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_CORRESPONDENCE & CONVERSATIONS OF_ ALEXIS DE TOCQUEVILLE

WITH NASSAU WILLIAM SENIOR

FROM 1834 TO 1859


EDITED BY

M.C.M. SIMPSON


_IN TWO VOLUMES VOLUME II_


LONDON: HENRY S. KING & Co., 65 CORNHILL 1872


       *   *   *   *   *

CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME

_Journal_ 1851-2.

The army master of France
Comparison with the 18th Brumaire
Aggressive acts of the President
Coup d'État planned for March 1852
Socialism leads to despotism
War necessary to maintain Louis Napoleon
State prisoners on December 2
Louis Napoleon's devotion to the Pope
Latent Bonapartism of the French
President's reception at Notre Dame
Frank hypocrites
Mischievous public men
Extradition of Kossuth
January 29, 1849
Stunner's account of it contradicted
The Second Napoleon a copy of the First
Relies on Russian support
Compulsory voting
Life of a cavalry officer
Victims of the Coup d'État


_Letters in_ 1852-3.

Effect of the Orleans confiscation on the English
Firmness of Prussia
Mr. Greg's writings
Communication from Schwartzenberg
New Reform Bill
Democracy or aristocracy
Reform Bill not wanted
Twenty-five thousand men at Cherbourg
Easier to understand Lord Derby than Lord John
Preparations at Cherbourg a delusion
Conversation with King Leopold
No symptoms of aristocratic re-action in England
England's democratic tendencies
Idleness of young aristocrats
Death of Protection
Revolutions leading to masquerades
Tory reforms
Imperial marriage
New Reform Bill a blunder

_Journal in_ 1853.

Prosperity in Paris
Dangers incurred by overbuilding
Discharged workmen effect Revolutions
Probable monetary panic
Empire can be firmly established only by a successful war
Agents undermining the Empire
Violence and corruption of the Government
Growing unpopularity of Louis Napoleon
Consequences of his death
He probably will try the resource of war
Conquest would establish his power
War must produce humiliation or slavery to France
Corruption is destroying the army and navy
Emperor cannot tolerate opposition
Will try a plebiscite

_Letters in_ 1853.

Blackstone a mere lawyer
Feudal institutions in France and England
Gentleman and Gentilhomme
Life of seclusion
Interference of police with letters
Mrs. Crete's conversations at St. Cyr
Great writers of the eighteenth century
Political torpor unfavourable to intellectual product
English not fond of generalities
Curious archives at Tours
Frightful picture they present
Sufficient to account for the Revolution of 1789
La Marck's memoir of Mirabeau
Court would not trust Mirabeau
The elder Mirabeau influenced by Revolution
Revolution could not have been averted
Works of David Hume
Effect of intolerance of the press
Honesty and shortsightedness of La Fayette
Laws must be originated by philosophers
Carried into effect by practical men
Napoleon carried out laws
Too fond of centralisation
Country life destroyed by it
Royer Collard
Danton
Madame Tallien
Tocqueville independent of society
Studious and regular life
Influence of writers as compared with active politicians

_Journal in_ 1854.

Criticism of the Journals
The speakers generally recognised
Aware that they were being reported
The Legitimists
Necessity of Crimean War
Probable management of it
English view of the Fusion
Bourbons desire Constitutional Government
Socialists would prefer the Empire
They rejoiced in the Orleans confiscation
Empire might be secured by liberal institutions
Policy of G.
English new Reform Bill
Dangers of universal suffrage
Baraguay d'Hilliers and Randon
Lent in the Provinces
Chenonceaux
Montalembert's speech
Cinq Mars
Appearance of prosperity
_Petite culture_ in Touraine
Tyranny more mischievous than civil war
Centralisation of Louis XIV. a means of taxation
Under Louis Napoleon, centralisation more powerful than ever
Power of the Préfet
Courts of Law tools of the Executive
Préfet's candidate must succeed
Empire could not sustain a defeat
Loss of aristocracy in France
Napoleon estranged Legitimists by the murder of the Duc d'Enghien
Louis Philippe attempted to govern through the middle classes
Temporary restoration of aristocratic power under the republic
Overthrown by the second Empire
Legitimists inferior to their ancestors
Dulness of modern society and books
Effects of competition

_Letters in_ 1854-5.

Tocqueville attends the Academy
Proposed visit to Germany
Return to France
English adulation of Louis Napoleon
Mismanagement of Crimean War
Continental disparagement of England
Necessity for a conscription in England
Disastrous effects of the war for English aristocracy
Peace premature

_Journals in_ 1855.

Effects of the Emperor going to the Crimea
Prince Napoleon
Discontent in England
Disparagement of England
Austria alone profited by Crimean War
Despotism of Louis Napoleon consolidated by it
Centralisation in Algeria
Criticism of Mr. Senior's Article
Places Louis Napoleon too high
English alliances not dependent on the Empire
Louis Napoleon will covet the Rhine
Childish admiration of Emperor by British public
Real friends of England are the friends of her institutions


_Extracts from Mr. Senior's Article_.

Description of political parties
Imperialists
Legitimists
Orleanists
Orleanist-Fusionists form the bulk of the Royalists
Legitimists unfit for public life
Republican party not to be despised
Parliamentarians
Desire only free institutions
No public opinion expressed in the Provinces
Power of Centralisation
Increased under Louis Philippe
Power of the Préfet
Foreign policy of Louis Napoleon
Of former French Sovereigns
Invasion of Rome prepared in 1847
Eastern question, a legacy from Louis Philippe
Fault as an administrator
Mismanagement of the war
His Ministers mere clerks
Free institutions may secure his throne
English Alliance
Russian influence
Revolutions followed by despotism
Lessons taught by history


_Letters in_ 1855-6.

Tocqueville burns his letter
Conversation of May 28
Amusing letters from the Army
Enjoyment of home
Fall of Sebastopol
Cost of the war
Russia dangerous to Europe
How to restrain her
Progress in the East
No public excitement in France


_Journal in 1856_.

The 'Ancien Régime'
Master of Paris, Master of France
Opposition to Suez Canal
Mischievous effect of English Opposition
Expenditure under the Empire
Effect of Opposition to the Suez Canal
Tripartite Treaty
'Friponnerie' of the Government
Tripartite Treaty
Suez Canal
French floating batteries
Fortifications of Malta
Emperor's orders to Canrobert
A campaign must be managed on the spot


_Letters in_ 1856-7.

The 'Ancien Régime'
King 'Bomba'
American Rebellion
Lord Aberdeen on the Crimean War
Eccentricities of English public men
Remedy for rise in house-rent
The rise produced by excessive public works
Dulness of Paris
Mr. Senior's Journal in Egypt
Chinese war


_Journal in_ 1857.

Flatness of society in Paris
Dexterity of Louis Napoleon
Is maintained by the fear of the 'Rouges'
Due de Nemours' letter
Tocqueville disapproves of contingent promises
Empire rests on the army and the people
Slavery of the Press
Public speaking in France
English and French speakers
American speakers
Length of speeches
French public men
Lamartine
Falloux
Foreign French
Narvaez and Kossuth
French conversers
Montalembert
Monsieur, Madame, and Mademoiselle
Tu and vous
Feeling respecting heretics
Prejudices of the Ancien Régime
French poetry
Fashion in Literature
Montalembert's changes of opinion
Increasing population of Paris
Its dangerous character
No right to relief
Sudden influx of workmen
Soldiers likely to side with the people
Lamoricière's heroism
June 1848
French army
National characteristics
Change in French only apparent
Martin's History of France
He is a centraliser and an absolutist
Secret police

_Letters in_ 1857-8.

Reception in England
Indian Mutiny
Financial question
Unpopularity of England
Law of Public Safety

_Journal in_ 1858.

Talleyrand as a writer
English ignorance of French affairs
Change of feeling respecting Louis Napoleon
'Loi de sureté publique'
Manner in which it has been carried out
Deportation a slow death
Influence of 'hommes de lettres'
French army
Russian army
French navy
Napoleon indifferent to the navy
Mr. Senior's Athens journal
Otho and Louis Napoleon
Qualities which obtain influence
Character of Louis Napoleon
Tocqueville's comments on the above conversation
Tocqueville on Novels
Intellectual and moral inferiority of the age
Education of French women
'Messe d'une heure'
Influence of Madame Récamier
Duchesse de Dino

_Letters in_ 1858-9.

Failing health
Mr. Senior's visit to Sir John Boileau
Promise of Lord Stanley
Character of Guizot
Spectacle afforded by English Politics
Tocqueville at Cannes
Louis Napoleon's loss of popularity
Death of Alexis de Tocqueville
Grief it occasioned in England

_Journal at Tocqueville in_ 1861.

Madame de Tocqueville house at Valognes
Chateau de Tocqueville
Beaumont on Italian affairs
Piedmontese unpopular with the lower classes
Popular with the higher classes in Naples
Influence of Orsini
Subjection of the French
Effect of Universal Suffrage
Causes which may overthrow Louis Napoleon
Popularity of a war with England
Condition of the Roman people
Different sorts of courage in different nations
Destructiveness of war not found out at first
Effect of service on conscript
Expenditure of Louis Napoleon
Forebodings of the Empress
Prince Napoleon
Ampère on Roman affairs
Inquisition
Infidelity
Mortara affair
Torpor of Roman Government
Interference with marriages
Ampère expects Piedmont to take possession of Rome
Does not think that Naples will submit to Piedmont
Wishes of Naples only negative
Ampère's reading
Execution of three generations
Familiarity with death in 1793
Sanson
Public executioners
The 'Chambre noire'
Violation of correspondence
Toleration of Ennui
Prisoners of State
M. and Madame de La Fayette
Mirabeau and La Fayette
Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette
Evils of Democratic despotism
Ignorance and indolence of 'La jeune France'
Algeria a God-send
Family life in France
Moral effect of Primogeniture
Descent of Title
Shipwreck off Gatteville
Ampère reads 'Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme'
The modern Nouveau Riche
Society under the Republic
Madame Récamier
Chateaubriand and Madame Mohl
Ballanche
Extensiveness of French literature
French and English poetry
The 'Misanthrope'
Tocqueville's political career
Under Louis Philippe in 1835
Independence
In 1839 and 1840
Opposition to Guizot
Inaction of Louis Philippe
Tocqueville would not submit to be a minister without power
Mistaken independence of party
Could not court popularity
Reform came too late
Faults in the Constitution
Defence of the Constitution
Tocqueville wished for a double election of the President
Centralisation useful to a usurper
England in the American War
Defence of England
Politics of a farmer
Wages in Normandy
Evils of Universal Suffrage
Influence of the clergy
Prince Napoleon
Constitutional monarchy preferable to a republic
Republic preferable to a despotism
Probable gross faults of a republic
Evils of socialist opinions
Mischievous effects of strikes
Mistaken tolerance of them in England
Tocqueville's tomb

       *       *       *       *       *

APPENDIX.

Mr. Senior's report of M. de Montalembert's speech in 1854



TOCQUEVILLE DURING THE EMPIRE

FROM DECEMBER 23, 1851 TO APRIL 20, 1858.


CONVERSATIONS

PARIS, 1851-2.

[The _coup d'état_ took place on the 2nd, and Mr. Senior reached Paris on
the 21st of December.--ED.]


_Paris, December_ 23, 1851.--I dined with Mrs. Grot and drank tea with
the Tocquevilles.

[1]'This,' said Tocqueville, 'is a new phase in our history. Every
previous revolution has been made by a political party. This is the first
time that the army has seized France, bound and gagged her, and laid her
at the feet of its ruler.'

'Was not the 18th fructidor,' I said, 'almost a parallel case? Then, as
now, there was a quarrel between the executive and the legislature. The
Directory, like Louis Napoleon, dismissed the ministers, in whom the
legislature had confidence, and appointed its own tools in their places,
denounced the legislature to the country, and flattered and corrupted the
army. The legislature tried the usual tactics of parliamentary
opposition, censured the Government, and refused the supplies. The
Directory prepared a _coup d'état._ The legislature tried to obtain a
military force, and failed; they planned an impeachment of the Directory,
and found the existing law insufficient. They brought forward a new law
defining the responsibility of the executive, and the night after they
had begun to discuss it, their halls were occupied by a military force,
and the members of the opposition were seized in the room in which they
had met to denounce the treason of the Directory.'

'So far,' he answered, 'the two events resemble one another. Each was a
military attack on the legislature by the executive. But the Directors
were the representatives of a party. The Councils and the greater part of
the aristocracy, and the _bourgeoisie_, were Bonapartists; the lower
orders were Republican, the army was merely an instrument; it conquered,
not for itself, but for the Republican party.

'The 18th brumaire was nearer to this--for that ended, as this has begun,
in a military tyranny. But the 18th brumaire was almost as much a civil
as a military revolution. A majority in the Councils was with Bonaparte.
Louis Napoleon had not a real friend in the Assembly. All the educated
classes supported the 18th brumaire; all the educated classes repudiate
the 2nd of December. Bonaparte's Consular Chair was sustained by all the
_élite_ of France. This man cannot obtain a decent supporter.
Montalembert, Baroche, and Fould--an Ultramontane, a country lawyer, and
a Jewish banker--are his most respectable associates. For a real parallel
you must go back 1,800 years.'

I said that some persons, for whose judgment I had the highest respect,
seemed to treat it as a contest between two conspirators, the Assembly
and the President, and to think the difference between his conduct and
theirs to be that he struck first.

'This,' said Tocqueville, 'I utterly deny. He, indeed, began to conspire
from November 10, 1848. His direct instructions to Oudinot, and his
letter to Ney, only a few months after his election, showed his
determination not to submit to Parliamentary Government. Then followed
his dismissal of Ministry after Ministry, until he had degraded
the·office to a clerkship. Then came the semi-regal progress, then the
reviews of Satory, the encouragement of treasonable cries, the selection
for all the high appointments in the army of Paris of men whose infamous
characters fitted them to be tools. Then he publicly insulted the
Assembly at Dijon, and at last, in October, we knew that his plans were
laid. It was then only that we began to think what were our means of
defence, but that was no more a conspiracy than it is a conspiracy in
travellers to look for their pistols when they see a band of robbers
advancing.

'M. Baze's proposition was absurd only because it was impracticable. It
was a precaution against immediate danger, but if it had been voted, it
could not have been executed. The army had already been so corrupted,
that it would have disregarded the orders of the Assembly. I have often
talked over our situation with Lamoricière and my other military friends.
We saw what was coming as clearly as we now look back to it; but we had
no means of preventing it.'

'But was not your intended law of responsibility,' I said, 'an attack on
your part?'

'That law,' he said, 'was not ours. It was sent up to us by the _Conseil
d'État_ which had been two years and a half employed on it, and ought to
have sent it to us much sooner. We thought it dangerous--that is to say,
we thought that, though quite right in itself, it would irritate the
President, and that in our defenceless state it was unwise to do so. The
_bureau_, therefore, to which it was referred refused to declare it
urgent: a proof that it would not have passed with the clauses which,
though reasonable, the President thought fit to disapprove. Our
conspiracy was that of the lambs against the wolf.

'Though I have said,' he continued, 'that he has been conspiring ever
since his election, I do not believe that he intended to strike so soon.
His plan was to wait till next March when the fears of May 1852 would be
most intense. Two circumstances forced him on more rapidly. One was the
candidature of the Prince de Joinville. He thought him the only dangerous
competitor. The other was an agitation set on foot by the Legitimists in
the _Conseils généraux_ for the repeal of the law of May 31. That law was
his moral weapon against the Assembly, and he feared that if he delayed,
it might be abolished without him.'

'And how long,' I asked, 'will this tyranny last?'

'It will last,' he answered, 'until it is unpopular with the mass of the
people. At present the disapprobation is confined to the educated
classes. We cannot bear to be deprived of the power of speaking or of
writing. We cannot bear that the fate of France should depend on the
selfishness, or the vanity, or the fears, or the caprice of one man, a
foreigner by race and by education, and of a set of military ruffians and
of infamous civilians, fit only to have formed the staff and the privy
council of Catiline. We cannot bear that the people which carried the
torch of Liberty through Europe should now be employed in quenching all
its lights. But these are not the feelings of the multitude. Their insane
fear of Socialism throws them headlong into the arms of despotism. As in
Prussia, as in Hungary, as in Austria, as in Italy, so in France, the
democrats have served the cause of the absolutists. May 1852 was a
spectre constantly swelling as it drew nearer. But now that the weakness
of the Red party has been proved, now that 10,000 of those who are
supposed to be its most active members are to be sent to die of hunger
and marsh fever in Cayenne, the people will regret the price at which
their visionary enemy has been put down. Thirty-seven years of liberty
have made a free press and free parliamentary discussion necessaries to
us. If Louis Napoleon refuses them, he will be execrated as a tyrant. If
he grants them, they must destroy him. We always criticise our rulers
severely, often unjustly. It is impossible that so rash and wrong-headed
a man surrounded, and always wishing to be surrounded, by men whose
infamous character is their recommendation to him, should not commit
blunders and follies without end. They will be exposed, perhaps
exaggerated by the press, and from the tribune. As soon as he is
discredited the army will turn against him. It sympathises with the
people from which it has recently been separated and to which it is soon
to return. It will never support an unpopular despot. I have no fears
therefore for the ultimate destinies of my country. It seems to me that
the Revolution of the 2nd of December is more dangerous to the rest of
Europe than it is to us. That it ought to alarm England much more than
France. _We_ shall get rid of Louis Napoleon in a few years, perhaps in a
few months, but there is no saying how much mischief he may do in those
years, or even in those months, to his neighbours.'

'Surely,' said Madame de Tocqueville, 'he will wish to remain at peace
with England.'

'I am not sure at all of that,' said Tocqueville. 'He cannot sit down a
mere quiet administrator. He must do something to distract public
attention; he must give us a substitute for the political excitement
which has amused us during the last forty years. Great social
improvements are uncertain, difficult, and slow; but glory may be
obtained in a week. A war with England, at its beginning, is always
popular. How many thousand volunteers would he have for a "pointe" on
London?

'The best that can happen to you is to be excluded from the councils of
the great family of despots. Besides, what is to be done to amuse these
400,000 bayonets, _his_ masters as well as ours? Crosses, promotions,
honours, gratuities, are already showered on the army of Paris. It has
already received a thing unheard of in our history--the honours and
recompenses of a campaign for the butchery on the Boulevards. Will not
the other armies demand their share of work and reward? As long as the
civil war in the Provinces lasts they may be employed there. But it will
soon be over. What is then to be done with them? Are they to be marched
on Switzerland, or on Piedmont, or on Belgium? And will England quietly
look on?'

Our conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of the Abbé
Gioberti, and of Sieur Capponi, a Sicilian.

_Paris, December_ 31, 1851.--I dined with the Tocquevilles and met Mrs.
Grote, Rivet, and Corcelle.

'The gayest time,' said Tocqueville, 'that I ever passed was in the Quai
d'Orsay. The _élite_ of France in education, in birth, and in talents,
particularly in the talents of society, was collected within the walls of
that barrack.

'A long struggle was over, in which our part had not been timidly played;
we had done our duty, we had gone through some perils, and we had some to
encounter, and we were all in the high spirits which excitement and
dangers shared with others, when not too formidable, create. From the
courtyard in which we had been penned for a couple of hours, where the
Duc de Broglie and I tore our chicken with our hands and teeth, we were
transferred to a long sort of gallery, or garret, running along through
the higher part of the building, a spare dormitory for the soldiers when
the better rooms are filled. Those who chose to take the trouble went
below, hired palliasses from the soldiers, and carried them up for
themselves. I was too idle and lay on the floor in my cloak. Instead of
sleeping we spent the night in shooting from palliasse to palliasse
anecdotes, repartees, jokes, and pleasantries. "C'était un feu roulant,
une pluie de bons mots." Things amused us in that state of excitement
which sound flat when repeated.

'I remember Kerrel, a man of great humour, exciting shouts of laughter by
exclaiming, with great solemnity, as he looked round on the floor,
strewed with mattresses and statesmen, and lighted by a couple of tallow
candles, "Voilà donc où en est réduit ce fameux parti de l'ordre." Those
who were kept _au secret_, deprived of mutual support, were in a very
different state of mind; some were depressed, others were enraged. Bédeau
was left alone for twenty-four hours; at last a man came and offered him
some sugar. He flew at his throat and the poor turnkey ran off, fancying
his prisoner was mad.'

We talked of Louis Napoleon's devotion to the Pope.

'It is of recent date,' said Corcelle. 'In January and February 1849 he
was inclined to interfere in support of the Roman Republic against the
Austrians. And when in April he resolved to move on Rome, it was not out
of any love for the Pope. In fact, the Pope did not then wish for us. He
told Corcelle that he hoped to be restored by General Zucchi, who
commanded a body of Roman troops in the neighbourhood of Bologna. No
one at that time believed the Republican party in Rome to be capable of a
serious defence. Probably they would not have made one if they had not
admitted Garibaldi and his band two days before we appeared before their
gates.'

I mentioned to Tocqueville Beaumont's opinion that France will again
become a republic.

'I will not venture,' he answered, 'to affirm, with respect to any form
whatever of government, that we shall never adopt it; but I own that I
see no prospect of a French republic within any assignable period. We
are, indeed, less opposed to a republic now than we were in 1848. We have
found that it does not imply war, or bankruptcy, or tyranny; but we still
feel that it is not the government that suits us. This was apparent from
the beginning. Louis Napoleon had the merit, or the luck, to discover,
what few suspected, the latent Bonapartism of the nation. The 10th of
December showed that the memory of the Emperor, vague and indefinite, but
therefore the more imposing, still dwelt like an heroic legend in the
imaginations of the peasantry. When Louis Napoleon's violence and folly
have destroyed the charm with which he has worked, all eyes will turn,
not towards a republic, but to Henri V.'

'Was much money,' I asked, 'spent at his election?'

'Very little,' answered Tocqueville. 'The ex-Duke of Brunswick lent him
300,000 francs on a promise of assistance as soon as he should be able to
afford it; and I suppose that we shall have to perform the promise, and
to interfere to restore him to his duchy; but that was all that was
spent. In fact he had no money of his own, and scarcely anyone, except
the Duke, thought well enough of his prospects to lend him any. He used
to sit in the Assembly silent and alone, pitied by some members and
neglected by all. Silence, indeed, was necessary to his success.

_Paris, January 2nd_, 1852.--I dined with Mrs. Grote and drank tea with
the Tocquevilles.

'What is your report,' they asked, 'of the President's reception in Notre
Dame. We hear that it was cold.'

'So,' I answered, 'it seemed to me.'

'I am told,' said Tocqueville, 'that it was still colder on his road. He
does not shine in public exhibitions. He does not belong to the highest
class of hypocrites, who cheat by frankness and cordiality.'

'Such,' I said, 'as Iago. It is a class of villains of which the
specimens are not common.'

'They are common enough with us,' said Tocqueville. 'We call them _faux
bonshommes_. H. was an instance. He had passed a longish life with the
character of a frank, open-hearted soldier. When he became Minister, the
facts which he stated from the tribune appeared often strange, but coming
from so honest a man we accepted them. One falsehood, however, after
another was exposed, and at last we discovered that H. himself, with all
his military bluntness and sincerity, was a most intrepid, unscrupulous
liar.

'What is the explanation,' he continued, 'of Kossuth's reception in
England? I can understand enthusiasm for a democrat in America, but what
claim had he to the sympathy of aristocratic England?'

'Our aristocracy,' I answered, 'expressed no sympathy, and as to the
mayors, and corporations, and public meetings, they looked upon him
merely as an oppressed man, the champion of an oppressed country.'

'I think,' said Tocqueville, 'that he has been the most mischievous man
in Europe.'

'More so,' I said, 'than Mazzini? More so than Lamartine?'

At this instant Corcelle came in.

'We are adjusting,' said Tocqueville, 'the palm of mischievousness.'

'I am all for Lamartine,' answered Corcelle; 'without him the others
would have been powerless.'

'But,' I said, 'if Lamartine had never existed, would not the revolution
of 1848 still have occurred?'

'It would have certainly occurred' said Tocqueville; 'that is to say, the
oligarchy of Louis Philippe would have come to an end, probably to a
violent one, but it would have been something to have delayed it; and it
cannot be denied that Lamartine's eloquence and courage saved us from
great dangers during the Provisional Government. Kossuth's influence was
purely mischievous. But for him, Austria might now be a constitutional
empire, with Hungary for its most powerful member, a barrier against
Russia instead of her slave.'

'I must put in a word,' said Corcelle,[2] 'for Lord Palmerston. If
Lamartine produced Kossuth, Lord Palmerston produced Lamartine and
Mazzini and Charles Albert--in short, all the incendiaries whose folly
and wickedness have ended in producing Louis Napoleon.'

'Notwithstanding,' I said, 'your disapprobation of Kossuth, you joined us
in preventing his extradition.'

'We did,' answered Tocqueville. 'It was owing to the influence of Lord
Normanby over the President. It was a fine _succès de tribune_. It gave
your Government and ours an occasion to boast of their courage and of
their generosity, but a more dangerous experiment was never made. You
reckoned on the prudence and forbearance of Austria and Russia. Luckily,
Nicholas and Nesselrode are prudent men, and luckily the Turks sent to
St. Petersburg Fuad Effendi, an excellent diplomatist, a much better than
Lamoricière or Lord Bloomfield. He refused to see either of them,
disclaimed their advice or assistance, and addressed himself solely to
the justice and generosity of the Emperor. He admitted that Russia was
powerful enough to seize the refugees, but implored him not to set such
an example, and--he committed nothing to paper. He left nothing, and took
away nothing which could wound the pride of Nicholas; and thus he
succeeded.

'Two days after, came a long remonstrance from Lord Palmerston, which
Lord Bloomfield was desired to read to Nesselrode, and leave with him. A
man of the world, seeing that the thing was done, would have withheld an
irritating document. But Bloomfield went with it to Nesselrode.
Nesselrode would have nothing to say to it. "Mon Dieu!" he said, "we
have given up all our demands; why tease us by trying to prove that we
ought not to have made them?" Bloomfield said that his orders were
precise. "Lisez donc," cried Nesselrode, "mais il sera très-ennuyeux."
Before he had got half through Nesselrode interrupted him. "I have heard
all this," he said, "from Lamoricière, only in half the number of words.
Cannot you consider it as read?" Bloomfield, however, was inexorable.'

I recurred to a subject on which I had talked to both of them before--the
tumult of January 29, 1849.

'George Sumner,' I said, 'assures me that it was a plot, concocted by
Faucher and the President, to force the Assembly to fix a day for its
dissolution, instead of continuing to sit until it should have completed
the Constitution by framing the organic laws which, even on December 2
last, were incomplete. He affirms that it was the model which was
followed on December 2; that during the night the Palais Bourbon was
surrounded by troops; that the members were allowed to enter, but were
informed, not publicly, but one by one, that they were not to be allowed
to separate until they had fixed, or agreed to fix, the day of their
dissolution; and that under the pressure of military intimidation, the
majority, which was opposed to such a dissolution, gave way and consented
to the vote, which was actually carried two days after.'

'No such proposition was made to me,' said Tocqueville, 'nor, as far as I
know, to anybody else; but I own that I never understood January 29. It
is certain that the Palais Bourbon, or at least its avenues, were taken
possession of during the night; that there was a vast display of military
force, and also of democratic force; that the two bodies remained _en
face_ for some time, and that the crowd dispersed under the influence of
a cold rain.'

'I too,' said Corcelle, 'disbelieve Sumner's story. The question as to
the time of dissolution depended on only a few votes, and though it is
true that it was voted two days after, I never heard that the military
demonstration of January 29 accelerated the vote. The explanation which
has been made to me is one which I mentioned the other day, namely, that
the President complained to Changarnier, who at that time commanded the
army of Paris, that due weight seemed not to be given to his 6,000,000
votes, and that the Assembly appeared inclined to consider him a
subordinate power, instead of the _Chef d'État_, to whom, not to the
Assembly, the nation had confided its destinies. In short, that the
President indicated an intention to make a _coup d'etat_, and that the
troops were assembled by Changarnier for the purpose of resisting it, if
attempted, and at all events of intimidating the President by showing him
how quickly a force could be collected for the defence of the Assembly.'

_Sunday, January_ 4.--I dined with the Tocquevilles alone. The only
guest, Mrs. Grote, who was to have accompanied me, being unwell.

'So enormous,' said Tocqueville, 'are the advantages of Louis Napoleon's
situation, that he may defy any ordinary enemy. He has, however, a most
formidable one in himself. He is essentially a copyist. He can originate
nothing; his opinions, his theories, his maxims, even his plots, all are
borrowed, and from the most dangerous of models--from a man who, though
he possessed genius and industry such as are not seen coupled, or indeed
single, once in a thousand years, yet ruined himself by the extravagance
of his attempts. It would be well for him if he would utterly forget all
his uncle's history. He might then trust to his own sense, and to that of
his advisers. It is true that neither the one nor the other would be a
good guide, but either would probably lead him into fewer dangers than a
blind imitation of what was done fifty years ago by a man very unlike
himself, and in a state of society both in France and in the rest of
Europe, very unlike that which now exists.'

Lanjuinais and Madame B., a relation of the family, came in.

Lanjuinais had been dining with Kissileff the Russian Minister. Louis
Napoleon builds on Russian support, in consequence of the marriage of his
cousin, the Prince de Lichtenstein, to the Emperor's daughter. He calls
it an _alliance de famille_, and his organs the 'Constitutionnel' and the
'Patrie' announced a fortnight ago that the Emperor had sent to him the
Order of St. Andrew, which is given only to members of the Imperial
family, and an autograph letter of congratulation on the _coup d'état_.

Kissileff says that all this is false, that neither Order nor letter has
been sent, but he has been trying in vain to get a newspaper to insert a
denial. It will be denied, he is told, when the proper moment comes.

'It is charming,' said Madame de Tocqueville, 'to see the Emperor of
Russia, like ourselves, forced to see his name usurped without redress.'

Madame B. had just seen a friend who left his country-house, and came to
Paris without voting, and told those who consulted him that, in the
difficulties of the case, he thought abstaining was the safest course.
Immediately after the poll was over the Prefect sent to arrest him for
_malveillance_, and he congratulated himself upon being out of the way.

One of Edward de Tocqueville's sons came in soon after; his brother, who
is about seventeen, does duty as a private, has no servant, and cleans
his own horse; and is delighted with his new life. That of our young
cavalry officers is somewhat different. He did not hear of the _coup
d'état_ till a week after it had happened.

'Our regiments,' said Lanjuinais, 'are a kind of convents. The young men
who enter them are as dead to the world, as indifferent to the events
which interest the society which they have left, as if they were monks.
This is what makes them such fit tools for a despot.'


_Thursday, January 8, 1852_.--From Sir Henry Ellis's I went to
Tocqueville's.

[3]'In this darkness,' he said, 'when no one dares to print, and few to
speak, though we know generally that atrocious acts of tyranny are
perpetrated everyday, it is difficult to ascertain precise facts, so I
will give you one. A young man named Hypolite Magin, a gentleman by birth
and education, the author of a tragedy eminently successful called
"Spartacus," was arrested on the 2nd of December. His friends were told
not to be alarmed, that no harm was intended to him, but rather a
kindness; that as his liberal opinions were known, he was shut up to
prevent his compromising himself by some rash expression. He was sent to
Fort Bicêtre, where the casemates, miserable damp vaults, have been used
as a prison, into which about 3,000 political prisoners have been
crammed. His friends became uneasy, not only at the sufferings which he
must undergo in five weeks of such an imprisonment in such weather as
this, but lest his health should be permanently injured. At length they
found that he was there no longer: and how do you suppose that his
imprisonment has ended? He is at this instant at sea in a convict ship on
his way to Cayenne--untried, indeed unaccused--to die of fever, if he
escape the horrors of the passage. Who can say how many similar cases
there may be in this wholesale transportation? How many of those who are
missing and are supposed to have died at the barricades, or on the
Boulevards, may be among the transports, reserved for a more lingering
death!'

A proclamation to-day from the Prefect de Police orders all persons to
erase from their houses the words 'Liberté,' 'Êgalité,' and 'Fraternité'
on pain of being proceeded against _administrativement_.

'There are,' said Tocqueville, 'now three forms of procedure:
_judiciairement, militairement_ and _administrativement._ Under the first
a man is tried before a court of law, and, if his crime be grave, is
sentenced to one or two years' imprisonment. Under the second he is tried
before a drumhead court-martial, and shot. Under the third, without any
trial at all, he is transported to Cayenne or Algiers.'

I left Paris next day.


[Footnote 1: I was not able to resist retaining this conversation in the
_Journals in France_.--ED.]

[Footnote 2: It must be remembered that M. de Corcelle is an ardent Roman
Catholic.--ED.]

[Footnote 3: This conversation was also retained in the _Journals in
France_.--ED.]



CORRESPONDENCE.



Kensington, January 5, 1852.

My dear Tocqueville,--A private messenger has just offered himself to me,
a Mr. Esmeade, who will return in about a fortnight.

The debate on Tuesday night on the Palmerston question was very
satisfactory to the Government. Lord John's speech was very well
received--Lord Palmerston's very ill; and though the constitution of the
present Ministry is so decidedly unhealthy that it is dangerous to
predict any length of life to it, yet it looks healthier than people
expected. It may last out the Session.

The feeling with respect to Louis Napoleon is stronger, and it tends more
to unanimity every day. The Orleans confiscation has, I think, almost too
much weight given to it. After his other crimes the mere robbery of a
single family, ruffian-like as it is, is a slight addition.

I breakfasted with V. yesterday. He assures me that it is false that a
demand of twenty millions, or any other pecuniary demand whatever, has
been made in Belgium. Nor has anything been said as to the demolition of
any fortresses, except those which were agreed to be dismantled in 1832,
and which are unimportant.

The feeling of the people in Belgium is excellent.

Mr. Banfield, who has just returned from the Prussian provinces, says the
same with respect to them--and Bunsen assures me that his Government will
perish rather than give up a foot of ground. I feel better hopes of the
preservation of peace.

Thiers and Duvergier de Hauranne are much _fêtés_, as will be the case
with all the exiles.

I have been reading Fiquelmont. He is deeply steeped in all the _bêtises_
of the commercial, or rather the anti-commercial school; and holds that
the benefit of commerce consists not, as might have been supposed, in the
things which are imported, but in those which are exported.

These follies, however, are not worth reading; but his constitutional
theories--his belief, for instance, that Parliamentary Government is the
curse of Europe--are curious.

The last number of the 'Edinburgh Review' contains an article on Reform
well worth reading. It is by Greg. He wrote an admirable article in, I
think, the April number, on Alton Locke and the English Socialists, and
has also written a book, which I began to-day, on the Creed of
Christendom. I have long been anxious to get somebody to do what I have
not time to do, to look impartially into the evidences of Christianity,
and report the result. This book does it.

Lord Normanby does not return to Paris, as you probably know. No
explanation is given, but it is supposed to be in compliance with the
President's wishes.

I have just sent to the press for the 'Edinburgh Review,' an article on
Tronson du Coudray[1] and the 18th fructidor, which you will see in the
April number. The greater part of it was written this time last year at
Sorrento.

Gladstone has published a new Neapolitan pamphlet, which I will try to
send you. It is said to demolish King Ferdinand.

Kindest regards to Madame de Tocqueville. We hope that you will come to
us as soon as it is safe.

Ever yours,

N.W. SENIOR.

P.S. and very private.--I have seen a communication from Schwartzenberg
to Russia and Prussia, of the 19th December, the doctrine of which is
that Louis Napoleon has done a great service by putting down
parliamentaryism. That in many respects he is less dangerous than the
Orleans, or elder branch, because they have parliamentary leanings. That
no alteration of the existing parties must be permitted--and that an
attempt to assume an hereditary crown should be discouraged--but that
while it shows no aggressive propensities the policy of the Continent
ought to be to countenance him, and _isoler_ l'Angleterre, as a _foyer_
of constitutional, that is to say, anarchical, principles.

Bunsen tells me that in October his King was privately asked whether he
was ready to destroy the Prussian Constitution--and that he peremptorily
refused.

Look at an article on the personal character of Louis Napoleon in the
'Times' of Monday. It is by R----, much built out of my conversation and
Z.'s letters.

I have begged Mr. Esmeade to call on you--you will like him. He is a
nephew of Sir John Moore.



[2]Kensington, March 19, 1852.

My dear Tocqueville,--I was very glad to see your hand again--though
there is little in French affairs on which liberals can write with
pleasure.

Ours are become very interesting. Lord John's declaration, at the meeting
the other day in Chesham Place, that he shall introduce a larger reform,
and surround himself with more advanced adherents, and Lord Derby's, on
Monday, that he is opposed to all democratic innovation, appear to me to
have changed the position of parties. The question at issue is no longer
Free-trade or Protection. Protection is abandoned. It is dead, never to
revive. Instead of it we are to fight for Democracy, or Aristocracy. I
own that my sympathies are with Aristocracy: I prefer it to either
Monarchy or Democracy. I know that it is incident to an aristocratic
government that the highest places shall be filled by persons chosen not
for their fitness but for their birth and connections, but I am ready to
submit to this inconvenience for the sake of its freedom and stability.
I had rather have Malmesbury at the Foreign Office, and Lord Derby first
Lord of the Treasury, than Nesselrode or Metternich, appointed by a
monarch, or Cobden or Bright, whom I suppose we should have under a
republic. But above all, I am for the winning horse. If Democracy is to
prevail I shall join its ranks, in the hope of making its victory less
mischievous.

I wish, however, that the contest had not been forced on. We were very
well, before Lord John brought in his Reform Bill, which nobody called
for, and I am not at all sure that we shall be as well after it has
passed.

As to the immediate prospects of the Ministry, the next three weeks may
change much, but it seems probable that they will be forced to dissolve
in April, or the beginning of May, that the new Parliament will meet in
July, and that they will be turned out about the end of August. And that
this time next year we shall be discussing Lord John's new Reform Bill.

I doubt whether our fears of invasion are exaggerated. At this instant,
without doubt, Louis Napoleon is thinking of nothing but the Empire; and
is kind to Belgium, and pacific to Switzerland in the hope of our
recognition.

But I heard yesterday from Lord Hardinge that 25,000 men are at
Cherbourg, and that 25,000 more are going there--and that a large sum is
devoted to the navy. We know that he governs _en conspirateur_, and this
is likely to extend to his foreign as well as his civil relations.

I see a great deal of Thiers, who is very agreeable and very _triste_.
'L'exil,' he says, 'est très-dur.' Rémusat seems to bear it more
patiently. We hear that we are to have Cousin.

What are your studies in the Bibliothèque Royale? I have begun to read
Bastide, and intend to make the publication of my lectures on Political
Economy my principal literary pursuit. I delivered the last on Monday.

I shall pass the first fifteen days of April in Brussels, with my old
friend Count Arrivabene, 7 Boulevard du Régent.

       *       *       *       *       *

Ever yours,

N.W. SENIOR.



March 25, 1852.

I send you, my dear Senior, an introduction to Lamoricière. This letter
will be short: you know that I do not write at any length by the post.

It will contain nothing but thanks for your long and interesting letter
brought by Rivet, who returned delighted with the English in general, and
with you in particular.

I see that the disturbed state of politics occasioned by Sir Robert
Peel's policy, is passing away, and that your political world is again
dividing itself into the two great sects, one of which tries to narrow,
the other to extend, the area of political power--one of which tries
to lift you into aristocracy, the other to depress you into democracy.

The political game will be simpler. I can understand better the
conservative policy of Lord Derby than the democratic one of Lord John
Russell. As the friends of free-trade are more numerous than those of
democracy, I think that it would have been easier to attack the
Government on its commercial than on its political illiberality.

Then in this great nation, called Europe, similar currents of opinions
and feelings prevail, different as may be the institutions and characters
of its different populations. We see over the whole continent so general
and so irresistible a reaction against democracy, and even against
liberty, that I cannot believe that it will stop short on our side of the
Channel; and if the Whigs become Radical, I shall not be surprised at the
permanence in England of a Tory Government allied to foreign despots.

But I ought not to talk on such matters, for I live at the bottom of a
well, seeing nothing, and regretting that it is not sufficiently closed
above to prevent my hearing anything. Your visions of 25,000 troops at
Cherbourg, to be followed by 25,000 more, are mere phantoms. There is
nothing of the kind, and there will be nothing. I speak with knowledge,
for I come from Cherbourg. I have been attending an extraordinary meeting
of our _Conseil général_ on the subject of a projected railway. My
reception touched and delighted me. I was unanimously, and certainly
freely, elected president.

       *       *       *       *       *

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.



Friday evening, April 17, 1852.

My dear Tocqueville,--My letter is not likely to be a very amusing one,
for I begin it on the dullest occasion and in the dullest of towns,
namely at Ostend, while waiting for the packet-boat which is to take me
to London.

A thousand thanks for your letter to Lamoricière. He was very kind to me,
and I hope hereafter, in Paris or in London, to improve the acquaintance.

I saw no other French in Brussels. The most interesting conversation that
I had was with the King.

I found him convinced that the decree annexing Belgium to France had been
drawn up, and that it was the interference of Nicholas, and his
expression of a determination not to suffer the existing temporal limits
to be altered, that had occasioned it to be withdrawn. I am happy,
however, to think, as you also appear to think, that your great man is
now intent on peaceful triumphs.

He would scarcely have created such a mass of speculative activity in
France if he intended suddenly to check it by war. I hope that by the
time Masters in Chancery are abolished, I shall find France intersected
by a network of railroads and run from Paris to Marseilles in a day.

I venture to differ from you as to the probable progress of reaction in
England. I see no symptom of it; on the contrary, democracy seems to me
to continue its triumphant march without a check. The Protectionists are
in power, they take for their leader in the House of Commons a man
without birth or connection, merely because he is a good speaker. This
could not have been done even ten years ago. They bow to the popular will
as to free-trade, and acknowledge that, even if they have a majority in
the Houses of Lords and Commons, they will not venture to re-impose a
Corn-law if the people do not ask for it. Never was such a homage paid to
the world 'without doors.'

Then Lord John says that he objects to the Ballot, because those who have
no votes have a right to know how those who have votes use them.

The example of the Continent will not affect us, or if it do affect us,
will rather strengthen our democracy. We are not accustomed to copy, and
shall treat the reaction in France, Austria, and Prussia rather as a
warning than as a model.

I suspect that Lord John, who, though not, I think, a very wise
statesman, is a clever tactician, takes the same view that I do, and has
selected Reform for his platform, believing it to be a strong one.

We were delighted with Rivet, and hope that he will soon come again.
Lamoricière tells me that he is going to take the waters of
_Aix-la-Chapelle_, but, if his exile continues, will probably come to
England next year.

Kindest regards to Madame de Tocqueville.

Ever yours,

N.W. SENIOR.



Kensington, April 30, 1852.

My dear Tocqueville,--A thousand thanks for your letter.[3] I saw M. de
Lamoricière three times, and had a glimpse of Madame de L. who seemed
very pleasing. I was delighted with his spirit and intelligence, but
understand the criticism that he is _soldatesque_.

I had a long and very interesting conversation with the King, and saw
much of my excellent friends Arrivabene and Quetelet. But after all
Brussels is not Paris. I was more than ever struck by the ugliness of the
country and the provincialness of the society.

I returned on April 18, sprained my ancle on the 19th, and have been on
my back ever since. I have spent the time in looking through Fonfrède,
who is a remarkable writer, and makes some remarkable prophecies, in
finishing Grote's ninth and tenth volumes, in reading Kenrick's 'Ancient
Egypt,' which is worth studying, and in reading through Horace, whom I
find that I understand much better after my Roman experience.

I differ from you as to the chances of reaction in this country. I
believe that we are still travelling the road which you have so well
mapped out, which leads to democracy. Our extreme _gauche_, which we call
the Manchester School, employs its whole efforts in that direction. It
has great energy, activity, and combination. The duties of Parliament and
of Government have become so onerous, and the facing our democratic
constituencies is so disagreeable, and an idle life of society,
literature, art, and travelling has become so pleasant, that our younger
aristocracy seem to be giving up politics, and hence you hear the
universal complaint that there are no young men of promise in public
life.

The House of Commons is full of middle-aged lawyers, merchants,
manufacturers, and country-gentlemen, who take to politics late in life,
without the early special training which fitted for it the last
generation.

I fear that the time may come when to be in the House of Commons may be
thought a bore, a somewhat vulgar spouting club, like the Marylebone
Vestry, or the City of London Common Council.

I do not know whether Lord Derby has gained much in the last four months,
but Lord John has certainly lost. His Reform Bill was a very crude
_gâchis,_ without principle, and I think very mischievous. I ventured to
say nearly as much to Lord Lansdowne, who sat by my sofa for an hour on
Sunday, and he did not take up its defence. Then his opposition to the
present Ministry has been factious, and to punish him, he was left the
other day in a minority of fifty per cent. People begin now to speculate
on the possibility of Lord Derby's reconstructing his minority on rather
a larger basis, and maintaining himself for three or four years; which,
in these times, is a good old age for a Minister. One admirable result of
these changes is the death of Protection. Those who defended it in
opposition are found to abandon it now they are in power. So it has not a
friend left.

Pray send me word, by yourself or by Mrs. Grote, when you leave Paris. My
vacation begins on May 8, but I shall not move unless I recover the use
of my legs, nor then I think, if I find that you will be absent.

Kindest regards to Madame de Tocqueville.

Ever yours,

N.W. SENIOR.



Paris, November 13, 1852.

I am unlucky, my dear Senior, about your letters of introduction. You
know how much I have wished and tried to make the acquaintance of Lord
and Lady Ashburton, but without success. I should also, I am sure, have
had great pleasure in meeting Mr. Greg.

This time I was prevented by ill health.

       *       *       *       *       *

Two or three months ago, I wrote to you from the country a letter which
was addressed to Kensington. Did you receive it? and if so, why have you
not answered it?

I wrote upon politics, but especially I asked you about yourselves, your
occupations and projects, some questions to which I was very anxious to
have answers. At any rate, do now what you ought to have done then--write
to me.

I do not now write about politics, because we do not talk, or at least
write about them in France any more than in Naples; besides, such
subjects are not suitable to an invalid.

I will only tell you, as important and authentic pieces of information,
that the new court ladies have taken to trains and little pages, and that
the new courtiers hunt the stag with their master in the Forest of
Fontainebleau in dresses of the time of Louis XIV. and cocked hats.

Good-bye! Heaven preserve you from the mistakes which lead to
revolutions, and from the revolutions which lead to masquerades. A
thousand kind regards.

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.



London, December 4, 1852.

My dear Tocqueville,--Your letter of November 13 is, I think, the first
that I have received from you since March.

That which you addressed to me at Kensington, two months ago, did not
reach me. I have written to you one or two; I do not know with what
success.

I grieve to hear of rheumatism and pleurisy. You say nothing of Madame de
Tocqueville, whence I hope that I may infer that she, at least, is well.

We have all been flourishing. We passed the vacation in Wales and
Ireland, and brought back a curious journal,[4] which I hope to send or
bring to you.

I do not think that I shall venture to Paris at Christmas, though Ellice
and Thiers are trying to persuade me. I have too vivid a recollection of
the fog, cold, and dirt of last year; but I fully resolve to be with you
at Easter--that is, about March 24.

The present Government, with all its want of principle and truth, and
with all its want of experience, is doing much better than I expected.

The law reforms are far bolder than any that _my_ friends ever proposed,
and the budget, which was brought forward last night, contains more that
is good, and less that is bad, than was hoped or feared.

Its worst portion is the abolition of half the malt tax, which leaves all
the expense of collection undiminished, besides being a removal of a tax
on a luxury which I do not wish to see cheaper. It is probable, however,
that the doubling of the house tax will be rejected, in which case
Disraeli will probably retain the malt tax, and the budget will sink into
a commonplace one.

The removal of certain burdens on navigation and the change in the income
tax are thought good, and generally the Government has gained by the
budget. I am now inclined to think that it may last for some months
longer--perhaps for some years.

In the meantime we are in a state of great prosperity: high wages, great
accumulation of capital, low prices of consumable articles, and high
prices of stocks and land.

Ever yours,

N.W. SENIOR.



February 27, 1853.

My dear Tocqueville,--I profit by Sir H. Ellis's visit to write, not
venturing to trust the post.

We are grieved to hear that both you and Madame de Tocqueville have been
suffering. _We_ have borne this disagreeable winter better than perhaps
we had a right to expect; but still we have suffered.

Mrs. Grote tells me that you rather complain that the English newspapers
approve of the marriage;[5] a marriage which you all disapprove.

The fact is that we like the marriage precisely because you dislike it.
We are above all things desirous that the present tyranny should end as
quickly as possible. It can end only by the general alienation of the
French people from the tyrant; and every fault that he commits delights
us, because it is a step towards his fall. To say the truth, I wonder
that you do not take the same view, and rejoice over his follies as
leading to his destruction.

Our new Government is going on well as yet. As the Opposition has turned
law reformers, we expect law reform to go on as rapidly as is consistent
with the slowly-innovating temper of the English. Large measures
respecting charities, education, secondary punishments, and the transfer
of land are in preparation, and the Chancellor of the Exchequer is at
work on the difficult--I suspect the insoluble--problem of an equitable
income tax. I foresee, however, a rock ahead.

This is reform of the constituencies. Lord John Russell, very sillily,
promised two years ago a new Reform Bill.

Still more sillily he introduced one last year, and was deservedly turned
out for it.

Still more sillily the present Government has accepted his
responsibility, and is pledged to bring in a measure of reform next year.

I have been trying to persuade them to pave the way by a Commission of
Inquiry, being certain that the facts on which we ought to agitate are
imperfectly known. But Lord John is unfavourable, and the other Ministers
do not venture to control the leader of the House of Commons. There will,
therefore, be no previous inquiry; at least only the indirect one which
the Government can make for itself. The measure will be concocted in
secrecy, will be found open to unforeseen objections; it will be thrown
out in the House, and will excite no enthusiasm in the country. If the
Government dissolve, the new Parliament will probably be still more
opposed to it than the present Parliament will be; and the Government,
being beaten again, will resign.

Such is my prophecy.

_Prenez en acte_, and we will talk it over in May 1854.

I hope to be in Paris either for the Easter or for the Whitsun
vacation--that is, either about the 24th of March or the 5th of May
next--and I trust to find you and Madame de Tocqueville, if not quite
flourishing, at least quite convalescent.

Ever yours,

N.W. SENIOR.


[Footnote 1: Republished in the _Biographical Sketches_. Longmans:
1863.--ED.]


[Footnote 2: The letter to which this is an answer is not to be
found,--ED.]

[Footnote 3: This letter is not to be found.--ED.]

[Footnote 4: Published in 1868.--ED.]

[Footnote 5: That of the Emperor.--ED.]




CONVERSATIONS.

_Paris, May_ 9,1853.--I drank tea with the Tocquevilles. Neither of them
is well.

In February they were caught, on their journey from Tocqueville to Paris,
by the bitter weather of the beginning of that month. It produced
rheumatism and then pleurisy with him, and inflammation of the bowels
with her; and both are still suffering from the effects either of the
disorder or of the remedies.

In the summer Paris will be too hot and Tocqueville too damp. So they
have taken a small house at St. Cyr, about a mile from Tours, where they
hope for a tolerable climate, easy access to Paris, and the use of the
fine library of the cathedral. He entered eagerly on the Eastern
question, and agreed on all points with Faucher; admitted the folly and
rashness of the French, but deplored the over-caution which had led us to
refuse interference, at least effectual interference, and to allow
Turkey to sink into virtual subservience to Russia.

_Paris, Tuesday, May_ 17.--Tocqueville and I stood on my balcony, and
looked along the Rue de Rivoli and the Place de la Concorde, swarming
with equipages, and on the well-dressed crowds in the gardens below. From
the height in which we were placed all those apparently small objects, in
incessant movement, looked like a gigantic ant-hill disturbed.

'I never,' said Tocqueville, 'have known Paris so animated or apparently
so prosperous. Much is to be attributed to the saving of the four
previous years. The parsimony of the Parisians ended in 1850; but the
parsimony of the provinces, always great, and in unsettled times carried
to actual avarice, lasted during the whole of the Republic. Commercial
persons tell me that the arrival of capital which comes up for investment
from the provinces deranges all their calculations. It is like the sudden
burst of vegetation which you have seen during the last week. We have
passed suddenly from winter to summer.

'I own,' he continued, 'that it fills me with alarm. Among the
innumerable schemes that are afloat, some must be ill-founded, some must
be swelled beyond their proper dimensions, and some may be mere swindles.
The city of Paris and the Government are spending 150,000,000_l_. in
building in Paris. This is almost as much as the fortifications cost. It
has always been said, and I believe with truth, that the revolutionary
army of 1848 was mainly recruited from the 40,000 additional workmen whom
the fortifications attracted from the country, and left without
employment when they were finished. When this enormous extra-expenditure
is over, when the Louvre, and the new rue de Rivoli, and the Halles, and
the street that is to run from the Hôtel de Ville to the northern
boundary of Paris, are completed--that is to say, when a city has been
built out of public money in two or three years--what will become of the
mass of discharged workmen?

'What will become of those on the railways if they are suddenly stopped,
as yours were in 1846? What will be the shock if the Crédit Foncier or
the Crédit Mobilier fail, after having borrowed each its milliard?
Everything seems to me to be preparing for one of your panics, and the
Government has so identified itself with the state of prosperity and
state of credit of the country that a panic must produce a revolution.
The Government claims the merit of all that is good, and of course is
held responsible for all that is bad. If we were to have a bad harvest,
it would be laid to the charge of the Emperor.

'Of course,' he continued, 'I do not desire the perpetuation of the
present tyranny. Its duration as a dynasty I believe to be absolutely
impossible, except in one improbable contingency--a successful war.

'But though, I repeat, I do not desire or expect the permanence of the
Empire, I do not wish for its immediate destruction, before we are
prepared with a substitute. The agents which are undermining it are
sufficiently powerful and sufficiently active to occasion its fall quite
as soon as we ought to wish for that fall.'

'And what,' I said, 'are those agents?'

'The principal agents,' he answered, 'are violence in the provinces and
corruption in Paris. Since the first outbreak there has not been much
violence in Paris. You must have observed that freedom of speech is
universal. In every private society, and even in every _café_ hatred or
contempt of the Government are the main topics of conversation. We are
too numerous to be attacked. But in the provinces you will find perfect
silence. Anyone who whispers a word against the Emperor may be
imprisoned, or perhaps transported. The prefects are empowered by one of
the decrees made immediately after the _coup d'état_ to dissolve any
Conseil communal in which there is the least appearance of disaffection,
and to nominate three persons to administer the commune. In many cases
this has been done, and I could point out to you several communes
governed by the prefect's nominees who cannot read. In time, of course,
tyranny will produce corruption; but it has not yet prevailed extensively
in the country, and the cause which now tends to depopularise him _there_
is arbitrary violence exercised against those whom his agents suppose to
be their enemies.

'On the other hand, what is ruining him in Paris is not violence, but
corruption.

'The French are not like the Americans; they have no sympathy with
smartness. Nothing so much excites their disgust as _friponnerie_. The
main cause that overthrew Louis Philippe was the belief that he and his
were _fripons_--that the representatives bought the electors, that the
Minister bought the representatives, and that the King bought the
Minister.

'Now, no corruption that ever prevailed in the worst periods of Louis
XV., nothing that was done by La Pompadour or the Du Barry resembles what
is going on now. Duchâtel, whose organs are not over-acute, tells me that
he shudders at what is forced on his notice. The perfect absence of
publicity, the silence of the press and of the tribune, and even of the
bar--for no speeches, except on the most trivial subjects, are allowed to
be reported--give full room for conversational exaggeration. Bad as
things are, they are made still worse. Now this we cannot bear. It hurts
our strongest passion--our vanity. We feel that we are _exploités_ by
Persigny, Fould, and Abbattucci, and a swarm of other adventurers. The
injury might be tolerated, but not the disgrace.

'Every Government in France has a tendency to become unpopular as it
continues. If you were to go down into the street, and inquire into the
politics of the first hundred persons whom you met, you would find some
Socialists, some Republicans, some Orleanists, &c., but you would find no
Louis Napoleonists. Not a voice would utter his name without some
expression of contempt or detestation, but principally of contempt.

'If then things take their course--if no accident, such as a fever or a
pistol-shot, cut him off--public indignation will spread from Paris to
the country, his unpopularity will extend from the people to the army,
and then the first street riot will be enough to overthrow him.'

'And what power,' I said, 'will start up in his place?'

'I trust,' answered Tocqueville, 'that the reins will be seized by the
Senate. Those who have accepted seats in it excuse themselves by saying,
"A time may come when we shall be wanted." Probably the Corps Législatif
will join them; and it seems to me clear that the course which such
bodies will take must be the proclamation of Henri V.'

'But what,' I said, 'would be the consequences of the pistol-shot or the
fever?'

'The immediate consequence,' answered Tocqueville, 'would be the
installation of his successor. Jérôme would go to the Tuileries as easily
as Charles X. did, but it would precipitate the end. We might bear Louis
Napoleon for four or five years, or Jérôme for four or five months.'

'It has been thought possible,' I said, 'that in the event of the Jérôme
dynasty being overset by a military revolution, it might be followed by a
military usurpation; that Nero might be succeeded by Galba.'

'That,' said Tocqueville, 'is one of the few things which I hold to be
impossible. Nero may be followed by another attempt at a Republic, but if
any individual is to succeed him it must be a prince. _Mere_ personal
distinction, at least such as is within the bounds of real possibility,
will not give the sceptre of France. It will be seized by no one who
cannot pretend to an hereditary claim.

'What I fear,' continued Tocqueville, 'is that when this man feels the
ground crumbling under him, he will try the resource of war. It will be a
most dangerous experiment. Defeat, or even the alternation of success and
failure, which is the ordinary course of war, would be fatal to him; but
brilliant success might, as I have said before, establish him. It would
be playing double or quits. He is by nature a gambler. His
self-confidence, his reliance, not only on himself, but on his fortune,
exceeds even that of his uncle. He believes himself to have a great
military genius. He certainly planned war a year ago. I do not believe
that he has abandoned it now, though the general feeling of the country
forces him to suspend it. That feeling, however, he might overcome; he
might so contrive as to appear to be forced into hostilities; and such is
the intoxicating effect of military glory, that the Government which
would give us _that_ would be pardoned, whatever were its defects or its
crimes.

'It is your business, and that of Belgium, to put yourselves into such a
state of defence as to force him to make his spring on Italy. There he
can do you little harm. But to us Frenchmen the consequences of war
_must_ be calamitous. If we fail, they are national loss and humiliation.
If we succeed, they are slavery.'

'Of course,' I said, 'the corruption that infects the civil service must
in time extend to the army, and make it less fit for service.

'Of course it must,' answered Tocqueville. 'It will extend still sooner
to the navy? The _matériel_ of a force is more easily injured by jobbing
than the _personnel_. And in the navy the _matériel_ is the principal.

'Our naval strength has never been in proportion to our naval
expenditure, and is likely to be less and less so every year, at least
during every year of the _règne des fripons_.'

_Tuesday, May_ 24.--I breakfasted with Sir Henry Ellis and then went to
Tocqueville's.

I found there an elderly man, who did not remain long.

When he went, Tocqueville said, 'That is one of our provincial prefects.
He has been describing to us the state of public feeling in the South.
Contempt for the present Government, he tells us, is spreading there from
its headquarters, Paris.

'If the Corps Législatif is dissolved, he expects the Opposition to
obtain a majority in the new House.

'This,' continued Tocqueville, 'is a state of things with which Louis
Napoleon is not fit to cope. Opposition makes him furious, particularly
Parliamentary opposition. His first impulse will be to go a step further
in imitation of his uncle, and abolish the Corps Législatif, as Napoleon
did the Tribunat.

'But nearly half a century of Parliamentary life has made the French of
1853 as different from those of 1803 as the nephew is from his uncle.

'He will scarcely risk another _coup d'état_; and the only legal mode of
abolishing, or even modifying, the Corps Législatif is by a plébiscite
submitted by ballot to universal suffrage.

'Will he venture on this? And if he do venture, will he succeed? If he
fail, will he not sink into a constitutional sovereign, controlled by an
Assembly far more unmanageable than we deputies were, as the Ministers
are excluded from it?'

'Will he not rather,' I said, 'sink into an exile?'

'That is my hope,' said Tocqueville, 'but I do not expect it quite so
soon as Thiers does,'



CORRESPONDENCE.

St. Cyr, July 2, 1853.

I am not going to talk to you, my dear Senior, about the Emperor, or the
Empress, or any of the august members of the Imperial Family; nor of the
Ministers, nor of any other public functionaries, because I am a
well-disposed subject who does not wish that the perusal of his letters
should give pain to his Government. I shall write to you upon an
historical problem, and discuss with you events which happened five
hundred years ago. There could not be a more innocent subject.

I have followed your advice, and I have read, or rather re-read,
Blackstone. I studied him twenty years ago. Each time he has made upon me
the same impression. Now, as then, I have ventured to consider him (if
one may say so without blasphemy) an inferior writer, without liberality
of mind or depth of judgment; in short, a commentator and a lawyer, not
what _we_ understand by the words _jurisconsulte_ and _publiciste_. He
has, too, in a degree which is sometimes amusing, a mania for admiring
all that was done in ancient times, and for attributing to them all that
is good in his own. I am inclined to think that, if he had had to write,
not on the institutions, but on the products of England, he would have
discovered that beer was first made from grapes, and that the hop is a
fruit of the vine--rather a degenerate product, it is true, of the wisdom
of our ancestors, but as such worthy of respect. It is impossible to
imagine an excess more opposite to that of his contemporaries in France,
for whom it was enough that a thing was old for it to be bad. But enough
of Blackstone; he must make way for what I really want to say to you.

In comparing the feudal institutions in England in the period immediately
after the conquest with those of France, you find between them, not only
an analogy, but a perfect resemblance, much greater than Blackstone seems
to think, or, at any rate, chooses to say. In reality, the system in the
two countries is identical. In France, and over the whole Continent, this
system produced a caste; in England, an aristocracy. How is it that the
word _gentleman_, which in our language denotes a mere superiority of
blood, with you is now used to express a certain social position, and
amount of education, independent of birth; so that in two countries the
same word, though the sound remains the same, has entirely changed its
meaning? When did this revolution take place? How, and through what
transitions? Have no books ever treated of this subject in England? Have
none of your great writers, philosophers, politicians, or historians,
ever noticed this characteristic and pregnant fact, tried to account for
it, and to explain it?

If I had the honour of a personal acquaintance with Mr. Macaulay, I
should venture to write to ask him these questions. In the excellent
history which he is now publishing he alludes to this fact, but he does
not try to explain it. And yet, as I have said before, there is none more
pregnant, nor containing within it so good an explanation of the
difference between the history of England and that of the other feudal
nations in Europe. If you should meet Mr. Macaulay, I beg you to ask him,
with much respect, to solve these questions for me. But tell me what you
yourself think, and if any other eminent writers have treated this
subject.

You must think me, my dear friend, very tiresome with all these questions
and dissertations; but of what else can I speak? I pass here the life of
a Benedictine monk, seeing absolutely no one, and writing whenever I am
not walking. I expect this cloistered life to do a great deal of good
both to my mind and body. Do not think that in my convent I forget my
friends. My wife and I constantly talk of them, and especially of you and
of our dear Mrs. Grote. I am reading your MSS.,[1] which interest and
amuse me extremely. They are my relaxation. I have promised Beaumont to
send them to him as soon as I have finished them.


St. Cyr, December 8, 1853.

I must absolutely write to you to-day, my dear Senior. I have long been
wishing to do so, but have been deterred by the annoyance I feel at not
being able to discuss with you a thousand subjects as interesting to you
as they are to me, but which one cannot mention in a letter; for letters
are now less secret than ever, and to insist upon writing politics to our
friends is equivalent to their not hearing from us at all. But I may, at
any rate, without making the police uneasy, assure you of the great
pleasure with which we heard that you intended paying us a little visit
next month.

There is an excellent hotel at Tours, where you will find good
apartments; for the rest, I hope that you will make our house your inn.
We are near enough to Tours for me to walk there and back, and we
regulate our clocks by the striking of theirs; so you see that it is
difficult to be nearer.

I think that it is a capital idea of yours to visit French Africa. The
country is curious in itself, also on account of the contrasts afforded
by the different populations which spread over the land without ever
mixing.

You will find them materials for some of those excellent and interesting
articles which you write so well. When you come I shall be able to give
you some useful information, for I have devoted much attention to
Algiers. I have here a long report which I drew up for the Chamber in
1846, which may give you some valuable ideas, though things have
considerably changed since that time.

Kind remembrances, &c.,

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.



[The following are some more of Mrs. Grote's interesting notes. She
preceded Mr. Senior at St. Cyr.--ED.]

The notes relating to St. Cyr are memoranda of various conversations
which I enjoyed during a stay of some ten days or so at Tours, in
February 1854, with Monsieur Alexis de Tocqueville. I occupied an
apartment in the hotel at Tours, and on almost every day passed some
hours in the company of this interesting friend, who at this time lived
at St. Cyr, in a commodious country-house having its garden, &c, which he
rented. I drove out to dine there frequently, and M. de Tocqueville
walked over on the intervening days and stayed an hour or two at the
hotel with me talking incessantly.--H.G.

_St. Cyr, February_ 13, 1854,--The French allow no author to have a claim
to the highest rank unless he joins the perfection of style with the
instructiveness of his matter. Only four first-rate writers in the
eighteenth century--_grands écrivains, comme grands penseurs originaux;_
these being Montesquieu, Voltaire, J.J. Rousseau, and Buffon. Helvetius
not _en première ligne_, because his _forme_ was not up to the mark.
Alexis himself is often hung up for days together, having the thoughts,
yet not hitting off the 'phrases' in a way to satisfy his critical ear as
to style.

Thinks that when a man is capable of originating a _belle pensée_, he
ought to be also capable of clothing that thought in felicitous language.

Thinks that a torpid state of political life is unfavourable to
intellectual product in general.

I instanced the case of Louis XIV. as contradicting this. Not admitted by
Tocqueville. The civil wars of Louis XIV.'s reign had engendered
considerable activity in the minds of the educated class. This activity
generated speculation and scientific inquiry in all the departments of
human thoughts. Abstract ideas became the field on which thinkers
occupied themselves. No _practical_ outlet under despotism, but a certain
social fermentation nevertheless existing, and the want of making itself
a vent impelled intellectual life and writings. I instanced Louis XV. 'At
least,' I said, 'the torpor of political life was become yet more a
habit,' 'Yes,' said Alexis, 'but then there was the principle of
discontent very widely diffused, which was the germ of the revolution of
1789. This restless, disaffected state of the national mind gave birth to
some new forms of intellectual product, tending to rather more distinct
practical results, which filtered down among the middle classes, and
became the objects of their desires and projects.' Rousseau and Voltaire
eminently serviceable in leading the public sentiment towards the middle
of the eighteenth century.

English writers and statesmen having always enjoyed the power of applying
their minds to actual circumstances, and of appealing through a free
press and free speech also to the public of their day, have never
addressed themselves, as French philosophers did, to the cultivation of
abstract speculations and general theories. Here and there a writer has
been thrown, by his individual tastes and turn of thought, upon the study
of political philosophy; but the Englishman, taken as a public writer,
commonly addresses himself to practical legislation rather than to
recondite studies or logical analysis and investigation of the relations
between mankind and their regulations under authorised powers. Since Lord
Bacon there have been few, excepting in our later times Mill, Bentham,
and his disciples, who have explored the metaphysics of jurisprudence and
moral science in England. Hume dealt in the philosophic treatment of
political subjects, but did not work them up into anything like a
coherent system. English are not fond of generalities, but get on by
their instincts, bit by bit, as need arises.

Alexis thinks that the writers of the period antecedent to the revolution
of 1789 were quite as much _thrown up by_ the condition of public
sentiment as they were the exciters of it. Nothing _comprehensive_, in
matters of social arrangement, can be effected under a state of things
like that of England; so easy there for a peculiar grievance to get
heard, so easy for a local or class interest to obtain redress against
any form of injustice, that legislation _must_ be 'patching.' Next to
impossible to reorganise a community without a revolution.

Alexis has been at work for about a year in _rummaging_  amid archives,
partly in those of the capital, partly in those of the Touraine. In this
last town a complete collection is contained of the records of the old
'Intendance,' under which several provinces were governed. Nothing short
of a continuous and laborious poring over the details of Government
furnished by these invaluable _paperasses_ could possibly enable a
student of the past century to frame to himself any clear conception of
the working of the social relations and authorities in old France. There
exists no such tableau. The manners of the higher classes and their daily
life and habits are well portrayed in heaps of memoirs, and even pretty
well understood by our contemporaries. But the whole structure of
society, in its relations with the authorised agents of supreme power,
including the pressure of those secondary obligations arising out of
_coutumes du pays_, is so little understood as to be scarcely available
to a general comprehension of the old French world before 1789.

Alexis says that the reason why the great upheaving of that period has
never been to this day sufficiently appreciated, never sufficiently
explained, is because the actual living hideousness of the social details
and relations of that period, seen from the points of view of a
penetrating contemporary looker-on, has never yet been depicted in
true colours and with minute particulars. After having dived into the
social history of that century, as I have stated, his conviction is that
it was impossible that the revolution of 1789 should _not_ burst out.
Cause and effect were never more irrevocably associated than in this
terrible case. Nothing but the compulsory idleness and obscurity into
which Alexis has been thrown since December 1851 would have put even him
upon the researches in question. Few perhaps could have addressed
themselves to the task with such remarkable powers of interpretation, and
with such talents for exploring the connection between thought and action
as he is endowed with. Also he is singularly exempt from aristocratical
prejudices, and quite capable of sympathising with popular feeling,
though naturally not partial to democracy.

_February_ 15.--De Tocqueville came down in close carriage and sat an
hour and a half by fireside. Weather horrible. Talked of La Marck's book
on Mirabeau;[2] said that the line Mirabeau pursued was perfectly well
known to Frenchmen prior to the appearance of La Marck's book; but that
the actual details were of course a new revelation, and highly valued
accordingly. Asked what we thought of it in England. I told him the
leading impression made by the book was the clear perception of the
impossibility of effecting any good or coming to terms in any manner of
way of the revolutionary leaders with such a Court. That we also had long
suspected Mirabeau of being what he was now proved to have been--a man
who, imbued though he was with the spirit of revolutionary action and the
conviction of the rightfulness of demanding prodigious changes, yet who
would willingly have directed the monarch in a method of warding off the
terrible consequences of the storm, and who would, if the Court had
confided to his hands the task of conciliating the popular feelings, have
perhaps preserved the forms of monarchy while affording the requisite
concessions to the national demands. But the Court was so steeped in the
old sentiment of divine right, and moreover so distrustful of Mirabeau's
honour and sagacity (the more so as he was insatiable in his pecuniary
requisitions), that they would never place their cause frankly in his
hands, nor indeed in anyone else's who was capable of discerning their
best interests. Lafayette was regarded as an enemy almost (and was
'jaloused' by Mirabeau as being so popular) on account of his popular
sympathies. De Tocqueville said that so diffused was the spirit of
revolution at the period preceding the convocation of the États-généraux,
that the elder Mirabeau, who was a very clever and original-minded man,
though strongly tinctured with the old feudal prejudices, nevertheless
let the fact be seen in the clearest manner in his own writings. He wrote
many tracts on public topics, and De Tocqueville says that the tone in
which Mirabeau (_père_) handles these proves that he was perfectly
cognisant of the universal spread of revolutionary opinions, and even in
some degree influenced by them in his own person. Mirabeau (the son) was
so aware of the absolute necessity of proclaiming himself emancipated
from the old feudalities, that, among other extravagances of his conduct,
he started as a shopkeeper at Marseilles for some time, by way of
fraternizing with the _bourgeoisie; affichéing_ his liberalism. De
Tocqueville quoted Napoleon as saying in one of his conversations at St.
Helena that he had been a spectator _from a window_ of the scene at the
Tuileries, on the famous August 10, 1792, and that it was his conviction
(Napoleon's) that, even at that stage, the revolution might have been
averted--at least, the furious character of it might have been turned
aside--by judicious modes of negotiation on the part of the King's
advisers. De Tocqueville does not concur in Napoleon's opinion.
'Cahiers,' published 1789, contain the whole body of instructions
supplied to their respective delegates by the _trois états (clergé,
noblesse, et Tiers État_), on assembling in convocation. Of this entire
and voluminous collection (which is deposited in the archives of France)
three volumes of extracts are to be bought which were a kind of _rédigé_
of the larger body of documents. In these three volumes De Tocqueville
mentioned, one may trace the course of the public sentiment with perfect
clearness. Each class demanded a large instalment of constitutional
securities; the nobles perhaps demanded the largest amount of all the
three. Nothing could be more thoroughgoing than the requisitions which
the body of the _noblesse_ charged their delegates to enforce in the
Assembly of the États-généraux--'égalisations des charges (taxation),
responsabilité des ministres, indépendance des tribunaux, liberté de la
personne, garantie de la propriété contre la couronne,' a balance-sheet
annually of the public expenses and public revenue, and, in fact, all the
salient privileges necessary in order to enfranchise a community weary of
despotism. The clergy asked for what they wanted with equal resolution,
and the _bourgeoisie_ likewise; but what the nobles were instructed to
demand was the boldest of all. We talked of the letters of the writers of
the eighteenth century, and of the correspondence of various eminent men
and women with David Hume, which Mr. Hill Burton has published in a
supplementary volume in addition to those comprised in his life of David
Hume, and which I have with me. I said that the works of Hume being
freely printed and circulated caused great pleasure to the French men of
letters, mingled with envy at the facility enjoyed by the Englishman of
publishing anything he chose; the French writers being debarred, owing to
the importunity of the clergy with Louis XV., from publishing freely
their works in France, and only managing to get themselves printed by
employing printers at the Hague, Amsterdam, and other towns beyond the
limits of the kingdom. To my surprise, De Tocqueville replied that this
disability, so far from proving disadvantageous to the _esprits forts_ of
the period, and the encyclopaedic school, was a source of gain to them in
every respect. Every book or tract which bore the stamp of being printed
at the Hague or elsewhere, _out of France_, was speedily caught up and
devoured. It was a passport to success. Everyone knowing that, since it
was printed there, it must be of a nature to give offence to the ruling
powers, and especially to the priesthood, and as such, all who were
imbued with the new opinions were sure to run after books bearing this
certificate of merit. De Tocqueville said that the _savans_ of 1760-1789
would not have printed in France, had they been free to do so, at the
period immediately preceding the accession of Louis XVI.

Talked of Lafayette: said he was as great as pure, good intentions and
noble instincts could make a man; but that he was _d'un esprit médiocre_,
and utterly at a loss how to turn affairs to profit at critical
junctures--never knew what was coming, no political foresight. Mistake in
putting Louis Philippe on the throne _sans garantie_ in 1830; misled by
his own disinterested character to think better of public men than he
ought to have done. Great personal integrity shown by Lafayette during
the Empire, and under the Restoration: not to be cajoled by any monarch.

_February_ 16.--The current fallacy of Napoleon having made the important
alterations in the laws of France. All the eminent new enactments
originated in the Constituent Assembly, only that they set to work in
such sledgehammer fashion, that the carrying out their work became
extremely troublesome and difficult. Too abstract in their notions to
estimate difficulties of detail in changing the framework of
jurisprudence. De Tocqueville said philosophers must always originate
laws, but men used to active practical life ought to undertake to direct
the transition from old to new arrangements. The Constituent Assembly did
prodigious things in the way of clearing the ground of past abominations.
Napoleon had the talent of making their work take effect; understood
administrative science, but rendered the centralising principle far too
predominant, in the view to consolidate his own power afterwards. France
has felt this, to her cost, ever since.

Habit formerly (i.e. 300 years back) as prevalent in France as it is in
England of gentlemen of moderate fortune residing wholly or by far the
greater part of the year on their estates. They ceased to do so from
the time when the sovereign took from them all local authority, from the
fifteenth century or so. The French country-houses were excessively
thickly dotted over the land even up to the year 1600; quantities pulled
down after that period. Country life becoming flat after the gentlemen
ceased to be of importance in their political relations with their
districts, they gave up rural habits and took to living in the provincial
towns.

De Tocqueville had many conversations with M. Royer Collard respecting
the events of 1789. Difficult to get much out of men of our period
relative to their own early manhood. His own father (now 82) much less
capable of communicating details of former _régime_ than might have been
supposed. Because, says De Tocqueville, youths of eighteen to twenty
hardly ever possess the faculty or the inclination to note social
peculiarities. They accept what they find going, and scarcely give a
thought to the contemplation of what is familiar to them and of every
day's experience. Royer Collard was a man of superior mind: had a great
deal to relate. De Tocqueville used to pump him whenever an opportunity
occurred. Knew Danton well, used to discuss political affairs with him.
When revolution was fairly launched, saw him occasionally. Danton was
venal to the last degree; received money from the Court over and over
again; 'agitated,' and was again sopped by the agents of Marie
Antoinette. When matters grew formidable (in 1791) Royer Collard was
himself induced to become an agent or go-between of the Court for buying
up Danton. He sought an opportunity, and after some prefatory
conversations Royer Collard led Danton to the point. 'No,' said Danton,
'I cannot listen to any such suggestions now. Times are altered. It is
too late. 'Nous le détrônerons et puis nous le tuerons,' added he in an
emphatic tone. Royer Collard of course gave up the hope of succeeding.

Danton's passion for a young girl, whom he married, became his ruin.
While he was honeymooning it by some river's margin, Robespierre got the
upper hand in the Assembly, and caused him to be seized--_mis en
jugement_--and soon afterwards guillotined. The woman did not know, it is
affirmed, that it was Danton who set the massacres of 1792 agoing; she
thought him a good-hearted man. He set all his personal enemies free out
of their prisons prior to the commencement of the massacres; wishing to
be able to boast of having spared his enemies, as a proof that he was
actuated by no ignoble vengeance, but only by a patriotic impulse. He
was a low, mean-souled fanatic, who had no clear conception of what he
was aiming at, but who delighted in the horrid excitement prevailing
around him. It was Tallien who had the chief share in the deposition of
Robespierre and the transactions of the 9th thermidor. Madame Tallien was
then in prison, and going to be executed in a few days (she was not yet
married to Tallien then). She wrote, by stealth of course, a few emphatic
words, with a toothpick and soot wetted, to Tallien which nerved him to
the conflict, and she was saved. Talleyrand told De Tocqueville she was
beyond everything captivating, beautiful, and interesting. She afterwards
became the mistress of Barras, and finally married the Prince de Chimay.

De Tocqueville has been at Voré, Helvetius' château in La Perche--a fine
place, and Helvetius lived _en seigneur_ there. A grand-daughter of
Helvetius married M. de Rochambeau, uncle, by mother's side, of Alexis:
so that the great-grandchildren are De Tocqueville's first cousins.

In the 'Souvenirs' of M. Berryer (_père_) he describes the scene of the
9th thermidor, in which he was actively concerned in the interest of the
Convention, and saw Robespierre borne past him with his shattered jaw
along the Quai Pelletier. Also went to the terrace of the Tuileries
gardens to assure himself that Robespierre was really executed the next
day; heard the execrations and shouts which attended his last moments,
but did not stay to witness them. Release of the Duchess of St. Aignan,
under sentence of death, by his father.

_February_ 18.--A. de Tocqueville came to see me, and we walked out for
half-an-hour. He said he had now spent over eight months in a seclusion
such as he had never experienced in his whole life. That, partly his
own debilitated health, partly the impaired state of his wife's general
powers (nervous system inclusive), partly the extreme aversion he felt
for public affairs and the topics of the day connected with politics; all
these considerations had determined him upon withdrawing himself from
society for a certain space, and _that_ to a considerable distance from
all his friends and relations. A physician, also of widely extended fame
(Dr. Brittonneau), happening to reside close to where they have lodged
themselves, formed an additional link in the chain of motives for
settling themselves at Tours. M. de Tocqueville had some misgivings at
first as to whether, after passing twenty years in active public life,
and in the frequent society of men who occupied the most distinguished
position in the political world, as well as of others not less eminent in
that of letters; whether, he said, the monotony and stillness of his new
mode of life would not be too much for his spirits and render his mind
indolent and depressed. 'But,' said he, 'I have been agreeably reassured.
I have come to regard society as a thing which I can perfectly well do
without. I desire nothing better than to occupy myself, as I have been
doing, with the composition of a work which I am in hopes will travel
over somewhat other than beaten ground. I have found many materials for
my purpose in this spot, and the pursuit has got hold of me to a degree
which renders intellectual labour a source of pleasure; and I prosecute
it steadily, unless when my health is out of order; which, happily, does
not occur so frequently since the last three or four months. My wife's
company serves to encourage me in my work, and to cheer me in every
respect, since an entire sympathy subsists between us, as you know; we
seem to require no addition, and our lives revolve in the most inflexible
routine possible. I rise at half-past five, and work seriously till
half-past nine; then dress for _déjeûner_ at ten. I commonly walk
half-an-hour afterwards, and then set to on some other study--usually of
late in the German language--till two P.M., when I go out again and walk
for two hours, if weather allows. In the evenings I read to amuse myself,
often reading aloud to Madame de Tocqueville, and go to bed at ten P.M.
regularly every night.'

'Sometimes,' said De Tocqueville, 'I reflect on the difference which may
be discerned between the amount of what a man can effect by even the most
strenuous and well-directed efforts, whether as a public servant or as a
leading man in political life, and what a writer of impressive books has
it in his power to effect. It is true that a man of talent and courage
may acquire a creditable position, may exercise great influence over
other individuals engaged in the same career, and may enjoy a certain
measure of triumphant success in cases where he can put out his strength.
At the same time it strikes me that the best of these exaggerates
immensely the amount of good which he has been able to effect. I look
back upon prodigiously vivid passages in various public men's lives, in
this century, with a melancholy reflection of how little influence their
magnificent efforts have really exercised over the march of human
affairs. A man is apt to believe he has done great things when his
hearers and contemporaries are strongly affected, either by a powerful
speech, or an animated address, or an act of opportune courage, or the
like. But, if we investigate the positive amount of what the individual
has effected in the way of bettering or advancing the general interests
of mankind, by personal exertion on the public stage, I regret to say I
can find hardly an instance of more than a transient, though beneficial,
flash of excitement produced on the public mind. I do not here speak of
men invested with great power--princes, prime ministers, popes, generals
and the like. Of course _they_ produce lasting traces of their _power_,
whether it be for good or evil; and, indeed, _individuals_ have on their
side considerable power to work _mischief_, though not often to work
good. I begin to think that a man not invested with a considerable amount
of political _power_ can do but little good by slaving at the oar of
independent political action. Now, on the contrary, what a vast effect a
_writer_ can produce, when he possesses the requisite knowledge and
endowments! In his cabinet, his thoughts collected, his ideas well
arranged, he may hope to imprint indelible traces on the line of human
progress. What orator, what brilliant patriot at the tribune, could ever
effect the extensive fermentation in a whole nation's sentiments achieved
by Voltaire and Jean Jacques?

'I have certainly seen reason to change some of my views on social facts,
as well as some reasonings founded on imperfect observation. But the
_fond_ of my opinions can never undergo a change--certain irrevocable
maxims and propositions _must_ constitute the basis of thinking minds.
How such changes can come about as I have lived to see in some men's
states of opinion is to me incomprehensible. Lafayette was foolish enough
to give his support to certain conspiracies--certainly to that of
Béfort's, in Alsace. What folly! to seek to upset a despotism by the
agency of the _soldiery_, in the nineteenth century!'

H. GROTE.

[Footnote 1: Mr. Senior's Journals.--ED.]

[Footnote 2: See _Royal and Republican France_, by H. Reeve Esq. vol.
i.--ED.]



CONVERSATIONS WITH MR. SENIOR.

_St. Cyr, Tuesday, February_ 21, 1854.[1]--On the 20th I left Paris for
Le Trésorier, a country-house in the village of St. Cyr, near Tours,
which the Tocquevilles have been inhabiting for some months. It stands in
a large enclosure of about fifteen acres, of which about ten are orchard
and vineyard, and the remainder are occupied by the house, stables, and a
large garden. The house has a great deal of accommodation, and they pay
for it, imperfectly furnished, 3,000 francs a year, and keep up the
garden, which costs about 500 francs more, being one man at one and
a-half francs a day.

This is considered dear; but the sheltered position of the house, looking
south, and protected by a hill to the north-east, induced the
Tocquevilles to pay for it about 1,000 francs more than its market value.

I will throw together the conversations of February 22 and 23. They began
by my giving to him a general account of the opinions of my friends in
Paris.

'I believe,' said Tocqueville, 'that I should have found out many of your
interlocutors without your naming them. I am sure that I should Thiers,
Duvergier, Broglie, and Rivet; perhaps Faucher--certainly Cousin. I
translate into French what you make them say, and hear them speak. I
recognise Dumon and Lavergne, but I should not have discovered them. The
conversation of neither of them has the marked, peculiar flavour that
distinguishes that of the others. You must recollect, however, that some
of your friends knew, and most of the others must have suspected, that
you were taking notes. Thiers speaks evidently for the purpose of being
reported. To be sure that shows what are the opinions that men wish to be
supposed to entertain, and they often betray what they think that they
conceal. Still it must be admitted that you had not always the natural
man.' 'I am sorry,' he added, 'that you have not penetrated more into the
salons of the Legitimists. You have never got further than a Fusionist.
The Legitimists are not the Russians that Thiers describes them. Still
less do they desire to see Henri V. restored by foreign intervention.
They and their cause have suffered too bitterly for having committed
that crime, or that fault, for them to be capable of repeating it. They
are anti-national so far as not to rejoice in any victories obtained by
France under this man's guidance. But I cannot believe that they would
rejoice in her defeat. They have been so injured in their fortunes and
their influence, have been so long an oppressed caste--excluded from
power, and even from sympathy--that they have acquired the faults of
slaves--have become timid and frivolous, or bitter.

'They have ceased to be anxious about anything but to be let alone. But
they are a large, a rich, and comparatively well-educated body. Your
picture is incomplete without them, _et il sera toujours très-difficile
de gouverner sans eux._[2]

I quite agree,' he continued, 'with Thiers as to the necessity of this
war. Your interests may be more immediate and greater, but ours are very
great. When I say ours, I mean those of France as a country that is
resolved to enjoy constitutional government. I am not sure that if Russia
were to become mistress of the Continent she would not allow France to
continue a quasi-independent despotism under her protectorate. But she
will never willingly allow us to lie powerful and free.

'I sympathise, too, with Thiers's fears as to the result. I do not
believe that Napoleon himself, with all his energy, and all his
diligence, and all his intelligence, would have thought it possible to
conduct a great war to which his Minister of War was opposed. A man who
has no heart in his business will neglect it, or do it imperfectly. His
first step would have been to dismiss St.-Arnaud. Then, look at the other
two on whose skill and energy we have to depend. One is Ducos, Minister
of Marine, a man of mere commonplace talents and character. The other is
Binneau, Minister of Finance, somewhat inferior to Ducos. Binneau ought
to provide resources. He ought to check the preposterous waste of the
Court. He has not intelligence enough to do the one, or courage enough to
attempt the other. The real Prime Minister is without doubt Louis
Napoleon himself. But he is not a man of business. He does not understand
details. He may order certain things to be done, but he will not be able
to ascertain whether the proper means have been taken. He does not know
indeed what these means are. He does not trust those who do. A war which
would have tasked all the powers of Napoleon, and of Napoleon's Ministers
and generals, is to be carried on without any master-mind to direct it,
or any good instruments to execute it. I fear some great disaster.

'Such a disaster might throw,' he continued, 'this man from the eminence
on which he is balanced, not rooted. It might produce a popular outbreak,
of which the anarchical party might take advantage. Or, what is perhaps
more to be feared, it might frighten Louis Napoleon into a change of
policy. He is quite capable of turning short round--giving up
everything--key of the Grotto, protectorate of the orthodox, even the
Dardanelles and the Bosphorus--to Nicholas, and asking to be repaid by
the Rhine.

'I cannot escape from the _cauchemar_ that a couple of years hence France
and England may be at war. Nicholas's expectations have been deceived,
but his plan was not unskilfully laid. He had a fair right to conjecture
that you would think the dangers of this alliance such as to be even
greater than those of allowing him to obtain his protectorate.

'In deciding otherwise, you have taken the brave and the magnanimous
course. I hope that it may prove the successful one.

'I am sorry,' continued Tocqueville, 'to see the language of your
newspapers as to the fusion. I did not choose to take part in it. I hate
to have anything to do with pretenders. But as a mere measure of
precaution it is a wise one. It decides what shall be the conduct of the
Royalist party in the event--not an improbable one--of France being
suddenly left without a ruler.

'Your unmeasured praise of Louis Napoleon and your unmeasured abuse of
the Bourbons are, to a certain degree, the interference in our politics
which you professedly disclaim. I admit the anti-English prejudices
of the Bourbons, and I admit that they are not likely to be abated by
your alliance with a Bonaparte. But the opinions of a constitutional
sovereign do not, like those of a despot, decide the conduct of his
country. The country is anxious for peace, and, above all, peace with
you--for more than peace, for mutual good-feeling. The Bourbons cannot
return except with a constitution. It has become the tradition of the
family, it is their title to the throne. There is not a _vieille
marquise_ in the Faubourg St.-Germain who believes in divine right.

'The higher classes in France are Bourbonists because they are
Constitutionalists, because they believe that constitutional monarchy is
the government best suited to France, and that the Bourbons offer us the
fairest chance of it.

'Among the middle classes there is without doubt much inclination for the
social equality of a Republic. But they are alarmed at its instability;
they have never known one live for more than a year or two, or die except
in convulsions.

'As for the lower classes, the country people think little about
politics, the sensible portion of the artizans care about nothing but
cheap and regular work; the others are Socialists, and, next to the
government of a Rouge Assembly, wish for that of a Rouge despot.'

'In London,' I said, 'a few weeks ago I came across a French Socialist,
not indeed of the lower orders--for he was a Professor of
Mathematics--but participating in their feelings. "I prefer," he said, "a
Bonaparte to a Bourbon--a Bonaparte must rely on the people, one can
always get something out of him." "What have you got," I asked, "from
this man?" "A great deal," he answered. "We got the Orleans
confiscation--that was a great step. _Il portait attente à la propriété_.
Then he represents the power and majesty of the people. He is like the
people, above all law. _Les Bourbons nous chicanaient._"'

'That was the true faith of a Rouge,' said Tocqueville 'If this man,' he
added, 'had any self-control, if he would allow us a very moderate degree
of liberty, he might enjoy a reign--probably found a dynasty. He had
everything in his favour; the prestige of his name, the acquiescence of
Europe, the dread of the Socialists, and the contempt felt for the
Republicans. We were tired of Louis Philippe. We remembered the _branche
aînée_ only to dislike it, and the Assembly only to despise it. We never
shall be loyal subjects, but we might have been discontented ones, with
as much moderation as is in our nature.'

'What is the _nuance_,' I said, 'of G----?'

'G----,' answered Tocqueville, 'is an honest man, uncorrupt and
public-spirited; he is a clear, logical, but bitter speaker; his words
fall from the tribune like drops of gall. He has great perspicacity, but
rather a narrow range. His vision is neither distant nor comprehensive.
He wears a pair of blinkers, which allow him to see only what he looks
straight at--and that is the English Constitution. For what is to the
right and to the left he has no eyes, and unhappily what is to the right
and to the left is France.

'Then he has a strong will, perfect self-reliance, and the most restless
activity. All these qualities give him great influence. He led the
_centre gauche_ into most of its errors. H---- used to say, "If you
want to know what I shall do, ask G----."

'Among the secondary causes of February 1848 he stands prominent. He
planned the banquets. Such demonstrations are safe in England. He
inferred, according to his usual mode of reasoning, that they would not
be dangerous in France. He forgot that in England there is an aristocracy
that leads, and even controls, the people.

'I am alarmed,' he continued, 'by your Reform Bill. Your new six-pound
franchise must, I suppose, double the constituencies; it is a further
step to universal suffrage, the most fatal and the least remediable of
institutions.[3]

'While you preserve your aristocracy, you will preserve your freedom; if
that goes, you will fall into the worst of tyrannies, that of a despot,
appointed and controlled, so far as he is controlled at all, by a
mob.'[4]

Madame de Tocqueville asked me if I had seen the Empress.

'No,' I said, 'but Mrs. Senior has, and thinks her beautiful.'

'She is much more so,' said Madame de Tocqueville, 'than her portraits.
Her face in perfect repose gets long, and there is a little drooping
about the corners of the mouth. This has a bad effect when she is
serious, as everyone is when sitting for a picture, but disappears as
soon as she speaks. I remember dining in company with her at the
President's--I sat next to him--she was nearly opposite, and close to her
a lady who was much admired. I said to the President, looking towards
Mademoiselle de Montigo, "Really I think that she is far the prettier of
the two." He gazed at her for an instant, and said, "I quite agree with
you; she is charming." It may be a _bon ménage_'

'To come back,' I said, 'to our Eastern question. What is Baraguay
d'Hilliers?'

'A _brouillon_,' said Tocqueville. 'He is the most impracticable man in
France. His vanity, his ill-temper, and his jealousy make him quarrel
with everybody with whom he comes in contact. In the interest of our
alliance you should get him recalled.'

'What sort of man,' I asked, 'shall I find General Randon?'

'Very intelligent,' said Tocqueville. 'He was to have had the command of
the Roman army when Oudinot gave it up; but, just as he was going, it was
discovered that he was a Protestant. He was not so accommodating as one
of our generals during the Restoration. He also was a Protestant. The Duc
d'Angoulême one day said to him, "Vous êtes protestant, général?" The
poor man answered in some alarm, for he knew the Duke's
ultra-Catholicism, "Tout ce que vous voulez, monseigneur."'



[Footnote 1: My conversations with M. de Tocqueville during this visit
were written out after my return from Paris and sent to him. He returned
them with the remarks which I have inserted.--N.W. SENIOR.]

[Footnote 2: Le portrait va plus loin que ma pensée.--_A. de
Tocqueville_. The picture expresses more than my idea.]

[Footnote 3: Cela va plus loin que ma pensée. Je crois que le vote
universel peut se concilier avec d'autres institutions, qui diminuerait
le danger.--_A. de Tocqueville._

This goes farther than my idea. I think that universal suffrage may be
combined with other institutions, which would diminish the danger.]

[Footnote 4: Cela aussi va plus loin que ma pensée. Je crois
très-désirable le maintien des institutions aristocratiques en
Angleterre. Mais je suis loín de dire que leur abolition mènerait
nécessairement au despotisme, surtout si elles s'affaiblissaient peu à
peu et n'étaient pas renversées par une révolution.--_A. de Tocqueville_.

This also goes farther than my idea. I think the maintenance in England
of aristocratic institutions very desirable. But I am far from saying
that their abolition would necessarily lead to despotism, especially if
their power were diminished gradually and without the shock of a
revolution.]




_To N.W. Senior, Esq._

St. Cyr, March 18, 1854.

Your letter was a real joy to us, my dear Senior. As you consent to be
ill lodged, we offer to you with all our hearts the bachelor's room which
you saw. You will find there only a bed, without curtains, and some very
shabby furniture. But you will find hosts who will be charmed to have you
and your MSS. I beg you not to forget the latter.

My wife, as housekeeper, desires me to give you an important piece of
advice. In the provinces, especially during Lent, it is difficult to get
good meat on Fridays and Saturdays, and though you are a great sinner,
she has no wish to force you to do penance, especially against your will,
as that would take away all the merit. She advises you, therefore, to
arrange to spend with us Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and
Thursday, and to avoid Friday and Saturday, and especially the whole of
the Holy Week.

Now you are provided with the necessary instructions. Choose your own
day, and give us twenty-four hours' warning.

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.



St. Cyr, March 31, 1854.

My dear Senior,--As you are willing to encounter hard meat and river
fish, I have no objection to your new plan. I see in it even this
advantage, that you will be able to tell us _de visu_ what went on in the
Corps Législatif, which will greatly interest us.

The condemnation of Montalembert seems to me to be certain; but I am no
less curious to know how that honourable assembly will contrive to
condemn a private letter which appeared in a foreign country, and which
was probably published without the authorisation and against the will of
the writer.

It is a servile trick, which I should like to see played.

Do not hesitate to postpone your visit if the sitting of the Corps
Législatif should not take place on Monday.

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.



CONVERSATIONS.

I passed the 3rd and 4th of April in the Corps Législatif listening to
the debate on the demand by the Government of permission to prosecute M.
de Montalembert, a member of the Corps Législatif, for the publication of
a letter to M. Dupin, which it treated as libellous. As it was supposed
that M. de Montalembert's speech would be suppressed, I wrote as
much of it as I could carry in my recollection; the only other
vehicle--notes--not being allowed to be taken.[1] On the evening of the
5th of April I left Paris for St. Cyr.

[Footnote 1: See Appendix.]

_St. Cyr, Thursday, April 6_, 1854.--I drove with Tocqueville to
Chenonceaux, a château of the sixteenth century, about sixteen miles from
Tours, on the Cher. I say _on_ the Cher, for such is literally its
position. It is a habitable bridge, stretching across the water.

The two first arches, which spring from the right bank of the river, and
the piers which form their abutments, are about one hundred feet wide,
and support a considerable house. The others support merely a gallery,
called by our guide the ballroom of Catherine de Médicis, ending in a
small theatre. The view from the windows of the river flowing through
wooded meadows is beautiful and peculiar. Every window looks on the
river; many rooms, as is the case with the gallery, look both up and down
it. It must be a charming summer residence. The rooms still retain the
furniture which was put into them by Diane de Poictiers and Catherine de
Médicis; very curious and very uncomfortable; high narrow chairs, short
sofas, many-footed tables, and diminutive mirrors. The sculptured
pilasters, scrolls, bas-reliefs and tracery of the outside are not of
fine workmanship, but are graceful and picturesque. The associations are
interesting, beginning with Francis I. and ending with Rousseau, who
spent there the autumn of 1746, as the guest of Madame Dupin, and wrote a
comedy for its little theatre. The present proprietor, the Marquis de
Villeneuve, is Madame Dupin's grandson.

In the evening we read my report of the debate on Montalembert.

'It is difficult,' said Tocqueville, 'to wish that so great a speech had
been suppressed. But I am inclined to think that Montalembert's wiser
course was to remain silent. What good will his speech do? It will not be
published. Yours is probably the only report of it. So far as the public
hears anything of it, the versions coming through an unfavourable medium
will be misrepresentations. In a letter which I received from Paris
this morning it is called virulent. It was of great importance that the
minority against granting the consent should be large, and I have no
doubt that this speech diminished it by twenty or thirty. It must have
wounded many, frightened many, and afforded a pretext to many. Perhaps,
however, it was not in human nature for such a speaker as Montalembert to
resist the last opportunity of uttering bold truths in a French
Assembly.'

_Friday, April_ 7.--We drove to-day along the Loire to Langrais, about
twelve miles below Tours.

Here is a castle of the thirteenth century, consisting of two centre and
two corner towers, and a curtain between them, terminating in a rocky
promontory. Nothing can be more perfect than the masonry, or more elegant
than the few ornaments. The outside is covered with marks of bullets,
which appear to have rattled against it with little effect.

On our return we visited the castles of Cinq Mars and Luynes. Langrais,
Cinq Mars, and Luynes were all the property of Effiat, Marquis of Cinq
Mars, who with De Thou conspired against Richelieu in the latter part of
Louis XIII.'s reign, and was beheaded. The towers of Cinq Mars were, in
the words of his sentence, 'rasées à la hauteur de l'infamie,' and remain
now cut down to half their original height. Luynes stands finely,
crowning a knoll overlooking the Loire. It is square, with twelve towers,
two on each side and four in the corners, and a vast ditch, and must have
been strong. Nearly a mile from it are the remains of a Roman aqueduct,
of which about thirty piers and six perfect arches remain. It is of
stone, except the arches, which have a mixture of brick. The peasants, by
digging under the foundations, are rapidly destroying it. An old man told
us that he had seen six or seven piers tumble. A little nearer to Tours
is the Pile de Cinq Mars, a solid, nearly square tower of Roman brickwork
more than ninety feet high, and about twelve feet by fourteen feet thick.
On one side there appear to have been inscriptions or bas-reliefs. Ampère
believes it to have been a Roman tomb; but the antiquaries are divided
and perplexed. Being absolutely solid, it could not have been built for
any use.

I am struck during my walks and drives by the appearance of prosperity.
The country about Tours is dotted with country-houses, quite as numerous
as in any part of England. In St. Cyr alone there must be between twenty
and thirty, and the houses of the peasants are far better than the best
cottages of English labourers. Everyone seems to have attached to it a
considerable piece of land, from ten acres to two, cultivated in vines,
vegetables and fruit. These and green crops are nearly the only produce;
there is very little grain. All the persons whom I met appeared to be
healthy and well-clad. The soil and climate are good, and the proximity
to Tours insures a market; but physical advantages are not enough to
insure prosperity. The neighbourhood of Cork enjoys a good climate, soil,
and market, but the inhabitants are not prosperous.

After some discussion Tocqueville agreed with me in attributing the
comfort of the Tourainese to the slowness with which population
increases. In the commune of Tocqueville the births are only three to a
marriage, but both Monsieur and Madame de Tocqueville think that the
number of children here is still less. I scarcely meet any.

Marriages are late, and very seldom take place until a house and a bit of
ground and some capital have been inherited or accumulated. Touraine is
the best specimen of the _petite culture_ that I have seen. The want of
wood makes it objectionable as a summer residence.

We are now suffering from heat. After eight in the morning it is too hot
to walk along the naked glaring roads, yet this is only the first week in
April.

_Saturday, April_ 8.--The sun has been so scorching during our two last
drives that we have given ourselves a holiday to-day, and only dawdled
about Tours.

We went first to the cathedral, which I never see without increased
pleasure. Though nearly four hundred years passed from its commencement
in the twelfth century to its completion in the fifteenth, the whole
interior is as harmonious as if it had been finished by the artist who
began it. I know nothing in Gothic architecture superior to the grandeur,
richness, and yet lightness of the choir and eastern apse. Thence we
went to St. Julien's, a fine old church of the thirteenth century,
desecrated in the Revolution, but now under restoration.

Thence to the Hôtel Gouin, a specimen of the purely domestic architecture
of the fifteenth century, covered with elegant tracery and scroll-work in
white marble. We ended with Plessis-les-Tours, Louis XI.'s castle, which
stands on a flat, somewhat marshy, tongue of land stretching between the
Loire and the Cher. All that remains is a small portion of one of the
inner courts, probably a guard-room, and a cellar pointed out to us as
the prison in which Louis XI kept Cardinal de la Balue for several years.
The cellar itself is not bad for a prison of those days, but he is said
to have passed his first year or two in a grated vault under the
staircase, in which he could neither stand up nor lie at full length.

'It is remarkable,' said Tocqueville, 'that the glorious reigns in French
history, such as those of Louis Onze, Louis Quatorze, and Napoleon ended
in the utmost misery and exhaustion, while the periods at which we are
accustomed to look as those of disturbance and insecurity were those of
comparative prosperity and progress. It seems as if tyranny were worse
than civil war.'

'And yet,' I said, 'the amount of revenue which these despots managed to
squeeze out of France was never large. The taxation under Napoleon was
much less than under Louis Philippe.'

'Yes,' said Tocqueville, 'but it was the want of power to tax avowedly
that led them into indirect modes of raising money, which were far more
mischievous; just as our servants put us to more expense by their jobs
than they would do if they simply robbed us to twice the amount of their
indirect gains.

'Louis XIV. destroyed all the municipal franchises of France, and paved
the way for this centralized tyranny, not from any dislike of municipal
elections, but merely in order to be able himself to sell the places
which the citizens had been accustomed to grant.'

_Sunday, April_ 9.--Another sultry day. I waited till the sun was low,
and then sauntered by the side of the river with Tocqueville.

'The worst faults of this Government,' said Tocqueville, 'are those which
do not alarm the public.

'It is depriving us of the local franchises and local self-government
which we have extorted from the central power in a struggle of forty
years. The Restoration and the Government of July were as absolute
centralizers as Napoleon himself. The local power which they were forced
to surrender they made over to the narrow pays légal, the privileged
ten-pounders, who were then attempting to govern France. The Republic
gave the name of Conseils-généraux to the people, and thus dethroned the
notaires who had governed those assemblies when they represented only the
_bourgeoisie_. The Republic made the maires elective. The Republic placed
education in the hands of local authorities. Under its influence, the
communes, the cantons, and the departments were becoming real
administrative bodies. They are now mere geographical divisions. The
préfet appoints the maires. The préfet appoints in every canton a
commissaire de police--seldom a respectable man, as the office is not
honourable. The gardes champêtres, who are our local police, are put
under his control. The recteur, who was a sort of local Minister of
Education in every department, is suppressed. His powers are transferred
to the préfet. The préfet appoints, promotes, and dismisses all the
masters of the _écoles primaires._ He has the power to convert the
commune into a mere unorganised aggregation of individuals, by dismissing
every communal functionary, and placing its concerns in the hands of his
own nominees. There are many hundreds of communes that have been thus
treated, and whose masters now are uneducated peasants. The préfet can
dissolve the Conseil-général of his department and, although he cannot
directly name its successors, he does so virtually.

'No candidate for an elective office can succeed unless he is supported
by the Government. The préfet can destroy the prosperity of every commune
that displeases him. He can dismiss its functionaries, close its schools,
obstruct its improvements, and withhold the assistance in money which the
Government habitually gives to forward the public purposes of a commune.

'The Courts of Law, both criminal and civil, are the tools of the
Executive. The Government appoints the judges, the préfet provides the
jury, and _la haute police_  acts without either.

'All power of combination, even of mutual communication, except from
mouth to mouth, is gone. The newspapers are suppressed or intimidated,
the printers are the slaves of the préfet, as they lose their privilege
if they offend; the secrecy of the post is habitually and avowedly
violated; there are spies to watch and report conversation.

'Every individual stands defenceless and insulated in the face of this
unscrupulous Executive with its thousands of armed hands and its
thousands of watching eyes. The only opposition that is ventured is the
abstaining from voting. Whatever be the office, whatever be the man, the
candidate of the préfet comes in; but if he is a man who would have been
universally rejected in a state of freedom, the bolder electors show
their indignation by their absence. I do not believe that, even with
peace, and with the prosperity which usually accompanies peace, such a
Government could long keep down such a country as France. Whether its
existence would be prolonged by a successful war I will not decide.
Perhaps it might be.

'That it cannot carry on a war only moderately successful, or a war which
from its difficulties and its distance may be generally believed to be
ill managed, still less a war stained by some real disaster, seems to me
certain--if anything in the future of France can be called certain.

'The vast democratic sea on which the Empire floats is governed by
currents and agitated by ground-swells, which the Government discovers
only by their effects. It knows nothing of the passions which influence
these great, apparently slumbering, masses; indeed it takes care, by
stifling their expression, to prevent their being known. Universal
suffrage is a detestable element of government, but it is a powerful
revolutionary instrument'

'But,' I said, 'the people will not have an opportunity of using that
instrument. All the great elective bodies have some years before them.'

'That is true,' said Tocqueville, 'and therefore their rage will break
out in a more direct, and perhaps more formidable, form. Depend on it,
this Government can exist, even for a time, only on the condition of
brilliant, successful war, or prosperous peace. It is bound to be rapidly
and clearly victorious. If it fail in this, it will sink--or perhaps, in
its terrors and its struggles, it will catch at the other alternative,
peace.

'The French public is too ignorant to care much about Russian
aggrandisement. So far as it fancies that the strength of Russia is the
weakness of England, it is pleased with it. I am not sure that the most
dishonourable peace with Nicholas would not give to Louis Napoleon an
immediate popularity. I am sure that it would, if it were accompanied by
any baits to the national vanity and cupidity; by the offer of Savoy for
instance, or the Balearic Islands. And if you were to quarrel with us for
accepting them, it would be easy to turn against you our old feelings of
jealousy and hatred.'

We saw vast columns of smoke on the other side of the river. Those whom
we questioned believed them to arise from an intentional fire. Such fires
are symptoms of popular discontent. They preceded the revolution of 1830.
They have become frequent of late in this country.

_Monday, April_ 10.--Tocqueville and I drove this morning to
Azy-le-Rideau, another Francis I. château, on an island formed by the
Indre. It is less beautifully situated than Chenonceaux; the river Indre
is smaller and more sluggish than the Cher; the site of the castle is in
a hollow, and the trees round it approach too near, and are the tall and
closely planted poles which the French seem to admire. But the
architecture, both in its outlines and in its details, is charming.
It is of white stone, in this form, with two curtains and four
towers. The whole outside and the ceilings and cornices within are
covered with delicate arabesques.

     O ______________ 0
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                      0

Like Chenonceaux, it escaped the revolution, and is now, with its
furniture of the sixteenth century, the residence of the Marquis de
Biancourt, descended from its ancient proprietors.

As we sauntered over the gardens, our conversation turned on the old
aristocracy of France.

'The loss of our aristocracy,' said Tocqueville, 'is a misfortune from
which we have not even begun to recover. The Legitimists are their
territorial successors; they are the successors in their manners, in
their loyalty, and in their prejudices of _caste_; but they are not their
successors in cultivation, or intelligence, or energy, or, therefore, in
influence. Between them and the _bourgeoisie_ is a chasm, which shows no
tendency to close. Nothing but a common interest and a common pursuit
will bring them together.

'If the murder of the Duc d'Enghien had not made them recoil in terror
and disgust from Napoleon, they might have perhaps been welded into one
mass with his new aristocracy of services, talents, and wealth. They were
ready to adhere to him during the Consulate. During the Restoration they
were always at war with the _bourgeoisie_, and therefore with the
constitution, on which the power of their enemies depended. When the
result of that war was the defeat and expulsion of their leader, Charles
X., their hostility extended from the _bourgeoisie_ and the constitution
up to the Crown. Louis Philippe tried to govern by means of the middle
classes alone. Perhaps it was inevitable that he should make the attempt.
It certainly was inevitable that he should fail. The higher classes, and
the lower classes, all equally offended, combined to overthrow him. Under
the Republic they again took, to a certain extent, their place in the
State. They led the country people, who came to the assistance of the
Assembly in June 1848. The Republic was wise enough to impose no oaths.
It did not require those who were willing to serve it to begin by openly
disavowing their traditionary opinions and principles. The Legitimists
took their places in the Conseils-généraux. They joined with the
_bourgeoisie_ in local administration, the only means by which men of
different classes can coalesce.

'The socialist tendencies which are imputed to this Second Empire, the
oath which it most imprudently imposes, its pretensions to form a dynasty
and its assertion of the principle most abhorrent to them, elective
monarchy, have thrown them back into disaffection. And I believe their
disaffection to be one of our great dangers--a danger certainly increased
by the Fusion. The principal object of the Fusion is to influence the
army. The great terror of the army is division in itself. It will accept
anything, give up anything, dare anything, to avoid civil war. Rather
than be divided between the two branches, it would have adhered to the
Empire. Now it can throw off the Bonapartes without occasioning a
disputed succession.'

'When you say,' I asked, 'that the Legitimists are not the successors of
the old aristocracy in cultivation, intelligence, or energy, do you mean
to ascribe to them positive or relative inferiority in these qualities?'

'In energy,' answered Tocqueville, 'their deficiency is positive. They
are ready to suffer for their cause, they are not ready to exert
themselves for it. In intelligence and cultivation they are superior to
any other class in France; but they are inferior to the English
aristocracy, and they are inferior, as I said before, to their ancestors
of the eighteenth century. There existed in the highest Parisian society
towards the end of that century a comprehensiveness of curiosity and
inquiry, a freedom of opinion, an independence, and soundness of
judgment, never seen before or since. Its pursuits, its pleasures, its
admirations, its vanities, were all intellectual. Look at the success of
Hume. His manners were awkward; he was a heavy, though an instructive,
converser; he spoke bad French; he would pass now for an intelligent
bore. But such was the worship then paid to talents and
knowledge--especially to knowledge, and talents employed on the
destruction of prejudices--that Hume was, for years, the lion of all the
salons of Paris. The fashionable beauties quarrelled for the fat
philosopher. Nor was their admiration or affection put on, or even
transitory. He retained some of them as intimate friends for life.
If the brilliant talkers and writers of that time were to return to life,
I do not believe that gas, or steam, or chloroform, or the electric
telegraph, would so much astonish them as the dulness of modern society,
and the mediocrity of modern books.'

In the evening we discussed the new scheme of throwing open the service
of India and of the Government offices to public competition.

'We have followed,' said Tocqueville, 'that system to a great extent for
many years. Our object was twofold. One was to depress the aristocracy of
wealth, birth, and connexions. In this we have succeeded.

The École Polytechnique, and the other schools in which the vacancies are
given to those who pass the best examinations, are filled by youths
belonging to the middle classes, who, undistracted by society, or
amusement, or by any literary or scientific pursuits, except those
immediately bearing on their examinations, beat their better-born
competitors, who will not degrade themselves into the mere slaves of
success in the _concours_. Our other object was to obtain the best public
servants. In that we have failed. We have brought knowledge and ability
to an average; diminished the number of incompetent _employés_, and
reduced, almost to nothing, the number of distinguished ones. Continued
application to a small number of subjects, and those always the same, not
selected by the student, but imposed on him by the inflexible rule of the
establishment, without reference to his tastes or to his powers, is as
bad for the mind as the constant exercise of one set of muscles would be
for the body.

'We have a name for those who have been thus educated. They are called
"polytechnisés." If you follow our example, you will increase your
second-rates, and extinguish your first-rates; and what is perhaps a more
important result, whether you consider it a good or an evil, you will
make a large stride in the direction in which you have lately made so
many--the removing the government and the administration of England from
the hands of the higher classes into those of the middle and lower ones.'




CORRESPONDENCE.


Paris, Sunday, May 14, 1854.

My dear Tocqueville,--I write to you _in meditatione fugæ_. We start for
England in an hour's time. The last news that I heard of you was the day
before yesterday from Cousin. He read me your letter, which sounded to me
like that of a man in not very bad health or hopes. I trust that the
attack of which Madame de Tocqueville wrote to us has quite passed off.

Thiers, who asked very anxiously after you to-day, is earnest that you
should be present at the election on the 18th. The Academy, he said, is
very jealous. _Vous serez très-mal vu_, if you do not come.

You are at last going seriously to work in the war. By the end of the
year you will have, military and naval, 700,000 men in arms.

I wish that they were nearer to the enemy.

Pray remember us most kindly to Madame de Tocqueville, and let us know
where you go as soon as you are decided.

Ever yours,

N.W. Senior.


St. Cyr, May 21, 1854.

I followed the advice which you were commissioned to give me, my dear
Senior. I have just been to Paris, but as I stayed there only twenty-four
hours I have not brought back any distinct impressions.

I saw only Academicians who talked about the Academy, and--who knew
nothing of politics. It is true that such is now the case with everyone.
Politics, which used to be transacted in open day, have now become a
secret process into which none can penetrate except the two or three
alchemists who are engaged in its preparation.

You heard of course that after your little visit, which we enjoyed so
much, I became very unwell, and my mind was only less affected than my
body. I spent a month very much out of spirits and very much tired of
myself. During the last eight or ten days I have felt much better. My
visit to our friends the Beaumonts did me a great deal of good, and I owe
a grudge to the Academy for forcing me to shorten it.

I still intend to visit Germany, but the plan depends on the state of my
health. When it is bad I am inclined to give up the journey, when I am
better I take it up again and look forward to it with pleasure. On the
whole I think that I shall go. But it is impossible for me to settle my
route beforehand. Even if I were stronger it would be difficult, for such
an expedition must always be uncertain.

I am not going to Germany to see any place in particular, but intend to
go hither and thither wherever I can find certain documents and people.

I received yesterday a letter from our friend Ampère. He is still in
Rome, still more and more enchanted with the place, and using every
argument to induce us to spend there with him the winter of 1856. His
descriptions are so attractive that we may very likely be persuaded,
especially if we had any chance of meeting you there, for you are one of
the people whose society always increases the happiness of life. However,
we have plenty of time for talking over this plan.

Adieu, dear Senior.

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.


Wildbad, September 19, 1854.

You gave me great pleasure, my dear Senior, by making me acquainted with
Sir George and Lady Theresa Lewis.

I must really thank you sincerely for it, for the time passed with them
has been the most agreeable part of our journey.

You have no doubt heard of the mischance which has put a stop to our
peregrinations: my wife was seized two months ago at Bonn by a violent
attack of rheumatism. The waters of Wildbad were recommended to her, and
she has been taking them for more than twenty-five days without
experiencing any relief. We are promised that the effects will be felt
afterwards; but these fine promises only half reassure us, and we shall
set out again on our travels in very bad spirits.

Our original intention was to spend the autumn in the North of Germany,
but in Madame de Tocqueville's condition it is evident that there is
nothing else to be done but to return home as fast as we can.

We are somewhat consoled by the arrival of our common friend Ampère. He
was returning from Italy, through Germany, and, hearing of our
misfortune, he has come to look after us in these wild mountains of the
Black Forest amidst which Wildbad is situated. He has been with us a
week, and I hope that he will accompany us home.

Our intention is to spend a month or six weeks with my father near
Compiègne. Towards the first week in November we shall establish
ourselves in Paris for the winter. We hope to see you there at the end of
this year or the beginning of next.

Ampère, my wife, and I constantly talk of you. If you could overhear us I
think you would not be very much dissatisfied. They insist upon being
very particularly remembered to you, and as for me I beg you to believe
in my most sincere attachment.

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.


Compiègne, January 22, 1855.

It was a long time since I had seen your handwriting, my dear Senior, and
I was beginning to complain of you; your letter therefore was a double
pleasure.

I see that you have resumed your intention of visiting Algiers, and I am
anxious that you should carry it into effect.

I hope that we shall be in Paris when you pass through. We put off our
departure from day to day; not that we are kept by the charms of our
present abode; the house is too small for us and scantily furnished, but
I find it such a favourable retreat for study, that I have great
difficulty in tearing myself away from it.

I hear, as you do, with great satisfaction of the mutual good feeling of
our armies in the Crimea. It far exceeds my expectations.

But I am not equally pleased with your management of the war. The English
ought to know that what has passed and is passing there has sensibly
diminished their moral force in Europe. It is an unpleasant truth, but I
ought not to conceal it from you. I see proofs of it every day, and I
have been struck by it peculiarly in a late visit to Paris, where I saw
persons of every rank and of every shade of political opinion. The heroic
courage of your soldiers was everywhere and unreservedly praised, but I
found also a general belief that the importance of England as a military
Power had been greatly exaggerated; that she is utterly devoid of
military talent, which is shown as much in administration as in fighting;
and that even in the most pressing circumstances she cannot raise a large
army.

Since I was a child I never heard such language. You are believed to be
absolutely dependent on us; and in the midst of our intimacy I see rising
a friendly contempt for you, which if our Governments quarrel, will make
a war with you much easier than it has been since the fall of Napoleon.

I grieve at all this, not only as endangering the English alliance,
which, as you well know, I cherish, but as injuring the cause of liberty.

I can pardon you for discrediting it by your adulation of our despotism,
but I wish that you would not serve despotism more efficaciously by your
own faults, and by the comparisons which they suggest.

It seems also difficult to say what may not be the results of your long
intimacy with such a Government as ours, and of the contact of the two
armies. I doubt whether they will be useful to your aristocracy.

Remember me to Lord Lansdowne and to the Lewises, who added such pleasure
to our German tour.



Compiègne, February 15, 1855.

I conclude that this frightful weather is still keeping you in London, my
dear Senior. I am comforted by the fact that I myself shall not reach
Paris before the 28th.

I do not wish to act the part of the pedagogue in the fable who preaches
to people when his sermon can no longer be of any possible use, but I
cannot help telling you that it is a great imprudence on your part to
allow yourself to be caught in this way by the winter in England. What
you now suffer from is only a trifling malady, but it may become a real
illness if you persist in preferring pleasure to health. Pray think of
this in the future and do not tempt the devil.

I have not read the article to which you refer.[1]

I can perfectly understand the reserve which was imposed upon you, and
which you were forced to impose on yourself.

I confess that I saw with great grief the sudden change in the
expressions of the majority of the English, a year ago, respecting our
Government. It was then ill consolidated, and in want of the splendid
alliance which you offered to it. It was unnecessary that you should
praise it, in order to keep it your friend. By doing so you sacrificed
honourable opinions and tastes without a motive.

Now things are changed. After you have lost your only army, and our
master has made an alliance with Austria, which suits his feelings much
better than yours did, he does not depend on you; you, to a certain
extent, depend on him. Such being now the case, I can understand the
English thinking it their duty to their country to say nothing that can
offend the master of France. I can understand even their praising him; I
reproach them only for having done so too soon, before it was necessary.

I agree with you that England ought to be satisfied with being the
greatest maritime Power, and ought not to aim at being also one of the
greatest military Powers.

But the feelings which I described to you as prevalent in France and in
Germany, arose not from your want of an army of 500,000 men. They were
excited by these two facts.

First, by what was supposed (perhaps falsely) to be the bad military
administration of your only army. Secondly, and much more, by your
apparent inability to raise another army.

According to continental notions, a nation which cannot raise as many
troops as its wants require, loses our respect. It ceases, according to
our notions, to be great or even to be patriotic. And I must confess
that, considering how difficult it is to procure soldiers by voluntary
enlistment, and how easily every nation can obtain them by other means, I
do not see how you will be able to hold your high rank, unless your
people will consent to something resembling a conscription.

Dangerous as it is to speak of a foreign country, I venture to say that
England is mistaken if she thinks that she can continue separated from
the rest of the world, and preserve all her peculiar institutions
uninfluenced by those which prevail over the whole of the Continent.

In the period in which we live, and, still more, in the period which is
approaching, no European nation can long remain absolutely dissimilar to
all the others. I believe that a law existing over the whole Continent
must in time influence the laws of Great Britain, notwithstanding the
sea, and notwithstanding the habits and institutions, which, still more
than the sea, have separated you from us, up to the present time.

My prophecies may not be accomplished in our time; but I should not be
sorry to deposit this letter with a notary, to be opened, and their truth
or falsehood proved, fifty years hence.



Compiègne, February 23, 1855.

 ... My object in my last letter was not by any means, as you seem to
think, to accuse _your aristocracy_ of having mismanaged the Crimean war.
It has certainly been mismanaged, but who has been in fault?

Indeed I know not, and if I did I should think at the same time that it
would not be becoming in a foreigner to set himself up as a judge of the
blunders of any other Government than his own.

I thought that I had expressed myself clearly. At any rate what I wanted
to say, if I did not say it, is, that the present events created in my
opinion a new and great danger for your aristocracy, and that it will
suffer severely from the rebound, if it does not make enormous efforts to
show itself capable of repairing the past; and that it would be wrong to
suppose that by fighting bravely on the field of battle it could retain
the direction of the Government.

I did not intend to say more than this.

I will now add that if it persuades itself that it will easily get out of
the difficulty by making peace, I think that it will find itself
mistaken.

Peace, after what has happened, may be a good thing for England in
general, and useful to us, but I doubt whether it will be a gain for your
aristocracy. I think that if Chatham could return to life he would agree
with me, and would say that under the circumstances the remedy would not
be peace but a more successful war.

Kind regards, &c.

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.


[Footnote 1: An article in the _North British Review_, see p. 107.--ED.]



CONVERSATIONS.

_Paris, Hôtel Bedford.--Friday, March_ 2, 1855.--We slept on the 27th at
Calais, on the 28th at Amiens, and reached this place last night.

Tocqueville called on us this morning. We talked of the probability of
Louis Napoleon's going to the Crimea.

I said, 'that the report made by Lord John Russell, who talked the matter
over with him, was, that he certainly had once intended to go, and had
not given it up.'

'I do not value,' said Tocqueville, 'Lord John's inferences from anything
that he heard or saw in his audiences. All Louis Napoleon's words and
looks, are, whether intentionally or not, misleading. Now that his having
direct issue seems out of the question, and that the deeper and deeper
discredit into which the heir presumptive is falling, seems to put _him_
out of the question too, we are looking to this journey with great alarm.
We feel that, for the present, his life is necessary to us, and we feel
that it would be exposed to many hazards. He ought to incur some military
risks, if he is present at a battle or an assault, and his courage and
his fatalism, will lead him to many which he ought to avoid. But it is
disease rather than bullets that we fear. He will have to travel hard,
and to be exposed, under exciting circumstances, to a climate which is
not a safe one even to the strong.'

'But,' I said, 'he will not be exposed to it long. I have heard thirty,
or at most forty, days proposed as the length of his absence.'

'Who can say that?' answered Tocqueville. 'If he goes there, he must stay
there until Sebastopol falls. It will not do for him to leave Paris in
order merely to look at the works, pat the generals on the back,
compliment the army, and leave it in the trenches. Unless his journey
produces some great success--in short, unless it gives us Sebastopol--it
will be considered a failure; and a failure he cannot afford. I repeat
that he must stay there till Sebastopol falls. But that may be months.
And what may months bring forth in such a country as France? In such a
city as Paris? In such times as these? Then he cannot safely leave his
cousin--Jérôme Plon swears that he will not go, and I do not see how he
can be taken by force.'

'I do not understand,' I said, 'Jerôme's conduct. It seemed as if he had
the ball at his feet. The _rôle_ of an heir is the easiest in the world.
He has only to behave decently in order to be popular.'

'Jérôme's chances,' answered Tocqueville, 'of the popularity which is to
be obtained by decent behaviour were over long before he became an heir.
His talents are considerable, but he has no principles, and no good
sense. He is Corsican to the bone. I watched him among his Montagnards in
the Constituent.

'Nothing could be more perverse than his votes, nor more offensive than
his speeches. He is unfit to conciliate the sensible portion of society,
and naturally throws himself into the arms of those who are waiting to
receive him--the violent, the rapacious, and the anarchical: this gives
him at least some adherents.'

'What do you hear,' I asked, 'of his conduct in the East?'

'I hear,' said Tocqueville, 'that he showed want, not so much of courage,
as of temper and of subordination. He would not obey orders; he would not
even transmit them, so that Canrobert was forced to communicate directly
with the officers of Napoleon's division, and at last required him to
take sick leave, or to submit to a court-martial.'

'I thought,' I said, 'that he was really ill.'

'That is not the general opinion,' said Tocqueville. 'He showed himself
at a ball directly after his return, with no outward symptoms of ill
health.'

The conversation turned on English politics.

'So many of my friendships,' said Tocqueville, 'and so many of my
sympathies, are English, that what is passing _in_ your country, and
_respecting_ your country, gives me great pain, and greater anxiety. To
us, whom unhappily experience has rendered sensitive of approaching
storms, your last six months have a frightfully revolutionary appearance.

'There is with you, as there was with us in 1847, a general _malaise_ in
the midst of general prosperity. Your people seem, as was the case with
ours, to have become tired of their public men, and to be losing faith in
their institutions. What else do these complaints of what is called "the
system" mean? When you complain that the Government patronage is bartered
for political support, that the dunces of a family are selected for the
public service, and selected expressly because they could not get on in
an open profession; that as their places are a sort of property, they are
promoted only by seniority, and never dismissed for any, except for some
moral, delinquency; that therefore the seniors in all your departments
are old men, whose original dulness has been cherished by a life without
the stimulus of hope or fear, you describe a vessel which seems to have
become too crazy to endure anything but the calmest sea and the most
favourable winds. You have tried its sea-worthiness in one department,
your military organisation, and you find that it literally falls to
pieces. You are incapable of managing a line of operations extending only
seven miles from its base. The next storm may attack your Colonial
Administration. Will that stand any better? Altogether your machinery
seems throughout out of gear. If you set to work actively and fearlessly,
without reference to private interests, or to private expectations, or to
private feelings, to repair, remove and replace, you may escape our
misfortunes; but I see no proofs that you are sufficiently bold, or
indeed that you are sufficiently alarmed. Then as to what is passing
here. A year ago we probably overrated your military power. I believe
that now we most mischievously underrate it. A year ago nothing alarmed
us more than a whisper of the chance of a war with England. We talk of
one now with great composure. We believe that it would not be difficult
to throw 100,000 men upon your shores, and we believe that half that
number would walk over England or Ireland. You are mistaken if you think
that these opinions will die away of themselves, or will be eradicated by
anything but some decisive military success. I do not agree with those
who think that it is your interest that Russia should submit while
Sebastopol stands. You might save money and men by a speedy peace, but
you would not regain your reputation. If you are caught by a peace before
you have an opportunity of doing so, I advise you to let it be on your
part an armed peace. Prepare yourselves for a new struggle with a new
enemy, and let your preparations be, not only as effective as you can
make them, but also as notorious.'[1]

[Footnote 1: Note inserted by M de Tocqueville in my Journal, after
reading the preceding conversation.

'J'ai entendu universellement louer sans restriction le courage héroïque
de vos soldats, mais en même temps j'ai trouvé répandu cette croyance,
qu'on s'était trompé de l'importance de l'Angleterre dans le monde, comme
puissance militaire proprement dite, qui consiste autant à _administrer_
la guerre qu'à combattre, et surtout qu'il lui était impossible, ce qu'on
ne croyait pas jusque là, d'élever de grandes armées, même dans les cas
les plus pressants. Je n'avais rien entendu de pareil depuis mon enfance.
On vous croit absolument dans notre dépendance, et du sein de la grande
inimité qui règne entre les deux peuples, je vois naître des idées qui,
le jour où nos deux gouvernements cesseront d'être d'accord, nous
précipiteront dans la guerre contre vous, beaucoup plus facilement que
cela n'eut pu avoir lieu depuis la chute du premier Empire. Cela
m'afflige, et pour l'avenir de Alliance anglaise (dont vous savez que j'ai
toujours été un grand partisan), et non moins aussi, je l'avoue, pour la
cause de vos institutions libres. Ce qui se passe n'est pas de nature à
la relever dans notre esprit. Je vous pardonnerais de déconsidérer vos
principes par les louanges dont vous accablez le gouvernement absolu qui
règne en France, mais je voudrais du moins que vous ne le fissiez pas
d'une manière encore plus efficace par vos propres fautes, et par la
comparaison qu'elles suggèrent. Il me semble, du reste, bien difficile
de dire ce qui résultera pour vous même du contact intime et prolongé
avec notre gouvernement, et surtout de l'action commune et du mélange
des deux armées. J'en doute, je vous l'avouerai, que l'aristocratie
anglaise s'en trouve bien, et quoique A B ait entonné l'autre jour une
véritable hymne en l'honneur de celle ci, je ne crois pas que ce qui
passe soit de nature à rendre ces chances plus grandes dans l'avenir'--_A
de Tocqueville_.

'I heard universal and unqualified praise of the heroic courage of your
soldiers, but at the same time I found spread abroad the persuasion that
the importance of England had been overrated as a military Power properly
so called--a Power which consists in administering as much as in
fighting; and above all, that it was impossible (and this had never
before been believed), for her to raise large armies, even under the most
pressing circumstances. I never heard anything like it since my
childhood. You are supposed to be entirely dependent upon us, and from
the midst of the great intimacy which subsists between the two countries,
I see springing up ideas which, on the day when our two Governments cease
to be of one mind, will precipitate our country into a war against you,
much more easily than has been possible since the fall of the first
Empire. This grieves me, both on account of the duration of the English
Alliance (of which you know that I have always been a great partisan),
and no less, I own, for the sake of your free institutions. Passing
events are not calculated to raise them in our estimation. I forgive you
for discrediting your principles by the praise which you lavish on the
absolute government which reigns in France, but I would have you at least
not to do so in a still more efficacious manner by your own blunders and
by the comparisons which they suggest. It seems to me, however, very
difficult to predict the result to yourselves of the long and intimate
contact with, our Government, and, above all, of the united action and
amalgamation of the two armies. I own that I doubt its having a good
effect on the future of the English aristocracy, and although A.B. struck
up the other day a real hymn in its praise, I do not think that present
events are of a nature to increase its chance in the future.']



_Paris, Saturday, March_ 3.--Tocqueville called on us soon after
breakfast.

We talked of the loss and gain of Europe by the war. We agreed that
Russia and England have both lost by it. Russia probably the most in
power, England in reputation. That Prussia, though commercially a gainer,
is humiliated and irritated by the superiority claimed by Austria and
conceded to her.

'You cannot,' said Tocqueville, 'estimate the opinions of Germany without
going there. There is a general feeling among the smaller Powers of
internal insecurity and external weakness, and Austria is looked up to as
the supporter of order against the revolutionists, and of Germany against
Russia. Austria alone has profited by the general calamities. Without
actually drawing the sword she has possession of the Principalities, she
has thrust down Prussia into the second rank, she has emancipated herself
from Russia, she has become the ally of France and of England, and even
of her old enemy Piedmont, she is safe in Italy. Poland and Hungary are
still her difficulties, and very great ones, but as her general strength
increases, she can better deal with them.'

'Has not France, I said, 'been also a gainer, by becoming head of the
coalition against Russia?'

'Whatever we have gained,' answered Tocqueville, 'has been dearly
purchased, so far as it has consolidated this despotism. For a whole year
we have felt that the life, and even the reign, of Louis Napoleon was
necessary to us. They will continue necessary to us during the remainder
of the war. We are acquiring habits of obedience, almost of resignation.
His popularity has not increased. He and his court are as much shunned by
the educated classes as they were three years ago; we still repeat "que
ça ne peut pas durer," but we repeat it with less conviction.'

We passed the spring in Algeria, and returned to Paris the latter part of
May.

_Paris, May 26,_1855.--After breakfast I went to the Institut.

M. Passy read to us a long paper on the Art of Government. He spoke so
low and so monotonously that no one attended. I sat next to Tocqueville,
and, as it was not decent to talk, we conversed a little in writing. He
had been reading my Algiers Journal, and thus commented upon it:--

'Il y a tout un côté, particulièrement curieux, de l'Algérie, qui vous a
échappé parce que vous n'avez pu ou voulu vous imposer l'ennui de causer
souvent avec les colons, et que ce côté-là ne se voit pas en parlant
avec les gouvernants; c'est l'abus de la centralisation. L'Afrique peut
être considérée comme le tableau le plus complet et le plus
extraordinaire des vices de ce système.

'Je suis convaincu que seul, sans les Arabes, le soleil, le désert, et la
fièvre, il suffirait pour nous empêcher de coloniser. Tout ce que la
centralisation laisse entrevoir de défauts, de ridicules et absurdités,
d'oppression, de paperasseries en France, est grossi en Afrique au
centuple. C'est comme un pou vu dans un microscope.'

'J'ai causé,' I answered, 'avec Vialar et avec mon hôte aux eaux
ferrugineuses. Mais ils ne se sont pas plaints de la centralisation.'

'Ils ne se sont pas plaints,' he answered, 'du mot que, peut-être, ils ne
connaissaient pas. Mais si vous les aviez fait entrer dans les détails de
l'administration publique, ou même de leurs affaires privées, vous auriez
vu que le colon est plus gêné dans tous ses mouvements, et plus _gouverné
pour son plus grand bien_ que vous ne l'avez été quand il s'est agi de
votre passeport.

'Violar faisait allusion à cela quand il vous a dit que les chemins
manquaient parce que le Gouvernement ne voulait pas laisser les gouvernés
s'en mêler.'[1]

[Footnote 1: 'One whole side, and that a very curious one, of Algeria,
has escaped you, because you could not, or would not, inflict on yourself
the bore of talking frequently with the colonists, and this side cannot
be seen in conversing with officials--it is the abuse of centralisation.
Africa may be considered as the most complete and most extraordinary
picture of the vices of this system. I am convinced that it alone,
without the Arabs, the sun, the desert and the fever, would be enough to
prevent us from colonising. All the defects of centralisation, its
oppressions, its faults, its absurdities, its endless documents, which
are dimly perceived in France, become one hundred times bigger in Africa.
It is like a louse in a microscope.'

'I conversed,' I answered, 'with Violar and with my landlord at the
mineral waters, and they did not complain of centralisation.' 'They did
not complain,' he answered, 'of the word, which perhaps is unknown to
them. But if you had made them enter into the details of the public
administration, or even of their own private affairs, you would have seen
that the colonist is more confined in all his movements, and more
_governed, for his good_, than you were with regard to your passport.

'This is what Violar meant when he told you that roads were wanting,
because the Government would not permit its subjects to interfere in
making them.']



_Monday, May_ 28.--Tocqueville called on me.

I asked him for criticisms on my article on the State of the Continent in
the 'North British Review' of February 1855.[1]

[Footnote 1: See p. 107.]

'Of course,' I said, 'it must be full of blunders. No one who writes on
the politics of a foreign country can avoid them. I want your help to
correct a few of them.'

'Since you ask me,' he answered, 'for a candid criticism, I will give you
one. I accuse you rather of misappreciation than of misstatement. First
with respect to Louis Napoleon. After having described accurately, in the
beginning of your paper, his unscrupulous, systematic oppression, you end
by saying that, after all, you place him high among our sovereigns.'

'You must recollect,' I answered, 'that the article was written for the
"Edinburgh Review," the organ of our Government, edited by Lord
Clarendon's brother-in-law--and that the editor thought its criticisms of
Louis Napoleon so severe, that after having printed it, he was afraid to
publish it. I went quite as far as I prudently could. I accused him, as
you admit, of unscrupulous oppression, of ignorance of the feelings of
the people, of being an idle administrator, of being unacquainted with
business himself, and not employing those who understand it, of being
impatient of contradiction, of refusing advice and punishing censure--in
short, I have praised nothing but his foreign policy--and I have
mentioned two errors in that.'

'But I have a graver accusation to bring against you,' replied
Tocqueville. 'You couple as events mutually dependent the continuance of
the Imperial Government and the continuance of the Anglo-Gallic Alliance.
I believe this opinion not only to be untrue, but to be the reverse of
the truth. I believe the Empire and the Alliance to be not merely, not
mutually dependent, but to be incompatible, except upon terms which you
are resolved never to grant The Empire is essentially warlike--and war in
the mind of a Bonaparte, and of the friends of a Bonaparte, means the
Rhine. This war is merely a stepping stone. It is carried on for purposes
in which the mass of the people of France take no interest. Up to the
present time its burthens have been little felt, as it has been supported
by loans, and the limits of the legal conscription have not been
exceeded. But when the necessity comes for increased taxation and
anticipated conscriptions, Louis Napoleon must have recourse to the real
passions of the French _bourgeoisie_ and peasantry--the love of conquest,
_et la haine de l'Anglais_. Don't fancy that such feelings are dead, they
are scarcely asleep. They might be roused in a week, in a day, and they
_will_ be roused as soon as he thinks that they are wanted.

'What do you suppose was the effect in France of Louis Napoleon's triumph
in England?

'Those who know England attributed it to the ignorance and childishness
of the multitude. Those who thought that the shouts of the mob had any
real meaning either hung down their heads in shame at the
self-degradation of a great nation, or attributed them to fear. The
latter was the general feeling. "Il faut," said all our lower classes,
"que ces gens-là aient grande peur de nous."

'You accuse, in the second place, all the Royalist parties of dislike of
England.

'Do you suppose that you are more popular with the others? That the
Republicans love your aristocracy, or the Imperialists your freedom? The
real friends of England are the friends of her institutions. They are
the body, small perhaps numerically, and now beaten down, of those who
adore Constitutional Liberty. They have maintained the mutual good
feeling between France and England against the passions of the
Republicans and the prejudices of the Legitimists. I trust, as you trust,
that this good feeling is to continue, but it is on precisely opposite
grounds. My hopes are founded, not on the permanence, but on the want of
permanence, of the Empire. I do not believe that a great nation will be
long led by its tail instead of by its head. My only fear is, that the
overthrow of this tyranny may not take place early enough to save us from
war with England, which I believe to be the inevitable consequence of its
duration.'

We left Paris soon after this conversation.

[The following are a few extracts from the article in the 'North British
Review.'--ED.]

'The principal parties into which the educated society of Paris is
divided, are the Imperialists, Royalists, Republicans, and
Parliamentarians.

'The Royalists maybe again subdivided into Orleanists, Legitimists, and
Fusionists; and the Fusionists into Orleanist-Fusionists, and
Legitimist-Fusionists.

'The Imperialists do not require to be described. They form a small party
in the salons of Paris, and much the largest party in the provinces.

'Those who are Royalists without being Fusionists are also comparatively
insignificant in numbers. There are a very few Legitimists who pay to the
elder branch the unreasoning worship of superstition; who adore Henri
V. not as a means but as an end; who pray for his reign, not for their
own interests, not for the interests of France, but for his own sake; who
believe that he derives his title from God, and that when the proper time
comes God will restore him; and that to subject his claims to the
smallest compromise--to admit, for instance, as the Fusionists do, that
Louis Philippe was really a king, and that the reign of Henri V. did not
begin the instant that Charles X. expired--would be a sinful contempt
of Divine right, which might deprive his cause of Divine assistance.

'There are also a very few Orleanists who, with a strange confusion of
ideas, do not perceive that a title founded solely on a revolution was
destroyed by a revolution; that if the will of the people was sufficient
to exclude the descendants of Charles X., it also could exclude the
descendants of Louis Philippe; and that the hereditary claims of the
Comte de Paris cannot be urged except on the condition of admitting the
preferable claims of the Comte de Chambord.

'The bulk, then, of the Royalists are Fusionists; but though all the
Fusionists agree in believing that the only government that can be
permanent in France is a monarchy, and that the only monarchy that can be
permanent is one depending on hereditary succession; though they agree in
believing that neither of the Bourbon branches is strong enough to seize
the throne, and that each of them is strong enough to exclude the other,
yet between the Orleanist-Fusionists and the Legitimist-Fusionists the
separation is as marked and the mutual hatred as bitter, as those which
divide the most hostile parties in England.

'The Orleanist-Fusionists are generally _roturiers_. They feel towards
the _noblesse_ the hatred which has accumulated during twelve centuries
of past oppression and the resentment excited by present insolence. Of
all the noble families of France the most noble is that of Bourbon. The
head of that house has always called himself _le premier gentilhomme de
France_. The Bourbons therefore suffer, and in an exaggerated degree,
the odium which weighs down the caste to which they belong. It was this
odium, this detestation of privilege and precedence and exclusiveness,
or, as it is sometimes called, this love of equality, which raised the
barricades of 1830. It was to flatter these feelings that Louis Philippe
sent his sons to the public schools and to the National Guard, and tried
to establish his Government on the narrow foundation of the
_bourgeoisie_. Louis Philippe and one or two of the members of his
family, succeeded in obtaining some personal popularity, but it was only
in the comparatively small class, the _pays légal_, with which they
shared the emoluments of Government, and it was not sufficient to raise a
single hand in their defence when the masses, whom the Court could not
bribe or caress, rose against it. The Orleanist-Fusionists are
Bourbonists only from calculation. They wish for the Comte de Paris for
their king, not from any affection for him or for his family, but because
they think that such an arrangement offers to France the best chance of
a stable Government in some degree under popular control: and they are
ready to tolerate the intermediate reign of Henri V. as an evil, but one
which must be endured as a means of obtaining something else, not very
good in itself but less objectionable to them than a Bonapartist dynasty
or a Republic.

       *       *       *       *       *

'The Legitimists have been so injured in fortune and in influence, they
have been so long an oppressed caste, excluded from power, and even from
sympathy, that they have acquired the faults of slaves, have become
timid, or frivolous, or bitter. Their long retirement from public life
has made them unfit for it. The older members of the party have forgotten
its habits and its duties, the younger ones have never learnt them. Their
long absence from the Chambers and from the departmental and municipal
councils, from the central and from the local government of France, has
deprived them of all aptitude for business. The bulk of them are
worshippers of wealth, or ease, or pleasure, or safety. The only
unselfish feeling which they cherish is attachment to their hereditary
sovereign. They revere Henri V. as the ruler pointed out to them by
Providence: they love him as the representative of Charles X. the
champion of their order, who died in exile for having attempted to
restore to them the Government of France. They hope that on his
restoration the _canaille_ of lawyers, and _littérateurs_, and
adventurers, who have trampled on the _gentilshommes_ ever since 1830,
will be turned down to their proper places, and that ancient descent will
again be the passport to the high offices of the State and to the society
of the Sovereign. The advent of Henri V., which to the Orleanist branch
of the Fusionists is a painful means, is to the Legitimist branch a
desirable end. The succession of the Comte de Paris, to which the
Orleanists look with hope, is foreseen by the Legitimists with
misgivings. The Fusionist party is in fact kept together not by common
sympathies but by common antipathies; each branch of it hates or
distrusts the idol of the other, but they co-operate because each
branch hates still more bitterly, and distrusts still more deeply, the
Imperialists and the Republicans.

'Among the educated classes there are few Republicans, using that word to
designate those who actually wish to see France a republic. There are
indeed, many who regret the social equality of the republic, the times
when plebeian birth was an aid in the struggle for power, and a
journeyman mason could be a serious candidate for the Presidentship, but
they are alarmed at its instability. They have never known a republic
live for more than a few years, or die except in convulsions. The
Republican party, however, though small, is not to be despised. It is
skilful, determined, and united. And the Socialists and the Communists,
whom we have omitted in our enumeration as not belonging to the educated
classes, would supply the Republican leaders with an army which has more
than once become master of Paris.

'The only party that remains to be described is that to which we have
given the name of Parliamentarians. Under this designation--a designation
that we must admit that we have invented ourselves--we include those who
are distinguished from the Imperialists by their desire for a
parliamentary form of government; and from the Republicans, by their
willingness that that government should be regal; and from the Royalists,
by their willingness that it should be republican. In this class are
included many of the wisest and of the honestest men in France. The only
species of rule to which they are irreconcilably opposed is despotism. No
conduct on the part of Louis Napoleon would conciliate a sincere
Orleanist, or Legitimist, or Fusionist, or Republican. The anti-regal
prejudices of the last, and the loyalty of the other three, must force
them to oppose a Bonapartist dynasty, whatever might be the conduct of
the reigning emperor. But if Louis Napoleon should ever think the time,
to which he professes to look forward, arrived--if he should ever grant
to France, or accept from her, institutions really constitutional;
institutions, under which the will of the nation, freely expressed by a
free press and by freely chosen representatives, should control and
direct the conduct of her governor--the Parliamentarians would eagerly
rally round him. On the same conditions they would support with equal
readiness Henri V. or the Comte de Paris, a president elected by the
people, or a president nominated by an Assembly. They are the friends of
liberty, whatever be the form in which she may present herself.'

       *       *       *       *       *

'Although our author visits the Provinces, his work contains no report of
their political feelings. The explanation probably is, that he found no
expression of it The despotism under which France is now suffering is
little felt in the capital. It shows itself principally in the subdued
tone of the debates, if debates they can be called, of the Corps
Législatif, and the inanity of the newspapers. Conversation is as free in
Paris as it was under the Republic. Public opinion would not support the
Government in an attempt to silence the salons of Paris. But Paris
possesses a public opinion, because it possesses one or two thousand
highly educated men whose great amusement, we might say whose great
business, is to converse, to criticise the acts of their rulers, and to
pronounce decisions which float from circle to circle, till they reach
the workshop, and even the barrack. In the provinces there are no such
centres of intelligence and discussion, and, therefore, on political
subjects, there is no public opinion. The consequence is, that the action
of the Government is there really despotic; and it employs its
irresistible power in tearing from the departmental and communal
authorities all the local franchises and local self-government which they
had extorted from the central power in a struggle of forty years.

'Centralisation, though it is generally disclaimed by every party that is
in opposition, is so powerful an instrument that every Monarchical
Government which has ruled France since 1789 has maintained, and even
tried to extend it.

'The Restoration, and the Government of July, were as absolute
centralisers as Napoleon himself. The local power which they were forced
to surrender they made over to the narrow _pays légal_, the privileged
ten-pounders, who were then attempting to govern France. The Republic
gave the election of the _Conseils généraux_ to the people, and thus
dethroned the notaries who governed those assemblies when they
represented only the _bourgeoisie_. The Republic made the Maires
elective; the Republic placed education in the hands of the local
authorities. Under its influence the communes, the cantons, and the
departments were becoming real administrative bodies. They are now
geographical divisions. The Préfet appoints the Maires; the Préfet
appoints in every canton a Commissaire de Police, seldom a respectable
man, as the office is not honourable; the Gardes champêtres, who are the
local police, are put under his control; the Recteur, who was a sort of
local Minister of Education in every department, is suppressed; his
powers are transferred to the Préfet; the Préfet appoints, promotes, and
dismisses all the masters of the _écoles primaires_. The Préfet can
destroy the prosperity of every commune that displeases him. He can
displace the functionaries, close its schools, obstruct its public works,
and withhold the money which the Government habitually gives in aid of
local improvement. He can convert it, indeed, into a mere unorganised
aggregation of individuals, by dismissing every communal functionary, and
placing its concerns in the hands of his own nominees. There are many
hundreds of communes that have been thus treated, and whose masters are
now uneducated peasants. The Préfet can dissolve the _Conseil général_ of
his department, and although he cannot actually name their successors, he
does so virtually. No candidate for an elective office can succeed unless
he is supported by the Government. The Courts of law, criminal and civil,
are the tools of the executive. The Government appoints the judges, the
Préfet provides the jury, and _la Haute Police_ acts without either. All
power of combination, even of mutual communication, except from mouth to
mouth, is gone. The newspapers are suppressed or intimidated, the
printers are the slaves of the Préfet, as they lose their privilege if
they offend; the secrecy of the post is habitually and avowedly violated;
there are spies in every country town to watch and report conversation;
every individual stands defenceless and insulated, in the face of this
unscrupulous executive, with its thousands of armed hands and its
thousands of watching eyes. The only opposition that is ventured is the
abstaining from voting. Whatever be the office, and whatever be the man,
the candidate of the Préfet comes in; but if he is a man who would have
been unanimously rejected in a state of freedom, the bolder electors show
their indignation by their absence.

'In such a state of society the traveller can learn little. Even those
who rule it, know little of the feelings of their subjects. The vast
democratic sea on which the Empire floats is influenced by currents, and
agitated by ground swells which the Government discovers only by their
effects. It knows nothing of the passions which influence these great
apparently slumbering masses. Indeed, it takes care, by stifling their
expression, to prevent their being known.

'We disapprove in many respects of the manner in which Louis Napoleon
employs his power, as we disapprove in all respects of the means by which
he seized it; but, on the whole, we place him high among the sovereigns
of France. As respects his foreign policy we put him at the very top. The
foreign policy of the rulers of mankind, whether they be kings, or
ministers, or senates, or demagogues, is generally so hateful, and at the
same time so contemptible, so grasping, so irritable, so unscrupulous,
and so oppressive--so much dictated by ambition, by antipathy and by
vanity, so selfish, often so petty in its objects, and so regardless of
human misery in its means, that a sovereign who behaves to other nations
with merely the honesty and justice and forbearance which are usual
between man and man, deserves the praise of exalted virtue. The
sovereigns of France have probably been as good as the average of
sovereigns. Placed indeed at the head of the first nation of the
Continent, they have probably been better; but how atrocious has been
their conduct towards their neighbour! If we go back no further than to
the Restoration, we find Louis XVIII. forming the Holy Alliance, and
attacking Spain without a shadow of provocation, for the avowed purpose
of crushing her liberties and giving absolute power to the most
detestable of modern tyrants. We find Charles X. invading a dependence
of his ally, the Sultan, and confiscating a province to revenge a tap on
the face given by the Bey of Algiers to a French consul. We find Louis
Philippe breaking the most solemn engagements with almost wanton
faithlessness; renouncing all extension of territory in Africa and then
conquering a country larger than France--a country occupied by tribes who
never were the subjects of the Sultan or of the Bey, and who could be
robbed of their independence only by wholesale and systematic massacre;
we find him joining England, Spain, and Portugal in the Quadruple
Alliance, and deserting them as soon as the time of action had arrived;
joining Russia, Prussia, Austria and England, in the arrangement of the
Eastern question, on the avowed basis that the integrity of the Ottoman
empire should be preserved, and then attempting to rob it of Egypt. We
find him running the risk of a war with America, because she demanded,
too unceremoniously, the payment of a just debt, and with England because
she complained of the ill-treatment of a missionary. We find him trying
to ruin the commerce of Switzerland because the Diet arrested a French
spy, and deposing Queen Pomare because she interfered with the sale of
French brandies; and, as his last act, eluding an express promise by a
miserable verbal equivocation, and sowing the seeds of a future war of
succession in order to get for one of his sons an advantageous
establishment in Spain.

'The greatest blot in the foreign policy of Louis Napoleon is the
invasion of Rome, and for that he is scarcely responsible. It was
originally planned by Louis Philippe and Rossi. The expedition which
sailed from Toulon in 1849 was prepared in 1847. It was despatched in the
first six months of his presidency, in obedience to a vote of the
Assembly, when the Assembly was still the ruler of France; and Louis
Napoleon's celebrated letter to Ney was an attempt, not, perhaps
constitutional or prudent, but well-intentioned, to obtain for the Roman
people liberal and secular institutions instead of ecclesiastical
tyranny.

'His other mistake was the attempt to enforce on Turkey the capitulations
of 1740, and to revive pretentions of the Latins in Jerusalem which had
slept for more than a century. This, again, was a legacy from Louis
Philippe. It was Louis Philippe who claimed a right to restore the dome,
or the portico, we forget which, of the Holy Sepulchre, and to insult the
Greeks by rebuilding it in the Latin instead of the Byzantine form. Louis
Napoleon has the merit, rare in private life, and almost unknown among
princes, of having frankly and unreservedly withdrawn his demands, though
supported by treaty, as soon as he found that they could not be conceded
without danger to the conceding party.

'With these exceptions, his management of the foreign relations of France
has been faultless. To England he has been honest and confiding, to
Russia conciliatory but firm, to Austria kind and forbearing, and he has
treated Prussia with, perhaps, more consideration than that semi-Russian
Court and childishly false and cunning king deserved. He has been
assailed by every form of temptation, through his hopes and through his
fears, and has remained faithful and disinterested. Such conduct deserves
the admiration with which England has repaid it.

'We cannot praise him as an administrator. He is indolent and
procrastinating. He hates details, and therefore does not understand
them. When he has given an order he does not see to its execution;
indeed, he cannot, for he does not know how it ought to be executed. He
directed a fleet to be prepared to co-operate with us in the Baltic in
the spring. Ducos, his Minister of Marine, assured him that it was ready.
The time came, and not a ship was rigged or manned. He asked us to
suspend the expedition for a couple of months. We refused, and sailed
without the French squadron. If the Russians had ventured out, and we
either had beaten them single-handed, or been repulsed for want of the
promised assistance, the effect on France would have been frightful. We
have reason to believe that it was only in the middle of February that he
made up his mind to send an army to Bulgaria. They arrived by driblets,
without any plan of operations, and it was not until August that their
battering train left Toulon. It ought to have reached Sebastopol in May.
In time, however, he must see the necessity of either becoming an active
man of business himself, or of ministering, like other sovereigns,
through his Ministers. Up to the present time many causes have concurred
to occasion him to endeavour to be his own Minister, and to treat those
to whom he gives that name as mere clerks. He is jealous and suspicious,
fond of power, and impatient of contradiction. With the exception of
Drouyn de l'Huys, the eminent men of France, her statesmen and her
generals, stand aloof from him. Those who are not in exile have retired
from public life, and offer neither assistance nor advice. Advice,
indeed, he refuses, and, what is still more useful than advice, censure,
he punishes.

'But the war, though it must last longer, and cost, more in men and in
money than it would have done if it were managed with more intelligence
and activity, must end favourably. Ill managed as it has been by
France, it has been worse managed by Russia. It is impossible that that
semi-barbarous empire, with its scarcely sane autocrat, its corrupt
administration, its disordered finances, and its heterogeneous
populations, should ultimately triumph over the two most powerful nations
of Europe, flanked by Austria, and disposing of the fanatical valour of
Turkey. If Louis Napoleon pleases the vanity of France by military glory,
and rewards her exertions by a triumphant peace; if he employs his
absolute power in promoting her prosperity by further relaxing the
fetters which encumber her industry; if he takes advantage of the
popularity which a successful war, an honourable peace, and internal
prosperity must confer on him, to give to her a little real liberty and a
little real self-government; if he gradually subsides from a [Greek:
_Týrannos_] to a [Greek: _Basileús_]; if he allows some liberty of the
press, some liberty of election, some liberty of discussion, and some
liberty of decision; he may pass the remainder of his agitated life in
the tranquil exercise of limited, but great and secure power, the ally of
England, and the benefactor of France.

'If this expectation should be realised--and we repeat, that among many
contingencies it appears to us to be the least improbable--it affords to
Europe the best hope of undisturbed peace and progressive civilisation
and prosperity. An alliance with England was one of the favourite dreams
of the first Napoleon. He believed, and with reason, that England and
France united could dictate to all Europe. But in this respect, as indeed
in all others, his purposes were selfish. Being master of France, he
wished France to be mistress of the world. All that he gave to France was
power, all that he required from Europe was submission. The objects for
which he desired our co-operation were precisely those which we wished to
defeat. The friendship from which we recoiled in disgust, almost in
terror, was turned into unrelenting hatred; and in the long struggle
which followed, each party felt that its safety depended on the total
ruin of the other.

'The alliance which the uncle desired as a means of oppressing Europe,
the nephew seeks for the purpose of setting her free. The heavy continued
weight of Russia has, ever since the death of Alexander, kept down all
energy and independence of action, and even of thought, on the Continent.
She has been the patron of every tyrant, the protector of every abuse,
the enemy of every improvement. It was at her instigation that the
Congress of Verona decreed the enslavement of Spain, and that in the
conferences of Leybach it was determined to stifle liberty in Italy.
Every court on the Continent is cursed with a Russian party; and woe be
to the Sovereign and to the Minister who is not at its head: all the
resources of Russian influence and of Russian corruption are lavished to
render his people rebellious and his administration unsuccessful. From
this _peine forte et dure_ we believe that Europe will now be relieved;
and if the people or the sovereigns of the Continent, particularly those
of Germany and Italy, make a tolerable use of the freedom from foreign
dictation which the weakness of Russia will give to them, we look forward
to an indefinite course of prosperity and improvement. Unhappily,
experience, however, forbids us to be sanguine. Forty years ago, an
event, such as we are now contemplating, occurred. A Power which had
deprived the Continent of the power of independent action fell, and for
several years had no successor. Germany and Italy recalled or
re-established their sovereigns, and entrusted them with power such as
they had never possessed before. How they used it may be inferred from
the general outbreak of 1848. A popular indignation, such as could have
been excited only by long years of folly, stupidity, and tyranny, swept
away or shook every throne from Berlin to Palermo. The people was
everywhere for some months triumphant; and its abuse of power produced a
reaction which restored or introduced despotism in every kingdom except
Prussia and Piedmont, and even in Prussia gave to the King power
sufficient to enable him, up to the present moment, to maintain a policy,
mischievous to the interests, disgusting to the sympathies, and injurious
to the honour of his people. But while the Anglo-Gallic alliance
continues, the Continent will be defended from the worst of all evils,
the prevention of domestic improvement, and the aggravation of domestic
disturbance, by foreign intervention. That alliance has already preserved
the liberty of Piedmont. If it had been established sooner, it might have
preserved that of Hesse, and have saved Europe from the revolting
spectacle of the constitutional resistance of a whole people against an
usurping tyrant and a profligate minister crushed by brutal, undisguised
violence.

'We repeat that we are not sanguine, that we do not expect the tranquil,
uninterrupted progress which would be the result of the timely concession
on the part of the sovereigns, and of the forbearance and moderation on
the part of their subjects, which, if they could profit by the lessons of
history, would be adopted by both parties. The only lesson, indeed, which
history teaches is, that she teaches none either to subjects or to
sovereigns. But we do trust that when the ruler and his people are
allowed to settle their own affairs between one another, they will come
from time to time to coarse and imperfect, but useful arrangements of
their differences. Rational liberty may advance slowly and unequally; it
may sometimes be arrested, it may sometimes be forced back, but its march
in every decennial period will be perceptible. Like an oak which has
grown up among storms, its durability will be in proportion to the
slowness of its progress.'



CORRESPONDENCE.

Tocqueville, June 30, 1855.

I have only just arrived here, my dear Senior, after wandering for nearly
a month from friend to friend all through the Touraine and the Maine. As
you may think, I am, on returning home after so long an absence,
overpowered with trifling business. I cannot, therefore, comply to-day
with your request and write to you the letter you ask for: I will write
it after much thought and at length. The subject is well worthy of the
trouble. Shall I at the same time send back to you the conversation which
I have corrected, and in what way? The post would be very unsafe and
expensive. Give me, therefore, your instructions on this point. But above
all, give us news of yourselves and of all our friends.

My wife has borne the journey better than I expected, and the delight we
feel in finding ourselves here once more will completely restore her.

This delight is really very great and in proportion to the annoyance of
wandering about as we have done for three years without ever finding a
place which entirely suited us.

As to public news, I have heard none since I left Paris. The only spot
which a single ray of light can ever reach is Paris. All the rest is in
profound darkness. If you hear anything important, pray tell me.

Adieu, dear Senior. Remember me to Mrs. and Miss Senior, and believe in
our long and very sincere affection,

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.


Tocqueville, July 25, 1855.

I wrote to you yesterday, my dear Senior, a long letter according to my
promise.

But when I read it over I felt that it was absurd to send such a letter
by the post, especially to a foreigner, and I burnt it.

Since the assault of the 18th,[1] the interference of the police in
private correspondence has become more active. Many of my friends as well
as I myself have perceived it. More letters have been kept back and more
have been stopped. Two of mine have been lost. You may remember that two
letters from me failed to reach you, three years ago. The danger is
greater in the country, where handwritings are known, than in Paris. You
advise me to put my letters into a cover directed to your Embassy, which
will forward them. But this is no security. If a letter be suspected, it
is easy to open and re-seal it, and still easier simply to suppress it.

And, in fact, after all, you have lost little. I wrote to you only what I
have a hundred times said to you. We have lived so much together, and
with such perfect mutual confidence, that it is difficult for either of
us to say anything new to the other.

Besides, on reading over again, with attention, your note of our last
conversation,[2] I have nothing to alter. All that I could do would be to
develope a little more my opinions, and to support them by additional
arguments. I feel more and more their truth, and that the progress
of events will confirm them much more than any reasonings of mine can do.

We are annoyed and disturbed, having the house full of workmen. I am
trying to warm it by hot air, and am forced to bore through very old and
very thick walls; but we shall be repaid by being able to live here
during the winter.

I am amusing myself with the letters which our young soldiers in the
East, peasants from this parish, write home to their families, and which
are brought to me. This correspondence should be read in order to
understand the singular character of the French peasant. It is strange to
see the ease with which these men become accustomed to the risks of
military life, to danger and to death, and yet how their hearts cling to
their fields and to the occupations of country life. The horrors of war
are described with simplicity, and almost with enjoyment. But in the
midst of these accounts one finds such phrases as these: "What crop do
you intend to sow in such a field next year?" "How is the mare?" "Has
the cow a fine calf?" &c. No minds can be more versatile, and at the same
time more constant. I have always thought that, after all, the peasantry
were superior to all other classes in France. But these men are
deplorably in want of knowledge and education, or rather the education to
which they have been subjected for centuries past has taught them to make
a bad use of their natural good qualities.

It seems to me that Lord John's resignation will enable your Cabinet to
stand, at least for some time. All that has passed in England since the
beginning of the war grieves me deeply. Seen from a distance, your
Constitution appears to me an admirable machine which is getting out of
order, partly from the wearing out of its works, partly from the
unskilfulness of its workers. Such a spectacle is useful to our
Government.

I asked you some questions, which you have not answered. Is Mrs. Grote
returned from Germany? Is she well? Has she received my letter addressed
to her at Heidelberg? The last question is always doubtful when one
writes from France.

I send you a letter from the Count de Fénelon, which I think will
interest you. You will give it me back when we meet.

I am very curious to know what you will think of Egypt; and I hope that
we shall be established in Paris when you return.

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.


[Footnote 1: On the 18th June, 1855, the French and English made an
unsuccessful assault on Sebastopol.--ED.]

[Footnote 2: That of the 28th May, 1855.--ED.]



Tocqueville, September 19, 1855.


Your letter, my dear Senior, of the 26th of August, has much interested
me. I see that you are resolved on your great journey. I could say like
Alexander, if the comparison were not too ambitious, that I should wish
to be in your place if I were not in my own; but I cannot get satiated
with the pleasure of being at home after so long an absence. Everything
is pleasure in this country life, among my own fields. Even the solitude
is charming; but were I anywhere else, I should envy you your tour.

Everything in Egypt is curious: the past, the present, and the future. I
hope to learn much from your Journal, which I trust that I shall have. We
shall certainly meet you in Paris.

The noise made by the fall of Sebastopol has echoed even to this distant
corner of France. It is a glorious event, and has delighted every
Frenchman of every party and of every opinion, for in these matters we
are one man.

I fear that the victory has been bought dearly. There is not a
neighbouring village to which the war has not cost some of its children.
But they bear it admirably. You know, that in war we show the best side
of our character. If our civilians resembled our soldiers we should long
ago have been masters of Europe.

This war has never been popular, nor is it popular, yet we bear all its
cost with a cheerfulness admirable when you consider the sorrows which it
occasions, aggravated by the distress produced by the dearness of bread.
If, instead of the Crimea, the seat of war had been the Rhine, with a
definite purpose, the whole nation would have risen, as it has done
before.

But the object of the war is unintelligible to the people. They only know
that France is at war, and must be made, at any price, to triumph.

I must confess, that I myself, who understand the object for which all
this blood is shed, and who approve that object, do not feel the interest
which such great events ought to excite; for I do not expect a result
equal to the sacrifice.

I think, with you, that Russia is a great danger to Europe. I think so
more strongly, because I have had peculiar opportunities of studying the
real sources of her power, and because I believe these sources to be
permanent, and entirely beyond the reach of foreign attack. (I have not
time now to tell you why.) But I am deeply convinced that it is not by
taking from her a town, or even a province, nor by diplomatic
precautions, still less by placing sentinels along her frontier, that the
Western Powers will permanently stop her progress.

A temporary bulwark may be raised against her, but a mere accident may
destroy it, or a change of alliances or a domestic policy may render it
useless.

I am convinced that Russia can be stopped only by raising before her
powers created by the hatred which she inspires, whose vital and constant
interest it shall be to keep themselves united and to keep her in. In
other words, by the resurrection of Poland, and by the re-animation of
Turkey.

I do not believe that either of these means can now be adopted. The
detestable jealousies and ambitions of the European nations resemble, as
you say in your letter, nothing better than the quarrels of the Greeks in
the face of Philip. Not one will sacrifice her passions or her objects.

About a month ago I read some remarkable articles, which you perhaps have
seen, in the German papers, on the progress which Russia is making in the
extreme East. The writer seems to be a man of sense and well informed.

It appears that during the last five years, Russia, profiting by the
Chinese disturbances, has seized, not only the mouth of the Amoor, but a
large territory in Mongolia, and has also gained a considerable portion
of the tribes which inhabit it. You know that these tribes once overran
all Asia, and have twice conquered China. The means have always been the
same--some accident which, for an instant, has united these tribes in
submission to the will of one man. Now, says the writer, very plausibly,
the Czar may bring this about, and do what has been done by Genghis Khan,
and, indeed, by others.

If these designs are carried out, all Upper Asia will be at the mercy of
a man, who, though the seat of his power be in Europe, can unite and
close on one point the Mongols.

I know more about Sir G. Lewis's book[1] than you do. I have read it
through, and I do not say, as you do, that it must be a good book, but
that it _is_ a good book. Pray say as much to Sir George when you see
him, as a letter of mine to Lady Theresa on the subject may have
miscarried.

It is as necessary now for friends to write in duplicate from town to
town, as it is if they are separated by the ocean and fear that the ship
which carries their letters may be lost. I hear that our friend John Mill
has lately published an excellent book. Is it true? at all events
remember me to him.

Adieu, my dear Senior. Do not forget us any more than we forget you.
Kindest regards to Mrs. Senior, and Miss Senior, and Mrs. Grote.

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.


[Footnote 1: The work referred to was probably that on the _Early History
of Rome_.--ED.]



Paris, April 1, 1856.

I write a few lines to you at Marseilles, my dear Senior, as you
wished.[1] I hope that you will terminate your great journey as
felicitously as you seem to me to have carried it on from the beginning.
The undertaking appears to have been a complete success. I wish that it
might induce you next year to cross over the ocean to America. I should
be much interested in hearing and reading your remarks upon that society.
But perhaps Mrs. Senior will not be so ready to start off again; so, that
I may not involve myself in a quarrel with her, I will say no more on the
subject.

I am longing to see you, for beside our old and intimate friendship I
shall be delighted to talk with such an interesting converser, and, above
all, to find myself again in the company of (as Mrs. Grote calls you)
'the boy.' You will find me, however, in all the vexations of correcting
proofs and the other worries connected with bringing out a book.[2] It
will not appear till the end of this month.

I can tell you no more about politics than you may learn from the
newspapers. Peace, though much desired has caused no public excitement
The truth is that just now we are not _excitable_. As long as she remains
in this condition France will not strike one of those blows by which she
sometimes shakes Europe and overturns herself.

Reeve has been and Milnes still is here. We have talked much of you with
these two old friends. Good bye, or rather, thank God, _à bientôt_.

A thousand kind remembrances to Mrs. Senior.

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.

[Footnote 1:  Mr. Senior was on his return from Egypt.--ED.]

[Footnote 2:  The _Ancien Régime_.]



CONVERSATIONS.

_Paris, May_ 16.--M. de Tocqueville has scarcely been visible since my
return to Paris. Madame de Tocqueville has been absent. She returned
yesterday, and they spent this evening with us.

Tocqueville is full of his book, which is to appear in about a week. His
days and nights are devoted to correcting the press and to writing
notes--which he thought would be trifling, but which grow in length and
importance.

The object of the work is to account for the rapid progress of the
Revolution, to point out the principal causes which enabled a few
comparatively obscure men to overthrow in six weeks a Monarchy of many
centuries.

'I am inclined,' I said, 'to attribute the rapidity with which the old
institutions of France fell, to the fact that there was no _lex loci_ in
France. That the laws, or rather the customs, of the different provinces
were dissimilar, and that nothing was defined. That as soon as the
foundations or the limits of any power were examined, it crumbled to
pieces; so that the Assembly became omnipotent in the absence of any
authority with ascertained rights and jurisdiction.'

'There is much truth in that,' answered Tocqueville, 'but there is also
much truth in what looks like an opposite theory--namely, that the
Monarchy fell because its power was too extensive and too absolute.
Nothing is so favourable to revolution as centralisation, because whoever
can seize the central point is obeyed down to the extremities. Now the
centralisation of France under the old Monarchy, though not so complete
as its Democratic and Imperial tyrants afterwards made it, was great.
Power was concentrated in Paris and in the provincial capitals. The
smaller towns and the agricultural population were unorganised and
defenceless. The 14th of July revealed the terrible secret that the
Master of Paris is the Master of France.'

_Paris, May_ 18.--I spent the day at Athy, the country-seat of M.
Lafosse,[1] who had been my companion in our Egyptian journey.

'What do you hear,' I asked, 'of the Empress?'

'Nothing,' he answered, 'but what is favourable; all her instincts and
prejudices are good. Lesseps, who is nearly related to her, has many of
her letters, written during the courtship, in which she speaks of her
dear Louis with the utmost affection, and dwells on the hope that if ever
she should become his wife, she may be able to induce him to liberalise
his Government.'

'And now,' he said, 'tell me what you heard in England about our Canal?'

'I heard nothing,' I answered, 'except from Maclean. He told me that he
thought that the Maritime Canal, if supplied from the sea, would become
stagnant and unwholesome, and gradually fill. That that plan was formed
when the levels of the two seas were supposed to differ, so that there
would be a constant current.

'"Now that the equality of their levels has been ascertained," he said to
me, "the only mode of obtaining a current is to employ the Nile instead
of the sea." "But can the Nile spare the water?" I asked. "Certainly,"
he answered. "An hour a day of the water from the Nile, even when at its
lowest, would be ample." "And what do the other engineers say?" I asked.
"Randall," he replied, "agrees with me. The others are at present for the
salt water. But we are to meet in time and discuss it thoroughly."'

'It is not the opinion of the engineers,' answered Lafosse, 'that I want,
but that of the politicians.

'We are told that Lord Palmerston threatens to prevent it as long as he
is Minister. This makes us very angry. We think that we perceive in his
opposition his old hatred of France and of everything that France
supports or even favours--feelings which we hoped the Alliance had cured.

'The matter,' he continued, 'was to have been brought before the
Congress. Buol had promised to Nigrelli to do so, and Cavour to Lesseps
and Paleocapa. But after the occupation of Italy, and the Belgian press,
and the rights of Neutrals had been introduced, the Congress got
impatient, and it was thought inexpedient to ask them to attend to
another episodical matter. The Emperor, however, did something. He asked
Ali Pasha, the Turkish Minister, what were the Sultan's views. "They
will be governed," said Ali Pasha, "in a great measure by those of his
allies." "As one of them," said the Emperor, "I am most anxious for its
success." "In that case," replied Ali Pasha, "the Sultan can have no
objection to it in principle, though he may wish to annex to his firman
some conditions--for instance, as to the occupation of the forts at each
end by a mixed garrison of Turks and Egyptians." The Emperor then turned
to Lord Clarendon. "What are your views," he asked, "as to the Suez
Canal?" "It is a grave matter," answered Lord Clarendon, "and one on
which I have no instructions. But I believe it to be impracticable."
"Well," replied the Emperor, "but supposing for the sake of the argument,
that it is practicable, what are your intentions?" "I cannot but think,"
answered Lord Clarendon, "that any new channel of commerce must be
beneficial to England. The real difficulty is the influence which the
Canal may have in the relations of Egypt and Turkey." "If that be the
only obstacle," replied the Emperor, "there is not much in it, for Ali
Pasha has just told me that if _we_ make no objection the Sultan makes
none. We cannot be more Turkish than the Turk."'

'I am most anxious,' added Lafosse, 'that this stupid opposition of yours
should come to an end. Trifling as the matter may seem, it endangers the
cordiality of the Alliance. The people of England, who do not know how
jealous and _passionnés_ we are, cannot estimate the mistrust and the
irritation which it excites. That an enterprise on which the French,
wisely or foolishly, have set their hearts, should be stopped by the
caprice of a wrong-headed Englishman, hurts our vanity; and everything
that hurts our vanity offends us much more than what injures our serious
interests.

'If the engineers and the capitalists decide in favour of the scheme, you
will have to yield at last. You had much better do so now, when you can
do it with a good grace. Do not let your acquiescence be extorted.'


[Footnote 1: M. Lafosse died many years ago. He was a friend of M. de
Lesseps, by whom he and Mr. Senior were invited to join the expedition to
Egypt--ED.]


_Paris, May_ 19.--After breakfast I spent a couple of hours with Cousin.

'You have been in England,' he said, 'since you left Egypt. What is the
news as to our Canal? Will Palmerston let us have it? You must stay a few
weeks in Paris to estimate the effect of your opposition to it. We
consider Palmerston's conduct as a proof that his hatred of France is
unabated, and the acquiescence of the rest of your Cabinet as a proof
that, now we are no longer necessary to you, now that we have destroyed
for you the maritime power of Russia, you are indifferent to our
friendship.

'I know nothing myself as to the merits of the Canal. I distrust Lesseps
and everything that he undertakes. He has much talent and too much
activity, but they only lead him and his friends into scrapes. I daresay
that the Canal is one, and that it will ruin its shareholders; but as I
am anxious we should not quarrel with England, I am most anxious that
this silly subject of dispute should be removed.'

'Louis Napoleon,' he continued, 'professed to wish that you should allow
the Sultan to give his consent; but I doubt whether he is sincere. I am
not sure that he is not pleased at seeing the Parisians occupied by
something besides his own doings, especially as it promotes the national
dislike of England. Now that the war is over we want an object. He tries
to give us one by launching us into enormous speculations. He is trying
to make us English; to give us a taste for great and hazardous
undertakings, leading to great gains, great losses, profuse expenditure,
and sudden fortunes and failures. Such things suit _you_; they do not
suit _us_. Our habits are economical and prudent, perhaps timid. We like
the petty commerce of commission and detail, we prefer domestic
manufactures to factories, we like to grow moderately rich by small
profits, small expenditure, and constant accumulation. We hate the
_nouveaux riches_, and scarcely wish to be among them. The progress for
which we wish is political progress--not within, for there we are
satisfied to oscillate, and shall be most happy if in 1860 we find
ourselves where we were in 1820--but without. I believe that our master's
_sortie_ against Belgium was a pilot balloon. He wished to see what
amount of opposition he had to fear from you, and from Belgium, and how
far we should support him. He has found the two former greater than he
expected. I am not sure that he is dissatisfied with the last.'

I spent the morning at H.'s. He too attacked me about the Canal.

'Do entreat,' he said, 'your public men to overrule their ill-conditioned
colleague. I told you a year ago, the mischief that you were doing, but I
do not think that you believed me. You may find too late that I was
right.'

I repeated to him Ellice's opinion that the commerce of England would not
use the canal.

'I have heard that,' he said, 'from Ellice himself, but I differ from
him. I agree with him, indeed, that your sailing vessels will not use the
canal, but I believe that a few years hence you will have no purely
sailing vessels, except for the small coasting trade. Every large ship
will have a propeller; and with propellers, to be employed occasionally,
and sails for ordinary use, the Mediterranean and the Red Sea are very
manageable. I believe that the canal will be useful, and particularly
to you. But whatever be the real merits of the scheme, for God's sake let
it be tried. Do not treat us like children, and say, "We know better what
is good for you than you do yourselves. You shall not make your canal
because you would lose money by it."'

'What did you hear,' I said, 'about the Congress?'

'I heard,' he answered, 'that Clarendon was very good, and was the best,
and that Walewski was very bad, and was the worst.'

'Can you tell me,' I said, 'the real history of the Tripartite Treaty?'

'I can,' he answered. 'There was an old engagement between the three
Powers, entered into last spring, that if they succeeded in the war, they
would unite to force Russia to perform any conditions to which she might
submit.

'This engagement had been allowed to sleep; I will not say that it was
forgotten, but no one seemed disposed to revert to it. But after the
twenty-second Protocol, when Piedmont was allowed to threaten Austria,
and neither England nor France defended her, Buol got alarmed. He feared
that Austria might be left exposed to the vengeance of Russia on the
north and east, and to that of the Italian Liberals on the South. An
alliance with France and England, though only for a specified purpose, at
least would relieve Austria from the appearance of insulation. She would
be able to talk of the two greatest Powers in Europe as her allies, and
would thus acquire a moral force which might save her from attack. He
recalled, therefore, the old engagement to the recollection of Clarendon
and Louis Napoleon, and summoned them to fulfil it. I do not believe that
either of them was pleased. But the engagement was formal, and its
performance, though open to misconstruction, and intended by Austria to
be misconstrued, was attended by some advantages, though different ones,
to France and to England. So both your Government and ours complied.'

_Tuesday, May 20_.--The Tocquevilles and Rivet drank tea with us.

I mentioned to Tocqueville the subject of my conversations with Cousin
and H.

'I agree with Cousin,' he said. 'The attempt to turn our national
activity into speculation and commerce has often been made, but has never
had any permanent success. The men who make these sudden fortunes are not
happy, for they are always suspected of _friponnerie_, and the Government
to which they belong is suspected of _friponnerie_. Still less happy are
those who have attempted to make them, and have failed. And those who
have not been able even to make the attempt are envious and sulky. So
that the whole world becomes suspicious and dissatisfied.

'And even if it were universal, mere material prosperity is not enough
for us. Our Government must give us something more: must gratify our
ambition, or, at least, our vanity.'

'The Government,' said Rivet, 'has been making a desperate plunge in
order to escape from the accusation of _friponnerie_. It has denounced in
the "Moniteur" the _faiseurs_; it has dismissed a poor _aide-de-camp_ of
Jérôme's for doing what everybody has been doing ever since the _coup
d'état_. When Ponsard's comedy, which was known to be a furious satire on
the _agioteurs_, was first played, Louis Napoleon took the whole
orchestra and pit stalls, and filled them with people instructed to
applaud every allusion to the _faiseurs_. And he himself stood in his
box, his body almost out of it, clapping most energetically every attack
on them.'

'At the same time,' I said, 'has he not forced the Orleans Company and
the Lyons Company to buy the Grand Central at much more than its worth?
And was not that done in order to enable certain _faiseurs_ to realise
their gains?'

'He has forced the Orleans Company,' said Rivet, 'to buy up, or rather to
amalgamate the Grand Central; but I will not say at more than its value.
The amount to be paid is to depend on the comparative earnings of the
different lines, for two years before and two years after the purchase.'

'But,' I said, 'is it not true, first, that the Orleans Company was
unwilling to make the purchase? and, secondly, that thereupon the Grand
Central shares rose much in the market?'

'Both these facts,' answered Rivet, 'are true.'

'Do you believe,' I said to Tocqueville, 'H.'s history of the Tripartite
Treaty?'

'I do,' he answered. 'I do not think that at the time when it was made we
liked it. It suited you, who wish to preserve the _statu quo_ in Europe,
which keeps us your inferiors, or, at least, not your superiors. _You_
have nothing to gain by a change. We have. The _statu quo_ does not suit
us. The Tripartite Treaty is a sort of chain--not a heavy one, or a
strong one--but one which we should not have put on if we could have
avoided it.'

'Do you agree,' I asked Tocqueville, 'with Lafosse, Cousin, and H. as to
the effect in Paris of our opposition to the Suez Canal?'

'I agree,' he answered, 'in every word that they have said. There is
nothing that has done you so much mischief in France, and indeed in
Europe.

'I am no engineer; I should be sorry to pronounce a decided opinion as to
the feasibility or the utility of the canal; but your opposition makes us
believe that it is practicable.'

'Those among us,' I answered, 'who fear it, sometimes found their fear on
grounds unconnected with its practicability. They say that it is a
political, not a commercial, scheme. That the object is to give to French
engineers and French shareholders a strip of land separating Egypt from
Syria, and increasing the French interest in Egypt.'

'What is the value,' answered Tocqueville, 'of a strip of land in the
desert where no one can live? And why are the shareholders to be French?
The Greeks, the Syrians, the Dalmatians, the Italians, and the Sicilians
are the people who will use the canal, if anybody uses it. They will form
the bulk of the shareholders, if shareholders there are.

'My strong suspicion is, that if you had not opposed it, there never
would have been any shareholders, and that if you now withdraw your
opposition, and let the scheme go on until calls are made, the
subscribers, who are ready enough with their names as patriotic
manifestations against you as long as no money is to be paid, will
withdraw _en masse_ from an undertaking which, at the very best, is a
most hazardous one.

'As to our influence in Egypt, your journal shows that it is a pet
project of the Viceroy. He hopes to get money and fame from it. You
_imitate_ both his covetousness and his vanity, and throw him for support
upon us.'


_Paris, May_ 21--The Tocquevilles and Chrzanowski[1] drank tea with us.

We talked of the French iron floating batteries.

'I saw one at Cherbourg,' said Tocqueville, 'and talked much with her
commander. He was not in good spirits about his vessel, and feared some
great disaster. However, she did well at Kinburn.'

'She suffered little at Kinburn,' said Chrzanowski, 'because she ventured
little. She did not approach the batteries nearer than 600 metres. At
that distance there is little risk and little service. To knock down a
wall two metres thick from a distance of 600 metres would require at
least 300 blows. How far her own iron sides would have withstood at that
distance the fire of heavy guns I will not attempt to say, as I never saw
her. The best material to resist shot is lead. It contracts over the ball
and crushes it.'

'Kinburn, however,' said Tocqueville, 'surrendered to our floating
batteries.'

'Kinburn surrendered,' said Chrzanowski, 'because you landed 10,000 men,
and occupied the isthmus which connects Kinburn with the main land. The
garrison saw that they were invested, and had no hope of relief. They
were not Quixotic enough, or heroic enough, to prolong a hopeless
resistance. Scarcely any garrison does so.'

We talked of Malta; and I said that Malta was the only great
fortification which I had seen totally unprovided with earth-works.

'The stone,' said Chrzanowski, 'is soft and will not splinter.'

'I was struck,' I said, 'with the lightness of the armament; the largest
guns that I saw, except some recently placed in Fort St. Elmo, were
twenty-four pounders.'

'For land defence,' he answered, 'twenty-four pounders are serviceable
guns. They are manageable and act with great effect within the short
distance within which they are generally used. It is against ships that
large guns are wanted. A very large ball or shell is wasted on the
trenches, but may sink a ship. The great strength of the land defences of
Malta arises from the nature of the ground on which Valetta and Floriana
are built, indeed of which the whole island consists. It is a rock
generally bare or covered with only a few inches of earth. Approaches
could not be dug in it. It would be necessary to bring earth or sand in
ships, and to make the trenches with sand-bags or gabions.'

I asked him if he had read Louis Napoleon's orders to Canrobert,
published in Bazancourt's book?

'I have,' he answered. 'They show a depth of ignorance and a depth of
conceit, compared to which even Thiers is modest and skilful. Canrobert
is not a great general, but he is not a man to whom a civilian, who
never saw a shot fired, ought to give lectures on what he calls "the
great principles" or "the absolute principles of war." He seems to have
taken the correspondence between Napoleon and Joseph for his model,
forgetting that Canrobert is to him what Napoleon was to Joseph. Then he
applies his principles as absurdly as he enunciates them. Thus he orders
Canrobert to send a fleet carrying 25,000 men to the breach at Aboutcha,
to land 3,000 of them, to send them three leagues up the country, and not
to land any more, until those first sent have established themselves
beyond the defile of Agen. Of course those 3,000 men would be useless if
the enemy were _not_ in force, or destroyed if they _were_ in force. To
send on a small body and not to support them is the grossest of faults.
It is the fault which you committed at the Redan, when the men who had
got on to the works were left by you for an hour unsupported, instead of
reinforcements being poured in after them as quickly as they could be
sent.

'In fact,' he continued, 'the horrible and mutual blunders of that
campaign arose from its being managed by the two Emperors from Paris and
from St. Petersburg, Nicholas and Alexander were our best friends. Louis
Napoleon was our worst enemy.

'There is nothing which ought to be so much left to the discretion of
those on the spot as war. Even a commander-in-chief actually present in a
field of battle can do little after the action, if it be really a great
one, has once begun.

'If we suppose 80,000 men to be engaged on each side, each line will
extend at least three miles. Supposing the general to be in the centre,
it will take an _aide-de-camp_ ten minutes to gallop to him from one of
the wings, and ten minutes to gallop back. But in twenty minutes all may
be altered.'


[Footnote 1: 'Chrzanowski has passed thirty years fighting against or for
the Russians. He began military life in 1811 as a sous lieutenant of
artillery in the Polish corps which was attached to the French army. With
that army he served during the march to Moscow, and the retreat. At the
peace, what remained of his corps became a part of the army of the
kingdom of Poland. He had attained the rank of major in that army when
the insurrection on the accession of Nicholas broke out. About one
hundred officers belonging to the staff of the properly Russian army were
implicated, or supposed to be implicated, in that insurrection, and were
dismissed, and their places were supplied from the army of the kingdom of
Poland. Among those so transferred to the Russian army was Chrzanowski.
He was attached to the staff of Wittgenstein, and afterwards of Marshal
Diebitsch, in the Turkish campaigns of 1828 and 1829. In 1830 he took
part with his countrymen in the insurrection against the Muscovites, and
quitted Poland when it was finally absorbed in the Russian Empire. A few
years after a quarrel was brewing between England and Russia. Muscovite
agents were stirring up Persia and Affghanistan against us, and it was
thought that we might have to oppose them on the shores of the Black Sea.
Chrzanowski was attached to the British Embassy at Constantinople and was
employed for some years in ascertaining what assistance Turkey, both in
Europe and in Asia, could afford to us. In 1849 he was selected by
Charles Albert to command the army of the kingdom of Sardinia.

'That army was constituted on the Prussian system, which makes every man
serve, and no man a soldier. It was, in fact, a militia. The men were
enlisted for only fourteen months, at the end of that time they were sent
home, and were recalled when they were wanted, having forgotten their
military training and acquired the habits of cottiers and artisans. They
had scarcely any officers, or even _sous_ officers, that knew anything of
their business. The drill sergeants required to be drilled. The generals,
and indeed the greater part of the officers, were divided into hostile
factions--Absolutists, Rouges, Constitutional Liberals, and even
Austrians--for at that time, in the exaggerated terror occasioned by the
revolutions of 1848, Austria and Russia were looked up to by the greater
part of the noblesse of the Continent as the supporters of order against
Mazzini, Kossuth, Ledru Rollin, and Palmerston. The Absolutists and the
Austrians made common cause, whereas the Rouges or Mazzinists were
bitterest against the Constitutional Liberals. Such an army, even if
there had been no treason, could not have withstood a disciplined enemy.
When it fell a victim to its own defects, and to the treachery of
Ramorino, Chrzanowski retired to Paris.'--(_Extracted from Mr. Senior's
article in the 'North British  Review.'_)

Chrzanowski died several years ago.--ED.]



CORRESPONDENCE.

Kensington, August 20, 1856.

My dear Tocqueville,--A few weeks after my return to London your book
reached me--of course from the time that I got it, I employed all my
leisure in reading it.

Nothing, even of yours, has, I think, so much instructed and delighted
me. Much of it, perhaps, was not quite so new to me as to many others; as
I had had the privilege of hearing it from you--but even the views which
were familiar to me in their outline were made almost new by their
details.

It is painful to think how difficult it is to create a Constitutional
Government, and how difficult to preserve one, and, what is the same, how
easy to destroy one.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mrs. Senior is going to Wales and to Ireland, where I join her, after
having paid a long-promised visit to Lord Aberdeen.

I like the conversation of retired statesmen, and he is one of our
wisest. Thiers has just left us. I spent two evenings with him, but on
the first he was engrossed by Lord Clarendon, and on the second by the
Duc d'Aumale and by Lord Palmerston. They were curious _rapprochements_,
at least the first and third. It was the first meeting of Palmerston and
Duc d'Aumale. I am very much pleased with the latter. He is sensible,
well informed, and unaffected.

Kindest regards, &c.

A.W. SENIOR.


Tocqueville, September 4, 1856.

I have read, my dear Senior, your letter with great pleasure. Your
criticism delights me, for I rely on your judgment and on your sincerity.
I am charmed that you have found in my book more than you had learned
from our conversations, on my view of our history. We have known one
another so long, we have conversed so much and so unreservedly, that it
is difficult for either of us to write anything that the other will think
new. I was afraid that what may appear original to the public might seem
trite to you.

The Reeves have been with us; we have passed together an agreeable
fortnight. I had charged Reeve to bring you, whether you would or not.
Did he make the attempt? I am sure that you would have enjoyed your
visit, and we should have rejoiced to have under our roof two such old
friends as you and Reeve.

I am glad that you have printed your article; pray try to send it to me.

It seems that you intend this winter to anchor in Rome. It increases my
regret that I cannot be there. It is out of the question. My wife's
health and mine are so much improved that the journey is not necessary,
and business of all kinds keeps us at home. If you push on to Naples, you
will, perhaps, enjoy the absence of the rascally king whom you and I
found there five years ago. I applaud the virtuous indignation of the
English against this little despot, and their sympathy with the unhappy
wretches whom he detains arbitrarily to die slowly in his prisons, which,
though not placed in the African deserts or the marshes of Cayenne, are
bad enough. The interest which your great nation takes in the cause of
humanity and liberty, even when that cause suffers in another country,
delights me. What I regret is that your generous indignation is directed
against so petty a tyrant.

I must say that America is a _puer robustus_. Yet I cannot desire, as
many persons do, its dismemberment. Such an event would inflict a great
wound on the whole human race; for it would introduce war into a great
continent from whence it has been banished for more than a century.

The breaking up of the American Union will be a solemn moment in the
history of the world. I never met an American who did not feel this, and
I believe that it will not be rashly or easily undertaken. There will,
before actual rupture, be always a last interval, in which one or both
parties will draw back. Has not this occurred twice?

Adieu, dear Senior. Do not be long without letting us hear from you, and
remember us affectionately to Mrs. Senior and to your daughter.



Ashton House, near Phoenix Park, Dublin, September 26, 1856.

My dear Tocqueville,--Your letter found me at Haddo House, Aberdeenshire,
where we have been spending a fortnight with Lord Aberdeen.

It has been very interesting. Lord Aberdeen is one of our wisest
statesmen.

       *       *       *       *       *

I found Lord Aberdeen deprecating the war, notwithstanding its success,
utterly incredulous as to the aggressive intentions attributed to
Nicholas, and in fact throwing the blame of the war on Lord Stratford
and, to a certain degree, on Louis Napoleon.

I found him also much disturbed by our Naples demonstration, believing it
to be an unwarranted interference with an independent Government.

       *       *       *       *       *

Ever yours,

A.W. SENIOR.


Tocqueville, November 2, 1856.

I am grateful to you, my dear Senior, for your kindness in telling me
what I most wished to hear. The judgments of such men as those with whom
you have been living, while they delight me, impose on me the duty of
unrelaxed efforts.

Your fortnight at Lord Aberdeen's amused me exceedingly, and not the
least amusing part were the eccentricities of A.B.

There is one point in which the English seem to me to differ from
ourselves, and, indeed, from all other nations, so widely that they form
almost a distinct species of men. There is often scarcely any connection
between what they say and what they do.

No people carry so far, especially when speaking in public, violence of
language, outrageousness of theories, and extravagance in the inference
drawn from those theories. Thus your A.B. says that the Irish have not
shot half enough landlords. Yet no people act with more moderation. A
quarter of what is said in England at a public meeting, or even round a
dinner-table, without anything being done or intended to be done, would
in France announce violence, which would almost always be more furious
than the language had been.

We Frenchmen are not so different from our antipodes as we are from a
nation, partly our own progeny, which is separated from us by only a
large ditch.

I wonder whether you have heard how our illustrious master is relieving
the working-people from the constant rise of house-rent. When they are
turned out of their lodgings he re-establishes them by force; if they are
distrained on for non-payment of rent, he will not allow the tribunals to
treat the distress as legal. What think you, as a political economist, of
this form of outdoor relief?

What makes the thing amusing is, that the Government which uses this
violent mode of lodging the working classes, is the very same Government
which, by its mad public works, by drawing to Paris suddenly a hundred
thousand workmen, and by destroying suddenly ten thousand houses, has
created the deficiency of habitations. It seems, however, that the
systematic intimidation and oppression of the rich in favour of the poor,
is every day becoming more and more one of the principles of our
Government.

I read yesterday a circular from the prefect of La Sarthe, a public
document, stuck up on the church-doors and in the market-places, which,
after urging the landed proprietors of the department to assess
themselves for the relief of the poor, adds, that their insensibility
becomes more odious when it is remembered that for many years they have
been growing rich by the rise of prices, which is spreading misery among
the lower orders.

The real character of our Government, its frightful mixture of socialism
and despotism, was never better shown.

I have said enough to prevent your getting my letter. If it _should_
escape the rogue who manages our post-office, let me know as soon as you
can.

Kindest remembrances,

A. DE. TOCQUEVILLE.


Tocqueville, February 11, 1857.

I must ask you, my dear Senior, to tell me yourself how you have borne
this long winter. I suppose that it has been the same in England as in
Normandy, for the two climates are alike.

Here we have been buried for ten or twelve days under a foot of snow, and
it froze hard during the whole time. How has your larynx endured this
trial? I assure you that we take great interest in that larynx of yours.
Give us therefore some news of it.

Your letter gave us fresh pleasure by announcing your intention of
passing April and May in Paris. We shall certainly be there at the same
time, and perhaps before. I hope that we shall see you continually. We
are, you know, among the very many people who delight in your society;
besides, we have an excellent right to your friendship.

I am looking forward with great pleasure to your Egypt. What I already
know of that country leads me to think that of all your reminiscences it
will afford the most novelty and interest.

I do not think that your visit to Paris will be a very valuable addition
to your journals. If I may judge by the letters which I receive thence,
society there has never been flatter, nor more insipid, nor more entirely
without any dominant idea. I need not tell you that your opinion of our
statesmen is the same as that which prevails in Paris, but it is of such
an ancient date, and is so obvious, that it cannot give rise to
interesting discussions.

A-propos of statesmen, we cannot understand how a man who made, _inter
pocula_, the speech of ---- on his travels can remain in a government. I
think that even ours, though so long-suffering towards its agents, could
not tolerate anything similar even if it should secretly approve.
Absolute power has its limits. The Prince de Ligne, in a discourse which
you have doubtless read, seems to me to have described it in one word by
saying that it was the speech of a _gamin_.

I am, however, ungrateful to criticise it, for I own that it amused me
extremely, and that I thought that Morny especially was drawn from life;
but I think that if I had the honour of being Her Britannic Majesty's
Prime Minister, I should not have laughed so heartily. How could so
clever a man be guilty of such eccentricities?

In my last letter to our excellent friend Mrs. Grote, I ventured to say
that there was one person who wrote even worse than I did, and that it
was you. Your last letter has filled me with remorse, for I could
actually read it, and even without trouble. I beg, therefore, to make an
_amende honorable_, and envy you your power of advancing towards
perfection.

       *       *       *       *       *

I still think of paying a little visit to England in June. Adieu, dear
Senior. Do not be angry with me for not writing on politics. Indeed I
could tell you nothing, for I know nothing, and besides, just now
politics are not to be treated by Frenchmen, _in letters_.

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.



Tocqueville, March 8, 1857.

I still write to you, my dear Senior, from hence. We cannot tear
ourselves away from the charms of our retreat, or from a thousand little
employments. We shall scarcely reach Paris, therefore, before you. You
will, therefore, yourself bring me the remainder of your curious journal.
What I have already seen makes me most anxious to read the rest. I have
never read anything which gave me more valuable information on Egypt
and Oriental politics in general. As soon as I possibly can, I look
forward to continuing its perusal.

The papers tell us that your Ministry has been beaten on the Chinese War.
It seems to me to have been an ill-chosen battle-field. The war was,
perhaps, somewhat wantonly begun, and very roughly managed; but the
fault lay with distant and subordinate agents. Now that it has begun, no
Cabinet can avoid carrying it on vigorously. The existing Ministry will
do as well for this as any other. As there is no line of policy to be
changed, the upsetting is merely to put in the people who are now
out.

If the Ministry falls, the man least to be pitied will be our friend
Lewis. He will go out after having obtained a brilliant triumph on his
own ground, and he will enjoy the good fortune, rare to public men, of
quitting power greater than he was when he took it, and with the enviable
reputation of owing his greatness, not merely to his talents, but also to
the respect and the confidence which he has universally inspired.

All this delights me; for I feel towards him, and towards all his family,
a true friendship.

To return to China.

It seems to me that the relations between that country and Europe are
changed, and dangerously changed.

Till now, Europe has had to deal only with a Chinese government--the most
wretched of governments. Now you will find opposed to you a people; and a
people, however miserable and corrupt, is invincible on its own
territory, if it be supported and impelled by common and violent
passions.

Yet I should be sorry to die before I have seen China open to the eyes as
well as to the arms of Europe.

Do you believe in a dissolution? If so, when?

A thousand regards to Mrs. Grote, to the great historian, to the Reeves,
and generally to all who are kind enough to remember my existence.

I delight in the prospect of meeting you in Paris; yet I fear that you
will find it dull. All that I hear from the great town shows me that
never, at least during the last two hundred years, has intellectual life
been less active.

If there be talent in the official circles, it is not the talent of
conversation, and among those who formerly possessed that talent, there
is so much torpidity, such want of interest on public affairs, such
ignorance as to what is passing, and so little wish to hear about it,
that no one, I am told, knows what to talk about or to take interest in.
Your conversation, however, is so agreeable and stimulating that it is
capable of reanimating the dead. Come and try to work this miracle.

A thousand remembrances.

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.





CONVERSATIONS.


_Paris, Hotel Bedford, April_ 9, 1857.--We reached this place last night.

The Tocquevilles are in our hotel. I went to them in the evening.

Tocqueville asked me how long I intended to remain.

'Four weeks,' I answered.

'I do not think,' he replied, 'that you will be able to do so. Paris has
become so dull that no one will voluntarily spend a month here. The
change which five years have produced is marvellous.

'We have lost our interest not only in public affairs, but in all serious
matters.'

'You will return then to the social habits of Louis Quinze,' I said. 'You
were as despotically governed then as you are now; and yet the _salons_
of Madame Geoffrin were amusing.'

'We may do so in time,' he answered, 'but that time is to come. At
present we talk of nothing but the Bourse. The conversation of our
_salons_ resembles more that of the time of Law, than that of the time of
Marmontel.'

I spent the evening at Lamartine's. There were few people there, and the
conversation was certainly dull enough to justify Tocqueville's fears.


_April_ 10.--Tocqueville drank tea with us.

We talked of the Empress, and of the possibility of her being Regent of
France.

'That supposes,' I said, 'first, that _Celui-ci_ holds his power until
his death; and, secondly, that his son will succeed him.'

'I expect both events,' answered Tocqueville. 'It is impossible to deny
that Louis Napoleon has shown great dexterity and tact. His system of
government is detestable if we suppose the welfare of France to be his
object; but skilful if its aim be merely the preservation of his own
power.

'Such being his purpose, he has committed no great faults. Wonderful,
almost incredible, as his elevation is, it has not intoxicated him.'

'It has not intoxicated him,' I answered, 'because he was prepared for
it--he always expected it.'

'He could scarcely,' replied Tocqueville, 'have really and soberly
expected it until 1848.

'Boulogne and Strasbourg were the struggles of a desperate man, who
staked merely a life of poverty, obscurity, and exile. Even if either of
them had succeeded, the success could not have been permanent. A
surprise, if it had thrown him upon the throne, could not have kept him
there. Even after 1848, though the Bourbons were discredited, we should
not have tolerated a Bonaparte if we had not lost all our self-possession
in our terror of the Rouges. That terror created him, that terror
supports him; and habit, and the dread of the bloodshed and distress, and
the unknown chances of a revolution, will, I think, maintain him during
his life.

'The same feelings will give the succession to his heir. Whether the heir
will keep it, is a different question.'

_Sunday, April_ 12.--Tocqueville drank tea with us. I asked him if he had
seen the Due de Nemours' letter.

'I have not seen it,' he answered. 'In fact, I have not wished to see it.
I disapprove of the Fusionists, and the anti-Fusionists, and the
Legitimists, and the Orleanists-in short, of all the parties who are
forming plans of action in events which may not happen, or may not
happen in my time, or may be accompanied by circumstances rendering those
plans absurd, or mischievous, or impracticable,'

'But though you have not read the letter,' I said, 'you know generally
what are its contents.'

'Of course I do,' he replied. 'And I cannot blame the Comte de Chambord
for doing what I do myself--for refusing to bind himself in
contingencies, and to disgust his friends in the hope of conciliating his
enemies.'

'Do you believe,' I asked, 'that the mere promise of a Constitution would
offend the Legitimists?'

'I do not think,' he answered, 'that they would object to a Constitution
giving them what they would consider their fair share of power and
influence.

'Under Louis Philippe they had neither, but it was in a great measure
their own fault.

'They have neither under this Government, for its principle is to rest on
the army and on the people, and to ignore the existence of the educated
classes.

'You see _that_ in its management of the press. 'Montalembert, or Guizot,
or Falloux, or I may publish what we like. We are not read by the soldier
or by the _proletaire_.[1] But the newspaper press is subject to a
slavery to which it was never reduced before. The system was first
elaborated in Austria, and I daresay will be copied by all the
Continental autocrats, for no inventions travel so quickly as despotic
ones.

'The public _avertissements_ are comparatively unimportant. Before a
journal gets one of those its suppression has probably been decided on.
Every day there are communications between the literary police and the
different editors. Such or such a line of argument is altogether
forbidden, another is allowed to be used to a certain extent. Some
subjects are tabooed, others are to be treated partially.

'As the mental food of the lower orders is supplied by the newspapers,
this paternal Government takes care that it shall not be too exciting.'

[Footnote 1: The lowest class.--ED.]


_Paris, Monday, April_ 13.--Tocqueville, Jobez, Marcet, St.-Hilaire,[1]
Charles Sumner, and Lord Granville breakfasted with us.

The conversation turned on public speaking.

'Very few indeed of our speakers,' said Tocqueville, 'have ever ventured
to improvise: Barrot could do it. We have told him sometimes that a
speech must be answered immediately; and when he objected that he had
nothing to say, we used to insist, and to assure him that as soon as he
was in the tribune, the ideas and the words would come; and so they did.
I have known him go on under such circumstances for an hour; of course
neither the matter nor the form could be first rate, but they were
sufficient.'

'In fact,' said Lord Granville, 'much of what is called improvisation is
mere recollection. A man who has to speak night after night, gets on most
subjects a set of thoughts, and even of expressions, which naturally pour
in on him as soon as his argument touches the train which leads to them.

'One of our eminent speakers,' he continued, 'Lord Grey, is perhaps best
when he has not had time to prepare himself. He is so full of knowledge
and of inferences, that he has always enough ready to make an excellent
speech. When he prepares himself, there is _too_ much; he gives the House
more facts and more deductions than it can digest.'

'Do you agree with me,' I asked, 'in thinking that Lord Melbourne was
best when he improvised?'

'I agree with you,' answered Lord Granville, 'that his set speeches were
cold and affected. He was natural only when he was quite careless, or
when he was much excited, and then he was admirable.'

'Did not Thiers improvise?' I asked.

'Never,' answered Tocqueville. 'He prepared himself most carefully. So
did Guizot. We see from the "Revue rétrospective" that he even prepared
his replies. His long experience enabled him to foresee what he should
have to answer. Pasquier used to bring his speech ready written. It lay
on the desk before him, but he never looked at it.'

'That seems to me,' I said, 'very difficult. It is like swimming with
corks. One would be always tempted to look down on the paper.'

'It is almost equally difficult,' said Tocqueville, 'to make a speech of
which the words are prepared. There is a struggle between the invention
and the memory. You trust thoroughly to neither, and therefore are not
served thoroughly by either.'

'Yet that,' said Marcet, 'is what our Swiss pastors are required to do.
They are forbidden to read, and forbidden to extemporise, and by practice
they speak from memory--some well, all tolerably.'

'Brougham,' said Lord Granville, 'used to introduce his most elaborately
prepared passages by a slight hesitation. When he seemed to pause in
search of thoughts, or of words, we knew that he had a sentence ready cut
and dried.'

'Who,' I asked Sumner, 'are your best speakers in America?'

'The best,' he said, 'is Seward; after him perhaps comes Winthrop.'

'I should have thought it difficult,' I said, 'to speak well in the
Senate, to only fifty or at most sixty members.'

'You do not speak,' answered Sumner, 'to the Senators. You do not think
of them. You know that their minds are made up. Except as to mere
executive questions, such as the approval of a public functionary, or the
acceptance or modification of a treaty, every senator comes in pledged to
a given, or to an assumed, set of opinions and measures. You speak to the
public. You speak in order that 500,000 copies of what you say, as was
the case with my last speech, may be scattered over the whole Union.'

'That,' I said, 'must much affect the character of your oratory. A speech
meant to be read must be a different thing from one meant to be heard.
Your speeches must in fact be pamphlets, and that I suppose accounts for
their length.'

'That is true,' replied Sumner. 'But when you hear that we speak for a
day, or for two days, or, as I have sometimes done, for three days, you
must remember that our days are days of only three hours each.'

'How long,' I asked, 'was your last speech?'

'About five hours,' he answered. 'Three hours the first day and two hours
the second.'

'That,' I said, 'is not beyond our remotest limit. Brougham indeed, on
the amendment of the law, spoke for six hours, during the greater part of
the time to an audience of three. The House was filled with fog, and
there is an H.B. which represents him gesticulating in the obscurity and
the solitude.'

'He,' said Lord Granville, 'put his speech on the Reform Bill at the
top.'

'The speech,' I said, 'at the end of which he knelt to implore the Peers
to pass the bill, and found it difficult to rise.'

[Footnote 1: Barthélemy de St-Hilaire is now Thiers' private secretary
and right hand.--ED.]


_Tuesday, April_ 14.--Z., Sumner, Lord Granville, Tocqueville, M.
Circourt, St.-Hilaire, and Corcelle breakfasted with us.

The conversation took the same turn as yesterday.

'May I venture,' said Lord Granville to Z., 'to ask whom of your
opponents you feared the most?'

'Beyond all comparison,' answered Z., 'Thiers.'

'Was not D.' I asked, 'very formidable?'

'Certainly,' said Z. 'But he had not the wit, or the _entraînement_ of
Thiers. His sentences were like his action. He had only one gesture,
raising and sinking his right arm, and every time that right arm fell, it
accompanied a sentence adding a link to a chain of argument, massive and
well tempered, without a particle of dross, which coiled round his
adversary like a boa constrictor.'

'And yet,' said M., 'he was always languid and embarrassed at starting;
it took him ten minutes to get _en train_.'

'That defect,' said Lord Granville, 'belonged to many of our good
speakers--to Charles Fox--to Lord Holland. Indeed Fox required the
excitement of serious business to become fluent. He never made a
tolerable after-dinner speech.'

'Among the peculiarities of D.,' said M., 'are his perfect tact and
discretion in the tribune, and his awkwardness in ordinary life. In
public and in private he is two different men.'

'It is impossible,' said Tocqueville, 'to deny that D. was great in a
deliberative body, but his real scene of action is the bar. He was only
_among_ the best speakers in the Constituent Assembly. He is _the_
greatest advocate at the bar.'

'Although,' said M----, 'at the bar, where he represents only his client,
one of the elements of his parliamentary success, his high moral
character, does not assist him. Do you remember how, on the debate of
the Roman expedition, he annihilated by one sentence Jules Favre who had
ventured to assail him? "Les injures," he said, "sont comme les corps
pesants, dont la force dépend de la hauteur d'où ils tombent."'

'One man,' said Z., 'who enjoys a great European reputation, I could
never think of as a serious adversary, that is Lamartine.

'He appeared to me to treat the sad realities of political life as
materials out of which he could compose strange and picturesque scenes,
or draw food for his imagination and his vanity. He seemed always to be
saying to himself: "How will the future dramatist or poet, or painter,
represent this event, and what will be my part in the picture, or in the
poem, or on the stage?"

'_Il cherchait toujours à poser_.--He could give pleasure, he could give
pain--he could amuse, and he could irritate,--but he seldom could
persuade, and he never could convince. Even before the gate of the Hôtel
de Ville, the most brilliant hour of his life, he owed his success rather
to his tall figure, his fine features, attractive as well as commanding,
his voice, his action--in short, to the assemblage of qualities which the
Greeks called [Greek: hupokrisis] than to his eloquence.'

'Was not,' I said, 'his contrast between the red flag and the tricolor
eloquent?'

'It was a fine bit of imagery,' said Z., 'and admirably adapted to the
occasion. I do not deny to him the power of saying fine things--perhaps
fine speeches, but he never made a _good_ speech--a speech which it was
difficult to answer.'

'If anyone,' he continued, 'ever takes the trouble to look into our
Parliamentary debates, Lamartine will hold a higher comparative rank than
he is really entitled to. Most of us were too busy to correct the reports
for the "Moniteur." Lamartine not only corrected them but inserted whole
passages.'

'He inserted,' said M, 'not only passages but facts. Such as
"_applaudissements_," "_vive émotion," "hilarité_," often when the speech
had been received in silence, or unattended to.'

'I remember,' said Corcelle, 'an insertion of that kind in the report of
a speech which was never delivered. It was during the Restoration, when
written speeches were read, and sometimes were sent to the "Moniteur" in
anticipation of their being read. Such had been the case with respect to
the speech in question. The intended orator had inserted, like Lamartine,
"_vifs applaudissements," "profonde sensation_," and other notices of the
effect of his speech. The House adjourned unexpectedly before it was
delivered, and he forgot to withdraw the report.'

'Could a man like Lord Althorp,' I asked, 'whom it was painful to hear,
hold his place as leader of a French Assembly?'

'Impossible,' said Tocqueville, 'unless he were a soldier. We tolerate
from a man who has almost necessarily been deprived of a careful
education much clumsiness and awkwardness of elocution. Soult did not
speak much better than the Duke of Wellington, but he was listened to. He
had, like the Duke, an air of command which imposed.'

'Was there,' I said, 'any personal quarrel between Soult and Thiers?'

'Certainly there was,' said Z., 'a little one. I will not say that Soult
was in Spain a successful commander, or an agreeable colleague, or an
obedient subordinate, but whenever things went wrong there, Soult was the
man whom the Emperor sent thither to put them to rights. Great as Thiers
may be as a military critic, I venture to put him below Napoleon.'

'I have been reading,' I said, 'Falloux's reception speech, and was
disappointed by it.'

'In his speech and Brifault's,' said Circourt, 'you may compare the
present declamatory style and that of thirty years ago. Brifault has, or
attempts to have, the _légèreté_ and the prettiness of the Restoration.
Falloux is _grandiose_ and emphatic, as we all are now.'

'Falloux,' said Z., 'made an excellent speech the first time that he
addressed the Chamber of Deputies. The next time he was not so
successful, and after that he ceased to be listened to.

'But in the Constituent Assembly, and indeed in the Legislative, he
acquired an ascendency. In those Assemblies, great moral qualities and a
high social position were rarer than they were among the Deputies, and in
the dangers of the country they were more wanted. Falloux possesses them
all. He is honest and brave, and in his province employs liberally and
usefully a large fortune.'

'Were those the merits,' I asked, 'which opened to him the doors of the
Academy?'

'Certainly,' answered Z. 'As a man of letters he is nothing, as a
statesman not much. We elected him in honour of his courage and his
honesty, and perhaps with some regard to his fortune. We are the only
independent body left, and we value in a candidate no quality more than
independence.'

'I am told,' I said, 'that Falloux is now an ultra-Legitimist.'

'That is not true,' said Z. 'He is a Legitimist, but a liberal one. He
would tolerate no Government, whatever were its other claims, that was
not constitutional.'

'Your Academic ceremonies,' I said 'seem to me not very well imagined.
There is something _fade_,  almost ridiculous, in the literary minuet in
which the _récipiendaire_ and the receiver are trotted out to show their
paces to each other and to the Academy. The new member extolling the
predecessor of whom he is the unworthy successor, the old member lauding
his new colleague to his face, and assuring him that he, too, is one of
the ornaments of the Society.'

'Particularly,' said ----, 'when, as was the case the other day, it is
notorious that neither of them has any real respect for the idol which he
is forced to crown. Then the political innuendoes, the under-currents of
censure of the present conveyed in praise of the past, become tiresome
after we have listened to them for five years. We long to hear people
talk frankly and directly, instead of saying one thing for the mere
purpose of showing that they are thinking of another thing. The Emperor
revenged himself on Falloux by his antithesis: "_que le désordre les
avait uni, et que l'ordre les avait séparé_.'"

'How did Falloux reply to it?' I asked.

'Feebly,' said ----. 'He muttered something about _l'ordre_ having no
firmer adherent than himself. In these formal audiences our great man has
the advantage. He has his _mot_ ready prepared, and you cannot discuss
with him.'

We talked of the French spoken by foreigners. 'The best,' said Circourt,
'is that of the Swedes and Russians, the worst that of the Germans.'

'Louis Philippe,' said Z., 'used to maintain that the best test of a
man's general talents was his power of speaking foreign languages. It was
an opinion that flattered his vanity, for he spoke like a native French,
Italian, English, and German.'

'It is scarcely possible,' said Tocqueville, 'for a man to be original in
any language but his own; in all others he is forced to say what he can,
and that is generally something that he recollects.'

'I was much struck by that,' said Z., 'when conversing with Narvaez. He
had been talking sensibly but rather dully in French, I begged him to
talk Spanish, which I understand though I cannot speak. The whole man was
changed. It was as if a curtain had been drawn up from between us.
Instead of hammering at commonplaces, he became pointed, and spirited,
and eloquent.'

'Is he an educated man?' I asked.

'For a Spaniard,' answered Z., 'yes. He has the quickness, the finesse,
and the elegance of mind and of manner which belong to the South. The
want of book-learning contributes to his originality.'

'The most wonderful speaker in a foreign language,' said Sumner, 'was
Kossuth. He must have been between forty and fifty before he heard an
English word. Yet he spoke it fluently, eloquently, and even
idiomatically. He would have made his fortune among us as a stump-orator.'



_Tuesday, April_ 28.--Tocqueville drank tea with us.

We talked rather of people than of things.

'Circourt,' said Tocqueville, 'is my dictionary. When I wish to know what
has been done or what has been said on any occasion, I go to Circourt. He
draws out one of the drawers in his capacious head, and finds there all
that I want arranged and ticketed.

'One of the merits of his talk, as it is of his character, is its
conscientiousness. He has the truthfulness of a thorough gentleman, and
his affections are as strong as his hatreds. I do not believe he would
sacrifice a friend even to a good story, and where is there another man
of whom that can be said?'

'What think you of Mrs. T-----?' I inquired.

'I like her too,' he replied, 'but less than I do Circourt. She has
considerable talent, but she thinks and reads only to converse. She has
no originality, no convictions. She says what she thinks that she can say
well; like a person writing a dialogue or an exercise. Whether the
opinion which she expresses be right or wrong, or the story that she
tells be true or false, is no concern of hers, provided it be _bien
dit_.'

'The fault of her conversation,' I said, 'seems to me to be, that while
she is repeating one sentence she is thinking of the next, and that while
you are speaking to her, she is considering what is to be her next topic.
I have noticed this fault in other very fluent conversers. They are so
intent on the future that they neglect the present.'

'It is rather a French than an English fault,' said Tocqueville. 'The
English have more curiosity and less vanity, than we have; more desire to
hear and less anxiety to shine. They are often, therefore, better
_causeurs_ than we are. _Le grand talent pour le silence_, or, in other
words, the power of listening which has been imputed to them, is a great
conversational virtue. I do not believe that it was said ironically or
epigrammatically. The man who bestowed that praise knew how rare a merit
silence is.'

'May we not owe that merit,' I asked, 'to our bad French? We shine most
when we listen.'

'A great talker,' I continued, 'Montalembert, is to breakfast with us.
Whom shall I ask to meet him?'

'Not me,' said Tocqueville, 'unless you will accept me as one of the
chorus. I will not take a _premier rôle_, or any prominent _rôle_, in a
piece in which he is to act. I like his society; that is, I like to sit
silent and hear him talk, and I admire his talents; and we have the
strong bond of common hatreds, though perhaps we hate on different, or
even opposite grounds, and I do not wish for a dispute with him, of
which, if I say anything, I shall be in danger. If we differed on only
one subject, instead of differing, as we do, on all but one, he would
pick out that single subject to attack me on. I am not sure that even as
host you will be safe. He is more acute in detecting points of opposition
than most men are in finding subjects of agreement. He avoids meeting you
on friendly or even on neutral ground. He chooses to have a combat _en
champ clos_.

'Take care,' he added, 'and do not have too many _sommités._ They watch
one another, are conscious that they are watched, and a coldness creeps
over the table.'

'We had two pleasant breakfasts,' I said, 'a fortnight ago. You were
leader of the band at one, Z. at the other, and the rest left the stage
free to the great actor.'

'As for me,' he answered, 'I often shut myself up, particularly after
dinner, or during dinner if it be long. The process of digestion, little,
as I can eat, seems to oppress me.

'Z. is always charming. He has an _aplomb_, an ease, a _verve_ arising
from his security that whatever he says will interest and amuse. He is a
perfect specimen of an ex-statesman, _homme de lettres_, and _père de
famille_, falling back on literature and the domestic affections. As for
me, I have intervals of _sauvagerie_, or rather the times when I am not
_sauvage_ are the intervals. I have many, perhaps too many, acquaintances
whom I like, and a very few friends whom I love, and a host of relations.
I easily tire of Paris, and long to fly to the fields and woods and
seashore of my province.'

We passed to the language of conversation.

'There are three words,' said Tocqueville, 'which you have lost, and
which I wonder how you do without,--Monsieur, Madame, and Mademoiselle.
You are forced always to substitute the name. They are so mixed in all
our forms that half of what we say would appear abrupt or blunt without
them.

'Then the _tutoyer_ is a _nuance_ that you want. When husband and wife
are talking together they pass insensibly, twenty times perhaps in an
hour, from the _vous_ to the _tu_. When matters of business or of serious
discussion are introduced, indeed whenever the affections are not
concerned, it is _vous_. With the least _soupçon_ of tenderness the _tu_
returns.'

'Yet,' I said, 'you never use the _tu_ before a third person.'

'Never,' he answered, 'in good company. Among the _bourgeoisie_ always.
It is odd that an aristocratic form, so easily learned, should not have
been adopted by all who pretend to be gentry. I remember being present
when an Englishman and his wife, much accustomed to good French society,
but unacquainted with this _nuance_, were laboriously _tutoyering_ each
other. I relieved them much by assuring them that it was not merely
unnecessary, but objectionable.'


_May_ 2.--Tocqueville dined with us.

A lady at the _table d'hôte_ was full of a sermon which she had heard at
the Madeleine. The preacher said, sinking his voice to an audible
whisper, 'I will tell you a secret, but it must go no farther. There is
more religion among the Protestants than with us, they are better
acquainted with the Bible, and make more use of their reading: we have
much to learn from them.'

I asked Tocqueville, when we were in our own room, as to the feelings of
the religious world in France with respect to heretics.

'The religious laity,' he answered, 'have probably little opinion on the
subject. They suppose the heretic to be less favourably situated than
themselves, but do not waste much thought upon him. The ignorant priests
of course consign him to perdition. The better instructed think, like
Protestants, that error is dangerous only so far as it influences
practice.

'Dr. Bretonneau, at Tours, was one of the best men that I have known, but
an unbeliever. The archbishop tried in his last illness to reconcile him
to the Church: Bretonneau died as he had lived. But the archbishop, when
lamenting to me his death, expressed his own conviction that so excellent
a soul could not perish.

'You recollect the duchesse in St.-Simon, who, on the death of a sinner
of illustrious race, said, "On me dira ce qu'on voudra, on ne me
persuadera pas que Dieu n'y regarde deux fois avant de damner un homme de
sa qualité." The archbishop's feeling was the same, only changing
_qualité_ into virtue.

'There is something amusing,' he continued, 'when, separated as we are
from it by such a chasm, we look back on the prejudices of the _Ancien
Régime_. An old lady once said to me, "I have been reading with great
satisfaction the genealogies which prove that Jesus Christ descended from
David. Ça montre que notre Seigneur était Gentilhomme."'

'We are somewhat ashamed,' I said, 'in general of Jewish blood, yet the
Lévis boast of their descent from the Hebrew Levi.'

'They are proud of it,' said Tocqueville, 'because they make themselves
out to be cousins of the Blessed Virgin. They have a picture in which a
Duc de Lévi stands bareheaded before the Virgin. "Couvrez-vous donc, mon
cousin," she says. "C'est pour ma commodité," he answers.'

The conversation passed to literature.

'I am glad,' said Tocqueville, 'to find that, imperfect as my knowledge
of English is, I can feel the difference in styles.'

'I feel strongly,' I said, 'the difference in French styles in prose, but
little in poetry.'

'The fact is,' said Tocqueville, 'that the only French poetry, except
that of Racine, that is worth reading is the light poetry. I do not think
that I could now read Lamartine, though thirty years ago he delighted
me.'

'The French taste,' I said, 'in English poetry differs from ours. You
read Ossian and the "Night Thoughts."'

'As for Ossian,' he answered, 'he does not seem to have been ever popular
in England. But the frequent reference to the "Night Thoughts," in the
books and letters of the last century, shows that the poem was then in
everybody's memory. Foreigners are in fact provincials. They take up
fashions of literature as country people do fashions of dress, when the
capital has left them off. When I was young you probably had ceased to be
familiar with Richardson. We knew him by heart. We used to weep over the
Lady Clementina, whom I dare say Miss Senior never heard of.

'During the first Empire, we of the old _régime_  abandoned Paris, as we
do now, and for the same reasons. We used to live in our châteaux, where
I remember as a boy hearing Sir Charles Grandison and Fielding read
aloud. A new novel was then an event. Madame Cottin was much more
celebrated than George Sand is now. For all her books were read, and by
everybody. Notwithstanding the great merits of George Sand's style, her
plots and her characters are so exaggerated and so unnatural, and her
morality is so perverted, that we have ceased to read her.'

We talked of Montalembert, and I mentioned his _sortie_ the other day
against the clergy.

'I can guess pretty well,' said Tocqueville, 'what he said to you, for it
probably was a _résumé_ of his article in the "Correspondant." Like most
men accustomed to public speaking, he repeats himself. He is as honest
perhaps as a man who is very _passionné_ can be; but his oscillations are
from one extreme to another. Immediately after the _coup d'état,_ when he
believed Louis Napoleon to be Ultramontane, he was as servile as his
great enemy the "Univers" is now. "Ce sont les nuances qui se querellent,
non les couleurs;" and between him and the "Univers" there is only a
_nuance_. The Bishop of Agen has oscillated like him, but began at the
other end. The other day the Bishop made a most servile address to the
Emperor. He had formerly been a furious anti-Bonapartist. "How is it
possible," said Montalembert, "that a man can rush so completely from one
opinion to another? On the 4th of December in 1851 this same Bishop
denounced the _coup d'état_ with such violence that the President sent me
to the Nuncio to request his interference. Now he is on his knees before
him. Such changes can scarcely be honest." Montalembert does not see that
the only difference between them is that they have trod in opposite
directions the very same path.'


_Thursday, May_ 5.--Tocqueville and I dined with M. and Madame de Bourke,
and met there General Dumas and Ary Scheffer.

We talked of Delaroche's pictures, and Scheffer agreed with me in
preferring the smaller ones. He thought that Delaroche improved up to the
time of his death, and preferred his Moses, and Drowned Martyr, painted
in 1853 and 1855, to the other large ones, and his Girondins, finished in
1856, to the earlier small ones.

We passed on to the increased and increasing population of Paris.

'The population of Paris,' I said, 'is only half that of London, while
that of the British Islands is not three-fourths that of France. If you
were to double the population of Paris, therefore, it would still be
proportionally less than that of London.'

'That is true,' said Tocqueville, 'but yet there are many circumstances
connected with the Parisian population each of which renders it more
dangerous than the London one. In the first place, there is the absence
of any right to relief. The English workman knows that neither he nor his
family can starve. The Frenchman becomes anxious as soon as his
employment is irregular, and desperate when it fails. The English workmen
are unacquainted with arms, and have no leaders with military experience.
The bulk of the Frenchmen have served, many of them are veterans in civil
war, and they have commanders skilled in street-fighting. The English
workmen have been gradually attracted to London by a real and permanent
demand for their labour. They have wives and children. At least 100,000
men have been added to the working population of Paris since the _coup
d'état._ They are young men in the vigour of their strength and passions,
unrestrained by wives or families. They have been drawn hither suddenly
and artificially by the demolition and reconstruction of half the town,
by the enormous local expenditure of the Government, and by the fifty
millions spent in keeping the price of bread in Paris unnaturally low.
The 40,000 men collected in Paris by the construction of the
fortifications are supposed to have mainly contributed to the revolution
of 1848. What is to be expected from this addition of 100,000? Then the
repressive force is differently constituted and differently animated. In
England you have an army which has chosen arms as a profession, which
never thinks of any other employment, and indeed is fit for no other, and
never expects any provision except its pay and its pension. The French
soldier, ever since 1789, is a citizen. He serves his six years because
the law and the colonel force him to do so, but he counts the days until
he can return to his province, his cottage, and his field. He sympathises
with the passions of the people. In the terrible days of June, the army
withstood the cries, the blessings, the imprecations and the seductions
of the mob, only because they had the National Guards by their side.
Their presence was a guarantee that the cause was just. The National
Guards never fought before as they did in those days. Yet at the Château
d'Eau, the miraculous heroism and the miraculous good luck of Lamoricière
were necessary to keep them together. If he had not exposed himself as no
man ever did, and escaped as no man ever did, they would have been
broken.'

'I was there,' said Scheffer, 'when his fourth horse was killed under
him. As the horse was sinking he drew his feet out of the stirrups and
came to the ground without falling; but his cigar dropped from his mouth.
He picked it up, and went on with the order which he was giving to an
_aide-de-camp._

'I saw that,' said Tocqueville. 'He had placed himself immediately behind
a cannon in front of the Château d'Eau which fired down the Boulevard du
Temple. A murderous fire from the windows in a corner of the Rue du
Temple killed all the artillerymen. The instant that Lamoricière placed
himself behind it, I thought that I saw what would happen. I implored him
to get behind some shelter, or at least not to pose as a mark.
"Recollect," I said, "that if you go on in this way you must be killed
before the day is over-and where shall we all be?"'

'"I see the danger of what I am doing," he answered, "and I dislike it as
much as you can do; but it is necessary. The National Guards are shaking;
if they break, the Line follows. I must set an example that everyone can
see and can understand. This is not a time for taking precautions. If _I_
were to shelter myself, _they_ would run."'

'How does Lamoricière,' I asked, 'bear exile and inactivity in Brussels?'

'Very ill,' said Scheffer. 'He feels that he has compromised the
happiness of his wife, whom he married not long before the _coup
d'état._'

'Changarnier at Malins, who lives alone and has only himself to care for,
supports it much better.'

Tocqueville and I walked home together.

'Scheffer,' he said, 'did not tell all that happened at the Château
d'Eau. Men seldom do when they fight over their battles.'

'The insurgents by burrowing through walls had got into a house in the
rear of our position. They manned the windows, and suddenly fired down on
us from a point whence no danger had been feared. This caused a panic
among the National Guards, a force of course peculiarly subject to
panics. They turned and ran back 250 yards along the Boulevard St.
Martin, carrying with them the Line and Lamoricière himself. He
endeavoured to stop them by outcries, and by gesticulations, and indeed
by force. He gave to one man who was trying to run by him a blow with his
fist, so well meant and well directed that it broke his collar bone.'

'At length he stopped them, re-formed them, and said: "Now you shall
march, I at your head, and the drummer beating the charge, as if you were
on parade, up to that house." They did so. After a few discharges, which
miraculously missed Lamoricière, the men in the house deserted it.'

'What were you doing at the Château d'Eau?' I asked.

'We were marching,' he said, 'with infantry and artillery on the
Boulevard du Temple, across which there was a succession of barricades,
which it was necessary to take one by one.

'As we advanced in the middle, our sappers and miners got into the houses
on each side, broke through the party walls, and killed the men at the
windows.'

'Those three days,' he continued, 'impress strongly on my mind the
dangers of our present state.'

'It is of no use to take up pavements and straighten streets, and pierce
Paris by long military roads, and loop-hole the barracks, if the
Executive cannot depend on the army. Ditches and bastions are of no use
if the garrison will not man them.'

'The new law of recruitment, however, may produce a great change. Instead
of 80,000 conscripts, 120,000 are to be taken each year. This is about
all that are fit for service. They are required to serve for only two
years. If the change ended there our army would be still more a militia
than it is now. It would be the Prussian Landwehr. But those entitled to
their discharge are to be enticed by higher pay, promotions, bounties,
and retiring pensions--in short, by all means of seduction, to re-enter
for long periods, for ten, or fifteen, or perhaps twenty years. It is
hoped that thus a permanent regular army may be formed, with an _esprit
de corps_ of its own, unsympathising with the people, and ready to keep
it down; and such will, I believe, be the result. But it will take nine
or ten years to produce such an army--and the dangers that I fear are
immediate.'

'What are the motives,' I asked, 'for the changes as to the conscription,
the increase of numbers, and the diminution of the time of service?'

'They are parts,' he answered, 'of the system. The French peasant, and
indeed the _ouvrier_, dislikes the service. The proportion of conscripts
who will re-enlist is small. Therefore the whole number must be large.
The country must be bribed to submit to this by the shortness of the
term. The conscript army will be sacrificed to what is to be the regular
army. It will be young and ill-trained.'

'But your new regular army,' I said, 'will be more formidable to the
enemy than your present force.'

'I am not sure of that,' he answered. 'The merit of the French army was
the impetuosity of its attack, the "furia Francese," as the Italians
called it. Young troops have more of this quality than veterans. The
Maison du Roi, whose charge at Steenkirk Macaulay has so well described,
consisted of boys of eighteen.'

'I am re-editing,' I said, 'my old articles. Among them is one written in
1841 on the National Character of France, England, and America,[1] as
displayed towards foreign nations. I have not much to change in what I
have said of England or of America. As they have increased in strength
they have both become still more arrogant, unjust, and shameless.

'England has perhaps become a little more prudent America a little less
so. But France seems to me to be altered. I described her as a soldier
with all the faults of that unsocial character. As ambitious, rapacious,
eager for nothing but military glory and territorial aggrandisement. She
seems now to have become moderate and pacific, and to be devoted rather
to the arts of peace than to those of war.'

'France _is_ changed,' answered Tocqueville, 'and when compared with the
France of Louis XIV., or of Napoleon, was already changed when you wrote,
though the war-cry raised for political purposes in 1840 deceived
you. At the same time, I will not deny that military glory would, more
than any other merit, even _now_ strengthen a Government, and that
military humiliation would inevitably destroy one. Nor must you overrate
the unpopularity of the last war. Only a few even of the higher classes
understood its motives. "Que diable veut cette guerre?" said my country
neighbour to me; "si c'était contre les Anglais--mais _avec_ les Anglais,
et pour le Grand Turc, qu'est-ce que cela peut signifier?" But when they
saw that it cost only men, that they were not invaded or overtaxed, and
that prices rose, they got reconciled to it.

'It was only the speculators of Paris that were tired of it. And if,
instead of the Crimea, we had fought near our own frontiers, or for some
visible purpose, all our military passions, bad and good, would have
broken out.'

[Footnote 1: This article is republished in the _Historical and
Philosophical Essays_. Longmans: 1865.--ED.]


_Wednesday, May_ 13.--Tocqueville came in after breakfast, and I walked
with him in the shade of the green walls or arcades of the Tuileries
chestnuts.

We talked of the Montijos, which led our conversation to Mérimée and V.

'Both of them,' said Tocqueville, 'were the friends of
Countess Montijo, the mother.

'V. was among the last persons who knew Eugénie as Countess Théba. He
escorted her to the Tuileries the very evening of her marriage. There he
took his leave of her. "You are now," he said, "placed so high that I can
only admire you from below." And I do not believe that they have met
since.

'Mérimée took a less sentimental view of the change. He acknowledged his
Empress in his former plaything, subsided from a sort of stepfather into
a courtier, and so rose to honour and wealth, while V. is satisfied to
remain an ex-professor and _un homme de lettres_.'

       *       *       *       *       *

We met Henri Martin, and I asked Tocqueville what he thought of his
History.

'It has the merit of selling,' he said, 'which cannot be said of any
other History of France. Martin is laborious and conscientious, and does
not tell a story ill; but he is a partisan and is always biassed by his
own likings and dislikings. He belongs to the class of theorists,
unfortunately not a small one, whose political _beau idéal_ is the
absence of all control over the will of the people-who are opposed
therefore to an hereditary monarchy-to a permanent President--to a
permanent magistracy-to an established Church--in short, to all
privileged classes, bodies, or institutions. Equality, not liberty or
security, is their object. They are centralisers and absolutists. A
despotic Assembly elected by universal suffrage, sitting at most for a
year, governing, like the Convention, through its committees, or a single
despot, appointed for a week, and not re-eligible, is the sort of ruler
that they would prefer. The last five years have perhaps disgusted Martin
with his Asiatic democracy, but his earlier volumes are coloured
throughout by his prejudices against all systems implying a division of
power, and independent authorities controlling and balancing one
another.'

We talked of the Secret Police.

'It has lately,' said Tocqueville, 'been unusually troublesome, or rather
it has been troublesome to a class of persons whom it seldom ventures to
molest. A friend of mine, M. Sauvaire Barthélemy, one of Louis Philippe's
peers, was standing at the door of his hotel reading a letter. A
gentleman in plain clothes addressed him, announced himself as an _agent
de police_, and asked him if the letter which he was reading was
political. "No," said Barthélemy, "you may see it. It is a _billet de
mariage." "I am directed," said the agent, "to request you to get into
this carriage." They got in and drove to Mazas. There Barthélemy was
shown into a neat room with iron bars to the windows, and ordered to
wait. After some time Louis Pietri, the Préfet de Police, arrived.

'"I am grieved," he said, "at giving you so much trouble, but I have been
commanded to see you in this place, and to inform you that the Emperor
cannot bear that a man in your high position should systematically
misrepresent him.

'"L'Empereur fait tout ce qu'il peut pour le bonheur de la France, et il
n'entend pas supporter une opposition aussi constante et aussi violente.
Effectivement il ne veut pas d'opposition. Voulez-vous le tenir pour
dit, Monsieur, et recevoir de nouveau mes excuses du dérangement que j'ai
dû vous causer? Pour le présent vous êtes libre."'


[Mr. Senior left Paris on the next day.

M. de Tocqueville paid his promised visit to England in June, and was
received with a perfect ovation.--ED.]



CORRESPONDENCE.

London, July 10, 1857.

I was too ill, my dear friend, to go to you yesterday. Dr. Ferguson tells
me that I have been doing too much, and prescribes perfect rest.

I have already read half your journal of 1857. It is very curious; but I
am glad that you have disguised me.

It is terrible to be in London, and to see so little of you; but the
force of circumstances is greater than the force of wishes.

Ever yours,

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.


Tocqueville, August 6, 1857.

You may already have had news of me through some of our common friends,
my dear Senior, but I wish, besides, to give you some myself, and to
thank you again for the kind welcome I received from you and in your
house during my stay in London.

I regret only that I was unable to be more with you, and that, in spite
of myself, I was drawn into a whirlpool which carried me away and
prevented me from following my inclinations.

I have returned, however, full of gratitude for the marks of
consideration and affection showered upon me in England. I shall never
forget them.

I found my wife already installed here, and in good health; and I have
resumed my busy and peaceful life with a delight which does honour to my
wisdom. For I had been so spoiled in England that I might have been
afraid of finding my retreat too much out of the way and too quiet. But
nothing of the sort has happened. The excitement of the past month
appears to have added charms to the present.

Nevertheless, I have not yet set to work again, but I am full of good
resolutions, which I hope to execute as soon as I have completely
returned to my usual habits. These first days have been devoted to
putting everything into its regular order.

In France we are almost as much interested as you in England in the
affairs of India. Everyone, even in the country, asks me for news of what
is going on there.

There is a natural disposition to exaggerate the evil and to believe that
your dominion is overturned. For my part, I am waiting with the utmost
and most painful anxiety for the development of the drama, for no good
can possibly result from it; and there is not one civilised nation in the
world that ought to rejoice in seeing India escape from the hands of
Europeans in order to fall back into a state of anarchy and barbarism
worse than before its conquest.

I am quite sure that you will conquer. But it is a serious business.

A military insurrection is the worst of all insurrections, at least in
the beginning. You have to deal with barbarians, but they possess the
arms of civilised people given to them by yourselves.

My wife, who has preserved her English heart, is particularly affected by
the spectacle which Bengal at present affords.

If you have any more particular news than is to be found in the
newspapers, you will give us great pleasure by communicating them.

Remember me to Mrs. and Miss Senior, and to your daughter-in-law.

My wife sends many kind regards to them, as well as to you.

Adieu, dear Senior. Believe in my sincere affection.

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.

P.S.--I fancy that the first effect of the Indian affair will be to draw
still closer the alliance between England and France.


Tocqueville, November 15, 1857.

I am somewhat angry with you, my dear Senior, for not having yet given us
your news.[1] It is treating our friendship unfairly, I have not written
to you because I doubted your following exactly your intended route, but
I will write to you at Athens, as I think that you must now be there. If
you have followed your itinerary your travels must have been most
interesting to you, and they will be equally curious to us. I conclude
that you only passed quickly through the Principalities in following the
course of the Danube. I, however, had depended on you for furnishing me
with clear ideas of a country which is at present so interesting to
Europe, and which I think is destined to play an important part in the
future. And what say you of our friends the Turks? Was it worth while to
spend so much money and to shed so much blood in order to retain in
Europe savages who are ill disguised as civilised men? I am impatient to
talk to you, and almost equally so to read you.

I shall have little to tell you. I have not stirred from home since I
left England, and am leading the life of a gentleman-farmer; a life which
pleases me more and more every day, and would really make me happy, if my
wife were not suffering from an obstinate neuralgic affection in the
face. I fear that she may have to go to some mineral waters, which she
would be sorry to do; for, as you know, she hates travelling, and does no
justice to the reputation for wandering possessed by the English race.

I can tell you nothing on politics which you will not find in the
newspapers. The great question at present for all civilised Governments
seems to be the financial. The crisis from which America and England are
suffering will probably extend everywhere. As for India, you are out, not
perhaps of your difficulties, but of your greatest dangers. This affair,
and that of the Crimea, show how little sympathy there is for England
abroad. There was everything to interest us in your success--similarity
of race, of religion, and of civilisation. Your loss of India could have
served no cause but that of barbarism. Yet I venture to affirm that the
whole Continent, though it detested the cruelties of your enemies, did
not wish you to triumph.

Much of this is, without doubt, to be attributed to the evil passions
which make men always desire the fall of the prosperous and the strong.
But much belongs to a less dishonourable cause--to the conviction of all
nations that England considers them only with reference to her own
greatness; that she has less sympathy than any other modern nation; that
she never notices what passes among foreigners, what they think, feel,
suffer, or do, but with relation to the use which England can make of
their actions, their sufferings, their feelings, or their thoughts; and
that when she seems most to care for them she really cares only for
herself. All this is exaggerated, but not without truth.

Kindest regards from us both to you and to Mrs. Senior.

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.

[Footnote 1: Mr. Senior was at this time in the East.--ED.]



Tocqueville, February 10, 1858.

I was delighted, my dear Senior, to receive a letter from you dated
Marseilles. You are right in remaining till the spring in the South. We
trust to meet you in Paris in March.

I say no more, for I cannot write to you on what would most interest
you--French politics. Much is to be said on them; but you will understand
my silence if you study our new Law of Public Safety, and remember who is
the new Home Minister.[1] For the first time in French history has such a
post been filled by a general--and what a general!

I defer, therefore, until we meet, the expression of feelings and
opinions which cannot be safely transmitted through the post, and only
repeat how eager I am for our meeting.

Kind regards to Mrs. Senior.

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.

[Footnote 1: General Espinasse.]


Tocqueville, February 21, 1858.

I received your letters with great pleasure, my dear Senior, and I think
with still greater satisfaction that I shall soon be able to see you.

I shall probably arrive in Paris, with my wife, at about the same time as
you will, that is to say, about the 19th of next month. I should have
gone earlier if I were not occupied in planting and sowing, for I am
doing a little farming to my great amusement.

I am delighted that you intend again to take up your quarters at the
Hôtel Bedford, as I intend also to stay there if I can find apartments.

I hope that we shall be good neighbours and see each other as frequently
as such old friends ought to do. _A bientôt!_

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.

[Mr. Senior ran over to England for a few weeks instead of remaining in
Paris. The meeting between the two friends did not, therefore, take place
till April.--ED.]



CONVERSATIONS.

_Paris, Saturday, April_ 17, 1858.--We had a discussion at the Institut
to-day as to a bust to fill a niche in the anteroom. Rossi was proposed.
His political merits were admitted, but he was placed low as to his
literary claims as an economist and a jurist. Dupin suggested Talleyrand,
which was received with a universal groan, and failed for want of a
seconder. Ultimately the choice fell on Dumont.

'Nothing that is published of Talleyrand's,' said Tocqueville to me as we
walked home, 'has very great merit, nor indeed is much of it his own. He
hated writing, let his reports and other state papers be drawn up by
others, and merely retouched them. But in the archives of the _Affaires
étrangères_ there is a large quarto volume containing his correspondence
with Louis XVIII during the Congress of Vienna. Nothing can be more
charming. The great European questions which were then in debate, the
diplomatic and social gossip of Vienna, the contemporary literature--in
short, all that one clever _homme du monde_ could find to interest and
amuse another, are treated with wit, brilliancy, and gaiety, supported by
profound good sense. When that volume is published his bust will be
placed here by acclamation.'

_Monday, April_ 19.--I dined with Lanjuinais, and met Tocqueville, Rivet,
Dufaure, Corcelle, Freslon, and one or two others.

They attacked me about the change of sentiment in England with respect to
Louis Napoleon.

'While he was useful to you,' they said, 'you steadily refused to admit
that he was a tyrant, or even an usurper. You chose to disbelieve in the
3,000 men, women, and children massacred on the Boulevards of Paris--in
the 20,000 poisoned by jungle fever in Cayenne--in  the 25,000 who have
died of malaria, exposure, and bad food, working in gangs on the roads
and in the marshes of the Metidja and Lambressa.'

'We did not _choose_', I answered, 'to disbelieve any thing. We were
simply ignorant. _I_ knew all these facts, because I have passed a part
of every year since 1847 in Paris; because I walked along the Boulevards
on the 20th of December 1851, and saw the walls of every house, from the
Bastille to the Madeleine, covered with the marks of musket-balls;
because I heard in every society of the thousands who had been massacred,
and of the tens of thousands who had been _déportés_; but the untravelled
English, and even the travelled English, except the few who live in
France among the French, knew nothing of all this. Your press tells
nothing. The nine millions of votes given to Louis Napoleon seemed to
prove his popularity, and therefore the improbability of the tyranny of
which he was accused by his enemies. _I_ knew that those nine millions of
votes were extorted, or stolen by violence or fraud. But the English
people did not know it. They accepted his election as the will of the
nation, and though they might wonder at your choice, did not presume to
blame it.'

'The time,' they answered, 'at which light broke in upon you is
suspicious. Up to the 14th of January 1858 the oppression under which
thirty-four millions of people within twenty-four miles of your coast,
with whom you are in constant intercourse, was unknown to you. Their
ruler insults you, and you instantly discover that he is an usurper and a
tyrant. This looks as if the insult, and the insult alone, opened your
eyes.'

'What opened our eyes,' I answered, 'was not the insult but the _loi de
sûreté publique_. It was the first public act which showed to England the
nature of your Government.

'When we found, erected in every department, a revolutionary tribunal,
empowered to banish and transport without trial; when we found a rude
soldier made Home Minister, and the country divided into five districts
to be each governed by a marshal, we saw at once that France was under a
violent military despotism. Until that law was passed the surface was
smooth. There was nothing in the appearance of France to show to a
stranger that she was not governed by a Monarch, practically, indeed,
absolute, but governing as many absolute Monarchs have done, mildly and
usefully.

'Of course we might have found out the truth sooner if we had inquired.
And perhaps we ought to have inquired. We busy ourselves about our own
affairs, and neglect too much those of other countries. In that sense
you have a right to say that we chose to be ignorant, since our conduct
was such as necessarily to make us ignorant. But it was not because Louis
Napoleon was our ally that we chose to be ignorant, but because we
habitually turn our eyes from the domestic affairs of the Continent, as
things in which we have seldom a right to interfere, and in which, when
we do interfere, we do more harm than good.'

We talked of the manner in which the _loi de sûreté publique_ has been
carried out. And I mentioned 600 as the number of those who had suffered
under it, as acknowledged to me by Blanchard in the beginning of March.

'It is much greater now,' said Lanjuinais. 'Berryer on his return from
Italy, a week ago, slept in Marseilles. He was informed that more than
900 persons had passed through Marseilles, _déportés_ under the new law
to Algeria. They were of all classes: artisans and labourers mixed with
men of the higher and middle classes. To these must be added those
transported to Cayenne, who were sent by way of Havre. As for the number
_expulsés_ and _internés_ there are no data.'

'In the Department of Var, a man was found guilty in 1848 of joining in
one of the revolutionary movements of that time. His complete innocence
was soon proved; he was released, and has lived quietly on his little
estate ever since. He was arrested under the new law and ordered to be
_déporté_ to Algeria. His friends, in fact all his neighbours,
remonstrated, and sent to Paris the proof that the original conviction
was a mistake. "Qu'il aille tout de même," was Espinasse's answer.

'In Calvados the Préfet, finding no one whom he could conscientiously
arrest, took hold of one of the most respectable men in the department.
"If," he said, "I had arrested a man against whom there was plausible
ground for suspicion, he might have been transported. This man _must_ be
released."'

'Has he been released?' I asked.

'I have not heard,' was the answer. 'In all probability he has been.'

'In my department,' said Tocqueville, 'the _sous-préfet_, ordered by the
Préfet to arrest somebody in the arrondissement, was in the same
perplexity as the Préfet of Calvados. "I can find no fit person," he said
to me. I believe that he reported the difficulty to the Préfet, and that
the vacancy was supplied from some other arrondissement.

'What makes this frightful,' he added, 'is that we now know that
deportation is merely a slow death. Scarcely any of the victims of 1851
and 1852 are living.'

'I foretold that,' I said, 'at the time, as you will find if you look at
my article on Lamartine, published in the "Edinburgh Review."'[1]

[Footnote 1:  See _Journals in France and Italy_.--ED.]


_April_ 20.--We talked of the political influence in France of the
_hommes de lettres_.

'It began,' said Tocqueville, 'with the Restoration. Until that time we
had sometimes, though very rarely, statesmen who became writers, but
never writers who became statesmen,'

'You had _hommes de lettres_,' I said, 'in the early Revolutionary
Assemblies--Mirabeau for instance.'

'Mirabeau,' he answered, 'is your best example, for Mirabeau, until he
became a statesman, lived by his pen. Still I should scarcely call a man
of his high birth and great expectations _un homme de lettres_. That
appellation seems to belong to a man who owes his position in early life
to literature. Such a man is Thiers, or Guizot, as opposed to such men as
Gladstone, Lord John Russell, or Montalembert.'


_Wednesday, April_ 21.--I dined with D. and met, among several others,
Admiral Matthieu the Imperial Hydrographer, and a general whose name I
did not catch. I talked to the general about the army.

'We are increasing it,' he said, 'but not very materially. We are rather
giving ourselves the means of a future rapid increase, than making an
immediate augmentation. We are raising the number of men from 354,000 to
392,400, in round numbers to 400,000; but the principal increase is in
the _cadres_, the officers attached to each battalion. We have increased
them by more than one third. So that if a war should break out we can
instantly--that is to say in three months, increase our army to 600,000
or even 700,000 men. Soldiers are never wanting in France, the difficulty
always is to find officers.'

'I hear,' I said, 'that you are making great improvements in your
artillery.'

'We are,' he answered. 'We are applying to it the principle of the Minié
musket, and we are improving the material. We hope to make our guns as
capable of resisting rapid and continued firing as well and as long as
the English and the Swedish guns, which are the best in Europe, can do.
And we find that we can throw a ball on the Minié principle with equal
precision twice as far. This will double the force of all our batteries.'

'Are _you_,' he asked me, 'among those who have taken shares in the
Russian railways?'

'No,' I said. 'They are the last that I wish to encourage.'

'Englishmen or Frenchmen,' he answered, 'who help Russia to make
railways, put me in mind of the Dutch who sold powder to their besiegers.

'The thinness of her population--that is, the vast space over which it is
scattered--alone prevents Russia from being the mistress of Europe. If
her 64,000,000 were as concentrated as our 34,000,000 are, she would be
irresistible. She loses always far more men in marching than in
fighting.'

'The events of the war,' I said, 'lead me to believe that the goodness of
the Russian soldier is exaggerated. They were always beaten, often by
inferior numbers.'

'In the first place,' he answered, 'those who were beaten at Sebastopol
were not the best Russian soldiers. They were short small men, generally
drawn from the neighbouring provinces. The Russian Imperial Guards and
the Russian Army in Poland are far superior to any that we encountered in
the Crimea. In the second place, they were ill commanded. The
improvements of weapons, of science and of discipline, have raised the
privates of all the great military nations to about the same level.
Success now depends on numbers and on generalship. With railways Russia
will be able to bring quickly a preponderating force to any point on her
frontier. Her officers are already good, and for money she can import the
best generals; indeed, I do not see why she should not breed them. Russia
is civilised enough to produce men of the highest military qualities.'

I asked Admiral Matthieu about the naval preparations of France.

'The "Moniteur,"' I said, 'denies that you are making any.'

'The "Moniteur,"' he answered, 'does not tell the truth. We are
augmenting largely, both the number and the efficacy of our fleet.

'Four years ago, at the beginning of the Russian war, we resolved to
build a steam fleet of 150 steam ships of different sizes for fighting,
and 74 steam ships for the transfer service, and to carry fuel and
stores. Though we set about this in the beginning, as we thought, of a
long war, we have not allowed the peace to interrupt it. We are devoting
to it sixty-five millions a year (2,600,000_l_.) of which from fifteen to
seventeen millions are employed every year in building new ships, and
from forty to forty-two in adding steam power to the old ones. We hope to
finish this great work in fourteen years.'

'What,' I asked, 'is the amount of your present fleet of steamers?'

'We have thirty-three screws,' he answered, 'fifty-seven paddles, and
sixty-two sailing vessels in commission, and seventy-three, mostly
steamers, _en réserve_, as you would say, in ordinary.'

'Manned by how many men?' I asked.

'By twenty-five thousand sailors,' he answered, 'and eleven thousand
marines. But our _inscription maritime_ would give us in a few months or
less one hundred thousand more. Since the times of Louis XVI. the French
Navy has never been so formidable, positively or relatively.'

'How,' I asked, 'has your "Napoleon" succeeded?'

'Admirably,' he answered. 'I have not seen the "Wellington," but she is a
much finer ship than the Agamemnon. Her speed is wonderful. A month ago
she left Toulon at seven in the morning, and reached Ajaccio by four in
the evening. But the great improvement is in our men. Napoleon knew
nothing and cared nothing about sailors. He took no care about their
training, and often wasted them in land operations, for which landsmen
would have done as well.

'In 1814 he left Toulon absolutely unguarded, and sent all the sailors to
join Augereau. You might have walked into it.

'In 1810 or 1811 I was on board a French corvette which fought an action
with an English vessel, the "Lively." We passed three times under her
stern, and raked her each time. We ought to have cleared her decks. Not a
shot touched her. The other day at Cherbourg I saw a broadside fired at a
floating mark three cables off, the usual distance at which ships engage.
Ten balls hit it, and we could see that all the others passed near enough
to shake it by their wind.

'A ship of eighty guns has now forty _canonniers_ and forty _maîtres de
pièces_. All practical artillerymen, and even the able seamen, can point
a gun. Nelson's manoeuvre of breaking the line could not be used against
a French fleet, such as a French fleet is now. The leading ships would be
destroyed one after another, by the concentrated fire. Formerly our
officers dreaded a maritime war. They knew that defeat awaited them,
possibly death. Now they are confident, and eager to try their hands.'

In the evening L. took me into a corner, and we had a long conversation.

He had been reading my 'Athens Journal.'

'What struck me,' he said, 'in every page of it, was the resemblance of
King Otho to Louis Napoleon.'

'I see the resemblance,' I answered, 'but it is the resemblance of a
dwarf to a giant.'

'No,' he replied. 'Of a man five feet seven inches high to one five feet
eleven inches. There are not more than four inches between them. There is
the same cunning, the same coldness, the same vindictiveness, the same
silence, the same perseverance, the same unscrupulousness, the same
selfishness, the same anxiety to appear to do everything that is done,
and above all, the same determination to destroy, or to seduce by
corruption or by violence, every man and every institution favourable to
liberty, independence, or self-government. In one respect Otho had the
more difficult task. He found himself, in 1843, subject to a Constitution
carefully framed under the advice of England for the express purpose of
controlling him. He did not attempt to get rid of it by a _coup d'état_,
or even to alter it, but cunningly and skilfully perverted it into an
instrument of despotism. Louis Napoleon destroyed the Constitution which
he found, and made a new one, copied from that which had been gradually
elaborated by his uncle, which as a restraint is intentionally powerless
and fraudulent.

'A man,' he continued, 'may acquire influence either by possessing in a
higher degree the qualities which belong to his country and to his time,
or by possessing those in which they are deficient.

'Wellington is an example of this first sort. His excellences were those
of an Englishman carried almost to perfection.

'Louis Napoleon belongs to the second. If his merits had been impetuous
courage, rapidity of ideas, quickness of decision, frankness, versatility
and resource, he would have been surrounded by his equals or his
superiors. He predominated over those with whom he came in contact
because he differed from them. Because he was calm, slow, reserved,
silent, and persevering. Because he is a Dutchman, not a Frenchman.'

'He seems,' I said, 'to have lost his calmness.'

'Yes,' answered L. 'But under what a shock! And observe that though the
greatest risk was encountered by _him_, the terror was greatest among his
_entourage_. I do not believe that if he had been left to himself he
would have lost his prudence or his self-possession. He did not for the
first day. Passions are contagious. Everyone who approached him was
agitated by terror and anger. His intrepidity and self-reliance, great as
they are, were disturbed by the hubbub all round him. His great defects
are three. First, his habit of self-contemplation. He belongs to the men
whom the Germans call subjective, whose eye is always turned inwardly;
who think only of themselves, of their own character, and of their own
fortunes. Secondly, his jealousy of able men. He wishes to be what you
called him, a giant, and as Nature has not made him positively tall, he
tries to be comparatively so, by surrounding himself with dwarfs. His
third defect is the disproportion of his wishes to his means. His desires
are enormous. No power, no wealth, no expenditure would satisfy them.
Even if he had his uncle's genius and his uncle's indefatigability, he
would sink, as his uncle did, under the exorbitance of his attempts. As
he is not a man of genius, or even a man of remarkable ability, as he is
ignorant, uninventive and idle, you will see him flounder and fall from
one failure to another.

'During the three years that Drouyn de L'Huys was his minister he was
intent on home affairs--on his marriage, on the Louvre, on the artillery,
on his _bonnes fortunes_, and on the new delights of unbounded
expenditure. He left foreign affairs altogether to his minister. When
Drouyn de L'Huys left him, the road before him was plain--he had only to
carry on the war. But when the war was over, the road ended; neither
he nor Walewski nor any of his _entourage_ know anything of the country
in which they are travelling. You see them wandering at hazard. Sometimes
trying to find their way to Russia, sometimes to England. Making a treaty
with Austria, then attempting to injure her, and failing; attempting to
injure Turkey, and failing; bullying Naples, and failing; threatening
Switzerland, threatening Belgium, and at last demanding from England an
Alien Bill, which they ought to know to be incompatible with the laws and
hateful to the feelings of the people.

'He is not satisfied with seeing the country prosperous and respected
abroad. He wants to dazzle. His policy, domestic and foreign, is a policy
of vanity and ostentation--motives which mislead everyone both in private
and in public life.

'His great moral merits are kindness and sympathy. He is a faithful
attached friend, and wishes to serve all who come near him.

'His greatest moral fault is his ignorance of the difference between
right and wrong; perhaps his natural insensibility to it, his want of the
organs by which that difference is perceived--a defect which he inherits
from his uncle.'

'The uncle,' I said, 'had at least one moral sense--he could understand
the difference between pecuniary honesty and dishonesty, a difference
which this man seems not to see, or not to value.'

'I agree with you,' said L. 'He cannot value it, or he would not look
complacently on the peculation which surrounds him. Every six months some
magnificent hotel rises in the Champs Élysées, built by a man who had
nothing, and has been a minister for a year or two.'

On my return I found Tocqueville with the ladies. I gave him an outline
of what L. had said.

'No one,' he said, 'knows Louis Napoleon better than L.'

'My opportunities of judging him have been much fewer, but as far as they
have gone, they lead to the same conclusions. L. perhaps has not dwelt
enough on his indolence. Probably as he grows older, and the effects of
his early habits tell on him, it increases. I am told that it is
difficult to make him attend to business, that he prolongs audiences
apparently to kill time.

'One of the few of my acquaintances who go near him, was detained by him
for an hour to answer questions about the members of the _Corps
législatif_. Louis Napoleon inquired about their families, their
fortunes, their previous histories. Nothing about their personal
qualities. These are things that do not interest him. He supposes that
men differ only in externals. "That the _fond_ is the same in everyone."'


_April 26_.--Tocqueville spent the evening with us.

We talked of Novels.

'I read none,' he said, 'that end ill. Why should one voluntarily subject
oneself to painful emotions? To emotions created by an imaginary cause
and therefore impelling you to no action. I like vivid emotions, but I
seek them in real life, in society, in travelling, in business, but above
all in political business. There is no happiness comparable to political
success, when your own excitement is justified by the magnitude of the
questions at issue, and is doubled and redoubled by the sympathy of your
supporters. Having enjoyed that, I am ashamed of being excited by the
visionary sorrows of heroes and heroines.

'I had a friend,' he continued, 'a Benedictine, who is now ninety-seven.
He was, therefore, about thirteen when Louis XVI. began to reign. He is a
man of talents and knowledge, has always lived in the world, has attended
to all that he has seen and heard, and is still unimpaired in mind, and
so strong in body that when I leave him he goes down to embrace me, after
the fashion of the eighteenth century, at the bottom of his staircase.'

'And what effect,' I asked, 'has the contemplation of seventy years of
revolution produced in him? Does he look back, like Talleyrand, to the
_ancien régime_ as a golden age?'

'He admits,' said Tocqueville, 'the material superiority of our own age,
but he believes that, intellectually and morally, we are far inferior to
our grandfathers. And I agree with him. Those seventy years of revolution
have destroyed our courage, our hopefulness, our self-reliance, our
public spirit, and, as respects by far the majority of the higher
classes, our passions, except the vulgarest and most selfish ones--vanity
and covetousness. Even ambition seems extinct. The men who seek power,
seek it not for itself, not as the means of doing good to their country,
but as a means of getting money and flatterers.

'It is remarkable,' he continued, 'that women whose influence is
generally greatest under despotisms, have none now. They have lost it,
partly in consequence of the gross vulgarity of our dominant passions,
and partly from their own nullity. They are like London houses, all built
and furnished on exactly the same model, and that a most uninteresting
one. Whether a girl is bred up at home or in a convent, she has the same
masters, gets a smattering of the same accomplishments, reads the same
dull books, and contributes to society the same little contingent of
superficial information.

'When a young lady comes out I know beforehand how her mother and her
aunts will describe her. "Elle a les goûts simples. Elle est pieuse. Elle
aime la campagne. Elle aime la lecture. Elle n'aime pas le bal. Elle
n'aime pas le monde, elle y ira seulement pour plaire à sa mère." I try
sometimes to escape from these generalities, but there is nothing behind
them.'

'And how long,' I asked, 'does this simple, pious, retiring character
last?'

'Till the orange flowers of her wedding chaplet are withered,' he
answered. 'In three months she goes to the _messe d'une heure_.'

'What is the "messe d'une heure?"' I asked.

'A priest,' he answered, 'must celebrate Mass fasting; and in strictness
ought to do so before noon. But to accommodate fashionable ladies who
cannot rise by noon, priests are found who will starve all the morning,
and say Mass in the afternoon. It is an irregular proceeding, though
winked at by the ecclesiastical authorities. Still to attend it is rather
discreditable; it is a middle term between the highly meritorious
practice of going to early Mass, and the scandalous one of never going at
all.'

'What was the education,' I asked, 'of women under the _ancien régime_?'

'The convent,' he answered.

'It must have been better,' I said, 'than the present education, since
the women of that time were superior to ours.'

'It was so far better,' he answered, 'that it did no harm. A girl at that
time was taught nothing. She came from the convent a sheet of white
paper. _Now_ her mind is a paper scribbled over with trash. The women of
that time were thrown into a world far superior to ours, and with the
sagacity, curiosity, and flexibility of French women, caught knowledge
and tact and expression from the men.

'I knew well,' he continued, 'Madame Récamier. Few traces of her former
beauty then remained, but we were all her lovers and her slaves. The
talent, labour, and skill which she wasted in her _salon_, would have
gained and governed an empire. She was virtuous, if it be virtuous to
persuade every one of a dozen men that you wish to favour him, though
some circumstance always occurs to prevent your doing so. Every friend
thought himself preferred. She governed us by little distinctions, by
letting one man come five minutes before the others, or stay five minutes
after. Just as Louis XIV. raised one courtier to the seventh heaven by
giving him the _bougeoir_, and another by leaning on his arm, or taking
his shirt from him.

'She said little, but knew what each man's _fort_ was, and placed from
time to time a _mot_ which led him to it. If anything were peculiarly
well said, her face brightened. You saw that her attention was always
active and always intelligent.

'And yet I doubt whether she really enjoyed conversation. _Tenir salon_
was to her a game, which she played well, and almost always successfully,
but she must sometimes have been exhausted by the effort. Her _salon_ was
perhaps pleasanter to us than it was to herself.

'One of the last,' he continued, 'of that class of potentates was the
Duchesse de Dino. Her early married life was active and brilliant, but
not intellectually. It was not till about forty, when she had exhausted
other excitements, that she took to _bel esprit._ But she performed her
part as if she had been bred to it.'

This was our last conversation. I left Paris the next day, and we never
met again.




CORRESPONDENCE.

Tocqueville, June 30, 1858.

I must complain, a little of your silence, my dear Senior. I hear that
before you left Paris you suffered a great deal from your throat. Is it
true, or have you recovered?

I have not either much to boast of on the score of health since we
parted. The illness which I had in Paris became still worse, and when I
got a little better in that way I had a violent bronchial attack. I even
began to spit blood, which had not happened to me for many years, and I
am still almost reduced to silence. Still I am beginning to mend, and I
hope, please God, to be able to _speak_ to my friends when they visit me.

You are aware that I wished to induce my wife to accompany me to the
South; but the length of the journey, the difficulties of transport, the
heat, and indeed the state of my health, were reasons which she brought
forward with so much force that we have remained here, and shall not
leave till the end of September. We still hope that you and Miss Senior
will join us the first week in that month. We shall be very happy to have
you both with us. This is no compliment ... I hope soon to be able to
enjoy more frequent communication with my English friends. A steamboat is
about to run from Cherbourg to the coast of England. We shall then be
able to visit each other as neighbours (_voisiner_).

Between ourselves, I do not think that the events in England during the
last six months are of a nature to raise the reputation of Parliamentary
Government in the rest of the world. _A bientôt!_

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.


Kensington, July 5, 1858.

My dear Tocqueville,--If I had written to you three days ago, I should
have talked of the pleasure which my daughter and I expected from our
visit to Tocqueville. But our plans are changed. Edward Ellice is going
to pay a last visit to America, and has begged me to accompany him. He is
a great proprietor in both America and Canada--knows everybody in both
countries, and is besides a most able and interesting companion. So I
have accepted the proposal, and start on the 30th of this month for
Boston. We shall return in the beginning of November.

I am _very_ sorry to lose the visit to Normandy, but I trust that it is
only deferred.

We are grieved to hear that neither you nor Madame de Tocqueville are as
well as your friends could wish you to be.

My _grippe_, after lasting for three months, has gradually subsided, and
I look to the voyage to America as a cure for all remains of it.

I have most punctually carried your remembrances to all the persons
honoured by being inscribed on your card.

Though I have often seen Gladstone, it has always been among many other
persons, and he has been so full of talk, that I have never been able to
allude to your subject. I mentioned it to Mrs. Gladstone on Saturday
last: she said that there was not a person in all France whom her husband
so much admired and venerated as you--therefore, if there was any
appearance of neglect, it could have arisen only from hurry or mistake. I
shall see him again on Thursday, when we are going all together to a
rehearsal of Ristori's, and I will talk to him: we shall there be quiet.

Things here are in a very odd state. The Government is supported by the
Tories because it calls itself Tory, and by the Whigs and Radicals
because it obeys them. On such terms it may last for an indefinite time.

Kindest regards from us all to you both.

Ever yours,

N.W. SENIOR.


9 Hyde Park Gate, Kensington, August 2, 1858.

My dear Tocqueville,--I ought, as you know, to be on the Atlantic by this
time; but I was attacked, ten days ago, with lumbar neuralgia, which they
are trying, literally, to rub away. If I am quite well on the 13th, I
shall go on the 14th to America.

I was attacked at Sir John Boileau's, where I spent some days with the
Guizots, Mrs. Austin, and Stanley and Lord John Russell.

Guizot is in excellent spirits, and, what is rare in an ex-premier,
dwells more on the present and the future than on the past. Mrs. Austin
is placid and discursive.

Lord John seems to me well pleased with the present state of
affairs--which he thinks, I believe with reason, will bring him back to
power. He thinks that Malmesbury and Disraeli are doing well, and praises
much the subordinates of the Government. Considering that no one believes
Lord Derby to be wise, or Disraeli to be either wise or honest, it is
marvellous that they get on as well as they do. The man who has risen
most is Lord Stanley, and, as he has the inestimable advantage of youth,
I believe him to be predestined to influence our fortunes long.

The world, I think, is gradually coming over to an opinion, which, when I
maintained it thirty years ago, was treated as a ridiculous paradox--that
India is and always has been a great misfortune to us; and, that if it
were possible to get quit of it, we should be richer and stronger.

But it is clear that we are to keep it, at least for my life.

Kindest regards from us all to you and Madame de Tocqueville.

Ever yours,

N.W. SENIOR.


Tocqueville, August 21, 1858.

My dear Senior,--I hear indirectly that you are extremely ill. Your
letter told me only that you were suffering from neuralgia which you
hoped to be rid of in a few days, but Mrs. Grote informs me that the
malady continues and has even assumed a more serious character.

If you could write or dictate a few lines to me, you would please me
much.

I am inconsolable for the failure of your American journey. I expected
the most curious results from it I hoped that your journal would enable
me once more to understand the present state of a country which has
so changed since I saw it that I feel that I now know nothing of it. What
a blessing, however, that you had not started! What would have become of
you if the painful attack from which you are suffering had seized you
2,000 miles away from home, and in the midst of that agitated society
where no one has time to be ill or to think of those who are ill? It must
be owned that Fortune has favoured you by sending you this illness just
at the moment of your departure instead of ten days later.

I have been much interested by your visit to Sir John Boileau. You saw
there M. Guizot in one of his best lights. The energy with which he
stands up under the pressure of age and of ill-fortune, and is not only
resigned in his new situation, but as vigorous, as animated, and as
cheerful as ever, shows a character admirably tempered and a pride which
nothing will bend.

I do not so well understand the cheerfulness of Lord John Russell. For
the spectacle now exhibited by England, in which a party finds no
difficulty in maintaining itself in power by carrying into practice ideas
which it has always opposed, and by relying for support on its natural
enemies, is not of a nature to raise the reputation of your institutions,
or of your public men. I should have a great deal more to say to you on
this and other subjects if I were not afraid of tiring you. I leave off,
therefore, by assuring you that we are longing to hear of your recovery.
Remembrances, &c.

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.



Cannes, December 12, 1858.

I wish, my dear friend, to reassure you myself on the false reports which
have been spread regarding my health. Far from finding myself worse than
when we arrived, I am already much better.

I am just now an invalid who takes his daily walks of two hours in the
mountains after eating an excellent breakfast. I am not, however, well.
If I were I should not long remain a citizen of Cannes.

I have almost renounced the use of speech, and consequently the society
of human beings; which is all the more sad as my wife, my sole companion,
is herself very unwell, not dangerously, but enough to make me
anxious. When I say my sole companion, I am wrong, for my eldest brother
has had the kindness to shut himself up with us for a month.

Adieu, dear Senior. A thousand kind remembrances from us to all your
party.

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.



Cannes, March 15, 1859.

You say, my dear Senior, in the letter which I have just received, that I
like to hear from my friends, not to write to them. It is true that I
delight in the letters of my friends, especially of my English friends;
but it is a calumny to say that I do not like to answer them. It is true
that I am in your debt: one great cause is, that a man who lives at
Cannes knows nothing of what is passing. My solitary confinement, which
is bad enough in every way, makes me a bad correspondent, by depressing
my spirits and rendering every exertion painful.

Mrs. Grote, in a very kind and interesting letter, which I received from
her yesterday, says, that Lord Brougham, on his late arrival in London,
gave a lamentable description of my health. If he confined himself to
January, he was right. It is impossible to exaggerate my sufferings
during that month. But, since that time, all has changed, as if from day
to night, or rather from night to day. To talk now of what I was in
January is like making a speech about the Spanish marriages.

I am grieved to find that you have suffered so much this year from
bronchitis. I fear that your larynx can scarcely endure an English
winter. But it is very hard to be obliged to expatriate oneself every
year. I fear, however, that such must be my fate for some winters to
come, and the pain with which I anticipate it makes me sympathise more
acutely with you.

We know not, as yet, whether we are to have peace or war. Whichever it
be, a mortal blow has struck the popularity of Louis Napoleon. What
maintained him was the belief that he was the protector of our material
interests: interests to which we now sacrifice all others. The events of
the last month show, with the utmost vividness, that these very interests
may be endangered by the arbitrary and irrational will of a despot. The
feelings, therefore, which were his real support are now bitterly hostile
to him.

I feel, in short, that a considerable change in our Government is
approaching.

Even our poor _Corps législatif_, a week ago, refused to take into
consideration the Budget, until it was informed whether it were to be a
war budget or a peace budget. Great was the fury of those who represented
the Government. They exclaimed that the Chamber misapprehended its
jurisdiction, and that it had nothing to do with political questions. The
Chamber, however, or rather its committee on the Budget, held its ground,
and extorted from the Government some explanations.

Adieu, my dear Senior. Say everything that is kind to the Grotes, the
Reeves, the Lewises--in short, to all our common friends, and believe in
the sincerity of my friendship.

A. DE TOCQUEVILLE.

[This was M. de Tocqueville's last letter to Mr. Senior. He died on the
16th of April.--ED.]



Hotel Westminster, Rue de la Paix, April 25, 1859.

My dear Madame de Tocqueville,--I was in the country, and it was only
last Friday, as I was passing through London on my way to Paris, that I
heard of the irreparable loss that we, indeed that France and Europe,
have suffered.

It cannot alleviate your distress to be told how universal and deep is
the sympathy with it--quite as much in England as in France.

It has thrown a gloom over society, not only over that portion which had
the happiness and the honour of intimacy with M.A. de Tocqueville, but
even of his acquaintances, and of those too whose acquaintance was only
with his works.

I have, as you know, been for about a year, the depositary of a large
packet confided to me by M. de Tocqueville last spring. About six months
ago he begged me to return it to him, in Paris, when I had a safe
opportunity. No such opportunity offered itself, so that the packet
remains in my library awaiting your orders.

Since I began this letter I have been informed by M. de Corcelle that you
are likely to be soon in Paris. I shall not venture to send it by the
post, lest it should cross you on the road.

I shall anxiously inquire as to your arrival, in the hope that you will
allow one who most sincerely loved and admired your husband, morally and
intellectually, to see you as soon as you feel yourself equal to it.

Believe me, my dear Madame de Tocqueville, with the truest sympathy,
yours most truly,

NASSAU W. SENIOR.

[Mr. Senior continued an active correspondence with Madame de
Tocqueville, and we saw her whenever we were in Paris. Our long-promised
visit to Tocqueville took place in 1861.--ED.]





JOURNAL.

_Tocqueville, Sunday, August_ 11, 1861.--We left Paris on Saturday
evening, got to Valognes by the Cherbourg railway by six the next
morning, and were furnished there with a good carriage and horses, which
took us, and our servants and luggage, in three hours to Tocqueville.

Valognes has been immortalised by Le Sage in Turcaret. It is a town of
about 6,000 inhabitants, built of granite, and therefore little altered
from what it was 200 years ago. Over many of the doors are the armorial
bearings of the provincial nobility who made it a small winter capital:
the practice is not wholly extinct. I asked who was the inhabitant of an
imposing old house. 'M. de Néridoze,' answered our landlady, 'd'une
très-haute noblesse.' I went over one in which Madame de Tocqueville
thinks of passing the winter. It is of two stories. The ground floor
given up to kitchen, laundry, and damp-looking servants' rooms; the first
floor in this form:--

[Illustration:]

                                                 Bedroom.
                                   Door
                                         Stairs  Bedroom.

Bedroom.  Drawing-room.  Dining-room.    Hall.   Bedroom.


The longer side looks into the street, the shorter, which is to be Madame
de Tocqueville's bedroom, into a small garden.

_August_ 11.--At Tocqueville we find M. and Madame de Beaumont, their
second son--a charming boy of ten years old, and Ampère.

It is eleven years since I was here. Nothing has been done to the
interior of the house. This is about the plan of ground floor.

[Illustration:]

                                                 Offices
                                 Tower
                                staircase                   Offices.

Drawing-room.  Billiard-room.                  Dining-room.
                                  Hall.
                                                                Tower

The first floor corresponds to the ground floor, except that on the
western sides a passage runs, into which the library, which is over the
drawing-room, and the bedrooms open. The second consists of garrets. My
room is on the first floor of the eastern tower, with deep windows
looking south and east. The room dedicated by Tocqueville to Ampère is
above me. Creepers in great luxuriance cover the walls up to the first
floor windows. The little park consists of from thirty to forty acres,
well wooded and traversed by an avenue in this form, leading from the
road to the front of the house.


*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

*   *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

                            *   *

                            *   *

                            *   *

                            *   *

To the west the ground rises to a wild common commanding the sea, the
lighthouses of Gatteville, Barfleur, La Hogue, and a green plain covered
with woods and hedgerow trees, and studded with church towers and spires
of the picturesque forms of the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth
centuries. It has no grand features, except the sea and the rocky coast
of the Cherbourg peninsula, but it is full of variety and beauty. I can
understand Tocqueville's delight in the house and in the country. The
weather is perfect; the thermometer in my bedroom, the walls of which are
about six feet thick, is 71°, in the sun it is 80°; but there is a strong
breeze.

_August 12th._--Madame de Beaumont, my daughter, and Ampère drove, and
Beaumont and I walked, to the coast about three miles and a half off. Our
road ran through the gay wooded plain which I have described.

We talked of Italian affairs.

'Up to the annexation of Tuscany,' said Beaumont, 'I fully approve of all
that has been done. Parma, Modena, and Tuscany were eager to join
Piedmont. During the anxious interval of six months, while the decision
of Louis Napoleon was doubtful, the conduct of the Tuscans was above all
praise. Perhaps the general wish of the people of Romagna justified the
Piedmontese in seizing it. Though there the difficult question as to the
expediency of stripping the Pope of his temporal power rises.

'Perhaps, too, the facility with which Sicily submitted was a
justification. But I cannot pardon the seizure of Naples. It is clear to
me that if the Neapolitans had been left to themselves they would have
driven out the Garibaldians. Garibaldi himself felt this: nothing but a
conviction of its necessity would have induced him to call for the
assistance of the Piedmontese. I do not believe that in defiance of all
international law-indeed in defiance of all international
morality--Cavour would have given that assistance if the public opinion
of Piedmont had allowed him to refuse it. And what is the consequence? A
civil war which is laying waste the country. The Piedmontese call their
adversaries brigands. There are without doubt among them men whose motive
is plunder, but the great majority are in arms in defence of the
independence of their country. They are no more brigands now than they
were when they resisted King Joseph. The Piedmontese are as much
foreigners to them as the French were: as much hated and as lawfully
resisted. They may be conquered, they probably will be conquered. An
ignorant corrupt population, inhabiting a small country, unsupported by
its higher classes--its fleet, its fortresses, and all the machinery of
its government, in the hands of its enemies--cannot permanently resist;
but the war will be atrocious, and the more cruel on the part of Piedmont
because it is unjust.'

'You admit,' I said, 'that the higher classes side with Piedmont?'

'I admit that,' he answered; 'but you must recollect how few they are in
number, and how small is the influence which they exercise. In general, I
detest universal suffrage, I detest democracy and everything belonging to
it, but if it were possible to obtain honestly and truly the opinion of
the people, I would ask it and obey it. I believe that it would be better
to allow the Neapolitans, ignorant and debased as they are, to choose
their own sovereign and their own form of government, than to let them be
forced by years of violence to become the unwilling subjects of
Piedmont.'

'Do you believe,' I said, 'that it is possible to obtain through
universal suffrage the honest and true opinion of a people?'

'Not,' he answered, 'if the Government interferes. I believe that in
Savoy not one person in fifty was in favour of annexation to France. But
this is an extreme case.

'The Bourbons are deservedly hated and despised by the Neapolitans, the
Piedmontese are not despised, but are hated still more intensely. There
is no native royal stock. The people are obviously unfit for a Republic.
It would be as well, I think, to let them select a King as to impose one
on them. The King whom Piedmont, without a shadow of right, is imposing
on them is the one whom they most detest.'

'If I go to Rome,' I asked, 'in the winter, whom shall I find there?'

'I think,' he answered, 'that it will be the Piedmontese. The present
state of things is full of personal danger to Louis Napoleon. As his
policy is purely selfish, he will, at any sacrifice, put an end to it.
That sacrifice may be the unity of Catholicism. The Pope, no longer a
sovereign, will be under the influence of the Government in whose
territory he resides, and the other Catholic Powers may follow the
example of Greece and of Russia, and create each an independent Spiritual
Government. It would be a new excitement for _Celui-ci_ to make himself
Head of the Church.'

'Assassinations,' I said, 'even when successful have seldom produced
important and permanent effects, but Orsini's failure has influenced and
is influencing the destinies of Europe.'

'If I were an Italian liberal,' said Beaumont, 'I would erect a statue to
him. The policy and almost the disposition of Louis Napoleon have been
changed by the _attentat_. He has become as timid as he once was
intrepid. He began by courting the Pope and the clergy. He despised the
French assassins, who were few in number and unconnected, and who had
proved their unskilfulness on Louis Philippe; but Orsini showed him that
he had to elect between the Pope and the Austrians on one side, and the
Carbonari on the other. He has chosen the alliance of the Carbonari. He
has made himself their tool, and will continue to do so.

'They are the only enemies whom he fears, at least for the present.

'France is absolutely passive. The uneducated masses from whom he holds
his power are utterly indifferent to liberty, and he has too much sense
to irritate them by wanton oppression. They do not know that he is
degrading the French character, they do not even feel that he is wasting
the capital of France, they do not know that he is adding twenty millions
every year to the national debt. They think of his loans merely as
investments, and the more profligately extravagant are the terms and the
amount, the better they like them.'

'Ten years ago,' I said, 'the cry that I heard was, "Ça ne durera pas."'

'That was my opinion,' he answered; 'indeed, it was the opinion of
everybody. I thought the Duc de Broglie desponding when he gave it three
years. We none of us believed that the love of liberty was dead in
France.'

'It is not,' I said, 'dead, for among the higher classes it still lives,
and among the lower it never existed.'

'Perhaps,' he answered, 'our great mistakes were that we miscalculated
the courage of the educated classes, and the degree in which universal
suffrage would throw power into the hands of the uneducated. Not a human
being in my commune reads a newspaper or indeed reads anything: yet it
contains 300 electors. In the towns there is some knowledge and some
political feeling, but for political purposes they are carefully swamped
by being joined to uneducated agricultural districts.

'Still I think I might enter the _Corps législatif_ for our capital Le
Mans. Perhaps at a general election twenty liberals might come in. But
what good could they do? The opposition in the last session strengthened
Louis Napoleon. It gave him the prestige of liberality and success.'

'You think him, then,' I said, 'safe for the rest of his life?'

'Nothing,' he answered, 'is safe in France, and the thing most unsafe is
a Government. Our caprices are as violent as they are sudden. They
resemble those of a half-tamed beast of prey, which licks its keeper's
hand to-day, and may tear him to-morrow. But if his life be not so long
as to enable the fruits of his follies to show themselves in their
natural consequences--unsuccessful war, or defeated diplomacy, or
bankruptcy, or heavily increased taxation--he may die in the Tuileries.

'But I infer from his conduct that he thinks an insurrection against his
tyranny possible, and that he is preparing to meet it by a popular war--
that is to say, by a war with England.

'I found my opinion not so much on the enormous maritime preparations, as
on the long-continued systematic attempts to raise against England our
old national enmity. All the provincial papers are in the hands of the
Government. The constantly recurring topic of every one of them is, the
perfidy and the malignity of England. She is described as opposing all
our diplomacy, as resisting all our aggrandisement, as snarling and
growling at our acquisition of Savoy, as threatening us if we accept
Sardinia, as trying to drive the Pope from Rome because we protect him,
as trying to separate the Danubian provinces because we wish to unite
them, as preventing the Suez Canal because we proposed it--in short, on
every occasion and in every part of the world as putting herself in our
way. To these complaints, which are not without foundation, are added
others of which our ignorant people do not see the absurdity. They are
told that the enormous conscription, and the great naval expenditure, are
rendered necessary by the aggressive armaments of England. That you are
preparing to lay waste all our coasts, to burn our arsenals, to subsidise
against us a new Coalition, and perhaps lead its armies again to Paris.

'The Emperor's moderation, his love of England, and his love of peace,
are said to be the only obstacles to, a violent rupture. But they are
prepared for these obstacles at length giving way. "The Emperor," they
are told, "is getting tired of his insolent, and hostile, and quarrelsome
allies. He is getting tired of a peace which is more expensive than a
war. Some day the cup will flow over. 'Il en finira avec eux,' will
dictate a peace in London, will free the oppressed Irish nationality,
will make England pay the expense of the war, and then having conquered
the only enemy that France can fear, will let her enjoy, for the first
time, real peace, a reduced conscription, and low taxation."

'Such is the language of all the provincial papers and of all the
provincial authorities, and it has its effect. There never was a time
when a war with England would be so popular. He does not wish for one, he
knows that it would be extremely dangerous, but he is accustomed to play
for great stakes, and if submitting to any loss of his popularity, or to
any limitation of his power is the alternative, he will run the risk. He
keeps it, as his last card, in reserve, to be played only in extremity,
but to be ready when that extremity has arrived.'

_Tuesday, August_ 13.--We drove to La Prenelle, a church at the point of
a high table-land running from Tocqueville towards the bay of La Hogue,
and commanding nearly all the Cherbourg peninsula. On three sides of us
was the sea, separated from us by a wooded, well-inhabited plain, whose
churches rose among the trees, and containing the towns and lofty
lighthouses of Gatteville, Barfleur, Vast, and La Hogue. We sat on the
point from whence James II. saw the battle of La Hogue, and admired the
courage of his English rebels.

Ampère has spent much of his life in Rome, and is engaged on a work in
which its history is to be illustrated by its monuments.

We talked of the Roman people.

'Nothing,' said Ampère, 'can be more degraded than the higher classes.
With the exception of Antonelli, who is charming, full of knowledge,
intelligence, and grace, and of the Duke of Sermoneta, who is almost
equally distinguished, there is scarcely a noble of my acquaintance who
has any merits, moral or intellectual.

'They are surrounded by the finest ancient and modern art, and care
nothing for it. The eminent men of every country visit Rome--the Romans
avoid them for they have nothing to talk to them about.

'Politics are of course unsafe, literature they have none. They never
read. A cardinal told me something which I doubted, and I asked him where
he had found it. "In certi libri," he answered.

'Another, who has a fine old library, begged me to use it. "You will do
the room good," he said. "No one has been there for years." Even scandal
and gossip must be avoided under an Ecclesiastical Government.

'They never ride, they never shoot, they never visit their estates, they
give no parties; if it were not for the theatre and for their lawsuits
they would sink into vegetable life.'

'Sermoneta,' I said, 'told me that many of his lawsuits were hereditary,
and would probably descend to his son.'

'If Sermoneta,' said Ampère, 'with his positive intelligence and his
comparative vigour, cannot get through them, what is to be expected from
others? They have, however, one merit, one point of contact with the rest
of the world--their hatred of their Government. They seem to perceive,
not clearly, for they perceive nothing clearly, but they dimly see, that
the want of liberty is a still greater misfortune to the higher classes
than to the lower.

'But the people are a fine race. Well led they will make excellent
soldiers. They have the cruelty of their ancestors, perhaps I ought to
say of their predecessors, but they have also their courage.'

'They showed,' said Beaumont, 'courage in the defence of Rome, but
courage behind walls is the commonest of all courages. No training could
make the Spaniards stand against us in the open field, but they were
heroes in Saragossa. The caprices of courage and cowardice are
innumerable. The French have no moral courage, they cannot stand
ridicule, they cannot encounter disapprobation, they bow before
oppression; a French soldier condemned by a court-martial cries for mercy
like a child. The same man in battle appears indifferent to death. The
Spaniard runs away without shame, but submits to death when it is
inevitable without terror. None of the prisoners taken on either side in
the Spanish civil war asked for pardon.'

'Indifference to life,' I said, 'and indifference to danger have little
in common. General Fénelon told me that in Algeria he had more than once
to preside at an execution. No Arab showed any fear. Once there were two
men, one of whom was to be flogged, the other to be shot. A mistake was
made and they were going to shoot the wrong man. It was found out in
time, but neither of the men seemed to care about it; yet they
would probably have run away in battle. The Chinese are not brave, but
you can hire a man to be beheaded in your place.'

'So,' said Ampère, 'you could always hire a substitute in our most
murderous wars, when in the course of a year a regiment was killed twice
over. It was hiring a man, not indeed to be beheaded, but to be shot for
you.'

'The destructiveness,' said Beaumont, 'of a war is only gradually known.
It is found out soonest in the villages when the deaths of the conscripts
are heard of, or are suspected from their never returning; but in the
towns, from which the substitutes chiefly come, it may be long
undiscovered. Nothing is known but what is officially published, and the
Government lies with an audacity which seems always to succeed. If it
stated the loss of men in a battle at one half of the real number, people
would fancy that it ought to be doubled, and so come near to the truth;
but it avows only one-tenth or only one-twentieth, and then the amount of
falsehood is underestimated.'

'Marshal Randon,' I said, 'told me that the whole loss in the Italian
campaign was under 7,000 men.'

'That is a good instance,' said Beaumont. 'It certainly was 50,000,
perhaps 70,000. But I am guilty of a _délit_ in saying so, and you will
be guilty of a _délit_ if you repeat what I have said. I remember the
case of a man in a barber's shop in Tours, to whom the barber said that
the harvest was bad. He repeated the information, and was punished by
fine and imprisonment for having spread _des nouvelles alarmantes_. Truth
is no excuse; in fact it is an aggravation, for the truer the news the
more alarming.'

'In time of peace,' I asked, 'what proportion of the conscripts return
after their six years of service?'

'About three-quarters,' answered Beaumont.

'Then,' I said, 'as you take 100,000 conscripts every year even in peace,
you lose 25,000 of your best young men every year?'

'Certainly,' said Beaumont.

'And are the 75,000 who return improved or deteriorated?' I asked.

'Improved,' said Ampère; 'they are _dégourdis_, they are educated, they
submit to authority, they know how to shift for themselves.'

'Deteriorated,' said Beaumont. 'A garrison life destroys the habits of
steady industry, it impairs skill. The returned conscript is more vicious
and less honest than the peasant who has not left his village.'

'And what was the loss,' I asked, 'in the late war?'

'At least twice as great,' said Beaumont, 'as it is in peace. Half of
those who were taken perished. The country would not have borne the
prolongation of the Crimean War.'

'These wars,' I said, 'were short and successful. A war with England can
scarcely be short, and yet you think that he plans one?'

'I think,' said Beaumont, 'that he plans one, but only in the event of
his encountering any serious difficulty at home. You must not infer from
the magnitude of his naval expenditure that he expects one.

'You look at the expense of those preparations, and suppose that so great
a sacrifice would not be made in order to meet an improbable emergency.
But expense is no sacrifice to him. He likes it. He has the morbid
taste for it which some tyrants have had for blood, which his uncle had
for war. Then he is incapable of counting. When he lived at Arenenburg he
used to give every old soldier who visited him an order on Viellard his
treasurer for money. In general the chest was empty. Viellard used to
remonstrate but without effect. The day perhaps after his orders had been
dishonoured he gave new ones.'

'Is it true,' I asked, 'that the civil list is a couple of years' income
in debt?'

I know nothing about it,' said Beaumont; 'in fact, nobody knows anything
about anything, but it is highly probable. Everybody who asks for
anything gets  it, everybody is allowed to waste, everybody is allowed to
rob, every folly of the Empress is complied with. Fould raised
objections, and was dismissed.

'She is said to have a room full of revolutionary relics: there is the
bust of Marie Antoinette, the nose broken at one of the sacks of the
Tuileries. There is a picture of Simon beating Louis XVII. Her poor child
has been frightened by it, and she is always dwelling on the dangers of
her position.'

'So,' I said, 'did Queen Adelaide--William IV.'s Queen. From the passing
of the Reform Bill she fully expected to die on the scaffold.'

'There is more reason,' he answered, 'for the Empress's fears.'

'Not,' I said, 'if she fears the scaffold. Judicial murder, at least in
that form, is out of fashion. Cayenne and Lambressa are your guillotines,
and the Empress is safe from them.'

'But there are other modes of violent death,' he answered; 'from one of
which she escaped almost by miracle.'

'How did she behave,' I asked, 'at the _attentat?_'

'Little is known,' he answered, 'except that the Emperor said to her, as
he led her upstairs to her box: "Allons, il faut faire notre métier."'

'Then she is disturbed by religious fears. The little prince has been
taught to say to his father every morning: "Papa, ne faites pas de mal à
mon parrain." The Pope was his godfather.'

'If the Emperor dies, the real power will pass into the hands of Prince
Napoleon. And very dangerous hands they will be. He has more talent than
the Emperor, and longer views. Louis Napoleon is a revolutionist from
selfishness. Prince Napoleon is selfish enough, but he has also passion.
He detests everything that is venerable, everything that is established
or legal.

'There is little value now for property or for law, though the Government
professes to respect them. What, will it be when the Government professes
to hate them?'

_Wednesday, August_ 14.--We talked at breakfast of Rome.

'Is there,' said Beaumont to Ampère, 'still an Inquisition at Rome?'

'There is,' said Ampère, 'but it is torpid. It punishes bad priests, but
does little else.'

'If a Roman,' I asked, 'were an avowed infidel, would it take notice of
him?'

'Probably not,' said Ampère, 'but his _curé_ might--not for his
infidelity, but for his avowing it. The _curé_ who has always the powers
of a _commissaire de police,_ might put him in prison if he went into a
_café_ and publicly denied the Immaculate Conception, or if he neglected
going to church or to confession: but the Inquisition no longer cares
about opinions.'

'Is there much infidelity,' I asked, 'in Rome?'

'Much,' said Ampère, 'among the laity. The clergy do not actively
disbelieve. They go through their functions without ever seriously
inquiring whether what they have to teach be true or false. No persons
were more annoyed by the Mortara[1] business than the clergy, with the
exception of Antonelli. He hates and fears the man who set it on foot,
the Archbishop of Bologna, and therefore was glad to see him expose
himself, and lose all hope of the Secretaryship, but he took care to
prevent the recurrence of such a scandal. He revived an old law
prohibiting Jews from keeping Christian nurses. But he could scarcely
order restitution. According to the Church it would have been giving the
child to the Devil, and, what is worse, robbing God of him. The Pope's
piety is selfish. His great object is his own salvation. He would not
endanger that, to confer any benefit upon, or to avert any evil from
Rome; or indeed from the whole world. This makes him difficult to
negotiate with. If anything is proposed to him which his confessor
affirms to be dangerous to his soul, he listens to no arguments. As for
Mortara himself, he is a poor creature. A friend of mine went to see him
in his convent. All that he could get from him was:

'"Sono venuti i Carabinieri."

'"And what did they do to you?"

'"M' hanno portato quì."

'"What more?"

'"M' hanno dato pasticci; erano molto buoni."

'What is most teasing,' continued Ampère, 'in the Roman Government is not
so much its active oppression as its torpidity. It hates to act. An
Englishman had with great difficulty obtained permission to light Rome
with gas. He went to the Government in December, and told them that
everything was ready, and that the gas would be lighted on the 1st of
January.

'"Could you not," they answered, "put it off till April?"

'"But it is in winter," he replied; "that it is wanted. Every thing is
ready. Why should we wait?"

'"It is a new thing," they replied; "people will be frightened. It may
have consequences. At least put it off till March."

'"But they will be as much frightened in March," he replied.

'"If it must be done," they said, "as a kindness to His Holiness and to
us put it off till February."

'There is, however, one sort of oppression which even we should find it
difficult to tolerate.

'A Monsignore has a young friend without money, but an excellent Catholic
and an excellent politician, a fervid believer in the Immaculate
Conception and in the excellence of the Papal Government. He wishes to
reward such admirable opinions: but the Pope has little to give.
Monsignore looks out for some young heiress, sends for her father,
describes his pious and loyal _protégé_, and proposes marriage. Her
father objects--says that his daughter cannot afford to marry a poor man,
or that she does not wish to marry at all--or that he or she has some
other preference.

'Monsignore insists. He assures the father that what he is proposing is
most favourable to the salvation of his daughter, that he suggests it
principally for the benefit of her soul, and that the father's objections
are inspired by the Evil One. The father breaks off the conversation and
goes home. He finds that his daughter has disappeared. He returns furious
to Monsignore, is received with the utmost politeness and is informed
that his daughter is perfectly safe under the protection of a cardinal
who himself did her the honour of fetching her in his gilded coach. "You
have only," the Monsignore says, "to be reasonable, and she shall be
returned to you."

'The father flies to the cardinal.

'The same politeness and the same answer.

'"Do not oppose," he is told, "the will of the Pope, who, in this matter,
seeks only your daughter's happiness here and hereafter. She is now with
me. If you will give up your sinful obstinacy she shall be restored to
you to-day. If not, it will be our duty to place her in a convent, where
she will be taken the utmost care of, but she will not leave it except to
marry the person whom His Holiness thinks most fitted to promote the
welfare of her soul."

'I have known several cases in which this attempt has been made. With
such timid slaves as the Roman nobility it always succeeds.'

[Footnote 1: The Jewish child who was taken away from his parents and
converted.--ED.]


_Thursday, August_ 15.--This is the fête of St. Louis--the great fête of
Tocqueville. Madame de Tocqueville and Madame de Beaumont spent much of
the morning in church.

Beaumont and his son walked to the coast to bathe. Minnie, Ampère, and I
strolled among the deep shady lanes of the plateau above the castle.
Throughout Normandy the fields are small and are divided by mounds
planted with trees. The farmhouses, and even the cottages, are built of
primitive rock, granite, or old red sandstone. At a distance, peeping out
of the trees that surround them, they look pretty, but they, have more
than the usual French untidiness. The outhouses are roofless, the
farmyards are full of pools and dung heaps, which often extend into the
road; and the byroads themselves are quagmires when they do not consist
of pointed stones. I was struck by the paucity of the children and the
absence of new houses. The population of Normandy is diminishing.

We conversed on the subject of Italy.

'If we are in Rome next winter,' I asked, 'shall we find the French
there?'

'I think not,' said Ampère; 'I think that you will find only the
Piedmontese.

'Every day that Louis Napoleon holds Rome is a day of danger to him, a
danger slight perhaps now, but serious if the occupation be prolonged.
The Anti-papal party, and it includes almost all that are liberal and all
that are energetic, are willing to give him time, but not an indefinite
time. They are quiet only because they trust him. He is a magician who
has sold himself to the Devil. The Devil is patient, but he will not be
cheated. The Carbonari will support Louis Napoleon as long as he is doing
their work, and will allow him to do it in his own way and to take his
own time, as long as they believe he is doing it. But woe to him if they
believe that he is deceiving them. I suspect that they are becoming
impatient, and I suspect too, that he is becoming impatient. This quarrel
between Mérode and Goyon is significative. I do not believe that Goyon
used the words imputed to him. We shall probably keep Civita Vecchia, but
we shall give up Rome to the Piedmontese.'

'And will the Pope,' I asked, 'remain?'

'Not this Pope,' said Ampère, 'but his successor. Nor do I see the great
evil of the absence of the Pope from Rome. Popes have often been absent
before, sometimes for long periods.'

'Most of my French friends,' I said, 'are opposed to Italian Unity as
mischievous to France.'

'I do not believe,' he answered, 'in the submission of Naples to this
Piedmontese dynasty, but I shall be delighted to see all Italy north of
the Neapolitan territory united.

'I do not think that we have anything to fear from the kingdom of Italy.
It is as likely to be our friend as to be our enemy. But the Neapolitans,
even if left to themselves, would not willingly give up their
independence, and _Celui-ci_ is trying to prevent their doing so.'

'What do _they_ wish,' I asked, 'and what does _he_ wish?'

'I believe,' he answered, 'that _their_ wishes are only negative.

'They do not wish to recall the Bourbons, and they are resolved not to
keep the Piedmontese. _His_ wish I believe to be to put his cousin there.
Prince Napoleon himself refused Tuscany. It is too small, but he would
like Naples, and Louis Napoleon would be glad to get rid of him. What
would England say?'

'If we believed,' I said, 'in the duration of a Bonaparte dynasty in
France, we should, of course, object to the creation of one in Naples.
But if, as we think it probable, the Bonapartists have to quit France, I
do not see few we should be injured by their occupying the throne of
Naples.

'I should object to them if I were a Neapolitan. All their instincts are
despotic, democratic, and revolutionary. But even they are better than
the late king was. What chance have the Murats?'

'None,' said Ampère. 'They have spoiled their game, if they had a game,
by their precipitation. The Emperor has disavowed them, the Neapolitans
do not care for them. The Prince de Leuchtenberg, grandson of Eugène
Beauharnais, has been talked of. He is well connected, related to many of
the reigning families of the Continent, and is said to be intelligent and
well educated.'

'If Naples,' I said, 'is to be detached from the kingdom of Italy, Sicily
ought to be detached from Naples. There is quite as much mutual
antipathy.'

'Would you like to take it?' he asked.

'Heaven forbid!' I answered. 'It would be another Corfu on a larger
scale. The better we governed them, the more they would hate us. The only
chance for them is to have a king of their own.'

_August_ 15.--In the evening Ampère read to us a comedy called 'Beatrix,'
by a writer of some reputation, and a member of the Institut.

It was very bad, full of exaggerated sentiments, forced situations, and
the cant of philanthropic despotism.

An actress visits the court of a German grand duke. He is absent. His
mother, the duchess, receives her as an equal. The second son falls in
love with her at first sight and wishes to marry her. She is inclined to
consent, when another duchy falls in, the elder duke resigns to his
brother, he becomes king, presses their marriage, his mother does not
oppose, and thereupon Beatrix makes a speech, orders her horses, and
drives off to act somewhere else.

Ampère reads admirably, but no excellence of reading could make such
absurdities endurable. It was written for Ristori, who acted Beatrix in
French with success.


_Friday, August_ 16.--We talked at breakfast of 1793.

'It is difficult,' said Madame de Beaumont, 'to believe that the French
of that day were our ancestors.'

'They resembled you,' I said, 'only in two things: in military courage,
and in political cowardice.'

'They had,' she replied, 'perhaps more passive courage than we have.[1]
My great-great-grandmother, my great-grandmother, and my great-aunt, were
guillotined on the same day. My great-great-grandmother was ninety years
old. When interrogated, she begged them to speak loud, as she was deaf.
'Écrivez,' said Fouquier Tinville, 'que la citoyenne Noailles a conspiré
sourdement contre la République.' They were dragged to the Place de la
République in the same _tombereau_, and sat waiting their turn on the
same bench.

'My great-aunt was young and beautiful. The executioner, while fastening
her to the plank, had a rose in his mouth. The Abbé de Noailles, who was
below the scaffold, disguised, to give them, at the risk of his life, a
sign of benediction, was asked how they looked.

'"Comme si,' he said, 'elles allaient à la messe."'

'The habit,' said Ampère, 'of seeing people die produces indifference
even to one's own death. You see that among soldiers. You see it in
epidemics. But this indifference, or, to use a more proper word, this
resignation, helped to prolong the Reign of Terror. If the victims had
resisted, if, like Madame du Barry, they had struggled with the
executioner, it would have excited horror.'

'The cries of even a pig,' said Madame de Beaumont, 'make it disagreeable
to kill it.'

'Sanson,' I said, 'long survived the Revolution; he made a fortune and
lived in retirement at Versailles. A lady was run away with between
Versailles and Paris. An elderly man, at considerable risk, stopped her
horse. She was very grateful, but could not get from him his name. At
last she traced him, and found that it was Sanson.'

'Sanson,' said Beaumont, 'may have been an honest man. Whenever a place
of _bourreau_ is vacant, there are thirty or forty candidates, and they
always produce certificates of their extraordinary kindness and humanity.
It seems to be the post most coveted by men eminent for their
benevolence.'

'How many have you?' I asked.

'Eighty-six,' he answered. 'One for each department.'

'And how many executions?'

'About one hundred a year in all France.'

'And what is the salary?'

'Perhaps a couple of thousand francs a year.'

'Really,' said Ampère, 'it is one of the best parts of the patronage of
the Minister of the Interior. _M. le Bourreau_ gets more than a thousand
francs for each operation.'

'We pay by the piece,' I said, 'and find one operator enough for all
England.'

'A friend of mine,' said Beaumont, had a remarkably good Swiss servant.
His education was far above his station, and we could not find what had
been his birth or his canton.

'Suddenly he became agitated and melancholy, and at last told my friend
that he must leave him, and why. His father was the hereditary _bourreau_
of a Swiss canton. To the office was attached an estate, to be forfeited
if the office were refused. He had resolved to take neither, and, to
avoid being solicited, had left his country and changed his name. But his
family had traced him, had informed him of his father's death, and had
implored him to accept the succession. He was the only son, and his
mother and sisters would be ruined, if he allowed it to pass to the next
in order of inheritance, a distant cousin. He had not been able to
persist in his refusal.'

'The husband of an acquaintance of mine,' said Madame de Beaumont, 'used
to disappear for two or three hours every day. He would not tell her for
what purpose. At last she found out that he was employed in the _chambre
noire_, the department of the police by which letters passing through the
post are opened. The duties were well paid, and she could not persuade
him to give them up. They were on uneasy terms, when an accident threw a
list of all the names of the _employés_ in the _chambre noire_, into the
hands of an opposition editor, who published them in his newspaper.

'She then separated from him.'

'If the Post-office,' I said, 'were not a Government monopoly, if
everyone had a right to send his letters in the way that he liked best,
there would be some excuse. But the State compels you, under severe
penalties, to use its couriers, undertaking, not tacitly but expressly,
to respect the secrecy of your correspondence, and then systematically
violates it.'

'I should have said,' answered Ampère, 'not expressly but tacitly.'

'No,' I replied; 'expressly. Guizot, when Minister for Foreign Affairs,
proclaimed from the tribune, that in France the secrecy of correspondence
was, under all circumstances, inviolable. This has never been officially
contradicted.

'The English Post-office enters into no such engagements. Any letters may
be legally opened, under an order from a Secretary of State.'

'Are prisoners in England,' asked Beaumont, 'allowed to correspond with
their friends?'

'I believe,' I answered, 'that their letters pass through the Governor's
hands, and that he opens them, or not, at his discretion.'

'Among the tortures,' said Ampère, 'which Continental despots delight to
inflict on their state prisoners the privation of correspondence is one.'

'In ordinary life,' I said, 'the educated endure inaction worse than the
ignorant. A coachman sits for hours on his box without feeling _ennui_.
If his master had to sit quiet all that time, inside the carriage, he
would tear his hair from impatience.

'But the educated seem to tolerate the inactivity of imprisonment better
than their inferiors. We find that our ordinary malefactors cannot endure
solitary imprisonment for more than a year--seldom indeed so long. The
Italian prisoners whom I have known, Zucchi, Borsieri, Poerio,
Gonfalonieri, and Pellico, endured imprisonment lasting from ten to
seventeen years without much injury to mind or body.'

'The spirit of Pellico,' said Madame de Beaumont, 'was broken. When
released, he gave himself up to devotion and works of charity. Perhaps
the humility, resignation, and submission of his book made it still
more mischievous to the Austrian Government. The reader's indignation
against those who could so trample on so unresisting a victim becomes
fierce.'

'If the Austrians,' I said, 'had been wise, they would have shot instead
of imprisoning them. Their deaths would have been forgotten--their
imprisonment has contributed much to the general odium which is
destroying the Austrian Empire.'

'It would have been wiser,' said Beaumont, 'but it would have been more
merciful, and therefore it was not done. But you talk of all these men as
solitarily imprisoned. Some of them had companions.'

'Yes,' I said, 'but they complained that one permanent companion was
worse than solitude. Gonfalonieri said, that one could not be in the same
room, with the same man, a year without hating him.

'One of the Neapolitan prisoners was chained for some time to a brigand.
Afterwards the brigand was replaced by a gentleman. He complained
bitterly of the change.

'The brigand,' said Minnie, 'was his slave, the gentleman had a will of
his own.'

'How did M. de La Fayette,'[2] I asked Madame de Beaumont, 'bear his five
years' imprisonment at Olmutz?'

'His health,' said Madame de Beaumont, 'was good, but the miseries of his
country and the sufferings of his wife made him very unhappy. When my
grandmother came to him, it was two days before she had strength to tell
him that all his and her family had perished. I was once at Olmutz, and
saw the one room which they had inhabited. It was damp and dark. She
asked to be allowed to leave it for a time for better medical treatment
and change of air. It was granted only on the condition that she should
never return. She refused. The rheumatic attacks which the state of the
prison had produced, continued and increased: she was hopelessly ill when
they were released--and died soon afterwards. The sense of wrong
aggravated their sufferings, for their imprisonment was a gross and
wanton violation of all law, international and municipal. My grandfather
was not an Austrian subject; he had committed no offence against Austria.
She seized him simply because he was a liberal, because his principles
had made him the enemy of tyranny in America and in France; and because
his birth and talents and reputation gave him influence. It was one of
the brutal stupid acts of individual cruelty which characterise the
Austrian despotism, and have done more to ruin it than a wider
oppression--such a one, for instance, as ours, more mischievous, but more
intelligent,--would have done.'

'Freedom,' said Ampère, 'was offered to him on the mere condition of his
not serving in the French army. At that time the Jacobins would have
guillotined him, the Royalists would have forced duel after duel on him
till they had killed him. It seemed impossible that he should ever be
able to draw his sword for France. In fact he never _was_ able. America
offered him an asylum, honours, land, everything that could console an
exile. But he refused to give up the chance, remote as it was, of being
useful to his country, and remained a prisoner till he was delivered by
Napoleon.'

'He firmly believed,' said Madame de Beaumont, 'that if the Royal Family
would have taken refuge with his army in 1791 he could have saved them,
and probably the Monarchy. His army was then in his hands, a few months
after the Jacobins had corrupted it.'

'Two men,' said Ampère, 'Mirabeau and La Fayette, could have saved the
Monarchy, and were anxious to do so. But neither the King nor the Queen
would trust them.

'Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette are among the historical personages who
have most influenced the destinies of the world. His dulness, torpidity
and indecision, and her frivolity, narrow-minded prejudices and
suspiciousness, are among the causes of our present calamities. They are
among the causes of a state of things which has inflicted on
us, and threatens to inflict on all Europe, the worst of all
Governments--democratic despotism. A Government in which two wills only
prevail--that of the ignorant, envious, ambitious, aggressive multitude,
and that of the despot who, whatever be his natural disposition, is soon
turned, by the intoxication of flattery and of universal power, into a
capricious, fantastic, selfish participator in the worst passions of the
worst portion of his subjects.'

'Such a Government,' I said, 'may be called an anti-aristocracy. It
excludes from power all those who are fit to exercise it.'

'The consequence,' said Beaumont, 'is, that the qualities which fit men
for power not being demanded, are not supplied. Our young men have no
political knowledge or public spirit. Those who have a taste for the
sciences cultivated in the military schools enter the army. The rest
learn nothing.'

'What do they do?' I asked.

'How they pass their time,' said Madame de Beaumont, 'is a puzzle to me.
They do not read, they do not go into society--I believe that they smoke
and play at dominos, and ride and bet at steeple-chases.

'Those who are on home service in the army are not much better. The time
not spent in the routine of their profession is sluggishly and viciously
wasted. Algeria has been a God-send to us. There our young men have real
duties to perform, and real dangers to provide against and to encounter.
My son, who left St. Cyr only eighteen months ago, is stationed at
Thebessa, 300 miles in the interior. He belongs to a _bureau arabe_,
consisting of a captain, a lieutenant, and himself, and about forty
spahis. He has to act as a judge, as an engineer, to settle the frontier
between the province of Constantine and Tunis--in short, to be one of a
small ruling aristocracy. This is the school which has furnished, and is
furnishing, our best generals and administrators.'

We talked of the interior of French families.

'The ties of relationship,' I said, 'seem to be stronger with you than
they are with us. Cousinship with you is a strong bond, with us it is a
weak one.'

'The habit of living together,' said Beaumont, 'has perhaps much to do
with the strength of our feelings of consanguinity. Our life is
patriarchal. Grandfather, father, and grandson are often under the same
roof. At the Grange[3] thirty of the family were sometimes assembled at
dinner. With you, the sons go off, form separate establishments, see
little of their parents, still less of their cousins, and become
comparatively indifferent to them.'

'I remember,' I said, 'the case of an heir apparent of seventy; his
father was ninety-five. One day the young man was very grumpy. They tried
to find out what was the matter with him; at last he broke out,
"Everybody's father dies except mine."'

'An acquaintance of mine,' said Beaumont, 'not a son, but a son-in-law,
complained equally of the pertinacious longevity of his father-in-law.
"Je n'ai pas cru," he said, "en me mariant, que j'épousais la fille du
Père Éternel." Your primogeniture,' he continued, 'must be a great source
of unfilial feelings. The eldest son of one of your great families is in
the position of the heir apparent to a throne. His father's death is to
give him suddenly rank, power, and wealth; and we know that royal heirs
apparent are seldom affectionate sons. With us the fortunes are much
smaller, they are equally divided, and the rank that descends to the son
is nothing.'

'What regulates,' I asked, 'the descent of titles?'

'It is ill regulated,' said Beaumont 'Titles are now of such little value
that scarcely anyone troubles himself to lay down rules about them.

'In general, however, it is said, that all the sons of dukes and of
marquises are counts. The sons of counts in some families all take the
title of Count. There are, perhaps, thirty Beaumonts. Some call
themselves marquises, some counts, some barons. I am, I believe, the only
one of the family who has assumed no title. Alexis de Tocqueville took
none, but his elder brother, during his father's life, called himself
vicomte and his younger brother baron. Probably Alexis ought then to have
called himself chevalier, and, on his father's death, baron. But, I
repeat, the matter is too unimportant to be subject to any settled rules.
Ancient descent is, with us, of great value, of far more than it is with
you, but titles are worth nothing.'

[Footnote 1: This incident is described in a little book published last
year, the _Memoirs of Madame de Montaign_.--ED.]

[Footnote 2: M. de La Fayette was Madame de Beaumont's grandfather.--ED.]

[Footnote 3: The château of M. de La Fayette.--ED.]


_Saturday, August_ 17.--We drove to the coast and ascended the lighthouse
of Gatteville, 85 metres, or about 280 feet high. It stands in the middle
of a coast fringed with frightful reefs, just enough under water to
create no breakers, and a flat plain a couple of miles wide behind, so
that the coast is not seen till you come close to it. In spite of many
lighthouses and buoys, wrecks are frequent. A mysterious one occurred
last February: the lighthouse watchman showed us the spot--a reef just
below the lighthouse about two hundred yards from the shore.

It was at noon--there was a heavy sea, but not a gale. He saw a large
ship steer full on the reef. She struck, fell over on one side till her
yards were in the water, righted herself, fell over on the other, parted
in the middle, and broke up. It did not take five minutes, but during
those five minutes there was the appearance of a violent struggle on
board, and several shots were fired. From the papers which were washed
ashore it appeared that she was from New York, bound for Havre, with a
large cargo and eighty-seven passengers, principally returning emigrants.
No passenger escaped, and only two of the crew: one was an Italian
speaking no French, from whom they could get nothing; the other was an
Englishman from Cardiff, speaking French, but almost obstinately
uncommunicative. He said that he was below when the ship struck, that the
captain had locked the passengers in the cabin, and that he knew nothing
of the causes which had led the ship to go out of her course to run on
this rock.

The captain may have been drunk or mad. Or there may have been a mutiny
on board, and those who got possession of the ship may have driven her on
the coast, supposing that they could beach her, and ignorant of the
interposed reefs, which, as I have said, are not betrayed by breakers.

Our informant accounted for the loss of all, except two persons, by the
heavy sea, the sharp reefs, and the blows received by those who tried to
swim from the floating cargo. The two who escaped were much bruised.

A man and woman were found tied to one another and tied to a spar. They
seemed to have been killed by blows received from the rocks or from the
floating wreck.

In the evening Ampère read to us the 'Bourgeois Gentilhomme.' His reading
is equal to any acting. It kept us all, for the first two acts, which are
the most comic, in one constant roar of laughter.

'The modern _nouveau riche,_ said Beaumont, 'has little resemblance to M.
Jourdain. He talks of his horses and his carriages, builds a great hotel,
and buys pictures. I have a neighbour of this kind; he drives
four-in-hand over the bad roads of La Sarthe, visits with one carriage
one day, and another the next. His jockey stands behind his cabriolet in
top-boots, and his coachman wears a grand fur coat in summer. His own
clothes are always new, sometimes in the most accurate type of a groom,
sometimes in that of a dandy. His talk is of steeple-chases.'

'And does he get on?' I asked.

'Not in the least,' answered Beaumont. 'In England a _nouveau riche_ can
get into Parliament, or help somebody else to get in, and political power
levels all distinctions. Here, wealth gives no power: nothing, indeed,
but office gives power. The only great men in the provinces are the
_préfet_, the _sous-préfet_, and the _maire_. The only great man in Paris
is a minister or a general. Wealth, therefore, unless accompanied by the
social talents, which those who have made their fortunes have seldom had
the leisure or the opportunity to acquire, leads to nothing. The women,
too, of the _parvenus_ always drag them down. They seem to acquire
the _tournure_ of society less easily than the men. Bastide, when
Minister, did pretty well, but his wife used to sign her invitations
"Femme Bastide."

'Society,' he continued, 'under the Republic was animated. We had great
interests to discuss, and strong feelings to express, but perhaps the
excitement was too great. People seemed to be almost ashamed to amuse
or to be amused when the welfare of France, her glory or her degradation,
her freedom or her slavery, were, as the event has proved, at stake.'

'I suppose,' I said to Ampère, 'that nothing has ever been better than
the _salon_ of Madame Récamier?'

'We must distinguish,' said Ampère. 'As great painters have many manners,
so Madame Récamier had many _salons_. When I first knew her, in 1820, her
habitual dinner-party consisted of her father, her husband, Ballanche,
and myself. Both her father, M. Bernard, and her husband were agreeable
men. Ballanche was charming.'

'You believe,' I said, 'that Bernard was her father?' 'Certainly I do,'
he replied. 'The suspicion that Récamier might be was founded chiefly on
the strangeness of their conjugal relations. To this, I oppose her
apparent love for M. Bernard, and I explain Récamier's conduct by his
tastes. They were coarse, though he was a man of good manners. He never
spent his evenings at home. He went where he could find more license.

'Perhaps the most agreeable period was at that time of Chateaubriand's
reign when he had ceased to exact a _tête-à-tête_, and Ballanche and I
were admitted at four o'clock. The most illustrious of the _partie
carrée_ was Chateaubriand, the most amusing Ballanche. My merit was that
I was the youngest. Later in the evening Madame Mohl, Miss Clarke as she
then was, was a great resource. She is a charming mixture of French
vivacity and English originality, but I think that the French element
predominates. Chateaubriand, always subject to _ennui_, delighted in her.
He has adopted in his books some of the words which she coined. Her
French is as original as the character of her mind, very good, but more
of the last than of the present century.'

'Was Chateaubriand himself,' I said, 'agreeable?'

'Delightful,' said Ampère; 'très-entrain, très-facile à vivre, beaucoup
d'imagination et de connaissances.'

'Facile à vivre?' I said. 'I thought that his vanity had been _difficile
et exigeante?_'

'As a public man,' said Ampère, 'yes; and to a certain degree in general
society. But in intimate society, when he was no longer "posing," he was
charming. The charm, however, was rather intellectual than moral.

'I remember his reading to us a part of his memoirs, in which he
describes his early attachment to an English girl, his separation from
her, and their meeting many years after when she asked his protection for
her son. Miss Clarke was absorbed by the story. She wanted to know what
became of the young man, what Chateaubriand had been able to do for him.
Chateaubriand could answer only in generals: that he had done all that he
could, that he had spoken to the Minister, and that he had no doubt that
the young man got what he wanted. But it was evident that even if he had
really attempted to do anything for the son of his old love, he had
totally forgotten the result. I do not think that he was pleased at Miss
Clarke's attention and sympathy being diverted from himself. Later still
in Madame Récamier's life, when she had become blind, and Chateaubriand
deaf, and Ballanche very infirm, the evenings were sad. I had to try to
amuse persons who had become almost unamusable.'

'How did Madame de Chateaubriand,' I asked, 'take the devotion of her
husband to Madame Récamier?'

'Philosophically,' answered Ampère. 'He would not have spent with her the
hours that he passed at the Abbaye au bois. She was glad, probably, to
know that they were not more dangerously employed.'

'Could I read Chateaubriand?' I asked.

'I doubt it,' said Ampère. 'His taste is not English.'

'I _have_ read,' I said, 'and liked, his narrative of the manner in which
he forced on the Spanish war of 1822. I thought it well written.'

'It is, perhaps,' said Ampère, 'the best thing which he has written, as
the intervention to restore Ferdinand, which he effected in spite of
almost everybody, was perhaps the most important passage in his political
life.

'There is something revolting in an interference to crush the liberties
of a foreign nation. But the expedition tended to maintain the Bourbons
on the French throne, and, according to Chateaubriand's ideas, it was
more important to support the principle of legitimacy than that of
liberty. He expected, too, sillily enough, that Ferdinand would give a
Constitution. It is certain, that, bad as the effects of that expedition
were, Chateaubriand was always proud of it.'

'What has Ballanche written?' I asked.

'A dozen volumes,' he answered. 'Poetry, metaphysics, on all sorts of
subjects, with pages of remarkable vigour and _finesse_, containing some
of the best writing in the language, but too unequal and too desultory to
be worth going through.'

'How wonderfully extensive,' I said, 'is French literature! Here is a
voluminous author, some of whose writings, you say, are among the best in
the French language, yet his name, at least as an author, is scarcely
known. He shines only by reflected light, and will live only because he
attached himself to a remarkable man and to a remarkable woman.'

'French literature,' said Ampère, 'is extensive, but yet inferior to
yours. If I were forced to select a single literature and to read nothing
else, I would take the English. In one of the most important departments,
the only one which cannot be re-produced by translation--poetry--you
beat us hollow. We are great only in the drama, and even there you are
perhaps our superiors. We have no short poems comparable to the "Allegro"
or to the "Penseroso," or to the "Country Churchyard."'

'Tocqueville,' I said, 'told me that he did not think that he could
now read Lamartine.'

'Tocqueville,' said Ampère, 'could taste, like every man of genius, the
very finest poetry, but he was not a lover of poetry. He could not read a
hundred bad lines and think himself repaid by finding mixed with them ten
good ones.'

'Ingres,' said Beaumont, 'perhaps our greatest living painter, is one of
the clever cultivated men who do not read. Somebody put the "Misanthrope"
into his hands, "It is wonderfully clever," he said, when he returned it;
"how odd it is that it should be so totally unknown."'

'Let us read it to-night,' I said.

'By all means,' said Madame de Tocqueville; 'though we know it by heart
it will be new when read by M. Ampère.' Accordingly Ampère read it to us
after dinner.

'The tradition of the stage,' he said, 'is that Célimène was Molière's
wife.'

'She is made too young,' said Minnie. 'A girl of twenty has not her wit,
or her knowledge of the world.'

'The change of a word,' said Ampère, 'in two or three places would alter
that. The feeblest characters are as usual the good ones. Philinte and
Eliante.

'Alceste is a grand mixture, perhaps the only one on the French stage, of
the comic and the tragic; for in many of the scenes he rises far above
comedy. His love is real impetuous passion. Talma delighted in playing
him.'

'The desert,' I said, 'into which he retires, was, I suppose, a distant
country-house. Just such a place as Tocqueville.'

'As Tocqueville,' said Beaumont, 'fifty years ago, without roads, ten
days' journey from Paris, and depending for society on Valognes.'

'As Tocqueville,' said Madame de Tocqueville, 'when my mother-in-law
first married. She spent in it a month and could never be induced to see
it again.'

'Whom,' I asked, 'did Célimène marry?'

'Of course,' said Ampère, 'Alceste. Probably five years afterwards. By
that time he must have got tired of his desert and she of her coquetry.'

'We know,' I said, 'that Molière was always in love with his wife,
notwithstanding her _légèrété_. What makes me think the tradition that
Célimène was Mademoiselle[1] Molière true, is that Molière was certainly
in love with Célimène. She is made as engaging as possible, and her worst
faults do not rise above foibles. Her satire is good-natured. Arsinoé is
her foil, introduced to show what real evil-speaking is.'

'All the women,' said Ampère, 'are in love with Alceste, and they care
about no one else. Célimène's satire of the others is scarcely
good-natured. It is clear, at least, that they did not think so.'

'If Célimène,' said Minnie, 'became Madame Alceste, he probably made her
life a burthen with his jealousy.'

'Of course he was jealous,' said Madame de Beaumont, 'for he was
violently in love. There can scarcely be violent love without jealousy.'

'At least,' said Madame de Tocqueville, 'till people are married.

'If a lover is cool enough to be without jealousy, he ought to pretend
it.'


[Footnote 1: Under the _ancien régime_ even the married actresses were
called Mademoiselle.--ED.]


_Sunday, August_ 18.--After breakfast when the ladies were gone to
church, I talked over with Ampère and Beaumont Tocqueville's political
career.

'Why,' I asked, 'did he refuse the support of M. Molé in 1835? Why would
he never take office under Louis Philippe? Why did he associate himself
with the Gauche whom he despised, and oppose the Droit with whom he
sympathised? Is the answer given by M. Guizot to a friend of mine who
asked a nearly similar question, "Parce qu'il voulait être où je suis,"
the true one?'

'The answers to your first question,' said Beaumont, 'are two. In 1835
Tocqueville was young and inexperienced. Like most young politicians, he
thought that he ought to be an independent member, and to vote, on every
occasion, according to his conscience, untrammelled by party connections.
He afterwards found his mistake.

'And, secondly, if he had chosen to submit to a leader, it would not have
been Molé.

'Molé represented a principle to which Guizot was then vehemently
opposed, though he was afterwards its incarnation--the subservience of
the Ministry and of the Parliament to the King. In that house of 450
members, there were 220 placemen; 200 were the slaves of the King. They
received from him their orders; from time to time, in obedience to those
orders, they even opposed his Ministers.

'This, however, seldom occurred, for the King contrived always to have a
devoted majority in his Cabinet.

'It was this that drove the Duc de Broglie from the Government and
prevented his ever resuming office.

'"I could not bear," he said to me, "to hear Sebastiani repeat, in every
council and on every occasion, 'Ce que le Roi vient de dire est
parfaitement juste.'" The only Ministers that ventured to have an opinion
of their own were those of the 12th of May 1839, of which Dufaure,
Villemain, and Passy were members, and that of the 1st of March 1840, of
which Thiers was the leader; and Tocqueville supported them both.

'When Guizot, who had maintained the principle of Ministerial and
Parliamentary, in opposition to that of Monarchical Governments, with
unequalled eloquence, vigour, and I may add violence, suddenly turned
round and became the most servile member of the King's servile majority,
Tocqueville fell back into opposition.

'In general it is difficult to act with an opposition systematically and,
at the same time, honestly. For the measures proposed by a Government
are, for the most part, good. But, during the latter part of Louis
Philippe's reign, it was easy, for the Government proposed merely to do
nothing--either abroad or at home. I do not complain of the essence of M.
Guizot's foreign policy, though there was a want of dignity in its forms.

'There was nothing useful to be done, and, under such circumstances, all
action would have been mischievous.

'But at home _every_ thing was to be done. Our code required to be
amended, our commerce and our industry, and our agriculture required to
be freed, our municipal and commercial institutions were to be created,
our taxation was to be revised, and, above all, our parliamentary
system--under which, out of 36,000,000 of French, only 200,000 had votes,
under which the Deputies bought a majority of the 200,000 electors, and
the King bought a majority of the 450 deputies--required absolute
reconstruction.

'Louis Philippe would allow nothing to be done. If he could have
prevented it we should not have had a railroad. He would not allow the
most important of all, that to Marseilles, to be finished. He would not
allow our monstrous centralisation, or our monstrous protective system,
to be touched. The owners of forests were permitted to deprive us of
cheap fuel, the owners of forges of cheap iron, the owners of factories
of cheap clothing.

'In some of this stupid inaction Guizot supported him conscientiously,
for, like Thiers, he is ignorant of the first principles of political
economy, but he knows too much the philosophy of Government not to have
felt, on every other point, that the King was wrong.

'If he supposed that Tocqueville wished to be in his place, on the
conditions on which he held office, he was utterly mistaken.

'Tocqueville was ambitious; he wished for power. So did I. We would
gladly have been real Ministers, but nothing would have tempted us to be
the slaves of the _pensée immuable_, or to sit in a Cabinet in which we
were constantly out-voted, or to defend, as Guizot had to do in the
Chamber, conduct which we had disapproved in the Council.

'You ask why Tocqueville joined the Gauche whom he despised, against the
Droit with whom he sympathised?

'He voted with the Gauche only where he thought their votes right. Where
he thought them wrong, as, for instance, in all that respected Algeria,
he left them. They would have abandoned the country, and, when that
could not be obtained, they tried to prevent the creation of the port.

'Very early, however, in his parliamentary life, he had found that an
independent member--a member who supporting no party is supported by no
party---is useless. He allowed himself therefore to be considered a
member of the Gauche; but I never could persuade him to be tolerably
civil to them. Once, after I had been abusing him for his coldness to
them, he shook hands with Romorantin, then looked towards me for my
applause, but I doubt whether he ever shook hands with him again. In
fact almost his only point of contact with them was their disapprobation
of the inactivity of Louis Philippe. Many of them were Bonapartists like
Abbatucci and Romorantin. Some were Socialists, some were Republicans;
the majority of them wished to overthrow the Monarchy, and the minority
looked forward with indifference to its fall.

'They hated him as much as he did them, much more indeed, for his mind
was not formed for hatred. They excluded him from almost all committees.'

'Would it not have been wise in him,' I asked, 'to retire from the
Chamber during the King's life, or at least until it contained a party
with whom he could cordially act?'

'Perhaps,' said Beaumont, 'that would have been the wisest course for
him--and indeed for me. I entered the Chamber reluctantly. All my family
were convinced that a political man not in the Chamber was nothing. So
I let myself be persuaded. Tocqueville required no persuasion, he was
anxious to get in, and when in it was difficult to persuade oneself to go
out. We always hoped for a change. The King might die, or he might be
forced--as he had been forced before--to submit to a liberal Ministry
which might have been a temporary cure, or even to a Parliamentary reform
which might have been a complete cure. Duchâtel, who is a better
politician than Guizot, was superseding him in the confidence of the King
and of the Chamber.

'In fact, the liberal Ministry and Parliamentary reform did come at last,
though not until it was too late to save the Monarchy.

'If Tocqueville had retired in disgust from the Chamber of Deputies, he
might not have been a member of the Constituent, or of the Legislative
Assembly. This would have been a misfortune--though the shortness of the
duration of the first, and the hostility of the President during the
second, and also the state of his health, prevented his influencing the
destinies of the Republic as much as his friends expected him to do, and
indeed as he expected himself.'

'I have often,' I said, 'wondered how you and Tocqueville, and the other
eminent men who composed the committee for preparing the Constitution,
could have made one incapable of duration, and also incapable of change.'

'What,' he asked, 'are the principal faults which you find in the
Constitution?'

'First,' I said, 'that you gave to your President absolute authority over
the army, the whole patronage of the most centralised and the most
place-hunting country in the world, so that there was not one of your
population of 36,000,000 whose interests he could not seriously affect;
and, having thus armed him with irresistible power, you gave him the
strongest possible motives to employ it against the Constitution by
turning him out at the end of his four years, incapable of re-election,
unpensioned and unprovided for, so that he must have gone from the Élysée
Bourbon to a debtor's prison.

'Next, that, intending your President to be the subordinate Minister of
the Assembly, you gave him the same origin, and enabled him to say, "I
represent the people as much as you do, indeed much more. They _all_
voted for me, only a fraction of them voted for any one of you." Then
that origin was the very worst that could possibly be selected, the votes
of the uneducated multitude; you must have foreseen that they would give
you a demagogue or a charlatan. The absence of a second Chamber, and the
absence of a power of dissolution, are minor faults, but still serious
ones. When the President and the Assembly differed, they were shut up
together to fight it out without an umpire.'

'That we gave the President too much power,' said Beaumont, 'the event
has proved. But I do not see how, in the existing state of feeling in
France, we could have given him less. The French have no self-reliance.
They depend for everything on their administrators. The first revolution
and the first empire destroyed all their local authorities and also their
aristocracy. Local authorities may be gradually re-created, and an
aristocracy may gradually arise, but till these things have been done the
Executive must be strong.

'If he had been re-eligible, our first President would virtually have
been President for life. Having decided that his office should be
temporary, we were forced to forbid his immediate re-election.

'With respect to his being left unprovided for, no man who had filled the
office decently would have been refused an ample provision on quitting
it. As for this man, no provision that we could have made for him, if we
had given him three or four millions a year, would have induced him to
give up what he considered a throne which was his by descent. He swore to
the Constitution with an _idée fixe _to destroy it. He attempted to do so
on the 29th of January 1849, not two months after his election.

'I agree with you that the fault of the Constitution was that it allowed
the President to be chosen by universal suffrage; and that the fault of
the people was that they elected a pretender to the throne, whose
ambition, rashness, and faithlessness had been proved.

'No new Constitution can work if the Executive conspires against it. But
deliberating and acting in the midst of _émeutes_, with a Chamber and a
population divided into half a dozen hostile factions, the two Royalist
parties hating one another, the Bonapartists bent on destroying all
freedom, and the Socialists all individual property, what could we do? My
wish and Tocqueville's was to give the election to the Chamber. We found
that out of 650 members we could not hope that our proposition would be
supported by more than 200. You think that we ought to have proposed two
Chambers. The great use of two Chambers is to strengthen the Executive
by enabling it to play one against the other; but we felt that our
Executive was dangerously strong, and we believed, I think truly, that a
single Chamber would resist him better than two could do. The provision
which required more than a bare majority for the revision of the
Constitution was one of those which we borrowed from America. It had
worked well there. In the general instability we wished to have one
anchor, one mooring ring fixed. We did not choose that the whole
framework of our Government should be capable of being suddenly destroyed
by a majority of one, in a moment of excitement and perhaps by a
parliamentary surprise.

'With respect to your complaint that, there being no power of
dissolution, there was no means of taking the opinion of the people, the
answer is, that to give the President power of dissolution would have
been to invite him to a _coup d'état._ With no Chamber to watch him, he
would have been omnipotent.

'I agree with you that the Constitution was a detestable one. But even
now, looking back to the times, and to the conditions under which we made
it, I do not think that it was in our power to make a good one.'

'Tocqueville,' I said, 'told me that Cormenin was your Solon, that he
brought a bit of constitution to you every morning, and that it was
usually adopted.'[1]

'Tocqueville's memory,' answered Beaumont, 'deceived him. Cormenin was
our president. It is true that he brought a bit of constitution every
morning. But it scarcely ever was adopted or capable of being adopted.
It was in general bad in itself, or certain to be rejected by the
Assembly. He wished to make the President a puppet. But he exercised over
us a mischievous influence. He tried to revenge himself for our refusal
of all his proposals by rendering our deliberations fruitless. And as
the power of a president over a deliberative body is great, he often
succeeded.

'Many of our members were unaccustomed to public business and lost their
tempers or their courage when opposed. The Abbé Lamennais proposed a
double election of the president. But of thirty members, only four, among
whom were Tocqueville and I, supported him. He left the committee and
never returned to it. Tocqueville and I were anxious to introduce double
election everywhere. It is the best palliative of universal suffrage.'

'The double election,' I said, 'of the American President is nugatory.
Every elector is chosen under a pledge to nominate a specified
candidate.'

'That is true,' said Beaumont, 'as to the President, but not as to the
other functionaries thus elected. The senators chosen by double election
are far superior to the representatives chosen by direct voting.

'We proposed, too, to begin by establishing municipal institutions. We
were utterly defeated. The love of centralisation is almost inherent in
French politicians. They see the evil of local government--its stupidity,
its corruption, its jobbing. They see the convenience of
centralisation--the ease with which a centralised administration works.
Feelings which are really democratic have reached those who fancy
themselves aristocrats. We had scarcely a supporter.

'We should perhaps have a few now, when experience has shown that
centralisation is still more useful to an usurper than it is to a regular
Government.'

[Footnote 1: See Vol. I. p. 212.--ED.]


_August_ 18.--We drove in the afternoon to the coast, and sat in the
shade of the little ricks of sea-weed, gazing on an open sea as blue as
the Mediterranean.

We talked of America.

'I can understand,' said Madame de Tocqueville, 'the indignation of the
North against you. It is, of course, excessive, but they had a right to
expect you to be on their side in an anti-slavery war.'

'They had no right,' I said, 'to expect from our Government anything but
absolute neutrality.'

'But you need not,' she replied, 'have been so eager to put the South on
the footing of belligerents.'

'On what other footing,' I asked, 'could we put them? On what other
footing does the North put them? Have they ventured, or will they
venture, to hang a single seceder?'

'At least,' she said, 'you might have expressed more sympathy with the
North?'

'I think,' I answered, 'that we have expressed as much sympathy as it was
possible to feel. We deplore the combat, we hold the South responsible
for it, we think their capricious separation one of the most foolish and
one of the most wicked acts that have ever been committed; we hope that
the North will beat them, and we should bitterly regret their forcing
themselves back into the Union on terms making slavery worse, if
possible, than it is now. We wish the contest to end as quickly as
possible: but we do not think that it can end by the North subjugating
the Southerns and forcing them to be its subjects.

'The best termination to which we look forward as possible, is that the
North should beat the South, and then dictate its own terms of
separation.

'If they wish to go farther than this, if they wish us to love or to
admire our Northern cousins in their political capacity, they wish for
what is impossible.

'We cannot forget that the Abolitionists have been always a small and
discredited party; that the Cuba slave trade is mainly carried on from
New York; that they have neglected the obligations formally entered
into by them with us to co-operate in the suppression of the slave trade;
that they have pertinaciously refused to allow us even to inquire into
the right of slavers to use the American flag; that it is the capital of
the North which feeds the slavery of the South; that the first act of the
North, as soon as the secession of the South from Congress allowed it to
do what it liked, was to enact a selfish protective tariff; that their
treatment of us, from the time that they have felt strong enough to
insult us, has been one unvaried series of threats, bullying, and injury;
that they have refused to submit their claims on us to arbitration,
driven out our ambassadors, seized by force on disputed territory, and
threatened war on every pretence.'

'It is true,' said Beaumont, 'that during the last twenty years American
diplomacy has not been such as to inspire affection or respect But you
must recollect that during all that time America has been governed by the
South.'

'It is true,' I said, 'that the presidents have generally been Southerns,
but I am not aware that the North has ever disavowed their treatment of
us. This is certain, that throughout the Union, insolence to England has
been an American statesman's road to popularity.'


_Monday., August _19.--We walked in the afternoon over the commons
overlooking the sea, and among the shady lanes of this well-wooded
country.

We came on a group of about twelve or thirteen reapers taking their
evening meal of enormous loaves of brown bread, basins of butter, and
kegs of cider.

M. Roussell, the farmer in whose service they were, was sitting among
them. He was an old friend and constituent of Tocqueville, and for thirty
years was Maire of Tocqueville. He has recently resigned. He rose and
walked with us to his house.

'I was required,' he said, 'to support the prefect's candidate for the
_Conseil général_. No such proposition was ever made to me before. I
could not submit to it. The prefect has been unusually busy of late. The
schoolmaster has been required to send in a list of the peasants whose
children, on the plea of poverty, receive gratuitous education. The
children of those who do not vote with the prefect are to have it no
longer.'

I asked what were the wages of labour.

'Three francs and half a day,' he said, 'during the harvest, with
food--which includes cider. In ordinary times one franc a day with food,
or a franc and a half without food.'

'It seems then,' I said, 'that you can feed a man for half a franc a
day?'

'He can feed himself,' said M. Roussell, 'for that, but I cannot, or for
double that money.'

The day labourer is generally hired only for one day. A new bargain is
made every day.

The house was not uncomfortable, but very untidy. There are no ricks,
everything is stored in large barns, where it is safe from weather, but
terribly exposed to vermin.

A bright-complexioned servant-girl was in the kitchen preparing an
enormous bowl of soup, of which bread, potatoes, and onions were the
chief solid ingredients.

'Roussell,' said Beaumont, 'is superior to his class. In general they are
bad politicians. It is seldom difficult to get their votes for the
nominee of the prefect. They dislike to vote for anyone whom they know,
especially if he be a gentleman, or be supported by the gentry. Such a
candidate excites their democratic envy and suspicion. But the prefect is
an abstraction. They have never seen him, they have seldom heard of his
name or of that of his candidate, and therefore they vote for him.

'Lately, however, in some of my communes, the peasants have adapted a new
practice, that of electing peasants. I suspect that the Government is not
displeased.

'The presence of such members will throw discredit on the _Conseils
généraux_, and, if they get there, on the _Corps législatif,_ much to the
pleasure of our democratic master, and they will be easily bribed or
frightened. Besides which the fifteen francs a day will be a fortune to
them, and they will be terrified by the threat of a dissolution. I do not
think that even yet we have seen the worst of universal suffrage.'

'What influence,' I asked, 'have the priests?'

'In some parts of France,' said Beaumont, 'where the people are
religious, as is the case here, much. Not much in the north-east, where
there is little religion; and in the towns, where there is generally no
religion, their patronage of a candidate would ruin him. I believe that
nothing has so much contributed to Louis Napoleon's popularity with the
_ouvriers_ as his quarrel with the Pope. You may infer the feelings of
the lower classes in Paris from his cousin's conduct.'

'I study Prince Napoleon,' said Ampère, 'with interest, for I believe
that he will be the successor.'

'If Louis Napoleon,' I said, 'were to be shot tomorrow, would not the
little prince be proclaimed?'

'Probably,' said Ampere, 'but with Jérôme for regent, and I doubt whether
the regency would end by the little Napoleon IV. assuming the sceptre.

'Louis Napoleon himself does not expect it. He often says that, in
France, it is more than two hundred years since a sovereign has been
succeeded by his son.

'On the whole,' continued Ampère, 'I had rather have Jérôme than Louis
Napoleon. He has more talent and less prudence. He would bring on the
crisis sooner.

'On the 31st of October, 1849,' said Madame de Tocqueville, 'I was in
Louis Napoleon's company, and he mentioned some matter on which he wished
to know my husband's opinion. I could not give it. "It does not much
signify," he answered, "for as I see M. de Tocqueville every day, I will
talk to him about it myself." At that very time, the _ordonnance_
dismissing M. de Tocqueville had been signed, and Louis Napoleon knew
that he would probably never see him again.'

'I do not,' said Ampere, 'give up the chance of a republic. I do not wish
for one. It must be a very bad constitutional monarchy which I should not
prefer to the best republic. My democratic illusions are gone. France and
America have dispelled them: but it must be a very bad republic which I
should not prefer to the best despotism. A republic is like a fever,
violent and frightful, but not necessarily productive of organic
mischief. A despotism is a consumption: it degrades and weakens, and
perverts all the vital functions.

'What is there now in France worth living for? I find people proud of our
Italian campaign. Why should the French be proud that their master's
soldiers have been successful in a war as to which they were not
consulted; which, in fact, they disapproved, which was not made for their
benefit, which was the most glaring proof of their servility and
degradation? We knew before that our troops were better than the
Austrians. What have we gained by the additional example of their
superiority?

'I fear,' I said, 'that a republic, at least such a republic as you are
likely to have, would begin by some gross economical enormities--by the
_droit au travail_, by the _impôt progressif sur la fortune présumtée_,
by a paper currency made a legal tender without limitation of its
amount.'

'The last republic,' said Ampere, 'did some of these things, but very
timidly and moderately. It gave to its paper a forced currency, but was
so cautious in its issue, that it was not depreciated. It created the
_ateliers nationaux,_ but it soon dissolved them, though at the expense
of a civil war. Its worst fault was more political than economical: it
was the 45 centimes, that is to say, the sudden increase by 45 per cent,
of the direct taxes. It never recovered that blow. Of all its acts it
is the one which is best recollected. The Provisional Government is known
in the provinces as "ces gredins des quarante-cinq centimes." The
business of a revolutionary government is to be popular. It ought to
reduce taxation, meet its expenditure by loans, abolish octrois and
prohibitions, and defer taxation until it has lasted long enough to be
submitted to as a _fait accompli_.'

'I fear,' said Madame de Tocqueville, 'that our working classes are in a
much worse frame of mind than they were in 1848. Socialist opinions--the
doctrine that the profits of capitalists are so much taken fraudulently
or oppressively from the wages of labourers, and that it is unjust that
one man should have more of the means of happiness than another--are
extending every day. The workpeople believe that the rich are their
enemies and that the Emperor is their friend, and that he will join them
in an attempt to get their fair share, that is, an equal share, of the
property of the country--and I am not sure that they are mistaken.'

'Nor am I,' said Beaumont '_Celui-ci_ fully sympathises with their
feelings, and I do not think that he has intelligence enough to see the
absurdity of their theories.'

'You do not deny him,' I said, 'intelligence?'

'Not,' said Beaumont, 'for some purposes, and to some extent, practical
intelligence. His ends are bad, but he is often skilful in inventing and
pertinacious in employing means for effecting those bad ends. But I
deny him theoretic intelligence. I do not think that he has comprehension
or patience to work out, or even to follow, a long train of reasoning;
such a train as that by which economical errors and fallacies are
detected.'

'Are there strikes,' I asked, 'among your workmen?'

'They are beginning,' said  Beaumont. 'We have had one near us, and the
authorities were afraid to interfere.'

'I suppose,' I said, that they are illegal?'

'They are illegal,' he answered, 'and I think that they ought to be so.
They are always oppressive and tyrannical. The workman who does not join
in a strike is made miserable. They are generally mischievous to
the combined workmen themselves, and always to those of other trades.
Your toleration of them appears to me one of the worst symptoms of your
political state of health. It shows among your public men an ignorance or
a cowardice, or a desire of ill-earned popularity, which is generally a
precursor of a democratic revolution.'

'It is certain,' said Ampère, 'that the masters are becoming afraid of
their workmen. Péreire brings his from their residences to the Barrière
Malesherbes in carriages. You are not actually insulted in the streets
of Paris, but you are treated with rude neglect. A _fiacre_ likes to
splash you, a _paveur_ to scatter you with mud. Louis Napoleon began with
Chauvinism. He excited all the bad international passions of the
multitude. He has now taken up Sansculotteism. Repulsed with scorn and
disgust by the rich and the educated, he has thrown himself on the poor
and ignorant The passions with which he likes to work are envy,
malignity, and rapacity.

'I do not believe that he feels them. He is what is called a good-natured
man. That is to say, he likes to please everyone that he sees. But his
selfishness is indescribable.

'No public interest stands in the way of his slightest caprice. He often
puts me in mind of Nero. With the same indifference to the welfare of
others with which Nero amused himself by burning down Rome, he is amusing
himself by pulling down Paris.'

N.W. SENIOR.


                *   *   *   *   *   *

[We left Tocqueville on the following day with great regret The same
party was never to meet again--the only survivors are Madame de Beaumont
and myself and the Beaumonts' son, then a very intelligent boy of ten
years old.

One day my father and I visited the little green churchyard on a cliff
near the sea where Tocqueville is buried. The tomb is a plain grey stone
slab--on it a cross is cut in bas-relief, with these words only:--

ICI REPOSE

ALEXIS DE TOCQUEVILLE.

NÉ 24 FEVRIER 1805. MORT 16 AVRIL 1859.

My father laid a wreath of _immortelles_ on the tomb.--ED.]


APPENDIX.

MONTALEMBERT'S speech was afterwards published in the _Moniteur_ but with
considerable alterations. In Mr. Senior's journal in 1854 (which has not
been published), he says, under the date of April 26, I called on
Montalembert and took him my report of his speech. He has promised to add
to it any notes that it may require. "The printed report," he said, "is
intentionally falsified. Before it was struck off I asked to see the
proofs. I was told that, as such an application was new, the President of
the Bureau would meet and decide on its admissibility. They decided that
it could not be granted."'

[The following is Mr. Senior's report, with M. de Montalembert's own
corrections and additions in French.--ED.]

At length Montalembert rose. He stood near the extreme right, with his
side towards the tribune, and his face towards the centre gallery, in
which I sat. His voice and delivery are so good, and the house was so
silent, that I did not lose a word. I believe that the following report
is a tolerably accurate abridgment of his speech.

'Gentlemen, I must begin by expressing to you my deep gratitude for the
attention which you have paid to this unhappy business. I am grieved at
having occasioned the waste of so much public time. I am still more
grieved at having been the occasion of division among my colleagues.'

[_Note by Montalember_.--'J'aurais voulu faire plus qu'exprimer le
regret: j'aurais voulu me prêter à tous les arrangements qui m'ont été
suggérés par des voix amies pour mettre un terme à cette discussion. Je
n'aurais reculé devant aucun sacrifice qui eût été compatible avec
l'honneur. Mais vous comprenez tous que sous le coup d'une poursuite,
d'un danger, je ne puis rien désavouer, rien rétracter, rien retirer de
ce que j'ai écrit, de ce que j'ai pensé. Si j'agissais autrement il vous
resterait un collègue absous, mais déshonoré et dont vous ne sauriez que
faire.']

'More than all I am grieved when I think of the time at which this has
occurred. A time when we are engaged in an honourable and serious war--a
war in which, with the great and faithful ally whom I have always
desired, and the sympathy of all Europe, we are defending civilisation
against an enemy, barbarous indeed, but so formidable as to require our
undivided energy and our undivided attention.

But you must recollect _when_ that letter was written. It was in last
September, in profound peace, when our whole thoughts were employed, and
were properly employed, on our internal affairs.

'Aujourd'hui il en est autrement; l'état de guerre impose à tous les
citoyens des devoirs spéciaux: il doit aussi imposer un certain frein à
l'esprit de critique. Aucun Français, quel que soit sa foi politique, ne
peut vouloir discréditer le pouvoir des dissidents, des mécontents, mais
il n'y a plus d'émigrés, ni à l'intérieur, ni à l'extérieur.'

[_Note by N.W. Senior._--This seems to be an allusion to a passage in
Thiers's celebrated speech of the 17th of February, 1851. 'I1 ne faut
émigrer, ni au dehors, ni au dedans.']

['J'aurais su contenir les sentiments les plus passionés de mon âme,
plutôt que de paraître affaiblir en quoi que ce soit la main qui porte
l'épée et le drapeau de la France. Ce n'est pas toutefois que j'admette
que toute liberté de parole ou de presse soit incompatible avec l'état de
guerre. L'Angleterre a conservé toutes ses libertés en faisant la guerre
aux plus redoutables ennemis: aujourd'hui encore l'opposition, d'accord
avec le gouvernement sur la question extérieure, maintient les
résistances et les critiques à l'intérieur. Et certes personne ne dira
que l'Angleterre, pour avoir conservé la liberté de discussion la plus
entière, n'ait pas déployé pour le moins autant de prévoyance et
d'énergie que nous dans la conduite de la guerre où nous entrons. Il n'y
a que les nations où la vie publique circule dans toutes les veines du
corps social, qui sachent résister aux épreuves et aux chances d'une
guerre prolongée. La liberté de la contradiction centuple le prix d'une
libre adhésion; et à force de mettre une sourdine à toutes les émotions
du pays, il faut prendre garde qu'on ne se trouve un jour dans
l'impossibilité de faire vibrer les cordes les plus essentielles quand le
moment des dangers et des sacrifices sera arrivé.']

'I deeply regret the publication of that letter. But with that
publication I repeat that I am utterly unconnected. I never sanctioned
it, I never wished for it, I never even thought it possible. There are
passages in the letter itself which I might modify if I were to re-write
it, but it would rather be by adding to them than by taking from them.
Two accusations have been directed against its substance. One that it is
hostile to the Emperor; the other that it is hostile to this assembly. No
one who knows my character, and knows my history, will believe that I can
have intended to injure the Emperor. Our relations have been such as to
make it impossible.

['J'ai eu l'occasion de défendre le chef actuel de l'État dans des
circonstances infiniment difficiles, et où rien n'était plus douteux que
le succès. Je ne prétends pas l'avoir constitué par cela mon débiteur,
car en le défendant, je ne voulais servir, comme toujours, que la
justice, l'intérêt du pays, la liberté modérée qui se personnifiaient en
lui à mes yeux, mais enfin, aux yeux du public il est mon obligé, et je
ne suis pas le sien. Si j'avais eu la pensée d'offenser publiquement
l'Empereur, et si j'y avais cédé, nous serions _quittes_. Or, je tiens
beaucoup à ce que nous ne le soyons pas. Il n'y aurait pour moi ni
honneur ni avantage à ce changement de position. Tous les hommes de bon
goût, tous les coeurs délicats, me comprendront.']

'It is equally impossible that I should have wished to offend this
assembly. It contains men by whose sides I have fought the great battles
of property and law. I love many of its members. I respect almost all. If
I have offended any, it was done unconsciously. Again, it is said that
the tone of my letter is violent. Expressions may be called violent by
some which would be only called _passionnés_ by others. Now I admit that
I am _passionné_. It is in my nature. I owe to that quality much of my
merit, whatever that merit may be. Were I not _passionné_, I should not
have been, during all my life, _la sentinelle perdue de la liberté_. I
should not have thrown myself into every breach: sometimes braving the
attacks of anarchy, sometimes heading the assault on tyranny, and
sometimes fighting against the worst of all despotisms, the despotism
that is based on democracy.'

['Allons plus au fond, et vous reconnaîtrez que les opinions énoncées
dans la lettre ne sont autres que celles toujours professées par moi.
Elles peuvent toutes se ramener à une seule, à mon éloignement pour le
pouvoir absolu. Je ne l'aime pas: je ne l'ai jamais aimé. Si j'ai tant
combattu l'anarchie avant et après 1848, si j'ai suscité contre moi dans
le parti démagogique ces haines virulentes qui durent encore et qui ne
perdent jamais une occasion d'éclater contre moi, c'est parce que j'ai
compris de bonne heure les affinités naturelles du despotisme et de la
démocratie; c'est parce que j'ai prévu et prédit que la démocratie nous
conduirait au pouvoir absolu. Oui, je crois, comme je l'ai dit, que le
despotisme abaisse les caractères, les intelligences, les consciences.
Oui, je déplore le système qui rend un seul homme tout-puissant et seul
responsable des destinées d'une nation de 36 millions d'hommes; et trouve
que cela ressemble trop au gouvernement russe, contre lequel nous allons
en guerre, et trop peu au gouvernement anglais, dont nous prisons si haut
l'alliance.']

'I am told again, and the accusation is sanctioned by the _réquisitoire_
of the Procureur-Général, that my letter is inconsistent with the
fidelity which I have sworn to the Emperor and to the constitution. When
a man swears fidelity to a sovereign and to a constitution, his oath
engages him only as to matters within his own power. He swears not to
conspire against them. He swears not to attempt to subvert them. He
cannot swear to approve the acts of the sovereign, or the working of the
constitution, for he cannot foresee what either of them will be. I have
kept, and I shall keep, my oath to the Emperor and my oath to the
constitution. I have not attempted, and I shall not attempt, to overthrow
either of them. But my approbation of either of them does not depend on
me. I accepted the _coup d'état_, comme vous l'avez tous fait, comme
notre seule chance de salut dans les circonstances d'alors. I expected
a Government _honnête et modéré_. I have been disappointed.'

Here a violent exclamation ran through the assembly. Baroche rose and
cried out, 'You hear him, gentlemen. He says that he expected honesty and
moderation from the Government, and that he has been disappointed. I
appeal to you, Mr. President, to decide whether we are to sit and listen
to such infamies.'

[Voix diverses:--'Expliquez vos paroles.' 'Retirez vos paroles.' M. de
Montalembert.--'Je les maintiens et je les explique.']

'I expected _un gouvernement honnête et modéré_. I have been
disappointed. Its _honnêté_ may be judged by the confiscation of the
Orleans property.'

Here was another hubbub, and another protest of Baroche's.

'What is going on before you,' continued Montalembert, 'is a sample of
its moderation. It is now attempting in my person to introduce into our
criminal law a new _délit_, "communication." Until now it was supposed
that nothing was criminal until it was published. It was believed that a
man might write his opinions and his reflections, and might exchange them
with his friends; that nothing was libellous that was confidential. _Now_
this Government holds a man responsible for every thought that an
indiscreet or an incautious friend, or a concealed enemy, or a tool of
power reveals. If it succeeds in this attempt, it will not rest satisfied
with this victory over the remnant of our freedom. It is not in the
nature of things that it should. A Government that will not tolerate
censure must forbid discussion. You are now asked to put down writing.
When that has been done, conversation will be attacked. Paris will
resemble Rome under the successors of Augustus. Already this prosecution
has produced a _malaise_ which I never felt or observed before. What will
be the feelings of the nation when all that is around it is concealed,
when every avenue by which light could penetrate is stopped; when we are
exposed to all the undefined terrors and exaggerated dangers that
accompany utter darkness? The misfortune of France, a national defect
which makes the happiness enjoyed by England unattainable by us, is, that
she is always oscillating between extremes; that she is constantly
swinging from universal conquest to _la paix à tout prix_, from the
desire of nothing but glory to the desire of nothing but wealth, from the
wildest democracy to the most abject servility. Every new Government
starts with a new principle. Every Government in a few years perishes by
carrying that principle to an extreme. The First Republic was destroyed
by the intemperance with which it trampled on every sort of tradition and
authority, the First Empire by its abuse of victory and war, the
Restoration by its exaggerated belief in divine right and legitimacy, the
Royalty of July by its exaggerated reliance on purchased voters and
Parliamentary majorities, the Second Republic by the conduct of its own
Republicans. The danger to the Second Empire--its only internal danger,
but I fear a fatal one--is its abuse of authority. With every phase of
our sixty years' long revolution, we have a new superstition, a new
_culte_. We are now required to become the worshippers of authority. I
lament that with the new religion we have not new priests. Our public men
would not be discredited by instantaneous apostasy from one political
faith to another. I am grieved, gentlemen, if I offend you; though many
of you are older in years than I am, not one probably is so old in public
life. I may be addressing you for the last time, and I feel that my last
words ought to contain all the warnings that I think will be useful to
you. This assembly will soon end, as all its predecessors have ended. Its
acts, its legislation, may perish with it, but its reputation, its fame,
for good or for evil, will survive. Within a few minutes you will do an
act by which that reputation will be seriously affected; by which it may
be raised, by which it may be deeply, perhaps irrevocably, sunk. Your
vote to-night will show whether you possess freedom, and whether you
deserve it. As for myself, I care but little. A few months, or even
years, of imprisonment are among the risks which every public man who
does his duty in revolutionary times must encounter, and which the first
men of the country have incurred, _soit en sortant des affaires, soit
avant d'y entrer_. But whatever may be the effect of your vote on _my_
person, whatever it may be on _your_ reputation, I trust that it is not
in your power to inflict permanent injury on my country. Among you are
some who lived through the Empire. They must remember that the soldiers
of our glorious army cherished as fondly the recollection of its defeats
as of its victories. They must see that the lessons which those defeats
taught, and the feelings which they inspired, are now among the sources
of our military strength. Your Emperor himself, in one of his earlier
addresses, talked hopefully of the period when France would be capable of
more liberty than he now thinks good for her, "Un jour," he exclaimed,
"mon oeuvre sera couronnée par la liberté." I join in that hope. I look
sanguinely towards the time when she will be worthy of the English
constitution, and she will obtain it. Vous tenez le corps de la France,
mais vous ne tenez pas son âme. Cette âme, aujourd'hui effrayée,
engourdie, endormie, cette âme c'est la liberté. Elle se réveillera un
jour et vous échappera. La certitude de ce réveil suffit pour consoler et
fortifier ses vieux et fidèles soldats à traverser la nuit de l'épreuve.
Cette liberté honnête et modérée, sage et sainte, j'y ai toujours cru, et
j'y crois encore. Je l'ai toujours servie, toujours aimée, toujours
invoquée, tantôt pour la religion, tantôt pour le pays; hier contre le
socialisme, aujourd'hui contre un commencement de despotisme; et, quelle
que soit votre décision, je me féliciterai toujours d'avoir eu cette
occasion solennelle de la confesser encore une fois devant vous, et, s'il
le faut, de souffrir un peu pour elle.'

These concluding words were drowned in universal murmurs.

N.W. SENIOR.