YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

Letters from the Holy Land

RENAN'S LETTERS
FROM THE HOLY LAND
The Correspondence of Ernest Renan with
M. Berthelot while gathering material in
Italy and the Orient for "The Life of Jesus"
Translated by Lorenzo O' Rourke

WilS Pcrlrail

New York
Doubleday, Page & Company
1904

Copyright, 1904
By Doubleday, Page & Company
Published, September, 1904

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
In the letters addressed to Marcellin Berthelot
during a sojoum in Italy and the East, the in
comparable style of M. Renan is revealed in an
attitude of abandon not to be found in his more
celebrated writings. In these intimate com
munings, inspired by his first contact with the
"mistress of the world and goddess of the arts,"
and the East, there is a freshness and charm
that will appeal strongly to those who have
already made acquaintance with the writings
of this master of French prose.
Renan, in a certain sense, represents the flower
of the modern French intellect, the highest de
velopment of the evolutionary philosophy and
culture with which the marveUous discoveries of
recent science have enriched the world. What
invests his writings with a peculiar fascination is
their essential modernity which does not exclude
deep reverence for the past, and a charming
v

vi TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
toleration and humanity in striking contrast with
the usual attitude of those who have broken with
the ancient faith. No writer of his age, perhaps
of any age, entered the difficult regions of re
ligious history more thoroughly and brilliantly
endowed. Three years after the spirit of the modern
Caesar had taken flight from St. Helena, there
was bom on the bleak coasts of Brittany, of
a family as obscure as the Corsican's own, a
child who was destined to win for France
another empire in the world of intellect, the
frontiers of which were to be pushed to the remot
est boundaries of earth. It is interesting to think
that, about the time the imperial glory of France,
incarnate in Napoleon, was upon its deathbed,
there was being cradled among lowly Bretons
an intelligence which in the ftilness of time, by
its originality, versatility, and indomitable energy,
would attain a rival sovereignty in the realm
of ideas — illimitable like the French Alexander's,
and sighing for new worlds to conquer.
When we examine the brilliant group of French
men whose writings have contributed permanent

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE vii
renown to contemporary literature, we perceive
that, in that galaxy of lights of the first magni
tude, there shines one bright particular star.
Ernest Renan was probably the greatest literary
creative artist and one of the most original and
brilliant thinkers of the latter half of the nine
teenth century. The literary wizardry of his
pages, the originality of his pictures, the refine
ment and artistic beauty of his conceptions —
have gained for him a lonely eminence among
modem historians. His prose bears the stamp of
classic simplicity relieved by a Breton warmth and
glow, and endued with that creative originality
which is the recognised birthmark of genius. His
vast philological studies have thrown a white light
upon the Hebrew and Christian histories, and the
mighty figures of sacred story, which have
moulded the ideas of the race for ages, stand out
on his canvas like creatures of flesh and blood.
The rare gift of recreating the remote past, the
magic which reincarnates the brooding shadows
of antiquity, enabling us to touch hands, almost,
with the demi-gods of history — ^the sorcery which
makes dead ages live again, and evokes the buried

viii TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
glories of five thousand years — all this was the
endowment of Renan.
Perhaps in literature there is no ttiore striking
example of a life entirely consecrated to science
and truth. From earliest youth he fell in love
with noble ideals, and never throughout his
long career did he swerve from the hard and
narrow path of duty. When faith deserted
him, and he beheld the magnificent edifice of
Christianity dissolving before his scientific vision
like the shadow of a dream, he did not lose heart.
Of his philosophy, perhaps the foUowing two
passages from his writings explain more than
all that has been written by his critics :
"Gods pass away like men, and it would be ill
for us if they were eternal. The faith which we
have once had should never be a chain. We have
paid our debt to it when we have reverently
wrapt it in the shroud of purple where the dead
gods sleep."
"The reasoning of Kant remains as true as
ever is was: moral affirmation creates its object.
Religions, like philosophies, are all of them vain,
but religion is no more vain than is philosophy.
Without the hope of any recompense, man devotes

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE ix
himself to duty even unto death. A victim of
the injustice of his fellow men, he lifts his eyes to
heaven. A generous cause in which his interests
are in no way concerned often makes his heart
beat. The Elohim are not hidden aloft in the
eternal snows; they are not to be met with as in
the time of Moses in the mountain defiles; they
dwell in the heart of man. You will never drive
them thence. Justice, truth and goodness are
willed by a higher power. The progress of reason
was fatal only to the false gods. The true God
of the universe, the one God, He whom men
adore when they do a good deed, or when they
seek the truth, or when they advise their fellow
men aright, is established for all eternity. It is
the certain knowledge of having served after
my own fashion, despite all manner of defects,
this good cause, which inspires me with absolute
confidence in the divine goodness. . . . More
over, supposing that I have conjectured wrongly
upon certain points, I am certain that I have
rightly understood, as a whole, the unique work
which the Spirit of God, that is to say, the soul of
the world, has realised through Israel."
The cold generahsations of material science
which brushes aside the spiritual and enthrones
matter in the place of Deity had no attraction for

X TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
him. His Olympian intellect revolted at the
doctrine of Btichner, which exalted matter and
sentenced the spirit. The divine aspirations and
emotions, the heroisms and poetry of the ages
were not to be explained by cellular alchemy.
Something mightier was at work in the obscure
womb of fate. This amazing universe whose
frontiers had been so wonderfully enlarged by
modern discovery was not to be explained by an
appeal to the crucible only. Science, in revealing
to man unknown and tinsuspected worlds, far from
solving, had only complicated the divine enigma —
the eternal riddle of existence. The antique gods
of Olympus were, indeed, driven from their
thrones, but the ideal laveh had not abdicated.
He had only retired farther off from the. ken of
creatures. He had vanished into infinitude, but
His thunders and His glories maintained their
empire still.
Thus, when that mirage of naive faith and
miracle which had charmed Renan's youth in the
cloister had been annihilated by the lightnings of
modem science, there arose before the eyes of
the disenchanted dreamer a mightier vision, an

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE xi
illimitable vista, more sublime, more poetic, and
endowed with a nobler charm than the faded
dream of his young idolatry.
At this early period of his life his imagination
was dominated by a glorious dream of philosophy
based on pure science, which bursts forth like a
modem apocalypse in that strikingly original
work, "The Future of Science," written in
youth, but published in his old age. This book
could have been written only by a prodigy.
It contains some of the most daring conceptions
to be found within the whole range of ima'gi-
native philosophical speculation. The yotmg
writer boldly essays the riddle of the Sphinx:
What mortal has the right to declare that
religion and philosophy have said their last word ?
Is it not possible that we are still groping in the
dim vestibule of the temple of knowledge, and
that we have not yet found the portals that lead
to the glorious temple itself ? Are we certain that
only death can open these portals? May not
the day dawn when the mighty genius of some
Copernicus of the moral world will reveal to
mankind truths that will shatter the beliefs of

xii TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
ages, and establish a new philosophy whose
foundations shall be eternal ?
The possibilities of the modern intelligence
fascinated the emancipated thinker in love with
great ideas, and he longed to tear aside the veil
which for ages has shrouded the mysteries of
human destiny. He who had been destined for
a priest of the Christian church would not re
linquish his sublime vocation, but would become
a priest of science. Thus was bom in that
passionate soul, widowed of the Christian ideals,
a new ideal which was to be the unique inspira
tion of a long and fruitful life. That life was
passed within the silent cloisters of science.
This daring voyager into the dangerous realms
of the Infinite, this charming gleaner of the ripest
harvests of modern culture, this classicist who
worshipped afar the ideals of Greece, was endowed
with the scientific and critical faculty in so keen
a degree as to challenge the admiration of the
great German scholars of his time. Strauss and
Wellhausen have paid him tribute. His works,
"The Origins of Christianity" and the "History
of the People of Israel," are monuments of exact

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE xiii
research and brilliant scholarship such as it would
be difficult to rival throughout the whole domain
of modem historical achievement.
To prepare himself for these labours he mas
tered Hebrew, and made a pilgrimage to the
Holy Land. His impressions of the scenes
of biblical history are set forth in the letters
contained in the present volume: wherein we
catch a glimpse of the dawn of those ideas after
ward to be elaborated in the great series of
religious histories which are without a parallel
in literature. These scenes from the religious
drama of Israel, often dull and tininteresting in
their original form, leave the hands of Renan
embroidered with pearl and gold and instinct
with human interest. Whole vistas of the remote
past emerge fi'om the gloom of ages. Obedient
to this creative intellect, oblivion gives up
its dead, and the hosts of the past, summoned
from their graves, loom for an instant against
the background of the night of time.
Since Renan is the embodiment of the bril
liant scepticism of his time, he has been compared
with Voltaire. Attempts have been made to

xiv TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
trace a resemblance between the great infidel
of the eighteenth century and the modem
author of the " Life of Jesus." Such attempts
are abortive. There is no real resemblance. The
brilliant scoffer, whose sneer embraced the re
ligions of humanity, had nothing in conimon with
the reverent biographer of the Saviour of men.
When, at the proper distance of time, some
genius inspired by the glories of the past shall
worthily interpret the intellectual history of the
nineteenth century, the figure of Renan wiU
probably occupy a striking place in his wonderful
picture. In that brilliant constellation which
illustrated the annals of an epoch that must always
be regarded with wonder, he will probably occupy
a r61e of unique and interesting splendour. For it
will be recognised that this inteUect, so many-
sided, so multi-coloured, that it seemed capable of
reflecting the ideas of the infinite universe, was the
perfect type and exemplar of a period which man
kind will hold in eternal reverence and affection.
It will be seen that in the brain of this Breton
peasant, rescued from the priesthood, was con
tained the germ of the ideas destined to re-mould

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE xv
the future. Scholars in love with intellectual
greatness will find unceasing delight in losing
themselves in the enchanting mazes of his brilliant
paradox. Orthodox religion will owe much of
its historical glory to the fact that he loved its
history. Sincere souls, enamoured of the Divine
Saviour's doctrines, will find their vague dreams
crystalHsed in the matchless pages of his religious
epics, and his name, execrated by devout Christians
of his time, wiU be advanced to exalted honour by
the Christianity of the future which will worship
God "in spirit and in truth."
Lorenzo O'Rourke.

CONTENTS

VAGI
Translator's Preface ..... v
Sketch of M . Renan , by Berthelot
Letter I.
xxi
. 3
Letter II.
, 22
Letter III.
32
Letter IV.
45
Letter V.
• 54
Letter VI.
¦ 63
Letter VII.
. 66
Letter VIII.
• 75
Letter IX.
. 84
Letter X.
. 85
Letter XI.
. 92
Letter XII.
• 95
Letter XIII.
. lOI
Letter XIV.
. 107
Letter XV.
. IIO
Letter XVI.
. 116
Letter XVII.
• "9
xvu
Xviu

CONTENTS— CoM^tMMeci

PAGI
Letter XVIII  125
Letter XIX.
. 127
Letter XX. .
¦ ^33
Letter XXI.
. 138
Letter XXII.
. 142
Letter XXIII.
. 146
Letter XXIV.
147
Letter XXV.
151
Letter XXVI.
157
Letter XXVII.
160
Letter XXVIII.
163
Letter XXIX.
166
Letter XXX.
169
Letter XXXI.
172
Letter XXXII.
175
Letter XXXIII.
178
Letter XXXIV.
182
Letter XXXV.
189
Letter XXXVI. .
193
Letter XXXVII.
195
Letter XXXVIII.
197
Letter XXXIX. .
199
Letter XL.
203
Letter XLI, ,
*
205
uuNiiir

'JTb—

Conttr

med

xix

FACE

Letter XLII. ...... 208

Letter XLIII.

. 210

Letter XLIV.

. 214
Letter XLV.
. 218
Letter XLVI.
, 222
Letter XLVII.
. 226
Letter XLVIII.
• 230
Letter XLIX.
• 232
Letter L.
• 234
Letter LI.
. 238
Letter LII. .
. 242
Letter LIII. .
¦ 245
Letter LIV. .
. 248
Letter LV.
• 251
Letter LVI. .
• 255
Letter LVII.
• 257
Letter LVIII.
. 260
Letter LIX. .
. 263
Letter LX. .
¦ 265
Letter LXI. .
. 267
Letter LXII.
. 270
Letter LXIII.
• 273
Letter LXIV.
. 276
Letter LXV.
. 278
XX

CONTENTS— Cotttinued

Letter LXVI.

. 280

Letter LXVII

• 282

Letter LXVIII

. 284

Letter LXIX.

. 286

Letter LXX. .

. 289

291

LETTERS OF 1848 ¦
Letter I. .....
Letter II. . . .... 295
Letter III. . ..... 300
Letter IV. ...... 302
Letter V. . . . ... 305

SKETCH OF RENAN
BY
M. Berthelot
It was in the month of November, 1845, that
I first saw Renan. He was four years older than
I, but had perhaps less experience of life — ^if one
may use the word, experience, in the case of two
youths. He had come from the seminary, and
had just renounced the sacerdotal vocation, not,
however, without some vague desire to retum to
it. His gentle and serious air, his taste for the
things of the inteUectual and moral life, greatly
pleased me; and we formed one of those friend
ships which the passing years and the revolutions
of Ufe served to strengthen, even to the moment of
final separation. Renan has spoken in his books,
on various occasions, of this constant affection
which has never been troubled by the conflicts of
passion, interest, ambition, or self-love, or by
xxi

xxii SKETCH OF RENAN
radical differences in our manner of compre
hending private or public life.
Nothwithstanding this, our ftmdamental con
ceptions differed considerably. If we were both
equally devoted to science and free-thought,
Renan, by reason of his Breton origin and his
ecclesiastical and contemplative education, with
its face set to the past, had less taste for democ
racy, for the French Revolution, and, above all, for
that transformation, at once rational, industrial
and socialistic, in which modem civilisation is
engaged. The old fashion of considering science,
the arts and letters, under the protection of a
superior and autocratic power, had the greatest
attraction for him, and he never made a secret
of it.
On the contrary, my Parisian descent on my
mother's side, my chUdhood, surrotuided from
its earliest days by medical traditions and by
the example of my father's incessant activity,
urged me to an instinctive sympathy for the
new conception of collective reason, — ^that is to
say, the scientific evolution of human society.
But a sentiment of deep regard for each other

SKETCH OF RENAN xxiii
drew us together from the first day. We were
animated — this is saying too little — we were in
flamed by a common and disinterested enthusi
asm, which made us love above and beyond all
other good — art and truth; it is this taste for
things in themselves which has constantly main
tained our friendship while our careers were
developing in parallel lines, tracing distinct paths
which each followed according to his own direction
and personal character.
Our marriages — ^which took place a few years
apart — so far from breaking the old bonds of
affection by the exclusive jealousy of a new love,
as sometimes happens, only drew us closer to
gether. Our wives, devoted each to the career
and moral life of him whose name she had accepted,
were not long in becoming friends.
The sole regret of all four was that we were not
able to associate in this friendship dear Henriette
Renan, who lavished on her youthful brother
so ardent and enhghtened an affection. Renan
has written, somewhere, that she is the person
who has had the greatest influence upon his Ufe.
It W9,s she, in fact, who guided him in his fir§t

xxiv SKETCH OF RENAN
and capital crisis, at a time when his natural
indecision and temperamental tastes would not,
perhaps, have led him to completely divest himself
of the all-powerful suggestions of a clerical dis
cipline. Those who have read Henriette's letters
to her brother can appreciate the wonderful
superiority and strength of her moral nature.
It was only at the end of this crisis, and after
the essential bond was broken, that I became
acquainted with Renan. I had no part in it;
but the relations that we then estabUshed, and
the proper philosophical spirit that each com
municated to his companion, could not but con
firm him in his resolutions by adding to the
glimpses which he had already obtained of the
sciences, language and history those vaster and
more precise perspectives — the certitudes of
physical and natural science.
At this time, I was eighteen years of age, and
Renan was twenty-two. At my age there can
be no vanity in recalling the memories of my
school days. I was one of the brightest pupUs
of the College of Henri IV., where, in 1846,
I carried off the crown and the prize of honour

SKETCH OF RENAN xxv
in philosophy at the general competition. I
lived in a narrow, quiet and well-lighted room
in the upper part of a house in the Rue de I'Abbe
de VEpee, which served as a boarding-house for
those who were attending the College. With
an equal talent, at this age, for the sciences and
letters, I inclined to the former, influenced by
fanuly impressions received since the time of
my birth.
My father was a doctor of medicine, a simple
practitioner living in a poor quarter, to-day
extinct, at the foot of the tower, Saint-Jacques-la-
Boucherie. Himself the son of a peasant on the
banks of the Loire, full of tenderness for the
wretched, he was too devoted to his patients and
to his family ever to have been able to gain, I
wiU not say a fortune, but even a modest com
petency. Under these conditions, Renan and I entered
upon the struggle of Ufe without other support
than a father in my case and a sister in his. We
had our careers to carve out, with those uncertain
resources which depended upon the existence of
our families, whom sickness, already hovering

xxvi SKETCH OF RENAN
over those beloved heads, might any day deprive
us of.
However, if the necessity of a career preoccu
pied us, it was by no means our dominating and
besetting concern. We had confidence in our
strength and capacity for work. We had even
both resolved not to enter any of those great
schools so dear to the French youth, and which
our studies and qualifications would doubtless
have opened to us without too much difficulty.
This was due to the fact that we were inspired
by a sentiment of personal independence and by
a principle to which we remained steadfast, even
to the hour fixed by destiny when honours and
official functions came to woo us.
Thus, we were both yotmg and ignorant of
life, serious, industrious, and inspired by a
curiosity hardly less than universal. We were
lodged next door to each other; our actual com
munication, and, as a result, our intellectual and
moral association, were inevitable. The charm
of our relations was the greater in proportion
as all egotism and private interest were entirely
absent. Urged to sound everything to its depths,

SKETCH OF RENAN xxvii
we exchanged ideas on aU things, but were
not without our illusions regarding the Umits
of human knowledge. With the naive confi
dence of youth, I had undertaken, at this period,
to complete my studies in the principles of all
the sciences, and I had distributed the hoiurs
of my labour by days and weeks, counting on my
great aptitude for work and on the facility with
which I could transpose my mind almost instantly
from one order of ideas to another. It is unneces
sary to say that it was not long before I was
disabused of this idea, and understood the vanity
of my attempt.
In the dedication of the "Philosophical Dia
logues," Renan has described the incessant
fermentation common to our minds. His youth
ful work, " The Future of Science, " was composed
at this period; but he published it only in his
latter years as part of his reminiscences, for this
voltune represents the first unripe product of the
bubbling of both our yotmg heads — a mixture
of the current views of the philosophers and
savants of this period with our personal concep
tions, then raw and confused, but the develop-

xxviu SKETCH OF RENAN
ment of which is perceived later on. For a long
time, as Renan has also recalled, we had given
up making any distinction regarding the reciprocal
influence which each exercised on the develop
ment of the other.
Assuredly I have had in my youth and in my
ripe age other friends than Renan, very dear
friends who were associated with my scientific,
political and philosophical aspirations ; we have all
reacted upon one another in a certain measure.
But, to-day, when nearly all of my contempo
raries have disappeared, I may declare that no
other was united to me by such strong bonds,
no other in descending into the tomb has left
behind such deep sorrow, or so great a
void in my moral individuaUty. Each one
of those who leave us carries with him a
portion of our opinions and convictions —
that is to say, a portion of our personality;
there are, henceforth, in the mind and heart
of him who survives, vacant places that
nothing can fill, sentiments that cannot be
exchanged with any one.
Perhaps there is another condition of my

SKETCH OF RENAN xxix
moral life which has contributed still more to seal
the tmalterable friendship which tmited us.
I have never placed full confidence in life; it
contains too many uncertainties and irreparable
eventuaUties. Hence, an impression of sadness
and tmrest that I have never ceased to carry with
me in all conditions of my Ufe, and which was
strongest in my youth, because I had not then
acquired that serenity which comes when one
perceives approaching nearer and nearer the final
goal of aU joy and sorrow. I have known the
tenderness of a mother, the devoted love of a
father, and, withal, I have not preserved the
memory of this infantile paradise which so many
regret when the golden gates are closed. My
early and somewhat sickly childhood has left me
the remembrance of painful, rather than happy,
days. In proportion as my personal conscious
ness developed, my imcertainty increased. Early,
perhaps from the age of ten years, I was tormented
by the insecurity of the future. Ever since, I
have never fully enjoyed the present, being
constantly accustomed to look ahead and to
strain my faculties in order to foresee and antici-

xxx SKETCH OF RENAN
pate the obstacles to be encountered. Doubtless,
this imquiet prevision is derived at bottom from
the same faculties which direct the experimenter
in his scientific discoveries; in the same way he
is impelled to divine the spontaneous action of
natural forces, in order to cause them to act in
the special direction in which he proposes to trace
them; in the same way, he is appealed to by a
continual sense of prevision and combination
applied to the acts and sentiments of current life.
This constant tension is at times singularly pain
ful. Even to-day, when my life, strengthened
and consolidated by the years, hardly leaves
room for cares like these, it is too late to return
to the joyousness of youth.
The sorrow for lost children and parents, and
for friends passed away, the disgust caused by
treasons, deceptions and desertions, the radical
impossibility of attaining an absolute aim, which
is found at the heart of all human existence-
all these reasons, tmited, do not permit me at my
age to abandon myself to the full enjoyment of the
present. Besides, it is no longer my own destiny
which now disturbs me ; it is the destiny of those

SKETCH OF RENAN xxxi
I love. In all cases the memory of the past, even
when happy, is always mixed with too much
bitterness for one to yield to it without reserve.
That is why I have always taken refuge in action ;
it helps to fight against this despair. This is also
why I have always felt the need of sustaining
myself by dear and pure affections ; that of Renan
has been one of the strongest and deepest.
During the years subsequent to our meeting,
both our lives were determined in different
directions; one in the material, the other in the
inteUectual. At first, each took his university
degrees ; the baccalaureate, the licentiate's degree
in the different orders, and the doctorates in
letters and the sciences. Renan became a Doctor
of PhUosophy, and was preparing for his entrance
into the Lyc^e of Versailles. He was finally
entered as an employe in the National Library.
After some years of medical studies, I became
preparateur in chemistry at the College of France.
Such were the beginnings of our cursus honorum.
They were long and painful. Without aban
doning our modest r61e of beginners, respectful
toward those who instructed us, and without

xxxii SKETCH OF RENAN
presuming to claim the rank of masters, we,
nevertheless, avoided placing ourselves vinder
any patron :
Nullius addicti jurare in verba magistri.
Thus we remained for a long time in the modest
condition of beginners. Renan was employed
in the National Library in the department of
manuscripts, where he composed that masterly
history of the Semitic languages which estabUshed
his reputation as a savant; this work obtained
one of the great prizes of the Academy of Inscrip
tions, and the authority which it conferred on its
author realised for him, a few years after, his
dream, when he was received as a member of this
Academy. His work, henceforth, was a prelude
to those studies in reUgious history which he had
assigned as the fundamental aim of his scientific
life, and which he has consecrated by the "Life
of Jesus" and "The History of the Origins of
Christianity." As for the author of the present notice, he Uved
for ten years as a simple preparateur at the College
of France, where, moreover, he was treated with
the greatest kindness by the incumbent, Balard.

SKETCH OF RENAN xxxiu
I was absorbed by the discoveries which, for
almost the last forty years, have estabUshed
organic chemistry on a new fotmdation, that
of synthesis.
During aU this period, our relations were con
tinuous, and maintained in all their intensity.
But since our life has been public and the few
incidents that we have figured in are known, at
least in the particular world in which we have
Uved, it does not seem profitable to me to report
them in detail.
I would have loved, however, to describe here
the second great moral crisis, which decided the
life of Renan, and which transformed the leamed
author of the history of Semitic languages into the
poetic and genial writer of the "Life of Jesus."
This change was the origin of his great reputation
and of his universal influence, both on accoimt
of the nature of the religious problems at the
heart of which he boldly placed himself, and of
the admirable Uterary form of his new writings.
One may perceive the beginnings of this evolution
of his mind in the letters from Italy. But it was
chiefly determined and hastened by the entrance

xxxiv SKETCH OF RENAN
of Renan into the bosom of the artistic circle
which surrounded Ary Scheffer, and by his mar
riage with Com61ie Scheffer. Renan himself, in
the sketch consecrated to his sister Henriette, has
in a few words referred to this whole crisis, as weU
as to some of the most deUcate revolutions in his
thought. It does not concem me to say more of this.
The two exceptional women who shared
the heart of Renan were of too high a nature
not to achieve harmony in their desire to
make him happy. Perhaps the confidence that
both vouchsafed to grant me drew stiU tighter
the bonds of my friendship with him whom
they loved.
Paris, 1898. Marcellin Berthelot.

Letters from the Holy Land

LETTERS FROM THE HOLY LAND
LETTER I
?Saint Malo, August 28, 1847.
IT is now a week since I arrived at the goal of
my joumey, and I have found very few
moments of possible freedom to devote to
you. The first days succeeding one's arrival are,
in my eyes, the most disagreeable of the vacation,
encumbered as they are by the obligation to make
and receive visits. Life here would very soon
become a source of ennui to me, were it not that
it is passed in my beloved family circle, which
has so many charms for me who am habitually
deprived of it. It is certain that there is to be
found here a well-spring of joys possessed of great
power to comfort and solace. The family in its
various aspects is the natural milieu of human
life, and only serious reasons can warrant us
?This letter and the following are dated from Renan's
native province, Brittany. 3

4 THE HOLY LAND
in sequestrating ourselves from it. But as we
know, these reasons may be decisive, and may
even constitute a duty.
The country that I am living in is actually
fermenting from lack of ideas. All men here are
cast in the same mould, and represent a remarkable
type of good sense, of positive and conservative
opinion. Every bold excursion into the region
of ideas passes here for folly or nonsense. The
ultra of any sort are not welcome here. Serious
ness and probity, mediocrity in all, except in
common sense and practical wisdom, form the
habitual milieu of Ufe. Hence, as regards reUgious
beliefs, you have an orthodoxy that is reasonable,
but at heart ignorant and narrow, such as we
are acquainted with — and in politics, eminently
conservative instincts.
This is like a little world apart, and I am very
careful not to compare it with others, either to
prefer or depreciate it. Let each one live in his
sphere and allow others to Uve in theirs; for if
each one believes that his own is the best, who
knows which is right? At bottom, tolerance — or
that which amounts to the same thing, liberty —

THE HOLY LAND 5
is the daughter of critical scepticism. Dogmatism,
which regards as outside the pale of reason those
who do not think like it, must be intolerant ; one
only arrives at the idea of pure intellectual inde
pendence when, while holding to his own con
clusions, it is possible for him to believe that some
other who sees altogether differently may be
right. This is our state. This is the cause of our
liberalism, and of the holy rage which we feel
against whoever wishes to impose on others his
system or his ideas. We willingly forgive the
past ages for this. But when we see men of
modem times, and imbued with modern ideas —
men who have been able to contribute their share
to their promulgation, adopt the folly of the past,
and desire in their tum to impose as absolute an
idea, the essence of which is to judge others as
relative and to believe itself absolute — then I say
we can no longer contain ourselves; and I avow
to you that for some days past this consideration
has affected me with an access of bad humour
that has caused me much suffering.
These absolutist repressions of a power which
has constituted itself liberal in so much, this

6 THE HOLY LAND
greedy personality which annihilates every idea
in the presence of the instinct of conservatism, ex
asperate me and affect me with a sad sense of
defeat at the sight of my impotence. I could wish
to denounce before all the world the absurdity
and the contradiction of such a system. I would
pillory it in the sight of all in characters as large
as truth. Let us be silent, however; we are still
children, and only walls hear us.
We have here a pretty little scandal,* have we
not ? The idea which has preoccupied me in the
midst of this delicate drama is, what has this
assassin done to become a peer of France ! — ^now
that all recognise him as a worthless and brutal
man. He had a great name; this is all. It is,
above all, from this point of view that the result
of this crime may be useful; it wiU serve slightly
to bend this disdainful aristocracy, which has
used immorality as a mechanical term and applied
it to the lower classes.
I think a great deal about you and the happi
ness that we have enjoyed in each other's
company. Isolated as we are, obliged to create
* The Praslin affair.

THE HOLY LAND 7
our whole environment, how weakened our
sources of strength would become if they were not
multiplied by being united ! We owe each other
too much to be henceforth separated, at least in
soul and thought; the more so as the conclusions
that we have arrived at are so intermingled that
it would be impossible, by examining the net
work, to discern the property of each. More
over, there is no such thing as property between
us, and I do not conceive how it would be possible
for us to disagree on any point ; at the end of five
minutes we would imderstand each other and be
in accord.
The grave difficulty that we foresaw conceming
religious dissent between me and my family has
not come to pass. My mother has shovwi a
largeness of mind and liberality, and has con
curred entirely in the plan of action which pro
priety prescribes for me in this country: to say
nothing and do nothing that would testify affec
tion or antipathy for the beliefs of which I formerly
made profession. My mother and I have had the
most piquant conversations on this subject; I
have very easily brought her to say that it is

8 THE HOLY LAND
necessary to permit people to believe what they
wish. . . . The confusion of positive and
moral religion, which in the common idea is so
completely irremediable, has also its good result.
If, on one hand, it teaches that the man who does
not believe in Christianity cannot be moral; on
the other, it leads indulgent people to the con
clusion that a moral person is as religious as it
is needful to be; but it is necessary to pay but
slight attention to the vague and superficial ideas
on this subject. Let a person publish his in
credulity and no one will believe in the possibiUty
of his morality; but let him show himself grave
and moral, and every one will come to the down
right conclusion that he is orthodox : thus things
go. For the rest, it is unnecessary to teU you
that my opinions in this regard remain always
the same. Henceforth for me it is as evident as
daylight that Christianity is dead, and completely
dead, and that nothing can be done for it —
at least until it is transformed. This wiU be
but an effect of the intellectual depression with
which we are menaced, and which will domi
nate the masses ; but I could see the whole world

THE HOLY LAND 9
become Christian again, without my beUeving
the more.
The more I advance, the more distinctly I per
ceive the influence on the present of the elements
of a new religion. Is not the Revolution, for
example, already the personiflcation of an en
tirely new order of ideas, which has become
sacred and an object of veneration for us ? I see
it advance further and further toward religionifi-
cation (excuse the barbarism that I do not at
aU wish to have adopted). Already he who in
sults it passes for a fool, and the time will come
when it will be only spoken of as our holy Revolu
tion. For my part, however, I do not make modern
reUgion consist solely in faith in the French
Revolution. It is certain that in modem ideas
there is an ensemble of views to which we are
forced to conform, and of which the united result
constitutes a kind of religion. These views, which
have triumphed little by little during the last
four centuries, have a wonderful relation sub
sisting between them. They have been produced
in isolated fashion, often exclusively, and always

IO THE HOLY LAND
as a reaction against the past. The Reformation,
popular emancipation, the emancipation of science,
the emancipation of philosophy, the advent of
criticism, the amelioration of public morals, etc. —
aU these form an ensemble which is the spirit of
modem times ; and what confirms me in this view
and inspires me with a full hope in the permanence
of these ideas is the persecution to which they have
been exposed. There is not a single one of these
elements whose first promulgators have not been
a target for the attacks of the men of the past.
Let there be cited a single liberal thinker, a single
modem man in science, philosophy or politics,
who before the end of the eighteenth century
(and since !) has not been the object of open
persecution or vexatious annoyances on the part
of the retrogressionists. These are the mart5TS
of modem reUgion, exactly analogous to those
who suffered for the establishment of Christianity.
It would be easy to trace in the advent of these
ideas all the phenomena which accompany the
slow and gradual appearance of religions. The
heavy, massive, blind and obstinate coalition of
the men of the past against science is without

THE HOLY LAND n
doubt the most characteristic symptom. Herein,
also, is the guarantee of triumph. The ideas which
the men of the past suppress by force remain
immovable and ever present, while those opposed
to them only flutter about, ever changing the
fashion of their dialectics; the doctrines, con
demned to a certain secrecy by the maladroit
constraint which their persecutors impose upon
them, are destined to reign. Behold them over
flowing on aU sides and even carrying away the
dikes. Can we hope for this ? At any rate, there
is nothing serious to fear. There, or nowhere,
are the guarantees of the future. Above all,
I am convinced of the impossibility of any
definitive retrogression in the march of the human
mind. The most advanced idea is the truest and
the most likely to live. Honour to whoever shall
have put his shoulder to the wheel and contributed
his share to the advancement of that which must
come. I am actively engaged in the heavy labour of
my theses. In my next letter I shall explain to
you an important modification that I count on
introducing in my plan of studies for the coming

12 THE HOLY LAND
year, and I shall ask your advice on this point.
In the libraries of this country, and especiaUy in
that of Avranches, I have found manuscripts of
great value which are directly in line with my
work. All the individual libraries of this country
are formed of the debris of the leamed abbeys
of la Basse-Normandie, those of le Mont-Saint-
Michel, etc. ; a fact which gives them great value.
I expect a letter from you within a few days;
believe that nothing could be more welcome to
me, and that I shall await it as an event.

September i6, 1847.
Thanks for your good letter; it is a means of
intimate converse to which I constantly retum.
It supplies for me the place of our pleasant talks,
the loss of which I feel very much. It is, indeed,
pleasant to discuss together ideas of capital
importance, when, after long habit, we have
leamed to understand each other so weU. This
is, moreover, a necessary condition, and in my
opinion nothing is more insipid and dangerous

THE HOLY LAND 13
than to speak of the higher things with those
with whom we have not had a long acquaintance ;
there is danger of not being able to speak the same
language, and, while employing the same words,
of occasioning the most singular misunderstand
ings. For some days since, I have been in quite a
painful mental state. The inevitable imperfec
tion, the relativity of all that concerns politics
and the practical organisation of things, dis
gusts me with this kind of speculation. We
believe that we are more advanced than, a certain
other party, and probably we are, and in virtue
of our conviction we would like to see the realisa
tion of what we regard as for the best. But,
seriously, how wiU this improve things ? Do you
believe that on the morrow of this revolution
people wiU be happy? The law of politics is to
advance forever. PubUc opinion cannot remain
stationary for an instant. It triumphs from
time to time, and expresses itself on the day of its
tritunph by a form of govemment which is the
expression of its actual want. At this moment
pubUc opinion and the established govemment

14 THE HOLY LAND
are in accord. But pubUc opinion always pro
gressing, and the govemment being, necessarily,
stationary and conservative, on the morrow of the
revolution harmony is destroyed and a new
revolution becomes necessary. This does not
occur, and very happily, because the opposition
has not yet the strength; it will occur later on
when the dissatisfaction becomes too crying:
then comes a new revolution, and all must be
begun over again. In a word, I imagine pubUc
opinion as advancing in a continuous movement,
and the governing power advancing by somer
saults, so that it is only for an instant that they
find themselves abreast.
Is this a misfortune at bottom? Yes and no.
Yes, because we must consider what is most
perfect and most durable as the best thing that
it is possible to achieve. No, because the oppo
sition is foolish and juvenile. If it is allowed its
own way, it will beat about the bush, and the
framework of society will not be characterised
by the requisite breadth and strength. It wiU
be like a ship without ballast, buffeted by every
blast of wind. In fine, if the govemment has not

THE HOLY LAND ij
a certain weight of its own, if it only obeys the
attraction of instant and capricious opinion,
there will be continual tackings ^yithout law and
without reason. Public opinion is then necessary ;
generally it is right; it is necessary that it shaU
triumph ; but it is fortunate that it has behind it
a heavy and inert mass to tow. Do you not then
believe that, if our ideas triumphed, we should
become conservatives, and seek to maintain the
form of govemment that we considered essentially
the best ? Now, moreover, it is very certain that
a very advanced opposition party will be immedi
ately formed against this new system; I do not
speak of a retrograde opposition, which, being
radically impotent, does not deserve to be spoken
of. I thus figure to myself all parties as of a cer
tain necessary and mechanical fashion, which does
not permit my taking any of them to heart. I
conceive them as occupying a certain place in a
certain machine, and foUowing the movements
of the machine, conforming to the necessity of
their situation. O God ! Shall we ever consent
to be a mechanical plaything? Nothing that I
can imagine fills me with more horror. Those

i6 THE HOLY LAND
in high place appear to me Uke mountebanks who
abandon themselves to pranks and practise open
jugglery. More than ever, the present govem
ment gives me the impression of a heavy and
disgusting play. A harlequin, a clown, a moralist
who wants morality for others, but does not make
use of it himself — what an odious type !
The opposition suggests to me a capricious and
tmbalanced yotmg man, only dreaming of better
things, the dream of to-day 'overthrown by that
of to-morrow. One party or another is necessarily
what it is by virtue of the type it represents.
This puts me in bad humour with all the world ; all
parties irritate me, and I do not know which to
pledge myself to; and what complicates the
inextricable difficulty is that we must belong
to one party. Solitude startles us, and we have
an extreme desire to content ourselves merely
from the critical point of view. Moreover, can
we seriously take any other ? It will need a good
dose of bonhomie to enter into another cause with
heart and head. It seems to me that every man
of action before becoming dogmatic and hoisting
a banner, must sacrifice something from the point

THE HOLY LAND 17
of view of criticism. Also, all practical politicians
have the same effect on me as blockheads or
peasants, or as the dogmatists of religion and
politics. What, then, is there in human life?
Where can we find anything that we may fully
take to heart ? The critic needs courage to hold
himself aloof from all, even from affection, and to
remain cold at the moment when his enthusiasm
is about to flame up before this or that cause. It
is on that account that I refrain from announce-
ing to any one (exceptis excipiendis) any political
opinion; for the moment, I place myself at the
opposite point of view ; I perceive that my opinion,
or, at least, my expression of it, has been one
sided, and I have regrets. I do not believe that
I shaU ever fight with enthusiasm in this field.
I have just poured out before you all my bad
humour ; you wiU correct me ; I know weU, in fact,
that I am not in my normal state: my physical
condition contributes to this, no doubt. I feel
iU at ease in general, and this illness fiUs me with
dark thoughts and sad presentiments, I do not
know why ; but, perhaps, this amounts to nothing.
I am eager to be in Paris, so that I maybe enlight-

i8 THE HOLY LAND
ened, for I do not wish to commune with any one
here. I am suffering from very severe and con
tinuous pains from a soreness in my side, caused
by an abscess when I was seven or eight years
old. Up to now, I never felt any pain. But we
will leave this subject.
A few moments ago I left the lecture haU where
I just heard the wonderful news from Italy;
decidedly the movement is begun. I entirely
share your opinions on the r61e of the Pope. It
is one of the most remarkable events of our
century. Do you know that it is the first act of
denial of the past in the bosom of orthodoxy?
This is true, not only with regard to dogma, but
with regard to policy and practice. I do not
know whether you have read a curious article
which the Gazette de France has published in the
course of its battle with l' Ami de ReUgion on the
question whether the new pope's conduct was
opposed to that of his predecessor. The above-
mentioned gazette produced, as convincing proof
of the affirmative, an encyclical of Gregory XVI.,
in which the freedom of the press and all modem
ideas are expressly treated as follies and almost

THE HOLY LAND 19
heresies. No one can understand or arrest this
unexpected movement. By virtue of the con
nection of ideas, and seeing that the ensemble
of modem ideas is inseparable from the negation
of orthodoxy, it follows that the Pope will be led
to abandon the old system. What a miracle !
What you teU me of the new meaning of the
word " sectary " is very striking ; we must preserve
this word and use it as a weapon against our
retrogressionist adversaries ; it is the only way to
tum their own arms against them. At bottom
we are dogmatists, as far as it is, henceforth,
possible for us to be so ; that is to say, that we do
not embrace such and such a thing as true, but
as most advanced. Considering all this, how
can we take hold on a healthy enthusiasm? In
faith, I know not how, unless by a sort of abstrac
tion of which I still conceive the possibility. For
the sake of action, we represent to ourselves that
a certain thing has the qualities of goodness and
absolute tmth, reserving the right to criticise it
in private. For it is clear that the man that held
to the critical point of view would never act
with courage. For this it is necessary to be

20 THE HOLY LAND
roundly dogmatic, and to believe that what one
is working for is the absolute good, that his ad
versaries are absolutely wrong; then one fights
with all his heart. I conceive very well, that if
I were launched into active life, I should become
dogmatic for the sake of action ; however, I should
preserve my a parte of criticism.
I am not of your opinion relative to the obser
vations that you present on the " religionifica-
tion " of the French Revolution. You oppose its
horrors which for all time wiU cause it to be
detested from one point of view. Consider,
however, that this side will soon be forgotten.
One point of view will efface the other. During
the years which immediately followed it, only
its horrors were thought of, and only the atrocity
of the Revolution was dwelt upon. Now we only
think of its sublime features and its results, and
forget its honors. Criticism reckons with both,
but religions will never be critical. Look at
Christianity. I assume, in fact, that there was
in new-bom Christianity as large a proportion of
superstition and pettiness as there was of cruelty
and madness ' in the French Revolution. If

THE HOLY LAND 21
dawning Christianity had been brought to the
attention of a nationaUst of that time, Horace,
for example, the only impression that would have
remained to him would be one of nanowness and
ridiculous superstition. He would not have seen
the subUme quaUties. We no longer see the
pettiness ; we think only of the subUmity which
effaces aU else. Criticism sees both. If the
subUme in Christianity has effaced its pettiness,
why should not the subUme in the Revolution
efface its honors ?
I am forced to conclude for a singular reason:
I have no paper. I had, however, much to tell
you of my plan of religiogenie, which I now call
religionomie, for the sake of being more exact.
This wiU be reserved for my next letter. Now
this letter wiU reach you at the end of the coming
week, almost at the same time as myself, for I
am to be in Paris Tuesday, September 28. I shall
not, however, call at M. Crouzet's. My next
wiU explain all that, and wiU give you the address
at which you may find me on my arrival. I
hope for a letter from you during the course of
the week.

LETTER II
Saint Malo, August 31, 1849.
HERE I am, for some days now, in the bosom
of my family, and in a very different at
mosphere from our accustomed one.
I could almost beUeve that I had passed from
one planet to another, when I found myself
transported in a few hours from the exciting
scenes of Parisian life to this forgotten corner of
the world, which is still the spot in Brittany
where life is most active.
You can never imagine the state of this country,
and I could never paint it for you, for the cate
gories here are radically different from those
which we have habituaUy before our eyes. Are
the people legitimists? No. The portion of the
population which is attached to the elder branch
forms only a quarter or a fifth. Are they Orlean-
ists? No, again. Louis Philippe is regretted,
that is all. Are they Bonapartists ? They never
22

THE HOLY LAND 23
even think in this direction. And with all this,
the Legitimist candidates have been elected by
fifty thousand majority.
The bishop with his district cur6s makes out
the Ust which is advocated from the pulpit, the
bourgeoisie accept it, and it goes through without
opposition. Alas! This is too weU explained,
and I have never better understood that the
inteUectual and administrative nulUty of the
provinces is the greatest obstacle to the progress
of modem ideas. Take St. Malo for an example.
The mass of the population, the people still more
than the bourgeoisie, have but one aim : to make
money, and to Uve in ease and peace. These
people are indifferent to everjrthing, provided that
business goes on. In addition to this great mass
of pubUc opinion, there are imperceptible minori
ties (twenty or thirty, for example, in the city in
which I am Uving) of the bourgeois, almost as
worthless as the others, often less honest, who are
caUed " reds." But be careful not to think that
this classification represents a difference of poUti
cal opinion. By no means. The "reds " have no
more principle than the others. They are the

24 THE HOLY LAND
disturbing element of the country who adopt this
title from habit, and to give themselves tone.
As regards sociaUsm — ^would you beUeve it ?— it
excites neither love nor hate, for it is absolutely
unknown. Even the name conveys no idea, and
as far as the people are concemed, I do not know
whether there is to be found among them even a
vague aspiration for better conditions. It is true
that this country is perhaps the part of France
where there is the the least misery ; but the posi
tion of the people would be a htmdred times worse,
if they accepted their present fate, without dream
ing of improvement. Well, do you beUeve, after
aU this, that the country is perfectly reactionary,
that repubUcan institutions are hated, that there
may be fear of a royalist movement? By no
means. The present state of affairs is Uked well
enough and found tolerable. People are inter
ested in Ledru-RoUin and above all in Louis
Blanc (without understanding one of his ideas) ;
they idolise Lamartine who alone is understood by
a kind of instinct; they by no means oppose
social reform, dearly love M. Dufaure and M.
Passy, and are indignant at the antagonism shown

THE HOLY LAND 25
them by the " whites," an antagonism that these
good people cannot understand. What is radi
cally wanting in this country (and I have assured
myself that this movement appUes to the whole
West), is initiative and an awakening. Life is
passed in somnolence, and the people are indig
nant at those who come to trouble this nonchalant
repose. "Indignant" is too strong a word: they
are impatient merely ; this is aU these consciences,
hardly awake, are capable of. I can affirm to you
that decentralisation will be a powerful instru
ment in the hands of democracy. Wherever
there are established centres resembling Paris,
the modem movement will be reproduced in
analogous phases.

September 4, 1849.
A thousand causes independent of my wiU have
interrupted my letter; I am not sony, for in the
interval I received your good letter which gave
me great pleasure. This voice from another
world has deUghted my soul, and has given me

26 THE HOLY LAND
new life in the realm of truth. Life here is so
nanow, so artificial. Still I greatly love this
life of the peasant, of the simple man absorbed
in his Uttle cares, of the woman, for example,
absorbed in her child, having her universe here,
looking for nothing beyond it.
But this bourgeois existence appears to me a
wasting of human life; one thing also strikes me
with force: it is the physical feebleness of this
race. It has not yet had a century of civilisation,
and it is used up Among all the people that I
see here, I can harldy count two or three who are
really strong and vigorous. AU the children
before my eyes (my little nephews are happily
an exception) are feeble, sickly, and only live by
the use of medicines and cauteries. This saddens
me and makes me fear for the future of civilisa
tion; for if all civilisation is to wind up thus,
barbarism would be preferable. This life is
frivolous and has nothing of the beautiful, and I
cannot help recognising in it some resemblance
to that of the worn-out generation at the end of
five hundred years of civilisation, which saw the
end of the Roman republic and flung itself into

THE HOLY LAND 27
slavery. I find a striking similarity in time
between your ideas concerning decadence and
those to which I have been a prey for some days
since. I console myself for the moment by such
considerations as these:
To begin with, up to what point has this
occuned in the past? Do you believe that our
peasants were more liberal in 1789? Do you
beUeve that they have developed into egoists?
Alas ! no. Our peasants are to-day what they
were in the sixteenth century. All their mem
ories date from that period. This sixteenth cen
tury has been a wonderful century of revolution.
And, withal, what an abominable epoch ! What
maledictions were launched by contemporaries
against this age of iron ! Besides, even supposing
that the European nations, France among the
others, were destined to undergo a period of what
is called decadence, there would be no need of
being frightened, for humanity has reserves of
Uving strength. If Slavism, for example, invaded
westem Europe, it is certain that the change
of cUmate, the influence of our civiUsation, and
the fated march of the human intellect would lead

28 THE HOLY LAND
it to ideas analogous to ours, and these without
doubt would be grasped with the greater origin
aUty and vigour. What matters it by whom the
good is wrought ? We are now for the barbarians
against the Romans. From the point of view
of humanity there is no such thing as decadence.
This word, moreover, needs explanation. The
classic pedagogues make a stronge use of it. If
we trust them, Lamartine would be a decadent
in comparison with J.-B. Rousseau, and St.
Augustine would be a decadent compared with
Cicero. Assuredly it is necessary to respect the
principle of nationaUty; observe, however, that
we do not invoke this principle except when the
oppressed nation is superior to the nation which
oppresses it. There is something very nanow in
the exclusively national school; it is the negation
of the point of view of humanity.
Like yourself, I have experienced Uvely sonow
at the Magyar catastrophe — ^less on account of
the question of this Uttle nationaUty, which, as
it seems, can do nothing better than attach itself
as a satellite to the Danubian confederation
known as Austria, and for whose existence there

THE HOLY LAND 29
may be no reason — than for the trusty modern
principles which fight on its ^de. This is pro
foundly to be deplored ; but it is not yet time to
fight in the open for these principles; for a long
time to come they must fight under cover of nation
aUty. What is most clear in all this is the utterly
new position of Russia face to face with western
Europe. I am placed in a very ambiguous position with
regard to this proposition of a trip to Italy
which has been made to me. M. Genin, pay
ing no attention to my repugnance which was
equivalent to a refusal, has refened the affair
to the Academy of Inscriptions, which regards
it with great favour. A commission has been
named to make a report ; aU the members appeared
very favourable to the project; M. Leclerc, who
had taken the warmest interest in the affair,
is charged with the report. Judge of my em-
banassment, for the trip radically upsets aU my
projects. I place my hope in events which, I
pray, wiU render the realisation of the plan im
possible, and also in the cholera; for M. Darem-
berg is the most timid man in the world, and he

30 THE HOLY LAND
has sworn not to go to Italy while there is cholera
there. With that exception and in a year or two
from now, this trip, as you can believe, would
deUght me infinitely. I have not yet known
what it is to have emotions, in this damp and
cold cUmate; I have seen nothing but rugged
and bristling coasts. I magine that under this
sky, which, as they say, reveals so many things,
I shaU experience more complete sensations, and
that it will make an epoch in my physical and
esthetic life. I cannot tell you how much the
mere difference between Paris and this country
influences my normal state. The sky here is
gray and dull, the sun is never bright; the- sea
only is full of Ufe ; but you know that in the sen
sation which one experiences on the seacoast there
is something hard and boisterous, and the op
posite of Mordet aqua taciturnus amnis.
AU this presents a physiognomy with which I
have but Uttle sympathy, precisely for the reason
that it answers to my defect and to a state of
mind often habitual with me. Here I am under
an influence at once hard, nanow, and devoid of

THE HOLY LAND 31
ideas ; I am Uke one listening to a piece of music of
two or three notes, or to a voice marred by short
breath irritating, atonic, and incapable of pro
ducing a volume of sound.

LETTER III
Rome, November 9, 1849.
HOW many things have passed before my
eyes, how many emotions have mingled
in my soul, dear and excellent friend,
since the day when we said adieu to each other !
I should be inexcusable for neglecting so long to
communicate with you, if it were not that the
crowd of impressions that besiege the stranger
in this enchanted land deprive him, for the first
few days, of every other faculty than that of
feeUng. With me this change has been as sudden
as the lightning.
I have wandered about all the afternoon in
the possession of full activity, and have experi
enced a very Uvely reaction against what I saw;
I was still French and I indulged in reflection and
criticism. During the joumey I was full of
enthusiasm and ideas ; I passed long hours, talking
to officers and travellers about the deplorable
32

THE HOLY LAND 33
country which we are visiting, and about the not
less deplorable affairs of France.
The day of my delay in Civitk- Vecchia was for
me a day of anger; imagine crosses everywhere
dominant, the papal arms, the white standard,
the monks with their superior airs, the degraded
Capuchin mendicants, the troops of priests,
monsignors, clerics in semi-clerical habit, the pale
population with a feverish and subdued air, and
profoundly immoral, irritated me to a point that
you wiU understand, when you recall the anger
that you yourself experienced. My first hours
in Rome were Ukewise very painful; but I had
hardly passed a day there before the charm began
to work.
This city is an enchantress; it slumbers and
seems eidiausted; there is in these ruins an un
definable charm; in these churches that one
encounters at every step there is a tranquilhty,
a fascination almost supernatural. Would you
beUeve it? I am completely changed: I am no
longer French; I am no longer the critic; I am
unworthy of the r61e; I have no longer any
opinions ; I know not what to say about all this.

34 THE HOLY LAND
Oh, if I could only have you beside me on the
heights of Saint Onufre, this humble cloister
whither I go every day for a promenade; if I
could but intenogate you concerning my own
sentiments, and clarify my own sensations by
comparing them with yours ! You know that
reUgious impressions are very potent with me,
and that as a result of my education they mingle
in an indefinable proportion with the most
mysterious instincts of my nature. These im
pressions have awakened here with an energy that
I cannot describe to you. I had not understood
what popular religion is, when considered naively
and outside the sphere of criticism. I had not
understood a people creating unceasingly in the
domain of religion, taking its dogmas after a
fashion living and true. Let us not deceive our
selves ; this people is as Catholic as the Arabs of
the Mosque are Mohammedan. The religion is
religion itself; to speak to them against their
religion is to speak to them against their interests
— interests which are as real as any of the other
needs of nature. I came into this country
strangely prejudiced against the religion of the

THE HOLY LAND 35
South; I had ready-made phrases to fit this
trivial and subtle cult; Rome represented for
me the perversion of the religious instinct;
I expected to laugh at my ease at the foolery
of the Gesu and the superstitions of this country.
Well, old friend, the Madonnas have vanquished
me; I have found in this people, in its faith, in
its civiUsation, a grandeur, poetry, ideality,
which are incomparable.
How shaU I explain all this to you ? How shall
I initiate you into this new life, into which I
plunge so passionately ? Our idealism is abstract,
severe, devoid of images ; that of this people is
plastic, tumed toward form, forced invincibly to
translate and express itself. One cannot walk for
a quarter of an hour in Rome without being struck
by the prodigious wealth of images. Paintings,
statues, churches, monasteries everywhere; noth
ing vulgar or banal; the ideal penetrating all
things. From the French point of view, this country
is honible. In comforts it is as backward as
we were two centuries ago. The shops are vile
stalls, the restaurants are veritable smoking-

36 THE HOLY LAND
rooms, the hotels with the exception of two or
three, occupied by the French and EngUsh, are
abominable taverns. No resources, no industry,
no commerce, no occupation outside of the
ecclesiastical, no agriculture.
We are living here among the French whom the
expedition has brought to Rome ; all conversation
is but a perpetual exclaiming against this intoler
able state of things. The question that aU
address to themselves, at sight of these horrible
areas which constitute three-quarters of Rome,
and of which the Faubourg Saint-Marcel can give
you but a feeble idea, especially after having
traversed the desert of the Campagna of Rome —
is this: how and on what do they live in these
horrible haunts of hunger and misery? Well,
dear friend, there is in this judgment a good
deal of the artificial. These people understand
nothing of practical life, of the well-being of
existence; this is quite plain. Here the far
niente is more desirable than wealth; the Italian
would rather remain squatted on the door-sill of
his cabin, and live on a few handfuls of maize,
than take the trouble to build a house and regu-

THE HOLY LAND 37
larly cultivate the soil. What shaU we say of this ?
It is a matter of taste; he is quite the master.
But how much this people lives in the ideal, how
fine is their revery, how these semibarbarous
creatures revel in the power of ideality !
Enter a church at the hour of prayer; you will
aways find it fuU of women. There they are,
seated, veUed after the manner of the country,
their Ups closed. In their eyes, so easily attracted,
there is a vague expression. What do they do?
What they hear is for them but a vague sound,
a given chant in which they join ; they do not pray
as the word is understood in our country; this
word is an act, they think, they aspire. Such is
the Ufe of this country ;. the springs of action are
wom out. One receives so much from without
that he conceives a disgust for action. One does
not think ; for to think, to speculate is to act intel
lectually; one feels and gives rein to a thousand
impressions that are the Ufe of this beautiful
country. The aspect of Rome is unique and
reveals sensations wholly incommunicable. Why
are you not with me ! Oh, why are you not with
me ! Such is my thought every day. "What !"

38 THE HOLY LAND
I say to myself, "must it be said that you shall
never feel what I feel ? Shall not we who under
stand each other in all things (for we have trod
the same soil in the land of the spiritual) be able
to understand each other on this point?" I am
confident that you will one day experience what
I experience. Nothing vulgar, nothing profane,
such is the note with which I sum up my most
general impression.
Rise above Paris, and what is it that strikes
you? The profane life everywhere; where is
the ideal? I see, indeed, some statues and
colonnades. But, grand Dieu, what a comedy!
Why do these statues exist ? No one knows !
They appeal to no one; they have been placed
there because it is agreed that there is need
of this sort of thing in a great city.
Here, on the contrary, the ideal is seen at every
step. In aU the shops, without exception, and
even in the inns and public places, may be seen
the madonna with her entourage of pictures,
sculptures and light. On aU the houses are
reUgious insignia, often of very beautiful charac
ter. In the streets are to be seen pictures often

THE HOLY LAND 39
of a very expressive and popular character.
Now, enter the churches (they are to be found
literally at every step — ^there are about four hun
dred), and you will find a painting by Raphael,
Domenichino, Albani, a madonna by Peter of
Cortona, a statue by Michael Angelo. Take, for
example, this little convent that one sees up
yonder; from afar, you would say that it was a
group of cabins in ruins. The windows have no
caps, the doors consist of a few boards badly
joined together, the whole hardly held up by a few
weak pUlars which were formerly the columns of
a pagan temple, and which threaten ruin to the
whole. Under these columns, high in the air,
protected solely by a few broken frames, you wiU
find some admirable paintings of Domenichino —
cenobites, virgins, ecstatics. Saint Jerome, Saint
Eustachie. Summon the porter of the convent,
an old monk in rags, and he will show you through
the church ; it is old and dusty, but that madonna
is by Annibale Canaccio; this group of celestial
heads is by Pinturrichio, and exhales the infinite
charm of the paintings of the sixteenth century,
before which one pauses for hours in prolonged,

40 THE HOLY LAND
undefinable admiration. Those tombs y
are the tombs of famous poets of this cot
that Uttle square stone covers the bones of 1
Follow the monk; he will show you a cl
painted in fresco by the knight of Arpino.
Monastic Ufe and all the poetry of the n
ages are forever revealing themselves by r
of grandiose images.
In the interior of the monastery, at an ani
the corridor, you are anested by a heavenly
The monk will tell you that it is a madoni
Leonardo da Vinci. This chamber is the one
Tasso died in; the sunounding objects bele
to him; there are his papers, his desk, his (
Yonder is a death mask of him.
From this room you can see the whole of E
and at its foot the beautiful cemetery of
Spirito, which I shall describe to you an
time; for nothing has touched rne more de
Below this picture are the Apeninnes with
incomparable play of light-tints which cann
described. He who dwells in these place;
nouncing action, thought and criticism, op
his heart to the sweet impressions of his sunc

THE HOLY LAND 41
ings — ^is not such a one leading a noble life, and
should he not be ranked among those who worship
in spirit ?
I know very well, and I care Uttle, that the
greater part of the emotions that I feel in this
country are founded on a faulty knowledge of
reaUty. I care little, I say, for the sentiment has
its value, independent of the reality of the ob
ject which evokes it. I have recognised, on all
occasions, that I had brought with me a very
enoneous opinion conceming the reUgion of this
country. I saw it only in the priests, the ecclesi
astical chiefs, prelates, etc. (an odious caste that
I abhor more than ever, and conceming which
I shaU give you some new information) . I did not
see the people; I saw this reUgion in the light of
something artificially imposed and, consequently,
odious. I considered the Council of Trent,
Charles Bonomeo, the Jesuits, as having buried
this people. This was an enor. The people
have made their reUgion, or at least receive it
very spontaneously. It is the people who have
made a church out of the Temple of Remus, who
have pasted a bad madonna in the Temple

42 THE HOLY LAND
of Vesta, who have placed two or three candles
around it, and a beggar at the entrance asking
alms. It is the people who have planted a cross
in the middle of the Colosseum, and who have
to kiss its foot every day in passing. These
Capuchins who pace the streets with a bag on
their shoulders, barefooted and clad in rags, are
of the people; the people love them, chat with
them, bring them into the public houses, give
them a few pieces of wood, or a few bits of bread ;
and later the Capuchin in his tum shares with
them. But this villainous black troop with proud
mien and disdainful visage, these pupUs of the
Roman CoUege, these future intriguers — do not
speak to me of them ; the people have nothing to
do with them, and are beginning to leam to be
insolent to them. There is a great distinction
to be made in this country on the subject of
reUgion, as you will learn. I was present, on AU
Saints' Day, at the services at the Gesu, the Jesuit
church, and the one most characteristic of mod
ern devotion. Two very opposing sentiments
became imprinted on my mind; on the one side,
sympathy for the people which accepts naively

THE HOLY LAND 43
and simply the religion which it finds at hand, and
which fully satisfies its need of the ideal; on the
other, anger and contempt for these choreges
throned aloft, these scholastic doctors who falsify
all science and criticism for their absurd dogmas.
In everything one is pursued by this antithesis.
The Pantheon of Agrippa, one of the most
beautiful creations of humanity, officially trans
formed into a church — this incomparable portico
inlaid with pictures and indulgences is revolting
to me. But a capuchin preaching in the Colos
seum, from a stage upon which he has cUmbed, his
audience seated upon the ground, occupied with
household duties, while the father makes up for
eloquence by addressing them as, fratelli miei,
at every sentence; mothers nursing their babes
on the steps of the cross, other women imitating
mechanically the gestures of the preacher — ah,
here is true humanity, beautiful and lovable!
Here is something of which the religious degrada
tion of our country will never show the equal.
How much I regret my inability, at this time,
to give you a more complete account of my
impressions. I fear that these lines will have

44 THE HOLY LAND
Uttle meaning for you; what follows will throw
light upon them. Write to me very promptly,
and recall France to my mind. My address is:
Hdtel Minerve, Place de la Minerve. I perceive
that I have not spoken a word on politics ; I no
longer think of it, I no longer read the paper;
I have enough to do to place clearly before my
self the emotions I feel in this country. Who
is minister now ? What do they say in the Cham
ber, or at Versailles? Tell me all this, and
consider me a Carthusian who hears news from
the world once a year. BeUeve, above all, in
my eternal friendship. Never has it been more
living than since I have been deprived of our
dear intercourse, which now seems so sweet
to me.

LETTER IV
Rome, December 4, 1849.
HOW much pleasure your letter has caused
me ! I reply to it this very instant. Yes, I
regretted to have to wait for your answer ;
henceforth, I shaU write to you immediately after
the event, and I pray you to do the same as
regards me. I should desire very much to have
a letter from you every eight days. I shall try
to send you a few words every week. Thanks
to the medium of the military mail, the cost of
letters is the same as in France. I shall tell you
further on, how it is necessary to address your
letters, in order that they may reach me under
this privilege.
I fully beUeve with you, that what is killing
Italy is the fact that she is too exclusively
artistic and poetic, that she lives solely for thel
sentimental and the esthetic. No, you cannot
imagine to what degree this people lives in the
4.S

46 THE HOLY LAND
imaginative world. In speaking of the moral,
political and religious state of this people, it is
always necessary to make three classes :
First, the clergy, under which head must be
ranged a crowd of married functionaries (having
real or fictitious functions ; these latter are bought
and are a means of income), but wearing the
clerical habit and living after the manner of
ecclesiastics. Secondly, the people, forming the great mass,
peasants, workmen, mendicants, merchants.
Thirdly, an elementary bourgeoisie — ^people
of a certain amount of means, and a certain
intelligence, great merchants, lawyers, physi
cians. The institution of the clergy is easy to repre
sent to one's self, and I have altered none of my
ideas in this regard. The bourgeoisie is also
easily understood. It is revolutionary and very
decidedly launched into modem ideas, under
standing things absolutely in the French manner.
But it is infinitely less numerous than ours.
There is no trace of it except in the great cities,
and there it exists in an almost imperceptible

THE HOLY LAND 47
proportion. Besides, these people have bad
manners, and the false air of malcontents and
roughs which is the result of their condition.
For these are the ones who suffer. No resources.
no outlook, an intolerable administration, a
totaUy arbitrary system of justice, the path
to fortune utterly blocked, a humiliating
subjection to detested authorities. You will
understand this well enough, I think, but with
regard to the people, how can you understand
them? I can affirm to you on my conscience, that in
this whole mass there is not a single trace of mod
em ideas. How, then, you will say, has this
people accomplished the revolution? How did
it acclaim the republic and hold out against an
opposing army ? Alas ! let us admit it between
ourselves — there were very few Romans engaged
in the enterprise. All the people that I see
around me are very advanced in their opinions;
all have affirmed to me that there were less than
three hundred who saw active service in battle.
It is very true that these people have allowed them
selves to be carried away by this great wave, that

48 THE HOLY LAND
they have become real revolutionists in a moment,
that they have been invaded in spite of them
selves, and that at this moment they consider
themselves oppressed. But do not be deceived;
this view is very superficial. It is but a few
inches deep. The moral and religious state of
this people is exactly the same as it was before;
now, what political movement proceeding from
exterior impulse is possible which is not founded
on a moral or religious change ? Next in order,
it should be said that the papal govemment has
done all that it could to make itself detested.
The financial measures above all, the deprecia
tion of paper money to a third of its value, has
fallen immediately upon the lower classes and
produced an unimaginable effect.
I fully believe that the temporal power, in its
ancient form, is ended; but what I maintain is
that the revolution has no roots in this country.
Will it ever strike root? A strange question, is
it not? You will believe that I have lost the
faith, that I have become wholly a sceptic. No,
more than ever I believe in the future of humanity.
But let us be careful not to shape the future too

THE HOLY LAND 49
exclusively in French moulds. Our French ideas
are primarily founded upon the trasmutation,
let us say more frankly, upon the destruction of
CathoUcism Now, Catholicism is the very soul
of this country ; Catholicism is as necessary to this
coimtry as liberty, or democracy (such as it
exists in fact, whatever one may say or whatever
one may do), is to us. This people is religious,
I mean Catholic, just as it is inclined to the
pleasures of imagination and sense. The day any
one places a hand on the objects of even the
grossest superstition, there will take place here
a revolution more serious than the one that
would occur on the day when all the consti
tutions in the world were violated.
You have no idea of all the legends there are
conceming the siipematural punishment of such
and such a Garibaldian without reverence for
sacred things, of some madonna preserved miracu
lously from bombs which were tumed from their
path, etc. Does this mean that the religion of
this people cannot change? This would be too
great an absurdity for you to suppose that I
could entertain it. At bottom all this cult is not

so THE HOLY LAND
old. It is not yet three centuries old; it dates
from the great devotional reaction which signal
ised the end of the sixteenth century and made
itself felt in France at the beginning of the seven
teenth century (the Council of Trent, Pius V.,
Charles Bonomeo, the Jesuits, all the modem
orders, Saint Francis de Sales — ^all modem de
votion, in a word). It will change them, but the
essential will remain; the sensuous, uncritical,
voluptuous, effeminate element, becoming on
the one hand art and poetry, on the other super
stition and credulity.
The position of the French army in the midst
of all this is a strange, and at times an amusing,
spectacle. If there is an efficacious means of
organising the French propaganda among this
people, it is the one which has been adopted;
it operates on an enormous scale. The officers are
all Voltairians and democrats ; many are out-and-
out " reds." They make no secret of it, and seek
the more to parade their UberaUsm in proportion
as they are forced to serve a cause which vexes
and humiUates them. They make common cause
in aU things with the bourgeoisie who detest the

THE HOLY LAND 51
papal govemment, and show a sort of ostentation
in mocking the religion of the country, which
in our eyes and in other circumstances would
be in bad taste. I have seen on many occasions,
especially in funerals, which take place here in
the strangest fashion, the discontent of the people
betray itself in a way that suggests danger to
those strangers who come here to laugh at national
customs. This Voltairian sympathy between the army
and the bourgeoisie is seen, above all, in the
caf6s and theatres. These two fields are the two
great centres of the modern propaganda. The
theatre, above all, produces a strange effect, on
account of the contrast that it offers with the
population that one has habitually before his
eyes. There you behold another people — not
one occasion for showing opposition to the old
regim£ is allowed to pass. To judge from the
theatre only, one would say -that the patriotic
fibre is stiU very strong among this people.
To sum up, the army and the people get on
very weU together; the conduct of the army is
fuU of deUcacy. The military feel that it is an

52 THE HOLY LAND
impossible role that they are made to play, and
make it a point of honour to avoid anything
resembling excess. This noble, proud and mod
erate conduct has had a great effect on the people,
and it wiU help to give them what they lack above
all things — order, dignity and seriousness. Yes,
seriousness is what is most lacking in the Italian
character. Their poetry is delightful in its
colour and freshness, but it has nothing deep, and
is the antipodes of that of Germany. In one we
have idealism and the soul; in the other, the
superficial, form, the sensible. It is as admirable
as an ItaUan opera; a flow of harmony which
intoxicates the least sensitive organisations. It
is not, however, one of those serious, profound
operas, which put us in touch with the infinite;
one weeps while laughing, and laughs while weep
ing. The comedian does not walk across the stage
as in Shakespeare and the German theatre; he
embraces it, he never leaves it, he is close beside
the one who weeps, he shares the attention of the
spectator, he attracks more than the serious side
of the play.
I amuse myself greatly in the evening by

THE HOLY LAND 53
reading the Rimes of Petrarch. There is some
thing incomparable in his eternal variations of
the same note, ever growing sweeter. But it is
not serious, it is not profound ; it is subtle. The
churches have an ineffable effect upon me; I
defy you to enter the Ara Coeli, the Santa Maria
in Cosmedin, the Saint Cecilia, without feeling a
desire to fall on your knees. And nevertheless, all
this is not serious ; it is in bad taste, overcharged,
and subtle; there is a general impression of bad
taste ; aU that is popular is in bad taste.
The next time I shall speak to you of ancient
Rome, and of the new fashion of understanding
antiquity, which results from a visit to this
country.

LETTER V
Rome, December 12, 1849.
TO-DAY I shall speak to you of ancient
Rome. At the first glance over this
city, one is apt to class under four
heads the memories and impressions which it
awakens. There is pagan Rome; there is
Proto-Christian Rome with its catacombs and
Basilica of Constantine. There is the Rome of
the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, that of
Julius II. and Leo X., Italian Rome, with its
pope an Italian prince. There is the devo
tional Rome of the Council of Trent, Pius V.,
Charles Bonomeo, etc. I shall explain to you
how and why there is no Rome of the middle
ages. There is not a single Gothic arch, rose
window or fenetre a jour in these four hundred
churches, monasteries and fortresses. This is
in agreement with the theory that I had arrived
at before I saw this country — a theory that has
54

THE HOLY LAND 55
been completely confirmed in my mind: the
middle ages did not exist for Italy.
The antique Rome which ends with Constan
tine is brought very close to us, and what is chiefly
striking is the immense difference there is between
the physiognomy of the antiquities of this country
and those of our own. We have in the north of
France no notable ruins that are truly expressive
of antiquity ; we have only scraps and insignificant
d6bris. The antiquarian who becomes enamoured
of things not for what they signify, not for what
there is of beauty in them, but merely because
they are old, is, in our opinion, a somewhat
ridiculous being, and the taste for antiquity
is a genuine folly. Here is an old wall, for
instance; there is nothing more beautiful about
it than a mass of material that the masons
have demolished without scruple ; it teaches noth
ing, it signifies nothing ; no matter, it is sixteen
or seventeen hundred years old; this is sufficient,
and it is valuable in the eyes of the ^.ntiquarian.
They encircle it with a fence and appoint a guard
over it. This is ridiculous. What was my
astonishment — I had not seen antiquity except in

56 THE HOLY LAND
worthless debris — when, on my anival at Nimes, I
found complete monuments, as fresh as they
were eighteen centuries ago — ^monuments having
y yet their meaning, their beauty ; beautiful not be
cause they are old, but because they are beautiful :
La Maison Can6e, a genuine little jewel; the
Arenas wonderfully preserved and of incomparable
effect; the Temple of Diana with its niches, its
hiding-places, its secret stair-cases; the Tour
Magne, an old colossal ruin, either Greek or
Phoenician, which dominates the whole region;
the Pont du Gard. Here was Rome in anticipa
tion, and it made a very great and very real
impression on me.
But how much greater was that of real Rome !
StUl the same distinctive characteristic: famous
and really beautiful ruins; while ours are only
beautiful by the aid of imagination and the
value which antiquity gives them. Permit me
to make a comparison: you are acquainted
with modern Christianity's singular custom of
cutting up the bodies of its saints in order to
make reUcs of them — who has ever experienced
the least emotion before a piece of bone said to

THE HOLY LAND 57
have belonged to Saint Vincent da Pul, or
Saint Theresa, even when the relic has been
authentic? On the contrary, who could remain
indifferent before the bodies which contained
these great souls?
For the same reason, what do I care for your
chunks of masonry, your fragments of statues,
your pieces of broken vases ? What one finds here
at every step are true monuments, very real,
possessing their native beauty. Behold, a few
steps from where I stand, this great mass, the
most famous relic of the age of Augustus — ^the
Pantheon of Agrippa. It is not the site, not a
ruin, nor a restoration, but the temple itself;
there are the base and the columns and all.
Behold the pediment of the Thundering Jupiter,
and that of the Temple of Peace, the pave
ment of the Temple of Concord. That is the
column of Phocas, there are the remains of the
JuUan BasiUca, yonder is the inclosure of the
Temple of Antonine and Faustina, the Temple
of Remus, the Graecostasis lower down, the
arches of Titus and Septimius Severus, almost
the same as they were the day they were built.

58 THE HOLY LAND
But what shall I say of the Colosseum? The
Colosseum is the veritable Rome of the Emperors.
There one touches and Uves in it. You cannot
beUeve how Uving and actual this impression
of antiquity is. The fashion of treating the
monuments of antiquity here has much to do
with this. Among us, as soon as a relic of anti
quity is discovered, it is carried to a museum. Here
it is left in its place to be used. In a number of
roads, it is still the Roman pavement that one
walks on. In many quarters the walls and
foundations are from the temples of Augustus
and the Antonines ; at every step one meets with
antique structure serving modem uses. In fact,
there are very few of the antique buildings which
have not been accommodated to actual every
day life.
The Mausoleum of Augustus has become a
riding-school; the Mausoleum of Hadrian is the
Castle of St. Angelo. All the ancient temples
without exception have been tumed into churches.
The Baths of Diocletian have become a monastery ;
the sewers of Tarquinius Priscus are still used;
the aqueducts which were one of the magnificent

THE HOLY LAND 59
features of imperial Rome still supply the
.fountains of Rome, making it the city of fine
water par excellence. These walls, which in
the nineteenth century have served to defend
this miserable people against a French army,
are ruins of the time of AureUan and Belis
arius. Assuredly, I am aware of all the incon
veniences of this system; as a consequence,
the preservation of these monuments suffers
very much. These beautiful antique statues,
which still adorn the plaza of the Capitol, would
not be blackened by the rain and abused by
cluldren and idlers if they were well guarded in a
museum, and bore a warning that no one must
approach them. But how false and artificial is
this system of museums. Of what value are
these statues, approached under constraint, in
your galleries crowded together, and fenced in
by ceremony? Leave them, then, in their right
place. What is striking in this country is the
utter absence of police surveillance. One may
go everywhere; all gates are open. I traversed
the Vatican one day from the Loggie of Raphael
to the uppermost portion without finding a door

6o THE HOLY LAND
shut or a door-keeper to tell me where the library
was. I repeat that this has grave inconveniences;
strangers profit by it to pillage and break off
noses of statues, leaves of chaplets and pieces
of marble intended for souvenirs. If there had
been a policeman at the Columbaria, aU of the
funeral urns would not have been carried off, one
after the other, and those beautiful antique
paintings would not be a miserable heap of debris.
If there had been a fence around the Temple of
Venus, it would not have become a veritable
public cesspool. But how I prefer this freedom,
which leaves to the monument its honesty, leaves
it for what it is, and does not tum it into an object
of curiosity and official preservation ! A monu
ment has value only when it is true. As soon as
you put it under a glass case it becomes nothing
more than an object of vain curiosity.
The Fountain of the Innocents would certainly
be better preserved if, instead of serving for the
vegetable dealers as a place to wash their wares,
it were transported, as some suggest, to the
centre of a reserved space — ^in the court of the

THE HOLY LAND 6i
Louvre, for example. Well, I assert for my part,
that this fountain, thus deprived of its natural
use, to become merely an object of show, would
lose all its beauty. Likewise I prefer a ruin
left for what it is, rather than one cared for,
cleaned and safe-guarded — things which merely
denote a curious and scientific mind, and which
efface the real and native colour. Things are'
only beautiful in so far as they are true and
conespond to the real wants of humanity, with
out any retrospective view of fiction or criticism, i
From this point of view the changing of the
pagan temples into churches seems profoundly
regrettable. But, no; we have here reality, an
utter absence of fiction. These edifices have
been discovered and taken, that is all. They
still serve their original purpose. One can hardly
beUeve to what extent modern Rome is composed
of the debris of the ancient city. All the materials
of the churches anterior to the sixteenth century
have been taken from the temples; the columns
are all ancient; hardly a piece of marble has
entered Rome in modern times. All that you
see at the marble-cutters' — all the furniture.

62 THE HOLY LAND
chimney-pieces, pier-tables, etc. — are taken, you
may be sure, from old marbles found in the
catacombs, cemeteries and temples. This heredity
of materials is one of the most striking facts
in this country. This curious church of the
Ara Coeli is composed, to the very last stone,
of the d6bris of the Temple of the Capitoline
Jupiter. These columns are from the old temple,
and were taken in their tum by the Romans
themselves, from the Temple of the Olj^mpian
Jupiter. Here is religion, indeed, is it not? To
build new combinations out of ancient materials ;
to pound and grind the old elements in order that
they may appear in a new form. The next time
I shall speak to you of Christian Rome.

LETTER VI
Rome, December 26, 1849.
THIS time I shall be very brief, as I leave
to-monow moming for Naples. It is mid
night, and aU my preparations are still to
be made. But I do not wish to depart without
saying a few words to you. AU that you tell me
about France interests me greatly. This people
is making good progress, but I fear that the
path it is now following will steadily lead it
away from the ideal, and from reUgion.
Assuredly the society which I see around me
is very inferior to ours. There is general idleness
and indifference toward improvement, and a
neglect of the people, in high quarters. Making
Ught of Ufe is carried to excess. The ItaUan is
not sensible of his misery, which is the worst ;
possible condition as regards progress ; for misery ]
conscious of itself is a powerful lever. And,
withal, the part which the ideal plays in the Ufe
63

64 THE HOLY LAND
of this people is very strong. Ah, if you had
only been with me yesterday and to-day at the Ara
Coeli, and seen that naive crowd, in wonder and
admiration before the Madonna and the Bambino!
You will hardly believe me, but I assure you in
all sincerity that I observed from certain in
dubitable signs that these good people took the
waxen figures for real beings, and actuaUy beUeved
that they saw before their eyes the mystery of
the nativity. I had already made this observa
tion on the occasion of the representations in
the cemeteries at the time of the feast of the sea.
I shall never forget the tone of a woman who
happened to be near me and asked me with the
most self-possessed air, " Is this the Magdalen ? "
It is certain that among the people as well as the
children the image and the real personality are
not clearly distinguished. Hegel has collected
some curious facts on this subject in his Esthetics,
and I, myself, have made many analogous ob
servations among children. However that may
be, I have witnessed some ineffable scenes —
scenes from the middle ages; the church as the
x)lace of popular assemblage; complete freedom.

THE HOLY LAND 65
entire absence of order and the police, mystery
plays as in the middle ages, acted by children of
six or seven years of age on stages erected in
the church, in the midst of great cries of joy from
the audience. It was popular religion that I
appreciated in these scenes ; such was the picture
that fUled and took possession of my mind. I
do not admit that the ancient Romans differed
from the modem Romans on the subject of
superstition. The Roman armies were composed
of the most superstitious of men (Theos6theis
deisidaimones). To-day an intellectual Voltairian
of this country, M. de Mattheis, with whom we
sometimes converse, related to us that in his
youth he had incurred the threats of the Holy
office for having printed in his dissertation on
the cult of the Roman goddess Febris, that
this country had always been scourged by two
great maladies, fever and superstition.
He added (and I beUeve that he was right, at
least, regarding the second) that these two
maladies had been fully as strong among the
ancients as among the modems.

LETTER VII
Naples, January 7, 1850.
IT is a long time since we have had a chat. I
have received nothing since my arrival at
Naples, and I have not yet been able to find
a free evening to communicate to you some
of the reflections with which this country has
inspired me. Within the limits of a letter, and
with the reticences imposed upon me, it is not
possible to do this freely. Let it suffice me to
say to you, that if there are in the world two
atmospheres which inspire a contrasting judg
ment of things human and divine, it is assuredly
those of Rome and Naples. Conceive almost
the direct opposite of all that I have told you of
my impressions of Rome, and you will have the
truth conceming my impressions of Naples.
I told you that Rome had made me understand,
for the first time, the grandeur of a religion which
was mistress of the spiritual Ufe of a people, and
66

THE HOLY LAND 67
which monopoUsed it. I may say to you that
Naples has made me understand, for the first
time, the sovereign absurdity, the horribly bad
taste of a rehgion debased and degraded by a
degenerate race. You wiU never imagine what
the reUgion of Naples is. God is as unknown in
this country as among the savages of Oceanica,
where religion is confined to faith in genii. For
this people there is no God; there are only the
saints. And what are the saints? They are
not models of religion or morality; they are
miracle-workers — a species of supernatural ma
gicians, by whose aid one can escape from an em-
banassing position. Even the robbers have
saints, and I have seen with my own eyes ex-
votos, in which the robber is represented as being
deUvered by a saint from the gendarmes. I can
never express to you the profound disgust which
I experienced the first time I entered a church in
Naples. There is no longer art, no longer ideaUty.
There is the grossest sensuaUty, the vilest in
stincts that can be named. The religion of
Naples may be defined as a curious variety of the
perversion of the sexual instinct. You are

68 THE HOLY LAND
psychologist enough to understand this by anal
ogy; but you can never reaUse the subject in the
intensity with which it appears in a visit to
this indescribable city. Imagine a people totaUy
deprived of the moral sense, reUgious withal,
because religion is more essential to humanity
in its inferior state, than morals — and think
of what may occur.
Henceforth, for me, Italy is weU classified.
There are three Italys: First, Northem Italy,
where the intellectual, rational and serious ele
ment dominates as in the rest of Europe. There,
as in other civiUsed countries, are poUtical ac
tivity, a practical spirit, common sense, a scien
tific spirit (Piedmont, Lombardy, the University
of Padua, Venice, the philosophy of the sixteenth
century, etc.) ; secondly. Central Italy, where the
rational element and the sensuous element are
combined in that lovely proportion that creates
art and religion, but practically excludes phi
losophy and the critical and serious spirit, or, at
least, does not allow it to dominate (Tuscany
and, above all, Rome). These countries are in
toxicating with the esthetic, but are unfitted for

THE HOLY LAND 69
political Ufe or social progress. This is the
country of the arts, a sort of Graeculus, culti
vated, but enfeebled; thirdly, Southem Italy,
Naples, where the sensual element completely
dominates, and chokes not only science and
thought, but art. It is the country of pleasure;
nothing more. At Naples they never have done,
and never wiU do anything, but enjoy themselves.
One cannot understand the strange contrast that
this city forms in this regard with Rome. The
first effect, the overmastering effect that Rome
produces (and, I think, Florence likewise), is,
that of artistic intoxication. You are possessed,
dominated, fUled, inundated by this tonent of the
plastic arts. Beautiful forms of the sensible
strike the eyes and all the senses at every step
through this sacred land. Art is in the atmos
phere of the heavens, of the monuments, I will
even say of the people. Here, on the contrary,
there is no trace of art, nothing to which this word
can be appUed. There is not a reUgious mani
festation in the slightest degree poetical. The
churches make one burst out laughing. The
worship is grotesque. The monuments are in

70 THE HOLY LAND
supremely bad taste. There is not a picture
or statue which merits a glance. (Be it well
understood that I except the Bourbon museum,
the richest in the world in masterpieces of an
tiquity, and even superior to the Vatican; but
these masterpieces are no part of Naples) . Naples
has not produced an artist or a poet; bad taste
has always reigned here, sovereign, and, to speak
the truth, it is only here that I have really under
stood what bad taste means. I repeat that aU
this is so because there has been no opportunity
for the ideal; sensuaUty chokes everything.
Priapus — such is the god, such is the art of this
country. Go to Pompeii, to Baja, to Misena —
you will find that Naples is the city of all the
world, the most effeminate, the most Boeotian,
because it is the city in which the instinct of
pleasure is the most dominant. This instinct is
essential to great artistic sensibiUty, but if it
exceeds a just proportion, the higher formula is
violated, there is no longer an3rthing but matter,
brutal joy, vileness, nulUty. Such is Naples.
You can have no idea of the intoxication that
this incomparable bay sheds over all the senses.

THE HOLY LAND 71
This comer of the earth is tmly the temple of
the antique Venus. Recall Ischia, Procida, Nisida,
Caprea, Baja, Lake Averno, Cumas, Pozzoli,
Portici, Vesuvius, CasteUamare, Sonento, Somma,
Pompeii, the most enchanting places in the
world — ^all grouped within a space of six or
seven leagues, around this beautiful horse-shoe
formed by the sea.
And then the strangeness of the soil; at every
step an extinct crater, a volcano of which the
date is given, a lake with mysterious configura
tions, a natural furnace, a solfatare, an ancient
and sibylline cave. All this imparts an aston
ishing physiognomy. One cannot believe to what
extent this soil has been in ebuUition even within
historical times; it is stUl a veritable furnace.
This Monte Nuovo which commands the bay of
Baja has towered for centuries over Lake Lucrino ;
this Vesuvius which for some weeks past has
roared and boiled in terrible fashion was formerly
the Isle of Circe. The whole region UteraUy
smokes at every pore.
Lake Averno is wonderful; there alone I have
fully understood the ancient ideas regarding

72 THE HOLY LAND
another Ufe and the subtenanean regions. Would
you believe it — ^the people to-day have the same
ideas. In the side of the hUls that border this
lake, occupying the crater of an extinct volcano,
there are furnaces whence issue a kind of burning
steam, while at the bottom there is a basin of
almost boiling water. The guide has a custom
of plunging into this place in the presence of the
tourists and boiling an egg in the water, which
he offers to them with these sacramental words:
" Here is an egg boiled in HeU 1 "
It is evident from an examination of these
places, that this volcanic aspect, these subter
ranean cunents of water that are remarked in
the Sibyl's Cave, of similar conformation, ex
plain one of these infernal regions, so common in
antiquity. Yesterday and the day before we visited
Salerno and Pcestum. What was my astonish
ment to find myself in the region of perfect
barbarism! I have traversed but little space,
I am hardly six days' distance from Paris, and
yet I have reached the limits of civiUsation. We
in Paris — ^in its very centre — imagine that its

THE HOLY LAND 73
limits are far off. We never cast our eyes beyond
this horizon which seems infinitely distant. Alas !
no, I have reached it. Salerno may be considered
as the limit of the civiUsation of the South; this
city is already semisavage; beyond it, there is
pure barbarism — real savages having almost
no worship, hardly any clothes, no culture,
no flocks, their only raiment the skins of bears;
everywhere a horrible local jargon without moral
ideas. I shaU never be able to tell you what
I felt on the ruins of this antique Pcestum.
Represent to yourself a Dorian city of the seventh
or eighth century before the Christian era, its
temples and edifices perfectly preserved, a Greek
city of the purest and most primitive type, an
admirable site, on one side the mountain, on the
other the sea, three temples stiU almost intact,
and bizane in style, exhaling the civilisation of
ancient Greece; and consider that to-day, in this
nineteenth century, savages living in a few huts
inhabit this vast cyclopean region. I have seen
the Umits of civUisation, and I have been startled
like a man who, beUeving the bounds infinite,
strikes his foot against a wall. Yes, I have here

74 THE HOLY LAND
experienced the saddest emotion of my life. I
have trembled for civiUsation, seeing it so Umited,
so unsurely seated, reposing on so few individuals,
even in the country where it is regnant. For
how many men are there in Europe who are really
men of the nineteenth century? And what are
we, the enlighteners and advance guard before this
inert mass, this herd of brutes who foUow us?
Ah, if one day they should refuse to foUow us,
and throw themselves upon us ! It will be neces
sary for me to see Paris again before Pcestum
shall be erased from my memory. And Pompeu ?
I cannot speak of it to you. We wUl talk of
it some other time.

LETTER VIII
Monte Cassino, January 20, 1850.
YOUR faithfulness in keeping your word is
charming ; as for me, I am of an exacting
nature that may seem unpardonable. But
if you only knew what the tyranny of the external
necessities is in travels of this kind ! I avow to
you that I looked upon the letters which I wrote
you from Naples as lost, and it appeared but
sUghtly probable that the letters I wrote you
from this city would reach you. The simplest
relations of Ufe are in this coimtry the object of
an inquisition difficult to imagine. Your letters
arrive inegularly, and sometimes all at once.
Lacauchie has retumed to Rome, so that you
can address your letters in the old way. This
letter, though written on the soil of Naples, wiU be
maUed at Rome. There I may speak to you with
fuU freedom, and without fear that the sincerity
of our letters will interfere with their regularity.
75

76 THE HOLY LAND
What shaU I taUc about? Of the frightful
degradation of this country? Of the infamous
cult of Naples? Of the abominable tyranny
which weighs on this country ; of our misreckonings
and our misadventures ; of our interview with
Pius the Ninth? No, for I have before my eyes
too curious and strange a spectacle to permit me
to speak of aught else than Monte Cassino; Of
all the surprises that Italy has had in reserve for
me, this has been, without fear of contradiction,
the sweetest, because, this time, moral sentiment
is added to the beauty of nature. If Sonento
and Pausilippa, Baja and Misena could not dissi
pate the cloud of melancholy that the horrible
degradation of this country shed over my rriind,
I doubt if the vigorous beauties of the Apennines
would have found me more indulgent, had I
encountered only gross or ridiculous adepts of
superannuated institutions. But here is the
miraculous; here is that which at this hour
makes Monte Cassino, one of the most curious
places in the world, and without doubt the place
where the Italian spirit can be best comprehended
on its elevated and poetic side. Thanks to the

THE HOLY LAND 77
influence of a few distinguished men; thanks,
above all, to the serious studies which have always
characterised the Benedictines, Monte Cassino
has become, in these latter years, the most active
and most brilUant centre of modem ideas in this
country. The doctrines which were latterly
condemned and associated with the names of
Rosmini, Gioberti and Ventura had invaded
this whole school, and had one of their most
brilUant spokesmen in Father Tosti, author of The
Lombard League, The Pilgrim's Psalter and The
Seer of the Nineteenth Century, a sort of Italian
Lamennais having all the characteristics of ours,
aUowing for the difference between ItaUan and
French ideas. Monte Cassino, throughout its long
history, never enjoyed brighter days than during
the first years of Pius the Ninth's reign, when Italy
opened her arms with such naivet6 to the mystic
aspirations of patriotism and Uberty. Rosmini,
the spiritual father of the abbey, was about to set
out for Rome to receive the insignia and office
of Secretary of State. Tosti did not leave Pius
the Ninth; Pius the Ninth, himself, after the
assassination of Rossi, was thinking about con-

78 THE HOLY LAND
forming to the bull of Victor the Third, who gave
to Monte Cassino the exclusive privUege of enter
taining the pope when he retired to the south of
Italy. But the King of Naples carried the day,
the weak pontiff consented to , come and cover
with his white robe the infamies of this tyrant,
and while the king of consciences occupied his
leisure in seeing the blood of St. Januarius boil
expressly for him, he allowed his best friends to
be persecuted.
One day a squadron of cavalry was seen climb
ing the slope that leads to the abbey; Tosti re
ceived an order to depart within twenty-four
hours. Rosmini was permitted to remain, but
under a guard — a condition to which he was
unwilling to submit. Seals were placed on the
printing presses, which gave to the world the
mystic aspirations of Tosti. The latter were
treated as socialistic or revolutionary pamplets.
I saw the presses there stiU, except one that had
been injured by the earthquake of November,
which was quite a large affair. Since that time
there is no indignity that these reUgious, guilty
of noble sentiments and of rebuking the cormp-

THE HOLY LAND 79
tion of the country, have not been made to under
go. Father Papaletene is in prison in Naples,
guilty of rationalism and pantheism (we know
what that means). Tosti is in Rome, where he
is treated as a heretic; the others are threatened
every moment with being driven from their
beautiful abbey which is to be given to the
Jesuits, their mortal enemies. Strange suspense !
It was in the heart of the Apennines, far from
aU beaten tracks, that I was to find again the
modem spirit, France, whose image I had not
beheld for so long. The first book that I met with
in the ceU of Father Sebastiano, the librarian, was
Strauss' Life of Jesus ! In this place one hears
only of Hegel, Kant, George Sand and Lamen
nais. Be it said between ourselves, the Fathers
are as philosophical as you and I ; study has led
them forcibly to adopt modern ideas, rationalism,
worship in spirit and in truth. As a result there
is some anger felt against superstition, hypocrisy
and the priests (this is the word used here), and
above aU the King of Naples ! No epithet from
Nero to the King of the Lazzaroni is spared upon
him. In politics these monks are Reds of the

8o THE HOLY LAND
deepest dye; they are imbued with that naive
confidence, that absence of shades and tempera
ments, which marks the first steps in politics;
Garibaldi is the hero of the convent ; I have heard
with my own ears an apology made for the
assassination of the King, on the principle that
when an enemy invades one's country he forfeits
all rights, the state of war becomes permanent,
and every means is justified. Imagine the most
perfect realisation of Spiridion and you will have
an exact idea of Monte Cassino. Ah, what beauti
ful types of moral resignation, of religious eleva
tion, of disinterested intellectual culture, I have
fotmd among these monks ! Especially among
the young people, I found one or two truly rare
natures of an admirable delicacy and refinement.
Judge whether we were not well fitted to under
stand each other. The image of these beautiful
souls shall never depart from my memory; and
I hope mine will never be indifferent to them.
I have done what I could as a Frenchman, and
I believe that they have done what they could,
being Italians. The salvation of Italy will come
through the monks. They look on me with

THE HOLY LAND 8i
envy and often speak of France, where probably
some day they will seek an asylum. As for me,
I told them that in all conditions it was possible
to lead a noble life, but that to do great things in
Italy one must be either a poet or a monk. They
read to me and called forth my admiration for
the Juni of Manzoni, an admirable expression
of that Christian morality which has captivated
aU the noble intellects of contemporary Italy, an
abstraction from every dogmatic idea. They are
monks, withal, true, enthusiastic, Italian monks,
veritable energumens (God pardon me), still
dreaming of Italy as queen of the world ; believing
very seriously that with the Italians of May,
1848, it is possible to conquer the world. We
looked into each other's eyes, when the subprior
declared to us that if they were driven from their
abbey, they would set fire to it, after carrying off
their archives, as did the monks of the middle ages
with the hours of their saints. They are stem,
inflexible, without that suppleness, that apprecia
tion of shades of thought, which the secular life
confers. In fine, my sojoum on this beautiful
mountain wiU mark one of the most pleasant

8? THE HOLY LAND
epochs of my life. Our day is passed at I'Archivio,
in the midst of these good monks, who cannot
have enough of our society. Think of it —
it is only once a year that they ever receive
a newspaper or a foreign review. They who
only live for such things ! The monks have
taught me what tyranny of the conscience means,
and how hard is the martyrdom of those whom
fate has given noble aspirations and placed in
the midst of a degraded people. At I'Archivio, I
found, among other things, a long and curious
imedited fragment of Abelard. At Naples every
thing is under lock and key. The museum is
locked up. There is a reign of tenor.
Here alone I have imderstood what the
Tenor is. All the world seems in hiding. It is
impossible to obtain an address. Of eight or ten
persons to whom we had letters of introduction,
we found all ill at the first visit, though perfectly
well at the second. Thirty thousand poUtical
prisoners have been awaiting their trial for the
past two years. Every one is living in the shadow
of fear ; every month there is a new list of suspects,
and every one is kept in a state of tenor. A

THE HOLY LAND 83
fanatical army, an infamous exploitation of re
Ugion, and infamies in broad daylight in the pubUc
places, which my pen refuses to relate — such is
Naples. God guard us 1

LETTER IX
Rome, January 26, 1850.
HERE I am, returned to Rome. We leave
for Florence in three days. The situation
at Rome is grave. The army is almost in
revolt ; the commander-in-chief threatens to drive
out the cardinals. The acquittal of Czernowski,
and the escape of Achilli, through the favour of the
French authorities, caused a profound sensation.
The trial of Czernowski took place in the house
in which I live ; there were some serious demon
strations in the square. It is probable that the
pope will never retum to Rome.

84

LETTER X
Florence, February 5, 1850.
IHAVE only understood the Italian question
since I have been in Florence. Rome is very
far from being in a central position; the Ro
man question is complicated with such exceptional
characteristics that it is impossible to reach any
general conclusion from the spectacle which this
strange city affords. Naples is simply the Tenor;
one does not Uve there. But Florence is really
modem Italy, and the true criterion of the
question. Tuscany, moreover, offers a wholly
unique physiognomy and an activity and life
which surprises the traveller from Rome or Naples.
Tuscany suggests but a single ideal : the astonish
ing locaUsation of the life that perpetuates Italy.
Among us, centralisation is natural, and the
natural consequence of the complexity of the
country. Here Ufe is diffused everywhere, or at
least grouped around five or six very distinct
85

86 THE HOLY LAND
centres. There stiU breathes the old Tuscan
history — Florence, Siena, Pisa, Arezzo, Pistoia.
At every step there is a reminder of that pro
digiously active Ufe of the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries whence issued modem civilisation.
What a state of society was that in which Uttle
cities of from twenty to fifty thousand souls, al
ways at war for the pleasure of being enemies,
created masterpieces unequaUed in originaUty,
and each having its literature, its art, its pleiads of
genius ! Think of Pisa, for example, a little city
which makes a figure in the history of the world,
and which created with the product of its textUe
arts the Duomo, the Baptistery, the Leaning
Tower, the Chiesa della Spina, the Campo Santo,
and all these without any models, the work of
Pisan artists. And Florence — a city of fifty
thousand souls, which produced more great men
than all France at the same epoch: Dante,
Giotto, CeUini, Cimabue, Michael Angelo, Bnmel-
leschi, Vespucci, Machiavelli, Guicciardini, Boc
caccio, Savonarola, the Medicis, Galileo, AngeUco
of Fiesole, Marsilio Ficino, Villani, Brunetto
Latini, Orcagna, Pinturichio, Leonardo da Vinci,

THE HOLY LAND 87
Andrea del Sarto. And, grand Dieu ! what a
rich Ufe is that which breathes from the Palazzo
Vecchio, the palaces of the Strozzi, the Uberti,
the Capponi, etc. ! All this within the narrow
horizon of a city, the artist having no other idea
than that of giving pleasure and doing honour to
his feUow citizens — seeing naught but Florence
in the world; the orator never dreaming of any
other auditory, or any other field of action than
Florence. I visited the convent of Savonarola
yesterday and saw his relics, brands from his pyre,
and his ceU. I had seen, on the day before, the
hall that he had built for the fifteen hundred
deputies of his democratic constitution, and the
place where he was bumed to death, and which,
on May 23 of last year, was covered with flowers.
Behold this enthusiastic monk issuing from
his lonely cell. What is his object, his measure
of action, his ambition? Florence, and Florence
only. Hence immense exaltation of individual ac
tivity. What are we, lost among thirty-five
milUons ? What will the stroke of our oar amount
to in this ocean ? I am struck with the frightful

88 THE HOLY LAND
Boeotian character of those cities of thirty or
forty thousand provincial souls, which do not
contain a single distinguished or learned man,
or a work of indigenous art, but only frightful
copies, modem honors, without soul, without
life, without character, produced because it was
necessary to produce something for the city hall
or the prefecture. Assuredly, I do not mean to
say that France is inferior, that this great achieve
ment that is called France is not an admirable
and capital element in humanity; but I state a
fact. Here life is active and creative while
remaining wholly local and municipal. And
what has been, still exists. You cannot irnagine
what an ardent rivalry exists between cities
here. First of all, Tuscany has been and always
will be a country apart ; it is a fatherland. And
in Tuscany, Leghorn and Siena detest Florence;
Pisa detests Leghorn. Certainly the late revo
lution had for its principal motive the modem
ideas which were agitating all Europe; but it is
necessary to recognise that it was due in great
part to, if not explained wholly by, the rivalry of
Leghorn and Florence. This is not all; each

THE HOLY LAND 89
city is divided into wards with its banners, its
privileges, its carroccio, as in the middle ages.
These wards form institutions apart. Siena has
forty thousand inhabitants, and seventeen quar
ters of which each bears the name of an animal;
the Unicorn, the She-wolf, etc. These wards
have their coats-of-arms, representing the animal
whose name they bear, and perpetuating rivalries
that date back to the Guelphs and Ghibellineis.
One of the wards, that of the goose, inhabited by
dyers, leather-dressers, and small trades-people,
is a repubUc apart, recognising no other authority
than its own. All the inhabitants of this quarter
support each other so well that it is impossible to
make an anest there. When the authorities
wish to apprehend any one, it is necessary to
lure him from his ward. They are totally
ungovernable, and recognise no other authority
than Saint Catherine of Siena, who was the child
of a dyer of this quarter. During the whole year
the people dream of the contests of the Pallid,
which take place in the Palazzo del Campo, and
are participated in by the seventeen wards.
This is the great event in the Ufe of the country.

90 THE HOLY LAND
All this is very ridiculous, is it not? There is
very Uttle of the rational in it all. But it pro
ceeds from the intemal constitution of this people
which limits its horizon and nanows the sphere
of its life in order the more strongly to concen
trate it. This has had immense advantages, and,
to speak truly, civihsations are bom solely from
these states, on these Uttle theatres, neighbouring,
distinct and antagonistic (Greece, Italy at the
end of the middle ages, etc.). The modem spirit
wiU undoubtedly interdict Italy from the folUes
which are the naive consequence of this dis
position of ideas, but it will not change the
nature of the ItaUan genius. CentraUsation
wiU be the death of Italy. Imagine Rome,
Naples, Florence, as departmental centres ! This
may be good for Dijon, Bordeaux, etc., which
have never Uved; but Florence has lived.
Florence will never accept this role. Leave
Italy free, and Florence will secede, Siena wUl
secede, Genoa will secede, Sicily will secede,
Venice will secede.
Nevertheless, the idea of ItaUan unity germi
nates everyAvhere. This fact must be understood:

THE HOLY LAND 91
the theorists imbued with French and cosmo
politan ideas will be the first dupes and victims,
and the first to be undeceived, should Italy
throw off the yoke of the foreigner. It is true,
however, that there is throughout Italy a com
mon feeUng of hatred for the foreigner, and a
vague sentiment of intellectual and moral unity.
This would be strong enough to create a league
against the foreigner. But would it be strong
enough to create a compact state? No; a thou
sand times no ! Would it be strong enough to
produce a confederation of Italian republics?
I do not think so. These cities would rend each
other, and in a year would caU in France or the
emperor. This is to be said, however, only of
the present. I shall not speak of the destinies
that a remote future may have in reserve for this
country.

LETTER XI
PiSA, February lo, 1850.
WHAT a wonderful city is Pisa ! I have
spent my day at the Campo Santo, at the
Duomo, the Baptistery, and the Leaning
Tower ! Nothing has ever made so vivid an impres
sion upon me ; nothing has enabled me to under
stand so well the prodigious plastic originality of
this people. These admirable masterpieces are
of the twelfth, thirteenth and fourteenth centuries,
and there is in them a delicacy, a sense of pro
portion and harmony, such as are to be found in
the most beautiful works of antiquity. To
speak truly, Italy has never lost the sense of the
true proportions of the human body, the knowl
edge of which exercises so immediate an influence
on all the plastic arts. Gothic art had not this
sense of proportion, this natural compass, which
Greece possessed so cUvinely. Italy has never
lost it. The paintings and the sculptures of the
Q2

THE HOLY LAND 93
twelfth and thirteenth centuries, at Siena, Florence
and Pisa, are as conect in taste (although less
perfect in execution) as the most beautiful
works of antiquity. Artistic eccentricity, the
romantic, will never reveal themselves in Italy.
This beautiful country naturally inspires respect
for form, proportion, completeness. The Campo
Santo is beyond all price. Imagine all the ideal
life of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries
traced upon these walls by the hand of Giotto,
Orcagna, Gozzoli. All the life of the middle ages
is there. The system of the world, the picture
of actual Ufe, its pains, its pleasures, the here
after, paradise, hell (always represented according
to the topography of Dante), the last judgment,
histoiy, such as it was then conceived, the serious,
the burlesque, all Ufe. And what original local
colour there is in all this — a little republic, a state
which has beside it, its city of the dead, con
taining all the old Pisan inhabitants ! While
beholding these beautiful galleries of the dead,
people say to themselves: "I shall go there
one day," and death becomes familiar and loses
its emphasis. This concentration of a whole

94 THE HOLY LAND
state in a funeral monument appeared to me in
the most vivid tints, which I transmit to you
badly. If you could have only seen it with
me !

LETTER XII
Rome, February 17, 1850.
HERE I am at Rome, for the third time, and
always more and more deUghted with it.
This city is Uke great poems : it makes new
impressions at each reading, ever appearing under
new phases. What you tell me of your condition
fUls me with great sadness; how much I regret
that I have been forced to be inegular in my cor
respondence ! Now that I am here alone, and in a
fixed place, I shaU be more particular; it is not
to you, but to myself that I promise this. I think
that the intemal pains of which you speak are
due to the special character of your studies, wliich
are not precisely what you are fltted for. You
know that I have always regretted that you did
not take up as your official line of study what are
caUed the moral, scientific and literary branches
of knowledge; it is from these that you would
obtain interior nourishment. I imagine that this
95

96 THE HOLY LAND
divorce between your interior and spiritual and
your official Ufe often deranges your system of
life and produces this disreUsh of existence. Per
haps, also, you condemn yourself to an excessive
abstinence from esthetic pleasure. This pleas
ure is also individual; it is even egoistic, which I
did not suspect heretofore ; but it is noble, it ele
vates. You know how to admire the beautiful,
but you do not seek for it enough. Here it is
found at every step ; but in our enlightened coun
try sUghtly dowered with art, the beautiful is not
found in the streets. In the streets you will only
find the commonplace, the dull, the vulgar. If
you were a Christian, the esthetic portion of
Christianity, strongly grasped, would amply satisfy
this want. For at bottom reUgion is nothing else
than the ideal side of human life, a less pure but
more original and popular method of adoration.
I should desire, therefore, since you no longer go
to mass or vespers (it would not, however, be a
bad thing for you to go sometimes, as I do here),
that you frequent the museums and the theatre,
that you read good literature, not only the great
philosophical works which are your nourishment,

THE HOLY LAND 97
but those works which are purely and simply
beautiful in themselves. Poetry and ancient art
reaUse this wonderfully. Our poetry and our art
are only pretexts to discuss philosophy. Con
sider George Sand, Rousseau, etc.
Italy, in this connection, still occupies the same
point of view as in ancient times — ^the beautiful for
the sake of the beautiful, the unlaboured repro
duction of beauty, pure and simple. You cannot
imagine what astonishing placidity exhales from
the whole physiognomy of this country. Yes
terday, Sunday, I understood this wonderfully.
The weather was admirable — a golden sun, a pale-
blue sky, very pale, almost white, such as we never
have in our climate. All the population was in
the country — ^that is to say, in the deserted portion
of Rome — ^the Forum, the Colosseum, Mount
Palatine. There was a shrine of a saint in this
quarter which aU went to visit on this day. You
cannot imagine what genuine contentment there
was in the aspect of these people; let us under
stand ourselves — contentment. All had an air of
poverty and suffering, and were in rags ; but this
did not matter; there is something in the Italian

98 THE HOLY LAND
people that one cannot imagine to exist else
where: it is their intimate enjoyment of life for
its own sake, without any accessory happiness.
The great pleasure of an ItaUan is to live. Thus,
when he can, he will lie down in the sun at the
foot of a ruin. All the time that is taken from
this species of enjoyment of life is painful to him ;
provided that he does not have to work, and that
he is not too hungry, he is happy. That is the
great source of good which will never be taken
from this people, and it renders them in a sense
happier than we are, in spite of their humiUation.
They are not tormented over the question, they
are assured of what suffices to make them
happy: the sky, the air, the pleasant climate;
they are, besides, certain of not dying of
hunger, for in one way or another, and in truth
I do not know how, that never happens in
this country. On this account poverty never
bothers any one. Herein is the secret of this
incredible carelessness which impresses for
eigners so strongly, and which is the secret of
the democracy of this country. The only
right demanded by this people is the right

THE HOLY LAND 99
to a place in the sun ; this right it enjoys, and will
not yield up.
This is why Italian reUgion is so superficial, so
graceful in its forms. It is a pleasure like any
other, or at least an occasion of pleasure, for, as
in our case before the Revolution, all Ufe is chained
to reUgion. The Station governs every Sunday's
promenade; yesterday, people went to Mount
CoeUus because the station was that of Saint John
and Saint Paul; Sunday they will go to the
Quirinal, because it will be the station of La Cer-
tosa. To interfere with their religion would be to
interfere with their pleasure. "What makes me
happy in Rome," said Goethe, " is that I am living
in the midst of a purely sensual people." This is
not exactly true; it is in Naples that the people
are purely sensual ; with regard to those here, he
should have said purely esthetic. For it is by art
and religion, not by material enjoyment, that they
are satisfied. Here is the world in which your life
would be happy. You are too modern, too
French. You have need of the relaxation of art ;
you have need of Italy, for Italy, compared to the
rest of Europe, is the ancient world compared to

IOO THE HOLY LAND
the modern. You love Proudhon, and I do not
blame you. But what a spectacle is a man who
lives only with his head, who cloisters himself, ren
ders himself dull by dint of dialectics, and throws
himself into the combat, striking blows of logic
right and left. The Italians would burst out
laughing at such a sight, and would say with the
good man with whom I traversed the Maremma,
and who spoke a good deal to me of sociaUsm,
"Che pazzia! Che pazzia !" "What folly!" I
think that on the day you fall in love with a
woman, you will part with much of this Proud-
honian sourness, this absolute mental logic which
is devouring you. I am going to take a prom
enade this aftemoon on the Appian Way, and visit
the tomb of Cecilia Metella for your intention.

LETTER XIII
Rome, March i, 1850.
IMUST, at last, speak to you of our interview
with Pius the Ninth. A thousand incidents
have always prevented me, and this is, never
theless, one of the most interesting episodes of our
trip. Daremberg, who is now a Catholic of our
shade of behef, and our third companion, a Pro
testant, were eager for it, and then we were not
sorry to discuss with him certain affairs relative
to our researches. At Portici we saw this
Uttle man who keeps the world in trouble,
who has been and perhaps wiU again be the con
tributing cause of a great revolution. Our inter
view with Pius the Ninth (we talked with him
about five minutes) entirely confirmed the opinion
which people held regarding him during the first
months of his pontificate. The sole impression
that you have on issuing from an audience is this :
he is a good man in all the meaning of these words.
JOI

I02 THE HOLY LAND
His portraits, in which he is given a certain air of
dignity and seriousness, do not convey a general
idea of him.
Pius the Ninth is an ItaUan to a degree that you
cannot imagine ; he talks a great deal, and passes
every moment from himself to various subjects;
he habitually intermingles his words, after the
manner of ItaUans, with a very characteristic
Uttle smile that we would call silly in France,
betraying little seriousness and elevation, but an
amiable and easy manner of taking things. There
are moments when his face becomes animated, and
the result is a certain naivet6, a freedom, good
nature and simpUcity, the most characteristic
that I have ever seen. It is impossible to meet a
more perfect type of the Roman who in his studies
or his relations of life has never gone outside of the
circle of Roman influence. In France such a man
would be caUed weak, nanow and commonplace ;
but this species of provincial good nature redeems
everything, and on leaving him you feel in a pleas
ant and amiable state of mind. I beUeve he per
ceived at the very start that he had not to deal
with believers of the first order, and so he engaged

THE HOLY LAND 103
us on the most secular subjects. Accosting Dar
emberg on the subject of his researches, he began,
with a precision which astonished us, to discourse
on the surgical instruments of the ancients, and
especially on the syringa found at Pompeii, and
identical with those which have been most recently
invented. I avow to you my simplicity ; I believed
that syringa was to be translated by the French
word which resembled it most, and it seemed to
me a very curious spectacle to see a philosopher,
a Protestant and a heretical Catholic engaged in
a discussion with the successor of Gregory the
Seventh and of Innocent on the syringe of the
ancients ! This appeared to me the height of
comedy. I soon perceived that syringa means a
probe, and that the special interest of the Holy
Father on this point was due to a malady with
which he is threatened. But what follows will
paint for you the man and the ItaUan — I mean,
the Roman of our day. In this relation he began
to discourse on the theme dearest to Italians, the
paraUel furnished by ancient and modem civilisa
tion, a parallel which is recalled to them at every
step by the monuments which cover their land.

I04 THE HOLY LAND
Here is the innocent theory which he explained to
us with an aplomb and vain ease wholly original :
Mcxiem civUisation seems to be superior to
that of the ancients, by the fact of the communica
tion which has been estabUshed between the
various portions of humanity (I am not sure that
he used this word) which, in antiquity, were iso
lated. Now this has been reaUsed by two inven
tions which sum up all modern civilisation —
printing and steam; printing for the communica
tion of minds, steam for the intercommunication
of bodies and merchandise (sic). You cannot
appreciate how this, uttered with a half-jocund
air, without significance, without seriousness,
vividly represented to me all that I had before
observed of the extreme superficiality of the
easy banaUty of the Italian of our day when he
ventures into the domain of thought.
I wish that you could hear what in this country
serves as topics of conversation and as theses
of the publicists. What is astonishing is not
the liberal or illiberal manner in which they
are handled, but the pettiness, the triviaUty

THE HOLY LAND 105
of the intellectual categories: "Religion should
not be made subservient to poUtics."
" The sovereignty of the Pope," " The best gov
emment." Such are the old scholastic questions
on which Italians with a little leaming will dis
course to you for hours, with a schoolboy's naivet6
at times amusing. They take these questions
seriously, like pupils in a rhetoric or philosophy
class who have a thesis to prepare on them. In
general, the intellectual development of the con
temporaries of this country (I speak of northem
Tuscany) is almost nil, and the grand esthetic sen
timent is found no longer among the instincts of
the people.
It is difficult to represent to what degree this
people is artistic and comprehends art. Go to
our expositions and notice the behaviour of our
provincials before the paintings ; they comprehend
nothing; it is another language for them. Now,
the poor people here are connoisseurs ; they love
these monuments ; they belong to them. I shall
speak to you later of some very curious traits.
Suppose a peasant, a workman passing before the
Tuileries : he will remain indifferent ; he has had

io6 THE HOLY LAND
no part in building it ; it is no affair of his. Here
it is very different. Pisa and Florence made war
upon each other for the possession of that famous
painting of Cimabue which was the event of his
century. Here the people very often say : bello or
bellissimo; the word beautiful rarely issues from
the mouth of one of our people.

LETTER XIV
Rome, March lo, 1850.
ISHALL leave Rome in about ten days. I
have decided to proceed to Venice by way of
the Legation, stopping at Ravenna, Bologna,
and Fenara. I shall probably be in Paris toward
the end of May. The complete deprivation of
sympathetic society is beginning to be very painful,
I assure you. The Pope made his entry on Fri
day, the twelfth, at four o'clock in the aftemoon.
The whole population was invited to show enthu
siasm, but the result was mediocre. You can
never understand to what degree the old regime
is detested and impossible in this country. A
strong party of the clergy holds advanced ideas,
and perhaps among these is to be found the most
ItaUan patriotism. The nobility and the bour
geoisie are naturaUy in favour of secularisation;
as regards the people, they slumber, except at
Rome. You can never imagine in what extreme
107

io8 THE HOLY LAND
degree there are to be found among the lower
classes here the primitive, the uncultured, the
brutal and the naive of human nature.
In a cUme so fecund, this lack of culture has its
beauty and its ideaUty. The result is a people
endowed with reUgion and the instinct of beauty —
a people wholly antique, creating their costumes
with an inimitable grace, improvising a village
decoration with admirably pure taste, knowing
how to distinguish better than you or I, a painting,
a statue or a church of defective style ; but a peo
ple absolutely strange to every idea of politics
or patriotism. Speak of the independence of
Italy to the unfortunates ! They do not know
what the independence of Italy means. I have
been told a great deal about Mazzini: he is a
very curious man, a pure-blooded Italian, a
Florentine of the fourteenth century, but an
assassin and tenorist to a degree that you cannot
conceive of. Besides, there is not a country in the
world where a reign of tenor is more easy of accom
plishment than here, for the inhabitants are
cowardly beyond all expression. The majority
will always be an unimportant thing in this

THE HOLY LAND 109
country, for it does not represent real strength,
and is merely a cipher. If there is an enigma
in the world, it is certainly the future of this
country,

LETTER XV
Rome, March 15, 1850.
IHAVE just spent a very agreeable evening,
during which I have learned a great deal.
A certain M. Spada, a very intelligent man
of purely critical tastes, has conceived the idea of
collecting, day by day, all the incidents and official
acts of the Roman revolution — ^that isto say, of the
last four years. With the aid of his commentary,
I have just perused this valuable collection, and
have succeeded, I believe, in grasping the true
physiognomy of this singular period. I avow to
you that I am forced to abstain from theoretical
judgments and to limit myself to grasping the
original side of characters and events. The prin
cipal and most difficult feature for us to seize, as
regards the method and operation of the curious
movement, concerns its local and municipal
details and the relation of man to man.
First, it is necessary to consider that Rome is a
no

THE HOLY LAND m
very smaU city. Out of these hundred and fifty
thousand inhabitants there are a good two-thirds
whose only occupation is breathing the air, and
warming themselves in the sun, who pay no atten
tion to those who are working in their interest, and
of whom, in fact, no more account is made than if
they did not exist. Then there are the clergy
and the religious bodies, who within certain limits
do not count for much more; so that, everything
taken into consideration, a movement of this
nature includes between five and six thousand per
sons, composing the bourgeoisie of the country,
knowing each other perfectly, calUng each other by
name, keeping up continual business relations,
having lived together since their childhood. Rome
from this point of view is perfectly represented by
a prefecture of twenty to thirty thousand souls.
There is, besides, a capital trait of ItaUan cities
which must be carefully reckoned with, a trait
which they have in common with the ancient
cities. When you visit an ancient city — Pompeii,
for example — ^you recognise that the ancients could
not Uve at home (the houses are small to an
unimaginable degree) , nor in the streets (they are

112 THE HOLY LAND
nanower than the nanow streets of Paris, and
there is only room for one vehicle to pass at a
time) ; they Uved in the Forum. When they had
nothing to do, they went to this spacious place,
which was a rendezvous for free men. Here
there were porticos, seats, the court of justice, the
bourse, the temples ; in fine, all pubUc life.
Well, it is exactly the same to this day in Italy.
In the middUng, or small cities, there is a piazza
which exactly represents the forum of the ancients,
sunounded by a loggia, a portico constructed
exactly according to the rules of Vitruvius. There
stands the communal palace, always a remarkable
edifice, where there are a museum of local paint
ings, archives, the post-office, which in this coun
try is always omamental, and the great fountain
with its architectural features. This piazza has
no name; it is the piazza, or the campo. They
speak of going to the piazza as in ancient times
they spoke of going to ihe forum.
In the great cities Uke Rome, Naples, or Flor
ence, instead of a piazza, there is a Corso — a long
street, larger than the others, which traverses the
city, contains all the stores of importance, and

THE HOLY LAND 113
where all rare and unique things are to be obtained.
In Naples there is a street called Toledo which is
a city within a city. They say, " I live in Toledo ;
I am going to Toledo." At Rome there is the
Corso; at Florence there is a large artery which
unites the piazza of Palazzo Vecchio and the
Duomo. It is in this long and spacious street
that all Ufe is concentrated, as in the Porte in the
East. When you have nothing to do, you go
there to sit down ; on Sunday you walk there for
hours; whenever there is any news, you run
there; whenever there is a demonstration to be
made, this street is decorated with flags, illumina
tions and inscriptions. Eveiything takes place
there. You cannot imagine how this fact gives a
physiognomy of its own to the affairs, and espe
ciaUy to the revolutions, of this country.
This was exactly the manner of the ancient
city, where everything occuned in a given place,
among a small number of men, who were ac
quainted with each other. There is nothing on
a large or universal scale, and but little question
of principle — ^what has a decisive and continuous
influence is incident. Rome has been govemed

114 THE HOLY LAND
by incident for three years past; aU this history
is but a series of incidents. A certain one or
ganises a demonstration, another tries to turn it
to his own particular end and profit, a third
tries to anest it, a fourth causes to be distributed
in the Corso printed bills (a method which has
been continuously employed, and which explains
perfectly this custom of influencing the individual
man) to forestall a conspiracy; still another
tries to inspire the pope with fear, and supplicates
him to show himself in public ; then Ciceruacchio
appears on the scene with the purpose of stabbing
him. We find ancient history superficial and almost
puerile, in the fact that it never presents aught
but the actions of certain private individuals
who play the chief rdle; so that history seems
like a game of chess between a small number of
players (a maxim of Machiavelli), and this is
what it is in fact. It is still so in this country.
Without doubt these men stand on a platform
of principles, but their mode of action is wholly
Italian and antique. I have been led to regard
this revolutionary bourgeoisie, whence alone

THE HOLY LAND 115
will come the political salvation of this country, as
being much stronger than it seemed to me at first.
Many rich and influential professional men, the
Corsini, the Campelli, etc., make common cause
with it, and the antipathy which exists in our
country between the bourgeoisie and the people
does not exist here — at least, on the part of the
bourgeoisie. The representative of this bour
geoisie, Mazzini, is, as you know, the purest type
of the democratic socialist. As they are on the
verge of a revolution, they do not examine each
other too closely, and offer the hand of friendship
whenever they see a revolutionary tendency.
Later on, distinctions will be made. As regards
a retum, even for a little while, of the old order
of things, that is absolutely impossible. Do not
beUeve anjrtliing at all that is reported conceming
the retum of the pope until you hear from an
official source that he is in the Vatican. And
even then, wait until the news is confirmed.
I no longer read the French newspapers; they
trouble me. Therefore, give me the most ele
mentary news.

LETTER XVI Rome, March 31.
I THINK that I shaU undertake the trip to
Lombardy and Venice. I have just received
news of a supplementary sum of five hundred
francs, which is granted me by the Minister, with
the expectation of an indemnity, if that should
not suffice. Who knows whether the oppor
tunity wiU be offered later on? How can we
defer anything to the future, when time goes by
so quickly? And why should I leave to chance
such an advantage as that of seeing Venice?
I now understand well, I think, the three central
and southern portions of Italy; I shall see Pied
mont. How painful would it not have been to
me to miss so original a topography as that
of Venice and Lombardy ! And, besides, I shall
find there the seat of my Avenoistic philosophy,
of which I desire to write the history, and on
which my ideas have been very much broadened
116

THE HOLY LAND 117
whUe in Italy. This wiU be the history of the
incredulity of the middle ages.
Now, the two centres of incredulity in the
fourteenth and fifteenth centuries were Florence
and Venice. The undevotional and profane char
acter of Florence is what is astonishing at the
first glance. During this new joumey I shaU pass
again through Florence, while taking the route of
Perugia, Umbria and Arezzo. Thence I shall
reach Venice via Bologna and Fenara. From
Venice I shaU proceed to Padua, another important
centre, where I shaU devote some days to study.
Thence I shaU go to Verona and MUan, and from
there to Turin and France. There are many
railroads in Lombardy, and travelUng is easy.
It is said that the pope will positively return
on the twelfth or fifteenth. You know what is
to be thought of this definitive return announced
definitively so many times. Believe it when
you hear the official news that he is installed in
the Vatican, and then wait until it is confirmed
before you trust it. What you tell me of the
disorganisation of education gives me pain;
however deserving of criticism our system may

ii8 THE HOLY LAND
have been, it was better than the beotisme which
is growing and opening so vast a field to super
stition and credulity. I do not dread the clerical
system of education; it is rather adapted to
form a liberal-minded generation by reaction, and
by attracting attention to subjects which the
wholly profane university education neglects.
But what I do dread is that stupidity which will
become so dense from the moment that all
motive for study is removed. However, all this
cannot fail to place our party in the more glorious
light — our party which is destined to triumph
sooner or later — for the modern spirit shall
not die.

LETTER XVII
Rome, April 14, 1850.
IHAVE never regretted your absence so much
as I did on the occasion of the strange scene
which we witnessed the day before yester
day ; I have never seen a spectacle more strange,
more original or more full of instruction on
human affairs in general, and the affairs of this
country in particular. I expected that there
would be a cold reception, accompanied by some
ofiicial demonstration, arranged and paid for
as in the c^se of the carnival. Judge of my
surprise when, standing on the steps of the church
of St. John Lateran, I found myself, at the mo
ment of the pope's entry, in the midst of a perfect
crowd of energumens uttering shouts, nay roar
ings of "Viva Pio Nono!" fUnging themselves
on the ground and crying, " Benedizione ! " — a
total prey to the most violent and savage enthusi
asm. It was stUl worse in the poor and nanow
119

I20 THE HOLY LAND
streets through which the cortege passed. I
followed it for a distance in order to observe the
various phases of the spectacle. Here the aspect
of the populace was trtUy startling. Frenzied
men of the people threw themselves under the
horses in the streets, holding aloft their naked
arms and crying, "Be our leader. Holy Father,
be our leader ! "
It was at this moment that I understood the
scenes of Naples and the great popular massacres
and epidemics of the middle ages. A word, a
signal wrongly interpreted, and this crowd would
rush to murder and incendiarism as to a holy
work. The women, especiaUy, groaned Uke bac
chantes, and waving their rags, shouted: "Viva
la Madonna!" "Viva Pio Nono!" — their eyes,
meanwhUe, starting from their heads, like wild
beasts. The strange disorganisation of the human
being in these moments of fanaticism (for this is
the technical term) is a frightful thing; you are
familiar with those caricatures which the ancients,
and after them the modems, have made of the
human type, for the purpose of certain reUef

THE HOLY LAND 121
ornamentations ; well, here they are. The officers
who followed the pope were cold with fright, as
one of them afterward told me with great naivet6.
I did not indulge so much as a frown, for the
sUghtest sign of ineverence would have caused
a man to be disembowelled. The republicans,
who know this people better than we, were
aware of this, and were in complete echpse on
this day. At the Square of St. Peter's, the
respectable and moderate papists had assembled,
and the demonstration here was less savage ; as all
the foreigners were gathered here, this is prob
ably the only feature that will be described and
featured in the newspapers. What a people !
I have never before understood so strongly the
bUnd impulse and terrible brute force of the
masses. In a month hence, if Pius the Ninth, overthrown
by a revolution (a happily impossible hypothesis) ,
were condemned to die on the scaffold, these very
people would gaze upon him, pass by and insult
him. And a thousand armed men in red uni
forms could tenorize them.
In the evening the scene was not less pictu-

122 THE HOLY LAND
resque. In all human things there is but an im
perceptible shade which separates the ugly from
the beautiful, the odious from the subUme.
The same instinct has inspired on one side
Lamartine, on the other de Sade; on one side,
Jesus and the gospels, on the other the Inquisi
tion, massacres, crimes. This people who have
appeared hideous to me in the manifestation of
their enthusiasm, I have found gracious, fuU of
verve, warmth and plastic energy in their fetes.
I have given careful attention to these exterior
folUes, illuminations a giorno, etc., only in so
far as they illustrate a moral side. This people
possesses to an incredible degree the talent of
ornamentation ; they display a variety of means, a
grace of invention that you cannot conceive of,
and everyTvhere and in eveiything a purity, an
admirable simplicity of taste.
Purity of taste among the people! In our
country peasant taste is synonymous with bad
taste. Evidently these people have not merely
sought in aU this an occasion of unfurling their
banners to the breeze, of draping their houses and
their windows, of Ughting their lamps. In this

THE HOLY LAND 123
country, above all others, the lamps seem to burn
for all the world.
It is to be bome in mind that, as the reaction
aries have told me, the Mazzini f^tes were more
gorgeous still. F^tes are one of the actual needs
of this people (read the history of Florence and
the curious institutions in this regard). They
made it a study to surpass their neighbours in
ingenious inventions, and had a manufactory of
fabrics for these occasions. Fine uniforms, grand
corteges, etc. — all those things that would not
tum our bourgeois rationalism aside one step,
enrapture them. If Pius the Ninth had made his
entrance without drum and trumpets, people
would now feel very cold toward him. But how
can you help adoring a man who shows you such
fine things ? Beside me at the Lateran were some
Roman men and women who fell in a swoon at
this sight, crying out, "Non si puo descrivere!"
However this may have been, Mazzini was of
no account for a quarter of an hour; but let him
retum some day with fine red uniforms, and give
the people eight days of f^tes, and he will be the
hero of the hour. One of the reasons for the

124 THE HOLY LAND
antipathy of the people toward the French in
former times was their timid and reserved
manner, their simplicity of style and lack of
extravagance. This is always taken here for
weakness and imbecility.
"7 Francesi sono troppi buoni!" was the ex
pression on the lips of all. The sombre colour of
the uniforms of the tirailleurs of Vincennes, and
their lack of extravagance, caused them to be
regarded as poor lords. Such is this people, my
friend; this is sad but curious. At this time it
is said that our own nation does not look very
benignly on its president. But let us wait.
If he sunounded himself with the escort and
prestige of the other Napoleon, things would,
perhaps, be the same as at Rome.

LETTER XVIII
Rome, April 21, 1850.
MON DIEU! No letters from you yet!
What is the matter ? I leave to-monow
for Perugia, and for a long time hence I
shall not be able to hear from you. How much
all this disturbs me ! Address your next letters,
poste restante, Venice. Since the pope has come,
Rome pleases me no more. This ruin founded
on a ruin had an attractive look; but this small,
trivial life, this gossip of the Roman prelacy,
these vivid fooleries spoU the general effect; to
sum up, I shaU have seen Rome at an interesting
period, sad, deserted, gloomy and without life.
For the sake of artistic effect, it is not desirable
that Rome should enter the cunent of modem
life. Therein she wiU never play a capital part;
she wUl never be more than a small centre like
Turin and Florence ; a fact that would be, esthet-
icaUy, a great inconvenience. An assembly de-
125

126 THE HOLY LAND
liberating at the Capitol on the petty interests
of Italian municipalism will always be ridiculous.
Papal Rome had the air of a sepulchre, with
a very picturesque effect; but if papal Ufe
became too active, the physiognomy of the city
would be much altered, and the damage very
serious.

LETTER XIX
Bologna, May n, 1850.
BEHOLD me already weU advanced on my
long joumey; the most difficult and the
only dangerous portion is over. For the
past eighteen days and more I have unceasingly
travelled over these great roads, making eight or
ten leagues a day, after the manner of this coun
try — ^the most agreeable manner in the world
in a country where one loves to pause at every
step. You do not really know Italy unless you
have travelled over this interesting route leading
from Rome to Ancona and the Legations.
Again I must repeat to you what I have said a
thousand times: the regions which I have just
traversed do not at all resemble those of which I
have already spoken to you, and I shall exagger
ate nothing in telling you that in less than eight
or ten days I have seen pass before me three
topographies at least as distinct as France,
127

128 THE HOLY LAND
England, and Germany ; or taking the Greek world
as an example, Athens, Sparta, and Boeotia. If
there is a striking contrast in the world, it is that
of Umbria with the Marches ; on the other hand,
the Marches differ most radically from Romagna.
Umbria is too much neglected by travellers and
by history. This country has its individuaUty,
slightly approaching the Tuscan individuaUty, it
is true (above all, that of Siena, which makes a
figure apart in the Tuscan movement), but very
distinct, nevertheless. Spoleto, Foligno, Spello,
and, above all, Perugia and Assisi, are the charac
teristic points of this development. Umbria is
still more esthetic than Tuscany. Since I have
seen Perosa and Assisi, Florence and Pisa appear
to me almost a Boeotia. All that had struck me
regarding the artistic genius of Italy, appears to
me now only childishness. It must be remem
bered that the great school of Italy, that which is
wrongly called the Roman School, was born two
generations ago at Perugia, and that it ought really
to be called the Perugian School. Raphael him
self is wholly Perugian, and can be understood only
at Perugia. The misfortune of Umbria is that

THE HOLY LAND 129
it has been despoiled of its fruits, first by the
popes and cardinals, who carried off its artists and
its principal masterpieces to Rome; then more
especially by the French, who, after the treaty
of Tolentino, laid violent hands on all the paintings
of the country, leaving behind them only the
meanest trash. All these have since been re
tumed, but they have been kept at Rome. What
a singular method that was of making up for
plastic impotence — ^loading up wagons with the
masterpieces of the vanquished !
Assisi is an incomparable region, and I have
been recompensed for the truly meritorious pains
which were necessary in order to visit it. Imagine
the grand popular legend of the middle ages com
plete in two churches built in close companion
ship by Giotto and Cimabue ! The city is still
more ancient than its monuments. It is of the
middle ages absolutely; whole streets, perfectly
empty, have remained, stone for stone, exactly
what they were in the fourteeenth century. Six
or seven churches, almost as curious as Saint
Francis, make this city a unique spot in the world.
The profusion of art surpasses all that can be

I30 THE HOLY LAND
imagined. The exterior, the interior, the doors,
the windows, the girders, the chimneys — ^all are
painted or sculptured. Street painting, frequent
throughout Italy, is the characteristic trait of
Umbria . The mystic and slightly rationalist char
acter of the Umbrian genius (in which consists its
inferiority compared to the intellectual Tuscan
art) is especially perceptible in this city, still full
of the spirit of the second Christ of the middle
ages. We shall speak of all this ; the present condition
of the country reminds one but too strongly
of the middle ages. They rob and murder
one another in broad daylight, and this is re
garded as the simplest thing in the world. We
have encountered bands of from ten to twelve
brigands, happily in the hands of the Tedeschi;
these unfortunates, captured a few leagues from
here, looked at our carriage with iU-disguised
appetite, a fact that did not prevent them from
asking us for la botteglia. The women of the
troop, who were allowed to wander here and
there with incredible freedom, exhibited a foolish
sort of gayety.

THE HOLY LAND 131
The repression of crime is certainly the most
defective feature of the social organisation of this
country. The State is not considered as exer
cising the functions of a public avenger of crime.
When one has been robbed, it is necessary to insti
tute a personal action, at one's own expense, and
as the idleness and carelessness of the judicial
authorities passes all belief, each one is content to
be robbed once, without being ruined anew by
pursuing the robber. As regards murder, it is as
it was in the middle ages. The assassin disap
pears, and everything ends there. Besides, all the
sympathy of the people is with him, because it is
always supposed that he has only avenged him
self ; every one tries to aid his escape. The citizen
who would anest a criminal would actually expose
himself to a penalty, for he has no right to interfere
with the liberty of another; this is reserved to the
authorities. You will see that it is the system of
the middle ages — ^the individual man being con
stituted defender of his property and his life, and
having no recourse for defence and revenge out
side of his own family.
The Marches are the Boeotia of Italy. There

132 THE HOLY LAND
the legends are as heavy as the paving-stones;
there art has produced nothing. Loretto is
ridiculous ; their Holy House wiU never be anything
else than a great gilded falsehood. Ancona once
passed, one finds another condition of things ; art
no longer appears in profusion as on the other side
of the Apennines, but the population is active and
industrious, and the social condition much better;
distinguished and cultivated persons of the French
type, very rare in Rome, are to be met with in the
small cities. I had been truly informed that the
Legations were infinitely more cultured than
Rome. Here at Bologna I find myself in the
midst of a society very analogous to ours, and the
antipodes of Rome. It is only here that one can
understand the absurdity of the subjection
of this country to the pope, and of its dependence
on Rome. The history of its subjection is
not weU understood; the fact is that it only
dates back to 1815, and there is an incessant
protest against it from the country. We shall
speak of that and of Ravenna also — Ravenna,
where I remained five days, and which was
infinitely instructive to me.

LETTER XX
Venice, May 23, 1850.
YOUR political affairs preoccupy me singu
larly. It is impossible for me, at such a
distance, and limited to the news repro
duced in such bizane fashion bythe journals of this
country, to form an exact idea of the situation of
affairs. You cannot imagine the truly burlesque
inexactitude with which French affairs are pre
sented in the foreign newspapers. The Tyrolese
papers alone give me a few scraps with some reason
in them. The others surpass all belief, and make it
easy for us to understand what canards we swallow
on our side, when we read of foreign affairs from
second- and third-hand sources. It must be said
that these laughable blunders are not intentional,
or the result of a systematic animosity, but simply
of ignorance and of the impossibility of under
standing the machinery of a foreign system of gov
emment. What you told me, a few days ago, con-
133

134 THE HOLY LAND
cerning the repose and content to be found by
trusting one's self to the immutable truth of nature,
in the midst of the instability of human things,
conesponded perfectly to a sentiment that I
have experienced a thousand times myself.
I never set my thoughts on special studies with
out arriving, in a quarter of an hour, at a painful
and unphilosophical state of irritation. Then
by a sort of "About, face!" an evolution takes
place in my mind with a rare uniformity; I
plunge into the peaceful ocean of illusion. History
is for me what reason is for you. By history,
you know, I do not understand poUtical history
in the ordinary sense of the word, but the human
mind, its evolution, its accompUshed phases.
Here also are seen the immovable and absolute;
here also are the beautiful and the true acquired.
One of the most charming features of the Italian
character is something in the nature of what we
are considering-^a sort of alibi, which prevents
despair from ever becoming extreme; a poetic
imagination like that of Silvio. "Oh, after all,
what remains to me is sufficiently beautiful — this
sky, this sea, these verdurous isles, this unimagin-

THE HOLY LAND 135
able harmony of nature and art." With this
kind of reasoning they console themselves for
having to live under leaden roofs,* which, let me
say in passing, would be the pleasantest apart
ments in Venice, if they were only to let.
The religious patriotism of the women, at once
gentle, sad and resigned, has a special sweetness
and charm. I could tell you some touching in
stances of this. It is by reUgion, above all, but by
a noble religion of the heart, not the gross form of
the South, that this people is distinguished. How
charming the people of Venice are ! How strong
and how profoundly intelligent, how poetic and
how active at the same time, what a superb com
bination of human nature ! It is the same now as
in former times. Venice is perhaps the city of all
the world which has changed the least, physically
and morally ; on the other hand, aU around it has
changed, and it has faUen because the age was
no longer adapted to it. Venice is the most strik
ing example of the inemediable decadence of
some of the fairest things in humanity ; Venice is
*The prisons were called "les plombs" (the leads) because
they were roofed with sheet-lead.

136 THE HOLY LAND
certainly one of the loveliest flowers which have
bloomed in the garden of humanity.
Venice, withal, shall never rise again. She
could Uve only on condition of being autonomous.
Now, the tendency being toward agglomeration,
the autonomy of a city, the city of antiquity and
of the Italy of the middle ages, has become
impossible. Besides, Venice had the alternative
of becoming rich or of perishing. Now all the
efforts to restore her splendour wiU be useless.
Prosaic Trieste is much better off; and, indeed,
it is not desirable for the general well-being of
humanity that real advantages should be sacrificed
to historical considerations. It is as if one, with
the zeal of an antiquarian, resumed the use of the
Roman streets, the traces of which are still to be
found in grand and spacious avenues. Life has
taken its character, and traced its path, in another
direction — it must not be disturbed. These
antique things thus remain with their poetry, their
charm, their memories. What Venice reveals,
above all, is the spirit of the city, the contact,
course and solidarity of generations, and what is
meant by the founding of institutions and man-

THE HOLY LAND 137
ners. The primitive constitutions of Venice equal
in poetry and harmony all that is offered by the
purest Greek origins. Venetian art, however, is
less pure than Tuscan art. The source is not
pure; there are reminders of Constantinople and
the Arabian style. There are delightful fancy,
and a caprice that is full of charm. But it is not
beauty, pure and without method, as in Pisa or
the Parthenon. The wholly patriotic religion of
Saint Mark and the artistic religion of Tuscany
are characterised at every step in an indescribable
manner.

LETTER XXI
Padua, June 6, 1850.
I AM no longer in Italy; this country has no
longer a physiognomy; art has vanished;
it is France again. The farther I depart
from Venice the more strongly it appears to
me like an isolated region, without analogy with
what sunounds it. I believed in the existence
of a Venetia — that is to say, in a country con
stituting a well-characterised whole, and having
its highest expression in Venice. This does not
exist. In order to live, Venice needed provinces
on terra firma dependent upon her ; but this does
not mean that there existed between her and
these provinces any tie of parentage. Venice
is the lagoon. All that sunounds it, Mestre,
Fucina, Chioggia, and those innumerable islands,
Malamocco, Murano, etc., which encircle the
islets forming the city — all this constitutes a world
apart, and, let me say in passing, this world has
138

THE HOLY LAND 139
nothing in common with the Italian world. The
series of the Doges and Dukes of Venice is also
very curious. These clear-cut figures, revealing
the man of force and action, without elevation or
ideal, have nothing in common with that aban
doned type of real Italy which is sometimes indo
lent, but more often grandiose. You would take
them for Slavs or Hungarians. In fact, Venice,
as you know, has numerous ties with lUycia,
although its origin is certainly completely GaUic.
And as regards institutions, what is there in com
mon between this imperturbable people of Venice,
and that whoUy Athenian turbulence of Florence,
which changes its forms of government at the
proposition of the first newcomer, after half an
hour's deliberation ? And as regards art, how can
we love this crude realism, these commonplace
heads of Titian, these heavy heads of Tintoretto,
after having contemplated the ravishing ideals of
the Tuscan and Perugian schools ?
The Venetians are, above all, sailors, but sailors
of a rare kind. Instead of that pale and matter-of-
fact type of the man of business found in Holland,
you behold a man living under a beautiful sky, on

I40 THE HOLY LAND
the most delightful site in the world, leading a Ufe
full of energy, grace and beauty. The result is
that here is a Uttle world which has nothing in
conimon with its surroundings. It is an inhabited
lagoon which has civilised itself in its own fashion.
As for Padua and this country in general, it is
exactly of the type of Bologna and the Legations
with somewhat of inferiority — an inferiority strik
ing and incontestable as regards art which is still
so powerful and beautiful in this portion of the
eastem declivity of the Apennines.
I had come to Padua on account of its ancient
school of leaming After a careful examination,
this has fallen much in my esteem; it is flatly
scholastic, devoid of the modem spirit, holding
to the old scholastic follies and the physics of
1600 and 1620, having chairs "De Generatione et
Corruptione," " De Coelo et Mundo," etc., as in
1640 and 1650. Its condition is most deplorable;
it is that of veritable intellectual cretinism. No
encouragement, no progress, not a man of ability
in evidence. At Bologna, on the contrary, I
found distinguished men. As regards the con
dition of this country I say nothing, for I do not

THE HOLY LAND 141
want to write under the influence of anger. I con
fess that all that I have dreamed has been sur
passed ; can you believe it ? Moreover, it is rather
the stupidity and nullity of the govemment than
its features of violence that exasperate me.
Violence has a certain air of fatality to which one
becomes resigned without anger, just as one is not
irritated by sickness or death. But stupidity !
. . . This quite unhinges me.

LETTER XXII
Milan, June 14, 1850.
ALL who have visited Milan use a single word
to explain the impression produced by this
great city. From Montaigne to our own
time, all travellers without exception have been
struck by the French aspect of the capital of
Lombardy. This physiognomy of the region is character
istic to an incredible degree. The language, the
customs, are absolutely our own; the city is
entirely new; there is in it absolutely nothing of
the artistic; the appearance of the merchants'
quarters is that of the Rue Saint-Honore; the aris
tocratic quarter recalls, or rather identically repro
duces, la Chaussee -d'Antin. The grand artistic
palace of Rome, of Tuscany, of Venice, has disap
peared; nothing remains except splendid man
sions built in the notably characterless style of our
large hdtels. The government edifices are Uke
ours, great buildings of artificial architecture,
142

THE HOLY LAND 143
theatrical in style, decorated, rather than painted,
containing sumptuous apartments. I have never
yet thoroughly understood why the most triffing
little palace of Rome, Florence, Bologna or Venice
compels attention — ^is a monument, in a word,
although we never Uft our eyes to admire the m®st
superb edifice of Paris. Certainly, there are a
thousand buUdings in Paris, grander, richer, more
omamental than these palaces. The latter are
all dUapidated, uminhabited, even uninhabitable,
windowless, having a few planks for floors — ^veri
table shanties, in a word. But they are works of
art, with an individual physiognomy, and this is
what is revealed to whoever gazes upon them,
though he does not know exactly why.
The contrast presented by Milan makes it oppor
tune to analyse its causes. As regards the sub
ject of art, the same must be said of its churches
as of its btdldings ; art in Milan, in a word, is no
longer an3rthing more than theatrical and con
ventional decoration, as with us. But, you wUl
say, does this city, which Uke Florence, Venice,
etc., has had its originaUty, its history, possess no
vestiges of this originality, and does it now present

144 THE HOLY LAND
merely the vague and general type known as the
French type? This can be explained. First of
all, there is not in Milan one stone left upon
another which dates further back than Bar
barossa, thanks to the conscientious manner in
which this emperor carried out his oath in this
regard. Again, the fury of building is pushed to
its extreme limit here. Further, Milan has been
an official city for half a century. You cannot
realise how ever5rthing here bears the imprint of
Napoleon and of the Kingdom of Italy, Napoleon
rebuilt everything, palaces, triumphal arches, etc.
But a Uttle more, and Milan would have become
another Rue de Rivoli, with accompanying col
umns in front of the monuments (an idea wholly
French and entirely ignored by the ancient
Italians). There is another objection which has
long preoccupied me, and which is now explained :
if Lombardy is scarcely Italian at all, and is with
out character or originaUty, how happens it that
this country has become the centre of the Italian
movement, the true representative of contem
porary Italy — ^this country, which, together with
Piedmont (still less ItaUan), has produced aU the

THE HOLY LAND 145
great men who represent the modem spirit of
Italy — ^Monti, Manzoni, PelUco, Beccaria, Rosmini,
Gioberti, etc.? But it may be truly said that
these men are not Italians; they are moderns;
they are of our country, they are of us who have
no other country than the Idea. They are moulded
in the type of that ItaUan-French society that
Napoleon conceived, and realised. For I repeat
that the Kingdom of Italy has remained the type
of this country. From thp hour that Italy entered
upon the period of literature and reflective art, she
was to have her great representatives in this coun-
ry ; but in her grand naive epoch she was obliged
to submit to local influences.
The proper aim of our culture is to render prac
ticaUy insignificant these differences, thanks to a
system which assigns a very feeble r61e to local
influences. Take Canova, for example, the great
reflective artist, who Uved in a forgotten corner of
BeUuna, Trevisa, etc., and who counts for nothing
in the naive development of Italy. Certainly,
a Canova, bom in this country in the fifteenth cen
tury, remaining unattached to local tradition, is
as true a representative of modem culture and the
modem spirit as can be found throughout Italy.

LETTER XXIII
Turin, May 21, 1850.
SUNDAY moming I crossed the frontiers of
Briangon, and although I succumbed at
Grenoble to the temptation of the Grande
Chartreuse, I shaU be in Paris again toward the
end of May. FareweU, then ; it wUl be hard for me
to write to you on the eve of seeing you. Few
pleasures in my life have been as real as that which
this charming perspective causes me. How grati-
fjdng it will be to find myself again with you, when
we have so much to say to each other.

146

LETTER XXIV
Beyrouth, November 9, i860.
IF you wish to see the strangest assemblage of
charming and sordid things, natural beauties
the charm of which it is impossible to describe,
an incomparable sky, an admirable sea, the most
beautiful momitains in the world, the dirtiest and
most poverty-stricken cities that it is possible to
dream of, a race sordid in its ensemble, but con
taining deUghtful types, a society anived at the
last degree of disorganisation which it is possible
to attain without achieving the savage state —
come here. I assure you that nothing more
curious or more striking can be seen anywhere.
The voyage is nothing, provided one is not
too incUned to sea-sickness. The average of
unpleasant days at sea in the worst season is from
two to eight. Here there is absolute safety for us.
The difficulty of horseback riding vanishes; you
go on foot, or take a mule, and the poorest rider
147

148 THE HOLY LAND
runs no risk; this is the method that I have
adopted. If, therefore, neither your work, nor
your responsibiUties, nor your duties bind you too
firmly to Paris, come.
My mission is getting on perfectly ; we are going
to make excavations on a large scale, in company
with the army. The naval authorities are also
very obliging, and have, with great kindness,
placed a steamer at my disposal. It was desired
to make short sojourns during the winter, and to
sot up establishments all along the coast ; the pre
text for this has been found. Fuad is very well.
Fuad and Ismail are men; the rest of the Turks
are stupid or ignoble. This country is lost to
Turkey without hope of redemption. But what
will become of it? This is one of the most
puzzUng problems in the world when it is examined
at close range. The strange r61e that one plays
here is alone worth the voyage. You cannot
imagine how many things of the past are explained
when you have once seen this country.
Henriette endures the fatigue of the expedition
very well. She will write to you by the next
post. Excuse me this time for being so brief.

THE HOLY LAND 149
These days I am greatly worried in reaching a
decision in regard to Compile and the child. She
will tell you what we have decided upon. Try to
come with her; this will be charming. Lebanon
and the sea that stretches before our eyes will
banish all cares and cure all ills.
Mount Lebanon is the most enchanting thing
in the world. We climbed it the day before yes
terday. The charming and the grandiose have
never been so admirably united. Imagine the
smiling Alps, redolent of perfumes, covered to the
top (save some peaks) with charming villages, or
at least what were once such, for all these are now
only sections of walls. It is impossible to have
any idea of the devastation of this country. All
that has been said falls short of the truth. It is
the paradise of God devastated by the frightful
Tartar demon. Happily aU the world now seems
agreed to drive him out. England veered around
some days ago; Lord Dufferin is now more re
solved than the Christians, or than General de
Beaufort himself, who, moreover, is the most
anti-Turkish of the French representatives here.
Come and see us ; you will be with us at Djebail

I50 THE HOLY LAND
and Saida, whence we shall strike off into the
mountain. Do not expect great luxury; though
we now manage, since we have become acquainted
with the resources of the country, to live com
fortably and, from some points of view, delight
fuUy. Bring an elastic saddle for the mule, a soft
bed, strong and not sharp-pointed boots, a large
rubber coat, made Uke a capuchin's cloak, a
travelUng blanket, a waterproof vaUse, flannel
underclothing, and besides these, nothing differ
ent from your ordinary apparel. I believe that
this voyage wiU do you much good. Journeys
here in no manner resemble those in our country
of raihoads, caniages and hotels. TravelUng
here occupies and absorbs one most completely.

LETTER XXV
Amschid, January 25, 1861.
WE are all well, though Henriette's health
during these latter days has not been
altogether good. She is now recovered.
It is a little colder here than usual, and the old
men declare that in twenty years they have never
seen snow so near the sea. The snows cover the
summits of the second range above us, about a
league distant. Thus are produced incomparable
effects of Ught by the rays of the sun. In the
sunlit, snowy hoUows, sheltered from the wind, it
is deUghtful. I saw a real marvel a few days ago,
the vUlage of Maschnaka, an admirable ruin of the
remotest antiquity, whose grandiose character
amazed me. Imagine a world of giants and heroes ;
Homer's Troy must have been like that. The
sunounding country is also incomparable. This
is the valley of the River Adonis, if one may apply
the word " valley " to a precipice more than a thou-
151

152 THE HOLY LAND
sand feet deep, the ridge of which is but a few
htmdred feet wide. The permanent snows of
winter begin there. On the horizon gleam the
white domes of Aphaca. The contrast of the
cold winds and the sun is something indescribable.
This life in its most contrasting forms seizes and
penetrates you. Two Uttle glaciers in depressions
where the sun never penetrates are another de
Ughtful feature. On the whole, the valley of the
River Adonis is the most striking thing that I have
seen thus far. One can imagine nothing more
romantic and more melancholy. It is truly a
country where we may weep for the dead gods.
The sea vistas, westerly from the Wadi, have an
extraordinary effect.
Semar-Gebail gave me the idea of an ancient
fortress built in the primitive Satumian style.
These old piles of Kronos, embossed with great
blocks of stones, are very numerous here. I am
now very well informed about the old GibUte style.
The Tower of Byblos is truly one of the oldest
buildings in the world, and the prototype of those
of Solomon at Jerusalem. I shall establish this by
decisive investigations. We must, however, resign

THE HOLY LAND 153
ourselves to the fact that this ancient architecture,
Uke that of the Hebrews, was devoid of inscrip
tions, and I think that the custom of inscribing
monuments at Byblos did not begin until the open
ing of the Greek epoch.
The tombs (the ancient ones are also devoid of
inscriptions) are of a very grandiose character;
some of them seem like the giants of a primitive
world. Greek inscriptions are found in abundance,
and some of these are of capital importance. We
have a very curious Astarte, and a beautiful
Greek Venus of the Greco-Roman epoch. Our
fleuron is a lion in bas-relief, said to be a
miniature copy of one from the palaces of
Nineveh. Our coUection of Greek inscriptions may be use
fully appUed to the study of religious history.
This excellent instrument of historical investiga
tion has not been sufficiently employed, though
in our day and with our principles of criticism it
is the only infalUble one, Saida will fumish me
with more specimens for museum purposes, but I
doubt that it will fumish as many historical solu
tions.

154 THE HOLY LAND
More and more I recognise the near ancestors
of the Hebrews in the GibUtes, a patriarchal
people, little addicted to trading, sacerdotal,
governed by senator priests (presbuteroi). God
is named here. El Adonai, Schaddi, as among
the Hebrews. In style the monuments bear a
most striking analogy to those of Jerusalem (ex
cluding lifeUke sculpture, foUage, ornamentation
and inscriptions). Byblos appears to me more
and more like one Jerusalem which has been
vanquished by another. Adonai has conquered
Adonis. The combat between these two cults
still goes on actively in Lebanon. The scrupu
lous and infinite care which the Christian zealots
have taken to destroy the temples which' crown
these summits is really curious. Everything has
been broken into little bits, but these fragments
are stiU strewn over the soil.
The idolatry of Lebanon seems to be the type
of idolatry conceived by the fathers of the church
and the middle ages. I had considered this a
puerile type until I saw it in this country. To
conclude, the country has never recovered itself;
it has been killed by Christianity; it was already

THE HOLY LAND 155
in ruins when the Moslems arrived ; the Christians
finished it.
A sad thing that must be said, and that I shall
only say between us, is that this country cannot
be civilised except by slavery. Free labour will
never produce anything great, for the simple
reason that no result of toil is worth as much to
a man here as the pleasure of living and simply
doing nothing. All things considered, even with
us labour is inforced, because the man who will
not work is condemned to death. It is not
exactly the same here. The only slightly flour
ishing epoch in the history of this country was
that of the Emir Bechir who overwhelmed it
with taxes. It was necessary to work to be
able to pay them, and to pay to be allowed to
Uve; therefore, people worked.
It is only in the East that one can understand
the pleasure of Uving for the sake of Uving. They
Uve in a fuUer sense than we, in the fact that they
economise Ufe, while we greedily squander it.
Hence their utter indifference to the accessories
of life, well-being, consideration of others, etc.
Hence, also, an equaUty of which we can have no

156 THE HOLY LAND
idea. The millionaire who entertains us differs
in nothing from the poor people of the village,
or from his relations who are his servants and
ours. The other day we received a visit from
some ladies living on the mountain; their negro
slaves entered with them, sat down beside them
on the divan, and took their leave with them.
Were it not for their colour we should have taken
them for our visitors' daughters.

LETTER XXVI
Amschid, January 30, 1861.
I WRITE only a line, for I am despatching my
report by this mail. But I do not desire
that you should again accuse me of negligence
and forgetfulness. Forget you, old friend ! Is
it possible that you can thus give rein to your
uneasy imagination ! My remembrance of you
is the dearest and most actual of all. It would
have been a treat to see you again. It is true,
however, that up to now you would not have
had very fine weather. Winter here is excep
tional; it is exactly the weather of our April and
May, not cold but terribly windy; for the last
fifteen days we have had much rain. This
hampers our labours considerably. I leave Ams
chid on the seventh or eighth of next month, to
concentrate all my efforts for a month on Saida.
I often think of your fine book, of the astonish
ment that it will cause and the misunderstandings
157

iS8 THE HOLY LAND
that it cannot fail to provoke. The objections
which M. Chevreul and others raise seem to me
to resemble much those which the Orientalists
of the school raised against my Semitic Languages.
Scholasticism is the necessary form of almost
all minds. Fine minds which escape it are Uable
to scolding from all sides. But they are the only
ones who in the end obtain the attention of the
pubUc, for they alone are able to give to their
works an entirely human character.
I am delighted that you see Michelet. What
I have just read of La Mer in the Revue has
enchanted me. Have this volume sent to me
by M. Darasse, Conti Way, No. 2. What pro
found truth there is in his naturaUst as well
as in his historical fancies. Tell him that he
must come to Syria when he wishes to paint the
real flower. The splendour of flowers is under
stood only here. No, Solomon in all his glory
was not clothed Uke one of these. Above all,
the cyclamen, both leaf and flower, is a master
piece that almost throws one into ecstasies.
Imagine the most exquisite black lace over
charming green velvet — such is the leaf. The

THE HOLY LAND 159
flov/er has a naivet6 that is adorable. The
orange-trees and citron-trees in bud are also most
delightful. The birds of this country are beauti
ful; the small ones are of the wag-tail species, full
of prettiness and grace.
The other day on the mountains I saw some
eagles in their eyrie, then soaring in circles over the
abyss. The scene was of a calm and savage
majesty, whoUy bibUcal in character. The sea
is a strange thing here. It would not please
Michelet. It is completely inorganic. A rocky
and sandy coast always washed in the same part ;
not a shred of seaweed, not a marine plant ; very
few shells, nothing of that multiple life of our
ocean coasts. The traces of man's handiwork,
bome everywhere by the rocks of the coast,
produce a strange sensation in us, habituated
as we are to the shores of Brittany. But the
general effects of the landscape, the tints of even
ing, the storms, etc., have no equal anywhere.

LETTER XXVII
Beyrout, February n, 1861.
IDO not wish you to accuse me again of for
getting you, though the fatigues and cares of
all kinds imposed upon me by this difficult
affair would excuse me in the eyes of a friend
less susceptible than you. I have left with a
Uvely regret my kingdom of Byblos. During
two months I have reigned supreme ; I have seen
a comer of the world wholly attentive to my
service, eager to obtain my smile and anticipate
my desires. Up to the end, I have not been
anested by any difficulty ; I have done all that I
wished, as if I were in a country where there was
no other law than my will. I shall not find it
thus in the future, and I cannot think without
dismay of the time when it will be necessary
to travel on foot, follow nanow pathways, and
yield obedience without question, to a thousand
exigences, a thousand rules.
160

THE HOLY LAND

lOl

One is only free here on condition that he is a
stranger. On the whole, even the native is
exceedingly free. There is not a single poUce
man, not a single preventive measure, no restric
tion of natural Uberty, and withal, there are fewer
crimes against the person and property than
elsewhere. Nothing can equal the safety of this
country, outside of periods of crisis. Professional
robbery, that fruit of civilisation, does not exist
here. A woman may cross the Lebanon without
being molested for a moment.
The day before yesterday I saw the patriarch
of the Maronites. He is a charming type, the
masterpiece of the combination of ItaUan educa
tion and the fine and gentle spirit of this race.
The bishops, with the exception of Tobias, bishop
of Beyrout (an intriguer), are also good men.
With regard to the Greeks, united or schismatic,
I have a very poor opinion. What is lacking
essentially in the Syrian is fixity and continuity
of ideas and rectitude of judgment. Their
faciUty for leaming aU things (especiaUy lan
guages) greatly surpasses ours. But they have
not that persistence which produes great crea-

i62 THE HOLY LAND
tions. And, moreover, ideas which are bizane,
subtle or even absurd are the very ones which
chiefly recommend themselves to them. They
do not understand what common sense is. All
this has had a charm which has seduced the
world.
In Tiberim Syrus defluxit Orontes.
You cannot see too much of this individuality
of the Syrian mind — its persistence, its identity.
Syria is not a nationality, but it is one of the
capital individualities of humanity. Strangers
will organise it politically, but it will always be
a region sui generis.
I am falling from fatigue, and to-monow I
have to make a joumey of eight hours on horse
back, with the ladies, as far as Saida. But the
life-giving air of this country enables us to stand
anything.

LETTER XXVIII
Sour, March 8, r86i.
I DESIRED to write you my impressions of
the new country, but the fatigues of this
region of Tyre are such that in the evening
I am almost incapable of work. This country re
sembles Lebanon in nothing. It is a desert ; the
country around Rome gives a certain idea of it. In
no other place is Turkey so hated ; elsewhere you
see the good that she prevents, here you see the
evU that she does. The Metualis are a very
wicked race, fanatical and deceitful, a com
pletely spoiled people. It is here, above all, that
I am confirmed in my view of the essential trait
of the Syrian character, and which I call false-
mindedness . Here absurdity is the running water,
the daily bread. It is necessary to examine the
perversion of the details of Ufe in order to believe
this. This perversion is entirely of the head;
the morals here are very pure, and have nothing
163

i64 THE HOLY LAND
of the infamies of modem Egypt, for example.
But the ideas of these people are completely
perverted. Tyre is considerably effaced. But the memories
of this noble city sustain me in my researches,
even when they are least attractive. Too Uttle
attention is given to the role which Tyre has
played, and to its historic nobility. Two hun
dred years earlier than Greece, Tyre upheld the
Uberty of municipal repubUcs — ^that is to say,
ancient Uberty against the great despotisms of the
East; alone, she held in check for years the
enormous Assyrian machine. Never without
emotion do I traverse this isthmus which in
its time has been the forum of Uberty.
A very curious thing is that the remains of
the Phoenician civilisation are almost wholly
the remains of industrial monuments. The in
dustrial monument, so fragile with us, was, in
the time of the Phoenicans, grandiose and colossal.
The whole countiy is strewn with the reUcs of
this gigantic industry, hewn out of the rock.
The wine-presses (a sort of gates built of three
superposed blocks) resemble triumphal arches;

THE HOLY LAND 165
the old factories with their tubs and mUlstones
are still there in the desert, perfectly intact.
The weUs near Tyre, said to be Solomon's, are
something wonderful, and create a profound
impression. I am annoyed by the tardiness of the architect
who was to come. Otherwise, aU is well. A
few days ago we found at Saida four magnificent
sarcophagi, with large sculptured head-pieces
and pedestals in the real Phoenician style.

LETTER XXIX
Sour, March 12, 1861.
A FRIGHTFUL storm of which no words
can give any idea has suspended our
labours for the present. For more than a
month we have had deUghtful weather, neither
hot nor cold — weather that they might have in
paradise. Yesterday we Uved in involuntary tenor.
Our dwelUng is a veritable lighthouse; it has
little stabiUty, and is situated at the extremity
of the island. The rage of nature on all sides,
the whirlwind of roarings reminding one of the
gods of another world, a shipwreck which took
place before our very eyes, and kept us trembling
for hours, left on us a terrible impression.
To-day the weather is still bad. Yesterday
we had intended to set out for Oumm-el-Awamid,
the most beautiful ruins in this country. I shaU
have to spend eight days there under the tent.
166

THE HOLY LAND 167
The country is a desert; there is not a dwelling
for two leagues around.
Our departure is naturally delayed. The ladies
wish to share this rude campaign ; I could not dare
to promise them.
Sidon has given us admirable results; we have
now about ten magnificent sarcophagi of most
original style. My Djebail expedition will not
appeal to the public, but this one will be under
stood by all. I am now more than ever of the
opinion that these monuments are ancient, and
anterior to Alexandria. I have the proof here.
But Tyre has been so terriblv overwhelmed
that research here wUl never possess much interest.
What is needed, above aU, is a geologist to ex
amine into the strange scenes of destruction on
the coasts, and to determine whether a portion
of the island has really subsided.
I am already on biblical ground; I can see
Mount Carmel on the horizon; I have seen mel
ancholy Sarepta, not a stone of which remains
above the soU. The wonderful summit of Her
mon, the highest point in all Syria, closes our
horizon toward the east. After ascending one

1 68 THE HOLY LAND
or two hours, we are in the midst of the idolatrous
cities of the tribe of Dan.
AU this causes in me a strong desire that I
hold in check; for I must first accomplish the
Tortosa excavations. I leave for Tortosa on
the twenty-third.
On the seventh or eighth of April I shaU return
here, and thence I shall depart for Jerusalem.

LETTER XXX
Sour, April 19, 1861.
WHAT a Ufe ours is ! A restless journey
from one end of Syria to the other!
In eight days I have mounted the
region of Tortosa by real magic ; yesterday I was
at Tyre. Since my arrival I have organised our,
excavations of Oumm-el-Awamid, which already
show fine results. At last I am somewhat free ; I
have profited by it to be a little sick; now that
I am recovered I set out for my explorations in
GaUlee. To-monow we enter into an unknown country
in the direction of Lake Huleh, which I know to
be fuU of ancient monuments. In four days we
shall reach Oumm-el-Awamid; from there we
shaU go to Carmel ; thence to Nazareth, thence to
the Sea of Tiberias; all this country is totally
uninhabited, yet I confess that I prefer it to
Tortosa or Ruad. 169

I70 THE HOLY LAND •
It is here that Mussulman fanaticism is carried
to its limits.
A frenzied party established in the mosque and
in the bazaar reigns by threats of fire and death.
It has reduced to nothing the Turkish power,
and maintains a ferocious hatred against every
thing that is not of the exalted spirit of Islam.
It is here that one understands what a mis
fortune Islamism has been, what a leaven of
hate and exclusiveness it has sown in the world,
how exaggerated monotheism is opposed to all
science, to all civil life, to every great idea. The
effect which Islamism has had upon human life
is something incredible; the asceticism of the
middle ages is nothing in comparison. Spain has
never invented a religious tenor which approaches
that. But nature, here, is always delightful and
splendid. Syria, from beginning to end, is a
garden, of which the most extensive and best
cared for of our public gardens can hardly give an
idea. These flowers have a naturalness, a grace,
a freshness which cannot be equalled. It is not
yet hot, except when the unendurable khamsin

THE HOLY LAND 171
is blowing. We spent eight good days under
the tent at Oumm-el-Awamid. Life under the
tent is gay and agreeable, but it requires an
equable temperature.
I am delighted that you have seen Brittany,
and I see that you have understood it well.
Our Uttle islands of the C6tes-du-Nord would
not have pleased you less. When I think of
it, I am seized with such a desire to return that
the duty which keeps me here becomes a heavy
one. Never have these countries inspired me
with such sentiments ; you admire them, but they
lack that deep and melancholy charm that we
value so much.

LETTER XXXI
Jerusalem, May 9, 1861.
JERUSALEM is, indeed, the most singular
place in the world; its present is an un
rivalled medley of the ludicrous and odious,
while behind all this is the most extraordinary past,
stiU translucid at every step. The topography is
very precise. This legendary topography is cer
tainly provoking; it supposes that some one has
followed and marked with chalk every place that
was remarkable in the lives of the prophets and
of Jesus. But, chimeras apart, there cannot be a
difference of more than a few feet, when aU is
considered. Here, assuredly, are Bethphage, Bethany and
the Mount of Olives, the places beloved of Jesus.
Gethsemane is not far from this little region;
according to some monks, it is near a group of
very old olive-trees. Yonder is Bethsaida,
Siloam and its fountain. Golgotha was not far
172

THE HOLY LAND 173
from where they now place it. This road cut
in the rock, and descending from Galilee, has
certainly bome the footprints of Jesus, and is
certainly the place where he received from
these poor bands of Galileans that triumph
at the hands of the poor which cost him
his life.
With regard to the temple, let the Mosque of
Omar be replaced by a square edifice, built in
that style which permits a good general view of
the interior, and everything wUl be unchanged.
Some of the smaller portions of the waUs, and
the subtenanean portions of the Mosque El-
Aska are true Hebrew monuments. As regards
Jewish monuments, they are to be found every
where ; discriminating minds can see the past very
perfectly. The tombs of the VaUey of Jehosa
phat, the Golden Gate, far surpass their common
reputation. On the whole, I am deUghted with my sojourn
here, but I shall not conceal the fact that I am
very much fatigued. The climate of Palestine,
with its surpassing changes, does not agree with
me. I shall close. Only excuse me for being

174 THE HOLY LAND
brief, and not writing often. You have been
unjust toward me in not seeing that, in the con
fusion of my sunoundings, it was almost impos
sible to write.

LETTER XXXII
Beyrout, September 12, 1861.
IT is then decided that, since you are married,
you are to write no more to us. You will
make me hate Madame Berthelot, and if I
dared I should write to her to complain. Our negU
gence does not excuse yours. Many allowances
should be made for us ; for, in the middle of the
month of August, we have had to embark on the
coast of Syria one hundred and fifty large blocks of
stone, weighing from one to two tons each. At
last all is finished. But what a difference there is
between the army and the navy in expeditions of
this kind. With the former everything is easy;
with the latter aU is thorny.
Add to this that the present disposition of the
country has changed as from white to black.
A year ago France was feared by the Moslems
and worshipped by the Christians. At the present
hour she is openly insulted by the former and
175

176 THE HOLY LAND
cursed by the latter. It is certain that our posi
tion has been made much more difficult. To
come here with the intention of leaving again
is a fault without parallel. Although we shaU
have a great deal of trouble in organising our
expecUtion to Cyprus by reason of the careless
ness of M. de La Riviere, who has taken conflicting
measures, we shall accomplish it, and I shall
retum before the first of November. What a
long absence this is ! Would you believe it ? We
have been separated a year.
I have employed my long days at Ghazir in
conecting my Life of Jesus, such as I have con
ceived it in Galilee and in the country of Sour:
In eight days it will be finished; I have only
yet to write the account of his last two days,
I have succeeded in giving all these events an
ordered sequence which is completely lacking in
the gospels. I beUeve that this time one will
have before his eyes living beings, and not these
pale, lifeless phantoms — ^Jestis, Mary, Peter, etc.,
considered as abstract beings, and only typified.
I have endeavoured to do the same as he who,
by drawing a violin bow, ananges grains of

THE HOLY LAND 177
sand in natural waves on vibrating plates. Have
I succeeded? You shall judge of this. But I
ask you not to say a word of it to any one outside
of our circle. It must not be divulged. It wUl
come out in its own time. Now that it is finished,
I have arrived at the point of caring very little
for the College of France or aU the world besides.
Let me only be aUowed to pubUsh it (and who
can refuse me this), and I shall be satisfied.

LETTER XXXIII
Alexandria, November i6, 1864.
HERE we are at Alexandria after an admir
able passage ; I have never seen so beauti
ful a sea. For one day only the water
was slightly rough, and even then the fact that
we were indisposed was due to the peculiar defect
of screw-propellers which are incapable of with
standing the slightest shock. Stromboli, the
Lipari Islands, Messina and the Straits have
greatly interested me.
Stromboli is one of the strangest objects; a
cone of ashes two or three hundred feet in height
rising abruptly from the waves at an angle of
40 degrees, it looks as if it were composed entirely
of damp ashes, and has a general appearance
of rawness. The eruptions take place from
a large opening on the side; in the daytime
nothing is seen but smoke. A crumbling on
one side has formed a habitable slope on which
178

THE HOLY LAND 179,
a viUage has been built and farming estab
lished. The coast of Calabria is of the most grandiose
appearance, especially Aspromonte, which seems
like a somber and terrible mountain lost in the
clouds. I have seen Etna only from afar, like
a sort of Olympian vision in the heavens; it is
colossal. As for Alexandria, I have found it such as I
saw it three years ago — dirty, hideous, vulgar,
disgusting by its baseness, sordidness and im
moraUty. In vain have I been shown on the
banks of the canal the most beautiful flowers in
the world; despite my efforts (I had refused to
enter), I have not been able to avoid meeting the
proprietor M. B. It is true that, for the last two
days, since I have heard of the acts of this person
age explained, I am led to beUeve that he is less
ignoble than he is said to be. His perfect naivete
in teUing humorous stories which elsewhere are
presented as very wicked ones has seemed to me
an extenuating circumstance. He has done no
more than all other Europeans in this country,
in intriguing with the viceroy. Mariette, Gail-

i8o THE HOLY LAND
lardot, aU the French, are openly friendly to
him. I forgot all that whUe gazing from my window
at this ancient port where Ammonius Saccas
created the Alexandrian phUosophy, while follow
ing his caUing of porter; below Ues the Jewish
cemetery where sleep Philo and many other
noble thinkers, brothers of Jesus.
To-morrow we leave by rail for Cairo; but do
not deceive yourself. One starts at eight o'clock
in the morning and arrives at his destination at
five in the evening, making a journey that ought
to take three hours; but this is fortunate after
all, for, were it otherwise, serious accidents might
occur. I have found my excellent Doctor GaiUardot
here. He has followed us from Cairo and wUl
accompany us into Syria. Mariette awaits us
at Cairo and wUl conduct us to the pyramids and
to Sakkara.
You see that aU is proceeding according to our
desires, and that everything is weU managed.
Ah, if we had not left behind us so many things
to worry about! Go and see poor, little Ary,

THE HOLY LAND i8i
and take good care of him; he loves you very
much, and is sad when you do not give him some
sign of affection. Take my place with him.
Address your next letter to Bejnrout, Sjaia,
poste restante, via Marseilles.
If you see M. Egger, tell him that I shall write
to him the next post, and ask him to hurry
the pubUcation of my book on the Mission at the
Imperial Publisher's, and to call attention to the
fact that the book goes up to page 200 inclusively.
Remember me to Taine, Sainte-Beuve and all
our friends.
On the whole, I do not repent that I started out
by ascribing great importance to antiquity.
This sentiment is no more than what my work
deserves in compensation for aU the sacrifices
and regrets that it has cost me. Present my
respects to Madame Berthelot, and believe in my
firm friendship. My wife sends her best love to
Madame Berthelot.

LETTER XXXIV
On the Nile near Sakkara, December 17, 1864.
THIS expedition to Egypt, which was to be a
simple trip to Cairo and the pyramids, has
become a regular journey of five himdred
leagues, extending to the Cataract of Assouan.
Mariette, desiring that I should see all Egypt, has
dragged me hither. The viceroy, with rare good
grace, has accorded me the faciUties reserved for the
most privileged personages. Mariette has been my
guide at every step; in fine, I have accompUshed
this joumey under the very best conditions; I
have seen everything and seen it wonderfully
weU. Exposure in the stm and a cold caused
me to be indisposed for a time at Thebes, but I
now feel wonderfully fresh and well, and I am
able to endure without trouble days of fatigue at
least as bad as those of the Syrian journey.
I am now able to give you my general impres
sion of this strange country. What is absolutely
182

THE HOLY LAND 183
unequalled is the sky. Nothing, either in S3rria
or Italy, had given me the least idea of that.
The absolute dryness of the atmosphere pro
duces tones of sweetness and delicacy that are
without parallel. The mornings and evenings
are encJianting; the simplest objects — a group
of palm trees, a verdurous plain, a horizon of
rocky hflls — assume striking scenic perfections.
Certain of the country regions are also charming;
in general, however, the detail is painful. It
is dusty, dirty, without verdure; the complete
absence of pure water is a shock to us ; the trees
growing in a soil of ashes are wrinkled and thorny.
What is really wonderful is the sky, the horizon,
the Nile. Its average width is about a thousand
feet; at times it forms immense sheets of water.
When you reach Assouan all is changed; the
valley contracts, the channel is filled with rocks,
the steep banks are covered with verdure as fine
as the grass in our gardens.
There is nothing more strange than Assouan,
seen from Philae (the cataract is between them).
The river flows through a labyrinth of granite
blocks, while on both sides the desert approaches

1 84 THE HOLY LAND
to the very banks. AU this taken in connection
with the little wonder of PhUae, and the strange
aspect of the people, aU Nubians, and stiU wholly
savage, forms a most striking ensemble. It was
not without emotion that, standing on the last
rock of Philae, I bade fareweU to the Nubian
valley, stretched out before me like a green rib
bon. It is probable that I shall never again ap
proach so near the sun, and that I shall never
more behold Ipsamboul, Gebel-Barkal and
Khartoum. As for old Egypt, it is truly a world apart.
Denderah, Esneh, Edfou, Ombos, Philae are of
the Ptolemaic or Roman epoch. But the en
semble of Thebes is of the seventeenth to the
tenth century before Jesus Christ. Of this
there can be no doubt ; it suffices to come in con
tact with it to see absolute evidence of this. Now
Thebes is the Versailles or the Saint-Denys of an
Egyptian monarchy, supposing the latter to be
preceded by immense developments. The ad
mirable tombs of Beni-Hassan, of exquisite style,
covered with paintings which are a perfect picture
of Egyptian life, date from 2500 B. C, the dates

THE HOLY LAND 185
being of indubitable authenticity by reason of
the cartouches of the kings. In fine, Abydos or
Thinis, Sakkara (Memphis) and the pyramids
bring us back to a world still more ancient, and
much more different from the world of Thebes
than our modern world is from the Roman
world. I have come to believe perfectly, with
M. Mariette, that the date of 5000 B. C. given by
Manethon for the foundation of the first Egyptian
empire is a very moderate hypothesis.
Among the most striking things are the pyra
mids and the sunounding region, the Sphinx,
the tombs, the temple discovered by M. Mariette,
bare, without inscription or sculpture, and wholly
of granite prisms without any ornamentation.
This temple was buUt by Chephren, the con
structor of the second pjTamid, whose statue,
cUsco vered by M. Mariette, is now in the Museum
of Boulak. The whole dates from 4500 B. C.
I do not return converted by such figures ; but
the chain of aU this chronology has surprising
strength. Up to 3000 B. C. there is absolute
certainty; beyond that there are breaks and
weak portions in the chain ; some of the dynasties

1 86 THE HOLY LAND
given by Manethon as successive may be regarded
as synchronous. But all these doubts are reduced
to a very limited field, and it must be said that aU
the discoveries of M. Mariette lead to the adop
tion of surprising figures. These discoveries have
led to the finding throughout the Egyptian soU
of monuments of the dynasties which partisans
of the synchronal system regarded as local or
partial. On the whole, the work of M. Mariette
is the greatest archaeological enterprise of this
century. All this has been conducted with a
courage, perseverance and scientific spirit which
have been truly admirable.
Not a single concession has been made to
frivolity; no account has been taken of the idler
or man of the world; but one object has been
kept in view: the exclusive pursuit of scientific
results. The brilUant museum of Boulak has
been formed of itself ; not a single monument has
been destroyed in building it up. And grand
Dieu ! what difficulties we had to encounter !
You can imagine how little the purely scientific
spirit is understood in this country, either by the
governing classes or those who sunound them.^

THE HOLY LAND 187
The viceroy is a man of gentle character, well
brought up and full of good intentions. But,
my God, what a state of society. This worthy
man passes his Ufe in unfortunately but too well 1
founded, his brother but slightly concealing his
projects and intention to succeed him as soon as
possible. To conclude, this journey has delayed me con
siderably, but has interested me greatly. This
contact with remote antiquity has given me a
great deal of pleasure. Criticism ought to be
made at a distance, but the danger is, in this case,
that we deal with imagination instead of reality.
This is what occurs in the case of our friend
Michelet. I often imagine him seeing what I
have seen. To speak truly, I believe him
incapable of seeing anything else than that
which his imagination suggests. But how much
more true and more poetic is the immediate
vision !
Early to-monow we shall be in Cairo. I be
Ueve that we are to make a little trip to Suez by
rail; I shall revisit the viceroy to thank him and
give him certain intelligence that Mariette wishes

i88 THE HOLY LAND
me to convey to him; then we shall set out as
quickly as possible for Syria. Our hopes will be
realised. Excavation has become well-nigh im
possible.

LETTER XXXV
Beyrout, January 12, 1865.
IHAVE at last gained the consolation for
which I have so long yearned. I have seen thfe
place where my beloved sister * rests ; I have
been able to render to her those last duties that
an unheard-of fatality had obUged me to defer
four years ago. There was a great weight upon
my heart, and this sad and peaceful journey to
Amschid has somewhat lightened it. We ac
complished it by small stages during the beautiful
April weather. The mountain was green and
covered with fiowers as in springtime. Each
crevice of the rocks was a basket of anemones
and cyclamens. It was a great joy for me to
see for the second time this beautiful road that
she loved so much, and where literaUy every step
recalled some memory of her. These good people
who recoUect her sweetness, her goodness, have
* Henriette Renan.
189

I90 THE HOLY LAND
shown me much sympathy. At Amschid, in
particular, I was received with open arms by
the people of the village, the clergy, and even the
patriarch whom I met by chance. Some ridicu
lous chatter at Beyrout had made me fear for a
moment that the Jesuits might inspire these good
people with their fanaticism, and place some diffi
culties in my way. There has been nothing of
the kind. These simple people doubtless have
their share of fanaticism but their very simpUcity
lifts them above miserable disputes, and renders
them capable of understanding every act of
exalted reUgion.
The grave in which our dear one sleeps is
situated on the slightly rounded ridge of one of
the spurs of Lebanon, at the boundary line, or
rather at the commencement of the two Uttle
valleys which, diverging, stretch to the sea. The
sea can be seen on both sides; to the south Ues
the port of Byblos encumbered with ruins; to
the north, the coast which stretches toward
Botrys. All the sunounding country is richly
cultivated, and plentifully supplied with vines,
olive-trees, mulberry and palm-trees. Amschid

THE HOLY LAND 191
is the spot of all S5nia where the palm grows the
best. On the horizon are outlined high mountain
peaks now covered with snow.
There sleeps your friend in the bosom of a
graceful and strenuous sceneland. I found her
where they had laid her in the tomb of the rich
Maronite, Mikhad Tobia, whose present heir is
Zakhia. My first desire was to have another
grave opened near by, in which to lay her, and to
erect a little memorial over it. But Zakhia
besought me earnestly not to remove her from
his famUy tomb; and I saw that the removal
would be so painful to these good people that I
beUeved I would conform to my sister's wish by
renouncing it. I have, therefore, allowed her to
rest in the Maronite tomb. I shall have a small
memorial sent from Paris and erected beside it,
which shall record that a woman of rare virtue
reposes in this spot. Moreover, I desire that
one day we shall be reunited. Of course, aU
this is provisional. But who knows where she
will come to rejoin me, or whether I shaU not be
the one to come and find her ?
A pretty chapel stands a few steps from the

192 THE HOLY LAND
tomb. I have had celebrated there a service
according to the beautiful Maronite rite, one of
the most ancient in the world and which dates
back to the beginnings of Christianity. All the
people of the village were present; the com
passion which these good people showed for me,
their grave and ancient style of singing, the
crowds of women and children who filled the
church, and gazed upon me with their large, sad
eyes — aU this made a touching picture, at once
simple and profound, and worthy of her. My
wife and I retumed slowly, pausing at every stage
of this journey so sonowful and yet so dear.
This is henceforth a holy land to which I shall
return ; for I have left there a portion of myself.
We had hardly retumed to Beyrout when we
were blockaded by the bad weather. To-day
the weather has improved and we leave for
Damascus. I think that I shall abridge my stay
in Syria, and it is probable that I shaU leave on
the twenty-first for Alexandria in order to reach
Antioch. I may retum to Syria in April in order
to attempt something at Oumm-el-Awamid. But
this project is not at all decided upon.

LETTER XXXVI
Roadstead of Tripoli, January 21, 1865.
AT the moment of leaving Beyrout yesterday,
we received your good letter of December
28th. GeneraUy your letters have reached
me by a belated mail, for you had written them
a day too late. For the future, however, aU will
be changed, for your letters will now reach us by
another line.
What you have told us of Madame Berthelot 's
sufferings has had a great effect upon us. You
are being severely tried, but we must hope that
all these cUfficulties wiU soon come to an end, and
that your next letter will teU us of the complete
recovery of Madame Berthelot. Believe me that
from afar we share in your troubles. I thank
you for having thought of Ary; the poor child
loves so much to see you.
Since my last letter we have seen Damascus.
The plain above Anti-Lebanon is admirable.
193

194 THE HOLY LAND
We have now no longer the scenery of Syria.
This plain being eight hundred feet above the
level of the sea, it is very cold there. Icy rivers
traverse it in every direction. All the trees lose
their leaves in winter ; the ground is heaped with
dead leaves; on all sides there are poplars and
walnut trees — ^aU the varieties found in our
clime, or at least very similar ones.
Damascus is sad and somber. The ensemble is
grandiose as seen from the heights of Salahi6. The
streets, if this word has any meaning in Damascus,
are miserable. But the interiors of the dwelUngs
are amazing. Some of the harem apartments
that I have seen' are masterpieces. The great
mosque is a very important monument. It is
the old Christian basiUca slightly modified.
I have fixed my horizon of the scene of St.
Paul's conversion. It took place in a vast,
cultivated, and inhabited plain in the midst of
gardens. It is certainly necessary ta dispense
with all exterior accidents ; the phenomenon took
place entirely in the soul of Paul.

LETTER XXXVII
Roadstead of Alexandretta,
January 22, 1865.
OUR journey continues with weather truly
exceptional at this season. Yesterday
and to-day we have had beautiful May
weather. We shall land to-monow moming, and
straightway, I hope, we set out for Antioch. It
is quite a difficult journey — ^the most difficult of
all. But the principal concUtion of success, fine
weather, has been granted us. The country
hereabout is banen in an exceptional degree.
This encyclical * seems to me, in effect, of the
quos vult perdere Jupiter order. To understand
this act of folly, it is necessary to be acquainted
with the theologian of the old school, and to know
how ideas are formulated in the brains of these
beings of another world. It is evident that a
strong GaUican reaction, sustained by the State,
* An official utterance of Pius IX.
195

196 THE HOLY 'LAND
is about to be formed. But it will not succeed.
A national church is impossible in France, and
that is fortunate, for this church would be, in fact,
hea\'ier and nanower than the religious regime
which has existed for fifty years. A schism is,
then, inevitable. This wUl be profitable for us,
for Catholicism has succeeded in becoming much
too strong. By schism, observe that I mean an
internal schism. In three or five years the Gal
ilean party of Darboy, of the Council of State,
of the Dupins, etc., wiU no longer exist. It will
be found too wanting in logic for France. There
will be two factions of Catholics inflamed with
hatred for each other, one doting on reaction, the
other desirious of change, and, in reality, Prot
estant. At least, the State wUl lose interest in
these quanels, and separation will result. But all
this will bring about strange struggles which will
fill the history of the latter part of this century.

LETTER XXXVIII
Athens, February i6, 1865.
WE have been in Athens three days. I
write you only a line this time. We
are very tired; I have taken only a
general view of these wonders; I am literally
dazzled. My impression far surpasses all that I had
imagined. This is the absolute, this is perfection ;
but it is charm as well — charm, infinite, profound,
accompanied by a sweet and strenuous joy.
Oh, what a blessing that this light from another
world should have come to us ! And when one
thinks that aU this has hung by a thread ! That
during aU these centuries the caprice of a Turkish
aga might have deprived us of it !
What a long time it is since we have heard from
you ! Write to us immediately at the Hdtel de la
Grande Bretagne, place de la Constitution (plateia
tou Suntagmatos), Athens. We are very well
197

198 THE HOLY LAND
situated here, and charmed to have before us a
month of such noble repose. The modern city is
very gay, very pretty, and the people are gentle
and of a kindly disposition. We are overwhelmed
with courtesies and attentions.
Tell Egger and our friends that I have arrived
here, so that they may write to me if they wish.
The mails come and go every eight days.

LETTER XXXIX
Athens, March 19, 1865.
OUR sojoum at Athens is being prolonged, to
our great satisfaction. We do not leave
until the twenty-eighth of this month.
The winter this year has been very rainy in
these latitudes, and the season is lasting. The
plains of Asia Minor that we must revisit are
stUl inundated. Now, as we have to wait, we
should rather wait at Athens than at Smyrna.
We shaU then have spent six weeks in this
incomparable city. The admiration and pleasure
caused by its masterpieces keep on increasing
in proportion as one studies them. The size
of the Parthenon is not striking except upon
reflection ; the deUghtful elegance of the Erectheum
is perhaps what is most surprising at first ; but it
requires time for the thought to rebuild this charm
ing little ensemble. It is impossible to get a good
conception of the Erectheum from a distance;
199

200 THE HOLY LAND
there is a taste and finesse about it of which
nothing can give any idea.
The Propylaea has been dismantled in the
most lamentable manner, but one understands,
after an examination, that this was the work of
Pericles, most admired of the ancients. The
Temple of Theseus is the best preserved of all the
ancient temples. Not a stone has been moved.
The Temple of Victoiy and the choragic monu
ment of Lysicrates are real jewels. Certain places
recently discovered, such as the Pnyx, the Theatre
of Bacchus, the Way of the Tombs, and the Cera-
micus, have an immense historical value. The
Pnyx, cut in the rock, is sustained by cyclopean
blocks, and appears exactly the same as it did
in the days of the Athenian democracy. The
Tribune, or rather the two Tribunes, cut in the
rock, are still there; nothing has been changed.
The two stones of the Areopagus, where the plain
tiff and the defendent were wont to stand, are also
protuberances of the rock.
It is only here that one comprehends this civil
isation, which was free as the air. The street of
the Tombs is one of the most important discoveries

THE HOLY LAND 201
of recent times. Good fortune has preserved
them to us. SuUa entered by this road ; the d6bris
from the siege formed ah enbankment, a little hill
by which an entire portion of the ancient city has
been preserved, as Pompeii was by the lava.
Objects have been found here exactly in the state
described by the ancient texts, particularly the
tomb of one of the five knights of Corinth, a
sculpture of the same style as the frieze of the
Parthenon, with an admirable inscription. There
have been found important fragments of the tomb
of Lysias, and, when further excavations are made,
the beautiful tomb of Pericles •will be found. But
probably nothing equals the effect of the Theatre
of Bacchus, with its seats of marble, each bearing
the name of the dignitary for whom it was
reserved ; the scene is preserved in its perfection.
It has lasted down to the Roman epoch, but as
far as Ufe and essentials are concemed it is the
ancient theatre of Aristophanes and Sophocles.
The spirit of all this has been well expressed by
Michelet. His Athens is perfect, and is as true as
his Persia and Egypt are false and partially con
ceived. The incomparable superiority of the

202 THE HOLY LAND
Greek world, the true and simple grandeur of all
that it has left behind, are truths which flame out
on aU sides. These are the real great men, and
what strikes me most, in a certain preface, is not
so much the lack of literary talent as the nanow
horizon of the author, which prevents him from
seeing beyond the Roman world. This, in fact,
is a French trait. France cannot go farther back
than Rome. What she has always accompUshed
under the name of Greek art is, in reaUty, nothing
but Roman art.
Our journey wiU take up the months of April
and May; I swear to you that we shaU not go
beyond that. I have given up Syria; circum
stances would, in any case, have made that joumey
very difficult. After having accompUshed our
joumey in Asia Minor (Smyrna, Ephesus, Laodicea,
Philadelphia, Sardis), we shall visit Philippi, Con
stantinople and Thessalonica. Thence we shall
go to Corinth, Tirynth, Argos and Mycena. We
shaU retum by the Ionian Islands and Brindisi.
We are assured that the railroad will be finished
by that time.

LETTER XL
Smyrna, May 6, 1865.
GOD be praised! At last, all our difficult
and dangerous travels are ended. My wife
must have described to Madame Berthelot
our rough excursion into the interior of Asia Minor.
Since then we made another, which was stiU more
difficult. I wished to see Patmos. We embarked
at Scala Nova. The vessels are so poor, the
captains so stupid, and the weather was so con
trary, that we were fifty-two hours at sea, without
being able to enter the port of Patmos. Makarios,
bishop of Caristo, will surely see in all this a great
miracle. Finally, aU is finished. The roads of
this country are filled with crut-throats. Near
Scala Nova,we saw some rocks on the route stained
with the blood of an unfortunate who had been
murdered a few days ago.
This season of the year is so strange that we
have been obliged to change our plans sUghtly. It
203

204 THE HOLY LAND
is StiU almost freezing in Constantinople. In con
sequence, we leave to-day for Athens. We shaU
take our way to Argolis and Corinth during a
charming season. Thence we shall go to Salonica
(on the twenty-fifth of this month), and we shall
wind up at Constantinople. Our retum will hardly
be delayed by this. In any case, the sole danger
that we should have had to encounter — ^the
joumey to ArgoUs at the beginning of June — ^has
been eliminated. We are perfectly weU. AU that
remains to be done is nothing compared to what
we have done.

LETTER XLI
Athens, May 4, 1865.
TO-MORROW we leave for Salonica by the
Greek steamer which conveys us slowly,
but very agreeably, through the Euripus
and all along the coast, touching at each port.
We shaU be in Salonica on Sunday, May 28th.
If land traveUing is easy in these regions, we shall
go on horseback from Salonica to CavaUa, passing
through PhUippi. If land journeys are difficult
or dangerous, we shall take to the sea (perhaps
sailing in the same vessel — ^which would delay us
for a few hours), we shaU reach CavaUa, going
thence to PhiUppi, where we shall take one of the
numerous vessels that go to Constantinople. The
land joumey would occupy four days. In any
case, we shaU be in Sfevres before a month. We
are to remain but a very few days in Constanti
nople, and shall retum by the shortest route.
It is not yet very hot here, the season being very
205

2o6 THE HOLY LAND
backward. People who left Constantinople eight
days ago departed during regular December
weather. Salonica is noted for fevers, but we
shall remain there a very short time. Be assured,
then, we shall reach port safely.
We have made our journey to Argolis and
Corinth. We are deUghted. As regards beauty
of scenery, this is equal to the most splendid -I
have seen in Syria. Tyrinth and Mycena are
absolutely unique, isolated proofs of a high
antiquity. This is the world of Homer. What
Athens is to classic Hellenism, Mycena is for the
epoch which is represented to us in the Iliad and
Odyssey. Corinth is considerably effaced and is
of secondary interest. Journeys here are pleasure
excursions. Half of the time you go by carriage ;
the people are very amiable and hospitable.
Brigandage exists, but you never run the risk of
your life as in the detestable mountain passes of
Asia Minor, where you are liable to be shot from a
distance without seeing the aggressors. On the
whole, we are leaving Greece weU content with
our sojourn. This race is very intelUgent, and
absolutely free from that species of ball and chain

THE HOLY LAND 207
which we drag at the leg. What is pitiable
there is poUtics. The expulsion of Otho has
proved a misfortune which will take half a century
for the country to recover from.
The news that Madame Berthelot has given us
conceming our family has been very welcome.
Go and see Ary; you know how much the poor
child loves you. Think of us from the beautiful
woods of Sevres, which have also their charm, and
to which the scorched plains of Attica sometimes
make us tum our thoughts.

LETTER XLII
Constantinople, June 13, 1865.
T~^INIS. We shall soon see each other,
Jl^ dearest of friends ! We have been in
Constantinople for the past five days; we
shall resume our joumey on June 21st, and shall
be in Paris on the twenty -ninth or thirtieth. In
case we retum by the Danube, which is not im
possible, we shall be in Paris about the same time.
Our joumey to Macedonia was superb, and is,
perhaps, the one which has given me the most
pleasure. We have had very hot weather . at
Salonica and during the two days that we were
travelUng on horseback. The rest of the joumey
was spoiled ; in order to gain a few hours we took an
execrable Turkish boat in which we suffered very
much. Constantinople is certainly a marvel in its way.
It is the city of painters and the picturesque. Its
ensembles are without equal in the world. But
208

THE HOLY LAND 209
this is all. With the exception of Saint Sophia
and one or two Byzantine remains, there is not a
single beautiful building, nothing which bears
analysing, bad taste carried to its extreme ; every
thing is made to satisfy an ephemeral caprice and
for show. Never have human baseness, shame,
stupidity and self-satisfied nullity created so
adequate an image. This Turkish society, with
two or three exceptions, is entirely stupid and dis
honest. The Greek populace is exceedingly de
based, and in no way to be compared to that of
the kingdom. But the saddest specimen of the
human race to be found here is the Levantine
population. Here the Frenchman and Italian
become, in one or two generations, mere carica
tures. This city appears to me like a city of mon
keys, a sort of perpetual capital, founded by this
worthy Constantine, for ignominy, intrigue and
baseness. All this pleases me but little, but I
observe it with care, for certainly if I ever again
take up the traveller's staff it is not hither that I
shaU direct my steps.

LETTER XLIII
Sevres, November i, 1869.
IHAVE not seen the Mosque El Azhar (The
Flowering) . It is , in fact , the institution which
gives one the best idea of a Mohammedan
University, or what the University of Paris was
under PhiUp Augustus. You know that the Mosque
El Azhar is the centre of the Mohammedan propa
ganda of all Africa; it is the headquarters of the
missionaries; the degrees taken there have an
extraordinary value throughout westem Islam.
The situation here is becoming more and more
tense; a schism has virtually taken place in the
Left. Picard and Favre are in retreat ; Simon is
like one driving four horses, each going a different
way. The party of action is gradually gaining
the uppermost. Action cannot be otherwise than
folly ; but no matter, we are moving. This is the
consequence of the elections. Gambetta and
Ferry have had themselves nominated by promis-
2IO

THE HOLY LAND 211
ing violence and action at any cost. They have
a choice between utter discomfiture and destruc
tion; they are probably destined for the latter.
Behold what it means to play with an election.
The political Conscience is too wide awake in Paris
to make it possible for a deputy to neglect the
promises made to his constituency. In the
provinces, that is very easy for people of little
honesty ; in Paris, it brings ruin infaUibly. When
I say that the excited Left is approaching a
revolution, I mean that it will attempt one; but
my opinion is, as we said a month ago, that the
people wUl not foUow. The twenty-sixth of Octo
ber was, in reality, a retreat: when revolution
stops to calculate, weighs the chances and the
dangers, it is no longer revolution. The law of
revolution (and it is for this reason that I am
becoming less and less revolutionary) is to go ahead
without reflection and without looking back.
There is no such thing as prudent revolutionists.
Is it comprehensible that a party would give to
paupers and charlatans the right to govern them ?
The spectacle of the opening elections is a very
strange one. Every one seems driven to the

212 THE HOLY LAND
impossible. It is a frightful crescendo. It is like
two waves dashing against each other. There
will be an explosion. The govemment could have,
if it wished, valuable cards in its hand ; but it has
the air of always being asleep. Dormira sempre,
unless it delivers itself over to foolish fanatics
like J6r6me David, who would achieve a sort
of new coup d'etat, and a furious reaction. The
openly avowed pretensions of the Socialists are
very startling. The people are becoming more
and more convinced that 1 789 must be repeated —
that is to say, that they must do with the bour
geoisie what the bourgeoisie did with the nobiUty.
It is certain that the bourgeoisie were wrong in
believing in the absolute character of their ideal;
but it is also certain that these ideas pushed to
their logical extreme would result in the cUsor-
ganisation of society. I have given the Revue des
Deux Monies the article which I wrote this sum
mer, and in which I have developed these ideas.
I adopt the role of poor Cassandra : may I prove a
bad prophet !
I almost reproach myself with conjuring up these
images before you, who are enjoying the fuU light

THE HOLY LAND 213
of heaven. I suppose that you are to-day in the
region of Ombos or Esnah, and I share in your
dreams evoked by this surprising antiquity. The
Orient has certainly its share of wisdom; this
grand, resigned melancholy has its truthful side.
Nevertheless, let us return from it, gay and youth
ful, and ready for noble action — ^that is to say, for
research. This is the sole and eternal consolation.
We shaU leave Sevres next Saturday. It has been
quite cold recently, and one moming the trees
were covered with snow; it was very beautiful.
I go to Paris every day, and I am woridng furiously
on my mission. I shaU have completely finished
the manuscript by January ist. This debt weighs
upon me, since all undertakings of this kind
remain unfinished.

LETTER XLIV
Florence, October 7, 1871.
OUR tour proceeds according to our desires.
The Simplon, Lake Maj eur, the Apennines
toward Spezia, Lucca, Pistoia, have en
chanted us. Florence and its feverish art, its
prodigious originaUty, the lavish grandeur which
characterises all its works, have produced in my
wife the Uveliest emotion, and have moved me no
less than when I beheld them twenty-three years
ago. We shaU leave here about the thirteenth ;
write to me at Rome, poste restante, so that I
may receive your letter on my arrival. I wish to
receive word from you as soon as possible.
What I read of Gambetta's speech startles me.
At Prangins (where I have found a very just
appreciation of the situation, and as few illusions
as it would be possible to have), I have obtained
some very exact data on what has taken place at
Berlin since the interview of the three emperors.
214

THE HOLY LAND 215
A sole agreement has been made — to crush the
French democracy as soon as it lifts its head
bolcUy. The three powers have not indulged in
(Ussimulation regarding possible clashes in the
future ; but Prussia has asked her two adversaries
not to make any aUiance with the French democ
racy, to leave it to her alone to destroy it when the
day shaU arrive. Now, this day will come when
she wishes, if the condition of France is changed
in any particular. Prussia will then declare that,
in view of the fact that the guarantees offered by
M. Thiers no longer exist, she must take her own
guarantees. She will act outrageously, seize
BeUort, etc. A democracy ordinarily watchful
wiU not endure this ; a war party will be formed ;
an artificial movement will be set on foot by the
joumaUsts and street brawlers, as in July, 1870.
Gambetta, or some other, in order not to yield
up the situation to the war party, and under
pretext of saving the country from the extreme
parties and from communism, will do what
OlUvier did in 1870. Then will follow frightful
disasters compared with which those of 1870 and
187 1 will seem trivial.

2i6 THE HOLY LAND
I have asked the Prince whether Prussia had
arrived at a decision on the form of government to
be given to France, after the second defeat. He
thinks that Prussia wiU obstinately abstain from
settling this question, that it -will take new depart
ments toward the east (a relatively small mat
ter, however, seeing the difficulty of annexing
these), will give Savoy and Nice to Italy, rejoin
the northem portions to Belgium, and leave
the rest to stew in its anarchy.
The essential thing is to remain in statu quo until
the complete liquidation of the Prussian affair.
Every political movement in France will be an
opportunity for Prussia to seize, to crush us anew.
Here I find a true depth of sympathy for
France. It is beginning to be seen that the dan
ger of French intervention in favor of the pope
is very slight. The radical party alone shows a
ferocious hatred toward us, out of pure habit of
declamation and unreflecting enmity.
Watch over the interests of the College; see
Dumesnil regarding the routine. I have reflected
since on this ; pledge him to wait until December.
There are two or three essential points on which

THE HOLY LAND 217
we must understand each other, notably the
unfilled chairs and the nominations. If, at the
November session, at which I may not be able to
be present, there come up important questions, try
to adjourn them until the opening of the courses.
It is of capital importance to neglect nothing; the
deluge is coming; let us calk the arch in aU its
joints. Poor OlUvier is here, they say ; he must be very
miserable. My wife wUl write from Rome to Madame
Berthelot. This trip deUghts her and will do
her much good. As for me, I also greatly enjoy
revisiting the places which made so strong an
impression upon me,
"Quand' era in parte altr' uomo
Da qual ch' i' sono."

LETTER XLV
Venice, October 23, 1871.
OUR journey continues happily and agree
ably. We have been here three days;
the weather is beautiful, the sun very
pleasant. CorneUe is quite content, and enjoys
herseU greatly. Carpe diem has become a
piece of wisdom for the time being. Provence
has appeared to me more admirable, more
Greek than ever, and very superior to Italy.
Nice, Monaco, Menton, are a true tenestrial
paradise. The journey from Corniche, made
in a carriage, is interesting, but inferior to
its reputation. Genoa, on the contrary, does
not merit aU the evil things that are spoken of
it ; the taste there is assuredly bad, but one sees
beautiful things, and I have not known a more
interesting city from an aesthetic point of view.
The devouring worm of Italian art is to be seen
there in striking evidence. It is Michael Angelo,
218

THE HOLY LAND 219
spoiled, grown old, pushed to excess, almost gro
tesque. The Carthusian monastery of Pavia, very sub
ject to criticism in the general idea which has
presided at its decoration, has details truly ex
quisite. It is Uke a Uttle ivory box, chiselled
and finished with a delicate workmanship, of
which it is impossible to form any idea. I have
revisited, with pleasure, Milan, Verona, Padua and
Venice. A few years ago there were discovered
at Verona and Padua some third- and fourth-
century paintings. These beautiful essays of an
early art have impressed me more vividly than ever.
It is truly there that we feel the blooming forth
of something analogous to that which had its birth
in Greece, especiaUy under the architectural and
sculptural form. To-day we have seen with
Arnold Scheffer, who is a passionate admirer of
them, the masterpieces of Titian, Paul Veronese
and Tintoretto, which are possessed by Venice.
I feel myself confirmed in my old preferences for
the Umbrian and Tuscan schools. This Venetian
materiaUsm, this lack of nobility and beauty give
me a shock, particularly in the religious paintings.

220 THE HOLY LAND
The condition of the country is easy enough to
characterise; we have the advent of the bour
geoisie, something like our period of 1830, but on
a mean scale and in a fashion that one would have
difficulty in calling progress. The old fortunes
rapidly disappear ; the ancient aristocratic classes
retire from the game; a few great fortunes are
created, but almost solely for the profit of the
Jews, who invade every field, and profit by indus
trial incapacity and the lack of initiative in the
country. The people are quite disinterested in
what happens. In Lombardy, among the lower
classes, there is a certain regret for Austria; the
new bourgeoisie is avaricious, economical, and does
nothing for the people; meanwhile the Germans
spend lavishly. All this is isolated, and not raised
to the dignity of a theory among the people as in
France. Intellectual culture, feeble, though exist
ing for the last ninety years, is becoming a startling
nullity. The level of the universities and of high
culture does not reach that of the feeblest of our
provincial faculties and the most superficial of
our reviews.
The sympathy for France is real. The instinct

THE HOLY LAND 221
of the country is against Germany ; the racial sen
timent develops strongly and quite intelligently.
The idea that the great stuggle of the future will
be between Germany and the Latin peoples im
presses all, and very few hesitate in the choice.
The Roman question alone presents difficulty;
suppress this question and the intimate alliance of
the two nations could be accomplished. It is said
that the army is the best thing there is ; it is very
probable, in fact, that, wisely commanded, it
would be equal to the other contingents.

LETTER XLVI
Venice, November 8, 1871.
YOUR kind letter has been a source of very
dear consolation to us. What you teU us
of your sciatica, however, has saddened us
very much. How long this lasts ! What you
need is a winter in Egypt, Syria or Greece.
You need a prolonged sun-bath and the tonic
air of these warm and dry countries. My first
regret, on reading your letter, was that you had
not come with us. Nevertheless, the weather
has now changed terribly. We swim in an un-
namable humidity which is not disagreeable, but
strangely enervating, and which has interfered
with our projected trip on the lagoon. I beUeve
that we shall go all the same to-morrow, to
TorceUo, but this requires some courage. Air,
sky, earth, sea — aU seem nothing but water.
I have been strongly impressed by what you
have told me of the projects of M. Thiers. If
222

THE HOLY LAND 223
such are really his views, we must make the
strongest opposition to them, in the name of an
enUghtened patriotism. Let us, in effect, analyse
what may ensue :
First. — ^The inferiority of our army com
pared to the German army, the inferiority of the
generals, armament, discipline, military science,
courage, etc.
Secondly. — ^The numerical inferiority of our
army compared to that of the invader.
Thirdly. — ^The moral inferiority of the country
from the view-point of patriotism and the
capacity for sacrifice.
Fourthly. — The political inferiority of our
country — an inferiority proceeding from the
intemal division of the state — a division whose
effect is that the govemment cannot be beaten
here without falUng, and must in case of defeat be
led into the commission of grievous acts to avoid
this faU.
On the first point I will admit that things
may be greatly changed in three years, but still
we must be sure that our generals, our army
staff and our officers all along the Une are devot-

224 THE HOLY LAND
ing themselves to serious study and repentance —
a fact that I very much doubt.
On the second point — five or six hundred
thousand men would always leave us in a condition
of fatal inferiority. After the first shock, which
I presume will be favourable to us, the mass
of the German army hurrying to the rescue wUl
crush us. If the Germans had had only five
hundred thousand men, they would have been
forced to yield in December, 1870.
Touching the third point — I grant some im
provement; think, however, of Lyons and Mar-
seiUes. In any case, regarding the fourth point, the
situation is much worse than it has ever been.
Be assured that if the war should break out
under conditions analogous to those existing,
what has passed will come to pass again. There
would be parties culpable enough to push us into
war for the purpose of overthrowing the govem
ment. If we met with a grave check, they would
reproduce the fourth of September, and over
throw Thiers in face of the enemy, not out of
opposition to him, but for the sake of making a

THE HOLY LAND 225
shameful peace for their advantage. You see
the rest.
It is clear that this reasoning would be weak
ened, if it could be believed that the power of the
German Empire will be diminished in three
years ; but the very real causes of dissolution which
are bound up in this botched work will not operate
for a long time to come. There is, therefore, but
one programme: intemal reform in France for
the next fifteen or twenty years; then complete
and certain revanche, if we know how to profit
skilfuUy by the changes occurring in Germany and
Europe at the present time.
But it is probable that for a second time we
shaU have made unavailing wishes and given
useless counsel.

LETTER XLVII
Venice, September 8, 1874.
I ASSUME that you have retumed from Stock
holm and that you are in good health. As
regards myself, our little vacation trip con
tinues very agreeably. Switzerland has given me
great pleasure. Since my trip to Norway, I had
never seen anything so grandiose and so fresh.
What verdure, what water ! These lakes at the
bottom of deep valleys are certainly among the
most beautiful things on our planet. Unfortu
nately, the hotels and boarding-houses do much
to SpoU aU this. In twenty-five years the Alpine
region of S-witzerland will be nothing more than
a huge furnished hotel, where aU the idlers of
Europe wUl establish their headquarters during
the summer. The society resulting from these
chance meetings is very insipid, and the
scenery suffers much by being profaned by so
many idlers. 226

THE HOLY LAND 227
The valley of the lofty Ticino, the lakes of
Lugano and Como have infinitely delighted us;
but this is not a summer resort; it is too hot.
The place in which we have decided to spend
two months of summer, on our leaving Sevres,
is a viUage on the Lake of Brienz, at the foot of
the grand falls of Oberland. There are some
cottages in one of which we think we shall be
comfortable. We wUl share our confidences with
you on this subject later.
Up to now, we have seen nothing new in Italy
except Mantua, where we were almost ill from
the heat. But we were well recompensed for our
trouble. Mantua is of capital esthetic interest.
It represents the decadence of the school of
Raphael, but a decadence still full of charm.
JuUo Romano reigns here supreme, and at times,
sustained by this Primaticcio, he equals the
Vatican; however, the lack of genius is soon
perceptible; the rage for novelty borders on the
absurd. The Palace of Te is an essential portion
of the history of art. Seen at an interval of one
day, as we saw them, this singular edifice and
the grand hall of the ducal palace in Venice are

228 THE HOLY LAND
the most instructive objects that it is possible to
conceive of.
We have rested very well here; we have seen
ever3rthing, and we are now strolling about at
leisure, revisiting places of interest. We found
that Scherer, H6brard and Charles Edmond had
arrived one day ahead of us, and we spent four
very pleasant days with them. They left this
moming for Florence and Rome. They will
have hot weather. Here, on the contrary, we
are having beautiful summer weather.
We shaU not leave before Monday or Tuesday
of next week. Write to me at this address in
order that I may know how you are and how
things are progressing. I shall be in Paris about
the twenty-third. Immediately on my return, I
shall call on you at Barbison, with Noemi. My
wife will go through southern France to Arochon
to fetch Ary.
The situation in Italy is as I have often described
it to you; people are more interested than I had
thought possible in the intemationaUst move
ment of the Romagna and the various provinces.
The situation is worse than it was two years ago,

THE HOLY LAND 229
and if the king should die, Italy would mn great
danger. Soon, alas ! we shall be able to say to
nearly all nations: Et tu vulneratus es sicut
et nos.

LETTER XLVIII
Houlgate-Beuzival, Calvados, July 27, 1875.
BEHOLD us established and satisfied with
our habitat. Saturday and Sunday, I
suffered somewhat with my knee. Since
yesterday moming, the weather helping me, I am
much better. We have had a delightful day, and I
was enabled to take two good walks in the sun.
Try to come; there are many fine promenades
here, and charming places that invite one to sit
down and talk. The sunoundings are beautiful.
I have resumed an old work of mine, the
Philosophical Dialogues, which I wrote in 1870
at Versailles. It gives me a great deal of pleasure
to reread and put new touches to it. But God
knows when it wiU be advisable to publish it.
What a state of paralysis the nation is in !
It will soon come to an end if it remains long in
this condition. And how much more discouraging
still are all the means of escape ! I spent Satur-
230

THE HOLY LAND 231
day evening and Sunday moming at Trouville,
where I met a number of very mysterious and
very official Russians, who bluntly declared their
opinion that a president such as G  would
not be recognised, and that in such a case Prussia
would be allowed to do what she wished. The
future looks horrible. I have mentioned that
during my hours of release from my rheumatism
I read Monsieur Thiers' History of the Revolution.
That was strange, grandiose, unheard of, but it
will never be imitated. Such a thing occurs but
once, Uke all facts that are unique and of the
first order, such as the origins of Christianity or
of Islam — ^things impossible to copy.
I have received a new letter from Amari which
confirms me in my plans regarding Sicily. I
wish to revisit these beautiful seas and luminous
coasts before I die, and the occasion is favourable.

LETTER XLIX
HOULGATE, August IO, 1875.
WHAT fooUsh presumption was mine to
believe myself cured ! Since I wrote to
you I have suffered much, and at the
present hour, though I feel that the malady is
wearing itself out and slowly receding, I stiU walk
with difficulty. This leaves me in great perplexity
as regards Palermo. It is with great difficulty
that I resign myself to giving up an engagement
that I have made, and a trip so dear to me.
Now it will be necessary to leave here in eight
days, and I do not know whether my health will
be sufficiently re-established to wanant me in
throwing myself into the exciting activity which
precedes a journey. We are, therefore, as you
see, in a very uncertain frame of mind regarding
our immediate future.
With regard to the waters of Ischia, it is harder
for me to give them up than Palermo. I wish,
232

THE HOLY LAND 233
before winter, to undergo energetic treatment in
order to reUeve myself of the germs of rheumatism,
if it is possible to do so. Now, nearly everjrwhere,
except in the south of Italy, the season wiU be
greatly advanced. The mud-baths of Albano are
also highly recommended to me. I believe that
my constitution is adapted to this sort of treat
ment, and even if there were some danger, I would
rather risk it than accept, at my age, any shorten
ing of my Ufe.
We are delighted to hear that you are enjoying
good health at Pitoisieres. Houlgate is also
very pleasant, but I can hardly enjoy it. H6brard
arrived two days ago, but he had no great news
to give me.
I have almost finished the revision of my
Dialogues. I am going to have them printed in
sheets and we will read them together. I think
that these pages are of a nature to stimulate
thought. But is our time one in which you can
incite to this dangerous exercise without incon
venience? This is the question. Have we been
appointed victims by Fate? The faults of the
generation which has preceded us will pursue
us and weigh upon us to the very end.

LETTER L
Ischia, September i8, 1875.
THIS is the first hour of rest that I have had
during this abominable joumey. On one
hand Borighi has dragged us in a dizzy
course through Sicily, and on the other a camorre,
the enemy of my repose, has organised everywhere
I turn my steps, ovations which it is impossible
for me to escape. We are wom out. I do not
believe that since Empedocles, that half Newton,
half Cagliostro — a savant ever made such an
entry into the cities of Sicily. I do not give way
to any one except Garibaldi. Now that we have
slept some hours in more tranquil sunoundings,
this journey appears to us like a wild dream.
You must know that for years I have supplied
the preachers of Sicily with a subject, and that
ordinarily the sermon ended with a cry, " Evviva
il Renan!" from those who had not understood
well, or from mischievous persons who drew
234

THE HOLY LAND 235
from the curb's utterances very different con
clusions from those which he had inf ened; the
fact is, that all the cur6s wanted to see me,
some regarding me as a myth and wishing
to establish my reality, in which they hardly be
Ueved. You know that I am not of those
who find that: Pulchrum est digito monstari et
dicier: hic est.
There was so much naivet6 in all this that I
yielded with good grace.
You cannot conceive of the strange combina
tions which the mixture of all races has pro
duced on this singular soil. What dominates is
passion and ardent proselytism. Now it is in
contestable that Roman Catholicism is at an
end in this country. At Selinonte, boats filled
•with people coming from ten to fifteen leagues
around besieged our vessel with the cry " Viva
la scienza!" This cry was the order of the day
in all the villages. The clergy, who, with some
few exceptions, are very fanatical, yielded with
good grace to the demonstration, and were very
pohte toward me. Next to Hungary, this coun
try is, ¦without contradiction, the one nearest

236 THE HOLY LAND
to breaking its old bonds and entering upon the
path of reUgious reform.
We have seen at Palermo, Montreal, Cefalti,
the masterpieces of Arabian, Byzantine and
Norman art, a combination which is unique
in the world and very charming. At Segesta,
Selinonte, Agrigentum, Syracuse and Taormina
there are admirable remains of Greek and Roman
art. AU this only places Athens in high reUef,
and proves more and more that the Athenians
have invented the perfection of execution, these
infinite delicacies about which Greek art anterior
to them, no more than Egyptian, concerned
itseU. Everywhere this impression is strong and
•vivid, and in some places the scenery is enchant-
ingly beautiful, resembUng more that of Sjnria
than of Greece or Italy. We are perched in a
charming place in the midst of -vines and fig-trees,
midway up Mount Epomeus. How I wish that
you were here. The landscape is charming, the
sea admirable; on the horizon are Tenacina and
Gaeta; the temperature is delicious, neither hot
nor cold. As regards my health, I cannot com-

THE HOLY LAND 237
plain of it, since it has not prevented me from
accomplishing the most exhausting expedition
that was ever undertaken. Though almost alone,
I have not laid aside the harness until the end.
Nevertheless, my right foot is not yet in its normal
condition, being somewhat stiff and highly sensi
tive to changes of temperature. To-monow I
begin the baths in moderation, and the leg douches
which •wiU be vigorously applied. I hope, in any
case, that I shall be content with an experience
which has demonstrated to me that my sources
of strength are not weakened. If you are not
weU, come here. We shall remain here until the
sixth or eighth of October. Then we shall make
a good Ottobrata at Rome.

LETTER LI
Casamicciola, August 6, 1877.
HERE we are at last settled, and most agree
ably. I have found this old volcano
greener and fresher than ever. In the
middle of the day the heat is severe, but during
the remainder of the time the weather is delightful.
The sea voyage has been a rough one; which
means that I must renounce another of my
theories. The Meditenanean can be very rough
in summer. Though there was no appreciable
wind, great waves from the southwest, beating
against the side of the ship, shook us up con
siderably. My wife suffered a little; No6ini*
alone has been in-vulnerable; she was born a
chUd of the sea; she weeps hot tears when she
thinks of the Said and the pleasure which she
had aboard her.
To-day I took my first bath; I conscientiously
*M. Renan's daughter.
238

THE HOLY LAND 239
swaUow the water in its various doses. The
fact is that I am quite well ; the exercise afforded
by the journeys to the south is what I needed.
Nodmi is going to take sea-baths. They have
also been ad-vised for Ary. They are here in
certain inlets so warm (by digging in the sand
a metre and a half one has sea-water of 30 degrees)
that we are going to try them.
My •wife also intends to take baths in waters
from the purest springs. No^mi is wonderfuUy
weU; she is gro-wing Uvely, as I thought she would.
Imagine her as Henriette — Henriette risen from
the dead, with her gentle modesty and her sweet
abandon. She said, indeed, the poor chUd, during
her last days : " This Uttle one -will take my place."
Judge of my joy !
I imagine that Houlgate is as beneficial to you
as these lovely shores are to us. The Drochon
is also a very pretty place. If you do not like it,
come here, but do not come by sea. We are
staying in a country hotel where there is plenty
of room.
It is necessary to fortify one's self for the
struggle of life, such as the age and our country

240 THE HOLY LAND
have made it. The more I see at a distance
what is taking place in our unfortunate France,
the more heart-broken I become. It seems to
me that the overthrow of this supid party of the
sixteenth of May is more certain than ever.
But the future disturbs me. I have Uttle faith.
The fatal and melancholy mistake of the conserva
tive classes in falling into this trap will be their
undoing. Now the conservative classes cannot
be changed, and a country cannot live -without
them. The elements which have made France —
the Capetian dynasty, the nobility, the clergy,
the upper bourgeoisie — are acting as if their sole
aim was to destroy their own work. Now a
nation cannot survive such strife -within its
bosom. We are about to experience 1791
and 1792 over again, the traditional and
conservative party emigrating, exasperating
new France, and inviting and provoking perse
cution. Persecution will come; we shall have 1793
again, and as Europe is no longer in a humour
to allow our democrats to fight each other, this
wiU be Finis Franciae. The conditions of the

THE HOLY LAND 241
very existence of this people have been destroyed ;
but all that -will come slowly, whereas the party of
Albert de Broglie -will come to an end within a
year.

LETTER LII
La Cava, September 5, 1877.
ryEMPRE bene. The month of August has
iJ been exceptionally warm this year on these
shores. People are dying from the heat in
Rome and Naples. At Ischia, thanks to the
altitude of our situation, life was quite endurable,
and the evenings were deUghtful. My cure is
complete. The Italian physicians are right. It
is necessary to take these baths during the hottest
months. Ary, whom I have had half cured, feels
very well. During our whole stay he has been
able to indulge in the most -violent exercises,
such as Uvely races on horseback, -without other
than beneficial results. No6mi took her sea-
bath every day, and, as a result, is enjoying very
good health.
Pre-vious to yesterday we had but few hot
days in Naples. In the evening we come here to
sleep, where the temperature is very agreeable.
242

THE HOLY LAND 243
I do not know whether you are familiar -with
La Cava. It is a high valley in a fork of the
Apennines which constitutes the peninsula of
Sonento. It is truly charming, though no rain
has faUen in five months.
To-day we go to Salerno, and to-monow night
we shall sleep at Amalfi. We shall return to Paris
during the first days of October.
Seen from here, the spectacle of what is taking
place in our unfortunate country is most sad !
You cannot beUeve what contempt and pity it
inspires. In the eyes of the foreigner it is a
second Commune, in a sense less excusable than
the first. It is incontestable that, since the last
few years, the world has made great progress in
poUtics; the unheard-of procedures of the pre
fects of M. de Fourtou and of M. de Broglie's
magistracies seem like the acts of red-skins
suddenly become masters of the politics of a
civiUsed country. Never, not even in 187 1, have
I traversed a foreign land with a feeling of such
humUiation for my country. The pubhc here
believes in the triumph of the republican party;
but the government is worried (is it in league -with

244 THE HOLY LAND
Germany?), and is taking great precautions.
More than ever I beUeve that the success of this
fooUsh enterprise, were it possible, would quickly
bring on war. Oh, miserable people !

LETTER LIII
Constance, August i8, 1878.
WE are aU very weU, and up to the
present aU are well satisfied -with the
trip. That is a r6sum6 of our first
eight or ten days.
The Vosges have afforded me the greatest
pleasure, although the weather has not been
very favourable for us. The en-virons of Gerard-
mer are most restful, cool and pleasant. The
trip across BaUon d'Alsace also gave us much
pleasure. Basel has some curious features, and
certainly, if one desires to make an earnest study
of our European society, this is one of the points
where it would be interesting to take some sound
ings. We have here absolute democracy suc
ceeding an aristocratic repubUc, care devol-ving
exclusively on the people, the complete sacrifice of
the rich and enlightened classes with whom life
is becoming more impossible every day, a govem-
245

246 THE HOLY LAND
ment worthy of a village; great cleanUness
-withal, and a finely ananged system of elementary
instruction, and museums in which real treasures
are mingled without discernment with the gro
tesque and apocryphal. Meanwhile this system
lives, for it is not alone in the world, and is
suppUed from without with an atmosphere
that has been weU prepared. But the exclusive
reign of this system would mean the abasement
of humanity, and when one thinks that three
hundred and fifty years ago, this city, by its
bourgeoisie, played a role of the first order in
the work of the Renaissance and the Reformation !
O what an enchanting thing is Lake Constance,
and how wrong it is to prefer the chaos of S-witzer
land to this charming piece of nature, perfect in
all its details ! We have had some delightful sails ;
and we have found a very pretty room overlooking
the lake, in the old convent of the Dominicans
which has been transformed into a hotel, we
shaU prolong our stay here. We have been here
two days now and shall remain over to-monow.
The day after, we shall go by way of the lake to
Bregenz. There we shall decide upon what route

THE HOLY LAND 247
we shall take to reach Innsbruck. This is not an
easy joumey, as the railroad lines of Tyrol and
Vorarlberg are stiU very incomplete.
The route by way of the Engadine is an in
terminable one, and we have some fear of the
cold of these excessive altitudes.

LETTER LIV
Florence, September lo, 1878.
IMUST indeed have had but poor control
over my actions during this trip to excuse my
neglect toward you. From Constance to
Venice we have been in perpetual motion, and at
Venice the heat was so oppressive that each
evening saw us in a state of physical weariness
which, though not disagreeable, was hardly
conducive to any kind of activity. The Tyrol has
enchanted us ; it is much calmer and more restful
than S-witzerland, is even cooler, and above all it
is more agreeable to the pedestrian and the
foreigner. Innsbruck has the most singular monument
that I have ever seen, the tomb of MaximiUan,
an incredible collection of giants in bronze, veri
table intermediate cretins between man and beast,
representing the true or mythical ancestors of the
house of Austria. The Lake of Garda is ad-
248

THE HOLY LAND 249
mrable; it is the most beautiful of the Italo-
Aipine lakes. This hollow among the enormous
piled-up mountains is something altogether strik
ing. Virgil is right — ^it is indeed a sea.
While at Venice, we made journeys to TorceUo
and Chioggia, where we saw the lagoon under its
most beautiful aspects. This is one of the spec
tacles of which I never tire ; here nature -with the
collaboration of man has prepared one of its most
seducing attractions.
As for men, I see them becoming everywhere
nanower, more selfish and more jealous. The
national principle, the only admissible one
¦withal, will lead to worse rivalries than the
dynastic principle. AU that I have seen of
German Austria has proved that it is still
more deutsch than northem Germany. The Ty
rolese people preserves its allegiance to the house
of Austria ; this will give an opportunity for more
Andrew Hofers in case of annexation. But
the Austrian bourgeoisie who speak German
would Unk themselves -with pleasure to the Ger
man Empire, on condition, be it understood,
that this be not too long delayed; Omnia semper

250 THE HOLY LAND
habent, as Ecclesiastes says. Patriotism as it
! is understood to-day is a fashion which lasts
for fifty years. In a century, when it shall have
drenched Europe with blood, it will be no more
understood than we now understand the dynastic
ideas of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.^
All is vanity, except science ; art itself begins to
appear a little empty to me. My impressions of
twenty-five years ago appear to me to be stamped
with some childishness. From the -view-point
at which we have arrived, no painting can teach
us anything more. However, these things have
Uved, and that is sufficient.
What shall we do at the conclusion of the
congress ? Faith ! We do not know at aU.
What is certain is that we shall be in Paris about
October loth. The trip has done much for my
-wife and Noemi. Our poor Ary is also very well.
For myself, this strenuous exercise in the hot sun
is my sovereign remedy.

LETTER LV
Casamicciola, Island of Ischia,
Hotel Bellevue, August 17, 1879.
HERE we are, reinstalled in our house at
Ischia; we have the same apartment, the
same tenace, and could not be better sit
uated. The heat is intense in Naples, but here the
temperature is extremely agreeable; the sun is
powerful, but there is an exquisite breeze; the
mornings and evenings are delightful ; I take my
baths conscientiously, trusting, however, more to
the air and the potent sunshine. I have been very
weU, moreover, since leaving Turin ; decidedly, the
greatest benefit is to be found in the neighbour
hood of the immediate basin of the Meditenanean.
We have aU come here by land, starting from
Savoy when we met our friend Taine.
He has a country residence which is truly charm
ing, on the shores of Lake Annecy. It would be
impossible to find a more beautiful country. The
251

252 THE HOLY LAND
verdure of the soil is exquisite, the trees superb,
while fresh and limpid waters ripple on all sides.
Our friend is perhaps too absorbed in his sur
roundings. He is municipal councillor, has aUied
himself with the gentry of the country, and takes
things seriously. This renders him incapable of
judging the great things of the past, which have
been accompUshed more by enthusiasm and passion
than by reason. He read to me a portion of his
Jacobins. It is all true in detail, but it is only a
quarter of the whole truth. He shows that all
this epoch has been melancholy, horrible, and
shameful; he ought to show at the same time
that it was grandiose, heroic, and sublime.
Ah, what a history for the man who would know
how to compose it — who would begin it at twenty-
five years of age, and be at once critic, artist and
philosopher ! It would be necessary to chssemble
nothing, to show the ridiculous and the absurd
side by side with the admirable, in order that the
picture might resemble the reaUty. Such a one
would be sure of ha-ving produced the most
amazing book ever -written.
At Roujoux, while staying with the Buloz-

THE HOLY LAND 253
Paillerons, we made the acquaintance of the Lake
of Bourget, which is superior, in a sense, to that of
Annecy. Savoy is decidedly a wonder. It is per
haps the country which is the most restful and
refreshing of all. We have ananged for three
halting-places on our route. It is needless to say
to you that it has been very warm on the railroad
train ; however, we passed some pleasant hours at
Rome -with friends. Here I rest and work in the
most absolute peace. My retirement would be
perfect if the newspapers of Naples had not done
me the ill service of publishing my address, which
each day brings me bundles of letters that I do
not read.
In order to fill up my hours of work, I am writ
ing philosophical sketches, and some dialogues
which I group around Amauld de Villeneuve and
the cUscovery of the "water of life." I shall
read them to you on my arrival.
At a distance, as well as at close range, Feny's
Article 7 appears to me to be an enormous mis
take. I can see but two equally shameful alter
natives : the victory of Ferry, which will mean the
impotence of the government and the exaspera-

254 THE HOLY LAND
tion of the Catholics, or the defeat of Ferry and
victory for the Jesuits, an hypothesis not less dis
heartening. Try, then, since you have infiuence,
to conect, by your advice, the zeal which is well
intentioned, but full of stupidity.

LETTER LVI
Casamicciola, September 12, 1879.
BEHOLD, the gates of our paradise of Ischia
are about to be closed on us. We leave
to-monow afternoon, not -without regrets.
The weather is always delightful; there has not
been a drop of rain yet, but the air has been greatly
refreshed by reason of the storms which passed
over our heads and broke upon Gaeta and the
harbour of Voltumo. At sunset this evening,
Capri and the Cape of Sonento equalled in lumi
nous splendour the most beautiful aspects of
Greece. In fine, we are happy. I am well, I
believe; the air and exercise have certainly done
me good ; the baths also, I imagine.
Do not work too hard; it generally results in
something feverish; one should beware of it. It
would be better to bring your work out a month
later on, so as not to indispose yourself for the
-winter. 255

256 THE HOLY LAND
We are going to spend about twelve days in
Naples, CasteUamare, Sonento and Capri. Then
we joumey toward the north. We shall be in
Paris on the moming of the fourteenth.
I have finished my sequel to Caliban, which I
have entitled The Fountain of Youth, instead of
The Water of Life. I have fused -with it the
legend of Arnauld de Villeneuve. It has served
me as a frame for various philosophical sugges
tions. I shaU read it to you on my anival. In
any case, it has given me considerable amusement.
Ary is extremely well; he paints a great deal
and I am satisfied with him. Little No6mi is
always very good, and accepts -with great gentle
ness all our little fondnesses ; the trip has devel-
loped her considerably. My wife has been a Uttle
tired by the great heat ; but now she is very weU.
What a pretty country this is ! You caimot
imagine how smiling and animated it is.
It has performed a miracle, in making me rise
every day at six in the morning, to work on our
tenace. We sometimes fear that we shall not be
so well pleased at CasteUamare, Sonento, etc.
However, one must take his share of all.

LETTER LVII
Naples, September 28, 1879.
BEHOLD our journey approaching its end.
AU has been according to our hopes.
Ischia, to the very end, has appeared
charming to us. Sonento, in its own manner,
equals Ischia. All this has had the effect of giving
us a good rest. Ary is extremely well and very
happy, especially since his friends the Paleologues
are in these regions. Noemi is very good. My
-wife has been better since the great heat is over;
and as for myself, I can walk very well.
I have done a great deal of work ; my Fountain
of Youth -will, I beUeve, be suggestive of thought
to the more and more reduced number of persons
who Uke the exercise. I call it that, because it
could not be entitled The Water of Life, the latter
being too commonplace. I have, besides, -writ
ten the half of a new article on Souvenirs of Child
hood, which I hope to finish at Venice. I shall
257

258 THE HOLY LAND
also send to the Debats a little piece of dotage
on the fete of Pompeii.
Yes, this tongue of soil, Sonento, is truly
a wonder; I believed Amalfi to be very much
superior; now I hesitate.
To-monow we shall reach the north, under full
steam. We shall not stop until we arrive at
Venice. Our retum is definitely fixed for the
moming of October 14th.
Here, progress is mediocre. There is always a
certain number of amiable and distinguished
men, equal, at least, to that in other countries,
but the political machinery is the poorest in the
world. The demoralisation of the people and the
minor bourgeoisie is complete, robbery is organ
ised, and -violent brigandage and assassination
are the order of the day. In the midst of all this,
the monarchy imposes itself on the people as a
necessity, and it will survive, even though in
bankruptcy. As to this last, I do not see how it
can be avoided. But the world may perhaps
become bankrupt before that. How disheartened
Taine -will be on that day.
In the name of heaven, urge your friends to

THE HOLY LAND 259
peace at any price. We would be absolutely
alone. Even here they would be against us.
Let us learn how to maintain ten years of peace,
and Bismarck's system in Germany is lost. On
the other hand, in case of war they would regain
aU their advantages.

LETTER LVIII
Oxford, April n, 1880.
OH, what a curious city ! You must see the
place. It is the strangest rehc of the
past — ^the type of the dead, living. Each
one of the colleges is a real, tenestrial paradise.
You would think that all life had departed ; yet the
paradise is found to be cared for and weeded by
those who no longer Uve in it. The results are
tri-vial on the whole; the golden youth receive a
purely classical and clerical education, and are
required to attend service wearing surpUces.
There is an almost total absence of the scientific
spirit. Such a college has at its disposal a million
a year ; but the fellows have succeeded in demon
strating that the preservation of the grass, which
devolves upon them by the foundation charter,
is irreconcilable -with the presence of students.
In fact, there is not a single pupil here. The
grass plots are admirably cool; the fellows eat
260

THE HOLY LAND a6i
up the revenue, while making excursions to the
four quarters of England; a single one works —
Max MuUer, our very amiable host.
In fine, we are delighted with our day, and even
with the sermon of an interminable evening ser-
-vice, which we had to attend. To-morrow we
shaU complete our -visits to the colleges, and Tues
day we shaU retum to London. My rheumatism
of the knee has disappeared with a suddenness
that has surprised me. My lectures are succeeding
very well. I find a great deal of sympathy here,
for this is notably the country where religious
questions are taken most seriously, and where the
sentiments that I introduced are really loved.
Our plan is to reach Paris on the evening of
Sunday, the eighteenth. Meanwhile, only one
thing can delay our departure. Our friend. Grant
Duff, is still in Scotland attending to his election
affairs ; if he retums toward the end of the week,
perhaps we shaU spend a day with him at Twicken
ham. In that case we shall not arrive until Tues
day. But I shaU certainly give my lecture on
Wednesday at the College of France. I hope to
press your hand there.

262 THE HOLY LAND
The result of the recent elections is more com
plicated than was at first believed. According to
the Tories, it is the beginning of the end of the
world, the advent of a new social era. The atti
tude of Gambetta and the RepubUque Francaise
are not understood. If the RepubUc has any
friends here it is among the liberals ; not one exists
elsewhere. I have seen Sir Charles Dilke, the
Republican of England (there are not two such) ;
he is a curious type, and is half French. As
regards the masses, their reUgious and poUtical
loyalty remains firm.

LETTER LIX
Plombieres, August 12, 1880.
WE are now not badly established here, and
I believe that the treatment will do me
good. The country is charming, cool
and green to an enchanting degree. On all sides
there are springs of perfect clearness. Is this what
is required for rheumatic patients ? I hesitate, as
yet, to pronounce on this ; surely Caro and Janet
ought to come here to see the results of their
providential agreement. For if the remedy for
rheumatism is to be found at Plombieres, it must
be avowed that Pro-vidence has placed here all
that is necessary to win them over. The coimtry
is like an enormous sponge soaked with water ; there
is no heat, and it rains in tonents. The Pauline
and Renard springs may be ranked among the
prettiest places in which one would care to Unger.
To-monow or the day after I am going to try the
Roman baths, which, I think, -will melt me.
263

264 THE HOLY LAND
I have been engaged in re-vising my Fountain
of Youth, which pleases me fairly. I am about
to publish it. I have only one blank to fiU
in, conceming which I want to ask you a question.
How did the early Arabian chemists obtain
spirits of wine? Can one conceive what it was
that turned the attention of the first distillers to
alcohol ? What was the form of the first alembics ?
It is not necessary that this should be scientificaUy
exact. It is merely a matter of embeUishment
-with me; but still it is necessary not to be too
absurd. Send me a dozen lines on this subject
as soon as possible.
Our plan is to remain here until about the
twenty-eighth. Then we shall go to Lausanne,
and thence cross the mountains. Try to join us at
Lausanne. It seems to me that there is an easy
route from Annecy to Thonon. Thonon is
opposite Lausanne.

LETTER LX
Plombieres, August i8, 1880.
A PLAGUE upon your congress of Brieg which
coincides so badly with our intinerary.
We should have been at Lausanne on the
twenty-ninth, thirtieth or thirty-first of October.
It is e-vidently too early to make it possible for you
to kiU two birds -with one stone, and make the same
joumey -with ten or twelve days intervening. But
when your congress is over could you not cross the
Simplon and rejoin us on the lakes or at Milan?
We shaU be in Milan toward the sixteenth or
seventeenth of September. From there we shaU
go to Verona; next to Venice, where we shall
spend eight days; and thence to Ravenna if
possible, returning by way of Savoy. We -wish
to be in Paris, without fail, by October loth.
Try to join us at Milan ; this -will be deUghtful.
Thanks to certain faciUties that we enjoy,
we can show you the lagoon and TorceUo,
265

266 THE HOLY LAND
as they could not be shown under ordinary con
ditions. Unless you inform us that it is possible for you
to come to Lausanne toward the thirty-first,
we shall not go there. We have more to gain by
switching off from here to Basel, where we
shaU have the choice between St. Gothard and
the Splugen. But assuredly, if you can join us
at Lausanne, we shall go there. The pleasure
of meeting you takes precedence of all other
considerations. But try, rather, to come to
Milan. We are well in spite of the weather, which is
only half-satisfying. The steam baths do me
much good, and the douche baths have UteraUy
given No6mi new lUe. The Times has singularly
embanassed me by announcing my essay for
Tuesday. I shall certainly not be ready by that
date.

LETTER LXI
Talloires, August 12, 1881.
WE are estabUshed here, dear friend, accord
ing to our desires. The country is charm
ing, and the lake and sky adorable. Up
to now we have rested as we had need to do.
This month of July has tried me very much. I am
very weU, I beUeve. Resting at my table, or seated
on the la-wn on the shore of the lake, I am in a
state of perfect contentment; but locomotion is
disagreeable to me, at least during the day. I
quite beUeve that the altitude is one of the causes
of this condition of mine, which, moreover, is
not whoUy dissatisfying to me. Poor heavy
machine that we drag about ! However, we have
accomplished the essential part of our task, so
let us not complain.
Taine is very much fatigued. He cannot work,
and his book has ceased to interest him. He
would Uke to take to some other exercise, and
267

268 THE HOLY LAND
he feels that he must finish it. Penot is very
weU and very active. We frequently go to
Menthon to dine ; the retum on foot in the evening
is not beyond my strength. Ary has a boat ; he
rows and paints all day. No6mi has a piano
and plays for us. In ftne, if I only had good legs
to cUmb these beautiful mountain summits
which tower over our heads, everything would be
perfect. I work a great deal. In this cUmate and under
these conditions I can work almost indefinitely,
I am finishing my Ecclesiastes, which gives me a
great deal of amusement. My interminable Index
overwhelms me, but it will be finished. I am not
the man to pause at the roof after having built
the walls.
I await with impatience the result of the
twenty-first. This is a capital event, and it -wiU
not do to trifle with the situation. If this ex
periment fails, we shall see the most frightful
reaction that France has -witnessed since the
sixteenth century. The newspapers are poor
criterions, and election time is not the moment to
judge a country. Let us wait; but meanwhile I

THE HOLY LAND 269
am worried. How little -wisdom is shown ! The
instinct of the country is, from many points of
-view, just and in agreement with ours ; but what
complete ignorance concerning the state of the
world, the conditions of human society, and the
measures demanded by the country as a whole !
Gambetta appears to me to have taken a false
road. No, radicaUsm -will never have a majority
in the Assembly; but to how many mistakes
may not one be led by weakness and complaisance
toward it. Caveant patres conscripti.

LETTER LXII
Talloires, September 2, 1881.
IT rains a great deal, but all goes weU. I find my
self almost as well as I was in my best days,
eating little, having an aversion for walking,
but capable of working almost indefinitely. I
have finished my Ecclesiastes, which I have read
to our friends and which amused them very much.
My verses struck them as successful. My Index
advances slowly ; pushed to this degree of analysis
it becomes colossal ; it -will almost make a volume.
I am now setting to work at the last portion of
my Souvenirs; I hope that this -wiU be finished
before my retum.
The deplorable state of public opinion in Italy
has sometimes made us hesitate to cross the
mountains. We shall go, all the same, as we have
made too many engagements, especially at Venice
and Rome. Moreover, where can there be found
October sunshine equal to that of the Campagna
270

THE HOLY LAND 271
of Rome? Now, to return directly to Paris
at the end of September would seem like too short
a -visit. I have decided on a journey to the East, ex
tending from February to July. I desire to re-
-visit Jerusalem and the Lebanon for the purpose
of making some sketches there on the very ground
for my History of the People of Israel, as I did for
my Life of Jesus. This -will be a good thing for
Ary, and for all of us. And, besides, it is a recom
pense in which I feel wananted in indulging.
I have laboured well during these latter years;
I have finished my Origins, and conscientious
work deserves to be encouraged.
The general result of the elections does not
seem bad to me. The relative check which
Gambetta has received is an immense benefit for
him and for the country. Never has a plan
seemed more incoherent — that of desiring to
found anything stable on Belleville, and of play
ing a role of first consul at a time which demands,
above all things a regular development, without
striking personaUties. I presume that he has
intelUgence enough to understand this. He can

2 72 THE HOLY LAND
render great service, but only if he confine him
self within ordinary limits, after the manner of
Ferry. As for myself, I have much sympathy
for him, but I would hesitate to intrust the affairs
of the country to the hands of this eloquent
Gascon, except in a very restricted way. This
policy should at the present time be maintained
even as regards personaUties of the most dis
tinguished order.
We shaU remain here until September 20th,
when we leave for Venice, where we are to stay
for about eight days. Thence we shall go to
Rome.

LETTER LXIII
Albano, October 20, 1881.
THIS pre-tty excursion, perhaps our last, into
the beautiful land of Italy, has, on the
whole, done me much good and given me
great pleasure. Once or twice the repetition
for the tenth time of ornament, ever the same,
has made me somewhat impatient; later, the
charm has reasserted itself, and all these Uttle
omaments ananged in the same order begin
to give me pleasure again. The Alban mountains
are truly delightful. Oh, what beautiful trees !
What exquisite coolness ! Lake Nemi is truly
the most astonishing fairyland in the world.
How much our race is at home here, and how
close to us were these Latins, whose language we
speak. The exasperated state of the ItaUans has been
greatly exaggerated. All that is said of the
popular excitement and of the unpleasant ex-
273

2 74 THE HOLY LAND
perience of tourists is not true now, if it has ever
been true. Sensible men avoid speaking of poli
tics; some, more susceptible than the rest, ex
press their discontent, and make recriminations,
but there is nothing serious in all this. It will
have no bad consequences. Naturally, we shall
never have Italy on our side, for the Tunis affair
has not changed things. Italy will never be
with anybody; she will always betray, up to the
hour when, delivered from her politicians and
journalists, she will resign herself to the role of a
state of the second order, very successful in its
way. This whole affair of Tunis would have been
ended here, without the pretended revelations of
the intransigeants. I have no need of telling you
the effect that produced here. These calumnies
were just what the Italians said What a triumph !
"You see that we were right." It is tiresome to
listen to this, but it is -without consequence.
When the occupation is accompUshed and Tunis
is assimilated -with Algeria all this -will be quickly
forgotten. It -will be quickly forgotten, especially, because

THE HOLY LAND 275
this poor world, ever turning, -will bring new
questions -without cease, which -will condemn old
hatreds to obUvion. The question of the papacy
wUl soon enter upon an acute stage, and then all
Meditenanean questions will be forgotten — pro-
-viding that nothing awkward is done on our
part. The papacy is on the point of making the
greatest mistake that it has ever made — that of
lea-ving Rome. Let it do so. The ItaUan gov
emment -will try to induce it to remain, but it can
only succeed by making impossible concessions.
One of the most singular crises is about to take
place. France should do nothing, absolutely
nothing, and should take no cognizance of the
papal policy. All that she does will be turned
against her. By leaving the papacy to itself, it
wUl infalUbly destroy itself.

LETTER LXIV
*Rosmapamon, October 3, 1888.
THIS poor year will, then, pass by without
your coming to see our rockbound country.
We regret this heartily. We shaU enjoy
but few more happy hours in our little valley. We
leave here on Saturday, October 20th, and shall
be in Paris the foUo-wing day. The assembly of
the College will take place on November 4th. I
have done a great deal of work ; my second volume
of Israel is almost finished; it may appear in a
month. I have made, besides, a sort of little
philosophical balance-sheet, as it is well to do
from time to time; we shall discuss it. I fear
that this lucky truce of the summer months will
be followed by terrible storms. If our interior
organism had a stronger and more enlightened
conscience, it would surely have profited by
the mistakes that our enemies are now making
* Renan's country seat in Brittany.
276

THE HOLY LAND 277
externaUy. These trips to Vienna and Rome
seem to me most inconsiderate. I doubt the
sanity of the brain which has conceived them.
We shaU see strange things. Conjure your friends
to remain united and to make concessions. Bou-
langism is a terrible danger. Their country seems
to be the least tainted -with it, but very little -will
precipitate a crisis. This would be the most hor
rible event that has occuned for centuries.

LETTER LXV
ROSMAPAMON, July 7, 1889.
THESE first days of fresh air have had an
excellent effect on all of us. Your old
friend, in particular, finds himself in perfect
health. Here I am feeUng quite as well as I have
been during my best years. Above aU, my capacity
for work is greater than it has ever been. I cover
my two miles every day. Come as soon as pos
sible ; the weather is delightful. You know what
pleasure you will give us.
My third volume of Israel is advancing nicely.
As an interlude, I am giving the Revue des Deux
Mondes a sort of examination of conscience,
or philosophical balance-sheet, which I prepared
here last year. I wish that you would read
it, and revise the scientific portions, in order
that you may tell me whether my technical
terms are too old-fashioned. I have requested
the Revue to send you the sheets as soon as they
278

THE HOLY LAND 279
are conected; you will receive them in a few
days. The calm is absolute in these poor old countries.
One does not suspect the dangers that our poor
dear country risks. Nothing would be easier than
to obtain from these good people a moderate ex
pression of the ballot. But the govemment alone
would be able to do this. In default of the govern
ment, which still enjoys its prestige here, clerical
and legitimist coteries will probably triumph.
And moreover, the season has been superb, a fact
that always benefits the established government.
Human affairs have been too lightly abandoned
to falsehood and incompetency. The skilful will
profit by it and, for the purpose of throttling us,
lean upon the stupidity of the masses who wish
us no e-vU. In fine, let us still hope. If we can
prevent aU these evils from coming to a head in
a single one — Boulangism — we are saved again.

LETTER LXVI
Perros-Guirec, August i, 1890.
MADAME BERTHELOT'S letters to my
wife tell me that you are spending
the summer season satisfactorily, and
that you are giving full rein to your activity.
My month of July has been very satisfactory
as regards work, but only middling as to
health. I have been hardly able to leave
my room, by reason of my inabUity to walk.
Now things are a Uttle better in this regard. In
any case, the great rest which I have had has
done me good in a general way. I feel strong ; I
shall write my fourth volume. It wiU be finished
about December, but with the care that I shall
bestow upon it it will require two years more
before its publication. My third volume wiU
surely appear next October ; my personal labour
is almost finished.
What joy for us to think that before a
280

THE HOLY LAND 281
month we shall have the pleasure of seeing
you! Our woods are singularly cool and green
this year.
I fear that great illusions are being indulged in
regard to the affair of the Universities, and that
sane and established ideas -will be compromised
for the sake of doubtful advantages. Try to
moderate your friends, who appear to me to be
somewhat intoxicated on this point.
Our idea of provincial centres was totally differ
ent; it was not an o priori theory preceding facts.
I am very glad that the question did not come
before the last session of the Supreme Council.
We shaU, perhaps, have to defend the College
against dangerous ideas which would compromise
its independence. Above aU, be -vigilant in order
that we may not be surprised.

LETTER LXVII
Cape Martin, near Menton,
November 14, 1891.
HERE we are, quite well installed, though
not without some initial trials. The
hotel had not yet opened; the pro
prietor had written twice to us, both communi
cations indicating that the hotel was open.
British honour was saved, however; he made
me admit that he had not said that the hotel
was open. In fine, all is well that ends well.
The site is so beautiful that we stayed. We have
the advantage of being alone, though at the
cost of some disorder.
The weather is superb and our sunoundings are
wonderfully attractive. We have passed the day
in the pine woods near the sea. We could have
believed ourselves in Syria. The resemblance is
striking. This has reminded me of old sensations
of thirty years ago, and I believe that this little
282

THE HOLY LAND 283
supplement of our vacation -will do both of us
good. Will you not come to see us ? As I told you, the
hotel is making its toilet ; this -will be finished, they
say, in six or eight days. In conclusion, we are
quite well, and -without too much regret we do
-without the EngUsh clientele.
Come; we shall take some drives through this
region. We made a twenty-two-hours' joumey
•without once lea-ving the carriage. But what an
incomparable country between here and Marseilles !
Antibes has given me more pleasure than ever.
Come.

LETTER LXVIII
Paris, April 26, 1892.
Very Dear Friend : *
THE cUmate of HoUand has al-ways seemed
harsh to me. It has given me one of the
most severe attacks of rheumatism that I
have ever had since the inauguration of the Spin
oza monument. Judging from this -villainous
spring, I am not astonished that it tried you.
My condition remains always the same ; for the
past three months there has been not a trace of
improvement, nor, indeed, it must be said, of
aggravation. Things are just as Potain told me
they would be. Happily, for some years past, I
have regarded the days that have been granted to
me as a special grace — a surplus of favor. I hope
to publish my two volumes which complete
the History of Israel. I have re-read a part of
my proofs at Marlotte. I am not dissatisfied with
*This letter was dictated to Ary Renan by his father.
284

THE HOLY LAND 285
it. A good proof-reader could publish the whole
thing -without me ; although, to teU the tmth, if,
from my place in purgatory, I could look on at this
labour of conection performed by another, I believe
that I would show considerable impatience.
However, I am led to believe that in a few days
I shaU take up the thread of my life again, as
usual. Our Easter vacation has not been brilliant. We
were very near ha-ving snow at Marlotte; seeing
which, we immediately took the railroad train
home. I regretted this, for my walks in the forest
were doing me a great deal of good.
Let us not speak of the anarchists ; this is too sad
a subject. What I fear is that the people of Paris,
though deprived of their chief magistrate by these
acts of insanity, wUl see in the madmen -victims of
the govemment and perhaps anti-signani. The
tendencies of both parties are beginning to be
revealed. According to the paper that I have
just read, the crowd opposed the police in an
anest. In another street -brawl the crowd almost
tore the anarchists to pieces. Poor old Demos;
what follies are still committed in his name !

LETTER LXIX
* Perros-Guirec (Cotes du Nord),
July 20, 1892.
HOW well for us, dear friend, it was to fix
our philosophy of life when we were
young and strong ! It would be rather late
now to consider these grave subjects, threatened as
we are with the end. For myself, I have established
my ideas in this regard by continual meditation,
and the subject has no new aspects for me. To
end is nothing ; I have almost filled in the frame
work of my life, and although I could make good
use of a few years, I am ready to go. What is
cruel is the havoc that one causes in dear Uves.
This is where a reasonable euthagasia, guided
by a sane philosophy, could do much. Like your
self, I frankly study my general physiological con
dition. The physician of Lannion, a very serious
man, knows of cases analagous to mine that have
* The last letter in Renan's handwriting.
286

THE HOLY LAND 287
lasted eighteen months. The stmggle •will come
after me. Let come what •wiU. I shall utiUze the
remnant of life that is left to me. I am at this
moment working at the conecting of the proofs of
the fourth and fifth volumes of Israel, I would
like to re^vise the whole thing. If another does
this I shaU be very impatient in the depths of pur
gatory. Outside of the Eternal and myself, no
one has any idea of the changes that I would have
cared to make. God's •wUl be done. In utrumque
paratus. The most important act of our life is our death.
We accomplish this act, in general, under detesta
ble circumstances. Our school, the essence of
whose doctrine is to be in need of no illusions, has,
I believe, in this hour, advantages wholly unique.
We have not yet experienced the change from
summer to autumn (comprising August and Sep
tember). I am building a Uttle on this change.
The changes in my personal appearance are still
very slight. I have sometimes experienced modi
fications which seem almost important enough to
wanant my restoration to health. In any case
I am content to breathe this good air. And,

288 THE HOLY LAND
besides, what a pleasure it is to think of one's good
friends who are the half of our life, and in whom
we live more than in ourselves. We shaU speak
together of all this ; for in any case I do not think
that there is any necessity for looking forward
to a speedy end.

LETTER LXX
?Perros Guirec, Wednesday.
A STRANGE malady in tmth; for seven
months there has been no improvement,
no aggravation. Up to now the improve
ment has been only apparent, although I believed,
myself, that I was nearer to a possible cure than
in the past. At present there is great weakness,
and the nutritive organs are in a deplorable con
cUtion. I have told you my philosophy in this
regard. O, how much more tranquilly one could
(Ue if one were alone — ^if one did not leave beloved
beings behind !
What appears to me most probable is that in a
month, at the end of the fine season in Brittany, I
shaU be, not rehabiUtated, but well enough to con
tinue the Ufe of a convalescent. To return to
Paris under such circumstances would, I believe,
* The last letter dictated to Ary Renan. A few days later
Renan went home to Paris to die.
289

290 THE HOLY LAND
be very un-wise. We are thinking of a sojourn in
the South — in the southem part of the Pyrenees,
Pau or Biarritz, or perhaps in southern Provence.
Give us your advice on this point. What do you
think of Pau in particular ? It is well understood
that if in a month I am worse instead of better
we shall not go South. When one is in danger of
death he should be at home. It is only in case
of an intermediary state, relatively satisfj^ng, that
we consider this question. This sad condition
has not completely prevented me from working.
In my fourth volume there was an unsettled
point that would have rendered publication diffi
cult -without my direct counsel; it is the recip
rocal situation of Esdras and Nehemiah, one of the
most singular of historical problems. I believe
that I have almost succeeded in maldng this chap
ter clear. It may truly be caUed "Benoni, filius
doloris mei. ' ' Yes, I have endured sono-wful days ;
less sad they might have been had you been near
me. My wife and children have shown me
extreme goodness, which has consoled me. I
hope that my next letter -wiU tell you that my
improvement continues.

LETTERS OF 1848*
LETTER I
Paris, March 21, 1848.
IHAVE received your letter of March 1 2th, and
it has been a great joy for me to know that our
communications have not yet been broken . I
admire your calm spirit and your courage, my
dearest sister, but I think that after the despatch
of this letter, your intentions regarding your
retum, and the necessity of hastening it, will
change. I can only repeat to you to-day, and
with StiU more pressing reasons, what I said to you
two days ago. If it were a question of war regu
larly declared, one might anticipate the climax
by eight days or thereabouts. But is it possible
to escape the volcanic eruption if one waits for it
to begin? The news from Vienna and Berlin
which you have heard before us greatly worries
* These letters, descriptive ofthe Revolution of 1848, were
written by Renan to his sister Henriette.
291

292 THE HOLY LAND
me, and makes me fear that it may already be too
late. I sometimes hope that this letter wUl not
find you at Warsaw. You understand, my dear,
that what is needed in this instance is only the
commonest prudence. The reasons for this are
so easy to divine, and you must needs understand
them so well, seeing things at such close range,
that I abstain from developing them. Further
more, the details that I should be obliged to enter
upon might compromise the fate of the letter. I
await with impatience the letter in which you -wiU
announce the date of your return and your inten
tions in this regard. It seems to me more than
ever indispensable that you should not be alone.
Like yourself, dearest, I think that our country
must pass through a period of confusion before
acquiring a stable form. The acceleration in the
onward march of humanity and the admirably
logical character of the French people had inspired
me with the hope that we would live to see the
new society, which, I doubt not, wUl be more
advanced than that which has passed away.
But to arrive at this, it will be necessary to pass
through days of trial. The di-vision is already

LETTERS OF 1848 293
perfectly defined, and is betrayed by the public
demonstrations. There are Montagnards and
Girondists, and they have their representatives in
the pro-visional government.
The university is becoming disorganised. At a
great meeting of all the branches of study which
took place a few days ago at the Sorbonne, it gave
up its rights as a body; aU expressions that sug
gested the least idea of the corporation were
repudiated and hissed by the people (head
masters, etc.), who, here as everjrwhere, form the
majority. The authorities are driven to despair,
and are in a state of consternation. Nowhere is
democracy more complete. Several coUeges are
Ucensed; aU -will probably be Ucensed without
delay. I withhold myself from all. As regards
the measures of the ministry, my -views are exactly
yours. My work for the Institute (a memoir on the
study of Greek in the middle ages) is almost
finished ; I shaU have no more delay than -will be
needed for a brief appendix. M. Bumouf still
gathers at his home his studious auditory. There
is no longer room for the different courses at the

294 THE HOLY LAND
CoUege of France. AU the haUs are taken up by
clubs and miUtia corps ! But we shall always find
the same things recurring. Adieu, best of friends.
I expect a letter as soon as possible, and above all
a speedy return.
On no account can I leave Paris. Even before
the colleges are licensed I shaU find occupation,
for the patronage that has been taken from the
pubhc institutions will revert to private estabUsh
ments and to those giving private lessons.
I dined at M. Garnier's a few days ago. Pro
found gloom reigned there. All the habitu6s of
the salon were those who were satisfied -with the
past regime, and some were personally attached
to the court. M. Gamier occupies himself very
little -with politics. M. Saint-Marc-Girardin, who
was to join the M0I6 ministry, is in despair. M.
Cousin already speaks of the fate of Socrates.

LETTER II
Paris, June 6, 1848.
IWAS beginning to be wonied by your silence,
dearest sister. The letter which Mademoi
seUe Ulliac has just received has reassured me,
however. The months pass by, but the events
-with which our destiny is linked are not definitely
decided. I agree, my dear, that you should
remain in your position during this period of
unrest, but at the same time I do not doubt that
the time -wiU come, and perhaps soon, when you
-wiU be able to resign it. I implore you, then,
not to delay a moment. The farther I advance,
the more I am convinced that even without lea-ving
Paris we shall be able to gain an honourable
living, especially if I obtain my fellowship at the
end of the year. Even if, armed with this degree,
I am not able immediately to obtain an official
position in Paris, the prestige which is attached
to it — opportunities to substitute in the colleges,
295

2 96 THE HOLY LAND
preparing candidates for the baccalaureate degree
and the Ecole Administrative, and contributing
articles to the periodical press from time to time —
wiU, I assure you, save us from laying hands on
our reserve fund for the first few years. We -will
keep this in case of emergency, and in order to
assure ourselves in a position that wiU, otherwise,
be necessarily precarious.
Certain places in the Ubrary have just been
abolished; there is therefore little to hope for in
this direction; the fact is that plurality of offices
has been practically done away with, and this
action will soon be declared legal. The point to
which this plague of leamed careers was carried
under the regime of favouritism and purchase
which has cUsappeared, is something that can
scarcely be beUeved. Now they are going to the
opposite extreme, and not content with establish
ing limits for the future, they are purging out -with
some brutality those who have shared in the
favours of the old regime. I do not like these
reactionary occurrences ; but the evil was serious,
and the principle, provided that it is not exagger
ated, is an excellent one.

LETTERS OF 1848 297
For some days our affairs have proceeded at a
slow pace. The foolish attempt of May i sth has
done much harm. I am beginning to loosen the
bonds that bind me to the old Left which during
the first days of the revolution gained my sym
pathies. Its members conduct themselves with
a selfishness and nanow-mindedness truly sin
gular in such cultivated minds. What is lacking
for the estabUshment of a more advanced party is
men. I confess that it is in this direction that I
have hopes of the future.
A new Third Estate has been formed; the
bourgeoisie would be as foolish to combat it as the
nobiUty formerly were. Liberty and public order
no longer suffice. What is needed is legality in all
possible measure; there must be no more of the
disinherited either in the order of intelligence or in
the poUtical order ; if inequality of riches is a neces
sary evil, it is at least essential that the life of
each one be guaranteed, and that opportunities
be enlarged. This is just, and this wUl triumph,
whatever the shop-keepers may say. The lack
of inteUigence of former liberals pains me; it
resembles the voluntary blindness of the pri-vileged

298 THE HOLY LAND
classes who are not willing to sacrifice anything
that they possess, and who thus prepare the way
for frightful catastrophes.
How happy we are, my dear, to be able to say
with the ancient sage : " I carry all my possessions
about with me." It is certain that at the present
time this is the most portable and the safest species
of wealth. Considerations regarding our brother's
case give me much pain. The nature of his busi
ness is so intimately bound up with the present
form of society that every blow aimed at present
conditions afflicts me for his sake. After all, it
may be that the present mode of transacting busi
ness will be prolonged beyond the period that he
will be engaged in affairs; and, moreover, his
experience and intelligence will make him equal
to all contingencies.
How much I am in need of you, dear Henriette,
of your voice and cotmsel in these trying times !
How well I uhderstand, now, the fatality of the
revolution and the frightful force of attraction
which this gulf possessed. Without at all modify
ing the general plan of my life, these events have
exercised a prodigious infiuence upon me, and

LETTERS OF 1848 299
have unfolded to my vision an entirely new world.
I regret deeply, dear, that you are prevented from
being present at the remarkable intellectual move
ment of which we are the •witnesses. It is not, as
in former times, a simple factional affair between
people of the same party, or at least the same
principles ; it is a matter of belief.
Twenty years ago M. Jouffroy •wrote an admira
ble essay on "How Dogmas End." It would be
not less opportune to-day to write one on " How
Dogmas Are Formed."
Adieu, dear sister; •write to me soon, and con
tinue to grant me that affection which constitutes
the charm of my Ufe. How often is it necessary
for me to think of you, in order to hold firm the
helm, and to prevent trusting all to the winds !

LETTER III
Paris, June 25, 1848.
WHAT a frightful spectacle, my dear sister !
During the entire day we have heard
nothing but the whistling of balls and
the sound of the tocsin, and seen nothing but the
dead and wounded pass by. Nevertheless, you may
remain perfectly reassured. Less than ever am I
disposed to take sides with either party. In truth,
were I in a position to do so, my conscience would
not permit it. Although our quarter, and especially
the neighbourhood of the Pantheon and the Rue
Saint- Jacques are the centre of the fighting, you
need have no fear, dear Henriette. Private prop
erty is scrupulously respected — more so by the
insurgents than by those who are opposing them.
To conclude, at this moment all seems lulled to
sleep, and there is no doubt that the advantage
remains •with the established government. One
should desire this, and for my part, even when the
300

LETTERS OF 1848 301
insunection seemed triumphant, I have not
wavered for an instant. The number of the dead
and wounded is incalculable. I cannot tell you
any more, dear sister; I profit by the opportunity
of a clear road, to throw this letter into the mail
box, •without, however, any hope that it will leave
to-day. I shaU •write to you when we arrive at
some determination. Yours wholly, my well-
beloved sister. Ah, how needful it is for me to
think of you during these sad hours 1

LETTER IV
Paris, June 26, 1848.
IT has been impossible, my dear sister, to get
my letter to the post-office. I had hardly
taken a few steps when I heard the fusillade
recommence near by. After that aU communica
tion between this quarter and the rest of the city
was stopped, and the post-offices remain idle. This
evening and last night have been more terrible
than ever. There was a massacre at the Saint-
Jacques barricade, and also one at the barricade
at Fontainebleau. I spare you the details. The
Massacre of Saint Bartholomew offers nothing
resembling it. It must be that there remains in
the bottom of man's nature something of the can
nibal which awakens at certain moments. As
for myself, I would have •willingly fought the
national guard when they took upon themselves
the office of murderers. Doubtless these poor
fools who shed their blood without kno^wing what
302

LETTERS OF 1848 303
they want, are culpable ; but much more so in my
eyes are those who have kept them in slavery,
systematically crushed in them all human senti
ment, and who to serve their selfish interests have
created a class of men whose advantage is to be
sought in pillage and disorder. Let us abandon
these reflections, dear sister. How cruel it is to
live suspended between two parties who force us
to detest them equaUy! Nevertheless, I do not
despair; even if I saw humanity torn in shreds
and France expiring, I would still say that the
destiny of mankind is di-vine, and that France is
marching in the first rank toward its accomplish
ment. To-day aU seems over. People circulate in
some of the streets, but they make use of the
greatest precautions. I have at this moment a
letter from MUe. UlUac. She charges me to tell
you that they have run no danger, and that she
wUl -write to you at the end of the week. I shall
do the same, and I shall then supply what is want
ing in these lines, which can only reveal to you
the disorder of my thought. Ah, who can behold
such spectacles without weeping for the victims,

304 THE HOLY LAND
even were they the most culpable of men!
Adieu, for a few days. My God, what need I have
to think of you! Wishing to prepare for every
eventuaUty, I have placed all my papers that I
prize most highly in a chest by themselves. I
came across your letters, and I spent nearly a
whole night re-reading them. The perusal of
them has also served to maintian order in my men
tal condition in the midst of these frightful scenes
the noise of which is still resounding in my ears.
Noon. — ^The official news of the complete pacifi
cation and capitulation of the Faubourg Saint-
Antoine has just reached all the quarters.

LETTER V
Paris, July i, 1848.
THE storm has passed, my dear sister, but
what fatal traces it will leave after it for a
long time to come ! Paris is no longer rec
ognisable ; the -victors indulge in songs and follies ;
the vanquished are overcome -with sonow and
fury; The atrcxiities committed by the conquerors
make one tremble, and bring us back to the period
of the reUgious wars. A veritable reign of tenor
has succeeded this deplorable war, and the military
govemment has cUsplayed at -will all the arbitrary
and illegal quaUties that characterise it; some
thing of hardness, ferocity and inhumanity has
been introduced into the manners and language
of the people. Law-abiding persons, those -who
are known as honest people, call out for grape-
shot and bullets ; the scaffold is overthrown and
massacre substituted for it ; the bourgeoisie have
proved that they are capable of all the excesses of
305

3o6 THE HOLY LAND
our first Tenor, only with the added features of
reflection and selflshness. And they believe that
they are conquerors forever; what will occur on
the day of reprisals ? . . . And nevertheless,
such is the tenible position in which we have been
placed by the force of circumstances, that we
are obUged to rejoice at this victory; for the
triumph of the insurrection would have been stUl
more dangerous. Not that you are to believe aU
the fear-inspiring accounts invented by hatred
and the ridiculous newspapers.
I have seen the insurgents at close range; we
were in their hands for a day and a night, and I
can say that we could not wish for a display of
more consideration, honour and rectitude; and
that in moderation they infinitely surpassed their
opponents who committed unheard-of atrocities,
in our presence, upon the most inoffensive persons.
No; pillage, murder and incendiarism would not
have been the order of the day; there would
have been vengeance -wreaked, and -violent meas
ures; the hired brigands who this time, as always,
formed a goodly portion of the insurgent troops,
would have been restrained -with difficulty; but

LETTERS OF 1848 307
other men would have come upon the scene, and
the movement would have been directed anew.
I do not believe in the exaggerations which nowa
days it is the fashion to repeat everywhere, and
which, be it well understood, I repeat like every
body else. But the difficulty, the in-vincible diffi
culty, would have been on the part of France,
which certainly would not have yielded to the
revolution of Paris ; and even supposing that in a
few great cities Uke Lyons, Rouen, etc. , the popu
lar insurrection had gained support, a frightful
ci-vil war would have been necessary to make pos
sible the -violent and premature triumph of a cause,
which required time to develop. It is then a great
blessing that the insurrection has been put do-wn ;
and I repeat if the twelfth legion had not seceded,
it is probable that I should have laboured -with it
at least in the attempt to bring these madmen
back to reason.
I am not a sociahst ; I am convinced that the
theories advanced for the purpose of reforming
society will never triumph in their absolute form.
Every new idea takes the shape of a system — a
nanow and partial system which never arrives at

3o8 THE HOLY LAND
practical reaUsation. It is only when it has broken
this first sheU, and has become a social dogma,
that it becomes a tmth universally recognised
and applied.
AVhat is more in the nature of a system than the
Social Contract? And is not the whole consti
tutional regime, which is henceforth an estabUshed
reality, almost a system ? This is what will hap
pen to socialism. It is now nanow, unpractical,
a pure Utopia, true on one side and false on the
other; true in its principles, false in its forms.
The day is not far off when, pruned of its exag
gerations and chimeras, it -will become an e-vident
and recognised law. Who will then have tri
umphed? Will it be the partisans who upheld
falsehood as truth, and -wished to reaUse the impos
sible? Will it be those adversaries who denied
the truth because of the false, and tried to prevent
the purification of the new doctrine? Neither
one nor the other ; it will be humanity which -will
have taken one step more, and reached a more
advanced and more just expression.
Let us put aside all ideas of justice and human
ity, and consider the question simply as econo-

LETTERS OP 1848 309
mists and politicians. Is it not e-vident that the
only remedy for the terrible evil that our society
bears in its bosom, is to do away with that class
that wages an eternal war on wealth; to destroy
it, I say, not by massacre, which would be at once
atrocious and impossible, but by moral education,
and by impro-ving its condition ? Is it not a fright
ful thing that the majority of mankind should be
forcibly disinherited of intellectual and moral hap
piness, and herded together in drunkenness and
(hsorder ? This happiness, it will be said, is open
to aU. Assuredly not; how can it be imagined
that the miserable -wretch who has grown up in
this hideous atmosphere, -without education, with
out moraUty, ignorant of religion which in any
case would have no power upon him, exposed to
death by starvation, and who cannot possibly
escape from this condition no matter what effort he
may make, how can it be supposed that such a
miserable creature would console himself by think
ing of a better world of which he has no idea, or
that he would not seek to acquire by crime what
he cannot obtain by legitimate means? Such a
one would be an angel of -virtue, which is hardly

3IO THE HOLY LAND
to be expected, since virtue is impossible in this
case. Even honesty has become a monopoly -with us,
and one cannot be an honest man unless he has a
black coat and a Uttle money. We consider the
pri-vileges of the ancient nobiUty over the bour
geoisie indefensible. But is it not also an atrocious
thing to see a considerable portion of mankind,
children of God like ourselves, condemned to dis
honour and prevented by fate from breaking their
iron fetters?
It is physically proved that he who enters the
world without means, or -without having others to
pave the way for him, can only Uve by gross
manual labour — ^that is to say, can hardly Uve at
aU. It is physically proved that a woman who has
no outside aid to depend upon, cannot Uve by the
labour of her hands, and consequently has to
choose between theft and prostitution. How can
you argue, after this, that we should not feel some
resentment against the egotists, who refuse to
consider this question in their economic poUcies,
who persist in interpreting this science in the inter
est of the rich, and refuse to see in such needs a

LETTERS OF 1848 311
reason for making any sacrifices ? How could you
think that we should -wish to return to the age of
stock-jobbers and speculators, in which mercantile
aims absorb everjrthing and intelligence is choked
under money-bags ?
These are my principles, my dear sister. I think
that it is time to overthrow the exclusive reign of
capital, and to associate with it labour; but I
also think that no means of making the applica
tion has yet been found, that no system -will fur
nish it, but that it -wiU spring ready made from the
developed nature of things. All this is certainly
very far from the Mountain or the Tenor. It
is this faith in humanity, this consecration of
one's self to the perfecting of it, and consequently
to its happiness, that I caU the new reUgion. It
is my desire that you may share in this solemn
and holy revolution.
I know well, dearest, that there are pictures
which are seen best from afar, and that revolutions
are in this category. But take care that there is
not a prism placed between you and us.
What newspaper have you seen? Or do you
see the French papers at all ? If, perchance, it is

312 THE HOLY LAND
the Constitutionnel, I implore you not to believe a
word either of the news or the editorials. This
paper has become a laughing-stock on account of
the canards -with which it leisurely fills its pages.
If you read the Debats I should be less sorry. It
is at least conducted with good taste, and respects
France sufficiently to prevent it from inventing
calumnies against her. But you conceive that it
s hardly fit to appreciate properly the present
crisis. As regards the Presse, it is Uke a spiteful
Uttle man uttering nonsense. I am not of the
most optimistic, my dear ; above all, I am not very
enthusiastic about my feUow men, and in truth
this is slightly their fault. But I none the less
persist in believing that in spite of all their petty
fashions, personal ambitions, misfortunes and
crimes, they are accomphshing a great transforma
tion for the benefit of humanity. J beUeve that
we are in accord on this, dear and excellent sister.
But you cherish exaggerated fears; you beUeve
that this revolution -will only be accompUshed by
frightful catastrophes ; you say (and this sentence
has pierced my heart) that if prosperity issues
from this chaos, it will be when you are in your

LETTERS OF 1848 313
grave ! No, my well-beloved girl ; you yourself
shall profit by it ; bright days shall dawn for us
all ; more than this, we shaU do better than merely
enjoy them; we shall have worked to produce
them, and we shaU have suffered while awaiting
them. What, my Henriette ! Are not you, your
self, one of the sad -victims of these deplorable
social conditions which we -wish to change? If
with your prudence and -virile faculties, if with your
leaming and character, if after such sacrifices and
such painful self-denial the future may still be sad
for you, are we not in the right in accusing the
social order under which such injustice is possible ?
I assure you that the new order cannot be other-
-wise than favourable to us, even if in the begin
ning we have to pass through trying days