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BERPCEIEY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY Of 
 CAilK)RKU 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. 
 John J. Nathan 
 
   
 
The History of «^ «^ 
 e^ CiviIia;ation in Europe 
 
 By Francois Pierre Guillaume Guizot. 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 WILLIAM HAZLITT 
 
 Of the Middle Temple, Barrister-et-Law. 
 
 A. L. BURT COMPANY. .j» ^ jt ji 
 J* ^ ^ PUBLlSHERvS. NEW YORK 
 
GIFT 
 
» 
 
 eg?/' 
 
 6^ 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF M. GUIZOT. 
 
 On the 8th of April, 1794, three days after the bloody 
 victory of Kobespierre over Dan ton, Camille Desmoulins 
 and the men of the Committee of Clemency, the scaffold 
 was prepared at Nimes for a distinguished advociite, who 
 was also suspected of resistance to the will of the terrible 
 triumvirate, and desolation had seated itself at the fireside 
 of one of the worthiest families of the country. A woman, 
 all tears, was beseeching God for strength to support a 
 fearful blow; for the executioner at that moment was 
 rendering her a widow, and her two children orphans. 
 The eldest of these, scarcely seven years old, already wore 
 upon his contemplative countenance the stamp of preco- 
 cious intellect. Misfortune is a species of hot-house; one 
 [grows rapidly within its influence. This child, who had 
 no childhood, was Frangois Pierre Guillaume Guizot. 
 
 Born a Protestant, on the 4th of October, 1787, under 
 the sway of a legislation which refused to recognize the 
 legal union of his parents and denied him a name and 
 social rank, young Guizot saw the Revolution, with the 
 [same blow, restore him definitely to his rightful place in 
 [God^s world and make him pay for the benefit by the blood 
 [of his father. If we designed to write anything mo?e 
 ;han a biography, perhaps we might find in this concurrence 
 )f circumstances the first germ of that antipathy which tho 
 [statesman afterward manifested, almost equally for abso- 
 lute monarchies and for democratic governments. 
 
 f 9ni 
 
iv BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 After the fatal catastrophe just related, Madame Guizot 
 left a city which was filled with such bitter recollections, 
 and went to seek at Geneva consolation in the bosotn of 
 her family and a solid education for her children. Young 
 Guizot, phiced at the gymnasium of Geneva, devoted his 
 whole soul to study. His first and only playthings were 
 books; and at the end of four years, the advanced scholar 
 was able to read in their respective languages the works of 
 Thucydides and Demosthenes, of Cicero and Tacitus, of 
 Dante and Alfieri, of Schiller and Goethe, of Gibbon and 
 Shakespeare. His last two years at college were especially 
 consecrated to historical and philosophical studies. Phil- 
 osophy, in particular, had powerful attractions for him. 
 His mind, endowed by nature with an especial degree of 
 logical strength, was quite at home, was peculiarly enabled 
 to unfold and open in tiie little Genevese republic, which 
 has preserved something of the learned and inflexible 
 physiognomy of its patron, John Calvin. 
 
 Having completed his collegiate studies with brilliant 
 success, in 1805 M. Guizot proceeded to Paris to prepare 
 himself for the bar. It is well known that the law schools 
 had disappeared amid the revolutionary whirlwind..^ 
 Several private establishments had been formed to supply 
 the deficiency; but M. Guizot, not caring for an imperfect 
 knowledge of the profession, resolved upon mastering it in 
 solitude. At once poor and proud, austere and ambitious, 
 the young man found himself cast into a world of intrigue, 
 frivolity and licentiousness. The period between the 
 directory and the empire was a multiform, uncertain, dim 
 epoch, like all periods of transition. Violently agitated by 
 the revolutionary blast, the social current had not yet 
 entirely resumed its course. Many of the ideas which had 
 been hurled to the ground were again erect, but pale, 
 enfeebled, tottering and, as it were, stunned by the terrible 
 blow which had prostrated them. Some superior minds 
 
OF M. OUIZOT. Y 
 
 were endeavoring to direct into a new path the society 
 which was rising from its ruins; but the mass, long 
 debarred from material enjoyment, only sought full use of 
 the days of repose which they feared to see too soon ended. 
 Hence that character of general over-excitement, that dis- 
 soluteness of morals which well nigh brought back the 
 times of the Kegency. 
 
 The serious and rigid nature of the Genevese scholar 
 sufficed to preserve him from the contagion. The first year 
 of his residence at Paris was one of sadness and isolation. 
 He fell back upon himself, like all men who, feeling them- 
 selves strong, want the means of making essay of their 
 strength. 
 
 The following year he became attached as tutor to the 
 household of M. Stapfer, minister for Switzerland at the 
 French court, where he experienced almost paternal kind- 
 ness, and had opened to him treasures of philosophical 
 learning well calculated to direct and promote his intellec- 
 tual development. This connection gave him admission to 
 the salon of M. Suard, where all the most distinguished 
 minds of the epoch were wont to assemble, and where he 
 saw for the first time the woman who was destined to ex- 
 ercise so noble and beneficial an influence over his whole 
 life. 
 
 The circumstance which brought about the marriage oi 
 M. Guizot was somewhat tinged with romance. Born of 
 a distinguished family, which had been ruined by the 
 iievolution. Mademoiselle Pauline de Meulan had found 
 resources in an education as solid as varied, and, to sup- 
 port her family, had thrown herself into the trying career 
 of journalism. At the period in question she was editing 
 the Puhliciste, A serious malady, however, brought on. 
 by excess of toil, obliged her to interrupt labors so essential 
 to the happiness, the existence of those she loved. Her 
 situation threatened to become very critical; she was almost 
 
vi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 in despair, when one day she received an anonymous letter, 
 entreating her to be tranquil, and offering to discharge her 
 task during the continuance of her illness. The letter 
 was accompanied by an article admirably written, the ideas 
 and the style of which, by a refinement of delicacy, were 
 exactly modeled upon her own. She accepted this article^, 
 published it, and regularly received a similar contribution 
 until her restoration to health. Profoundly affected by 
 such kindness, she related the affair in the salon of M. 
 Suard, exhausting her imagination in endeavors to discover 
 her unknown friend, and never thinking for a moment of 
 a pale, serious young man, with whom she was scarcely 
 acquainted, and who listened to her in silence as she pur- 
 sued her conjectures. Earnestly supplicated through the 
 columns of the journal to reveal himself, the generous in- 
 cognito at last went in person to receive the well merited 
 thanks. It was the young man just alluded to, and five 
 years afterward Mademoiselle de Meulan took the name 
 of Madame Guizot. 
 
 During the five years, M. Guizot was occupied with 
 various literary labors. In 1809 he published his first 
 work, the Dictionnaire des Synonymes, the introduction to 
 which, a philosophical appreciation of the peculiar charac- 
 teristics of the French language, displayed that spirit of 
 precision and method which distinguishes M. Guizot. 
 Next came the Vies des Poetes Fran^ais; then a transla- 
 tion of Gibbon, enriched with historical notes of the high- 
 est interest; and next, a translation of a work of Kehfus, 
 Spain in 1808. 
 
 All these works were produced before the author had 
 reached the age of twenty-five, a fact from which the char- 
 acter of his mind may be judged. 
 
 In 1812 his talents were sufficiently well known to in- 
 duce M. de Fontanes to attach him to the university by 
 appointing him assistant professor of history in the Faculty 
 
OF M. GUIZOT. vii 
 
 of Letters. Soon afterward he obtained complete posses- 
 sion of that Chair of Modern History, in connection with 
 which he has left such glorious recollections. There was 
 formed his friendship with M. Royer-Collard, then profes- 
 sor of the history of philosophy — a friendship afterward 
 closely cemented by time. 
 
 This first portion of M. Guizot^s life was exclusively 
 literary. It has been attempted to make him out at this 
 period an ardent legitimist, caballing and conspiring in 
 secret to hasten the return of the Bourbons. We have 
 discovered no fact that justifies the assertion. By his wife, 
 by his literary relations, and by his tastes, he belonged, it 
 is true, to a certain class, who retained, amid the roughness 
 of the empire, traditions of the elegance and good taste of 
 the aristocracy of the previous age. A sort of philosophical 
 varnish was very much in fashion among the literati of 
 that class, whom Napoleon used to dominate ideologists. 
 They ideologized, in truth, a great deal ; but they had 
 little to do with politics. And it is well known, moreover, 
 that it was requisite for the pen of the Chantre des Martyrs 
 to devote itself entirely to the task of receiving the well- 
 nigh forgotten memory of the Bourbons in the heart of a 
 generation which had not beheld their fall. 
 
 The events of 1814 found M. Guizot in his native town of 
 Kimes, whither he had gone to visit his mother after a long 
 separation. On his return, the young professor was indebted 
 to the active friendship of Royer-Collard for his selection by 
 the Abbe de Montesquieu, then Minister of the Interior, to 
 fill the post of Secretary-General in his department. This 
 was the first step of M. Guizot in the path of politics. 
 Although he was placed in a secondary position, his great 
 abilities exerted a considerable influence upon the ad- 
 ministrative measures of the time. The partisans of the 
 liberal cause reproached him especially with having, in con- 
 junction with Royer-Collard, prepared that severe law 
 
viii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 against the press which was presented to the Chambers of 
 1814 by M. de Montesquiou, and also with having taken a 
 seat in the committee of censorship, by the side of M. de 
 Frayssinous. On the other hand, the ultra-royalist faction 
 was indignant at hearing an insignificant plebeian, a pro 
 fessor, a Protestant, employed in affairs of state, with a 
 court abbe, talk of constitutional equilibrium, of balance 
 of powers; to see him endeavoring to conciliate monarchical 
 ideas with the new interests created by the revolution. In 
 the eyes of the one party, he did too little, in the eyes of 
 the other, too much; Napoleon^s return from Elba released 
 him from his difficult position. After the departure of the 
 Bourbons, he resumed his functions in the Faculty of 
 Letters; and two months after, when the fall of the 
 emperor became evident to all, he was charged by the con- 
 stitutional royalists with a mission to Ghent, to plead the 
 cause of the Charter before Louis XVIII, and to insist upon 
 the absolute necessity of keeping M. de Blacas, the chief of 
 the old regime party, from all participation in affairs. This is 
 the statement of the affair given by his friends, and what 
 seems to prove that it was in fact the object of M. Guizot^s 
 mission, is, that a month afterward, on his return into 
 France, the king dismissed M. de Blacas, and pub- 
 lished the proclamation of Cambrai, in which he acknowl- 
 edged ^the faults of his government, and added new guaran- 
 tees to the charter. 
 
 Every one knows what violent storms agitated th6 
 Chamber of 1815, composed of the most heterogeneous 
 elements, and wherein the majority, more royalist than the 
 king himself, constantly opposed every measure calculated 
 to reconcile the country to the dynasty of the Bourbons. 
 To say that M. Guizot then filled the office of Secretary- 
 General, in the department of justice under the Marquis de 
 Barbe-Marbois, is to say that, while he conceded much, 
 too much, perhaps, to the demands of the victorious party. 
 
OF M. G UIZOT. ii 
 
 he endeavored to arrest, as far as he could, the encroaching 
 spirit of the partisans of absolute royalty. His first political 
 pamphlet, Bu Gouvernement Representatif, et de VEtai 
 actuel de la France, which he published in refutation of a 
 work by M. de VitroUes, gave the criterion of his govern- 
 mental ideas, and placed him in the ranks of the constitu* 
 tional royalist minority, represented in the Chamber by 
 Messrs. Koyer-Collard, Pasquier, Camille Jourdain, and de 
 j?^erres. It was about this epoch, after the victory of the 
 moderate party, the dissolution of the Chamber of 1815, 
 and the accession of the ministry of the Duke Decazes, that 
 a new word was introduced into the political language of 
 France. It has not been consecrated by the dictionary of 
 the French Academy, for want, perhaps, of ability to give 
 it a precise definition; but it appears to us desirable to fur- 
 nisli, if not its signification (which would be a difficult 
 matter), at least its history. 
 
 It is well known that prior to 1789, the Doctrinaires 
 were an educational body. M. Royer-Collard had been 
 educated in a college of Doctrinaires, and in the debates of 
 the Chamber his logical and lofty understanding always im- 
 pelling him to sum up the question in a dogmatical form, 
 the word doctrine was often upon his lips, so that one day 
 a wag of the royalist majority cried out Voila Men les 
 doctrinaires! The phrase took, and remained as a defini* 
 tion, if not clear, at all events absolute, of the political 
 faction directed by Royer-Collard. 
 
 Let us now explain the origin of that famous canape de 
 la doctrine, which awakens ideas as vague as the divan of 
 the Sublime Porte. One day Count Beugnot, a doctrinaire,. 
 was asked to enumerate the forces of his party. *^ Our 
 party,'' he replied, ''could all be accommodated on this 
 canape (sofa).'' This phrase also was successful, and the 
 changes were rung on it to such a degree that the multi* 
 tude came to regard the doctrinaires as a collection of in- 
 
Xn BIOGRAPHICAL SKETGH 
 
 dividuals, half-jesuits, half -epicureans, seated like Turks, 
 upon downy cushions, and pedantically discoursing about 
 , public affairs. 
 
 The reaction consequent upon the assassination of 
 the Duke de Berri is not yet forgotten. The De» 
 cazes ministry fell, and the firmest supporters of 
 the constitutional party were driven from office. 
 Messrs. Eoyer-Collard, Camille Jourdain and de Bar- 
 ante left the council of state; M. Guizot accompanied 
 them, and from that moment until the accession of the 
 Martignac cabinet, of 1828, his political life was an inces^ 
 sant struggle against the administration of Villele. While 
 the national interests of France had eloquent defenders in 
 the Chambers, M. Guizot, who was still too young to be 
 permitted to ascend the tribune, sustained the same cause 
 in writings, the success of which was universal. We can 
 not here analyze the entire series of the occasional pro- 
 ductions of M. Guizot from 1820 to 1822. In one he de- 
 fends the system of the Duke Decazes, trampled upon as 
 revolutionary by the counter revolution; in another he in- 
 vestigates the cause of those daily conspiracies which 
 appear to him to be insidiously provoked by the agents of 
 government for the overthrow of constitutional institu- 
 tions. Elsewhere, in his work, entitled La Peine de Morf 
 MatUre Politique, without pretending to erase completely 
 from our laws the punishment of death, even for political 
 crimes, he demonstrates, in a grave and elevated style, that 
 power has a deep interest in keeping within its scabbard 
 the terrible weapon which transforms into persecutors 
 those who brandish it, and into martyrs those whom it 
 smites. 
 
 Among these political lucubrations, there is one which 
 strikes us as worthy, in many respects, of special mention. 
 In his treatise upon Des Moyens d'Oppositien et de Gou* 
 vernement dans VEtat actuel de la France, published in 
 
I 
 
 OF M. QUIZOT. 
 
 1821, M. Giiizot completely lays bare the nature of hU 
 political individuality, and furnishes both an explanation 
 of his past, and the secret of his future career. It was not 
 an ordinary opposition, that of M. Guizot. He defends 
 the public liberties, but he defends them in his own way, 
 which is not that of all the world. He may be said to 
 march alone in his path, and if he is severe toward the 
 men whom he combats, he is not the less so toward those 
 who are fighting with him. 
 
 In his view, the capital crime of the Villele ministry was 
 not the abuse of power in itself, but rather the conse- 
 quences of that abuse which placed in peril the principle 
 of authority by exposing it to a fatal conflict. 
 
 Unlike other polemical writings, which are usually alto- 
 gether negative and dissolving, those of M. Guizot are 
 eminently affirmative, governmental and constituent. When 
 the word right comes from his pen, you may be sure that 
 the word duty is not far off, and never does he put his 
 finger on an evil without indicating at once what seems to 
 him a remedy. 
 
 At the height of his strife with the ministry M. Guizot 
 was engaged in developing, from his professional chair, 
 amid the applause of a youthful and numerous audience, 
 the various phases of representative government in Europe, 
 since the fall of the Roman Empire, in the course of lectures 
 given in the following pages. The minister revenged him- 
 self upon the professor for the assaults of the publicist: the 
 lectures were interdicted in 1825. Eetiring into private 
 life, after having passed through high political functions, 
 M. Guizot was still poor; but his pen remained to him. 
 Renouncing the inflammatory questions of the moment, ho 
 undertook a series of great historical works, which the bio- 
 grapher may confidently praise; for his merits as an histo- 
 rian have never been denied. Then were successively pub- 
 I lished, the Collection des Memoires relatifs a la Revolution 
 
iii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 d' Angleterre; the Histoire de la Revolution d^ Angleterre, en 
 1640; a Collection des Memoires i^elatifs a V Histoire de 
 ' France; and finally, Essais sur V Histoire de France, a 
 work by which he carried light into the dark recesses of 
 the national origin. At the same time he presented the 
 public with historical essays upon Shakespeare and upon 
 Calvin, a revised translation of the works of the great Eng- 
 lish dramatist, and a considerable number of political 
 articles of a high order in the Revue Frangaise, 
 
 In 1827 death deprived him of the companion of his 
 labors — that beloved wife, whose lofty intelligence and 
 moral strength had sustained him amid the agitations of his 
 career. It was sad, though calm, philosophical. Christian, 
 that parting scene between the husband and the dying wife, 
 and their young son, soon about to follow his mother to 
 the tomb. Though born and bred a Catholic, Madame 
 Guizot had just before this joined the faith of her husband; 
 that husband now soothed the last moments of his beloved 
 partner by reading to her, in his grave, solemn, impressive 
 tones, one of the finest productions of Bossuet, his funeral 
 oration upon the Queen of England.* 
 
 Some time afterward, M. Guizot became one of the most 
 active members of the society Aide-toi, le del f aider a, the 
 object of which was to defend, in all legal modes, the free- 
 dom of elections against the influence of power. The 
 Villele ministry fell, and that of Martignac restored M. 
 Guizot to his professorial chair and to the circle of admir- 
 ing students, whom lie proceeded to delight with his 
 lectures on the History of Civilization in France. A 
 short time after the formation of the Polignac cabinet, 
 he was elected deputy for Lisieux, and voted for the 
 
 * M. Guizot, in 1828, married Mademoiselle Eliza Dillon, the 
 niece of his first wife, according, it is said, to the earnest entreaties 
 of the latter previous to her death. 
 
OF M, OUIZOT. xiii 
 
 address of the 221, adding to his vote these words: ^* Truth 
 has already trouble enough in penetrating to the council 
 of kings; let us not send it there pale and feeble; let it be 
 no more possible to mistake it than to doubt the loyalty of 
 our sentiments/' He wished to oblige power to live, but 
 power was determined to die. On the 26th of July he 
 returned from Nimes to Paris; on the 27th he drew up the 
 protest of the deputies against the ordinances — a protest 
 more respectful than hostile, manifesting a conservative 
 spirit, dreading rather than desiring a revolution. Power 
 deemed it seditious; the people pronounced it feeble and 
 timid: events proved the people were right. 
 
 In the meeting at M. Lafitte's, on the 29th, when all 
 minds were intoxicated with triumph, M. Guizot, ever 
 exclusively occupied with the immediate necessity of regu- 
 lating the revolution, rose and insisted upon the urgency 
 of at once constituting a municipal commission whose 
 especial duty should be the re-establishment and mainte- 
 nance of order. On the 30th, this commission appointed 
 him provisional minister of public instruction; on the 31st 
 he read in the chamber the proclamation conferring the 
 lieutenant-generalship of the kingdom on the Duke of 
 Orleans. During the period preceding the ceremony of 
 the 9th of August, he was busied with the general recom- 
 position of the administration of public affairs, and the 
 revision of the charter, his organizing activity having 
 caused him to be transferred to the then most difficult 
 post, the ministry of the interior. In a few days seventy- 
 six prefects, one hundred and seventy-six sub-prefects, 
 thirty-eight secretaries-general, were removed and replaced. 
 In the draft of the new charter, he endeavored, but with- 
 out success, to lower to twenty-five years the age required 
 for eligibility as a representative. 
 
 The first ministry of July, formed in a moment of 
 enthusiasm, was as ephemeral as the excitement of the 
 
Xiv BIOGRAPHICAL SKETGB 
 
 three days. Personal differences, for a time effaced by 
 great events and a common interest, reappeared more 
 marked than ever, when it became necessary to consolidate 
 the work so rapidly effected. The impulse was still too 
 strong, too near its source, to be guided. The principle of 
 order was compelled to yield to that of liberty; M. Guizot 
 retired. 
 
 The history of the Lafitte cabinet is well known. After 
 its dissolution, on the 13th of March, the conservative ele- 
 ment, at first trampled under foot, raised itself erects 
 potent, imperious, in the person of Casimir Perier. For 
 the first time since July, a compact, resolute and dur- 
 able majority was formed in the Chambers. This govern- 
 mental army, hitherto undisciplined and confused, was 
 divided into three distinct corps, maneuvering with unanim- 
 ity and harmony, under the orders of the fiery minister — 
 the left wing, composed of a goodly fraction of the old 
 liberal opposition of the Eestoration, was commanded by M. 
 Thiers, the brilliant deserter from the camp of M. Lafitte; 
 the right wing, formed of the old constitutional monarch- 
 ists, marched under the banner of M. Guizot, the man of 
 inflexible and conservative will; as to the center, an aggre- 
 gation of the undecided and wavering of all sides, it was 
 astonished to find for the first time in M. Dupin, the most 
 eccentric and restive of men, a chief obedient to the word 
 of command and eager for the fray. 
 
 Supported by this triple phalanx, the ministry of the 
 13th was able to make head against opposition in the 
 Chambers, to overcome insurrection in the streets, force 
 the gates of Ancona, and consolidate the system established 
 in July by rescuing it from the exaggeration of its 
 principle. 
 
 After the death of Casimir Perier, his captains for some 
 time disputed among themselves the command; M. Thiers 
 and M. Guizot shook hands, and the cabinet of the lltb 
 
.^ OF M. OUIZOT. XV 
 
 of October, 1832, was formed. Upon the proceedings of 
 their administration, M. Guizot exercised a sustained and 
 often preponderant influence. 
 
 Whatever may be thought of their acts, there was one 
 ^ exclusively appertaining to the department of M. Guizot — 
 f that of public instruction — so glorious that all parties, the 
 most hostile to the man, have emblazoned it with unquali- 
 fied approbation. The great and noble law oi the 28th of 
 June, 1833, as to primary instruction, conceived, prepared^ 
 sustained and executed by M. Guizot, will ever remain one 
 of the grandest creations of our time: the principle of 
 popular education, adopted and proclaimed by the Revolu- 
 tion of ^89, but arrested by the social tumults of the last 
 fifty years, at last received its full development beneath the 
 auspices of M. Guizot. Eleven thousand parishes, that is 
 to say, one-fourth of France, previously destitute of that 
 primary instruction which makes the honest man and the 
 good citizen, have seen erected by the side of the humble 
 parish church, the modest school-house, where the chil- 
 dren of the poor resort for knowledge, that other bread of 
 the soul which is to support them through the rough trials 
 of life. Volumes might be formed of the detailed instruc- 
 tions addressed by M. Guizot, in reference to this law, to 
 prefects, rectors, mayors and committees of examination; 
 they are models of precision and clearness. The finest of 
 t-hese productions is undoubtedly the circular to the teach- 
 ers of the parishes. In its few pages there is, perhaps, as 
 much true eloquence, as much poetry of style and of 
 thought, as in the most admirable works of the epoch. 
 With what touching familiarity does the minister 
 stretch forth his hand to the poor, obscure village pre- 
 ceptor! how he elevates him in the eyes of all, and espe- 
 cially in his own! how he filb him with the importance of 
 his mission! He is almost his friend, his colleague, his 
 6QU2^II ^^^ Hotl> ara Atrivinor. ^a^h ip hia anhere, to secure 
 
Xvi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 the repose and glory of the country. And then with what 
 paternal solicitude does the statesman, from the recesses of 
 his cabinet, enter into the most insignificant details of the 
 relations of the teacher with children, parents, the mayor 
 and the curate! ^^No sectarian or party spirit,'^ he 
 exclaims, ** in your school; the teacher must rise above the 
 fleeting quarrels which agitate society! Faith in Provi- 
 dence, the sanctity of duty, submission to parental 
 authority, respect for the laws, the prince, the rights of 
 ail, such are the sentiments he must seek to develop/' 
 Can there be anything more affecting than the following 
 simple picture of the painful duties of the teacher and the 
 consolations he must find within himself: ^* There is no 
 fortune to be made, there is little renown to be gained in 
 the painful obligations which the teacher fulfils. Destined 
 to see his life pass away in a monotonous occupation, 
 sometimes even to experience the injustice or ingratitude 
 of ignorance, he would often be saddened, and perhaps 
 would succumb, if he derived courage and strength from 
 no other sources than the prospect of immediate or merely 
 personal reward. He must be sustained and animated by 
 a profound sense of the moral importance of his labors; 
 the grave happiness of having served his fellow-creatures, 
 and obscurely contributed to the public welfare, must be 
 his compensation, and this his conscience alone can give. 
 It is his glory not to aspire to aught beyond his obscure 
 and laborious condition, to exhaust himself in sacrifices 
 scarcely noticed by those ^\hom they benefit, to toil, in 
 short, for man, and to expect his recompense only from 
 God.'' 
 
 Couple these pages of patriarchal gentleness with the 
 pitiless language of M. Guizot in presence of a revolt; hear 
 him thundering from the tribune against the wicked tail 
 of the Revolution; behold him reading Bossuet to his dying 
 wife, or throwing with stoic hand the first piece of earth 
 
OF M. G UIZOT. xvil 
 
 on the coffin of his son; and say, if there be nofc some- 
 thing strange, grand, immense, in this individuality, in 
 which we find at once the fiery zeal of Luther, the unctuous 
 mildness of Melancthon, the impassability of Epictetus, 
 the simple kindliness of Fenelon, and the inflexible severity 
 of Kichelieu. 
 
 After the existence of four years, the cabinet of the 11th 
 of October was dissolved by two causes, one external, the 
 other internal. The public perils at an end, it was deemed 
 too repressive by the Chambers; the majority which had 
 supported it was enfeebled and dislocated, while dissen- 
 sions broke out in its councils between M. Guizot and M. 
 Thiers. The former retired, but did not enter into open 
 hostilities until the formation of the Mole ministry, on 
 the 15th of April, 1838, the policy of which he thus 
 severely denounced: — '^It is a policy without principle and 
 without banner, made up of expedients and pretexts, ever 
 tottering, leaning on every side for support, and advancing, in 
 reality, toward no object; which tampers with, foments, ag- 
 gravates that uncertainty of men.^s minds, that relaxation of 
 heart, that want of faith, consistency, perseverance, 
 energy, which cause disquiet to the country, and weakness 
 to power." To fortify power, M. Guizot threw himself into 
 the coalition. Many think that he failed in his purpose. 
 We will not decide the question; it is certain that the 
 governmental car was for an instant stopped, and the 
 cause dear to M. Guizot brought into peril. 
 
 Called upon by the Soult ministry of May 12, 1839, to 
 replace Marshal Sebastiani, as the representative of France 
 at the court of St. James, retained in that office by the 
 ministry of the 1st of March following, and charged with the 
 defense of the interests of France, in the stormy question 
 of the East, M. Guizot appeared at first in London under 
 the most favorable auspices. His literary reputation, his 
 calm, grave dignity, his thorough knowledge of English 
 
xviii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 manners, language and literature, his Protestantism, all 
 these features combined to conciliate for him the suffrages 
 of the haughtiest and most fastidious of all aristocracies. 
 His society was universally sought; no French ambassador 
 since Chateaubriand had created so great a sensation. At 
 the foreign office, too, everything seemed to be smoothed 
 for him, and arrangements of a satisfactory nature ap* 
 peared to be on the eve of completion tvhen the Syrian in- 
 surrection broke out and M. Guizot^s position was changed. 
 The results of the treaty of the 15th of July are well 
 known; there is no need for us to go into a detail of the 
 circumstances under which the ministry of March 1st fell, 
 and M. Guizot was called upon to form the Soult-Guizot 
 cabinet of October, 29, 1840, himself accepting the office 
 of Minister of Foreign Affairs, which he retained until 
 1847, when he succeeded M. Soult as head of the cabinet. 
 For eight years his story is simply that of France itself. 
 In concert with Louis Philippe he upheld the system of 
 peace at any price abroad and of opposition to democratic 
 reform at home, which eventually resulted in the overthrow 
 of the Orleans dynasty. He was driven by the Kevolution 
 of 1848 to England, where he published in January, 1849, 
 a pamphlet entitled De la democratie en Finance, Soon 
 after the establishment of the Second Empire, M. Guizot, 
 in 1851, ventured to return to France, and thenceforward, 
 having settled himself down upon his estate at Val Eicher, 
 in Normandy, he devoted himself exclusively to literature 
 and to the concerns of the French Protestant Church, of 
 which to the day of his death he was looked up to as the 
 head. Many additional works and many contributions to 
 the journals and reviews emanated from the pen of tht 
 retired statesman, including his Memoirs, the History of 
 Oliver- Cromwell, Meditations on Christianity, Biographi- 
 cal and Literary Miscellanies, etc. In 1861 he declared 
 himself in favor of the maintenance of the temporal power 
 
, OF M. GTJIZOT. xix 
 
 of the Pope, and thus aroused much discussion in France 
 and in England. M. Guizot was a member of three De- 
 partments of the French Institute, having been elected to 
 the Academy of Moral and Political Science in 1832, to 
 that of Inscriptions and Belles-lettres in 1833, and to the 
 French Academy in 1836. In 1872 he received from the 
 Academy the biennial prize of 20,000 francs. Probably ' 
 the most widely known of his works are his published lec- 
 tures on the Histoire generale de la civilization en France 
 depuis la chute de F Umpire Eomain, Histoire generale 
 de la Civilization en Europe depuis la chute de V Empire 
 Romain jusqu'a la revolution Fran^aise and Histoire du 
 Gouvei^nement representatif, M. Guizot died at Val Richer 
 on September 12, 1874, and was buried in the neighboring 
 cemetery of St. Ouen le Pin. 
 
 M. Guizot may be considered in four points of view — as 
 a private individual, as a writer, as an historian, as an 
 orator and politician. 
 
 The virtue of the man has never been called in question. 
 ^' The morals, of M. Guizot, ^^ said one of his most violent 
 political foes, ^* are rigid and pure, and he is worthy, by 
 the lofty virtue of his life and sentiments, of the esteem of 
 all good men.^' 
 
 As a writer, his style is one that may be recognized 
 among a thousand. With his pen in his hand he takes a 
 firm, decided tone, goes straight to his object, is not 
 exempt from a species of stiffness, and particularly affects 
 abstract terminology; the form in which he envelops his 
 thoughts is a little obscure, but the thought is so clear, so 
 brilliant, that it always shines through. 
 
 x\8 an historian, he has rendered eminent service to 
 science. He is one of the chiefs of that modern historical 
 school which has taught us to emerge from the present to 
 go and examine the past, and no longer to measure the 
 men and things of former times by our standards of to-day. 
 
XX BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 As an orator, his manner is dignified and severe. Small 
 and frail in person, he is lofty and proud in bearing; his 
 voice is imposing and sonorous; his language, whether 
 calm or vehement, is always pure and chastened; it has 
 more energy than grace, it convinces rather than moves. 
 When he ascends the tribune friends and enemies all 
 open their ears; there is no more talking, little coughing, 
 and nobody goes to sleep. 
 
 Much has been said of the political versatility of M. 
 Guizot, of his sudden changes, of his former opposition 
 and his present servility; but from his words, his writings 
 and his acts at every epoch, we have derived the profound 
 conviction that, save a few trifling exceptions of detail, his 
 general and distinctive characteristic as a politician is ten- 
 acity and consistency; such as he was under the Decazes 
 ministry, or in the opposition to Villele, such as he appears 
 to us to be now. Let us explain our idea without flattery 
 and without enmity. 
 
 Providence has imposed upon society an eternal problem, 
 the solution of which it has reserved to itself. There has 
 been, and there always will be, a conflict between two op- 
 posite principles, right and duty, power and liberty. In 
 presence of these two hostile elements, which the eminent 
 minds of all ages have essayed to conciliate, no one can 
 remain perfectly calm, perfectly impartial. Mathematical 
 truths belong to the head; people do not become ex- 
 cited about them; political truths act upon both the 
 head and the heart; and no one can guard himself from 
 -an involuntary movement of attraction or repulsion in 
 relation to them, according to his nature, to the bent 
 of his mind, to his individuality. Some are especially 
 inclined to liberty> others are more disposed to power; 
 some would play the minister, others the tribune; these 
 have the instinct of authority, those the sentiment of 
 independence. Now. M. Gruizot is essentially one of tht 
 
OF M. GVIZOi. XXi 
 
 latter; his is an elevated and progressive intellect, but 
 domineering by nature and governmental by conviction. 
 In his eyes, the France of our day, founded upon two great 
 victories of the principle of liberty, is naturally prone to 
 abuse its triumph, and of the two elements equally neces- 
 sary for social life, the feeblest at present, the vanquished 
 one, is power. 
 
 Setting out from this idea, M. Guizot seeks to re-estab- 
 lish the equilibrium between the two bases of the edifice, 
 giving to the one what the other has too much of, and 
 combining this arrangement of forces within certain limits, 
 with certain measures, the details of which are too long 
 and too complicated to be gone into here. 
 
 If we read with attention the political writings of M. 
 Guizot, during the period of the restoration, we shall soon 
 discover, through all his attacks upon the agents of power, 
 a real sympathy for power itself. Legitimacy exaggerates 
 its rights. Pushed on by imprudent friends and insidious 
 enemies, it drives full sail upon a rock: from the height 
 where he has placed himself, M. Guizot sees the danger, 
 rebukes those who manage the vessel, and even after it has 
 struck, continues to exclaim, ^^^Bout ship T^ 
 
 The revolution of July discomposed, perhaps, for an 
 instant, but did not discourage M. Guizot; thus, on the 
 29th, when the principle which is the object of his solici- 
 tude had fallen beneath the popular assault, we behold him 
 earnest to raise it by degrees and revive its strength, and 
 at length urging it boldly in the direction which he 
 wished it to take before its fall. 
 
 What, in short, is M. Guizot? 
 
 He is, above all, a man of power and of government, 
 and at the same time the most independent of men — sub- 
 missive to the yoke of self-imposed principles, but bearing 
 his head erect in all questions as to persons; a politician of 
 great worth and estimating himself at that worth; more 
 
xxii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 conyinced than enthusiastic; more proud of the approba- 
 tion of his conscience than of the homage of the crowd; 
 gifted in a supreme degree with that strength of will and 
 perseverance which make the statesman, a mortal foe to 
 all that resembles disorder, and capable, if things were to 
 come to their worst, of throwing himself, without hesita- 
 tion, into the arms of despotism, which he does not love, 
 rather than undergo the anarchy which ne abhors. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 FIRST LECTURE. 
 
 Object of the course — History of European civilization — Part 
 taken by France in the civilization of Europe — Civilization 
 a fit subject for narrative — It is the most general fact in his- 
 tory — The ordinary and popular meaning of the word civili- 
 zation — Two leading facts constitute civilization: 1. The de- 
 velopment of society; 2. The development of the individ- 
 ual — Demonstration — These two facts are necessarily con- 
 nected the one with the other, and sooner or later the one 
 produces the other — Is the destiny of man limited wholly 
 within his actual social condition? — The history of civiliza- 
 tion may be exhibited and considered under two points 
 of view — Remarks on the plan of the course — The present 
 sta^e of men's minds, and the prospects of civilization 1. 
 
 SECOND LECTURE. 
 
 Purpose of the lecture — Unity of ancient civilization — Variety 
 of modern civilization — Its superiority — Condition of Europe 
 at the fall of the Roman Empire — Preponderance of the 
 towns — Attempt at political reform by the emperors — Re- 
 script of Honorius and of Theodosius II — Power of the 
 name of the Empire — The Christian church — The various 
 stages through which it had passed at the fifth century — The 
 clergy exercising municipal functions — Good and evil influ- 
 ence of the church — The barbarians — They introduce into 
 th© modern worid the sentiments of personal, independence, 
 and the devotion of man to man — Summary of the different 
 elements of civilization in the beginning of the fifth century 35 
 
xxiv CONTENTS. 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 Object of the lecture — All the various systems pretend to be 
 legitimate — What is political legitimacy ? — Co-existence of all 
 systems of government in the fifth century — Instability in 
 the condition of persons, properties, and institutions — There 
 were two causes of this, one material, the continuation of 
 the invasion; the other moral, the selfish sentiment of indi- 
 viduality peculiar to the barbarians — The germs of civiliza- 
 tion have been the necessity for order, the recollections 
 of the Roman Empire, the Christian church, and the bar- 
 barians — Attempts at organization by the barbarians, by the 
 towns, by the church of Spain, by Charlemagne, and 
 Alfred — The German and Arabian invasions cease — The 
 leudal system begins 52 
 
 FOURTH LECTURE. 
 
 Object of the lecture — Necessary alliance between facts and 
 doctrines — Preponderance of the country over the towns— 
 Oi'ganization of a small feudal society — Influence of feudal, 
 ism upon the character of the possessor of the fief, and 
 upon the spirit of family — Hatred of the people toward 
 the feudal system — The priest could do little for the 
 serfs — Impossibility of regularly organizing feudalism : 
 1. No povv^erful authority; 2. No public power; 3. DiflS- 
 culty of the federative system — The idea of the right of 
 resistance inherent in feudalism — Influence of feudalism 
 favorable to the development of the individual, unfavor- 
 able to social order 74 
 
 FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 C»bject of the lecture — Religion is a principle of association^ 
 Constraint is not of the essence of government — Conditions 
 of the legitimacy of a government: 1. The power must be in 
 the hands of the most worthy; 2. The liberty of the gov- 
 erned must be respected — The church being a corporatior 
 and not a caste, fulfilled the first of these conditions — O. 
 the various methods of nomination and election that ex- 
 isted therein— *It wanted the other condition, on account 
 of the illegitimate extension of authority, and on account 
 
CONTENTS. XXV 
 
 Pags. 
 of the abusive employment of force — Movement and liberty 
 of spirit in the bosom of the church — Relations of the 
 church with princes — The independence of spiritual power 
 laid down as a principle — Pretensions and efforts of the 
 church to usurp the temporal power 99 
 
 SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 Object of the lecture — Separation of the governing and the gov- 
 erned party in the church — Indirect influence of the laity 
 upon the clergy — The clergy recruited from all conditions 
 of society — Influence of the church upon the public order 
 and upon legislation — The penitential system — The devel- 
 opment of the human mind is entirely theological — The 
 church usually ranges itself on the side of power — Not 
 to be wondered at ; the aim of religions is to regulate 
 human liberty — Different states of the church, from the 
 fifth to the twelfth century — 1st. The imperial church — 
 2d. The barbaric church; development of the separating 
 principle of the two powers; the monastic order — 3d. The 
 feudal church; attempts at organization; want of reform; 
 Gregory VII — The theocratical church — Regeneration of the 
 spirit of inquiry; Abailard — Movement of the boroughs — 
 No connection between these two facts 123 
 
 SEVENTH LECTURE. 
 
 Object of the lecture — Comparative picture of the state of the 
 boroughs at the twelfth and the eighteenth century — Double 
 question — 1st. The enfranchisement of the boroughs — State 
 of the towns from the fifth to the tenth century — Their 
 decay and regeneration — Communal insurrection — Charters — 
 Social and moral effects of the enfranchisement of the bor- 
 oughs — 2d. Internal government of the boroughs — Assem- 
 blies of the people — Magistrates — High and low burgher- 
 ship — Diversity of the state of the boroughs in the different 
 countries of Europe I4ll 
 
 EIGHTH LECTURE. 
 Object of the lecture — Glance at the general history of European 
 
xxvi CONTENTS. 
 
 Pagb. 
 
 civilization — Its distinctive and fundamental character — 
 Epoch at which that character began to appear — State of 
 Europe from the twelfth to the sixteenth century — Character 
 of the crusades — Their moral and social causes — These 
 causes no longer existed at the end of the thirteenth cen- 
 tury — Effects of the crusades upon civilization 174 
 
 NINTH LECTURE. 
 
 Object of the lecture — Important part taken by royalty in the his- 
 tory of Europe, and in the history of the world — True causes 
 of this importance — Two-fold point of view under which the 
 institution of royalty should be considered — 1st. Its true 
 and permanent nature — It is the personification of the sov- 
 ereignty of right — With what limits — 2d. Its flexibility 
 and diversity — European royalty seems to be the result of 
 various kinds of royalty — Of barbarian royalty — Of impe- 
 rial royalty — Of religious royalty — Of feudal royalty — Of 
 modern royalty, properly so called, and of its true char- 
 acter 194 
 
 TENTH LECTURE. 
 
 Object of the lecture — Attempts to reconcile the various social 
 elements of modern Europe, and to make them live and act 
 in common, in one society, and under one central power — 1st. 
 Attempt at theocratical organization — Why it failed — Four 
 principal obstacles — Faults of Gregory VII — Reaction 
 against the domination of the church — On the part 
 Df the people — On the part of the sovereigns — 2d. 
 Attempt at republican organization — Italian republics — 
 Their defects— Towns in the south of France — Crusade of 
 the Albigenses — Swiss confederation — Boroughs of Flanders 
 and the Rhine — Hanseatic league — Struggle between the 
 feudal nobility and the boroughs — 3d. Attempt at a mixed 
 organization — States-general of France — Cortes of Spain and 
 Portugal — English Parliament — Peculiar state of Germany — 
 111 success of all their attempts — From what causes — General 
 tendency of Europe .214 
 
CONTENTS. xxvii 
 
 ^ ' ELEVENTH LECTURE. 
 
 Object of the lecture — Special character of the fifteenth cen- 
 JK tury — Progressive centralization of nations and govern- 
 ments— 1st. Of France — Formation of the national French 
 spirit — Government of Louis XI — 2d. Of Spain — 3d. Of 
 Germany— 4th. Of England — 5th. Of Italy — Origin of the! 
 external relations of states and of diplomacy — Movement 
 in religious ideas — Attempt at aristocratical reform — Coun- 
 cil of Constance and Basle — Attempt at popular reform-- 
 John Huss — Regeneration of literature — Admiration for an- 
 tiquity — Classical school, or free-thinkers — General activ- 
 ity — Voyages, discoveries, inventi<ms — Conclusion 239 
 
 TWELFTH LECTURE. 
 
 Object of the lecture — Diflficulty of distinguishing general facts 
 m modern history — Picture of Europe in the sixteenth cen- 
 tury — Danger of precipitate generalization — Various causes 
 assigned to the Reformation — Its dominant character was 
 the insurrection of the human mind against absolute power 
 in the intellectual order — Evidences of this fact — Fate of the 
 Reformation in different countries — Weak side of the Refor- 
 mation — The Jesuits — Analogy between the revolutions of 
 religious society and those of civil society 256 
 
 THIRTEENTH LECTURR 
 
 Clyjeet of the lecture — General character of the English revolu- 
 tion — Its principal causes — It was more political than re- 
 ligious — The three great parties in it: 1. The party of legal 
 reform; 2. The party of the political revolution; 3. The 
 
 party of the social revolution — They all fail — Cromwell 
 
 The restoration of the Stuarts — The legal ministry — The 
 , profligate ministry — The revolution of 1688 in England and 
 Europe 2T3 
 
 FOURTEENTH LECTURi:i. 
 
 Object of the lecture — Difference and likeness between the pro- 
 gress of civilization in England and on the Continent — Pre- 
 ponderance of Franoe in Europe in the seventeenth and 
 
xxviii CONTENTS. 
 
 eighteenth centuries — In the seventeenth century hy reason 
 of the French government — In the eighteenth by reason of 
 the country itself — Of the government of Louis XIV — Of his 
 wars — Of his diplomacy — Of his administration — Of his leg- 
 islation — Causes of Ins rapid decline — Of France in the 
 eighteenth century — Essential characteristics of the philo- 
 sophical reYolutioik — Condusiou of the course • • . . • < .298 
 
HISTORY 
 
 OP 
 
 CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE, 
 
 LECTURE THE FIRST. 
 
 Object of the course — History of European civilization — Part taken 
 by France in the civilization of Europe — Civilization a fit subject 
 for narrative — It is the most general fact in history — The ordinary 
 and popular meaning of the word civilization — Two leading facts 
 constitute civilization: 1. The development of society;' 2. The 
 development of the individual — Demonstration — These two facts 
 are necessarily connected the one with the other, and sooner or 
 later the one produces the other — Is the destiny of man limited 
 wholly within his actual social condition ? — The history of civili- 
 zation may be exhibited and considered under two points of 
 view — Remarks on the plan of the course — The present state of 
 men's minds, and the prospects of civilization. 
 
 Gentlemen^: — 
 
 I AM deeply affected by the reception you give me, 
 and which, you will permit me to say, I accept as a pledge 
 of the sympathy which has not ceased to exist between us, 
 notwithstanding so long a separation. Alas! I speak as 
 though you, whom I see around me, were the same who, 
 seven years ago, used to assemble within these walls, to 
 participate in my then labors; because I myself am here 
 again, it seems as if all my former hearers should be here 
 also; whereas, since that period, a change, a mighty 
 
2 HISTORY OF 
 
 change, has come over all things. Seven years ago we re- 
 paired hither, depressed with anxious doubts and fears, 
 weighed down with sad thoughts and anticipations; we saw 
 ourselves surrounded with difficulty and danger; we felt 
 ourselves dragged on toward an evil which we essayed to 
 avert by calm, grave, cautious reserve, but in vain. Now, 
 we meet together, full of confidence and hope, the heart at 
 peace, thought free. There is but one way in which we 
 can worthily manifest our gratitude for this happy change; 
 it is bringing to our present meetings, our new studies, the 
 same calm tranquillity of mind, the same firm purpose, 
 which guided our conduct when, seven years ago, we looked, 
 from day to day, to have our studies placed under rigorous 
 supervision, or, indeed, to be arbitrarily suspended. Good 
 fortune is delicate, frail, uncertain; we must keep measures 
 with hope as with fear; convalescence requires well nigh the 
 same care, the same caution, as the approaches of illness. 
 This cVe, this caution, this moderation, I am sure you will 
 exhibit. The same sympathy, the same intimate conform- 
 ity of opinions, of sentiments, of ideas, which united us in 
 times of difficulty and danger, and which at least saved us 
 from grave faults, will equally unite us in more auspicious 
 days, and enable us to gather all their fruits. I rely with 
 confidence upon your cooperation, and I need nothing 
 more. 
 
 The time between this our first meeting and the close of 
 the year is very limited; that which I myself have had, 
 wherein to meditate upon the Lectures 1 am about to de- 
 liver, has been infinitely more limited still. One great 
 point, therefore, was the selection of a subject, the con- 
 sideration of which might best be brought within the 
 bounds of the few months which remain to us of this year, 
 within that of the few days I have had for preparation; 
 and it appeared to me that a general review of the modern 
 history of Europe, considered with reference to the devel- 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. Zi, 
 
 opment of civilization — a general sketch, in fact, of the 
 history of European civilization, of its origin, its progress, 
 its aim, its character, might suitably occupy the time at our 
 disposal. This, accordingly, is the subject of which I pro- 
 pose to treat. 
 
 I have used the term European civilization, because it is' 
 evident that there is an European civilization; that a cer- 
 tain unity pervades the civilization of the various European 
 states; that, notwithstanding infinite diversities of time, 
 place and circumstance, this civilization takes its first rise 
 in facts almost wholly similar, proceeds everywhere upon 
 the same principles, and tends to produce well nigh every- 
 where analogous results. There is, then, an European civ- 
 ilization, and it is to the subject of this aggregate civiliza- 
 tion that I will request your attention. 
 
 Again, it is evident that this civilization cannot be 
 traced back, that its history cannot be derived from the 
 history of any single European state. If, on the one 
 hand, it is manifestly characterized by brevity, on the 
 other, its variety is no less prodigious; it has not developed 
 itself with completeness, in any one particular country. 
 The features of its physiognomy are wide-spread; we must 
 seek the elements of its history, now in France, now in 
 England, now in Germany, now in Spain. 
 
 We of France occupy a favorable position for pursuing 
 the study of European civilization. Flattery of individuals,, 
 even of our country, should be at all times avoided: it is 
 without vanity, I think, we may say that France has been 
 the center, the focus of European civilization. I do not 
 pretend, it were monstrous to do so, that she has always, 
 and in every direction, marched at the head of nations. 
 At different epochs, Italy has taken the lead of her, in the 
 arts; England, in political institutions; and there may be 
 other respects under which, at particular periods, other 
 ^uropean nations have manifested a superiority to her; but 
 
4 HISTORY OF 
 
 it is impossible to deny, that whenever France has seen 
 herself thus outstripped in the career of civilization, she 
 has called up fresh vigor, has sprung forward with a new 
 impulse, and has soon found herself abreast with, or in 
 advance of all the rest. And not only has this been the 
 peculiar fortune of France, but we have seen that when the 
 civilizing ideas and institutions which have taken their rise 
 in other lands have sought to extend their sphere, to be- 
 come fertile and general, to operate for the common bene- 
 fit of European civilization, they have been necessitated to 
 undergo, to a certain extent, a new preparation in France; 
 and it has been from France, as from a second native 
 country, that they have gone forth to the conquest of 
 Europe. There is scarcely any great idea, any great prin- 
 ciple of civilization, which, prior to its diffusion, has not 
 passed in this way through France. 
 
 And for this reason: there is in the French charactei 
 something sociable, something sympathetic, something 
 which makes its way with greater facility and effect than 
 does the national genius of any other people; whether from 
 our language, whether from the turn of our mind, of our 
 manners, certain it is that our ideas are more popular than 
 those of other people, present themselves more clearly and 
 intelligibly to the masses and penetrate among them more 
 readily; in a word, perspicuity, sociability, sympathy, are 
 the peculiar characteristics of France, of her civilization, 
 and it is these qualities which rendered her eminently fit 
 to march at the very head of European civilizationo 
 
 In entering, therefore, upon the study of this great fact^ 
 it is no arbitrary or conventional choice to take France as 
 the center of this study; we must needs do so if we would 
 place ourselves, as it were, in the very heart of civilization, 
 in the very heart of the fact we are about to consider. 
 
 1 use the term /ac^, and I do so purposely; civilization is 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. & 
 
 a fact like any other — a fact susctjptible, like any other, of 
 being studied, described, narrated. 
 
 For some time past, there has been much talk of the 
 necessity of limiting history to the narration of facts: 
 nothing can be more just; but we must always bear in mind 
 that there are far more facts to narrate, and that the facts 
 themselves are far more various in their nature, than ' 
 people are at first disposed to believe; there are material, 
 visible facts, such as wars, battles, the official acts of 
 governments; there are moral facts, none the less real that 
 they do not appear on the surface; there are individual 
 facts which have denominations of their own; there are 
 general facts, without any particular designation, to which 
 it is impossible to assign any precise date, which it is im- 
 possible to bring within strict limits, but which are yet no 
 less facts than the rest, historical facts, facts which we 
 «jannot exclude from hisiory without mutilating history. 
 
 The very portion of history which we are accustomed to 
 call its philosophy, the relation of events to each other, the 
 connection which unites them, their causes and their 
 effects, — these are all facts, these are all history, just as 
 much as the narratives of battles, and of other material 
 and visible events. Facts of this class it is doubtless more 
 difficult to disentangle and explain; we are more liable to 
 error in giving an account of them, and it is no easy thing 
 to give them life and animation, to exhibit them in clear 
 and vivid colors j but this difficulty in no degree changes 
 their nature; they are none the less an essential element of 
 history. 
 
 Civilization is one of these facts; general, hidden, com- 
 plex fact; very difficult, I allow, to describe, to relate, but 
 which none the less for that exists, which, none the less for 
 that, has a right to be described and related. We may 
 raise as to this fact a great number of questions; we may 
 ask, it has been asked, whether it is a good or an evil? 
 
6 HISTORY OF 
 
 Some bitterly deplore it; others rejoice at it. We may 
 ask, whether it is an universal fact, whether there is an uni- 
 versal civilization of the human species, a destiny of 
 humanity; whether the nations have handed down from 
 age to age, something which has never been lost, which 
 must increase, form a larger and larger mass, and thus 
 pass on to the end of time? For my own part, I am con- 
 vinced that there is, in reality, a general destiny of hu- 
 manity, a transmission of the aggregate of civilization; 
 and, consequently, an universal history of civilization to 
 be written. But without raising questions so great, so 
 difficult to solve, if we restrict ourselves to a definite limit 
 of time and space, if we confine ourselves to the history of 
 a certain number of centuries, of a certain people, it is 
 evident that within these bounds, civilization is a fact 
 which can be described, related — which is history. I will 
 at once add, that this history is the greatest of all, that it 
 includes all. 
 
 And, indeed, does it not seem to yourselves that the fact 
 civilization is the fact par excellence — the general and defini- 
 tive fact, in which all the others terminate, into which 
 they all resolve themselves? Take all the facts which 
 compose the history of a nation, and which we are accus- 
 tomed to regard as the elements of its life; take its institu- 
 tions, its commerce, its industry, its wars, all the details of 
 its government: when we would consider these facts in 
 their aggregate, in their connection, when we would esti- 
 mate them, judge them, we ask in what they have contrib- 
 uted to the civilization of that nation, what part they 
 have taken in it^ what influence they have exercised over 
 it. It is in this way that we not only form a complete idea 
 of them, but measure and appreciate their true value; they 
 are, as it were, rivers, of which we ask what quantity of 
 water it is they contribute to the ocean? For civilization 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 7 
 
 is a sort of ocean, constituting the wealth of a people, and 
 on whose bosom all the elements of the life of that people, 
 all the powers supporting its existence, assemble and unite. 
 This is so true, that even facts, which from their nature 
 are odious, pernicious, which weigh painfully upon nations, 
 despotism, for example, and anarchy, if they have contrib- 
 uted in some way to civilization, if they have enabled it 
 to make an onward stride, up to a certain point we pardon 
 them, we overlook their wrongs, their evil nature; in a 
 word, wherever we recognize civilization, whatever the 
 facts which have created it, we are tempted to forget the 
 price it has cost. 
 
 There are, moreover, facts which, properly speaking, we 
 cannot call social; individual facts, which seem to interest 
 the human soul rather than the public life: such are religi- 
 ous creeds and philosophical ideas, sciences, letters, arts. 
 These facts appear to address themselves to man wuth a 
 view to his moral perfection, his intellectual gratification; 
 to have for their object his internal amelioration, his men- 
 tal pleasure, rather than his social condition. But, here 
 again, it is with reference to civilization that these very 
 facts are often considered, and claim to be considered. 
 
 At all times, in all countries, religion has assumed the 
 glory of having civilized the people; sciences, letters, arts, 
 all the intellectual and moral pleasures, have claimed a 
 share in this glory; and we have deemed it a praise and an 
 honor to them, when we have recognized this claim ou 
 their part. Thus, facts the most important and sublime 
 in themselves, independently of all external result, and 
 simply in their relations with the soul of man, increase ill 
 importance, rise in sublimity from their affinity with 
 civilization. Such is the value of this general fact, that it 
 gives value to everything it touches. And not only does it 
 give value; there are even occasions when the facts of 
 which we speak, religious creeds, philosophical ideas. 
 
6 HI8T0RT OF 
 
 letters, arts, are especially considered and judged of with 
 reference to their influence upon civilization; an influence 
 which becomes, up to a certain point and during a certain 
 time,' the conclusive measure of their merit, of their value. 
 
 What, then, I will ask, before undertaking its history, 
 what, considered only in itself, what is this so grave, so 
 vast, so precious fact, which seems the sum, the expression 
 of the whole life of nations? 
 
 I shall take care here not to fall into pure philosophy; 
 not to lay down some ratiocinative principle, and then 
 deduce from it the nature of civilization as a result; therei 
 would be many chances of error in this method. And 
 here again we have a fact to verify and describe. 
 
 For a long period, and in many countries, the word. 
 civilization has been in use; people have attached to the 
 word ideas more or less clear, more or less comprehensive; 
 but there it is in use, and those who use it attach some 
 meaning or other to it. It is the general, human, popular 
 meaning of this word that we must study. There is almost 
 always in the usual acceptation of the most general terms 
 more accuracy than in the definitions, apparently more 
 strict, more precise, of science. It is common sense 
 which gives to words their ordinary signification, and 
 common sense is the characteristic of humanity. The 
 ordinary signification of a word is formed by gradual 
 progress and in tne constant presence of facts; so that 
 when a fact presents itself which seems to come within 
 the meaning of a known term, it is received into it, as it 
 were, naturally; the signification of the term extends itself, 
 expands, and by degrees the various facts, the various ideas 
 which from the nature of the things themselves men shouid 
 include under this word, are includedo 
 
 When the meaning of r.. word, on the other hand, is de- 
 termined by science, this determination, the work of one 
 individual, or of a. small number oi individuals, takes place 
 
CIVlLlZA TION IN EUROPE. g 
 
 under the influence of some particular fact which has 
 struck upon the mind. Thus, scientific definitions are, in 
 general, much more narrow, and, hence, much less ac- 
 curate, much less true, at bottom, than the popular mean- 
 ings of the terms. In studying as a fact the meaning of 
 the word civilization, in investigating all the ideas which 
 are comprised within it, according to the common sense of 
 mankind, we shall make a much greater progress toward 
 a knowledge of the fact itself than by attempting to give 
 it ourselves a scientific definition, however more clear and 
 precise the latter might appear at first. 
 
 I will commence this investigation by endeavoring to 
 place before you some hypotheses: I will describe a cer- 
 tain number of states of society, and we will then inquire 
 whether general instinct would recognize in them the 
 condition of a people civilizing itself; whether we recognize 
 in them the meaning which mankind attaches to the word 
 civilization? 
 
 First, suppose a people whose external life is easy, is full 
 of physical comfort; they pay few taxes, they are free from 
 suffering; justice is well administered in their private 
 relations — in a word, material existence is for ttiem alto- 
 gether happy and happily regulated. But at the same 
 time, the intellectual and moral existence of this people i» 
 studiously kept in a state of torpor and inactivity; of, I 
 will not say, oppression, for they do not understand the 
 feeling, but of compression. We are not without instances 
 of this state of things. There has been a great number of 
 small aristocratic republics in which the people have been 
 thus treated like flocks of sheep, well kept and materially 
 happy, but without moral and intellectual activity, 1a 
 this civilization ? Is this a people civilizing itself ? 
 
 Another hypothesis: here is a people whose material 
 existence is less easy, less comfortable, but still support- 
 able. On the other hand, moral and intellectual wantsr 
 
to HISTORY OF 
 
 have not been neglected, a certain amount of mental pas» 
 ture has been served out to them; elevated, pure senti- 
 ments are cultivated in them^ their religious and moral 
 views* have attained a certain degree of development; 
 but great care is taken to stifle m them the principle 
 of liberty; the intellectual and moral wants, as in the 
 former case the material wants, are satisfied; each man has 
 meted out to him his portion of truth; no one is per> 
 mitted to seek it for himself. Immobility is the charac- 
 teristic of moral life; it is the state into which have fallen 
 most of the populations of Asia; wherever theocratic dom- 
 inations keep humanity in check; it is the state of the 
 Hindoos, for example. I ask the same question here as 
 before; is this a people civilizing itself? 
 
 I change altogether the nature of the hypothesis: here is 
 a people among whom is a great display of individual 
 liberties, but where disorder and inequality are excessive: 
 it is the empire of force and of chance; every man, if he 
 is not strong, is oppressed, sufCers, perishes; violence is the 
 predominant feature of the social state. No one is ignorant 
 that Europe h'^s passed through this state. Is this a civil- 
 ized state? It may, doubtless, contain principles of civil- 
 ization which will develop themselves by successive degrees; 
 but the fact which dominates in such a society is, assuredly, 
 not that which the common sense of mankind call civil- 
 ization, 
 
 A take a fourth and last hypothesis: the liberty of each 
 individual is very great, inequality among them is rare, and 
 at all events, very transient. Every man does very nearly 
 just what he pleases, and differs little in power from his 
 neighbor, but there are very few general interests, very few 
 public ideas, very little society, — -in a word, the faculties 
 and existence oi individuals appear and then pass away, 
 wholly apart and without r.cting upon each other, or leav- 
 ing an]* trace behind them: tho auccessive generations leave 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. if 
 
 society at the same point at which they found It: this ia 
 the state of savage tribes; liberty and equality are there, 
 but assuredly not civilization. 
 
 I might multiply these hypotheses, but I think we have 
 before us enough to explain what is the popular and natural 
 meaning of the word civilization. 
 
 It is clear that none of the states I have sketched corre- 
 sponds, according to the natural good sense of mankind, to 
 this term. Why? It appears to me that the first fact 
 comprised in the word civilization (and this results from 
 the different examples I have rapidly placed before you), is 
 the fact of progress, of development; it presents at once 
 the ilea of a people marching onward, not to change its 
 place, but to change its condition; of a people whose cult- 
 ure is condition itself, and ameliorating itself. The idea 
 of progress, of development, appears to me the fundamental 
 idea contained in the word, civilization. What is this 
 progress? what this development? Herein is the greatest 
 difficulty of all. 
 
 The etymology of the word would seem to answer in a 
 clear and satisfactory manner: it says that it is the perfect- 
 ing of civil life, the development of society, properly so 
 called, of the relations of men among themselves. 
 
 Such is, in fact, the first idea which presents itself to the 
 understanding when the word civilization is pronounced; 
 we at once figure forth to ourselves the extension, the 
 greatest activity, the best organization of the social rela- 
 tions: on the one hand, an increasing production of the 
 means of giving strength and happiness to society; on the 
 other, a more equitable distribution, among individuals, of 
 the strength. 
 
 Is this all? Have we here exhausted all the natural,, 
 ordinary meaning of the word civilization? Does the fac^ 
 contain nothing more than this? 
 
 It is almost as if we asked • m the human species after ^ 
 
12 HISTORY OJf 
 
 a mere ant-hill, a society in which all that is requirea is 
 order and physical happiness, in which the greater the 
 amount of labor, and the more equitable the division of 
 the fitiits of labor, the more surely is the object attained, 
 the progress accomplished? 
 
 Our instinct at once feels repugnant to so narrow a defi- 
 nition of human destiny. It feels at the first glance that 
 the word civilization comprehends something more ex- 
 tensive, more complex, something superior to the simple 
 perfection of the social relations, of social power and 
 happiness. 
 
 Fact, public opinion, the generally received meaning oi 
 the term, are in accordance with this instinct. 
 
 Take Rome in the palmy days of the republic, after the 
 second Punic war, at the time of its greatest virtues, when 
 it was marching to the empire of the world, when its social 
 state was evidently in progress. Then take Eome under 
 Augustus, at the epoch when her decline began, when, at 
 all events, the progressive movement of society was arrested, 
 when evil principles were on the eve of prevailing: yet there 
 is no one who does not think and say that the Rome of 
 Augustus was more civilized than the Rome of Fabricius or 
 of Cincinnatus. 
 
 Let us transport ourselves beyond the Alps: let us take 
 the France of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries: it 
 is evident that, in a social point of view, considering* the 
 actual amount and distribution of happiness among individ 
 uals, the France of the seventeenth and eighteenth centu 
 ries was inferior to some other countries of Europe, to 
 Holland and to England, for example. I believe that in Hoi- j 
 land and in England the social activity was greater, was 
 increasing more rapidly, distributing its fruit more fully, j 
 than in France, yet ask general good sense, and it will say 
 that the France of the seventeenth and eighteenth centu* 
 iuries was the most civilized country in Europe. Europe 
 
 ■\ 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. IS 
 
 has not hesitated in her affirmative reply to the question: 
 traces of this public opinion, as to France, are found in all 
 the monuments of European literature. 
 
 We might point out many other states in which the pros- 
 perity is greater, is of more rapid growth, is better dis» 
 tributed among individuals than elsewhere, and in which, 
 nevertheless, by the spontaneous instinct, the general good 
 sense of men, the civilization is judged inferior to that of 
 countries not so well portioned out in a purely social sense. 
 
 What does this mean; what advantages do these latter 
 countries possess.'* What is it gives them, in the character 
 of civilized countries, this privilege; what so largely com- 
 pensates in the opinion of mankind for what they so lack 
 in other respects? 
 
 A development other than that of social life has been 
 gloriously manifested by them; the development of the 
 individual, internal life, the development of man himself, 
 of his faculties, his sentiments, his ideas. If society with 
 them be less perfect than elsewhere, humanity stands forth 
 in more grandeur and power. There remain, no doubt, 
 many social conquests to be made; but immense intellectual 
 and moral conquests are accomplished; worldly goods, 
 social rights, are wanting to many men; but many great 
 men live and shine in the eyes of the world. Letters, 
 sciences, the arts, display all their splendor. Wherever 
 mankind beholds these great signs, these signs glorified by 
 human nature, wherever it sees created these treasures of 
 sublime enjoyment, it there recognizes and names civili-. 
 zation. 
 
 Two facts, then, are comprehended in this great fact; it 
 subsists on two conditions, and manifests itself by two 
 symptoms: the development of social activity, and that of 
 individual activity; the progress of society and the progress 
 of humanity. Wherever the external condition of man 
 extends itself, vivifies, ameliorates itself; wherever the 
 
14 HI8T0RT OF 
 
 Internal nature of man displays itself with lustre, with 
 grandeur; at these two signs, and often despite the pro- 
 found imperfection of the social state, mankind with loud 
 applause proclaims civilization. 
 
 Such, if I do not deceive p^yself, is the result of simple 
 and purely common -sense examination of the general 
 opinion of mankind. If we interrogate history, properly 
 80-called, if we examine what is the nature of the great 
 crises of civilization, of those facts which, by universal 
 consent, have propelled it onwaid, we shall constantly 
 recognize one or other of the two elements I have just 
 described. They are always crises of individual or social 
 development, facts which have changed the internal man, 
 his creed, his manners, or his external condition, his posi- 
 tion in his relation with his fellows. Christianity, for 
 example, not merely on its first appearance, but during 
 the first stages of its existence, Christianity in no degree 
 addressed itself to the social state; it announced aloud 
 that it would not meddle with the social state; it ordered 
 the slave to obey his master; it attacked none of the great 
 evils, the great wrongs of the society of that period. Yet 
 who will deny that Christianity was a great crisis of civiliza- 
 tion? Why was it so? Because it changed the internal 
 man, creeds, sentiments; because it regenerated the moral 
 man, the intellectual man. 
 
 We have seen a crisis of another nature, a crisis which 
 addressed itself, not to the internal man, but to his 
 external condition; one which changed and regenerated 
 society. This also was assuredly one of the decisive crises 
 of civilization. Look through all history, you will find 
 everywhere the same result; you will meet with no import- 
 ant fact instrumental in the development of civilization, 
 which has not exercised one or other of the two sorts of 
 influence I have spoken of. 
 
 Such, if I mistake not. is the natural and popular mean- 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. Jfr 
 
 ing of the term; you have here the fact, I will not say 
 defined, but described, verified almost completely, or, at all 
 events, in its general features. We have before us the two- 
 elements of civilization. Now comes the question, would 
 one of these two suffice to constitute it; would the develop- 
 ment of the social state, the development of the individual 
 man, separately presented, be civilization? Would the 
 human race recognize it as such, or have the two facts so 
 intimate and necessary a relation between them, that if 
 they are not simultaneously produced, they are notwith- 
 standing inseparable, and sooner or later one brings on the 
 other? 
 
 We might, as it appears to me, approach this question on 
 three several sides. We might examine the nature itself of 
 the two elements of civilization, and ask ourselves whether 
 by that alone, they are or are not closely united with, and 
 necessary to each other. We might inquire of history 
 whether they had manifested themselves isolately, apart the 
 one from the other, or whether they had invariably pro- 
 duced the one the other. We may, lastly, consult upon 
 this question the common opinion of mankind — common 
 eense. I will address mvself first to common sense. 
 
 When a great change is accomplished in the state of a 
 country, when there is operated in it a large development 
 of wealth and power, a revolution in the distribution of the 
 social means, this nev/ fact encounters adversaries, under- 
 goes opposition: this is inevitable. What is the general cry 
 of the adversaries of the change? They say that this prog* 
 fess of the social state does not ameliorate, does not regen- 
 erate in like manner, in a like degree, the moral, the in- 
 ternal state of man; that it is a false, delusive progress, the 
 result of which is detrimental to morality, to man. The 
 friends of social development energetically repel this attack;, 
 they maintain, on the contrary, that the progress of society 
 necessarily involves and carries with it the progress oX 
 
16 BISTORT OF 
 
 molality; that when the external life is better regulated^ 
 the internal life is refined and purified. Thus stands the 
 question between the adversaries and partisans of the new 
 state.' 
 
 Reverse the hypothesis: suppose the moral development 
 in progress: what do the laborers in this progress generally 
 promise? What, in the origin of societies, have promised 
 the religious rulers, the sages, the poets, who have labored 
 to soften and to regulate men's manners? They have 
 promised the amelioration of the social condition, the more 
 ^equitable distribution of the social means. What, then, I 
 -ask you, is involved in these disputes, these promises? 
 What do they mean? What do they imply? 
 
 They imply that in the spontaneous, instinctive convic- 
 vion of mankind, the two elements of civilization, the social 
 development and the moral development, are closely con- 
 nected togathor; that at sight of the one, man at once looks 
 forward to tho other. It is to this natural instinctive con- 
 victioii that those who are maintaining or combating one 
 or other of the two developments address themsehies, when 
 they aifirm or deny their union. It is well understood, 
 that if we can persuade mankind that the amelioration of 
 the social state will be adverse to the internal progress of 
 individjals, we shall have succeeded in decrying and en- 
 feebling the revolution in operation throughout society. On 
 the other hand, when we promise mankind the ameliora- 
 tion oJ society by means of the amelioration of the indi- 
 vidual, it is well understood that the tendency is to place 
 faith in these promises, and it is accordingly made use of with 
 success. It is evidently, therefore, the instinctive belief of 
 humanity, that the movements of civilization are connected 
 i;he one with the other, and reciprocally produce the one 
 the other. 
 
 If we address ourselves to the history of the world, we 
 shall receive the same answer. We shall find that all the 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPB. IT 
 
 great developments of the internal man have turned to tl^e 
 profit of society; all the great developments of the social 
 state to the profit of individual man. We find the one or 
 other of the two facts predominating, manifesting itself 
 with striking effect, and impressing upon the movement in 
 progress a distinctive character. ^^ is, sometimes, only 
 after a very long interval of time, after a thousand ob- 
 stacles, a thousand transformations, that the second fact, 
 developing itself, comes to complete the civilization which 
 the first had commenced. But if you examine them closely, 
 you will soon perceive the bond which unites them. The 
 inarch of Providence is not restricted to narrow limits; it 
 js not bound, and it does not trouble itself, to follow out 
 to-day the consequences of the principle which it laid down 
 yesterday. The consequences will come in due course^ 
 when the hour for them has arrived, perhaps not till hun- 
 dreds of years have passed away; though its reasoning may^ 
 appear to us slow, its logic is none the less true and sound. 
 To Providence, time is as nothing; it strides through time- 
 as the gods of Homer through space; it makes but one step, 
 and ages have vanished behind it. How many centuries, 
 what infinite evenis passed away before the regeneration of 
 the moral man by Christianity exercised upon the regener- 
 ation of the social state its great and legitimate influence. 
 Yet who will deny that it any the less succeeded? 
 
 If from history we extend our inquiries to the nature itself 
 of the two facts which constitute civilization, we are infal- 
 libly led to the same result. There is no one who has not 
 experienced this in his own case. When a moral change is 
 operated in man, when he acquires an idea, or a virtue, or 
 a faculty, more than he had before — in a word, when he 
 develops himself individually, what is the desire, what the 
 want, which at the same moment takes possession of him ? It 
 is the desire, the want, to communicate the new sentiment 
 to the world about him, to give realization to his thoughts 
 
18 HISTORY OF 
 
 'externally. As soon as a man acquires any thing, as soon as 
 his being takes in his own conviction a new development, 
 •assumes an additional value, forthwith he attaches to this 
 new development, this fresh value, the idea of possession; 
 Jie feels himself impelled, compelled, by his instinct, by an 
 inward voice, to extend to others the change, the amelio- 
 Tation, which has been accomplished in his own person. 
 We owe the great reformers solely to this cause; the mighty 
 men who have changed the face of the world, after having 
 changed themselves, were urged onward, were guided on 
 their course, by no other want than this. So much for the 
 alteration which is operated in the internal man; now to 
 the other. A revolution is accomplished in the state of 
 society; it is better regulated, rights and property are 
 more equitably distributed among its members — that is to 
 say, the aspect of the world becomes purer and more beau- 
 tiful, the action of government, the conduct of men in 
 their mutual relations, more just, more benevolent. Do 
 you suppose that this improved aspect of the world, this 
 amelioration of external facts, does not react upon the in- 
 terior of man, upon humanity? All that is said as to the 
 authority of examples, of customs, of noble models, is 
 founded upon this only: that an external fact, good, well- 
 regulated, leads sooner or later, more or less completely, to 
 an internal fact of the same nature, the same merit; that 
 a world better regulated, a world more just, renders man 
 himself more just; that the inward is reformed by the out- 
 'ward, as the outward by the inward; that the two elements 
 of civilization are closely connected the one with the other; 
 that centuries, that obstacles of all sorts, may interpost 
 between them; that it is possible they may have to undergo 
 a thousand transformations in order to regain each other; 
 but sooner or later they will rejoin each other: this is the 
 law of their nature, the general fact of history, the instinc- 
 tive faith of the human race. 
 
i 
 
 CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 19 
 
 I think I have thus — not exhausted the subject, very far 
 from it — but, exhibited in a well-nigh complete, though 
 cursory manner, the fact of civilization; I think I have 
 described it, settled its limits, and stated the principal, 
 the fundamental questions to which it gives rise. I might 
 stop here; but I cannot help touching upon a question 
 which meets me at this point; one of those questions which 
 are not historical questions, properly so called; which are 
 questions, I will not call them hypothetical, but conject- 
 ural; questions of which man holds but one end, the other 
 end being permanently beyond his reach; questions of 
 which he cannot make the circuit, nor view on more than 
 one side; and yet questions not the less real, not the less 
 calling upon him for thought; for they present themselves 
 before him, despite of himself, at every moment. 
 
 Of those two developments of which we have spoken, 
 and which constitute the fact of civilization, the develop- 
 ment of society on the one hand and of humanity on the 
 other, which is the end, which is the means? Is it to per- 
 fect his social condition, to ameliorate his existence on 
 earth, that man develops himself, his faculties, sentiments, 
 ideas, his whole being? — or rather, is not the amelioration 
 of the social condition, the progress of society, society itself, 
 the theatre, the occasion, the moMhy of the development of 
 the individual, in a word, is society made to serve the in» 
 dividual, or the individual to serve society? On the answer 
 to this question inevitably depends that whether the des- 
 tiny of man is purely social; whether society drains up 
 and exhausts the whole man; or whether he bears within 
 him something intrinsic — something superior to his exist* 
 ence on earth. 
 
 A man, whom I am proud to call my friend, a man who 
 has passed though meetings like our own to assume the- 
 first place in assemblies less peaceable and more powerful: 
 a man, all whose words are engraven on the hfi^rta of thos^ 
 
80 HISTORY OF 
 
 who hear them, M. Eoyer-Collard, has solved this question 
 according to his own conviction, at least, in his speech on 
 the Sacrilege Bill. I find in that speech these two sentences: 
 ** Human societies are born, live and die, on the earth; it 
 is there their destinies are accomplished. . . . But 
 *bey contain not the whole man. After he has engaged 
 himself to society, there remains to him the noblest part of 
 himself, those high faculties by which he elevates himself 
 to God, to a future life, to unknown felicity in an invisible 
 world. . • . We, persons individual and indentical, 
 veritable beings endowed with immortality, we have a dif- 
 ferent destiny from that of states. ^^* 
 
 I will add nothing to this; I will not undertake to treat the 
 question itself; I content myself with stating it. It is met 
 with at the history of civilization: when the history of 
 civilization is completed, when there is nothing more to 
 say as to our present existence, man inevitably asks him- 
 self whether all is exhausted, whether he has reached the 
 end of all things? This then is the last, the highest of all 
 those problems to which history of civilization can lead. 
 It is sufficient for me to have indicated its position and its 
 grandeur. 
 
 From all I have said it is evident that the history of civili- 
 sation might be treated in two methods, drawn from two 
 sources, considered under two different aspects. The his- 
 torian might place himself in the heart of the human mind 
 for a given period, a series of ages, or among the deternib- 
 nate people; he might study, describe, relate all the events, 
 all the transformations, all the revolutions which had been 
 accomplished in the internal man; and when he should 
 •arrive at the end he would have a history of civilization 
 among the people, and in the period he had selected. He 
 
 * Opinion de M. Royer-Collard sur le Projet de Loi relatif on 
 Sacrilege, pp. 7, 17. 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 21 
 
 may proceed in another manner: instead of penetrating 
 the internal man, he may take his stand — he may place 
 himself in the midst of the world; instead of describing the 
 vicissitudes of the ideas, the sentiments of the individual 
 being, he may describe external facts, the events, the 
 changes of the social state. These two portions, these two 
 histories of civilization are closely connected with each 
 other; they are the reflection, the image of each other. 
 Yet, they may be separated; perhaps, indeed, they ought 
 to be SO; at least at the onset, in order that both the one 
 and the other may be treated of in detail, and with per- 
 spicuity. For my part I do not propose to study with you 
 the historv of civilization in the interior of the human 
 soul; it is the history of external events of the visible and 
 social world that I shall occupy myself with. I had wished, 
 indeed, to exhibit to you the whole fact of civilization, 
 such as I can conceive it in all its complexity and extent, to 
 set forth before you all the higli questions which may arise 
 from it. At present I restrict myself; mark out my field of 
 inquiry within narrower limits; it is only the history of the 
 social state that I purpose investigating. 
 
 We shall begin by seeking all the elements of European 
 civilization in its cradle at the fall of the Roman Empire; 
 we will study with attention society, such as it was, in the 
 midst of those famous ruins. We will endeavor, not to 
 resuscitate, but to place its elements side by side, and 
 when we have done so, we will endeavor to make them 
 move and follow them in their developments through the 
 fifteen centuries which have elapsed since that epoch. 
 
 I believe that when we have got but a very little way into 
 this study, we shall acquire the conviction that civilization 
 is as yet very young; that the world has by no means as 
 yet measured the whole of its career. Assuredly human 
 thought is at this time very far from being all that it is 
 capable of becoming; we are very fa** from comprehending 
 
22 HISTORY OF 
 
 the whole future of humanity: let each of us descend into 
 his own mind, let him interrogate himself as to the utmost 
 possible good he has formed a conception of and hopes for; 
 let him then compare his idea with what actually exists in 
 the world; he will be convinced that society and civiliza- 
 tion are very young; that notwithstanding the length of 
 the road they have come, they have incomparably further to 
 go. This will lessen nothing of the pleasure that we shall 
 take in the contemplation of our actual condition. As I 
 endeavor to place before you the great crises in the history 
 of civilization in Europe during the last fifteen centuries, 
 you will see to what a degree, even up in our own days, 
 the condition of man has been laborious, stormy, not only 
 in the outward and social state, but inwardly in the life of 
 the soul. During all those ages, the human mind has had 
 to suffer as much as the human race; you will see that in 
 modern times, for the first time, perhaps, the human mind 
 has attained a state, as yet very imperfect, but still a state 
 in which reigns some peace, some harmony. It is the 
 same with society; it has evidently made immense pro- 
 gress, the human condition is easy and just, compared 
 with what it was previously; we may almost when thinking 
 of cur ancestors apply to ourselves the verses of Lucretius: 
 
 " Suave mari magno, turbantibus sequora ventis^ 
 E terra magnum alterius spectare laborem." * 
 
 We may say of ourselves, without too much pride, as Sthe- 
 nelus in Homer: — 
 
 HjuEiS Toi r Xrepoov jxey^ djusivovs? svxojusB^ sivat.\ 
 
 * ** 'Tis pleasant, in a great storm, to contemplate, from a sali 
 position on shore, the perils of some ships tossed about by the furi- 
 ous winds and the stormy ocean." 
 
 t ** Thank Heaven, wq are infinitely better than those who went 
 before us.'* 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 23 
 
 Let us be careful, however, not to give ourselves up too 
 much to the idea of our happiness and amelioration, or we 
 may fall into two grave dangers, pride and indolence; we 
 may conceive an over-confidence in the power and success 
 of the human mind, in our own enlightenment, and, at 
 the same time, suffer ourselves to become enervated by the 
 luxurious ease of our condition. It appears to me that we 
 are constantly fluctuating between a tendency to complain 
 upon light grounds, on the one hand, and to be content 
 without reason, on the other. We have a susceptibility of 
 spirit, a craving, an unlimited ambition in the thought, in 
 our desire, in the movement of the imagination; but when^ 
 it comes to the practical work of life, when we are called 
 upon to give ourselves any trouble, to make any sacrifices, 
 to use any efforts to attain the object, our arms fall down 
 listlessly by our sides, and we give the matter up in despair, ^ 
 with a facility equaled only by the impatience with which 
 we had previously desired its attainment. We must be- 
 ware how we allow ourselves to yield to either of these de- 
 fects. Let us accustom ourselves duly to estimate before- 
 hand the extent of our force, our capacity, our knowledge; 
 and let us aim at nothing which we feel we cannot attain 
 legitimately, justly, regularly, and with unfailing regard to 
 the principles upon which our civilization itself rests. We 
 seem at times tempted to adopt the principles which, as a 
 general rule, we assail and hold up to scorn — the prin- 
 ciples, the right of the strongest of barbarian Europe; tno 
 brute force, the violence, the downright lying which were 
 matters of course, of daily occurrence, four or five hundred 
 years ago. But when we yield for a moment to this desirO; 
 we find in ourselves neither the perseverance nor the sav- 
 age energy of the men of that period, who, suffering greatly 
 from their condition, were naturally anxious, and inces- 
 santly essaying, to emancipate themselves from it. We, of 
 the present day^ are content with our condition; let us not 
 
24 HISTORY OF 
 
 expose it to danger by indulging in vague desires, the time 
 for realizing which has not come. Much has been given to us, 
 inuch will be required of us; we must render to posterity a 
 strict account of or.r conduct; the public, the government, 
 all are now subjected to discussion, examination, responsi- 
 bility. Let us attach ourselves firmly, faithfully, undevi- 
 atingly, to the principles of our civilization — justice, legal- 
 ity, publicity, liberty; and let us never forget, that while 
 we ourselves require, and with reason, that all things shall 
 be open to our inspection and inquiry, we ourselves are 
 under the eye of the world, and shall, in our turn, be dis- 
 cussed, be judged. 
 
CIVILIZA TlOii m EUROPE. 25 
 
 SECOND LECTUBB. 
 
 Purpose of the lecture — Unity of ancient civilization — Variety of 
 modern civilization — Its superiority — Condition of Europe at the 
 fall of the Roman Empire — Preponderance of the towns — Attempt 
 at political reform by the emperors — Rescript of Honorius and 
 of Theodosius II — Power o the name of the Empire— The 
 Christian church — The various stages through which it had 
 passed at the fifth century — The clergy exercising municipal 
 functions — Good and evil influence of the church — The bar- 
 barians — They introduce into the modern world the sentiments 
 of personal independence, and the devotion of man to man — 
 Summary of the different elements of civilization in the begin- 
 ning of the fifth century. 
 
 In meditating the plan of the course with which I pro- 
 pose to present you, I am fearful lest my lectures should 
 possess the double inconvenience of being very long, by 
 reason of the necessity of condensing much matter into 
 little space, and, at the same time, of being too concise. 
 
 I dread yet another difficulty, originating in the same 
 cause: the necessity, namely, of sometimes making affirma- 
 tions without proving them. This is also the result of the 
 narrow space to which I find myself confined. There will 
 occur ideas and assertions of which the confirmation must 
 be postponed. I hope you will pardon me for sometimes 
 placing you under the necessity of believing me upon my 
 bare word. I come even now to an occasion of imposing 
 upon you this necessity. 
 
 I have endeavored, in the preceding lecture, to explain 
 the fact of civilization in general, without speaking of any 
 particular civilization, without regarding circumstance of 
 
M EI8T0RT OF 
 
 time and place, considering the fact in itself, and under a 
 purely philosophical point of view. I come to-day to the 
 history of European civilization; but before entering upon 
 the narrative itself, I wish to make you acquainted, in a 
 general manner, with the particular physiognomy of this 
 civilization; I desire to characterize it so clearly to you^ 
 that it may appear to you perfectly distinct from all other 
 civilizations which have developed themselves in the world. 
 This I am going to attempt, more than which I dare not 
 say; but I can only affirm it, unless I could succeed in de- 
 picting European society with such faithfulness that you 
 should instantly recognize it as a portrait. But of this I 
 dare not flatter myself. 
 
 When we regard the civilizations which have preceded 
 that of modern Europe, whether in Asia or elsewhere, 
 including even Greek and Koman civilization, it is impos- 
 sible to help being struck with the unity which pervades 
 them. They seem to have emanated from a single fact, 
 from a single idea; one might say that society has attached 
 itself to a solitary dominant principle, which has deter- 
 mined its institutions, its customs, its creeds, in one word, 
 all its developments. 
 
 In Egypt, for instance, it was the theocratic principle 
 which pervaded the entire community; it reproduced itself 
 in the customs, in the monuments, and in all that remains 
 to us of Egyptian civilization. In India, you will discover 
 the same fact; there is still the almost exclusive dominion 
 of the theocratic principle. Elsewhere you will meet with 
 another organizing principle — the domination of a victori- 
 ous caste; the principle of force will here alone possess 
 society, imposing thereupon its laws and its character. 
 Elsewhere society will be the expression of the democratic 
 principle; it has been thus with the commercial republics 
 which have covered the coasts of Asia Minor and of Syria, 
 in Ionia, in Phenicia. In short, when we contemplate 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. %% 
 
 ancient civilizations, we find them stamped with a singular 
 character of unity in their institutions, their ideas and 
 their manners; a sole, or at least, a strongly prepondera- 
 ting force governs and determines all. 
 
 I do not mean to say that this unity of principle and 
 form in the civilization of these states has always prevailed 
 therein. When we go back to their earlier history, we 
 find that the various powers which may develop themselves 
 in the heart of a society, have often contended for empire. 
 Among the Egyptians, the Etruscans, the Greeks them- 
 selves, etc., the order of warriors, for example, has strug- 
 gled against that of the priests; elsewhere, the spirit of 
 clanship has struggled against that of free association; the 
 aristocratic against the popular system, etc. But it has 
 generally been in ante-historical times that such struggles 
 have occurred; and thus only a vague recollection has 
 remained of them. 
 
 The struggle has sometimes reproduced itself in the 
 course of the existence of nations; but, almost invariably, 
 it has soon been terminated; one of the powers that disr 
 puted for empire has soon gained it, and taken sole posses* 
 sion of the society. The war has always terminated by 
 the, if not exclusive, at least largely preponderating, 
 domination of some particular principle. The co-existence 
 and the combat of different principles have never, in the 
 history of these peoples, been more than a transitory crisis, 
 an accident. 
 
 The result of this has been a remarkable simplicity in the 
 majority of ancient civilizations. This simplicity has pro- 
 duced different consequences. Sometimes, as in Greece, 
 the simplicity of the social principle has led to a wonder- 
 fully rapid development; never has any people unfolded 
 itself in so short a period with such brilliant effect. But 
 after this astonishing flight, Greece seemed suddenly ex- 
 hausted; its decay, if it was not so rapid as its rise^ was 
 
28 HIS TOE r or 
 
 nevertheless strangely prompt. It seems tha»t the creative 
 force of the principle ot Greek civilization was exhausted; 
 no other has come to renew it. 
 
 Elsewhere, in Egypt and in India, for instance, the 
 unity of the principle of civilization has had a different 
 effect; society has fallen into a stationary condition. Sim- 
 plicity has brought monotony; the country has not been 
 destroyed, society has continued to exist, but motionless, 
 and as if frozen. 
 
 It is to the same cause that we must attribute the char« 
 acter of tyranny which appeared in the name of principle 
 and under the most various forms, among all the ancient 
 civilizations. Society belonged to an exclusive power, 
 which would allow of the existence of none other. Every 
 differing tendency was proscribed and hunted down. 
 Never has the ruling principle chosen to admit beside it the 
 manifestation and action of a different principle. 
 
 This character of unity of civilization is equally stamped 
 upon literature and the works of the mind. Who is unac- 
 quainted with the monuments of Indian literature, which 
 have lately been distributed over Europe? It is impossible 
 not to see that they are all cast in the same mold; they 
 seem all to be the result of the same fact, the expression of 
 the same idea; works of religion or morals, historical tra- 
 ditions, dramatic and epic poetry, everywhere the same 
 character is stamped; the productions of the mind bear thd 
 same character of simplicity and of monotony whicb 
 appears in events and institutions. Even in Greece, in the 
 center of all the riches of the human intellect, a singular 
 uniformity reigns in literature and in the arts. 
 
 It has been wholly otherwise with the civilization of 
 modern Europe. Without entering into details, look upon 
 it, gather together your recollections: it will immediately 
 appear to you varied, confused, stormy; all forms, all 
 principles of social organization co-exist therein; powers 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 39 
 
 spiritual and temporal; elements theocratic, monarchical 
 aristocratic, democratic; all orders, all social arrangements 
 mingle and press upon one another; there are infinite de- 
 grees of liberty, wealth, and influence. These various 
 forces are in a state of continual struggle among them- 
 selves, 3^et no one succeeds in stifling the others, and taking 
 possession of society. In ancient times, at every great 
 epoch, all societies seemed cast in the same mold: it is 
 sometimes pure monarchy, sometimes theocracy or democ- 
 racy, that prevails; but each, in its turn, prevails com- 
 pletely. Modern Europe presents us with examples of all 
 systems, of all experiments of social organization; pure or 
 mixed monarchies, theocracies, republics, more or less 
 aristocratic, have thus thrived simultaneously, one beside 
 the other: and, notwithstanding their diversity, they have 
 all a certain resemblance, a certain family likeness, which 
 it is impossible to mistake. 
 
 In the ideas and sentiments of Europe there is the same 
 variety, the same struggle. The theocratic, monarchic, 
 aristocratic, and popular creeds, cross, combat, limit, and 
 modify each other. Open the boldest writings of the 
 middle ages; never there is an idea followed out to its last 
 consequences. The partisans of absolute power recoil 
 suddeiily and unconsciously before the results of their own 
 doctrine; they perceive around them ideas and influences 
 which arrest them, and prevent them from going to ex- 
 tremities. The democrats obey the same law. On neither 
 part exists that imperturbable audacity, that blind deter- 
 mination of logic, which show themselves in ancient civili- 
 zations. The sentiments offer the same contrasts, the same 
 Variety; an energetic love of independence, side by side 
 with a great facility of submission; a singular faithfulness 
 of man to man, and, at the same time, an uncontrollable 
 wish to exert free will, to shake off every yoke, and to live 
 lor one's self, without caring for any other. The souls of 
 men are as different, as agitated as society. 
 
30 HISTORY OF 
 
 The same character discovers itself in modern literature. 
 We cannot but agree that, as regards artistic form and 
 beauty, they are very much inferior to ancient literature; 
 but, as regards depth of sentiment and of ideas, they are 
 far more rich and vigorous. We see that the human soul 
 has been moved upon a greater number of points, and to a 
 greater depth. Imperfection of form results from this 
 very cause. The richer and more numerous the materials, 
 the more difficult it is to reduce them to a pure and simple 
 form. That which constitutes the beauty of a composition, 
 of that which we call form in works of art, is clearness, 
 simplicity, and a symbolic unity of workmanship. With 
 the prodigious diversity of the ideas and sentiments of 
 European civilization, it has been much more difficult to 
 arrive at this simplicity, this clearness. 
 
 On all sides then this predominant character of modern 
 civilization discovers itself. It has no doubt had this dis- 
 advantage, that, when we consider separately such or such 
 a particular development of the human mind in letters, in 
 the arts, in all directions in which i]; can advance, we usu- 
 ally find it inferior to the corresponding development in 
 ancient civilizations; but, on the other hand, when we 
 regard it in the aggregate, European civilization shows itself 
 incomparably richer than any other; it has displayed at 
 one and the same time many more different developments. 
 Consequently you find that it has existed fifteen centuries, 
 and yet is still in a state of continuous progression; it has 
 not advanced nearly so rapidly as the Greek civilization, 
 but its progress has never ceased to grow. It catches a 
 glimpse of the vast career which lies before it, and day 
 after day it shoots forward more rapidly, because more and 
 more of freedom attends its movements. While in other 
 civilizations tne exclusive, or at least the excessively pre- 
 ponderating dominion of a single principle, of a single 
 form, has been the cause of tyranny, in modern Europe 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 31 
 
 the diversity of elements which constitute the social order, 
 the impossibility under which they have been placed of 
 excluding each other, have given birth to the freedom 
 which prevails in the present day. Not having been able 
 to exterminate each other, it has become necessary that 
 various principles should exist together — that they 
 should make between them a sort of compact. Each 
 has agreed to undertake that portion of the development 
 which may fall to its share; and while elsewhere the pre- 
 
 ' dominance of a principle produced tyranny, in Europe lib- 
 erty has been the result of the variety of the elements of 
 civilization and of the state of struggle in which they have 
 constantly existed. 
 
 This constitutes a real and an immense superiority; and 
 if we investigate yet further, if we penetrate beyond exter- 
 nal facts into the nature of things, we shall discover that 
 this superiority is legitimate, and acknowledged by reason 
 as well as proclaimed by facts. Forgetting for a moment 
 European civilization, let us turn our attention to the world 
 in general, on the general course of terrestrial things. 
 What character do we find? How goes the world? It 
 moves precisely with this diversity and variety of elements, 
 a prey to this constant struggle which we have remarked 
 in European civilization. Evidently it has not been per- 
 
 P mitted to any single principle, to any particular organiza- 
 tion, to any single idea, or to any special force, that it 
 should possess itself of the world, molding it once for all, 
 destroying all other influences to reign therein itself 
 exclusively. 
 
 Various powers, principles and systems mingle, limit 
 each other, and struggle without ceasing, in turn predom- 
 inating or predominated over, never entirely conquered or 
 conquering. A variety of forms, of ideas, and of principles, 
 then, struggles, their efforts after a certain unity, a ceitain 
 ideal which perhaps can never be attained, but to which 
 
32 HISTORY OF 
 
 the human race ^ends by freedom and work; these consti- 
 tute the general condition '^f the world. European civiliza- 
 tion is, therefore, the faithful image of the world: like the' 
 course of things in the world, it is neither narrow, exchi* 
 sive, nor stationary. For the first time, I believe, the 
 character of specialty has vanished from civilization; for 
 the first time it is developed as variously, as richly, as labo- 
 riously, as the great drama of the universe. 
 
 European civilization has entered, if we may so speak, 
 into the eternal truth, into the plan of Providence; it pro- 
 gresses according to the intentions of God. This is the 
 rational account of its superiority. 
 
 I am desirous that this fundamental and distinguishing 
 character of European civilization should continue present 
 to your minds during the course of our labors. At present 
 I can only make the affirmation: the development of facts 
 must furnish the proof. It will, nevertheless^ you will 
 agree, be a strong confirmation of my assertion, if we find, 
 even in the cradle of our civilization, the causes and the 
 elements of the character which I have just attributed to 
 it: if, at the moment of its birth, at the moment of the fall 
 of the Koman Empire, we recognize in the state of the 
 world, in the facts that, from the earliest times, have con- 
 curred to form European civilization, the principle of this 
 agitated but fruitful diversity which distinguishes it. I am 
 about to attempt this investigation. I shall examine the 
 condition of Europe at the fall of the Roman Empire, and 
 seek to discover, from institutions, creeds, ideas, and senti- 
 ments, what were the elements bequeathed by the ancient 
 to the modern world. If, in these elements, we shall 
 already find impressed the character which I have just 
 described, it will have acquired with you, from this time 
 forth, a high degree of probability. 
 
 First of all, we must clearly represent to ourselves th« 
 nature of the Roman Empire, and how it was formed. 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 03 
 
 Rome was, in its origin, only a municipality, a eoi^pora- 
 tion. The government of Rome was merely the aggregate 
 of the institutions which were suited to a population con- 
 fined within the walls of a city: these were municipal insti- 
 tutions, that is their distinguishing character. 
 
 This was not the case with Rome only. If we turn our 
 attention to Italy, at this period, we find around Rome 
 nothing but towns. That which was then called a people 
 was simply a confederation of towns. The Latin people 
 was a confederation of Latin towns. The Etruscans, the 
 Samnites, the Sabines, the people of Graecia Magna, may 
 all be described in the same terms. 
 
 There was, at this time, no country — that is to say, the 
 country was wholly unlike that which at present exists; it 
 was cultivated, as was necessary, but it was uninhabited. 
 The proprietors of lands were the inhabitants of the towns. 
 They went forth to superintend their country properties, 
 and often took with them a certain number of slaves; but 
 that which we at present call the country, that thin popu- 
 lation — sometimes in isolated habitations, sometimes in 
 villages — which everywhere covers the soil, was a fact 
 almost unknown in ancient Italy. 
 
 When Rome extended itself, what did she do? Follow 
 history, and you will see that she conquered or founded 
 towns; it was against towns that she fought, with towns 
 that she contracted alliances; it was also into towns that 
 she sent colonies. The history of the conquest of the 
 world by Rome is the history of the conquest and founda- 
 tion of a great number of towns. In the East, the exten- 
 sion of Roman dominion does not carry altogether this 
 aspect: the population there was otherwise distributed 
 than in the West — it was much less concentrated in towns. 
 But as we have to do here with the European population, 
 what occurred in the East is of little interest to us. 
 
 Confining ourselves to the West, we everywhere discover 
 
34 HISTORY Op 
 
 the fact to which I have directed your attention. In Gaul, 
 in Spain, you meet with nothing but towns. At a dis- 
 tance from the towns, the territory is covered with marshes 
 and forests. Examine the character of the Koman monu- 
 ments, of the Roman roads. You have great roads, which 
 reach from one city to another; the multiplicity of minor 
 roads, which now cross the country in all directions, was 
 then unknown; you have nothing resembling that countless 
 number of villages, country seats and churches, which have 
 been scattered over the country since the middle ages. 
 Rome has left us nothing but immense monuments, 
 stamped with the municipal character, and destined for a 
 numerous population collected upon one spot. Under 
 whatever point of view you consider the Roman world, you 
 will find this almost exclusive preponderance of towns, and 
 the social non-existence of the country. 
 
 This municipal character of the Roman world evidently 
 rendered unity, the social bond of a great state, extremely 
 difficult to establish and maintain. A municipality like 
 Rome had been able to conquer the world, but it was much 
 less easy to govern and organize it. Thus, when the work 
 appeared completed, when all the West, and a great part of 
 the East, had fallen under Roman dominion, you behold 
 this prodigious number of cities, of little states, made for 
 isolation and independence, disunite, detach themselves, 
 and escape, so to speak, in all directions. This was one of 
 the causes which rendered necessary the Empire, a form of 
 government more concentrated, more capable of holding 
 together elements so slightly coherent. The Empire en- 
 deavored to introduce unity and combination into this 
 scattered society. It succeeded up to a certain point. It 
 was between the reigns of Augustus and Diocletian that, at 
 the same time that civil legislation developed itself, there 
 became established the vast system of administrative des- 
 potism which spread over the Roman world a network of 
 
CIVILIZA TION m EUROPE. 35 
 
 functionaries, hierarchically distributed, well linked to- 
 gether, both among themselves and with the imperial court, 
 and solely applied to rendering effective in society the will 
 of power, and in transferring to power the tributes and 
 energies of society. 
 
 And not only did this system succeed in rallying and 
 in holding together the elements of the Roman world, but 
 the idea of despotism, of central power, penetrated minds 
 with a singular facility. We are astonished to behold 
 rapidily prevailing throughout this ill-united assemblage of 
 petty republics, this association of municipalities, a rever- 
 ence for the imperial majesty alone, august and sacred. 
 The necessity of establishing some bond between all these 
 portions of the Roman world must have been very pressing, 
 to insure so easy an access to the mind for the faith and 
 almost the sentiments of despotism. 
 
 It was with these creeds, with this administrative organ- 
 ization, and with the military organization which was com- 
 bined with it, that the Roman Empire struggled against the 
 dissolution at work inwardly, and against the invasion of 
 the barbarians from without. It struggled for a long time, 
 in a continual state of decay,but always defending itself. At 
 last a moment came in which dissolution prevailed: neither 
 the skill of despotism nor the indifference of servitude suf- 
 liced to support this huge body. In the fourth century it 
 everywhere disunited and dismembered itself; the barba- 
 rians entered on all sides; the provinces no longer resisted, 
 no longer troubled themselves concerning the general des- 
 tiny. At this time a singular idea suggested itself to some 
 of the emperors: they desired to try whether hopes of gen- 
 eral liberty, a confederation — a system analogous to that 
 which, in the present day, we call representative govern- 
 ment — would not better defend the unity of the Roman 
 Empire than despotic administration. Here is a rescript of 
 Honorius and Theodosius, the younger, addressed, in the 
 
36 HISTORY OF 
 
 year 418, to the prefect of Gaul, the only purpose of which 
 was to attempt to establish in the south of Gaul a sort of 
 representative government, and, with its aid, to maintain 
 the unity of the emj)ire. 
 
 "Rescript of the emperors Honorius and Theodosius 
 the younger, addressed, in the year 418, to the pre- 
 fect of the Gauls, sitting in the town of Aries. 
 
 ^'Honorius and Theodosius, Augusti, to Agricola, pre- 
 fect of the Gauls: 
 
 " Upon the satisfactory statement that your Magnificence 
 has made to us, among other information palpably ad- 
 vantageous to the state, we decree the force of law in 
 perpetuity to the following ordinances, to which the inhab- 
 itants of our seven provinces will owe obedience, they being 
 such that they themselves might have desired and de- 
 manded them. Seeing that persons in office, or special 
 deputies from motives of public or private utility, not only 
 from each of the provinces, but also from every town, often 
 present themselves before your Magnificence, either to ren- 
 der accounts or to treat of things relative to the interest of 
 proprietors, we have Judged that it would be a seasonable 
 and profitable thing that, from the date of the present 
 year, there should be annually, at a fixed time, an assem- 
 blage held in the metropolis — that is, in the town of Aries, 
 for the inhabitants of the seven provinces. By this insti- 
 tution we have in view to provide equally for general and 
 particular interests. In the first place, by the meeting of 
 the most notable of the inhabitants in the illustrious pres- 
 ence of the prefect, if motives of public order have not 
 called him elsewhere, the best possible information may be 
 gained upon every subject under deliberation. Nothing of 
 that which will have been treated of and decided upon, 
 after a ripe consideration, will escape the knowledge of any 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 37 
 
 of the provinces, and those who shall not have been pres- 
 ent at the assembly will be bound to follow the same rules 
 of justice and equity. Moreover, in ordaining that an 
 annual assembly be held in the city of Constantine,* we 
 believe that we are doing a thing not only advantageous to 
 the public good, but also adapted to multiply social rela- 
 tions. Indeed, the city is so advantageously situated, 
 strangers come there in such numbers, and it enjoys such 
 an extensive commerce, that everything finds its way there 
 which grows or is manufactured in other places. All 
 admirable things that the rich East, perfumed Arabia, del- 
 icate Assyria, fertile Africa, beautiful Spain, valiant Gaul 
 produce, abound in this place with such profusion, that 
 whatever is esteemed magnificent in the various parts of 
 the world seems there the produce of the soil. Besides, 
 the junction of the Ehone with the Tuscan sea approx- 
 imates and renders almost neighbors those countries which 
 the first traverses, and the second bathes in its windings. 
 Thus, since the ent're earth places at the service of this 
 city all that it has most worthy — since the peculiar pro- 
 ductions of all countries are transported hither by land, by 
 sea, and by the course of rivers, by help of sails, of oars, 
 and of wagons — how can our Gaul do otherwise than 
 behold a benefit in the command which we give to convoke 
 u public assembly in a city, wherein are united, as it were, 
 by the gift of God, all the enjoyments of life, and all the 
 facilities of commerce? 
 
 '' The illustrious prefect Petronius,f through a laudable 
 and reasonable motive, formerly commanded that this 
 
 *Constantine the Great liad a singular liking for tlie town of 
 A.rles. It was lie wlio established there the seat of the Gaulish pre- 
 fecture; he desired also that it should bear his name, but custom 
 prevailed against his wish. 
 
 f Petronius was prefect of the Gauls between the years 402 and 
 408- 
 
i^S HISTORY OF 
 
 custom should be observed; but as the practice thereof was 
 interrupted by the confusion of the times, and by the reign 
 of usurpers, we have resolved to revive it in vigor by the 
 authority of our wisdom. Thus, then, dear and beloved 
 cousin Agricola, your illustrious Magnificence, conforming 
 yourself to our present ordinance, and to the custom estab- 
 lished by your predecessors, will cause to be observed 
 throughout the provinces the following rules: 
 
 ^^ ^ Let all persons who are honored with public functions, 
 or who are proprietors of domains, and all judges of prov- 
 inces, be informed that, each year, they are to assemble in 
 council in the city of Aries, between the ides of August 
 and those of September, the days of convocation and of 
 sitting being determined at their pleasure. 
 
 ^^^JSTovem Populinia and the second Aquitaine, being 
 the most distant provinces, should their judges be detained 
 by indispensable occupations, may send deputies in their 
 place, according to custom. 
 
 " ^ Those who shall neglect to appear ao the place 
 assigned and atthe time appointed, shall pay a fine, which, 
 for the judges, shall be five pounds of gold, and three 
 pounds for the members of the curicB* and other digni- 
 tarie& ' 
 
 ^' \Ve propose, by this means, to confer great advantages 
 and favor on the inhabitants of our* provinces. We feel, 
 also, assured of adding to the ornaments of the city of 
 A.rles, to the fidelity of which we are so much indebted, 
 according to our brother and patrician, f 
 
 ^* Given on the 15th of the calends of May; received at 
 Aries on the 10th of the calends of June.^^ 
 
 * The municipal bodies of Roman towns were caUed cutkb, and 
 the members of those bodies, who were very numerous, were called 
 curiales. 
 
 f Constantine, the second husband of Placidius, whom Honorius 
 had chosen for colleague in 421 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 39 
 
 The provinces and the towns refused the benefit; no one 
 would nominate the deputies, no one would go to Aries. 
 Centralization and unity were contrary to the primitive 
 character of that society; the local and munificent spirit 
 reappeared everywhere, and the impossibility of reconsti- 
 tuting a general society or country became evident. The 
 towns confined themselves, each to its own walls and its own 
 affairs, and the empire fell because none wished to be of 
 the empire, because citizens desired to be only of their own 
 city. Thus we again discover, at the fall of the Roman 
 Empire, the same fact which we have detected in the cradle 
 of Eome, namely, the predominance of the municipal form 
 and spirit. The Roman world had returned to its first 
 condition; towns had constituted it; it dissolved; and 
 towns remained. 
 
 In the municipal system we see what ancient Roman 
 civilization has bequeathed to modern Europe; that system 
 was very irregular, much weakened and far inferior, no 
 doubt, to what it had been in earlier times; but, neverthe- 
 less, the only real, the only constituted system which had 
 outlived all the elements of the Roman world. 
 
 When I say alojie I make a mistake. Another fact, 
 another idea equally survived: the idea of the empire, the 
 name of emperor, the idea of imperial majesty, of an abso- 
 lute and sacred power attached to the name of emperor. 
 These are the elements which Roman has transmitted to 
 European civilization; upon one hand, the municipal 
 system, its habits, rules, precedents, the principle of free- 
 dom; on the other, a general and uniform civil legislation, 
 the idea of absolute power, of sacred majesty, of the em- 
 peror, the principle of order and subjection. 
 
 But there was formed at the same time, in the heart of 
 the Roman society, a society of a very different nature, 
 founded upon totally different principles, animated by 
 different sentiments, a society which was about to infuse 
 
40 HISTORY OF 
 
 into modern European society elements of a character 
 wholly different; I speak of the Christian church, I say 
 the Christian church, and not Christianity. At the end of 
 the fourth and at the beginning of the fifth century Chris- 
 tianity was no longer merely an individual belief, it was 
 an institution; it was constituted; it had its government, 
 a clergy, an hierarchy calculated for the diiferent functions 
 of the clergy, revenues, means of independent action, rally- 
 ing points suited for a great society, provincial, national 
 and general councils, and the custom of debating in 
 common upon the affairs of the society. In a word, Chris- 
 tianity, at this epoch, was not only a religion, it was also 
 a church. 
 
 Had it not been a church I cannot say what might have 
 happened to it amid the fall of the Eoman Empire. I 
 confine myself to simply human considerations; I put 
 aside every element which is foreign to the natural con- 
 sequences of natural facts: had Christianity been, as in the 
 earlier times, no more than a belief, a sentiment, an indi- 
 vidual conviction, we mav believe that it would have sunk 
 amidst the dissolution of the empire and the invasion of 
 the barbarians. In later times, in Asia and in all the north 
 of Africa, it sunk under an invasion of the same nature, 
 under the invasion of the Moslem barbarians; it sunk then, 
 although it subsisted in the form of an institution, or con- 
 stituted church. With much more reason might the same 
 thing have happened at the moment of the fall of the 
 Koman Empire. There existed, at that time, none of those 
 means by which, in the present day, moral influences 
 establish themselves or offer resistance, independently of in- 
 stitutions; none of those means whereby a pure truth, a pure 
 idea obtains a great empire over minds, governs actions and 
 determines events. Nothing of the kind existed in the 
 fourth century to give a like authority to ideas and to per- 
 sonal sentiments. It is clear that a society strongly organ- 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 41 
 
 ized and strongly governed was indispensable to struggle 
 against such a disaster, and to issue victorious from such a 
 storm. I do not think that I say more than the truth in 
 affirming that at the end of the fourth and the commence- 
 ment of the fifth centuries it was the Christian church that 
 saved Christianity; it was the church with its institutions, 
 its magistrates and its power, that vigorously resisted the 
 internal dissolution of the empire and barbarism; that 
 conquered the barbarians and became the bond, the 
 medium and the principle of civilization between the 
 Koman and barbarian worlds. It is, then, the condition 
 of the church rather than that of religion, properly so 
 called, that we must look to in order to discover what 
 Christianity has, since then, added to modern civilization, 
 and what new elements it has introduced therein. What 
 was the Christian church at that period ? 
 
 When we consider, always under a purely human point 
 of view, the various revolutions which have accomplished 
 themselves during the development of Christianity, from 
 the time of its origin up to the fifth century; if, I repeat, 
 we consider it simply as a community and not as a religious 
 creed, we find that it passed through three essentially dif- 
 ferent states. 
 
 In the very earliest period, the Christian society presents 
 itself as a simple association of a common creed and com- 
 mon sentiments; the first Christians united to enjoy 
 together the same emotions, and the same religious con- 
 victions. We find among them no system of determinate 
 doctrines, no rules, no discipline, no body of magistrates. 
 
 Of course, no society, however newly born, however 
 weakly constituted it may be, exists without a moral power 
 which animates and directs it. In the various Christian 
 congregations there were men who preached, taught and 
 morally governed the congregation, but thsre was no formal 
 magistrate, no recognized discipline; a simple association 
 
42 HISTORY OF 
 
 caused by a community of creed and sentiments was the 
 primitive condition of the Christian society. 
 
 In proportion as it advanced — and very speedily, since 
 traces are visible in the earliest monuments — a body of doc- 
 trines, of rules, of discipline, and of magistrates, began to 
 appear; one kind of magistrates were called 7tpE6ftvTEfioi, or 
 ancientSy who became the priests; another, eTtidxoTtoi, or 
 inspectors, or superintendents, who became bishops; a 
 third diaxovoi, or deacons, who were charged with the care 
 of the poor, and with the distribution of alms. 
 
 It is scarcely possible to determine what were the precise 
 functions of these various magistrates; the line of demarca- 
 tion was probably very vague and variable, but what is clear 
 is that an establishment was organized. Still, a peculiar 
 character prevails in this second period: the preponderance 
 and rule belonged to the body of the faithful. It was the 
 body of the faithful which prevailed, both as to the choice 
 of functionaries, and as to the adoption of discipline, and 
 even doctrine. The church government and the Christian 
 people were not as yet separated. They did not exist apart 
 from, and independently of, one another; and the Chris- 
 tian people exercised the principal influence in the so- 
 ciety. 
 
 In the third period all was different. A clergy existed 
 who were distinct from the people; a body of priests who 
 had their own riches, jurisdiction, and peculiar constitu- 
 tion; in a word, an entire government, which in itself was 
 a complete society, a society provided with all the means 
 of existence, independently of the society to which it had 
 reference, and over which it extended its influence. Such 
 was the third stage of the constitution of the Christian 
 church; such was the form in which it appeared at the 
 beginning of the fifth century. The government was not 
 •completely separated from the people; there has never been 
 a parallel kind of government, end less in religious mat- 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 43 
 
 *»rs than in any others; but in the relations of the clergy 
 to the faithful, the clergy ruled almost without control. 
 
 The Christian clergy had moreover another and very 
 different source of influence. The bishops and the priests 
 became the principal municipal magistrates. You have 
 seen, that of the Roman Empire there remained, properly 
 speaking, nothing but the municipal system. It had hap- 
 pened, from the vexations of despotism and the ruin of the 
 towns, that the curiales, or members of the municipal 
 bodies, had become discouraged and apathetic; on the con- 
 trary, the bishops, and the body of priests, full of life and 
 zeal, offered themselves naturally for the superintendence 
 and direction of all matters. We should be wrong to 
 reproach them for this, to tax them with usurpation; it 
 was all in the natural course of things; the clergy alone 
 were morally strong and animated; they became everywhere 
 powerful. Such is the law of the universe. 
 
 The marks of this revolution are visible in all the legis- 
 lation of the emperors at this period. If you open the 
 code, either of Theodosius or of Justinian, you will find 
 numerous regulations which remit municipal affairs to the 
 clergy and the bishops. Here are some of them: 
 
 ** Cod, Just, I, 1, tit. IV, de episcopali audientid, § 26. 
 —With respect to the yearly affairs of cities, whether they 
 concern the ordinary revenues of the city, either from 
 funds arising from the property of the city, or from private 
 gifts or legacies, or from any other source; whether public 
 works, or depots of provisions, or aqueducts, or the main- 
 tenance of baths, or ports, or the construction of walls or 
 towers, or the repairing of bridges or roads, or trials in 
 which the city may be engaged in reference to public or 
 private interests, we ordain as follows: The very pious 
 bishop, and three notables chosen from among the first 
 men of the city, shall meet together; they shall, each year, 
 examine the works done; they shall take care that those 
 
44 BISTORT OF 
 
 who conduct them, or who have conducted them, shall 
 regulate them with precision, render their accounts, and 
 show that they have duly performed their engagements in 
 the administration, whether of the public monuments, or 
 of the sums appointed for provisions or baths, or of 
 expenses in the maintenance of roads, aqueducts, or any 
 other work. 
 
 '^ Ibid, § 30. — With regard to the guardianship of young 
 persons of the first or second age, and of all those for whom 
 the law appoints guardians, if their fortune does not exceed 
 500 aurei, we ordain that the nomination of the president 
 of the province shall not be waited for, as this gives rise 
 to great expenses, particularly if the said president do not 
 reside in the city in which it is necessary to provide the 
 guardianship. The nomination of guardians shall in such 
 case be made by the magistrate of the city ... in con- 
 cert with the very pious bishop and other person or persons 
 invested with public oflices, if there be more than one. 
 
 '' Ihid. /. 1, tit, L V, de defensoribus, § 8. — We desire 
 that the defenders of the cities, being well instructed in 
 the holy mysteries of the orthodox faith, be chosen and in- 
 stituted by the venerable bishops, the priests, the notables, 
 the proprietors, and the curiales. As regards their installa- 
 tion, it shall be referred to the glorious power of the pre- 
 torian prefect, in order that their authority may have in- 
 fused into it more solidity and vigor from the letters of 
 admission of his Magnificence.^^ 
 
 I might cite a great number of other laws, and you would 
 everywhere meet with the fact which I have mentioned: 
 between the municipal system of the Eomans, and that of 
 the middle ages, the municipal-ecclesiastic system inter- 
 posed; the preponderance of the clergy in the affairs of the 
 city succeeded that of the ancient municipal magistrates, 
 and preceeded the organization of the modern municipal 
 L'orporatioijg, 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 45 
 
 You perceive what prodigious power was thus obtained 
 by the Christian church, as well by its own constitution 
 as by its influence upon the Christian people, and by the 
 part which it took in civil affairs. Thus, from that epoch, 
 it powerfully assisted in forming the character and further- 
 ing the development of modern civilization. Let us 
 endeavor to sum up the elements which it from that time 
 introduced into it. 
 
 And first of all there was an immense advantage in the 
 presence of a moral influence, of a moral power, of a power 
 which reposed solely upon convictions and upon moral 
 creeds and sentiments, amidst the deluge of material 
 power which at this time inundated society. Had the 
 Christian church not existed, the whole world must have 
 been abandoned to purely material force. The church alone 
 exercised a moral power. It did more: it sustained, it 
 spread abroad the idea of a rule, of a law superior to all 
 human laws. It proposed for the salvation of humanity 
 the fundamental belief that there exists, above all human 
 laws, a law which is denominated, according to periods and 
 customs, sometimes reason, sometimes the divine law, but 
 which, everywhere and always, is the same law under differ- 
 ent names. 
 
 In short, with the church originated a great fact, the 
 separation of spiritual and temporal power. This separa- 
 tion is the source of liberty of conscience; it is founded upon 
 no other principle but that which is the foundation of the 
 most perfect and extended freedom of conscience. The 
 separation of temporal and spiritual power is based upon 
 the idea that physical force has neither right nor influence 
 over souls, over conviction, over truth. It flows from the 
 distinction established between the world of thought and 
 the world of action, between the world of internal and that 
 of external facts. Thus this principle of liberty of con- 
 science for which Europe has struggled so much, and suf- 
 
46 HISTORY OF 
 
 fered so much, this principle which prevailed so late, and 
 often, in its progress, against the inclination of the clergy, 
 was enunciated, under the name of the separation of tem- 
 poral and spiritual power, in the very cradle of European 
 civilization; and it was the Christian church which, from 
 the necessity imposed by its situation of defending itself 
 against barbarism, introduced and maintained it. 
 
 The presence, then, of a moral influence, the mainte- 
 nance of a divine law, and the separation of the temporal 
 and spiritual powers, are the three grand benefits which 
 the Christian church in the fifth century conferred upon 
 the European world. 
 
 Even at that time, however, all its influences were not 
 equally salutary. Already, in the fifth century, there ap- 
 peared in the church certain unwholesome principles, 
 which have played a great part in the development of our 
 civilization. Thus, at this period, there prevailed within 
 it the separation of governors and the governed, the at- 
 tempt to establish the independence of governors as regards 
 the governed, to impose laws upon the governed, to pos- 
 sess their mind, their life, without the free consent of 
 their reason and of their will. The church, moreover, en- 
 deavored to render the theocratic principle predominant in 
 society, to usurp the temporal power, to reign exclusively. 
 And when it could not succeed in obtaining temporal do- 
 minion, in inducing the prevalence of the theocratic prin- 
 ciple, it allied itself with temporal princes, and, in order 
 to share, supported their absolute power at the expense of 
 the liberty of the people. 
 
 Such were the principles of civilization which Europe, in 
 the fifth centurv, derived from the church and from the 
 Empire. It was in this condition that the barbarians found 
 the Eoman world, and came to take possession of it. In 
 order to fully understand all the elements which met and 
 mixed in the cradle of our civilization, it only remains for 
 us to study the barbarians* 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 47 
 
 When I speak of the barbarians, you understand that we 
 have nothing to do here with their history; narrative is not 
 our present business. You know that at this period the 
 conquerors of the Empire were nearly all of the same race; 
 they were all Germans, except some Sclavonic tribes, the 
 Alani, for example. We know also that they were all in 
 pretty nearly the same stage of civilization. Some differ- 
 ence, indeed, might have existed between them in this re- 
 spect, according to the greater or less degree of connection 
 which the different tribes had had with the Roman world. 
 Thus, no doubt the Goths were more advanced, possessed 
 milder manners than the Franks. But in considering mat- 
 ters under a general point of view, and in their results as 
 regards ourselves, this original difference of civilization 
 among the barbarous people is of no importance. 
 
 It is the general condition of society among the bar- 
 barians that we need to understand. But this is a subject 
 with which, at the present day, it is very difficult to make 
 ourselves acquainted. We obtain, without much difficulty, 
 a comprehension of the Roman municipal system, of the 
 Christian church; their influence has been continued up to 
 our own days. We find traces of it in numerous institu- 
 tions and actual facts; we have a thousand means of recog- 
 nizing and explaining them. But the customs and social 
 condition of the barbarians have completely perished. We 
 are compelled to make them out either from the earliest 
 historical monuments, or by an effort of the imagination. 
 
 There is a sentiment, a fact which, before all things, it 
 is necessary that we should well undarstand in order to 
 represent faithfully to one^sself the barbaric character: the 
 pleasure of individual independence; the pleasure of enjoy- 
 ing one's self with vigor and liberty, amidst the chances of 
 the world and of life; the delights of activity without 
 labor; the taste for an adventurous career, full of uncer- 
 tainty, inequality and peril. Such was the predominating 
 
48 HISTORY GF 
 
 sentiment of the barbarous state, the moral want which 
 put in motion these masses of human beings. In the pres- 
 ent day, locked up as we are in so regular a society, it is 
 difficult to realize this sentiment to one's self with all the 
 power which it exercised over the barbarians of the fourth 
 and fifth centuries. There is only one work which, in my 
 opinion, contains this characteristic of barbarism stamped 
 in all its energy — *'The History of the Conquest of England 
 by the Normans, '^ of M. Thierry, the only book wherein 
 the motives, tendencies and impulses which actuate men in 
 a social condition, bordering on barbarism, are felt and re- 
 produced with a really Homeric faithfulness. Nowhere 
 else do we see so well the nature of a barbarian and of the 
 life of a barbarian. Something of this sort is also found, 
 though, in my opinion, in a much lower degree, with much 
 less simplicity, much less truth, in Cooper's romances upon 
 the savages of America. There is something in the life of 
 the American savages, in the relations and the sentiments 
 they bear with them in the middle of the woods, that 
 recalls, up to a certain point, the manners of the ancient 
 Germans. No doubt these pictures are somewhat ideal- 
 ized, somewhat poetic; the dark side of the barbaric 
 manners and life is not presented to us in all its gross- 
 ness. I speak not only of the evils induced by these man- 
 ners upon the social state, but of the internal and indi- 
 vidual condition of the barbarian himself. There was 
 within this passionate want of personal independence 
 something more gross and more material than one would 
 be led to conceive from the work of M. Thierry; there 
 was a degree of brutality and of apathy which is not 
 always exactly conveyed by his recitals. Nevertheless, 
 when we look to the bottom of the question, notwithstand- 
 ing this alloy of brutality, of materialism, of dull, stupid 
 selfishness, the love of independence is a noble and a moral 
 sentiment, which draws its power from the moral nature of 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE, 40 
 
 man; it is the pleasure of feeling one's self a man, the senti- 
 ment of personality, of human spontaneity, in its free de- 
 velopment. 
 
 It was through the German barbarians that this senti- 
 ment was introduced into European civilization; it was 
 unknown in the Koman world, unknown in the Christian 
 church, and unknown in almost all the ancient civiliza- 
 tions. When you find liberty in ancient civilizations, it is 
 political liberty, the liberty of the citizen: man strove not 
 for his personal liberty, but for his liberty as a citizen: he 
 belonged to an association, he was devoted to an associa- 
 tion, he was ready to sacrifice himself to an association. 
 It was the same with the Christian church: a sentiment of 
 strong attachment to the Christian corporation, of devotion 
 to its laws, and a lively desire to extend its empire; or 
 rather, the religious sentiment induced a reaction of man 
 upon himself, upon his soul, an internal effort to subdue 
 his own liberty, and to submit himself to the will of his 
 faith. But the sentiment of personal independence, a love 
 of liberty displaying itself at all risks, without any other 
 motive but that of satisfying itself; this sentiment, I re- 
 peat, was unknown to the Eoman and to the Christian 
 society. It was by the barbarians that it was brought in 
 and deposited in the cradle of modern civilization, wherein 
 it has played so conspicuous a part, has produced such 
 worthy results, that it is impossible to help reckoning it as 
 one of its fundamental elements. 
 
 There is a second fact, a second element of civilization, 
 for which we are equally indebted to the barbarians: this 
 is military clientship; the bond which established itself 
 between individuals, between warriors, and which, without 
 destroying the liberty of each, without even in the begin- 
 ning destroying, beyond a certain point, the equality which 
 almost completely existed between them, nevertheless 
 founded an hierarchical subordination, and gave birth to 
 
50 HISTORY OF 
 
 that aristocratical organization which afterward became 
 feudalism. The foundation of this relation was the attach- 
 ment of man to man, the fidelity of individual to individ- 
 ual, without external necessity, and without obligation 
 based upoji the general principles of society. In the 
 ancient republics you see no man attached freely and 
 especially to any other man; they were all attached to 
 the city. Among the barbarians it was between individ- 
 uals that the social bond was formed; first by the relation 
 of the chief to his companion, when they lived in the con- 
 dition of a band wandering over Europe; and later, by 
 the relation of suzerain to vassal. This second principle, 
 which has played so great a part in the history of modern 
 civilization, this devotion of man to man, came to us from 
 the barbarians; it is from their manners that it has passed 
 into ours. 
 
 I ask you, was I wrong in saying at the beginning that 
 modern civilizttion, even in its cradle, had been as varied, 
 as agitated and as confused as I have endeavored to describe 
 it to you in the general picture I have given you of it? Is 
 it not true that we have now discovered, at the fall of the 
 Roman Empire, almost all the elements which unite in the 
 progressive development of our civilization ? We have 
 found, at that time, three wholly different societies: the 
 municipal society, the last remains of the Eoman Empire, 
 the Christian society, and the barbaric society. We find 
 these societies very variously organized, founded upon 
 totally different principles, inspiring men with wholly 
 different sentiments; we find the craving after the most 
 absolute independence side by side with the most complete 
 submission; military patronage side by side with ecclesias- 
 tical dominion; the spiritual and temporal powers every- 
 where present; the canons of the church, the learned 
 legislation of the Romans, the almost unwritten customs 
 of the barbarians: everywhere the mixture, or rather the 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 51 
 
 co-existence of the most diverse races, languages, social 
 situations, manners, ideas and impressions. Herein I 
 think we have a sufficient proof of the faithfulness of the 
 general character under which I have endeavored to pre- 
 sent our civilization to you. 
 
 No doubt this confusion, this diversity, this struggle, 
 have cost us very dear; these have been the cause of the 
 slow progress of Europe, of the storms and sufferings to 
 which she has been a prey. Nevertheless, I do not think 
 we need regret them. To people, as well as to individuals, 
 the chance of the most complete and varied development, 
 the chance of an almost unlimited progress in all direc- 
 tions, compensates of itself alone for all that it may cost to 
 obtain the right of casting for it. And all things con- 
 sidered, this state, so agitated, so toilsome, so violent, has 
 availed much more than the simplicity with which other 
 civilizations present themselves; the human race has gained 
 thereby more than it has suffered. 
 
 We are now acquainted with the general features of the 
 condition in which the fall of the Roman empire left the 
 world; we are acquainted with the different elements which 
 were agitated and became mingled, in order to give birth to 
 European civilization. Henceforth we shall see them ad- 
 vancing and acting under our eyes. In the next lecture I 
 shall endeavor to show what they became, and what they 
 effected in the epoch which we are accustomed to call the 
 times of barbarism; that is to say, while the chaos of in- 
 vasion yet existed. 
 
52 HISTORY OF 
 
 THIRD LECTURE. 
 
 Object of the lecture — All the various systems pretend to be legiti- 
 mate — What is political legitimacy ? — Co-existence of all systems 
 of government in the fifth century — Instability in the condition 
 of persons properties, and institutions — There were two causes 
 of this, one material, the continuation of the invasion; the other 
 moral, the selfish sentiment of individuality peculiar to the bar- 
 barians — The germs of civilization have been the necessity for 
 order, the recollections of the Roman Empire, the Christian 
 church, and the barbarians — Attempts at organization by the bar- 
 barians, by the towns, by the church of Spain, by Charlemagne, 
 and Alfred — The German and Arabian invasions cease — The 
 feudal system begins. 
 
 I HAVE placed before you the fundamental elements of 
 European civilization, tracing them to its very cradle, at 
 the moment of the fall of the Roman Empire. I have en- 
 deavored to give you a glimpse beforehand of their diversity, 
 and their constant struggle, and to show you that no one 
 of them succeeded in reigning over our society, or at least 
 in reigning over it so completely as to enslave or expel the 
 others. We have seen that this was the distinguishing 
 character of European civilization. We now come to its 
 history at its commencement, in the ages which it is cus- 
 tomary to call the barbarous. 
 
 At the first glance we cast upon this epoch it is impossi- 
 ble not to be struck with a fact which seems to contradict 
 what we have lately said. When you examine certain 
 notions which are accredited concerning the antiquities of 
 modern Europe, you will perceive that the various elements 
 of our civilization, the monarchical, theocratical, ar^to- 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 53 
 
 cratical, and democratical principles, all pretend that 
 European society originally belonged to them, and that they 
 have only lost the sole dominion by the usurpations of 
 contrary principles. Question all that has been written, 
 all that has been said upon this subject, and you will see 
 that all the systems whereby our beginnings are sought to 
 be represented or explained maintain the exclusive predom- 
 inance of one or other of the elements of European 
 civilization. 
 
 Thus there is a school of feudal publicists, of whom the 
 most celebrated is M. de Boulainvilliers, who pretend that, 
 after the fall of the Eoman Empire, it was the conquering 
 nation, subsequently become the nobility, which possessed 
 all powers and rights; that society was its domain; that 
 kings and peoples have despoiled it of this domain; that aris- 
 tocratic organization was the primitive and true form of 
 Europe. 
 
 Beside this school you will find that of the monarchists, 
 the Abbe Dubois, for instance, who maintain, on the con- 
 trary, that it was to royalty European society belonged. 
 The German kings, say they, inherited all the rights of the 
 Eoman emperors; they had even been called in by the 
 ancient nations; the Gauls among others; they alone ruled 
 legitimately; all the acquisitions of the aristocracy were 
 only encroachments upon monarchy. 
 
 A third party presents itself, that of the liberal publicists, 
 republicans, democrats, or whatever you like to call them. 
 Consult the Abbe de Mably; according to him, it is to the 
 system of free institutions, to the association of free men, 
 to the people properly so called, that the government of 
 society devolved from the period of the fifth century: nobles 
 and kings enriched themselves with the spoils of primitive 
 freedom; it sunk beneath their attacks indeed, but it reigned 
 before them. 
 
 And above all these monarchical, aristocratical and pop- 
 
54 HISTORY OF 
 
 ular pretensions rises the theocratical pretension of the 
 church, who affirms- that in virtue of her very mission, of 
 her divine title, society belonged to her; that she alone had 
 the right to govern it; that she alone was the legitimate 
 queen of the European world, won over by her labors to 
 civilization and to truth. 
 
 See then the position in which we are placed ! We fancied 
 we had shown that no one of the elements of European 
 civilization had exclusively ruled in the course of its his- 
 tory; that those elements had existed in a constant state of 
 vicinity, of amalgamation, of combat, and of compromise; 
 and yet, at our very first step, we meet with ^he directly 
 contrary opinion, that, even in its cradle, in the bosom of 
 barbaric Europe, it was such or such a one of their elements 
 which alone possessed society. And it is not only in a sin- 
 gle country, but in all the countries of Europe, that, 
 beneath slightly different forms, at different periods, the 
 various principles of our civilization have manifested these 
 irreconcilable pretensions. The historical schools we have 
 just characterized are to be met with everywhere. 
 
 This is an important fact — important not in itself, but 
 because it reveals other facts which hold a conspicuous 
 place in our history. From this simultaneous setting forth 
 of the most opposite pretensions to the exclusive possession 
 of power in the first age of modern Europe two remarkable 
 facts become apparent. The first the principle, the idea of 
 political legitimacy; an idea which has played a great part 
 in the course of European civilization. The second the 
 veritable and peculiar character of the condition of barbaric- 
 Europe, of that epoch with which we are at present espe- 
 cially concerned. 
 
 I shall endeavor to demonstrate these two facts, to deduce 
 them successively from this combat of primitive pretensions 
 which I have just described. 
 
 What do the various elements of European civilization. 
 
GIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 55 
 
 the theocratical, monarchical, aristocratical and popular 
 elements pretend to, when they wish to appear the first 
 who possessed society in Europe? Do they not thus pre- 
 tend to have been alone legitimate? Political legitimacy is 
 evidently a right founded upon antiquity, upon duration; 
 priority in time is appealed to as the source of the right, as 
 the proof of the legitimacy of power. And observe, I pray 
 you, that this pretension is not peculiar to any one system, 
 to any one element of our civilization; it extends to all. In 
 modern times we are accustomed to consider the idea of 
 legitimacy as existing in only one system, the monarchical. 
 In this we are mistaken; it is discoverable in all. You have 
 already seen that all the elements of our civilization have 
 equally desired to appropriate it. If we enter into the sub- 
 sequent history of Europe, we shall find the most different 
 social forms and governments equally in possession of their 
 character of legitimacy. The Italian and Swiss aristocra- 
 cies and democracies, the republic of San Marino, as well 
 as the greatest monarchies of Europe, have called them- 
 selves, and have been regarded as legitimate; the former, 
 like the latter, have founded their pretension to legitimacy 
 upon the antiquity of their institutions and upon the 
 historical priority and perpetuity of their system of 
 government. 
 
 If you leave Europe and direct your attention to other 
 times and other countries, you everywhere meet with this 
 idea of political legitimacy; you find it attaching itself 
 everywhere to some portion of the government, to some in- 
 stitution, form, or maxim. There has been no country, 
 and no time, in which there has not existed a certain por- 
 tion of the social system, public powers; which has not 
 attributed to itself, and in which has not been recognized 
 this character of legitimacy, derived from antiquity and 
 long duration. 
 
 What is this principle? what are its elements? how has 
 it introduced itself into European civilization? 
 
56 HISTORY OF 
 
 At the origin of all powers, I say of all without any dis- 
 tinction, we meet with physical force. I do not mean to 
 state that force alone has founded them all, or that if, in 
 their origin, they had not had other titles than that of 
 force, they would have been established. Other titles are 
 manifestly necessary; powers have become established in 
 consequence of certain social expediences, of certain refer- 
 ences to the state of society, manners, and opinions. But 
 it is impossible to avoid perceiving that physical force has 
 stained the origin of all the powers of the world, whatever 
 may have been their character and form. 
 
 Yet none will have anything to say to this origin; all 
 powers, whatever they may be, reject it; none will admit 
 themselves the offspring of force. An unconquerable in- 
 stinct warns governments that force does not found right, 
 and that if force was their origin, their right could never 
 be established. This, then, is the reason why, when we go 
 back to early times, and there find the various systems and 
 powers a prey to violence, all exclaim, ^^I was anterior to 
 all this, I existed previously, in virtue of other titles; 
 society belonged to me before this state of violence and 
 struggle in which you meet with me; I was legitimate, but 
 others contested and seized my rights. ^^ 
 
 This fact alone proves that the idea of force is not the 
 foundation of political legitimacy, but that it reposes upon 
 a totally different basis. What, indeed, is done by all 
 these systems in thus formally disavowing force? They 
 themselves proclaim that there is another kind of legiti- 
 macy, the true foundation of all others, the legitimacy of 
 reason, justice, and right; and this is the origin with which 
 they desire to connect themselves. It is because they wish 
 it not to be supposed that they are the offspring of force, 
 that they pretend to be invested in the name of their an- 
 tiquity with a different title. The first cliaracteristic 
 then, of political legitimacy, is to reject physical force as a 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 57 
 
 souree of power, and to connect it with a moral idea, 
 Avith a moral force, with the idea of right, of justice, 
 and of reason. This is the fundamental element from 
 which the principle of political legitimacy has issued. It 
 has issued thence by the help of antiquity and long dura- 
 tion. And in this manner: 
 
 After physical force has presided at the birth Of all gov- 
 ernments, of all societies, time progresses; it alters the 
 works of force, it corrects them, corrects them by the very 
 fact that a society endures, and is composed of men. Man 
 carries within himself certain notions of order, justice and 
 reason, a certain desire to induce their prevalence, to in- 
 troduce them into the circumstances among which he lives; 
 he labors unceasingly at this task; and if the social condi- 
 tion in which he is placed continues, he labors always with 
 a certain effect. Man places reason, morality and legiti- 
 macy in the world in which he lives. 
 
 Independently of the work of man, by a law of Provi- 
 dence which it is impossible to mistake, a law analogous to 
 that which regulates the material world, there is a certain 
 measure of order, reason and justice, which is absolutely 
 necessary to the duration of a society. From the single 
 fact of its duration, we may conclude that a society is not 
 wholly absurd, insensate and iniquitous; that it is not 
 utterly deprived of that element of reason, truth and jus* 
 tice which alone gives life to societies. If, moreover, tlid 
 society develops itself, if it becomes more vigorous and 
 more powerful, if the social condition from day to day is 
 accepted by a greater number of men, it is because it 
 gathers by the action of time more reason, justice and 
 right; because circumstances regulate themselves, step by 
 step, according to true legitimacy. 
 
 Thus the idea of political legitimacy penetrates the 
 world, and men's minds, from the world. It has for its 
 foundation and first origin, in a certain measure at leasts 
 
58 HISTORY OF 
 
 moral legitimacy, justice, reason, and truth, and afterward 
 the sanction of time, which gives cause for believing that 
 reason has won entrance into facts, and that true legitimacy 
 has been introduced into the external world. At the epoch 
 which we are about to study, we shall find force and false- 
 <hood hovering over the cradle of royalty, of aristocracy, of 
 democracy, and of the church herself; you will everywhere 
 behold force and falsehood reforming themselves, little by 
 little, under the hand of time, right and truth taking their 
 places in civilization. It is this introduction of right and 
 truth into the social state, which has developed, step by 
 step, the idea of political legitimacy; it is thus that it has 
 been established in modern civilization. 
 
 When, therefore, attempts have at different timf^s been 
 made to raise this idea as the banner of absolute power, it 
 has been perverted from its true origin. So far is it from 
 being the banner of absolute power, that it is only in the 
 name of right and justice that it has penetrated and taken 
 root in the world. It is not exclusive; it belongs to no one 
 in particular, but springs up wherever right develops itself. 
 Political legitimacy attaches itself to liberty as well as to 
 power; to individual rights as well as to the forms accord- 
 ing to which public functions are exercised. We shall meet 
 with it, in our way, in the most contrary systems; in the 
 feudal system, in the municipalities of Flanders and Ger- 
 many, in the Italian republics, no less than in monarchy. 
 It is a character spread over the various elements of modern 
 civilization, and which it is necessary to understand thor- 
 oughly on entering upon its history. 
 
 The second fact which clearly reveals itself in the simul- 
 taneous pretensions of which I spoke in the beginning, is 
 the true character of the so-called barbarian epoch. All 
 the elements of European civilization pretend at this time 
 to have possessed Europe; it follows that neither of them 
 predominated. When a social form predominates in the 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 59 
 
 world, it is not so difficult to recognize it. On coming to the 
 tenth century we shall recognize, without hesitation, the 
 predominance of the feudal system; in the seventeenth 
 century we shall not hesitate to affirm that the monarchi- 
 cal system prevails; if we look to the municipalities of 
 Flanders, to the Italian republics, we shall immediately de- 
 clare the empire of the democratic principle. When there 
 is really any predominating principle in society, it is im- 
 possible to mistake it. 
 
 The dispute which has arisen between the various sys- 
 tems that have had a share in European civilization, upon 
 the question, which predominated at its origin, proves, 
 then, that they all co-existed, without any one of them 
 prevailing generally enough, or certainly enough to give to 
 society its form and its name. 
 
 Such, then, is the character of the barbarian epoch; it 
 was the chaos of all elements, the infancy of all systems, 
 an universal turmoil, in which even strife was not perma- 
 nent or systematic. By examining all the aspects of the 
 social state at this period, I might show you that it is im- 
 possible anywhere to discover a single fact, or a single 
 principle, which was anything like general or established. 
 I shall confine myself to two essential points: the condition 
 of individuals, and the condition of institutions. That 
 will be enough to paint the entire society. 
 
 At this period we meet with four classes of persons — 1. 
 The free men; that is to say, those who depended upon no 
 superior, upon no patron, and who possessed their property 
 and regulated their life in complete liberty, without any 
 bond of obligation to any other man. 2. The leudes, 
 fideleSy anstrustions, etc., bound at first by the relation of 
 companion to chief, and afterward by that of vassal to 
 suzerain, to another man, toward whom, on account of a 
 grant of lands, or other gifts, they had contracted the 
 obligation of service. 3. The freedman, 4. The slaves. 
 
60 HISTORY om 
 
 But were these various classes fixed? Did men, when 
 once they were inclosed in their limits, remain there? Had 
 the relations of the various classes anything of regularity 
 and permanence? By no means. You constantly behold 
 freemen who leave their position to place themselves in the 
 service of some one, receiving from him some gift or other, 
 and passing into the class of leudes; others you see who 
 fall into the class of slaves. Elsewhere leudes are seen 
 struggling to separate themselves from their patrons, to 
 again become independent, to re-enter the class of free- 
 men. Everywhere you behold a movement, a continual 
 passage of one class into another; an uncertainty, a general 
 instability in the relations of the classes; no man remain- 
 ing in his position, no position remaining the same. 
 
 Landed properties were in the same condition. You 
 know that these were distinguished as allodial, or wholly 
 free, and beneficiary, or subject to certain obligations with 
 regard to a superior: you know how an attempt has been 
 made to establish, in this last class of properties, a precise 
 and defined system; it has been said that the benefices 
 were at first given for a certain determinate number of 
 years, afterward for life, and that finally they became 
 hereditary. A vain attempt! All these kinds of tenure 
 existed without order and simultaneously; we meet, at the 
 same moment, with benefices for a fixed time, for life, and 
 heredity; the same lands, indeed, passed in a few years 
 through these different states. There was nothing more' 
 stable in the condition of lands than in that of individ- 
 uals. On all sides was felt the laborious transition of the 
 wandering to the sedentary life, of personal relations to the 
 combined relations of men and properties, or to real lela- 
 tions. During this transition all is confused, local and 
 disordered. 
 
 In the institutions we find the same instability, the 
 same chaos. Three systems of institutionsu30-existed' roy- 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 61 
 
 alty; aristocratic institutions, or the dependence of men 
 and lands one upon another; and free institutions, that is 
 to say, the assemblies of free men deliberating in common. 
 Neither of these systems was in possession of society; 
 neither of them prevailed over the others. Free institu- 
 tions existed, but the men who should have taken part in 
 the assemblies rarely attended them. The signorial juris- 
 diction was not more regularly exercised. Eoyalty, which 
 is the simplest of institutions, and the ea^^iest to determine, 
 had no fixed character; it was partly elective, partly hered- 
 itary. Sometimes the son succeeded the father; sometimes 
 a selection was made from the family; sometimes it was a 
 simple election of a distant relation, or of a stranger. In 
 no system will you find anything fixed; all institutions, as 
 well as all social situations, existed together, became con- 
 founded, and were continually changing. 
 
 In states the same fluctuation prevailed: they were 
 erected and suppressed, united and divided; there were no 
 boundaries, no governments, no distant people; but a gen- 
 eral confusion of situations, principles, facts, races and 
 languages; such was barbarous Europe. 
 
 Within what limits is this strange period bounded? Its 
 origin is well marked, it begins with the fall of the Roman 
 Empire. But when did it conclude? In order to answer 
 this question, we must learn to what this condition of soci- 
 ety is to be attributed, what were the causes of this 
 barbarism. 
 
 I think I can perceive two principal causes: the one 
 material, arising from without, in the course of events; 
 the other moral, originating from within, from man 
 himself. 
 
 The material cause was the continuation of the invasion. 
 We must not fancy that the invasion of the barbarians 
 ceased in the fifth century; we must not think that, 
 because Rome was fallen, we shall immediately find the 
 
62 HISTORY OF 
 
 barbaric kingdoms founded upon its ruins, or that the 
 movement was at an end. This movement lasted long 
 after the fall of the empire; the proofs of this are manifest. 
 See the Frank kings, even of the first race, called con- 
 tinually to make war beyond the Rhine; Clotaire, Dago- 
 bert constantly engaged in expeditions into Germany, 
 fighting against the Thuringians, Danes and Saxons, who 
 occupied the right bank of the Rhine. Wherefore? 
 Because these nations wished to cross the river, to come 
 and take their share of the spoils of the empire. Whence, 
 about the same time, those great invasions of Italy by the 
 Franks established in Gaul, and principally by the Eastern 
 or Austrasian Franks? They attacked Switzerland; passed 
 the Alps; entered Italy. Why? Because they were 
 pressed, on the northeast, by new populations; their expe- 
 ditions were not merely forays for pillage, they were mat- 
 ters of necessity; they were disturbed in their settlements, 
 and went elsewhere to seek their fortune. A new Ger- 
 manic nation appeared upon the stage, and founded in 
 Italy the kingdom of Lombard3\ In Gaul, the Frank 
 dynasty changed; the Carlo vingians succeeded the Merov- 
 ingians. It is now acknowledged that this change of 
 dynasty was, to say the truth, a fresh invasion of Gaul by 
 the Franks, a movement of nations which substituted the 
 eastern for the western Franks. The change was com- 
 pleted; the second race now governed. Charlemangne 
 '*/Ommenced against the Saxons what the Merovingians had 
 lone against the Thuringians; he was incessantly 
 engaged in war against the nations beyond the Rhine. 
 Who urged these on? The Obotrites, the Wiltzes, the 
 Sorabes, the Bohemians, the entire Sclavonic race which 
 pressed upon the Germanic, and from the sixth to the 
 ninth century compelled it to advance toward the west. 
 Everywhere to the northeast the movement of invasio» 
 continued and determined events. 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE, 63 
 
 In the south, a movement of the same nature exhibited 
 itself: the Moslem Arabs appeared. While the Germanic 
 and Sclavonic people pressed on along the Rhine and Dan- 
 ube, the Arabs begun their expeditions and conquests upon 
 all the coasts of the Mediterranean. 
 
 1 The invasion of the Arabs had a peculiar character. The 
 spirit of conquest and the spirit of proselytism were united. 
 The invasion was to conquer a territory and disseminate a 
 faith. There was a great difference between this move- 
 ment and that of the Germans. In the Christian world, 
 the spiritual and temporal powers were distinct. The 
 desire of propagating a creed and making a conquest did 
 not co-exist in the same men. The Germans, when they 
 became converted, preserved their manners, sentiments 
 and tastes; terrestrial passions and interests continued to 
 rule them; they became Christians, but not missionaries. 
 The Arabs, on the contrary, were both conquerers and 
 missionaries; the power of the sword and that of the word, 
 with them, were in the same hands. At a later period, 
 this character determined the unfortunate turn taken by 
 Mussulman civilization; it is in the combination of the 
 spiritual and temporal powers, in the confusion of moral 
 and material authority, that the tyranny which seems in- 
 herent in that civilization originated. This I conceive to 
 be the cause of the stationary condition into which that 
 civilization is everywhere fallen. But the fact did not 
 make its appearance at first; on the contrary,, it added 
 prodigious force to the Arab invasion. Undertaken with 
 moral passions and ideas, it immediately obtained a splen- 
 dor and a greatness which was wanting to the German in- 
 vasion; it exhibited far more energy and enthusiasm, and 
 far differently influenced the minds of men. 
 
 Such was the state of Europe from the fifth to the 
 ninth century; pressed on the south by the Mahometans, 
 on the north by the Germans and the Sclavonic tribes, it 
 
64. EI8T0RT OP 
 
 was scarcely possible that the reaction of this double inya- 
 sion should do other than hold the interior of Europe in 
 continual disorder. The populations were constantly being 
 displaced, and forced one upon the other; nothing of a 
 fixed character could be established; the wandering life 
 recommenced on all sides. There was, no doubt, some dif- 
 ference in this respect in the different states: the chaos was 
 greater in Germany than in the rest of Europe, Germany 
 being the focus of the movement; France was more agitated 
 than Italy. But in no place could society settle or regulate 
 itself; barbarism continued on all sides from the same 
 cause that had originated it. 
 
 So much for the material cause, that which arose from 
 the course of events. I now come to the moral cause, 
 which sprang from the internal condition of man, and 
 which was no less powerful. 
 
 After all, whatever external events may be, it is man 
 himself who makes the world; it is in proportion to the 
 ideas, sentiments and dispositions, moral and intellectual, 
 of man, that the world becomes regulated and progressive; 
 it is upon the internal condition of man that the visible 
 condition of society depends. 
 
 What is required to enable men to found a society with 
 any thing of durability and regularity? It is evidently 
 necessary that they should have a certain number of ideas 
 sufficiently extended to suit that society, to apply to its 
 wants, to its relations. It is necessary, moreover, that 
 these ideas should be common to the greater number of 
 the members of the society; finally, that they should exer- 
 cise a certain empire over their wills and actions. 
 
 It is clear, that if men have no ideas extending beyond 
 their own existence, if their intellectual horizon is confined 
 to themselves, if they are abandoned to the tempest of their 
 passions and their wills, if they have not among them a 
 certain number of notions and sentiments in common 
 
CIVILIZA TION m EUROPE, 65 
 
 around which to rally, it is clear, I say, that between them 
 no society is possible, and that each individual must be a 
 principle of disturbance and dissolution to any association 
 which he may enter. 
 
 Wherever individuality predominates almost exclusively, 
 wherever man considers no one but himself, and his ideas 
 do not extend beyond himself, and he obeys nothing but 
 his own passions, society (I mean a society somewhat ex- 
 tended and permanent) becomes for him almost impossible. 
 Such, however, was the moral condition of the conquerors 
 of Europe, at the time upon which we are now occupied. I 
 remarked in my last lecture that we are indebted to the 
 Germans for an energetic sentiment of individual liberty, 
 of human individuality. But in a state of extreme barba- 
 rism and ignorance this sentiment becomes selfishness in all 
 its brutality, and in all its insociability. From the fifth to 
 the eighth century it was at tliis point among the Germans. 
 They cared only for their own interests, their own pas- 
 sions, their own will: how could they be reconciled to a 
 condition even approximating to the social? Attempts 
 were made to prevail upon them to enter it; they attempted 
 to do so themselves. But they immediately abandoned it 
 by some act of carelessness, some burst of passion, some 
 want of intelligence. Constantly did society attempt to 
 form itself; constantly was it destroyed by the act of man, 
 by the absence of the moral conditions under which alone 
 it can exist. 
 
 Such were the two determining causes of the barbarous 
 state. So long as these were prolonged, barbarism endured. 
 Let us see how and when they at last terminated. 
 
 Europe labored to escape from this condition. It is in 
 the nature of man, even when he has been plunged into 
 Buch a condition by his own fault, not to desire to remain 
 in it. However rude, however ignorant, however devoted 
 to his own interests and to his own passions he may be. 
 
06 HISTORY OF 
 
 there is within him a voice and an instinct which tells him 
 that he was made for better things, that he has other 
 powers, another destiny. In the midst of disorder, the 
 love of order and of progress pursues and harasses him. 
 The need of justice, foresight, development, agitates him 
 even under the voke of the most brutal selfishness. He 
 feels himself impelled to reform the material world, and 
 society, and himself; and he labors to do this, though 
 unaware of the nature of the want which urges him. The 
 barbarians aspired after civilization, while totally incapable 
 of it, nay more, detesting it from the instant that they be- 
 came acquainted with its law. 
 
 There remained, moreover, consi(Jerable wrecks of the 
 Koman civilization. The name of the Empire, the recol- 
 lection of that great and glorious society, disturbed the 
 memories of men, particularly of the senators of towns, 
 of bishops, priests, and all those who had had their origin 
 in the Koman world. 
 
 Among the barbarians themselves, or their barbaric an- 
 cestors, many had been witnesses of the grandeur of the 
 Empire; they had served in its armies, they had conquered 
 it. The image and name of Koman civilization had an 
 imposing influence upon them, and they experienced the 
 desire of imitating, of reproducing, of preserving some- 
 thing of it. This was another cause which urged them to 
 quit the condition of barbarism I have described. 
 
 There was a third cause which suggests itself to every 
 mind; I mean the Christian church. The church was a 
 society regularly constituted, having its principles, its rules, 
 and its discipline, and experiencing an ardent desire to 
 extend its influence and conquer its conquerors. Among 
 the Christians of this period, among the Christian clergy 
 there were men who had thought upon all moral and 
 political questions, who had decided opinions and energetic 
 sentiments upon all subjects, and a vivid desire to propa- 
 
CIYILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 67 
 
 gate and give them empire. Never has any other society 
 made such efforts to influence the surrounding world, and 
 to stamp thereon its own likeness, as were made by the 
 Christian church between the fifth and the tenth centuries. 
 When we come to study its particular history, we shall see 
 all that it has done. It attacked barbarism, as it were, at 
 every point, in order to civilize by ruling over it. 
 
 Finally, there was a fourth cause of civilization, a cause 
 which it is impossible fitly to appreciate, but which is not 
 therefore the less real, and this is the appearance of great 
 men. No oue can say why a great man appears at a certain 
 epoch, and what he adds to the development of the world; 
 that is a secret of Providence: but the fact is not therefore 
 less certain. There are men whom the spectacle of an- 
 archy and social stagnation, strikes and revolts, who are in- 
 tellectually shocked therewith as with a fact which ought 
 not to exist, and are possessed with an unconquerable de- 
 sire of changing it, a desire of giving some rule, 
 somewhat of the general, regular and permanent to 
 the world before them. A terrible and often tyran- 
 nical power, which commits a thousand crimes, a 
 thousand errors, for human weakness attends it; a power, 
 nevertheless, glorious and salutary, for it gives to human- 
 ity, and with the hand of man, a vigorous impulse forward, 
 a mighty movement. 
 
 These different causes and forces led, between the fifth 
 and ninth century, to various attempts at extricating 
 European society from barbarism. 
 
 The first attempt, which, although but slightly effective, 
 must not be overlooked, since it emanated from the bar- 
 barians themselves, was the drawing up of the barbaric 
 laws: between the sixth and eighth centuries the laws of 
 almost all the barbarous people were written. Before this 
 they had not been written; the barbarians had been gov- 
 erned simply by customs, until they estaU'shed themselves 
 
68 HISTORY OF 
 
 upon the ruins of the Roman empire. We may reckon 
 the laws of the Burgundians, of the Salian and Ripuarian 
 Franks, of the Visigoths, of the Lombards, the Saxons, 
 the Frisons, the Bavarians, the Alemanni, etc. Here was 
 manifestly a beginning of civilization; an endeavor to bring 
 society under general and regular principles. The success 
 of this attempt could not be great; it was writing the laws 
 of a society which no longer existed, the laws of the social 
 state of the barbarians before their establishment upon the 
 Roman territory, before they had exchanged the wandering 
 for the sedentary life, the condition of nomad warriors 
 for that of proprietors. We find, indeed, here and there, 
 some articles concerning the lands which the barbarians 
 had conquered, and concerning their relations with the 
 ancient inhabitants of the country; but the foundation of 
 the greater part of their laws is the ancient mode of life, 
 the ancient German condition; they were inapplicable to 
 the new society, and occupied only a trifling place in its 
 development. 
 
 At the same time, another kind of attempt was made in 
 Italy and the south of Gaul. Roman society had not so com- 
 pletely perished there as elsewhere; a little more order and 
 life remained in the cities. There civilization attempted 
 to lift again its head. If, for example, we look to the 
 kingdom of the Ostrogoths in Italy under Theodoric, we 
 see even under the dominion of a barbarous king and 
 nation the municipal system, taking breath, so to speak, 
 and influencing the general course of events. Roman 
 society had acted upon the Goths, and had to a certain 
 degree impressed them with its likeness. The same fact is 
 visible in the south of Gaul. It was at the commencement 
 of the sixth century that a Visigoth king of Toulouse, 
 Alaric, caused the Roman laws to be collected, and pub- 
 lished a code for his Roman subjects under the name of 
 the Breviarium AnianL 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 69 
 
 In Spain it was another power — namely, that of the 
 church, which tried to revive civilization. In place of 
 the ancient German assemblies, the assemblies of warriors, 
 it was the council of Toledo which prevailed in Spain; and 
 although distinguished laymen attended this council, the 
 bishops had dominion there. Look at the law of the Visi- 
 goths, you will see that it is not a barbarous law; it was 
 evidently compiled by the philosophers of the time, the 
 clergy. It abounds in general ideas, in theories, theories 
 wholly foreign to barbarous manners. Thus, you know 
 that the legislation of the barbarians was a personal legis- 
 lation — that is to say, that the same law applied only to 
 men of the same race. The Roman law governed the 
 Eomans, the Frank law governed the Franks; each people 
 had its law, although they were united under the same 
 government and inhabited the same territory. This is 
 what is called the system of personal legislation, in opposi- 
 tion to that of real legislation fixed upon the territory. 
 Weir, the legislation of the Visigoths was not personal, 
 out fixed upon the territory. All the inhabitants of 
 Spain, Visigotns and Romans, were subject to the same 
 law. Continue your investigation, and you will find yet 
 more evident traces of philosophy. Among the barbarians, 
 men had, according to their relative situations, a deter- 
 minate value; the barbarian, the Roman, the freeman, the 
 vassal, etc., were not held at the same price, there was a 
 tariff of their lives. The principle of the equal value of 
 men in the eye of the law was established in the law of the 
 Visigoths. Look to the system of procedure, and you find 
 in place of the oath of compurgatores, or the judicial com- 
 bat, the proof by witnesses, and a rational investigation of 
 the matter in question, such as might be prosecuted in a 
 civilized society. In short, the whole Visigoth law bears a 
 wise, systematic and social character. We may perceive 
 herein the work of the same clergy who prevailed in the 
 
70 HI8T0RT OF 
 
 councils of Toledo, and so powerfully influenced the govern, 
 ment of the country. 
 
 In Spain, then, up to the great invasion of the Arabs, it 
 was the theocratic principle which attempted the revival of 
 civilization. 
 
 In France the same endeavor was the work of a different 
 power; it came from the great men, above all from Charle- 
 magne. Examine his reign under its various aspects; you 
 will see that his predominating idea was the design of 
 civilizing his people. First, let us consider his wars. He 
 was constantly in the field, from the south to the north- 
 east, from the Ebro to the Elbe or the Weser. Can you 
 believe that these were mere willful expeditions, arising 
 simply from the desire of conquest? By no means. I do 
 not mean to say that all that he did is to be fully explained, 
 or that there existed much d^'plomacy or strategetic skill 
 in his plans; but he obeyed a great necessity — a strong 
 desire of suppressing barbarism. He was engaged during 
 the whole of his reign in arresting the double invasion — 
 the Mussulman invasion on the south and the German and 
 Sclavonic invasion on the north. This is the military 
 character of the reign of Charlemagne; his expedition 
 against the Saxons had no other origin and no other 
 purpose. 
 
 If you turn from his wars to his internal government 
 you will there meet with a fact of the same nature — the 
 attempt to introduce order and unity into the administra- 
 tion of all the countries which he possessed. I do not wish 
 to employ the word kingdom nor the word state; for these 
 expressions convey too regular a notion, and suggest ideas 
 which are little in harmony with the society over which 
 Charlemagne presided. But this is certain, that being 
 master of an immense territory, he felt indignant at seeing 
 all things incoherent, anarchical and rude, and desired to 
 alter their hideous condition. First of all he wrought by 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 71 
 
 means of his missi dominiciy whom he despatched into the 
 various parts of his territory, in order that they might 
 observe circumstances and reform them, or give an account 
 of them to him. He afterward worked by means of gen- 
 eral assemblies, which he held with much more regularity 
 than his predecessors had done. At these assemblies he 
 caused all the most considerable persons of the territory to 
 be present. They were not free assemljies, nor did they at 
 all resemble the kind of deliberations with which we are ac- 
 quainted; they were merely a means taken by Charlemagne 
 of being well informed of facts, and of introducing some 
 order and unity among his disorderly populations. 
 
 Under whatever point of view you consider the reign of 
 Charlemagne, you will always find in it the same character, 
 namely, warfare against the barbarous state, the spirit of 
 civilization; this is what appears in his eagerness to estab- 
 lish schools, in his taste for learned men, in the favor with 
 which he regarded ecclesiastical influence, and in all that 
 he thought proper to do, whether as regarded the entire 
 society or individual man. 
 
 An attempt of the same kind was made somewhat later 
 in England by King Alfred. 
 
 Thus the different causes to which I have directed atten- 
 tion, as tending to put an end to barbarism, were in action 
 in some part or other of Europe from the fifth to the ninth 
 centurv. 
 
 None succeeded. Charlemagne was unable to found his 
 great empire, and the system of government which he 
 desired to establish therein. In Spain the church suc- 
 ceeded no better in establishing the theocratic principle. 
 In Italy and in the south of Gaul, although Koman civil- 
 ization often attempted to rise again, it was not till after 
 ward, toward the end of the tenth century, that it really 
 reacquired any vigor. Up to that time all efforts to ter- 
 minate barbarism proved abortive; they supposed that men 
 
72 HISTORY OF 
 
 were more advanced than they truly were; they all desired, 
 under various forms, a society more extended or more 
 regular than was compatible with the distribution of power 
 and the condition of men's minds. Nevertheless, they had 
 not been wholly useless. At the beginning of the tenth 
 <jentury, neither the great empire of Charlemagne nor the 
 glorious councils of Toledo were any longer spoken of; but 
 barbarism had nol^ the less arrived at its extreme term — 
 two great results had been obtained. 
 
 I. The movement of the invasions on the north and 
 south had been arrested: after the dismemberment of the 
 empire of Charlemagne the states established on the right 
 bank of the Khine opposed a powerful barrier to the tribes 
 who continued to urge their way westward. The Normans 
 prove this incontestably; up to this period, if we except 
 the tribes which cast themselves upon England, the move- 
 ment of maritime invasions had not been very considerable. 
 It was during the ninth century that it became constant 
 and general. And this was because invasions by land were 
 become very difficult, society having, on this side, acquired 
 more fixed and certain frontiers. That portion of the 
 wandering population which could not be driven back was 
 constrained to turn aside and carry on its roving life upon 
 the sea. Whatever evils were done in the west by Norman 
 expeditions, they were far less fatal than invasions by land; 
 they disturbed dawning society far less generally. 
 
 In the south the same fact declared itself. The Arabs 
 were quartered in Spain; warfare continued between them 
 and the Christians, but it no longer entailed the displace- 
 ment of the population. Saracenic bands still, from time 
 to time, infested the coasts of the Mediterranean; but the 
 grand progress of Islamism had evidently ceased. 
 
 II. At this period we see the wandering life ceasing, in it« 
 turn, throughout the interior of Europe; populations estab- 
 lished themselves; property became fixed; and the relations 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. ?S 
 
 * 
 
 of men no longer varied from day to day, at the will of 
 violence or chance. The internal and moral condition of 
 man himself began to change; his ideas and sentiments, 
 like his life, acquired fixedness; he attached himself to the 
 places which he inhabited, to the relations which he had 
 contracted there, to those domains which he began to 
 promise himself that he would bequeath to his children, to 
 that dwelling which one day he will call his castle, to that 
 miserable collection of colonists and slaves which will one 
 day become a village. Everywhere little societies, little 
 states, cut, so to speak, to the measure of the ideas and the 
 wisdom of man, formed themselves. Between these soci- 
 eties was gradually introduced the bond, of which the cus- 
 toms of barbarism contained the germ, the bond of a con- 
 federation which did not annihilate individual independence. 
 On the one hand, every considerable person established 
 himself in his domains, alone with his family and 
 servitors ; on the other hand, a certain hierarchy ot 
 services and rights became established between these 
 warlike proprietors scattered over the land. What 
 was this? The feudal system rising definitively from 
 the bosom of barbarism. Of the various elements of our 
 civilization, it was natural that the Germanic element 
 should first prevail; it had strength on its side, it had con- 
 quered Europe; from it Europe was to receive its earliest 
 social form and organization. This is what happened. 
 Feudalism, its character, and the part played by it in the 
 history of European civilization, will be the subject-matter 
 of my next lecture; and in the bosom of that victorious 
 feudal system we shall meet at every step, with the other 
 elements of our civilization — royalty, the church, munici- 
 pal corporations; and we shall foresee without difficulty 
 that they are not destined to sink beneath this feudal form, 
 to which they become assimilated, while struggling against 
 it, and while waiting the hour when victory shall visit them 
 in their turn. 
 
74 msrOBT OF 
 
 FOURTH LECTURE. , 
 
 Object of the lecture — Necessary alliance between facts and doc- 
 trines — Preponderance of tbe country over the towns — Organiza- 
 tion of a small feudal society — Influence of feudalism upon the 
 character of the possessor of the fief, and upon the spirit of 
 family — Hatred of the people toward the feudal system — The 
 priest could do little ^r the serfs — Impossibility of regularly 
 organizing feudalism: 1. No powerful authority; 2. No public 
 power; 3. Difficulty of the federative system — The idea of the 
 right of resistance inherent in feudalism — Influence of feudalism 
 favorable to the development of the individual, unfavorable to 
 social order. 
 
 We have studied the condition of Europe after the fall 
 of the Roman Empire, in the first period of modern history, 
 the barbarous. We have seen that, at the end of this 
 epoch, and at the commencement of the tenth century, the 
 first principle, the first system that developed itself and 
 took possession of European society, was the feudal 
 system; we have seen that feudalism was the first-born of 
 barbarism. It is then the feudal system which must now 
 be the object of our study. 
 
 I scarcely think it necessary to remind you that it is not 
 the history of events, properly speaking, which we are 
 considering. It is not my business to recount to you the 
 destinies of feudalism. That which occupies us in the 
 history of civilization; this is the general and hidden fact 
 which we seek under all the external facts which envelop it. 
 
 Thus events, social crises, the various states through 
 which society has passed, interest us only in their relations 
 to the development of civilization; we inquire of them solely 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 75 
 
 in what respects they have opposed or assisted it, what they 
 have given to it, and what they have refused it. It is only 
 under this point of view that we are to consider the feudal 
 system. 
 
 In the commencement of these lectures we defined the 
 aature of civilization; we attempted to investigate its ele- 
 ments; we saw that it consisted, on the one hand, in 
 the development of man himself, of the individual, of 
 humanity; on the other hand, in that of his external .con- 
 dition, in the development of society. Whenever we 
 find ourselves in the presence of an event, of a system, or 
 of a general condition of the world, we have this double 
 question to ask of it, what has it done for or against the 
 development of man, for or against the development of 
 society ? 
 
 You understand beforehand that, during our investiga- 
 tions, it is impossible that we should not meet upon our 
 way most important questions of moral philosophy. When 
 we desire to know in what an event or a system has contrib- 
 uted to the development of man and of society, it is abso- 
 lutely needful that we should be acquainted with the nature 
 of the true development of society and of man; that we 
 should know what developments are false and illegitimate, 
 perverting instead of ameliorating, causing a retrogressive 
 instead of a progressive movement. 
 
 We shall not seek to escape from this necessity. Not 
 only should we thereby mutilate and lower our ideas and the 
 facts, but the actual state of the world imposes upon us the 
 necessity of freely accepting this inevitable alliance of philos- 
 ophy and history. This is precisely one of the cliaracteris- 
 tics, perhaps the essential characteristic of our epoch. W^e 
 are called upon to consider, to cause to progress together, 
 science and reality, theory and practice, right and fact. Up 
 to our times, these two powers have existed separately; th^ 
 world has been accustomed to behold science and practice f ol*- 
 
76 * HISTORY OJf 
 
 lowing different roads, without recognizing each other, or at 
 least without meeting. And when doctrines and general 
 ideas have desired to amalgamate with events and influence 
 the world they have only succeeded under the form and by 
 means of the arm of fanaticism. The empire of human 
 societies, and the direction of thei«* affairs, have hitherto 
 been shared between tu'o kinds of influences: upon one hand, 
 the believers, the men of general ideas and principles, the 
 fanatics; on the oth^r, men strangers to all rational prin- 
 ciples, who govern themselves merely according to circum- 
 stances, practicians, free-thinkers, tis the seventeentli cen- 
 tury called them. This condition of things is now ceasing; 
 neither fanatics nor free-thinkers will any longer have 
 dominion. In order now to govern and prevail with men, 
 it is necessary to be acquainted with general ideas and cir- 
 cumstances; it is necessary to know how to value princi- 
 ples and facts, to respect virtue and necessity, to preserve 
 one^s self from the pride of fanatics, and the not less blind 
 scorn of free-thinkers. To this point have we been con- 
 ducted by the development of the human mind and the 
 social state: upon one hand, the human mind, exalted and 
 freed, better comprehends the connection of things, knows 
 how to look around on all sides, and makes use of all things 
 in its combinations; on the other hand, society has per- 
 fected itself to that degree that it can be compared with 
 the truth; that facts can be brought into juxtaposition 
 with principles, and yet, in spite of their still great imper- 
 fections, not inspire by the comparison invincible discour- 
 agement or distaste. I shall thus obey the natural ten- 
 dency, convenience, and the necessity of our times, in 
 constantly passing from the examination of circumstances 
 to that of ideas, from an exposition of facts to a question 
 of doctrines. Perhaps, even, there is in the actual dispo- 
 sition of men's minds another reason in favor of this 
 method. For some time pa-st a confirmed taste, I might 
 
OIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 77 
 
 say a sort of predilection, has manifested itself among us, 
 for facts, for practical views, for the positive aspect of 
 human affairs. We have been to such an extent a prey to 
 the despotism of general ideas, of theories; they have, in 
 some respects, cost us so dear that they are become the 
 objects of a certain degree of distrust. We like better to 
 carry ourselves back to facts, to special circumstances, to 
 applications. This is not to be regretted; it is a new prog- 
 ress, a great step in knowledge, and toward the empire 
 of truth; provided always that we do not allow ourselves to 
 be prejudiced and carried away by this disposition; that 
 we do not forget that truth alone has a right to reign in 
 the w^orld; that facts have no value except as they tend to 
 explain, and to assimilate themselves more and more to the 
 truth; that all true greatness is of thought; and that all 
 fruitfulness belongs to it. The civilization of our country 
 has this peculiar character, that it has never wanted intel- 
 lectual greatness; it has always been rich in ideas; the 
 power of the human mind has always been great in French 
 society; greater, perhaps, than in any other. We must not 
 lose this high privilege; we must not fall into the some- 
 what subordinate and material state which characterizes 
 other societies. Intelligence and doctrines must occupy in 
 the France of the present day at least the place which they 
 have occupied there hitherto. 
 
 We shall, then, by no means avoid general and philo- 
 sophical questions; we shall not wander in search of them, 
 but where facts lead us to them we shall meet them with- 
 out hesitation or embarrassment. An occasion of doing so 
 will more than once present itself during the consideration 
 of the feudal system in its relations to the history of Euro- 
 pean civilization. 
 
 A good proof that in the tenth century the feudal 
 system was necessary, was the only possible social state, is 
 the universality of its establishment. Wherever barbarism 
 
78 HISTORY OF 
 
 ceased, everything took the feudal form. At the first 
 moment, men saw in it only the triumph of chtios; all 
 unity, all general civilization vanished; on all sides they 
 beheld society dismembering itself; and, in its stead, they 
 beheld a number of minor, obscure, isolated, and inco- 
 herent societies erect themselves. To contemporaries, this 
 appeared the dissolution of all things, universal anarchy. 
 Consult the poets and the chroniclers of the time; they all 
 believed themselves at the end of the world. It was, ne\- 
 ertheless, the beginning of a new and real society, the 
 feudal, so necessary, so inevitable, so truly the only possi- 
 ble consequence of the anterior state, that all things entered 
 into it and assumed its form. Elements, the most foreign 
 to this system, the church, municipalities, royalty, were 
 compelled to accommodate themselves to it; the churches 
 became suzerains and vassals, cities had lords and vassals, 
 royalty disguised itself under the form of suzerainship. All 
 things were given in fief, not only lands, but certain rights, 
 the right, for instance, of felling in forests, and of fishing, 
 the churches gave in fief their perquisites, from their reve- 
 nues from baptisms, the churchings of women. Water 
 and money were given in fief. Just as all the general ele- 
 ments of society entered into the feudal frame, so the 
 smallest details, and the most trifling facts of common life, 
 < became a part of feudalism. 
 
 In beholding the feudal form thus taking possession of 
 all things, we are tempted to believe, at first, that the essen- 
 tial and vital principle of feudalism everywhere prevailed. 
 . But this is a mistake. In borrowing the feudal form, the 
 elements and institutions of society which were not anal- 
 ogous to the feudal system, did not renounce their own 
 nature or peculiar principles. The feudal church did 
 not cease to be animated and governed, at bottom, by 
 the theocratic principle; and it labored unceasingly, 
 sometimes in concert with the royal power, sometimes 
 
CIVILIZA TlOm M EUROPE. 79- 
 
 ^th the pope, and sometimes with the people, to 
 destroy this system, of which, so to speak, it wore the^ 
 livery. It was the same with royalty and with the corpora- 
 tions; in the one the monarchical, in the other the demo- 
 cratical principle, continued, at bottom, to predominate. 
 Notwithstanding their feudal livery, these various elements 
 of European society constantly labored to deliver them- 
 selves from a form which was foreign to their true nature, 
 and to assume that which corresponded to their peculiar 
 and vital principle. 
 
 Having shown the universality of the feudal form, it be- 
 comes very necessary to be on our guard against conclud-> 
 ing from this the universality of the feudal principle, and- 
 against studying feudalism indifferently, whenever we meet 
 with its physiognomy. In order to know and comprehend 
 this system thoroughly, to unravel and judge of its effects 
 in reference to modern civilization, we must examine it- 
 where the form and principle are in harmony; we must 
 study it in the hierarchy of lay possessors of fiefs, in the- 
 association of the conquerors of the European territory. 
 There truly resided feudal society; thereupon we are now^ 
 to enter. 
 
 I spoke just now of the importance of moral questions, 
 and of the necessity of not avoiding them. But there is a. 
 totally opposite kind of considerations, which has generally 
 been too much neglected; I mean the material condition of 
 society, the material changes introduced into mankind^s 
 method of existing, by a new fact, by a revolution, by a 
 new social state. We have not always sufficiently consid- 
 ered these things; we have not always sufficiently inquired 
 into the modifications introduced by these great crises of 
 the world, into the material existence of men, into the ma- 
 terial aspect of their relations. These modifications have* 
 more influence upon the entire society than is supposed. 
 Who does not know how much the influence of climates- 
 
•80 EISTORT OF 
 
 Jias been studied, and how much impartance was attached 
 to it by Montesquieu. If we regard the immediate influ- 
 ence of climate upon men, perhaps it is not so extensive as 
 has been supposed; it is, at all events, very vague and diffi- 
 cult to be appreciated. But the indirect influence of cli- 
 mate, that which, for example, results from the fact that, 
 in a warm country men live in the open air, while in a cold 
 country they shut themselves up in their houses; that in 
 ^ne case they nourish themselves in one manner, in the 
 other in another. These are facts of great importance, 
 facts which, by the simple difference of material life, act 
 powerfully upon civilization. All great revolutions lead to 
 modifications of this sort in the social state, and these are 
 Yery necessary to be considered. 
 
 The establishment of the feudal system produced one of 
 these modifications, of unmistakable importance; it altered 
 the distribution of the population over the face of the land. 
 Hitherto the masters of the soil, the sovereign population, 
 had lived united in more or less numerous masses of men, 
 whether sedentarily in cities, or wandering in bands 
 through the country. In consequence of the feudal sys- 
 tem, these same men lived isolated, each in his own habita- 
 tion and at great distances from one another. You will 
 immediately perceive how much influence this change was 
 calculated to exercise upon the character and course of civ- 
 ilization. The social predonderance, the government of 
 society, passed suddenly from the towns to the country; 
 Drivate property became of more importance than public 
 property, private life than public life. Such was the first 
 and purely material effect of the triumph of feudal society. 
 TThe further we examine into it, the more will the conse- 
 quence of thi^ single fact be unfolded to our eyes. 
 
 Let us investigate this society in itself and see what part 
 it has played in the history of civilization. First of all let 
 as take feudalism in its most simple, primitive, and 
 
CI VILIZA TlOJSr IN EUROPE, 8 J 
 
 fundamental element; let us consider a single possessor 
 of a fief in his domain, and let us see what will become of 
 all those who form the little society around him. 
 
 He establishes himself upon an isolated and elevated 
 spot, which he takes care to render safe and strong; there 
 he constructs what he will call his castle. With whom 
 does he establish himself? With his wife and children;; 
 perhaps some freemen, who have not become proprietors, 
 attach themselves to his person, and continue to live with 
 him, at his table. These are the inhabitants of the interior 
 of the castle. Around and at its foot a little population of 
 colonists and serfs gather together, who cultivate the do- 
 mains of the possessor of the fief. In the center of this 
 lower population religion plants a church; it brings hither 
 a priest. In the early period of the feudal system this 
 priest was commonly at the same time the chaplain of the- 
 castle and pastor of the village; by and by these two char-^ 
 acters separated; the village had its own pastor, who lived 
 there beside his church. This, then, was the elementary^ 
 feudal society, the feudal molecule, so to speak. It is this 
 element that we have first of all to examine. We will de- 
 mand of it the double question which should be asked of 
 all our facts: What has resulted from it in favor of the- 
 development — (1) of man himself, (2) of society? 
 
 We are perfectly justified in addressing this double ques- 
 tion to the little society which I have just described, and 
 in placing faith in its replies; for it was the type and faith- 
 ful image of the entire feudal society. The lord, the people 
 on his domains, and the priest; such is feudalism upon the 
 great as well as the small scale, when we have taker from 
 it royalty and the towns, which are distinct and foreign, 
 elements. 
 
 The first fact that strikes us in contemplating this littla 
 society, is the prodigious importance which the possessor 
 of the fief must have had, both in his own eyes, and in the- 
 
82 HISTORY OF 
 
 eyes of those who surround him. The sentiment of per- 
 sonality, of individual liberty, predominated in the bar- 
 baric life. But here it was wholly different; it was no 
 longer only the liberty of the man, of the warrior; it was 
 the importance of the proprietor, of the head of the family, 
 of the master, that came to be considered. From this 
 situation an impression of immense superiority must have 
 resulted; a superiority quite peculiar, and very different 
 from everything that we meet with in the career of other 
 civilizations. I will give the proof of this. I take in the 
 •ancient world some great aristocratical position, a Roman 
 patrician, for instance: like the feudal lord, the Eoman 
 patrician was head of a family, master, superior. He was, 
 moreover, the religious magistrate, the pontiff in the in- 
 terior of his family. Now, his importance as a religious 
 magistrate came to him from without; it was not a purely 
 personal and individual importance; he received it from on 
 high; he was the delegate of the Divinity; the interpreter 
 -of the religious creed. The Roman patrician was, besides, 
 the member of a corporation which lived united on the 
 eame spot, a member of the senate; this again was an im- 
 portance which came to him from without, from his cor- 
 poration, a received, a borrowed importance. The great- 
 ness of the ancient aristocrats, associated as it was with a 
 Teligious and political character, belonged to the situation, 
 to the corporation in general, rather than to the individual. 
 That of the possessor of the fief was purely individual; it 
 was not derived from any one; all his rights, all his power, 
 came to him from himself. He was not a religious magis- 
 trate; he took no part in a senate; it was in his person 
 that all his importance resided; all that he was, he was of 
 himself, and in his own name. What a mighty influence 
 must such a situation have exerted on its occupant! What 
 individual haughtiness, what prodigious pride — let us say 
 ^he word' — what insolence, must have arisen in his souIJ 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. gS 
 
 A^bove himself there was no superior of whom he was the 
 representative or interpreter; there was no equal near him; 
 no powerful and general law which weighed upon him; no 
 external rule which influenced his will; he knew no curb 
 but the limits of his strength and the presence of danger. 
 Such was the necessary moral result of this situation upon 
 the character of man. 
 
 I now proceed to a second consequence, mighty also, and 
 too little noticed, namely, the particular turn taken by tha 
 feudal family spirit. 
 
 Let us cast a glance over the various family systems. 
 Take first of all the patriarchal system of which the Bible- 
 and oriental records offer the model. The family was very 
 numerous; it was a tribe. The chief, the patriarch, lived 
 therein in common with his children, his near relations,, 
 the various generations which united themselves around 
 him, all his kindred, all his servants; and not only did he 
 live with them all, but he had the same interests, the same 
 occupations, and he led the same life. Was not this the- 
 condition of Abraham, of the patriarchs, and of the chiefs 
 of the Arab tribes, who still reproduce the image of th©^ 
 patriarchal life? 
 
 Another family system presents itself, namely, the clan^ 
 a petty society, whose type we must seek for in Scotland 
 or Ireland. Through this system, very probably, a large 
 portion of the European family has passed. This in no 
 longer the patriarchal family. There is here a great dif- 
 ference between the situation of the chief and that of the 
 rest of the population. They did not lead the same life: 
 the greater portion tilled and served; the chief was idle and 
 warlike. But they had a common origin; they all bore the 
 same name; and their relations of kindred, ancient tra- 
 ditions, the same recollections, the same affections, estab- 
 lished a moral tie, a sort of equality between all the mem- 
 bers of the clao. 
 
S4 HISTORY OF 
 
 These are the two principal types of the family society 
 presented by history. But have we here the feudal family? 
 Obviously not. It seems, at first, that the feudal family 
 bears some relation to the clan; but the difference is much 
 greater than the resemblance. The population which sur- 
 rounded the possessor of the fief were totally unconnected 
 with him; they did not bear his name; between them and 
 him there was no kindred, no bond, moral or historical. 
 Neither did it resemble the patriarchal family. The pos- 
 sessor of the fief led not the same life, nor did he engage 
 in the same occupations with those who surrounded him; 
 he was an idler and a warrior, while the others were 
 laborers. The feudal family was not numerous; it was not 
 a tribe; it reduced itself to the family, properly so called, 
 namely, to the wife and children; it lived separated from 
 the rest of the population, shut up in the castle. The 
 <}olonists and serfs made no part of it; the origin of the 
 members of this society was different, the inequality of 
 their situation immense. Five or six individuals, in a 
 situation at once superior to and estranged from the rest of 
 the society, that was the feudal family. It was of course 
 invested with a peculiar character. It was narrow, con- 
 'Centrated, and constantly called upon to defend itself 
 against, to distrust, and, at least, to isolate itself from 
 even its retainers. The interior life, domestic manners, 
 ^ were sure to become predominant in such a system. I am 
 aware that the brutality of the passions of a chief, his habit 
 of spending his time in warfare or the chase, were a great 
 obstacle to the development of domestic manners. But 
 4:hi8 would be conquered; the chief necessarily returned 
 home habitually; he always found there his wife and chil- 
 dren, and these well nigh only; these would alone consti- 
 tute his permanent society — they would alone share his 
 interests, his destiny. Domestic life necessarily, therefore, 
 acquired great sway. Proofs of this abound. Was it not 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 85 
 
 within the bosom of the feudal family that the importance 
 of women developed itself? In all the ancient societies, I 
 do not speak of those where the family spirit did not exist, 
 but of those wherein it was very powerful in the patri- 
 archal life, for instance, women did not hold at all so con- 
 siderable a place as they acquired in Europe under the 
 feudal system. It was to the development and necessary 
 preponderance of domestic manners in feudalism, that they 
 chiefly owed this change, this progress in their condition. 
 Some have desired to trace the cause to the peculiar man- 
 ners of the ancient Germans; to a national respect which, 
 it is said, they bore toward women amid their forests. 
 Upon a sentence of Tacitus, German patriotism has built I 
 know not what superiority, what primitive and uneradica- 
 ble purity of German manners, as regards the relations of 
 the two sexes. Mere fancies! Phrases similar to that of 
 Tacitus, concerning sentiments and usages analogous to 
 those of the ancient Germans, are to be found in the reci- 
 tals of a crowd of observers of savage or barbarous people. 
 There is nothing primitive therein, nothing peculiar to any 
 particular race. It was in the effects of a strongly marked 
 social position, in the progress and preponderance of 
 domestic manners, that the importance of women in 
 Europe originated; and the preponderance of domestic 
 manners became, very early, an essential characteristic of 
 the feudal system. 
 
 A second fact, another proof of the empire of domestic 
 life, equally characterizes the feudal family: 1 mean thb 
 hereditary spirit, the spirit of perpetuation, which evidently 
 predominated therein. The hereditary spirit is inherent in 
 the family spirit; but nowhere has it so strongly developed 
 itself as under the feudal system. This resulted from the 
 nature of the property with which the family was incor- 
 porated. The fief was unlike other properties: it con- 
 stantly demanded a possessor to defend it, serve it, acc^uit 
 
86 HISTORY OF 
 
 himself of the obligations inherent in the domain, and 
 thus maintain it in its rank amid the general association of 
 the masters of the soil. Thence resulted a sort of identifi- 
 cation between the actual possessor of the fief and the fief 
 itself, and all the series of its future possessors. 
 
 This circumstance greatly contributed to fortify and 
 make closer the family ties already so powerful by tht 
 very nature of the feudal family. 
 
 I now issue from the seignorial dwelling, and descend 
 amid the petty population that surrounds it. Here all 
 things wear a different aspect. The nature of man is so 
 good and fruitful that when a social situation endures for 
 any length of time, a certain moral tie, sentiments of pro- 
 tection, benevolence and affection, inevitably establish 
 themselves among those who are thus approximated to 
 one another, whatever may be the conditions of approxi- 
 mation. It happened thus with feudalism. No doubt, 
 after a certain time, some moral relations, some habits 
 of affection, became contracted between the colonists 
 and the possessor of the fief. But this happened in 
 spite of their relative position, and not by reason of its 
 influence. Considered in itself, the position was radically 
 wrong. There was nothing morally in common between 
 the possessor of the fief and the colonists; they constituted 
 part of his domain; they were his property; and under 
 this name, property, were included all the rights which, in 
 the present day, are called rights of public sovereignity, 
 as well as the rights of private property, the right of imposing 
 laws, of taxing and punishing, as well as that of disposing 
 of and selling. As far as it is possible that such should be 
 the case where men are in presence of men, between the 
 lord and the cultivators of his lands there existed no rights, 
 no guarantees, no society. 
 
 Hence, I conceive, the truly prodigious and invincible 
 hatred with which the people at all times have regarded 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 87 
 
 the feudal system, its recollections, its very name. It is not 
 a case without example for men to have submitted to op- 
 pressive despotism, and to have become accustomed to 
 them; nay, to have willingly accepted them. Theocratic 
 and monarchical depotisms have more than once ob- 
 tained the consent, almost the affections, of the population 
 subjected to them. But feudal despotism has always been 
 repulsive and odious; it has oppressed the destinies, but 
 never reigned over the souls of men. The reason is, that 
 in theocracy and monarchy, power is exercised in virtue of 
 certain words which are common to the master and to the 
 subject; it is the representative, the minister of another 
 power superior to all human power; it speaks and acts in 
 the name of the Divinity or of a general idea, and not in 
 the name of man himself, of man alone. Feudal despotism 
 was altogether different; it was the power of the individual 
 over the individual; the dominion of the personal and 
 capricious will of a man. This is, perhaps, the only 
 tyranny of which, to his eternal honor, man will never 
 willingly accept. Whenever, in his master, he beholds a 
 mere man, from the moment that the will which oppresses 
 him appears a merely human and individual will, like his 
 own, he becomes indignant, and supports the yoke wrath- 
 fully. Such was the true and distinguishing character of 
 feudal power; and such was also the origin of the antipathy 
 which it has ever inspired. 
 
 The religious element which was associated with it was 
 little calculated to ease the burden. I do not conceive 
 that the influence of the priest, in the little society which 
 I have just described, was very great, nor that he succeeded 
 much in legitimating the relations of the inferior popula- 
 tion with the lord. The church has exerted a very great 
 influence upon European civilization, but this it has done 
 by proceedings of a general character, by changing, for in- 
 stance, the general dispositions of men. When we enter 
 
88 HISTORY OF 
 
 closely into the petty feudal society, properly so called, we 
 find that the influence of the priest, between the colonists 
 and the lord, scarcely amounted to any thing. Most fre- 
 quently he was himself rude and subordinate as a serf, and 
 very little in condition or disposition to combat the arro- 
 gance of the lord. No doubt, called, as he was, to sustain and 
 develop somewhat of moral life in the inferior population, 
 he was dear and useful to it on this account; he spread 
 through it somewhat of consolation and of life; but, 
 I conceive, he could and did very little to alleviate its 
 destiny. 
 
 I have examined the elementary feudal society; I have 
 placed before you the principal consequences which neces- 
 sarily flowed from it, whether to the possessor of the fief 
 himself, or his family, or the population congregated 
 around him. Let us now go forth from this narrow in- 
 closure. The population of the fief was not alone upon 
 the land; there were other societies, analogous or different; 
 with which it bore relation. What influence did the gen- 
 eral society, to which that population belonged, necessarily 
 exercise upon civilization? 
 
 I will make a brief remark before answering this ques- 
 tion: It is true that the possessor of the fief and the priest 
 belonged, one and the other, to a general society; they had 
 at a distance numerous and frequent relations. It was not 
 the same with the colonists, the serfs; every time that, in 
 order to designate the population of the country at this 
 period, we make use of a general word, which seems to 
 imply one and the same society, the w ovdi peojjle, for exam- 
 ple, we do not convey the truth. There was for this popu- 
 lation no general society; its existence was purely local. 
 Beyond the territory which they inhabited the colonists had 
 no connection with any thing or person. For them there 
 was no common destiny, no common country; they did not 
 form a people. When we speak of the feudal association 
 
CIVILIZATION m EUROPE. SO* 
 
 as a whole, it is only the possessors of the fiefs that are 
 concerned. 
 
 Let us see what were the relations of the petty feudal 
 society with the general society with which it was connected, 
 and to what consequences these relations necessarily led as 
 regards the development of civilization. 
 
 You are acquainted with the nature of the ties which 
 united the possessors of the fiefs among themselves, with 
 the obligations of service on the one hand, of protection on 
 the other. I shall not enter into a detail of these obliga- 
 tions; it suffices that you have a general idea of their char- 
 acter. From these obligations there necessarily arose within 
 the mind of each possessor of a fief a certain number of 
 moral ideas and sentiments, ideas of duty, sentiments of 
 affection. The fact is evident that the principle of fidelity, 
 of devotion, of loyalty to engagements, and all sentiments 
 connected therewith, were developed and sustained by the 
 relations of the possessors of the fiefs between themselves. 
 
 These obligations, duties and sentiments endeavored to 
 convert themselves into rights and institutions. Every one 
 •itnows that feudalism desired legally to determine what 
 tvere the services due from the possessor of the fief toward 
 his suzerain; what were the services which he might expect 
 h\ return; in what cases the vassal owed pecuniary or mili- 
 /ary aid to his suzerain; in what forms the suzerain ought 
 (o obtain the consent of his vassals, for services to which 
 they were not compelled by the simple tenure of their fiefs. 
 Attempts were made to place all their rights under the 
 guarantee of institutions, which aimed at insuring their 
 being respected. Thus, the seignorial jurisdictions were 
 destined to render justice between the possessors of the fiefs 
 upon claims carried before their common suzerain. Thus, 
 also, each lord who was of any consideration assembled his 
 vassals in a parliament, in order to treat with them con- 
 cerning matters which required their consent or their con- 
 
90 HISTORY OF 
 
 currence. In short, there existed a collection of political, 
 judicial and military means, with which attempts were, 
 made to organize the feudal system, converting the rela- 
 tions between the possessors of fiefs into rights and 
 institutions. 
 
 But these rights and these institutions had no reality, no 
 guarantee. 
 
 If one is asked what is meant by a guarantee, a political 
 guarantee, one is led to perceive that its fundamental char- 
 acter is the constant presence, in the midst of the society, 
 of a will, of a power disposed and in a condition to impose 
 a law upon particular wills and powers, to make them 
 observe the common rule and respect the general right. 
 
 There are only two systems of political guarantees possible: 
 it is either necessary there should be a particular will and 
 power so superior to all others that none should be able to 
 resist it, and that all should be compelled to submit to it as 
 soon as it interferes; or else that there should be a public 
 will and power, which is the result of agreement, of the 
 development of particular wills, and which, once gone forth 
 from them, is in a condition to impose itself upon, and to 
 make itself respected equally by all. 
 
 Such are the two possible systems of political guarantees: 
 the despotism of one or of a body, or free government. 
 When we pass systems in review, we find that all of them 
 Oome under one or other of these heads. 
 
 Well, neither one nor the other existed, nor could exist, 
 under the feudal svstem. 
 
 No doubt the possessors of the fiefs were not all equal 
 among themselves; there were many of superior power, many 
 powerful enough to oppress the weaker. But there was no 
 one, beginning from the first of the suzerains, the king, 
 who was in condition to impose law upon all the others 
 and make himself obeyed. Observe that all the permanent 
 means of power and action were wanting: there were 
 
CIVILIZA TION m EUROPE. 91 
 
 no permanent troops, no permanent taxes, no permanent 
 tribunals. The social powers and institutions had, after 
 a manner, to recommence and create themselves anew every 
 time they were required. A tribunal was obliged to be 
 constructed for every process, an army whenever there was 
 a war to be made, a revenue whenever money was wanted; 
 everything was occasional, accidental and special; there 
 was no means of central, permanent and independent gov- 
 ernment. It is plain that, in such a system, no individual 
 was in a condition to impose his will upon others, or to 
 cause the general rights to be respected by all. 
 
 On the other hand, resistance was as easy as repression 
 was difficult. Shut up in his castle, having to do only 
 with a small number of enemies, easily finding among 
 vassals of his own condition the means of coalition, and of 
 assistance, the possessor of the fief defended himself with 
 the greatest facility. 
 
 Thus, then, we see that the first system of guarantees, 
 the system which places them in the intervention of the 
 strongest, was not possible under feudalism. 
 
 The other system, that of a free government, a public 
 power, was equally impracticable; it could never have 
 arisen in the bosom of feudalism. The reason is sufficiently 
 simple. When we speak, in the present day, of a public 
 power, of that which we call the rights of sovereignty, the 
 right of giving laws, taxing and punishing, we all think 
 that those rights belong to no one, that no one has, on his 
 own account, a right to punish others, and to impose upon 
 them a charge, a law. Those are rights which belong only 
 to society in the mass, rights which are exercised in its 
 name, which it holds not of itself, but receives from the 
 Highest. Thus, when an individual comes before the 
 powers invested with these rights, the sentiment which, 
 perhaps without his consciousness, reigns in him is, that 
 ie is in the presence of a public and legitimate power^ 
 
92 BISTORT OF 
 
 which possesses a mission for commanding him, and he is 
 submissive beforehand and internally. But it was wholly 
 otherwise under feudalism. The possessor of the fief, in 
 his domain, was invested with all the rights of sovereignty 
 Dver those who inhabited it; they were inherent to the 
 domain, and a part of his private property. What are at 
 present public rights were then private rights; what is now 
 public power was then private power. When the possessor 
 of a fief, after having exercised sovereignty in his own 
 name, as a proprietor over all the population amid which 
 he lived, presented himself at an assembly, a parliament 
 held before his suzerain, a parliament not very numerous, 
 and composed in general of men who were his equals, or 
 nearly so, he did not bring with him, nor did he carry 
 away the idea of a public power. This idea was in contra- 
 diction to all his existence, to all that he had been in the 
 habit of doing in the interior of his own domains. He saw 
 there only men who were invested with the same rights aa 
 himself, who were in the same situation, and, like him, 
 acted in the name of their personal will. Nothing in the 
 most elevated department of the government, in what we 
 call public institutions, conveyed to him, or forced him to 
 recognize this character of superiority and generality, 
 which is inherent to the idea that we form to ourselves of 
 public powers. And if he was dissatisfied with the decis- 
 ion, he refused to agree with it, or appealed to force for 
 resistance. 
 
 Under the feudal system, force was the true and habitual 
 guarantee of right, if, indeed, we may call force a guaran- 
 tee. All rights had perpetual recourse to force to make 
 themselves recognized or obeyed. No institution succeeded 
 in doing this; and this was so generally felt that institu- 
 tions were rarely appealed to. If the seignorial courts and 
 parliaments of vassals had been capable of imluence, we 
 should have met with them in history more irequently 
 
GIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. ^ 
 
 than we do, and found them exerting more activity; their 
 rarity proves their invalidity. 
 
 At this we must not be astonished; there is* a reason for 
 it, more decisive and deeply seated than those which I have 
 described. 
 
 Of all systems of government and political guarantee, 
 the federative system is certainly the most difficult to estab- 
 lish and to render prevalent; a system which consists in 
 leaving in each locality and each particular society all that 
 portion of the government which can remain there, and in 
 taking from it only that portion which is indispensable to 
 the maintenance of the general society, and carrying this 
 to the center of that society, there to constitute of it a 
 central government. The federative system, logically the 
 most simple, is, in fact, the most complex. In order to 
 reconcile the degree of local independence and liberty 
 which it allows to remain, with the degree of general order 
 and submission which it demands and supposes in certain 
 cases, a very advanced degree of civilization is evidently 
 requisite; it is necessary that the will of man, that individ- 
 ual liberty should concur in the establisment and mainte- 
 nance of this system, much more than in that of any other, 
 for its means of coercion are far less than those of anv 
 other. 
 
 The federative system, then, is that which evidently re- 
 quires the greatest development of reason, morality and 
 civilization in the society to which it is applied. Well, 
 this, nevertheless, was the system which feudalism endeav- 
 ored to establish; the idea of general feudalism, in fact, 
 was that of a federation. It reposed upon the same prin- 
 ciples on which are founded, in our day, the federation of 
 the United States of America, for example. It aimed at 
 leaving in the hands of each lord all that portion of gov- 
 ernment and sovereignty which could remain there, and to 
 carry to the suzerain, or to the general assembly of barons. 
 
94 HISTORY OF 
 
 only the least possible portion of power, and that only in cases 
 of absolute necessity. You perceive the impossibility of 
 establishing such a system amid ignorance, amid brutal 
 passions — in short, in a normal state so imperfect as that 
 of man under feudalism. The very nature of government 
 was contradictory to the ideas and manners of the very 
 men to whom it was attempted to be applied. Who can 
 be astonished at the ill success of these endeavors at organi- 
 zation? 
 
 We have considered feudal society, first in its most 
 simple and fundamental element, then in its entirety. 
 We have examined, under these two points of view, that 
 which it necessarily did, that which naturally flowed from 
 it, as to its influence upon ^le course of civilization. I 
 conceive that we have arrived at this double result: 
 
 First, federalism has exerted a great, and, on the whole, 
 a salutary influence upon the internal development of the 
 individual; it has awakened in men's minds ideas, energetic 
 sentiments, moral requirements, fine developments of char- 
 acter and passion. 
 
 Secondly, under the social point of view, it was unable 
 to establish either legal order or political guarantees; it 
 was indispensable to the revival in Europe of society, 
 which had been so entirely dissolved by barbarism that it 
 was incapable of a more regular and more extended form; 
 but the feudal form, radically bad in itself, could neither 
 regulate nor extend itself. The only political right which 
 the feudal system caused to assert itself in European society 
 was the right of resistance — I do not say legal resistance, 
 that could not have place in a society so little advanced. 
 The progress of society consists precisely in substituting, 
 on the one hand, public powers for particular wills; on the 
 other, legal, for individual resistance. In this consists the 
 grand aim, the principal perfection of the social order, 
 much latitude is left to personal liberty; then, when that 
 
CIVILIZATIOlSr IN EUROPE. 95 
 
 liberty fails, when it becomes necessary to demand from it 
 an account of itself, appeal is made to public reason alone, 
 to determine the process instituted against the liberty of 
 the individual. Such is the system of legal order and of 
 legal resistance. You perceive, without difficulty, that 
 ' under feudalism there existed nothing of this sort. The 
 right of resistance which the feudal system maintained and 
 practised was the right of personal resistance — a terrible, 
 unsocial right, since it appeals to force and to war, which 
 is the destruction of society itself; a right which, neverthe- 
 less, should never be abolished from the heart of man, for 
 its abolition is the acceptation of servitude. The senti- 
 ment of the right of resistance had perished in the disgrace 
 of Koman society, and could not rise anew from its wreck; 
 it could not come more naturally, in my opinion, from the 
 principle of the Christian society. To feudalism we are 
 indebted for its re-introduction into the manners of Europe. 
 It is the boast of civilization to render it always useless and 
 inactive; it is the boast of the feudal system to have con- 
 stantly professed and defended it. 
 
 Such, if I do not deceive myself, is the result of an ex- 
 amination of feudal society, considered in itself, in its 
 general elements, and independently of historical develop- 
 ment. If we pass on to facts, to history, we shall see that 
 has happened which might have been looked for; that the 
 feudal system has done what it was fitted to do; that its 
 • destiny has been in conformity with its nature. Events 
 may be adduced in proof of all the conjectures and infer- 
 ences which I have drawn from the very nature of this 
 system. 
 
 Cast a glance upon the general history of feudalism be- 
 tween the tenth and thirteenth centuries; it is impossible to 
 mistake the great and salutary influence exerted by it upon 
 the development of sentiments, characters, and ideas. We 
 cannot look into the history of this period without meeting 
 
96 HISTORY OF 
 
 with a crowd of noble sentiments, great actions, fine dis- 
 plays of humanity, born evidently in the bosom of feudal 
 manners. Chivalry, it is true, does not resemble feudalism 
 — nevertheless, it is its daughter: from feudalism issued 
 this ideal of elevated, generous, loyal sentiments. It says 
 much in fa\or of its parentage. 
 
 Turn your eyes to another quarter: the first bursts of 
 European imagination, the first attempts of poetry and of 
 literature, the first intellectual pleasures tasted by Europe 
 on its quitting barbarism, under the shelter, under the 
 wings of feudalism, in the interior of the feudal castles, 
 that all these were born. This kind of development of 
 humanity requires a movement in the soul, in life, leisure, 
 a thousand conditions which are not to be met with in the 
 laborious, melancholy, coarse, hard existence of the com- 
 mon people. In France, in England, in Germany, it id 
 with the feudal times that the first literary recollections, the 
 first intellectual enjoyments of Europe connect themselves. 
 
 On the other, if we consult history upon the social in- 
 :Suence of feudalism, its answers will always be in harmony 
 with our conjectures; it will reply that the feudal system 
 has been as much opposed to the establishment of genera] 
 order as to the extension* of general liberty. Under what* 
 ever point of view you consider the progress of society, you 
 find the feudal system acting as an obstacle. Therefore, 
 from the earliest existence of feudalism, the two forces 
 which have been the grand motive powers of the develop- 
 ment of order and liberty — on one hand the monarchical 
 power, the popular power on the other; royalty, and the 
 people — have attacked and struggled against it unceas- 
 ingly. Some attempts have, at different times, been made 
 to regulate it, and construct out of it a state somewhat 
 legal and general: in England, such attempts were mad© 
 by William the Conquerer and his sons; in France, by St, 
 Louis; in Germany, bv many of the emperors. All at* 
 
CIVILIZATION m EUROPE. 97 
 
 tempts, all efforts have failed. The very nature of feudal 
 society was repugnant to order and legality. In modern 
 ages, some men of intellect have attempted to re-establish 
 feudalism as a social system; they have Jesired to discover 
 therein a legal, regulated and progressive state; they have 
 made of it an age of gold. But ask them to assign the age 
 of gold to some particular place or time, and they can do 
 no such thing: it is an Utopia without a date, a drama for 
 which we find, in past times, neither theater nor actors. 
 The cause of this error is easy to discover, and it equally 
 explains the mistake of those who cannot pronounce the 
 name of feudalism without cursing it. Neither one party 
 nor the other has taken the pains to consider the double 
 aspect under which feudalism presents itself; to distin- 
 guish, on the one hand, its influence upon the individual 
 development of man, upon sentiments, characters and pas- 
 sions, and, on the other, its influence upon the social state. 
 The one party has not been able to persuade itself that a 
 social system, in which so many beautiful sentiments, so 
 many virtues are found — in which they behold the birth of 
 all literatures, and in which manners assume a certain 
 elevation and nobility — can have been so bad and fatal as 
 it is pretended. The other party has only seen the wrong 
 done by feudalism to the mass of the population, the 
 obstacles opposed by it to the establishment of order and 
 liberty; and this party has not been able to believe that 
 fine characters, great virtues, and any progress, can have 
 resulted from it. Both have mistaken the double element 
 of civilization; they have not understood that it consists of 
 two developments, of which the one may, in time, produce 
 itself independently of the other; although, after the 
 course of centuries, and by means of a long series of cir- 
 cumstances, they must reciprocally call forth and lead to 
 each other. 
 
 For the rest, that which feudalism was in theory it was in 
 
98 HISTORY OF 
 
 fact; that to which theory pointed as likely to result from 
 it, has resulted from it. Individuality and energy of per- 
 sonal existence, such was the predominating trait among the 
 conquerors of the Roman world; the development of indi- 
 viduality necessarily resulted, before all things, from the 
 social system which was founded by and for themselves. 
 That which man himself brings to a social system, 
 at the moment of his entrance, his internal and moral 
 qualities, powerfully influence the situation in which 
 he establishes himself. The situation, in turn, reacts 
 upon these qualities, and strengthens and develops 
 them. The individual predomidated in the German 
 society ; it was for the benefit of the development of the 
 individual that feudal society, the daughter of German 
 society, exerted its influence. We shall again find the 
 same fact in the different elements of civilization; thev 
 have remained faithful to their principle; they have ad- 
 vanced and urged on the world in the direction which they 
 first entered. In our next lecture the history of the 
 church and its influence, from the fifth to the twelfth 
 century, upon European civilization, will furnish us with 
 another and a striking illustration of this fact. 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 99 
 
 FIFTH LECTURE. 
 
 Object of the lecture — Religion is a principle of association — Con- 
 straint is not of tlie essence of government — Conditions of the 
 legitimacy of a government: 1. The power must be in the hands 
 of the most worthy; 2. The liberty of the governed must be 
 respected — The church being a corporation, and not a caste, ful- 
 filled the first of these conditions — Of the yarious methods of 
 nomination and election that existed therein — It wanted the 
 * other condition, on account of the illegitimate extension of 
 authority, and on account of the abusive employment of force — 
 Movement and liberty of spirit in the bosom of the church — Re- 
 lations of the church with princes — The independence of 
 spiritual power laid down as a principle — Pretensions and efforts 
 of the church to usurp the temporal power. 
 
 We have examined the nature and influence of the 
 feudal system; it is with the Christian church, from the 
 fifth to the twelfth century, that we are now to occupy 
 ourselves: I say, with the church; and I have already laid 
 this emphasis, because it is not with Christianity properly 
 speaking, with Christianity as a religious system, but with 
 the church as an ecclesiastical society, with the Christian 
 clergy, that I propose to engage your attention. 
 
 In the fifth century this society was almost completely 
 organized; not that it has not since ^yhen undergone many 
 and important changes; but we may say that, at that time, 
 the church, considered as a corporation, as a government 
 of Christian people, had attained a complete and indo- 
 pendent existence. 
 
 One glance is enough to show us an immense difference 
 between the state of the church and that of the other ele* 
 
190 HISTORY OF 
 
 merits of European civilization in the fifth century. I have 
 mentioned, as the fundamental elements of our civilization, 
 the municipal and feudal systems, royalty, and the church. 
 The municipal system, in the fifth century, was no more 
 than the wreck of the Roman Empire, a shadow without 
 life or determinate form. The feudal system had not yet 
   issued from the chaos. Royalty existed only in name. All 
 the civil elements of modern society were either in decay or 
 infancy. The church alone was, at the same time, young 
 and constituted; it alone had acquired a definite form, and 
 preserved all the vigor of early age; it alone possessed, at 
 once, movement and order, energy and regularity, that is 
 to say, the two great means of influence. Is it not, let me 
 ask you, by moral life, by internal movement, on the one 
 hand, and by order and discipline on the other, that insti- 
 tutions take possession of society? The church, more- 
 over, had mooted all the great questions which interest 
 man; it busied itself with all the problems of his nature, 
 and with all the chances of his destiny. Thus its influence 
 upon modern civilization has been very great, greater, per- 
 haps, than even its most ardent adversaries, or its most 
 zealous defenders have supposed. Occupied with render- 
 ing it services, or with combating it, they have regarded it 
 only in a polemical point of view, and have therefore, I 
 conceive, been unable either to judge it with equity, or to 
 measure it in all its extent. 
 
 The Christian church in the fifth century presents iteelf 
 as an independent and constituted society, interposed 
 between the masters of the w^orld, the sovereigns, tlie pos- 
 sessors of the temporal power on the one hand, and the 
 people on the other, serving as a bond between them, and 
 influencing all. 
 
 In order completely to know and comr^rehend its action, 
 we must therefore consider it under three aspects: first of 
 all we must regard it in itself, make an estimate of what it 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 101 
 
 was, of its internal constitution, of the principles which 
 predominated in it, and of its nature; we must then exam- 
 ine it in its relation to the temporal sovereignties, kings, 
 lords, and others; lastly, in its relations to the people. 
 And when from this triple examination we shall have 
 deduced a complete picture of the church, of its principles, 
 its situation, and the influence which it necessarily exer- 
 cised, we shall verify our assertions by ai. appeal to history; 
 we shall find out whether the facts and events, properly 
 so called, from the fifth to the twelfth century, are in har- 
 mony with the results to which we have been led by the 
 study of the nature of the church, and of its relations, both 
 with the masters of the world and with the people. 
 
 First of all, let us occupy ourselves with the church in 
 itself, with its internal condition, and its nature. 
 
 The first fact which strikes us, and perhaps the most 
 important, is its very existence, the existence of a religious 
 government, of a clergy, of an ecclesiastical corporation, of 
 a priesthood, of a religion in the sacerdotal state. 
 
 With many enlightened men, these very words, a body 
 of priesthood, a religious government, appear to determine 
 the question. They think that a religion which ends in a 
 body of priests, a legally constituted clergy, in short, a 
 governed religion, must be, taking all things together, more- 
 injurious than useful. In their opinion, religion is a purely 
 individual relation of man to God; and that whenever the 
 relation loses this character, whenever an external authority 
 comes between the individual and the object of religious 
 creeds — namely, God — religion is deteriorated, and society 
 in danger. 
 
 We cannot dispense with an examination of this ques- 
 tion. In order to ascertain what has been the influence of 
 the Christian church, we must know what ought to be, by 
 the verv nature of the institution, the influence of a church 
 and of a clergy. In order to appreciate this influence, we* 
 
102 HISTORY OF 
 
 must find out, first of all, whether religion is, in truth, 
 purely individual; whether it does not provoke and give 
 birth to something more than merely a private relation 
 between each man and God; or whether it necessarily 
 becomes a source of new relations between men, from which 
 s> religious society and a government of that society neces- 
 sarily flow. 
 
 If we reduce religion to the religious sentiment prop- 
 erly so called, to that sentiment which is very real, 
 though somewhat vague and uncertain as to its object, 
 ^nd which we can scarcely characterize otherwise than 
 by naming it, — to this sentiment which addresses itself 
 sometimes to external nature, sometimes to the inner- 
 most recesses of the soul, to-day to poetry, to-morrow to 
 the mysteries of the future, which, in a word, wanders 
 -everywhere, seeking everywhere to satisfy' itself, and 
 fixing itself nowhere, — if we reduce religion bo this senti- 
 ment, it seems evident to me that it should remain purely 
 individual. Such a sentiment may provoke a momentary 
 association between men; it can, it even ought to take 
 pleasure in sympathy, nourishing and strengthening itself 
 thereby. But by reason of its fluctuating and doubtful 
 <3haracter it refuses to become the princij)le of a perma- 
 nent and extensive association, to adapt itself to any sys- 
 tem of precepts, practices, and forms; in short, to give 
 birth to a religious society and government. 
 
 But either I deceive myself strangely, or this religious 
 sentiment is not the complete expression of the religious 
 nature of man. Religion, I conceive, is a different thing, 
 and much more than this. 
 
 In human nature and. in human destiny there are prob- 
 lems of which the solution lies beyond this world, which 
 are connected with a class of things foreign to the visible 
 world, and which inveteratelv torment the soul of man. 
 who is fixedly intent upon solving them. The solution of 
 
Cl VILIZATION m EUROPE. 103 
 
 these problems, creeds, dogmas, which contain that solu- 
 tion, or at least flatter themselves that they do, these con- 
 stitute the first object and the first source of religion. 
 
 Another path leads men to religion. To those among 
 you who have prosecuted somewhat extended philosophical 
 studies, it is, I conceive, sufficiently evident at present that 
 morality exists independently of religious ideas; that the 
 distinction of moral good and evil, the obligation to shun 
 the evil, and to do the good, are laws, which, like the laws 
 of logic, man discovers in his own nature, and which have 
 their principle in himself, as they have their application in 
 his actual life. But these facts being decided, the inde- 
 pendence of morality being admitted, a question arises in 
 the human mind — Whence comes morality? To what does 
 it lead? Is this obligation to do good, which subsists of 
 itself, an isolated fact, without author and aim? Does it 
 not conceal from, or rather does it not reveal to man a 
 destiny which is beyond this world? This is a spontaneous 
 and inevitable question, by which morality, in its turn, 
 leads man to the door of religion, and discovers to him a 
 sphere from which he had not borrowed morality. 
 
 Thus, in the problems of our nature, upon one hand, 
 and in the necessity of discovering a sanction, origin, and 
 aim for morality, on the other, we find assured and fruitful 
 sources of religion, which thus presents itself under aspects 
 very different from that of a mere instrument, as it has 
 been described; it presents itself as a collection — first, of 
 doctrines called forth by problems which man discovers 
 within himself; and, of precepts which correspond to those 
 doctrines, and give to natural morality a meaning and a sanc- 
 tion; second, of promises which address themselves to the 
 hopes of humanity in the future. This is what truly con- 
 stitutes religion; this is what it is at bottom, and not a 
 mere form of sensibility, a flight of the imagination, a 
 species of poetry. 
 
104 HISTORY OF 
 
 Reduced in this manner to its true elements and to its 
 essence, religion no longer appears as a purely individual 
 fact, but as a powerful and fruitful principle of association. 
 Consider it as a system of creeds and dogmas: truth belongs 
 to no one; it is universal, absolute; men must seek and 
 profess it in common. Consider the precepts that associ- 
 ate themselves with doctrines: an obligatory law for one is 
 «5uch for all; it must be promulgated, it must bring all men 
 under its empire. It is the same witli the promises made 
 by religion in the name of its creeds and precepts: they 
 must be spread abroad, and all men must be called to 
 gather the fruits of them. From the essential elements of 
 religion, then, you see that the religious society is born; 
 indeed, it flows therefrom so infallibly that the word which 
 expresses the most energetic social sentiment, the most im- 
 perious necessity of propagating ideas and extending a 
 society, is the word proselytism, a word which applies above 
 all to religious creeds, and, indeed, seems to be almost 
 exclusively consecrated to them. 
 
 The religious society being once born, when a certain 
 number of men become united in common religious creeds, 
 under the law of common religious precepts, and in com- 
 mon religious hopes, that society must have a government. 
 There is no society which can survive a week, an hour, 
 without a government. At the very instant in which the 
 society forms itself, and even by the very fact of its 
 formation, it calls a goverment, which proclaims the 
 common truth, the bond of the society, and promulgates 
 and supports the precepts which originate in that truth. 
 The necessity for a power, for a government over the 
 religious society, as over every other, is implied in the 
 fact of the existence of that society. And not only 
 is government necessary, but it naturally forms itself. 
 I must not pause for any time to explain how government 
 originates and establishes itself in society in general. I 
 
CIVILIZATION m EUROPE, 105 
 
 shall confine myself to saying that, when things follow 
 their natural laws, when external force does not mix itself 
 up with them, power always flies to the most capable, to 
 the best, to those who will lead society toward its aim. In 
 a warlike expedition the bravest obtain the power. If 
 research or skillful enterprise is the object of an association^ 
 the mosfc capable will be at the head of it. In all things, 
 when the world is left to its natural course, the natural 
 inequality of men freely displays itself, and each takes the 
 place which he is capable of occupying. Well, as regards 
 religion, men are no more equal in talents, faculties and 
 power than in the other cases; such a one will be better 
 able than any other to expound religious doctrines, and to 
 cause them to be generally adopted; some other bears 
 about him more authority to induce the observance of 
 religious precepts; a third will excel in sustaining and 
 animating religious emotions and hopes in the souls of 
 men. The same inequality of faculties and influence which 
 gives rise to power in civil society originates it equally in 
 religious society. Missionaries arise and declare them- 
 selves like generals. Thus, as on one hand religious 
 government necessarily flows from the nature of religious 
 society, so on the other it naturally develops itself therein 
 by the mere effect of the human faculties and their unequal 
 partition. Therefore, from the moment at which religion 
 is born in man, religious society develops itself; and from 
 the moment at which religious society appears it gives rise 
 to its government. 
 
 But now a fundamental objection arises: there is nothing 
 in this case to ordain or impose; nothing coercive. There 
 is no room for government, since unlimited liberty is re- 
 quired to exist. 
 
 It is, I conceive, a very rude and petty idea of govern- 
 ment in general to suppose that it resides solely, or even 
 principally, in the force which it exerts to make itself 
 obeyed in its coercive element 
 
106 HISTORY OF 
 
 I leave the religious point of view; I take civil govern- 
 ment. I pray you follow with me the simple course oi 
 facts. The society exists: there is something to be done, 
 no matter what, in its interest and name; there is a law to 
 ' make, a measure to take, a judgment to pronounce. As 
 J suredly there is likewise a worthy manner of fulfilling 
 these social wants; a good law to make, a good measure to 
 take, a good judgment to pronounce Whatever may be 
 the matter in hand, whatever may be the interest in ques- 
 tion, there is in every case a truth that must be known, a 
 truth which must decide the conduct of the question. 
 
 The first business of government is to seek this truth, to 
 discover what is just, reasonable and adapted to society. 
 When it has found it, it proclaims it. It becomes then 
 necessary that it should impress it upon men's minds; that 
 the government should make itself approved of by those 
 upon whom it acts; that it should persuade them of its 
 reasonableness. Is there anything coercive in this? As- 
 suredly not. Now, suppose that the truth which ought to 
 decide concerning the aifair, no matter what, suppose, 1 
 say, that this truth once discovered and proclaimed, im- 
 mediately all understandings are convinced, all wills deter- 
 mined, that all recognize the reasonableness of the govern^ 
 ment, and spontaneously obey it; there is still no coercion, 
 there is no room for the employment of force. Is it that the 
 government did not exist? Is it that, in all this, there was no 
 government? Evidently there was a government and it ful- 
 filled its task. Coercion comes then only when the resist- 
 ance of individual will occurs, when the idea, the proceed- 
 ing which the government has adopted, does not obtain 
 the approbation and voluntary submission of all. The 
 government then employs force to make itself obeyed; this 
 is the necessary result of human imperfection, an imper- 
 fection which resides at once in the governing power and 
 in the society. There will never be any way of completely 
 
V 
 
 CIVILIZA TION m EUROPE. 107 
 
 avoiding it; civil governments will ever be compelled ta 
 have recourse, to a certain extent, to coercion. But gov- 
 ernments are evidently not constituted by coercion: when- 
 ever they can dispense with it they do, and to the great 
 profit of all: indeed, their highest perfection is to dispense 
 with it, and to confine themselves to methods purely moral, 
 to the action which they exert upon the understanding; sa 
 that the more the government dispenses with coercion, the 
 more faithful it is to its true nature, the better it fullfils; 
 its mission. ^ It is not thereby reduced in power or con- 
 tracted, as is vulgarly supposed; it acts only in another 
 manner, and in a manner which is infinitely more general 
 and powerful. Those governments which make the great-^ 
 est use of coercion succeed not nearly so well as those which 
 employ it scarcely at all. 
 
 In addressing itself to the understanding, in determin- 
 ing the will, in acting by purely intellectual means, the 
 government instead of reducing, extends and elevates 
 itself; it is then that it accomplishes the most and the great- 
 est things. On the contrary, when it is obliged incessantly 
 to employ coercion, it contracts and lessens itself, and 
 effects very little, and that little very ill. 
 
 Thus the essence of government does not reside in coer- 
 cion, in the employment of force; but that which above all 
 things constitutes it, is a system of means and powers, con- 
 ceived with the design of arriving at the discovery of what 
 is applicable to each occasion; at the discovery of truth, 
 which has a right to rule society, in order that afterward 
 the minds of men may be brought to open themselves tO' 
 it, and adopt it vokintarily and freely. The necessity for, 
 and the actual existence of a government are thus perfectly 
 conceivable, when there is no occasion for coercion, when 
 even it is absolutely interdicted. 
 
 Well, such is the government of the religious society^ 
 Undoubtedly, coercion is interdicted to it; undoubtedly^ 
 
108 BISTORT OF 
 
 the employment of force by it is illegitimate, whatever 
 may be its aim, for the single reason that its exclusive 
 territory is the human conscience: but not less, therefore, 
 does it subsist; not the less has it to accomplish all the acts 
 I have mentioned. It must discover what are the religious 
 doctrines which solve the problems of the human destiny; 
 or, if there exists already a general system of creeds whereby 
 those problems are solved, it must discover and exhibit the 
 consequences of that system, as regards each particular 
 case; it must promulgate and maintain the precepts which 
 correspond to its doctrines; it must preach and teach them, 
 in order that, when the society wanders from them, it may 
 bring it back. There must be no coercion; the duties of 
 this government are, examining, preaching and teaching 
 religious virtues; and, at need, admonishing or censuring. 
 Suppress coercion as completely as you will, you will yet 
 behold all the essential questions of the organization of a 
 government arise and claim solutions. For example, the 
 question whether a body of religious magistrates is neces- 
 sary, or whether it is possible to trust to the religious in- 
 spiration of individuals (a question which is debated be- 
 tween the majority ot religious societies and the Quakers), 
 will always exist, it will always be necessary to discuss it. 
 In like manner, the question, whether, when it has been 
 agreed that a body of religious magistrates is necessary, we 
 should prefer a system of equality, of religious ministers 
 equal among themselves and deliberating in common, to 
 an hierarchical constitution, with various degrees of power: 
 this question will never come to an end, because you deny 
 all coercive power to ecclesiastical magistrates, whosoever 
 they may be. Instead, then, of dissolving religious 
 society in order that we may have the right of destroying 
 religious government, we must rather recognize that the 
 religious society forms itself naturally, that the religious 
 government flows as aaturally from the religious society, 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 109 
 
 and that the problem to be solved is to ascertain under 
 what conditions this government should exist, what are 
 its foundations, principles and conditions of legitimacy. 
 This is the real investigation which is imposed by the neces- 
 sary existence of a religious government as of all others. 
 
 The conditions of legitimacy are the same for the govern- 
 ment of a religious society as for that of any other; they 
 may be reduced to two: the first, that the power should/ 
 attach itself to and remain constantly in the hands of the 
 best and most capable, as far, at least, as human imperfec- 
 tion will allow of its doing so; that the truly superior 
 people who exist dispersed among the society should be 
 sought for there, brought to light, and called upon to 
 unfold the social law, and to exercise power: the second that 
 the power legitimately constituted should respect the legit- 
 imate liberties of those over whom it exercises itself. In 
 these two conditions, a good system of forming and organ- 
 izing power, and a good system of guarantees of liberty, 
 consists the worth of government in general, whether relig- 
 ious or civil; all governments ought to be judged according 
 to this criterion. 
 
 Instead, then, of taunting the church, or the government 
 of the Christian world, with its existence, we should find out 
 how it was constituted, and whether its principles corre- 
 sponded with the two essential conditions of all good 
 government. Let us examine the church in this twofold 
 view. 
 
 As regards the formation and transmission of power in- 
 the church, there is a word which is often used in speaking 
 of the Christian clergy, and which I wish to discard; it is 
 the word caste. The body of ecclesiastical magistrates has 
 often been called a caste. Look around the world; take 
 any country in which castes have been produced, in India 
 or Egypt; you will see everywhere that the caste is essen- 
 tially hereditary; it is the transmission of the same posi- 
 
110 HISTORY OF 
 
 tion and the same power from father to son. Wherever 
 there is no inheritance there is no caste, there is a corpora- 
 tion; the spirit of a corporation has its inconveniences, but 
 it is very different from the spirit of the caste. The word 
 caste cannot be applied to the Christian church. The cel- 
 ibacy of the priests prevents the Christian church from 
 ever becoming a caste. 
 
 You already see, to a certain extent, the consequences of 
 this difference. To the system of caste, to the fact of in- 
 heritance, monopoly is inevitably attached. This results 
 from the very definition of the word caste. When the 
 same functions and the same powers become hereditary in 
 the same families, it is evident that privilege must 
 have been attached to them, and that no one could have 
 acquired them independently of his origin. In fact, this 
 was what happened; wherever the religious government 
 fell into the hands of a caste it became a matter of privi- 
 lege; no one entered into it but those who belonged to the 
 families of the caste. Nothing resembling this is met with 
 in the Christian church; and not only is there no resem- 
 blance found, but the church has continually maintained 
 the principle of the equal admissibility of all men to all her 
 duties and dignities, whatever may have been their origin. 
 The ecclesiastical career, particularly from the fifth to the 
 'twelfth century, was open to all. The church recruited 
 herself from all ranks, alike from the inferior, as well as the 
 superior; more often, indeed, from the inferior. Around 
 her all was disposed of under the system of privilege; she 
 alone maintained the principle of equality and competition; 
 she alone called all who were possessed of legitimate superiority 
 to the possession of power. This was the first great conse- 
 quence which naturally resulted from her being a body, and 
 not a caste. 
 
 Again, there is an inherent spirit in castes, the spirit of 
 immobility. This assertion needs no proof. Open any 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. HI 
 
 history and you will see the spirit of immobility imprinted 
 upon all societies, whether political or religious, where the 
 system of castes dominated. The fear of progress, it is 
 true, was introduced at a certain epoch, and up to a certain 
 point, in the Christian church. But we cannot say that 
 it has dominated there; we cannot say that the Christian 
 church has remained immovable and stationary; for many 
 long ages she has been in movement and progress; some- 
 times provoked by the attacks of an external opposition, 
 sometimes impelled from within, by desires of reform and 
 internal developmento Upon the whole it is a society 
 which has continually changed and marched onward, and 
 which has a varied and progressive history. There can be 
 no doubt that the equal admission of all men to the ecclesi- 
 astical functions, that the continued recruiting of the 
 church according to principles of equality, has powerfully 
 contributed to maintain, and incessantly reanimate within 
 it, its life and movement, to prevent the triumph of the 
 spirit of immobility. 
 
 How could the church, who thus admitted all men 
 to power, assure herself of their right to it? How could 
 she discover and bring to light, from the heart of society, 
 the legitimate superiorities which were to share the govern- 
 ment? 
 
 Two principles were in vigor in the church: First, the 
 election of the inferior by the superior — the choice, the 
 nomination; second, the election of the superior by the 
 subordinates — that is, an election properly so called, what 
 we understand as such in the present day. 
 
 The ordination of priests, for instance, the power of 
 making a man a priest, belonged to the superior alone. 
 The choice was exercised by the superior over the inferior. 
 So, in the collation of certain ecclesiastical benefices, among 
 others, benefices attached to the feudal concessions, it was 
 the superior — king, pope or lord — who nominated the in- 
 
:i2 HISTORY OF 
 
 cumbent; in other cases, the principle of election, properly 
 so called, was in force. The bishops had long been, and at 
 the epoch which occupies us were still very often, elected 
 by the body of the clergy. Sometimes even the congrega- 
 tions interfered. In the interior of monasteries, the abbot 
 was elected by the monks. At Kome, the popes were 
 elected by the college of cardinals, and at one time even 
 the whole of the Roman clergy touK part in the election. 
 You thus see the two principles — the choice of the inferior 
 by the superior, and the election of the superior by the 
 subordinate — acknowledged and acted upon in the church, 
 especially at the epoch under consideration. It was by one 
 or other of these means that she nominated the men called 
 upon to exercise a portion of the ecclesiastical power. 
 
 Not only were these two principles co-existent, but being 
 essentially different there was a struggle between them. 
 After many centuries and many vicissitudes the nomina- 
 tion of the inferior by the superior gained the mastery in 
 the Christian church; but as a general thing, from the 
 fifth to the twelfth century, it was the other principle, the 
 choice of the superior by the subordinate, which still pre- 
 vailed. And do not be surprised at the co-existence of two 
 principles so dissimilar. Regard society in general, the 
 natural course of the world, the manner in which power is 
 transmitted in it, you will see that this transmission is 
 brought into force sometimes according to one of these 
 principles and sometimes according to the other. The 
 church did not originate them; she found them in the 
 providential government of human things, and thence she 
 borrowed them. There is truth and utility in each of 
 them; their combination will often be the best means of 
 discovering the legitimate power. It is a great misfortune, 
 in my opinion, that one of these two, the choice of the in- 
 ferior by the superior, should have gained the mastery in 
 the church; the second, however, has never entirely pre- 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 113 
 
 vailed; and under various names, with more or less suc- 
 cess, it has been reproduced in all epochs, so as at all event? 
 to enter protest and interrupt prescription. 
 
 The Christian church derived, at the epoch which occu- 
 pies us, immense strength from its respect for equality and 
 legitimate superiorities. It was the most popular society, 
 the most accessible and open to all kinds of talent, to all 
 the noble ambitions of human nature. Thence arose its 
 power, much more than from its riches, or from the ille- 
 gitimate means which it has too often employed. 
 
 As regards the second condition of a good government, 
 respect for liberty, there was much to wish for in the 
 church. 
 
 Two evil principles met in it; the one avowed, and, as it 
 were, incorporated in the doctrines of the church; the 
 other introduced into it by human weakness, and not as a 
 legitimate consequence of doctrines. 
 
 The first was the denial of the right of individual reason, 
 the pretension to transmit creeds down through the whole 
 religious society, without any one having the right to judge 
 for himself. It was easier to lay down this principle than 
 to make it actually prevail. A conviction does not enter 
 into, the human intellect unless the intellect admits it; it 
 must make itself acceptable. In whatever form it presents 
 itself, and whatever name it evokes, reason weighs it; and 
 if the creed prevail, it is from being accepted by reason. 
 Thus, under whatever form they may be concealed, the 
 action of the individual reason is always exerted upon the 
 ideas which are sought to be imposed upon it. It is very 
 true that reason may be altered; it may to a certain extent 
 abdicate and mutilate itself; it may be induced to makt an 
 ill use of its faculties, or not to put in force all the use of 
 them to which it has a right; such, indeed, has been the 
 consequence of the ill principle admitted by the church; 
 but as regards the pure and complete influence of this prin- 
 
114 HISTORY OF 
 
 ciple, it never has been, and never can be, put into full 
 force. 
 
 The second evil principle is, the right of constraint which 
 the church arrogates to herself — a right contrary to the 
 very nature of religious society, to the very origin of the 
 chu^'ch, and her primitive maxims — a right which has been 
 Jis]'uted by many of the most illustrious fathers, St. Am- 
 brose, St. Hilary, St. Martin, but which has, notwithstand- 
 >ng, prevailed and become a dominant fact. The pretension 
 of forcing to believe, if two such words can stand in juxta- 
 position, or of physically punishing belief, the persecution 
 of heresy, contempt for the legitimate liberty of human 
 thought, this is an error which was introduced into the 
 church even before the fifth century; and dearly has it cost 
 her. 
 
 If, then, we consider the church in relation to the liberty 
 of her members, we perceive that her principles m this 
 respect were less legitimate and less salutary than those 
 which presided at the formation of the ecclesiastical 
 power. It must not be supposed, however, that an evil 
 principle radically vitiates an institution, nor even that it 
 is the cause of all the evil which it carries in its breast. 
 Nothing more falsifies history than logic: when the human 
 mind rests upon an idea, it draws from it every possible 
 consequence, makes it produce all the effect it is capable of 
 producing, and then pictures it in history with the whole 
 retinue. But things do not happen in this way; events are 
 not so prompt in their deductions as the human mind. 
 There is in all things a mixture of good and evil so pro- 
 found and invincible that wherever you penetrate, when 
 you descend into the most hidden elements of society or the 
 soul, vou find there these two orders of existent facts devel- 
 oping themselves side by side, combating without exterminat- 
 ing one another. Human nature never goes to the extrem- 
 itv either of evil or ffood: it nasses incessantly from one to 
 
GIVILIZA TION m EUROPE. 115 
 
 the other, erecting itself at the moment when it seems most 
 likely to fall, and weakening at the moment when its walk 
 seems firmest. We shall find here that character of dis- 
 cordance, variety and strife, which I have remarked as being 
 the fundamental characteristic of European civilization* 
 There is still another general fact which characterizes the 
 government of the church, and of which it is necessary to 
 take notice. 
 
 At the present day, when the idea of government presenta 
 itself to us, whatever it may be, we know that there is no 
 pretension of governing other than the external actions of 
 man — the civil relations of men among themselves; govern- 
 ments profess to apply themselves to nothing more. With 
 regard to human thought, human conscience, and morality, 
 properly so called, with regard to individual opinions and 
 private manners, they do not interfere; these fall within the 
 domain of liberty. 
 
 The Christian church did or wished to do directly tha 
 contrary; she undertook to govern the liberty, private man- 
 ners and opinions of individuals. She did not make a code 
 like ours, to define only actions at once morally culpable 
 and socially dangerous, and only punishing them in pro- 
 portion as they bore tliis twofold character. She made a 
 catalogue of all actions morally culpable, and under the 
 name of sins she punished all with the intention of repress- 
 ing all; in a word, the government of the church did not 
 address itself, like modern governments, to the external 
 man, to the purely civil relations of men among themselves; 
 it addressed itself to the internal man, to the thought and 
 conscience, that is to say, to all that is most private to him, 
 most free and rebellious against constraint. The church 
 then from the very nature of her enterprise, together with 
 the nature of some of the principles upon which she 
 founded her government, was in danger of becoming tyran- 
 nical and of employing illegitimate force. But at the same 
 
116 EISTORT OF 
 
 time the force encountered a resistance which it could not 
 vanquish. However little movement and space are left 
 them, human thought and liberty energetically react against 
 all attempts to subdue them, and at every moment compel 
 the very despotism which they endure to abdicate. Thus it 
 happened in the bosom of ^-he Christian church. You have 
 seen the proscription of ueresy, the condemnation of thb 
 right of inquiry, the contempt for individual reason, and 
 the principle of the imperative transmission of doctrines 
 upon authority. Well, show one society in which individ- 
 ual reason has been more boldly developed than in the 
 church! What are sects and heresies, if they are not the 
 fruit of individual opinions? Sects and heresies, all the 
 party of opposition in the church, are the incontestable 
 proof of the moral life and activity which reigned in it; a 
 life tempestuous and painful, overspread with perils, errors, 
 crimes, but noble and powerful, and one that has given 
 rise to the finest developments of mind and intellect. Leave 
 the opposition, look into the ecclesiastical government 
 itself; you will find it constituted and acting in a manner 
 very different from what some of its principles seem to in* 
 dicate. It denied the right of inquiry, and wished to 
 deprive individual reason of its liberty; and yet it is to 
 reason that it incessantly appeals, and liberty is its dom- 
 inant fact. What are its institutions and means of action? 
 Provincial councils, national councils, general councils, a 
 continual correspondence, the incessant publication ot 
 letters, admonitions and writings. Never did a government 
 proceed to such an extent by discussion and common delib- 
 eration. We might suppose ourselves in the heart of the 
 Greek schools of philosophy; and yet it was no mere dis- 
 cussion or seeking for truth that was at issue; it involved 
 questions of authority, of adopting measures, of promul- 
 gating decrees; in fine, of a government. But such in the 
 very heart of this government was the energy of intellectual 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 117 
 
 life, that it became the dominant and universal fact, to 
 which all others gave way; and what shone forth on all 
 sides was the exercise of reason and liberty. 
 
 I am far from inferring that these bad principles which 
 1 have attempted to set forth, and which, in my opinion, 
 existed in the system of the church, remained in it without 
 effect. At the epoch which now occupies us, they already 
 bore but too bitter fruit, and were destined at a later period 
 to bear fruit still more bitter: but they have not accom- 
 plished all the evil of which they were capable, they have 
 not stifled all the good which grew in the same soil. Such 
 was the church, considered in itself, in its internal con- 
 struction and nature. I now pass to its relations with the 
 sovereigns, the masters of temporal power. This is the 
 second point of view under which I promised to consider it. 
 
 When the Empire fell — when, instead of the ancient 
 Eoman system, the government, in the midst of which the 
 church had taken birth, with which she had arisen, and 
 had habits in common and ancient ties, she found herself 
 exposed to those barbarian kings and chiefs who wandered 
 over the land or remained fixed in their castles, and to 
 whom neither traditions, creeds nor sentiments could 
 unite her; her danger was great, and as great was her 
 terror. 
 
 A single idea became dominant in the church: this wa9 
 to take possession of the new-comers, to convert them. 
 The relations between the church and the barbarians had, 
 at first, scarcely any other aim. In influencing the bar* 
 barians it was necessary that their senses and their imagina- 
 tion should be appealed to. We therefore find at this 
 epoch a great augmentation in the number, pomp and 
 variety of the ceremonies of worship. The chronicles 
 prove that this was the chief means by which the church 
 acted upon the barbarians; she converted them by splendid 
 Bpectacles. When they were established and converted. 
 
118 HISTORY OF 
 
 and when there existed some ties between them and the 
 church, she did not cease to run many dangers on their 
 part. The brutality and recklessness of the barbarians 
 were such that the new creeds and sentiments with which 
 they were inspired exercised but little empire over them. 
 Violence soon reassumed the upper hand, and the church, 
 like the rest of society, was its victim. For her defence 
 she proclaimed a principle formerly laid down under the 
 Empire, although more vaguely — this was the separation of 
 the spiritual from the temporal power, and their reciprocal 
 independence. It was by the aid of this principle that the 
 church lived freely in connection with the barbarians; she 
 maintained that force could not act upon the system of 
 creeds, hopes, and religious promises; that the spiritual world 
 and the temporal world were entirely distinct. You may at 
 once see the salutary consequences resulting from this prin- 
 ciple. Independently of its temporal utility to the church, 
 it had this inestimable effect of bringing about, on the foun- 
 dation of right, the separation of powers, and of controlling 
 them by means of each other. Moreover, in sustaining 
 the independence of the intellectual world, as a general 
 thing, in its whole extent, the church prepared the way 
 for the independence of the individual intellectual world — 
 the independence of thought. The church said that the 
 system of religious creeds could not fall under the yoke of 
 force; and each individual was led to apply to his own case 
 the language of the church. The principle of free inquiry, 
 of liberty of individual thought, is exactly the same as that 
 of the independence of general spiritual authority, with 
 regard to temporal power. 
 
 Unhappily, it is easy to pass from the desire for liberty 
 to the lust for domination. It thus happened within the 
 bosom of the church; by the natural development of ambi- 
 tion and human pride, the church attempted to establish, 
 not only the independence of spiritual power, but also its 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 119 
 
 domination over temporal power. But it must not be 
 supposed that this pretension had no other source than in 
 the weaknesses of human nature; there were other more 
 profound sources which it is of importance to know. 
 
 When liberty reigns in the intellectual world, when 
 thought and human conscience are not subjected to a 
 power which disputes their right to debate and decide, or 
 employs force against them; when there is no visible and 
 constituted spiritual government, claiming and exercising 
 the right to dictate opinions; then the idea of the domina- 
 tion of the spiritual over the temporal order is impossible. 
 Nearly such is the present state of the world. But when 
 there exists, as there did exist in the tenth century, a 
 government of the spiritual order; when thought and 
 conscience come under laws, institutions and powers 
 which arrogate to themselves the right of command- 
 ing and constraining them ; in a word, when spiritual 
 power is constituted, when it actually takes possession of 
 human reason and conscience in the name of right and 
 and force, it is natural that it should be led to assume the 
 domination over the temporal order, that it should say: 
 "Now! I have right and influence over that which is most 
 elevated and independent in man; over his thought, his 
 ^ internal will, and his conscience, and shall I not kave right 
 over his exterior, material and passing interests: I am the 
 interpreter of justice and truth, and am I not allowed to 
 regulate worldly affairs according to justice and truth?'* . 
 In very virtue of this reasoning, the spiritual order was. 
 sure to attempt the usurpation of the temporal order. And 
 ^his was the more certain from the fact that the spiritual 
 order embraced every development of human thought at 
 that time; there was but one science, and that was theol- 
 ogy; but one spiritual order, the theological; all other 
 sciences, rhetoric, arithmetic, even music, all was com- 
 prised in theology. 
 
120 HISTORY OF 
 
 The spiritual power, thus finding itself at tht head of 
 all the activity of human thought, naturally arrogated 
 to itself the government of the world. A second cause 
 tended as powerfully to this end — the frightful state of the 
 temporal order, the violence and iniquity which prevailed 
 in the government of temporal societies. 
 
 We, for many centuries, have spoken at our ease of the 
 rights of temporal power; but at the epoch under consid- 
 eration the temporal was mere force, ungovernable brig- 
 andage. The church, however imperfect her notions still 
 were concerning morality and justice, was infinitely supe- 
 rior to such a temporal government as this; the cries of the 
 people continually pressed her to take its place. When a 
 pope, or the bishops, proclaimed that a prince had for- 
 feited his rights, and that her subjects were absolved from 
 their oath of fidelity, this intervention, without doubt 
 subject to various abuses, was often, in particular cases, 
 legitimate and salutary. In general, when liberty has 
 failed mankind, it is religion that has had the charge of 
 replacing it. In the tenth century the people were not in 
 a state to defend themselves, and so make their rights 
 available against civil violence: religion, in the name of 
 Heaven, interfered. This is one of the causes which have 
 most contributed to the victories of the theocratical 
 principle. 
 
 There is a third, which I think is too seldom remarked: 
 the complexity of situation of the heads of the church, the 
 variety of aspects under which they have presented them- 
 selves in society. On one hand they were prelates, 
 members of the ecclesiastical order, and part of the spirit- 
 ual power, and by this title independent; on the other, 
 they were vassals, and, as such, engaged in the bonds of 
 civil feudalism. This is not all; beside being vassals they 
 were subjects; some portion of the ancient relations 
 between the Koman emperors, and the bishops, and the 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 121 
 
 clergy, had now passed into those between the clergy and 
 the barbarian sovereigns. By a series of causes, which it 
 would be too tedious to develop, the bishops had been led 
 to regard, up to a certain point, the barbarian sovereigns 
 as the successors of the Koman emperors, and to attribute 
 to them all their prerogatives. The chiefs of the clergy, 
 then, had a threefold character: an ecclesiastical character, 
 and as such, an independent one; a feudal character, one 
 as such bound to certain duties, and holding by certain 
 services; and, lastly, the character of a simple subject, and 
 as such bound to obey an absolute sovereign. Now mark 
 the result. The temporal sovereigns, who were not less 
 covetous and ambitious than the bishops, availed them- 
 selves of their rights as lords or sovereigns to encroach 
 upon the spiritual independence, and to seize upon the 
 collation of benefices, the nomination of bishops, etc. The 
 bishops, on their side, often intrenched themselves in their 
 spiritual independence in order to escape their obligations 
 as vassals or subjects; so that, on either hand, there was 
 an almost inevitable tendency which led the sovereigns to 
 destroy spiritual independence, and the. heads of the 
 church to make spiritual independence a means of univer- 
 sal domination. 
 
 The result has been shown in facts of which no one is 
 ignorant: in the quarrels concerning investitures, and in 
 the struggle between the priesthood and the empire. The 
 various situations of the heads of the church, and the difti- 
 culty of reconciling them, were the real sources of the 
 uncertainty and contest of these pretensions. 
 
 Lastly, the church had a third relation with the sov- 
 ereigns, which was for her the least favorable and the most 
 unfortunate of them all. She laid claim to coaction, to 
 the right of restraining and punishing heresy; but she had 
 no means of doing this; she had not at her disposal a phys- 
 ical force; when she had condemned the heretic, she had 
 
122 HISTORY OF 
 
 no means of executing judgment upon him. What could 
 she do? She invoked the aid of what was called the secu- 
 lar arm; she borrowed the force of civil power as a means 
 of coaction. And she thereby placed herself, in regard to 
 pvil power, in a situation of dependence and inferiority 
 ^ deplorable necessity to which she was reduced by thb 
 adoption of the evil principle of coaction and persecution. 
 
 It remains for me to make you acquainted with the rela- 
 tions of the church with the people, what principles were 
 prevalent in them, and what consequences have thence 
 resulted to civilization in general. I shall afterward 
 attempt to verify the inductions we have here drawn from 
 the nature of its institutions and principles, by means of 
 history, facts, and the vicissitudes of the destiny of the 
 church from the fifth to the twelfth century. 
 
OIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 123 
 
 SIXTH LECTURE. 
 
 Object of the lecture — Separation of the governing and the governed 
 party in the church — Indirect influence of the laity upon the 
 clergy — The clergy recruited from all conditions of society — In- 
 fluence of the church upon the public order and upon legisla- 
 tion — The penitential system — The development of the human 
 mind is entirely theological — The church usually ranges itself 
 on the side of power — Not to be wondered at; the aim of 
 religions is to regulate human liberty — Different states of the 
 church, from the fifth to the twelfth century — 1st. The imperial 
 church — 2d. The barbaric church; development of the sepa- 
 rating principle of the two powers; the monastic order — 3d. The 
 feudal church; attempts at organization; want of reform; Greg- 
 ory VII — The theocratical church — Regeneration of the spirit of 
 inquiry; Abailard — Movement of the boroughs — No connection 
 between these two facts. 
 
 We were unable, at our last meeting, to terminate the 
 inquiry into the state of the church from the fifth to the 
 twelfth century. After having decided that it should be 
 considered under three principal aspects, first, in itself 
 alone, in its internal constitution, and in its nature as a 
 distinct and independent society; next, in its relations to 
 the sovereign and the temporal power; and lastly, in its 
 relations with the people, we have only accomplished the 
 two first divisions of this task. It now remains for me to 
 make you acquainted with the church in its relations with 
 the people. I shall afterward endeavor to draw from this 
 threefold inquiry a general idea of the influence of the 
 church upon European civilization from the fifth to the 
 twelfth century. And lastly, we will verify our assertions 
 
124 HISTORY OF 
 
 by an examination of the facts, by the history of the 
 church itself at that epoch. 
 
 You will easily understand that, in speaking of the rela- 
 tions of the church with the people, I am forced to confine 
 myself to very general terms. I cannot enter into a detail 
 of the practices of the church, or of the daily relations of 
 the clergy with the faithful. It is the dominant principles 
 and grand effects of the system and of the conduct of the 
 church toward the Christian people, that I have to place 
 before you. 
 
 The characteristic fact, and, it must so be called, tke 
 radical vice of the relations of the church with the people, 
 is the separation of the governing and the governed, the 
 non-influence of the governed in their government, the 
 independence of the Christian clergy with regard to the 
 faithful. 
 
 This evil must have been provoked by the state of man 
 and of society, for we find it introduced into the Christian 
 church at a very early period. The separation of the clergy 
 and the Christian people was not entirely consummated at 
 the epoch under consideration; there was, on certain occa- 
 sions, in the election of bishops for instance, at least in 
 some cases, a direct intervention of the Christian people in 
 its government. But this intervention became by degrees 
 more weak, and of more rare occurrence; it was from the 
 second century of our era that it begun visibly and rapidly 
 to decline. The tendency to the isolation and independ- 
 ence of the clergy is, in a measure, the history of the 
 church itself from its very cradle. Prom thence, it can 
 not be denied, arose the greater portion of those abuses 
 which, at this epoch, and still more at a later period, have 
 cost so dear to the church. We must not, however, impute 
 them solely to this, nor regard this tendency to isolation as 
 peculiar to the Christian clergy. There is in the very 
 nature of religious society a strong inclination to raise the 
 
CIYILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 125 
 
 governing far above the governed, to attribute to the former 
 something distinct and divine. This is the effect of the very 
 mission with which they are charged, and of the character 
 under which they present themselves to the eyes of people, 
 and such an effect is more grievous in the religious society 
 than in any other. What is it that is at stake with the 
 governed? Their reason, their conscience, their future 
 destiny, that is to say, all that is most near to them, most 
 individual, and most free. We can conceive, to a certain 
 point, that although great evil may result therefrom, a man 
 may abandon to an external authority the direction of his 
 material interests, and his temporal destiny. We can 
 understand the philosopher, who, when they came to tell him 
 that his house was on fire, answered, ^^ Go and inform my 
 wife; I do not meddle in the household affairs. ^^ But, 
 when it extends to the conscience, the thought and the in- 
 ternal existence, to the abdication of self-government, to 
 the delivering one's self to a foreign power, it is truly a moral 
 suicide, a servitude a hundied-fold worse than that of the 
 body, or than that of the soul. Such, however, was the 
 evil which, without prevailing entirely, as I shall imme- 
 diately show, gradually usurped the Christian church in its 
 relations with the faithful. You have already seen that, 
 for the clergy themselves, and in the very heart of the 
 church, there was no guarantee for liberty. It was far 
 worse beyond the church and among the laity. Among 
 ecclesiastics, there was, at least, discussion, deliberation 
 and a display of individual faculties; there the excitement 
 of contest supplied; in some measure, the want of liberty. 
 There was none of this between the clergy and the people. 
 The laity took part in the government of the church as 
 mere spectators. Thus we see springing up and prevail- 
 ing at a very early period, the idea that theology and religious 
 questions and affairs are the privileged domain of the 
 clergy; that the clergy alone have the right, not only of 
 
126 HISTORY OF 
 
 deciding, but of taking part therein at all; that in any 
 case the laity can have no kind of right to interfere. At 
 the period under consideration this theory was already in 
 full power; centuries and terrible revolutions were neces- 
 sary to conquer it, to bring back within the public domain 
 religious questions and science. 
 
 In the principle, then, as well as in fact, the legal sepa- 
 ration of the clergy and the Christian people was almost 
 consummated before the twelfth century. 
 
 I would not have you suppose, however, that even at this 
 epoch the Christian people were entirely without influence 
 in its government. The legal intervention was wanting, but 
 not influence — that is almost impossible in any government, 
 still more so in a government founded upon a belief com- 
 mon both to the governing and the governed. Wherever 
 this community of ideas is developed, or wherever a similar 
 intellectual movement prevails with the government and the 
 people, there must necessarily exist a connection between 
 them which no vice in the organization can entirely de- 
 stroy. To explain myself clearly I will take an example 
 near to us, and from the political order: at no epoch in the 
 history of France has the French people had less legal in- 
 fluence on its government, by means of institutions, than 
 in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, under Louis 
 XIV and Louis XV. 
 
 No one is ignorant that at this period nearly all official 
 and direct influence of the country in the exercise of 
 authority had perished; yet there can be no doubt that the 
 people and the country then exercised upon the govern- 
 ment far more influence than in other times — in the times, 
 for instance, when the states-general were so often con- 
 voked, when the parliament took so important a part in 
 politics, and when the legal participation of the people in 
 power was much greater. 
 
 It is because there is a force which cannot be inclosed by 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 127 
 
 laws, which, when need is, can dispense with institutions: 
 it is the force of ideas, of the public mind and opinion. 
 In France, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, 
 there was a public opinion which was much more power- 
 ful than at any other epoch. Although deprived of the 
 means of acting legally upon the government, it acted 
 indirectly by the empire of ideas, which were common 
 alike to the governing and the governed, and by the impos- 
 sibility which the governing felt of taking no note of the 
 opinion of the governed. A similar fact happened in the 
 Christian church from the fifth to the twelfth century; 
 the Christian people, it is true, were deficient in legal action, 
 but there was a great movement of mind in religious mat- 
 ters — this movement brought the laity and the ecclesiastics 
 into conjunction, and by this means the people influenced 
 the clergy. 
 
 In all cases in the study of history it is necessary to hold 
 as highly valuable, indirect influences; they are much 
 more efficacious, and sometimes more salutary, than is 
 generally supposed. It is natural that men should wish 
 their actions to be prompt and evident, should desire the 
 pleasure of participating in their success, power and 
 triumpho This is not always possible, not always even use- 
 ful., There are times and situations in which indirect and 
 /unseen influences are alone desirable and practicable. I 
 will take another example from the political order. More 
 than once, especially in 1641, the English parliament, like 
 many other assemblies in similar crises, has claimed the 
 right of nominating directly the chief officers of the crown, 
 the ministers, councillors or state, etc.; it regarded this 
 direct action in the government as an immense and valu- 
 able guarantee. It has sometimes exercised this preroga- 
 tive, and always with bad success. The selections were ill 
 concerted, and affairs ill governed. But how is it in Eng- 
 land at the present day? Is it not the influence of parlia- 
 
128 HISTORY OF 
 
 ment which decides the formation of the ministry, and the 
 nomination of all the great officers of the crown? Cer- 
 tainly; but then it is an indirect and general influence, 
 instead of a special intervention. The end at which Eng- 
 land has long aimed is gained; but by different means; the 
 first means which were tried had never acted beneficially. 
 
 There is a reason for this, concerning which I ask your 
 permission to detain you for a moment. Direct action 
 supposes, in those to which it is confided, far more enlight- 
 enment, reason and prudence: as they are to attain the 
 end at once, and without delay, it is necessary that they 
 should be certain of not missing that end. Indirect influ- 
 ences, on the contrary, are only exercised through obstacles, 
 and after tests which restrain and rectify them; before 
 prospering, they are condemned to undergo discussion, and 
 to see themselves opposed and controlled; they triumph 
 but slowly, and, in a measure, conditionally. For this 
 reason, when minds are not sufficiently advanced and 
 ripened to guarantee their direct action being taken with 
 safety, indirect influences, although often insufficient, 
 are still preferable. It was thus that the Christian people 
 influenced their government, very incompletely, in much 
 too limited an extent, I am convinced — but still they influ- 
 enced ito 
 
 There was also another cause of approximation between 
 the church and the people; this was the dispersion, so to 
 speak, of the Christian clergy among all social conditions. 
 Almost everywhere, when a church has been constituted inde- 
 pendently of the people whom it governed, the body of 
 priests has been formed of men nearly in the same situation; 
 not that great inequalities have not existed among them, but 
 upon the whole the government has appertained to colleges 
 of priests living in common, and governing, from the depths 
 of the temple, the people under their law. The Christian 
 church was quite differently organized. From the misera- 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 129 
 
 ble habitation of the serf, at the foot of the feudal castle, 
 to the king's palace itself, everywhere there was a priest, a 
 member of the clergy. The clergy was associated with all 
 human conditions. This diversity in the situation of the 
 Christian priests, this participation in all fortunes, has 
 been a grand principle of union between the clergy and 
 the laity, a principle which has been wanting in most 
 churches invested with power. The bishops and chiefs of 
 the Christian clergy were, moreover, as you have seen, 
 engiiged in the feudal organization, and were members, at 
 one and the same time, of a civil and of an ecclesiastical 
 hierarchy. Hence it was that the same interests, habits 
 and manners, became common to both the civil and relig- 
 ious orders. There has been much complaint, and with 
 good reason, of bishops who have gone to war, of priests 
 who have led the life of laymen. Of a verity, it was a 
 great abuse, but still an abuse far less grievous than was, 
 elsewhere, the existence of those priests who never left the 
 temple, and whose life was totally separated from that of 
 the community. Bishops, in some way mixed up in civil 
 discords, were far more serviceable than priests who were 
 total strangers to the population, to all its affairs and its 
 manners. Under this connection there was established 
 between the clergy and the Christian people a parity of 
 destiny and situation, which, if it did not correct, at least 
 lessened the evil of the separation between the governing 
 and the governed. 
 
 This separation being once admitted, and its limits 
 determined (the attainment of which object I have just 
 attempted), let us investigate the manner in which the 
 Christian church was governed, and in what way it acted 
 upon the people under its command. On the one hand, 
 how it tended to the development of man, and the internal 
 progress of the individual; and on the other how it tended 
 to the amelioration of the social condition. 
 
130 HISTORY OF 
 
 As i"j^ari? the development of the individual, I do not 
 think^ conec^ly speaking, that, at the epoch under eonsid- 
 eration> the church troubled itself much in the matter; it 
 endeavored to inspire the powerful of the world with 
 milder sentiments, and with more justice in their relations 
 with the weak; it maintained in the weak a moral life, 
 together with sentiments and desires of a more elevated' 
 order than thc«e to which their daily destiny condemed 
 them. Still, for the development of the individual, prop- 
 erly so called, and for increasing the worth of man^s per- 
 sonal nature, I do not think that at this period the church 
 did much, at all events not among the laity. What it did 
 effect was confined to the ecclesiastical society; it con- 
 cerned itself much with the development of the clergy, and 
 the instruction of the priests; it had for them schools, and 
 all the institutions which the deplorable state of society 
 permitted. But they were ecclesiastical schools destined 
 only for the instruction of the clergy; beyond this, the 
 church acted only indirectly and by very dilatory means 
 upon the progress of ideas and manners. It doubtless pro- 
 voked general activity of mind, by the career which it 
 opened to all those whom it judged capable of serving it; 
 but this was all that it did at thifj period toward the intel- 
 lectual development of the laity. 
 
 It worked more, I believe, and that in a more efficacious 
 manner, toward the amelioration of social society. There 
 uan be no doubt that it struggled resolutely against the 
 great vicf^s of the social state, against slavery, for instance. 
 It has often been repeated, that the abolition of slavery 
 among modern people is entirely due to Christians. That, 
 I think, is saying too much; slavery existed for a long 
 period in the heart of Christian society without it being 
 particularly astonished or irritated, A multitude of causes, 
 and a great development in other ideas and principles of 
 civilization were necessary for the abolition of this iniquity 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 131 
 
 of all iniquities. It cannot be doubted, however, that the 
 church exerted its influence to restrain it. We have an 
 undeniable proof of this. The greater part of the forms of 
 enfranchisement, at various epochs, were based upon relig- 
 ious principles; it is in the name of religious ideas, upon 
 hopes of the future, and upon the religious equality of 
 mankind, that enfranchisement has almost always beeo 
 pronounced. 
 
 The church worked equally for the suppression of a crowd 
 of barbarous customs, and for the amelioration of the 
 criminal and civil legislation. You know how monstrous and 
 absurd this legislation then was, despite some principles 
 of liberty in it; you also know what ridiculous proofs, such 
 as judicial combat, and even the simple oaths of a few men, 
 were considered as the only means of arriving at the truth. 
 The church endeavored to substitute in their stead more 
 rational and legitimate means. I have already spoken of 
 the diiference which may be observed between the laws of 
 the Visigoths, issued chiefly from the councils of Toledo 
 and other barbarous laws. It is impossible to compare 
 them without being struck by the immense superiority of 
 the ideas of the church in matters of legislation, justice 
 and in all that interests the search for truth and the des- 
 tiny of mankind. Doubtless many of these ideas w^ere 
 borrowed from the Roman legislation; but had not tho 
 church preserved and defended them, if it had not worked 
 their propagation, they would, doubtless, nave perished. 
 For example, as regards the employment of the oath in 
 lecjal procedure, open the law of the Visigoths and you 
 will see w^ith what wisdom it is used: 
 
 ^' Let the judge, that he may understand the cause, first 
 interrogate the witnesses, and afterw^^rd examine the writ- 
 ings, to the end that the truth may be discovered with 
 more certainty, and that the oath may not be needlessly 
 administered. The search for truth requires that the 
 
132 HISTORY OF 
 
 writings on either side be carefully examined, and that the 
 necessity for the oath, suspended over the heads of the 
 parties, arrive unexpectedly. Let the oath be administered 
 only in those cases when the judge can discover no writings, 
 proof, or other certain evidence of the truth/^ {For. Jud. 
 1. ii. tit. i. 21.) 
 
 In criminal matters the relation between the punish- 
 ments and the offences is determined according to philo. 
 sophical and moral notions, which are very just. One may 
 there recognize the efforts of an enlightened legislator strug- 
 gling against the violence and want of reflection of bar- 
 barous manners. The chapter, De ccede et morte hominum, 
 compared with laws corresponding thereto in other nations, 
 is a very remarkable example. Elsewhere it is the damage 
 done which seems to constitute the crime, and the punish- 
 ment is. sought in the material reparation of pecuniary 
 composition. Here the crime is reduced to its true, verit- 
 able and moral element, the intention. The various shades 
 of criminality, absolutely involuntary homicide, homicide 
 by inadvertency, provoked homicide, homicide with or 
 vyithout premeditation, are distinguished and defined 
 nearly as correctly as in our codes, and the punishments 
 vary in just proportion. The justice of the legislator went 
 still further. He has attempted, if not to abolish, at least 
 to lessen the diversity of legal value established among 
 men by the laws of barbarism. The only distinction 
 which he kept up was that of the free man and the slave. 
 As regards free men, the punishment varies neither accord- 
 ing to the origin nor the rank of the deceased, but solely 
 according to the various degrees of moral culpability of the 
 murderer. With regard to slaves, although not daring to 
 deprive the master of all right to life and death, he at least 
 attempted to restrain it by subjecting it to a public and_ 
 regular procedure. The text of the law deserves citation; 
 
 ^* If no malefactor or accomplice in a crime should go 
 
OIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 133 
 
 unpunished, with how much more reason should we con- 
 demn those who have committed homicide lightly and 
 maliciously! Therefore, as masters, in their pride, often 
 put their slaves to death, without fault on their part, it is 
 right that this license should be entirely extirpated, and 
 we ordain that the present law be perpetually observed by 
 all. No master or mistress can put to death without 
 Jpublic trial any of their male or female slaves, nor any 
 person dependent upon them. If a slave, or any other 
 servant, shall commit any crime which will render him 
 liable to capital punishment, his master, or accuser, shall 
 immediately inform the judge, or the count, or the duke, 
 of the place where the crime was committed. After an 
 investigation into the affair, if the crime be proved, let the 
 culprit undergo, either through the judge or his own 
 master, the sentence of death which he merits: provided, 
 however, that if the judge will not put the accused to 
 death, he shall draw up a capital sentence against him in 
 writing; and then it shall be in the power of the master 
 either to kill him or spare his life. At the same time, if 
 the slave by a fatal audacity, resisting his master, shall 
 strike, or attempt to strike, him with a weapon or stone, 
 and if the master, while defending himself, should kill the 
 slave in his rage, the master shall not receive the punish 
 ment due to a homicide; but it must be proved that this 
 really was the fact, and that, by the testimony or oath of 
 the slaves, male or female, who may have been present, 
 and by the oath of the author of the deed himself. Who- 
 ever, in pure malice, whether with his own hand or by that 
 of another, shall kill his slave without public judgment 
 shall be reckoned infamous and declared incapable of bear- 
 ing testimony, and shall pass the remainder of his life in 
 exile or penitence, and his goods shall fall to his nearest 
 heir to whom the law accords the inheritance." {For. 
 Jud, 1. vi. tit. Vr 1. 12.) 
 
134 HISTORY OF 
 
 There is one fact in the institutions of the church which 
 is generally not sufficiently remarked: it is the penitential 
 system, a system so much the more curious to study in the 
 present day from its being, as regards the principles and 
 applications of the penal law, exactly in accordance with 
 the ideas of modern philosophy. If you study the nature 
 of the punishments of the church, and the public penances 
 which were its principal mode of chastisemeut, you will see 
 that the chief object is to excite repentance in the soul of 
 the culprit and moral terror in the beholders by the exam- 
 ple. There was also another idea mixed with it, that of 
 expiation. I know not, as a general thing, if it be possible 
 to separate tlie idea of expiation from that of punishment, 
 and whether there is not in all punishment, independently 
 of the necessity of provoking repentance in the culprit and 
 of deterring those who might be tempted to become so, a 
 secret and imperious want to expiate the wrong committed.- 
 But, leaving aside this question, it is evident that repent- 
 ance and example are the ends proposed by the church in 
 its whole penitential system. Is not this also the end of a 
 truly philosophical legislation? Is it not in the name of 
 these principles that the most enlightened jurists of this 
 and the past century have advocated the reform of the 
 European penal legislation? Open their works, those of 
 Bentham for instance, and you will be surprised by all the 
 resemblances which you will meet with between the penal 
 means therein proposed and those employed by the church. 
 They certainly did not borrow them from her, nor could 
 she have foreseen that one day her example would be in- 
 Toked to aid the plans of the least devout of philosophers. 
 Lastly, she strove by all sorts of means to restrain violence 
 and continual warfare in society. Every one knows what 
 was the truce of God, and numerous measures of a similar 
 kind, by which the church struggled against the employ- 
 ment of force and strove to introduce more order and gen- 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE, 135 
 
 tleness into society. These facts are so well known that it 
 is needless for me to enter into details. Such are the prin- 
 cipal points which I have to place before you concerning 
 the relations between the church and the people. We 
 have considered it under the three aspects which I first an- 
 nounced; and have gained an inward and outward knowl* 
 edge of it, both in its internal constitution and its twofold 
 position. It now remains for us to deduct from our knowl- 
 edge, by means of induction and conjecture, its general 
 influence upon European civilization. This, if I mistake 
 not, is a work almost completed, or at least far advanced; 
 the simple announcement of the dominant facts and prin- 
 ciples in the church show and explain its influence; the 
 results have, in some measure, already passed before your 
 eyes with the causes. If, however, w^e attempt to recapitu- 
 late them, we shall, I think, be led to two general 
 assertions. 
 
 The first is, that the church must have exercised a very 
 great influence upon the moral and intellectual orders in 
 modern Europe, upon public ideas, sentiments and 
 manners. 
 
 The fact is evident; the moral and intellectual develop- 
 ment of Europe has been essentially theological. Survey 
 history from the fifth to the twelfth centuries; it is theol- 
 ogy that possessed and directed the human spirit; all opin- 
 ions are impressed by theology; philosophical, political and 
 historical questions are all considered under a theological 
 point of view. So all-powerful is the church in the intel- 
 lectual order, that even the mathematical and physical 
 sciences are held in submission to its doctrines. The theo- 
 logical spirit is, in a manner, the blood which ran in the 
 veins of the European world, down to Bacon and Descartes. 
 For the first time. Bacon in England and Descartes in 
 France carried intelligence beyond the path of theology. 
 
 The same fact is evident in all branches of literature; 
 
136 HISTORY OF 
 
 theological habits, sentiments and language are manifest 
 at every step. 
 
 Upon the whole, this influence has been salutary; not 
 only has it sustained and fertilized the intellectual move- 
 ment in Europe, but the system of doctrines and precepts, 
 under the name of which it implanted the movement, was 
 far superior to anything with which the ancient world was 
 acquainted. There was at the same time movement and 
 progress. 
 
 The situation of the church, moreover, gave an extent and 
 a variety to the development of the human mind in the 
 modern world which it had not possessed previously. In 
 the east, intellect is entirely religious; in Greek society, it 
 is exclusively human; in the one, humanity, properly so 
 called, that is, its actual nature and destiny, vanishes; in 
 the other, it is man himself, his actual passions, senti- 
 ments and interests which occupy the whole stage. In the 
 modern world, the religious spirit is mixed up with every 
 thing, but it excludes nothing. Modern intellect has at 
 once the stamp of humanity and of divinty. Human sen- 
 timents and interests occupy an important place in our 
 literature; and yet the religious character of man, that 
 portion of his existence which links him to another world, 
 appears in every step; so that the two great sources of man^s 
 development, humanity and religion, have flowed at one 
 time, and that abundantly; and despite all the evil and 
 abuses with which it is mixed, despite many acts of tyranny, 
 regarded in an intellectual point of view, the influence of 
 the church has tended more to develop than compress, more 
 to extend than to confine. 
 
 Under a political point of view, it is otherwise. There 
 can be no doubt that in softening sentiments and manners, 
 in crying down and exploding numerous barbarous cus- 
 toms, the church has powerfully contributed to the ameli- 
 oration of the social state; but in the political order, prop- 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 137 
 
 erly so called, as regards the relations between the govern- 
 ment and the subject, between power and liberty, I do not 
 think that, upon the whole, her influence has been bene- 
 ficial. Under this relation, the church has always presented 
 itself as the interpreter and defender of two systems, the 
 theocratic or the Roman Imperial system, that is, of des- 
 potism, sometimes under a religious, and sometimes under 
 a civil form. Take all her institutions, and all her legisla- 
 tion; take her canons and procedure: and you will always 
 find, as the dominant principle, theocracy or the empire. 
 Jf weak, the church sheltered herself under the absolute 
 power of the emperors; if strong, she claimed the same 
 absolutism on her own account in the name of her spiritual 
 power. We must not confine ourselves to particular facts 
 or special instances. The church has, doubtless, often in- 
 voked the rights of the people against the bad government 
 of the sovereigns; and often even approved of and provoked 
 insurrection; has often maintained, in face of the sovereign, 
 the rights and interests of the people. But when the ques- 
 tion of political guarantees has arisen between power and 
 liberty, when the question was of establishing a system of 
 permanent institutions, which might truly place liberty 
 beyond the invasions of power, the church has generally 
 ranged upon the side of despotism. 
 
 One need not be much astonished at this, nor charge the 
 clergy with too great a degree of human weakness, noi 
 suppose it a vice peculiar to the Christian church. There 
 is a more profound and powerful cause. What does a relig- 
 ion pretend to? It pretends to govern the human passions 
 and the human will. All religion is a restraint, a power, a 
 government. It comes in the name of divine law for tha 
 purpose of subduing human nature. It is human liberty, 
 then, with which it chiefly concerns itself; it is human 
 liberty which resists it, and which it wishes to overcome. 
 Such is the enterprise of religion, such its mission and its 
 hone. 
 
138 HISTORY OF 
 
 It is true, that although human liberty is what religions 
 concern themselves with, although they aspire to the ref- 
 ormation of the will of man, they have no moral means of 
 acting upon him but through himself, by his own will. 
 AVhen they act by external means, by force, seduction, oi 
 any means, in fact, which are foreign to the free concur 
 rence of man, when they treat him as they would water ol 
 wind, as a material power, they do not attain their end- 
 they neither reach nor govern the human will. For relig- 
 ions to accomplish what they attempt, they must mak6« 
 themselves acceptable to liberty itself; it is needful thaf 
 man should submit, but he must do so voluntarily and 
 freely, and must preserve his liberty in the very heart of 
 his submission. This is the double problem which relig- 
 ions are called upon to solve. 
 
 This they have too often overlooked; they have considere(i 
 liberty as an obstacle, not as a means; they have forgotteu. 
 the nature of the force to which they address themselves, 
 and have treated the human soul as they would a material 
 force. It is in following this eiror that they have almost 
 always been led to range themselves on the side of power 
 and despotism against human liberty, regarding it only as 
 an adversary, and taking more pains to subdue than to 
 secure it. If religions had turned their means of action to 
 good account, if they had not allowed themselves to be 
 carried away by a natural but deceitful inclination, they 
 would have seen that it is necessary to guarantee liberty in 
 order to regulate it morally; that religion cannot, nor ought 
 to act except by moral means; they would have respected 
 the will of man in applying themselves to govern it. Thi? 
 they have too often forgotten, and religious power hail 
 ended in itself suffering as much as liberty. 
 
 I will go no further in the examination of the general 
 consequence of the influence of the church upon European 
 civilization. I have recapitulated them in this twofold 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 18^ 
 
 result; a great and salutary influence upon the social and 
 moral order, an influence rather unfortunate than benefi- 
 cial on the political order, properly so called. We have 
 now to verify our assertions by facts, to verify by history 
 that which we have deduced from the mere nature and 
 situation of the ecclesiastical society. Let us see what was 
 the fate of the Christian church from the fifth to the 
 twelfth century, and whether the principles which I have 
 placed before you, and the results which I have attempted 
 to draw from them, were really developed as I have 
 ventured to describe. 
 
 You should be careful not to suppose that these princi- 
 ples and consequences have appeared at the same periods, 
 and with the same distinctness that I have represented 
 them. It is a great and too common an error, when con- 
 sidering the past at the distance of many centuries, to for- 
 get the moral chronology, to forget (singular obliviousness!) 
 that history is essentially successive. Take the life of a 
 man, of Cromwell, Gustavus Adolphus or Cardinal Riche- 
 lieu. He enters upon his career, he moves and progresses; 
 he influences great events, and he in his turn is influenced 
 by them; he arrives at the goal. We then know him, but 
 it is in his whole; it is, as it were, such as he has issued 
 after much labor from the workshop of Providence. But 
 at starting he was not what he has thus become; he has 
 never been complete and finished at any single period of 
 his life; he has been formed progressively. Men are 
 formed morally as physically; they change daily; their 
 being modifies itself without ceasing; the Cromwell of 1650 
 was not the Cromwell of 1640. There is always a ground- 
 work of individuality; it is always the same man who per- 
 severes; but how changed are his ideas, sentiments and 
 will ! What things has he lost and acquired! At whatever 
 moment we look upon the life of man there is no tim:^ 
 
140 HISTORY OJf 
 
 when it has been what we shall see it when its term is 
 attained. 
 
 It is here, however, that most historians have fallen into 
 error; because they have gained one complete idea of man 
 they see him such throughout the whole course of his 
 career. For them, it is the same Cromwell who enters par- 
 liament in 1628, and who dies thirty years afterward in the 
 palace of Whitehall. And with regard to institutions and 
 general influences, they incessantly commit the same error. 
 Let us guard against it. I have represented to you the 
 principles of the church in their entirety, and the develop- 
 ment of the consequences. But remember that historically 
 the picture is not correct; all has been partial and success- 
 ive, cast here and there over space and time. We must not 
 expect to find this uniformity, this prompt and systematic 
 connection, in the recital of facts. Here we shall see one 
 principle springing up, there another; all will be incom- 
 plete, unequal and dispersed. We must come to modern 
 times, to the end of the career, before we shall find the en- 
 tire result. I shall now place before you the various states 
 through which the church passed between the fifth and the 
 twelfth century. We cannot collect an entire demonstra- 
 tion of the assertions which I have placed before you, but 
 we shall see sufficient to enable us to presume they are 
 legitimate. 
 
 The first condition in which the church appears at the 
 fifth century is the imperial state, the church of the Eoman 
 Empire. When the Roman Empire was on the decline 
 the church thought herself at the term of her career, and 
 that her triumph was accomplished. It is true she had 
 completely vanquished paganism. The last emperor who 
 took the rank of sovereign pontiff, which was a pagan 
 dignity, was the emperor Gratian, who died at the 
 end of the fourth century. Gratian was called sovereign 
 pontiff, like Augustus and Tiberms. The church likewise 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 141 
 
 thought herself at the end of her struggle with the 
 heretics, especially with the Arians, the chief heretics 
 of the day. The Emperor Theodosius, toward the end of 
 the fourth century, instituted against them a complete and 
 severe legislation. The church then enjoyed the govern- 
 ment and the victory over its two most formidable enemies. 
 It was at this moment that she saw the Roman Empire fail 
 her, and found herself in the presence of other pagans and 
 heretics, in the presence of the barbarians, Goths, 
 Vandals, Burgundians and Franks. The fall was immense. 
 You may easily conceive the lively attachment for the em- 
 pire which must have been preserved in the bosom of the 
 church. Thus we see her strongly adhering to what re- 
 mained of it — to the municipal system and to absokite 
 power. And when she had converted the barbarians, she 
 attempted to resuscitate the empire; she addressed herself 
 to the barbarous kings, conjured them to become Roman 
 emperors, to take all the rights belonging to them, and 
 enter into the same relations with the church as that which 
 she had maintained with the Roman Empire. This was 
 
 A, 
 
 the work of the bishops between the fifth and the sixth 
 centuries, the general state of the church. 
 
 This attempt could not be successful; there were no 
 means of reforming the Roman society with barbarians. 
 Like the civil world, the church herself fell into barbarism. 
 This was its second state. When one compares the writings 
 of the ecclesiastical chroniclers of the eighth century with 
 those of preceding ages, the difference is immense. Every 
 wreck of Roman civilization had disappeared, even the 
 language; everything felt itself, as it were, cast into bar- 
 barism. On the one hand, barbarians entered the clerical 
 order, and became priests and bishops; and on the other 
 hand, the bishops adopted a life of barbarism, and without 
 quitting their bishoprics, placed themselves at the head of 
 bands, overrunning the country, pillaging, and making 
 
142 BISTORT OF 
 
 war, like the companions of Clovis. You will find in 
 Gregory of Tours mention of several bishops, among others 
 Saloniis and Sagittarius, who thus passed their lives. 
 
 Two important facts developed themselves in the bosom 
 of this barbarous church. The first is the separation of 
 spiritual and temporal power. This principle took its rise 
 at this epoch. Nothing could be more natural. The 
 church not having succeeded in resuscitating the absolute 
 power of the Roman Empire, and sharing it herself, was 
 forced to seek safety in independence. It was necessary 
 that she should defend herself on all sides, for she was con- 
 tinually threatened. Each bishop and priest saw his bar- 
 barous neighbors incessantly interfering in the affairs of the 
 church, to usurp her riches, lands, and power; her only 
 means of defence was to say, " The spiritual order is totally 
 separate from the temporal; you have not the right to inter- 
 fere in its affairs/' This principle, above all others, became 
 the defensive arm of the church against barbarism. 
 
 A second important fact belonged to this epoch, the 
 development of the monastic order in the west. It is 
 known that at the commencement of the sixth century, St. 
 Benedict instituted his order among the monks of the west, 
 who were then trifling in number, but who have since 
 prodigiously increased. The monks at this epoch were 
 not members of the clergy; they were still regarded as lay- 
 men. No doubt priests, or even bishops, were sought for 
 among them; but it was only at the end of the fifth and 
 beginning of the sixth century that the monks, in general 
 were considered as forming a part of the clergy, prop- 
 erly so-called. We then find that priests and bishops 
 became monks, believing that by so doing they made a 
 fresh progress in religious life. Thus the monastic order 
 in Europe took all at once a great development. The 
 monks struck the fancy of the barbarians far more than 
 the secular clergy. Their number was as imposing as their 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 143 
 
 Singularity of life. The secular clergy, the bishop or simple 
 priest, were common to the imagination of the barbarians, 
 who were accustomed to see, maltreat, and rob them. It 
 was a much more serious affair to attack a monastery, 
 ivhere so many holy men were congregated in one holy 
 place. The monasteries, during the barbaric epoch, were 
 an asylum for the church, as the church was for the laity. 
 Pious men there found a refuge, as in the east they 
 sheltered themselves in the Thebaid, to escape a worldly 
 life and the temptations of Constantinople. 
 
 Such are the two great facts in the history of the church, 
 which belong to the barbaric epoch; on one side the de- 
 velopment of the principle of separation between the 
 spiritual and temporal power; on the other, the develop- 
 ment of the monastic system in the west. 
 
 Toward the end of the barbaric epoch, there was a new 
 attempt to resuscitate the Roman Empire made by Charle- 
 magne. The church and the civil sovereign again con- 
 tracted a close alliance. This was an epoch of great docil- 
 ity, and hence one of great progress for papacy. The at- 
 tempt again failed, and the empire of Charlemagne fell; 
 but the advantages which the church had gained from his 
 alliance still remained with her. Papacy found herself 
 definitively at the head of Christianity. 
 
 On the death of Charlemagne, chaos recommenced; the 
 church again fell into it as well as civil society, and only 
 left it to enter the frame of feudalism. This was its third 
 state. By the dissolution of the empire of Charlemagne, 
 there happened almost the same thing in the ecclesiastical 
 order as in the civil order; all unity disappeared, all became 
 local, partial, and individual. There then commenced in 
 the situation of the clergy a struggle which it had never 
 experienced before. This was the struggle between the 
 sentiments and interests of the fief-holder and the senti- 
 ments and interests of the priest. The chiefs of the 
 
144 HISTORY OF 
 
 cnurch were placed between these two positions, each 
 tended to overcome the other; the ecclesiastical spirit was 
 no longer so powerful or so universal; individual interest 
 became more influential, and the desire for independence 
 and the habits of a feudal life, loosened the ties of the 
 3cclesiastical hierarchv. There was then made in tijo 
 bosom of the church an attempt to remedy the effects of 
 this relaxation. They sought in various quarters, by a 
 system of federation, and by communal assemblies and 
 deliberations, to organize national churches. It is at this 
 epoch, and under the feudal system, that we find the 
 greatest number of councils, convocations, and ecclesias- 
 tical assemblies, both provincial and national. It was in 
 France, more especially, that this attempt at unity seemed 
 followed with the greatest ardon Hincmar, archbishop of 
 Rheims, may perhaps be considered as the representative 
 of this idea. His constant care was to organize the French 
 church; he sought and put in force all the means of corres- 
 pondence and union which might bring back some unity 
 into the feudal church. We find Hincmar maintaining on 
 the one side the independence of the church with regard to 
 its temporal power, and on the other its independence with 
 regard to papacy; it was he who, knowing that the pope 
 wished to come into France, and threatened the bishops 
 with excommunication, said, 8i excommunicaturus venerity 
 excommunicatus ahihit. But this attempt to organize the 
 feudal church succeeded no better than the attempt to 
 jrganize the imperial church had done. There were no 
 means of establishing unity in this church. Its dissolution 
 was always increasing. Each bishop, prelate and abbot 
 isolated himself more and more within his diocese or his 
 monastery. The disorder increased from the same cause. 
 This was the time of the greatest abuses of simony, of the 
 entirely arbitrary disposition of ecclesiastical benefices, and 
 of the greatest looseness of manners among the priests- 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROI'E. 14i> 
 
 This disorder greatly shocked the people and the better 
 portion of the clergy. We thence see at an early time, a 
 certain spirit of reform appear in the church, and the 
 desire to seek some authority which could rally all these 
 elements, and impose law upon them. Claude, bishop of 
 Turin, and Agobard, archbishop of Lyons, originated in 
 their dioceses some attempts of this nature, but they were 
 not in a condition to accomplish such a work. There was 
 within the whole church but one force adequate to it, and 
 that was the court of Rome, the papacyc It was, therefore, 
 not long ere it prevailed. The church passed during the 
 course of the eleventh century into its fourth state, that of 
 the theocratical ormonastical church. The creator of this 
 new form of church, in so far as a man can create, was 
 Gregory VII. 
 
 We are accustomed to represent to ourselves Gregory 
 VII as a man who wished to render all things immovable, 
 as an adversary to intellectual development and social prog- 
 ress, and as a man who strove to maintain the world in a 
 stationary or retrograding system. Nothing can be so false. 
 Gregory VII was a reformer upon the plan of despotism, 
 lis were Charlemagne and Peter the Great. He, in the 
 ecclesiastical order, was almost what Charlemagne in 
 France and Peter the Great in Russia were in the civil 
 order. He wished to reform the church, and through the 
 church to reform society, to introduce therein more mor- 
 ality, more justice, and more law — he wished to effect this 
 through the holy see, and to its profit. 
 
 At the same time that he strove to subject the civil 
 world to the church, and the church to papacy, with an 
 aim of reform and progress, and not one of immobility or 
 retrogression, an attempt of the same kind and a similar 
 movement was produced in the heart of monasteries. The 
 desire for order, discipline and moral strictness, was zeal- 
 ously shown. It was at this period that Robert de Mol^me 
 
146 HISTORY OF 
 
 introduced a severe order at CiteauXc This was the age of 
 Sfcc Norbert and the reform of the prebendaries of the re- 
 form of Cluni, and lastly, of the great reform of St. Ber- 
 nardo A general ferment reigned in the monasteries, the 
 old monks defended themselves, declared it to be an injuri- 
 ous thing, said that their liberty was in danger, that the 
 manners of the times must be complied with, that it was 
 impossible to return to the primitive church, and treated 
 all the reformers as madmen, dreamers and tyrants. Open 
 the history of Normandy, by Oideric Vital, and you will 
 continually meet with these complaints. 
 
 All therefore seemed tending to the advantage of the 
 church, to its unity and powerc While papacy sought to 
 seize upon the government of the world, and while monas- 
 teries reformed themselves in a moral point of view, some 
 powerful though isolated men claimed for human reason 
 its right to be considered as something in man, and its 
 right to interfere in his opinions. The greater part of 
 them did not attack received doctrines nor religious creeds; 
 they only said that reason had a right to test them, and 
 that it did not suffice that they should be affirmed upon 
 authority. John Erigena, Eoscelin and Abailard were the 
 interpreters through whom reason once more began to 
 claim her inheritance; these were the first authors of the 
 movement of liberty which is associated with the move- 
 ment of reform of Hildebrand and St» Bernard. When 
 we seek the dominant character of this movement, we find 
 that it is not a change of opinion, or a revolt against the 
 system of public creeds — it is simply the right of reasoning 
 claimed on the behalf of reason. The pupils of Abailard 
 asked him, as he himself tells us in his Introduction to 
 TJieology, " for philosophical argument calculated to satisfy 
 the reason, supplicating him to instruct them, not to 
 repeat what he taught them, but to understand it; because 
 nothing can be believed without being understood, and it 
 
CJTILIZA riON m EUROPE, 147 
 
 is ridiculous to preach things which neither he who pro- 
 fesses, nor those whom he teaches, can understand. 
 . . . To what purpose were the study of pnilosophy, if 
 not to lead to the study of God, to whom all things should 
 be referred? With what view are the faithful permitted 
 to read the writings which treat of the age and the books 
 of the Gentiles, unless to prepare them for understand- 
 ing the Holy Scriptures, and the necessary capacity for 
 defending them? In this view it is especially necessary to 
 be aided with all the force of reason, so as to prevent, upon 
 questions so difficult and complicated as are those which 
 form the object of the Christian faith, the subtleties of its 
 enemies from easily contriving to adulterate the purity of 
 our faith /^ 
 
 The importance of this first attempt at liberty, this 
 regeneration of the spirit of inquiry, was soon felt. 
 Although occupied in reforming herself, the church did 
 not the less take the alarm. She immediately declared war 
 against these new reformers, whose methods menaced her 
 more than their doctrines. 
 
 This is the great fact which shone forth at the end of 
 the eleventh and beginning of the twelfth century, at the 
 time when the state of the church was that of the theo- 
 cratical or monastic. At this epoch, for the first time, 
 there arose a struggle between the clergy and the free- 
 thinkers. The quarrels of Abailard and St. Bernard, the 
 councils of Soissons and Sens, where Abailard was con- 
 demned, are nothing but the expression of this fact, which 
 holds so important a position in the history of modern civ- 
 ilization. It was the principal circumstance in the state of 
 the church in the twelfth century, at the point at which 
 we shall now leave it. 
 
 At the same time a movement of a different nature was 
 produced, the movement for the enfranchisement of the 
 boroughs. Singular inconsistency of rude and ignorant 
 
14:8 HISTORY OF 
 
 manners! If it had been said to the citizens who con 
 quered their liberty with so much passion, that there were 
 men who claimed the rights of human reason, the right of 
 free inquiry — men whom the church treated as heretics—, 
 they would have instantly stoned or burnt them. More 
 than once did Abailard and his friends run this risk. On 
 the other hand, those very writers who claimed the rights 
 of human reason, spoke of the efforts for the enfranchise- 
 ment of the boroughs as of an abominable disorder, and 
 overthrow of society. Between the philosophical and the 
 communal movement, between the political and rational 
 enfranchisement, war seemed to be declaredo Centuries 
 were necessary to effect the reconciliation of these two 
 great powers, and to make them understand that their 
 interests were in common. At the twelfth century they 
 had nothing in common. 
 
CIVILIZA TION m EUROPE. U9 
 
 SEVENTH LECTURE. 
 
 Object of the lecture — Comparative picture of the state of the bor- 
 oughs at the twelfth and the eighteenth century — Double ques- 
 tion — 1st. The enfranchisement of the boroughs — State of the 
 towns from the fifth to the tenth century — Their decay and re- 
 generation — Communal insurrection — Charters — Social and moral 
 effects of the enfranchisement of the boroughs — 2d. Internal 
 government of the boroughs — Assemblies of the people — Magis- 
 trates — High and low burghership — Diversity of the state of the 
 boroughs in the different countries of Europe. 
 
 We have conducted, down to the twelfth century, the 
 history of the two great elements of civilization, the feudal 
 system and the church. It is the third of these funda- 
 mental elements, I mean the boroughs, which now we have 
 to trace likewise down to the twelfth century, confining our- 
 selves to the same limits which we have observed in the 
 other two. 
 
 We sliall find ourselves differently situated with regard to 
 the boroughs, from what we were with regard to the 
 church or the feudal system^ From the fifth to the twelfth 
 century, or the feudal system and the church, although at a 
 later period they experienced new developments, showed 
 themselves almost complete, and in a definitive state; we 
 nave watched heir birth, increase and maturity. It is not 
 80 with the boroughs. It was only at the end of the epoch 
 which now occupies us, in the eleventh and twelfth centu- 
 ries, that they take up any position in history; not but that 
 before then they had a history which was deserving of study; 
 nor is it that there were not long before this epoch traces of 
 
150 BISTORT OF 
 
 their existence; but it was only at the eleventh century 
 that they became evidently visible upon the great scene of 
 the world, and as an important element of modern civiliza- 
 tion. Thus, in the feudal system and the church, from the 
 fifth to the twelfth century, we have seen the effects born 
 and developed from the causes. Whenever, by way of in-i 
 duction or conjecture, we have deduced certain principles 
 and results, we have been able to verify them by an inquiry 
 into the facts themselves. As regards the boroughs, this 
 facility fails us; we are present only at their birth. At 
 present I must confine myself to causes and origins. What 
 I say concerning the effects of the existence of the bor- 
 oughs, and their influence in the course of European 
 civilization, I shall say in some measure by way of antici- 
 pation. I cannot invoke the testimony of contemporaneous 
 and known facts. It is at a later period, from the twelfth 
 to the fifteenth century, that we shall see the boroughs- 
 taking their development, the institution bearing all its 
 fruit, and history proving our assertions. I dwell upon 
 this difference of situation in order to anticipate your ob- 
 jections against the incompleteness and prematurity of the 
 picture which I am about to offer you. I will suppose, that 
 in 1789, at the time of the commencement of the terrible 
 regeneration of France, a burgher of the twelfth century 
 had suddenly appeared among us, and that he had been 
 given to read, provided he knew how, one of the pamphlets 
 which so powerfully agitated mind; for example, the pam- 
 phlet of M. Sieyes — ^' Who is the third estate?^'' His eyes 
 fall upon this sentence, which is the foundation of the 
 pamphlet: '^ The third estate is the French nation, less the 
 nobility and the clergy. ^^ I ask you, what would be tht 
 effect of such a phrase upon the mind of such a man? Do 
 you suppose he would understand it? No, he could not 
 understand the words, the French nation, because they 
 would represent to him no fact with which he was ac 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 151 
 
 quainted, no fact of his age; and if he understood the 
 phrase, if he clearly saw in it this sovereignity attributed 
 to the third estate above all society, of a verity it would 
 appear to him mad, impious, such would be its contra- 
 diction to all that he had seen, to all his ideas and senti- 
 ments. 
 
 Now, ask this astonished burgher to follow you: lead him 
 to one of the French boroughs of this epoch, to Rheims, 
 Beauvais, Laon, or Noyon; a different kind of astonish- 
 ment would seize him: he enters a town; he sees neither' 
 towers nor ramparts, nor burgher militia; no means of 
 defence; all is open, all exposed to the first coQier, and' 
 the first occupant. The burgher would doubt the safety of 
 this borough; he would think it weak and ill-secured. He 
 penetrates into the interior, and inquires what is passing, 
 in what manner it is governed, and what are its inhabit- 
 ants. They tell him that beyond the walls there is a power 
 which taxes them at pleasure without their consent; which 
 convokes their militia and sends it to war without their 
 voice in the matter. He speaks to them of magistrates, of 
 the mayor, and of the aldermen; and he hears that the 
 burghers do not nominate them. He learns that the affairs 
 of the borough are not decided in the borough; but that a 
 man belonging to the king, an intendant. \d ministers 
 them, aione and at a distance. Furthermore, they will tell 
 him that the inhabitants have not the right of assembling 
 and deliberating in common upon matters which concern 
 them; that they are never summoned to the public place 
 by the bell of their church. The burgher of the twelfth 
 oentury would be confounded. First, he was stupefied and 
 dismayed at the grandeur and importance that the com- 
 munal nation, the third estate, attributed to itself; and 
 now he finds it on its own hearthstone in a state of servi- 
 tude weakness, and nonentity, far worse than any thing 
 which he had experienced. He passes from one spectacle 
 
152 HISTORY OF 
 
 to another utterly different, from the view of a sovereign 
 burghership to that of one entirely powerless. How would 
 you have him comprehend this, — reconcile it, so that his 
 mind be not overcome. 
 
 Let us burghers of the nineteenth century go back to 
 the twelfth and be present at an exactly corresponding 
 double spectacle. Whenever we regard the general affaira 
 of a country, its state, its government, the whole society, 
 we shall see no burghers, hear, speak of none; they inter- 
 fere in nothing, and are quite unimportant. And not 
 only have they no importance in the state, but if we would 
 know what they think of their situation, and how they 
 speak of it, and what tneir position in regard to their rela- 
 tion with the government of France in general is in their 
 own eyes, we shall find in their language an extraordinary 
 timidity and humility. Their ancient masters, the lords, 
 from whom they forced their franchises, treat them, at 
 least in words, \\ith a haughtiness which confounds us; 
 but it neither astonishes nor irritates them. 
 
 Let us enter into the borough itself; let us see what 
 passes tnere. The scene changes; we are in a kind of forti- 
 fiea place defended by armed burghers: these burghers 
 tax chemselves, elect their magistrates, judge and punish, 
 and assemble for the purpose of deliberating upon their 
 a&airs. All come to these assemblies; they make war on 
 their own account against their lord; and they have a 
 militia. In a word, they govern themselves; they are 
 sovereigns. This is the same contrast which in the France 
 of the eighteenth century so much astonished the burghers 
 of the twelfth; it is only the parts that are changed. 
 in the latter, the burgher nation is all, the borough noth- 
 ing; in the former, the burghership is nothing, the bor- 
 ough every thing. 
 
 ilssuredly, between the twelfth and the eighteenth cen- 
 cury, many things must have passed — many extraordinary 
 
CIVILIZATION m EUROPE. 153 
 
 events, and many revolutions have been accomplished, to 
 bring about, in the existence of a social class, so enormous 
 a change. Despite this change, there can be no doubt but 
 that the third estate of 1789 was, politically speaking, the 
 descendant and heir of the corporations of the twelfth cen-» 
 tury. This French nation, so haughty and ambitious, 
 which raises its pretensions so high, which so loudly pro- 
 claims its sovereignty, which pretends not only to regener- 
 ate and govern itself, but to govern and regenerate the 
 world, undoubtedly descends, principally at least, from the 
 burghers who obscurely though courageously revolted in 
 the twelfth century, with the sole end of escaping in some 
 corner of the land from the obscure tyranny of the lords. 
 
 Most assuredly it is not in the state of the boroughs in 
 the twelfth century that we shall find the explanation of 
 such a metamorphosis: it was accomplished and had its 
 causes in the events which succeeded it from the twelfth to 
 the eighteenth century; it is there that we shall meet it in 
 its progression. Still the origin of the third estate has 
 played an important part in its history; although we shall 
 not find there the secret of its destiny, we shall, at least, 
 find its germ: for what it was at first is again found in 
 what it has become, perhaps, even to a greater extent than 
 appearances would allow of our presuming. A picture, 
 even an incomplete one, of the state of the boroughs in 
 the twelfth century, will, I think, leave you convinced of 
 this. 
 
 The better to understand this state, it is necessary to 
 consider the boroughs from two principal points of view. 
 There are two great questions to resolve: the first, that of 
 the enfranchisement of the boroughs itself — the question 
 how the revolution was operated, and from what causes — 
 what change it brought into the situation of the burghers, 
 what effect it has had upon society in general, upon the 
 other classes and upon the state. The second question 
 
154 HISTORY OF 
 
 relates only to the government of the boroughs, the internal 
 condition of the enfranchised towns, the relations of the 
 burghers among themselves, and the principles, forms and 
 manners which dominated in the cities. 
 
 It is from these two sources, on the one hand, from the 
 change introduced into the social condition of the burghtjrs, 
 and on the other, from their internal government and their 
 communal condition, that all their influence upon modern 
 civilization originated. There are no facts produced by 
 this influence but which should be referred to one or othe^* 
 of these causes. When, therefore, we shall have summed 
 them up, when we thoroughly understand, on one side, the 
 enfranchisement of the boroughs, and on the other, the 
 government of the boroughs, we shall be in possession, so 
 to speak, of the two keys to their history. 
 
 Lastly, I shall say a word concerning the various state of 
 the boroughs throughout Europe. The facts which I am 
 about to place before you do not apply indifferently to all 
 the boroughs of the twelfth century, to the boroughs of 
 Italy, Spain, England, or France; there are certainly some 
 which belong to all, but the differences are great and im- 
 portant. I shall point them out in passing; we shall again 
 encounter them in a later period of civilization, and we will 
 then investigate them more closely. 
 
 To understand the enfranchisement of the boroughs, it 
 is necessary to recall to your minds what was the state of 
 the towns from the flfth to the eleventh century — from the 
 ,fall of the Roman Empire down to the commencement of 
 the communal revolution. Here, I repeat, the differences 
 were very great; the state of the towns varied prodigiously 
 in the various countries of Europe; still there are general 
 facts which mav be affirmed of almost all towns; and I shall 
 try to confine myself to them. When I depart from this 
 restriction, what I say more especially will apply to the 
 boroughs of France, and particularly to the boroughs of 
 
GIVILIZA riON IN EUROPE. 155 
 
 the north of France, beyond the Ehone and the Loire. 
 These will be the prominent points in the picture which I 
 shall attempt to trace. 
 
 After the fall of the Roman Empire, from the fifth to the 
 tenth century, Ihe condition of the towns was one neither 
 of servitude nor liberty. One runs the same risk in the 
 employment of words that I spoke of the other day in the 
 painting of men and events. When a society and a lan- 
 guage has long existed the words take a complete, deter- 
 mined and precise sense, a legal and official sense, in a 
 manner. Time has introduced into the sense of each term 
 a multitude of ideas which arise the moment that it is pro- 
 nounced, and which, not belonging to the same date, are 
 not applicable alike to all times. For example, the words 
 servitude and liberty call to our minds in the present day 
 ideas infinitely more precise and complete than the corre- 
 sponding facts of the eighth, ninth or tenth centuries. If 
 we say that, at the eighth century, the towns were in a state 
 of liberty, we say far too much; in the present day we attach 
 a sense to the word liberty which does not represent the 
 fact of the eighth century. We shall fall into the same 
 error if we say that the towns were in a state of servitude, 
 because the word implies an entirely different thing from 
 the municipal facts of that period. 
 
 I repeat that at that time the towns were neither in a 
 state of servitude nor liberty; they suffered all the ills 
 which accompany weakness; they were a prey to the vio- 
 lence and continual depredations of the strong; but yet, 
 despite all these fearful disorders, despite their impoverish- 
 ment and depopulation, the towns had preserved and did 
 still preserve a certain importance: in most of them there 
 was a clergy, a bishop, who by the great exercise of power, 
 and his influence upon the population, served as a con- 
 necting link between them and their conquerors, and thus 
 maintained the town in a kind of independence, and covered 
 
156 HISTORY OF 
 
 it with the shield of religion. Moreover, there remained 
 in the towns many wrecks of Eoman institutions. One 
 meets at this epoch (and many facts of this nature have 
 been collected by MM. de Savigny and Hull man, Made- 
 moiselle de Lezardiere, etc.) with frequent convocations 
 of the senate, of the curia; there is mention made of 
 public assemblies and municipal magistrates. The 
 affairs of the civil order, wills, grants and a multitude of 
 acts of civil life, were, legalized in the curia by its magis* 
 trates, as was the case in the Roman municipality. The 
 remains of urban activity and liberty, it is true, gradually 
 disappeared. Barbarism, disorder and always increasing 
 misfortunes accelerated the depopulation. The establish- 
 ment of the masters of the land in the rural districts, and 
 the growing preponderance of agricultural life, were new 
 causes of decay to the towns. The bishops themselves, 
 when they had entered the frame of feudalism, placed less 
 importance on their municipal existence. Finally, when 
 feudalism had completely triumphed, the towns, without 
 falling into the servitude of serfs, found themselves entirely 
 in the hands of a lord, inclosed within some fief, and 
 robbed of all the independence which had been left tG 
 them, even in the most barbarous times, in the first ages of 
 the invasion. So that from the fifth century down to the 
 time of the complete organization of feudalism the con- 
 dition of the towns was always upon the decline. 
 
 When once feudalism was thoroughly established, when 
 each man had taken his place, and was settled upon his 
 land, when the wandering life had ceased, after some time 
 the towns again began to acquire some importance and to 
 display anew some activity. It is, as you know, with 
 iliuman activity as with the fecundity of the earth; from 
 the time that commotion ceases it reappears and makes 
 every thing germinate and flourish. With the least glimpse 
 of order and peace man takes hope, and with hope goes to 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 157 
 
 work. It was thus with the towns; the moment that 
 feudalism was a little fixed new wants sprang up among 
 the fief-holders, a certain taste for progress and ameliora- 
 tion; to supply this want a little commerce and industry 
 reappeared in the towns of their domain; riches and popu- 
 lation returned to them; slowly, it is true, but still they 
 returned. Among the circumstances which contributed 
 thereto, one, I think, is too little regarded; this is the right 
 of sanctuary in the churches. Before the boroughs had 
 established themselves, before their strength and their 
 ramparts enabled them to offer an asylum to the afflicted 
 population of the country, when as yet they had no safety 
 but that afforded by the church, this sufficed to draw into 
 the towns many unhappy fugitives. They came to shelter 
 themselves in or around the church; and it was not only 
 the case with the inferior class, with serfs and boors, who 
 sought safety, but often with men of importance, rich out- 
 laws. The chronicles of the time are filled with examples 
 of this nature. One sees men, formerly powerful them- 
 selves, pursued by a more powerful neighbor, or even by 
 the king himself, who abandon their domains, carrying 
 with them all they can, shut themselves up within a town, 
 and putting themselves under the protection of the church 
 become citizens. These kind of refugees have not been, 
 I think, without their influence upon the progress of the 
 towns; they introduced into them riches, and elements of 
 a superior population to the mass of their inhabitants. 
 Besides, who knows not that when once an association is 
 in part formed, men flock to it, both because they find 
 more safety and also for the mere sake of that sociability 
 which never leaves them? 
 
 By the concurrence of all these causes, after the feudal 
 government was in some manner regulated, the towns 
 regained a little strength. Their security, however, did 
 not return to them in the same proportion. The wander- 
 
158 mSTORT OF 
 
 ing life had ceased, it is true, but the wandering life had 
 been for the conquerers, for the new proprietors of the 
 soil, a principal means of satisfying their passions. When 
 they had wished to pillage they made an excursion, they 
 went to a distance to seek another fortune, anotLer 
 domain. When each was nearly established, when it 
 ' became necessary to renounce this conquering vagrancy, 
 there was no cessation of their avidity, their inordinate 
 wants, nor their violent desires. Their weight then fell on 
 the people nearest at hand, upon the towns. Instead of going 
 to a distance to pillage, they pillaged at home. The extor- 
 tions of the nobility upon the burgesses were redoubled 
 from the commencement of the tenth century. Whenever 
 the proprietor of a domain in which a town was situated 
 had any fit of avarice to satisfy it was upon the burgesses 
 that he exercised his violence. This, above all, was the 
 epoch in which the complaints of the burgesses against the 
 absolute want of security of commerce burst forth. The 
 merchants, after having made their journeys, were not per- 
 mitted to enter their towns in peace; the roads and ap- 
 proaches were incessantly beset by the lord and his fol- 
 lowers. The time at which industry was recommencing 
 was exactly that in which security was most wanting. 
 Nothing can irritate a man more than being thus inter- 
 fered with in his work, and despoiled of the fruits which 
 he had promised himself from it. He is far more annoyed 
 and enraged than when harrassed in an existence which has 
 been some time fixed and monotonous, when that which is 
 carried from him has not been the result of his own ac- 
 tivity, has not excited in his bosom all the pleasures of 
 hope. There is, in the progressive movement toward 
 fortune of a man or a population, a principle of resistance 
 against injustice and violence far more energetic than in 
 any other situation. 
 
 This, then, was the position of the towns during the 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 159 
 
 tenth century; they had more strength, more importance, 
 more riches, and more interests to defend. At the same 
 time it was more than ever necessary to defend them, 
 because this strength, these interests, these riches, became 
 an object of envy to the lords. The danger and evil in* 
 |creased with the means of resisting them. Moreover, tlr 
 'feudal system gave to all those who participated in it thb 
 example of continued resistance; it never presented to the 
 mind the idea of an organized government, capable of rul- 
 ing and quelling all by imposing its single intervention. 
 It offered, on the contrary, the continuous spectacle of the 
 individual will refusing submission. Such, for the most 
 part, was the position of the possessors of fiefs toward their 
 superiors, of the lesser lords toward the greater; so that at 
 the moment when the towns were tormented and oppressed, 
 when they had new and most important interests to sus- 
 tain, at that moment they had before their eyes a continual 
 lesson of insurrection. The feudal system has rendered 
 one service to humanity, that of incessantly showing to 
 men the individual will in the full display of its energy. 
 The lesson prospered: in spite of their weakness, in spite 
 of the infinite inequality of condition between them and 
 their lords, the towns arose in insurrection on all sides. 
 
 It is difficult to assign an exact date to this event. It is 
 generally said that the enfranchisement of the commons 
 commenced in the eleventh century; but, in all great 
 events, how many unhappy and unknown efforts occur 
 before the one which succeeds! In all things, to accom- 
 plish its designs. Providence lavishly expends courage, 
 virtues, sacrifices, in a word, man himself; and it is only 
 after an unknown number of unrecorded labors, after a 
 host of noble hearts have succumbed in discouragement, 
 convinced that their cause is lost^ it is only then that the 
 cause triumphs. It doubtless happened thus with the 
 commons. Doubtless, in the eighth, ninth and tenth cen- 
 
160 HISTORY OF 
 
 turies, there were many attempts at resistance, and move- 
 ments toward enfranchisement, which not only were un- 
 successful, but of which the memory remained alike 
 without glory or success. It is true, however, that these 
 attempts have influenced posterior events; they reanimated 
 and sustained the spirit of liberty, and prepared the way 
 for the great insurrection of the eleventh century. 
 
 I say designedly, insurrection. The enfranchisement of 
 the commons in the eleventh century was the fruit of a 
 veritable insurrection, and a veritable war, a war declared 
 by the population of the towns against their lords. The 
 first fact which is always met with in such histories, is the 
 rising of the burgesses, who arm themselves with the first 
 thing that comes to hand; the expulsion of the followers 
 of the lord who have come to put in force some extortion; 
 or it is an enterprise against the castle; these are always 
 the characteristics of the war. If the insurrection fails, 
 what is done by the conqueror? He orders the destruction 
 of the fortification raised by the citizens, not only round 
 the town but round each house. One sees at the time of 
 the confederation, after having promised to act in common, 
 and after taking the oath of mutual aid, the first act of the 
 citizen is to fortify himself within his house. Some 
 boroughs, of which at this day the name is entirely obscure, 
 as, for example, the little borough of Vezelay in Nivernois, 
 maintained a very long and energetic struggle against their 
 lord. Victory fell to the abbot of Vezelay; he immedi- 
 ately enjoined the demolition of the fortifications of the 
 citizen's houses; the names of many are preserved whose 
 fortified houses were thus immediately destroyed, 
 
 Let us enter the interior of the habitations of our ances- 
 tors; let us study the mode of their construction and the 
 kind of life which they suggest; all is devoted to war, all 
 has the character of war. 
 
 This is the construction of a citizeh^s house in the twelfth 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 161 
 
 century, as far as we can follow it out: there were generally 
 three floors, with one room upon each floor; the room on 
 the ground floor was the common room, where the family 
 took their meals; the first floor was very high up, by way 
 of security ; this is the most remarkable characteristic of 
 the construction. On this floor was the room which the 
 citizen and his wife inhabited. The house was almost 
 always flanked by a tower at the angle, generally of a 
 square form; another symptom of war, a means of defense. 
 On the second floor was a room, the use of which is doubt 
 ful, but which probably served for the children, and the 
 rest of the family. Above, very often, was a small plat- 
 form, evidently intended for a place of observation. The 
 whole construction of the house suggests war. This was 
 the evident character, the true name of the movement 
 which produced the enfranchisement of the commons. 
 
 When war has lasted a certain time, whoever may be the 
 belligerent powers, it necessarily leads to peace. The 
 treaties of peace between the commons and their adver- 
 saries were the charters. The borough charters are 
 mere treaties of peace between the burgesses and their 
 lord. 
 
 The insurrection was general. When I say general, I do 
 not mean that there was union or coalition between all the 
 citizens in a country; far from it. The situation of the 
 commons was almost everywhere the same; they were 
 everywhere a prey to the same danger, afflicted with the 
 same evil. Having acquired almost the same means of 
 resistance and defense, they employed them at nearly the 
 same epoch. Example, too, may have done something, 
 and the success of one or two boroughs may have been con- 
 tagious. The charters seem sometimes to have been drawn 
 after the same pattern; that of Noyon, for example, served 
 as a model for those of Beauvais, St. Quentin, etc. I doubt, 
 however, whether example had so much influence as ha» 
 
162 HISTORY OF 
 
 been supposed. Communications were difficult and rare, 
 and hearsay vague and transient; it is more likely that the 
 insurrection was the result of a similar situation, and of a 
 general and spontaneous movement. When I say general, 
 I mean to say that it took place almost everywhere; for, I 
 repeat, that the movement was not unanimous and con- 
 certed, all was special and local; each borough was insur- ; 
 gent against its lord upon its own account; all passed in its 
 own locality. 
 
 The vicissitudes of the struggle were great. Not only 
 did success alternate, but even when peace seemed estab- 
 lished, after the charter had been sworn to by each party, 
 it was violated and eluded in every way. The kings played 
 a great part in the alternations of this struggle. Of this I 
 shall speak in detail when I treat of royalty itself. Its 
 influence in the movement of communal enfranchisement 
 has been sometimes praised, perhaps too highly; some- 
 times, I think, too much undervalued, and sometimes 
 denied. I shall confine myself at present to saying that it 
 frequently interfered, sometimes invoked by the boroughs 
 and sometimes by the lords; that it has often played con- 
 trary parts; that it has acted sometimes on one principle, 
 sometimes on another; that it has unceasingly changed its 
 intentions, detsigns, and conduct; but that, upon the 
 whole, it has done much, and with more of good than of 
 evil effect. 
 
 Despite these vicissitudes, despite the continual viola- 
 tions of the charters, the enfranchisement of the boroughs 
 was consummated in the twelfth century. All Europe, 
 and especially France, which for a century had been cov- 
 ered with insurrections, was covered with charters more or 
 less favorable; the corporations enjoyed them with more or 
 less security, but still they enjoyed them. The fact pre- 
 vailed, and the right was established. 
 
 Let us now attempt to discover the immediate results of 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 163 
 
 this great fact, and what changes it introduced into the 
 condition of the burgesses, in the midst of society. 
 
 In the first place, it changed nothing, at least not in the 
 commencement, in the relations of the burgesses with the 
 general government of the country — with what we of the 
 present day call the state; they interfered no more in it 
 than heretofore, all remained local, inclosed within the 
 limits of the fief. 
 
 One circumstance, however, should modify this asser- 
 tion, a bond now began to be established between the citi- 
 zens and the king. At times the burgesses had invoked 
 the aid of the king against their lord, or his guarantee, 
 when the charter was promised or sworn to. At other 
 times, the lords had invoked the judgment of the king 
 between themselves and the citizens. At the demand of 
 either one or other of the parties, in a multitude of 
 different causes, royalty had interfered in the quarrel; 
 from thence resulted a frequent relation, and some- 
 times a rather intimate one, between the burgesses and the 
 king. It was by this relation that the burgesses ap- 
 proached the center of the state, and began to have a 
 connection with the general government. 
 
 Notwithstanding that all remained local, a new and 
 general class was created by the enfranchisement. No 
 coalition had existed between the citizens; they had, as a 
 class, no common and public existence. But the country 
 was filled with men in the same situation, having the same 
 interests and the same manners, between whom a certain 
 bond and unity could not fail of being gradually established^ 
 which should give rise to the bourgeoisie. The formation 
 of a great social class, the bourgeoisie, was the necessarj 
 result of the local enfranchisement of the burghers. 
 
 It must not be imagined that this class was at this time 
 that which it has since become. Not only has its situation 
 changed, but its elements were entirely different: in tfai^ 
 
164 BI8T0HT OF 
 
 twelfth century it consisted almost entirely of mercliBnte, 
 traders carrying on a petty commerce, and of small pro* 
 prietors, either of land or houses, who had taken up their 
 residence in the town. Three centuries after, the bour- 
 geoisie comprehended, besides, advocates, physicians, 
 learned men of all sorts, and all the local magistrates. 
 The bourgeoisie was formed gradually, and of very different 
 elements; as a general thing, in its history no account is 
 given of its succession or diversity. Wherever the bour- 
 geoisie is spoken of, it seems to be supposed that at all 
 epochs it was composed of the same elements. This is an 
 absurd supposition. It is perhaps in the diversity of its 
 composition at different epochs of history that we should 
 look for the secret of its destiny. So long as it did not 
 include magistrates nor men of letters, so long as it was not 
 what it became in the sixteenth century, it possessed neither 
 the same importance nor the same character in the state. 
 To comprehend the vicissitudes of its fortune and power, 
 it is necessary to observe in its bosom the successive rise of 
 new professions, new moral positions, and a new intellectual 
 state. In the twelfth century, I repeat, it was composed 
 of only the small merchants, who retired into the towns 
 after having made their purchases and sales, and of the 
 proprietors of houses and small domains who had fixed their 
 residence there. Here we see the European burgher class 
 in its first elements. 
 
 The third great consequence of the enfranchisement of 
 the commons was the contest of classes, a contest which 
 constitutes the fact itself, and which fills modern history. 
 Modern Europe was born from the struggle of the various 
 classes of society. Elsewhere, as I have already observed, 
 this struggle led to very different results: in Asia, for 
 example, one class completely triumphed, and the govern- 
 ment of castes succeeded to that of classes, and society 
 sunk into immobility. Thank God, none of this has hap- 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE, 1 65 
 
 pened in Europe. Neither of the classes has been able to 
 conquer or subdue the others; the struggle, instead of 
 becoming a principle of immobility, has been a cause of 
 progress; the relations of the principal classes among them- 
 selves, the necessity under which they found themselves of 
 combating and yielding by turns; the variety of their in- 
 terests and passions, the desire to conquer without the 
 power to satisfy it; from all this has arisen perhaps the most 
 energetic and fertile principle of the development of 
 European civilization. The classes have incessantly strug- 
 gled; they detested each other; an utter diversity of situa- 
 tion, of interests, and of manners, produced between them 
 a profound moral hostility: and yet they have progressively 
 approached nearer, come to an understanding, and assimi- 
 lated; every European nation has seen the birth and develop- 
 ment in its bosom of a certain universal spirit, a certain 
 community of interests, ideas, and sentiments, which have 
 triumphed over diversity and war. In France, for example, 
 in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the social and 
 moral separation of the classes was still very profound; yet 
 the fusion was advancing; still, without doubt, at that time 
 there Avas a veritable French nation, not an exclusive class, 
 but which embraced them all, and in which all were ani- 
 mated by a certain sentiment in common, having a common 
 social existence, strongly impressed, in a word, with nation- 
 ality. Thus, from the bosom of variety, enmity and wai 
 has arisen in modern Europe the national unity so striking 
 in the present day, and which tends to develop and refine 
 itself, from day to day, with still greater brilliancy. 
 
 Such are the great, external, apparent and social effects 
 of the revolution which at present occupies us. Let us 
 investigate its moral effects, what changes it brought about 
 in the soul of the citizens themselves, what they became, 
 what, in fact, they necessarily became morally in their new 
 situation. 
 
166 EI8T0R1 OP 
 
 There is a fact by which it is impossible not to be struck 
 while contemplating the relation of the burghers toward 
 the state in general, the government of the state, and the 
 general interests of the country, not only in the twelfth 
 century, but also in subsequent ages; I mean the prodig- 
 ious timidity of the citizens, their humility, the excessive 
 modesty of their pretensions as to the government of the 
 country, and the facility with which they contented them- 
 selves. Nothing is seen among them of the true political 
 spirit which aspires to influence, reform and govern; noth^ 
 ing which gives proof of boldness of thought or grandeur 
 of ambition; one might call sensible-minded, honest, freed 
 men. 
 
 There are but two sources in the sphere of politics from 
 which greatness of ambition or firmness of thought can 
 arise. It is necessary to have either the feeling of immense 
 importance, of great power exercised upon the destiny ol 
 others, and in a vast extent — or else it is necessary to bear 
 within one's self a feeling of complete individual independ- 
 ence, a confidence in one's own liberty, a conviction of a 
 destiny foreign to all will but that of the man himself. 
 To one or other of these two conditions seem to belong 
 boldness of thought, greatness of ambition, the desire 
 of acting in an enlarged sphere, and of obtaining great 
 results. 
 
 Neither one nor the other of these conditions entered 
 into the condition of the burghers of the middle ages. 
 These, as you have just seen, were only important to them- 
 selves; they exercised no sensible influence beyond their 
 own town, or upon the state in general. Nor could they 
 have any great sentiment of individual independence. It 
 was in vain that they conquered, in vain that they obtained 
 a charter. The citizen of a town, in comparing himself 
 with the inferior lord who dwelt near him, and who had 
 just been conquered, was not the less sensible of his ex- 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 167 
 
 treme inferiority; he has not filled with the naughty senti- 
 ment of independence which animated the proprietor of 
 the fief; he held not his portion of liberty from himself 
 alone, but from his association with others; a difficult and 
 precarious succor. Hence that character of reserve, of 
 timidity of spirit, of retiring modesty and humility of 
 language, even in conjunction with a firmness of conduct, 
 which is so deeply imprinted in the life of the citizens, not 
 only in the twelfth century, but even of their descendants. 
 They had no taste for great enterprises, and when fate 
 forced them among them, they were uneasy and embar- 
 rassed; the responsibility annoyed them; they felt that 
 they were out of their sphere of action, and wished to 
 return to it; they therefore treated on moderate terms. 
 Thus one finds in the course of European history, especially 
 of France, that the bourgeoisie has been esteemed, con- 
 sidered, flattered, and even respected, but rarely feared; it 
 has rarely produced upon its adversaries an impression of a 
 great and haughty power, of a truly political power. There 
 .is nothing to be surprised at in this weakness of the modern 
 bourgeoisie; its principal cause lay in its very origin, and 
 in the circumstances of its enfranchisement, which I have 
 just placed before you. A high ambition, independently 
 of social conditions, enlargement and firmness of political 
 thought, the desire to participate in the affairs of the 
 country, the full consciousness of the greatness of man as 
 man, and of the power which belongs to him, if he is 
 capable of exercising it, these are in Europe sentiments 
 and dispositions entirely modern, the fruit of modern 
 civilization, the fruit of that glorious and powerful univer- 
 sality which characterizes it, and which cannot fail oi 
 insuring to the public an influence and weight in the gov- 
 ernment of the country, which were always wanting, and 
 necessarily so, to the burghers our ancestors. 
 
 On the other hand, they acquired and displayed, in the 
 
168 HISTORY OF 
 
 struggle of local interests which they had to maintain in 
 their narrow stage, a degree of energy, devotedness, perse* 
 verance and patience, which has never been surpassed. 
 The difficulty of the enterprise was such, and such the 
 perils which they had to strive against, that a display of 
 unexampled courage was necessary. In the present day, a 
 very false idea is formed of the life of the burghers in the 
 twelfth and thirteenth centuries. You have read in one 
 of the novels of Walter Scott, Quentin Durivard, the rep- 
 resentation he has given of the burgomaster of Liege; he 
 has made of him a regular burgher in a comedy, fat, indo- 
 lent, without experience or boldness, and wholly occupied 
 in passing his life easily. Whereas, the burghers of this 
 period always had a coat of mail upon their breast, a pike 
 in their hand; their life was as tempestuous, as warlike 
 and as hardy as that of the lords with whom they fought. 
 It was in these continual perils, in struggling against all 
 the difficulties of practical life, that they acquired that 
 manly character and that obstinate energy which is, in a 
 measure, lost in the soft activity of modern times. 
 
 None of these social or moral efforts of the enfranchise- 
 ment of the boroughs had attained their development in 
 the twelfth century; it is in the following centuries that 
 they distinctly appeared, and are easily discernible. It is 
 certain, however, that the germ was laid in the original 
 situation of the boroughs, in the manner of their enfran- 
 chisement, and the place then taken by the burghers in 
 society. I was, therefore, right in placing them before you 
 alone. Let us now investigate the interior of the borough 
 of the twelfth century; let us see how it was governed, 
 what principles and facts dominated in the relations of the 
 citizens among themselves. 
 
 You will recollect that in speaking of the municipal 
 system, bequeathed by the Roman Empire to the modern 
 world, I told you that the Roman Empire was a great 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 169 
 
 coalition of municipalities, formerly sovereign municipal- 
 ities like Rome itself. Each of these towns had originally 
 possessed the same existence as Rome, had once been a 
 small independent republic, making peace and war, and 
 governing itself as it thought proper. In proportion as 
 they became incorporated with the Roman Empire, the 
 rights which constitute sovereignty, the right of peace and 
 war, the right of legislation, the right of taxation, etc., left 
 each town and centered in Rome. There remained but 
 one sovereign municipality, Rome, reigning over a large 
 number of municipalities which had now only a civil exist- 
 ence. The municipal system changed its character; and 
 instead of being a political government and a system of 
 sovereignty, it became a mode of administration. 
 
 This was the great revolution which was consummated 
 under the Roman Empire. The municinal system became 
 a mode of administration, was reduced to the government 
 of local affairs and the civic interests of the city. This 
 was the condition in which the towns and their institutions 
 were left at the fall of the Roman Empire. In the midst 
 of the chaos and barbarism, all ideas, as well as facts, were 
 in utter confusion; all the attributes of sovereignty and of 
 the administration were confounded. These distinctions 
 were no longer attended to. Affairs were abandoned to 
 the course of necessity. There was a sovereign, or an 
 administrator, in each locality, according to circumstances. 
 When the towns rose in insurrection to recover some 
 security, they took upon themselves the sovereignty. It 
 was not in any way for the purpose of following out a 
 political theory, nor from a feeling of their dignity; it was 
 that they might have the means of resisting the lords 
 against whom they rebelled that they appropriated to them- 
 selves the right of levying militia, of taxations for tlie pur- 
 poses of war, of themselves nominating their chiefs and 
 magistrates; in a word, of governing themselves. The 
 
170 HISTORY OF 
 
 government in the interior of the towns was the means oi 
 defense and security. Thus sovereignty re-entered the 
 municipal system, from which it had been eradicated by 
 the conquests of Rome. The boroughs again became sov- 
 ereign. We have here the political character of their 
 enfranchisement. 
 
 It does not follow that this sovereignty was complete. 
 It always retained some trace of external sovereignty: 
 sometimes the lord preserved to himself the right of send- 
 ing a magistrate into the town, who took for his assessors 
 the municipal magistrates; sometimes he possessed the 
 right of receiving certain revenues; elsewhere, a tribute 
 was secured to him. Sometimes the external sovereignty 
 of the community lay in the hands of the king. 
 
 The boroughs themselves having entered within the 
 frame of feudalism had vassals, became suzerains, and by 
 virtue of this title parj:ly possessed themselves of the sov- 
 ereignty which was inherent in the lord paramount. 
 This caused a confusion between the rights which they had 
 from their feudal position, and those which they had con- 
 •quered by their ihsurrections; and under this double title 
 the sovereignty belonged to them. 
 
 Thus we see, as far as can be judged from very deficient 
 monuments, how government was administered, at least in 
 the early ages in the interior of a borough. The totality 
 of the inhabitants formed the assembly of the borough; all 
 those who had sworn the borough oath (and whoever lived 
 within the walls was obliged to do so) were convoked by 
 the ringing of a bell to the general assembly. It was there 
 that they nominated the magistrates. The number and 
 form of the magistracy were very various. The magis- 
 trates being once nominated, the assembly was dissolved, 
 and the magistrates governed almost alone, somewhat 
 arbitrarily, and without any other responsibility than that 
 of the new elections or popular riots, which were the chief 
 mode of responsibilitv in those times. 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 171 
 
 You see that the internal organization of boroughs reduced 
 itself to two very simple elements; the general assembly 
 of the inhabitants, and a government invested with an 
 almost arbitrary power, under the responsibility of insur- 
 rections and riots. It was impossible, principally from the 
 state of manners, to establish a regular government, with 
 veritable guarantees for order and duration. The greater 
 portion of the population of the boroughs was in a state of 
 ignorance, brutality and ferocity, which it would have 
 been very difficult to govern. After a short time, there was 
 almost as little security in the interior of the borough as 
 there had formed v been in the relations between the 
 
 ft/ 
 
 burgher and the lord. There was formed, however, very 
 quickly a superior bourgeoisie. You easily comprehend 
 the causes. The state of ideas and of social relations led 
 to the establishment of industrial professions, legally con- 
 stituted corporations. The system of privilege was intro- 
 duced into the interior of boroughs, and from this a great 
 inequality ensued. There was shortly everywhere a cer- 
 tain number of rich and important burghers, and a work- 
 ing population more or less numerous, which, in spite of 
 its inferiority, had an important influence in the affairs- 
 of the borough. The boroughs were then divided into a 
 high bourgeoisie and a population subject to all the errors, 
 and vices of a populace. The superior bourgeoisie found 
 itself pressed between the immense difficulty of governing 
 the inferior population, and the incessant attempts of the 
 ancient master of the borough, who sought to re-establish 
 his power. Such was its situation, not only in France but 
 in all Europe, down to the sixteenth century. This per- 
 haps has been the chief means of preventing the corpora- 
 tions, in most European nations, and especially in France, 
 from possessing all the important politi'cal influence which 
 they might otherwise have had. Two principles carried 
 on incessant warfare within them; in the inferior popula- 
 
172 HISTORY Oh' 
 
 tion, a blind, unbridled and ferocious spirit of democracy; 
 and as a consequence, in the superio • population, a spirit 
 of timidity at making agreements, an excessive facility of 
 conciliation, whether in regard to the king, the ancient 
 lords, or in re-establishing some peace and order in the in- 
 terior of the borough. Each of these principles could not 
 but tend to deprive the corporation of any great influence 
 in the state. 
 
 All these effects were not visible in the twelfth century; 
 still, however, one might foresee them in the very character 
 of the insurrection, in the manner of its commencement, 
 and in the condition of the various elements of the com- 
 munal population. 
 
 Such, if I mistake not, are the principal characteristics 
 and the general results of the enfranchisement of the bor- 
 oughs and of their internal government. I forewarn you 
 that these facts were neither so uniform nor so universal 
 as 1 have broadly represented them. There is great diver- 
 sity in the history oi boroughs in Europe. For example, 
 in Italy and in the south of France, the Roman munici- 
 pal system dominated; there was not nearly so much diver- 
 sity and inequality here as in the north, and the communal 
 organization was much better, either by reason of the 
 Roman traditions, or from the superior condition of the 
 population. In the north the feudal system prevailed in 
 the communal existence; there, all was subordinate to the 
 struggle against the lords. The boroughs of the south 
 were more occupied with their internal organization, ame- 
 lioration and progress; they thought only of becoming 
 independent republics. The destiny of the northern bor- 
 oughs, in France particularly, showed themselves more 
 and more incomplete and destined for less fine develop- 
 ments. If we glance at the boroughs of Germany, Spain 
 and England, we shall find in them other differences. I 
 shall not enter into these details; we shall remark some of 
 
. CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 17^ 
 
 them as we advance in the history of civilization. In their 
 origin, all things are nearly confounded under one phys- 
 iognomy; it is only by successive developments that variety 
 shows itself. Then commences a new development which 
 urges society toward free and high unity, the glorious end 
 of all the efforts and wishes of the human race. 
 
174 BISTORT Olf 
 
 EIGHTH LECTURE. 
 
 Object of the lecture — Glance at the general history of European civ- 
 ilization — Its distinctive and fundamental character — Epoch at 
 which that character began to appear — State of Europe from the 
 twelfth to the sixteenth century — Character of the crusades — 
 Their moral and social causes — These causes no longer existed at 
 the end of the thirteenth century — Effects of the crusades upon 
 civilization. 
 
 I HAVE not as yet explained to you the complete plan of 
 my course. I commenced by indicating its object; I then 
 passed in review European civilization without considering it 
 as a whole, without indicating to you at one and the same 
 time the point of departure, the route, and the port, the 
 commencement, the middle and the end. We have now, 
 however, arrived at an epoch when this entire view, this 
 general sketch of the region which we survey, has become 
 necessary. The times which have hitherto occupied us in 
 some measure explain themselves, or are explained by im- 
 mediate and evident results. Those upon which we are 
 about to enter would not be understood, nor even would 
 they excite any lively interest, unless they are connected 
 with even the most indirect and distant of their conse- 
 quences. 
 
 In so extensive a study, moments occur when we can no 
 longer consent to proceed while all before us is unknown 
 and dark. We wish not only to know whence we have 
 come and where we are, but also to what point we tend. 
 This is what we now feel. The epoch to which we are 
 approaching is not intelligible^, nor can its importance be 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 175 
 
 appreciated except by the relations which unite it to 
 modern times. Its true meaning is not evident until a later 
 -oeriod. 
 
 We are in possession of almost all the essential elements 
 of European civilization. I say almost, because as yet I 
 have not spoken to you of royalty. The decisive crisis of 
 the development of royalty did not take place until the 
 twelfth or even thirteenth century. It was not until then 
 that the institution was really constituted, and that it 
 began to occupy a definite place in modern society. I 
 have, therefore, not treated of it earlier; it will form the 
 subject of my next lecture. With this exception, I repeat, 
 we have before us all the great elements of European civili- 
 sation. You have beheld the birth of feudal aristocracy, 
 of the church, the boroughs; you have seen the institu- 
 tions which should correspond to these facts; and not only 
 the institutions, but also the principles and ideas which 
 these facts should raise up in the mind. Thus, while 
 treating of feudalism, you were present at the cradle of the 
 modern family, at the hearth of domestic life; you have 
 comprehended, in all its energy, the sentiment of individ- 
 ual independence, and the place which it has held in our 
 civilization. With regard to the church, you have seen the 
 purely religious society rise up, its relations with the civil 
 society, the theocratical principle, the separation of the 
 spiritual and temporal powers, the first blows of persecu- 
 tions, and the first cries of the liberty of conscience. The 
 rising boroughs have shown you glimpses of an association 
 founded upon altogether other principles than those of 
 feudalism and the church, the diversity of the social 
 classes, their struggles, the first and profound characteris- 
 tics of modern burgher manners, timidity of spirit side by 
 side with energy of soul, the demagogue spirit side by side 
 with the legal spirit. In a word, all the elements which 
 have contributed to the formation of European society, all 
 
176 HISTORY OF 
 
 that it has been, and, so to speak, all that it has suggested^ 
 have already met your view. 
 
 Let us now transport ourselves to the heart of modern 
 Europe. I speak not of existing Europe, after the pro- 
 digious metamorphoses which we have witnessed, but of 
 Europe in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. I ask 
 you, do you recognize the society which we have just seen 
 in the twelfth century? What a wonderful difference! I 
 have already dwelt upon this difference as regards the 
 boroughs. I afterward tried to make you sensible of how 
 little the third estate of the eighteenth century resembled 
 that of the twelfth. If we make the same essay upon 
 feudalism and the church, we shall be struck with the 
 same metamorphosis. There was no more resemblance be- 
 tween the nobility of the court of Louis XV and the 
 feudal aristocracy, or between the church of Cardinal de 
 Beruis and that of the Abbot Suger, than between the 
 third estate of the eighteenth century and the bourgeoisie 
 of the twelfth century. Between these two epochs, 
 although already in possession of all its elements, society 
 was entirely transformed. 
 
 I wish to establish clearly the general and essential char- 
 acter of this transformation. From the fifth to the twelfth 
 century society contained all that I have described. It 
 possessed kings, a lay aristocracy, a clergy, burghers, labor- 
 ers, religious and civil powers — in a word, the germs oi 
 everything which is necessary to form a nation and a gov- 
 ernment, and yet there was neither government nor nation. 
 Throughout the epoch upon which we are occupied there 
 was nothing bearing a resemblance to a people, properly so 
 called, nor to a veritable government, in the sense which 
 the words have for us in the present day. We have encoun- 
 tered a multitude of particular forces, of special facts, and 
 local institutions; bftt nothing general or public; no policy, 
 properly so called, nor no true nationality. 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. i 77 
 
 Let us regard, on the contrary, the Europe of the seven- 
 teenth and eighteenth centuries; we shall everywhere see 
 two leading figures present themselves upon the scene of 
 the world, the government and the people. The action of 
 a universal power upon the whole country, and the influ- 
 ence of the country upon the power which governs it, this 
 is society, this is history: the relations of the two great 
 forces, their alliance or their struggle, this is what history 
 discovers and relates. The nobility, the clergy and the 
 burghers, all these particular classes and forces, now only 
 appear in a secondary rank, almost like shadows effaced by 
 those two great bodies, the people and its government. 
 
 This, if I mistake not, is the essential feature which dis- 
 tinguishes modern from primitive Europe; this is the met- 
 amorphosis which was accomplished from the thirteenth to 
 the sixteenth centuries. 
 
 It is then from the thirteenth to the sixteenth century, 
 that is to say, in the period which we are about to enter 
 upon, that the secret of this must be sought for; it is the 
 distinctive character of this epoch that it was employed in 
 converting primitive Europe into modern Europe; and 
 hence its historical importance and interest. If it is not 
 considered from this point of view, and unless we every- 
 where seek what has arisen from it, not only will it not be 
 understood, but we shall soon be weary of and annoyed by 
 it. Indeed, viewed in itself, and apart from its results, it 
 is a period without character, a period when confusion con- 
 tinues to increase, without o\ir being able to discover its 
 causes, a period of movement without direction, and of 
 agitation without result. Royalty, nobility, clergy, bour- 
 geoisie, all the elements of social order seem to turn in the 
 same circle, equally incapable of progress or repose. They 
 make attempts of all kinds, but all fail; they attempt to 
 settle governments and to establish public liberties; they 
 even attempt religious reforms, but nothing is accomplished 
 
178 HISTORY OF 
 
 .-nothing perfected. If ever the human race has been 
 abandoned to a destiny, agitated and yet stationary, to 
 labor incessant, yet barren of effect, it was between the 
 thirteenth and the fifteenth centuries that such was the 
 pliysiognomy of its condition and its history. 
 
 I know of but one work in which this physiognomy is 
 truly shown, the Histoire des dues de Burgogne, by M. de 
 Barante. I do not speak of the truth which sparkles in 
 the descriptions of manners, or in the detailed recital of 
 facts, but of that universal truth which makes the entire 
 book a faithful image, a sincere mirror of the whole epoch, 
 of which it at the same time shows the movement and the 
 monotony. 
 
 Considered, on the contrary, in its relation to that which 
 follows, as the transition from the primitive to the modern 
 Europe, this epoch brightens and becomes animated; we 
 discover in it a totality, a direction and a progress; its unity 
 and interest . consist in the slow and secret work which is 
 accomplished in it. 
 
 The history of European civilization may then be summed 
 up into three grand periods: First, a period which I shall 
 call the period of origins, of formation — a time when the 
 various elements of our society freed themselves from the 
 chaos, took being, and showed themselves under their 
 native forms with the principles which animated them. 
 This period extended nearly to the twelfth century. Sec- 
 ond, the second period is a time of essay, of trial, 
 of groping; the various elements of the social order 
 drew near each other, combined, and, as it were, felt each 
 other, without the power to bring forth anything general, 
 regular, or durable. This state was not ended, properly 
 speaking, till the sixteenth century. Third, the period of 
 development, properly so called, when society in Europe 
 took a definite form, followed a determined tendency, and 
 progressed rapidly and universally toward a clear and pre- 
 
VIVILIZA TIGN IN EUROPE. 179 
 
 cise end. This commenced at the sixteenth cenlury, and 
 now pursues its course. 
 
 Such appears to me to be the spectacle of European 
 civilization in its whole, and such I shall endeavor to rep- 
 resent it to you. It is the second period that we enter upon 
 'low. We have to seek in it the great crises and deter- 
 minative causes of the social transformation which has 
 been the result of it. 
 
 The crusades constitute the first great event which pre- 
 sents itself to us, which, as it were, opens the epoch of 
 which we speak. They commenced at the eleventh century, 
 and extended over the twelfth and thirteenth. Of a surety, 
 a great event; for since it was completed it has not ceased 
 to occupy philosophic historians; even before reading the 
 account of it, all have foreseen that it was one of those 
 events which change the condition of the people, and 
 which it is absolutely necessary to study in order to com- 
 prehend the general course of facts. 
 
 The first characteristic of the crusades is their univer- 
 sality; the whole of Europe joined in them — they were the 
 first European event. Previously to the crusades, Europe 
 had never been excited by one sentiment, or acted in one 
 cause; there was no Europe. The crusades revealed 
 Christian Europe. The French formed the vans of the 
 first army of crusaders; but there were also Germans, 
 Italians, Spaniards, and English. Observe the second, 
 the third crusade; all the Christian nations engaged in it. 
 Nothing like it had yet been seen. 
 
 This is not all: just as the crusades form an European 
 event, so in each country do they form a national event. 
 All classes of society were animated with the same impres- 
 sion, obeyed the same idea, abandoned themselves to the 
 same impulse. Kings, lords, priests, burghers, country-^ 
 men, all took the same part, the same interest in the cru- 
 sades. The moral unity of nations was shown — a fact as 
 novel as the European unity. 
 
180 HISTORY OF 
 
 When such events happen in the infancy of a people, at 
 a time when men act freely and spontaneously, without 
 premeditation, without political intention or combination, 
 one recognizes therein what history calls heroic events 
 — the heroic age of nations. In fact, the crusades consti- 
 tute the heroic event of modern Europe — a movement at 
 once individual and general, national, and yet unregulated. 
 
 That such was really their primitive character is verified 
 by all documents, proved by all facts. Who were the first 
 crusaders that put themselves in motion? Crowds of the 
 populace, who set out under the guidance of Peter the 
 Hermit, without preparation, without guides, and without 
 chiefs, followed rather than guided by a few obscure 
 knights; they traversed Germany, the Greek empire, and 
 dispersed or perished in Asia Minor. 
 
 The superior class, the feudal nobility, in their turn be- 
 came eager in the cause of the crusade. Under the com- 
 mand of Godefroi de Bouillon, the lords and their follow- 
 ers set out full of ardor. When they had traversed Asia 
 Minor, a fit of indifference and weariness seized the chiefs 
 of the crusaders. They cared not to continue their route; 
 they united to make conquests and establish themselves. 
 The common people of the army rebelled; they wished to 
 go to Jerusalem — the deliverance of Jerusalem was the aim 
 of the crusade; it was not to gain principalities for Eaimond 
 de Toulouse, nor for Bohemond, nor for any other, that 
 the crusaders came. The popular, national and European 
 impulsion was superior to all individual wishes; the chiefs 
 had not sufficient ascendancy over the masses to subdue 
 them to their interests. The sovereigns, who had remained 
 strangers to the first crusade, were at last carried away by 
 the movement, like the people. The great crusades of the 
 twelfth century were commanded by kings. 
 
 I pass at once to the end of the thirteenth century. 
 People etill spoke in Europe of the crusades, they even 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 181 
 
 preached them with ardor. The popes excited the sover- 
 eigns and the people — they held councils in recommenda- 
 tion of the Holy Land; but no one went there — it was no 
 longer cared for. Something had passed into the European 
 spirit and European society that put an end to the cru- 
 sades. There were still some private expeditions. A few 
 lords, a few bands, still set out for Jerusalem; but the 
 general movement was evidently stopped; and yet it does 
 not appear that either the necessity or the facility of con- 
 tinuing it had disappeared. The Moslems triumphed more 
 and more in Asia. The Christian kingdom founded at 
 Jerusalem had fallen into their hands. It was necessary 
 to reconquer it; there were greater means of success than 
 they had at the commencement of the crusades; a large 
 number of Christians were established, and still powerful, 
 in Asia Minor, Syria and Palestine. They were better 
 acquainted with the means of traveling and acting. Still 
 nothing could revive the crusades. It was clear that the 
 two great forces of society — the sovereigns on one side and 
 the people on the other — were averse to it. 
 
 It has often been said that this was lassitude — that 
 Europe was tired of thus falling upon Asia. We must 
 come to an understanding upon this word lassitude, which 
 is so often used upon similar occasions; it is strangely inex- 
 act. It is not possible that human generations can be 
 weary with what they have never taken part in; weary of 
 the fatigues undergone by their forefathers. Weariness is 
 personal, it cannot be transmitted like a heritage. Men 
 in the thirteenth century were not fatigued by the crusades 
 of the twelfth, they were influenced by another cause. A 
 great change had taken place in ideas, sentiments, and 
 social conditions. There were no longer the same wants 
 and desires. They no longer thought or wished the same 
 things. It is these political or moral metamorphoses, and 
 not weariness, which explain the different conduct of suc- 
 
132 HISTORY OF 
 
 cessive generations. The pretended lassitude which is 
 attributed to them is a false metaphor. 
 
 Two great causes, one moral and the other social, threw 
 Europe into the crusades. The moral cause, as you know, 
 was the impulsion of religious sentiment and creeds. Since 
 the end of the seventh century, Christianity had been 
 struggling against Mahommedanism; it had conquered it 
 in Europe after being dangerously menaced; it had succeeded 
 in confining it to Spain. Thence also it still constantly 
 strove to expel it. The crusades have been represented as 
 a kind of accident, as an event unforeseen, unheard of, 
 born solely of the recitals of pilgrims on their return from 
 Jerusalem, and of the preachings of Peter the Hermit. It 
 was nothing of the kind. The crusades were the continua- 
 tion, the zenith of the grand struggle which had been going 
 on for four centuries between Christianity and Mahom- 
 medanism. The theater of this struggle had been hitherto 
 in Europe; it was now transported into Asia. If I put any 
 value upon those comparisons and parallels, into which 
 some people delight at times to press, suitably or not, his- 
 torical facts, I might show you Christianity running pre- 
 cisely the same career in Asia, and undergoing the same 
 destiny as Mahommedanism in Europe. Mahommedanism 
 was established in Spain, and had there conquered and 
 founded a kingdom and principalities. The Christians did the 
 same in Asia. They there found themselves with regard to 
 Mahommedans in the same situation as the latter in Spain 
 with regard to the Christians. The kingdom of Jerusalem 
 and the kingdom of Grenada correspond to each other. 
 But these similitudes are of little importance. The great 
 fact is the struggle of the two social and religious systems; 
 and of this the crusades was the chief crisis. In that lies 
 their historical character, the connecting link which 
 attaches them to the totality of facts. 
 
 There was another cause, the social state of Europe in 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE, 183 
 
 the eleventh century, which no less contributed to their 
 outburst. I have been careful to explain why, between the 
 fifth and the eleventh century, nothing general could be 
 established in Europe. I have attempted to show how 
 every thing had become local, how states, existences, 
 minds, were confined within a very limited horizon. It 
 was thus feudalism had prevailed. After some time an 
 horizon so restricted did not suffice; human thought and 
 activity desired to pass beyond the circle in which they had 
 been confined. The wandering life had ceased, but not 
 the inclination for its excitement and adventures. The 
 people rushed into the crusades as into a new existence, 
 more enlarged and varied, which at one time recalled the 
 ancient liberty of barbarism as others opened out the per- 
 spective of a vast future. 
 
 Such, I believe, were the two determining causes of 
 the crusades of the twelfth century. At the end of the 
 thirteenth century neither of these causes existed. Men 
 and society were so much changed that neither the moral 
 impulsion nor the social need which had precipitated Europe 
 upon Asia was any longer felt. 1 do not know if many 
 of you have read the original historians of the crusades, or 
 whether it has ever occurred to you to compare the con- 
 temporaneous chroniclers of the first crusades with those 
 at the end of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, for ex- 
 ample, Albert d^Aix, Robert the Monk ^nd Raymond 
 d^Agiles, who took part in the first crusade, with William 
 of Tyre and James de Vitry, When we compare these two 
 classes of writers, it is impossible not to be struck by the 
 distance which separates them. The first are animated 
 chroniclers, full of vivid imagination, who recount the 
 events of the crusades with passion. But they are, at the 
 same time, men of very narrow minds, without an idea be- 
 yond the little sphere in which they have lived; strangers 
 to all science, full of prejudices, and incapable of forming 
 
184 HISTORY OF 
 
 any judgment whatever upon what passes around them, or 
 upon the events which they realate. Open, on the con- 
 trary, the history of the crusades by William of Tyre: you 
 will be surprised to find almost an historian of modern 
 times, a mind developed, extensive and free, a rare polit- 
 ical understanding of events, completeness of views, a 
 judgment bearing upon causes and effects. James de Vitry 
 affords an example of a different kind of development; he 
 is a scholar, who not only concerns himself with what has 
 reference to the crusades, but also occupies himself with 
 manners, geography, ethnography, natural history; who 
 observes and describes the country. In a word, between 
 the chroniclers of the first crusades and the historians of 
 the last, there is an immense interval, which indicates a 
 veritable revolution in mind. 
 
 This revolution is above all seen in the manner in which 
 each speaks of the Mahommedans. To the first chroniclers, 
 and consequently to the first crusaders, of whom the first 
 chroniclers are but the expression, the Mahommedans are 
 only an object of hatred. It is evident that they knew 
 nothing of them, that they weighed them not, considered 
 them not, except under the point of view of the religious 
 hostility which existed between them; we discover no trace 
 of any social relation; they detested and fought them, and 
 that was all. William of Tyre, James de Vitry, and Ber- 
 nard the Treasurer, speak quite differently of the Mussul- 
 mans: one feels that, although fighting them, they do not 
 look upon them as mere monsters; that to a certain point 
 they have entered into their ideas; that they have lived 
 with them, that there is a sort of relation, and even a kind 
 of sympathy established between them. William of Tyre 
 warmly eulogizes Noureddin — Bernard the Treasurer, Sa- 
 ladin. They even go far as to compare the manners and 
 conduct of the Mussulmans with those of the Christians; 
 they take advantage of the Mussulmans to satirize the 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE, 185 
 
 Christians, as Tacitus painted the manners of the Germans 
 in contrast with the manners of the Romans. You see how 
 enormous the change between the two epochs must have 
 been, when you find in the last, with regard to the enemies 
 of the Christians, to those against whom the crusades were 
 directed, a liberty and impartiality of spirit which would 
 have filled the first crusaders with surprise and indigna- 
 tion. 
 
 This, then, was the first and principal effect of the cru- 
 sades, a great step toward the enfranchisement of mind, a 
 great progress toward more extensive and liberal ideas. 
 Commenced in the name and under the influence of relig- 
 ious creeds, the crusades removed from religious ideas, I 
 will not say their legitimate influence, but the exclusive 
 and despotic possession of the human mind. This result, 
 doubtless altogether unforeseen, was born of many causes. 
 The first is evidently the novelty, extension and variety of 
 the spectacle which was opened to the view of the crusaders. 
 It happened with them as with travelers. It is a common 
 saying that the mind of travelers becomes enlarged; that 
 the habit of observing various nations and manners, and 
 different opinions, extends the ideas, and frees the judg- 
 ment from old prejudices. The same fact was accom- 
 plished among these traveling nations who were called 
 crusaders: their minds were opened and elevated, by seeing 
 a multitude of different things, and by observing other 
 manners than their own. They also found themselves in 
 juxtaposition with two civilizations, not only different from 
 their own, but more advanced; the Greek on the one hand, 
 and the Mahommedan on the other. There can be no 
 doubt that the Greek society, although enervated, per- 
 verted, and falling into decay, had upon the crusaders 
 the effect of a more advanced, polished and enlightened 
 society than their own. The Mahommedan society af- 
 forded them a spectacle of the same nature. It is 
 
186 HISTORY OF 
 
 curious to observe in the old chroniclers the impression 
 which the crusaders made upon the Mussulmans; these 
 latter regarded them at first as barbarians, as the 
 rudest, most ferocious and most stupid class of men they 
 had ever seen. The crusaders, on their part, were struck 
 jwith the riches and elegance of manners of the Mussul^ 
 mans. To this first impression succeeded frequent relations 
 between the two people. These extended and became 
 much more important than is generally supposed. Not 
 only had the Christians of the east habitual relations with 
 the Mussulmans, but the west and the east became ac- 
 quainted, visited and mixed with each other. It is not 
 long since that one of those scholars who honor France in 
 the eyes of Europe, M. Abel Eemusat, discovered the ex- 
 istence of relations between the Mongol emperors and the 
 Christian kings. Mongol ambassadors were sent to the 
 Frank kings, to Saint Louis among others, to treat for an 
 alliance with them, and to recommence the crusades in 
 the common interest of the Mongols and the Christians 
 against the Turks. And not only were diplomatic and 
 official relations thus established between the sovereigns; 
 frequent and various national relations were formed. I 
 ouote the words of M. Abel Eemusat.* 
 
 " Many Italian, French and Flemish monks were charged 
 with diplomatic missions to the Great Khan. Mongols of 
 distinction came to Eome, Barcelona, Valentia, Lyons, 
 Paris, London, Northampton; and a Franciscan of the 
 kingdom of Naples was archbishop of Pekin. His succes- 
 sor was a professor of theology of the faculty of Paris. 
 But how many others, less known, were drawn after these, 
 either as slaves or attracted by the desire for gain, or guided 
 by curiosity into countries till then unknown! Chance 
 
 * Memoires sur les Relations Politiques des Princes Chretiens 
 4Lmc les Empereurs Mongols. Deuxieme Memoire, pp. 154-157. 
 
GIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 187 
 
 has preserved the names of some: the first who came to 
 visit the King of Hungary, on the part of the Tartars, was 
 an Englishman, banished from his country for certain 
 crimes, and who, after wandering all over Asia, ended by 
 taking service among the Mongols. A Flemish shoemaker 
 met in the depths of Tartary a woman from Metz, named 
 Paquette, who had been carried off from Hungary; a 
 Parisian goldsmith, whose brother was established at Paris, 
 upon the great bridge, and a young man from the environs 
 of Kouen, who had been at the taking of Belgrade. He 
 saw, also, Russians, Hungarians and Flemings. A chor- 
 ister, named Eobert, after having traveled over Eastern 
 Asia, returned to finish his davs in the cathedral of 
 Chartres. A Tartar was purveyor of helmets in the army 
 of Philip the Handsome; John de Plancarpin found near 
 Gayonk a Russian gentleman, whom he calls Temer, who 
 was serving as an interpreter; many merchants of Breslau, 
 Poland and Austria accompanied him on his journey to 
 Tartary. Others returned with him by way of Russia; 
 these were Genoese, Pisans and Venetians. Two mer- 
 chants, whom chance had led to Bokhara, consented to 
 follow a Mongol ambassador sent by Koulagou to Khou- 
 bilai. They sojourned several years both in China and 
 Tartary, returned with letters from the Great Khan to the 
 Pope; again returned to the Great Khan, taking with 
 them the son of one of them, the celebrated Marco Polo, 
 and again quitted the court of Khoubilai to return to 
 Venice. Travels of this kind were not less frequent in the 
 following century. Among the number are those of Sir 
 John Mandeville, an English physician, of Oderic of 
 Friula, of Pegoletti, of William de Bouldeselle, and several 
 others, and we may suppose that those whose memorials 
 are preserved form but the least part of what were under- 
 taken, and that there were at this period more persons 
 capable of executing long journeys than of writing an 
 
188 HISTORY OF 
 
 account of them. Many of these adventurers remained 
 and died in the countries which they visited. Others 
 returned to their country as obscure as when they left it, 
 but with an imagination filled with what they had seen, 
 relating it to their family, exaggerating, no doubt, but 
 leaving around them, amid absurd fables, useful remem- 
 brances and traditions capable of bearing fruit. Thus in 
 Germany, Italy and France, in the monasteries, in the 
 castles of the lords, and even down to the lowest ranks of 
 society, were deposited precious seeds destined before long 
 to germinate. All these unknown travelers carried the arts 
 of their native land into the most distant countries, brought 
 back other knowledge no less precious, and i.hus made, 
 without being aware of it, more advantageous exchanges 
 than all those of commerce. By these means not only 
 the trade in silk, porcelain and Indian commodities was 
 extended and facilitated — new routes opened to com- 
 mercial industry and activity — but, what was of much 
 more importance, foreign manners, unknown nations, 
 extraordinary productions, offered themselves in crowds 
 to the minds of the Europeans, confined, since the fall 
 of the Roman Empire, within too narrow a circle. They 
 began to know the value of the most beautiful, the most 
 populous, and the most anciently civilized of the four quar- 
 ters of the globe. They began to study the arts, creeds> 
 and idioms of its inhabitants, and there was even talk of 
 establishing a professorship of the Tartar language in the 
 University of Paris. Romantic narrative, when duly dis- 
 cussed and investigated, spread on all sides more just and 
 varied notions. The world seemed to open on the side of 
 the east; geography took a great stride, and the desire for 
 discovery became the new form which clothed the advent- 
 urous spirit of the Europeans. The idea of another hemis- 
 phere ceased to present itself as a paradox void of all 
 probability, when our own became better known; and it 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. ' 189 
 
 was in searching for the Zipangri of Marco Polo that 
 Christopher Columbus discovered the New World." 
 
 You see, by the facts which led to the impulsion of the 
 crusades, what, at the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, 
 was the new and vast world which was thrown open to the 
 European mind. There can be no doubt but that this was 
 one of the most powerful causes of development, and of the 
 freedom of mind which shone forth at the end of this great 
 event. 
 
 There is another cause which merits observation. Down 
 to the time of the crusades, the court of Rome, the center 
 of the church, had never been in communication with the 
 laity, except through the medium of ecclesiastics, whether 
 legates sent from the court of Rome, or the bishops and 
 the entire clergy. There had always been some laymen in 
 direct relation with Rome; but, taken all together, it was 
 through the ecclesiastics that she communicated with the 
 people. During the crusades, on the contrary, Rome 
 became a place of passage to the greater part of the eru- 
 saders, both in going and in returning. Numbers of the 
 laity viewed her policy and manners, and could see how 
 much of personal interest influenced religious controversy. 
 Doubtless this new knowledge inspired many minds with 
 a hardihood till then unknown. 
 
 When we consider the state of minds in general, at the 
 end of the crusades, and particularly in ecclesiastical matters, 
 it is impossible not to be struck by one singular fact: 
 religious ideas experienced no change; they had not been 
 replaced by contrary or even different opinions. Yet minds 
 were infinitely more free; religious creeds were no longer 
 the only sphere in which it was brought into play; without 
 abandoning them, it began to separate itself from them, 
 and carry itself elsewhere. Thus, at the end of the thir- 
 teenth century, the moral cause which had determined the 
 crusades, which at least was its most energetic principle. 
 
190 EI8T0RT OH 
 
 had vanished; the moral state of Europe was profoundlj 
 modified. 
 
 The social state had undergone an analogous change. 
 Much investigation has been expended upon what was the 
 influence of the crusades in this respect; it has been shown 
 how they reduced a large number of fief holders to the 
 necessity of selling them to their sovereigns, or of selling 
 charters to the boroughs in order to procure the means of 
 following the crusade. It has been shown that by their 
 mere absence many of the lords must have lost the greater 
 portion of their power. Without entering into the details 
 of this inquiry, we may, I think, resolve into a few general 
 facts the influence of the crusades upon the social state. 
 
 They greatly diminished the number of petty fiefs and 
 small domains, of inferior fief -holders; and they concentred 
 property and power in a smaller number of hands. It is 
 with the commencement of the crusades that we see the 
 formation and augmentation of large fiefs and great feudal 
 existences. 
 
 I have often regretted that there is no map of France 
 divided into fiefs, as there is of its division into departments, 
 arrondissements, cantons and parishes, in which all the 
 fiefs should be marked, with their extent and successive 
 relations and changes. If we were to compare, with the 
 aid of such a map, the state of France before and after the 
 crusades, we should see how many fiefs had vanished, and 
 to what a degree the great and middle fiefs had increased. 
 This was one of the most important facts to which the 
 crusades led. 
 
 Even where the petty proprietors preserved their fiefs, 
 they no longer lived as isolated as formerly. The great fief- 
 holders became so many centers around which the smaller 
 ones converged, and near to which they passed their lives. 
 It had become necessary during the crusades for them to 
 put themselves in the train of the richest and most powerful. 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE, ' 191 
 
 to receive succor from him; they had lived with him, par- 
 taken of his fortune, gone through the same adventures. 
 When the crusaders returned home, this sociability, this 
 habit of living near to the superior lord, remained fixed in 
 their manners. Thus as we see the augmentation of the 
 great fiefs after the crusades, so we see the holders of those 
 fiefs holding a much more considerable court in the in- 
 terior of their castles, having near them a larger number 
 of gentlemen who still preserved their small domains, but 
 did not shut themselves up within them. 
 
 The extension of the great fiefs and the creation of a 
 certain number of centers of society, in place of the dis- 
 persion which formerly existed, are the two principal effects 
 brought about by the crusades in the heart of feudalism. 
 
 As to the burghers, a result of the same nature is easily 
 perceptible. The crusades created the great boroughs. 
 Petty commerce and industry did not suffice to create 
 boroughs such as the great towns of Italy and Flanders 
 were. It vvas commerce on a great scale, maritime com- 
 merce, and especially that of the east, which gave rise to 
 them; it was the crusades which gave to maritime com- 
 merce the most powerful impulsion it had ever received. 
 
 Upon the whole, when we regard the state of society at 
 the end of the crusades, we find that this movement of 
 dissolution, of the dispersion of existences and influences, 
 this movement of universal localization, if such a phrase 
 be permitted, which had preceded this epoch, had ceased, 
 by a movement with an exactly contrary tendency, by a 
 movement of centralization. All now tended to approxi- 
 mation. The lesser existences were either absorbed in the 
 greater, or were grouped around them. It was in this 
 direction that society advanced, that all its progress was 
 made. 
 
 You now see why, toward the end of the thirteenth and 
 fourteenth centuries, neither people nor sovereigns any 
 
192 BISTORT OF 
 
 longer desired the crusades; they had no longer either the 
 need or desire for them; they had been cast into them by 
 the impulsion of the religious spirit, and by the exclusive 
 domination of religious ideas upon the whole existence; 
 this domination had lost its energy. They had sought, too, 
 in the crusades a new life, more extensive and more varied; 
 they now began to find it in Europe itself, in the progress 
 of social relations. It was at this epoch the career of polit- 
 ical aggrandizement opened itself to kings. Wherefore 
 seek kingdoms in Asia, when they had them to conquer at 
 their own doors? Philip Augustus went to the crusades 
 against his will: what could be more natural? He had to 
 make himself king of France. It was the same with the 
 people. The career of riches opened before their eyes; 
 they renounced adventures for work. For the sovereigns, 
 the place of adventures was supplied by policy; for the 
 people, by work on a great scale. One single class of soci- 
 ety still had a taste for adventure; this was that portion of 
 feudal nobility who, not being in a condition to think of 
 political aggrandizement, and not liking work, preserved 
 their ancient condition and manners. They therefore 
 continued to rush to the crusades, and attempted their 
 revival. 
 
 Such, in my opinion, are the great and true effects of 
 the crusades: on one side, the extension of ideas^ the en- 
 franchisement of mind; on the other, the aggrandizement 
 of existences and a large sphere opened to activity of all 
 kind; they produced at once a greater degree of individual 
 liberty, and of political unity. They aided the independ- 
 ence of man and the centralization of society. Much has 
 been asked as to the means of civilization — which they 
 directly imported from the east; it has been said that the 
 chief portion of the great discoveries which, in the four- 
 teenth and fifteenth centuries, called forth the develop- 
 ment of European civilization — the compass, printing. 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 193 
 
 gunpowder — were known in the east, and that the crusad- 
 ers may have brought them thence. This, to a certain 
 point, is true. But some of these assertions are disputable. 
 That which is not disputable is this influence, this general 
 effect of the crusades upon the mind on one hand, and 
 upon society on the other hand; they drew European 
 society from a very straightened tract, and led it into new 
 and infinitely more extensive paths; they commenced that 
 transformation of the various elements of European society 
 into governments and peoples which is the character of 
 modern civilization. About the same time, royalty, one 
 of those institutions which have most powerfully contrib- 
 uted to this great result, developed itself. Its history, 
 from the birth of modern states down to the thirteenth 
 century, will form the subject of my next lecture. 
 
194 mSTORT OF 
 
 NINTH LECTURE. 
 
 Object of the lecture — Important part taken by royalty in the history 
 of Europe, and in the history of the world — True causes of this 
 importance — Two- fold point of view under which the institution 
 of royalty should be considered — 1st. Its true and permanent 
 nature — It is the personification of the sovereignty of right — 
 With what limits — 2d. Its flexibility and diversity — European 
 royalty seems to be the result of various kinds of royalty — Of 
 barbarian royalty — Of imperial royalty — Of religious royalty — • 
 Of feudal royalty — Of modern royalty, properly so called, and of 
 its true character. 
 
 In our last lecture I attempted to determine the essen* 
 tial and distinctive character of modern European society 
 as compared with primitive European society; I believe 
 that we discovered in this fact that all the elements of 
 the social state, at first numerous and various, reduce 
 themselves to two: on one hand the government, and on 
 the other the people. Instead of encountering the feudal 
 nobility, the clergy, the kings, burghers and serfs as the 
 dominant powers and chief actors in history, we find in 
 modern Europe but two great figures which alone occupy 
 the historic scene, the government and the country. 
 
 If such is the fact in which European civilization ter- 
 minates, such also is the end to which we should tend, and 
 to which our researches should conduct us. It is necessary 
 that we should see this grand result take birth, and pro- 
 gressively develop and strengthen itself. We are entered 
 upon the epoch in which we may arrive at its origin: it 
 was, as you have seen, between the twelfth and the six- 
 teenth century that the slow and concealed work operated 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 195 
 
 fo Europe which has led our society to this new form and 
 definite state. We have Hkewise studied the first great 
 event, which, in my opinion, evidently and powerfully im- 
 pelled Europe in this direction, that is, the crusades. 
 
 About the same epoch, almost at the moment that the 
 crusades broke out, that institution commenced its ag- 
 grandizement, which has, perhaps, contributed more than 
 anything to the formation of modern society, and to that 
 fusion of all the social elements into two powers, the gov- 
 ernment and the people; royalty. 
 
 It is evident that royalty has played a prodigious part in 
 the history of European civilization; a single glance at 
 facts suffices to convince one of it; we see the development 
 of royalty marching with the same step, so to speak, at 
 least for a long period, as that of society itself; the prog- 
 ress is mutual. 
 
 And not only is the progress mutual, but whenever 
 society advances toward its modern and definitive character, 
 royalty seems to extend and prosper; so that when the work 
 is consummated, when there is no longer any, or scarcely 
 any, other important or decisive influence in the great states 
 of Europe, than that of the government and the public, 
 royality is the government. 
 
 And it has thus happenec', not only in France, where 
 the fact is evident, but also in the greater portion of 
 European countries: a little earlier or a little later, under 
 somewhat different forms, the same result is offered us in 
 the history of society in England, Spain and Germany. 
 In England, for example, it was under the Tudors that the 
 ancient, peculiar and local elements of English society 
 were perverted and dissolved, and gave place to the system 
 of public powers; this also was the time of the greatest in- 
 fluence of royality. It was the same in Germany, Spain 
 ftnd all the great European states. 
 
 If we leave Europe, and if we turn our view upon 
 
196 HISTORY OF 
 
 the rest of the world, we shall be struck by an anal 
 ogous fact; we shall everywhere find royalty occupying 
 an important position, appearing as, perhaps, the most 
 general and permanent of institutions, the most difficul' 
 to prevent, where it did not formerly exist, and the most 
 difficult to root out where it had existed. From 
 time immemorial it has possessed Asia. At the dis- 
 covery of America, all the great states there were found 
 with different combinations, subject to the monarchical 
 system. When we penetrate into the interior of Africa, 
 wherever we meet with nations in any way extensive, this 
 is the prevailing system. And not only has royalty pene- 
 trated everywhere, but it has accommodated itself to the 
 most diverse situations, to civilization and to barbarism, to 
 manners the most pacific, as in China, for example, and to 
 those in which war, in which the military spirit dominates. 
 It has alike established itself in the heart of the system of 
 castes, in the most rigorously classified societies, and in the 
 midst of a system of equality, in societies which are utter 
 strangers to all legal and permanent classification. Here 
 despotic and oppressive, there favorable to civilization and 
 even to liberty, it seems like a head which may be placed 
 upon a multitude of different bodies, a fruit that will spring 
 from the most dissimilar germs. 
 
 In this fact we may discover many curious and important 
 consequences. I will take only two. The first is, that it 
 is impossible such a result should be the fruit of mere 
 chance^ of force or usurpation alone; it is impossible but 
 that there snould be a profound and powerful analogy be- 
 tween the nature of royalty, considered as an institution, 
 and the nature, whether of individual man, or of human 
 society. Doubtless force is intermixed with the origin of 
 the institution; doubtless force has taken an important part 
 in its progress; but when we meet with such a result as this, 
 when we see a great event developing and reproducing 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 197 
 
 itself during the course of many centuries, and in the midst 
 of such different situations, we cannot attribute it to force. 
 Force plays a great part and an incessant one in human 
 affairs; but it is not their principle, their primum mobile; 
 above force and the part which it plays there hovers a 
 moral cause which decides the totality of things. It is with 
 force in the history of societies as with the body in the his- 
 tory of man. The body surely holds a high place in the 
 life of man, but still it is not the principle of life. Life cir- 
 culates within it, but it does not emanate from it. So it is 
 with hrman societies; whatever part force takes therein, it 
 is not force which governs them, and which presides su- 
 premely over their destinies; it is ideas and moral influences, 
 which conceal themselves under the accidents of force and 
 regulate the course of the society. It is a cause of this 
 kind, and not force, which gave success to royalty. 
 
 A second fact, and one which is no less worthy of remark, 
 is the flexibility of the institution, its faculty of modifying 
 and adapting itself to a multitude of different circum- 
 stances. Mark the contrast: its form is unique, perma- 
 nent and simple; it does not offer that prodigious variety of 
 combinations which we see in other institutions, and yet it 
 applies itself to societies which the least resemble it. It 
 must evidently allow of great diversity, and must attach 
 itself, whether in man himself or in society, to many differ- 
 ent elements and principles. 
 
 It is from not having considered the institution of roy- 
 alty in its whole extent; from not having, on the one hand, 
 penetrated to its peculiar and fixed principle, which, what- 
 ever may be the circumstances to which it applies itself, is 
 its very essence and being — and on the other, from not 
 having estimated all the varieties to which it lends itself, 
 and all the principles with which it may enter into alliance; 
 it is, I say, from not having considered royalty under this 
 vast and twofold point of view, that the part taken by it 
 
198 HISTORY OF 
 
 in the history of the world has not been always compre- 
 hended, that its nature and effects have often been mis- 
 construed. 
 
 This is the work which I wish to go through with you, 
 and in such a manner as to take an exact and complete 
 estimate of the effects of this institution in modern Europe, 
 whether they have flowed from its own peculiar principles 
 or the modifications which it has undergone. 
 
 There can be no doubt that the force of royalty, that 
 moral power which is its true principle, does not reside in 
 the sole and pei'sonal will of the man momentarily king; there 
 can be no doubt that the people, in accepting it as an insti- 
 tution, philosophers in maintaini^ig it as a system, have not 
 intended or consented to accept the empire of the will of a 
 man essentially narrow, arbitrary, capricious and ignorant. 
 
 Eoyalty is quite a distinct thing from the will of a man, 
 although it presents itself in that form; it is the personifi- 
 cation of the sovereignty of right, of that will, essentially 
 reasonable, enlightened, just and impartial, foreign and 
 superior to all individual wills, and which in virtue of this 
 title has a right to govern them. Such is the meaning of 
 royalty in the minds of nations, such the motive for their 
 adhesion. 
 
 Is it true that there is a sovereignty of right, a will which 
 possesses the right of governing men? It is quite certain 
 that they believe so; because they seek, and constantly 
 have sought, and indeed cannot but seek, to place them- 
 selves under its empire. Conceive to yourselves the 
 smallest assembly of men, I will not say a people: conceive 
 that assembly under the submission to a sovereign who is 
 only so de facto, under a force which has no right except 
 that of force, which governs neither according to reason, 
 justice nor truth; human nature revolts at such a supposi- 
 tion — it must have right to believe in. It is the suprem- 
 acy of right which it seeks, that is the only power to which 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 19^ 
 
 man consents to submit. What is history but the demon* 
 stration of this universal fact? What are the greater por- 
 tion of the struggles which take place in the life of nations' 
 but an ardent effort toward the sovereignty of right, so^ 
 that they may place themselves under its empire? And 
 not only nations but philosophers believe in its exist- 
 ence, and incessantly seek it. What are all the systems of 
 political philosophy, but the search for the sovereign of 
 right? What is it that they treat of, but the question of 
 knowing who has a right to govern society? Take the- 
 theocratical, monarchical, aristocratical or democratical 
 systems, all of them boast of having discovered wherein the- 
 sovereignty of right resides; all promise to society that 
 they will place it undor the rule of it<7 legitimate master. 
 I repeat, this is the end alike of all the works of philos- 
 ophers, of all efforts of nations. 
 
 How should they but believe in the sovereignty of right^ 
 How should they but be constantly in search of it? Take^ 
 the most simplo suppositions; let there be something ta 
 accomplish, some influence to exercise, whether upon soci- 
 ety in its whole, or upon a number of its members, or 
 upon a single individual; there is evidently always a rule- 
 for this action, a legitimate will to follow and apply, 
 whether you penetrate into the smallest details of social 
 life, or whether you elevate yourselves to the greatest 
 events, you will everywhere encounter a truth to be proved, 
 or a just and reasonable idea to be passed into reality. 
 This is the sovereign of right, toward which philosophers 
 and nations have never ceased and never can cease to 
 aspire. 
 
 Up to what point can the sovereignty of right be repre-^ 
 sented in a general and permanent manner by a terrestrial 
 force or by a human will? How far is such a supposition 
 aecessarily false and dangerous? What should be thought 
 in particular of the personification of the sovereignty of 
 
200 HISTORY OF 
 
 right under the image of royalty? Upon what conditions, 
 i^ithin what limits is this personification admissible? 
 Great questions, which I have not to treat of here, but 
 which I could not resist pointing out, and upon which I 
 shall say ? word in passing. 
 
 I affirm, and the merest common sense will acknowledge, 
 ^hat the sovereignty of right completely and permanently 
 can appertain to no oner that all attribution of the sov- 
 ereignty of right to any human power whatsoever is rad- 
 ically false and dangerous. Hence arises the necessity for 
 the limitation of all powers, whatever their names or 
 forms may be; hence the radical illegitimacy of all absolute 
 power, whether its origin be from conquest, inheritance, or 
 election. People may differ as to the best means of seek- 
 ing the sovereign of right; they may vary as to place and 
 times: but in no place, no time, can any legitimate power 
 be the independent possessor of this sovereigntyo 
 
 This principle being laid down, it is no less certain that 
 royalty, in whatever system it is considered, presents itself 
 -as the personification of the sovereign of right. Listen to 
 the theocratical system; it will tell you that kings are the 
 image oi God upon earth; this is only saying that they are 
 the personification of sovereign justice, truth and good 
 iiess. Address j^^ourseif to the jurisconsults; they will tell 
 you that the king is the living law; that is to say, the king 
 is the personification of the sovereign of right, of the just 
 law, which has the right of governing society. Ask roy- 
 alty itself, in the system of pure monarchy; it will tell you 
 shat it is the personification of the state, of the general 
 interest. In w^hatever alliance and in whatever situation 
 you consider it, you will always find it summing itself up 
 in the pretension of representing and reproducing the sov- 
 ereign of right, alone capable of legitimately governing 
 society. 
 
 There is no occasion for astonishment in all this. What 
 
a^TILIZA TION IN EXJUOPK 201 
 
 are the characteristics of the sovereign of right, the 
 characteristics derivable from his very nature? In the first 
 place he is !inique; since there is but one truth, one 
 justice, there can be but one soverign of right. He is per- 
 manent^ always the same; truth never changes. He is- 
 placed in a superior situation, a stranger to all the vicissi- 
 tudes and changes of this world; his part in the world is, 
 as it were, that of a spectator and judge. Well, it is roy- 
 alty which externally reproduces, under the most simple 
 form, that which appears its most faithful image, these 
 rational and natural characteristics of the sovereign of right. 
 Open the work in which M. Benjamin Constant has sa 
 ingeniously represented royalty as a neutral and moder- 
 ating power, raised above the accidents and struggles of 
 social life, and only interfering at great crises. Is not 
 this, so to speak, the attitude of the sovereign of right in 
 the government of human things? There must be some- 
 thing in this idea well calculated to impress the mind, for 
 it has passed with singular rapidity from books to facts. 
 One sovereign made it in the constitution of Brazil the 
 very foundation of his throne; there royalty is represented 
 as a moderating power, raised above all active powers, as a 
 spectator and judge. 
 
 Under whatever point of view you resrard this institution 
 as compared with the sovereign of right, you will find that 
 there is a great external resemblance, and that it is natural 
 for it to have struck the minds of men. Accordingly, 
 whenever their reflection or imagination turned with pref- 
 erence toward the contemplation or study of the nature of 
 the sovereign of right, and his essential characteristics, 
 they have inclined toward royalty. As in the time of the 
 preponderance of religious ideas, the habitual contempla- 
 tion of the nature of God led mankind toward the mon* 
 archical system, so when the jurisconsults dominated in 
 society, the habit of studying, under the name of the law. 
 
502 HISTORY OF 
 
 the nature of the sovereign of right, was favorable to the 
 dogma of his personification in royalty. The attentive 
 application of the human mind to the contemplation of 
 the nature of the sovereignty of right when no other 
 causes have interfered to destroy the effect, has always 
 given force and credit to royalty, which presents its image. 
 Moreover, there are times peculiarly favorable to this 
 personification. These are the times when individual 
 powers display themselves in the world with all their risks 
 and caprices; times when egotism dominates in individu- 
 als, whether from ignorance and brutality, or from corrup- 
 tion. Then society, abandoned to the contests of personal 
 wills, and unable to raise itself by their free concurrence to 
 a common and universal will, passionately long for a sover- 
 eign to whom all individuals may be forced to submit; and 
 the moment any institution, bearing any one of the charac- 
 teristics of the sovereignty of right, presented itself and 
 promised its empire to society, society rallied round it with 
 eager earnestness, like outlaws taking refuge in the asylum 
 of a church. This is what has been seen in the disorderly 
 youth of nations, such as we have surveyed. Eoyalty is 
 admirably adapted to epochs, of vigorous and fruitful 
 anarchy, so to speak, when society desires to form and reg- 
 ulate itself, without knowing how to do so by the free con- 
 cord of individual wills. There are other times when, 
 from directly opposite causes, it has the same recommenda- 
 tion. Wh]? did the Roman Empire, so nearly in a state of 
 dissolution at the end of the republic, subsist for nearly 
 fifteen centuries afterward, under the name of that empire 
 which, after all, was but a continual decay, a lengthened 
 agony? Royalty alone could produce such an effect; that 
 alone could hold together a society which selfishness 
 incessantly tended to destroy. The imperial power strug- 
 gled for fifteen centuries against the ruin of the Roman 
 world. 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 203 
 
 Thus there are times when royalty alone can retard the 
 dissolution of society, and times when it alone accelerates 
 its formation. And in both these cases it is because it 
 represents more clearly and powerfully than any other form 
 the sovereignty of right, that it exercises this power upon 
 events. 
 
 From whatever point of view you may consider this insti- 
 tution, and at whatever epoch, you will acknowledge then 
 that its essential characteristic, its moral principle, its true 
 and inmost meaning is the image, the personification, the 
 presumed interpreter of this unique, superior and essen- 
 tially legitimate will, which alone has the right of govern- 
 ing society. 
 
 Let us now regard royalty from the second point of view, 
 that is to say, in its flexibility, in the variety of parts which 
 it has played, and the effects which it has produced; it i» 
 necessary that we should give the reason of these features 
 and determine their causes. 
 
 Here we have an advantage; we can immediately enter 
 upon history, and upon our own history. By a concourse 
 of singular circumstances it has happened that in modern 
 Europe royalty has assumed every character under which 
 it has shown itself in the history of the world. If I may 
 be allowed to use an arithmetical expression, European 
 royalty is the sum total of all possible species of royalty. 
 1 will run over its history from the fifth to the twelfth cen- 
 tury; you will see how various are the aspects under which 
 it presents itself, and to what an extent we shall every- 
 where find this character of variety, complication and con- 
 flict which belongs to all European civilization. 
 
 In the fifth century, at the time of the great German in- 
 vasion, two royalties are present; the barbarian and the 
 imperial royalty, that of Clovis and that of Constantine> 
 both differing essentially in principles and effects. Bar- 
 baric royalty is essentially elective; the German kings were 
 
204 BISTORT OF 
 
 elected, although their election did not take place with the 
 same forms which we are accustomed to attach to the idea; 
 they were military chiefs, who were bound to make theii 
 power freely acceptable to a large number of companions, 
 who obeyed them as being the most brave and the most 
 able among them. Election is the true source of barbaric 
 royalty, its primitive and essential characteristic. 
 
 Not that this characteristic in the fifth century was not 
 already a little modified, or that different elements had not 
 been introduced into royalty. The various tribes had had 
 their chiefs for a certain time: some families had raised 
 themselves to more trust, consideration and riches than 
 others. Hence a commencement of inheritance; the chief 
 was now mostly elected out of these families. This was 
 the first differing principle which became associated with 
 the dominant principle of election. 
 
 Another idea, another element, had also already pene- 
 trated into barbaric royalty: this was the religious element. 
 We find among some of the barbarous nations, among the 
 Ooths, for example, that the families of their kings de- 
 scended from the families of their gods, or from those heroes 
 of whom they had made, gods, such as Odin. This is the 
 situation of the kings of Homer, who sprang from gods or 
 demi-gods, and by reason of this title were the objects of a 
 kind of religious veneration, despite their limited power. 
 
 Such, in the fifth century, was barbaric royalty, already 
 varying and fluctuating, although its primitive principle 
 still dominated. 
 
 I take imperial, Roman royalty; this is a totally different 
 thing; it is the personification of the state, the heir of the 
 sovereignty and majesty of the Roman people. Consider 
 the royalty of Augustus and Tiberius; the emperor is the 
 representative of the senate, the comitia, and the whole 
 republic; he succeeded them, and they are summed up in 
 his person. Who woulc? not recognize this in the 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 205 
 
 modesty of language of the first emperors; of those, at 
 least, who were men of sense, and understood their situa- 
 tion? They felt themselves in the presence of the late 
 sovereign people who had abdicated in their favor; they 
 addressed them as their representatives and ministers. 
 But, in fact, they exercised the whole power of the people, 
 and that with the most formidable intensity. It is easy 
 for us to understand such a transformation; we have our- 
 selves witnessed it; we have seen the sovereignty pass from 
 the people to a man; that is the history of Napoleon. He 
 also was the personification of the sovereign people; he un- 
 ceasingly repeated to it, ^^ Who like me has been elected 
 by eighteen millions of men? Who like me is the repre- 
 sentative of the people RepuUique Frangaise f And when 
 upon one side of his coinage we read. The French RepuhUc, 
 and upon the other. Napoleon, Em'pereur, what does this 
 mean, if not the fact which I have described, the people 
 become king? 
 
 Such was the fundamental character of imperial royalty, 
 which it preserved for the three first centuries of the em- 
 pire; it was not till Diocletian that it took its definitive and 
 complete form. It was then, however, upon the point of 
 undergoing a great change; a new royalty had almost 
 appeared. Christianity labored for three centuries to in- 
 troduce the religious element into society. It was under 
 Constantino that it met w^ith success, not in making it 
 the prevalent faot, but in making it play an important! 
 part. Here royalty presents itself under a different 
 aspect; its grigin is not earthly; the prince is not the 
 representative of the public sovereignty; he is the image of 
 God, his representative and delegate. Power came down 
 to him from above, while in imperial royalty it came 
 from below. These are two utterly different situa- 
 tions, and have entirely different results. The rights of 
 liberty, political guarantees are difficult to combine with 
 
206 HISTORY OF 
 
 the principle of religious royalty; but the principle itseli 
 is elevated, moral and salutary. Let us see the idea which 
 was formed of the prince in the seventh century in the 
 system of religious royalty. I take it from the canons of 
 the councils of Toledo. 
 
 *^The king is called king {rex) because he governs 
 justly (rede). If he act with justice {rede), he legiti- 
 mately possesses the name of king; if he act with injustice 
 he miserably loses it. Our fathers, therefore, said with 
 good reason: Rex ejus, eris si reda facts, si autem non 
 fads, non eris. The two principal royal virtues are justice 
 and truth (science of the reason). 
 
 '^ The royal power is bound, like the people, to respect 
 the laws . . . Obedience to the will of Heaven, gives 
 to us and to our subjects wise laws which our greatness 
 and that of our successors is bound to obey, as well as the 
 whole population of our kingdom. . . . 
 
 '^God, the creator of all things, in disposing the 
 structure of the human body, has raised the head on high 
 and has willed that the nerves of all the members should 
 proceed therefrom. And he has placed in the head the 
 torch of the eyes, to the end that from thence may be 
 viewed all things that might be prejudicial. He has 
 established the power of intellect, charging it to goverp 
 all the members and wisely to regulate their action. 
 . . . It is first necessary, then, to regulate what relates 
 to princes, to watch over their safety, and to protect their 
 life, and then to order what relates to the people; so that 
 in guaranteeing, as is fitting, the safety of kings, they at 
 the same time guarantee, and more effectually, that of the 
 people.^'* 
 
 But, in the system of religious royalty, another element, 
 quite different from that of royalty itself, almost always 
 
 * Forum Judieum, i. lib. 2; tit. i. 1. 2, 1. 4. 
 
CIVILIZATION- m EUROPE. 207 
 
 introduced itself. A new power took its place by the side 
 of it, a power nearer to God, to the source whence royalty 
 emanates, than royalty itself: this was the clergy, the 
 ecclesiastical power which interposed itself between God 
 and kings and between kings and the people; so that 
 royalty, the image of divinity, ran a chance of falling to 
 the rank of an instrument of the human interpreters of 
 the divine will. This was a new cause of diversity in tho 
 destinies and effects of the institution. 
 
 Here, then, we see, what in the fifth century were the 
 various royalties which manifested themselves upon the 
 ruins of the Eoman Empire: the barbaric royalty, the 
 imperial royalty and the rising religious royalty. Their 
 fortunes were as various as their principles. 
 
 In France, under the first race, barbaric royalty pre- 
 vailed; there were many attempts of the clergy to impress 
 upon it the imperial or religious character; but election in 
 the royal family, with some mixture of inheritance and 
 religious ideas, remained dominant. In Italy, among the 
 Ostrogoths, imperial royalty superseded the barbarian 
 customs. Theodoric asserted himself the successor of the 
 emperors. You need only read Cassiodorus, to acknowl- 
 edge this character of his government. 
 
 In Spain, royalty appeared more religious than else- 
 where; as the councils of Toledo were, I will not say the 
 masters, but the influencing power, the religious character 
 dominated, if not in the government, properly so-called, of 
 the Visigoth kings at least, in the laws with which the 
 clergy inspired them and the language which it made them 
 speak. 
 
 In England, among the Saxons, barbarian manners sub- 
 sisted almost entire. The kingdoms of the heptarchy were 
 merely the domains of various bands, having each its chief. 
 The military election is more evident there than elsewhere. 
 Anglo-Saxon royalty is the most perfect type of barbaric 
 royalty. 
 
208 HISTORY OF 
 
 Thus from the fifth to the twelfth century three kinds 
 of royalty manifested themselves at the same time in 
 general facts; one or other of them prevailed, according to 
 circumstances, in each of the different states of Europe. 
 
 The chaos was such at this epoch that nothing universal 
 or permanent could be established; and, from one vicissi- 
 tude to another, we arrive at ilie eighth century, without 
 royalty having anywhere taken a definitive character. 
 Toward the middle of the eighth century, with the 
 triumph of the second race of the Frank kings, events 
 generalized themselves and became clearer; as they were 
 accomplished upon a greater scale they were better under- 
 stood and led to more results. You will shortly see the 
 different royalties distinctly succeed and combine with each 
 other. 
 
 At the time when the Carlovingians replace the Merovin- 
 gians, a return of barbaric royalty is visible; election again 
 appears. Pepin causes himself to be elected at Soissons. 
 When the first Carlovingians give the kingdoms to their 
 sons, they take care to have them accepted by the chief 
 persons in the states assigned them; when they make a 
 partition, they wish it to be sanctioned in the national 
 assemblies. In a word, the elective principle, under the 
 form of public acceptation, reassumes some reality. You 
 bear in mind that this change of dynasty was like a new 
 invasion of the Germans in the west of Europe and brought 
 back some shadow of their ancient institutions and 
 manners. 
 
 At the same time we see the religious principle introduced 
 more clearly into royalty, and playing therein a more im- 
 portant part. Pepin was acknowledged and crowned by 
 the pope. He had need of religious sanction; it had already 
 a great power, and he courted it. Charlemange took the 
 same precaution; religious royalty was developing. Still 
 under Charlemange this character did not dominate; im- 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 209 
 
 perial royalty was evidently what he attempted to resusci- 
 tate. Although he closely allied himself to the clergy, and 
 made use of them, he was not their instrument. The idea 
 of a great state, of a great political unity, the resurrection 
 of the Eoman Empire, was the favorite idea, the dream of 
 Chariemange^s reign. He died, and was succeeded by 
 Louis le Debonnaire. Every one knows what character the 
 royal power instantly assumed; the king fell into the 
 hands of the clergy, who censured, deposed, re-established, 
 and governed him; religious royalty, late subordinate, 
 seemed on the point of being established. 
 
 Thus, from the middle of the eighth to the middle of the 
 ninth century, the diversity of three kinds of royalty mani- 
 fested itself in important, closely connected, and palpable 
 events. 
 
 After the death of Louis le Debonnaire, in the dissolu- 
 tion into which Europe fell, the three species of royalty 
 disappeared almost simultaneously; all became confusion. 
 After some time, when the feudal system prevailed, a 
 fourth royalty presented itself, different from any that we 
 have yet seen; this was feudal royalty. This is confused, 
 and very difhcult to define. It has been said that the king 
 in the feudal system was sovereign of sovereigns, lord of 
 lords, that he held by sure ties, from one class to another, 
 the entire society; that in calling around him his vassals, 
 then the vassals of his vassals, he called the whole nation, 
 and truly showed himself a king. I do not deny that this 
 was the theory of feudal royalty; but it is a mere theory, 
 which has never governed facts. That general influence 
 of the king by the means of an hierarchical organization, 
 those ties which united royalty to the entire feudal society, 
 are the dreams of publicists. In fact, the greater part of 
 the feudal lords were at this epoch entirely independent of 
 royalty; a large number scarcely knew the name, and had 
 little or no connection with it. All the sovereignties were 
 
210 BISTORT OB 
 
 local and independent: the title of king borne by one ol 
 the feudal lords expressed rather a remembrance than a 
 fact. 
 
 This was the state of royalty during the course of the 
 tenth and eleventh centuries. In the twelfth, with the 
 reign of Louis le G.ros, the aspect of things began to 
 change. We more often find the king spoken of; his 
 influence penetrated into places where hitherto he had 
 never made way; his part in society became more active. 
 If we seek by what title, we shall recognize none of the 
 titles of which royalty had hitherto been accustomed to 
 avail itself. It was not as the heir of the emperors, or by 
 the title of imperial royalty, that it aggrandized itself and 
 assumed more coherence; nor was it in virtue of election, 
 nor as the emanation of divine power. All trace of elec- 
 tion had disappeared, the hereditary principle of succes- 
 sion had become definitively established; and although 
 religion sanctioned the accession of kings, the minds of 
 men did not appear at all engrossed with the religious 
 character of the royalty of Louis le Gros. A new element, 
 a character hitherto unknown, produced itself in royalty; 
 a new royalty commenced. 
 
 I need not repeat that society was at this epoch in a pro- 
 digious disorder, a prey to unceasing violence. Society 
 had in itself no means of striving against this deplorable 
 state of regaining any regularity or unity. The feudal 
 institutions, those parliaments of barons, those seigneurial 
 courts, all those forms under which, in modern times, feu- 
 dalism has been represented as a systematic and organized 
 regime, all this was devoid of reality, of power; there was 
 nothing there which could re-establish order or justice; so 
 that, amid this social desolation, none knew to whom to 
 have recourse for the reparation of any great injustice, or 
 to remedy any great evil, or in any way to constitute any 
 thing resembling a state. The name of king remained; a 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 211 
 
 lord bore it, and some few addressed themselves to him. Th6 
 various titles under which royalty had hitherto presented 
 itself, although they did not exercise any great control, 
 were still present to many minds, and on some occasions 
 were recognized. It sometimes happened that they had 
 recourse to the king to repress any scandalous violence, or 
 to re-establish something like order, in any place near to 
 his residence, or to terminate any difference which had 
 long existed; he was sometimes called upon to interfere in 
 matters not strictly within his jurisdiction; he interfered 
 as the protector of public order, as arbitrator and redresser 
 of wrongs. The moral authority which remained attached 
 to his name by degrees attracted to him this power. 
 
 Such is the character which royalty begun to take under 
 Louis le Gros, and under the administration of Suger. 
 Then, for the first time, we see in the minds of men the 
 idea, although very incomplete, confused and weak, of a 
 public power, foreign to the powers which possessed 
 society, called to render justice to those who were unable 
 to obtain it by ordinary means, capable of establishing, or, 
 at least, of commanding order; the idea of a great magis- 
 trate, whose essential character was that of maintaining or 
 re-establishing peace, of protecting the weak, and of end- 
 ing differences which none others could decide. This is 
 the entirely new character under which, dating from the 
 twelfth century, royalty presented itself in Europe, and 
 especially in France. It was neither as a barbarous royalty, 
 a religious royality, nor as an imperial royalty, that it 
 exercised its empire; it possessed only a limited, incomplete 
 and accidental power; the power, as it were (I know of no 
 expression more exact), of a great justice of peace for the 
 whole nation. 
 
 This is the true origin of modern royalty; this, so to 
 speak, is its vital principle; that which has been developed 
 in the course of its career, and which, I do not hesitate Id 
 
212 HISTORY OF 
 
 saying, has brought about its success. At the difterent 
 epochs of history, we see the diiferent characters of royalty 
 reappear; we see the various royalties which I have 
 described attempting by turns to regain the preponderance. 
 Thus the clergy has always preached religious royalty; jur- 
 isconsults labored to resuscitate imperial royalty; and the 
 nobles have sometimes wished to revive elective royalty, or 
 the feudal. And not only have the clergy, jurisconsults 
 and nobility striven to make dominant in royalty such or 
 such a character; it has itself made them all subservient to 
 the aggrandizement of its power; kings have sometimes 
 represented themselves as the delegates of God, some- 
 times as the successors of the emperors, according to the 
 need or inclination of the moment; they have illegitimately 
 availed themselves of these various titles, but none of them 
 has been the veritable title of modern royalty, or the source 
 of its preponderating influence. It is, I repeat, as the de- 
 positary and protector of public order, of universal justice 
 and common interest — it is under the aspect of great 
 magistracy, the centre and union of society — that it 
 has shown itself to the eyes of the people, and has appro- 
 priated their strength by obtaining their adhesion. 
 
 You will see, as we advance; this characteristic of modern 
 European royalty, which commenced at the twelfth cent- 
 ury, under the reign of Louis le Gros, strengthen and de- 
 velop itself, and became, so to speak, its political physiog- 
 nomy. It is through it that royalty has contributed to the 
 great result which characterizes European societies in the 
 present day, namely, the reduction of all social elements 
 into two, the government and the country. 
 
 Thus, at the termination of the crusades, Europe entered 
 the path which was to conduct it to its present state; and 
 royalty took its appropriate part in the great transforma- 
 tion. In our next lecture we shall study the different 
 attempts made at political organization, from the twelfth 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 213 
 
 to the sixteenth eenturj, with a view to maintain, by regu- 
 lating it, the order, then almost in ruin. We shall con- 
 sider the efforts of feudalism, of the church, and even of 
 the boroughs, to constitute society after its ancient prin- 
 ciples, and under its primitive forms, and thus defend 
 themselves against the general metamorphosis which was 
 in preparation. 
 
Z14 MISTOBT OS 
 
 TENTH LECTURE. 
 
 Object of the lecture — Attempts to reconcile the various social tlfi- 
 ments of modern Europe, and to make them live and act ia 
 common, in one society, and under one central power — 1st. At- 
 tempt at theocratical organization — Why it failed — Four princi 
 pal obstacles — Faults of Gregory VII — Reaction against the 
 domination of the church — On the part of the people — On the 
 part of the sovereigns — 2d. Attempt at republican organiza- 
 tion — Italian republics — Their defects — Towns in the south ot* 
 France — Crusade of the Albigenses — Swiss confederation — Bor- 
 oughs of Flanders and the Rhine — Hanseatic league — Struggle 
 between the feudal nobility and the boroughs — 3d. Attempt at 
 a mixed organization — States-general of France — Cortes of Spain 
 and Portugal — English parliament — Peculiar state of Germany- 
 Ill success of all their attempts — ^From what causes — General 
 tendency of Europe. 
 
 I WISH to determine correctly, and at the outset, the 
 object of this lecture. 
 
 You will recollect that one of the first facts which struck 
 us in the elements of ancient European society, was their 
 diversity, separation, and independence. The feudal 
 nobility, clergy and boroughs had a situation, laws and 
 manners, all entirely different; they were so many societies 
 which governed themselves, each upon its own account, 
 and by its own rules and power. They stood in relation 
 and came in contact, but there was no true union; they 
 did not form, properly speaking, a nation, a state. 
 
 The fusion of all these societies into one has been accom- 
 plished. It is precisely, as you have seen, the distinctive 
 fact, the essential character of modern society. The ancient 
 social elements are reduced to two, the government and 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 215 
 
 the people; that is to say, the diversity has ceased, that 
 similitude has led to union. But before this result was 
 consummated, and even with a view to its prevention, 
 many efforts were tried to make all particular societies live 
 and act in common, without destroying their diversity or 
 independence. It was not wished to strike a blow in any 
 way prejudicial to their situation, privileges, or special 
 nature, and yet to unite them in a single state, to form of 
 them one nation, to rally, tliem under one and the same 
 government. 
 
 All these attempts failed. The result which I have just 
 mentioned, the unity of modern society, proves their ill 
 success. Even in those European countries where some 
 traces of the ancient diversitv of social elements, in Ger- 
 many, for example, where there is still a true feudal nobility, 
 and a bourgeoisie; in England, where a national church is 
 in possession of special revenues and a particular jurisdic- 
 tion, it is clear that this pretended distinct existence is but 
 an appearance, an illusion; that these special societies are 
 politically confounded with the general society, absorbed 
 in the state, governed by the public powers, in subjection 
 to the same system, and carried away in the current of the 
 same ideas and the same manners. I repeat that, where 
 even the form of it still subsists, the indepenr* ^nce of the 
 ancient social elements has no reality. 
 
 Still these attempts to make them coordinate without 
 transforming them, to attach them to a national unity witu- 
 out abolishing their diversity, have held an important place 
 in the history of Europe; they partly fill the epoch which 
 now occupies our attention, that epoch which separates 
 primitive from modern Europe, and in which the meta- 
 morphosis of European society was accomplished. And 
 not only has it occupied an important place therein, but it 
 has also greatly influenced posterior events, and the manner 
 in which the reduction of all social elements into two, the 
 
216 HISTORY OF 
 
 government and the public, has been brought about. It is, 
 therefore, of consequence to properly estimate and thor- 
 oughly understand all the essays at political organization 
 which were made from the twelfth to the sixteenth century, 
 to create nations and governments, without destroying the 
 diversity of the secondary societies placed side by side. 
 Such will be our business in this lecture. 
 
 It is a difficult and even a painful task. These attempts at 
 political organization have not all been conceived and 
 directed with a good intention; many of them have had no 
 other views but those of selfishness and tyranny. More 
 than one, however, has been pure and disinterested; more 
 than one has really had for its object the moral and social 
 good of mankind. The state of incoherence, violence and 
 iniquity, in which society was then placed, shocked great 
 minds and elevated souls, and they incessantly sought the 
 means of escaping from it. Still, even the best of these 
 noble essays have failed; and so much courage and virtue, 
 so many sacrifices and efforts, have been lost: is it not a 
 heart-rending spectacle ? There is even one thing still 
 more painful, the source of a sadness still more bitter: not 
 only have these attempts at social amelioration failed, but 
 an enormous mass of error and evil has been mixed up 
 therein. Despite the good intention, the greater part were 
 absurd, and indicated a profound ignorance of reason, jus- 
 tice, the rights of humanity, and the foundations of the 
 social state; so that not only has success been wanting to 
 mankind, but they have merited their failures. We here, 
 then, have the spectacle, not only of the hard destiny of 
 humanity, but also of its weakness. One may here see 
 how the merest instalment of truth suffices so to occupy 
 the greatest minds that they entirely forget all the rest, 
 and become blind to everything which does not come within 
 the straightened horizon of their ideas; how a mere glimpse 
 of justice in a cause suffices to make them lose sight of all 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 217 
 
 the injustice which it involves and permits. This out- 
 burst of the vices and imperfection of man, is, in my 
 opinion, a contemplation even more melancholy than the 
 misery of his condition; his faults weigh more heavily upon 
 me than his sufferings. The attempts which I have to de- 
 scribe exhibit each of these spectacles. It is necessary to 
 go through with them, and to be just toward those men, 
 fchose ages, who have so often gone astray, and have so 
 cruelly failed, and who, notwithstanding, have displayed 
 such high virtues, made such noble efforts, merited so 
 much glory! 
 
 The attempts at political organization, formed from the 
 twelfth to the sixteenth century, are of two kinds: the 
 object of the one was to bring about the predominance of 
 particular social element, whether the clergy, the feudal 
 nobility, or the boroughs; to make all the others subordi- 
 nate to this, and on these terms to establish unit v. The 
 other proposed to itself to reconcile all the particular soci- 
 eties, and make them act in common, leaving to each its 
 liberty, and guaranteeing its share of influence. The first 
 class of these attempts is much more liable to the suspicion 
 of selfishness and tyranny than the second. They have, in 
 fact, of tener been tainted with these vices; they are, indeed, 
 by their very nature, essentially tyrannical in their means 
 of action. Some of them, however, may have been — in 
 fact, have been — conceived with pure views for the good 
 and progress of humanity. 
 
 The first which presents itself is the attempt at a theo- 
 cratical organization — that is to say, the design of subduing 
 the various classes of society to the principles and empire 
 of the ecclesiastical society. You will call to mind what I 
 have said concerning the history of the church. I have 
 endeavored to show what principles have been developed 
 within it, what was the share of legitimacy of each, how 
 they were born of the natural course of events, what serv- 
 
218 HISTORY OF 
 
 ices they have rendered, and what evil they have brought 
 about. I have characterized the various states into which 
 the church passed from the eighth to the twelfth century; 
 I have shown the state of the imperial church, the bar- 
 barian, the feudal, and lastly, the theocratical church. I 
 Suppose these recollections to be present to your minds; I 
 shall now endeavor to indicate what the clergy did to 
 dominate in Europe, and why they failed. 
 
 The attempt at theocratical organization appeared at a 
 very early period, whether in the acts of the court of Kome, 
 or in those of the clergy in general; it naturally resulted 
 from the political and moral superiority of the church, but 
 we shall find that it encountered, from the first, obstacles 
 which, even in its greatest vigor, it did not succeed in 
 removing. 
 
 The first was the very nature of Christianity. Wholly 
 different in this respect from the greater number of re- 
 ligious creeds, Christianity was established by persuasion 
 alone, by simply moral means; it was never, from the 
 time of its birth, armed with force. In the early ages 
 it conquered by the Word alone, and it only conquered 
 souls. Hence it happened, that even after its triumph, 
 wken the church was in possession of great riches 
 and consideration, w^e never find her invested with the 
 direct government of society. Her origin, purely moral, 
 and merely by means of persuasion, was found impressed 
 in her condition. She had much influence, but she had 
 no power. She insinuated herself into the municipal mag- 
 istracies, she acted powerfully upon the emperors and their 
 agents, but she had not the positive administration of pub- 
 lic affairs, the government, properly so called. Now a 
 system of government — the theocratical or any other — 
 cannot be established in an indirect manner by mere force 
 of influence; it is necessary to administer, command, receive 
 taxes, dispose of revenues, govern, in a word, actually to 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 219 
 
 take possession of society. When nations and governments 
 are acted upon by persuasion, much may be effected, and a 
 great empire exercised; but there would be no government, 
 no system would be founded, the future could not be pro- 
 vided for. Such has been, from its very origin, the situa- 
 tion of the Christian church; she has always been at the 
 side of the government of society, but she has never 
 removed it and taken its place: a great obstacle which the 
 attempt at theocratical organization could not surmount. 
 
 She met at a very early period with a second obstacle. 
 The Roman Empire once fallen, and the barbarian states 
 founded, the church found herself among the conquered. 
 The first thing necessary was to escape this situation; the 
 work she had to commence by converting the conquerors, 
 and thus raising herself to their rank. When this task 
 was accomplished, and the church aspired to domination, 
 she encountered the pride and resistance of the feudal 
 nobility. This was a great service rendered to Europe by 
 the feudal laity: in the eleventh century nations were 
 almost entirely subjected to the church — sovereigns were 
 scarce able to defend themselves; the feudal nobility alone 
 never received the yoke of the clergy, never humbled them- 
 selves before it. One need only recall the general physiog- 
 nomy of the middle ages to be struck by the singular mixt- 
 ure of haughtiness and submission, of blind credulity and 
 freedom of mind, in the relations between the lay lords and 
 the priests: we there see some wreck of their primitive con- 
 dition. You will call to mind how I endeavored to repre- 
 sent to you the origin of feudalism, its first elements, and 
 the manner in which the elementary feudal society was 
 formed around the habitation of the fief-holder. I remarked 
 how in that society the priest was below the lord. Well, 
 there always remained in the heart of the feudal nobility a 
 recollection and feeling of this situation; it always regarded 
 itself, not only as independent of the church, but as supe- 
 
220 HISTORY OF 
 
 rior to it, as alone called to possess and really govern the 
 country^ it was always willing to live in concord with the 
 clergy, but so as to guard its own interests, and not to give 
 in to those of the clergy. During many centuries it was 
 the lay aristocracy which maintained the independence of 
 society with regard to the church — that haughtily defended 
 it when kings and people were subdued. It was the first 
 to oppose, and perhaps contributed more than any other 
 power to the failure of the attempt at a theocratical organ- 
 ization of society. 
 
 A third obstacle was likewise opposed, of which in gen- 
 eral but little account has been held, and often even its 
 effects been misconstrued. 
 
 Wherever a clergy has seized upon society and subjected 
 it to a theocratical organization, it is upon a married clergy 
 that this empire has devolved, upon a body of priests re- 
 cruiting themselves from their own bosom, and bringing 
 up their children from their very birth in and tor the same 
 situation. Examine history: look at Asia, Egypt; all the great 
 theocracies are the work of a clergy which is a complete 
 society in itself, which suffices for its own wants and borrows 
 nothing from without. 
 
 By the celibacy of priests the Christian clergy was in an 
 entirely different position; it was obliged, in order to its 
 perpetuation, to have continual recourse to the laity; to 
 seek from abroad, in all social positions and professions, the 
 means of duration. In vain did the esprit-de-corps labosj. 
 afterward to assimilate these foreign elements; something', 
 of the origin of the new-comers always remained; burghers 
 or nobles, they always preserved some trace of their ancient 
 spirit, their former condition. Doubtless celibacy. In plac- 
 ing the Catholic clergy in an entirely special situation, for- 
 eign to the interests and common life of mankind, has been 
 to it a chief cause of isolation; but it has thus unceasingly 
 forced it into connection with lay society, in order to 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 221 
 
 recruit and renew itself therefrom, to receive and undergo 
 some part of the moral revolutions which were accomplished 
 in it; and I do not hesitate to say that this necessity, con- 
 stantly renewing, has been much more prejudicial to the 
 success of the attempt at theocratical organization than the 
 espr it-de-corps y strongly maintained by celibacy, has been 
 able to promote it. 
 
 The church finally encountered, within her own bosom, 
 powerful adversaries to this attempt. Much has been said 
 concerning the unity of the church, and it is true she 
 has constantly aspired to it, and in some respects has hap- 
 pily attained it. But let us not be deceived by the pomp 
 of words, nor by that of partial facts. What society has 
 presented more civil dissensions, or undergone more dis- 
 memberment than the t'lorgy? What nation has been 
 more divided, more disordered, more unfixed than the 
 ecclesiastical nation? The national churches of the ma- 
 jority of European countries almost incessantly strug- 
 gled against the court Rome; councils struggled against 
 popes; heresies have been innumerable and constantly 
 renewing, schisms always in readiness; nowhere has 
 there been such diversity of opinions, such fury in con- 
 test, such parcelling out of power. The internal life of 
 the church, the divisions which have broken out in it, the 
 revolutions which have agitated it, have, perhaps, been 
 the greatest obstacles to the triumph of that organization 
 which she has attempted to impose upon society. 
 
 All these obstacles were in action and visible in the very 
 cradle of the great attempt which we have in review. 
 They did not, however, prevent its following its course, 
 nor its being in progress for many centuries. Its most 
 glorious time, its day of crisis, so to speak, was in the 
 reign of Gregory VII, at the end of the eleventh century. 
 You have already seen that the dominant idea of Gregory 
 ril ira» to subjugate the world to the clergy, the clergy 
 
222 HISTORY OF 
 
 to the papal power, and Europe to a vast and regulat 
 theocracy. In this design, as far as it may be permitted 
 us to judge of events at such a distance, this great man 
 committed, in my opinion, two great faults; one the fault 
 of a theorist, the other of a revolutionist. The first was 
 that of ostentatiously displaying his plan, of systematically 
 proclaiming his principles on the nature and rights of 
 spiritual power, of drawing from them beforehand, like an 
 intractable logician, the most distant consequences. He 
 thus menaced and attacked all the lay sovereignties of 
 Europe, before being assured of the means of conquering 
 them. Success in human affairs is neither obtained by 
 such absolute proceedings, nor in the name of philo- 
 sophical argument. Moreover, Gregory VII fell into the 
 common error of revolutionists, that of attempting more 
 than they can execute, and not taking the possible as the 
 measure and limit of their efforts. In order to hasten the 
 domination of his ideas, he engaged in contest with the 
 empire, with all the sovereigns and with the clergy itself. 
 He hesitated at no consequence, nor cared for any interest, 
 but haughtily proclaimed that he willed to reign over all 
 kingdoms as well as over all minds, and thus raised against 
 him, on one side, all the temporal powers, who saw them- 
 selves in pressing danger, and on the other the free-think- 
 ers, who began to appear, and who already dreaded the 
 tyranny over thought. Upon the whole, Gregory perhaps 
 compromised more than he advanced the cause he wished to 
 serve. 
 
 It, however, continued to prosper during the whole of 
 the twelfth and down to the middle of the thirteenth 
 century. This is the time of the greatest power and brill- 
 iancy of the church, though I do not think it can be 
 strictly said that she made any great progress in that epoch. 
 Down to the end of the reign of Innocent III she rather 
 cultivated than extended h^r ^lory and power. It was at 
 
GIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 223 
 
 the moment of her greatest apparent success that a popular 
 reaction declared itself against her in a large portion of 
 Europe. In the south of France the heresy of the Al- 
 bigenses broke forth, which took possession of an entire, 
 numerous and powerful community. Almost at the same 
 time in the north, in Flanders, ideas and desires of the 
 same nature appeared. A little later, in England, Wickliff 
 attacked with talent the power of the church, and founded 
 a sect which will never perish. Sovereigns did not long 
 delay entering the same path as the people. It was at the 
 commencement of the thirteenth century that the most 
 powerful and the ablest sovereigns of Europe, the emper- 
 ors of the house of Hohenstaufen, succumbed in their 
 struggle with the papacy. During this century Saint 
 Louis, the most pious of kings, proclaimed the inde- 
 pendence of the temporal power, and published the 
 first Pragmatic Sanction, which iias been the basis of all 
 others. At the commencement of the fourteenth cen- 
 tury the quarrel broke out between Philip le Bel 
 and Boniface VIII; the king of England, Edward I, 
 was not more docile toward Rome. At this epoch, it is 
 clear, the attempt at a theocratical organization has failed; 
 the church, henceforth, will be on the defensive; she will 
 no longer undertake to impose her system upon Europe; 
 her only thought will be to preserve what she has conquered. 
 It is from the end of the thirteenth century that the 
 emancipation of the European lay society really dates; it 
 was then that the church ceased to pretend to the posses- 
 sion of it. 
 
 She had long before renounced this claim, in the very 
 sphere in which she seemed to have had the best chance of 
 success. Long since, upon the very threshold of the 
 church, around her very throne in Italy, theocracy had 
 completely failed, and given place to an entirely diffei*ent 
 system — to that attempt at a democratical organization, of 
 
224 HISTORY OF 
 
 which the Italian republics are the type, and which, from 
 the eleventh to the sixteenth century, played so brilliant a 
 part in Europe. 
 
 You recollect what I have already related of the history 
 of the boroughs, and the manner in which they were 
 formed. In Italy, their destiny was more precocious and 
 powerful than anywhere else; the towns there were much 
 more numerous and wealthy than in Gaul, Britain, or 
 Spain; the Eoman municipal system remained more full of 
 life and regular there. 
 
 The country parts of Italy, also, were much less fit to 
 become the habitation of their new masters, than those of 
 the rest of Europe. They had everywhere been cleared, 
 drained and cultivated; they were not clothed with forests; 
 here the barbarians were unable to follow the hazards of 
 the chase, or to lead an analogous life to that of Germany. 
 Moreover, one part of this territory did not belong to 
 them. The south of Italy, the Campagna di Roma and 
 Ravenna, continued to depend upon the Greek emperors. 
 Favored by its distance from the sovereign and the vicissi- 
 tudes of war, the republican system, at an early period, 
 gained strength and developed itself in this part of the 
 country. And not only the whole of Italy was not in the 
 power of the barbarians, but even where the barbarians 
 did conquer it, they did not remain in tranquil and defini- 
 tive possession. The Ostrogoths were destroyed and driven 
 out by Belisarius and Narses. The kingdom of the Lom- 
 bards succeeded no better in establishing itself. The 
 Franks destroyed it; and, without destroying the Lombard 
 population, Pepin and Charlemagne judged it expedient to 
 form an alliance with the ancient Italian population, in 
 order to struggle against the recently conquered Lombards. 
 The barbarians, then, were not in Italy, as elsewhere, the 
 exclusive and undisturbed masters of the land and of 
 society. Hence it was, that beyond the Alps, only a weak. 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 225 
 
 thin and scattered feudalism was established. The pre- 
 ponderance, instead of passing into the inhabitants of the 
 country parts, as had happened in Gaul, for example, con- 
 tinued to appertain to the towns. When this result be- 
 came evident, a large portion of the fief-holders, either 
 from free-will or necessity, ceased to inhabit the country, 
 and settled in the cities. Barbarian nobles became burgh- 
 ers. You may imagine what power and superiority this 
 single fact gave the Italian towns as compared with the 
 other boroughs of Europe. What we have remarked in 
 these latter, was the inferiority and timidity of the popula- 
 tion. The burghers appeared to us like courageous freed 
 men painfully struggling against a master who was always 
 at their gates. The burghers of Italy were very different; 
 the conquering and the conquered population mixed within 
 the same walls; the towns had not to defend themselves 
 from a neighboring master; their inhabitants were citizens, 
 from all time free, at least the majority of them, who de- 
 iended their independence and their rights against distant 
 and foreign sovereigns, at one time against the Frank 
 kings, at another against the emperors of Germany. 
 Hence, the immense and early superiority of the towns of 
 Italy: while elsewhere even the poorest boroughs were 
 formed with infinite trouble, here we see republics. States 
 arise. 
 
 Thus is explained the success of the attempt at repub- 
 lican organization in this part of Europe. It subdued 
 feudalism at a very early period, and became the dominant 
 form of society. But it was little calculated to spread or 
 perpetuate itself; it contained but few germs of ameliora- 
 tion, the necessary condition to extension and duration. 
 
 When we examine the history of the republics of Italy, 
 from the eleventh to the fifteenth century, we are struck 
 with two apparently contradictory yet incontestable facts. 
 We find an admirable development of courage, activity and 
 
226 HISTORY OF 
 
 genius, and in consequence great prosperity; there is there 
 a movement and liberty which is wanting to the rest of 
 Europe. Let us ask, what was the real condition of the 
 inhabitants, how their life was passed, what was their share 
 of happiness? Here the aspect changes; no history can be 
 more melancholy and gloomy. There is, perhaps, no 
 epoch or country in which the position of man appears to 
 have been more agitated, subject to more deplorable mis- 
 chances, or where we meet with more dissensions, crimes 
 and misfortunes. Another fact is manifest at the same 
 time; in the political system of the greater part of the 
 republics liberty continually diminished. The want of 
 security was such that the factions were inevitably forced 
 to seek refuge in a system less tempestuous though less 
 popular than that with which the state had commenced. 
 Take the history of Florence, Venice, Genoa, Milan, Pisa; 
 you will everywhere see that the general course of events, 
 instead of developing liberty, and enlarging the circle of 
 institutions, tends to contract it, and to concenter the 
 power within the hands of a small number of men. In a 
 word, in these republics, so energetic, brilliant and wealthy, 
 two things were wanting: security of life, the first condi- 
 tion of a social state, and the progress of institutions. 
 
 Thence a new evil, which did not allow of the extension 
 of the attempt at republican organization. It was from 
 without, from foreign sovereigns, that the greatest danger 
 was threatened to Italy. Yet this danger had never the 
 effect of reconciling these republics and making them act 
 in concert; they would never resist in common a common 
 enemy. Many of the most enlightened Italians, accord- 
 ingly, the best patriots of our time, deplore the republican 
 system of Italy in the middle ages as the real cause of its 
 never having become a nation. It was parcelled out, they 
 say, into a multitude of petty people, too much under the 
 control of their passions to allow of their confederating, or 
 
OIVILIZA TION m EUROPE. 227 
 
 constituting themselves a state. They regret that their 
 country, like the rest of Europe, has not passed through a 
 despotic centralization which would have formed it into a 
 nation, and have rendered it independent of foreigners. 
 It seems, then, that the republican organization, even 
 under the most favorable circumstances, did not contain 
 within itself at this epoch the principle of progress, of 
 duration, extension — that it had no future. Up to a cer- 
 tain point, one may compare the organization of Italy in 
 the middle ages to that of ancient Greece. Greece also 
 was a country full of petty republics, always rivals and 
 often enemies, and sometimes rallying toward a common 
 end. The advantage in this comparison is entirely with 
 Greece. There can be no doubt that, although history 
 gives us many instances of iniquity in them, too, there was 
 more order, security and justice in the interior of Athens, 
 Lacedaemon, Thebes, than in the Italian republics. Yet 
 how short was the political existence of Greece! What a 
 principle of weakness existed in that parcelling out of 
 power and territory! When Greece came in contact with 
 great neighboring states, with Macedonia and Home, she 
 at once succumbed. These small republics, so glorious 
 and still so flourishing, could not form a coalitian U-t 
 defense. How much stronger was the reason for the same 
 result happening in Italy, where society and human reason 
 had been so much less developed and less firm than among 
 the Greeks. 
 
 If the attempt at republican organization had so little 
 chance of duration in Italy where it had triumphed, where 
 the feudal system had been vanquished, you may easily 
 conceive that it would much sooner succumb in the other 
 parts of Europe. 
 
 I will rapidly place its destinies before you. 
 
 There was one portion of Europe which bore a great 
 resemblance to Italy; this was the south of France and the 
 
228 BISTORT OF 
 
 neighboring Spanish provinces, Catalonia, Navarre and 
 Biscay. There Hkewise the towns had gained great devel- 
 opment, importance and wealth. Many of the petty lords 
 were allied with the burghers ; a portion of the clergy had 
 likewise embraced their cause ; in a word, the country was 
 in a situation remarkably analogous to that of Italy. 
 Accordingly, in the course of the eleventh century, and at 
 the commencement of the twelfth, the towns of Provence, 
 Languedoc and Aquitaine, aimed at a political flight, at 
 forming themselves into independent republics, just like 
 those beyond the Alps. But the south of France was in 
 contact with a very strong feudalism, that of the north. 
 At this time occurred the heresy of the Albigenses, and 
 war broke out between feudal and municipal France. You 
 know the history of the crusade against the Albigenses, 
 under Simon de Montfort. This was the contest of the 
 feudalism of the north against the attempt at democratical 
 organization of the south. Despite the southern patriot- 
 ism the north carried the day ; political unity was wanting 
 in the south, and civilization was not sufficiently advanced 
 for men to supply its place by concert. The attempt at 
 republican organization was put down, and the crusade 
 re-established the feudal system in the south of France. 
 
 At a later period, the republican attempt met with better 
 success in the mountains of Switzerland. There the thea- 
 ter was very straitened. They had only to struggle against 
 a foriegn sovereign, who, although of a superior force to 
 the Swiss, was by no means among the most formidable 
 sovereigns of Europe. The struggle was courageously sus- 
 tained. The Swiss feudal nobility allied themselves in a 
 great measure with the towns — a powerful succor which, 
 however, altered the nature of the revolution which it 
 aided, and imprinted upon it a more aristocratic and less 
 progressive character than it seemed at first intended to 
 bear. 
 
CIVILTZA TION IN EURO? E. 229 
 
 1 now pass to the north of France, to the boroughs of 
 Flanders, the banks of the Ehine, and the Hanseatic 
 league. There the democratical organization triumphed 
 fully in the interior of the towns; yet, we perceive, from its 
 outset, that it was not destined to extend itself, or to take 
 entire possession of society. The boroughs of the north 
 were surrounded and oppressed by feudalism, by lords and 
 sovereigns, so that they were constantly on the defensive. It 
 is clear that all they did was to defend themselves as well 
 as they could, they essayed no conquests. They preserved 
 their privileges, but remained shut up within their own 
 walls. There the democraiical organization was confined 
 and stopped short; if we go elsewhere into the country we 
 do not find it. 
 
 You see what was the state of the republican attempt. 
 Triumphant in Italy, but with little chance of success or 
 progress; vanquished in the south of Gaul; victorious on a 
 small scale in the mountains of Switzerland; in the north, 
 in the boroughs of Flanders, the Rhine and the Hanseatic 
 league, condemned never to pass beyond the town walls. 
 Still, in this position, evidently inferior in force to the 
 other elements of society, it inspired the feudal nobility 
 with a prodigious terror. The lords were jealous of the 
 wealth of the boroughs, and feared their power; the demo- 
 cratical spirit penetrated into the rural districts; the insur- 
 rections of the peasants became more frequent and 
 obstinate. A great coalition was formed among the feudal 
 nobility against the boroughs, almost throughout Europe. 
 The party was unequal; the boroughs were isolated; there 
 was no understanding or communication between them; all 
 was local. There existed, indeed, a certain sympathy be- 
 tween the burghers of various countries. The successes or 
 reverses of the towns in Flanders in the struggles with the 
 dukes of Burgundy certainly excited a lively emotion in 
 the French towns. But this emotion was transitory and 
 
280 HISTOnT OF 
 
 without result. No tie, no real union, was established. 
 Xor did the boroughs lend strength to one another. 
 Feudalism, then, had immense advantages over them. 
 But, itself divided and incoherent, it did not succeed in 
 destroying them. When the struggle had lasted a certain 
 time, when they had acquired the conviction that a com- 
 plete victory was impossible, it became necessary to 
 acknowledge the petty republican burghers, to treat with 
 them, and to receive them as members of the state. Then 
 a new order commenced, a new attempt at political organ- 
 ization, that of mixed organization, the object of which 
 was to reconcile all the elements of society, the feudal 
 nobility, the boroughs, clergy and sovereigns, and to make 
 them live and act together in spite of their profound 
 hostility. 
 
 All of you know what are the States-general in France, 
 the Cortes in Spain and Portugal, the Parliament in 
 England and the Diets in Germany. You know, likewise, 
 what were the elements of these various assemblies. The 
 feudal nobility, the clergy and the boroughs, collected 
 at them with a view to unite themselves into a single 
 society, into one state, under one law and one power. 
 They all, under various names, have the same tendency and 
 design. 
 
 I shall take, as the type of this attempt, the fact which 
 is the most interesting and the best known to us, namely, 
 the States-general in France. I say the best known to 
 tis; yet I am convinced that the name of States-general 
 awakens in your minds only vague and incomplete ideas. 
 None of you can say what there waa fixed or regular in 
 the States-general of France, what was the number of 
 their members, what the subjects of deliberation, or what 
 the periods of convocation and the duration of sessions; 
 nothing is known of these things; it is impossible to 
 draw from history any clear, general, or universal results 
 
CIVILIZA TION m EUROPE, 231 
 
 as to this subject. When we examine closely the character 
 of these assemblies in the history of France, they look like 
 mere accidents, political last resource alike for people and 
 kings; as a last resource for kings when they had no money, 
 and knew not how to escape from their embarrassments; 
 and as a last resource for the people when the evil became 
 so great that they knew not what remedy to apply. The 
 nobility were present in the States-general; the clergy like- 
 wise took part in them; but they came full of indifference, 
 for they knew that this was not their great means of action, 
 that they could not promote by it the real part they took in 
 the government. The burghers themselves were scarcely 
 more eager about it; it was not a right which they took an 
 interest in exercising, but a necessity which they tolerated. 
 Thus may be seen the character of the political activity of 
 these assemblies. They were sometimes utterly insignifi- 
 cant, and sometimes terrible. If the king was the 
 strongest, their humility and docility were carried to an 
 extreme; if the situation of the crown was unfortunate, if 
 it had absolute need of the states, they fell into faction and 
 became the instruments of some aristocratical intrigue, or 
 some ambitious leaders. In a word, they were sometimes 
 mere assemblies of notables, sometimes regular conventions. 
 Thus their works almost always died with them; they 
 promised and attempted much, and did nothing. None of 
 the great measures which have really acted upon society in 
 France, no important reform in the government, the legis- 
 lation or the administration, has emanated from the States- 
 general. It must not, however, be supposed that they 
 were without utility or effect; they have had a moral effect, 
 of which too little account is generally taken; they hava 
 been, from one epoch to another, a protest against political 
 servitude, a violent proclamation of certain tutelary prin- 
 ciples; for example, that the country has the right to 
 impose taxes, to interfere in its own affairs, and to impose 
 ft responsibility upon the agents of power. 
 
232 HISTORY OF 
 
 That these maxims have never perished in France is to 
 be attributed to the States-general, and it is no small serv- 
 ice to render to a people, to maintain in its manners, and 
 renew in its thoughts the remembrances and rights of 
 liberty. The States-general have possessed this virtue, but 
 they have never been a means of government; they have 
 never entered into the political organization; they have 
 never attained the end for which thev were formed, that is 
 to say, the fusion into a single body of the various societies 
 which divided the country. 
 
 The Cortes of Spain and Portugal offer us the same 
 result. In a thousand circumstances, however, they are 
 different. The importance of the Cortes varies according 
 to place and time; in Aragon and Biscay, amid the debates 
 concerning the succession to the crown, or the struggle 
 against the Moors, they were more frequently convoked and 
 more powerful. In certain Cortes, for example, in those 
 of Castile in 1370 and 1373, the nobles and the clergy 
 were not called. There is a crowd of details which it is 
 necessary should be taken into account, if we look closely 
 into events. But in the general view to which I am obliged 
 to confine myself, it may be said of the Cortes, as of the 
 States-general of France, that they have been an accident 
 in history, and never a system, political organization, or a 
 regular means of government. 
 
 The destiny of England was different. I shall not now 
 enter upon this subject in detail. I propose to devote one 
 lecture especially to the political life of England; I shall 
 now merely say a few words upon the causes which have 
 imparted to it a direction entirely different from that of the 
 continent. 
 
 And first, there were no great vassals in England, no 
 subject in a condition to strive personally against royalty. 
 The English barons and great lords were obliged to coalesce 
 in order to resist in common. Thus have prevailed, in the 
 
CIVILIZATION m EUROPE. 233 
 
 high aristocracy, the })riiiciple of association and true 
 political manners. Moreover, English feudalism, the 
 petty fief-holders, have been gradually led by a series of 
 events, which I cannot enumerate at present, to unite them- 
 selves with the burghers, to sit with them in the House oi 
 Commons, which thus possessed a power superior to 
 that of the continental assemblies, a force truly capable 
 of influencing the government of the country. Let us 
 see what was the state of the British Parliament in the 
 fourteenth century. The House of Lords was the great 
 council of the king, a council actively associated in the 
 exercise of power. The House of Commons, composed 
 of the deputies of the petty fief-holders, and of burghers, 
 took scarcely any part in the government, properly so 
 called, but it established rights, and very energetically 
 defended private and local interests. The Parliament, 
 considered as a whole, did not yet govern, but it was al- 
 ready a regular institution, a means of government adopted 
 in principle, and often, in fact, indispensable. Thus the 
 attempt at junction and alliance between the various ele- 
 ments of society, with a view to form of them a single 
 political body, a regular state, was successful in England^ 
 while it had failed everywhere on the continent. 
 
 I shall say but a few words as to Germany, and those 
 only to indicate the dominant character of its history. 
 There the attempts at fusion, unity and general political 
 organization, were followed with little ardor. The various 
 social elements remained much more distinct and inde- 
 pendent than in the rest of Europe. If a proof is wanted, 
 one may be found in modern times. Germany is the only 
 country in which the feudal election long took part in the 
 creation of royalty. I do not speak of Poland, nor the 
 Sclavonian nations, which entered at so late an age into 
 the system of European civilization. Germany is likewise 
 the only country of Europe where ecclesiastical sovereigns 
 
234 HISTORY OIT 
 
 remained; which preserved free towns, having a true polit- 
 ical existence and sovereignty. It is clear that the attempt 
 to combine in a single society the elements of primitive 
 European society has there had much less activity and 
 effect than elsewhere. 
 
 ' I have now placed before you the great essays at political 
 organization in Europe down to the end of the fourteenth 
 century and the beginning of the fifteenth. You have 
 seen them all fail. I have endeavored to indicate, in pass- 
 ing, the causes of this ill-success; indeed, truly speaking, 
 they are reduceable to one. Society was not sufficiently 
 advanced for unity; everything was as yet too local, too 
 special, too narrow, too various in existence, and in men^s 
 minds. There were neither general interests nor general 
 opinions capable of controlling particular interests and 
 opinions. The most elevated and vigorous minds had no 
 idea of administration, nor of true political justice. It 
 was evidently necessary that a more active and vigorous 
 civilization should first mix, assimilate, and, so to speak, 
 grind together all these incoherent elements; it was first 
 necessary that a powerful centralization of interest, laws, 
 manners and ideas should be brought about; in a word, it 
 was necessary that a public power and public opinion 
 should arise. We have arrived at the epoch when this 
 great work was consummated. Its first symptoms, the 
 state of mind and manners during the course of the fif- 
 teenth century, the tendency toward the formation of a 
 central government, and a public opinion, will form the 
 subject of our next lecture. 
 
OIYILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 235 
 
 ELEVENTH LECTURE. 
 
 Object of the lecture — Special character of the fifteenth centnry — 
 Progressive centralization of nations and governments — 1st. Of 
 France — Formation of the national French spirit — Government 
 of Louis XI— 2d. Of Spain— 3d. Of Germany— 4th. Of Eng- 
 land — 5th. Of Italy — Origin of the external relations of states 
 and of diplomacy — Movement in religious ideas — Attempt at 
 aristocratical reform — Council of Constance and Basle — Attempt 
 at popular reform — John Huss — Regeneration of literature — Ad- 
 miration for antiquity — Classical school, or free-thinkers — Gen- 
 eral activity — Voyages, discoveries, inventions — Conclusion. 
 
 We touch the threshold of modern history, properly so 
 called — the threshold of that society which is our own, of 
 which the institutions, opinions and manners were, forty 
 years ago, those of France, are still those of Europe, and 
 still exercise so powerful an influence upon us, despite the 
 metamorphosis brought about by our revolution. It was. 
 with the sixteenth century, as I have already said, that 
 modern society really commenced. Before entering upon 
 it, recall to your minds, I pray you, the roads over which 
 we have passed. We have discovered, amid the ruins of 
 the Roman Empire, all the essential elements of the 
 Europe of the present day; we have seen theai distinguish 
 and aggrandize themselves, each on its own account, and 
 independently. We recognized, during the first epoch of 
 history, the constant tendency of these elements to sepa- 
 ration, isolation and a local and special existence. Scarcely 
 was this end obtained — scarcely had feudalism, the bor- 
 oughs and the clergy each taken its distinct form and 
 
236 HISTORY OF 
 
 place, than we see them tending to approach each other, 
 to reunite, and form themselves into a general society, into 
 a nation and a government. In order to arrive at this result, 
 the various countries of Europe addressed themselves to 
 all the different systems which co-existed in its bosom; 
 they demanded the principle of social unity, the political 
 and moral tie, from theocracy, aristocracy, democracy and 
 royalty. Hitherto, all these attempts had failed; no sys- 
 tem or influence had known how to seize upon society, and 
 by its empire to insure it a truly public destiny. We have 
 found the cause of this ill success in the absence of uni- 
 versal interests and ideas. We have seen that all was, as 
 yet, too special, individual and local; that a long and pow- 
 erful labor of centralization was necessary to enable society 
 to extend and cement itself at the same time, to become at 
 once great and regular — an end to which it necessarily 
 aspired. This was the state in which we left Europe at the 
 end of the fourteenth century. 
 
 She was far from understanding her position, such as I 
 have endeavored to place it before you. She did not know 
 distinctly what she wanted or what she sought; still she 
 applied herself to the search as if she knew. The four- 
 teenth century closed. Europe entered naturally, and, as 
 it were, instinctively, the path which led to centralization. 
 It is the characteristic of the fifteenth century to have con- 
 stantly tended to this result; to have labored to create 
 universal interests and ideas, to make the spirit of specialty 
 and locality disappear, to reunite and elevate existences 
 and minds; in fine, to create what had hitherto never 
 existed on a large scale, nations and governments. The 
 outbreak of this fact belongs to the sixteenth and seven- 
 teenth centuries; it was in the fifteenth that it was pre- 
 paring. It is this preparation which we have to investi- 
 gate at present — this silent and concealed work of central- 
 ization, whether in social relations or ideas, a work accom- 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 237 
 
 plished by the natural course of events, without premedita^ 
 tion or design. 
 
 Thus man advances in the execution of a plan which he 
 has not himself conceived, or which, perhaps, he does not 
 even understand. He is the intelligent and free artificer 
 of a work which does not belong to him. He does not 
 recognize or comprehend it until a later period, when it 
 manifests itself outwardly and in realities; and even then he* 
 understands it but very incompletely. Yet it is by him, it 
 is by the development of his intellect and his liberty that 
 it is accomplished. Conceive a great machine, of which 
 the idea resides in a single mind, and of which the differ- 
 ent pieces are confided to different workmen, who are scat- 
 tered, and are strangers to one another; none of them 
 knowing the work as a whole, or the definitive and general 
 result to which it concurs, yet each executing with intelli- 
 gence and liberty, by rational and voluntary acts, that of 
 which he has the charge. So is the plan of Providence 
 upon the world executed by the hand of mankind; thus do 
 the two facts which manifest themselves in the history of 
 civilization co-exist; on the one hand, its fatality, that 
 which escapes science and the human will — and on the 
 other, the part played therein by the liberty and intellect of 
 man, that which he infuses of his own will by his own 
 thought and inclination. 
 
 In order properly to comprehend the fifteenth century — 
 to obtain a clear and exact idea of<this prelude, as it were, 
 of modern society — we will distinguish the different classes 
 of facts. We will first examine the political facts, the 
 changes which have tended to form both nations and gov- 
 ernments. Thence we will pass to moral facts; we will 
 observe the changes which have been produced in ideas and 
 manners, and we will thence deduce what general opinions 
 were in preparation. As regards political facts, in order 
 to proceed simply and quickly, I will run over all the great 
 
238 HISTORY OF 
 
 countries of Europe, and show you what the fifteenth 
 century made of them — it what state it found and left 
 them. 
 
 I shall commence with France. The last half of the 
 fourteenth century and the first half of the fifteenth were, 
 as you know, the times of great national wars — the wars 
 against the English. It was the epoch of the struggle for 
 the independence of France and the French name against 
 a foreign dominion. A glance at history will show with 
 what ardor, despite a multitude of dissensions and treasons, 
 all classes of society in France concurred in this struggle; 
 what patriotism took possession of the feudal nobility, the 
 burghers and even peasants. If there were nothing else to 
 show the popular character of the event than the history of 
 Joan of Arc, it would be more than sufficient proof. Joan 
 of Arc sprung from the people. It was by the sentiments, 
 creed and passions of the people that she was inspired 
 and sustained. She was looked upon with distrust, scorn 
 and even enmity by the people of the court and the 
 chiefs of the army; but she had the soldiers and the people 
 6ver on her side. It was the peasants of Lorraine who 
 sent her to the succor of the burghers of Orleans. No 
 event has more strikingly shown the popular character of 
 this war, and the feeling with which the whole country 
 regarded it. 
 
 Thus began the formation of French nationality. Up 
 to the reign of the Yalois it was the feudal character which 
 dominated in France; the French nation, the French 
 mind, French patriotism, did not as yet exist. With the 
 Valois commenced France, properly so called. It was in 
 th6 course of their wars, through the phases of their des- 
 tiny, that the nobility, the burghers and the peasants, were 
 for the first time united by a moral tie, by the tie of 
 a common name, a common honor and a common desire 
 to conquer the enemy. But expect not to find there as 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 239 
 
 yet any true political spirit, nor any great purpose of unity 
 in the government and institutions, such as we conceivQ 
 them at the present day. Unity in the France of this 
 epoch resided in its name, its national honor, and in the 
 existence of a national royalty, whatever it might be, pro- 
 vided the foreigner did not appear therein. It is in this 
 way that the struggle against the English powerfully con- 
 tributed to the formation of the French nation, to impel it 
 toward unity. At the same time that France was thus 
 morally forming herself, and the national spirit was being 
 developed, she was also forming herself materially, so to 
 speak — that is to say, her territory was being regulated, 
 extended, strengthened. This was the period of the incor- 
 poration of the greater part of the provinces which have 
 become France. Under Charles VII, after the expulsion 
 of the English, almost all the provinces which they had 
 occupied, Normandy, Angoumois, Touraine, Poitou, Sain- 
 tonge, etc., became definitively French. Under Louis 
 XI, ten provinces, three of which were afterward lost and 
 regained, were united to France; namely, Roussillon and 
 Cerdagne, Burgundy, Franche-Comte, Picardy, Artois, 
 Provence, Maine, Anjou and Perche. Under Charles VIII 
 and Louis XII, the successive marriages of Anne with these 
 two kings brought us Brittany. Thus, at the same epoch, 
 and during the course of the same events, the national ter- 
 ritory and mind were forming together; moral and material 
 France conjointly acquired strength and unity. 
 
 Let us pass from the nation to* the government; we shall 
 see the accomplishment of similar facts, shall move toward 
 the same result. Never had the French government been 
 more devoid of unity, connection and strength than under 
 the reign of Charles VI and during the first part of 
 that of Charles VII. At the end of this latter reign the 
 aspect of all things changed. There was evidently a 
 strengthening, extending and organizing of power; all the 
 
240 HISTORY OF 
 
 great means of government — taxes, military force, law — 
 were created upon a great scale and with some uniformit3% 
 This was the time of the formation of standing armies — 
 free companies, cavalry — and free archers, infantry. By 
 «;nese companies Charles VII re-established some order in 
 those provinces which had been desolated by the disorders 
 and exactions of the soldiery, even after war had ceased. 
 All contemporary historians speak with astonishment of 
 the marvelous effects of the free companies. It was at the 
 same epoch that the poll-tax, one of the principal revenues 
 of the kingdom, became perpetual; a serious blow to the 
 liberty of the people, but which powerfully contributed to 
 the regularity and strength of the government. At this 
 time, too, the great instrument of power, the administra- 
 tion of justice, was extended and organized; parliaments 
 multiplied. There were five new parliaments constituted 
 within a very short period of time: under Louis XI, the 
 parliament of Grenoble (in 1451), of Bordeaux (in 1462), 
 and of Dijon (in 1477); under Louis XII, the parliaments of 
 Rouen (in 1499), and of Aix (in 1501). The parliament of 
 Paris, also, at this time greatly increased in importance 
 and firmness, both as regards the administration of justice 
 and as charged with the policy of its jurisdiction. 
 
 Thus, as regards military force, taxation and justice, 
 that is, in what constitutes its very essence, government in 
 France in the fifteenth century acquired a character of 
 permanence and regularity hitherto unknown; public power 
 definitively took the place of the feudal powers. 
 
 At the same time another and far different change was 
 brought about; a change which was less visible and which 
 has less impressed itself upon historians, but which was 
 perhaps of still more importance — namely, the change 
 which Louis XI effected in the manner of govwning. 
 
 Much has been said concerning the struggle of Louis XI 
 against the high nobles of the kingdom, of their abasement. 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 241 
 
 and of his favor toward the burghers and the lower classes. 
 There is truth in this, although much of it is exaggerated; 
 it is also true that the conduct of Louis XI toward the dif- 
 ferent classes oftener troubled than served the state. But 
 he did something much more important. Up to this time 
 the government had proceeded almost entirely by force and 
 by material means. Persuasion, address, the managing 
 men^s minds and leading them to particular view^s, in a 
 word, policy — policy doubtless of falsehood and imposition, 
 but also of management and prudence, had hitherto been 
 but little attended to. Louis XI substituted in the gov- 
 ernment intellectual in place of material means, artifice 
 instead of force, the Italian policy in place of the feudal. 
 Look at the two men whose rivalry occupies this epoch of 
 our history, Charles le Temeraire and Louis XI. Charles 
 was the representative of the ancient form of governing; 
 he proceeded by violence alone, he appealed incessantly to 
 war, he was incapable of exercising patience, or of address- 
 ing himself to the minds of men in order to make them 
 instruments to his success. 'It was on the contrary the 
 pleasure of Louis XI to avoid the use of force and take 
 possession of men individually by conversation and the 
 skillful handling of interests and minds. He changed 
 neither the institutions nor the external system, but only 
 the secret proceedings, the tactics of power. It was left 
 for modern times to attempt a still greater revolution, by 
 laboring to introduce, alike into political means as into 
 political ends, justice instead of selfishness, and publicity 
 in place of lying fraud. It is not less true, however, that 
 there was great indication of progress in renouncing the 
 continual employment of force, in invoking chiefiy intel- 
 lectual superiority, in governing through mind, and not by 
 the ruin of existences. It was this that Louis XI com- 
 menced, by force of his high intellect alone, amid all his 
 crimes and faults, despite his bad nature. 
 
242 HISTORY OF 
 
 From France I pass to Spain; there I find events of the 
 same nature; it was thus that the national unit}*" of Spain 
 was formed in the fifteenth century; at that time, hy the 
 conquest of the kingdom of Grenada, the lengthened 
 struggle between the Christians and the Arabs was put an 
 end to. Then, also, the country was centralized; by the 
 marriage of Ferdinand the Catholic and Isabella, the two 
 principal kingdoms of Castile and Aragon were united 
 under one power. As in France, royalty was here extended 
 and strengthened; sterner institutions, and which bore a 
 more mournful name, served as its fulcrum; instead of 
 parliament, the inquisition arose. It contained in germ 
 what it was to be, but it was not then the same as in its 
 maturer age. It was at first rather political than religious, 
 and intended rather to maintain order than to defend the 
 faith. The analogy extends beyond institutions, it is 
 found even in the persons. With less artifice, mental 
 movement and restless and busy activity, the character and 
 government of Ferdinand the Catholic resembles that of 
 Louis XI. I hold as unimportant all arbitrary compari- 
 sons and fanciful parallels; but here the analogy is pro- 
 found and visible alike in general facts and in details. 
 
 We find the same in Germany. It was in the middle of 
 the fifteenth century, in 1438, that the house of Austria 
 returned to the empire, and with it the imperial power 
 acquired a permanence which it had never possessed 
 before; election afterward did little more than consecrate 
 the hereditary successor. At the end of the fifteenth 
 century, Maximilian I definitively founded the preponder- 
 ance of his house and the regular exercise of central 
 authority; Charles VII first created in France a standing 
 army for the maintenance of order; Maximilian was also 
 the first, in his hereditary states, to attain the same end by 
 the same means, Louis XI established the post-office in 
 France; and Maximilian introduced it into Germany. 
 
GIVILIZA TlOJSr IN EUROPE. 243 
 
 Everywhere the same progressions of civilization were 
 similarly cultivated for the good of central power. 
 
 The history of England in the fifteenth century consists 
 of two great events; without, the struggle against the 
 French, and within, that of the two roses, the foreign and 
 the civil war. These two so dissimilar wars led to the 
 same result. The struggle against the French was sus- 
 tained by the English people with an ardor which profited 
 only royalty. This nation, already more skillful and firni 
 than any other in keeping back its forces and supplies, at 
 this epoch abandoned them to its kings without foresight 
 or limit. It was under the reign of Henry V that a con- 
 siderable tax, the customs, was granted to the king from 
 the commencement of his reign until his death. When 
 the foreign war was ended, or almost so, the civil war, 
 which had been associated with it, continued alone; the 
 houses of York at first and Lancaster disputed for the throne. 
 When they came to the end of their bloody contests, the 
 high English aristocracy found itself ruined, decimated 
 and incapable of preserving the power which it had 
 hitherto exercised. The coalition of the great barons 
 could no longer influence the throne. The Tudors 
 ascended it, and with Henry VII, in 1485, commenced the 
 epoch of political centralization and the triumph of 
 royalty. 
 
 Koyalty was not established in Italy, at least not under 
 that name; but this matters little as regards the result. It 
 was in the fifteenth century that the republics fell; even 
 where the name remained, the power was concentred in the 
 hands of one or more families; republican life was extinct. 
 In the north of Italy, almost all the Lombard republics 
 were absorbed in the duchy of Milan. In 1434 Florence 
 fell under the domination of Medicis; in 1464 Genoa 
 became subject to the Milanese. The greater portion of 
 the republics, great and small, gave place to sovereign 
 
!344 H18T0RT OF 
 
 houses. The pretensions of foreign sovereigns were soon 
 put forth upon the north and south of Italy, upon the 
 Milanese on one side, and the kingdom of Naples on 
 the other. 
 
 Upon whatever country of Europe we turn our eyes, and 
 whatever portion of its history we may consider, whether it 
 has reference to the nations themselves, or to their gov- 
 ernments, to the institutions of the countries, we shall 
 everywhere see the ancient elements and forms of society 
 on the point of disappearing. The traditional liberties 
 perish and new and more concentrated and regular powers 
 arise. There is something profoundly sad in the fall 
 of the old European liberties; at the time it inspired 
 the bitterest feelings. In France, Germany, and 
 above all, in Italy, the patriots of the fifteenth century 
 contested with ardor, and deplored with despair, 
 this revolution, which, on all sides, was bringing 
 about what might justly be called despotism. One cannot 
 help admiring their courage and commiserating their sor- 
 row; but at the same time it must be understood that this 
 revolution was not only inevitable, but beneficial also. 
 The primitive system of Europe, the old feudal and com- 
 munal liberties, had failed in the organization of society. 
 What constitutes social life is security and progress. Any 
 system which does not procure present order and future 
 progress, is vicious, and soon abandoned. Such was the 
 fate of the ancient political forms, the old European liber- 
 ties, in the fifteenth century. They could give to society 
 neither security nor progress. These were sought else- 
 where from other principles and other means. This is the 
 meaning of all the facts which I have just placed before 
 vou. 
 
 From the same epoch dates another fact which has held 
 an important place in the political history of Europe. It 
 was in the fifteenth century that the relations of govern- 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 245 
 
 ments between themselves began to be frequent, regular, 
 permanent. It was then for the first time that those great 
 alliances were formed, whether for peace or war, which at 
 a later period produced the system of equilibrium. Diplo- 
 macy in Europe dates from the fifteenth century. Toward 
 the end of this century you see the principal powers of 
 Continental Europe, the popes, the dukes of Milan, the 
 Venetians, the emperors of Germany and the kings of 
 Spain and of France, form connections, negotiate, unite, 
 balance each other. Thus, at the time that Charles VII 
 formed his expedition to conquer the kingdom of Naples, 
 a great league was formed against him, between Spain, the 
 pope, and the Venetians. The league of Cambrai was 
 formed some years later (in 1508), against the Venetians. 
 The holy league, directed against Louis XII, succeeded in 
 1511 to the league of Cambrai. All these alliances arose 
 from Italian policy, from the desire of various sovereigns 
 to possess Italy, and from the fear that some one of them, 
 by seizing it exclusively, should acquire an overpowering 
 preponderance. This new order of facts was highly favor- 
 able to the development of royalty. On the one hand, from 
 the nature of the external relations of states, they can only 
 be conducted by a single person or a small number of per- 
 sons, and exact a certain secrecy; on the other, the people had 
 so little foresip"ht, that the consequences of an alliance of 
 this kind escaped them; it was not for them of any internal 
 or direct interest; they cared little about it, and left such 
 events to the discretion of the central power. Thus dyilo- 
 macy at its birth fell into the hands of the kings, and the 
 idea that it belonged exclusively to tnem, that the country, 
 although free, and having the right of voting its taxes and 
 interfering in its affairs, was not called upon to mix itself 
 in external matters — this idea, I say, was established in 
 almost all European minds as an accepted principle, a 
 maxim of common law. Open English history at the six- 
 
246 HISTORY OF 
 
 teenth and seventeenth centuries, you will see what power 
 this idea exercised, and what obstacle it opposed to English 
 liberties under the reigns of Elizabeth, James I and 
 Charles I. It was always under the name of this principle 
 that peace and war, commercial relations, and all external 
 affairs, appertained to the royal prerogative; and it was oy 
 this that absolute power defended itself against thel' 
 rights of the country. Nations have been excessively 
 timid in contesting this part of prerogative; and this 
 timidity has cost them the more dear, since, from the 
 epoch upon which we are now entering, that is to say, the 
 sixteenth century, the history of Europe is essentially 
 diplomatic. External relations, during nearly three cen- 
 turies, are the important fact of history. Within 
 nations became regulated, the internal government, upon 
 the continent at least, led to no more violent agitations, 
 nor absorbed public activity. It is external relations, 
 wars, negotiations and alliances, which attract attention, 
 and fill the pages of history, so that the greater portion of 
 the destiny of nations has been abandoned to the royal 
 prerogative and to central power. 
 
 Indeed, it was hardly possible it should be otherwise. 
 A very great progress in civilization, and a great develop- 
 ment of intellect and political skill are necessary, before the 
 public can interfere with any success in affairs of this kind. 
 From the sixteenth to the eighteenth century, the people 
 were very far from being thus qualified. See w hat took place 
 under James I in England at the commencement of the 
 seventeenth century: his son-in-law, the elector-palatine, 
 elected king of Bohemia, lost his crown; he was even robbed 
 of his hereditary states, the palatinate. The whole of Pror 
 testantism was interested in his cause, and for that reason 
 England testified a lively interest toward him. There was 
 a powerful ebullition of public opinion to force King James 
 to take the part of his son-in-law, and regain for him the 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 247 
 
 palatinate. Parliament furiously demanded war, promis- 
 ing all the means for carrying it on. James was unwilling; 
 h<i eluded the matter, made some attempts at negotiation, 
 rtjnt some troops to Germany, and then came to tell Parlia- 
 ment that £900,000 sterling were necessary to maintain 
 the contest with any chance of success. It is not said, nor 
 indeed does it appear to have been the case, that his calcu- 
 lation was exaggerated. But the Parliament recoiled with 
 surprise and terror at the prospect of such a charge, and it 
 unwillingly voted £70,000 sterling to re-establish a prince, 
 and reconquer a country three hundred leagues from Eng- 
 land. Such was the political ignorance and incapacity of 
 the public in matter^ of this kind; it acted without knowl- 
 edge of facts, and without troubling itself with any re- 
 sponsibility. It was not then in a condition to interfere 
 in a regular or efficacious manner. This is the principal 
 cause of the external relations falling into the hands of the 
 central power; that alone was in a condition to direct 
 them, I do not say for the public interest, for it was far 
 from being always consulted, but with any continuity or 
 good sense. 
 
 You see, under whatever point of view the political his- 
 tory of Europe at this epoch is presented to us, whether we 
 turn our eyes upon the internal state of nations, or upon 
 the relations of nations with each other, whether we con- 
 sider the administration of war, justice, or taxation, we 
 everywhere find the same character; everywhere we see the 
 same tendency to the centralization, unity, formation and; 
 preponderance of general interests and public powers. 
 This was the secret work of the fifteenth century, a work 
 which did not as yet lead to any very prominent result, nor 
 any revolution, properly so called, in society, but which 
 prepared the way for all of them. I shall immediately 
 place before you facts of another nature, moral facts, facts 
 which relate to the development of the human mind and 
 
248 HI8T0RT OF 
 
 universal ideas. There also we shall acknowledge the same 
 phenomenon, and arrive at the same result. 
 
 I shall commence with a class of facts which has often 
 occupied us, and which, under the most various forms, has 
 always held an important place in the history of Europe, 
 namely, facts relative to the church. Down to the fifteenth 
 century we have seen in Europe no universal and powerful 
 ideas acting truly upon the masses, except those of a relig- 
 ious nature. We have seen the church alone invested with 
 the power of regulating, promulgating and prescribing 
 them. Often, it is true, attempts at independence, even 
 separation, were formed, and the church had much to do 
 to overcome them. But hitherto she had conquered them; 
 creeds repudiated by the church had taken no general and 
 permanent possession of the minds of the people; the Albi- 
 genses themselves were crushed. Dissension and contest 
 were of incessant occurrence in the heart of the church, but 
 without any decisive or eminent result. At the beginning 
 of the fifteenth century an entirely different fact an- 
 nounced itself; new ideas, a public and avowed want of 
 change and reform, agitated the church herself. The end 
 of the fourteenth and commencement of the fifteenth cent- 
 ury were marked by the great schism of the west, the 
 result of the translation of the holy see to ^Lvignon, and of 
 the creation of two popes, one at Avignon, the other at 
 Rome. The struggle between these two papacies is what is, 
 called the great schism of the west. It commenced in 
 1378. In 1409, the council of Pisa wishing to end it, de- 
 posed both popes, and nominated a third, Alexander V. 
 So far from being appeased, the schism became warmer; 
 there were three popes instead of two. The disorder and 
 abuses continued to increase. In 1414 the council of Con- 
 stance assembled at the summons of the Emperor Sigis- 
 mond. It proposed to itself a work very different from 
 nominating a new pope; it undertook the reform of the 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 249 
 
 church. It first proclaimed the indissolubility of the gen- 
 eral council, and its superiority over the papal power; it 
 undertook to make these principles prevalent in the church, 
 and to reform the abuses which had crept into it, above all 
 the exactions by which the court of Kome had procured 
 supplies. For tlie attainment of this end, the council 
 nominated what we will call a commission of inquiry, 
 that is to say, a college of reform, composed of deputies 
 of the council taken from different nations; it was the 
 duty of this college to seek what were the abuses which 
 disgraced the church, and how they might best be 
 remedied, and to make a report to the council, which 
 would consult upon the means of execution. But 
 while the council was occupied in this work, the ques- 
 tion was mooted as to whether they could proceed in the 
 reformation of abuses, without the visible participation of 
 the chief of the church, without the sanction of the pope. 
 The negative was passed by the influence of the Roman- 
 ist party, supported by lionest, but timid men; the council 
 elected a new pope, Martin V, in 1417. The pope was de- 
 sired to present on his part a plan of reform in the church. 
 This plan was not approved, and the council- separated. 
 In 1431 a new council assembled at Basle with the same view. 
 It resumed and continued the work of reform of the council 
 of Constance, and met with no better success. Schism 
 broke out in the interior of the assembly, the same as in 
 Christianity. The pope transferred the council of Basle to 
 Ferrara, and afterward to Florence. Part of the prelates 
 refused to obey the pope, and remained at Basle; and as 
 formerly there had been two popes, so there were now two 
 councils. That of Basle continued its projects of reform, 
 and nominated its pope, Felix V. After a certain time it 
 transported itself to Lausanne; and in 1449 dissolved itself, 
 without having effected any thing. 
 Thus papacy carried the day> and remained in possession 
 
250 HISTORY OF 
 
 of the field of battle and the government of the church. 
 The council could not accomplish what it had undertaken; 
 but it effected things which it had not undertaken, and 
 which survived it. At the time that the council of Basle 
 failed in its attempts at reform, sovereigns seized upon 
 ,the ideas which it proclaimed, and the institution which 
 'it suggested. In France, upon the foundation of the decrees 
 of the council of Basle, Charles V formed the Pragmatic 
 Sanction, which he issued at Bourges in 1438; it enun- 
 ciated the election of bishops, the suppression of first fruits, 
 and the reform of the principal abuses which had been 
 introduced into the church. The Pragmatic Sanction was 
 declared in France the law of the state. In Germany, the 
 diet of Mayence adopted it in 1439, and likewise made it a 
 law of the German Empire. What the spiritual power 
 had unsuccessfully attempted, the temporal power seemed 
 destined to accomplish. 
 
 New reverses sprung up for the projects of reform. As 
 the council had failed, so did the Pragmatic Sanction. In 
 Germany it perished very abruptly. The diet abandoned it 
 in 1448, in consequence of a negotiation with Nicholas V. 
 In 1516, Francis I likewise abandoned it, and in its place 
 substituted his Concordat with Leo X. The princes' reform 
 did not succeed any better than that of the clergy. But 
 it must not be supposed that it entirely perished. As 
 the council effected things which survived it, so also the 
 Pragmatic Sanction had consequences which it left behind, 
 and which played an important part in modern history. 
 The principles of the council of Basle were powerful and 
 fertile. Superior men, and men of energetic character, 
 have adopted and supported them. John of Paris, D'Ailly, 
 Gerson, and many distinguished men of the fifteenth cent- 
 ury, devoted themselves to their defense. In vain was the 
 council dissolved; in vain was the Pragmatic Sanction 
 abandoned; its general doctrines upon the government of 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 251 
 
 the church, and upon the reforms necessary to be carried 
 out, had taken root in France; they were perpetuated; 
 they passed into the parliaments, and became a powerful 
 opinion. They gave rise first to the Jansenists and after- 
 ward to the Gallicans. All this series of maxims and 
 efforts tending to reform the church, which commenced 
 with the council of Constance and terminated with the 
 four propositions of Bossuet, emanated from the same 
 source and were directed toward the same end; it was the 
 same fact successively transformed It was in vain that 
 the attempt at legal reform in the fifteenth century failed; 
 not the less has it taken its place in the course of civiliza- 
 tion — not the less has it indirectly exercised an enormous 
 influence. 
 
 The councils were right in pursuing a legal reform, for 
 that alone could prevent a revolution. Almost at the 
 moment when the council of Pisa undertook to bring the 
 great schism of the west to a termination, and the council 
 of Constance to reform the church, the first essays at pop- 
 ular religious reform violently burst forth in Bohemia. The 
 predictions and progress of John Huss date from 1404, at 
 which period he begun to teach at Prague. Here, then, 
 are two reforms marching side by side; the one in the very 
 heart of the church, attempted by the ecclesiastical aristoc- 
 racy itself — a wise, but embarrassed and timid reform; 
 the other, outside and against the church, violent and 
 passionate. A contest arose between these two powers and 
 designs. The council summoned John Huss and Jerome 
 of Prague to Constance, and condemned them as heretics 
 and revolutionists. These events are perfectly intelligible 
 to us at the present day. We can very well understand 
 this simultaneousness of separate reforms — enterprises 
 undertaken, one by the governments, the other by the 
 people, opposed to one another, and yet emanating from 
 the same cause and tending io the same end, and, in 
 
252 HISTORY OF 
 
 fine, although at war with each other, still concurring t% 
 the same result. This is what occurred in the fifteenth 
 century. The popular reform of John Huss was for the 
 instant stifled, the war of the Hussites broke forth three 
 or lour years after the death of the irmaster. It lasted 
 long, and was violent, but the empire finally triumphed. 
 But as the reform of the councils had failed, as the end 
 which they pursued had not been attained, the popular 
 reform ceased not to ferment. It watched the first oppor- 
 tunity, and found it at the commencement of the sixteenth 
 century. If the reform undertaken by the councils had 
 been well carried out, the reformation might have been 
 prevented. But one or the other must have succeeded; 
 their coincidence shows a necessity. 
 
 This, then, is the state in which Europe was left by the 
 fifteenth century with regard to religious matters — an aristo- 
 cratical reform unsuccessfully attempted, and a popular 
 reform commenced, stifled, and always ready to reappear. 
 But it was not to the sphere of religious creeds that the 
 fermentation of the human mind at this epoch was con- 
 fined. It was in the course of the fourteenth century, as 
 you all know, that Greek and Roman antiquity were, so to 
 speak, restored in Europe. You know with what eagerness 
 Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, and all their contemporaries 
 sought for the Greek and Latin manuscripts, and published 
 and promulgated them, and what noise and transports thd 
 least discovery of this kind excited. 
 
 In the midst of this excitement, a school was commenced 
 in Europe which has played a very much more important 
 part in the development of the human mind than has gen- 
 erally been attributed to it: this was the classical school. 
 Let me warn you from attaching the same sense to this 
 word which we give to it in the present day; it was then a 
 very different thing from a literary system or contest. The 
 classical school of that period was inflamed with admira- 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 253 
 
 don, not only for the writings of the ancients, for Virgil 
 and Homer, but for the whole of ancient society, for its 
 institutions, opinions and philosophy, as well as for its 
 literature. It must be confessed that antiquity, under the 
 heads of politics, philosophy and literature, was far supe- 
 rior to the Europe of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. 
 It cannot, therefore, be wondered at that it should exercise 
 so great a sway, or that for the most part, elevated, active, 
 refined and fastidious minds should take a disgust at the 
 coarse manners, confused ideas, and barbarous forms of 
 their own times, and that they should devote themselves 
 with enthusiasm to the study, and almost to the worship 
 of a society at once more regular and developed. Thus 
 was formed that school of free thinkers which appeared at 
 the commencement of the fifteenth century, and in which 
 prelates, jurisconsults and scholars met together. 
 
 Amid this excitement happened the taking of Con- 
 stantinople by the Turks, the fall of the Eastern Empire, 
 and the flight into Italy of the Greek fugitives. They 
 brought with them a higher knowledge of antiquity, 
 numerous manuscripts, and a thousand new means of 
 studying ancient civilization. The redoubled admiration 
 and ardor with which the classical school was animated 
 may easily be imagined. This was the time of the most 
 brilliant development of the high clergy, particularly in 
 Italy, not as regards political power, properly speaking, 
 but in point of luxury and wealth; they abandoned them-: 
 selves with pride to all the pleasures of a voluptuous, 
 indolent, elegant and licentious civilization — to the taste 
 for letters and arts, and for social and material enjoyments. 
 Look at the kind of life led by the men who played a great 
 political and literary part at this epoch — by Cardinal Bembo, 
 for instance; you will be surprised at the mixture of sybari- 
 tism and intellectual development, of effeminate manners 
 and hardihood of mind. One would think, indeed, wheo 
 
854 HISTORY OP* 
 
 we glance over this epoch, when we are present at the 
 spectacle of its ideas and the state of its moral relations, 
 one would think we were living in France in the midst 
 of the eighteenth century. There is the same taste for 
 intellectual excitement, for new ideas, for an easy, 
 agreeable life ; the same effeminateness and licentious- 
 ness; the same deficiency in political energy and moral 
 faith, with a singular sincerity and activity of mind. 
 The literati of the fifteenth century were, with regard to 
 the prelates of the high church, in the same relation as men 
 of letters and philosophers of the eighteenth century with 
 the high artistocracy; they all had the same opinions and 
 the same manners, lived harmoniously together and did 
 not trouble themselves about the commotions that were in 
 preparation around them. The prelates of the fifteenth 
 century, commencing with Cardinal Bembo, most certainly 
 no more foresaw Luther and Calvin than the people of the 
 court forsesaw the French revolution. The position, how- 
 ever, was analogous. 
 
 Three great facts, then, present themselves at this epoch 
 in the moral order: first, an ecclesiastical reform attempted 
 by the church herself; secondly, a popular religious reform; 
 and finally an intellectual reform, which gave rise to a 
 school of free thinkers. And all these metamorphoses 
 were in preparation amid the greatest political change 
 which had taken place in Europe, amid the work of 
 centralization of people and governments. 
 
 This was not all. This also was the time of the greatest 
 external activity of mar kind; it was a period of voyages, 
 enterprises, discoveries and inventions of all kinds. This 
 was the time of the great expeditions of the Portuguese 
 along the coast of Africa, of the discovery of the passage 
 of the Cape of Good Hope by Vasco de Gama, of the dis- 
 covery of America by Christopher Columbus, and of the 
 wonderful extension of European commerce. A thousand 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE, 265 
 
 new inventions came forth; others already known, but only 
 within a narrow sphere, became popular and of common 
 use. Gunpowder changed the system of war, the compass 
 changed the system of navigation. The art of oil-painting 
 developed itself and covered Europe with masterpieces of 
 art: engraving on copper, invented in 1460, multiplied and 
 promulgated them. Linen paper became common; and 
 lastly, from 1436 to 1452, printing was invented; printing, 
 the theme of so much declamation and so many common- 
 places, but the merit and eifects of which no commonplace 
 nor any declamation can ever exhaust. 
 
 You see what was the greatness and activity of this 
 century — a greatness still only partially apparent, an 
 activity, the results of which have not yet been fully 
 developed. Violent reforms seem unsuccessful, govern- 
 ments strengthened and nations pacified. It might be 
 thought that society was preparing to enjoy a better order 
 of things, amid a more rapid progress. But the power- 
 ful revolutions of the sixteenth century were impending: 
 the fifteenth had been preparing them. They will be the 
 flubject of my next lecture. 
 
2b6 HISTORY OF 
 
 TWELFTH LECTURE. 
 
 Object of the lecture — Difficulty of distinguishing general facts in 
 modern history — Picture of Europe in the sixteenth century — Dan- 
 ger of precipitate generalization — Various causes assigned to the 
 reformation — Its dominant character was the insurrection of the 
 human mind against absolute power in the intellectual order — 
 Evidences of this fact — Fate of the reformation in different 
 countries — Weak side of the reformation — The Jesuits — 
 Analogy between the revolutions of religious society and those 
 of civil society. 
 
 We have often deplored the disorder and chaos of 
 European society; we have complained of the difficulty of 
 understanding and describing a society thus scattered, in- 
 coherent and broken up; we have longed for, and patiently 
 invoked, the epoch of general interests, order and social 
 unity. We have now arrived at it; we are entering upon 
 the epoch when all is general facts and general ideas, the 
 epoch of order and unity. We shall here encounter a 
 difficulty of another kind. Hitherto we have had much 
 trouble in connecting facts with one another, in making 
 them co-ordinate, in perceiving whatever they may possess 
 in common, and distinguishing some completeness. Every 
 thing reverses itself in modern Europe; all the elements 
 and incidents of social life modify themselves and act und 
 react on one another; the relations of men among them- 
 selves become much more numerous and complicated. It 
 is the same in their relations with the government of the 
 state, the same in the relations of the states among them- 
 selves, the same in ideas and in the works of the human 
 mind. In the times which we have gone through a large 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 25? 
 
 number of facts passed away, isolated, foreign to one 
 another, and without reciprocal influence. We shall now 
 no longer find this isolation; all things touch, commingle 
 and modify as they meet. Is there anything more difficult 
 than to seize the true unity amid such diversity, to de- 
 termine the direction of a movement so extended and 
 complex, to recapitulate this prodigious number of various 
 elements so clearly connected with one another; in fine, to 
 ascertain the general dominant fact, which sums up a 
 long series of facts, which characterizes an epoch, and is 
 the faithful expression of its influence and its share in the 
 history of civilization? You will measure with a glance 
 this difficulty in the great event which now occupies our 
 attention. We encountered, in the twelfth century, an 
 event which was religious in its origin if not in its nature; 
 I mean the crusades. Despite the greatness of this event, 
 despite its long duration and the variety of incidents to 
 which it led, we found it difficult enough to distinguish its 
 general character, and to determine with any precision its 
 unity and its influence. We have now to consider the 
 religious revolution of the sixteenth century, usually called 
 the Reformation. Permit me to say, in passing, that I 
 shall use the word neformatiori as a simple and understood 
 term, as synonymous with religioiis revolution, and with- 
 out implying any judgment of it. You see at the very 
 commencement how difficult it is to recognize the true 
 character of this great crisis, to say in a general manner 
 what it was and what it effected. 
 
 It is between the commencement of the sixteenth and 
 the middle of the seventeenth centurv that we must look 
 for the reformation; for that period comprises, so to 
 speak, the life of the event, its origin and end. All his- 
 torical events have, so to speak, a limited career; their 
 consequences are prolonged to infinity ; they have a 
 hold upon all the past and all the future; but it is not 
 
258 HISTORY OF 4 
 
 the less true that they have a particular and limited 
 existence, that they are born, that they increase, that they 
 fill with their development a certain duration of time, and 
 then decrease and retire from the scene in order to make 
 room for some new event. 
 
 The precise date assigned to the origin of the reforma- 
 tion is of little importance; we may take the year 1520, 
 when Luther publicly burnt, at Wittemberg, the bull of 
 Leo X, which condemned him, and thus formally separated 
 himself from the Roman church. It was between this 
 epoch and the middle of the seventeenth century, the year 
 1648, the date of the treaty of Westphalia, that the life of 
 the reformation was comprised. Here is the proof of it. The 
 first and greatest effect of the religious revolution was to 
 create in Europe two classes of states — the Catholic states 
 and the Protestant states, to place them opposite each 
 other, and open the contest between them. With many 
 vicissitudes, this struggle lasted from the commencement 
 of the sixteenth centurv down to the middle of the seven- 
 teenth. It was by the treaty of Westphalia, in 1648, that 
 the Catholic and Protestant states at last acknowledged 
 one another ; agreed to, then, a mutual existence, and 
 promised to live in society and peace, independently of the 
 diversity of religion. Dating from 1648, diversity in relig- 
 ion ceased to be the dominant principle of the classifica- 
 tion of states, of their external policy, their relations, and 
 alliances. Up to this epoch, in spite ot great variations, 
 Europe was essentially divided into a Catholic and a Pro- 
 testant league. After the treaty of Westphalia, this dis- 
 tinction vanished ; states vere either allied or divided upon 
 other considerations than religious creeds. At that point, 
 then, the preponderance, that is to say, the career, of the 
 reformation stopped, although its consequences did not 
 then cease to develop themselves. Let us now glance 
 hastily over this career ; and without doing more than 
 
CIVILIZA TlOJSr IN EUROPE. 259 
 
 naming the events and men, let us indicate what it con- 
 tains. You will see by this mere indication, by this dry 
 and incomplete nomenclature, what must be the difficulty 
 of recapitulating a series of facts so varied and so complex 
 — of recapitulating them, I say, in one general fact ; of 
 determining what was the true character of the religious 
 revolution of the sixteenth century, and of assigning its 
 Dart in the history of our civilization. At the moment 
 when the reformation broke forth, it fell, so to speak, into 
 the midst of a great political event, the struggle between 
 Francis I and Charles V, between France and Spain ; a 
 contest, first for the possession of Italy, afterward for that 
 of the empire of Germany, and, lastly, for the preponder- 
 ance in Europe. It was then the house of Austria elevated 
 itself, and became dominant in Europe. It was then, also, 
 that England, under Henry VIII, interfered in continental 
 politics with more regularity, permanence, and to a greater 
 extent than she had hitherto done. 
 
 Let us follow the course of the sixteenth century in 
 France. It was filled by the great religious wars of the 
 Protestants and Catholics, the means and the occasion of a 
 new attempt of the great lords to regain the power they 
 had lost. This is the political purport of our religious 
 wars, of the League, of the struggle of the Guises against 
 the Valois, a struggle which ended by the accession of 
 Henry IV. 
 
 In Spain, during the reign of Philip II, the revolution of 
 the United Provinces broke out. The inquisition and civil 
 and religious liberty waged war under the names of the 
 Duke of Alva and the Prince of Orange. While liberty 
 triumphed in Holland by force of perseverance and good 
 sense, she perished in the interior of Spain, where absolute 
 power prevailed, both lay and ecclesiastical. 
 
 In England, during this period, Mary and Elizabeth 
 reigned ; there was the contest of Elizabeth, the head of 
 
260 HISTORY OF 
 
 Protestantism, against Philip II. Accession of James 
 Stuart to the throne of England ; commencement of the 
 great quarrels between royalty and the English people. 
 
 About the same time new powers were created in the 
 north. Sweden was reinstated by Gustavus Vasa in 1523. 
 Prussia was created by the secularizing of the Teutonic 
 order. The powers of the north then took in European 
 politics a place which they had never hitherto occupied, 
 the importance of which was soon to be shown in the thirty 
 years^ war. 
 
 I return to France. The reign of Louis XIII; Cardinal 
 Richelieu changed the internal administration of France, 
 entered into relations with Germany, and lent aid to the 
 Protestant party. In Germany, during the last part of the 
 sixteenth century, the contest took place against the Turks; 
 and at the commencement of the seventeenth century the 
 thirty years^ war, the greatest event of modern Eastern 
 Europe. At this time flourished Gustavus Adolphus,Wal- 
 lenstein, Tilly, the Duke of Brunswick and the Duke of 
 Weimar, the greatest names that Germany has yet to 
 pronounce. 
 
 At the same epoch, in France, Louis XIV ascended the 
 throne; the Fronde commenced. In England, the revolu- 
 tion which dethroned Charles I broke out. 
 
 I only take the leading events of history, events whose 
 name every one knows; you see their number, variety and 
 importance. If we seek events of another nature, events 
 which are less apparent, and which are less summed up in 
 names, we shall find this epoch equally full. This is the 
 period of the greatest changes in the political institutions 
 of almost all nations, the time when pure monarchy pre- 
 vailed in the majority of great states, while in Holland 
 the most powerful republic in Europe was created, and in 
 England constitutional monarchy triumphed definitively, or 
 nearly so. In the church, this was the period when the 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 261 
 
 ancient monastic orders lost almost all political power, and 
 were replaced by a new order of another character, and the 
 importance of which, perhaps erroneously, is held as far 
 superior to theirs, the Jesuits. At this epoch the council 
 of Trent effaced what might still remain of the influence of 
 the councils of Constance and Basle, and secured the 
 definitive triumph of the court of Kome in the ecclesiastical 
 order. Let us leave the church and cast an eye upon phil- 
 osophy; upon the free career of the human mind; two men 
 present themselves. Bacon and Descartes, the authors of 
 the greatest philosophical revolution v^hich the modern 
 world has undergone, the chiefs of the two schools which 
 disputed its empire. This also was the period of the brill- 
 iancy of Italian literature, and of the commencement of 
 i^rench and of English literature. And lastly, it was the 
 time of the foundation of great colonies and the most 
 active developments of the commercial system. Thus^ 
 under whatever point of view you consider this epoch, its 
 political, ecclesiastical, philosophical and literary events 
 are in great number, and more varied and important than 
 in any century preceding it. The activity of the human 
 mind manifested itself in every way: in the relations ot 
 men between themselves, in their relations with power, in 
 the relations of states, and in purely intellectual labors; 
 in a word, it was a time for great men and for great things. 
 And in the midst of this period, the religious revolution 
 which occupies our attention is the greatest event of all; 
 it is the dominant fact of this epoch, the fact which gives 
 to it its name and determines its character. Among so 
 many powerful causes which have played so important a 
 part, the reformation is the most powerful, that in which 
 all the others ended, which modified them all, or was by 
 them modified. So that what we have to do at present is 
 to truly characterize and accurately sum up the event which 
 in a period of the greatest events, dominated over all, the 
 
262 HISTORY OF 
 
 cause which effected more than all others in a time of the 
 most influential causes. 
 
 You will easily comprehend the difficulty of reducing 
 facts so various, so important, and so closely united to a 
 true historical unity. It is, however, necessary to do this. 
 When events are once consummated, when they have be- 
 come history, what are most important, and what man seeks 
 above all things, are general facts, the connection of causes 
 and effects. These, so to speak, are the immortal part of 
 history, that to which all generations must refer in order 
 to understand the past and to understand themselves. The 
 necessity for generalization and rational result is the most 
 powerful and the most glorious of all intellectual wants; 
 but we should be careful not to be contented v/ith incom- 
 plete and precipitate generalizations. Nothing can be 
 more tempting than to give way to the pleasure of assigning 
 immediately and at the first view, the general character and 
 permanent results of an epoch or event. The human mind 
 is like the will, always urgent for action, impatient of ob- 
 stacles, and eager for liberty and conclusions; it willingly 
 forgets facts which impede and cramp it; but in forgetting, 
 it does not destroy them; they subsist to condemn it some 
 day and convict it of error. There is but one means for 
 the human mind to escape this danger: that is, coura- 
 geously and patiently to exhaust the study of facts before 
 generalizing and concluding. Facts are to the mind what 
 rules of morality are to the will. It is bound to know them 
 and to bear their weight; and it is only when it has fulfilled 
 this duty, when it has viewed and measured their whole 
 extent, it is then only that it is permitted to unfold its 
 wings and take flight to the high region where it will see 
 all things in their totality and their results. If it attempt 
 to mount too quickly, and without having gained a knowl- 
 edge of all the territory which it will have to contemplate 
 from thence, the chance of error and failure is very great 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE, 263 
 
 It is the same as in an arithmetical calculation, where one 
 error leads to others, ad infinitum. So in history, if in the 
 first labor we do not attend to all the facts, if we give our- 
 selves up to the taste for precipitate generalization, it is 
 impossible to say to what mistakes we may be led. 
 
 I am warning you in a measure against myself. I have 
 only made, and, indeed, could only make, attempts at gen- 
 eralization, general recapitulations of facts which we have 
 not studied closely and at large. But having arrived at an 
 epoch when this undertaking is much more difficult than 
 at any other, and when the chances of error are much 
 greater, I have thought it a duty thus to warn you. That 
 done, I shall now proceed and attempt as to the reforma- 
 tion what I have done as to other events; I shall endeavor 
 to distinguish its dominant fact, to describe its general 
 character, to say, in a word, what is the place and the 
 share of this great event in European civilization. 
 
 You will call to mind how we left Europe at the end of 
 the fifteenth century. We have seen in its course, two 
 great attempts at religious revolution and reform: an 
 attempt at legal reform by the councils, and an attempt at 
 revolutionary reform in Bohemia by the Hussites; we have 
 seen them stifled and failing, one after the other; but still 
 we have seen that it was impossible the event should be 
 prevented, that it must be reproduced under one form or 
 another; that what the fifteenth century had attempted, 
 the sixteenth would inevitably accomplish. I shall not 
 recount in any way the details of the religious revolution 
 of the sixteenth century: I take it for granted that they 
 are almost universally known. I attend only to its general 
 influence upon the destinies of the human race. 
 
 When the causes which determined this great event have 
 been investigated, the adversaries of the reformation have 
 imputed it to accidents, to misfortunes in the course of 
 civilization; for example, to the sale of indulgences having 
 
^64 HISTORY OF 
 
 been confided to the Dominicans, which made the Augus- 
 tines jealous: Luther was an Augustin, and, therefore, was 
 the determining cause of the reformation. Others have 
 attributed it to the ambition of sovereigns, to their 
 rivah'y with the ecclesiastical power, and to the cupidity of 
 the lay nobles, who wished to seize upon the property of 
 the church. They have thus sought to explain the relig- 
 ious revolution merely from the ill side of men and human 
 affairs, by suggestions of private interests and personal 
 passions. 
 
 On the other hand, the partisans arid friends of the 
 reformation have endeavored to explain it merely by the 
 necessity for reform in the existing abuses of the church; 
 they have represented it as a redressing of religious griev- 
 ances, as an attempt conceived and executed with the sole 
 design of reconstituting a pure and primitive church. 
 Neither of these explanations seems to me sound. The 
 second has more truth in it than the first; at least it is 
 more noble, more in unison with the extent and impor- 
 tance of the event; still I do not think it correct. In my 
 opinion, the reformation was neither an accident, the 
 result of some great chance, of personal interest, nor a 
 mere aim at religious amelioration, the fruit of an Utopia 
 of humanity and truth. It had a far more powerful cause 
 than all this, and which dominates over all particular 
 causes. It was a great movement of the liberty of the 
 human mind, a new necessity for freely thinking and judg- 
 ing on its own account, and with its own powers, of facts 
 and ideas which hitherto Europe had received, or was held 
 bound to receive, from the hands of authority. It was a 
 grand attempt at the enfranchisement of the human mind; 
 and to call things by their proper names, an insurrection 
 of the human mind against absolute power in the spiritual 
 order. Such I believe to be the true, general and dom- 
 inant character of the reformation. 
 
OlYILIZATION IIJ EUROPE. 265 
 
 When we consider the state, at this epoch, of the human 
 mind on the one hand, and on the other that of the church 
 which governed the human mind, we are struck by this 
 twofold fact: on the part of the human mind there was 
 nftich more activity, and much more thirst for develop- 
 ment and empire than it had ever felt. This new activity 
 was the result of various causes, but which had been 
 accumulating for ages. For example, there had been agea 
 when heresies took birth, occupied some space of time, fell, 
 and were replaced by others; and ages when philosophical 
 opinions had run the same course as the heresies. The 
 labor of the human mind, whether in the religious or in 
 the philosophical sphere, had accumulated from the 
 eleventh to the sixteenth century: and at last the moment 
 had arrived when it was necessary that the result should 
 appear. Moreover, all the means of instruction created or 
 encouraged in the very bosom of the church bore their 
 fruits. Schools had been instituted: from these schools 
 had issued men with some knowledge, and their number 
 was daily augmented. These men wished at last to think 
 for themselves, and on their own account, for they felt 
 stronger than they had ever yet done. Finally arrived that 
 renewal and regeneration of the human mind by the resto- 
 ration of antiquity, the progress and effects of which I have 
 described to you. 
 
 The union of all these causes at the commencement of 
 the sixteenth century, impressed upon the mind a highly 
 energetic movement, an imperative necessity for progress. 
 
 The situation of the government of the human mind, 
 the spiritual power, was quite different; it, on the contrary, 
 had fallen into a state of indolence and immobility. The 
 political credit of the church, of the court of Rome, had 
 much diminished; European society no longer belonged to 
 it; it had passed into the dominion of lay governments. 
 Still the spiritual power preserveci all its pretensions, all its 
 
866 HISTORY OF 
 
 splendor and external importance. It happened witli it as 
 it has more than once done with old governments. The 
 greater part of the complaints urged against it were no 
 Ir.n^er applied. It is not true that the court of Eome m 
 f Ae sixteenth century was very tyrannical; nor is it true tl>at 
 its abuses, properly so called, were more numerous, or 
 more crying than they had been in other times. On the 
 contrary, perbaps ecclesiastical government had never been 
 more easy and tolerant, more disposed to let all things take 
 their course, provided they did not put itself in question, 
 provi ded it was so far acknowledged as to be left in the 
 onjoyment of the rights which it had hitherto possessed, 
 that is was secured the same existence and paid the same 
 tributes. It would willingly have left the human mind in 
 tranquillity if the human mind would have done the same 
 toward it. But it is precisely when governments are least 
 held in consideration, when they are the least powerful, 
 and do the least evil that they are attacked, because then 
 they can be attacked, and formerly they could not be. 
 
 It is evident, then, by the mere examination of the state 
 of the human mind, and that of its government at this 
 epoch, that the character of the reformation must have 
 been a new impulse of liberty, a great insurrection of the 
 human intellect. Do not doubt but this was the dominant 
 cause, the cause which rose above all the others — a cause 
 superior to all interests, whether of nations or sovereigns — 
 superior also to any mere necessity for reform, or the 
 necessity for redressing of grievances which were then com- 
 plained of. 
 
 I will suppose that after tlie first years of the reformat 
 tion, when it had displayed all its pretensions, set forth ui) 
 its grievances, the spiritual power had suddenly fallen iu 
 with its views, and had said, *^Well, so be it. I will 
 reform everything; I will return to a more legal and relig- 
 ious order; I will suppress all vexations, arbitrariness and 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 267 
 
 tributes; even in doctrinal matters, I will modify, explain, 
 and return to the primitive meaning. But when all griev- 
 ances are thus redressed, I will preserve my position — I 
 will be as formerly, the government of the human mind, with 
 the same power and the same rights.'* Do you suppose 
 that on these conditions the religious revolution would 
 have been content, and would have stopped its progress? 
 I do not think it. I firmly believe that it would have con- 
 tinued its career, and that after having demanded reforma- 
 tion, it would have demanded liberty. The crisis of the 
 sixteenth century was not merely a reforming one, it was 
 essentially revolutionary. It is impossible to take from it 
 this character, its merits and its vices; it had all the effects 
 of this character. 
 
 Let us cast a glance upon the destinies of the reforma- 
 tion; let us see, especially and before all, what it effected 
 in the different countries where it was developed. Observe 
 that it was developed in very various situations, and amid 
 very unequal chances. If we find that in spite of the 
 diversity of situations, and the inequality of chances, it 
 everywhere pursued a certain end, obtained a certain result, 
 and preserved a certain character, it will be evident that 
 this character, which surmounted all diversities of situa- 
 tion, and all unequalties of chances, must have been the 
 fundamental character of the event — that this result must 
 have been its essential aim. 
 
 Well, wherever the religious revolution of the sixteenth 
 century prevailed, if it did not eft'ect the entire enfran- 
 chisement of the human mind, it procured for it new and 
 very great increase of liberty. It doubtless often left the 
 mind to all the chances of the liberty or servitude of 
 political 'nstitution; but it abolished or disarmed the 
 spiritual power, the systematic and formidable government 
 of thought. This is the result which the reformation 
 attained amid the most various combinations. In Ger- 
 
268 HISTORY OF 
 
 many fchere was no political liberty; nor did the reforma- 
 tion introduce it. It fortified rather than weakened the 
 power of princes. It was more against the free institu- 
 tions of the middle ages than favorable to their develop- 
 mentc Nevertheless, it resuscitated and maintained in 
 Germany a liberty of thought greater, perhaps, than any- 
 where elsCo 
 
 In Denmark, a country where absolute power domi- 
 nated, where it penetrated into the municipal institutions 
 as well as into the general institutions of the state, there 
 also, by the influence of the reformation, thought was 
 enfranchised and freely exercised in all directions. 
 
 In Holland, in the midst of a republic, and in England, 
 tinder constitutional monarchy, and despite a religious 
 tyranny of long duration, the emancipation of the human 
 mind was likewise accomplishedc And, lastly, in France, 
 in a situation which seemed the least favorable to the 
 effects of the religious revolution, in a country where it 
 had been conquered, there even it was a principle of intel- 
 lectual independence and liberty. Down to 1685, that is 
 to say, until the revocation of the edict of Nantes, the 
 reformation had a legal existence in France. During this 
 lengthened period it wrote and discussed, and provoked its 
 adversaries to write and discuss with itc This single fact, 
 this war of pamphlets and conferences between the old and 
 new opinions, spread in France a liberty far more real and 
 active than is commonly believed — a liberty which tended 
 to the profit of science^, the honor of the French clergy, as 
 well as to the profit of thought in general. Take a glance 
 at the conferences of Bossuet with Claude upon all the 
 religious polemics of that period, and ask yourselves 
 whether Louis XIV would have allowed a similar degree of 
 liberty upon any other subject. It was between the reforma- 
 tion and the opposite party that there existed the greatest 
 degree of liberty in France during the seventeenth century. 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 26J> 
 
 Religions thought was then far more bold, and treated 
 questions with more freedom than the political spirit of 
 Fenelon himself in Telemachus, This state of things did 
 not cease until the revocation of the edict of Xantes. 
 Now, from 1685 to the outburst of the human mind in the 
 eighteenth century, there were not forty years; and the 
 influence of the religious revolution in favor of intellectual 
 liberty had scarcely ceased when that of the philosophical 
 revolution commenced. 
 
 You see that wherever the reformation penetrated, wher- 
 ever it played an important part, victorious or vanquished, 
 it had as a general, dominant and constant result, an 
 immense progress in the activity and liberty of thought, 
 and toward the emancipation of the human mind. 
 
 And not only had the reformation this result, but with 
 this it was satisfied; wherever it obtained that, it sought 
 for nothing further, so much was it the foundation of the 
 event, its primitive and fundamental character. Thus, in 
 Germany it accepted, I will not say political servitude, but, 
 at least, the absence of liberty. In England, it consented 
 to the constitutional hierarchy of the clergy and the pres- 
 ence of a church with quite as many abuses as there had 
 ever been in the Romish church, and far more servile. 
 
 Why should the reformation, so passionate and stubborn 
 in some respects, show itself in this so easy and pliant? It 
 was because it had obtained the general fact to which it 
 tended, the abolition of spiritual power, the enfrancliise- 
 ment of the human mind. I repeat, that wherever it 
 atttained this end, it accommodated itself to all systems 
 and all situations. 
 
 Let us now take the counter-proof of this inquiry; let us 
 see what happened in countries into which the religious 
 revolution had not penetrated, where it had been stifled in 
 the beginning, where it had never been developed. History 
 shows that there the human mind has not been enfran- 
 
270 HISTORY OF 
 
 chised; two great countries, Spain and Italy, will prove 
 this. While in those European countries where the 
 reformation had taken an important place, the human 
 mind, during the three last centuries, has gained an 
 activity and a freedom before unknown in those where it 
 has not penetrated, it has fallen, during the same period, 
 into effeminacy and indolence; so that the proof and 
 counter-proof have been made, so to speak, simultaneously, 
 and given the same result. 
 
 Impulse of thought and the abolition of absolute power 
 in the spiritual order, are therefore the essential character 
 of the reformation, the most general result of its influ- 
 ence and the dominant fact of its destiny. 
 
 I designedly say, the fact. The emancipation of the 
 human mind was in reality, in the course of the reforma- 
 tion, a fact rather than a principle, a result rather than 
 an intention. In this respect, I think the reformation 
 executed more than it had undertaken; more perhaps than 
 it had even desired. Contrary to most other resolutions, 
 which have remained far behind their wishes, of which the 
 event is far inferior to the thought, the consequences of 
 the revolution surpassed its views; it is greater as an event 
 than as a plan; what it effected it did not fully foresee, 
 nor fully avow. 
 
 What were the reproaches with which its adversaries 
 constantly upbraid the reformation? Which of its results 
 did they in a manner cast in its teeth to reduce it to 
 silence? 
 
 Two principal ones. First: The multiplicity of sects, the 
 prodigious license allowed to mind, the dissolutions of the 
 religious society as a whole. Second: Tyranny and persecu- 
 tion. '^ You provoke license/' said they to the reformers; 
 *^ you even produce it; and when you have created it, you 
 wish to restrain and repress it. And how do you repress 
 it? By the most severe and violent meanSe You your^ 
 
CIVILIZATiaN IN EUROPE. 271 
 
 selves persecute heresy, and by virtue of an illegitimate 
 authority/* 
 
 Survey and sum up all the great attacks directed against 
 the reformation, discarding the purely dogmatical ques- 
 tions; these are the two fundamental reproaches to which- 
 they reduce themselves. 
 
 The reformed party was greatly embarrassed by them. 
 When they imputed to it the municipality of sects, instead 
 of avowing them, and maintaining the legitimacy of their 
 development, it anathematized them, deplored their exist- 
 ence and denied them. Taxed with persecution, it defended 
 itself with the same embarrassment; it alleged the necessity: 
 it had, it said, the right to repress and punish error,, 
 because it was in the possession of truth; its creed and 
 institutions alone were legitimate; and if the Roman 
 church had not the right to punish the reformers, it was- 
 because she was in the wrong as against them. 
 
 And when the reproach of persecution was addressed to- 
 the dominant party in the reformation, not by its enemies^ 
 but by its own offspring, when the sects which it anathema- 
 tized said to it, ^' We only do what you have done; we only 
 separate ourselves, as you separated yourselves,^^it was still 
 more embarrassed for an answer, and often only replied by 
 redoubled rigor. 
 
 In fact, while laboring for the destruction of absolute 
 power in the spiritual order, the revolution of the sixteenth 
 century was ignorant of the true principles of intellectual 
 liberty, it enfranchised the human mind, and yet pretended 
 to govern it by the law; in practice it was giving prevalence 
 to free inquiry, and in theory it was only substituting a. 
 legitimate in place of an illegimate power. It did nol 
 elevate itself to the first cause, nor descend to the last con- 
 sequences of its work. Thus it fell into a double fault; on. 
 the one hand, it neither knew nor respected all the right* 
 of human thought; at the momenb that it clamored for 
 
-Z72 HISTORY OF 
 
 i;hem on its own account, it violated them with regard to 
 ^others; on the other hand, it knew not how to measure the 
 rights of authority in the intellectual order; I do not speak 
 of coercive authority, which in such matters should possess 
 none, but of purely moral authority, acting upon the mind 
 alone, and simply by way of influence. Something is want- 
 ing in most of the reformed countries, to the good organ 
 ization of the intellectual society, and to the regular actiot 
 of ancient and general opinions. They could not reconcile 
 the rights and wants of tradition with those of liberty; and 
 the cause doubtless lay in this fact, that the reformation 
 did not fully comprehend and receive its own principles and 
 effects. 
 
 Hence, also, it had a certain air of inconsistency and nar- 
 row-mindedness, which often gave a hold and advantage 
 -over it to its adversaries. These last knew perfectly well 
 what they did, and what they wished to do; they went 
 back to the principles of their conduct, and avowed all 
 the consequences of it. There was never a government 
 -more consistent and systematic that than of the Eoman 
 church. In practice the court of Rome has greatly 
 yielded and given way, much more so than the reforma- 
 tion; in theory, it has much more completely adopted its 
 peculiar system, and kept to a much more coherent con- 
 duct. This is a great power, this full knowledge of what 
 one does and wishes, this complete and rational adoption 
 of a doctrine and a design. The religious revolution 
 of the sixteenth century presented in its course a strik- 
 ing example of it. Every one knows that the chief power 
 instituted to struggle against it was the order of Jesuits. 
 Throw a glance upon their history; the}' have everywhere 
 failed. Wherever they have interfered to any extent, they 
 iiave carried misfortune into the cause with which they 
 mixed. In England they ruined kings ; in Spain the 
 people. The general course of events, the development of 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 273^ 
 
 modern civilization, the liberty of the human mind, all 
 these powers against which the Jesuits were called upon to 
 contest, fought and conquered them. And not only have 
 they failed, but call to mind the means they have been 
 obliged to employ. No splendor or grandeur; they brought 
 about no great events, nor put in motion powerful masses 
 of men; they have acted only by underhanded, obscure and 
 subordinate means; by ways which are nothing suited to 
 strike the imagination, to conciliate that public interest 
 which attaches to great things, whatever may be their 
 principle or end. The party against which it struggled, 
 on the contrary, not only conquered, but conquered with 
 splendor; it did great things, and by great means; it 
 aroused the people, it gave to Europe great men, and 
 changed, in the face of day, the fashion and form of states. 
 In a word, everything was against the Jesuits, both fortune- 
 and appearances; neither srood sense which desires success, 
 nor imagination which requires splendor, were satisfied by" 
 their career. And yet nothing can be more certain than 
 that they have had grandeur; that a great idea is attached 
 to their name, their influence, and their history. How so?" 
 It is because they knew what they were doing, and what 
 they desired to do; because they had a full and clear ac- 
 quaintance with the principles upon which they acted, and 
 the aim to which they tended; that is to say, they had 
 greatness of thought and greatness of will, and this saved 
 them from the ridicule which attaches itself to constant 
 reverses and contemptible means. Where, on the contrary, 
 the event was greater than the thought, where the actors 
 appeared to want a knowledge of the first principles and 
 last results of their action, there remained something in- 
 complete, inconsistent and narrow, which placed the con- 
 querors themselves in a sort of rational and philosophical 
 inferiority, of which the influence has been sometimes felt 
 In events. This was, I conceive, in the struggle of the- 
 
«74 ET8T0RY OF 
 
 old against the new spiritual order, the weak side of the 
 reformation, the circumstance which often embarrassed it, 
 and hindered it from defending itself as it ought to have 
 done. 
 
 We might consider the religious revolution of the six- 
 teenth century under many other aspects. I have said 
 nothing, and have nothing to say, concerning its dogmas, 
 concerning its effect on religion, and in regard to the rela- 
 tions of the human soul with God and the eternal future; 
 but 1 might exhibit it to you in the diversity of its rela- 
 tions with the social order, bringing on, in all directions, 
 results of mighty importance. For instance, it awoke 
 religion amid the laity, and in the world of the faithful. 
 Up to that time, religion had been, so to speak, the exclu- 
 sive domain of the clergy, of the ecclesiastical order, who 
 distributed the fruits, but disposed themselves of the tree, 
 and had almost alone the right to speak of it. The refor- 
 mation caused a general circulation of religious creeds; it 
 opened to believers the field of faith, which hitherto they 
 had had no right to enter. It had, at the same time, a 
 second result — it banished, or nearly banished, religion 
 from politics; it restored the independence of the temporal 
 power. At the very moment when, so to speak, religion 
 came again to the possession of the faithful, it quitted the 
 government of society. In the reformed countries, not- 
 withstanding the diversity of ecclesiastical constitutions, 
 even in England, where that constitution is nearer to the 
 ancient order of things, the spiritual power no longer 
 makes any serious pretensions to the direction of the tem- 
 poral power. 
 
 I might enumerate many other consequences of the 
 reformation, but I must check myself, and rest content 
 with having placed before you its principal character, the 
 emancipation of the human mind, and the abolition of 
 absolute power iu the spiritual order — an abolition which( 
 
CIVILIZA TION m EUROPE, 275 
 
 no doubt, was not complete, but nevertheless formed the 
 greatest step that has, up to our days, been taken in this 
 direction. 
 
 Before concluding, I must pray you to remark the strik- 
 ing similarity of destiny which, in the history of modern 
 Europe, presents itself as existing between the civil and 
 religious societies, in the revolutions to which they have 
 been subject. 
 
 The Christian society, as we saw when I spoke of the 
 church, began by being a perfectly free society, and formed 
 solely in virtue of a common creed, without institutions or 
 government, properly so called, and regulated only by 
 moral powers, varying according to the necessity of the 
 moment. Civil society commenced in like manner in 
 Europe, or partially at least, with bands of barbarians; a 
 society perfectly free, each one remaining in it because he 
 thought proper, without laws or constituted powers. At 
 the close of this state, which could not co-exist with any 
 considerable development, religious society placed itself 
 under an essentially aristocratic government; it was the 
 body of the clergy, the bishops, councils and ecclesiastical 
 aristocracy, which governed it. A fact of the same kind 
 happened in civil society at the termination of barbarism; 
 it was the lay aristocracy, the lay feudal chiefs, by which it 
 was governed. Religious society left the aristocratic form 
 to assume that of pure monarchy; that is the meaning of 
 the triumph of the court of Rome over the councils and 
 over the European ecclesiastical aristocracy. The same 
 revolution accomplished itself in civil society: it was by 
 the destruction of aristocratical power that royalty pre- 
 vailed and took possession of the European world. In the 
 sixteenth century, in the bosom of religious society, an in- 
 surrection burst forth against the system of pure monarchy.^ 
 against absolute power in the spiritual order. This revolu- 
 tion brought on, consecrated, and established free inquiry 
 
276 HISTORY OF 
 
 in Europe. In our own days we have seen the same event 
 occurring in the civil order. Absolute temporal power was 
 ;attacked and conquered. Thus you have seen that the 
 two societies have undergone the same vicissitudes, have 
 been subject to the same revolutions; only religious society 
 has always been the foremost in this career. 
 
 We are now in possession of one of the great facts of 
 modern society, namely, free inquiry, the liberty of the 
 human mind. We have seen that, at the same time, polit- 
 ical centralization almost everywhere prevailed. In my 
 next lecture I shall treat of the English revolution; that is 
 to say, of the event in which free inquiry and pure mon- 
 archy, both results of the progress of civilization, found 
 themselves for the first time in conflict. 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 277 
 
 THIRTEENTH LECTURE. 
 
 Object of the lecture — General character of the English revolution — 
 Its principal causes — It was more political than religious — The 
 three great parties in it: 1. The party of legal reform; 2. The 
 party of the political rt^volution; 3. The party of the social revo- 
 lution — They all fail — Cromwell — The restoration of the 
 Stuarts — The legal ministry — ^The profligate ministry — The. 
 revolution of 1688 in England and Europe. 
 
 You have seen that during the sixteenth century all the 
 elements and features that had belonged to former Euro- 
 pean society resolved themselves into two great facts, free 
 inquiry and the centralization of power. The first pre- 
 vailed among the clergy, the second among the laity. 
 There simultaneously triumphed in Europe the emancipa- 
 tion of the human mind, and the establishment of pure 
 monarchy. 
 
 It was scarcely to be expected but that sooner or later a 
 struggle should arise between these two principles; for they 
 were contradictor.y; the one was the overthrow of absolute 
 power in the spiritual order, the other was its victory in 
 the temporal; the first paved the way for the decay of the 
 ancient ecclesiastical monarchy, the last perfected the ruin 
 of the ancient feudal and communal liberties. The fact of 
 their advent being simultaneous, arose, as you have seen, 
 from the revolution in religious society advancing with a 
 more rapid step than that in the civil society: the one oc- 
 curred exactly at the time of the enfranchisement of the 
 individual mind, the other not until the moment of the 
 centralization of universal power under one head. The 
 
278 HISTORY GF 
 
 coincidence of these two facts, so far from springing out 
 of their similitude, did not prevent their inconsistency. 
 They were each advances in the course of civilization, but 
 they were advances arising from dissimilar situations, and 
 of a different moral date, if I may be allowed the expres- 
 sion, although contemporary. That they should run 
 against one another before they came to an understanding 
 was inevitable. 
 
 Their first collision was in England. In the struggle of 
 free inquiry, the fruit of the reformation, against the ruin 
 of political liberty, the fruit of the triumph of pure mon- 
 archy; and in the effort to abolish absolute power, both in 
 the temporal and spiritual orders, we have the purport of 
 the English revolution, its share in the course of our 
 civilization. 
 
 The question arises, why should this struggle take place 
 in England sooner than elsewhere? Wherefore should the 
 revolutions in the political order have coincided more 
 closely with those in the moral order in that country than 
 on the continent? 
 
 Eoyalty in England has undergone the same vicissitudes 
 as on the continent. Under the Tudors it attained to a 
 concentration and energy which it has never known since. 
 It does not follow that the despotism of the Tudors was 
 more violent, or that it cost dearer to England than that 
 of their predecessors. I believe that there were at least as ^ 
 many acts of tyranny and instances of vexation and in- 
 justice under the Plantagenets as under the Tudors, perhaps 
 even more. And I believe, likewise, that at this era the 
 government of pure monarchy was more harsh and arbitrary 
 on the continent than in England. The new feature under 
 the Tudors was that absolute power became systematic; 
 royalty assumed a primitive and independent sovereignty; 
 it adopted a style hitherto unknown. The theoretical pre- 
 tensions of Henry VIII, of Elizabeth, of James I, or of 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 279 
 
 Charles I, are entirely different to those of Edward 1 or 
 Edward III; though the power of these two last kings was 
 neither less arbitrary nor less extensive. I repeat, that it 
 was the principle, the rational system of monarchy, rather 
 than its practical power, which experienced a mutation in 
 England during the sixteenth century; royalty assumed 
 absolute power, and pretended to be superior to all laws, 
 to thope even which it had declared should be respected. 
 
 Again, the religious revolution was not accomplished in 
 England in the same manner as on the continent; here it 
 was the work of the kings themselves. Not but that in 
 this country, as elsewhere, there had long been the germs 
 of, and even attempts at a popular reformation, which 
 would probably, ere long, have been carried out. But 
 Henry VIII took the initiative; power became revolution- 
 ary. The result was that, in its origin at least, as a redress 
 of ecclesiastical tyranny and abuse, and as the emancipa- 
 tion of the human mind, the reformation was far less com- 
 plete in England than on the continent. It consulted, and 
 very naturally, the interest of its authors. The king and 
 the retained episcopacy shared the riches and power, the 
 spoils of the preceding government, of the papacy. It was 
 not long before the consequence was felt. It was said that 
 the reformation was finished; yet most of the motives 
 which had made it necessary still existec?, It reappeared 
 under a popular form; it exclaimed against the bishops as 
 it had done against the court of Rome; it accused Shem of 
 being so many popes. As often as the general character of 
 the religious reformation was compromised, whenever there 
 was a question of a struggle with the ancient church, all 
 portions of the reformed party rallied and made head 
 against the common enemy; but the danger passed, the 
 interior struggle recommenced; popular reform again 
 attacked regal and aristocratical reform, denounced its 
 abuses, complained of its tyranny, called upon it for a 
 
280 BISTORT OF 
 
 fullfilment of its promises, and not again to establish the 
 power which it had dethroned. 
 
 There was, about the same time, a movement of enfran- 
 chisement manifested in civil society, a need for political 
 freedom, till then unknown, or at least powerless. During 
 the sixteenth century the commercial prosperity of Eng- 
 land increased with excessive rapidity ; at the same 
 time territorial wealth, landed property, in a great 
 measure changed hands. The division of land in Eng- 
 land in the sixteenth century, consequent on the ruin 
 of the feudal aristocracy and other causes, too many 
 for present enumeration, is a fact deserving more at- 
 tention than has yet been given to it. All documents 
 show us the number of landed proprietors increasing 
 to an immense extent, and the larger portion of the 
 lands passing into the hands of the gentry, or inferior 
 nobility, and the citizens. The upper house, the higher 
 nobility, was not nearly so rich at the commencement of 
 the seventeenth century as the House of Commons. There 
 ^as then at the same time a great development of commer- 
 cial wealth, and a great mutation in landed property. 
 Amid these two influences came a third — the new move- 
 ment in the minds of men. The reign of Elizabeth is, 
 perhaps, the greatest period of English history for literary 
 and philosophical activity, the era of lofty and fertile 
 imaginations; the puritans without hesitation followed out 
 all the consequences of a vigorous although narrow doc- 
 trine; the opposite class of minds, less moral and more 
 free, strangers to any principle or method, jeeeived with 
 enthusiasm everything which promised to satisfy their 
 curiosity or feed their excitement. Wherever the impulse 
 of intelligence brings with it a lively pleasure, liberty will 
 soon become a want, and will quickly pass from the public 
 mind into the government. 
 
 There was on the Continent, in some of those countries 
 
CIVILIZATI02S IN EUROPE. 281 
 
 where the reformation had gone forth, a manifestation of 
 a similar feeling, a certain want of political liberty ; but 
 the means of satisfying it were wanting; they knew not 
 where to look for it; no aid for it could be found either in 
 the institutions or in manners; they remained vague and 
 uncertain, seeking in vain to satisfy their want. In Eng 
 land, it was very different: there the spirit of political 
 freedom, which reappeared in the sixteenth century, fol- 
 lowing the reformation, found its fulcrum and the means 
 of action in the ancient institutions and social condit- 
 ions. 
 
 Every one knows the origin of the free institutions of 
 England; it is universally known how the union of the 
 great barons in 1215 forced Magna Charta from King 
 John. What is not so generally known is that the great 
 charter was from time to time recalled and again confirmed 
 by most of the succeeding kings. There were more than 
 thirty confirmations of it between the thirteenth and the 
 sixteenth centuries. And not only was the charter con- 
 firmed, but new statutes were introduced for the purpose of 
 maintaining and developing it. It therefore lived, as it 
 w^ere, without inverval or interruption. At the same time, 
 the House of Commons was formed, and took its place 
 among the supreme institutions of the country. It was 
 under the Plantagenets that it truly struck root; not that'' 
 it took any great part in the state during that period; tho 
 government did not, properly speaking, belong to it even 
 in the way of influence; it only interfered therein at the 
 call of the king, and then always reluctantly and hesitat- 
 ingly, as if it was more fearful of engaging and compro- 
 mising itself than desirous of augmenting its power. But 
 when the matter in hand was the defence of private rights, 
 the families of fortune of the citizens, in a word, the 
 liberties of the individual, the House of Commons acquitted 
 itself of its duty with much energy and perseverance, and 
 
282 BI8T0RY OF 
 
 founded all those principles which have become the basis 
 of the English constitution. 
 
 After the Plantagenets, and especially under the Tudors, 
 the House of Commons, or rather the entire Parliament, 
 presented itself under a different aspect. It no longei 
 (defended the individual liberties, as under the Planta 
 genets. Arbitrary detentions, the violation of private 
 rights, now become much more frequent, are often passed 
 over in silence. On the other hand, the Parliament took a 
 much more active part in the general government of the, 
 state. In changing the religion, and in regulating the 
 order of succession, Henry VIII had need of some 
 medium, some public instrument, and in this want he was 
 supplied by the Parliament, and especially by the House of 
 Commons. Under the Plantagenets it had been an in- 
 strument of resistance, the guardian of private rights; 
 under the Tudors it became an instrument of government 
 and general policy; so that at the end of the sixteenth cen- 
 tury, although it had undergone almost every species of 
 tyranny, its importance was much augmented, its great 
 power began, that power upon which the representative 
 government depends. 
 
 When we glance at the state of the free institutions of 
 England at the end of the sixteenth century, we find first, 
 fundamental rules and principles of liberty, of which 
 neither the country nor the legislature had ever lost sight; 
 second, precedents, examples of liberty, a good deal mixed, 
 5^. is true, with inconsistent examples and precedents, but 
 sufficing to legalize and sustain the claims, and to support 
 the defenders of liberty in any struggle against tyranny 
 or despotism; thirds special and local institutions, replete 
 with germs of liberty; the jury, the right of assembling, 
 and of being armed; the independence of municipal ad- 
 ministrations and jurisdictions; fourth, and last, the Par- 
 liament and its power, of which the crown had more need 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 283 
 
 than ever, since it had lavished away the greater part of 
 its independent revenues, domains/ feudal rights, etc., 
 and was dependent for its very support upon the national 
 vote. 
 
 The political condition of England, therefore, in the six- 
 ' teenth century was wholly different from that of the conti- 
 nent. In spite of the tyranny of the Tudors, and the 
 systematic triumph of pure monarchy, there was still a 
 fixed fulcrum, a sure means of action for the new spirit of 
 liberty. 
 
 There were, then, two national wants in England at this 
 period: on one side was the need of religious revolution 
 and liberty in the heart of the reformation already com- 
 menced; and on the other, was required political liberty in 
 the heart of the pure monarchy then in progress; and in 
 the course of their progress these two wants were able to 
 invoke all that had already been done in either direction. 
 They combined. The party who wished to pursue religious 
 reformation invoked political liberty to the assistance of 
 its faith and conscience against the king and the bishops. 
 The friends of political liberty again sought the aid of the 
 popular reformation. The two parties united to struggle 
 against absolute power in the temporal and in the spir- 
 itual orders, a power now concentrated in the hands of 
 the king. This is the origin and purport of the English 
 revolution. 
 
 It was thus essentially devoted to the defence or achieve 
 ment of liberty. For the religious party it was a means, 
 and for the political party an end; but with both liberty 
 was the question, and they were obliged to pursue it in 
 common. There was no real religious quarrel between the 
 Episcopal and Puritan party; little dispute upon dogmas, 
 or concerning faith; not but there existed real differences 
 of opinion between them, differences of great importance; 
 but this was not the principal point. Practical liberty was 
 
284 HISTORY OF 
 
 what the Puritans wished to force from the Episcopal 
 party: it was for this that they strove. There was also 
 another religious party -who had to found a system, to es- 
 tablish its dogmas, ecclesiastical constitution, and discipline; 
 this was the Presbyterian party: but although it worked to 
 the atmost of its power, it did not in this point progress 
 in proportion to its desire. Placed on the defensive, op- 
 pressed by the bishops, unable to act without the assent of 
 the political reformers, its allies and chief supporters, its 
 dominant aim was liberty, the general interest and common 
 aim of all the parties, whatever their diversity, who con- 
 curred in the movement. Taking every thing together, 
 the English revolution was essentially political; it was 
 brought about in the midst of a religious people and in 
 a religious age; religious thoughts and passions were its 
 instruments; but its chief design and definite aim were 
 political, were devoted to liberty, and the abolition of all 
 absolute power. 
 
 I shall now glance at the different phases of this revolu*- 
 tion and its great parties; I shall then connect it with the 
 general course of European civilization; I shall mark its 
 place and influence therein; and show you by a detail of 
 the facts, as at the first view, that it was the first blow 
 which had been struck in the cause of free inquiry and 
 pure monarchy, the first manifestation of a struggle between 
 these two great powers. 
 
 Three principal parties sprung np in this great crisis, < 
 three revolutions in a manner were comprised in it, and 
 successively appeared upon the scene. In each party, and 
 in each revolution, two parties are allied, and work con- 
 jointly, a political and a religious party; the first at the 
 head, the second followed, but each necessary to the other; 
 so that the twofold character of the event is impressed 
 upon all its phases. 
 
 The first party which appeared was the party of legal 
 
CIVILIZATION m EUROPE, 285 
 
 reform, under whose banner all the others at first ranged 
 themselves. When the English revolution commenced, 
 when the Long Parliament was assembled in 1640, it was 
 universally said, and by many sincerely believed, that the 
 legal reform would suffice for all things; that in the ancient 
 laws and customs of the country there was that which 
 would remedy all abuses, and which would re-establish a 
 system of government entirely conformable to the public 
 wishes. This party loudly censured and sincerely wished 
 to prevent the illegal collecting of taxes, arbitrary im- 
 prisonments, in a word, all acts disallowed by the known 
 laws of the country. At the root of its ideas was the 
 belief in the king^s sovereignty — that is, in ab- 
 solute power. A secret instinct warned it, indeed, 
 that there was something false and dangerous therein; it 
 wished, therefore, to say nothing of it; pushed to the 
 extremity, however, and forced to explain itself, it admit" 
 ted in royalty a power superior to all human origin, and 
 above all control, and, when need was, defended it. It be- 
 lieved at the same time that this sovereignty, absolute in 
 theory, was bound to observe certain forms and rules; that 
 it could not extend beyond certain limits; and these rules, 
 forms and limits were sufficiently established and guaran- 
 teed in the great charter, in the confirmatory statutes, and 
 in the ancient laws of the country. Such was its political 
 idea. In religious matters, the legal party thought that 
 the Episcopal power was excessive; that the bishops had too 
 much political power, that their jurisdiction was too ex- 
 tensive, and that it was necessary to overlook and restrain 
 its exercise. Still it firmly supported the episcopacy, not 
 only as an ecclesiastical institution, and as a system of 
 church government, but as a necessary support for the 
 royal prerogative, as a means of defending and maintaining 
 the supremacy of the king in religious matters. The sov- 
 ereignty of the king in the political order being exercised 
 
286 HISTORY OF 
 
 according to known forms, and within the limits of ac- 
 knowledged rules, royalty in the religious order should be 
 sustained by the episcopacy; such was the two-fold system 
 of the legal party, of which the chiefs were Clarendon, 
 Colepepper, Lord Capel, and Lord Falkland himself, a] 
 'though an ardent advocate of public liberty, and a man 
 who numbered in his ranks almost all the high nobility who 
 were not servilely devoted to the court. 
 
 Behind these followed a second party, which I shall call 
 the party of the political revolution; these were of opinion 
 that the ancient guarantees and legal barriers had been 
 and still were insufficient; that a great change, a regular 
 revolution was necessary, not in the forms, but in the reali- 
 ties of government: that it was necessary to withdraw from 
 the king and his counsel the independence of their power, 
 and to place the political preponderance in the House of 
 Commons; that the government, properly so called, should 
 belong to this assembly and its chiefs. This party did not 
 give an account of their ideas and intentions as clearly and 
 systematically as I have done; but this was the essence of 
 its doctrines, of its political tendencies. Instead of the 
 sovereignty of the king, pure monarchy, it believed in the 
 sovereignty of the House of Commons as the representative 
 of the country. Under this idea was hidden that of the 
 sovereignty of the people, an idea, the bearing of which 
 and its consequences, the party was very far from contem- 
 plating, but which presented itself, and was received undei 
 the form of the sovereignty of the House of Commons. 
 
 A religious party, that of the Presbyterians, was closely 
 united with the party of the political revolution. The 
 Presbyterians wished to bring about in the church a revo- 
 lution analogous to that meditated by their allies in the 
 state. They wished to govern the church by assemblies, 
 giving the religious power to an hierarchy of assemblages 
 agreeing one with the other, as their allies had invested 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE, ;iB7 
 
 the House of Commons with the political power. But the 
 Presbyterian revolution was more vigorous and complete, 
 for it tended to change the form as well as the principle of 
 the government of the church, while the political party 
 wished only to moderate the influences and preponderating 
 power of institutions, did not meditate an overthrow of the 
 form of the institutions themselves. 
 
 But the chiefs of the political party were not all of them 
 favorable to the Presbyterian organization of the church. 
 Many of them, as for instance, Hampden and Holies, would 
 have preferred, it seems, a moderate episcopacy, confined to 
 purely ecclesiastical duties, and more freedom of conscience. 
 But they resigned themselves to it, being unable to do with- 
 out their fanatical allies. 
 
 A third party was yet more exorbitant in its demands : 
 this party asserted that an entire change was necessary, not 
 only in the form of government, but in government itself ; 
 that the whole political constitution was bad. This party 
 repudiated the past ages of England, renounced the national 
 institutions and memories, with the intention of founding 
 a new government, according to a pure theory, or what it 
 supposed to be such. It was not a mere reform in the gov- 
 ernment, but a social revolution which this party wished 
 to bring about. They party of which I just now spoke, 
 that of the political revolution, wished to introduce 
 important changes in the relations between the Parlia- 
 ment and the crown ; it wished to extend the 
 power of Parliament, particularly that of the House of 
 Commons, giving them the nomination to high public 
 offices, and the supreme direction in general affairs; but 
 its project of reform extended very little further than this. 
 For instance, it had no idea of changing the electoral, 
 judicial or municipal and administrative systems of the 
 country. The republican party meditated on all these 
 changes, and proclaimed their necessity; and, in a word. 
 
288 HISTORY OF 
 
 wished to reform, not only the public administration, but 
 also the social relations and the distribution of private 
 rights. 
 
 This party, like that which preceded it, was partly relig- 
 ious and partly political. The political portion included 
 the republicans, properly so called, the theorists, Ludlow, 
 Harrington, Milton, etc. On that side were ranged the 
 republicans from interest, the cliief officers of the army, 
 Ireton, Cromwell and Lambert, who, more or less sincere 
 at the onset, were soon swayed and guided by interested 
 views and the necessities of their situations. Around these 
 collected the religious republican party, which included all 
 those enthusiasts who acknowledged no legitimate power 
 except that of Jesus Christ, and who, while waiting for hig 
 advent, wished to be governed by his elect. And, lastly, 
 the party was followed by a large number of inferior free- 
 thinkers, and fantastical dreamers, the one set in hope of 
 license, the other of equality of property and universal 
 suffrage. 
 
 In 1653, after a struggle of twelve years, all these parties 
 had successively failed, at least, they had reason to believe 
 they had failed, and the public was convinced of theii 
 failure. The legal party, which quickly disappeared, had 
 seen the ancient laws and constitution disdained and trodden 
 under foot, and innovation visible upon every side. The 
 party of political reform saw parliamentary forms perish 
 under the new use which they wished to make of them; they 
 saw the House of Commons after a sway of twelve years, 
 reduced by the successive expulsion of the royalists and the 
 Presbyterians to a very trifling number of members, and 
 those looked upon by the public with contempt and detes- 
 tation, and incapable of governing. The republican party 
 seemed to have succeeded better: it remained, to all 
 appearance, master of the field of battle, of power; the 
 House of Commons reckoned no more than from fifty to 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 289 
 
 sixty members, and all of these were republicans. They 
 might fairly deem themselves and declare themselves mas- 
 ters of the country. But the country absolutely rejected 
 them; they could nowhere carry their resolutions into 
 effect; the}" exercised no practical influence either over the 
 army or over the people. There no longer subsisted any 
 social tie, any social security; justice was no longer admin- 
 istered, or, if it was, it was no longer justice, but the 
 arbitrary rendering of decrees at the dictation of passion, 
 prejudice, party. And not only was there an entire disap- 
 pearance of security from the social relations of men, there 
 was none v/hatever on the highways, which were covered 
 with thieves and robbers; material anarchy as well as moral 
 anarchy manifested itself in every direction, and the House 
 of Commons and the Republican Council were wholly 
 incapable of repressing either the one or the other. 
 
 The three great parties of the revolution had thus been 
 called successively to conduct it, to govern the country 
 according to their knowledge and will, and they had not 
 been able to do it; they had all three of them completely 
 failed; they could do nothing more. ** It was then,^^ says 
 Bossuet, *' that a man was found who left nothing to for- 
 tune which he could take from it by council or foresight;^^ 
 an expression full of error, and controverted by all history. 
 Never did man leave more to fortune than Cromwell; 
 never has man hazarded more, gone on with more temerity, 
 without design or aim, but determined to go as far as fate 
 should carry him. An unlimited ambition, an admirable 
 faculty of extracting from every day and circumstance 
 some new means of progress, the art of turning chance to 
 profit, without pretending to rule it, all these were Crom- 
 welFs. It was with Cromwell as perhaps it has been with 
 no other man in his circumstances; he sufficed for all the 
 most various phases of the revolution; he was a man for its 
 first and latest epochs; first of all, he was the leader 
 
290 BISTORT OF 
 
 of insurrection, the abettor of anarchy, the most fiery 
 of the English revolutionists; afterward the man for 
 the anti-revolutionary reaction, for the re-establishment 
 of order, and for social organization; thus performing 
 singly all the parts which, in the course of revolu- 
 tions, are divided among the greatest actors. One can 
 hardly say that Cromwell was a Mirabeau; he wantevi 
 eloquence, and although very active, did not make any 
 show during the first years of the Long Parliament. 
 But he was successively a Dan ton and a Buonaparte. 
 He, more than any others, had contributed to the 
 overthrow of power; and he raised it up again because 
 none but he knew how to assume and manage it; some one 
 must govern; all had failed and he succeeded. That con- 
 stituted his title. Once master of the government, this 
 man, whose ambition had shown itself so bold and insati- 
 able, who, in his progress had always driven fortune before 
 him, determined never to stop, now displayed a good 
 sense, prudence and knowledge of the possible, which 
 dominated all his most violent passions. He had, no 
 doubt, a great love for absolute power and a strong desire 
 to place the crown on his own head and establish it in his 
 family. He renounced this last design, the danger of 
 which he saw in time; and as to the absolute power, 
 although, in fact, he exercised it, he always knew that 
 the tendency of his a^e was against it; that the revolution 
 in which he had co-operated and which he had followed 
 through all its phases, had been directed against despotism, 
 and that the imperishable desire of England was to be 
 governed by a parliament and in parliamentary forms. 
 Therefore he himself, a despot by inclination and in fact, 
 undertook to have a parliament and to govern in a parlia- 
 mentary manner. He addressed himself unceasingly to all 
 parties; he endeavored to form a parliament of religious 
 enthusiasts, of republicans, of Presbyterians, of officers of 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 291 
 
 the army. He attempted all means to constitute a parlia- 
 ment which could and would co-operate with him. He 
 tried in vain: all parties, once seated in Westminster, 
 wished to snatch from him the power which he exercised, 
 and rule in theii* turn. I do not say that his own interest 
 and personal passion were not first in his thoughts; but it 
 is not therefore the less certain that, if he had abandoned 
 power, he would have been obliged to take it up again the 
 next day. Neither Puritans nor royalists, republicans nor 
 officers, none, besides Cromwell, was in condition to 
 govern with any degree of order or justice. The proof 
 had been shown. It was impossible to allow the Parliament, 
 that is to say, the parties sitting in Parliament, to take the 
 empire which they could not keep. Such, then, was the 
 situation of Cromwell; he governed according to a system 
 which he knew very well was not that of the country; he 
 exercised a power acknowledged as necessary, but accepted 
 by no one. No party regarded his dominion as a definitive 
 government. The royalists, the Presbyterians, the republi- 
 cans, the army itself, the party which seemed most devoted 
 to Cromwell, all were convinced that he was but a fransi- 
 tory master. At bottom he never reigned over men^s 
 minds; he was never anything but a make-shift, a necessity 
 of the moment. The protector, the absolute master of 
 England, was all his life obliged to employ force in order 
 to protect his power; no party could govern like him, but 
 no party wished him for governor: he was constantly 
 attacked by all parties at once. 
 
 At his death the republicans alone were in a condition 
 to seize upon power; they did so, and succeeded no better 
 then they had done before. This was not for want of 
 confidence, at least as regards the fanatics of the party. 
 A pamphlet of Milton, published at this period and full of 
 talent and enthusiasm, is entitled, " A ready and easy way 
 to establish a free commonwealth.*' You see what was the 
 
292 HISTORY OF 
 
 blindness of these men. They very soon fell again into 
 that impossibility of governing which they had already 
 experienced. Monk undertook the conduct of the event 
 which all England looked for. The restoration was 
 accomplished. 
 
 The restoration of the Stuarts in England was a deeply 
 national event. It presented itself with the advantages at 
 once of an ancient government, of a government which 
 rests upon its traditions, upon the recollections of the 
 country and with the advantages of a new government, of 
 which no recent trial has been made and of which the 
 faults and weight have not been experienced. The ancient 
 monarchy was the only species of government which for 
 the last twenty years had not been despised for its inca- 
 pacity and ill-sucess in the administration of the country. 
 These two causes rendered the restoration popular ; it had 
 nothing to oppose it but the remnants of violent parties, 
 and the public rallied around it heartily. It was, in the 
 opinion of the country, the only means of legal govern- 
 ment; that is to say, of that which the country most 
 ardently desired. This was also what the restoration 
 promised, and it was careful to present itself under the 
 aspect of a legal government. 
 
 The first royalist party which, at the return of Charles 
 II, undertook the management of affairs was, in fact, the 
 legal party, represented by its most able chief, the chancel- 
 lor Clarendon. You are aware that, from 1660 to 1667, 
 Clarendon was prime minister, and the truly predominat- 
 ing influence in England. Clarendon and his friends re- 
 appeared with their ancient system, the absolute sovereignty 
 of the king, kept within legal limits, and restrained, in 
 matters of taxation, by Parliament, and in matters of pri- 
 vate rights and individual liberties, by the tribunals; but 
 possessing, as regards government, properly so called, an 
 almost complete independence, the most decisive prepon- 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 293 
 
 derance, to the exclusion, or even against the wishes of the 
 majority in Parliament, especially in the House of Com- 
 mons. As to the rest, they had a due respect for legal 
 order, a sufficient solicitude for the interests of the coun- 
 try, a noble sentiment of its dignity, and a grave and hon- 
 orable moral tone: such was the character of Clarendon^a 
 administration of seven years. 
 
 But the fundamental ideas upon which this administra- 
 tion rested, the absolute sovereignty of the king, and the 
 government, placed beyond the influence of the preponder- 
 ating opinion of Parliament, these ideas, I say, were ob- 
 solete, impotent. In spite of the reaction of the first 
 moments of the restoration, twenty years of parliamentary 
 rule, in opposition to royalty, had irremediably ruined 
 them. A new element soon burst forth in the center of 
 the royalist party: free-thinkers, rakes and libertines, who 
 participated in the ideas of the time, conceived that power 
 was vested in the Commons, and, caring very little for 
 legal order or the absolute sovereignty of the king, trouble^ 
 themselves only for their own success, and sought it when- 
 ever they caught a glimpse of any means of influence or 
 power. These formed a party which became allied with 
 the national discontented party, and Clarendon was over- 
 iiirown. 
 
 Thus arose a new system of government, namely, that of 
 that portion of the royalist party which I have now de- 
 scribed: profligates and libertines formed the ministry, 
 which is called the ministry of the Cabal, and many other 
 administrations which succeeded it. This was their char- 
 acter: no care for principles, laws or rights; as little for 
 justice and for truth; they sought upon each occasion to 
 discover the means of succeeding: if success depended upon 
 the influence of the Commons, they chimed in with their 
 opinions; if it seemed expedient to flout the House of 
 Commons, the^^ did so, and begged its pardon on the 
 
294 HISTORY OF 
 
 morrow. Corruption was tried one day, flattery ot tTi% 
 national spirit, another; there was no regard paid to thfr 
 general interests of the country, to its dignity, or to its 
 honor; in a word, their government was profoundly selfish 
 and immoral, a stranger to all public doctrine or views: 
 but at bottom, and in the practical administration of aifairs, 
 very intelligent and liberal. Such was the character of the 
 Cabal, of the ministry of the Earl of Danby, and of the 
 entire English government, from 1667 to 1678. Notwith- 
 standing its immorality, notwithstanding its contempt of 
 the principles and the true interests of the country, this 
 government was less odious and less unpopular than the 
 ministry of Clarendon had been: and why? because it was 
 much bettor adapted to the times, and because it better 
 understood the sentiments of the people, even in mocking 
 them. It was not antiquated and foreign to them, like 
 that of Clarendon; and though it did the country much 
 more harm, the country found it more agreeable. Never- 
 theless, there came a moment when corruption, servility 
 and contempt of rights and public honor were pushed to such 
 a point that the people could no longer remain resigned. 
 There was a general rising against the government of the 
 profligates. A national and patriotic party had formed itself 
 in the bosom of the House of Commons. The king decided 
 upon calling its chiefs to the council. Then came to 
 the direction of affairs Lord Essex, the son of him who 
 had commanded the first parliamentary armies during 
 the civil war. Lord Eussell, and a man who, without 
 having any of their virtues, was far superior to them in 
 political ability. Lord Shaftesbury. Brought thus to the 
 management of affairs, the national party showed itself in- 
 competent; it knew not how to possess itself of the moral 
 force of the country; it knew not how to treat the inter- 
 ests either of the king, the court or of any of those with 
 whom it had to do. It gave to no one, neither to the 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 295 
 
 people nor to the king, any great notion of its ability and 
 energy. After remaining a short time in power, it failed. 
 The virtue of its chiefs, their generous courage, the noble- 
 ness of their deaths, have exalted them in history, and have 
 justly placed them in the highest rank; but their political 
 capacity did not answer to their virtue, and they knew i.ot 
 how to wield the power which could not corrupt them, noi 
 to secure the triumph of the cause for the sake of which 
 they knew how to die. 
 
 This attempt having failed, you perceive the condition 
 of the English restoration; it had, after a manner, and 
 like the revolution, tried all parties and all ministries, the 
 legal ministry, the corrupted ministry, and the nationa. 
 ministry, but none had succeeded. The country and the 
 court found themselves in much the same situation as that 
 of England in 1653, at the end of the revolutionary tem- 
 pest. Recourse was had to the same expedient; what 
 Cromwell had done for the good of the revolution, Charles 
 II did for the good of his crown: he entered the career of 
 absolute power. 
 
 James II succeeded his brother. Then a second question 
 was added to that of absolute power; namely, the question 
 of religion. James II desired to bring about the triumph 
 of popery as well as that of despotism. Here, then, as at 
 the beginning of the revolution, we have a religious and a 
 political warfare, both directed against the government. 
 It has often been asked, what would have happened had 
 William III never existed, or had he not come with his 
 Hollanders to put an end to the quarrel which had arisen 
 between James II and the English nation? I firmly beliem 
 that the same event would have been accomplished. All 
 England, except a very small party, had rallied, at this 
 epoch, against James, and, under one form or another, it 
 would have accomplished the revolution of 1688. But this 
 crisis was produced by other and higher causes than the 
 
296 HISTORY OF 
 
 internal state of England. It was European as well aa 
 English. It is here that the English revolution connects 
 itself by facts themselves, and independently of the influ- 
 ence which its example may have had with the general 
 course of European civilization. 
 
 While this struggle, which I have sketched in outline, 
 this struggle of absolute power against civil and religious 
 liberty, was taking place in England, a struggle of the 
 same kind was going on upon the continent, very different, 
 indeed, as regards the actors, forms and theater, but at 
 bottom the same, and originated by the same cause. The 
 pure monarchy of Louis XIV endeavored to become an 
 universal monarchy; at least it gave reason for the fear 
 that such was the case; and in fact, Europe did fear that 
 it was. A league was made in Europe, between various 
 political parties, in order to resist this attempt, and the 
 chief of this league was the chief of the party in favor of 
 civil and religious liberty upon the continent, William, 
 Prince of Orange. The Protestant republic of Holland, 
 with William at its head, undertook to resist the pure 
 monarchy represented and conducted by Louis XIV. It; 
 was not civil and religious liberty in the interior of the 
 states, but their external independence which was appar- 
 ently the question. Louis XIV and his adversaries did 
 not imagine that, in fact, they were contesting between 
 them the question which was being contested in England. 
 This struggle went on, not between parties, but between 
 states; it proceeded by war and diplomacy, not by political 
 movements and by revolutions. But, at bottom, one and 
 the same question was at issue. 
 
 When, therefore, James II resumed in England the con- 
 test between absolute power and liberty, this contest occurred 
 just in the midst of the general struggle which was going 
 on in Europe between Louis XIV and the Prince of Orange, 
 the representatives, severally, of the two great systems at 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 297 
 
 war upon the banks of the Scheldt, as well as on those of 
 the Thames. The league was so powerful against Louis 
 XIV that, openly, or in a hidden but very real manner, 
 sovereigns were seen to e»ter it, who were assuredly very 
 far from being interested in favor of civil and religious 
 liberty. The emperor of Germany and pope Innocent XI 
 supported William III against Louis XIV. William passed 
 into England, less in order to serve the internal interests 
 of the country than to draw it completely into the struggle 
 against Louis XIV. He took this new kingdom as a new 
 power of which he was in want, and of which his opponent 
 had, up to that time, made use against them. While 
 Charles II and James II reigned, England belonged to 
 Louis XIV; he had directed its external relations, and had 
 constantly opposed it to Holland. England was now 
 snatched from the party of pure and universal monarchy 
 in order to become the instrument and strongest support 
 of the party of religious liberty. This is the European 
 aspect of the revolution of 1688; it was thus that it occu- 
 pied a place in the total result of the events of Europe, 
 independently of the part which it played by means of its 
 example, and the influence which it exercised upon minds 
 in the following century. 
 
 Thus you see that, as I told you in the beginning, the 
 true meaning and essential character of this revolution was 
 the attempt to abolish absolute power in temporal as well 
 as spiritual things. This act discovers itself in all the» 
 phases of the revolution — in its first period up to the res- 
 toration, in the second up to the crisis of 1688 — and 
 whether we consider it in its internal development or in 
 its relations with Europe in general. 
 
 It now remains for us to study the same great event upon 
 the continent, the struggle of pure monarchy and free in- 
 quiry, or, at least, its causes and approaches. This will be 
 the subject of our next lecture. 
 
298 EISTORT OJf 
 
 FOURTEENTH LEOTUEB. 
 
 Object of the lecture — Difference and likeness between the progress 
 of civilization in England and on the Continent — Preponderance 
 of France in Europe in the seventeenth and eighteenth centu- 
 ries — In the seventeenth century by reason of the French gov- 
 ernment — In the eighteenth by reason of the country itself — Of 
 the government of Louis XIV — Of his wars — Of his diplomacy — 
 Of his administration — Of his legislation — Causes of his rapid 
 decline — Of France in the eighteenth century — Essential charac- 
 teristics of the philosophical revolution — Conclusion of the 
 course. 
 
 In my last lecture I endeavored to determine the true 
 character and political meaning of the English revolution. 
 We have seen that it was the first shock of the two great 
 facts to which all the civilization of primitive Europe ron 
 duced itself in the course of the sixteenth century, namely, 
 pure monarchy on one hand and free inquiry on the other; 
 those two powers came to strife for the first time in Eng- 
 land. Attempts have been made to infer from this fact 
 the existence of a radical difference between the social 
 state of England and that of the continent; some have 
 pretended that no comparison was possible between coun- 
 tries of destinies so different; they have affirmed that the 
 English people had existed in a kind of moral isolation 
 analogous to its material situation. 
 
 It is true that there had been an important difference 
 between English civilization, and the civilization of the 
 continental states — a difference which we are bound to cal- 
 culate. You have already, in the course of my lectures, 
 been enabled to catch a glimpse of it. The development of 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 299 
 
 the different principles and elements of society occurred 
 in England simultaneously, and, as it were, abreast; at 
 least far more so than upon the continent. When I 
 attempted to determine the peculiar physiognomy of 
 European civilization as compared with the ancient and 
 Asiatic civilizations, I showed you the first, varied, rich and 
 complex; that it never fell under the dominion of an exclu- 
 sive principle; that therein the various elements of the 
 social state were modified, combined, and struggled with 
 each other, and had been constantly compelled to agree 
 and live in common. This fact, the general characteristic 
 of European civilization, has above all characterized the 
 English civilization; it was in England that this character 
 * developed itself with the most continuity and obviousness; 
 it was there that the civil and religious orders, aristocracy, 
 democracy, royalty, local and central institutions, moral 
 and political developments, progressed and increased 
 together, pell-mell, so to speak, and if not with an equal 
 rapidity, at least always within a short distance of each 
 other. Under the reign of the Tiidors, for instance, in 
 the midst of the most brilliant progress of pure monarchy, 
 we see the democratical principle, the popular power, aris- 
 ing and strengthening itself at the same time. The rev- 
 olution of the seventeenth century burst forth; it was at 
 the same time religious and political. The feudal aristoc- 
 racy appeared here in a very weakened condition, and with 
 all the symptoms of decline: nevertheless, it was ever in a 
 position to preserve a place and play an important part 
 therein, and to take its share in the results. It is the same 
 with the entire course of English history: never has any 
 ancient element completely perished; never has any new 
 element wholly triumphed, or any special principle attained 
 to an exclusive preponderance. There has always been a 
 simultaneous development of different forces, a compro 
 mise between their pretensions and their interests. 
 
^00 BISTORT Oh 
 
 Upon the continent the progress of civilization has been 
 much less complex and complete. The various elements of 
 society — the religious and civil orders — monarcy, aristoc- 
 racy and democracy, have developed themselves, not 
 together and abreast, but in succession. Each principle, 
 each system has had, after a certain manner, its turn. 
 Such a century belongs, I will not say exclusively, which 
 would be saying too much, but with a very marked pre- 
 ponderance, to feudal aristocracy, for example; another 
 belongs to the monarchical principle; a third to the dem- 
 ocratical system. 
 
 Compare the French with the English middle ages, the 
 eleventh, twelfth and thirteenth centuries of our history 
 u with the corresponding centuries beyond the channel; you' 
 ' will find that at this period in France feudalism was 
 almost absolutely sovereign, while royalty and the dem- 
 ocratical principle were next to nullities. Look to Eng- 
 land: it is, indeed, the feudal aristocracy which predom- 
 inates; but royalty and democracy were nevertheless pow- 
 erful and important. 
 
 Royalty triumphed in England under Elizabeth, as in 
 France under Louis XIV; but how many precautions was 
 it obliged to take; to how many restrictions — now from the 
 aristocracy, now from the democracy, did it submit! In 
 England, also, each system and each principle has had its 
 day of power and success, but never so completely, sc 
 exclusively as upon the continent; the conqueror has 
 always been compelled to tolerate the presence of his rivals 
 and to allow each his share. 
 
 With the differences in the progress of the two civiliza- 
 tions are connected advantages and disadvantages, which 
 manifest themselves, in fact, in the history of the two 
 countries. There can be no doubt, for instance, but that 
 this simultaneous development of the different social ele- 
 ments greatly contributed to carry England, more rapidly 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 301 
 
 than any other of the continental states, to the final aim of 
 all society — namely, the establishment of a government at 
 once regular and free. It is precisely the nature of a gov- 
 ernment to concern itself for all interests and all powers, 
 to reconcile them, and to induce them to live and prosper 
 in common; now, such, beforehand, by the concurrence of 
 a multitude of causes, was the disposition and relation of 
 the different elements of English society: a general and 
 somewhat regular government had therefore less difficulty 
 in becoming constituted there. So, the essence of liberty 
 is the manifestation and simultaneous action of all inter- 
 ests, rights, powers and social elements. England was 
 therefore much nearer to its possessions than the majority 
 of other states. For the same reasons, national good sense, 
 the comprehension of public affairs, necessarily formed 
 themselves there more rapidly than elsewhere; political 
 Bood sense consists in knowing how to estimate all facts, 
 to appreciate them, and render to each its share of consid- 
 eration; this, in England, was a necessity of the social 
 state, a natural result of the course of civilization. 
 
 On the other hand, in the continental states, each system, 
 each principle having had its turn, having predominated 
 after a more complete and more exclusive manner, its de- 
 velopment was wrought upon a larger scale, and with more 
 grandeur and brilliancy. Koyalty and feudal aristocracy, 
 for instance, came upon the continental stage with far 
 greater boldness, extension and freedom. Our political 
 experiments, so to speak, have been broader and more 
 finished: the result of this has been that political ideas (I 
 speak of general ideas, and not of good sense applied to the 
 conduct of affairs) and political doctrines have' risen higher, 
 and displayed themselves with much more rational vigor. 
 Each system having, in some measure, presented itself 
 alone, and having remained a long time upon the stage, 
 men have been enabled to consider it in its entirety, to 
 
303 EI8T0RT OV* 
 
 mount up to its first principles, to follow it out into ita 
 last consequences, and fully to unfold its theory. Whoever 
 attentively observes the English character must be struck 
 with a twofold fact — on the one hand, with the soundness 
 of its good sense and its practical ability; on the oth4:>r5 
 with its lack of general ideas, and its pride as to theoretical 
 questions. Whether we open a work upon English history, 
 upon jurisprudence, or any other subject, it is rarely that 
 we find the grand reason of things, the fundamental 
 reason. In all things, and especially in the political 
 sciences, pure doctrine, philosophy and science, properly 
 so called, have prospered much better on the continent than 
 in England ; their flights have, at least, been far more 
 powerful and bold ; and we cannot doubt but that the 
 different developments of civilization in the two countries 
 have greatly contributed to this result. 
 
 For the rest whatever we may think of the advantages ot 
 disadvantages which this difference has entailed, it is a real 
 and incontestable fact, the fact which most deeply dis- 
 tinguishes England from the continent. But it does not 
 follow, because the different principles and social elements 
 have been there developed more simultaneously, here more 
 successively, that, at bottom, the path and the goal have 
 not been one and the same. Considered in their entirety, 
 the continent and England have traversed the same grand 
 phases of civilization ; events have, in either, followed tho 
 teame course, and the same causes have led to the same 
 effects. You have been enabled to convince yourselves ot 
 'this fact from the picture which I have placed before you 
 of civilization up to the sixteenth century, and you will 
 equally recognize it in studying the seventeenth and 
 eighteenth centuries. The development of free inquiry, 
 and that of pure monarchy, almost simultaneous in England, 
 accomplished themselves upon the continent at long in- 
 tervals; but they did not accomplish themselves, and tha 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 3C3 
 
 two powers, after having successively preponderated with 
 splendor, came equally, at last, to blows. The general 
 path of societies, considering all things, has thus been the 
 same, and though the points of difference are real, those of 
 resemblance are more deeply seated. A rapid sketch of 
 modern times will leave you in no doubt upon this subject. 
 
 Glancing over the history of Europe in the seventeenth 
 and eighteenth centuries, it is impossible not to perceive 
 that France has advanced at the head of European civiliza- 
 tion. At the beginning of this work I have already 
 insisted upon this fact, and I have endeavored to point 
 out its cause. We shall now find it more striking than 
 ever. 
 
 The principle of pure monarchy, of absolute royalty, pre- 
 dominated in Spain under Charles V and Phillip II, be- 
 fore developing itself in France under Louis XIV. In the 
 same manner the principle of free inquiry had reigned in 
 England in the seventeenth century, before developing 
 itself in France in the eighteenth. Nevertheless, pure 
 monarchy and free inquiry came not from Spain and Eng- 
 land to take possession of the world. The two principles, 
 the two systems remained, in a manner, confined to the 
 countries in which they had arisen. It was necessary that 
 they should pass through France in order that they might 
 extend their conquests; it was necessary that pure mon- 
 archy and free inquiry should become French in order 
 to become European. This communicative character 
 of French civilization, this social genius of France, 
 which has displayed itself at all periods, was thus 
 more than ever manifest at the period with which we 
 now occupy ourselves. I will not further insist upon this 
 fact; it has been developed to you with as much reason of 
 brilliancy in other lectures wherein you have been called 
 upon to observe the influence of French literature and 
 philosophy in the eighteeuth century. You have seen that 
 
304 EI8T0RT OF 
 
 philosophic Prance possessed more authority over Europe, 
 in regard to liberty, then even free England. You have 
 seen that French civilization showed itself far more active 
 and contagious than that of any other country. I need 
 not, therefore, pause upon the details of this fact, which I 
 mention only in order to rest upon it any right to con* 
 fine my picture of modern European civilization to France 
 alone. Between the civilization of France and that of the 
 other states of Europe at this period, there have, no doubt, 
 been differences, which it would have been necessary to 
 bear in mind, if my present purpose had been a full and 
 faithful exposition of the history of those civilizations; but 
 I must go on so rapidly that I am compelled to omit entire 
 nations and ages, so to speak. I choose rather to concen- 
 trate your attention for a moment upon the course of 
 French civilization, an image, though imperfect, of the 
 general course of things in Europe. 
 
 The influence of France in Europe during the seven- 
 teenth and eighteenth centuries, presents itself under very 
 different aspects. In the - former it was French govern- 
 ment that acted upon Europe and advanced at the head of 
 general civilization. In the latter it was no longer to the 
 government, but France herself, that the predonderance 
 belonged. In the first case, it was Louis XIV and his 
 court, afterward France and her opinion, that governed 
 minds and attracted attention. In the seventeenth century 
 Ihere were peoples who, as peoples, appeared more promi 
 nently upon the scene and took a greater part in eventr^ 
 than the French people. Thus, during the thirty years 
 war, the German nation, in the English revolution, the 
 English people played, in their own destinies, a much 
 greater part than was played at this period by the French 
 in theirs. So, also, in the eighteenth century there 
 were governments stronger, of greater consideration and 
 more to be dreaded, than the French government, No 
 
GIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 305 
 
 doubt Frederick II, Catherine II and Maria Theresa, had 
 more influence and weight in Europe than Louis XV; 
 nevertheless, at both periods, it was France that was at the 
 head of European civilization, placed there first, by its 
 government, afterward by itself; now by the political 
 action of its masters, now by its peculiar intellectual 
 development. 
 
 In order to fully understand the predominant influence 
 in the course of civilization in France, and therefore in 
 Europe, we must study, in the seventeenth century, 
 French government, in the eighteenth, French society. 
 We must change the plan and the drama according as 
 time alters the stage and the actors. 
 
 When we occupy ourselves with the government of 
 Louis XIV, when we endeavor to appreciate the causes of 
 his power and influence in Europe, we scarcely think of 
 anything but his renown, his conquests, his magnificence 
 and the literary glory of his time. It is to external causes 
 that we apply ourselves and attribute the European pre- 
 ponderance of the French government. But I conceive 
 that this preponderance had deeper and more serious 
 foundations. We must not believe that it was simply by 
 means of victories, /e^^5, or even master-works of genius, 
 that Louis XIV and his government, at this epoch, played 
 the part which it is impossible to deny them. 
 
 Many of you may remember, and all of you have heard 
 speak of the effect which the consular government produced 
 in France twenty-nine years ago, and of the condition in 
 which it found our country. Without was impending 
 foreign invasion, and continual disasters were occurring in 
 our armies; within was an almost complete dissolution of 
 power and of the people; there were no revenues, no public 
 order; in a word, society was prostrate, humiliated and 
 disorganized: such was France on the advent of the con- 
 sulate government. Who does not recall the jDrodigioua 
 
306 HISTORY OF 
 
 and felicitous activity of this government, that activity 
 which, in a little time, secured the independence of the 
 land, revived national honor, reorganized the administra- 
 tion, remodeled the legislation and, after a manner, 
 regenerated society under the hand of power. 
 
 Well, the government of Louis XIV when it com- 
 menced, did something analogous to this for France; with 
 great differences of times, proceedings and forms, it pur- 
 sued and attained nearly the same results. 
 
 Recall to your memory the state into which France was 
 fallen after the government of Cardinal Richelieu, and dur- 
 ing the minority of Louis XIV: the Spanish armies always 
 on the frontiers, sometimes in the interior; continual 
 danger of an invasion; internal dissensions urged to ex- 
 tremity, civil war, the government weak and discredited at 
 home and abroad. Society was perhaps in a less violent, 
 but still sufficiently analogous state to ours, prior to the 
 eighteenth Brumaire. It was from this state that the 
 government of Louis XIV, extricated France. His first 
 victories had the effect of the victory of Marengo: they 
 secured the country, and retrieved the national honor. I 
 am about to consider this government under its principal 
 aspects — in its wars, in its external relations, in its admin- 
 istration, and in its legislation; and you will see, I imagine, 
 that the comparison of which I speak, and to which I at- 
 tach no puerile importance (for I think very little of the 
 value of historical parallels), you will see, I say, that this 
 comparison has a real foundation, and that I have a right 
 to employ it. 
 
 First of all let us speak of the wars of Louis XIV. The 
 wars of Europe have originated, as you know, and as I 
 have often taken occasion to remind you, in great popular 
 movements. Urged by necessity, caprice, or any other 
 cause, entire populations, sometimes numerous, sometimes 
 in simple bands, have transported themselves from on^ 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 307 
 
 territory to another. This was the general character of 
 European wars until after the crusades, at the end of the 
 thirteenth centurv. 
 
 At that time began a species of wars scarcely less differ- 
 ent from modern wars than the above. These were the 
 distant wars, undertaken no longer by the people, but by 
 governments, which went at the head of their armies to 
 seek states and adventures afar off. They quitted their 
 countries, abandoned their own territories, and plunged, 
 some into Germany, others into Italy, and others into 
 Africa, with no other motives than personal caprice. Al- 
 most all the wars of the fifteenth and even of a part of the 
 sixteenth century were of this description. What interest 
 . — I speak not of a legitimate interest — but what possible 
 motive had France that Charles VIII should possess the 
 kingdom of Naples? This evidently was a war dictated by 
 no political consideration: the king conceived that he had 
 a personal right to the kingdom of Naples, and with a 
 personal aim and to satisfy his personal desire, he under- 
 took the conquest of a distant country, which was in no 
 way adapted for annexation to his kingdom; which, on the 
 contrary, did nothing but compromise his power externally, 
 and internally his repose. It was the same with the ex- 
 pedition of Charles the Fifth to Africa. The latest war of 
 this kind was the expedition of Charles XII against 
 Russia. The wars of Louis XIV had no such character; 
 they were the wars of a regular government, fixed in the 
 center of its states, and laboring to make conquests around 
 it, to extend or consolidate its territory; in a word, they' 
 were political wars. 
 
 They may have been just or unjust; they may have cost 
 France too u^arly; there are a thousand reasons which 
 might be adduced against their morality and their excess; 
 but th«y bear a character incomparably more rational than 
 the antecedent wars: they were no longer undertaken for 
 
308 HISTORY OF 
 
 whim or adventure; they were dictated by some serious 
 motive; it was some natural limit that it seemed desirable 
 to attain; some population speaking the same language 
 that they aimed at annexing; some point of defence against 
 a neighboring power, which it was thought necessary to 
 acquire. No doubt personal ambition had a share in thase 
 wars; but examine one after another of the wars of Louis 
 XIV, particularly those of the first part of his reign, and 
 you will find that they had truly political motives; and 
 that they were conceived for the interest of France, for ob- 
 taining power, and for the country^s safety. 
 
 The results are proofs of the fact. France of the present 
 day is still, in many respects, what the wars of Louis XIV 
 have made it. The provinces which he conquered, Franche- 
 Comte, Flanders and Alsace, remain yet incorporated with 
 France. There are sensible as well as senseless conquests: 
 those of Louis XIV were of the former species; his enter- 
 prises have not the unreasonable and capricious character 
 which, up to his time, was so general; a skillful, if not 
 always just and wise policy, presided over them. 
 
 Leaving the wars of Louis XIV, and passing to the 
 consideration of his relations with foreign states, qf his 
 diplomacy, properly so called, I find an analogous result. 
 I have insisted upon the occurrence of the birth of diplo- 
 macy in Europe at the end of the fifteenth century. I have 
 endeavored to shov/ how the relations of governments and 
 states between themselves, up to that time accidental, 
 rare and transitory, became at this period more regular and 
 enduring, how they tooK a character of great public inter 
 est; how, in a word, at the end of the fifteenth, and dur' ig 
 the first half of the sixteenth century, diplomacy came tc 
 play an immense part in events. K"everthoIess, up to the 
 seventeenth century, it had not been, truly speaking, sys- 
 tematic; it had not led to long alliances, or to great, and 
 above all, durable combinations, directed, according to fixed 
 
CIVILIZA TIO]^ m EUROPE. 309 
 
 principles, toward a constant aim, with that spirit of con 
 tinuity which is the true character of established govern- 
 ments. During the course of the religious revolution, tha 
 external relations of states were almost completely under 
 the power of the religious interest; the Protestant and 
 Catholic leagues divided Europe. It was in the seven- 
 teenth century, after the treaty of Westphalia, and under 
 the influence of the government of Louis XIV, that diplo- 
 macy changed its character. It then escaped from the 
 exclusive influences cf the religious principle; alliances and 
 political combinatijns w^ere formed upon other considera- 
 tions. At the same time it became much more svstematic, 
 regular, and constantly directed toward a certain aim, ac- 
 cording to permanent principles. The regular origin of this 
 system of balance in Europe belongs to this period. It 
 was under the government of Louis XIV that the system, 
 together with all the considerations attached to it, truly 
 ^ook possession of European policy. When we investigate 
 what was the general idea in regard to this subject, what 
 was the predominating principle of the policy of Louis 
 XIV, I believe that the following is what we discover: 
 
 I have spoken of the great struggle between the pure 
 monarchy of Louis XIV, aspiring to become universal 
 monarchy, and civil and religious liberty, and the inde- 
 pendence of states, under the direction of the Prince of 
 Orange, William III. You have seen that the great fact 
 of this period was the division of the powers under these 
 two banners. But this fact was not then estimated as W'e 
 estimate it now; it was hidden and unknown even to those 
 who accomplished it; the suppression of the system of pure 
 monarchy and the consecration of civil and religious liberty 
 was, at bottom, the necessary result of the resistance of 
 Holland and its allies to Louis XIV, but the question was 
 not thus openly enunciated between absolute power and 
 liberty. It has been often said that the propagation of 
 
SIO HISTORY OF 
 
 absolute power was the predominant principle of the diplo- 
 macy of Louis XIV; but I do not believe it. This con- 
 fiideration played no very great part in his policy, until 
 latterly, in his old age. The power of France, its prepon- 
 derance in Europe, the humbling of rival powers, in a 
 word, the political interest and strength of the state, was 
 the aim which Louis XIV constantly pursued, whether in 
 fighting against Spain, the emperor of Germany or Eng- 
 land; he acted far less with a view to the propagation of 
 absolute power than frpm a desire for the power and ag- 
 grandizement of France d-nd of its government. Among 
 many proofs, I will adduce one which emanates from Louis 
 XIV himself. In his Memoirs, under the year 1666, if I 
 remember right, we find a note nearly in these words: 
 
 *'I have had, this morning, a conversation with Mr. 
 Sidney, an English gentleman, who maintained to me the 
 possibility of reanimating the republican party in Eng- 
 land. Mr. Sidney demanded from me, for that purpose, 
 400,000 livres. I told him that I could give no more than 
 200,000. ^ He induced me to summon from Switzerland 
 another English gentleman named Ludlow, and to converse 
 with him of the same design. ^^ 
 
 And, accordingly, we find among the Memoirs of Ludlow, 
 about the same date, a paragraph to this effect: 
 
 *^ I have received from the French government an in- 
 vitation to go to Paris, in order to speak of the affairs of 
 my country; but lam distrustful of that government. ^^ 
 
 And Ludlow remained in Switzerland. 
 
 You see that the diminution of the royal power in Eng- 
 land was, at this time, the aim of Louis XIV. He fo- 
 mented internal dissensions, and labored to resuscitate the 
 republican party, to prevent Charles II from becoming too 
 powerful in his country. During the embassy of Barillon 
 in England the same fact constantly reappears. When- 
 ever the authority of Charles seemed to obtain the ad van- 
 
CIVILIZA TlOJSr IN EUROPE. 311 
 
 tage, and the national party seemed on the point of being 
 crushed, the French ambassador directed his influence to 
 this side, gave money to the chiefs of the opposition, and 
 fought, in a word, against absolute power, when that became 
 a means of weakening a rival power to France. Whenever 
 you attentively consider the conduct of external relations 
 under Louis XIV, it is with this fact that you will be the 
 most struck. 
 
 You will also be struck with the capacity and skill of 
 French diplomacy at this period. The names of M.M. de 
 Torcy, d^Avaux, de Bonrepos, are known to all well- 
 informed persons. vVhen we compare the despatches, the 
 memoirs, the skill and conduct of these counsellors of 
 Louis XIV with those of Spanish, Portuguese, and Ger- 
 man negotiators, we must be struck with the superiority of 
 the French ministers; not only as regards their earnest 
 activity and their application to affairs, but also as regards 
 their liberty of spirit These courtiers of an absolute king 
 judged of external events, of parties, of the requirements 
 of liberty, and of popular revolutions, much better even 
 than the majority of the English ministers themselves at 
 this period. There was no diplomacy in Europe, in the 
 seventeenth century, which appears equal to the French, 
 except the Dutch. The ministers of John de Witt and of 
 William of Orange, those illustrious chiefs of the party of 
 civil and religious liberty, were the only ministers who 
 seemed in condition to wrestle with the servants of the 
 great and absolute king. 
 
 You see, then, that whether we consider the wars of 
 Louis XIV, or his diplomatical relations we arrive at the 
 Bame results. We can easily conceive that a government, 
 which conducted its wars and negotiations in this manner, 
 should have assumed a high standing in Europe, and pre* 
 sented itself therein, not only as dreadworthy, but as skill- 
 ful and imposing. 
 
S12 HISTORY OF 
 
 Let us now consider the interior of France, the admin«» 
 istration and legislation of Louis XIV; we shall there dis- 
 cern new explanations of the power and splendor of his 
 government. 
 
 It is difficult to determine with any degree of precision 
 what we ought to understand by administration in the 
 government of a state. Nevertheless, when we endeavor 
 to investigate this fact, we discover, I believe, that, undei 
 the most general point of view, administration consists in 
 an aggregate of means destined to propel, as promptly and 
 certainly as possible, the will of the central power through 
 all parts of society, and to make the force of society, 
 whether consisting of men or money, return again, under 
 the same conditions, to the central power. This, if I 
 mistake not, is the true aim, the predominant character- 
 istic of administration. Accordingly we find that in times 
 when it is above all things needful to establish unity and 
 order in society, administration is the chief means of at- 
 taining this end, of biinging together, of cementing, and 
 of uniting incoherent and scattered elements. Such, in 
 fact, was the work of tlie administration of Louis XIV. 
 Up to this time, there had been nothing so difficult, iu 
 France as in the rest of Europe, as to effect the penetra- 
 tion of the action of the central power into all parts of 
 society, and to gather into the bosom of the central power 
 the means of force existing in society. To this end Louis 
 XIV labored, and succeeded, up to a certain point; incom- 
 parably better, at least, than preceding governments had 
 done. I cannot enter into details: just run over, in. 
 thought, all kinds of public services, taxes, roads, indus- 
 try, military administration, all the establishments which 
 belong to whatsoever branch of administration; there is 
 scarcely one of which you do not find either the origin, de- 
 velopment, or great amelioration under Louis XIV. It 
 was as administrators that the srreates^ men of his time. 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 313 
 
 Colbert and Louvois, displayed their genius and exercised 
 their ministry. It was by the excellence of its administra- 
 tion that his government acquired a generality, decision, 
 and consistency which were wanting to all the European 
 governments around him. 
 
 Under the legislative point of view this reign presents to 
 you the same fact. I return to the comparison which I 
 have already made use of, to the legislative activity of the 
 consular government, to its prodigious work of revising 
 and generally recasting the laws. A work of the same 
 nature took place under Louis XIV. The great ordi^ 
 nances which he promulgated, the criminal ordinances, 
 the ordinances of procedure, commerce, the marine, 
 waters, and woods, are true codes, which were constructed 
 in the same manner as our codes, discussed in the council 
 of state, some of them under the presidency of Lamoignon. 
 There are men whose glory consists in having taken part in 
 this labor and this discussion, M. Pussort, for instance. 
 If we were to consider it in itself, we should have much to 
 say against the legislation of Louis XIV; it was full of 
 vices, which now fully declare themselves, and which no 
 one can deny; it was not conceived in the interest of true 
 justice and of liberty, but in the interest of public order, 
 and for giving more regularity and firmness to the laws. 
 But even that was a great progress; and we cannot doubt 
 but that the ordinances of Louis XIV, so very superior to 
 anything preceding them, powerfully contributed to advance 
 French society in the career of civilization. 
 
 You see that under whatever point of view we regard 
 this government, we very soon discover the source of its 
 power and influence. It was the first government that 
 presented itself to the eyes of Europe as a power sure of its 
 position, which had not to dispute its existence with inter- 
 nal enemies — tranquil as to its dominions and the people, 
 and intent only on governing. Up to that time all Euro- 
 
314 BISTORT OF 
 
 pean governments had been unceasingly thrown into wars, 
 which deprived them of security as well as leisure, or had 
 been so beset with parties and internal enemies that they 
 were compelled to spend their time in fighting for their 
 lives. The government of Louis XIV appeared as the first 
 which applied itself solely to the conduct of affairs, a? a 
 j)ower at once definitive and progressive; which w-as not 
 afraid of innovating, because it could count upon the future. 
 There have, in fact, existed very few governments of such 
 an innovating spirit. Compare it with a government of 
 the same nature, with the pure monarchy of Philip II in 
 Spain; it was more absolute than that of Louis XIV, and 
 yet far less regular and less tranquil. But how did Philip 
 II succeed in establishing absolute power in Spain ? By 
 stifling the activity of the country, by refusing to it every 
 species of amelioration, by rendering the condition of Spain 
 completely stationary. The government of Louis XIV, on 
 the contrary, showed itself active in all kinds of innova- 
 tions, favorable to the progress of letters, of arts, of riches, 
 and, in a word, of civilization. These are the true causes 
 of its preponderance in Europe; a preponderance such that 
 it became upon the continent, during the whole of the 
 seventeenth century, the type of government, not only for 
 sovereigns, but even for nations. 
 
 And now we inquire — and it is impossible to help doing 
 so — how it happened that a power, thus brilliant, and, 
 judging from the facts which I have placed before you, 
 thus well established, so rapidly fell into decline? How, 
 after having played such a part in Europe, it became, in 
 the next centur}, so inconsistent, weak, and inconsiderable? 
 The fact is incontestable. In the seventeenth century the 
 French government was at the head of European civiliza- 
 tion; in the eighteenth century it disappeared; and it was 
 French society, separated from its government, often even 
 opposed to it, that now preceded and guided the European 
 world in its progress. 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 315 
 
 It is here that we discover the incorrigible evil and the 
 infallible effect of absolute power. I will not go into any 
 detail concerning the faults of . the government of Louis 
 XIV; he committed many; I will speak neither of the war 
 of the Spanish succession, nor of the revocation of the 
 edict of Nantes, nor of excessive expenses, nor of many 
 other of the fatal measures that compromised his fortunes.' 
 I will take the merits of the government as I have described 
 them. I will agree that perhaps there has never existed an 
 absolute power more fully recognized by its age and nation, 
 nor one which has rendered more real services to the civili- 
 zation of its country and of Europe in general. But, by 
 the very fact that this government had no other principle 
 than absolute power, and reposed upon no other base than 
 this, its decline became sudden and well merited. What 
 France, under Louis XIV, essentially wanted, was political 
 institutions and forces, independent, subsisting of them- 
 selves, and, in a word, capable of spontaneous action and 
 resistance. The ancient French institutions, if they mer- 
 ited that name, no longer existed: Louis XIV completed 
 their ruin. He took no care to endeavor to replace them 
 by new institutions; they would have cramped him, and he 
 did not choose to be cramped. All that appeared con- 
 spicuous at that period was will, and the action of central 
 power. The government of Louis XIV was a great fact, a 
 fact powerful and splendid, but without roots. Free insti-^ 
 tutions are a guarantee, not only of the wisdom of govern- 
 ments, but also of their duration. No system can endure 
 except by means of institutions. When absolute power has 
 endured, it has been supported by true institutions, some- 
 times by the division of society into strongly distinct castes, 
 sometimes by a system of religious institutions. Under the 
 reign of Louis XIV institutions were wanting to power as well 
 as to liberty. In France, at this period, nothing guaranteed 
 either the country against the illegitimate actions of the 
 
316 BISTORT OF 
 
 government, or the government itself against the inevitable 
 action of time. Thus we see the government helping on 
 its own decay. It was not Louis XIV alone who was 
 becoming aged and weak at the end of his reign: it was the 
 whole absolute power. Pure monarchy was as much worn 
 out in 1712 as was the monarch himself: and the evil was 
 so much the more grave, as Louis XIV had abolished polit- 
 ical morals as well as political institutions. There are no 
 political morals without independence. He alone who feels 
 that he has a strength of his own is always capable either of 
 serving or opposing power. Energetic characters disappear 
 with independent situations, and dignity of soul alone 
 gives birth to security of rights. 
 
 This, then, is the state in which Louis XIV left France 
 and power: a society in full development of riches, power 
 and all kinds of intellectual activity; and side by side with 
 this progressive society, a government essentially station- 
 ary, having no means of renewing itself, of adapting itself 
 to the movement of its people; devoted, after half a century 
 of the greatest splendor, to immobility and weakness, 
 and already, during the life of its founder, fallen into a 
 decline which seemed like dissolution. Such was the con- 
 dition of France at the conclusion of the seventeenth cent- 
 ury, a condition which impressed the epoch that followed 
 with a direction and a character so different. 
 
 I need hardly say that the onward impulse of the human 
 mind, that free inquiry was the predominating feature^ the 
 essential fact of the eighteenth century. You have already 
 heard much concerning this fact from this chair; already 
 you have heard that powerful epoch characterized by a 
 philosophical orator, and by that of an eloquent philoso- 
 pher. I cannot pretend, in the short space of time which 
 remains to me, to trace all the phases of the great moral 
 revolution which then accomplished itself. 1 would^ 
 nevertheless, fain not leave you without calling your atten- 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 317 
 
 tion to some characteristics which have been too little 
 remarked upon. 
 
 The first — one which strikes me most, and which I have 
 alread}'' mentioned — is the, so to speak, almost complete 
 disappearance of the government in the course of the 
 eighteenth century, and the appearance of the human 
 mind as the principal and almost the only actor. 
 
 Except in that which is connected with external rela- 
 tions under the ministry of the Due de Choiseul, and in 
 certain great concessions made to the general tendency of 
 opinion, for instance, in the American war; except, I say, 
 in some events of this nature, perhaps there has scarcely 
 ever been so inactive, apathetic and inert a government as 
 was the French government of this period. Instead of the 
 energetic, ambitious government of Louis XIV which 
 appeared everywhere, and put itself at the head of every 
 thing, you have a government which labored only to hide 
 itself, to keep itself in the background, so weak and com- 
 promised did it feel itself to be. Activity and ambition 
 had passed over wholly to the people. It was the nation 
 which, by its opinion and its intellectual movement, 
 mingled itself with all things, interfered in all, and, in 
 short, alone possessed moral authority, which is the Z)nly 
 true authority. 
 
 A second characteristic which strikes me, in the 
 condition of the human mind in the eighteenth cent- 
 ury, is the universality of free inquiry. Up to that 
 time, and particularly in the seventeenth century, free 
 inquiry had been exercised within a limited and partial 
 field; it had had for its object sometimes religous 
 questions, sometimes religious and political questions 
 together, but it did not extend its pretensions to all sub- 
 jects. In the eighteenth century, on the contrary, the 
 character of free inquiry is universality; religion, politics, 
 pure philosophy, man and society, moral and material 
 
318 EI8T0RT OF 
 
 nature, all at the same time became the object of study, 
 douDt and system; ancient sciences were overturned, new 
 sciences were called into existence. The movement 
 extended itself in all directions, although it had emanated 
 from one and the same impulse. 
 
 This movement, moreover, had a peculiar character^ 
 one which, perhaps, is not to be met elsewhere in the 
 history of the world: it was purely speculative. Up to 
 that time, in all great human revolutions, action had com- 
 mingled itself with speculation. Thus, in the sixteenth 
 century, the religious revolution began with ideas, with 
 purely intellectual discussions, but it very soon terminated 
 in events. The heads of intellectual parties soon became 
 the heads of political parties; the realities of life were 
 mixed with the labor of the understanding. Thus, too, 
 it happened in the seventeenth century, in the English 
 revolution. But in France, in the eighteenth century, you 
 find the human spirit exercising itself upon all things, 
 upon ideas which, connecting themselves with the real in- 
 terests of life, seemed calculated to have the most prompt 
 and powerful influence upon facts. Nevertheless, the 
 leaders and actors of these great discussions remained stran- 
 gers to all species of practical activity — mere spectators, 
 who observed, judged and spoke, without ever interfering 
 in events. At no other time has the government of facts, of 
 external realities, been so completely distinct from the 
 government of minds. The separation of the spiritual and 
 temporal orders was never completely real in Europe until 
 the eighteenth century. For the first time, perhaps, the 
 spiritual order developed itself wholly apart from the tem- 
 poral order; an important fact, and one which exercised a 
 prodigious influence upon the course of events. It gave to 
 the ideas of the time a singular character of ambition and in- 
 experience; never before had philosophy aspired so strongly 
 to rule the world, never had philosophy been so little ac- 
 
CIVILIZA TION IN EUROPE. 319 
 
 quainted with the world. It became obvious that a day 
 must arrive for coming to facts; for the intellectual move- 
 ment to pass into external events; and as they had been 
 totally separated, their meeting was the more difficult, the 
 shock far more violent. 
 
 How can we now be surprised with another character of 
 the condition of the human mind at this epoch, I mean its 
 prodigious boldness? Up to that time its greatest activity 
 had always been confined by certain barriers; the mind of 
 man had always existed amid facts, whereof some in- 
 spired it with caution, and, to a certain extent, checked its 
 movements. In the eighteenth century, I should be at a 
 loss to say what external facts the human mind respected, 
 or what external facts exercised any empire over it; it hated 
 or despised the entire social state. It concluded, therefore, 
 that it was called upon to reform all things; it came to con- 
 sider itself a sort of creator; institutions, opinions, manners, 
 society, and man himself, all seemed to require reform, and 
 human reason charged itself with the enterprise. What 
 audacity equal to this had ever before been imagined by it! 
 
 Such was the power which, in the course of the 
 eighteenth century, confronted what still remained of the 
 government of Louis XIV.^ You perceive that it was im- 
 possible to avoid the occurrence of a shock between these 
 two so unequal forces. The predominant fact of the Eng- 
 glish revolution, the struggle between free inquiry and pure 
 monarchy, was now also to burst forth in France. No 
 doubt the differences were great, and these necessarily per- 
 petuated themselves in the results; but, at bottom, the 
 general conditions were similar, and the definitive event 
 had the same meaning. 
 
 I do not pretend to exhibit the infinite consequences of 
 this struggle. The time for concluding this course of 
 lectures has arrived; I must check myself. I merely desire, 
 before leaving you, to call your attention to the most grave. 
 
320 HISTORY OF 
 
 and, in my opinion, the most instructive fact which was 
 revealed to us by this great struggle. This is the danger, 
 the evil, and the insurmountable vice of absolute power, 
 whatever form, whatever name it may bear, and toward 
 whatever aim it may direct itself. You have seen that the 
 government of Louis XIV perished by almost this cause 
 only. Well, the power which succeeded it, the human 
 mind, the true sovereign of the eighteenth century, suffered 
 the same fate; in its turn, it possessed an almost absolute 
 power; it, in its turn, placed an excessive confidence in 
 itself. Its onward impulse was beautiful, good, most, 
 useful; and were it necessary that I should express a de- 
 finitive opinion, I should say that the eighteenth century 
 appears to me to have been one of the greatest ages of his- 
 tory, that which, perhaps, has done the greatest services 
 for humanity, that which has in the greatest degree aided 
 its progress, and rendered that progress of the most general 
 character: were I asked to pronounce upon it as a public 
 administration, I should pronounce in its favor. But it 
 is not the less true that, at this epoch, the human 
 mind, possessed of absolute power, became corrupted 
 and misled by it; holding established facts and former 
 ideas in an illegitimate disdarn and aversion; an aver- 
 sion which carried it into error and tyranny. The 
 share of error and tyranny, indeed, which mingled 
 itself with the triumph of human reason, at the end of 
 this century, a portion which we cannot conceal from our-' 
 selves, was very great and which we must proclaim and not 
 deny; this portion of error and tyranny was chiefly the 
 result of the extravagance into which the mind of man had 
 been thrown, at this period, by the extension of his power. 
 It is the duty, and, I believe, it will be the peculiar 
 merit of our times, to know that all power, whether intel- 
 lectual or temporal, whether belonging to governments or 
 people, to philosophers or ministers, whether exercising 
 
CIVILIZATION IN EUROPE. 321 
 
 itself in one cause or in another, bears within itself a 
 natural vice, a principle of weakness and of abuse which 
 ought to render it limited. Now nothing but the genei'al 
 freedom of all rights, all interests and all opinions, the 
 free manifestation and legal co-existence of all these forces, 
 can ever restrain each force and each power within its legiti- 
 mate limits, prevent it from encroaching on the rest, and, 
 in a word, cause the real and generally profitable existence 
 of free inquiry. Herein consists for us the grand lesson of 
 the struggle which occurred at the end of the eighteenth 
 century, between absolute temporal power and absolute 
 spiritual power. 
 
 I have now arrived at the term which I proposed to 
 myself. You remember that my object in commencing 
 this course was to present you with a general picture of 
 the development of European civilization, from the fall of 
 the Eoman Empire to our own days. I have traversed this 
 career very rapidly and without being able to inform you, 
 far from it, of all that was important, or to bring proofs of 
 all that I have said. I have been compelled to omit much 
 and often to request you to believe me upon my word. I 
 hope, nevertheless, that I have attained my aim, which was 
 to mark the grand crisis in the development of modern 
 society. Allow me yet one word more. 
 
 I endeavored, in the beginning, to define civilization and 
 to describe the fact which bears this name. Civilization 
 seemed to me to consist of two principal facts: the develop- 
 ment of human society and that of man himself; on 
 the one hand, political and social development; on the 
 other, internal and moral development. I have confined 
 myself so far to the history of society. I have presented 
 civilization only under the social point of view; and have 
 said nothing of the development of man himself. I have 
 not endeavored to unfold to you the history of opinions, of 
 the moral progress of humanity. I propose, when we meei 
 
323 HISTORY OF 
 
 again, to confine myself especially to France, to study with 
 you the history of French civilization, to study it in detail 
 and under its various aspects. I shall endeavor to make 
 you acquainted, not only with the history of society in 
 France, but also with that of man; to be present with you 
 at the progress of institutions, of opinions and of intellect- 
 ual works of all kinds; and to arrive thus at a complete 
 understanding of the development of our glorious country 
 ai its entirety. In the past, as well as in the future, oui 
 country may well lay claim to our tenderest affectiona 
 
 [the end.] 
 
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