BOOKS •

DE TOCQIJEVILLE.* Tun appearance of this book in an English dress will be welcomed by every politician and every Englishman capable of appreciating exhaustive and solid thought. M. Gustave de Beaumont in his zeal

for his deceased friend -has injured the world by depriving it of everything M. de Tocqueville left imperfect or incomplete. He

even suppresses two chapters on Anglo-Indian History, which had been finished, and which would have been read by Englishmen with an interest all the more keen because so few foreigners have ever thought out the political situation of England in India. This severity of selection, however, though deeply to be lamented bythose who think the education of the world rather more important than the reputation of its tutors, increases the value of the residuum allowed to pass the fine meshes of M. de Bearunont's sieve, and the letters and memo. randa of which the volumes originally consisted deserve the careful

study of all who have learnt to reverence the political wisdom which was M. de Tocqueville's claim to a Etrropean renown. The English editor has added to the work Mr. Senior's notes of his conversations with the author—conversations as full of interest as any of his writings—a few letters, and the paper on "France before the Consu- late,' orginally contributed to the London and Westminster Review. The last well deserves reproduction, as the most compact if not the most striking, evidence of the rare political insight which enabled M. de Tocqueville to account for phenomena apparently self-destructive. We understand as we read it why France, though still devoted heart and soul to the Revolution, so far as it was antagonistic to the widest regime, and, though still breathing the moAr ardent Liberalism, ac- cepted with gratitude the rule of a despotic soldier, who notoriously despised the popular voice, and through his whole career put his foot on the neck of the idealogues.

It may be worth while, before analyzing the views expressed in these letters, to examine M. de Tocqueville's special claims to a European respect. They are not to be found in his life, which was an ordinary and rather an uneventful one. Sprung of an ancient but not very illustrious family, and possessed of a small patrimony, his activity was confined aurae* the greater part of his career to a provincial magistracy, and the few years during which he was member of the Assembly and Minister of State- did not add to his reputation. He was too thoughtful a speaker for a French Assembly, and though he made remarkable speeches, they did not greatly affect events. The following sentences, for instance, which were uttered on the 27th January, 1848, and -which seem to the men of 1861 almost inspired, were heard as the words of a wise but some- what feeble alarmist. After predicting an outbreak, he continued :

"Gentlemen, allow me to tell you, that I believe you deceive yourselves.

Without doubt disorder does not break out in overt acts; but it has sunk deeply into the minds of the people. Look at what is passing in the breasts of the working classes, as yet, I own, tranquil It is trite that they are not now inflamed by purely political passions in the same degree as formerly ; but do you not observe that their passions from political have become social? Do you not see gradually pervading them opinions and ideas whose object is not merely to overthrow a law, a ministry, or even a dynasty, but society itself? to shake the very foundation on which it now rests? Do you not listen to their perpetual cry? Do you not hear incessantly repeated that all those above them are incapable and unworthy of governing them? that the present distribution of wealth in the world is unjust, that property rests upon no equitable basis? and do you not believe that when such opinions take root, when they spread till they have almost become general, when they penetrate deeply into the masses, they must lead, sooner or later, I know not when, I know not how, but that sooner or later they must lead to the most formidable revolutions?

"Such, gentlemen, is my deep conviction; I believe that at the present mo- ment we are slumbering on a volcano—(murmurs)---of this I sin thoroughly convinced. (Excitement)" As a minister in 1849, M. de Tocqueville left a stain upon a blame- less life, by advocating the infamous expedition to Rome, an expedition absolutely at variance with every principle he ever professed. He told Mr. Senior, indeed, that the Ministry had resolved, if the Pope would not reform his Government, to withdraw their troops, but he was far too keen-sighted not to know that the Papal system was incorrigible, and that even if it were capable of change, he was forcing a government on a free people at the point of foreign bayonets. He never appa- rently expressed regret for all act which doomed two millions of human beings to the very form of wretchedness he had passed his life in denouncing, and we cannot but believe that in this case the selfishness of the Frenchman overcame both the sympathies and the wisdom of the liberal sage. For the rest, M. de Tocqueville travelled like many another observant traveller, and lived like many: another country gentleman, happy in his wife's love and his neighbours' esteem. Nor, on the other hand, does M. de Tocqueville's fame rest on any additions which he has made to positive statesmanship. His genius was not creative, or was so in a very feeble degree. He tried once or twice to induce his countrymen to modify their institutions, but the suggestions he put forward were none of them original, and in that rarest faculty of statesmanship, the power of adapting general truths to the special national life, he almost entirely failed. In 1848 he desired, wisely enough, to give the constitution some new element of stability and moderation, and predicted, with wonderful ace

the mischiefs which would follow from its absence. But his only suggestion was a recurrence to the worn-oat expedient of a double chamber, a device tried over and over again, and always with the same result, viz. that the second chamber, if created by fiat, is always

.3lemosr, Letters, and Remainsof elieris de Toequevale. Translated from the French by the Translator of Napoleon's Ceerespondenee with Mai Joseph. Cambridge sad London. : Macmillan and Co.

either an embarrassment to the representative body, or a -weaker repetition of it. He has .ointed out, with exquisite skill, every disease existing in the y politic of Frame, but he has sag-

. II gested.no remedies, and indeed confesses that his imagination is be. wddered. . At one time he expects as the end of the revo- lution the fusion of the two branches, and the elevation of them representative to a. constitutional throne. At another, he believes that intermittent constitntionalism,—freedom, that is, inter- rupted by sudden and fierce bursts of military rule,—is the least unlikely of all prospects. And again he sinks back on the melan- choly faith that nothing is certain save that the revolution will march, that we shall not see its end, or our children, and that every man in France should prepare himself to regard nothing as a posses- sion except the qualities of his own soul. All this, mournfully wise asit may be, is not statesmanship, but the abnegation of statesman- ship, a confession that the difficulty seems to the author insoluble, and that expectancy and not action is the part of a sound politician. This defect is as conspicuous in hi. de Tocqueville's writing as in his political life, and marks a wide distinction between his genius and that of men like Bentham or John Stuart Mill. The constitution he would approve would probably be nobler than theirs, for his mind had cleansed itself of prejudice to a degree impossible to an English- man, but their constitutions would be at work while M. de Tocque- ville was still reflecting over the possible consequences of his first constitutional axiom.

The secret of the esteem in which M. de Tocqueville has been held, an esteem wVich will probably increase with time, must be sought in a quality which, for want of a better term, we must call wisdom. It is not knowledge, or experience, or clearness, or ripeness of thought— though all these attributes belong to him, and tend to make up the general effect—but wisdom; the ripe fruit of all. The instinctive feeling of every man who studies his writings is that that he has acquired in reading them, not merely an increase to his ideas and his knowledge, but increased power of obtaining the objects for which information and ideas are sought. We do not know another writer, unless it be Pascal, who leaves precisely the same impression, but its exact dm- racter will be obvious to any one who has ever carefully read Mr. Senior's notes. Mr. Senior's mind up to a certain point is almost identical with M. de Tocqueville's. He inquires in just the same way, records with the same freedom from prejudice, and has ap- parently the same habit of referring facts to certain preconceived ideas, without forgetting them in the process. But the effect he pro- duces is not conviction, but simply intenser and more definite thought. M. de Tocqueville settles questions, and this in the judgment of men of the most opposed ideas and convictions. No man, we conceive, ever rose front his "France before the Revolution" without knowing—we do not mean thinking or feeling, or comprehend- ing—but knowing that the revolutionary system was a develop- ment of the regal system, and not as had been supposed, a new and abnormal creation. Many other men would have argued for that view as powerfully. A few would have set its proofs in a dearer and more forcible light, M. de Tocqueville being hampered by the disease of modern philosophers—the unreasonable passion for condensation. But no one, save himself, could have so combined argument and proof that thinking men, as they read him, were con- scious that the mental discussion which is their torment had mo- mently ceased, that their minds, like those of children, were only receiving. Had this occurred only to one party it might have been set down as the result merely of a remarkable lucidity. Many a writer and orator has changed the floating ideas of a party into un- movable conviction. Burke did as mach as that when he wrote of the French revolution. But M. de Tocqueville accomplished it with men of all shades of conviction—convinced American Democrats as much as English Tories, "Rouges" as much as men of the Faubourg St. Germain. "France before the Revolution" must have been as offensive a book to the Republican party as could well be conceived. Their first political doctrine was that Time began with 1789, but they accepted the work as freely as those who saw in it a proof that the monarchy might of its own strength have worked itself clear of the ancien regime. An achievement of this kind, a work which, while contradicting all parties, is accepted by all, can only proceed from a man in whom advantages of situation have combined knowledge and insight into wisdom, and this was precisely M. de Tocqueville's posi- tion. Born and bred an aristocrat, he had an instinctive love of liberty in its best and most personal sense, yet was wholly without that hatred of controlling power so apt to accompany and embitter modern liberalism.

Living through a period of almost incessant change, when all prin- ciples were attacked in turn, and every form of society seemed an imminent possibility, he was near enough to the centre of events to understand what really occurred, and tar enough off to judge them without passion. His thoughts were in colour like the thoughts of posterity, and based as they were on an observation almost as broad, and knowledge almost as accurate, they proved to be nearly as correct. We have quoted an instance of his foresight just above, and some pages of his "Democracy in America" read at this moment almost like prophecies. How strangely true, too, is this passage, written in 1854: "Though Germany is at present tranquil, she is not settled; she sleeps, but sleeps standing—the least touch could throw her to the right or to the left. Yon perceive throughout the country a vague dislike of what 113 existing ; a feeling of stability is wanting; the old traditions have been abandoned; the respect for what is ancient, and tor what is established, has disappeared. Every year the emigration becomes more enormous; 240,000 Germans sought last year in Ame- rica new laws and a new country. Yet I am sure that it will be lung before any political movement has its beginning in Germany. The Germans are easily

set in motion; but they do not move spontaneously. Such, at least, is my

Onion."

Seven years have elapsed, and though the restlessness has in- creased, and the slumber is broken by mutterings and twitchings, Germany still sleeps, standing waiting for that motion from without which never seems to arrive, for the Frederic Barbarossa whose awakening is to set all things right through German aid, but without German initiative. So, too, De Tocqueville predicted that the next great English struggle would be ecclesiastical, and already in the midst of our apparent quiescence all things point to that end. Once only, so far as his published writings and conversation enable us to judge, was his acuteness at fault. -He could gain apparently no clear idea of the French Emperor. Whether his dismissal from office under the President had disturbed his usual calm, or whether, as we should imagine, he judged events better than character, his friends must de- cide, but he undoubtedly misjudged Louis Napoleon. In one conver- sation, held August 17th, 1850, he expresses his belief that Louis Napoleon would not attempt the empire, for "when the moment of execution comes he hesitates." Yet in Decemberof next year he looked hourly for Napoleon's fall in consequence of the follies his rashness would urge him to commit. He evidently always expected his power to be upset in a few months, and warned Mr. Senior ten years ago that the English alliance could not continue, for that Napoleon was at the mercy of his army. The fact which much weaker observers do not now doubt, that the Emperor is innately cautious almost to weak- ness, seems never to have been apparent to him, and in his whole view of affairs he allowed his judgment to be affected by his detesta- tion for despotism. Indeed, a predominant conviction that evil is short-lived was, we should think, the one dogma which ever disturbed the movement of that serene intellect. Evil, as for example, slavery, is often long lived, and if the Devil, as some of our friends believe, is dead, he, at all events, died full of years and of successful work in his vocation.

The letters in these volumes do not, we think, display the power of the writer quite so fully as either "Democracy in America," or "France before the Revolution," but they are full of thoughts, studded with those happy sentences which only Frenchmen can write, and pervaded by an atmosphere of grace and serene reflectiveness which is inexpressibly pleasant to the reader. We will quote one of no importance as an illustration of the tone M. de Tocqueville retained in all Ids correspondence :

"I intended to write to both of my dear friends at once to-day ; I have not time for two letters, because we are in the middle of the assizes; and yet I wish to have a little talk with both. The difficulty is to know which to address first, for there are things which would not interest you equally. My heart puts neither first or last, so I will begin with the lady of the house ; but she must be aware that it is out of pure politeness. "I will tell you, then, dear sister, that if my letter touched your heart, yours found its way straight to mine. I said so to your husband a few days ago. I cannot describe to you the impression that this proof of your friendship pro- duced on me. One has constantly to thank people for their kind expressions, and one's thanks are often warmer than the feeling that inspires them ; one returns bad money for good, and with a good conscience, for no one is deceived. Well, I wish you on the contrary to take mine for what it represents, and at its real value but I know not how to manage this. I should like to tell you exactly

I

what felt, neither more nor less. I repeat, then, simply, and from the bottom of my heart, that your letter touched me; moreover, that I believed in it without any restriction, because my own feelings reflected all that you expressed so well. I solemnly assure you that your friendship towards myself, and the happiness which you bestow, and I hope always will bestow, upon Edward, are the two things most likely to contribute to mine, and to make me look forward with plea- sure to the future.

"It is not only I who have to thank you for your letter, there is a chorus on this point. Whenever a letter from Switzerland reaches Paris, the whole clan is summoned ; the assembly is not very numerous, but it is unanimous. We do not read all at once, but little by little. We follow you upon the map. We make comments on your movements; we share in your enjoyment of the splendid scenery that you describe. The account of the fatigues which you undergo almost terrifies us; happily our fears are imaginary. At last, when we have finished reading, we allow ourselves to talk. Then comes the remarks. If it were only true that the ears tingle when one is well spoken of, what a singing you would have in them! We end by saying that your letters are a perfect picture of yourself, and to this we can add nothing. Sometimes we venture to remark that your style is excellent, and perfectly natural. But I ought not to tell you this, and we are angry with ourselves when it strikes us. Neither the reader nor the writer ought ever to pay attention to such things."

Only imagine what an Englishman, determined to pay all those com- pliments, would have made of them! Or take this bit of gently malicious criticism, uttered to Mr. Senior:

" ' If I were to give a Scriptural genealogy of our modern popular writers, I should say that Rousseau lived twenty years, and then begat Bernardin de St. Pierre ; that Bernardin de St. Pierre lived twenty years, and then begat Chateau- briand ; that Chateaubriand lived twenty years, and then begat Victor Hugo ; and that Victor Hugo, being tempted of the devil, is begetting every day."

There is, however, graver matter in the letters. M. de Tocqueville marked everything English with a keen interest not diminished by his selection of an English wife, and records with regret what he considers the slow decline of aristocratic force. He considered the system of examinations most injurious to that force, as well as to the nation generally. He said to Mr. Senior,

"'We have followed that system, to a great extent, for many years. Our object was twofold. One was to depress the aristocracy of wealth, birth, and connexions. In that we have succeeded. The Ecole Polytechnique and the other schools, in which the vacancies are given to those who pass the best examinations, are filled by youths belonging to the middle and lower classes, who, unclistracted by society or amusement, or by any literary or scientific pursuits, except those immediately bearing on these examinations, beat their better-born competitors, who will not degrade themselves into the mere slaves of success in the concours. "' Our other object was to obtain the best public servants. In that we have failed. We have brought knowledge and ability to an average, diminished the number of incompetent employes, and reduced almost to nothing the number of distinguished ones. Continued application to a small number of subjects, and those always the same, not selected by the student, but imposed on him by the inflexible rule of the establishment, without reference to his tastes or to his powers, is as bad for the mind as the constant exercise of one set of muscles would be for the body. "We We have a name for those who have been thus educated. They are called " Polytechnis‘a." If you follow our example, you will increase your second-rates, and extinguish your first-rates ; and what is, perhaps, a more important result, whether you consider it a good or an evil, you will make a large stride in th

i e direction n which you have lately made so many, the removing the government

and the administration of England from the hands of the higher classes into those of the middle and lower ones.'"

He did not, however, though wishing to keep up an aristocratic con- stitution, consider the ballot injurious. He wrote to Mr. Greg

" There remains your question as to the efficacy of ballot. It may be said that ballot does not give absolute secrecy ; but that it much facilitates secrecy no one in France ever thought of denying. For the last sixty years the party which was in the minority, and indeed all parties, clamorously demanded it when it was not established, and defended it energetically whenever it was. The electors have always considered its preservation as a safeguard of the highest importance. How could there be such a general agreement if the institution were worthless? In fact, no side attacks or has attacked it in France, except the government--that is to say, the only power which occupies with us a position similar to that held by your aristocracy, and that is able to take advantage, by intimidation or corruption, of the vote being made public. I must add that the present government has not abolished it, at least directly."

But in the same letter he admits that money has no power with French electors. We must quote, too, his opinion on the retention of India, a point not quite so settled with the governing class of England as it is with the people. Lady Theresa Lewis, following Mr. Gladstone, and many other acute thinkers, had ventured to assert that the loss of India would not weaken England. M. de Tocqueville replies;

"it is true that, as a mere question of money and of physical strength, India costs more than it brings in—that it forces you to make distant exertions, which may paralyze your force when most wanted near home. I admit all this. Per- haps you had better have hewed Clive, instead of making him a peer. Still I think that the loss of India 'Auld greatly lower the position of England. I could give many reasons. I shall be satisfied with one. "Nothing under the sun is so wonderful as the conquest, and still more the government, of India by the English. Nothing so fixes the eyes of mankind on the little island of which the Greeks never heard even the name. Do you believe, Madame, that a nation, after having filled this vast place in the imagination of the whole human race, can safely withdraw from it ? I do not. I believe that England obeys an instinct, not only heroic, but wise' when, already possessing India, she resolves at any price whatever to keep it. I add, that I ern convinced that she will keep it, though, perhaps, on less favourable conditions." The loss of America had the effect he dreads, but only for a few years. We might extract for ever, and must end with one more sentence describing the soeiety of modern France. Though tinged with that melancholy distrust of humanity which had, been growing on him from the days of the Empire, it contains only too much of truth. Its error is' we hope, that it refers to the class De Tocqueville knew, and while Frenchmen of the middle order have deteriorated, the French people has improved: " have a friend,' he continued, 'a Benedictine, who is now ninety-six. He was, therefore, about thirteen when Louis XVI. began to reign. He is a man of talents and knowledge, has always lived in the world, has attended to all that he has seen and heard, and is still unimpaired in mind, and so strong in body, that

when I leave him he goes down to embrace me, after the fashion of eighteenth century, at the bottom of the staircase.'

"And what effect,' I asked, 'has the contemplation of seventy years of revo- lution produced on him? Does he look back, like Talleyrand, to the ancien regime as a golden age?'

" ' fle admits,' said Tocqueville, the material superiority of our own age; but he believes that, intellectually and morally, we are far inferior to our grandfathers. And I agree with him. These seventy years of revolution have destroyed our courage, our hopefulness, our self-reliance, our public spirit, and, as respects by far the majority of the higher classes, our passions, except the vulgarast and most selfish ones, vanity and covetousness. "'Even ambition seems extinct. The men who seek power, seek it not for itself, not as a means of doing good to their country, but as a means of getting money and flatterers.' "