and loved, and often staggered them in their incredulity 
 by the clearness and original vigor of his arguments. To this, 
 we must add, that brought up in an uncultivated and religious 
 country, under the eye of a pious mother, the sight of the old 
 Catholic altar awakened in him recollections of youth, always so 
 powerful in a lively and great imagination. As for ambition, 
 which some of his detractors have assigned as the sole motive of 
 his conduct on this occasion, he at that time had none other thaa 
 to do good ; and without doubt, if he saw, as a recompense of 
 tliis good when accomplished, an increase of power, he may well 
 be pardoned for it. The ambition which seeks to found an em- 
 pire on the satisftvction of the true wants of a people, is the most 
 noble and legitimate ambition.' 
 
 Of all the plans which the First Consul had formed 
 for the regeneration of France, none was more diffi- 
 cult to realize than this reconciliation with the church. 
 At the time of the adoption of the new constitution, 
 the utmost confusion reigned throughout the country 
 with regard to religion. The Catholic religion was, it 
 is true, tolerated ; but the members of the clergy were 
 divided among themselves. Some of them had taken 
 an oath of allegiance to the civil constitution ; others 
 had merely sworn obedience to the laws ; others, 
 again, had refused all connection with the government. 
 The two former classes alone were allowed to perform 
 mass in the churches; the latter officiated in private 
 houses, and were, by all those who kept up their 
 ancient opposition to all revolutionary governments, 
 regarded as the only true ministers of the Catliolic 
 church. To complete tlje disorder caused by these di- 
 visions in the church itself, the sect of the Theophilan- 
 thropists had taken possession of the vacant churches,
 
 CONSULATE AND THE EMPIRE. 369 
 
 where they performed ceremonies in honor of the va- 
 rious virtues, courage, temperance, charity, etc. 
 The frequent imitations of Catholicism to be found in 
 the ritual of that sect, whilst it was striving to establish 
 a new religion, would be simply ridiculous, were it not 
 that the subject is one of such serious importance. 
 Such was the religious state of the country in 1800. 
 Napoleon resolved to deliver it from this condition. 
 That he should have succeeded in the attempt, in spite 
 of the opposition with which his views on the subject 
 were met by the leading men who surrounded him, and 
 who feared that, by making any compromise with 
 Rome, the government would lose something of its dig- 
 nity, must be considered as one of his greatest achieve- 
 ments. There was, indeed, no absurd proposition that 
 he was not obliged to listen to and to combat. Some 
 proposed that he should make himself the head of a 
 French church ; others advised him to embrace the 
 Protestant faith, and to lead France to Protestantism 
 by his example ; others, again, entreated him not to 
 meddle with the religious affairs of the country. Noth- 
 ing can be more interesting than the discussions of 
 Napoleon, as they are given by Thiers, with those who 
 thus sought to turn him from his purpose. Napoleon 
 was, indeed, the only man in the French government 
 who really wished for the reestablishment of Catholi- 
 cism in France. This was well understood at Rome. 
 ' Let us not irritate that man,' said Cardinal Caprara to 
 the Pope ; ' he alone is on our side in a country where 
 every one else is against us.' 
 
 But it was not only in France that the First Consul 
 encountered opposition to the realization of his wishes. 
 24
 
 370 THIKES'S HISTORY OF THE 
 
 The plan which he proposed for the reconciliation of 
 France with the Church of Rome was much discussed at 
 Rome itself; and it was not until after long and ardu- 
 ous negotiations, that Napoleon succeeded in having it 
 adopted. He undertook to bring about this reconciliation 
 without sacrificing any of the principles of the Revolu- 
 tion. The clergy was to be reestablished, not on the 
 sanne terms on which it had existed prior to '89, but on 
 an entirely new basis. It was to be exclusively de- 
 voted to the exercise of its religious functions ; it was 
 to have neither political power, nor large domains ; its 
 members were to be appointed by the government and 
 confirmed by the Pope ; they were to receive their sal- 
 ary from the state. The number of dioceses was to 
 be reduced ; the civil authorities were to have the con- 
 trol of public worship ; the jurisdiction over the clergy 
 was to belong to the Council of State. Such were the 
 principal measures proposed by Napoleon. The one 
 which he found it most difficult to prevail upon the 
 Pope to adopt, was that relating to the dioceses. By 
 reducing their number, many of the former occupants 
 of the episcopal sees would be obliged to resign their 
 functions, or to be dismissed by the Pope, a thing 
 unheard of in the annals of the church. Napoleon, by 
 his indomitable will, gained his point. He had, too, it 
 must be confessed, a great advantage over the court 
 of Rome. Being, as we have said, the only member 
 of the government who favored the reconciliation with 
 the church, he knew that Rome ought to yield to his 
 desires. Nor was this feeling concealed from those 
 with whom he negotiated. One day, during the pro- 
 tracted discussion to which the subject gave rise, grow-
 
 CONSULATE AND THE EMPIKE. 371 
 
 ing impatient at some of the demands of the papal 
 legate, ' Come, Cardinal Caprara, ' said he, ' do you 
 still possess the power of performing miracles ? do 
 you ? If so, make use of it ; you will render me a 
 great service. If not, leave matters to me ; and since 
 1 am reduced to human means, permit me to act as I 
 see fit to save the church.' 
 
 The Concordat was signed on the 15th of July, 
 1801, but was not finally adopted and ratified until the 
 following spring. On the 18th of April, 1802, the 
 Concordat was solemnly published in Paris, and the 
 first religious ceremony was performed in the cathe- 
 dral of Notre Dame. This great act, perhaps the 
 greatest which the church of Rome ever adopted, 
 was thus definitely concluded. To complete the pacifi- 
 cation of France, this important measure was followed 
 by the law recalling the banished emigrants. The 
 next subject to which the First Consul turned his atten- 
 tion was public education. A law on this subject was 
 drawn up, and presented to the Council of State, who 
 soon after adopted it. This law, with some modifica- 
 tions, forms the basis of the whole educational system 
 of France as it still exists. 
 
 This step closed the long series of measures taken 
 by Napoleon to reorganize France. To recompense 
 him for the services he had rendered the country, the 
 nation resolved to give him a signal mark of its confi- 
 dence, by appointing him Consul for life, with the 
 power to name his successor. The senate waited on 
 him in a body, to announce to him the new honor 
 which had been conferred on him. Bowing to the 
 members of that body, he replied in these noble words :
 
 972 THE CONSULATE AND THE EMPIRE. 
 
 The life of a citizen belongs to his country. The French na- 
 tion wish that the whole of mine should be devoted to them. I 
 obey their will. By my eflforts, and by your assietance, citizens, 
 by the confidence and the wish of this great nation, the liberty, 
 equality, and prosperity of France will be protected from the 
 caprices of fate, or the uncertainty of the future. The best of 
 nations will then be the happiest, as it is worthy of being, and 
 its happiness will contribute to that of the whole of Europe. 
 Satisfied, then, with having been called by Him from whom all 
 kings emanate, to bring back on earth order, justice, and equal- 
 ity, I shall hear my last hour strike without regret, and without 
 uneasiness as to the opinion of future generations.' 
 
 To close this period, the finest in Napoleon's career, 
 and one of the most brilliant in the world's history, we 
 cannot do better than to transcribe the eloquent passage 
 in which our author ends the third volume of his his- 
 tory. 
 
 Now, if, forgetting what has since happened, we imagine for 
 a moment this Dictator, necessary at that time, remaining as 
 moderate as he was great, uniting those opposites which God, it 
 is true, had never before united in one man, that vigor of 
 genius which constitutes the great Captain, with that patience 
 which is the distinctive characteristic of founders of empires, 
 calming, by a long repose, French society then so agitated, and 
 preparing it little by little for that liberty, the honor and want of 
 society ; then, after having rendered France so great, appeasing 
 instead of irritating the jealousy of Europe, changing into a per- 
 manent political fact the negotiations of Amiens and Luncville, 
 and seeking at last, no matter where, the most worthy successor, 
 in order to give into his hands this reorganized France, prepared 
 for liberty, what man would ever have been equal to him ? 
 But such a man, a warrior like Caesar, a statesman like Augus- 
 tus, and virtuous as Marcus Aurelius, would have been more 
 than a man ; and Providence does not give the world gods to 
 govern it.'
 
 MEMOIR OF THE LATE DR. WHEATON. 
 
 In the brief notice of the late Dr. Wheaton, which 
 ^as given in the columns of this paper, a wish was 
 expressed that some 'more extended tribute might be 
 paid to the memory of one who had been so long an 
 honored and respected member of this community. It 
 is this wish we would attempt to fulfil, although we feel 
 but too deeply how insufficient any such tribute from 
 us must be. We cannot praise the deceased as we 
 would ; we cannot transfer to these columns the feel- 
 ings of affection and veneration with which we learned 
 in early youth, from maternal lips, to regard him ; we 
 cannot say how entirely those feelings were confirmed 
 during the few years it was our privilege to know him, 
 for fear of incurring the reproach of being too partial 
 to the memory of so near a relative. Dr. Wheaton's 
 life, like that of most men who have passed their days 
 in the active exercise of one of the most arduous of 
 professions, offers but few events to be narrated. The 
 record of the lives of such men is kept by their 
 thoughts. We must, therefore, content ourselves with 
 a brief sketch of his life, and with a few extracts from 
 his own writings, trusting that these will be sufficient
 
 374 MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 evidence of his remarkable talents, his varied learning, 
 and his many virtues. 
 
 Levi Wheaton was born on the 6th of February, 
 1761, in a house in Benefit Street, which, until within a 
 few years, was still standing. In 1848, it was removed 
 to the lot in its rear, and replaced by another of the 
 same size and model. His father, Ephraim Wheaton, 
 was the great grandson of Robert Wheaton, an emi- 
 grant from Wales, who settled in Rehoboth about the 
 year 1640. Levi first went to school to John Foster, 
 afterwards Judge Foster, of whom his only recollection 
 .was the manner in which he ingeniously avoided flog- 
 ging his pupils, by compelling the offender to hold both 
 hands clasped back of his neck, and thus stand forth 
 ' a fixed figure for the hand of scorn.' The next 
 teacher to whom he went was Dr. Arnold, whose 
 school was kept in a house which may still be seen on 
 the corner formed by the junction of Benefit Street 
 with Main Street. From Dr. Arnold's, he went to 
 George Taylor's. Here his precocious talents seem 
 first to have attracted attention. He was regarded as 
 the most clever boy in the school. In his twelfth year 
 he was sent to the grammar school of Theodore Foster, 
 then a student of law, and afterwards United States* 
 Senator. Soon after his admission to this school, it 
 passed under the superintendence of Ebenezer David, 
 under whose charge Dr. Wheaton was wont to say, he 
 had been more studious than at any other period, and 
 for whom he retained, until the close of his life, the 
 warmest feelings of attachment. In the year 1774 he 
 entered Rhode Island College, where he did not receive 
 his degree until 1782, although, owing to the agitations
 
 LATE DR. WHEATON. 375 
 
 of the times, he left it in 1776. His class consisted of 
 sixteen, only one of whom William Wilkinson, of 
 this city still survives. Rhode Island College was 
 then in its infancy. Dr. James Manning and Professor 
 Howell, who may be said to have been its founders, 
 were then acting as tutors, with the sole assistance of 
 one meipber of the junior class. 
 
 le ysars which followed the time of his leaving 
 ^oUege, until the moment when he decided on embrac- 
 ing the profession to which he devoted the rest of his 
 life, seem to have been passed in desultory reading, 
 ^nd above all, in that favorite amusement of boys of a 
 reflective and serious turn of mind day-dreaming. 
 Part of this time was passed at Smithfield. In a manu- 
 script autobiography, written about two years ago, he 
 thus speaks of his residence in that place : 
 
 ' During the winter I lived there, I kept a school for 
 the young cubs of the vicinage. Scarce one of them 
 is likely to be now living, after the lapse of seventy-two 
 years, to vouch for the prodigious learning of this peda- 
 gogue of sixteen. This, and some services rendered in 
 the clerk's office, were, I believe, the first productive 
 labor I ever performed. Many circumstances of this 
 short but interesting period of my life, have suggested 
 the thought of revisiting the locality, but experience 
 has taught me the futility of such attempts to revive 
 the past and gone. The probability is, that instead of 
 the waving oak beneath whose shade, and the limpid 
 stream and beautiful cascade, by the side of which I 
 had so often read to the listening Dryads, my only 
 hearers, portions of Homer or Milton, with the varied
 
 376 MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 intonations they inspired, I should now find the stream 
 converted into a stagnant mill-pond, and the venerable 
 oak reduced to lumber about a paltry saw-mill. And 
 could I even find it materidlly unchanged, my old eyes 
 and cold heart could probably only correspond with it 
 in the penitential note of the poor bird, who used to sit 
 upon the door-step of my humble dwelling on a sum- 
 mer's eve, and reiterate his self-abandonment whip- 
 poor-will the note most congenial with my feelings 
 in these latter years of my life ! ' 
 
 Of the books which he read at that time, Pope'n 
 works seem to have been his favorite. In the same 
 manuscript from which we have just quoted, he thus 
 speaks of that author : 
 
 * I bepame familiar with his works at an early age, 
 and have never ceased to be familiar with them. Be- 
 sides their intrinsic merit, they led me to an acquaint- 
 ance with his contemporaries, in what has been called 
 the Augustan age of English literature. I record this 
 especially as an event in my life, for, strange as it may 
 seem, I think I can say with truth, no writer has had 
 so much influence on my tone of thinking of men and 
 things. . . . The extreme liberality of senti- 
 ments happily expressed, on subjects which have a 
 bearing on religion, compared to the narrow and secta- 
 rian doctrines I was accustomed to hear, probably gave 
 my mind an early bias to those of " his philosopher 
 and friend,'''' Bolingbroke. On these subjects, as far 
 as I can trace the history of my own mind, I think I 
 was not much the wiser or better for Pope. But as a 
 writer who unites poetry with wit and good sense,
 
 LATE DR. WHEATON. 377 
 
 he is still, in my estimation, unequalled, the English 
 Horace. If his thoughts arc not al\jfays new or origi- 
 nal, they were never so well expressed ; there is no 
 sentiment or reflection on human nature, on man or 
 manners, no happy combination of words in the Eng- 
 lish language which may not be found in some part or 
 other of his works.' 
 
 In 1778, Dr. Wheaton entered the military hospital 
 in this city as a volunteer and assistant of the medical 
 staff of the army. He had, amidst the other books 
 whith he had read, perused quite a number of medi- 
 cal works, the principal of which were Cheselden's 
 Anatomy, Boerhaave's Aphorisms, and Vansweiten's 
 Commentaries, the standard works of that time. He 
 had also a chance of seeing something of thq practice 
 of a friend and neighbor. Dr. Hewes. Thus, although 
 his knowledge of the science must have been slight, he 
 seems to have done good service at the hospital under 
 the direction of Dr. Francis Hagan. At the close of 
 this year he was confined for some time by a fever. 
 We cannot refrain from quoting the touching language 
 in which, at the age of eighty-eight, he recalls his sen- 
 sations during his recovery. 
 
 ' Convalescing slowly from this in the spring, I well 
 remember the first short ride I took with my sister. 
 Never, at any period of my life, do I recollect having 
 so sensibly felt the pleasure of existence. No language 
 which I have at my disposal, can express it. Whence 
 was this ? Not surely from the scene or the surrounding 
 objects, through which I have passed since a thousand 
 25
 
 378 MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 times without any peculiar pleasure. It was then from 
 unthin, from the buoyancy of youth perhaps, or that 
 happy state of my organization, which, just now re- 
 lieved from painful sickness, like tlie ^Eolian harp, was 
 responsive to the lightest airs of heaven. Old people 
 know nothing feel nothing of the kind. Alas ! ' 
 
 The summer of 1779 he passed at Westerly, study- 
 ing medicine with Dr. Babcock. Of his residence 
 there, he has left an account in a letter addressed to 
 Mr. Updike, and published by that gentleman in his 
 ' History of the Narragansett Church.' In the follow- * 
 ing year he completed his medical studies under the 
 care of Dr. William Bowen, of Providence, and re- 
 ceived his degree. 
 
 During the two succeeding years he was engaged in 
 the public service, being employed as surgeon on board 
 the private armed ships, which then constituted almost 
 our only navy. In the autumn of 1782, while cruising 
 off the southern coast, he was taken prisoner by the 
 British frigate Vestal and carried into New York. The 
 charge of one of the prison-hospital ships (the Fal- 
 mouth) was entrusted to him for some months, and it 
 was always with pleasure that he recalled, that it had 
 thus been in his power to render some good offices to 
 his imprisoned countrymen. 
 
 At the close of the war, he was invited by the first 
 settlers in the town of Hudson, in the State of New 
 York, composed of wealthy gentlemen from Nan- 
 tucket, Martha's Vineyard, and Providence, to establish 
 himself among them. This invitation was accepted, 
 and after remaining a few months at Hudson, he
 
 LATB DR. WHEATON. 379 
 
 returned to Providence, and was married at Newport 
 by the Rev. Samuel Hopkins, in 1784, to Martha Bur- 
 rill, to whom he had been engaged for some time 
 previous. He immediately went back to Hudson with 
 his young wife, and resided there until the summer of 
 1795, when he removed with his family to New York. 
 He remained two years in that city, when he was 
 induced by the urgent solicitations of his friends to 
 return to Providence, there to practise his profession. 
 Here, with the exception of occasional visits to differ- 
 ent parts of the country, he continued to live until his 
 death. Had he remained in the State of New York, 
 his name would unquestionably have been more widely 
 known. Whilst there he associated with the most dis- 
 tinguished men of the day, Alexander Hamilton, Aaron 
 Burr, Ambrose Spencer, the Van Rensselaers, &c., and 
 it is highly probable that his ardent and impetuous tem- 
 perament would have led him to take an active part in 
 politics. As it was, however, he confined himself to 
 the arduous duties of his profession, in which the last 
 fifty years of his life were almost exclusively spent. 
 Of this period the only record is his thoughts on various 
 subjects scattered among his papers, and occasional 
 political articles, published either in the New York or 
 Providence journals. At the time of the last war with 
 England he was a constant contributor to the * Na- 
 tional Advocate^'' a paper then edited in New York by 
 his son-in-law. 
 
 During these fifty years, he had his share of the 
 afflictions and sorrows of human life. His home was 
 more than once made desolate by the Angel of Death. 
 Two beloved sons were taken from him in the flower
 
 380 MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 of their youth, the one in 1817, tlic other in 1828. In 
 1837, he lost his wife, and three years ago, at a time 
 when his age seemed to designate him as the first of 
 his family who was to pass from this scene of suffering 
 to a better world, it pleased God to send him an afflic- 
 tion perhaps the heaviest he had ever had to bear 
 from which he never recovered. 
 
 Taken as a whole, however, his life may be said to 
 have been as happy as that of most men. With the 
 exception of a bronchial affection, with which he had 
 been more or less troubled during the greater portion 
 of his life, his health was good, and in the riclies of 
 his well-stored memory or the new thoughts suggested 
 by his daily reading, he found a never-failing resource 
 against the sad recollections of the past, or the dark 
 forebodings of the future, which would at times intrude 
 themselves on his mind. 
 
 The reflections on men, things and books, to be 
 found among his papers, are full of interest, and show 
 a vigor and comprehensiveness of mind which make it 
 a matter of serious regret that his powers should not 
 have been bestowed on the composition of some work 
 which might have given him a lasting reputation. No 
 one more deeply lamented than he did himself not 
 having left some such monument of his talents and 
 acquirements. In his journal, October 1, 1850, he 
 says: 
 
 * I never had more of the cacoethes scribendi, and 
 never less power to indulge it. " Procrastination is 
 the thief of time,"" as I have often said, and now feel. 
 I once had head and hand to do something in this way ;
 
 LATE DR. WHEATON. 381 
 
 now I have neither. I once had the vanity to quote 
 Virgil : 
 
 . . . " Tentanda via est qua me quoque possim 
 Tollere humo." 
 
 * But it has proved a dream, and like the visions 
 which pass through the ivory gates of the Past, never 
 realized, but long since lost and forgotten. Instead of 
 concentrating my thoughts on one interesting subject, 
 turning it from side to side in every point of view, con- 
 sidering it in all its bearings and relations, until I had 
 made myself master of it ; in short, instead of writing 
 a hook, which might have done honor to my name and 
 memory, I live to regret that I have wasted days and 
 years, and midnight oil, in desultory reading, with little 
 Other object than present amusement, with a mind 
 passive rather than active, my brain a thoroughfare for 
 other men's thoughts without exacting toll. For the 
 health of the mind, as well as of the body, due atten'- 
 tion should be paid, not only to the quality and quantity 
 of food taken, but to the time and space allotted for 
 digestion. The brain, as well as the stomach, may be 
 overloaded. Selection and method are important to 
 both ; not all minds are omnivorous, yet the majority of 
 readers are blinded by the opposite conceit.' 
 
 But although a matter of regret, it is not surprising 
 that, devoted as he was, during the best years of hia 
 life, to a profession which leaves little leisure by day 
 or little rest by night, he should not have found time to 
 write a book, such as, with his fastidious taste, he would 
 have been willing to give to the public. Of the high 
 26
 
 IMS MEMOIR OF TH 
 
 jense he had of the obligations of his respoosible pro- 
 fession, and its overwhelming and all-absorbing cares, 
 his journal gives abundant proof. We find the follow- 
 ing entry under date of October 3, 1840 : 
 
 *I have, at present, two patients for whom I feel 
 jDQuch anxiety. It is one of the miseries of a medical 
 .man to meet with cases he cannot cure, and of ,the 
 ^ue of which he is at least very doubtful, and pain- 
 /ully to forebode the complicated sufferings of a be- 
 ixeaved family. How often, alas ! has my heart been 
 jyrung in this way for the last fifty years, and yet I am 
 Atill in the land of the living ! It is, indeed, a painful 
 jesponsibility to see ourselves looked up to as guardian 
 Ungels, and to feel our insufficiency, our utter inability 
 .to save the victim of disease. As far as I can analyze 
 joay own feelings, they are for the most part disinter- 
 ested ; Homo sum ! but sometimes, and often, the 
 .fought will obtrude itself: "Am I not defeated and 
 disgraced ? If my conscience assures me of good 
 intentions, were those intentions medically good .? were 
 j4hey fairly fulfilled } or were there not some erroRS 
 ^tt<8 incuria fudit 1 or after all, will public opinion 
 jiupport me ? how will it affect my living ? my reputa- 
 tion that fancied life in others breath ? " Ah ! what 
 ft life Is that of a physician ! ' 
 
 An interesting and instructive volume might be made 
 d the reflections to be found in his journal and com- 
 monplace books. Up to the last days of his life he 
 plained his faculties unimpaired, reading, from seven 
 tif eight hours a day, all the new works which, came
 
 LATE DK. WHEATON. 383 
 
 out, and commenting on them in his note-book. The 
 last entry we have found in this note-book is date^ 
 August 20th, only eight days before his death. In it 
 he notices Mr. William Ware's late publication on thef 
 Capitals of Europe, and alludes especially to the pre- 
 face, in which the author condemns our disagreeable 
 national habit of chewing tobacco. As an instance of 
 the manner in which Dr. Wheaton endeavored to profit, 
 even at his advanced age, by any use fill advice, we 
 would mention that he himself renounced this habit, in 
 which he had freely indulged for many years, in con- 
 sequence of reading this passage. 
 
 We must close this hasty and incomplete notice 6t 
 Dr. Wheaton, by a couple of extracts from his journal 
 on the subject of religion. In a note relative to the 
 letter of a young friend who had exhorted him to adopt 
 the orthodox creed, he says : 
 
 ' I briefly observed that I had not lived so long un- 
 mindful of " the truth as it is in Jesus," nor of its ad- 
 mirable fitness to the wants and weaknesses of our 
 iiature, regarding the spirit rather than the letter, nor 
 of the internal evidence it bears of the only true relig- 
 ion the religion of the heart which man owes and 
 God requires of all who look for happiness here or 
 hereafter ; that if my faith in the letter had not always 
 been so firm and unqualified in every respect, as that 
 of many of my friends, whom I envied, (for a state of 
 doubt on so momentous a subject was not an easy 
 Statfe,) I could only say what others had said, " Lord, 
 help thou my unbelief." ' He then adds that such a 
 correspondence might be profitable to both parties:
 
 SM: MEMOIR OF THE 
 
 * to me by keeping me in mind of that sleep of death 
 which awaits me ; to her by reminding her that true 
 religion does not consist in the lip service or formu- 
 laries of the church." 
 
 In another note he says : 
 
 * Confidence in any creed which assures the believer 
 of a happy immortality, is doubtless of all consolations 
 the greatest, whilst doubt and uncertainty on so inter- 
 esting a subject are confessedly painful. But belief is 
 not a voluntary act. Facts palpable, self-evident or 
 demonstrative, we cannot disbelieve ; such as accord 
 with our experience or attentive reflection we readily 
 admit as probable ; but the testimony or traditions of 
 fallible men, concerning things extraordinary and 
 supernatural, without the strongest internal evidence 
 of their truths, we may be permitted to receive with 
 some degree of hesitation.' 
 
 From these extracts it will be seen, that if he did not 
 belong to any particular body of Christians, he believed 
 in the spirit of Christianity. Indeed, his whole life 
 was marked by the truest reverence for the religious 
 institutions under which he lived. He never lost that 
 respect for religion which he acquired from his parents, 
 although his religious views had nothing of that sec- 
 tarian spirit which marked those of his family. His 
 death was that of a believer. However much he may 
 have desired to have his life prolonged for the love 
 of life increases with years he did not fear to die. 
 Retaining his consciousness until the last, he p^assed
 
 LATE DR. WHEATON. 385 
 
 away so quietly that the bystanders could hardly say 
 at what moment his spirit had taken its flight. Such a 
 death is indeed to be envied ! After a life prolonged 
 far beyond the usual allotment of mankind, his bright 
 and lofty spirit was transferred without a struggle to a 
 new and better sphere of activity, where, untrammelled 
 by the infirmities of the body, and free from all the 
 petty cares and anxieties of this world, with which it 
 was ill calculated to contend, it may develope itself 
 from age to age, until it becomes more and more as- 
 similated to that Being in whose image it was created. 
 
 THE END.
 
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 WILHELM MEISTER. Translated by Thomas Carlylr. 
 
 2 Vi.l8 I'rice e2 .')U 
 
 GOETHE'S FAUST. Translated by IIatward. Price 75 cuh. 
 
 MRS. CROSLANO'S WRITINGS. 
 LYDIA : A WOMAN'S BOOK. Cloth. 75 cents. 
 ENGLISH TALES AND SKETCHES/ Ckith. f 1 00. , 
 
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