... I entered into the doctor"s sentiments, inveighed against the use of wine, and lamented that mankind had contracted a taste for such a pernicious liquor. Then (as my thirst was not sufficiently quenched) I filled a large goblet with water, and having swallowed long draughts of it: "Come, sir," said I to my master, "let us regale ourselves with this benevolent liquor." ... He applauded my zeal, and during a whole quarter of an hour exhorted me to drink nothing but water. In order to familiarize myself to this prescription, I promised to swallow a great quant.i.ty every evening; and that I might the more easily perform my promise, went to bed with a resolution of going to the tavern every day.
In pa.s.sing from the humor of Le Sage"s Dr. Sangrado, we cannot refrain from exhorting the reader not to miss that refinement about water made hot without actually boiling. The present writer seems to himself to have encountered the same delicacy of hot-water-drinking in his own personal observation of those who now practice this method of health or of cure.
A later fortune of Gil Blas, in his long career of extremely various "adventures," shaken from change to change as in a kaleidoscope, was to fall into the service of an archbishop, by whom he was soon advanced to a post of confidential favor. Gil Blas became in fact the archbishop"s "guide, philosopher, and friend," in the very important matter of that high dignitary"s literary and historical reputation. This happened through Gil Blas"s felicity in copying out with judicious calligraphy--a calligraphy such as seemed to their author to commend those productions in some fit proportion to their worth--the venerable archbishop"s homilies. Gil Blas thus relates the immediate, and then the more remote, result of his submitting to the archbishop his maiden essay in copy-hand reproduction of that prelate"s pulpit rhetoric:
"Good heaven!" cried he in a transport, when he had surveyed all the sheets of my copy, "was ever anything seen so correct? You transcribe so well that you must certainly understand grammar. Tell me ingenuously, my friend, have you found nothing that shocked you in writing it over? Some neglect, perhaps, in the style, or improper term?" "O, sir," answered I, with an air of modesty, "I am not learned enough to make critical observations; and if I was, I am persuaded that the works of your grace would escape my censure." The prelate smiled at my reply; and, though he said nothing, discovered through all his piety, that he was a downright author.
By this kind of flattery, I entirely gained his good graces, became more and more dear to him every day.... One evening he repeated in his closet, when I was present, with great enthusiasm, an homily which he intended to p.r.o.nounce the next day in the cathedral; and, not satisfied with asking my opinion of it in general, obliged me to single out the particular pa.s.sages which I most admired. I had the good luck to mention those that he himself looked upon to be the best, his own favorite morceaus: by which means I pa.s.sed, in his judgment, for a man who had a delicate knowledge of the true beauties of a work.
"This is," cried he, "what is called having taste and sentiment: well, friend, I a.s.sure thee thou hast not got Boeotian ears." In a word, he was so well satisfied with me, that he p.r.o.nounced with some vivacity, "Gil Blas, henceforth give thyself no uneasiness about thy fortune: I undertake to make it extremely agreeable; I love thee; and, as a proof of my affection, make thee my confidant."
I no sooner heard these words than I fell at his grace"s feet, quite penetrated with grat.i.tude; I heartily embraced his bandy legs, and looked upon myself as a man on the high way to wealth and opulence.
"Yes, my child," resumed the archbishop, whose discourse had been interrupted by my prostration, "thou shalt be the repository of my most secret thoughts. Listen with attention to what I am going to say: my chief pleasure consists in preaching; the Lord gives a blessing to my homilies; they touch the hearts of sinners, make them seriously reflect on their conduct, and have recourse to repentance.... I will confess my weakness; I propose to myself another reward, a reward which the delicacy of my virtue reproaches me with in vain! I mean the esteem that the world shows for fine polished writing. The honor of being reckoned a perfect orator has charmed my imagination; my performances are thought equally strong and delicate; but I would, of all things, avoid the fault of good authors who write too long, and retire without forfeiting the least t.i.ttle of my reputation.
Wherefore, my dear Gil Blas," continued the prelate, "one thing that I exact of thy zeal is, whenever thou shalt perceive my pen smack of old age, and my genius flag, don"t fail to advertise me of it: for I don"t trust to my own judgment, which may be seduced by self-love." ...
"Thank heaven, sir," said I, "that period is far off: besides, a genius like that of your grace will preserve its vigor much better than any other; or, to speak more justly, will be always the same. I look upon you as another Cardinal Ximenes, whose superior genius, instead of being weakened by age, seemed to receive new strength from it." "No flattery, friend," said he, interrupting me. "I know I am liable to sink all at once: people at my age begin to feel infirmities, and the infirmities of the body often affect the understanding. I repeat it to thee again, Gil Blas, as soon as thou shalt judge mine in the least impaired, be sure to give me notice; and be not afraid of speaking freely and sincerely, for I shall receive thy advice as a mark of thy affection. Besides, thy interest is concerned; if, unhappily for thee, it should come to my ears that the public says my discourses have no longer their wonted force, and that it is high time for me to repose myself, I frankly declare that thou shalt lose my friendship, as well as the fortune I have promised. Such will be the fruit of thy foolish reserve!"
Gil Blas was destined soon to be put to the extreme proof of his fidelity. Himself must tell how:
In the very zenith of my favor we had a hot alarm in the episcopal palace: the archbishop was seized with a fit of the apoplexy; he was, however, succored immediately, and such salutary medicines administered that in a few days his health was re-established; but his understanding had received a rude shock, which I plainly perceived in the very next discourse which he composed. I did not, however, find the difference between this and the rest so sensible as to make me conclude that the orator began to flag, and waited for another homily to fix my resolution. This, indeed, was quite decisive; sometimes the good old prelate repeated the same thing over and over, sometimes rose too high or sunk too low; it was a vague discourse, the rhetoric of an old professor, a mere capucinade. [The word, "capucinade," satirizes the Capuchin monks.]
I was not the only person who took notice of this. The greatest part of the audience when he p.r.o.nounced it, as if they had been also hired to examine it, said softly to one another, "This sermon smells strong of the apoplexy." Come, master homily-critic, said I then to myself, prepare to do your office; you see that his grace begins to fail; it is your duty to give him notice of it, not only as the depository of his thoughts, but, likewise, lest some one of his friends should be free enough with him to prevent you; in that case you know what would happen: your name would be erased from his last will....
After these reflections I made others of a quite contrary nature. To give the notice in question, seemed a delicate point. I imagined that it might be ill-received by an author like him, conceited of his own works; but, rejecting this suggestion, I represented to myself that he could not possibly take it amiss after having exacted it of me in so pressing a manner. Add to this that I depended upon my being able to mention it with address, and make him swallow the pill without reluctance. In a word, finding that I ran a greater risk in keeping silence than in breaking it, I determined to speak.
The only thing that embarra.s.sed me now was how to break the ice.
Luckily the orator himself extricated me from that difficulty by asking what people said of him, and if they were satisfied with his last discourse. I answered that his homilies were always admired, but in my opinion the last had not succeeded so well as the rest in affecting the audience. "How, friend!" replied he with astonishment, "has it met with any Aristarchus?" "No, sir," said I, "by no means; such works as yours are not to be criticised; everybody is charmed with them. Nevertheless, since you have laid your injunctions upon me to be free and sincere, I will take the liberty to tell you that your last discourse, in my judgment, has not altogether the energy of your other performances. Are you not of the same opinion?"
My master grew pale at these words, and said with a forced smile, "So, then, Mr. Gil Blas, this piece is not to your taste?" "I don"t say so, sir," cried I, quite disconcerted, "I think it excellent, although a little inferior to your other works." "I understand you," he replied, "you think I flag, don"t you? Come, be plain; you believe it is time for me to think of retiring." "I should not have been so bold," said I, "as to speak so freely if your grace had not commanded me; I do no more, therefore, than obey you, and I most humbly beg that you will not be offended at my freedom." "G.o.d forbid," cried he, with precipitation, "G.o.d forbid that I should find fault with it. In so doing I should be very unjust. I don"t at all take it ill that you speak your sentiment; it is your sentiment only that I find bad. I have been most egregiously deceived in your narrow understanding."
Though I was disconcerted, I endeavored to find some mitigation in order to set things to rights again; but how is it possible to appease an incensed author, one especially who has been accustomed to hear himself praised? "Say no more, my child," said he, "you are yet too raw to make proper distinctions. Know that I never composed a better homily than that which you disapprove, for my genius, thank heaven, hath as yet lost nothing of its vigor. Henceforth I will make a better choice of a confidant and keep one of greater ability than you. Go,"
added he, pushing me by the shoulders out of his closet, "go tell my treasurer to give you a hundred ducats, and may heaven conduct you with that sum. Adieu, Mr. Gil Blas, I wish you all manner of prosperity, with a little more taste."
It would be hard, we think, to overmatch anywhere in literature the shrewd but genial satire, the quiet, effective comedy, of the foregoing.
How deep it gently goes, probing and searching into the secret springs of our common human nature! The cool, the frontless calculation of self-interest on Gil Blas"s part throughout the whole course of his conduct of the relation between himself and the archbishop is perfectly characteristic of the impudent easy-heartedness everywhere displayed of this conscienceless adventurer. It ill.u.s.trates the consummate art of the author that the whole is so managed that, while you do not sympathize with his hero, you still are by no means forced to feel unplesantly offended at him. This is a great feat of lullaby to the conscience of the reader; for the character of the work is such that if, in perusing it, you should throughout keep vigilantly obeying the wholesome safeguard injunction of the apostle, "Abhor that which is evil," you would be so busy doing the duty of abhorring as seriously to interfere with your enjoyment of the comedy. To get the pleasure or the profit, and at the same time leave the taint, that is the problem often in studying the masterpieces of literature. As generally, so in the case of "Gil Blas," it is a problem perhaps best to be solved by being still more intent on leaving the taint than on getting the pleasure or the profit.
On the whole, the reading of "Gil Blas" entire is a task or a diversion that may safely in most cases be postponed to the leisure of late life.
The whole is such, or is not so good, as the part that has here been shown. It is an instance in which the building is very fairly represented by a single specimen brick. Multiply what you have seen by the necessary factor, and you have the total product with little or no loss.
It ought to be added that "Gil Blas," as in local color and in what might be styled medium not French at all, is also in general character the least French of French productions. It seems almost as if expressly written to be part of what Goethe taught his disciples to look for, namely, a "world-literature." "Gil Blas," though French in form, is in essence French only because it is human. And for the same reason it is of every other nation as well. It possesses, therefore, as French literature a unique and, so to speak, paradoxical importance in not being French literature; it is, in fact, perhaps quite the only French book that is less national than universal.
XV.
MONTESQUIEU: 1689-1755; DE TOCQUEVILLE: 1805-1859.
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 a.s.sociated 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 ill.u.s.trative 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 n.o.blest 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 ill.u.s.tration--an extract condensed from the chapter in which the author a.n.a.lyzes 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 punishment and the recompenses which it conceived each to be ent.i.tled 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 afterward 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 a.s.sailed, 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 amba.s.sadors 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 the 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 t.i.tle 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 would for a moment be sure of his subjects, or even of his family.
Although the t.i.tle of Roman ally was a species of servitude, it was, nevertheless, very much sought after; for the possession of this t.i.tle made it certain that the recipients of it would receive injuries from the Romans only, and there was ground for the hope that this cla.s.s 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.
The philosophical aim and ambition of the author at once appear in the inquiry which he inst.i.tutes for the three several animating _principles_ of the 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 a 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s of those subject to its sway.
To ill.u.s.trate 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 a.s.sembly had leave given him to take which girl he pleased for his wife; the second best chose after him, and so on. Admirable inst.i.tution! 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, chast.i.ty, virtue, birth, and even wealth itself, were all, in some measure, the dowry of virtue. A n.o.bler and grander recompense, less chargeable to a petty state and more capable of influencing both s.e.xes, could scarce be imagined.
The Samnites were descended from the Lacedemonians; and Plato, whose inst.i.tutes 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 t.i.tle 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 custom described tends to produce that popular virtue by which republics flourish. But the information, at all events, is curious and interesting.