Our welcome of a stranger depends upon the
name he bears,—upon the coat he wears: our farewell
upon the spirit he has displayed in the interview.
There is so great a charm in friendship, that
there is even a kind of pleasure in acknowledging
oneself duped by the sentiment it inspires.
Unbounded modesty is nothing more than unavowed
vanity: the too humble obeisance is sometimes
a disguised impertinence.
The reputation of a man is like his shadow—gigantic
when it precedes him, and pigmy in its
proportions when it follows.
The “point of honour” can often be made to
produce, by means of vanity, as many good deeds
as virtue.
More evil truths are discovered by the corruption
of the heart than by the penetration of the
mind.
Beauty, devoid of grace, is a mere hook without
the bait.
Schismatic wranglers are like a child’s top,
noisy and agitated when whipped, quiet and motionless
when left alone.
He who cannot feel friendship is alike incapable
of love. Let a woman beware of the man who
owns that he loves no one but herself.
The rich man despises those who flatter him too
much, and hates those who do not flatter him at all.
The spirit and enterprise of a courtier are all
expended in the search after place and preferment;
nothing remains for the fulfilment of the duties to
which success compels him.
The Count de Coigny possesses wit and talent,
but his conversation is fatiguing, because his memory
is equally exact in quoting the date of the
death of Alexander the Great and that of the
Princess de Guéménée’s poodle.
My passion for Madame de Talleyrand was soon
extinguished, because she was merely possessed of
beauty. The influence of personal charms is limited:
curiosity forms the great ingredient of this kind of
love; but add the fascination of intellect to those attractions
which habit and possession diminish each
day, you will find them multiplied tenfold; and if,
besides intellect and beauty, you discover in your
mistress caprice, singularity, and inequality of
temper, close your eyes and seek no further—you
are in love for life.
The imagination of men is often the refuge of
their prejudices.
To contradict and argue with a total stranger, is
like knocking at a gate to ascertain if there is any
one within.
That sovereign has a little mind who seeks to go
down to posterity by means of great public buildings.
It is to confide to masons and bricklayers
the task of writing History.
Love is a reality which is born in the fairy region
of romance.
The love of glory can only create a hero; the
contempt of it creates a great man.
The mind of the Duc de Laval is like a dark
lanthorn, only capable of lighting his own path.
The errors of great men, and the good deeds of
reprobates, should not be reckoned in our estimates
of their respective characters.
A court is an assemblage of noble and distinguished
beggars.
Theologians resemble dogs, that gnaw large
bones for the sake of a very little meat.
The stream of vice will flow as naturally into
palaces, as the common sewer flows into the river,
and the river flows onward to the sea.
It is sometimes quite enough for a man to feign
ignorance of that which he knows, to gain the reputation
of knowing that of which he is ignorant.
A long continuance of wise administration is the
best and surest means of arriving at despotism.
Our present government gives us no alarm.
Both erudition and agriculture ought to be encouraged
by government; wit and manufactures
will come of themselves.
The endeavour to convince a bel esprit by the
force of reason, is as mad an undertaking as the
attempt to silence an echo by raising the voice.
Metaphysics always remind me of the caravanserais
in the desert. They stand solitary and
unsupported, and are therefore always ready to
crumble into ruin.
A man should make his début in the world as
though he were about to enter a hostile country;
he must send out scouts, establish sentinels, and
ever be upon the watch himself.
Too much sensibility creates unhappiness; too
much insensibility creates crime.
What I have been taught, I have forgotten; what
I know, I have guessed.
An elderly coxcomb may be compared to a
butterfly deprived of wings—he becomes a caterpillar
once more.
Certain acts may be rendered legal; but can
never be made legitimate.
Human life is like a game at chess; each piece
holds its place upon the chess-board—king,
queen, bishop, and pawn. Death comes, the game
is up, and all are thrown, without distinction, pell-mell
into the same bag.
The bold defiance of a woman is the certain
sign of her shame—when she has once ceased to
blush, it is because she has too much to blush for.
Life, to a young man, is like a new acquaintance,
of whom he grows disgusted as he advances in
years.
When certain absurd opinions become too generally
adopted, they must be replaced by less
noxious errors—that is the best way of arriving at
Truth.
It is an attribute of true philosophy, never to force
the progress of Truth and Reason, but to wait till
the dawn of Light; meanwhile, the philosopher may
wander into hidden paths, but he will never depart
far from the main track.
Prudence in a woman should be an instinct, not
a virtue.
Churchmen and men of letters have peculiar
difficulties in the world,—the first are continually
divided between scandal and hypocrisy, the second
between pride and baseness.
The thought of death throws upon life a lurid
glow, resembling that of a conflagration, lighting
up that which it is about to devour.
In love we grow acquainted, because we are
already attached—in friendship we must know each
other before we love.
A great capitalist is like a vast lake, upon whose
bosom ships can navigate, but which is useless to
the country, because no stream issues thence to
fertilize the land.
With a great seigneur, there is more to be gained
by flattering his vices than by improving his
estates.
Truth and virtue can do less good in the world
than their false, well-acted semblance can do evil.
A generous man will place the benefits he confers
beneath his feet,—those he receives, nearest his
heart.
A narrow-minded man can never possess real
and true generosity—he can never go beyond mere
benevolence.
General maxims applied to every-day life are
like routine applied to the arts, good only for
mediocre intellects.
If you wish to appear agreeable in society, you
must consent to be taught many things which you
know already.
We must learn to submit with grace to commit
the follies which depend upon character.
There are many vices which do not deprive us
of friends,—there are many virtues which prevent
our having any.
In reading over the memoirs of the reign of
Louis Quatorze, we find many things in the worst
manners of that day, which are wanting in the very
best society of our own.
I remember having, in my youth, been amused
at the resolution of one of my friends to give up
the society of the demoiselles de l’opéra, to which
he was much addicted, in consequence of his
having made the discovery that there existed among
these girls as much falsehood and hypocrisy as
amongst honest women.
Certain women can find buyers for their charms,
who would find no one to take them were they to
be had for nothing.
I remember having often been told in my youth
that the love of glory was a virtue. Strange must
be that virtue which requires the aid of every vice.
There are two things to which we never grow
accustomed,—the ravages of time, and the injustice
of our fellow men.
The written memoirs which a man leaves after
him pour servir à l’histoire de sa vie, and above all,
pour servir à l’histoire of his vanity, always remind
me of the story of that saint, who left by will
a hundred thousand crowns to the Church, to pay
for his canonization.
To succeed in the world, it is much more necessary
to possess the penetration to discover who is a
fool than to discover who is a clever man.
(A Fragment from the Prince’s Memoirs.)
January 15th, 1807.
I have just heard of the death of Mr. Fox. It
is now fifteen years since I was introduced to him
by Mr. Ogilvie, the husband of his aunt, the
Duchess of Leinster. It was at his own house, in
South-street, and, I think, in June, 1791.
Shortly before his death, false reports led him to
form an unjust opinion of me; yet my regret for
his loss is not the less deep and sincere, and I
feel a firm conviction that, had his life been spared,
he would have rendered me justice.
Mr. Fox united in his own character the apparently
incompatible qualities of the mildest of men,
and the most vehement of orators. In private life he
was gentle, modest, kind-hearted, and remarkably
simple in his manners. His dislike of ostentation,
and of any approach to dogmatism, sometimes
gave to his conversation an air of listlessness; his
superiority was manifested only by the information
he diffused around him, and by the generous feeling
which always prompted him to direct the greatest
share of his attention to the most obscure members
of the company in which he happened to be. The
simplicity of his manners did not, in the least, detract
from that urbanity, and perfect politeness,
which resulted more from the gentleness of his
nature, than from his familiar intercourse with the
most polished society of Europe. His conversation,
when not restrained by the languor arising
from fatigue, or by his delicacy towards others,
was truly charming. It may, perhaps, be said,
that never was the pleasantry of a man of wit so
perfectly natural, as that of Mr. Fox; it seemed
more like the outpouring, than the creation, of his
fancy. He had lived on terms of close intimacy
with all those of his contemporaries most distinguished
for talent, learning, and political eminence.
For the space of thirty years, he maintained intercourse
with almost every man in Europe whose
conversation and correspondence were of a nature to
fortify, enrich, or polish the intellectual faculties.
His own literary attainments were varied and
profound. In classical erudition, which in England
is specially understood by the term learning,
he was not inferior to some of the most distinguished
scholars of his day. Like all men of genius, he
was passionately fond of poetry; the study and
cultivation of that branch of literature, formed his
favourite source of recreation, amidst the fatigues
and annoyances of public life. His own poetic
effusions were easy and agreeable, and deserving of
a high place in that class of writing which the
French call vers de société. The character of his
mind was manifested in his predilection for the
poetry of the two most poetic nations (or at least
most poetic languages) of eastern Europe, viz., the
ancient Greek and the modern Italian. Fox did
not like political discussions in conversation, and
he never voluntarily took part in them.
Any attempt to render justice to his oratorical
talents would carry me far beyond the limits of
these brief remarks. He was always, and everywhere,
natural; and, in public, his manner and
appearance were stamped with much of the simplicity
which characterized him in private life.
When he began to speak, an ordinary observer
would have supposed him to be labouring under
embarrassment, and even a discriminating listener
would only have been struck by the just accuracy
of his ideas, and the lucid simplicity of his language;
but, after speaking for some time, he was
transformed into another being. He forgot himself,
and everything around him. His thoughts
were wholly absorbed in his subject. His genius
warmed as he advanced, and his sentences flashed
like rays of light; until at length, in an impetuous
and irresistible torrent of eloquence, he earned
along with him the feelings and the conviction of
his hearers. Fox certainly possessed, beyond any
public speaker of modern times, that union of
reasoning power, of simplicity, and of vehemence,
which characterizes the prince of orators. Next to
Demosthenes, he was the most Demosthenian of
public speakers. “I knew him,” observes Mr.
Burke, in a pamphlet written after their unfortunate
difference, “when he was only nineteen years
old. From that time he continued rising, by slow
degrees, until he has now become the most brilliant
and accomplished debater that ever lived.”
The tranquil dignity of mind, (never disturbed
but by great causes)—the total absence of vanity—the
contempt of ostentation—the hatred of intrigue—the
candour, the honesty, and the perfect bonhomie,
which were the distinguishing qualities of
Fox, would seem to render him the faithful representative
of the old national English character—a
character which it would be presumptuous to hope
can be succeeded by anything better, were it ever
to change. The amiability of his disposition inspired
confidence—the ardour of his eloquence
excited enthusiasm—and the urbanity of his manners
invited friendship. Mr. Gibbon has truly
observed, that in Fox the highest intellectual powers
of man were blended with the engaging gentleness
and simplicity of childhood. No human
being, he adds, was ever more free from every
trace of malignity, vanity, or falsehood. The combination
of so many admirable qualities of public
and private character, sufficiently accounts for the
fact that no English statesman, during so long a
period of adverse fortune, retained so many attached
friends and zealous adherents, as Charles
Fox. The union of great ardour, in the sentiments
of the public man, with extreme gentleness
in the manners of the social being, would appear
to have been an hereditary qualification in Fox,
whose father is said to have possessed the same
power of winning the attachment of all who
knew him. Those who are acquainted with
another generation of his descendants, must feel
that this engaging quality is not extinct in the
family.
Nothing, perhaps, can more forcibly portray
the impression produced by this peculiarity in the
character of Fox, than a remark made by Burke.
In 1797, six years after all intimacy between
Burke and Fox had ceased, the former, speaking
to an individual honoured by the friendship of the
latter, said, “Certainly, Fox is a man formed to be
loved;” and these words were uttered with a warmth
and emphasis, which precluded all doubt of their
cordial sincerity.
The few lines I have here hastily traced, have
been written under feelings too sorrowful and serious
to admit of any intention to exaggerate; and
the affection which I cherished for Mr. Fox will
not suffer me to profane his memory by any allusion
to the factious contentions of the day. The
political conduct of Fox belongs to history. The
measures he supported, and those he opposed, may
divide the opinions of posterity, as they have those
of the present age; but Charles Fox will, assuredly,
command the unanimous respect of future generations,
by his pure sentiments as a statesman—by
his zeal for the civil and religious rights of all
mankind—by his advocacy of liberal government,
the free exercise of human faculties, and the progressive
civilization of the human race—by the
ardent love he cherished for his country, whose
welfare and happiness can never be disconnected
from his glory—and by his profound veneration
for that free constitution, which, it will be acknowledged,
he understood better than any politician of
his time, both in its legal and in its philosophical
character.
London, January 3rd, 1831.
My dear General,—I have read over several
times, with the utmost attention, your letter of the
30th ult., and I wish to explain to you confidentially
my views relative to its contents. It is evident
that, at the present time, France is divided between
two parties, whose opinions have their echoes in
the council of the king. One of these parties
urges us to war, and employs every means, direct
and indirect, to bring about that end. The views
of this party are directed solely to the attainment
of power, and therefore it is necessary to be on
one’s guard against the suggestions and speeches
which they put forth. The other party, which is
so ably headed by yourself, maintains that peace
alone can consolidate the new state of things in
France, and, consequently, it may be presumed
that all its efforts tend to the preservation of peace.
It has been truly observed, that a kingdom may
rise up amidst the turmoil of war, but that it can
only be firmly established in time of peace.
The new line of policy which you suggest in reference
to the affairs of Belgium is at variance
with all my ideas on the subject, and it would, I
am sure, be equally opposed to the views of the
English ministers and the members of the conference.
Of this fact I have had opportunities of
convincing myself in the course of several conversations
I have casually entered into for the purpose
of sounding opinions on the subject.
We might succeed, but not without difficulty, in
obtaining the sovereignty of Belgium for Prince
Leopold, on his marriage with a French princess;
and I cannot comprehend how the speeches of
certain members of the party decidedly favourable
to war, should have determined you to renounce
the only arrangement by which peace can now be
secured.
It must be evident to you, as it is to me, that
Prince Leopold is very far from being what is called
English. He is attached to England only by the
50,000l. per annum, of which he cannot be deprived,
and which gives him the advantage of presenting
a civil list, ready settled, to the country he
may be called to rule.
Like all great political events, the Belgian revolution
appears to me to pass through different
phases. The establishment of a monarchical
government in Belgium seems a step calculated to
relieve that country from the embarrassments in
which she is enthralled—viz., the division of the
debt between Belgium and Holland; the debt contracted
by Belgium to Russia; together with many
other matters connected with Belgian independence.
When all these questions shall be adjusted, and
Europe shall have approved the adjustment, we
may, after the lapse of a few years, entertain with
some hope of success, the project of uniting Belgium
to France. The very adjustment of the
points above referred to, would favour the chance
of success, because it would remove difficulties
which every one is capable of appreciating. But
I am convinced that war would be the inevitable
consequence of the proposition now made for annexing
Belgium to France.
The present spirit of the members of the conference,
and of the English Cabinet, is extremely
favourable to us; but, my dear General, I affirm,
in the full confidence of being correct, that if we
were suspected of entertaining other intentions
than those which I have deemed it expedient to
express, our position with reference to all the
Courts of Europe, including that of England,
would be changed much to our disadvantage.
I entreat you, therefore, to reflect maturely before
you enter upon so perilous a course. War
may compromise so many questions, that it appears
to me of all things most to be feared and avoided.
The wisdom of the king, who well knows how to
resist party clamour, and your prudence, my dear
General, must avert this misfortune, and control
the turbulent spirits who would drive us to extremities,
unmindful that the glory of France now
depends on peace. It is easy to commence war,—the
difficulty is how to maintain and to terminate
it. In short, I am averse to the project of the acquisition
of Belgium. The aggrandizement of
France by that acquisition would doubtless be
flattering to French vanity, but it would in many
respects be injurious to French industry. The
case is different with respect to the Rhine and
Saxony. But, General, your position enables you
to judge more accurately than I can, the various
questions adverted to in this letter.
The importance of the crisis at which we have
arrived cannot fail frequently to claim your attention.
At the present juncture we may, by prompt
and honest decision, preserve peace, or by prolonged
hesitation we may enable intriguers (too
numerous a class both here and in Belgium) to
compromise the destinies of Europe, and of the
dynasty which the voice of the nation has raised
to the throne of France. I await with the utmost
anxiety and impatience the reply of the French
Cabinet to the various questions proposed by the
four Powers; the delay of that reply probably causes
indecision in the opinions of the plenipotentiaries
assembled here. For Heaven’s sake let not the
Belgians, who are so stupid as not to perceive all
that has been done for them, and the Dutch, who
are stimulated by bitter hatred, draw us into this
deplorable contest! Let us not suffer an affair,
trivial in itself, to disturb the equilibrium of the
world, and to unbridle the fiercest passions. All
will be ended, all consummated on the day when
France, conjointly with the four other Powers, shall
declare that Belgium is to retain her old boundaries,
her independence, and her neutrality. On that
day the Dutch will be paralysed, the Germanic
Confederation will halt, the Belgians will be subdued,
the conference will choose Prince Leopold
for king, and peace will be secured. If France be
so blind as to censure your administration for
having saved her in spite of herself—if she be
unjust to those who have preserved her—then, sir,
you will cease to be minister, and I shall cease to
be ambassador. We shall forfeit our posts for
having defended and maintained a great principle,
for which future ages will honour us. In short, we
may be sacrificed, but let it be in the cause of
peace, in the cause of civilization and of good
order, and in defence of a sovereign whom we love,
and whose throne will fall in the general destruction
now impending. There is but little time for
averting the terrible disaster which my old experience
foresees, and of which your quick and accurate
discernment must have enabled you to warn
the council. But, sir, let your decisions be formed
singly with yourself. The powers of the clearest
head, and soundest judgment, cannot be freely
exercised except when withdrawn from the turbulence
of one party, the timidity of another, and
unbiassed by the ignorance of outward affairs
which is so marked a trait in the French character.
The intelligence of the French people, shrewd as
it is, scarcely ever extends beyond the frontiers
of their own country, and therefore they labour
under the singular mistake of supposing that
England cannot go to war with us. They do not
perceive that the vast concession made by the recent
Reform Bill has conferred on the English
ministry a temporary popularity, of which they will
freely avail themselves to obtain the means of opposing
us; and that this means will be much more
readily accorded to the present administration than
it would have been to that of the Duke of Wellington.
Our July revolution is tarnished by circumstances
which have greatly obscured its lustre; and
it has been justly observed that anarchy and disorder
are not very formidable ramparts to be opposed
to an enemy. However, there appears to be
no disposition to attack us, more especially since
the questions of right and law have been entrusted
to you. But whenever we give reason to warrant
suspicions of our good faith, or of our capability
to repress turbulent movements, then, rest assured,
that England will, though reluctantly, oppose us
with an immensity and a facility of power at
which France will be astounded.
On the other hand all that is required of us is to
be firm at home and moderate abroad. There is
no intention to take anything from us; on the contrary,
many concessions on the part of neighbouring
powers have been assented to. But it is wished
to preserve general peace and security, and not to
grant to nations, whose independence has been recognised
in spite of old treaties, the right of conquest
over countries which have never belonged to
them, and which are the guaranteed property of
others. For our own sake, sir, as well as for the
general good, it were to be wished that every individual
composing the French cabinet could comprehend
the principle of non-intervention in the
way in which it was understood by M. de Rigny at
Navarino.
London, January 25th, 1831.
Monsieur le Comte,—Count Flahaut arrived
here the day before yesterday, and delivered to me
the letter which you entrusted to his charge. I
thank you for having chosen him as the bearer
of it.
The raising of the siege of Antwerp, and the irritation
of the King of Holland, prove that the conference
was sufficiently rigorous towards both
parties to obtain the wished-for result.
My conversation with M. de Flahaut has furnished
me with some valuable information respecting
the ideas and intentions of the king’s government
relative to the affairs which I am directed to
manage here, and also respecting the state of public
opinion in France. I, however, regret that Count
Flahaut had left France before my despatch of the
21st reached you. The intelligence it contained
of the resolution adopted by the conference must
necessarily influence the views of the king and his
council, as well as the line of policy to be pursued
towards Belgium. I congratulate myself on the
declaration of neutrality, which has been received
with great satisfaction by the statesmen of this
country. All, to whatsoever party they belong,
regard it as a measure of wise policy, honourable
to modern civilization, and calculated to ensure
the maintenance of peace by the facility it affords
for conciliating, if not all claims, at least all essential
interests. I must add, however, that whilst
acceding to the measure, they regard it as wholly
tending to the advantage of France.
I am aware that, in the juncture at which affairs
have arrived in Belgium, and amidst the embarrassment
which this state of things entails on France
and Europe, the public mind has been agitated by
schemes of the most opposite character. The
avowed neutrality has now rendered most of these
plans utterly impracticable, and has enabled me
to revive, with advantage, the question of the
Prince of Naples, to which, at first, so much opposition
was manifested. I even think that we shall
completely succeed in rendering the city of Antwerp
a free port, or rather in making it one of the
Hanse Towns; and I am not quite certain but that
we may arrive at this result without Antwerp ceasing
to belong, as a free port, to Belgium. From the
day on which the protocol was signed, such is the
line of policy I have pursued, and I shall continue
to follow it up, unless I receive contrary instructions
from you.
This plan has the advantage of showing how
utterly useless would be any concession made to
England on the continent. I will even acknowledge
that it was with the view of banishing any
idea of that nature that I adopted the system I am
now pursuing. I should have deeply regretted to
see the king’s name and yours attached to a clause
which, in my opinion, would render our government
liable to the charge of being indifferent
to the judgment of posterity.
History bears evidence to the difficulties entailed
by the prolonged occupation of Calais by the
English, and it records the favours lavished on the
Guises, when they relieved France from that disgrace.
These lessons ought not to be thrown
away upon us. The same mistakes may be followed
by the same results, and may obliterate the
stamp of independence which is attached to all the
acts of the king’s government. I am certain that
his majesty is too high-minded to dwell long on
the idea of a plan which, without having any direct
effect on our own country, would cause us to be
reproached for the manner in which we have exercised
our continental power.
No one will go so far as to deny that the annexation
of Belgium to France would be an advantage,
though an aggrandizement of territory on the bank
of the Rhine would be more in accordance with my
notions of French policy. I admit that the annexation
of Belgium would render popular, for a
time, the government that might bring it about,
notwithstanding its injurious effects on French
industry. But you may rely on it, Count, that
that popularity would be exceedingly transient, if
purchased at the price that is proposed to be paid
for it. There is no reputation, however solid, that
would not be shaken by a measure of such a nature.
Does not every one blame the peace of Aix-la-Chapelle,
for having brought the Russians into
Europe? What a heavy judgment would fall on
those who should bring the English back on the
continent! It is best not to throw ourselves into
contact with those whom we cannot reach on their
own ground.
I am convinced, Monsieur le Comte, if you
were plenipotentiary here, you would never affix
your name to an act which not even the most
protracted and most disastrous war would justify.
Note of M. Colmache.—The Minister for Foreign
Affairs (Count Sebastiani) made no reply to the above severe,
but just comments on the unworthy proposition which Count
Flahaut had undertaken to communicate to the French
embassy.
Our political laws have existed only during the
space of a few years. We have witnessed their
creation and their birth. As yet they are scarcely
anything more than theories. Time alone will
convert them into practical laws. In other words,
we possess laws, but we do not yet possess jurisprudence.
Amidst all the uncertainties necessarily arising
out of such a state of things, it has appeared to
me that my duty, as a Peer of France, was to seek,
in reflection, for that light and knowledge which
experience cannot afford. The following chain
of ideas has aided me in the accomplishment of
this duty.
The first question I put to myself was, What is
the Court of Peers? The answer is, An extraordinary
tribunal, instituted by the Charter, for
judging certain affairs which that Charter has withdrawn
from the ordinary tribunals, either on account
of the serious nature of the crimes, or by reason of
the rank of the individuals accused. Such, it appears
to me, are the meaning and the spirit of Articles
33 and 34 of our fundamental law.
Is this a wise institution? Is it beneficial to the
country? I would answer in the affirmative. But
these points are not for me to determine. The
Charter has decreed, and that is sufficient.
Now, in what does this extraordinary tribunal
resemble the ordinary tribunals? Can it be tied
down to the same forms of procedure? I find that
the law—the faithful guardian of the interests of
society, whilst it declares that crime must not
escape punishment, is, nevertheless, more watchful
in protecting the innocent than in punishing the
guilty. It has therefore wisely established hierarchical
degrees in the judiciary organization. It
separates the accusation from the judgment, and
even after judgment the condemned is empowered
to appeal for its annulment, if, in the long course of
proceedings, a single one of the prescribed tutelary
forms shall have been violated or disavowed.
But in the Court of Peers there are no hierarchic
degrees; there is not, and cannot be, a chamber of
accusation distinct from the court of judgment,
where the accusers are themselves the judges.
When the Court of Peers has pronounced, the
condemned party has no appeal, either on the
score of form or fact. The mercy of the king
alone can save him. The justice of the Court of
Peers is one and indivisible; its action is prompt
and irreformable, and against its decisions there is
no appeal. It must not be supposed that public
feeling rises in alarm against a tribunal which, by
its inflexible rapidity, promptly terminates the most
important affairs. On the contrary, innocence will
always appeal for its protection, and guilt itself will
seek refuge in the august sanctuary. The reason
is, that the guarantee afforded by the tardy forms
of the ordinary courts, is abundantly atoned for by
the vast number of the judges in the Court of Peers—by
the importance attached to their elevated position—and
by the sort of religious awe which takes
possession of them, when, at distant intervals, the
law calls them from the peaceful habits of their
lives, and arms them with the sword of justice.
Thus it is shown that ordinary justice is hierarchical
and successive, whilst, that of the Peers is indivisible
and instantaneous. Ordinary justice, by
reason of its hierarchical character, is susceptible
of change both in its nature and in its forms; the
justice of the Peers, inasmuch as it is indivisible,
is incapable of change.
But this is not the only difference existing between
ordinary justice and that which the Charter
has confided to our administration. The course
of ordinary justice commences in secrecy and ends
in publicity. Over the proceedings of the Court
of Peers publicity presides, from their commencement
to their close.
When ordinary justice conceives suspicions
against a private individual, it silently takes measures
for repressing the crime or the offence. Even
in cases in which it is deemed necessary to deprive
the accused of his liberty, the accusation may remain
a secret between the magistrate and the accused.
Should the suspicion prove unfounded,
and the accused be restored to liberty by the
Chamber of Accusation, (the first degree in the
judicial hierarchy,) that liberation sufficiently repairs
the injury sustained by personal honour in
the sphere of society to which the accused belongs.
But, gentlemen, is it so when the Peers are called
upon to render justice in the case of any one of
those accused persons whom the law consigns to
their judgment? Is not a discussion in the Chamber
of Peers an important event in itself? Does not
the matter to which it refers immediately become
the subject of general conversation? and, if the
names compromised should include those of men
whose services to the State have long rendered
them objects of public esteem, or even of national
pride, what a sensation is excited! what conjectures
are afloat! what a fine field is opened for
calumny, for the outpourings of envy, hatred, and
every vile passion! And, in the face of all this,
are we to acquit clandestinely and without publicity,
our colleagues, so injuriously compromised;
and, by a silent absolution, to deprive them of the
atonement they are entitled to expect from your
courageous and just impartiality?
A serious affair has been submitted to our deliberation
by the crown. Our duty is to judge it as
a Court of Peers. In this chamber accusations
have been uttered, more or less grave. We cannot
forget that the names of several noble Peers have,
from base motives, been compromised in this affair.
It is our duty to render them full and complete
justice. By what means shall we do so?
In my endeavours to solve this question, I had
almost arrived at the conclusion, that the proper
course would be to arraign the accused before the
court, to hear the sentence pronounced on them.
But further consideration soon convinced me that
we had entered on a mistaken and perilous course,
and that our first duty is to end the scandalous controversy,
in which virtue and honour have been exposed
to the vilest attacks. What, in reality, is the
question at issue? Great errors have been committed.
French treasure has been improvidently
wasted. But improvidence cannot be made amenable
to the law. On looking over the list of the accused,
I perceive only the names of men more or less obscure,
suspected of acts more or less mean and
contemptible—acts for the commission of which
war ever has and ever will afford ample opportunity.
Three hundred millions have been expended in
the Spanish war. Of that enormous sum scarcely
the sixth part has been absorbed by the victorious
army; and yet, inconceivable as it may appear,
that army has been made to bear the whole responsibility.
However painful the recollection, it is nevertheless
necessary to bear in mind the dismay which
prevailed throughout Paris when, shortly after the
departure of the Prince Generalissimo, the Moniteur
officially announced the existence of a military
conspiracy. The nucleus of that conspiracy was
alleged to be in the Staff of His Royal Highness.
But the descendant of Henry IV. was not intimidated;
he showed that he could trust to the
honour of French officers, and victory was the
reward of his confidence. Thus were the intrigues
of the past defeated; and in like manner will be
thwarted the intrigues of the present. All has
been intrigue throughout this affair. It has already
occupied too much of our attention; and it were
to be wished that we should never hear more of it
either in the Chamber of Peers or in any other
court. I can vote only for the full and complete
acquittal of all the accused, and I recommend that
the verdict be accompanied by the declaration that
our colleagues have forfeited none of our esteem.
The king insisted that the favourable opinion entertained
of the services I had rendered him, required
that he should instal me in one of the high offices of
the crown. The post of grand ecuyer could not
be said to be either vacant or filled, as M. de L——
had not tendered his resignation. The king, who
still had a leaning to old usages, thought he could
not dispose of the post, though the conduct of
M. de L——, since the Restoration, had not
been congenial with French feeling, but altogether
in unison with Austrian ideas. The office
of grand chamberlain seemed to be suited to me,
though I had filled it under Bonaparte, who deprived
me of it to mark his dissatisfaction at the
attentions I showed the Spanish princes at Valençay,
and at the manner in which I had expressed
myself concerning the war against Spain. I lost
my post of grand chamberlain, with a salary of
100,000 francs, because I had rendered some assistance,
and offered some little solace, to the
princes of Spain, during their sojourn at Valençay;
and subsequently, the Restoration took from me
the post of vice-chamberlain, with a salary of
333,000 francs. Yet I never expressed the least
disquietude respecting my fortune, or any desire to
seek the means of enlarging my income.
The king restored me to the post of grand chamberlain,
with the emolument of 100,000 francs.
This post, owing to the pretensions of the gentlemen
of the bedchamber, had become a mere
sinecure. It conferred rank, dignity, and emolument,
without requiring the performance of any
duties. The gentlemen of the bedchamber had
returned to their places, with all their old pretensions;
vanity prompted them to encroach on
the highest and most honourable services, whilst
courtly meanness made them ready to perform the
most annoying and undignified duties. In the
circumstances in which I was placed, I felt that
my proper course of conduct was to avoid all expression
of disapprobation towards the ministers
who had succeeded me, and to take no part in the
numerous reproaches vented on their administration.
My old-fashioned notions of decorum suggested
to me the delicacy due from the ministers
who had gone out of office, to the ministers who
had come in; and I determined to confine myself
completely within the sphere of my post of grand
chamberlain. Accordingly, I presented myself to
the king once a week: the rest of my time I
spent among my old books, and in narrating the
events I have witnessed in my life-time, or in
which I have taken part. I never spoke in the
Chamber of Peers, because I wished to avoid alike
the expression of censure or approval. I rarely
voted; and, in short, I endeavoured, as much as
possible, to maintain the character of indifference;—a
most essential qualification in a grand chamberlain.
I imagined that, in observing this line of
conduct towards my successors, I should secure,
on their part, respect, or, at all events, their
silence in reference to the administration of my
colleagues and myself. I was, consequently, not a
little astonished, when I found, in the journals
under the control of their censorship, that all the
mean adulation lavished on the existing ministers,
was accompanied by comparisons prejudicial to the
ministers who had preceded them. Certain comments
on the treaty I had refused to sign, and to
which they had affixed their signature, appeared to
me at once exceedingly unfair and maladroit; for
future generations will not fail to compare the truly
French feeling of the men who quitted office because
they would not sign, and the pliant principles
of the men who signed, in order to keep
office. The fact is, that the interests of France
were completely disregarded in this matter. The
Allies took advantage of the inexperience of the
Duke de Richelieu’s administration; and that circumstance
cost France the loss of some portion of
her territory, at the same time entailing so many
other sacrifices, that I have sometimes reproached
myself for my resignation at that particular juncture.
Certainly, had I been in office, France would
not have been subject to the humiliations she
has suffered, and which no power should have presumed
to inflict on her. It is for me alone to
reproach myself. In the estimation of others, I
stand in that position in which it was more noble
to have resigned office, because I would not sign,
than to have signed for the sake of keeping my
place. After all, there is some grace in knowing
when to resign. The position in which I stood
ought not to have exposed me to the insults of
journalists. Silence would have been more becoming;
but it is difficult for people of mean
spirit to restrain themselves by silence. At first I
considered these attacks unworthy of notice, and
it was only by their daily renewal that I was
enabled to perceive they were the result of a
settled plan. It was only when they were perseveringly
forced on my attention, that I found
it necessary to adopt means to repress them. Public
credulity readily imbibes erroneous impressions.
I tried the effect of absence. I went into the
country, and remained there for some time; but all
in vain! Unpopularity rendered my successors
dissatisfied with themselves. It is the nature of
man to blame others, and not himself, for his own
errors; accordingly, I was still the individual
against whom censure was directed. But for my
influence, it was alleged, certain things would
have been done, and certain measures would have
succeeded—a more decided course would have
been taken, &c. &c. Little-minded people always
assign their failures to causes in which they themselves
have no part. I now thought it time to
show less forbearance, and I openly avowed, to my
friends and others, whom I casually saw, that I did
not approve the line of policy adopted by the
ministers, nor indeed of any of the means resorted
to for establishing the government of the Restoration.
The ministerial interference with the elections,
(an example which has been followed in
latter times, with such disastrous results,) afforded
me an opportunity of declaring my sentiments.
The first person to whom I spoke on this subject
was Baron Pasquier, with whom I dined one
day at the English Ambassador’s. We were each
waiting for his carriage, and consequently our
conversation was but short. Nevertheless, it would
appear that enough passed to afford grounds for
misrepresentation, and the king was pleased to
think that the best mode of supporting his ministry,
was to show his disapproval of me. In a
letter, written by the first gentleman of the bedchamber,
his majesty forbade my appearing at
court, without the royal permission. Thus, in the
same fauteuil in which I had twice installed him,
did Louis XVIII. sign, without any previous explanation,
and on the report of a man whom he
scarcely knew, an order prohibiting me from going
to the Tuileries.
Whilst I was suffering under this species of disgrace,
I had many visitors. The marshals, and
other persons to whom I had never rendered any
service, came to see me more frequently than those
on whom I had conferred obligations. These
latter were prudent; they feared lest they might
themselves incur courtly disfavour. I have remarked
the proneness to this kind of ingratitude at
the present day. The false position in which every
one has been placed since the Restoration has
doubtless helped to create it. That sort of police
which society itself exercises, for repressing the
wrongs of society, having ceased to exist, the evil
passions of human nature show themselves more
openly. The emigration has largely contributed to
bring about this state of things.
My disgrace did not tend to raise the king in
public estimation, either abroad or at home; and
his majesty was therefore desirous of bringing the
matter to an end. The same Gentleman of the
Chamber who wrote the letter forbidding my appearance
at court, now wrote to acquaint me that
the king would receive me again with pleasure. I
went, and, to spare the king embarrassment, I
did not attempt to enter into any explanation.
I was aware that he would not acknowledge
he had been in the wrong, and yet that acknowledgment
was the only great and gracious thing he
could have uttered.
I felt that what passed between the king and
myself entitled me to censure or disapprove measures
which appeared to me injurious to France; and
I began occasionally to deliver my opinion in the
Chamber of Peers on the questions discussed in
that assembly. I endeavoured to show that the
government would gain strength by taking an
honest and constitutional course, and disavowing
all falsehood and evasion; that sincerity in the
management of public affairs would simplify everything,
and consolidate at once the position of the
king and of the country. The French people are
too shrewd to be imposed on for any length of
time, and when once they find themselves deceived
they are ever afterwards distrustful. In the interval
between the sessions I made two excursions into
the provinces. The aspect of nature has a wonderful
effect on the mind, especially when one has
just escaped from the strife and agitation of public
affairs. Matters which fret and weary us in the active
business of life, dwindle into insignificance in the
retirement of the country. On the summit of a
mountain we feel alike beyond the reach of towering
ambition and grovelling malice. There all the
annoying phantoms of life vanish.
At the beginning of winter I returned to Paris.
My associations were limited to persons whose
opinions coincided with my own, and I took part
in no public business except the discussions on
the liberty of the press, which were maintained
during two or three years successively. I observed
the course of events in all parts of Europe, and
watched the contest that was maintained between
despotism and constitutional government. The
first decided outbreaks of this contest were manifested
at Naples and at Venice. Speedily the
revolution in Spain spread agitation throughout
France, and brought to light the work in which the
Jesuits had been secretly engaged since the Restoration.
The ministry, which was composed of
emigrants, or of persons whose minds were tainted
with the prejudice and bigotry which the emigration
had brought back to France, conferred all government
appointments on persons of their own way of
thinking, or on those who, from interested motives,
affected to coincide in their views. Then followed
congress upon congress, intrigue upon intrigue;
and the Emperor Alexander showed his feebleness
of character by seeking refuge in that Holy Alliance
which too plainly demonstrated that sovereigns
had interests apart from those of their subjects.
I often think of what must be the result of
the existing conflict between intelligence and despotism.
I reflect on the great change that will be
wrought by new compacts between subjects and
sovereigns. It is only by this means that social
order can be established. We are told that this
or that particular country requires more stringent
measures of government than others; but all nations
have rights, which vary according to the
greater or less degree of civilization they may have
reached. The recognition of these rights is at
once the security of thrones and the guarantee of
public freedom. These rights may and can be
enforced without popular convulsions; but, in
proportion as the rights of mankind are disavowed
or withheld, the more violent will be the struggles
to recover them, and in the end these struggles will
prove triumphant. This is my opinion, and it will
remain unaltered to the latest day of my life.
“Sire,—His Majesty the King of the French has
been pleased to make me the interpreter of the
sentiments he cherishes for your Majesty.
“I have joyfully accepted a mission which gives
so noble a direction to the last steps of my long
public career.
“Sire, amidst all the vicissitudes through which I
have passed during my long life—amidst all the
changes of good and ill fortune I have undergone
during the last forty years, no circumstance has
afforded me such perfect gratification as the appointment
which brings me back to this happy
country. But how great is the change between the
period when I was formerly here and the present
time! The jealousies and prejudices which so
long divided France and England have given
place to enlightened sentiments of esteem and
affection. Unity of feeling rivets the bonds of
amity between the two countries. England, like
France, repudiates the principle of intervention in
the internal affairs of neighbouring states; and
the ambassador of a sovereign unanimously chosen
by a great nation, feels himself at home in a land
of freedom, as the missionary to a descendant of
the illustrious house of Brunswick.
“I feel that I may with confidence implore your
Majesty’s kind consideration of the subjects which
I am commanded to submit to your attention, and
I beg, Sire, to offer the homage of my profound
respect.”
Delivered in the Chamber of Peers, in the sitting of Tuesday,
July 24, 1821.
“Gentlemen,—In presenting myself before this
assembly, I experience the embarrassment of feeling
the utter inutility of the observations I am about to
make, but to which, nevertheless, I consider it my
duty to give utterance. By a deplorable fatality,
the causes of which it is not my purpose at present
to inquire into, the questions in appearance submitted
to our consideration, are already resolved—irrevocably
resolved. We discuss, as though our
discussions were affairs of some import; whilst, in
reality, we are but the instruments of imperious
necessity. Laws and budgets are laid before us,
and they who would naturally be our opponents in
discussing them, are not here; their absence operates
as a sort of command upon us. The Chamber
of Peers, by the position in which it is placed,
will soon degenerate into a Court of Registration, a
mere semblance of the constitutional hierarchy.
Hence, it follows, that those who absolutely desire
to see in France a real Chamber of Peers—that
those who regard it as essential to the monarchy—seeing
it annihilated for the present, look forward
to the future. In their inability to remedy the present
evil, they indulge in prophetic warnings, which
it is easy to turn into ridicule; or they offer advice
which levity despises and weakness rejects.
“I apply, gentlemen, these considerations to the
law now submitted to your attention. Is it the
work of the Ministry? No; for, on the one hand,
it is more limited in its duration than the primitive
law, a circumstance of which I am certainly not
disposed to complain; and, on the other hand, its
restrictions extend to literature, science, and the
arts, (heretofore exempt from the coercion of the
censorship:) and at these restrictions I am assuredly
not disposed to rejoice. Is it certain that these
various modifications meet the concurrence of the
majority of this Chamber? Possibly they do not;
and yet, what can we do? Are we free to amend,
in our turn, the amendments of the all-powerful
Chamber of Deputies? No, gentlemen; and I say
so, not with the view of reflecting blame on the
Chamber of Deputies, (which has merely exercised
its constitutional privileges in a very constitutional
manner,) but to complain that the Chamber of
Peers is stripped of all its privileges by tardy presentations,
which leave it neither time to deliberate
nor power to resist.
“Convinced as I am that the fate of the present
law is determined beforehand; that a discussion,
however warm, will not influence its rejection, or
even tend to modify its effects; I present myself
here, less for the purpose of opposing it, than to
prevent its reappearance, when it shall have lived
through its legal period of existence. I speak for
the interest of the future session, and not for the
interest of the present one. I do not hope, gentlemen,
to convince you now; my object is to pave
the way for a more free and more profound discussion
at a future time.
“The liberty of the press, applied to politics, is,
as has already been stated, neither more nor less
than the liberty of the journals.
“We are all desirous to enjoy the blessings of
representative government; it is the government
which the king has granted to us.
“Representative government cannot exist without
the liberty of the press, which is one of its essential
instruments; indeed, its principal instrument.
Every government has its own machinery; and it
must always be borne in mind that institutions
which are salutary to one government, may be injurious
to another. It has been proved to demonstration
by several members of this Chamber, who,
during the present and preceding sessions, have
spoken on the subject now under consideration,
that, without the liberty of the press, there can be
no representative government. I will not, therefore,
weary you by repeating that which you must
all have heard or read, and which must frequently
have been the subject of your own meditations.
“But there are two points of view in which it
appears to me that the question has not been adequately
considered, and which I will reduce to the
two following propositions—
“I. The liberty of the press is a necessity of the
age.
“II. A government endangers its stability when
it obstinately refuses to grant that which the age
proclaims to be necessary.
“The human mind is never completely stationary.
The discovery of yesterday is but the medium for
arriving at a new discovery to-morrow. Nevertheless
it is true that human intelligence would
seem to advance by crises; there are periods when
that intelligence is urged forward by the desire of
creating and producing; and there are times when,
satisfied with its acquisitions, it appears to repose
within itself, and to be occupied in arranging and
setting in order the riches it possesses, rather than
in earning new wealth. The seventeenth century
was one of these fortunate epochs. The human
mind, amazed at the vast treasures of which it had
become possessed through the invention of printing,
seemed to stop short in its onward movement,
as if eager to rest in the enjoyment of its magnificent
heritage. Revelling in the luxuries of literature,
science, and the arts, it set its glory on the
production of master-pieces. The great men of
the age of Louis XIV. vied one with another in
embellishing a state of society, beyond which they
could see nothing or wish for nothing, and which
seemed destined to endure as long as the glory of
the great king who engrossed all their respect and
enthusiasm. But the fertile mine of antiquity
being exhausted, the activity of the human mind
was turned, as it were by force, into another channel,
and it found novelty in those speculative
studies which embrace the whole future, and whose
limits are indefinable. Such were the circumstances
which ushered in the commencement of
the eighteenth century, destined to prove so dissimilar
to the century that had preceded it. The
poetic lessons of Telemachus were succeeded by
the theories of the Esprit des Lois; and the Port-Royal
was superseded by the Encyclopedia.
“I beg you to observe, gentlemen, that I am
neither concurring nor approving, but merely
narrating.
“On looking back to the disasters which befel
France during the Revolution, we should guard
against being wholly unjust to those master spirits
whose writings gave the first impulse to that great
event. We must not forget that if those writers
did not always steer clear of error, yet that we owe
to them the revelation of many great truths. We
must bear in mind that those men are in no way
responsible for the inconsiderate precipitancy with
which France, almost unanimously, rushed into the
career which they had merely traced out in perspective.
Views which had been only theoretically developed
were suddenly carried into practical effect; and
the result has shown the awful consequences which
ensue when man, prompted by insane self-confidence,
ventures to go beyond the necessities of the
age—the gulf of misfortune then yawns before him.
But in merely working such changes as are dictated
by the wants of the age, we are certain not to
diverge very far from the right course.
“Now, gentlemen, let us see what were the real
necessities of the age in the year 1789. The
changes which were suggested by the mature reflection
of enlightened men may be fairly regarded
as necessities. The Constituent Assembly was
merely the interpreter of those necessities when it
proclaimed the liberty of religious worship,
equality in the eye of the law, the free right of
jurisdiction, (every one being amenable to his
natural judges,) and the liberty of the press.
“But the Constituent Assembly was not in accordance
with the spirit of the age when it instituted
a single Chamber; when it destroyed the
royal sanction; when it tortured consciences, &c.
Yet, notwithstanding the errors of that Assembly,
(errors of which I have named only a few, and
which were followed by great calamities,) it will
enjoy, in the judgment of posterity, the glory of
having established the bases of our new public law.
The august author of the charter—the monarch
who is worthy of France, as France is worthy of
him—has consecrated in his noble work the only
great principles furnished by the Constituent
Assembly.
“Let us take it for granted that laws which are
wished for—which are proclaimed to be good and
salutary by the most enlightened men of a country,
and which have been so proclaimed during a series
of years—are necessities of the age. One of these
laws, gentlemen, is the liberty of the press. I appeal
to all those among you who are most especially
my contemporaries—was not the liberty of the
press an object ardently desired by all those
excellent men whom we have admired in our
youth—the Malesherbes, the d’Estignys, and the
Trudaines?—who, to say the least, were not inferior
to any of the statesmen who have flourished since
their time. The place which the men I have just
named occupy in our recollections, sufficiently
proves that the liberty of the press consolidates
legitimate renown, and if it ruins usurped reputations,
where is the evil?
“If I have said enough to prove that the liberty
of the press is, in France, the necessary result of the
present state of society, it now only remains for me
to establish my second proposition—viz., that a
government endangers its stability when it obstinately
refuses to grant that which the age proclaims
to be a necessity.
“In the most tranquil and happy conditions of
society there is always a certain number of men
who aspire to gain, by the help of disorder, the
wealth which they possess not, and the importance
which they ought not to possess. Is it wise to
place in the hands of these enemies of social order,
weapons of discontent, without which their perversity
would ever remain powerless? Why give them
the privilege of continually claiming the fulfilment
of a promise? They will but abuse that privilege,
and in this instance they are not, as in some others,
seeking merely a chimerical good.
“Society, in its progressive advance, is destined
to feel new necessities. I readily admit that governments
ought not rashly to acknowledge them or
to convert them into laws. But when these necessities
have once been acknowledged, to take back
what has been granted, or (which amounts to the
same thing) to withhold that which has been
granted, or to suspend it unceasingly, is a dangerous
course, of which I earnestly hope those who
have put it in practice may not have reason to repent.
A government should never compromise its
own good faith. In the present age, it is not easy
to carry on deception for any lengthened period of
time. There is a power whose wisdom is superior
to that of Voltaire, whose intelligence is greater
than that of Bonaparte—a power, in short, superior
to the directors or to any of the ministers, past,
present, or to come—that power is the great mass
of mankind. To engage, or at least to persist, in a
conflict on any question on which the majority of
the world conceive their interests to be at stake, is
an error, and all political errors are dangerous.
“When the freedom of the press exists, when
people know that their interests will be defended,
they trust that time will render them justice, however
tardily that justice may come. They rely on
hope, and with reason, for even hope cannot be
long deceived. But when the liberty of the press
is restricted, when no complaint is permitted to be
heard, discontent forces a government either into
too much weakness or too much severity.
“But these reflections are carrying me too far,
and I must conclude. For the interest of the King
and of France, I demand a repressive law, and I
vote against the censorship.”
[The following extracts comprise the principal
points of this address.]
“I have stated, gentlemen, the reasons which
lead me to believe that ecclesiastical property
is national property. If those reasons, which
nothing has for an instant shaken in my own
mind, appear to you of some weight in themselves,
how much more weighty, how much more decisive
must they not appear under all the circumstances of
the present juncture? Let us only look around
us; the public fortune is tottering—its approaching
fall threatens all other fortunes, and in this
universal disaster who would have greater cause to
fear than the clergy? Invidious comparisons have
long been made between the public indigence and
the private opulence of many among us; let us
silence in one moment these unpleasant murmurs,
so offensive to our patriotism. Let us deliver up to
the nation both our persons and our fortunes;—the
nation will never forget the act.
“Let us not say that the clergy, merely from
being no longer landed proprietors, will on that
account become less worthy of public consideration.
No! the clergy will not be the less revered by the
people from their being paid by the nation; for
the heads of offices, ministers, and even kings
themselves, receive salaries without being the less
honoured on that account. No! the clergy will not
become odious to the people, for it is not from the
individual hands of the citizens that the minister
of religion will seek his tribute, but from the public
treasury, like all the other mandatories of the government.
Do we not constantly see the people
consenting to forget that the functionaries of the
state are in their pay, and uniting with their generous
tributes the personal homage of respect for men
whose duties are often opposed to their passions,
and sometimes even to their interests? Who shall
persuade us to believe that the French people, whose
sense of justice is greater than their calumniators
would lead us to suppose, would withdraw their
grateful esteem from those who ought not, who will
not, who cannot inspire them with any but virtuous
sentiments; who would pour into their bosoms the
consolations of charity, and discharge towards them
at all times the most paternal duties?
“Say not that the cause of religion is bound up
with this question;—say rather, what we all know,
say that the greatest act of religion which would
redound to our own honour, would be to hasten the
arrival of that period when a better order of things
will sweep away the abuses of corruption, and will
prevent the occurrence of that multitude of open
crimes and secret offences which are the fruits of
great public calamities. Say that the noblest
homage that can be paid to religion, is to contribute
to the formation of a state of social order
which should foster and protect the virtues religion
ordains and rewards, and which, in the
perfection of society, should constantly remind
men of the benefactor of nature. The people,
brought back to religion by the feeling of their
own happiness, will remember, not without gratitude,
the sacrifices which the ministers of religion
will have made for the general good. Everything
unites in demanding it. Public opinion everywhere
proclaims the law of justice, united to that
of necessity. A few moments longer, and we shall
lose, in an unequal and degrading struggle, the
honour of a generous resignation. Let us meet
necessity, and we shall seem not to fear it, or
rather, to use a form of expression more worthy of
you, we shall in reality not fear it. We should not
then be dragged to the altar of the country; we
should be bearing to it a voluntary offering. Of
what use is it to defer the moment? What troubles,
what misfortunes might not have been prevented, if
the sacrifices consummated here for three months
past had been made in proper time a gift of patriotism?
Let us show that we wish to be citizens, and
citizens only, and that we really desire to join in
the national unity which France so ardently longs
for. Finally, in ceasing to form a body which is a
constant object of envy, the clergy will become an
assemblage of citizens, and objects of national
gratitude.
“In conclusion, then, I would recommend that
the principle involving the proprietorship of the
ecclesiastical revenues should be at once determined;
and, to avoid all appearance of equivocation,
I would recommend it should be decreed by
the National Assembly that the nation is the real
proprietor, and can dispose of them for the public
good. The nation must at the same time pledge
itself to preserve for each incumbent that which
really belongs to him, and to provide for the due
settlement (in such manner as may be deemed most
fitting) of the real obligations with which those
properties are burthened.”
“The state has for a long time had to struggle
with the greatest difficulties: none of us are ignorant
of this fact, and therefore powerful means
must be employed to meet them. Ordinary
measures have been exhausted; the people are
hard-pressed on every side, and the slightest additional
burden would naturally be felt insupportable.
In fact, it is not to be thought of. Extraordinary
resources have just been tried, but they
are principally destined for the extraordinary
necessities of the present year. We want provision
for the future—we want provision for the
entire restoration of order. There exists one immense
and decided resource, and one which in my
opinion (for otherwise I should repel the idea) may
be combined with a rigid respect for property.
This resource appears to me to lie entirely in the
ecclesiastical revenues.
* * * * *
“I do not mean a contribution towards maintaining
the burthens of the state proportional to
that arising from other kinds of property; this could
never be viewed in the light of a sacrifice. The
operation I point at is one of far greater importance
to the nation.
* * * * *
“It appears evident to me that the clergy are
not in the position of other landed proprietors,
because the property they enjoy (and which they
cannot dispose of) has been given, not for personal
interest, but for the performance of certain duties.
“It would also appear that the nation, in
virtue of the extensive powers it possesses over
all the bodies contained within it, has a right
to destroy, if not the whole, at all events, portions
of the ecclesiastical body, if they are considered
hurtful, or even useless, and that this right over
their existence necessarily carries with it an extensive
right over the disposal of its property.
“It is moreover certain that the nation, precisely
because it is the protector of the wishes of the
founders, can, and even ought to suppress those
livings which have become sinecures.
“Thus far there is no difficulty; but the question
is, Can the nation also reduce the revenue
of the actual incumbents, and dispose of a portion
of that revenue? There appears to me one very
simple answer to the arguments of those who deny
this right.
“However inviolable may be the possession of a
property which is guaranteed by law, it is clear
that the law cannot change the nature of the property
by guaranteeing it; and that, in the case of
ecclesiastical property, it can only ensure to each
actual incumbent the enjoyment of what has really
been granted to him by the act of his foundation.
Now, it is well known that all the foundation-titles
of ecclesiastical property, as well as the various
laws of the church explanatory of the sense and
the spirit of those titles, show that only that portion
of the property which is necessary for the
decent maintenance of the incumbent really belongs
to him—that he is merely the administrator
of the remainder, which remainder is really destined
for the relief of the poor, or the repair of
the temples of God. If, then, the nation carefully
ensures to each incumbent (whatever may be the
nature of his living) that respectable maintenance,
it will not be encroaching upon his individual property.
If, at the same time, it takes upon itself, as
it has the undoubted right to do, the administration
of the rest; if it undertakes the other obligations
attached to these properties, such as the
maintenance of hospitals and charitable institutions,
the repairs of churches, the expenses of
public education, &c.; if, above all, these resources
are drawn upon only at the moment of a
general calamity, it appears to me that all the intentions
of the founders will be fulfilled, and full
justice will have been rigidly accomplished.
“Thus, in brief recapitulation, I would state my
belief, that the nation may, without injustice, in a
period of general distress, 1st, dispose of the properties
of the different religious communities which
it may be desirable to suppress, ensuring, at the
same time, means of subsistence to the incumbents;
2ndly, turn to immediate account (always
carrying out the general spirit of the founders) the
revenues of all the sinecure livings which may be
vacant, and secure those of all similar livings as
they become vacant; and 3rdly, reduce, according
to a certain proportion, the present revenues of the
incumbents, whenever they shall exceed a certain
given sum, the nation taking upon itself a portion
of the obligations with which those properties were
originally charged.”
* * * * *
Delivered in the National Assembly, on Friday, Dec. 4th, 1789.
“As a member of the committee whose report
you have just heard, I consider myself
entitled to address you, both for the purpose of
submitting to you some ideas of my own on the
subject of the caisse d’escompte, and more especially
with the view of bringing to bear upon this
subject some important questions, inseparable from
it, and essentially connected with the great interests
which now so urgently engage your attention.
“The idea of the establishment of a national
bank in France, is one which has excited great
attention, and which has gained great favour in
public opinion.
“Many persons who entertain sound views on
the subject of credit, consider such an establishment
as indispensable, whilst even those who are
least acquainted with the subject—those who
scarcely know what a bank is, and who are totally
ignorant of the organization suitable to a national
bank, seem to derive confidence, amidst the present
want of credit, simply from understanding that
the National Assembly contemplates the establishment
of a national bank. It would indeed seem
as if the mere name of a bank were alone sufficient
to settle everything; but we must be careful to observe
that it is only a well-constituted bank that
ought to be established, and not a national bank of
any sort. Banks are by no means simple institutions;
their object is indeed everywhere the same—to
facilitate the circulation of exchanges, and
to lower the interest of money; but the means they
employ must vary extremely. Banks may be
likened to highly-tempered instruments, which must
be managed with caution and skill, because either
great good or great evil may result from their use.
Here, above all, you must be upon your guard
against the various systems suggested by cupidity,
by superficial knowledge, or by that half-acquaintance
with the subject which is so common and so
dangerous. It cannot, therefore, be entirely useless
to recall to your attention, for the purpose of refuting
them, the different ideas which have been
promulgated on the creation of a national bank in
France, particularly as some of these views have
neither been opposed nor discussed, and are, perhaps,
of a nature to mislead the well-intentioned.
Let us take a cursory view of them.
“The creation of a national bank has been proposed.
My opinion is, that a well-constituted
bank ought not to be a national bank, whether by
that title we understand simply the responsibility
of the nation, or that the nation should have established
the bank on its own account.
“People are led to believe that, because the nation
is about to render itself responsible for the public
debt, it might also be answerable for the funds of a
bank; but it is very important that these two things
should not be confounded.
“The nation ought undoubtedly to become responsible
for the public debt, inasmuch as the sums
which compose that debt have been lent to the
nation, have been employed by the nation, and
have been entrusted to the only recognised representative
of the nation. In fact, properly speaking,
the nation cannot be said to be security for the
debt, for the nation is the debtor itself.
“The guarantee which the nation would grant to
the bank should be of a totally different nature.
“So far from this national guarantee imparting
credit to a bank, such an arrangement would have
the effect of depriving of all credit the nation
capable of adopting it. Who would place confidence
in a nation which should be imprudent
enough to entrust to a small number of individuals
the management of a bank whose operations would
necessarily be unlimited, and whereby all the
national property would become mortgaged?
“It may readily be imagined that every possible
precaution would be taken to prevent the managers
of the bank from being unfaithful to their trust; but
still the possibility will always remain, that, should
a misfortune befal the bank, it would be necessary
either to levy enormous contributions on the property
of the country, or to declare the nation itself
bankrupt. Would any prudent nation incur the
risk of reducing itself to such an alternative?
Would any honest nation, valuing a character for
integrity, offer a responsibility which might prove
illusory?
“The nation, then, cannot, ought not, to become
guarantee for the bank.
“Still less ought the nation to establish the bank
on its own account; for, to all the inconveniences
resulting from responsibility, there would be added
many others. The nation would have only two
methods to choose between, either to entrust the
administration of the bank to salaried officials, or
to personally interested managers. In the first
case, there would be too much reason to fear that
the management of the bank would not receive due
attention; while, in the second case, there would
be an equal risk of the directors seeking immoderate
profits, under the pretence of serving the
interests of the nation with which they would be
associated. In either case, should any misfortune
befal the bank, the representatives of the country
would, with much less freedom, deliver their opinion
on events in which the interest of the whole nation
would be compromised, than if they had merely to
judge the conduct of private directors. And, finally,
in both cases the annual expenses of management
would be increased, and the portion of profits
which the nation might directly claim from the
operations of the bank, would certainly not indemnify
it for the incalculable loss resulting
from the diminished interest of money in the
kingdom.
“The nation, therefore, cannot become guarantee
for the bank, nor can the bank be established on
account of the nation.”
“It has been proposed to establish banks of discount
(caisses d’escompte) in different towns of
the kingdom, and this plan certainly looks somewhat
plausible; for it would seem at first sight that
if banks of discount are useful, they cannot be too
much multiplied, and that if they are favourable
to commerce, they ought, above all, to be established
in commercial towns.
“But it is easy to perceive that a single bank of
discount, or bank of aid (banque de secours),
placed in the capital, in the centre of circulation,
would not only animate the commerce of the
place in which it is established, but would necessarily
extend its influence throughout the whole of
the kingdom.
“Now, a number of banks of discount, or banks
of aid, would not produce the same advantages;
for by mutually increasing their credit, they would
infallibly injure each other.
“In the first place, the multiplicity of these banks
would oblige every individual to examine all the
different bank-notes presented to him, whilst at
present a great portion of the confidence with which
these notes are received, proceeds from the circumstance
of their requiring no examination, being
recognisable at first sight, almost as readily as
pieces of coin.
“This observation is, perhaps, more important
than it may appear. There can be no doubt that
a degree of credit would be attached to the notes
of a single bank applicable to the whole kingdom,
which would never be accorded to the notes of a
number of banks, dispersed among the provinces;
for, as each of these several banks would enjoy a
different degree of credit, the notes of each would
require previous examination, before being taken
in payment.
“But, independently of this consideration, another
very grave inconvenience would arise. The embarrassments
of any one of these banks would inevitably
operate prejudicially on the credit of the
rest, from the correspondence which would exist
among them. To multiply the places where these
embarrassments might ensue, would be to multiply
their probability, and it is, doubtless, important
not to augment the chances which may compromise
the trade and the monetary circulation of the
kingdom.
“A plan has been proposed for supplying the
place of this multiplicity of banks, by admitting
the existence of one general bank alone, having
in most of the provincial towns branch establishments,
where the notes of the bank would be paid on
presentation. This idea is the most impracticable
of all. With the inconveniences of the preceding
plan, it combines a still greater inconvenience of
its own; for it is evident that the bank, instead of
merely holding in its principal treasury such portion
of its capital as prudence might show to be
necessary, would at the same time require to hold
a similar portion in each of its branch establishments.
But for this precaution, it would be in
the power of evil-disposed persons to convey a
considerable number of notes into any particular
town in which there was a branch bank; even
chance, or some circumstance impossible to foresee,
might draw a great quantity of notes at one
time into some particular branch bank, which
might not be in a condition to honour them. If
there were but fifty of these branch offices dispersed
in different towns of the kingdom, the probability
is, that there would be a failure of the
bank in different places almost every day of the
year, though the sums it held in cash, distributed
among its different treasuries, might, in the aggregate,
be very much beyond the whole demands
made upon it.”
* * * * *
“As to the banking plan which has been proposed
to you by the Minister of Finance, and which, on
that account, merits your deepest attention, I shall
add little to the observations which have already
been made in opposition to it. I shall confine
myself to a single remark, which, however, I must
confess, appears to me decisive. This plan is
founded on the creation of a paper circulation not
convertible into money at will, consequently, on
the creation of a paper-money. Now, there do not
exist, at least in my opinion, two ideas more opposed
to each other than the existence of paper-money
and of a bank: the one bears the character
of constraint and authority, whilst the other, on the
contrary, can be maintained only by the most free
and unlimited confidence.
“Although I have thus shown, or at least mentioned,
the inconveniences of most of the banking
systems which have been proposed, it is not my
intention to submit to you any plan of my own. I
will, however, add a few observations bearing on
the questions now under consideration. They may
perhaps throw some light on principles which seem
to me not sufficiently understood.
“The fundamental law of any bank whatever, is
to fulfil its engagements when they fall due: I
know of no other. If the particular position of the
bank is such as to enable it to undertake engagements
at sight, and payable at any moment, then
this bank should be so regulated as to be at all
times fully prepared to pay its engagements on presentation.
Such is the rule which common sense
would dictate.
“It is a common idea that the direct object of a
bank is to throw notes into circulation. Undoubtedly
the power of issuing notes is an immediate
consequence of the credit of a bank; but we must
beware of confounding this result with the real
object of the institution of a banque de secours.
When we seek a principle, we must of necessity
disengage it from its consequences, however clear
and direct they may be.
“The object of a bank composed of partners en
commandite, like the caisse d’escompte, is to furnish
assistance to commerce by bringing together
funds to be applied to discounting good bills
at a moderate rate of interest. When bills are
presented for discount at this bank, the directors,
provided they agree to give the accommodation,
grant a bon, or order, to receive the cash at their
treasury. The bearer of this order proceeds to the
treasury, procures the cash, and carries it away.
This is the natural course of proceeding, which
was pursued at the commencement; but after going
through the process of discounting paper repeatedly,
and finding that the order on the treasury
was always paid on presentation, it was soon perceived
that it would be paid with equal punctuality
on the following day, and that it was sometimes
more convenient to carry home the order, and send
for the cash when required. This order was next
given in payment to some third party, who, being
also aware of the exactness with which it would be
paid, was in no hurry to present it; and thus, the
knowledge of the punctual payment of the orders
furnished by the directors of the bank upon their
treasury produced in the end the effect, that everybody
felt it to be a matter of indifference whether
he held the note, or the cash which it represented.
“The consequence of this has been that those
holding an interest in the establishment, finding
that many parties abstained from sending for payment
of the notes made payable at sight at the
treasury, thought they were justified, when good
bills were brought to them with dates not too
distant, in discounting them with a part of the
cash destined to meet their own notes. It is clear,
however, that they could not properly employ for
this purpose any portion of the cash beyond that
which, in the nature of things, would not be demanded
of them before the period fixed for the
return of the money which had been advanced
upon the bills they had discounted.
“So long as bank directors conform, in this respect,
to the rules of prudence, their notes obtain
such a degree of confidence, on account of the
readiness with which they are handled and circulated,
that cash is often brought for the purpose
of buying notes on their treasury. If, on the
contrary, abusing this confidence, and desirous of
extending their transactions and their profits, they
allow themselves at any time to alienate a portion
of their funds, to such an amount as might subject
them to the risk of being applied to for more cash
than they possess, in that case there is at once an
end of confidence. Thenceforward, their notes are
looked upon only as paper, of which the payment
is uncertain; and, as the business relations of the
Banque de Secours connect its directors with all
the bankers of the capital, and with almost all the
branches of circulation in the kingdom, there arises
a feeling of great distrust at home, and still greater
abroad, which rapidly turns the exchange to our
disadvantage, and leads to a restriction of the currency
and all the evils resulting therefrom.
“What, then, should be the conduct of the directors
of such an establishment at periods when confidence
is shaken? Their course is very simple.
They ought to know that at those times they may be
applied to for payment of a portion of their notes,
perhaps of all. They ought, therefore, to use only
an unimportant portion, or even none, of the funds
in their treasury destined to redeem their notes.
“It would be absurd, therefore, for the directors
of a Banque de Secours to pretend there was
nothing wrong in its management so long as they
should maintain in their treasury an amount of
cash equivalent to the third or fourth part of the
amount of their notes in circulation. In this respect,
it is impossible to fix any absolute proportion.
It is necessary that the directors of a bank
should possess a sufficient degree of foresight to
provide themselves, not with a fourth or a third,
but with a half, or three fourths, or even the whole
amount of the funds representing the notes, whenever
any corresponding number of notes are likely
to be presented for payment.
“But, it may be said, the bank would in that case
make no profit. To this I reply, that the chief
object of the protection which the government or
the nation may grant to a Banque de Secours, is
not to enable those holding an interest in the bank
to make, under all possible circumstances, considerable
and uninterrupted profits. Undoubtedly
the nation should desire to see the bank prosper,
because it is by profit alone that the interested
parties can be induced to maintain an establishment
of the sort, and because the existence of such
an establishment is useful in a state; but the nation
has no interest in desiring more than that the
shareholders should make such profits as are sufficient
to induce them to carry on the bank.”
* * * * *
“At periods when confidence is shaken, it is
necessary for a public bank to restrict its operations.
The directors of such an establishment
would be very imprudent, or even culpable, if,
instead of resigning themselves to bear their portion
of the misfortunes of the times, they were to
persist, contrary to the natural course of things, in
giving always an equal extension to their operations,
at the risk of being at length compelled to
come to a stop.
“The Caisse d’Escompte seems to have fallen
into some of these difficulties, and to have failed to
recognise the fundamental principle of all banks,
which consists in never failing to meet engagements.”
* * * * *
“The Caisse d’Escompte has undoubtedly transgressed
the rules prescribed to it; and yet it is,
perhaps, allowable not to weigh its conduct in an
ordinary balance. It had furnished money which,
doubtless, it had not the right to furnish, because it
did not belong to it; but it has given that assistance
in a crisis which has baffled all human
foresight, and out of deference to a minister in
whom the nation has so justly placed confidence.
It is not necessary that the Assembly should convert
the Caisse d’Escompte into a national bank,
but it is unquestionably necessary that it should
keep account of its advances with the Caisse.”
“M. Necker’s suggestion on this point does not,
I must confess, appear to me to attain the object
desired. I can recognise no real payment in
paper-money, or, if there is a real payment, I see
in it a preference accorded to the Caisse d’Escompte,
which may have the appearance of an injustice to the
other creditors of the state. Why create a paper-money
specially in favour of the Caisse d’Escompte,
and leave other parties to suffer whose claims upon
the nation are at least as sacred?”
* * * * *
“The claims of the Caisse d’Escompte are not less
sacred than those of others, I grant, but neither are
they more so. I will not, therefore, recommend you
to create paper-money for the other creditors, as well
as for the Caisse, but I would conjure you not to
create it at all. The inevitable effect of all paper-money
is, as you know, the rapid disappearance of
cash. The fictitious currency drives away the real;
and as the former can never be a perfectly exact
representation of the latter, it happens that it drives
away far more than it replaces. From that moment
the paper no longer maintains an equality with
cash; it falls below par, and hence the most fatal
consequences. All the creditors who receive payment
in notes lose the difference, while, on the
other hand, all the debtors to whom cash had
been advanced, gain the difference, and hence arise
a destruction of property and a general want of
faith in payments—a want of faith the more odious
as it has the sanction of legality. Moreover, as
soon as one set of engagements between individuals
is settled, fresh ones will be formed, or there would
be an end of all business transactions; and here
recommences, in an opposite direction, an operation
no less fatal, no less convulsive, by which the
creditors, in their turn, will ruin the debtors.
Fearing a repayment in notes, and adding by anticipation
the present loss upon those notes to the
still greater loss which they expect may afterwards
be incurred, they swell out their claims to an unreasonable
extent. Thus they entail the ruin of
their debtors when the time arrives at which there
shall be no more notes, or when confidence shall
have brought them to an equality with cash. It is
evident that this is not a reparation of the injustice
first alluded to, but an entirely new species of injustice,
inasmuch as there is neither the same proportion,
nor the same contracting parties, nor the
same engagements.”
* * * * *
“The more we reflect on the true principles of
credit, the more are we convinced that there exists
in this respect no difference between a nation and
a private individual. A nation, like a private
person, possesses credit only so long as it is
known to have the will and the power to pay. A
nation, like an individual, can do nothing better
towards its creditors than to pay in ready money
its engagements when due. If, through some
unfortunate circumstances, the means of payment
in cash are wanting, the best—the only course
which a nation, like an individual, can then adopt,
is to propose to its creditors only such arrangements
as are secure of being carried into effect,
for nothing destroys confidence like exaggerated
promises.”
* * * * *
“Rest assured that every mechanical means of
bringing about the re-appearance of specie, such
as the melting down of plate, the purchase of materials
at a great expense, or other such temporary
expedients, though they may afford the appearance
of relief, have really nothing substantial or durable
in their nature. When once the public feeling
leads to the hoarding or the exportation of specie,
that which you produce in this way will speedily
be withdrawn from the circulation like the rest. It
is only by securing public opinion, and by furnishing
irresistible motives of confidence, that credit
can be ensured; and those who fear that, even
after the restoration of order, the specie which
seems to have vanished from among us will not
re-appear, are mistaken. Gold and silver are
necessarily transported, like other articles of merchandize,
wherever there exist the will and the
power to pay for them; they are even transported
more readily by reason of the ease with which they
are removed. So long as the nation has a surplus
to dispose of, the gold and silver required will
always be procured; for it must not be forgotten
that, if gold and silver are the purchasing medium
for all other things, all other things are equally the
purchasing medium for those metals. For a nation
which has nothing to give, there can be nothing to
obtain; but those nations which have an immense
surplus, cannot long want anything which may be
purchased, and, least of all, gold and silver.
“Since the position of your finances compels you
to be the debtors of other nations, prove yourselves
to be the best possible debtors; you have
the means to do so. Only show that you know
how to set about it, and you will soon see flowing
into the country the capital of the foreigner, who
only awaits that moment to come and exchange
it for your effects. You will see immense sums
brought to light which are at present yielding
nothing, and which would be gladly exchanged
for productive securities bearing annual interest,
when once it is felt that the payment of that interest
is certain, and that the capital will not be
endangered.”
* * * * *
In conclusion, the Bishop of Autun submitted
to the National Assembly a series of articles having
for their object the establishment of a sinking fund
for the gradual extinction of the public debt, the
means of raising the necessary portions of which
for each succeeding year were to be determined at
the commencement of each session of the legislature.