{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_25937/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_25937","id":"gutenberg_25937","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/25937","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","English literature","History","Literature","Religion","Utilitarianism"],"text":"E-text prepared by Stacy Brown, Thierry Alberto, and the Project Gutenberg\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)\n\n\n\nSTUDIES IN LITERATURE AND HISTORY\n\nby the Late\n\nSIR ALFRED C. LYALL\n\nP.C., G.C.I.E., K.C.B., D.C.L., LL.D.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nLondon\nJohn Murray, Albemarle Street, W.\n1915\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nIn the Second Series of his _Asiatic Studies_ the late Sir Alfred\nLyall republished a number of articles that he had contributed to\nvarious Reviews up to the year 1894. After that date he wrote\nfrequently, especially for the _Edinburgh Review_, and he left amongst\nhis papers a note naming a number of articles from which he considered\nthat a selection might be made for publication.\n\nThe present volume contains, with two exceptions, the articles so\nmentioned, together with one that was not included by the author.\n\nA large number of Sir Alfred Lyall's contributions[1] to the Reviews\ndeal, as might be expected, with India--with its political and\nadministrative problems, or with the careers of its statesmen and\nsoldiers. He appears, however, to have regarded such articles as not\nof sufficient permanent value for republication, and his selection was\nconfined almost exclusively to writings on literary, historical or\nreligious subjects. He made an exception in favour of an essay on his\nold friend Sir Henry Maine; but as the limitations imposed by the\npublisher made it necessary to sacrifice one of the larger articles,\nthis essay was, with some reluctance, excluded. It dealt chiefly with\nMaine's influence on Indian administration and legislation; and would\nmore appropriately be included in a collection of his writings on\nIndia, should these ever be published.\n\nWhile Indian official subjects have been excluded, readers of the\nearlier 'Studies' will recognise that many of the writings in this\nvolume follow out lines of thought suggested in the earlier works, or\napply in a larger sphere the results of observations made when the\nauthor was studying Indian myths and Indian religions in Berar, or the\n'rare and antique stratification of society' in Rajputana. The two\naddresses on religion placed at the end of the volume form the most\nobvious example, but there is a close connection between a group of\nthe other articles and the views developed in _Asiatic Studies_.\n\nIn the last edition of that work a chapter on 'History and Fable' was\ninserted because of its bearing on the author's general views\n'regarding the elementary commixture of fable and fact in ages that\nmay be called prehistoric.' In this chapter the author made a rapid\nsurvey of the 'kinship between history and fable,' tracing it through\nthe times of myth and romance to the period of the historic novel. 'At\ntheir birth,' he says, 'history and fable were twin sisters;' and\nagain, 'There is always a certain quantity of fable in history, and\nthere is always an element of history in one particular sort of\nfable.' The reviews of English and Anglo-Indian fiction, and of\n'Heroic Poetry' in the present work, give opportunities of further\nillustrations from fiction of his views: which reappear from another\nstandpoint in the 'Remarks on the Reading of History'--a short\naddress, which it has been thought worth while to reprint, though it\nwas not specially indicated by the author for publication.\n\nSeveral of the other articles contain criticism of a more purely\nliterary character; the article on 'Frontiers,' which recounts\nexciting but little-known episodes in the Russian advance in Asia, has\nan important bearing on a branch of Indian policy in which Sir Alfred\nLyall to the end of his career took a deep interest, and of which he\nhad a profound knowledge; and 'L'Empire Liberal' may, it is thought,\nbe found to contain much that is of special interest at the present\ntime.\n\nThese articles have not had the benefit of any general revision by\ntheir author, but in a few cases he had indicated in the printed\ncopies alterations or additions that he desired to be made.\n\n    _The Quarterly._\n    _The Anglo-Saxon._\n    _The Edinburgh._\n    _The Fortnightly._\n\nExcept that the two essays on 'Race and Religion' and 'The State in\nits Relation to Religion' have been brought together at the end of the\nvolume, the chronological order of original publication has been\nobserved. The source from which each article is drawn has in all cases\nbeen indicated, and this opportunity is taken of acknowledging the\npermission to republish that has courteously been accorded by the\neditors or proprietors of the Reviews concerned.\n\nPermission has also been given to publish the article on 'Sir Spencer\nWalpole' written for the British Academy, and the address on the\n'Reading of History.'\n\nJohn O. Miller\n\n_December 1914._\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n                                                               PAGE\n\nNOVELS OF ADVENTURE AND MANNERS                                   1\n\nENGLISH LETTER-WRITING IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY                 34\n\nTHACKERAY                                                        76\n\nTHE ANGLO-INDIAN NOVELIST                                       121\n\nHEROIC POETRY                                                   155\n\nTHE WORKS OF LORD BYRON                                         177\n\nTHE ENGLISH UTILITARIANS                                        210\n\nCHARACTERISTICS OF MR. SWINBURNE'S POETRY                       263\n\nFRONTIERS ANCIENT AND MODERN                                    291\n\nL'EMPIRE LIBERAL                                                328\n\nSIR SPENCER WALPOLE                                             368\n\nREMARKS ON THE READING OF HISTORY                               377\n\nRACE AND RELIGION                                               399\n\nTHE STATE IN ITS RELATION TO EASTERN AND WESTERN RELIGIONS      427\n\nINDEX                                                           454\n\n\n\n\nNOVELS OF ADVENTURE AND MANNERS[2]\n\n\nMr. Raleigh[3] very rightly goes back to mediaeval romance for the\norigins of English fiction. In all countries the metrical tale is many\ngenerations older than the prose story; for prose writing is a\nrefinement of the literary art which flourishes only when reading has\nbecome popular; while verse, being at first a kind of _memoria\ntechnica_ used for the correct transmission of sacred texts and the\nheroic tradition, strikes the ear and fixes the recollection of an\naudience. The exploits of mighty warriors and the miracles of\nsaints--love, fighting, and theology--form the subject matter of these\nstories in verse. They are, as Mr. Raleigh says, epical in spirit\nthough not in form: 'they carry their hero through the actions and\nadventures of his life ... they display a marked preference for deeds\ndone, and attempt no character-drawing.... A sense of the instability\nof human life, very present to the minds of men familiar with battle\nand plague, is everywhere mirrored in these romances.' Then came\nChaucer, who not only wrote prose tales, but also carried far toward\nperfection the art of narration in verse; and 'in the fifteenth\ncentury both of the ancestors of the modern novel--that is, the\nnovella or short pithy story after the manner of the Italians, and\nthe romance of chivalry--appear in an English prose dress.' But the\ngenius of English fiction was still loaded with the chains of allegory\nand pedantic moralisation; and in the _Gesta Romanorum_, the most\npopular collection of English prose stories which had been translated\nfrom the Latin at the end of the fifteenth century, 'human beings are\nmere puppets, inhabiting the great fabric of mediaeval thought and\nmediaeval institution.... It was the work of the Renaissance to recover\nthe literal and obvious sense of human life, as it was the work of the\nclosely-allied Reformation to recover the literal sense of the Bible.'\n\nThe playwright has always been a formidable rival to the novelist,\ninsomuch that in a period of dramatic activity the novel, as our\nauthor remarks, can hardly maintain itself. But from the middle of the\nseventeenth century the stage had fallen low, while the formal and\nfantastic romance, the long-winded involved story, was losing its\nvogue. So the heroic romances, we are told, 'availed themselves\nskilfully of the opportunity to foster a new taste in the reading\npublic--a delight, namely, born of the fashionable leisure of a\nself-conscious society, in minute introspection, and the analysis and\nportraiture of emotional states.' We are inclined to suspect that\nthese words, which would serve well enough to describe the taste for\nthe analytic novel of our own day, must be taken with considerable\nreserve in their application to the writings and the readers of two\ncenturies ago. But we may agree that certain tendencies of style and\ndevelopments of feeling which are now predominant may be traced back\nto this time. And when, toward the end of the seventeenth century,\nMrs. Aphra Behn began to enlist incidents of real life into the\nservice of her fiction, she was making a distinct attempt, as Mr.\nRaleigh points out, to bring romance into closer relation with\ncontemporary life, although a conventional treatment of facts and\ncharacter still overlay all her work. Mr. Raleigh holds, however, that\nthis attempt was abortive; that it failed at the time; and that the\ngreat eighteenth-century school of English novelists, with Richardson\nand Fielding at their head, took its rise, quite independently of\npredecessors in the seventeenth century, out of the general stock of\nmiscellaneous literature--plays, books of travel, adventures, satires,\njournals, and broadsides--which had been drawn at first hand from\nobservation and experience of the various forms of surrounding life.\n\nWe are quite ready to agree that the eighteenth-century Novel of\nManners belongs to a family distinct from that of the Romantic story,\nor is at any rate very distantly connected with it. But when Mr.\nRaleigh goes on to say that the heroic romance died in the seventeenth\ncentury and left no issue, although it was revived again in the latter\nhalf of the eighteenth century, to this view we are much inclined to\ndemur. Such complete interruptions in the transmission of species are\nas rare in the intellectual as in the physical world; and we prefer to\nmaintain that the romance, although it was for a time eclipsed by the\nbrilliancy of the writers who described the manners and sentiments of\ncontemporary society, was never extinguished, but became transformed\ngradually, by successive modifications of environment, into the modern\nnovel of adventure. It is true that Defoe entirely rejected the\nmarvellous, while Horace Walpole, fifty years later, dealt\nimmoderately in the elements of mystery and wonder; yet,\nnotwithstanding these violent oscillations of style and method, we\nbelieve that the great historical novels of the early nineteenth\ncentury, and the tales of stirring incident which flourish at the\npresent day, descend by an unbroken filiation from the fabulous\nromance of elder times.\n\nMr. Raleigh does not carry his brief yet instructive history of the\nEnglish novel beyond the time of Walter Scott, with whom, he says,\n'the wheel has come full circle,' the Romantic revival was victorious,\nprose finally superseded verse as the vehicle of adventurous story,\nand realism was wedded to romance. We trust that in some future work\nhe will carry on up to a later date his survey of the course and\ncurrents of imaginative fiction. In the meantime, it may not be\nirrelevant to follow up further and a little more closely the ruling\ncharacteristics and the formative influences that have contributed\ntoward the production of English light literature as it exists at the\npresent day.\n\nThe novels with which our fortunate generation is so abundantly\nsupplied may be divided broadly into two classes, overlapping and\ninterlaced with each other, yet on the whole distinguishable as\nseparate species--the Novel of Adventure and the Novel of Manners. The\nformer class has a very long pedigree. The early romance writer drew\nhis incidents from the field of heroic action and marvellous\nenterprise; he revelled in noble sentiments, astonishing feats, and\nthe exhibition of all the cardinal virtues in tragic situations; his\nmission was to preserve and hand down to us magnified figures of\nmighty men, or the pictures of great events, as they had impressed\nthemselves upon the popular imagination. For such material he was\nobliged to travel abroad into remote countries, or backward to bygone\nages; but if his images of gallant knights and fair damsels were well\nmodelled, if the language was superb, and the deeds or sufferings\nsufficiently astonishing, no one cared about anachronisms,\nincongruities, or improbabilities.\n\nBut as the heroic romance dwindled and withered under the dry light of\nprecise knowledge and extending erudition, the purveyors of fiction,\naccommodating themselves to a more exacting taste, applied themselves\nseriously to the reproduction of famous scenes and portraits by the\naid and guidance of historic documents and antiquarian research. The\nmodern romantic school, of whom the master, if not the founder, is\nScott, represented a clear step forward to what is now called Realism,\nand a proportionate abandonment of the classic convention, or the\nmethod of drawing from traditional or imaginary models. To Scott may\nbe ascribed the authoritative introduction of descriptions of\nlandscape, of storms, sunsets, and picturesque effects; not the\nartificial scene-painting of Mrs. Radcliffe, but artistic delineations\nof the aspects of earth, sea, and sky which gave depth and atmosphere\nto his dramatic situations. From this period, also, may be dated the\npractice, so entirely contrary to the spirit of true romance, of\nverifying by documentary evidence the details of a story. It was Scott\nwho, in the first years of this century, set prominently the example\nof appending copious notes to his stories in verse or prose, wherein\nhe displayed his archaeologic lore and produced his authorities for any\nstriking illustration of manners or characteristic incident. This\npractice, which was largely adopted by others, was at least an\nimprovement upon the old unregenerate system of seasoning the\nconversation of warriors and peasants with uncouth phrases picked up\nat random, or trusting to mere fancy or accepted formula for the\ndescription of battles or of the ways of folk in mediaeval castles and\ncottages. But the process savoured too much of the workshop. A novel\nor poem that required an appendix of notes and glossaries must be of\nhigh excellence to avoid suspicious resemblance to an elaborate\nliterary counterfeit, since open and avowed borrowing from\ndictionaries of antiquities or volumes of travel must damage the\nillusion which is the indispensable element of romance. In Moore's\nfantastic metrical romance of _Lalla Rookh_ the system was carried to\nan extent that now seems ridiculous, for certain passages are loaded\nwith outlandish phrases or metaphors that are unintelligible except by\nreference to the notes. Nevertheless the English public, being then\nquite ignorant of the true East, tolerated Moore's sham Orientalism,\neven though Byron's fine poems were just then exposing the difference\nbetween working up the subject in a library and wandering in Asiatic\ncountries. Byron's language seems in the present day turgid, and his\nGreeks and Turks may have a theatrical air, but his splendid\ndescriptive passages were drawn by a master hand straight from nature,\nwhile his colouring, landscape, and costume are usually excellent; so\nthat his work also is a distinct movement in the direction of realism.\nYet it is to be observed that after Byron and Scott the metrical\nromance, that most ancient form of tale-telling, fell rapidly into\ndisuse. The fact that Byron's latest poem, _Don Juan_, belonged\nessentially to the coming realistic school, is a significant\nindication of transition; and Scott's abandonment of poetry for prose,\nwhich was a necessary consequence of his advance toward realism, gave\nits death-blow to the earlier fashion.\n\nBy this time, indeed, the conventional writer of adventures, though he\nheld his ground up to or even beyond the middle of the century, was in\na state of incurable decadence. He was losing the confidence of the\ngeneral reader, who had picked up some precise notions regarding\nappropriate scenery, language, and costume in sundry periods and\ndivers places, from China to Peru; and he was persecuted by that\nmortal foe of the old romancer, the well-informed critic, who trampled\neven upon a commonplace book well filled with references to standard\nauthorities, insisting upon careful study of the whole environment,\nthe dexterous incorporation of details, and delicate blending of local\ncolours. Severe pedagogic handling of a historic novel, as if it were\na paper done at some competitive examination, was too much for the old\nschool, which finally subsided into cheap popular editions, making way\nfor a new class of writers that adapted the Novel of Adventure to the\nrequirements of latter-day taste, to the widening of knowledge, and\nthe diversified expansion of our national life. The prevailing\ntendency was now to confine the range of scene and action more and\nmore approximately to the contemporary period, to insist on genuine\nmaterials, and to observe a stricter canon of probabilities, wherein\nthe discriminating reader fancied himself to be a judge. The use of\nnotes was discarded as contrary to the high artistic principle that in\nfiction everything must resemble reality while nothing must be\ndemonstrably matter of fact. The appearance of famous personages must\nbe occasional, after the manner of gods in an epic poem; they must not\nbe, as formerly, the leading characters and chief actors in the drama.\nAnd great battles, instead of marking the grand climacteric of a\nstory's development, were now merely traversed, so to speak, on their\noutskirts, or were only approached near enough to throw a glowing\nsidelight on certain groups and situations. The gradual adoption of\nthese limitations may be traced back to the naval and military novels\nthat reflect the traditions of the great French war. No one even then\nthought of writing a romance with Nelson or Bonaparte as the hero, or\nof finishing off in the full blaze of Trafalgar or in the rout of\nWaterloo; although with Marryat and Lever the English reader revelled\nin the dashing exploits or bacchanalian revels of sailors and\nsoldiers. Lever did indeed give glimpses of Wellington or Napoleon;\nbut his business was with Connaught Rangers and French guardsmen;\nwhile Marryat and Michael Scott gave us daring sea-captains and\nreckless sailors with inimitable vigour and animation.\n\nBut as the echo of thunderous battles by sea and land died away, this\nparticular offshoot of modern romance ceased to flourish, and has\nnever had any considerable revival. The tale-teller of adventure, like\nhis ancestor the epic poet, requires a certain haziness of atmosphere;\nhe must have elbow room for his inventive faculty; and he is liable to\nbe stifled in the flood of lucid narrative and inflexible facts let\nloose upon recent events in our day by complete histories, personal\nmemoirs, public documents, war correspondence, and all-pervading\njournalism. This is probably the main reason why the Crimean War and\nthe Indian Mutiny, which broke for brief intervals the long peace of\nEngland, have furnished no fresh material contribution of importance\nto the romance of war, either in prose or poetry, to stamp the memory\nof a long weary siege, or of a short and bloody struggle, upon the\npopular imagination. Another reason must be, of course, the\nnon-appearance in England of the _vates sacer_; for Tolstoi has shown\nus that within and without Sebastopol there might be found material\nfor work of the highest order. However this may be, it is a remarkable\nfact that just about that time the novel of adventure turned back for\na moment, in Kingsley's hands, to the spacious times of great\nElizabeth, to the Armada and the legends of filibustering on the\nSpanish main; and at the present time we may observe that the leading\nwriter of this school goes back at least a hundred years for the field\nof his best stories. The eighteenth century, whose politics,\nphilosophy, and literature seemed to Carlyle's somewhat bookish\nconception to be flat, prosaic, and comparatively uninteresting, was\nin truth for Englishmen pre-eminently the age of energetic activity,\nwhich touched the high level of romantic enterprise at two points, the\nScottish rebellions and the exploits of famous buccaneers. Mr.\nStevenson has reopened, with great skill and success, these mines of\nliterary ore that had been discovered but only partially worked by\nWalter Scott. His rare artistic instinct divined the rich veins which\nthey still contained; while in other stories his intimate acquaintance\nwith actual life and circumstance on the coasts and islands of the\nPacific Ocean has provided him with those elements of distance and\nunfamiliarity which are essential, as we have suggested, to the\ncomposition of the novel of adventure. Other less original writers\nhave travelled in search of these elements to the Australian bush or\nthe outlying half-explored regions of South Africa.\n\nThis very cursory survey of the main influences and circumstances that\nhave shaped the course and set the fashion of our modern novel of\nadventure may be useful in explaining its actual position at the\npresent moment. Scepticism and research have effectually retrenched\nthe very liberal credit formerly assigned to romance writing; the art\nnow consists in spinning a long narrative out of authentic materials\nwhich must be disguised or kept hidden; while its leading features are\na delight in elaborate accessories and that very modern sentiment, a\nhorror of anachronism. A few living artists, like Mr. Shorthouse and\nMr. Stevenson, can still excel under these difficult conditions,\nwhich have driven a crowd of second-rate novelists into the extreme of\nminute realism. Into this retreat, however, they have been followed by\na host of readers; for in these days of universal instruction and flat\nuneventful existence nothing satisfies the average mind like\nphotographic detail, which is a commodity to be had of every\nindustrious or studious composer. As the range of accurate information\nextends, as the dust heap of old records, private as well as public,\nis sifted more narrowly, as the antique habit of taking things readily\nfor granted disappears, the novel becomes more and more an arrangement\nof genuine facts and circumstances, interleaved by such fiction as the\nskill and imagination of the author can produce. It may be worth\nobserving that this demand for exact verification has affected the use\nof the early chronicles in two contrary ways; they are relied upon\nimplicitly or they are arbitrarily discredited, in proportion as the\nfacts stated appear credible or not credible to critics or professors\nwho are working upon them. All the particulars of a great battle or of\nsome famous event that can be gleaned out of some ancient monkish\nannalist, who must always have collected his information by hearsay\nand often after many years, are treated as authentic so long as they\ndo not sound improbable; but if they offend against the canon of\nprobability set up by a library-hunting student, they are liable to be\nsummarily rejected. We may venture upon the conjecture that the true\nresult of this process is to assimilate the work of the critical\nhistorian much more nearly than he would for a moment allow to that of\na skilful historic novelist. A romancer of insight and imaginative\npower, who studied his period, would be quite as likely to make a\nlucky selection of real incidents, motives, and characters, in a story\nof the Roman Empire or of England under the Plantagenets, as an\nerudite writer of history. Perhaps the best measure available to us of\nwhat we may believe in regard to far-off times is afforded by\nobservation of what now happens in rough societies or remote places;\nand this test the novelist is rather more apt, on the whole, to employ\nthan the historian.\n\nIn the novels, as upon the stage, this demand for minute accuracy of\nscenic or historical details has necessarily elicited an abundant\nsupply; though whether the entire picture is rendered much more\nnatural and real by an accumulation of correct particulars may be\nquestioned. 'La recherche exageree du vrai peut conduire au faux.' It\nis most doubtful whether laborious research can reconstruct a\nlife-like presentation of a vanished society, its modes of life, its\nways of thinking and acting. In vain the novelist or the painter\nstudies archaeology, takes a journey to the Holy Land for his local\ncolouring, reads up the records of the time, or works in museums. The\nresult may be ingenious and even instructive; but there are sure to be\ngreat errors and anachronisms, although they may now be\nundiscoverable; while the general tone, point of view, and balance of\nmotives are nearly certain to be obscured or distorted. For the modern\nnovelist, like the ancient myth-maker, is necessarily the child of his\ntime; his work takes the bent of his personal temperament, and is\nmoulded by the environment of ideas and circumstances within which he\nlives. The Myth, the Romance, the Historic Novel, each in its\nsuccessive period, did at least this service to later generations:\nthey preserved and handed down to us the popular impressions, the\nfigures or pictures of great men and striking events, as they were\nreflected upon the imagination of subsequent ages. It can never be\ndiscovered, and it does not very much matter, whether these images\nhave any close resemblance to the lost originals; it may be that some\nartists in some periods saw far more clearly than in others. The true\ncriterion for estimating the true value of romantic fiction, of tales\nof action and adventure, must be always its artistic and intellectual\nqualities, the question whether it succeeds in filling a broad canvas,\nin dealing with masculine sentiment and stirring action, in striking\nthe deeper chords of human emotion and energy.\n\nBut the historic novel of our day strives principally after exact\nreproduction, as may be seen even in a book of such incontestable\ntalent as _Marius the Epicurean_, and very notably in Archdeacon\nFarrar's book, _Darkness and Dawn, or Scenes in the Days of Nero_\n(1891), which may stand as the type and complete specimen of Erudite\nFiction. In his preface he tells us that\n\n     'those who are familiar with the literature of the first century\n     will recognise that even for the minutest allusions and particulars\n     I have contemporary authority. Expressions and incidents which to\n     some might seem startlingly modern, are in reality suggested by\n     passages in the satirists, epigrammatists, and romancers of the\n     (Roman) Empire, or by anecdotes preserved in the grave pages of\n     Seneca and the elder Pliny.'\n\nHere we have reached, in this conscientious explanation of method, the\nextreme point of remoteness from the original spirit of historic\nromance. Archdeacon Farrar's figures and descriptions are worked out\nupon the pattern of a mosaic, by piecing together the loose\nfragmentary bits of our knowledge regarding life and society under\nNero. A glance at these books shows that they belong to the latest\nschool of nineteenth-century fiction, to a period when careful\nscholarly accumulation of accessories and adroit adaptation of history\nhave taken the place, not only of convention and clumsy invention,\nbut also of the free untrammelled handling of types and traditions\nwhich gave freshness and originality to the simpler forms of early\nromance.\n\nWe believe, then, that these attempts at exact reproduction, this\nmethod of the multiplication of particulars, involve a fallacy, and\nare detrimental to the more enduring forms of art. But the people is\nwilling to be deceived; the general reader has acquired a taste that\nmust be gratified; with the result that the elder romancers in prose\nand verse, including Scott and Byron, are falling out of fashion with\nthe middle classes, though Scott holds his own in the sixpenny\nedition. The rule of Realism is becoming so despotic that the story of\nadventure is reverting more and more to that shape which lends itself\nmost completely to life-like narrative, the shape of a Memoir. And it\nmay be pointed out accordingly that in France the Editor of Memoirs\nhas lately entered into substantial rivalry with the Novelist of\nAdventure.\n\nIt must have been noticed by those who attend to the course of French\nliterature, that of late years the publication of Memoirs relating to\nthe period of the Revolutionary war, and especially of the First\nEmpire, has rather suddenly increased. The causes are undoubtedly to a\nconsiderable degree political, connected with the reorganisation of\nthe French army and navy, which has revived the military ardour of the\nnation, and has given an edge to the deep-seated spirit of rivalry\nwith Germany on land and with England at sea. Whatever immediately\ninterests a nation gives a sharp turn to its literature, and the\nimmense success of General Marbot's book, containing the extraordinary\npersonal experiences of one who passed through the most famous scenes\nof the heroic era, exactly hit off the public taste at a moment when\nvarious motives combined to revive the Napoleonic legend. The\nhistorians of that era had done their harvesting; the crop had been\nreaped, raked, and gleaned; the time was too near and too thoroughly\nknown for fiction; and yet there never was a finer field for the\nproduction of romance. No one can doubt that if Napoleon Bonaparte had\nconquered half Europe, won his tremendous battles, and founded his\nempire in an illiterate prehistoric age, he would have taken\neverlasting rank with Alexander the Great and Charlemagne as the\ncentral figure of a third world-wide cycle of heroic myths; nor is it\nnecessary to read Archbishop Whately's _Historic Doubts_ to perceive\nhow readily Napoleon's real story lends itself to extravagant\nmyth-making. At a later period he might have been the leading\ncharacter in some prolix and pedantic romance, and still more recently\nhis life and deeds would have been built up into the scaffolding\nwithin which the historic novelist used to construct his love idylls,\nhis tragic situations, or even his illustrations of some social\ntheory. All these methods and devices have become obsolete; and though\nthe spirit of hero-worship that animated those who listened to the\nancient tales still possesses mankind at certain seasons, Romance must\nnow submit to the hard conditions of modern Realism. In this\npredicament it finds a new and satisfactory embodiment in the form of\nMemoirs concerning the great Emperor and his companions, which\ndispense copious anecdotes of his court and camp, his sayings and\ndoings, his domestic habits, his private manners and peccadilloes. If\nthese particulars can be served up as sauce to the description of\nmighty events, the contrast renders them all the more savoury. But\nthere is now a large class of readers who care less about Jena and\nAusterlitz than for such books as _Napoleon Intime, Napoleon et les\nFemmes_, which have all the attraction always possessed by the\nintermixture of love and war, and by the blending of arms with amours\nin the conventional style of historic fiction. The lowest depth is\nreached when the reminiscences of an Emperor's valet, to whom he is\nstill a kind of hero, are served up with that succulent dressing of\nvivid particularity which is swallowed with relish because it brings\ndown a great man to the level of the most trivial experience.\n\nHow far these Memoirs are genuine in the sense which makes them so\nattractive--that is to say, as literally authentic pictures of a great\nman's interior life, of his actual words and behaviour as witnessed by\nhis intimates--must always remain doubtful to the sceptical mind. True\nreminiscences are naturally somewhat cloudy in outline, hanging loose\ntogether with gaps and interruptions; whereas these are all coherent,\nclear-cut, and written in a style that gives superior polish and\nsetting to every scene and anecdote. That they are compiled upon a\nsolid substratum of truth need not be questioned; nevertheless some of\nthem seem to differ only in degree from the realistic novel of the\nvery latest type, such as Zola's _Debacle_, which contains a very\nstrong and pervading mixture of pure historical fact.\n\nBut whatever may be the exact proportion of authenticity which this\nclass of Memoirs can justly claim, they completely fulfil the prime\nconditions of popularity prescribed for the modern novel, which must\nwork out minute details with the greatest possible resemblance to\nactual life and circumstance. Upon this ground, indeed, the ablest\nprofessors of fiction might despair of competing with those who\nexhibit a mighty man of valour in undress, who lead us where we may\nhear him talk, watch him eat or shave, and study his conjugal\nrelations. It is to be feared that if the multiplication of such\nReminiscences continues, they will seriously trench upon the province\nof the novelist, who will be left no scope for the employment of his\ncraft in a field that has been thoroughly ransacked, and who must\ninevitably retire before writers who have discovered the art of making\ntruth quite as amusing as fiction, than which it must always be more\ninteresting. The brilliant success of Marbot's Memoirs, which were\nundoubtedly written by himself, seems to have warmed into activity and\ncirculation various other volumes of similar reminiscences that must\nhave been hibernating for one or two generations in the family\narchives, or have otherwise fallen into temporary oblivion; for in\nmany cases one is inclined to wonder why authentic documents of such\nvalue and interest were not sooner produced.\n\nThe latest example of this class of Memoirs, belonging to the\nRevolutionary or Napoleonic cycle, is to be found in the _Adventures_\nof A. Moreau de Jonnes, who died in 1870 at the age of ninety-two,\nhaving been for fifty years a member of the Institut and a great\nauthority on statistics. 'We should never have supposed,' says M. Leon\nSay in his preface to this book, 'that Moreau had been the hero of\nwarlike adventures, or that he might possibly have been placed in a\nline with Marbot.' The men of M. Say's generation who knew Marbot were\nquite unaware, he adds, that here was a naval and colonial Marbot,\nwhose fighting life was one of the strangest of stories. M. Say's\npreface seems to be intended as a guarantee of this story's\nauthenticity, though he notices casually the remarkable fact that 'on\nevery occasion when Moreau is on the brink of destruction, it is his\nluck to be saved by a pretty girl'; also that 'a charming\nportrait-gallery might be made of the women who, between 1793 and\n1805, rescued this hardy rover, who was both sailor and soldier, from\ndeath by sword or sickness in divers parts of the world,' from the\nWest India Islands to the banks of the Thames. His guarantee must be\naccepted; yet if this book had not been the genuine autobiography of a\nknown personage, there would really be nothing to distinguish it from\nthe historic novel, in which an imaginary person, such as Thackeray's\nEsmond, describes well-known scenes of history as an eye-witness and\nactor in them. Moreau was present at the great naval engagement of\nJune 1, 1794; at the hanging of Parker, the ringleader of the famous\nmutiny at the Nore, when he was saved by Parker's widow; he was in\nBantry Bay with the ships of Hoche's unlucky expedition; he landed\nwith Humbert in Donegal, and saw the Race of Castlebar; he had some\nmarvellous experiences in the West Indies, and everywhere the devotion\nof women facilitated his hairbreadth escapes. There need be no irony\nin repeating that avowed fiction can have no chance at all in\ncompetition with literature of this class.\n\n'Times are changed,' observes M. Leon Say in his preface. 'The taste\nof the public of our own day grows more and more keen for the romance\nof the cloak and rapier, when the heroes relate their own adventures.\nThe authentic Memoirs of the d'Artagnans of our own century are now\npreferred even to the works of Alexandre Dumas, so dear to our youth.'\nUndoubtedly they must be preferred, for being more real than the most\nrealistic novel, and just as full of fascinating adventures, the\nMemoir is superior precisely at those points which have given the\nmodern romance an advantage over its more conventional predecessors.\nThere may be consolation for the novelist in the reflection that the\nfund from which these Memoirs are drawn must soon be running low,\nwhereas the resources of fiction are comparatively inexhaustible. In\nthe meantime one result, already perceptible, will be that the novel\nwill tend more and more to imitate the personal memoir, by reverting\nto the autobiographical form which, since Defoe's day, has always been\nfiction's most effective disguise, permitting the author to efface\nhimself completely, while it gives the whole composition an air of\ndramatic vigour. It will have been observed that the most vivid\nmodern English romances, from _Barry Lyndon_ and _Esmond_ to\n_John Inglesant_, _Kidnapped_, and _The Master of Ballantrae_,\nare all written as the direct narratives of men who have taken a\ncomparatively secondary or even humble share in great transactions. On\nthe other hand, the famous characters who stand in the foremost line of\nhistory, and who were the delight and ornament of the elder romances,\nmust now be struck out of the repertory of the modern story-teller,\nsince the public now will no longer tolerate ancient or mediaeval heroes,\nwhile the great men of recent times have been too often photographed.\nThe only novelist of our own day who has attempted with some success to\ndraw thinly-veiled portraits of contemporary celebrities is Disraeli,\nand his whole style and treatment show him to be a true-bred\ndescendant of the old romantic stock.\n\nOur argument is, therefore, that various causes and tendencies, the\nchange of environment, the limitation of the average reader's\nexperiences, his taste for accuracy, his rejection of tradition,\nconvention, anachronism and improbabilities, the extension of exact\nknowledge and the critical spirit, have all combined to limit the\nsphere of the Novel of Adventure and to check the free sweep of its\ninventive genius. To these conditions the first-class artist can\naccommodate himself; but for the average writer they serve fatally to\nexpedite his descent into the regions of everyday life, among all the\nemotions known to middle-class folk, from murders, bankruptcies, and\nrailway accidents down to their religious doubts and the psychology of\ntheir love-making.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAgainst all these adverse circumstances the Novel of Adventure strives\ngallantly, and, of late years, with such conspicuous success, that it\nis difficult to decide whether the tide of popular inclination has not\nturned against the Novel of Manners. This branch of the great\nstory-telling family has, as we know, a long descent and an\nillustrious pedigree, although for our present purpose we need not go\nback further than the eighteenth century, to _Gil Blas_ in France and\n_Tom Jones_ in England. It will be found that these masterpieces\nconsist principally of a series of scenes and comical or semi-tragical\nsituations, rather loosely strung together on the thread of the\nexperiences undergone by the principal personages. The main object is\nnot so much ingenuity of plot as the presentation with much humour,\nsome strokes of caricature, and a touch of pathos, of morals and\nmanners, of public abuses and private vices, the way of living and\nstandard of thinking, the distinctive prejudices and ingrained\nbeliefs, that characterised different classes at a time when their\nideas and habits were often in sharp contrast. The sketches are\nadmirably done, the conversation is full of wit, the whole work may be\nrelied upon as a faithful though coarsely drawn picture of\ncontemporary society. Fielding constantly makes a halt in his\nnarrative to moralise and discourse ironically with the reader, in a\nvein that was reopened a century later by Thackeray, and by him pretty\nnearly exhausted, for at any rate it has since been closed.\n\nMr. Raleigh's book contains a just and discriminating appreciation of\nFielding's place in the line of great novelists, and of the strong\nformative influence that his work exercised over the early development\nof what is now called Naturalism. This note is struck, as he points\nout, in the invocation at the beginning of the thirteenth book of _Tom\nJones_, addressed to Experience, to the inspiration which is derived\nfrom what one has actually seen and known among all sorts and\nconditions of men:\n\n     'Others before him had seen and known these things, but in\n     Fielding's pages they are for the first time introduced, with no\n     loss of reality, to subserve the ends of fiction; common life is\n     the material of the story, but it is handled here for the first\n     time with the freedom and imagination of a great artist.'[4]\n\nAnd here, we may add, is the fruitful and vigorous stock out of which\nhas since radiated that immense growth of realistic novels which now\ntends to overshadow and supersede the earlier species of romance\nliterature.\n\nBut Fielding's style is unblushingly masculine; his scenes are in the\nstreet, the tavern, the sponging-house, and other places\nunmentionable. By the end of his century the Novel of Manners had\nfallen into very different hands, and to these it owes mainly the\nshaping, both as to tone and subject, that decisively laid down its\ncourse of future development. The electricity of that stormful period\nwhich comprises the last years of the eighteenth and the opening of\nthe nineteenth century seems to have generated an efflorescence of\nhigh original capacity in the department of imagination as well as of\naction. Nevertheless nothing is more remarkable, probably nothing was\nless expected, than the sudden accession of women to the first rank\nof popular novelists. Miss Burney, Miss Edgeworth, Miss Austen (not to\nmention Miss Ferrier), entered upon the same field from different\npoints and divided it among them. They may be said to have virtually\ncreated the decent story of contemporary life, the light satirical\npictures of familiar folk, the representation of ordinary society in\nthe form of a delicate comedy, which rose to the pitch of racy humour\nwhen the scenes and characters were Irish. Under the touch of this\nfeminine genius convention vanishes altogether; the painting is direct\nfrom nature; the plot and incidents are saturated with probability;\nthe personages might be met at the corner of any street in town or\nvillage; the very voice, gesture, and language are almost ludicrously\nfamiliar. No heroics, not much use of the pathetic; very slight\nlandscape-painting and background; no psychology; there is no\nsystematic attempt to introduce, under the story's disguise, the\nserious discussion of social, political, or polemical questions.\n\nFor an artist who deals so largely with country life, the absence of\nlandscape-painting in Miss Austen is very noticeable. The fine vein of\nsatire that pervades all her work, the constant presence of the human\nelement, leave her no room for expatiating on the aspects of nature;\nand indeed she was manifestly impatient with enthusiasts over the\npicturesque. She only touched upon such tastes in order to bring out\ncharacter:\n\n     '\"It is very true,\" said Marianne, \"that admiration of landscape\n     scenery is become a mere jargon. Everybody pretends to feel and\n     tries to describe with the taste and elegance of him who first\n     defined what picturesque beauty was. I detest jargon of every kind;\n     and sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself, because I could\n     find no language to describe them in but what was worn and\n     hackneyed out of all sense and meaning.\"\n\n     '\"I am convinced,\" said Edward, \"that you really feel all the\n     delight in a fair prospect which you profess to feel. But, in\n     return, your sister must allow me to feel no more than I profess. I\n     like a fine prospect, but not on picturesque principles; I do not\n     like crooked, twisted, blasted trees. I admire them much more if\n     they are tall, straight, and flourishing. I do not like ruined,\n     tattered cottages. I am not fond of nettles or thistles or heath\n     blossoms. I have more pleasure in a snug farm-house than a\n     watch-tower, and a troop of tidy happy villagers please me better\n     than the finest banditti in the world.\"'[5]\n\nThere can be no doubt, indeed, that in the novels of this period two\nmain features of the modern story, the word-painting of scenery and\nthe analysis of subjective emotions, are conspicuously absent. Yet\namong the manifold causes to which may be ascribed the wide recent\nexpansion of the Novel of Manners, we may well reckon the decisive\nimpulse that it received from these famous authoresses. They were, in\nfact, the founders of the dominion which women bid fair to establish\nover this class of fiction, where they are already extending it to a\ndegree that threatens to evict the men. Various circumstances have\nco-operated toward this curious literary revolution. The conventional\nromance, though apparently flourishing, was in their time on the brink\nof a decline; and as women have never succeeded in the Novel of\nAdventure--for the obvious reason that their tastes and experiences\nare opposed to success--they had no difficulty in abandoning a\ndecaying school, and in throwing all their freshness of mind and\nsubtlety of observation into the department which precisely suited\ntheir idiosyncrasy. The spread of education among female readers and\nwriters has undoubtedly aided them. And thus the rise of feminine\nnovelists has operated as a formidable contingent of fresh troops that\nhas joined the camp of Manners, to which alliance it may be noticed\nthat, with very few exceptions, the women have faithfully adhered. For\nalthough in the last century Mrs. Radcliffe had revived, as Mr.\nRaleigh observes, the Romance proper, and Miss Jane Porter claimed in\nthe first years of this century the honour of having invented the\nhistorical romance, women have been practically superseded in this\nclass of literature, so far as it survives, by men, George Eliot's\n_Romola_ being the only notable exception. The true representatives of\nfemale novelists are now the leaders of that school which confines\nitself to minute observation, whether of outward facts or inward\nfeeling, and which is above all things devoted to the close\ndelineation of contemporary society. The analysis of character within\nthe range of ordinary experience, the play of civilised emotion, the\nvicissitudes of grief or joy in the parsonage, the ball-room, and the\nvillage, the troubled course of legitimate love-making, have all\ncontributed the congenial material whereby the Novel of Manners\ntreated realistically, as the phrase goes, has been moulded by the\nadroit hands of women.\n\nWe do not forget that the most remarkable Mannerists that have\nappeared in this century were male authors--Thackeray and Dickens. But\nwe are not now attempting to survey the whole field of modern English\nfiction, or to assign to every star its place in that wide firmament.\nOur aim is only to indicate the main lines of filiation that have\nproduced the prevailing novel of the day. The permanent influence of\nthe two great artists who have been mentioned has not been, we think,\nproportionate to the rare and original value of their work. Both of\nthem had many imitators in their lifetime and for a little time\nafterward; but before they died they were both showing symptoms of\nloss of power; and one could see that the special fibre or faculty\nthat distinguished them was becoming overstrained; it was betraying\neffort and exaggeration. In their latest productions their peculiar\nqualities became mannerisms, of which readers soon began to be weary;\nand this may partly account for the speedy subsequent diversion of the\npopular taste into other channels. At any rate they did not found an\nenduring school, like Jane Austen, of whom it may be said that a great\nproportion of those novels of ordinary society which fill annually the\nlists of circulating libraries may be referred to her work as their\ntype and forerunner. The novels of Anthony Trollope, for example,\nfollow very much the same range of subject, the same level of emotion\nand incident; they consist mainly of satirical yet good-humoured\ndescriptions of middle-class life in the country, the suburbs, and\noccasionally in the higher walks of society--they are always decorous\nand never dull, but they never rise to the note of romance or\nadventure. It may even be added, in further proof of Trollope's\nliterary ancestry, that the predominant quality of these very clever\nbut eminently commonplace stories, with their interminable flirtations\nand their amusing dialogues which might have been reported by\nphonograph, is essentially feminine.\n\nOur view is, therefore, that three famous women authors accomplished\nfor the Novel of Manners very much what Scott at the same period did\nfor the Novel of Adventure; they stamped its lasting form and shaped\nits subsequent development. And in both classes, in tales of adventure\nas of society, we may detect clearly the rising spirit of what has\nbeen since called Realism or Naturalism, the discarding of\nconvention, the abandonment of mere attitudes for action studied from\nthe life, the direct appropriation of material from surrounding facts\nand perceptible feelings, from the familiar humours and concerns of\neveryday existence. In _Le Roman Naturaliste_, by M. Brunetiere, one\nchapter is allotted to English Naturalism, and the author declares\nthat the standard of Naturalism was raised in 1859 by the author of\n_Adam Bede_, quoting certain passages in which George Eliot, he says,\nhas distinctly preached the fundamental doctrines of that school.\nUndoubtedly George Eliot declared her purpose to be the rendering of a\nfaithful account of men and things as they mirrored themselves in her\nmind. 'I feel as much bound,' she says, 'to tell you as precisely as I\ncan what that reflection is, as if I were in the witness-box narrating\nmy evidence on oath'; and she set up as her ideal 'this rare precious\nquality of truthfulness, for which I delight in many Dutch paintings.'\nBut the cardinal virtue of this fine and sombre genius lay in her\npower of raising Realism to a high artistic level, of diffusing a\npoetic light over humble scenes, of touching the deeper and vital\nrelations of common things. In Charlotte Bronte, again, we have\nNaturalism throwing out a fresh shoot of great vigour and originality;\nthe old-fashioned masculine hero is supplanted by a heroine who\nstrives against adverse circumstance upon an ordinary, often an\nhumble, plane of society, never travelling for a moment beyond the\npossibilities of everyday existence. This ominous dismissal of the\nmale hero from his previous position in the centre of the story's\nmovement may be taken as a sign that he is not of so much account in\nthe sphere of domestic fiction as he was erst in the arena of perilous\nadventure. It is true that mankind is still glorified by Ouida, a\nlady who may yet be occasionally found sitting, almost alone, by the\nshores of old Romance; but with Mrs. Gaskell, Mrs. Oliphant, Miss\nBroughton, and even Miss Braddon, the majority of their leading\ncharacters may be said to be female. And the most deservedly popular\nof our latest novels by women is _Marcella_.\n\nWe must not be understood to maintain that the Novel of Manners has\nbeen, or is being, completely monopolised, as a department of light\nliterature, by women, for of course there are many men who are\nachieving success in that field, among whom Henry James holds a high\nplace for distinction and delicacy of workmanship. And among certain\nspecial branches in which women have not as yet competed at all, we\nmay mention the Sporting Novel, where provincial manners and the\nhumour of the coverside have been portrayed by Surtees with wonderful\nexactitude and a kind of coarse yet irresistible comicality that\nremind one of Fielding. It is true that he never moralises, as\nFielding does; but then the interjection by the author of moral\nreflections went out, as we have said, with Thackeray. The description\nof landscape drawn from nature occupies large and extending space in\nthe latter-day novel of manners, where it is used very sparingly as\nsubservient to character or situation, but commonly as an illustration\nor pictorial background. Let us compare the two following extracts.\nThe first is from Jane Austen's _Mansfield Park_:\n\n     'Now we shall have no more rough road, Miss Crawford; our\n     difficulties are over. The rest of the way is such as it ought to\n     be. Mr. Rushworth has made it since he succeeded to the\n     estate.--Here begins the village. Those cottages are really a\n     disgrace. The church spire is reckoned remarkably handsome. I am\n     glad the church is not so close to the great House as often happens\n     in old places. The annoyance of the bells must be terrible. There\n     is the parsonage, a tidy-looking house, and I understand the\n     clergyman and his wife are very decent people. Those are\n     almshouses, built by some of the family. To the right is the\n     steward's house; he is a very respectable man. Now we are coming to\n     the lodge gates; but we have nearly a mile through the park still.\n     It is not ugly, you see, at this end; there is some fine timber,\n     but the situation of the house is dreadful. We go down hill to it\n     for half a mile, and it is a pity, for it would not be an\n     ill-looking place if it had a better approach.'\n\nThe second is from the opening pages of Mrs. Humphry Ward's\n_Marcella_:\n\n     'She looked out upon a broad and level lawn, smoothed by the care\n     of centuries, flanked on either side by groups of old trees--some\n     Scotch firs, some beeches, a cedar or two--groups where the slow\n     selective hand of Time had been at work for generations, developing\n     here the delightful roundness of quiet mass and shade, and there\n     the bold caprice of bare fir trunks and ragged branches, standing\n     back against the sky. Beyond the lawn stretched a green descent\n     indefinitely long, carrying the eye indeed almost to the limit of\n     the view, and becoming from the lawn onwards a wide irregular\n     avenue, bordered by beeches of a splendid maturity, ending at last\n     in a far distant gap where a gate--and a gate of some\n     importance--clearly should have been, yet was not. The size of the\n     trees, the wide uplands of the falling valley to the left of the\n     avenue, now rich in the tints of harvest, the autumn sun pouring\n     steadily through the vanishing mists, the green breadth of the vast\n     lawn, the unbroken peace of wood and cultivated ground, all carried\n     with them a confused general impression of well-being and of\n     dignity. Marcella drew it in--this impression--with avidity. Yet at\n     the same moment she noticed involuntarily the gateless gap at the\n     end of the avenue, the choked condition of the garden paths on\n     either side of the lawn, and the unsightly tufts of grass spotting\n     the broad gravel terrace beneath her window.'\n\nIn the former passage, which is brimful of humorous suggestion, the\nwriter is exclusively intent upon setting out points of human\ncharacter in an effective light. The latter is a highly-finished piece\nof word-painting, taken direct, as an artist would take a picture,\nfrom a landscape that lay before the writer, and as such it is\nexcellently done; but, except for the slight indication of a neglected\nestate, it stands apart from the plot or the play of character, and\nmight be bound up with the volume or omitted like a woodcut.\nUndoubtedly the art of descriptive writing, which demands poetic\nfeeling and a delicate hand upon the organ of language, is practised\nfinely by the best of our modern novelists, and is a valuable element\nof their popularity. Yet there are signs that it is already threatened\nby the inexorable demands of the lower realism, which takes slight\naccount of the intimations that can be conveyed or the emotions that\nmay be roused by using language as an instrument for the\ninterpretation of nature, and requires to be shown the thing itself,\nas it is seen in a photograph. 'The tendency of the times,' we are\ntold, 'seems to be to read less and less, and to depend more upon\npictorial records of events.' And the author from whom we quote[6]\nproceeds to show how a few lines of sketch at once elucidate and\nvivify whole pages of word-painting. He goes further, and relates how\n'the fallacy of the accepted system of describing landscapes,\nbuildings, and the like in words,' was proved experimentally by\nreading slowly a description of a castle, mountains, and a river\nwinding to the sea, from one of the Waverley novels, before a number\nof students, three of whom proceeded to indicate on a black board the\nleading lines of the mental picture produced by the words. The\ndrawings were all different and all wrong, as might indeed have been\nconfidently foretold; for the two sister arts of the pen and of the\npencil cannot possibly interpret each other reciprocally after this\nfashion, or produce identical effects by their widely differing\nmethods.\n\nYet it is not impossible that the lower ranks of writers, who\nexaggerate the prevailing fashion of exactly reproducing what any one\ncan see and hear, may find themselves outbid and overpowered on this\nground by illustration in line and colour. In this direction, indeed,\nlies the danger of extreme Realism. It wages war against Romance,\nwhich subsists upon idealistic conceptions of noble thought and\naction; it pretends to hold up a true mirror to society, because it\nreflects faithfully and without discrimination, like a photograph, the\nstreet, the club, or the drawing-room, and arranges dramatically the\ncommonplace talk of everyday people. All this is fatal to high art, in\nwriting as in painting; nor can very clever dialogue, ingenious\nsituations, variety of style and subject, or even a high average\nmorality, preserve such literature from triviality and gradual\ndegradation.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt is the saying of a French writer, that the novel of to-day has\nabjured both the past and the future, and lives wholly in the present.\nWe are so far of his opinion in regard to the past, that we doubt, for\nreasons already given, whether the reading public can be induced to\ntravel backward into distant periods and unfamiliar scenes, even\nthough facts, anecdotes, costume, and other accessories be\nscrupulously and historically exact. The future is a domain upon which\nthe novelist has rarely trespassed; but in close propinquity to it\nlies theologic speculation, and we have not long ago witnessed the\nfascination that can be exercised over a multitude of readers by a\nnovel which described the unhappiness brought upon the peaceful home\nof an Anglican clergyman who was driven forth from his parsonage by\nimbibing some tincture of modern Biblical criticism. The sensation,\nfor so it must be called, produced by _Robert Elsmere_, illustrated\nthe degree to which in these days popularity depends on hitting the\nintellectual level of the general reader, and on touching the fancy or\nthe conscience of that very numerous class whose culture is of the\nmedium sort, neither high nor low. For while it seems certain that to\na great many people the views and arguments which overthrew Elsmere's\northodoxy and brought him to martyrdom must have seemed profound,\ndaring, and novel, to others they are but too familiar and by no means\nfresh. To some of us, indeed, the overpowering effect produced on\nElsmere's mind by his remarkable discoveries may be not unlike the awe\nand gratitude with which an African chief receives the present of an\nobsolete cannon. But the main reason why the future is no better field\nthan the distant past for the modern novelist, is that in both cases\nthere is a want of actuality, and that the positive temper of the age\nrequires in either case something more definite and verifiable.\n\nIt may be affirmed, moreover, as a general observation, that the\nspirit of realism is hostile to the Novel with a Purpose, whether it\nbe that species which undertakes to argue or instruct under the cloak\nof agreeable fiction, or that other species, much cultivated by\nDickens in his later works, which attacks antiquated institutions and\npublic abuses in a story so contrived as to expose their absurdity and\ninjustice. There is an air of artificiality about such compositions\nwhich damages the artistic illusion, the photographic rendering of\nactual life, upon which the author relies, because it throws over the\nstage a shadow of his own personality. For one tendency of excessive\nrealism is to encourage an approximation between literary and\ntheatrical effects, since the whole interest becomes concentrated upon\nfigures acting and moving under a strong light in the foreground of\nscenes carefully adjusted, so that anything which betrays the author's\npresence interrupts the performance.\n\nYet although our contemporary novelist is thus subjected, in respect\nof his period and his repertory, to limitations from which his\npredecessors were free, there has never been a time when English\nfiction has exhibited, in competent hands, greater fertility of\ninvention and resource, or so high an average proficiency in the art\nof writing. The vastly increased demand for amusement in modern life\nhas stimulated the production of light literature, which is now\ncultivated far more widely than heretofore, like tea, and the market\nis flooded with an article of sound moderate quality. At this moment\nwe have in very truth a democracy of letters, for while no mighty\nmasters overtop the rest, the number of writers who stand on an\nequality of merit, who can produce one or more excellent stories, is\nvery large. Their field has widened with the expansion of British\nenterprise; they can draw their plots, descriptions, and characters\nfrom the colonies, from Africa, from the South Sea Islands, or from\nIndia; and it will be observed that not only the tale of adventure,\nbut also the quiet story of domestic interiors and family troubles, is\neasily acclimatised, and gains something from a sparing use of variety\nof dialect and landscape. As for the Novel of Adventure, it is drawing\ncopious sustenance from these outlying regions. For although it is\nonly from first favourites that the home-keeping reader will tolerate\nan elaborate romance about Africa or the Pacific, he has taken a very\nstrong liking to short stories of scenes and actions strictly\ncontemporaneous, written in a rough, vigorous, and utterly\nunconventional style, which convey to his mind impressions as\ndistinctly as a set of pictorial sketches.\n\nWe believe that this style, which retains a strong flavour of its\nAmerican origin (it can hardly be dated earlier than Bret Harte), may\nbe reckoned to be peculiar to the light literature of the English\nlanguage. We are not aware that it prevails to any extent in other\ncountries; for although the short story of love, intrigue, and manners\nin general has flourished from mediaeval times, and at this moment is\nalmost exclusively confined to these subjects in France, the class of\nworks to which we are now referring differs entirely in subject and\nstyle. In England and America the roving life of the colonies, the\nbackwoods, the Western States, and the Indian frontiers has created an\nunique school of realistic fiction in which Mr. Kipling is at this\nmoment the chief professor. There is moreover a manifest affinity\nbetween these short prose narratives and the strain of racy strenuous\nversification upon the quaint unvarnished notions and hardy exploits\nof the bush, the prairie, or the frontier, by which Bret Harte,\nLindsay Gordon, and again Kipling have attained celebrity. As these\npoems echo the far-off ring of the ancient ballad, so we may venture\nto surmise that the short prose story of adventure, which appeals to\nmodern taste by its vivid reality, its terseness of style, and its\npicturesque outline, represents the latest form reached by Romance in\nits long evolution. Such a tale will squeeze into fifty or a hundred\npages what Fenimore Cooper or G. P. R. James would have distended into\nthree volumes of slow-moving narrative, whereby infinite labour is\nsaved to the hasty and indolent reader of these railroad days.\n\nHere, in short, we perceive the influence of that very characteristic\nschool of contemporary art, which we know to have always existed, but\nto which men have recently given the exceedingly modern title of\nImpressionist,--the school of authors who desire to strike the\nimagination vividly and with a few sharp strokes, grouping their\nfigures in a strong light, rounding off their compact story upon a\nsmall canvas, and rejecting every detail that is not strictly\naccessory to the main purpose. Already it is beginning to be said in\nFrance that Zola with his laborious particularism has passed his\nclimacteric of fashion, and that the swift impressionist is sailing in\non a fair wind of spreading popularity. Now in France, though no\nlonger in England, the critics still do their duty; they are not\nmerely, to borrow a phrase from Coleridge, the eunuchs who guard the\ntemple of the Muses; they are often prolific authors who exercise\ngreat influence upon public opinion, so that their forecast of the\ncourse and tendencies of fiction is worth bearing in mind. We\nourselves are ever a restless, bustling, far-wandering folk, great\nlovers of fiction and travel, who not only carry forth the English\nlanguage into the uttermost parts of the earth, to be moulded in\nstrange dialects to queer uses, but also bring back fresh ideas and\nincidents, and various aspects of a many-sided world-ranging life. If,\nas has been often asserted, literature be the collective expression of\nthe ideas and aspirations, the tastes, feelings, and habits of the\ngeneration which produces it, we may not be altogether wrong in\ntreating the short highly finished story, whether of adventure or\nmanners, as the impress and reflection of modern English society. But\nno operation is more delicate than the endeavour to trace the subtle\nconnection between constant modifications of literary form and the\npressure of its ever-changing moral and material environment.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] The list of these contributions at page 477 of his _Life_ is not\ncomplete.\n\n[2] (1) _The English Novel._ By Walter Raleigh. Being a short Sketch\nof its History from the Earliest Times to the Appearance of\n'Waverley.' London, 1894. (2) _Aventures de Guerre au temps de la\nRepublique et du Consulat._ Par A. Moreau de Jonnes. Preface de M.\nLeon Say. Paris, Guillaumin et Cie., 1893.--_Quarterly Review_,\nOctober 1894.\n\n[3] Now Sir Walter Raleigh.\n\n[4] Page 179.\n\n[5] _Sense and Sensibility._\n\n[6] _The Art of Illustration_, by Henry Blackburn, 1894.\n\n\n\n\nENGLISH LETTER-WRITING IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY[7]\n\n\nThe preservation and posthumous publication of private correspondence\nhas supplied modern society with one of its daintiest literary\nluxuries. The art of letter-writing is, of course, no recent\ninvention; it reached a high level of excellence, like almost every\nother branch of refined expression in prose or verse, in the older\nworld of Rome. Nevertheless, the exceeding rarity of the specimens\nthat have come down to us from those times is an important element of\ntheir value; while in our own day the letters of eminent persons fill\nmany book-shelves in every decent library, and their quantity\nincreases out of all proportion to their quality.\n\nIt may be said, generally, of fine letter-writing that it is a\ndistinctive product of a high civilisation, denoting the existence of\na cultured and leisurely class, implying the conditions of secure\nintercourse, confidence, sociability, many common interests, and that\npeculiar delight in the stimulating interchange of ideas and feelings\nwhich is one characteristic of modern life. The language of a country\nmust have thrown off its archaic stiffness, must have acquired\nsuppleness and variety; the writer's instrument must be a style that\ncombines familiarity with distinction, correctness of thought with\neasy diction. It is from the lack of these conditions that the Asiatic\nworld has given us no such letters; the material as well as the\nintellectual environment has been wanting. For similar reasons the\nmiddle ages of Europe produced us none of the kind with which we are\nnow dealing; the sixteenth and the seventeenth centuries have left us\nvery few samples of them; and since in this article we propose to\ntreat only of English letter-writers, we may affirm that the art did\nnot flourish in England until the eighteenth century, when according\nto certain authorities it rose to something like perfection. It is a\nnotable observation of Hume's that Swift is the first Englishman who\nwrote polite prose; and Swift is one of the earliest, as he is still\none of the pleasantest, writers of private correspondence that has\ntaken a permanent place in our literature.\n\nWe can understand without difficulty why the eighteenth century was a\nperiod favourable to the growth of excellent letter-writing. There\nwere very few newspapers, and those which appeared were low in tone\nand ill-informed--political pamphleteers abounded and the essayists on\nmorals and manners were numerous--but it was chiefly by private hands\nthat accurate information and ideas were circulated in a small and\nhighly cultivated society with an exquisite taste in literature, with\na keen interest in public affairs, and a very strong appetite for\nphilosophic discussion. Side by side with the intellectual conditions\nwe may take into account the national circumstances of that age. The\npost was expensive, with a slow and intermittent circulation, so that\nletters, being infrequent, were worth writing carefully and at\nlength; while correspondents were nevertheless not separated by\ndistances of time and space sufficient to weaken or extinguish the\ndesire of interchanging thoughts and news. For it is within the\nexperience of most of us that the difficulty of keeping up regular\ncorrespondence increases with distance; that friends who meet seldom\nwrite to each other rarely; and that, although letters are most valued\nby those who are far from home and long absent, yet it is precisely in\nthe case of prolonged separation that the chain of friendly\ncommunication is apt gradually to slacken until it becomes entirely\ndisconnected. So long, indeed, as men depended for news on private\nsources, there was always a kind of obligation to write; but the\ntelegraph and the newspaper have now monopolised the Intelligence\nDepartment. On the whole, it may be concluded that the art of\nletter-writing flourishes best within a limited radius of distance,\namong persons living neither very near to each other nor yet far\napart, who meet occasionally yet not often, and who are within the\nsame range of social, political, and intellectual influences. Its best\nperiod is probably before the advent of copious indefatigable\njournalism, before men have taken to publishing letters in the morning\npapers, and when they have not yet acquired the economical habit of\nreserving all their valuable ideas and information for signed articles\nin some monthly review.\n\nIt was under these conditions that the letters of eminent men in the\neighteenth century and the early part of the nineteenth century were\ngenerally written. In the former century letter-writing was\nundoubtedly a recognised form of high literary workmanship, with close\naffinities on one side to the diary or private journal, and on another\nto the essay. Long, continuous, and intimate correspondence, as in the\ncase of Swift and Walpole, gravitated toward the journal;\ndissertations on literature, politics, and manners were more akin to\nthe essay; while in the hands of the novelist the journalistic series\nof letters took artificial development into a method of story-telling.\nOn the other side, the tendency of epistles to become essays reached\nits climax in the letters of Burke, some of which are only\ndistinguishable from brilliant pamphlets by the formal address and\nsubscription.\n\nWith the nineteenth century begins an era of amusing and animated\nletter-writing. The classic and somewhat elaborate style of the\npreceding age falls into disuse; the essayist draws gradually back\ninto a department of his own; the new school reflects, as is natural,\nthe general tendency of English literature toward a livelier and more\nvaried movement, with a wider range of subjects and sympathies. In his\nletters, as in his poetry, the precursor of the Naturalistic school\nwas Cowper, who could be simple without being trivial, was never prosy\nand often pathetic, and who possessed the rare art of stamping on his\nreader's mind an enduring impression of quiet and somewhat commonplace\nsociety in the English midlands. That poets should usually have been\ngood letter-writers is probably no more than might have been expected,\nfor imagination and word-power must tell everywhere; yet the list is\nso long as to be worth noticing. Swift, Pope, Gray, and Cowper in the\nlast century, and in the present century Scott, Byron, Shelley,\nColeridge, and Southey, have all left us distinctive and copious\ncorrespondence. Wordsworth may, perhaps, be classed as a notable\nexception; for Wordsworth's letters are dull, being at their best more\nlike essays or literary dissertations than the free outpouring of\nintimate thought. They have none of the charm which comes from the\nrevelation of private doubt or passionate affection that is\nordinarily stifled by convention; they are, on the contrary, eminently\nrespectable, deliberate, and carefully expressed. 'It has ever been\nthe habit of my mind,' he writes, 'to trust that expediency will come\nout of fidelity to principles, rather than to seek my principles of\naction in calculations of expediency.' This is what the Americans call\n'high toned'; but the metal is too heavy for the light calibre of a\nletter.\n\nWhether Tennyson had the gift of letter-writing we shall be able to\njudge when his biography appears; though we may anticipate that it\nwill contain some things worthy of a great master in the art of\nlanguage. The publication of letters deriving their sole or principal\ninterest from the general reputation of the writer is indeed quite\nlegitimate and intelligible. They are often biographical documents of\nconsiderable value, apart from all questions of style and intellectual\nquality; they can be handled and arranged to exhibit a man's\ncharacter; they may be used as negative proofs of reserve and\nreticence, as showing his mental attitude toward various subjects, his\ndomestic habits and virtues, or merely as annals of where he went and\nwhat he did. They may be carefully selected and revised for occasional\ninsertion at different stages of a long biography, where the editor\nsees fit to let the dead man speak for himself; they may be employed\nas an advocate chooses the papers in his brief, for attack or defence.\nOr they may be produced without commentary, sifting, or omissions, as\nthe unvarnished presentation of a man's private life and particular\nfeatures which a candid friend commits to the judgment of posterity.\nOr, lastly, they may be mere relics, not much more in some instances\nthan curiosities, valued for much the same reasons that would set a\nhigh price on the autograph or the inkstand of a celebrated man, on\nhis furniture, his house, or anything that was his. In proportion as\nlittle or nothing is known of such a man's private life, every scrap\nof his writing increases in value; and so a letter of Shakespeare or\nof Dante would be priceless. But of Shakespeare no letter has come\ndown to us; and of Dante not even, we believe, his signature; though\nwe do know something of what Dante did and thought, for his religion\nand his politics are manifested in his poems; whereas Shakespeare's\nworks have the divine attribute of impersonality. Here is one supreme\npoet of whom the world would gladly hear anything; but nothing remains\nto feed the modern appetite, which is never so well gratified as when\na rare and sublime genius stands revealed as the writer of ordinary\nletters upon petty domesticities.\n\nIt is evidently impossible to draw a line that shall accurately divide\nthe interest that men feel in a celebrated person from the interest\nthat they take in his posthumous correspondence; so as to determine\nhow far the letters are good in themselves. When the writer is well\nknown, he and his writings are inseparable. Yet some attempt must be\nmade, for the purposes of this article, to distinguish critically\nbetween letters that are readable and will survive by their own\nliterary quality, as fine specimens of the art, and those which are\npreserved and published on the score of the writer's name and fame,\nwith little aid from their merits. In which category are we to place\nthe letters of Keats, including those that have been very recently\nunearthed by diligent literary excavation? His poetry is so exquisite,\nso radiant with imaginative colour, that to see such a man in the\nlight of common day, among the ordinary cares and circumstances of the\nlower world, is necessarily a descent and a disillusion. He was young,\nhe was poor, he had few acquaintances worthy of him; he roved about\nEngland and Scotland without adventures; his letters were perfectly\nfamiliar and unsophisticated. As Mr. Sidney Colvin has written, in an\nexcellent preface to an edition of 1891, 'he poured out to those he\nloved his whole self indiscriminately, generosity and fretfulness,\nardour and despondency, boyish petulance side by side with manful good\nsense, the tattle of suburban parlours with the speculations of a\nspirit unsurpassed for native gift and insight.' Every now and then\nthe level of his easygoing discourse is lit up by a flash of wit, and\noccasionally by a jet of brilliant fancies among which some of his\nfinest poetry may be traced in the process of incubation. His whole\nmind is set upon his art; for that only, and for a few intimate\nfriends, does he care to live and work; his letters often tell us when\nand where, under what influences, his best pieces were composed; one\nlikes to know, for example, that the _Ode to Autumn_ came to him on a\nfine September day during a Sunday's walk over the stubbles near\nWinchester. His criticisms are always good, and their form\npicturesque. He compares human life to a chamber that becomes\ngradually darkened, in which one door after another is set open,\nshowing only dim passages leading out into darkness. This, he says, is\nthe burden of the mystery which Wordsworth felt and endeavoured to\nexplore; and he thinks that Wordsworth is deeper than Milton, though\nhe attributes this, justly, more to 'the general and gregarious\nadvance of intellect, than individual greatness of mind.' So far as\nspontaneity and the free unguarded play of sportive and serious ideas,\ntaken as they came uppermost, are tests and conditions of excellence\nin this kind of writing, Keats's letters must rank high. Nevertheless\nthere is still room for doubt whether these juvenile productions would\nhave left any but a most ephemeral mark apart from their connection\nwith his poetry.\n\nIn the case of other poets, who were his contemporaries, the verdict\nwill be different. They are all to be classed, though not in the same\nline, as writers of letters that have great original and intrinsic\nvalue. Scott's letters exhibit his generous and masculine nature; the\nbuoyancy of his spirits in good or bad fortune; and that romantic\nattachment to old things and ideas which hardened latterly into\ninveterate Toryism. Southey's prose writings will probably survive his\nmetrical compositions, which indeed have already fallen into oblivion.\nThere is life in a poet so long as he is quoted; but no verses or even\nlines of Southey have fixed themselves in the popular memory. And\nwhereas the letters of Keats disclose a mind filled with the sense of\nbeauty and rich with poetic seedlings that blossomed into beautiful\nflowers, in Southey's correspondence we discern only an erudite man of\ntaste labouring diligently upon epics which he expected to be\nimmortal. The letters of Byron stand upon broader ground, because\nByron was so much more of a personage than either Keats, or Southey,\nor Wordsworth. They supply, in the first place, an invaluable, and\nindeed indispensable, interpretation of his poetry, which is to a\ngreat extent the imaginative and romantic presentation of his own\nfeelings, fortunes, and peculiar experiences. Secondly, they are full\nof good sayings and caustic criticism; they touch upon the domain of\npolitics and society as well as upon literature; they give the\nopinions passed upon contemporary events and persons, during a\nstirring period of European history, by a man of genius who was also a\nman of the world; they float on the current of a strangely troubled\nexistence. In these letters we have an important contribution to our\nacquaintance with literary circles and London society, and with\nseveral notable figures on either stage, during the years immediately\nbefore and after Waterloo. They were published in an introduction to\nthe works of a famous poet; yet, although they cannot be detached from\nhis poetry, they possess great independent merits of their own. They\necho the sounds of revelry by night; they strike a note of careless\nvivacity, the tone of a man who is at home alike in good and bad\ncompany, whose judgment on books and politics, on writers and\nspeakers, is always fresh, bold, and original. We may lament that the\nspirit of reckless devilry and dissipation should have entered into\nByron; and the lessons to be drawn from the scenes and adventures in\nVenice and elsewhere, described for the benefit of Tom Moore, are very\ndifferent from the moral examples furnished by the tranquil and\nwell-ordered correspondence of our own day. Yet the world would have\nbeen poorer for the loss of this memorial of an Unquiet Life, and the\nhistorical gallery of literature would have missed the full-length\nportrait of an extraordinary man.\n\nThe letters of Coleridge, like their writer, belong to another class,\nyet, like Byron's, they have the clear-cut stamp of individuality.\nHere again we have the man himself, with his intensity of feeling, his\nerratic moods and singular phraseology, the softness of his heart and\nthe weakness of his will. He belongs to the rapidly diminishing class\nof notable men who have freely poured their real sentiments and\nthoughts out of their brain into their letters, who have given their\nbest (without keeping their worst) to their correspondents, so that\nthe letters abound with pathetic and amusing confessions, and with\nideas that bear the stamp of the author's singular idiosyncrasy. The\n_Memorials of Coleorton_ are a collection of letters written to the\nBeaumont family by Coleridge, Wordsworth, Southey, and Scott; the\nreader may pass from one to another by taking them as they come; the\nbook is like the _menu_ of a dinner with varied courses. Wordsworth's\nletters are the product of cultivated taste, a fine eye for rural\nscenery, and lofty moral sentiment. Southey is the high-class\n_litterateur_, with a strong dash of Toryism in Church and State; in\nboth there is a total absence of eccentricity, but in neither case is\nthe attention forcibly arrested or any striking passage retained. When\nColeridge is served up the flavour of unique expression and a sort of\ndivine simplicity is unmistakable; he is alternately indignant and\nremorseful; he soars to themes transcendent, and sinks anon to the\nhumble details of his errors and embarrassments. Uncongenial society\nplunged him into such dark depression that he is not ashamed to\nconfess that he found 'bodily relief in weeping.'\n\n     'On Tuesday evening Mr. R----, the author of ----, drank tea and\n     spent the evening with us at Grasmere; and this had produced a very\n     unpleasant effect upon my spirits.... If to be a poet or man of\n     genius entailed on us the necessity of housing such company in our\n     bosoms, I would pray the very flesh off my knees to have a head as\n     dark and unfurnished as Wordsworth's old Molly's.... If I believed\n     it possible that the man liked me, upon my soul I should feel\n     exactly as if I were tarred and feathered.'\n\nAnd so on through the whole letter, with a comical energy of phrase\nthat scorns reserve or compass in giving vent to the misery caused by\nuninteresting conversation. We may contrast this melancholy\ntea-drinking with Byron's rollicking account of a dinner with some\nfriends 'of note and notoriety':\n\n     'Like other parties of the same kind, it was first silent, then\n     talking, then argumentative, then disputatious, then\n     unintelligible, then altogethery, then articulate, and then drunk.\n     When we had reached the last step of this glorious ladder it was\n     difficult to get down again without stumbling; and, to crown all,\n     Kinnaird and I had to conduct Sheridan down a damned corkscrew\n     staircase, which had been certainly constructed before the\n     invention of fermented liquors, and to which no legs, however\n     crooked, could possibly accommodate themselves. Both he and Coleman\n     were, as usual, very good; but I carried away much wine, and the\n     wine carried away my memory, so that all was hiccup and happiness\n     for the last hour or so, and I am not impregnated with any of the\n     conversation.'\n\nWe are, of course, not reviewing Byron or Coleridge; we are only\ngiving samples by the way. Here are two great poets, remote from each\nother as the two poles in social circumstances and habit of mind, but\nat any rate alike in this one quality--that their life is in their\nletters, and that in such passages as these the genuine undisguised\ntemperament of each writer stands forth in a relief that could only be\nbrought out by his own unintentional master-strokes. For neither of\nthem was aware that in these scenes he was describing his own\ncharacter--though Byron may have intended to display his wit, and\nColeridge may have been to some extent conscious of his own humour. In\nthe way of literary criticism, again, Coleridge throws out the quaint\nand uncommon remark upon Addison's Essays, that they 'have produced a\npassion for the unconnected in the minds of Englishmen.' And he\ntouches delicately upon the negative or barren side of the critical\nmind in his observation that the critics are the eunuchs that guard\nthe temple of the Muses.\n\nOf Shelley's letters, again, we may say that they are unconsciously\nautobiographical; they are confessions of character, spontaneous,\nunguarded, abounding with brilliancies and extravagances. They betray\nhis shortcomings, but they attest his generosity and courage; they are\nthe outpourings of a new spirit, who detests what would now be called\nPhilistinism in literature and society; who does not stop to pick his\nwords, or to mix water with the red wine of his enthusiasm. He\nabandons himself in his letters to the feelings of the moment; he\nardently pursues his immediate object by sophistical arguments which\nconvict himself but could never convince a correspondent, and which\nastonish and amuse the calm reader of after days. 'A kind of\nineffable, sickening disgust seizes my mind when I think of this most\ndespotic, most unrequired fetter which prejudice has forged to confine\nits energies.... Anti-matrimonialism is as necessarily connected with\nscepticism as if religion and marriage began their course together,'\nfor both are the fruit of odious superstition. He was endeavouring to\npersuade Harriet Westbrook to join him in testifying by example\nagainst the obsolete and ignoble ceremony of the marriage service,\nwhich he held to be a degradation that no one could ask 'an amiable\nand beloved female' to undergo. In Shelley's case, as in Byron's, the\nletters are of inestimable biographical value as witnesses to\ncharacter, as reflecting the vicissitudes of a life which was to the\nwriter more like the 'fierce vexation of a dream' than a well-spent\nleisurely existence, and as the sincere unstudied expression of his\nemotions. For all these reasons they are essential to a right\nappreciation of his magnificent poetry.\n\nWilliam Godwin, pedantic, self-conceited, and impecunious, has come\ndown to us as a kind of central figure in a literary group which\nincluded such men as Coleridge, Shelley, and Lamb, of whom the\nsomewhat formal English world at the beginning of this century was not\nworthy. By reason of this position, and because Shelley married his\ndaughter, he became the cause and subject of excellent letter-writing,\nthough his own correspondence is heavy with philosophic platitudes. It\nis of the class which, as we have said, is akin to essays; he\ndiscourses at large upon first principles in religion and politics;\nand out of his frigid philosophy came some of Shelley's most ardent\nparadoxes. But some of the most amusing letters in the English\nlanguage were addressed to him. It was after a supper at Godwin's that\nColeridge wrote remorsefully acknowledging 'a certain tipsiness'--not\nthat he felt any 'unpleasant titubancy'--whereby he had been seduced\ninto defending a momentary idea as if it had been an old and firmly\nestablished principle; which (we may add) has been the way of other\ntalkers since Coleridge. No one, he goes on to say, could have a\ngreater horror than himself of the principles he thus accidentally\npropounded, or a deeper conviction of their irrationality; 'but the\nwhole thinking of my life will not bear me up against the crowd and\npress of my mind, when it is elevated beyond its natural pitch.' The\neffect of punch, after wine, was to make a philosopher argue hotly\nagainst his profoundest beliefs; yet it is to Godwin's supper that we\nowe this diverting palinodia. And all Englishmen should be grateful to\nGodwin for having written the tragedy of _Antonio_; for not only was\nit most justly damned, but it also elicited some letters to the\nunlucky author that are unmatched in the record of candid criticism.\nMrs. Inchbald writes, briefly:\n\n     'I thank you for the play of Antonio, and I most sincerely wish you\n     joy of having produced a work which will protect you from being\n     classed with the successful dramatists of the present time, but\n     which will hand you down to posterity among the honoured few who,\n     during the past century, have totally failed in writing for the\n     stage.'\n\nColeridge goes to work more elaborately:\n\n     'In the tragedy I have frequently used certain marks (which he\n     gives). Of these, the first calls your attention to my suspicions\n     that your language is false or intolerable English. The second\n     marks the passages that struck me as _flat_ or mean. The third is a\n     note of reprobation, levelled at those sentences in which you have\n     adopted that worst sort of vulgar language, commonplace book\n     language. The last mark implies bad metre.'\n\nAll this is free speaking beyond the compass of modern literary\nconsultations. It may be added that Lamb also discussed the play,\nbefore it was performed, in his letters to Godwin; and that his\ndescription of Godwin's deportment, of his own feelings, and of the\nbehaviour of the audience on the memorable night that witnessed its\nutter failure, has bequeathed to us a comedy over which the tragic\nMuse herself might well become hysterical.\n\nThere is, indeed, in the correspondence of this remarkable group a\ntone of frankness and sincerity which, combined with the absence of\nmalice and a strong element of fun, distinguishes it from the\nhalf-veiled disapproval and prudish reserve of later days. 'When you\nnext write so eloquently and well against law and lawyers,' says\nColeridge to Godwin, 'be so good as to leave a larger place for your\nwafer, as by neglect of this a part of your last was obliterated.'\nAgain, in a more serious tone, 'Ere I had yet read or seen your works,\nI, at Southey's recommendation, wrote a sonnet in praise of the\nauthor. When I had read them, religious bigotry, the but half\nunderstanding of your principles, and the _not_ half understanding of\nmy own, combined to render me a warm and boisterous anti-Godwinist.'\nHis moods and circumstances, his joys and pains, are reflected in his\nlanguage with remarkable fertility of metaphor; his feelings vary with\nhis society. Of Lamb he writes that 'his taste acts so as to appear\nlike the mechanic simplicity of an instinct--in brief, he is worth a\nhundred men of more talents: conversation with the latter tribe is\nlike the use of leaden bells, one warms by exercise, Lamb every now\nand then _irradiates_.' In the best letters of this remarkable group\nwe perceive the exquisite sensitiveness of open and eager minds,\ngiving free play to their ideas and feelings, their delight and\ndisgust, so that their life and thoughts are mirrored in their\ncorrespondence as in their conversation. Such writing has become very\nrare, if it is not entirely extinct, in these latter days of temperate\nliving and guarded writing. Lamb's own letters are all in a similar\nkey; and that which he wrote to Coleridge, who had a bad habit of\nborrowing books, is a model of jocose expostulation: 'You never come\nbut you take away some folio that is part of my existence.... My third\nshelf from the top has two devilish gaps, where you have knocked out\nits two eye teeth.' And his lament over the desolation of London, as\nit appears to a man who has lived there jovially, and revisits it as a\nstranger in after years, may even now touch a chord in the hearts of\nsome of us.\n\n     'In London I passed houses and places, empty caskets now. The\n     streets, the shops are left, but all old friends are gone. The\n     bodies I cared for are in graves or dispersed. My old clubs that\n     lived so long and flourished so steadily are crumbled away. When I\n     took leave of our friend at Charing Cross, 'twas heavy unfeeling\n     rain, and I had nowhere to go ... not a sympathising house to turn\n     to in the great city. Never did the waters of heaven pour down on a\n     forlorner head. Yet I tried ten days at a sort of friend's house,\n     large and straggling; one of the individuals of my old long knot of\n     friends, card-players, and pleasant companions, that have tumbled\n     to pieces into dust and other things; and I got home convinced that\n     I was better to get to my hole in Enfield and hide like a sick cat\n     in my corner.'\n\nWe might, indeed, multiply indefinitely our quotations from the\ncorrespondence of this literary period to show its sincerity, its\nspontaneity, its uncommonness, the tone of intimate brotherhood and\nnatural unruly affection that pervades it everywhere. Nothing of the\nkind has come down to us from the eighteenth century; and the last\nfifty years of this century, so prolific in biographies and posthumous\npublications of the papers of eminent men, go to prove that in the\ngeneral transformation of letter-writing these peculiar qualities have\nalmost, though not altogether, disappeared. Probably conversation has\nsuffered a like change; and we may ascribe it generally to a lowering\nof the social temperature, to the habits of reserve, respectability,\nand conventional self-restraint that in these days govern so largely\nthe intercourse of men. Something may be due to cautious expurgation\nof passages which tell against the writer, or might offend modern\ntaste; yet in other respects contemporary editors have been\nsufficiently indiscreet. And the growth of these habits, so\ndiscouraging to free and fearless correspondence, may be partly\nascribed to the influence of journalism, which makes every subject\nstale and sterile by incessantly threshing and tearing at it, and\nwhich reviews biographies in a manner that acts as a solemn warning to\nall men of mark that they take heed what they put into a private\nletter. There are other causes, to which we may presently advert; but\nit is quite clear that this fine art is undergoing certain\ntransmutations, and that on the whole it does not flourish quite so\nvigorously as heretofore.\n\nIn a recent article upon Matthew Arnold's letters it is laid down by a\nconsummate critic[8] that the first canon of unsophisticated\nletter-writing is that a letter is meant for the eye of a friend, and\nnot for the world. 'Even the lurking thought in anticipation of an\naudience destroys the charm; the best letters are always\nimprovisations; the public breaks the spell.' In this, as we have\nalready suggested, there is much truth; yet the conditions seem to us\ntoo straitly enjoined; for not every man of genius has the gift of\nstriking out his best thoughts, in their best form, clear and true\nfrom the hot iron of his mind; and in some of our best writers the\nimprovising spirit is very faint. If a man writes with leisurely care,\nselecting deliberately the word that exactly matches his thought,\naiming directly at the heart of his subject and avoiding prolixity, he\nmay, like Walpole, Gray, and others, produce a delightful letter,\nprovided only that he is sincere and open, has good stuff to give, and\ndoes not condescend to varnish his pictures. We want his best\nthoughts; we should like to have his best form; we do not always care\nso much for negligent undress. And as for the copious outpouring of\nhis personal feelings, one says many things to a friend or kinsman\nthat are totally without interest to the public, unless they are\nexpressed in some distinctive manner or embody some originality of\nhandling an ordinary event. This a writer may have the knack of doing\nartistically, even in a private and confidential letter, without\nbetraying the touch of art; nor, indeed, can we ever know how many of\nthe best modern letters are really improvised. Then, again, with\nregard to the anticipation of an audience, it is a risk to which\nevery man of note must feel that he is exposed; the shadow of\neventual publicity is always in the background; his letters have\npassed out of his control during his lifetime, and he can only trust\nin the uncertain discretion of his literary executor. He does not care\nto leave the record of his passing moods, his confessions of weakness,\nhis personal likings and antipathies, to be discussed by the general\nreader; and it is probable that he only lets his pen run freely when\nhe feels assured that his confidential improvisations will be\njudiciously omitted.\n\nIt is, we think, impossible to suppose that these considerations have\nnot weighed materially upon the minds of eminent men in our own day,\nwhen biographies have become so much more numerous, and when they are\nso much more closely criticised than formerly. And in comparing the\nletters written in the early part of this century--such as those from\nwhich we have given a few characteristic quotations--with those which\nhave been recently published, we have to take account of these things,\namong other changes of the social and literary environment.\nUndoubtedly the comparison is to the advantage of the earlier\nwritings; they seem infinitely more amusing, more genuine, more\nbiographical, more redolent of the manners and complexion of the time.\nThere is in them a flavour of heartiness and irresponsibility which\nmay partly be attributed to the fact that the best writers were poets,\nwhose genius flowered as early as their manhood, and most of whom died\nyoung; so that their letters are fresh, audacious, and untempered by\nthe chilly caution of middle or declining age. Their spirits were\nhigh, they were ardent in the pursuit of ideals; they were defying\nsociety, they either had no family or were at feud with it, and they\ngave not a thought to the solemn verdict of posterity. For\ncorrespondents who were brimming over with humour, imagination, and\nenthusiasm, no situation could be more thoroughly favourable to\nsparkling improvisation; and accordingly they have left us letters\nwhich will be a joy for ever.\n\nThe correspondence of our own generation has been written under a\ndifferent intellectual climate, and various circumstances have\ncombined to lower the temperature of its vivacity. Posthumous\npublicity is now the manifest destiny that overhangs the private life\nof all notable persons, especially of popular authors, who can observe\nand inwardly digest continual warnings of the treatment which they are\nlikely to receive from an insatiable and inconsistent criticism. They\nmay have lived long and altered their opinions; they may have\nquarrelled with friends or rivals, and may have become sworn allies\nlater; they may have publicly praised one whom in private they may\nhave laughed at; for when you have to think what you say, it does not\nfollow that you say what you think. All these considerations, enforced\nby repeated examples, are apt to damp the natural ardour of\nimprovisation; the more so because the writer may be sure either that\nhis genuine utterances will be suppressed by the editor, or that, if\nthey are produced, the editor will be roundly abused for giving him\naway. For in these matters the judgment of the general reader is\nwayward, and his attitude undecided, with a leaning toward hypocrisy.\nThe story of the domestic tribulations and the conjugal bickerings of\na great writer, of the irritability that belongs to highly nervous\ntemperaments, and which has always made genius, like the finest\nanimals, hard to domesticate, has lost none of its savour with the\npublic. But if all letters that record such scenes and sayings are\nfaithfully reproduced in preparing the votive tablet upon which the\ndead man's life is to be delineated, the ungrateful reader answers\nwith an accusation of imprudence, indiscretion, and betrayal of\nconfidence; and the surviving friends protest still more vehemently.\nWithin the last three months these consequences have been forcibly\nillustrated by the reception of Cardinal Manning's Life, in which the\nletters are of extraordinary value toward the formation of a right\nunderstanding of that remarkable personage. Much of all this\nsensitiveness is clearly due to the hasty fashion of publishing\nprivate correspondence within a few years of the writer's decease, but\nmore to the fitful and somewhat feminine temper of an inquisitive yet\ncensorious society.\n\nIf, on the other hand, expurgation is freely employed, the result is a\nkind of emasculation. Nothing is left that can offend or annoy living\npeople, or that might damage the writer's own reputation with an\naudience that enjoys, yet condemns, unmeasured confidences. And so we\nget clever, sensible letters of men who have travelled, worked, and\nmixed much in society, who have already put into essays or reviews all\nthat they wanted the public to know, and whose private doubts, or\nfollies, or frolics, have been neatly removed from their\ncorrespondence. Let us take, for example, two batches of letters very\nlately published, and written by two men who have left their mark upon\ntheir generation. Of Dean Stanley it may be affirmed that no\necclesiastic of his time was better known, or had a higher reputation\nfor strength of character and undaunted Liberalism. His public life\nand his place in the Anglican Church had been already described in a\nmeritorious biography; and it might have been expected that these\nletters would bring the reader closer to the man himself, would\naccentuate the points of a striking individuality. There are few of\nthese letters, we think, by which such expectations have been\nfulfilled to any appreciable degree. In one or two of them Stanley\nwrites with his genuine sincerity and earnestness on the state of his\nmind in regard to the new spirit of ecclesiasticism that had arisen in\nOxford nearly sixty years ago; we see that he saw and felt the\nmagnitude of a coming crisis, and we can observe the formation of the\nopinions which he consistently and valiantly upheld throughout his\ncareer. The whole instinct of his intellectual nature--and he never\nlost his trust in reason--was against the high Roman or sacerdotal\nabsolutism in matters of dogma; he ranked Morals far above Faith; and\nhe had that dislike of authoritative uniformity in church government\nwhich is in Englishmen a reflection of their political habits. Yet he\ndiscerned plainly enough the spring of a movement that was bringing\nabout a Roman Catholic revival.\n\n     'Not that I am turned or turning Newmanist, but that I do feel that\n     the crisis in my opinions is coming on, and that the difficulties I\n     find in my present views are greater than I thought them to be, and\n     that here I am in the presence of a magnificent and consistent\n     system shooting up on every side, whilst all that I see against it\n     is weak and grovelling.' (Letter to C. J. Vaughan, 1838.)\n\n'I expect,' he writes a year later, 'that the whole thing will have\nthe effect of making me either a great Newmanite or a great Radical';\nand it did end in making him an advanced Liberal. His practical\ngenius, and his free converse with general society (from which Manning\ndeliberately turned away as fatal to ecclesiasticism), very soon\nparted him from the theologians.\n\n     'I think it is true,' he writes to Jowett (1849), 'that we have not\n     the same mental interest in talking over subjects of theology that\n     we had formerly. They have lost their novelty, I suppose; we know\n     better where we are, having rolled to the bottom together, and\n     being now able only to make a few uphill steps. I acknowledge fully\n     my own want of freshness; my mind seems at times quite dried up....\n     And at times I have felt an unsatisfied desire after a better and\n     higher sort of life, which makes me impatient of the details of\n     theology.'\n\nIn these, and perhaps one or two other passages, we can trace the\ndevelopment of character and convictions in the man to whom Jowett\nwrote, thirty years afterwards, that he was 'the most distinguished\nclergyman in the Church of England, who could do more than any one\ntowards the great work of placing religion on a rational basis.'[9]\n\nBut, on the whole, the quality of these letters is by no means equal\nto their quantity; and too many of them belong to a class which,\nthough it may have some ephemeral interest among friends and kinsfolk,\ncan retain, we submit, no permanent value at all. It is best described\nunder a title common in French literature--_impressions de voyage_. A\nvery large part of the volume consists of letters written by Stanley,\nan intelligent and indefatigable tourist, from the countries and\ncities which he visited, from Petersburg and Palestine, from Paris and\nAthens, from Spain and Scotland. The standpoint from which he surveys\nthe Holy Land is rather historical and archaeological than devotional;\nbut he had everywhere a clear eye for the picturesque in manners and\nscenery. He had excellent opportunities of seeing the places and the\npeople; his descriptive powers are considerable; and there is a finely\ndrawn picture of All Souls' Day in the Sistine Chapel, written from\nRome to Hugh Pearson, although a ludicrous incident comes in at the\nend like a false note. Such correspondence might be so arranged\nseparately as to make an interesting narrative of travel, but when\njudged by a high literary or intellectual criterion of letter-writing\nit is out of court. It is not too much to aver that most, if not all,\nof these letters might have been written by any refined and cultivated\nEnglishman, whose education and social training had given him correct\ntastes and a many-sided interest in the world. They belong to the type\nof private diary or chronicle, and as such they inevitably include\ntrivialities, though not many. Some of Stanley's letters are from\nScotland, where he travels about admiring its wildness, and with a\ncultured interest in its antiquities. But no country has been better\nransacked in search of the picturesque; it is the original\nhunting-ground of the romantic tourist, and what Stanley said about it\nto his family is pleasantly but not powerfully written. It is more\nthan doubtful whether excellence in letter-writing lies that way, or,\nindeed, whether mediocrity is avoidable. Charles Lamb's letters are\nnone the worse because he stayed in London and had no time for the\nbeauties of Nature.\n\n     'For my part,' he wrote, 'with reference to my friends northwards,\n     I must confess that I am not romance-bit about Nature. The earth\n     and sea and sky (when all is said) is but a house to dwell in. If\n     the inmates be courteous, and good liquors flow like the conduits\n     at an old coronation, if they can talk sensibly and feel properly,\n     I have no need to stand staring at the gilded looking-glass, nor at\n     the five-shilling print over the mantelpiece. Just as important to\n     me (in a sense) is all the furniture of my world; eye pampering,\n     but satisfies no heart.'\n\nThis may be Cockney taste, yet it is better reading than Stanley's\naccount of Edinburgh or the valley of Glencoe.\n\nThe editor assures us, in his preface, that none of these letters\ntouch upon theological controversies, yet many readers might have been\nvery willing to part with some of the travelling journal for closer\nknowledge of Stanley's inward feelings while he was bearing up the\nfight of liberty and toleration against the gathering forces that have\nsince scattered and well-nigh overwhelmed the once flourishing Broad\nChurch party. Well might Jowett write to him in 1880, 'You and I, and\nour dear friend Hugh Pearson, and William Rogers, and some others, are\nrather isolated in the world, and we must hold together as long as we\ncan.' All those who are here named have passed away, leaving no party\nleaders of equal rank and calibre, and if Stanley's letters survive at\nall, they will live upon those passages which remind us how\nstrenuously he contended for the intellectual freedom that he believed\nto be the true spiritual heritage of English churchmen.\n\nThe latest contribution to the department of national literature that\nwe have been surveying is the volume containing the letters of Matthew\nArnold (1848-88). 'Here and there,' writes their editor, 'I have been\nconstrained, by deference to living susceptibilities, to make some\nslight excisions; but with regard to the bulk of the letters this\nprocess had been performed before the manuscript came into my hands.'\nNo one has any business to question the exercise of a discretion which\nmust have been necessary in publishing private correspondence so\nrecently written, and only those who saw the originals can decide\nwhether they have been weakened or strengthened by the pruning. On the\nother hand, the first canon of unsophistical letter-writing, as laid\ndown by the eminent critic already cited--that they should be written\nfor the eye of a friend, never for the public--is amply fulfilled. 'It\nwill be seen' (we quote again from the preface) 'that the letters are\nessentially familiar and domestic, and were evidently written without\na thought that they would ever be read beyond the circle of his\nfamily.' They are, in short, mostly family letters that have been\nnecessarily subjected to censorship, and it would be unreasonable to\nmeasure a collection of this kind by the high standard that qualifies\nfor admission to the grade of permanent literature. As these letters\nare to supply the lack of a biography (which was expressly prohibited\nby his own wish), we are not to look for further glimpses of a\ncharacter which his editor rightly terms 'unique and fascinating.' The\ngeneral reader may therefore feel some disappointment at finding that\nthe correspondence takes no wider or more varied range; for Matthew\nArnold's circle of acquaintances must have been very large, and he\nmust have been in touch with the leading men in the political,\nacademical, and official society of his day.\n\nThe letters are as good as they could be expected to be under these\nconditions, which are to our mind heavily disadvantageous. We must set\naside those which fall under the class of _impressions de voyage_, for\nthe reasons already stated in discussing Stanley's travelling\ncorrespondence. One would not gather from this collection that Arnold\nwas a considerable poet. And the peculiar method of expression, the\nvein of light irony, the flexibility of style, that distinguish his\nprose works are here curiously absent; he does not write his letters,\nas Carlyle did, in the same character as his books. Yet the turn of\nthought, the prevailing note, can be often detected; as, for instance,\nin a certain impatience with English defects, coupled with a strong\ndesire to take the conceit out of his fellow-countrymen:\n\n     'The want of independence of mind, the shutting their eyes and\n     professing to believe what they do not, the running blindly\n     together in herds for fear of some obscure danger and horror if\n     they go alone, is so eminently a vice of the English, I think, of\n     the last hundred years, has led them and is leading them into such\n     scrapes and bewilderment, that,' etc., etc.\n\nIt is certainly hard to recognise in this picture the features of the\nrough roving Englishman who in the course of the last hundred years\nhas conquered India, founded great colonies, and fought the longest\nand most obstinate war of modern times: who has been the type of\ninsularity and an incurable antinomian in religion and politics. Not\nmany pages afterwards, however, we find Arnold sharing with the herd\nof his countrymen the shallow 'conviction as to the French always\nbeating any number of Germans who come into the field against them.'\nHe adds that 'they will never be beaten by any other nation but the\nEnglish, for to every other nation they are in efficiency and\nintelligence decidedly superior'--an opinion which contradicts his\nprevious judgment of them, and replaces the national superiority on a\nlofty though insecure basis; for if he was wrong about the French, he\nmay be wrong about us whom he puts above them. Arnold admired the\nFrench as much as Carlyle liked the Germans, and both of them enjoyed\nridiculing or rating the English; but each was unconsciously swayed by\nhis own particular tastes and temperament, and neither of them had the\ngift of political prophecy, which is, indeed, very seldom vouchsafed\nto the highly imaginative mind. He had a strong belief, rare among\nEnglishmen, in administrative organisation. 'Depend upon it,' he\nwrites, 'that the great States of the Continent have two great\nelements of cohesion, in their administrative system and in their\narmy, which we have not.' The general conclusion which Arnold seems to\nhave drawn from his travels in Europe and America is that England was\nfar behind France in lucidity of ideas, and inferior to the United\nStates in straightforward political energy and the faculties of\nnational success. 'Heaven forbid that the English nation should become\nlike this (the French) nation; but Heaven forbid that it should remain\nas it is. If it does, it will be beaten by America on its own line,\nand by the Continental nations on the European line. I see this as\nplain as I see the paper before me.' Since this was written in 1865,\nEngland has been perversely holding her own course, nor has she yet\nfulfilled Arnold's melancholy foreboding, by which he was 'at times\noverwhelmed with depression' that England was sinking into a sort of\ngreater Holland, 'for want of perceiving how the world is going and\nmust go, and preparing herself accordingly.'\n\nOn the other hand, his imaginative faculty comes out in his\nspeculation upon the probable changes in the development of the\nAmerican people that might follow their separation into different\ngroups, if the civil war between the Northern and Southern States\n(which had just begun) should break up the Union.\n\n     'Climate and mixture of race will then be able fully to tell, and I\n     cannot help thinking that the more diversity of nation there is on\n     the American continent, the more chance there is of one nation\n     developing itself with grandeur and richness. It has been so in\n     Europe. What should we all be if we had not one another to check us\n     and to be learned from? Imagine an English Europe. How frightfully\n     _borne_ and dull! Or a French Europe either, for that matter.'\n\nThe suggestion is, perhaps, more fanciful than profound; for history\ndoes not repeat itself; and, in fact, the result of breaking up South\nAmerica into a dozen political groups has not yet produced any very\nsatisfactory development of national character. Much more than\npolitical subdivision goes to the creation of a new Europe;\nnevertheless Arnold is probably right in supposing that uniformity of\ninstitutions and a somewhat monotonous level of social conditions over\na vast area, may have depressed and stunted the free and diversified\ngrowth of North American civilisation.\n\nThe literary criticism to be found in these letters shows a fastidious\nand delicate taste that had been nurtured almost too exclusively upon\nthe masterpieces of classic antiquity. Homer he ranked far above\nShakespeare, though one might think them too different for comparison;\nand he praises 'two articles in _Temple Bar_ (1869), one on Tennyson,\nthe other on Browning,' which were afterwards republished in a book\nthat made some stir in its day, and has brought down upon its author\nthe unquenchable resentment of his brother poets. He thought that both\nMacaulay and Carlyle were encouraging the English nation in its\nemphatic Philistinism, and thus counteracting his own exertions to\nlighten the darkness of earnest but opaque intelligences. As his\ninterest in religious movements was acute, so his observations\noccasionally throw some light upon the exceedingly complicated problem\nof ascertaining the general drift of the English mind in regard to\nthings spiritual. The force which is shaping the future, is it with\nthe Ritualists or with the undogmatical disciples of a purely moral\ncreed? With neither, Arnold replies; not with any of the orthodox\nreligions, nor with the neo-religious developments which are\npretending to supersede them.\n\n     'Both the one and the other give to what they call religion, and to\n     religious ideas and discussions, too large and absorbing a place in\n     human life. Man feels himself to be a more various and richly\n     endowed animal than the old religious theory of human life\n     allowed, and he is endeavouring to give satisfaction to the long\n     suppressed and imperfectly understood instincts of their varied\n     nature.'\n\nNo man studied more closely than Arnold the intellectual tendencies of\nhis generation, so that on the most difficult of contemporary\nquestions this opinion is worth quoting, although the ritualistic\nleanings of the present day hardly operate to support it. But here, as\nin his published works, his religious utterances are somewhat\nambiguous and oracular; and one welcomes the marking of a definite\nepoch in Church history when he writes emphatically that 'the Broad\nChurch _among the clergy_ may be said to have almost perished with\nStanley.'\n\nBut correspondence that was never meant for publication is hardly a\nfair subject for literary criticism. Arnold seems to have written\nhurriedly, in the intervals of hard work, of journeyings to and fro\nupon his rounds of inspection, and of much social bustle; he had not\nthe natural gift of letter-writing, and he probably did it more as a\nduty than a pleasure. He had none of the ever-smouldering irritability\nwhich compelled Carlyle to slash right and left of him at the people\nwhom he met, at everything that he disliked, and every one whom he\ndespised. Nor was he born to chronicle the small beer of everyday life\nin that spirit of contemplative quietism which is bred out of abundant\nleisure and retirement. A few lines from one of Cowper's letters may\nserve to indicate the circumstances in which 'our best letter-writer,'\nas Southey calls him, lived and wrote a hundred years ago in a muddy\nBuckinghamshire village:\n\n     'A long confinement in the winter, and indeed for the most part in\n     the autumn too, has hurt us both. A gravel walk, thirty yards\n     long, affords but indifferent scope to the locomotive faculty; yet\n     it is all that we have had to move in for eight months in the year,\n     during thirteen years that I have been a prisoner here.'\n\nIf we compare this manner of spending one's days with Arnold's hasty\nand harassed existence among the busy haunts of men, we can understand\nthat in this century a hard-working literary man has neither the taste\nnor the time for the graceful record of calm meditations, or for\nthrowing a charm over commonplace details. And, on the whole, Arnold's\ncorrespondence, though it has some biographical value, must\nundoubtedly be relegated to the class of letters that would never have\nbeen published upon their own intrinsic merits.\n\nCarlyle's letters, on the other hand, fall into the opposite category;\nthey stand on their own feet, they are as significant of style and\ncharacter as Arnold's, and even Stanley's, letters were comparatively\ninsignificant; they are the fearless outspoken expression of the\nhumours and feelings of the moment, and it is probable that the writer\ndid not trouble himself to consider whether they would or would not be\npublished. In these respects they as nearly fulfil the authorised\nconditions of good letter-writing as any work of the sort that has\nbeen produced in our own generation, though one may be permitted some\ndoubt in regard to improvisation; for the work is occasionally so\nclean cut and pointed, his strokes are so keen and straight to the\nmark, that it is difficult to believe the composition to be altogether\nunstudied. Whether any writer ever excelled in this or, indeed, in any\nother branch of the art literary without taking much trouble over it,\nis, in our judgment, an open question; but surely Carlyle must have\nselected and sharpened with some care the barbed epithets upon which\nhe suspends his grotesque and formidable caricatures.\n\nFor example, he writes, in 1831, of Godwin, who still figures, in\nadvanced age, as a martyr in the cause of good letter-writing--'A\nbald, bushy browed, thick, hoary, hale little figure, with a very long\nblunt characterless nose--the whole visit the most unutterable\nstupidity.' Lord Althorp is 'a thick, large, broad-whiskered,\nfarmer-looking man.' O'Connell, 'a well-doing country shopkeeper with\na bottle-green frock and brown scratch wig.... I quitted them all (the\nHouse of Commons) with the highest contempt.' Of Thomas Campbell, the\npoet, it is written that 'his talk is small, contemptuous, and\nshallow; his face has a smirk which would befit a shopman or an\nauctioneer.' Wordsworth, 'an old, very loquacious, indeed, quite\nprosing man.' Southey 'the shallowest chin, prominent snubbed Roman\nnose, small carelined brow, the most vehement pair of faint hazel eyes\nI have ever seen.' There is a savage caricature of Roebuck, and so\nCarlyle goes on hanging up portraits of the notables whom he met and\nconversed with, to the great edification of these latter days. No more\ndangerous interviewer has ever practised professionally than this\nartist in epithets, on whom the outward visible figure of a man\nevidently made deep impressions; whereas the ordinary letter-writer is\nusually content to record the small talk. As material for publication\nhis correspondence had three singular advantages. His earlier letters\nwere excellent, and we may hazard the generalisation that almost all\nfirst-class letter-writing, like poetry, has been inspired by the\nardour and freshness and audacity of youth. He lived so long that\nthese letters could be published very soon after his death without\nmuch damage to the susceptibilities of those whom his hard hitting\nmight concern; and, lastly, his biographer was a man of nerve, who\nloved colour and strong lineaments, and would always sacrifice minor\nconsiderations to the production of a striking historical portrait.\nUndoubtedly, Carlyle's letters have this virtue--that they largely\ncontribute to the creation of a true likeness of the writer, for in\nsketching other people he was also drawing himself. He could also\npaint the interior of a country house, as at Fryston, and his\nlandscapes are vivid. He was, in short, an impressionist of the first\norder, who grouped all his details in subordination to a general\neffect, and never gave his correspondent a mere catalogue of trivial\nparticulars.\n\nIt was originally in a letter to his brother that Carlyle wrote his\ncelebrated description of an interview with Coleridge. No two men\ncould be more different in taste or temperament, and yet any one who\nreads attentively Coleridge's letters may observe a certain similarity\nto Carlyle's writing, not only in the figured style and prophetic\nmanner, but also in the tendency of their political ideas. In the\nmatter of linguistic eccentricities, it may be guessed that both of\nthem had been affected by the study of German literature; and in\npolitics they had both a horror of disorder, an aversion to the\nordinary Radicalism of their day, and a contempt for mechanic\nphilosophy and complacent irreligion. Each of them had a strong belief\nin the power and duties of the State; but Coleridge held also that\nsalvation lay in a reconstitution of the Church on a sound\nmetaphysical basis, whereas for Carlyle all articles and liturgies\nwere dying or dead. A comparison of these two supreme intellectual\nforces may help us to distinguish some of the most favourable\nconditions of good letter-writing. They were men of highly nervous\nmental constitution of mind, on whom the ideas and impressions that\nhad been secreted produced an excitability that was discharged upon\ncorrespondents in a torrent of language, sweeping away considerations\nof reserve or self-regard, and submerging the commonplace bits of news\nand everyday observations which accumulate in the letters of\nrespectable notabilities. To whomsoever the letters may be addressed,\nthey are in consequence equally good and characteristic. Carlyle's\nepistles to his wife and brother are among the best in the collection;\nand Coleridge threw himself with the same ardour into letters to\nCharles Lamb and to Lord Liverpool. It is this capacity for pouring\nout the soul in correspondence, for draining the bottom of one's heart\nto a friend, which, combined with exaltation under the stimulus of\nspleen or keen sensibility, raises correspondence to the high-water\nmark of English literature.\n\nBut in saying that these conditions are eminently favourable to the\nproduction of fine letter-writing, we do not mean to affirm that they\nare essential. Against such a theory it would be sufficient to quote\nCowper, though he had the poetic fire, and was subject to the\nreligious frenzy; and we know that repose and refinement have a\ntendency to develop good correspondents. Among these we may number\nEdward FitzGerald, whose letters are, perhaps, the most artistic of\nany that have recently appeared, and may be placed without hesitation\nin the class of letters that have a high intrinsic merit independently\nof the writer's extraneous reputation; for FitzGerald was a recluse\nwith a tinge of misanthropy, nearly unknown to the outer world, except\nby one exquisite paraphrase of a Persian poem, and his popularity\nrests almost entirely upon his published correspondence. Of these\nletters, so excellent of their kind, can it be said that they have the\nnote of improvisation, that they were written for a friend's eye,\nwithout thought or care for that ordeal of posthumous publication\nwhich has added, as we have been told, a fresh terror to death? The\ncomposition is exactly suited to the tone of easy, pleasant\nconversation; the writing has a serene flow, with ripples of wit and\nhumour; sometimes occupied with East Anglian rusticities and local\ncolouring, sometimes with pungent literary criticisms; it is never\nexuberant, but nowhere dull or commonplace; the language is concise,\nwith a sedulous nicety of expression. A man of delicate irony, living\napart from the rough, tumbling struggle for existence, he was in most\nthings the very opposite to Carlyle, whose _French Revolution_ he\nadmired not much, and who, he thinks, 'ought to be laughed at a\nlittle.' Such a man was not likely to write even the most ordinary\nletter without a certain degree of mental preparation, without some\nelaboration of thought, or solicitude as to form and finish, for all\nwhich processes he had ample leisure. It may be noticed that he never\ncondescends to the travelling journal, and that his voyaging\nimpressions are given in a few fine strokes; but, although he was a\nhome-keeping Englishman, he was free from household cares, nor did he\nkeep up that obligatory family correspondence which, when it is\npublished to exhibit the domestic habits and affections of an eminent\nperson, becomes ever after a dead-weight upon his biography.\n\nIn endeavouring to analyse the charm of these delightful letters, we\nmay suggest that they gain their special flavour from his talent for\ncompounding them, like a skilful _chef de cuisine_, out of various\nmaterials or intellectual condiments assorted and dexterously blended.\nHe is an able and accomplished egoist, one of the few modern\nEnglishmen who are able to plant themselves contentedly, like a tree,\nin one spot, and who prefer books to company, the sedentary to the\nstirring life. He was not cut off, like Cowper, a hundred years\nearlier, from the outer world in winter and rough weather, yet he had\nfew visitors and went abroad little; so that he had ample leisure for\nperusal and re-perusal of the classic masterpieces, ancient and\nmodern, and for surveying the field of contemporary literature. His\nletters to Fanny Kemble have the advantage of unity in tone that\nbelongs to a series written to the same person, though the absence of\nreplies is apt to produce the effect of a monologue. How far good\nletter-writing depends upon the course of exchange, upon the stimulus\nof pleasant and prompt replies, is a question not easily answered,\nsince the correspondence on both sides of two good writers is very\nrarely put together. Mrs. Kemble had certain fixed rules which must\nhave been fatal to the free epistolary spirit. 'I never write,' she\nsaid, 'until I am written to; I always write when I am written to, and\nI make a point of always returning the same amount of paper that I\nreceive;' but at any rate it is evident that FitzGerald's letters to\nher were regularly answered. He had a light hand on descriptions of\nseason and scenery; he could give the autumnal atmosphere, the\nawakening of leaf and flower in spring, the distant roar of the German\nOcean on the East Anglian coast. As he could record his daily life\nwithout the minute prolixity of a diary, so he could throw off\ncriticisms on books without falling into the manner of an essayist. In\nregard to the 'fuliginous and spasmodic Carlyle,' he asks doubtfully\nwhether he with all his genius will not subside into the Level that\ncovers, and consists of, decayed literary vegetation. 'And Dickens,\nwith all _his_ genius, but whose Men and Women act and talk already\nafter a more obsolete fashion than Shakespeare's?' None of the\ncontemporary poets--Tennyson, Browning, or Swinburne--seem to have\nentirely satisfied him; he loved the quiet landscapes and rural tales\nof Crabbe, who is now read by very few; and he quotes with manifest\nenjoyment the lines:\n\n    'In a small cottage on the rising ground,\n    West of the waves, and just beyond the sound.'\n\n'The sea,' he writes, 'somehow talks to one of old things,' probably\nbecause it is changeless by comparison with the land; and a man whose\nlife is still and solitary is affected by the transitory aspect of\nnatural things, because he can watch them pass. As old friends drop\noff he touches in his letters upon the memories of days that are gone,\nand he consorts more and more with the personages of his favourite\npoets and romancers, living thus, as he says, among shadows.\n\nHere is a man to whom correspondence was a real solace and a vehicle\nof thought and feeling, not a mere note-book of travel, nor a conduit\nof confidential small talk. A faint odour of the seasons hangs round\nsome of these letters, of the sunshine and rain, of dark days and\nroads blocked with snow, of the first spring crocus and the faded\nautumnal garden plots. We can perceive that, as his retirement became\nhabitual with increasing age, the correspondence became his main\noutlet of ideas and sensations, taking more and more the place of\nfriendly visits and personal discussion as a channel of intercourse\nwith the external world. The Hindu sages despised action as\ndestructive of thought; and undoubtedly the cool secluded vale of life\nis good for the cultivation of letter-writing, in one who has the\nartistic hand, and to whom this method of gathering up the fruits of\nreading and meditation, the harvest of a quiet eye, comes easily. In\nmany respects the letters of FitzGerald, like his life, are in strong\ncontrast to Carlyle's; and FitzGerald was somewhat startled by the\npublication of Carlyle's 'Reminiscences.' He thinks that, on the\nwhole, 'they had better have been kept unpublished;' though on reading\nthe 'Biography' he writes: 'I did not know that Carlyle was so good,\ngrand, and even lovable, till I read the letters which Froude now\nedits.' He himself was not likely to give the general reader more than\nhe wished to be known about his private affairs; and if one or two\nremarks with a sting in them appeared when these letters were first\npublished in a magazine, they have been carefully excerpted from the\nbook. The mellow music of his tones, the self-restraint and meditative\nattitude, are pleasant to the reader after the turbid utterances and\ntwisted language of Carlyle; we may compare the stirring rebellious\nspirit brooding over the folly of mankind with the man who takes\nhumanity as he finds it, and is content to make the best of a world in\nwhich he sees not much, beyond art and nature and a few old friends,\nto interest him. Upon the whole, we may place Carlyle and FitzGerald,\neach in his very different manner, at the head of all the\nletter-writers of the generation to which they belong, which is not\nprecisely our own. It is to be recollected that a man must be dead\nbefore he can win reputation in this particular branch of literature,\nand that he cannot be fairly judged until time has removed many\nobstacles to unreserved publication. But both Carlyle and FitzGerald\nhad long lives.\n\nMr. Stevenson, whose letters are the latest important contribution to\nthis department of the national library, died early, in the full force\nof his intellect, at the zenith of his fame as a writer of romance.\nHis letters have been edited by Mr. Sidney Colvin, with all the\nsympathy and insight into character that are inspired by congenial\ntastes and close friendship; and his preface gives an excellent\naccount of the conditions, physical and mental, under which they were\nwritten, and of the limitations observed in the editing of them.\n\n     'Begun,' Mr. Colvin says, 'without a thought of publicity, and\n     simply to maintain an intimacy undiminished by separation, they\n     assumed in the course of two or three years a bulk so considerable,\n     and contained so much of the matter of his daily life and thoughts,\n     that it by-and-by occurred to him ... that \"some kind of a book\"\n     might be extracted out of them after his death.... In a\n     correspondence so unreserved, the duty of suppression and selection\n     must needs be delicate. Belonging to the race of Scott and Dumas,\n     of the romantic narrators and creators, Stevenson belonged no less\n     to that of Montaigne and the literary egotists.... He was a\n     watchful and ever interested observer of the motions of his own\n     mind.'\n\nThe whole passage, too long to be quoted, suggests an instructive\nanalysis of the mental qualities and disposition that go to make a\ngood letter-writer--a dash of egotism, sensitiveness to outward\nimpressions, literary charm, the habit of keeping a frank and familiar\nrecord of every day's moods, thoughts, and doings, the picturesque\nsurroundings of a strange land. In these journal letters from Samoa\nthe canon of improvisation is to a certain extent infringed, for\nStevenson wrote with publicity in distant view; and the depressing\ninfluence of remoteness is in his case overcome, for he lived in\ntropical Polynesia, 'far off amid the melancholy main,' and had speech\nwith his correspondent only at long intervals. But it is the privilege\nof genius to disconcert the rules of criticism; the letters have none\nof the vices of the diary, the trivialities are never dull, the\nincidents are uncommon or uncommonly well told, and the writer is\nnever caught looking over his shoulder at posterity.\n\nFor extracts there is now little space left in this article; but we\nmay quote, to show Stevenson's style of landscape-painting, a few\nlines describing a morning in Samoa after a heavy gale:\n\n     'I woke this morning to find the blow quite ended. The heaven was\n     all a mottled grey; even the East quite colourless. The downward\n     slope of the island veiled in wafts of vapour, blue like smoke; not\n     a leaf stirred on the tallest tree. Only three miles below me on\n     the barrier reef I could see the individual breakers curl and fall,\n     and hear their conjunct roaring rise, like the roar of a\n     thoroughfare close by.'\n\nIt is good for the imaginative letter-writer to live within sight and\nsound of the sea, to hear the long roll, and to see from his window 'a\nnick of the blue Pacific.' It is also good for him to be within range\nof savage warfare, and to take long rough rides in a disturbed\ncountry. On one such occasion he writes:\n\n     'Conceive such an outing, remember the pallid brute that lived in\n     Skerryvore like a weevil in a biscuit, and receive the intelligence\n     that I was rather the better for my journey. Twenty miles ride,\n     sixteen fences taken, ten of the miles in a drenching rain, seven\n     of them fasting and in the morning chill, and six stricken hours'\n     political discussions with an interpreter; to say nothing of\n     sleeping in a native house, at which many of our excellent literati\n     would look askance of itself.'\n\nThe feat might not seem miraculous to a captain of frontier irregulars\nin hard training; but for a delicate novelist in weak health it was\npluckily done. These letters would be readable if Stevenson had\nwritten nothing else, though of course their worth is doubled by our\ninterest in a man of singular talent who died prematurely. They\nillustrate the tale of his life and portray his character; and they\nform an addition, valuable in itself, and unique as a variety, to the\nseries of memorable English letter-writers.\n\nMr. Colvin mentions, in his preface, that Stevenson's talk was\nirresistibly sympathetic and inspiring, full of matter and mirth. It\ncannot be denied that between correspondence and conversation,\nregarded as fine arts, there is a close kinship; and very similar\nreasons have been alleged for the common belief that both are on the\ndecline. Whether such a belief has any solid foundation in the case of\nletter-writing, we may be warranted in doubting. Observations of this\nsort, which have a false air of acuteness and profundity, are repeated\nperiodically. The remark so constantly made at this moment, that\nnowadays people read nothing but magazines, was made by Coleridge\nearly in this century; and Southey prophesied the ruin of good letters\nfrom the penny post. It is true that the number of letters written\nmust have increased enormously; it is also true that many more are\npublished than heretofore, and that as a great many of these are not\nabove mediocrity, are valueless as literature, and of little worth\nbiographically, they produce on the disappointed reader the effect of\na general depreciation of the standard. Nevertheless, this article\nwill have been written to little purpose, unless it has shown fair\ncause for rejecting such a conclusion, and for maintaining that,\nalthough fine letter-writers, like poets, are few and far between, yet\nthey have not been wanting in our own time, and are not likely to\ndisappear. There will always be men, like Coleridge or Carlyle, whose\nimpetuous thoughts and humoristic conceptions cannot perpetually\nsubmit to the forms and limitations and delays of printing and\npublishing, but must occasionally demand instant liberation and\nprompt delivery by the natural process of private letters. And\nalthough the stir and bustle of the world is increasing, so that quiet\ncorners in it are not easily kept, yet it is probable that the race of\nliterary recluses--of those who pass their days in reading books, in\nwatching the course of affairs, and in corresponding with a select\ncircle of friends--will also continue. Whether Englishwomen, who write\nletters up to a certain point better than Englishmen, will now rise,\nas Frenchwomen have done, to the highest line, and why they have not\ndone so heretofore, are points that we have no space here for taking\nup.\n\nBut it is the exceptional peculiarity of letters, as a form of\nliterature, that the writer can never superintend their publication.\nDuring his lifetime he has no control over them, they are not in his\nhands; and they do not appear until after his death. He must rely\nentirely, therefore, upon the discretion of his editor, who has to\nbalance the wishes of a family, or the susceptibilities of an\ninfluential party in politics or religion, against his own notions of\nduty toward a departed friend, or against his artistic inclination\ntoward presenting to the world a true and unvarnished picture of some\nremarkable personage. He may resolve, as Froude did in the case of\nCarlyle, that 'the sharpest scrutiny is the condition of enduring\nfame,' and may determine not to conceal the frailties or the\nunderlying motives which explain conduct and character. He may refuse,\nas in the case of Cardinal Manning, to set up a smooth and whitened\nmonumental effigy, plastered over with colourless panegyric, and may\ninsist on showing a man's true proportions in the alternate light and\nshadow through which every life naturally and inevitably passes. But\nsuch considerations would lead us beyond our special subject into the\nlarger field of Biography; and we must be content, on the present\noccasion, with this endeavour to sketch in bare outline the history\nand development of English letter-writing, and to examine very briefly\nthe elementary conditions that conduce to success in an art that is\nuniversally practised, but in which high excellence is so very rarely\nattained.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[7] (1) _The Letters of Charles Lamb._ Edited, with Introduction and\nNotes, by Alfred Ainger. London, 1888. (2) _Letters of John Keats to\nhis Family and Friends._ Edited by Sidney Colvin. London, 1891. (3)\n_Letters and Verses of Arthur Penrhyn Stanley._ Edited by Rowland E.\nProthero. London, 1895. (4) _Letters of Matthew Arnold_, 1848-88.\nCollected and arranged by George Russell. London and New York, 1895.\n(5) _Letters of Edward FitzGerald to Fanny Kemble._ Edited by William\nAldis Wright. London, 1895. (6) _Vailima Letters, from Robert Louis\nStevenson to Sidney Colvin_, 1890-94. London, 1895.--_Edinburgh\nReview_, April 1896.\n\n[8] Mr. John Morley, _Nineteenth Century_, December 1895.\n\n[9] _Dean Stanley's Letters_, p. 440.\n\n\n\n\nTHACKERAY\n\n\nIt is remarkable that in a century which is far more profusely\nsupplied with biographies than any preceding age, and at a time when\nchronicles of small beer no less than of fine vintages seem to gratify\nthe rather indiscriminate taste of the British public, no formal life\nhas ever been produced of Thackeray. That this omission has been due\nto his express wish is well understood, and at any rate it may be\ncited as a praiseworthy breach of the latter-day custom of publishing\na man's private affairs and correspondence as soon as possible after\nhis funeral. Nevertheless the generation of those who knew Thackeray,\nfor whom and among whom he wrote, is now rapidly vanishing; so that it\nwould have been a kind of national misfortune if posterity had been\nleft without some authentic record of his personal history, his\nearlier experiences, his characteristic sayings and doings, and the\ngeneral environment in which he worked.\n\nFor the biographical introductions, therefore, which are appended to\neach volume of this new edition,[10] we owe gratitude to his daughter,\nMrs. Richmond Ritchie.[11] No more than seven volumes have been\nactually published up to this date, but since these include a large\nproportion of Thackeray's most important and characteristic work, we\nmake no apology for anticipating the completion of the series by an\nattempt to make a critical examination of the salient points which\ndistinguish his genius, and mark his place in general literature. Mrs.\nRitchie tells us in a brief prefatory note that although her father's\nwishes have prevented her from writing his complete biography she has\nat last determined to publish memories which chiefly concern his\nbooks. Her desire has also been 'to mark down some of the truer chords\nto which his life was habitually set'; and accordingly we have in\nevery volume an instalment, too brief and intermittent for such\ninteresting matter, of the incidents and vicissitudes belonging to\nsuccessive stages of his life and work, with glimpses of his mind and\ntastes, of the friendships that he made, and the society in which he\nmoved. The form in which these reminiscences and _reliquiae_ appear has\nnecessarily disconnected them, since they have been evidently chosen\non the plan of connecting each novel with the circumstances or\nparticular field of observation which may have suggested the plot, the\nscenery, or the characters. One can thus see that Thackeray's mind,\nlike his sketch-book, was constantly taking down vivid impressions of\npeople and places, and in some of his notes of travel can be easily\ntraced the sources whence he took hints for elaborate studies. But\nunder this arrangement the chronology becomes here and there somewhat\nentangled. _Pendennis_, for example, was finished in 1850, but as the\nhero's life at Oxbridge is described in the novel, its introduction\ntakes us back to the period when the writer himself was at Cambridge\nin 1829. _Vanity Fair_, again, written in 1845, contains a well-known\nepisode of Dobbin's school life, and the story carries us more than\nonce to the Continent; so the introduction gives us recollections of\nCharterhouse, where Thackeray went in 1822, and of travels about\nGermany in the early thirties. The _Contributions to Punch_, which\nform the sixth volume of this series, began in 1842, and lasted ten\nyears. They provide occasion for many diverting anecdotes, and for\nreferences to his colleagues who founded the fortunes of that most\nsuccessful of comic papers; but as on this plan the biographical lines\ncross and recross each other it is not easy for the reader to obtain a\nconnected or comprehensive view of Thackeray's career. Nevertheless as\nthe system fortunately affords room and reason for giving many fresh\ndetails of his daily life, with some of his letters, or extracts from\nthem, which are fresh and amusing, we may cheerfully pass over these\npetty drawbacks. We are heartily thankful for our admission to a\ncloser acquaintance with an author who has drawn some immortal\npictures of English society, its manners, prejudices, and\ncharacteristic types, in novels that will always hold the first rank\nin our lighter literature.\n\nHow his boyhood was passed is tolerably well known already. Returning\nhome in childhood from India he was put first to a preparatory school,\nand afterwards, for nigh seven years, to Charterhouse. At eighteen he\nwent up to Cambridge, where he spoke in the Union, wrote in university\nmagazines, criticised Shelley's _Revolt of Islam_, 'a beautiful poem,\nthough the story is absurd,' and composed a parody on Tennyson's prize\npoem, _Timbuctoo_. In 1830 he travelled in Germany, and had his\ninterview at Weimar with Goethe; and from 1831 we find him settled in\na London pleader's office, reading law with temporary assiduity,\nfrequenting the theatres and Caves of Harmony, making many literary\nacquaintances, taking runs into the country to canvass for Charles\nBuller, and trying his 'prentice hand at journalism. His vocation for\nliterature speedily damped his legal ardour, and drew him out of Mr.\nTapsell's chambers, where he left a desk full of sketches and\ncaricatures. In May 1832 he wrote: 'This lawyer's preparatory\neducation is certainly one of the most cold-blooded, prejudicial\npieces of invention that ever a man was slave to;' and he longs for\nfresh air and fresh butter. By August he had fled to Paris, where he\nread French, worked at a painter's _atelier_, and took seriously to\nthe work of a newspaper correspondent. On the romantic school, which\nwas just then at its height, he makes the following remark, which\nbetrays the antipathy to artificial and theatrical tendencies in\nliterature that always provoked his satire:\n\n     'In the time of Voltaire the heroes of poetry and drama were fine\n     gentlemen; in the days of Victor Hugo they bluster about in velvet\n     and mustachios and gold chains, but they seem in nowise more\n     poetical than their rigid predecessors.'\n\nHe had little taste, in fact, for mediaevalism in any shape, and 'old\nMontaigne' was more to his liking. We are told, also, that he became\nabsorbed in Cousin's _Philosophy_, noting upon it that 'the excitement\nof metaphysics must equal almost that of gambling'; and finding,\nperhaps, no great attraction in either. After his marriage in 1836 he\nsettled down in London, devoting himself thenceforward to literature\nas a profession; the _Yellowplush Papers_, published in 1837 by\n_Fraser's Magazine_, being his earliest contribution of any length or\nsignificance. In the introductory chapter Mrs. Ritchie says:\n\n     'I hardly know--nor, if I knew, should I care to give here--the\n     names and the details of the events which suggested some of the\n     _Yellowplush Papers_. The history of Mr. Deuceace was written from\n     life during a very early period of my father's career. Nor can one\n     wonder that his views were somewhat grim at that particular time,\n     and still bore the impress of an experience lately and very dearly\n     bought.... As a boy he had lost money at cards to some cardsharpers\n     who scraped acquaintance with him. He never blinked at the truth or\n     spared himself; but neither did he blind himself to the real\n     characters of the people in question, when once he had discovered\n     them. His villains became curious studies in human nature; he\n     turned them over in his mind, and he caused Deuceace, Barry Lyndon,\n     and Ikey Solomons, Esq., to pay back some of their ill-gotten\n     spoils, in an involuntary but very legitimate fashion, when he put\n     them into print and made them the heroes of those grim early\n     histories.'\n\nWe may infer from this passage that Thackeray's mind acted not only as\na microscope but as a magnifying glass; he had an eye, as one knows,\nfor characteristic details, and it appears that he could also enlarge\nthe small fry of scoundrelism into magnificent rascals. There can be\nno doubt that he had the image-making faculty of sensitive genius, and\nthat much of all he saw and felt went to fill up his canvas and fix\nhis point of view. Writing to his mother, he once said, 'It is the\nfashion to say that people are unfortunate who have lost their money.\nDearest mother, we know better than that;' though 'for years and years\nhe had to face the great question of daily bread.' But while he could\nbattle stoutly against losses of this kind, he had no mercy on the\nrogues who caused them; and his indignation, accentuated by the strain\nof married life on a very narrow income, may account in some degree\nfor the cynical tone, now sombre, now mocking, which so perceptibly\ndominates his earlier writings, and pervades all his books, though in\na lesser and more tolerant way, up to the end. Against this shaded\nbackground, however, we may set many kindly figures, and the contrast\nis heightened by the humorous joviality which finds vent in his\ntalent for caricature. To this we owe the full-length portrait of\nMajor Gahagan, and a whole gallery of other drawings, usually of\nIrishmen, which have been the delight of innumerable readers. The\nstriking alternation between two extremes of character and conduct,\nbetween tragedy and farce, between ridiculous meanness and pathetic\nunselfishness, is to be found in all his novels, though in his later\nand finer work it is controlled and tempered to more artistic\nproportions. But in the productions of his youth the darker tints so\npredominate as to disconcert the judgment of a generation which has\nbecome habituated, at the present day, to a less energetic and\nuncompromising style of exposing fools and gibbeting knaves. And after\nmaking due allowance for those indescribable differences of taste\nwhich separate us from our fathers in every region of art--and even\nadmitting, what is by no means sure, that sixty years ago rascality,\nsnobbery, and humbug were more rampant in society than nowadays--we\nare still disposed to regret that a writer whose best work is\nsuperlatively good should have dwelt so persistently in his earlier\nstories upon the dreary and ignoble side of English life. From some\npassages in them it might be inferred by foreigners that the better\nborn Englishmen habitually indulged in rudeness toward their social\ninferiors, and that English domestics in good houses broke out into\nvulgar insolence whenever they could do so with impunity.\n\nTake, for an example, in the scene from _The Great Hoggarty Diamond_,\nthe behaviour of Mr. Preston, 'one of her Majesty's Secretaries of\nState,' to an underbred but good-tempered little city clerk, whom Lady\nDrum takes in her carriage for a drive in Hyde Park, and whom she\nhints he might ask to dinner. Mr. Preston acts on the hint, but with\nsavage sarcasm, and Titmarsh, the clerk, accepts in order to plague\nthe minister for his astounding rudeness:\n\n     '\"I did not,\" he says, \"intend to dine with the man, but only to\n     give him a lesson in manners.\"'\n\nAnd so, when the carriage drove up to Mr. Preston's door, he says to\nhim:\n\n     '\"When you came up and asked who the devil I was, I thought you\n     might have put the question in a more polite manner, but it wasn't\n     my business to speak. When, by way of a joke, you invited me to\n     dinner, I answered in a joke too, and here I am. But don't be\n     frightened, I'm not agoing to dine with you.\"...\n\n     '\"Is that all, sir?\" says Mr. Preston, still in a rage. \"If you\n     have done, will you leave the house, or shall my servants turn you\n     out? Turn out this fellow; do you hear me?\"'\n\nAssuming that sixty years ago a Secretary of State was much the same\nsort of man that he is to-day, what are we to think of this spirited\ncolloquy? and what kind of impression will it, and others no less\nforcible, produce upon the future student of manners who turns to\nlight literature as the mirror of contemporary society?\n\nWith regard, again, to the _Yellowplush Papers_, is it from\nunpardonable fastidiousness, the affectation of an over-refined\nliterary taste, that we are inclined to question whether they have\nbeen wisely preserved in standard editions of so great a novelist? The\nuse of ludicrously distorted spelling intensifies the impression of\nignorant vulgarity, and there is a moral lesson in the story of Mr.\nDeuceace that atones in some degree for the very low company whom we\nmeet in it. But the labour of deciphering the ugly words, and the\ncheerless atmosphere of sordid vice and servility which they are most\nappropriately used to describe, are so unfamiliar to contemporary\nnovel-readers that we think few will master two hundred pages of this\ndialect in the present edition. On the whole, after renewing our old\nacquaintance with Mr. Jeames, with Captain Rook and Mr. Pigeon, with\nMr. Stubbs of the Fatal Boots, and others of the same kidney, we doubt\nwhether these immature character sketches, which all belong to the\nauthor's first and most Hogarthian manner, do not range below the\nlegitimate boundaries of literature as a fine art, and whether they do\nnot much rather harm than heighten his permanent reputation when they\nare placed on a line with his masterpieces by formal reproduction. It\nis impossible to take much interest in personages with an unbroken\nrecord of profligacy and baseness; and we are reminded of the\nAristotelian maxim that pure wickedness is no subject for dramatic\ntreatment.\n\nYet we are aware that it may be practically impossible to publish\nincomplete editions of a very popular writer; and in the extravagances\nof his youth one may discern the promise of much higher things. Very\nrapidly, in fact, in the work which comes next, Thackeray rises at\nonce to a far superior level of artistic performance. We are not\nindisposed to endorse the opinion, pronounced more than once by good\njudges, that the high-water mark of his peculiar genius was touched by\n_Barry Lyndon_, which first exhibits the rare and distinctive\nqualities that were completely developed in his later and larger\nnovels. It may be affirmed, as a general rule, that most of our\neminent writers of fiction have leapt, as Scott did, into the arena\nwith some work of first-class merit, which has immediately caught\npublic attention and established their position in literature. Their\nfugitive pieces, their crudities and imperfect essays, have been\neither judiciously suppressed or consigned to oblivion. They have\nfollowed, one may say, the goodly custom prescribed by the governor\nof the Cana marriage feast; they put forth in the beginning their good\nwine, and they fall back upon inferior brands only when the public,\nhaving well drunk of the potent vintage, will swallow anything from a\nfavourite author. We may regret that Thackeray's start as a man of\nletters should have furnished an exception to this salutary rule; and\nin surveying, after the lapse of many years, his collected works, we\nare disposed to observe that no first-class writer has suffered more\nfrom the enduring popularity which has encouraged the republication of\neverything that is his, from the finished _chefs-d'oeuvres_ down to\nthe ephemeral and unripe products of an exuberant youth. He would have\ngiven the world a notable confirmation of the rule that a great author\nusually leads off on a high note, if he had opened his munificent\nliterary entertainment with _Barry Lyndon_. We quote here from Mrs.\nRitchie's introduction:\n\n     'My father once said to me when I was a girl, \"You needn't read\n     _Barry Lyndon_; you won't like it.\" Indeed it is scarcely a book to\n     _like_, but one to admire and to wonder at for its consummate power\n     and mastery.... Barry Lyndon tells his own story, so as to enlist\n     every sympathy against himself, and yet all flows so plausibly, so\n     glibly, that one can hardly explain how the effect was produced.\n     From the very first sentence, almost, one receives the impression\n     of a lawless adventurer, brutal, heartless, with low instincts and\n     rapid perceptions. Together with his own autobiography, he gives a\n     picture of the world in which he lives and brags, a picture so\n     vivid ... that as one reads one almost seems to hear the tread of\n     remorseless fate sounding through all the din and merriment. Take\n     those descriptions of the Prussian army during the Seven Years'\n     War, and of that hand of man which weighs so heavily upon man--what\n     a haunting page in history!'\n\nThese remarks are very justly appreciative, for the book stamps\nThackeray as a fine impressionist, as an artist who skilfully mixes\nthe colours of reality and imagination into a composition of striking\nscenes and the effective portrayal of character. With extraordinary\nability and consistency to the type he works out the gradual evolution\nof a wild Irish boy, hot-headed in love and fighting, full of daring\nimpetuosity and ignorant vanity, into the ruffianly soldier, the\nintrepid professional gambler, and finally into the selfish\nprofligate, who marries a great heiress and sets up as a county\nmagnate. Instead of the mere unadulterated villainy and meanness which\nwere impersonated in his previous stories, we have here the complex\nstrength and weakness of real human nature; we have the whole action\nlifted above the platform of city swindlers, insignificant scoundrels,\nand needy cardsharpers, up to a stage exhibiting historic personages\nand scenes, courts and battlefields; and we breathe freely in the\nwider air of immorality on a grand scale. As a sample of spirited\nfreehand drawing, the sketches of Continental society, 'before that\nvulgar Corsican upset the gentry of the world,' are admirable for\ntheir force and originality; and what can be better as a touch of\ncharacter than the following defence of his profession by a prince of\ngamblers?\n\n     'I speak of the good old days of Europe, before the cowardice of\n     the French aristocracy (in the shameful Revolution, which served\n     them right) brought ruin on our order.... You call a doctor an\n     honourable man--a swindling quack, who does not believe in the\n     nostrums which he prescribes, and takes your guinea for whispering\n     in your ear that it's a fine morning; and yet, forsooth, a gallant\n     man who sits him down before the baize and challenges all comers,\n     his money against theirs, his fortune against theirs, is proscribed\n     by your modern moral world. It is a conspiracy of the middle\n     classes against gentlemen; it is only the shopkeeper cant which is\n     to go down nowadays. I say that play was an institution of\n     chivalry; it has been wrecked along with other privileges of men of\n     birth.'\n\nHere we have the romance of the gaming-table; and in the same chapter\nBarry Lyndon recounts the evil chance that befell him at cards with\ntwo young students, who had never played before:\n\n     'As ill luck would have it, they were tipsy, and against tipsiness\n     I have often found the best calculations of play fail entirely. A\n     few officers joined; they played in the most perfectly insane way,\n     and won always.... And in this ignoble way, in a tavern room thick\n     with tobacco smoke, across a deal table besmeared with beer and\n     liquor, and to a parcel of hungry subalterns and beardless\n     students, three of the most skilful and renowned players in Europe\n     lost seventeen hundred louis. It was like Charles xii. or Richard\n     Coeur de Lion falling before a petty fortress and an unknown\n     hand.'\n\nThe picture of gamblers in a grimy tavern, the unconscious humour of\nLyndon's heroic lament, the comparison between the cardsharpers'\ndiscomfiture and the fall of mighty warriors, make up a fine example\nof Thackeray's eye for graphic detail, and prove the force and temper\nof his incisive irony.\n\nYet, in spite of its great excellence, the book still labours under\nthe artistic disadvantage of having a rogue for its hero. Thackeray\nwas too good an artist to be unconscious of this defect, and in a\nfootnote to page 215 he defends his choice characteristically. After\nadmitting that Mr. Lyndon maltreated his lady in every possible way,\nbullied her, robbed her to spend the money in gambling and taverns,\nkept mistresses in her house, and so on, he argues:\n\n     'The world contains scores of such amiable people, and, indeed, it\n     is because justice has not been done them that we have edited this\n     autobiography. Had it been that of a mere hero of romance--one of\n     those heroic youths who figure in the novels of Scott or James,\n     there would have been no call to introduce the reader to a\n     personage already so often and so charmingly depicted. Mr. Barry is\n     not, we repeat, a hero of the common pattern; but let the reader\n     look round and ask himself, \"Do not as many rogues succeed in life\n     as honest men, more fools than men of talent?\" And is it not just\n     that the lives of this class should be described by the students of\n     human nature as well as the actions of those fairy-tale princes,\n     those perfectly impossible heroes,' etc., etc.\n\nOne would be almost inclined to infer from this passage that the\nauthor had identified himself so completely with his own creation as\nto have become slightly infected with Mr. Barry Lyndon's sophistry;\nfor it is impossible to maintain seriously that rogues and fools are\nno less successful in life than men of honesty and talent. But the\ntruth is that Thackeray found in a daring rogue a much finer subject\nfor character-drawing than in the blameless hero, while he was deeply\nimplicated in the formidable revolt which Carlyle was leading against\nthe respectabilities of that day.\n\nIt is worth notice that in Barry Lyndon's military reminiscences, done\nwith great vigour and fidelity of detail, we have a very early example\nof the realistic as contrasted with the romantic treatment of\ncampaigns, of life in the bivouac and the barrack. This method, which\nhas latterly had immense vogue, seems to have been first invented in\nFrance, where Thackeray may have taken the hint from Stendhal; but we\nare disposed to believe that he was the first who proclaimed it in\nEngland. As it professes to give the true unvarnished aspect of war it\nwould certainly have accorded with Thackeray's natural contempt, so\noften shown in his writings, for the commonplaces of the military\nromancer who revelled in the pomp and circumstance of glorious\nbattles, the charges, the heroic exploits, the honours, rather than\nthe horrors, of the fighting business. Moreover, it is not only in\nstyle and treatment but also in sentiment and in certain peculiar\nprepossessions, that we can trace in this novel the lines which the\nwriter followed throughout his narratives, and his favourite\ndelineations of character. For diplomatists he has always a curious\ncontempt, and he never misses an opportunity of ridiculing them. 'Mon\nDieu,' says Lyndon, 'what fools they are; what dullards, what\nfribbles, what addle-headed coxcombs; this is one of the lies of the\nworld, this diplomacy'--as if it were not also a most important and\ndifficult branch of the national services. Abject reverence of great\nfolk he regarded as the besetting disease of middle-class Englishmen;\nand so we find Lyndon remarking, by the way, that Mr. Hunt, Lord\nBullingdon's governor, 'being a college tutor and an Englishman, was\nready to go on his knees to any one who resembled a man of fashion.'\nAnd the kindly cynicism which discoloured Thackeray's ideas about\nwomen, notwithstanding his tender admiration and love for the best of\nthem, comes out pointedly in old Sir Charles Lyndon's advice to Barry\non the subject of matrimony:\n\n     'Get a friend, sir, and that friend a woman, a good household\n     drudge, who loves you. _That_ is the most precious sort of\n     friendship, for the expense of it is all on the woman's side. The\n     man need not contribute anything. If he's a rogue, she'll vow he's\n     an angel; if he's a brute, she will like him all the better for his\n     ill-treatment of her. They like it, sir, these women; they are born\n     to be our greatest comforts and conveniences, our moral boot-jacks,\n     as it were.'\n\nBarry Lyndon discloses the promise and potency of Thackeray's genius.\nIn _Vanity Fair_, his next work, it has attained its climax; the\ndramatic figures are more finely conceived, the plot is varied and\nmore skilfully elaborated, the actors more numerous and life-like; and\nwhereas in his preceding stories he has mainly used the form of a\nfictitious memoir, whereby the hero is made to tell his own tale, in\nthis 'Novel without a Hero' the author proceeds by narration. The tone\nis still governed by irony and pathos, wherein Thackeray chiefly\nexcels; yet the contrasts between weak and strong natures, the\nsuperiority of honesty and the moral sense over craftiness and\nunscrupulous cleverness, are now touched off with a lighter and surer\nhand. The unmitigated villain and the coarse-tongued hard-hearted\nvirago have disappeared with other primitive stage properties; the\nhuman comedy is played by men and women of the upper world, with their\nvirtues and frailties sufficiently set in relief, yet not exaggerated,\nfor the purposes of the social drama. The book's very title, _Vanity\nFair_, denotes a transition from the scathing satire of his earlier\nmanner to more indulgent irony, from Swift to Sterne, two authors whom\nThackeray had evidently studied attentively. In his short preface the\nauthor preludes with the gentler note when he invites people of a\nlazy, benevolent, or sarcastic mood to step into the puppet show for a\nmoment and look at the performance.\n\nThe book's success, Mrs. Ritchie tells us, was slow; the sale hung\nfire. 'One has heard of the journeys which the manuscript made to\nvarious publishers' houses before it could find any one ready to\nundertake the venture, and how long its appearance was delayed by\nvarious doubts and hesitations, until it was at last brought out in\nits yellow covers by Messrs. Bradbury and Evans on January 1, 1847.'\nBut when the last numbers were appearing Thackeray wrote that,\n'although it does everything but sell, it appears really to increase\nmy reputation immensely'--as it assuredly did. That a signal success\nin literature is nearly always achieved, not by following the beaten\nroad, but by a bold departure from it, is a principle that could be\nabundantly established by examples, and which seems almost a truism\nwhen it is stated. _Vanity Fair_ was decidedly a work of great\nfreshness and originality; but publishers are circumspect and rarely\nadventurous, they distrust novelties and prefer to follow the\nprevailing fashion as far as it will go, wherein we may discern one\nreason why the accouchement of the first literary child is usually so\nlaborious.\n\nTo criticise at length any single novel of Thackeray's would be far\nbeyond the scope or purpose of this article. Our object is rather to\nillustrate the course and development of his distinctive literary\nqualities, the slow effacement of prejudices which never entirely\ndisappeared, and the rapid expansion of his highest artistic\nfaculties. To begin with the prejudices. In _Vanity Fair_ he still\nmakes merciless war upon the poor paltry snob, whom one must suppose\nto have infested English society of that day in a very rampant form;\nthough unless we have had great changes for the better in the last\nfifty years, one might suspect exaggeration. And another important\nreform of manners must have supervened in the same period if we are to\nbelieve that in these novels the English servant is not unfairly\ncaricatured. As we know him at the present day, in the class that\nlives with gentle-folk, he may be touchy and troublesome, with much\nself-assertiveness, but also with much self-respect. He has as many\nfaults as other people, but among them brutal rudeness is practically\nunknown; yet when Rebecca Sharp is driven in Mr. Sedley's carriage to\nSir Pitt Crawley's, having given nothing to the domestics on leaving\nthe Sedleys, the coachman is ludicrously rude to a poor governess.\n\n     '\"I shall write to Mr. Sedley, and inform him of your conduct,\"\n     said Miss Sharp to him.\n\n     '\"Don't,\" replied that functionary; \"I hope you've forgot nothink?\n     Miss 'Melia's gownds--have you got them--as the lady's maid was to\n     have 'ad? I hope they'll fit you. Shut the door, Jim, you'll get no\n     good out of _'er_,\" continued John, pointing with his thumb towards\n     Miss Sharp; \"a bad lot, I tell you, a bad lot.\"'\n\nOne may conjecture that Thackeray's natural turn for comic burlesque,\nwhich comes out so plainly in his drawings, had become ingrained and\ninveterate by early practice, and certainly his immoderate delight in\nsetting snobs and flunkeys on a pillory became a flaw in the\nperfection of his higher composition. It might well produce, among\nforeigners at any rate, an unreal impression of the true relations\nexisting between different classes of English society.\n\nBut these are slight blemishes upon the surface of an epoch-making\nbook, for _Vanity Fair_ inaugurated a new school of novel-writing\nin this country, with its combined vigour and subtlety of\ncharacter-drawing, and with the marvellous dexterity of its scenes and\ndramatic situations. The army and military life in all its phases had\na remarkable attraction for him; in all his larger books one or more\nofficers are brought prominently upon the foreground of his canvas. He\nhits off the strong and weak points of the profession, in war and\npeace, with a truth and humour that gave freshness and originality to\nthe whole subject, and the best of these pictures are in _Vanity\nFair_. There is not one of its leading _militaires_--Dobbin and\nOsborne, Crawley and Major O'Dowd--in whom a typical representative of\nwell-known varieties may not be recognised. His fine picturesque\nhandiwork, his consistent preference of the real to the romantic, and\nhis reserve in the use of such tempting materials as the battlefield\naffords to the story-teller, are shown in his treatment of the episode\nof Waterloo. He is far too good an artist to lay out for us a grand\nscene of fierce fighting and carnage; nor does he, like Lever, produce\nWellington and Bonaparte acting or speaking up to the popular\nconception of these mighty heroes. He is content to follow his own\npersonages into that famous field, and to show how perilous\ncircumstance brings out the force or feebleness of each character,\nmale and female, whether of the wives left behind at Brussels, or the\nsoldiers in the fighting line at Waterloo. It is only at the end of\nhis chapter, after some seriocomic incidents and dialogues exhibiting\nthe behaviour of the non-combatants--of Jos Sedley, Mrs. O'Dowd, Lady\nBareacres, and the rest--that his narrative rises suddenly to the epic\nnote in a brief passage full of admirable energy and pathos:\n\n     'All our friends took their share and fought like men in the great\n     field. All day long, whilst the women were praying ten miles away,\n     the lines of the dauntless English infantry were receiving and\n     repelling the furious charges of the French horsemen. Guns which\n     were heard at Brussels were ploughing up their ranks, and comrades\n     falling, and the resolute survivors closing in. Toward evening the\n     attack of the French, repeated and resisted so bravely, slackened\n     in its fury ... they were preparing for a final onset. It came at\n     last, the columns of the Imperial Guard marched up the hill of St.\n     Jean.... Unscared by the thunder of the artillery, which hurled\n     death from the English line, the dark rolling column pressed on and\n     up the hill. It seemed almost to crest the eminence, when it began\n     to wave and falter. Then it stopped, still facing the shot. Then at\n     last the English troops rushed from the post from which no enemy\n     had been able to dislodge them, and the Guard turned and fled.\n\n     'No more firing was heard at Brussels; the pursuit rolled miles\n     away. Darkness came down on the field and city; and Amelia was\n     praying for George who was lying on his face, dead, with a bullet\n     through his heart.'\n\nThe military critic might pick holes in this description, and\nThackeray might as well have thrown the English infantry into squares\ninstead of into line. Yet the passage is instinct with compressed\nemotion; and the sudden transition from the general battle to the\nsingle death is a good touch of tragic art.\n\nIn _Pendennis_ (1850) we may discern the slowly softening influences\nof years that bring the philosophic mind, of a calmer and easier time,\nand perhaps also of a different class of readers. Thackeray has now\ndiscovered that, as he says in his preface, 'to describe a real rascal\nyou must make him too hideous to show;' and that 'Society will not\ntolerate the Natural in our Art.' Even the attempt to describe, in\n_Pendennis_, one of 'the gentlemen of our age, no better nor worse\nthan most educated men,' has startled the prudery of the public for\nwhom he now finds himself writing. 'Many ladies have remonstrated, and\nsubscribers left me, because, in the course of the story, I described\na young man resisting and affected by temptation.' Here, again, is\nanother instance of the changes which rules of taste and convention\nmay undergo in the course of a generation; for surely not even the\nstraitest middle-class sect would in our day banish _Pendennis_ on the\nscore of impropriety. Mrs. Ritchie mentions that the author's\ndescriptions of literary life were criticised on the ground that he\nwas trying to win favour with the non-literary classes by decrying his\nown profession--an absurd accusation which nettled him into replying.\nThe truth seems to be that Thackeray, who poked fun at the weak sides\nof every class and calling, saw no reason why he should leave out his\nown; and the men of letters might have been comforted by observing\nthat he dealt with them much more tenderly than with their natural\nenemy the publisher, who has taken philosophically, for all we have\never heard, the unmerciful caricatures of Bungay and Bacon in\nPaternoster Row. Yet it may have been annoying to find such a writer\nconfidentially whispering to his readers 'that there is no race of\npeople who talk about books, or perhaps read books, so little as\nliterary men.'\n\n_Pendennis_ is in Thackeray's best style, as the novelist of manners.\nIt opens, like _Vanity Fair_, with a short amusing scene that poses,\nas the French say, some leading actor in the play, and encourages the\nreader to go on. Next follows, as is usual with our author, a short\nretrospective account of the people and places among whom the plot is\nlaid, with a descriptive pedigree of his hero. In his habit of setting\nhis portraits in a framework of family history (compare the Crawleys,\nthe Newcomes, the Esmonds) he resembles, though with less prolixity,\nBalzac, and he displays much knowledge and observation of English\nprovincial life. He is, we imagine, the first high-class writer who\nbrought the Bohemian, possibly an importation from France, into the\nEnglish novel; and the contrast between the seedy strolling adventurer\nand strait-laced respectability provides him with material for\ninexhaustible irony, with much good-natured sympathy for the waifs and\nstrays. He has always a soft corner in his heart for reckless\nhardihood; and every one must be glad that his 'poor friend Colonel\nAltamont,' who had been doomed to execution, was respited at the last\nmoment, as Thackeray tells us in his preface, on the very technical\nplea that the author had not sufficient experience of gaol-birds and\nthe gallows. Merciful good nature toward a daring scamp, who was free\nwith his money and kind to women, was probably at the bottom of the\ncondonation. We know from a paper, reproduced (to our thinking\nunnecessarily) in one of these volumes, that in 1840 Thackeray went to\nsee Courvoisier hanged, and was so much upset by the spectacle that he\nprayed for the abolition of capital punishment to wipe out its stain\nof national blood-guiltiness. It may be noticed, moreover, that his\nstern denunciation of crime and folly has by this time settled down\ninto a philosophic mood that is almost fatalistic, as when he suggests\nthat 'circumstance only brings out the latent defect or quality, and\ndoes not create it'; that 'our mental changes are, like our grey hairs\nand wrinkles, no more than the fulfilment of the plan of mortal growth\nand decay,' so that each man is born with the natural seed of fortune\nor failure. The voyage of life\n\n     'has been prosperous, and you are riding into port, the people\n     huzzaing and the guns saluting, and the lucky captain bows from the\n     ship's side, and there is a care under the star on his breast that\n     nobody knows of; or you are wrecked and lashed, hopeless, to a\n     solitary spar out at sea; the sinking man and the successful one\n     are thinking each about home, very likely, and remembering the time\n     when they were children; alone on the hopeless spar, drowning out\n     of sight; alone in the midst of the crowd applauding you.'\n\nIn such fine passages as these we hear the elegiac strain of the\nantique world, wherein remorseless fate held dominion over human\nefforts and destiny. Like other great writers who are touched with\nhumorous melancholy, he falls often into the moralising vein; he stops\nhis narrative to address his reader with some ironical observation,\nafter the manner of Fielding, whose leisurely tone of satire is so\naudible in the following quotation from _Pendennis_ that he might well\nhave written it:\n\n     'Even his child, his cruel Emily, he would have taken to his heart\n     and forgiven with tears; and what more can one say of the Christian\n     charity of a man than that he is actually ready to forgive those\n     who have done him every kindness, and with whom he is wrong in a\n     dispute?'\n\nAs we have said that _Vanity Fair_ touches the climax of Thackeray's\npeculiar genius, so in our judgment _Esmond_ shows the gathered\nstrength and maturity of his literary power, and has won for him an\neminent place in the distinguished order of historical novelists. We\nmay say that the art of historical romance was brought to perfection\nin our own century, although French writers trace far back into the\neighteenth century, and even further, the method of weaving authentic\nevents and famous personages into the tissue of a story which turns\nupon fictitious adventures in love and war. The elder novelists dealt\nlargely in extravagant sentiment, in conventional language, and in\nmarvellous exploits embroidered upon the sober chronicles which served\nas the framework of their drama; they were content to set upon stilts\nthe traditional hero or heroine of former days, whose ideas and\nconversation expressed with little disguise the manners, not of the\nperiod to which they belonged, but of the author's own time and of the\nsociety for whom he was writing. These books are, therefore, full of\nglaring anachronisms and improbabilities; the knights and dames are\nsometimes (as in the _Grand Cyrus_) thinly veiled portraits of\ncontemporary notabilities, but they are often mere lay figures\nrepresenting the prevailing fashions of thought and feeling. The\nvirtuous hero abounds in judicious reflections; the heroines are\nchaste and beauteous damsels--Joan of Arc herself appears in one\nromance as an adorable shepherdess--and love-making is conducted after\nthe model of a Parisian _precieuse_.\n\nIt is the opinion of a recent French critic, who has made careful\nstudy of his subject, that the new school was founded by\nChateaubriand, who first, at the last century's end, laid an axe to\nthe root of all this rhetorical artifice, these frigid and grotesque\nincongruities, and filled his romances with local colour, stamping\nthem with the impress of reality and conformity to nature, by\npicturesque reproduction of the landscape, costumes, usages, and\nconditions of existence of the time and country in which he might be\nunwinding his tale. But Chateaubriand, like Byron (who was of a\nsimilar temperament), never could put himself, to use a French phrase,\ninto another man's skin; he is to be detected soliloquising and\ndispensing noble sentiments under the costume of a Christian martyr or\nan American savage, and thus the fidelity of his scene-painting was\nstill marred by the artificiality of the discourse. It was the\nWaverley novel that lifted the historical romance far beyond\nChateaubriand's level, that established it, in England, France, and\nItaly on the true principle of creating vivid representations of a\nbygone age by a skilful mixture of fact and fiction, and by a correct\nand harmonious combination of characters, manners, and environment.\n\nBut during the twenty years that intervene between the dates, taken\nroughly, of Scott's worst novel and Thackeray's best, the flood tide\nof romanticism had risen to its highest point, and had then ebbed very\nlow, on both sides of the British Channel. And we can see that the\nyounger writer was no votary of the older school of high-flying\nchivalrous romance, with its tournaments, its crusaders, its valiant\nwarriors, and distressed maidens. His youthful aversion for shams and\nconventionalities, his strong propensity toward burlesque and\npersiflage, his early life among cities and commonplace folk, seem to\nhave obscured in some degree his appreciation of even such splendid\ncompositions as _Ivanhoe_ or _The Talisman_; or, at any rate, his\nsense of the ridiculous overpowered his admiration. The result was\nthat, as Scott had exalted his mediaeval heroes and heroines far above\nthe level of real life, had revived the legendary age of chivalry and\nadventure with all the magnificence of his poetic imagination,\nThackeray had at first set himself, conversely, to strip the trappings\noff these fine folk, and to poke his fun at the feudal lords and\nladies by treating them as ordinary middle-class men and women\nmasquerading in old armour or drapery. He came in as a writer on the\nebb-tide of romanticism, when the reaction showed its popular form in\na curious outburst of the taste for burlesques and parodies on the\nstage and in the light reading of the time. Whether the creation of\nthis taste is to be ascribed to the appearance of two writers with\nsuch genius for wit and fun as Thackeray and Dickens, or whether they\nonly supplied a natural demand, may be questionable; they undoubtedly\nheaded the army of Comus, and thereby raised the whole standard of\nfacetious literature. But the defect of this school was its propensity\nto take a hilarious or sardonic view, not only of mediaeval romance,\nbut of quaint old times generally; and one leading embodiment of this\nmocking spirit was _Punch_ founded in 1841. A'Beckett's _Comic History\nof England_, which ran through many numbers, seems to this generation\na dreary and deleterious specimen of misplaced farce; though\nhistorically it is not quite such bad work as Dickens's _Child's\nHistory of England_, which he meant to be serious. Among Thackeray's\nvery numerous contributions to _Punch_ are _Miss Tickletoby's Lectures\non English History_, which might well have been consigned to\noblivion, _Rebecca and Rowena_, and _The Prize Novelists_. The\nsarcastic and the sentimental temper must always be hostile to each\nother; between romance and ridicule the antipathy is fundamental; and\nalthough one regrets that he ever wrote _Rebecca and Rowena_, the\nmelodramatic novels of Bulwer-Lytton were fair enough game for the\nparodist. However, it is certain that in his earlier writings\nThackeray did much to laugh away the novel of mediaeval chivalry; and\nwhile we think he often carried his irreverent jocosity much too far,\nsince after all chivalry is better than cockneyism, we may award him\nthe very high honour of becoming, latterly, one of the founders of a\nnew and admirable historical school in England.\n\nThe eighteenth century was always Thackeray's favourite period; he\nliked the rational, unpretentious tone of its best literature, its\npractical politics and tolerance, its common sense, and its habit of\nkeeping very close, in art as in action, to the realities of the world\nas we find it. Swift is the most unromantic of any writer that\npossessed great imaginative faculty; Defoe was a master of minute\nlife-like detail, an inimitable imitator of truth; Hogarth's paintings\nare like Wesley's or Whitefield's sermons, they are stern, unvarnished\ndenunciations of vice and profligacy; Fielding was the easy,\nlarge-hearted moralist, who hated above all sins cant and knavery,\nloved to banter the parsons, to bring fops and boobies upon his stage,\nand to place in contrast the wide difference that then separated\nmanners in town and in country. Perhaps Thackeray owes more to\nFielding than to any other single literary ancestor; but all these\ninfluences were most congenial to his temperament, and informed his\nbest work. His instinctive dislike of unreality, exaggeration, and\nfanciful ideals would have always prevented him from laying the\nsituation of his story in some distant age, of which hardly anything\nis known accurately, and supplementing his ignorance by giving free\nscope to fantastic invention, as was the usage of the humble followers\nwho tried in vain to conjure with the wand of Scott. He required a\nperiod which he could study, master, and sympathise with, and he found\nit in the eighteenth century; though in _Esmond_ the plot, being\nfounded on Jacobite intrigues and conspiracies, opens with the\nRevolution of 1688. He had taken great trouble, as usual, with the\nlocalities, knowing well that you never understand a battle clearly\nuntil you have seen its field.\n\n     '\"I was pleased to find Blenheim,\" he wrote to his mother, \"was\n     just exactly the place I had figured to myself, except that the\n     village is larger; but I fancied I had actually been there, so like\n     the aspect of it was to what I looked for. I saw the brook which\n     Harry Esmond crossed, and almost the spot where he fell wounded.\"'\n\nMrs. Ritchie quotes this letter as illustrating 'a sort of second\nsight as to places which my father used to speak of'; and it certainly\nattests his possession of the strong imaginative faculty which puts\ntogether vivid mental pictures.\n\nThe first page strikes the note of disenchantment, of escape from the\nspell of conventionalism and the shores of romance. Colonel Esmond,\nwho tells his own tale, wishes the Muse of History to disrobe, to\ndiscard her buskins, and to deliver herself like a woman of the\neveryday world.\n\n     'I wonder shall History ever pull off her periwig and cease to be\n     court-ridden? Shall we see something of France and England besides\n     Versailles and Windsor? I saw Queen Anne tearing down the Park\n     slopes after her staghounds, in her one-horse chaise--a hot\n     redfaced woman.... She was neither better bred nor wiser than you\n     and me, though we knelt to hand her a letter or a washhand basin.\n     Why shall History go on kneeling to the end of time? I am for\n     having her rise off her knees, and take her natural posture, not to\n     be for ever performing cringes and congees like a Court\n     chamberlain, and shuffling backward out of doors in the presence of\n     the sovereign. In a word, I would have History familiar rather than\n     heroic.'\n\nNo very deep philosophy in this, we might say, for surely historians\nup to Esmond's day had not all been pompous and servile, while\nsomething like dignity is desirable. But here we have Thackeray\nspeaking through Esmond his own thoughts about history, and\nproclaiming the rise of naturalism against the romantic high-heeled\nschool. And in a much later chapter, where Esmond visits Addison, we\nhave the true realistic method of Tolstoi and other quite modern\nnovelists, as compared with the old classic style of describing war.\nAddison has been writing a poem on the Blenheim campaign:\n\n     '\"I admire your art,\" says Esmond to Addison; \"the murder of the\n     campaign is done to military music, like a battle at the opera, and\n     the virgins shriek in harmony, as our victorious grenadiers march\n     into their villages. Do you know what a scene it was? what a\n     triumph you are celebrating, what scenes of shame and horror were\n     enacted, over which the commander's genius presided as calm as\n     though he didn't belong to our sphere? You talk of 'the listening\n     soldier fixed in sorrow,' the 'leader's grief swayed by generous\n     pity'; to my belief the leader cared no more for bleating flocks\n     than he did for infants' cries, and many of our ruffians butchered\n     one or the other with equal alacrity. You hew out of your polished\n     verses a stately image of smiling victory; I tell you 'tis an\n     uncouth, distorted, savage idol, hideous, bloody, and barbarous.\n     The rites performed before it are shocking to think of. You great\n     poets should show it as it is, ugly and horrible, not beautiful and\n     serene.\"'\n\nWhen Colonel Esmond has to describe the battles in which he himself\ntook part, he avoids, as might be supposed, the high romantic style.\nBut he does not, therefore, fall on the other side, into the mire of\nthe writers who at the present day conscientiously give us the horrors\nof the hospital and all the brutalities of war, which Esmond knows,\nbut does not choose to set down in his memoir. In his account of the\nBlenheim victory there is a skilful touch of the professional soldier,\nwho records briefly the position of the armies and the tactical\nmovements; and it lights up with suppressed enthusiasm when he records\nthe intrepidity of the English regiments in that fierce and famous\nstruggle. We read of Major-General Wilkes,\n\n     'on foot, at the head of the attacking column, marching with his\n     hat off intrepidly in the face of the enemy, who was pouring in a\n     tremendous fire from his guns and musketry, to which our people\n     were instructed not to reply except with pike and bayonet when they\n     reached the French palisades. To these Wilkes walked intrepidly,\n     and struck the woodwork with his sword before our people charged\n     it. He was shot down on the instant, with his colonel, major, and\n     several officers,'\n\nand the assault was repelled with great slaughter.\n\nIn this and other similar passages, you have the historic novelist at\nhis best; the true facts are selected and arranged so as to form\npictures of soul-stirring action; while their connection with his\nstory is maintained by giving Esmond himself a very modest and natural\nshare in the glorious victory:\n\n     'And now the conquerors were met by a furious charge of the English\n     horse under Esmond's general, Lumley, behind whose squadrons the\n     flying foot took refuge and formed again, while Lumley drove back\n     the French horse, charging up to the village of Blenheim and the\n     palisades where Wilkes, and many hundred more gallant Englishmen,\n     lay in slaughtered heaps. Beyond this moment, and of this famous\n     victory, Mr. Esmond knows nothing, for a shot brought down his\n     horse and our young gentleman on it, who fell crushed and stunned\n     under the animal.'\n\nA lesser artist would have made his hero perform some brilliant\nexploit; but Thackeray prefers to sketch the scene as Wouvermans might\nhave done it. We have not here the incomparable fire and spirit which\nScott throws into the skirmishes at Bothwell Brig and Drumclog; we see\nthe difference of mind and method; but we can have nothing except\nadmiration for the rare imaginative faculty which enabled a quiet man\nof letters to deal so finely and faithfully, with such reserve and\ndiscrimination, with a subject that might easily have been spoiled by\nthe noisy clatter and coarse colouring of the inferior artist. His\nfull length portrait of Marlborough has been too often quoted to be\nreproduced here--'impassible before victory, before danger, before\ndefeat; the splendid calm of his face as he rode along the lines to\nbattle, or galloped up in the nick of time to a battalion reeling\nbefore the enemy's charge or shot.' Of Swift, Esmond says--'I have\nalways thought of him and of Marlborough as the two greatest men of\nthat age ... a lonely fallen Prometheus, groaning as the vultures tear\nhim'; and with a few such strokes he gives etchings of other\ncelebrities in letters and politics. One may observe with astonishment\nthat the youthful Thackeray, who delighted in suburban chronicles, in\nmean lives and paltry incidents, has risen by middle age to the rank\nof an illustrious painter on the broad canvas of history. The annals\nof literature contain few, if any, other examples of so remarkable a\ntransformation.\n\nIt is evident that Thackeray, like Scott, was an industrious collector\nof material for his novels from all sources; we may refer, for an\ninstance, to a scene which will have left a passing impression upon\nmany readers, where, as the French and English armies are facing each\nother on two sides of a little stream in the Low Countries, Prince\nCharles Edward rides down to the French bank and exchanges a salute\nwith Esmond. It falls quite naturally and easily into the narrative,\nand reads like a very happy original conception; yet the incident,\nwhich is quite authentic, may be found in the papers obtained in the\nlast century from the Scottish convent at Paris by Macpherson.\n\nIn _The Virginians_, which might have had for its second title _Forty\nYears Later_, the chronicle of the Esmond family is continued; with\nNorth America during the French war for the battlefields, Braddock,\nWolfe, and Washington for the military figures, and Esmond's grandsons\nas the personages round whom the story's interest centres. It is a\nnovel of very great merit, skilfully constructed, full of vivacious\nwriting and delineation of character; and the novelist avails himself\nwith his usual adroitness of the celebrated incidents of this period\nand the salient features of English society in the middle of the last\ncentury. Yet we must reluctantly admit that Thackeray has passed his\nclimacteric, and that as a work of the historical school this book\ncannot claim parity with Esmond. George Warrington was on Braddock's\nstaff at the fatal rout and massacre on the Ohio; his brother Harry\nwas with Wolfe on the Plains of Abraham; they witnessed a battle lost\nand a battle won, and each saw his commander fall. But George's\nrecital of his hairbreadth escape lacks the stern simplicity with\nwhich his grandfather told the story of Marlborough's wars; and the\ndevice of his being saved from the Indians by a French officer, who\nwas his intimate friend, is so ingenious as to be a trifle\ncommonplace. The author does not sketch in any details or personal\nadventures from the great fight under the walls of Quebec; he has\nfallen back, at this part of the story, into personal narrative, and\n_The Warrington Memoirs_ only describe how the news of Wolfe's victory\nand death were acclaimed in London. In the War of Independence, George\nWarrington, who takes the British side, records the feelings and\nsituation of an American Loyalist--a class to whom only Mr. Lecky,\namong historians, has done fair justice. There is much acute and\nwell-informed reflection upon the state of the colonies at this time,\nthe strong currents of party politics, and the exasperation which\nbrought about the rebellion; but, on the whole, this part of the\nnarrative has too much resemblance to real history. It has not enough\nof the imaginative and picturesque element to lift it above the\ncomparatively prosaic level of an interesting memoir, though some good\nscenes and situations are obtained by making the two Warrington\nbrothers take opposite sides. When we learn that, in 1759, the English\nLord Castlewood repaired his shattered fortunes by marrying an\nAmerican heiress, we are inclined to suspect that our author has taken\na hint from the fashion of a century later.\n\nIn the story of _Esmond_ Thackeray dropped the satirical tone, and\nindulged very rarely indeed in the habit of pausing to moralise, as\nwriter to reader, upon social hypocrisy, servile obsequiousness, and\nwhited sepulchres generally. In _The Virginians_ he is less attentive\nto dramatic propriety; he begins again to turn aside and lecture us,\nin the midst of his tale, upon the text of _De te fabula narratur_.\nSir Miles and Lady Warrington are scandalised by their nephew's\nextravagance, and refuse all help to the spendthrift.\n\n     'How much of this behaviour goes on daily in respectable society,\n     think you? You can fancy Lord and Lady Macbeth concocting a murder,\n     and coming together with some little awkwardness, perhaps, when the\n     transaction was done and over; but my Lord and Lady Skinflint, when\n     they consult in their bedroom about giving their luckless nephew a\n     helping hand, and determine to refuse, and go down to family\n     prayers and meet their children and domestics, and discourse\n     virtuously before them...?'\n\nAnd so on, for a page or two, in a tone that some may think almost as\nsophistical as the reasoning by which the Skinflints might excuse to\nthemselves their pharisaical behaviour. Such interpolations are\nartistically incorrect, and out of harmony with the proper conception\nof a well-wrought work of fiction, in which the moral should be\nconveyed through the action and the dialogue, and the meditations\nshould be left to be done by the reader himself.\n\nWe must, therefore, place _The Virginians_ below _Esmond_ in the order\nof merit. Nevertheless, these two novels, with _Barry Lyndon_, are\nmost important and valuable contributions to the English historical\nseries. Nothing like them had been written before, and nothing equal\nhas been written after them, with the single exception of _John\nInglesant_. They possess one essential quality that ought to\ndistinguish all fiction founded on the history of bygone times--they\nare, so far as posterity can judge at all, faithful and effective\nrepresentations of manners. Now, the inferior practitioner in this\nparticular school, being prevented by indolence or incapacity from\nmastering his period and acquiring insight into its ways of thought\nand living, is too often content to cover up his deficiencies by\nindenting freely on the theatrical wardrobe and armoury. He deals\nlargely in the costumes of the day; he supplies himself plentifully\nwith old-fashioned phrases; he is fond of old furniture; he is\nstrongest, in fact, upon the external and decorative aspect of the\nsociety to which he introduces us. Most of the romances written in\nimitation of Scott had this tendency; and this same feebleness\nunderlies the superfluous minuteness of detail that may be observed in\nthe decadent realists of the present day. Nothing of this sort can be\nalleged against Thackeray, who works from inward outwardly in his\ncreations of character, and whose personages are truly historical in\nthe sense that they move and speak naturally according to the ideas\nand circumstances of their age, the dialect and dress being merely\nadded as appropriate colouring. It is, indeed, a peculiarity of\nThackeray's novels, which distinguishes him alike from the romancer\nand the modern naturalist that they contain hardly any description,\nthat he is never professedly picturesque, that he relies entirely on\npassing strokes and effective details given by the way. In Scott we\nhave superb descriptive pieces of scenery, of storms, of the interiors\nof a castle or a Gothic cathedral; and some of the best living\nnovelists are much given to elaborate landscape painting. But we doubt\nwhether half a page of deliberately picturesque description can be\nfound in any of Thackeray's first-class works. He will sometimes\nsketch off the inside of a house or the look of a town, but with\nnatural scenery he does not concern himself; he is, for the most part,\nentirely occupied with the analysis of character, or with the\nemotional side of life; and he seems constantly to bear in mind the\nAristotelian maxim that life consists in action. His principal\ninstrument for the exhibition of motive, for the evolution of his\nstory, for bringing out qualities, is dialogue, which he manages with\ngreat dexterity and effect, giving it point and raciness, and\navoiding the snare--into which recent social novelists have been\nfalling--of insignificance and prolixity. The method of easy,\nsparkling, natural dialogue for developing the plot and distinguishing\nthe personages is said to have been first transferred from the theatre\nto the novel by Walter Scott. At any rate, the use of it on a large\nscale, which has since been carried to the verge of abuse, began with\nthe Waverley novels; where we find abundance of that humorous\nvernacular talk in which Shakespeare excelled, though for the romance\nCervantes may be registered as its inventor. In Thackeray's hands\ndramatic conversation, as of actors on the stage, becomes of very\nprominent importance, not only for the illustration of manners in\nsociety, but also for dressing up the subordinate figures of his\ncompany. He is now no longer the caricaturist of earlier days; he\nemploys the popular dialect and comic touches with effective\nmoderation. And he avails himself very freely, in _The Virginians_, of\nthe privilege which belongs to the historical novelist, who is allowed\nto make the reader acquainted with the notabilities of the period not\nonly for the movement of his drama, but also for a passing glance or\ncasual introduction, as might happen in any place of public resort or\nin a crowded _salon_. Franklin, Johnson, and Richardson, George Selwyn\nand Lord Chesterfield, cross the stage and disappear, after a few\nremarks of their own or the author's. For military officers, who\nfigure in all his novels, he has ever a kindly word; and also for\nsailors, although it is only in his last (unfinished) novel that he\ntakes up the navy. For English clergymen, especially for bishops, he\nhas no indulgence at all; and he seems to be possessed by the\ncommonplace error of believing that the prevailing types of the\nAnglican Church in the eighteenth century were the courtier-bishop\nand the humble obsequious chaplain. The typical Irishman of fiction,\nwith his mixture of recklessness and cunning, warm-hearted and\nunveracious, is to be found, we think, in every one of Thackeray's\nlarger novels, except in _The Virginians_; the Scotsman is rare,\nhaving been considerably used up by Walter Scott and his assiduous\nimitators. We may notice (parenthetically) that our own day is\nwitnessing a marvellous revival of Highlanders and Lowlanders in\nfiction, from Jacobite adventures to the pawky wit and humble\nincidents of the kailyard.\n\nIn _The Newcomes_ we return regretfully to the novel of contemporary\nsociety; wherewith disappears all the light haze of enchantment that\nhangs over the revival of distant times, even though they lie no\nfurther behind us than the eighteenth century. Such a change of scene\nnecessitates and completes the transition from the romantic to the\nrealistic; for how can a picture of our own environment, which any one\ncan verify, avoid being more or less photographic? In one sense\nit is a continuation of the historic novel, which has only to put\noff its archaic or literary costume to appear as a presentation of\nsocial history brought up to date; the method of minute description,\nthe portrayal of manners, are the same, with the drawback that\nthe celebrities of the day must be kept off the stage. Any\neighteenth-century personage might figure, with effect, in _The\nVirginians_, while Macaulay and Palmerston could hardly have been\nsketched off, however briefly and good-naturedly, in _The Newcomes_.\nIn all essential respects the tone and treatment are unaltered in the\ntwo stories; although the ironical spirit, restrained in the\nhistorical novels by a sense of dramatic consistency, is again among\nus having great wrath, as Thackeray surveys the aspect of the London\nworld around him. The character of Colonel Newcome, his distinguished\ngallantry, his spotless honour, his simplicity and credulity, is\ndrawn with truth and tenderness; and some of the lesser folk are\nadmirable for their kindliness and unselfishness. But what a society\nis this in which the Colonel is landed upon his return from India! He\ncalls, with his son, at his brother's house in Bryanston Square:\n\n     '\"It's my father,\" said Clive to the \"menial\" who opened the door;\n     \"my aunt will see Colonel Newcome.\"\n\n     '\"Missis not at home,\" said the man. \"Missis is gone in the\n     carriage. Not at this door. Take them things down the area steps,\n     young man,\" bawls out the domestic to a pastry-cook's boy ... and\n     John struggles back, closing the door on the astonished Colonel.'\n\nAn astonishment that most Londoners of his time would have assuredly\nshared; unless, indeed, the West-end doorstep has gained wonderfully\nby the scrubbing of sixty years. On the relations between masters and\nservants Thackeray was never more severe than in this book; he is\nirritated by the marching in of the household brigade to family\nprayers, and he declares that we 'know no more of that race which\ninhabits the basement floor, than of the men and brethren of\nTimbuctoo, to whom some among us send missionaries'--a monstrous\nimputation. He constantly resumes the moralising attitude; and his\npungent persiflage is poured out, as if from an apocalyptic vial, upon\nworldliness and fashionable insolence. Sir Barnes Newcome's divorce\nfrom the unhappy Lady Clara furnishes a text for sad and solemn\nanathema upon the mercenary marriages in Hanover Square, where 'St.\nGeorge of England may behold virgin after virgin offered up to the\ndevouring monster, Mammon, may see virgin after virgin given away,\njust as in the Soldan of Babylon's time, but with never a champion to\ncome to the rescue.' We would by no means withhold from the modern\nsatirist of manners the privilege of using forcibly figurative\nlanguage or of putting a lash to his whip. Yet if his novels are, as\nwe have suggested, to be regarded as historical, in the sense of\nrecording impressions drawn from life for the benefit of posterity,\nsuch passages as those just quoted from Thackeray raise the general\nquestion whether documentary evidence of this kind as to the state of\nsociety at a given period is as valuable and trustworthy as it has\nusually been reckoned to be. He has himself declared that 'upon the\nmorals and national manners, works of satire afford a world of light\nthat one would in vain look for in regular books of history'--that\n_Pickwick_, _Roderick Random_, and _Tom Jones_, 'give us a better idea\nof the state and ways of the people than one could gather from any\npompous or authentic histories.' Whether Fielding and Smollett's\ncontemporaries would have endorsed this opinion is the real question;\nfor on such a point the judgment of Thackeray, who lived a century\nafter them, cannot be conclusive. It is probable that to an Englishman\nof that day the novels of these two authors appeared to be\nextraordinary caricatures of actual society, in town or country.\n\nOn the other hand, the story is excellently conducted, and each actor\nperforms with consummate skill his part or hers; for in none of his\nworks has Thackeray given higher proof of that dramatic power which\nbrings out situations, leads on to the _denouement_, and points the\nmoral of the story, by a skilful manipulation of various incidents and\na remarkably numerous variety of characters. There, is one chapter\n(ix. of vol. II.), headed 'Two or Three Acts of a Little Comedy,'\nwhere he carries on the plot entirely by a light and sparkling\ndialogue which may be compared to some of A. de Musset's wittiest\n_Proverbes_. It is a book that could only have been composed by a\nfirst-class artist in the maturity of his powers; and for that very\nreason we must regret that it is steeped in bitterness; while\nThackeray's rooted hostility to mothers-in-law misguides him into the\naesthetic error of admitting a virago to scold frantically almost over\nthe colonel's death-bed. The unvarying meanness and selfishness of\nMrs. Mackenzie, and of Sir Barnes Newcome, fatigue the reader; for\nwhereas in the delineation of his amiable and high-principled\ncharacters Thackeray is careful to shade off their bright qualities by\na mixture of natural weakness, these ill-favoured portraits stand out\nin the full glare of unredeemed insolence and low cunning.\n\nIn his last novel, broken off half-way by his death, Thackeray went\nback once more to that eighteenth century, which, as he says in one of\nhis letters, 'occupied him to the exclusion almost of the nineteenth,'\nand to the method of weaving fiction out of historical materials. We\nhave already remarked upon his practice of opening with a kind of\nfamily history, which explains the antecedent connections,\nrelationship, and pedigree of the persons who are coming upon the\nstage, and marks out the background of his story. In _Denis Duval_ he\ncarries this preamble through two chapters, and arranges all the\npieces on his board so carefully that an inattentive reader might lose\nhis way among the preliminary details. One sees with what pleasure he\nhas studied his favourite period in France and England, and how he\nenjoyed constructing, like Defoe, a fictitious autobiography that\nreads like a picturesque and genuine memoir of the times. Having thus\nlaid out his plan, and prepared his _mise en scene_, he begins his\nthird chapter with an animated entry of his actors, who thenceforward\nplay their parts in a succession of incidents and adventures, that are\nall adjusted and fitted in to the framework of time and place that he\nhas taken so much pains to design for them. In this manner he touches\nupon the great events of contemporary history, like the French War, or\nillustrates the state of England by bringing in highwaymen and the\npress-gang; while a minute description of localities lends an air of\nsimplicity to the tale of an old man who has (as he says) an\nextraordinarily clear remembrance of his boyhood.\n\nThe Notes which appeared in the _Cornhill Magazine_, June 1864, as an\nepilogue to the last lines written by Thackeray, when the story\nstopped abruptly, throw curious light on the methods of gathering his\nmaterial and preparing his work. Just as he visited the Blenheim\nbattlefield, when he was engaged upon _Esmond_, so he went down to\nRomney Marsh, where Denis Duval was born and bred, surveyed Rye and\nWinchelsea as if he were drawing plans of those towns, and collected\nlocal traditions of the coast and the country, of the smugglers, the\nHuguenot settlements, and the old war time of 1778-82. The _Annual\nRegister_ and the _Gentleman's Magazine_ furnished him with suggestive\nincidents and circumstantial reports which he expanded with admirable\nfertility of imagination; so that by combining what he saw with what\nhe read he could lift the curtain and light up again an obscure corner\nof the Kentish coast, and the doings of the queer folk who lived on it\na century before he went there. That he never finished this novel is\nmuch to be lamented, for Denis had just become a midshipman on board\nthe _Serapis_, and we learn from these 'Notes' that he was to take\npart in the great fight which ended in the capture of that ship by\nPaul Jones, after the most bloody and desperate duel in the long and\nglorious record of the British Navy. Captain Pearson, who commanded\nthe _Serapis_, reported his defeat to the Admiralty in a letter of\nwhich 'Mr. Thackeray seems to have thought much,' and, indeed, it is\nprecisely the sort of document--quiet, formal, with a masculine\ncontempt for adjectives (there is not one in the whole letter)--which\ndenotes a character after Thackeray's own heart.\n\n     'We dropt alongside of each other, head and stern, when, the fluke\n     of our spare anchor hooking his quarter, we became so close, fore\n     and aft, that the muzzles of our guns touched each other's sides.'\n\nHere we have the style which Thackeray loved; and 'tis pity that we\nhave so narrowly missed the picture of a fierce naval battle by an\nartist who could describe strenuous action in steady phrase, and who\nknew that the hard-fighting commander is usually a cool, resolute,\nresourceful man, for whom it is a matter of plain duty to fight his\nship till he is fairly beaten, and to report the result briefly,\nwhatever it may be, to his superiors. One can observe the mellowing\ninfluence upon Thackeray of the atmosphere of past times and the\nafterglow of heroic deeds; for in _Denis Duval_ there is no trace of\nthe scorching satire which pursues us in _The Newcomes_; nor does he\nonce pause to moralise, or to enlarge upon the innumerable hypocrisies\nof modern society. It is questionable, indeed, whether this fine\nfragment binds up well in a volume with the _Roundabout Papers_, which\nbring the author back into the light of common day, and to the\ntrivialities of ordinary society.\n\nIt has not been thought necessary, in this biographical edition, to\nissue the several volumes in the order of the dates at which they were\nwritten; nor has the attempt been made to preserve some serial\ncontinuity of their style or subject. The arrangement, moreover,\nserves to accentuate unnecessarily the undeniable imparity of\nThackeray's different books; for _Punch_ and the _Sketch Books_ are\ninterposed between _Barry Lyndon_ and _Esmond_; while even the wild\nand wicked Lyndon hardly deserved to be handcuffed in the same volume\nwith Fitzboodle, whom in the body he would have crushed like an\ninsect. Yet the classification of Thackeray's novels might be easily\nmade, for _Barry Lyndon_, _Esmond_, _The Virginians_, and _Denis\nDuval_ fall together in one homogeneous group, having a strong family\nresemblance in tone and treatment, and following generally the\nchronological succession of the periods with which they are concerned.\nIf to Esmond is awarded the precedence that is due to him not by\nseniority, but by importance, we have the wars of the eighteenth\ncentury between England and France from Marlborough's campaigns down\nto Rodney's great naval victory of 1783, in which Duval was destined\nto take part. These works represent Thackeray's very considerable\ncontribution to the Historic School of English novelists; and we may\ncount them also a valuable commentary upon English history, for\nwithout doubt every luminous illustration of past times and personages\nacts as a powerful stimulant to the national mind, by exciting a\nkeener interest in the nation's story and a clearer appreciation of\nits reality. Chateaubriand has affirmed that Walter Scott's romances\nproduced a revolution in the art of writing histories, that no greater\nmaster of the art of historical divination has ever lived, and that\nhis profound insight into the mediaeval world, its names, the true\nrelation between different classes, its political and social aspects,\noriginated a new and brilliant historical method which superseded the\ndim and limited views of scholarly erudition. For Thackeray we make no\nsuch extensive or extravagant claims; but it may be said that the\ndramatic conception of history in his novels and lectures was of\ngreat service to his readers and hearers by the vivid impressions\nwhich they conveyed of the life, character, and feelings of their\nforefathers, of their failings, virtues, and memorable achievements.\nSome material objections may be taken to the system of teaching by\ngraphic pictures in Thackeray, as in Carlyle's _French Revolution_,\nand in both cases the philosophy leaves much to be desired, for the\nwriter's own idiosyncrasy colours all his work. Yet when we remember\nhow few are the readers to whom the accurate Dryasdust, with his\ncareful research and well attested facts, brings any lasting\nenlightenment, we may well believe that very many owe their distinct\nideas of the state of England and its people during the last century\nto Thackeray's genius for carefully studied autobiographical fiction.\n\nTo the four historical novels mentioned above let us add three novels\nof nineteenth-century manners--_Vanity Fair_, _Pendennis_, _The\nNewcomes_--and we have seven books (one incomplete) upon which\nThackeray's name and fame survive, and will be handed down to\nposterity. The list is by no means long if it be compared with the\noutturn of Scott and Bulwer-Lytton, or of his foremost contemporary\nDickens; and Stevenson, who resembles him in the subdued realistic\nstyle of narrating a perilous fight or adventure, has left us a larger\nbequest. But they are amply sufficient to build up for him a lasting\nmonument in English literature; and their very paucity may serve as a\nwarning against the prevailing sin of copious and indiscriminate\nproductiveness, by which so many second-rate novelists of the present\nday exhaust their powers and drown a respectable reputation in a flood\nof writing, which sinks in quality in proportion to the rise in\nquantity.\n\nHow far the character and personal experiences of an author are\nrevealed or disguised in his writings is a question which has often\nbeen discussed. Bulwer once endeavoured, in a whimsical essay, to\nprove that men of letters are the only people whose characters are\nreally ascertainable, because you may know them intimately by their\nworks; but herein he merely touched upon the general truth or truism\nthat society at large judges every man only by his public\nperformances, and does not trouble itself at all about anything else.\nIn the category of those who display in their writings their tastes\nand prejudices, their feelings and the special bent of their mind, we\nmay certainly place Thackeray, who was a moralist and a satirist, very\nsensitive to the ills and follies of humanity, and impressionable in\nthe highest degree. For such a man it was impossible to refrain from\ngiving his opinions, his praise or his blame, in all that he wrote\nupon everything that interested him; and in portraying the society\nwhich surrounded him, he inevitably portrayed himself. He displayed as\nmuch as any writer the general complexion of his intellectual\npropensities and sympathies; and we can even trace in him the\nexistence of some of the minor human frailties which he was most apt\nto condemn, an unconscious tendency which is not altogether uncommon.\nBut he is essentially a high-minded man of letters, acutely sensitive\nto absurdities, impatient of meanness, of affectation, and of\nignominious admiration of trivial things; a resolute representative of\nthe independent literary spirit, with a strong desire to see things as\nthey are, and with the gift of describing them truthfully. He\nrepudiated 'the absurd outcry about neglected men of genius'; and in a\nletter quoted by Mrs. Ritchie he writes:\n\n     'I have been earning my own bread with my own pen for near twenty\n     years now, and sometimes very hardly too; but in the worst time,\n     please God, never lost my own respect.'\n\nHis delicacy of feeling comes out in a letter from the United States,\nwhere he was lecturing--\n\n     'As for writing about this country, about Goshen, about the\n     friends I have found here, and who are helping me to procure\n     independence for my children, if I cut jokes upon them, may I\n     choke on the instant'--\n\nhaving probably in remembrance, as he wrote, Charles Dickens and the\n_American Notes_.\n\nOn the other hand, he was not free from the defects of his qualities,\nmental and artistic, from the propensity to set points of character in\nviolent relief, or from the somewhat unfair generalisation which grows\nout of the habit of drawing types and distributing colours for\nsatirical effect.\n\nIn regard to his religion, it appears to have been of the\nrationalistic eighteenth-century order in which moral ideas are\nentirely dominant, to the exclusion of the deeply spiritual modes of\nthought; and we may say of him, as of Carlyle, that his philosophy was\nmore practical than profound. The subjoined quotation is from a letter\nto his daughter:\n\n     'What is right must always be right, before it was practised as\n     well as after. And if such and such a commandment delivered by\n     Moses was wrong, depend upon it, it was not delivered by God, and\n     the whole question of complete inspiration goes at once. And the\n     misfortune of dogmatic belief is that, the first principle granted\n     that the book called the Bible is written under the direct\n     dictation of God--for instance, that the Catholic Church is under\n     the direct dictation of God, and solely communicates with Him--that\n     Quashimaboo is the directly appointed priest of God, and so\n     forth--pain, cruelty, persecution, separation of dear relatives,\n     follow as a matter of course.... Smith's truth being established in\n     Smith's mind as the Divine one, persecution follows as a matter of\n     course--martyrs have roasted over all Europe, over all God's world,\n     upon this dogma. To my mind Scripture only means a writing, and\n     Bible means a book.... Every one of us in every part, book,\n     circumstance of life, sees a different meaning and moral, and so it\n     must be about religion. But we can all love each other and say \"Our\n     Father.\"'\n\nThis is true, stout-hearted, individualistic liberty of believing--an\nexcellent thing and wholesome, though it by no means covers the whole\nground, or meets all difficulties. The logical consequence is a strong\ndistaste for theology, and no very high opinion of the priesthood,\nwherein we may probably find the root of Thackeray's proclivity,\nalready mentioned, toward unmerited sarcasm upon the clergy. In the\nIntroduction to _Pendennis_ is a letter written from Spa, in which he\nsays, 'They have got a Sunday service here in an extinct\ngambling-house, and a clerical professor to perform, whom you have to\npay just like any other showman who comes.' It does not seem to have\noccurred to Thackeray that the turning of a gambling-house into a\nplace of prayer is no bad thing of itself, or that you have no more\nright to expect your religious services to be done for you in a\nforeign land without payment than your newspapers or novels.\n\nBut these are blemishes or eccentricities which are only worth notice\nin a character of exceptional interest and a writer of great\noriginality. Thackeray's work had a distinct influence on the light\nliterature of his generation, and possibly also on its manners, for it\nis quite conceivable that one reason why his descriptions of snobbery\nand shams appear to us now overdrawn, may be that his trenchant blows\nat social idols did materially discredit the worship of them. His\nliterary style had the usual following of imitators who caught his\nsuperficial form and missed the substance, as, for example, in the\nhabit which arose of talking with warm-hearted familiarity of great\neighteenth-century men, and parodying their conversation. It was easy\nenough to speak of Johnson as 'Grand Old Samuel,' and to hob-nob with\nSwift or Sterne, seeing that, like the lion's part in _Pyramus and\nThisbe_, 'you can do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.'\n\nThackeray will always stand in the front rank of the very remarkable\narray of novelists who have illustrated the Victorian era; and this\nnew edition is a fresh proof that his reputation is undiminished, and\nwill long endure.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[10] _The Works of William Makepeace Thackeray, with Biographical\nIntroductions by his daughter_, Anne Ritchie. In 13 volumes. London,\n1898.--_Edinburgh Review_, October 1898.\n\n[11] Now Lady Ritchie.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ANGLO-INDIAN NOVELIST[12]\n\n\nFor the last one hundred and fifty years India has been to Englishmen\nan ever-widening field of incessant activity, military, commercial,\nand administrative. They have been occupied, during a temporary\nsojourn in that country, in acquiring and developing a great dominion.\nNo situation more unfavourable to the development of imaginative\nliterature could be found than that of a few thousand Europeans\nisolated, far from home, among millions of Asiatics entirely different\nfrom them in race, manners, and language. Their hands have been always\nfull of business, they have been absorbed in the affairs of war and\ngovernment, they have been cut off from the culture which is essential\nto the growth of art and letters, they have had little time for\nstudying the antique and alien civilisation of the country. It seldom\nhappens that the men who play a part in historical events, or who\nwitness the sombre realities of war and serious politics, where\nkingdoms and lives are at stake, have either leisure or inclination\nfor that picturesque side of things which lies at the source of most\npoetry and romance. And thus it has naturally come to pass that while\nEnglishmen in India have produced histories full of matter, though\noften deficient in composition, and have also written much upon\nOriental antiquities, laws, social institutions, and economy, they\nhave done little in the department of novels.\n\nThat a good novel should have been produced in India was, therefore,\nuntil very recent times improbable; that it should have been\nsuccessful in England was still less to be expected. For the modern\nreader will have nothing to do with a story full of outlandish scenes\nand characters; he must be told what he thinks he knows; he must be\nable to realise the points and the probabilities of a plot and of its\npersonages; he wants a tale that falls more or less within his\nordinary experience, or that tallies with his preconceived notions.\nAccordingly, any close description of native Indian manners or people\nis apt to lose interest in proportion as it is exact; its value as a\npainting of life is usually discernible only by those who know the\ncountry. The popular traditional East was long, and indeed still is,\nthat which has been for generations fixed in the imagination of\nWestern folk by the _Arabian Nights_, by the legends of Crusaders, and\nby pictorial editions of the Old Testament. It is seen in the Oriental\nlandscape and figures presented by Walter Scott in _The Talisman_,\nwhich every one, at least in youth, has read; whereas _The Surgeon's\nDaughter_, where the scene is laid in India, is hardly read at all. Of\ncourse there are other reasons why the former book is much more liked\nthan the latter; yet it was certainly not bad local colouring or\nunreality of detail that damaged _The Surgeon's Daughter_, for Scott\nknew quite as much about Mysore and Haidar Ali as he did about Syria\nin the thirteenth century and Saladin. But in _The Talisman_ he was on\nthe well-trodden ground of mediaeval English history and legend;\nwhereas the readers of his Indian tale found themselves wandering in\nthe fresh but then almost unknown field of India in the eighteenth\ncentury.\n\nThese are the serious obstacles which have discouraged Anglo-Indians\nfrom attempting the pure historical romance. They knew the country too\nwell for concocting stories after the fashion of Thomas Moore's _Lalla\nRookh_, with gallant chieftains and beauteous maidens who have nothing\nOriental about them except a few set Eastern phrases, turbans,\ndaggers, and jewellery. They could not use the true local colour, the\nreal temper and talk of the Indian East, without great risk of\nbecoming neither intelligible nor interesting to the English public at\nlarge. It may be said that before our own day there has been only one\nauthor who has successfully overcome these difficulties--Meadows\nTaylor, who wrote a romantic novel, now almost forgotten, founded upon\nthe history of Western India in the seventeenth century. The period\nwas skilfully chosen, for it is the time of the Moghul emperor\nAurungzeb's long war against the Mohammedan kingdoms in the Dekhan,\nand of the Maratha insurrection under Sivaji, which eventually ruined\nthe Moghul empire. The daring murder of a Mohammedan governor by\nSivaji, the Maratha hero who freed his countrymen from an alien yoke,\nis still kept in patriotic remembrance throughout Western India. Nor\nis there anything in such a natural sentiment that need give umbrage\nto Englishmen; although the liberality of a recent English governor of\nBombay who headed a list of subscriptions for public commemoration of\nthe deed, betrayed a somewhat simple-minded unreadiness to appreciate\nthe significance of historical analogies.\n\nMeadows Taylor has treated this subject with very creditable success.\nHe had lived long in that part of the country; he knew the localities;\nhe was unusually conversant with the manners and feelings of the\npeople, and he had the luck to be among them before the old and rough\nstate of society, with its lawless and turbulent elements, had\ndisappeared. He had himself been in the service of a native prince\nwhose governing methods were no better, in some respects worse, than\nthose of the seventeenth century; and his possession of good natural\nliterary faculty made up in him a rare combination of qualifications\nfor venturing upon an Indian romance. The result has been that _Tara_\nhas not fallen into complete oblivion, though one may doubt whether it\nwould now be thought generally readable. Although written so late as\n1863, the influence of Walter Scott's mediaeval romanticism shows\nitself in the chivalrous language of the nobles, and in a somewhat\nformal drawing of the leading figures, as if they were taken from a\nmodel. But all the details are truly executed. There are sketches of\nscenery, of interiors, of dress, arms, and manners, which are clearly\nthe outcome of direct observation; and the incidents have a genuine\nflavour. The misfortune is that these are just the sterling qualities\nwhich require special knowledge and insight for their appreciation,\nand are therefore missed by the great majority of readers. The\nfollowing picture of a party of Maratha horsemen returning from a raid\nmay be taken as an example:\n\n     'There might have been twenty-five to thirty men, from the youth\n     unbearded to the grizzled trooper, whose swarthy, sunburnt face,\n     large whiskers and moustaches touched with grey, wiry frame, and\n     easy lounging seat in saddle, as he balanced his heavy Maratha\n     spear across his shoulder, showed the years of service he had done.\n     There was no richness of costume among the party; the dresses were\n     worn and weather stained, and of motley character. Some wore\n     thickly quilted white doublets, strong enough to turn a sword-cut,\n     or light shirts of chain-mail, with a piece of the mail or of\n     twisted wire folded into their turbans; and a few wore steel\n     morions with turbans tied round them, and steel gauntlets inlaid\n     with gold and silver in delicate arabesque patterns. All were now\n     soiled by the wet and mud of the day. It was clear that this party\n     had ridden far; and the horses, from their drooping crests and\n     sluggish action, were evidently weary. Four of the men had been\n     wounded in some skirmish, for they sat their horses with\n     difficulty, and the bandages about them were covered with blood.'\n\nNo Indian novel, indeed, has been written which displays greater power\nof picturesque description, or better acquaintance with the\ndistinctive varieties of castes, race, and habits, that make up the\ncomposite population of India. It was for a long time the only Indian\nnovel in which the _dramatis personae_ are entirely native.\n\nAlthough _Tara_ is unique as an Indian romance, there is another story\nwhich renders Indian life and manners with equal fidelity. _Pandurang\nHari_ was written by a member of the Indian Civil Service, and first\npublished in 1826, though it reappeared in 1874, with a preface by Sir\nBartle Frere. Here again the scene is in Western India, among the\nMarathas; but the period belongs to the first quarter of this century.\nIt purports to be a free translation from a manuscript given to the\nauthor by a Hindu who had in his youth served with the Maratha armies,\nand latterly fell in with the Pindaree hordes, from whom he heard\ntales of their plundering raids. He eventually joins a band of\nrobbers, and leads a wandering, adventurous life in the hills and\njungles of the Dekhan, until the general pacification of the country\nby the British permits or obliges him to settle down quietly. The\nmerit of the book consists entirely in its precise and valuable\ndelineation of the condition of the country when it was harried by the\nfreebooting Maratha companies, and in certain glimpses which are\ngiven of Anglo-Indian life in those rough days; for the writer, unlike\nMeadows Taylor, has no literary power, and can only relate accurately\nwhat he has seen or has carefully gathered from authentic sources.\n\nWe have thus only two novels worth mention which have preserved true\npictures of the times before all the wild irregularity of Indian\ncircumstance and rulership had been flattened down under the\nirresistible pressure of English law and order. The historical romance\nhas shared the general decline and fall of that school in Europe;\nwhile as for the exact reproduction of stories dealing entirely with\nnative life, very few Anglo-Indians would now attempt it, for such a\nbook would find very scanty favour in England. Nearly all recent\nIndian novels have for their subject, not native, but Anglo-Indian\nsociety; the heroes and heroines, in war or love, in peril or pastime,\nare English; the natives take the minor or accessory part in the\ndrama, and give the prevailing colour, tragical or comical, to the\nbackground. One of the best and earliest novels of this class is\n_Oakfield_, written about 1853 by William Arnold, a son of Dr. Arnold\nof Rugby, who, after spending some years in one of the East India\nCompany's sepoy regiments, obtained a civil appointment in India, and\ndied at Gibraltar on his way homeward. Some pathetic lines in the\nshort poem by Matthew Arnold called _A Southern Night_ commemorate his\nuntimely death. The book is remarkable for the autobiographic\ndescription, too austere and censorious, of life in Indian\ncantonments, or during an Indian campaign, before the great Mutiny\nswept away the old sepoy army of Bengal. It represents the impression\nmade upon a young Oxonian of high culture and serious religious\nfeeling by the unmannerly and sometimes vicious dissipation of the\nofficers' mess in an ill-managed regiment stationed up the country.\n\nOakfield, a clergyman's son, carefully bred up in Arnold's school of\nindifference to dogma and strictness in morals, finds himself\noppressed by the hollow conventionality of religious and social ideas\nat home, and sees no prospect of a higher level in the ordinary\nEnglish professions. He leaves Oxford abruptly for an Indian\ncadetship, and sets out with the hope of finding wider scope for work\nand the earnest pursuit of loftier ideals in India. He is intensely\ndisappointed and disgusted at finding himself, on joining his\nregiment, among men who have very slight education and wild manners,\nwhose talk is coarse, who gamble, fight duels, dislike the country,\nand care nothing for the people. The aims and methods of the\nGovernment itself appear to him eminently unsatisfactory, being\nchiefly directed towards such grovelling business as revenue\ncollection, superficial order, and public works, with little or no\nconcern for the moral elevation of the people. When his friends urge\nhim to study for the purpose of rising in the service, civil or\nmilitary, he asks: 'What then? What if the extra allowances have\nreally no attraction? I want to know what the life is in which you\nthink it good to get on. It seems to me that my object in life must be\nnot so much to get an appointment, or to get on in the world, as to\nwork, and the only work worth doing in the country is helping to\ncivilise it.'\n\nWe have here the interesting, though not uncommon, case of a youthful\nenthusiast transported as if by one leap--for the sea voyage is a\nblank interval--from England to the Far East, from a sober and\ndisciplined home to a loose society, from the centre of ancient peace\nand calm study to a semi-barbarous miscellany of races under an\nelementary kind of government. Ovid's banishment from Rome to the\nshores of the Euxine, to live among rude Roman centurions and subject\nScythians, could have been no greater change, though Ovid and Oakfield\nare not comparable otherwise. The sight of a great Hindu fair on the\nriver bank at Allahabad, as surveyed from the deck of a steamer,\nstrikes him with that ever-recurrent feeling of a great gulf fixed\nbetween Europeans and natives: 'What an inconceivable separation there\napparently and actually is between us few English, silently making a\nservant of the Ganges with our steam engines and paddles, and these\nAsiatics, with shouts and screams worshipping the same river!'\n\nHe meets a cool and capable civilian, who expounds to him the\npractical side of all these questions and administrative problems; and\nhe makes a few military friends of the higher stamp, who stand by him\nin his refusal to fight a duel and in the court-martial which follows.\nThen comes the second Sikh war, with a vivid description, evidently by\nan eye-witness, of an officer's share in the hard-fought action at\nChillianwalla, and of the other sharp contests in that eventful\ncampaign. It is an excellent example of the skilful interweaving of\nreal incident with the texture of fiction, showing the clear-cut lines\nand colour of actual experience gained in the fiercest battle ever won\nby the English in India:\n\n     'The cavalry and horse-artillery dashed forward, and soon the\n     rolling of wheels and clanking of sabres were lost in one continual\n     roar from above a hundred pieces of artillery. On every side the\n     shot crashed through the jungle; branches of trees were shattered\n     and torn from their stems; rolling horses and falling men gave an\n     early character to this fearful evening.... The 3rd Division\n     advanced, with what fatal results to the gallant 24th Regiment is\n     well known.... Either by an injudicious order, or, as stated in the\n     official despatch, by mistaking a chance movement of their\n     commandant for a signal, the 24th broke into a double at a\n     distance from the guns far too great for a charge; they arrived\n     breathless and exhausted at the guns, where a terrific and hitherto\n     concealed fire of musketry awaited them. The native corps came up\n     and well sustained their European comrades; but both were\n     repulsed--not until twenty-one English officers, twelve sergeants,\n     and 450 rank and file of the 24th had been killed or wounded....\n     Oakfield counted the bodies of nine officers lying dead in as many\n     square yards; there lay the dead bodies of the two Pennycuicks side\n     by side; those of the men almost touched each other.'\n\nThe transfer of Oakfield to a civil appointment in no way diminishes\nhis dissatisfaction at the spectacle of a Government that has no\napparent ethical programme and misconceives its true mission:\n\n     'The Indian Government is perhaps the best, the most perfect, nay,\n     perhaps the only specimen of pure professing secularism that the\n     civilised world has ever seen since the Christian era, and\n     sometimes, when our eyes are open to see things as they are, such a\n     secularism does appear a most monstrous phenomenon to be stalking\n     through God's world.... When the spirit of philosophy, poetry, and\n     godliness shall move across the world, when the philosophical\n     reformer shall come here as Governor-General, then the spirit of\n     Mammon may tremble for its empire, but not till then.'\n\nYet, notwithstanding the author's solicitude for India's welfare, the\nnatives make no figure at all in his story; they are barely mentioned,\nexcept where Oakfield denounces the unblushing perjury committed daily\nin our courts; and one can see that he does them the very common\ninjustice of measuring their conduct by an ideal standard of morality.\nAnglo-Indian officials leave their country at an early age, in almost\ntotal ignorance of the darker side of English life, as seen in a\npolice court or wherever the passions and interests of men come into\nsharp conflict. But this is just the side of Indian life that is\nbrought prominently before them, at first, as junior magistrates and\nrevenue officers, who sometimes do not care to look into any other\naspects of it; and in consequence they stand aghast at the exhibition\nof vice and false-swearing. A London magistrate transferred to Lucknow\nor Lahore would find much less reason for astonishment.\n\nThe same criticism applies, for similar reasons, to Oakfield's\nunmeasured censure of the tone and habits prevalent among officers of\nthe old Indian army; he probably knew nothing of regimental life in\nthe English army sixty years ago, and therefore supposed the\ndelinquencies of his own mess to be monstrous. It must be admitted,\nhowever, that morals and manners were loose and low in a bad sepoy\nregiment before the Mutiny. No two men could have differed more widely\nin antecedents or character than William Arnold and John Lang, whose\nnovel, _The Wetherbys; or, A Few Chapters of Indian Experience_, was\nwritten a few years earlier than _Oakfield_. It deals with precisely\nthe same scenes and society, at the same period, in the form of an\nIndian officer's autobiography. The book is clever, amusing with a\ntouch of vulgarity, yet undoubtedly composed with a complete knowledge\nof its subject; for Lang was the editor of a Meerut newspaper, who\ntook his full share of Anglo-Indian revelry, and who knew the Indian\narmy thoroughly. Whereas in _Oakfield_ the tone rises often to\nrighteous indignation, in _The Wetherbys_ it falls to a strain of\ncaustic humour, and in the modern reader's mouth it might leave an\nunpleasant taste; yet the verisimilitude of the narrative would be\nquestioned by no competent judge. As Oakfield fought at Chillianwalla,\nso Wetherby fights in the almost equally desperate battle of\nFerozeshah, where the English narrowly escaped a great disaster; and\nhere, again, we have a momentary ray of vivid light thrown upon the\nbattlefield by a writer who had associated with eye-witnesses, though\nhe was not one of them. It is difficult to give an extract from this\npart of the tale, because Lang's power lies not in description, but in\ncharacteristic conversation; so we may be content, for the purpose of\nbringing out the contrast between two very diverse styles, with a\nspecimen of his comic talent, as exhibited in the injunctions laid\nupon her husband by the vulgar half-caste wife of a poor henpecked\nofficer just starting for the campaign:\n\n     'Well, then,' she continued, 'keep out of danger. If your troop\n     wishes to charge into a safe place, let 'em. _You_ don't want\n     brevet rank, or any of that nonsense, I hope. Make as much bluster\n     and row as you like, but for Heaven's sake keep out of harm's\n     way.... You need not write to me every day, but every third or\n     fourth day, for the postage is serious. If you should happen to\n     kill any Sikhs, search them, and pull down their back hair; that's\n     where they carry their money and jewels and valuables. A sergeant\n     of the 3rd Dragoons, like a good husband, has sent his wife down a\n     lot of gold mohurs and some precious stones that he found tied up\n     in the hair of a Sikh officer. And, by the by, you may as well\n     leave me your watch. You can always learn the time of day from\n     somebody; and if anything happened to you, it would be sold by the\n     Committee of Adjustment, and would fetch a mere nothing.'\n\nThis is unquestionably a grotesque caricature; yet the ladies of mixed\nparentage were quaint and singular persons in the India of sixty years\nago. As Arnold could hardly have failed to read _The Wetherbys_ before\nhe wrote _Oakfield_, the book may have suggested to him the plan of\ngoing over the same ground upon a higher plane of thought and\ntreatment. The two books stand as records of a state of society that\nhas now entirely passed away, and from their perusal we may conclude\nthat, among the many radical changes wrought upon India by the\nsweeping cyclone of the great Mutiny, not the least of them has been a\nthorough reformation of the native army.\n\nWhen we turn to the Indian novels written after the Mutiny we are in\nthe clearer and lighter atmosphere of the contemporary social novel.\nWe have left behind the theoretic enthusiast, perplexed by the\ncontrast between the semi-barbarism of the country and the\nold-fashioned apathy of its rulers; we have no more descriptions,\nserious or sarcastic, of rakish subalterns and disorderly regiments\nunder ancient, incapable colonels; we are introduced to a reformed\nAnglo-India, full of hard-working, efficient officers, civil and\nmilitary, and sufficiently decorous, except where hill-stations foster\nflirting and the ordinary dissipation of any garrison town. It is,\nhowever, still a characteristic of the post-Mutiny stories that they\nfind very little room for natives; the secret of successfully\ninterpreting Indian life and ideas to the English public in this form\nstill awaits discovery. One of the best and most popular of the new\nschool was the late Sir George Chesney, whose _Battle of Dorking_ was\na stroke of genius, and who utilised his Indian experiences with very\nconsiderable literary skill, weaving his projects of army reform into\na lively tale of everyday society abroad and at home. The scene of _A\nTrue Reformer_ opens at Simla, under Lord Mayo's vice-royalty, names\nand places being very thinly disguised; the hero marries a pretty\ngirl, and starts homeward on furlough, thereby giving the writer his\nopportunity for bringing in a description of a railway journey across\nIndia to Bombay in the scorching heat of May:\n\n     'And now the day goes wearily on, marked only by the change of the\n     sun's shadow, the rising of the day-wind and its accompaniment of\n     dust, and the ever-increasing heat. The country is everywhere the\n     same--a perfectly flat, desert-looking plain of reddish brown hue,\n     with here and there a village, its walls of the same colour. It\n     looks a desert, because there are no signs of crops, which were\n     reaped two months ago, and no hedgerows, but here and there an\n     acacia tree. Not a traveller is stirring on the road, not a soul to\n     be seen in the fields, but an occasional stunted bullock is\n     standing in such shade as their trees afford. At about every ten\n     miles a station is reached, each exactly like the previous one and\n     the next following.... Gradually the sun went down, the wind and\n     dust subsided, and another stifling night succeeded, with uneasy\n     slumbers, broken by the ever-recurring hubbub of the stoppages.'\n\nOn reaching home Captain West learns, like the elder Wetherby in\nLang's story, that an uncle has died leaving him a good income; so he\nenters Parliament, and the remainder of his autobiography is entirely\noccupied by an account of his efforts in the cause of army reform,\nwhich eventually succeed when he has overcome the scruples and\nhesitation of the prime minister--Mr. Merriman, a transparent\npseudonym. The author's plan of endeavouring to interest his readers\nin professional and technical questions is very creditably carried\nout, for the book is throughout readable; and it also shows that on\nthe subject of military organisation Chesney was often in advance of\nhis time; but the scene changes from India to England so very early in\nthe narrative that this novel takes a place on our list more by reason\nof its Anglo-Indian authorship than of its connection with India.\n\nIn _The Dilemma_, on the other hand, Chesney gives us a story with\ncharacters and catastrophes drawn entirely from the sepoy mutiny. The\nmain interest centres round the defence of a house in some up-country\nstation that is besieged by the mutineers, and for such a purpose the\nwriter could supply himself, at discretion, from the abundant\nrepertory of adventures and the variety of personal conduct--heroic,\nhumorous, or otherwise astonishing--which had been provided by actual\nand recent events. We have here, indeed, a dramatic version of real\nhistory; and, since the original of an intensely tragic situation must\nalways transcend a literary adaptation of it, the fiction necessarily\nsuffers by comparison with the fact. Yet the novel contends not\nunsuccessfully with this disadvantage, and in the lapse of years, as\nthe real scenes and piercing emotions stirred up by a bloody struggle\nfade into distance, the value of Chesney's work may increase. For it\npreserves a true picture, drawn at first hand, of the time, the\ncircumstances, and the behaviour of an isolated group of English folk\nwho, while living in a state of profound peace and apparent security,\nfound themselves suddenly obliged to fight desperately for their lives\nagainst an enemy from whom no quarter, even for women and children,\ncould be expected in case of defeat.\n\nWe may now take up a book of a very different kind, the production,\nnot of an Anglo-Indian amateur, but of an eminent English novelist who\nhas lived, though not long, in India--Mr. Marion Crawford. Here we are\nback again in the region of romance, for, although the story opens at\nSimla in Lord Lytton's reign and during the second Afghan War, Mr.\nIsaacs, the hero (whose name gives the book its title) is outwardly a\nPersian dealer in precious gems, but esoterically an adept in the\nmysteries of what has been called occult Buddhism. This queer science,\nas professed by a certain Madame Blavatsky, had much vogue in Northern\nIndia about 1879, particularly at Simla. To sceptics it appeared to be\nan adroit mixture of charlatanry and mere juggling tricks, with some\nelementary knowledge of the beliefs and practices of the true Indian\nYogi, who seeks to attain supernatural powers by rigid asceticism, and\nwho has really some insight into secret mental phenomena, being in\nthis line of discovery the forerunner of the English Psychical\nSociety.\n\nThe part played in this story by Mr. Isaacs, who is not in all\nrespects an imaginary personage, might remind one of Disraeli's\nSidonia. He is an enigmatic character, versed in the philosophy of the\nEast and the West, who excels on horseback and in tiger shooting, yet\ncan discourse mystically and can bring the mysterious influences at\nhis command to bear upon critical situations. The novel has thus two\nsides: we have the usual sketch of Anglo-Indian society--the soldiers,\nthe civilians, the charming young English girl whom Mr. Isaacs\nfascinates. But a writer of Mr. Crawford's high repute is bound to put\nsome depth and originality into his Indian tale, and so we have the\nPandit Ram Lal, who is somehow also a Buddhist, and who is Mr.\nIsaacs's colleague whenever occult Buddhism is to give warning or\ntimely succour. The chief exploit occurs in a wondrous expedition to\nrescue and carry away into Tibet the Afghan Amir, Sher Ali, who had\njust then actually fled from Kabul before the advance of an English\narmy; and it must be confessed that so fantastic an adventure sounds\nrather startling in connection with a bit of authentic contemporary\nhistory.\n\nOn the whole, whether we assume that the object of a novel is to\nillustrate history, or to present a faithful reflection of life and\nmanners, or to render strenuous action dramatically yet not\nimprobably--by whatever standard we measure Mr. Crawford's book, it\ncannot be awarded a high place on the list of Indian fiction. But we\nhave run over this list so rapidly, touching only upon typical\nexamples, that we are now among the latest writers of the present\nday; and we may take _Helen Treveryan_ (1892) as a very favourable\nspecimen of their productions. Comparing it with earlier novels, we\nmay remark, in the first place, that there is no great variety of plot\nor treatment, Anglo-Indian society being everywhere, and at most\ntimes, very much the same, except so far as closer intercourse with\nEurope softens down its roughness, materially and morally, increases\nthe feminine element, and assimilates its outer form to the English\nmodel. _Helen Treveryan_, whose author is a very distinguished member\nof the Indian Civil Service, is, like all other novels of the kind,\nthe narrative of the adventures, in love and war, of a young English\nmilitary officer in India. The characters are evidently drawn from\nlife; the main incidents belong to very recent Indian history; the\ndescription of society in an up-country station, with which the\nmovement of the drama begins, is an exact and humorous photograph. A\ntiger hunt is done better, with more knowledge of the business, than a\nsimilar episode in Mr. Crawford's novel; and the passionate love\nbetween Guy Langley and Helen Treveryan is well painted in bright\ncolours to intensify the gloom and pathos of Langley's death in\nbattle.\n\nAs Chesney went to the sepoy mutiny for his scenes of tragedy and\nheroism, so Sir Mortimer Durand (we believe that the original\npseudonym has been dropped) takes them from the second Afghan War,\nhaving been at Kabul with General Roberts in the midst of hard\nfighting, where he first placed his foot on the ladder which has led\nhim upward to high places and unusual distinction. In the chapters\ndescribing the march upon Kabul, its occupation, the rising of the\ntribes, and their attack upon the British army beleaguered in the\nSherpur entrenchments, we have simply a memoir of actual events,\nwritten with truth, spirit, and with the pictorial skill of an artist\nwho understands the value and proportion of romantic details. The\nEnglish commanders, the Afghan sirdars, and several other well-known\nfolk are mentioned by name; the skirmishes and perilous situations are\ndescribed just as they really occurred. No book could better serve the\npurpose of a home-keeping Englishman who might desire to see as in a\nmoving photograph what was going on in the British camp before Kabul\nduring the perilous winter of 1879-80, to hear the camp-talk, and to\nrealise the nature and methods of Afghan fighting.\n\n     'He turned to the westward, and as he did so there was a flicker in\n     the darkness, where the rugged top of the Asmai Hill could just be\n     made out. For an instant there was perfect silence; then, as the\n     flame caught and flared, there rose from the men around him a low,\n     involuntary \"A--h,\" such as one may sometimes hear at Lord's when a\n     dangerous wicket goes down. Then in the distance two musket shots\n     rang out, and after them a few more; but along the cantonment wall\n     all was silent; men stood with beating hearts awaiting the\n     onslaught. For some minutes the suspense lasted, and then suddenly\n     burst from the darkness a wild storm of yells, \"Allah, Allah,\n     Allah,\" and fifty thousand Afghans came with a rush at the wall,\n     shouting and firing. The cantonment was surrounded by a broad\n     continuous ring of rifle-flashes, and over the parapet and over the\n     trenches the bullets began to stream.'\n\nBut the subjoined extract, which gives Langley's death, is a better\nexample of the book's general style--cool, circumstantial, abhorrent\nof glitter or exaggeration, leaving a clear impression of things\nactually witnessed and done, a brief glimpse of one of the incidents\nthat remain stamped on the brain of those who saw it, but are\notherwise forgotten in war-time, after a day or two's regret for the\nlost comrade.[13]\n\n     'They were all weary, and marched carelessly forward in silence.\n     The night was closing fast, and a little fine snow was falling....\n     There was a sudden flash in the darkness to the right, a shot, and\n     then a scattering volley. Guy Langley threw up his arms with a cry,\n     and as the startled horse swerved across the road he fell with a\n     dull thud on the snow. There was a moment of confusion, but the\n     Sikhs, though careless, were good soldiers, and two or three of\n     them dashed towards the low wall from which the shots had come.\n     They were just in time to see four men running across a bit of\n     broken ground towards a deep water-cut, fringed with poplars. The\n     horsemen were very quick after them, being light men on hardy\n     horses; and one of the four Afghans, a big man in a dirty sheepskin\n     coat, lost his head, and ran down under a bit of wall; the other\n     three crossed the water-cut. The horsemen saw the position at once,\n     and rode after the man on their side of the trench. They were up to\n     him in a minute, and Atar Singh made a lunge at him with his lance;\n     but the Afghan avoided it, and swinging up his heavy knife cut the\n     boy across the hand. Before he could turn to run again a second\n     horseman was on him, and with a grim \"Hyun--Would you?\" drove the\n     lance through his chest.'\n\nThe dialogue is occasionally used to bring out contending views in\nregard to Indian politics, as might be expected from a writer who has\nthoroughly studied them. At a Simla dinner-party the conversation\nturns upon the question whether, in the event of a collision between\nthe armed forces of Russia and England on the Indian frontier, the\nAnglo-Indian army could hold its own successfully against such a\nserious enemy. We have on one side the man of dismal forebodings, so\nwell known in India, and against him the hopeful, resolute officer,\nwho lays just stress on England's superior position, with all the\nstrength and resources of India and the British empire at her back.\nOne supremely important point in the discussion is, by consent of both\nspeakers, the probable behaviour in such a crisis of the native Indian\narmy; and we may here express our agreement with the view that our\nbest native regiments would prove themselves faithful soldiers and\nformidable antagonists to the Russians. As is well said in the course\nof the argument, the Sikhs and Goorkhas faced us well when they fought\nus, 'and with English officers to lead them, why should they not face\nthe Russians?... I believe the natives will be true to us if we are\ntrue to ourselves; some few are actively disloyal, but not the mass of\nthem. If we begin to falter they will go, of course; but if we show\nthem we mean fighting they will fight too.' This is the true political\ncreed for Englishmen in India, outside of which there is no salvation,\nbut the reverse.\n\nIt is perhaps to be regretted that so capable a writer upon Indian\nsubjects has given us nothing of native life and character beyond a\nfew silhouettes; and after Guy Langley's death, when the scene is\ntransferred entirely to England, the story's interest decidedly flags.\nYet we may fairly assign a high place in the series of Indian novels\nto _Helen Treveryan_, not only for its literary merits, but also for\nthe historical value of the chapters which preserve the day by day\nexperience of one who took his share in the culminating dangers and\ndifficulties of an arduous campaign.\n\nMrs. Steel's book, _On the Face of the Waters_, has been so widely\nread and reviewed since it appeared, so lately as 1897, that another\ncriticism of it may appear stale and superfluous; yet to omit\nmentioning in this article the most popular of recent Indian novels\nwould be impossible. Here, at any rate, is a book which is not open to\nthe remark that the Anglo-Indian novelist usually leaves the natives\nin the background, or admits them only as supernumeraries. For Mrs.\nSteel's canvas is crowded with Indian figures; their talk, their\ndistinctive peculiarities of character and costume, their parts in the\ngreat tragedy which is taken as the ground-plan of her story, are so\nabundantly described as occasionally to bewilder the inexperienced\nreader. The scene of action is the Sepoy mutiny at Meerut and the\nsiege of Delhi, and while the Indian _dramatis personae_ are mainly\ntypes of different classes and castes--except where, like the King of\nDelhi, they are historical--the English army leaders act and speak\nunder their own names, as in Durand's book, being of course modelled\nupon the ample personal knowledge of them still obtainable from their\nsurviving contemporaries in India.\n\nThe book, in fact, attempts, as is frankly stated in its preface, 'to\nbe at once a story and a history.' And we observe that Mrs. Steel\ntells us, as if it were a credit and a recommendation to her work,\nthat she 'has not allowed fiction to interfere with fact in the\nslightest degree.'\n\n     'The reader may rest assured that every incident bearing in the\n     remotest degree on the Indian Mutiny, or on the part which real men\n     took in it, is scrupulously exact, even to the date, the hour, the\n     scene, the weather. Nor have I allowed the actual actors in the\n     great tragedy to say a word regarding it which is not to be found\n     in the accounts of eye-witnesses, or in their own writings.'\n\nIs such minute matter-of-fact copying a virtue in the novelist? or is\nit not rather a defect arising out of a misunderstanding of the\nprinciples of his art? In our opinion the business of the novelist,\neven when he chooses an historical subject, is not to reproduce as\nmany exact details as he can pick out of memoirs, official reports,\nand histories, but, on the contrary, to avoid making up his story out\nof a string of extracts and personal reminiscences, or at any rate to\nuse his skill rather for disguising than for disclosing the precise\nverbal accuracy of his borrowed material. What would be thought of a\nnaval romance that adopted, word for word, the authentic account of\nNelson's death, or of a military novel that seasoned a full and\nparticular account of Waterloo with a few imaginary characters and\nincidents? Any one who has observed how two fine writers, Thackeray\nand Stendhal, have brought that famous battle into the plot of their\nmasterpieces (_Vanity Fair_ and _La Chartreuse de Parme_), will have\nnoticed that they carefully avoid the crude and undisguised employment\nof detail, either in words or incidents; they allow fiction to\ninterfere very constantly with fact in all petty matters of this sort;\ntheir art consists, not in historical accuracy, but in verisimilitude;\nthey discard authentic phrases and incidents; they do not aim at\nprecision, but at dramatic probabilities. But Mrs. Steel does not only\ndraw too copiously, for a novelist, upon history; she also undertakes\nto pass authoritative judgments upon disputable questions of fact and\nsituation, with which fiction, we submit, has no concern. She very\nplainly intimates that nothing but culpable inaction and want of\nenergy prevented instant pursuit by a force from Meerut of the\nmutineers who made a forced march upon Delhi on the night of May 10,\nand whose arrival produced the insurrection in that city.\n\n     'Delhi lay,' she says, 'but thirty miles distant on a broad white\n     road, and there were horses galore and men ready to ride them--men\n     like Captain Rosser, of the Carabineers, who pleaded for a\n     squadron, a field battery, a troop, or a gun--anything with which\n     to dash down the road and cut off that retreat to Delhi.'\n\nTo argue the point in this review would be to fall into the very error\non which we desire to lay stress, of attempting to deal with serious\nhistory in a light, literary way. We shall therefore be content with\nreminding our readers that Lord Roberts, who is perhaps the very best\nliving authority on the subject, has come to the conclusion, after a\ncareful survey of the circumstances, that the refusal of the Meerut\ncommanders to pursue the mutineers was justifiable.\n\nYet Mrs. Steel's performance is better than her principles. The\nunquestionable success of _On the Face of the Waters_ is in no way due\nto her scrupulous exactitude in particulars, for if this had been the\nbook's chief feature it would have failed. She has a clear and\nspirited style; she knows enough of India to be able to give a fine\nnatural colour to the stirring scenes of the Sepoy mutiny, and to\nexecute good character-drawing of the natives, as they are to be\nstudied among the various classes in a great city. And whenever her\ngood genius takes her off the beaten road of recorded fact her\nnarrative shows considerable imaginative vigour. The massacres at\nMeerut and Delhi, the wild tumult, terror, and agony, are\nenergetically described; and her picture of the confusion inside Delhi\nduring the siege is admirably worked up, remembering that she wrote\nforty years after the event, at a time when the people and even the\nplaces had very greatly changed. The storming of the breach at the\nKashmir gate by the forlorn hope that led the English columns is\ndexterously brought into an animated narrative; and although that\nstory has been much better told in Lord Roberts's autobiography, we\nneed not look too austerely on the crowd of readers who find history\nmore attractive under a thin and embroidered veil of fiction.\n\nA still more recent novel, entitled _Bijli the Dancer_ (1898), should\nbe mentioned here, not only for its intrinsic merits, but also because\nthe author has boldly faced the problem of constructing a story out of\nthe materials available from purely native society, the stock themes\nand characters of Anglo-India being entirely discarded. Bijli is a\nprofessional dancing girl, whose grace and accomplishments so\nfascinate a great Mohammedan landholder of North India, that he\npersuades her to abandon her profession and to abide with him as his\nmistress. This arrangement is correctly treated in the book as quite\nconsistent with the maintenance of due respect and consideration for\nthe Nawab's lawful wife, who occupies separate apartments, and,\naccording to Mohammedan ideas in that rank of society, has no\nreasonable ground for complaint. Yet Bijli, though she has every\ncomfort, and is deeply attached to her lord, grows restless in her\nluxurious solitude; she pines for the excitement and triumphs of\nsinging and dancing before an assembly. So, in the Nawab's absence,\nshe takes professional disguise, and sings with a lute in the harem\nbefore his wife. To those who would like to see a Mohammedan lady of\nhigh rank in full dress, the following description of costume may be\ncommended:\n\n     'She was dressed and adorned with scrupulous care; her eyebrows\n     trimmed of every stray hair that might deform the beauty-arch; the\n     lids pencilled with lampblack; the palms of her hands and the soles\n     of her feet stained with henna; not one stray lock encroached on\n     the straight parting of her glossy hair.\n\n     'She wore gold-embroidered trousers of purple satin, loose below\n     the knee and full over the ankles, and fastened round her waist by\n     a gold cord with jewelled tassels. A black crape bodice adorned\n     with spangles and gold edging confined her full bosom, and an open\n     vest of grey gauze with long, tight sleeves hung loosely over her\n     waistband. Upon the back of her head was thrown a veiling-sheet of\n     the fine muslin known as the dew of Dacca. Her feet and hands, arms\n     and wrists and neck, were adorned with numerous rings, jewels, and\n     chains, and from her nose was hung a ring of gold wire, on which\n     was strung a ruby between two grey pearls.'\n\nBut Bijli's intrusion into the harem is a grave breach of etiquette;\nshe is detected, and told to be gone, though the lady bears her no\nmalice. The incident brings home to her a sense of degradation; she\nasks the Nawab to marry her, and her discontent is increased by his\nrefusal, until at last she escapes secretly from his house. The Nawab\nfollows, and finds her in a hut on the bank of a flooded river which\nhas stopped her flight; but after a really pathetic interview she\nreturns to her free life--and 'thus ended the romance of Bijli the\nDancer.'\n\nIn this short story, written with much truth and feeling, the style\nand handling rises above the commonplace device of dressing up\nEuropean sentimentality in the garb and phraseology of Asia; and we\nhave, so far as can be judged, a fairly real picture of the inner and\nthe emotional side of native life in India, sufficiently tinged with\nromantic colouring. The fascination which professional dancers often\nexercise over natives of the highest rank is a well-known feature of\nIndian society; and although the dancer is always a courtesan, yet to\ninvest her with a capacity for tender and honourable affection is by\nno means to overstep the limits of probability. We have noticed this\nbook because it proves that the study of native manners, and\nsympathetic insight into their feelings and character, still survive\namong Anglo-Indians, albeit officials; and because it stands out in\nquiet relief among tales of fierce wars and savage mutiny; it neither\nchronicles the heroic deeds of Englishmen, nor does it devote even a\nsingle page to the loves, sorrows, or comic misadventures that break\nthe monotony of a British cantonment.\n\n_The Chronicles of Dustypore_, by H. S. Cunningham, takes us back\nagain from the sombre, half-veiled interior of an Indian household,\ninto the fierce light which beats upon English society at some station\nin the sun-dried plains of the Punjab. We have here a sketch, half\nsatirical, half in earnest, of official work and ways, with one or two\npersonages that can be easily identified from among the provincial\nnotabilities of twenty years ago. The book, which had considerable\nsuccess in its time, will still provide interest and amusement for\nthose who enjoy an exceedingly clever delineation of familiar scenes\nand characters; and it is in the main as true and lively a picture of\nAnglo-Indian life as when it was first written. Here is the summer\nlandscape of the Sandy Tracts, a region just annexed to British\nadministration after the usual skirmish with, and discomfiture of, the\nnative ruler:\n\n     'Vast plains, a dead level but for an occasional clump of palms or\n     the dome of some despoiled and crumbling tomb, stretched away on\n     every side and ended in a hazy, quivering horizon that spoke of\n     infinite heat. Over these ranged herds of cattle and goats,\n     browsing on no one could see what; or bewildered buffaloes would\n     lie, panting and contented, in some muddy pool, with little but\n     horns, eyes, and nostrils exposed above the surface. Little\n     ill-begotten stunted plants worked hard to live and grow and to\n     weather the roaring fierce winds. The crows sat gasping,\n     open-beaked, as if protesting against having been born into so\n     sulphurous an existence. Here and there a well, with its huge\n     lumbering wheel and patient bullocks, went creaking and groaning\n     night and day, as if earth grudged the tiny rivulet coming so\n     toilfully from her dry breast, and gave it up with sighs of pain.\n     The sky was cloudless, pitiless, brazen. The sun rose into it\n     without a single fleck of vapour to mitigate its fierceness ... all\n     day it shone and glistened and blazed, until the very earth seemed\n     to crack with heat and the mere thought of it was pain.'\n\nSuch is the environment in which many English officers live and labour\nfor years; and this is the side of Anglo-Indian existence that is\nunknown to, and consequently unappreciated by, the rapid tourist, who\nruns by railway from one town to another during the bright cold winter\nmonths, is delighted with the climate and the country, takes note of\nthe deficiencies or peculiarities of Anglo-Indians, and has a very\nshort memory for their hospitality. The narrative carries us, as a\nmatter of course, to a Himalayan Elysium, with its balls, picnics, and\nits flirtations, among which the leading lady of the piece is drawn to\nthe brink of indiscretion, but steps happily back again into the\nsecure haven of domestic felicity. A good deal of excellent light\ncomedy and sparkling dialogue will always maintain for this novel a\ncreditable place upon the Indian list; and as an indirect illustration\nof the social wall that separates ordinary English folk from the\npopulation which surrounds them, it is complete, since we have here a\nstory plotted out upon the stage of a great Indian province which\ncontains absolutely no mention of the natives beyond occasional\nnecessary reference to the servants.\n\nFor a strong contrast to _Dustypore_, both in subject and style of\ntreatment, we may take a story which merits notice, even though it be\nhardly long enough to be ranked among Indian novels. _The Bond of\nBlood_, by R. E. Forrest (1896), draws, like _Bijli the Dancer_, its\nincidents and their environment exclusively from Indian life; and the\nbook may be placed high in this class of difficult work, which few\nhave ventured to attempt, and where success has been very rare. It is\na study of peculiarly local manners, that may be also called\ncontemporary; for though the period belongs to the early years of this\ncentury, yet the sure drawing from life of a skilful hand may still be\nverified by those readers who actually know the customs and feelings\nat the present day of the Rajput clans, among whom primitive ideas and\ninstitutions have been less obliterated in the independent States than\nin any other region of India. The descriptive and personal sketches\nattest the writer's gift of close observation; there is good\nworkmanship in all the details; his sentences hit the mark and are\nnever overcharged or superfluous. The tale is of a dissipated Rajput\nchief, to whom a moneylender has lent a large sum upon a bond which\nhas been endorsed by the sign-manual of the family Bhat, or hereditary\nbard, herald, and genealogist--an office of great repute and\nimportance in every noble Rajput house. Debauchees and cunning\ngamblers empty the chief's purse; the moneylender, an honest man\nenough in his way, is obliged to press him for the sum due; until at\nlast the bewildered chief is persuaded by one of the gamblers to\ndeclare flatly that he will not pay at all, whereupon the creditor\nfalls back upon the surety. Now the Bhat has pledged upon the bond not\nhis property but his life, according to an ancient and authentic\ncustom among Rajput folk, as formerly throughout India, whereby a man\nwho has no other means of enforcing a just claim against a powerful\ndebtor has always the resource of bringing down upon him a fearful\ncurse by committing suicide before his door. The Rajput chief pretends\nthat the bond is illegal and void, being founded upon an obsolete\ncustom disallowed by the English rulers; but in truth he has brought\nhimself to believe that the blood penalty will not really be paid, and\nhe is struck with horror when the Bhat, after formal and public\nwarning, stabs his own mother in the chief's presence, whereupon the\ncurse falls and clings to the family. We may add that the substitution\nof the Bhat's mother for himself as an expiatory victim is in\naccordance with accepted precedents on such occasions, while it makes\nroom for a pathetic situation, and greatly enhances the dramatic\ninterest of the closing scene. Here we have the antique Oriental\nversion of the story in Shakespeare's _Merchant of Venice_, where\nShylock takes the same kind of security from Antonio, upon whose\nperson he subsequently demands execution of his bond of blood; nor\ndoes the law refuse it to him. But the Hindu custom is so far milder\nthan the Venetian code that the Rajput Shylock could not have rejected\na tender of full payment in cash. Mr. Forrest's tale might be turned\ninto an effective stage-tragedy if the main incident were not too\nshockingly improbable for Europeans, although to an Indian audience it\nwould be credible enough. The final scene of the mother's death is\nstamped on the reader's imagination by the writer's power of giving\nintense significance not only to the speech but to slight movements of\nthe actors, so that the mental picture becomes almost objective, while\nthe strained expectation of the crowd makes itself felt by the force\nof the words.\n\n     '\"Will you redeem the bond?\" asks the herald once more.\n\n     '\"Say 'No,'\" exclaims Takht Singh.\n\n     '\"No,\" shouts Hurdeo Singh (the chief).\n\n     '\"Then blood must be shed at your door, and the life forfeit paid\n     at your threshold, so that the curse may alight upon you and your\n     house.\"\n\n     'He draws the dagger from its sheath. He had not laid his hand\n     upon its handle in the same manner that he would have laid it on\n     the hilt of his sword, but the reverse way to that; he puts the\n     palm of his hand under it and not over it, so he could best use it\n     in the way he intended to use it--so could he best strike the blow\n     he meant to strike.\n\n     '\"Begone! Begone!\" shouts Hurdeo Singh, waving him away with his\n     hand.\n\n     'The people around stand fixed as statues, eyes straining, necks\n     craning. The herald stretches his left arm behind his mother, and\n     she, throwing open her _chudder_, leans back against it....\n\n     'The money-lender had given a sudden cry, stretched out his hand,\n     uttered some words.\n\n     'When Hurdeo Singh had beheld the herald raise his right arm, his\n     own had gone up with it, and from his mouth had come the cry,\n     \"Don't! Don't.\"\n\n     'But it was too late. The herald had raised his arm, turned round\n     his head, and plunged the sharp stiletto into his mother's breast.'\n\nIt would be scarcely possible in an article that ranges over the light\nliterature of Anglo-India to omit mentioning the name of Mr. Rudyard\nKipling, who is the most prominent and by far the most popular of\nAnglo-Indian authors. Yet our reference to his writings must be very\nbrief, since most of them lie beyond the scope of our present subject;\nfor although Mr. Kipling's short stories are famous, and he is a\nconsummate artist in black and white, yet in the complete edition of\nhis volumes up to date there is, in fact, but one full-sized Indian\nnovel, and for this he is only responsible in part. Nor, assuming that\nthe Indian chapters of the _Naulakha_[14] may be ascribed to him,\nwould it be fair criticism to treat them as good samples of his work,\nor as illustrating his distinctive genius. The attempt in this story\nto bring together West and East, and to strike bold contrasts by\nsetting down a Yankee fresh from Colorado before the palace gate of a\nMaharaja in the sands of western Rajputana, is too daring a venture;\nand the plot's development, though here and there are some touches of\ntrue vision and some vigorous passages, labours under the weight of\nits extravagant improbability. The American's restless energy, brought\nface to face with Oriental immobility, expresses itself in the\nfollowing way:\n\n     'It made him tired to see the fixedness, the apathy, and\n     lifelessness of this rich and populous world, which should be up\n     and stirring by rights--trading, organising, inventing, building\n     new towns, making the old ones keep up with the procession, laying\n     new railroads, going in for fresh enterprises, and keeping things\n     humming.\n\n     '\"They've got resources enough,\" he said. \"It isn't as if they had\n     the excuse that the country's poor. It's a good country. Move the\n     population of a lively Colorado town to Rhatore, set up a good\n     local paper, organise a board of trade, and let the world know what\n     is here, and we'd have a boom in six months that would shake the\n     empire. But what's the use? They're dead. They're mummies. They're\n     wooden images. There isn't enough real, old-fashioned, downright\n     rustle and razzle-dazzle and 'git up and git' in Gokral Seetaram to\n     run a milk-cart.\"'\n\nSuch indeed might be the sentiments of an eager speculator who found\nhimself among primitive folk. But the discord of ideas puts the whole\npiece so completely out of tune as to produce only a harsh and jarring\nsensation; the rough Western man is thoroughly out of his element, and\nflounders heavily, like a cockney among mediaeval crusaders. This must\nbe taken in fairness to be the result of collaboration, for in his own\nshort stories Mr. Kipling never commits solecisms of the kind; on the\ncontrary, he excels in the shading of strong local colours, and in\nthe rapid, unerring delineation of characters that stand out in clear\nrelief, yet blend with and act upon each other when they encounter.\nBut Mr. Kipling's volumes would require a separate article to\nthemselves, so that we will merely take this occasion of recording our\nwish that he may some day turn his unique faculty of painting real\nIndian pictures toward the composition of a novel which shall _not_ be\nabout Anglo-Indian society (for the thin soil of that field has\nalready been over-harrowed), but shall give a true and lively\nrendering of the thoughts which strike an imaginative Englishman when\nhe surveys the whole moving landscape of our Indian empire, watches\nthe course of actual events, and tries to forecast its probable\ndestiny.\n\nIt has been manifestly impossible in this brief article to do more\nthan touch upon a few books that may illustrate the prominent\ncharacteristics, and the general place in light literature, of Indian\nnovels. This must explain why we have omitted several other works, of\nwhich _Transgression_[15] is the latest. In this tale we have a sketch\nof life on the North-West Frontier at the present day, with some\nwell-known incidents of the Afridi War of 1897-98 introduced, and so\ncoloured from the writer's own point of view as to convey, under a\nthin varnish of fiction, some sharp and sarcastic criticism on the\nmanagement of affairs, the politics of the Government, and the\npersonal behaviour of certain officials, who can be at once\nidentified. Although the book is not without interest as a true\naccount of hazardous and stirring frontier duties, we are bound to\nrepeat our warning that this abuse of the novel for controversial\npurposes is not only unfair, but profoundly inartistic. No literary\nsuccess, but failure and the confusion of styles, lies that way.\n\nWhat, then, are the conclusions which we may draw from this brief\nsurvey of the more prominent and typical Indian novels? To the\nrepertory of English fiction, which is perhaps the largest and most\nvaried that any national literature contains, they have undoubtedly\nmade a not unworthy contribution; for we may agree that fiction has\nsome, if not the highest, value when it produces an animated\nrepresentation of life and manners, even upon a limited and distant\nfield. In the present instance the narrow range of plot and character\nthat may be observed in the pure Anglo-Indian novel reflects the\nuniformity of a society which consists almost entirely, outside the\nPresidency capitals on the sea-coast, of civil and military\nofficials--a society that is also upon one level of class and of age,\nfor among the English in India there are neither old men nor boys and\ngirls; the men and women are in the prime of life, with a number of\nsmall children. This age-limit lops off from both ends of human\nexistence a certain proportion of the characters that are available\nfor filling up the canvas of the social novelist at home. And it is in\ntruth a peculiar feature, not only of Anglo-Indian society, but of the\nAnglo-Indian administration, because the enforced retirement of almost\nevery officer after the age of fifty-five years greatly diminishes the\ninfluence of weighty and mature experience exercised by the senior men\nin the services and government of most countries. In regard to the\nequality of class it may be observed that here also the lack of\nvariety produces a similar dearth of materials; we miss the\npicturesque contrasts of rich and poor, of townsfolk and country folk,\nof the diverse groups which make up a European population. The 'short\nand simple annals of the poor' cannot be woven into the Indian\ntapestry which records higher and broader scenes; the peasantry, for\nexample, whose quaint figures and idioms are so useful in English\nnovels, do not come into the Anglo-Indian tale. They cannot be blended\nin fiction with the foreign element because they are wholly apart in\nreality. In short, the whole company that play upon the exclusively\nAnglo-Indian stage belong to one grade of society, and the hero is\ninvariably a military officer.\n\nThe most popular of Anglo-Indian novels are probably those which deal\nin exact reproduction of ordinary incidents and conversation, related\nin a sprightly and humorous style. This accords with the taste of\npresent-day readers, many of whom take up a book only for the\nmomentary amusement that it gives them, and are well content with\ninterminable dialogues that do little more than echo, with a certain\nspice of epigram and smart repartee, the commonplaces interchanged\namong clever people at a country house or in a London drawing-room.\nNevertheless, we believe that Anglo-Indian fiction is seen at its best\nin the novel of action, since war and love-making must still, as\nformerly, rule the whole kingdom of romance; since as emotional forces\nthey are the same in every climate and country. Each successive\ncampaign in India, from the first Afghan War to the latest expedition\nacross the Afridi frontier, has furnished the Anglo-Indian writer with\na new series of striking incidents that can be used for his heroic\ndeeds and dire catastrophes, for new landscapes and figures, all of\nthem bearing the very form and stamp of impressive reality. If he is\nartist enough to avoid abusing these advantages, if he is neither an\nextravagant colourist nor a mere copyist or compiler, he has this\nfresh field to himself, he can give us a stirring narrative of\nfrontier adventures, he can sketch in the aspect of a country or the\ndistinctive qualities of a people that have preserved many of the\nfeatures which in Europe have now vanished into the dim realms of\nearly romance. His danger lies, as we have seen from some examples\nalready quoted, in the temptation to make too much use of the\nattractive materials that are readily found to hand in military\nrecords or in such a real tragedy as the Sepoy mutiny, so that the\nnovel is liable to become little more than authentic history related\nin a glowing, exuberant style of writing and portraiture.\n\nIn short, the Indian novel belongs to the objective outdoor class; it\nis full of open air and activity, and the introspective psychological\nvein is almost entirely wanting. There are, indeed, passages which\nindicate that peculiar sense of the correlation, so to speak, of the\nenvironment with the moods and feelings of men, the influence upon the\nhuman mind of nature--a sense which has inspired some of our finest\npoetry, and which is so well rendered by the best Russian novelists,\nby Tourgueneff and by Tolstoi. One work of Tolstoi's, _Les Cosaques_,\nmight be especially recommended for study to the Anglo-Indian novelist\nof the future, as an example of the true impress that can be made upon\na reader's mind by the literary art, when it succeeds in giving vivid\ninterest to the picture of a solitary officer's life upon a dull and\ndistant frontier.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[12] (1) _Tara._ By Meadows Taylor. London, 1898. (2) _Oakfield._ By\nWilliam D. Arnold. London, 1853. (3) _The Wetherbys, Father and Son._\nBy John Lang. London, ?1850. (4) _Mr. Isaacs._ By F. Marion Crawford.\nLondon, 1898. (5) _Helen Treveryan._ By John Roy. London, 1892. (6)\n_On the Face of the Waters._ By Mrs. Steel. London, 1896. (7) _Bijli\nthe Dancer._ By James Blythe Patton. London, 1898. (8) _The Chronicles\nof Dustypore._ By H. S. Cunningham. London, 1875. And other\nNovels.--_Edinburgh Review_, October 1899.\n\n[13] [Greek]\n    'alla chre ton katathaptein, hos ke thanesi,\n    nelea thumon echontas, ep hemati hoakrusants.'\n\n    (_Iliad_, xix. 228, 229.)\n\n[14] _Naulakha_, by Rudyard Kipling and W. Balestier. London, 1892.\n\n[15] _Transgression_, by S. S. Thorburn. London, 1899.\n\n\n\n\nHEROIC POETRY[16]\n\n\nI have taken the words 'Heroic Poetry' to signify the poetry of\nstrenuous action, the art of describing in vigorous animating verse\nthose scenes and emergent situations in which the energies of mankind\nare strung up to the higher tones, and where the emotions are brought\ninto full play by the exhibition of valour, endurance, and suffering.\nIt seems to me remarkable that modern English poetry, with all its\nsplendid variety, should have produced very little in this particular\nform; because no one can deny that the latter-day story of the English\nhas been full of enterprise and perilous adventure, providing ample\nmaterial to the artist who knows how to use it. Nor can it be said\nthat there is any lack of demand for this sort of poetry, and\nconsequently little inducement to supply it. On the contrary, any one\ncan see that hero worship is as strong as ever, that any striking\nincident, or example of personal valour, or exploit of war, brings out\nthe verse-writer, and that his efforts, if only very moderately\nsuccessful, are sure to win him great popularity.\n\nBut it must be admitted that most of these efforts fail rather\nlamentably, insomuch that at the present day we may seem to be losing\none of the finest forms of a noble art. From this point of view there\nmay be some advantage in looking back to the heroic poetry of earlier\nages, and in endeavouring to mark briefly and imperfectly its\ndistinctive qualities, to recall the conditions and circumstances in\nwhich it flourished, and possibly to hazard some suggestions as to\nthe causes of its decline.\n\nI do not know any recent book which throws more light upon this\nsubject than Professor Ker's book on _Epic and Romance_, published in\n1897. It is, to my mind, most valuable as an exposition of the right\nnature and methods of heroic narrative, in poetry and in prose. The\nauthor has the rare gift of insight into the ways and feelings of\nprimitive folk, and the critical faculty of discerning the\ncharacteristics of a style or a period, showing how men, who knew what\nto say and the right manner of saying it, have shaped the true form of\nheroic poetry. We can see that its elementary principles, the methods\nof composition in verse and prose, are essentially the same in all\ntimes and countries, in the _Iliad_, in the Icelandic Sagas, in the\nold Teutonic and Anglo-Saxon poems, and to some extent in the French\nChansons de Geste; they might be used to-morrow for a heroic subject\nby any one gifted with the requisite skill, imagination, and the eye\nfor impressive realities.\n\n     'Few nations have attained, at the close of their heroic age, to a\n     form of poetical art in which men are represented freely in action\n     and conversation. The labour and meditation of all the world has\n     not discovered, for the purposes of narrative, any essential\n     modification of the procedure of Homer.'\n\nProfessor Ker's essays are a brilliant and scholarly contribution to\nthe external history of poetical forms: and it would be great\npresumption in me to attempt a review of his work. But it is so\neminently suggestive, and to my mind so valuable as a study for verse\nwriters of the present day, that I have ventured to place this book in\nthe foreground of an attempt to sketch rapidly some clear outline of\nthe conditions and the essential qualities of heroic poetry, which is\ntoo commonly regarded as an easy off-hand kind of versification,\nlargely made up of dash, glowing words, and warlike clatter; although\nin reality nothing is more rare or difficult than success in it.\n\nWe may say, then, that the first heroic poets and tale-tellers were\nthose who related the deeds and sufferings, the life and death of the\nmighty men of earlier times; and that their verse was the embodiment\nof the living traditions of men and manners. They were bards and\nchroniclers who lived close enough to the age of which they wrote to\nunderstand and keep touch with it--an age when battles and adventures\nwere ordinary incidents in the annals of a tribe, a city, or a\ncountry--when valour, skill at arms, and a stout heart were supremely\nimportant, being almost the only virtues that led to high distinction\nand a great career. Heroic poetry of the higher kind could not exist\nin a period of mere barbarism, for among barbarous folk there is no\nart of poetic form. It could not have arisen before the people were so\nfar civilised as to have among them artistic singers or story-tellers\nwho gave fine and forcible expression to the acts they celebrated or\nthe scenes they described.\n\nThe old heroic poets were neither too near to the time of which they\nsung or wrote, nor too far from it; and this gave them another special\nadvantage, they had a good audience. The song, or the story, must have\noften been recited before listeners to whom the whole subject was more\nor less familiar, who knew the facts and ways of war, the true aspect\nand usages of a rough and perilous existence. They were too well\nacquainted, at any rate, with such things to be captivated by vague\nimaginative descriptions of fighting and refined chivalrous methods of\ndealing with a mortal foe, such as are found in the later Romance.\nAmong primitive folk there would have been no taste for fantastic,\nallegoric, and extravagant though highly poetical accounts of\nvalorous exploits by noble knights, with their tournaments and their\nadventures with giants, dwarfs, or enchanters. The tradition was of a\ncommunity encompassed by dangers for men and for women, where life and\ngoods depended on strength and sagacity. And so the original hero was\nstrictly a practical soldier, a man who knew his business, who had\nvery few troublesome scruples; he was a man of war from his youth up,\nstruggling with arduous circumstance; and he usually came at last, as\nin actual life, to a bloody though glorious end. For the experience of\na rough age is that the drama mostly finishes tragically, not happily\nas in a modern novel. There was always a strain of Romance in the\nheroic tale, and softer feelings were never quite absent: but all this\nwas subordinate to facts: whereas Romance seems to have prevailed and\ngrown popular in proportion as the writer stood further away from the\nactualities, trusted to imagination rather than to authentic\nexperience, preferred literary ornament to probability, and indeed\ntook his readers as far away as possible from scenes or situations\nwhich they could recognise or verify.\n\nIt may thus be suggested that the essential quality of Heroic poetry\nis this--that it gives a true picture of the time. Not that the poet\nwas an eye-witness of what he narrated, or even that he lived in the\nsame generation with the men or the events that he celebrated. On the\ncontrary, the distance which lends enchantment to the view is needed\nto surround heroes with a golden haze of glorification. But the bard\ndid live on the outer edge, so to speak, of the period which he wrote\nabout; he was more or less in the same atmosphere; his audience kept\nhim very near the truth because they could detect any exaggeration,\nabsurdity, or very unlikely incident; just as we should mark and\nreject any particularly foolish story of the war that might appear in\nto-morrow's newspaper. They would indeed swallow strange marvels of a\nsupernatural kind, the doings of gods and goddesses, and of magicians.\nBut I think it will be agreed that in all ages this has been a\nseparate matter, because men will believe what is plainly miraculous,\nwhen they will not accept what is merely improbable. So far as the\nnatural world was concerned, the heroic artist worked upon genuine\nmaterial, transmitted orally or by fragmentary records, producing a\nright image of remarkable men and the world in which they lived. It\nwas a world, in most cases, of small communities and petty wars, in\nwhich a good chief or warrior came rapidly to the front, and was\nall-important individually.\n\nThe word Hero is one of those Greek words which have been adopted into\nall European languages, because they signify precisely a universal\nidea of the thing. He must be strong and able in battle, for a lost\nfight might mean the death or slavery of all his people. If the hero\ndoes his living and dying in a noble fashion, the folk trouble\nthemselves very moderately about minor questions of religion or\nethics, and are very moderately scandalised by occasional ferocity.\nSuch a man is not to be hampered by ordinary rules; he is like a\ngeneral commanding in the field, who may do anything for the\npreservation of his army, and the consequence is that he is seldom\nexpected to moralise. He acknowledges and pays great honour to the\ncardinal virtues of truth-speaking, mutual fidelity, hospitality,\nstrict observance of pledges. He is in many ways a religious man;\nthough he is apt to break away from the priests when they interfere\nseriously with the business in hand. For the chastity of wives he has\na high esteem, yet although he and his people are constantly brought\ninto trouble about women, he is tolerant of them, even when their\nbehaviour is what might be called regrettable; he treats them in some\ndegree as irresponsible beings, on the ground, perhaps, that they are\nthe only non-combatants in the world as he knows it, and that this\ngives them special privileges. We can measure the importance of such a\npersonage in ancient days, by the noise which a first-class hero made\nin the primitive world. He became literally and figuratively immortal:\nhe was regarded as a god, or at least godlike--the greatest of them\nwere actually deified. He was seized upon by fable, myth, miraculous\nlegend, and poetry--his name was handed down for centuries until the\nheroic lineaments were softened down, disfigured, and at last faded\naway in the magical haze of later Romance. But in very rare instances\nhe had the good luck to be taken in hand, before it was too late, by\nsome man of genius, who knew the temper of heroic times because he\nlived within range of them, and who has preserved for us a story, an\nincident, or a typical character--not, indeed, an authentic narrative,\nfor the true story disappears under the tradition which is built over\nit; nor would such accurate knowledge be of much use to the poet,\nwhose business it is only to give us a fine spirited account of what\nmight have occurred. For the evidence that an ancient battle was\nreally fought we must go to the historian; the poet will tell us how\nit was fought, he stirs the blood and fires the imagination by his\ntale of noble deeds and deaths. His strength rests upon the foundation\nof reality that underlies his artistic construction: he has never let\ngo his hold upon sound experience: and the truth is felt in all the\ncolour and detail of the picture, though the whole is a work of vivid\nimagination. We cannot verify, obviously, the facts and motives which\nled to the siege of Troy, although Herodotus appears to agree that the\ncause of that war was a Spartan woman's abduction, and only examines\nthe point whether the Asiatic or the European Greeks were first to\nblame in the matter. Professor Murray prefers to believe in a myth\ngrowing out of the strife of light and darkness in the sky: but the\nrape of beautiful girls by seafaring rovers was evidently common\nenough in those times, so why should not the Homeric version be right?\nWe can always be sure that the old poems represent accurately life,\nmanners, and character; and from the analogy of those legends whose\norigin is known, we may fairly infer that the root of a famous story,\ndivine or human, is first planted in fact, not in fancy; just as the\nChanson de Roland is founded on a real battle in the pass of\nRoncevalles.\n\nSuch, therefore, were the conditions and fortunate coincidences which\nproduced the finest heroic poetry. You had the popular hero--the noble\nwarrior who knew his business; and you had also the poet or\nstory-teller who knew his art, could give you a dramatic picture\nfounded upon fact, and could always keep close to reality, without\ncrowding his canvas with unnecessary particulars; he gave you the\nruling motives, actions, and feelings of the age. The excellence of\nthe work lay in simplicity and directness of treatment, in a sureness\nof line drawing, in a power of striking the right note, whether of\npraise or sorrow, of glory or grief. There is no staginess or\nfar-fetched emotion, or artificial scene-painting: the style strikes\nthe right chords of passion or pity, and stamps upon the mind a vivid\nimpression of situation and character. Moreover, the heroic poet, as a\ncomposer, had this advantage in early days, that continual recital\nbefore an appreciative public must have had the effect of polishing up\nhis best verses, and polishing off his bad ones. As the theme was\nalways some well-known story or personage, it was possible to omit\ndetails and explanations, and to go straight to the points that\nrepetition had proved to be the most effective, so that the criterion\nof excellence must have been immediate popularity with the audience as\nin a play. It may be conjectured also that the metre, in length of\nline and cadence, formed itself to a great degree on the natural\nconditions of oral delivery and listening. For all poetry, I think,\nmakes its primary appeal to the ear; and the modern habit of reading\nit seems to me to have thrown this essential test of quality somewhat\ninto the background. The arrangement of metre and rhyme may have been\ngradually invented to correspond with and satisfy that natural\nexpectation of the recurrence of certain tones and measures which\nalways delights primitive men, and of which one may possibly trace\nsome symptoms even in animals, as when the snake sways slowly to the\nsimple sounds of a snake-charmer's pipe. The order of all modern\nversification (except in blank verse, which is never popular) depends\non the echoing rhyme, which marks time like the stroke of a bell, and\nis waited for with keen anticipation by the sensitive listener. It is\nstrange, to my mind, that such a beautiful creation as the beat of\ntonic sounds at a line's terminal should have been comparatively so\nrecent a discovery in European poetry.\n\nThat a master of this art must have been very rare is shown by the\nvery few pieces of first-class heroic poetry still extant out of the\nimmense quantity that must have been attempted in different ages and\ncountries. Yet the materials lie strewn around us, awaiting the\nskilful hand; they are to be found wherever a high-spirited warlike\nrace is fighting its way upward out of barbarism into some less\nwretched stage of society that may allow breathing time for working\nthe precious mines of recent traditions. The state of society\ndescribed in some Icelandic Sagas, for example, with its hereditary\nblood feuds and perpetual assassinations, with its code of honour\nmaking vengeance a pious duty, its tariff of blood money, and its\ncouncil for adjusting civil and criminal wrongs, has a close\nresemblance to everyday life among the free Afghan tribes beyond the\nNorth-West Frontier of India. But the Saga writers flourished, I\nunderstand, when this state of things had passed or was passing away;\nwhile the Afghans are still a rude illiterate folk who have only\nsongs, recited by the professional bards. The best collection of these\npopular songs has been made by a Frenchman, the late James\nDarmesteter, who remarks that 'English people in India care little for\nIndian songs'; though one may reply that he has made use of English\nwriters and collectors of frontier folklore, and indeed he\nacknowledges his debt to Mr. Thorburn's excellent book on _Bannu or\nour Afghan Frontier_. However that may be, we have here, in these\nunwritten lays, the stuff out of which is developed, first, the\nestablished tradition, and, secondly, not only poetry but also the\nbeginnings of history, for these lays are the oral records of\ncontemporary events--'c'est le cri meme de l'histoire.' They tell of\nthe last Afghan War, and of the most famous border forays made by the\nEnglish lords on the Afghan marches: they preserve the names and deeds\nof English officers and of the leading warriors of the Afghan tribes:\nthey tell how Cavagnari 'drank the stirrup-cup of the great journey'\nwhen the English mission was slaughtered at Kabul in 1879, and how\nGeneral Roberts, his heart shot through with grief, set out in fiery\nspeed on his avenging march against the Afghan capital. Here then is\nfor the modern historian a rare opportunity of comparing the\ncontemporary popular version of events with exact authentic official\nrecord; and the result ought to aid him in deciding, by analogy, what\nvalue is to be placed on similar material that has been handed down\nin the ancient songs and stories of other countries. He will be\nfortified, I think, in the sound conclusion that all far-sounding\nlegend has a solid substratum of fact. As poetry, these songs render\nforcibly the temper and feelings of the people; they illustrate their\nvirtues and vices, their worship of courage and devotion to the clan,\ntheir fanaticism and ferocity. The sense of Afghan honour, in the\nmatter of sheltering a guest, is shown in the ballad which relates how\na son killed his father for violating this law of hospitality. Like\nall popular verse, the Afghan songs have their recurrent phrases and\nfamiliar commonplaces; yet, says Darmesteter,\n\n     'in spite of the limited range of ideas and interests, and a rather\n     low ideal, all such defects find their excuse in the passion, the\n     simplicity, the direct spontaneous outspeaking, that supreme gift\n     which has been lost in our intellectual decadence.'\n\nThe stirring events of the time have been immediately put into verse;\nthe scenes and feelings are struck off in the die of actual\ncircumstance; the heated metal takes a clear-cut impression. It is in\nrough songs like these that are to be found the germs of the higher\nheroic poetry. The ballad, the short stories, the favourite anecdotes\nof remarkable men at their exploits, have the luck to fall, later,\ninto the hands of a skilful reciter or verse-maker; they are enlarged,\nknit together, and fashioned according to the ideas of the day, with\nan infusion of rhetoric and literary decoration. The heroic ideal, to\nuse Professor Ker's words, is thus worked up out of the sayings and\ndoings of great men of the fore-time, who stand forth as the type and\nembodiment of the virtues and vices of their age, as it was conceived\nby poets who could handle the popular traditions. And we may guess\nthat all anecdotes, words of might, and feats of arms that were\ncurrent before and after him, if they were appropriate to the type,\nwould cluster round the hero, and be used for bringing his character\ninto strong relief. We can even discern this tendency in modern\nsociety, where a notable personage, like the Duke of Wellington or\nTalleyrand, is credited with any vigorous or caustic saying that suits\nthe idea of him, and may be passed on in another generation to the\naccount of the next popular favourite. The literary habit of providing\nimpressive 'last words' for great men at death's door might be taken\nas another example of the magnetic attraction of types.\n\nOf course the perfect samples of heroic verse, of famous songs and\nstories woven into an epic poem, are to be found in Homer.[17]\nNowhere, in the whole range of the world's poetry, can we see such\nsplendid impersonations of primitive life and character treated\nartistically. Yet the plot is simple enough. Agamemnon, the chief\ncommander of the Greek army, has carried off the daughter of a priest\nof Apollo, and flatly refuses to give her back; whereupon the priest\nappeals to the god, who brings the chief to reason by spreading a\nplague in the Grecian camp; and so the girl goes home with apologies.\nBut Agamemnon indemnifies himself by seizing a captive damsel\nbelonging to Achilles, who, being justly infuriated, will go no more\nto battle, but sits sulkily in his tent, until the Greek army is very\nnearly destroyed, for want of his help, by the Trojans.\n\nHere we have at once a picture of manners not unlike those of the\nAfghan tribes, though very differently treated. The poet is at no\npains to put on any moral varnish, or to tone down the roughness\nromantically; because he is writing, or reciting, for people of much\nthe same way of thinking as his heroes, who are fierce chiefs\nquarrelling over captured women; and the whole plot is developed by\nsheer pressure of circumstance and character. Then on the Trojan side\nwe have the figure of Hector, the true patriotic hero, who is\nnaturally displeased with Paris for the abduction of Helen, which has\nbrought a disastrous war upon Troy; yet what is done cannot be undone,\nand his clear duty is to fight for his own people. To Helen herself he\nis gentle and kind; and the religious men only irritate him when they\ninterfere in military matters. But although he is far the noblest\ncharacter in the whole poem, he is eventually slain by Achilles, for\nthe plain reason that Achilles is the most terrible warrior of both\narmies. It was Hector's fate, which is the poet's way of saying that\nthe inexorable logic of facts, as he knows them, must always prevail.\n\nWith regard to the position of women in Homeric poetry. They are\nmainly irresponsible creatures: how could they be otherwise, when\neverything depends on the sword, and a woman cannot wield it? As the\nequality of sexes implies a high state of civilisation and security,\nso in the old fighting times a woman had to stand aside; yet though\nshe could not take part in a battle, there were incessant battles\nabout her: the fatal woman, who is the ruin of her country, is\nwell-known in all legend and romance, from Helen of Troy to La Cava,\nwhose seduction by King Roderick brought the Moors into Spain.[18] In\nthe _Iliad_ King Priam treats Helen with delicate consideration, as is\nseen in the beautiful passage that describes her sitting by him on the\nwalls of Troy, and pointing out to him the leaders of the Greek army\nmarshalled in the plain before them. Nor is any more perfect female\ncharacter to be found in poetry than Andromache, Hector's wife,\nhigh-spirited, virtuous, and passionately affectionate. Yet Helen,\nthe erring woman, is brought home eventually by Menelaus, and appears\nagain in the _Odyssey_ as a highly respected matron, who has had an\nadventure in early life; while Andromache, having seen her husband\nslain and dragged round the walls of Troy behind the chariot of\nAchilles, is carried off a childless widow into dolorous servitude.\n\nHere one may feel the tragic power of an artist who draws life from\nthe sombre verities, not as it is seen through the romantic colouring\nof a softer moralising age; he never wastes himself on vain\nlamentations, never suggests that virtue will save you from bitter\nunmerited calamity: he gives the true situation. There is one short\npassage in the _Odyssey_ where the poet, merely by the way, and to\nillustrate something else, lets us have a glimpse of an incident that\nwas probably familiar to him and his audience. He wishes to show what\nhe means by a burst of grief, and this he does, not by a string of\nepithets, but by a picture.[19]\n\nFrom the historic books of the Old Testament, particularly from the\nbooks of Samuel and the Kings, one might take some fine specimens of\nthe peculiar quality distinguishing the heroic style, in prose that is\nvery near poetry. Nothing can be more simple than the narrative, it is\ncool and quiet: there are whole chapters without an unnecessary\nadjective; and yet it is most impressive, both in the drawing of such\ncharacters as Saul, David, and Joab, who stand out dramatically, like\nHomeric heroes, and in the stories of their deeds and death.\n\nProfessor Ker's essays contain a masterly and luminous survey of the\nvicissitudes undergone by the songs and legends of Western and\nNorthern nations in the course of transmutation from the primitive\nheroic stage into deliberate literary composition. The original\nmaterial never attained the grand epical form; the process was\ninterrupted by the advancement of learning, by ecclesiastical\ninfluences, and by vast social changes.\n\n     'Even before the people had fairly escaped from barbarism, before\n     they had made a fair beginning of civilisation and of reflective\n     literature on their own account, they were drawn within the Empire,\n     within Christendom.'\n\nA similar fate, it may here be noticed, has overtaken, or awaits, the\nheroic songs of the Afghans; for Darmesteter tells us that as the oral\ntradition becomes written it falls into the net of translation and\nparaphrase, it is absorbed into the elegant literature of Persia,\nArabia, and Hindustan, it becomes theological and romanesque. And\nanother dangerous enemy has now appeared in the shape of the\nAnglo-Indian schools which follow and fix the English dominion; for\nthe primitive folklore has no more chance against systematic education\nthan the wild fighting men have against drilled and disciplined\nsoldiers. In Europe the Sagas of Iceland, which lay furthest from the\ncivilising influences, had the luck of preserving the true elements of\nheroic narrative; and the Anglo-Saxon poem of Beowulf, though it falls\nfar short of the epic, has a certain Homeric flavour. The chief is the\n'folces-hyrde,' his people's shepherd; and we have Beowulf, like\nHector,[20] desiring that after his death a mound may be raised at the\nheadland which juts out into the sea, 'that seafaring men may\nafterward call it Beowulf's Mound, they who drive from far their\nroaring vessels over the mists of the flood.'[21]\n\nLet us turn now to the romantic poetry of England, which for some\ncenturies ruled all our imaginative literature, and annexed, so to\nspeak, almost the whole field of battles, adventures, and energetic\nactivity generally. The subjects are much the same: the gallantry of\nmen, the beauty, virtues, and frailties of women: but the writers have\ngot a loose uncertain grip upon the actualities of life; they wander\naway into fanciful stories of noble knights, distressed damsels, and\nmarvellous feats of chivalry--in short they are _romancing_. They care\nlittle whether the details accord with natural fact--whether, for\ninstance, the account of a fight is incredible to any one who knows\nwhat a battle really is; the heroes are chivalrous knight-errants,\nnoble, pious, devoted to their lady loves; but they are not\nhard-headed, hard-fisted men like Ulysses, David, or some old\nIcelandic sea-rover. The true heroic spirit shoots up occasionally,\nnevertheless the prevailing idea of the romance-writer is to tell a\nwondrous tale of love and adventure, in which he lets his fancy run\nriot, rather enjoying than avoiding magnificent improbabilities.\nUndoubtedly the beautiful mystic romance of the Morte d'Arthur does\nlight up at the end with a true flash of heroic poetry, in the famous\nlamentation over Lancelot, when he is found at last dead in the\nhermitage: but in this passage the elegiac strain rises far above the\nordinary level of romantic composers. Meanwhile, as the English nation\nat home settled down into peaceful habits under the strong organising\npressure of Church and State, and arms gave way to laws, the hero's\noccupation disappeared from our everyday society, and the heroic\ntradition decayed out of imaginative literature, which was often\npicturesque, sublime, and profoundly reflective, but had parted with\nthe special qualities of energetic simplicity and the vivid impression\nof fact. Nevertheless, heroic poetry in this sense has never been\nquite extinguished in Great Britain; it survived, naturally, wherever\nit could be preserved by a living popular tradition. And so it found a\ncongenial refuge, though in greatly reduced circumstances, in the\nrough outlying regions where personal strength and daring were still\nvitally necessary--in the borderland between England and Scotland. An\nepic poem gave heroic poetry on a grand scale, it told the incidents\nof a great war: the ballad tells of a single skirmish or foray. Yet\nthe difference is but one of degree, for both epic and ballad were\ncomposed for men and by men, who were in the right atmosphere; and so\nwe have here very different work from that of the fanciful romancer.\nThere are not many good examples; yet the antique tone rings out now\nand then, as in the ballad of Chevy Chase, which commemorates a fierce\nNorthumbrian fight at Otterburne that must have stirred the hearts of\nthe whole countryside. Here you have no knightly tournament, or duel\nfor rescue of dames, but the sharp clash of bloody conflict between\nEnglish and Scots borderers, the best fighting men of our island. Of\ncourse the genuine account, given in Froissart, is very different; but\nthe ballad-singer knows his art; and whereas from history we only\nlearn that a Scottish knight, Sir Hugh Montgomery, was slain in the\nmedley, in the ballad an English archer draws his bow\n\n    'An arrow of a cloth yard long\n      To the hard head hayled he.'\n\nAnd then\n\n    'Against Sir Hugh Montgomery\n      So right his shaft he set,\n    The swan's feather that his arrow bare\n      In his heart's blood was wet.'\n\nIn the compressed energy of these four lines, without an epithet or a\nsuperfluous word, we have a picture, drawn by a sure hand, of a man\ndrawing his long bow, and driving it from steel to feathers through a\nknight in armour.\n\nWell, the border fighting disappeared with the union of the two\nkingdoms, and as Great Britain became civilised and began to transfer\nher wars oversea, the heroic verse decayed under the influence of the\nhigher culture. For a civilised and literary society to have preserved\nits ancient lays and ballads is the rarest of lucky chances; the\nenthusiastic collector, like Percy or Walter Scott, is generally born\ntoo late, for indeed all antiquarianism is a very modern task. And\npoetry of this sort must decay under what Shakespeare calls 'the\ncankers of a calm world': while it also tends to disappear with the\nintroduction of professional soldiers and great armies, where personal\nheroism counts for little. These may be, I suppose, the main reasons\nwhy great wars produce so little heroic verse: it may be questioned\nwhether even our civil wars of the seventeenth century inspired any\ngenuine poetry of this sort. And when in the eighteenth century the\nclang of arms had completely died away at home, the battle pieces were\ndone after an artificial literary fashion, by writers who were content\nto describe vaguely the charging of hosts, the thunder of cannon, the\ngroans of the wounded, and other such mechanical generalities.\n\nIf any one could have revived the true heroic style, it would have\nbeen done by Walter Scott, with his delight in the border minstrelsy,\nand his martial ardour; but the romantic spirit was too strong upon\nhim. He had laid hold of the right tradition, could give picturesque\nscenes and characters of a bygone time, and _Bonnie Dundee_ is a\nringing ballad; yet his style in the longer metrical tales is\ndistinctly romantic and conventional. If he had not been writing for\nreaders to whom the rough riders of the Border in the sixteenth\ncentury were totally strange and unreal beings, he could never have\nsaid that they\n\n    'Carved at the meal with gloves of steel,\n    And drank the red wine through the helmet barred.'\n\nAn unsophisticated audience would have laughed outright at such a\ncomical performance. And we can see how Scott, as a poet of the\nbattlefield, had become possessed with the idea that the grand style\nmust be a lofty strain, something magnificently unusual, by his two\npoems upon Waterloo, which are fine failures; though we may admit the\nimpossibility of making a heroic poem out of a battle that has just\nbeen minutely described in newspapers. On the other hand, his prose\nnovels afford us a remarkable example of the two styles contrasted.\nWhen he wrote of the middle ages, as in _Ivanhoe_, _The Talisman_, and\nothers, he was a pure romancer; whereas in his Tales of Scotland in\nthe seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, in the _Legend of Montrose_,\n_Old Mortality_, _The Bride of Lammermoor_, there are two or three\nrapid sketches of sharp fighting which are true and spirited, full of\nvivacity and character. On this ground he trod firmly, knowing the\ncountry, the times, and the people of Scotland: while the petty\nskirmishes at Drumclog or Bothwell Brig were easier to manage\nartistically than a great battle. Poetry, indeed, like painting, can\ndo nothing on a vast scale, cannot manage masses of men; and moreover\nit fails to deal effectively with a state of war in which mechanical\nskill and the tactical movement of large bodies of troops win the day.\nThere may be as much personal heroism as ever, but it is lost in the\nmultitude. Nevertheless sea-fighting, where separate ships may\nencounter and grapple like two mortal foes, with the deep water\naround and beneath them, gives heroism a better chance; and the\nmariner is always a poetic figure. So Thomas Campbell did rise very\nnearly to the heroic level in his poem on the battle of the Baltic,\nwritten when the true story of Nelson's famous exploit was still\nfresh; we have a clear and forcible impression of the British ships\nmoving silently to the attack; and the closing lines touch the ancient\never-living feeling of gratitude to Captain Riou and his brave\ncomrades, 'so tried and yet so true,' who fell in the great victory.\n\nWith this exception, the prolonged conflict between England and\nFrance, which lasted twenty years up to its end at Waterloo, struck\nout hardly a spark of heroic poetry. Yet the Peninsular War is full of\nsplendid military exploits, of fierce battles and the desperate\nstorming of fortresses: it was a period of great national energy, when\nthe people were contending with all their heart and strength against a\nmost dangerous enemy; it was also a time when England was singularly\nrich in poets of the highest order. Nevertheless the only verses that\nmay be assigned to the peculiar class which I have been attempting to\ndefine, were written, not by one of the famous group of poets, but by\nan unknown hand; and they relate not to a great battle, but to a\nslight incident, not to a victory, but to a hasty retreat. I am\nalluding to the well-known stanzas on the _Burial of Sir John Moore_,\nwho was killed at Corunna in 1809; and my apology for quoting anything\nso hackneyed must be that it is trite by reason of its excellence; for\na short poem, like a single happy phrase, wins incessant repetition\nand lasting popularity, because the words precisely fit some universal\nfeeling. Why have these verses made such an effect that they are\nfamiliar to all of us, and fresh as when they were first read? Is it\nnot because the writer had one clear flash of imaginative light,\nwhich showed him the reality of the scene, so that the description\nspeaks for itself, without literary epithets, creating, as the French\nsay, the true image. He struck the right note of soldierly emotion,\nbrief, stern, and compressed, when there is no time for vain\nlamentation--as when in the _Iliad_ Ulysses says to Achilles, who is\ninconsolable for the death of his friend, that a soldier must bury his\ncomrade with a pitiless heart, and that in war a day's mourning is all\nthat can be spared for slain men.[22]\n\nIt may be allowable to suggest, therefore, among the reasons for the\nprevailing dearth and scarcity of first-class heroic poetry,\nnotwithstanding the universal demand for it, the impossibility of thus\nhandling war on a great scale, and also the serious difficulty of\ngiving this poetic form to contemporary events, which are not easily\ngrouped in artistic perspective because they are so accurately\ndescribed elsewhere. This suggestion may derive support from the\nobservation that whenever, in our own day, we have had brief samples\nof verse-writing with a strain of the genuine old quality, they have\nalmost always come from a distant scene, usually from the frontiers of\nthe British Empire, far away from the centres of academic culture and\nthe fields of organised war. Two or three of Rudyard Kipling's short\npoems about life on the Afghan border and Indian camp life have the\nright ring: they are instinct with the colour and sensation of the\nenvironment: they stir the blood with a conviction of reality. If it\nbe permissible for a moment to compare these rough energetic verses\nwith the battle pieces of an immeasurably greater artist--with\nTennyson's _Charge of the Light Brigade_, for example--one may see\nthat in the poetry of action the grand style misses something which\nhas been caught by the eye that has seen the thing itself; the Charge\nis a splendid composition, but the frontier ballad sets you down on\nthe ground and shows you life.\n\nUndoubtedly, also, the romantic literary style, which prevailed so\nlong in this country, and which is the natural product of high\nculture, has been unfavourable, because it was radically unsuitable,\nto the poetry of energetic action. It is true that all the highest\ncompositions of the heroic poet are set off by a tinge of romance, as\nfine drawing is perfected by superb colouring; but the drawbacks of\nromance lie in a tendency to vagueness of thought, and to the\npreference of archaic words and overstrained sentiments which were\ngiven as poetic mainly because they were far-fetched and did not sound\ncommonplace. In fact the later poets adopted mechanically the strong\nnatural language of those who wrote under the inspiration of actual\nemotion or events, and therefore they used it awkwardly and\nineffectively; or else in their consciousness of not knowing how\nthings really happened, they kept within sonorous generalities, which\nare the resource of artistic impotence. In our own day we have\nwitnessed a sharp revolt against romantic verse, and a reversion\ntoward those forms of art which reflect the actual experience of men,\ntoward precision and accurate detail: Romance has been abandoned for\nwhat is called Realism. But here we are threatened by a danger from\nthe opposite direction: for a clumsy Realist is apt to suppose that\nhis business is merely to describe facts without adding anything out\nof his own imaginative faculty, that he may bring his characters on\nthe stage in their daily garb, in the dirty slovenliness with which\nthey go about dreaming or acting in their own petty sphere,[23] and so\nhe overcharges with technicalities or trivial particulars.\nNevertheless one may say that the poetry of action has found better\nmethods since it shook off the influence of fantastic romance, and is\ndistinctly improving: though its strength lies in short pieces\nrepeating some notable incident or dramatic situations bringing out\ncharacter, which is just where it began originally, and where indeed\nit is likely to remain, for the epic poem, or heroic verse on the\ngrand scale, may be thought to have disappeared finally.\n\nTo conclude a very brief and inadequate dissertation, we may, I think,\nlay it down as a principle of the art, that heroic poetry must be true\nto circumstances and to character, must have the qualities of\nsimplicity and sincerity, combined with the magnetic power of stirring\nthe heart by showing how men and women can behave when really\nconfronted by danger, death, or irremediable misfortune. Its\nbackground, in skilful hands, is the contrast of calm Nature looking\non at human strife and sorrow, at stern fortitude and energetic effort\nin tragic situations. We are reading every day of such situations in\nthe South African War, where there has been no lack of brave men 'so\ntried and yet so true,' who have found themselves back again suddenly\nin the rough fighting world of their forefathers, and have felt and\nacted like the men of old time. There is abundant proof that the\nEnglish folk can display as much heroism as ever men did; but we may\nlook in vain for the poet who knows how to commemorate their valour\nand patriotic self-sacrifice in heroic verse.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[16] _Anglo-Saxon Review_, June 1900.\n\n[17] _Epic and Romance_, p. 15.\n\n[18]\n    'Ay Espana\n        Perdita por un gusto y por La Cava.'\n\n    _Romance del Rey Rodrigo._\n\n[19]\n    So doth a woman weep, as her husband in death she embraces,\n    Him, who in front of his people and city has fallen in battle,\n    Striving in vain to defend his home from the fate of the vanquished.\n    She there, seeing him die, and gasping his life out before her,\n    Clings to him bitterly moaning. And round her the others, the foemen,\n    Beat her, and bid her arise, and stab at her back with the lances,\n    Dragging her off as a slave to the bondage of labour and sorrow.\n\n    _Odyssey_, viii. 523-29.\n\n[20] _Iliad_, vi. 86-90.\n\n[21] Arnold's translation.\n\n[22] _Iliad_, xix. 228-29.\n\n[23] Lessing.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WORKS OF LORD BYRON[24]\n\n\n'When the year 1900 is turned, and our nation comes to recount her\npoetic glories in the century which has then just ended, the first\nnames will be Wordsworth and Byron.' Thus wrote Matthew Arnold in\n1881, and now that the century's last autumn is passing away, a new\nedition of Byron's works appears in the fullness of time to quicken\nour memories and rekindle our curiosity, by placing before us a\ncomplete record of the life, letters, and poetry of one whom Macaulay\ndeclared in 1830 to be the most celebrated Englishman of the\nnineteenth century, and who seventy years later may still be counted\namong its most striking and illustrious figures.\n\nAs the new edition is issued by instalments, and several volumes are\nstill to come, to compare its contents, arrangement, and the editorial\naccessories with those of preceding editions might be thought\npremature. We may say, however, that a large number of Byron's\nletters, not before printed, have now been added; and that the text of\nthis new material has been prepared from originals, whereas it is now\nimpossible so to collate the text of the greater number of the letters\nheretofore published. Moore is supposed to have destroyed many of\nthose entrusted to him; and moreover he handled the originals very\nfreely, making large omissions, and transposing passages from one\nletter to another, though we presume that he did not re-write and\namplify passages after the fashion in which certain French editors\nhave dealt with recent memoirs. The letters now for the first time\npublished by Mr. Murray were for the most part inaccessible to Moore.\nBut for all these details we may refer our readers to the concise and\nvaluable prefaces appended to the three volumes of Letters and\nJournals.\n\nWe have now, therefore, a substantial acquisition of fresh and quite\nauthentic material, though it would be rash to assume that all\nimportant documents are included, for the family archives are still\nheld in reserve. It is admitted by the editor that the literary value\nof the letters now printed for the first time is not high, but he\nexplains that in publishing, with a few exceptions, the whole\navailable correspondence, he has acted on the principle that they form\nan aggregate collection of great biographical interest, and may thus\nserve as the best substitute for the lost memoirs. We may agree that\nany scrap of a great man's writing, or even any words spoken, may\nthrow some light upon his character, whether the subject be trivial or\ntremendous, a business letter to his solicitor or a defiance of\nsociety; for even though careless readers chance to miss some pearl\nstrung at random on a string of commonplaces, to the higher criticism\nnothing is quite valueless. In this instance, at any rate, no pains\nhave been spared to place the real Lord Byron, as described more or\nless unconsciously by himself, before his fellow-countrymen; and the\nresult is to confirm his reputation as a first-class letter-writer.\nThe private and confidential correspondence of eminent literary men\nwould be usually more decorous than interesting; but Byron, though he\nis not always respectable, is never dull. The correspondence and\njournals, taken all together, constitute the most interesting and\ncharacteristic collection of its kind in English literature.\n\nIn regard to the effect upon his personal reputation, we have long\nknown what manner of man was Byron; nor is it likely that, after\npassing in review the complete array of evidence collected in these\nvolumes, the general verdict of posterity will be sensibly modified.\nThose who judge him should bear in mind that perhaps no famous life\nhas ever been so thoroughly laid bare, or scrutinised with greater\nseverity. The tendency of biographers is to soften down errors and\npraise where they can; and in an autobiography the writer can tell his\nown story. But the assiduous searching out and publication of every\nletter and diary that can be gathered or gleaned is a different\nordeal, which might try the reputation of most of us; while in the\ncase of an impulsive, wayward, high-spirited man, exposed to strong\ntemptations, with all a poet's traditional irritability, whose rank\nand genius concentrated public attention on his writings from his\nearly youth, this test must be extremely severe. Many of the letters\nare of a sort that do not ordinarily appear in a biography. Byron's\nletters to his wife at the time of their separation, which are\nmoderate and even dignified, are supplemented by his wife's letters to\nhim and to her friends, full of mysterious imputations; and there are\nletters to and from the lady with whom his _liaison_ was notorious.\nHis own reckless letters from Venice to Moore, and those from Shelley\nand others describing his dissipated habits, were clearly never\nintended for general reading after his death. Of course most of these\nare not now produced for the first time, nor do we argue that they\nought never to have appeared, for the biographical interest is\nundeniable. Our point is that the publication of such private and\ndamaging correspondence is so very unusual in biographies that it\nplaces Byron at a special disadvantage, and that when we pass our\njudgment upon him we are bound to take into account the unsparing use\nthat has been made of papers connected with the most intimate\ntransactions of a lifetime which was no more than a short and stormy\npassage from youth to manhood; for he was cut off before the age at\nwhich men abandon the wild ways of their springtide, and are usually\ndisposed to obliterate the record of them. At least one recent\nbiography might be mentioned which would have read differently if it\nhad been compiled with similar candour.\n\nThe annotations subjoined to almost every page of the text are so\nample and particular as to furnish in themselves extensive reading.\nThe notices of every person named would go far to serve as a brief\nbiographical dictionary of Byron's contemporaries, whether known or\nunknown to fame. We get a concise account of Madame de Stael--her\nbirth, books, and political opinions--very useful to those who had no\nprevious acquaintance with her. Lady Morgan and Joanna Southcote\nobtain quite as much space as would be allotted to them in any\nhandbook of celebrities. Beau Brummell and Lord Castlereagh are\ntreated with similar liberality. There is a full account, taken from\nthe _Examiner_, of the procession with which Louis XVIII. made his\nentry into London in 1814. The notes--of about four pages each--upon\nHobhouse and Lord Carlisle may be justified by their close connection\nwith Byron's affairs; though some of us might have been content with\nless. Allusions to such notorious evildoers as Tarquin are explained,\nand stock quotations from Shakespeare have been carefully verified.\nThe result is that a reader might go through this edition of Byron\nwith the very slightest previous knowledge of general literature or of\ncontemporary history, and might give himself a very fair middle-class\neducation in the process, although the consequence might be to imbue\nhim with what Coleridge has called 'a passion for the disconnected.'\nNevertheless we readily acknowledge the thorough execution of this\npart of the editorial work, and the very meritorious labour that has\nbeen spent upon bringing together every kind of document and reference\nthat can inform or enlighten us upon the main subjects of Byron's life\nand writings. In the poems the practice of giving in notes the rough\ndrafts and rejected versions of passages and lines, so as to show the\npoet at work, seems to us not altogether fair to him, and is\noccasionally distracting to those readers who enjoy a fine picture\nwithout asking how the colours were mixed, or are not anxious about\nthe secrets of a good dinner. Yet to students of method, to the\nfellow-craftsman, and to the literary virtuoso, these variant\nreadings, of which there are sometimes four to a single line, may\noften be of substantial interest, as throwing light on the tendencies\nand predilections of taste which are the formative influences upon\nstyle in prose or poetry.\n\nProbably the most favourable circumstance for a poet is that he should\nonly be known, like the Divinity of Nature, from his works; or at\nleast that, like Wordsworth, he should keep the noiseless tenor of his\nway down some secluded vale of life, whereby his poems stand out in\nclear relief like fine paintings on a plain wall. Is there any modern\nEnglish poet of the first class, except Byron, whose entire prose\nwritings and biography are bound up in standard editions with his\npoetry? The question is at any rate worth asking, because certainly\nthere is no case in which the record of a poet's private life and\npersonal fortunes has so greatly affected, for good or for ill, his\npoetic reputation. Those who detested his character and condemned his\nway of living found it difficult to praise his verses; they detected\nthe serpent under every stone. For those who were fascinated by the\npicture of a reckless prodigal, always in love and in debt, with\nfierce passions and a haughty contempt for the world, who defied\npublic opinion and was suspected of unutterable things--such a\npersonality added enormous zest to his poetry. But now that Byron's\nwhole career has been once more laid out before his countrymen, with\nlight poured on to it from every cranny and peephole, those who take\nup this final edition of his life and works must feel that their main\nobject and duty should be to form an unbiased estimate of the true\nvalue, apart from the author's rank and private history, of poems\nwhich must always hold a permanent place in the high imaginative\nliterature of England.\n\nIt may be said that every writer of force and originality traverses\ntwo phases of opinion before his substantive rank in the great order\nof merit is definitely fixed: he is either depressed or exalted\nunduly. He may be neglected or cheapened by his own generation, and\npraised to the sides by posterity; or his fame may undergo the inverse\ntreatment, until he settles down to his proper level. Byron's\nreputation has passed through sharper vicissitudes than have befallen\nmost of his compeers; for though no poet has ever shot up in a brief\nlifetime to a higher pinnacle of fame, or made a wider impression upon\nthe world around him, after his death he seems to have declined\nslowly, in England, to a point far below his real merits. And at this\nmoment there is no celebrated poet, perhaps no writer, in regard to\nwhom the final judgment of critics and men of letters is so\nimperfectly determined. Here is a man whom Goethe accounted a\ncharacter of unique eminence, with supreme creative power, whose\npoetry, he admitted, had influenced his own later verse--one of those\nwho gave strenuous impulse to the romantic movement throughout\nEngland, France, and Germany in the first quarter of this century, who\nset the fashion of his day in England, stirred and shaped the popular\nimagination, and struck a far resonant note in our poetry. Yet after\nhis death he suffered a kind of eclipse; his work was much more unduly\ndepreciated than it had been extolled; while in our own time such\ncritics as Matthew Arnold and Mr. Swinburne have been in profound\ndisagreement on the question of his worth and value as a poet. Nor is\nit possible for impartial persons to accept the judgment of either of\nthese two eminent artists in poetry, since Arnold placed Wordsworth\nand Byron by anticipation on the same level at this century's end,\nwhereas Wordsworth stands now far higher. And the bitter disdain which\nSir. Swinburne has poured upon Byron's verse and character, though\ntempered by acknowledgment of his strength and cleverness, and by\napprobation of his political views, excites some indignation and a\nsympathetic reaction in his favour. One can imagine the ghost of Byron\nrebuking his critic with the words of the Miltonic Satan, 'Ye knew me\nonce no mate For you, there sitting where ye durst not soar'; for in\nhis masculine defiant attitude and daring flights the elder poet\novertops and looks down upon the fine musical artist of our own day.\n\nSome of the causes which have combined to lower Byron's popularity are\nnot far to seek. The change of times, circumstance, and taste has been\nadverse to him. The political school which he so ardently represented\nhas done its work; the Tory statesmen of the Metternich and\nCastlereagh type, who laid heavy hands upon nations striving for light\nand liberty, have gone down to their own place; the period of stifling\nrepression has long ended in Europe. Italy and Greece are free, the\nlofty appeals to classic heroism are out of date, and such fiery\nhigh-swelling trumpet notes as\n\n    'Yet, Freedom! yet, thy banner, torn, but flying,\n    Streams like a thunderstorm _against_ the wind,'\n\nfall upon cold and fastidious ears. 'The day will come,' said Mazzini\nin after-years, 'when the democracy will acknowledge its debt to\nByron;' but the demos is notoriously ungrateful, and the subject races\nhave now won their independence. The shadow of discouragement and\nweariness which passed over sensitive minds at the beginning of this\ncentury, a period of political disillusion, has long been swept away\nby the prosperity and sanguine activities of the Victorian era; and\nthe literary style has changed with the times. Melancholy moods,\nattitudes of scornful despair, tales of fierce love and bloody revenge\nare strange and improbable to readers who delight in situations and\nemotions with which they are familiar, who demand exactitude in detail\nand correct versification; while sweet harmonies, perfection of metre,\nmiddle-class pastorals, and a blameless moral tone came in with\nTennyson. In short, many of the qualities which enchanted Byron's own\ngeneration have disenchanted our own, both in his works and his life;\nfor when Macaulay wrote in 1830 that the time would come when his\n'rank and private history will not be regarded in estimating his\npoetry,' he took no account of future editions enlarged and annotated,\nor of biographies of _The Real Lord Byron_; whereby it has come to\npass, as we suspect, that the present world knows more of Byron's\nprivate history than of his poems. His faults and follies stand out\nmore prominently than ever; his story is more attractive reading than\nmost romances; and the stricter morality of the day condemns him more\nseverely than did the society to which he belonged. Psychological\nspeculation is now so much more practised in literature than formerly,\nthere is so much more interest in 'the man behind the book,' that\nserious moral delinquencies, authentically recorded and eagerly read,\noperate more adversely than ever in affecting the public judgment upon\nByron's poetry, because they provide a damaging commentary upon it.\nHis contemporaries--Coleridge, Keats, Shelley--lived so much apart\nfrom the great world of their day that important changes in manners\nand social opinion have made much less difference in the standard by\nwhich their lives are compared with their work. Their poetry,\nmoreover, was mainly impersonal. Whereas Byron, by stamping his own\ncharacter on so much of his verse, created a dangerous interest in the\nman himself; and his _empeiria_ (as Goethe calls it), his too\nexclusively worldly experience, identified him with his particular\nclass in society, rendering him largely the responsible representative\nof a libertinism in habits and sentiments that was more pardonable in\nhis time than in our own. His poetry belongs also in another sense to\nthe world he lived in: it is incessantly occupied with current events\nand circumstance, with Spain, Italy, and Greece as he actually saw\nthem, with comparisons of their visible condition and past glories,\nwith Peninsular battlefields, and with Waterloo. Of worldliness in\nthis objective meaning his contemporaries had some share, yet they\ninstinctively avoided the waste of their power upon it; and so their\nfinest poetry is beautiful by its detachment, by a certain magical\nfaculty of treating myth, romance, and the mystery of man's\nsympathetic relations with universal Nature.\n\nA recent French critic of Chateaubriand, who defines the 'romantisme'\nof that epoch as no more than a great waking up of the poetic spirit,\nsays that the movement was moral and psychological generally before it\nspread into literature. In criticising Byron's poetry we have to bear\nin mind that he came in on the first wave of this flood, which\noverflowed the exhausted and arid field of poetry at the end of the\nlast century, fertilising it with colour and emotion. The comparison\nbetween Byron in England and Chateaubriand in France must have been\noften drawn. The similarity in their style, their moody, melancholy\noutlook upon common humanity, their aristocratic temper, their\nself-consciousness, their influence upon the literature of the two\ncountries, the enthusiasm that they excited among the ardent spirits\nof the generation that reached manhood immediately after them, and the\nvain attempts of the elder critics to resist their popularity and deny\ntheir genius--form a remarkable parallel in literary history. As\nJeffrey failed at first to discern the promise of Byron, so Morellet\ncould only perceive the obviously weak points of Chateaubriand, laying\nstress on his affectations, his inflated language, his sentimental\nexaggeration, upon all the faults which were common to these two men\nof genius, the defects of their qualities, the energetic rebound from\nthe classic level of orderly taste and measured style. It was the\nancient _regime_ contending against a revolutionary uprising, and in\npoetry, as in politics, the leaders of revolution are sure to be\nexcessive, to force their notes, to frighten their elders, and to\nscandalise the conservative mind. Yet just as Chateaubriand, after\npassing through his period of depression, is now rising again to his\nproper place in French literature, so we may hope that an impartial\nsurvey of Byron's verse will help to determine the rank that he is\nlikely to hold permanently, although the high tide of Romance in\npoetry has at this moment fallen to a low ebb, and the spell which it\nlaid upon our forefathers may have lost its power in an altered world.\n\nIt must be counted to the credit of these Romantic writers that at any\nrate they widened and varied the sphere and the resources of their\nart, by introducing the Oriental element, so to speak, into the\nimaginative literature of modern Europe. They brought the lands of\nancient civilisation again within the sphere of poetry, reviving into\nfresh animation the classic glories of Hellas, reopening the gates of\nthe mysterious East, and showing us the Greek races still striving, as\nthey were twenty-two centuries earlier, for freedom against the\nbarbarous strength of an Asiatic empire. Byron was the first of the\npoets who headed this literary crusade for the succour of Christianity\nagainst Islam in the unending contest between East and West on the\nshores of the Mediterranean, and in this cause he eventually died.\nChateaubriand, Lamartine, and Victor Hugo were also travellers in\nAsia, and had drawn inspiration from that source; they all\ninstinctively obeyed, like Bonaparte, the impulse which sends\nadventurous and imaginative spirits toward that region of strong\npassions and primitive manners, where human life is of little matter,\nand where the tragic situations of drama and fiction may at any time\nbe witnessed in their simple reality. The effect was to introduce\nfresh blood into the veins of old romance; and Byron led the van of an\nillustrious line of poets who turned their _impressions de voyage_\ninto glowing verse, for the others only trod in his footsteps and\nwrote on his model, while Lamartine openly imitated him in his\n_Dernier Chant de Childe Harold_. For the first time the Eastern tale\nwas now told by a poet who had actually seen Eastern lands and races,\ntheir scenery and their cities, who drew his figures and landscape\nwith his eye on the objects, and had not mixed his local colours by\nthe process of skimming books of travel for myths, legends, costume,\nor customs, with such result as may be seen in Moore's _Lalla Rookh_\nand in Southey's _Thalaba_, or even in Scott's _Talisman_. The preface\nto this novel shows that Scott fully appreciated the risk of competing\nwith Byron, albeit in prose, in the field of Asiatic romance, yet all\nhis skill avails little to diminish the sense of conventional\nfigure-drawing and of uncertainty in important details when they are\nnot gathered in the field, but only transplanted from the library.\n\nByron has noticed in one of his letters the errors of this kind into\nwhich a great poet must fall whose accurate observation has been\nconfined mainly to his own country. 'There is much natural talent,' he\nwrites, 'spilt over the _Excursion_, yet Wordsworth says of Greece\nthat it is a land of\n\n    'Rivers, fertile plains, and sounding shores\n      Under a cope of variegated sky.\n\nThe rivers are dry half the year, the plains are barren, the shores\nstill and tideless, the sky is anything but variegated, being for\nmonths and months beautifully blue.'\n\nThis may be thought trivial criticism, yet it is evidence of the\nattention given by Byron to precise description. His accuracy in\nOriental costume was also a novelty at that time, when so little was\nknown of Oriental lore that even Mr. Murray 'doubted the propriety of\nputting the name of Cain into the mouth of a Mohammedan.' With regard\nto his characters, we may readily admit that in the _Giaour_ or the\n_Bride of Abydos_ the heroes and heroines behave and speak after the\nfashion of high-flying Western romance, and that their lofty\nsentiments in love or death have nothing specifically Oriental about\nthem. But this was merely the romantic style used by all Byron's\ncontemporaries, and generally accepted by the taste of that day as\nessential to the metrical rendering of a passionate love-story. It may\nbe argued, with Scott, that when a writer of fiction takes in hand a\ndistant age or country, he is obliged to translate ideas and their\nexpression into forms with which his readers are, to some extent,\nfamiliar. Byron seasoned his Oriental tales with phrases and imagery\nborrowed from the East; but whatever scenic or characteristic effects\nmight have thus been produced are seriously marred by the explanatory\nnotices and erudite references to authorities that are appended to the\ntext. This fashion of garnishing with far-fetched outlandish words, in\norder to give the requisite flavour of time or place, was peculiar to\nthe new romantic school of his era; it was the poetical dialect of the\ntime, and Byron employed it too copiously. Yet, with all his faults,\nhe remains a splendid colourist, who broke through a limited mannerism\nin poetry, and led forth his readers into an unexplored region of\ncloudless sky and purple sea, where the serene aspect of nature could\nbe powerfully contrasted with the shadow of death and desolation cast\nover it by the violence of man.\n\nUndoubtedly this contrast, between fair scenery and foul barbarism,\nhad been presented more than once in poetry; yet no one before Byron\nhad brought it out with the sure hand of an eye-witness, or with such\nardent sympathy for a nation which had been for centuries trodden\nunder the feet of aliens in race and religion, yet still clung to its\nancient traditions of freedom. Throughout his descriptive poems, from\n_Childe Harold_ to _Don Juan_, it is the true and forcible impression,\ntaken from sight of the thing itself, that gives vigour and animation\nto his pictures, and that has stamped on the memory the splendid\nopening of the _Giaour_, the meditations in Venice and Rome, the\nglorious scenery of the Greek islands, and even such single lines as\n\n    'By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone.'\n\nIn the art of painting what may be called historical landscape, where\nretrospective associations give intellectual colour to the picture,\nByron has very few rivals. His descriptions of the Lake of Geneva, of\nClarens, of the Trojan plain--\n\n    'High barrows, without marble or a name,\n      A vast, untilled, and mountain-skirted plain,\n    And Ida in the distance'--\n\nhave the quality of faithful drawing illumined by imaginative power.\nThey have certainly touched the emotions and enhanced the pleasure of\nall travellers in the last three generations whose minds are\naccessible to poetic suggestion; and if at the present day their style\nbe thought too elaborate and the allusions commonplace, it cannot be\ndenied that the fine art of English composition would be poorer\nwithout them. The stanzas in _Childe Harold_ on Waterloo are full of\nthe energy which takes hold of and poetically elevates the incidents\nof war--the distant cannon, the startled dancers, the transition from\nthe ball-room to the battlefield, from the gaiety of life to the\nstillness of death. Nothing very original or profound in all this, it\nmay be said; yet the great difficulty of dealing adequately with\nheroic action in contemporary verse, of writing a poem on a campaign\nthat has just been reported in the newspapers, is exemplified by the\nfact that Walter Scott's two compositions on Waterloo are failures;\nnor has any poet since Byron yet succeeded in giving us a good modern\nbattlepiece.\n\nNevertheless there is much in Byron's longer poems (excepting always\n_Don Juan_) that seems tedious to the modern reader; there are\ndescriptions and declamations too long drawn-out to sustain the\ninterest; and there are many lines that are superfluous, untidy, and\nsometimes ungrammatical. One can only plead, in extenuation of these\ndefects, that the fashion of his day was for long metrical romance, in\nwhich it is difficult to maintain the high standard of careful\ncomposition exacted by the latest criticism. It is almost impossible\nto tell a long story in verse that shall be throughout poetical. And\none main reason why this fashion has nearly passed away may be\nsurmised to be that the versified narrative cannot adapt itself in\nthis respect to the present taste, which is impatient of fluent\nlengthy heroics, refusing to accept them for the sake of some finely\nexecuted passages. Southey's epics are now quite unreadable, and many\nof the blemishes in Byron's poetry are inseparable from the romantic\nstyle; they are to be found in Scott's metrical tales, which have much\nredundancy and some weak versification; while his chiefs and warriors\noften talk a stilted chivalrous language which would now be discarded\nas theatrical. Byron's personages have the high tragic accent and\ncostume; yet one must admit that they have also a fierce vitality; and\nas for the crimes and passions of his Turkish pashas and Greek\npatriots, he had actually seen the men and heard of their deeds. The\nfact that he also portrayed more unreal characters in dismal\ndrapery--Lara, Conrad, and Manfred, as the mouthpieces of splenetic\nmisanthropy--has led to some unjust depreciation of his capacity for\nveritable delineation. Macaulay, for example, in his essay on Byron,\nobserves that 'Johnson, the man whom Don Juan met in the slave-market,\nis a striking failure. How differently would Sir Walter Scott have\ndrawn a bluff, fearless Englishman in such a situation!' and Mr.\nSwinburne echoes this criticism. But it is unfair to compare a minor\ncharacter, slightly sketched into a poem for the purposes of the plot,\nwith the full-length portrait that might have been made of him by a\nfirst-class artist in prose. The proper comparison would be between\nthe figures in the metrical romances of the two poets, whereby it\nmight be shown that Scott could take as little trouble as Byron did\nabout an unimportant subsidiary actor. In regard to the leading heroes\nand heroines, Scott's poetic creations are hardly more interesting or\ndramatic than Byron's; and whenever he makes, even in prose, an\nexcursion into Asia, his figure-drawing becomes conventional. But he\nwas usually at the disadvantage, from which Byron was certainly free,\nof being hampered by an inartistic propensity to make virtuous heroes\ntriumph in the long run.\n\nYet it must be admitted that no poet of the same calibre has turned\nout so much loose uneven work as Byron. His lapses into lines that are\nlame or dull are the more vexatious to the correct modern ear when, as\nsometimes happens, they spoil a fine passage, and in the midst of a\nsuperb flight his muse comes down with a broken wing. In the subjoined\nstanza, for example, from the Waterloo episode in _Childe Harold_, the\nfirst five lines are clear, strenuous, and concise, while the next\nthree are confused and clumsy; so that though he recovers himself in\nthe final line, the general effect is much damaged:\n\n    'Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,\n      Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay,\n    The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife,\n      The morn the marshalling in arms--the day\n    Battle's magnificently stern array.\n      The thunder-clouds close o'er it, _which when rent,\n      The earth is covered thick with other clay,\n      Which her own clay shall cover_, heaped and pent,\n    Rider and horse--friend, foe--in one red burial blent.'\n\nThese blots, and there are many, become less pardonable when we\nobserve, from the new edition, that Byron by no means neglected\nrevision of his work. But his impetuous temper, and the circumstance\nof his writing far from the printing-press, encouraged hasty\nexecution; and though the most true remark that 'easy writing is\ndevilish hard reading' is his own, though he praised excessively the\nchiselled verse of Pope, he was always inclined to pose as one who\nthrew off jets of boiling inspiration, and in one letter he compares\nhimself to the tiger who makes or misses his point in one spring. He\nranked Pope first among English poets, yet he learnt nothing in that\nschool; he pretended to undervalue Shakespeare, yet he must have had\nthe plays by heart, for his letters bristle with quotations from them.\nHis avowed taste in poetry is hard to reconcile with his own\nperformances: his verse was rushing, irregular, audacious, yet he\noverpraises the smooth composition of Rogers; he dealt in heroic\nthemes and passionate love-stories, yet Crabbe's humble pastorals had\ntheir full charm for him. Except Crabbe and Rogers, he declared, 'we\nare all--Scott, Wordsworth, Moore, Campbell, and I--upon a wrong\nrevolutionary poetical system, not worth a damn in itself;' but among\nthese are some leaders of the great nineteenth-century renaissance in\nEnglish verse; and Byron was foremost in the revolt against unnatural\ninsipidity which has brought us through romance to realism, by his\nclear apprehension of natural form and colour, and even by the havoc\nwhich he made among conventional respectabilities. He dwelt too\nincessantly upon his own sorrows and sufferings; and in the gloomy\nsoliloquies of his dramatic characters we have an actor constantly\nreappearing in his favourite part. Yet this also was a novelty to the\ngeneration brought up on the impersonal poetry of the classic school;\nand here, again, he is a forerunner of the self-reflecting analytical\nstyle that is common in our own day; for there is a Byronic echo in\nthe 'divine despair' of Tennyson. The melancholy brooding spirit,\ndissatisfied with society and detesting complacency, had for some time\nbeen in the air; it had affected the literature of France and Germany;\nWerther, Obermann, and Rene are all moulded on the same type with\nChilde Harold; yet Sainte-Beuve rightly says that this identity of\ntype does not mean imitation--it means that the writers were all in\nthe same atmosphere. There is everywhere the same reaction against\nphilosophic optimism and the same antipathy to the ways of mankind 'so\nvain and melancholy,' They sought refuge from inborn ennui or\nirritability among the mountains, on the sea, or in distant voyages,\nand they instinctively embodied these moods and feelings in various\npersonages of fiction, in the solitary wanderer, in the fierce outlaw,\nin the man 'with chilling mystery of mien,' who rails against heaven\nand humanity. Their literature, in short, however overcoloured it may\nhave been, did represent a generally prevailing characteristic among\nmen of excessive sensibility at a time of stir and tumult in the world\naround them; it was not a mere unnatural invention, though we must\nleave to the psychologist the task of tracing a connection between\nthis mental attitude and the circumstances that generated it. But the\nself-occupied mind has no dramatic power, and so their repertory\ncontained one single character, a reproduction of their own in\ndifferent attitudes and situations. Chateaubriand may be said never to\nhave dropped his mask; whereas Byron, whose English sense of humour\nmust have fought against taking himself so very seriously, relieved\nhis conscience by lapses into epigram, irony, and persiflage. Thus in\nthe same year (1818), and from the same place (Venice), he produced\nthe fourth canto of _Childe Harold_, full of deep longing for unbroken\nsolitude:\n\n    'There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,\n      There is a rapture on the lonely shore,\n    There is society, where none intrudes,\n      By the deep sea, and Music in its roar;'\n\nand also _Beppo_, a satirical sketch of the loose and easy Venetian\nsociety in which he was actually living. Here, again, his somewhat\nribald letters from Venice do his romantic poetry some wrong; but in\nfact he had a diabolic pleasure in betraying himself, and his\n_Memoires d'Outre Tombe_, if they had been preserved, would have been\nvery different from Chateaubriand's elaborate autobiography.\n\nIt was the spectacle of Christians groaning under Turkish oppression,\nand of their heroic resistance, that inspired three of Byron's finest\npoems, the _Giaour_, the _Bride of Abydos_, the _Siege of Corinth_. On\nthis subject he was so heartily in earnest that he could even lose\nsight of his own woes; and notwithstanding the exuberance of colour\nand sentiment, these tales still hold their place in the first rank of\nmetrical romance. Their construction is imperfect, even fragmentary;\nyet while Scott could put together and tell his story much better, not\neven Scott could drive it onward and sustain the verse at a high level\nwith greater energy, or decorate his narrative with finer description\nof scenery, or give more intensity to the moments of fierce action.\nThe splendid apostrophe to Greece in the _Giaour_--\n\n    'Clime of the unforgotten brave!\n    Whose land from plain to mountain cave\n    Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave'--\n\nhas forty lines of unsurpassed beauty and fire, written in the\nmanuscript, as a note tells us, in a hurried and almost illegible\nhand--an authentic example of true improvisation which the elaborate\npoets of our own day may match if they can. The tumid phrase and\nmelodramatic figuring--\n\n    'Dark and unearthly is the scowl\n    That glares beneath his dusky cowl'--\n\nare now worn-out theatrical properties; yet those who have seen the\nuntamed Asiatic might find it hard to overdraw the murderous hate and\nsullen ferocity that his face, or his victim's, will occasionally\ndisclose. The heroes, at any rate, love and die in a masculine way; it\nis the old tragic theme of bitter unmerited misfortune, of daring\nadventure that ends fatally, without any of the wailing sensuality\nthat infects the more harmonious poetry of a later day. There are,\nperhaps, for modern taste, too many outlandish words and references to\nEastern customs or beliefs, requiring glossaries and marginal\nexplanations; nor does the profuse annotation of the present edition\nlighten a reader's burden in this respect. Byron had no business to\nwrite 'By pale Phingari's trembling light,' leaving us at the mercy of\nassiduous editors to expound that 'Phingari' is the Greek [Greek:\nphengarion], and stands here for the moon. And if he could have spared\nus such Orientalisms as 'Al Sirat's arch,' or 'avenging Monkir's\nscythe,' we should have mixed up less desultory reading with the\nenjoyment of fine passages. He gives us too much of his local\ncolouring, he checks the rush of his verse by superfluous metaphors,\nhe has weak and halting lines. The style is heated and fuming, yet the\ndainty art-critic who lays hands on such metal thrown red hot from the\nforge may chance to burn his fingers over it. Nor must we forget that\nin these poems Byron brought the classic lands of Greece and the\nLevant within the sphere of modern romance, and has unquestionably\nadded some 'deathless pages' to English literature.\n\nByron has told us why he adopted for the _Corsair_, and afterwards for\n_Lara_, 'the good old and now neglected heroic couplet':\n\n     'The stanza of Spenser is, perhaps, too slow and dignified for\n     narrative, though I confess it is the measure after my own heart;\n     Scott alone, of the present generation, has hitherto triumphed\n     completely over the fatal facility of the octosyllabic verse; and\n     this is not the least victory of his fertile and mighty genius; in\n     blank verse Milton, Thomson, and our dramatists are the beacons\n     that shine along the deep, but warn us from the rough and barren\n     rocks on which they are kindled.'[25]\n\nWe doubt much, from a comparison of the poems, whether the experiment\nof changing his metre was successful. The short eight-syllabled line\ndisplayed Byron's capacity for vigorous concision and swift movement;\nit is eminently suited for strength and speed; whereas in the slow\nprocessional couplet he becomes diffuse, often tedious; he has room\nfor more rhetoric and verbosity; he falls more into the error of\ndescribing at length the character and sentiments of his gloomy\nheroes, instead of letting them act and speak for themselves. At\nmoments when inspiration is running low, and a gap has to be filled\nup, the shorter line needs less padding, and can be more rapidly run\nover when it is weak. Whereas a feeble heroic couplet becomes\nponderous and sinks more quickly into bathos--as in the following\nsample from the _Corsair_:\n\n    'Oh! burst the Haram, wrong not on your lives\n    One female form--remember--_we_ have wives.'\n\nAnd the consequence has been that _Lara_ and the _Corsair_ are now,\nwe believe, the least readable of Byron's metrical romances.\n\nOf Byron's dramas we are obliged to say that, to borrow his own\nmetaphor, he would have fared better as a poet if he had taken warning\nfrom the beacons, and had given blank verse a wide berth, instead of\nsetting himself boldly on a course which, as he evidently knew, is\nfull of peril for fast-sailing, free-going versifiers. He saw that he\ncould not approach the great masters of this measure, he was resolved\nnot to imitate them; and so he appears to have chosen the singular\nalternative of writing nothing that should in the least resemble them.\nHis general object as a playwriter is stated, in a letter about\n_Sardanapalus_, to have been 'to dramatise striking passages of\nhistory and mythology.'\n\n     'You will find,' he adds most truly, 'all this very unlike\n     Shakespeare; and so much the better in one sense, for I look upon\n     him to be the worst of models, though the most extraordinary of\n     writers. It has been my object to be as simple and severe as\n     Alfieri, and I have broken down the poetry as nearly as I could to\n     common language.'\n\nAnd undoubtedly he did break it down so effectually that much of his\nblank verse hobbles like a lame horse, being often mere prose printed\nin short lines. Here are two specimens, not cut into lengths, which\nhave no metrical construction at all:\n\n     'Unless you keep company with him, and you seem scarce used to such\n     high society, you can't tell how he approaches.'[26]\n\n     'Where thou shalt pass thy days in peace, but on condition that the\n     three young princes are given up as hostages,'[27]\n\nMany others of the same quality might be given, in which the\n_disjecti membra poetae_ would be exceedingly hard to find. It is\nsurprising that a writer of Byron's experience should have fallen into\nthe error of supposing that simplicity could be attained by the mere\nuse of common language. For even Wordsworth, who is a master of simple\nstrength, could never allow his peasants to talk their ordinary\nvernacular without a fatal drop into the commonplace; and all verse\nthat is to be plain and unaffected in style and thought requires the\nmost studious composition. Byron seems scarcely to have understood\nthat blank verse has any rules of scansion, and his signal failure in\nthis metre has become less tolerable and more conspicuous, since Keats\nin his day, and Tennyson after him, have carefully studied the\nconstruction of blank verse, and have left us admirable examples of\nits capacity for romantic expression. It is indeed strange that Byron\nshould have fancied that he could use so delicate an instrument with a\nrough unpractised hand.\n\nThere are some vigorous passages scattered through the plays, and we\nhave it on record that Dr. Parr could not sleep a wink after reading\n_Sardanapalus_. Nevertheless, we fear that the present generation will\nfind little cause for demurring to Jeffrey's judgment upon the\ntragedies, that they are for the most part 'solemn, prolix, and\nostentatious.' They were not composed, as Byron himself explained,\n'with the most remote view to the stage,' so that he had not before\nhis eyes the wholesome fear of a critical audience. In truth it must\nbe admitted that he lacked the true dramatic instinct; he could only\nset up his leading figures to deliver imposing speeches appropriate to\na tragic situation; and one may guess that the consciousness of\nawkward handling weighed upon the spirit and style of his blank verse,\nfor his ear seems to have completely misled him when it had lost the\nguidance of recurrent rhyme. Of _Cain: a Mystery_, one must speak\nreverently, since Walter Scott, to whom it was dedicated, wrote that\nthe author had 'matched Milton on his own ground'; yet in Lucifer, who\nleads the dialogue, we have little more than a spectral embodiment of\nByron's own rebellious temper; and in this poem, as in _Manfred_, the\ndiscussion of metaphysical problems carries him beyond his depth.\nThere are, nevertheless, some fine declamatory passages; and we may\nquote as a curiosity one soft line, fresh from the Swiss mountains:\n\n                         'Pipes in the liberal air\n    _Mixed with the sweet bells of the sauntering herd_,'\n\nwhich is to be found in _Manfred_ and might have been taken from the\n_Excursion_.\n\nWhen we turn from the plays to the lyrics, we see at once the\nimportance, to a poet, of choosing rightly the metrical form that is\nthe best expression of his peculiar genius. In some of these shorter\npoems Byron rises to his highest level, and by these will his\npopularity be permanently maintained. They are certainly of very\nunequal merit; yet when Byron is condemned for artificiality and\nglaring colour, we may point to the poem beginning 'And thou art dead,\nas young and fair,' where form and feeling are in harmony throughout\neight long stanzas, without a single line that is feeble or\novercharged:\n\n    'The better days of life were ours;\n      The worst can be but mine;\n    The sun that cheers, the storm that lowers,\n      Shall never more be thine.\n    The silence of that dreamless sleep\n    I envy now too much to weep;\n      Nor need I to repine\n    That all those charms have passed away,\n    I might have watched through long decay.'\n\nThere is no novelty in the ideas, nor does he open the deeper vein of\nthoughts that touch the mind with a sense of mortality. Yet the verse\nhas a masculine brevity that renders effectively the attitude in which\nmen may well be content firmly to confront an irreparable misfortune.\n\nIn his poems of strenuous action, although Byron has not the rare\nquality of heroic simplicity, he could at times strike a high\nvibrating war note, and could interpret romantically the patriotic\nspirit. The two stanzas which we quote from the Hebrew Melodies show\nthat he could now and then shake off the redundant metaphors and\nepithets that overload too much of his impetuous verse, and use his\nstrength freely:\n\n    'Though thou art fall'n, while we are free\n      Thou shalt not taste of death!\n    The generous blood that flowed from thee\n      Disdained to sink beneath;\n    Within our veins its currents be,\n      Thy spirit on our breath.\n\n    'Thy name, our charging hosts along,\n      Shall be their battle word!\n    Thy fall, the theme of choral song\n      From virgin voices poured!\n    To weep would do thy glory wrong;\n      Thou shalt not be deplored.'\n\nAnd we have another magnificent example of Byron's lyrical power in\nthe _Isles of Greece_, where the two lines,\n\n    'Ah, no! the voices of the dead\n      Sound like a distant torrent's fall,'\n\ndrop suddenly into the elegiac strain, into a mournful echo that\ndwells upon the ear, followed by the rising note of a call to arms. It\nmust be remembered that nothing is so rare as a stirring war-song, and\nthat in our time we have had a good many attempts--almost all\nfailures; whereas the _Isles of Greece_ will long continue to stir the\nmasculine imagination of Englishmen.\n\nOn the other hand, it must be admitted that Byron's Occasional Pieces\nabound with cheap pathos, dubious fervour, and a kind of commonplace\nsentimentality that comes out in the form as well as in the feeling of\nhis inferior work. The rhymes are apt to be hackneyed, the similes are\nsometimes tagged on awkwardly instead of being weaved into the\ntexture, the expression has often lost its strength, and the emotion\nlacks sincerity. Byron, like his brother poets, wrote copiously what\nwas published indiscriminately; but if the first-class work had not\nbeen very good it would never have buoyed up above sheer oblivion so\nmuch that was third-rate and bad. His pieces are much _too_\noccasional, for he was prone to indulgence in hasty verse whenever the\nfit was upon him, or as a method of enlisting public sympathy with his\nown misconduct, so that he was constantly appearing before the world\nas a perfidious sentimentalist, with a false air of lamentation over\nthe misfortunes which he had brought upon himself, as in the Poems of\nthe Separation. Yet when he shook off his personal grief and took to\npolitics, no other poet could more vividly express his intense living\ninterest in the great events of his time, or strike the proper note of\nsome great catastrophe. It may be affirmed that the _Ode to Napoleon_\nis better than anything else that has been written in English upon the\nmost astonishing career in modern history:\n\n    'The triumph and the vanity,\n      The rapture of the strife--\n    The earthquake-voice of Victory,\n      To thee the breath of life;\n    The sword, the sceptre, and that sway\n    Which man seemed made but to obey,\n      Wherewith renown was rife--\n    All quelled; Dark Spirit, what must be\n    The madness of thy memory!\n\n    'The Desolator desolate!\n      The Victor overthrown!\n    The Arbiter of others' fate\n      A suppliant for his own!\n    Is it some yet imperial hope\n    That with such change can calmly cope?\n      Or dread of death alone?\n    To die a prince--or live a slave--\n    Thy choice is most ignobly brave.'\n\nIn the first of these two stanzas the seventh line is weak and breaks\nthe rapid rush of the verse; but the high pressure and impetus of the\npoem are sustained throughout twenty stanzas, producing the effect of\nan improvisatore who stops rather from want of breath than from any\nother lack of inspiration. In this respect the ode is a rare poetical\nexploit; for all poems composed under the spur of the moment, upon\nsome memorable incident that has just startled the world, must be more\nor less improvised, and must hit the right pitch of extraordinary\npopular emotion. It is the difficulty of turning out good work under\nsuch arduous conditions that has too often shipwrecked or stranded\nsome unlucky laureate.\n\nThere is one province of verse, if not exactly of poetry, in which\nByron reigns undisputedly, though it is far distant from the land of\nlyrics. In his latest and longest production, _Don Juan_, he tells us\nthat his 'sere fancy has fallen into the yellow leaf':\n\n    'And the sad truth which hovers o'er my desk\n    Turns what was once romantic to burlesque.'\n\nIt was in _Beppo: a Venetian Story_ that he dropped, for the first\ntime, the weapon of trenchant sarcasm and invective, with no very fine\nedge upon it, which he flourished in his youth, and took up the tone\nof light humorous satire upon society. He soon acquired mastery over\nthe metre (which was suggested, as is well known, by Hookham Frere's\n_Whistlecraft_); and in _Don Juan_ he produced a long, rambling poem\nof a kind never before attempted, and still far beyond any subsequent\nimitations, in the English language. Of a certainty there is much that\nit is by no means desirable to imitate, for the English literature\ndoes not assimilate the element of cynical libertinism, which indeed\nbecomes coarse on an English tongue. Yet it is remarkable that the\nWhistlecraft metre, although Byron could manage it with point and\nspirit, has never produced more than insipid _pastiche_ in later\nhands. But while _Beppo_ may be classed as pure burlesque, _Don Juan_\nstrikes various keys, ironical and voluptuous, grave and gay, rising\nsometimes to the level of strenuous realistic narrative in the\nepisodes of the shipwreck and the siege, falling often into something\nlike grotesque buffoonery, with much picturesque description, many\nanimated lines, and occasional touches of effective pathos. As a story\nit has the picaresque flavour of _Gil Blas_, presenting a variety of\nscenes and adventures strung together without any definite plot; as a\npoem its reputation rests upon some passages of indisputable beauty;\nwhile Byron's own experiences, grievances, and animosities, personal\nor political, run through the whole performance like an accompaniment,\nand break out occasionally into humorous sarcasm or violent\ndenunciations. That the overheated fervour of a stormy youth should\ncool down into disdainful irony, under the chill of disappointment and\nexhaustion, was natural enough; and this unfinished poem may be\nregarded as typical of Byron's erratic life, full of loose intrigue\nand adventure, with its sudden and premature ending.\n\nIt is in _Don Juan_ that Byron stands forth as the founder and\nprecursor of modern realism in poetry. He has now finally exorcised\nthe hyperbolic fiend that vexed his youth, he has cast off the\nillusions of romance, he knows the ground he treads upon, and his\npictures are drawn from life; he is the foremost of those who have\nventured boldly upon the sombre actualities of war and bloodshed:--\n\n    'But let me put an end unto my theme,\n      There was an end of Ismail, hapless town,\n    Far flashed her burning towers o'er Danube's stream,\n      And redly ran his blushing waters down.\n    The horrid warwhoop and the shriller scream\n      Rose still; but fainter were the thunders grown;\n    Of forty thousand that had manned the wall\n    Some hundreds breathed, the rest were silent all.'\n\n'A versified paraphrase,' it may be said, 'of sober history,' yet\nwithal very different from the most animated prose, which must be kept\nat a lower temperature of intense expression. If we turn to quieter\nscenes--which are called picturesque because the artist, like a\npainter, has selected the right subject and point of view, and has\ngrouped his details with exquisite skill--we may take the stanzas\ndescribing the return of the pirate Lambro to his Greek island--\n\n    'He saw his white walls shining in the sun,\n    His garden trees all shadowy and green'--\n\nas a fine example of pure objective writing, which lays out the whole\nscene truthfully, with the direct vision of one who has seen it. One\ndoes not find here the suggestive intimations, the wide imaginative\nhorizon of higher poetry; there are no musical blendings of sound and\nsense, as in such lines as Tennyson's\n\n    'By the long wash of Australasian seas.'\n\nYet in these passages Byron has after his own fashion served Nature\nfaithfully, and he has preserved to us some masterly sketches of life\nand manners that have long since disappeared. The Greek islands have\nsince fallen under the dominion of European uniformity; the costume of\nthe people, the form of their government, are shabby imitations of\nWestern models. But the cloudless sky, the sun slowly sinking behind\nMorea's hills, the sea on whose azure brow Time writes no wrinkle, and\nthe marbled steep of Sunium, are still unchanged; and the peaceful\ntourist in these waters will see at once that Byron was a true workman\nin line and colour, and will feel the intellectual pleasure that comes\nfrom accurate yet artistic interpretation of natural beauties.\n\nThe poem of _Don Juan_ is, therefore, a miscellany, connected on the\npicturesque side with _Childe Harold_, and by its mocking spirit with\n_Beppo_ and the _Vision of Judgment_, the two pieces that may be\nclassed as pure burlesque. The irreverent persiflage of the _Vision_\nbelongs to the now obsolete school of Voltaire, and in biting wit and\ndaring ridicule the performance is not unworthy of that supreme master\nin _diablerie_. Nor can it be asserted that this lashing sarcasm was\nundeserved, or that all the profanity was in Byron's parody, for\nSouthey's conception of the Almighty as a High Tory judge, with an\nobsequious jury of angels, holding a trial of George III., browbeating\nthe witnesses against him and acquitting him with acclamation, so that\nhe leaves the court without a stain on his character, was false and\nabject enough to stir the bile of a less irritable Liberal than Byron.\nThere exists, moreover, in the mind of every good English Whig a\nlurking sympathy with the Miltonic Satan, insomuch that all subsequent\nattempts by minor poets to humiliate and misrepresent him have\ninvariably failed. Southey's _Vision_, and Robert Montgomery's libel\nupon Satan, have each undergone the same fate of being utterly\nextinguished, knocked clean out of English literature by one single\ncrushing onslaught of Byron and Macaulay respectively.\n\nOur conclusion must be brief, for in fact it is not easy to propound\nto the readers of this Review any general observations, which shall be\nnew as well as true, upon a man's life and works that have been\nsubjected to incessant scrutiny and criticism throughout the\nnineteenth century. At the beginning of this period Byron found\nhimself matched, in the poetic arena, against contemporary rivals of\nfirst-class genius and striking originality. And from his death almost\nup to the century's close there has been no time when some\nconsiderable poet has not occupied the forefront of English letters,\nand stamped his impression on the public mind. Variety in style and\nideas has produced many vicissitudes of taste in poetry; it has been\ndiscovered that narrative can be better done in prose, and so the\nnovel has largely superseded story-telling in verse. There have also\nbeen great political and social changes, and all these things have\nseverely tested the staying powers of a writer who is too closely\nassociated with his own period to be reckoned among those wide-ranging\nspirits whom Shelley has called 'the kings of thought.' Nevertheless\nthe new edition of Byron is appearing at a moment which is, we think,\nnot inopportune. There is just now, as by a coincidence there was in\nthe year 1800, a dearth of poetic production; we have fallen among\nlean years; we have come to a break in the succession of notable\npoets; the Victorian celebrities have one by one passed away; and we\ncan only hope that the first quarter of the twentieth century may\nbring again some such bountiful harvest as was vouchsafed to our\ngrandfathers at the beginning of the nineteenth. In the meantime the\nreading of Byron may operate as a wholesome tonic upon the literary\nnerves of the rising generation; for, as Mr. Swinburne has generously\nacknowledged, with the emphatic concurrence of Matthew Arnold, his\npoems have 'the excellence of sincerity and strength.' Now one\ntendency of latter-day verse has been toward that over-delicacy of\nfibre which has been termed decadence, toward the preference of\ncorrect metrical harmonies over distinct and incisive expression,\ntoward vague indications of meaning. In this form the melody prevails\nover the matter; the style inclines to become precious and garnished\nwith verbal artifice. Some recent French poets, indeed, in their\nanxiety to correct the troublesome lucidity of their mother-tongue,\nhave set up the school of symbolism, which deals in half-veiled\nmetaphor and sufficiently obscure allusion, relying upon subtly\nsuggestive phrases for evoking associations. For ephemeral infirmities\nof this kind the straightforward virility of Byron's best work may\nserve as an antidote. On the other hand, we have the well-knit\nstrenuous verse of extreme realism, wrought out by a poet in his\nshirt-sleeves, with rhymes clear-sounding like the tap of hammer on\nanvil, who sings of rough folk by sea and land, and can touch national\nemotion in regard to the incidents or politics of the moment. He\npaints without varnish, in hard outline, avoiding metaphor and\nornamental diction generally; taking his language so freely out of the\nmouths of men in actual life that he makes occasional slips into\nvulgarity. He is at the opposite pole from the symbolist; but true\npoetry demands much more distinction of style and nobility of thought.\nAnd here again Byron's high lyrical notes may help to maintain\nelevation of tone and to preserve the romantic tradition. His poetry,\nlike his character, is full of glaring imperfections; yet he wrote as\none of the great world in which he made for a time such a noise; and\nafter all that has been said about his moral delinquencies, it is\ncertain that we could have better spared a better man.\n\nIn one of Tennyson's earlier letters is the following passage, with\nreference to something written at the time in _Philip van Artevelde_:\n\n     'He does not sufficiently take into consideration the peculiar\n     strength evolved by such writers as Byron and Shelley, who, however\n     mistaken they may be, did yet give the world another heart, and a\n     new pulse, and so we are kept going. Blessed be those who grease\n     the wheels of the old world.'\n\nThis is the large-hearted, far-seeing judgment of one who could survey\nthe whole line and evolutionary succession of English verse, being\nhimself destined to close the long list of nineteenth-century poets,\nwhich was opened by Byron and his contemporaries. The time has surely\nnow come when we may leave discussing Byron as a social outlaw, and\ncease groping after more evidence of his misdeeds. The office of true\ncriticism is to show that he made so powerful an impression on our\nliterature as to win for himself permanent rank in its annals, and\nthat his work, with all its shortcomings, does yet mark and illustrate\nan important stage in the connected development of our English poetry.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[24] _The Works of Lord Byron: a New, Revised, and Enlarged\nEdition._--'Letters and Journals.' Edited by Rowland E. Prothero, M.\nA. 'Poetry.' Edited by Ernest Hartley Coleridge, M. A. London, John\nMurray, 1898.--_Edinburgh Review_, October 1900.\n\n[25] Preface to the _Corsair_.\n\n[26] _The Deformed Transformed_ (part I. scene i.).\n\n[27] _Sardanapalus_ (act V. scene i.).\n\n\n\n\nTHE ENGLISH UTILITARIANS[28]\n\n\nMr. Leslie Stephen combines the faculty of acute and searching\ncriticism with a style that is singularly clear, incisive, and exact.\nHis wide knowledge of English literature, and the close study which he\nhas given to the history of English opinions and controversies,\nspeculative, political, and economical, have enabled him to survey an\nextensive field, to trace the lines of origin and development, to\ndisentangle complicated ideas, and to summarise conclusions in a\nmasterly manner. Nearly twenty-five years have passed since he\npublished his work on _English Thought in the Eighteenth Century_, and\nhis present book on the Utilitarians continues, and indeed brings down\nto our own time, a similar investigation of the course of certain\nviews, principles, and doctrines which had taken their shape in\nEngland and France during the period preceding the French Revolution,\nand which profoundly influenced political discussion throughout the\nfirst half of the nineteenth century. But on this occasion Mr.\nStephen's inquiry does not range over the whole area thus laid open,\nthough his subject compels him to make several excursions into the\ngeneral region of philosophical and political disputation. His main\npurpose is to relate the history of a creed propagated by a group of\nremarkable men, who took hold of some prominent theories and doctrines\ngenerated by the rationalism of the preceding century, and endeavoured\nto make them the basis and framework of a system for improving the\ncondition of the English people. Their immediate object was to abolish\nintolerable abuses of power by the governing classes, and radically to\nreform on scientific principles the haphazard blundering\nadministration which was assumed to be the source of all evil. Mr.\nStephen describes and explains, in short, the rise, progress, and\ndecay of Utilitarianism.\n\nSuch a system, by its nature and aims, is evidently practical;\nit is directed towards a change of laws and an alteration of the\nprevailing methods of government. To the philosophic minds of the\neighteenth-century reformers in England and France, it seemed evident,\nthat any general conclusions upon questions vitally concerning the\ninterests of mankind should be reached by convincing demonstration,\nshould start from axioms, and proceed by a connected chain of logical\nargument. During the latter half of that century England and France,\nso incessantly at war and so different in character and in their\ngoverning institutions, were nevertheless in alliance intellectually.\nThey were then (with Holland) the only countries in the world where\npublic opinion had free play, and where discussion of philosophic\nproblems was actively carried on; and between them there was a\nconstant interchange of ideas. Now in all speculations, on things\nhuman or divine, there have existed immemorially two schools or\ntendencies of thought, two ways of approaching the subject,\ncorresponding, we may conjecture, to a radical difference of\nintellectual predispositions. You may start by the high _a priori_\nroad, or you may feel your way gradually by induction from verifiable\nexperiences; and of these two main currents of speculative opinion\nwhichever is the stronger at any given period will affect every branch\nof thought and action. Coleridge appealed to history as proving that\nall epoch-making revolutions coincide with the rise or fall of\nmetaphysical systems, and he attributed the power of abstract theories\nover revolutionary movements to the craving of man for higher guidance\nthan sensations. However this may be, it may be affirmed that the\nrationalism of the eighteenth century in England and France found room\nby replacing the decaying theologies and substituting reason for the\ntraditional authority. This was the period that produced in France the\nphilosophic conception of abstract humanity, everywhere the same\nnaturally, with a superficial distinction of circumstances, but\ndifferentiated in the main by bad laws, artificial inequalities, and\nsocial injustice. In France the method of deducing conclusions from\nabstract principles concerning the rights of man and the social\ncompact gained predominance, until they were shaped by Rousseau and\nothers into the formal indictment of a corrupt society. It was the\npoint and impulse thus given to very real grievances and irritation\nagainst privilege, that precipitated the French Revolution. Among the\nEnglish, on the other hand, their public spirit, the connection of\nlarge classes with national affairs, and their habit of compromise,\nhad predisposed the leading minds towards cautious views in philosophy\nand in politics; and at the century's end their inbred distrust of\nabstract propositions as a basis for social reconstruction received\nstartling confirmation from the tremendous explosion in France.\n\nThe foregoing remarks give in bare outline the conditions and\ncircumstances, very carefully examined and skilfully analysed by Mr.\nLeslie Stephen, that prepared and cleared the ground for the\nUtilitarians. Their object was not to reconstruct, hardly to remodel,\nexisting forms of government; it was to remove abuses, and to devise\nremedies for the evils of an unwieldy and complicated administrative\nmachine, clogged by stupidity and selfishness. And the plan of Mr.\nStephen's first volume is to describe the state of society at this\nperiod, the condition of agriculture and the industries, the position\nof the Church and the Universities, of the Army and Navy, the\nintellectual tendencies indicated by the philosophic doctrines, and\ngenerally to sketch the political and social aspects of England rather\nmore than a hundred years ago. He is writing, as he says, the history\nof a sect; and in dealing with the tenets of that sect he lays\nprominent stress upon what may be called the environment, upon the\nvarious circumstances which may influence forms of belief, and\nparticularly upon the idiosyncrasies of the men who held and\npropagated them. It is for this latter reason that he has given us\nbrief and interesting biographies of those whose influence was\ngreatest in shaping and directing the movement, illustrating his\nnarrative by portraits of them as they lived and acted. All these\nthings help us towards understanding how it comes to pass that\nconclusions which seem clear as daylight to earnest thinkers in one\ngeneration may be abandoned by succeeding generations as manifestly\nerroneous. The inquiry also shows why, and to what extent, some of the\ndoctrines that were scientifically propounded by the Utilitarians did\ninitiate and lead up to an important reformation in the methods of\nEnglish government.\n\n     'It might be stated as a paradox' (Mr. Stephen observes) 'that,\n     whereas in France the most palpable evils arose from the excessive\n     power of the central government, and in England the most palpable\n     evils arose from the feebleness of the central government, the\n     French reformers demanded more government, and the English\n     reformers less government.... The solution seems to be easy. In\n     France, reformers such as Turgot and the economists were in favour\n     of an enlightened despotism, because ... it would suppress the\n     exclusive privileges of a class which, doing nothing in return, had\n     become a mere burthen, encumbering all social development. But in\n     England the privileged class was identical with the governing\n     class.'\n\nThe English aristocracy, in fact, were actually doing the country's\nbusiness, though they were doing it badly, and paid themselves much\ntoo highly for very indifferent administration. Yet the English nation\nacquiesced in the system, because the middle classes were growing rich\nand prosperous, and the State interfered very little with their\nprivate affairs. To this general statement of the case we agree; but\nwe may point out that in terming our aristocracy a privileged class\none material distinction has been passed over. For whereas the French\n_noblesse_ constituted a caste partly exempted by birthright from the\ngeneral taxation, and vested with certain vexatious rights to which no\nduties corresponded, the English aristocracy possessed legally no\nprivileges at all. It was not an exclusive order, but an upper class\nthat was constantly recruited, being open to all successful men; and\nsuch a governing body is naturally indifferent to reforms, because it\nis very little affected by administrative imperfections or abuses.\nPauperism and ignorance may fester long among the masses before\nwealthy and prosperous rulers discover that the interests of their own\nclass are imperilled; the state of prisons does not concern them\npersonally; and so long as life and property are fairly secure, they\ncare little about an efficient police. The Englishman of whom a\nFrenchman reported with amazement that he consoled himself for having\nbeen robbed by the reflection that there were no policemen in his\ncountry, must have belonged to this comfortable class. And the\ninveterate conservation of abuses in the Church, the Law, and the Army\nmay be partially explained in a similar way. In France the Church and\nthe army were really privileged bodies: the vast ecclesiastical\nrevenues were protected from taxation, and the commissioned ranks of\nthe army were reserved for the _noblesse_; the French parliaments were\nclose magisterial corporations. In England these were all open\nprofessions, with no special fiscal rights or social limitations; the\nprizes were available for general competition, and as every one had a\nchance of winning them by interest or even merit, there was no\nformidable outcry against the system.\n\nIn politics, therefore, as well as in philosophy, the prevailing habit\nof the English mind was more moderate, less thorough-going and\nsubversive, than in France. Mr. Stephen makes a keen and rapid\nanalysis of the common-sense psychology, as expounded by Reid and\nDugald Stewart, to show the correspondence at this period between\nabstract reasoning and concrete political views, and to illustrate the\nlimitations which cautious Scotch professors endeavoured to place upon\nthe inexorable scepticism of Hume. The general spirit of their\nteaching was empirical, but the logical consequence of taking\nexperience as the sole foundation of belief was evidently to cut off\nthe hidden springs of moral consciousness, and to support the\nderivation of ethics from utility. In philosophy, as in politics,\nthere was a sympathetic recoil from extremes. So common sense was\nbrought in as capable of certain intuitive or original judgments which\nwere in themselves necessary, and which luckily coincided with some of\nthe firmest convictions among intelligent mankind. As Carlyle said\nlong afterwards, the Scottish philosophers started from the\nmechanical premises suggested by Hume. 'They let loose instinct as an\nindiscriminatory bandog to guard them against his conclusions; they\ntugged lustily against the logical chain by which Hume was so coldly\ntowing them and the world into bottomless abysses of atheism and\nfatalism.' To save themselves from materialism they invented\nIntuitions, and thereby incurred the wrath of orthodox Utilitarianism,\nwhich was rigidly empirical. They were, however, accepted in England,\nwhere any haven was welcome, however uncertain might be the holding\nground, which sheltered the vessel from being blown by windy\nspeculation out into a shoreless sea.\n\nThe Scottish philosophy therefore\n\n     'was in philosophy what Whiggism was in politics. Like political\n     Whiggism, it included a large element of enlightened and liberal\n     rationalism; but, like Whiggism, it covered an aversion to\n     thorough-going logic. The English politician was suspicious of\n     abstract principle, but would cover his acceptance of tradition and\n     rule of thumb by general phrases about liberty and toleration. The\n     Whig in philosophy equally accepted the traditional creed,\n     sufficiently purified from cruder elements, and sheltered his\n     doctrine by speaking of intuitions and laws of thought.'\n\nThe foregoing quotation may serve to indicate briefly the situation,\nin politics and philosophy, at the time when Bentham, 'the patriarch\nof the English Utilitarians,' appeared upon the scene. Mr. Stephen's\nsketch of his life and doctrines, which occupies the latter half of\nthe book's first volume, is eminently instructive and often amusing.\nHe excels in tracing the continuity of ideas, and in showing how they\nconverge upon the point of view that is gradually reached by some\nwriter of superior force and activity, who rejects, alters, or uses\nthem in the process of working out the doctrines of some new school.\nIt was the spread of philanthropy, of a conscientious fellow-feeling\nfor those classes of society who suffered from neglect and misrule,\nthat fostered the movement towards political and social reform. This\nfeeling was represented in Bentham's celebrated formula, originally\ninvented by Hutcheson, about 'the greatest happiness of the greatest\nnumber'; and the criterion of utility was laid down as having the\nwidest possible application to all sorts and conditions of men.\nSelf-help, individualism, _laisser-faire_, the economic view that each\nshould be left free to pursue his own interests, were principles\nintended to operate for the removal of abuses and the destruction of\nunfair privileges: they were promulgated for the relief of humanity at\nlarge, although the system which was built up on them came afterwards\nto be denounced as narrow, selfish, and materialistic. These ideas\nwere undoubtedly congenial to the habits and character of Englishmen,\nwho, like free men everywhere, had a traditional distrust of strong\nand active government, preferring King Log, on the whole, to King\nStork. Inequalities and incomprehensible laws were to be seen in the\ncourse of Nature no less than in the English Constitution; and in\neither case a man might rely upon his wits and energy to deal with\nthem. It might be that the defects in human government could only be\nremedied by employing the forces of government to cure them; but if\nyou began to set going the administrative engine there was no saying\nwhere it might stop. Bentham held all government to be an evil, though\nhe differed from the modern anarchist in holding it to be a necessary\nevil; yet he needed a strong scientific administration for the purpose\nof rooting out inveterate abuses. And this was the dilemma that\nconfronted him. He worked out his solution of the problem by laying\nout a whole system of morals and a science of politics, with Utility\nas their base and standard, which has profoundly influenced all\nsubsequent legislation, and led eventually to much more extensive\ntheories regarding the sphere and duties of government than he himself\nwould have advocated or approved.\n\nThe principal events of Bentham's life, and the development of his\nopinions, are condensed by Mr. Stephen into one chapter with his usual\nbiographical skill. Bentham started in life as a barrister, and\nattended Blackstone's lectures, with the result that he was deeply\nimpressed by the fallacies of the legal theories there expounded, and\nsoon afterward vowed eternal war against the Demon of Chicane. He\nstruggled against narrow means and obscurity until he made the\nacquaintance of Lord Shelburne, through whom he became acquainted with\nother leading statesmen, and with Miss Caroline Fox, to whom he made a\nfutile proposal of marriage some years later. At Bowood he also met\nDumont, and thereby formed his connection with the French jurists,\nthough in his old age he declared that Dumont, his chief interpreter\nabroad, 'did not understand a word of his meaning'; the true cause of\nhis quarrel being that Dumont criticised Bentham's dinners. He\ntravelled on the Continent, and lived some time in Russia. Soon\nafterward the Revolution made a clean sweep of all the old\ninstitutions in France, and thus laid open a bare and level ground\njust suited, as Bentham thought, for an architect who had his\nportfolio full of new administrative plans. It was long, indeed,\nbefore he could understand why systematic reforms were not immediately\naccepted as soon as their utility was logically demonstrated. He lost\nno time in providing the French National Assembly with elaborate\nschemes for the reconstruction of various departments of government,\nand he even offered to go to France to set up his model prison,\nproposing himself 'to become gratuitously the gaoler thereof.' The\nAssembly requited his zeal by conferring on him the title of a French\ncitizen; but social reorganisation took the shape of September\nmassacres and the Reign of Terror, whereat Bentham was disgusted,\nthough in no way disheartened, as a theorist.\n\n     'Never' (says Mr. Stephen) 'was an adviser more at cross purposes\n     with the advised. It would be impossible to draw a more striking\n     portrait of the abstract reasoner, whose calculations of human\n     motives omit all reference to passion, and who fancied that all\n     prejudice can be dispelled by a few bits of logic.'\n\nHere, in fact, we have the key to Bentham's character, to its weakness\nand also to its strength. A philosopher who plunges into the practical\naffairs of the world without taking human feelings and imagination\ninto account is sure to find himself stumbling about among blocks and\nblockheads, and tripped up by the ill-will of vested interests; but on\nthe other hand, if he has taken the right direction, his ardent\nenergies have the impetus of some natural force. Bentham's earlier\nnotion had been that political reforms could be introduced like\nimprovements in machinery; you had only to prove the superior utility\nof your new invention to obtain its adoption by all who were concerned\nin the business. Latterly he made the surprising discovery that in the\npublic offices, in the Law, and in the Church, the heads of these\nprofessions are usually quite satisfied with their own monopolies, are\nopposed to change, and are always ready with a stock of plausible\narguments to show the folly and danger of innovation. If the\nUtilitarian appeals to facts, common sense, and experience, so also\ndoes the Conservative; and until public opinion is decidedly for\nprogress the dead weight prevails. Not for a day did Bentham relax his\nstrenuous exertions, but he changed his tactics; he turned from his\nmechanical workshop to the study of political dynamics, and he found\nwhat he wanted in the rising radicalism--'his principal occupation, in\na word, was to provide political philosophy for radical reformers.'\n\nOf the philosophic creed which Bentham undertook to proclaim from his\nhermitage at Ford Abbey, with James Mill as his leading apostle, Mr.\nStephen gives us a very shrewd and incisively critical examination.\nThe founder of a new faith has usually begun by the earnest and\nauthoritative declaration of a few simple truths and positive\ndoctrines, for which his disciples provide, in course of time, the\nnecessary philosophical basis. Bentham's voice had been crying\nineffectually in the wilderness; and he now set about laying with his\nown hands the foundations of his beliefs upon primary scientific\nprinciples, always with unswerving aim and application to concrete\nfacts. He was a thorough-going iconoclast, wielding, like Mohammed, a\nsingle formula, to the destruction of idols of the market or tribe,\nand to the confusion of those who fattened upon antique superstitions.\n'All government is one vast evil,' and can only be kept from mischief\nby minute regulations and constant vigilance. Whatever is plainly\nillogical must be radically wrong--'to make a barrister a judge is as\nsensible as it would be to select a procuress for mistress of a girls'\nschool;' and a parish boy, if he could read properly, might go through\nthe Church services with the Prayer Book and the Homilies, so that an\nestablished Church is a costly and indefensible luxury. Taking\nUtility, founded on observation of actual facts, as his guide and his\nmeasure of existing institutions, he treated them as colossal\niniquities, as frauds upon the people, as dead and ineffectual for the\npurposes of moral and political life. Nevertheless, although he\ncondemned the whole fabric as it stood, Bentham was an absolute\nbeliever in the unlimited power of laws and institutions; nor was he\nfar from wishing to deal with them on the principles applicable to the\nreform of prisons, as undesirable but necessary instruments of\ncoercion to be despotically administered upon a scientific model,\nafter the fashion of his favourite Panopticon. He was, in short, as\nMr. Stephen points out, an unconscious follower of Hobbes, with this\ndifference, that in Bentham's case the omnipotent Leviathan, for\ncontrol and direction, was to be enlightened public opinion. And he\nwas apparently convinced, without misgivings, that a model government,\nframed logically upon that common sense which is a public property,\ncould be introduced and enforced under popular sanction as easily as\nnew regulations for an ill-managed gaol. He was fully prepared to make\nliberal allowance, in framing his constitution, for the different\nneeds, circumstances, and habits of communities; he was quite aware\nthat precisely the same legislation would not suit England and India;\nbut he believed national circumstance and character to be extensively\nmodifiable by manifestly useful institutions, and he was ready to\nbegin the operation at once, 'to legislate for Hindostan as well as\nfor his own parish, and to make codes not only for England, Spain, and\nRussia, but also for Morocco.'\n\nMr. Stephen has no difficulty in exposing the shortcomings and\ninadequacy of these doctrines. But he is writing the history of\ncertain political ideas; so his main object is to show how such ideas\nare formed, the course they have followed, and their influence upon\nthought and action up to the present day. To trace the links and\ncontinuity of ideas is to analyse their elements, and to show the\nimpress that they received from external circumstance, permanent or\ntemporary; it is an important method in the science of politics. Upon\nthe empiricism of English philosophy in the eighteenth century Bentham\nconstructed a Theory of Morals that purported to rest exclusively on\nfacts ascertained and verifiable, with happiness as our being's end\nand aim, with pain and pleasure as the ultimate principles of conduct;\nand upon this foundation he proceeded to build up his system of\npolitics and legislation. Any attempt to derive morality from other\nsources, or to measure it by other standards, he denounced as\narbitrary and misleading; he threw aside metaphysics, and therefore\ntheology, as illusory. The exclusive appeal to experience, to plain\nreasoning from the evidence of our senses, from actual observation of\nhuman propensities, was sufficient for his purposes, and tallied with\nhis designs as a practical reformer. In these views he was a disciple\nof Hume, whose influence has surreptitiously percolated all modern\nthought, and his unintentional allies were the teachers of Natural\nreligion, with Paley as its principal exponent. Having thus defined\nand explained the basis of ethical philosophy, the Utilitarian has to\nbuild up the superstructure of legal ordinance; and he is at once\nconfronted by the difficult problem of distinguishing the sphere of\nethics from the province of law. Upon this vital question Mr. Stephen,\nas an expert in ethics, gives a dissertation that is exceedingly acute\nand instructive; and we may commend, in particular, his criticism of\nthe doctrine that the morality of an act depends upon its\nconsequences, not upon its motives. As he observes, this may be true,\nwith certain reserves, in law, where the business of the legislature\nis to prohibit and punish acts that directly endanger the order and\nsecurity of a community. But 'the exclusion of motive justifiable in\nlaw may take all meaning out of morality'; and yet nothing is more\ncomplicated than the question of demarcating a clear frontier between\nthe two provinces. Mr. Stephen's examination of this question is the\nmore important because it involves the problem of regulating private\nmorals by public enactments; and also because the confusion of motives\nwith intentions lies at the bottom of much mischievous sophistry, for\nsome of the worst crimes in history have been suggested by plausible\nmotives, and have been defended on that ground. He shows that\nBentham's survey of the springs of human action was incomplete, that\nhe overstrained his formula to make it universally applicable, and\nthat he nevertheless gave a far-reaching impulse to clearer notions\nand an effective advance in the simplification of legal procedure and\nthe codification of laws. As a moral philosophy, Bentham's system\nappeared so arid and materialistic that its unpopularity has obscured\nhis real services. For he was the engineer who first led a scientific\nattack up to the ramparts of legal chicanery, and made a breach\nthrough which all subsequent reform found its entry.\n\nThe axiom that utility is the source of justice and equity is of very\nancient date, and indeed the word is sufficiently elastic to\ncomprehend every conceivable human motive; but no one before Bentham\nhad employed it so energetically as a lever to overturn ponderous\nabuses, or had pointed his theory so directly against notorious facts.\nOn the other hand, since he despised and rejected historical studies,\nhe greatly miscalculated the binding strength of long usage and\npossession. He forgot, what Hume had been careful to remember, that\nwhether men's reasoning on these subjects be right or wrong, the\nconclusions have not really been reached by logic, but have grown up\nout of instincts, and correspond with certain immemorial needs and\naspirations of humanity. Hume had sketched, before Bentham, his Idea\nof a Perfect Commonwealth; yet he begins by the warning that\n\n     'It is not with forms of government as with other artificial\n     contrivances; where an old engine may be rejected if we can\n     discover another more accurate and commodious ... the bulk of\n     mankind' (he adds) 'being governed by authority, not by reason, and\n     never attributing authority to anything that has not the\n     recommendation of antiquity.'\n\nHume's mission was to undermine settled fallacies, and to scatter\ndoubt among conventional certitudes; and this loosening of foundations\nprepared the way for a bolder political projector, who delivered his\nfrontal attack in disdain of the philosopher's warnings. Political\nprojectors, says the cautious Hume, are pernicious if they have power,\nand ridiculous if they want it. Bentham was quite confident that if he\ncould only get the power he could radically change for the better the\ncircumstances of a people in any part of the world, by legislation on\nthe principles of Utility; and he was sure that character is\nindefinitely modifiable by circumstances. That human nature is\nconstantly altering with, and adapting itself to, the environment, is\nan undeniable truth; but in the moral as in the physical world the\nnatural changes occupy long periods, and to stir the soil hastily may\nproduce a catastrophe. The latter result actually followed in France;\nwhile in England the doctrine of the unlimited power of legislation,\nto be used for the greatest happiness of the greatest number, and\nwielded by a sovereign State according to the dictates of public\nopinion, was met by alarm, suspicion, and protracted opposition. It\nis the habit of Englishmen to admit no proposition, however clear and\nconvincing, until they discover what the propounder intends to do with\nit. Yet it will be seen that Bentham's plans of reform, if not his\nprinciples, did suggest, and to some extent shape, the main direction\nof judicial and administrative changes during the nineteenth century,\nthough with some consequences that he neither anticipated nor desired.\nHe thought that the State might be invested with power to modify\nsociety, and yet might be strictly controlled in the exercise of that\npower. He might have foreseen, what has actually happened, that the\nState, once established on a democratic basis, would exercise the\npower and disregard his carefully drawn limitations. A tendency toward\nState Socialism he would have detested above all things; and yet that\nis the direction inevitably taken by supreme authority when the\nresponsibility for the greatest happiness of the greatest number is\nimposed upon it by popular demand.\n\nMr. Stephen's second volume describes the later phase of the\nUtilitarian creed, when it passed from its founder into the hands of\nardent disciples. The transition necessarily involves some divergence\nof views and methods. In religious movements it usually begins after\nthe founder's death; but as Bentham lived to superintend his apostolic\nsuccessors, his relations with them were not invariably harmonious.\nThe leadership fell upon James Mill, whose early life and general\ncharacter, the development of his opinions, and the bearing of his\nphilosophy upon his politics, are the subjects of one of those\ncondensed biographical sketches in which Mr. Stephen excels. In the\n_History of India_, which brought to James Mill reputation and\npecuniary independence, he could apply his deductive theories to a\nremote and little known country without much risk of contradiction\nfrom actual circumstances or of checks from the misapprehension of\nfacts. In England the Utilitarian doctrines, as propounded in Mill's\nwritings, raised up opposition and hostile criticism from various\nquarters. The general current of ideas and feelings had now set\ndecidedly toward the suppression of inveterate abuses, and toward\nconstitutional reform. Radicalism was gaining ground rapidly, and even\nSocialism had come to the surface, while Political Economy was in the\nascendant. But the old Tories closed their ranks for a fierce\nresistance against theories that menaced, as it seemed to them,\nnothing less than destruction to time-honoured institutions; and the\nWhigs had no taste for doctrines that pretended to be reasonable, but\nappeared to them in effect revolutionary. The different positions of\ncontending parties were illustrated, as Mr. Stephen shows, by their\nrespective attitudes towards Church Reform. The Tories defended\necclesiastical establishment as one of the main bastions of the\ncitadel; the Whigs would preserve the Church in subjection to the\nState; while James Mill, in the _Westminster Review_, declared the\nChurch of England to be a mere State machine, worked in subservience\nto the sinister interest of the governing classes. He desired 'to\nabolish all dogmas and ceremonies, and to employ the clergy to give\nlectures on ethics, botany, and political economy, with decent dances\nand social meals for the celebration of Sunday.' Mr. Stephen, after\nobserving that this plan exemplifies 'the incapacity of an isolated\nclique to understand the real tone of public opinion,' adds that 'it\nseems to have some sense, but one would like to know whether Newman\nread his article.' Our own notion would be that it is a signal\ninstance of shortsightedness and of insensibility, on the part of a\npsychologist, to the strength and persistence of one of the most\npowerful among the emotions that dominate mankind. Mill's article\nproclaiming these views appeared in 1835, just at the time when the\nOxford Movement was stirring up a wave of enthusiasm for the dogmas\nand ritual which he treated as obsolete and nonsensical; nor is there\nanything more remarkable or unexpected in the political changes of the\nlast sixty years, than the discomfiture of those prophets who have\nforetold the decay of all liturgies and the speedy dissolution of\necclesiastical establishments. This phenomenon is by no means confined\nto England, or even to Europe; and at the present day, when the power\nof religious idealism is better understood upon wider experience, no\npractical politician attempts to disregard sentiments that defy logic\nand pass the understanding.\n\nNevertheless Utilitarianism, as represented by James Mill's 'Essay on\nGovernment,' was attracting increased attention, and was provoking\nserious alarm. It was a period of confidence in theories which have\nbeen partly confirmed and partly contradicted by subsequent\nexperiences of those 'principles of human nature' in which political\nspeculators so unreservedly trusted. In France, some fifty years\nearlier, the destructive theorist had swept all before him; in\nEngland, while he was assaulting with effect the entrenchments of\nConservatism, he was taken in flank by the moderate reformers. Mill\nhad denounced the Whigs as half-hearted and even treacherous allies,\nwho dallied with Radicalism to conceal their nefarious design of\nobtaining political mastery with the fewest concessions possible. He\nrelied upon universal education to qualify the masses for the\npossession of an extensive franchise, and upon enlightened\nself-interest to guarantee their proper use of it. Macaulay rejoined,\nin the _Edinburgh Review_, that the masses might possibly conclude\nthat they would get more pleasure than pain out of universal\nspoliation; and that if his opponent's principles were correct and his\nscheme adopted, 'literature, science, commerce, and manufactures might\nbe swept away, and a few half-naked fishermen would divide with the\nowls and foxes the ruins of the greatest of European cities.' It was a\nnotable controversial tournament, at which the intelligent bystander\nprobably assisted with much satisfaction and no excessive alarm,\nhaving little faith in the absolute theorist, and not much in the\ndisinterestedness of the Whigs. For the moment it was sufficient that\nboth parties agreed in supporting the Reform Bill, although, as Mr.\nStephen remarks, the Radical regarded it as a payment on account,\nwhile the Whig hoped that it would be a full and final discharge. We\nmay observe, to the honour of a great Liberal family, that as the\nfirst Lord Lansdowne discerned Bentham's talents and gave him his\nstart in life, so the impression made upon the second marquis by\nMacaulay's articles induced him to offer the writer his first seat in\nParliament.\n\nMr. Stephen deals with the duel between Mill and Macaulay from the\nstandpoint of an impartial umpire, with an expert's appreciation of\ntheir logical fencing and some humorous glances at the heated\ncombatants. Mill was an austere Puritan, who would fell the Tory like\nan ox and would trample upon the cunning self-seeking Whig. The\nEdinburgh Reviewers were a set of brilliant young men who represented\nintellectual Liberalism; but 'they were men who meant to become\njudges, members of Parliament, or even bishops, and nothing in their\nsocial atmosphere had stimulated the deep resentment against social\ninjustice which makes the fanatic or the enthusiast.' As a sample of\nWhiggism Mr. Stephen takes Mackintosh, who, on the subject of the\nFrench Revolution, stood half-way between Burke's holy horror of a\ndiabolic outburst and the applause of root-and-branch Radicals. For a\ntype of Conservatism he gives us Robert Southey, whose fortune it was\nto be fiercely abused by the Utilitarians and ridiculed by the Whigs.\nSouthey, like many others, had been frightened out of early Liberalism\ninto the conviction that Reform would be the inevitable precursor of\nrevolution; and in 1817 he had written to Lord Liverpool that the only\nhope of saving the country lay in gagging the seditious press.\n'Concessions,' he said, 'can only serve to hasten the catastrophe. Woe\nbe to the garrison who hoist a white flag to an enemy that gives no\nquarter.' Yet Southey had a deep feeling for the misery of the lower\nclasses at this period of widespread distress. In his belief in the\npower of Government to remedy social evils, he was much nearer the\naccepted line of later public opinion than Macaulay, who would have\nconfined the State's business to the maintenance of order, the defence\nof property, and the practice of departmental economy. And when\nSouthey, following Coleridge and preceding Gladstone, insisted upon\nthe vital importance of religion as a principle of State policy,\nneither he nor Gladstone deserved all the ridicule cast upon them by\nMacaulay in his brilliant essays; for at any rate no first-class\nGovernment in Europe has hitherto ventured upon dissolving connection\nwith the Church.\n\nFor his philosophy, Mr. Stephen tells us, Southey was in the habit of\nreferring to Coleridge, whose hostility to the Utilitarians went on\ndifferent and deeper grounds. Coleridge had convinced himself that all\nthe errors of the time, and their political dangers, arose from a\nfalse and godless empiricism. He declared that revolutionary periods\nhave always been connected with the popular prevalence of abstract\nideas, and that the speculative principles of men between twenty and\nthirty are the great source of political prophecy. He developed this\nview in a singular letter upon the state of affairs and opinions which\nhe also, like Southey, addressed to Lord Liverpool in 1817, and which\nsomewhat bewildered that veteran statesman. With the moderns, he said,\n'nothing grows, all is made'; whereas growth itself is but a disguised\nmode of being made by the superinduction of the _jam data_ on the _jam\ndatum_; and he insisted that 'the flux of individuals at any moment in\nexistence in a country is there for the value of the State, far more\nthan the State for them, though both positions are true\nproportionately.' In other words, Coleridge pressed the evolutionary\nview against the sharp set, shortsighted Utilitarian propositions; and\nhe would have agreed that antiquated prejudices are absurd only to\nthose who have not looked back to their origin, when they can be found\nto proceed in logical order from natural causes. He had not been\nalways a resolute opponent of the Utilitarian theory of morals; but,\nlike other philosophers, he had become alarmed at the consequence of\nbeing shut up within the prison of finite senses, and he grasped at\nKant's discovery of the difference between Understanding and Reason,\nin order to retire upon a metaphysical basis of religion and morality,\nand to withstand the prudential calculus. We are inclined to suggest\nthat Mr. Stephen, who does little more than glance at Coleridge's\nposition, has underestimated his influence upon the intellectual\ndirection of politics in the first half of this century. Coleridge\ncertainly provided an antidote to the crudity of eager Radicalism in\nChurch and State, and his ideas may be recognised not only in the\ngreat High Church movement that was stirred up by the Tractarians, but\nalso in the larger comprehension of the duties and attributes of the\nState that has been slowly gaining ground up to our own day.\n\nIt is, indeed, the growth and development of English opinion regarding\nthese public duties and attributes, as it is traced in Mr. Stephen's\nbook, that forms, in our opinion, its chief value; and we are\nreviewing it mainly as a history of political ideas. This is, we\nbelieve, the practical outcome of the increasing feeling of sympathy\nbetween different classes of the community, of a sense of\nresponsibility, of what is called altruism, of solidarity among all\nthe diverse interests that have lately characterised our legislation:\n\n     'The two great rival theories of the functions of the State\n     are--the theory which was for so many years dominant in England,\n     and which may for convenience be called the Individualist theory;\n     and the theory which is stated most fully and powerfully by the\n     Greek philosophers, which we may call the Socialist theory. The\n     Individualist theory regards the State as a purely utilitarian\n     institution, a mere means to an end.... It represents the State as\n     existing mainly for the protection of property and personal\n     liberty, and as having therefore no concern with the private life\n     and character of the citizen, except in so far as these may make\n     him dangerous to the material welfare of his neighbour.\n\n     'The Greek theory, on the other hand, though it likewise regards\n     the State as a means to certain ends, regards it as something\n     more.... According to this theory, no department of life is outside\n     the scope of politics; and a healthy State is at once the end at\n     which the science aims, and the engine by which its decrees are\n     carried out.'[29]\n\nAccepting this passage as a philosophical statement of tendencies, we\nmay observe that neither theory has ever been definitely adopted in\nEngland. The Utilitarians desired to recast institutions for the\ngreater happiness of all citizens, but they were averse to investing\nthe State with autocratic powers of interference. The Tories, on the\nother hand, were awakening to the conviction that the Government must\ndo more for the people; but their fear of change and their own\n'sinister interests,' persuaded them that this might be done without\nradical reforms. The Whigs faced both ways, and since in England the\ntruly valuable effect of extreme opinions is always to drive the\nmajority into a middle course, they rose to power on that compromise\nwhich is represented by the Reform measures of 1832. The Reform Bill\nwas accepted by the Utilitarians as an instalment of the rightful\nauthority of the people over the conduct of public affairs, and\ntherefore a provisional method of promoting their welfare. The first\nTory statesman of that day, on the contrary, was convinced that for\nthe public welfare the existing Constitution could not be bettered:\n\n     'During one hundred and fifty years the Constitution in its present\n     form has been in force; and I would ask any man who hears me to\n     declare whether the experience of history has produced any form of\n     government so calculated to promote the happiness and secure the\n     liberties of a free and enlightened people.'[30]\n\nBoth parties, in fact, appealed to experience; but Peel took his stand\nupon history, which the Utilitarians disregarded as a mere record of\nunscientific errors, or at most as a lighthouse to give warning of\nrocks, rather than a lamp to show the road ahead. And the point upon\nwhich they joined issue was as to the consequences of staking the\nwhole fabric of government upon the basis of public opinion, operating\nthrough almost unlimited popular suffrage. The Tory foretold that\nthis would end in wrecking the Constitution, with the ship among\nbreakers, and steering by ballot voting. The Benthamite persuaded\nhimself that enlightened self-interest, empirical perceptions of\nutility, and general education, would prevail with the multitude for\ntheir support of a rational system. But with those who demanded\nsovereignty for the people a strict limitation of the sphere of\ngovernment was one essential maxim; and the Utilitarians would have\nagreed with Guizot when he declared it to be 'a mere commonplace that\nas civilisation and reason progress, the sphere of public authority\ncontracts.' They do not appear to have foreseen that whenever the\nmasses should have got votes legislation would become democratic, or\neven socialistic, in order to capture them. This discovery was\neventually made by the Tories, who availed themselves of it to dish\nthe Whigs, and to come forward again upon a popular suffrage as the\ntrue friends and guardians of the people.\n\nIn Mr. Stephen's second volume James Mill is the principal figure, as\nthe apostle of Benthamism, though he also describes briefly, in his\nterse and incisive style, the lives and opinions of some notable men,\nfoes as well as friends to the party, who represented different\nexpressions of energetic protest against existing institutions. To\neach of them is allotted his proper place in the line of attack, and\nhis due share in the general enterprise of rousing, by argument or\ninvective, the slow-thinking English people to a sense of their\nlamentable condition. Cobbett and Owen were at feud with true\nUtilitarians, and in unconscious alliance, against the orthodox\neconomists, with the Tories, who, as we have said, have eventually\nfound their advantage in the democratic movement. Cobbett fought for\nthe cause of the agricultural labourer, trodden under foot by squires\nand parsons. Owen believed that the grasping capitalist, with his\nsteam machinery, would further degrade and impoverish the working\nclasses. Godwin, who is merely mentioned by Mr. Stephen, was a\npeaceful anarchist, who proposed 'to abolish the whole craft and\nmystery of government,' to abandon coercion and rely upon just\nreasoning, upon the enlightened assent of individuals to the payment\nof taxes. They all embodied ideas that are incessantly fermenting in\nsome ardent minds, and that maintain a perceptible influence on\npolitical controversies at the present day. Godwin agreed with the\nUtilitarians that government is a bad thing in itself, but he went\nbeyond them in concluding that it is, or ought to be, unnecessary to\nsociety. To both Radical and Socialist, Utilitarianism, with its\nfrigid philanthropy and its reliance on self-help, prudence, and free\ncompetition for converting miserable masses into a healthy and moral\npopulation, was the gospel of selfishness, invented for the salvation\nof landlords and capitalists. Malthus was the heartless exponent of\nnatural laws that kept down multiplication by famine, while the rich\nman fared sumptuously every day; and the Ricardians, with their\nmechanical balancing of supply and demand, were mocking distress by\nsolemn formulas. It must be admitted that these sharp assailants hit\nsome palpable rifts in the Utilitarian armour of proof; and we know\nthat popular sentiment has since been compelling later economists to\ntake up much wider ground in defence of their scientific position.\n\nThe doctrines of Malthus, of Ricardo and of Ricardo's disciples are\nsubjected to a searching analysis by Mr. Stephen, who brings out their\nlimitations very effectively. Yet it is by no means easy, even under\nour author's skilful guidance, to follow the Utilitarian track\nthrough the fields of economy, philosophy, and theology, and to show\nin what manner or degree it led up to the issues under discussion in\nour own time. All these 'streams of tendency' have had their influence\non the main current and direction of contemporary politics, but they\ncannot be measured or mapped out upon the scale of a review. And, in\nregard to political economy, we may even venture to question whether\nthe earlier dogmatic theories now retain sufficient interest to\njustify the space which, in this volume, has been devoted to a\nscrutiny of them; for their methods, as well as their conclusions,\nhave now become to a certain extent obsolete. A strictly empirical\nscience must be continually changing with fresh data and a broader\noutlook; it is always shifting under stress of new interests, changed\nfeelings, and unforeseen contingencies; it is very serviceable for the\nexposure of errors, but its own demonstrations are in time proved to\nbe erroneous or inadequate. Moreover, to explain the ills that afflict\na society, and to declare them incurable except by patience and slow\nalterative medicines, is often to render them intolerable; nor is it\nof much practical importance to lay out, on hard scientific\nprinciples, the methodical operation of causes and effects that have\nalways been understood in a rough experimental way.\n\n     'The truth that scarcity meant dearness was apparently well known\n     to Joseph in Egypt, and applied very skilfully for his purpose.\n     Economists have framed a theory of value which explains more\n     precisely the way in which this is brought about. A clear statement\n     may be valuable to psychologists; but for most purposes of\n     political economy Joseph's knowledge is sufficient,'\n\nIf Joseph had written a treatise on the agrarian tenures of Egypt he\nmight not have bought them up so easily at famine prices, and he\nmight have entangled himself in a discussion upon peasant properties.\nThe economist who makes an inductive demonstration of unalterable\nnatural laws and propensities may be likened to the scientific\nlegislator who undertakes to codify prevailing usages: he turns an\nelastic custom, constantly modified in practice by needs and\nsentiments, into an unbending statute, when the bare unvarnished\nstatement of the principle produces an outcry. Natural processes will\nnot bear calm philosophic explanations that are understood to imply\napproval of them as cruel but inevitable; not even in such an\nessentially moralistic argument as that of Butler's 'Analogy,' which\nsome have regarded as a plea of ambiguous advantage to the cause of\nnatural religion. Malthus, for example, proved undeniably the\npernicious consequences of reckless propagation; but he who forces a\ngreat evil upon public attention is expected to find the practical\nremedy; and Malthus had little to prescribe beyond a few palliative\nmeasures and the expediency of self-restraint, while his proposal to\nabolish the poor laws in the interest of pauperism was interpreted as\na recommendation that poor folk should be starved into prudential and\nself-reliant habits. Malthus held, indeed, that the improvement of the\ncondition of the labouring classes should be considered as the main\ninterest of society. But he also thought that\n\n     'to improve their condition, it is essential to impress them with\n     the conviction that they can do much more for themselves than\n     others can do for them, and that the _only_ source of their\n     permanent improvement is the improvement of their moral and\n     religious habits. What government can do, therefore, is to maintain\n     such institutions as may strengthen the _vis medicatrix_, or desire\n     to better our condition, which poor laws had directly tended to\n     weaken.'\n\nThere is much wisdom to be found in these counsels; but good advice\nrather excites than allays the ignorant impatience of acute suffering,\nand popular opinion soon began to inquire whether the _vis medicatrix_\nmight not be administered in some more drastic form by the State. The\nconception of a rational government superintending, without\ninterference, the slow evolution of morals, had a kind of\ncorrespondence, in the religious sphere, with the doctrine of\npre-established harmonies so clearly ordained that to suggest any need\nof further Divine interposition to readjust them occasionally was a\nreflection upon the wisdom and foresight of Providence. But the stress\nand exigencies of modern party politics has rendered this attitude\nuntenable for the temporal ruler.\n\nThe pure economists, however, prescribed moral remedies without\ninvestigating the elements of morality. They settled the laws of\nproduction and distribution as eliminated from the observation of\nordinary facts; they corrected errors and registered the mechanical\nworking of human desires and efforts. It is Mr. Stephen's plan,\nthroughout this book, to show the bearing of philosophical speculation\non practical conduct; and accordingly, after his chapter on Malthus\nand the Ricardians, he turns back again to philosophy and ethics. His\nclear and cogent exposition of the views and conclusions put forward\non these subjects by Thomas Brown, with the express approval of James\nMill, is an illustration of Coleridge's dictum regarding the\nconnection between abstract theories and political movements.\nAdmitting the connection, we may again observe that there is a certain\ndanger in stating the theories too scientifically. Neither morals nor\nreligion are much aided by digging down into their foundations. Yet\nthe logical constructor of a new system usually finds himself driven\nby controversy into a discussion of ultimate ideas, though the\nUtilitarians refused to be forced back into metaphysics. No professor\nof philosophy, however, can altogether avoid asking himself what\nunderlies experience and the formation of beliefs; and Brown did his\nbest for the Utilitarians by defining Intuition as a belief that\npasses analysis, a principle independent of human reasoning, which\n'does not allow us to pass a single step beyond experience, but merely\nauthorises us to interpret experience.' It was James Mill's mission to\ncut short and to simplify philosophical aberrations for his practical\npurposes:\n\n     'As a publicist, a historian, and a busy official, he had not much\n     time to spare for purely philosophic reading. He was not a\n     professor in want of a system, but an energetic man of business,\n     wishing to strike at the root of superstitions to which his\n     political opponents appealed for support. He had heard of Kant, and\n     seen \"what the poor man would be at\".'\n\nHis own views are elaborated in his book on the _Analysis of the\nPhenomena of the Human Mind_, for a close criticism of which we must\nrefer readers to Mr. Stephen's second volume. The connection of these\ndissertations with the social and political ends of the Utilitarians\nlies, it may be said briefly, in the support which a purely\nexperiential psychology gives to the doctrine that human character\ndepends on external circumstance, and that such vague terms as the\n'moral sense' only disguise the true identity of rules of morality\nwith the considerations that can be shown to produce general\nhappiness. Whenever there appears to be a conflict between these rules\nand considerations, utility is the only sure criterion. To the extreme\nsituations in which casuistry revels, as when a man is called upon to\nsacrifice his life or his personal honour for his country's good, the\nUtilitarian would apply this unfailing test inexorably; in such cases\na man ought to decide upon a calculation of the greatest happiness of\nthe majority. He does not, in fact, apply this reckoning; he may\npossibly not have time, at the urgent moment, to work it out; his\nheroism is inspired by the universal praise or blame that reward\nself-devotion or punish shrinking from it, and thus render acts moral\nor immoral by the habitual association of ideas. The martyr or patriot\ndoes not, indeed, stop to calculate; he does not feel the subtle\negoism that is hidden in the desire for applause; he believes himself\nto be acting with the perfect disinterestedness which can only be\naccounted for by superficial reasoners on the assumption of some such\nabstract notion as religion, moral sense, or duty. Since the behaviour\nof mankind at large, therefore, is invariably guided by a remote or\nproximate consideration of utility; since conduct depends upon\ncharacter, and character is shaped by external conditions and positive\nsanctions, it is possible to frame, on utilitarian principles,\nscientific rules of behaviour which can be powerfully, though\nindirectly, promoted by legislation and a system of enlightened\npolity. For morality, it is argued, can be materially assisted by\npointing to, or even providing, the serious consequences that are\ninseparable from human misdeeds, by proving that pain or pleasure\nfollows different kinds of behaviour; while motives are so complex\nthat they can never be verified with certainty, and must therefore be\nleft out of account. This anatomy of the springs of action obviously\nlays bare some truths, although they fit in much better with the\ndepartment of the legislator than of the moralist. As Mr. Stephen\nforcibly shows, although the consideration of motive may fall very\nseldom within the sphere of legislation, yet no theory which should\nexclude its influence on the moral standard could be tolerated, since\nthe motive is of primary importance in our ethical judgment of\nconduct. Nor has motive, as discriminated from intention, ever been\nkept entirely outside the criminal law, notwithstanding the danger of\nadmitting, as an extenuation of some violent crime, that the offender\nhad convinced himself that some religious or patriotic cause would be\nserved by it. James Mill's view of morals as theoretically coordinate\nwith law--because in both departments the intention is the essential\nelement in measuring actions according to their consequences--operated\nin practical contradiction to his principle of restraining State\ninterference within narrow limits. It is this latter principle which\nhas since given way. For the general trend of later political opinion\nhas evidently been towards bringing public morality more and more\nunder administrative regulation; and this manifestly indicates a\ngrowing expansion of ideas upon the legitimate duties and jurisdiction\nof the State.\n\nUpon James Mill's psychology Mr. Stephen's conclusion, with which we\nmay agree, is that his analysis of virtue into enlightened\nself-interest is unsuccessful, and we have seen that his conception of\ngovernment, as an all-powerful machine resting upon, yet strictly\nlimited by, public opinion, has failed on the side of the limitations.\nYet although Mill could not explain virtue, he was, after his fashion,\na virtuous man, whose life was conscientiously devoted to public\nobjects.\n\n     'His main purpose, too, was to lay down a rule of duty, almost\n     mathematically ascertainable, and not to be disturbed by any\n     sentimentalism, mysticism, or rhetorical foppery. If, in the\n     attempt to free his hearers from such elements, he ran the risk of\n     reducing morality to a lower level, and made it appear as unamiable\n     as sound morality can appear, it must be admitted that in this\n     respect, too, his theories reflected his personal character.'\n\nIt is also probable that his theories, and his bitter controversies in\ndefence of them, reacted on his personal character, and that both\ninfluences are to be traced beyond James Mill's own life, in the\nmental and social prepossessions which he bequeathed to his son.\n\nMr. Stephen's third volume is chiefly occupied by the history of the\nlater Utilitarians, and the expansion of their cardinal principle in\nits application to a changing temper of the times, under the\nleadership of John Stuart Mill. We have, first, a closely written and\ncritical description of this remarkable man's early life, his\nstringent educational training, the development of his opinions, and\ntheir influence upon the orthodox tenets of the sect. Upon all these\nsubjects Mill has left us, under his own hand, more intimate and\ncircumstantial particulars than are to be found, perhaps, in any other\npersonal memoir. The writer who tells his own story usually passes\nhastily over boyhood; the ordinary biographer gives some family\ndetails, or endeavours to amuse us with trivial anecdotes of the child\nwho became an important man. J. S. Mill hardly alludes to any member\nof his family except his father, and his early days are marked by a\ntotal absence of triviality. He was bound over to hard intellectual\nlabour at home during the years that for most of us pass so lightly\nand unprofitably at a public school; he was a voracious and\nindefatigable reader and writer from his youth up, with a wolfish\nhunger (as Browning calls it) for knowledge; he plunged into all the\ncurrent discussions of philosophy and politics; he became a practised\nwriter and made a good figure at debating clubs; he became so intent\non the solution of complex social problems as to acquire a distaste\nfor general society; his mental concentration blunted his sensibility\nto the physical passions that so powerfully sway mankind.\n\nNevertheless, Mill's outlook upon the world was much wider than his\nfather's, and his aim was so to adjust the Utilitarian creed as to\nbring it into closer working accord with the advancing ideas and\nprojects of the political parties to whom he was nearest in sympathy.\nHe allied himself in the beginning with the Philosophical Radicals, in\nthe hope of organising them for active service in the cause. But this\ngroup soon broke up, and Mr. Stephen ascribes their failure in part to\ntheir name, observing that the word '\"Philosophical\" in English is\nsynonymous with visionary, unpractical, and perhaps simply foolish.'\nThere would be less satire, and possibly more justice, in saying that\nthe word gives a chill to the energetic hot-gospeller of active\nRadicalism, who pushes past the philosopher as one standing too far\nbehind the fighting line, although he may be useful in forging\nexplosives in some quiet laboratory. Mill himself was continually\nhampered, as an ardent combatant, by the impedimenta which he brought\ninto the field in the shape of abstract speculations, which could not\nbe made to fit in with the immediate demands of thorough-going\npartisans. His democratic fervour was tempered by his conviction of\nthe incapacity of the masses. He was a Socialist 'in the sense that he\nlooked forward to a complete, though distant, revolution in the whole\nstructure of society'; he discovered that the Chartists had crude\nviews upon political economy; his attitude toward factory legislation\nwas very dubious. Yet in the main purpose of his life and writings,\nwhich was to mend and guide public opinion on social and political\nquestions by theoretical treatment--that is, by a logically connected\nsurvey of the facts--he was undoubtedly successful, as is shown by\nthe popularity of his two great works on _Logic_ and _Political\nEconomy_, which became the text-books of higher study on these\nsubjects for a whole generation. On the other hand, he exposed himself\nto the distrust and hostility that are always aroused by philosophical\narguments which strike at the roots of established beliefs and\nprejudices, and are discovered to be really more dangerous to them\nthan a direct assault.\n\nIt was the philosophic strategy of J. S. Mill to prosecute the\nUtilitarian war against metaphysics, and finally to exterminate\nIntuitions, being convinced, as he said, that the _a priori_ and\nspiritualistic thinkers still far exceeded the partisans of\nexperience, and that a great majority of Englishmen were still\nIntuitionists. Is this actually a true account of English thought? Mr.\nStephen thinks not, for he believes that if Mill had not lived much\napart from ordinary folk he would have found Englishmen practically,\nthough not avowedly, predisposed to empiricism, which has been the\nphilosophic tradition in this country since Hobbes. We so far agree\nwith Mr. Stephen that we believe Englishmen, in general, to practise a\ngreat deal more of empiricism than they avow. But Mill proposed to\ndemonstrate and declare it as a weapon in polemics and an engine of\naction, and it was here, probably, that the main body of Englishmen\ndeserted him. They were not ready to cut themselves off from theology\nand from all ideas that transcend experience, and they demurred to the\nparamount jurisdiction of logic in temporal affairs. To every section\nof Churchmen the relegation of moral sanctions within the domain of\nverifiable consequences was a doctrine to be resisted strenuously.\nWith the high sacerdotalist it amounted to a denial of the Christian\nmysteries; to the Broad Churchman it was ethically inadequate and\nignoble; to the scholastic professor of divinity it meant ruinous\nmaterialism.\n\nThat a vigorous thinker should have begun by striking at what seemed\nto him the root of obstructive fallacies was natural enough. He\nsupposed that a logical demonstration would clear the ground for his\nplans of reform; whereas, on the contrary, it entangled him in\npreliminary disputations, and his inflexible reasoning alarmed people\nwho followed experience as the guide of life, but instinctively felt\nthat there must be something beyond phenomenal existence. In political\neconomy Mill relied upon common sense and practice in affairs to make\nthe requisite allowance for general laws founded on human propensities\nregarded abstractedly. His conviction was, in short, that nothing\nshould be taken for granted because everything might be explained; and\nhe desired to tie men down to accepting no belief, or even feeling,\nthat could not be justified by reason. His _System of Logic_ was, as\nhe has himself written, a text-book for the doctrine 'which derives\nall knowledge from experience, and all moral and intellectual\nqualities principally from the direction given to the associations.'\nWhen he proceeded to construct a systematic psychology upon this\nbasis, he fell into the fundamental perplexities that are concisely\nbrought out by Mr. Stephen in his scrutiny of Mill's doctrine of\nCausation. He followed Hume in severing any necessary connection\nbetween cause and effect, and even invariable sequence became\nincapable of proof. But when he resolved Cause into a statement of\nexisting conditions that can never be completely known until we have\nmastered the whole series of physical phenomena, and showed that all\nhuman induction is fallible because necessarily imperfect, it became\nclear that Mill had very little to offer in substitution for those\ngrounds of ordinary belief that he was bent on demolishing. The word\nCause is reduced, for ordinary use, to a signification not unlike that\nwhich is understood in loose popular language by the word Chance,\nsince Chance means no more than ignorance of how an event came to\npass; and in no case, according to Mill, can we ever calculate with\nsecurity what undiscoverable conditions may suddenly bring about an\nunexpected event contrary to previous experience. The uniformity of\nNature, as Mr. Stephen remarks, is thus made exceedingly precarious;\nand to the practical intelligence, which looks for some basis that\ncannot be argued about, there is still something to be said for\nIntuition. And when Mill, still in search of some precise formula,\nundertook to interpret persistent sequences by his theory of Real\nKinds possessing an indeterminate number of coherent properties--so\nthat our belief in the invariable blackness of crows is justified as a\ncollocation of these visible properties--he merely throws the problem\nof Causation farther backward. We have to be content with direct\nobservation of phenomena that can be classified as co-existent; we can\nperceive that things accompany each other, but we can never be sure\nthat they follow each other, as they appear to do.\n\nIt may be doubted whether Mill's treatment of these problems has\nmaterially affected subsequent psychological speculation, which has\nsince taken different and deeper courses. His main objective was\nsocial and political.\n\n'The notion,' he has written, 'that truths external to the mind may be\nknown by intuition, or consciousness, independently of observation and\nexperience, is, I am persuaded, in these times the great intellectual\nsupport of false doctrines and bad institutions.' In confounding the\nmetaphysicians, and eliminating all mysterious assumptions or axioms,\nhe aimed at clearing the ground for a demonstrable science of\ncharacter, and to establish the great principle that character can be\nindefinitely modified. The way is thus opened to questions of conduct,\nto positive remedies for social and political evils which, as they\nhave been generated and fostered by external circumstances, can be\nremoved by a change of those circumstances.\n\n     'The greatest problems of the time were either economical or\n     closely connected with economical principles. Mill had followed the\n     political struggles with the keenest interest; he saw clearly their\n     connection with underlying social movements; and he had thoroughly\n     studied the science--or what he took to be the science--which must\n     afford guidance for a satisfactory working out of the great\n     problems. The Philosophical Radicals were deserting the old cause,\n     and becoming insignificant as a party. But Mill had not lost his\n     faith in the substantial soundness of their economic doctrines. He\n     thought, therefore, that a clear and full exposition of their views\n     might be of the highest use in the coming struggle.... The\n     _Political Economy_ speedily acquired an authority unapproached by\n     any work published since the _Wealth of Nations_.'\n\nWe cannot follow Mr. Stephen through his elaborate and effective\nreview of this celebrated book. Its appearance marked an epoch in the\nhistory of Utilitarianism, for it took a much wider survey of social\nand political considerations, and the author undertook to expand the\northodox economic theories so that they might embrace and be\nreconciled with some daring projects of comprehensive reform. But Mill\nhad to put some strain on the principles to which he adhered, and to\naccommodate certain inconsistencies in order to keep pace with moving\nideas. He held on with some effort to the cardinal tenets of the older\nUtilitarians, to a dislike of interference by governments, to\nreliance on individual effort, to protest against the deadening\ninfluence of paternal administration, to his own trust in the gradual\neffect of educational agencies, and in the slow emancipation of the\npopular mind from unreasoning prejudices. On the other hand, he\nadvocated a radical reform of the land laws, peasant proprietorship,\nthe acquisition by the State of railways and canals, the limitation of\nthe right of bequest; and he went even so far as to speak with\napproval of laws in restraint of improvident marriages. All these\nproposals could only be carried out by arbitrary and drastic\nlegislation. As he put it, the State must interfere for the purpose of\nmaking the people independent of further interference; and he\noverlooked or set aside the question whether the eventual result of\nthus calling in the State's agency would not be contrary to the\nprinciples and professed intentions of the Utilitarian school, whether\nthe provisional _regime_ would not become permanent, as, in fact, it\nhas been rapidly becoming ever since.\n\nWe can see, moreover, that while J. S. Mill's sympathy with the\npopular cause and with the most ardent reformers was sincere, he was\nat issue with them in regard to the means, though not in regard to the\nends; he wished to better the intelligence of the people as the first\nstep toward bettering their condition. But when he had convinced\nhimself, as he said, that no great improvements in the lot of mankind\nare possible until a great change takes place in the fundamental\nconstitution of their modes of thought, he had still to persuade men\nwho were stirring and pressing for immediate action that gradual\nmethods were the best. Most of them may have preferred to try whether,\nif the lot of mankind were improved materially, the moral changes and\nmental habits would not follow; for indeed Mill's proposition might\nstand examination and hold good either way. It may be argued that an\nelevation or widening of intellectual views is the consequence, as\noften as it is the cause, of increasing comfort and leisure. He\nthought that all reading and writing which does not tend to promote a\nrenovation of the world's belief is of very little value beyond the\nmoment, which is, of course, true in a general sense; though\nliterature can act much more directly than by dealing with first\nprinciples. He welcomes Free Trade as one triumph of Utilitarian\ndoctrines, yet he sadly observes that the English public are quite as\nraw and undiscerning on subjects of political economy since the nation\nwas converted to Free Trade as before. The nation, in fact, went\nstraight at the immediate point, got what it wanted at the moment, and\nwas satisfied.\n\nMr. Stephen's criticism of Mill's later writings exhibits further his\ndifficulties in adjusting the essential Utilitarian principles to\ncloser contact with the urgent questions of the day. Mill still held\nto competition, to the full liberty of individuals, to the inevitable\nmechanical working of economic laws; he still doubted the expediency\nof factory legislation, and condemned any laws in restraint of usury.\nHe was opposed, broadly, to all authoritative intrusion upon human\nexistence wherever its necessity could not be proved conclusively to\nbe in the interest of a self-reliant community. Yet he was forced to\nmake concessions and exceptions in the face of actual needs and\ngrievances; and especially he found himself more and more impelled to\ntolerate and even advocate interference by the State as the only\neffective instrument for demolishing obstacles to the moral and\nmaterial betterment of the people. Since unjust social inequalities\ncould be traced to an origin in force or fraud, the legislature might\nbe logically called in to remove them; and as this is manifestly the\nrevolutionary argument (as embodied, for example, in the writings of\nThomas Paine), it enabled him to join hands with Radicalism in\nproposing some very thorough-going measures. 'Landed property in\nEurope derives its origin from force;' so the legislature is entitled\nto interpose for the reclamation of rights unjustly usurped from the\ncommunity; while, as economical science shows that the value of land\nrises from natural causes, the conclusion is that the State may\nconfiscate the unearned increment. But it was not so easy to convince\nthe hungry mechanic, by rather fine-drawn distinctions, that the\ncapitalist had a better right to monopolise profits than the landlord;\nfor the rise of value in manufactured commodities has very complex\ncauses, some of them superficially natural. So here, again, is a\nplausible case of social injustice. Again, it may be affirmed that all\npowerful associations, private as well as public, operate in\nrestriction of individual liberty. You may argue that great industrial\ncompanies are voluntary; the question is whether they are innocuous to\nthe common weal, and we may add that this point is coming seriously to\nthe front at the present time. The distinction, as Mr. Stephen\nremarks, drawn by the old individualism between State institutions and\nthose created by private combination is losing its significance; and,\nwhat is more, public bodies are now continually encouraged to absorb\nprivate enterprise in all matters that directly concern the people.\n\nIn short, we are on the high road to State Socialism, though Mill\nhelps us to console ourselves with having taken that road on strictly\nscientific principles. It is the not unusual result of stating large\nbenevolent theories for popular application; the principle is accepted\nand its limitations are disregarded. Nevertheless Mill contends\ngallantly in his later works for intellectual liberty, complete\nfreedom of discussion, and the utility of tolerating the most\neccentric opinions. Into what practical difficulties and questionable\nlogical distinctions he was drawn by the necessity of fencing round\nhis propositions and making his reservations is well known; and Mr.\nStephen hits the weak points with keen critical acumen. We all agree\nthat persecution has done frightful mischief, at times, by suppressing\nthe free utterance of unorthodox opinions. But Mill argues that\ncontradiction, even of truth, is desirable in itself, because a\ndoctrine, true or false, becomes a dead belief without the\ninvigorating conflict of opposite reasonings. Resistance to authority\nin matters of opinion is a sacred privilege essential to the formation\nof belief; wherefore originality, even when it implies stupidity, is\nto be carefully protected as a factor of human progress. We need not\nfollow Mr. Stephen in his victorious analysis of the arguments\nwherewith Mill seeks to uphold this uncompromising individualism, and\nto guard human perversity against the baneful influence of authority.\nIt is clear enough that society cannot waste its time in perpetual\nwrangling over issues upon which an authoritative verdict has been\ndelivered; and for most of us a reasonable probability, founded on the\njudgment of experts, is sufficient in moral or physical questions as\nwell as in litigation. The religious arena still remains open, where\nexperts differ and decisions are always disputable. Yet Mr. Arthur\nBalfour devotes a chapter in his _Foundations of Belief_ to the\ncontention that our convictions on all the deeper subjects of thought\nare determined not by reason but by authority; whereby he provides us\nwith an escape from the scepticism that menaces a philosopher who has\nproved all experience to be at bottom illusory. Mill, on the other\nhand, would make short work with authority wherever it checks or\ndiscourages the unlimited exercise of free individual inquiry; and in\npolitics he would entrust the sovereign power to a representation of\nthe entire aggregate of the community, with the most ample\nencouragement of incessant discussion. This is, indeed, the system\nactually in force, and in England it has answered very well; but Mill\nhardly foresaw that its tendency would be to make the State, as the\nembodiment of popular will, not less but more authoritative, with a\ntendency to encroach steadily upon the sphere of individual effort and\nprivate enterprise.\n\nIt may be said that the abstract Utilitarian doctrine reached its\nhigh-water mark in Mill's book on the Subjection of Women, to which\nMr. Stephen allots one section of a chapter. The book is a particular\nenlargement upon Mill's general view that it is a pestilent error to\nregard such marked distinctions of human character as sex or race as\ninnate and in the main indelible. What is called the nature of women\nhe treats as an artificial thing, an isolated fact which need not at\nany rate be recognised by law; the proper test was, he argued, to\nleave free competition to determine whether the distinction is radical\nor merely the result of external circumstance. But, as Mr. Stephen\nanswers, such a plain physiological difference is at least not\nnegligible; and competition between the sexes may favour the despotism\nof the stronger, while complete independence on both sides implies\nfreedom to separate at will; and Mill had only glanced evasively at\nthe question of divorce. Here, again, is a theory which the pressure\nof social conditions, much more than abstract reasoning, is bringing\nmore and more into prominence with our own generation. On the wider\nand more complicated question of race distinctions Mill never worked\nout his argument against their indelibility into a regular treatise;\nnor could he foresee the increasing influence upon contemporary\npolitics that is now exercised by racial feelings and their claims to\nrecognition. In the eighteenth century the French Encyclopedistes, who\nwere the direct philosophic ancestors of the Utilitarians, regarded\nfrontiers, classes, and races as so many barriers against the spread\nof universal fraternity; and the revolutionary government took up the\nidea as a war-cry. The armies of the French Republic proclaimed the\nrights of the people in all countries, until Napoleon turned the\ndemocratic doctrine into the form of Imperialism. M. Eugene de Voguee\nhas told us recently that this armed propaganda produced a reaction in\nEurope toward that strong sentiment of nationality which has been\nvigorously manifested during the second half of the nineteenth\ncentury. The assertion of separate nationalities, by the demand for\npolitical autonomy and by the attempt to revive the public teaching of\nobscure languages, is the form taken in western and central Europe by\nthe problem of race. No movement could be more contrary to the views\nor anticipations of the Utilitarians, for whom it would have been\nmerely a recrudescence of one of those inveterate and unreasoning\nprejudices which still retard human progress, a fiction accepted by\nindolent thinkers to avoid the trouble of investigating the true\ncauses that modify human character. Yet not only is national\nparticularism making a fresh stir in Europe, but the spread of\nEuropean dominion over Asia has forced upon our attention the immense\npractical importance of racial distinctions. We find that they signify\nreal and profound characteristics; the European discovers that in Asia\nhe is himself one of a ruling race, and thereby isolated among the\nother groups into which the population is subdivided. If he is a\nsound Utilitarian he will nevertheless cherish the belief that\neconomical improvements, public instruction, good laws, and regular\nadministration will obliterate antipathies, eradicate irrational\nprejudices, and reconcile Asiatic folk to the blessings of scientific\ncivilisation. But he will confess that it is a stubborn element, if\nnot innate yet very like such a quality; if not ineffaceable yet\ncertain to outlast his dominion. It is at least remarkable that Mill's\nprotest against explaining differences of character by race, to which\nBuckle 'cordially subscribed,' should have been answered in our time\nby a clamorous demand for the recognition of those very differences,\nand by an increasing tendency to admit them.\n\nUpon Mill's theological speculations Mr. Stephen has written an\ninteresting chapter, illustrating Mill's desire to treat religion more\nsympathetically, with a deeper sense of its importance in life, than\nin the absolute theories of the older Utilitarians. Bentham had\ndeclared that the principle of theology, of referring everything to\nGod's will, was no more than a covert application of the test of\nutility. You must first know whether a thing is right in order to\ndiscover whether it is conformable to God's pleasure; and a religious\nmotive, he said, is good or bad according as the religious tenets of\nthe person acting upon it approach more or less to a coincidence with\nthe dictates of utility. The next step, as Bentham probably knew well,\nis to throw aside an abstraction that has become virtually\nsuperfluous, and to march openly under the Utilitarian standard. But\nthere was in Mill a moral and emotional instinct that deterred him\nfrom resting without uneasiness upon such a bare empirical conclusion.\nHe rejected all transcendental conceptions; yet he did his best, as\nMr. Stephen shows, to find reasonable proofs of a Deity whose\nexistence and attributes may be inferred by observation and\nexperience. He agreed that such an inference is not inconsistent, _a\npriori_, with natural laws, and the argument from design was admitted\nas providing by analogy, or even inductively, a large balance of\nprobability in favour of creation by Intelligence. The difficulty is\nto attain by these methods the idea of a Deity perfect in power,\nwisdom, and goodness; for the order of Nature, apart from human\nintervention and contrivances for making the earth habitable,\ndiscloses no tincture of morality. We are thus reduced to the dilemma\npropounded by Hume, between an omnipotent Deity who cannot be\nbenevolent because misery is permitted, and a benevolent Deity with\nlimited powers; and Mill sums up the discussion, doubtfully, in favour\nof a Being with great but limited powers, whose motives cannot be\nsatisfactorily fathomed by the human intellect.\n\nThis halting conclusion indicates a departure from the pure empiricism\nof his school, and even the inadequacy of the argument shows the\neffort that Mill was making towards some fellow-feeling with spiritual\nconceptions. As Mr. Stephen points out, there is a curious\napproximation, on some points, between Mill and his arch-enemy\nMansel--between the conditioned and unconditioned philosophies. Both\nof them lay stress on the moral perplexities involved in arguing from\nthe wasteful and relentless course of Nature to an estimate of the\ndivine attributes. And both agree that the existence of evil is a\nserious difficulty; though Mansel's solution, or evasion, of it is by\ninsisting that the ways of the unconditioned are necessarily for the\nmost part unknowable, while Mill leans to the possibility that God's\npower or intelligence may be incomplete. Upon either hypothesis we\nmust confess that our knowledge is imperfect and very fallible.\nMr. Stephen has no trouble in exposing the philosophical weakness\nof Mill's attitude; but we are mainly concerned to compare it\nbriefly with the position of his predecessors, for the purpose of\ncontinuing a rapid survey of the course and filiation of Utilitarian\ndoctrines. When the orthodox Utilitarians definitely rejected all\ntheology--though until Philip Beauchamp appeared, in 1822, they made\nno direct attack upon it--they believed that the fall of theology\nwould also bring down religion, which they regarded as the source of\nmotives that were fictitious, misleading, and profoundly unscientific.\nMill agreed that a supernatural origin could not be ascribed to\nreceived maxims of morality without harming them, because to\nconsecrate rules of conduct was to interdict free examination of them,\nand to paralyse their natural development in accordance with changes\nof circumstance. Looking back over the interminable controversies, and\nthe successive variations in form and spirit that every great religion\nhas undergone, this objection does not seem to us very formidable. But\nMill's evident object was to reconcile the cultivation of religious\nfeelings with his principle of free thought for individuals. In\naccepting Comte's ideal of a religion of humanity, he had entirely\ncondemned Comte's reproduction of the spiritual authority in the shape\nof a philosophical priesthood. And it is remarkable, as indicating a\nradical discordance between the French and the English moralist, that\nwhile Comte's adoration, in his later years, of a woman led him to\nordain a formal worship of the feminine representative of the Family,\ncoupled with the strict seclusion of women from politics, Mill's\nlifelong attachment greatly strengthened his ardour for the complete\nemancipation of the whole sex.\n\nOur readers will bear in mind that we are endeavouring to measure the\npermanent influence of Utilitarian doctrines, to determine how far\nthey have fixed the direction, and shaped the ends, of contemporary\nthought and political action. It cannot be said that these doctrines\nare now predominant in either of these two closely interacting\ndepartments. National instincts and prepossessions have lost none of\ntheir force; national character now divides neighbouring peoples more\nsharply, perhaps, than a hundred years ago. Militarism is stronger\nthan ever; cosmopolitan philanthropy is overridden by the growth of\nnational interests; political economy is overruled by political\nnecessities; nor have ethical systems displaced the traditional\nreligions. Empiricism has fallen into discredit as a narrow and\ninadequate philosophy; it is superseded in the spiritual world by\ntranscendental interpretations of dogmas as metaphysical\nrepresentations of underlying realities. Mr. Stephen's most\ninstructive work draws to its close with a dissertation on Liberalism\nand Dogmatism, showing how and why Utilitarianism failed in convincing\nor converting Englishmen to a practical assent to its principles and\nmodes of thought. Upon many minds they produced more repulsion than\nattraction. Maurice earnestly protested that we were to believe in\nGod, not in a theory about God, though the distinction, as Mr. Stephen\nsays, is vague; he appealed to the inner light, to the conscience of\nmankind; he went back into the slough of Intuitionism. Carlyle cried\naloud against materialistic views and logical machinery; he denounced\n'the great steam-engine, Utilitarianism'; he was for the able despot\nand hero-worship against grinding competition and government by\ndiscussion. In theology the mystical spirit rose again with its\nimmemorial power of enchanting human imagination; the moral law is\ndiscerned to be the vesture of Divinity, in which He arrays Himself\nto become apprehensible by the finite intellect; and a Science that\ntries to understand everything explains nothing. Authority, instead of\nbeing discarded, is invoked to deliver men out of the great waters of\nspiritual and political anarchy. The Tractarians struck in with a\nfierce attack on Rationalism, propounding Faith and Revelation as\nimperative grounds of belief. You must accept the dogmas, not as\nuseful, not as moral or reasonable, not even as derived intuitively,\nbut as the necessary fundamental truths declared by the infallible\nChurch to be essential to salvation. Those who could not find\ninfallibility in a State Church went over to Rome, abandoning the Via\nMedia; others were content with the high sacramental position of\nAnglicanism; the moderate Rationalists took shelter with the Broad\nChurch; a few retreated into the cloudy refuge of transcendental\nidealism. The two extreme parties, the Broad Church and the\nSacerdotalists, were at bitter feud with each other; yet they both\ndenounced the common enemy. Arnold 'agreed with Carlyle that the\nLiberals greatly overrate Bentham, and the political economists\ngenerally; the _summum bonum_ of their science is not identical with\nhuman life ... and the economical good is often, from the neglect of\nother points, a social evil.' Newman held that to allow the right of\nprivate judgment was to enter upon the path of scepticism; and the\nlatest infidel device, he says, is to leave theology alone. He set up\nthe argument, well-worn but always impressive, that science gives no\ncertainty; and Mr. Stephen contends against it with the weapons of\nempiricism:--\n\n     'The scientific doctrines must lay down the base to which all other\n     truth, so far as it is discoverable, must conform. The essential\n     feature of contemporary thought was just this: that science was\n     passing from purely physical questions to historical, ethical, and\n     social problems. The dogmatist objects to private judgment or free\n     thought on the ground that, as it gives no criterion, it cannot\n     lead to certainty. His real danger was precisely that it leads\n     irresistibly to certainty. The scientific method shows how such\n     certainty as is possible must be obtained. The man of science\n     advocates free inquiry precisely because it is the way to truth,\n     and the only way, though a way which leads through many errors.'\n\nMr. Stephen is himself a large-minded Utilitarian. He will have\nnothing to do with a transcendental basis of morals; and the dogmatist\nwho dislikes cross-examination is out of his court. Dogmatic\nauthority, he says, stands only on its own assertions; and if you may\nnot reason upon them, the inference is that on those points reason is\nagainst them. You may withdraw beyond this range by sublimating\nreligion into a philosophy, but then it loses touch with terrestrial\naffairs, and has a very feeble control over the unruly affections of\nsinful men. Newman himself resorted to scientific methods in his\ntheory of Development, that is, of the growth and evolution of\ndoctrine. We may agree that these destructive arguments have much\nlogical force, yet on the other hand such certitude as empiricism can\nprovide brings little consolation to the multitude, who require some\nimperative command; they look for a pillar of cloud or fire to go\nbefore them day and night, and a land of promise in the distance.\nScientific exposition works slowly for the improvement of ethics,\nwhich to the average mind are rather weakened than strengthened by\nloosening their foundations; and religious beliefs suffer from a\nsimilar constitutional delicacy. Conduct is not much fortified by\nbeing treated as a function of character and circumstance; for in\nreligion and morals ordinary humanity demands something impervious to\nreasoning, wherein lies the advantage of the intuitionist.\n\nMr. Stephen, however, is well aware that empirical certitude will not\nsupply the place of religion. In his concluding pages he states,\nfairly and forcibly, the great problems by which men are still\nperplexed. Religion, as J. S. Mill felt, is a name for something far\nwider than the Utilitarian views embrace.\n\n     'Men will always require some religion, if religion corresponds not\n     simply to their knowledge, but to the whole impression made upon\n     feeling and thinking beings by the world in which they must live.\n     The condition remains that the conception must conform to the\n     facts; our imagination and our desires must not be allowed to\n     over-ride our experience, or our philosophy to construct the\n     universe out of _a priori_ guesses.... To find a religion which\n     shall be compatible with all known truth, which shall satisfy the\n     imagination and the emotions, and which shall discharge the\n     functions hitherto assigned to the churches, is a problem for the\n     future.'\n\nThe Utilitarian doctrines, in short, though propagated by leaders of\nhigh intellectual power, and inspired by a pure unselfish morality,\nachieved little success in the enterprise of providing new and firmer\nguidance and support to mankind in their troubles and perplexities.\nBut they were not content to look down from serene heights upon the\nworld, leaving the crowd\n\n    'Errare atque viam palantes quaerere vitae.'\n\nThey laboured devotedly to dispel ignorance and to advance knowledge;\nthey spared no pains to promote the material well-being of society.\nThey helped to raise the wind that filled the sails of practical\nreform; they headed the attack upon legal and administrative abuses;\nthey stirred up the national conscience against social injustice; they\nproclaimed a lofty standard of moral obligation. They laid down\nprinciples that in the long run accord with human progress, yet in\ntheir hopes of rapidly modifying society by the application of those\nprinciples they were disappointed; for their systematic theories were\nblocked by facts, feelings, and misunderstandings which had not been\ntaken into calculation. They were averse to coercion, as an evil in\nitself; but though they would have agreed with Mr. Bright's dictum\nthat 'Force is no remedy,' they were latterly brought to perceive that\nin another sense there is no remedy except force, and that the vested\ninterests and preconceptions of society make a stiff and prolonged\nopposition to enlightened persuasion. They were disposed to rely too\nconfidently upon the spread of intelligence by general education for\npreparing the minds of people to accept and act upon doctrines that\nwere logically demonstrable, and to reject what could not be proved.\nMr. Stephen has somewhere written that to support a religion by force\ninstead of by argument is to admit that argument condemns it. The\nproposition is too absolutely stated even for the domain of spiritual\nauthority, since it might be replied that no great religion, certainly\nno organised Church, has existed by argument alone, and it has usually\nbeen supported by laws. But at any rate the temporal power subsists\nand operates by coercion, and the sphere of the State's direct action,\ninstead of diminishing, as the earlier Utilitarians expected it to do,\nwith the spread of education and intelligence, is perceptibly\nextending itself. The Utilitarians demurred to religion as an ultimate\nauthority in morals, and substituted the plain unvarnished criterion\nof utility. Upon this ground the State steps in, replaces religious\nprecept by positive law, and public morality is enforced by Acts of\nParliament. They were for entrusting the people with full political\npower, to be exercised in vigilant restraint of the interference by\nGovernment with individual rights and conduct; the people have\nobtained the power, and are using it more and more to place their\naffairs and even their moral interests under the control of organised\nauthority. We do not here question the expediency of the movement; we\nare simply registering the tendency.\n\nThere are few literary enterprises more arduous than the task of\nfollowing and demarcating from the written record of a period the\ngeneral course of political and philosophic movements. The tendencies\nare so various, the conditions which determine them are so\ncomplicated, that it is difficult to keep hold of the clue which\nguides and connects them. Mr. Leslie Stephen's _History of English\nThought in the Eighteenth Century_ took the broad ground that is\ndenoted by its title; but, as he now tells us in his preface, he has\nfound it expedient to reduce his present work within less\ncomprehensive limits, by confining it to 'an account of the compact\nand energetic school of the English Utilitarians.' This reduction of\nits scope has not, however, damaged the continuity of the narrative,\nsince in the great departments of morals, religion, and political\nphilosophy the Utilitarians were mainly the lineal heirs of the\ncharacteristic English writers in the preceding century. It is true\nthat Mr. Stephen has not been able to bring within the compass of his\nthree volumes the subject of general literature, especially of poetry\nand novels, which in the nineteenth century have given their vivid\nexpression to the doubts and the hopes, to the aims and aspirations of\nthe time. But we can see that such an enlargement of his plan would\nhave rendered it unmanageable, and that Mr. Stephen may have wisely\nconsidered the example of Buckle's _History of Civilisation in\nEngland_, which was projected on too large a scale, exhausted the\nauthor's strength, and remains unfinished. Mr. Stephen's present work\nfulfils its promise and completes its design. The Utilitarians are\nvery fortunate in having found a historian whose vivacity of style,\nconsummate literary knowledge, and masculine power of thought will\nhave revived their declining reputations, and secured to them their\nproper place in the literature of the nineteenth century.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[28] _The English Utilitarians._ By Leslie Stephen. 3 vols. London,\nDuckworth and Co., 1900.--_Edinburgh Review_, April 1901.\n\n[29] _The Greek Theory of the State_, by Charles John Shebbeare, B.A.,\n1895.\n\n[30] Sir Robert Peel's speech on Reform, March 1831.\n\n\n\n\nCHARACTERISTICS OF MR. SWINBURNE'S POETRY[31]\n\n\nThere is probably some foundation for the belief, often held in these\ndays, that the production of high poetry is becoming more difficult,\npartly because the environment of modern civilisation lends itself\nless and less to artistic treatment, as mechanism supersedes human\neffort, and partly through the operation of other causes. It has been\nplausibly argued that most things worth saying have been said already;\nthat even the words best fitted for poetic expression have been worn\nout, have been weakened by familiar usage or soiled by misuse, and\nthat the resources of language for adequate presentation of ideas and\nfeelings are running very low. Nevertheless, we all look forward\nhopefully to the coming of the original genius who is to strike a\nfresh note and inaugurate a new era, as pious Mohammedans expect\nanother Imam. Yet his coming may not be in our time, and meanwhile the\npoetic lamp is burning dimly; it is just kept alight by the assiduous\ntrimming of the disciples of the great men who have passed or are\npassing away, by the minor poets who strike a few musical chords that\ncatch the ear, but who are not recalled by the audience when they have\nplayed their part and left the stage. The stars that shone in the\nbright constellation of Victorian poets have been setting one by one,\nuntil two only remain of those who were the pride of the generation\nto which they belong, for whom we may predict that they will hold a\npermanent place in English literature. It is now nearly sixty years\nsince Mr. Meredith's first poems were published. Mr. Swinburne is\nabout ten years his junior, both in age and in authorship; one may\nperhaps assume that the work upon which their reputations will rest is\nfinished for both of them. Mr. Meredith's poetry has very recently\nbeen the subject of a very complete and sympathetic study by Mr.\nGeorge Trevelyan. In this article we shall make an attempt to\ndelineate, briefly of necessity and therefore inadequately, the\ncharacteristic qualities of form and thought, the technical methods\nand intellectual temperament which distinguish the younger poet, who\nmay be destined to be the last survivor of an illustrious company.\n\nIf we accept the theory that art, like nature, follows the principle\nof continuous development, that its existing state is closely linked\nwith its past, it is not easy to affiliate Mr. Swinburne to any direct\nliterary predecessors. Undoubtedly we may assign to him poetical\nkinship with Shelley; he has the same love for classical myths and\nallegories, for the embodiment of nature in the beautiful figures of\nthe antique. Light and shade, a quiet landscape, a tumultuous storm,\nstir him with the same sensuous emotion. He has Shelley's passion for\nthe sea; he is fond of invoking the old divinities who presided over\nthe fears, hopes, and desires of mankind. He has also Shelley's\nrebellious temper, the unflinching revolt against dogmatic authority\nand fundamental beliefs which rightly shocked our grandfathers in\n'Queen Mab' and a few other poems; he is even less disposed than\nShelley to the hypocrisy which does unwilling homage to virtue. On the\nother hand, Mr. Swinburne's pantheism has not Shelley's metaphysical\nnote; the conception of an indwelling spirit guiding and moulding the\nphenomenal world has dropped out; there is no pure idealism of this\nsort in Mr. Swinburne's verse.\n\nIt may be said, truly, that some of Mr. Swinburne's poetry shows the\ninfluence of the later French Romanticists, of the reaction toward\nmediaevalism which is represented in England by Scott, and which\nculminated in France with Victor Hugo, for whom the English poet's\nadmiration is unmeasured. That movement, however, had almost ceased on\nour side of the Channel at the time when it had reached, or was just\npassing, its climax in France. And, indeed, by 1835 the style and\nsentiment of English poetry was undergoing a remarkable change. Its\nmagnificent efflorescence, which the first quarter of the nineteenth\ncentury had seen in full bloom, had faded away. It had sprung up in an\nera of great wars and revolution, amid the struggles of nations to\nshake off the incubus of despotisms, to free themselves from the yoke\nof foreigners. The cause of political liberty inspired the noblest\nverse of Shelley, Coleridge, and Byron:\n\n    Yet Freedom, yet, thy banner, torn but flying,\n    Streams like a thunderstorm against the wind--'\n\nBut in England this ardent spirit had evaporated during the years of\nindustrial prosperity and mechanical progress which came in with a\nlong peace after twenty years of fighting; and during the next\ngeneration a milder tone prevailed. For an interval we had only\nsecond-rate artists in verse. The fiery enthusiasts, the despisers of\nrespectability, were succeeded by poets who were decently emotional,\npensive in thought, tame or affected in style, domestic in theme, with\nfeeble echoes of the true romantic note in Mrs. Hemans and others.\nNext, in the fulness of time, came Tennyson and Browning, to raise\nthe level of English poetry by their deeper views of life, their\nelevation of thought, and their incomparably greater imaginative\npower. Tennyson's composition is pellucid and exquisitely refined.\nBrowning is rugged and often obscure; he cares more for the force than\nfor the form of expression. The great problems of religion and\npolitics are seriously and cautiously handled. Browning analyses them\nwith caustic irony, while Tennyson, after making vain attempts to\nsolve them, finds consolation in the 'Higher Pantheism.' They are soon\njoined by Matthew Arnold and Clough, who represent the melancholy\nresignation of sensitive minds that have discarded the creeds, for\nwhom the miraculous history of Christianity is an illusion that has\nfaded into the common light of day. Meredith, poet and novelist, falls\nback upon communion with Nature; he preaches the doctrine of duty, of\nworking while the light lasts; he is a high moralist who accepts\nstoically the conclusion that nothing beyond terrestrial existence is\nknowable.\n\nThus Mr. Swinburne's elder contemporaries and precursors in poetry\nwere all in different modes and fashions optimists; at any rate in\ntheir earlier writings. They stood outside the Churches; dogmatic\nbeliefs they tacitly put away; they were in sympathy with the\nChristian ideal apart from its supernatural element; they professed a\nvague trust in an unseen Power, chequered here and there by\nintimations of pantheism; they made no frontal assault upon the\ncentral positions of theology. When we turn to their emotional poetry\nwe find that they were always decorous; there is much discourse of\nlove, often passionate, never erotic, no tearing aside of drapery, not\na line to scare modesty. In Tennyson's most impassioned lyrics the\nprincipal figure is the broken-hearted lover, jilted by Cousin Amy,\nor caught in the garden with Maud--with intentions strictly honourable\nin both cases. The treatment of love by Browning and Meredith is\nchiefly psychological; they are usually concerned with the tragic\nsituations that it can involve, though the comic aspect of sexual\ninfatuation occasionally provokes cynicism. In politics all these\npoets are no friends to democracy or seething radicalism; they adore\nliberty, yet they are votaries of law and order; they have a hatred of\nmisrule, and generally a cheerful confidence in the world's evolution\ntoward better things. On social ethics the poets of the mid-Victorian\nperiod wrote with philosophic sobriety; they maintained a strict moral\nstandard. In their wildest emotional flights they abstained from\nirreverence or indecorum. They undoubtedly represented the prevailing\ncast of thought, the taste and tendencies of the society to which they\nbelonged; the growing scepticism, the influence on established ideas\nof advancing science and philosophy. Literature had been showing\ndistinct signs of sympathy with these novelties, but in the early\n'sixties an open revolt was generally discountenanced.\n\nMr. Swinburne's first publications were two historic plays, of which\nsomething will be said hereafter. In 1864 he turned suddenly from\nmodern history to ancient legend for his dramatic subject, when he\naroused immediate attention by _Atalanta in Calydon_, which reproduced\nthe structure and metrical arrangement of a Greek tragedy. The\ndialogue has the purity of tone, the clear-cut concision that belong\nto its Hellenic model. At the beginning we have a joyous chant full of\nsound and colour, gradually changing into the elegiac strain of\nforeboding, the dread of pitiless divinities, the lamentation for the\nhero's unmerited fate. The exquisite modulations of the verse, the\nsplendid choral antiphonies captivated all who were susceptible to the\nenchantment of poetry. The delicate adaptation of the English language\nto quantitative harmonies in high resonant lyrics showed extraordinary\nskill in the difficult enterprise of communicating the charm and\ncadences of the antique masterpieces. It is a heroic drama, severe in\nstyle and character as the _Antigone_ of Sophocles. Then in 1865 came\n_Chastelard_, conceived and partly written, as Mr. Swinburne has told\nus, when he was yet at Oxford, a play in which he turns from the Greek\ntragedians to rejoin the historical dramatists. The turn is abrupt,\nfor no character could have been more alien to the Greek notions of\nheroism than that of the love-sick knight who joyfully throws away his\nlife for an hour in his lady's chamber, tears up the warrant\nreprieving him from execution, and accepts death to save Queen Mary's\nfragile reputation. But although the keynote of Mr. Swinburne's coming\npoetry is struck in _Chastelard_--the overpowering enthralment of\nLove, a joy to live and die for--\n\n    'The mistress and mother of pleasure,\n      The one thing as certain as death'--\n\nyet it gave the British public no fair warning of what followed almost\nimmediately.\n\nInto the midst of a well-regulated, self-respecting modern society,\nmuch moved by Tennyson's 'Idylls,' and altogether sympathetic with the\nmisfortunes of the blameless king--justly appreciative of the domestic\naffection so tenderly portrayed by Coventry Patmore's 'Angel in the\nHouse'--Mr. Swinburne charged impetuously with his _Poems and\nBallads_, waving the banner of revolt against conventional reticence,\nkicking over screens and rending drapery--a reckless votary of\nAstarte, chanting the 'Laus Veneris' and the worship of 'Dolores, Our\nLady of Pain.' From the calm and bright aspect of paganism he is\nturning toward its darker side, to the mystic rites and symbolism\nwhich cloaked the fierce primitive impulses of the natural man. The\nburden of these first poems is chiefly the bitter sweetness of love,\nthe sighs and transports of those who writhe in the embrace of the\ndread goddess, known by many names in all lands, or the glory of man's\nbrief springtide, when the veins are hot, soon to be cooled and\ncovered by frost and fallen leaves. In the clear ringing stanzas of\nthe 'Triumph of Time,' who sweeps away the brief summer of lovers'\ndelight, bringing them to autumnal regrets 'for days that are over and\ndreams that are done,' and lastly to wintry oblivion, we have almost a\nsurfeit of voluptuous melancholy. In this, as in other poems, the sea,\nchangeful in mood, alternately fair and fierce, a bright smiling\nsurface covering a thousand graves, fascinating and treacherous, is\nthe mythical Aphrodite, the fatal woman, merciless to men. All this is\nset out in lyrics which amaze the reader by their exuberance of\nlanguage, profusion of metaphor, and classic allusion; in rhymes that\nstrike on the ear like the clashing of cymbals. It is as if Atys and\nhis wild Maenads were flying through the quiet English woodlands. The\nlong-drawn, undulating lines, in a quieter strain, of the 'Hymn to\nProserpine' and of 'Hesperia,' with their subtle music, lay the reader\nunder their charm; but too many of these poems are tainted by a\nflavour of morbidity, and the average Englishman is not easily thrown\nby the most potent spells into a state of amorous delirium.\n\nIt is not surprising, therefore, that this first volume of poems,\nsaturated with intoxicating Hedonism, had, as Mr. Swinburne wrote in\nthe Dedicatory Preface appended to the full collection of his works,\n'as quaint a reception and as singular a fortune as I have ever heard\nor read of.' The eruption of neo-paganism was sudden and unexpectedly\nviolent--the rumblings of scientific and philosophic scepticism had\ngiven no warning of a volcanic explosion in this direction. The\ncurrent literature of 1865 was much more prudish and less outspoken\nthan it is at the present day; the gentlemanly licentiousness of\nByron's time had been completely suppressed; the moral tone of the\nmiddle class was still outwardly Puritanic. English folk were by no\nmeans prepared to rebuild the altars of the primitive deities who\npresided over man's unquenchable desire, or to be otherwise than\nsomewhat aghast at the invocations of Astarte or Ashtaroth, or the cry\nto Our Lady of Pain, the 'noble and nude and antique.' The result was\nthat the first edition of the _Poems and Ballads_ was withdrawn,\nthough they were reissued in the same year, when Mr. Swinburne\npublished a reply to his critics. Nevertheless, although the graver\nand, we may say, the higher judges of what was admissible to a\nnineteenth-century poet were entirely against him, it cannot be denied\nthat the impulsive youth of that generation felt the enchantment of\nMr. Swinburne's intoxicating love-potions--were sorely tempted to dash\ndown Tennyson on the drawing-room table, and to join the wild dance\nround the shrine of Aphrodite Pandemia.\n\nIn the _Poems and Ballads_ Mr. Swinburne keeps on some terms, so to\nspeak, with theology. In the poem entitled 'A Litany' the Lord God\ndiscourses with Biblical sternness to His people, who tremble before\nHim, and threatens them with 'the inevitable Hell,' while the people\nimplore mercy--a strange excursion into the Semitic desert out of the\nflowery field of paganism. And another poem is a pathetic rendering of\nthe story of St. Dorothy, a Christian martyr. It is true that he\nlooks back with aesthetic regret to the triumph of Christianity over\nthe picturesque polytheism, and that perhaps the finest poem in this\nvolume is the 'Hymn to Proserpine,' where a votary of the ancient\ndivinities confesses sorrowfully that a new and austere faith has\ntriumphed, but predicts that its kingdom will not last, will decline\nand fall like the empire of the elder gods--\n\n    'All ye as a wind shall go by, as a fire shall ye pass and\n      be past;\n    Ye are gods, and behold, ye shall die, and the waves be upon you\n      at last.\n    In the darkness of time, in the deeps of the years, in the changes\n      of things,\n    Ye shall sleep as a slain man sleeps, and the world shall forget you\n      for kings.'\n\nThe 'Hymn to Proserpine' is a fine conception of the champion of a\nlost cause standing unmoved among the ruins of his Pantheon. But the\nquiet dignity of his attitude is marred by the lines in which the\nvotary of fair forms turns with loathing from the new faith which has\nconquered by the blood and agony of saints and martyrs. The violent\ninvective is like a red streak across the canvas of a picturesque and\nhighly imaginative composition. Yet if he had been reminded that\nLucretius, standing in the midst of paganism, sternly denounced the\nevils and cruelties of religion, Mr. Swinburne would probably have\nreplied that the Roman poet, could he have been born again fourteen or\nfifteen centuries later in his native country, would have found these\nevils enormously increased, and that the sacrifice of Iphigenia in\nAulis was as nothing to the hecatombs of the Inquisition.\n\nHis intense imagination summons up a bright and luxurious vision of\nthe pre-Christian civilisation in Greece and Rome, as yet little\naffected by the deeper spiritualism of Asia; he is absorbed in\ncontemplation of the beautiful sensuous aspect of the old\nnature-worship, as it is represented by poetry and the plastic arts,\nby singers and sculptors who (one may remark) knew better than to deal\nwith its darker and degrading side, its orgies and unabashed\nanimalism. And we may add that Mr. Swinburne would have done well to\nfollow the example, in this respect, of these great masters of his own\nart; since his early defects and excesses are mainly due to his having\nmissed their lesson by disregarding the limitations which they\nscrupulously observed.\n\nWhen he reissued the _Poems and Ballads_, Mr. Swinburne took occasion,\nas we have said, to reply, in a pamphlet, to the strictures and strong\nprotests which they had aroused. He was at some trouble to discover\nthe passages or phrases 'that had drawn down such sudden thunder from\nthe serene heavens of public virtue': he was comically puzzled to\ncomprehend why the reviewers were scandalised. He trampled with\nsarcasm and scorn upon canting critics, and retorted that the prurient\nprudery of their own minds suggested the impurities which they found\nin works of pure art. There is nothing, he insists, lovelier, as there\nis nothing more famous in later Hellenic art, than the statue of\nHermaphroditus, yet his translation of a sculptured poem into written\nverse has given offence! One might reply that a subject which is\nirreproachable, on the score of purity, in cold marble, may take a\nvery different colour when it is dilated upon in burning verse.\n\nThe controversy had its humorous side; but we have no intention of\nstirring up again the smoke and fire of battles fought long ago. Mr.\nSwinburne held his ground defiantly, and the appearance of _Songs and\nBallads_, published in 1871, showed no signs of contrition, or of\nconcession to inveterate prejudices. In the course of the intervening\nfive years the empire of Napoleon III. had fallen with a mighty\ncrash; Italy had been united under one Italian dynasty; Garibaldi had\nbecome famous, and the Papal States had been absorbed into the Italian\nkingdom. This volume, which was dedicated to Joseph Mazzini, shows the\nardent enthusiasm for the triumph of liberty, intellectual and\npolitical, which runs through all Mr. Swinburne's poetry. The 'Song of\nthe Standard,' the 'Halt before Rome,' the 'Marching Song,' the\n'Insurrection of Candia,' are poems that reflect current events; and\nthe 'Litany of Nations' is the national anthem of peoples striving for\nfreedom. But his verse rises to its highest pitch of exultation in the\nglorification of emancipation of Man. The final line of the 'Hymn to\nMan' is\n\n    'Glory to Man in the highest, for Man is the master of things';\n\nand in one stanza of 'Hertha' is condensed all the wild declamation\nagainst deities and despots that pervades his poetry at this stage,\nwith his joy in the deification of humanity:\n\n                 'A creed is a rod,\n                    And a crown is of night;\n                  But this thing is God,\n                    To be man with thy might,\n    To grow straight in the strength of thy spirit, and live out thy life\n                    As the light.'\n\nThere are no love-lyrics in this volume. He now stands forth as the\nuncompromising enemy of established religions, a fierce assailant of\ntyrannies, spiritual or temporal, an iconoclast who denounces churches\nand tabernacles, priests and kings, the Roman Pope and the Jewish\nJehovah; one for whom the Papacy is, as it was to Hobbes, the Kingdom\nof Darkness, its record blotted with tears and stained with blood, the\n'grey spouse of Satan,' as he styled her in a later poem, sitting by a\nfire that is fed with the bones of her victims. From this time\nforward he declares open war upon theology, and even upon Theism; he\nis the mortal foe of bigots and tyrants; his praise is for Giordano\nBruno, for Pelagius the British monk, born by the northern sea; for\nVoltaire, for all who have fought and suffered in the cause of\nintellectual emancipation. The prevailing religious beliefs seem to\nhim relics of mediaeval superstition, sophistry, and metaphysic--he\ncontrasts them with the bright and free nature worship of the old\nworld; he is a bitter enemy of the lofty spiritualism, the mighty\nworld-religion, before which the fair humanities of the _juventus\nmundi_ had faded away. His delight is in the virile qualities of the\nearlier civilisations, the patriotism, the heroic temper, the ardour\nfor civic liberties, the Hellenic delight in noble form and in\nphysical beauty. He is fretted by the restraint which Christian\nauthority imposes upon the unruly affections of sinful men; he scorns\nthe terrors of judgment to come, the prostration of the multitude\nbefore the threat of eternal punishment, and the promise of celestial\nrecompense for terrestrial misery. Death is the 'sleep eternal in an\neternal night'; and the one thing as certain as death is pleasure. He\nis the prophet of Hedonism; he is for giving the passions a loose\nrein, for drinking the wine of rapture to the lees before we lie\n\n    'Deep in dim death, beneath the grass\n    Where no thought stings.'\n\nNevertheless, as the years go on, the note of regret and despair\nquiets down, the restless spirit of the poet is subdued to the calmer\ninfluences of nature; the charm of scenery, the association of places\nwith memories more frequently bring softer inspirations. In his\nearlier poems his imaginative power found full scope in rendering the\nimpressions of natural beauty, the glory of elemental strife; as in\nthe 'Songs of the Four Seasons,' where the approach of a storm from\nthe sea is likened to a descent of the Norse pirates on to the\npeaceful coast, and the metaphor produces a spirited picture:\n\n             'As men's cheeks faded\n              On shores invaded\n              When shorewards waded\n                The lords of fight;\n              When churl and craven\n              Saw hard on haven\n              The wide-winged raven\n                At mainmast height;\n              When monks affrighted\n              To windward sighted\n              The birds full-flighted\n                Of swift sea-kings;\n              So earth turns paler\n              When Storm the sailor\n    Steers in with a roar in the race of his wings.'\n\nBut more frequently the outlook on sea and land induces reverie, vague\nyearnings, retrospective sadness, and, like all true artists, he\ntransposes into the landscape his own personal emotions, what he sees,\nfeels, and remembers. In the poem of 'Hesperia' the view of the sunset\nover the sea stirs tender memories; the 'deep-tide wind blowing in\nwith the water' seems to be wafting his absent love back to him, and\nhis heart floats out toward her 'as the refluent seaweed moves in the\nlanguid exuberant stream.' In such pieces the fierce amorous obsession\nhas been shaken off; he is no longer vexed by Shakespeare's[32]\nhyperbolic fiend, his mood is comparatively gentle and pathetic, as in\nthe beautiful verses of 'A Forsaken Garden,' where his consummate\nfaculty of metrical expression, wherein sense and sound are matched\nand inseparable, reaches, perhaps, its highest watermark:\n\n    'Over the meadows that blossom and wither\n      Rings but the note of a sea-bird's song;\n    Only the sun and the rain come hither\n                  All year long.'\n\nIn the series of landscape sketches grouped under the title of _A\nMidsummer Holiday_, published nearly twenty years after the _Poems and\nBallads_, the treatment of his subject has become more impersonal. The\nimpression or idea is still coloured by transmission through the\nspectator's mind. Mr. Swinburne has himself observed, very truly, that\n\n     'mere descriptive poetry of the prepense and formal kind is\n     exceptionally liable to incur and to deserve the charge of dulness:\n     it is unnecessary to emphasise or obtrude the personal note, the\n     presence or emotion of a spectator, but it is necessary to make it\n     felt and keep it perceptible if the poem is to have life in it or\n     even a right to live.'[33]\n\nThis is the right doctrine, and we may add that it is applicable as a\ncriticism to some of his earlier descriptive pieces, where the intense\npersonal feeling is somewhat too intense and disproportionate; so that\na reader gifted with less keenness of sensibility is disconcerted by\ninsistence on effusive moods with which he cannot be expected to be in\nfull sympathy. Mr. Swinburne might reply that for such dullards he\ndoes not write; but the finest wines are too heady for a morning's\ndraught. In his more mature poems he appears to have deliberately held\nback what may be termed the subjective emotion; the landscapes are no\nlonger peopled by figures or memories of the past; the thoughts which\nthey suggest are such as find response in all minds that are in accord\nwith the deeper and more subtle relations of human life to its\nenvironment. He himself has indeed told us[34] that to many of his\nstudies of English land and sea no intimacy of years and no\nassociation with the past has given any colour of emotion, that only\nso much of the personal note is retained as is sufficient to bring\nthese various poems into touch with each other. And we can perceive\nthat their inspiration is drawn, chiefly if not exclusively, from the\nspiritual influence of inanimate nature, the effects of inland or\nwoodland solitude, of the land silent under the noontide heat, of the\nsterile shore, or the raging of the sea. The _Midsummer Holiday_ group\nhas two pictures of sweet homeliness--'The Mill Garden' and 'On a\nCountry Road'--the harvest of a quiet eye (in Wordsworth's phrase),\nsuch as a rambling artist might jot down in his travelling sketch\nbook, of value the more remarkable because they are not in Mr.\nSwinburne's usual manner. They give relief to the breadth and grandeur\nof the other descriptions of the ocean, the crags, and the storms. For\nto Swinburne, as to all the romantic English poets, the ocean stream\nwhich encircles their island is an inexhaustible source of delight and\npride; it is our ever present defence in time of trouble; the fountain\nof our country's wealth and honour; it is our traditional battlefield;\nthe winds and the waves are the breath and the force of our national\nbeing. And through Mr. Swinburne's poetry runs a vein of undiluted\nlove for his native land. In his poem 'On the South Coast' he looks\nout from 'the green, smooth-swelling downs' over the broad blue water,\nand his thought is expressed in its final stanza:\n\n    Fair and dear is the land's face here, and fair man's work as a\n      man's may be:\n    Dear and fair as the sunbright air is here the record that speaks\n      him free;\n    Free by birth of a sacred earth, and regent ever of all the sea.'\n\nThe 'Autumn Vision' is an ode to the south-west wind, which has so\noften filled the sails of the English warships:\n\n    'Wind beloved of earth and sky and sea beyond all winds that blow,\n    Wind whose might in fight was England's on her mightiest warrior\n      day,\n    South-west wind, whose breath for her was life, and fire to scourge\n      her foe,\n    Steel to smite and death to drive him down an unreturning way,\n    Well-beloved and welcome, sounding all the clarions of the sky,\n    Rolling all the marshalled waters toward the charge that storms\n      the shore.'\n\nCharles Kingsley, like a hardy Norseman, preferred the north-east\ngale. To him the south-west wind is\n\n    'The ladies' breeze,\n    Bringing back their lovers\n    Out of all the seas,'\n\nwhile Mr. Swinburne hears in the rushing south-western gale\n\n                   'the sound of wings gigantic,\n    Wings whose measure is the measure of the measureless Atlantic,'\n\nand, after the storm,\n\n    'The grim sea swell, grey, sleepless and sad as a soul estranged.'\n\n'A Swimmer's Dream' gives us the poetry of floating on the slow roll\nof the waves, some cloudy November morning.\n\n    'Dawn is dim on the dark soft water,\n      Soft and passionate, dark and sweet.'\n\n'Loch Torridon' preserves the charm of what might be a landlocked\nlake, if it were not that the rippling tide flows in by an almost\ninvisible inlet from the sea. From his earliest to his latest poems\nthe magic of nature's changing aspects fascinates him; they inspire\nhim with a kind of ecstasy that finds utterance in the variety of his\nverse, which reflects all the lights and shades of earth, sea, and\natmosphere. One may remark, by the way, that in proportion as his\npoetic strength matures, the pagan gods and goddesses, who disported\nthemselves so freely in his juvenile verse, visit him much more\nrarely; his imagery draws much less profusely upon the classic\nmythology for symbols and figures of divinities whose diaphanous robes\nare ill suited to our northern climate and Puritanic traditions, in\nthe wolds and forests once sacred to Thor and Woden.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt will be admitted by Mr. Swinburne's least indulgent critics that\nhis poetry displays throughout a marvellous power of execution. He\nruns over all the lyrical and elegiac chords with unabated facility;\nhis metrical variations and musical phrasing bring out and extend the\ncapacity and fertility of our language as a poetic instrument; he is\nmaster of his materials. No doubt there is some repetition, some\niteration, which becomes slightly wearisome, of his favourite rhymes,\nindicating, what has been observed independently of reference to this\nparticular writer, that the resources of the English language for\nterminal assonance, under the stringent conditions required by the\nmodern rules of versification, are inevitably limited and show signs\nof exhaustion.\n\nIn a Note on Poetry appended to his latest volume of verses,[35] Mr.\nJohn Davidson has classed rhyme as a kind of disease of poetry. Rhyme,\nhe says, is probably more than seven hundred years old--in Europe, he\nmust mean, for it is far older in Asia, whence it originally came--and\nsince the days of the troubadours and Minnesingers it has corrupted,\nin his opinion, the ear of the world. At best it is, he thinks, a\ndecadent mode, imposing shackles on free poetic expression; and\nthough in these fetters great poets have done magnificent work, in\ntheir finest rhymed verse he finds a feeling of effort. They have\nalways been obliged to throw in something that need not have been\nsaid, some words inserted under compulsion, to bring the rhyme about.\nMr. Davidson declares that the true glory of free untrammelled poetry\nshines out in the rhythmic periods of blank verse. That there may be\nsome truth, or at least some convenience, in this theory of the poetic\nart, the modern poet may not be concerned to deny; for, as we have\nalready said, rhymes will not withstand incessant and familiar usage;\nthey become commonplaces, and the rhymer wanders away from the natural\ndirection of his thought in search of fresh ones. The most devout\nadmirers of Browning must admit that his verse is often distorted in\nthis way--so that a fine stanza sometimes finishes with a jolt and\nends with a tag--and it must be allowed that this necessity of making\nboth ends meet is bad for the poetic conscience, a temptation to\nindefensible laxities. Even Mr. Swinburne, the inventor of exquisite\nharmonies, whose work is indisputably sincere, can be occasionally\nobserved to be diverging from the straight line of his impetuous\nflight, hovering and making circuits that lead up skilfully to the\nindispensable rhyme. More frequently, perhaps, there is a tendency to\ninterpose some metaphor, or rather far-fetched allusion, for the sake\nof the clear, full, recurrent intonation of echoing words that can\nonly be marshalled into their places by artistic ingenuity.\n\nWe may so far agree with Mr. Davidson that most of the sublime\npassages in English poetry are in blank verse, though it may be\nnoticed that the four lines which he quotes from _Macbeth_,[36] as\ncontaining the 'topmost note in the stupendous agony of the drama,'\nare rhymed. The management of rhyme is a difficult and very delicate\nart; it is an instrument that requires a first-class performer, like\nMr. Swinburne, to bring out its potency; to this art the English\nlyric, the ode and the song, owe their musical perfection. Mr.\nSwinburne, in an essay upon Matthew Arnold's _New Poems_ (1867), has\nsaid, truly, that 'rhyme is the native condition of lyric verse in\nEngland'; and that 'to throw away the natural grace of rhyme from a\nmodern song is a wilful abdication of half the charm and half the\npower of verse.' To this general rule he might possibly admit one\nexception--Tennyson's short poem beginning with 'Tears, idle tears,'\nwhich is so delicately modulated that the absence of rhyme is not\nmissed. At any rate it is certain that all popular verse needs this\nterminal note; for a ballad in blank verse is inconceivable. On the\nother hand, the proper use of rhyme demands a fine ear, which is a\nrare gift; for our language has no formal rules of prosody, so that in\nmaladroit hands rhyme becomes an intolerable jingle. At the present\nday, however, there is a tendency to run into excessive elaboration,\nlargely due to superficial imitation of such masters of the poetic art\nas Tennyson, and especially Swinburne, so that we have a copious\noutpouring of feeble melodies.\n\nMr. Swinburne, on the contrary, is never feeble; he combines technical\nexcellence with the power of vehement, often much too violent,\nexpression. His character may be defined by the French word 'entier';\nhe is uncompromising in praise or blame. He insists (to quote his own\nwords) that 'the worship of beauty, though beauty be itself\ntransformed and incarnate in shapes diverse without end, must be\nsimple and absolute'; nor will he tolerate reserve or veiled\nintimations of a poet's inmost thought.\n\n     'Nothing,' he has written, 'in verse or out of verse is more\n     wearisome than the delivery of reluctant doubt, of half-hearted\n     hope and half-incredulous faith. A man who suffers from the strong\n     desire either to believe or disbelieve something he cannot, may be\n     worthy of sympathy, is certainly worthy of pity, until he begins to\n     speak; and if he tries to speak in verse, he misses the implement\n     of an artist.'\n\nHe is pained by Matthew Arnold's 'occasional habit of harking back and\nloitering in mind among the sepulchres.... Nothing which leaves us\ndepressed is a true work of art.' Yet, it may be answered, the habit\nof musing among tombs has inspired good poetry; and when doubt and\ndejection, perplexed meditation over insoluble problems, are in the\nair, a poet does well to express the dominant feelings of his time;\nand a modern Hamlet is no inartistic figure.\n\nIn this respect, however, Mr. Swinburne may have found reason to\nqualify, latterly, the absoluteness of his poetic principles. He has\nbeen from the first a generous critic of those contemporary poets whom\nhe recognised as kindred souls. He awards unmeasured praise to Matthew\nArnold, while of his defects and shortcomings he speaks plainly. He\ndoes loyal homage to Browning in a sequence of sonnets, and his\ntribute to Tennyson was paid in a lofty 'Threnody,' when that noble\nspirit passed away. For Victor Hugo he proclaimed, as all know,\nnothing short of unbounded adoration--he is 'the greatest writer whom\nthe world has seen since Shakespeare'; though it may be doubted\nwhether in his own country Hugo now stands upon so supreme a pinnacle.\nTo other eminent men of his time his poetry accords admiration,\nchiefly to the champions of free thought and of resistance to\noppression; and, in a poem entitled 'Two Leaders,' he salutes two\nantagonists as he might do before crossing swords with them. The\nleaders are not named; the first is evidently Newman:\n\n    'O great and wise, clear-souled and high of heart,\n      One the last flower of Catholic love, that grows\n      Amid bare thorn their only thornless rose,\n    From the fierce juggling of the priest's loud mart\n    Yet alien, yet unspotted and apart\n      From the blind hard foul rout whose shameless shows\n      Mock the sweet heaven whose secret no man knows\n    With prayers and curses and the soothsayers' art.'\n\nThe second is\n\n        'Like a storm-god of the northern foams\n    Strong, wrought of rock that breasts and breaks the sea,'\n\nin whom we recognise Carlyle. They are the powers of darkness, doomed\nto fall and to vanish before the light; yet their genius commands\nrespect and even sympathy.\n\n    'With all our hearts we praise you whom ye hate,\n      High souls that hate us; for our hopes are higher,\n\n    *       *       *       *       *\n\n    Honour not hate we give you, love not fear,\n      Last prophets of past kind, who fill the dome\n    Of great dead Gods with wrath and wail, nor hear\n      Time's word and man's: \"Go honoured hence, go home,\n    Night's childless children; here your hour is done;\n    Pass with the stars, and leave us with the sun.\"'\n\nThe concise energy of these lines, their slow metrical movement,\ninvest them with singular weight and dignity. The poet is confronting\ntwo representatives, in principle, of Force and Authority, whose\nprototypes in bygone times would undoubtedly have sent him to the\nscaffold or to the stake; nor is it improbable that both Carlyle and\nNewman, though in all other opinions they differed widely, would have\nagreed that a revolutionary firebrand and a pestilent infidel\ndeserved some such fate. The poet might console himself with the\nreflection that they must have abhorred each other's principles quite\nas much as they detested his own.\n\nIn his later verse Mr. Swinburne still continues to wield his flaming\nsword against priests and despots, against intellectual and political\nservility. What may be termed the historical plea, the excuse for\nideas and institutions that they are the relics of evil days long\npast, is no palliation for them to his mind; he would stamp them out\nand utterly destroy them. In this respect his temperament has\nunconsciously a strong tincture of the intolerance which he denounces;\nhe would sweep away Christianity as Christianity swept away\npolytheism. Toward its Founder, as the type of human love and purity,\nhe is uniformly reverential; there is nothing in that supreme figure\nthat jars with that Religion of Humanity, which 'The Altar of\nRighteousness' proclaims with high dithyrambic enthusiasm:\n\n    'Christ the man lives yet, remembered of man as dreams that leave\n    Light on eyes that wake and know not if memory bids them grieve.\n\n    *       *       *       *       *\n\n    Far above all wars and gospels, all ebb and flow of time,\n    Lives the soul that speaks in silence, and makes mute the earth\n      sublime.'\n\nBut of theology reigning by force and terror he is the implacable\nenemy; and his intemperate violence leaves a stain on the bright\nradiance of his poetry. It amounts to an artistic fault, undiminished\neven in the later years which should have brought the philosophic\nmind. Moreover, it has materially lessened the influence which so fine\na poetic genius should have exercised over the present generation,\namong whom polemical ardour and bitterness may be thought to have\nperceptibly cooled down, and to have become much less aggressive, in\nscience, philosophy, and literature, than among the preceding\ngeneration. An age of tacit indifference, content with rationalistic\nexplanations, with the slow working of disillusion, dislikes and\ndiscountenances outrageous scorn poured upon things that are\ntraditionally sacred; and to the English character extremes are always\ndistressing.\n\nMr. Swinburne's dramatic work, at any rate, takes us out of the strife\nand turmoil of theologic war; we are on firm historic ground, dealing\nwith authentic events and persons. The plays of _Chastelard_,\n_Bothwell_, and _Mary Stuart_ form a trilogy in which the most\nromantic and eventful period of Scottish history is presented; they\nconstitute the epic-drama of Scotland, to adopt a definition applied\nby Victor Hugo to the tragedy of _Bothwell_. It is impossible, in this\narticle, to find space for an adequate criticism of these remarkable\nproductions. Every leading poet of the nineteenth century has made\nexcursions into the dramatic field. We doubt whether any of them has\ncome out of the adventure much better than Mr. Swinburne. All of them\nhave given us, each in his own way, fine poetry, and, if we except\nByron, they have shown that the masters of lyrical music can strike\nwith power the high chords of blank verse. None of them have produced\nplays that took any hold of a theatrical audience; in most cases they\nwere not intended for the stage.\n\nThe play of _Chastelard_ is too deeply saturated with amorous essences\nthroughout to be forcibly dramatic. The hero is in a high love-fever\nfrom first to last, the passionate strain becomes monotonous, and\nthough he dies to save the Queen's honour, our minds are not purged\nwith much pity for him. In the long historical drama of _Bothwell_,\nwhich has twenty-one scenes in its two acts, we have spirited\nportraits of the fierce nobles who surrounded Mary Stuart during her\nbrief and distracted reign. The love passages are pauses in a course\nof violent action, the assassination of Rizzio, the murder of Darnley\nare not overcoloured melodramatically, and the scenes in and about the\nKirk of Field are darkened with the shadow of Darnley's imminent fate.\nBut Darnley's dream, presaging his coming doom, inevitably recalls the\ndream of Clarence, and cannot but suffer from the reminiscence. We\nmight have something to say on the metrical construction of\nSwinburne's blank verse, for he shares with Tennyson, though in a\nminor degree, the distinction of having enlarged its scope and varied\nits measure. But the subject would demand careful comparative\nexamination and analysis of different styles, such as is to be read,\nwith profit to all students of the art poetic, in Mr. J. B. Mayor's\n_Chapters on English Metres_.\n\nIt will be understood that this article attempts no more than to\nreview the salient characteristics of Mr. Swinburne's poetry, to\nindicate in some degree their connexion and development. It cannot but\nfall far short, obviously, of being a comprehensive survey of his\ncontributions to English literature. We have made no reference, for\nlack of space, to his treatment of chivalrous romance in _Tristram of\nLyonesse_, which Mr. Swinburne has rightly called 'the deathless\nlegend,' though, since its fascination has made it a subject for three\nother contemporary poets, a comparison of their diverse manners of\nhandling the story would be interesting. It is with regret that we\nhave been compelled, also, to refrain from any adequate notice of Mr.\nSwinburne's prose writings, for in regard to the poetry of his own\nperiod the dissertations and judgments of one who combines high\nimaginative faculty with scientific mastery of the metrical art must\nhave special value. Of the ordinary untrained criticism, the 'chorus\nof indolent reviewers,' to use Tennyson's phrase, he is, we think, too\nimpatient. From a passage in his Dedicatory Epistle we gather that\nsome of the tribe have ventured so far as to insinuate that poetry\nought not to become a mere musical exercise. Mr. Swinburne's rejoinder\nis that\n\n     'except to such ears as should always be closed against poetry,\n     there is no music in verse which has not in it sufficient fulness\n     and ripeness of meaning, sufficient adequacy of emotion or of\n     thought, to abide the analysis of any other than the purblind\n     scrutiny of prepossession or the squint-eyed inspection of\n     malignity.'\n\nApart from the wrathful form, the substance of what is here said\nmerits consideration, for undoubtedly the most musical of our poets,\nfrom Shakespeare and Milton to Coleridge and Shelley, are those whose\nverse has embodied the richest thought and has been instinct with the\ndeeper emotions. We must muster up courage to remark, nevertheless,\nthat while in Mr. Swinburne's finest poems the musical setting\naccompanies and illuminates the thought or feeling, in some others the\nunderlying idea is too unsubstantial; its real presence is only\nvisible to the eye of implicit faith. Toward his fellow poets, his\nequals and contemporaries, Mr. Swinburne's attitude is that of\ngenerous enthusiasm, not excluding outspoken, yet courteous,\nindication of defects, as may be seen in the essay[37] on Matthew\nArnold's _New Poems_, which is full of important observations on\npoetry in general, beside some well-deserved strictures on Arnold's\nshortcomings, in criticism as well as in verse. For Victor Hugo he has\nnothing but panegyric. His articles on Byron and Coleridge are\nluminous appreciations of the very diverse excellences belonging to\ntwo illustrious predecessors; while in his _Notes on the Text of\nShelley_, high-soaring and incomparable, an unlucky emendation of a\nline in 'The Skylark--the insertion of a superfluous word\nconjecturally--by an editor whose work he commends on the whole,\nprovokes him to sheer exasperation:\n\n     'For the conception of this atrocity the editor is not responsible;\n     for its adoption he is. A thousand years of purgatorial fire would\n     be insufficient expiation for the criminal on whose deaf and\n     desperate head must rest the original guilt of defacing the text of\n     Shelley with this damnable corruption.'\n\n'Fas est et ab hoste doceri.' Mr. Swinburne has borrowed the style of\nsacerdotal anathema from his mortal enemies, and pronounces it no less\ninexorably. But these Notes were written nigh forty years ago, so we\nmay hope that by this time he has cast out, or at least subdued by\ndiligent exorcism, that same hyperbolic fiend which entered in and\nrent him at certain seasons of his youth.\n\nMr. Swinburne has, indeed, the defects of his qualities. He is an\nardent friend and an unflinching adversary, but we have seen that in\nprose no less than in poetry, in polemics as in politics, his style is\nliable to become overheated and thunderous. He has no patience with\nmediocrity in art; he disdains the _via media_ in thought and action.\nIn these respects he stands alone among the Victorian poets, most of\nwhom anticipate with misgivings the evaporation of faith in the\nsupernatural, while they acknowledge that for themselves such faith\nhas little meaning, and are inclined to melancholy musing over the\n'doubtful doom of human kind' which haunted the imagination of\nTennyson. And his attitude is still further apart from the\nintellectual tendencies discernible at the present moment in pure\nliterature, which is now less concerned, we think, with these\nquestions than when Mr. Arnold wrote _Literature and Dogma_, and seems\nmore disposed to leave theology in the hands of the physical\nscientists and the professional metaphysicians. However this may be,\nit is to be seriously regretted that Mr. Swinburne's peremptory,\nunscrupulous manner of dealing with religious forms and beliefs which\nthe world, perhaps, would not unwillingly let die, though by painless\nextinction rather than by violence, has alienated reverent minds from\nhim, and has tarnished the brilliancy of his strenuous verse. The\nsensuous frenzy of his juvenile poems is still remembered against him;\nit betrayed a lack of moral dignity, of what the Greek poets, whom he\nso much admired, meant by the word [Greek: aidos]. But we very\nwillingly acknowledge that of these excesses hardly a trace is to be\nfound in the very numerous pieces that fill the later volumes of his\ncollected poetry.\n\nFrom these causes it has resulted that Mr. Swinburne does not, in our\nopinion, now hold the position or command the influence which would\notherwise be accorded to one who may be reckoned the chief lyrical\npoet of the second half of the nineteenth century; for after the\npublication, in 1855, of _Maud_, Tennyson had passed his lyrical\nclimax, and Mr. Swinburne's superiority, as a lyrist, over all other\nwriters of that period is incontestable. His neo-paganism, moreover,\njars upon the realistic modernity of a generation for whom primitive\nsymbolism is obsolete as a form of expression, and whose prevailing\nthought is too profoundly rationalistic to be attracted by a pagan\nparadise. All this is to be regretted, since Mr. Swinburne undoubtedly\nhas the pagan virtues. His aspirations are concentrated on ideals that\nennoble the present life, on justice, inflexible courage, patriotism,\nthe unsophisticated intelligence; he loves liberty and he hates\noppression in all their shapes. He is throughout an optimist, who\nbelieves and predicts that a clearer and brighter prospect is before\nhumanity. To Mr. Swinburne, in short, may be applied the words with\nwhich Matthew Arnold summed up his essay upon Heine: 'He is not an\nadequate interpreter of the modern world; he is a brilliant soldier in\nthe liberation war of humanity.' And future generations may remember\nhim as the poet who passed on to them the message of his spiritual\nforefather, Shelley:\n\n    'O man, hold thee on in courage of soul\n      Through the stormy shades of thy worldly way;\n    And the billows of clouds that round thee roll\n      Shall sleep in the light of a wondrous day,\n    When heaven and hell shall leave thee free\n      To the universe of destiny.'\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[31] _The Poems of Algernon Charles Swinburne._ In six volumes. With a\ndedicatory epistle to Theodore Watts-Dunton. London, Chatto and\nWindus, 1904.--_Edinburgh Review_, October 1906.\n\n[32] 'Out, hyperbolic fiend! how vexest thou this man?'--_Twelfth\nNight._\n\n[33] Dedicatory Preface.\n\n[34] Dedicatory Preface.\n\n[35] _Holiday and Other Poems_, 1906.\n\n[36] Note on Poetry, p. 144.\n\n[37] _Essays and Studies_, 1867.\n\n\n\n\nFRONTIERS ANCIENT AND MODERN[38]\n\n\nIt may be doubted whether many students of history are aware that the\ndemarcation of frontiers, of precise lines dividing the possessions of\nadjacent sovereignties and distinguishing their respective\njurisdictions, is a practice of modern origin. At the present time it\nis the essential outcome of territorial disputes, it is the operation\nby which they are formally settled at the end of a war: it registers\nconquests and cessions; and occasionally it has been the result of\npacific arbitration. Among compact and civilised nationalities an\nexterior frontier, thus carefully defined, remains, like the human\nskin, the most sensitive and irritable part of their corporate\nconstitution. The slightest infringement of it by a neighbouring Power\nis instantly resented; to break through it violently is to be\ninflicting a wound which may draw blood; and even interference with\nany petty State that may lie between the frontiers of two great\ngovernments is regarded as a serious menace.\n\nThe whole continent of Europe has now been laid out upon this system\nof strict delimitation. Yet it may be maintained that among the\nkingdoms of the ancient world no such exact and recognised\ndistribution of territory existed; and, further, that up to a very\nrecent period none of the great empires in Asia had any boundaries\nthat could be traced on a map. Their landmarks were incessantly\nshifting forward or backward as their military strength rose or fell;\nand where their territories marched with some rough mountainous tract\ninhabited by warlike tribes, they were perpetually plagued by petty\nwarfare on a zone of debateable land. On both sides some temporary\nintrusion upon or occupation of country held by a neighbour, which\nwould now be the signal for mobilising an army, was treated as a\ntrespass of small importance, to be resented and rectified at leisure.\nIt is true that in earlier times the Romans marked off distinct\nfrontiers, and guarded them by military posts; but their policy was to\nacknowledge no frontier power with equal rights, and their actual\npolitical jurisdiction usually extended far beyond their lines of\ndefence, which were advanced or withdrawn as political or military\nconsiderations might require. In fact, the Roman empire, like the\nBritish empire in Asia, was a great organised State, surrounded, for\nthe most part, by small and weak principalities, or by warlike tribal\ncommunities, and it grew by a natural process of inevitable expansion.\nThe emperors were often reluctant to enlarge their possessions; but\nthe raids and incursions of intractable barbarians, or the revolt of\nsome protected chiefship, frequently left them no option but to\nconquer and annex. They soon found themselves compelled to overstep\nthe limits of empire prescribed by the policy of Augustus, and to lay\ndown an advanced frontier in the lands beyond the Rhine and the\nDanube.\n\nIn Europe, where, as we have said, all national frontiers are now\nfixed and registered, the position of a civilised government entangled\nin chronic border warfare has long been unknown; the tradition of such\na state of things is preserved in popular recollection mainly by local\nrecords and old ballads. Yet for Englishmen the subject possesses\npeculiar interest, since it is connected with their earlier history;\nand moreover our dominion in India invests it with special importance,\nfor it is there a matter of immediate experience and active concern.\nWe may recollect, in the first place, that Britain was an outlying\nprovince of the Roman empire, for at this moment we are excavating the\nruins of the wall built by the Romans to protect their northern\nfrontier from the incursions of the warlike tribes beyond it, by the\nfirst administration that established, for a time, peace and\ncivilisation in England. Then, in the middle ages, and long\nafterwards, the border between the kingdoms of England and Scotland\nwhich ran northward of the old Roman line, was for centuries the scene\nof plundering raids, punitive expeditions, and internecine feuds that\noften laid waste the countryside with fire and sword. We may observe,\nin this instance, how shifting and indeterminate was the exact\nfrontier line between the two kingdoms, and how the local fighting,\nthe inroads from one side or the other, did not necessarily involve a\nrupture of their formal relations. The wardens on each side executed\nrough justice upon marauding clans; they wasted and slaughtered in\nreprisal for raids; the great nobles engaged in a kind of private\nwarfare; but all this might go on without embroiling the two\ngovernments in a national war. On the western English border the Welsh\nhillmen kept the neighbouring counties in continual alarm; and their\nchiefs played an important part in the civil wars and rebellions of\nEngland. They were at last quieted by Edward I., who succeeded in\nsubduing Wales though he failed in Scotland. Lastly, though the union\nof the two kingdoms brought peace to the Anglo-Scottish border, the\nHighland line along the Forth river still kept up, though in a much\nless serious degree, the troubles of a regular government in contact\nwith restless tribes. Nor was it until the middle of the eighteenth\ncentury that these relics of an archaic condition of society, which\nhad long ago disappeared in other parts of western Europe, were\nfinally effaced in Great Britain. Long afterwards, in the nineteenth\ncentury, when the conquest of the Punjab carried the north-western\nfrontier of British India up to the slopes of the Afghan mountains,\nthe scene of perpetual strife between a strong settled administration\nand turbulent borderers which had passed away on the Tweed or the\nForth, and on the Welsh Marches, reappeared in the districts beyond\nthe Indus.\n\nTo Englishmen, therefore, whose experience of this situation is long,\nvaried, and actual, Mr. Baddeley's book on the Russians in the\nCaucasus should be of exceptional interest. It is indeed well worth\nstudying by those upon whom, whether at home or in India, has been\nimposed the arduous duty of superintending our policy in dealing with\nthe Afghan tribes for the protection of our Indian districts. It is\ntrue that the conditions and circumstances, military and political,\nunder which Russia prosecuted her long war with the Caucasian\nmountaineers, rendered her position in many respects different from\nthat in which the English found themselves when they first came into\ncontact with Afghanistan, and which has changed very little in the\ncourse of sixty years. The aims and purposes of the two governments\nwere by no means the same. Yet in both cases we have a story of the\nobstinate resistance opposed by fierce and free clans to the arms of a\npowerful empire, of perilous campaigns amid rugged hills and passes,\nof the hazards and misfortunes to which disciplined troops are always\nliable when they encounter resolute and fanatical defenders of a\ndifficult country.\n\nMr. Baddeley's book contains an authentic narrative, founded on\ndiligent study of official documents and on the accounts of those who\ntook part in the fighting, of the operations by which the Mohammedan\ntribes of the Caucasus were finally subdued, after fierce and\nprotracted resistance, by Russian armies, and their country was\nannexed to the dominions of the Czar. His knowledge of this region is\nevidently derived from personal exploration; and in the Introduction\nto his book he has spared no pains to explain to his readers its\ngeographical position, its topography, its physical features, and the\nextraordinary diversity of races and languages which it contained. We\nlearn that the chain of mountains which was originally known by the\nname of the Caucasus stretches, with a total length of 650 miles, from\nthe Caspian to the Black Sea. Toward the north is a tract of dense\nforest, intersected by numerous streams flowing down from the\nmountains; and beyond lies the high plateau of Daghestan, 'through\nwhich the rivers have cut their way to a depth often of thousands of\nfeet, the whole backed and ribbed, south and west, by mountain ranges\nhaving many peaks often over 13,000 feet in height.' In the forest\ntract, to which the Russians gave the name of Tchetchnia, their armies\nwere constantly entangled; and their difficulties in reducing the\ninhabitants to subjection were quite as great as in conquering the\nhighland tribes of Daghestan. Throughout the eighteenth century, and\neven earlier, the Russians had been pushing southward toward the Black\nSea and the Caspian, and had gradually taken under their authority and\nprotection the Cossack tribes who were settled on the steppes that\nspread along the northern border of the Caucasus. On this border they\nhad established by the end of the century the Cossack line of forts,\nmilitary colonies and plantations of armed cultivators, linked\ntogether to form a barrier against the incursions and marauding raids\nof the wild folk in the woods and mountains in front of them, and\ngradually strengthened and supported by stations of regular troops in\nthe background. On the south of the central mountain ranges the\nRussians held Georgia, inhabited by Christian races whom the Russians\nhad liberated from the Turkish or Persian yoke before the close of the\neighteenth century, and who ever afterwards remained loyal subjects of\nthe Czar. The Georgian road which traversed the whole Caucasian region\nfrom north to south, formed a most important line of communication\nwhich was never seriously interrupted. To the south-east, when the\nnineteenth century opened, lay Mohammedan khanates, vassals of Persia;\non the south-west were the semi-independent pachaliks of the Ottoman\nempire.\n\nWe must pass over, reluctantly, Mr. Baddeley's very interesting sketch\nof the gradual approach made by Russia toward the Caucasus during the\neighteenth century, which may be said to have begun in earnest with\nthe expedition of Peter the Great, who led an army to the Caspian\nshore and captured Derbend about 1722. This threatening movement upon\nthe confines of Asia inevitably involved Russia in war with the Turks\nand with the Persians, for whom the Caucasian mountains represented a\ngreat fortress, barring the onward march of a powerful Christian\nempire toward their dominions. For the Russians, on their side, it\nbecame of vital importance to break through the barrier that separated\nthem from Georgia, to occupy the country between the two seas, and to\nmake an end of the perpetual warfare with the tribes, who kept their\nfrontier on the Cossack line in unceasing agitation and disorder, and\nwere a standing menace to the Christian population of Georgia. It\nshould be understood, however, that the Cossacks discharged their\nduties of watch and ward after a very rough fashion, raiding and\nfighting on their own account, making incursions upon their Mohammedan\nneighbours in retaliation for attacks and forays, and laying waste the\nenemy's country with the bitter vindictiveness of antagonistic races\nand religions.\n\nAt the beginning of the nineteenth century Georgia and some other\nChristian principalities in Trans-Caucasia--that is, on the southern\nborder of the mountains--had been absorbed into the Russian empire,\nwhich now held continuous territory on this line from the Black Sea to\nthe Caspian. Along the Caspian shore the vassal States of Persia had\nbeen reduced to submission, while the Turks had been driven back from\ntheir fortified posts on the Black Sea. The Turkish and Persian\ngovernments naturally took alarm at the approach of a military power\nwhom they had already good reason to mistrust and dread; the Russian\nviceroys and generals on the frontier treated these Oriental kingdoms\nwith high-handed arrogance, and gave ample provocation for the wars\nwhich speedily broke out with both of them. The annals of the next few\nyears record many vicissitudes of fortune. The Russian armies achieved\nsome brilliant victories, and suffered some heavy disasters. By\ndisease and the strain of forced marches through rugged and almost\npathless country, by the storming of petty fortresses, by incessant\nskirmishing and treacherous surprises, the troops were reduced in\nnumber and gradually worn out; they were outnumbered by the Persian\nand Turkish soldiery, whose military qualities were at that time by no\nmeans despicable; while at this time the great European wars against\nNapoleon made reinforcements hard to obtain. In 1811 the Russians\ncould barely hold their ground against the combined forces of Turkey\nand Persia; but just when the whole situation was at its worst the\nRussian Government, under the imminent emergency of Napoleon's march\nupon Moscow, patched up a peace (May 1812) with Turkey that reinstated\nthe Sultan in some important positions on the Black Sea coast, and\nmade considerable retrocessions of territory. By strenuous exertion\nthe Persians were defeated and beaten off, and next year there was\ncomparative peace on the Caucasian border. Yet it was but a calm\ninterval before storms, for Mr. Baddeley remarks that nearly half a\ncentury of fighting was to elapse before the conquest of the mountains\ncould be completed.\n\nThis era of long and sanguinary contest may be said to have begun, on\na deliberate plan, with the appointment of General Yermoloff, in 1816,\nto be commander-in-chief in Georgia, with jurisdiction over the whole\nCaucasus. It was carried on with undaunted courage, hardihood, and\nobstinate endurance on both sides; and in the matter of merciless\nferocity there was little to choose between the two antagonists.\nYermoloff appears to have belonged to the type of military commander\nwhom the Russian soldier follows with complete trust and unhesitating\ndevotion--a leader inured to hardship and perils, treating his men as\ncomrades but unsparing of their lives, rigid in discipline, reckless\nof bloodshed, a relentless conqueror yet capable of occasional\ngenerosity. His stern and implacable temper recognised but one method\nof dealing with barbarian enemies--the unflinching use of fire and\nsword, the policy of devastation and massacre. 'I desire,' said\nYermoloff, 'that the terror of my name shall guard our frontiers more\npotently than chains of fortresses; that my word shall be for the\nnatives a law more inevitable than death. Condescension in the eyes\nof Asiatics is a sign of weakness, and out of pure humanity I am\ninexorably severe. One execution saves hundreds of Russians from\ndestruction, and thousands of Mussulmans from treason.' He demanded\nunconditional submission from all the tribes of the Caucasus; and he\nsubstituted for the former system of bribery and subsidies the policy\nof treating all resistance as rebellion, and suppressing it with cruel\nseverity, 'but' (says one writer) 'always combined with justice and\nmagnanimity.' Upon this Mr. Baddeley remarks that it is difficult to\nsee where justice came in, 'but in this respect Russia was only doing\nwhat England and all other civilised States have done, and still do,\nwherever they come into contact with savage or semi-savage races. By\nforce or fraud a portion of the country is taken and sooner or later,\non one excuse or another, the rest is sure to follow.' To this it may\nbe rejoined that on the north-west frontier of India, and nowhere\nelse, England has come into contact with a race quite as savage and\nuntamable as the Caucasian mountaineers, but that it would be a great\nmistake to suppose that the methods of Yermoloff have ever been\nadopted in dealing with the turbulent fanaticism of the Afghan tribes.\n\nOn the Cossack line, when Yermoloff assumed charge of operations,\n'there was no open warfare, but there was continual unrest. No man's\nlife was safe outside the forts and stanitzas; robbery and murder were\nrife; raiding parties, great and small, harried the fields, the farms\nand the weaker settlements.' To this state of things he was resolved\nto put an end. He built fortresses, pushed forward his outposts,\nformed moving columns of troops, and assiduously trained his soldiers\nto the peculiar conditions of warfare on this borderland. The Russian\nregiments, like the Roman legions, were often stationed in their\ncamps or garrisons for twenty-five years; and for the service required\nof them their efficiency was admirable. For ten years Yermoloff\ncarried on this tribal war with inflexible rigour, by expeditions to\npunish some marauding village, which was razed to the ground, and most\nof the men, women and children burnt or killed after defending the\nplace with the fury of despair; by night marches to surprise and storm\nthe hill forts; by exterminating bands of brigands; and more than once\nby laying deathtraps for notorious rebels or fanatics. There can be no\ndoubt that this system of ruthless chastisement, of beating down the\nenemy's defences by sharp and rapid strokes, by sudden and daring\ninroads into the heart of their country, intimidated the tribes, and\nwent far toward compelling them to sullen acquiescence in the Russian\noverlordship. Of the petty independent chiefships some were seized\nforcibly, others submitted and paid tribute. The Russians were\nadvancing step by step into the interior of the country, piercing it\nwith roads and riveting their hold on it by throwing forward their\nchain of connected forts. By 1820 Yermoloff appears to have convinced\nhimself that in a few years the whole of the Caucasus--mountain and\nforest--would be permanently conquered and pacified; and for some time\nafter that date there was little or no fighting, though the border was\nfrequently disquieted by outbreaks that were sternly crushed. With the\nPersians and the Turks there was an interval of peace.\n\nBut the harsh measures taken by the Russians to bring the forest\ntribes under their authority were bitterly resented; and in 1824 two\nof their generals were fatally stabbed in Tchetchnia by one of several\nvillagers whom they were disarming. This murder was avenged by\nYermoloff, as usual, relentlessly, but it was his last campaign in\nthe Caucasus. In 1826 the Persians, who had been incensed by\nYermoloff's rough ways on their frontier and by his insolent\ndiplomacy, invaded Russian territory with a strong army. The Russians\nwere unprepared, and at first could only act on the defensive. The\nflames of insurrection at once broke out among the tribes; the whole\ncountry fell back into confusion, and the Emperor Nicholas, holding\nYermoloff responsible for this disastrous state of affairs,\nreprimanded and recalled him. He lived in retirement until 1861,\nrevered by the Russian nation as the type and model of a valiant\nsoldier and a devoted patriot who won brilliant victories and\nconquered large territories for the empire. But on his system and its\nconsequences Mr. Baddeley pronounces a judgment which in fact points\nthe moral of his whole narrative, and explains the history of the\nevents that followed Yermoloff's departure:\n\n     'He gained brilliant victories at slight cost; and brought for a\n     time the greater part of Daghestan under Russian dominion.... He\n     absorbed the Persian and Tartar khanates, and treated Persia with\n     astonishing arrogance. But it was these very measures and successes\n     that led, on the one hand, to the Persian War and the revolt of the\n     newly-acquired provinces; on the other, to that great outburst of\n     religious and racial fanaticism which, under the banner of\n     Muridism, welded into one powerful whole so many weak and\n     antagonistic elements in Daghestan and Tchetchnia, thereby\n     initiating the bloody struggle waged unceasingly for the next forty\n     years. Daghestan speedily threw off the Russian yoke, and defied\n     the might of the mother empire until 1859. In Tchetchnia mere\n     border forays conducted by independent partisan leaders ...\n     developed into a war of national independence under a chieftain as\n     cruel, capable, and indomitable as Yermoloff himself.'\n\nThe Persian War ended in 1828, but in the same year hostilities broke\nout with Turkey, involving the Russian troops on the Georgian frontier\nin hard and hazardous fighting, which lasted, with a great expenditure\nof men and money, until peace was concluded in 1829. From that year\nuntil 1854, when the Crimean War began, Russia had a free hand in the\nCaucasus, and applied her strength with inexorable energy to its\nsubjugation. And it is to the rise and spread of the ferocious\nenthusiasm which Mr. Baddeley has called _Muridism_ that he attributes\nthe striking fact that the complete conquest of the country was only\naccomplished in 1864--that the tribes held out against the forces of\nthe Russian empire for more than thirty years.\n\nMuridism, in which this spirit of heroic and hopeless resistance by\narmed peasants against the Russian armies was, so to speak, incarnate,\nis a word employed by Mr. Baddeley with a special purpose and meaning,\nwhich he explains at some length. For our present purpose it may be\nsufficient to say that _Murshid_ denotes a religious teacher who\nexpounds the mystic Way of Salvation to his _Murids_, or disciples,\nwho gather round him, adopt his doctrines, obey his commands, and\ncheerfully accept martyrdom in his service. Muridism, therefore, may\nbe taken to signify the passionate fanaticism of religious devotees,\nof warriors who follow a spiritual leader and fight in the sacred\ncause of Islam against the infidel. It was this movement that united\nthe Mohammedan tribes in a holy war against the Russians, who, as our\nauthor observes, had never gauged correctly the latent forces of the\ntwin passions, religious fanaticism and the love of liberty--two\nelements which always form a very dangerous compound, and which became\nheated up to the point of explosion as the tribes found the iron\nframework of Russian administration steadily closing up around them.\nAny attempt to break out of this house of bondage was repulsed with\ninflexible severity. In this inflammable atmosphere, charged with\nferocious suspicion, hatred, and superstition, one Kazi Mullah was\nelected to the rank of 'Imam'; and on his proclamation of holy war\nagainst the infidel oppressor the whole country rose and rallied to\nhis standard. He was, if we may borrow Mr. Baddeley's description of\nthe class, 'one of those strange beings, compounded of fanaticism,\nmilitary ardour, and a nature prone to adventure, for whom only the\ndreaming, fighting, tumultuous, ignorant East, in its days of trouble\nand unrest, can supply a fitting field of action.' He came forward as\na man sent by God to deliver the faithful from their servitude,\nholding in his hands the power of life or death, and those who refused\nto obey him or denied his authority were denounced and slain without\nmercy. Under such leadership the war spread again along the border,\nsome Russian detachments were cut to pieces, and even when the\ninsurgents were defeated the troops suffered terribly, for as no\nquarter was asked or expected none was given on either side. After\nsome two years of incessant fighting Kazi Mullah made his last stand\nin a mountain stronghold, where he was surrounded by the Russian\ntroops, who in their first assault were repulsed with heavy loss; but\non a second attempt the place was stormed, and Kazi Mullah with a band\nof devoted Murids died sword in hand on the last breastwork.\n\nOf the sixty men who stood by their chief to the end two only escaped;\nbut one of these was Shamil, who became afterwards the most famous and\nformidable champion of the Mohammedan tribes in the Caucasus.\n\n     'His marvellous strength, agility, and swordsmanship served him in\n     good stead. With an Alvarado's leap he landed behind the line of\n     soldiers about to fire a volley through the raised doorway where\n     he stood, and whirling his sword in his left hand he cut down three\n     of them, but was bayoneted by the fourth clean through the breast.\n     Undismayed, he grasped the weapon in one hand, cut down its owner,\n     pulled it out of his own body, and escaped into the forest, though\n     in addition to the bayonet wound he had a rib and shoulder broken\n     by stones.'\n\nShamil had been born and bred in the same village with Kazi Mullah,\nwhose disciple he became, and whose rules of rigid adherence to the\nstrictest injunctions of Islam he adopted and enforced. He even\nattempted to put down, as a practice forbidden by the law of Mahomet,\nthe inveterate blood feuds that divided and weakened the tribes, with\nthe politic object of uniting them in the holy war against the\ninfidels; and when the Kazi had been killed his mantle fell upon\nShamil, who soon proved himself a far more able and terrible leader of\nfanatic insurrection. The Russians, who at first believed that the\nKazi's death was a decisive and final blow to the cause of Muridism,\nsoon found that they were grievously mistaken. Mr. Baddeley's\nnarrative shows occasionally some disregard of orderly arrangement, so\nthat the sequence in time and interconnection of incidents is not\nalways clear. We gather from this part of it, however, that very soon\nafter Shamil took command the whole country had risen against the\nRussians, that their posts were attacked and their detachments cut\noff, and that expeditions sent to seize the positions or disperse the\ngatherings of the tribes paid dearly for their victories, while they\nwere more than once repulsed with defeat and disaster. Villages were\nburnt; the vineyards and orchards were destroyed; desperate fights,\nhand to hand, ended only with the extermination of the defenders by\nthe exasperated Russian soldiers; and after one campaign, when the\nRussian Commander-in-Chief led a considerable force against Shamil's\nstronghold, he was content to conclude, in the emperor's name, a\ntreaty of peace with the tribal chief, being 'compelled to retire by\nthe total disorganisation of the expeditionary corps, the enormous\nloss in _personnel_, and the want of ammunition.' A treaty with the\nRussian emperor raised Shamil's reputation high among the tribes;\nwhile the slaughter and devastation inflamed his revengeful temper.\nWhen the Emperor Nicholas came next year to the Caucasus, General\nKlugenau met Shamil and tried to persuade him to tender submission in\nperson, with the result that Klugenau narrowly escaped assassination\nat the interview. He was saved by Shamil's intervention. In 1839\nalmost all the tribes were united under Shamil's command; and the\nRussian Government, seriously alarmed, determined that he must be\neffectively crushed. In the story of this campaign we have a signal\nand striking example of the perils that beset regular troops who\nencounter fierce and fearless barbarians on their own ground. The\nRussians had a powerful artillery; they were led by experienced\ncommanders; their officers and soldiers fought with astonishing\ncourage and endurance. After several bloody actions Shamil was shut up\nin the hill fort of Akhlongo, and here the undaunted Murids turned to\nbay. It was a stronghold surrounded by ravines and sheer precipices,\naccessible only along narrow ridgeways. Mr. Baddeley has related in\nfull detail the operations and incidents of this eventful siege. The\nfirst assault failed after a prolonged and desperate struggle. 'Only\nat nightfall,' writes an eye-witness, 'and at the word of command, did\nour troops retire from the bloodstained rock.' The bombardment went on\n'until the castle was reduced to a heap of ruins, in which the heroic\ndefenders seemed literally buried.' After a siege which lasted eighty\ndays the place was at last taken with a total loss of 3000 Russians,\nincluding 116 officers, killed and wounded. The defenders were\nslaughtered almost to the last man; many women and children were\nkilled; but Shamil again escaped miraculously.\n\n     'Vanquished, wounded, a homeless fugitive, without means, with\n     hardly a follower, it might well seem that nothing was left to the\n     indomitable chieftain but the life of a hunted outlaw ... yet\n     within a year Shamil was again the leader of a people in arms;\n     within three he had inflicted a bloody defeat on his present\n     victor; yet another, and all northern Daghestan was reconquered,\n     every Russian garrison there beleaguered or destroyed, and Muridism\n     triumphant in the forest and on the mountain, from the Samour to\n     the Terek river, from Vladikavkaz to the Caspian.'\n\nBy 1840 the Tchetchnia tribes of the wooded lowlands under the\nmountains had broken out into outrageous rebellion, for Shamil had\nestablished himself in the forests, and was harassing the whole\nRussian border. 'We have never,' wrote General Golovine, 'had in the\nCaucasus an enemy so savage and dangerous as Shamil'; and it was again\ndecided to send an overwhelming army against him. The two first\nexpeditions virtually failed. Between 1839 and 1842 the Russians had\nlost in killed or wounded 436 officers and 7930 men, and 'had\naccomplished little or nothing.' In 1844 the Emperor Nicholas had\ndespatched large reinforcements to the Caucasus, with stringent orders\nto make an end of Shamil's 'terrible despotism' and to subdue the\nwhole country. On his side Shamil mustered all his forces for an\nenergetic defence. His mounted bands traversed the borderlands with\namazing rapidity, rushing in suddenly upon the Russian outposts,\nwaylaying detachments, and bewildering the commanders by the speed and\nsecrecy of their movements. Count Vorontzoff marched against him with\nan army of about 18,000, horse, foot, and artillery. Shamil retreated\ngradually before him, drawing on the Russians, and abandoning his\nforward positions after a show of defending them. He had laid waste\nthe country on the line of the Russian advance; so, as supplies were\nrunning very short, Vorontzoff pushed on hastily toward Shamil's\nheadquarters at Dargo. This place, surrounded by forests,\n\n     'lay along the crest of a steep wooded spur of the Betchel ridge,\n     nowhere very broad, narrowed here and there to a few feet, and\n     consisting of a series of long descents with shorter intervening\n     rises. Abattis of giant trunks with branches cunningly interlaced\n     barred the way at short intervals, and the densely-wooded ravines\n     on either side swarmed with hidden foes.'\n\nMr. Baddeley's vivid description of the hurried advance upon Dargo,\nand of the Russian retreat after capturing it, has all the tragic\ninterest of a situation where heroic valour strives vainly against\ncalamitous misfortune, and brave men, caught in a well-laid snare,\ntear their way out of it with the energy of despair. The six barriers\nof twisted branches were attacked and carried without serious loss,\nthough at one point, where the path along the hill-top was narrowest,\nthe troops fell into confusion, suffered heavily, and were rescued\nwith some difficulty. Dargo was then occupied without resistance; but\nthe army had only food for a few days, and Vorontzoff, instead of\nretiring immediately, resolved to wait for a convoy that was coming up\nfrom the rear and had reached the edge of the forest. But the force\ndespatched to protect and bring it into camp had to pass again over\nthe strait ridgeway, where all the barriers had been reconstructed;\nand the Russians again ran the gauntlet of incessant and murderous\nfire, losing one of their generals with many officers and men. There\nstill remained the most arduous task of all, to force a way for the\nthird time along the ridge with weakened and disheartened troops\nencumbered by the provision train that they were escorting to Dargo.\n\n     'The enemy were in greater numbers than before; the barriers had\n     once more been renewed, and a heavy rain added greatly to the\n     difficulties of the march.... On the narrow neck the advance guard\n     found the breastwork of trees faced with the Russian dead of the\n     previous day, stripped, mutilated, and piled up; it was enfiladed\n     by four smaller breastworks on each side.'\n\nPassek, a daring and fearless commander, was killed in leading the\nattack with other officers and many men. The foremost regiments fell\nback in disorder. Yet the main body, with their general, who charged\nat the head of companies like any captain, struggled along the ridge,\nfighting all the way, though the Mohammedans kept up an unceasing\nrifle-fire, and from time to time they dashed right into the Russian\nline. Nevertheless the predicament of the Russians was becoming\nhopeless, when a fresh regiment sent out to their rescue from Dargo\nthrew itself between the exhausted troops and their assailants, and\nthus enabled them to reach the camp. But most of the convoy had been\nlost, the total list of casualties was frightful, and for Vorontzoff,\nwith little to eat, surrounded by victorious hordes, encumbered with\nmore than a thousand wounded men, the only prospect of saving the rest\nof his army lay in cutting his way homeward through many miles of\nforest. Mr. Baddeley's description of the retreat is intensely\ndramatic. After fighting every step of the road the starving and\ndemoralised army was brought to a standstill, and was eventually saved\nfrom annihilation by fresh troops that arrived just in time under the\nRussian commander on the frontier, who had foreseen the emergency, and\nmade forced marches to the rescue of his chief.\n\nThus the attempt to piece the heart of Shamil's country had been\ncompletely foiled; and Vorontzoff now confined himself to\nstrengthening his fortified posts, linking up more effectively their\nconnection, and improving his communications. But in this situation\nthe Russians were acting upon the outer circle of Shamil's central\nposition in the mountains, whereas their enemy held the interior\nlines, and could choose his point of attack. Shamil's strategy was\ndirected toward keeping the whole Russian frontier in constant alarm,\nbreaking in upon various and distant parts of the line by incessant\nraids and surprises, in order to prevent concentration of the Russian\nforces on either flank. He made a daring attempt to seize Kabarda, on\nthe extreme west of the border, but was hunted out of it by the\nactivity of Freytag, the general whose foresight and promptitude had\nextricated Vorontzoff from destruction. This desultory warfare went on\nuntil in 1847 Vorontzoff, having secured his base, again tried\nconclusions with Shamil, being resolved that it was necessary to\nreduce the fortified village (or _aoul_) of Ghergebil, which Shamil\nwas no less determined to defend. On the morning of the assault the\nRussians, in their camps below the precipitous rocks, above which\nstood the aoul, 'heard the melancholy, long-drawn notes of the\ndeath-chant rising from behind its wall as from an open grave,' the\nsure prelude to a stubborn and sanguinary fight.\n\nThe forlorn hope rushed forward, but lost its way and suffered\nseverely; the supports kept the right direction and made for the\nbreach.\n\n     'A withering fire from hundreds of rifles mowed down the troops\n     like grass. Their gallant commander, Yeodskeemoff, fell dead,\n     pierced by a dozen bullets. The captain of the grenadier company\n     strode over his body and gained the top of the breach, to fall in\n     turn; the men were exasperated rather than daunted; a Danish\n     officer, more fortunate and not less brave than his predecessors,\n     led them forward, and the wall was won. In front was the first row\n     of low _saklias_ (stone houses) and, climbing their walls, the\n     attackers rushed forward, when to their horror the ground gave way\n     beneath their feet, and amid shouts of demoniac laughter they fell\n     on to the swords and daggers of the Murids below. The flat roofs\n     had been taken off the whole row of houses and replaced by layers\n     of brushwood thinly covered with earth; every house, in fact, was a\n     death-trap.'\n\nNevertheless the troops came on, and most of them got inside the\nvillage, but they were entangled in the labyrinth of narrow streets,\nand were obliged to retire. Another assault ended with another\nrepulse, 'and the victorious Murids, driving the broken columns before\nthem, followed until stopped by the bayonets of the reserve.'\n\nVorontzoff had now been twice beaten off by Shamil: he had been\nrepulsed, and had nearly lost his army in the forests; his troops had\nbeen hurled back with slaughter from the mountain fort. Next year he\ndespatched another large army, furnished with heavy artillery, against\nGhergebil, which drove out the Murid garrison by a tremendous\nbombardment, but retired without occupying the place. During the next\nfew years, though wild work went on as usual along the border, where a\nsharp guerilla warfare was kept up, neither Shamil nor Vorontzoff\nattempted to strike any decisive blow. But the lowlands were\ndevastated by perpetual incursions and reprisals, and the forest\ntribes, placed between two fires, driven to choose between the Murids\nand the Russians, gradually transferred their allegiance to the side\nbest able to protect them, and migrated northward across the Russian\nline. The uninhabited woodlands became a kind of neutral ground which\nneither side cared to occupy; and from this time Shamil's sphere of\naction was confined to the mountains of Daghestan. Then, in 1854,\nbegan the war in the Crimea, when according to Mr. Baddeley the Allies\nmight have ruined Russia in the Caucasus by making common cause with\nShamil and supporting him vigorously. But England and France were\nabsorbed in besieging Sebastopol, and Omar Pasha's Transcaucasian\ncampaign was undertaken too late for any effective result. Mr.\nBaddeley considers that in neglecting their opportunity of backing\nShamil the Allies made a strategic blunder; yet we agree with him that\nthis is not to be regretted. For the credit of civilisation it is well\nthat they did not let loose the savage Mohammedan fanatics upon\nChristian Georgia and the peaceful Russian settlements beyond the\nfrontier, to their own dishonour, and to the misery of the people whom\nRussia was protecting. Shamil did make one foray into Georgia, when a\nparty of his men carried off two Georgian princesses, the wife and\nsister of the Viceroy, who were kept by Shamil in rigorous captivity\nand treated cruelly for eight months while negotiations went on for\ntheir release. His object was to exchange them for his son, who had\nbeen captured by the Russians some fourteen years earlier, had been\nbrought up from childhood among them, and at this time was a\nlieutenant in a Russian lancer regiment. As Shamil demanded not only\nhis son but a large ransom for the princesses, there was long haggling\nover the money, but this point was at last settled, and the exchange\ntook place on the banks of the river. The princesses and Jamal-ud-deen\ncrossed from opposite banks to the escorts appointed to deliver and\nreceive them; the youth was then made to change his Russian uniform\nfor a native dress and rode up the hill to his father, who welcomed\nhim with tears and embraces.\n\nThe scene must have been strangely picturesque; and the whole story\nillustrates the accidents and incongruities of warfare between nations\nwhose standard of morals and manners is entirely different. The\nabduction and brutal treatment of the princesses were altogether\ncontrary to the rules and ideas of modern belligerents; but what would\nhave been to the Russians a foul disgrace was to the rude Caucasian\nchief no more than a simple and justifiable method of extorting his\nson's release. On the other hand the Russians had bred up their\ncaptive at their capital; they had converted him to their own social\nhabits and ways of life. And the sequel is instructive for those who\nhave yet to learn how completely European education may incapacitate\nan Asiatic from returning to associate with his own people, how\neffectually it may obliterate the early influences of race and\nreligion.\n\n     'The fate of Jamal-ud-deen was indeed a sad one. Brought up from\n     the age of twelve years in St. Petersburg and entered in the\n     Russian army, he was now a stranger to his own father, an alien in\n     the land of his birth, and totally unfitted to resume his place\n     among a semi-barbarous people. He had looked forward to his return\n     with the gloomiest forebodings, which were fully justified by the\n     event. As a matter of fact, there could be little real sympathy\n     between his fellow-countrymen and himself; they soon began to look\n     upon him with suspicion and distrust. Even Shamil was estranged\n     when he found his son imbued with Russian ideas, and convinced of\n     Russia's right to the extent of counselling surrender.' ... Nothing\n     'could reconcile him to the change from civilisation to barbarism;\n     he grew melancholy, fell into a decline, and died within three\n     years.'\n\nAfter the end of the Crimean War the Russian Government could turn its\nundivided attention to the enterprise of finishing the conquest of the\nCaucasus. The preliminary work of cutting roads through the forests,\nthrowing bridges over rivers and ravines, destroying the enemy's petty\nforts, and throwing forward detachments to occupy important points,\nwas carried out actively during 1857; and in the next summer three\nseparate columns, under one supreme command, drove back Shamil's\nbands, and took up strong positions in the heart of his country. The\ninhabitants, severely harried by the Murids, who maltreated\nferociously all villages that would not join them, took refuge under\nRussian protection; and though Shamil made several bold attempts to\nbreak through the circle that was gradually encompassing him, he was\ncompelled to abandon Veden, so long his home, which was taken in April\n1859. The forest tracts were now entirely under Russian control, and\nthe highland tribes were rapidly surrendering to the Russian\ncommanders, whose strategy it was to avoid frontal attacks upon large\nbodies prepared to fight behind entrenchments, but to make resistance\nimpossible by enveloping movements. In the mountains, which had so\nlong defied the armies of the Czar, the local chiefs and their\nclansmen were now falling away from Shamil, who was forced to retreat\nhastily with a few hundred followers to his stronghold at Gooneeb,\nwhere he entrenched himself for a final stand, knowing well that\ndefence was hopeless, yet resolved to die fighting. But his men were\nalmost exterminated by the overpowering numbers which the Russians\nthrew upon the fortifications in their assault. When the outworks had\nfallen, and the place was practically won, the Russian commander, who\ndesired to capture Shamil alive, suspended the final rush upon the\nspot where he still held out, and sent him a message that his life\nwould be spared on surrender. He yielded, and rode out to meet the\nRussian lines; but a burst of cheering from the Russian soldiers at\nsight of him so startled him that he went back. A Russian officer\npersuaded him to turn again.\n\n     'Followed by about fifty of his Murids, the sole remnant of his\n     once mighty hosts, he rode towards where Bariatinsky, surrounded by\n     his staff, sat waiting on a stone. Shamil dismounted and was led to\n     the feet of his conqueror, who told him that he answered for his\n     personal safety and that of his family; but he had refused terms\n     when offered, and all else must now depend on the will of the\n     emperor. The stern Imam bowed his head in silence and was led off\n     captive. Next day he was sent to Shoura, and thence to Russia,\n     where later on his family was allowed to join him.'\n\nIn the foregoing pages we have run rapidly over Mr. Baddeley's\nnarrative of the long and laborious operations by which the Russians\ngradually made good their footing in the Caucasus, and at last\nconsolidated their dominion. We have necessarily omitted many curious\nincidents and exploits characteristic of a deadly struggle between\nantagonists representing the collision of archaic with modern\nsocieties, the clash of two religions eternally irreconcilable, the\ndeadly wrestle of assailants and defenders unlike in everything but\ntheir tenacious intrepidity. The story, until Mr. Baddeley wrote it,\nhas hitherto been little known in England. Yet Englishmen should be\ninterested in this singular and striking example of the obstinate\nresistance that can be opposed by free and warlike tribes to the\norganised military forces of a first-class European Government; for\nthey are not without similar experiences of their own. And moreover\nthe long contest for possession of the tracts lying between the Black\nSea and the Caspian, on the borderland between Europe and Asia, had\nits effect in the wider sphere of Asiatic politics. If the Russians,\nin their wars with Turkey and Persia, had not been constantly\ndistracted by the raids and revolts of the Caucasian highlanders, the\nconsequences to these two Eastern kingdoms might have been much more\nserious. It will be remembered that at this period (1826-8) we were\nactively concerned in preserving Persia's independence insomuch that\nthe Russians had accused us of fomenting hostilities against them. At\na later time also Sir Henry Rawlinson, writing in 1849, when Shamil\nwas still formidable and undefeated, observes that it would have been\nimpossible for Russia, with her communications at the mercy of such an\nenemy, to carry her arms farther eastward into Asia, or to contemplate\nterritorial extension in that direction. And in a subsequent Note, of\n1873, he points out that not until after Shamil's surrender in 1859\ndid Russia begin to push her way continuously along the upper course\nof the Jaxartes river toward Tashkend and the Asiatic midlands. So\nlong, indeed, as the mountains between the two seas were unsubdued,\nthey formed an effectual barrier to the expansion of Russia into\nCentral Asia; but when that frontier fortress of Islam had been\ncaptured, and when the Circassians had emigrated into Turkish\nterritory, the onward march of Russia went on securely and speedily.\nTashkend was taken and Kokand annexed in 1866; and soon afterward the\ncommunications between the Russian base in Georgia and the Russian\ngarrisons in Turkestan were firmly established. Thereafter the flood\nof Russian conquest overflowed irresistibly the plains of Central\nAsia, until it was arrested by another breakwater, the kingdom of\nAfghanistan. It is true that the North-western Afghan borderlands were\ncomparatively open and easily penetrable by an invading force; but\nbeyond them lie lofty ranges with passes at high altitudes, guarded by\na hard-fighting and intractable people, and on the farther side of\nthese mountains stands the rival European Power whose policy it had\nbeen always to retard and obstruct the Russian advance across the\nAsiatic Continent. We may conjecture that if Afghanistan had been\nleft, as the Caucasus was left after the Crimean War, isolated and\nobliged to rely on its own resources for defence, the drama of the\nCaucasian wars would have been repeated. The Russians would have\nbesieged and reduced without great difficulty this second mountain\nfortress; and after another similar though less protracted struggle\nthe Afghans would have undergone the same fate as the Daghestanis. The\nCzar's rulership, solidly established in the two natural strongholds\nthat stand on either side of the great central plains, and command,\neast and west, the exits and entrances, would have been supreme\nthroughout Mohammedan Asia.\n\nThat the Russian armies were forced to halt on the edge of Afghanistan\nis thus a point of cardinal importance, and it marks a turning-point\nin the career of her expansion. It also produced a situation that is\nthe outcome of the different strategy adopted by England and Russia\nrespectively, in circumstances not otherwise very dissimilar. For\nwhereas the Russians had been compelled by imperative political and\nmilitary exigencies to conquer and occupy the Caucasian highlands, the\npolicy of the British Government has always been not to subjugate\nAfghanistan, but to preserve its independence and to fortify it as an\noutwork for the protection of the gates of India. It is due to this\nfundamental distinction of aim and object that the history of the\nrelations of the British with Afghanistan during the nineteenth\ncentury, and of their management of the tribes on the Afghan border,\ndiffers widely from Mr. Baddeley's narrative of events and\ntransactions in the Caucasus. Nevertheless in both instances the\ngeneral situation presented a strong resemblance. The Russians,\npushing their dominion down from the north to the Black Sea and the\nCaspian, were checked and baffled for many years by the woods and\nprecipices that lay across the line of their march into Trans-Caspia.\nThe British, moving up by long strides north-westward across India,\ncame to a halt at the foot of the Afghan hills fifty years ago; and to\nthis day they have scarcely moved farther. Here they were met by races\nalmost identical in character and circumstances with the tribes of\nDaghestan, fanatically attached to the faith of Islam, profoundly\ninfluenced by religious preachers, prizing their liberty above their\nlives, and looking down from their rugged uplands upon a great\nmilitary power that had swept away many principalities and subdued all\nthe cities of the plain below. If the British had pressed onward and\nendeavoured to take possession of Afghanistan [which had indeed been\noccupied by the Moghul empire in its prime] they would certainly have\nbeen involved in a series of sanguinary conflicts, revolts, and costly\nexpeditions not unlike those which put so severe a strain upon the\nRussian armies in the Caucasus. This, as we know, they did not do;\nthey adopted the alternative of asserting an exclusive protectorate\nover the country; they were content to remain outside it so long as no\nrival power was allowed to set foot in it. Yet we know that even this\nmuch more prudent policy was carried out at a heavy cost. The British\narmy suffered at least one grave disaster by the total destruction of\na division in the retreat from Kabul in the winter of 1842-3. And the\nAfghan War of 1878-80, with the massacre of the British envoy and his\nescort at Kabul in 1879, showed us the perils and difficulties of even\na temporary and partial occupation.\n\nAt the present moment, however, the objects of our policy have been\nsatisfactorily fulfilled. The Russians have settled with us the\nfrontier line between their dominion and Afghanistan, and have bound\nthemselves to respect it. With the Afghan Amir we are on friendly\nterms, and we have taken up our permanent position on his Eastern\nborder towards India, reserving to ourselves the control of the tribes\nwithin a broad belt of territory, otherwise independent, between the\nAfghan kingdom and British India. This tract is intersected by lofty\nridges running parallel for the most part to our frontier, with\nprecipitous slopes toward India, with a few practicable passes and\nnumerous gorges formed by the drainage from the watershed, enclosing\nsome fertile valleys along the courses of the rivers, inhabited by a\nhardy population that is broken up into manifold clans and sects by\nthe configuration of their country. The Caucasus, as we learn from Mr.\nBaddeley, 'is peopled by a greater number of different tribes and\nraces than any similar extent on the surface of the globe'; and it is\nprecisely from the same causes, difficulty of intercourse between\nvillages secluded in the valleys or perched on the heights, scarcity\nof sustenance, inbred jealousy of each other, feuds and factions, that\nthe groups of the Afghan borderland dwell apart, become estranged or\nhostile, are at constant war with each other, and cannot unite against\na common enemy. But while in the Caucasus this trituration of the\npeople has produced a multiplicity of dialects, the Afghan borderers\nspeak a language that is generally the same.\n\nIn Dr. Pennell's book, the title of which stands at the head of this\narticle, we have a vivid description, drawn from life, of the names,\nhabits, and peculiarities of these primitive communities, with many\nincidental examples of the relations existing between them and the\nBritish officers who are in touch with them on the frontier. Lord\nRoberts, in a short introduction that may be taken as a guarantee of\nthe accuracy and authenticity of the volume's contents, tells us that\nit is a valuable record of sixteen years' good work by a medical\nmissionary in charge of a mission station at Bannu, on the\nnorth-western frontier of India. And Dr. Pennell's experience,\nacquired in the prodigious enterprise of taming and converting to\nChristianity some of the most murderous ruffians and inveterate\nrobbers in Asia, has provided him with a rare insight into their\ncharacter, and furnished him with numerous anecdotes of their strange\ninconsistencies and wayward, impulsive nature. On the Afghan frontier,\nindeed, we may survey a situation that has frequently recurred in the\nhistory of organised governments, whenever they have found themselves\nin contact, and therefore in collision, with intractable barbarism.\nImmediately across the border line may be seen in the Afridi tribes a\ncomplete and living picture of man in his aboriginal condition of\nperpetual war, under no government at all, in daily peril of ending by\na violent death a life that in the pithy words of Hobbes is 'poor,\nnasty, brutish, and short.' A few steps back into the British district\nbrings us among men, often of the same breed and tribe, dwelling\nwithout arms in peace and security, pleading before regular law\ncourts, learning in English schools, occupied in commerce and industry\nunder the protection of magistrates and police. The contrast in\nmorals and manners is as abrupt as the transition from the Afghan\nhills to the Indian plains. Such is the frontier along which British\nofficers are charged with duties of watch and ward. Their business is\nto guard the Indian districts that march with the wild borderland, to\nprevent or punish incursions by the marauding tribes who have\ncontinued from time immemorial to live in practical anarchy. They obey\nno laws and acknowledge no ruler, though in emergencies they appeal\nalternately to the Afghan Amir for assistance against the British and\nto the British Government against any encroachments by the Amir.\n\nThe Afghan character, writes Dr. Pennell, is a strange medley of\ncontradictory qualities, in which courage blends with stealth, the\nbasest treachery with the most touching fidelity, intense religious\nfanaticism with an avarice that will even induce a man to play false\nwith his faith, and a lavish hospitality with an irresistible\npropensity for thieving. It will be remembered how 'Muridism,' the\nspirit of religious enthusiasm inflaming political hostility, was\nstirred up by the Mullahs of the Caucasus against the Russians, and\nembittered the resistance of the tribes. The same elements of fiery\nhatred lie close below the surface on the Afghan borderland. Dr.\nPennell tells us that there is no section of the Afghan people which\nhas a greater influence on their life than the Mullahs, who sometimes\nuse their power to rouse the tribes to join in warfare against the\nEnglish infidels; and that a prelude to one of the little frontier\nwars has often been some ardent Mullah going up and down the frontier,\nlike Peter the Hermit, inciting them to break out. The notorious\nMullah Powindah, who is still a firebrand on the border, is reported\nto possess a magical charm that renders his followers invulnerable\nbefore English bullets. Whether he led them in person to battle is\nnot mentioned; though he could hardly adopt the excuse of Friar John,\nwho, as Rabelais tells us, made a liberal distribution of mirific\namulets to his soldiers, assuring them that those who had firm faith\nin their efficacy would come to no harm. He added, however, that to\nhimself the charm would be useless, because unfortunately he could not\nbelieve in it. Such an explanation would be coldly received among the\nAfghans.\n\nUnder the exhortations of these Mullahs their students often became\nGhazis.\n\n     'The Ghazi is a man who has taken an oath to kill some\n     non-Mohammedan, preferably a European, as representing the ruling\n     race, but, failing this, a Hindu or a Sikh is a lawful object of\n     his fanaticism.... When the disciple has been worked up to the\n     requisite degree of religious excitement, he is usually further\n     fortified by copious draughts of intoxicating drugs.... Not a year\n     passes on the frontier but some young officer falls a victim to one\n     of these Ghazis.'\n\nIt is manifest that this sporadic Muridism might become epidemic under\nserious and widespreading excitement, but the provocation that leads\nto petty frontier wars comes entirely from the tribes, who make\npredatory incursions upon the Indian villages and refuse all\nreparation. In every tribe, as Dr. Pennell tells us, the outlaws who\nlive by raiding and robbery, and the Mullahs who detest the infidel\nand fear his rule, are the fomenters of crime and outrage.\n\nThe vendetta, or blood-feud, our author tells us, has eaten into the\nvery core of Afghan life. At present some of the best and noblest\nfamilies in Afghanistan are on the verge of extermination through this\nwretched system. Even the women are not exempt. In a village which\nthe missionary visited he noticed that the houses communicated\nlaterally by little doors all down one long street; and on inquiry he\nwas told that some time before a great faction fight had been carried\non between the two rows of houses. The villagers 'were always in\nambush to fire at each other across the street. The only way to get to\nthe supply of water was to go from house to house to the bottom, and\nin order to do this without exposure the doors had been made, while by\ncommon consent they had agreed not to shoot while getting their\nsupplies from the stream.' Another anecdote relates how a British\nofficer visited a petty chief in his tower, and would have opened a\nwindow to look at the country round. 'He was hurriedly and\nunceremoniously pulled back by the Afghan, who told him that his\ncousin had been watching that window for months in the hope of an\nopportunity of shooting him there.' In fact the chief was actually\nshot at this window a short time after the visit. From the universal\nenmity existing between cousins in Afghanistan the proverb 'as great\nan enemy as a cousin' has become a household word. 'The causes of 90\nper cent. of these feuds are described by the Afghans as belonging to\none of three heads--women, money, and land; and on such matters\ndisputes are more likely to arise between cousins than strangers.' We\nmay compare Mr. Baddeley's account of an almost identical state of\nthings in Daghestan. It was split up (he says) 'into numerous khanates\nand free communities of many different races and languages, for the\nmost part bitterly hostile one to another. Strife and bloodshed were\nchronic between village and village, between house and house ... and\nof many contributory causes none had operated so powerfully in\noriginating and perpetuating this state of things as the elaborate\nsystem of blood-feud and vengeance.' And he gives one instance of a\nquarrel that arose from the theft of a hen from a villager, who\nretaliated by appropriating a cow. The retort was by taking a horse,\nupon which the murders began.\n\n     'The blood-feud was now in full swing, and was kept up for three\n     centuries, during which some scores, some say hundreds, were\n     sacrificed in the name of honour to this terrible custom; and all\n     for a hen.'\n\nBut it may be more interesting to remind our readers that these feuds\nwere 'in full swing' not so very long ago in our own island. A\nremarkable description of the state of the Border between England and\nScotland in the sixteenth century and earlier has recently been\npublished.[39] In a chapter headed 'The Deadly Feud' the author tells\nus that blood-feuds set family against family and clan against clan;\nand he quotes from a report submitted by Burghley to the English\nGovernment a passage in which the term is defined thus:\n\n     'Deadly Foed, the word of enmytie on the Borders, implacable\n     without the blood and whole family destroyed.'\n\nFeuds of the most bitter and hostile character, we are told, were an\neveryday occurrence, and were carried on with the most ferocious\nanimosity on both sides. The feud was inherited along with the rest of\nthe family property. It was handed down from generation to generation.\nThe son and grandson maintained it with a bitterness which in some\ncases seemed year by year to grow more intense. It affected a man's\nwhole social relationship, and gave rise to endless animosities and\nheart-burnings.\n\nIn fact the whole description in Mr. Borland's book of the feuds\nprevalent three centuries ago on our own Border might be applied to\nthose now actually raging among the Afghans, with the simple\nalteration of time, places, and names. The comparison is worth making,\nif only to show that similar conditions and circumstances produce\neverywhere the same results; and that there is yet hope for the wild\nAfghan, if hereafter it should be his destiny to fall under a strong\ngovernment that can enforce laws, though this is the fate which he\nmost dreads. No axiom is more easily refuted by historic experience\nthan the commonplace saying that men cannot be made moral by statutes;\nthe truth is that respect for a neighbour's purse or person cannot be\ninculcated by any other method.\n\nIt was the political division along the Scottish Border that so long\nprevented the suppression of lawlessness, and when the two kingdoms\nwere united it gradually ceased. On the frontier between Afghanistan\nand India the British Government keeps the peace within its own\ndistricts, but maintains only a fluctuating and ineffectual control\nover the tribal territory. Yet it is manifest that no permanent\npacification can be accomplished until both sides of the line are\nbrought under the same firm and civilised administration. For such a\npurpose it would be necessary, and would be practicable, to establish\nstrong posts among the turbulent highlanders, to make roads, and\nprobably to insist on a general disarmament, as the Russians did in\nthe Caucasus. But the British Government has always been reluctant to\nundertake so arduous and so costly a task; though until some measure\nof that kind is found possible, the intestine strife and chronic\ndisorder must continue; and in fact it is the natural and inevitable\nsolution of the problem.\n\n     'No doubt,' Dr. Pennell observes, 'the Government desires not to\n     make any further annexation of this barren, mountainous, and\n     uninviting region, but it is not always easy to avoid doing so; and\n     it is an universal experience of history that when there are a\n     number of disorganised and ill-governed units on the borders of a\n     great power, they become inevitably, though it may be gradually and\n     piece by piece, absorbed into the latter.'\n\nIn short, to manage a country without occupying it is no less\nimpossible than to steer a boat without taking a seat in it. The\nprocess of subordinating the Afghan tribes to effective control will\nprobably go forward slowly and at intervals. It may be that when one\npart of the country is taken resolutely into hand, the rest will be\noverawed and quieted; but we doubt whether any other remedy can be\nfound for the feuds and forays that from time immemorial have\ndistracted this borderland, which has preserved the primitive\nconditions of life and habits that have long disappeared from the\nfrontiers of all other civilised nations. Yet the objections to\npushing forward our landmarks into these mountains are great and\nmanifest, while the disadvantages of the present system are equally\npatent. The attempt to protect our subjects by a line of outposts, to\nadopt the tactics of stationary defence, varied by occasional sallies\nforth from our cantonments to pursue assassins or to punish\ndepredators by destroying houses and crops, is to assume a somewhat\nimpotent and undignified attitude, hardly creditable in the case of a\nmighty empire worried by mere highland caterans. The Indian\nGovernment, therefore, finds itself placed in a dilemma: to advance or\nto stand still is equally difficult; nor is any practicable issue out\nof this situation to be foreseen.\n\nWe are compelled, unwillingly, to pass over without the notice that it\nundoubtedly deserves Dr. Pennell's very impressive accounts of his\nintercourse, as medical missionary, with the strange folk whom he was\ntrying to reclaim from savagery, of the risks which he faced with cool\ncourage and self-command in his travels among them, and of his quaint\ntheological disputations with arrogant Mullahs, whose invincible\nignorance easily convinced a congenial audience of their argumentative\nsuperiority. His skill in surgery naturally invested him with a high\nreputation among people who were incessantly fighting--he had more\nsuccess in healing their wounds than in curing their vices. His\ngeneral 'Deductions' in regard to the present state and prospect of\nChristian missions in India are well worth attention, and with his\nsurvey of the existing conditions and tendencies of religious\nmovements in India all who have studied the subject will generally\nagree. He lays stress on the delusion that to assault and overthrow\nthe citadels of Islam and Hinduism, if such an achievement were\npossible, would be to lay open a clear field for the success of\nChristianity. 'Much more probably we should find an atheistic and\nmaterialistic India, in which Mammon, Wealth, Industrial Success, and\nWorldliness had become new gods.' Such attacks upon Eastern religion\n'may for the moment win a Pyrrhic victory ... but they are at the same\ntime undermining the religious spirit, the ardent faith, the\nunquestioning devotion which have been the crown and glory of India\nfor ages.' The wisdom and enlightened morality of these warnings are\nincontestable. But at such questions we can only glance, although from\none point of view they may be said to have an important bearing upon\nthe main subject of this article.\n\nIn conclusion, we may observe that the frontiers of European dominion\nin Asia are the battleground upon which the forces of archaic and\nmodern societies meet in arms for decisive conflict. In the ancient\nworld the contest was only ethnical and political; the rude tribes\nwere coerced into amalgamation with an expanding State, far superior\nin power and usually more humane. 'The nations of the empire[40]\ninsensibly melted away into the Roman name and people.' But the\nantique polytheism had no fanatical element; the deities of the\nvictorious Romans were often acknowledged and accepted by the\nconquered population. Whereas in these latter days the Russians in the\nCaucasus and the English on the Afghan border have discovered that in\nthe passionate religious animosity between Islam and Christendom lies\nthe mainspring of the stubborn energy and fierce hatred that so long\nheld their armies in check, and that still prevents the establishment\nof even a pacific _modus vivendi_ on the most important frontier of\nIndia.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[38] (1) _The Russian Conquest of the Caucasus._ By John F. Baddeley.\nLondon, Longmans, Green and Co., 1908. (2) _Among the Wild Tribes of\nthe Afghan Frontier._ By J. L. Pennell, M.D., F.R.C.S. London, Seeley\nand Co., 1909.--_Edinburgh Review_, July 1909.\n\n[39] _Border Raids and Reivers_, by Robert Borland, Minister of Yarrow\n(1898). This valuable work, founded entirely on the study of original\ndocuments, may be heartily commended to all who are interested in the\npolitical and social life, the customs and traditions, of the old\nBorder.\n\n[40] Gibbon.\n\n\n\n\nL'EMPIRE LIBERAL[41]\n\n\nThe fourteenth volume of _L'Empire Liberal_, issued in 1909, carries\nM. Emile Ollivier's very interesting reminiscences of that eventful\nperiod up to the outbreak of the Franco-German War in July 1870. It\ncontains many curious particulars of the incidents and transactions\nculminating in the rupture with Prussia that brought about the\ndownfall of his ministry and the ruin of the Second Empire.\nAutobiographies by men who have taken a prominent part in the\nmomentous scenes which they describe have often the powerful effect of\na dramatic representation: the actors reappear on the stage; they\nplead for themselves; they give vivid impressions of the scenes; they\nrepeat the very words that were spoken; they revive the intense\nemotion of the audience during the contest between those who are\nhurrying on toward some fatal catastrophe and those who are striving\nto prevent it. M. Ollivier's volume is the story of a great historic\ntragedy; the principal _dramatis personae_ are celebrities of the first\nrank; on their speech and action depend the destinies of France, and\nthe spectators are the nations of Europe. If we make due allowance for\nthe fact that the author's main object is to explain and defend the\npart which he himself played in these important affairs, we may credit\nhim with an honest desire to set a strange, complicated, and oft-told\nstory in a clear light before the present generation.\n\nM. Ollivier cites, in the first page of this volume, Machiavelli's\nobservation that mankind at large judges those who give advice in\naffairs of state not by the wisdom of their counsels but by the\nresults. He agrees that this method is not rational, looking to the\nhaphazard course of human affairs, but he admits that the multitude\ncan judge by no other standard; and he appeals to historians for an\nimpartial revision of the popular verdict, founded on careful\nexamination of the real facts and circumstances. Yet he fears lest in\nhis own country the decline of patriotic enthusiasm, the cooling of\nmilitary ardour, that he notices in France at the present time, may\nhave rendered Frenchmen incapable of realising the hot resentment, the\nintense susceptibility to affronts, the element of heroism, which were\ndominant forty years ago in the national character. And he therefore\nhas little or no expectation that the falsehood of legends which have\nbeen circulated regarding the events of 1870 will be proved, to his\ncountrymen, even by the most irrefragable demonstration. All political\nparties in France, he says, have combined to hold their own ministry\nresponsible for that calamitous war; he despairs of obtaining from\nthem a hearing. He awaits with resignation the time when some\ninquisitive student of history may light upon a dusty copy of his book\nin the recesses of a library, and may set himself to explain how these\nthings actually happened to readers of the future.\n\nThe story of the decline and fall of the second French empire has\noften been told; yet it may be worth while to remind English readers\nof the political situation in France just forty years ago. The Emperor\nNapoleon III., importuned by reformers and reactionaries, by those who\npressed him to step forward into Liberalism, and by those who insisted\nthat he must stand still, had at last decided upon making those\nchanges in the form of his government that inaugurated the Liberal\nEmpire; and on January 3, 1870, the new ministry took office,\nsupported by the goodwill of the moderate party in the Chamber of\nDeputies and by the general approval of the country. M. Ollivier was\nrecognised as its leader and spokesman, chosen by the emperor, and\nenjoying his particular confidence; though he was not prime minister\nin the English constitutional sense, for the power of issuing direct\norders, and of overruling the Cabinet, was still reserved to the\nsovereign; nor was he always consulted in important military or\nforeign affairs. The complex and enigmatic character of Napoleon III.\nis becoming gradually intelligible to the world at large, and public\nopinion has lately been veering round to a less unfavourable\nconclusion upon it than heretofore. He had long been reviled as a\ntruculent despot, artful and dangerous, powerful and perfidious; the\ngenius of Victor Hugo had set on him a brand of infamy. In reality, if\nwe may trust later French writers, there was much that was good in his\nnature, and they are disposed to regard him with compassion. M. de la\nGorce says that throughout his life Napoleon had been a humane prince.\nFrom the entertaining memoirs of General du Barail, whose military\nservices brought him into frequent relations with the emperor, we\nshould draw the impression that the emperor was affable, considerate,\nand sincerely well-intentioned. Giuseppe Pasolini, the Italian\nstatesman, found him simple and easy in conversation, naturally\nright-minded and kindly,[42] though weak and irresolute. He was\nequally capable of forming bold projects or adopting cautious\ndecisions; but he was apt to hesitate and turn round at the moment for\naction; and it was just here that he was so unlike his uncle, Napoleon\nI., who would have classed him among the _ideologues_ whom he\ndespised. He invented the theory of nationalities to justify his\npolity of encouraging the unification of Italy, and of permitting the\naggrandisement of Germany; in the former instance he alienated the\nItalians by refusing obstinately to allow them to occupy Rome; in the\nlatter case his neutrality when Prussia attacked Austria in 1866 was\nthe proximate cause of his ruin. He might have read in Machiavelli's\n_Principe_ a warning of the danger of standing aside when the\nneighbouring potentates come to blows. The result, it is there said,\nis that the winner in such a contest becomes doubly formidable, while\nthe loser resents your neutral attitude, and will not help you when\nthe victor turns upon you with all his strength. Machiavelli declares\nthat this policy has always been _perniciosissimo_; and so it proved\nto be in the case of the French Empire. In domestic affairs also the\nLiberal Empire took up a kind of half-way position, which was assailed\nby the extreme parties on both sides; for thorough-going Imperialists\nlike Rouher asserted that a Napoleon could only rule by retaining\nabsolute authority; while uncompromising Liberals demanded full\nparliamentary control. Ollivier's ministry took office with the avowed\nobject of gradually extending constitutional administration; but he\nfound that, as Tocqueville had said in his _Ancien Regime_, the most\ndangerous moment for an absolute government is when it endeavours to\nintroduce reforms.\n\nGeneral du Barail, in the memoirs already quoted, gives M. Ollivier\nfull credit for his honesty, ability, and sincere patriotism in\nundertaking his difficult task, which was begun in an evil hour, and\nfailed through adverse circumstance. In May 1870, Ollivier, who was\nholding the portfolio of Foreign Affairs, transferred it to the Duc de\nGramont, foreseeing no troubles abroad, and desiring to give his\nwhole attention to politics at home. The external policy of the\nministry was decidedly pacific; they relied on a quiet moment for\ndeveloping the new constitutional system; they had no notion of\nchanging horses in mid-stream, yet most unluckily they were caught by\na sudden flood. At the end of June it was announced in Madrid that\nLeopold of Hohenzollern, son of the Roumanian prince, had accepted the\ncrown of Spain that had been secretly offered to him by Marshal Prim;\nand the news, M. Ollivier says, startled all France like the bursting\nof a bomb. It had always, we must remember, been a cardinal maxim of\nFrench statesmanship that the maintenance of a preponderant influence\nin Spain was essential to the security of France; while, on the other\nhand, a complete subordination of Spanish to French interests has been\nheld by other governments to be dangerous to the balance of power in\nEurope. The collision between these two principles had been the cause\nof great wars and diplomatic quarrels. Louis XIV. only succeeded in\nsecuring the Spanish throne for his grandson after a long war. When\nNapoleon I. made his nefarious attempt to impose his brother on the\nSpaniards as their king, his pretext was that under the Bourbon\ndynasty Spain had always been a dependency of France; and it had been\nthe invariable aim of English policy to prevent a close association of\nthe two kingdoms. The question had long been regarded on all sides as\none of vital importance; and in 1869, when some information of secret\nnegotiations between Bismarck and Marshal Prim had leaked out, the\nFrench ambassador at Berlin, Benedetti, had warned Bismarck that\nFrance would oppose the election of a Prussian prince to the vacant\nthrone of Spain. Bismarck had treated the information as an improbable\nrumour, yet he had carefully abstained from a formal assurance that\nthe king would forbid Prince Leopold to accept any such offer.[43] It\nwas therefore quite certain that in 1870, when the relations between\nFrance and Prussia were in a very critical state, the announcement\nthat Prince Leopold had been chosen for Spain would be treated as a\nmost threatening move on the political chessboard. Italy was under\ndeep obligation to Prussia for aid in expelling the Austrians from\nVenice; the St. Gothard railway had been openly promoted and\nsubsidised by Germany for direct and secure communication with Italy\nin case of need; and now the family connection which was obviously\ncontemplated would bring Spain into the circle of alliances that\nBismarck was drawing round the French frontier. It was a strategical\nmanoeuvre that the imperial government was bound to resist. Within\nFrance all factions were for once unanimous in demanding immediate and\nresolute protest; and the clerical party, very powerful in that\ncountry, were especially vehement in denouncing the project of placing\nthe scion of a great Protestant dynasty on the 'throne of Charles V.'\nM. Ollivier tells us that when the news first reached him it brought\nupon him suddenly and painfully the presentiment of impending war, to\nthe discomfiture of all his efforts for the preservation of peace\nuntil the Liberal Empire should have been consolidated in France.\n\nThe plot--for it was nothing less--had been skilfully concerted\nbetween Berlin and Madrid; and even the parts to be played in\nanticipation of French remonstrances had been rehearsed. When\nBenedetti went to the Berlin Foreign Office for explanations, he found\nthat Bismarck was absent at his country house and the king at Ems; and\nVon Thiele, the Under-Secretary, cut short his interrogation by\nreplying at once that the Prussian Government knew nothing of, and had\nno concern with, the Hohenzollern candidature, adding that the Spanish\npeople had a right to choose their own king. At Madrid,\nnotwithstanding the French ambassador's attempts to check Prim's\njubilant activity, Leopold's acceptance of the crown was proclaimed to\nall the foreign courts as a matter for joyful congratulation; and the\nCortes were summoned for July 20 to elect their new monarch. To demand\nsatisfaction from Spain would have been to fall into Bismarck's net;\nfor the Hohenzollern prince would have been elected nevertheless, and\nif French troops had then marched into Spain the Prussian army would\nhave crossed the Rhine, whereby the French would have been placed\nbetween two fires. It was necessary to fix the responsibility for\nthese proceedings upon Prussia, and to act promptly; but the precise\nline to be adopted was the subject of anxious deliberation in the\nemperor's council--that is, in a meeting of the Cabinet presided over\nby him. Finally, Ollivier proposed, as he has told us, to speak out so\nplainly that Prussia must understand France to be in earnest, and to\nsay that the Hohenzollern could not be permitted to reign at Madrid.\nMarshal Le Boeuf had assured the council that the army was in the\nhighest condition of efficiency and readiness; and when M. Ollivier\ninquired whether, in the event of war, any help from other governments\ncould be relied upon, Napoleon produced certain letters from the\nAustrian emperor and the King of Italy, which he interpreted as\ndistinct assurances of armed support in the case of a rupture with\nPrussia. The wording of a declaration to be made before the French\nChamber of Deputies was carefully settled--it was delivered next day\n(July 6) by the Duc de Gramont, and received with immense enthusiasm.\nSome objection was taken, then and afterwards, to its menacing tone;\nbut we may agree with M. Ollivier that this outspoken warning to\nPrussia was at the moment judicious and effective; and we may admit\nthat up to this point no exception could be taken to the procedure of\nthe French Government.\n\nM. Ollivier dates from July 6 the first of five phases, or alternating\nchanges (_peripeties_), which the diplomatic campaign, as he terms it,\ntraversed in its headlong course. They are successively described and\ncommented upon in the chapters of his volume; and they may be here set\ndown in his own language, for the guidance of our readers through the\ncomplicated transactions that ensued:\n\n     'Le premier moment est la declaration ministerielle du 6 juillet;\n     le second, la renonciation du Prince Antoine (11 juillet); le\n     troisieme, la demande de garanties de la droite (12 juillet); le\n     quatrieme, le soufflet de Bismarck et la fabrication de la depeche\n     d'Ems; le cinquieme, notre reponse au soufflet de Bismarck par\n     notre declaration de guerre du 15 juillet.'\n\nThese are, in fact, the five acts of a portentous drama, full of\nshifting scenes and striking situations, on the issues of which\ndepended the fortunes of France and of Germany; it was played out with\nill-omened rapidity in nine days. In regard to the train of causes and\nconsequences that brought France to the tremendous disaster upon which\nthe curtain fell, diverse accounts have been given to the world by the\nleading actors--by M. de Gramont, by Bismarck, Benedetti, and, the\nlatest by many years, by M. Ollivier. His narrative does raise\nsomewhat higher the veil which has hitherto kept in partial obscurity\ncertain dark corners of the stage upon which these things went on. We\nknow more now of the precise motives and considerations, the personal\ninfluences and impulses which diverted the Cabinet, after starting on\nthe right path, into leaving it for rash and perilous adventures. On\nsome points of interest he is, indeed, still reticent, and on others\nhis evidence is in conflict with different narratives; but in regard\nto facts actually known to him we may accept his testimony, though in\nmatters of opinion we may sometimes differ from him.\n\nM. Ollivier insists that Gramont's declaration of July 6 was\naltogether _irreprochable_; he writes that he has read it again after\nso many years with satisfaction. He admits that it contained,\nsubstantially, an intimation to Prussia that she must choose between\nwithdrawing the Hohenzollern candidate and accepting war with France;\nbut he argues that this straightforward and peremptory warning was\njustified by its effects; that Bismarck was taken aback and\ndiscomfited by the resolute attitude of the French ministry, supported\nenthusiastically by the Chamber of Deputies; and that Prince Antoine\nwas thereby so intimidated as to compel his son Leopold to retract his\nacceptance of the Spanish crown. On the other hand, this stern\nlanguage alarmed cautious deputies, and though it stirred Paris to a\npitch of wild excitement it was read with uneasiness in the cooler air\nof the French provinces, where the prospect of imminent war met with\nscanty welcome.[44] The foreign governments were startled. Bismarck,\nin his _Reminiscences_, says that it was an 'official international\nthreat, uttered with the hand on the sword-hilt,' From the Austrian\nchancellor, Count Beust, came earnest advice against marching hastily\ninto Prussia; while the British Cabinet, in particular, doubted the\nwisdom of taking up such high ground, from which it might be difficult\nto retreat, at the opening of a grave and complicated question. And\nour ambassador in Paris, Lord Lyons, whose calm judgment and friendly\ncounsels M. Ollivier acknowledges unreservedly, exerted himself\nthroughout this critical time to deprecate precipitate words and\ndeeds.\n\nSimultaneously Benedetti, the French ambassador at Berlin, had been\nordered to seek an interview with the Prussian king, and to impress\nupon him the necessity of appeasing the just indignation of the French\npeople by forbidding Leopold to accept the crown of Spain. The king\nreplied, as is well known, that he had treated the candidature\nentirely as a family matter, quite apart from the sphere of\ninternational politics; that he had nevertheless communicated with\nLeopold, and could give Benedetti no positive answer until he should\nhave heard from that prince. If, as has been asserted, the king had\nbeen cognisant of Bismarck's secret negotiations, this reply was more\nevasive than ingenuous; and we may note that he immediately directed\nhis own ambassador, Werther, who was present at Ems, to return at once\nto Paris. M. Ollivier scores the king's order to the credit of\nBenedetti's diplomacy, since it amounted to an admission that the\nquestion in debate was much more than a mere family concern. And he\nadds that he immediately urged Gramont to allow no more equivocation\nupon this essential point, but to press Werther for a straightforward\nreply upon it. It will be seen that this pressure was carried rather\ntoo far at the French Foreign Office, with an important effect upon\nthe course of negotiations.\n\nBut at this juncture supervened the _coup de theatre_, as M. Ollivier\nstyles it, which opens the second act of the drama. Olozaga, the\nSpanish ambassador at Paris, had been left in complete ignorance of\nthe privy correspondence between Prim and Bismarck for procuring the\nnomination of a king from the Hohenzollern family, and this sudden\nrevelation of its result by no means pleased him. He proposed to the\nEmperor Napoleon to despatch to Prince Antoine at Sigmaringen (in\nPrussian territory) an agent of his own, who should use every effort\nto convince the prince that his son must be imperatively commanded to\nwithdraw his acceptance of Prim's offer. The emperor, whose sincere\nwish was for peace, consented willingly, and the mission was entirely\nsuccessful. By long and strenuous argument the envoy had finally\npersuaded the father that his son, Leopold, would find himself in a\nprecarious position on the Spanish throne, with France alienated and\nopenly hostile; and the result was that Prince Antoine not only laid\non his son a positive command to withdraw, but also telegraphed the\ndecision to the principal German newspapers, to Olozaga at Paris, and\nto Madrid. According to M. Ollivier, Bismarck felt the blow keenly; it\nshattered his carefully organised plans; he found himself baffled and\nhumiliated; he has himself said that his first thought was to resign\noffice.[45] To the king, on the other hand, the news brought welcome\nrelief; he supposed that he had now only to await Prince Antoine's\nletter confirming the public telegram, when the dispute would\nnaturally drop with the disappearance of its cause. This was,\nmoreover, the expectation at that moment of the French emperor, who\nobserved that, if France and England were preparing to fight for the\npossession of an island in the Channel, it would be absurd to go to\nwar after discovering that the island had sunk to the bottom of the\nsea.\n\nIn those days, M. Ollivier explains, any telegram of political\ninterest that passed over the Paris wires was communicated, by\nspecial arrangement, to the Ministere de l'Interieur; and accordingly\nhe received a copy of Prince Antoine's message to Olozaga before it\nreached its address. The contents filled him with exultation--he could\nfeel no doubt that peace had now been triumphantly secured, mainly by\nthe unflinching tone of the Cabinet's declaration. He carried the\npaper with him to the Chamber, where Olozaga rushed up to him in the\nlobby, drew him into a corner, read to him with much obvious\nexcitement the telegram which Ollivier had already in his pocket, and\nhurried on to the Foreign Office. Naturally the incident aroused\ngeneral curiosity; the deputies surrounded the minister, and eagerly\npressed him for information. M. Ollivier tells us that he hesitated\nfor some time before divulging his secret; but that on the whole he\nfound no good reason for withholding news that would certainly appear\nwithin a few hours in the evening papers, so he read out the telegram\nto all present. We believe that few men, who had not been trained by\nexperience to the cautious habits of official life, would have done\notherwise. But M. de la Gorce[46] has pointed out that the chief\nminister ought to have kept silence until the renunciation had been\napproved and confirmed by the King of Prussia, who was in hourly\nexpectation of Prince Antoine's letter, and whose acquiescence,\ntransmitted through Benedetti to the French Government, would have\nprobably brought the whole affair to an honourable termination. It may\nbe objected that this is to argue from consequences, since known,\nwhich could hardly be foreseen at the moment; yet one must admit that\nreticence would have been preferable, for we have to remember that M.\nOllivier was disclosing a telegram intercepted, so to speak, on its\npassage to a foreign embassy, thereby forestalling not only the\nSpanish ambassador but also the French Foreign Office.\n\nThe news ran round the Palais Legislatif, inside and outside, and\nspread through Paris with electrical rapidity.\n\n     'En meme temps debouchait du Palais Legislatif une bande agitee;\n     c'etait a qui envahirait les fiacres de la place, a qui les\n     escaladerait, a qui les prendrait d'assaut. A la Bourse, criaient\n     les hommes d'affaires; nous doublons le prix de la course, et au\n     triple galop. Parmi les journalistes, meme empressement et concert\n     de meme nature, et on voyait les haridelles de la place sortir\n     l'une apres l'autre et s'elancer rapides comme des fleches.'\n\nApparently all this stir and hurry had already affected M. Ollivier\nwith some misgivings; for when, on going into one of the\ncommittee-rooms, he met Gressier, formerly a minister, he assured him\nthat he (Ollivier) had no intention of making the renunciation a\nstepping-stone toward further demands. 'To take up that ground,'\nreplied Gressier, 'will be a proof of courage, but it will bring down\nyour ministry, for the country will never be content with this degree\nof satisfaction.' M. Ollivier soon found that he was right; for a\ncrowd of deputies began to protest against the faint-heartedness of a\ngovernment that seemed willing to drop the whole affair, leaving\nPrussia to escape scot-free; and M. Ollivier had scarcely entered the\nChamber when Clement Duvernois rose with an interpellation asking what\nguarantees the Cabinet proposed to require for the purpose of\nrestraining Prussia from inventing more complications of this sort.\n\nOlozaga had taken his telegram to M. de Gramont, who by no means\nshared M. Ollivier's joy over it. He observed that the effect was\nrather to embarrass his negotiations with Prussia, since that\ngovernment could now make the renunciation a pretext for disowning\nthe responsibility which he desired to fix upon the king with regard\nto the whole business; and, moreover, he added, public opinion in\nFrance will consider such a conclusion unsatisfactory. He was at that\nmoment engaged in colloquy with Werther, the Prussian ambassador, who\nhad presented himself at the Foreign Office, where presently M.\nOllivier joined them, Olozaga having departed. What followed is\ntreated by some French writers as the most ill-conceived of all the\nfalse moves made by the French players in this hazardous diplomatic\ngame. Gramont had been urging Werther to advise the Prussian king to\nwrite a letter to the emperor, to the effect that in authorising the\nacceptance of the Spanish throne by Leopold he had no idea of giving\numbrage to France; that the king associated himself with the prince's\nrenunciation, and hoped that all causes of misunderstanding between\nthe two governments were thereby removed. Gramont sketched out what he\nthought the king might say, and actually made over his note to the\nPrussian ambassador, by way of _aide-memoire_; precisely as in 1867\nBenedetti had trusted Bismarck with his draft of the secret treaty\nproposed for the annexation of Belgium to France, which Bismarck\nafterwards published in the _Times_ of July 1870. M. Ollivier, who\nagreed with and supported Gramont, now maintains that his arrival\nchanged the character of the conference, that it ceased to be an\nofficial interview between the Minister of Foreign Affairs and an\nambassador, and thenceforward became merely one of those free\nunofficial conversations in which politicians explain their views\nwithout compromising their respective governments. But we are obliged\nto remark that in our judgment this plea is inadmissible, for M. de\nGramont has explicitly stated that the interview, so far as he was\nconcerned, was official,[47] and Werther could not have been expected\nto appreciate this subtle yet important distinction--of which nothing\nseems to have been said to him--while M. Ollivier should have foreseen\nthat Bismarck would certainly ignore it. The result was that Werther\ndid transmit to his king the suggestion of the two French ministers;\nthat the king was deeply offended at having been required to send what\nhe called, not unreasonably, a letter of excuses; that Bismarck used\nWerther's despatch to kindle national indignation throughout Germany;\nand that Werther himself was reprimanded and recalled.\n\nThe scene now shifts to St. Cloud, where the poor emperor, who had\nsupposed that Prince Antoine's telegram signified peace with honour,\nfound a military party eager for war, and hotly asserting that the\nempire would be totally discredited unless satisfaction were demanded\nfrom Prussia for conniving at the Hohenzollern candidature. The\ninterpellation of Duvernois in the Chamber was cited as a forcible\nexpression of public opinion. M. Gramont now arrived at the palace\nwith his report of the interview with Werther, in which the latter had\npersistently declared that the king had nothing whatever to do with\nLeopold's withdrawal. The emperor's unstable mind began to waver; he\nforgot or put aside his arrangement with M. Ollivier--that the\nministers should meet him next morning for consultation over this new\naspect of the affair--and he proceeded then and there to hold a\nCabinet Council.\n\nWhat passed at this Council has never been exactly known. The reproach\nof a ruinous blunder lies heavy on those who took part in it. Gramont\nsays no more than that the deliberations were conscientious, and that\nevery one, including the emperor, earnestly desired peace.[48] M.\nOllivier tells us, in the volume now before us, that of all the\nCabinet ministers the Duc de Gramont alone was summoned; whether he\nlearnt subsequently who were also present, and what share they took in\npromoting the decision, he leaves his readers to guess. It is clear\nthat the proceeding was irregular and totally unconstitutional, and\nother French writers hint that Gramont's silence is intended to shield\n_une personne auguste_ from responsibility for a decision that was\nfatally wrong. When the Council broke up at 7 P. M. (July 12) Gramont\nimmediately despatched from the Foreign Office his famous telegram to\nBenedetti at Ems, instructing him to require from the Prussian king a\npositive assurance that he would not authorise the renewal of\nLeopold's candidature--a demand, in short, for guarantees. At his\noffice he met Lord Lyons, to whom he expounded his reasons for\ntreating the single renunciation as inadequate, to the great surprise\nof our ambassador, who objected so strenuously to Gramont's views and\nintentions that the minister, somewhat shaken, merely said that the\nformal decision would be made public next morning. While the emperor\nand two councillors were then taking irrevocable steps toward a\ncollision, and were unconsciously playing into the hands of their\narch-enemy, the leaders of the warlike faction in the Chamber and the\nParisian press were clamouring with fury and vitriolic sarcasm against\na faint-hearted and contemptible ministry that shrank from seizing the\nopportunity of humbling Prussia.\n\nAgain the scene changes, this time to the Foreign Office, where M.\nOllivier, in total ignorance of that evening's Council at St. Cloud,\nsought and found the Duc de Gramont about midnight. He had come to\nask whether any fresh news had been received from Benedetti at Ems;\nand Gramont answered by showing him the telegram just despatched by\nthe Council's order to Benedetti, with a letter to himself from the\nemperor desiring that its language should be stiffened. Naturally M.\nOllivier could hardly control his resentment at discovering that an\nextremely grave resolution had been adopted and acted upon without\nconsulting or even warning him beforehand; that the emperor, in spite\nof his promises to govern constitutionally, had reverted to such an\nextreme use of autocratic power; and that Gramont had made no attempt\nto check it, had even abetted the irregularity. However, the telegram\nhad gone to Ems--it was too late to remedy that mischief--but the\nCabinet would have to answer before the Chamber for its despatch. He\nsaid to Gramont:\n\n     'On va vous accuser d'avoir premedite la guerre et de n'avoir vu\n     dans l'incident Hohenzollern qu'un pretexte de la provocation.\n     N'accentuez pas votre premiere depeche comme vous le prescrit\n     l'Empereur, attenuez la. Benedetti aura deja accompli sa mission\n     lorsque cette attenuation lui parviendra, mais devant la Chambre\n     vous y trouverez un argument pour etablir vos intentions\n     pacifiques.'[49]\n\nAnd he at once drafted a telegram instructing Benedetti to require\nfrom the king no more than that he should agree not to permit Leopold\nto retract the particular renunciation which his father had obtained\nfrom him; instead of requiring a general assurance against _any\nfuture_ retractation. Gramont telegraphed accordingly, but in\ncontinuation, not in correction, of his earlier message, so that the\nlatter part of the instructions to Benedetti was inconsistent with the\nformer part. But this second telegram reached Ems, as M. Ollivier had\nforeseen, too late, for Benedetti had already seen the king, and had\nbeen urging him persistently to satisfy the French Government by\nconceding the general assurance.\n\nM. Ollivier's description of the distress and perplexity that kept him\nwithout sleep during the rest of that eventful night will be read with\na feeling of sincere commiseration. This, then, he reflected, was the\nfirst fruit of imperial liberalism, that the chief minister was\nslighted by his sovereign, ill-served and even betrayed by his\ncolleagues, and committed, behind his back, to a most hazardous\npolicy. He had been too soft-hearted to insist on making a clean sweep\nof the old official class in forming his Cabinet; he had thought to\nreplace the decrepit absolutism by a young and liberal empire; and\nhere was the personal power reappearing at the first crisis. The idea\nof having given the signal for war was abhorrent to him; he felt\nviolently tempted to resign and retire. Yet, on reflection, to tender\nhis resignation at such a moment would be, he felt, an act of culpable\negoism, it would inevitably bring on the war; for the government would\npass into the hands of a rash and impetuous war-party, manifestly bent\non marching against Prussia if the king persisted in refusing, as on\nhearing of Ollivier's resignation he would assuredly refuse, the\nguarantees that had been demanded by the Council held at St. Cloud. On\nthe other hand, by remaining in the ministry he might still command a\nmajority in the Cabinet; nor did he despair of a majority in the\nChamber to support him in cancelling, at some future stage of the\nnegotiations, this demand for guarantees if he could recover the\nemperor's confidence. He might fail, but then he would fall\nhonourably, having subordinated personal susceptibilities to\nconsiderations of his country's interest; so he finally determined not\nto resign office.\n\nOur sympathies are unquestionably due to a minister who, finding\nhimself placed, by no act of his own, in a situation of the utmost\nperplexity, resolves to take no account of his political reputation\nand personal interests, and to choose the course that he believes to\nbe necessary, in arduous circumstances, for the honour and safety of\nhis country. To a British prime minister his duty would have been\nclear, he would have tendered his resignation immediately; but under\nthe Liberal Empire the ultimate decision upon questions before the\nCabinet still lay with the sovereign, and thus the responsibilities of\nhis principal minister remained ambiguous and indefinite.\nNevertheless, though it is easy to be wise after the event, our\nopinion must be that M. Ollivier would have done his country better\nservice by resigning office; for though it is very probable that war\ncould not have been thereby averted, yet unqualified disapproval of\nthe demand for guarantees might have rallied to his side all those\nwho, in the Cabinet, the Chamber, and the country, were undoubtedly\nopposed to incurring terrible risks in order to obtain pledges against\nfuture contingencies. Among the late Lord Acton's _Historical Essays_\nthere is a remarkable paper on 'The Causes of the Franco-Prussian\nWar,' in which the considerations that may justify Gramont's demand\nfor guarantees are fairly stated. It is there argued that the Prussian\nking, who had first 'sanctioned' Prince Leopold's candidature, and\nafterwards its withdrawal, had left the initiative in both cases to\nPrince Leopold. He had thus kept himself quite free to sanction a\nsecond acceptance as he had done the first--'he held in his hands a\nconvenient _casus belli_, to be used or dropped at pleasure';\nremembering that the Hohenzollern candidature had been 'a meditated\noffence, long and carefully prepared, insolently denied, which\ndemanded reparation.'[50] But one might reply that the best way of\nfoiling these deep and deliberate designs, manifestly contrived to\nprovoke war, was to give the adversary no such plausible pretext for\ndriving France into hostilities as was furnished to Bismarck by\nGramont's demand. It is evident, however, that in July 1870 all Paris\nwas in a state of irrepressible agitation, that the Imperialists in\nthe Chamber were determined to push the Government into a defiant and\nwarlike policy, and that they were acting in the foolhardy conviction\nthat the French army could beat the Prussians, and that a victorious\ncampaign would consolidate the Napoleonic dynasty.\n\nThe next day, July 13, is an evil date in the history of France, when\nshe was hurried into war by a swift succession and very unlucky\nconjunction of incidents. The Council met early, and decided by a\nmajority not to call out the army reserves, although Marshal Le\nBoeuf energetically declared that if there were any prospect of war,\nnot an hour should be lost in preparation. M. de la Gorce relates that\nfour of the councillors passed grave censure on the irregular\nproceedings of the previous evening, and condemned Gramont's telegram.\nM. Ollivier says that it was resolved not to insist further if the\nguarantees were refused by the king, and for the moment to keep the\ndemand for them secret, merely informing the Chamber that negotiations\nwith Prussia were in progress. Ollivier took his _dejeuner_ at the\npalace, where the household staff greeted him very coldly, and the\nempress, by whom he sat, turned her back on him. In the Chamber\nDuvernois asked in a surly tone when the debate on his interpellation\nwould come on, and July 15 was fixed for it. Everything now depended\non the issue of Benedetti's interview with the king at Ems, which took\nplace early on the morning of the 13th, when they met as the king was\nreturning by the public promenade from taking the waters. What\nfollowed is well known. The king was surprised and disappointed at\nlearning from the ambassador that Prince Leopold's resignation had not\nsettled everything; Benedetti pressed on him Gramont's new demand for\nulterior guarantees; the king positively refused to give them, and\nparted from him coldly though courteously, promising, however, to see\nhim again after receiving the letter expected from Prince Antoine. But\nin the course of that day came Werther's report of his conversation\nwith the two French ministers, which the king's private secretary\nopened and carried, in some trepidation, to his majesty. The king was\ngrievously offended; he wrote to Queen Augusta that to require him to\nstand before the world as a repentant sinner was nothing less than\nimpertinence, and he sent his aide-de-camp, Prince Radziwill (one of\nthe highest Prussian nobles), to inform Benedetti that Leopold's\nletter of resignation had arrived, and that, as the affair was thus\ncompletely ended, no further audience was necessary. The ambassador\nreplied that he was particularly instructed to obtain the king's\nspecific approbation of Leopold's action, and was therefore obliged to\nsolicit another interview. The king replied by his aide-de-camp that\nso far as he had approved Leopold's acceptance of the crown he\napproved the retractation; but the request for another interview,\nthough it was twice repeated during the day, was civilly and firmly\nrefused.\n\nM. Ollivier argues that Werther's report in no way affected the king's\nbehaviour to Benedetti; he affirms that it made no difference at all,\nand that the king's determination to hold no further intercourse with\nhim was entirely due to Benedetti's indiscreet importunity at the\nmorning's meeting, which was witnessed, it may be noted, by a crowd\nof observant bystanders. We may assume that the king had at no time\nthe slightest intention of acceding to the demand for guarantees; but\nit seems to us impossible to maintain that Werther's report, which was\nput into his majesty's hand at such a critical moment, and which\nundeniably gave serious offence, did not exacerbate relations which\nhad already been strained, or induce the king to break off abruptly\nthe personal negotiations with the French minister. And we may add\nthat if Benedetti had been cognisant of this report, he might have\nunderstood the king's sudden change of temper, and might have spared\nhimself some rebuffs. When the matter came afterwards to his\nknowledge, he declared that the effect on the king of Werther's report\nhad been deplorable.\n\nBismarck had been telegraphing from Berlin to Ems that if the king\naccorded to Benedetti any more interviews he must resign office; and\nthe news of Prince Leopold's renunciation seemed to cut away the\nground upon which he had been manoeuvring for a quarrel with France.\nBut his spirits revived on receiving by telegraph from the king a\nbrief summary of the Ems incidents, stating that Benedetti's\nimportunate requisition for guarantees had been rejected by his\nmajesty, who had subsequently resolved\n\n     'de ne plus recevoir le comte Benedetti a cause de sa pretention,\n     et de lui faire dire simplement par un aide de camp ... que sa\n     Majeste avait recu du prince Leopold confirmation de la nouvelle\n     mandee de Paris, et qu'elle n'avait plus rien a dire a\n     l'ambassadeur.'\n\nThe telegram also authorised Bismarck to communicate this statement to\nthe foreign courts and to the press, whereupon Bismarck gave it\nimmediate publication, having made (to use his own phrase) 'some\nsuppressions'; having, in fact, maliciously tampered with the text and\nfalsified the tone, according to M. Ollivier and other French writers.\nHis official organ, the _North German Gazette_, was directed to print\noff a supplement and to paste it up all over Berlin, and copies of\nthis supplement were distributed gratis in the streets. A thrill of\npatriotic enthusiasm electrified the nation, who were unanimous in\napplauding the king in defying the French, and mocking at their\nambassador's humiliation.\n\n     'Dans toutes les langues, dans tous les pays, courait la\n     falsification offensee lancee par Bismarck. L'effet de cette\n     publicite effroyable se produisit d'abord en Allemagne avec autant\n     d'intensite qu'a Berlin. Les journaux faisaient rage.'\n\nThis is what M. Ollivier has called 'Le soufflet de Bismarck'; and\nnever was the art of changing the tone and import of words without\naltering their substance more effectively employed; for it must be\nacknowledged that the communication to the press was an accurate\nrendering of the facts contained in the king's telegram, which was\nstiff but not actually discourteous; whereas Bismarck put the sting\ninto it by little more than adroit condensation. We are told that when\nthe king received this revised edition of his message he read it\ntwice, was much moved, and said, 'This means war'; and that it rang\nthroughout Europe like an alarm-bell. At the same time, and before\nBismarck's action had been known in Paris, M. Ollivier, as he tells\nus, was struggling vigorously against the torrent of reproaches and\nimputations of cowardice which threatened to overthrow his Cabinet if\nthey flinched from the demand for guarantees.\n\nLate on July 13 came a telegram from Benedetti that the king had\nconsented to approve unreservedly Prince Leopold's renunciation, but\ndistinctly refused any further concession. This, cried the war-party\nat St. Cloud, is totally insufficient; the emperor was irresolute, and\nmerely summoned his Council for next day. Ollivier was determined, for\nhis part, to accept the king's assurance as conclusively satisfactory;\nand he relates how, on the morning of the 14th, he was engaged in\ndrafting, for approval by the Council, a ministerial declaration to\nthat effect, when the Duc de Gramont entered his room with a copy of\nBismarck's circular telegram, and said:\n\n     '\"Mon cher, vous voyez un homme qui vient de recevoir une gifle.\"\n     Il me tend alors une petite feuille de papier jaune que je verrai\n     eternellement devant mes yeux.... On n'echoua jamais plus pres du\n     port. Je restai quelques instants silencieux et atterre.'\n\nAt the Council, which was immediately summoned, Gramont threw his\nportfolio on the table, saying that after what had happened a Foreign\nMinister who should not vote for war would be unworthy to hold office;\nand Marshal Le Boeuf informed his colleagues that they had not a\nmoment to lose, for Prussia was already arming. Nevertheless the\nCouncil set themselves to a deliberate investigation of the actual\nfacts. Their conclusion, after six hours of discussion, was that,\naccording to diplomatic rule and international custom, no exception\ncould have been taken to the king's refusal, courteously worded, of\nthe interview which Benedetti had, it seemed to them, rather\npertinaciously desired; but that a reasonable refusal had been\nconverted into one that was offensive by its publication in terms that\nwere intentionally curt and stinging. Nevertheless Ollivier, clinging\nto any slight chance of avoiding war, persuaded the emperor and the\nCouncil to agree that Leopold's resignation, as approved by the\nPrussian king, should be accepted by France, and that, on the further\nquestion, whether members of a reigning family in one country could be\npermitted to become kings in another, an appeal for some authoritative\nruling should be made to a general congress. But in the course of that\nday the ministers received from various quarters more evidence that\nBismarck's inflammatory telegram had been sent officially to the\nPrussian diplomatists at all the foreign courts; and they heard that\nParis was literally foaming with exasperation at their dilatory\nindecision, while the temper of the Chamber convinced them that the\nproposal for a congress would be rejected with fiery scorn. Berlin and\nParis vied with each other in turbulent patriotism and warlike fury,\nand Marshal Le Boeuf, being again and for the last time questioned\nby the Council, replied positively that the French army was quite\nready, and that no better opportunity of settling accounts with\nPrussia could be expected. The Council rescinded its former decision,\nand voted unanimously for war. The empress alone (Ollivier notes\nparticularly) expressed no opinion and gave no vote.\n\nOn July 15 Ollivier pronounced in the Chamber the declaration that had\nbeen drawn up by himself and the Duc de Gramont. It was to the effect\nthat the Cabinet had throughout made every possible exertion to\npreserve peace, but that their patience was exhausted when they found\nthat the King of Prussia had sent an aide-de-camp to the French\nambassador informing him that no more interviews could be granted, and\nthat the Prussian Government, by way of giving point and unequivocal\nsignificance to this message, had circulated it to all other foreign\ngovernments in Europe. Having spared no pains to avoid war, the\nministers would now accept the challenge, and prepare for the\nconsequences.\n\nM. Ollivier has given a vivid description of the scene that ensued.\nHis final words were barely audible in the storm of applause that\nswept through the assembly, and the vote of urgency for the motion to\nprovide the necessary war-funds was demanded with enthusiastic\noutcries, varied by angry vituperation of the few deputies who stood\nup to oppose it. But Thiers immediately arose and, in spite of many\ndisorderly interruptions, made a passionate appeal to the assembly to\nreflect before precipitating the country into war. His speech, with\nthe violent cries of dissent interjected by the war-party, is\nreproduced by M. Ollivier in order, as he says, that his readers may\njudge for themselves how far it merited the unstinted eulogy that has\nsince been bestowed upon it; for M. Ollivier evidently considers that\nthose who have credited Thiers with heroic patriotism in making this\nstrenuous effort to avert the catastrophe have over-praised him. Yet\nwith this view we believe that few of those who read the pages in this\nvolume which contain the speech will agree. They will admire, rather,\nthe courage and fervid eloquence of a veteran statesman who vainly\nstrove to persuade a frantic assembly that it was fatally misled, that\nit was plunging the nation into war on a mere point of form, grasping\nat a shadow after the substantial and reasonable demand for\nsatisfaction had been obtained by Leopold's renunciation; who reminded\nthe deputies that the official papers authenticating the supposed\ninsult had never been laid before them, and implored them not to risk\nthe issues of a terrible contest upon a doubtful question of national\nsusceptibility. M. Ollivier goes so far as to affirm that no one could\nbe more justly accused of having brought on the war of 1870 than\nThiers himself, because it was his vehement condemnation of the policy\nwhich allowed Prussia to beat down Austria in 1866, and to set up a\nformidable military power on the frontier of France, that inspired the\nwhole French people with the suspicion, jealous animosities, and alarm\nwhich rendered a war on the Rhine between the two nations eventually\nunavoidable. But Thiers in his speech emphatically repeated his\nconviction that sooner or later France must fight Prussia to redress\nthe balance of military power between the rival countries; and the\nwhole point of his speech lay in one sentence: 'Je trouve l'occasion\ndetestablement choisie' ('Your _casus belli_ is ill chosen and utterly\nindefensible'). It cannot be denied that in 1870 the public opinion of\nEurope was on his side: for England and Austria, whose goodwill toward\nFrance was unquestionable, were foremost in their efforts to deter the\nFrench ministers from war and in deploring their infatuation when it\nhad been proclaimed. At St. Petersburg the Russian emperor told the\nFrench ambassador plainly that the demand for guarantees was\nunreasonable. Nor is it likely that the general judgment of the\ntime--that Thiers did his best to save the empire from a disastrous\nblunder--will have been revoked by posterity, or affected by anything\nthat has since been pleaded in extenuation.\n\n'If (said Thiers) the Hohenzollern candidature had not been withdrawn,\nall France would have rallied to the support of your declaration, and\nall Europe would have held you to be in the right; but it _has_ been\nwithdrawn with the approbation of the Prussian king, and you had\nabsolutely no pretext for making any further demand. What will Europe\nsay when you shed torrents of blood on a point of form?' M. Thiers\nconcluded his speech by urging the ministers to lay before the Chamber\nthe actual documents which, as they asserted, rendered war inevitable.\n\nM. Ollivier, in his reply, declined to communicate certain documents\nwhich, he said, were confidential and could not be produced without\ninfringement of diplomatic rules; and he laid stress on the\nimpossibility of tolerating the affront which had been intentionally\nput upon France by Bismarck's circular telegram. And it was at the end\nof this speech that he made use of the phrase which has become\nhistorical as the typical expression of the levity and rashness with\nwhich his ministry threw their nation into a tremendous war, insomuch\nthat it has become one main cause why he is so commonly charged, very\nunfairly, with the whole responsibility for the blind haste that led\nto the defeat and dismemberment of his country. 'Oui, de ce jour\ncommence pour les ministres mes collegues et pour moi, une grande\nresponsabilite. Nous l'acceptons le coeur leger.' The words were at\nonce taken up sharply and severely; and M. Ollivier went on to explain\nthat he meant a heart not weighted by remorse, since he and his\ncolleagues had done everything that was consistent with humanity and\nwith honour to avert a dire necessity; and since the armies of France\nwould be upholding a cause that was just. He now comments bitterly on\nthe malignity which has fastened this stigma on his name, merely\nbecause in the heat and flurry of debate, which left him not a moment\nto pick his words or arrange his sentences, he said something that he\nis sure no honest man who listened to his explanation could\nmisconstrue into unfeeling frivolity. And in his criticism of the\nspeech in which M. Thiers so vehemently condemned the conduct of the\nministers he repeats emphatically that the war was not brought on by\nthe demand for guarantees, but by Bismarck's false and insulting\npublication of the king's refusal to consider that demand. This\naffront, he maintains, was insufferable. Yet we learn from his\nnarrative that before entering the Chamber on this eventful day M.\nOllivier had found at the Foreign Office Benedetti, just arrived from\nEms, who had already seen Bismarck's telegram in a newspaper, and\ncould have assured the ministers that it was a perfidious\nmisrepresentation, since the king had not treated him with actual\ndiscourtesy. Nevertheless M. Ollivier quotes and entirely adopts the\n'proud and manly' utterances of the Duc de Gramont who stood up and\naddressed the assembly towards the close of the debate.\n\n'After what you have just heard,' he said, 'one fact is enough. The\nPrussian Government has informed all the Cabinets of Europe of the\nrefusal to receive our ambassador or to continue the discussion with\nhim. That is an affront to the emperor and to France, and if (_par\nimpossible_) a Chamber could be found in my country to bear or suffer\nit, I would not remain Minister of Foreign Affairs for five minutes.'\n\nThese haughty words (we are told) electrified the Chamber, and a\ncommittee to examine the papers on which the ministers relied to prove\ntheir case was immediately appointed. These were brought by Gramont,\nwho, however, said that he would not lay before the committee the\nprecise words of Bismarck's insulting telegram, because his knowledge\nof it came only from a very confidential communication made to him by\nthe French representatives at certain foreign courts who had been\npermitted to see the original, so that the authentic text was not in\nhis possession. This excuse was accepted, somewhat imprudently, by the\ncommittee; and their chairman proceeded to question Gramont closely on\none point--whether, after Leopold's retirement had become known, the\nKing of Prussia had been required at one and the same time to approve\nit formally and to promise that the candidature should never be\nrevived. During the debate it had been objected by those who opposed\nthe war-party that after obtaining the king's approval, and not till\nthen, the Foreign Secretary demanded this promise, and that on this\nnew demand the king took offence and briefly declined any further\ninterview with Benedetti. Gramont answered the chairman with a direct\naffirmative; he stated that the two concessions had been required\nsimultaneously, and M. Ollivier undertakes to prove that this\nstatement was correct. He argues, if we understand him rightly, that\nbefore Leopold had withdrawn his candidature, the king had been\npressed to advise or order him to do so, and that this requisition\nincluded by implication the demand for a guarantee against its\nrenewal. When Leopold had retired without the king's intervention, the\nroyal order became unnecessary; but the implied demand still remained\nin force, and was merely repeated in subsequent telegrams.[51] On this\nwe must remark that both Benedetti and the Prussian king entirely\nmissed the alleged implication; that the question of guarantees was\nnever raised by the telegrams interchanged between Gramont and\nBenedetti before Leopold's retirement had become public, when both the\nking and the ambassador treated it as entirely new; and that at any\nrate such an important and highly contentious demand should obviously\nhave been stated with unequivocal distinctness, since any other course\nwas quite certain to produce misunderstandings and recriminations. And\nit is no matter for surprise that various French writers have since\naccused the Duc de Gramont of misstating the facts upon which the\ncommittee reported to the Chamber that the papers laid before them\namply sustained the ministerial request for the grant of an urgent\nwar-subsidy, which was thereupon voted by an immense majority. In the\nSenate, where the money was granted with even more promptitude and\nwith zealous unanimity, the proceedings were expedited by a report\nfrom Marshal Le Boeuf that the enemy had already crossed the French\nfrontier, and M. Rouher, a thorough Imperialist, headed a deputation\nof senators to congratulate the emperor, in the name of the Senate, on\nhaving drawn the sword when the Prussian king rejected the demand for\nguarantees. M. Ollivier reasonably complains that this unauthorised\ndemonstration was awkward and mischievous; for while the Senate was\nthus made to attribute the rupture to the king's refusal, the ministry\nwas declaring war on account of the 'soufflet de Bismarck'--the insult\nembodied in the Prussian telegram. Yet M. Ollivier, looking back in\nthe calm evening of life on these stormy days, might have brought\nhimself by reflection to admit that between these two pretexts there\nwas little to choose--that neither of them justified a government in\nstaking the fortunes of the nation and the empire on the hazard of a\ngreat war. When Rouher had read his address, the sovereigns conversed\nwith the senators, and it was remarked that while the empress was\nlively and confident of success, the emperor spoke sadly of the long\nand difficult task, requiring a most violent effort, that lay before\nthem.\n\nHaving brought his narrative up to the moment when the Chamber by\nvoting the subsidy had practically determined upon war, M. Ollivier\nstops to comment upon and explain the strenuous opposition made to the\nvote by M. Thiers and by the small section of deputies who represented\nthe Radical Left. He is convinced that this latter party were mainly\nactuated in their ardent protests by a desire to embarrass and, if\npossible, to overthrow his Government, of which they had been\nconsistent adversaries. They had calculated, he explains, on the\nprobability that the ministry would flinch from the rupture with\nPrussia, would adopt some pacific compromise that would be rejected\nwith indignation by the Chamber, and would be contemptuously expelled\nfrom office. When this calculation had been foiled by the resolutely\ncourageous attitude of the Cabinet, they foresaw (he believes) that a\ntriumphant campaign would greatly strengthen the Government and would\nutterly discredit the Opposition, so they changed their tactics and\nfought against the ministerial proposals with accusations of criminal\nrecklessness and prophecies of disaster. It is hardly possible, after\nso long an interval of time, to form any opinion upon these somewhat\ninvidious suggestions. The action of those who opposed the war,\nwhatever may have been their motives, was outwardly consistent enough,\nand the construction placed upon it by M. Ollivier may seem rather\nsubtle and far-fetched. At the present day, however, this question\ndoes not particularly concern any one, though we may agree that at\nthat moment no one in France contemplated the possibility of defeat in\nthe field. The French army was assumed by all parties to be\ninvincible, and the minority in opposition did undoubtedly believe and\nfear that the empire would be consolidated by victories. M. Thiers in\nhis speech only touched generally upon the chances and perils of war,\nand even Gambetta voted with the Government upon the conviction that\nsuccess was beyond doubt; while not only in Paris, but in all the\ngreat towns, the determination to fight was acclaimed because a\ntriumphant campaign was supposed to be certain. It was to be\nanticipated, indeed, that a brave and high-spirited nation, very\nsensitive on the point of honour, and confident in its military\nsuperiority, would respond enthusiastically to the signal of war\nagainst a rival whose ill-will was notorious, who was accused of\nplotting the injury of their country and of deliberately insulting\ntheir Government.\n\nA public declaration of hostilities was sent to Berlin, though M.\nOllivier tells us that his ministry regarded it as a superfluous\nformality which they would have preferred leaving to Prussia.\n\n     'La declaration fut libellee d'une maniere assez maladroite par les\n     commis des Affaires etrangeres, et elle ne fut pas meme lue au\n     Conseil. Elle fut communiquee uniquement par la forme et sans\n     discussion aux Assemblees, et envoyee a la Prusse le 19 juillet.'\n\nThis perfunctory method of composition is characteristic of the\nprevailing official atmosphere.\n\nThe document was delivered by the French charge d'affaires to\nBismarck, and in the dialogue that followed between the two\ndiplomatists, which M. Ollivier relates in full, we have an excellent\nsample of the Prussian Chancellor's sardonic and incisive manner.\nBismarck asserted that if he had been present at the interviews with\nBenedetti he might have prevented the war, whereas the king's\nconciliatory tone at Ems had misled the French ministers into the\nblunder of using threats and making intolerable demands, until at last\nthey found themselves confronted by a strong Government, backed by the\nPrussian nation in the firm resolution to defend itself. In reporting\nthis conversation to the Foreign Office the charge d'affaires said\nthat Bismarck appeared to be sincerely afflicted with regret for the\nrupture between the two countries, that he evidently saw, too late,\nhis error in having secretly encouraged the Hohenzollern candidature,\nand that the result of all these unhappy complications had left the\nwell-meaning chancellor inconsolable. Such a candid confession of\nremorse and regret moved the Frenchman's compassion to a degree that\nprofoundly irritates M. Ollivier:\n\n     'Un tel exces de credulite finit par exasperer. Et la plupart des\n     diplomates de ce temps-la etaient de cette force. Bien pietre\n     serait l'histoire qui se modelerait sur leurs appreciations.'\n\nWe may agree that the sympathy of the charge d'affaires with\nBismarck's ingenuous contrition was ill-bestowed. But the tendency to\nfix upon French diplomacy a responsibility for national calamities\nthat is much more justly chargeable to the account of the Imperial\nGovernment, is somewhat unduly prominent in certain parts of M.\nOllivier's otherwise fair and conscientious narrative of the\ntransactions that culminated in the war.\n\nWhen Bismarck announced to the Prussian Reichstag that war had been\ndeclared, he was interrupted by an outburst of long and enthusiastic\ncheering. He said, briefly, that he had no papers to lay before them,\nbecause the single official document received from the French\nGovernment was the declaration of war; and the only motive for\nhostilities he understood to be his own circular _telegramme de\njournal_ addressed to Prussian envoys abroad and to other friendly\nPowers for the purpose of explaining what had occurred. This, he\nobserved, was not at all an official document. He added that a demand\nfor a letter of excuses had been made through Werther to the king; and\nthe real origin of the war he alleged to be the hatred and jealousy\nwith which the independence and prosperity of Germany were regarded in\nFrance. Upon this adroit but incomplete exposition of causes and\ncircumstances M. Ollivier comments with intelligible severity, laying\nstress on the fact that afterwards Bismarck threw off his disguise,\nand openly took to himself the credit of having deliberately contrived\nto bring on the war at his own time. In fact, the later German\nhistorians have confirmed this statement by their critical examination\nof the records and other evidence; though instead of concluding that\nhis conduct was immoral they unite, according to M. Ollivier, in\napplauding his political genius. Almost the whole story of the\nconnected machinations by which France was led step by step into war\nhave since been disclosed, and the only part which is still unrevealed\nrelates to the original devices by which Bismarck and Marshal Prim\nconcerted the preliminaries to the offer of the Spanish throne to\nLeopold.[52]\n\nIt is cheerfully admitted by the German historians who are cited in\nthis volume that the train of incidents which produced so well-timed\nan explosion was scientifically laid by the Prussian chancellor. But\nthey maintain that he was only countermining the underground\ncombinations of the French, who were known to be organising a triple\nalliance with Italy and Austria for a combined assault upon Prussia;\nand that the journey of the Austrian Archduke Albert to Paris in\nMarch 1870 convinced Bismarck that he had no time to lose, because war\nmust be provoked before these alliances were consummated. And they\ncite the example of Frederick the Great, who disconcerted the secret\npreparations of his enemies by the sudden dash upon Dresden which\nopened the Seven Years' War. This defence of his own very skilful and\nnot less astute manoeuvres was endorsed by Bismarck in a speech\nbefore the Chamber in 1876; nor does it appear to us so untenable as\nM. Ollivier holds it to be. He argues that the fear of being attacked\nby France, if it had really influenced Bismarck's conduct in 1870,\nmust have been a wild hallucination, for the chancellor must have been\nwell aware that the emperor's policy at that time was decidedly\npacific, and that his own (Ollivier's) views were still more so. He\nassures us that the project of a triple alliance was intended to be\nexclusively defensive, that it never passed beyond the 'academic'\nstage, or reached any practical form. The confidential negotiations of\n1869 with Austria and Italy had been left, he says, in the stage of\nunfinished outline, nor was it even suspected either by the French or\nby the Italian ministry that they had been carried further. On the\nother hand, it cannot be denied that in 1869 these negotiations had\nbeen carried quite far enough to inspire the Prussian chancellor with\nserious disquietude, if, as is very probable, he had good information\nof them. We know, from M. Ollivier's very interesting account of what\npassed at the first meeting of the Cabinet on July 6, when the\nministers resolved to announce to the Chamber their determination to\nresent and resist the Hohenzollern candidature, that the emperor and\nM. de Gramont regarded the understanding with Italy and Austria as\nbeing much more than academic. It is there stated that when Ollivier\nhesitated to accept Gramont's assurance that the assistance of these\ntwo Powers, in the event of hostilities with Prussia, had been\nvirtually secured, the Emperor Napoleon took from a drawer in his\nbureau certain letters written in 1869 by the Austrian emperor and the\nKing of Italy, and, after reading them aloud, told the ministers that\nthese writings undoubtedly amounted to promises of help in the\ncircumstances that were then actually under discussion. The Cabinet\naccepted these proofs that the alliances might be reckoned upon as\nsubstantial, so that it is not unreasonable to suppose that Bismarck\nhad drawn the same conclusion from the intimations that had reached\nhim, and had set himself to provoke a war before the secret\ncombinations against him should be ready for action. It must be borne\nin mind that from 1866 he had been deliberately preparing for it,\nbeing convinced, as he said later, that until France had been defeated\nin the field, his grand design of founding a German empire, with its\ncapital at Berlin, could not be realised.\n\nWe may therefore be permitted to suggest that the discussion with\nwhich M. Ollivier closes this volume is to some extent superfluous,\nfor it is incontestable that Bismarck had reasons for desiring the\nwar, and that France was inveigled into declaring it. In the final\nsection he returns to the question whether France or Prussia were\nresponsible for the rupture; and after summing up the evidence he\npronounces judgment against Prussia. It was Prussia that invented the\nHohenzollern candidature, against which France was bound to protest\nforcibly; and even if it be admitted, he says, that the French Cabinet\nwas wrong in taking mortal offence at the insolent official version of\nthe king's refusal to receive the French ambassador, there can be no\ndoubt that this public affront infuriated the French nation, and drove\nit to the extremity of war. That the explosion was instantaneous he\nregards as a proof that it had not been expected nor premeditated by\nFrance. All these things are, indeed, neither denied nor deniable, for\nBismarck's own arrogant revelations leave no doubt that the war had\nbeen desired and premeditated by that astute and far-seeing\npolitician; and though upon the methods by which the Hohenzollern\ncandidature was originally started Bismarck is judiciously silent, we\nmay be morally certain that the instigation came from Berlin. The\nmaxim _Fecit cui prodest_ affords fair ground for this inference,\nparticularly when we remember the obvious improbability that the\nSpanish ministry would have gratuitously set up a candidature which\nmust infallibly have brought their country into collision with its\nformidable neighbour.\n\nHow the French Government fell into a net that had been spread for\nthem is to most of us sufficiently clear. Whether the emperor and his\nministers ought to have detected and avoided it, is the real question,\nand it is practically the only question that concerns M. Ollivier. In\nthe final pages of his book, which touch in dignified and pathetic\nwords upon the injustice of the reproaches that have been heaped upon\nhim and the rancorous calumnies by which he has been pursued, his\nreaders are told that, having done his best to defend the cause of his\nnation, he will terminate his work without taking up his personal\njustification, though on one point he desires not to be misunderstood.\nIt has been pleaded on his behalf, he says, that he was in fact\nopposed to the declaration of war, but agreed to it under the violent\npressure of public opinion, or else from reluctance to betray internal\ndissensions that would have broken up the ministry, or for other\nreasons. M. Ollivier insists, on the contrary, that after Bismarck's\n'soufflet' he was convinced that peace could be maintained only at\nthe price of his country's abject humiliation; and that he chose the\nalternative of war as infinitely preferable, without the least regard\nto his personal reputation or interests. We may willingly agree that\nM. Ollivier acted throughout from motives of high-minded patriotism,\nand although we cannot acquit him on the charge of grave imprudence we\nmay freely admit that he was entangled in a situation of extraordinary\ndifficulty. To Englishmen, who are familiar with the regular and\nrecognised working of constitutional government, it will be plain that\nhe was the victim of a system that had placed him before the public as\nthe nominal head of a Cabinet that he was supposed to have formed, and\nof a party in the Chamber that he was expected to lead. Whereas in\nfact he had no proper control over the policy of the Cabinet, and no\nsolid support in the Chamber. The emperor presided at the meetings of\nthe Cabinet; and it is clear that the ultimate decision in the\nsupremely important departments of the army and of foreign affairs was\nstill reserved to the sovereign, on whom the Foreign Secretary (as we\nshould call him) could urge his views separately, and from whom he\ncould take orders independently of the first minister. In this\nradically false position M. Ollivier found himself committed to\nmeasures on which he had not been consulted, and hurried into\ndangerous courses of action for which he had no recognised official\nresponsibility, since they were sanctioned by the emperor's\nunquestionable authority. We have to remember, also, that in July\n1870, liberal institutions had been no more than six months under\ntrial after eighteen years of autocratic rule, that the advocates of\nthe old _regime_ were numerous and openly hostile to the reforms, and\nthat all the ministers of the new _regime_ lacked experience in the\nart and practice of constitutional administration. It is among those\nconditions and circumstances that we must find some explanation of\ntheir imprudence, and of their inability to make a stand against the\nemperor's weakness, the clamour of hot-headed deputies, and the\nwar-cries of journalists; some excuse, in short, for the heedlessness\nwith which a well-meaning ministry stepped into the snare that had\nbeen laid for them.\n\nWhen, in 1871, the ex-emperor was told of M. Ollivier's earnest\nprotest against the cruel injustice of holding him alone answerable\nfor the national disasters, Napoleon is reported to have replied that\nthis responsibility must be shared by the ministry, the Chamber, and\nhimself.\n\n     'Si je n'avais pas voulu la guerre, j'aurais renvoye mes ministres;\n     si l'opposition etait venue d'eux, ils auraient donne leur\n     demission; enfin, si la Chambre avait ete contraire a l'entreprise,\n     elle eut vote contre.'[53]\n\nIn a broad and general sense this conclusion may be accepted, for all\nparties concerned were heavily to blame; and manifestly the disasters\nwere the outcome of a situation in which weakness and rashness were\nmatched against unscrupulous statecraft and the deep-laid combinations\nof a consummate strategist.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[41] _L'Empire Liberal: Etudes, Recits, Souvenirs._ Par Emile\nOllivier. Vol. xiv.: La Guerre. 1909.--_Edinburgh Review_, January\n1910.\n\n[42] 'Animo retto e buono' (_Memorie_, p. 407).\n\n[43] Benedetti, _Ma Mission en Prusse_.\n\n[44] _Papiers Secrets: Les Prefets._\n\n[45] _Reflections and Reminiscences of Prince Bismarck._\n\n[46] _Histoire du Second Empire_, vi. 258.\n\n[47] 'Rien n'etait plus officiel que l'entretien qui se poursuivait en\nce moment entre le ministre des affaires etrangeres et l'ambassadeur\nde Prusse.'--Gramont, _La France et la Prusse_, p. 168.\n\n[48] _La France et la Prusse_ (1872), pp. 131-2.\n\n[49] _L'Empire Liberal_, p. 270.\n\n[50] _Historical Essays_, p. 222.\n\n[51] 'Au debut nous avions demande au Roi de conseiller ou d'ordonner\na son parent de renoncer, ce qui entrainait implicitement une garantie\nque la candidature ne se reproduirait plus. Le Roi ayant refuse\nd'intervenir, et la candidature ayant disparu a son insu, nous avions\nreclame sous une forme explicite, notre premiere demande.'--_L'Empire\nLiberal_, p. 453.\n\n[52] Some light is thrown on these obscure intrigues by Lord Acton in\nthe essay already cited. He writes that in 1869 Bismarck learned from\nFlorence that Napoleon was preparing a triple alliance against him,\nand sent a Prussian officer, Bernhardi, to Madrid. 'What he did in\nSpain has been committed to oblivion. Seven volumes of his diary have\nbeen published; the family assures me (Acton) that the Spanish portion\nwill never appear.... The Austrian First Secretary said that he\nbetrayed his secret one day at dinner. Somebody spoke indiscreetly on\nthe subject, and Bernhardi aimed a kick at him under the table, which\ncaught the shin of the Austrian instead. He was considered to have\nmismanaged the thing, and it was whispered that he had gone too far--I\ninfer that he offered a heavy bribe to secure a majority in the\nCortes. Fifty thousand pounds of Prussian bonds were sent to Spain at\nmidsummer 1870.... I know the bankers through whose hands they\npassed.'--_Historical Essays_, p. 214.\n\n[53] _L'Empire Liberal_, p. 475, footnote. Prince Napoleon told M.\nOllivier that the emperor repeated this to him several times.\n\n\n\n\nSIR SPENCER WALPOLE[54]\n\n1839-1907\n\n\nSir Spencer Walpole's death in 1907 left a gap in the front rank of\ncontemporary English Historians. To a volume of his collected essays,\npublished in the following year, his daughter, Mrs. F. Holland,\nprefixed an admirable memoir of his private life and character, with\naffectionate reminiscences of her father's 'strenuous work, his\nuniversal kindliness, and his simplicity of soul.' On this personal\nsubject, therefore, little or nothing remains to be said. I will only\nadd that during several years of intimacy with him I had every reason\nto feel honoured by his friendship, to set high value on his literary\njudgments, and to appreciate his scrupulous intellectual integrity.\n\nFrom that memoir I take the main incidents that belong to Sir Spencer\nWalpole's personal biography. After leaving Eton he entered the Civil\nService at an early age, and worked for some time in the War Office,\nuntil he was transferred to a position of larger independence. He was\nsubsequently appointed to the Governorship of the Isle of Man, where\nhe remained for about twelve years; and afterwards he became Secretary\nto the Post Office until his retirement in 1899. In the discharge of\nthe duties of these offices he was indefatigable; his services were\nfully approved by all with whom he came into public relations; yet\nthroughout these years he found time for hard and unceasing literary\nwork. In his earlier days he was a regular contributor to the\nperiodical press, mainly on questions of finance; he wrote the lives\nof two Prime Ministers--his grandfather Spencer Perceval and Lord John\nRussell--while from 1876 up to the year of his death he was engaged\nupon his _History of England_. Five volumes were published, at\nintervals, on the period between 1815 and 1857; and four subsequent\nvolumes, under the title of the _History of Twenty-five Years_,\nbrought the whole narrative up to 1880. But the proofs of the two\nfinal volumes had not been revised by his hand, when he was struck\ndown by a sudden and fatal malady of the brain. Other recent\npublications were a small book on the Isle of Man, entitled the _Land\nof Home Rule; Studies in Biography_; and the collection of essays to\nwhich I have already referred.\n\nIt is upon this History of England from 1815 to 1880 that Sir Spencer\nWalpole's lasting reputation, as a man of letters, will rest. To have\ncombined the writing of such a book with the duties of a very diligent\nofficial is no slight achievement; though one may observe that direct\ncontact with administration, with political affairs, and with\nparliamentary leaders, is for the historian a distinct advantage. It\nis worth remarking that his family connections, which brought Walpole\ninto the Civil Service, in no way biased his judgment on public\nquestions. The grandson of a high Tory Prime Minister, the son of a\nConservative Secretary of State, he was throughout his life an\nadvanced Liberal, with an unswerving trust in popular government as\nessential to the welfare of his country and to the just and proper\nmanagement of its affairs at home and abroad. His literary bent was\nevidently taken from hereditary association with politics, and from\nhis own official training. As an historian he enters with intense\ninterest into the strife of parties, the parliamentary vicissitudes,\ninto the swing backward and forward of reform and reaction, into the\nexact causes and incidents that affected the rise and the fall of\nministries. In describing the state of manners at certain periods, and\nthe changes wrought in the national life by the efforts of philosophic\nwriters and philanthropists, his facts and figures are always ample\nand accurate; he pays close attention to financial and economical\nmovements. As a politician he distrusted the spirited policy that\ninvolved England in the warlike adventures and hazards of an eventful\nand stirring time. The Afghan war of 1838-43 was, he said, the most\nruinous and unnecessary war which the English had ever waged. The\nCrimean war he evidently regarded as a useless expenditure of blood\nand money, which might well have been avoided. On Lord Beaconsfield's\nImperialism he passes severe censure: and the interference of that\nstatesman in 1877 to protect the Turkish Sultan against Russia is very\nsharply condemned. He has even some doubt whether the purchase of the\nSuez Canal Shares was a wise stroke of policy. This book, in short, is\na corroboration of the well-known remark that the history of our\ncountry has been mainly written by Whigs and Liberals, with the\nexception of a few authors who, like Hume and Alison, have hardly\npreserved an historic reputation. Nevertheless, whether we agree or\nnot with the prudent and pacific views towards which Walpole\nmanifestly leaned, his narrative, his statements of disputable cases,\nhis distribution of the arguments for and against his conclusions, are\ninvariably accurate, fair, and dispassionate. His anxiety to give full\nauthority for facts and opinions is shown in an almost too copious\nsupply of foot-notes. Lord Acton, who found the late Bishop Creighton\ntoo economical of these citations, compares his practice to Mr.\nWalpole's if several hundred references to Hansard and the Annual\nRegister had been struck out from the History of England.\n\nIn his preface to the first volume the author explains briefly the\nmethod that he has adopted. History, he says, may be written in two\nways--you may relate each event in chronological order, or you may\ndeal with each subject in a separate episode--and he tells us that he\nhas chosen the latter way. This method enabled him to introduce\nsketches of the state of English society at different periods, by way\nof illustrating his narrative, which are certainly attractive and\nimpressive. They are composed to a large degree upon the model set by\nMacaulay, by grouping together a number of characteristic particulars\nto bring out into strong relief the morals and manners of the time.\nWalpole's picture of the Eton boy in the early nineteenth century, who\ncould write admirable Greek and Latin verse but knew not a word of any\nmodern language--'who regarded the Gracchi as patriots but had only an\nobscure notion that Adam Smith was a dangerous character'--is almost a\nparody of Macaulay's style. Nevertheless these sketches are on the\nwhole truthful and instructive, if we allow for some exuberance of\ncolouring that may have been thought necessary for artistic effect.\n\nBut Walpole studied literature, as the measure of intellectual\nevolution, with the same interest that he devoted to economical and\nadministrative developments. His aim was to show how all kinds of\nmental and material activity acted and reacted upon each other, how\nthe feelings and aspirations of the nation were reflected in\nphilosophy and in poetry, and how literary genius could stir the\nimagination of the people. He observes that while English literature\nhad declined towards the close of the eighteenth century, it rose\nagain rapidly with the opening of the nineteenth century. For a short\ntime, indeed, the furious outbreak of the French Revolution had scared\nmen of letters into recoil from the optimistic speculations of the\npreceding age--they abandoned the worship of Liberty. But the storm\nblew over; and a general revival of literary animation signalised the\nend of the long war-time, with a magnificent efflorescence of poetry.\nWalpole records, as notable signs of this intellectual expansion, the\nappearance of women in the field of literature, the immediate success\nof the two famous reviews, the _Edinburgh_ and the _Quarterly_, and\nthe rapid growth of journalism. The whole subject of mental progress\nhas, indeed, a peculiar charm for him. He insists that 'the history of\nhuman thought is the most comprehensive and the most difficult subject\nwhich can occupy the student's attention, far more interesting and\nimportant than the progress of society.' He would probably have agreed\nwith Coleridge that knowledge of current speculative opinions is the\nsurest ground for political prophecy; and he delights in tracing back\nto distant sources the religious movements of the nineteenth century.\nHe declares that the heroic measures introduced by legislation within\nour own recollections are the links of a continuous chain extending\nfrom a prehistoric past to an invisible future. We have here a writer\nwho in one chapter handles complicated statistics and economical\ncalculations with obvious relish, and turns from them with equal\npleasure to abstruse disquisitions on the filiation of ideas and the\nmarch of mind.\n\nThere are at least two chapters in the History that exemplify the\nattention given by Walpole to ecclesiastical controversies, and to the\nsignificance of the antagonism between the New Learning and dogmatic\northodoxy. In his fourth volume the story of the Oxford Tractarians is\nrelated at some length, and he remarks on the singular coincidence,\nthat almost simultaneously with the secession of the English High\nChurchmen the Free Church was established by disrupture from the\nEstablished Church in Scotland. He affirms that both these schisms, so\ndifferent in motive and direction, had their origin in events dating\nfrom the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The disintegrating\nforces of geology, astronomy, and scientific research generally upon\nthe received tradition are examined; the beginning of modern Church\nreform is noted; and in a chapter of the final volume of the _History\nof Twenty-five Years_ it is maintained that the great question before\nthe religious world in the middle of the nineteenth century was the\npossibility of resisting the inroads of science. He describes the\nvigour with which the polemical campaign was conducted on both sides;\nhow the orthodox position was assailed by writers of the _Essays and\nReviews_, by the criticism of Bishop Colenso, by Broad Churchmen and\nthe champions of free thought; how it was defended by prosecutions in\nthe ecclesiastical courts and in appeals to the Privy Council from\nboth parties. It was certainly a remarkable epoch in the history of\nopinions, when the country was agitated by the ardent zeal of\ndisputants over questions of ritual and dogma that now seem to have\nfallen into cool neglect; and Walpole gives, as usual, a careful array\nof the particular cases, with the points in debate, and the\ncharacteristics of the prominent leaders in each party. To estimate\nthe position of the clergy as a body, and to show, as Walpole\nundertakes to do, that in the middle of the nineteenth century they\nwere losing caste as a class, and that between the middle and end of\nthat century they had fallen in social status, was a much more\ndifficult and delicate problem. All generalisations upon the condition\nof society in times that have passed away, however recently, are of\ndoubtful value, because the evidence of documents must always be\nincomplete, and even personal recollections are partial and become\nindistinct; they are all seen in a fading and uncertain light.\nMoreover the chronicler of disputations over ritual and articles, and\nof matters concerning churches and the clergy, may be said to move\nover the surface of the spiritual waters; and Walpole draws nearer to\nthe deeper undercurrents when he appeals to the higher literature for\nsigns of alternating tendencies of religious thought in that\ngeneration; though the famous stanzas from Tennyson's 'In Memoriam,'\nwhich he quotes at the end of his chapter, represent rather the poetic\nthan the philosophic conclusions of thinkers in the nineteenth\ncentury.\n\nBut Walpole was quite aware of the difficulties that beset any writer\nwho endeavours to relate the history of a very recent period,\nespecially of that part to which his own lifetime belongs, and to pass\njudgments on the conduct or opinions of statesmen and writers who may\nbe still living, or have only lately departed. Yet, as Lord Acton has\nsaid, the secrets of our own time cannot be learnt from books, but\nfrom men; and Walpole's social relations, his personal popularity, his\nfamiliarity with official business, and his literary culture, provided\nhim with valuable opportunities for composing his last four volumes\nfrom direct impressions of his subject, for preserving the right\natmosphere. His studies in biography show an aptitude for personal\ndelineation; and in one of his earlier volumes there is a full-length\nportrait of Sir Robert Peel, executed with much skill and\ncomprehension. Therein lay the artistic quality of his work; he aimed\nat the presentation of individual character and action; he laid stress\non the influence of remarkable men on their country's fortunes; for\ntrue historical art is concerned with bringing prominent figures into\nformal relief, and with arranging a mass of disorderly facts under\nsome scheme that produces a definite impression. Otherwise Walpole's\nstyle was clear, level, and straightforward; with no pretence to be\nornamental. Perhaps the best example of his talent for well-ordered\nand compact narrative is found in two chapters of the fifth volume of\nthe History, which contain an excellent summary of the rise and\nexpansion of British dominion in India during the eighteenth and\nnineteenth centuries, with a very correct appreciation of the causes\nand circumstances to which that memorable episode in the annals of the\nBritish Empire is due.\n\nWalpole lived just long enough to bring his historical work, which\noccupied him for about thirty years, to the end which he had assigned\nto it. In traversing such an extensive and varied field of arduous\nlabour some errors and shortcomings were inevitable, for the history\nof England in the nineteenth century is the history of the British\nEmpire at its climacteric, of moral and material changes and\ndevelopments more numerous and perhaps more important than in any\nformer century. Nor did he limit his survey to the particular period\nthat he had chosen; for his theory, as he has stated it, of the\nfunction of history, was that it shall not merely catalogue events but\nshall go back to an analysis of their causes, and of the general\nprogress of the human family. He believed, with Lord Acton, that the\nrecent past contained the key to the present time. It has been said\nthat Walpole undertook to do for the nineteenth century what Lecky did\nfor the eighteenth century: and we may agree that both historians have\nfilled up, with distinguished merit and ability, large vacant spaces\nin the history of our country. Perhaps Lecky had more of the\nphilosophic mind, while the distance of time that lay between that\nwriter and his period enabled him to see men and things in their true\nproportion, and to judge of events by their outcome. Walpole, on the\nother hand, wrote under the disadvantages as well as the advantages of\nclose proximity to the scenes which he described; and the conclusion\nof his history marks the fall of the curtain on a drama of which the\nfinal acts are still to be played out.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[54] _Proceedings of the British Academy_, vol. iii.\n\n\n\n\nREMARKS ON THE READING OF HISTORY[55]\n\n\nSince I have accepted, at the request of your Warden, the honour of\ndelivering an inaugural address on this occasion, it has appeared to\nme appropriate to choose, for such an audience, some literary subject.\nAnd I propose, with some diffidence, to offer a few observations on\nthe reading of history, because in these latter days, when education\nhas come in upon us like a flood, rising higher and spreading wider\nevery year among our people, no part of literature is more sedulously\nstudied than the field of history. On the other hand, this field is\nbeing very rapidly enlarged. It has been said that the output of\nhistories during the nineteenth century has exceeded in bulk and\nvolume the production of all previous centuries. And in all the\ncountries now standing in the forefront of civilisation, the chief\nproduct of their serious literature is at this time historical and\nbiographical--for I take authentic biography to be a kind of handmaid\nof history. It has been reported that during the ten years ending 1907\nthere were published in England 5498 books under the head of history,\nand 1059 biographies. Moreover, of those who are not actually writing\nhistory, an important number are occupied in criticising the\nhistorians.\n\nNow the first observation that I submit to you is that the production\nof all history has been almost entirely the work of Europeans, among\nwhom I reckon the American writers, as belonging by language and\nculture to Europe. So far as the African continent has any trustworthy\nhistory, it is in some European language. In Asia there have been\nannalists, chroniclers, and genealogists, mostly Mohammedan, who\nnarrate the wars and exploits of great conquerors, the succession of\nkings, and the rise and fall of dynasties. And I believe that in China\nofficial record of public events and transactions has been kept up\nfrom very early ages. But if we measure these Asiatic narratives by\nthe standard of literary merit and the demand for authentication of\nfacts, I fear that they will be found wanting; though they may be\nrelied upon to give the general course of important events, and an\noutline of the result of battles and the upsetting of thrones.\n\nWhen these Asiatic chroniclers wrote of the times in and near which\nthey were living, they were fairly trustworthy. But whenever they\nattempted to write of times long past and of countries unknown to them\npersonally, their narratives became for the most part fabulous and\nromantic, confused and improbable, with some grains of truth here and\nthere. Our best information regarding the earlier ages of Asia is\nderived, I think, from Greek and Latin literature, and latterly from\nthe researches of quite modern scholars and archaeologists. So that it\nmay be affirmed that authentic history began in Europe, and that to\nEurope it has ever since been practically confined. At this day the\nhistory of all parts of the world is being written by Europeans. The\nresult has been that for the last 2500 years historical material,\ncollected from and relating to all parts of the world, has been\naccumulating in Europe.\n\nSuch masses of records and monuments necessarily require methodical\ntreatment by men of trained intelligence and of untiring industry,\nlearned, and accurate. Their systematic labours, their acute and\nintelligent criticism, have created what is now usually termed the\nScience of History, which abstracts general conclusions from the mass\nof particulars. And so, I think, we may agree with Renan, who has\ndeclared that to the nineteenth century may be accorded the title of\nthe Age of Historians, and that this has been the special distinction\nof that century's literature.\n\nNow I believe that the question, whether history is an art or a\nscience, is not yet universally settled. But whatever may be the case\nin these modern days, I submit that in earlier times, and certainly\nwhen history began to be written, it was mainly an art. Indeed, it\ncould hardly have been otherwise. In all ages and countries, from the\ntime when men first attained to some stage of elementary culture, they\nhave been curious about the past, they have enjoyed hearing of the\ndeeds and fame of their ancestors, of far-off things and battles long\nago. But the primitive chronicler had very slight material for his\nstories of bygone times--he had few, if any, documents--he was himself\ncreating the documentary evidence for those who came after him; he\ncould only compile his narratives from tradition, legends, anecdotes\nof heroic ancestors, from information picked up by travel to famous\nplaces, and so on. Yet from sources of this kind he composed tales of\ninestimable value as representing the ideas, habits, and social\ncondition of preceding generations that were very like his own.\nHerodotus, who is our best example of the class, reconstructs,\nrevives, and relates conversations that neither he nor his informants\ncould have actually heard; but he does this in order to give a\ndramatic version of great events. In the opening sentence of his first\nbook he says that he has written in order that the actions of men may\nnot be effaced by time, nor great and wondrous deeds be deprived of\nrenown. And one may notice the same style and method in the\nhistorical books of the Old Testament. In both these ancient histories\nthe narratives represent life, action, speech, situations.\n\nIt is futile, I may suggest, to subject work of this sort to critical\nanalysis by attempting to sift out what is probably true from what is\ncertainly false. You only break up the picture, you destroy the\nartistic effect, which is at least a true reflection of real life.\nMoreover, it is dangerous for learned men sitting in libraries to\nregard as incredible facts stated by these old writers. The legend of\nRomulus and Remus having been suckled by a wolf has been dismissed as\na childish fable. Yet it is certain that this very thing has happened\nmore than once in the forests of India within the memory of living\nmen. You cannot be particular about details, you must take the story\nas a whole.\n\nFrom this standpoint we may agree, I think, that in illiterate times,\nand, indeed, throughout the middle ages of Europe, history-writing was\npractised as an art. The unlearned chronicler wrote in no fear of\ncritics or sceptics; he drew striking scenes and portraits; he\ndescribed warlike exploits; he related characteristic sayings and\ndialogues which completely satisfied his audience or his readers. The\nsociety in which he lived was not far different, in morals and\nmanners, from that which he portrayed, so that he can have committed\nvery few anachronisms or incongruities; and in sentiments and\ncharacter-drawing he could not go far astray. He produced, at any\nrate, vivid impressions of reality, just as Shakespeare's historical\nplays have stamped upon the English mind the figures of Hotspur or\nRichard III., which have been thus set up in permanent type for all\nsubsequent ages. At any rate portraits of this kind have not been\nmodernised to suit the taste of a later age, as has been done with\nKing Arthur in Tennyson's 'Idylls of the King.' And when work of this\nsort has been finely executed, the question whether the details are\nuntrustworthy or even fictitious is immaterial, particularly in cases\nwhere the precise facts can never be recovered. We do not know exactly\nhow the battle of Marathon, or, indeed, the battle of Hastings, was\nfought, but we have in the chronicles something of great value--a true\noutline of the general situation, and some stirring narratives of the\nclash and wrestling of armed men, compiled either at first hand from\nthe recollections of those who were actually on the field, or else\ntaken at second hand from others who made notes of what had been told\nthem by those present at the battles. This, then, is what I meant when\nI said that in early times history was an art. Its method was\npicturesque.\n\nNow my next observation is that, although the science of history has\nsince been invented, we have, among quite modern English writers, men\nof singular genius, who have to some extent followed the example,\nadopted the manner, of the ancient annalist. Like him, they are\nartists, their aim has been to depict famous men, to reproduce\nstriking incidents and scenes dramatically. Their technical methods,\nso to speak, are entirely different from those of the old chronicler,\nwho sketched with a free hand, and trusted largely to his\ninspirations, to his own experience of what was likely to have been\nsaid or done, or to popular tradition, which is always animated and\ndistinct. The modern historian, of what I may call the school of\nimpressionists, has no such experience, he knows nothing personally of\nviolent scenes or fierce deeds; he composes his picture of things that\nhappened long ago from a mass of papers, books, memoirs, that have\ncome down to us. Yet although style and substance are quite different,\nthe chief aim, the design, of the ancient and modern artist in\nhistory is the same. They both strive to set before their reader a\nvision of certain scenes and figures at moments of energetic\naction--not only to tell him a story, but to make him see it. Let me\ngive an example. Every one here may remember the story in the Old\nTestament (2nd Book of Kings) of Jehu driving furiously into Jezreel,\nhow on his way he smote Ahaziah, king of Judah, with an arrow, and how\nJezebel, the Phoenician Queen, was hurled down out of her palace\nwindow to be devoured by dogs in the street. And some of you may have\nread in Froude's _History of the Reign of Queen Elizabeth_ his\ndescription of the murder of David Rizzio by the fierce Scotch nobles,\nhow he was killed clinging to Queen Mary's knees in her chamber in\nHolyrood Palace. Now the manner, the artistic presentation of\nferocious action, are in both cases alike; we have the words spoken\nand the deeds done; we can look on at the bloody tragedy; we have a\ndramatic version of the story. The ancient writer of the Old Testament\nprobably did his work naturally, instinctively; he tells the story as\nhe received it by word of mouth, briefly--laying stress only on the\nthings that cut into the imagination of an eye-witness, and remain in\nthe memory of those to whom they were related. He troubles us with no\nmoral reflections, but goes on quietly to the next chapter of\nincidents. The modern historian has composed his picture from details\ncollected by study of documents; he puts in adjectives as a painter\nlays on colour; yet the effect, the impression, is of the same\nquality: it is artistic.\n\nNow the principal English historians of the modern school, who revived\nwhat one may call the dramatic presentation of history, I take to be\nMacaulay, Froude, and Carlyle. They all worked upon genuine material,\nupon authentic records of the period which they were writing about.\nLord Acton mentions that Froude spoke of having consulted 100,000\npapers in manuscript, at home and abroad, for one of his histories.\nMacaulay was industrious and indefatigable. Yet Ranke, the great\nGerman historian, said of Macaulay that he could hardly be called a\nhistorian at all, judged by the strict tests of German criticism. And\nFreeman, the English historian, brought violent charges against Froude\nof deliberately twisting his facts and misquoting his authorities;\nthough I believe that Freeman's bitter jealousies led him into grave\nexaggerations. Then take Carlyle. His Cromwell is a fine portrait by\nan eminent literary artist. But is it a genuine delineation of the man\nhimself, of his motives, of the working of his mind in speech and\naction? Later investigation, minute scrutiny of old and new material,\nsuggest doubts, different interpretations of conduct and character.\nTake, again, his description of the battle of Dunbar, Cromwell's great\nvictory. Carlyle explains to us the nature of the ground, the\nmovements of the troops, the tactics, the points of attack, with\nadmirable force and clearness--it is a marvellous specimen of literary\nexecution. Yet recent and very careful examination of the locality,\nand a comparison of the evidence of eye-witnesses, have proved beyond\ndoubt that Carlyle had not studied the ground, had made some important\nerrors. He was, in fact, giving a dramatic representation of the\nbattle, which, if it had come down to us from some mediaeval annalist,\nwould have been universally accepted as genuine. In short, these three\nartists have all suffered damage under scientific treatment.\n\nNow I am not here to disparage Macaulay, Froude, or Carlyle. They were\nall, in my opinion, authors of rare genius, whose places in the\nforefront of the literature of the nineteenth century are permanently\nsecure. Yet I fear that the tendency of the twentieth century is\nunfavourable to the artistic historian. It seems to me probable, much\nto my personal regret, that the scientific writing of history, based\nupon exhaustive research, accumulation and minute sifting of all\navailable details, relentless verification of every statement, will\ngradually discourage and supersede the art of picturesque composition.\nIn the first place the spirit of doubt and distrust is abroad, every\nstatement is scrutinised and tested. The imaginative historian cannot\nlay on his colours, or fill up his canvas, by effective and lively\ntouches without finding his work placed under the microscope of\nerudite analysts, some of whom, like Iago, are nothing if not\ncritical, are not only exact but very exacting. In these days a writer\nwho endeavours to illuminate some scene of ages past, to show us, as\nby a magic lantern, the moving figures brought out in relief against\nthe surrounding darkness, is liable to be set down as an illusionist,\npossibly even as a charlatan or conjurer. Yet one feels the charm of\nthe splendid vision, though it may fade into the light of common day\nwhen it falls under relentless scrutiny, and one is haunted by the\ndoubt whether the scientific historian, with all his conscientious\naccuracy, is after all much nearer the reality than the literary\nartist. For it is seriously questionable whether the precise truth\nabout bygone events and men long dead can ever actually be discovered,\nwhether, by piecing together what has come down to us in documents, we\ncan resuscitate from the dust-heap of records the state of society\nmany centuries ago. And in regard to historical portrait painting Lord\nActon has warned intending historians to seek no unity of\ncharacter--to remember that allowance must always be made for human\ninconsistencies; that a man is never all of one piece. But cautious\nconclusions, nice weighing of evidence, do not satisfy the ordinary\nreader. The vivid impressions that are stamped on his mind by the\npower of style are what he mostly requires and retains; and these we\nare all reluctant to lose. We must concede to the writer, as to the\npainter, some indulgence of his imaginative faculty. Otherwise we must\nleave the battle scenes and the national portrait gallery to the poets\nand romancers of genius--to Shakespeare and Walter Scott, whose art\nhad nothing to gain from accuracy, who have only to give us the types,\nthe right colouring and strong outline of life and character in days\nbygone.\n\nHowever, I think we shall be compelled to accept the change from the\nartistic to the scientific school of historians, though we may regret\nit as unavoidable. It is the vast enlargement of the field of\nhistorical study, the strong critical searchlight that is turned on\nall the dark corners and outlying tracts of this field, that is\nirresistibly affecting the work of writers, enforcing the need of\ncaution, of scrutinising every point, of weighing evidence in the\nfinest scales, of assaying its precise value. The contemporary writer\nhas to deal with the huge accumulation of material to which I have\nalready referred; he must ransack archives, hunt through records piled\nup, public and private, must decipher ancient manuscript, must follow\nthe labours of the wandering collector of inscriptions and the\nexcavator of old tombs. He has to make extracts from correspondence,\ndiaries, and notes of travel which are coming for the first time to\nthe light; he must keep abreast of foreign literature and criticism.\nThe mass and multiplicity of documentary evidence now at his disposal,\nmost of which may not have been available to his predecessors, is\nenormous. Some twelve years ago Lord Acton wrote: 'The honest student\nhas to hew his way through multitudinous transactions, periodicals\nand official publications, where it is difficult to sweep the horizon\nor to keep abreast. The result has been that the classics of\nhistorical literature are found inadequate, are being re-written, and\nthe student has to be warned that they have been superseded by later\ndiscoveries.'\n\nWhat has been the effect of this altered situation upon the writer of\nhistory at the present time? On such an extensive field of operations,\nwhich has to be cultivated so intensely, he finds himself compelled to\ncontract the scope of his operations; he can only take up very narrow\nground. So in many instances he limits himself to a period, or even to\na single reign, to a particular class of historical personage, or to\nsome special department of human activity. He looks about for a plot\nthat he can work thoroughly; he concentrates his attention upon some\nline or aspect of a subject in which he may hope that he has not been\nanticipated by others. Lord Acton has laid down that 'every student\nought to know that mastery is acquired by acknowledged limitation'--he\nmust peg out his small holding and keep within its bounds. Histories\nare now written by many and various hands--as in the case of the\nCambridge Modern History, which already counts numerous volumes--and\nso the general area is divided and subdivided among experts, each of\nwhom dips deeply into his particular allotment, and takes heavy crops\noff his ground. Yet the productiveness of the field at large seems\nstill inexhaustible, for there is always some new theory to be\nestablished, some fresh vein of facts to be opened, some corrections\nor additions to be made. Moreover, the experts, while they toil at\ntheir own special work, while they attack a difficult problem from\ndifferent sides, must nevertheless co-operate with each other. Sir\nWilliam Ramsay, a noted archaeologist, tells us that for a new study\nof history there is needed a group of scholars working in unison; that\nthe solitary historian is doomed to failure. He adds that the history\nof the Roman empire has still to be re-written. The late Lord Acton,\nwhen as Professor of Modern History at Cambridge he drew out his plan\nfor a modern history that would satisfy the scientific demand for\ncompleteness and exactitude, proposed to distribute the work among\nmore than a hundred writers. He observed that the entire bulk of new\nmatter which the last forty years have supplied amounts to many\nthousand volumes. When history becomes the product of many hands and\nvarious minds the artistic element is likely to disappear.\n\nOne obvious result of this state of things is that we hear no more of\nthe old-fashioned histories embracing vast subjects, the work of a\nsingle author--of histories of the world, or a history of Europe like\nAlison's in thirty volumes. Indeed it is not long since Buckle found\nhis _History of European Civilisation_ unmanageable; he died before he\ncould finish it. At the present time historical subjects are divided\nand subdivided by classes, periods, or even single events. Art,\nliterature, philosophy, war, diplomacy, receive separate treatment. We\nhave colonial histories in numerous thick volumes; though no English\ncolony has a long past. We have histories of the queens who have\nreigned in their own right, like Queen Elizabeth, and of Queens\nConsort: we have even a book on the bachelor kings of England, written\nby a lady who proves undeniably that these unlucky bachelors--there\nwere only three of them--all came to a bad or sad end. As to military\nhistorians, Kinglake's _History of the Crimean War_ takes up, I think,\nsome eight volumes. The whole course of the recent Boer War has been\nrelated in five substantial volumes. Neither of these wars lasted\nmore than two years, yet both histories are many times larger than\nSchiller's History of the Thirty Years' War in Germany. The only\nedition of Schiller's work that I have found in the library of this\nUniversity is in four small volumes.\n\nNow, the drawback to the composition of histories on this ample and\nelaborate scale is obviously this--that the ordinary man or woman can\nhardly be expected to read them, or at most to read more than two or\nthree of them. So there has sprung up a natural demand for something\nlighter and shorter; the amplification has produced a supply of\nabbreviation. The massive volumes, the heaps of material, are taken in\nhand by very capable writers with a clear eye for the main points, for\nstriking incidents and personalities. The big books are sliced up into\nconvenient portions, and served up in attractive form and manageable\nquantities. The work is often done with admirable skill and judgment.\nYou thus obtain a bird's-eye view of the past; you have the loftier\nprominences and bold outlines of the historic landscape.\n\nIn these serials, which are deservedly popular, you can read short\nbiographies, for example, of English Men of Letters, of English Men of\nAction, of famous Scotsmen, Rulers of India, Heroes of the Nation. You\nhave also a story of all the nations in series, and thus you can limit\nyour mental survey to separate periods, events, countries, and\nfigures. You are carried swiftly and adroitly over the dry interspaces\nwhich lie between startling incidents or between supremely interesting\nepochs.\n\nNow I have no doubt that these series, which contain much sound\ninformation very skilfully condensed, have been of real service in the\npropagation of historical knowledge. On the other hand, we have to\nconsider that this kind of reading is disconnected in style and\nsubject. The reader can make a long jump from one period to another,\nor from the statesman of one century to another who flourished in a\nvery different country and age. And the handling of these diverse\nsubjects is not uniform; the points of view or lines of thought are\nvarious, and may be contradictory. It may be expedient to warn those\nwho use these excellent summaries against the habit of neglecting the\ngreat English classics for short biographies or compendious sketches\nof periods and personages, as if one could learn enough of Edmund\nBurke, or Milton, or Oliver Cromwell, or master the events of some\nimportant period, from a well-written serial in some two hundred\npages.\n\nThe demand for these historical handbooks has evidently been created\nby the spread of general education, which stimulates the laudable\ndesire to learn something about subjects of which it is hardly\nrespectable, in these days, to be ignorant. Such knowledge is very\nuseful to those who have no leisure for more; and it is far superior\nto mere desultory reading, to the habit of picking out amusing bits\nhere and there. Yet I hope it is unnecessary to impress on earnest\nstudents of history that they must go further; must push up as near as\npossible to the fountain heads of the rivers of knowledge; must make\nacquaintance with the masterpieces of literature--that their reading\nmust be continuous and consecutive.\n\nNow those among you who are studying for University honours have no\nneed for any advice from me; they are well aware that the wide\nexpansion, in these days, of the field of history has raised the\nstandard of examinations, and that they must be prepared for questions\ntesting a candidate's critical acumen, the breadth and depth of his\nreading, much more closely than was required formerly. But there must\nalso be many here present who have no examinations in front of them,\nwho have no ardent inclination or even leisure for abstruse labours.\nAnd I presume that all of you read history for a clear understanding\nof past ages, of the acts and thoughts of the great men who illustrate\nthose times. You all desire to comprehend the sequence and\nsignificance of events. You feel the intellectual pleasure of\nappreciating rightly the character and motive of the men and women who\nstand in the foreground of our country's annals, and also of those who\nare famous in other countries, to know how and why they rose or fell,\nwhether they deserved the success that they won, or won it without\ndeserving it. Moreover, for us English folk, who live at the centre of\nan empire containing races and communities in various stages of\npolitical development, the lessons of history have a special value.\nThey teach us to judge leniently of acts and opinions that appear to\nus irrational and even iniquitous as we see them in other backward\ncountries at the present day. We learn that manners and morals may not\nbe unchangeable in a nation; that fallacies and prejudices are not\nineradicable; that even cruelty, tyranny, reckless bloodshed, are not\nincurable vices. For history tells us that some of the nations now\nforemost in the ranks of civilisation have passed through the stages\nof society in which such things are possible. And thus we can study\nthe circumstances and conditions of political existence which have\nretarded the upward progress of certain nations and accelerated the\nadvance of others. Such inquiries belong to the philosophy of history.\nWhen we read, for example, the history of England in the fifteenth or\nsixteenth century, we find that our ancestors, born and bred in this\nsame island, kindly men in private life and sincerely religious,\nintellectually not our inferiors, yet, when they took sides in\npolitics or Church questions, did things which appear to us utterly\ncruel, against reason, justice, and humanity. To remember this helps\nus to realise the difficulty of passing fair judgment not only on the\nconduct of our forefathers, but upon the actions and character of\nother peoples and governments that are doing very similar things at\nthe present time in other parts of the world. We shall find it an\narduous task to assign motives, to weigh considerations, to acquit or\ncondemn. So that, to the politician of to-day, history ought to be an\ninvaluable guide and monitor for taking an impartial measure of the\ndifficulties of government in troubled or perilous circumstances. Yet\none sometimes wishes that the record of the fierce and bitter\nstruggles of former days had been forgotten, for it still breeds\nrancour and resentment among the descendants of the people that fought\nfor lost causes, and suffered the penalty of defeat. The remembrance\nkeeps alive grievances, and the ancient tale of wrongs that have long\nbeen remedied survives to perpetuate national antipathies. Moreover,\nin some of the most celebrated cases known to our own annals, we are\nnever sure that we have the whole case before us, for the historians\ngive doubtful help, since the best authorities often take opposite\nviews, as, for instance, on the question whether Mary Queen of Scots\nwas her husband's murderess, or a much injured and calumniated lady.\nThe admitted facts are valued differently, interpreted variously, and\nmade to support contradictory conclusions. The latest historian of\nRome, Signor Ferrero, sums up a long and elaborate dissertation on the\nacts and character of Julius Caesar by a judgment which differs\nemphatically from the views of all preceding historians. On some of\nthese disputed questions we may make up our minds after studying the\nevidence; but many historical problems are in truth insoluble; the\nevidence is imperfect and untrustworthy.\n\nThese, then, are some of the warnings we may take from history. We\nmust not be hasty about condemning misdeeds of past generations,\nwhether of the rulers or their people. The times were hard, so were\nthe men; they were encompassed by dangers, while we who criticise them\nlive in ease and safety. And when we hear at the present day of\nmisrule and strife and bloodshed among other races--in Asia, for\nexample--we may remember our own story, and we may trust that they\nalso will work their way upward to peace and concord.\n\nBut the truth is that, as our knowledge of the past is very imperfect,\nso also our predictions of the future are very fallible. The best\nobservers can see only a very short way ahead. History shows us how\nfrequently the course of affairs has taken quite unexpected turns, for\ngood or for ill, forward or backward. On the whole, we may believe\nthat the main direction is certainly toward the gradual betterment of\nthe world at large, though the theory of progress is quite modern, for\nthe ancients looked behind them for the Golden Age. Nowadays we\ntrumpet the glory of our British empire; yet at intervals our\nconfidence in its fortunes is shaken by some sharp panic; the decline\nand fall of England is predicted. It is, indeed, perilous to be\noverconfident, to live in a fool's paradise, for some of us have seen\nin our lifetime the sudden catastrophes that have overtaken great\nempires. But history may comfort us when we read how often the\ndownfall of England has been predicted, how we have been on the brink\nof shooting down Niagara, as Carlyle declared, or threatened with\nimminent invasion, with total loss of commerce and colonies, with\ndefeat abroad and bankruptcy at home. And yet our country is still\nfairly prosperous and free, and as for invasions, we may still trust\nthat, as Coleridge has written:\n\n    'Ocean 'mid the uproar wild\n    Speaks safety to his island child.'\n\nBut on the whole history gives political prophets little\nencouragement--we cannot foretell the future from the past.\nNevertheless, there is some truth in the saying that history is like\nan old almanac, if we may take this to mean that, although the same\nevents never happen again in the same way, yet in the great movements\nof the tide of the world's affairs a sort of periodical recurrence, an\nebb and flow, may be noticed. For example, we know that from the\nfifteenth until near the end of the seventeenth century the Asiatic\narmies of the Turkish Sultans were invading and conquering\nSouth-Eastern Europe--they reached the gates of Vienna. Then followed\na swing backward of the pendulum, and from the eighteenth to the end\nof the nineteenth century the European Powers, Russia and England,\nwere each extending a great dominion over Asia. Again, up to a few\nyears ago, the Turkish empire was a barbarous despotism, and we all\nbelieved that it must break up and be extinguished. Yet it has now\nrevived in a new form, which may possibly restore its power and\nprosperity. To search for and distinguish the operating causes, the\npowers that underlie these incalculable changes, is a task for the\nstudent of history.\n\nThere must be many of you for whom these high problems have a strong\nattraction, who enjoy rapid flights over the broad surface of history,\nwide outlooks over the past and future. Now, I admit that bold\ngeneralisations are hazardous, unless founded upon very solid\nknowledge; but in historical as well as in physical science they are\nneeded to sum up results, to bring facts into focus. They enable us,\nso the late Lord Acton has said, to fasten on abiding issues, to\ndistinguish the temporary from the transient.\n\nThe late Lord Acton, who, as you may remember, was Professor of Modern\nHistory at Cambridge, is reckoned by general consent to have surpassed\nall his contemporaries, at least in England, by his encyclopaedic,\naccurate, and profound knowledge of history. His reading was vast, his\nlearning prodigious, his industry never slackened. Yet the literary\nproduction of his life is contained in three volumes of essays,\nlectures, and articles; he has left us no complete book. Indeed, his\nwriting is so disproportionate to his reading that one is tempted to\nliken his luminous intellect to a fire on which too much fuel had been\nheaped; the ardent mind glowed and shot up its streaks of radiance\nthrough the weight of erudition that overlaid it. Among Lord Acton's\npublished papers is a 'Note of Advice to Persons about to Write\nHistory,' of which the first word is _Don't_. But he then proceeds to\njot down some hints and maxims, brief and caustic, for the benefit of\nthose who nevertheless persist in writing; and to some of these I\ncommend the attention of readers, since upon readers as well as upon\nwriters lies the duty of forming careful opinions, of judging\nimpartially, in working out their conclusions upon the events and\npersonages of past times. For Lord Acton was an indefatigable\nresearcher after truth; his standard of public morality was austere,\nlofty, and uncompromising. I myself venture to think that he was too\nrigid; he admitted no excuse for breaches of the moral law on the\npretext, however urgent, of political necessity; he refused to allow\nextenuation of violence or bloodshed even in times of great emergency.\n'The inflexible integrity of the moral code,' he said, 'is to me the\nsecret of the authority, the dignity, the utility of history.' Now\nthis is hard doctrine for most of us to follow when we set ourselves,\nas students, to condemn or acquit, to blame or to praise the prominent\nactors in the drama of our national history. On that stage, as we all\nknow, the real tragedies that stand on record were sanguinary enough,\nand the parts occasionally played in them by our ancestors were of a\nsort that now appear most unnatural and indefensible to their\ndescendants. Yet most of us are disposed to regard with some leniency\neven the crimes of a violent and lawless age.\n\nBut however this may be, some of Lord Acton's counsels are undoubtedly\nvaluable as warnings or for guidance, either as lamps to show the\nright road, or as lighthouses to keep us from going wrong. His\ninaugural lecture at Cambridge on the Study of History is full of\nprecepts, maxims, warnings, injunctions, all of which may be pondered\nby students with advantage. We are enjoined, for example, to beware of\npermitting our historic judgment to be warped by influences, whether\nof Country, Class, Church, College, or Party; and it is said, by way\nof driving home the warning, that the most respectable of these\ninfluences is the most dangerous. But very few writers, and, I\nsuspect, not many readers, can hold their mental balance quite\nsteadily, can weigh testimony on either side of a question quite\ndispassionately, when our Church, or our Country, perhaps even our\nUniversity, is concerned. Nor is it easy for students to find\nhistorians who are entirely unmoved by bias of these kinds, who have\nneither a theory to prove, nor a cause to support, nor a hero to be\nexalted, nor a sinner to be whitewashed. Indeed, the wicked men of\nhistory have always found some ingenious advocate to defend them by\nattempting to justify bad acts on the ground of excellent motives and\nintentions, of the exigencies of the situation, or other excuses and\nexplanations. It is certain that some of the worst crimes on record,\nassassinations and savage persecutions, have been defended on pretexts\nof this kind, by allegations of patriotism or devotion to a faith. Not\nmany weeks have passed since a dastardly murder was perpetrated in\nLondon, close to this spot, by a crazy wretch who declared himself a\npatriot.\n\nSo we may profitably lay to mind Lord Acton's stern denunciation, not\nonly of criminals in high places, but of all, high or low, who pretend\nthat foul deeds may be justified by asserting pure motives. Let me\nquote again from Lord Acton. He has said: 'Of killing, from private\nmotives or from public, _eadem est ratio_, there is no difference.\nMorally, the worst is the last; the fanatic assassin, the cruel\ninquisitor, are the worst of all; they are more, not less, infamous,\nbecause they use religion or political expediency as a cloak for their\ncrimes.' He affirms elsewhere that crimes by constitutional\nauthorities--by Popes and Kings--are more indefensible than those\ncommitted by private malefactors. And he holds that the theorist is\nmore guilty than the actual assassin; that the worst use of theory is\nto make men insensible to fact, to the real complexion and true\nquality of conduct. He would probably have insisted that journalists\nand others who instigate political crimes are at least quite as bad as\nthe actual criminal. Herein, at any rate, we may thoroughly agree with\nhim, though the question whether the intercourse of nations and their\nGovernments can be strictly regulated by the same moral standard which\nrules among individuals, does raise difficult points for the\nconscientious student of history. We have to remember that no power\nexists to enforce international laws or police, so that every\nGovernment has to rely upon its own strength for the defence of its\npeople and the preservation of its rights.\n\nOn the whole, I do not know any recent works that may be more\nprofitable for advice and guidance in reading history than these three\nvolumes of Lord Acton's. They contain the essence of his unceasing\nlabours in collecting, comparing, and testing an immense quantity of\nhistoric material. They are particularly valuable for the flashes of\ninsight into the deeper relations of events, for brief, sententious\nobservations in which he sums up his judgments upon men and their\ndoings. They are not to be taken lightly; they demand all your\nattention, for the style is compressed and packed with meaning; and\nthe author seems to expect his readers to be prepared with more\nknowledge than, I think, most of us possess. His allusions take for\ngranted so much learning that they occasionally puzzle the average\nman. For example, in one of his essays he makes a passing reference to\n'those who in the year 1348 shared the worst crimes that Christian\nnations have committed.' What these crimes were he does not say; and\nhow many of us could answer the question off-hand? Certainly I could\nnot. But the lectures and essays abound in far-ranging ideas, and show\nprofound penetration into historic causes and consequences. Some of\nthe essays, written in comparative youth, betray here and there a\nnatural leaning towards the Church of Rome, in which he was born, and\nagainst Protestantism; yet his hatred of intolerance and despotism,\nspiritual or temporal, was sincere and intense. In politics he was a\nLiberal, yet he saw that Liberal institutions, representative\ngovernment, are by no means a sure and speedy remedy for misrule in\nall times and countries, as in our day simple folk are apt to suppose.\nIn writing of the condition of Europe during the earlier middle ages\nhe observes: 'To bring order out of chaotic mire, to rear a new\ncivilisation and blend hostile and unequal races into a nation, the\nthing wanted was not Liberty, but Force.'\n\nHere is a bold and clear-sighted deduction from the lessons of\nhistory, which revolutionary politicians in Asia, where no\nnationalities have yet been formed, may well take to heart.\nParliamentary institutions, as Lord Acton has well said, presuppose\nunity of a people.\n\nScattered through these volumes may be found, indeed, certain brief\nparagraphs which, as they contain the essence of much learning and\ndeep thought, may well set us all thinking. In a remarkable essay on\nthe historical relations of Church and State Lord Acton observes: 'The\nState is so closely linked with religion, that no nation that has\nchanged its religion has ever survived in its old political form.'\nHere again is a striking generalisation which a student might set\nhimself to verify by careful examination of the facts.\n\nAnd now I will make an end of my address by quoting one more remark of\nLord Acton, in which he gives his definition of history taken as a\nwhole. 'By universal history,' he says, 'I understand that which is\ndistinct from the combined history of all countries, which is not a\nrope of sand, but a continuous development, and is not a burden on the\nmemory, but an illumination of the soul. It moves in a succession to\nwhich the nations are subsidiary. Their story will be told, not for\ntheir own sake, but in subordination to a higher series, according to\nthe time and the degree in which they contribute to the common\nfortunes of mankind.'\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[55] Inaugural Address to the Students of King's College for Women,\nUniversity of London, October 8, 1909.\n\n\n\n\nRACE AND RELIGION[56]\n\n\nI propose to offer for consideration some very general views upon the\neffects and interaction of the ideas of Race and Religion upon the\npolitical grouping of the population in various countries of Eastern\nEurope and of Asia, with the object of showing how they unite and\ndivide mankind over a great portion of the earth. It will be\nunderstood, I hope, that it is impossible in a brief discussion to go\nfar or thoroughly over such a wide field. I can only try to indicate\nsome salient points that may be worth attention.\n\nIf we look back upon the ancient world, as it was known to Greece and\nto Rome, and as it can be dimly surveyed through the records of\nclassic antiquity, we find that before the Christian era the\npopulations were divided and subdivided into races or tribes, with\nnames signifying a common origin or descent; at any rate some kind of\ntribal association. The designation of their country was usually\nderived from the name of some dominant race, as Gallia from the Gauls\nor Judea from the Jews; indeed I might say, as France from the Franks\nor England from the Angles. Religious denominations of any large\ncommunity were, I venture to suggest, unknown, at any rate in ancient\nEurope. The polytheism of these ages was too local and miscellaneous\nto weld together any considerable groups on the basis of a common\nworship or belief; for although three great religions then existed,\nBuddhism, Hinduism, and the faith of Zoroaster (still represented by\nthe Parsees), these were confined to Central and Eastern Asia. And,\nmoreover, these religions had not the missionary spirit; I mean that\nthey made no vigorous open attempts to spread and gain proselytes,\nstill less did they use force to convert great multitudes. But after\nthe Christian era a change came over the face of the Western world.\nThe Roman empire--that greatest monument of human power, as Dean\nChurch has called it--began the fusion of races into one vast\npolitical society; its dominion extended continuously from Britain on\nthe west to Asia Minor and the countries bordering on the Caspian Sea;\nit settled the law and language of Southern Europe. The establishment\nof the Roman empire is a cardinal epoch of the world's political\nhistory. Then followed two events of immense political importance that\nchanged the whole aspect and condition of the religious world--the\nrise and spread of two powerful missionary and militant religions.\nFirst came Christianity to overspread the lands which the empire had\nlevelled politically. Islam followed in the seventh century, and the\nconflict between these two rival faiths, each claiming universal\nspiritual dominion, altered not only the spiritual but also the\ntemporal order of things in Europe and Western Asia. In Asia the\nvictorious creed of Mohammed imposed upon immense multitudes a\nreligious denomination; they became Mussulmans. In Western Europe the\ndominion of the Roman empire had by this time fallen to pieces; it was\ntorn asunder by barbarian invaders; but upon the ruins of that empire\nwas built up the great Catholic Church of Rome, which gathered\ntogether all races of the West under the common denomination of\nChristianity. Beneath the canopies of these two great religions the\nprimitive grouping of the people survived; throughout Europe there\nwere no settled kingdoms or nations, but a jumble of races and tribes\ncontending for land and power. Now we know that in Western Europe this\nstrife and confusion of the Middle Ages at last ended in the\nformation, on a large scale, of separate nationalities, and perhaps we\nmay take, roughly, the end of the fifteenth century as the period when\nthe great territorial kingdoms were definitely marked out, and when\nthe rulers were rounding off their possessions under designations that\nmay be called national. In these countries the subdivisions according\nto race had now lost almost all political significance; but in the\nsixteenth century another great disturbing element reappeared. The\ngreat wars of religion again made a fresh division of the people into\ntwo camps of Roman Catholics and Protestants. This ferment has\ngradually subsided, and at the present time all minor groups of the\npopulation in Western Europe have been absorbed under large national\ndesignations; the nations are marked off within clearly cut frontiers,\nand separated by the paramount distinction of languages. In Western\nEurope you do not now define a man by his original race or by his\nreligion, you ask whose natural-born subject he is, in whose territory\nhe lives, and you class him accordingly as French, English, Spanish or\nItalian.\n\nNow it has been, I think, one result of this consolidation of the West\ninto States and Nationalities, with religion mostly corresponding to\nthe region, that the persistence in other parts of the world of the\nearlier ideas of race and religion, the primordial grouping of\nmankind, has been far too commonly overlooked and undervalued. My\npresent object is to lay stress on the importance of realising and\nunderstanding them. And I may begin by throwing out the suggestion\nthat this oversight, this neglect of ideas and facts that still have\ngreat strength and vitality, may be connected with the influence, in\nFrance and England, of a certain school of political philosophy that\narose in the eighteenth century, in France. The Encyclopedistes, as\nthey were called, because their leaders wrote the celebrated French\nEncyclopaedia, treated in theory all notions of separate races,\nreligions, and frontiers as so many barriers against the spread of a\ncommon civilisation, which was to unite all peoples on general\nprinciples of reason, scientific knowledge, and emancipation from\nlocal or national prejudices. As a theory this might not have had much\npractical effect; but at the end of the eighteenth century came the\nFrench Revolution, when these philosophical notions took a very\nseriously practical shape; for the French Republican armies invaded\nthe kingdoms of Western Europe with the war-cry of universal\nfraternity and equality. Revolutionary France ignored both race and\nreligion. It proclaimed, De Tocqueville says, above and instead of all\npeculiar nationalities, an intellectual citizenship that was intended\nto include the people of every country to which it extended,\nsuperseding all distinctions of language, tradition, and national\ncharacter. Under Napoleon this fierce impulse of democratic levelling\nwas transformed into Imperialism: he aimed at restoring an Empire in\nthe West. But this aroused equally fierce resistance, and when\nNapoleon had been beaten down, the national feeling emerged stronger\nthan ever. The doctrines of the French Encyclopedistes were inherited\nby the English school of Utilitarians, led by Bentham and the two\nMills; and John Stuart Mill in particular, declared that one of the\nchief obstacles to human improvement was the tendency to regard\ndifference of race as indelible. In fact, all this school, which had\nconsiderable influence some forty years ago, treated religious and\nsocial distinctions as inconvenient and decaying barriers against\nrational progress, or as fictions invented by indolent thinkers to\nsave themselves the trouble of investigating the true causes that\nmodify human character.\n\nThere is undoubtedly a certain degree of truth underlying this view.\nIn the settled nationalities of the West these distinctions of race\nand religion have a tendency to become unimportant and obsolete for\npolitical purposes, although a glance across the water to Ireland will\nremind us that they have by no means disappeared. What I wish to lay\nstress upon is the very serious importance of race and religion,\npolitically, in other parts of the world, and particularly in some\nAsiatic countries with which England is closely connected and\nconcerned. For, in the first place, there has been a notable revival\nof the sentiment of race in Eastern Europe. And, secondly, the spread\nof European dominion over Asia may be regarded as one of the most\nprominent and powerful movements in the politics of the latter half of\nthe nineteenth century; one which may become the dominant feature of\npolitics in the twentieth century. It is this movement that is forcing\nupon our serious attention the immense practical importance of race\nand religion.\n\nThe plan which I shall attempt to follow in making a brief survey of\nmy subject, is to begin with a glance at the political condition of\nCentral Europe, and to travel rapidly Eastward. In the West, as I have\nsaid, we have compact and permanently established States with national\ngovernments. But as soon as we pass to Central Europe we find the\nAustro-Hungarian empire distracted and threatened by internal feuds,\narising out of the contention for ascendency of two races, Germans and\nSlavonians, and also out of the demands of the various provinces and\ndependencies for political recognition of their separate identities,\nfounded on claims to represent internal sections or subdivisions of\nthe two chief races. The Slavonic populations in the north-west of the\nempire are parted asunder from those in the south-east by the\nHungarians, who came in from the east, and are of a different stock,\nand who have succeeded in establishing the federated kingdom of\nHungary. I will not trouble you with statistical or geographical\ndetails. For my present purpose it is enough to mention that the\nsubjects of Austria, apart from Hungary, are classed in eight separate\nsections, differentiated by separate languages, and that Poles,\nBohemians, Germans, and Italians, are all and each claiming a kind of\nhome rule within the empire, and show an increasing tendency to group\nthemselves by distinctions of race. In Bohemia the population is\nnearly equally divided between Germans and Slavs, who speak different\nlanguages, have separate schools, and contend violently for political\npreponderance. In Moravia and Silesia, where the Slav element is\nstronger, the same conflict goes on. In Galicia the contest is between\nPoles and Ruthenians, between the Roman Catholic and the Greek\nchurches. In Hungary proper the Magyars have political predominance,\nbut the population of German descent and language is more numerous\nthan the Magyars: in Transylvania, further eastward, the Magyars are\npolitically overriding the Slav races; in Croatia to the southward a\nsimilar struggle is going on. Throughout every province of the\nAustro-Hungarian empire we see the same intermixture of races,\nreligions, and languages--the more numerous and better united sections\nare striving for political ascendency: the weaker sections contend\nagainst them by demanding autonomy. And, as all these various\nantipathies and jealousies are represented in the Parliament of the\nempire, the peaceful consolidation of the empire into a large national\nState is interrupted by resistance under the watchword of separate\nnationalities. Religious differences between Roman Catholicism,\nCalvinism, and the Greek Church in the Eastern provinces, accentuate\nthe incoherence. Each separate group takes for its symbol, the\nstandard round which people rally, a language--German, Polish,\nTcheque, Ruthenian, and so on. They are all being energetically\nmaintained and jealously preserved in speech and writing in the\nschools and the assemblies. Moreover, three different churches, at\nleast, are rallying their adherents and driving in the wedge of\nreligious dissension. All these groups go back to the early traditions\nand history of the races, they sharpen up old grievances, and oppose\neach other vigorously in the Imperial Chamber of Representatives. They\nare, in fact, endeavouring to construct an earlier formation of civil\nsociety, and to reverse the order of political amalgamation of small\nStates into large ones which has been operating for centuries in\nWestern Europe. In Western Europe the principle of nationalities has\nbeen a method not of disintegration, but of concentration. It has led\nwithin the last fifty years to the establishment of two States of\nfirst-class magnitude, Germany and Italy; and Louis Napoleon, who had\nproclaimed the idea of national unification, was ruined by his own\npolicy, for the Germans destroyed his dynasty, and Italy gave him no\nhelp. But in Austro-Hungary, on the contrary, the movement is not\ntoward centralisation--it is centrifugal and separatist; and if it\ncontinues to increase in force it may threaten with dissolution an\nancient and powerful empire.\n\nYou will observe that since we entered, in our survey, the Austrian\nterritories, we have found ourselves within the jurisdiction of an\nempire in the true sense of that word, which I take to mean the\ndominion of one superior sovereignty over many subordinate races,\ntribes, or petty States that obey its authority. I may be permitted to\nregard the German emperor as the military head of a constitutional\nfederation, which is a different thing. Now I think it may be said\nthat from Austria eastward across South-Eastern Europe and Asia, from\nVienna to Pekin, the general form of government is not national but\nimperial. Every government is holding together a number of different\ngroups, all jealous of each other, all of whom would fall apart and\nprobably fight among themselves, if they were not kept under by one\nruler over them. It may be affirmed, broadly, that the structure of\nmodern Europe, as represented by the massing of the populations into\ngreat homogeneous nations within fixed limits, has now been completely\nleft behind in the West, and that from the shores of the Adriatic Sea\nright across Asia to the Pacific Ocean, the real subdivisions of the\npeople, the bonds that unite and separate them into different groups,\nare denoted by Race and Religion, sometimes by one, sometimes by the\nother, occasionally by both.\n\nOur first step over the boundaries of the Austro-Hungarian empire,\nproceeding south-east beyond the Danube and the Carpathian mountains,\nbrings us into the various principalities and provinces that were once\nunder the dominion of the Ottoman empire, though almost all of them\nare now independent of it. Nearly all of them lie in the region south\nof the Danube, which is usually known as the Balkan Peninsula. Here\nthe complexities of race and religion are abundantly manifest, and\nthese archaic divisions of political society surround us everywhere.\nThis region has indeed been parcelled out, within our own time, into\nterritories of diverse States, but this is quite a modern formation,\nand the idea of such political citizenship has been very recently\nintroduced.\n\nIf, now, it is asked why, in this corner of South-Eastern Europe, this\nmedley of internal distinctions, which was the prevailing\ncharacteristic of the ancient world, has been so long preserved, the\nanswer is that all this country, the Balkan Peninsula, was under the\ndirect government of the Ottoman empire up to about seventy years ago,\nand that most of the provinces were only liberated from the Turkish\nyoke in the latter part of the nineteenth century. The effect of the\nlong dominion of the Turks over this country had been to perpetuate\nthe state of things which existed when they first conquered it. Their\npolicy, the policy of all Asiatic empires, was not to consolidate, or\nto obliterate differences produced by race and religion, but to\nmaintain them in order to rule more securely. And here I may quote\nfrom a book recently published under the title of _Turkey in Europe_,\nwhich is unique of its kind, for in no other work can we find so\ncomplete and particular a history of the Balkan lands, or so accurate\na description of the grouping of the people, taken from personal\nknowledge and local investigation. The author, who calls himself\nOdysseus, reminds us that the Ottoman Sultans acquired these\nterritories when they were in the confusion and dismemberment which\nfollowed the decay and fall of the Byzantine empire; and he explains\nthat the Turks, who have been always inferior in number to the\naggregate of their Christian subjects, could hardly have kept up their\ndominion if at any time the Christians had united against them. As the\nChristians were not converted, religious unification, which in Asia\nwas the basis of Mohammedan power, was here impossible, so the Turks\ndivided that they might rule. 'The Turks have thoroughly learned,' he\nsays, 'and daily put into practice with admirable skill, the lesson\nof _divide et impera_, and hence they have always done, and still do,\nall in their power to prevent the obliteration of racial, linguistic,\nand religious differences.' They have perpetuated and preserved, as if\nin a museum, the strange medley that was existing when these lands\nwere first conquered by Turkish Sultans nearly five hundred years ago.\nTheir idea of government has always been simply to take tribute and\nsecure their paramount supremacy. The result has been that the\nconfusion, intermixture, and rivalry of race and religion is far more\nintricate than even in the Austro-Hungarian empire, where the central\ngovernment has tried to reconcile and amalgamate. In Turkey, Odysseus\ntells us, 'not only is there a medley of races, but the races inhabit,\nnot different districts, but the same district. Of three villages\nwithin ten miles of one another, one will be Turkish, one Greek, one\nBulgarian--or perhaps one Albanian, one Bulgarian, and one Servian,\neach with their own language, dress, and religion, and eight races and\nlanguages may be found in one large town.'\n\nWhat has been the upshot and consequence of this Turkish system? It\nhas been to make the Balkan Peninsula a battlefield, during the last\nfour centuries, of two great militant creeds, Christianity and Islam,\ncollecting the population into two religious camps; while inside these\ntwo main religious divisions there are manifold subdivisions of race.\nMen of the same creed are in different groups of race; nor are the\nrace-groups always of the same creed, for one section may have become\nfanatic Mohammedans, while the rest have adhered to Christianity. The\nintermixture is the more complicated because one cannot attempt to\ndistinguish a race by physical characteristics, by their personal\nappearance or features as marking descent from one stock. The\npractices of polygamy, slavery, of the purchase of women, and their\ncapture in the interminable wars, have produced incessant crossing of\nbreeds. It is not often understood or remembered that in former times\na tribe or band of foreign invaders, when they had to cross the sea or\nto make long expeditions, very rarely brought women with them. So when\nthey settled on the conquered lands they must have intermarried,\nforcibly or otherwise, with the subject race. If they massacred the\nmen, the women were part of their booty. Neither is the test of\nlanguage a sure one, though it is the best we have, and is becoming\nmore and more the criterion of race; for a kind of struggle for\nexistence goes on among the languages, they spread or contract under\nvarious influences, mainly political. The folk may change their\nlanguage as they may change their creed; and, what is more remarkable,\nthey may even change their race. According to the book I have just\nquoted, the Ottoman Government classes all its subject population into\nreligious communities. Whatever be a man's race or language, if he\nprofesses Islam, he is called a Mohammedan; if he is of the orthodox\nGreek Church at Constantinople, he is Greek or Rumi, for Stambul was\nthe capital of the Roman empire; or else he is Katholik, Armenian, or\nJew, according to his creed, not according to his birthplace or his\nblood. So the official designations are religious, while the popular\nusage is various, sometimes following race, sometimes creed, and it is\nstill constantly shifting, as I shall presently try to explain.\n\nAnd here it may be interesting to mention a peculiarity of the growth\nand constitution of the Eastern or Greek Church, in contrast with the\nWestern Church of Rome. The Roman Church has always claimed\nuniversality--it has ignored and attempted to trample down all\npolitical and national divisions; it demands of all Roman Catholics,\nwhoever they may be, submission to the supreme spiritual dictation of\nthe Roman pontiff, and those who accept any other authority are\noutside the pale. From the beginning the Roman Catholic Church has\nmade incessant war upon every kind of heresy or dissent, transforming\nthe old rites and worships where they could not be exterminated. It\nproclaims independence of the State, it has no local centres or\nnational branches. The Pope at Rome claims spiritual authority over\nall Roman Catholics everywhere. But the historical fact that the\nEastern or Greek Church was always under the control of the Byzantine\nempire at Constantinople, has kept this Church much more closely\nallied to the temporal power; and the result has been that throughout\nits development it has remained closely connected with the State. So\nthat wherever a fresh State has been formed, the Greek Church has\nbecome national, and the spiritual authority, adapting itself to\npolitical changes, has become a separate institution. The most signal\nexample of this is to be seen in Russia, where the Greek Church, being\ncut off from Constantinople, had its own independent Patriarch up to\nthe time of Peter the Great; and very lately, when Bulgaria became a\nState, it set up its own head of the Church, or Exarch. When Bosnia\nand Herzegovina were ruled by the Turkish Sultan, the chief of the\nGreek Church in that country was the Patriarch at Constantinople. Now\nthat these provinces have passed under the administration of Austria,\nthe ecclesiastical authority has also been transferred from the\nPatriarch to local Metropolitans. Each new State shows a tendency to\nestablish what I may call spiritual Home Rule. We know that in Western\nEurope the establishment of National Churches came in by one great\nreligious upheaval that is called the Reformation. In Eastern Europe\nthe movement has proceeded gradually, keeping pace with the rise and\nrecognition of separate governments, and the result has been the\nmultiplication of internal ecclesiastical divisions.\n\nI have said that the Ottoman empire recognises only religious\ndenominations in the classification of the people. Apparently this was\nthe general usage in former times. A Greek meant a member of the\northodox Greek Church, who might or might not be an inhabitant of\nGreece, nor would he necessarily have spoken the Greek tongue. If a\nChristian changed his religion, as a matter of course he changed his\nname and his designation; he was placed in another group. But the\npressure of political independence has been latterly bringing into\nprominence the idea of Race. Odysseus, from whose book I quote again,\ngives us the very curious fact that even race is not immutable, it\nchanges like religion, with the political movement; it has become a\nquestion of political expediency. When a separate State has been\norganised, as in Bulgaria, or when a league for shaking off the\nTurkish yoke is being organised, as in Macedonia, the plan of the\nleaders is to induce the people to drop minor distinctions of origin\nand to unite for the purposes of political combination, under some\nlarger national name, to call themselves Hellenes in Greece,\nBulgarians in Bulgaria, and Macedonians in the Turkish province of\nMacedonia. Moreover, when a new State has been thus formed, like\nGreece, Servia, Bulgaria, on the principle of Race, the patriotic\nparty begins to discover that many Greeks or Bulgarians are outside\nthe territory, and they set up a claim to enlarge their boundaries in\norder to bring these people inside. So that the questions of races and\nchurches are used to keep up continual intrigues, dissensions, and a\nlively agitation throughout these countries. For since religion is\nalways a powerful uniting force, there is a constant effort to bring\nthe people to congregate under the Established Church of their new\nState, to renounce their obedience to any spiritual head outside its\nlimits. We have, therefore, the curious spectacle of a frequent\nshifting of denominations of Race and Creed for the purpose of\npolitical consolidation. In fact we are witnessing in the Balkan\nPeninsula a struggle among the petty States to strengthen themselves\nby capturing each other's population.\n\nI think I may have said enough to prove, briefly and superficially,\nthe importance, in Central and South-Eastern Europe, of the ideas of\nRace and Religion, the necessity of understanding their strength and\noperation. So soon as we cross into Asia we find these ideas\nuniversally paramount. It will perhaps be remembered that Henry Maine\npointed out long ago, in his book on Ancient Law, that during a large\npart of what we call modern history no such conception was entertained\nas that of territorial sovereignty, as indicated by such a title as\nthe King of France. 'Sovereignty,' he said, 'was not associated with\ndominion over a portion or subdivision of the earth.' Now I do not\nbelieve that a territorial title is assumed at this moment by any of\nthe great Asiatic sovereigns in Asia. Here in Europe we talk of the\nSultan of Turkey, the Shah of Persia, or the Emperor of China; but\nthese are not the styles or designations which are actually used by\nthese potentates; they are each known, on their coins, and in their\npublic proclamations, by a string of lofty titles, generally\nreligious, like our 'Defender of the Faith,' which make no reference\nto their territories. Such were the titles of the Moghul emperors of\nIndia, and I may here observe that the term Emperor of India, now\nborne by the English king, is entirely of British manufacture. The\ntruth is that Asiatic kingdoms have no settled territorial\nboundaries, they are always changing, just as our Indian frontiers are\nconstantly moving forward; and wherever in Asia there exists a\ndemarcated line of frontier, it has been fixed by the intervention of\nEuropean governments interested in maintaining order. In Mohammedan\nlands the basis of a ruler's authority, in theory at least, is\nreligious, and all through Western Asia there is the closest\nconnection between the State and the dominant creed of Islam; for a\nMohammedan sovereign's authority is ecclesiastical, so to speak, as\nwell as civil; he is bound, in the words of our Litany, not only to\n'execute justice,' but to 'maintain truth'; and the theory of two\nseparate jurisdictions, spiritual and temporal, is practically\nunknown, though of course in dealing with religious questions the\nruler must be supported by the chief expounders of the law of Islam.\nTo borrow a phrase from Hobbes, 'the religion of the Mohammedans is a\npart of their policy,' as it is also the fundamental bond of their\nwhole society.\n\nWe have seen that in South-Eastern Europe there is an intricate\nintermixture of the distinctions of race and religion, with a tendency\nof race to win the mastery. This is because the people of those\ncountries were conquered by Islam, but only partially converted, and\nthe Turkish Sultans, as I have already said, encouraged discord among\ntheir Christian subjects. But in Western Asia the faith of Islam not\nonly conquered but converted much more completely; it almost\nextirpated other faiths in Asia Minor and Persia, leaving in Asia\nMinor only a few obscure sects, like the Nestorians, in a region that\nhad been wholly Christian, and leaving in Persia only some scattered\nrelics of the great Zoroastrian religion, still represented in two or\nthree towns by those whom we call Parsees. In these lands, therefore,\nreligion has generally mastered race, for the laws that regulate the\nwhole personal condition and property of the people are determined by\ntheir religion, with a certain variety of local customs. Nevertheless,\nbeneath the overspreading religious denomination there are a large\nnumber of tribal groups, all of whom are known by tribal names. Most\nof these tribes are fanatic Islamites, but in the midst of them is one\ngroup which is distinct by religion and probably by race--I mean the\nArmenians. They do not form a majority of the population in Armenia,\nthey are scattered about Western Asia, and are divided into two\nChristian sects, which under the Turkish empire are regarded as two\nreligious communities. Their recent terrible misfortunes afford a\nsignal and melancholy warning of the danger of interfering in Oriental\naffairs without a full understanding of the complications arising out\nof these very differences and antagonisms of race and religion that I\nhave been endeavouring to explain. And the whole story is a striking\nexample of the tremendous power of religion in Asiatic politics. In\n1895 the European Powers interposed in the name of justice and\nhumanity to press upon the Turkish Government the reforms that had\nbeen promised by treaty, and thus to better the condition of the\nArmenians, by securing to them a certain share in the local and\nmunicipal government. But the Armenians are a scattered and subject\npeople, different in race and religion and language from the ruling\nTurks, and the demand for giving them some kind of independence\nalarmed the Turkish Government and inflamed the fanaticism of the\nMohammedans. The only result of European intervention was a frightful\nmassacre of the Armenians, which the European Powers witnessed without\nany serious attempt to stop. Such are the consequences of\nmisunderstanding the real political situation and the forces at work.\nProbably many people in England had a very hazy notion of what the\nArmenians were, or what their name signified. We have always to\nremember that throughout Asia, and indeed over the greater part of the\nnon-Christian world, the various sections of the population very\nrarely use for themselves, or indeed for the country that they dwell\nin, the name that is used for them by Europeans. As our own system has\nbecome territorial, as we call any natural-born inhabitant of France a\nFrenchman, and so on, we are led by a false analogy to talk of Turkey\nand the Turks, Persia and the Persians, India and the Indians, China\nand the Chinese. But these broad designations denoting modern\nnationalities are not used in Asia by the people themselves, to whom\nsuch a conception is foreign. I know of no terms in the languages of\nthese countries that correspond to our words, Turkey, India, China, as\ngeographical expressions, and I think that the names used by Europeans\nfor outlying countries or peoples often come from some accident or\nchance, or mistake, or by taking the name of a part of a country for\nthe name of the whole. In Asia the people still class themselves, in\ntheir ordinary talk, by names designating religion or race. A curious\nexample of a religious designation still survives, by the way, among\nEuropeans in South Africa. When the first Portuguese explorers of the\nAfrican coast asked the Arab traders about the indigenous tribes,\nthey, being Mohammedans, said that the natives were all Kafirs, which\nmeans Infidels. This was supposed to be the general name of a people,\nand it has been handed down to us so that we still call the South\nAfrican natives Kaffirs. I doubt whether the tribes concerned have\never used or recognised among themselves this unsavoury name. I may\nnote, by the way, that one of the most ancient tribal names in Asia is\nthat by which the Greeks, outside the Turkish empire, are often\nknown--Yunani, or Ionian--which must have been in use from the days\nwhen the Greek colonies settled on the coast of Asia Minor, many\ncenturies before the Christian era.\n\nWe are pushing our survey eastward across Asia. The kingdom known to\nEurope by the name of Persia is styled by its inhabitants _Iran_,\nthough I doubt whether a Persian subject belonging to a particular\ntribe or sect would call himself _Irani_. The next independent\nkingdom, beyond Persia, is Afghanistan; and here we have an example of\na designation originally implying race, gradually merging into one\nthat is territorial and political. Afghanistan originally meant, I\nbelieve, the great central mass of mountains occupied by a tribe\ncalled Afghans; it is now becoming a name that includes the whole\nterritory ruled by the Afghan Amir at Kabul. The causes that are\nproducing this change in the signification of the word are, first,\nthat the Amir of Kabul has subdued, more or less, all the tribes\ninhabiting the country; and secondly, that the pressure of England and\nRussia on two sides of that country has necessitated an accurate\ndemarcation of frontiers all round it, in order that the Amir's\nterritories, which are under our protection, may be precisely known.\nThe kingdom is thus acquiring a territorial designation. But this\nkingdom of Afghanistan is really composed of a number of chiefships\nand provinces very loosely knit together under the sway of the Amir,\nwhich might fall asunder again if the rulership at Kabul became weak.\nAnd the population is all parcelled out into various races and tribes,\nusually dwelling in separate tracts under local chiefs; they are\nalways known among themselves by names, denoting race or tribe;\nsometimes patriarchal, like the Children of Israel, or the clans of\nour own Highlands; sometimes local, and in one case historical, for\nthe dominant tribe to which the Amir belongs has called itself Durani\nor royal.\n\nIt is therefore the distinction of race or tribe, not of religion,\nthat governs the whole interior population throughout this vast region\nof high mountains and valleys in the centre, with comparatively open\ncountry on the north and south; the whole area has been peopled by a\nconflux of tribes. Yet Afghanistan has some of the symptoms of\nnational growth--I mean that if it could hold together as one kingdom\nit might grow into a nationality. In religion the Afghans are almost\nall fanatical Mohammedans, for Afghanistan is the great bulwark and\ncitadel on the eastern frontier of Islam, and beyond it, in Eastern\nAsia, there are no independent Mohammedan principalities. The kingdom\nhas a strictly defined territory, and a dynasty which has risen from\nthe chiefship of a powerful tribe to the heritable possession of that\nterritory. This dynasty, moreover, is identical in race and religion\nwith a large majority of its subjects, which is another peculiar\nsource of strength; for almost all the other first-class kingdoms of\nAsia are ruled by dynasties of alien race, who sometimes profess a\nreligion different from that of many of their subjects. We are\nfrequently reminded of the important fact that in India the English\nrulers are aliens in race and religion from the people; but we may\nalso remember that after all this is only a difference of degree, a\nwider separation between the governors and the governed than elsewhere\nin Asia. The principal kingdoms of Asia are ruled by foreign families\nor dynasties that have come in by conquest. The Moghul dynasty that\npreceded our own government in India was foreign; and it was a\nMohammedan rulership over an enormous Hindu population. The Ottoman\nTurk was a foreign invader from Central Asia, who still governs a\nvariety of races and religions. In Persia the Shah's family is of a\nTurkish tribe. And the Emperor of China is a Mandchoo Tartar, of a\nrace quite apart from that of the immense majority of the Chinese. Of\ncourse the Russians are as much aliens in Central Asia as the English\nin India; they govern from St. Petersburg as we do from London. I\ndoubt, therefore, whether there is any other kingdom in Asia that has\nmore of the element of national unity than Afghanistan, though\nunfortunately its political condition is precarious, because there is\nstill much tribal disunion inside it.\n\nEastward again beyond Afghanistan we enter the Indian empire, a vast\ndominion stretching south-eastward from the slopes of the outer Afghan\nhills and the Persian border to the western frontiers of the Chinese\nempire and of Siam, and controlling the whole seaboard of Southern\nAsia, from Aden to Singapore. It is the possession of this wide\nterritory that has given to the English a direct and most important\ninterest in the problems of race and religion. For, in the first\nplace, in this empire we have to deal with three out of the four great\nfaiths of the world--Islam, Hinduism and Buddhism--and we have to\nuphold for ourselves the fourth, Christianity. Secondly, we have also\nwithin the borders of our empire a multiplicity of races and tribes;\nand we have the peculiar Indian institution of Caste, which marks off\nall Hindu society into innumerable groups, distinguished one from\nanother by the rules that forbid intermarriage and (in most cases) the\nsharing of food. Now the word Hindu requires a special explanation,\nbecause there is nothing exactly like it elsewhere in the world; it is\nnot exclusively a religious denomination; it denotes also a country\nand a race. When we speak of a Christian, a Mohammedan, or a Buddhist,\nwe mean a particular religious community without distinction of race\nor country. When we talk of Persians or Chinese, we indicate country\nor parentage without any necessary distinction of creed. But when a\nman tells me he is a Hindu, I know that he means all three things\ntogether--religion, race and country. I can be almost sure that he is\nan inhabitant of India, quite sure that he is of Indian parentage; and\nas to religion, the word Hindu undoubtedly locates him within one of\nthe manifold groups who follow the ordinances and worship the gods of\nHinduism. Next in importance to the Hindus, as a religious community,\ncome the Mohammedans, who number over sixty millions in India. The two\nfaiths, Hinduism and Islam--polytheism and monotheism--are in strong\nopposition to each other; yet they are not quite clean cut apart, for\nsome Hindu tribes that have been converted to Islam retain in part\ntheir primitive customs of worship and caste. And in Burmah, as in\nCeylon, the population is almost wholly Buddhist.\n\nIn a very able article that has recently appeared in an Indian\nmagazine, the writer, a Hindu, observes: 'The Hindus offer a curious\ninstance of a people without any feeling of nationality.' He finds an\nexplanation in 'the intensity of religiousness, which led to\nsectarianism, and allying itself with caste, tended to preserve all\nlocal and tribal differences.' Other causes, historical, political,\nand geographical, might be mentioned, but I agree that the chief\nseparating influence has been religious. And, however this may be, it\nmay be affirmed that within our Indian empire at the present moment\nthe primary superior designation of a man is according to his\nreligion--he is either a Hindu, a Mohammedan, or a Buddhist. But\ninside these general religious denominations are very many\ndistinctions of caste, race, or tribe. The Sikhs are a sect of Hindus\nwho belong exclusively to the Punjab. The Marathas and Rajputs are\nraces who profess Hinduism and who always call themselves by their\nracial names: and there are many aboriginal tribes, like the Bheels\nand Gonds, who are being gradually absorbed into Hinduism. Race and\nreligion are, in fact, more profoundly intermixed in India than\nperhaps in any other country of the world; and into such an intricate\nsubject I cannot now enter. My present point is that in India we are\ngoverning an empire of the antique pattern, quite different from the\nwestern nationalities, a country where complexities of race and creed\nmeet us at every turn in the course of our administration; an empire\nwhich, as Mr. Bryce has pointed out in a recent essay that is full of\nlight and knowledge, has many striking resemblances with the dominion\nof Imperial Rome.[57] There is the same miscellany of tribes and races\nin diverse stages of civilisation, warlike and half-tamed on the\nfrontiers, softened and reconciled by peace, prosperity, and culture\nin the older provinces of the empire, wild and barbarous in remote\ninterior tracts. There is just visible in India a similar though much\nslighter tendency of the language of the ruling race to prevail among\nthe educated classes, because the English language, like the Latin,\nhas greater literary power, and conveys to the Indians the latest\nideas and scientific discoveries of the foremost nations of the world.\nThere is also a certain diffusion of European manners and even dress,\nresembling in some degree what took place even in such a remote\nprovince of the Roman empire as Britain, where, as we know from\nTacitus, it was made a reproach against the Romanising Britons that\nthey were abandoning their own costume for the Roman toga and adopting\nthe manners of their conquerors. All these tendencies are slightly\naffecting distinctions of race and religion; though in India these\ndistinctions are far deeper than they were under the Roman empire, and\nso far as one can judge they are ineffaceable.\n\nIn regard to religious differences, so long as the people were almost\nuniversally polytheistic the Romans had little trouble on this score,\nsince every deity and every ritual was tolerated indifferently by\ntheir government, provided that public order and decency were\nobserved; and this is the practice of our Government in India. But we\nhave one difficulty in governing India that did not trouble the Romans\nat the time when they first founded their empire by conquest. I think\nthat religion had then very little influence on politics. It was the\nadvent of two great militant and propagating faiths, first\nChristianity, next Islam, that first made religion a vital element in\npolitics, and afterwards made a common creed the bond of union for\ngreat masses of mankind. It has now become in Asia a powerful\ninstrument of political association. Therefore when we proclaim for\nour government in India the principle of religious neutrality we do\nindeed avoid collision with other faiths, but we are without the\nadvantage that is possessed by a State which represents and is\nsupported by the religious enthusiasm of a great number of its\nsubjects. I take the separation of the State from religion to be a\nprinciple that is quite modern in Europe; and outside our Indian\nempire it is unknown in Asia. Everywhere else the ruler is the head of\nsome dominant church or creed. On the other hand our neutral attitude\nenables us to arbitrate and keep the peace between the two formidable\nrivals, Islam and Hinduism, which in a large measure balance and\nrestrain each other. And it is easier to govern a great empire full of\ndiverse castes and creeds when you only demand from them obedience to\nthe civil law, than when the Government takes one side on religious\nquestions. Nevertheless, though in India we proclaim and practise\nreligious neutrality, we must always remember that India is, of all\ngreat countries in the world, that in which religious beliefs and\nantagonisms affect the administration most profoundly, and subdivide\nthe population with the greatest complexity. For the empire contains a\nwonderful variety of races and tribes, especially on its frontiers; it\nhas the fierce Afghan tribes under our protectorate on the north-west,\na cluster of utterly barbarous tribes in the north-east, and in the\nFar East beyond Burmah we have undertaken the control of a border\ntract, full of petty rival chiefships, where the language, manners and\norigins are related to the neighbouring population of China.\n\nIn China we have the true type of Asiatic empire, by far the oldest in\nthe world, a sovereignty that, with various changes of dynasty, has\ngoverned the Far East of Asia from time almost immemorial; an immense\nconglomeration of different races under the rulership of a dynasty\nthat is foreign to the great majority of its subjects. Here again I\nmust remark on the absence of territorial or national designations.\nThe word China, as designating this empire, is not used by the people\nthemselves; the official name means, I believe, the Great Pure\nKingdom; and the emperor himself is known by various titles signifying\naugust, lofty, or sacred. I suppose that almost the whole population\nbelongs to the great Mongolian or Tartar family of mankind; but the\nsubdivisions of different tribes, races, and languages must be\nnumerous, as might be expected in such a vastly extended empire, and\nthe tribesmen are all known by their tribal names. In regard to\nReligion the situation is peculiar, it is without parallel elsewhere\nin Asia; for three great systems exist in China separately and\nindependently, each of them working in peace side by side with the\nothers: the religion founded by Confucius, which is a great system of\nmorals; Buddhism, which is a Church with a splendid ritual,\npriesthood, and monastic orders; and Taoism, which is a kind of\nnaturalistic religion, the worship of stars, natural forces, spirits,\ndeified heroes and local gods. It is said to be a common thing for one\nperson to belong to all three religions, and the State superintends\nthem all impartially. One very remarkable and peculiar fact, which I\ngive on excellent authority, is that in China religious denominations\nare never used to denote sections of the people, except by the\nMohammedans, who are not numerous and form a class apart. But any\nattempt to describe the religion of China would lead me far beyond the\nscope of this address. My present point is only to lay stress on the\nenormous political importance, in China as elsewhere in Asia, of the\nreligious idea. For whereas powerful religious movements, affecting\nthe destinies of kingdoms and causing great wars, have ceased in\nWestern and Central Europe, in Asia all governments have constantly to\napprehend some fresh outburst of religious enthusiasm, the appearance\nof some prophet or new spiritual teacher, who gathers a following,\nlike the Mahdi in the Soudan, and attacks the ruling power. The\nTaeping rebellion, which devastated China some forty years ago, is a\ncase in point; it was begun by a fanatic leader who denounced the\nestablished religions, and it soon became a dangerous revolt against\nthe Imperial dynasty. And the outbreak against the foreigners in China\nlast year is understood to have originated in religious fanaticism.\nThese events go to illustrate the enormous influence on politics which\nReligion, whether you call it enthusiasm or superstition, exercises\neverywhere in Asia.\n\nBut of all empires in Asia, the Russian empire is the greatest and the\nmost powerful. I have only space to say here that it is of the same\ntype with the others; it is a vast dominion over an infinite variety\nof races, tribes, and creeds; it is a government which has come in by\nforeign conquest; a Christian Power which has among its subjects a\ngreat number of Mohammedans. It differs from our Indian empire in this\nrespect, that the Russian conquests were made gradually by land,\nacross Central Asia, or by slow immigration and extension, as in\nSiberia, whereas the English reached India by a long sea-journey. So\nthat in the Asiatic empire of Russia the separation of race between\nthe rulers and their subjects is not so sharply defined as between\nEngland and India. Nevertheless the problems that confront Russia in\nAsia are similar in kind to those which face us in India; she has to\nreconcile to her permanent dominion a miscellany of alien peoples,\nwhom it is almost impossible to fuse and consolidate into anything\nlike a nationality.\n\nI have now endeavoured, very imperfectly, to show how Race and\nReligion still powerfully affect society, and trouble politics,\nthroughout a great part of the world. How far they influence and\ninteract upon each other is a difficult problem; but one may say that\nsome religions seem to accord with the peculiar temperament and\nintellectual disposition of certain races; that, for instance, the\nactive propagating spirit of Islam flourishes in Western Asia, while\nin Eastern Asia a quiet and contemplative faith, with little\nmissionary impulse, no strong desire to make converts, has always\nprevailed. But in the East everywhere Race and Religion still unite\nand isolate the populations in groups--they are the great dividing and\ndisturbing forces that prevent or delay the consolidation of settled\nnationalities; and so far as our experience goes, a fixed nationality\nof the Western type is the most solid and permanent form of political\ngovernment and social aggregation. An empire is a different and looser\nmode of binding people together, yet at certain stages of civilisation\nand the world's progress it is a necessity; and an empire well\nadministered is the best available instrument for promoting\ncivilisation and good order among backward races. So managed it may\nlast long; and its dominion may be practically permanent, for commerce\nand industry, literature and science, rapid and easy communication by\nland and sea, spread far more quickly, and connect distant countries\nfar more closely, in modern times than in the ancient world. Yet there\nis always an element of unrest and insecurity underlying the position\nof imperial rulership over different and often discordant groups of\nsubjects; and this has been one main cause of the immemorial weakness\nof Asiatic empires, and of the indifference of the people to a change\nof masters, because no single dynasty represented the whole people. It\nis just this weakness of the native rulers that has enabled the\nEuropean to make his conquests in Asia; and we have carefully to\nremember that although our governments are superior in skill and\nstrength, we have inherited the old difficulties. For it is my belief\nthat in many parts of the world, particularly in Asia, the strength of\nthe racial and religious sentiments is rather increasing than\ndiminishing. This is indeed the view--the fact, if I am right--that I\nespecially desire to press home, because it is of the highest\nimportance at the present time, when all the European nations, and\nEngland among the foremost, are extending their dominion over peoples\nof races and creeds different from their own. Our governments are now\nno longer confined to the continent which we inhabit; we are acquiring\nimmense possessions in Asia and Africa; we can survey the whole earth\nwith its confusion of tongues; its multitude of beliefs and customs,\nits infinitely miscellaneous populations. We must recognise the\nvariety of the human species; we must acknowledge that we cannot\nimpose a uniform type of civilisation, just as we admit that a uniform\nfaith is beyond mere human efforts to impose, and that to attempt it\nwould be politically disastrous. This is the conclusion upon which I\nventure to lay stress, because some such warning seems to me neither\nuntimely nor unimportant.\n\nFor there is still a dangerous tendency among the enterprising\ncommercial nations of the West to assume that the importation into\nAsia of economical improvements, public instruction, regular\nadministration, and religious neutrality will conquer antipathies,\novercome irrational prejudices, and reconcile old-world folk to an\nalien civilisation. Undoubtedly a foreign government that rules\nwisely, justly, and very cautiously, acquires a strong hold on its\nsubjects, and may stand, like the Roman empire, for centuries. But\nthis can only be achieved by recognising, instead of ignoring, certain\nineffaceable characteristics in the origins and history of the people,\nfor whom the tradition and sentiment of race is often their bond of\nunion and the base of their society, as their religion is the\nembodiment of their spiritual instincts and imaginations.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[56] Address delivered as President of the Social and Political\nEducation League, May 5, 1902.--_Fortnightly Review_, December 1902.\n\n[57] _Studies in History and Jurisprudence_, vol. I., chap. i.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STATE IN ITS RELATION TO EASTERN AND WESTERN RELIGIONS\n\n\nIn considering the subject of my address,[58] I have been confronted\nby this difficulty--that in the sections which regulate the order of\nour proceedings, we have a list of papers that range over all the\nprincipal religions, ancient and modern, that have existed and still\nexist in the world. They are to be treated and discussed by experts\nwhose scholarship, particular studies, and close research entitle them\nall to address you authoritatively. I have no such special\nqualifications; and in any case it would be most presumptuous in me to\ntrespass upon their ground. All that I can venture to do, therefore,\nin the remarks which I propose to address to you to-day, is to attempt\na brief general survey of the history of religions from a standpoint\nwhich may possibly not fall within the scope of these separate papers.\n\nThe four great religions now prevailing in the world, which are\nhistorical in the sense that they have been long known to history, I\ntake to be--Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, and Hinduism. Having regard\nto their origin and derivation, to their history and character, I may\nbe permitted, for my present purpose only, to class the two former as\nthe Religions of the West, and the two latter as the Religions of the\nEast. These are the faiths which still maintain a mighty influence\nover the minds of mankind. And my object is to compare the political\nrelations, the attitude, maintained toward them, from time to time, by\nthe States and rulers of the people over which these religions have\nestablished their spiritual dominion. The religion of the Jews is not\nincluded, though its influence has been incalculable, because it has\nbeen caught up, so to speak, into Christianity and Islam, and cannot\ntherefore be counted among those which have made a partition of the\nreligious world. For this reason, perhaps, it has retained to this day\nits ancient denomination, derived from the tribe or country of its\norigin; whereas the others are named from a Faith or a Founder. The\nword Nazarene, denoting the birthplace of Christianity, which is said\nto be still used in that region, was, as we know, very speedily\nsuperseded by its wider title, as the Creed broke out of local limits\nand was proclaimed universal.\n\nThere has evidently been a fore-time, though it is prehistorical,\nwhen, so far as we know, mankind was universally polytheistic; when\ninnumerable rites and worships prevailed without restraint, springing\nup and contending with each other like the trees in a primeval forest,\nreflecting a primitive and precarious condition of human society. I\ntake polytheism to have been, in this earliest stage, the wild growth\nof superstitious imagination, varied indefinitely by the pressure of\ncircumstance, by accident, by popular caprice, or by the good or evil\nfortunes of the community. In this stage it can now be seen among\nbarbarous tribes--as, for instance, in Central Africa. And some traces\nof it still survive, under different pretexts and disguises, in the\nlowest strata of civilised nations, where it may be said to represent\nthe natural reluctance of the vagrant human fancy to be satisfied with\nhigher forms and purer conceptions that are always imperfectly\nassimilated by the multitude.\n\nAmong primitive societies the spheres of human and divine affairs\nwere intermixed and identical; they could not be disentangled. But\nwith the growth of political institutions came gradual separation, or\nat any rate the subordination of religion to the practical necessities\nof orderly government and public morals. That polytheism can exist and\nflourish in the midst of a highly intellectual and civilised society,\nwe know from the history of Greece and Rome. But in ancient Greece its\ndirect influence upon political affairs seems to have been slight;\nthough it touched at some points upon morality. The function of the\nState, according to Greek ideas, was to legislate for all the\ndepartments of human life and to uphold the moral standard. The law\nprohibited sacrilege and profanity; it punished open impiety that\nmight bring down divine wrath upon the people at large. The\nphilosophers taught rational ethics; they regarded the popular\nsuperstitions with indulgent contempt; but they inculcated the duty of\nhonouring the gods, and the observance of public ceremonial. Beyond\nthese limits the practice of local and customary worship was, I think,\nfree and unrestrained; though I need hardly add that toleration, as\nunderstood by the States of antiquity, was a very different thing from\nthe modern principle of religious neutrality. Under the Roman\ngovernment the connection between the State and religion was much\ncloser, as the dominion of Rome expanded and its power became\ncentralised. The Roman State maintained a strict control and\nsuperintendence over the official rituals and worships, which were\nregulated as a department of the administration, to bind the people\ntogether by established rites and worships, in order to cement\npolitical and social unity. It is true that the usages of the tribes\nand principalities that were conquered and annexed were left\nundisturbed; for the Roman policy, like that of the English in India,\nwas to avoid giving offence to religion; and undoubtedly this policy,\nin both instances, materially facilitated the rapid building up of a\nwide dominion. Nevertheless, there was a tendency to draw in the\nworship toward a common centre. The deities of the conquered provinces\nwere respected and conciliated; the Roman generals even appealed to\nthem for protection and favour, yet they became absorbed and\nassimilated under Roman names; they were often identified with the\ngods of the Roman pantheon, and were frequently superseded by the\nvictorious divinities of the new rulers--the strange deities, in fact,\nwere Romanised as well as the foreign tribes and cities. After this\nmanner the Roman empire combined the tolerance of great religious\ndiversity with the supremacy of a centralised government. Political\namalgamation brought about a fusion of divine attributes; and latterly\nthe emperor was adored as the symbol of manifest power, ruler and\npontiff; he was the visible image of supreme authority.\n\nThis _regime_ was easily accepted by the simple unsophisticated\npaganism of Europe. The Romans, with all their statecraft, had as yet\nno experience of a high religious temperature, of enthusiastic\ndevotion and divine mysteries. But as their conquest and commerce\nspread eastward, the invasion of Asia let in upon Europe a flood of\nOriental divinities, and thus Rome came into contact with much\nstronger and deeper spiritual forces. The European polytheism might be\nutilised and administered, the Asiatic deities could not be\ndomesticated and subjected to regulation; the Oriental orgies and\nstrange rites broke in upon the organised State worship; the new ideas\nand practices came backed by a profound and fervid spiritualism.\nNevertheless the Roman policy of bringing religion under\nauthoritative control was more or less successful even in the Asiatic\nprovinces of the empire; the privileges of the temples were\nrestricted; the priesthoods were placed under the general\nsuperintendence of the proconsular officials; and Roman divinities\ngradually found their way into the Asiatic pantheon.\n\nBut we all know that the religion of the Roman empire was falling into\nmultitudinous confusion when Christianity arose--an austere exclusive\nfaith, with its army of saints, ascetics, and unflinching martyrs,\nproclaiming worship to be due to one God only, and sternly refusing to\nacknowledge the divinity of the emperor. Against such a faith an\nincoherent disorderly polytheism could make no better stand than\ntribal levies against a disciplined army. The new religion struck\ndirectly at the sacrifices that symbolised imperial unity; the passive\nresistance of Christians was necessarily treated as rebellion, the\nState made implacable war upon them. Yet the spiritual and moral\nforces won the victory, and Christianity established itself throughout\nthe empire. Universal religion, following upon universal civil\ndominion, completed the levelling of local and national distinctions.\nThe Churches rapidly grew into authority superior to the State within\ntheir own jurisdiction; they called in the temporal government to\nenforce theological decisions and to put down heresies; they founded a\npowerful hierarchy. The earlier Roman constitution had made religion\nan instrument of administration. When one religion became universal,\nthe churches enlisted the civil ruler into the service of orthodoxy;\nthey converted the State into an instrument for enforcing religion.\nThe pagan empire had issued edicts against Christianity and had\nsuppressed Christian assemblies as tainted with disaffection; the\nChristian emperors enacted laws against the rites and worships of\npaganism, and closed temples. It was by the supreme authority of\nConstantine that, for the first time in the religious history of the\nworld, uniformity of belief was defined by a creed, and sanctioned by\nthe ruler's assent.\n\nThen came, in Western Europe, the time when the empire at Rome was\nrent asunder by the inrush of barbarians; but upon its ruins was\nerected the great Catholic Church of the Papacy, which preserved in\nthe ecclesiastical domain the autocratic imperial tradition. The\nprimacy of the Roman Church, according to Harnack, is essentially the\ntransference to her of Rome's central position in the religions of the\nheathen world; the Church united the western races, disunited\npolitically, under the common denomination of Christianity. Yet\nChristianity had not long established itself throughout all the lands,\nin Europe and Asia, which had once been under the Roman sovereignty,\nwhen the violent irruptions of Islam upset not only the temporal but\nalso the spiritual dominion throughout Western Asia, and along the\nsouthern shores of the Mediterranean. The Eastern empire at\nConstantinople had been weakened by bitter theological dissensions and\nheresies among the Christians; the votaries of the new, simple,\nunswerving faith of Mohammed were ardent and unanimous. In Egypt and\nSyria the Mohammedans were speedily victorious; the Latin Church and\neven the Latin language were swept out of North Africa. In Persia the\nSassanian dynasty was overthrown, and although there was no immediate\nand total conversion of the people, Mohammedanism gradually superseded\nthe ancient Zoroastrian cultus as the religion of the Persian State.\nIt was not long before the armies of Islam had triumphed from the\nAtlantic coast to the Jaxartes river in Central Asia; and conversion\nfollowed, speedily or slowly, as the direct result of conquest.\nMoreover, the Mohammedans invaded Europe. In the south-west they\nsubdued almost all Spain; and in the south-east they destroyed, some\ncenturies later, the Greek empire, though not the Greek Church, and\nconsolidated a mighty rulership at Constantinople.\n\nWith this prolonged conflict between Islam and Christianity along the\nborderlands of Europe and Asia began the era of those religious wars\nthat have darkened the history of the Western nations, and have\nperpetuated the inveterate antipathy between Asiatic and European\nraces, which the spread of Christianity into both continents had\nsoftened and might have healed. In the end Christianity has fixed\nitself permanently in Europe, while Islam is strongly established\nthroughout half Asia. But the sharp collision between the two faiths,\nthe clash of armies bearing the cross and the crescent, generated\nfierce fanaticism on both sides. The Crusades kindled a fiery militant\nand missionary spirit previously unknown to religions, whereby\nreligious propagation became the mainspring and declared object of\nconquest and colonisation. Finally, in the sixteenth and seventeenth\ncenturies the great secession from the Roman Church divided the\nnations of Western Europe into hostile camps, and throughout the long\nwars of that period political jealousies and ambitions were inflamed\nby religious animosities. In Eastern Europe the Greek Church fell\nunder almost complete subordination to the State.\n\nThe history of Europe and Western Asia records, therefore, a close\nconnection and community of interests between the States and the\northodox faiths; a combination which has had a very potent influence,\nduring many centuries, upon the course of civil affairs, upon the\nfortunes, or misfortunes, of nations. Up to the sixteenth century, at\nleast, it was universally held, by Christianity and by Islam, that\nthe State was bound to enforce orthodoxy; conversion and the\nsuppression or expulsion of heretics were public duties. Unity of\ncreed was thought necessary for national unity--a government could not\nundertake to maintain authority, or preserve the allegiance of its\nsubjects, in a realm divided and distracted by sectarian\ncontroversies. On these principles Christianity and Islam were\nconsolidated, in union with the States or in close alliance with them;\nand the geographical boundaries of these two faiths, and of their\ninternal divisions respectively, have not materially changed up to the\npresent day.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLet me now turn to the history of religion in those countries of\nfurther Asia, which were never reached by Greek or Roman conquest or\ncivilisation, where the ancient forms of worship and conceptions of\ndivinity, which existed before Christianity and Islam, still flourish.\nAnd here I shall only deal with the relations of the State to religion\nin India and China and their dependencies, because these vast and\npopulous empires contain the two great religions, Hinduism and\nBuddhism, of purely Asiatic origin and character, which have\nassimilated to a large extent, and in a certain degree elevated, the\nindigenous polytheism, and which still exercise a mighty influence\nover the spiritual and moral condition of many millions.\n\nWe know what a tremendous power religion has been in the wars and\npolitics of the West. I submit that in Eastern Asia, beyond the pale\nof Islam, the history of religion has been very different. Religious\nwars--I mean wars caused by the conflict of militant faiths contending\nfor superiority--were, I believe, unknown on any great scale to the\nancient civilisations. It seems to me that until Islam invaded India\nthe great religious movements and changes in that region had seldom or\nnever been the consequence of, nor had been materially affected by,\nwars, conquests, or political revolutions.\n\nThroughout Europe and Mohammedan Asia the indigenous deities and their\ntemples have disappeared centuries ago; they have been swept away by\nthe forces of Church and State combined to exterminate them; they have\nall yielded to the lofty overruling ideal of monotheism. But the tide\nof Mohammedanism reached its limit in India; the people, though\nconquered, were but partly converted, and eastward of India there have\nbeen no important Mohammedan rulerships. On this side of Asia,\ntherefore, two great religions, Buddhism and Brahmanism, have held\ntheir ground from times far anterior to Christianity; they have\nretained the elastic comprehensive character of polytheism, purified\nand elevated by higher conceptions, developed by the persistent\ncompetition of diverse ideas and forms among the people, unrestrained\nby attempts of superior organised faiths to obliterate the lower and\nweaker species. In that region political despotism has prevailed\nimmemorially; religious despotism, in the sense of the legal\nestablishment of one faith or worship to the exclusion of all others,\nof uniformity imposed by coercion, of proselytism by persecution, is\nunknown to history: the governments have been absolute and personal;\nthe religions have been popular and democratic. They have never been\nidentified so closely with the ruling power as to share its fortunes,\nor to be used for the consolidation of successful conquest. Nor, on\nthe other hand, has a ruler ever found it necessary, for the security\nof his throne, to conform to the religion of his subjects, and to\nabjure all others. The political maxim, that the sovereign and his\nsubjects should be of one and the same religion,[59] has never\nprevailed in this part of the world. And although in India, the land\nof their common origin, Buddhism widely displaced and overlaid\nBrahmanism, while it was in its turn, after several centuries,\novercome and ejected by a Brahmanic revival, yet I believe that\nhistory records no violent contests or collisions between them; nor do\nwe know that the armed force of the State played any decisive part in\nthese spiritual revolutions.\n\nI do not maintain that Buddhism has owed nothing to State influence.\nIt represents certain doctrines of the ancient Indian theosophy,\nincarnate, as one might say, in the figure of a spiritual Master, the\nIndian prince, Sakya Gautama, who was the type and example of ascetic\nquietism; it embodies the idea of salvation, or emancipation\nattainable by man's own efforts, without aid from priests or\ndivinities. Buddhism is the earliest, by many centuries, of the faiths\nthat claim descent from a personal founder. It emerges into authentic\nhistory with the empire of Asoka, who ruled over the greater part of\nIndia some 250 years before Christ, and its propagation over his realm\nand the countries adjacent is undoubtedly due to the influence,\nexample, and authority of that devout monarch. According to Mr.\nVincent Smith, from whose valuable work on the Early History of India\nI take the description of Asoka's religious policy, the king,\nrenouncing after one necessary war all further military conquest, made\nit the business of his life to employ his autocratic power in\ndirecting the preaching and teaching of the Law of Piety, which he had\nlearnt from his Buddhist priesthood. All his high officers were\ncommanded to instruct the people in the way of salvation; he sent\nmissions to foreign countries; he issued edicts promulgating ethical\ndoctrines, and the rules of a devout life; he made pilgrimages to the\nsacred places; and finally he assumed the yellow robe of a Buddhist\nmonk. Asoka elevated, so Mr. Smith has said, a sect of Hinduism to the\nrank of a world-religion. Nevertheless, I think it may be affirmed\nthat the emperor consistently refrained from the forcible conversion\nof his subjects, and indeed the use of compulsion would have\napparently been a breach of his own edicts, which insist on the\nprinciple of toleration, and declare the propagation of the Law of\nPiety to be his sole object. Asoka made no attempt to persecute\nBrahmanism; and it seems clear that the extraordinary success of\nBuddhism in India cannot be attributed to war or to conquest. To\nimperial influence and example much must be ascribed, yet I think\nBuddhism owed much more to its spiritual potency, to its superior\nfaculty of transmuting and assimilating, instead of abolishing, the\nelementary instincts and worships, endowing them with a higher\nsignificance, attracting and stimulating devotion by impressive rites\nand ceremonies, impressing upon the people the dogma of the soul's\ntransmigration and its escape from the miseries of sentient existence\nby the operation of merits. And of all great religions it is the least\npolitical, for the practice of asceticism and quietism, of monastic\nseclusion from the working world, is necessarily adverse to any active\nconnection with mundane affairs.\n\nI do not know that the mysterious disappearance of Buddhism from India\ncan be accounted for by any great political revolution, like that\nwhich brought Islam into India. It seems to have vanished before the\nMohammedans had gained any footing in the country. Meanwhile Buddhism\nis said to have penetrated into the Chinese empire by the first\ncentury of the Christian era. Before that time the doctrines of\nConfucius and Laotze were the dominant philosophies; rather moral than\nreligious, though ancestral worship and the propitiation of spirits\nwere not disallowed, and were to a certain extent enjoined. Laotze,\nthe apostle of Taoism, appears to have preached a kind of\nStoicism--the observance of the order of Nature in searching for the\nright way of salvation, the abhorrence of vicious sensuality--and the\ncultivation of humility, self-sacrifice, and simplicity of life. He\ncondemned altogether the use of force in the sphere of religion or\nmorality; though he admitted that it might be necessary for the\npurposes of civil government. The system of Confucius inculcated\njustice, benevolence, self-control, obedience and loyalty to the\nsovereign--all the civic virtues; it was a moral code without a\nmetaphysical background; the popular worships were tolerated,\nreverence for ancestors conduced to edification; the gods were to be\nhonoured, though it was well to keep aloof from them; he disliked\nreligious fervour, and of things beyond experience he had nothing to\nsay.\n\nBuddhism, with its contempt for temporal affairs, treating life as a\nmere burden, and the soul's liberation from existence as the end and\nobject of meditative devotion, must have imported a new and disturbing\nelement into the utilitarian philosophies of ancient China. For many\ncenturies Buddhism, Taoism, and Confucianism are said to have\ncontended for the patronage and recognition of the Chinese emperors.\nBuddhism was alternately persecuted and protected, expelled and\nrestored by imperial decree. Priesthoods and monastic orders are\ninstitutions of which governments are naturally jealous; the\nmonasteries were destroyed or rebuilt, sacerdotal orders and celibacy\nsuppressed or encouraged by imperial decrees, according to the views\nand prepossessions of successive dynasties or emperors. Nevertheless\nthe general policy of Chinese rulers and ministers seems not to have\nvaried essentially. Their administrative principle was that religion\nmust be prevented from interfering with affairs of State, that abuses\nand superstitious extravagances are not so much offences against\northodoxy as matters for the police, and as such must be put down by\nthe secular arm.\n\nUpon this policy successive dynasties appear to have acted\ncontinuously up to the present day in China, where the relations of\nthe State to religions are, I think, without parallel elsewhere in the\nmodern world. One may find some resemblance to the attitude of the\nRoman emperors towards rites and worships among the population, in the\nChinese emperor's reverent observance and regulation of the rites and\nceremonies performed by him as the religious chief and representative\nbefore Heaven of the great national interests. The deification of\ndeceased emperors is a solemn rite ordained by proclamation. As the\n_Ius sacrum_, the body of rights and duties in the matter of religion,\nwas regarded in Rome as a department of the _Ius publicum_, belonging\nto the fundamental constitution of the State, so in China the ritual\ncode was incorporated into the statute books, and promulgated with\nimperial sanction. Now we know that in Rome the established ritual was\nlegally prescribed, though otherwise strange deities and their\nworships were admitted indiscriminately. But the Chinese Government\ngoes much further. It appears to regard all novel superstitions, and\nespecially foreign worships, as the hotbed of sedition and disloyalty.\nUnlicensed deities and sects are put down by the police; magicians and\nsorcerers are arrested; and the peculiar Chinese practice of\ncanonising deceased officials and paying sacrificial honours to local\ncelebrities after death is strictly reserved by the Board of\nCeremonies for imperial consideration and approval. The Censor, to\nwhom any proposal of this kind must be entrusted, is admonished that\nhe must satisfy himself by inquiry of its validity. An official who\nperforms sacred rites in honour of a spirit or holy personage not\nrecognised by the Ritual Code, was liable, under laws that may be\nstill in force, to corporal punishment; and the adoration by private\nfamilies of spirits whose worship is reserved for public ceremonial\nwas a heinous offence. No such rigorous control over the\nmultiplication of rites and deities has been instituted elsewhere. On\nthe other hand, while in other countries the State has recognised no\nmore than one established religion, the Chinese Government formally\nrecognises three denominations. Buddhism has been sanctioned by\nvarious edicts and endowments, yet the State divinities belong to the\nTaoist pantheon, and their worship is regulated by public ordinances;\nwhile Confucianism represents official orthodoxy, and its precepts\nembody the latitudinarian spirit of the intellectual classes. We know\nthat the Chinese people make use, so to speak, of all three religions\nindiscriminately, according to their individual whims, needs, or\nexperience of results. So also a politic administration countenances\nthese divisions and probably finds some interest in maintaining them.\nThe morality of the people requires some religious sanction; and it is\nthis element with which the State professes its chief concern. We are\ntold on good authority that one of the functions of high officials is\nto deliver public lectures freely criticising and discouraging\nindolent monasticism and idolatry from the standpoint of rational\nethics, as follies that are reluctantly tolerated. Yet the Government\nhas never been able to keep down the fanatics, mystics, and heretical\nsects that are incessantly springing up in China, as elsewhere in\nAsia; though they are treated as pestilent rebels and law-breakers,\nto be exterminated by massacre and cruel punishments; and bloody\nrepression of this kind has been the cause of serious insurrections.\nIt is to be observed that all religious persecution is by the direct\naction of the State, _not_ instigated or insisted upon by a powerful\northodox priesthood. But a despotic administration which undertakes to\ncontrol and circumscribe all forms and manifestations of superstition\nin a vast polytheistic multitude of its subjects, is inevitably driven\nto repressive measures of the utmost severity. Neither Christianity\nnor Islam attempted to regulate polytheism, their mission was to\nexterminate it, and they succeeded mainly because in those countries\nthe State was acting with the support and under the uncompromising\npressure of a dominant church or faith.\n\nSome writers have noticed a certain degree of resemblance between the\npolicy of the Roman empire and that of the Chinese empire toward\nreligion. We may read in Gibbon that the Roman magistrates regarded\nthe various modes of worship as equally useful, that sages and heroes\nwere exalted to immortality and entitled to reverence and adoration,\nand that philosophic officials, viewing with indulgence the\nsuperstitions of the multitude, diligently practised the ceremonies of\ntheir fathers. So far, indeed, his description of the attitude of the\nState toward polytheism may be applicable to China; but although the\nRoman and Chinese emperors both assumed the rank of divinity, and were\nsupreme in the department of worships, the Roman administration never\nattempted to regulate and restrain polytheism at large on the Chinese\nsystem.\n\nThe religion of the Gentiles, said Hobbes, is a part of their policy;\nand it may be said that this is still the policy of Oriental\nmonarchies, who admit no separation between the secular and the\necclesiastic jurisdiction. They would agree with Hobbes that temporal\nand spiritual government are but two words brought into the world to\nmake men see double and mistake their lawful sovereign. But while in\nMohammedan Asia the State upholds orthodox uniformity, in China and\nJapan the mainspring of all such administrative action is political\nexpediency. It may be suggested that in the mind of these far-Eastern\npeople religion has never been conceived as something quite apart from\nhuman experience and the affairs of the visible world; for Buddhism,\nwith its metaphysical doctrines, is a foreign importation, corrupted\nand materialised in China and Japan. And we may observe that from\namong the Mongolian races, which have produced mighty conquerors and\nfounded famous dynasties from Constantinople to Pekin, no mighty\nprophet, no profound spiritual teacher, has arisen. Yet in China, as\nthroughout all the countries of the Asiatic mainland, an enthusiast\nmay still gather together ardent proselytes, and fresh revelations may\ncreate among the people unrest that may ferment and become heated up\nto the degree of fanaticism, and explode against attempts made to\nsuppress it. The Taeping insurrection, which devastated cities and\nprovinces in China, and nearly overthrew the Manchu dynasty, is a\nstriking example of the volcanic fires that underlie the surface of\nAsiatic societies. It was quenched in torrents of blood after lasting\nsome ten years. And very recently there has been a determined revolt\nof the Lamas in Eastern Tibet, where the provincial administration is,\nas we know, sacerdotal. The imperial troops are said to be crushing it\nwith unrelenting severity. These are the perilous experiences of a\nphilosophic Government that assumes charge and control over the\nreligions of some three hundred millions of Asiatics.\n\nI can only make a hasty reference to Japan. In that country the\nrelations of the State to religions appear to have followed the\nChinese model. Buddhism, Confucianism, Shintoism, are impartially\nrecognised. The emperor presides over official worship as high priest\nof his people; the liturgical ordinances are issued by imperial\nrescripts not differing in form from other public edicts. The dominant\narticle of faith is the divinity of Japan and its emperor; and Shinto,\nthe worship of the gods of nature, is understood to be patronised\nchiefly with the motive of preserving the national traditions. But in\nJapan the advance of modern science and enlightened scepticism may\nhave diminished the importance of the religious department. Shinto,\nsays a recent writer, still embodies the religion of the people; yet\nin 1877 a decree was issued declaring it to be no more than a\nconvenient system of State ceremonial.[60] And in 1889 an article of\nthe constitution granted freedom of belief and worship to all Japanese\nsubjects, without prejudice to peace, order, and loyalty.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn India the religious situation is quite different. I think it is\nwithout parallel elsewhere in the world. Here we are at the\nfountain-head of metaphysical theology, of ideas that have flowed\neastward and westward across Asia. And here, also, we find every\nspecies of primitive polytheism, unlimited and multitudinous; we can\nsurvey a confused medley of divinities, of rites and worships\nincessantly varied by popular whim and fancy, by accidents, and by the\npressure of changing circumstances. Hinduism permits any doctrine to\nbe taught, any sort of theory to be held regarding the divine\nattributes and manifestations, the forces of nature, or the\nmysterious functions of mind or body. Its tenets have never been\ncircumscribed by a creed; its free play has never been checked or\nregulated by State authority.\n\nNow, at first sight, this is not unlike the popular polytheism of the\nancient world, before the triumph of Christianity. There are passages\nin St. Augustine's _Civitas Dei_, describing the worship of the\nunconverted pagans among whom he lived, that might have been written\nyesterday by a Christian bishop in India. And we might ask why all\nthis polytheism was not swept out from among such a highly\nintellectual people as the Indians, with their restless pursuit of\ndivine knowledge, by some superior faith, by some central idea.\nUndoubtedly the material and moral conditions, and the course of\nevents which combine to stamp a particular form of religion upon any\ngreat people, are complex and manifold; but into this inquiry I cannot\ngo. I can only point out that the institution of caste has riveted\ndown Hindu society into innumerable divisions upon a general religious\nbasis, and that the sacred books separated the Hindu theologians into\ndifferent schools, preventing uniformity of worship or of creed. And\nit is to be observed that these books are not historical; they give no\naccount of the rise and spread of a faith. The Hindu theologian would\nsay, in the words of an early Christian father, that the objects of\ndivine knowledge are not historical, that they can only be apprehended\nintellectually, that within experience there is no reality. And the\nfact that Brahmanism has no authentic inspired narrative, that it is\nthe only great religion not concentrated round the life and teachings\nof a person, may be one reason why it has remained diffuse and\nincoherent. All ways of salvation are still open to the Hindus; the\ncanon of their scripture has never been authoritatively closed. New\ndoctrines, new sects, fresh theological controversies, are\nincessantly modifying and superseding the old scholastic\ninterpretations of the mysteries, for Hindus, like Asiatics\neverywhere, are still in that condition of mind when a fresh spiritual\nmessage is eagerly received. Vishnu and Siva are the realistic\nabstractions of the understanding from objects of sense, from\nobservation of the destructive and reproductive operations of nature;\nthey represent among educated men separate systems of worship which,\nagain, are parted into different schools or theories regarding the\nproper ways and methods of attaining to spiritual emancipation. Yet\nthe higher philosophy and the lower polytheism are not mutually\nantagonistic; on the contrary, they support each other; for Brahmanism\naccepts and allies itself with the popular forms of idolatry, treating\nthem as outward visible signs of an inner truth, as indications of\nall-pervading pantheism. The peasant and the philosopher reverence the\nsame deity, perform the same rite; they do not mean the same thing,\nbut they do not quarrel on this account. Nevertheless, it is certainly\nremarkable that this inorganic medley of ideas and worships should\nhave resisted for so many ages the invasion and influence of the\ncoherent faiths that have won ascendancy, complete or dominant, on\neither side of India, the west and the east; it has thrown off\nBuddhism, it has withstood the triumphant advance of Islam, it has as\nyet been little affected by Christianity. Probably the political\nhistory of India may account in some degree for its religious\ndisorganisation. I may propound the theory that no religion has\nobtained supremacy, or at any rate definite establishment, in any\ngreat country except with the active co-operation, by force or favour,\nof the rulers, whether by conquest, as in Western Asia, or by\npatronage and protection, as in China. The direct influence and\nrecognition of the State has been an indispensable instrument of\nreligious consolidation. But until the nineteenth century the whole of\nIndia, from the mountains to the sea, had never been united under one\nstable government; the country was for ages parcelled out into\nseparate principalities, incessantly contending for territory. And\neven the Moghul empire, which was always at war upon its frontiers,\nnever acquired universal dominion. The Moghul emperors, except\nAurungzeb, were by no means bigoted Mohammedans; and their obvious\ninterest was to abstain from meddling with Hinduism. Yet the irruption\nof Islam into India seems rather to have stimulated religious activity\namong the Hindus, for during the Mohammedan period various spiritual\nteachers arose, new sects were formed, and theological controversies\ndivided the intellectual classes. To these movements the Mohammedan\ngovernments must have been for a long time indifferent; and among the\nnew sects the principle of mutual toleration was universal. Towards\nthe close of the Moghul empire, however, Hinduism, provoked by the\nbigotry of the Emperor Aurungzeb, became a serious element of\npolitical disturbance. Attempts to suppress forcibly the followers of\nNanak Guru, and the execution of one spiritual leader of the Sikhs,\nturned the Sikhs from inoffensive quietists into fanatical warriors;\nand by the eighteenth century they were in open revolt against the\nempire. They were, I think, the most formidable embodiment of militant\nHinduism known to Indian history. By that time, also, the Marathas in\nSouth-West India were declaring themselves the champions of the Hindu\nreligion against the Mohammedan oppression; and to the Sikhs and\nMarathas the dislocation of the Moghul empire may be very largely\nattributed. We have here a notable example of the dynamic power upon\npolitics of revolts that are generated by religious fermentation, and\na proof of the strength that can be exerted by a pacific inorganic\npolytheism in self-defence, when ambitious rebels proclaim themselves\ndefenders of a faith. The Marathas and the Sikhs founded the only\nrulerships whose armies could give the English serious trouble in the\nfield during the nineteenth century.\n\nOn the whole, however, when we survey the history of India, and\ncompare it with that of Western Asia, we may say that although the\nHindus are perhaps the most intensely religious people in the world,\nHinduism has never been, like Christianity, Islam, and to some extent\nBuddhism, a religion established by the State. Nor has it suffered\nmuch from the State's power. It seems strange, indeed, that\nMohammedanism, a compact proselytising faith, closely united with the\ncivil rulership, should have so slightly modified, during seven\ncenturies of dominion, this infinitely divided polytheism. Of course,\nMohammedanism made many converts, and annexed a considerable number of\nthe population--yet the effect was rather to stiffen than to loosen\nthe bonds that held the mass of the people to their traditional\ndivinities, and to the institution of castes. Moreover the antagonism\nof the two religions, the popular and the dynastic, was a perpetual\nelement of weakness in a Mohammedan empire. In India polytheism could\nnot be crushed, as in Western Asia, by Islam; neither could it be\ncontrolled and administered, as in Eastern Asia; yet the Moghul\nemperors managed to keep on good terms with it, so long as they\nadhered to a policy of toleration.\n\nTo the Mohammedan empire has succeeded another foreign dominion, which\npractises not merely tolerance but complete religious neutrality.\nLooking back over the period of a hundred years, from 1757 to 1857,\nduring which the British dominion was gradually extended over India,\nwe find that the British empire, like the Roman, met with little or no\nopposition from religion. Hindus and Mohammedans, divided against each\nother, were equally willing to form alliances with, and to fight on\nthe side of, the foreigner who kept religion entirely outside\npolitics. And the British Government, when established, has so\ncarefully avoided offence to caste or creed that on one great occasion\nonly, the Sepoy Mutiny of 1857, have the smouldering fires of\ncredulous fanaticism broken out against our rule.\n\nI believe the British-Indian position of complete religious neutrality\nto be unique among Asiatic governments, and almost unknown in Europe.\nThe Anglo-Indian sovereignty does not identify itself with the\ninterests of a single faith, as in Mohammedan kingdoms, nor does it\nrecognise a definite ecclesiastical jurisdiction in things spiritual,\nas in Catholic Europe. Still less has our Government adopted the\nChinese system of placing the State at the head of different rituals\nfor the purpose of controlling them all, and proclaiming an ethical\ncode to be binding on all denominations. The British ruler, while\navowedly Christian, ignores all religions administratively,\ninterfering only to suppress barbarous or indecent practices when the\nadvance of civilisation has rendered them obsolete. Public\ninstruction, so far as the State is concerned, is entirely secular;\nthe universal law is the only authorised guardian of morals; to\nexpound moral duties officially, as things apart from religion, has\nbeen found possible in China, but not in India. But the Chinese\nGovernment can issue edicts enjoining public morality and rationalism\nbecause the State takes part in the authorised worship of the people,\nand the emperor assumes pontifical office. The British Government in\nIndia, on the other hand, disowns official connection with any\nreligion. It places all its measures on the sole ground of reasonable\nexpediency, of efficient administration; it seeks to promote industry\nand commerce, and material civilisation generally; it carefully avoids\ngiving any religious colour whatever to its public acts; and the\nresult is that our Government, notwithstanding its sincere professions\nof absolute neutrality, is sometimes suspected of regarding all\nreligion with cynical indifference, possibly even with hostility.\n\nMoreover, religious neutrality, though it is right, just, and the only\npolicy which the English in India could possibly adopt, has certain\npolitical disadvantages. The two most potent influences which still\nunite and divide the Asiatic peoples, are race and religion; a\nGovernment which represents both these forces, as, for instance, in\nAfghanistan, has deep roots in a country. A dynasty that can rely on\nthe support of an organised religion, and stands forth as the champion\nof a dominant faith, has a powerful political power at its command.\nThe Turkish empire, weak, ill-governed, repeatedly threatened with\ndismemberment, embarrassed internally by the conflict of races, has\nbeen preserved for the last hundred years by its incorporation with\nthe faith of Islam, by the Sultan's claim to the Caliphate. To attack\nit is to assault a religious citadel; it is the bulwark on the west of\nMohammedan Asia, as Afghanistan is the frontier fortress of Islam on\nthe east. A leading Turkish politician has very recently said: 'It is\nin Islam pure and simple that lies the strength of Turkey as an\nindependent State; and if the Sultan's position as religious chief\nwere encroached upon by constitutional reforms, the whole Ottoman\nempire would be in danger.' We have to remember that for ages\nreligious enthusiasm has been, and still is in some parts of Asia, one\nof the strongest incentives to military ardour and fidelity to a\nstandard on the battlefield. Identity of creed has often proved more\neffective, in war, than territorial patriotism; it has surmounted\nracial and tribal antipathies; while religious antagonism is still in\nmany countries a standing impediment to political consolidation.\n\nWhen, therefore, we survey the history of religions, though this\nsketch is necessarily very imperfect and inadequate, we find\nMohammedanism still identified with the fortunes of Mohammedan rulers;\nand we know that for many centuries the relations of Christianity to\nEuropean States have been very close. In Europe the ardent\nperseverance and intellectual superiority of great theologians, of\necclesiastical statesmen supported by autocratic rulers, have hardened\nand beat out into form doctrines and liturgies that it was at one time\ncriminal to disregard or deny, dogmatic articles of faith that were\nenforced by law. By these processes orthodoxy emerged compact, sharply\ndefined, irresistible, out of the strife and confusion of heresies;\nthe early record of the churches has pages spotted with tears and\nstained with blood. But at the present time European States seem\ninclined to dissolve their alliance with the churches, and to arrange\na kind of judicial separation between the altar and the throne, though\nin very few cases has a divorce been made absolute. No State, in\ncivilised countries, now assists in the propagation of doctrine; and\necclesiastical influence is of very little service to a Government.\nThe civil law, indeed, makes continual encroachments on the\necclesiastical domain, questions its authority, and usurps its\njurisdiction. Modern erudition criticises the historical authenticity\nof the scriptures, philosophy tries to undermine the foundations of\nbelief; the governments find small interest in propping up edifices\nthat are shaken by internal controversies. In Mohammedan Asia, on the\nother hand, the connection between the orthodox faith and the States\nis firmly maintained, for the solidarity is so close that disruptions\nwould be dangerous, and a Mohammedan rulership over a majority of\nunbelievers would still be perilously unstable.\n\nI have thus endeavoured to show that the historical relations of\nBuddhism and Hinduism to the State have been in the past, and are\nstill in the present time, very different from the situation in the\nWest. There has always existed, I submit, one essential distinction of\nprinciple. Religious propagation, forcible conversion, aided and\nabetted by the executive power of the State, and by laws against\nheresy or dissent, have been defended in the West by the doctors of\nIslam, and formerly by Christian theologians, by the axiom that all\nmeans are justifiable for extirpating false teachers who draw souls to\nperdition. The right and duty of the civil magistrate to maintain\ntruth, in regard to which Bossuet declared all Christians to be\nunanimous, and which is still affirmed in the Litany of our Church, is\na principle from which no Government, three centuries ago, dissented\nin theory, though in practice it needed cautious handling. I do not\nthink that this principle ever found its way into Hinduism or\nBuddhism; I doubt, that is to say, whether the civil government was at\nany time called in to undertake or assist propagation of those\nreligions as part of its duty. Nor do I know that the States of\nEastern Asia, beyond the pale of Islam, claim or exercise the right of\ninsisting on conformance to particular doctrines, because they are\ntrue. The erratic manifestations of the religious spirit throughout\nAsia, constantly breaking out in various forms and figures, in\nthaumaturgy, mystical inspiration, in orgies and secret societies,\nhave always disquieted these Asiatic States, yet, so far as I can\nascertain, the employment of force to repress them has always been\njustified on administrative or political grounds, as distinguishable\nfrom theological motives pure and simple. Sceptics and agnostics have\nbeen often marked out for persecution in the West, but I do not think\nthat they have been molested in India, China, or Japan, where they\nabound, because they seldom meddle with politics.[61] It may perhaps\nbe admitted, however, that a Government which undertakes to regulate\nimpartially all rites and worship among its subjects is at a\ndisadvantage by comparison with a Government that acts as the\nrepresentative of a great church or an exclusive faith. It bears the\nsole undivided responsibility for measures of repression; it cannot\nallege divine command or even the obligation of punishing impiety for\nthe public good.\n\nTo conclude. In Asiatic States the superintendence of religious\naffairs is an integral attribute of the sovereignty, which no\nGovernment, except the English in India, has yet ventured to\nrelinquish; and even in India this is not done without some risk, for\nreligion and politics are still intermingled throughout the world;\nthey act and react upon each other everywhere. They are still far from\nbeing disentangled in our own country, where the theory that a\nGovernment in its collective character must profess and even propagate\nsome religion has not been very long obsolete. It was maintained\nseventy years ago by a great statesman who was already rising into\nprominence, by Mr. Gladstone. The text of Mr. Gladstone's argument, in\nhis book on the relations of the State with the Church, was Hooker's\nsaying, that the religious duty of kings is the weightiest part of\ntheir sovereignty; while Macaulay, in criticising this position,\ninsisted that the main, if not the only, duty of a Government, to\nwhich all other objects must be subordinate, was the protection of\npersons and property. These two eminent politicians were, in fact, the\nchampions of the ancient and the modern ideas of sovereignty; for the\ntheory that a State is bound to propagate the religion that it\nprofesses was for many centuries the accepted theory of all Christian\nrulerships, though I think it now survives only in Mohammedan\nkingdoms.\n\nAs the influence of religion in the sphere of politics declines, the\nState becomes naturally less concerned with the superintendence of\nreligion; and the tendency of constitutional Governments seems to be\ntowards abandoning it. The States that have completely dissolved\nconnection with ecclesiastical institutions are the two great\nrepublics, the United States of America and France. We can discern at\nthis moment a movement towards constitutional reforms in Mohammedan\nAsia, in Turkey, and Persia, and if they succeed it will be most\ninteresting to observe the effect which liberal reforms will produce\nupon the relation of Mohammedan Governments with the dominant faith,\nand on which side the religious teachers will be arrayed. It is\ncertain, at any rate, that for a long time to come religion will\ncontinue to be a potent factor in Asiatic politics; and I may add that\nthe reconciliation of civil with religious liberty is one of the most\narduous of the many problems to be solved by the promoters of national\nunity.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[58] Delivered as President of the Congress for the History of\nReligions, September 1908.--_Fortnightly Review_, November 1908.\n\n[59] 'Cujus regio ejus religio.'\n\n[60] _The Development of Religion in Japan_, G. W. Knox, 1907.\n\n[61] 'Atheism did never disturb States' (Bacon).\n\n\n\n\nINDEX\n\n\nActon, Lord:\n  On causes of Franco-German War, 346.\n  Quoted, 362 (footnote), 386, 396, 398.\n  Advice to writers of history, 384, 394.\n  Also 370, 374, 375, 387.\n\nAddison's _Blenheim_ criticised in _Esmond_, 101.\n\nAdventure, see Novels of.\n\nAdventures of Moreau de Jonnes, 16.\n  Popularity of, in short stories, 31.\n\nAfghan:\n  Blood feuds, border forays, etc., 163, 164.\n  War, 163, 318.\n  Songs, 168.\n  Frontier and frontier policy, 319, 324.\n  Character, 320.\n\nAfghanistan:\n  Barrier to Russian advance in Asia, 316.\n  British policy towards, compared with Russian policy in Caucasus, 317.\n  Is acquiring a territorial connotation, 416.\n  Eastern bulwark of Islam, 417, 449.\n\nAkhlongo, siege of, 305.\n\nAlthorp, Lord, 64.\n\nArmenians, their position and misfortunes, 414.\n\nArnold, Matthew:\n  Lord Morley's article on his letters, 50.\n  His letters reviewed, 57.\n  Quoted, 58, 59, 60, 61,177, 257.\n  Praised and criticised by Swinburne, 282, 287.\n  Also 126, 183, 207, 266, 281.\n\nAsia and foreign dynasties, 417.\n\nAsoka, 436.\n\nAusten, Jane, as novelist of manners, 21, 24.\n\nAustria-Hungary, intermixture of races and religions in, 403.\n\n\nBalfour, Arthur James, _Foundations of Belief_, 250.\n\nBalkans, policy of the Turks in the, 407.\n\nBalzac, 94.\n\nBariatinsky, 314.\n\nBeauchamp and the Utilitarian rejection of theology, 255.\n\nBehn, Mrs. Aphra, 2.\n\nBenedetti, 332, etc.\n\nBentham, see 'Utilitarians.'\n\nBeowulf, 168.\n\nBismarck, see 'L'Empire Liberal,' _passim_.\n\nBlavatsky, Madame, 134.\n\nBlood feuds in Afghanistan, 321.\n  On the Scotch borders, 323.\n\nBonaparte, 92, 187.\n\nBossuet, 451.\n\nBraddock, General, 104.\n\nBraddon, Miss, 26.\n\nBret Harte, 32.\n\nBright, John: 'Force no remedy,' 260.\n\nBroad Church, 62, 257.\n\nBronte, Charlotte, 25.\n\nBroughton, Miss, 26.\n\nBrown: definition of 'Intuition,' 238.\n\nBrowning, Robert, 69, 266, 267.\n  Swinburne's homage to, 282.\n\nBuckle, 253, 261.\n\nBuddhism, 400, 423, and see 'The State in Relation to Religion.'\n\nBulwer-Lytton, Sir E., 99, 116.\n\n_Burial of Sir John Moore_, 173.\n\nBurke's letters, 37.\n\nBurney, Miss, 21.\n\nButler's _Analogy_, 236.\n\n=Byron, Works of Lord=, 177-209.\n  Additions to his published letters, 178.\n  Their bearing on his reputation, 179.\n  Causes affecting his popularity, 183.\n  Comparison with Chateaubriand, 186, 194.\n  His success in oriental romance, 187;\n    and in heroic verse, 190.\n  Defects, tendency to declamation, etc., 191.\n  Carelessness, contrast between his theory and practice, 193.\n  Comparison with Scott, _The Giaour_, 195.\n  Metre of his romantic poems, 197.\n  His dramas, failure in blank verse, 198.\n  His lyrical power, examples, 200.\n  _Beppo_ and _Don Juan_, 203.\n  Founder of modern realism in poetry, 204.\n  _Vision of Judgment_, 206.\n  Conclusions: value of his influence, 207.\n\nByron, Lord, as realist, 6.\n  Also 13 and 97, and see under 'Letter-writing.'\n\n\nCampbell, Thomas:\n  Carlyle's description, 64.\n  As heroic poet, 173.\n\nCarlyle, Thomas, see 'Letter-writing.'\n  Denounces Utilitarianism, 256.\n  Swinburne's tribute, 283.\n  His descriptive method, 383.\n  See also 9, 58, 116, 215.\n\nCastlereagh, Lord, 180, 183.\n\nCaucasus, see 'Frontiers,' 291, etc.\n\nCavagnari, in Afghan ballads, 163.\n\nCervantes, 108.\n\nChanson de Roland, 161.\n\nCharles Edward, Prince, authentic incident in _Esmond_, 104.\n\nChateaubriand, 97, 115, 185-187, 194.\n\nChaucer, 1.\n\n_Chevy Chase_, 170.\n\nChillianwalla in fiction, 128.\n\nChina, religious systems, 423.\n  Religious polity, 438.\n\nChristian missions in India, 326.\n\nChristianity and Islam, as militant religions, 400, 408, 421.\n  Compared with Buddhism, etc., 427.\n  Form alliances with the State, 434, 441.\n\nChurch and State:\n  Lord Acton on, 398.\n  Separation a modern idea, 421.\n  Importance to the Church of recognition, 445.\n  Diminishing closeness of the connection, 450.\n  Gladstone and Macaulay on, 452.\n\nClough, 266.\n\nColeridge, S. T., see 'Letter-writing.'\n  Connection of speculative ideas and political movements,\n    211, 229, 237, 372.\n  Quoted, 33, 181, 393.\n  Also mentioned, 37, 185, 265, 287.\n\nColvin, Sidney, quoted, 40, 71.\n\nComte and J. S. Mill, 255.\n\nCooper, Fenimore, 32.\n\nCowper, as letter-writer, 37, 66.\n  Quoted, 62.\n\nCrabbe, 193.\n  Quoted, 69.\n\nCrimean War, 311, 313.\n\n_Cujus regio ejus religio_, 436.\n\n\nDante, 39.\n\nDargo, in the Caucasus, attack on, 307-308.\n\nDarmesteter, Afghan ballads, 163, 168.\n\nDavidson on rhyme in poetry, 279, 280.\n\nDefoe, 3, 99.\n\nDe la Gorce:\n  On Napoleon III., 330.\n  On the French ministry, 339, 347.\n\nDe Musset, Alfred, 111.\n\nDe Stael, Madame, 180.\n\nDe Tocqueville, 331, 402.\n\nDe Voguee, 252.\n\nDickens, Charles, 23, 30, 68, 98.\n\nDirect narration in fiction, 18.\n\nDisraeli, Benjamin, as novelist, 18.\n\nDrama, rival of the novel, 2.\n\nDu Barail, General:\n  On Napoleon III., 330.\n  On Ollivier, 331.\n\nDue de Gramont, 331, etc.\n\nDuvernois' interpellation in French Chamber, 342, 347.\n\n\nEdgeworth, Miss, 21.\n\nEliot, George:\n  _Romola_, 23.\n  _Adam Bede_, 25.\n\nEmpire, defined, 406.\n\nEms, Benedetti and King of Prussia at, 343-350, 356.\n\nEncyclopedistes, ancestors of the Utilitarians, 252, 402.\n\nEuropean dominion in Asia, importance of, 403.\n\n\nFarrar, Archdeacon, quoted, 12.\n\nFerozeshah, 130.\n\nFerrero on Julius Caesar, 391.\n\nFiction and fact in the novel and in history, 10, 385.\n\nFiction, doubt as to its value as evidence of manners, 111.\n  See also 91 and 110.\n\nFielding, Henry, 3, 26, 95, 111.\n  _Tom Jones_, 19.\n  Influence on Thackeray, 99.\n\nFitzgerald, Edward, see 'Letter-writing,' 66-70.\n\nFranco-German War, see 'L'Empire Liberal.'\n\nFrench Revolution, 212, 218.\n\n=Frontiers, Ancient and Modern=, 291-327.\n  Demarcation of frontiers a modern development, 291.\n  Interest of the subject to England, 293.\n  Mr. Baddeley's work on the Caucasus, 294.\n  Description of the Caucasus, 295.\n  The Russian advance, 296.\n  Yermoloff and his policy, 298.\n  Its failure for the time, and his recall, 301.\n  Rise of Muridism, 302.\n  Shamil succeeds Kazi Mullah, 303.\n  Capture of Akhlongo, 306.\n  Repulse of Vorontzoff at Dargo; 307.\n   and at Ghergebil, 310.\n  Shamil ransoms his son, 312.\n  Surrenders at Gooneeb (1857), 313.\n  Effect on Asiatic politics, 315.\n  Russian policy compared with British in Afghanistan, 316.\n  Dr. Pennell on the Afghans, 319.\n  Ghazis, blood feuds, 321.\n  Dr. Pennell on missions, 326.\n\nFrontiers, not strictly demarcated in the East, 413.\n\nFroude, J. A., quoted, 74.\n  His methods as a historian, 382.\n\n\nGambetta votes for war with Prussia, 359.\n\nGaribaldi, 273.\n\nGaskell, Mrs., 26.\n\n_Gesta Romanorum_, 2.\n\n_Gil Blas_, 19, 204.\n\nGladstone, W. E., 229.\n\nGodwin, William:\n  As recipient of good letters, 46.\n  His tragedy, _Antonio_, 46.\n  Carlyle's description, 64.\n  A peaceful anarchist, 234.\n\nGoethe, 78, 182.\n\nGordon, Lindsay, 32.\n\n_Grand Cyrus_, 96.\n\nGray, Thomas, 37, 50.\n\nGreek Church, 433.\n  Comparison with Rome, 409.\n\n\nHemans, Mrs., 265.\n\nHerodotus, 160, 379.\n\n=Heroic Poetry=, 155-176.\n  Definition, 155.\n  Professor Ker's _Epic and Romance_, 156.\n  Early bards and chroniclers, 157.\n  Their work based on fact, 158, 164.\n  The hero and the heroic poet, 159.\n  Icelandic Sagas, and Afghan songs, 163.\n  Homer, 165.\n  Position of women in Homeric poetry, 166.\n  The heroic style in the Old Testament, 167.\n  Romantic poetry of England, _Morte d Arthur_ and ballads, 169.\n  Sir Walter Scott, 171.\n  Limitations of heroic poetry, 172.\n  Its decline, unfavourable influences of both the romantic and the\n    realistic spirit, 174.\n\nHindu, meaning of, 419.\n\nHinduism, not a missionary religion, 400.\n  Never established by the State, 447.\n\nHistorical romance brought to perfection in nineteenth century, 96.\n\n=History, Remarks on the Reading of=, 377-398.\n  Almost all real history written in some European language, 377.\n  History, formerly an art, becoming a science, 379.\n  Macaulay, Froude, and Carlyle as historical artists, 382.\n  The scientific method, possible drawbacks, 384.\n  Limitation and subdivision necessary, 386.\n  Short abstracts, their use and abuse, 388.\n  Motives for studying history, 390.\n  Our knowledge imperfect, and our predictions fallible, 392.\n  Lord Acton's advice and principles, 394.\n\nHobbes, Thomas, 243, 273.\n  Followed by Bentham, 221.\n  Quoted, 319, 413, 441.\n\nHogarth, William, 99.\n\nHookham Frere, 204.\n\nHugo, Victor, 187, 300.\n  Swinburne's admiration, 265, 282, 287.\n\nHume, 215, 216.\n  Influence on Bentham, 222;\n    on Mill, 244, 254.\n  Quoted, 224.\n\nHumphry Ward, Mrs., example of her descriptive method, 27.\n\nHutcheson, 217.\n\n\nIliad, 174.\n\nImpressionist school in fiction, 33.\n\nInchbald, Mrs., quoted, 46.\n\nIndia, Mill's history of, 225.\n\nImportance of frontier questions, 293.\n\nIndian Empire:\n  Resemblance to Roman, 420.\n  Comparison with Russian, 424.\n  See also 'Race and Religion,' and 'The State in Relation to Religion.'\n\nIrish characters, Thackeray's partiality for, 109.\n\nIslam:\n  Its militant policy, 400, 413.\n  Spread of, 432.\n  In India, 446.\n  Importance to Turkey of Sultan's position in, 449.\n\n\nJames, G. P. R., 32.\n\nJeffrey, Thomas, 186, 199.\n\nJehu's story, 382.\n\n_John Inglesant_, 18, 106.\n\nJohnson, Samuel, 120.\n\nJones, Paul, 113.\n\nJowett, Benjamin, quoted, 55, 57.\n\n\nKaffir, origin of the name, 415.\n\nKeats, John, 185, 199.\n  See also 'Letter-writing.'\n\nKemble, Fanny, FitzGerald's letters to, 68.\n\nKer's _Epic and Romance_, 156, 164, 168.\n\n_Kidnapped_, direct narration in, 18.\n\nKingsley, Charles, 8.\n  Quoted, 278.\n\nKipling, Rudyard, 32, 149, 174.\n\nKlugenau, Russian General, 305.\n\n\nLamartine, 187.\n\nLamb, Charles, 47.\n  Quoted, 48, 56.\n\nLansdowne, Lord, 228.\n\nLaotze, 438.\n\nLe Boeuf, Marshal, 334, 347, 351, 358.\n\nLecky, W. E. H., on American Loyalists, 105.\n  Comparison with Walpole, 376.\n\n=L'Empire Liberal=, 328-367.\n  Constitutional reforms and character of Napoleon III., 330.\n  Ollivier's difficult position as chief minister, 331.\n  Crown of Spain accepted by Leopold, 332.\n  Effect in France, warning to Prussia, 333-336.\n  Benedetti's interview at Ems, 337.\n  Leopold's compulsory renunciation, 338.\n  Incautious action of Ollivier, 339;\n    and of Gramont, 341.\n  Assurances demanded from Prussia, 344.\n  Ollivier meditates resignation, 345.\n  Benedetti at Ems, 348.\n  'Le Soufflet de Bismarck,' 350.\n  Declaration of war, 352.\n  Thiers' opposition, Ollivier's defence, 353, 354.\n  French enthusiasm, 358.\n  Reception of declaration by Bismarck; 360;\n  and by the Reichstag, 361.\n  Bismarck's real responsibility, 362.\n  Ollivier's acts and motives examined, 365.\n\n=Letter-writing (English) in the Nineteenth Century=, 34-75.\n  Conditions of fine letter-writing, 34.\n  Affinities with the diary and the essay, 36.\n  Poets as good letter-writers, 37.\n  Value of letters for biographical and other purposes, 38.\n  Earlier writers--Keats, Scott, Southey, Byron, Coleridge, Wordsworth,\n    Shelley, Lamb, 39-47.\n  Lord Morley's canon, 50.\n  Later writers and their difficulties, 52.\n  Dean Stanley's letters, 53.\n  Matthew Arnold's, 57.\n  Thomas Carlyle's, 63.\n  Edward Fitzgerald's, 66.\n  R. L. Stevenson's, 70.\n\nLever, Charles, 8, 92.\n\nLiverpool, Lord, 66, 229, 230.\n\nLucretius, 271.\n\n\nMacaulay, T. B., 61, 206.\n  On Byron, 184, 191.\n  His rejoinder to James Mill, 227.\n  Influence on Walpole, 371.\n  Ranke's criticism, 383.\n\nMachiavelli:\n  On judging by results, 329.\n  On standing neutral in war, 331.\n\nMackintosh, as typical Whig, 228.\n\nMaine, Sir H., on 'Sovereignty,' 412.\n\nMalthus, T., 234, 236.\n\nManning, Cardinal, 53, 74.\n\nMarbot, success of his Memoirs, 13, 16.\n\n_Marcella_, quoted, 27.\n\nMarlborough, Thackeray's description of, 103.\n\nMarryat, Captain, 8.\n\n_Master of Ballantrae_, direct narration in, 18.\n\nMaurice, 256.\n\nMayor's _English Metres_, 286.\n\nMazzini, 273.\n  Quoted, 184.\n\nMemoirs and fiction, 13.\n\n_Memorials of Coleorton_, 42.\n\nMeredith, George, 264.\n\nMill, see 'Utilitarians.'\n\nMilton, 200, 287.\n  Quoted, 183.\n\nMongolians have not produced spiritual teachers, 442.\n\nMoore, Thomas, 42, 179, 193.\n  His sham Orientalism, 6, 123, 188.\n  His dealings with Byron's letters, 177.\n\n_Morte d'Arthur_, 169.\n\nMullahs, 320.\n\nMuridism, see 'Frontiers,' 320.\n\nMurray, John, 178.\n  Quoted, 188.\n\nMurray, Professor, and solar myths, 161.\n\nMyths, historical value of, 11.\n\n\nNapoleon:\n  His story adapted to myth-making, 14.\n  Transformer of democracy into Imperialism, 252, 402.\n\n_Napoleon Intime_, 15.\n\nNapoleon III; and see 'L'Empire Liberal.'\n\nNationalities, formation of, in Europe, 401.\n\nNaturalism or realism defined, 25.\n\nNewman, Cardinal, 257, 258.\n  Swinburne's tribute to, 283.\n\n=Novels of Adventure and Manners=, 1-33.\n  Mr. Raleigh on origins of fiction, 1.\n  Metrical tales, heroic romance, the eighteenth-century school of\n    novelists, 2, 3.\n  Novel of adventure derived from the fabulous romance, 4.\n  Scott's influence, 5.\n  Later tendencies, 6.\n  Approximation of the historian and novelist, 10.\n  The novelist rivalled by the writer of Memoirs, 13.\n  Adventures of de Jonnes reviewed, 16.\n  Causes limiting the sphere of the Novel of Adventure, 18.\n  Novel of Manners, its pedigree: Fielding, 19.\n  Influence of women writers: Miss Austen, etc., 21.\n  Growth of Realism, 25.\n  Description of nature, its uses, 26.\n  Danger of excessive Realism, 29.\n  Short stories: the Impressionist School, 32.\n\n=Novelist, The Anglo-Indian=, 121-154.\n  Causes affecting output of good fiction in India, 121.\n  _Tara_, a successful historical novel, 123.\n  _Pandurang Hari_, valuable as picture of pre-English times, 125.\n  _Oakfield_, good battle pictures, absence of native characters\n     noted, 126.\n  _The Wetherbys_, 131.\n  _A True Reformer_, and _The Dilemma_, 132.\n  _Mr. Isaacs_, 134.\n  _Helen Treveryan_, assigned a high place as a historical novel, 136.\n  _On the Face of the Waters_, Indian characters freely introduced,\n     minute adherence to fact, 139.\n  _Bijli the Dancer_, a purely native story, 143.\n  _Chronicles of Dustypore_, a picture of Anglo-Indian life, 145.\n  _The Bond of Blood_, a dramatic presentation of incidents of Indian\n     life, 146.\n  _The Naulakha_, 149.\n  _Transgression_, 151.\n  Conclusions: uniformity of Anglo-Indian society, 152.\n  Conditions favour the novel of action, 153.\n  Absence of the psychological vein, 154.\n\n\nO'Connell, Daniel, described by Carlyle, 64.\n\n_Odyssey_ quoted, 167.\n\nOld Testament and heroic narration, 167.\n\nOliphant, Mrs., 26.\n\nOllivier, see 'L'Empire Liberal.'\n\nOlozaga, 337.\n\nOttoman Empire, its complexities of Race and Religion, 406.\n\nOuida, 25.\n\n\nPaley, 222.\n\nParr, Dr., 199.\n\nPatmore, Coventry, 268.\n\nPearson, Hugh, 55, 57.\n\nPeel, Sir Robert, quoted, 232.\n\nPeninsular War and heroic poetry, 173.\n\nPeter the Great's Caspian expedition, 296.\n\nPhingari, 196.\n\nPolytheism, formerly universal, 428;\n  gives way to Christianity, 431.\n\nPope, 37.\n  Byron's praise, 193.\n\nPorter, Jane, and historical romance, 23.\n\n\nRabelais, 321.\n\n=Race and Religion=, 399-426.\n  Ancient groupings of peoples, 399.\n  Effect of (1) the Roman Empire, (2) Christianity and Islam, 400.\n  Consolidation of States in the West, 401.\n  Importance of 'Race' overlooked by Utilitarians, 402.\n  Gravity of the question in Austria, 403.\n  Its complexity in Turkey, 406.\n  Maintenance of racial and religious differences by Asiatic Empires, 407.\n  Close alliance of Greek Church with the State, 410.\n  Classification of the people by religion in Ottoman Empire, 411.\n  Importance of 'Race and Religion' in Asia, 412.\n  Religious distinctions predominant in Western Asia, 413.\n  Causes of the Armenian massacres, 414.\n  Racial distinctions predominant in Afghanistan, 417.\n  India, connotation of 'Hindu,' 418.\n  Complexities of race and creed, 420.\n  Policy of religious neutrality, 421.\n  Peculiarity of religious situation in China, 422.\n  Russian Empire, conclusions, 424.\n\nRace distinctions, increasing influence of, 252.\n\nRadcliffe, Mrs., the novelist, 5.\n\nRaleigh, Sir Walter, on _The English Novel_, 1.\n\nRamsay, Sir William, on writing of history, 386.\n\nRawlinson on the effect of troubles in the Caucasus on Russian policy, 315.\n\nRealism defined, 25.\n  Its dangers, 28, 30, 31, (cf. 12, 140).\n\nReform Bill, 232.\n\n=Religions, The State in its Relation to Eastern and Western=, 427-453.\n  Eastern religions, Buddhism and Hinduism; Western, Christianity and\n    Islam, 427.\n  Growth of State domination under Roman Empire, 429.\n  Domination of the Church when Christianity established, 431.\n  Conflict with Islam, its effects, 432.\n  Close alliance of both faiths with the State, 434.\n  Absence of religious wars and of persecution in ancient India, 434.\n  The situation in China, 437;\n    and in Japan, 443.\n  India, political independence of Hinduism, 443.\n  Toleration by Mohammedan rulers, 446.\n  Hinduism never an established religion, 447.\n  British policy of neutrality, 447.\n  Some political disadvantages, 449.\n  Conclusions: difference in relations of Eastern and Western religions\n    to the State, 451.\n\nRenan, 379.\n\nRicardo, 234.\n\nRichardson, the novelist, 3.\n\nRitchie, Lady Richmond, 76.\n  Quoted, 79.\n\n_Robert Elsmere_, its popularity, 30.\n\nRoberts, Lord, 136, 142, 163, 319.\n\nRodney, Admiral, 115.\n\nRoman Catholic Church, its polity compared with the Greek, 410.\n  Inheritor of Imperial tradition, 432.\n\nRoman Empire, its frontier policy, 292; also 400, 420, 430, 441.\n\n_Roman Naturaliste_, by Brunetiere, 25.\n\nRousseau, J. J., 212.\n\n\nSagas, 163, 168.\n\nSainte-Beuve, 194.\n\nSay, Leon, 16.\n\nScotch common sense philosophy, 215.\n\nScotsman, the, in fiction, 109.\n\nScott, Michael, 8.\n\nScott, Sir Walter:\n  Head of modern romantic school of fiction, 5.\n  Abandoned poetry for prose, 6.\n  Transferred dialogue from the drama to the novel, 108.\n  His historical insight, 115.\n  His descriptions of fighting, 103, 172, 190, 385.\n  Quoted, 200.\n\nShakespeare, 39, 108, 198, 287, 380, 385.\n  Quoted, 171, 275.\n\nShamil, see 'Frontiers,' 303, etc.\n\nShelley, 179, 185, 287.\n  His letters, 44.\n  Quoted, 207, 290.\n  Comparison with Swinburne, 264.\n  Swinburne's admiration, 288.\n\nShintoism, 443.\n\nShorthouse, J. H., 9.\n\nSmollett, 111.\n\nSouth African War, 176.\n\nSouthey, Robert, 41, 43, 62, 73, 206.\n  Carlyle's description, 64.\n  Type of Conservatism, 229.\n\nSovereignty, Territorial, a modern idea, 412.\n\nSpenserian stanza, Byron's admiration for, 197.\n\nStanley, Dean, see 'Letter-writing.'\n\nStendhal, 87, 141.\n\nSterne, Laurence, 89.\n\nStevenson, R. L., see 'Letter-writing,' also 9, 116.\n\nSurtees and the Sporting Novel, 26.\n\nSwift, 89, 99.\n  Thackeray's description, 103.\n\nSwinburne, A. C., 69.\n  On Byron, 183, 191, 207.\n\n=Swinburne, Characteristics of his Poetry=, 263-290.\n  Swinburne's predecessors and contemporaries, 263.\n  Earlier poems, _Atalanta in Calydon_, _Chastelard_, 267.\n  _Poems and Ballads_, published and withdrawn, 268;\n    reissued with reply to critics, 272.\n  _Songs and Ballads_, war upon theology, 273.\n  _Songs of the Four Seasons_, 275.\n  _A Midsummer Holiday_, 276.\n  Love of the sea and of his country, 277.\n  His power of musical phrasing, 279.\n  His attitude to eminent contemporaries, 282.\n  His dramas, 285.\n  Concluding remarks: his high aspirations and his defects, 288.\n\n\nTaeping rebellion, 423.\n\nTaoism, 423, 438, 440.\n\nTchetchnia, in the Caucasus, 295, etc.\n\nTennyson, 38, 69, 174, 184, 194, 199, 266, 268, 286, 289, 374.\n  Quoted, 205, 209, 287, 288.\n  Absence of rhyme in 'Tears, idle tears,' 281.\n  Swinburne's tribute, 282.\n\nThackeray, W. M., 23, 26, 141.\n\n=Thackeray, William Makepeace=, 76-120.\n  Lady Ritchie's biographical contributions, 76.\n  Brief sketch of his life, 78.\n  Early works, _Yellowplush Papers_, etc., 79.\n  His rare qualities first shown in _Barry Lyndon_, 83.\n  His defence of taking a rogue for hero, 86.\n  _Vanity Fair_, his irony and pathos, 89.\n  His merciless war on snobbery, 90.\n  His pictures from military life, 91.\n  _Pendennis_, a novel of manners, 93.\n  Tendency to moralise, 95, 106, 110.\n  _Esmond_, 96.\n  Thackeray as historical novelist contrasted with Scott, 97, 103.\n  _The Virginians_, 104.\n  _The Newcomes_, a return to the novel of society, 109.\n  Tendency to caricature, 111.\n  _Denis Duval_, 112.\n  Classification of his works as historical novels and novels of\n    manners, 115.\n  His character, religion and influence, 117.\n\nThiers, opposed to war of 1870, 353, etc.\n\nThorburn's _Bannu_, 163.\n\nTolstoi, 8, 101, 154.\n\nTractarians, 257.\n  Walpole's account of, 372.\n\nTrollope, Anthony, 24.\n\nTurgot, 214.\n\n\n=Utilitarians, The English=, 210-262.\n  Objects of Mr. Stephen's history, 210.\n  A system with a practical aim, 211.\n  Its influence on government, 213.\n  Philosophy of Reid and Stewart, 215.\n  Bentham's doctrines, 216.\n  Brief account of his life, 218.\n  Mr. Stephen's criticisms, 221.\n  Bentham's neglect of history, 223.\n  James Mill, 225.\n  Attitude to the Church, 226.\n  His 'Essay on Government,' Macaulay's attack, 227.\n  Position of Southey and Coleridge, 229.\n  English and Greek theories of the State, 231.\n  Criticism of Malthus and Ricardo, 234;\n    and of James Mill, 238.\n  John Stuart Mill, his life and training, 241.\n  His doctrines and policy, 243.\n  His _Political Economy_, 246.\n  His later writings criticised, 248.\n  _The Subjection of Women_, 251.\n  Mill's theology, 253.\n  Opposition to Utilitarianism, 256.\n  Mr. Stephen's position, 259.\n\n\nVoltaire, 206, 274.\n\nVorontzoff, Russian General, 307, 310.\n\n\nWalpole, Horace, 3, 37, 50.\n\n=Walpole, Sir Spencer=, 368-376.\n  His literary bent as an historian, 369.\n  His method described by himself, 371.\n  His treatment of ecclesiastical controversies, 372.\n  Comparison with Lecky, 375.\n\nWaterloo in Scott and Byron's verse, 172, 190.\n\n'Waverley' Novel, 28, 97. See 'Scott.'\n\nWellington, Duke of, 92, 165.\n\nWerther, Prussian minister at Paris, 348.\n\nWhately, _Historic Doubts_, 14.\n\nWolfe, General, 104.\n\nWordsworth, William:\n  His letters, 37, 43.\n  Described by Carlyle, 64.\n  Criticised by Byron, 188.\n  Also 49, 177, 181, 199, 277.\n\n\nYermoloff, General, 298.\n\n\nZola, 15, 33.\n\nZoroaster, 400, 413.\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPrinted by T. and A. Constable, Printers to His Majesty at the\nEdinburgh University Press","title":"Studies in Literature and History","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":140445}