[FOOTNOTE: The History of Charlemagne; with a Sketch, and History of
France from the Fall of the Roman Empire to the Rise of the Carlovingian
Dynasty. By G.P.R. JAMES, Esq. VOL. II.]
[1832.]
History is sometimes treated under the splendid conception of
'philosophy teaching by example,' and sometimes as an 'old almanac;'
and, agreeably to this latter estimate, we once heard a celebrated
living professor of medicine, who has been since distinguished by royal
favor, and honored with a title, making it his boast, that he had never
charged his memory with one single historical fact; that, on the
contrary, he had, out of profound contempt for a sort of knowledge so
utterly without value in his eyes, anxiously sought to extirpate from
his remembrance,--or, if that were impossible, to perplex and
confound,--any relics of historical records which might happen to
survive from his youthful studies. 'And I am happy to say,' added he,
'and it is consoling to have it in my power conscientiously to declare,
that, although I have not been able to dismiss entirely from my mind
some ridiculous fact about a succession of four great monarchies, (for
human infirmity still clings to our best efforts, and will forever
prevent our attaining perfection,) still I have happily succeeded in
so far confounding all distinctions of things and persons, of time and
of places, that I could not assign the era of any one transaction, as
I humbly trust, within a thousand years. The whole vast series of
history is become a wilderness to me; and my mind, as to all such
absurd knowledge, under the blessing of Heaven, is pretty nearly a
_tabula rasa_.' In this Gothic expression of self-congratulation upon
the extent of his own ignorance, though doubtless founded upon what
the Germans call an _einseitig_ or one-sided estimate, there was however
that sort of truth which is apprehended only by strong minds, and such
as naturally adhere to extreme courses. Certainly the blank knowledge
of facts, which is all that most readers gather from their historical
studies, is a mere deposition of rubbish without cohesion, and resting
upon no basis of theory (that is, of general comprehensive survey)
applied to the political development of nations, and accounting for
the great stages of their internal movements. Rightly and profitably
to understand history, it ought to be studied in as many ways as it
may be written. History, as a composition, falls into three separate
arrangements, obeying three distinct laws, and addressing itself to
three distinct objects. Its first and humblest office is to deliver
a naked unadorned exposition of public events and their circumstances.
This form of history may be styled the purely Narrative; the second
form is that which may be styled the Scenical; and the third the
Philosophic. What is meant by Philosophic History, is well understood
in our present advanced state of society; and few histories are written
except in the simplest condition of human culture, which do not in
part assume its functions, or which are content to rest their entire
attraction upon the abstract interest of facts. The privileges of this
form have, however, been greatly abused; and the truth of facts has
been so much forced to bend before preconceived theories, whereas every
valid theory ought to be abstracted from the facts, that Mr. Southey
and others in this day have set themselves to decry the whole genus
and class--as essentially at war with the very primary purposes of the
art. But, under whatever name, it is evident that philosophy, or an
investigation of the true moving forces in every great train and
sequence of national events, and an exhibition of the motives and the
moral consequences in their largest extent which have concurred with
these events, cannot be omitted in any history above the level of a
childish understanding. Mr. Southey himself will be found to illustrate
this necessity by his practice, whilst assailing it in principle. As
to the other mode of history--history treated scenically, it is upon
the whole the most delightful to the reader, and the most susceptible
of art and ornament in the hands of a skilful composer. The most
celebrated specimen in this department is the Decline and Fall of
Gibbon. And to this class may in part [Footnote 1] be referred the
Historical Sketches of Voltaire. Histories of this class proceed upon
principles of selection, presupposing in the reader a general knowledge
of the great cardinal incidents, and bringing forward into especial
notice those only which are susceptible of being treated with
distinguished effect.
These are the three separate modes of treating history; each has its
distinct purposes; and all must contribute to make up a comprehensive
total of historical knowledge. The first furnishes the facts; the
second opens a thousand opportunities for pictures of manners and
national temper in every stage of their growth; whilst the third
abstracts the political or the ethical moral, and unfolds the philosophy
which knits the history of one nation to that of others, and exhibits
the whole under their internal connection, as parts of one great
process, carrying on the great economy of human improvement by many
stages in many regions at one and the same time.
Pursued upon this comprehensive scale, the study of history is the
study of human nature. But some have continued to reject it, not upon
any objection to the quality of the knowledge gained--but simply on
the ground of its limited extent; contending that in public and
political transactions, such as compose the matter of history, human
nature exhibits itself upon too narrow a scale and under too monotonous
an aspect; that under different names, and in connection with different
dates and regions, events virtually the same are continually revolving;
that whatever novelty may strike the ear, in passages of history taken
from periods widely remote, affects the names only, and circumstances
that are extra-essential; that the passions meantime, the motives, and
(allowing for difference of manners) the means even, are subject to
no variety; that in ancient or in modern history there is no real
accession made to our knowledge of human nature: but that all proceeds
by cycles of endless repetition; and in fact that, according to the
old complaint, 'there is nothing new under the sun.' It is not true
that 'there is nothing new under the sun,' This is the complaint, as
all men know, of a jaded voluptuary, seeking for a new pleasure and
finding none, for reasons which lay in his own vitiated nature. Why
did he seek for novelty? Because old pleasures had ceased to stimulate
his exhausted organs; and that was reason enough why no new pleasure,
had any been found, would operate as such for _him_. The weariness of
spirit, and the poverty of pleasure which he bemoaned as belonging to
our human condition, were not in reality _objective_, (as a German
philosopher would express himself,) or laid in the nature of things,
and thus pressing upon all alike, but _subjective_, that is to say,
derived from the peculiar state and affections of his own organs for
apprehending pleasure. Not the _apprehensibile_, but the _apprehendens_,
was in fault--not the pleasures, or the dewy freshness of pleasures,
had decayed, but the sensibilities of him who thus undertook to appraise
them.
More truly, and more philosophically, it may be said that there is
nothing old under the sun, no absolute repetition. It is the well-known
doctrine of Leibnitz, [Footnote 2] that amongst the familiar objects
of our daily experience, there is no perfect identity. All in external
nature proceeds by endless variety. Infinite change, illimitable
novelty, inexhaustible difference, these are the foundations upon which
nature builds and ratifies her purpose of _individuality_--so
indispensable, amongst a thousand other great uses, to the very elements
of social distinctions and social rights, But for the endless
circumstances of difference which characterize external objects, the
rights of property, for instance, would have stood upon no certain
basis, nor admitted of any general or comprehensive guarantee.
As with external objects, so with human actions; amidst their infinite
approximations and affinities, they are separated by circumstances of
never-ending diversity. History may furnish her striking
correspondences, Biography her splendid parallels, Rome may in certain
cases appear but the mirror of Athens, England of Rome,--and yet, after
all, no character can be cited, no great transaction, no revolution
of 'high-viced cities,' no catastrophe of nations, which, in the midst
of its resemblances to distant correspondences in other ages, docs not
include features of abundant distinction and individualizing
characteristics, so many and so important, as to yield its own peculiar
matter for philosophical meditation and its own separate moral. Rare
is the case in history, or (to speak with suitable boldness) there is
none, which does not involve circumstances capable to a learned eye,
without any external aid from chronology, of referring it to its own
age. The doctrine of Leibnitz, on the grounds of individuality in the
objects of sense, may, in fact, be profitably extended to all the great
political actions of mankind. Many pass, in a popular sense, for pure
transcripts or duplicates of similar cases in past times; but,
accurately speaking, none are such truly and substantially. Neither
are the differences, by which they are severally marked and featured,
interesting only to the curiosity or to the spirit of minute research.
All public acts in the degree in which they are great and comprehensive,
are steeped in living feelings, and saturated with the spirit of their
own age; and the features of their individuality, that is, the
circumstances which chiefly distinguish them from their nearest
parallels in other times, and chiefly prevent them from lapsing into
blank repetitions of the same identical case, are generally the very
cardinal points, the organs, and the depositories which lodge whatever
best expresses the temper and tendencies of the age to which they
belong. So far are these special points of distinction from being
slight or trivial, that in them _par excellence_ is gathered and
concentrated, whatever a political philosopher would be best pleased
to insulate and to converge within his field of view.
This, indeed, is evident upon consideration; and is in some sense
implied in the very verbal enunciation of the proposition; _vi termini_,
it should strike every man who reflects--that in great national
transactions of different ages, so far resembling each other as to
merit the description of _parallels_, all the circumstances of
agreement--all those which compose the resemblance for the very reason
that they are _common_ to both periods of time, specially and
characteristically belong to neither. It is the differential, and not
the common--the points of special dissimilitude, not those of general
similitude--which manifestly must be looked to, for the philosophic
valuation of the times or the people--for the adjudication of their
peculiar claims in a comparison with other times and other people--and
for the appraisement of the progress made, whether positively for its
total amount, or relatively to itself, for its rate of advance at each
separate stage.
It is in this way of critical examination, that comparison and the
collation of apparent parallels, from being a pure amusement of
ingenuity, rises to a philosophic labor, and that the study of History
becomes at once dignified and in a most practical sense profitable.
It is the opinion of the subtlest and the most combining (if not the
most useful) philosopher whom England has produced, that a true
knowledge of history confers the gift of prophecy; or that intelligently
and sagaciously to have looked backwards, is potentially to have looked
forwards. For example, he is of opinion that any student of the great
English civil war in the reign of Charles I., who should duly have
noted the signs precurrent and concurrent of those days, and should
also have read the contemporary political pamphlets, coming thus
prepared, could not have failed, after a corresponding study of the
French literature from 1750 to 1788, and in particular, after collecting
the general sense and temper of the French people from the _Cahiers_,
(or codes of instruction transmitted by the electoral bodies to the
members of the first National Assembly,) to foresee in clear succession
the long career of revolutionary frenzy, which soon afterwards deluged
Europe with tears and blood. This may perhaps be conceded, and without
prejudice to the doctrine just now delivered, of endless diversity in
political events. For it is certain that the political movements of
nations obey everlasting laws, and travel through the stages of known
cycles, which thus insure enough of resemblance to guarantee the general
outline of a sagacious prophecy; whilst on the other hand, the times,
the people, and the extraordinary minds which, in such critical eras,
soon reveal themselves at the head of affairs, never fail of producing
their appropriate and characteristic results of difference. Sameness
enough there will always be to encourage the true political seer; with
difference enough to confer upon each revolution its separate character
and its peculiar interest.
All this is strikingly illustrated in the history of those great
revolutionary events, which belong to the life and times of the Emperor
Charlemagne. If any one period in history might be supposed to offer a
barren and unprofitable picture of war, rapine, and bloodshed--unfeatured
by characteristic differences, and unimproved by any peculiar moral,
it is this section of the European annals. Removed from our present
times by a thousand years, divided from us by the profound gulf of what
we usually denominate the _dark ages_; placed, in fact, entirely upon
the farther [Footnote 3] side of that great barrier--this period of
history can hardly be expected to receive much light from contemporary
documents in an age so generally illiterate. Not from national archives,
or state papers, when diplomacy was so rare, when so large a proportion
of its simple transactions was conducted by personal intercourse, and
after the destruction wrought amongst its slender chancery of written
memorials by the revolution of one entire millenium. Still less could we
have reason to hope for much light from private memoirs at a period when
the means of writing were as slenderly diffused as the motives; when the
rare endowments, natural and acquired, for composing history could so
seldom happen to coincide with the opportunities for obtaining accurate
information; when the writers were so few, and the audience so limited
and so widely dispersed, to which they could then profitably address
themselves. With or without illustration, however, the age itself and
its rapid succession of wars between barbarous and semi-barbarous tribes,
might, if any one chapter in history, be presumed barren of either interest
or instruction, wearisomely monotonous; and, by comparison with any
parallel section from the records of other nations in the earliest
stages of dawning civilization, offering no one feature of novelty
beyond the names of the combatants, their local and chronological
relations, and the peculiar accidents and unimportant circumstances
of variety in the conduct or issue of the several battles which they
fought.
Yet, in contradiction to all these very plausible presumptions, even
this remote period teems with its own peculiar and separate instruction.
It is the first great station, so to speak, which we reach after
entering the portals of modern [Footnote 4] history. It presents us
with the evolution and propagation of Christianity in its present
central abodes; with the great march of civilization, and the gathering
within the pale of that mighty agency for elevating human nature, and
beneath the gentle yoke of the only true and beneficent religion, of
the last rebellious recusants among the European family of nations.
We meet also, in conjunction with the other steps of the vast humanizing
process then going on, the earliest efforts at legislation--recording
at the same time the barbarous condition of those for whom they were
designed, and the anti-barbarous views and aspirations of the legislator
in the midst of his condescensions to the infirmities of his subjects.
Here also we meet with the elementary state, growing and as yet
imperfectly rooted, of feudalism. Here, too, we behold in their
incunabula, forming and arranging themselves under the pressure of
circumstances, the existing kingdoms of Christendom. So far, then,
from being a mere echo, or repetition, of other passages in history,
the period of Charlemagne is rich and novel in its instruction, and
almost (we might say) unique in the quality of that instruction. For
here only perhaps we see the social system forming itself in the mine,
and the very process, as it were, of crystallization going on beneath
our eyes. Mr. James, therefore, may be regarded as not less fortunate
in the choice of his subject, than meritorious in its treatment; indeed,
his work is not so much the best, as the only history of Charlemagne
which will hereafter be cited. For it reposes upon a far greater body
of research and collation, than has hitherto been applied [Footnote
4] even in France to this interesting theme; and in effect it is the
first account of the great emperor and his times which can, with a due
valuation of the term, be complimented with the title of a _critical_
memoir. Charlemagne, 'the greatest man of the middle ages,' in the
judgment of his present biographer, was born A. D. 742--seven years
before his father assumed the _name_ of King. This date has been
disputed: but, on the whole, we may take it as settled, upon various
collateral computations, that the year now assigned is the true one.
The place is less certain: but we do not think Mr. James warranted in
saying that it is 'unknown.' If every thing is to be pronounced
'unknown,' for which there is no absolute proof of a kind to satisfy
forensic rules of evidence, or which has ever been made a question for
debate, in that case we may apply a sponge to the greater part of
history before the era of printing.
Aix-la-Chapelle, Mr. James goes on to tell us, is _implied_ as the
birth-place of one of the chief authorities. But our own impression
is, that according to the general belief of succeeding ages, it was
not Aix-la-Chapelle, but Ingelheim, a village near Mentz, to which
that honor belonged. Some have supposed that Carlsburg, in Bavaria,
was the true place of his birth; and, indeed, that it drew its name
from that distinguished event. Frantzius, in particular, says, that
in his day the castle of that place was still shown to travellers with
the reverential interest attached to such a pretension. But, after
all, he gives his own vote for Ingelheim; and it is singular that he
does not so much as mention Aix-la-Chapelle. Of his education and his
early years, Mr. James is of opinion that we know as little as of his
birth-place. Certainly our information upon these particulars is neither
full nor circumstantial; yet we know as much, perhaps, in these
respects, of Charlemagne as of Napoleon Bonaparte. And remarkable
enough it is, that not relatively, (or making allowances for the age,)
but absolutely, Charlemagne was much more accomplished than Napoleon
in the ordinary business of a _modern_ education; Charlemagne, in the
middle of the 8th century, than Napoleon in the latter end of the 18th.
Charlemagne was, in fact, the most accomplished man of his age; Napoleon
a sciolist for any age. The tutor of Charlemagne was Peter of Pisa,
a man eminent at that time for his attainments in literature (_in re
grammatica_). From him it was that Charlemagne learned Latin and Greek;
Greek in such a degree 'ut sufficienter intelligeret,' and Latin to
the extent of using it familiarly and fluently in conversation. Now,
as to the man of the 18th century, Greek was to him as much a sealed
language as Chinese; and, even with regard to Latin, his own secretary
doubts, upon one occasion, whether he were sufficiently master of it
to translate Juvenal's expressive words of _Panem et Circenses_. Yet
he had enjoyed the benefits of an education in a Royal College, in a
country which regards itself self-complacently as at the head of
civilization. Again, there is a pretty strong tradition, (which could
hardly arise but upon some foundation,) that Charlemagne had cultivated
the Arabic so far as to talk it; [Footnote 6] having no motive to that
attainment more urgent than that political considerations made it
eligible for him to undertake an expedition against those who could
negotiate in no other language. Now, let it be considered how very
much more powerful arguments there were in Napoleon's position for
mastering the German and the English. His continental policy moved
entirely upon the pivot of central Europe, that is, the German system
of nations--the great federation of powers upon the Rhine and the
Danube. And, as to England, his policy and his passions alike pointed
in that direction as uniformly and as inevitably as the needle to the
Pole: every morning, we are told, tossing aside the Paris journals as
so many babbling echoes of his own public illusions, expressing rather
what was desired, than what was probable, he required of his secretary
that he should read off into French the leading newspapers of England.
And many were the times when he started up in fury, and passionately
taxed his interpreter with mistranslation; sometimes as softening the
expressions, sometimes as over-coloring their violence. Evidently he
lay at the mercy of one whom he knew to be wanting in honor, and who
had it in his power, either by way of abetting any sinister views of
his own, or in collusion with others, to suppress--to add--to
garble--and in every possible way to color and distort what he was
interpreting. Yet neither could this humiliating sense of dependency
on the one hand, nor the instant pressure of political interest on the
other, ever urge Napoleon to the effort of learning English in the
first case, German or Spanish in the second. Charlemagne again
cultivated most strenuously and successfully, as an accomplishment
peculiarly belonging to the functions of his high station, the art and
practice of eloquence; and he had this reward of his exertions--that
he was accounted the most eloquent man of his age: 'totis viribus ad
orationem exercendam conversus naturalem facundiam ita roboravit studio,
ut praeter [l. _propter_] promptum ac profluens sermonis genus _facile
aevi sui eloquentissimus crederetur.'
Turn to Bonaparte. It was a saying of his sycophants, that he sometimes
spoke like a god, and sometimes worse than the feeblest of mortals.
But, says one who knew him well,--the mortal I have often heard,
unfortunately never yet the god. He who sent down this sneer to
posterity, was at Napoleon's right hand on the most memorable occasion
of his whole career--that cardinal occasion, as we may aptly term it,
(for upon _that_ his whole fortunes hinged,) when he intruded violently
upon the legislative body, dissolved the Directory and effected the
revolution of the 18th Brumaire. That revolution it was which raised
him to the Consular power; and by that revolution, considered in its
manner and style, we may judge of Napoleon in several of his chief
pretensions--courage, presence of mind, dignity, and eloquence; for
then, if ever, these qualities were all in instant requisition; one
word effectually urged by the antagonist parties, a breath, a gesture,
a nod, suitably followed up, would have made the total difference
between ruler of France and a traitor hurried away _a la lanterne_.
It is true that the miserable imbecility of all who should have led
the hostile parties, the irresolution and the quiet-loving temper of
Moreau, the base timidity of Bernadotte, in fact, the total defect of
heroic minds amongst the French of that day, neutralized the defects
and more than compensated the blunders of Napoleon. But these were
advantages that could not be depended on: a glass of brandy
extraordinary might have emboldened the greatest poltroon to do that
which, by once rousing a movement of popular enthusiasm, once making
a beginning in that direction, would have precipitated the whole affair
into hands which must have carried it far beyond the power of any party
to control. Never, according to all human calculation, were eloquence
and presence of mind so requisite: never was either so deplorably
wanting. A passionate exposition of the national degradations inflicted
by the imbecility of the Directors, an appeal to the Assembly as
Frenchmen, contrasting the glories of 1796 with the humiliating
campaigns that had followed, might, by connecting the new candidate
for power with the public glory, and the existing rulers with all the
dishonors which had settled on the French banners, have given an
electric shock to the patriotism of the audience, such as would have
been capable for the moment of absorbing their feelings as partisans.
In a French assembly, movements of that nature, under a momentary
impulse, are far from being uncommon. Here, then, if never before, and
never again, the grandeur of the occasion demanded--almost, we might
say, implored, and clamorously invoked, the effectual powers of
eloquence and perfect self-possession. How was the occasion met? Let
us turn to the actual scene, as painted in lively colors by a friend
and an eye-witness: [Footnote 7]--'The accounts brought every instant
to General Bonaparte determined him to enter the hall [of the Ancients]
and take part in the debate. His entrance was hasty and in anger--no
favorable prognostics of what he would say. The passage by which we
entered led directly forward into the middle of the house; our backs
were towards the door; Bonaparte had the President on his right; he
could not see him quite in front. I found myself on the General's
right; our clothes touched: Berthier was on his left.
'All the harangues composed for Bonaparte after the event differ from
each other;--no miracle that. There was, in fact, none pronounced to
the Ancients; unless a broken conversation with the President, carried
on without nobleness, propriety, or dignity, may be called a speech.
We heard only these words--"_Brothers in arms--frankness of a soldier_."
The interrogatories of the President were clear. Nothing could be more
confused or worse enounced, than the ambiguous and disjointed replies
of Bonaparte. He spoke incoherently of volcanoes--secret
agitations--victories--constitution violated. He found fault even
with the 18th Fructidor, of which he had himself been the prime
instigator and most powerful upholder.' [Not, reader, observe, from
bold time-serving neglect of his own principles, but from absolute
distraction of mind, and incoherency of purpose.] 'Then came
_Caesar_--_Cromwell_--_Tyrant_'--[allusions which, of all others, were
the most unseasonable for that crisis, and for his position.] 'He
repeated several times--_I have no more than that to tell you_; and
he had told them nothing. Then out came the words,--_Liberty, Equality:_
for these every one saw he had not come to St. Cloud. Then his action
became animated, and we lost him--comprehending nothing beyond _18th
Fructidor, 30 Prairial, hypocrites, intriguers; I am not so; I shall
declare all; I will abdicate the power when the danger which threatens
the Republic has passed_.' Then, after further instances of Napoleon's
falsehood, and the self-contradictory movements of his disjointed
babble, the secretary goes on thus: 'These interruptions, apostrophes,
and interrogations, overwhelmed him; he believed himself lost. The
disapprobation became more violent, and his discourse still more wanting
in method and coherence. Sometimes he addressed the representatives,
quite stultified; sometimes the military in the court,' [_i. e._
outside,] 'who were beyond hearing; then, without any transition, he
spoke of the thunder of war--saying, _I am accompanied by the god of
war and fortune_. The President then calmly observed to him that he
found nothing, absolutely nothing, upon which they could deliberate;
that all he had said was vague. _Explain yourself, unfold the plots
into which you have been invited to enter_. Bonaparte repeated the
same things; and in what style! No idea in truth can be formed of the
whole scene, unless by those present. There was not the least order
in all he stammered out (to speak sincerely) with the most inconceivable
incoherence. Bonaparte was no orator. Perceiving the bad effect produced
upon the meeting by this rhapsody, and the progressive confusion of
the speaker, I whispered (pulling his coat gently at the same
time)--'Retire, General, you no longer know what you are saying.' I
made a sign to Berthier to second me in persuading him to leave the
place; when suddenly, after stammering out a few words more, he turned
round, saying, 'Let all who love me follow.' So ended this famous
scene--in which, more than in any other upon record, eloquence and
presence of mind were needful. And if it should be said that vagueness
was not altogether the least eligible feature in a speech whose very
purpose was to confuse, and to leave no room for answer, we reply--true;
but then it was the vagueness of art, which promised to be serviceable,
and that of preconcerted perplexity, not the vagueness of incoherence,
and a rhapsody of utter contradiction. [Footnote 8]
What a contrast all this to the indefeasible majesty of Charlemagne--to
his courage and presence of mind, which always rose with the occasion,
and, above all, to his promptitude of winning eloquence, that _promptum
ac praftuens genus sermonis_, which caused him to be accounted _evi
sui eloquentissimus!_
Passing for a moment to minor accomplishments, we find that Charlemagne
excelled in athletic and gymnastic exercises; he was a _pancratiast_.
Bonaparte wanted those even which were essential to his own daily
security. Charlemagne swam well; Bonaparte not at all. Charlemagne was
a first-rate horseman even amongst the Franks; Napoleon rode ill
originally, and no practice availed to give him a firm seat, a graceful
equestrian deportment, or a skilful bridle hand. In a barbarous age
the one possessed all the elegances and ornamental accomplishments of
a gentleman; the other, in a most polished age, and in a nation of
even false refinement, was the sole barbarian of his time; presenting,
in his deficiencies, the picture of a low mechanic--and, in his positive
qualities, the violence and brutality of a savage. [Footnote 9] Hence,
by the way, the extreme folly of those who have attempted to trace a
parallel between Napoleon and the first Caesar. The heaven-born Julius,
as beyond all dispute the greatest man of ancient history in moral
grandeur, and therefore raised unspeakably above comparison with one
who was eminent, even amongst ordinary men, for the pettiness of his
passions--so also, upon an intellectual trial, will be found to
challenge pretty nearly an equal precedency. Meantime, allowing for
the inequality of their advantages, even Caesar would not have disdained
a comparison with Charlemagne. All the knowledge current in Rome,
Athens, or Rhodes, at the period of Caesar's youth, the entire cycle
of a nobleman's education in a republic where all noblemen were from
their birth dedicated to public services, this--together with much and
various knowledge peculiar to himself and his own separate objects--had
Caesar mastered; whilst, in an age of science, and in a country where
the fundamental science of mathematics was generally diffused in
unrivalled perfection, it is well ascertained that Bonaparte's knowledge
did not go beyond an elementary acquaintance with the first six books
of Euclid; but, on the other hand, Charlemagne, even in that early
age, was familiar with the intricate mathematics and the elaborate
_computus_ of Practical Astronomy.
But these collations, it will be said, are upon questions not primarily
affecting their peculiar functions. They are questions more or less
extra-judicial. The true point of comparison is upon the talents of
policy in the first place, and strategies in the second. A trial between
two celebrated performers in these departments, is at any rate
difficult; and much more so when they are separated by vast intervals
of time. Allowances must be made, so many and so various; compensations
or balances struck upon so many diversities of situation; there is so
much difference in the modes of warfare--offensive and defensive; the
financial means, the available alliances, and other resources, are
with so much difficulty appraised--in order to raise ourselves to that
station from which the whole question can be overlooked, that nothing
short of a general acquaintance with the history, statistics, and
diplomacy of the two periods, can lay a ground for the solid
adjudication of so large a comparison. Meantime, in the absence of
such an investigation, pursued upon a scale of suitable proportions,
what if we should sketch a rapid outline [Greek Text: os en tupo
pexilabeln] of its _elements_, (to speak by a metaphor borrowed from
practical astronomy)--_i. e._ of the principal and most conspicuous
points which its path would traverse? How much these two men, each
central to a mighty system in his own days, how largely and essentially
they differed--whether in kind or in degree of merit, will appear in
the course even of the hastiest sketch. The circumstances in which
they agreed, and that these were sufficient to challenge an inquiry
into their characteristic differences, and to support the interest of
such an inquiry, will probably be familiar to most readers, as among
the common places of general history which survive even in the daily
records of conversation. Few people can fail to know--that each of
these memorable men stood at the head of a new era in European history,
and of a great movement in the social development of nations; that
each laid the foundations for a new dynasty in his own family, the one
by building forwards upon a basis already formed by his two immediate
progenitors, the other by dexterously applying to a great political
crisis his own military preponderance; and finally, that each forfeited
within a very brief period--the one in his own person, the other in
the persons of his immediate descendants--the giddy ascent which he
had mastered, and all the distinctions which it conferred; in short,
that 'Time, which gave, did his own gifts confound;' [Footnote 10]
but with this mighty difference--that Time co-operated in the one case
with extravagant folly in the individual, and in the other with the
irresistible decrees of Providence.
Napoleon Bonaparte and Charlemagne were both, in a memorable degree,
the favorites of fortune. It is true, that the latter found himself
by inheritance in possession of a throne, which the other ascended by
the fortunate use of his own military advantages. But the throne of
Charlemagne had been recently won by his family, and in a way so nearly
corresponding to that which was afterwards pursued by Napoleon, that
in effect, considering how little this usurpation had been hallowed
by time, the throne might in each case, if not won precisely on the
same terms, be considered to be held by the same tenure. Charlemagne,
not less than Napoleon, was the privileged child of revolution; he was
required by the times, and indispensable to the crisis which had arisen
for the Franks; and he was himself protected by the necessities to
which he ministered. Clouds had risen, or were rising, at that era,
on every quarter of France; from every side she was menaced by hostile
demonstrations; and, without the counsels of a Charlemagne, and with
an energy of action inferior to his, it is probable that she would
have experienced misfortunes which, whilst they depressed herself,
could not but have altered the destinies of Christendom for many ages
to come. The resources of France, it is true, were immense; and, as
regarded the positions of her enemies, they were admirably concentrated.
But to be made available in the whole extent which the times demanded,
it was essential that they should be wielded by a first-rate statesman,
supported by a first-rate soldier. The statesman and the soldier were
fortunately found united in the person of one man; and that man, by
the rarest of combinations, the same who was clothed with the supreme
power of the State. Less power, or power less harmonious, or power the
most consummate, administered with less absolute skill, would doubtless
have been found incompetent to struggle with the tempestuous assaults
which then lowered over the entire frontier of France. It was natural,
and, upon the known constitution of human nature, pretty nearly
inevitable, that, in the course of the very extended warfare which
followed, love for that glorious trade--so irritating and so
contagious--should be largely developed in a mind as aspiring as
Charlemagne's, and stirred by such generous sensibilities. Yet is it
in no one instance recorded, that these sympathies with the pomp and
circumstance of war, moved him to undertake so much as a single
campaign, or an expedition which was not otherwise demanded by his
judgment, or that they interfered even to bias or give an impulse to
his judgment, where it had previously wavered. In every case he tried
the force of negotiation before he appealed to arms; nay, sometimes
he condescended so far in his love of peace, as to attempt purchasing
with gold rights or concessions of expediency, which he knew himself
in a situation amply to extort by arms. Nor where these courses were
unavailing, and where peace was no longer to be maintained by any
sacrifices, is it ever found that Charlemagne, in adopting the course
of war, suffered himself to pursue it as an end valuable in and for
itself. And yet _that_ is a result not uncommon; for a long and
conscientious resistance to a measure originally tempting to the
feelings, once being renounced as utterly unavailing, not seldom issues
in a headlong surrender of the heart to purposes so violently thwarted
for a time. And even as a means, war was such in the eyes of Charlemagne
to something beyond the customary ends of victory and domestic security.
Of all conquerors, whose history is known sufficiently to throw light
upon their motives, Charlemagne is the only one who looked forward to
the benefit of those he conquered, as a principal element amongst the
fruits of conquest. 'Doubtless,' says his present biographer, 'to
defend his own infringed territory, and to punish the aggressors,
formed a part of his design; but, beyond that, he aimed at civilizing
a people whose barbarism had been for centuries the curse of the
neighboring countries, and at the same time communicating to the cruel
savages, who shed the blood of their enemies less in the battle than
in the sacrifice, the bland and mitigating spirit of the Christian
religion.'
This applies more particularly and circumstantially to his Saxon
campaigns; but the spirit of the remark is of general application. At
that time a weak light of literature was beginning to diffuse
improvement in Italy, in France, and in England. France, by situation,
geographically and politically speaking, by the prodigious advantage
which she enjoyed exclusively of an undivided government, and
consequently of entire unity in her counsels, was peculiarly fitted
for communicating the benefits of intellectual culture to the rest of
the European continent, and for sustaining the great mission of
civilizing conquest. Above all, as the great central depository of
Christian knowledge, she seemed specially stationed by Providence as
a martial apostle for carrying by the sword that mighty blessing,
which, even in an earthly sense, Charlemagne could not but value as
the best engine of civilization, to the potent infidel nations on her
southern and eastern frontier. A vast revolution was at hand for Europe;
all her tribes were destined to be fused in a new crucible, to be
recast in happier moulds, and to form one family of enlightened nations,
to compose one great collective brotherhood, united by the tie of a
common faith and a common hope, and hereafter to be known to the rest
of the world, and to proclaim this unity, under the comprehensive name
of _Christendom_. Baptism therefore was the indispensable condition
and forerunner of civilization; and from the peculiar ferocity and the
sanguinary superstitions which disfigured the Pagan nations in Central
Europe, of which the leaders and the nearest to France were the Saxons,
and from the bigotry and arrogant intolerance of the Mahometan nations
who menaced her Spanish frontier, it was evident that by the sword
only it was possible that baptism should be effectually propagated.
War, therefore, for the highest purposes of peace, became the present
and instant policy of France; bloodshed for the sake of a religion the
most benign; and desolation with a view to permanent security. The
Frankish Emperor was thus invited to indulge in this most captivating
of luxuries--in the royal tiger-hunt of war--as being also at this
time, and for a special purpose, the sternest of duties. He had a
special dispensation for wielding at times a barbarian and exterminating
sword--but for the extermination of barbarism; and he was privileged
to be in a single instance an Attila, in order that Attilas might no
more arise. Simply as the enemies, bitter and perfidious of France,
the Saxons were a legitimate object of war; as the standing enemies
of civilization, who would neither receive it for themselves, nor
tolerate its peaceable enjoyment in others, they and Charlemagne stood
opposed to each other as it were by hostile instincts. And this most
merciful of conquerors was fully justified in departing for once, and
in such a quarrel, from his general rule of conduct; and for a paramount
purpose of comprehensive service to all mankind, we entirely agree
with Mr. James, that Charlemagne had a sufficient plea, and that he
has been censured only by calumnious libellers, or by the feeble-
minded, for applying a Roman severity of punishment to treachery
continually repeated. The question is one purely of policy; and it may
be, as Mr. James is disposed to think, that in point of judgment the
emperor erred; but certainly the case was one of great difficulty; for
the very infirmity even of maternal indulgence, if obstinately and
continually abused, must find its ultimate limit; and we have no right
to suppose that Charlemagne made his election for the harsher course
without a violent self-conflict. His former conduct towards those
very people, his infinite forbearance, his long-suffering, his monitory
threats, all make it a duty to presume that he suffered the acutest
pangs in deciding upon a vindictive punishment; that he adopted this
course as being virtually by its consequences the least sanguinary;
and finally, that if he erred, it was not through his heart, but by
resisting its very strongest impulses.
It is remarkable that both Charlemagne and Bonaparte succeeded as by
inheritance to one great element of their enormous power; each found,
ready to his hands, that vast development of martial enthusiasm, upon
which, as its first condition, their victorious career reposed. Each
also found the great armory of resources opened, which such a spirit,
diffused over so vast a territory, must in any age ensure. Of
Charlemagne, in an age when as yet the use of infantry was but
imperfectly known, it may be said symbollically, that he found the
universal people, patrician and plebeian, chieftain and vassal, with
the left foot [Footnote 11] in the stirrup--of Napoleon, in an age
when the use of artillery was first understood, that he found every
man standing to his gun. Both, in short, found war _in pro-cinctu_--both
found the people whom they governed, willing to support the privations
and sacrifices which war imposes; hungering and thirsting for its
glories, its pomps and triumphs; entering even with lively sympathy
of pleasure into its hardships and its trials; and thus, from within
and from without, prepared for military purposes. So far both had the
same good fortune; [Footnote 12] neither had much merit. The enthusiasm
of Napoleon's days was the birth of republican sentiments, and built
on a reaction of civic and patriotic ardor. In the very plenitude of
their rage against kings, the French Republic were threatened with
attack, and with the desolation of their capital by a banded crusade
of kings; and they rose in frenzy to meet the aggressors. The Allied
Powers had themselves kindled the popular excitement which provoked
this vast development of martial power amongst the French, and first
brought their own warlike strength within their own knowledge. In the
days of Charlemagne the same martial character was the result of ancient
habits and training, encouraged and effectually organized by the energy
of the aspiring mayors of the palace, or great lieutenants of the
Merovingian kings. But agreeing in this--that they were indebted to
others for the martial spirit which they found, and that they turned
to their account a power not created by themselves, Charlemagne and
Napoleon differed, however, in the utmost possible extent as to the
final application of their borrowed advantages. Napoleon applied them
to purposes the very opposite of those which had originally given them
birth. Nothing less than patriotic ardor in defence of what had at one
time appeared to be the cause of civil liberty, could have availed to
evoke those mighty hosts which gathered in the early years of the
Revolution on the German and Italian frontiers of France. Yet were
these hosts applied, under the perfect despotism of Napoleon, to the
final extinction of liberty; and the armies of Jacobinism, who had
gone forth on a mission of liberation for Europe, were at last employed
in riveting the chains of their compatriots, and forging others for
the greater part of Christendom. Far otherwise was the conduct of
Charlemagne. The Frankish government, though we are not circumstantially
acquainted with its forms, is known to have been tempered by a large
infusion of popular influence. This is proved, as Mr. James observes,
by the deposition of Chilperic--by the grand national assemblies of
the Champ de Mars--and by other great historical facts. Now, the
situation of Charlemagne, successor to a throne already firmly
established, and in his own person a mighty amplifier of its glories,
and a leader in whom the Franks had unlimited confidence, threw into
his hands an unexampled power of modifying the popular restraints upon
himself in any degree he might desire.
--'Nunquam libertas gratior exit, Quam sub rege pio'--
is the general doctrine. But as to the Franks, in particular, if they
resembled their modern representatives in their most conspicuous moral
feature, it would be more true to say, that the bribe and the almost
magical seduction for _them_, capable of charming away their sternest
resolutions, and of relaxing the hand of the patriot when grasping his
noblest birthright, has ever lain in great military success, in the
power of bringing victory to the national standards, and in continued
offerings on the altar of public vanity. In _their_ estimate for above
a thousand years, it has been found true that the harvest of a few
splendid campaigns, reaped upon the fields of neighboring nations, far
outweighs any amount of humbler blessings in the shape of civil and
political privileges. Charlemagne as a conqueror, and by far the
greatest illustrator of the Frankish name, might easily have conciliated
their gratitude and admiration into a surrender of popular rights; or,
profiting by his high situation, and the confidence reposed in him,
he might have undermined their props; or, by a direct exertion of his
power, he might have peremptorily resumed them. Slowly and surely, or
summarily and with violence, this great emperor had the national
privileges in his power. But the beneficence of his purposes required
no such aggression on the rights of his subjects. War brought with it
naturally some extension of power; and a military jurisdiction is
necessarily armed with some discretionary license. But in the civil
exercise of his authority, the emperor was content with the powers
awarded to him by law and custom. His great schemes of policy were all
of a nature to prepare his subjects for a condition of larger political
influence; he could not in consistency be adverse to an end towards
which he so anxiously prepared the means. And it is certain, that,
although some German writers have attempted to fasten upon Charlemagne
a charge of vexatious inquisition into the minor police of domestic
life, and into petty details of economy below the majesty of his
official character, even _their_ vigilance of research--sharpened by
malice--has been unable to detect throughout his long reign, and in
the hurry of sudden exigencies natural to a state of uninterrupted
warfare and alarm, one single act of tyranny, personal revenge, or
violation of the existing laws. Charlemagne, like Napoleon, had bitter
enemies--some who were such to his government and his public purposes;
some again to his person upon motives of private revenge. Tassilo, for
example, the Duke of Bavaria, and Desiderius, the King of the Lombards,
acted against him upon the bitterest instigations of feminine
resentment; each of these princes conceiving himself concerned in a
family quarrel, pursued the cause which he had adopted in the most
ferocious spirit of revenge, and would undoubtedly have inflicted death
upon Charlemagne, had he fallen into their power. Of this he must
himself have been sensible; and yet, when the chance of war threw both
of them into his power, he forbore to exercise even those rights of
retaliation for their many provocations which the custom of that age
sanctioned universally; he neither mutilated nor deprived them of
sight. Confinement to religious seclusion was all that he inflicted;
and in the case of Tassilo, where mercy could be more safely exercised,
he pardoned him so often, that it became evident in what current his
feelings ran, wherever the cruel necessities of the public service
allowed him to indulge them.
In the conspiracy formed against him, upon the provocations offered
to the Frankish nobility by his third wife, he showed the same spirit
of excessive clemency,--a clemency which again reminds us of the first
Caesar, and which was not merely parental, but often recalls to us the
long-suffering and tenderness of spirit which belong to the infirmity
of maternal affection. Here are no Palms, executed for no real offence
known to the laws of his country, and without a trial such as any laws
in any country would have conceded. No innocent D'Enghiens murdered,
without the shadow of provocation, and purely on account of his own
reversionary rights; not for doing or meditating wrong, but because
the claims which unfortunately he inherited might by possibility become
available in his person; not, therefore, even as an enemy by intention
or premeditation; not even as an apparent competitor, but in the rare
character of a competitor presumptive; one who might become an ideal
competitor by the extinction of a whole family, and even then no
substantial competitor until after a revolution in France, which must
already have undermined the throne of Bonaparte. To his own subjects,
and his own kinsmen, never did Charlemagne forget to be, in acts, as
well as words, a parent. In his foreign relations, it is true, for one
single purpose of effectual warning Charlemagne put forth a solitary
trait of Roman harshness. This is the case which we have already noticed
and defended; and, with a view to the comparison with Napoleon,
remarkable enough it is, that the numbers sacrificed on this occasion
are pretty nearly the same as on the celebrated massacre at Jaffa,
perpetrated by Napoleon in council. [Footnote 13] In the Saxon, as in
the Syrian massacre, the numbers were between four and five thousand;
not that the numbers or the scale of the transaction can affect its
principle, but it is well to know it, because then to its author, as
now to us who sit as judges upon it, that circumstance cannot be
supposed to have failed in drawing the very keenest attention to its
previous consideration. A butchery, that was in a numerical sense so
vast, cannot be supposed to have escaped its author in a hurry, or to
be open to any of the usual palliations from precipitance or
inattention. Charlemagne and Napoleon must equally be presumed to have
regarded this act on all sides, to have weighed it in and for itself,
and to have traversed by anticipation the whole sum of its consequences.
In the one case we find a general, the leader of a _soi-disant_
Christian army, the representative of the 'most Christian' nation,
and, as amongst infidels, specially charged with the duty of supporting
the sanctity of Christian good faith, unfortunately pledged by his own
most confidential and accredited agents, officers bearing on their
persons the known ensigns of his _aides-de-camp_, to a comprehensive
promise of mercy to a large body of Turkish troops, having arms in
their hands, and otherwise well-disposed and well able to have made
a desperate defence. This promise was peculiarly embarrassing;
provisions ran short, and, to detain them as prisoners, would draw
murmurs from his own troops, now suffering hardships themselves. On
the other hand, to have turned them adrift would have insured their
speedy re-appearance as active enemies to a diminished and debilitated
army; for, as to sending them off by sea, that measure was
impracticable, as well from want of shipping as from the presence of
the English. Such was the dilemma, doubtless perplexing enough, but
not more so than in ten thousand other cases, for which their own
appropriate ten thousand remedies have been found. What was the issue?
The entire body of gallant (many, doubtless, young and innocent)
soldiers, disarmed upon the faith of a solemn guarantee from a Christian
general, standing in the very steps of the noble (and the more noble,
because bigoted) Crusaders, were all mowed down by the musketry of
their thrice accursed enemy; and, by way of crowning treachery with
treachery, some few who had swum off to a point of rock in the sea,
were lured back to destruction under a second series of promises,
violated almost at the very instant when uttered. A larger or more
damnable murder does not stain the memory of any brigand, buccaneer,
or pirate; nor has any army, Huns, Vandals, or Mogul Tartars, ever
polluted itself by so base a perfidy; for, in this memorable tragedy,
the whole army were accomplices.
Now, as to Charlemagne, he had tried the effect of forgiveness and
lenity often in vain. Clemency was misinterpreted; it had been, and
it would be, construed into conscious weakness. Under these
circumstances, with a view, undoubtedly, to the final extinction of
rebellions which involved infinite bloodshed on both sides, he permitted
one trial to be made of a severe and sanguinary chastisement. It failed;
insurrections proceeded as before, and it was not repeated. But the
main difference in the principle of the two cases is this, that
Charlemagne had exacted no penalty but one, which the laws of war in
that age conferred, and even in this age the laws of allegiance. However
bloody, therefore, this tragedy was no murder. It was a judicial
punishment, built upon known acts and admitted laws, designed in mercy,
consented to unwillingly, and finally repented. Lastly, instead of
being one in a multitude of acts bearing the same character, it stood
alone in a long career of intercourse with wild and ferocious nations,
owning no control but that of the spear and sword.
Many are the points of comparison, and some of them remarkable enough,
in the other circumstances of the two careers, separated by a thousand
years. Both effected the passage of the Great St. Bernard; [Footnote
14] but the one in an age when mechanical forces, and the aids of art,
were yet imperfectly developed; the other in an age when science had
armed the arts of war and of locomotion with the fabulous powers of
the Titans, and with the whole resources of a mighty nation at his
immediate disposal. Both, by means of this extraordinary feat, achieved
the conquest of Lombardy in a single hour; but Charlemagne, without
once risking the original impression of this _coup d'eclat_; Napoleon,
on the other hand, so entirely squandering and forfeiting his own
success, that in the battle which followed he was at first utterly
defeated, and but for the blunder of his enemy, and the sudden aid of
an accomplished friend, irretrievably. Both suffered politically by
the repudiation of a wife; but Charlemagne, under adequate provocation,
and with no final result of evil; Bonaparte under heavy aggravations
of ingratitude and indiscretion. Both assumed the character of a patron
to learning and learned men; but Napoleon, in an age when knowledge
of every kind was self-patronized--when no possible exertions of power
could avail to crush it--and yet, under these circumstances, with utter
insincerity. Charlemagne, on the other hand, at a time when the
countenance of a powerful protector made the whole difference between
revival and a long extinction--and what was still more to the purpose
of doing honor to his memory, not merely in a spirit of sincerity, but
of fervid activity. Not content with drawing counsel and aid from the
cells of Northumberland, even the short time which he passed at Rome,
he had 'collected a number of grammarians (that is _litterateurs_) and
arithmeticians, the poor remains of the orators and philosophers of
the past, and engaged them to accompany him from Italy to France.'
What resulted in each case from these great efforts and prodigious
successes? Each failed in laying the foundations of any permanent
inheritance to his own glory in his own family. But Bonaparte lived
to lay in ruins even his personal interest in this great edifice of
empire; and that entirely by his own desperate presumption,
precipitance, and absolute defect of self-command. Charlemagne, on
_his_ part, lost nothing of what he had gained: if his posterity did
not long maintain the elevation to which he had raised them, _that_
did but the more proclaim the grandeur of the mind which had reared
a colossal empire, that sunk under any powers inferior to his own. If
the empire itself lost its unity, and divided into sections, even thus
it did not lose the splendor and prosperity of its separate parts; and
the praise remains entire--let succeeding princes, as conservators,
have failed as much and as excusably as they might--that he erected
the following splendid empire:--The whole of France and Belgium, with
their natural boundaries of the Alps, the Pyrenees, the Ocean, the
Mediterranean; to the south, Spain, between the Ebro and the Pyrenees;
and to the north, the whole of Germany, up to the banks of the Elbe.
Italy, as far as the Lower Calabria, was either governed by his son,
or tributary to his crown; Dalmatia, Croatia, Liburnia, and Istria,
(with the exception of the maritime cities,) were joined to the
territories, which he had himself conquered, of Hungary and Bohemia.
As far as the conflux of the Danube with the Teyss and the Save, the
east of Europe acknowledged his power. Most of the Sclavonian tribes,
between the Elbe and the Vistula, paid tribute and professed obedience;
and Corsica, Sardinia, with the Balearic Islands, were dependent upon
his possessions in Italy and Spain.
His moral were yet greater than his territorial conquests: In the
eloquent language of his present historian, 'he snatched from darkness
all the lands he conquered; and may be said to have added the whole
of Germany to the world.' Wherever he moved, civilization followed his
footsteps. What he conquered was emphatically the conquest of his own
genius; and his vast empire was, in a peculiar sense, his own creation.
And what, under general circumstances, would have exposed the hollowness
and insufficiency of his establishment, was for him, in particular,
the seal and attestation of his extraordinary grandeur of mind. His
empire dissolved after he had departed; his dominions lost their
cohesion, and slipped away from the nerveless hands which succeeded;
a sufficient evidence--were there no other--that all the vast resources
of the Frankish throne, wielded by imbecile minds, were inadequate to
maintain that which, in the hands of a Charlemagne, they had availed
to conquer and cement.