and ghastly, strongly expressive of the torment they suffered at
the heart. They looked inward with a self-abhorrence, now
inseparable from their existence. Their crimes themselves had
become their punishment, and it was not necessary that greater
should be inflicted. They haunted them like hideous spectres, and
continually started up before them in all their enormity. They
wished for a second death, that might separate them from these
ministers of vengeance, as the first had separated their spirits
from the body,--a death that might at once extinguish all
consciousness and sensibility. They called upon the depths of hell
to hide them from the persecuting beams of truth, in impenetrable
darkness; but they are reserved for the cup of vengeance, which,
though they drink of it forever, shall be ever full. The truth,
from which they fled, has overtaken them, an invincible and
unrelenting enemy. The ray which once might have illuminated them,
like the mild radiance of the day, now pierces them like
lightning,--a fierce and fatal fire, that, without injury to the
external parts, infixes a burning torment at the heart. By truth,
now an avenging flame, the very soul is melted like metal in a
furnace; it dissolves all, but destroys nothing; it disunites the
first elements of life, yet the sufferer can never die. He is, as
it were, divided against himself, without rest and without comfort;
animated by no vital principle, but the rage that kindles at his
own misconduct, and the dreadful madness that results from despair.
If the "perpetual feast of nectared sweets" that the "Telemachus"
affords, is felt at times to be almost cloying, it is not, as our
readers have now seen, for want of occasional contrasts of a bitterness
sufficiently mordant and drastic. But the didactic purpose is never lost
sight of by the author. Here is an aspect of the Elysium found by
Telemachus. How could any thing be more delectably conceived and
described? The translator, Dr. Hawkesworth, is animated to an English
style that befits the sweetness of his original. The "Telemachus:"--
In this place resided all the good kings who had wisely governed
mankind from the beginning of time. They were separated from the
rest of the just; for, as wicked princes suffer more dreadful
punishment than other offenders in Tartarus, so good kings enjoy
infinitely greater felicity than other lovers of virtue, in the
fields of Elysium.
Telemachus advanced towards these kings, whom he found in groves of
delightful fragrance, reclining upon the downy turf, where the
flowers and herbage were perpetually renewed. A thousand rills
wandered through these scenes of delight, and refreshed the soil
with a gentle and unpolluted wave; the song of innumerable birds
echoed in the groves. Spring strewed the ground with her flowers,
while at the same time autumn loaded the trees with her fruit. In
this place the burning heat of the dog-star was never felt, and the
stormy north was forbidden to scatter over it the frosts of winter.
Neither War that thirsts for blood, nor Envy that bites with an
envenomed tooth, like the vipers that are wreathed around her arms,
and fostered in her bosom, nor Jealousy, nor Distrust, nor Fears,
nor vain Desires, invade these sacred domains of peace. The day is
here without end, and the shades of night are unknown. Here the
bodies of the blessed are clothed with a pure and lambent light,
as with a garment. This light does not resemble that vouchsafed to
mortals upon earth, which is rather darkness visible; it is rather
a celestial glory than a light--an emanation that penetrates the
grossest body with more subtilety than the rays of the sun
penetrate the purest crystal, which rather strengthens than dazzles
the sight, and diffuses through the soul a serenity which no
language can express. By this ethereal essence the blessed are
sustained in everlasting life; it pervades them; it is incorporated
with them, as food with the mortal body; they see it, they feel it,
they breathe it, and it produces in them an inexhaustible source of
serenity and joy. It is a fountain of delight, in which they are
absorbed as fishes are absorbed in the sea; they wish for nothing,
and, having nothing, they possess all things. This celestial light
satiates the hunger of the soul; every desire is precluded; and
they have a fulness of joy which sets them above all that mortals
seek with such restless ardor, to fill the vacuity that aches
forever in their breast. All the delightful objects that surround
them are disregarded; for their felicity springs up within, and,
being perfect, can derive nothing from without. So the gods,
satiated with nectar and ambrosia, disdain, as gross and impure,
all the dainties of the most luxurious table upon earth. From these
seats of tranquillity all evils fly far away; death, disease,
poverty, pain, regret, remorse, fear, even hope,--which is
sometimes not less painful than fear itself,--animosity, disgust,
and resentment can never enter there.
The leaden good sense of Louis XIV. pronounced Fenelon the "most
chimerical" man in France. The Founder of the kingdom of heaven would
have been a dreamer, to this most worldly-minded of "Most Christian"
monarchs. Bossuet, who, about to die, read something of Fenelon's
"Telemachus," said it was a book hardly serious enough for a clergyman
to write. A more serious book, whether its purpose be regarded, or its
undoubted actual influence in moulding the character of a prospective
ruler of France, was not written by any clergyman of Fenelon's or
Bossuet's time.
Fenelon was an eloquent preacher as well as an elegant writer. His
influence exerted in both the two functions, that of the writer and that
of the preacher, was powerfully felt in favor of the freedom of nature
in style as against the conventionality of culture and art. He
insensibly helped on that reform from a too rigid classicism which in
our day we have seen pushed to its extreme in the exaggerations of
romanticism. Few wiser words have ever been spoken on the subject of
oratory, than are to be found in his "Dialogues on Eloquence."
French literature, unfortunately, is on the whole such in character as
to need all that it can show, to be cast into the scale of moral
elevation and purity. Fenelon alone is, in quantity as in quality,
enough, not indeed to overcome, but to go far toward overcoming, the
perverse inclination of the balance.
XIV.
MONTESQUIEU.
1689-1755.
To Montesquieu belongs the glory of being the founder, or inventor, of
the philosophy of history. Bossuet might dispute this palm with him; but
Bossuet, in his "Discourse on Universal History," only exemplified the
principle which it was left to Montesquieu afterward more consciously to
develop.
Three books, still living, are associated with the name of
Montesquieu,--"The Persian Letters," "The Greatness and the Decline of
the Romans," and "The Spirit of Laws." "The Persian Letters" are a
series of epistles purporting to be written by a Persian sojourning in
Paris and observing the manners and morals of the people around him. The
idea is ingenious; though the ingenuity, we suppose, was not original
with Montesquieu. Such letters afford the writer of them an admirable
advantage for telling satire on contemporary follies. This production of
Montesquieu became the suggestive example to Goldsmith for his "Citizen
of the World; or, Letters of a Chinese Philosopher." We shall have here
no room for illustrative citations from Montesquieu's "Persian
Letters."
The second work, that on the "Greatness and the Decline of the Romans,"
is less a history than a series of essays on the history of Rome. It is
brilliant, striking, suggestive. It aims to be philosophical rather than
historical. It deals in bold generalizations. The spirit of it is,
perhaps, too constantly and too profoundly hostile to the Romans.
Something of the ancient Gallic enmity--as if a derivation from that
last and noblest of the Gauls, Vercingetorix--seems to animate the
Frenchman in discussing the character and the career of the great
conquering nation of antiquity. The critical element is the element
chiefly wanting to make Montesquieu's work equal to the demands of
modern historical scholarship. Montesquieu was, however, a full worthy
forerunner of the philosophical historians of to-day. We give a single
extract in illustration,--an extract condensed from the chapter in which
the author analyzes and expounds the foreign policy of the Romans. The
generalizations are bold and brilliant,--too bold, probably, for strict
critical truth. (We use, for our extract, the recent translation by Mr.
Jehu Baker, who enriches his volume with original notes of no little
interest and value.) Montesquieu:--
This body [the Roman Senate] erected itself into a tribunal for the
judgment of all peoples, and at the end of every war it decided
upon the punishments and the recompenses which it conceived each to
be entitled to. It took away parts of the lands of the conquered
states, in order to bestow them upon the allies of Rome, thus
accomplishing two objects at once,--attaching to Rome those kings
of whom she had little to fear and much to hope, and weakening
those of whom she had little to hope and all to fear.
Allies were employed to make war upon an enemy, but the destroyers
were at once destroyed in their turn. Philip was beaten with the
half of the AEtolians, who were immediately afterwards annihilated
for having joined themselves to Antiochus. Antiochus was beaten
with the help of the Rhodians, who, after having received signal
rewards, were humiliated forever, under the pretext that they had
requested that peace might be made with Perseus.
When they had many enemies on hand at the same time, they accorded
a truce to the weakest, which considered itself happy in obtaining
such a respite, counting it for much to be able to secure a
postponement of its ruin.
When they were engaged in a great war, the senate affected to
ignore all sorts of injuries, and silently awaited the arrival of
the proper time for punishment; when, if it saw that only some
individuals were culpable, it refused to punish them, choosing
rather to hold the entire nation as criminal, and thus reserve to
itself a useful vengeance.
As they inflicted inconceivable evils upon their enemies, there
were not many leagues formed against them; for those who were most
distant from danger were not willing to draw nearer to it. The
consequence of this was, that they were rarely attacked; whilst, on
the other hand, they constantly made war at such time, in such
manner, and against such peoples, as suited their convenience; and,
among the many nations which they assailed, there were very few
that would not have submitted to every species of injury at their
hands if they had been willing to leave them in peace.
It being their custom to speak always as masters, the ambassadors
whom they sent to nations which had not yet felt their power were
certain to be insulted; and this was an infallible pretext for a
new war.
As they never made peace in good faith, and as, with the design of
universal conquest, their treaties were, properly speaking, only
suspensions of war, they always put conditions in them which began
the ruin of the states which accepted them. They either provided
that the garrisons of strong places should be withdrawn, or that
the number of troops should be limited, or that the horses or the
elephants of the vanquished party should be delivered over to
themselves; and if the defeated people was powerful on sea, they
compelled it to burn its vessels, and sometimes to remove, and
occupy a place of habitation farther inland.
After having destroyed the armies of a prince, they ruined his
finances by excessive taxes, or by the imposition of a tribute
under pretext of requiring him to pay the expenses of the war,--a
new species of tyranny, which forced the vanquished sovereign to
oppress his own subjects, and thus to alienate their affection.
When they granted peace to a king, they took some of his brothers
or children as hostages. This gave them the means of troubling his
kingdom at their pleasure. If they held the nearest heir, they
intimidated the possessor; if only a prince of a remote degree,
they used him to stir up revolts against the legitimate ruler.
Whenever any people or prince withdrew their obedience from their
sovereign, they immediately accorded to them the title of allies of
the Roman people, and thus rendered them sacred and inviolable; so
that there was no king, however great he might be, who could for a
moment be sure of his subjects, or even of his family.
Although the title of Roman ally was a species of servitude, it
was, nevertheless, very much sought after; for the possession of
this title made it certain that the recipients of it would receive
injuries from the Romans only, and there was ground for the hope
that this class of injuries would be rendered less grievous than
they would otherwise be.
Thus, there was no service which nations and kings were not ready
to perform, nor any humiliation which they did not submit to, in
order to obtain this distinction....
These customs were not merely some particular facts which happened
at hazard. They were permanently established principles, as may be
readily seen; for the maxims which the Romans acted upon against
the greatest powers were precisely those which they had employed in
the beginning of their career against the small cities which
surrounded them....
But nothing served Rome more effectually than the respect which she
inspired among all nations. She immediately reduced kings to
silence, and rendered them as dumb. With the latter, it was not a
mere question of the degree of their power: their very persons were
attacked. To risk a war with Rome was to expose themselves to
captivity, to death, and to the infamy of a triumph. Thus it was
that kings, who lived in pomp and luxury, did not dare to look with
steady eyes upon the Roman people, and, losing courage, they hoped,
by their patience and their obsequiousness, to obtain some
postponement of the calamities with which they were menaced.
The "Spirit of Laws" is probably to be considered the masterpiece of
Montesquieu. It is our duty, however, to say, that this work is quite
differently estimated by different authorities. By some, it is praised
in terms of the highest admiration, as a great achievement in wide and
wise political or juridical philosophy. By others, it is dismissed very
lightly, as the ambitious, or, rather, pretentious, effort of a
superficial man, a showy mere sciolist. It acquired great contemporary
fame, both at home and abroad. It was promptly translated into English,
the translator earning the merited compliment of the author's own
hearty approval of his work. Horace Walpole, who was something of a
Gallomaniac, makes repeated allusion to Montesquieu's "Spirit of Laws,"
in letters of his written at about the time of the appearance of the
book. But Walpole's admiring allusions themselves contain evidence that
admiration equal to his own of the work that he praised, was by no means
universal in England.
The general aspect of the book is that of a composition meant to be
luminously analyzed and arranged. Divisions and titles abound. There are
thirty-one "books"; and each book contains, on the average, perhaps
about the same number of chapters. The library edition, in English,
consists of two volumes, comprising together some eight hundred open
pages, in good-sized type. The books and chapters are therefore not
formidably long. The look of the work is as if it were readable; and its
character, on the whole, corresponds. It would hardly be French, if such
were not the case. Except that Montesquieu's "Spirit of Laws" is, as we
have indicated, a highly organized, even an over-organized, book, which,
by emphasis, Montaigne's "Essays" is not, these two works may be said,
in their contents, somewhat to resemble each other. Montesquieu is
nearly as discursive as Montaigne. He wishes to be philosophical, but he
is not above supplying his reader with interesting historical instances.
We shall not do better, in giving our readers a comprehensive idea of
Montesquieu's "Spirit of Laws," than to begin by showing them the titles
of a number of the books:--
Book I. Of Laws in General. Book II. Of Laws Directly Derived from
the Nature of Government. Book III. Of the Principles of the Three
Kinds of Government. Book IV. That the Laws of Education ought to
be Relative to the Principles of Government. Book V. That the Laws
given by the Legislator ought to be Relative to the Principle of
Government. Book VI. Consequences of the Principles of Different
Governments with Respect to the Simplicity of Civil and Criminal
Laws, the Form of Judgments, and the Inflicting of Punishments.
Book VII. Consequences of the Different Principles of the Three
Governments with Respect to Sumptuary Laws, Luxury, and the
Condition of Women. Book VIII. Of the Corruption of the Principles
of the Three Governments. Book XIV. Of Laws as Relative to the
Nature of the Climate.
The philosophical aim and ambition of the author at once appear in the
inquiry which he institutes for the three several animating _principles_
of the three several forms of government respectively distinguished by
him; namely, democracy (or republicanism), monarchy, and despotism. What
these three principles are, will be seen from the following statement:
"As _virtue_ is necessary in a republic, and in monarchy, _honor_, so
_fear_ is necessary in a despotic government." The meaning is, that in
republics, virtue possessed by the citizens is the spring of national
prosperity; that under a monarchy, the desire of preferment at the hands
of the sovereign is what quickens men to perform services to the state;
that despotism thrives by fear inspired in the breasts of those subject
to its sway.
To illustrate the freely discursive character of the work, we give the
whole of chapter sixteen--there are chapters still shorter--in Book
VII.:--
AN EXCELLENT CUSTOM OF THE SAMNITES.
The Samnites had a custom which in so small a republic, and
especially in their situation, must have been productive of
admirable effects. The young people were all convened in one place,
and their conduct was examined. He that was declared the best of
the whole assembly, had leave given him to take which girl he
pleased for his wife; the second best chose after him, and so on.
Admirable institution! The only recommendation that young men could
have on this occasion, was their virtue, and the service done their
country. He who had the greatest share of these endowments, chose
which girl he liked out of the whole nation. Love, beauty,
chastity, virtue, birth, and even wealth itself, were all, in some
measure, the dowry of virtue. A nobler and grander recompense, less
chargeable to a petty state, and more capable of influencing both
sexes, could scarce be imagined.
The Samnites were descended from the Lacedaemonians; and Plato,
whose institutes are only an improvement of those of Lycurgus,
enacted nearly the same law.
The relation of the foregoing chapter to the subject indicated in the
title of the book, is sufficiently obscure and remote, for a work like
this purporting to be philosophical. What relation exists, seems to be
found in the fact that the Samnite custom described tends to produce
that popular virtue by which republics flourish. But the information, at
all events, is curious and interesting.
The following paragraphs, taken from the second chapter of Book XIV.,
contain in germ nearly the whole of the philosophy underlying M. Taine's
essays on the history of literature:--
OF THE DIFFERENCE OF MEN IN DIFFERENT CLIMATES.
A cold air constringes the extremities of the external fibres of
the body; this increases their elasticity, and favors the return of
the blood from the extreme parts to the heart. It contracts those
very fibres; consequently it increases also their force. On the
contrary, a warm air relaxes and lengthens the extremes of the
fibres; of course it diminishes their force and elasticity.
People are therefore more vigorous in cold climates. Here the
action of the heart and the reaction of the extremities of the
fibres are better performed, the temperature of the humors is
greater, the blood moves freer towards the heart, and reciprocally
the heart has more power. This superiority of strength must produce
various effects; for instance, a greater boldness,--that is, more
courage; a greater sense of superiority,--that is, less desire of
revenge; a greater opinion of security,--that is, more frankness,
less suspicion, policy and cunning. In short, this must be
productive of very different tempers. Put a man into a close, warm
place, and, for the reasons above given, he will feel a great
faintness. If under this circumstance you propose a bold enterprise
to him, I believe you will find him very little disposed towards
it; his present weakness will throw him into a despondency; he will
be afraid of every thing, being in a state of total incapacity. The
inhabitants of warm countries are, like old men, timorous; the
people in cold countries are, like young men, brave.
In the following extract, from chapter five, Book XXIV., the climatic
theory is again applied, this time to the matter of religion, in a style
that makes one think of Buckle's "History of Civilization:"--
When the Christian religion, two centuries ago, became unhappily
divided into Catholic and Protestant, the people of the north
embraced the Protestant, and those south adhered still to the
Catholic.
The reason is plain: the people of the north have, and will forever
have, a spirit of liberty and independence, which the people of the
south have not; and therefore, a religion which has no visible
head, is more agreeable to the independency of the climate, than
that which has one.
Climate is a "great matter" with Montesquieu. In treating of the subject
of a state changing its religion, he says:--
The ancient religion is connected with the constitution of the
kingdom, and the new one is not; the former _agrees with the
climate_, and very often the new one is opposite to it.
For the Christian religion, Montesquieu professes profound
respect,--rather as a pagan political philosopher might do, than as one
intimately acquainted with it by a personal experience of his own. His
spirit, however, is humane and liberal. It is the spirit of Montaigne,
it is the spirit of Voltaire, speaking in the idiom of this different
man, and of this different man as influenced by his different
circumstances. Montesquieu had had practical proof of the importance to
himself of not offending the dominant hierarchy.
The latter part of "The Spirit of Laws" contains discussions exhibiting
no little research on the part of the author. There is, for one example,
a discussion of the course of commerce in different ages of the world,
and of the influences that have wrought from time to time to bring about
the changes occurring. For another example, there is a discussion of the
feudal system.
Montesquieu was an admirer of the English constitution. His work,
perhaps, contains no extended chapters more likely to instruct the
general reader and to furnish a good idea of the writer's genius and
method, than the two chapters--chapter six, Book XI., and chapter
twenty-seven, Book XIX.--in which the English nation and the English
form of government are sympathetically described. We simply indicate,
for we have no room to exhibit, these chapters. Voltaire, too, expressed
Montesquieu's admiration of English liberty and English law.
On the whole, concerning Montesquieu it may justly be said, that of all
political philosophers, he, if not the profoundest, is at least one of
the most interesting; if not the most accurate and critical, at least
one of the most brilliant and suggestive.