That it is better to excite envy than pity is a good proverb. Let us,
then, make men envy us as much as we are able.
EPIC POETRY.
Since the word "_epos_," among the Greeks, signified a discourse, an
epic poem must have been a discourse, and it was in verse because it was
not then the custom to write in prose. This appears strange, but it is
no less true. One Pherecydes is supposed to have been the first Greek
who made exclusive use of prose to compose one of those half-true,
half-false histories so common to antiquity.
Orpheus, Linus, Thamyris, and Musæus, the predecessors of Homer, wrote
in verse only. Hesiod, who was certainly contemporary with Homer, wrote
his "Theogony" and his poem of "Works and Days" entirely in verse. The
harmony of the Greek language so invited men to poetry, a maxim turned
into verse was so easily engraved on the memory that the laws, oracles,
morals, and theology were all composed in verse.
_Of Hesiod._
He made use of fables which had for a long time been received in Greece.
It is clearly seen by the succinct manner in which he speaks of
Prometheus and Epimetheus that he supposes these notions already
familiar to all the Greeks. He only mentions them to show that it is
necessary to labor, and that an indolent repose, in which other
mythologists have made the felicity of man to consist, is a violation of
the orders of the Supreme Being.
Hesiod afterwards describes the four famous ages, of which he is the
first who has spoken, at least among the ancient authors who remain to
us. The first age is that which preceded Pandora--the time in which men
lived with the gods. The iron age is that of the siege of Thebes and
Troy. "I live in the fifth," says he, "and I would I had never been
born." How many men, oppressed by envy, fanaticism, and tyranny, since
Hesiod, have said the same!
It is in this poem of "Works and Days" that those proverbs are found
which have been perpetuated, as--"the potter is jealous of the potter,"
and he adds, "the musician of the musician, and the poor even of the
poor." We there find the original of our fable of the nightingale
fallen into the claws of the vulture. The nightingale sings in vain to
soften him; the vulture devours her. Hesiod does not conclude that a
hungry belly has no ears, but that tyrants are not to be mollified by
genius.
A hundred maxims worthy of Xenophon and Cato are to be found in this
poem.
Men are ignorant of the advantage of society: they know not that the
half is more valuable than the whole.
Iniquity is pernicious only to the powerless.
Equity alone causes cities to flourish.
One unjust man is often sufficient to ruin his country.
The wretch who plots the destruction of his neighbor often prepares the
way to his own.
The road to crime is short and easy. That of virtue is long and
difficult, but towards the end it is delightful.
God has placed labor as a sentinel over virtue.
Lastly, the precepts on agriculture were worthy to be imitated by
Virgil. There are, also, very fine passages in his "Theogony." Love, who
disentangles chaos; Venus, born of the sea from the genital parts of a
god nourished on earth, always followed by Love, and uniting heaven,
earth, and sea, are admirable emblems.
Why, then, has Hesiod had less reputation than Homer? They seem to me of
equal merit, but Homer has been preferred by the Greeks because he sang
their exploits and victories over the Asiatics, their eternal enemies.
He celebrated all the families which in his time reigned in Achaia and
Peloponnesus; he wrote the most memorable war of the first people in
Europe against the most flourishing nation which was then known in Asia.
His poem was almost the only monument of that great epoch. There was no
town nor family which did not think itself honored by having its name
mentioned in these records of valor. We are even assured that a long
time after him some differences between the Greek towns on the subject
of adjacent lands were decided by the verses of Homer. He became, after
his death, the judge of cities in which it is pretended that he asked
alms during his life, which proves, also, that the Greeks had poets long
before they had geographers.
It is astonishing that the Greeks, so disposed to honor epic poems which
immortalized the combats of their ancestors, produced no one to sing the
battles of Marathon, Thermopylæ, Platæa, and Salamis. The heroes of
these times were much greater men than Agamemnon, Achilles, and Ajax.
Tyrtæus, a captain, poet, and musician, like the king of Prussia in our
days, made war and sang it. He animated the Spartans against the
Messenians by his verses, and gained the victory. But his works are
lost. It does not appear that any epic poem was written-in the time of
Pericles. The attention of genius was turned towards tragedy, so that
Homer stood alone, and his glory increased daily. We now come to his
"Iliad."
_Of the Iliad._
What confirms me in the opinion that Homer was of the Greek colony
established at Smyrna is the oriental style of all his metaphors and
pictures: The earth which shook under the feet of the army when it
marched like the thunderbolts of Jupiter on the hills which overwhelmed
the giant Typhon; a wind blacker than night winged with tempests; Mars
and Minerva followed by Terror, Flight, and insatiable Discord, the
sister and companion of Homicide, the goddess of battles, who raises
tumults wherever she appears, and who, not content with setting the
world by the ears, even exalts her proud head into heaven. The "Iliad"
is full of these images, which caused the sculptor Bouchardon to say,
"When I read Homer I believe myself twenty feet high."
His poem, which is not at all interesting to us, was very precious to
the Greeks. His gods are ridiculous to reasonable but they were not so
to partial eyes, and it was for partial eyes that he wrote.
We laugh and shrug our shoulders at these gods, who abused one another,
fought one another, and combated with men--who were wounded and whose
blood flowed, but such was the ancient theology of Greece and of almost
all the Asiatic people. Every nation, every little village had its
particular god, which conducted it to battle.
The inhabitants of the clouds and of the stars which were supposed in
the clouds, had a cruel war. The combat of the angels against one
another was from time immemorial the foundation of the religion of the
Brahmins. The battle of the Titans, the children of heaven and earth,
against the chief gods of Olympus, was also the leading mystery of the
Greek religion. Typhon, according to the Egyptians, had fought against
Oshiret, whom we call Osiris, and cut him to pieces.
Madame Dacier, in her preface to the "Iliad," remarks very sensibly,
after Eustathius, bishop of Thessalonica, and Huet, bishop of Avranches,
that every neighboring nation of the Hebrews had its god of war. Indeed,
does not Jephthah say to the Ammonites, "Wilt not thou possess that
which Chemosh thy god giveth thee to possess? So, whomsoever the Lord
our God shall drive out from before us, from them will we possess."
Do we not see the God of Judah a conqueror in the mountains and repulsed
in the valleys?
As to men wrestling against divinities, that is a received idea. Jacob
wrestled one whole night with an angel. If Jupiter sent a deceiving
dream to the chief of the Greeks, the Lord also sent a deceiving spirit
to King Ahab. These emblems were frequent and astonished nobody. Homer
has then painted the ideas of his own age; he could not paint those of
the generations which succeeded him.
Homer has great faults. Horace confesses it, and all men of taste agree
to it; there is only one commentator who is blind enough not to see
them. Pope, who was himself a translator of the Greek poet, says: "It is
a vast but uncultivated country where we meet with all kinds of natural
beauties, but which do not present themselves as regularly as in a
garden; it is an abundant nursery which contains the seeds of all
fruits; a great tree that extends superfluous branches which it is
necessary to prune."
Madame Dacier sides with the vast country, the nursery and the tree, and
would have nothing curtailed. She was no doubt a woman superior to her
sex, and has done great service to letters, as well as her husband, but
when she became masculine and turned commentator, she so overacted her
part that she piqued people into finding fault with Homer. She was so
obstinate as to quarrel even with Monsieur de La Motte. She wrote
against him like the head of a college, and La Motte answered like a
polite and witty woman. He translated the "Iliad" very badly, but he
attacked Madame Dacier very well.
We will not speak of the "Odyssey" here; we shall say something of that
poem while treating of Ariosto.
_Of Virgil._
It appears to me that the second, fourth, and sixth book of the "Æneid"
are as much above all Greek and Latin poets, without exception, as the
statues of Girardon are superior to all those which preceded them in
France.
It is often said that Virgil has borrowed many of the figures of Homer,
and that he is even inferior to him in his imitations, but he has not
imitated him at all in the three books of which I am speaking; he is
there himself touching and appalling to the heart. Perhaps he was not
suited for terrific detail, but there had been battles enough. Horace
had said of him, before he attempted the "Æneid:"
_Molle atque facetum_
_Virgilio annuerunt gaudentes rure camoenæ._
Smooth flow his lines, and elegant his style,
On Virgil all the rural muses smile.
--FRANCIS.
"_Facetum_" does not here signify facetious but agreeable. I do not know
whether we shall not find a little of this happy and affecting softness
in the fatal passion of Dido. I think at least that we shall there
recognize the author of those admirable verses which we meet with in his
Eclogues: "_Ut vidi, ut perii, ut me malus abstulit error_!"--I saw, I
perished, yet indulged my pain.--(Dryden.)
Certainly the description of the descent into hell would not be badly
matched with these lines from the fourth Eclogue:
_Ille Deum vitam accipiet, divisque videbit_
_Permistos heroas, et ipse videbitur illis--_
_Pacatumque reget patriis virtutibus orbem._
The sons shall lead the lives of gods, and be
By gods and heroes seen, and gods and heroes see.
The jarring nations he in peace shall bind,
And with paternal virtues rule mankind.
--DRYDEN.
I meet with many of these simple, elegant, and affecting passages in the
three beautiful books of the "Æneid."
All the fourth book is filled with touching verses, which move those who
have any ear or sentiment at all, even to tears, and to point out all
the beauties of this book it would be necessary to transcribe the whole
of it. And in the sombre picture of hell, how this noble and affecting
tenderness breathes through every line.
It is well known how many tears were shed by the emperor Augustus, by
Livia, and all the palace, at hearing this half line alone: "_Tu
Marcellus eris."_--A new Marcellus will in thee arise.
Homer never produces tears. The true poet, according to my idea, is he
who touches the soul and softens it, others are only fine speakers. I am
far from proposing this opinion as a rule. "I give my opinion," says
Montaigne, "not as being good, but as being my own."
_Of Lucan._
If you look for unity of time and action in Lucan you will lose your
labor, but where else will you find it? If you expect to feel any
emotion or any interest you will not experience it in the long details
of a war, the subject of which is very dry and the expressions
bombastic, but if you would have bold ideas, an eloquent expatiation on
sublime and philosophical courage, Lucan is the only one among the
ancients in whom you will meet with it. There is nothing finer than the
speech of Labienus to Cato at the gates of the temple of Jupiter Ammon,
if we except the answer of Cato itself:
_Hœremus cuncti superis? temploque tacente_
_Nil facimus non sponte Dei_
_.... Steriles num legit arenas._
_Ut caneret paucis; mersit ne hoc pulvere verum!_
_Estne Dei sedes nisi terra et pontus et aer,_
_Et cœlum et virtus? Superos quid quærimus ultra?_
_Jupiter est quodcumque vides quocumque moveris._
And though our priests are mutes, and temples still,
We act the dictates of his mighty will;
Canst thou believe, the vast eternal mind,
Was e'er to Syrts and Libyan sands confined?
That he would choose this waste, this barren ground,
To teach the thin inhabitants around?
Is there a place that God would choose to love
Beyond this earth, the seas, yon heaven above,
And virtuous minds, the noblest throne of Jove?
Why seek we farther, then? Behold around;
How all thou seest doth with the God abound,
Jove is seen everywhere, and always to be found.
--ROWE.
Put together all that the ancients poets have said of the gods and it is
childish in comparison with this passage of Lucan, but in a vast
picture, in which there are a hundred figures, it is not sufficient that
one or two of them are finely designed.
_Of Tasso._
Boileau has exposed the tinsel of Tasso, but if there be a hundred
spangles of false gold in a piece of gold cloth, it is pardonable. There
are many rough stones in the great marble building raised by Homer.
Boileau knew it, felt it, and said nothing about it. We should be just.
We recall the reader's memory to what has been said of Tasso in the
"Essay on Epic Poetry," but we must here observe that his verses are
known by heart all over Italy. If at Venice any one in a boat sings a
stanza of the "Jerusalem Delivered," he is answered from a neighboring
bark with the following one.
If Boileau had listened to these concerts he could have said nothing in
reply. As enough is known of Tasso, I will not repeat here either
eulogies or criticisms. I will speak more at length of Ariosto.
_Of Ariosto._
Homer's "Odyssey" seems to have been the first model of the
"_Morgante_," of the "_Orlando Innamorato,"_ and the "_Orlando
Furioso_," and, what very seldom happens, the last of the poems is
without dispute the best.
The companions of Ulysses changed into swine; the winds shut up in
goats' skins; the musicians with fishes' tails, who ate all those who
approached them; Ulysses, who followed the chariot of a beautiful
princess who went to bathe quite naked; Ulysses, disguised as a beggar,
who asked alms, and afterwards killed all the lovers of his aged wife,
assisted only by his son and two servants--are imaginations which have
given birth to all the poetical romances which have since been written
in the same style.
But the romance of Ariosto is so full of variety and so fertile in
beauties of all kinds that after having read it once quite through I
only wish to begin it again. How great the charm of natural poetry! I
never could read a single canto of this poem in a prose translation.
That which above all charms me in this wonderful work is that the author
is always above his subject, and treats it playfully. He says the most
sublime things without effort and he often finishes them by a turn of
pleasantry which is neither misplaced nor far-fetched. It is at once the
"Iliad," the "Odyssey," and "Don Quixote," for his principal
knight-errant becomes mad like the Spanish hero, and is infinitely more
pleasant.
The subject of the poem, which consists of so many things, is precisely
that of the romance of "Cassandra," which was formerly so much in
fashion with us, and which has entirely lost its celebrity because it
had only the length of the "_Orlando Furioso,_" and few of its beauties,
and even the few being in French prose, five or six stanzas of Ariosto
will eclipse them all. His poem closes with the greater part of the
heroes and princesses who have not perished during the war all meeting
in Paris, after a thousand adventures, just as the personages in the
romance of "Cassandra" all finally meet again in the house of Palemon.
The "_Orlando Furioso_" possesses a merit unknown to the ancients--it is
that of its exordiums.
Every canto is like an enchanted palace, the vestibule of which is
always in a different taste--sometimes majestic, sometimes simple, and
even grotesque. It is moral, lively, or gallant, and always natural and
true.
EPIPHANY.
_The Manifestation, the Appearance, the Illustration, the Radiance._
It is not easy to perceive what relation this word can have to the three
kings or magi, who came from the east under the guidance of a star. That
brilliant star was evidently the cause of bestowing on the day of its
appearance the denomination of the Epiphany.
It is asked whence came these three kings? What place had they appointed
for their rendezvous? One of them, it is said, came from Africa; he did
not, then, come from the East. It is said they were three magi, but the
common people have always preferred the interpretation of three kings.
The feast of the kings is everywhere celebrated, but that of the magi
nowhere; people eat king's-cake and not magi-cake, and exclaim "the king
drinks"--not "the magi drink."
Moreover, as they brought with them much gold, incense, and myrrh, they
must necessarily have been persons of great wealth and consequence. The
magi of that day were by no means very rich. It was not then as in the
times of the false Smerdis.
Tertullian is the first who asserted that these three travellers were
kings. St. Ambrose, and St. Cæsar of Arles, suppose them to be kings,
and the following passages of Psalm lxxi. are quoted in proof of it:
"The kings of Tarshish and of the isles shall offer him gifts. The kings
of Arabia and of Saba shall bring him presents." Some have called these
three kings Magalat, Galgalat, and Saraim, others Athos, Satos, and
Paratoras. The Catholics knew them under the names of Gaspard, Melchior,
and Balthazar. Bishop Osorio relates that it was a king of Cranganore,
in the kingdom of Calicut, who undertook this journey with two magi, and
that this king on his return to his own country built a chapel to the
Holy Virgin.
It has been inquired how much gold they gave Joseph and Mary. Many
commentators declare that they made them the richest presents; they
built on the authority of the "Gospel of the Infancy," which states that
Joseph and Mary were robbed in Egypt by Titus and Dumachus, "but," say
they, "these men would never have robbed them if they had not had a
great deal of money." These two robbers were afterwards hanged; one was
the good thief and the other the bad one. But the "Gospel of Nicodemus"
gives them other names; it calls them Dimas and Gestas.
The same "Gospel of the Infancy" says that they were magi and not kings
who came to Bethlehem; that they had in reality been guided by a star,
but that the star having ceased to appear while they were in the
stable, an angel made its appearance in the form of a star to act in its
stead. This gospel asserts that the visit of the three magi had been
predicted by Zerdusht, whom we call Zoroaster.
Suarez has investigated what became of the gold which the three kings or
magi presented; he maintains that the amount must have been very large,
and that three kings could never make a small or moderate present. He
says that the whole sum was afterwards given to Judas, who, acting as
steward, turned out a rogue and stole the whole amount.
All these puerilities can do no harm to the Feast of the Epiphany, which
was first instituted by the Greek Church, as the term implies, and was
afterwards celebrated by the Latin Church.
EQUALITY.
Nothing can be clearer than that men, enjoying the faculties of their
common nature, are in a state of equality; they are equal when they
perform their animal functions, and exercise their understandings. The
king of China, the great mogul, or the Turkish pasha cannot say to the
lowest of his species, "I forbid you to digest your food, to discharge
your fæces, or to think." All animals of every species are on an
equality with one another, and animals have by nature beyond ourselves
the advantages of independence. If a bull, while paying his attentions
to a heifer, is driven away by the horns of another bull stronger than
himself, he goes to seek a new mistress in another meadow, and lives in
freedom. A cock, after being defeated, finds consolation in another
hen-roost. It is not so with us. A petty vizier banishes a bostangi to
Lemnos; the vizier Azem banishes the petty vizier to Tenedos; the pasha
banishes the vizier Azem to Rhodes; the janissaries imprison the pasha
and elect another who will banish the worthy Mussulmans just when and
where he pleases, while they will feel inexpressibly obliged to him for
so gentle a display of his authority.
If the earth were in fact what it might be supposed it should be--if men
found upon it everywhere an easy and certain subsistence, and a climate
congenial to their nature, it would be evidently impossible for one man
to subjugate another. Let the globe be covered with wholesome fruits;
let the air on which we depend for life convey to us no diseases and
premature death; let man require no other lodging than the deer or
roebuck, in that case the Genghis Khans and Tamerlanes will have no
other attendants than their own children, who will be very worthy
persons, and assist them affectionately in their old age.
In that state of nature enjoyed by all undomesticated quadrupeds, and by
birds and reptiles, men would be just as happy as they are. Domination
would be a mere chimera--an absurdity which no one would think of, for
why should servants be sought for when no service is required?
If it should enter the mind of any individual of a tyrannical
disposition and nervous arm to subjugate his less powerful neighbor, his
success would be impossible; the oppressed would be on the Danube before
the oppressor had completed his preparations on the Volga.
All men, then, would necessarily have been equal had they been without
wants; it is the misery attached to our species which places one man in
subjection to another; inequality is not the real grievance, but
dependence. It is of little consequence for one man to be called his
highness and another his holiness, but it is hard for me to be the
servant of another.
A numerous family has cultivated a good soil, two small neighboring
families live on lands unproductive and barren. It will therefore be
necessary for the two poor families to serve the rich one, or to destroy
it. This is easily accomplished. One of the two indigent families goes
and offers its services to the rich one in exchange for bread, the other
makes an attack upon it and is conquered. The serving family is the
origin of domestics and laborers, the one conquered is the origin of
slaves.
It is impossible in our melancholy world to prevent men living in
society from being divided into two classes, one of the rich who
command, the other of the poor who obey, and these two are subdivided
into various others, which have also their respective shades of
difference.
You come and say, after the lots are drawn, I am a man as well as you; I
have two hands and two feet; as much pride as yourself, or more; a mind
as irregular, inconsequent, and contradictory as your own. I am a
citizen of San Marino, or Ragusa, or Vaugirard; give me my portion of
land. In our known hemisphere are about fifty thousand millions of acres
of cultivable land, good and bad. The number of our two-footed,
featherless race within these bounds is a thousand millions; that is
just fifty acres for each: do me justice; give me my fifty acres.
The reply is: go and take them among the Kaffirs, the Hottentots, and
the Samoyeds; arrange the matter amicably with them; here all the shares
are filled up. If you wish to have food, clothing, lodging, and warmth
among us, work for us as your father did--serve us or amuse us, and you
shall be paid; if not, you will be obliged to turn beggar, which would
be highly degrading to your sublime nature, and certainly preclude that
actual equality with kings, or even village curates, to which you so
nobly pretend.
All the poor are not unhappy. The greater number are born in that state,
and constant labor prevents them from too sensibly feeling their
situation; but when they do strongly feel it, then follow wars such as
those of the popular party against the senate at Rome, and those of the
peasantry in Germany, England, and France. All these wars ended sooner
or later in the subjection of the people, because the great have money,
and money in a state commands everything; I say in a state, for the case
is different between nation and nation. That nation which makes the best
use of iron will always subjugate another that has more gold but less
courage.
Every man is born with an eager inclination for power, wealth, and
pleasure, and also with a great taste for indolence. Every man,
consequently, would wish to possess the fortunes and the wives or
daughters of others, to be their master, to retain them in subjection to
his caprices, and to do nothing, or at least nothing but what is
perfectly agreeable. You clearly perceive that with such amiable
dispositions, it is as impossible for men to be equal as for two
preachers or divinity professors not to be jealous of each other.
The human race, constituted as it is, cannot exist unless there be an
infinite number of useful individuals possessed of no property at all,
for most certainly a man in easy circumstances will not leave his own
land to come and cultivate yours; and if you want a pair of shoes you
will not get a lawyer to make them for you. Equality, then, is at the
same time the most natural and the most chimerical thing possible.
As men carry everything to excess if they have it in their power to do
so, this inequality has been pushed too far; it has been maintained in
many countries that no citizen has a right to quit that in which he was
born. The meaning of such a law must evidently be: "This country is so
wretched and ill-governed we prohibit every man from quitting it, under
an apprehension that otherwise all would leave it." Do better; excite in
all your subjects a desire to stay with you, and in foreigners a desire
to come and settle among you.
Every man has a right to entertain a private opinion of his own equality
to other men, but it follows not that a cardinal's cook should take it
upon him to order his master to prepare his dinner. The cook, however,
may say: "I am a man as well as my master; I was born like him in tears,
and shall like him die in anguish, attended by the same common
ceremonies. We both perform the same animal functions. If the Turks get
possession of Rome, and I then become a cardinal and my master a cook, I
will take him into my service." This language is perfectly reasonable
and just, but, while waiting for the Grand Turk to get possession of
Rome, the cook is bound to do his duty, or all human society is
subverted.
With respect to a man who is neither a cardinal's cook nor invested with
any office whatever in the state--with respect to an individual who has
no connections, and is disgusted at being everywhere received with an
air of protection or contempt, who sees quite clearly that many men of
quality and title have not more knowledge, wit, or virtue than himself,
and is wearied by being occasionally in their antechambers--what ought
such a man to do? He ought to stay away.
ESSENIANS.
The more superstitious and barbarous any nation is, the more obstinately
bent on war, notwithstanding its defeats; the more divided into
factions, floating between royal and priestly claims; and the more
intoxicated it may be by fanaticism, the more certainly will be found
among that nation a number of citizens associated together in order to
live in peace.
It happens during a season of pestilence that a small canton forbids all
communication with large cities. It preserves itself from the prevailing
contagion, but remains a prey to other maladies.
Of this description of persons were the Gymnosophists in India, and
certain sects of philosophers among the Greeks. Such also were the
Pythagoreans in Italy and Greece, and the Therapeutæ in Egypt. Such at
the present day are those primitive people called Quakers and Dunkards,
in Pennsylvania, and very nearly such were the first Christians who
lived together remote from cities.
Not one of these societies was acquainted with the dreadful custom of
binding themselves by oath to the mode of life which they adopted, of
involving themselves in perpetual chains, of depriving themselves, on a
principle of religion, of the grand right and first principle of human
nature, which is liberty; in short, of entering into what we call vows.
St. Basil was the first who conceived the idea of those vows, of this
oath of slavery. He introduced a new plague into the world, and
converted into a poison that which had been invented as a remedy.
There were in Syria societies precisely similar to those of the
Essenians. This we learn from the Jew Philo, in his treatise on the
"Freedom of the Good." Syria was always superstitious and factious, and
always under the yoke of tyrants. The successors of Alexander made it a
theatre of horrors. It is by no means extraordinary that among such
numbers of oppressed and persecuted beings, some, more humane and
judicious than the rest, should withdraw from all intercourse with great
cities, in order to live in common, in honest poverty, far from the
blasting eyes of tyranny.
During the civil wars of the latter Ptolemies, similar asylums were
formed in Egypt, and when that country was subjugated by the Roman arms,
the Therapeutæ established themselves in a sequestered spot in the
neighborhood of Lake Mœris.
It appears highly probable that there were Greek, Egyptian, and Jewish
Therapeutæ. Philo, after eulogizing Anaxagoras, Democritus, and other
philosophers, who embraced their way of life, thus expresses himself:
"Similar societies are found in many countries; Greece and other regions
enjoy institutions of this consoling character. They are common in
Egypt in every district, and particularly in that of Alexandria. The
most worthy and moral of the population have withdrawn beyond Lake
Mœris to a secluded but convenient spot, forming a gentle declivity.
The air is very salubrious, and the villages in the neighborhood
sufficiently numerous," etc.
Thus we perceive that there have everywhere existed societies of men who
have endeavored to find a refuge from disturbances and factions, from
the insolence and rapacity of oppressors. All, without exception,
entertained a perfect horror of war, considering it precisely in the
same light in which we contemplate highway robbery and murder.
Such, nearly, were the men of letters who united, in France and founded
the Academy. They quietly withdrew from the factious and cruel scenes
which desolated the country in the reign of Louis XIII. Such also were
the men who founded the Royal Society at London, while the barbarous
idiots called Puritans and Episcopalians were cutting one another's
throats about the interpretation of a few passages from three or four
old and unintelligible books.
Some learned men have been of opinion that Jesus Christ, who
condescended to make his appearance for some time in the small district
of Capernaum, in Nazareth, and some other small towns of Palestine, was
one of those Essenians who fled from the tumult of affairs and
cultivated virtue in peace. But the name "Essenian," never even once
occurs in the four Gospels, in the Apocrypha, or in the Acts, or the
Epistles of the apostles.
Although, however, the name is not to be found, a resemblance is in
various points observable--confraternity, community of property,
strictness of moral conduct, manual labor, detachment from wealth and
honors; and, above all, detestation of war. So great is this
detestation, that Jesus Christ commands his disciples when struck upon
one cheek to offer the other also, and when robbed of a cloak to deliver
up the coat likewise. Upon this principle the Christians conducted
themselves, during the two first centuries, without altars, temples, or
magistracies--all employed in their respective trades or occupations,
all leading secluded and quiet lives.
Their early writings attest that they were not permitted to carry arms.
In this they perfectly resembled our Quakers, Anabaptists, and
Mennonites of the present day, who take a pride in following the literal
meaning of the gospel. For although there are in the gospel many
passages which, when incorrectly understood, might breed violence--as
the case of the merchants scourged out of the temple avenues, the phrase
"compel them to come in," the dangers into which they were thrown who
had not converted their master's one talent into five talents, and the
treatment of those who came to the wedding without the wedding
garment--although, I say, all these may seem contrary to the pacific
spirit of the gospel, yet there are so many other passages which enjoin
sufferance instead of contest, that it is by no means astonishing that,
for a period of two hundred years, Christians held war in absolute
execration.
Upon this foundation was the numerous and respectable society of
Pennsylvanians established, as were also the minor sects which have
imitated them. When I denominate them respectable, it is by no means in
consequence of their aversion to the splendor of the Catholic church. I
lament, undoubtedly, as I ought to do, their errors. It is their virtue,
their modesty, and their spirit of peace, that I respect.
Was not the great philosopher Bayle right, then, when he remarked that a
Christian of the earliest times of our religion would be a very bad
soldier, or that a soldier would be a very bad Christian?
This dilemma appears to be unanswerable; and in this point, in my
opinion, consists the great difference between ancient Christianity and
ancient Judaism.
The law of the first Jews expressly says, "As soon as you enter any
country with a view to possess it, destroy everything by fire and sword;
slay, without mercy, aged men, women, and children at the breast; kill
even all the animals; sack everything and burn everything. It is your
God who commands you so to do." This injunction is not given in a single
instance, but on twenty different occasions, and is always followed.
Mahomet, persecuted by the people of Mecca, defends himself like a brave
man. He compels his vanquished persecutors to humble themselves at his
feet, and become his disciples. He establishes his religion by
proselytism and the sword.
Jesus, appearing between the times of Moses and Mahomet, in a corner of
Galilee, preaches forgiveness of injuries, patience, mildness, and
forbearance, dies himself under the infliction of capital punishment,
and is desirous of the same fate for His first disciples.
I ask candidly, whether St. Bartholomew, St. Andrew, St. Matthew, and
St. Barnabas, would have been received among the cuirassiers of the
emperor, or among the royal guards of Charles XII.?
Would St. Peter himself, though he cut off Malchus' ear, have made a
good officer? Perhaps St. Paul, accustomed at first to carnage, and
having had the misfortune to be a bloody persecutor, is the only one who
could have been made a warrior. The impetuosity of his temperament and
the fire of his imagination would have made him a formidable commander.
But, notwithstanding these qualities, he made no effort to revenge
himself on Gamaliel by arms. He did not act like the Judases, the
Theudases, and the Barchochebases, who levied troops: he followed the
precepts of Jesus Christ; he suffered; and, according to an account we
have of his death, he was beheaded.
To compose an army of Christians, therefore, in the early period of
Christianity, was a contradiction in terms.
It is certain that Christians were not enlisted among the troops of the
empire till the spirit by which they were animated was changed. In the
first two centuries they entertained a horror for temples, altars,
tapers, incense, and lustral water. Porphyry compares them to the foxes
who said "the grapes are sour." "If," said he, "you could have had
beautiful temples burnished with gold, and large revenues for a clergy,
you would then have been passionately fond of temples." They afterwards
addicted themselves to all that they had abhorred. Thus, having detested
the profession of arms, they at length engaged in war. The Christians in
the time of Diocletian were as different from those of the time of the
apostles, as we are from the Christians of the third century.
I cannot conceive how a mind so enlightened and bold as Montesquieu's
could severely censure another genius much more accurate than his own,
and oppose the following just remark made by Bayle: "a society of real
Christians might live happily together, but they would make a bad
defence on being attacked by an enemy."
"They would," says Montesquieu, "be citizens infinitely enlightened on
the subject of their duties, and ardently zealous to discharge them.
They would be fully sensible of the rights of natural defence. The more
they thought they owed religion, the more they would think they owed
their country. The principles of Christianity deeply engraved on their
hearts would be infinitely more powerful than the false honor of
monarchies, the human virtues of republics, or the servile fear which
operates under despotism."
Surely the author of the "Spirit of Laws" did not reflect upon the words
of the gospel, when saying that real Christians would be fully sensible
of the rights of natural defence. He did not recollect the command to
deliver up the coat after the cloak had been taken; and, after having
received a blow upon one cheek, to present the other also. Here the
principle of natural defence is most decidedly annihilated. Those whom
we call Quakers have always refused to fight; but in the war of 1756, if
they had not received assistance from the other English, and suffered
that assistance to operate, they would have been completely crushed.
Is it not unquestionable that men who thought and felt as martyrs would
fight very ill as grenadiers? Every sentence of that chapter of the
"Spirit of Laws" appears to me false. "The principles of Christianity
deeply engraved on their hearts, would be infinitely more powerful,"
etc. Yes, more powerful to prevent their exercise of the sword, to make
them tremble at shedding their neighbor's blood, to make them look on
life as a burden of which it would be their highest happiness to be
relieved.
"If," says Bayle, "they were appointed to drive back veteran corps of
infantry, or to charge regiments of cuirassiers, they would be seen like
sheep in the midst of wolves."
Bayle was perfectly right. Montesquieu did not perceive that, while
attempting to refute him, he contemplated only the mercenary and
sanguinary soldiers of the present day, and not the early Christians. It
would seem as if he had been desirous of preventing the unjust
accusations which he experienced from the fanatics, by sacrificing Bayle
to them. But he gained nothing by it. They are two great men, who appear
to be of different opinions, but who, if they had been equally free to
speak, would have been found to have the same.
"The false honor of monarchies, the human virtues of republics, the
servile fear which operates under despotism;" nothing at all of this
goes towards the composition of a soldier, as the "Spirit of Laws"
pretends. When we levy a regiment, of whom a quarter part will desert in
the course of a fortnight, not one of the men enlisted thinks about the
honor of the monarchy: they do not even know what it is. The mercenary
troops of the republic of Venice know their country; but nothing about
republican virtue, which no one ever speaks of in the place of St. Mark.
In one word, I do not believe that there is a single man on the face of
the earth who has enlisted in his regiment from a principle of virtue.
Neither, again, is it out of a servile fear that Turks and Russians
fight with the fierceness and rage of lions and tigers. Fear does not
inspire courage. Nor is it by devotion that the Russians have defeated
the armies of Mustapha. It would, in my opinion, have been highly
desirable that so ingenious a man should have sought for truth rather
than display. When we wish to instruct mankind, we ought to forget
ourselves, and have nothing in view but truth.
ETERNITY.
In my youth I admired all the reasonings of Samuel Clarke. I loved his
person, although he was a determined Arian as well as Newton, and I
still revere his memory, because he was a good man; but the impression
which his ideas had stamped on my yet tender brain was effaced when that
brain became more firm. I found, for example, that he had contested the
eternity of the world with as little ability as he had proved the
reality of infinite space.
I have so much respect for the Book of Genesis, and for the church which
adopts it, that I regard it as the only proof of the creation of the
world five thousand seven hundred and eighteen years ago, according to
the computation of the Latins, and seven thousand and seventy-eight
years, according to the Greeks. All antiquity believed matter, at least,
to be eternal; and the greatest philosophers attributed eternity also to
the arrangement of the universe.
They are all mistaken, as we well know; but we may believe, without
blasphemy, that the eternal Former of all things made other worlds
besides ours.
EUCHARIST.
On this delicate subject, we shall not speak as theologians. Submitting
in heart and mind to the religion in which we are born, and the laws
under which we live, we shall have nothing to do with controversy; it is
too hostile to all religions which it boasts of supporting--to all laws
which it makes pretensions to explain, and especially to that harmony
which in every period it has banished from the world.
One-half of Europe anathematizes the other on the subject of the
Eucharist; and blood has flowed in torrents from the Baltic Sea to the
foot of the Pyrenees, for nearly two centuries, on account of a single
word, which signifies gentle charity.
Various nations in this part of the world view with horror the system of
transubstantiation. They exclaim against this dogma as the last effort
of human folly. They quote the celebrated passage of Cicero, who says
that men, having exhausted all the mad extravagancies they are capable
of, have yet never entertained the idea of eating the God whom they
adore. They say that as almost all popular opinions are built upon
ambiguities and abuse of words, so the system of the Roman Catholics
concerning the Eucharist and transubstantiation is founded solely on an
ambiguity; that they have interpreted literally what could only have
been meant figuratively; and that for the sake of mere verbal contests,
for absolute misconceptions, the world has for six hundred years been
drenched in blood.
Their preachers in the pulpits, their learned in their publications, and
the people in their conversational discussions, incessantly repeat that
Jesus Christ did not take His body in His two hands to give His
disciples to eat; that a body cannot be in a hundred thousand places at
one time, in bread and in wine; that the God who formed the universe
cannot consist of bread which is converted into fæces, and of wine which
flows off in urine; and that the doctrine may naturally expose
Christianity to the derision of the least intelligent, and to the
contempt and execration of the rest of mankind.
In this opinion the Tillotsons, the Smallridges, the Claudes, the
Daillés, the Amyrauts, the Mestrezats, the Dumoulins, the Blondels, and
the numberless multitude of the reformers of the sixteenth century, are
all agreed; while the peaceable Mahometan, master of Africa, and of the
finest part of Asia, smiles with disdain upon our disputes, and the rest
of the world are totally ignorant of them.
Once again I repeat that I have nothing to do with controversy. I
believe with a lively faith all that the Catholic apostolic religion
teaches on the subject of the Eucharist, without comprehending a single
word of it.
The question is, how to put the greatest restraint upon crimes. The
Stoics said that they carried God in their hearts. Such is the
expression of Marcus Aurelius and Epictetus, the most virtuous of
mankind, and who might almost be called gods upon earth. They understood
by the words "I carry God within me," that part of the divine universal
soul which animates every intelligent being.
The Catholic religion goes further. It says, "You shall have within you
physically what the Stoics had metaphysically. Do not set yourselves
about inquiring what it is that I give you to eat and drink, or merely
to eat. Only believe that what I so give you is God. He is within you.
Shall your heart then be defiled by anything unjust or base? Behold then
men receiving God within them, in the midst of an august ceremonial, by
the light of a hundred tapers, under the influence of the most exquisite
and enchanting music, and at the footstool of an altar of burnished
gold. The imagination is led captive, the soul is rapt in ecstasy and
melted! The votary scarcely breathes; he is detached from every
terrestrial object, he is united with God, He is in our flesh, and in
our blood! Who will dare, or who even will be able, after this, to
commit a single fault, or to entertain even the idea of it? It was
clearly impossible to devise a mystery better calculated to retain
mankind in virtue."
Yet Louis XI., while receiving God thus within him, poisons his own
brother; the archbishop of Florence, while making God, and the Pazzi
while receiving Him, assassinate the Medici in the cathedral. Pope
Alexander VI., after rising from the bed of his bastard daughter,
administers God to Cæsar Borgia, his bastard son, and both destroy by
hanging, poison, and the sword, all who are in possession of two acres
of land which they find desirable.
Julius II. makes and eats God; but, with his cuirass on his back and his
helmet on his head, he imbrues his hands in blood and carnage. Leo X.
contains God in his body, his mistress in his arms, and the money
extorted by the sale of indulgences, in his own and his sister's
coffers.
Trolle, archbishop of Upsala, has the senators of Sweden slaughtered
before his face, holding a papal bull in his hand. Von Galen, bishop of
Münster, makes war upon all his neighbors, and becomes celebrated for
his rapine.
The Abbé N---- is full of God, speaks of nothing but God, imparts God to
all the women, or weak and imbecile persons that he can obtain the
direction of, and robs his penitents of their property.
What are we to conclude from these contradictions? That all these
persons never really believed in God; that they still less, if possible,
believed that they had eaten His body and drunk His blood; that they
never imagined they had swallowed God; that if they had firmly so
believed, they never would have committed any of those deliberate
crimes; in a word, that this most miraculous preventive of human
atrocities has been most ineffective? The more sublime such an idea, the
more decidedly is it secretly rejected by human obstinacy.
The fact is, that all our grand criminals who have been at the head of
government, and those also who have subordinately shared in authority,
not only never believed that they received God down their throats, but
never believed in God at all; at least they had entirely effaced such an
idea from their minds. Their contempt for the sacrament which they
created or administered was extended at length into a contempt of God
Himself. What resource, then, have we remaining against depredation,
insolence, outrage, calumny, and persecution? That of persuading the
strong man who oppresses the weak that God really exists. He will, at
least, not laugh at this opinion; and, although he may not believe that
God is within him, he yet may believe that God pervades all nature. An
incomprehensible mystery has shocked him. But would he be able to say
that the existence of a remunerating and avenging God is an
incomprehensible mystery? Finally, although he does not yield his belief
to a Catholic bishop who says to him, "Behold, that is your God, whom a
man consecrated by myself has put into your mouth;" he may believe the
language of all the stars and of all animated beings, at once
exclaiming: "God is our creator!"
EXECUTION.
SECTION I.
Yes, we here repeat the observation, a man that is hanged is good for
nothing; although some executioner, as much addicted to quackery as
cruelty, may have persuaded the wretched simpletons in his neighborhood
that the fat of a person hanged is a cure for the epilepsy.
Cardinal Richelieu, when going to Lyons to enjoy the spectacle of the
execution of Cinq-Mars and de Thou, was informed that the executioner
had broken his leg. "What a dreadful thing it is," says he to the
chancellor Séguier, "we have no executioner!" I certainly admit that it
must have been a terrible disaster. It was a jewel wanting in his crown.
At last, however, an old worthy was found, who, after twelve strokes of
the sabre, brought low the head of the innocent and philosophic de Thou.
What necessity required this death? What good could be derived from the
judicial assassination of Marshal de Marillac?
I will go farther. If Maximilian, duke of Sully, had not compelled that
admirable King Henry IV. to yield to the execution of Marshal Birou, who
was covered with wounds which had been received in his service, perhaps
Henry would never have suffered assassination himself; perhaps that act
of clemency, judiciously interposed after condemnation, would have
soothed the still raging spirit of the league; perhaps the outcry would
not then have been incessantly thundered into the ears of the
populace--the king always protects heretics, the king treats good
Catholics shamefully, the king is a miser, the king is an old debauchée,
who, at the age of fifty-seven fell in love with the young princess of
Condé, and forced her husband to fly the kingdom with her. All these
embers of universal discontent would probably not have been alone
sufficient to inflame the brain of the fanatical Feuillant, Ravaillac.
With respect to what is ordinarily called justice, that is, the practice
of killing a man because he has stolen a crown from his master; or
burning him, as was the case with Simon Morin, for having said that he
had had conferences with the Holy Spirit; and as was the case also with
a mad old Jesuit of the name of Malagrida, for having printed certain
conversations which the holy virgin held with St. Anne, her mother,
while in the womb--this practice, it must be acknowledged, is neither
conformable to humanity or reason, and cannot possibly be of the least
utility.
We have already inquired what advantage could ensue to the state from
the execution of that poor man known under the name of the madman; who,
while at supper with some monks, uttered certain nonsensical words, and
who, instead of being purged and bled, was delivered over to the
gallows?
We further ask, whether it was absolutely necessary that another madman,
who was in the bodyguards, and who gave himself some slight cuts with a
hanger, like many other impostors, to obtain remuneration, should be
also hanged by the sentence of the parliament? Was this a crime of such
great enormity? Would there have been any imminent danger to society in
saving the life of this man?
What necessity could there be that La Barre should have his hand chopped
off and his tongue cut out, that he should be put to the question
ordinary and extraordinary, and be burned alive? Such was the sentence
pronounced by the Solons and Lycurguses of Abbeville! What had he done?
Had he assassinated his father and mother? Had people reason to
apprehend that he would burn down the city? He was accused of want of
reverence in some secret circumstances, which the sentence itself does
not specify. He had, it was said, sung an old song, of which no one
could give an account; and had seen a procession of capuchins pass at a
distance without saluting it.
It certainly appears as if some people took great delight in what
Boileau calls murdering their neighbor in due form and ceremony, and
inflicting on him unutterable torments. These people live in the
forty-ninth degree of latitude, which is precisely the position of the
Iroquois. Let us hope that they may, some time or other, become
civilized.
Among this nation of barbarians, there are always to be found two or
three thousand persons of great kindness and amiability, possessed of
correct taste, and constituting excellent society. These will, at
length, polish the others.
I should like to ask those who are so fond of erecting gibbets, piles,
and scaffolds, and pouring leaden balls through the human brain, whether
they are always laboring under the horrors of famine, and whether they
kill their fellow-creatures from any apprehension that there are more of
them than can be maintained?
I was once perfectly horror-struck at seeing a list of deserters made
out for the short period merely of eight years. They amounted to sixty
thousand. Here were sixty thousand co-patriots, who were to be shot
through the head at the beat of drum; and with whom, if well maintained
and ably commanded, a whole province might have been added to the
kingdom.
I would also ask some of these subaltern Dracos, whether there are no
such things wanted in their country as highways or crossways, whether
there are no uncultivated lands to be broken up, and whether men who are
hanged or shot can be of any service?
I will not address them on the score of humanity, but of utility:
unfortunately, they will often attend to neither; and, although M.
Beccaria met with the applauses of Europe for having proved that
punishments ought only to be proportioned to crimes, the Iroquois soon
found out an advocate, paid by a priest, who maintained that to torture,
hang, rack, and burn in all cases whatsoever, was decidedly the best
way.
SECTION II.
But it is England which, more than any other country, has been
distinguished for the stern delight of slaughtering men with the
pretended sword of the law. Without mentioning the immense number of
princes of the blood, peers of the realm, and eminent citizens, who have
perished by a public death on the scaffold, it is sufficient to call to
mind the execution of Queen Anne Boleyn, Queen Catherine Howard, Lady
Jane Grey, Queen Mary Stuart, and King Charles I, in order to justify
the sarcasm which has been frequently applied, that the history of
England ought to be written by the executioner.
Next to that island, it is alleged that France is the country in which
capital punishments have been most common. I shall say nothing of that
of Queen Brunehaut, for I do not believe it. I pass by innumerable
scaffolds, and stop before that of Count Montecuculi, who was cut into
quarters in the presence of Francis I. and his whole court, because
Francis, the dauphin, had died of pleurisy.
That event occurred in 1536. Charles V., victorious on all the coasts of
Europe and Africa, was then ravaging both Provence and Picardy. During
that campaign which commenced advantageously for him, the young dauphin,
eighteen years of age, becomes heated at a game of tennis, in the small
city of Tournon. When in high perspiration he drinks iced water, and in
the course of five days dies of the pleurisy. The whole court and all
France exclaim that the Emperor Charles V. had caused the dauphin of
France to be poisoned. This accusation, equally horrible and absurd, has
been repeated from time to time down to the present. Malherbe, in one of
his odes, speaks of Francis, whom Castile, unequal to cope with in arms,
bereaved of his son.
We will not stop to examine whether the emperor was unequal to the arms
of Francis I., because he left Provence after having completely sacked
it, nor whether to poison a dauphin is to steal him; but these bad lines
decidedly show that the poisoning of the dauphin Francis by Charles V.
was received throughout France as an indisputable truth.
Daniel does not exculpate the emperor. Henault, in his "Chronological
Summary," says: "Francis, the dauphin, poisoned." It is thus that all
writers copy from one another. At length the author of the "History of
Francis I." ventures, like myself, to investigate the fact.
It is certain that Count Montecuculi, who was in the service of the
dauphin, was condemned by certain commissioners to be quartered, as
guilty of having poisoned that prince.
Historians say that this Montecuculi was his cup-bearer. The dauphins
have no such officer: but I will admit that they had. How could that
gentleman, just at the instant, have mixed up poison in a glass of
fresh water? Did he always carry poison in his pocket, ready whenever
his master might call for drink? He was not the only person present with
the dauphin, who was, it appears, wiped and rubbed dry by some of his
attendants after the game of tennis was finished. The surgeons who
opened the body declared, it is said, that the prince had taken arsenic.
Had the prince done so, he must have felt intolerable pains about his
throat, the water would have been colored, and the case would not have
been treated as one of pleurisy. The surgeons were ignorant pretenders,
who said just what they were desired to say; a fact which happens every
day.
[Illustration: Francis I. and his sister.]
What interest could this officer have in destroying his master? Who was
more likely to advance his fortune? But, it is said, it was intended
also to poison the king. Here is a new difficulty and a new
improbability.
Who was to compensate him for this double crime? Charles V., it is
replied--another improbability equally strong. Why begin with a youth
only eighteen years and a half old, and who, moreover, had two brothers?
How was the king to be got at? Montecuculi did not wait at his table.
Charles V. had nothing to gain by taking away the life of the young
dauphin, who had never drawn a sword, and who certainly would have had
powerful avengers. It would have been a crime at once base and useless.
He did not fear the father, we are to believe, the bravest knight of the
French court; yet he was afraid of the son, who had scarcely reached
beyond the age of childhood!
But, we are informed, this Montecuculi, on the occasion of a journey to
Ferrara, his own country, was presented to the emperor, and that that
monarch asked him numerous questions relating to the magnificence of the
king's table and the economy of his household. This certainly is
decisive evidence that the Italian was engaged by Charles V. to poison
the royal family!
Oh! but it was not the emperor himself who urged him to commit this
crime: he was impelled to it by Anthony de Leva and the Marquis di
Gonzaga. Yes, truly, Anthony de Leva, eighty years of age, and one of
the most virtuous knights in Europe! and this noble veteran, moreover,
was indiscreet enough to propose executing this scheme of poisoning in
conjunction with a prince of Gonzaga. Others mention the Marquis del
Vasto, whom we call du Gast. Contemptible impostors! Be at least agreed
among yourselves. You say that Montecuculi confessed the fact before his
judges. Have you seen the original documents connected with the trial?
You state that the unfortunate man was a chemist. These then are your
only proofs, your only reasons, for subjecting him to the most dreadful
of executions: he was an Italian, he was a chemist, and Charles V. was
hated. His glory then provoked indeed a base revenge. Good God! Your
court orders a man of rank to be cut into quarters upon bare suspicion,
in the vain hope of disgracing that powerful emperor.
Some time afterwards your suspicions, always light and volatile, charge
this poisoning upon Catherine de Medici, wife of Henry II., then dauphin
and subsequently king of France. You say that, in order to reign, she
destroyed by poison the first dauphin, who stood between her husband and
the throne. Miserable impostors! Once again, I say, be consistent!
Catherine de Medici was at that time only seventeen years of age.
It has been said that Charles V. himself imputed this murder to
Catherine, and the historian Pera is quoted to prove it. This however,
is an error. These are the historian's words:
"This year the dauphin of France died at Paris with decided indications
of poison. His friends ascribed it to the orders of the Marquis del
Vasto and Anthony de Leva, which led to the execution of Count
Montecuculi, who was in the habit of corresponding with them: base and
absurd suspicion of men so highly honorable, as by destroying the
dauphin little or nothing could be gained. He was not yet known by his
valor any more than his brothers, who were next in the succession to
him.
"To one presumption succeeded another. It was pretended that this murder
was committed by order of the duke of Orleans, his brother, at the
instigation of his wife, Catherine de Medici, who was ambitious of
being a queen, which, in fact, she eventually was. It is well remarked
by a certain author, that the dreadful death of the duke of Orleans,
afterwards Henry II., was the punishment of heaven upon him for
poisoning his brother--at least, if he really did poison him--a practice
too common among princes, by which they free themselves at little cost
from stumbling-blocks in their career, but frequently and manifestly
punished by God."
Signor di Pera, we instantly perceive, is not an absolute Tacitus;
besides, he takes Montecuculi, or Montecuculo, as he calls him, for a
Frenchman. He says the dauphin died at Paris, whereas it was at Tournon.
He speaks of decided indications of poison from public rumor; but it is
clear that he attributes the accusation of Catherine de Medici only to
the French. This charge is equally unjust and extravagant with that
against Montecuculi.
In fact, this volatile temperament, so characteristic of the French, has
in every period of our history led to the most tragical catastrophes. If
we go back from the iniquitous execution of Montecuculi to that of the
Knights Templars, we shall see a series of the most atrocious
punishments, founded upon the most frivolous presumptions. Rivers of
blood have flowed in France in consequence of the thoughtless character
and precipitate judgment of the French people.