considers the shortcomings of the British Government. He is not sparing
in his criticisms. He freely admits that British statesmen have devoted
their energies to improving the conditions of the masses, but he adds,
and it must be sorrowfully admitted that he is justified in adding,
"Material advantages set forth in dry statistics have never made a
nation enthusiastically loyal to the Government." He urges that,
especially in dealing with a population the vast majority of which is
illiterate, "it is the _human element_ that counts most in Imperialism,
far more than the dry bones of political economy." In an interesting
chapter of his book entitled _British Statesmanship and Indian
Psychology_, he asks the very pertinent question, "What does loyalty
mean to the Indian, whether Moslem or Hindu?" The answer which he gives
to this question is that when the idea of loyalty is brought before the
native of India, "it comes in most cases with a jerk, and quickly
disappears." The reason for its disappearance is that no bond of
fellowship has been established between the rulers and the ruled, that
the native of India is not made to feel that "he has any real part in
England's greatness," that the influence and high position of the native
Princes receive inadequate recognition, and that no scope is offered to
the military ambition of the citizens of the Indian Empire. "Under the
Crescent, the Hindu has been Commander of a Brigade; under the Union
Jack, even after a century, he sees no likelihood of rising as high as a
little subaltern."
There is, of course, nothing very new in all this. It has been pointed
out over and over again by all who have considered Indian or Egyptian
problems seriously that the creation of some sort of rather spurious
patriotism when all the elements out of which patriotism naturally grows
are wanting, is rather like searching for the philosopher's stone. At
the same time, when so sympathetic a critic as Mr. Mitra bids us study
the "psychological traits" of Indian character, it is certainly worth
while to inquire whether all that is possible has been done in the way
of evoking sentiments of loyalty based on considerations which lie
outside the domain of material advantage. The most imaginative British
statesman of recent years has been Lord Beaconsfield. Himself a
quasi-Oriental, he grasped the idea that it would be possible to appeal
to the imagination of other Orientals. The laughter which was to some
extent provoked when, at his suggestion, Queen Victoria assumed the
title of Empress of India has now died away, and it is generally
recognised, even by those who are not on other grounds disposed to
indulge in any exaggerated worship of the primrose, that in this respect
Lord Beaconsfield performed an act dictated by true statesmanship. He
appealed to those personal and monarchical sentiments which, to a far
greater extent than democratic ideas, dominate the minds of Easterns.
The somewhat lavish expenditure incurred in connection with the King's
recent visit to India may be justified on similar grounds. Following
generally the same order of ideas, Mr. Mitra has some further
suggestions to make. The question of opening some field to the very
natural aspirations of the martial races and classes of India presents,
indeed, very great practical difficulties which it would be impossible
to discuss adequately on the present occasion. All that can be said is
that, although the well-intentioned efforts so far made to solve this
thorny problem do not appear to have met with all the success they
deserve, it is one which should earnestly engage the attention of the
Government in the hope that some practical and unobjectionable solution
may eventually be found. Mr. Mitra, however, draws attention to other
cognate points which would certainly appear to merit attention. "The
first thing," he says, "necessary to rouse Indian sentiment is to give
India a flag of her own." He points out that Canada, Australia, South
Africa, and some of the West Indian islands have flags of their own, and
he asks why, without in any way serving as a symbol of separation, India
should not be similarly treated? Then, again, he remarks--and it would
be well if some of our Parliamentarians took careful note of the
observation--that "British statesmen, in their zeal for introducing
their democratic system of government into India, forget that India is
pre-eminently an aristocratic land." This appreciation of the Indian
situation formed the basis of the political system favoured by no less
an authority than Sir Henry Lawrence, and stood in marked contrast to
that advocated by his no less distinguished brother, Lord Lawrence. Mr.
Mitra, therefore, suggests that a certain number of ruling princes or
their heirs-apparent should be allowed to sit in a reformed House of
Lords. "Canada," Lord Meath said some years ago, "is already represented
in the House of Lords," and he pertinently asked, "Why should not India
also have her peers in that assembly?" The particular proposal made by
Mr. Mitra in this connection may possibly be open to some objections,
but the general principle which he advocates, as also the suggestion
that a special flag should be devised for India, would certainly appear
to be well worthy of consideration.
It is interesting to turn to the view entertained by Mr. Mitra on the
recent transfer of the seat of Government from Calcutta to Delhi. He
manifestly does not regard that transfer with any degree of favour.
Moreover, he thinks that from the point of view of the stability of
British rule, a great mistake has been made. Delhi, he says, has "for
centuries symbolised Moslem-Hindu collective sentiment." He assumes that
it is the object of British statesmanship to prevent any union between
Moslems and Hindus, and that the recent transfer will go far to cement
that union. "In transferring the capital to the old centre of Indian
Imperialism, England has, in a flash, aroused memories to a degree that
thousands of demagogues and agitators would not have done in a century."
He holds, therefore, that the action of British statesmen in this
respect may not improbably "produce the reverse of the result they
intended." The question of whether it was or was not wise to transfer
the seat of Government to Delhi is one on which differences of opinion
may well exist, but Mr. Mitra is in error in supposing that either the
British nation collectively or British statesmen individually have ever
proceeded so far on the _divide et impera_ principle as to endeavour in
their own interests to foster and perpetuate racial and religious
animosities. On the contrary, although they have accepted as a fact that
those animosities exist, and although they have at times been obliged to
interfere with a view to preventing one race or religion infringing the
rights and liberties of others, they have persistently done their best
to allay discord and sectarian strife. In spite of Mr. Mitra's obvious
and honourable attempts to preserve an attitude of judicial
impartiality, it is conceivable that in this instance he may, as a
Hindu, have allowed himself to be unconsciously influenced by fear
that, in transferring the capital to a Moslem centre, the British
Government has, in his own words, "placed itself more within the sway of
Moslem influence than the authorities would care to admit."
Mr. Mitra alludes to several important points of detail, such, for
instance, as the proposal to establish a port at Cochin, which he fears
"may be allowed to perish in the coils of official routine," and the
suggestion made by Sir Rajendra Mookerjee that by a reduction of railway
freights from the mines in the Central Provinces to the port the trade
in manganese might be encouraged. It is to be hoped that these and some
other similar points will receive due attention from the Indian
authorities. Sufficient has been said to justify the opinion that Mr.
Mitra's thoughtful work is a valuable contribution to Indian literature,
and will well repay perusal by all who are interested in the solution of
existing Indian problems.
[Footnote 106: _Anglo-Indian Studies_. By S.M. Mitra. London: Longmans
and Co. 10s. 6d.]
XXVII
THE NAPOLEON OF TAINE[107]
_"The Spectator" September 13, 1913_
It has happened to most of the great actors on the world's stage that
their posthumous fame has undergone many vicissitudes. _Laudatur ab his,
culpatur ab illis._ They have at times been eulogised or depreciated by
partisan historians who have searched eagerly the records of the past
with a view to eliciting facts and arguments to support the political
views they have severally entertained as regards the present. Even when
no such incentive has existed, the temptation to adopt a novel view of
some celebrated man or woman whose character and career have floated
down the tide of history cast in a conventional mould has occasionally
proved highly attractive from a mere literary point of view. The process
of whitewashing the bad characters of history may almost be said to
have established itself as a fashion.
A similar fate has attended the historians who have recorded the deeds
of the world's principal actors. A few cases, of which perhaps Ranke is
the most conspicuous, may indeed be cited of historical writers whose
reputations are built on foundations so solid and so impervious to
attack as to defy criticism. But it has more usually happened, as in the
case of Macaulay, that eminent historians have passed through various
phases of repute. The accuracy of their facts, the justice of their
conclusions, their powers of correct generalisation, and the merits or
demerits of their literary style have all been brought into court, with
the result that attention has often been to a great extent diverted from
history to the personality of the historians, and that the verdict
pronounced has varied according to the special qualities the display of
which were for the time being uppermost in the public mind.
No recent writer of history has experienced these vicissitudes to a
greater extent than the illustrious author of _Les Origines de la France
contemporaine_. That Taine should evoke the enthusiasm of any particular
school of politicians, and still less the partisans of any particular
régime in France, was from the very outset obviously impossible. When
we read his account of the _ancien régime_ we think we are listening to
the voice of a calm but convinced republican or constitutionalist. When
we note his scathing exposure of the criminal folly and ineptitude of
the Jacobins we remain momentarily under the impression that we are
being guided by a writer imbued with strong conservative or even
monarchical sympathies. The iconoclast both of the revolutionary and of
the Napoleonic legends chills alike the heart of the worshippers at
either shrine. A writer who announces in the preface of his work that
the only conclusion at which he is able to arrive, after a profound
study of the most interesting and stormy period of modern history, is
that the government of human beings is an extremely difficult task, will
look in vain for sympathy from all who have adopted any special theory
as to the best way in which that task should be accomplished. Yet, in
spite of Taine's political nihilism, it would be a grave error to
suppose that he has no general principle to enounce, or no plan of
government to propound. Such is far from being the case. Though no
politician, he was a profoundly analytical psychologist. M. Le Bon, in
his brilliant treatise on the psychological laws which govern national
development, says, "Dans toutes manifestations de la vie d'une nation,
nous retrouvons toujours l'âme immuable de la race tissant son propre
destin." The commonplace method of stating the same proposition is to
say that every nation gets the government it deserves. This, in fact, is
the gospel which Taine had to preach. He thought, in Lady
Blennerhassett's words, that it was "the underlying characteristics of a
people; and not their franchise, which determines their Constitution."
After having enjoyed for long a high reputation amongst non-partisan
students of revolutionary history, Taine's claim to rank as an historian
of the first order has of late been vigorously assailed by a school of
writers, of whom M. Aulard is probably the best known and the most
distinguished. They impugn his authority, and even go so far as to
maintain that his historical testimony is of little or no value. How far
is this view justified? The question is one of real interest to the
historical student, whatsoever may be his nationality, and it is,
perhaps, for more than one reason, of special interest to Englishmen. In
the first place, Taine's method of writing history is eminently
calculated to commend itself to English readers. His mind was eminently
objective. He avoided those brilliant and often somewhat specious _a
priori_ generalisations in which even the best French authors are at
times prone to indulge. His process of reasoning was strictly
inductive. He only drew conclusions when he had laid an elaborate
foundation of facts on which they could be based. The spirit in which he
wrote was more Teutonic than Latin. Again, in the absence of any really
complete English history of the French Revolution--for Carlyle's
rhapsody, in spite of its unquestionable merits, can scarcely be held to
supply the want--most Englishmen have been accustomed to think that,
with De Tocqueville and Taine as their guides, they would be able to
secure an adequate grasp both of the history of the revolutionary period
and of the main political lessons which that history tends to inculcate.
In a very interesting essay published in Lady Blennerhassett's recent
work, entitled _Sidelights_, which has been admirably translated into
English by Mrs. Gülcher, she deals with the subject now under
discussion. No one could be more fitted to cope with the task. Lady
Blennerhassett's previous contributions to literature, her encyclopaedic
knowledge of historical facts, and her thorough grasp of the main
political, religious, and economic considerations which moved the hearts
and influenced the actions of men during the revolutionary convulsion
give her a claim, which none will dare to dispute, to speak with
authority on this subject. Those who have heretofore looked for
guidance to Taine will, therefore, rejoice to note that she is able to
vindicate his reputation as an historian. "The six volumes of the
_Origines_," she says, "are, like other human works, not free from
errors and exaggerations, but in all essentials their author has proved
himself right, and his singular merit remains."
As the most suitable illustration of Taine's historical methods Lady
Blennerhassett selects his study of Napoleon. That, she thinks, is "the
severest test of the author's skill." Taine did not, like Fournier and
others, attempt to write a history of Napoleonic facts. The strategical
and tactical genius which enabled Napoleon to sweep across Europe and to
crush Austria and Prussia on the fields of Austerlitz and Jena had no
attraction for him. He wrote a history of ideas. True to his own
psychological habit of thought, he endeavoured to "reconstruct the
figure of Napoleon on psychological and physiological lines." The
justification of this method is to be found in the fact, the truth of
which cannot be gainsaid, that a right estimate of the character of
Napoleon affords one of the principal keys to the true comprehension of
European history for a period of some twenty stirring years. History,
Lord Acton said, "is often made by energetic men steadfastly following
ideas, mostly wrong, that determine events." Napoleon is a case in
point. "The man in Napoleon explains his work." But what were the ideas
of this remarkable man, and were those ideas "mostly wrong"?
His main idea was certainly to satisfy his personal ambition. "Ma
maîtresse," he said, "c'est le pouvoir," and in 1811, when, although he
knew it not, his star was about to wane, he said to the Bavarian General
Wrede, "In three years I shall be master of the universe." He was not
deterred by any love of country, for it should never be forgotten that,
as Lady Blennerhassett says, "this French Caesar was not a Frenchman."
Whatever patriotic feelings moved in his breast were not French but
Corsican. He never even thoroughly mastered the French language, and his
mother spoke not only bad French, but bad Italian. Her natural language,
Masson tells us, was the Corsican _patois_. In order to gratify his
ambition, all considerations based on morality were cast to the winds.
"I am not like any other man," he told Madame de Rémusat; "the laws of
morality and decorum do not apply to me." Acting on this principle he
did not hesitate to plunge the world into a series of wars. _Saevit toto
Mars impius orbe._
The other fundamental idea which dominated the whole of Napoleon's
conduct was based on Voltaire's cynical dictum, "Quand les hommes
s'attroupent, leurs oreilles s'allongent." He was a total disbeliever in
the wisdom or intelligence of corporate bodies. Therefore, as he told
Sir Henry Keating at St. Helena, "It is necessary always to talk of
liberty, equality, justice, and disinterestedness, and never to grant
any liberty whatever." Low as was his opinion of human intelligence, his
estimate of human honesty was still lower. Mr. Lecky, speaking of
Napoleon's relations with Madame de Staël, says: "A perfectly honest man
was the only kind of man he could never understand. Such a man perplexed
and baffled his calculations, acting on them as the sign of the cross
acts on the machinations of a demon." In his callow youth he had
coquetted with ultra-Liberal ideas. He had even written an essay in
which he expressed warm admiration for Algernon Sidney as an "enemy to
monarchies, princes, and nobles," and added that "there are few kings
who have not deserved to be dethroned." These ideas soon vanished. He
became the incarnation of ruthless but highly intelligent despotism. The
reputation acquired at Marengo gave him the authority which was
necessary as a preliminary to decisive action, and albeit, if all
accounts are true, he lost his head at the most important crisis of his
career and owed success to the firmness of that Sieyès whom he
scornfully called an "idéologue" and a "faiseur de constitutions,"
nevertheless on the 18th Brumaire he was able to make captive a tired
nation which pined for peace, and little recked that it was handing over
its destinies to the most ardent devotee of the god of war that the
world has ever known.
Once seated firmly in his saddle Napoleon proceeded to centralise the
whole French administration, and to establish a régime as despotic as
that of any of the hereditary monarchs who had preceded him. But it was
a despotism of a very different type from theirs. Theirs was stupid, and
excited the jealousy and hatred of almost every class. His was
intelligent and appealed both to the imagination and to the material
interests of every individual Frenchman. Theirs was based on privilege;
his on absolute equality. "About Napoleon's throne," Lady Blennerhassett
says, "were gathered Girondists and Jacobins, Royalists and
Thermidorians, Plebeians and the one-time Knights of the Holy Ghost,
Roman Catholics and Voltaireans. Kitchen lads became marshals; Drouet,
the postmaster of Varennes, became Under-Secretary of State; Fouché, the
torturer and wholesale murderer, a duke; the Suabian candidate for the
Lutheran Ministry, Reinhard, was appointed an Imperial Ambassador;
Murat, son of an innkeeper, a king."
Death, it has been truly said, is the real measure of greatness. What
now remains of the stupendous fabric erected by Napoleon? "Of the work
of the Conqueror," Lady Blennerhassett says, "not one stone remains upon
another." As regards the internal reconstruction of France, the case is
very different. All inquirers are agreed that Napoleon's work endures.
Taine said that "the machinery of the year VIII." still remains. Mr.
Fisher, in his work on _Napoleonic Statesmanship_, says that Napoleon
"created a bureaucracy more competent, active, and enlightened than any
which Europe had seen." Mr. Bodley bears similar testimony. "The whole
centralised administration of France, which, in its stability, has
survived every political crisis, was the creation of Napoleon and the
keystone of his fabric."
Napoleon's administrative creations may, indeed, be criticised from many
points of view. Notably, it may be said that, if he did not initiate, he
stimulated that excessive "fonctionnarisme" which is often regarded as
the main defect of the French system. But his creations were adapted to
the special character and genius of the nation over which he ruled. His
main title-deed to enduring fame is that, for good or evil, he
constructed an edifice which, in its main features, has lasted to this
day, which shows no signs of decay, and which has exercised a
predominant influence on the administration and judicial systems of
neighbouring countries. Neither the system itself nor the history of its
creation can be thoroughly understood without a correct appreciation of
the character and political creed of its founder. It is this
consideration which affords an ample justification of the special method
adopted by Taine in dealing with the history of the Napoleonic period.
Nothing illustrates Napoleon's character more clearly than the numerous
_ana_ which may be culled from the pages of Madame de Rémusat, Masson,
Beugnot, Rœderer, and others. Of these, some are reproduced by Lady
Blennerhassett. The writer of the present article was informed on good
authority of the following Napoleonic anecdote. It is related that
Napoleon ordered from Bréguet, the famous Paris watchmaker, a watch for
his brother Joseph, who was at the time King of Spain. The back was of
blue enamel decorated with the letter J in diamonds. In 1813 Napoleon
was present at a military parade when a messenger arrived bearing a
brief despatch, in which it was stated that the French army had been
completely defeated at Vittoria. It was manifest that Spain was lost.
Always severely practical, all that Napoleon did, after glancing at the
despatch, was to turn to his secretary and say, "Write to Bréguet and
tell him that I shall not want that watch." It is believed that the
watch was eventually bought by the Duke of Wellington.[108]
[Footnote 107: _Sidelights_. By Lady Blennerhassett. Translated by Edith
Gülcher. London: Constable & Co. 7s. 6d.]
[Footnote 108: My informant in this matter was the late General Sir
Arthur Ellis. Since the above was written, the Duke of Wellington has
informed me that there is at Apsley House a watch, not made by Bréguet
but by another Paris watchmaker, on which is inscribed, "Ordered by
Napoleon for his brother Joseph." The cover is ornamented not with a
diamond J, but with a map of the Peninsula. Inside is the portrait of a
lady. I do not doubt that this is the watch to which Sir Arthur Ellis
alluded.]
XXVIII
SONGS, PATRIOTIC AND NATIONAL
_"The Spectator," September 13, 1913_
All historians are agreed that contemporary ballads and broadsheets
constitute a priceless storehouse from which to draw a picture of the
society existing at the period whose history they seek to relate. Some
of those which have survived to become generally known to later ages
show such poverty of imagination and such total absence of literary
merit as to evoke the surprise of posterity at the ephemeral success
which they unquestionably achieved. An instance in point is the
celebrated poem "Lillibullero," or, as it is sometimes written, "Lilli
Burlero." Here is the final stanza of the pitiful doggerel with which
Wharton boasted that he had "sung a king out of three kingdoms":
There was an old prophecy found in a bog:
Ireland shall be ruled by an ass and a dog;
And now this prophecy is come to pass,
For Talbot's the dog, and James is the ass.
Lillibullero, Bullen-a-la.
Doggerel as this was, it survived the special occasion for which it was
written. When Queen Anne's reign was well advanced balladmongers were
singing:
So God bless the Queen and the House of Hanover,
And never may Pope or Pretender come over.
Lillibullero, Bullen-a-la.
If the song is still remembered by other than historical students, it is
probably more because Uncle Toby, when he was hard pressed in argument,
"had accustomed himself, in such attacks, to whistle Lillibullero," than
for any other reason.