Besides, the Church selected her members indiscriminately from all classes. To elevate a man to the sacred ministry she required neither titles of nobility nor riches; and this alone was sufficient to insure intimate relations between the clergy and the people, and to prevent the former from regarding them with aversion and estrangement. Hence the clergy, united to all classes, were an element perfectly adapted to prevent the exclusive preponderance of any of these classes, to maintain all social elements in a certain gentle and productive fermentation, which in time would have produced and matured a natural combination. I do not mean to assert that there would not have arisen differences, disputes, perhaps conflicts, inevitable occurrences so long as men shall be men; but who does not see that the terrible effusion of blood in the wars of Germany, in the revolutions of England and France, would have been impossible? It will be said, perhaps, that the spirit of European civilisation necessarily tended to diminish the extreme inequality of classes; I grant it, and will even add, that this tendency was conformable to the principles and maxims of the Christian religion, continually reminding men of their equality before God, of their common origin and destination, of the emptiness of honours and riches, and proclaiming that virtue is the only thing solid upon earth, the only thing capable of rendering us pleasing in the eyes of God. But to reform is not to destroy; to cure the disease, we must not kill the patient. It was deemed better to overthrow at one blow what might have been corrected by legal means; European civilisation having been corrupted by the fatal innovations of the sixteenth century, legitimate authority having been disregarded even in matters within its exclusive sphere, for its mild and beneficent action the disastrous expedients of violence have been substituted. Three centuries of calamity have more or less opened the eyes of nations, by teaching them how perilous it is, even for the success of an enterprise, to confide it to the cruel hazard of the employment of force; but it is probable that if Protestantism, like an apple of discord, had not been thrown into the middle of Europe, all these great social and political questions would, at the present time, have been much nearer being solved in a safe,

peaceable, and certain manner, if, indeed, they would not have been already solved long since. (38.)

CHAPTER LXV.

POLITICAL DOCTRINES BEFORE THE APPEARANCE OF PROTESTANTISM.

IN matters appertaining to representative government, modern political science boasts of its great progress: we hear it continually asserting that the school in which the deputies of the Constituent Assembly imbibed their lessons was totally ignorant of political constitutions. Now when we compare the doctrines of the predominating school of the present day with those of the preceding school, what difference do we discover between them? On what points do they dif fer? Where is this boasted progress?

The school of the eighteenth century said: "The king is the natural enemy of the people; his power must either be totally destroyed, or at least so far restrained and limited, that he may only appear with his hands tied on the summit of the social edifice, merely invested with the faculty of approving the measures of the representatives of the people." And what says the modern school, which boasts of its progress, of the advantage it has derived from experience, and of having hit the exact point marked out by reason and good sense? "Monarchy," says this school, "is essential to the great European nations; the attempts at republicanism made in America, whatever may be their results, require, as yet, the test of time; besides, they were made under circumstances very different from those in which we are placed, and, consequently, are not to be imitated by us. The king should not be regarded as the enemy of the people, but as their father; instead of presenting him to public view with his hands tied, he should be represented surrounded with power, grandeur, and even with majesty and pomp; without which it is impossible for the throne to fulfil the high functions with which it is invested. The king should be inviolable-not nominally, but really and effectually, so that his power cannot, under any pretext, be attacked. He should be placed in a sphere beyond the

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whirlwind of passion and party, like a tutelar divinity, a stranger to mean views and base passions; he ought to be, as it were, the representative of reason and justice." "Fools," exclaims this school to its adversaries, can you not see that it would be better to have no king at all than such a one as you would have? Your king would always be an enemy to the constitution, for he would find this constitution always attacking, embarrassing, restricting, and humiliating him."

:

We will now compare this progress with the doctrines predominating in Europe long before the appearance of Protestantism. This comparison will enable us to shew clearly that every thing reasonable, just, and useful, contained in these doctrines, was already known and generally propagated in Europe. when society was under the exclusive influence of the Catholic Church. A king is essential, says the modern school; and, thanks to the influence of the Catholic religion, all the great nations of Europe had a king the king must not be regarded as the enemy, but as the father of the people; and he was already called the father of the people : the power of the king should be great; that power was great: the king should be inviolable, his person sacred; his person was sacred, and his prerogative insured to him by the Church from the earliest ages, in an august and solemn ceremony, that of his coronation. "The people are supreme," said the school of the last century; "the law is the expression of the general will, the representatives of the people are alone, therefore, invested with legislative faculties; the monarch cannot resist this will. The laws are submitted to his sanction through mere formality; if the king refuses this sanction, the laws are to undergo another examination; but if the will of the representatives of the people still remains the same, it shall be raised to the dignity of law; and the monarch who, by the refusal of his sanction, shall shew that he regards this general will as detrimental to the public good, shall be compelled, at the expense of his dignity and independence, to give effect to it."

In reply to this, the modern school says: "The supremacy of the people is either unmeaning, or has a dangerous sense; the law should not be the expression of general will, but of reason; mere will does not constitute

a law; for this purpose, reason, justice, and public expediency are required." These ideas were general long before the sixteenth century, not only amongst educated men, but even among the most simple and ignorant classes. A doctor of the thirteenth century admirably expressed it in his habitual laconic language: "It is a rule dictated by reason, and having the common weal for its aim." "Would you," continued the modern school, "have royal power a truth, you must assign it the first place among legislative powers; you must entrust it with an absolute veto. In the ancient cortes, in the ancient states-general and parliaments, the king did occupy this place among the legislative powers; nothing was done without his consent; he possessed an absolute veto,"

"Away with classes!" exclaims the Constituent Assembly; "away with distinctions! The king face to face with the people, directly and immediately; the rest is an attempt against imprescriptible rights." "You are rash," replies the modern school; "if there are no distinctions, they must be created. If there are not in society classes forming in themselves a second legislative body, a mediator between the king and the people, there must be artificial ones; through the medium of the law must be created what does not exist in society; if reality is wanting, recourse must be had to fiction." Now these classes existed in ancient society, they took part in public affairs, they were organised as active instruments, they formed the first legislative bodies. I ask now, whether this parallel does not shew, as clear as the light of day, that what is now termed progress matters of government, is, in fact, a true return towards what was every where taught and practised under the influence of the Catholic religion before the appearance of Protestantism? In addressing myself to men endowed with the least intelligence upon social and political questions, I may assuredly dispense with the differences which must necessarily result from the two epochs. I grant that the course of events would of itself have caused important modifications; political institutions were to be accommodated to the fresh wants to be satisfied. But I maintain, at the same time, that, so far as circumstances permitted, European civilisation was advancing on the right road to

in

a better state, containing within itself the means necessary for reforming without destroying. But for this purpose a spontaneous development of events was necessary, without any kind of violence; it was necessary to bear in mind that the mere action of man is of little avail, that sudden attempts are dangerous; that the great productions of society are like those of nature, both requiring an indispensable element, time.

There is one fact which appears to me to have been too little reflected upon, although including the explanation of some strange phenomena of the last three centuries. This fact is, that Protestantism has prevented civilisation from becoming homogeneous, in spite of a strong tendency urging all the nations of Europe to homogeneity. The civilisation of the nations without doubt receives its nature and its characteristics from the principles that have given it life and movement; now these principles being the same, or very nearly so, in all the nations of Europe, these nations must have borne a close resemblance to each other. History and philosophy agree on this point; therefore, so long as the European nations did not receive the inculcation of any germ of division, their civil and political institutions were developed with a very remarkable similarity. True, certain differences were observable in them, which were the inevitable consequences of a variety of circumstances; but we see that they were becoming more and more alike, and forming Europe into one vast whole, of which we can scarcely form a correct idea, accustomed as we are to ideas of disunion. This homogeneity would have arrived at its perfection through the effect of the rapidity which the increase and prosperity of commerce and the arts gave to intellectual and material communications; the art of printing would have contributed to it more than any thing else, for the ebb and flow of ideas would have dispersed the inequalities separating the nations one from

another.

But, unfortunately, Protestantism appeared and separated the European people into two great families, which, since their division, have professed a mortal hatred towards each other. This hatred has been the cause of furious wars, in which torrents of blood have been shed. One thing yet more fatal than

these catastrophes was the germ of civil, political, and literary schism, introduced into the bosom of Europe by the absence of religious unity. Civil and political institutions, and all the branches of learning, had appeared and prospered in Europe under the influence of religion; the schism was religious; it affected even the root, and extended to the branches. Thus arose among the various nations those brazen walls which kept them separate; the spirit of suspicion and mistrust was every where spread; things which before would have been deemed innocent or without importance, from that time were looked upon as eminently dangerous.

What uneasiness, disquietude, and agitation must have been the result of these fatal complications! We may say that in this detestable germ is contained the history of the calamities with which Europe was afflicted during the last three centuries. To what may we attribute the Anabaptist wars in Germany, those of the empire, and the Thirty-years war; those of the Huguenots in France, and the bloody scenes of the League; and that profound source of division, that uninterrupted series of discords, which, beginning with the Huguenots, was continued by the Jansenists, and then by philosophers, terminating in the Convention? Had England not contained in her bosom that nest of sects engendered by Protestantism, would she have had to suffer the disasters of a revolution which lasted so many years? Had Henry VIII. not seceded from the Catholic Church, Great Britain would not have passed two-thirds of the sixteenth century in the most atrocious religious persecutions, and under the most brutal despotism; she would not have been drowned during the greater part of the seventeenth in torrents of blood, shed by sectarian fanaticism. Had it not been for Protestantism, would England have been in the fatal position in which she is placed by the Irish question, scarcely leaving her a choice between a dismemberment of the empire and a terrible revolution? Would not nations of brethren have found the means of coming to an amicable understanding, if, during the last three centuries, religious discords had not separated them by a lake of blood? Those offensive and defensive confederations between nation and nation, which divided

Europe into two parties as inimical to each other as the Christians to the Mussulmans, that traditional hatred between the North and the South, that profound separation between Protestant and Catholic Germany, between Spain and England, between that country and France, were sure to have an extraordinary effect in retarding communications between the European nations; and what would have been obtained much sooner by the aid of moral means, could only be obtained by material ones. Steam tends to convert Europe into one vast city: if men who were one day to live under the same roof hated one another for three centuries, what was the cause of it? If people's hearts had been united long before in mutual affection, would not the happy moment in which they were to join hands have been has

tened?

CHAPTER LXVI.

POLITICAL DOCTRINES IN SPAIN.

My explanation of this matter would be incomplete, were I to leave the following difficulty unresolved: "In Spain, Catholicism has prevailed exclusively, and under it an absolute monarchy was established, a sufficient indication that Catholic doctrines are inimical to political liberty." The great majority of men never look deeply into the real nature of things, nor pay due attention to the true meaning of words. Present them with something in strong relief that will make a vivid impression on their imagination, and they take facts just as they appear at the first glance, thoughtlessly confounding causality with coincidence. It cannot be denied that the empire of the Catholic religion coincided in Spain with the final preponderance of absolute monarchy; but the question is, Was the Catholic religion the true cause of this preponderance? Was it she that overturned the ancient cortes, to establish the throne of absolute monarchs on the ruins of popular institutions?

Before we commence our examination into the causes that destroyed the influence of the nation on public affairs, it may be well to remind the reader that in Denmark, Sweden, and Germany, absolutism was established and

upheld in juxtaposition with Protestantism. Hence the argument of coincidence is very little worth, as, owing to the exact identity of circumstances in the two cases, it could just as well be proved that Protestantism leads to absolutism. I will just observe here, that in my endeavours to demonstrate in the foregoing chapters that the pseudo-Reformation tended to the overthrow of political liberty, I have not rested my arguments upon coincidences only, however careful I may have been to point them out to the reader. I have said that Protestantism, by diffusing dissolvent doctrines, had occasioned a necessity for an extension of temporal power; that by destroying the political influence of the clergy and the Popes, it had destroyed the equilibrium between the social classes, left no counterpoise to the throne, and further augmented the power of the monarch by granting him ecclesiastical supremacy in Protestant countries, and exaggerating his prerogatives in Catholic nations.

But we will dismiss these general considerations, and fix our attention upon Spain. This nation has the misfortune to be one of those that are least known; its history is not properly studied, nor are sound views taken of its present condition. Its troubles, its rebellions, its civil wars, proclaim that it has not yet received its true system of government, which proves that the nation to be governed is but imperfectly understood. Its history is, if possible, still less perfectly understood. The present influence of events already very remote, works secretly and almost imperceptibly; and hence the eye of the observer is satisfied with a superficial view of affairs, and he forms his opinions too hastily- opinions which too often, in consequence, take the place of facts and reality. In treating of the causes that have deprived Spain of her political liberty, almost all authors fix their attention principally or exclusively upon Castille, giving monarchs infinitely more credit for sagacity than the course of events would seem to justify. They generally select the war of the Communeros as their point of view, and, according to certain writers, but for the defeat at Villalar, the liberties of Spain would have been for ever secure. I admit that the war of the Communeros affords an excellent point of view for the study of this matter; in fact, the

field of Villalar was in some measure witness to the conclusion of the drama. Castille should be regarded as the centre of events; and it is here that the Spanish monarchs gave proof of great sagacity in the manner in which they brought the enterprise to a close. Nevertheless, I do not deem it just to give an exclusive preference to one of these considerations, and it does appear to me that the real state of the question is generally misconceived: effects are taken for causes, accessories for principals.

In my opinion, the ruin of free institutions resulted from the following causes:— 1st, the premature and immoderately extensive development of these institutions; 2dly, the formation of the Spanish nation out of a successive reunion of very heterogeneous parts, all possessing institutions extremely popular; 3dly, the establishment of the centre of power in the middle of the provinces where these forms were most restricted, and where the authority of the crown was the greatest; 4thly, the extreme abundance of wealth, the power and the splendour which the Spanish people saw every where around them, and which lulled them to sleep in the arms of prosperity; 5thly, the exclusively military position of the Spanish monarchs, whose armies were every where victorious, their military power and prestige being at their heights precisely at the critical time when the quarrel had to be decided. will take a rapid view of these causes, although the nature of this work does not permit me to devote to them the space which the gravity and importance of the subject demand. The reader will pardon me this political digression on account of the close connexion existing between this subject and the religious question.

I

As regards popular forms of government, Spain has been in advance of all monarchical nations. This is an indubitable fact. In Spain, these forms received a premature and extreme development; and this contributed to their ruin, as a child sickens and dies, if, in its tender years, its growth is too rapid, or its intellect too precocious. This active spirit of liberty, this multitude of fueros and of privileges, these impediments every where placed in the way of power, checking the rapidity and energy of its action-this great development of the popular element, in its

very nature restless and turbulent, existing simultaneously with the wealth, the power, and the pride of the aristocracy, very naturally gave rise to many commotions. Elements so numerous, so various, and so opposite to each other, which, moreover, had not time to be combined so as to form a peaceable and harmonious whole, were not likely to work tranquilly together. Order is the prime necessity of society; it is essential to the growth of the ideas, the manners, and the laws of a nation. Wherever there exists a

it

germ of continual disorder, how deep soever may have struck its roots, it is sure to be extirpated, or at least crushed, so as no longer to keep public tranquillity in perpetual danger. The municipal and political organisation of Spain had this inconvenience, and hence an imperative necessity for its modification. But the ideas and the manners of the time were such, that matters could not be expected to stop at a simple modification. The system of constituencies, which so easily creates numerous assemblies, either to enact new fundamental codes or to reform the old ones, was not then understood as it is in our days; neither were men's ideas at that time so generalised as to place them above all that exclusively and particularly relates to a people, at a point of elevation whence they could no longer observe every petty local object, but had their attention wholly engrossed by mankind, society, the nation, or the government. It was not so at that time: a charter of liberty granted by a king to a city or a town; an immunity wrested from a feudal lord by his armed vassals; some privilege obtained in reward of warlike achievements, or sometimes granted as a recompense for the bravery of a man's ancestors; a concession to the cortes, made by the monarch in exchange for the grant of a contribution, or, as it was then termed, of a service,—a law or custom, the antiquity of which lay hidden in the depths of the past, or confounded with the infancy of monarchy: such, to give a few instances, were the titles of which they were proud, and which they maintained with jealous ardour.

Liberty now-a-days is more vague, and sometimes less positive, owing to the generalisation and elevation which men's ideas have assumed; but then it is far less liable to destruction. Speaking a language well