MY CANDIDATURE OF THE DEPARTMENT OF LA MANCHE--THE ASPECT OF THE
COUNTRY--THE GENERAL ELECTION.
As every one knows, the Department of la Manche is peopled almost
exclusively by farmers. It contains few large towns, few manufactures,
and, with the exception of Cherbourg, no places in which workmen are
gathered in large numbers. At first, the Revolution was hardly noticed
there. The upper classes immediately bent beneath the blow, and the
lower classes scarcely felt it. Generally speaking, agricultural
populations are slower than others in perceiving, and more stubborn in
retaining, political impressions; they are the last to rise and the last
to settle down again. The steward of my estate, himself half a peasant,
describing what was taking place in the country immediately after the
24th of February, wrote:
"People here say that if Louis-Philippe has been sent away, it is a good
thing, and that he deserved it...."
This was to them the whole moral of the play. But when they heard tell
of the disorder reigning in Paris, of the new taxes to be imposed, and
of the general state of war that was to be feared; when they saw
commerce cease and money seem to sink down into the ground, and when, in
particular, they learnt that the principle of property was being
attacked, they did not fail to perceive that there was something more
than Louis-Philippe in question.
Fear, which had first displayed itself in the upper circles of society,
then descended into the depths of the people, and universal terror took
possession of the whole country. This was the condition in which I found
it when I arrived about the middle of March. I was at once struck by a
spectacle that both astonished and charmed me. A certain demagogic
agitation reigned, it is true, among the workmen in the towns; but in
the country all the landed proprietors, whatever their origin,
antecedents, education or means, had come together, and seemed to form
but one class: all former political hatred and rivalry of caste or
fortune had disappeared from view. There was no more jealousy or pride
displayed between the peasant and the squire, the nobleman and the
commoner; instead, I found mutual confidence, reciprocal friendliness,
and regard. Property had become, with all those who owned it, a sort of
badge of fraternity. The wealthy were the elder, the less endowed the
younger brothers; but all considered themselves members of one family,
having the same interest in defending the common inheritance. As the
French Revolution had infinitely increased the number of land-owners,
the whole population seemed to belong to that vast family. I had never
seen anything like it, nor had anyone in France within the memory of
man. Experience has shown that this union was not so close as it
appeared, and that the former parties and the various classes had drawn
closer rather than mingled together; fear had acted upon them as a
mechanical pressure might upon very hard bodies, which are compelled to
adhere to one another so long as the pressure continues, but which
separate so soon as it is relaxed.
As a matter of fact, from the first moment I saw no trace whatever of
political opinions, properly so-called. One would have thought that the
republican form of government had suddenly become not only the best, but
the only one imaginable for France. Dynastic hopes and regrets were
buried so profoundly in the souls of men that not even the place they
had once occupied was visible. The Republic respected persons and
property, and it was accepted as lawful. In the spectacle I have just
described, I was most struck at witnessing the universal hatred,
together with the universal terror, now for the first time inspired by
Paris. In France, provincials have for Paris, and for the central power
of which Paris is the seat, feelings analogous to those which the
English entertain for their aristocracy, which they sometimes support
with impatience and often regard with jealousy, but which at bottom they
love, because they always hope to turn its privileges to their private
advantage. This time Paris and those who spoke in its name had so
greatly abused their power, and seemed to be giving so little heed to
the rest of the country, that the idea of shaking off the yoke and of
acting for themselves came to many who had never before conceived it:
uncertain and timid desires, it is true, feeble and ephemeral passions
from which I never believed that there was much to be either hoped or
feared; but these new feelings were then turning into electoral ardour.
Everyone clamoured for the elections; for to elect the enemies of the
demagogues of Paris presented itself to public opinion less as the
constitutional exercise of a right, than as the least dangerous method
one could employ of making a stand against the tyrant.
I fixed my head-quarters in the little town of Valognes, which was the
natural centre of my influence; and as soon as I had ascertained the
condition of the country, I set about my candidature. I then saw what I
have often observed under a thousand different circumstances, that
nothing makes more for success than not to desire it too ardently. I
very much wanted to get elected; but in the difficult and critical
condition of affairs then reigning, I easily reconciled myself to the
idea of being rejected; and from this placid anticipation of a rebuff I
drew a tranquillity and clearness of mind, a respect for myself and a
contempt for the follies of the time, that I should perhaps not have
found in the same degree had I been swayed only by a longing to
succeed.
The country began to fill with roving candidates, hawking their
protestations of Republicanism from hustings to hustings. I refused to
present myself before any other electoral body than that of the place
where I lived. Each small town had its club, and each club questioned
the candidates regarding their opinions and actions, and subjected them
to formulas. I refused to reply to any of these insolent
interrogatories. These refusals, which might have seemed disdainful,
appeared in the light of dignity and independence in the face of the new
rulers, and I was more esteemed for my rebelliousness than the others
for their obedience. I therefore contented myself with publishing an
address and having it posted up throughout the department.
Most of the candidates had resumed the old customs of '92. When writing
to people they called them "Citizens," and signed themselves
"fraternally yours." I would never consent to adopt this revolutionary
nonsense. I headed my address, "Gentlemen," and ended by proudly
declaring myself my electors' "very humble servant."
"I do not come to solicit your suffrages," I said, "I come only to
place myself at the orders of my country. I asked to be your
representative when the times were easy and peaceful; my honour
forbids me to refuse to be so in a period full of agitation, which
may become full of danger. That is the first thing I had to tell
you."
I added that I had been faithful to the end to the oath I had taken to
the Monarchy, but that the Republic, which had been brought about
without my aid, should have my energetic support, and that I would not
only accept but assist it. Then I went on:
"But of what Republic is it a question? There are some who, by a
Republic, understand a dictatorship exercised in the name of
liberty; who think that the Republic should not only change
political institutions but the face of society itself. There are
some who think that the Republic should needs be of an aggressive
and propagandist kind. I am not a Republican after this fashion. If
this were your manner of being Republicans, I could be of no use to
you, for I should not be of your opinion; but if you understand the
Republic as I understand it myself, you can rely upon me to devote
myself heart and soul to the triumph of a cause which is mine as
well as yours."
Men who show no fear in times of revolution are like princes with the
army: they produce a great effect by very ordinary actions, because the
peculiar position which they occupy naturally places them above the
level of the crowd and brings them very much in view. My address was so
successful that I myself was astonished at it; within a few days it made
me the most popular man in the department of la Manche, and the object
of universal attention. My old political adversaries, the agents of the
old Government, the Conservatives themselves who had so vigorously
opposed me, and whom the Republic had overthrown, came in crowds to
assure me that they were ready not only to vote for me, but to follow my
views in everything.
In the meantime, the first meeting of the electors of the Arrondissement
of Valognes took place. I appeared together with the other candidates. A
shed did duty for a hall; the chairman's platform was at the bottom, and
at the side was a professorial pulpit which had been transformed into a
tribune. The chairman, who himself was a professor at the College of
Valognes, said to me with a loud voice and a magisterial air, but in a
very respectful tone: "Citizen de Tocqueville, I will tell you the
questions which are put to you, and to which you will have to reply;" to
which I replied, carelessly, "Mr Chairman, pray put the questions."
A parliamentary orator, whose name I will not mention, once said to me:
"Look here, my dear friend, there is only one way of speaking well from
the tribune, and that is to be fully persuaded, as you get into it, that
you are the cleverest man in the world."
This had always appeared to me easier to say than to do, in the presence
of our great political assemblies. But I confess that here the maxim was
easy enough to follow, and that I thought it a wonderfully good one.
Nevertheless, I did not go so far as to convince myself that I was
cleverer than all the world; but I soon saw that I was the only one who
was well acquainted with the facts they brought up, and even with the
political language they wished to speak. It would be difficult to show
one's self more maladroit and more ignorant than did my adversaries;
they overwhelmed me with questions which they thought very close, and
which left me very free, while I on my side made replies which were
sometimes not very brilliant, but which always to them appeared most
conclusive. The ground on which they hoped, above all, to crush me was
that of the banquets. I had refused, as I have already said, to take
part in these dangerous demonstrations. My political friends had found
fault with me for abandoning them in that matter, and many continued to
bear me ill-will, although--or perhaps because--the Revolution had
proved me to be right.
"Why did you part from the Opposition on the occasion of the banquets?"
I was asked.
I replied, boldly:
"I could easily find a pretext, but I prefer to give you my real reason:
I did not want the banquets because I did not want a revolution; and I
venture to say that hardly any of those who sat down to the banquets
would have done so had they foreseen, as I did, the events to which
these would lead. The only difference I can see between you and myself
is that I knew what you were doing while you did not know it
yourselves." This bold profession of anti-revolutionary had been
preceded by one of republican faith; the sincerity of the one seemed to
bear witness to that of the other; the meeting laughed and applauded. My
adversaries were scoffed at, and I came off triumphant.
I had won the agricultural population of the department by my address; I
won the Cherbourg workmen by a speech. The latter had been assembled to
the number of two thousand at a patriotic dinner. I received a very
obliging and pressing invitation to attend, and I did.
When I arrived, the procession was ready to start for the
banqueting-hall, with, at its head, my old colleague Havin, who had come
expressly from Saint-Lo to take the chair. It was the first time I had
met him since the 24th of February. On that day, I saw him giving his
arm to the Duchesse d'Orleans, and the next morning I heard that he was
Commissary of the Republic in the department of la Manche. I was not
surprised, for I knew him as one of those easily bewildered, ambitious
men who had found themselves fixed for ten years in opposition, after
thinking at first that they were in it only for a little. How many of
these men have I not seen around me, tortured with their own virtue, and
despairing because they saw themselves spending the best part of their
lives in criticizing the faults of others without ever in some measure
realizing by experience what were their own, and finding nothing to
feed upon but the sight of public corruption! Most of them had
contracted during this long abstinence so great an appetite for places,
honours and money that it was easy to predict that at the first
opportunity they would throw themselves upon power with a sort of
gluttony, without taking time to choose either the moment or the morsel.
Havin was the very type of these men. The Provisional Government had
given him as his associate, and even as his chief, another of my former
colleagues in the Chamber of Deputies, M. Vieillard, who has since
become famous as a particular friend of Prince Louis Napoleon's.
Vieillard was entitled to serve the Republic, since he had been one of
the seven or eight republican deputies under the Monarchy. Moreover, he
was one of the Republicans who had passed through the salons of the
Empire before attaining demagogism. In literature he was a bigoted
classic; a Voltairean in religious belief; rather fatuous, very
kind-hearted; an honest man, and even an intelligent; but a very fool in
politics. Havin had made him his tool: whenever he wished to strike a
blow at one of his own enemies, or to reward one of his own friends, he
invariably put forward Vieillard, who allowed him to do as he pleased.
In this manner Havin made his way sheltered beneath the honesty and
republicanism of Vieillard, whom he always kept before him, as the miner
does his gabion.
Havin scarcely seemed to recognize me; he did not invite me to take a
place in the procession. I modestly withdrew into the midst of the
crowd; and when we arrived at the banqueting-hall, I sat down at one of
the lower tables. We soon got to the speeches: Vieillard delivered a
very proper written speech, and Havin read out another written speech,
which was well received. I, too, was very much inclined to speak, but my
name was not down, and moreover I did not quite see how I was to begin.
A word which one of the orators (for all the speakers called themselves
orators) dropped to the memory of Colonel Briqueville gave me my
opportunity. I asked for permission to speak, and the meeting consented.
When I found myself perched in the tribune, or rather in that pulpit
placed twenty feet above the crowd, I felt a little confused; but I soon
recovered myself, and delivered a little piece of oratorical fustian
which I should find it impossible to recollect to-day. I only know that
it contained a certain appositeness, besides the warmth which never
fails to make itself apparent through the disorder of an improvised
speech, a merit quite sufficient to succeed with a popular assembly, or
even with an assembly of any sort; for, it cannot be too often repeated,
speeches are made to be listened to and not to be read, and the only
good ones are those that move the audience.
The success of mine was marked and complete, and I confess it seemed
very sweet to me to revenge myself in this way on the manner in which
my former colleague had endeavoured to abuse what he considered the
favours of fortune.
If I am not mistaken, it was between this time and the elections that I
made my journey to Saint-Lo, as member of the Council General. The
Council had been summoned to an extraordinary sitting. It was still
composed as under the Monarchy: most of its members had shown themselves
complaisant towards Louis-Philippe's ministers, and may be reckoned
among those who had most contributed to bring that Prince's government
into contempt in our country. The only thing I can recall of the
Saint-Lo journey is the singular servility of these ex-Conservatives.
Not only did they make no opposition to Havin, who had insulted them for
the past ten years, but they became his most attentive courtiers. They
praised him with their words, supported him with their votes, smiled
upon him approvingly; they even spoke well of him among themselves, for
fear of indiscretion. I have often seen greater pictures of human
baseness, but never any that was more perfect; and I think it deserves,
despite its pettiness, to be brought fully to light. I will, therefore,
display it in the light of subsequent events, and I will add that some
months later, when the turn of the popular tide had restored them to
power, they at once set about pursuing this same Havin anew with
unheard-of violence and even injustice. All their old hatred became
visible amid the quaking of their terror, and it seemed to have become
still greater at the remembrance of their temporary complaisance.
Meantime the general election was drawing nigh, and each day the aspect
of the future became more sinister. All the news from Paris represented
the capital as on the point of constantly falling into the hands of
armed Socialists. It was doubted whether these latter would allow the
electors to vote freely, or at least whether they would submit to the
National Assembly. Already in every part of the country the officers of
the National Guard were being made to swear that they would march
against the Assembly if a conflict arose between that body and the
people. The provinces were becoming more and more alarmed, but were also
strengthening themselves at the sight of the danger.
I spent the few days preceding the contest at my poor, dear Tocqueville.
It was the first time I had visited it since the Revolution: I was
perhaps about to leave it for ever! I was seized on my arrival with so
great and uncommon a feeling of sadness that it has left in my memory
traces which have remained marked and visible to this day amid all the
vestiges of the events of that time. I was not expected. The empty
rooms, in which there was none but my old dog to receive me, the
undraped windows, the heaped-up dusty furniture, the extinct fires, the
run-down clocks--all seemed to point to abandonment and to foretell
ruin. This little isolated corner of the earth, lost, as it were, amid
the fields and hedges of our Norman coppices, which had so often seemed
to me the most charming of solitudes, now appeared to me, in the actual
state of my thoughts, as a desolate desert; but across the desolation of
its present aspect I discovered, as though from the depth of a tomb, the
sweetest and most attractive episodes of my life. I wonder how our
imagination gives so much deeper colour and so much more attractiveness
to things than they possess. I had just witnessed the fall of the
Monarchy; I have since been present at the most sanguinary scenes; and
nevertheless I declare that none of these spectacles produced in me so
deep and painful an emotion as that which I experienced that day at the
sight of the ancient abode of my forefathers, when I thought of the
peaceful days and happy hours I had spent there without knowing their
value--I say that it was then and there that I best understood all the
bitterness of revolutions.
The local population had always been well disposed to me; but this time
I found them affectionate, and I was never received with more respect
than now, when all the walls were placarded with the expression of
degrading equality. We were all to go and vote together at the borough
of Saint-Pierre, about one league away from our village. On the morning
of the election, all the voters (that is to say, all the male population
above the age of twenty) collected together in front of the church. All
these men formed themselves in a double column, in alphabetical order.
I took up my place in the situation denoted by my name, for I knew that
in democratic times and countries one must be nominated to the head of
the people, and not place one's self there. At the end of the long
procession, in carts or on pack-horses, came the sick or infirm who
wished to follow us; we left none behind save the women and children. We
were one hundred and sixty-six all told. At the top of the hill which
commands Tocqueville there came a halt; they wished me to speak. I
climbed to the other side of a ditch; a circle was formed round me, and
I spoke a few words such as the circumstances inspired. I reminded these
worthy people of the gravity and importance of what they were about to
do; I recommended them not to allow themselves to be accosted or turned
aside by those who, on our arrival at the borough, might seek to deceive
them, but to march on solidly and stay together, each in his place,
until they had voted. "Let no one," I said, "go into a house to seek
food or shelter [it was raining] before he has done his duty." They
cried that they would do as I wished, and they did. All the votes were
given at the same time, and I have reason to believe that they were
almost all given to the same candidate.
After voting myself, I took my leave of them, and set out to return to
Paris.