Chapter XXI: Calumny (2)

The development of Cæsarism in France as well as in Germany has followed the overthrow of the temporal power of the Holy See. But the German Empire will always retain an immense superiority over the French Empire. It is less revolutionary, less democratic, less at variance with its past history. It is not impossible that it may combine with the local and municipal institutions of the country. Prussia is far from our absolute centralization, and there is nothing to indicate that she is to be subjected to it. She remains the ally of the great powers of the Continent. She could easily have rallied all Europe against imperial and Byzantine France. Let us not deny it: no victory of Louis Napoleon’s could have secured the left bank of the Rhine. The German coalition would very soon have drawn the rest of Europe after it. This struggle of one against all is a necessity of Bonapartism. Nothing can check it. Softness of manners, a refined civilization, pretended condemnation of war, philanthropy bordering on religion, boundless industry and credit, the military incapacity of Louis Napoleon, nor anything else, could have prevented the war from breaking out. “Revolution is war and bankruptcy,” said Royer-Collard. It obeys its nature. It upheld the Bonapartes in spite of a kind of material order and discipline they forced on the people; it required of them an armed propaganda which they were more capable of managing successfully than the republic itself. Louis Napoleon, with his mildness of character, and talent as a writer, desired a peace that would enable him to continue his utopian experiments in journalism. But he was not his own master. He felt that a revolution at home constituted only one-half of his obligations; the other half—revolution abroad—he was also determined to effect, though to his regret. He regarded the bombs of Orsini as a salutary warning, and submitted to his destiny. He extended revolution to Italy and Mexico. He destroyed the influence of Austria. Prussia profited by these disturbances to unite Germany. But Louis Napoleon made a pitiful failure. He dashed against a wall with his eyes shut. The pretext of a Hohenzollern on the Spanish throne was ridiculous, and the legislative corps and senate that countenanced it showed the measure of their political knowledge and independence.

It is difficult to comprehend by virtue of what principle or interest he opposed the choice of a Hohenzollern. Had he not rejected the hereditary principle? Had he not aided in overthrowing all the princes of the House of Bourbon who still reigned through this principle? Was not his own power based on election? And what did it matter to France whether that pitiful Spanish crown was on one head rather than another? What gratitude could he expect from those revolutionary sovereigns whose patron or director he constituted himself? He took the petty Subalpine king by the hand, and led him to the Crimea, and to the Congress of Paris, and thence into all the capitals of Italy. His plans were unveiled when he forced the unhappy Victor Emanuel to give his daughter to the imperial cousin. Who then could cherish any illusion as to the result? It was unfolded. Did the revolutionary union of the south spring from it? This union could only be effected by the unity of despotism. Napoleon knew it: his nephew forgot it. Revolutionary nations are necessarily at war or distrustful of one another, as the revolutionary factions of a nation are always contending, unless some master—no matter whether it is an individual or a party—succeeds in suppressing the rivalry.

This was the state of the case in our Revolution. Is it not a matter of public notoriety that the name of Napoleon excites only horror and disgust in Spain and Italy?

Louis Napoleon’s aim was not to subdue Europe by war, but to effect an internal change of government by means of revolutionary principles. This resulted in exciting all the great powers against him. He thought there would be a revolution in Russia in consequence of the emancipation of the serfs which he recommended to the Czar Alexander. He overthrew the German Confederation though it was so powerful a guarantee for the safety of France. It was he who made William Emperor of Germany. The overthrow of the Confederation under the circumstances in which it took place necessarily led to the empire, as the overthrow of ancient France led to the imperial _régime_ that has lasted till now. We need not be astonished at the efforts of the King of Prussia to re-establish Louis Napoleon. They were accomplices, though Louis Napoleon has been taken for the dupe. Not that he was not conscious of the situation, but he warded off the flashes of reason and common sense he had, and gave himself up to a hallucination. France imitated him, with the conscript fathers of the senate and the legislative corps at its head. Louis Napoleon contended for an idea, and he triumphed after his manner, after the manner of his uncle. Conquered and made prisoner, he was humiliated, not by defeat, which does not humiliate the brave, but by accepting his defeat. He yielded to the conqueror, he surrendered his sword. Napoleon was defeated at Waterloo, but he was not really cast down till he found himself on board the _Bellérophon_. Then he realized who was victor. The lamentations of St. Helena reveal the liberal despot. Louis Napoleon also became an author and a journalist. He dreamed of returning to France. He published at Cassel under the name of his friend, M. de Grécourt, a _brochure_ designed to influence Germany in his favor. He had no doubt of being as warmly welcomed by France as Napoleon was when he returned from the island of Elba.

There was no change in France. Our social institutions were still standing. The republicans had found nothing to modify in the wonderful machinery of despotism. There was nothing to prevent him from resuming his place. There was the invasion besides. Did the disasters of 1814 prevent Napoleon’s reascendancy in France in 1815? Was there any lack of senators and representatives to welcome Cæsar? Was not the popularity of the uncle the foundation of the nephew’s success? That was the sole cause of Louis Napoleon’s accession. This popularity was nothing more than the result of success. Power and success united and counted the votes, and proclaimed the result. The revolutionary power was not entirely destroyed by the events of 1814 and 1815; it became an organized system, having its regulations, its leaders, its journals, its secret societies, and its permanent committees variously disguised under the forms of beneficence, pleasure, science, etc. No regular government at variance with this many-sided, intangible power could be established. The regular government of France especially—the hereditary monarchy—could not take root again. Public opinion and enthusiasm are like stage machinery that rises and falls. We witnessed the workings of this machinery from 1848 to 1852. The inventors did not even give themselves the trouble to hide the workings from the eyes of the public. This reign of opinion has continued. The word of command from the emperor was echoed by the ministers, and from them by the _préfets_, _sous-préfets_, and mayors. The entire administration in all its gradations walked in the same footsteps. By the public works, loans, and illusory promises, the mass of electors were so fascinated that they could refuse nothing to a government that was promoting such benefits. Universal suffrage is the character in the comedy—the simple, good-natured Demos of Aristophanes. In reality, it is the emperor—he who has the _imperium_, individually or by a number of individuals, who votes at the general election. In the Cæsarean system, the emperor alone acts, but he acts in the name of the people, and as the representative of the people. He is the voice of the people. This must not be lost sight of when we judge the acts of Louis Napoleon.

In his _brochure_, he claims the good-will of the King of Prussia and Germany, because it was France alone that desired the war. He did not desire it; he was not responsible for it. This was pleading his own imbecility and the culpability of France. What! he did not set France against Germany? He did not break the treaties of 1815, or officially condemn them? He did not constantly propose the policy of his uncle as an example to France? He followed it without condemning an act or a principle. The Jacobinism of his later years was a mere imitation of the liberal ideas his uncle brought back from the island of Elba, and continued to cultivate at St. Helena—ideas that M. Thiers, in his voluminous compilation concerning the empire, regarded as serious! This was why Louis Napoleon declared him “the national historian,” and presided at the obsequies of Béranger, “the national poet.” This Bonapartism in verse and prose had only one practical aim—the conquest of the Rhine provinces. That was the favorite topic of old soldiers and the zealous members of the imperial _entourage_. People of more sense, who were not overscrupulous, resigned themselves to it as a necessity of the situation. Ever since 1852, it had been thought there would be a sudden blow aimed at Belgium or Germany. Was not Austria attacked in 1859 without any reason or pretext, and, it may be said, without a declaration of war, and in violation of all the laws of nations? When and where did universal suffrage countenance this? Where was it discussed by the ten million voters? What authority did they give their representatives? The imperialists and liberals have refused the electors the right which they enjoyed in 1789 to give directions to those they elected. The member represents, then, only himself, though individually he may have been acceptable to his constituents at the time of the election. The elector is not free in his vote, because he does not know his so-called deputy. And these representatives of Cæsarism have never been free. No sooner are they nominated, than they forget their orders and electors, and only aim at “the glory of obedience” to Cæsar, like the senators of Tiberius.

Louis Napoleon played to perfection the game of Cæsarism. Conqueror or conquered, he always kept a foothold. Victory immortalized him, and assured perhaps his son’s future career. And defeat was not to be imputed to him. As the representative of the people, he was only a passive agent. A docile instrument of the passions and sentiments of the people, he sacrificed himself. Did not this entitle him to the gratitude of his fellow-citizens? He regarded the republic as less popular than himself, and condemned by universal suffrage. Besides, he affected to personify in a supreme degree the republican element. It was not with respect to France he was anxious. He knew that the Cæsarean constitution of France left a sure way always open of regaining the throne. It was by foreigners he was overthrown. He preferred this fall to the necessity of presiding over new disasters. He was not sorry, either, to see the city of Paris, which of late had been constantly opposed to the empire, and whose enmity daily increased under its liberal laws, chastised by Prussia. King William thus effected a _coup d’état_ which did not injure the emperor, and made a return to despotism easier than at the beginning of the empire. _La Situation_, the Bonaparte organ at London, insinuated that Prussia had an interest in allying itself with Louis Napoleon, in order to reconstruct the map of Europe. And it did not conceal that the neutral countries, Belgium and Holland, were to pay for this reconciliation. In this way, Bonapartism, though apparently crushed, showed signs of life, and fostered its hopes. This was a sign it was not morally subdued. It was overcome only to be restored. But the French republic was not in a condition to restore it, because it confounded itself with it. It must be ascertained if Europe feared Bonapartism or France. Bonapartism aside, France is now a really peaceful, honest, Christian nation. She has only been formidable since 1789 through the principles of dissolution she has carried within herself and diffused abroad by means of newspapers, secret societies, and armies.

The idea of giving Holland to Prussia, and Belgium to France, was worthy of Louis Napoleon. Would Europe allow it? Prussia already preponderates. France would gain nothing. She could not rise from the inferiority into which she has fallen through late events. The humiliation that Cæsarism has inflicted on our country is not a thing of yesterday. Napoleon stated the problem clearly: France must subject Europe to revolution, or disappear before a torrent of invasions. These two alternatives have been successively more or less realized. The Restoration gave peace once more to France and to Europe. France, regaining her rank, menaced no one, and sustained herself by her alliances. She fell again in the Revolution of 1830. Foreign sympathy was withdrawn from us. All the alliances were broken off. The various governments, stunned by the rebound of the Revolution, stood on their guard. The monarchy of July sought to favor revolution moderately abroad, and to direct it with skill at home. From that time, Europe formed a coalition against us. During the first ten years of the Revolution of July, the public mind was disturbed as to the possibility of a great war with Germany. The liberal party used every effort to bring it on, without any reason certainly, in order to fulfil one of the conditions of the revolutionary programme, which is an armed propaganda. It was with such views that the fortifications of Paris were conceived by M. Thiers. The equilibrium of Europe was destroyed, therefore, to our sole injury. The empire developed the seeds of revolution sown by the government of July. France descended lower than in 1830; she even lost all regard to decency, by giving herself up to the revolutionary current. The distinguished men of talent who devoted themselves to the service of Louis Philippe withdrew from the scene, and were replaced by a crowed of nobodies. Assemblies, ministers, and emperor entered on such a contradictory course that one might believe our country had fallen into its dotage.

The Mexican war made America aware of our political weakness; and, in the East, our diplomacy lost the last remnant of its influence by taking a stand apart from Catholicism. The war of 1859 set Italy against us—a country so lately governed by princes favorable to France. The Italian unity and German unity consigned France to a secondary rank. Finally, the commercial treaties have made us subservient to England. Thus, in renouncing all idea of conquest, Louis Napoleon did not give up disturbing Europe. France served as the instrument of this work, and ended by being the victim. The material disproportion of forces could only produce a catastrophe. Europe was arming its men, while France, under Louis Napoleon’s direction, was plunged in revolutionary metaphysics. It does not require any great sagacity, however, to perceive that a revolutionary nation could not be in a condition to sustain a conflict with a nation that has remained true to conservative principles. What could be effected by combining all these shattered elements? How could we depend on these bruised reeds?

So rapid a decadence under the influence of anti-social principles has permitted neighboring nations to renounce the traditions that bound them to us. The admiration they felt for the superiority of our civilization yielded to the fear of falling under a despotism as unprincipled as it was senseless. It was from the hotbed of Bonapartism, the inheritor of revolutionary traditions, that have sprung the various revolutions which from 1814 to 1830 ensanguined all Europe. The republic of 1848, exhausted in the course of ten months, consigned its stock of revolutionism to Louis Bonaparte. He made it yield with usury. Until 1859, he hesitated and felt his way, being fettered by public sentiment, which was more conservative and Christian than he could have wished. He skilfully got rid of the honest people around him, and, once started, he never stopped again. From that fatal period, he was no longer his own master: he was the ready tool of the Revolution. It is surprising that the Bonapartes are not satisfied with reigning over France; they think they have a right to all Europe—a right to substitute the sovereignty of the people and elective governments for all the hereditary monarchies. The mission they claim secures the complicity of all the malcontents. The rulers assuredly take note of all this danger. They understand that their enemy in France is not France itself, but the Revolution.

The German Empire rekindles the fears that Louis XIV. inspired and Napoleon made us realize. Owing to a remnant of feudalism, it is founded on a much more solid basis than the French Empire was. When it attains its utmost limit, there will really be only one power in Europe. Even now, no one would think of denying its preponderance. The balance of power can only be preserved by the alliance of the secondary powers—France, Russia, Austria, and England. No one disputes the superiority of Prussia. In order to attain it, it would have been sufficient to be preserved during the half-century just elapsed from the revolutions that have so lowered France and Austria. Prussian statesmen labored energetically to unite Germany. By directing the mental training in the universities, the secret societies, the press, and the diplomacy, they have shown a system and energy that in France would have enabled statesmen of another stamp to bewilder and crush the genius of France, and bring our nation down to the dust. The Napoleonic Empire was one vast treason. It only allured France in order to deliver it up to foreigners. By giving her the choice between universal rule and annihilation, he placed her in an absurd position, and subjected her to certain ruin for the greater glory of Napoleon. It may here be remarked that no man ever made a more lavish use than Napoleon of the word “glory,” which the pagans so constantly had on their lips. It was comprehensible to people that lived to serve masters who, having all that could gratify pride and power in this world, aspired to glory as the supreme recompense. It was under similar circumstances that Napoleon and his nephew sought and obtained glory. Their names are imperishable. They are connected with catastrophes human memory will forever retain. They refused to reign peaceably by fulfilling their duties as sovereigns. Rejecting a divine authority, and recognizing no higher power, they made use of the people as the instrument of their passions. One had a passion for conquering Europe, the other for revolutionizing it. And France had to promote these designs, be drained of men under the First Empire, and be revolutionized under the Second, in order that the revolutionary contagion might be spread throughout Europe. War, coming to the aid of this work, led to the third invasion—the crowning achievement of the Third Empire.

The sole prejudice the French manifest in favor of the empire is that it maintained the honor of our army, and restored order. This is only true with respect to the Revolution. For the Revolution was absolute disorder. And the aim of the empire was not to substitute order for revolution, but to organize the Revolution by making it possible to the vulgar mind. It proved, therefore, wholly incompetent to the work of reorganizing society. Napoleon succeeded republican anarchy, and would have left us in it at his downfall, had it not been for the House of Bourbon, which saved us from foreigners and revolution. The nephew likewise succeeded his mother, the republic, whose death he hastened. And everybody knows that his natural death at the Tuileries would have been followed by a triumphant republican rising at Paris. He made every preparation for that. The republic of the 4th of September, 1870, was established almost as a matter of course, without violence, without noise. The _régente_ had orders not to oppose anything. General Montauban declared to all who would listen to him that he should only offer moral resistance to the expected demonstration of the 4th of September. In fact, after Wissembourg, there was no imperial government. That government, then, was anarchical in essence and administrative by accident. It only rose momentarily above anarchy, and speedily sank into it again. It dreaded nothing more than a peace that would strengthen institutions, create new influences, and diminish Cæsar’s personality. Louis Napoleon was perpetually remodelling the different institutions, and without any apparent object. It was in this way he did away even with the traditions of the First Empire, and subjected the army to so many ridiculous experiences.

It doubtless seems singular—to accuse the uncle and the nephew of anarchy, when their putting down anarchy was precisely their title to govern France. But anarchy is not the only feature of the empire: there was despotism besides; and with these original principles there was an ingredient of political order which we do not deny. When this side of things became apparent, the people threw themselves into the emperor’s arms, and hailed him as the saviour of the country. When all was lost, they took hold of the first thing that presented itself. In our modern France, the empire and the Napoleons are the only memories capable of fixing every eye and directing every vote at a given moment. The salvage obtained, half the work remains to be accomplished. In the latter part of its task, the empire always fails. Its principles hinder it; they only favor order under conditions which prevent its solidity. Why this special hatred kept up by the Bonapartes against the House of Bourbon? The Bonapartes have nothing against the Bourbons; our kings had long lost their power when the Bonapartes seized it. There is no personal difference between them and the Bourbons. We must look beyond to find the connection between the cause and effect. The Bourbons and the Bonapartes are above all that is individual and personal. They represent two opposite causes. By the intrigues of Louis Napoleon, the offshoots of the House of Bourbon have disappeared from the thrones of southern Europe. They are a living protestation against revolutions. The Bourbons have in vain allied themselves with the revolutionary party, and ruined their own cause; they never succeeded in gaining the good-will of their adversaries, so effectually have their principles, which they cannot divest themselves of, protected the monarchical cause against themselves! The House of Bourbon, in its downfall at Naples and Madrid, was elevated by its fall. The dethroned Neapolitan king has shown himself more Christian, more kingly, than before he fell. The Spanish monarchy, by the mouth of Don Carlos, has expressed sentiments truly worthy of a king, and contrasts with the attitude of the elective and liberal king who has just left. The House of Bourbon has been purified by the crucible of revolutions, because, in spite of its failings and misfortunes, it represents the principle of right. The Bonapartes remain true to themselves. They do not vary in their _rôle_ or in their pretensions, and remain attached to principles irreconcilable with the peace of France and all Europe. The recall of the Bourbons is an European necessity. It will be more easily effected when the wall of prejudice, which has barred the way, is wholly broken down. This European war had been foreseen from the beginning of the empire. Louis Napoleon, in throwing the responsibility of it on France, acknowledged that he yielded to the fatality of his position. What could be a more decisive proof, and what other could be wished, that the empire is war? No one in France desired war. Nothing was ready. The liberal party curtailed every year the budget of the army. Prussia gave us no excuse for aggression; all the _chancelleries_ advised peace. It was then that, a prey to the evil genius of his family, to obsessions that deprived him of sense and foresight, Louis Napoleon made a sudden attack on Germany, without looking to see if he was followed, or how he was followed.

Our fault was in not being ready, say the Bonapartists. That is an illusion. At no price could the empire have been ready. The military organization, weakened by perpetual changes, the corruption and lack of discipline diffused among the soldiers and under-officers by means of the public journals and secret societies, the limited resources available under a system which affected a kind of communism in the civil order, and constantly encroached on future supplies, rendered reform impossible. Everything set aside the thought of attempting it. The budget paid 400,000 men, and our army did not really exceed 200,000! A reform in France on the Prussian model would have required several years and the overthrow of all our modern institutions. Can we imagine, with the other expenditures of our budget, eight hundred millions more for the army? Prussia has been half a century in achieving its present organization. Germany has its gradation of ranks and classes. A numerous nobility forms the basis of its military institutions, and furnishes, in time of war as well as peace, the natural leaders of the whole nation. And we Frenchmen—we are still under the elective system, which is that of children at their sports. Leaders who are improvised remain necessarily without authority, unless they have been prepared for their _rôle_ by their previous life. Our military organization corresponds to our social organization: and it is the empire, a military _régime_, but also a Saint-Simonian _régime_, that has co-operated actively in the military dissolution of France. It was by being mixed with Saint-Simonism that it returned to the extreme notions of 1789 and 1793. This socialism that was to sustain the empire against the clergy, the conservative party, and the republicans, did it weigh one ounce in his favor? At the first reverse, all the socialism in authority disappeared. And Louis Napoleon has had no adversaries more implacable than all these socialists whom he fed, and who are making up for their former servility by their present abuse.

We must not weary of meditating on these words: France fights for an idea. This idea, under various names, is the Revolution, socialism, and the principles of 1789. Louis Philippe, that emperor on a small scale, and that “best of republics,” pursued the same crooked way. He classed his wars and foreign intrigues under the mild term of “liberalism.” He propagated in his way, by the assistance of the Assemblies, the principles of the Revolution. He gradually but persistently violated the treaties of 1815, which had put an end to twenty-five years of social war in Europe. It was in violation of these treaties that he ascended the throne. He interfered in Belgium in the name of the Revolution; he aided greatly in the downfall of the Bourbons of Spain; he occupied Ancona, in spite of the Holy See, and indicated a course to Gregory XVI. that was identical with the terms of Louis Napoleon’s letter to Edgar Ney. Finally, less Catholic than M. Guizot, he applauded the ruin of the Sonderbund, and refused Prince von Metternich the support of France in protecting the interests of the smaller cantons, our friends and ancient allies. By his inaction, he favored the revolutionary cause when he did not serve it with his forces. The revolutionary triumph at Berne soon extended to Paris, and Louis Philippe had to withdraw more speedily than he came. He propagated revolutionism in Europe during the whole course of his reign, with less display than Louis Napoleon, but with as much perversity. Certainly, neither Prussia, nor Austria, nor Russia were deceived as to the cause and tendency of the Revolution of 1830. They protested in vain. England alone took sides with Louis Philippe: thence the subserviency of our policy to that of England. Louis Philippe made the most of that ally of the Revolution: through party spirit, he sacrificed even the interest and honor of France. We recognize there the soldier of 1789, the former usher of the Jacobin club. And Louis Napoleon, for the same cause, humiliated himself more profoundly. He put his ministers, his assemblies, his diplomacy, our commerce, and our industries at the feet of England. And he certainly was not ignorant that England would never send him a shilling or a man. But he knew that England protected revolution on the Continent. He bound her to the revolutionary cause by the Crimean war and the commercial treaty. England powerfully seconded it in Italy and Spain. It was Bonapartism that English policy has developed even while thinking it was making use of it. Coming events will tell whether England has not, by violating her traditions, hastened a decline already evident and even alarming.

It is possible that, by rejecting the pretended English alliance, which was never anything but a lure, France would have been forced to closer relations with the Continent, and to conform to the European law of nations, which would have saved Europe from great calamities. The sovereigns, then, have some interest in withdrawing France from English complicity. The Restoration alone understood the practice of French policy, and alone maintained a firm attitude with respect to England. Its whole policy, interior as well as exterior, was national and uninfluenced by England. The conquest of Algiers was the most brilliant result of that policy. The Restoration made successful wars, and wars Europe had no reason to complain of; for they were carried on with the consent of the powers, and to re-establish the law of nations settled by the treaties of 1815. Such was the character of the war with Spain in 1823. Peace reigned then among all the great powers of the Continent, and it was solely to the House of Bourbon it was owing; that house overthrown, a spirit of revolt broke out on all sides, and made thrones totter. What profit did France derive from it? Condemning herself by her institutions to perpetual war, France pronounced her own sentence of death. She conquered under Napoleon only by the ability of her leader, when she found herself contending with one or two nations. She successively defeated each of her enemies. At length her armies were made up of recruits from every country in Europe; she incorporated the vanquished through the same policy as ancient Rome. It was an army composed of soldiers from all parts of Europe that Napoleon led into Russia. The disaster of 1812 freed Germany. Then, for the first time, a serious coalition was arranged, and Napoleon was defeated by the combined forces in 1813, 1814, and 1815. Louis Napoleon attacked Russia and Austria separately. He isolated Prussia from the great powers, but his policy of nationality brought on German unity. And it was the whole of Germany that confronted him when he merely wished to confront the King of Prussia. The King of Prussia, had he been defeated, would have appealed to the Emperor of Austria and the czar, who would not have failed him. Our revolutionary tendencies will always draw a coalition upon us. The late events have weakened the revolutionary party in Europe to such a degree that the support it offered us, and on which we relied, will be of no more avail. Europe, surprised by the outburst of 1789, yielded to our arms for twenty years. She then united, and, imitating the imperial military policy, carried it to a degree of perfection that left us behind. What remains for France and all Europe but to agree in re-establishing peace by conformity of political principles? And in 1873, as in 1815, this peace depends solely on the recall of the House of Bourbon to France. It is to this work that Europe is invited if she does not wish to perpetuate a revolution which, after ruining France, will not leave one of the great powers standing.

The French Revolution has till now been the object of public attention. Princes and people have bestirred themselves for a century to oppose or sustain it. The inability of the principles of 1789 to establish anything, and the invasion of 1870, have opened the eyes of France, and better disposed it to make terms with Europe henceforth. But beside the French Revolution, now growing powerless, rises a political element that suddenly overawes and disturbs European equilibrium. A policy of defence and preservation ought to be directed against the Empire of Germany, not to destroy it, but to guarantee the safety of other governments by a general alliance and a new law of nations. France will never declare war against Europe again. Louis Napoleon is the last to make such a challenge. Personally, there was nothing warlike in him; but he represented a system that tends to war. To him this war was an amusement, a distraction. To divert himself by a general war, in order to escape for a moment from national affairs that perplexed him! The diversion was powerful; as well blow out one’s brains to drive away _ennui_. The mass of the French people did not participate in the madness of the Bonaparte system: they are victims as well as Europe. Only we have come to that phase of the system which is more particularly humiliating to France. The three great allied powers of the North have nothing more to fear from France. But this alliance of the North is no longer on terms of equality. We say great powers! There is now but one great power—Germany. And she necessarily threatens Austria and Russia by her military strength and by her expansive power, through her hardy and laborious race, that is filling the United States with swarms of colonizers, extending to the neighboring Sclave countries in Russia, and putting forth its shoots even on French soil. German preponderance will pursue its course. It is not universal rule, but a preponderance that will tend to it, unless a union of the secondary powers oppose it with a strong, resisting force. Germany herself will not be wanting in prudence. Her reign will last its time; it is sure of only a short triumph. In twenty-five years, Russia, in consequence of the progress of science and industry, will be able to subjugate Germany. Germany will then have need of France.

By a law of Providence, nations that rise from an uncertain beginning seem to attain their height suddenly, and almost as speedily begin to decline. We Frenchmen have had our day of power and glory in the middle ages. The age of Louis XIV. was our era of intellectual superiority and political preponderance. We have come down from that pinnacle; there is no denying it. Germany, by its material strength, is rising far above the point we attained. England, France, Russia, and Austria no longer have any influence, by their diplomacy and alliances, over the hundreds of petty princes and peoples that constituted the German Confederation. They are shut out of Germany. Any pretension to interference would make them a laughing-stock. All these powers, Russia excepted, have pursued a foolish policy, and are receiving the recompense due to their shrewdness. Inheritor of Richelieu, the French Revolution so disturbed Germany as to overthrow all its princes. The German nation has survived, and by the concentration of its unity has acquired a power of aggression and conquest it was incapable of under its former organization. The Revolution of 1789 resulted in the immediate elevation of England, which from the third rank rose almost to the first—a rank she would still have, had she not replaced the policy of Pitt and Burke by the policy of Lord Palmerston and his followers. Louis Napoleon created the Empire of Germany, but England applauded his course. All her statesmen have rejoiced in the humiliation of France that has resulted from it. Those debaters and merchants have advocated the establishment of an immense military empire in the heart of Europe, without perceiving that peaceful and industrious England would thereby lose its influence. She is destined to decline still further. Her influence on the Continent depended on the old balance of power, and preponderated through her alliance with Austria. In 1859, she betrayed Austria, and shamefully disavowed the treaties of 1815. Austria turned to Russia, or to Prussia, or to both at once.

The old kingdoms, the historic nations, are breaking in pieces. In reality, it is the Prussian Empire that has been founded, rather than the German Empire restored. Germany retains enough of Catholic life to give her a tone of moral and intellectual grandeur that render her superior to Russia and the United States. There is nothing to disturb her but the future, and a future not far distant, if the people of Southern Europe continue to abandon themselves to revolutionary principles. We are far from believing that France can never rise again. She rose after 1815: the same causes produce the same effects. What concerns Europe is that France will never resume her _rôle_ of agitator. Bonapartism is still powerful. It prevails through the habits and necessities which concentrate and direct the whole political, moral, and mental activity of France. This storm over, the name of Napoleon will again disturb the public mind, and unite the suffrage. The republic of 1870 is dragging along in the old beaten track of imperialism. It has merely set up the men of 1848 or 1830—old, worn-out functionaries, whose incapacity has increased rather than diminished. It is time for a reaction against childish prejudices. The motto of the liberal school is: Revolution and Progress! It is well to know that a revolution is, etymologically speaking, a turn back. Our liberals cling to the days of 1789. In a few years, they will be a century behindhand. France rapidly rose from her helplessness of 1815 to the Spanish war of 1823, and the conquest of Algiers. Then a fatal revolution arrested its progress, and it fell back to a state bordering on that of ‘89. Louis Philippe kept us in subjection eighteen years. He was overthrown by the socialism which he restrained, but which with a bound returned to the theories of ‘93 in the name of progress! These sudden relapses disorganize and destroy the social machine. The Restoration alone was successful, because it was the regular government. The House of Bourbon is able to give interior peace to France. It is not the government of a party, for it does not derive its title from the popular vote. It appeals to the conscience and reason like a natural law and a national necessity. It has no other ambition but to make France once more a Christian kingdom by ensuring the general peace of Europe on the basis of a new public law. What great power will dare refuse her its aid, when so strongly interested in the same cause?

ENGLISH DOMESTIC FESTIVITIES.

BY AN ENGLISH CATHOLIC.

MEDIÆVAL England was the home of merriment and the scene of all manner of family festivals and athletic rejoicings. Heir to the old Norse traditions of Yule-tide, she preserved the spirit of innocent and manly sport better perhaps than those less hardy and more polished lands of the Mediterranean whose pleasures were mostly such as could be enjoyed from the vantage-point of a balcony, and the soft resting-place of a gilded ottoman. In England, the national pleasures are pleasures of action as well as of sight; and, even in those specially destined to commemorate the glories of an ancient feudal family, the members of the family do not recline in luxurious ease, patronizingly looking on at the feasts provided to do them honor, but mingle with the people, share in their games, and compete for prizes with the rest. This it is that distinguishes English festivities from any other, and stamps them with an individuality which in the sequel has no little political significance. The sister countries share in this attribute of hearty good-fellowship among classes, and indeed what is here said of England may be said interchangeably of Scotland and Ireland.

Still, things are not done in our day in precisely the same lavish and baronial way that was common in Tudor times, and a revival of this generous style of entertainment, though not infrequent, cannot be called other than a rarity. This certainly enhances the interest attaching to one of these social relics of the past; and the great pageant two years ago at S. Paul’s Cathedral, London, in thanksgiving for the recovery of the heir to the throne, was perhaps the most brilliant and successful modern attempt to revive the glories of England’s “golden age”; but yet, in some measure, more individuality attaches to country _fêtes_ than even to such a national event as the “Thanksgiving Procession.”

Then, too, they are so little known beyond the rural neighborhood in which they occur that to us across the ocean they come as fresh revelations of the inner structure—social, political, and domestic—of the great mother country, whose language is now that of the greater half of the civilized world. Such a festival is also rendered still more interesting in our eyes when it takes place in a Catholic family, under Catholic auspices, and is pervaded with the broad spirit of Catholic generosity. The best days of “merrie” were those of “Catholic” England, and the national character, now universally known as the British—_i.e._, moroseness and gloom of disposition—is wholly a graft of the unhappy Lutheran Rebellion. Unquestionably, the most English domestic festival, the most characteristic, and the aptest to exhibit Englishmen of all ranks and stations in their best aspect, is a “Coming of Age.” This is celebrated on the twenty-first anniversary of the birth of the heir to a large property, and is essentially an outgrowth of the institution of primogeniture.

In the instance of which we speak, the festival took place in a Catholic house, on the estate of the largest land-owner of one of the midland counties of England. There was a large family gathering bidden from all parts of the country; relatives of all denominations met in perfect peace and friendship round the board of the Catholic head of their house; there were clergymen and government clerks, married sisters with large families, old aunts in sufficiently quaint costume, young lawyers, parliamentary men, soldiers and sailors, some with years of service behind them, some with their spurs yet to win; in fact, each generation, from that of “powder and patches” down to that of the nursery of to-day, was impartially and favorably represented. The house, a large, roomy Tudor building, was still too small to accommodate all the guests, and the lodges and even the inns of the neighborhood, had to be put into requisition. When we drove through the park on Tuesday evening, 10th of October, 18—, the first thing that struck us was seeing moving lights in front of the house; and, our carriage being suddenly stopped, we found that the lights were carried by E—— and the servants to prevent our being shipwrecked upon tent-ropes and poles! By that dim light, we discerned the outline of the immense tent run out from the end window of the drawing-room; and, as we looked at the preparations, the work really seemed as if carried on by fairies, so quickly and perfectly was it accomplished. The place was looking lovely; some of the beautiful trees were just touched with the first tints of scarlet and gold, others still fresh and green. At the east end of the Terrace Garden is a very handsome stone balustrade, between the flower-garden and the straight walk leading to the old Hall (a ruined house, once the family mansion, and now standing in the grounds as a picturesque ornament, and also a convenient place for school entertainments, servants’ dances, etc.) “To any prosaic mind,” said a friend of ours, “there is always great amusement in watching work of any kind; and the object for which all was going on gave me such a real interest in it that I do not think any one entered more fully than I did into even the minutest details of preparation.” Lord G——, the owner of the house, and the father of the young recipient of these patriarchal honors, gave Captain W—— _carte blanche_ about many little things, and was so kindly pleased with every endeavor: all the people worked with _such_ eagerness and good-will. Old Philip (a garrulous old carpenter who knows the family history far better than the family itself!) and Captain W—— made fast friends in no time. The entrance tent became in a few days very pretty—lined with scarlet and white, the floor covered with red, marble tables at the sides; and at one end on a table was placed Lord G——’s bust, and a pier-glass behind it, the two corners of the tent at each side being filled with plants of variegated foliage. Just opposite the entrance was hung the large picture of the _fête_ at Fort Henry when Lord G—— came of age (thirty or more years ago); and very quaint indeed are the costumes and most charming the “bonnets” of the “period”; but we were assured by Philip they were all perfect likenesses! There were light chandeliers suspended from the roof, which had a fine effect even in daytime, and sofas were placed round the walls, so that one only felt what a pity it would be when such a pretty entrance hall would be demolished! At one end was the entrance, and the passage to the front door, all filled with flowers. Much fun went on whilst all these things were being placed, and some even said the preparations would be the best part of all.

The hero of the festivities himself arrived a day or two after us. Being in the army, as are most young men of good prospects in England, he had hitherto been away with his regiment, and only obtained leave of absence for this occasion. He seemed delightfully happy, but most naturally, not excitedly; and throughout the whole no one could be more unaffected or unspoilt by being the one object of all these rejoicings. Where many a young man might have shown himself over-elated, he was exactly himself, happy and cheerful, but quiet, calm, and always self-possessed. When all the preparations were finished, nothing could be more beautiful. It is not too much to say that they were princely, yet all was in perfect taste and keeping—nothing of vain show and ostentation, thoroughly refined, and so truly represented by the word which to our mind conveys the highest praise, _gentlemanly_; above all, everything was arranged for the happiness and rejoicing of others, of high and low, of rich and poor, and nothing overlooked which could gratify the feelings of participants. On each of the different approaches to the house, the banners, placed at different distances on each side of the drives, had a beautiful effect, as well as the larger flags on the house, on the old Hall, on the church-tower; and these brilliant colors were set off by the more varied and almost equally rich tints of the trees. On Monday (the 16th October), the festivities began in earnest. The first act was our all going directly after breakfast up to the old Hall to see the gigantic cask of 21-years-old ale opened, and, as in duty bound, to taste the ale to Charlie’s health. The universal custom in England of brewing a large quantity of the very best ale the year an heir is born, and keeping it untouched until the day he comes of age, when the cask is broached and distributed in prudently moderate quantities to the guests and tenants, is of very ancient origin, and is most religiously adhered to. Another custom is that of planting an oak-tree near the house the year of the heir’s birth, to commemorate the event, and the sapling is always called after its human foster-brother. This tapping the ale was like reading a page out of some memoir of former times, and reminded us of the stories of Sir Walter Scott.

The cavernous cellar in which stand the mysterious casks, the ivy-grown ruin overhead, the brawny men opening the family treasures, and serving as rustic cup-bearers to the guests, all made a thorough old-time picture. Some of the party, after this ceremony was over, left us to go to the first village feast, the prototype—a description of which will equally fit all the others. There are seven villages on the estates, and each felt itself entitled to a separate local entertainment. Ridlington, which supplies the family with one of its many titles, was the first to experience its lord’s hospitality.

The feast consisted of an abundant supply of meat, ale, and cakes for men, women, and children alike, with games on the village green, races for simple prizes, such as articles of useful clothing, etc. The greased pole formed the chief attraction for the men and boys, and of course was productive of the greatest merriment, through the harmless accidents to which it inevitably exposes the candidates for the honors of successful climbing. During the repast, speeches were freely made and healths proposed, every one much alike, but all interesting, through the hearty reciprocity of feeling evinced between landlord and tenant. Returning home, the host and his daughters prepared to receive their unexpected guests, the greater number of whom were to assemble that evening. Our “prosaic-minded” friend here interposed a characteristic comment, in these words: “When the influx of guests took place about six o’clock that same evening, you may conceive the feelings of the ‘family aunt’ descending the stairs before dinner, as if one of the pictures had stepped out of its frame to mix in such a crowd of strangers, for such are almost all to me!” As the drawing-rooms were dismantled in preparation for the ball, there was only the oak corridor to sit in, and it must be confessed it required some tact to find seats; whilst, of course, all the men crowded together, English fashion, under the staircase! Capt. W—— acquired the name of “master of the ceremonies,” as he and E—— (one of our young hostesses) drew up the order of march to dinner, and he was deputed to tell every one who to take—rather puzzling in an assemblage scarcely one of whom he had ever seen before. The “weighty” matter of English precedence in such a company is more important than any one would suppose; and we cannot wonder that such social punctiliousness should raise a smile among people of simpler though not less generous habits.

The dinner was a most elaborate affair; indeed, in England, it is always the crowning portion of any entertainment, and the test of a genuine social success. The table looked beautiful with the massive silver plate: the épergne representing a herd of stags (the white stag is Lord G——’s crest) feeding under a spreading oak; the vases of classical shape, formerly wine-coolers, but now, more congenially to modern refinement, filled with ferns or plants of colored foliage, contrasting with the frosted silver; flowers and fruit in utopian abundance, and every vase or dish raised on a stand of crimson velvet, in artistic relief against the delicate white damask of the table-cloth—and this, of course, every day the same. Among the guests we may pause a moment to mention a lady of whom a stranger to her gave this characteristic description: saying that she was nicely but quietly dressed, had large, soft eyes, an intelligent expression, and a thoughtful look. She was certainly the most interesting and the cleverest person of the company, if the inward history of a mind is to count more than its outward covering. Suffice it to say that a few of those present knew how to appreciate her, especially a clergyman of the neighborhood noted for his historical researches and antiquarian learning—the Rev. G. H. Hill. Among those whom social reticence does not forbid us to distinguish by name was also an architect of rare merit, under whose supervision part of the building had been erected—a man whose mind is thoroughly artistic, and whose name, already the property of the public, we need therefore not hesitate to give—Mr. C. Buckler. His testimony, characteristic as it must be, will not be inappropriate in this sketch; of the whole festival he could say with truth, as he did in a charming letter to his patron and host, that it was thoroughly mediæval in spirit. This is high praise in the mouth of an Englishman and an artist; for our national pride is inseparably woven with feudal and ancestral feelings, an admiration for the open-handed generosity and lavish display of baronial times—for everything, in a word, that made England a fit nurse for Shakespeare, and an ideal for Washington Irving.