YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

YALE UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY

MEMOIR, LETTERS, AND REMAINS

ALEXIS DE TOCfiUEVILLE.

MEMOIR. LETTERS, AND REMAINS

ALEXIS DE TOCQUEVILLE.
AUTHOR OF DEMOCRACY IN AMERICA.
i '*
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH
BY THE TRANSLATOR OF NAPOLEON'S CORRESPOND
ENCE WITH KING JOSEPH.
WITH LARGE ADDITIONS.

IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.

BOSTON:
TICKNOR AND FIELD,1?.
1862.

biteeside, oaubhidos:
STEQ£OTXl'ED AM) I'ttlflTKJJ Li' U- 0. IIOUQUTOH.

CONTENTS TO VOL. II.

( The letters marhed with an asterisk are either wholly or in part new. )
CORRESPONDENCE, ETC. FADE
TO M. DE CORCELLE  April 12, 1835. Ill
TO count mole  May 19, 1835. 10
TO LORD RADNOR  May, 1835. 21
to henry reeve, esq  Sept. 11, 1835. 26
TO JOHN STIIAnT MILL, ESQ  Sept. 12, 1885. 27
TO THE SAME  Dec. il, 18.15. 28
Dec. 5, 1835. 29
TO THE SAME  Feb. 10, 1836. 31
TO HENRT REEVE, ESQ  April 17, 1836. 32
TO the same  May 22, 1836. 33
to m. de corcelle  July 6, 1836. 84
TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT .... July 6, 1836. 35
to m. de corcelle'  July 27, 1836. 36
to j. s. mill, esq  Nov. 10, 1836. 37
to n. w. senior, esq  Jan. 11, 1837. 38
to h. reeve, esq  Mar. 22, 1837. 39
to the same  July 24, 1837. 40
to count mole  Sept. 12, 1837. 42
ANSWER FROM COUNT MOLE TO H. DE TOC
QUEVILLE,  Sept. 14, 1837. 43
to count mole  Sept. 27, 1837. 46
to m. gustave de eeaumont .... Nov. 12, 1837. 47
to the same  Jan. 18, 1838. 48
to the same  Mar. 21, 1838. 49

vi CONTENTS TO VOL. n. PACJB
to the same  April 22, 1838. 50
•ro tiiu hajiis  >/"«• u. lbii'J- 6a
to tue same  Jan. 81, 1839. 64
TO THE BARON DE TOCQUEVILLE . . . Mar. 11, 1839. 54
to M. J. J. ampere  Sept. 17, 1839. 55
to j. s. mill, esq  Nov. 16, 1839. 57
to m. j. j. ampere  Nov. 2, 1839. 58
to h. reeve, esq  Jan. 3, 1840. 69
to the same  Ayril 12, 1840. 60
to m. j. j. ampere  April 21, 1840. 61
to h. reeve, esq  May 23, 1840. 61
to M. de corcelle  Sept. 26, 1840. 62
to m. j. j. ampere  Sept. 27, 1840. 63
to the baron dm tocqueville . . . Nov. 2, 1840. 65
to j. s. mill, esq  Dec. 18, 1840. 67
to the baron de tocqueville . . . May 30, 1841. 69
to m. j. J. ampere  July 5, 1841. 71
to the same  Aug. 10, 1841. 73
TO M. OUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT . . . Oct. U, 1813. 74
to lord Radnor  Nov. 5, 1843. 75
to m. de corcelle  Nov. 15, 1843. 77
to the same  Sept. 17, 1844. 78
*to ciiari.es buller, esq  June 21, 1846. 81
to m. de corcelle  Oct. 11, 1846. 83
to m. dupauue  July 29, 1847. 86
*to n. w. senior, esq  Aug. 25, 1847. 87
to m. de corcelle  Aug. 27, 1847. 88
to mademoiselle denise de tocque
ville  Jan. 6, 1848. 89
to n. w. senior, esq  April 10, 1848. 90
TO THE COMTESSE LOUIS DE KEROORLAY May, 1848. 93
to loud Radnor  May 26, 1848. 94
TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT . . . Aug. 1848. 95
TO THE SAME  Nov. 1848. 9G
to g. grote, esq  Feb. 27, 1849. 97
TO lord Radnor  June 7, 1849. 100
to tiil; comtesse de circourt . . . June 19, 1860. 100
*EXTRACT FROM THE JOURNAL KEPT BY
mr. senior in the Spring of 1850 . May 19, 1850. 101

CONTENTS TO VOL. II.

vn

TO MRS. GROTE 
TO M. DE CORCELLE 
?EXTRACTS FROM THE JOURNAL KEPT
BY MR. SENIOR DURING HIS VISIT TO
NORMANDY 

TO M. DUPAURE 
TO M. DE CORCELLE 
TO M. G. DB BEAUMONT . . .
TO M. DUFAURH 
TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT

TO M. GUSTAVE DH BEAUMONT

TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT

JulyAug.
' Aug.
Aug.Aug. Aug.
Aug.Oct. Nov. Nov.
Dec.

TO M. DUFAURE

*TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ 
TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT . . .
TO M. DE CORCELLE 
TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ 
?TO THE EDITOR OF THE " TIMES " . .
?EXTRACTS FROM MR. SENIOR'S JOURNAL

?TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ. . . .
TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT .
TO THE COMTE DE CIRCOURT . .
TO M. DUFAURE 
TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT
TO HENRY REEVE, ESQ. . . .

Dec.Jan.Jan.
Jan. Feb. Feb.
Feb.
[Feb.r Feb.
I Feb.
{Feb. Mar. May
May
May July
. Sept.Sept.
. Nov.Dec.
{Dec.[Dec.
. Mar.
May
. June July
. JulyAug.

24, 1850.
1, 1850.
17, 1850.
19, 1850.
22, 1850.
25, 1850.
26, 1850.
12, 1850.
1, 1850.
24, 1850.
22, 1850.
80, 1850.
5, 1851.
29, 1851.
29, 1851.
4, 1851.
9, 1851.
10, 1851.
13, 1851.
14, 1861.
17, 1851.
20, 1851.
12, 1851.
4, 1851.
6, 1851.
18, 1851.
27, 1851.
14,1851.
13, 1851.
28, 1851.
11, 1851.
23, 1851.
31, 1851.
*9, 1852.
1, 1852.
14, 1852.
4, 1852.
6, 1852.
8, 1852.

FAOE 104 106107
110
112114 117
. H9120
122 121120128130
132
138140141143145
147154. 165156 158
159 163107
169172173189194196198
199202203205

viii CONTENTS TO VOL. II. PAGE
TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT . . . Sept. 18, 1852. 206
TO BARON BUNSEN  Jan- 2, 1853. 208
TO HENRY REEVE, esq  Mar. 1853. 209
TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT . . . Mar. 3, 1853. 211
TO BARON BUNSEN  May 23> 1853. 212
TO W. H. GREG, ESQ  May 23, 1853. 214
TO M. FRESLON  June 9. 1853. 215
TO N. W. SENIOR, esq  My 2, 1853. 216
TO W. R. GREG, esq  July 27, 1853. 218
to m. freslon  Aug. 10, 1853. 225
to the comte de circourt .... Aug. 13, 1853. 226
to m. de corcelle  . Sept. 17, 1853. 228
TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT . . . Sept. 2, 1863. 231
to M. freslon  Sept. 23, 1863. 234
to m. rivet  Oct. 23, 1853. 235
TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT . . . Nov. 3, 1853. 236
to m. freslon  Nov. 3, 1853. 237
TO THE COMTISBSE DE OIRCOUUT . . . Nov. 26, 1858. 239
to mrs. oiiote  Nov. 22, 1853. 210
TO THE COMTE DE CIRCOURT .... Dec. 7, 1853. 242
TO M. DE CORCELLE ,  Dec. 31, 1853. 243
TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT . . . Jan. 11, 1854. 245
? extracts IfltOM MR. SENIOli's JOURNAL Feb. 24,1851. 217
to iiauon kdoiiard dio ToOQiinvi l.i.u . Mar. 7, 1864. 251
? extract prom mr. senior's JOURNAL April 8, 1854. 263
to the comte de circourt .... June 1, 1854. 255
to the same  June 24, 1854. 256
to m. de corcelle  July 22, 1854. 258
to the comtesse de circourt . . . July 27, 1854. 262
to m. gustave de beaumont .... Aug. 6, 1854. 264
to the comte de circourt .... Sept. 1, 1854. 266
TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT .... Oct. 1854. 267
to m. de corcelle  Oct. 2, 1854. 268
to the same'  Oct. 23, 1854. 271
to the same  Nov. 15, 1864. 274
to n. w. senior, esq  Jun. 22, 1866. 276
to mrs. grote  Feb. 24, 1865. 277
?to n. w. senior, esq  Feb. 16, 1855. 280
to mrs. grote  Feb. 21, 1855. 281

CONTENTS TO VOL. II. ix
PAGE
TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT .... Feb. 21, 1855. 283
( Mar. 2, 1855. 285
?EXTRACTS FROM MR. SENIOR S JOURNAL i „ ' „
( May 28, 1855. 28 1
TO MADAME 8WHTCIIINI)  Illll) 20, 1855. 2H8
?to n. w. senior, esq  July 25, 1855. 289
to m. de corcelle  Aug. 4, 1855. 292
TO MRS. AUSTIN  Sept. 11, 1855. 293
TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT . . . Sept. 16, 1855. 294
? to n. w. senior, esq  Sept. 16, 1855. 295
TO MADAME SWETCIIINE  Oct. 15, 1855. 298
to m. de corcelle  Oct. 16, 1855. 301
to TnE comte de circourt .... Nov. 8, 1855. 302
to m. de corcelle  303
to the same  Dec. 23, 1855. 303
TO MADAME SWETCIIINE  hill. I, .1850. 31)4
TO M. DE CORCELLE  /une 18, 1856. 306
to the same . . . . '  June 29, 1850. 308
TO BARON BUNSEN  July 19, 1850. 309
TO M. CHARLES DE REMUSAT .... July 22, 1856. 310
TO MADAME SWETCIIINE  July 22, 1850. 812
TO M. VICTOR LANJUINAIS  /illy 18, 1860. 314
to prince albert de broglie . . July 20, 1850. 316
TO MADAME SWETCHINE  Aug. 4, 1856. 318
to m. de remusat  Aug. 6, 1856. 319
to mrs. grote  Aug. 10, I860. 320
TO M. DUVERGIER DE IIAURANNE . . . Sept. 1, 1856. 322
? to n. w. senior, esq  Sept. 4, 1856. 325
TO MADAME SWETCnlNE  Sept. 10, 1856. 327
to mrs. grote  Oct. 1, 1860. 329
TO M. LANJUINAIS  Oct. 13, 1850. 331
TO MADAME SWETCHINE  Oct. 20, 1856. 332
? to n. w. senior, esq  Nov. 2,1850. 335
TO HENRY REEVE, ESQ  Nov. 7, 1850. 837
TO MADAME SWETCIIINE  Dec. 4, 1850. 839
TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT . . . Dec. 21, 1856. 340
TO MADAME SWETCHINE  Dec. 29, 1856. 842
to M. rivet  July 20, 1857. 343
to M. J. J. ampere  Tan. 27, 1857. 344
to mrs. grote  Jan. 31, 1857. 340

CONTENTS TO VOL. II.

TO M. FRESLON  F*b-
TO HENRY REEVE, ESQ  Jan.
TO MADAME SWETCIIINE  Feb.
?to n. w. senior, esq  Mar.
TO M. J. J. AMPERE  May
TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT . . . Feb.
TO LADY THERESA LEWIS  May
[May
?EXTRACTS FROM MR. SENIOR'S JOURNAL j May
t May
TO HENRY REEVE, ESQ  May
TO MRS. GROTE  May
?TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ  JtUy
TO LORD RADNOR  July
TO M. J. J. AMPERE  July
TO M. DE CORCELLE  July
TO M. DE CORCELLE  Aug.
TO LORD HATIIERTON  Aug.
TO MRS. IIOI.I.ONU  Aug.
TO M. J. 3. AMPERE  Aug.
TO THE SAME  Aug.
TO M. PRUSLON  Sept.
TO THE OOMTE88E DE CIRCOURT . . . Sept.
TO LADY THERESA LEWIS  Oct.
TO M. FRESLON  Nov.
TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT . . . Nov.
? TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ  Nov.
TO LORD HATIIERTON  NoV.
TO M. J. J. AMPERE  Jan.
TO H. REEVE, ESQ  Jan.
TO SIR JAMES STEPHEN  ' . Feb.
? to n. w. senior, esq  Feb.
TO LORD HATIIERTON  Mar.
TO HENRY REEVE, ESQ  Mar.
TO M. FRESLON  Mar.
TO THE SAME . • ¦  Mar.
?EXTRACT PROM MR. SENIOR'S JOURNAL April
TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT .... SJay
TO M. FRESLON  July

PAGE

3,

1857.

849

11,

1857.

360

14,

1867.

363

8,

1857.

353

12,

1857.

355

22

1857.

366

6,

1867.

867

7,

1867.

360

8,

1857.

366

16,

1867.

309

20,

1857.

370

31,

1857.

371

10,

1857.

373

19,

1857.

378

20,

1857.

374

2,

1857.

376

5,

1857.

376

7,

181,7.

378

9,

1867.

379

9,

1857.

880

28

1857.

382

11,

1857.

383

24,

1857.

384

18,

1857.

885

5

1867.

889

20,

1857.

390

15,

1857.

392

27,

1857.

393

1,

1858.

395

30,

1858.

896

14,

1868.

399

14,

1868.

400

0

1858.

401

22,

1868.

402

5,

1858.

403

16

1858.

404

20,

1868.

406

21

1858.

409

8,

1858.

411

CONTENTS TO % VOL. II. xi
PAGE
TO THE COMTE DE CIRCOURT .... July 19, 1858. 415
to mrs. grote  July 23, 1858. 416
TO N. w. senior, esq  ¦. . . Aug. 21, 1858. 417
TO LORD HATIIERTON  Sept. 1, 1858. 418
TO SIR G. 0. LEWIS  Sept. 5, 1858. 419
TO W. R. GREG, ESQ  Oct. 1, 1588. 420
to m. freslon  Oct. 11, 1858. 422
TO THE COMTE DE CIRCOURT .... Nov. 12, 1858. 423
to m. de corcelle  Nov. 22, 1858. 424
to m. j. j. ampere  Dec. 6, 1858. 425
to the same  Dec. 30, 1858. 427
to m. lanjuinais  Feb. 7, 1859. 428
to j. s. mill, esq  Feb. 9, 1859. 429
to the comte de oircourt .... Feb. 9, 1859. 430
to m. o. rivet  Feb. 15, 1860. 431
to m. de corcelle  Feb. 15, 1859. 431
TO the vi comte de TOCQUEVILLE . . Feb. 17, 1859. 432
TO THE COMTESSE HIPPOLYTE DE TOCQUE
VILLE  Feb. 25, 1859. 432
TO HENRY REEVE, ESQ  Feb. 26, 1859. 484
TO M. freslon  Fell. 23, 1859. 435
to M. j. j. ampere  Mar. 3, 1859. 436
to m. gustave de beaumont .... Mar. 4, 1859. 437
to baron bunsen  Mar. 6, 1859. 437
to m. lanjuinais  Mar. 10, 1859. 438
to n. w. senior, esq  Mar. 15, 1859. 439
to the comte de circourt .... Mar. 17, 1859. 440
to m. de corcelle  April 6, 1869. 441
to m. j. j. ampere  April 9, 1859. 442

LETTERS

ALEXIS DE TOCQUEVILLE.

TO M. DE CORCELLE.
April 12, 1835.
My dear Sir,
I have examined your criticisms with all the impar
tiality of which an author is capable. Some seemed to
me to be well founded, and all in the kindest spirit.
I will make n single objection. It is this : you sup
pose my view of the prospects of democracy to be more
gloomy than it is. If my expectations were what you
believe them to be, you would be right in thinking that
there is some contradiction between them and my recom
mendations, which tend in fact towards the progressive
development of democracy. I have endeavored, it is
true, to describe the natural tendency of opinions and
institutions in a democratic society. I have pointed out
the dangers to which it exposes men. But I have never
said that these tendencies, if discovered in time, might
not be resisted, and these dangers, if foreseen, averted.
It struck me that the republicans (I take the word in
its good sense) saw neither the good nor the evil of the
condition into which they wished to bring society ; and
that thus they were exposed to mistake the means of

14 LETTERS.
increasing the former and avoiding the latter. I there
fore undertook to bring out both as clearly and as
strongly as I could, that we may look our enemies in
the face and know against what we have to fight. I
think that this places me in quite a different category
from M. Joufiroy.
He points out the perils of democracy, and considers
them as inevitable. All that remains to be done, he
says, is to avert them as long as possible ; and when at
last they come, to cover one's head with one's cloak
and submit to one's fate. For my part, I wish society
to confront them like a strong nuui who knows that
danger is before him aud must bo met, that lie may
reach his object ; who exposes himself to it without
repining, as to a necessary part of his undertaking,
and is alarmed only when he cannot see clearly what
it is.
Forgive me for treating this subject at so much
length. I have tried to explain to you, not all my
opinions, hut the idea that inspired the whole work, tlie
parent thought j and I attach great importance to pre
venting the pubhc from forming mistaken notions on
this point.
I cannot conclude, my dear sir, without expressing
my gratitude, or without saying that I hope that after
bestowing so much undeserved praise on the book, you
will consent to become a friend of the author.
P. S. There is one passage in your letter which
gave me particular pleasure. It is that in which you
propose as a remedy to the excesses of democracy indi
rect election. It is a proposal of the greatest importance ;
but the minds of men anxious for liberty and equality

TO COUNT MOLE. 15
must be cautiously and gradually familiarized with it.
I am convinced that it is the most powerful instrument
by which the more intellectual members of a democratic
society may bo made its leaders without being uncon
trolled. TO COUNT MOLE. London, May 19, 183D.
I wished, dear sir, to have written to you much earlier,
to tell you of the flattering reception which your intro
ductions have obtained for me ; but first the arrangements
incidental to a tour, and then an indisposition which lasted
some time, prevented me.
If I said that I liavo been received kindly by Iho per
sons to whom you sent mc, it would bo far below tho
truth. Every sort of attention has been shown to me.
The Marquis of Lansdowne, especially, has proved, by
his extraordinary kindness, how much he wished to grat
ify you. These proofs of regard are all the more val
uable to me, as I consider them as one of the effects of
your friendship.
On my arrival here, I found that there was a suspen
sion of hostilities in Parliament. The Houses met three
or four days ago ; but as yet no important questions have
been agitated, nor has there yet been time for the differ
ent parties to assume their attitudes. It would be very
difficult, therefore, even for an Englishman, to predict the
fate of the new ministry. A foreigner, recently landed
as I am, would be absurd if he ventured to attempt to do
so. All that I have tried to do has been to judge, by a
few points of comparison, the principal changes that
have taken place since my last visit.
Eighteen months ago, I remarked that republican ideas,
though making rapid progress in all that concerns the

16 LETTERS.
administration, seemed to be stationary with regard to
tlie social system ; in other words, that the nation was
more eager to obtain equality of rights than equality of
station. Comparing what I then saw with what I now
see, it seems to me that republicanism has continued to
advance in the first direction, but has remained nearly
stationary in the second. Eighteen months ago, the
Whigs attacked the conduct of the majority in the House
of Lords, but respected the peerage itself. I now hear
among them words of bad omen. Many of them say
that the Reform Bill has completely altered the spirit
of the British constitution. Formerly the actual gov
ernment resided in the House of Lords ; the Commons
followed in the wake of the high aristocracy. This
is all to be changed. The Commons are to govern.
The Peers may take part in public affairs, but are not
to direct them.
Others go still farther, and ask why none but the rich
can obtain seats in the House of Lords. Some even
question tho advantages of hereditary peerages. All
theso doctrines have lately been reproduced in print,
and not disavowed, if they have not been publicly ap
proved, by the Whig party. There is evidently a gen
eral tendency in the public mind to dispute the privilege
assumed by the rich to govern the State.
If from political we pass to social questions, no simi
lar advance seems to have been made. I do not meet
more persons favorable to the abolition of social distinc
tions, and of the rights of primogeniture, than I did
eighteen months ago. All who are making their for
tunes, or who have any chance of becoming rich, favor
the accumulation of wealth. The others have at present
no voice. The British nation may be represented by

TO COUNT MOLE. 17
two men, one of whom says to the other, " Take your
choice ; are you willing to divide our inheritance equally
with me ? We shall each be men of moderate fortune."
And the other answers, " Take all ; only leave me the
chance of one day stepping into your place." The mid
dle classes in England play double or quits. With us,
the same classes prefer a lower sttiko ; less latitude left
to chance ; more moderate hopes, and less fears.
When I consider attentively the state of this country,
I cannot help believing that a democratic revolution,
similar to that which has taken place with us, will, sooner
or later, take place in England ; but it will not occur in
the same way, or by the same moans. With us, religious
indifference singularly facilitated alterations in our an
cient laws. Here, revolutionary feelings are almost as
much religious as political. The vehemence and the
influence of religious opinions in this country, inflamed
as they are by parly-spirit, cannot be conceived in France.
The population may bo thus divided: on the side of the
Established Church are almost all the rich : most of the
middle and many of the lower classes are Dissenters.
It is observed that families, when they become rich, sel
dom fail to join the Church ; while many of the poor
every day enroll themselves among the Dissenters. After
an attentive examination, I am convinced that the Estab-
lished religion naturally leads to monarchical and aris-
tocratical ideas, and Dissent to notions of republican
equality. In England, therefore, republican theories do not gain
ground, as with us, in the absence of religious convictions.
They are helped by these opinions, and help them in
turn. It seems to me probable that the Dissenters will
gain the day, and, as in 1G40, upset the State after they
vol. u. 2

18 LETTERS.
have overthrown the Church. One instance will explain
the difference between the two countries on this subject.
IjiihI year, only a few votes were wanting to pass a bill
through the House of Commons, the object of wliich was
to render still more strict the already rigid observance of
Sunday. Thus, liberalism, wliich relaxes religious disci
pline with us, leads in England to puritanic austerity.
In France, the desire to own land has always been
general, and the number of small land-owners consider
able. The Revolution rendered this system universal.
Here, not only is landed property little divided, but it
ovary day becomes more and mine concentrated. The
chief cause of this is, I think, the immense increase of
trade and manufactures.
It is, I believe, an established fact, that as a nation be
comes more civilized, its people leave off labor in the
fields for work in manufactories. This natural tendency
is especially observable in England, which manufactures
almost everything, not only for Great Britain, but for the
whole world. In England, too, as Ihe land has never
been much divided, it has never been such a source of
fortune to the poor, as it is in France ; and it therefore
never presents itself to the fancy of the lower classes as
the natural means of rising in the world. The habits
and instincts of the English peasant are, consequently,
totally unlike those of our own. If he possesses more
intelligence or more capital than his neighbors, he turns
his advantages to account in trade ; the idea of becoming
a land-owner never enters his head. With the English,
therefore, land is a luxury ; it is honorable and agreeable
to possess it, but it yields comparatively little profit. Only
rich people buy it. With us, a great landed proprietor
sometimes sells in small lots as a speculation ; here, a sale

TO COUNT MOLE. 10
is the speculation of the small land-owner. Large estates,
therefore, grow larger every day ; agriculture is carried
on on a great scale. As such agriculture requires fewer
hands, every year an increasing number of laborers are
out of work. So, while trade and manufactures attract
laborers, the soil rejects them.
I do not know if you will agree with me in thinking
that such a preponderance of the aristocratic element
leads to revolution, as certainly as the tendency towards
democracy docs with us. Already in England, nearly
two thirds of the population have passed from agricul
ture to trade and manufactures. The change began long
ago, aud its progress must lead lo an unnatural and, I
believe, an unmaintainable slate of society. The wholo
country is already lamenting over the excess of popula
tion and want of employment.* The population appears
to bo excessive, because it is ill distributed ; and employ
ment is deficient, because all labor flows in the samo
channel. Opposed to a small minority of rich is an im
mense majority of poor; and nowhere is the antagonism
between tho class that possesses everything and that
which has nothing so formidable. I know that the rich
are beginning to agree perfectly among themselves ; but
the poor are more of one mind than in any other country
in the world. The misunderstanding is only between tlie
two classes.
* It is curious to compare these complaints of over-population, and
of the redundancy of agricultural labor with our present state, after
a lapse of twenty-four years, during which the increase of large estates
has been constant, after an increase of our population from sixteen
millions to twenty millions, and after the abandonment of protection
to agriculture. M. do Toef|iievillo dirt not perceivo Unit the ntimhor
of agricultural laborers out of work was duo, not to tho increase of
cultivation on a great scale but to the abuses of the unreformed poor-
law. — Tr.

20 LETTERS.
It is true that democracy, with an army of followers,
has no generals. It is ill represented by the members
whom it sends to parliament. They desire political not
social equality. But it seems to me that in time they
will be driven from the one position to the other. Uni
versal discontent will urge them on. When the aristoc
racy has lost the greater part of its political influence,
its chiefs will remain great people, for they will still be
rich ; but to the inferior members the result will be un
endurable. The rear-guard of aristocracy will in that day
become the vanguard of democracy ; and feeling them
selves the evil, they will suggest to the people the
remedy. To sum up, I may say that if the taste of our people
for possessing land, and our habit of cultivation on a
small scale, have singularly facilitated our progress tow
ards equality, it is probable that the excess of oppos
ing causes will drive the English in the same direction.
There are many other points of contrast between this
country and France ; but I ought to stop here ; and in
deed it is more than time to ask your pardon for the
absurd length of this letter. I perceive that, after hav
ing allowed myself to be drawn on till I have written
half a volume, I have as yet said nothing on the existing
difficulties of the Government ; and that while dilating
on the future, 1 have forgotten the more important sub
ject of the present. You probably wished for facts, and
I send you only speculations. But I hope that you will
have the kindness to value this letter not at its real
worth, but for the sake of the motives which inspired
it. I hope that you will be so good as to remember me
to Madame d'Aguesseau.

TO LORD RADNOR. 21
TO LORD RADNOR.*
My Lord, London, May, 18')B.
That I may be able to answer your questions, I think
it advisable, in the first place, to establish what legally
and actually was the position of the ministers of our re
ligion before the Revolution of 1830. Afterwards I will
treat of their present situation and of their prospects.
When Napoleon reestablished the exercise of the
Catholic religion, he did not restore their property . to
the clergy, but assigned to them part of the revenue of
the State. From proprietors they became pensioners.
This was not tho only blow struck by him at their in
dependence. In former times there was between the
bishops and inferior clergy of every diocese an ecclesi
astical tribunal, which was called, if I am not mistaken,
" I'ojjicialite." Napoleon destroyed this court of appeal.
lie gave up the inferior clergy to the uncontrolled juris
diction of the bishops. Whether rightly or not, the
Emperor thought that he would always be able to man
age easily a few bishops, and that by governing them he
would be master of all the clergy. This was the posi
tion of the ministers of our religion at the Restoration.
The Bourbons returned resolved to support tbe mon
archy by the Church ; and the charter of 1814 an
nounced that the Catholic religion was the religion of
the State. But it did not dare to define the words " the
Religion of the State.'' The property of the clergy was
* While Tocqueville was in London, in the j'ear 1835, he was inti
mate with Lord Radnor, who on one occasion asked him to explain
tho position of tho clergy in France, and tho state of public opinion
on religions subjects. Lord Radnor, struck by Tocqueville' 8 answer,
requested him to put it into writing.

22 LETTERS.
not restored to them, nor were, I believe, even their
salaries increased. But they were allowed an indirect
share in the government. The parish priest, from the
weight given to his recommendations, became a sort of
political authority. Places were given with more regard
to religious opinions than to capacity — so, at least, it
was generally thought. As the Restoration became more
firmly established, the union between Cliurch and State
became more and more evident. A law was passed
punishing with the utmost rigor all sacrilegious profa
nation of sacred objects and theft from churches. The
archbishops and some of the bishops obtained seats in
the House of Peers. The nation was governed, or
thought that it was governed, by the priests — their in
fluence was felt everywhere. Then reappeared what we
call in France the Voltairian spirit ; the spirit of syste
matic hostility and sarcasm, directed not only against the
ministers of religion, but against religion itself; against
Christianity in all its forms. The books of the eigh
teenth century were reprinted in cheap editions. Plays,
songs, and caricatures were filled with bitter satires
against religion. The hatred of a portion of the popu
lation against the clergy became inconceivably violent.
At that time I held a judicial post ; and I noticed that
whenever a priest was accused, whatever were the of
fence, the jury, in general very indulgent, almost in
variably and unanimously condemned him. Under the
Empire the Cliurch took no part in politics ; after the
Restoration it became a political party in itself. It joined
the most ardent votaries of absolute monarchy, and often
declaimed from the pulpit in its favor.
The result was fatal. Almost all the liberal party,
that is, the great majority of the nation, became irre-

TO LORD RADNOR. 23
ligious on political grounds. Impiety was a form of
opposition. Excellent men were furious when religion
was mentioned ; others, notoriously immoral, talked in
cessantly of restoring allars, and of inculcating reverence
towards God.
I do not think, my Lord, that there is a single French
man of any party whatever, who at this day does not
consider the religious hatred brought about by the Res
toration as the chief cause of the downfall of the Bour
bons. If it had stood alone, the elder branch would
have sustained itself with difficulty ; united to the clergy,
and exposed to the intense animosity excited by the po
litical influence of the priests, its fall was inevitable.
- This takes us to the year 1830. Let us see what has
passed since.
The Church had so closely united its fate to that of
the Crown, that when the King was dethroned in 1830,
the priests all believed themselves to be in personal
danger ; and so in fact many were. In some of the
larger towns they were forced to conceal the outward
signs of their calling. The archbishopric of Paris was
pillaged in February, 1831, and the archbishop obliged
to hide himself.
The new Government took part against them. The
words " Religion of the State " were erased from the
charter, and in their place " Religion of the majority "
substituted. All the bishops raised to the peerage by
Charles X. lost their seats. The rest have since always
abstained from taking part in the debates. The clergy
no longer sit in the Chamber of Deputies. The minis
try for ecclesiastical affairs has been suppressed.
A still greater change occurred in the habits of the
Government. The priests lost every species of indirect

24 LETTERS.
political influence. No hostility was in general displayed
towards them, but they were kept within their own du
ties. The scale of salaries was changed in some re
spects. Part of the incomes of the bishops was taken
from them, and added to the salaries of the ordinary
priests. Such is, I believe, the present state of things. Now,
what will be the consequences ? As to these, my Lord,
you would perhaps be imprudent if you were to take
my word. You are aware, that in politics it is often
more difficult to understand and judge of the present
than of anything else. In the great concerns of man
kind the past is more obvious than the present. All
that I can promise, is to show to you exactly what I
see ; and to explain to you, without reserve, my belief,
which is that of many enlightened Frenchmen.
As soon as the clergy lost their political power, and
it was perceived that they were more liable to be per
secuted than favored by the Government, the animosity
which during the Restoration hail pursued them, and
through them religion itself, began to diminish, though
not all at once nor everywhere. The irreligion which
the Restoration had created or reawakened, showed it
self partially. But taking the nation as a whole, it was
evident that the reaction whieh was to bend the public
mind in the direction of religion had already begun. I
think that at the present moment this tendency can
escape the notice of no one. Irreligious publications
have become extremely rare (I do not know of even
one). Religion and priests have entirely vanished from
the caricatures. It is very seldom that one hears the
clergy or their doctrines spoken ill of in public. Not
that silence is a proof of great attachment to religion ;

TO LORD RADNOR. 25
but it proves that religion is no longer detested ; and
this is a great step. Most of the liberals, whose irre
ligious opinions formerly placed them foremost in the
ranks of the opposition, now hold a different language.
All acknowledge the political utility of religion, aud de
plore the general want of faith ; but the greatest change
is observable among the young men.
Since religion has been separated from politics, a faith,
vague as to its object but powerful in its effects, is de
veloping itself among them. The necessity of a religion
is a frequent theme of their conversation. Many believe :
all would like to believe. This feeling make them crowd
into the churches whenever there is a celebrated preacher,
When I left Paris, the evidences of our faith were dis
coursed upon every Sunday in the cathedral by a young
priest of remarkable eloquence.* Nearly 5,000 young
men regularly attended his sermons. Among them sat,
in his pontifical robes, the very Archbishop of Paris
whose palace was robbed and destroyed four years be
fore, and who for more than a year had been obliged to
hide like an outlaw. Such a sceno was never witnessed
under the Restoration, when the bishops sat in Parliament
and in the Council Chamber, and when the political
influence of the priest was supposed to be all-powerful.
I think, my Lord, that I have answered nearly all
your questions. If not, I hope that you will not fail to
tell me. I shall always be ready to write to you on this
subject or on any other. What I have just written, as I
was pressed for time, may appear confused. Perhaps,
too, you will find it difficult to make out my bad hand
writing. In every case, I place myself at your disposal,
* Now the Pere Lacordaire, who has replaced M. de Tocqueville iu
the Academie Francaise.

26 LETTERS.
and shall be happy to explain in conversation all that is
incomplete in my letters.
P. S. I forgot to say that when the Restoration, in
1814, gave the name "Religion of the State" to the
Catholic religion, it ordered all shops to be shut on
Sunday and all official persons to attend the services of
the Church. These two laws gave the signal to the
revolt against religion. They have been repealed or
they have fallen into disuse.
TO IIKN'RY REEVE, ESQ. Paris, Sept. 11, 1835.
Mr dear Mr. Reeve,
You must believe me to be drowned at the very least,
— for you cannot imagine that I should have passed
through London without going to see you and Mrs.
Reeve ; and it is almost as improbable that I should
have travelled through Boulogne without stopping to
take advantage of Mrs. Austin's presence there. A few
words will explain all. I returned to France by neither
London nor Boulogne. One of my brothers lives near
Cherbourg in the summer, and I have a tiny estate of
my own there. When I was at Dublin I heard that my
brother had arrived at his house, and that the wind had
carried off the roof of mine : two events which made
me think it advisable to return to Normandy as soon
as I could, and by the shortest route. I sailed straight
from Dublin to Southampton and thence to the coast,
without encountering one storm to boast of. Having
thus completely justified myself, I turn to you. Wliat
has become of you since I left you ? Are you still
breathing the pure air of Hampstead, or have you re-

TO JOHN STUART MILL, ESQ. 27
turned to London smoke ? Among all your other oc
cupations have you gone on with the " Democracy ? "
During my tour in England and Ireland I was gratified
by seeing several copies of tho first volume, and many
compliments were paid lo me ou the translation, which
I pass on to you. Here, I am bringing out my third
edition. I shall tell you nothing about our politics. I am just
arrived. As yet I have called on no one. Being re
duced to my own resources I have nothing to say except
that I wish much to see you again, and that you must
positively pay a short visit to France. You must not
forget, cither, thai you have some American documents
belonging lo me, and remember that 1 will take them
only from your hands.
In the mean while, believe that I am your sincerely
attached friend. TO JOHN STUART MILL, ESQ.
Paris, Sept. 12, 1835.
Mt dear Mr. Mill,
Beaumont tells mc that you have asked him what was
my decision respecting my cooperation in your Review.
I answer, that after mature deliberation, I have resolved
upon so doing if you still wish it ; but I still am doubting
what plan to adopt. I should like my articles to contain
almost all I know on the political and social state of
France. I hesitate only as to the form. I fear that,
in spite of my endeavors, the English will not be able
to understand clearly the present state of our country,
unless I first show what it was just before the breaking
out of the Great Revolution ; and if I draw a picture
of this period, the colors will inevitably be somewhat

28 LETTERS.
faded ; I fear lest I should not sufficiently interest the
public. This is the difficulty — help me to solve it.
Lately, however, I have thought much on the subject
of these projected letters ; and as is always the case with
those who are engaged in a particular study, many ideas
have occurred to me wliich I did not see at first, and
which I think may be worth producing ; but of this also
I cannot judge. Of one thing you may be certain, that
if I undertake this work I shall do my best. You may
trust me in this. I am, &c.
TO Till! SAME. liaugy, December 8, 1836.
My dear Mill,
I have just received the third Number of the London
and Westminster Review, and your letter dated the 19th
of last month. 1 have read them both attentively, and
all that remains to be done is to talk them over with you.
Your article on mo is so flattering that it surpasses
even un author's appclilo. Whatever bo tho amount of
vanity with which Heaven has endowed me, and you
know that authors are in general liberally provided,
there is in your article one thing that I must say pleases
nie even more than your praise. Of all my reviewers
you are, perhaps, the only one who has thoroughly un
derstood me ; who has taken a general bird's-eye view
of my ideas ; who sees their ulterior aim, and yet has
preserved a clear perception of the details. The pro
fession of an author would be too delightful if one met
with many such readers I Your article, therefore, gave
me intense pleasure. I keep it carefully, to prove to
myself that it really is possible to understand me. I
wanted this testimony to console me for all the false con-

TO JOHN STUART MILL, ESQ. 29
elusions that are drawn from my book. I am constantly
meeting people who want to persuade me of opinions that
I proclaim, or who pretend to Bhare with me opinions
that I do not hold.
To return to your article. I repeat that 1 have read
nothing so good on my book. You enter into my con
ception more than any one ; and as you see the whole,
you are capable of administering praise and blame. Be
lieve that I do not exaggerate, when I say that j'our
unfavorable criticisms gratified mc as much as those that
are favorable. The friend may always be seen through
the critic. They instruct, therefore, and never wound
me. I wish that I could discuss every one of your ob
jections, my dear Mill ; but 1 should send you a volume
instead of a letter. Such a conversation as I hope that
we shall soon enjoy, will clear up more questions for us
than a voluminous correspondence would do. Still I will
make a few remarks. . . . Puris, December 5.
I was at this point of my letter, dear Mill, when 1
heard that my mother, who lives in Paris, was in immi
nent danger. As you may think, I hastened to her side :
I found her a little better, but she still makes us very
uneasy. I hope that you will forgive me if, in the pres
ent state of my mind, 1 do not enter into the somewhat
long discussion which my last words from Baugy seemed
to promise. But I cannot just yet lay aside your article,
which I read over once more with great attention on my
arrival. Several passages struck me much. Not one
of the friends of democracy has dared as yet to draw so
clear and fine a distinction between delegation and repre
sentation, or has so well defined the political meaning of
these two words. Rest assured, my dear Mill, that on

30 LETTERS.
this occasion you have mooted a most important ques
tion ; so, at least, I firmly believe. It is much less es
sential for the partisans of democracy to find means of
governing the nation, than to teach the nation to choose
the men most capable of governing ; and to exercise
sufficient influence over the general nature of their gov
ernment without interfering with their individual nets or
means of execution. This is tlie problem. I am quite
convinced that the fate of the modern world depends on
its solution. But how few are aware of it I how few
assert it !
The kindness with which I have been treated by the
Loudon and Westminster, is another stimulus to make mo
write the articles which I promised. The first * is very
far advanced ; but the grandeur, as well as the difficulty
of the subject, seems to increase as I consider it. You
must think tne very slow. You would forgive nie if you
knew how hard it is for me to satisfy myself) and how
impossible for me to finish things incompletely. I have
always thought llm|, Ihe public had the right to require
authors lo strain their [towers to the ulinosl, and 1 en
deavor to act up to this duty. I am working therefore
at your article, as if it were to appear in French under
my own name. I should esteem myself very fortunate
if I could be repaid for my trouble by producing some
thing that would please you, as well as the enlightened
readers of your review.
Adieu, my dear Mill, believe in my sincere friendship.
Will you not soon pay a visit to France ? I should bo
delighted to see you, and to introduce you to my wife,
who is a countrywoman of yours, and to whom I often
speak of you.
* The article on tho state of France, reprinted in the first volume,
p. 202. — Tu.

TO JOHN STUART MILL, ESQ. 31
TO THE SAME. Paris, February 10, 183G.
I despatched yesterday to our Consul-General, M.
Durand de St. Andre, the papers that I promised to
you. It was to be sent on that very day by the Am
bassador's bag. M. de St. Andre will deliver it to your
messenger. I do not know, my dear Mill, what you will think of
this essay. All that I can say is, that I cannot do better.
I have worked at it as if it were to appear in French,
and with my name to it. I fear, however, that I have
been only tolerably successful. I am afraid that my
manner is too French to suit the lastc of your country
men, and that they will think me loo fond of general
ideas. At first I tried to resist this tendency, but the
subject brought mc back to it in spite of myself. There
is none that forces one lo reflect so miic.li upon Ihe f!,<:\\-
cral laws which govern human institutions. When, how
ever, I come to the France of our own day, I shall easily
enter more into detail and become more practical. I am
longing to have time to apply myself to writing the
second part. This study has awakened a host of ideas
in my mind, and I see the relations of many things which
till now I had overlooked.
A letter from Mr. Austin informed me, my dear
Mill, that you were anxious about your father. I hope
that your fears are over, and that his health is now
restored. I sympathize all the more with your anxie
ty, as I have just had the pain of losing my mother,
and have felt the bitterness and the depth of such a
sorrow. I hope that you will remember me to all the persons

32 LETTERS.
to whom you introduced me in London, and especially
to Mr. and Mrs. Grote. Adieu, dear Mill.
TO HENRY REEVE, ESQ.
Cherbourg, April 17, 1836.
I received your letter, my dear Reeve, a few days
before I left Paris. I could not immediately write to
thank you for the curious particulars that it contained ;
but I take advantage of the quiet of the country, (if a
small provincial town may be called by that name,) to
give you some news of myself. I am making a sort of
landlord's tour here. I need not say that I am alone ;
the weather this year is not yet fit for women to travel.
The storms that drowned so many brave sailors on the
coast of Norway destroyed many orchards, and shat
tered many of the last relies of feudalism that have been
allowed to stand till now by democracy. I was afraid
that the manor-house of Tourlaville,* of which the floor
ing has almost all fallen away, would have lost its roof
on this occasion ; and I ran to see if at least the feudal
weather-cock had been spared. I found everything in
excellent order. The wind has respected me, which I
little expected. I shall stay here another week, and
afterwards return to Paris. From thence I shall send
you the " Systeme Penitentiaire ; " it has como out since
I left England.
What you say about the London parishes is the more
interesting to mc, as it entirely confirms my opinion.
AVhen I was in England I formed the same judgment,
and I am glad to find that my firgt impressions were
correct. It must be owned that our two nations form a
* An old chateau, near Cherbourg, then belonging to Alexis de
Tocqueville, now to his brother Edward.

TO HENRY REEVE, ESQ. 33
singular contrast. With you, society is much moro aris
tocratic than in France ; but some of your laws are much
more democratic than ours. You have only to extend
and to render general ; we have to create.
I hope that you remembered me to Mrs. Austin, and that
you have told Mrs. Reeve how glad I shall be to see her
again. I can fancy that I see you now in the little house
at Hampstead that I visited a year ago. I see you seated
like a philosopher in your observatory, overlooking the
smoke of London ; and lower down I see your mother
hospitably receiving her guests in the drawing-room. I
shall never forget Hampstead. It is connected with a
passage in my life which I shall always remember.
Adieu, dear Reeve ; remember mo to all the friends
who received me so kindly.
TO THE SAME. Baugy, May 22, 1830.
Your letter reached me, my dear Reeve, just as I was
leaving Paris for the second time, to spend part of the
summer at a place belonging to one of my brothers, near
Compiegne. I write from thence. They have put me
at the top of the house, in a little turret, with windows
on all sides, from which I overlook the whole country.
To this spot, raised above all earthly cares, I retire to
work ; but I do not mean to say that oracles issue forth
from it. To turn to less sublime subjects, I confess that
the greatest advantage in being perched up here is that
I escape the proximity of four charming little nephews
and nieces, who would drive me to despair, a hundred
times a day, if I were close to them. Man is a fearful
animal ; before ho speaks, he cries ; when he begins to
speak, he talks nonsense. But neither you nor I can
vol. ii. 3

34 LETTERS.
change him : we must take him as he is, without troub
ling ourselves about him.
I intended, on the day that I quitted Paris, to send
you a copy of the Second Edition of our "Systeme
Penitentiaire." I did not find time for this ; but in the
course of the next ten days I expect to spend a few hours
in the Rue de Bourgogne, and I will not forget to send
it to you then.
What you say of the tendency in our cabinet to sepa
rate from yours, seems to me to be only too true ; but I
cannot share your satisfaction thereon. I believe the
union of tho two nations to be essential to the mainten
ance of free institutions in Europe; and in my opinion
this consideration surpasses every other. As to the
desire of your aristocratic party to embark England in
a war, in order to give the people something to do, I see
a reason for that, wliich is the desperate state to wliich
the party is reduced. . . .
However, you are not yet at war ; it is not so easy in
our time ; and this is enough of politics. Of what did
our fathers talk fifty years ago ? 1 wonder. Take poli
tics from our conversations, and you have only monosylla
bles and mute signs. Still they talked as well, and some
times better than we do. They found a hundred things to
say where we cannot think of one. They had the art of
setting gayly about serious matters ; very different from
ourselves, who set to work so gravely to commit follies.
P. S. Pray present my respects to Lord and Lady Lans-
downe. When I left Paris your review had not arrived.
TO M. DE CORCELLE. Paris, July 6, 1836.
Many thanks, dear friend, for your kind and inter
esting letter. You know that I set a particular value

TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT. 35
on your friendship. I have often told you so, and still
oftener thought it without telling you. I have always
found that you believed what you said, and felt what
you expressed. This alone would have been enough to
distinguish you from others. But it is very good in
me to try to explain to you my liking for you. It is
easier felt than explained. I believe that I understand
what it is that makes me rely on you ; but if I did
not understand, I still should trust you ; for in these
matters we are led by an instinct, which is better than
reason. I send you Aristotle. If you can turn it to a better
account than I can, let mo know. For my part, I own
that, polling asido tho respect duo to Ihoso who havo
been admired for more than 2,000 years, it is a little
too antiquated for my taste. We are not sufficiently
Greek to profit much by such books. .
Adieu I I shall reach Berne on the 25th of July,
and Geneva on the 25 th August. All the rest is doubt
ful. Pray write to me at those places, not only to tell me
the news, but to tell me all that you are thinking about.
TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT. Paris, July 6, 1836.
... I shall now be impatient for the winter. I hope
that it will be happy and productive. I cannot tell you,
my dear friend, with what pleasant anticipations your
marriage fills mc. It completes the domestic happiness
which I have always longed for. We both possess now
the most valuable of all gifts : a partner upon whom we
can depend in evil fortune as well as in good, and
whose courage as well as affection we can trust. . . .
Who would not feel full of energy and activity when
so supported ? . . .

36 LETTERS.
I start to-morrow evening. I shall be at Metz on
the day after to-morrow, and stay till the 14th. I
then shall go to Berne.
TO M. DE CORCELLE. Berne, July 27, 1836.
I am travelling, dear friend, in the character of a
lover of nature rather than in that of a philosopher.
Still, whenever I am obliged to read a newspaper, or to
converse seriously, I try to understand what I am told.
The result is, that with the true spirit of an American,
I have acquired a supreme contempt for the federal con
stitution of Switzerland, which I unceremoniously call a
league and not a federation.
A government of this kind is, without exception, the
most impotent, weak, awkward, and incapable machine
to lead a nation to anything but anarchy. The small
amount of political vitality in this people has also struck
me. The kingdom of England is a hundred times more
republican than this republic. Some may say, that the
difference of races in the cuuso. But this is an argu
ment which I never admit except as a last resource,
and when I have nothing else to say. I had rather
allege as the reason a fact that is little known, or, at
least, which was unknown to me till now : that in most
of the Swiss cantons parochial liberty is recent. The
municipalities of the towns ruled the country parishes
just as the power of the crown did in France. This
petty centralization was kept up by the citizens, who,
like our centralizing authorities, would suffer no inter
ference with their acts.
Enough of politics. If you still have the speech of
Quincy Adams keep it for me.

TO J. S. MILL, ESQ. 37

TO J. S. MILL, ESQ.
Baugy, November 10, 1830.
Mt dear Mill,
The letter that you wrote to me last Monday did not
reach mo till yesterday evening. I answer it immedi
ately, lest my letter should not find you. I cannot tell
you how much I am annoyed at not being now in Paris.
I should have liked particularly to receive you and in
troduce you to my wife, who already is acquainted with
you as one of my best friends.
Thank you for the interest which you express in the
'' Democracy." The delightful tour that I have just
made iu Switzerland has somewhat injured its progress.
I have lost three precious months. I have therefore
shut myself up in the little valley of Baugy to make up,
if possible, for the time that I have wasted. I have
found it hard to set to work. Thank God, I have got
into training again, and I should now like not to leavo
off till I have finished. My subject is beginning to
oppress my mind as a nightmare docs the body. My
head is full of ideas, of wliich the order is not yet clear
to me, and which I must consider singly. I should
like to run, but I can only drag myself slowly along.
You know that I never take up my pen to support a
system, or to draw, whether wrongly or rightly, certain
conclusions. I give myself up to the natural flow of my
ideas, allowing myself in good faith to be led from one
consequence to another. Therefore, till my work is
finished, I never know exactly what result I shall reach,
or if I shall arrive at any. This uncertainly becomes
in the end insupportable. If you will come here, my
dear Mill, it will give me great pleasure to talk over

38 LETTERS.
all these matters with you, and to puzzle you with the
ideas which now confuse my head. . . .
I have not seen the article in the Quarterly, nor that
in the American Review. As to the reproof addressed
to me by the latter, that I am too much given to gen
eralizing, I believe it to be well-founded. I often was
forced to do so, in order that the general features of the
country, which I was especially anxious to bring out,
might be understood clearly in Europe. America was
only the frame, my picture was Democracy.
I have only a little bit of paper left to tell you about
France. I would in no case say much, for I should have
too much to say if I were once to begin. I will speak
only of the ministry, which is the event of the day. . . .
TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ.
Paris, January 11, 1837.
My dear Mr. Senior,
I did not reach Paris till the end of December, and
received only two days ago your report on the Poor-laws
and the Treatise on Political Economy, which you were
so kind as to send to me by Mr. Greg. A thousand
thanks to you for having thought of me. You could not
have given me anything that I should have liked better
than your outline of Political Economy. I have long
felt that I was insufficiently informed on this important
portion of human science, and I have often thought that
you were the man in the world most capable of supply
ing this deficiency. All that you write is much valued
by me, but especially on the subject of political economy.
I have not yet, however, been able to read what you
have sent to me. I put it off to a period which is not
far off, when I shall be free. Just now I am so wrapped

TO II. REEVE, ESQ. 39
up in my second work on America, that I scarcely see or
hear what is going on round me. I think that my book
will be finished in the summer, and published next au
tumn. I do not know if it will be good ; but I can affirm
that I cannot make it better. I devote to it all my time
and all my intelligence.
Our ministry is still in a dubious state *. . . . Pray
present my respects to Lord and Lady Lansdowne.
TO II. REEVE, ESQ. Paris, March 22, 1837.
I received your letter with great pleasure, my dear
Reeve ; you give me good news of yourself and of your
translation ; I am much interested in holh ; 1 believe
even that I am so unselfish as to prefer the prosperity of
the former. Thank Heaven, both are going on well.
Before your letter came I received the speech of Sir
Robert Peel and the pamphlet by an American citizen.
I do not know if I am indebted to you for them. I
should be much obliged if you would always let me see
any publications of this description, if more should ap
pear. Besides being seriously interested by the opinions
which other people take the trouble of forming on me, I
am amused at seeing the different characters that are
ascribed to me according to the political views of the
critic. I like to put them together as a scries of por
traits. Hitherto I have not found one that exactly rep
resents the original.
My critics insist upon making me out a party-man ;
but I am not that. Passions are attributed to mo where
I have only opinions ; or rather T have but one opinion,
an enthusiasm for liberty and for the dignity of the hu-
* Sic in orig. — Tr.

40 LETTERS.
man race. I consider all the forms of government only
as so many more or less perfect means of satisfying this
holy and legitimate craving. They ascribe to mo alter
nately aristocratic and democratic prejudices. If I had
been born in another period, or in another country, I
might have had either the one or the other. But my
birth, as it happened, made it easy to me to guard against
both. I came into the world at the end of a long revolu
tion, which, after destroying ancient institutions, had cre
ated none that could last. When I entered life, aris
tocracy was dead and democracy as yet unborn. My
instinct, therefore, could not lead me blindly either to the
one or to the other. I lived in a country which for forty
years had tried everything, and settled nothing. I was
on my guard, therefore, against political illusions. My
self belonging to the ancient aristocracy of my country,
I had no natural hatred or jealousy of the aristocracy 5
nor could I have any natural affection for it, since that
aristocracy had ceased to exist, and one can be strongly
attached only to the living. I was near enough to know
it thoroughly, and far enough to judge dispassionately.
I may say as much for the democratic element. It had
done me, as an individual, neither good nor harm. I
had no personal motive, apart from my public convic
tions, to love or to hate it. Balanced between the past
and the future, with no natural instinctive attraction
towards either, I could without an effort look quietly on
each side of the question. TO THE SAME. Tocqueville, July 24, 1837.
Your letter reached me only two days ago, my dear
friend, because you directed it to Baugy, instead of to

TO II. REEVE, ESQ. 41
my own house. You were not, indeed, sure that I
should be in Normandy this year. I have been in poor
old Tocqueville for the last two months. I do not know
if I told that this place, which by our family arrange
ments has become mine, is a sort of large farm-house,
which has been uninhabited for the last half century.
I am obliged, therefore, to make all sorts of alterations
and repairs, which will never make it beautiful ; but
which, if I am permitted to live, will make the house
habitable, and in a few years even comfortable. I am
in the midst of workmen of every description — a de
testable race, animals given to destruction and noise,
whose vicinity does not suit a philosopher. I have hap
pily, no pretensions to direct the works myself. I havo
neither genius nor wish to attempt it. I leave it all to
Madame de Tocqueville, who understands the matter
better than I do ; and I shut myself up from morn
ing till night in a little room which she has been so
good ¦ as to leave me. You see that I am a model
husband. You ask what effect the enthusiastic loyalty of which
you in your country have been so lavish, has produced
on me. Very little, I confess. In 1825 I saw Charles
X. enter Paris amid tho acclamations of the people, and
heard him cry, "No more halberds;" and on tho 31st
of July, 1830, I saw this very Prince leave St. Cloud,
after scratching the royal arms off his carriage. I own
that this gave me a lasting distaste for popular demon
strations. I do not mean that a similar fate awaits your
young Queen. I am far from wishing, and far too from
expecting it ; but her stability rests, I believe, on another
foundation than the cheers of the mob.

42 LETTERS.

TO COUNT MOLE,
President of the Cabinet (J'riuie Minister.)
Sir, Tocqueville, September 12, 1837.
The kindness of which you have given so many proofs
to me, induces me to open my heart to you on an occa
sion which I think may affect my whole future life. I
know that you have little time for private affairs ; I
shall, therefore, endeavor to he brief. As you may sup
pose, I allude to the election.
Many persons in the arrondissement * of Cherbourg
had thought of proposing me in opposition to M  .
Tlie same idea had occurred to others in the arrondis
sement of Valognes. I myself, wishing to be freely
elected, have as yet taken no steps in either quarter, nor
shown in any manner that I had a preference for the
one seat or for the other.
Things were in this state, when I heard lately, that,
in the last meeting of the conseil general, the prefect
had strongly recommended me to the electors of the
arrondissement of Valognes. This, Sir, is tho point to
which I wish to draw your attention.
I must begin, Sir, by remarking, that in a constituency
of 700 persons, in which the parlies are about balanced,
it is doubtful whether the direct interference of the gov
ernment would be successful. But, what is more impor
tant, I must say that it is impossible for me to be a
government candidate. In any other case, to make
such a declaration to a Prime Minister might seem
Bfrunge ; but I know to whom I am speaking, and if
the President of tho Cabinet blames me, I will appeal
* At this time each Arrondissement in u department returned a
member. — Tr.

TO M. DE TOCQUEVILLE. 43
to M. Mol£, whose esteem, if he will allow me to tell
him so, I value more than his support ; and with him
I am sure to gain my cause.
You are well aware, Sir, that I am not opposed to
this government, nor especially to its present ministers ;
but I wish to be able to vote conscientiously and freely,
which I could not, if I allowed myself to be nominated
by the government. I know that there are many who,
when they have reached the chamber, forgot the steps
which led to it ; but I am not among them. I wish to
enter it already holding the position which I intend to
maintain in it, and this is an independent position. I
might say a groat deal more on this subject, but I wish
to ho brief; besides, I am convinced that, such senti
ments, when once expressed to you, cannot fail of being
immediately understood. . . .
Forgive me, Sir, for writing this letter, which is al
ready much too long. You have allowed mc lo consider
you as a friend and a relation ; I have been addressing
you in both characters.
ANSWER FROM COUNT MOLE TO M. DE TOCQUEVILLE.
Paris, September 14, 1837. ¦
Mt dear Sir,
I have just received from you a letter, which demands
a full and immediate answer. I will be as frank as you
are ; and as I do not share any one of the sentiments or
principles which inspired you while writing it, I will
venture to tell you so. In the first place, I must dis
claim, and if necessary protest, against the distinction
which you make between the President of the Cabinet
and M. Mole\ If the latter had been obliged to forfeit
any portion of his own character to become the former,

44 LETTERS.
he would have rejected the Presidency : he would have
preferred, without hesitation, as ho has always done, the
least important of his moral or political convictions to
power, and to all its supposed advantages.
Not only in politics, but in everything, one must take
part iu tho everlasting struggle between good and evil.
A man who chose to act only when he was sure of doing
right, without doubt or compromise, would do nothing,
even in private life : he' must sit with folded arms. I
therefore perform the duties of my office, as you would
in my place, doing all the good that I can, and averting
evil by all Ihe means at my disposal. Tlie first of these
duties is, in my opinion, to light in the elections, as much
as elsewhere, for the convictions professed by those whose
cause I maintain, who have raised me to power, and who
loyally support me in it. I eunnol, therefore, admit that
fo enter the chamber through our iulluence, would bo lo
take upon you a yoke whieh need hurt your pride or
your delicacy ; nor that to separate from us, on some
future occasion, when a question arose on which you
could not sincerely and conscientiously support us, would
be a breach of faith.
All this sounds very flat in the ears of that dishonest,
popularity-hunting party who hold that authority, what
ever may be the hands that wield it, is the presumptive
enemy of society. But I venture to ask if you think
that you would bo less fettered if you owed your seat to
the legitimists, to the republicans, or to any other shade
of opinion, than to the moderate party. A choice must
be made : even a man unconnected with party must de
pend, more or less, on his constituents. The ministerial
ranks are not supplied only by men who owe their rise
and their existence to the ministry ; they are chiefly

TO M. DE TOCQUEVILLE. 45
composed of those who share its opinions, and believe
its triumph to be for the good of the country.
These are the men, my dear Sir, among whom I
should have been glad and proud to see you. You re
fuse — you have almost said that you would he ashamed
of such a position : well and good. I deserved so much
sincerity on your part. But you cannot imagine that I
take my duties so little in earnest, as to wish to see you
appear under the banners of our opponents. My duties,
as you must know, are among the most painful and ar
duous that man can undertake. They involve more
sacrifices from me than from most people, because my
intellectual tastes, my affections, and all my habits are
completely set aside for them. But I should consider
myself as opposing the intentions of Providence, if I
did not bear my destiny bravely. I believe that the
country and the public would suffer, if the government
were to pass now into other hands. Unless I deceivo
myself, I deserve the esteem, and perhaps the encour
agement and support, of all who have honest hearts and
wise heads.
However, your will shall be performed. Till now, I
have upheld you with all my might, both in tho cabinet
and out of it. I am not acquainted with your Prefect,
but he seems to have discovered my wishes. I shall tell
the Home Minister this very day that we are to entirely
withdraw our support from you. Our friends (for we
have friends) will oppose you ; for in elections neutrality
is impossible. If you succeed, I shall be glad for your
sake; and permit me to add that my pleasure will be in
creased by my expectation that a practical knowledge of
affairs and of men will draw you nearer to the unhappy
ministers whom now it would so much distress you to

46 LETTERS.
seem to favor. Under whatever banner you enroll your
self, I shall never cease to consider you as a loved and
honored kinsmun, whose elevation of mind and rare
ability place him among the most distinguished men of
the age. I remain, very sincerely yours,
Mole.
These two letters were immediately followed by two
more, which are omitted here, because they contain some
confidential details, and some remarks on individuals,
which had better be suppressed. The political situation,
too, with which they are connecfed, is one on which it is
not advisable at present to dwell, or even to (ouch. It
will be enough, therefore, to add, that mutual explana
tions soon softened the rather sharp tone of this cor
respondence. The following letter, written by M. de
Tocqueville, on the 27th September, in answer to ono
from Count Mole, shows that their correspondence had
already resumed its former tone of benevolent regard on
one side, and of affectionate deference on the other.
TO COUNT MOLE.
Tocqueville, September 27, 1837.
I will not delay for a single instant answering the
letter which I have just received and eagerly read. I
can scarcely describe to you how much I was touched,
I may say, moved by it. I feel honored by your es
teem, and full of gratitude for your affection.
I cannot tell what political differences may yet be in
store for us. But I feel perfectly confident that nothing
will ever diminish the strong and sincere attachment
wliich I have for you. Allow me to add, that my having
been so long and so truly attached to you was the cause

TO M. DE BEAUMONT. 47
of the pang which my impression of your first letter
cost me. The many proofs of kindness which you have
bestowed on me during the last three years, had made
me believe that I enjoyed your friendship. And I was
the more convinced of this from a conversation which
M. de Beaumont reported to me not long ago, and by
which he himself had been much affected. When I
read your letter I was afraid that I had been mistaken ;
and by the excited style of my reply you may judge of
the value I set upon the prize which I feared to have
lost. . . . TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT.
Tocquovillo, November 12, 1837.
I have just received your letter of the 8th, my dear
friend. You aro surprised at my failure. I own that I
was so myself. I was not acquainted with the constit
uency, and my friends made sure of a majority of eighty
votes. I have already alluded to tho causes of my defeat,
which were the influence of the government, democratic
excitement, and my opponent's large fortune. You and
I, my dear Beaumont, are scarcely aware of Ihe power
exercised in France by money when unallied to nohlo
birth, and seconded by the popular hatred against the
nobles. The election was accompanied by cries of
" Down with the nobles 1 " Notwithstanding this, all
my adversaries acknowledge that I have none of the
prejudices which they ascribe to the aristocracy ; but
these men feel towards us something similar to the
instinctive repugnance felt by Americans towards the
Blacks. For some time reason struggled against this
instinct ; but instinct has gained the day. Still, though
I am beaten, I am not cast down. . . .
We are then free, dear friend, and I cannot tell you

48 LETTERS.
how gladly and how eagerly I return to study and to
work. If you will, the next few years shall be happily
and usefully spent by us : believe me, the future is our
own. I never have felt so sure of this. You retire to
the Grange to work ; I approve this plan all the more,
as I am going for the same purpose to Baugy  I
forgot to say that we are bringing out the sixth edition of
my " Democracy.'' TO THE SAME. Baugy, January 18, 1838.
I was just going to write to you, dear friend, when
your letter came. This is not a mere boast but a solemn
truth. Indeed I had long been intending so to do, for I
think that our communications are becoming much too
slow. We are too completely absorbed by Ireland and
America, and we must beware lest we return from those
countries strangers to each other.
My life here is much the same as yours at La Grange.
Hitherto it suits me very well ; my health is excellent,
and I do my very best: which does not moan that [ am
satisfied. Were you ever thoroughly satisfied with your
own writing? As far as I can remember, such a thing
has never happened to me. It always seems above or
below, to the right or to the left of the aim ; never ex
actly hitting the ideal that each of us has ever in view,
but that always escapes our grasp. I know that there is
a proverb which says that this happens only to those who
are capable of great things. But I have always thought
this a mistake. I have known many people who very
sincerely believed their own performances to be bad, and
whose performances were bad indeed. This effectually
cured me of fancying myself a great man only because I
felt that I was a dunce, and was sorry for it.

TO M. DE BEAUMONT. 49
In spite of my literary tribulations, I will tell you in
the strictest confidence, that I find my work get on so
well that I shall stay here till the end of April 
Louis de Kergorlay has just spent four days with us.
At that time I was quite entangled in a mesh of ideas
of which I could not find the clew. It was a regular
intellectual cul-de-sac; but he brought me out of it in
a few hours. His mind, is a mine of wealth which he
alone is unable to work. TO THE SAME. Baugy, March 21, 1838.
.... I returned to this place on the day we parted,
and set myself furiously to work till at last my brain
refused to act, in which state it remains for the present.
Just now my head is much more full of blood than of
ideas ; and I am forced to stop my work for two or three
days, lest I should be obliged lo interrupt it for much
longer. I am enraged to be thus brought back to earth
from my highest flight, and I take refuge in philosophi
cal reflections, which, however, I shall not pass on to
you because you are in good health, and therefore
would not be able to appreciate the elevation of my
theories. Do not fancy that this long story means that I am ill.
I am only tired. I ought to have rest, but I cannot bear
to rest ; so that, besides the disease, I also abhor the
remedy. My impatience is increased by seeing how
little progress I have made in the three months during
which I have worked like a horse. If I had been as
slow, and had taken as much pains with my first book, it
would now have only just appeared. Am I right or
wrong in subjecting my thoughts to such a severe exam-
VOL. II. i

50 LETTERS.
ination before I express them in words? Indeed I do
not know. You, my dear Aristarchus, will be my first
judge. In about eight months I hope to pass under your
inspection, just as I intend you to submit to mine.
As I had nothing better to do, I have been reading for
the last few days some old books that I brought with me ;
among others, Plutarch, which, to my great shame, I own
that I had hardly ever opened. I read first one of his
Lives, thinking of something else ; then another, but
languidly enough. But now they afford mc intense de
light. What a grand old world was that of ancient
times 1 Plutarch, who by his gossip exhibits more than
any other writer its blemishes, makes its greatness only
the more striking. He gives life and motion to charac
ters which had always seemed to me to be more or less
fictitious ; he draws them as men only a little above
life-size, and reduced to this measure they are much
more imposing than a motionless colossus, or an imagi
nary giant. This reading has captivated my imagina
tion to such un extent, that I sometimes fear that I
shall go mad, like a second Don Quixoto. My head is
crammed full of heroics which are by no means suited
to the present day ; and life seems very flat when I
wake from my dreams. TO THE SAME. Baugy, April 22, 1838.
I am not only absorbed by my work, but by a thou
sand thoughts that are inspired by the books I read, or
that come of themselves. For my mind has never been
so active as in this seclusion. I have not for years read
so much, or meditated so much on my reading, as during
the four months I have been engaged on my " Democ-

TO M. DE BEAUMONT. 51
racy.'' I am now putting the last touches to the penulti
mate chapter. But what will be the length of the last
of all? Into how many subdivisions will it fall? As
yet I cannot tell. All that I know is, that before I begin
it I must collect all my powers, so as to end brilliantly.
I am alarmed at the prospect of this crowning chapter.
I think that I shall be several months about it. I shall
not attempt it till I am at Tocqueville.
I cannot describe to you, my dear friend, the disgust
that I feel, when I see the public men of our day making
a traffic, to serve the petty interest of the moment, of
things so serious and so sacred as political principles.
These sudden conversions hurt mc perhaps even more
deeply than the violent opposition of former times. I
am alarmed ; and I ask myself if selfishness be indeed
in this world the sole motive, and if what we take for
opinions and feelings are not the mere organs through
which it speaks and nets. I am, however, somewhat
reconciled to our age, by observing in it some resem
blance to what is recorded by my indiscreet and gossip
ing Plutarch of the most flourishing periods in ancient
history. This raises a little our contemporaries, but de
grades the race.
I retract, however, the last words : we must not de
spise man if we wish to obtain great things from our
selves or from others. The other day, as I was thinking
over the intellectual creations which have taken most
hold on men's imaginations, and of which the effect has
been most striking and most lasting, I found that the
great majority were books deeply imbued with the great
principles of the good and the beautiful, with the salu
tary and elevating theories of the existence of a Divino
Being, and of the immortality of the soul ; and that the

52 LETTERS.
most popular works were those which set forth in the
strongest relief these principles and these theories. If
this lie the secret of the most complete and enduring of
literary triumphs, it proves that this is the strongest and
most constant tendency of the human mind. Take away
from Plato, for instance, the aspirations towards immor
tality and infinity, and leave only his antiquated style,
his unfinished and often absurd science, his eloquence,
which we lose at this distance of lime ; he would soon
become unknown and unreadable. But Plato addressed
himself to the noblest and most permanent instincts in
our nature ; and he will live as long as men live upon
earth ; he will carry away even those who only half un
derstand him ; and he will always occupy a distinguished
place in the intellectual world.
I reproach myself for having allowed my pen to run
away with nie. You will not care, about what I have
just said : not that you are incapable of interesting your
self in ideas of this sort ; but because you cannot do two
things at once. Your mind is indivisible. You are not
much to be pitied for this, for it is a proof of strength.
You are always in a blaze, but one thing only fires you
at a time ; you have neither curiosity nor interest to
spare for anything else. It is thus, that in spite of our
extreme intimacy, there have always been some points on
which we never have met nor understood one another.
I have an insatiable curiosity which draws me continu
ally to the right and to the left of my path. Yours is
equally importunate, but it always leads you straight
forward. I have often been tempted to chatter to you
about a thousand things, unconnected with our regular
studies, which were jostling against one another in my
head ; but I have always been checked by remembering

TO M. DE BEAUMONT. 53
that, as I had for the moment wandered into a new path,
I could not hope to draw you after me. Which of us
regulates his mind in the wisest manner ? I cannot toll.
I think that the result will be that you will always know
things better, and that I shall always know more things.
You would laugh to see the odd heterogeneous pile of
books on my table, almost all of which I have devoured
within the last four months : Rabelais, Plutarch, the Ko
ran, Cervantes, Machiavelli, Fontenelle, St. Evremont,
&c, &c. I have put all this pell-mell, and without any
arrangement, into my head.
TO THE SAME. Tocqueville, January G, 1839.
... I have nearly finished one volume. This work
demands much labor, and often affords little satisfaction.
What especially interferes with it is my health, wliich
though not actually bad, has certainly been failing for
the hist two months. Work tires me, and yet is so
essential to me, that I often return to it, and then am
obliged lo leave off again. After silling at my desk for
five or six hours, I can write no longer ; the machine
refuses to act. I am in great want of rest, and of a long
rest. If you add all the perplexities that besiege an
author towards the end of his work, you will be able to
imagine a very wretched life. I could not go on with
my task if it were not for the refreshing calm of Marie's
companionship. It would be impossible to find a disposi
tion forming a happier contrast to my own. In my per
petual irritability of body and mind, she is a providential
resource  Adieu, dear friend ; remember us both
to Madame do Beaumont, whom wo shall be charmed to
see again. I shall reach Paris on the 14th.

54 LETTERS.

TO THE SAME. Paris, January 31, 1833.
I am going on in the same way ; that is, very indif
ferently. If this continues for another fortnight, it will
be impossible for me to finish by the spring, and I shall
give up trying to do so.
. . . On the day before yesterday I was astonished,
abashed, confused, and I do not know what else, on see
ing M. de Chateaubriand walk into my room, to hear, he
said, some portions of my MS. Of course I was obliged
to read some. You will think that after taking, for what
reason 1 cannot loll, such a step, he wus not content with
criticising ; he paid me the most extravagant compli
ments. After reducing them by three fourths, there still
remain enough to allow me to hope that his impression,
thongh ridiculously exaggerated, was favorable. So
now I am like a horse to whom, after tying up all
four legs, you apply a smart cut with a whip. Un
fortunately the parallel holds good in every respect.
TO THE BARON DE TOCQUEVILLE.
Tocqueville, March 11, 1839.
I have only five minutes to write to you, but I will
make use of them. I must tell you how glad I am that
you are pleased with my success.* It is my habit, as
you know, to share everything with you, and I value
it too much to give it up.
I shall not now tell you anything about what passed.
You know it as well as I do. The popular movement in
my favor was complete ; and I liked it all the better, as
it was the result not of an appeal on my part to any evil
* As Deputy. — Tr.

TO M. J. J. AMPERE. 55
passions, but to the noblest and most disinterested feel
ings. I hope that you have seen the few words spoken
by me in the excitement of the moment. My friends
took them down and printed them. But I have so few
copies that I could only send one to my father, and beg
him to show it to you.
Here I am at Tocqueville, come to enjoy a rest, which
I am far from obtaining ; for visits abound as well as
letters. I ought, however, to be allowed to take care of
myself for a little while ; for though I have had no
serious illness, I am much out of health. I think that
I should have died if Marie hud not watched over
mc, mind and body. I own, that in one respect, my
future is clouded. I cannot reckon on Iho first con
dition of success, which is life.
TO M. J. J. AMPERE.
Tocquovillo, September 17, 1839.
Your letter, dear friend, has given us the greatest
pleasure. I say us, for my wife was as anxious as I
was, that you should be tolerably comfortable among our
ruins ; and she is as much gratified as I am, by the kind
manner in which you tell us that we succeeded. After
all, dear Ampere, you ought to have been satisfied.
One must always be happy with people who welcome
one with so much delight, and take leave of one with
so much sorrow. Really attached friends are rarer than
comfortable quarters. This is what I hope you often
said to yourself, when you were half-deafened by the
knocking of hammers and pickaxes. As for us, we have
the most agreeable recollections of your visit ; and all
we beg is, that you will come again soon. We have
already asked you, and now we repeat our invitation in

56 LETTERS.
the most pressing terms. This is no compliment, but
our sincere and earnest wish.
Your opinion of my book pleases me much. You
would not hide from me the truth. I therefore believe
you ; and I shall read your letters over again, when
ever I am seized by one of my attacks of spleen.
Your visit had already done me great good in that re
spect. You seemed to like what you read, and that
encouraged me.
I have not forgotten your promise to look over my
MS. On the day after you went I sent for a copyist.
I cannot tell you how obliged I feel for the trouble that
you are willing to take. You could not have made me
a more friendly and agreeable proposal.
This morning I was greatly embarrassed. Reading
over a chapter on the way in which " democracy modi
fies the relations between masters and servants," I fell
upon a long passage, treating of domestic service in
feudal times. I believe that my ideas on this subject are
correct j but I fear that they will seem mere theories. I
want two or throe examples, taken from contemporary
writers. But I can recall none distinctly, although I
have a confused impression of having met with many,
from Froissart down to Madame de SiSvigniS. If you can
remember any, pray remind me of them. What I par
ticularly wish to describe is the state of things frequent
in the aristocratic centuries, when servants threw their
whole pride and their whole existence into the persons
of their masters. Caleb Balderstone, in the " Bride of
Lammermoor," is the ideal of such a character; but I do
not know if he has an historical prototype.
Forgive me, dear friend, for persecuting you with my
self. I am not afraid, because I feel how deeply I am

TO J. S. MILL, ESQ. 57
interested in all your concerns. This encourages me in
the belief that you are equally willing to take part in
mine. TO J. S. MILL, ESQ.
Paris, November 15, 1839.
It is now a long time, my dear Mill, since I have
heard from you ; and I am sorry for it, for there is no
man in England whom I think of with greater pleasure.
Beaumont heard that you had quite recovered. If this
good news be true, pray be so kind as to confirm it.
I shall post to-day for you a copy of the report which
I have just published, in the name of the committee ap
pointed by the chamber, on the abolition of slavery in
our colonies. You will see that, contrary to the practico
of most of my colleagues, I have not tried to be eloquent.
I have even carefully avoided irritating the colonists,
which has not prevented their newspapers from lavishing
much abuse on mc. But you know what colonists arc ;
they are all alike, to whatever nation they may belong.
They become raving madmen as soon as one speaks of
justice to their negroes. But it is in vain ; they will not
succeed in making me angry, or in inducing me to dis
cuss the question with mischievous violence.
I came to Paris two days ago to print the book which
I have been working at for the last four years, and which
is the continuation of the other. It is on the influence
exercised by equality over the opinions and feelings of
mankind. I will send you a copy as soon as it comes
out, which will be in February next. When you read it,
you must not forget that it was written in a country, and
for a country, where equality having achieved a complete
triumph, and aristocracy having been beaten entirely out
of the field, the object is not to create or to prevent a

58 LETTERS.
system, but, finding it there, to correct its faults. I often
tell hard truths to this new society, both in France and in
America ; but I tell them as a friend. It is because I
am a friend that I venture to say them, and that I insist
on saying them. With us, equality has flatterers of all
descriptions, but she has no steadfast, sincere advisers.
You will judge whether my self-imposed task has been
well performed. TO M. J. J. AMPERE.
Tocqueville, November 2, 1839.
I ought to have thanked you sooner, my dear friend,
for the kind and interesting letter that you wrote to me
some time since. But my "Democracy" would not let
me. You know that she has never been an obliging mis
tress. My obedience has been rewarded ; for I can at
last say, that I have finished ihe book, with the exception
of the changes which you may advise. 1 am farther than
ever from letting you off your promise. I value this ser
vice highly ; and I will ask you to do me another, which
is, to be perfectly open with me. You see that I have
nothing in common with the Archbishop of Granada. I
would have sent part of my MS. to you a few days ago,
if I had not been so near bringing you the whole of it
myself, which will be much better. I expect, indeed,
to leave Tocqueville in a week's time. You will soon,
therefore, see me appear in the Rue de Crrenelle. I shall
present myself at your door, at which one must knock
and kick, not merely ring, if one wants to be let in.
If my return had not been so near, I should have
written also to thank M. do Chateaubriand for his kind
intentions. I was much touched by them, and I am as
grateful as if I could have benefited by them. But I
cannot this time. It seemed to me, that at so great a

TO H. REEVE, ESQ. 59
distance, it would have been very difficult, if not impos
sible, to appreciate my chance of success. I do not wish
to offer myself unless I have a good chance. An admis
sion into the Academy of France is one of the things
best worth having, if it is obtained without too great a
struggle, or too frequent an appearance in the lists. I
have, therefore, made up my mind to be quiet this time ;
and I think that you, as a friend, will consider that I
have done wisely.
I shall not write any more lo you to-day, as we shall
soon be able to talk as much as we please.
TO H. REEVE, ESQ.
My dear Reeve, Paris, January 8, 1840.
I am ashamed ; I am in despair at the way in which
I have treated your friend, Mr. Morley. He must take
mo for a perfect bear. He came to seo me twice ; ho
wrote to me once. I never answered, and yesterday,
when I went to the Hotel Canterbury, about four o'clock,
he had just started by the diligence. Pray entreat him
to accept my excuses. T hope that he will some day
give me an opportunity of effacing the bad opiniou which
this visit must have produced on him.
I laughed at the trouble which my abstract ideas give
you ; I am sure that, whatever you may say, you will
get over your difficulties admirably. As to the substance
of your opinion on this subject, I believe you are mis
taken. I am convinced that the realists are wrong ; and
I am sure, that dangerous as the political tendency of
their opinions is at all times, it is especially pernicious in
our own time. In n democratic age the great danger is,
you may rest assured, that the component parts of society
may be destroyed or greatly enfeebled for the sake of the

GO LETTERS.
whole. All that in our day exalts the individual is use
ful. All that tends to magnify genera, and to ascribe a
separate existence to species, is dungeroiis. This is the
natural inclination of the public mind at present. The
realistic doctrine carried into politics leads to all the ex
cesses of democracy ; it facilitates despotism, centraliza
tion, contempt for individual rights, the doctrine of neces
sity ; in short, every institution and every doctrine which
permits society to trample men under foot, and considers
the nation as everything and the people as nothing.
This is one of the central opinions to which many of
my ideas lead. On this subject I have attained to ab
solute conviction ; and the chief object of my book is
to persuade others of its truth.
TO THE SAME.
My dear Friend, Paris, April 12, 1840.
Your letter, which has this moment reached me, proves
to me that my last packet must have been lost ; how, I
cannot tell. As I told you yesterday, the publication,
fortunately, does not take place till the 20th. You will
therefore have time to translate and print the remainder.
If I were an Englishman, I should not see without
anxiety tlie expedition now in preparation ugainst China.
As a well-wishing but disinterested spectator, I cannot
rejoice much at the thought of the invasion of the
celestial empire by an European army. Here, then, is
European restlessness pitted against Chinese unchange-
ableness. This is a great event, especially when one
remembers that it is only the sequence, the last link
in a long chain of events of the same kind, which
gradually push the European race abroad, and subject
all others successively to its power or to its influence.

TO M. AMrERE — TO II. REEVE, ESQ. Gl
There is happening in our day, without our noticing it,
a thing more vast and more extraordinary than the
establishment of the Roman empire. I mean the sub
jection of four portions of tho globe by the fifth. Let
us not think too ill of our age and of ourselves. Men
are small, but events are great.
TO M. J. J. AMPERE. Paris, April 21, 1840.
I will not have it said, dear friend, that you received
at the same time with the public, a book in which you
have had a share. The three first copies, " avant la leltre,"
havo been tributes of respect. There remains a fourth,
which I keep for sincere and intimate friendship. You
will not be surprised, therefore, if it makes its way
straight to you. Accept it, I pray, not for the sake of
the book (you know it already by heart), but as a token
of affection. TO H. REEVE, ESQ.
My dear Friend, Paris, May 23, 1840.
Thank you for all your enclosures. By sending mo
everything that appears on my book, you do exactly
what I wish. I am not afraid of criticism. I am quite
prepared for it. There is but one thing thoroughly an
noying to an author, — silence. Go on, therefore, as you
have begun, and let me have everything.
I should have written sooner if I had not wished to
talk to you about your translation. I have not yet seen
the whole of if ; but I have read enough to assure you,
conscientiously, that I am delighted. You have ren
dered my thoughts even in their most delicato shades,
with a clearness and fidelity that seem to me to be per
fect. As for the style itself, of which I am not so well

62 LETTERS.
able to judge, Madame de Tocqueville assures me that
it is excellent, clear, sober, and simple, just what it
ought to be for a book on Political Philosophy.
TO M. DE CORCELLE. Tocqueville, Sept. 26, 1840.
I see with extreme satisfaction from your letters, my
dear friend, that though there had been no communica
tion between us, we had come to pretty much the same
conclusions on the present state of affairs. So, in the
chamber, we generally act together without consulting
one another. You ask if at last I am satisfied by the
magnitude of the events which seem to ho impending.
No ; for I think of our country, whose prospects, if we
are lo have war, are most unfavorable. But if I thought
only of myself, I should say that I preferred this stormy
future to the sort of fog which has surrounded us ever
since we entered the chamber. Still I cannot believe
that a real desire for revolution exists, or could last for
any time, in France. These possibilities have been greatly
exaggerated. . . . But we may see great disturbances and
our country degraded. . . . This is quite enough to make
one unwilling to act without mature deliberation.
I am inclined to think, that from the first the impor
tance of the new Egyptian empire has been exaggerated.
My reason is the age of the Pacha. In the East they
never found institutions ; all depends on individuals ; and
a political condition which rests on the life of a man of
seventy is not worth much.
T have several times tried to work since I came here,
and I have succeeded in mastering all the official docu
ments that relate to Algeria. I own that this study has
confirmed my opinions ; and it has made my anticipations

TO M. AMPERE. 63
even more gloomy. I could write a volume on the sub
ject, but I wish to finish this long letter. I will, there
fore, give you only my conclusions. I think that wc shall
never do all the grand things in Algeria wliich wcro proph
esied to us ; but, on the other hand, I am more convinced
than ever : First, that there is no medium between giving
it up altogether, and, I will not say, conquering the coun
try, but making ourselves thoroughly masters there. Sec
ondly, that this alternative, on conditions similar to those
obtained by the Turks, is quite practicable ; and will take
place if, as is possible, we succeed in destroying Abd-el-
Kader. But tho attempt to hold a portion of the country
with, at. our backs, a great Arab power which cannot sub
sist without attacking us, and separated by us from the
sea, which is essential to its wants — this, my dear friend,
is what the perusal of these papers has proved to me to
be even more futile than I formerly thought.
Wc spend our evenings very agreeably in reading
Burncs,* who, unfortunately, like all travellers, talks
more about himself than the nations he visits. His
mind is simple, decided, clear, but narrow. Tell mo
what books of history or travels give the best ideas of
the Oriental nations, and especially of British India. I
will get them directly ; for in these days it is necessary
to know all that there is to be known about the East,
which is fated to play a considerable part in the future.
TO M. J. J. AMPERE.
Tocqueville, September 27, 1840.
I cannot tell you, my dearest friend, how much I was
affected by reading your verses, f I believe that I
* Sir Alexander Burnes's Travels.
t An epistle in verse, addressed to Tocqueville, by Ampere, in the
" Revue de Paris."

64 LETTERS.
should have thought them beautiful even if they had
had nothing to do with me or my ideas, but the subject
added gratitude to my admiration. Words cannot de
scribe my delight at seeing my favorite opinions so
well understood and so well expressed. You have im
posed on me a real obligation, and I rejoice in it ; for
you belong to the small circle of true friends whom I
love and esteem ; and next to the pleasure of obliging
them, there is none greater than that of being obliged
by them.
I return to the completeness with which you enter
into my meaning. It does not indeed surprise me, but
it gives me great pleasure. You certainly are one of
the ten whom M. Royer-Collard alluded to, when he
said, " In the democratic society wliich you are so proud
of, there will not be ten persons who will thoroughly
enter into the spirit of your book." I believe him to
have been egregiously mistaken, especially if I could
find a few more such interpreters as you are.
The packet had the additional merit of containing
your letter announcing your speedy arrival. You will
find this house still unfinished ; but there is a room in
one of the turrets to which no noise ever penetrates,
from above or below. This will be yours, and we al
ready call it by your name. Come then, dear friend ;
but let it be for a long visit. This last condition is
imperative. Do not come for the sake of amusement,
but to enjoy an interval of quiet and absence from care
with friends who will be glad to have you with them,
and who treat you already as one of the family. Bring
your work with you. I promise you liberty and peace.
You know better than I do, though you often show that
you are able to do without them, the value of these

TO THE BARON DE TOCQUEVILLE. 65
blessings to a man who lives much among his own
thoughts. I will ask you to do me a favor, wliich 1 hope will
indirectly benefit you. We have just read Burnes, who
has made us, me especially, long for a further knowledge
of the East. There must be other modern travels, and
equally instructive books ; travels or histories about Per
sia, Turkey, or Hindostan. Is there no translation of a
good history or description of the British Empire in
India ? As to travels, there are Elphinstone's, to which
Burnes frequently refers, and which must be interesting.
If you can remember any, or your friends can suggest
any, it would be very kind in you to communicate with
my bookseller, who will buy for me any books that you
recommend. .... I need not ask you to remember me particu
larly to Madame IWcamier and M. de Chateaubriand ;
nor need I tell you that my wife joins in begging you
to come soon, and to stay long.
TO THE BARON DE TOCQUEVILLE.
Tocqueville, November 2, 1840.
I cannot thank you enough for the long letter which
I received from you a short time ago. It was admira
ble ; full of noble feelings and ideas. Such letters are
excellent tonics ; unfortunately, you can hardly hope to
cure a disease, which depends so much on the constitu
tion of the patient. You may modify this constitution,
but you cannot change it. It is the secret of my
strength sometimes, and of my weakness often. I have
tho restless, anxious mind, tho continual craving for
excitement, which belonged to our father. This tem
perament has at times enabled me to do great things.

66 LETTERS.
But in general, it tortures, agitates, and afflicts to no
purpose. This is often the case with me ; I have no
difficulty in seeing the likeness. I am often miserable
where there is no cause ; and this gives only too much
cause to those around me to be so. I am also well
aware that this disposition may frequently interfere with
my judgment. For a time it prevents my seeing things
in their true perspective ; external objects seem to me
to be sometimes larger and sometimes smaller than they
really are ; just as my fancy paints them. I believe that
my character is naturally candid and decided ; but to
remain so it must have calm, and petty annoyances often
rullle it. In moments of great excitement, or of impor
tant business, I generally preserve my composure ; but
the daily worries of life and of society easily disturb
me. It is indeed true that I have many sources of happi
ness ; for besides all those that you enumerate, there is
one which you have omitted, and I must add to them ;
it is that of having found the wife best suited to me. I
want some things without which many people are mis
erable, and wliich I should like well enough to possess ;
such as wealth and, I will even own, children. I should
love to have such children as I can imagine ; but I have
no great desire to put into the great lottery of paternity.
What then do I want ? You know and have said it : a
quiet mind and moderate desires. I have lived long
enough to know that there is no one thing in the whole
world capable of fixing and of satisfying me. I have
attained a success which I had no right to hope for at
the beginning of my career ; yet my happiness is not
perfect. Often, in imagination, I fancy myself at • the
summit of human greatness ; when there, I am not so

TO J. S. MILL, ESQ. 67
dazzled but that the conviction forces itself irrepressibly
upon me, that the same painful sensations, which I suf
fer from here, would follow me to that sublime altitude ;
just as my present sufferings are as like as possible to
those of my younger days. The disturbing causes are
different, but the mind itself is the same ; restless, dis
contented, despising the good things of this world, yet
constantly joining in the struggle for them, in order to
escape from the painful lethargy into which it falls when
for any time it is left to itself. This is a sad state to be
in. All men feel it at times ; some more than others ;
and I, more than any one whom I know.
TO J. S. MILL, ESQ.Paris, December 18, 1840.
I reproach myself greatly, my dear friend, for not hav
ing written to you sooner. I hope that you will forgive
me when you remember the pressure of public business
during the last two months. Nothing else could have
prevented my writing to you immediately after your
article appeared in the Edinburgh Review.*
I cannot write all the thoughts suggested by this re
markable paper: they are too many for a letter, espe
cially such a letter as I have leisure for.
But there are some things which I ought long ago to
have found time to say to you, and among others this : of
all the articles on my book, yours is the only one in which
the author has perfectly seized my meaning, and made it
apparent to others. I need not, therefore, add, that I
read it with extreme pleasure. At last I found myself
criticised by a superior mind that had taken the trouble
• This article is reprinted in Mr. Mill's " Dissertations and Discus
sions," vol. ii. p. 1.

68 LETTERS.
of entering into my ideas, and submitting them to a
searching analysis. You alone, I repeat, have afforded
me this satisfaction. I am binding your article with a
copy of my book. The two ought to go together, and I
wish to be able to turn from the one to the other. A
thousand thanks, therefore, dear Mill, to you for writ
ing it. You have given me one of the greatest pleas
ures that I have enjoyed for a long time.
The success of the second part of the " Democracy "
has been less general in France, than that of the first
part. In our day, I seldom think the public mistaken ;
I, therefore, am applying myself industriously to discover
tho fault that I have committed ; probably a considerable
one. I think that it belongs to the purpose for which
the book was written, which is too abstract and raises
too many questions to please the public. When I wrote
only upon democratic society in the United States, I
was understood directly. If I had written upon dem
ocratic society in France, as it exists in the present
day, that again would have been easily understood.
But using the ideas derived from American and
French democracy only as data, I endeavored to paint
the general features of democratic societies ; no com
plete specimen of which can yet be said to exist.
This is what an ordinary reader fails to appreciate.
Only those who are much accustomed to searching for
abstract and speculative truths, care to follow me in
such an inquiry. I believe that the comparatively lit
tle effect produced by my book is to be attributed to
the original sin of the subject itself, rather than to the
manner in which I have treated any particular por
tion. You must have lamented, as I did, and as every

TO THE BARON DE TOCQUEVILLE. 69
sensible man did, the breach in the alliance between
our two nations. No one advocated their union more
strongly than myself. But I need not tell you, my
dear Mill, (hat if it. be important to keep up in a na
tion, especially in a nation so versatile as ours, the feel
ing that leads to great actions, the people must not be
taught to submit quietly to be treated with indifference.
To show no sense of your treatment of us would have
been to smother, and perhaps extinguish, passions which
we may some day need. The most elevated feeling
now left to us is national pride. No doubt we ought
to try to regulate it, and to moderate its ebullitions ;
but we must beware of diminishing it. I think Ihe
behavior of your ministers inexcusable, and I was
much grieved to see that it was countenanced by the
British people. Ill-will is increasing between the two
nations, and I am sorry for it ; not only on their ac
count, but on that of the whole of Europe ; for all this
is only driving us to enter into the schemes of the most
formidable power of all.
Enough, and too much, of these gloomy politics.
Good-by. Are you never coming to France ?
TO THE BARON DE TOCQUEVILLE. Philippeville, May 30, 1841.
We arrived this morning, my dear Edward, at Phi
lippeville, after the finest passage that we have yet had.
The sea as calm as a river ; magnificent weather, yet
not too hot ; and within half gunshot range of the
coast. Such a coast I have seldom seen in my life.
This part of Africa is far the most beautiful. High
mountains rise almost from the sea. They are covered
to the very top with trees or pastures. Frequent

70 LETTERS.
openings disclose lovely valleys, highly cultivated, and
covered with flocks. The whole of this immense group
of mountains and valleys is peopled by the Kabyles.
It is an enchanted land, cultivated by savages. As
long as we do not tread on their territory, they do
not object to us, they will even trade with us ; but
woe betide you if you attempt to take a walk in their
beautiful country ! We landed on two or three points
on this coast, where there are French settlements, such
as Bougie and Gigelly. The Kabyles attended the
markets in these little towns to sell eggs and poultry.
But if a Frenchman shows himself fifty steps from the
fortifications, he is fired at immediately. They are al
ways at war, however, among themselves ; and, it is
said, live in complete anarchy. In spite of this, the land
is admirably cultivated, Ihey have splendid flocks, and
manufacture stuffs, arms, and ammunition. One can
scarcely believe that the same men can be so civilized
and so savage.
As we approached Philippoville, the mountains be
came lower, und we reentered the domain of the Arabs.
The first glimpse of Philippeville made me fancy myself
in America. Two years ago, it was a bare shore. Now
the town contains 5,000 inhabitants, exclusive of the mil
itary. You may imagine the confusion attendant upon
so rapid a creation. All is going on at once : streets
marked out, houses building : one is in the midst of
rubbish of every description. There is an appearance
of feverish activity which I had not met with since I
left the United States.
One of our principal objects was to visit Constantine,
which is only forty-five miles off; nothing is easier.
Three times a week two men on horseback (two Spahis)

TO M. AMPERE. 71
go from the one point to the other. But they do it in
one day, which we should have thought too tiring. For
tunately, a large party starts to-morrow, and takes three
days about it, sleeping every night in tents. We shall
join them, and start at daybreak. You will not guess
who is our travelling companion — the old Marquis de
Talaru. We run no risks from the Arabs : perfect peace
reigns in the province. As to health, the country does
not become unwholesome till July. The high table-land
over wliich we shall travel is, indeed, never so, and on
the coast the danger is much less than is supposed.
Adieu ! I go to prepare for our expedition.*
TO M. J. J. AMPERE. Tocqueville, July 5, 1841.
You took such a strong and friendly interest in my
health, that it is but just, that you should be one of the first
to receive news of me. I must tell you then, my dear
friend, that my journey has been perfectly harmless.
Four-and-twenty hours after bidding you adieu in Paris,
I sat down to dinner at Tocqueville. Pray engrave thia
circumstance on your memory ; and take notice that
such a journey is the easiest thing in the world. When,
then, you have a few days to spare, remember that there
is a place where you are sure of finding true friends and
a hearty welcome, and do not hesitate about coming.
Do not behave like those who, insisting always upon
* On the day after he wrote this letter, Tocqueville started for Con-
Btantina, under a burning sun, and fell ill at the camp of Eddis, a short
distance from Philippeville, to which he returned on the following day,
Beriouftly unwell. IIo had been attacked by a malignant fever, but, hap
pily, quiuiuo prevented a return or it. J lo wuh immediately carried ou
board a steamer, which toolc hiin to Algiers, whence lie soon afterwards
was able to return to France.

72 LETTERS.
doing so very well, end by never doing anything at all.
Do not reserve yourself for the time when you will be
uble fo pass months with us. Give us, meanwhile, any
stray weeks that you can. The most trifling contribu
tions will be gratefully accepted. The famous room
which we are always telling you of, and in which no
noise will ever be heard, will soon be ready. It is to be
called " Ampere's Room," even if some one else is in it ;
in order, as the lawyers say, that there may be no ad
verse possession.
I cannot tell you how I enjoy my quiet life. There
is a general cause for this, I think, in my increased ex
perience of the hard knocks which one meets with in
the world, and an accidental cause in the exciting aud
fatiguing life which I have just undergone. So much
noise and activity lend, by comparison, the charm of
positive enjoyment to the silence and repose of this
place. This intense appreciation of peace is a new
excitement Time and possession will diminish its im
pression ; but I think that I shall always feel here a
comfort and happiness which I shall never find else
where. Now I beg of you to admire the absurd incon
sistency of human nature. Ask the man who says that
he is so happy, if he would like to remain forever as he
is. He would say, by no means ; he would tell you
that, after uttering all these fine things on the charms of
solitude and tranquillity, he would think himself greatly
to be pitied, if lie never again were allowed to throw
himself into the turmoil of war, of crowds and noise, of
political animosities and literary jealousies, assemblies,
and academies ; in short, into the middle of that world
from which he is so glad to have escaped. But I am
beginning to philosophize. I will avoid this snare by

TO M. AMPERE. 73
bidding you most affectionately adieu. I need not tell
you to remember me particularly to M. de Chateaubriand,
to our good friend Ballanche, and above all to Madame
Recamier, to whom my last attack of fever prevented
my saying good-by. TO THE SAME. Tocqueville, Aug. 10, 1841.
My dearest Fnir.Nr>,
Your letter from Marseilles has just reached me,
and I put aside everything to answer it, lest you
should pass through Ancona without hearing from me.
I hud rather write a Cv.w words which you will receive,
than fire after you a long missile which probably would
never reach you. I will first answer your friendly ques
tions, and tell you that though I am not yet quite well, I
think that I am in a fair way of becoming so. The
soothing influence of my life here is beginning to tell
upon mind and body. You know what it is, so I need
not describe it to you. All that it wants is the additional
charm of your presence, and that charm was very great.
Wo long for your return, that the picture may he com
plete. I am almost alarmed at my growing attachment
to this life; for I feci that I have other duties to fulfil;
and I fear lest they should become irksome to me, and
that I should be wanting in the zeal without which one
can accomplish nothing. The farther my youth is re
moved from me, the more indulgence — I might almost
say, respect — I feel for human passions. I love those
that are good, and I am not quite sure that I hate the
bad. They always show strength, and strength, where-
ever you meet with it, appears to advantage by the side
of the weakness which surrounds us. I continually see

74 LETTERS.
cowards trembling if their hearts give one additional
beat, and always talking of the dangers attendant upon
passion. This seems to me nonsense. What one meets
with least frequently in these days are true and lasting
passions, influencing and directing the whole life. We
can no longer will, or love, or hate. Doubt and philan
thropy make us shrink from all action, whether for the
purpose of effecting great good or great evil ; and we
are always languidly engaged in the pursuit of trifles,
none of which really attract, repel us, or fix ns.
Here I am, relapsing into the philosophical disease,
but you will forgive me, for it is a proof of friendship.
One talks to one's friends as one talks to one's self. The
thoughts iu my mind overflow of themselves when I am
writing to you, and fill my letter, which must, however,
be short ; therefore I will conclude. You are now on
your way to the East — that wonderful country — to
wliich we shall follow you in imagination ; let us hear
from you often and at length. I ask this of you as much
in my wife's name, as in my own ; and if you have not
time to write long letters, at least write one lino: — "I
am well." Pray do all you can to keep well ; and let it
not be very long before you come to relate the result of
your pilgrimage. TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT.
Tocqueville, October 9, 1843.
Our wives are better than we are, my dear friend, for
they write to each other and we do not. I know that
we have nothing in particular to say to each other ; but
still it is a good thing not entirely to break the thread of
our daily impressions. This is my bulletin : since my
return from tlie conseil genera}, I may say that I have

TO LORD RADNOR. 75
not stirred from home. I have turned this seclusion
to account by writing some articles on slavery. I
think that they will not be without interest to the few
who aro occupied by this great ipieslion. I believe
that it would be difficult to explain more clearly and
in fewer words what has happened in the British col
onies, and what may happen in our own. But with
all my pains, these articles read like chapters. I do
not think that I have the faults, but then I have none of
the merits, of a writer for the public press. If Cham-
bolle * inserts them, I do not recommend you to read
them, except for the sake of the information which they
will afford you. This occupation obliged me to read
over again the Duke de Broglie's report. It is a master
piece. The whole work breathes a sincere love for the
human race ; that noble passion which the mummeries
of the philanthropist have made almost ridiculous. Now
I nm going to study the British empire in India. I find
it an interesting and even nn amusing subject.
TO LORD RADNOR. Tocqueville, November 5, 1843.
A thousand thanks to you, my Lord, for sending me
the first numbers of the Economist. I have looked at
them, and I think, with you, that they are calculated to
diffuse useful opinions. The study of this new science
is, unfortunately, less general in France than it ought to
be. Yet it already numbers many enthusiastic votaries ;
several of our newspapers and of our public men profess
its principles. But its adversaries here, as well as in
England probably, arc nil who ore interested in opposing
* These remarkable articles appeared in the " Steele." I do not
believe that Tocqueville on any other occasion wrote in a newspaper.

76 LETTERS.
free-trade ; and they muster all the stronger with us be
cause our chief manufactures did not attain to even their
present development till under the exaggerated system
of protection, established by the empire and continued
by the restoration. They still think themselves inferior
to yours, and they fancy that the destruction of the tariff
would be their death-blow.
I am convinced that there is no foundation for most
of these fears ; still I believe that the changes which
science is right in demanding ought to be effected by
slow degrees and with great precautions. The truth of
the principles is incontestable. They show clearly the
aim which we should have in view ; but this aim cannot
at once be attained when one starts from a state of things
created by an opposite system. You have been too long
engaged in public life, my Lord, not to be aware that the
legislator has no more difficult or tedious task than lo cure
the evils that he himself has occasioned. But to know
the cause is a long way towards curing the evil. This is.
what political economy teaches us. In this respect, such
newspapers as the one which you havo sent to mo are very.
useful. When I return to Paris I intend to recommend
the librarian of the chamber to subscribe to the Econo
mist, that it may come under the notice of the deputies.
We were extremely glad, my Lord, to hear of the
happy event which has made you a grandfather. Pray
tell your son how much pleasure it has given us, and
remind him of his promise to visit us here, with Mrs.
Bouverie. We are anxious that he should fulfil his
promise. Our gratification would be increased if you,
my Lord, would accompany your son and daughter. I
venture to say that you will be received nowhere with
more respect or affection.

TO M. DE CORCELLF,. 77
TO M. DE CORCELLE. Tocqueville, November 15, 1843.
My Dr.An Fmr.Nn,
The religious question absorbs me as much as it does
you, and more than that, it fills mc with deep regret.
One of my dreams, my chief dream when I entered pub
lic life, was to endeavor to reconcile the liberal party to
the religious party ; modern society to the Church. This
reconciliation, essential both to liberty and to public mo
rality, is now difficult; their relative positions, which, im
mediately after the Revolution of July, were uncertain,
are now fixed ; and it would lake years to bring us hack
to where we were three years ago. We may think our
selves happy if we ever get back again ! I repeat, that
I am filled with regret, and also with irritation, against
the authors of all this evil. I am angry with the vanity
and passions of some of the opponents of the clergy, but
1 own that I am also indignant against the other party.
When I think of the state of public opinion and of the
press, scarcely three years ago, in religious matters, and
of what it now is, 1 cannot avoid seeing that the clergy
must have been guilty of enormous errors. Violent per
sonal abuse and exaggerated accusations have injured an
excellent cause. Instead of supporting for others, and
claiming for themselves, the right of teaching, they have
exhibited a desire to influence, if not to direct, all popu
lar education.
Still I acknowledge and approve some of your re
marks. I believe with j'ou that the faults of the clergy
are fur less dangerous to liberty (linn their subjection. T
also think that the animosity of the clergy towards the
government is exceptional and temporary ; that the or-

78 LETTERS.
dinary and permanent condition to be feared is that of an
unequal partition of power between the two ; a sort of
arrangement iu which Ihe government and the Church
would combine against liberty.
I certainly shall act and speak from this conviction ;
and the wrath of the public press will not prevent my
saying what I think of an official papacy. I have also
made up my mind to be firm on the question of freedom
of teaching ; but I hope that the government will have
the prudence not to bring forward the law till this
storm is over, for just now the decision would be against
us. After enjoying tho health of a plough-boy all through
the summer, for the last month I have been quite out of
sorts. I hope that this state will not last. The opening
of a session, like the beginning of a battle, is not a con
venient time to be sick. I worked too hard last sum
mer ; while you were in the deserts of Africa, I was
travelling all over India. I flatter myself that I mas
tered the subject, and that I am now capable of judging
of all that is going on, not only there, but throughout
Asia. Still, to benefit by all this knowledge, one must
live ! TO THE SAME.
Tocqueville, September 17, 1844.
I have not time to-day, dear friend, to write a long
letter. Besides, why should one treat, by the laborious
process of writing, of subjects on wliich we shall soon
have long and intimate conversation ? I will, therefore,
confine myself to a few general ideas relating to great
political events.
I think that the religious movement should be neither
exaggerated nor made of too little importance ; it may

TO M. DE CORCELLE. 79
be expressed in these words, — a real feeling made the
instrument of factitious passions.
Just now, nothing can deeply and strongly excite the
public mind ; the University question no more than any
other. Still it is the only question which interests the
public, and which is rooted in opinions and prejudices
that are not got up for the occasion. It is, however,
rather embarrassing for all parties.
With regard to the " Commerce," pray do not let us
lose sight of the object of this newspaper. It is intended
to give to us, the opposition, an organ wliich is to be per
fectly independent in all questions of home and foreign
politics ; in which we may be able to defend, from a
liberal point of view, liberty of teaching, without involv
ing ourselves in the war against the clergy.
As to the style of polemics to be admitted, I agree
with you that no violence should be allowed. But you
wish a newspaper writer to be a " perfect gentleman ; "
and, if I am not mistaken, this is an error on your part
which may cause you endless trouble and anxiety.
There is nolhing more relative, nor to whieh universal
propositions arc less applicable, than style ; pray consider
this. The same man speaks differently iu a drawing-
room, in a book, in parliament, to a friend, or to a thou
sand listeners; lo an assembly of students, or to a crowd.
His feelings and opinions remain intrinsically the same,
but the way in which he brings them forward, the degree
of animation, his choice and turn of expression, are
different. To one audience he tells the whole, to the
other he leaves half to be inferred.
A newspaper is a speech made from the window to
the chance passers-by in the street, among whom are
to be found men of every degree of cultivation.

80 LETTERS.
To make your opinions reach their minds and affect
them as you wish, some warmth is necessary ; arguments
must be obvious; important truths inu.-t be mixed with
commonplaces ; and the picture must be highly colored,
in order that it may be seen from a distance.
How can this be helped ? It is the appropriate style.
These articles will certainly not be found among the
works that posterity will read ; they are intended to pro
duce, by constant repetition, a temporary effect. I fear
that your ideal of what the style of a newspaper should
be, is above all possibility of attainment At least, I
know of no example in any party, or country, or
age. I also think that you greatly exaggerate the respon
sibilities of the undertaking. Public men, especially if
absent, are responsible only as to the general tone of a
paper ; never for each separate article. Do you not
think that I was as much annoyed as you at some of
the articles on our relations with England, where I have
valuable friends, who may fancy that these were the
expression of my personal opinions ?
It is not, indeed, a time for stirring up our old griefe
against England, when there is so much excitement on
both sides. Our duty is to preserve the feeling of the
nation within just and legitimate bounds. But to exceed
these limits, and to throw oil upon the flames by reviving
old disputes, seems to me to be almost wicked in the
present critical juncture. I own that we do not do all
that we want to do; but political affairs must be treated
in a political spirit, and not with the scrupulous refine
ment of private life. What combined movement ever
fulfils the exact object of the individuals engaged in it,
each of whom does a little more, a little less, and a little

TO CHARLES BULLER, ESQ. 81
differently than if he stood alone? It is a necessary
condition of all association.
If you are resolved not to submit to it, you undoubt
edly retain your individuality intact; but you can do
none of the good that you wish to others, and your object
in fact becomes selfish.
Good-by. I cannot tell you how I delight in the
idea of spending a whole week with you in the stillness
of the country, before I return to the din of warfare. I
shall leave you with increased strength and composure.
TO CHARLES BULLER, ESQ.*
Paris, Juno 21, 1840.
It is an age, my dear Buller, since I have been
anxious to write to you, but I have never had a spare
minute. But we must not allow ourselves to become
strangers. My friendship for you is already so strong,
that I am sure that it will grow with intimacy. I am
grieved that you could not be with us in the country
last summer, for it is only in the country that perfect
inlimacy can be formed. So I trust that you will do
next year what you planned last year.
I will not talk to you at any length about our poli
tics. You know all that I could tell. Good fortune,
the faults of the Opposition, tho weariness of (he whole
nation, and the commercial spirit which has stifled all
public spirit, have given to our cabinet an overwhelm
ing power, which, distant as you are, you must have
perceived. The King is stronger, not merely than he ever was
* This letter, which is not included in M. de Beaumont's selection,
I have received permission to publish from Madame de Tocqueville.
— Tr. VOL. II. 6

82 LETTERS.
before, but than any one has been, since the empire.
Everything shows that this government has obtained
an ascendency resembling, but with more reality and
more completeness, that gained by the Restoration after
the Spanish war in 1824. Every obstacle falls before
it, and for a time it will be restrained by nothing but its
own will. According to all appearances, the next elec
tions will give us, what is not easy, a chamber still more
submissive than this is.
As for the Peers, you know that, as against the throne
they are nothing. A new phase is beginning.
Will the dynasty use this new omnipotence for the
purpose of establishing and consolidating its power? Or,
like the Restoration, and like many other dynasties, will
it waste it in faults which will produce a reaction ?
The future will tell us.
At this instant, we are thinking as much about your
politics as about our own. Your affairs, as seen from
hence, have a grandeur which ours are far from possess
ing. I know nothing more exciting or more interesting
that the spectacle now offered to the world by England.
What is new and what is old is equally striking. Never
was a constitutional nation in so strange a situation, or in
one from which, to a foreigner, at least, the issue was so
incapable of being foreseen.
I own that I cannot imagine how Mr. Peel can retain
office, or how the Tories can govern without him ; or
how the Whigs can find a substitute for him, or how they
can really and cordially join him. If you can see into
this darkness, pray give ine a little of your light.
I have long thought that a fusion of the Whigs with
some of the old Tories was preparing itself, and that tho
solution of the perplexities of the last year might be

TO M. DE CORCELLE. 83
found in the creation of a new party. But events scera
to have been so hurried on as to render this solution, for
the present at least, very difficult. There are personal
difficulties, apparently insurmountable ; and there are
practical ones, above all with respect to Ireland, equally
formidable. I end, therefore, as I began, by saying, that I look on
your course with extreme interest, but cannot guess in
what direction it is leading you.
Kindest regards from us both.
TO M. DE CORCELLE. Marseilles, October 11, 1846.
I have already told you, my dear friend, that I do not
intend to explore Algeria. I wish only to spend a month
or two in a scene of so much interest. I do not want to
go to Africa in order to be ill; and I am determined
always to make my curiosity yield to my health. I have
resolved, therefore, lo remain fixed during the whole
time at Algiers. I know that this will prevent my visit
from being completely satisfactory ; but it will bo more
curious and interesting than the journey to Italy, which
was my first intention.
Being thus hemmed in by prudent resolutions, I scarce
ly know what field of observation will be open to me.
With you, I think that the most important point, politi
cally speaking, is our relation to Morocco, and to all that
frontier. I should much like to see Oran, and even
Djemraa-GazoUat ; but I fear that I shall not be able.
You know that Marshal Bugeaud is anxious for war,
or at least for an expedition which will certainly lead
to war.
The African question, complicated and important as

84 LETTERS.
it is, may be summed up in these words : — How shall
we succeed in raising a French population, with our laws,
our manners, and our civilization, and at (he same time
treat the natives with the consideration to which we are
bound by honor, by jus(ice, by humanily, and by our
real interests ? The question has these two sides. They
can neither of them be considered separately. I have
never done so ; and if in the chamber I have spoken
of one more than of the other, it is because everything
cannot be said at once, nor so wide a subject brought
under one head.
I assure you that I go to Algiers perfectly unpreju
diced as to the men whom I shall meet, and the things
whieh I shall see. Experience has taught mo that one
never knows thoroughly what one has not studied for
one's self. I leave behind me in France all the opinions
which I have collected from hearsay, determined to
judge every detail as if I had heard of it for the first
time. I am equally resolved not to throw myself
blindly into any of the parties headed by the different
generals. I saw M. Dufaure as I passed through Paris, and
liked him better than ever. I never found him more
determined, nor governed by more noble and disinter
ested motives. It seems to me that we have never had
so much reason to hope that we may be of real use to
our country. You paint in the most attractive colors,
the happiness of being out of tho political arena. How
one is never indignant ; never carried away ; but able to
judge everything, surrounded by an atmosphere of eter
nal peace and justice. When I hear you say such things,
I own that I long to beat you. Good heavens, my dear
friend, such sentiments have nothing to do with politics.

TO M. DUFAURE. 85
Our aim is honest and noble ; and how shall we attain
it without the earnest endeavors of ourselves and our
friends? All our friends, indeed, are not perfect; they
are oflcn very different from what one would like them
to be ; they seldom do all that one wishes, and they often
persuade one into committing blunders that one regrets.
But still this is better, I do not say for one's self, but
for the good that one may be able to effect, than to
live alone. As for rne, I am determined to oppose with
all my energies the adversaries of my opinions ; and I
am equally resolved to preserve the weakness of loving,
whether you approve or not, all my friends, and you
above all, in spite of your philosophy.
Adieu. I will write to you from Africa as soon as
I receive any clear impressions.
TO M. DUFAURE. rails, July 29, 1847.
MY DKAIt FltlEND AND COIXKAGUE,
Our mutual friend, Rivet, has talked to me as well as
to you, of a projected treatise, by several hands, on the
finances. I like his proposal, and am ready lo givo my
assistance, if you think that it will be useful.
I have always thought, and I believe that I have even
repeated to you several times, that among the various
reforms to which the public mind is more or less indiffer
ent, there is one in which the country takes a lively in
terest, and which deserves the serious attention of public
men ; I mean the reform of our financial system.
Here is an opportunity for bringing forward not un
certain theories, but a detailed programme, to consist not
merely of repealing tax after tax, without preparing new
ones, but of a complete reorganization of the system, so
as to lessen the burden on the poor, while that on the rich

86- LETTERS.
would be slightly increased. By these means order might
be restored to the finances, and at the same time the la
boring classes might be relieved. Such a plan need only
be stated to show how many questions it implies. I own
that I am at present incapable of pointing out the details
or the means. But those who are better skilled than I
am believe it to be practicable. I see only that it is a
great idea ; and that like all great ideas, it would answer
many purposes at once. It embraces all the most impor
tant social and financial questions. It is both economical
and political. To apply it wisely would be sufficient to
render either a party or an administration illustrious.
There are many other great advantages to bo derived from
treating it. It leads to a reform which would be very
popular and yet not revolutionary. You might thus be
excused from engaging in many other reforms wliich are
not seasonable, and are little desired by the nation, and
for which you would never succeed in getting up a public
interest. The proposed plan, on the contrary, would sup
ply a want that is felt by tho nation ; which in these days
is more interested by questions partaking of a social char
acter than by those which are purely political. What
could be more in accordance with this spirit than a finan
cial reform, of which the consequence would bo a moro
equitable distribution of the public expenses among the
different classes of society ?
I cannot ask you too earnestly to undertake this impor
tant reform. The moment has assuredly come for it. If
a powerful hand does not grasp this question it will fall
into a feeble or unworthy one ; some one will undoubtedly
take it up. It is impending over us like every change
which is the natural product of the wants of the time.
I am willing, for my part, to take any share that is al-

TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ. 87
lotted to me in the work, or none at all, if that should be
preferred. Rivet thinks that the section which would suit
me best, would be a sort of introduction showing tho pres
ent stale of our financial system; its history; its chiof
defects ; the purpose to be held in view in retouching it ;
and, lastly, an account of what the English have effected
in this respect during the last thirty years. Am I to un
dertake this ? If you approve, advise me as (o the means
of execution. But especially tell me (I hope with all my
heart you will be able to do so), that the proposal has
your warm approbation and sympathy. You alone can
bring our combined efforts to a good result; you alone
can inspire the writers with the courage, the industry, and
the animation which insuro success. For this purpose
you must place yourself at their head, and direct them ;
. and when their work is finished, it is you again who must
digest their labors, and afterwards present the public with
the clear, definite, and practical consequences. Adieu, &c.
TO N. "W. SENIOR, ESQ.
Tocqucvillo, August 26, 1847.
Many thanks for your route ; not that I hope to fall in
with you in Italy, but because I hope to be able to meet
you in Paris. I shall be delighted to see you again after
so long an absence, and to talk over with you all that has
been going on, and is going on in the world.
You will find France calm, and not unprosperous, but
anxious ; men's minds have been subject for some time to
a strange uneasiness. In the midst of a tranquillity more
profound than any that we have enjoyed for a very long
time, the idea that our present position is unstable besets
them. As for myself, though not without alarm, I am less
anxious. I believe that our social edifice will continue

88 LETTERS.
to rest on its present basis, because no one, even if he
wish to change its foundation, can point out another. But
yet the state of public feeling disturbs me.
The middle classes, constantly exposed to the solicita
tions of the government, have gradually assumed towards
the rest of the nation the position of a little aristocracy,
with all the corruption of the ancient aristocracy, and with
out its higher feelings. I feel ashamed of obeying such a
vulgar aristocracy, and if this feeling should prevail among
the lower classes it may produce great calamities.
And yet how can a government be prevented from using
corruption when the nature of our constituencies makes
corruption so convenient, and our centralization makes it
so easy ? The fact is, that we are trying an experiment
of which I cannot foresee the result. We are trying to
employ at the same time two instruments wliich, I believe, ¦
have never been combined before : an elected assembly
and a highly cen(ralized executive. It is the greatest
problem of modern times. We have proposed it to the
world, but it has not yet been solved.
I am anxious lor your inferences from what you have
seen in Germany, and are now seeing in Italy. Kind
and affectionate regards. TO M. DE CORCELLE. Tocqueville, August 27, 1847.
I find this country without political excitement, but in
a most formidable moral condition. No revolution may
be hanging over us, but revolutions must assuredly be
ushered in by such signs. The effect produced by tho
Cubieres prosecution was immense. The other horrible
story which we have been full of for the last week,* has
* The murder of the Duchesse de Praslin. — Te.

TO MADEMOISELLE DENISE DE TOCQUEVILLE. 89
cast a vague terror and profound uneasiness over every
mind. Such is the effect, I confess, which it has pro
duced on mine. I never heard of any crime which gavo
mo such a shocking impression of human nature, and of
the men of my own time in particular. What a confu
sion between right and wrong is proved by such a deed !
How clearly it shows the ruin caused by our successive
revolutions! Adieu. Believe that your misfortunes only
increase my attachment to you. Let me hear from you.
TO MADEMOISELLE DENISE DE TOCQUEVILLE. January G, 1848.
I was much pleased, dear Denise, with your lillle let
ter, and with that of your brother. I do not answer
his, as I know that he has left Baugy. But I should
like to have a little chat with you. I have only a few
minutes to spare, and I like to employ them in this
way. You say that you nre fond of mo. Your affec
tion cannot yet bo very strong, for you know scarcely
anything of me ; but I hope that it will bo so in time,
when you sen how sincerely I desire your happiness,
how anxious I shall ho (o contribute to it, and to love
you rather as if you were my daughter than my niece.
This, dear Denise, is the advantage of having elderly
uncles with no children of (heir own. They begin to
grow tired of the world, and having no little ones at
home on whom to bestow their paternal affection, they
are the more ready to yield to the illusion of being
loved by their nephews and nieces ; and in return for
this affection, which as yet can be little more than im
aginary, to love them really and sincerely.
This is my case. I grew very fond of j'ou and of
your sister during my short stay at Baugy, and it de-

90 LETTERS.
pends only upon you to make me love you better and
better the more I know of you. Both of you seemed to
me to bo kind and obliging to everybody, and particu
larly to your aunt and to me ; so my good wishes for the
year 1848 will be only that you may continue to pursue
the good path that you have chosen. Go on thinking
more of others than of yourselves ; try to be, rather
than' to appear, full of goodness and kindness; espe
cially, and above all, continue to be frank, simple, true,
and natural (take notice of each of these points) ; be
bo because you think it right, and when you have ac
quired the experience which you do not yet possess,
you will find that at the same time it was very wise,
and you will be delighted to see that you have become
almost unconsciously superior to most of the women
one generally meets in society. Not only will you be
more respected, but you will be more liked, more sought
after — for this reason, dear Denise, that real charm
does not depend on your manners, but on the qualities
of your mind, and still more, of your heart. These are
my wishes for you and for your sister, not only in the
year. 1848, but in every succeeding year; you can
have none better, and I will conclude, after embracing
you both most affectionately. TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ. Paris, April 10, 1848.
My dear Mb. Semiok,
I was away when your letter came. I found it on
my return only three days ago. I immediately went
to Mr. Austin's, to know what had prevented your visit
to Paris. I was grieved to hear that your health had
forced you to change your plans. I am doubly sorry

TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ. 91
not to see you, on account of the cause. I had been
the more anxious for your arrival as I expected to
have derived from your conversation some ideas which
would have been of special value at this juncture in
our affairs.
It lias not escaped your notice that our greatest evils
are not the result of fierce political excitement, but of
the frightful ignorance of the masses as to the real
conditions of production and of social prosperity. Our
sufferings are caused less by false ideas on politics
properly so called, than by false notions on political
economy. I do not think that a poor-law such as you suggest,
would, at least at present, remedy the evil. The Revo
lution was not brought about by the privations of the
working-classes. In some districts they certainly suf
fered from want, but in general, I may say that in no
oilier country or period had the working-classes been
better off than (hey then were in France. This was
especially true of those that were employed in agricul
ture. There the laborer did not need work, but work
needed laborers. In consequence of the subdivision of
landed property, there was a deficiency of hands. The
crisis from which the workmen in large manufactories
were suffering, lasted a very short time, and though
severe, was not unexampled. It was not want, but
ideas, that brought about that great revolution ; chi
merical ideas on the relations between labor and capi
tal, extravagant theories as to the degree in which the
government might interfere between the working-man
and the employer, doctrines of ultra-centralization which
had at last persuaded large numbers that it depended
on the state not only to save them from want, but to

92 LETTERS.
place them in easy, comfortable circumstances. You
must feel that to these diseased imaginations a poor-
law would not bo nn efficient remedy. I am far, how
ever, from saying that recourse must not be had to it.
I even think that the people ought long ago to have
obtained one ; but this law would not be enough to ex
tricate us from our present difficulties, for, I repeat, we
have to contend with ideas rather than with wants.
Three weeks before the revolution, I made a speech
which was taken down at the time in short-hand, and
reproduced in the Moniteur. I have just had it printed
exactly as it stands in the Moniteur. I send you a
copy ; pray read it ; you will see, that though I knew
not how or when a revolution would take place, the
proximity of such an event was clearly manifest to me.
I have often been reminded of this speech, which aroused
at the time violent murmurs in the chamber, from those
who are now willing to own that they were wrong, and
that I was right. I believe that when I made it, I was
on the road to discovering the primary and deeply seated
causes of that revolution. It broke out from accidents
strange and violent in themselves, I confess, but still in
sufficient to produce such an effect. Consider, on the
one hand, the causes which I have pointed out, and on the
odier, our system of centralization, which makes the fate
of Franco depend on a single blow struck in Paris, and
you will have the explanation of the Revolution of 1848,
such as one day it will appear in history, and as I my
self intend to write it if God preserves my life. Will
you be so good as to present a copy of my speech to
Lord Lansdowne, and remember me particularly to him.
I have alluded only to the past in this letter; to treat of
the future, more than a letter would be required.

TO THE COMTESSE LOUIS DE KERGORLAY. 93
We are in the most extraordinary position that a great
nation has ever been thrown into. We are forced to wit
ness great misfortunes ; we are surrounded by great dan
gers. My chief hope is in the lower orders. They are
deficient in intelligence, but they have instincts which are
worthy of all admiration ; I am myself astonished, and a
foreigner would be even more surprised, to see how strong
a feeling for order and true patriotism prevails ; to see
their good sense in all things of which they are capable
of judging, and in all matters on wliich they have not
been deceived by the ambitious dreamers to whom they
were abandoned. Adieu, dear Senior, &c.
TO THE COMTESSE LOUIS DE KERGORLAY. Paris, May, 1848.
Almost simultaneously with the letters in which you,
my dear cousin, told mc how happy you were at receiv
ing such good news of Louis, came one from Louis hiin-
Bclf, telling me a little about Germany, and a great deal
about you. He told me how long the days seemed away
from you, how necessary you had become to his exist enco;
his letter, in fact, was full of the deep and increasing hap
piness that he finds in his union with you. I cannot
express to you, dear cousin, the joy with which I read,
one after the other, these proofs of similar sentiments. I
was glad that you were able to give them, glad, also, to
receive them from each of you. I deserve the attach
ment you profess for me, by that which I have for you
both. If the newspapers you read, dear cousin, tell you that
we are going on from bad to worse, thai the confidence
of the people in their rulers is nearly gone, that our
financial difficulties are increasing, that want and misery

94 LETTERS.
become more prevalent, and that every day everything
falls into a state of greater confusion, they must give
you a correct notion of our condition. Such is, indeed,
(he present aspect of affairs, and if some great man does
not fall from the clouds witliin the next few months to
extricate us, I greatly fear that we shall not escape with
out going through the bitter experience of anarchy, civil
war, and their ruinous consequences. Now, as I see no
signs of this great man, and, in fact, have no faith in
the sudden apparition of heroes, while I see round me
swarms of mischievous pigmies, I am very uneasy and
much alarmed. If so many of my friends and relations
were not exposed to the storm, the eager interest awak
ened in nie by the singular, at limes imposing, scene
before me, might, perhaps, almost reconcile me to it. I
was so wearied by the monotony of the previous period,
that I have no right lo complain of the stormy variety
of this. But to reason in this way, one must consider
the events of this world as the passing scenes in a play,
and to ine they are far more. . . . Do not be too long
without letting us hear from you. Give a kiss from me
to Louis, if he has had the good taste to return to you,
and believe in my most affectionate wishes.
TO LORD RADNOR.
My Lord, Paris, May 26, 1848.
I cannot allow our friend, Mr. Senior, to leave us
without giving him a letter for you. I was much
pleased and gratified by the one which reached me
from you. You are aware of my sincere affection and
respect, and you will therefore understand me when I
say that no sign of your remembrance or regard is ever
received by me with indifference.

TO M. DE BEAUMONT. 95
Mr. Senior will tell yon more as to the present state
of France than I can while I am harassed by the exi
gencies and business of public life. Our condition is
indeed very serious ; still the good sense and feeling of
the masses leave some room to hope. Till now, their
conduct has been above all praise; and if they had only
leaders capable of turning these good dispositions to ac
count and of directing them, we soon should get rid of
all these dangerous and impracticable theories, and place
the Republic on Ihe only durable foundation, that of lib
erty and right. Our greatest misfortune is the absence
of leaders. The old parliamentary men who flourished
under the monarchy cannot now take part in the govern
ment : they would excite suspicion ; and without them wo
do not know to whom to trust the conduct of public affairs.
England seems to be the only country free from con
vulsions ; still, if I might venture to express an opinion
on a foreign country, it would be that your higher classes
must not go to sleep in absolute security. We are in the
midst of a general revolution of all civilized nations ; in
the long run not one will escape. There is but one way
of retarding or mitigating this revolution ; it is to do all
that can be done to improve the condition of the people
before changes are enforced by necessity.
Madame dc Tocqueville thanks you, my Lord, for your
kind recollection of her. She joins with me in remem
brance to Lady Jane Ellice. Give my regards to Mr.
Bouverie, and believe, &c. &c.
TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT (IN LONDON).
My Dkaii Fiuund, Paris, August, 1348.
I comply with your request of giving you all the in
formation that I think will be of use to you. The gov-

96 LETTERS.
ernment tells you the facts. My task is to let you know
as much as I can of the condition of the public mind,
which one can estimate correctly only when one is not
in office. . . .
It seems to me to be of special importance to make
known to you the disposition of a large majority in the
assembly with regard to Italian affairs. . . .
If the resistance of Venice should not immediately
produce a war, it will, I think, render negotiations much
more easy, for Austria will be able to answer, " All is
over." I do not know what are the bases of your nego
tiations, nor even if they are as yet settled. I only
remember to have read somewhere in Napoleon's writ
ings, perhaps with regard to the treaty of Campo Formio,
this remark : that, in the hands of Austria, the line of
the Adige is a defence for Germany, but that the line
of the Mincio is a threat to Italy ; the one closes Aus
tria, and (he other opens the Peninsula. I will finish
the subject of foreign politics with this Napoleonic
maxim . . . TO THE SAME. Paris, November, 1848.
Your first letter had determined me to accept the mis
sion which was offered to me.* Still, I did not like to do
so till I had spoken to General Cavaignac. I saw him
on the day before yesterday. . . .
In the first place, will there be a mediation or a con
ference ? If the Austrian empire falls to pieces, how and
where can we negotiate ? If, as is more probable, Vienna
is retaken, and a monarchical reaction occurs, would the
* To represent France iu the proposed conference at Brussels on
Italian affairs; England and France having offered their mediation,
and Austria having accepted it.

TO G. GROTE, ESQ. 97
crown in the midst of its triumph be inclined to nego
tiate ? If war broke out again in Italy, could there be
negotiations ? 1 might make many more hypotheses ;
first and foremost, the possibility of our seeing, even
before the negotiations are opened, another man take
the place of General Cavaignac at the head of our
affairs. . . .
We have just heard that a bloody and formidable revo
lution has broken out in Berlin. German}', then, is top
sy-turvy from one end to the other. How will that affect
us ? I fear in no good way. After a crisis of such vio
lence, I fear a passing but dangerous reaction. . . .
I accept your invilation to London with great pleasure.
The affair will benefit by the negotiators meeting. . .
But the more I think of it, the more I doubt whether the
congress at Brussels will ever take place. . . .
TO G. GROTE, ESQ. Paris, February 27, 1840.
My deak Mr. Grote,
I have received the books that you were so kind as to
send to me. I did not write to you immediately, because
I would not write to you before I had read you. I was a
long time about this ; for nearly a month I was ill, and
all the rest of the time I have been very busy. Still I
have been able to find leisure to read your fifth volume,
which seems worthy of its predecessors. This is as much
as to say that it greatly interested, and I might almost
say, amused me, if it were proper to use such a word
respecting so serious and learned a work. In fact, the
imiiression produced on me by your book is always the
same. I feel a grave, intellectual enjoyment at seeing
the picture of the ancient, and illustrious society of
vol. n. 7

98 LETTERS.
Greece, by the light of modern knowledge and experi
ence. I knew the edifice well, and yet I am struck by
its new aspect. It is as if I saw by daylight an object
of which I had only caught a glimpse iu the night.
Again I beg you to accept not only ray thanks, but
my sincere congratulations.
I see that our affairs interest you. The events in
France during the last year are well calculated to attract
the attention of an elevated and thoughtful mind. To a
foreigner, who sees the effects without understanding the
causes, they must appear most extraordinary. To those
who are on the spot, and who have watched the inevita
ble progress of events, nothing can be more simple and
natural. . . .
At any rate, the nation did not wish for a revolution.
Still less did it desire a republic; for though in France
there is not a particle of attachment for any particular
dynasty, the opinion that monarchy is a necessary iusti-
tution is almost universal. France then wished neither
for a revolution nor for a republic. That she has al
lowed both to be inflicted upon her proceeds from two
.causes : from the fact that Paris, having become during
the last fifty years the first manufacturing town in the
country, was able on a given day to furnish the repub
lican party with an army of artisans ; and secondly from
another fact, which is the offspring of centralization, that
Paris, no matter who speaks in her name, dictates to the
rest of France. These two facts, taken together, explain
the catastrophe of February, 1848.
The whole of this last year has been one long and
painful effort on the part of the nation to recover its
equilibrium, and to retake, by the pacific and legal means
that universal suffrage has conferred on it, all the bene-

TO G. GROTE, ESQ. 99
fits of which it was robbed by the surprise of February.
Much has been said about the versatility of the French.
They are versatile, no doubt, but in my opinion they
never were less so than during the last year. Up to tho
present time their conduct has been singularly consistent.
Last March they rose as one man to attend the elections,
and, in spite of much intimidation, they elected an as
sembly which, though favorable to a republic, was thor
oughly antianarchical and antirevolutionary. In June
they armed, and rushed to Paris, lo prevent another revo
lution even more frightful than the first. Finally, in
December, they designated their ruler by a name, if not
monarchical, at least significant of a strong and regular
mode of government. I, for my part, deeply regretted
this last act, which seemed to me to go too far. I did not
join in it. I refused to retain my diplomatic appointment
to Brussels. But I must confess that the conduct of the
nation on the 10th December was not inconsistent. It
acted under dangerous excitement, but, in the same spirit
which governed its actions in March and in June, and
oven in tho petty details of every day. And now, what
will happen ? It would be madness to attempt to pre
dict. Whatever it may be, we cannot possibly be replaced
in the position we were in before February. Many fancy
that we shall be. But they are fools. They think that
by tearing out a page of history they will be able to take
it up where they left off. I do not believe a word of it.
This revolution has left, in many directions, scars which
will never be effaced.
Pray present our kind regards to Mrs. Grote, and ac
cept them yourself.

100 LETTERS.
TO LORD RADNOR
Paris ( Foreign Oflluu), Juno 7, 1840.
I cannot find words, my Lord, to express to you my
emotion on receiving your letter; I have always valued
every token of your remembrance. But at this solemn
juncture of my life, when I am called upon, without hav
ing demanded or desired it, to take so heavy a responsi
bility on my shoulders, this proof of your regard is doubly
valuable. 1 feel how much too heavy the burden is for
my strength, but I hope that I shall have courage to bear
it. I am supported in this serious undertaking by re
membering, that my most earnest wish is to influence
tho foreign policy of my country on the side of peace.
As far as depends on me, you may bo sure that the
peace of the world will be maintained. 1 will stake my
conscience and my honor upon it.
Adieu, my Lord. May God bestow upon you the long
life and all the happiness that you so well deserve.
TO TUE COMTESSE DE OIRCOUltT.
Tocquoville, June 19, 1860.
I have heard, Madame, of the sad death of my col
league in the. academy, M. do Villencuve. This death
creates a vacancy in the Institute, and I have already
received many applications. Before answering them, I
want to ascertain the wishes of M — > — , for whom I know
that you aro interostod.
Our journey was prosperous. . . . This place continues
to please me, and I should be vory sorry if we were
obliged to leave it ; there is nothing really remarkable
about it, but its associations give to it a beauty and an
interest in my eyes which it would not have in any oth-

TARIS, MAY 10, 1800. 101
ers. We live here in such absolute solitude that the
rumor of politics scarcely reaches us, and I am aston
ished to find how little I care for any news that by
chance penetrates so fiir. 1 treat the newspapers with
the little respect that they deserve, and I own that I
scarcely ever read them.
Can it be, Madame, that I am becoming a bad citizen ?
I sometimes fear it, but I comfort myself by thinking that
I am only dispirited. I humbly confess (it is indeed
humiliating for a man who has had some pretensions to
prophecy) that I cannot see an inch in the darkness
which surrounds us. I do not know how this can last,
nor how it can end. I feel as if I were tossed on a
shoreless sen, with neither compass, nor sails, nor oars,
and tired of vain efforts, I lie down in the stern of my
boat and wait.
Pray remember me particularly to M. de Circourt.
EXTRACT FROM TIIK JOURNAL KEPT BY MR. SENIOR
IN THE SPRING OF 18D0. Paris, May 10.
I drank tea with the Tocqucvilles ; I mentioned the
depression of A. B.
" A. B." said Tocqueville, " is one of the political the
orists who tried to persuade others, and who succeeded
in persuading themselves, that the reign of Louis Phi
lippe was the natural termination of the French Revolu
tion, and the beginning of a new era. In every different
phase of our Revolution, clever men have fallen into this
error. We are political metaphysicians ; we draw from
a few similar facts what we call general rules, and use
those rules to explain whatever has been, and to foretell
all that will be.

102 EXTRACT.
" My father is seventy-six ; he was about sixteen at
the time that the Revolution began. He recollects,
therefore, the opinions that have prevailed during its
progress. " When fifteen years of disorder ended in a military
despotism, everybody believed that it had run its course.
It seemed to be the natural progress of events that rev
olution should produce war, and that war should make
the army, and that the army should make its general,
omnipotent. " When the Consulate and the Empire were followed
by the Restoration, it seemed also in the order of things
that the military ruler should be ruined by the ambition
to which he owed his empire ; that he should go on
playing double or quits, till he had exhausted his good
fortune ; that his domestic enemies should join with his
foreign ones ; that the ancient dynasty should be restored,
and that constitutional royalty should become the perma
nent form of French government.
" When Charles X. tossed his crown into the hands of
his cousin in 1830, this, too, seemed a natural conclusion
of the drama. The parallel between France and Eng
land was now complete. ' In a restoration,' it was said,
' the first king that is restored is so delighted with his
return to power, that he is willing to accept it on any
terms, and those terms he is likely to keep tolerably.
He is resolved not to have to travel again. The suc
cessor of the restored sovereign takes the crown, not as
a good fortune, but as a right. He finds the limits within
which he is confined irksome, and easily believes them
to be mischievous. His flatterers tell him that they are
void ; that his rights are inalienable, perhaps divine ;
and that it is his duty to save his country, without look-

PARIS, MAY 19, 1850. 103
ing nicely to the technical legality of the means which
must be employed.'
" He attempts to act on these principles, and is resisted
and deposed.
" But a great and ancient nation that has once tried
the experiment of democracy, will not repeat it. It will
select for its new sovereign the next in succession who
is willing and fit to accept the responsibility, and to sub
mit to the restrictions, of a constitutional monarchy. In
that dynasty the conflicting principles of legitimacy and
selection, of divine right, and of popular right, are united.
It may expect indefinite duration. Such a dynasty is in
tho second century of its reign in England, and in tho
first century of its reign in Franco.
" The Revolution of 1848 came, and all these illusions
were dissipated in an hour; the great monarchical fortress
which was built for ages turned out to be mere stage dec
oration. " The Republic reappeared with its single assembly,
its universal suffrage, its clubs, its forced paper-currency.
The line along which they have been travelling since
1830 turns out to have been only a segment of a circle.
They believe that 1848 has brought them back to the
point at wliich they started in 1789 ; they fancy them
selves now in 1791, armed, without doubt, with far more
power and with far more experience than were possessed
by the legislative assembly, but also attacked by more
and much more practised enemies.
" In the presence of such dangers they despair, and
add to our real sufferings a thousand others still more
terrible, the creations of their disturbed imaginations.
As for me, having long known that the ground under us
is too unstable to support permanently any government

104 LETTERS.
whatever, I am, indeed, grieved and out of spirits, but I
am not terrified. I do not think that all is over, nor do
I think that all is lost. I look on my country as a pa
tient whose disease cannot, at least at present, be cured,
but can be palliated ; who can be restored to considera
ble enjoyment, and whose illness itself can be made the
origin of great benefits to the human race and to him
self." TO MRS. GROTE. Tocciucvillo, July 24, 1850.
If I were ill-disposed, Madame, I might complain that,
knowing me to be one of the most professed admirers of
your genius, you did not yourself think of sending to me
your pamphlet on pauperism, so that I was forced to ask
for it through our friend Mr. Senior. But rather than
quarrelling with you, I prefer thanking you for the pleas
ure which this little work has afforded to me. I received
it as I was leaving Paris, and I read it on my arrival.
I could not have spent the leisure imposed upon me by
illness in a more profitable manner. In your pamphlet
I find the good sense of the English economist rendered
more acute and more brilliant by feminine wit and imag
ination ; an improvement Avhich it often greatly needs.
You defend the conservative principles on which our
ancient system of society in Europe is founded, and the
Uberty and the individual responsibility attendant upon
it ; you defend especially the institution of property.
You are quite right ; you can hardly conceive life with
out these primary laws, no more can I.
Yet I own, that this old world, beyond wliich we
neither of us cnu see, appears to ine to be almost worn
out; the vast and venerable machine seems more out of
gear every day ; and though I cannot look forward, my

TO MRS. GROTE. 105
faith in the continuance of the present is shaken. I
learn from history, that not one of the men who witnessed
the downfall of the religious and social organizations that
have passed awny, was able to guess or even to imagine
what would ensue. Yet this did not prevent Christianity
from succeeding to idolatry ; servitude to slavery ; the
barbarians from taking the place of Roman civilization,
and feudalism in turn ejecting the barbarians. Each of
these changes occurred without having been anticipated
by any of the writers in the times immediately preceding
these total revolutions. Who, then, can affirm that any
one social system is essential, mid that another is impos
sible? But it is no less tho duty of honest people to
stand up for the only system wliich they understand, aud
even to die for it if a better be not shown to them.
Mr. Grote continues to send me his excellent and most
interesting " History of Greece ; " I should regret not
having yet. thanked him for the hitter volumes if I hud
not now (he oppordinily of conveying my thanks throit<;h
you. I have just finished his eighth volume (the last
that I have received) ; it is as full as the earlier volumes
of facts that were unknown, and views that were new lo
me, giving me a different and often an opposite impres
sion of the Greeks. Till now I never thoroughly under
stood Socrates or the ancient Sophists. I am amazed by
the erudition, and astonished by the power of abstraction,
which such a work must have required, those two quali
ties being seldom found in conjunction. Remember me
very kindly to him. Madame de Tocqueville sends her
affectionate regards. We are neither of us in very good
health, though we are not exactly ill. . . .

106 LETTERS.

TO M. DE CORCELLE.
Dkau Fiuknd. Tocqueville, August 1, I860.
I cannot understand how it is that I have not written
to you since the 6th of July. And yet your letter gave me
great pleasure ; aud if it had been only to get another I
ought to have answered it. I did not do so, however,
because I live in a sort of apathy which makes unpleas
ant every exertion, even to gain some desirable result.
I never could have believed that I could become, not in
different by any means, but so little anxious about either
the present or the future in a country where the present
is so disturbed and the future so dark. I think, however,
that when revolutions continue for so long, they produce
more or less of the effect of a life at sea ; though running
every day a chance of being drowned, the sailor at last
forgets even that he is on Ihe ocean. Thank God, the
helm is no longer in my charge ; I am only a passenger,
and I should like to remain one, at any rate for some
time longer. But I think that the restoration of my
health, at least of that which I call health, and which
other people would call illness, will oblige me to resume
my political duties when the assembly meets.
******
I know not if the circumstances in wliich I have lat
terly been placed, or the increased seriousness that one
acquires with age ; my solitary life, or some other cause
of which I am not conscious, has affected my mind, and
set it working ; but the truth is, that I have never felt
so much the want of an eternal foundation, the solid basis
on wliich life ought to rest.
Doubt has always seemed to me to be the most un
bearable of all evils; worse than death itself.

TOCQUEVILLE, AUGUST 17, 1850. 107
To turn to other things, I must tell you that I do not
see without apprehension the operation here of the new
law of elections.* It strikes heavily and blindly. I hope
for little that is good from any of the efforts made or
projected for the reestablishment of our social system.
1 fear that, by flying from one remedy to another, they
will damage the vitals of liberty ; I know that at present
liberty is out of favor ; but, whatever may happen, I am,
and always shall remain, faithful to her. I do not think
that modern society will be able to do long without her.
The excesses lately committed in her name may make her
appear hateful, but cannot destroy her beauty or make
her less essential. I think, too, that we should treat all
the principles which we have long professed, when, for
the moment, they become less practicable, as we do our
old friends when they behave ill ; and that we owe, even
to ourselves, not to abuse or attack them.
Forgive this long prose, for the sake of the great
pleasure afforded to me by my unrestrained communi
cations with you.
EXTRACTS FROM THE JOURNAL KEPT BY MR. SENIOR
DURING HIS VISIT TO NORMANDY.
Tocqueville, Saturday, August 17, 1850.
I talked over with Tocqueville the prospects of the
four great parties.
" The terror," he said, " which the Republic at first
spread has passed off. Men see that it does not neces
sarily bring with it war, paper-money, and bankruptcy ;
still less confiscation and the guillotine. But it is not
trusted. The feeling of the mass of the people, of the,
peasant, the artisan, and the shopkeeper, as well as of
* The law of the 31st May, 1850, which restricted the suffrage.— Tr.

108 EXTRACTS.
the proprietor and the merchant, is against a constantly
shifting chief.
•• Fur from valuing the power of electing a new i/uttsi
king every lour year*, (hey detest it. ' We must,' Ihey
say, ' have something permanent.'
" The Republican party, therefore, as a party, has
become powerless. Two years hence, or perhaps sooner,
some different form of government will be established.
" Will it, then, be the return of the Orleans family,
excluding the elder branch ?
•• That seems scarcely possible at present. Their
friends are a minority, small when compared with the
number of those who aro indifferent to them ; and not
lar<»e when compared with the number of those who
are positively hostile to them.
" Will it be the return of Henry V. ?
" The great obstacle to this is the association of the
Bourbon name with the old regime. That government,
gay and brilliant as it looks in our histories and in our
memoirs, must have been horribly bad ; for the detesta
tion of it is almost the only feeling that has survived
the sixty years that have passed since its fall.
" The French can bear oppression ; they can bear to
see their children carried off by the conscription, and
(heir properly by (he (ax-gadierer ; but Ihey cannot
bear the privileges and the petty vexations of feu
dalism. ¦' You saw the roofless tower in the court. My grand
father used it as a colombier. He kept there 3,000
pigeons. No one was allowed to kill them, and no
one else in the commune could keep them. In 1793,
when the peasants were the masters, they did no harm
to any of the rest of our property. We have lived

TOCQUEVILLE, AUGUST 17, 1850. 109
among (hem as protectors and friends for centuries ; but
they rose en masse against the pigeons, killed every one
of them, and reduced the tower to its present slate.
" When I first was a candidate I failed, not be
cause I was not personally popular, but because I was
a gentilhomme. I was met everywhere by the proverb,
'Les chats prennent les souris.' My opponent was of an
humble family which had risen to wealth and distinc
tion in the Revolution. This is the most favorable com
bination in the hands of a man of ability. Mere wealth
is mischievous ; it gives no influence, and it excites
envy. The only time when it led to political power was
just after iho Revolution of 1818. Every possessor of
property, • — and few persons in the provinces are quite
without it, — was alarmed ; and the greatest proprietors
were selected as representatives, because they were
supposed to have the greatest stakes. Mere birth ia
still worse than mere wealth ; it excites not only envy,
but fear.
" Tho remembrance of the Marian persecutions is still
vivid in England after 300 years. Our fears of the
revival of the tour ct colombier arc as fantastic as your
dread of the fagot and the rack ; but why should they
not last as long ?
" Last nunc the Bonnpartisls.
" Will Louis Napoleon succeed in becoming Emperor ?
I think not. I doubt whether he will attempt it. He
is daring in his plans ; but when the moment of execu
tion comes, he hesitates. His best chance was on the
29th of January, 1849.
" Ho then enjoyed the full prestige of his six millions
of votes. I have no doubt that the plan was laid, but at
tlie decisive moment he or his advisers flinched."

110 EXTRACTS.
I said that one of his rashest acts seemed to be the
dismissal in November, 1849, of the only respectable
ministry that could be obtained.
Tocqueville answered, that supposing his object to be
the establishment of himself as permanent ruler, and
the subversion of the present constitution, his conduct
then was, at least, plausible.
" We," he said, " had served his purpose. We had
enabled him to get through the most perilous period
of his new reign : the substitution of the legislative for
the constituent assembly. We had maintained peace
within and without, but we were doing too well. The
republic was becoming respectable, and there was a fear
that the people would acquiesce in it. By throwing the
administration into the hands of a set of clerks without
experience or authority, he let loose the passions of the
assembly, and enabled it to become, what is not easy,
both formidable and contemptible.
" I will not venture to prophesy, or even to guess,
but I think that the least improbable result is, that ho
will bo reelected at the end of his lime; but that, in
other respects, the present constitution will last its three
years ; beyond that, all is darkness.
" If any event indistinctly presents itself, it is the
reconciliation of the two branches, and the success of
an united effort to give the crown to Henry V. and to
the Comte de Paris, as his successor ; this is perhaps
our best chance now, as the maintenance of the elder
branch was our best chance twenty years ago."
Monday, August III, 1850.
We talked of Thiers's " History of the Empire.''
"Its defect," said Tocqueville, "is its inadequate

TOCQUEVILLE, AUGUST 19, 1850. Ill
appreciation of the causes, intrinsic and extrinsic, which
united to form Napoleon.
" Few histories give to these two sets of causes their
due or their relative weight.
" Some attribute too much to the circumstances in
which their hero was placed, others to the accidents of
his character. Napoleon, though gigantic iu war and in
legislation, was imperfect and incoherent in both. No
other great general, perhaps no general whatever, suf
fered so many defeats. Many have lost one army, some
perhaps have lost two ; but who ever survived the de
struction of four?
" So in legislation, he subdued anarchy, he restored
our finances, he did much to which France owes in part
her power and her glory. But he deprived her not only
of liberty, but of the wish for liberty ; he enveloped her
in a net-work of centralization which stifles individual
and corporate resistance, and prepares the way for the
despotism of an assembly or of an emperor. Assuming
him to have been perfectly selfish, nothing could be
better planned or better executed. Ile seized with a
sagacity which is really marvellous, out of the elements
left to him by the convention, those which enabled him to
raise himself, and to level everything else ; which enabled
his will to penetrate into the recesses of provincial and even
of private life, and rendered those below him incapable of
acting or thinking, almost of wishing, for themselves.
" Thiers does not sufficiently explain how it was that
Napoleon was able to do this, or why it was that he
chose to do it ; nor has his private character been ever
well drawn as a whole.
"There is much truth in Bourrienne, though mixed,
and inseparably mixed, with much invention.

112 EXTRACTS.
"Napoleon's taste was defective in everything, in small
things as well as in great ones ; in books, in art, and in
women, as well as in ambition and in glory.
" The history of the Empire and the history of the
Emperor are still to be written. I hope one day to
write them.'' Thursday, August 22, 1850.
After dinner, we talked over the Revolution of 1848.
" I had a long conversation," said Tocqueville, " with
one of the ministers about a week before the emeute be
gan. I was alarmed, but he laughed at my fears.
" ' There is no cause,' he said, ' even for uneasiness ;
there are 05,000 troops in Paris, besides the national
guards.' " Tn fact, however, there were only 25,000 ; but that
was more than enough, if they had been allowed to act.
" As soon, however, as Louis Philippe heard that the
national guards were wavering, he despaired.
" There is not a more revolutionary institution," he
continued, " that is to say, an institution moro productive
of revolutions, than a national guard. Just after a revo
lution, to he sure, it is useful, as a protector of property ;
but its instincts are to bring one on. The majority of
its members have no political knowledge ; they sym
pathize with the prevalent feeling, which is seldom
favorable to a government. Some wish to give it a
lesson, others would like to overthrow it. Very few,
except in moments of excitement, like those of June,
1848, choose to expose themselves in its defence; and
one national guard who joins the mob does more harm
thuu ull the good that can be done by twenty who sup
port it. The mob have not the least respect for the uni
form ; but the soldiers will not fire on it.

TOCQUEVILLE, AUGUST 22, 1850. 113
" Even on the 24th of February," continued Tocque
ville, " the monarchy might have been saved, if the proc
lamation of the provisional government, and the retreat
of the Duchess of Orleans, could have been retarded
only for an hour.
" After having sat out the revolutionary scene, heard
the proclamation of the Republic, and seen Lamartine
and Ledru Rollin set off for the Hotel de Ville, I was
quitting the chamber, and had reached the landing-place
of the staircase which leads from the waiting-room into
the court now occupied by our provisional house, when I
met a company of the 10th Legion, with fixed bayonets,
led by General Oudinot, not in uniform, but brandishing
his cane in a military style, and crying, 'En avant! Vive
le Roi, et la Duchesse d'Orleans Regente ! ' By his
side, gesticulating and shouting in the same manner, was
a man whom I will not name, who, by the evening, had
become a fierce republican.
" The national guards, though not numerous, uttered
the same cries, and rushed up the staircase with great
resolution. Oudinot recognized me, caught me by the
arm, and cried, —
" ' Where are you going ? Come with us, and we will
sweep these ruffians out of the chamber.' ' My dear
General,' I answered, ' it is too late ; the chamber is
dissolved, the Duchess has fled, the provisional govern
ment is on its way to the Hotel de Ville.'
" The impulse, however, which he had given to the
column of national guards was such that it did not stop.
I turned back, and we all reentered the chamber. The
crowd had just left it. The national guards stood si ill
for an instant, looking with astonishment on the empty
benches, and then dispersed in all directions. They be-
VOL. II. 8

114 EXTRACTS.
longed to the Quartier St. Germain. Oudinot had col
lected them by going from house to house. If he had
been able to do so two hours, or even one hour, curlier,
the destinies of France, and perhaps of Europe, might
have been altered." August 25, 1850.
Tocqueville, A. B., and I took a long walk over the
downs commanding the sea.
" I am now forty-six," said Tocqueville, " and the
changes which have taken place in the habits of society,
as I faintly recollect my boyhood, seem to have required
centuries. " The whole object of those among whom I was
brought up, was to amuse, and be amused. Politics
were never talked of, and I believe very little thought
of. Literature was one of the ."funding subjects of con
versation. Every new book of any merit was read
aloud, and canvassed and criticised with an attention,
and a detail which we should now think a deplorable
waste of time. I recollect how everybody used to be
in ecstasy about things of Delille's, which nothing would
tempt me now to look at. Every considerable country-
house had its theatre, and its society often furnished
admirable actors. I remember my father returning after
a short absence, to a large party in his house. We
amused ourselves by receiving him in disguise. Cha
teaubriand was an old woman. Nobody would take so
much trouble now. Every incident was matter for a
little poem.
'• People studied the means of pleasing as they now
do those whieh produce profit or power. Cuuser and
raconter are among the lost arts. So is tenir Salon.
Madame Recamier was the delight of Paris, but she said

TOCQUEVILLE, AUGUST 25, 1850. 115
very little. She listened and smiled intelligently, and
from time to time threw in a question or a remark to
show that she understood you.
" From long habit she knew what were the subjects
on wliich each guest showed to most advantage, and
she put him upon them. The last, indeed, was not
difficult, for the guest, a veteran causeur, knew better
even than she did his forte, and seized the thread that
led to it. It was only by inference, only by inquiring
why it was that one talked more easily at her houso
than elsewhere, that one discovered the perfection of her
art ; the influence of women was then omnipotent, they
gave reputation, they gave fashion, they gave political
power." " The influence of women," said A. B., " is consider
able now."
" Yes," said Tocqueville, " but in a very different way.
It is not the influence of mistresses, or of friends, but
of wives. And generally it is mischievous. Its effect
is to destroy political independence. This is a conse
quence of the poverty of our public men. The wife is
always there suggesting how much a little expenditure
here, and a little there, would add to the comfort of the
menage, and the husband barters his principles for a few
thousand francs."
" The Limousin," said A. B., " is among the least
altered parts of France. I was at a wedding near
Limoges two or three years ago, to honor which, for four
days running, from seventy to eighty neighbors came
every day, and went away the next."
"Where did they sleep?" I asked.
" Why, a great portion of them," he answered, " did
not sleep at all. They danced, or talked, or amused

116 EXTRACTS.
themselves otherwise all night, and rode away in the
morning. For those who chose to sleep, several rooms
were strewed with mattresses as close as the floor could
hold them, and there they lay ; the men in one room
the women in another. Many of the ladies arrived on
horseback, followed by a donkey carrying the ball-dress
in a bandbox."
" Among the things," continued Tocqueville, " which
have disappeared with the ancien regime, are its habits
of expenditure. Nobody could now decently and com
fortably spend above 200,000 francs a year ; to waste
more we must gamble, or give in to some absurdity.
No expense has been more reduced than that of ser
vants. The femme de charge, your house-keeper, scarcely
exists ; nor is the femme de chambre, in the capacity
of your lady's-maid, commonly seen. Her duties are
usually divided among the other servants; and so are
those of your house-maid. Then we pay much lower
wages. I give Eugene 600 francs a year ; but that ia
an exception. Tho general rate is from 400 to 500.
" Eugene," he added, " is a man whom I have always
envied, and I envy him now. If happiness consists in
the correspondence of our wishes to our powers, as I
believe that it does, he must bo happy. I have all my
life been striving at things, not one of which I shall
completely obtain. In becoming a thoroughly good ser
vant, he has done all that he wishes to do : in getting a
master aud mistress to whom he is attached, and who are
attached to him, he has obtained all that he wishes to
obtain. To sum up all, he is a hero. lie fought like u
lion in June."
We ended our walk by calling on the cure\ He has
a pretty little house, and a good garden ; they belong to

TOCQUEVILLE, AUGUST 20, 1850. 117
the benefice. He surprised me by saying, that the
population of his parish averaged only three to a house ;
(hero are few servants and no lodgers. In many cnscs,
therefore, a house is inhabited by a single person. There
is something dreary in the idea ; but it must be recol
lected that the house is very small, and the neighbors
very near.
He estimated the number of children to a marriage at
three. August 28, 1850.
We talked of the changes in French literature during
the last hundred and fifty years.
" If," said Tocqueville, " Bossuet or Pascal were to
come (o life, they would think us receding into semi-
barbarism ; they would be unable to enter into the ideas
of our fashionable writers, they would be disgusted by
their style, and be puzzled even by their language."
" What," I asked, " do you consider your golden
age ? "
" The latter part," he answered, " of the seventeenth
century. Men wrote then solely for fame, and they
addressed a public small and highly cultivated. French
literature was young ; the highest posts were vacant ;
it was comparatively easy to be distinguished. Extrav
agance was not necessary to attract attention. Style
then was the mere vehicle of thought ; first of all to
be perspicuous, next to be concise, was all that they
aimed at.
" In the eighteenth century competition had begun.
It had become difficult to be original by matter, so men
tried to strike by style ; to clearness and brevity, orna
ment was added — soberly and in good taste, but yet
it betrayed labor and effort. To the ornamental has

118 EXTRACTS.
now succeeded the grotesque; just as the severe style
of our old Norman architecture gradually became florid,
and ultimately flamboyant.
" If I were to give a Scriptural genealogy of our mod
ern popular writers, I should say that Rousseau lived
twenty years, and then begat Bernardin de St. Pierre ;
that Bernardin de St. Pierre lived twenty years, and
then begat Chateaubriand ; that Chateaubriand lived
twenty years, and then begat Victor Hugo ; and that
Victor Hugo, being tempted of the devil, is begetting
every day."
" Whose son," I asked, " is Lamartine ? "
" Oh," said Tocqueville, " ho is of a different breed :
his father, if he had one, is Chenier ; but one might
almost say that he is ex se ipso natus. When he entered
Ihe poetical world, all men's minds were slid heaving
with the Revolution. It had filled Ihem with vague
conceptions and undefined wishes, to which Lamartine,
without making them distinct enough to show their
emptiness or their inconsistency, gave something like
form and color. His ' Meditations,' especially the first
part of them, found an accomplice in every reader. He
seemed to express thoughts of which every one was
conscious, though no one before had embodied them in
words." I said that I feared that I should be unable to read
them ; and that, in fact, there was little French poetry
that I could read.
" I have no doubt," answered Tocqueville, '' that there
is much poetry, and good poetry, that no one but a native
can relish. There are parts of Shukspeure which you
admire, and I have no doubt very justly, in which I can
not see any beauty."

TO M. DUFAURE. 119
" Can you," I said, " read the ' Henriade,' or the ' Pu
celle ' ? "
" Not the ' Henriade,' " he answered, " nor can any
body else ; nor do I much like to read the ' Pucelle,' but
it is a wonderful piece of workmanship. How Voltaire
could have disgraced such exquisite language, poetiy,
and wit, by such grossness, is inconceivable ; but I can
recollect when grave magistrates and statesmen knew it
by heart. If you wish for pure specimens of Voltaire's
wit, and ease, and command of language, look at his
' Pieces Diverses.' As for his tragedies, I cannot read
them — they are artificial — so, indeed, are Racine's,
though he is the best writer of French that ever used
the language. In Corneille there are passages really of
the highest order. But it is our prose writers, not our
poets, that are our glory ; and them you can enjoy as
well as I can." TO M. DUFAURE. Paris, Octohorl2, 1850.
I have long been wishing to write to you, dear friend.
I was prevented by my ignorance of your address. I
have only just heard it from Rivet. He tells mc that
you return to Paris about the 25 th. I should rejoice at
this news if I were sure of being here myself at that
time ; but this is far from being the case.
Some of our mutual friends have no doubt told you
that my health obliges me to spend the coldest part of the
winter with Madame de Tocqueville in Italy. Though
I have been set up in other respects by my stay in the
country, my bronchia and larynx are still so weak and
irritable, that the doctors arc afraid of the next winter,
and of the excitement and worry of public life. They
offer me the choice between staying at home and taking

120 LETTERS.
no part in politics, with the chance of not getting well ;
or going away for some months, and giving myself up to
complete rest and silence ; after whieh, they say, that I
shall probably return well, and able to resume my for
mer life. I thought it wise to choose the latter course,
and I think that you will approve.
Political considerations chiefly made me hesitate. I
own that I should not be sorry to be away if the assem
bly is to go on as it has done during the last year. But
if a decisive crisis should take place in my absence, I
should be grieved and disturbed. I do not think that
an immediate crisis is probable. Reasoning only upon
general principles, it would appear to be likely, and
even imminent; but I am too well acquainted with the
characters of the men on whom it depends to believe
in its being so near.
I need not tell you how I regretted that you were not
able to come to Cherbourg, and thence to accompany
Lanjuinais to Tocqueville, where we should have been
so glad to receive you.
TO M. DE CORCELLE. Dijon, November 1, 1850.
You heard that Dr. Andral wished me to spend tho
winter in the South. I write to you from the first stage.
Although I have a decided, and even passionate taste
for travelling, I set off this time with an uneasiness and
heaviness of heart, which would augur ill, if I believed
in omens ; but the state of my mind is explained by that
of public affairs. They are, indeed, enough to make one
anxious. I think that nothing of importance will happen
during my absence, except that the relations between the
President and the assembly will become more and more

TO M. DE CORCELLE. 121
unpleasant, without coming to an open rupture. If this
prophecy of mine be realized, I own that my absence
would be a relief to me ; for I know nothing more fa
tiguing, enervating, and distressing, than to drill, ns wc
have been doing lately, on a rolling sea, with neither
wind nor tide, and out of sight of shore. Such a navi
gation wears out everything, ship as well as crew. If
it is to go on, as seems likely, I had rather remain on
land. Still, will things be in the same state six months
hence ? This is what disturbs me. On general prin
ciples this is not to he expected, for we act as if on the
eve of a struggle. But the general languor of tho pub
lic mind may reach and keep motionless tho most active.
It is as difficult to be violent in a calm as it is to be
moderate in a storm.
I repeat, then, my hopes, that during the ensuing six
months, and perhaps even for still longer, the two powers
whom the constitution has so awkwardly placed tete-a-tete,
though they may quarrel, will not fight. Still these po
litical metaphysics do not set me at rest. You must own,
my dear friend, that the aspect of affairs is enough to
sadden a man who is going abroad. I go, therefore, in
very bad spirits ; for though I do not care to be here in
the statu quo, I should never forgive myself for being
absent in the event of a crisis, whichever way it might
turn. I need not say more about it, than to beg you to
think how you yourself would feel in my situation. It
will be such an anxious one, that you will perform not
only a friendly, but a charitable action, by writing to me
frequently, and at length. Pray do so, my dear Corcelle ;
I ask it as a great kindness — the greatest that you can
now show to me.

122 LETTERS.
You know that there are occasions in life when health
must give way to duty and honor. Events may happen
that will render my return absolutely necessary. Should
they occur, remember that I trust to you to let me know
instantly. I have not yet fixed where to go. We think of choos
ing the place of all others most celebrated for its climate,
Palermo ; but as yet nothing is settled.
TO M. G. DE BEAUMONT. Naples, November 24, 1850.
Our voyage from Marseilles to Italy, my dear friend,
was as full of accidents as our journey from Paris to
Marseilles. First, we were detained for a day longer
than we ought at Genoa, and thus were prevented from
taking advantage of the fine weather which we had till
then enjoyed. The news of the termination of the
quarantine at Naples had just arrived at Genoa and
all along that coast, so that a host of English families
who were unwillingly making their way by land, rushed
on board our vessel, which was a merchant-ship, und
though good, was small. You cannot imagine what that
crowd was : the forepart of the boat was covered with
carriages, and the deck and cabin so full that we could
not move. It was in this condition, and in the middle
of the night, that we encountered, between Leghorn and
Civita Vecchia, one of the most violent gales that I ever
experienced. The deck soon became untenable ; the sea
broke over it every minute. Men, women, and children
had to run into the cabin, where they were packed like
negroes in u slave-ship. When once one got in, it was
impossible to get out again, for the companion-ladder
was so choked with people, that it soon became im-

TO M. DE BEAUMONT. 123
possible to go up or down it. Add to this, universal
sea-sickness, and you may judge of the abomination of
desolation of such a place. But the worst part was, that
there soon was such a want of air, that I thought that I
really was going to be suffocated. Since my illness, my
lungs have not recovered their elasticity, and every mo
ment I felt as if I should cease to breathe. Happily,
there was a little port-hole close to me which I succeeded
in opening ; my face was soon washed by the waves, but
still I was able to live, which was my object for the time
being. At daybreak the storm abated, and we landed at
Civita Vecchia, looking like ghosts. Here our misfor
tunes ended. After resting one day, we pushed on lo
Rome, where we spent only one night. ... On my ar
rival at Naples, three days ago, I read the President's
message. . . .
We have here wind, rain, hail, thunder — every
weather except cold. The air has always been soft,
which suits mo extremely well ; the material man has
never been better, but the spiritual is starved. The
country is wonderfully beautiful, but what a popula
tion 1 what a hubbub ! what inconceivable dirt ! what
rags ! what vermin 1 To find such abominations as one
meets at every step in the streets of Naples, one must
go into the most horrible corners of Algiers. From
what I hear, it seems that this tattered populace is
friendly to the government, and much opposed to rev
olutions. The lower classes here form what we should
call the party of order.
I do not yet know when we shall quit Naples, or even
if wo shall go any farther than its neighborhood. For
my part, I had rather be in Sicily. We are waiting for
Ampere, whom we expect in a few days, to make our
decision.

124 LETTERS.
With regard to my leave of absence, pray settle it
as you think proper. I trust this as well as everything
else to you.
It is a great and valuable blessing to possess 6uch a
friendship as ours, and a trust so well justified by experi
ence. Almost every other of (he good things in this
world loses its value with advancing years ; but this
becomes more and more precious as one knows men
better and learns to look upon them, for the most part,
with utter and irremediable distrust.
TO M. DUFAURE. Sorrento, Decomber 22, I860.
Although I hear of you, my dear friend, in almost all
the letters that I receive, I wish to have some direct news
from you. In this seclusion I delight in thinking of my
friends ; and the best way of doing so is to communicate
with them.
I wish only that I had a subject worthy of you. But
I have none. For what can I say of France, which I
see through a mist ? And as for this country, I have too
near and too correct a view of it to like to speak of it.
It is sad enough to live here, I assure you, for a man in
search of anything but health ; and even for those who,
like me, are determined to seek nothing else, the enjoy
ment of good health is often spoiled by the sight of so
much moral sickness. Like all my contemporaries, I
have acquired, not only the taste for liberty, but the
habit of it — a habit which, with many people, survives
even the taste. I cannot reconcile myself to living, even
as a foreigner, in a country in whieh every conceivable
liberty is either restrained or destroyed. You, who have
always lived in the midst of the animation, the indepen-

TO M. DUFAURE. 125
dence, and the noise of our society, cannot understand the
moral and intellectual torture experienced in a country
where every action is hampered and impeded; where
not only men are silent, but where even their thoughts
are paralyzed. My mind seems to suffer, as my body
did ten months ago, when my lungs played ill, and I
could never take a full respiration.
Again, Italy is not China. It joins on to France ; and
though it does not greatly influence us, we act on it with
enormous power. I cannot contemplate the miserable
condition into wliich it has fallen, without reflecting sadly
on the fatal influence which we often exercise upon all
around us. When a revolution breaks out in France, all
Europe falls into anarchy ; and when order is reestab
lished in France, every other country restores the old
abuses. We must confess that neighboring nations love
us no better than their sovereigns do. The Revolution
of 1848 has done irreparable injury to Italy. It precipi
tated her into a political movement which had no chance
of success, unless the process were slow ; and it tore the
country out of tho hands of the liberals to place it in
those of the revolutionists. One is shocked lo seo how
many germs of liberty have been miserably wasted,
trodden under foot, and destroyed in this unhappy coun
try, during the last three years, by those who had always
liberty on their lips. I do not think that human folly
and perversity ever showed themselves so openly.
I turn my eyes from such spectacles as much as I can,
and try to create for myself a world of my own, consist
ing only of these lovely shores and of these fine skies.
We have found a delightful residence in this out-of-the-
way part of the world ; a house which is comfortably
furnished, warm, open to the sun, and sheltered from

] 26 LETTERS.
cold winds ; a Belvedere in a forest of orange-trees, with
the Bay of Naples under our windows. I have brought
some books, and in their society I try to forget all that is
going on beyond my own horizon. I do not always suc
ceed, and sometimes political rumors startle me. I dread
them ; and yet, when I have heard none for a long time,
I grow anxious. The position of France is too critical,
and the future too doubtful, to admit of my enjoying real
tranquillity without knowing what is going on. I am,
therefore, very grateful whenever my friends are so kind
as to keep me informed as to the state of our affairs, at
least, in so far as they are able ; for politics with us form
a labyrintli of paths, wo intercepted and so devious, that
even those best acquainted with them do not know in
what direction the country, or even they themselves, may
be walking. From all that I hear, it seems to me to be
pretty clear that nothing decisive will occur before the
spring. Security on this point is a great relief and com
fort to me. I hope that before any considerable event
takes place, I shall be at home, and ready to share with
my friends the chances of fortune.
Good-by, &c.
TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT.
Sorrento, December 30, 1850.
I was waiting, Madame, to write to you till I had made
the acquaintance of General Filangieri, by whom I am
sure that I should have been well received, as my letter
to him was from you. However, I am obliged, with great
regret, (o tell you that I am unable to make use of your
introduction. The bad effects of our first voyage on the
health of Madame de Tocqueville, and our well-founded
fears of finding no lodging at Palermo, except in the

TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT. 127
hotel, determined us to fix ourselves at Sorrento, whence
I write to you.
I dare say that you know this charming spot, so I need
not describe it to you ; and you will have no difficulty in
believing that I enjoy it as much as one can ever enjoy
one's self away from one's friends and one's country. Now
and then, as I said before, I think with a sigh of Sicily.
I am particularly sorry to lose the opportunity of con
versing with General Filangieri, who, as I hear on all
Bides, is the most distinguished man in this country.
I allow myself as little as possible to think of politics,
and I try not to let them annoy me. Hitherto, this mode
of life, and especially this admirable climate, have revived
me more than I had dared to expect. I really hope to
carry back with me to Paris a capital of good health.
This capital I shall no doubt spend, and perhaps even, like
others, I shall waste it in what is called the great business
of life, as if it were not the great business of every one's
life to keep his body in health and his mind at rest.
Although I live like a hermit, and perhaps because I
live like a hermit, I am extremely curious to know all that
is going on in the world, or, to use the language of her
mits, all secular affairs. It would be most kind and char
itable in you to tell me, when you answer me (that is, at
least, if you really are willing to take so much trouble),
some news, and, above all, some of your own news. There
is no man who could prize them more highly.
Though solitary, do not think that I am quite without
resources. I have brought as companions a few excellent
books. It sometimes occurs to me, I tell you this as a
secret, that on the whole I prefer living with books to liv
ing with authors. One is not always happy with the lat
ter; while books are intelligent companions, without vanity,

128 LETTERS.
ill-humor, or caprice ; they do not want to talk of them
selves, do not dislike to hear others praised ; clever people
whom one can summon and dismiss just as one pleases.
A capital recommendation ; for though there is nothing
so delightful as agreeable conversation, it shares the fate
of all other pleasures, and to be fully enjoyed ought to be
taken only when one chooses, and as one chooses. I need
not say that my distrust of authors does not extend to my
friend Ampere, whom I am impatiently expecting to
morrow, or the day after. His least merit is writing ;
and I know by experience that no companion can be more
agreeable and delightful than he is in retirement. As I
wish to keep him as long as possible in our retreat, I have
fitted him up a south room, with a grove of orange-trees
under his window, and a glimpse of the sea in one corner.
I have put in a fireplace and a carpet, two things whieh
are sometimes necessary, though Ihey are rare in this for
tunate climate, where few precautions are taken against
winter. I hope that he will like his cell ; that he will
stay as long as we shall at Sorrento j that wc shall talk a
great deal, and even work a little ; for complete idleness
is good for nothing ; and has never fattened any but fools,
so it is said, but even this I doubt.
Adieu, Madame. Forgive all this gossip in considera
tion of the pleasure that writing to you affords me, and
believe in my respectful attachment.
TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT. Sorrento, January 5, 1851.
. . . We continue to delight in Sorrento. I have not
hud a day's illness. The accounts you have heard of the
cold of Sorrento were exaggerations. I have never known
a month of May as uniformly warm and fine as the month

TO M. DE BEAUMONT. 129
of December which has just ended. The thermometer
in the night has never fallen below 6° or 8°, and in the
day it has in general risen to 12° or 15° (centigrade).
Add to this a hot sun, and a total absence of wind, and
you have what in France we should call magnificent May
weather, minus the poetry which belongs to May — the
sudden return of all animated beings to life, and the uni
versal awakening of nature from her long sleep. We live
here in utter solitude. Ampere has not yet arrived. His
hieroglyphics keep him in Rome. However, though we
are most anxious for his company, our isolation does not
distress us. I try, as I told you before, to employ my
mind without fatiguing myself, and I succeed. If I am
pleased with what I am doing, I will read it to you on my
return. Writing is a delightful occupation when one has
plenty of leisure, and when one's object is to please one's
self and not the public. That judgment of the public in
perspective spoils the enjoyment. . . .
Tho worst part of my present residence is, that one
may study everything but Italy. I should like to learn,
at least, what is going on close to mc in this little space ;
but I find it very difficult. Fear, ignorance, or perfect
indifference, closes every mouth. Besides, I find it hard
to make acquaintances, though I am not particular as to
the sort. The Italian middle classes, the only class to be
found at Sorrento, do not care to visit you, because they
do not care that you should visit them ; and they do not
care that you should visit them, becauso they live in gar
rets of which they are ashamed, and which they do not
choose to convert into clean and comfortable apartments.
You know, too, as well as I do, that conversation, espe
cially in travelling, is an exchange, and that one can learn
nothing from those who wish to learn nothing from you.
VOL. ii. 9

130 LETTERS.
How willingly I would allow these people to dispense with
their low bows and their superlatives, if they would
change them for the curiosity and precise information of
those long Yankees, who used to go on chewing their to
bacco while they were talking to us ; but who every day
taught us something that was new and useful.
I, therefore, learn only what my eyes teach ine ; and
practical observation every day shows me that the popu
lation among whom I live is civil, well-behaved, easily
led, not given to thieving, extremely ignorant and super
stitious ; in fact, in perpetual childhood. They are chil
dren of good dispositions, but ill brought up. Such a
government as (his. could not bo maintained with uny
other subjects. It is only on near view that one sees
this. But how sad it is that, all the world over, govern
ments are just as rascally as nations will allow them to
be. This is the only limit to their vices. . . .
Sorrento, January 29, 1851.
. . . The last newspapers which I have received are
those of the 19th. I learnt from them the vote of the
Assembly on the 1 8th, adopting Sainte Beuve's amend
ment,* and sounding an official note of defiance. . . .
. . . What will be the consequence, I cannot tell ;
but whatever takes place, I am very glad that it
passed. . . . Always supposing that this triumph of the as
sembly will be complete, and that the President will
accept his defeat, I no less continue to think, as I have
done for a long time past, that the chances for the future
are in his favor, and that common prudence will secure
* " The assembly declares that it has not confidence in the minis
try, and passes to tho order of the day." — Th.

MEMOIR OF M. DE TOCQUEVILLE. 131
them to him. I attach more importance to the general
aspect of the country than to any particular accident,
however momentous. The general tendency seems to
be a movement on the part of the nation from liberty
towards a concentrated and permanent power. The fact
that the most eminent political and military men are
opposed to this movement, does not reassure me, for we
live in a democratic age and society, where individuals,
even the most distinguished, count for little. To form
my own opinion, I listen neither to those who extol,
nor to those who depreciate, the talents of the candi
dates. In these times the man himself is not of con
sequence, but the means by which he attains to power.
A dwarf may be carried on the crest of a wave to the
top of a cliff, which a giant could not climb from the
beach. . . .
You know that Ampere came here a few days ago ;
we have also the Seniors, whose society we much en
joy. . . .
The following extracts contain some of the conver
sations alluded to by M. dc Tocqueville, in his letter to
Mr. Senior, of the 28th of November, 1851, and men
tioned by M. Ampere, in his charming memoir of M. de
Tocqueville, published in the Correspondant : —
" We used to take long walks over the mountains, for
though so fragile, he was a great walker. Sometimes
we halted in some lovely spot, with the sea spread out
before us, and the sky of Naples above us. We rested
to take breath, and then resumed our conversations.
" His inoxhaustiblo mind, which at no time displayed
more activity or more freedom, touched, without undue
haste or too rapid transition, but with even flow and

132 EXTRACTS.
infinite variety, one subject after another. They suc
ceeded each other without effort, from the most impor
tant and logical discussions down to the most piquant
anecdotes. Though always perfectly simple, he pre
served, in the most intimate and familiar conversations,
the purity of expression and admirable choice of words
which was a part of his very nature. While sitting on
the rocks around Sorrento, I might have written down
(and why did I not ?) all that escaped his lips in those
moments of friendly intercourse." Sorrento, Wednesday, January 29, 1851.
We had just heard the news of the vote of the assem
bly of the 18th of January, that it had no confidence
in the present French ministry.
" The last time," said Tocqueville, " that a French
chamber agreed on such a vote was in June, 1830 : au
ominous recollection; but in 1830, the 221 had the
country at their back.
" It is difficult to say how far the country sympathizes
with the assembly. The President makes no undig
nified appearance in public. His immense patronage
throws all France at his feet. The framers of the con
stitution meant to render him merely the subordinate
ollieer of the assembly. Within the limits of the con
stitution the assembly was to be sovereign ; but they
have given to the President means of power and in
fluence with which they, the assembly, find it difficult
to cope. And I agree with Thiers, that if, in the strug
gle, the assembly yields, we have the empire under
unolher name. It is possible that ho may make a com
promise with them on the dotation question, give up his
ministers, and receive his three millions : which, of

SORRENTO, JANUARY 29, 1851. 133
course, would be dishonorable to him. It is more prob
able that his ministers will refuse to continue.
"To bo censured by the assembly, and treated by
the President as mere clerks, is paying a high price for
office." " It is unfortunate," I said, " that Louis Napoleon has
learnt so little in England."
i " He learnt in England," said Tocqueville, " a good
deal. He learnt, for instance, the value of private enter
prise and skill. He is less inclined than most of his
ministers are to interpose in all great works the action
of the government; but he has not learnt even the
principles of parliamentary government. Ho is resolved
not only to be his own prime-minister, but to be almost
sole minister. He will not even submit to be controlled
in his cabinet. Hence arises the anomaly, that the lead
ing men in the assembly vote against the ministry,
and yet refuse to tako office. They vote against the
ministry, because they fancy that they see in them the
accomplices of an usurpation ; they refuse to take office,
because they would incur responsibility without having
free agency."
" It seems to me," I said, " that the assembly ought
to have made its stand against the autocratic pretensions
of the President, in November, 1849 ; when, in defiance
of the spirit of parliamentary government, he dismissed
a ministry which was supported by a strong majority.
By not resenting that aggression, you invited others."
" That is true," hd answered ; " but the assembly was
new, and the President was new ; we were very anxious
not to begin so early with a quarrel ; and we, the retiring
ministry, used our utmost efforts to obtain for our suc
cessors a fair trial. But perhaps, as you say, we were
wrong."

134 EXTRACTS.
" What is the next move," I asked, " if the ministers
remain ? "
" There are two means," he answered, " by which the
assembly might endeavor to coerce the President. The
direct taxes, which form the bulk of the revenue, are by
the constitution only annual. It might refuse them, or
it might pass laws directly aimed at his power. It
might change, for instance, the constitution of the army.
It might exclude the army from Paris ; in fact, exercis
ing despotically the whole power of legislation, on all
points that are not determined by the constitution it
might seriously embarrass or even arrest his adminis
tration." " Would not either of these courses," I said, " induce
the people to take part with the President ? Each of
them would, in fact, be fighting the battle at the expense
of the country. You want, I think, here the expedient
of a dissolution. With us, if the king retain ministers
whom the house of commons disapproves, it stops, or
rather threatens to stop, the supplies ; not as a party
move, but as a means of forcing an appeal to the people.
It is dissolved, and the ultimate umpire, the nation, de
cides. If it sends back, as it did in 1835, a house with
the same opinions as its predecessors, the ministers must
go. If it sends one, as it did in 1784, with a ministerial
majority, of course they remain. You seem to have no
means of consulting the nation, but must wait till the
assembly has sat through its term."
" A dissolution," he said, " with us would be a revolu
tion. The President, especially a Bonaparte, could not
bo left, oven for a few weeks, unchecked by a counter
vailing force. Some years hence, perhaps, if we have
then popular institutions, our chief magistrate may be

SORRENTO, JANUARY 29, 1851. 135
allowed the power given to your sovereign, but not in
our present state of transition."
" Hut," I said, " if you refuse to pass laws, and tho
President remains firm, what is to be the result?"
" If," he answered, " his conduct were such as to jus
tify our accusing him of an intention to subvert the con
stitution, we might seize the whole power of the state,
and impeach him."
" And these seditious cries, these promotions of those
who uttered them, these dismissals of those who refused
to join in them, this removal of the commander on
whose skill and fidelity the assembly relied for its pro
tection, are strong indications of plans of usurpation ? "
" They might be urged," said Ampere, " as implying
a tendency, but the President may certainly keep within
the limits of the law, and yet make legal government,
except through his own ministers, impossible."
" Was he. wise," I nsked, " in indulging in an expen
diture which forces him to apply to tho chamber for a
further allowance ? "
" Very unwise," answered Tocqueville ; " he ought to
have lived within his income, as the richest private man
in France, without assuming princely magnificence. He
would have been more respected, and really more power
ful; I have told him so a hundred times; I have implored
him to lay aside his extravagant retinue, and to discon
tinue his ostentatious fetes."
" But his instincts are towards expense, and his im
mediate adherents, who are as bad advisers as it is
possible, stimulate an extravagance by which they profit.
He is always thinking of bis uncle. And the expense
of the imperial court is, of course, the part of the em
pire most easily copied."

136 EXTRACTS.
" In what way," I said, " does he get rid of so much
money ? "
" A great deal of it," said Tocqueville, " goes in gifts
to old officers : much, of course, in dinners and balls ;
but more in what is called cotdage, waste, carelessness."
" Of course," I said, " he has gained something by
this expenditure, though he may have lost more."
" If," answered Tocqueville, " his object be to become
a sovereign, he may have forwarded it by accustoming
people to see him surrounded by a state and splendor
inconsistent with private life. But I do not believe that
his extravagance has been the result of any deep politi
cal views. I fancy that his real motive has been the
pleasure of spending money, of gratifying his immediate
vanity, and the vanity of those around him."
" It is wonderful how many men of talent and ambi
tion have sacrificed their comfort, and even their inde
pendence to a taste for expense.
" All that is going on," continued Tocqueville, " fills
me with uneasiness. I wish well to the President, and
I wish well to the assembly, and I see them on the way
to destroy one another."
" Among all the different courses wliich events may
take, the one which has for some time appeared to me
the least objectionable, is the prolongation of Louis
Napoleon's presidency, and I am grieved to see him
make it the most objectionable."
" What," I asked, " will be the prophecy that I shall
hear when I am in Paris next May ? During the last
three Mays, it has been an insurrection, and twice it
has come true."
" The prophecy," he answered, " next May, will be a
Coup d'Etat. Some of your friends will tell you that

SORRENTO, JANUARY 29, 1851. 137
in a week the assembly will declare itself in danger ;
appoint a guard of 40,000 men, under the command of
one of its members, and use it to take the President to
Vincennes. " Others will assure you that the news wliich you may
expect every morning is, that during the night the Palais
National has been occupied by the troops ; that the walls
are covered with placards, declaring the assembly dis
solved ; and that all the leading members of the majority
ore arrested or concealed. And I will not venture to
predict that neither of these events, or, at least, that no
event similar to one of them, will occur.
" In the present state of feeling," he continued, " noth
ing would be easier than for the President to make him
self a constitutional king. It is the form of government
under which France has been most prosperous, it is the
one which has the most friends, and the most effective
ones. If one of the Orleans princes were president, we
should slide into it almost unconsciously. But this is a
role utterly repugnant to all Louis Napoleon's prejudices
and tastes. He cannot bear to be controlled by an as
sembly, to take his ministers from its majority, to submit
his conduct to its criticism. I am convinced that he had
much rather remain President of the Republic, with a
vague, undefined, and, as he thinks, independent power,
than become a constitutional king, acting under the ad
vice of his ministers and with little real power of choosing
them. " Of course I do not mean to say that he is satisfied to
be a mere president. What I affirm is, merely that he
prefers it to being a constitutional king.
" What he would wish, is to be a king like Henry IV.
or one of your Tudor sovereigns. He would not object

138 EXTRACTS.
perhaps to a senate, which might always pay him com
pliments, and sometimes give him advice, which might
take ou itself the details of legislation, and register and
promulgate his decrees.
" But, like his uncle, he wishes to govern."
Tuesday. February i, 1851.
We expected, in the evening, letters and papers from
France ; but a continuance of easterly winds has delayed
the packet, and none arrived.
Tocqueville is very uncomfortable.
" I voted," he said, " against Louis Napoleon, partly
for the very reason wliich induced the great majority to
support him, because he is a Bonaparte, and partly from
my deep distrust of his character. But when we had
him, I was anxious that we should keep on good terms
with him. To be sure he is essentially Prince, the role
of Washington would have no charm for him. He has
believed for twenty years that it is his destiny to be the
permanent ruler of France, and his rashness is equal to
his confidence. Still, I think that it would have been
possible, for a time at least, to avoid a rupture, and I
have done all in my power to avert one. In all my let
ters, I have urged my friends to endeavor to conciliate him.
" But now that the conflict has come, I earnestly wish
that the assembly may get the better. If the President
succeeds, if his powers, already perhaps too large for a
representative government, are prolonged and consoli
dated, he and his court will become the masters of
France. . . . The late debates have shown us for tho
first time a party, calling itself the President's friends.
They are endeavoring to form into a permanent party,
the minority of 286.*
* Ou M. St. Douve's auienduicut. — Ta.

SORRENTO, FEBRUARY 4, 1851. 139
" That minority consisted originally of as many shades
as the majority. There were those who wished merely to
blame one portion of the conduct of the ministers there ;
there were those who did not intend even to blame, but
merely to express regret. I trust that it will dissolve
now that the accident which created it has passed ; but
if it does not, if it crystallizes into a party, such a mi
nority, opposed to such a disunited majority, will soon
become tho most powerful body in the assembly.
" The people, too, are now in a state of mind in which,
whatever be its follies, or its usurpations, they will side
with the executive. They are thoroughly sick of revo
lutions, and would sacrifice the constitution to avoid a
contest." " It is lucky," I said, " that if your constitution is in
danger, it is not a more valuable one. If we were to
lose ours, we should think our loss irreparable ; but you
could run up one as good as this in a few weeks."
" The constitution," he answered, " is detestable ; but
it gives us shelter.
"There is no saying what might happen in Ihe inter
regnum. It is of some importance, too, to consider what
is the character of the man who aspires to be our ruler.
You think in England, I know, that he is essentially
pacific ; that he represents the party of order, and that
it is safer to have to deal with him than with the assem
bly. Just at present, while he is thinking only of the
means of buying friends and crushing enemies, he is
quiescent; but he has notions about the part which
France ought to play in tho affairs of Europe which
might make him a very disagreeable, perhaps a very
dangerous, member of the political world."

140 EXTRACTS. Sorrento, Sunday, February 9, 1851.
The papers brought us in the evening the meagre re
sult of the " interpellations " addressed to the new French
Ministry on the 28th.
" The assembly," said Tocqueville, " has acted as a
large heterogeneous body may be expected to act. It
has made an attack, and recoiled — shown its anger, and
perhaps its impotence. I have no fear that what may
be called the liberties of France, such as they are, will
be diminished. We have now enjoyed legal government
for thirty -two years ; and we shall retain it. But I fear
that the monarchical element in our institutions will gain
more strength, and that the representative body will be
made weaker than has been the case with either of them
since the Empire.
"As for the assembly, the probability seems to be that
until it is roused in May by the great question of the re
vision of the constitution, it will sink into inactivity. It
has, indeed, much to do, if it chooses to employ itself.
There are the laws respecting mortgages to be almost
remade — there is a poor-law to be invented — there
are municipal institutions to be created; but I fear that
after the excitement of this struggle, it will be disgusted
by its ill success, be unable to act cordially with the
President, or with ministers whom it despises, and will
fritter away the next two months on trifles, or in undig
nified disputes between the Royalist parties and the Mon
tague." " Will the revision of the constitution," I said, " be a
matter of earnest debate? I thought that everybody was
agreed as to its necessity."
" Everybody," answered Tocqueville, " is agreed as to
the badness of the constitution ; but not only will it be a

SORRENTO, FEBRUARY 10, 1851. 141
matter vehemently debated, but I doubt whether the
requisite majority, three fourths, will be obtained. All
the parties who fear that it will be altered in a manner
unfavorable to themselves will oppose the revision.
" The Montagnards, of course, will oppose it. They
know that the next constitution will be less republican
than this is ; and I am not sure what will be the conduct
of either the Legitimists, the Orleanists, or the Imperial
ists, if any one of them should fear to be a loser."
Sorrento, February 10, 1851.
The ladies on donkeys, the men on foot, walked to the
mountain over the Cape, and thence homo by a sort of
staircase cut or beaten out on the fuco of the precipice.
We talked of the great writers of the eighteenth
century. Les quatre, it was agreed, were Voltaire, Mon
tesquieu, Rousseau, and Buffon.
'' Whom," said Ampere to Tocqueville, " do you put
highest ? "
" Voltaire," answered Tocqueville. " Nothing can ex
ceed the clearness, the finesse, the gayety, and yet the
simplicity of his style. He had a right to answer, as he
did, to a lady who talked to him about the beauty of
his phrases. ' Madame, je n'ai jamais fait une phrase de
ma vie.' *
" Next, perhaps as to style, comes Buffon, sometimes
indeed a little on stilts ; the reader easily believes what
we are told, that he never wrote except full-dressed, and
bien poudre, but brilliant, and flowing, and sometimes
even poetical. Montesquieu is a little artificial; and
Rousseau, in his earlier works, indulged in long sen
tences, managed, it is true, with wonderful skill, but still
* " Never wrote a phrase in my life."

142 EXTRACTS.
giving to them a labored air. — It is on his ' Confessions '
that his fame will rest."
We talked of Talleyrand. I said that he appeared
to me to have been very indiscreet — that nothing could
be more indiscreet than his celebrated aphorism, "that
language was given to a man to disguise his thoughts."
" I do not know," answered Tocqueville, " that he is
to be called indiscreet; for indiscretion is the frankness
of a man who does not know that he is laying bare what
ought to be kept covered. Talleyrand knew perfectly
well that he was talking imprudently ; but he yielded to
the temptation of a bon mot, a temptation which no
Frenchman resists ; and perhaps he was right in doing
so, for the charms of his conversation were among the
means of his success. It was principally through them
that he captivated Bonaparte."
" Had Bonaparte," I asked, "good taste in society?"
" Better," answered Tocqueville, " than in most other
things. His feelings were all aristocratic. He liked
people of birth and refinement. He never forgot that
he was gcntilhomme himself; and though there was some
thing brusque in his general manner, he could be delight
ful when he chose."
" The Empire," I said, " must have been an amusing
time." "Not very much," answered Tocqueville, "for civil
ians ; they were obscured by the military reputations ;
and military life passed away almost too rapidly to be
called amusing. I have heard of whole regiments wliich
in a few years were killed three times over. It seems
absurd to say so, but one gets accustomed to being killed.
A short time before 1 left Paris, I was talking to un old
friend, Rulhieres, who passed through most of the cam-

SORRENTO, FEBRUARY 13, 1851. 143
paigns of the Grande Armee. He told me that at Fried
land his men stood motionless for two hours before a
Russian battery ; the only sound heard was the voice of
an officer, who, whenever a man was struck, cried, ' Em-
portez le, et serrez vos rangs.' Nothing but twenty years
of war, that is to say, the traditionary rules of conduct
formed during twenty years of war, could enable men
to exhibit this patient self-devotion.
"Our revolutionary armies were fanatically daring;
but they had not this passive heroism. They would
have dashed at the battery, and have been blown to
pieces. "Rulhieres," he added, "told me a characteristic story
of a Russian. He was a man of high rank, who had
been sent to our head-quarters on a mission, and lived
for some time on intimate terms with our staff, partic
ularly with Rulhieres. At the battle of Eylau Rulhieres
was taken prisoner. He caught the eye of his Russian
friend, who came to offer his services. ' You can do
me,' said Rulhieres, 'an important service. One of
your Cossacks yonder has just seized my horso and
cloak. I am dying of fatigue and cold. If you can
get them for me, you may save my life.'
" The Russian went to the Cossack, talked to him
rather sharply, probably on the wickedness of robbing
a prisoner ; got possession of the horse and cloak ; put
on the one, and mounted the other, and Rulhieres never
saw him again." Thursday, February 13, 1851.
We walked and rode to the Camaldoli convent, and
returned by the eastern side of the mountain.
Tocqueville talked of the resemblance of the present
state of affairs in France to that which existed under the

144 EXTRACTS.
constitution of Van 3, or of 1795, before the coup d'etat
of the 18 Fructidor.
" In each case," said Tocqueville, " the constitution
was made by a single assembly which had succeeded to
a constitutional monarchy, and had ruled despotically,
comprehending in itself absolute legislative and absolute
executive power.
" In each case an attempt was made to keep the
powers separate — to have an executive totally deprived
of legislative authority, not possessing even a veto, and
a legislative body confined to the business of legislation.
In the constitution of 1795 the separation was made
complete, for members of tho legislative body were ex
cluded from all public functions. The present constitu
tion allows them to be ministers.
"At this instant, however, when not a single minister
is a member of the assembly, the practical result of each
constitution is the same. And even when the ministers
were taken from the assembly, the number is so small
that more than 740 members had nothing to do but to
make laws.
" Now this is not enough to occupy them ; and, even
if it were, an assembly elected by the people, and be
lieving itself to be the supreme power, cannot resist the
temptation to take part in the actual government of the
country. " The least that it requires is that the government
should be carried on by ministers in whom it has confi
dence. But the supreme executive power has the same
pretension. Not only the power, but the duty of select
ing the ministers belongs to it. Under the constitution
of 1795, therefore, as under that of 1848, the choice of
ministers became a subject of quarrel between the execu
tive and legislative authorities.

TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT. 145
" The directory was in appearance far less formidable
than our President is. It was a composite body, and a
fluctuating one. What was more important, it was nomi
nated not by the people, but by the legislature ; and what
was more important still, the nation was against it.
" The nation, at least that part of the nation which
then possessed political power, was royalist. Not, per
haps, Bourbonist, but, as it showed two years after the
18th Fructidor, monarchical. And yet the executive
then trampled under foot the legislative, almost without
a struggle. It did so, simply because the army was on
its side. The mobs of Marseilles and Paris, and the
army, were the only democratic bodies in France.
" We had conquered Europe, under the cry of war
against kings. Every soldier hoped that, under demo
cratic institutions, he should become an officer ; and
almost every officer who was a roturier, dreaded that
if the ancien regime was reestablished, he would los-
all hope of advancement, perhaps even his commission.
The army, therefore, sided with the democratic executive
against tho aristocratic or monarchical legislature. And
it was irresistible — who can say that it would not be so
now ?
" Perhaps the best defence of a national guard is the
enormous power of the army. It is seldom that a na
tional guard can be relied on against a mob ; but it is a
great protection against the army, for the soldiers are not
easily induced to fire on persons in uniform."
TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT.
Sorrento, Fohruarj' 1 4-, 1851.
About three weeks ago, Madame, I sent on, according
to M. de Circourt's instructions, the letter of introduction
VOL. II. 10

146 LETTERS.
which you were so good as to give to me. General Fi
langieri has just returned a very polite answer, for which
I am indebted solely to you. With it was a packet wliich
I hasten to forward to you.
I seize this opportunity of thanking you for the kind
and interesting letter that I received from you a short
time since. How I should envy, Madame, those who
spend their lives in the circles which you describe so
well, and especially in yours, if one could be there with
out hearing of politics. But they poison everything, even
the pleasure of returning home. The events in France,
especially within the last month have, I own, made me
cross aud unsociable. I wish I could find some occupa
tion for my mind in no way connected with public affiiirs ;
but this is more easily said than done. Political life is
like certain women who, they say, have the power of
agitating and exciting you long after you have ceased to
love them.
What can I tell you, Madame, of this little world of
Sorrento, in which you are so good as to interest your
self? It is as quiet and uniform as yours is varied and
bustling. You know that there is nothing so tiresome as
descriptions of still life. Besides, as I said before, the
miserable state of our politics has disturbed and almost
spoilt for me my retirement.
Voltaire used to say, that when anything annoyed him
he wrote stories. I, who have no taste or talents that
way, try to amuse myself by visiting all the environs.
I have seen Pompeii again, and I have been to Amalfi
and Poestum, which were new to me. The simple, mel
ancholy grandeur of Poestum filled me with emotion. But
why do people say that these ruins stand in the midst of
a desert; whereas " their site is nothing more than a mis-

SORRENTO, FEBRUARY 17, 1851. 147
erable, badly cultivated, scantily populated country, de
caying like the temples themselves ? Men always insist
upon adorning truth instead of describing if. The great
est sometimes yield to this temptation. Even M. de
Chateaubriand has painted the real wilderness, the one
at least with which I am acquainted, in false colors. He
seems to have travelled blindfold through the everlasting,
cold, damp, melancholy, dark, and silent forest, from
which you cannot escape even on the summits of the
mountains or in the bosom of the valleys, which, more
even than the ocean itself, impresses upon you the im
mensity of nature and the littleness of man.
We are told here that the winter is over: the truth is
that it has not begun ; we have scarcely had any autumn.
What a delicious country, and how hard it would be to
leave it, were it not for the purpose of seeing one's friends
again 1 I trust that I have recovered my health here,
though I dure not boast as yet.
Pray remember mc to all who care about me. Thank
M. de Circourt very much for his two letters. One was
brought to me by an American with whom I was glad to
renew my acquaintance ; the second came with yours ;
both of them interested and instructed me. Adieu,
Madame. Sorrento, Monday, February 17, 1851.
I walked with Tocqueville and Ampere to Massa and
round by the Deserto di St. Agatha. During the walk
and in the evening we talked of the Roman expedi
tion. " Of its three motives," I said, " the maintenance of
French influence in Italy, the restoration of the Pope,
and the introduction or preservation in Rome of liberal
institutions, only the second has been obtained."

148 EXTRACTS.
" The first," said Tocqueville, " cannot be said to have
totally failed. It is true that we have not increased our
popularity ; the Roman people do not know — indeed
nobody knows — the efforts that have been made in their
behalf; they do not sufficiently feel that, if we had not
interfered, Austria certainly would, and that Radetski
would not have carried on the siege, or used the victory
in quite the same spirit as Oudinot.
" But still we are there. Austria has it not all her
own way. We have shown that we are able and willing
to take a decisive part in Italian affairs. If we had
refused the Pope's application, and the Austrians had
brought him back, as they certainly would have done,
they would have had a pretence to object to any inter
ference on our part. Now, as masters of Rome, we
have ut least u right to be heard. I am not bound, how
ever, to defend the Roman expedition. It was no act
of mine. When I entered the cabinet we were already
at Civita Vecchia. All that 1 could do was to impress
on Oudinot the necessity of so conducting the siege as
to avoid injuring what is the property of the whole
Christian world — the monuments of Rome. In this
attempt we succeeded."
" Yes," said Ampere, " almost the whole damage
which the siege has done, is the destruction of the trees
and frescoes in the Borghese gardens ; and this was done
not by us, but by the republican triumvirs, out of pure
spite to the Prince, for it was totally useless."
" This mode of conducting the siege," continued
Tocqueville, " actually occasioned to us some loss of
men, and much of time ; and exposed us to dangers
whieh make me almost tremble when I think of them.
If the unhealthy season had arrived at its usual time,

SORRENTO, FEBRUARY 17, 1851. 149
and found our army encamped on the banks of the
Tiber, it would have been laid waste by fever. If
Rome had resisted for three weeks longer, this calamity
would certainly have overtaken us, and there is no say
ing what political ones might have followed.
" Now the mode in which we were proceeding, making
no use of shells, and directing our attacks only against
the quarters where there was nothing valuable to injure,
was so slow, that the day before the town surrendered
our engineers estimated that it would hold out for
twenty or twenty-one days longer. Happily the muni
cipality, which the 20,000 foreign refugees had kept,
down by the terror of imprisonment, executions, and
assassinations, took courage at last, and forced them to
let us in ; but it was a happiness that we had no
right to expect. We owe it, in fact, principally to Ledru
Rollin and his friends. The Roman garrison speculated
on tho assistance of the Parisian mob. When (he failure
of that silly insurrection showed that there was no hope
from France, they lost heart, suffered the municipality
to treat, and began to make their escape during the
negotiation. " The Cardinals at Gaeta during the siege were
always contrasting our slow proceedings with the vigor
with which the Austrians reduced Bologna. They did
not, in so many words, require us to bombard Rome ;
but to obey them, and bring the siege to an end rapidly,
that is what we must have done. And if any other of
the Catholic powers, Spain, or Naples, or Austria, had
taken on itself the settling of the Roman affair, the
town would have been reduced in a week by destroying
perhaps a third of it. From the time that Oudinot
entered Rome in July, till we were turned out of office

150 EXTRACTS.
at the end of October, the whole object of my corre
spondence, was, to induce the Pope to grant liberal insti
tutions to his people. I considered this as tho most
important of the three objects of the expedition — as
an object affecting not only our interests but our honor,
as an object without whieh the whole expedition was a
lamentable failure."
" As between you and the Pope," I said, " I suppose
that you founded your right to make this demand on
his having requested your aid ? "
" Certainly," he answered. " When a sovereign re
quests a friendly power to send an army into the ter
ritories, not to resist a foreign enemy, but to put down
a domestic insurrection, he contracts a tacit engagement
with that power to follow, at least to a considerable
extent, its advice as to the use to be made of the
victory. You occupied Sicily merely as auxiliaries, but
you made the king give it a constitution."
" And on what," I asked, " did you found your right
as against the Roman republic ? "
" As against the triumvirs," he answered, " on their
being at the head of a horde of foreign ruffians,
driven into Rome by the disgust and indignation of
all other countries who were oppressors of the Roman
people. " As against the Roman people, on the ground that
France is the first Catholic power, that the spiritual
authority of the Pope is essential to the welfare of the
Catholic world, and that some degree of temporal power
is necessary for the permanent exercise of his spiritual
power. On these grounds, what appear to be the domes
tic affairs of Rome, and would be its domestic affairs if
the Pope was at Avignon, have always been a matter in

SORRENTO, FEBRUARY 17, 1851. 151
which the rest of Europe, Proteslant as well as Catholic,
has though( itself justified in interfering."
" And what," I said, " were the concessions wliich
you required from the Pope ? "
" They were five," he answered. " First — A renewed
recognition of the general principle of liberty and
security proclaimed by the Pope in his celebrated statuto
of the 17th March, 1848.
" Secondly — A new organization of the Roman courts
of justice.
" Thirdly — A civil code resembling the code of Pied
mont, or of Naples, which are in fact taken from the
Code Napoleon.
" Fourthly — Elective municipal and national councils.
The Pope, by his motu proprio of the 14th October,
1847, created a national assembly, called a " Consulta,"
which was authorized to advise, but not to legislate.
We required one which should have deliberative power
on matters of taxation.
" Fifthly — The secularization of the public adminis
tration. " Of these requisitions the two last were of course
the most material. We, perhaps, attached most import
ance to vesting in an elected body the power of taxa
tion ; but as respects the feelings of the Roman people.
the substitution of a lay for a clerical administration
was the most urgent of all the reforms. Their hatred
against their ecclesiastical rulers is indescribable. It is
such that the Pope can retain them only while his
capital is occupied by foreign troops ; the instant that
we go, unless the Austrians take our place, there will be
a new revolution, which will sweep away every clerical
functionary."

152 EXTRACTS.
" You did not seriously hope," I replied, " to obtain all
these demands ? "
" I believe," he answered, " that when we made them
many of them were hopeless ; though I thought it my
duty to urge all of them as earnestly as if I expected to
gain my point.
" But there was a time when. they might at least have
been promised, and perhaps ostensibly performed ; that
was when Pio Nono first asked our assistance. He had
then quarrelled with Austria. Naples was democratic ; he
was on bad terms with Piedmont, and applied only to us.
" Cavaignac was timid and refused, but if we ought to
have interfered at all, that was the time. When the Pope
was at Gaiita, surrounded by the Spanish, Neapolitan, and
Bavarian ministers, when he had lost Rossi, when he had
thrown himself into the hands of the Cardinals, it was too
late to prescribe terms to him.
" He seems to have thought seriously of trying to obtain
some administrators from France, and he bitterly lamented
the loss of Rossi. He said, ' Cest le seal homme d'etat
capable de soutenir une nouvelle politique que j'ai pu
trouver — et on me l'a tue.' *
" It was of great importance to us, to Rome, and, indeed,
to the Pope himself, that he did not execute his original
intention of taking refuge in France. The scheme was,
that the Due d'Harcourt, our minister in Rome, should
arrange the means of taking him to France ; and that
Sparr, the Bavarian minister, should carry him to Gaiita,
where he was to embark. So Harcourt, with all the
Pope's baggage, went to Civita Vecchia the same night
I hul Ihe Pope went to Guela. Harcourt found the lraitban
* " He was the only statesman capable of managing a new policy,
and they killed him."

SORRENTO, FEBRUARY 17, 1851. 153
at Civita Vecchia, and came round with her to Gaeta.
By that time, the Pope had been two days in Gaeta, had
been received with all sorts of honors and veneration, and
found himself so comfortable, that he refused to move
farther. The whole influence of Naples was, of course,
unfavorable to us ; and it was exercised in the teazing,
childish manner wliich was to be expected from them.
" When our minister reached Gaeta, carrying the first
intelligence of our entry into Rome, he was put into quar
antine, on the pretext that the Gerbere, wliich brought him,
came from Toulon, and that there was cholera in Paris.
" He protested — the ministers could not venture to
decide. The king was consulted ; he asked for further
explanations, and after a long delay, our minister was
allowed to land; but his papers and his secretary were
detained on board the Gerbere in quarantine, and it was
only the following evening that the king was induced to
connive at his going thither by night and stealing them."
" How did the Austrians behave ? " I asked.
"Better," he answered, "than could have been expected.
Austria was then professing to be constitutional, and af
fecting liberality. Esterhazy, who represented Austria
at Gaeta, thoroughly approved, at least in his conversa
tions, the secularization of the government, and the power
of the Consulta in matters of taxation.
" It is remarkable, that one of the grounds on which the
President dismissed us was, our noc obtaining greater con
cessions from the Pope ; but directly we were gone, he
himself, or at least his ministers, gave up everything. His
vanity was satisfied with having insulted the Pope, by his
letter to Nej', and with having insulted the chamber, by
turning out a ministry without consulting it ; and his in
terest in the affairs of Rome was then over."

154 EXTRACTS.
" But what," I asked, " could you have done, if you had
remained, and the Pope had continued obstinate ? "
" We should have set ourselves," answered Tocqueville,
" right with Europe ; and we should have refused to sanc
tion by our presence what we could not prevent.
" My intention was, in that event, to draw up a protest,
stating all that we had asked on behalf of the Roman
people ; the grounds on which we had asked it, and the
manner in which it had been refused, or eluded. . . . To
present it to the Pope, to publish it in the Moniteur, and
to withdraw our troops from Rome, leaving this appeal to
Europe and to posterity." Thursday, February 20, 1851.
We talked in the evening of tho memoirs of Louis
XVIII. I said that they had deceived Lord Granville, who told
me in 1832 that he thought them authentic.
" They were written," said Tocqueville, " by some one
who had excellent information. Those memoirs, and those
of an ' Homme d'Etat,' und the ' Memorial de St. Helene,'
are to be separated from the ordinary manufactures, such
as those of Madame de Barry, FouclnS, &c."
" Who wrote," I said, " the Memorial de St. Helene ? "
"An Abbe de Chateau Vieux," said Tocqueville, "who
kept the secret, except to one or two intimate friends, dur
ing his life, but revealed it by his will. He wrote nothing
else very remarkable, and was not even a Parisian, which
accounts for his never having been suspected."
From the Memoirs of Louis XVIII. we passed to the
inan. " Ho was," said Tocqueville, " the only sovereign in
France who has had the good sense or the patience to

TO M. DUFAURE. 155
govern constitutionally. . . . He made a few mistakes at
the beginning . . . offended the army by his Gardes du
Corps, and still more by Ney's execution ; but during the
remainder of his reign he took his ministers from the ma
jority, and his policy from his ministers, and reigned in
as parliamentary a manner as if he had been King of
England. It has been said that the Bourbons are a worn-
out race, and Louis XVI., Ferdinand I. of Naples, and
Charles IV. of Spain, are used as examples ; but what
can be more thoroughly Bourbon than Louis Philippe's
family, the children of a French Bourbon by a Neapolitan
Bourbon, and yet they would be a most distinguished fam
ily in private life. I cannot but believe that the French
Bourbons are still destined to act a great part, and their
present fortunes are preparing them for it."
TO M. DUFAURE. Sorrento, March 12, 1851.
I should have answered your letter sooner, my dear
Friend, if I could have done so freely and openly ; but
the post here is so notoriously treacherous that a political
correspondence is almost impossible, and even confiden
tial intercourse is unpleasant. It must be owned that
governments have a great power of spoiling all the ad
vantages of civilization : they hamper every facility that
it bestows upon us.
I console myself, however, for not being able to write
to you upon politics as freely as I wish, by lookiug for
ward to the time when we shall be able to talk about
them. I am making arrangements for reaching Paris
toward the end of April. We are separated by five
weeks at most. I cannot tell you how impatient I am to
return ; how much I have suffered by being away from

156 EXTRACTS.
my friends in the trying events which have just taken
place ; and by anticipating those, which, on different
hypotheses, may occur. It is not that the part of a rep
resentative of the people seems to be now very agree
able. 1 know of none more ungrateful. But, after all,
it is my duty, and as long as it is laid upon me I cannot
endure with patience my banishment from the theatre
where I ought to play it. The responsibility of absence
in political times seems to me heavier than the responsi
bility of action. Thank God, I have nearly reached
the term of my exile, and shall soon resume my place
amongst you. I hope that nothing serious will occur in
(he interval. The positions assumed by the different
parties are such as are not likely to change for the next
few weeks. It seems to me as if they had all appointed
a great field day, or rather, that public opinion has fixed
it for them on the ground of the constitution, that is to
say, about the middle of May. This idea helps me to
endure patiently the remainder of the time which I must
spend here.
Mr. Senior left Sorrento at the end of February, and
met M. de Tocqueville in the following spring in Paris.
Paris, May 4, 1851.
I went early in the morning to Tocqueville,
" The political horizon," he said, " is darker — that is
to say, obscurer — than I ever knew it to be.
" At Sorrento I thought that I could see a little before
me. Since I am in Paris I give up all attempts at pro
phecy, or even conjecture. One thing only is certain,
that a legal solution of the questions that will have to
be decided next year is impossible.
" The President will not consent to consider himself

TARTS, MAY 4, 1851. 157
ineligible. Even if he were to do so, his friends would
not act on that supposition. He will certainly be on the
list of candidates ; and the result perhaps most to be
desired, or least to be deprecated, is that he should be
reelected by a majority so large as to be considered to
speak the voice of the nation, and therefore to legalize its
own acts, though opposed to the existing law. It must
be remembered that by that time the new assembly will
have been elected ; and the present assembly, therefore,
though technically possessed of its full powers, will have
lost its moral influence, and will be unable to oppose the
public will.
" But even this result, though less formidable than
the simultaneous change of the holders of all executive
power, and of all legislative power, will be an event of
which the certain mischief will be great, the possible mis
chief enormous. What will be the effect on men's minds
of a violation of the constitution deliberately made by the
nation at the instigation of its chief magistrate ? Who
will respect a constitution which the people has set aside
in ono of its most important provisions ?
" That constitution, bad as it is, is our only bulwark.
Nothing else stands between us and either anarchy or
despotism. The President is formidable enough as he is.
What will he be, when his mere election will have been
a triumph over the only restraint that keeps him within
the constitution ? It is difficult even now to protect
property from systematic plunder, and authority from
organized revolt. What will be the difficulty, after the
executive itself for many months has been employing
thousands of agents to urge the people lo break the law,
and has succeeded ? Every exit seems besieged by some
frightful spectre.

158 EXTRACTS.
" At present there is a lull ; parties are preparing for
the discussion as to the revision of the constitution, which
cannot come on until the 28th." Paris, May 6, 1851.
Mrs. Grote and I drank tea with Tocqueville. Ma
dame de Tocqueville was unwell and in bed.
We talked of T. K.'s theory as to the unfitness of
France for a mixed government.
" I do not see," said Tocqueville, " why what has
been should not be again. We endured a mixed govern
ment for thirty-three years, why should we be incapable
of enduring one now ? I admit, however, that in order
to enable a government in which the supreme power is
divided to be permanent to last, as yours has done, for
centuries, the ruling authorities must possess an amount
of patience and forbearance which never has been granted
to ours ; and therefore I do not expect a mixed govern
ment in France to be permanent — that is to say, to be
uninterrupted. Among thousands of possibilities, that
which appears to me to be the least improbable, is that
during the greater part of the next hundred years,
France will be subject to a constitutional monarchy, from
time to time interrupted by a despotic or by a democratic
revolution." " Of course," I said, " the form of mixed government
under which you are living will not last ? "
" Of course," he answered, " it will not. A despotic
monarchy, or a despotic aristocracy, may retain its power
for centuries against the will of its subjects ; but an un
popular democracy sounds like a contradiction in terms,
and must soon become a contradiction in fact
" As soon as the people has found the means of ascer-

PARIS, MAY 18, 1851. 159
taining and expressing its will, it will select, or accept,
or submit to the master whom it prefers to self-govern
ment. " Those who imposed on us this constitution knew that
it would be unpopular. They tried to prolong its exist
ence ; first, by pre-determining the mode in which it
should be altered ; and secondly, by making that legal
mode almost impracticable.
" Three quarters of the assembly will not join in a
vote from which a third, perhaps nearly a half, of its
members fear more than they hope."
" Will you then break," I said, " the band which you
cannot untie ? Will you proceed to a revision on a sim
ple majority ? "
" I believe," he answered, " that the government will
make the attempt ; and it was the fear of having to do
this which prevented my friends and me from taking
office. The danger of such a course is enormously in
creased by the new electoral law. Under a system of
universal suffrage, the new constituent assembly could
not have been said (o have been illegally elected. It
would really have represented the whole nation. Now
it will represent only a minority. Those who wish to
resist its acts may proclaim them void, as the acts of a
political body doubly illegal — illegally convoked, and
illegally nominated. The whole conduct and tone of the
present administration convinces me that they have con
sidered this risk, and are resolved to encounter it. They
are bolder than I am." May 38, 1851.
Tocqueville does not share in B.'s expectation that, on
the question of revision, the minority will yield.
" It might yield," he said, " if the majority were com-

1 60 EXTRACTS.
pact and earnest; it might yield if the majority were
cordially supported by the nation. But the nation is
divided ; it knows that the constitution is faulty, but it
is not sure that it will be exchanged for anything better.
It would see with pleasure a few points selected for
amendment ; but it looks forward with terror to a new
constituent assembly which may avow principles which
were with difficulty rejected in 1848, which may bring
back le droit au travail, and le droit au secours.* Tlie
majority shares these fears ; and though it will vote for
the revision, because it would be unable to justify to its
constituents a refusal to amend what it admits to be de
fective, a large portion of it will not be sorry that the
legal majority is not obtained."
" But why," I said, " not vote for a restricted revision?
for the covering only of what experience has shown to
be palpable blots ? "
" Because," he answered, " even a respectable majority
cannot be obtained for the purpose . . . The instant you
come to details, each party looks to its own interests, and
there is scarcely a point on which even three out of five
agree. I own that I am inclined to think that one of the
least objectionable parts of our constitution is the diffi
culty which it throws in the way of change. Its framers
foresaw that the period of revision would be one of great
danger; and they wisely endeavored to postpone it, at
least, until the experiment of the republic should have
been made. . . .
" This has not yet been done ; for a constitution which
almost all who administer it are striving to overthrow
cannot be said to have been fairly tried. This general
desire for revision is not the result of an appreciation
* " The right to employment " and " the right to relief."

PARIS, MAY 18, 1851. 161
of the merits and defects of the constitution ; it is the
restlessness of a sick man who wishes to turn in his
bed. All parlies seem convinced that tho revision will
produce some form of monarchy. Hence the violenco
with which it is urged on by the Anti-republicans, and
opposed by the Montague. I do not share this convic
tion. Under our system of voting by lists, a compact
minority which concentrates all its votes on its own can
didates, has a great chance of beating a divided majority
wliich supports as many candidates as it contains fac
tions. I should not be surprised at seeing Rouge rep
resentatives from many of the departments on wliich the
Anti-republican parties now rely. So clearly do I see
the dangers of the revision, that I could not bring my
self to vote for it, if I saw any other less dangerous
course. " But danger surrounds us on every side. Great and
general as the alarm is, I believe it to be less than that
which is justified by our situation.
" The constitution," he added, " with all its defects,
might be endurable, if we could only believe in its
permanence. But we read history. We see that re
publican institutions have never lasted in France, and
we infer that these which we have now must be short
lived. This reading of history is our bane. If we could
forget the past, we might apply a calm, impartial judg
ment to the present. But we are always thinking of
precedents. Sometimes we draw them from our own
history ; sometimes from yours. Sometimes we use the
precedent as an example ; sometimes as warning. But
as the circumstances under wliich we apply it always
differ materially from those under which it took place,
it almost always misleads us."
vol. ii. 11

1 62 EXTRACTS.
" We indicted Louis for conspiracy against the nation
because you had indicted Charles. We substituted
Louis Philippe for Charles X., as you had substituted
Mary for James.
" Louis XVI. believed that Charles I. had lost his
crown and his life by raising his standard at Edge Hill.
So he tried non-resistance. Charles X. saw that his
brother's submission was fatal, and had recourse to the
ordonnances, and to his army.
" Louis Philippe recollected the fate of Charles X.,
and forbade his troops to act.
" Thus the pendulum oscillates, and generally oscil
lates wrong."
In July 1851, M. de Tocqueville inhabited a country-
house near Versailles, belonging to M. Rivet, and at
tended the legislative assembly, lie was u. member of
a commission in which MM. de Montalembert, Jules
Favre, Berryer, De Corcelle, De Broglie, Charras, Ca
vaignac, Odilon Barrot, and Baze, were among his col
leagues, directed to consider the proposals for the revision
of the constitution. He was the rapporteur, and his
report dated the 8th of July, 1851 (No. 2064 of the
papers of that year), is a masterly production, but too
long to be introduced in extenso. I cannot, however,
resist the temptation of extracting a passage describing
the constitution of 1848: —
" A single chamber, exclusively entitled to make laws :
a single man exclusively entitled to preside over the ap
plication of all laws, and the direction of all public affairs,
each of them elected directly by universal suffrage : the
assembly omnipotent witliin the limits of the constitution :
the president required, within those limits, to obey the

TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ. 163
assembly ; but wielding, from the nature of his election,
a moral force wliich makes his submission uneasy, and
must suggest to him resistance, and possessed of all the
prerogatives which belong to the executive in a country
in wliich the central administration, everywhere active
and everywhere powerful, has been created by monarchs,
and for the purposes of monarchy : — these two great
powers, equal as to their origin-) junequal as to their
rights, condemned by law tq' coerce one another, invited
by law to mutual suspicion, mutual jealousy, "and mutual
contest, yet forced to live in close erabrafce, in an^'eternal
tete-a-tete, without a third power,, or even an umpire, to
mediate or to restrain them — - these,: are not conditions
under which a government can he Wgu]|r or- §frong."
It is to the report that M. de Tocqueville alludes in
the following letter. — Tr.
TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ.
Versailles, July 27, 1851.
My dear Senior,
... I am satisfied with the general effect wliich my
report has produced in France, and delighted by its re
ception in England. I care almost as much about what
is said of me on your side of the channel as I do for
what is said of me on ours. So many of my opinions
and feelings are English, that England is to me almost a
second country intellectually.
How comes it that my reasons in favor of the re
vision have not convinced you ? What inconsistency is
there between this report and my conversations with you
at Sorrento ? '
I then thought the illegal reelection of the President
very probable. I think so still. Although Louis Na-

164 LETTERS.
poleon has completely disgusted the higher classes, and
almost all our eminent political men — although his
popularity among the lower classes has much dimin
ished, and is diminishing every day — notwithstanding
all this, I confess that I still think his reelection nearly
inevitable, partly in consequence of the want of any
competitor, and partly in consequence of our general
anxiety. I believe that the Bonapartist current, if it
can be turned aside at all, can be turned aside only by
meeting a revolutionary current, which will be still more
dangerous ; and lastly, I believe that if he were to be
illegally reelected, any amount of attack on our liberties
would become possible.
So convinced was I of all this six weeks ago, that I
remember telling you that I should probably retire from
public life, in order to have nothing to do with a govern
ment which may try to destroy, in law or in fact, all con
stitutional institutions, and perhaps, exhausted as we are,
might for a time succeed.
The government which I should prefer, if I thought
it possible, would be a republic ; but believing its con
tinuance impossible, I should see without regret Louis
Napoleon become our permanent ruler, if I could be
lieve that he would be supported by the higher classes,
and would be able and desirous to rule constitutionally.
But I told you then that I did not believe either of these
things to be possible, and all that I see convinces me that
I was right.
The President is as proof against all constitutional
ideas as Charles X. was. He has his own legitimacy,
and he believes as firmly in the imperial constitution
as Charles X. did in divine right. Then he separates
himself more and more every day from almost all the

TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ. 165
men whose talents or experience fit them for public
business, and is reduced to rely on the instincts and
passions of the peuple* properly ho called. His reelec
tion, therefore, especially if illegal, may have disastrous
consequences. And yet it is inevitable, unless resisted
by an appeal, which 1 will not make, to revolutionary
passions. What is the result of this, but a desire for a revision,
which may either, by changing the nature and the origin
of the executive, render his reelection impossible, or by
rendering it legal, may render it less dangerous.
Many persons in France, and some even in England,
have reproached me for having stuck so firmly to the
constitution, and for having led the assembly to declare
its adherence. I have been accused even of having sup
posed an illegal reelection, and of having urged the as
sembly to resist one. This is an error, as any one who
reads carefully my report will see.
I do not foretell, I did not wish to foretell, what the
assembly will do, or ought to do, on an unconstitutional
reelection. It will depend on circumstances, particu
larly on the number of votes. There might be a mani
festation of public opinion to which it might be prudent
and patriotic to yield.
What I have said, and made the assembly say, is,
that during the interval which separates us from 1852,
no illegality is to be permitted; that no party, not even
the government, is to be allowed to propose an illegal
candidate ; that we must act, and force every one else to
act, in such a manner as to leave the nation mistress of
herself, able to consult her own interests, and to follow
her own opinions. * The lower classes. — Tr.

166 LETTERS.
I have said all this as forcibly as I could. First, because
I thought that to say so was useful to the country. Second
ly, because I thought that to say so was useful to myself.
A time may come when I myself may think that the
people ought to be allowed to violate the constitution.
But I will let this be done by others. My hand shall
never strike the flag of law.
Then this agitation for revision has two motives —
one, a sincere wish for it, in order to improve the con
stitution ; the other, an intrigue for the purpose of under
mining and injuring the constitution. The former is
mine ; the latter I cannot join in.
In fact our situation is more complicated, more inex
tricable, and less intelligible, than it ever has been. We
are always in one of those strange and terrible states in
which nothing is impossible, and nothing can be foreseen.
What is least improbable is the reelection of the Presi
dent, and also the election of a new assembly less favor
able to him than is generally expected. If this be so,
unless Louis Napoleon do not take advantage of the first
popular impulse, wliich will enable him to rise to absolute
power, he may find himself again opposed and hampered
by a hostile assembly.
Yet the nation, though it looks in the face this state
of things, unexampled in history, is perfectly calm and
not unprosperous. Trade, excepting agriculture, which
has not recovered, does not fall off, perhaps increases.
No one ventures on large speculations, but every one
eagerly and perseveringly follows his own business, as
if all that is to happen to-morrow were not uncertain.
Yet no one can see 1852 approach without terror, great,
perhaps exaggerated. We have all, however, been edu
cated by revolutions. We all know that it is our fate to

TO M. DE BEAUMONT. 167
live like a soldier in a campaign, whom the chance of
being killed to-morrow does not prevent from caring for
his dinner, his bed, and even his amusements. When I
see the attitude of tho nation, I must admire it, and con
fess that, with all its follies and its weaknesses, it is a
great people.
Your expectation that the habits of your people will
render the Ecclesiastical Titles Act inoperative, seems
to me probable. But why enact laws worse than your
habits? I confess that I agree with all my heart and
soul with those who, like Lord Aberdeen and Mr. Glad
stone, oppose, in the spirit of liberty and of free institu
tions, these vain but dangerous attacks on liberty of
conscience. Where will religious freedom fly if she is
driven from England ? If those whose principle is free
dom of inquiry and toleration become intolerant, what
right have they to reproach the intolerance of Rome?
Rome, if she violates the conscience of individuals, docs
not violate her own principles.
It is imprudent to criticiso a foreign country, but I
cannot but. think that, a few years hence, the disturb
ance created by the papal aggression will be compared
to the passions wliich two centuries ago produced the
belief in the popish plot. This agitation is less violent,
but no less unreasonable. Even those who now take
part in it will be as little able to account for their
conduct as we are. Ever yours.
TO M. GUSTAVE DE 11EAUMONT.
Versailles. Grille du Grand-Montreuil,
September 14, 1851.
. . . The conseil general lasted for two full weeks, and
ended only on the night of the 7th. . . . All passed as

168 LETTERS.
well as I could wish. The legal revision, as proposed
by the committee of the assembly, was voted after a
speech from me. ... It is hard to ascertain the real
state of public opinion in my department ; so great is
the reserve with which individuals express themselves,
partly from prudence, and partly from not knowing what
to think. There is almost universal silence. No people,
while thinking of nothing but politics, ever talked of them
so little. At last I think that I discovered as much as
this: — no passionate attachment to the President of tho
Republic ; great tolerance for his opponents ; and a
general inclination to reelect him, because he is already
there. Any other in his place would have almost the
same chance, so strong is their dislike of agitation, and
their horror of what they do not know. ... I persist,
then, in maintaining the opinion which, as you know, bus
always been mine, that the reelection of the President
is inevitable, and that the only question is as to the
amount of the majority. . . . The sort of light wliich
falls on this one point in our future, does not make the
rest of the picture more clear.
What will be the consequence of this popular coup
d'etat, I cannot tell. It seems to me, that it will be
difficult to avoid a crisis of some sort, perhaps a period
of considerable suffering. I think, with you, that we
should hold ourselves, not aloof, but in reserve ; and
especially, as you say, without pledging ourselves to any
civil war, with the hope that at the last moment we may
be able to interpose, and if the President triumphs, to
make our stand on constitutional liberty. But how little
influence has one over events in such limes as these 1
There is one resolution to which I am determined to
hold : either to carry our liberties triumphantly through

TO M. DE CORCELLE. 169
this crisis, or to fall with them ; all the rest is secondary.
But this is a question of life and death. . . .
Tho illusions of most, peoplo are wonderful. When I
talk with some of them, I feel as if I were in a lunatic
asylum. It is true that I do not possess the parent of all
illusions, — enthusiasm. I have no enthuasiam ; how
should I have any ? Of the possible solutions, not one
is lo my taste ; I see only a choice of evils. The nation
lives upon illusions as to (he real state of the country —
on illusions as to the army. ... As to the latter, yester
day a general, whom I will not name, described to me
happily its spirit. "The army," he said, "is like a
young lady, well brought up, who asks for nothing better
than to give herself away, but who will never submit lo
violence, nor bestow herself without the consent of her
parents, her parents being the President and the as
sembly." TO M. DE CORCELLE. Versailles, September 13, 1851.
. . . Among many subjects of anxiety, you know how
earnestly I desiro to protect the interests of which you
speak — those of religion and piety.
The reaction in favor of belief, and of those who pro
fess to be believers, which we have witnessed since the
Republic, can have astonished only those who do not
reflect. It has not depended, and will not depend, on
the influence of any one man, or even of any particular
government ; for the most striking characteristic of the
times is the powerlessness both of men and of govern
ments to direct the course of social or political changes.
This reaction has two principal causes. 1st. The fear
of socialism, which, for the time being, has produced on
the middle classes an effect similar to that which the

170 LETTERS.
French Revolution formerly produced upon the upper
ranks. 2dly. The having placed the government in
the hands of the masses, which, for the moment at least,
has restored to the Church and to the landlords an in
fluence which they have not enjoyed for sixty years, and
which, in fact, even sixty years ago they had ceased to
possess ; for at that time their influence was merely a
light reflected from that of the government — now they
receive it from the spontaneous feelings of the people.
As long as these two great causes prevail, the effect
which we rejoice in will (unle.-s enormous blunders be
committed by the clergy, and still more by their friends)
continue. This reminds me of my opinion, which I think you
Bhare, but which unfortunately is not that of most of our
religious men, that no government of any description can
ever propagate religion in France. They who are so
clamorous for the despotic interference of the govern
ment in these matters, or even for any considerable in
terference on its part, commit a serious error. A strong
and absolute government may interfere in other things
with advantage, but not in this. Of this I am as sure
as it is possible to be. Not that I deny that, at certain
periods and in certain states of society, the ruling powers
have exercised a great if not a lasting influence over the
religious condition of the country, but on those occasions
the government was in accordance with the people — it
only lent its aid.
With us, whoever may be elected as president, no
serious or lasting religious reaction will ever take place,
except as the result of the inward working of society left
to itself. It will spring from individual experience of
the necessity of a faith, of the daily need of it and of its

TO M. DE CORCELLE. 171
special ministers felt by all, either to remedy the moral
evils of tho age, or to resist its politic.nl diseases. Tho
direct action of the government, instead of forwarding,
will only impede this movement ; and I will frankly con
fess that my fears of its being arrested arise from the ill-
advised efforts to accelerate it. Think deeply on this
lost point, and remember, that I desire as ardently as
you do to see religion reinstated in our country.
Urge, therefore, the friends of religion never to lose
sight of the moral and intellectual condition of the
nation. Remember that, on this matter, it is divided
between old prejudices and new ideas ; that it enters
with hesitation into the path which you wish it to fol
low ; that it is always harassed by two terrors, that of
the socialists and that of the priests ; that its tendency
is always to take a step backward when it has made one
forward ; and further, that the nation is everything ; that
nothing real or lnsting enn be effected except by the frco
exercise of its will. Our endeavors must, therefore, be
governed by the utmost prudence, moderation, and cir
cumspection ; we must feel always that the great object
is not speed, but to make sure of every inch of ground
that we gain, and that all merely apparent progress
would be in reality a loss, an immense loss, if the public
mind should become alarmed and old prejudices should
revive. A thousand things fill me with anxious and
fatal presentiments. I doubt, not the rectitude nor the
good intentions of those who pursue this great object,
but their prudence and their skill. And I earnestly
hope that I am mistaken in thinking that their impetu
osity and excessive confidence in temporal means will in
the end cause a reaction, and that the nation will throw
itself back into the arms of philosophy, in revenge for

172 LETTERS.
its alarm in having been dragged out of them with so
much violence. I stop, for my hand is tired. I in
tended to send you two pages, and here is a volume.
At least, it is another proof of the pleasure whieh I feel
in opening my heart to you unreservedly.
TO N. w". SENIOR, ESQ.
Paris, November 28, 1851.
I was beginning, dear friend, to complain of your
silence when your letter reached me. I read it with
great pleasure, and it gave me still more pleasure to
talk of you with our friend, Mrs. Grote, who is as agree
able as ever, but who seems to me to be less well in
health than the last time that she was in Paris.
I had already heard, and Mrs. Grote, whom I ques
tioned on the subject, confirmed to ine, that you had been
offered a high place in India. It was not right in you to
tell me nothing about it, as you know the deep interest
which I take in all that concerns you. It . seems, how
ever, that there was not much in it. I am delighted ; I
own that I should like you lo leave England, but not to
go so far, or to such a completely different climate. It
would not have suited your friends, nor, perhaps, your
health. What I should wish for you would be some im
portant post in the Mediterranean, which would insure
your keeping well, and enable such of your friends as,
like myself, find great enjoyment in your society, to
obtain it from time to time.
Permit me not to allude to our public affairs, in spite
of the gravity of the present circumstances, or rather,
on account of that very gravity. Not that there is any
obstacle to the freest discussion. But our thoughts aro
so painful that the best way is not to express them, and

TO THE EDITOR OF THE "TIMES." 173
even to try, if possible, not to think. There are things
which cannot be contemplated calmly when they are
close at hand, even though they may have been long
foreseen. Our present condition is one of these things.
It can end only by some great catastrophe. My clear
view of the magnitude and of the proximity of the ca
lamity is so bitterly painful, that I try as much as possi
ble to divert from it my thoughts.
Mrs. Grote has forwarded to me the two valuable
volumes containing your recollections of Paris and Sor
rento. Our state of perpetual though useless exitement
has prevented my looking into them. But I fully intend
to do so. I shall especially enjoy reading all that will
recall to me Sorrento, and the busy yet peaceful months
which I spent on the shores of the Bay of Naples. I
often look back with tender regret to the place itself, and
to the time that I spent there. That delicious and tran
quil retreat, coining as it did between the Revolution of
1848 and the one which is impending, was like a rest
upon some Southern isle between two shipwrecks.
Writo to mo sometimes, if only to tell ine how you
are. The following translation from a letter of M. de Toc
queville, dated a few days earlier, is extracted, by per
mission, from the Times of the 11th December, 1851 : —
TO THE EDITOR OF THE "TIMES."
Sir, — The opinion expressed by certain organs of the
English press on the events which have just occurred in
France has caused a painful surprise to men who, like
myself, preserve a steadfast attachment to the principles
of regulated liberty and a fixed respect for legality. We

174 LETTERS.
are grieved to remark the purpose to which these obser
vations of a portion of the English press are turned by
the new government, and that any English writers should
seem to applaud what all honest Frenchmen condemn.
It is for this reason that, as a witness of these events, I
wish to make them known to you in all sincerity, con
vinced as I am that when Englishmen approve violence
and oppression, it is only because the truth is not yet
before them.
Permit me to offer some general reflections before
entering into details.
Louis Napoleon, in order to endeavor to palliate in
France and abroad the audacious violation of the laws
which he has just committed, has caused a report to be
circulated that he only anticipated the hostile measures
of the assembly, which was conspiring against himself,
and that if he had not struck that body it would have
struck him. This sort of defence is no novelty to us in
France. All our revolutionists have used it for these
sixty years. The members of the convention, who sent
each other to the scaffold, invariably treated their ad
versaries as conspirators. But in the present instance
this accusation, as far as the majority of the assembly
is concerned, is without a pretext, and can onl) pass
current among strangers ignorant of the true course of
events. No doubt history will have weighty charges to bring
against the legislative assembly whieh has just been
illegally and violently dissolved. The parties of which
that assembly was composed failed to come to an un
derstanding ; this gave to the whole body an uncertain
and sometimes contradictory policy, and finally discred
ited the assembly, and rendered it incapable of defend-

TO THE EDITOR OF THE "TIMES." 175
ing either liberty or its own existence. History will
record thus much ; but history will reject with con
tempt the accusation which Louis Napoleon has prefer
red against us. If you do not believe my assurances,
judge at least by the facts — not the secret facts which
I could disclose to you, but the public facts printed in
the Moniteur.
In the month of August last, the assembly voted the
revision of the constitution by an immense majority.
Why was the revision of the constitution desired ?
Simply to legalize the reelection of Louis Napoleon.
Was that an act of conspiracy against him ?
Tho assembly prorogued itself soon after this vote ;
the Conseils Generaux, convoked immediately afterwards,
and principally consisting of representatives, also ex
pressed an almost unanimous desire for the revision of
the constitution. Was that an act of conspiracy against
Louis Napoleon ?
The assembly met again on the 4th of November.
There was an electoral law — that of the 31st of May
— which the great majority of the assembly had voted.
This law was unpopular, and to catch the favor of the
people, Louis Napoleon, who had been the first to pro
pose and sanction the law of the 31st of May the year
before, demauds its abrogation, and proposes another
law in a message insulting to the assembly. The new
electoral law proposed by him was, indeed, rejected,
but by a majority of only two votes ; and immediately
afterwards the chamber proceeded, in order to comply
with the President's policy, to adopt in another form
most of the changes which he had proposed. Was that
an act of conspiracy against Louis Napoleon ?
Shortly afterwards a proposition was made by the

176 LETTERS.
questors to enable us to place the parliament in a state
of defence, if attacked, and to call troops directly to our
assistance. This proposition was, as nobody can deny,
in strict conformity with the constitution, and all that
the proposed resolution did was to define the means of
exercising a power which the assembly incontestably
possessed. Nevertheless, from fear of a collision with
the executive power, the legislature dared not assert
this incontestable right. The proposition of the ques
tors was rejected by a large majority. Was that an
act of conspiracy against Louis Napoleon ? What ! the
assembly was conspiring, and it renounced the command
of the troops which might have defended it, and made
them over to the man who was compassing its ruin !
And when did these things happen ? A fortnight ago.
Lastly, a bill on the responsibility of the President
and the different officers of state was sent up to the as
sembly by the Qonseil d'Etat. Observe, that this prop
osition did not emanate from the assembly, that the
assembly had no right, by law, to refuse to entertain it.
The bill was therefore brought up, but the committee
to which it was referred showed at once that its dis
position was conciliatory. The provisions of the bill
were rendered more mild, and the discussion was to be
deferred, in order to avoid the displeasure of the exec
utive power. Were these the actions of enemies and
conspirators ? And wdiat was happening in the mean
while ? All the journals, notoriously paid by the Presi
dent, insulted the assembly day by day in the coarsest
manner, threatened it, and tried by every means to cover
it with unpopularity.
This is history — the truth of history. The acts of
which I speak are the last of the national assembly of

TO THE EDITOR OF THE "TIMES." 177
France, and I defy our adversaries to find any other
facts to oppose to them. That an assembly of 760
members may have included in that number certain
conspirators, it would be absurd to deny. But the mani
fest truth, proved by its acts, is that the majority of
this assembly, instead of conspiring against Louis Na
poleon, sought for nothing so much as to avoid a quar
rel with him ; that it carried its moderation towards
him to the verge of weakness, and its desire of con
ciliation to a degree of pusillanimity. That is the truth.
You may believe my assertions, for I participated in the
passions of none of its parties, and I have no reason
either to flatter or to hate them.
Let us now proceed to examine what the assembly
did on the 2d of December ; and here I cease to express
any opinion — I merely relate, as an actual witness, the
things I saw with my eyes and heard with my ears.
When the representatives of the people learned, on
waking that morning, that several of their colleagues
were arrested, they ran to the assembly. The doors were
guarded by the Chasseurs de Vincennes, a corps of
troops recently returned from Africa, and long accus
tomed to the violences of Algerine dominion ; and, more
over, stimulated by a donation of 5f. distributed to every
soldier who was in Paris that day. The representa
tives, nevertheless, presented themselves to go in, hav
ing at their head one of their vice-presidents, M. Daru.
This gentleman was violently struck by the soldiers, and
the representatives who accompanied him were driven
back at the point of the bayonet. Three of them, M.
de Talhouet, Etienne, and Duparc, were slightly wound-
' ed. Several others had their clothes pierced. Such was
the commencement.
vol. n. 12

178 LETTERS.
Driven from the doors of the assembly, the deputies
retired to the Mairie of the 10th arrondissement. They
were already assembled to the number of about three
hundred, when the troops arrived, blocked up the ap
proaches, and prevented a greater number of representa
tives from entering the apartment, though no one was at
that time prevented from leaving it.
Who, then, were those representatives assembled at
the Mairie of the 10th arrondissement, and what did
they do there ? Every shade of opinion was repre
sented in this extemporaneous assembly. But eight
tenths of its members belonged to the different conserv
ative parties which had constituted the majority. This
assembly was presided over by two of its vice-presi
dents, M. Vitet and M. Benoist d'Azy. M. Daru was
arrested in his own house ; the fourth vice-president,
the illustrious General Bedeau, had been seized that
morning in his bed, and handcuffed like a robber. As
for the president, M. Dupin, he was absent, which sur
prised no one. Besides its vice-presidents, the assem
bly was accompanied by its secretaries, its ushers, and
even its short-hand writer, who will reserve for posterity
the records of this last and memorable sitting. The as
sembly, thus constituted, began by voting a decree in the
following terms : —
" In pursuance of Article 68 of the Constitution —
viz. : the President of the Republic, the Ministers, the
agents, and depositaries of public authority are respon
sible, each in what concerns themselves respectively,
for all the acts of the government and the administra
tion — any measure by which the President of the
Republic dissolves the National Assembly, prorogued

TO THE EDITOR OF THE " TIMES." 179
it, or places obstacles in the exercise of its powers, is
a crime of high-treason.
" liy this act merely Ihe President is deprived of all
authority, the citizens are bound to withhold their obe
dience, the executive power passes in full right to the
National Assembly. The Judges of the High Court of
Justice will meet immediately under pain of forfeiture ;
they will convoke the juries in the place which they will
select to proceed to the judgment of the President and
his accomplices ; they will nominate the magistrates
charged to fulfil the duties of public ministers.
" And seeing that the National Assembly is prevented
by violenco from exercising its powers, it decrees as fol
lows, viz. : —
" Louis Napoleon Bonaparte is deprived of all authority
as President of the Republic. The citizens are enjoined
to withhold their obedience. The executive power has
passed in full right lo tho Nalionul Assembly. Tho
Judges of the High Court of Justice arc enjoined to
meet immediately, under pain of forfeiture, to proceed
to the judgment of the President and his accomplices ;
consequently, all the officers and functionaries of power
and of public authority are bound to obey all requisitions
made in the name of the National Assembly, under pain
of forfeiture and of high treason.
" Done and decreed unanimously in public sitting, this
2d of December, 1851.
(Signed) Bekoist D'Azy, President.
Vitet, Vice President.

Moulin, 1 „ . .
„ ' }• Secretaries.
Chapot, )

Albert de Luynes. Antony Thouret. Audren de Kerdrel
D'Andigne de la Audren de Kerdrel (de Morbihan).
Chasse. (d'HIe-et-Vilaine). De Balzac.

180

LETTERS.

Barrillon.Odillon Barrot.
Barthelemy Saint Hi-
laire.
Bauchard. Gustave de Beaumont.
Bechard. Behaghel. Bernady.Berryer.De Berset.
Besse.
Bixio. Blavoyer.Bochard.Boeher. Boissie. Hotiniliau.Bouvattier.
De Broglie.
Do la llroiso.
De liryas.
Buffet.
Caillet du Tertre.
Callet.Cainus de la Guibour-
gere.
Canct.Castillon.Cccille (l'Amiral).
Chainbolle.Champanhet.diaper.Chapot.
Do Charency.
Chassaigne.Chauvin.Chnzaud. Chazelles.Chegaray. Coislin.
Colfavru. Cullas de la Motte.

Coquerel.De Corcelles.
Cordier.Corne.
Creton. Daguilhon.
Darirel. Damhray. De Dampierre.
De Bretonne.
Defontaine.
Defontenay. De Scze.
Desmars.De la Devansaye.
Didier.Diculevcult.Druet Desvaux.
Amable Dubois.
Dui'auro. Dulimgorais.Dufour.Dufournel.
Marc Dufraisse.
Pascal Duprat.
Duvcrgicr de Hau-
ranue.
Etienne.
De Falloux.
De Faultrier.
Faure (du Rhone).
Favreau. Ferre des Ferris.
Flavigny.Foblant.Frichon. Gain.
Gasselin (de Fresnay).
Germoniere. De Gicqueau.
De Goulard.
Gozet dc Bignon.
De Gouyon,

De Granville.
De Grasset.
Grelier Defourgeroux.
Grevy.Grillon.
Grimault.Gros. Guiltier do laTouscho.
Harcourt de St.
Georges.
D'Havrinoourt.Hennecart. Hcnnequin.
D'Hcspal.Houel. Hovyn-Tranchere.
II not.
Joret. Jouannet.Do Kcranflcch.
Kerutry.Do Kcridec.
Dc Kermarec.
De Kersanson.
Leo Delaborde.
Laboulayc. Lacazc.Oscar Lafayette.
De (.uhis.se.
Lagarde.
Lagreno.Laine (l'Amiral).
I.uiine.
Lanjuinais.Larabit. La Rey.
Jules do Lasteyrie.
Latrade. Laureau.Laurcnccau. Do Liu iris ton (lo Q6-
ndral).
Do Laussat.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE "TIMES."

181

Lefebvre duGrosRiez.
Legrand. Legros Devot.
Lemaire.Emile Leroux.
Lesprut.De Lespinay.
Levet.De Limayrac.
L'Herbette.De Luppe.
Marechal. Martin de Villers.
Maze Launay.
Mege.De Melun (d'llle-et
Vilaine).
De Melun (du Nord).
Merentie.Michaut. Mispoulet.
Monet.Do Montebello.
De Montigny.
Moulin.
Murat-Listrieres. Nottomont.D'Oliver.
Oudinot de Reggio (le
General).
Paillet.Duparc.Passy.Emile Pean.
Peconl.

Casimir Perier.
Pidoux.
Pigeon. Pioger.Piscatory.
Poujoulat. Proa. Prudhomme.
Querhoent. Randoing.Raudot.
Raulin.De Ravinel.
De Remusat.
Renaud. Rigal.
Ressiguier.De Riancey.
De la Rochette.
Rodat. De Roquefenil.
Des Rotours de Chau-
Meu.
Roujct. Lafosse.
Rouille. Roux Carbonnel.
Sainto Rouvo.
Ilervo deSt.Gormain.
De Saint Priest (le
General).
Salmon (de la Meuse).
Sauvaire Barthelemy.
De Sere.
De Sesmaisons.
Simonot.
(In all 230 representatives.)
All the members whose names I have here given were
arrested. Several others having left the room after hav
ing signed, could not be taken. Among these, the best
known are M. de Tracy, M. de Malleville, Ferdinand de
Lasteyrie, and General Rulhiere.

De Staplande.
De Surville.
De Talhouet.
Talon.
Tamisier.
T liu riot de la Roziere.
Do Tinguy.
De Tocquoville.
De la Tourette.
De Trevenc.
De Vatimesnil.
Vaudrey. Vavin. De Vendeuvre.
Vernhette (de l'He-
rault).
Vernhette (de l'Avey-
ron).
Vesin.
Vitet.Vogue. Auhry.
Toupot dn.s Vignos.
Victor Lefranc.
Radoult de la Fosse
(le General).
Benoit (du Rhone).
Paulin Duriou.
Teilhard-Laterisse.
Fayolle. Chanay.Vallette.
D'Adelswaerd. Eugene Sue.

182 LETTERS.
After having voted this first decree, another was
unanimously passed, naming General Oudinot commander
of the public forces, and M. Tamisier was joined with
him as chief of the staff. The choice of these two offi
cers from distinct shades of political opinion showed that
the assembly was animated by one common spirit.
These decrees had scarcely been signed by all the
members present, and deposited in a place of safety,
when a band of soldiers, headed by their officers, sword
in hand, appeared at the door, without, however, daring
to enter the apartment. The assembly awaited them in
perfect silence. The president alone raised his voice,
read the decrees wliich had just been passed lo tho
soldiers, and ordered them to retire. The poor fellows,
ashamed of the part they were compelled to play, hesi
tated. The officers, pale and undecided, declared that
they should go for further orders. They retired, content
ing themselves with blockading the passages leading to
the apartment. The assembly, not being able lo go out,
ordered the windows to be opened, and caused the
decrees to be read to the people and the troops in the
street below, especially that decree which, in pursuance
of the 68th Article of the Constitution, pronounced the
deposition and impeachment of Louis Napoleon.
Soon, however, the soldiers reappeared at the door,
preceded this time by two commissaires de police. These
men entered the room, and, amid the unbroken silence
and total immobility of the assembly, summoned the
representatives to disperse. The president ordered them
to retire themselves. One of the commissaires was agi
tated, and faltered; the other broke out in invectives.
The President said to him, " Sir, we are here tho lawful
authority and sole representatives of law and of right. We

TO THE EDITOR OF THE "TIMES." 183
know that we cannot oppose to you material force, but
we will leave this chamber only under constraint. We
will not disperse. Seize us, and convey us to prison."
" All, all 1 " exclaimed the members of the assembly.
After much hesitation, the commissaires de police de
cided to act. They caused the two presidents to be
seized by the collar. The whole body then rose, and,
arm-in-arm, two-and-two, they followed the presidents,
who were led off. In this order we reached the street,
and were marched across the city, without knowing
whither we were going.
Care had been taken to circulate a report among the
crowd and the troops that a meeting of Socialist and Red
Republican deputies had beeu arrested. But when the
people beheld among those who were thus dragged
through the mud of Paris on foot, like a gang of male
factors, men the most illustrious by their talents and their
virtues, — ex-ministers, ex-ambassadors, generals, ad
mirals, great orators, great writers, surrounded by the
bayonets of the line, a shout was raised, " Vive V Assem
ble Nationale." The representatives were attended by
the-e shouts until they reached the barracks of the t^uai
d'Orsay, where they were shut up. Night was coming
on, and it was wet and cold. Tet the assembly was left
two hours in the open air, as if the government did not
deign to remember its existence. The representatives
here made their last roll-call in presence of their short
hand writer, who had followed them. The number pres
ent was 218, to whom were added about twenty more in
the course of tbe evening, consisting of members who
had voluntarily caused themselves to be arrested. Al
most all the men known to France and to Europe, who
formed the majority of the Legislative Assembly, were

184 LETTERS.
gathered together in this place. Few were wanting, ex
cept those who, like M. MoltS, had not been suffered to
reach their colleagues. There were present, among
others, the Duke de Broglie, who had come, though ill ;
the father of the house, the venerable Keratry, whose
physical strength was inferior to his moral courage, and
' whom it was necessary to seat in a straw chair in the
barrack-yard ; Odilon Barrot, Dufaure, Berryer, Remu-
sant, Duvergier de Ilauranne, Gustave de Beaumont, De
Tocqueville, De Falloux, Lanjuinais, Admiral Lain£ and
Admiral Ceeille, Generals Oudiuot and Lauriston, the
Duke de Luynes, the Duke de Montebello ; twelve ex-
ministers, nine of whom had served under Louis Na
poleon himself; eight members of the Institute ; all men
who had struggled for three years to defend society and
to resist the demagogic faction.
When two hours had elapsed, this assemblage was
driven into barrack-rooms up-stairs, where most of them
spent the night, without fire, and almost without food,
stretched upon the boards. It only remained to carry
off to prison these honorable men, guilty of no crime
but the defence of the laws of their country. For this
purpose the most distressing and ignominious means
were selected. The cellular vans, in which foreals are
conveyed to the bagne, were brought up. In these
vehicles were shut up the men who had served and hon
ored their country, and they were conveyed like three
bands of criminals, some to the fortress of Mont Valerien,
some to the Prison Mazas in Paris, and the remainder
to Vincennes. The indignation of the public compelled
Ihe government two days afterwards to release the greater
number of them ; some are still iu confinement, unable to
obtain either their liberty or their trial.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE "TIMES." 185
The treatment inflicted on the generals arrested in the
morning of the 2d December was still moro disgraceful.
Cavaignac, Lamoricicre, Bedcau, Changarnier — the
conquerors of Africa, were shut up in these infamous
cellular vans, which are always inconvenient, and become
almost intolerable on a lengthened journey. In this
manner they were conveyed to Ham — that is, they were
made to perform upwards of a day's journey. Cavaignac,
who had saved Paris and France in the da}rs of June —
Cavaignac, the competitor of Louis Napoleon at the last
elections, shut up for a day and a night in the cell of a
felon ! I leave it to every honest man and every gen
erous heart to comment on such facts. Can it be that
indignities which surpass the actions of the King of
Naples find a defender in England ? No ; England
knows but a small portion of what is taking place. I
appeal to her better judgment when these facts are
known to the world.
Such are the indignities offered to persons. Let me
now review the series of general crimes. The liberty of
the press is destroyed to an extent unheard of even in
the time of the Empire. Most of the journals are sup
pressed ; those which appear cannot say a word on poli
tics or even publish any news. But this is by no means
all. The government has stuck up a list of persons who
are formed into a " Consultative Commission." Its object
is to induce France to believe that the Executive is not
abandoned by every man of respectability and considera
tion among us. More than half the persons on this list
have refused to belong to the commission ; most of them
regard the insertion of their names as dishonor. I may
quote, among others, M. Leon Faucher, M. Portalis,
First President of the Court of Cassation, and the Duke

186 LETTERS.
of Albufera, as those best known. Not only does the
government .decline to publish the letters in which these
gentlemen refuse their consent, but even their names are
not withdrawn from a list which dishonors them. The
names are still retained, in spite of their repeated remon
strances. A day or two ago, one of them, M. Joseph
Perier, driven to desperation by this excess of tyranny,
rushed into the street to strike out his own name with his
own hands from the public placards, taking the passers-by
to witness that it had been placed there by a lie.
Such is the state of the public journals. Let us now
see the condition of personal liberty. I say, again, that
personal liberty is more trampled on than ever it was in
the time of the Empire. A decree of the new Power
give the prefets the right to arrest, in their respective
departments, whomsoever they please ; and the prefets,
iu their turn, send blank warrants of arrest, wliich are
literally lettres de cachet, to the sous-prefets under their
orders. The provisional government of the Republic
never went so far. Human life is as little respected as
human liberty. I know that war has its dreadful neces
sities, but the disturbances which have recently occurred
in Paris have been put down with a barbarity unprece
dented in our civil contests ; and when we remember that
this torrent of blood has been shed to consummate the
violation of all laws, we cannot but think that sooner or
later it will fall back, upon the heads of those who shed
it. As for the appeal to the people, to which Louis
Napoleon affects to submit his claims, never was a more
odious mockery offered to a nation. The people is called
upon to express its opinion, yet not only is public discus
sion suppressed, but even the knowledge of facts. The
people is asked its opinion, but the first measure taken to

TO THE EDITOR OF THE "TIMES." 187
obtain it is to establish military terrorism throughout the
country, and to threaten with deprivation every public
agent who does not approve in writing what has been done.
Such, Sir, is the condition in which we stand. Force
overturning law, trampling on the liberty of the press
and of the person, deriding the popular will, in whose
name the government pretends to act, — France torn
from the alliance of free nations to be yoked to the de
spotic monarchies of the Continent, — such is the result
of this coup d'etat. If the judgment of the people of
England can approve these military saturnalia, and if the
facts I have related, and to the accurate truth of which I
pledge myself, do not rouse its censures, I shall mourn
for you and for ourselves, and for the sacred cause of
legal liberty throughout the world ; for the public opinion
of England is the grand jury of mankind in the cause of
freedom, and if its verdict were to acquit the oppressor,
tho oppressed would have no other resource but in God.
One word more, to record a fact which does honor to
the magistracy of France, and which will be remembered
in its annals. The army refused to submit to the decree
of the captive assembly impeaching the President of the
Republic ; but the high court of justice obeyed it.
These five judges, sitting in the midst of Paris enslaved,
and in the face of martial law, dared to assemble at
the palace of justice, and to issue process commencing
criminal proceedings against Louis Napoleon, charged
with high treason by the law, though already triumphant
in the streets. I subjoin the text of this memorable
edict : —
" The High Court of Justice,
" Considering the 68th Article of the Constitution,
considering that printed placards commencing with the

188 LETTERS.
words 'the President of the Republic,' and bearing at
the end the signatures of Louis Napoleon Bonaparte and
De Morny, Minister of the Interior, which placards an
nounce, among other things, the dissolution of the National
Assembly, have this day been affixed to the walls of Paris ;
that this fact of the dissolution of the assembly by the
President of the Republic would fall under the case pro
vided for by the 68th Article of the Constitution, and
render the convocation of the High Court of Justice im
perative, by the terras of that article declares, that the
High Court is constituted, and names M. Renouard, coun
sellor of the Court of Cassation, to fill the duties of public
accuser, and to fill those of Greffier M. Bernard, Greffier
in Chief of the Court of Cassation ; and, to proceed fur
ther in pursuance of the terms of the said 68th Article
of the Constitution, adjourns until to-morrow, the 3d of
December at the hour of noon.
" Done and deliberated in the Council Chamber. Pres
ent, M. Hardouin, president, M. Pataille, M. Moreau, M.
de la Palme, and M. Cauchy, judges, this 2d day of
December, 1851."
After this textual extract from the minutes of the
high court of justice there is the following entry —
" 1. A proces-verbal stating the arrival of a Commis
saire de Police, who called upon the High Court to
separate. " 2. A proces-verbal of a second sitting held on the
morrow, the 3d day of December (when the Assembly
was in prison), at which M. Renouard accepts the func
tions of public prosecutor, charged to proceed against
Louis Napoleon, after wliich the High Court, being no
longer able to sit, adjourned to a day to be fixed here
after."

PARIS, DECEMBER 23, 1815. 189
With these extracts from the judicial records I termi
nate this communication.
EXTRACTS FROM MR. SENIOR'S JOURNAL.
We drank tea with the Tocquevilles.
" This," said Tocqueville, " is a new phase in our his
tory. Every previous revolution has been made by a
political party. This is the first time that the army has
seized France, bound and gagged her, and laid her at tho
feet of its ruler."
" Was not the 18th Fructidor," I said, " almost a par
allel case ? Then as now, there was a quarrel between
the executive and the legislature. The directory, like
Louis Napoleon, dismissed the ministers in whom the leg
islature had confidence, and appointed its own tools in their
places, denounced the legislature to the country, and flat
tered and corrupted the army. The legislature tried the
usual tactics of parliamentary opposition, censured the
government, and refused the supplies. The directory
prepared a coup d'etat. The legislature tried to obtain a
military force, and failed : they planned an impeachment
of the directory, and found the existing law insufficient.
They brought forward a new law, defining the responsi
bility of the executive, and, the night after they had begun
to discuss it, their halls were occupied by a military force,
and the members of the opposition were seized in the
room in which they had met to denounce the treason of
the directory."
" So far," he answered, " the two events resemble one
another. Each was a military attack on the legislature
by the executive. But the directors were the represen
tatives of a party. The councils, the greater part of the
aristocracy and the Bourgeoisie were Bonapartists, the

190 EXTRACTS.
lower orders were Republican, the army was merely an
instrument. It conquered not for itself, but for the Repub
lican party.
" The 18th Brumaire was nearer to this, for that ended
as this has begun, in a military tyranny. But the 18th
Brumaire was almost as much a civil as a military rev
olution. A majority in the councils was with Bonaparte.
Louis Napoleon had not a real friend in the assembly.
All the educated classes supported the 18lh Brumaire;
all the educated classes repudiate the 2d of December.
Bonaparte's consular chair was sustained by all the elite
of France. This man cannot obtain a decent supporter.
" For a real parallel you must go back 1,800 years."
I said that some persons, for whose judgment I had the
highest respect, seemed to treat it as a contest between
two conspirators, the assembly and the president, and to
think the difference between his conduct and theirs to bo
that he struck first.
" This," said Tocqueville, " I utterly deny. He, indeed,
began to conspire from the 10th of December, 1848. His
direct instructions to Oudinot and his letter to Ney, only
a few months after his election, showed his determination
not to submit to parliamentary government. Then fol
lowed his dismissal of ministry after ministry, until he had
degraded the office to a clerkship. Then came the semi-
regal progress ; then the reviews of Satory, the encour
agement of treasonable cries, the selection for all the high
appointments in the army of Paris of men whose charac
ters •fitted them to be tools. Then he publicly insulted
the assembly at Dijon ; and at last, in October, we knew
that his plans were laid. It was then only that we began
to think what were our means of defence ; but that was
no more a conspiracy than it is a conspiracy in travellers

PARIS, DECEMBER 23, 1851. 191
to look for their pistols when they see a band of robbers
advancing. " M. Bnze's proposition was absurd, only because it was
impracticable. It was a precaution against immediate
danger; but if it had been voted, it could not have been
executed ; the army had already been so corrupted, that
it would have disregarded the orders of the assembly. I
have often talked over our situation with Lamoriciere and
my other military friends. We saw what was coming, as
clearly as we now look back to it, but we had no means
of preventing it."
" But was not your intended law of responsibility," I
said, " an attack on your part ? "
" That law," he said, " was not ours. It was sent up
to us by the Conseil d'Etat, which had been two years and
a half employed on it, and ought to have sent it to us much
sooner. We thought it dangerous — ¦ that is to say, we
thought that, though quite right in itself, it would irritate
the President — and that in our defenceless state it was
unwise to do so. The bureau to which it was referred
refused to declare it urgent — a proof that it would not
have passed with the clauses which, though reasonable,
the President thought fit to disapprove. Our conspiracy
was that of the lamb against the wolf.
" Though I have said," he continued, " that he has been
conspiring ever since his election, I do not believe that he
intended to strike so soon. His plan was to wait till next
March, when the fears of May, 1852, would be most in
tense. Two circumstances forced him on more rapidly.
One was the candidature of the Prince de Joinville. He
thought him the only dangerous competitor. The other
was an agitation set on foot by the legitimists, in the Oon-
seils Generaux, for the repeal of the law of the 31st of

192 EXTRACTS.
May. That law was his moral weapon against the assem
bly, and he feared that, if he delayed, it might be abolished
without him."
"And how long," I asked, "will this government last?"
" It will last," he answered, " until it is unpopular with
the mass of the people. At present the disapprobation is
confined to the educated classes. We cannot bear to be
deprived of the power of speaking or of writing. We
cannot bear that the fate of France should depend on the
selfishness, or the vanity, or the fears, or the caprice of
one man, a foreigner by race and by education. We can
not bear that the people which carried the torch of liberty
through Europe should now be employed in quenching all
its lights. But these are not the feelings of the multitude.
Their insane fear of socialism throws them headlong into
the arms of despotism. As in Prussia, as in Hungary,
as in Austria, as in Italy, so in France, the democrats
have served the cause of the absolutists.
"May, 1852, was a spectre constantly swelling as it
drew nearer. But now that the weakness of the red party
has been proved — now that 10,000 of those who are sup
posed to be its most active members are to be sent to die
of hunger and marsh fever in Cayenne — the people will
regret the price at which their visionary enemy has been
put down. Thirty-seven years of liberty have made a
free press and free parliamentary discussion necessaries
to us. If Louis Napoleon refuse them, he will be exe
crated as a tyrant ; if he grant them, they must destroy
him. We always criticise our rulers severely, often un
justly. It is impossible that so rash a man, surrounded
by men whose defects aro their recommendation to hiin,
should not commit blunders und follies. They will be ex
posed, perhaps exaggerated, by thousands of enemies. As

PARIS, DECEMBER 23, 1851. 193
soon as he is discredited, the army will turn against him.
It sympathizes with tho people from which it came, and
. to which it is soon to return. It will never support an
unpopular despot.
" I have no fears, therefore, for the ultimate destinies of
my country. It seems to me that the revolution of the
2d of December is more dangerous to the rest of Europe
than it is to us ; that it ought to alarm England much
more than it does us.
" We shall get rid of Louis Napoleon in a few years,
perhaps in a few months ; but there is no saying how
much mischief he may do in those years, or even in
those months, to his neighbors."
" Surely," said Madame de Tocqueville, "he will wish
to remain at peace with England ? "
" I am not sure at all of that," said Tocqueville. " He
cannot sit down a mere quiet administrator. lie must
do something to distract public attention : he must give
us a substitute for the political excitement which amused
us for the last forty years. Great social improvements
are uncertain, difficult, and slow ; but glory may be ob
tained in a week. A war with England, at its beginning,
is always popular. How many thousand volunteers would
he have for a 'pointe' on London? I know that you
think that you can retain the French alliance, but it is
impossible. It is impossible, even if Louis Napoleon
should earnestly desire it. The nature of things, which
is much stronger than any human will, drives him into
an ultimate union with Russia and Austria.
" The best that can happen to you is to be excluded
from the councils of the great family of despots. Be
sides, what is to be done to amuse these 400,000 bayo-
nists, his masters, as well as ours ? Crosses, promotions,
vol. n. 13

194 EXTRACTS.
honors, gratuities, are already showered on the army of
Paris. " It has already received a thing unheard of in our
history — the honors and recompenses of a campaign
for the butchery on the Boulevards. Will not the other
armies demand their share of work and reward ? As
long as civil war in the provinces lasts, they may be
employed there ; but it will soon be over. What is
then to be done with them ? Are they to be marched
on Switzerland, or on Piedmont, or on Belgium ? And
will England quietly look on ? " Paris, Docomber 31, 1851.
I dined with the Tocquevilles, and met E. F. and
G. H.
" The gayest time," said Tocqueville, " that I ever
passed, was in the Quai d'Orsay. The elite of France
in education, and in birth, and in talents, particularly
in the talents of society, was collected within the walls
of that barrack.
"A long struggle was over, in which our part had
not been timidly played. We had done our duty, we
had gone through some perils, and we had some to
encounter, and we were all in the high spirits which ex
citement and dangers shared with others, when not too
formidable, create. From the court-yard in which we
had been penned for a couple of hours, where the Due
de Broglie and I tore our chicken with our hands and
teeth, we were transferred to a long sort of gallery, or
garret, running along through the higher part of the
building — a spare dormitory for the soldiers when the
better rooms are filled. Those who chose to take the
trouble went below, hired palliasses from the soldiers,

PARIS, DECEMBER 31, 1851. 195
and carried them up for themselves. I was too idle, and
lay on the floor in my cloak. Instead of sleeping, we
spent the night in shooting, from palliasse to palliasse,
anecdotes, repartees, jokes, and pleasantries.
" C'etait un feu roulant, une pluie, de bons mots.*
Things amused us in that state of excitement which
sound flat when repeated.
" I remember  , a man of great humor, exciting
shouts of laughter, by exclaiming with great solemnity,
as he looked round on the floor, strewed with mattresses
and statesmen, and lighted by a couple of tallow can
dles, " 'Voila done ou en est r^duit ce fameux parti de
l'ordre.' f
" Those who were kept au secret, deprived of mutual
support, were in a very different state of mind. Some
were depressed, others were enraged.
"  was left alone for twenty-four hours ; at last
a man came and offered him some sugar. He flew at
his throat, and the poor turnkey ran off, fancying that
his prisoner was mad."
We talked of Louis Napoleon's devotion to the Pope.
" It is of recent date," said G. H. " In January and
February, 1849, he was inclined to interfere in support
of the Roman republic, against the Austrians. And
when in April he resolved to move on Rome, it was
not out of love for the Pope. In fact, the Pope did not
then wish for us. He hoped to be restored by General
Zucchi, who commanded a body of Roman troops in the
neighborhood of Bologna. No one at that time believed
* It was a running (ire, a shower, of pleasantries.
t This, then, is the state to which the great party of order is re
duced.

196 EXTRACTS.
the Republican party in Rome to be capable of a serious
defence. Probably they would not have made one, if
they had not admitted Garibaldi and his band two days
before we appeared before their gates."
I mentioned to Tocqueville C. D.'s opinion that France
will again become a republic.
" I will not venture," he answered, " to affirm, with
respect to any form whatever of government, that wo
shall never adopt it ; but I own that I see no prospect
of a French republic within any assigned period. We
are, indeed, less opposed to a republic now than we were
in 1848. We have found that it does not imply war, or
bankruptcy, or tyranny ; but we still feel that it is not the
government that suits us. This was apparent from the
beginning. " Louis Napoleon had the merit, or the luck, to dis
cover what few suspected, the latent Bonapartism of the
nation. " The 10 th of December showed that the memory of
the Emperor, vague and undefined, but therefore the
more imposing, still dwelt like an heroic legend in the
imaginations of the peasantry. When Louis Napoleon's
violence and folly shall have destroyed the charm with
which he has worked, all eyes will turn, not towards a
republic, but to Henri V."
TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ. March 9, 1852.
I send you, my dear Senior, an introduction to
Lamoriciere. This letter will be short ; you know that
I do not write at any length by the post.
It will contain nothing but thanks for your long and
interesting letter brought by Rivet, who returned de-

TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ. 197
lighted with the English in general, and with you in
particular. I see lhat the disturbed state of parties, occasioned by
Sir Robert Peel's policy, is passing away, and that your
political world is again dividing itself into the two '
great sects, one of which tries to narrow, the other to
extend, the area of political power — one of which tries
to lift you into aristocracy, the other to depress you.
The political game will be simpler. I can understand
better the conservative policy of Lord Derby than the
democratic one of Lord John Russell. As the friends of
free-trade are more numerous than those of democracy,
I think that it would have been easier to attack the
government on its commercial than on its political
illiberality. Then in this great nation, called Europe, similar
currents of opinions and feelings prevail, different as
may bo tho institutions and characters of its different
populations. We see over the whole continent so general
and so irresistible a reaction against democracy, and
even against liberty, that I cannot believe that it will
stop short on our side of the Channel ; and if the Whigs
become Radical, I shall not be surprised at the perma
nence in England of a Tory government, allied to foreign
despots. But I ought not to talk on such matters, for I live
at the bottom of a well, seeing nothing, and regretting
that it is not sufficiently closed above to prevent
my hearing anything. Your visions of 29,000 troops
at Cherbourg, to be followed by 29,000 more, are
mere phantoms. There is nothing of the kind, and
there will be nothing. I speak with knowledge, for
I come from Cherbourg. I have been attending an ex-

198 LETTERS.
traordinary meeting of our conseil general on the sub
ject of a projected railway. My reception touched and
delighted me. I was unanimously, and certainly freely,
elected president. TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT. Paris, May 1, 1852.
. . . All work is for the present impossible. Being
in Paris, I attribute my incapacity to the events that I
see, and to the exciting conversations of every day. If I
were in the country, I should attribute it to solitude.
The truth is, that it arises from sickness at heart, and
will not cease till this is cured, which can be the work
only of time, the great healer of grief, as every one
knows. I must try to wait patiently for the cure. And
yet I cherish this grief as one does every real sorrow to
which one has a right, bitter though it be. The sight
of all that is going on, and especially of the way in which
it is regarded, hurts every feeling of pride, honor, and
delicacy. I should be sorry to be less sad. In this
respect, I ought to be thoroughly satisfied, for, indeed,
I am sad unto death. I have reached my present age,
and passed through all sorts of circumstances, advo
cating always the same cause — regulated liberty. Can
this cause be lost forever? I began to fear it in 1848,
I fear it now still more ; not that I am convinced that
this country will never possess again constitutional in
stitutions, but will they last, or will any others ? It is a
moving sand : the question is, not whether it can be
fixed, but what will be the winds that will toss it
about. Still I try to work. Every day I spend two or three
hours in the library of the Rue de Richelieu. In spite

TO THE COMTE DE CIRCOURT. 199
of my endeavors to turn my thoughts in another direc
tion, a profound sadness sometimes steals over me ; and
if I allow it to seize upon mc unawares, I am lost for
tho rest of the day. My life might be pleasant, but if
I look aside from my book, I am cut to the heart.
Enclosed is the letter addressed to the electors of my
canton, in which I resign my place as member of the
conseil general. ... I could not take the oath. . . .
This result of the 2d of December is, perhaps, the one
which has most affected me individually. My position
in the department was one of unmixed satisfaction. I
had the moral direction of every affair of importance :
my empire over the minds of the people was founded
upon personal regard, independently of political opinions.
This portion of my public life shed a reflected light upon
my private life, and made it all the happier. But these
are only small miseries. . . .
TO THE COMTE DE CIRCOURT.
Tocqueville, June 14, 1852. "
Deab M. db Cikcouht, —
I received your instructive and interesting letter on
the 21st of last month, and I should have thanked you
for it sooner, if you had not yourself told me that I was
not to think of answering it before the 15th of June.
That time has come, and I will not let it slip.
I have not read the book by the AbM Barruel,* but
I have often heard it talked of, and often intended to
read it. I have always been discouraged by believing
his starting-point to be fundamentally wrong. His first
proposition is, that the French Revolution (we may now
venture to call it the European Revolution) was the
* u Mdmoires sur le Jacobinisme."

200 LETTERS.
result of a conspiracy. It seems to me that nothing can
be more untrue. I do not say that, during the course
of the eighteenth century, there may not have been
secret societies and underground machinations under
mining the ancient social system. Beneath all great
movements you will find underhand conspiracies : they
form the sub-soil of revolutions. But I feel certain that
those secret societies were the symptoms of the disease,
and not the disease itself — the effects, and not the
causes. The change in opinions which produced the
change in facts was effected in broad daylight by the
combined efforts of all classes ; writers, nobles, princes,
all rushing out of the old system without knowing what
other to adopt.
However, though the first and dominant idea may be
erroneous, it may have led the author to make useful
discoveries, just as the search for the philosopher's stone
was the origin of chemistry.
There is one part of the political and philosophical
, history of Germany which I do not understand, probably
on account of my deplorable ignorance of German affairs.
In France, during the whole of the eighteenth century,
philosophy properly so called — theoretic science — ad
vanced in the same direction with practical ideas and
public opinion. These were inclined to novelty. The
ory taught the worthlessness of tradition, and treated all
that was ancient as worn-out rubbish. In Germany, on
the contrary, if I am not mistaken, philosophical and
social theories were opposed to the march of events,
opinions, and habits ; they clung to tradition and sought
in the past the explanation of the present, and the rule
for the future. It seems to me that the German phi
losophers and thinkers have always tended in this di
rection.

TO THE COMTE DE CIRCOURT. 201
Now, this to me is inexplicable. I cannot imagine
that the philosophy of a people should differ so widely
from the ideas that govern its daily conduct, especially
in a country like Germany, where theory has in general
so great an influence over events. Has the revolution
ary spirit in Germany taken a different course to that
which it has taken in France ? What was its course
then ? I wish that I could be enlightened upon this
point. May it not be that the difference between the
French and German philosophers has been this : they
both condemned the present ; ours wished to abolish it
in order to adapt a new plan ; and theirs in order to
build upon the old foundation.
You have something better to do now, than to think
about philosophy and to live in the past ; you are in
the best place in the world for seeing and forming an
opinion, not only of German, but of all European affairs.*
I am curious to know what impression they make upon
you. I fancy that the picture before you does not differ
much from that presented by France, or at least, differs
only in detail : an almost total lack of energy in the pub
lic mind ; new vigor in every government, and yet con
siderable prudence ; great fear of war, and a strong de
sire to tolerate all that takes place in France, if it be
possible. I left Paris a fortnight ago, and since then I have
been buried in this province, where I hope to see you
before the end of the summer. I am very happy in my
retreat, and wish for nothing but sunshine, which, in
truth, we seldom enjoy. Although, when I was in Paris,
I took care to see none but people who think with me in
public matters, in the end I began to feel the need of
* M. de Circourt was then at Hamburg.

202 LETTERS.
solitude. For those, who like myself, have long led an
active life, it is painful to speak, even with men of sim
ilar opinions, when words lead and can lead to no overt
act. After a time silence becomes a necessary relief. I
should like to do better, still — to forget ; but. ...
TO M. DUFAURE. Tocqueville, July 4, 1852.
I fancy, dear friend, that we must both be dead, it is
so long since we have given each other any signs of life.
You, I suppose, are silent because you think that you can
have nothing to say, buried as you are in the country,
and hearing no sound from the external world. I am in
an exactly similar position. Still, I will write to you if
only to tell you that I always think of you with tender
regard, and that I shall always be proud of our joint
action in public life. You know all this ; but it is not
disagreeable to hear such things repeated, although they
may not be new.
I arrived nearly a month ago, and though I have seen
the same people as usual, I know no more than you, who
are five hundred miles away, what is passing in men's
minds. I begin to think that they are quite empty,
and that political life, and even all intellectual life
is, for the moment, suspended. The public mind seems
to be resting itself in vacuity, and to like it well
enough. Such of us as cannot live alone, and find their own
resources, are much to be pitied. For outlaws like our
selves to seek dissipation and amusement abroad, is of no
use. Happily I am spared this temptation ; and thanks
to the work, of which I confided the plan to you, and
which I have set about writing with the utmost diligence,

TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT. 203
I spend some happy days in the midst of my solitude.
I should scarcely have anything to wish for, if from time
to time I were visited by a friend to whom I could talk
unreservedly, and lessen by sharing it, the weight of
grief which sometimes, in spite of myself, oppresses me.
Rivet, Vivien, Lanjuinais, Freslon, Beaumont, and Cor
celle, have promised to come before the end of the
autumn. They hope that it will be in September. It
would give me so much pleasure, my dear friend, if you
would follow their example. What pleasant days we
should spend together ! How restoring would be the
effect of such companionship! Does not your heart urge
you to accept ? Write and say that you will do so, and
at all events, write to give me some news of yourself,
of Madame Dufaure, and of your children. My wife
wishes to be remembered to you both, and believe me,
&c. TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT.
Tocqueville, July 5, 1852.
I write to you, Madame, though I have nothing to tell
you. I write solely to obtain an answer, and thus to
hear from yourself how you are, and if the request be
not indiscreet, what you are thinking. As to what you
are doing, I know it without your telling me. You are
employing your excellent taste in ornamenting a spot
which nature has already made lovely, and you are suc
ceeding admirably ; for to the many valuable qualities
which are known best to j'our friends, you add one wliich
every one is able to appreciate at first sight, the art of
imparting a peculiar elegance to everything around you,
and of converting, as you did last year, a peasant's hut
into a delicious retreat. You have now a little country-
house to adorn, and I fancy that you will make it such a

204 LETTERS.
delightful abode that your neighbor* will be forced to
confess that it would be pleasanter to live there than in
his palace, among all the plants which he sends for to the
Antipodes. It is no less certain that I am longing to see
you in it, and to enjoy your improvements, your beauti
ful view, and your conversation, wliich you must forgive
me for saying, is worth more than all the wonders which
you have created or found at Les Bruyeres.
Before I left Paris I received a very interesting letter
from M. de Circourt, in Germany. He desired me to
answer him at Hamburg, towards the 20th of June. I
did so. I have heard nothing of him since ; I hope that
he is well.
What else can I say, Madame ? I am not vain enough
to suppose that you would be interested in what I could
tell you about myself; and I am perfectly sure that any
thing I might tell you about my neighbors would tire
you. Your position is different. You know well that
you will always please me if you speak of yourself, and
you live near the great centre of news. I am sure, that
in spite of the heat, there are many agreeable people left
in Paris, and that your residence in the country does not
prevent their seeing you. Pray, Madame, do me the
great favor of telling me a little of what is going on in
the world, and particularly what people say ; remember
that in consequence of the loss of interest in politics, and
of the liberty of the press, the country hus become a
place to which neither air nor light ever penetrate. It
was always a sort of cave, and now they have stopped
up the last crevice. Be charitable enough, therefore, to
come to my assistance.
Adieu, Madame, &c.
* M. de Piscatore, a great tobacconist. — Tr.

TO HENRY REEVE, ESQ. 205
TO HENRY REEVE, ESQ.
Tocqueville, August 8, 18B2.
I received your letter, my dear friend, just when I was
expecting to see yourself. Well as you write, it was not
an equivalent. We had been looking forward to the
pleasure of receiving you here, and we had pushed for
ward most of our brick and mortar works, and adjourned
others, so that you would have been less uncomfortable
than I feared at first. My library, which has been turned
into the drawing-room, neither you nor Mrs. Reeve
would have found fault with, for you both of you like
and appreciate objects of intellectual value. To increase
your regret, I will tell you that you would have fallen
here into the midst of a literary workshop. M. Ampere,
whom you must know at least by name, is preparing for
the press an account of the tour which he has just made
in the United States. lie is installed at the top of a
tower, and I am scribbling underneath him, on the first
floor. Now and then we meet in the library, and in
the presence of Madame de Tocqueville, who forms
the whole audience, read to each other what we have
written ; we criticise, we object, and we praise ; and the
time slips away pleasantly. You would not, perhaps,
have been afraid of spending a few days in this way.
You would have been amused by Ampere's animated,
brilliant, and unaffected conversation.
The elections for our conseil general have just taken
place. I refused to be elected for the canton which I
formerly represented. I have undergone, indeed, more
trouble, made more advances, and taken more steps to
prevent my election than I ever did to secure it. My
neighbor, Daru, has acted in the same way.

206 LETTERS.
Good-by. Let me have news of you. Tell Mrs.
Reeve how sorry we are, and how we hope to see her
next year. You will still find Tocqueville, but not,
perhaps, Ampere. TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT.
Tocqueville, September 18, 1853.
I cannot think, Madame, how I can have waited for
two months without thanking you for your kind letter,
which was received with equal pleasure and gratitude.
My MSS. will not plead for me. For many weeks past
I have written as little as I have read ; my time has
been squandered on such trifles that I may as well say
that it has been lost. You must know already by ex
perience, and the longer you live the better you will
know it, that the only way to enjoy liberty and leisure
in the country is not to live in your own house. At
home, domestic and local details fill the whole day ; the
evening comes and one is tried, though one has done
nothing. These are the reasons that formerly made
me adopt the maxim in which few agree with me, that
the only time when the country is really pleasant is in the
heart of winter. Then out-door work is over, and local
business at a stand-still ; _one is permitted to enjoy one's
own society. A melancholy enjoyment, you will say ;
but this is by comparison. There are some companions
whom I infinitely prefer to solitude ; but I cannot say
that they are many, and their number seems to diminish
every day.
You ask me, Madame, in so kind, and I may even
say, so friendly a manner what my literary labors are,
that I much wish that I could give you a direct an
swer. Unfortunately, before I can exactly tell you what

TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT. 207
I am about, I must know myself, and that I do not. I
am groping for a path which I have not yet found.
I think that there is much left to say on the subject of
the French Revolution, on its causes, on the tendencies
which led to it, and on its future consequences. I think
that for appreciating, measuring, and judging this great
event, 'as a whole, we are better placed now than we
were twenty years ago. We are near enough to see it
and to understand it. The echo of the ideas and feelings
of the men who precipitated the world into that terrible
enterprise, is not yet silent in our owh hearts ; and yet
we are far enough off to make it not impossible to ap
preciate their actions and judge of the value of what
they effected.
This is the work which I meditate ; but as yet I do
not know how to launch myself, or bow to steer through
the ocean of the French Revolution. I investigate, I
experimentalize ; I try to grasp the facts more closely
than has yet been attempted, and to wring out of them
the general truths which they contain. I have as yet
fixed upon no plan ; nor have I written anything that
can be called the beginning of a book. The annoyances
that I was just now complaining of, have had some
thing to do with it ; the want of books and papers is
the chief cause. I therefore intend to return in .1 fort
night to Paris, to be witliin reach of the archives and
public libraries ; I am more than ever determined upon
executing my plan of living not in Paris itself, but in
the neighborhood. My theory of the advantages of tho
country when one is not at home, and of the superiority
of the winter over the summer will then bo fully real
ized. During the next six months I intend to make a
great effort, and to see of what I am capable.

208 LETTERS.
Next month will not roll over, Madame, without my
paying you a visit, if you will allow me, at Les Bru-
yeres. I need not tell you how glad I shall be to see
and to talk with you once more. I am impatient for the
time to come ; and, in the mean while, I beg you to be
lieve in the sincerity of my respectful friendship. Re
member me to M. de Circourt.
TO BARON BUNSEN. Paris, January 2, 1853.
I venture to write to you, Sir, though I have not the
honor of being personally known to you. I have no
sort of right to ask you for advice, and yet I do so. I
hope that you will excuse this strange behavior, when I
tell you that it is the result of your well-known kindness
and talents.
Being completely excluded from public affairs, and
having made up my mind to stand aloof from them, I
have resumed occupations which afford me more satis
faction than I have ever obtained from politics. At this
moment I am studying the circumstances wliich accom
panied the birth of our revolutions ; or rather, I should
say, of our revolution, for there has been but one, which
is still going on, and is not nearly over. I try to conjure
up its first beginnings, and to form a clear idea of the
impressions and ideas first suggested to foreigners by the
yet indistinct view of that great convulsion. I want to
trace the different opinions formed of it in foreign coun
tries during the years 1787, '88, '89, '90, '91 and '92, by
the remarkable men of the time, whether writers, states
men, or princes ; what they at first expected that it was
to be ; how they thought that il would affect, or that it
might affect their own countries ; the degree of influence

TO HENRY REEVE, ESQ. 209
that they expected it to exercise over the general prog
ress of European affairs, and the uses to which they
thought that they might turn it.
Unfortunately, to mj great regret, I do not know Ger
many. Till now, I have lived almost exclusively in the
English world. I fancy that during the last sixty years,
many memoirs, letters, and diplomatic papers, must have
been published in Germany, which explain all that I
want to know. As I am not acquainted with them, I
cannot ask for them. It is certain that when the French
Revolution first broke out, it must have given rise to
publications reflecting the general impressions. My slen
der knowledge of German and my almost entire igno
rance (which, however, is happily not incurable), of Ger
many, deprive me of this necessary information. In this
extremity I thought of addressing myself to you, Sir ; I
considered that no one would be more able to enlighten
ine, or more disposed to do so. I, therefore, determined
upon writing to you ; if there are no such documents as
I suppose, my resolution will, at any rate, have given me
an opportunity, which I have long desired, of entering
into personal relations with you.
Pray accept, Sir, my excuses, together with the as
surance of my highest esteem.
TO HENRY REEVE, ESQ.
Tocqueville, March, 1853.
I have received, dear friend, your interesting letter.
I will not again enter fully into its subject. I acknowl
edge that one is never in a position to judge of what ap
pertains to the honor and interests of a foreign nation ;
that it alone is able to judge of these questions ; that
there is always some absurdity, in public as in private
vol. n. 14

210 LETTERS.
life, in giving advice to one's neighbors ; and that it is
especially out of place in us Frenchmen, to whom it may
well be said, when we meddle with the infirmities of
others, " Physician ; cure thyself." I will, therefore,
offer only a few explanations.
1st. — I never said, nor meant to say, that England
had abandoned the great calling of chief representative
of lawful liberty in Europe. I tried only to show what
would be the consequences if she did. Not only do I
not think that she will entirely abandon it, but I even
doubt her power to do so. Her laws, her habits, her
opinions, will always be stronger in this matter than her
politics ; and if ever she should forget that she is the
champion of liberty, the hatred and terror of all the con
tinental despots will force it on her remembrance.
2d. — I said that if England abandoned this great call
ing she must thereby give up taking any part in the
affairs of the continent ; I did not say, of the world.
Thus restricted, I think that my observation was just,
and the comparison that I drew between the present
crisis and the Reformation, exact. Now, as then, Europe
is divided, and still more by principles than by interests.
We will suppose that, having become indifferent and
neutral in all questions of principle, England draws back
from the continental struggles, and extends herself beyond
the seas, as you yourself say. This is what I meant by
quitting the great theatre of human affairs ; for after all
this theatre is not at Sidney, nor even AVashington, it ia
still in Old Europe. Observe that I spoke of England,
not of the English race ; for who does not know that
Providence has decreed that the future fate of the world
belongs lo two races, the Slavonic and the Anglo-Saxon?
3d. — I further did not say, that in my opinion Eng-

TO M. DE BEAUMONT. 211
land ought to assume the position of the chief repre
sentative of liberal ideas in Europe ; I Raid only, that in
my opinion, England ought not to abandon it; which
seems to me to be very different. Nations, like indi
viduals who have any self-respect," pledge themselves as
to their future conduct by their past. For many years
you have been the champions of Liberty : you embraced
her cause when she was strong ; I think that it would be
base in you to abandon her now that she is weak. You
had better have never paid any attention to her.
Having said this, permit me, my dear friend, to let the
subject drop. As I said at the beginning, one never can
know thoroughly any country but one's own ; and above
all, one has no right to express an opinion as to what is
essential to the interests or to the honor of any other
nation. Indeed, what I said of yours was only by the
way, and in the freedom of conversation between friends.
TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT. Paris, March 3, 1853.
. . . What is now going on in the East is a new
and, perhaps, one of the last phases of the Turkish
Empire. . . . This affair and many others bring intc
relief the gradual change which has come over the
English temperament, which is daily becoming more
pacific, less irritable and less proud, than at any previous
period in modern history. This I believe to be only the
result of the great revolution wliich has been at work
there — slowly indeed, but as irresistibly as everywhere
else — the predominance of the middle classes over the
aristocracy, and of the commercial and manufacturing
element over the agricultural and real property one.
Will this be a good or an evil? Your grandchildren

212 LETTERS.
will discuss this question. A society calmer and duller,
more tranquil and less heroic ; such, no doubt, will be
the spectacle presented to our successors, who probably
will not see anything new in it. For one must stand as
we do, at the point where the two roads branch off, to be
able to see both distinctly.
My health is becoming gradually reestablished ; I am
again hard at work, but as yet I have produced nothing
definite. I am lost in an ocean of research, in the middle
of which I am sometimes worn out and disheartened. It
is not only that I am out of heart about myself, but with
mankind in general ; with the limits and uncertainty of
our knowledge, with its incessant repetition iu different
words for the last three thousand years ; in fact, with the
insignificance , of our race, of our world, of our fate, of
what we call our great revolutions and our great public
affairs. . . Still, one must work ; for il is our sole resource
for forgetting the misery of surviving the empire of one's
own opinions, and of becoming more of a stranger in
one's own country than abroad.
TO BARON BUNSEN. Paris, May 23, 1853.
Sir, I ought to have answered immediately, through
our mutual friend Reeve, your letter of last month ; and
I intended to do so, but my health, which at that time was
very bad, prevented me. Since then I have been wait
ing for an opportunity which is now offered to me by Mr.
Senior. I was anxious to be able to thank you for the
book which you had the kindness to send to me. I have
not yet been able to read it, as I wished 'first to learn
enough German to be able to enjoy its perusal as it de
serves. I have also been wishing to thank you for your

TO BARON BUNSEN. 213
interesting letter. I set immense store by your opinion
of my writings. I consider it as one of my greatest re
wards for the constant efforts that I have made in the
cause of truth.
I am touched by your kind wish to see me. I have
long cherished the desire of meeting you. I do not know
when I shall be able to gratify it, for you cannot leave
England, and there is no likelihood of my travelling this
year ; both my health and my mind have need of rest,
and even of solitude. Thirteen years of public life, four
of revolutions, and more than that, the melancholy pro
duced by the present state of my country and by my
anticipations of the future, have shaken my constitution.
Rest and study alone can enable mind and body to re
cover their tone. I am, therefore, looking forward with
pleasure to leaving Paris in a few days, aud retiring to
the country. Among the studies to which I propose to
devote myself is that of the German language. I intend
in a year's time to be a sufficient proficient in it to travel
in Germany with advantage. If one might venture to
speak of one's plans for a year hence, I should say that
it is my full intention to visit next year Germany : a
country, which has always interested me, but whither I
have never chosen to go till now, being convinced that
one can never travel with pleasure or advantage unless
one knows the language of the people. I shall try to see
and to converse with you before I undertake this journey,
and if I am not able to do so, I hope that, at least, you
will permit me to write to you, and not to close here a
correspondence on which I set so high a value.

214 LETTERS.
TO W. R. GREG, ESQ. Paris, May 23, 1853.
I will not wait, Sir, for the arrival of the book * which
you have promised me, before thanking you for your
kindness in sending iu I am sure that I shall find it
both instructive and interesting. I have never read any
thing of yours, but I have often heard your writings
spoken of^ and in such terms as make me value before
hand the work that I am expecting.
I regret to have seen so little of you, and that my
health was not in a condition to admit of my receiving
you as I should have liked. What I already know of
you makes me wish most sincerely to know more. I
hope to be more fortunate on your next visit, and that
you will allow me some long conversations. You will
teach me much of which I am still ignorant, with regard
to your country, and I will talk to you of mine more
clearly and more in detail than I have as yet had the
opportunity of doing. All that I will now say is, that
of all countries this is the one as to which it is most
dangerous to form an opinion by what usually takes place
in others, or even by one's experience of mankind in gen
eral. There is something both in our good and in our
bad quahties so pecuhar, so extraordinary, and so unex
pected, that the French themselves are constantly taken
by surprise, and strangers can scarcely understand any
thing about us.
Adieu. Do not forget me on your next visit, and be
lieve that when I say that I am anxious to see you, it is
a sincere wish, not a mere compliment
* Essays on Political aud Social Science.

TO M. FRESLON. 215

TO M. FRESLON (FORMERLY MINISTER OF PUBLIC
INSTRUCTION). St. Cyr, near Tours, June 9, 1853.
I should have thanked you sooner, my dear friend, for
the pleasure which your correspondence gives me, and
for your kindness in continuing it, if I had had matter to
write about, and time to write. This last expression sur
prises you. Nothing can be more true ; I repeat (hat I
have no time. I arrange, as I did, when I was minister,
my day so as to put into it all that I have to do, and I
scarcely succeed. I have found at Tours a treasure, not
of gold, but of papers, precious for the work that I am
now about. I have no doubt, however, but that one
would find the same in all the archives belonging to the
prefectures, which formerly were the headquarters of the
ancient " Tresoriers de France." These documents give
a clear idea of the way in which the different branches
of public affairs, which together formed the administra
tion, were conducted, and even of those who directed and
were concerned in them.
It is a curious study. I alone, I think, could have had
courage enough to begin, and patience enough to go on
with it. A quantity of useless dust has to be swallowed.
The part that is capable of digestion is not such as can
appear at length in the book that I am composing ; for
the design of a book is like that of a picture, its per
fection does not depend upon the finish of one part — but
on the relations between all the parts, whence arises the
general effect. I should be wrong in making my princi
pal object the " Ancien Regime." But I am obliged to
make myself thoroughly acquainted with it in order to
reproduce, without hazarding false touches, its principal

216 LETTERS.
features ; and especially to judge and to. point out the
manner in which it affected the revolution which de
stroyed it. I do not think, therefore, that I am losing my
time, as I am sometimes tempted to fancy, when I see one
day following another, and time roll on without producing
more than a mountain of notes, which will be finally con
densed into a chapter of thirty pages.
At any rate, this study has for the moment the im
mense advantage of almost entirely absorbing me. In
order to obtain this result still more completely, I have
added to it the study of German, and that of many
books distantly connected with my subject. I thus escape
from my thoughts, which were very bad for me. But in
spite of all my endeavors, I cannot prevent, even in the
midst of my occupations, some sounds of the outer world
from penetrating to me. I can be calm, but not gay. I
see that it is useless to hope for anything more, and that
I must be contented. TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ.
St. Cyr, near Tours, July 2, 1853.
I have followed your advice, my dear Senior, and I
have read, or rather re-read, Blackstone. I studied him
twenty years ago. Each time it has made upon me the
same impression. Now, as then, I have ventured to con
sider him (if one may say so without blaspheming) an
inferior writer, without liberality of mind or depth of
judgment; in short, a commentator and a lawyer, not
what we understand by the words jurisconsulte and pub-
liciste. He has, too, in a degree which is sometimes
amusing, a mania for admiring all that was done in an
cient times, and for attributing to theiu all Ihaf is good iu
his own. I am inclined to think that if he had had to

TO N. "W. SENIOR, ESQ. 217
write, not on the institutions, but on the products of
England, ho would have discovered that beer was first
made from grapes, and that the hop is a fruit of the
vine — rather a degenerate product, it is true, of the wis
dom of our ancestors — but as such worthy of respect.
It is impossible to imagine an excess more opposite to
that into which fell at that period his contemporaries in
France, for whom it was enough that a thing was old for
it to be bad. But enough of Blackstone ; he must make
way for what I really want to say to you.
In comparing the feudal institutions in England imme
diately after the conquest with those in France* you find
between them not only an analogy, but a perfect resem
blance, much greater than Blackstone seems to think or,
at any rate, chooses to say. In reality, the system in
the two countries is identical. In France, and over the
whole continent, this system produced a caste ; in Eng
land, an aristocracy. How is it that the word gentleman,
which in our language denotes a mere superiority of
blood, with you is now used to express a certain social
position, and amount of education independent of birth ;
so that in the two countries the same word, though the
sound remains the same, has entirely changed its mean
ing ? When did this revolution take place ? How, and
through what transitions ? Have no books ever treated
of this subject in England ? Have none of your great
writers, philosophers, politicians, or historians, ever no
ticed this characteristic and pregnant fact, tried to ac
count for it, and to explain it ?
If I had the honor of a personal acquaintance with
Mr. Macaulay, I should venture to write to ask him
these questions. In the excellent history which he is
now publishing, he alludes to this fact, but he does not

218 LETTERS.
try to explain it. And yet, as I said before, there is
none more pregnant, nor containing within it so good
an explanation of the difference between the history of
England and that of the other feudal nations in Europe.
If you should meet Mr. Macaulay, I beg you to ask him,
with much respect, to solve these questions for me. But
tell me what you yourself think.
You must think me, my dear friend, very tiresome
with all these questions and dissertations ; but of what
else can I speak ? I pass here the life of a Benedictine
monk, seeing absolutely no one, and writing whenever
I am nqt walking. I expect this cloistered life to do a
great deal of good both to my mind and body. Do not
think that in my convent I forget my friends. My wife
and I constantly talk of them, and especially of you and
of our dear Mrs. Grote. I am reading your MSS.*
which interest and amuse me extremely. They arc my
relaxation. I have promised Beaumont to send them to
him as soon as I have finished them.
TO W. R. GREG, ESQ. St. Cyr, July 27, 1853.
Nearly a month ago I was wishing to write to you, but
I was prevented by the fear of my letter not reaching
you. I did not know your exact address, and even now
I am not perfectly certain whether I have it right. I
wished to give my sincere opinion on the two volumes f
that you were so kind as to send to me, and to tell you
how much pleasure I derived from their perusal. Be
sides much praise that they well deserve, I should have
* Mr. Senior's notes of his conversations with M. de Tocqueville.
t Essays on Political and Social Science, by W. R. Greg. London:
1853.

TO W. R. GREG, ESQ. 219
allowed myself to offer a few criticisms. But I defer
this to a future time. I think that you would prefer my
confining myself in this letter to answering the questions
that you put to me.
It is understood that we are not speaking of the
present electoral system . . . but only of the electo
ral system of the constitutional monarchy, and of the
republic. I must beg you, while you read the following remarks,
never to lose sight of what I once before pointed out to
you, that France must always be considered apart from
other nations; that especially in the matter of. which I
am now treating, she is never to be compared with Eng
land — a fact which you will acknowledge when you re
collect that in England you have an aristocracy and
powerful local influences, while we in France have noth
ing of the sort. You have no centralization, while we
have centralized the administration more than perhaps
has ever been done in a great country. Whence it re
sults that in England corruption and intimidation are the
instruments chiefly of the great land-owners, and of the
rich in general, while with us corruption and intimidation
can be made use of only by the government. You will
understand that, the circumstances being so different, the
electoral institutions of the two countries can hardly be
compared. The electoral system of the constitutional monarchy
had one enormous vice, which, in my judgment, was the
principal cause of the fall of that monarchy : it rested
on too small a body of electors.* The result was that
the electoral body soon became nothing but a small bour
geois oligarchy, devoted to its special interests, and sepa-
* There were about 240,000. — Tk.

220 LETTERS.
rated from the lower classes, for whom it did not care,
and who cared nothing for it. The lower classes, there
fore, ceased to have the slightest sympathy with its pro
ceedings ; and the upper classes, whom it jealously kept
out of the administration, despised it, and impatiently
endured its supremacy. Nearly the whole nation was
thus led to regard the representative system as a mere
political contrivance for giving predominance to certain
individual interests, and placing power in the hands of a
small number of families — an opinion far from correct
even then, but favoring, more than any other cause, the
advent of a new government.
As to the intimidation or corruption of these electors by
powerful individuals, it has always been extremely rare —
one might almost say, unknown. Even the government
never employed the coarser kind of corruption — the buy
ing votes by money. But it has scarcely ever ceased to
exercise over them a corrupting influence in other ways.
To the least honorable electors it offered places and pro
motion. To the most honest, it promised that the " com
mune " where they lived should receive some of the many
boons which our government is able to confer — such as
assistance in repairing the churches, schools, bridges, &c.
&c. This influence on the part of the government was coun
terbalanced by the influence of the newspapers, wliich is
very great over the middle classes ; and things might have
gone on for a long time had it not been for the capital
faults which I have already pointed out — the small num
ber of electors and the exclusive preponderance of one
class. The year 1848 threw us into the opposite extreme. It
gave us universal suffrage.

TO W. R. GREG, ESQ. 221
It must be admitted that the two general elections con
ducted under this system were the most honest and unfet
tered that have been seen in France since 1789. Neither
corruption nor intimidation of any kind affected them.
Intimidation was indeed attempted by the government,
and by different factions, but without success. The great
number of the electors, and especially their collection in
great masses in the electoral colleges, rendered the action
of the government absolutely unfelt. On the contrary,
the system restored, in most provinces, to the clergy and
to the rich proprietors, more political influence than they
had possessed for sixty years — and they nowhere abused
it. This became apparent when the genuineness of the
contested returns came to be discussed in the assembly.
It was unanimously recognized that the influence of the
clergy aud of the great land-owners had been considerable.
But there was scarcely a single complaint of the peasants
having been bullied or bribed ; the truth being, that in a
country where wealth was as much distributed as, in France,
intimidation or corruption by individuals can never be
pushed very far under any electoral system.
The influence, therefore, which was exercised over the
peasant by the rich proprietor was entirely a moral one.
The peasant, himself a proprietor, and alarmed for his
property by the doctrines of the communists, applied for
guidance to men who were more enlightened than himself,
and who had still larger proprietary interests at stake. I
cannot say that this would have always continued to be
the case. I merely state the facts which I witnessed ; and
I affirm that the conservative majority, which predomi
nated first in the constituent and then in the legislative
assembly, contained more rich and independent landed
proprietors — more of what you in England term country

222 LETTERS.
gentlemen — than any of the chambers in which I have
sat during the last thirteen years.
But I cannot too much impress upon you the extent to
which the results of universal suffrage are with us, and
probably everywhere, modified by the manner in which
the colleges, or, in other words, the electoral assemblies,
are constituted.
When the electors are taken from their villages and
collected in masses of one, two, or three thousands in the
capital of the canton, as was the case under the first law
of 1848, or even in numbers less great but still consider
able, as was enacted by the second, they are little influ
enced by the clergy, or by the rich proprietors, and
scarcely at all by the government. On the other hand,
when the election takes place in a village, by only fifty
or sixty, or even a hundred electors, the parson, and, if
there still be one, a rich land-owner, can act with effect,
and the influence of the government becomes powerful.
As to your question with respect to the light in which
electoral corruption is regarded by the people, I answer,
that corruption especially by money is disgraceful. An
elector who sold his vote would be compared to a witness
who sold his evidence. In a contest, of which I knew the
details, a candidate opposed to one of my friends was ac
cused of having attempted to bribe ; the accusation was
groundless, but it did him irreparable mischief; his friends
were afraid to vote for him lest they should be supposed
to have been bribed. In fact, on the subject of elections,
our population has still the advantages and disadvantages
of political youth. It is inexperienced, weak, sometimes
excited, but honest. It is bribed not by money, but by
false doctrines, by the promise of imaginary social prog
ress, by flattering its envy and its hatred.

TO W. R. GREG, ESQ. 223
Whatever may have been the electoral systems in
France during the last sixty years, the candidato has never
been put to expense. I have been elected five times ; it
never cost me a penny. Not that under the monarchy or
under the republic the situation of a deputy was without
its value ; it was, perhaps, more sought for than in any
country in the world. For it led not only to the great
places, but, what was a great evil, to the inferior ones.
Yet such were our feelings that an election cost nothing.
You wish for my opinion as to the election of candidates
by lists.* Among its advantages in a free country is not
that it prevents canvassing ; arrangements are always
made with more or less formality for designating the can
didates and preparing their elections. The heads of par
ties meet or correspond, and make out lists which are
afterwards profusely distributed. These arrangements
resemble on a smaller scale those that are made in tho
United States for the election of a president. The ad
vantages which we have really derived from election by
lists are these: — First, the deputy need care less about
any given portion of his constituents. He depends on
the general opinion of the department, and may without
danger neglect the interest of a canton or of a family.
Secondly, it raises the scale of eligible candidates. It is
difficult for a man not well before the public to obtain
100,000 or 150,000 votes. Great national, or at least
great departmental, notoriety is necessary to decide the
suffrages of so numerous a body. Men of merely can
tonal celebrity — to use a French expression, les illustra-
* The French expression is scrutin de liste. It means the election of
all the deputies for a department, sometimes as many as ten, in one
list, instead of the ten being elected separately, one by each arrondisse
ment. — Tn.

224 LETTERS.
tions de clocher — have less chance under this system than
under any other.
But observe that the utility of voting by lists depends
on circumstances. It is greatest when the electors
are few, and are taken from a single class ; it is then
necessary in order to prevent the deputies from being
the obscure representatives of little coteries. I have no
doubt that if it had been adopted before 1848, it would
have much diminished the inconveniences of the then
existing system.
There remains your question as to the efficacy of
ballot. It may be said that ballot does not give abso
lute secrecy ; but that it much facilitates secrecy no one
in France ever thought of denying. For the last sixty
years the party which was in the minority, and indeed
all parties, clamorously demanded it when it was not
established, and defended it energetically whenever it
was. The electors have always considered its preserva
tion as a safeguard of the highest importance. How
could there be such a general agreement if the institu
tion were worthless? In fact, no side attacks or has
attacked it in France, except the government — that is
to say, the only power which occupies with us a position
similar to that held by your aristocracy, and that is able
to take advantage, by intimidation or corruption, of
the vote being made public. I must add that the present
government has not abolished it, at least directly. . .
I will leave off now ; my hand is tired, and I should
think that your attention must be so. My bad writing
is in itself enough to make the reading of this letter a
labor. By writing it I wished at least to give you a
proof of my eagerness to merit the confidence whieh you
have placed in me, and also to thank you for the pleasure

TO M. FRESLON. 225
that I have derived from the perusal of your volumes.
I received them only on the day before I left Paris ;
this prevented my finding out Lady Stanhope, and
thanking her for taking the trouble of bringing them
for me. TO M- FRESLON. St. Cyr, August 10, 1858.
Again many thanks, dear friend, for your information
and for your news. The former was very useful, and
the latter very interesting.
I found in the public library of Tours most of the
books which you mention. . . .
My search into the state papers has already taught
me much on the subject of the administrative powers
of the judicial tribunals before 1789. Two things I
chiefly remarked ; first, that these powers gradually
became more restricted as the administrative power,
properly so called, grew more active and more enlight
ened. The rights of the tribunal of justice, not being
exclusive, and being subordinate to the administration,
as represented by the Conseil oV Etdt, it could act only
when the latter had not already acted. The more the
administration wished to extend its natural sphere, the
more contracted became by degrees that of the tribunals.
Secondly, one is struck, when one studies these docu
ments, with the continual interference of the government
in matters of justice. The lawyers who write on admin
istration tell us, that the greatest vice of the internal
administration under the Ancien Regime was, that the
judges interfered with the executive. One might as
reasonably complain, that the government interfered
with the judges. The only change is that we have
improved upon the Ancien Regime in the first respect,
vol. n. 15

226 LETTERS.
and imitated it in the last Till now I had been foolish
enough to believe that what we call la Justice Adminis
trative (justice administered by the government) was
a creation of Napoleon's. It is only a part of the
Ancien Regime which we have preserved. And the
principle that even in a case of a contract, that is of a
regular engagement formally entered into between an
individual and the state, the cause is to be tried by the
state — this axiom, which is unknown to most modern
nations, was held as sacred by an intendant * of the
Ancien Regime as it can be in our day by the personage
who most resembles him — a prefect.
In reading the correspondence of the ministers of
Louis XV. with their subordinates, you see a crowd of
little embryo professors of imperial administrative law.
So true is it, that the better one is acquainted with the
Ancien Regime the more one finds that the Revolution
has been far from doing either all the good or all the
harm that is supposed, and that it may be said rather to
have disturbed than to have altered society. This truth
springs up in all directions as soon as one ploughs the
ancient soil.
Ampere and Corcelle are with us. I need not tell
you how often we talk of you. Rivet came three weeks
ago. Adieu. TO THE COMTE DE CIRCOURT. St. Cyr, August 13, 1853.
I reproach myself, dear M. de Circourt, for not having
yet answered your long and interesting letter. I should
have done so the next day if I had followed my inclina
tion. I could not help reading the chief portions of it to
* Governor of a district, and responsible only to the crown. — Tr.

TO THE COMTE DE CIRCOURT. 227
Madame de Tocqueville and to Ampere, who is staying
with us. It was decided that I should thank you on
behalf of the company. Let me hope that you will not
allow our correspondence to end here, and that you will
not refuse to tell me now and then what is going on in
the world, of which I am now as ignorant as if I lived
in a desert island, or at the bottom of the cistern in
which M. Jaubert passed six months.
Still, I do not complain much of my solitude ; I
find it better for my mind than the frivolous, barren
excitement of Parisian society, where one hears noth
ing but far-off, and often untrue, rumors of what takes
place in the political world. I lived too long in the
centre of affairs not to tire very soon of on-dits. But I
shall never be tired of hearing judgments on the past,
and conjectures as to future events when these con
jectures and judgments are the workings of a mind in
whoso intelligence and perspicacity I place the fullest
confidence. We have, at last, established ourselves here com
fortably. We have a good house, well situated, exposed
neither to wind nor damp, in short, a proper habitation
for a sick man. I hope that I shall succeed in regain
ing my health here. My work is sufficient to employ,
yet not to fatigue my mind. I advance, therefore, very
slowly : but my first object was to grow strong again ;
and besides, why should I hurry ? Public life is cer
tainly not likely soon again to be open to me ; and
in the new existence created for me by the event of
December, 1852, I ought rather to fear than to desire to
come to the end of my book.
Your letter, which I began by praising, has one great
defect. You do not tell me enough about Madame de

228 LETTERS.
Circourt — what she has been doing since I last had the
pleasure of seeing her ; how she spends her time in the
country. All these details would have interested me.
Ampere desires me to say that he feels much gratified
by your invitation. I think that he would like nothing
better than to accept it ; but I acknowledge that I oppose
your cause with all my might. I hope that we shall
keep him till the end of September. Pray forgive me
for serving you so ill. My excuse is that I foresee a
long separation from my excellent friend. Ampere, who,
as you know, shares the travelling propensities of the
swallow, will, I think, spend the autumn, and probably
the winter, in Italy. TO M. DE CORCELLE,
St. Cyr, near Tours, September 17, 1853.
I have been often thinking and speaking of you, my
dear friend, during the last fortnight. I can explain my
silence only by the soporific effect produced by a life so
uniform that at last it never occurs to me to do any
thing that I have not been doing the day before. It is
a voluntary treadmill, in which I think only of lifting up
one foot after the other till the wheel stops.
To answer your friendly questions, I will tell you at
once that since you left us my health has been in a more
satisfactory state, and my doctors continue to assure me
that I shall be entirely cured. On this last point I ain
absolutely incredulous, and I no more expect to see my
own perfect recovery than I do that of France. Our
disorders are of too long standing ; and all that I have
learned to desire for both is a tolerable state of health.
You see that as I grow older I grow more moderate iu
my wishes.

TO M. DE CORCELLE. 229
I have beett reading your letter over again, and it
seems to me that you have mistaken the sense of what
1 said when we talked over my new book, wliich is
not surprising, for it is difficult to explain clearly the
plan of so vast an undertaking as that which I con*
template. I told you that it was not my intention to suggest a
remedy for the state into which the Ancien Regime, the
Republic, and the Empire, have thrown our country.
This is true : my fixed resolution is to stop before I
set foot on this ground, to consider it only from afar,
and not to try to write a book of temporary interest.
But it by no means follows that no clear results are to
be drawn from the historical study on which I am at
work, that it is to give only a vague notion of the
opinions and sentiments of the author, and to leave the
reader uncertain as to tho judgments which he ought
to form upon facts, and upon men ; on the events them
selves, on their causes, and as to the lessons which they
teach us. It would be strange, considering that I enter
upon this work with decided and often enthusiastic pref
erences, fixed opinions, and a clear and Certain object,
if I should leave the reader to float rudderless on the
sea of my ideas and of his own.
I think that the books which have most roused men
to reflection, and have had most influence upon their
opinions and their actions, are those in which the author
does not tell them dogmatically what they are to think,
but puts them into the way of finding the truth for them
selves. If God grants me time and strength enough to
finish my task, you may be sure that no one will have
any doubts as to my object.
You tell me that institutions form only half of my

230 LETTERS.
subject. I go farther still ; I say that they do not form
so much as half. You are well enough acquainted with
my opinions to know that I consider institutions as ex
ercising only a secondary influence over the destinies of
man. Would to God that I could believe them to be
all-powerful 1 I should have more hopes for our future ;
for we might, some day, chance to stumble upon the
precious recipe which would cure all our ills, or upon
a man acquainted with the nostrum. But, alas ! there
is no such thing ; and I am convinced that the excellence
of political societies does not depend upon their laws,
but upon what they are prepared to become by the senti
ments, principles, and opinions, the moral and intellectual
qualities given by nature and education to the men of
whom they consist. If this truth does not appear in
every part of my book ; if it does not induce the reader
to apply this lesson continually to himself; if it does not,
without pretending to teach, show to him in every page
what are the sentiments, opinions, and morals which lead
to prosperity and freedom, and what are the vices and
errors infallibly opposed to these blessings, I shall not
have attained the chief, and I may say the only, object
that I have in view.
To turn to another subject : you are, perhaps, right in
saying that I attach too much importance in religious
matters to an accident — the conduct of the clergy. You
must make excuses for the grief, I might almost say the
despair, with which the sight of what is now going on
affects a man as convinced as I am that the real great
ness of mankind must arise from the combined action
of liberty and religion ; the One to animate, the other
to restrain ; and whose only political passion, for the
last thirty years, has been to bring about this combina-

TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT. 231
tion. I am far from saying that respect for our religion
is not increasing among our countrymen ; but, unhap
pily, this is not the same thing as an increase of re
ligious belief.
My father is to spend a few days with us in the be
ginning of next month. After this, we shall renounce
the society of the living for that of the illustrious dead :
books will be our only company. I do not despair, how
ever, of seeing, before next spring, a good friend, like
yourself, tear himself from Paris for a short time to pay
us a charitable visit. Do I deceive myself?
The world seems to me to be growing narrower and
narrower, so as to contain only five or six people, whose
society pleases, soothes, or restores me. You are at the
head of the list. You may judge, therefore, if I am satis
fied with conversing with you for so many months only
through the post.
TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT.
St. Cyr, September 2, 1853.
I shall not be able, Madame, to answer to-day M. de
Circourt's long and interesting letter, but I will not delay
thanking you for your kind remembrance of me. It
touched me extremely ; for there is nothing which I
value so highly as the little corner which you permit me
to occupy in your heart. The more opportunities I en
joy of seeing you, the more I prize it. I wish only that
a still greater intimacy might, in time, give me a chance
of enlarging it. Unfortunately, I do not see my way to
this at present, for Paris is naturally your headquarters,
and I own that it is my intention to make it less and less
of mine. I shall certainly return thither every year to
rub off the rust of the country, but only for a short time,

232 LETTERS.
just long enough to restore the edge of my mind. A
few months are enough. This year, indeed, I do not in
tend to return before the spring. I have certainly made
a great sacrifice in establishing myself as I have done
this year in the country, away from my own home, in
order, if possible, to recover my health by leading a quiet
life in an equable and temperate climate. I do not want
to have made it for nothing, and therefore I must allow a
long period of perfect stillness to succeed the anxious and
sometimes painful years that I have given to politics.
This peace I find here, uninterrupted even by the petty
details of business ; for I possess nothing, know nobody,
and want nothing in Touraine. We sometimes feel our
solitude ; but in these times it suits me better than a
crowd. You must have experienced in your travels, Madame,
a peculiar sensation on arriving in the morning in a for
eign town, where all is new and strange to you — people,
language, and customs. You are in a crowd, and yet you
are more overpowered by the sense of solitude than if
you were in the middle of a forest. This is what often
happens to me in the midst of my countrymen and con
temporaries. I find that there are scarcely any points of
contact left between their modes of feeling and thinking
and mine. I have preserved many strong feelings which
they have lost ; I still love passionately the things to
which they have become indifferent ; and I have an anti
pathy which grows stronger and stronger for the things
which seem to please them more and more. It is not
only the times that are changed, the whole race seems to
me to have altered. I feel like one belonging to the old
in the midst of the new. From this category I, of course,
except certain persons, whose society would be an amends

TO THE COMTESSE DE CntCOURT. 233
for contact with all the others, if only one could enjoy it.
But what society is it that one can enjoy in Paris ? In
whose drawing-room does not one meet some of the peo
ple whom one least cares to see ? In whose drawing-
room especially is it that the person of whom one sees
least is precisely the only one one comes to see ?
In this last picture you cannot fail to recognize a draw
ing-room of your acquaintance. Did I, during the whole
of last winter, have as much fts five minutes' conversa
tion with you ? Do not, however, from all that I have
said, fancy that I am as cross as a bear. I merely say
what I should have said to you an hundred times before
if I had had more opportunities of seeing you ; I mean
of seeing you, not of seeing your friends.
Pray keep the secret of my misanthropy, and forgive
me for enjoying the life that I lead here — I only wish
that it were more productive. Most people would think
that I made great use of my retirement. Nothing Would
be less true. I read a great deal, I live a great deal in
the open air, I try to meditate on certain subjects. But
as yet, I have not written three lines. Still, I never
suffered less from ennui. Shall I confess to you, Madame,
that I have gone back to school, and that I am learning
a language just as if I were twelve years old ? This
language is German, which you are so fortunate as to be
able to speak, and no doubt speak perfectly, as you do
every European language. I have thrown myself val
iantly into this abominable literature, where all is strange
for a Frenchman — the root, the construction, and the
mode of expression ; and the absurd part of it is, that
this ungrateful study interests me. I indeed plunge into
it with the idea that it is not only useful, but indispensable
for my ulterior objects.

234 LETTEES.
Ampere left us two days ago. I really cannot tell yon
how sorry I was to see him go. No one that does not
know Ampere intimately, and that lias not lived with him
for some time in the country, can have any idea of the
pleasant, lively, and natural turn of his mind, and of the
more solid qualities in his character.
Of course, you see Madame Swetchine. Do not forget
to remember me to her before you leave Paris. Her
extreme kindness to me last winter created a deep im- •
pression on me, and has made me regard her with an
affection equal to the admiration which I have always
had for her talents. They are as remarkable as her
goodness, and this is not saying httle.
TO M. FRESLON. St. Cyr, September 23, 1853.
I regret, my dear friend, that you did not receive my
last letter. . . .
My work, in which you interest yourself, goes on, but
very slowly. . . . When one examines, as I am doing at
Tours, the archives of an ancient provincial government,
one finds a thousand reasons for hating the Ancien Regime,
but few for loving the Revolution ; for one sees that the
Ancien Regime was rapidly sinking under the weight of
years and a gradual change of ideas and of manners, so
that with a little patience and good conduct it might have
been reformed without destroying indiscriminately all
that was good in it with all that was bad. It is curious
to see how different was the government of 1780 from
that of 1750. The laws are the same, the rules seem to
be the same, the same principles are professed, on the
surface everything is the same; but at the bottom, the
methods, the habits, and the spirit — all are changed.

TO M. RIVET. 235
One does not recognize the government or the governed.
The revolution broke out not when evils were at their
worst, but when reform was beginning. Half-way down
the staircase we threw ourselves out of the window, in
order to get sooner to the bottom. Such, in fact, is the
common course of events. It is not when a system is at
its worst that it is broken up, but when it begins to im
prove ; when it allows men to breathe, to reflect, to com
municate with one another, and to measure the extent of
their rights and of their grievances by comparing their
present with their past state. The weight, though lessen
ed, has become intolerable.
About the fifteenth of October, I propose to be in my
winter quarters. Then I hope to be seriously at work.
I shall put aside my books, I shall cease to rummage old
papers, I shall begin at length to write and to work. Up
to the present time I have only made preparations. In
this long novitiate I lose patience and nerve. I shall
throw upon paper, well or ill, the first chapter ; and the
result will show me whether what I have in my head is
a great work, or merely the conception of one. I must
succeed in this first attempt, that I may have courage to
go on. There is nothing to be gained by looking at what
is passing, it disturbs even my solitary labors.
You tell me to keep up my courage ; it is the advice
of a brave man, but how can I follow it ?
TO M. RIVET. St. Cyr, October 23, 1853.
Many thanks, my dear friend, for your kind and ex
cellent letter. Always write to me in that way, and be
lieve that nothing which concerns you — affairs, feelings,
interests, relations or friends — is indifferent to me. Such

236 LETTERS.
is always the case in true friendship. That whieh I have
for you is indeed true, and it is based on the only real
foundation, esteem. Of all the men whom I have ever
met, you certainly are the one who possesses, in the high
est degree, honor and delicacy of feeling, joined with a
talent for overcoming or avoiding all the little difficulties
created by the opposing passions and interests of men ;
and this is the real art of living. These qualities, which
ought always to go together, coexist so seldom, that one
wonders when one finds them in the same person.
I have nearly finished the preparatory studies of which
I spoke to you in one of your visits, and I think that I
am now capable of giving a course of lectures on admin
istrative law under the Ancien Regime. The thing to
find out now is, what use I can make of these materials,
wliich are useless rubbish if I cannot build with them
something new. I Bhall begin actually to write in about
ten days. It is then that I shall ask for your prayers,
for then will be decided the formidable question, whether
I can turn my future life to any account.
I dare not rely on your promise of coming to visit us
in this retreat. All that I can say is, that you will bo
joyfully welcomed. Adieu.
TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT.
St. Cyr, November 3, 1853.
... I authorized you beforehand to keep " Haxt-
hausen " long enough to read him carefully. The book
deserves attention from everybody, and especially from
you ; for though it will weary you to death, it is full of
instruction, and especially as to the Sclavonio races. In
the manners which he describes, there are some curious
characteristics of that race which you ought to know.

TO M. FRESLON. 237
 has just sent me a thick book, full of research
and talent, in which he endeavors to prove that all that
takes place in the world may be explained by the differ
ences of race. I do not believe a word of it, and yet I
think that there is in every nation, whether in conse
quence of race or of an education which has lasted for
centuries, some peculiarity, tenacious if not permanent,
which combines with all the events that befall it, and is
seen both in good and in bad fortune, in every period of
its history. This is especially true of the half-civilized
nations which have long lived apart. To speak of them
properly, it is necessary to thoroughly discern the fea
tures wliich distinguish them from the other members of
the human family.
There is also in " Haxthausen " a picture which would
alone be enough to make up for the nuisance of reading
his book — that of a people still in the leading-strings of
serfdom and of property in common, and yet enjoying,
to a certain extent, the institutions, and even in some
respects sharing the spirit, of the democratic and highly
civilized times in which we live. You see them ascripti
fflebce, as ours were in the sixteenth century, and yet they
suffer from the perpetual restlessness of the Americans.
The real reason why this author is so tiresome, is not
so much his prolix, diffuse, and fatiguing style, as his
Bubject. Among these Russian lower classes every
thing is absolutely uniform — opinions, laws, customs,
and even the smallest external details. It is an Amer
ica without liberty or intelligence, a frightful species of
democracy. TO M. FRESLON. St. Cyr, November 3, 1853.
I was, indeed, rather uneasy about you, my dear friend,
when I received your last letter.

238 LETTERS.
Next week, I at length shall give up poring over
books and old papers, and begin to write. I assure
you that I anticipate this moment with anxiety and
even dread. Shall I find what I seek? Can the sub
ject which I have chosen yield the book that I dream
of? and am I capable of realizing this dream? What
should I do if I found that I had mistaken vague ideas
for definite thoughts ; true, but commonplace notions, for
new and original discoveries ? If I failed in this at
tempt, it would upset all my plans for the future; I
should not know what to be at, for I have never been
able to live for living's sake. I have always felt com
pelled to do something, or at least to fancy that I am
doing something.
It is very kind of you to tell me that the public taste
for books is returning ; that they are again beginning to
exercise some influence. I own that I like to hear you
say this, though I do not believe it. My impression is,
that as yet authors have no public in France. Our pres
ent state in this respect is unlike anything one finds in
the history of the last 200 years ; and of all the changes
that time has effected in our habits and character, this
is one of the most extraordinary. In the most literary
nation in Europe, in that which has convulsed itself and
convulsed the world by means of abstract ideas taken
from books, a generation has risen up, taking absolutely
no interest in anything which is written, attaching no
importance to anything but events, and only to a few
facts — those wliich are evidently, directly, and imme
diately connected with physical well-being. Of all the
aristocracies, that which has been most utterly de
stroyed by the Revolution is the aristocracy of litera
ture.

TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT. 239

TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT.
St. Cyr, November 20, 1853.
You have then returned to " Les Bruyeres," Madame,
although it is winter. I do not pity you much. There
are many reasons why you need not fear solitude ; and,
besides, can there be any solitude with Paris only seven
miles off and so many friends?
I say nothing about myself, Madame, simply because
there is nothing to say. My life passes in a uniformity,
which, though pleasant, furnishes no matter for writing.
We generally finish the evening by reading aloud ;
but there are so few books that are agreeable to
read! We have been yawning over some memoirs
which you must know — those of the Baroness of
Oberkirk, who, they say, delighted the Faubourg St.
Germain and the Faubourg St. Honore. They are
worth less than nothing; they are full of all the little
nesses of the Ancien Regime, without one of its great
features; of its frivolity, without its wit; and one feels
in every page the senile imbecility which is the fate of
worn-out aristocracies reduced to mere drawing-room
coteries, from having had the guidance of men and of
affairs. And this is the only book which, according to
the booksellers, has created any sensation during the last
six months.
Those who think that, by turning aside men's attention
from important subjects, you can enable them to act
more vigorously in the small field which is left to them,
apply to the human mind the laws of matter. Steam-
power or water-power moves small wheels all the better
when the large wheels are out of gear ; but our minds do
not obey the laws of mechanics.

210 LETTERS.
Adieu ! Madame. I have written a stupid letter, but
what else can you expect from a hermit ?
TO MRS. GROTE. St. Cyr, November 22, 1853.
I am determined to write to you, my dear Mrs. Grote,
and yet God knows that in my solitude I have absolutely
nothing to say to my friends, except that I have a great
affection for them ; a fact wliich, perhaps, would be very
interesting to some of them, but which cannot have the
merit of novelty for you. You cannot need to be told
how great is the friendship with wliich we regard you.
I have made up my mind, however, to write to you,
though I have nothing to tell, because it annoys me to be
so long without hearing of you from yourself. My news
of you has all been indirect. Be so charitable then as
to give us some. Do not treat us quite as if we were
dead and buried, although there would be sufficient ex
cuse for doing so. I myself am often tempted to exclaim
like the drunkard in La Fontaine's fable, who, waking
up suddenly in a dark silent cavern, cries out, "I wonder
whether my wife is a widow."
Still you must not pity us too much ; for though we
have no noise here, we have plenty of light. We live
in full sunshine, in a little cottage situated on the banks
of the Loire, with the towers of Tours in the distance.
We have avoided knowing any of our neighbors, as we
did not wish to make acquaintances among the natives,
recollecting that provincial society is an exchange of soli
tude for ennui. Many of our friends have taken the
trouble of coming to see us, and this has been enough to
keep up our taste for our fellow-creatures. The life I
lead seems to have improved my health ; and that of my

TO MRS. GROTE. 241
wife, which had been so shaken, is, I hope; reestablished.
Our intention, therefore, is to brave another winter here,
and to return to Paris only for a short time next spring,
before the tour which, as you are aware, we are contem
plating in Germany ; a tour for which I shall not start
without communicating with you again, and asking for
your valuable advice and introductions.
You will fancy, that these four months of retirement
must have been of great service to my book ; they have
been of very little. I have read and meditated, but I
have not written, and I ask myself how so many hours
can have slipped away. It has been with me, as they
say is the case with prisoners, who see so much leisure
before them, that they put off what they have to do till
next da3r, and reach the term of their imprisonment, or
of their life, without so much as having begun the work
which they would easily have finished in the midst of
the bustle of the world. However, I hope that such will
not be my fate, and I already feel, at times, an appetite
for writing which is a good symptom.
I hope that I shall not leave this place till I have
made a fair start in my work. But how difficult it is to
begin ! The society which preceded the French Revo
lution is almost as difficult to reproduce and to under
stand as the time before the Flood. The convulsion of
our Revolution has left nothing but fragments, now cov
ered over by a fresh soil, which must be dug up one by,
one to recompose from one's imagination a world which
has forever perished. When I consider all the things
that I have learnt by these preliminary . studies, and all
the thoughts suggested by them, it seems to me that the
chief deficiency of those who have attempted to write
upon the French Revolution, and even on the present
VOL. II. 16

242 LETTERS.
time, has been the want of clear and true views of the
preceding period. I think that I shall have this advan
tage over them, and I hope to turn it to account.
Pray remember us to Mr. Grote. I brought his last
volume with me, and we read it aloud in the evenings
with great enjoyment. Do not forget to mention me to
Chevalier Bunsen, when you see him ; tell him that I am
beginning his " Hippolytus," which seems to be interest
ing, though the language sometimes puzzles rne. Some
parts are very hard, especially for a school-boy like myself.
In conclusion, Madame, and this is the most important
and urgent request of all, think of us at least now and
then — very often if you can. Keep a little of your
friendship for us, and believe that there is nothing on
which we set so much store as to retain our small share
of your affection and memory.
TO THE COMTE DE CIRCOURT.
St. Cyr, December 7, 1853.
I was extremely sorry, dear M. de Circourt, to hear of
the sad event which forced you to set off for Franche-
Comte almost immediately after your return from your
long journey in the South of France.
I brought with me from Paris, and I have nearly fin
ished — I say nearly, for such a book is a serious undertak
ing — one that I think you recommended to me, Ilaxthau-
sen, on the agricultural classes in Russia. Nothing can
be more wearisome nor more instructive. The author,
without having much talent, is au honest witness, who has
had the good sense to consider the only thing in Russia
wliich is at all interesting or' has any dignity, and the
only one that nobody goes to see — the Russian lower
classes. I found in his book a mass of facts about which

TO M. DE CORCELLE. 243
I knew nothing, and which seem to me to throw much
light on a little known part of Europe — if, indeed, it can
be called Europe. I do not wish to abuse Russia to you,
for you have an excellent reason for thinking well of that
country ; * therefore I shall confine myself to saying, that
I never felt less inclined to take up my abode in the Em
pire of the Czars than after reading Haxthausen. Ennui
would make it intolerable — ennui breathes in every de
scription of it. Monotony, even in liberty, is tiresome ;
what must it be in slavery ? What must be those villages
exactly alike, with inhabitants exactly alike, employed in
exactly the same way, with minds all equally asleep ? I
own to you, in confidence, that I should prefer barbarism
in all its disorder.
Just as I had finished writing to Madame de Circourt
the other day, I received from her the kindest and most
friendly letter conceivable. I should have written to
her again on the spot to thank her for it, if I had not
feared to inflict too much of myself upon her by sending
another despatch so soon.
TO M. DE CORCELLE. St. Cyr, December 31 1853.
I wish to spend one of the last hours in this year in
writing to you, my dear friend. I rejoice in knowing you
to be so agreeably occupied and surrounded. May God
grant to you many such days.
Our health continues good, in spite of the severity of
the weather. When I got up on the clay before yester
day, my thermometer was sixteen degrees and a half below
zero. I never saw either in Sicily or in Africa more brill
iant nights — it was a sky for an astronomer, a firmament
* Madame de Circourt is Russian. — Tr.

244 LETTERS.
to please a Chaldee, and abominably cold. I wonder if it
is as bad in your part of the country. Amid all these
glories of the sky, my meditations were disturbed by the
thoughts of the numbers of the poor — shivering and starv
ing upon the earth. This cold produces a great increase
of misery, which was already great enough.
As I could not carry my whole library to this out-of-the-
way retreat, I have brought at least one volume of the
works of all our great writers. Their society is noble and
elevating. I read the other day Bourdaloue's sermon on
" False Conscience." I was delighted. More, perhaps,
might be said on the mysterious and awful phenomenon
wliich it is the object of this sermon to describe ; but all
that the preacher says of it is true and profound. What
admirable language ! what consummate art ! It is im
possible to study him sufficiently. The skill with which
he varies his expressions, so as never to let the attention
of the audience flag, is really marvellous. Where could
Bourdaloue, who had lived so long in the provinces, have
acquired all these delicate artistic touches ; and besides
other more essential merits, the gift of choosing the right
word (there never is more than one), and thus, if I may
use the expression, of pouring out the whole contents of
his thought ? He is as vivid as he is perspicuous.
I have also read Bossuef s sermons. Till now I knew
httle of this portion of his writings, if, indeed, one can
call them writings. They are improvisations, in which
his genius, less hemmed in, seems often rough, and almost
wild, but more vigorous, and perhaps more extraordinary,
than in any of his other works.
I am quite of your opinion as to the impertinence of
the " Progressive Catholicism.'' It is detestable, let alone
its doctrines. A religion must be absolutely true or false.

TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT. 245
How can it make progress ? As you truly say, there may
be progress in the application, not in the dogma. Besides,
the word "progressif" must have been suggested to a
French writer by the Devil himself, it is such bad French.
What a face the illustrious dead, in whose society I live, '
would have made at it !
Here I am, dear friend, at the end of my paper ; but I
cannot leave off without even warmer expressions of my
regard than usual, in honor of the New Year. Our good
wishes to all around you, and a kiss to little Francois.
TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT.
St. Cyr, January 11, 1854.
I am anxious to write to you, Madame, before you leave
the country, as I am convinced that no woman, however
perfect she may be, when once she has returned to Paris,
has leisure, or perhaps inclination, to remember absent
friends. I therefore take my precautions, and try to make
you think of me before it is too late.
A thousand thanks, Madame, for your last letter, and
for the charming one which preceded it. They were
gleams of light in my darkness. Your description of the
delicious retreat which you have created does not astonish
me. Three years ago I admired the skill with which you
converted a peasant's hut into a beautiful cottage, such as,
unfortunately, one never does see in Switzerland. What
may you not have been able to do with your present
abode ? I am impatient to see you in it ; for where else
are you to be found ? In Paris one only catches a glimpse
of you. Though I know no hostess who understands bet
ter the art of distributing her attentions amongst her
guests, this is not enough to satisfy those who know how
to appreciate you, among whom, as you know, I place

246 LETTERS.
myself. While I am deprived of that pleasure I live in
a solitude as complete as that of a prison, only that 1 am
at liberty to walk about the country. I am alarmed,
Madame, at finding it suit me so well. I fear that my
character must be based on unsociability.
As I could not bring my library to keep me com
pany, I have had sent to me a volume of each of my
favorite great authors. They amount to only twenty-
five : a small shelf holds them all. Hardly one has
been written within the last hundred years. 1 open
one at hazard ; it is almost as if I conversed with the
writers. I am struck by seeing how, in spite of the
variety of their talent, their merits are all owing to the
same causes.
I study German for not less than three hours every
day, and I begin to like it. But I cannot accustom
myself to the gutturals. It seems to me always as if
the speaker were scolding. Have soft things ever been
said in German, Madame ? One is told that they are
said in every language, even in Iroquois.
I hope that if you write to ine from Paris, you will
tell me something of what is going on there ; what
people say, what they write, if indeed they do write.
Is any subject besides tho exchange and the war ever
mentioned ? Such a subject would interest me. I re
ceived a kind note from Madame de Rauzun the other
day. I was much touched by it, as she cannot write,
and I know by experience how wearisome it is to dictate.
Be so good as to thank her from me before I have the
opportunity of thanking her myself.
1 ought to earn news by giving you some myself.
But what can a hermit offer from his cell, except his
thoughts ? and they are not worth your acceptance. I

ST. CYR, FEBRUARY 24, 1851. 217
will therefore conclude, Madame, begging you to forgive
the stupidity of this letter, and to accept the assurance
of my most respectful attachment.
EXTRACT FROM MR. SENIOR'S JOURNAL.
St. Cyr, Tuesday, February 24, 1854.
I reached St. Cyr this morning. We talked of the
state of parties.
" I am very sorry," said Tocqueville, " that you have
not penetrated more info the salons of the legitimists ;
you have never got farther than a fusionist.
" The legitimists are not the Russians that Z. describes
them ; still less do they desire to see Henri V. restored
by foreign intervention. They and their cause have
suffered too bitterly for having committed that crime,
or that fault, for them to be capable of repeating it.
They are anti-national so far as not to rejoice in any
victories obtained by France under this man's guidance ;
but I cannot believe that they would rejoice in her
defeat. " They have ceased to be anxious about anything, but
to be let alone. But they are a large, and rich, and com
paratively well-educated body, and it will always be dif
ficult to govern without their concurrence.
" I quite agree," he continued, " with Z. as to the
necessity of this war.
" Your interests may be more immediate and greater,
but ours are very great. When I say ours, I mean those
of France, as a country that is resolved to enjoy con
stitutional government.
" I am not sure that if Russia were to become mistress
of the continent, she would not allow France to continue
a quasi-independent despotism under her protectorate.

248 EXTRACT.
But she will never willingly allow us to be powerful
and free.
" I sympathize, too, with Z.'s fears as to the result.
I do not believe that Napoleon himself, with all his
energy, and all his diligence, and all his intelligence,
would have thought it possible to conduct a great war
to which his minister of war was opposed. A man who
has no heart in his business will neglect it, or do it
imperfectly. His first step would have been to dismiss
St. Arnaud.
" The real prime minister is, without doubt, Louis
Napoleon himself. But he is not a man of business.
He does not understand details. He may order cer
tain things to be done ; but he will not be able to as
certain whether the proper means have been taken.
He does not know, indeed, what these means are. He
does not trust those who do. A war which would have
tasked all the power of Napoleon, and of Napoleon's
ministers and generals, is to be carried on, without any
master mind to direct it, or any good instruments to
execute it. I fear some great disaster.
" Such a disaster might throw," he continued, " this
man from the eminence on which he is balanced, not
rooted ; it might produce a popular outbreak, of which
the anarchical party might take advantage. Or, what
is, perhaps, more to be feared, it might frighten Louis
Napoleon into a change of policy. He is quite capable
of turning short round — giving up everything — key
of the grotto, protectorate of the orthodox, even the
Dardanelles and the Bosporus, to Nicholas, and asking
to be repaid by the Rhine.
" I cannot escape from the cauchemar * that, a couple
* Nightmare.

ST. CYR, FEBRUARY 24, 1854. 249
of years hence, France and England may be at war.
Nicholas's expectations have been deceived ; but his plan
was not unskilfully laid. He had a fair right to con
jecture that you would think the dangers of this alliance
such as to be even greater than those of allowing him
to obtain his protectorate.
" In deciding otherwise, you have taken the brave
and the magnanimous course. I hope that it may prove
the successful one.
" I am sorry," continued Tocqueville, " to see the
language of your newspapers as to the fusion. I did
not take part in it. But as a mere measure of pre
caution, it is a wise one. It decides what shall be the
conduct of the royalist party, in the event, not an im
probable one, of France being suddenly left without a
ruler. " Your unmeasured praise of Louis Napoleon," he
continued, " and your unmeasured abuse of the Bour
bons, are to a certain degree the interference in our
politics which you professedly disclaim. I admit the
anti-English prejudices of the Bourbons, and I admit
that they are not likely to be abated by your alliance
with a Bonaparte ; but the opinions of a constitutional
sovereign do not, like those of a despot, decide the con
duct of his country. The country is anxious for peace,
and, above all, for peace with you — for more than
peace, for mutual good-feeling. The Bourbons cannot
return, except with a constitution. It has become the
tradition of the family, it is their title to the throne.
There is not a vieille marquise in the Faubourg St.
Germain who believes in divine right.
" The higher classes in France are Bourbonists, be
cause they are constitutionalists, because they believe

250 EXTRACT.
that constitutional monarchy is the government best
suited to France, and that the Bourbons offer us the
fairest chance of it.
" Among the middle classes there is, without doubt,
much inclination for the social equality of a republic.
But they are alarmed at its instability. They have
never known one live for more than a year or two, or
die except in convulsions.
" As for the lower classes, the country people think
little about politics. The sensible portion of the artisans
care about nothing but cheap bread and regular work.
The others are socialists, and next to the government of
a rouge assembly, wish for that of a rouge despot"
" In London," I said, '¦ a few weeks ago, I came across
a French socialist, not, indeed, of the lower orders, for
he was a Professor of Mathematics, but participating in
their feelings.
" ' I prefer,' he said to me, ' a Bonaparte to a Bourbon.
A Bonaparte must rely on the people. One can always
get something out of him.' ' What have you got,' I
asked, ' from this man ? ' 'A great deal,' he auswered.
' We got the Orleans confiscation ; that was a great step.
It was an attack on the rights of property. Then he
represents the power and majesty of the people. He is
hke the people, above all law : Les Bourbons nous chi-
canaient.' " *
" That was the time faith of a rouge," said Tocque
ville. " If this man," he added, " had any self-control ; if he
would allow us a very moderate degree of hberty, he
might enjoy a reign, probably found a dynasty. He had
everything in his favor, the prestige of his name, the ac-
* " Used the law to oppress us."

TO BARON EDOUARD DE TOCQUEVILLE. 251
quiescence of Europe, the dread of the socialists, and the
contempt felt of the republicans.
" We were tired of the Branche cadette. We remem
bered the ' Branche ainee only to dislike it, and the as
sembly only to despise it. We never shall be loyal sub
jects ; but we might have been discontented ones, with
as much moderation as is in our nature.
" I am alarmed," he continued, " by your Reform Bill.
Your new six-pound franchise must, I suppose, double
the constituencies. It is a further step to universal suf
frage, the least remediable of institutions.
" While you preserve your aristocracy, you will pre
serve your freedom. If that goes, you are in danger
of falling into the worst of tyrauniea — that of a despot
appointed and controlled, if controlled at all, by a mob."
TO BARON EDOUARD DE TOCQUEVILLE. St. Cyr, March 7, 1854.
I direct to you, my dear friend, at Baugy, where my
father tells me that you are to spend a few days. I hope
that my letter will find you there, and will be a welcome
interruption to your solitude.
I have nothing but good news to give you of our
health. The weather, for the last eight or ten days
(which I call horribly fine, being a combination of hot
sun and cold wind), has affected my nerves a little ; but
has not made me actually ill, and it was a serious trial.
The banks of the Loire resembled for a few days the
shores of the ocean, and the bise * was quite as keen.
The work that you are so kind as to ask after goes on
but slowly, and I cannot, even in tho distance, see the
end of it. It is coming, however, a little more into shape
* North-east wind.

252 LETTER.
and form ; and all the first part, which will make about
one volume, will, I hope, be finished when I quit this
place in May. As you know, it is a book upon the
French Revolution, not a history, nor a series of philo
sophical observations, but a mixture of both. I follow
the Revolution from period to period, from the com
mencement till the fall of the Empire ; trying to seize
the distinctive feature of each successive period, to find
out its cause and its effect, and thus to lead the reader
through all its different phases, dwelling more on the
general tendency of events than on particular incidents.
The subject is grand ; but the merit of the book must de
pend on the ability of the writer — a thought which
would be enough to turn me away from such an under
taking, if I had anything better to do.
I have devoted the whole of this year to doing what
has never yet been done, to studying the Ancien Regime,
and to finding out — what those who lived in the Ancien
Regime did not know themselves — how affairs were con
ducted in those days, what were the political customs,
regulations, &c.
I believe that I have extracted in this way many new
facts and inferences, which explain why this great revo
lution broke out in France ; whence it derived its pecul
iar character; what were the causes of many subsequent
events ; and the sources of a host of usages, opinions,
and inclinations, which we imagine to be new, but which
sprung from the Ancien Regime. It is this first portion
which, I repeat, is to be finished before I leave this place ;
and if it be so, I shall not have wasted my time. For I
was obliged to go through ah immense amount of pre
paratory labor, in wliich I had to grope my way. My
intention is not to make more than two volumes. I am

EXTRACT FROM MR. SENIOR'S JOURNAL. 253
afraid that I have begun by eating my wliite bread.
For the earlier part of the Revolution I shall have no
difficulty in obtaining documents ; but when I get to the
Empire, I fear that I shall not meet with the same facili
ties. I console myself by thinking that it is a question for
the future, and by saying, like the Greek, " Perhaps, be
tween this and then, the king, or the ass, or I shall die." . .
The best and the worst part of my work is, that it
does not distract my mind from the present. The best,
because it makes me more anxious to get on with it ; the
worst, because for one who thinks as I do, it is desirable
to turn away entirely his thoughts from France as she
now is. . . .
I say nothing about the war; for what do I know
about it ? I blame as much as you do those who base
their opposition on our foreign policy. One must al
ways belong more to one's country than to one's party ;
and, however I may disapprove of the existing govern
ment, I shall always support it against a foreign enemy.
. . . But enough, and too much, of politics.
EXTRACT FROM MR. SENIOR'S JOURNAL.
St. Cyr, Saturday, April 8, 1854.
We ended our walk with Plessis les Tours, Louis XL's
castle, which stands on a flat, somewhat marshy tongue
of land, stretching between the Loire and the Cher. All
that remains is a small portion of one of the inner courts,
probably a guard-room, and a cellar, pointed out to us as
the prison in which Louis XL kept Cardinal de la Balue
for several years. The cellar itself is not bad for a prison
of those days; but he is said to have passed his first year
or two in a grated vault under the staircase, in which he
could neither stand up nor lie at full length.

254 EXTRACT.
" It is remarkable," said Tocqueville, " that the glori
ous reigns in^ French history, such as those of Louis XL,
Louis XIV., and Napoleon, ended in the utmost misery
and exhaustion ; while the periods to which we are ac
customed to look as those of disturbance and insecurity
were those of comparative prosperity and progress. It
seems as if tyranny were worse than civil war."
" And yet," I said, " the amount of revenue which the
despots managed to squeeze out of France was never
large. The taxation under Napoleon was much less than
that under Louis Philippe."
" Yes," said Tocqueville ; " but it was the want of
power to tax avowedly that led them into indirect modes
of raising money, which were far more mischievous ; just
as our servants put us to much more expense by their
jobs than they would do if they simply robbed us to
twice the amount of their indirect gains.
" Louis XIV. destroyed all the municipal franchises
of France, and paved the way for this centralized tyr
anny, not from any dislike of municipal elections, but
merely in order to be able himself to sell the places
which the citizens had been accustomed to give."
The conversation turned on our new system of throw
ing open the service of India and of the public offices to
public competition.
" We have followed," said Tocqueville, " that system,
to a great extent, for many years. Our object was two
fold. One was to depress the aristocracy of wealth, birth,
and connections. In that we have succeeded. The ecole
Polytechnique and the other schools, in wliich the vacan
cies are given to those who pass the best examinations,
are filled by youths belonging to the middle and lower
classes, who, undistracted by society or amuscnieut, or by

TO THE COMTE DE CIRCOURT. 255
any literary or scientific pursuits except those immedi
ately bearing on their examinations, beat their better-
born competitors, who will not degrade themselves into
the mere slaves of success in the concours.
" Our other object was to obtain the best public ser
vants. In that we have failed. We have brought knowl
edge and ability to an average, diminished the number
of incompetent employes, and reduced almost to nothing
the number of distinguished ones. Continued application
to a small number of subjects, and those always the same,
not selected by the student, but imposed on him by the
inflexible rule of the establishment, without reference to
his taste or to his powers, is as bad for the mind as the
constant exercise of one set of muscles would be for the
body. " We have a name for those who have been thus edu
cated. They are called ' Polytcchnisds.' If you follow
our example, you will increase your second-rates, and
extinguish your first-rates ; and what is, perhaps, a more
important result, whether you consider it a good or an
evil, you will make a large stride in the direction in
which you have lately made so many, the removing the
government and the administration of England from the
hands of the higher classes into those of the middle and
lower ones." TO THE COMTE DE CIRCOURT. Paris, June 1, 1854.
The first thing that I did, my dear M. de Circourt,
was to go to your house. As I am only passing through
Paris, I must write what I had rather say to you. You
will guess that it relates to the little lour in Germany,
which I am anxious to make, and, I hope, shall make. I

256 LETTERS.
want your advice, and I trust that you will let me have
it soon. This is my programme, at least provisionally : — On
the 15th of this month, I enter the valley of the Rhine,
perhaps at Bonn ; and I remain there, or in that neigh
borhood, for about six weeks. Then I go to Dresden,
as a new centre of excursions. My principal object is,
to ascertain what was the state of Germany at the time
when the French Revolution broke out; what was the
effect on it of its intellectual intercourse, and of its wars,
with us ; and lastly, what were the principal events in
that great country up to the moment when it rose as one
man against us. The state of feeling which preceded
this general rising interests me deeply.
I ask you, now, what appear to you to be the places
best worth visiting for obtaining this information ? what
are the German books, and, above all, the men most
worth consulting ? I must tell you that your opinion
will much influence my conduct. Let me have it, there
fore, as fully as possible and with all its grounds.
I say no more to you at present, having, as you may
easily suppose, a hundred things to do during my short
stay ; but I cannot end without begging you to express
to Madame de Circourt my great regret at being obliged
to defer, until autumn, the pleasure of seeing her. Be
sides the delight which I always feel in her society, I had
hoped to obtain from her very valuable information re
specting the country which I have to visit, and Avhich she
knows so well. TO THE SAME. Bonn, June 24, 1854.
I will not delay longer, my dear M. de Circourt, thank
ing you for the agreeable and useful acquaintances whom

TO THE COMTE DE CIRCOURT. 257
you have given to me in this country. We found, as you
told me that we should, the Countess Oriolla very clever,
very kind, and altogether, charming. Your letters have
also procured me the acquaintance of the principal Pro
fessors of the University.
We have hired a pleasant apartment by the riverside,
just out of the town. We propose to remain here at
least during all July.
The instant that I had established myself, I set to
work. Up to this time, I have so neglected living Ger
many for dead Germany, that I know no more of the
state of feeling on the banks of the Rhine than if I
were on the banks of the Loire. But I plunged head
long into the chaos of ancient Germany : not that I had
to learn the old Germanic constitution, I knew it before.
I am engaged in a more arduous task, that of learning
what was the ancient social and administrative condition
of Germany. I find difficulties which I see not how to
conquer ; among others, the immense discrepancies be
tween the different portions of this great country. No
one general expression can comprehend races so different
and often contrasted. The most intelligent men get con
fused when they attempt to do so, and fail. The only
practical course seems to me to be, to examine every
informant only as to the country which he knows best.
By this process, you get fewer general views, but more
details ; and from these details you may form tolerably
just general opinions. Still, after having thus limited
my inquiries, I find a difficulty, arising either from the
subject or from the witnesses, in obtaining good infor
mation. The Ancien Regime, at least in this part of Germany,
has been so long and so completely destroyed, that few
vol. n. 17

258 LETTERS.
persons can explain precisely what it was. I hope that
by perseverance I may learn this ; but the neighborhood
of Bonn is a very small bit of Germany, and as far as I
can judge, not the most interesting to me for, except as
to its political institutions, the Ancien Regime in the val
ley of the Rhine resembles strikingly the Ancien Regime
in France. What interests me is to know what was the
Ancien Regime in those portions of Germany which re
tained most of the civil and administrative character of
the Middle Ages. I am told that such was the case in
Westphalia, to which I am near, and in Hamburg, in
Brandenburg, and, above all, in Mecklenburg. If you
can tell me of persons in those countries who can ex
plain best to me the ancient state pf things, you will do
me a great service.
For the information which I want, what would be
most useful would be letters of introduction to members
of the old German aristocracy, to persons with the tastes
and the traditions of the old institutions ; to those who
still live among the ruins of that antediluvian world — .
tell me on these subjects your opinions, I have always
found them most useful.
TO M. DE CORCELLE. Bonn, July 22, 1854.
Up to this time, my dear friend, our tour has been
successful ; our health has been good ; we have estab^
lished ourselves in this place comfortably. We have
made many acquaintances, either agreeable or useful. I
think that I shall learn Germany better by examining
leisurely and attentively a single district, than by glanc
ing superficially at a large surface. I propose, therefore,
to remain here nearly a month longer, and then to go

TO M. DE CORCELLE. 259
northwards to Dresden or to Berlin. We shall not re
turn till the end of October. As to the Impression which
this country has made on me, it is so incomplete and so
vague that I cannot well describe it. I have lived in the
Germany of the last century, and it is only occasionally,
only to avoid being taken for a ghost, that I talk about
Germany as it is. Every time has its peculiar business.
I ftra no longer a public man ; I try to adopt the feelings
of a scholar instead of those of a politician. However,
as I told you before, I have been forced occasionally to
converse like the rest of the world, and have thus ob
tained a few general notions.
Here they are : —
This country seems to me, like France, to be politically
diseased. There are many evident signs of this ; but the malady
seems to me to be less deeply seated than with us, and
likely to last less long. The public mind, though luke
warm upon politics, has not become indifferent, as in
France, to most of the studies which lift us above matter.
Science and literature are still actively cultivated ; even
poetry has preserved its empire. Many books are pub
lished, and they find many readers. There is incessant
activity of thought, and upon other subjects than material
well-being. Even the langour that one remarks in poli
tics proceeds more from the dizziness caused by the sight
of all the follies which have just been committed in the
endeavor after liberty, than from real indifference. Faith
in free institutions still exists ; they are still thought the
most worthy objects of love and respect. The absence
of this faith is the most alarming symptom in our disease,
and I do not see it among this people. Germany is puz
zled, confused, ignorant of the right path, but she is not

260 LETTERS.
like France, broken down and almost annihilated. At
least, this is what I think. As to foreign affairs, there is
a strong feeling here against Russia, and this passion in
clines the Germans in favor of France, though in general
they have a strong bias against us.
I have also observed in the world of morals and poli
tics, signs of some other facts wliich seem to me of con
sequence. You are, of course, aware of the part played
by philosophy during the last fifty years in Germany, and
especially by the school of Hegel. He was protected, as,
no doubt, you know, by the ruling powers, because his
doctrines asserted that, in a political sense, all established
facts ought to be submitted to as legitimate ; aud that
the very circumstance of their existence was sufficient to
make obedience to them a duty. This doctrine gave rise
at length to the anti-christian and anti-spiritual schools,
which have been endeavoring to pervert Germany for
the last twenty years, especially for the last ten ; and
finally to the socialist philosophy, which had so great a
share in producing the confusion of 1848. Hegel ex
acted submission to the ancient established powers of his
own time ; which he held to be legitimate, not only from
existence, but from their origin. His scholars wished
to establish powers of another kind, which, as soon as
they existed, became therefore, according to their views,
equally legitimate and binding. This did not suit the
official protectors of Hegel. Yet from this Pandora's
box have escaped all sorts of moral diseases from which
the people is still suffering. But I have remarked that
a general reaction is taking place against this sensual
and socialist philosophy. It is no longer preached in
the Universities, and is opposed by many distinguished
men.

TO M. DE CORCELLE. 261
I hear on all sides, that simultaneously with this
philosophical revolution there is a revival of religious
feeling in all the different forms professed by Germany.
These are good symptoms. I am intimate here with
some of the Catholic professors (the University of Bonn
is half Catholic and half Protestant) ; they affirm that
Catholicism exhibits more vitality than it has done for
the last hundred years, which they attribute to the
liberty which, in spite of some petty annoyances, it
substantially enjoys ; and above all to its separation
from the state — a separation all the more complete
that the sovereign is a Protestant. The most eminent
of these professors said to me the other day, during our
walk, "The French clergy seem to me to be entering
upon a dangerous path, one which fills us with anxiety.
How is it that they do not see that in these days
we derive our strength from independence of the tem
poral power, and not from the always precarious, often
dangerous, always invidious, support of that power ?
Let your priests visit us, and they will see how we
congratulate ourselves on our condition. Now, when
abandoned to itself, and assisted only by freedom,
Catholicism has regained its vigor." " I assure you,"
he added, " that if I could at once incline the tem
poral power in our favor, and destroy the rivalry of
the Protestants, I should in the interest of our relig
ion, refuse to do so."
I was nearly forgetting one remark, perhaps the most
important. I find no trace here of the sort of torpidity
which the dread of socialism has created in most minds
in France. The classes which with us are afflicted with
this nightmare, breathe freely in this country. I have
not once heard it said that a gendarme ought to be

262 LETTERS.
placed at the door of every house to guard the inmates
from being robbed and murdered by their neighbors.
You will agree with me that this is enough to mark a
fundamental difference between Germany and France,
for when one goes to the source of all that takes place
with us, that is said and done by us, one reaches always
the one passion which is the centre and origin of all - —
fear. TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT. Bonn, July 27, 1854.
I am writing to you, Madame, from a place where
I am constantly hearing your name. Mademoiselle
d'Arnim is always speaking of her grateful remem
brance of your kind hospitality. You will believe
that we do not turn the conversation from this sub
ject, and that we add no shadows to her picture. The
society of Mademoiselle d'Arnim, of her charming sis
ter, and of her brother-in-law, add much to the pleas
antness of our lives. We do not, however, venture to
inflict ourselves very often upon these ladies, though
they have permitted us to do so. There is always a
certain effort in conversing with new acquaintances.
We try, therefore, not to take too much advantage of
their kindness, and for this we deserve some praise.
You know Mademoiselle d'Arnim too well to make it
necessary for me to tell you how interesting and agree
able her conversation is. I am not aware if you are
as intimate with her sister, who charmed us from the
first by her grace of manner. The member of the
family whom you do not know is the husband, and he
is not the least worth knowing of the party. He has
travelled much, seen much and well, thought much,
and he is far from being a mere soldier, though he

TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT. 263
thoroughly enjoys his" profession. His conversation in
terests me extremely. If I followed my inclination,
Madame, I should call on these agreeable people
every day. But I am so discreet as to be moderate.
Our opinion of them seems to be shared by every one
here. I have not yet met with a single person who
has not spoken Well of them : a rare agreement in
large towns, and rarer still in small ones.
Besides the agreeable society we find at Madame
d'Oriolla's, we have many ways of passing our time
here usefully and pleasantly. We live in excellent
relations with several eminent members of this Univer
sity, and are cordially welcomed by their families. We
like this specimen of German society well enough to
determine on remaining in this place much longer than
we at first expected. I do not think that we shall leave
it altogether till the end of August.
We are told that at first we created great alarm ; and
the astonishment expressed at not finding us worse than
we are, shows that the reputation which the French have
acquired is not favorable. The opinions of us which
peep out in conversation are, indeed, either untrue or
much exaggerated, sometimes absurd. I see that they
are founded chiefly on the literature of the eighteenth
century, and on the bad novels of our own day. The
former paints a French society which has ceased to exist,
and the latter a society that never has existed, and I
hope never will exist. They are as much mistaken with
regard to our vices as to our virtues ; but we must for
give them, for we change so continually and so rapidly
both our opinions and our habits, that foreigners who
seek to portray us never have timo to fix the resem
blance. We have but one really permanent feature : it

2G4 LETTERS.
is the ease with which we submit to everything, and
assume every form and every aspect according to times
and events.
Adieu ! Madame. Madame de Tocqueville and I are
looking forward with equal delight to seeing you in the
winter. TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT. Bonn, August 6, 1854.
. . . We are still at Bonn. ... I am working hard ;
and I hope, if I do not succeed in acquiring a thorough
knowledge of Germany, at least to have some idea of
the things which I ought most to know. It would
be impossible to treat a foreigner with more attention
than has been shown to me ; they have even made
an exception in my favor to the general regulation,
that all books must be returned to the Public Library at
this season of the year, and no new ones lent. We
have been intimately received by many families, whom
we like very much. There are certainly attractive ele
ments in German domestic life ; but will these men,
who are so estimable and so distinguished in private
life, ever become citizens ? When I see how long
they have submitted to absolute power ; the mildness
of its rule, the absence of all the traditions of liberty
in the habits of the people ; the centralization, the
universal appetite for places, and the universal depend
ence ; I ask myself if these men will ever be very
different from what they now are? nevertheless, there
seems to be a general feeling of instability in the
' country. I had, the other day, an interesting conversation
with a Prussian just returned from the United States
where he had been ambassador for ten years. His

TO M. DE BEAUMONT. 265
chief business was to attend to the emigration. He
astonished me by saying that last year the number of
emigrants from Germany to the United States reached
the extraordinary amount of 140,000, and that they
continue to arrive at the same rate. Formerly, none but
the poor emigrated ; but now there go many families in
easy and even wealthy circumstances. I asked him from
whence these emigrants went, and what were their
motives. Few comparatively go from Prussia. Among
the whole 140,000, there were only 10,000 Prussians,
but most of these were well educated and comfortably
off; the remainder were chiefly from the little states in
the centre of Germany; many from Baden, Wiirtem
berg, and Bavaria. All these Germans (so said my
informant), bring with them to the United States their
German ideas, and, to a certain extent, keep them.
They preserve their language ; they do not mix much
with the natives ; they usually live together ; and though,
in the long run, they catch some of the political habits
of the Americans, they always remain a distinct and
foreign element. Altogether, what he told me confirmed
my old opinion, that the rapid introduction into the
United States of men not of the Anglo-Saxon race is
the great danger to be feared in America — a danger
wliich renders the final success of democratic institu
tions a problem as yet unsolved. I forgot to tell you
that my informant attributed the departure of most of
the German families to the pressing invitations of their
relations and friends in America. But what German
motive caused the emigration of those friends and rela
tions? I could not get him to answer clearly this
question, wliich is of great importance.
I saw the other day Henry Reeve, who is taking the

266 LETTERS.
waters at Aix-la-Chapelle j I returned with him to Aix
to say good-by to Lamorlciere. Your friends, Sir George
and Lady Theresa Lewis, arrived here yesterday. They
came to see us immediately, and we talked of you ; they
will spend some days here, and we shall see them again
to-day. TO M. DE CIRCOURT. Wildbad, September 1, 1854.
I suppose, dear M. de Circourt, that you have now
returned from your tour ; and I write, as I promised, to
give you some news of ourselves, and especially to get
some from you. I hope that no untoward accident
marked the end of your journey. We regretted ex
tremely that we were not able to keep you any longer.
Your society was very agreeable, and your assistance
very valuable.
We left Bonn on the 19th of last month, and we
have been here ten days. I do not know if, in your
frequent excursions to Germany, you ever penetrated to
these mountain valleys. Probably you have, for where
in Europe have you not been ? You know then that we
are in a forest of pine-trees which seems interminable,
and in a country barren, thinly inhabited, even by
animals, and very wild. We have not met one ac
quaintance — a privation which we bear with much
philosophy. But we are less patient at seeing that
the waters have as yet done Madame de Tocqueville
no good.
If I do not succeed in learning German, it will not
be for want of perseverance. Happy man that you are,
to be able to speak at will every European language ?
How I envy you 1 How is it, that with your admirable
capacity, and wonderful power of understanding, classi-

TO M. DE BEAUMONT. 267
fying, and remembering everything, yen have never
devoted yourself for two or three years to sifting one
subject, to studying one science, to the exclusion of the
rest ? You would have made for yourself an illustrious
name. But you scatter, allow me to say, great talehts,
which, concentrated, would have produced great results.
I regret itt both for youi* sake, and for that of the world.
I am meddling with what does not concern me ; forgive
me, in consideration of the friendship and of the esteem
which impel me to speak.
P. S. I have not mentioned the outer world • — it is
the best plan for a man who lives among pine-forests, at
the bottom of a valley so deep and so narrow that the
sun rises for him two hours later and sets two hours
earlier than for his fellow-creatures in general. It is for
you to tell me what is going on. Let me have a letter,
then — a long letter, if you please.
TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT.
Tocqueville, October, 1854.
... As soon as my father leaves us, I intend to
follow your advice, and set myself hard and seriously
to work. ... I tremble when I think how necessary it
is for me to succeed. I really do not know what would
become of me if I lost this my only occupation. I am
like the poor, who, reduced in ordinary times to live
upon potatoes, must die in a scarcity.
I shall soon send you back the " Memoirs of Frederick
the Great," which I have read, taking care not to dis
place your marks. It is certainly a remarkable book,
but much less So than its author. How different is the
quality of mind which makes men act, from that wliich
enables them to write I The thought which concentrates

268 LETTERS.
itself within the limits of an act to be accomplished
from that which extends over a large area and endeav
ors to judge events and their causes I How possible
it is for the same man to be first-rate in the former, and
commonplace in the latter capacity, and vice versa ! I
never saw this so clearly before. In his memoirs, too,
Frederick talks of nothing but battles, about which I
know nothing. What I want to know is, how Frederick
managed his government, and what were his opinions
on the subject of government ; but I suspect that he
thought this part of his life too unimportant to take the
trouble to explain it. I am struck by the short-sighted
ness of men, even of great men. I do not find in
Frederick's works a single word which denotes that he
anticipated the revolutions wliich were then about to
change the face of Europe. His own language and his
own ideas show that the Revolution was coming, but he
saw nothing of it. Is it not strange, that our wretched
Louis XV. saw from his dung-heap what Frederick,
enlightened by all his genius, could not perceive. . . .
TO M. DE CORCELLE.
Clairoix, near Compiegne, October 2, 1854.
My dear Friend,
An agreeable incident marked the end of our tour.
Ampere, on his return from Rome, found us out among
our mountains. He joined us ; we brought him to
Clairoix, and my father has kept him here.
The house is so small, that we had not a room for
him, so my father has put him into a neighboring cot
tage. For the first time in his life, Ampere has a court
yard, a mansion, and a garden to himself. You may
suppose how happy we are to have him here. No one

TO M. DE CORCELLE. 269
has more talents, nor more agreeable talents. To the
utmost independence he joins an easiness of disposition,
which makes him not only accommodate himself to every
mode of life, but enjoy it.
I have attained only partially the object of my tour.
I have not been able to make myself acquainted with
Germany. All that I have done — and it is something
— has been to acquire the power of understanding what
is passing there and what I am told about it. Even this
is difficult for a Frenchman, so great is the dissimilarity
of the two countries.
Yet the great work of assimilation which goes on
throughout the civilized world has already given Ger
many a likeness to France. The institutions, the social
habits, the dress, the customs, all are alike in the two
countries, or nearly so. What remains different is what
is not seen, — that is to say, the way in which events are
regarded, the emotions which they produce. In short,
the inner man retains his original form, while the outer
man has lost it. I have acquired some notions with
respect to this invisible Germany, and this is enough to
prevent my thinking that my tour has been quite useless.
As to public affairs, I am not sure that the sort of
paralysis which afflicts France is not still more remark
able in Germany. In a great part of the country public
life still has its organs, but it does not use them. In
Prussia, there is a real parliament ; the debates are pub
lic ; the press is half free ; the administration is nearly
independent of the crown ; old traditions of order and
moderation prevail in the government ; and yet the coun
try seems asleep.
Germany has not received even the imperfect political
education which thirty-six years of representative gov-

270 LETTERS.
ernment gave to us. It is not merely that the Germans
are not well acquainted with the means by which political
liberty is founded and maintained : they have scarcely a
notion of them. In the midst of half liberal institutions,
they preserve the habits given to them by two centuries
of absolute power. The great chimera of German unity
takes, on their imagination, a much greater hold than the
desire for real liberty in each of the countries of which
Germany consists.
Though Germany is at present tranquil, she is not
settled ; she sleeps, but sleeps standing, — the least touch
could throw her to the right or to the left. You perceive
throughout the country a vague dislike of what is exist.
ing ; a feeling of stability is wanting ; the old traditions
have been abandoned ; the respect for what is ancient,
and for what is established, has disappeared. Every
year the emigration becomes more enormous ; 240,000
Germans sought last year in America new laws and a
new country. Yet I am sure that it will be long before
any political movement has its beginning in Germany.
The Germans are easily set in motion ; but they do not
move spontaneously. Such, at least, is my opinion.
Yet you must not believe that the Revolution of 1848
passed over Germany without leaving any traces, or that,
after this great disturbance, society has settled down
again where it was before. It may almost be said that
our Revolution of 1848 influenced Germany more than
our Revolution of 1789 ; it is certain, at least, that all
those portions of the ancient constitutions of Europe
which survived the former, were put an end to forever
by the latter. The abolition of innumerable privileges
which destroyed, or at least hampered, civil liberty, dates
from this period, and will survive political liberty. All

TO M. DE CORCELLE. 271
these results of the Revolution of 1848 were eagerly ac
cepted even by the princes whom that revolution most
threatened. A truth which I have long acknowledged
was never better proved, namely, that the great human
revolution which we set in motion more than sixty-five
years ago, advances towards liberty only occasionally,
but towards equality with an irresistible and uninter
rupted progress.
But enough about Germany. We left Wildbad on the
20 th of last month. Lamoriciere, with all his family,
had given us a rendezvous at Heidelberg. We spent
two days together, and left him with great regret.
LamoricitSre was never more thoroughly friendly. He
and his wife endure their present position with admirable
serenity. At Brussels I missed my excellent friend
Bedeau. To my great sorrow, he was absent. As we
entered Valenciennes, books and newspapers — in short,
everything that was in print — were taken from the
travellers. I recognized my own country.
Kindest regards. TO THE SAME. Clairoix, Oct. 23, 1854.
We have hired a little house two miles off, at Com
piegne. It is in a dry and sunny situation. In the
beginning of January, we shall return to Paris. We
shall arrive there about the same time as you will, and
we shall be very glad to see you. It is probable that
society in general will be melancholy enough for people
of our way of thinking — an additional reason for living
a great deal with each other. I rejoice to find, as time
goes on, that I am not one of those who naturally bow
before success. The more a cause seems to be aban
doned, the more passionately I become attached to it.

272 LETTERS.
You are right when you say that a bird's-eye view of
affairs is often more favorable to the prediction of events
than studying them in detail ; but it is on condition that
one is satisfied with very general truths, extending over
a wide space of time. But as to knowing how men are
likely to act to-morrow, how they will deal with coming
events, all who are not in a position to know what is
passing in their minds, must argue at random : even
when you see clearly the interests of others, you cannot
be sure of their taking the same view. General obser
vation may show you how a nation is likely to act, be
cause nations change little ; but an individual or a group
of individuals soon outgrows your experience, if you are
not in a position to see continually what they are doing,
and, as much as possible, what they are thinking. For
these reasons, I divert my mind as much as I can from
the occurrences of the present, to the contemplation of
the past and the future, which, though farther off, are
less obscure. Those who are as far removed as we are
from the official world, resemble the aged, to whose view
the horizon is clear, yet, if they have no spectacles, they
cannot read the book before their eyes.
The way in which the most distinguished of our clergy
consider the Eastern question seems to me to be mis
taken, even with reference to the only subject wliich they
care about. They bring opinions and sentiments formed
in another sphere to bear upon politics. I scarcely ever
have spoken with a French or German priest without
finding that he judged institutions, events, and men ac
cording to their influence, however little and however
distant, on the interests of the Church. The smallest
consideration of this kind surpassed, in their minds, every
other. I found them admirable citizens ; but their city

TO M. DE CORCELLE. 273
was the Eternal City, not Germany or France. I do not
mean to say that it is impossible for them to be loyal,
both to their religion and to their country, nor that in
some minds, and at some periods, the one feeling may
not intensify the other. What heroic passions, and what
glorious deeds, have sprung from the union of these two
principles in the hearts of men and of nations ! But I
say that we do not see such things nowadays, and that
nothing distresses me so much.
The French clergy under the Ancien Regime, with
whom I am beginning to be well acquainted, and who
are generally judged too severely, were very different.
In the higher ranks of the profession there were un
doubtedly some unworthy members, but as a class they
were devoted to their duties, sincere in their faith, regular
in their lives, and strongly attached to the Church of
Rome ; superior, I think, to any other class of men then
existing, and formed of Catholic elements as vigorous
and as sensitive as could be desired. But this did not in
the least cut them off from the lay world or prevent their
taking even an ardent interest in all that concerned it.
When you read the administrative or political documents
in which the clergy of that day took a part, either in a
body or individually, even down to the instructions which
they gave to their representatives, you see that those
priests were deeply interested in all that could contribute
to the worldly prosperity of their country, or to the
liberty and dignity of its citizens ; that they judged insti
tutions by their intrinsic value, and political acts in a
political sense, and by their social bearings. Why is this
no longer the case ? I think that I could assign several
reasons. But they would carry me too far, and my hand
is tired with writing this long letter.
vol. n. 18

274 LETTERS.
I therefore bid you adieu, but not without thanking
you heartily for your bibliographical discovery with re
gard to my book on America. The pages written by
our heroic Lieut. Bellot,* which your friendship disin
terred for me, gave me, I confess, intense pleasure. I
must, however, tear myself from the happiness of talking
to you. TO THE SAME. Compiegne, Nov. 15, 1854.
I have excellent accounts to give you of our establish
ment. We have found exactly what we wanted, which
is rare enough. A little house to ourselves, dry, warm,
exposed to the sun (when there is any, and that is not
to-day), on the skirts of the beautiful forest of Compiegne,
and near all the resources of a town where, that our
felicity may be perfect, we know not a soul.
I was present at the reception of Monseigneur Dupan-
loup t in the Academy, and immediately after the meet
ing I returned hither. I was especially struck by the
beginning and the end of his speech. His notice of his
predecessor was admirable. In this lies the great trial
of skill, and it demands qualities both of heart and head.
Altogether it was a capital meeting; capital for the
Prelate, who gave great satisfaction and was loudly
applauded even by the Institute ; capital as establishing
* Lieut. Bellot relates in his Journal on board the Prince Albert,
that he met in Baffin's Bay an American vessel also bent on a voyage
of scientific discovery. The officers of the two ships dined together,
and the American captain, a man of literature, expressed his lively
admiration for M. de Tocquevillo's book, declaring it to be a classic
work in the United States. It is to this praise bestowed upon him by
two such men in the 75th degree of latitude that M. do Tocqueville here
alludes. f Bishop of Orleans. — Tk.

TO M. DE CORCELLE. 275
harmony between literature and the Church ; neither of
which can stand without the support of the other.
I sometimes reproach myself with speaking to you so
freely and so strongly of the things which seem to me
objectionable in the conduct of some of our clergy. But
you will forgive me, my dear friend, when you remember
that I can open my heart on these things only to you.
You are my safety-valve. I do not choose to gratify the
enemies of our religion by talking to them, and I know
no Catholic who combines to the extent that you do the
soul of a true Frenchman with the spirit of a free man.
You must therefore resign yourself to my murmurs.
Perhaps I shall make up my mind to many things
around us when I have not such a near view of them.
I was so unlucky as to subscribe a few months ago
to a religious journal because I heard that it was a
mere echo of all the other papers. This was conven
ient to a man who likes to hear as little politics as pos
sible, and to be able to devour samples of all the news
papers in a quarter of an hour. But I soon saw that
my expectations were false. The extracts, though va
rious, have all the same flavor.
The other day an article in praise of liberty ap
peared in this paper, but the editor took care to add
in a note : " We are assuredly far from regretting par
liamentary institutions. We are well aware that they
are too apt to increase the vanity natural to men."
The editor does not see that other institutions may in
crease our natural meanness.
To restore the balance of my mind I go on reading
from time to time Bourdaloue ; but I am afraid that
it will not be set down among my good works, as I am
too much occupied by the writer's talent and too much

276 LETTERS.
delighted with his style. What a master in the art of
writing ! I cannot too much admire the skill with
which he leads his hearers, without letting them know
what he is about, through familiar images to the object
which he himself has in view, and the perfection with
which he makes these material images correspond ex
actly with the invisible truths which he wishes to im
press. I noticed the other day, in the sermon on alms
giving, I think, one of these indirect comparisons. It
is of God to the feudal Lord ; I was much struck by
it, because I am as learned in feudality as a feodist.
On this subject, so far removed from his ordinary
studies, Bourdaloue employs the right terms with such
unaffected precision, and they suit his meaning so well,
that not one man in those times can have failed to
understand him. TO N. "W. SENIOR, ESQ.
Compiegne, January 22, 1855.
I hear, as you do, with great satisfaction of the mu
tual good feeling of our armies in the Crimea. It
far exceeds my expectations.
But I am not equally pleased with your management
of the war. The English ought to know that what
has passed and is passing there has sensibly diminished
their moral force in Europe. It is an unpleasant truth,
but I ought not to conceal it from you. I see proofs
of it every day, and I have been struck by it pecul-
, iarly in a late visit to Paris, where I saw persons of
every rank and of every shade of political opinion.
The heroic courage of your soldiers was everywhere
and unreservedly praised, but I found also a general
belief that the importance of England as a military

TO MRS. GROTE. 277
power had been greatly exaggerated, that she is utterly
devoid of military talent, which is shown as much in
administration as in fighting, and that even in the most
pressing circumstances she cannot raise a largo army.
Since I was a child I never heard such language. '
You are believed to be absolutely dependent on us, and
in the midst of our intimacy I see rising a friendly con
tempt for you which, if our governments quarrel, will
make a war with you much easier than has been since
the fall of Napoleon.
I grieve at all this, not only as endangering the
English alliance, which, as you well know, I cherish,
but as injuring the cause of liberty.
I can pardon you for discrediting it by your adula
tion of our despotism, but I wish that you would not
serve despotism more efficaciously by your own faults,
and by the comparisons which they suggest.
It seems also difficult to say what may not be the
results of your long intimacy with such a government
as ours, and of the contact of the two armies. I doubt
whether they will be useful to your aristocracy.
Remember me to Lord Lansdowne and to the Lew
ises, who added such pleasure to our German tour.
TO MRS. GROTE. Compiegne, February 24, 1855.
I write to you again from Compiegne, my dear Mrs.
Grote. We can scarcely tear ourselves from this place,
solitary and even uncomfortable as it is in many re
spects. We have led a quiet yet well-employed life,
which in spite of its monotony is not without its
charm. It is possible that we may wait two or three
weeks before we settle ourselves in Paris.

278 LETTERS.
I continue to take a painful interest in the fate of
your brave army. I am interested in it for its own
sake, and also, as I was saying the other day to Sen
ior, for that of your institutions, to which such an in
efficient and inexperienced administration is very dam
aging, to the great delight of the enemies of political
liberty. If you do not succeed in remedying this evil
•promptly, (and this seems to me impossible,) both Eng
land and her government will be much impaired by
tins struggle, whatever may be your material gains by
the war, and however admirable the courage of your
soldiers. I cannot help thinking that all this may influence
much, and long, and in an unexpected manner, even
the progress of your affairs at home. I think that you
may be pushed rather more rapidly than heretofore
down the slope (not a very rapid one luckily for you),
which is gradually leading you away from aristocratic
institutions, at least from what was formerly meant by
those words. It will be very difficult for you to have
such a* near view of the immense advantages of cen
tralization in case of war, or that you should be long
in contact with an army in which every soldier aspires
to be, and can become, an officer, without important
consequences. Will not the result of all these events
be a thorough revolution in your army ? and will a
revolution begun there end there ?
You are perhaps the only nation in the world (ex
cept perhaps Russia, and she less than you) whose
officers are all gentlemen. I own that an army com
manded entirely by gentlemen is not always tho best
versed in the art of war. It often knows better how
to fight than how to provide for its subsistence, or even

TO MRS. GROTE. 279
to manoeuvre before and after the battle. We felt this
under our old monarchy. But an army officered by
gentlemen has many merits, which the present circum
stances make us forget. The chief of these is that
such an army prevents internal revolutions, while other
armies make them, or allow them to be made.
Reeve wrote to me the other day, that the aristocracy
had never been so strong in England ; for it had never
behaved with more distinguished gallantry. Military
services are not enough to preserve an aristocracy. If
they were, ours would not now be fallen inlo dust. For
who could lavish life more unreservedly than the nobles
of France, in every age, and from the greatest down to
the least ? My grandfather and great-uncle died in
battle, or of their wounds. Their father and grandfather
did the same, and there is not a family in my neighbor
hood that might not make the same boast ; and yet there
are no traces of their power. The last gun wliich de
fended the old manor-house of Tourlaville, half-sunken
in the ground, serves only as a stake to fasten cattle to,
and the house itself has been turned into a farm. The
first time that Reeve comes to visit me, I shall take him
thither, to show him the fate of an aristocracy which
knows how to die, but not how to govern. Till now
yours has been capable of both, and therefore it still lives,
though the atmosphere of the age is by no means favor
able to plants of that description.
I send you a long gossip, but it will at least prove to
you the pleasure which I find in conversing with you.
We are delighted to hear that there is a chance of our
seeing you in the spring.

280 LETTERS.
TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ.
Compiegne, February 15, 1855.
.... I confess that I saw with great grief the sudden
change in the expressions of the majority of the English,
a year ago, respecting our government. It was then ill
consolidated, and in want of the splendid alliance which
you offered to it. It was unnecessary that you should
praise it, in order to keep it your friend. By doing so
you sacrificed honorable opinions and tastes, without a
motive. Now things are changed. After you have lost your
only army, and our master has made an alliance with
Austria, which suits his feelings much better than yours
did, he does not depend on you ; you, to a certain extent,
depend on him.
Such being now the case, I can understand the English
thinking it their duty to their country to say nothing that
can offend the master of France. I can understand even
their praising him ; I reproach them only for having
done so too soon, before it was necessary.
I agree with you that England ought to be satisfied
with being the greatest maritime power, and ought not to
aim at being also one of the greatest military powers.
But the feelings which I described to you as prevalent
in France and in Germany, arose not from your want of
an army of 500,000 men. They were excited by these
two facts.
First, by what was supposed (perhaps falsely) to
bo the bad military administration of your only army.
Secondly, and much more, by your apparent inability
to raise another army.
According to continental notions, a nation which can-

TO MRS. GROTE. 281
not raise as many troops as its wants require, loses our
respect. It ceases, according to our notions, to be great
or even to be patriotic. And I must confess that, con
sidering how difficult it is to procure soldiers by voluntary
enlistment, and how easily every nation can obtain them
by other means, I do not see how you will be able tc
hold your high rank, unless your people will consent to
something resembling a conscription.
Dangerous aS it is to speak of a foreign country, I
venture to say that England is mistaken if she thinks
that she can continue separated from the rest of the
world, ' and preserve all her peculiar institutions unin
fluenced by those which prevail over the whole of the
continent. In the period in which we live, and, still more, in the
period which is approaching, no European nation can
long remain absolutely dissimilar to all the others. I
believe that a law existing over the whole continent
must in time influence the laws of Great Britain, not
withstanding the sea, and notwithstanding the habits and
institutions, wliich, still more than the sea, have separated
you from us, up to the present time.
My prophecies may not be accomplished in our time ;
but I should not be sorry to deposit this letter with a
notary, to be opened, and their truth or falsehood proved,
fifty years hence. TO MRS. GROTE.CompiSgne, February 21, 1855.
I received yesterday, my dear Mrs. Grote, a few lines
from you in a letter of Senior's. Both the text and the
commentary were welcome, and I thank both writers.
Just before, I had received another letter from you, with

282 LETTERS.
a number of the Spectator, in which I found the letter to
which you allude.* It seemed to me thai I had been
translated by a masterly hand ; so much so, that I am
not sure whether I do not like myself better in my Eng
lish than in my French clothes. As to the publication
itself, I own I was afraid that it might make people fancy
that I wanted to criticise the late military operations ;
wliich would be very improper on the part of a foreigner,
especially of one who was ignorant of the details. I had
no intention of finding fault with what your aristocracy
has lately been doing. I only said that, in the present
crisis, the aristocracy, if it wishes to hold its ground, must
make immense efforts, and that it must not think its
safety insured by the courage displayed by some of its
members on the field of battle. I hope that those who
read this little extract will have thus understood it.
From what you say, I see that you too find this severe
season trying. As long as this temperature continues, I
cannot, of course, think of leaving this house and estab
lishing myself elsewhere. We keep close to our fireside,
without any intention of moving ; though the cold has
made our abode more uncomfortable than ever. We
found that the only room which, from its aspect, is warm
and light in this weather, is the one which I had made
my study. We have gradually retired to it, as the be
sieged take refuge in the donjon when the external fortifi
cations have given way. You will imagine that we are
beginning to get tired of living in this manner. I console
myself, however, by fancying that I am employing myself
usefully. When I am gotting on well, it even seems to
*Some passages in M. de Tocqueville'e letter to Mrs. Grote of the
ith of February, had been translated by her, and inserted in tbe
Spectator.

TO M. DE BEAUMONT. 283
me that I spend my time very agreeably ; but our apart
ment turns into a miserable hole when I am not in the
humor. You know that an author is like a gambler ; if
the luck is in his favor, play is the most delightful of
occupations ; fortune changes, and it seems to him the
worst of all. I think I remember when I was young
hearing the same things said of love, but I no longer
allow myself to make such comparisons.
Adieu, dear Mrs. Grote. My wife sends a thousand
kind regards. TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT.
Compiegne, February 21, 1855.
I received a letter from you, dear friend, the day after
I wrote to you ; and my wife at the same time had the
happiness to receive one from yours.
The return of winter has, as yet, done me no harm.
Every day, for the last week, I have walked in the forest
for more than an hour. The great trees, covered with
snow, remind me of the woods in Tennessee, which we
explored, in still severer weather, nearly twenty-five
years ago. The most different feature in the picture was
myself; for twenty-five years make a complete revolu
tion in a man's life. I made this melancholy reflection
as I was plodding my way through the snow. But, after
going over this long series of years in my memory, I
consoled myself by thinking that if I had to live this
quarter of a century over again, I should not, on the
whole, act very differently. I should try to avoid many
trifling errors, and many undoubted follies ; but as to the
bulk of my ideas, sentiments, and even actions, I should
make no change. I also remarked, how little alteration
there was in my views of men in general during all these

284 LETTERS.
years. Much is said about the dreams of youth, and the
awaking of mature age. I have not noticed this in my
self. I was from the first struck by the vices and weak
nesses of mankind ; and as to the good qualities which I
then attributed to them, I must say that I still find them
much the same. This little retrospect put me into a
better humor ; and to make myself quite happy, I re
flected that I had preserved the same friend with whom
I shot parrots at Memphis, and that time had only drawn
closer the ties of friendship and confidence which even
then united us. This was the pleasantest thought of
all. . . .
I will send to  the paper which he asks for. Like
you, I shall make it very short. I shall fancy myself in
a dream when I am forced to go over my parliamentary
life. Is it really true that there ever have been parlia
mentary assemblies in France ? — that the nation took a
passionate interest in all that was spoken in them ? Were
not these men, these constitutions, and these forms of
government shadows without substance ? Did the pas
sions, the hopes, the fears, the sympathies and antip
athies, which once so strongly moved us, really exist
in our own time, or are they mere recollections of what
we have read in history ? In truth, I am tempted to
believe it ; for what has really existed leaves some
trace, and I see none of all we imagined that we saw
aud felt
If the past be a dream, let us at least endeavor to
seize hold of the present
Good-by, dear friend ; I need not tell you of our
affection for you both.
P. S. Since I wrote this letter yesterday, a foot
of snow has fallen. This will interrupt my American
walks.

PARIS, MARCH 2, 1855. 285

EXTRACTS FROM MR. SENIOR'S JOURNAL.
Paris, Friday, March 2, 1855.
Tocqueville visited us this morning. Tho conversa
tion turned on English politics.
" So many of my friendships," said Tocqueville, " and
so many of my sympathies are English, that what is
passing in your country, and respecting your country,
gives me great pain, and greater anxiety. To Us, whom,
unhappily, experience has rendered sensitive of approach
ing storms, your last six months have a frightfully revolu
tionary appearance.
There is with you, as there was with us in 1847, a
general malaise * in the midst of general prosperity.
Your people seem, as was the case with ours, to have
become tired of their public men, and to be losing faith
in their institutions.
" What else do these complaints of what is called ' the
system ' mean ?
" When you complain that the government patronage
is bartered for political support ; that the dunces of a
family are selected for the public service, and selected
expressly because they could not get on in an open pro
fession ; that, as their places are a sort of property, they
are promoted only by seniority, and never dismissed for
any except for some moral delinquency ; that, therefore
the seniors in all your departments are old men, whose
original dulness has been cherished by a life without the
stimulus of hope or fear — you describe a vessel, which
seems to have become too crazy to endure anything but
the calmest sea and the most favorable winds.
" You have tried its sea-worthiness in one department
* Uneasiness.

286 EXTRACTS.
— your military organization — and you find that it
literally falls to pieces. You are incnpable of managing
a line of operations, extending only seven miles from
its base. The next storm may attack your colonial
administration. Will that, stand any better ? Altogether
3'our machinery' seems throughout, out of gear. If you
set to work actively and fearlessly, without reference to
private interests, or to private expectations, or to private
feelings, to repair, remove, and replace, you may escape
our misfortunes, but I see no proofs that you are suffi
ciently alarmed.
" Then as to what is passing here. A year ago we
probably overrated your military power. I believe that
now, we most mischievously underrate it. A year ago,
nothing alarmed us more than a whisper of the chance
of a war with England. We talk of one now with great
composure. We believe that it would not be difficult to
throw 100,000 men upon your shores, and we believe
that half that number would walk over England or Ire
land. You are mistaken if you think that these opinions
will die away of themselves, or will be eradicated by
anything but some decisive military success. I do not
agree with those who think it is your interest that Russia
should submit while Sebastopol stands. You might save
money and men by a speedy peace, but you would not
regain your reputation.
" If you are caught by a peace before you have had an
opportunity of doing so, I advise you to let it be, on your
part, an armed peace. Prepare yourselves for a new
struggle, with a new enemy, and let your preparations be
not only as effective as you can make them, but also as,
notorious."

PARIS, MAY 28, 1856. 287
Monday, May 28, 1855.
Tocqueville called on me.
I asked him for criticisms on my article on the State
of the Continent, in the Nort[i^British, of February, 1855.
"Of course," I said, ""it nru^t ^e";,fi»lj of blunders — no
one who writes on tins" politics tit a '^^jgn country can
avoid them. I want your help loj^orrfetJt'aJew of them."
" Since you ask me," lie;, ansiyered., " fcr\|$candid criti
cism, I will give you one.V/ You coriple'as"eve|its mutually
dependent the continuanceiJ.b£,the^Imperialfgovernment,
and the continuance of the Anfrfo-fjiaHic affi^ce. I believe
this opinion not only to be untrue, but to be the reverse
of the truth. I believe the empire and the alliance to be
not merely not mutually dependent, but to be incompati
ble, except upon terms which you are resolved never to
grant. The empire is essentially warlike, and war in the
mind of a Bonaparte, and of the friends of a Bonaparte,
means the Rhine. This war is merely a stepping-stone.
It is carried on for purposes in which the mass of the
people of France take no interest, Up to the present
time its burdens have been little felt, as it has been sup
ported by loans, and the limits of the legal conscription
have not been exceeded. But when the necessity comes
for increased taxation and anticipated conscriptions, Louis
Napoleon must have recourse to the real passions of the
French Bourgeoisie and peasantry, the love of conquest,
et la haine de T Anglais.
" Don't fancy that such feelings are dead ; they are
scarcely asleep ; they might be roused as soon as he
thinks that they are wanted.
"What do you suppose was the effect in France of
Louis Napoleon's triumph in England?
" Those who know England attributed it to the igno-

288 LETTERS.
ranee and childishness of the multitude. Those who
thought that the shouts of the mob had any real meaning,
either hung down their heads in shame at the self-degra
dation of a great nation, or attributed them to fear, — the
latter was the general feeling. ' II faut,' said all our lower
classes, ' que ces gens Ik aient grand peur de nous.' *
" You accuse, in the second place, all the Royalist par
ties of dislike of England. Do you suppose that you are
more popular with the others ? that the Republicans love
your aristocracy or the Imperialists your freedom ? The
real friends of England are the friends of her institutions.
They are the body, small perhaps numerically, and now
beaten down, of those who adore constitutional liberty :
they have maintained the mutual good feeling between
France and England against the passions of the Repub
licans, and the prejudices of the Legitimists. I trust, as
you trust, that this good feeling is to continue, but it is on
precisely opposite grounds. My hopes are founded, not
on the permanence, but on the want of permanence of the
empire. I do not believe that a great nation will be long
led by its tail instead of by its head.
" My only fear is, that the overthrow of this tyranny
may not take place early enough to save us from the war
with England, which I believe to be the inevitable con
sequence of its duration."
TO MADAME SWETCHINE. Tocqueville, July 20, 1855.
I fear, Madame, that I am guilty of indiscretion in writ
ing to you without having first obtained your permission.
I had no other means of hearing of you, for all our mu
tual friends have quitted Paris. Your kindness to me has
* " These people must be very much afraid of us."

TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ. 289
made me bold and ought to plead my excuse. I beg of
you to do more than pardon me. Let me hear from your
self the state of your health, in which your friends take
such a tender interest, and which is of consequence even
to those who, though they as yet cannot lay claim to that
title, have had the opportunity of knowing you, and are
capable of appreciating you. I think I may say that I
am one of the latter class, and my anxiety is no empty
form, but the expression of a real feeling. You, Ma
dame, belong to the few who inspire both respect and con
fidence ; two sentiments which are not always found to
gether, though they harmonize so well. The first time I
saw you, I felt both ; and after spending only a few min
utes in your society, I felt inclined to open my heart to
you with the unreserve which is in general only the result
of time and experience.
Though two months have passed since I quitted Paris,
I reached this place only three weeks ago. It is an in
tense pleasure to me, after my long absence, to find myself
here once more. Besides its real advantages, this little
spot is for me full of recollections of the best years in my
life, and the invisible portion of my being which is con
nected with all around me, lends to every object a charm
which exists only for me. The trees, the fields, the sea,
all seem to wear a different aspect here than elsewhere.
But, Madame, I find that I am talking of myself while
you were to have been the subject of this letter. I return
then to its real object by entreating you again to let me
hear from you. . . .
TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ.
Tocqueville, July 25, 1855.
I wrote to you yesterday, my dear Senior, a long letter
according to my promise.
VOL. II. 19

290 LETTERS.
But when I read it over I felt that it was absurd to
send such a letter by the post, especially to a foreigner,
and I burnt it.
Since the assault of the 18th,* the interference of the
police in private correspondence has become more active.
Many of my friends as well as I myself have perceived
it. More letters have been kept back, and more have
been stopped. Two of mine have been lost. You may
remember that two letters from me failed to reach you,
three years ago. The danger is greater in the country,
where handwritings are known, than in Paris. You
advise me to put my letters into a cover directed to your
embassy, wliich will forward them. But this is no secu
rity. If a letter be suspected it is easy to open and
reseal it, and still easier simply to suppress it.
And in fact, you have lost little ; I wrote to you only
what I have a hundred times said to you. We have
lived so much together, and with such perfect mutual
confidence, that it is difficult for either of us to say any
thing new to the other.
Besides, on reading over again, with attention, your
note of our last conversation,! I have nothing to alter,
all that I could do would be to develop a little more my
opinions, and to support them by additional arguments.
I feel more and more their truth, and that the progress of
events will confirm them much more than any reasonings
of mine can do.
We are annoyed and disturbed, having the house full
of workmen. I am trying to warm it by hot air, and
forced to bore through very old and very thick walls,
* On the 18th June, 1855, the English and French made an unsuc
cessful assault on Scbastopol.
f That of the 28th May, 1855, p. 287, ante. — Tn.

TO N. "W. SENIOR, ESQ. 291
but we shall be repaid by being able to live here during
the winter.
I am amusing myself with the letters which our young
soldiers in the East, peasants from this parish, write
home to their families, and which are brought to me. '
This correspondence should be read in order to under
stand the singular character of the French peasant. It
is strange to see the ease with which these men become
accustomed to the risks of military life, to danger and to
death, and yet how their hearts cling to their fields and
to the occupations of country life.' The horrors of war
are described with simplicity, and almost with enjoyment.
But in the midst of these accounts one finds such
phrases as these : " What crop do you intend to sow
in such a field next year ? How is the mare ? Has
the cow a fine calf ? " &c. No minds can be more
versatile, and at the same time more constant. I have
always thought that, after all, the peasantry were su
perior to all other classes in France. But these men
are deplorably in want of knowledge and education, or
rather the education to which they have been subjected
for centuries past, has taught them to make a bad use, or
has prevented their making a good use, of their natural
good qualities.
It seems to me that Lord John's resignation will
enable your cabinet to stand, at least for some time.
All that has passed in England since the beginning of
the war, grieves me deeply. Seen from a distance, your
constitution appears to me to be an admirable machine
wliich is getting out of order, partly from the wearing
out of its works, partly from the unskilfulness of its
workers. Such a spectacle is useful to our government.
I asked you some questions, which you have not an

292 LETTERS.
swered. Is Mrs. Grote returned from Germany? Is
she well ? Has she received my letter addressed to her
at Heidelberg ? the last question is always doubtful when
one writes from France.
I send you a letter from Viscount Feudlon, which I
think will interest you. You will give it me back when
we meet.
:. I am very curious to know what you will think of
' Egypt ; and I hope that we shall be established in Paris
when you return. TO M. DE CORCELLE. Tocqueville, August 4, 1855.
My dear friend, I have just been examining all my
notes to search for the information which you ask on
one of my ministerial acts.
When I was looking at these papers, I thought over
the past. A strange effect is produced by thus con
templating the remains of so much that agitated us ;
by meeting at every step with anticipated evils which
never took place, with hopes that were never realized,
and worse than all, by the traces of violent excitement
about things which are not mentioned, and which even
memory cannot recall. Such a review ought to teach
us to bear patiently with all the agitations of the world.
But at what age and by what means do we ever learn
to correct what is rooted in our nature ?
Since my arrival my health has been good. I have
begun to work again, but only during the last two days,
so that I am not yet quite in training, to use an expres
sion of Pascal's. Still I find it a great relief, and I
never had a stronger proof that but one real pleasure
remains for me in this world, and that consists in

TO MRS. AUSTIN. 293
thoroughly occupying my mind with some subject de
serving attention ; and in the exclusive pursuit of truth.
This is the place that I like best ; I am among people
whom I like to meet, in the intimate society which I
enjoy, and yet I have been invaded by the vague
restlessness of mind from wliich I formerly suffered
bo much. This was caused entirely by the circum
stance that, being constantly engaged in a thousand
pleasant ways, I had given up any serious study in
particular. I have talked enough of myself for to-day. Do not
forget your promise to visit us this autumn. Will it
be impossible ? Remember me affectionately to your
circle, and believe me, &c.
TO MRS. AUSTIN.
Tocqueville, September 11, 1855.
Your letter, Madame, which I received yesterday,
gave us great pleasure, by proving to us how much
better your health must have become, as you are able to
travel. Madame de Tocqueville and I are heartily glad
of this improvement. I wish I could pay you a visit,
but I do not know if it will be possible, for we are
farther apart than you seem to think, although we are
in the same province. Trouville is more than a hundred
miles off, and there is no railway. . . .
I owed to you last summer, Madame, much enjoyment
and instruction. I was on the Rhine when your book
upon Germany * was lent to me. I read it with great
interest, and I learnt from it many things which were
new to mc.
* " Germany from 17G0 to 1814, from the decay of the Empire to the
expulsion of the French." 1 vol. 8vo. 1854.

294 LETTERS.
I have lately been studying Germany, and for this pur
pose I commenced an undertaking whieh was anything but
reasonable at my age — I began to learn German. Though
I have not learnt to speak it, I can understand it and read
it. Thus I was a better judge of the truth of your descrip
tions, and the exactness of your views.
Good-by, Madame. Remember me particularly to Mr.
Austin and to Mrs. Reeve, whom I should like very
much to see again, and to thank for her kind hospitality
twenty years ago, at Hampstead.
TO M. DE CTRCOURT.
Tocqueville, September 16, 1855.
I was much alarmed, dear M. de Circourt, by the be
ginning of your letter ; and though the end pacified me
as to the result of the accident, I am most anxious to
know all that has happened since you wrote.* To what
frightful peril was Madame de Circourt exposed ! I
cannot think of it without shuddering. How many
women have perished miserably from similar causes !
Presence of mind and courage have never been put to
a better use. I was sure that she possessed them in a
remarkable degree, and I am glad to see that I was
* Every one in Paris has heard of the horrible accident to which
this letter relates. On the night of the 18th of August, 1855, as
Madame de Circourt was going into her dressing-room, her candle set
fire to a lace lappet, which she wore tied under her chin. The names
spread on one side to her hair, and on the other to her dress ; her ear,
her throat, and her shoulder, were much burnt. A frightful wound
was the consequence. After it healed, the muscles contracted; and
even now, after the lapse of more than five years, Madame de Circourt
still suffers terribly. Her mind is as bright, and her heart is as warm
as ever; and her calamity has brought out portions of her fine charac
ter which had no opportunity of showing themselves before, — fortitude
energy, and serenity in the midst of severe pain.

TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ. 295
right. Pray tell her, that we all, and especially Madame
de Tocqueville, feel for her and admire her, and long to
hear of her complete recovery. Congratulate her on
having escaped so great a danger, and, above all, let us
hear soon how she is.
TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ.
Tocqueville, September 16, 1855.
Your letter, my dear Senior, of the 26th of August,
has much interested me. I see that you are resolved on
your great journey. I could say like Alexander, if the
comparison were not too ambitious, that I should wish
to be in your place if I were not in my own ; but I
cannot get satiated with the pleasure of being at home
after so long an absence. Everything is pleasure in this
country life, among my own fields. Even the solitude
is charming ; but were I anywhere else, I should envy
you your tour.
Everything in Egypt is curious ; the past, the present,
and the future. I hope to learn much from your journal,
which I trust that I shall have. We shall certainly ineot
you in Paris.
The noise made by the fall of Sebastopol has echoed
even to this distant corner of France. It is a glorious
event, and has delighted every Frenchman of every
party and of every opinion, for in these matters we are
one man.
I fear that the victory has been bought dearly ; there
is not a neighboring village to which the war has not cost
some of its children. But they bear it admirably. You
know, that in war wc show the best side of our character.
If our civilians resembled our soldiers, we should long
ago have been masters of Europe.

29 G LETTERS.
This war has never been popular, nor is it popular, yet
we bear all its cost with a cheerfulness admirable when you
consider the sorrows which it occasions, aggravated by the
distress produced by the dearness of bread. If, instead
of the Crimea, the seat of war had been the Rhine, with
a definite purpose, the whole nation would have risen, as
it has done before.
But the object of the war is unintelligible to the people.
They know only that France is at war, and must be made,
at any price, to triumph.
I must confess, that I myself, who understand the ob
ject for which all this blood is shed, and who approve
that object, do not feel the interest which such great
events ought to excite ; for I do not expect a result
equal to the sacrifice.
I think, with you, that Russia is a great danger to
Europe. I think so more strongly, because I have had
peculiar opportunities of studying the real sources of her
power, and because I believe these sources to be perma
nent, and entirely beyond the reach of foreign attack (I
have not time now to tell you why). But I am deeply
convinced that it is not by taking from her a town, or
even a province, nor by diplomatic precautions, still less
by placing sentinels along her frontier, that the Western
powers will permanently stop her progress.
A temporary bulwark may be raised against her, but a
mere accident may destroy it, or a change of alliances or
of domestic policy may render it useless.
I am convinced that Russia can be stopped only by
raising before her powers created by the hatred which
Bhe inspires, whose vital and eohstanl interest it shall bo
to keep themselves united, and to keep her in. In other
words by the resurrection of Poland, and by the reanima-
tion of Turkey.

TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ. 297
I do not believe that either of these means can now
be adopted. The detestable jealousies and ambitions of
the European nations resemble, as you say in your letter,
nothing better than the quarrels of the Greeks in tho
face of Philip. Not one will sacrifice her passions or
her objects.
About a month ago I read some remarkable articles,
which you perhaps have seen, in the German papers,
on the progress which Russia is making in the extreme
East. The writer seems to be a man of sense, and well
informed. It appears that during the last five years, Russia,
profiting by the Chinese disturbances, has seized, not
only tho mouth of the Amoor, but a large territory in
Mongolia, and has also gained a considerable portion of
the tribes wliich inhabit it. You know that these tribes
once overran all Asia, and have twice conquered China.
The means has always been the same, — some accident
which, for an instant, has united these tribes in sub
mission to the will of one man. Now, says the writer
very plausibly, the Czar may bring this about, and do
what has been done by Genghis Khan, and, indeed, by
others. All Upper Asia is at the mercy of a man, who, though
the seat of his power be in Europe, can unite and close
on one point the Mongols.
I have gone farther than you have into Sir G. Lewis's
book. I have read it through, and I do not say, as you
do, that it must be a good book, but that it is a good book.
Pray say as much to Sir George when you see him,
as a letter of mine to Lady Theresa, on the subject, may
have miscarried.*
* This seems to have been the case, as the letter does not appear.

298 LETTERS.
It is as necessary now for friends to write in duplicate
from town to town, as it is if they are separated by the
ocean and fear that the ship which carries their letters
may be lost. I heard with great regret of the illness of
Miss Alice Lister. Pray tell me her news, and indeed
that of all the family. I hear that our friend John Mill
has lately published an excellent book. Is it true ? * at
all events remember me to him.
Adieu, my dear Senior, do not forget us any more than
we forget you. Kindest regards to Mrs. Senior, and Miss
Senior, and Mrs. Grote.
TO MADAME SWETCHINE. Tocqueville, October 15, 1855.
My correspondent's last news of you was not bad.
He said that you were rather better than you usually
are ; your friends must make up their minds as you do
so bravely to this imperfect state, since God refuses you
the perfect health of which you would make such
admirable use. Madame de Tocqueville and I have
constantly thought of you during the vicissitudes of what
you so touchingly call a civil war. You may believe that
we entered fully into the impressions which such a scene
must produce on a mind like yours, so open to every
tender feeling, and closed against every bad passion.
Alas ! there is no sign of the cessation of so much public
and private misery. I fear too that to the scourge of
war will soon be added that of famine. It will at any
rate be very hard for the poor to get through the winter,
and those who are well cff ought to make considerable
The work referred to was probably that on the Early History of Rome.
— Tu.
* On Liberty. — Tb.

TO MADAME SWETCHINE. 299
sacrifices for their poor neighbors. I own that I do not
expect this benevolence to be general.
This series of bad years seems to have worn out charity
instead of exciting it. One soon becomes familiar with
misery which one does not feel, so that an evil, which the
longer it lasts seems greater to the sufferer, seems from
the very fact of its lasting, smaller to the spectator. And
then the links which ought to unite all classes have been
much weakened by our revolutions. . . .
Do you not wonder with me, Madame, when you see
spring from a nation so devoid of public virtue, an army
so full of it ? So much selfishness here, so much self-
devotion there, seem incompatible. I see a peasant start
to join his regiment ; he is in despair, often in tears. He
is little touched by the thought that he is going to defend
his country ; he thinks only of his fields, of the petty
business and interests which he is about to leave. He
curses duty for tearing him away from them. A year
afterwards his letters are brought to' me by his family.
In them he appears ready to bear anything required by
military duty ; he knows that a soldier should sacrifice
every day, without hesitation, his comfort or his life for
the good of the service ; he found these maxims and
these regulations established; he adopted them with his
uniform ; he will shake them both off together. Once more
he will become the poor clown whom we used to know,
and will carry with him into the civil world none of the
sentiments which he exhibited in his little military one.
Till I reflected upon the present behavior of our armies,
I thought that there was much exaggeration in the accounts
handed down to us of the public virtues of the ancients.
I could not understand how the men of those days were
capable of them. For, after all, man is the same in

800 LETTERS.
every age. The every-day conduct of our armies ex
plains the mystery. Civil society was at that time con
stituted as military society is now. The men of those
days, as individuals, were not better than we are, in
private life they were probably worse. But in public
life they were subjected to an organization, a discipline, a
prevailing opinion ; to fixed customs and traditions, which
forced them to a conduct different from ours.
I am ashamed, Madame, to see how I have been
carried away by the current of my ideas. Excuse this
uncalled-for dissertation, on the ground that I write to
you as you permit me to talk to you, giving utterance to
every thought that comes into my head.
You show so much kind interest in the work which I
am engaged in, that I wish I could tell you that my stay
here had been very productive. But as yet, unfortunately,
such is not the case. Yet I have every inducement to
work. I am fond of this place, I lead a quiet life, I
enjoy retirement without the sense of loneliness ; the only
thing wanting has been the energy, without which one can
do nothing well, though one has every motive for doing
well. When, after an interval of nearly two months, I
tried to return to my work, all my interest in it was gone.
I was struck by all its faults, and I was attacked by one
of the most violent fits of despondency that I have had
for a long time. I am very subject to this mental disease,
and I have not even the consolation of believing what one
often hears said, that fools never suffer from it. I have
met in the course of my life with people who distrusted
greatly their capacity, who were inclined to think that
they did nothing well, and Were perfectly justified in
that opinion. The truth is that great self-confidence and
great self-distrust proceed from the same source, an

TO M. DE CORCELLE. 301
extreme desire to shine, wliich prevents men from judg
ing themselves calmly and temperately. Vanity is gay
in some men, and is sad in others, equally without
reason  TO M. DE CORCELLE. Tocqueville, October 16, 1855.
Like you, my dear friend, I have never had much taste
for metaphysics, perhaps because I have never seriously
studied them, and have always thought that mere good
sense would carry one as far. But, nevertheless, I ac
knowledge that they have had extraordinary attractions
for some of the most remarkable and even religious minds
that the world has ever seen ; in spite of Voltaire's say
ing, that metaphysics are a mere romance about the mind.
The ages in which metaphysics have been most culti
vated, have in general been those in which men have
been most raised above themselves. Indeed, though I
care little for the study, I have always been struck by
the influence which it has exercised over the things
which seem least connected with it, and even over so
ciety in general. I do not think that any statesman
ought to be indifferent as to whether the prevailing
metaphysical opinions be materialistic or not. Condil-
lac, I have no doubt, drove many people into materialism
who had never read his book ; for abstract ideas relating
to human nature penetrate at last, I know not how, into
public morals.
You would prefer the truth to be reached without so
much ceremony, and
" Qr' Aronce de plein pied epousdt Clelie." *
* " That Aronce should marry Clelie without more ado." From the
"Pre'cieuses ridicules." It is an allusion to one of Mademoiselle de
Bcude>y's celebrated romances. — Tr.

802 LETTERS.
Your sally made me laugh, but did not change my
opinion on essentials. TO THE COMTE DE CTRCOURT.
Tocqueville, November 8, 1855.
In the midst of many petty vexations, I was agreeably
interrupted, dear M. de Circourt, by your letter telling
me of Madame de Circourt's convalescence. We had
been alarmed by the one before. Pray remember us
very particularly to the dear invalid, and tell her that
we are sincerely anxious for her speedy recovery. I
venture to advise her to remain in the country till her
strength is completely restored, and even then to resume
her Parisian life with moderation. Her real friends will
go to see her, and what do the others signify ? What are
called the duties of society are strange enough. They
may be defined as the mutual obligation of civilized be
ings to tease each other. Who has not one hundred
times gone to see a person who wearied you, and whom
you wearied, for the purpose of obliging him to come to
weary you and himself at your house ? Is not this a
picture of the world, with the exception of the chosen
few whom one cannot meet too often ?
Your letters always interest us extremely, and you
cannot write too often or too much. What you told me
about the bad relations between the allied armies in the
Crimea was confirmed to me by a very intelligent young
officer, who had just come back.
It seems that neither army can bear the other. Such
a result was inevitable. France and England are like
two men with incompatible tempers, who, not satisfied
with living on good terms with each other, determine
to sail round the world in the same vessel. They will

TO M. DE CORCELLE. 303
be lucky, if they return to harbor without a serious
quarrel. Tell me a little about yourself, dear M. de Circourt.
Your health seems to mo to bo bad, and your mind ill at
ease ; the one leads to the other, as I know but too well.
I find it more difficult to recover my spirits than to cure
my body — but I often succeed ; and I find, on the
whole, that as I grow older they become more even. It
is true that the world seems to me to fall more and more
short of the greatness which once filled my imagination.
We are not, however, responsible for its faults or its
vices, and for people who have only a short time to
spend at the play, the piece is interesting enough.
TO M. DE CORCELLE.
.... I was much grieved by the death of Paillet.
He was a man of great talent, his public conduct was
noble, — and then he sat so often by our side in old
times ! How much our little party has diminished ! In
the space of three years two members have died,* two
are in exile, f and the rest dispersed. Providence has
sent us hard trials, and has dealt heavy blows upon a
small body. I am glad at least to think that not one
of us has retracted. TO THE SAME.
Tocqueville, December 23, 1855.
With M. Mole has vanished one of the last models of
the dignified politeness of former days. He was also one
of the last representatives of the French taste for intellec
tual pleasures, a taste which is every day disappearing.
Nothing strikes me more than the change which has
* Vivien and Paillet. t Lamoriciere and Be'deau.

301 LETTERS.
taken place, and which is still going on. By a taste for
intellectual pleasures, I mean the taste for fine literary
compositions and good conversation, which never ceased
to reign during three hundred years in every vicissitude
and in every class. Neither revolutions, martial glory,
public opinion, nor material prosperity affected it in the
least. It animated the priest and the layman, the noble
man and the tradesman. Nothing contributed more fo
making us the brilliant nation which, in spite of its faults,
its follies, and its crimes, captivated the imagination of
Europe. Now it would seem that to give one's self up to such
pleasures is a dangerous, or at least, a frivolous employ
ment. Well-behaved, serious people, think that they
have something better to do. M. Mole belonged to the
race who believed that a strong and lively taste for intel
lectual pleasures might be combined with everything else.
He has left no school behind him.
I hope, dear friend, that you are finishing the year
1855 better than I am. My health is feeble, and my
heart sad. But this does not prevent my entertaining
the most affectionate good wishes for you and yours in the
year 1856. TO MADAME SWETCHINE. Tocqueville, January 7, 1856.
It is very long, Madame, since I have profited by your
permission to write to you. I hoped to do much bet
ter — to return to Paris and to see you. But one duty
after another kept me here, and will probably detain me
for three weeks longer. I will not wait so long without
thanking you for your interesting and touching letter. It
is a full-length portrait of yourself. I wish that I could
deserve its kindness, for the friendship of such as you are,

TO MADAME SWETCHINE. 305
imposes obligations. Not only ought one to be grateful,
but to justify it. For this reason I wish that I could
cure myself entirely of the tendency to despondency
which you argue against in your letter. The disease
is, unfortunately, almost as old as myself, and it is not
easy to get rid of it entirely. I have, however, strug
gled much against it during the last few years, and I
have certainly diminished its violence. Your letter has
helped me, and done me real good. Do not, however,
think that the attack I mentioned to you was entirely
due to my morbid and habitual melancholy. It espe
cially arose from my reflections on facts which are only
too real. As I proceed in the work in which you are so
kind as to interest yourself, I find myself more and more
carried away by a stream of feelings and opinions which
are exactly opposed to those of most of my contempora
ries. I still love passionately things which they no longer
care for.
I still consider liberty as the first of blessings ; I still
see that it is one of the most fertile sources of manly vir
tues and great actions. No tranquillity and no material
comfort can in my mind make up for its loss. And yet I
see that most of the men of my time — of the most honest
among them, for I care little about the others — think
only of accommodating themselves to the new system,
and, what most of all disturbs and alarms me, turn a taste
for slavery into a virtue. I could not think and feel as
they do, if I tried : it is even more repugnant to my na
ture than to my will. An unconquerable instinct keeps
me consistent.
You can hardly imagine how painful, and often bitter,
it is to me to live in this moral isolation ; to feel myself
shut out of the intellectual commonwealth of my age and
vol.. n. 20

300 LETTERS.
country. Solitude in a desert would be less intolerable
to me than this solitude among men. For I own my
weakness, I have always dreaded loneliness ; I cannot
be happy, or even calm, unless I meet with the encour
agement and sympathy of some of my fellow-creatures.
To me, more than to any one else, may be applied the
saying, which has such a deep meaning, " It is not good
to bo alone." This condition of my mind which I have
ventured to unfold to you, will explain the utter despond
ency wliich sometimes seizes me when I am writing ; for
in working for the public it is sad to remember how dif
ferent from one's own are its thoughts and feelings. I
wish that I possessed the virtue of indifference to success,
but I do not. Long experience has taught me that the
success of a book depends more upon the previously con
ceived opinions of the reader than upon those expressed
by the writer.
You must not, however, think that the object of my
book is connected, either nearly or remotely, with the
events or the men of the present day. But you are as
well aware as I am that however little a book may seem
to have to do with the circumstances of the time, it is
pervaded with a spirit which is either sympathetic or
antipathetic to that of the age. This is the soul of the
book, the principle by which it attracts or repels.
I have said a great deal about myself, Madame, but you
yourself were the snare that drew me into this fault,
which is not habitual to me. I had much rather speak of
you. . . . TO M. DE CORCELLE. June 18, 1850.
Forgive me, my excellent friend, for not having an
swered your letter earlier. And yet I was deeply touched

TO M. DE CORCELLE. 307
by it. I should have said so before, but my grief is not
of the sort that likes to display itself, even to my best
friends.* Forgive me;. you know how tenderly I am
attached to you, and you cannot suppose that any conso
lations would be more gratefully received by me. But'
is there any consolation for so great a misfortune ? My
dear and excellent father has left a void which seems to
increase every day. You saw how gentle and how kind
he was. These qualities were striking even to strangers ;
to his sons his indulgence knew no bounds ; his tender
ness was that of a mother ; his interest in all that con
cerned us was incessant, yet never intrusive. Instead
of becoming weaker, his sensibilities grew keener with
age ; I never have seen a similar instance. His disposi
tion had always been sweet, but in his latter years he
became the most amiable of men. I may say that he
and my dear Marie were the only two beings who bound
me strongly to life, and I tremble when I think that only
one of them is left. I used to observe in my father what
I have never seen in any one else : religion presided over
every action, and every minute of his life, and, without
ever seeking to display itself, filled all his thoughts, influ
enced not only his belief, but modified and sanctified his
whole character. His confessor said to me on the day
before his death, " Your father sends for me for consola
tion, and I find in him a continual subject of edification."
Indeed, to me, the greatest proofs of religion have been
the life and death of my poor father.
I long for solitude ; it is as much required by my body
as by my mind. The former is ill at ease. Adieu, my
very dear friend. A thousand tender remembrances to
you all. * M. de Tocqueville had recently lost his father.

808 LETTERS.
TO THE SAME. June 29, 1856.
My dear and excellent friend, I have just reached
Tocqueville, where I found your letter of the 26th.
When I read it, I felt the first pleasurable emotion
which I have experienced for the last three weeks. I
was anxious that you should approve of my book, and a3
you directed to me, very rightly, to this place instead of
to Paris, where business detained me longer than I ex
pected, I was in a painful state of uncertainty as to your
opinion. Before I left Paris I received many tokens of
approval, which, considering from whom they came, I
greatly appreciated ; but all the congratulations in the
world would not have enabled me to bear philosophically
any sharp criticism from you ; imagine, therefore, the
impression produced on me by your praise, expressed
so nobly, wilh so much delicacy, and relating to the very
points which I was most anxious that a mind like yours
should approve. A thousand thanks.
You have done me great good, and I was much in
want of it ; for I arrived with my spirits more depressed
than I can tell you. My poor father was looking for
ward to visiting this year his " dear Tocqueville," as he
called it. He wished, he said, to see once more the
home of his childhood, where he was brought up under
the care of the admirable mother whom Providence
bestowed upon him. Only an hour before he died, he
% talked to me of his youthful recollections. With all
these thoughts in my head, my house looked desolate,
and it still seems to me a desert. I knew that I loved
my father ; but I did not conceive the charm which death
has spread over his memory, over all the qualities that

TO BARON BUNSEN. 309
endeared him to us ; that his kindness, his gentleness,
his indulgence, and his unselfishness would seem to me
even moro lovable when I had lost him. Part of your
letter affected me oven to tears, — the allusion to him in
the midst of your praise of me. You aro quite right. '
If I am worth anything, I owe it above all to my edu
cation, to those examples of uprightness, simplicity, and
honor which I found around nie on coming into the
world, and as I advanced in life. I owe to my parents
much moro than existence. I thank you from my heart.
TO BARON BUNSEN- Tocqueville, July 10, 1856.
Mv dear Sib,
I wroto a few lines to you from Paris, when I was in
great distress. I had just lost my father. I have now
returned to the quiet of the country, and I write to thank
you properly for the book which you sent to me through
our excellent friend.* I do indeed feel the value of the
present. As Mrs. Grote told you, I followed with in
tense interest all tho discussion to wliich you gave rise
in the Augsburg Gazette. I read tho analysis of your
work, and understood its spirit and its tendency. This
glimpse made me wish to see the book itself. You have
gratified me in the most agreeable manner, as I possess
it given to me by you. I am reading, but I have not
yet finished it ; for I am not a first-rate German scholar,
and, besides, such subjects cannot be studied quickly.
But, as I go on, I find all the interest that I expected in
your pages. I find the liberal spirit which struck me,
even in tho analysis; a spirit rare in itself, and pecul
iarly delightful when found in a lively theological discus-
* " The Signs of the Times," transmitted through Mrs. Grote.

310 LETTERS.
sion. I understand still better the sensation produced by
your book in Germany, a sensation which has not yet
ceased. I do not know if you have received the volume which
I have just published, "L' Ancien Regime et la Revolu
tion." More than three weeks ago I sent it to M. Frank,
a German bookseller, who promised to forward it to you.
I am most anxious that this book should obtain the
approval of so great a judge of political and historical
literature. I think that it contains much that is new,
and that will interest you.
I admire, Sir, the indefatigable activity with which
you turn your leisure to account I own that I am some
what ashamed to see how little I have done during nearly
four years that I have been similarly occupied, when I
consider that the number of your works has not injured
their depth nor their brilliancy. May you long preserve
this extraordinary vigor and fertility of mind. This must
be the ardent wish of all who are interested in the prog
ress of mankind.
Again receive my best thanks, and believe me yours
truly and respectfully, &c.
TO M. CHARLES DE RliMUSAT.
Tocqueville, July 22, 1856.
Although, my dear friend, I did not immediately an
swer your letter of the 28th of last June, you must not
suppose that I was indifferent to it. I never received
one that gave me greater pleasure. The approbation
of such a mind was a great point for me. I own that I
hoped to obtain it; but your praise was so lively, so
natural, and so friendly, that the man was as much
touched as the author, and I shall never forget, not only

TO M. CHARLES DE REMUSAT. 811
what you wrote, but the feeling with which you wrote.
Experience, however, taught me long ago to depend
upon your friendship.
I have not yet read the introduction you mention,*
though it has often been quoted to me as a thing which
must be read by every one. Twice I held the book in
my hand, and even opened it ; but you know my weak
ness — my horror, when I am writing on any subject, of
reading any general remarks upon it. It was because I
expected to find so much similitude in our views, that
I could not bear the idea of reading your book at that
time. I think I told you that you were the man in the
world who most alarmed me, and made me hurry on my
work. I had a presentiment that you would travel over
the same ground, and I saw that you were every day
putting into circulation some of the ideas on wliich my
work is founded. Your chapter upon Richelieu gave me
a sleepless night. When we meet, I will make my wife
tell you what I said to her. It will amuse you.
But when, dear Remusat, shall we have the pleasure
of again being together ? I mean together so as to have
opportunities for conversing without arranging before
hand the time and the subject. This can be the case
only in the country, and we live at the opposite ends of
the world. Will you never come into these parts ? You
would be received in a way which would prove fo you
our pleasure in seeing you. To return to your book :
now that I have laid my egg, I should like to enjoy
yours, but I have not got it here. I hope soon, however,
* This was the introduction to M. de IWmusat's remarkable work,
entitled " England in the Eighteenth Century," 2 vols. 8vo. In it
there are some comparisons between the Histories of France and of
England.

812 LETTERS.
to have it, for our friend Ampere has promised to bring
it to me from Paris.
It would be an affectation on my part if I did not tell
you that I am very anxious to see what you will say of
me in the Revue des Deux Mondes. I am glad, however,
that the periodical press has been allowed time to notice
the work, and that all the papers have appreciated it
from their own peculiar points of view with all their
diirerent opinions and passions, before you come at length
to sum up the defects and merits of the book, and to pro
nounce a final sentence upon it. Now that the public
voice has been heard, I long for yours.
My correspondents tell me that all Paris is talking
about Spain. You are near that country ; but I dare
say that you are no better informed. Our state in
France is as if we were in an exhausted receiver, where
distance no longer affects sound. As for Spain, I am
sure that she will never be a subject of congratulation
to the real friends of liberty. She seems to have been
created in order to disgust all who still cherish tho ridic
ulous fancy for freedom.
Adieu. Remember me to Madame de Remusat, and
to your two sons, whom I envy you.
TO MADAME SWETCHINE. Tocqueville, July 22, 1856.
Allow me, Madame, to begin by thanking you for
your last letter. The kind feeling which it expressed
comforted and strengthened me. Your letters have al
ways this effect. The great reason is, I think, that your
temperament is easily excited, while your mind is regu
lated by fixed principles. To these causes you owe your
charm and your influence. I wish that I could derive

TO MADAME SWETCIIINE. 313
more benefit than I do from such a valuable friendship,
and I lament my want of success. Since I last wrote I
have, however, regained some of the calm which T had
lost towards tho end of my stay in Paris, and (luring
the first part of my return hither ; but as yet I can take
a lively interest in nothing. No book, nor even employ
ment, has any hold upon me ; a state in which I am
always restless. For tranquillity with mo arises not
from repose, but from an active intellectual effort towards
a definite point.
.... I hope that this letter will find you in your
retreat, whither I should so much like to follow you,
were it only for a single day, in order to enjoy with
you long conversations, uninterrupted, as in Paris, by
visitors. The life so devoted to others which you lead there,
though it procures for you the great happiness of doing
good, must in the long run be trying to your health, and
I rejoice in the idea of your solitude. Enjoy it, Madame,
at your ease, and think of others only to remember the
strong affection which some, and the esteem which all,
entertain for you.
I have been reading a book which has much in
terested me. Albert de Broglie's " Church and Empire
of Rome in the Fourth Century." I think it very clever.
Though sincerely religious, the author has a sufficiently
liberal spirit to admit of his judging impartially the men
whom God used as His instruments. The whole style
and arrangement of the book seemed to me very good.
The decay of the Roman Empire always inspired me
with disgust, and the Prince de Broglie's is the first work
that has ever interested me on the subject. . . .

314 LETTERS.

TO M. VICTOR LANJUINAIS (FORMERLY MINISTER OF
COMMERCE). Tocqueville, July 18, 1856.
I ought to have thanked you before, mv dear friend,
for your last letter ; it not only gratified, but delighted
me. The impression which my book produced on you
has made me quite happy. Nothing could have given
me more pleasure. At the same time, and afterwards,
I received letters of congratulation, many in very flatter
ing terms. None of them gratified me more than yours.
Not only your approbation of my book, but your man
ner of expressing it, charmed me. I should keep your
letter, even if it were not addressed and did not allude
to me, for the sole pleasure of reading from time to
time such sentiments =u admirably expressed. You are
really eloquent without intending it in this letter, and it
touched us deeply.
In the midst of our satisfaction, we were much grieved
to find that we were not to expect you this year. We
regret it most sincerely. It will be a very long time
before we meet again. I do not intend to return to
Paris before the first of February. After the painful
excitement of last month, solitude and rest were abso
lutely necessary for me. I am less able than usual to
enjoy them, for my mind is restless and unoccupied. I
have finished the book which employed me from morn
ing to night I am not inclined nor able just at pres
ent to go on to the next part. This second part, too,
looks to me much more difficult than what I have already
done. The subject is so well known, and has been
treated so often, that it is not easy to be both new and
true. I can hope to discover no secret documents. I

TO PRINCE ALBERT DE BROGLJE. 315
have a confused view of enormous difficulties, and yet
I have already several ideas which seem to me valu
able ; and I have gone so .far that I ought not to turn
back. I am resolved to venture on this great under
taking; but first I must have rest.
I ought to travel, but I cannot at present. The tour
which I should prefer would be that which you, my
dear friend, propose to me.* It would have been very
pleasant to thank you in person, instead of sending to
you this letter ; but business of all kinds prevents my
leaving home this year. My presence is indispensable.
.... I wish, at any rate, that you would write to me
sometimes ; for I want to be, not only in friendship, but
in frequent communication with you.
TO PRINCE ALBERT DE BROGLIE.
Tocqueville, July 20, 1856.
I should have thanked you sooner, Sir, for the book
which you have been so kind as to give me,t if I had
notT wanted first to read it. I have been able to do so
with great attention, in this complete retirement. You
interested me greatly. I must, however, begin by telling
you (and I shall thus diminish the value of my praise),
that, before reading your book, I was more ignorant than
I had any right to be of the subject. I have very little
studied it, and I own that the period always somewhat
revolted me. The miserable spectacle of the decay of
the Roman Empire is so connected with the triumph
of the cliurch, that I was disinclined for either. Much
of what you say was, therefore, new to me ; and you,
perhaps, excited my curiosity more powerfully than you
would have done that of better judges.
* In Italy, where M. do Lanjuinais then was.
f " L'Eglise et l'Empire Romain au IVe Siecle."

316 LETTERS.
Your book was a source of continual interest to me.
In the introduction (which in itself is a book), your de
scription of the first development of Christianity, its diver
sities, and, at the same time, its unity ; the peculiarities
of the different churches, and of their founders ; the ex
citement which caused the schism ; Ihe relations of religion
with philosophy, and what they borrowed from each other ;
all this interested me immensely, and set me thinking. I
was glad to see that sincere religious faith, seeking nei
ther to display nor to hide itself, need not impair either
the sagacity or the liberality of the historian ; and could
allow him lo discern second causes, acting often in a con
tradictory sense, though guided by the hand of God. I
may say the same thing of the history which follows the
introduction. Your attachment to general truths does not
seem to me to conceal from you the weaknesses of the
men who spread them and maintain them.
In this part of your book, there are many new and
striking views. For instance : till I read it, I had never
so clearly perceived the features wliich, in the Roman
Empire, distinguished the East from the West, either
politically or ecclesiastically : in the former, tbe complete
assimilation to the Roman spirit, and in the latter, the
grafting of Rome on a subsisting Greek civilization.
This clears up considerably all that has subsequently
taken place in the world.
To conclude (that I may not tire you with a longer
analysis) : you have impressed on my mind a portrait of
Constantine, which must, I think, resemble the original ;
and you have enabled us to estimate the man who decided
such great events, without being himself a really great
man. Till now, I had only a confused idea of him. You
have made it definite and clear.

TO PRINCE ALBERT DE BROGLIE. 317
I did not, however, find in your book as much explana
tion as I wished, of a problem, for wliich I searched most
anxiously, and the absence of which in all books relating
to Christianity, has always greatly disturbed me. How
is it that the Christian religion, wliich has, in so many
respects, improved individuals and advanced our race,
has exercised, especially in the beginning, so little influ
ence over the progress of society? Why is it, that in
proportion as men become more humane, more just, more
temperate, more chaste, they seem every day more and
more indifferent to public virtue ; so much so, that the
great family of the nation seems more corrupt, more base,
and more tottering, while every little individual family is
better regulated ?
You several times touch upon this subject, but you
never go to the bottom of it. In my opinion, it deserves
particular notice ; for, after all, neither you nor I feel
bound, morally, to render unto Caesar the things which
are Caesar's, without inquiring, who is Caesar, and what
are his claims on us? This contrast, which strikes us
from the beginning of Christianity, between Christian
virtues and what I call public virtue, has frequently re
appeared. There is nothing which seems to me so difficult
of explanation, when we consider that God, and after Him,
his revelation, are the foundations, or rather the sources
of all virtues, the practice of which is necessary in the
different states of mankind. This great question ought
to be solved, and your intelligence is capable of coping
with it.
I will not finish this letter, already too long, without
sincerely complimenting you on the form and style of
your work. Perhaps I attach too much importance to
these merits, for I confess that even good thoughts, ill

818 LETTERS.
expressed, repel me. Your book appears to me to be
well arranged, and well written. Your style belongs to
a better age, and yet is not imitated, or affectedly antique.
Your words depend on your thoughts, while in modern
writing, the thought seems often to be made to suit and
to introduce the words.
Let me add, that I finished you with regret, that I
trust that you are continuing your excellent work, and
will soon give us further results.
TO MADAME SWETCHINE. Tocqueville, August 4, 1856.
I have nothing new to say of ourselves. The longer
we remain in our solitude the nearer we seem to approach
the attainment of calm. It is a blessing from God, when
retirement is a solace. It is a remedy against the trou
bles and the evils of life, which is constantly accessible ;
while that sought for in crowds is not always found, and
sometimes aggravates the disease. I feel our improve
ment by the increasing quickness with which time passes.
You know that our happiest days are our shortest. That
such should be the test of happiness, shows more than
anything else the misery of life. Yet it is true. I have
not recommenced any serious work, but I have many
regular employments, which, without satisfying me, in
terest me, so that the day goes leaving slight, but agree
able traces.
The news about my book is always good. I candidly
confess that this charms me, and that I do not possess the
philosophical indifference to success which I ought to
affect. To you, however, I ought, perhaps, to apologize,
rather for being too little, than too much, pleased ; for my
real mental defect is the restlessness which causes me

TO M. DE REMUSAT. 319
always to long for what is beyond my grasp, and makes
what I have most coveted lose its charm as soon as I
have caught hold of it. It is not, I know, my especial
malady, but that of human nature; still, I believe that I
suffer from it peculiarly. My life has been one of con
siderable anxiety, intermingled with, from time to time,
great joys. But to my imagination these always seemed
to be mere steps to something still better. I have no
right to complain of fortune, but I do complain of my
self. ... TO M. DE REMUSAT. Tocqueville, August 6, 1856.
Mt dear Fkiend, —
I received only yesterday the number of the Rrvuc des
Deux Mondes of the first of this month. Your article,*
which I eagerly expected, has exceeded my hopes, and I
cannot thank you too much for it. I shall always re
member that I have been so well praised, and praised by
you. Really I cannot tell you how grateful I am, nor
how much what I have just read increases my old and
sincere affection. Not only have you said the most.
agreeable things of me, but you have said them in a way
which will make everybody read them. I should have
read your article with delight, even if it had not related
to me. It contains all the grace, and the sagacity, and the
breadth of your mind, so that those who differ from you as
to the merits of the author, will read to the very end, and
with great enjoyment, all that you say of him, or about
him. Next to me, the man most pleased with the article
must be M. Buloz. t You have been as useful to him
* This article is reproduced, almost without change, in an excellent
work published by M. de Remusat, in the winter of 1859, entitled,
"La Politique Liberale."
t The Editor of the Review.

320 LETTERS.
as to me. I will say no more about it, except to repeat,
that I shall never forget the service which you have ren
dered to me, nor the pleasure whieh you have given me.
The substance and the form pleased me equally.
Buloz, in the letter in which he announced to me your
article, pressed me to write for the Review. Certainly
this is not the time at which I ought to refuse ; and yet I
do not know how to comply. I never wrote an article in
a Review,* and I am frightened at the difficulty of hav
ing to compress into so small a frame a picture which
shall be worth looking at. You, who do it so well, must
suggest to me a subject. When we were political col
leagues, every one said, " Let us talk on this to Remusat.
He has ideas about everything." I follow this counsel,
and beg you, if it does not give you too much trouble, to
tell me how to satisfy Buloz. I am full of zeal, but my
mind is barren. If your intelligence and experience do
not help me, at least as to the subject, I do not know
how I shall manage. TO MRS. GROTE. Tocqueville, August 10, 1856.
My dear Mrs. Grote,
We have lately received three papers, the Spectator,
the Press, and the Examiner, which have much pleased
us. AVe infer, from your handwriting on the covers, that
we owe them to you ; an instance of the active and useful
friendship of wliich we have had such large experience
during so many years. Still I have something to ask.
You have not given your verdict on my book, though
* M. de Tocqueville had forgotten the admirable article contributed
by him twenty years before to tbe Westminster Review, and repub
lished in Vol. I. — Tr.

TO MRS. GROTE. 821
you must be aware how anxious I am for it. You have
long known what I think of your mind, in which femi
nine grace, and manly vigor and breadth, are so well
united. It is easy, therefore, for you to understand the
weight which I attach on so important a subject, to your
opinion, and you ought, in charity, to have given it to
me. I do not wish you to tire yourself by details. Let
me have your general impression, and let me have it
quickly. We have received from Lady Theresa a charming
invitation to her country-house. It is very tempting, but
business of all sorts, connected with the death of my poor
father, keeps us at home. Up to this time we have lived
in the solitude which propriety and our own feelings re
quired. It has not been unpleasant. We have returned
to the little employments which we like — among them
are our daily readings together, of English and German.
In this way we have just finished Mr. Grote's last
volume. I deferred writing till then. We have been
deeply interested, and deeply grieved. Mr. Grote, while
he removes Alexander from legend to history, effaces the
brilliant colors with which the conqueror was gilded by
imagination. After all, it is a service to humanity to
strip its enemies of their ill-gained brilliancy, and to re
duce them to what they generally have really been —
great birds of prey. Perhaps I may venture to think
Alexander more of a Greek than Mr. Grote does. I do
not deny the barbarism which is under his Greek skin ;
still I think him a product of Greek civilization — a civil
ization which, both by its merits and by its defects, was
likely to produce such a man. Till I read Mr. Grote, I
never understood the march of Alexander across Asia,
the facility or the extent of his conquests, the conduct of
vol. n. 21

322 LETTERS.
Darius, or the causes of his fall. Like all good books,
this book has not only told me much, but made me think
much. Adieu, my dear Mrs. Grote. Remember me to the
great historian, and tell him confidentially, that I ear
nestly wish to know his opinion on my book. Above all,
believe in my friendship.
TO M. DUVERGIER DE HAURANNE.
Tocqueville, September 1, 1856.
You wrote to me three weeks ago, my dear Duvergier,
an interesting and instructive letter, for wliich I cannot
thank you too much : I recognized your friendship and
your activity, which always make what has been done a
starting-point for doing more.
The continuation of my book, in wliich you are already
kind enough to interest yourself, does indeed make me
anxious. The difficulties alarm me ; they are of all
kinds. The ancien regime was little known : as soon as
one had dug through the surface of ordinary opinions,
one came to what was new and true. But the Revolu
tion, especially in its earlier period, has been deeply
studied by the greatest thinkers of our times. To be in
teresting on such a subject and yet to be true, is difficult.
Again, the ancien regime is dead ; the feelings associated
with it are weak. The Revolution is alive : you cannot
touch it without wounding somebody, and all these some
bodies, much as they hate one another, join to attack the
writer. On this part of my subject, wliich, as you may
well believe, I have studied more, and indeed before
turning to any other, I have not yet formed complete or
consistent notions. I could not, at this instant, prudently
write on it, since my thoughts are not ripe, and the active

TO M. DUVERGIER DE HAURANNE. 323
and detailed study which I am eagerly pursuing, of what
was done and said at the time, may modify, in different
ways, my present general ideas.
I think that I had better follow the same plan that I
adopted in the composition of my last work, and indeed
formerly of the " Democratic'' It is disagreeable to talk
so much about one's self, but I will explain it to you, in
the hope of getting from you good advice.
When I have a subject to treat, it is almost impossible
for me to read what has been already written on it : the
contact of the ideas of other men disturbs and affects me
painfully. I try, therefore, to avoid knowing the expla
nations which other writers have given of the facts which
I have to relate, or the inferences which they have drawn
from them. Which, I may say parenthetically, makes
me in danger of reproducing, without knowing it, what
has been already written. I make the utmost efforts to
ascertain, from contemporary evidence, what really hap
pened ; and often spend great labor in discovering what
was ready to my hand. When I have gathered in this
toilsome harvest, I retire, as it were, into myself; I ex
amine with extreme care, collate and connect the notions
which I have acquired, and I make it a rule to give the
result, without bestowing a thought on the inferences
which others may draw from what I write.
Not that I am indifferent to the opinions of my read
ers, but because I know from experience, that if J. were
to write with a purpose, in order to support some precon
ceived system, I should write ill — that my only means
of writing well is to state clearly my own personal im
pressions and opinions.
Forgive, my dear friend, this long egotism, which, after
all, is only for you, and confidential.

324 LETTERS.
My object was this. You know now my method of work
ing : how am I to apply it to the immediate continuation
of my last book ? In what direction do you recommend
me to search most for facts ? In what quarter do you
advise me to direct my efforts to discover for myself
facts which have already been studied by others ; to ap
propriate them, and to draw from them intellectual food,
which shall be my own ?
I know that no new facts in the French Revolution
cau be discovered. What I want is your counsel as to
the best means of using what is known, as to the facts,
the ideas, and the passions of the period between 1789
aud the Directory. Up to this time, I have attended
principally to the conduct of the constituent assembly,
and to the discussions which that conduct occasioned,
both in and out of the assembly. These are, I think,
the documents that are the most authentic, the fullest
of matter, and the best subjects of my early study.
But there is much besides. When I was preparing the
"Ancien Regime," the groat difficulty arose from the
want of sufficient and certain information : with respect
to the first period of the Revolution, one is embarrassed
by the immense mass of contemporary publications. To
disregard any is dangerous — to read all is impossible.
I once employed myself on this early revolutionary
period. But this study, to which I devoted myself many
years ago, has left in my mind a confused multitude of
notions, from which I cannot easily extract the clear
and useful ideas of which I am now in search. The
mass of what I already know, prevents my seeing clearly
what I have now to learn. I should value much your
advice as to the mode of prosecuting this last study.
You are one of those who have gone deepest into this

TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ. 325
portion of our recent history : pray let me profit by
some of your great experience. You know my object ;
I am not writing a history of the Revolution, I shall not
follow in detail its incidents, but I wish to show how that
great event advanced, what was its true character, what '
were the principal causes which led it in one direction
rather than in another, which drove it on, which turned
it aside, which stopped it. How is one to choose upon
this heap of evidence a point from whence one can have
general views ?
If you can give me advice — your long friendship
authorizes me to expect it, and I shall receive it with
sincere gratitude. Kind regards to Madame Duvergier.
TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ.
Tocqueville, September 4, 1856.
I have read, my dear Senior, your letter with great
pleasure. Your criticism delights me, for I rely on your
judgment and on your sincerity. I am charmed that
you have found in my book more than you had learned
from our conversations, on my view of our history. We
have known one another so long, we have conversed so
much and. so unreservedly that it is difficult for either
of us to write anything that the other will think new.
I was afraid that what may appear original to the pub
lic might seem trite to you.
The Reeves have been with us ; we have passed to
gether an agreeable fortnight. I had charged Reeve to
bring you, whether you would or not. Did he make the
attempt ? I am sure that you would have enjoyed your
visit, and we should have rejoiced to have under our
roof two such old friends as you and Reeve.
It seems that you intend this winter to anchor in

326 LETTERS.
Rome. It increases my regret that I cannot be there.
It is out of the question. My wife's health and mine
are so much improved that the journey is not necessaiy,
and business of all kinds keeps us at home. If you
push on to Naples, you will, perhaps, enjoy the absence
of the poor king whom you and I found there five years
ago. I applaud the virtuous indignation of the English
against this little despot, and their sympathy with the
unhappy wretches whom he detains arbitrarily to die
slowly in his prisons. The interest which your great
nation takes in the cause of humanity and liberty, even
when that cause suffers in another country, delights me.
What I regret is that your generous indignation is di
rected against so petty a tyrant.
I must say that America is a puer robnstus. Yet I
cannot desire, as many persons do, its dismemberment.
Such an event would inflict a great wound on the whole
human race : for it would introduce war into a great
continent from whence it has been banished for more
than a century.
The breaking up of the American union will be a sol
emn moment in the history of the world. I never met
an American who did not feel this, and I believe that it
will not be rashly or easily undertaken. There will, be
fore actual rupture, be always a last interval, in which
one or both parties will draw back. Has not this oc
curred twice ?
Adieu, dear Senior ; do not be long without letting
us hear from you, and remember us affectionately to
' Mrs. Senior and to your daughter.

TO MADAME SWETCHINE. 327

TO MADAME SWETCHINE.
Tocqueville, September 10, 1856.
You wrote to me, Madame, three weeks ago, the kind
est and most interesting of letters, and I have not answered
it. I hope that you will find in your heart, which is so
full of indulgence, some excuse for me. I have none.
All that I can say is that I have always been the worst
of correspondents ; the most irregular and the most inter
mittent ; and that my best friends, always complaining,
have always pardoned me : believing that the defect is
owing, not to forgetfulness or to indifference, but to irre
sistible laziness. I could imitate one of my countrymen,
settled iu America, who, when he had an important com
munication to make, would travel a hundred miles rather
than write a letter. Very different was the feeling of one
of my neighbors, who so much preferred his pen to his
voice, that if he called on you, and got engaged in an ar
gument, he remounted his horse and galloped back to his
little manor-house to write his answer. I am the opposite
to the latter, but not very different from the former.
Your opinion as to my book charms me. It is impos
sible to enter more thoroughly into my thoughts, or to
master more completely the whole work. Your letter
shall be kept among the select criticisms. I must indeed,
tell you, Madame, that your place in my mind is singular
and apart. My feelings towards you are a mixture of
respect and affection, so peculiar, that they can be ac
counted for only by a very rare combination of different
merits. I delight in your noble hatred of slavery in all its forms.
I agree with you that a more equal distribution of prop
erty and of rights is the great object at which those who

328 LETTERS.
govern men should aim ; but my definition of political
equality, is not that which we so often hear in the present
day — general subjection to one ruler — but general free
dom. I suspected, I own, that you would not thoroughly ap
prove my picture of the clergy of the ancien regime, or
assent to my wish to link a clergy to their country by
worldly interests. I will not enter on so great a subject
by letter. But when I obtain one of the hours, so pre
cious and so rare, in which I can talk with you freely, I
hope to explain to you my whole thoughts, and to search
for the truth with the help of a mind as sincere as my
own, and more enlightened on these subjects. Perhaps
you- \yill allow me now to confine myself to explaining the
feelings with which I wrote.
It appears to me that morality is divisible into two por
tions, both equally important in the eyes of God, but which
His ministers do not teach with equal energy. One re
spects private life — the duties of mankind as fathers,
children, husbands, and wives. The other respects pub
lic life — the duties of every citizen to his country, and
to the portion of the human race to which he especially
belongs. Am I mistaken in thinking that our clergy care
much about the first branch of morality, and little about
the second ? This seems to me to be proved by the way
in which women think and feel. I find among them a
thousand private virtues — fruits of the direct influence
of religion. Religion makes them faithful wives, excel
lent mothers, just and indulgent mistresses, and kind to
the poor. But of public duties they seem not to have a
notion. That they do not perform any may be natural ;
but they do not even inculcate their performance. This
side of education has escaped their notice.

TO MRS. GROTE. 329
It was not so under the ancien regime. Mixed with
its vices were proud masculine virtues. I have often
heard that my grandmother, a woman of great piety, after
having urged her young son to exercise the virtues of pri
vate life, never failed to add, — " And then, my child,
never forget that a man belongs, above all, to his country ;
that there is no sacrifice which he must not make to it ;
and that God requires him to be ready to devote, on every
occasion, his time, his fortune, and his life, to the service
of the state and of the king."
But I see, Madame, that I am going too deeply into a
subject on which I wish to talk to you. It is too large
for a letter.
I cannot end without thanking you for your quotation
from Bossuet. Nothing, even in Bossuet, is finer. This
one sentence contains all that can raise man, yet retain
him within his proper sphere. It exhibits human great
ness and divine greatness. It is proud, yet humble.
Where did you find it? It was unknown to me.
Adieu ! Madame. Let us hear of you. My wife sends
to you her kindest remembrances, and I beg you to be
lieve in my tender and respectful attachment.*
TO MRS. GROTE. Tocqueville, October 1, 1856.
Mt dear Mrs. Grote, —
I want some information from you, as the creator and
* This is Madame Swetchine's quotation from Bossuet: — " Lord, I
know not if Thou art satisfied with me. I acknowledge that there are
many reasons why Thnu shouldest not be so ; but, to Thy glory, I must
confess that I am satisfied with Thee, nnd perfectly siitislied. To Then
it docs not matter whether 1 bo so or not. Jlut, nllcr all, it is tlio high
est tribute that I can pay to Thee. For to say that I am satisfied with
Thee, is to say that Thou art my God, since nothing less than God
could satisfy me."

330 LETTERS.
mistress of " History Hut." * It relates to movable fences
to keep in sheep. Reeve tells me that you have some
which are good and cheap — qualities important to us,
who like good things as much as if we ivere rich, and value
cheapness because we are not rich. Reeve's description
would have enabled me to send to England for some, were
it not for the trouble and expense of passing them through
our custom-house. I had rather, therefore, have them
made here. For that purpose I must have a model. Is
it too much to beg you, in your next letter, to sketch for
me one of these fences, and to add its dimensions? I
know that your fingers are almost as clever as your head,
and that you will do it all with three or four scratches. . . .
What I want, are fences which will make a little movable
enclosure, in which a few sheep can be penned, and shifted
from place to place on our lawn. Afterwards, we must
have fixed fences, against cattle and horses. If you can
also give us any advice on this matter, and explain it by
a sketch, you will add to our gratitude, and you will help
us to remedy the horrible disorder of our gardens. I
smile when I read over these pages, and consider the sub
ject of our correspondence. An academician writes to
one of the cleverest women in England about horses, cat
tle, and sheep. One would not have expected this.
Laugh at me if you like, but answer me.
My request will, at least, prove to you, my dear Mrs.
Grote, that from author I have turned farmer. I should
like to go back to the work of which you have seen the
beginning ; but when the fire in one's mind has gone out
it is difficult to light it again. I feel this now very pain
fully. I begin to tire of inactivity, and have not spirit to
* The name given by Mrs. Grote to the house which she built near
Burnham Beeches.

TO M. LANJUINAIS. 331
do anything. There is nothing that one understands less
than one's self. What is it that kindles our spirit? What
is it that cools it ? What is it that extinguishes it ?
What is it that lights it again ? Alas ! we know no
more (han if we were asking about a stranger.
Cannot you teach me how to set to work again ? This
is more difficult, perhaps, than to plan a sheepfold, but it
would be still more useful.
Adieu ! dear Mrs. Grote. Remember me to Mr.
Grote, whose historic fame seems to grow every day,
and believe in our sincere friendship.
TO M. LANJUINAIS. Tocqueville, October 13, 1856.
It is an age since I wrote to you, my dear friend, for
I knew not your direction. Now I direct to you in
Paris, depending on my letter being sent on to you, as
your address must be known there. Another reason for
my silence was, my absolute want of news. This cause
continues ; but I am tired of not hearing of you, and I
write as if I really had something to say.
Your last letter, from Cauteret, told me nothing of
your plans. How have you since then passed your
time ? I do not say, " What have you been working
at ? " for I suspect that, like Beaumont, you talk of
working and do nothing — which is a great pity. But
your friends cannot help that. And, in fact, since I have
been here I have not done much better. I talk every
morning of what I am going to do, and in the evening
I find that I have done nothing, or nothings. If, indeed,
like you, I were wise enough to enjoy the far niente !
but I am not ; I am a melancholy idler, while you are an
agreeable mixture of idleness and contentment. Abuse

332 LETTERS.
me as I abuse you, and let us shame one another into
industry. Or, instead of abusing me, tell me what you think of
this monetary crisis ? you, who have taken your degree
in this science. What does it tell you, or what does
your experience tell you, as to what is passing ? Will
the crisis become more violent ? Will it bring on a
commercial crisis ? Enlighten a little my ignorance on
a question, the solution of wliich affects every one.
Adieu ! You see that I was right when I told you
that I had nothing to say — at least, nothing new ; for
I am sure that there is nothing new in my warm and
sincere friendship. TO MADAME SWETCHINE. Tocqueville, October 20, 1856.
I assure you, Madame, that I am not tempted to use
the permission of not answering you. Even if my feel
ings towards you, a mixture of affection and esteem,
allowed me to be silent, the mere desire of having
another letter from you would force me to write. Your
letters give me such pleasure, that no idleness can pre
vent my endeavoring to deserve them.
In your last letter, you write truly and well on the
inevitable obscurity of our political duties in our troubled,
unstable, and revolutionary times, and on the difficulty
of laying down rules for the guidance of men's con
sciences. You would be right, if the thing to be done
were to advise or to discountenance certain political acts,
or certain political opinions.
But that was not my meaning. I believe (hat in poli
tics, as in all that relates to human actions, besides the
special counsels which apply only to special cases, there

TO MADAME SWETCHINE. 333
are principles, which ought to be inculcated ; feelings,
which ought to be inspired ; and a general direction,
which ought to be given to opinions and to intentions.
I do not ask the clergy to make those whom it educates,
or influences, conscientiously Republicans or Royalists.
But I wish it to tell them more frequently, that while
Christians, they also belong to one of the great Human
Societies which God has formed, apparently in order to
show more clearly the ties by which individuals ought
to be mutually attached — societies which are called
nations, inhabiting a territory, which they call their
country. I wish the clergy to instil into their very
souls that every one belongs much more to this collec
tive Being than he does to himself; that towards this
Being no one ought to be indifferent, much less, by treat
ing such indifference as a sort of languid virtue, to ener
vate many of our noblest instincts ; that every one is
responsible for the fortunes of this collective Being ;
that every one is bound to work out its prosperity, and
to watch that it be not governed except by respectable,
beneficent, and legitimate authorities.
I know that from the Gospel of the Sunday before
last, it has been inferred that the political duty of a
Christian is merely to obey the existing authority, what
ever it be. Permit me to think that this is rather a
comment than a text, and that it is not the definition of
Christian public virtue. Without doubt, Christianity
can exist under every government. This is an evidence
of its truth. It never has been bound, and never will
be bound, to any form of government, or to the grandeur
of any single nation. It can reign in the worst govern
ments, and extract, from the calamities which they in
flict, the occasion for admirable virtues. But it does not

334 LETTERS.
follow that it ought to render us insensible, or even in
different, to those calamities, or that it does not impose
on every citizen the duty of boldly striving to abate them
by all the means which his conscience indicates and ap
proves. This is what I wish to have taught to men, and still
more to women.
During my experience, now long, of public life, noth
ing has struck me more than the influence of women on
this matter — an influence all the greater, because it is
indirect. I do not hesitate to say that they give to every
nation a moral temperament, which shows itself in its
politics. I could illustrate this by many examples. A
hundred times I have seen weak men show real public
virtue, because they had by their sides women who
supported them, not by advice as to particulars, but by
fortifying their feelings of duty and by directing their
ambition. More frequently, I must confess, I have ob
served the domestic influence gradually transforming a
man, naturally generous, noble, and unselfish, into a cow
ardly, commonplace, place-hunting self-seeker, thinking
of public business only as the means of making himself
comfortable ; — and this simply by daily contact with
a well-conducted woman, a faithful wife, an excellent
mother, but from whose mind the grand notion of pub
lic duty was entirely absent.
Forgive, Madame, these wanderings. I yield to the
pleasure of showing my inmost ideas to a person whose
open and genial mind will understand even those which
it does not accept.
Alas ! it is a pleasure which I seldom taste, and
perhaps shall taste less and less the older I grow.
My contemporaries tread paths so different from mine,

TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ. 335
often so contrary, that our feelings and our opinions
scarcely ever are the same. I ought not to complain
of them; I do not complain: we live on good terms,
but there is a gap between us. They have ceased to
think of what is always pressing on my mind. They
care nothing for what is most dear to me. I despise
or am indifferent to their new idols, while my pur
poses in life are no longer comprehended by them.
We do not oppose, but we do not understand, one
another. I have relations and neighbors and friends,
but my mind has not a family or a country.
I assure you, Madame, that this moral and intellectual
insulation makes me feel more alone than I did in the
American forests. I read the other day this sentence
quoted by M. de Broglie from an ancient philosopher : —
" Support patiently the approach of death ; for those
from wdiom it will separate you do not think as you
do." I do not share the position, the creed, or the
philosophy of the speaker, but I have often felt like
him. Adieu ! Madame. While I retain your esteem and
friendship I ought not to complain.
TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ.
Tocqueville, November 2, 1856.
I am grateful to you, my dear Senior, for your kindness
in telling me what I most wish to hear. The judgments
of such men as those with whom you have been living,
while they delight me, impose on me the duty of unre-
laxed efforts.
Your fortnight at Lord Aberdeen's amused me exceed
ingly, and not the least amusing part were the eccentri
cities of A. B.

33 G LETTERS.
There is one point in which the English seem to me to
differ from ourselves, and, indeed, from all other nations,
so widely, that, they form almost a distinct species of men.
There is often scarcely any connection between what they
say and what they do.
No people carry so far, especially when speaking in
public, violence of language, outrageousncss of theories,
and extravagance in the inferences drawn from those
theories. Thus your A. B. says, that the Irish have not
shot half enough landlords. Yet no people act with more
moderation. A quarter of what is said in England at a
public nieeling, or even round a dinner-table, without
anything being done or intended to be done, would in
France announce violence, wliich would almost always be
more furious than the language had been.
We Frenchmen are not so different from our antipodes
as we are from a nation, partly our own progeny, which
is separated from us by only a large ditch.
I wonder whether you have heard how our illustrious
master is relieving the working-people from the constant
rise of house-rent. When they are turned out of their
lodgings, he reestablishes them by force ; if they are
distrained on for non-payment of rent, he will not allow
the tribunals to treat the distress as legal. What think
you, as a political economist, of this form of out-door re
lief? What makes the thing amusing is, that the government
which uses this violent mode of lodging the working-
classes, is the very same government which, by its mad
public works, by drawing to Paris suddenly a hundred
thousand workmen, and by destroying suddenly ten thou
sand houses, has created the deficiency of habitations.
It seems, however, that the systematic intimidation and

TO HENRY REEVE, ESQ. 337
oppression of the rich in favor of the poor, is every day
becoming more and more one of the principles of our
government. I read yesterday a circular from the prefect of ... . a
public document, stuck up on the church-doors and in
the market-places, which, after urging the landed propri
etors of the department to assess themselves for the re
lief of the poor, adds, that their insensibility becomes still
more odious when it is remembered that for many years
they have been growing rich by the rise of prices, which
is spreading misery among the lower orders.
The real character of our government, its frightful
mixture of socialism and despotism, was never better
shown. I have said enough to prevent your getting my letter.
If it should escape the rogue who manages our post-office,
let me know as soon as you can.
TO HENRY REEVE, ESQ.
Tocqueville, November 7, 1856.
Many thanks, my dear Reeve, for your kind present
of the two Edinburgh Reviews; they form a valuable
volume. I have read, indeed studied, with much in
terest and instruction, your article on the Austrian Con
cordat. You have put into it, knowingly or not, an
anti-catholic spirit, which is a symptom of our times.
I am inclined to think that you exaggerate the preva
lence of ultramontanism, and its papal origin.
What is passing in Rome is a symptom of a general
and more important phenomenon, which you disregard —
the reawakening of a catholic spirit over the whole
world, the new and youthful life wliich has been breath
ed into this ancient body.
vol. ii. 22

338 LETTERS.
Do you suppose that the destruction of Gallicism, and
the adoption of Ultramontanism by the majority of the
clergy, and of their flocks, in France, are owing to the
Pope ? By no means. The French Catholics are led
towards it spontaneously, by motives with which Rome
has nothing to do. It is not the Pope who tries to as
sume spiritual despotism, but the faithful who excite him
to do so.
This excitement, though not universal, is general
throughout the Catholic world. I was surprised to find
it as strong in Germany as in France. You ought to
study this phenomenon : no one could do it better. The
present attitude of Rome is rather an effect than a cause.
This is my conviction.
Permit me another observation : those who talk of
the liberty of the Church fall often into a confusion of
thought, which you have not altogether escaped. The
Church may be said to be enslaved when the Pope, in
stead of being, as the Council of Constance supposed him
to bo, a constitutional monarch, becomes a despot, un
restrained by any general or local rights among the faith
ful. This is the present tendency. You protest very
properly against this tendency, and you say that it leads
to the slavery of the Cliurch. But you do not appear to
see that there is another slavery, and in Catholic — per
haps, too, in Protestant countries — a still worse slavery,
where the Church is so thoroughly in the hands of the
State as to become an instrument of government ; of this
Russia is an example. No slavery can be more formid
able nor more mischievous. Those who see with pleas
ure a Catholic sovereign shake off the yoke of Rome,
should take care that the clergy, by becoming indepen
dent of the Pope, do not become the servants of the

TO MADAME SWETCHINE. 339
prince ; that he does not force them to give to his pas
sions, or to his despotism, a religious sanction. Do not
forget that Bossuet, who established against Rome the
four articles of the Gallican Church, wrote a book to
prove the divine right of kings, and the duty of passive
obedience. I think that there is a middle course. I believe that
both the Pope and the King may have each his own
share of ecclesiastical power. But I say, that to limit
the authority of the Pope is not liberty, unless the
authority of the King be also limited ; and that if I must
choose between the two slaveries, I had rather subject
the Church to its spiritual chief, and thus separate alto
gether the spiritual and temporal powers, than place both
Church and State under the sceptre of a layman.
Adieu ! my friend. A thousand regards, and particu
larly to Mrs. Reeve. TO MADAME SWETCIIINE. Tocqueville, December 4, 1856.
You are too kind, Madame, when you are grateful for
my confidence ; for gratitude is due only where there has
been an effort. My confidence in you has always been
instinctive and involuntary. It was not, I confess, your
eminent intelligence, nor the halo of virtue surrounding
you, that subjugated me ; it was the real sensibility, the
truthfulness of thought and of feeling, still more rare,
which distinguish you. I am not one of those who think
all men false and treacherous. Many people are sincere
in important affairs and on great occasions, but scarcely
any are so in the trifles of every day ; scarcely any ex
hibit their true feeling3, but merely those which they
think useful or popular; scarcely any, in ordinary con-

310 LETTERS.
versation, seek and express their real opinions, instead of
searching for what will sound ingenious or clever. This
is the kind of sincerity which is rare, particularly, I must
say, among women and in drawing-rooms, where even
kindness has its artifices. You had from the first day I
saw you my full confidence, and you have retained it. . . .
Your last letter wandered in search of me for two
days. It went first to my brother. I believe, because
you gave me a title. I never assumed one. I did not
do so thirty years ago, when I entered the world — I
thought myself too young. I got accustomed to be known
by my Christian name, and I have kept to it.
TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT.
Tocqueville, December 21, 1856.
.... I have nothing interesting to tell you. I am
doing nothing, absolutely nothing. Yet my time flies
pleasantly and with prodigious rapidity. This is one of
the wonders of a country life ; it is made up of little
duties, not one important or very agreeable, which yet
fill the day, one knows not how, without ennui, yet with
no great pleasures. I should like, however, to give
Buloz * the article which he writes for. But on what
subject ? If one occurs to you, and you do not wish to
take it up yourself, as is too probable, pray mention it
to me.
Have you read Marmont's Memoirs ? You ought to
do so. The writer, thqugh a gentleman, is one of the
heroic adventurers brought forward by the Revolution,
without moral greatness, detesting liberty, and all that
checks physical force, but intelligent and moderate. His
narrative is easy and natural, it paints well the men of
* Editor of the Revue des Deux Mondes.

TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT. 341
his time, and especially the most extraordinary one among
them all. But it is strange that a man who has taken
part in such great affairs, and lived in such company,
should not have more to tell. Yet the book ought to be
read, especially the narrative, leaving out three quarters
of the documentary evidence.
You should read too, as we have done, the third and
fourth volumes of Macaulay. It is more amusing than
any novel, and almost as superficial. When I say super
ficial, I mean that it wants the sagacity which penetrates
through the passions of the time and of the countrj',
down to the general character of an epoch, and to its
place in human progress. As to mere facts, it is far from
superficial — the author has studied them well.
You must read the book to see how the substantial
honesty, good sense, moderation, and virtue of a nation,
and the institutions which these qualities have created
or preserved, can struggle against the vices of those who
manage its affairs. Never was there a set of statesmen
more dishonest than those whom Macaulay here de
scribes ; never was there a society more admirable than
that wliich grew up under their hands. Among nations,
as among individuals, there are constitutions proof, not
only against disease, but even against physicians.
Mr. Grote sometimes delights us by sending English
newspapers. There is a charming frankness in their
nationality. In their eyes the enemies of England must
be rogues, and her friends great men. It is their only
standard. Ampere, whom we keep as long as we can, works like
a Benedictine. Every week he gives us a lecture from
his " Roman Emperors." The book will be most inter
esting, and will live. He unites two rare qualities —

342 LETTERS.
sound learning and a style unconstrained, clear, brilliant,
and full of anecdote. All is animated by a love for lib
erty, which warms the writer and the reader. Ampere
never wrote with more spirit.
TO MADAME SWETCHINE.
Tocqueville, December 29, 1856.
I belong enough to the ancien regime, which I am ac
cused of abusing, to feel that I cannot see a year close
without telling my best friends how much I love them.
Allow me, Madame, to continue with you this custom of
the good old times, and to assure you, as warmly as it
can be done by letter and from afar, that there is no one
whose welfare interests me more, nor for whom I more
cordially desire every source of happiness — that is to
say, the sources of happiness which you prize, though
little desired, or even understood, by most people —
many opportunities of doing good, of comforting, of as
sisting, of improving, all who approach you. You value
and you enjoy this noble use of life. God therefore has
favored you with the greatest of his gifts ; all that can
be wished for you and for your friends is, that you may
long enjoy it.
It was kind of you to remember that M. de Rosambo
was my uncle. Though his death had long been expect
ed, it gave us great pain. His place in our family was
peculiar. He was not quite a father, but he was more
than an uncle. The last band that kept the remains of
our family together is broken. With him has disappear
ed the last of a generation which set us such brilliant
examples of virtue. He united fervent piety to the
highest sense of honor. Kind and mild almost to weak
ness, he was heroic in all that affected his self-respect or

TO M. A. RIVET. 343
his duty. Though admirable and excellent, he was un
happy. He had to bear many domestic calamities, ren
dered peculiarly severe by his sensitiveness. The justice
of God will reward him, and his example would, by it
self, prove to me that there must be a future, and that
the inconsistencies of this world will be set right in an
other. You are wrong, Madame, in thinking that I laid down
my title. I never accepted nor refused it. I have al
ways thought that, now that titles have no meaning, we
should treat them, as La Bruyere advises us to treat
dress. " There is always vanity," he says, " in being
overdressed, and sometimes in being underdressed. A
gentleman leaves the matter to his tailor."
TO M. A. RIVET. Tocqueville, July 20, 1857.
Ampere has told you, my dear friend, with what
pleasure your visit was thought of by us all, and ex
pected by the majority. I say the majority, for I formed
a sceptical minority. I know too much of business, and
of the enormous extent of yours, to really believe that
we should see you. But my doubts did not shake the
confidence with which my wife and Ampere maintained
that you would come. Their disappointment, therefore,
was greater than mine, though their pleasure would not
have been. After all, it is only a postponement. I try
to think not of the delight which I should have had if
you had come to us, but of that which I shall soon have
in going to you. We shall be in Paris by the end of
next month. Our arrival, however, will be saddened by
many painful recollections.

811 LETTERS.
I cannot tell you how many thousand reasons make me
little inclined for the world, though the society of real
friends was never more precious to me. We tear our
selves from this place with pain. We have passed some
months here with no very great enjoyments, but without
the friction which people of our feelings and opinions
must encounter in Paris. Our solitude has been really
agreeable. Nothing was wanting except a little more
mental exercise. I do not think that for twenty years I
have been so idle. It is only during the last month that
I have resumed serious work. We have had, and we
have still, an army of workmen transforming the pleasure-
ground behind the castle. Looking after and directing
them has been one cause of my intellectual inactivity,
and I begin to think that there is no place so bad for
study as home. But my idleness has amused me, which
is not the case with all idlers. I like country work, and
my wife passionately delights in it. She was impatient
for you to advise her on a thousand difficult questions.
What is to be the line of this walk, or the position of this
thicket ? Shall this tree be cut down ? Valuing highly
your taste, she hoped much from you. But the maker
of so many roads has not time to set out walks. . . .
TO M. J. J. AMPERE. Tocqueville, January 27, 1857.
I hope, my dear friend, that your protecting Divinity
accompanied you to Rome. It must be the God who
watches over drunken men. Your absence of mind gives
you an equal right to his protection. With his help, I
trust that you are this instant quietly established in a
good lodging, enjoying Rome and good health. You
must have embarked last Thursday. We were thinking

TO M. J. J. AMPERE. 345
about you all that day. With us the weather was warm
and calm ; I hope that it was so on the Mediterranean.
Before and after there were storms. You must have
passed between them. Oh God of the drunken, and of
the absent, great is thy power ! You are safe now, but
we have been anxious ever since you left Tocqueville.
We were afraid of Paris. You might have been attacked
there by influenza, and we should have felt in some de
gree responsible. But you had spring weather, such as
we have not enjoyed before or since.
You were most kind in spending so much time in
looking for books for me. Believe me, that, if I could
have procured in any other way those which you have
collected for me from different libraries, I should not
have troubled you, knowing how busy you must have
been in Paris. I am very grateful, and what consoles
me is, the serious use which I am making of my
materials. I feel as if I were about to set to work in
earnest here, and still more eagerly, I trust, in Paris.
After all, my workmen are a greater distraction than
society will be in my present state of mind. I hope, on
my arrival, to plunge into libraries and archives, if it
were merely to divert my attention from the thoughts
wliich pervade my mind : for in my inmost heart there
is a deep sadness, a sorrow for which there is no remedy,
as I do not even wish to shake it off. It is interwoven
with my best feelings, and it is that which is produced
by my clear perception of what is going on in my coun
try. . . .
Tell us about your labors in Rome ; you know how
they interest us. So many of them were begun at
Tocqueville, that we seem to have had something to do
with them. We talk of your success as ours. How I

310 LETTERS.
wish that you may be induced to repeat the experiment
of passing three months at Tocqueville. It was not,
indeed, a fortunate one, and this makes mo fear for the
future. Tocqueville has never been, and never will be
again, so uncomfortable a residence, and I think that I
may venture to say that the next time we have the hap
piness to receive you, it shall not be in a marsh. The
paths shall be dry, and I hope, sheltered. You are an
element in all our plans. When we are laying out a
walk, we say, " Ampere is sure to like this." Judge us,
therefore, I pray, not according to our past short-comings,
but to our future merits. TO MRS. GROTE. Tocquevillo, January 31, 1857.
My dearest Mrs. Grote,
I was surprised and delighted by your letter of the
18th, following so quickly that of the 3d. I cannot
thank you too much for having remembered and talked
of me so kindly al Harpton Court ; * one result was, a
letter from Lady Theresa, as charming as yours. My
wife tells me that I am being spoilt. Perhaps so. It is
very pleasant.
Is it possible that I have never acknowledged the
illustrated plan of sheepfolds? I scarcely believe it: I
am sure that my thanks will be found in some of my
letters, though, perhaps, concealed from you in the dark
ness of my bad handwriting. Your reproaches are very
amusing, and very well deserved. You infer from the
improvement in my writing a falling-off in my affection.
Allow ine to say you ure ungrateful. It was the last
effort of friendship which alone could ever have made me
* The seat of Sir G. C. and Lady Theresa Lewis.

TO MRS. GROTE. 847
write tolerably. Even such friendship does not enable
me to suppress erasures and interlineations, and even
occasional blots. I never could copy — besides hating it,
I always found that I wrote the second time worse than
the first.
I resign myself, therefore, to the complaints of my
friends. Somebody told me the other day that my writ
ing was midway between hieroglyphics and cuneiform. I
console myself, however, with trying to believe that there
is a man who writes still worse, our excellent friend,
Senior. You are right when you say that a foreigner cannot
understand the peculiarities of the English character. It
is the case with almost all countries. I do not know how
national character is formed, but I do know, that when
once formed, it draws such broad distinctions between
nations, that to discover what is passing in the minds of
foreigners, one must give up one's own nationality, almost
one's identity. Who but the French ever understood
France ? It is not, however, clear to me that they
understand themselves. Like you, we are an agglomera
tion of different races, but these dissimilar elements have
been amalgamated into a new composite being, resem
bling no other.
What you say of the simple character of the English
is true. Their perception is just, somewhat narrow, but
clear : they see only what they look at ; they do well only
one thing at a time. This accounts to me for one of their
remarkable peculiarities. In the eyes of an Englishman
a cause is just, if it be the interest of England that it
should succeed. A man or a government that is useful
to England, has every kind of merit, and one that does
England harm every possible fault. The criterion of

348 LETTERS.
what is honorable, or great, or just, is to be found in the
degree of favor or of opposition to English interests.
There is much of this everywhere ; but there is so much
of it in England that a foreigner is astonished. This
accounts for the Machiavellism, often attributed to the
policy of England, which in my opinion does not exist
among you more, but rather less than elsewhere. The
principal reason of this phenomenon is because you see
only one thing at a time, and also in your laudable desire
to connect the actions of your country with objects
greater and higher than mere interest, even though it be
the interest of a nation. You want to succeed. You
need for that purpose the help of a man, or of a govern
ment. You think of nothing else — you pass over the
crimes of the one and the faults of the other. You
scarcely perceive them in your concentrated eagerness
for success. In France we often do things useful to our
selves and unjust to others ; but their convenience does
not conceal their injustice. We employ rogues, but we
admit that they are rogues. I am not sure that our con
duct is more moral than yours ; but it shows greater com
prehensiveness, it shows that we can see two sides of a
question. As for the indifference of the English to the liberty of
the continental nations, which seem to forget that they
ever were or can be free, I understand it We cannot
ask foreigners to care for us more than we do for our
selves. I do not require you to destroy, against your
own interests, bad governments whieh are tolerated by
their own subjects ; but I cannot allow you to call them
good governments. I admit that these are not times in
which England can play in the world her great and an
cient part of a liberal power. But then let her give it

TO M. FRESLON. 349
up, at least for a time. She must not ally herself to
despotism in one country, and in another, for instance in
Italy, to liberalism. She must choose.
Kindest regards, first to Mr. Grote, then to Senior, and
then to Reeve. TO M. FRESLON. Tocqueville, February 3, 1857.
It seems to me, my dear friend, that I have been
terribly long without writing to you. Influenza, under
which I suffered for a week, and a steady resumption of
work, have deprived me of the pleasure of conversing
with you. I am amused with the vanity of a man who
thinks that he can discover the causes of a Revolution,
and does not know what makes him act himself, at differ
ent times, in different ways. This is my case. I know
not why I was almost out of humor with my subject ;
nor do I know why it again delights me. The first state
was painful, the second is pleasant. I hope that it may
last. I cannot work unless I am strongly excited. At
this instant, I think that I have before my eyes all the
mighty movement which has carried us from the Ancien
Regime to our present state. I think that I see it begin,
rush on, slacken, and stop. The Revolution, viewed as
a whole, is as yet an indistinct, undefined object, but so
vast, that it excites and enlarges the imagination. It
must be in the background of every picture, to keep up
one's spirits in the tiresome working out of the details.
I wish that you, too, could shake off the depression
which I think that I perceived in you. I admit that we
have great reason to be sad. But we live in a time
of such unexpected changes, wc belong to a nation so
excitable and so variable, that no one need despair while

350 LETTERS.
he himself is consistent. Live, and good times will come.
You laugh at my philosophy, and with good reason ; for
no one is less philosophic than I who preach philosophy.
Laugh, then, at the preacher, but believe in the sermon.
Adieu. Remember me to all our friends, particularly
to Lanjuinais and Dufaure.
TO HENRY REEVE, ESQ.
Tocqueville, January 11, 1857.
Thank you, my dear friend, for your interesting letter
of the 5th. I had already read with pleasure and in
struction the excellent article on Macaulay. I suspected
that the article on Philip the Second was not entirely
English ; * but I did not know before that it was due.
in part to M. Guizot. Even that on Convocation inter
ested me. You see that, whether intelligent or not, I am
at least your attentive reader.
I am surprised by our statistics as much as you are.
Two things must be distinguished — the migration from
the country to the towns, and the absence of increase in
the whole population. The former is an old tale, and is not
peculiar to France. It is the necessary result of the
progress of trade and manufactures. It has, indeed, been
greater during the last four or five years, in consequence
partly of the increase of Paris, and of the works which
are going on there ; and partly of the spirit of specula
tion, the hope of sudden wealth, which a thousand causes,
and especially the temptations offered by the government
to small capitals by the state loans, have excited. In
many provinces this fever has reached even the country
people, and a peasant who has caught it, becomes discon-
* In the original the word is " Francais: " but the context requires
it to be " Anglais." — Ta.

TO HENRY REEVE, ESQ. 351
tented with his position, and tries to make a rapid
fortune in a town.
Whatever be the cause, it is certain that the country
population has been falling off throughout the last
twenty-five years. Twenty-five years ago Tocqueville
contained more than 700 souls. It has not now more
than 600. But in five years Cherbourg has gained
10,000 inhabitants. I have watched man by man the
emigration from Tocqueville. The greater part are arti
sans, who, in search of higher wages and greater means
of employment, go to Cherbourg, Caen, or Havre, and
generally get at last to Paris. They are not our best
people. The remainder, which is small, consists of
peasants belonging to families in easy circumstances,
who become Uttle tradesmen : they hope to rise in the
world. Many such cases have occurred in my neigh
borhood. This migration is easily accounted for, and
would not alarm me, unless, as I fear, it should largely
increase. But I own that I cannot account for the absence of
increase in our population taken as a whole. I abso
lutely refuse to attribute it to increasing poverty. Noth
ing can be more striking than the contrary. I know
nothing of the provinces of the centre, nor of the south,
the ancient Languedoc. I believe that in these prov
inces, where several of their peculiar crops have of late
almost utterly failed, there is great distress. But that is
a local and temporary accident. In all the provinces that
I am acquainted with, the peasant is better fed, better
lodged, better clothed, better off, and more industrious
than he was twenty-five years ago. I judge, as I usually
do, from what I see around me. I affirm that through
out all my neighborhood, every new house is better built,

352 LETTERS.
neater, and more wholesome than those which were built
when I was young.
Thirty years ago the peasant was dressed in linen
all the year round ; now, the poorest family wears warm
and substantial woollens. Then he ate black bread ; his
bread now would have appeared a luxury even to the
rich of those days. Butcher's meat was then almost
unknown. Twenty-five years ago the little town of St.
Pierre had only a single butcher : he killed a cow once
a week, and had great difficulty in selling his meat.
Now there are nine, and they sell more in a day than
was then sold in a week. Nor is this peculiar. I have
observed a similar change in Touraine, in Picardy, in all
the Ile-de-France, and in Lorraine.
How then is it that a population undeniably prosper
ous, has scarcely increased in number during five years ?
Accidental causes, such as the war, the bad seasons, the
dearness of provisions, are insufficient, and I see no
general cause, except one, which I will explain to you.
That is the one general wish in France to limit nar
rowly the number of children. Without entering into
details, I state the fact. And it is remarkable that
the most prosperous families are those which have the
fewest children, and the most miserable those which
have the most. The instant a family becomes rich, or
even desires to do so, the number of children becomes
small. The parents wish every one of their children to
have the wealth and the position which they themselves
have acquired. For this purpose there ought not to be
more than two, or at most three. I will not say that this
is the principal cause which keeps down the population
of France, but it is an important one.

TO MADAME SWETpHINE. 353
TO MADAME SWETCHINE. Tocqueville, February 14, 1857.
Since I wrote to you, I have seriously resumed my
work, but it has been insufficient to restore the tone of
my mind. I am still unhinged ; but this is nothing new.
I have always been subject to a vague restlessness, mid a
longing for I know not what, Though this malady has
become chronic, I wonder that I suffer from it so much
under circumstances in which I ought to enjoy peace.
Assuredly I cannot complain, and I do not wish to com
plain, of the lot which Providence has assigned to mc.
Still, the most essential of the conditions of happiness
fails me, the power of quietly enjoying the present. Yet
I have by my side a person whose society ought long ago
to have cured me of this great, though absurd misery.
And, in fact, this society has been most salutary to me.
For the last twenty years it has kept my mind from giv
ing way, but has not rendered it perfectly and habitually
steady. My wife, whom the world little knows, thinks
and feels strongly. Misfortune affects her sharply and
violently, but she can thoroughly enjoy happiness. She
does not waste herself in vain agitation. She floats
calmly and quietly down the current of tranquil days and
favorable circumstances. The serenity of our home
sometimes extends to me, but I soon lose it, and relapse
into the idle, useless excitement in which my mind keeps
turning like a wheel out of gear.
TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ.
Tocqueville, March 8, 1857.
I shall write to you, my dear Senior, from hence. We
cannot tear ourselves away from the charm of our retreat,
or from a thousand little employments.
vol. n. 23

354 LETTERS.
The papers tell us that your ministry has been beaten
on the Chinese war. It seems to me to have been an
ill-chosen battle-field. The war was, perhaps, somewhat
wantonly begun, and very roughly managed ; but the
fault lay with distant and subordinate agents. Now
that it has begun, no cabinet can avoid carrying it on
vigorously. The existing ministry will do as well for
this as any other. As there is no line of policy to be
changed, the upsetting it is merely to put in the people
who are now out.
If the ministry fall, the man least to be pitied will be
our friend Lewis. He will go out after having obtained
a brilliant triumph on his own ground, and he wil} enjoy
the good fortune, rare to public men, of quitting power,
greater than he was when he took it, and with the envi
able reputation of owing his greatness, not merely to his
talents, but also to the respect and the confidence which
he has universally inspired.
All this delights me ; for I feel towards him and
towards all his family a true friendship.
To return to China.
It seems to me that the relations between that
country and Europe are changed, and dangerously
changed. Till now Europe has had to deal only with a Chi
nese government — the most wretched of govern ments.
Now you will find opposed to you a people, and a peo
ple, however miserable and corrupt, is invincible on its
own territory, if it be supported and impelled by com
mon and violent passions.
Yet I should be sorry to die before I have seen
China open to the eyes as well as to the arras of
Europe.

TO M. AMPERE. 355
Do you believe in a dissolution ? If so, when ?
A thousand regards to Mrs. Grote, to the great
historian, to the Reeves,, and generally to all who are
kind enough to remember my existence.
I delight in the prospect of meeting you in Paris ;
yet I fear that you will find it dull. All that I hear
from the great town shows me that never, at least
during the last two hundred years, has intellectual life
been less active.
If there be talent in the official circles, it is not
the talent of conversation, and among those who for
merly possessed that talent, there is so much torpidity,
such want of interest on public affairs, such ignorance
as to what is passing, and so little wish to hear about
it, that no one, I am told, knows on what subject to
talk, nor how to make that subject amusing. Your
conversation, perhaps, may put souls into these dead
bodies. Come and try to work this miracle.
TO M. J. J. AMPERE. Tocqueville, May 12, 1857.
Your letter of the 29th April, my dear friend, reached
me four or five days ago. I am glad that you are at
work; and I long to know what you are reserving for
Tocqueville. Pray do not work too much at night.
I am told that you take lonely walks and amuse your
self all the day and all the evening, and work from
midnight till five in the morning. I implore you to
avoid such excesses. Believe me, that some day you
will find yourself suddenly exhausted, and be forced
to recruit yourself by a long and miserable idleness.
For the love of God, and of your friends, lead a life
that can last. You have many friends besides those

356 LETTERS.
who are intimate. Your .name is constantly mentioned
to me by people who feel a real interest in you and
in your works. They talk to me about you, in order
to make me converse, as a skilful converser breaks the
ice by talking to a man about himself. Two of your
friends in particular, D'Oudon and Mohl, delighted me
by their acute and true criticisms, the general result
being that the excellence, both of your style and of
your matter, has greatly increased, and goes on in
creasing ; which is also my opinion. . . .
Notwithstanding all that I see, and all that you say,
I do not fear that we shall perish, like your Roman
Empire. The resemblance is superficial ; the differ
ences are deep : the chief one is that we are only
asleep, your Romans were dead.
TO THE COMTESSE DE CIRCOURT.
Tocqueville, February 22, 1857.
I have just received, Madame, an interesting pam
phlet, by M. BeuleV* on the cover of which I recog
nized, with gratitude, your writing. Mixed with my
gratitude was a deep-rooted remorse for having been
silent ever since your last letter. My excuse is in
the kindness of M. de Circourt, who tells us all your
news, which has made me less anxious to ask you for
them. I infer, from what he says, that you are slowly
but surely approaching complete cure. I trust that
the fine weather will restore you entirely to yourself,
and to your friends. As one of them, I shall take no
small part in the general joy.
M. Beule's speech is a distinguished work. It is
marked by all his especial merits — acuteness of
* " A speech on beginning u Course of Lectures on Archsjology."

TO LADY THERESA; LEWIS. 357
thought and elegance of expression. Unhappily he
finds it easier to tell us what we ought not to do, than
what we ought to do.
I see that architecture resembles politics. I agree
with him that Gothic is not a French style ; but I am '
not sure that, at least in churches, it is not a Catholic
one. At least, I am sure that its dim sanctuaries, its
spires springing up to heaven, its tall and slender
forms suit a religion full of mystery and of asceticism,
which seems to employ what is material only to raise
us to what is spiritual. It has been well said, that
while our old cathedrals put us in mind of heaven,
our rich modern palace-like churches bring us back to
the enjoyments of this world. I have felt it a thou
sand times. The " Imitation of Jesus Christ " and Goth
ic architecture seem to me to belong to the same in
spiration. I do not say that we ought to return to a
style unsuited to modern ideas. We live in a century,
not of monasteries, but of railways and Exchanges.
The arts ought to belong to their age. But what is
the architecture suited to this age ? M. Beule ought,
I think, to have told us ; but he does not.
TO LADY THERESA LEWIS. Paris, May 6, 1857.
I have been absent from Paris, Madame, for some
days, and I have turned my leisure to profit by read
ing through attentively the book which you sent to
me,* and I have great pleasure in describing the im
pression which it has left on me.
The historical period to which you have devoted
yourself has always, as I think you know, especially
» "Friends and Contemporaries of the Lord Chancellor Clarendon."

858 LETTERS.
interested me. I have read much on it ; but I can
sincerely say, that no history ever painted it to me so
vividly as your biographies. They make me feel that
I live in a real world, in the midst of the details
which form the peculiar physiognomy of an epoch. I
might venture, perhaps, to accuse you of having almost
superstitiously sought for truth in the minutest partic
ulars, if such a defect were not incidental to one of
tho rarest of merits. I had rather praise the admira
ble impartiality, which makes you anxious rather to
find and to exhibit the truth, than to adorn it. You
resemble in this rather one of our old celebrated Ben
edictines than a charming woman of the world. But
what our Benedictines could not do, was to estimate
with your wonderful good sense, tact, and impartial
justice, the facts so patiently collected and described.
I never saw better, never indeed so well, the causes of
the great Civil War of 1640, the spirit of those who took
part in it, the circumstances which enabled it to begin, to
go on, and to last for so long, and the forms, thoroughly
English and aristocratic, in which human passions then
exhibited themselves. Your biographies show the truth
of your remark, that no two things can be more unlike
than your Revolution of 1640 and ours of 1789. No
two things, in fact, can be more unlike than the state of
your society and of ours at those two periods. These
differences, added to those between the character and the
education of the two nations, are such that the two events
do not admit of even comparison.
When your revolution broke out, you still preserved,
in spite of the progress of kndwledge, all the powerful
social organization of the Middle Ages. The most en
lightened classes were always masters of themselves, and

TO LADY THERESA ,LEWIS. 359
decided for themselves the events. They were divided ;
they were opposed to one another, and they fought ; but
never, for a single day, did they abdicate. The conse
quences were, less boldness of intention, less violence of
action, and a regularity, a mildness, even a courtesy, ad
mirably described by you, which showed itself even in
the employment of physical force. If what then passed
in England is to be compared, not as to the substance,
but as to the details, with any event in France, it must be
with the Fronde. The passions which excited the Fronde
were as wretched, and its results were as ridiculous, as
the characters of the men of your Great Rebellion were
grand and its results important. But, as respects the
conduct towards each other of the opponents, even in tho
hot blood of battle, their mutual respect, kindness, and
generosity, the two civil wars were alike; and your 1640
resembles much more our 1648 than our 1793.
Nothing in your work struck me more than your
power of throwing yourself into the current of the
thoughts and feelings of those days, so as to show what
were the real motives of men so different from ourselves.
One sentiment especially, dead in the hearts of our gen
eration, lives in your pages, the idolatry of roj'alty which
made obedience noble, and the greatest sacrifices, not
merely to a principle, but to the person of the sovereign,
easy. Throughout the world this sentiment is going; in
France, it is gone. Even its traces have disappeared.
You give to it its real power and importance. I recog
nized it with a pleasing remembrance, for it is associated
with my earliest infancy.' At this day, I remember, as
if it were still before me, an evening in my father's
chateau, when some family rejoicing had brought together
a large number of our near relations. The servants were

800 EXTRACTS.
gone, and we sat round the fire. My mother, whose voice
was sweet and touching, began lo sing a well-known
royalist song, of which the sorrows of Louis XVI. and his
death, were the subject. When she ended, we were all
in tears ; not for our own misfortunes, not even for the
loss of so many of our own blood, who had perished on
tho field of civil war and on the scaflbld, but for the fate
of a single man, who had died fifteen years before, and
whom few of us who wept for him had evor seen!. But
this man had been our King.
Forgive, Madame, my bringing you back to times
which will never return ; and forgive this ill-connected
letter. It proves, at least, the uninterrupted interest
with which I have read your book. I owe to it emotions
and reflections ; two obligations, for which I am most
grateful. I wish that I could be sure of being able soon
to thank you in person. I hope, but not confidently, to
bo able to do so. Kind remembrances to Sir G. C.
Lewis, and to your children.
EXTRACTS FROM MR. SENIOR'S JOURNAL.
Paris, Thursday, May 7, 1857.
Tocqueville and I dined with M. and Mudame de
Bourke, and met there Ary Scheffer.
We talked of De la Roche's pictures, and Scheffer
agreed with mo in preferring the Binaller ones. lie
thought that De la Roche improved up to the time of
his death, and preferred his "Moses" and "Drowned
Martyr," painted in 1853 and 1855, to the earlier large
ones, and his " Girondins," finished in 1856, to the
earlier small ones.
We passed on to the increased and increasing popula
tion of Paris.

PARIS, MAY 7, 1857. 361
" The population of Paris," I said, " is only half that
of London, while that of the British Islands is not much
more than three fourths of that of France. If you were
to double the population of Paris, therefore, it would still
be proportionably less than that of London."
" That is true," said Tocqueville ; " but yet there are
many circumstances connected with the Parisian popula
tion, each of which renders it more dangerous than the
London one. In the first place, there is the absence of
any right to relief; the English workman knows that
neither he nor his family can starve. The Frenchman
becomes anxious as soon as his employment is irregular,
and desperate when it fails. The English workmen are
unacquainted with arms, and have no leaders with mili
tary experience. The bulk of the Frenchmen have
served, many of them are veterans in civil war, and
they have commanders skilled in street fighting. The
English workmen have been gradually attracted to Lon
don by a real and permanent demand for their labor.
They have wives and children. At least 100,000 men
have been added to the working population of Paris since
the coup d'etat. They are young men, in the vigor of
their strength and passions, unrestrained by wives or by
families. They have been drawn hither suddenly and
artificially, by the demolition and reconstruction of half
the town, by the enormous local expenditure of the
government, and by the fifty millions spent in keeping
the price of bread in Paris unnaturally low. The 40,000
men collected in Paris, by the construction of the fortifi
cations, are supposed to have mainly contributed to the
Revolution of 1848. What is to be expected from this
addition of 100,000 ? Then, the repressive force is
differently constituted, and differently animated.

862 EXTRACTS.
" In England you have an army which has chosen
arms as a profession, wliich never thinks of any other
employment, and, indeed, is fit for no other, and never
expects any provision except its pay and its pension.
The French soldier, ever since 1789, is a citizen. He
serves his six years because the law and the colonel
force him to do so ; but he counts the days until he can
return to his province, his cottage, and his field. He
sympathizes with the passions of the people. In the
terrible days of June, the army withstood the cries and
the blessings, the imprecations and the seductions of the
mob, only because they had the National Guard by their
side. Their presence was a guarantee that Ihe cause
was just. The National Guard never fought before as
they did in those days ; yet at the Chateau d'Eau, the
miraculous heroism and the miraculous good-luck of
Lamoriciere were necessary to keep them together. If
he had not exposed himself as no man ever did, and
escaped as no man ever did, they would have broken."
" I was there," said Scheffer, " when his fourth horse
was killed under him. As his horse was sinking, he
drew his feet out of the stirrups, and came to the
ground without falling, but his cigar dropped from his
mouth. He picked it up, and went on with the order
which he was giving to an aide-de-camp."
" I saw that," said Tocqueville. " He had placed
himself immediately behind a gun, in front of the
Chateau d'Eau, which fired down the Boulevard du
Temple. A murderous fire from the windows in a
corner of the Rue du Temple killed all the artillerymen.
The instant that Lamoriciere placed himself behind it, I
thought that I saw what would happen. I implored him
to get behind some shelter, or at least not to stand as a

PARIS, MAY 7, 1857. 363
mark. ' Recollect,' I said, ' that if you go on in this way,
you must be killed before the day is over, and where
6hall we all be ? '
" ' I see the danger of what I am doing,' he answered ;
' and I dislike it as much as you can do, but it is neces
sary. The National Guards are shaking ; if they break,
the Line follows. I must set an example that every
body can see and can understand. This is not a time
for taking precautions. If 7 were to shelter myself, they
would run.' "
Tocqueville and I walked home together.
" Scheffer," he said, " did not tell all that happened at
the Chateau d'Eau. Men seldom do when they fight
over their battles.
"The insurgents, by burrowing through walls, had
got into a house in the rear of our position. They
manned the windows, and suddenly fired down on us
from a point whence no danger had been feared. This
caused a panic among the National Guards, a force, of
course, peculiarly subject to panics. They turned and
ran back two hundred and fifty yards along the Boule
vard St. Martin, carrying away with them the Line, and
Lamoriciere himself. He endeavored to stop them by
outcries, and by gesticulations, and, indeed, by force.
He gave to one man, who was trying to run by him,
a blow with his fist, so well meant and well directed,
that it broke his collar-bone. At length he stopped
them, re-formed them, and said, ' Now you shall march,
I at your head, with the drummer beating the charge,
as if you were on parade, up to that house.' They did
so. After a few discharges, which miraculously missed
Lamoriciere, the men in the house deserted it."
" What were you doing at the Chateau d'Eau ? " I
asked.

364 EXTRACTS.
" We were marching," he said, " with infantry and
artillery on the Boulevard du Temple, across which
there was a succession of barricades, which it was neces
sary to take one by one.
"As we advanced in the middle, our sappers and
miners got into the houses, broke through the party-
walls, and killed the men at the windows.
" TI10.-.C three days," he continued, " impress strongly
on my mind the dangers of our present state.
" It is of no use to take up pavements, and straighten
streets, and pierce Paris by long military roads, and
loophole the barracks, if the executive cannot depend
on the army. Ditches and bastions are of no use if the
garrison will not man them.
" The new law of recruitment, however, may produce
a great change. Instead of 80,000 conscripts, 1 20,000
are to be taken each year. This is about all that are
fit for service. If the change ended there, our army
would be still more a militia than it is now. It would
be the Prussian Landwehr. But those entitled to their
discharge are to be enticed by higher pay, promotion,
bounties, and retiring pensions, in short by all means of
seduction, to reenter for long periods, for ten or fifteen,
or perhaps twenty years. It is hoped that thus a per
manent regular army will be formed, with an esprit de
corps of its own — unsympathizing with the people, and
ready to keep it down — and such will, I believe, be the
result. But it will take nine or ten years to produce
such an army, and the dangers that I fear are imme
diate." " What are the motives," I asked, " for the changes
as to the conscription — the increase of numbers, and
the diminution of the time of service?"

PARIS, MAY 7, 1857. 365
" They are parts," he answered, " of the system. The
French peasant, and indeed the ouvrier, dislikes the ser
vice ; the proportion of conscripts who will reenlist
is small ; therefore the whole number must be lar^e.
The country must be bribed to submit to this, by the
shortening of the term. The conscript army will be
sacrificed to what is to be the regular army. It will be
young and ill-trained."
" But your new regular army," I said, " will be more
formidable to the enemy than your present force."
" I am not sure of that," he answered. " The merit
of the French army was the impetuosity of its attack —
the Furia Francesc, as tbe Italians called it. Young
troops have more of this quality than veterans. Tho
Maison du Roi, whose charge at Steenkirk Macaulay
has so well described, consisted of boys of 18."
"I am thinking," I said, "of reediting my old articles.
Among them is one written in 1841, on the national
character of France, England, and America, as displayed
towards foreign nations. I have not much to change in
what I have said of England or of America.
" England has become, perhaps, a little more prudent ;
America a little less so. But France seems to me to be
altered. I described her as a soldier, with all the faults
of that unsocial character. As ambitious, rapacious, eager
for nothing but military glory and territorial aggrandize
ment. She seems now to have become moderate and
pacific, and to be devoted rather to the arts of peace
than to those of war."
" France is changed," answered Tocqueville, " and
when compared with the France of Louis XIV. or of
Napoleon, was already changed when you wrote, though
the war-cry raised for political purposes in 1840 deceived
you.

3GG EXTRACTS.
" At the same time I will not deny that military glory
would, more than any other merit, even now strengthen
a government, and that military humiliation would inev
itably destroy one. Nor must you attach too much im
portance to the unpopulariy of Ihe last war. Only a
few even of the higher classes understood its motives.
" ' Que diable veut cette guerre ? ' said my country
neighbors to me. ' Si c'tStait contre les Anglais — Mais
avec les Anglais, et pour le grand Ture, qu'est ce que
cela puet signifier?'* But when they saw that it cost
only men, that they were not invaded or overtaxed, and
that prices rose, they were reconciled to it.
" It was only the speculators of Paris that got tired
of it. And if, instead of the Crimea, we had fought
near our own frontiers, or for some visible purpose, all
our military passions, bad and good, would have broken
out." May 8, 1857.
Tocqueville dined with us.
A lady at the table d'hote was full of a sermon which
she had heard at the Madeleine. The preacher said,
sinking his voice to an audible whisper, " I will tell you
a secret, but it must go no farther. There is more re
ligion among the Protestants than with us. They are
better acquainted with the Bible, and make more use of
their reading; we have much to learn from them."
I asked Tocqueville, when we were in our own room,
as to the feelings of the religious world in France, with
respect to heretics.
" The religious laity," he answered, " have probably
* "What tho devil is tho meaning of this war? If it were against
the English  But with the English, and for the Turk, what can
that mean? "

PARIS, MAY 8, 1857. 367
little opinion on the subject; they suppose the heretic to
be less favorably situated than themselves, but do not
waste much thought on him. The ignorant priests, of
course, consign him to perdition. The better instructed
think, like Protestants, that error is dangerous only so
far as it influences practice.
" X. Y. Z. was one of the best men that I have known,
but an unbeliever. The Archbishop of  tried in his
last illness to reconcile him to the Church. He failed.
X. Y. Z. died as he had lived. But the Archbishop,
when lamenting to me his death, expressed his own con
viction that so excellent a soul could not perish. You
recollect that Duchess, in St. Simon, who, on the death
of a sinner of illustrious race, said, ' On me dira ce qu'on
veut, on ne me persuadera pas que Dieu n'y regarde
deux fois avant de damner un homme de sa qualiteV *
The Archbishop's feeling was the same, only changing
qualite into virtue.
" There is something amusing," he continued, " when,
separated as we are from it by such a chasm, we look
back on the prejudices of the ancien regime. An old
lady once said to me, 'I have been reading with great
satisfaction the genealogies which prove that Jesus Christ
descended from David. Ca montre que notre Seigneur
dtait gentilhomme.' " t
"We are somewhat ashamed," I said, "in general of
Jewish blood ; yet the Levis boast of their descent from
the Hebrew Levi."
"They are proud of it," said Tocqueville; "because
they make themselves out to be cousins of the blessed
• " They may say what they like, but no one shall persuade me that
God does not think of it twice before he damns a man of his birth."
f " It shows that our Lord was a gentleman."

368 EXTRACTS.
Virgin. They have a picture in which a Duke de Levi
stands bareheaded before the Virgin. ' Couvrez vous
done, mon cousin,' she says. ' Cest pour ma coramodite,
Madame,' he answers."*
The conversation passed to literature.
" I am glad," said Tocqueville, " to find, that imper
fect as my knowledge of English is, I can feel the dif
ference in stylus."
"I feel strongly,'' I suid, " the difference of styles in
prose, but little in poetiy."
" The fact is," said Tocqueville, " that the only French
poetry, except that of Racine, that is worth reading, is
the light poetry. I do not think that I could now read
Lamartine, though thirty years ago he delighted me."
" The French taste," I said, " in English poetry differs
from ours. You read Ossian and the Night Thoughts."
" As for Ossian," he answered, " he does not seem to
have been ever popular in England ; but the frequent
reference to the Night Thoughts, in the books and letters
of the last century, shows that the poem was then in
everybody's memory. Foreigners are, in fact, provin
cials; they take up fashions of literature, as they do
fashions of dress, when the capital has left them off.
When I was young you probably had ceased to be
famihar with Richardson. We knew him by heart. We
used to weep over the lady Clementina, whom I dare say
Miss Seuior never heard of.
' During the first empire, we of the old regime aban
doned Paris, as we do now, and for the same reasons.
We used to live in our chateaux, where I remember, aa
a boy, hearing Sir Charles Gi'audisou and Fielding read
aloud. A new novel was then an event. Muduine de
* " Pray put your hat on, cousin." — "I had rather keep it off."

PARIS, MAY 15, 1857. 369
Cottin was much more celebrated than George Sand is
now ; for all her books were read, and by everybody.
Notwithstanding the great merits of George Sand's style,
her plots and her characters are so exaggerated and so
unnatural, and her morality is so perverted, that we have
ceased to read her." Thursday, May 15, 1857.
" Do you agree," I asked, " in the general opinion as
to the effect in Paris of our opposition to the Suez
canal?" " I agree," he answered, " in it thoroughly. There is
nothing that has done you so much mischief in France
and in Europe. I am no engineer ; I should bo very
sorry to pronounce a decided opinion as to the feasibility
or the utility of the canal, but your opposition makes us
believe that it must be practicable."
" Those among us," I answered, " who fear it, some
times found their fears on grounds unconnected with its
praetibility. They say that it is a political, not a com
mercial scheme. That the object is to give to French
engineers and French shareholders a strip of land sepa
rating Egypt from Syria, and increasing the French
interest in Egypt."
" What is the value," answered Tocqueville, " of a
strip of land in the desert, where no one can live ?
" And why are the shareholders to be French ? The
Greeks, the Styrians, the Dalmatians, the Italians, and
the Sicilians, are the people who will use the canal, if any
use it. They will form the bulk of the shareholders, if
shareholders there be.
" My strong suspicion is, that if you had not opposed
it, there never would have been any shareholders, and
that if you now withdraw your opposition, and let the
VOL. II. 21

370 LETTERS.
scheme go on until calls are made, the subscribers, who
are ready enough with their names, as patriotic mani
festations against you, as long as no money is to be paid,
will then withdraw en masse from an undertaking which,
at the very best, is a most hazardous one.
"As to our influence in Egypt, your journal shows
that it is a pet project of the Viceroy's. He hopes to
get money and fame by it. You irritate both his cove-
tousness and his vanity, and throw him for support
upon us." TO HENRY REEVE, ESQ. May 20, 1857.
I write to you, my dear friend, to recommend to your
attention the first two volumes of the great work by
Duvergier de Ilauranne,* which have just appeared. I
sincerely esteem and lovo the author, but I do not
believe that I am influenced by those feelings, when
I say that these volumes are the first really important
work on the period to which they refer. You know
well that one's own time is that with which one is least
acquainted. One knows only the events which one has
seen, just as a soldier can tell what he himself did and
saw in a battle, but cannot describe — indeed does not
understand — the battle as a whole. I have learned
much from what Duvergier has already published, and
I hope to learn still more from what is to come.
I have not read the first volume, which is introductory,
and treats of the whole Revolution. I told Duvergier
that I should not read it, and he cannot be angry, as I
have only obeyed the law wliich I have prescribed to
myself, as a means of preserving the originality of my
* "History of Parliamentary Government in France." There are
now four volumes.

TO MRS. GROTE. 371
opinions, never to read anything on the French Revolu
tion which was not written at the time.
But I have studied carefully the second volume on the
Restoration, and it is excellent. I fear that we may agree
less thoroughly when he comes to recent times, such as ¦
the reign of Louis Philippe. But as yet I find no mis
takes. His facts, as far as I know them, aro accurate ;
his judgments on men are generally calm and just. His
tory will, I think, appreciate events as he has done, and
you perceive that the writer has acted a part in the
greatest events of his time.
I trust that you will be as much pleased as I have
been. I am anxious, for the sake both of the author and
of the liberal party in France, which they represent, that
your great review should devote to the work an elaborate
article. The publication will be quick. Another volume
is expected next year. You will have, therefore, to
review successively the whole history of modern France,
related by a man of strong and well-directed mind, and
perfectly informed. To do so well will be a brilliant
work ; I may say an important action ; for the manner in
which this part of the past is appreciated may considera
bly influence the future.
I still hope to be in England next month. To see you
and yours will not be one of my least pleasures. A thou
sand kind and cordial regards.
TO MRS. GROTE. Paris, May 31, 1857.
Though you have punished me, my dear Mrs. Grote,
by not writing for three months, I must tell you that I
delight in the hope of soon seeing you. I hope to be in
London in the middle of June, and I need not say that I

372 LETTERS.
shall immediately try to find out you and Mr. Grote.
Your conversation is a great pleasure, and, like other
great pleasures, a rare one. Allow me to enjoy it fre
quently. London is now the only place for conversation.
I have been passing two months in Paris. I have heard
scarcely a word worth recollecting. It is not merely that
the fools are still fools ; but that the clever people are
getting foolish.
The charming art of conversation — to touch and to
set in motion a thousand thoughts, without dwelling tire-
somely on any one — is among the lost arts. It must be
sought for in History Hut.* There I shall look for it,
unless, as is probable at this time of year, I find you in
London. I know that in a great town, and in the
"season," one cannot reasonably hope to get much of
one's friends ; but the little that I shall get will be very
precious. I date from Paris that you may have my address, in
case, as is not very probable, you should answer me.
But in fact I write from the ancient chateau of Chama-
rande, about forty miles from Paris, where my wife has
lived for the last two months, in order to see her aunt
every day. I pass three or four days of the week with
her, and the rest in the great town.
Chamarande recalls to me the whole history of the
French aristocracy. It is immense ; built in the reign
of Louis XIII. It used to be surrounded by a large
park, planted under Louis XIV. by Leuotre. It was
the seat of a great family, of which the last, Marquis
Talaru, died without children a few years ago. Though
he chose to be buried here, he forgot to devise the es
tate. His heirs have sold it in lots. A man who keeps
* Mrs. Grote' 6 house near Burnham.

TO LORD RADNOR. 373
a shop in Paris has bought the park, and also the house ;
he has not pulled it down, because the materials, being
brick, are worth nothing. He lets in apartments. He
has cut down the ancient trees, and plants potatoes in
the avenues. Statues of goddesses stand among cab
bages. You stumble against broken marbles. The
fountains work a saw-mill. The splendor of the idle
higher classes is gone. Well-regulated and productive
industry has not yet come.* It is a picture of revolu
tionary destruction ; a sad picture which the nations that
have not seen the reality should look at.
I am writing without thinking, and scarcely know
what I have been saying, or whether it was worth
saying ; but I have done what I wished, wliich was to
express my real pleasure in the hope of seeing you
soon. Remember me to Mr. Grote.
TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ. London, July 10, 1857.
I was too ill, my dear friend, to go to you yesterday.
Dr. Ferguson tells me that I have been doing too much,
and prescribes perfect rest.
I have already read half your journal of 1857. It
is very curious ; but I am glad that you have disguised
me. It is terrible to be in London, and to see so little
of you ; but the force of circumstances is greater than
the force of wishes. Ever yours.
TO LORD RADNOR. Portsmouth, July 19, 1857.
I leave London, my lord, to-morrow. I cannot do so
* Chamarande, now the seat of M. de Persigny, is reassuming its
former splendor.

374 LETTERS.
without thanking you for all your kindness, and telling
you how much I enjoyed my visit to you : I regret only
that it was not longer. You know my curiosity ; and
among its objects none interest me more than the rela
tions between different classes of men, and their respec
tive circumstances. These facts, I think, explain the
most important social problems. I should have de
lighted in studying a part of the population neglected
by almost every traveller, that of the middle and lower
rural classes — to study their mode of life, their moral
and religious education, and their management of their
own affairs. Lady Mary would, perhaps, have per
mitted me to visit with her your cottages. She would,
I think, have found me a sympathizing companion, anx
ious to receive all the information which she would have
been kind enough to give me. I had not time for so
useful and agreeable an employment, and when shall I
have another opportunity ? You are so good as to ask
me to return ; but my life is so arranged at present as
to admit of little travelling. My last tour will be full
of precious recollections, and the best will belong to
Coleshill. TO M. J. J. AMPERE. Tocqueville, July 20, 1857.
I am just arrived from England, dear friend, and I
find your letter of the 26th of June. I do not wonder
that you still linger on the shore of the Lake of Como.
What a charming study it must make for a man who
. reads and writes all day out of doors.
I fear that after living in the poetry of nature, you
will care little for our prose ; the less, as we must ex
pect a wet autumn. We have had the finest of springs
and of summers. A cloudless sky, and the centigrade

TO M. DE CORCELLE. 375
thermometer at 25°- We shall have to pay for it by
torrents of rain, which will not spare you. My wife is
already miserable about it. But I venture to maintain
that you will not be unhappy at Tocqueville, even in
the rain ; for one can never be thoroughly unhappy
where there are true friends to receive one with open
arms, and to show deep regret when one goes away.
As I told you, I come from a tour of five weeks in
England. I lived in such a vortex, that I could not
write to any of my best friends ; and as for you, who
are at the head of the list, I did not know to what part
of Europe to address a letter. Yet I had much to say.
My principal object was the British Museum, which con
tains about 12,000 pamphlets published in Franco during
the Revolution. This collection is larger than any that
we have, but for want of a catalogue I could make little
use of it. I fared rather better in the State Paper
Office, wliich was opened to me exceptionally.* I read
there an interesting correspondence between the Eng
lish diplomatic agents and their government during the
first year of our Revolution. Though I did not learn
as much as I expected during my tour, I was far more
amused than I could have hoped. I was almost ashamed
of the warmth of my reception ; for you know I do not
deceive myself as to the real amount of my merits.
We stay here till February. So choose your time,
and believe in the delight with wliich we shall receive
you. TO M. DE CORCELLE. Tocqueville, July 2, 1857.
I have so much to say on England, wliich I have re
visited after a lapse of twenty years, and with a larger
* The correspondence up to 1789 is all that is usually shown —
Tit.

876 LETTICKS.
experience of men, that it would take many letters to
describe the impressions and the ideas produced by the
scenes wliich I witnessed.
The spectacle is the greatest that the world affords,
though every portion of it is not great. It contains in
deed things unknown in the rest of Europe — things
which consoled me.
I have no doubt that there exist among the lower or
ders some feelings hostile to their superiors ; but they do
not show themselves. What does show itself is the union
of all the educated classes, from the humblest tradesman
to the highest noble, to defend society, and to use freely
their joint efforts to manage as well as possible its affairs.
I do not envy the wealth or the power of England, but I
envy this union. For the first time, after many years, I
breathed freely, undisturbed by the hatreds and the jeal
ousies between different classes, which, after destroying
our happiness, have destroyed our liberty.
I enjoyed, too, in England what I have long been de
prived of — a union between the religious and the po
litical world, between public and private virtue, between
Christianity and liberty. I heard the members of every
denomination advocate free institutions, as necessary not
only to the welfare but to the morality of society. Never,
on any occasion, did I see what prevails on the continent,
the moral monstrosity of pious men applauding despotism,
leaving to infidels the cause of liberty.
TO M. DE CORCELLE. Tocqueville, August 5, 1857.
You have made to me, my dear friend, an undeserved
reproach. I compared England to the Continent, not
Catholicism to Protestantism.

TO M. DE CORCELLE. 377
Read over my letter, and you will find that I talk of
Christians of all denominations. This must include
Catholics. In fact, I never met with an English Catholic
who did not value, as much as any Protestant, the free
institutions of his country, or who divided morality into
two sections, one consisting of public virtues, which
might bo safely neglected, and tho other of private
duties, which alone need be observed. No Catholic, lay
or clerical, thought this. I did not compare the religions,
but the countries. I said only that I breathed freely in
a country in which liberty and religion were united. And
I said truly, for, from my youth, the spectacle of their
disunion has oppressed my soul. I said this more than
twenty years ago, in the introduction to my " Democralie."
I feel this now as I did in youth. It is the thought most
constantly in my mind.
The feeling which I am going to mention is common,
and seems to be symptomatic. " We have, indeed, lost
political liberty, but we keep an unlimited liberty of
anti-Catholic philosophy. That is enough ; it supplies
the place of all others. It is the highest development
of man."
What do our clergy, who delight in political neutrality
and apathy, say to this ? I venture to predict that in our
days it will not be found safe to withdraw the human mind
from political action. As soon as it ceases to act, it theo
rizes most dangerously. The German school, pretending
not to care for politics — indeed, to utterly despise them
— so undermined the foundations of society, that all the
German governments, unsupported by principles or hab
its capable of resistance, fell at one moment, and under
one blow.
A thousand kind regards to you and yours.

878 LETTERS.

TO LORD HATIIERTON. Tocquovillo, August 7, 1857.
I tried in vain to see you, my lord, the day that I
left London. Luckily I found Lady Ilatherton at home;
I could thank her for all the kindness which you both
showed to me during my most instructive and most agree
able residence in London. No portion of it pleased me
more than our little excursion lo Teddesley. Your kind
ness made me feel as if we had been friends for twenty
years. You may easily believe that Madame de Tocqueville
and I are much tempted to accept your pressing invitation
to visit you this year or the next. But great as the temp
tation is, I doubt the possibility of our yielding to it. We
are at work on our pleasure-grounds, and no one knows
better than your lordship the attraction of such an employ
ment, and the difficulty of escaping from it. Our visit
must, I fear, be delayed, but we hope not to be deprived
of the pleasure of seeing you in the mean time. My wife
begs to repeat to Lady Hatherton the delight which we
should feel in receiving you under our roof. She would
find here the rusticity of ancient France, but at the same
time, hosts so happy in receiving her, that she would, I
think, tolerate its inconveniences. I hope, too, my lord,
that though you live in a large domain, you are not in
capable of being interested by a very small one, and that
in our walks you would give me good advice for my gar
den and for my farm.
Let me flatter myself that these hopes will be fulfilled
next summer. I wish that I might rely on you. A yacht
would bring you to us in eight or ten hours. It would be
rather a party of pleasure than a voyage.

TO MRS. HOLLOND. 379

TO MRS. HOLLOND. Tocquovillo, August 9, 1857.
The torrent by which I was carried away in London,
and the suddenness of my departure, defeated, Madame,
to my great regret, ray intention of taking leave of you.
But the copy which you gave mc of your book is a
recollection wliich can never be effaced. I brought it to
this place, and Madame de Tocqueville and I have been
reading it with great delight. It fulfilled as a whole the
expectations raised in me by the first hundred pages.
Your narrative is most attractive, above all, from its
simplicity — a merit rare, and peculiarly appropriate to
your subject. The painter forgets herself in her picture.
The judgments are sober, moderate, and just ; without
ambition or affectation. Your book pleased and interested
us from the first page to the last ; and you bestowed upon
us an intellectual enjoyment which left a salutary moral
effect. These were, I believe, your objects, and you have
attained them perfectly.
What you say of Channing's reserved address explains
my impression on my visit to him in 1831, at Boston. I
thought him cold. I had been excited by his writings,
but his conversation froze me. I was somewhat dis
pleased, and never returned, and now regret my lost
opportunity. But I knew well the Tuckermans whom
you so well describe. Mr. Tuckerman and 1 were
brought together by our common interest in prisons.
The attractiveness of his admirable character made me
see him frequently. What struck me as peculiarly lov
able was not so much the immense good that he did, nor
the labor which he underwent for that purpose, as the
pleasure which he took in this sacred employment, and

380 LETTERS.
the frankness with which he expressed that pleasure. I
remember his saying, " If God will allow me to continue
to reside near  Street (the poorest in Boston), and
pass there a part of every day, I ask for nothing more ;
I shall be perfectly happy."
You have struck me by your vivid picture of one of
the finest of Channing's moral and intellectual features.
Though Channing, from his lofty point of view, looked
calmly on the character and the destiny of the whole hu
man race, he considered greatness to depend upon the
individual man. It was the individual whom he wished
to see great, independent, noble, and free. Though some
of his notions might have led him to exaggerate the im
portance of human societies, no one supported or honored
more man as an individual — a most useful and instruc
tive example to this generation, wliich is always tempted
to magnify man not as an individual, but as a mere bit of
a social machine.
The end of my paper tells me that I have already been
too long. Remember me to Mr. Hollond, and accept my
thanks for the pleasure which you have given to me.
TO M. J. J. AMPERE. Tocqueville, August 9, 1857.
I write to you, my dear friend, with no object, except
to tell you our news, and to ask for yours. Not that I am
anxious about you. You seein to ine to be plunged in
all the delights of Capua, except that you do not let them
enervate you. To live with friends in a pretty villa in
Upper Italy, and write in view of the Lake of Como and
the Alps, is a most luxurious manner of working.
We well understand the difficulty of dragging you from
this retreat to our Hyperborean country, and we make

TO M. J. J. AMPERE. 381
only two conditions. One, that you come before the end
of September, that you may not jump suddenly from
your summer to our winter. ; the other, that you do not
run away too soon. I am trying to induce the Lomenies
to meet you. We have endeavored by every means to
persuade them to come, and I trust that we shall succeed.
I am not yet writing steadily, but I hope that 1 am
getting into the humor, and that I shall also work effi
ciently. I judge from the disquiet and uneasiness which
my barrenness gives to me, and from my anxiety, vague,
but eager, to be again productive.
I want to get the machine in motion. Yours is always
at work. I would to God that I resembled you. Noth
ing is more capricious or restive than my mind, and,
unfortunately, I cannot say to it, as Turenne did to his
body, "You tremble, carcass, but I shall take you into
places which you will like still less." I am very impa
tient to see your Cajsar with its last embellishments, to
know what is the book which you allude to without tell
ing me what it is like, and above all to embrace you, and
to talk to you about everything.
India employs all our thoughts here, and, I suppose,
everywhere ; for no man under the sun can be indifferent
to events which affect so much the destinies of the human
race. I expect England to triumph, and to regain her
empire. In the mean time she is in the state of a lobster
changing its shell. At every other time it is invulner
able — at that instant the smallest fish may wound it.
England has not merely to reconquer India, she must
change its form of government; and while she is doing
so, she must be at peace everywhere else. I foresee,
therefore, as one of the first consequences, a greater
warmth of friendship between her cabinet and ours.

882 LETTERS.
Her respect for our government will return in propor
tion as she wants us. TO THE SAME. Tocqueville, August 28, 1857.
Though it is long since I heard from you, my dear
friend, I suppose that you are still on the shores of your
lake, and I write only to tell you some news of wliich
you would be sorry to be ignorant.
Corcelle tells us that he, wife, and children, will be
here about the 8th or 9th of September, and stay with
us a fortnight. Luckily, the visit of these excellent
friends coincides with that of the Lomenies ; and if
yours could be added, for at least a part of the time,
the pleasure of "Hote" and "Hotes" (for in French
we are absurd enough to give the same appellation to
the visitor and to the visitec?) would be complete.
I say this to inform you, not to press you. I know
that when one has finished one's arrangements, mapped
out one's route, and made one's engagements, it is difficult
to extemporize a change. So I shall forgive you, if you
do not come. But you will allow me to be enchanted if
you do come. This, however, you know to be at all times
my feeling.
We have had splendid weather for three months,
which I only half enjoy, fearing that it implies an au
tumnal deluge. Happily the weather, in spite of its
reputation for inconstancy, does not rush, like man, in
evitably, from extreme to extreme : a dry summer is
sometimes followed by a dry winter.
We take in the Revue des Deux Mondes, and have
read, therefore, and with the utmost pleasure, your last
article on the History of Rome. It is wonderful that

TO M. FRESLON. 383
you can treat so long the same subject, and in the same
form (which is unavoidable, since you trace the history
of Rome only by its ruins), with unabated vigor, without
fatiguing yourself or your reader, who derives always the
same pleasure, instruction, interest, and amusement, from
your pages. It is a literary tour deforce, and requires
all your peculiar strength and versatility. I am eager to
see what you have to show us, and what, without describ
Ing it, you promise us. My wife and I are puzzling our
selves with guesses. TO M. FRESLON. Tocqueville, September 11, 1857.
Your friendship makes you anxious as to the inferences
which I shall draw from my long study of the Revolu
tion. You fear that I shall end by despair of the future.
It is true that I have often to struggle against it. I
own that I cannot see how, with such a past history and
with such results, we shall ever create permanent insti
tutions, with which you or I can be satisfied. I confess
that my inability to find a remedy for such inveterate
evils throws me sometimes into a dark despondency as to
politics which can lead to no good.
But I can assure you that, in the first place, I am re
solved to fight with all my strength against this melan
choly ; and secondly, that I am certain that the black
horizon which bounds our view conceals something far
better beyond it. Society with us is tired — exhausted,
if you choose to say so — but not worn out. It is sick,
but its constitution is strong. I do not believe that we
are to be compared to the Romans. We have Chris
tianity, modern knowledge, energy, though latent ; we
have no slaves ; we belong to one country. In all these
things we differ. Wo no moro resemble the Romans of

881 I.i: ITERS.
the age of Augustus, of whom we hear so much, than we
resembled twenty-five years ago the English of 1688,
though there was some resemblance in the two Revolu
tions, and though Louis Philippe seemed to be the ghost
of Wilham the Third. Nothing is more deceitful than
historical resemblances. No ; we shall have something
better than Rome under the Ca;sars ; and because I see
no such dawn, I do not believe that we have sunk into a
similar night.
Observe, too, that I do not blame the destruction of
the ancien regime, but the mode of destruction. I am
not opposed to democracies. They may be great, they
may be in accordance with the will of God, if they be
free. What saddens me is, not that our society is demo
cratic, but that the vices which wc have inherited and
acquired make it so difficult for us to obtain or to keep
well-regulated liberty. And I know nothing so miserable
as a democracy without liberty.
Such is the state of my mind on these matters. I do
not fear that it will give a mischievous color to my book.
Believe me when I assure you that all my efforts will be
to raise men, not to depress them. But I must preserve
my identity. Only feelings and opinions that belong to
the very depths of the soul have the vigor and the warmth
whieh rouse and stimulate the reader. A writer must
beware of weakening the strength of his thoughts, above
all iu their first expression. I am far from the end of my
work, and of course my friends will see it and judge it be
fore the public does. Wliat will it be ? Really I cannot
tell. TO THE COMTESSE DE CIUCOURT.
Tocqueville, September 24, 1857.
You were right in supposing, Madame, that I must be
deeply grieved by the death of Madame Swetchine. I

TO LADY THERESA LEWIS. 385
did not expect it to be so sudden — such was not the
impression produced on me by my last news of her,
through M. de Circourt. Hope, in fact, I could not have,
after my conversations with M. Rayer ; but, without be
lieving in her recovery, I cherished an expectation of
seeing once again a person for whom I had a sincere
affection and a deep respect — a union rarer than is gen
erally supposed. I do not think that I ever met with
truer, and, therefore, greater virtue, and I certainly never
met with any that was more attractive. She was a
happy mixture of the highest and the most endearing
qualities, so harmoniously combined, that your admira
tion did not prevent your being at your ease and
amused. Where shall I find again so much sympathy
with others, so excitable a sensibility, a kindness so effect
ual, such quickness of apprehension and of feeling, and
such a passionate love of truth — a quality very differ
ent from mere veracity, and very superior to it ? Rarely
does God create anything so charming, and still more
rarely does He make goodness so attractive.
I am truly grieved by what you tell me of Madame
de Rauzan. She must be struck down. To lose an only
son so suddenly and so prematurely 1 If you write to
Thil, mention me, and my sincere sympathy with their
sorrows. TO LADY THERESA LEWIS.
Tocqueville, October 18, 1857.
I must thank you immediately, Madame, for your in
teresting letter. India fills our thoughts at Tocqueville
almost as much as it does yours in London. My wife
often talks of it, and is always thinking of it. A mail has
sometimes spoilt her rest for a night, yet happily she
vol. n. 25

386 LETTERS.
has not a relation or an intimate friend in Bengal. But
though her marriage makes her French by law, she has
remained in her affections, her habits, and her ideas,
thoroughly English. As for me, nothing in the world
interests me more than the destiny of your great nation.
You may think, therefore, how anxiously we read all
that you told us of the East. I recognized at once the
habitual clearness and the sagacity of your mind. I
think, with you, that there was more of accident in the
insurrection than was at first supposed; and also that the
principal effect of the accident was to throw light on the
general causes, and to accelerate their action. Perhaps
I attach rather less importance than you do to the acci
dents, and more to the general causes, which you point
out so well. I will venture to add to them one more.
England, the only civilized nation wliich has retained
an aristocratic government, is forced, strangely enough,
to destroy or degrade aristocracy in all her dependencies.
It is the business of every master, native or foreign. For
a hundred years you have been doing this in India, pru
dently but perse veringly. You have spared the»native
princes and higher classes, as much as was consistent
with your domination. But you have been constantly
employed in straitening, weakening, or destroying, some
of the foreign if not hostile sovereignties which were
enclosed in your territories, without being actually your
subjects. It seems to me that the time has come, when all these
princes, indeed, all the higher classes, have seen (you
yourselves almost telling them so) that they are to be
reduced to the general level. It is only a question of
time. One falls to-day, another will fall to-morrow.
They have experience and intelligence enough to see

TO LADY THERESA LEWIS. 387
this, and strength enough to hope that they can resist it.
This is the critical period for an empire like yours. But
it is a matter of astonishment and congratulation that no
man superior to the present wretched insurgents has
been able to make use of this feeling. I believe that if
such a man had shown himself, you would have seen all
the little princes and dominant races of Northern India
march at once against you, instead of remaining, in gen
eral, mere spectators.
I venture, also, to differ from you when you say that
England would not be weakened by the loss of India,
and that only a heroic vanity leads you to keep it.
Many enlightened Englishmen have said this to me.
I never could agree with them.
It is true that, as a mere question of money and of
physical strength, India costs more than it brings in —
that it forces you to make distant exertions, which may
paralyze your force when most wanted near home. I
admit all this. Perhaps you had better have hanged
Clive, instead of making him a peer. Still I think that
the loss of India would greatly lower the position of
England. I could give many reasons. I shall be satis
fied with one.
Nothing under the sun is so wonderful as the conquest,
and still more the government, of India by the English.
Nothing so fixes the eyes of mankind on the little island
of which the Greeks never heard even the name. Do
you believe, Madame, that a nation, after having filled
this vast place in the imagination of the whole human
race, can safely withdraw from it ? I do not. I believe
that England obeys an instinct, not only heroic, but wise
when, already possessing India, she resolves at any price
whatever to keep it. I add, that I am convinced that

888 LETTERS.
she will keep it, though, perhaps, on less favorable con
ditions. I am sure that you agree with me in wishing that her
victory may show as few traces as possible of the re
vengeful passions which she cannot but feel. The civil
ized world is now with her. She is pitied and admired.
Nothing would be easier than, by pushing repression too
far, to reverse this sympathy. I see aheady symptoms
of a change. You have, undoubtedly, to deal with sav
ages, whose barbarity surpasses all known limits ; you
have witnessed in India horrors fi-om which the human
imagination recoils. But your title to govern these sav
ages is, that you are better than they are. You ought
to punish them, not to imitate them. You would imitate
them if, for instance, you were to massacre tlie whole
population of Delhi. And this has been proposed, though
many of the inhabitants of Delhi were themselves pil
laged and oppressed by your enemies.
Forgive my warmth. I love too passionately the
glory of England, which is that of liberty, not to desire
eagerly that she should be as great in her victory as she
has been up to this time in her battle ; and I feel that all
who wield power or influence ought to labor in concert
for this purpose.
I have only one fault to find with your letter, Madame,
and it is no small one. You write most interestingly on
polities, and say not a word of yourself or of your family.
Do you suppose that politics are all that I care about iu
England ?
I should have liked to know why you are in London,
and for how long ? what is become of Sir George ? and
of your children, who treated me as an old friend ? I
should have liked, too, to hear of Lord Clarendon, whom

' TO M. FRESLON. 389
I remember so agreeably. On all these important points
you are dumb, and I complain.
I ought to finish this endless letter ; but I must add,
what you will be glad to hear, that your Queen, short as
was her visit, charmed the people of Cherbourg. This '
is not a more compliment. Her graciousness and sim
plicity so gained the hearts of our good Normans, that,
in his emotion, the editor of tho local newspaper, (a
better organ of the popular feeling than courtier),
printed in his paper that even the Emperor was never
better received. TO M. FRESLON. Tocqueville, November 5, 1857.
A thousand thanks, my dear friend, for your two let
ters. You may well believe that the second gave me
much pain. I do not know whether anything was left
for Cavaignac to do ; but there was a great charm in his
elevation of character. It is sad to see him so suddenly
disappear. He was the only great figure on the dark
canvas of 1848 ; and he will remain great in history.
In fact, every year — almost every month — sees the
extinction in obscurity of those who once were illustri
ous. They are not replaced. We are sinking gradually
into general mediocrity. All who were known, or de
served to be known, disappear ; and where is the new
man from whom we have to hope anything in science,
in art, in literature, or in politics ? Set him before me,
and I will confess that I am an old, ill-natured critic.
It is painful to belong to such times, if you desire any
thing besides a life of mere comfort.
Why did you tell me, in your former letter, that you
would have written to me from the country, if you had

390 LETTERS.
not feared tiring me by an account of the books you
read, and the subjects which interest you ?
You ought to know that one of your greatest merits,
and you have many others, is, that you are a convers
ing friend. The others say little or say nothing. The
weight of lead, which oppresses us, crushes the spirit
of conversation even among those whose minds are full
est of ideas, and with whom one would most like to ex
change them. Their affection remains ; but, like old
lovers, they find nothing to say. The elasticity of your
mind struggles against the weight which depresses every
one else. You still feel an interest in general subjects ;
you like to talk, you are excited even when you think
of them. All the others are advocates, or judges, or
farmers, or soldiers, caring for nothing, and not wishing
to care for anything, except their own little matters of
business. With a few exceptions, we have come out of
this revolution like laborers, who leave the field hanging
their heads, worn out by the day's work, thinking of
nothing but to get home, get their supper, and get to
bed. Write to me, then, everything that comes into your
head, and be sure that every sparkle of life wliich you
can throw into the darkness of this death will be the
greatest delight of which I am now susceptible.
I am beginning again to bo tolerably diligent. A
thousand kind regards.
TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT.
Tocqueville, November 20, 1857.
* # * . * * *
All this indisposes me to my work. Often I should
have abandoned it, if the want of some really useful

TO M. DE BEAUMONT. 391
employment did not soon make me miserable. This
want forces me back to it after I have been driven from
it by despair. To the troubled state of my mind is to be
added the intrinsic difficulty of the subject. To treat it
with novelty seems an absurd attempt, yet I cannot re
peat the commonplaces which we have heard ever since
we were children. Even before I had tired the reader,
I should be tired to death myself. Besides, I must mix
ideas with facts, tell enough of the latter to make the
former intelligible, to make the reader feel their impor
tance, and do all this without writing a history, properly
so called. I sometimes ask myself, and with some doubt,
Can all this be done ? I think that I discern the object
which I wish to paint, but the light is so uncertain that
its features escape me.
In your letter before last, you describe well the man
ner in which the little occupations of the country take
possession of one's life, and fill it till it can hold nothing
else. To a certain degree I feel this, and I am surprised
sometimes at the amusement which I feel in these small
details, and at the importance which I attach to things
which really have scarcely any. To think about tho
French Revolution requires an effort ; one's thoughts
flow easily when their subject is how to make a sheep-
fold or build a stable. But I know myself; my incu
rable restlessness, and the changeableness of my feelings
too well, to think that mere country life and country
employments would satisfy me.
As for you, do not talk to me of being sad. You have
no right to be so when you have such a son. I saw him
the other day, for an instant, at Sainte Barbe. I fell
into the sin of envy. His person is as distinguished as
his mind. It is impossible to be more intelligent, more

392 LETTERS.
affectionate, more noble in ideas or in feelings. I un
derstand your anxiety as to his choice of a profession.
After all, I envy you your anxiety. You do not know
what it is to grow old in solitude. The happiness of my
married life thus becomes itself a source of pain. It
is terrible to feel that only one single being attaches me
to life, and to consider what interest this world would
have left for me if I lost her.
TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ.
Tocqueville, November 15, 1857.
I am somewhat angry with you, my dear Senior, for
not having yet given us your news.* It is treating our
friendship unfairly. I have not written to you because I
doubted your following exactly your intended route, but
I write to you at Athens, as I think that you must now
be there. Your travels will be curious and instructive.
AVhat say you of our friends the Turks? Was it worth
while to spend so much money and to shed so much blood
in order to retain in Europe savages who are ill disguised
as civilized men ? I am impatient to talk to you, and
almost equally so to read you.
I shall have little to tell you ; I have not stirred from
home since I left England, and am leading the life of a
gentleman farmer — a life which pleases me more and
more every day, and would really make me happy, if my
wife were not suffering from an obstinate neuralgic affec
tion in the face. I fear that she may have to go to some
mineral waters, wliich she would be sorry to do, for, as
you know, she hates travelling, and does no justice to the
reputation for wandering possessed by the English race.
I can tell you nothing on politics which you will not
find in the newspapers.
» Mr. Senior was at this time in tho East. — Tu.

TO LORD HATIIERTON. 393
As for India, you are out, not perhaps of your difficul
ties, but of your greatest dangers. This affair, and that
of tho Crimea, show how little sympathy there is for
England abroad. There was everything to interest us
in your success — similarity of race, of religion, and of
civilization. Your loss of India would have served no
cause but that of barbarism. Yet I venture to affirm that
the whole Continent, though it detested the cruelties of
your enemies, did not wish you to triumph.
Much of this is, without doubt, to be attributed to the
evil passions which make men always desire the fall of
the prosperous and the strong. But much belongs to a
less dishonorable cause — to the conviction of all nations
that England considers them only with reference to her
own greatness ; that she has less sympathy than any
other modern nation ; that she never notices what passes
among foreigners, what they think, feel, suffer, or do, but
with relation to the use which England can make of their
actions, their sufferings, their feelings, or their thoughts ;
and that when she seems most to care for them she really
cares only for herself. All this is exaggerated, but not
without truth.
Kindest regards from us both to you and to Mrs.
Senior. TO LORD HATIIERTON. Tocquovillo, November 27, 1857.
I received, not long ago, my lord, a letter from our
friend Sumner, dated from Teddesley. He tells me how
kindly you talked of me. I write partly to thank you
and partly to ask for your news — not as a mere form,
for they will interest me sincerely. I am full of grateful
recollection of your simple and cordial hospitality, and
I think I told you before that our little excursion to

394 LETTERS.
Teddesley dwells in my memory as one of the pleasant-
est episodes in my English tour. Writing to you recalls
vividly the time passed with you so usefully and so
agreeably. Many thanks for your agricultural information. My
farming is on a very small scale, and yet it occupies me
considerably. All my estate is let, except some home
meadows, wliich supply me hay and pasture. But this
is enough to give me great interest in agriculture, and to
amuse my solitude. My daily life is almost equally
divided ; in the forenoon I am an author, in the after
noon a peasant. I never forget my fields for my books ;
but when I am among my books, I often think of my
fields. The evening brings my wife and me together,
before a bright fire in a great ancient fireplace, round
which many generations of my ancestors have sat.
There we read our favorite books, and the time flies.
You know that our country habits differ from yours.
We receive our friends in summer, and are alone in
the winter.
Yet we are not too much estranged from the world to
follow its events with attentive curiosity. The scenes of
India have excited us in the Towers of Tocqueville. I
never doubted your triumph, which is that of Christianity
and of civilization. I believe, too, that the shock will be
salutary, and that your empire in India will rest on a
firmer basis. But that will require a larger military force.
This appears to me to be the worst consequence of the
rebellion. It seems to me that you must gradually be
forced on maintaining a large standing army. I regret it,
but I believe that you will bo driven on it by irresisfiblo
causes. I once collected materials for a work on British India,

TO M. AMPERE. 395
an attempt which I have long given up. I must have
gone thither in order to understand my subject.
The impression left on me by this study was that Eng
land, though ruling over these populations for a century,
had not done for them what might have been expected
from her institutions and her intelligence. It seemed to
mo that she had been satisfied with assuming tho plaeo
of the native sovereigns, and applying, with more justice,
mildness, and intelligence, the same mode of government.
More was to have been hoped from her. I trust that these
events will throw light on Indian affairs, and attract and
fix on them the attention of the whole nation. It is the
part of your administration which, till now, has been least
known to others, and, indeed, to yourselves. It is for this
reason, especially, that I wish to see the company abol
ished, and the administration of this vast country brought
under the eyes of parliament and of the public. Then
you will feel that your task is not merely to rule India, but
also to civilize it — two things most closely connected.
TO M. J. J. AMPERE. Tocqueville, January 1, 1858.
I follow the old custom, my dear friend, of wishing you
a happy new year. Few will do it more cordially or more
disinterestedly than I, for I earnestly desire your happi
ness, even if you should seek it at a distance.
This brings me to the subject of your letter of the 12th
of December. It gave me some pain, which you must
forgive ; it proved that a great change had taken place in
your life, and that it will be long before we shall see you
here, except occasionally. Henceforth Rome is your cen
tre. We are on the outer circumference. This is the
bad part of the story ; you must allow us to regret it.

396 LETTERS.
The good part is, that, after all, you lead the life which
you have chosen, which pleases you, and, indeed, has much
to please — the society of an amiable and distinguished
family, whose habits are agreeable to you, without tying
you down too much, and, above all, Rome for a residence.
This is our consolation in your absence. Our friendship
is strong enough to reflect on all this with great pleasure :
if you do not forget us, and I am sure that you will not,
we hold that we ought to be contented. Stay, then, in
Italy as long as you think fit, without fearing that our
affection may cool, and when you return to us, which I
am sure that you will do as soon as you can, you will find
ready what our servants call " M. Ampere's room." You
will find, too, what is better than the best room — friends
delighted to have you, without endeavoring to detain you.
Believe all this, and think of us 
TO HENRY REEVE, ESQ.
Tocqueville, January 30, 1858.
I should have thanked you sooner, my dear friend, for
the last number of the Edinburgh, but, like the rest of the
world, I have been attacked by influenza. The quiet to
which it condemned me, and condemns me still — for it
is not quite cured — gave me leisure to read the whole,
except the last article, which I have not yet begun. It
has interested and instructed mc. The historical fragment
on Mr. Addinglon's administration, and the last years of
Mr. Pitt, pleased ine much. All the characteristics of
our friend Lewis are in it — the clearness, the precision,
the accuracy of detail observable in the work of a first-
rate engraver, faithful to his model. This mode of rep
resenting a man so considerable as Pitt, and so important
a period, is most valuable, and I hope that Lewis will per-

TO H. REEVE, ESQ. 397
form his promise of carrying on the subject in a subse
quent number. Pray, when you see Lewis, tell him that
I read it with infinite delight. Give him our kindest re
gards, and describe to him our reverence for a Chancellor
of the Exchequer who, while he has to manage the finances
of England during a Chinese war and an Indian rebellion,
finds time and ideas sufficiently at his disposal to write
excellent historical articles. Pray do not forget me when
you see Lady Theresa.
I now come to your own article, which I sincerely think
by far the most important in the whole number.* Noth
ing written on that subject has so much interested and
struck me. The subject is too great for a single article.
Much, therefore, is wanting in yours. Many questions,
and considerable questions, are not brought forward. The
position occupied by the Review, which is not a collection
of historical essays, but one of the great organs of a politi
cal party, and also the nature of the subject itself, imposed
restrictions on you, which forbade your examining nar
rowly the past government of India, or clearly predicting
the government that is to come. Your object was merely
to expose the general and habitual state of this immense
dependency, and on this you have taught me much, and
made me reflect much. This may not appear to you great
praise. Though I have studied India more than most
Frenchmen, I know much less of it than the Englishmen
who have really turned their attention to it ; but I believe
that they are few, and that the English public must have
received from your article an impression similar to mine.
You have explained to me one important truth among
others, with respect to which my ideas were confused : the
difficulty of increasing your Indian income, and the pecul-
* On India.

898 LETTERS.
iar nature of the land revenue, which is rather a rent
than a tax. I knew that your revenue arose only from
direct taxes, or monopolies ; but I was not aware of the
difficulty of raising a revenue by any other means — a
difficulty which renders your income more burdensome
and more precarious. The large number of military men,
unconnected with the government, is also an important
fact, of whieh I knew little. I never hud appreciated it.
To tell you all that your article suggested to me would
require not a letter, but a long conversation, or a volume.
I have covered it with pencil marks.
One of my great doubts respects the advantage of in
troducing an European population. Even if possible, I
think it so dangerous that I am inclined to renew the old
prohibition of purchases by Europeans. My principle is
yours, that Hindostan cannot be kept against the will of
the Hindoos. Now I have always found that when not
European rulers, but European settlers have been intro
duced into the imperfectly civilized populations of the
other quarters of the globe, the real or affected superi
ority of the strangers has so wounded the interests and
the vanity of the natives, that it has been more hateful
than any real political oppression would have been. If
this be true as to almost all the European races, it is
peculiarly the case as to the English race, the most in
genious in turning to its own advantage the capabilities
of a country ; the least sociable, the most reserved, and
(I may say, since this fault is intimately allied with some
noble qualities), the proudest of the European races.
When I think over all that you have done for your na
tive army, its discipline, its high pay, its pensions, and
its many indulgences, I feel that no auxiliary army was
ever so well, so magnificently treated as that which has

TO SIR JAMES STEPHEN. 399
committed all these horrors. But, without having visited
India, I can affirm that no European officer ever held
himself so aloof as yours docs from his Asiatic soldiers,
was less acceptable to them, less one of their comrades,
even with respect to those who wore the same epaulette.
Though companions in arms, they were so separated by
differences of civilization and race, that they felt that
they were not only not equals, but not fellow-creatures.
I believe that a searching examination will show that
this was the real cause of the revolt of the Indian army.
Many secondary causes assisted, but this was the grand
one. These horrible events were not a resistance to op
pression, but a rising of barbarism against pride.
TO SIR JAMES STEPHEN.
Sir, Tocqueville, February 14, 1858.
Allow me to express the pleasure with which I have
just read your " Lectures on the History of France."
I do not believe that I ever found in a foreign book such
knowledge of the details of our history, or so clear a
comprehension of our ideas, of our laws, and of our
habits. I admire, too, the impartiality which raises you
above national prejudices, and allows you to appreciate
all that is good and great in another country, ardently
attached as you evidently are to your own.
I will not say that I thoroughly admit all your facts
or all your inferences. Let me observe that after hav
ing combated, forcibly and justly, what you call the
Fatalist School, you lean towards its doctrines, when,
towards the end of your work, you attach such decisive
importance to race, and attribute the freedom of the
English principally to their Teutonic blood. I could
raise many objections to this, but I had rather dwell on

400 LETTERS.
the many opinions which I am happy enough to hold in
common with you.
I passed six weeks last summer in England. If I had
then at that time read your work I should have gone to
Cambridge, pressed as I was for time, to seek your ac
quaintance. I trust that this opportunity may return. If
you ever travel in France, pray keep in mind the pleas
ure wliich I should have in receiving you. Madame de
Tocqueville is English, and would be charmed to meet so
distinguished a countryman. My property, from which
I write, is about fifteen miles from Cherbourg. I live
here when I am not in Paris — that is for eight or nine
months in every year. If a residence in a remote part
of France, among a rural population little known to for
eigners, can interest you, I repeat that we offer to you
most cordially our hospitality.
I infer, from a kind notice of me in your third edition,
that you have not seen my last work. I, therefore, send
it to you. TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ.
Tocqueville, February 14, 1858.
I was delighted, my dear Senior, to receive a letter
from you dated Marseilles. You are right in remaining
till spring in the South. We trust to meet you in Paris
in March.
I say no more, for I cannot write to you on what
would most interest you — French politics. Much is to
be said on them ; but you will understand my silence if
you study our new law of Public Safety, and remember
who is the new Home Minister.* For the first time in
French history has such a post been filled by a general
— and what a general !
I defer, therefore, until we meet, the expansion of
* General Espinasse.

TO LORD HATHERTON. 401
feelings and opinions which cannot be safely transmitted
through the post, and only repeat how eager I am for
our meeting.
Kind regards to Mrs. Senior.
TO LORD HATIIERTON. March 0, 1858.
I have long wished to write to you, my lord, but I
feared that I might trouble you. Your letter, therefore,
was especially welcome.
Many thanks, also, for your offer of the Edinburgh
Review. Reeve has the kindness to send it to me regu
larly, and I often derive considerable instruction from it.
I was much struck by the article to which you refer, and
I am proud to find that you agree with me in thinking
that it would be impossible to convey fuller information
as to Indian affairs.
One of Reeve's proposals has raised in my mind
doubts, which I have expressed to him. Reeve thinks
that the two races might be brought together, and a
Christian civilization promoted by the establishment of
Europeans in India. I fear that these effects would not
be produced. I have always seen such a measure fol
lowed by opposite results. A race, inferior by nature or
by education, can tolerate the government of a superior
race. The only sensible effects of this superiority are
good : if the government manages well, it may be pre
ferred even to that of the native princes ; but a private
individual, more civilized, more rich, more clever, and
more influential than bis native neighbors, is always an
object of hatred and of envy. Government by foreign
ers is opposed only to national feelings, which are weak.
The foreign settler injures, or appears to injure, in a
vol. ii. 26

402 LETTERS.
thousand ways, private interests which are strong. He
is supposed always to use his superiority, his knowledge,
his wealth, and his influence, for the purpose of growing
rich at the expense of his neighbors. These little per
sonal hatreds swell the national hatred. I have no doubt
that in Algeria the Arabs and the Kabyles dislike the
presence of our settlers much more than that of our sol
diers. Reeve says truly, that your great object in India is to
diffuse Christian civilization ; but this is the business of
the government, not of individuals. If the government
applies more and more to India the general principles
which have rendered Europe rich and enlightened, it will
gradually attract the Hindoos, by showing to them the
advantages of our civilization. I fear that the contact of
European settlers will only increase their prejudices and
their repugnance. Adieu ! my lord. Your correspond
ence, if it does not give you too much trouble, gives me
very great pleasure. Remember me to Lady Hatherton,
and believe in my sincere regard.
TO HENRY REEVE, ESQ.
Tocqueville, March 22, 1858.
I am sorry, my dear friend, to lose the hope of seeing
you this spring, but I feel your reasons.
I am employing my leisure profitably by reading again,
and with increased attention, Grote's " History." It is a
much greater work than I at first supposed it to be. Not
that it is written with the art which so eminently distin
guishes Macaulay : the want of this art may prevent its
general popularity, but it is a work which will not perish,
and which cannot well be added to. The learning is im
mense, and sound. Institutions, men, and facts, are shown

TO M. FRESLON. 403
and appreciated with great political experience, and this
is a rare element in the works of learned historians. The
modern feelings wliich inspire the narrator of the events
of 3,000 years ago, reanimate the dead. The author,
when he defends his friends, ancl attacks his enemies, of
the hundredth Olympiad, illustrates their actions and their
thoughts with as much honesty as sagacity. I could not
have supposed that so old a history could have excited so
vivid an interest.
I expect to find in Paris the first of all conversers, our
friend Senior, charged, like a forty-eight pounder, with
all the news of the East and of the West, and ready to
explode, to the great pleasure of his friends. His travels
in the East must have added most instructive matter to
his journal. My paper is at an end.
TO M. FRESLON. Tocqueville, March 5, 1858.
I should have thanked you sooner, my dear friend, for
two most agreeable letters, if I had not been suffering for
the last fortnight under a return of influenza. This little
disorder attacked mc slightly six weeks ago. I returned
to my ordinary habits before I had quite got rid of it.
An imprudent exposure to the icy winds which have
afflicted our coast during the last three weeks, caused a
relapse not serious, for I had no fever, but bad enough to
make me very unwell, and it still forces me to remain at
home, to my extreme disgust, for I had become a denizen,
not indeed of the forest, but of the meadow and the fallow.
You cannot conceive the awful magnificence of an
equinoctial north-easter on our coasts. All nature is
convulsed, the strongest dwellings shake, and great birds
are seen pursuing their terrified flight through the heav-

404 LETTERS.
ens. When I am well this spectacle gives me passionate
delight. Now it seems to me melancholy. I had rather
talk to you in the prosaic streets of Paris than live in the
poetry of this maddened atmosphere ; and I really want
to be in Paris for my work. But till the weather is bet
ter, and I am well, I cannot start. Still I trust to be
with you before the end of the month. I am tired not
only of imprisonment, but of idleness. I have no mate-
' ' rials to go on with.
Without your interesting letters, and the newspapers,
I should know nothing of what is going on. You are
quite right in admiring Washington, and putting him in
the foremost rank of mankind. It shows, what indeed I
well knew, that you understand and love real greatness
aud real glory. Of how many of my countrymen or con
temporaries could I say this ? Washington is the product
of the society and of the times he lived in. We should
have thought him flat. We want theatrical virtues, fine
speeches, brilliant vices, even audacious ones are enough.
Adieu. Write to me for friendship's sake, and for
charity's sake. TO THE SAME. Tocqueville, March 16, 1858.
Your letters, my dear friend, are the comforts of our
solitude. There is nothing better, except your conversa
tion. I hope to enjoy it in a fortnight.
I made the other day a visit which resembled one of
Cuvier's explorations of the antediluvian world. It was
, , to a man, aged ninety-six, and as full of intellectual life
as you or I. He is a Benedictine, a man of letters and
of talent, who, wilhout relinquishing his profession or his
belief, was gained over by the principles of the Revolu
tion. He lived with the men of thought and of action

TO M. FRESLON. 405
who appeared immediately before and in the first period
of that revolution. He leads a retired life a few miles
from us.
I found him at his fireside, surrounded by Greek and
Latin folios, which he was studying as if he were begin- '
ning his education. Think what it is to see before you a
man who lived for twenty-seven years under our ancient
monarchy, who was older in 1789 than I was in 1830,
who was present at the meeting of the states-general,
and followed the labors of the constituent assembly
when already a middle-aged man.
His mind is still more extraordinary than his age. It
must have been preserved as we keep plants, by being
hermetically sealed. I have before observed that in
France, moral and intellectual warmth are in inverse
proportion to age. The youngest are the coldest: the
temperature rises as one grows older. Sages of eighteen
laugh at you and me as enthusiasts. According to this
rule my man of ninety-six ought to have been on lire.
And so he was when he talked of his hopes in 1789, and
of the great cause of liberty. He would not easily have
admitted that we now enjoy the institutions which were
promised by the makers of the Revolution.
I asked him if he found much moral change in France.
" Ah," he answered, " I seem to dream when I call
to mind (he state of feeling when I was young ; its ardor,
its sincerity, its self-respect and respect for the public,
the disinterestedness of even its political passions. Ah,
sir," he continued, squeezing my hands with the frank
ness and the earnestness of the eighteenth century, " we
had then a cause, we have now mere interests. Men
were then bound to one another ; they are so no longer.
It is sad to outlive one's country." Adieu.

40G EXTRACT.
EXTRACT FROM MR. SENIOR'S JOURNAL.
Paris, April 26, 1858.
Tocqueville spent the evening with us. We talked of
novels. "I read none," he said, "that end ill. Why should
one voluntarily subject one's self to painful emotions ? to
emotions created by an imaginary cause, and therefore
impelling you to no actions ? I like vivid emotions, but
I seek them in real life, in society, in travelling, in busi
ness ; but above all in political business. There is no
happiness comparable to political success, when your own
excitement is justified by the magnitude of the question
at issue, and is doubled and redoubled by the sympathy
of your supporters. Having enjoyed that, I am ashamed
of being excited by the visionary sorrows of heroes and
heroines. " I have a friend," he continued, " a Benedictine, who
is now ninety-six. He was, therefore, about thirteen
when Louis XVI. began to reign. He is a man of tal
ents and knowledge, has always lived in the world, has
attended to all that he has seen and heard, and is still
unimpaired in mind, and so strong in body, that when I
leave him he goes down to embrace me, after the fashion
of the eighteenth century, at the bottom of the staircase."
" And what effect," I asked, " has the contemplation
of seventy years of revolution produced on him ? Does
he look back, like Talleyrand, to the Ancien Regime as
a golden age ? "
" lie admits," said Tocqueville, " the material superi
ority of our own age ; but he believes, that intelleclually
and morally, we are far inferior to our grandfathers.
And I agree with him. These seventy years of revolu-

PARIS, APRIL 26, 1858. 407
tion have destroyed our courage, our hopefulness, our
self-reliance, our public spirit, and, as respects by far the
majority of the higher classes, our passions, except the
vulgarest and most selfish ones, vanity and covetousness.
" Even ambition seems extinct. The men who seek
power, seek it not for itself, not as a means of doing good
to their country, but as a means of getting money and
flatterers. " It is remarkable," he continued, " that women whose
influence is generally greatest under despotisms have
none now. They have lost it, partly in consequence of
the gross vulgarity of our dominant passions, and partly
from their own nullity. They are like London houses,
all built and furnished on exactly the same model, and
that a most uninteresting one.
" Whether a girl is bred up at home or in a convent,
she has the same masters, gets a smattering of the same
accomplishments, reads the same dull books, and contrib
utes to society the same little contingent of superficial
information. " When a young lady comes out I know beforehand
how her mother and her aunts will describe her.
" ' Elle a les gouts simples, elle est pieuse, elle aime
la campagne, elle aime la lecture, elle n'aime pas le bal,
elle n'aime pas le monde, elle y va seulement pour plaire
a sa mere.' *
" I try sometimes to escape from these generalities, but
there is nothing behind them."
"And how long," I asked, "does this simple, pious,
retiring character last?"
* "Her tastes are simple; sho is religious; she likes the country;
she likes reading; she does not like balls; she does not like the great
world; she goes into it only to please her mother."

408 EXTRACT.
" Till the orange flowers of her wedding chaplet are
withered," he answered. " In three months she goes to
the Messe d'une heure."
" What is the Messe d'une heure ? " I asked.
" A priest," he answered, " must celebrate mass fast
ing, and in strictness ought to do so before noon. But,
to accommodate fashionable ladies who cannot rise by
noon, priests are found who will starve all the morning
and say mass in the afternoon. It is an irregular pro
ceeding, though winked at by the ecclesiastical authori
ties. Still to attend it is rather discreditable ; it is a
middle term between the highly meritorious practice of
going to early mass, and the scandalous one of never
going at all."
" What was the education," I asked, " of women under
the Ancien Regime ? "
" The convent," he answered.
" It must have been better," I said, " than the present
education, since the women of that time were superior to
ours." " It was so far better," he answered, " that it did no
harm. A girl at that time was taught nothing. She
came from the convent a sheet of white paper. Now,
her mind is a paper scribbled over with trash. The
women of that time were thrown into a world far supe
rior to ours, and with the sagacity, curiosity, and flexibil-
ily of French women, caught knowledge, and tact, and
expression from the men."
"I knew well," he continued, "Madame Recamier.
Few traces of her former beauty remained ; but we were
all her lovers and her slaves. The talent, labor, and
skill, wliich she wasted on her salon would have gained
and governed an empire. She was virtuous, if it be

TO M. DE BEAUMONT. 409
virtuous to persuade every one of a dozen men to be
lieve that you wish to favor him, though some circum
stances always occur to prevent your doing so. Every
friend thought himself preferred. She governed us by
little distinctions, by letting one man come five minutes
before the others, or stay five minutes nftcr. Just as
Louis XIV. raised one courtier to the seventh heaven
by giving him the taper at night, and another by taking
his shirt from him in the morning. She said little, but
knew what each man's forte was, and placed from time
to time a mot which led him to it. If anything were
peculiarly well said, her face brightened. You saw that
her attention was always active and always intelligent.
" And yet, I doubt whether she really enjoyed conver
sation. Tenir salon was to her a game, which she played
well and almost always successfully ; but she must some
times have failed, and often must have been exhausted
by the effort. Her salon was, perhaps, pleasanter to us,
than it was to herself.
"One of the last," he continued, "of that class of
potentates was the Duchesse de Dinon. Her early mar
ried life was active and brilliant; but not intellectual.
It was not till about forty, when she had exhausted other
excitements, that she took to bel esprit. But she per
formed her part as if she had been bred to it."
This was our last conversation. I left Paris the next
day, and we never met again.
TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT.
Tocqueville, May 21, 1858.
I returned home with delight, but I am not yet suffi
ciently at ease to work well and lo enjoy it. My mind
is anxious and agitated. Why, I cannot tell. The best

410 LETTERS.
cause that I can assign is, that I am still myself. This
self I do not care for, but I cannot change. Among
secondary causes the slate of my health stands foremost.
I am not ill, I am not in pain, but I feel a physical de
pression (occasioned, I think, by the spring), the imme
diate effect of which is mental dejection. Body and
mind, however, have been better within the last two
days. I think too, that the slow progress of my work,
the extension of my inquiries, to which I cannot set
precise limits, and the difficulty of satisfying myself as I
go on, contribute to my moral uneasiness. It might end
at once, if I could find some new road to my object. But
I am ice-bound 

I am glad to hear of your farming. I like you to be
so employed; still I should like you to do something
besides. But one must judge one's friends according to
their feelings, not one's own. We have always been
very intimate, and very unlike. Your mind must be
calm and tranquil before it can work. If I had enjoyed
tranquillity and calm, I doubt whether I should ever
have worked. It costs nie so much, that if I were
tolerably comfortable in inactivity, I should continue
there. It has always been because my mind was un
comfortable at home that it sallied abroad to obtain, at
any sacrifice, the relief of hard intellectual work. This
is the case now.
I have no child to enjoy the little noise that my name
may make. I do not believe that in such times as these
the slightest influence can be obtained by such writings
us mine, or even by any writings, except by the bad

TO M. FRESLON. 411
novels, wliich try to make us still more immoral and ill-
conditioned than we are. Yet I rise at five, and sit for
six hours before my paper, and often leave it still wliite.
Sometimes I find what I am looking for, but find it pain
fully and imperfectly ; sometimes I am in despair at not
finding it at all. I leave work discontented with myself,
and therefore with everything else. Why do I niako
these efforts ? To escape from mental disquiet : while
you cannot work unless you are already perfectly at ease.
TO M. FRESLON. Tocqueville, July 8, 1858.
A few days after I abused you for your handwriting,
my dear friend, Lanjuinais wrote to tell me that my own
became every day more illegible. We were both right.
I hope that Lanjuinais' reproof will be as effectual as
mine has been. Your last letter is a miracle of callig
raphy. I only fear that your taste for writing may
deteriorate as your hand improves. In that case, pray
return to your pothooks. I had rather make them out,
than not hear from you.
I see that you give us little hope of a visit. I am
sorry for it, and so is my wife. ....
I was at this part of my letter when yours of the day
before yesterday arrived. I break off to talk to you
about M. Royer-Collard. I am delighted that you have
to write on him, and only regret that you did not know
hiin personally. His character was original — not easily
understood by those who have observed him only in the
distance, as a writer and a public man. He was a
strange mixture of little passions and lofty sentiments;
of unconscious vanity with elevation of mind. He pos
sessed a dignity which was felt by' all who approached

412 LETTERS.
him, and was altogether a noble and imposing figure.
Among his contemporaries there is none that more de
serves our notice. To enable you to penetrate into all
the folds of his character, would require, not a letter, but
long conversations.
I confine myself to what chiefly seems to interest you.
You think that his life wanted unity. It did not, as I
will prove to you. In the details of so long a life there
may have been inconsistency. But in what long life,
especially a life passed among revolutions, is there not ?
Taking his career throughout, guided only by the great
lines traced by his actions, you will find a marked unity,
which was in fact, Ihe secret of his strength. All his
principal actions are connected by two ideas, both of
which governed his mind, but one far more than the
other. First, M. Royer-Collard, during his whole life, firmly
believed that the spirit of liberty might be, and ought
to be, distinguished from the spirit of revolution. He
desired eagerly the destruction of the ancien regime, and
looked with horror at the possibility of its return. He
was anxious for the abolition of privileges, the equality
of political rights, and the liberty and dignity of man.
He detested the adventurous, violent, tyrannical, dema
gogic spirit which has always and everywhere marked
revolution. He was convinced that it was not necessary
to the overthrow of the ancien regime ; he hoped for
better results from the Revolution. He never desired
the total destruction of the old social institutions of
France ; he wished to break down only the obstacles to
modern ideas, to well-balanced liberty, to the equality
of rights, and to the opening of every career, and every
success to the hopes of every man. After the Revolution,

TO M. FRESLON. 413
he wished to bring us back to this ideal perfection, and,
as far as it was possible and desirable, to connect the past
and the present. Is there any small portion of his life
inconsistent, with this view ? I know of none ; but study
it as a whole, and you will see that these principles
directed and explain it. •
The second ruling principle in his mind, resembling the
first, but not necessarily connected with it, was this : M.
Royer-Collard always believed monarchy to be necessary
to France, and it was sometimes amusing to see the sin
gular effect of this doctrine in company with the most
intractable opinions and the most republican feelings that
I ever encountered. He held courts in horror, but was
devoted to kingship. Among royalties, that which he
thought most fitted to maintain the great liberal institu
tions of modern ages, — institutions which he worshipped,
which he spent his life in defending, sometimes against
the revolutionists, sometimes against the ultras and the
emigrants — was the royalty of the elder branch. I
never knew a man less of a legitimist, less devoted to a
race or to a family, or more convinced that the best
result of the Revolution would be the monarchy of the
elder branch, controlled by the institutions necessary to
secure the triumph of modern ideas. The dream of his
whole life was to conciliate the old family and the new
opinions, and to make them support one another. After
all, liberty was his object, and the monarchy of the elder
branch only a means. But the means and the object
were so confounded by the public, that I have always
thought that M. Royer-Collard, who at the time of the
Revolution of July had nearly reached the end of his
career, would have closed it more consistently if he had
then retired from public life.

414 LETTERS.
Such, my dear friend, is a general and hasty sketch of
this extraordinary man. I do not say that the two prin
ciples which ruled his life were equally just. I say
only that they were his principles, and that he obeyed
them from the time when, as member of the Commune of
Paris, he negotiated between the unhappy Louis XVI.
and Danton, until his last speech, made, I think, in 1838,
against a parliamentary costume. The ardent sincerity
and incomparable eloquence with which he supported
two maxims, often supposed to be incompatible, was one
of the most extraordinary of exhibitions. It was worth
while to hear him talk of the Revolution. No one could
better describe the grandeur of that time, and its supe
riority to ours, whatever might be its weakness or its
violence. The finest praises of what may be called the
great victories of 1789, were uttered by him. The bit
terest satires of the vices of the ancien regime, of the
follies and the absurdities of the emigrants and ultras,
were pronounced by him. But if the things to be
painted were the violence, the despotism, the sangui
nary follies and intolerance of what he called the rev
olutionary spirit, he was a Tacitus. With a couple of
strokes, he drew a picture never to be forgotten. He
was eminent by his writings : he will live by them ;
but he was incomparable as a converser. Often he
failed to convince me, but he always impressed me.
A little before his death, he kindly gave me a selec
tion from his speeches. I had begged him to do so.
He arranged them evidently so as to show the progress
of his ideas during his public life. It is a precious col
lection. I have bound it, arid will send it to you with
some books that are going to Paris. If you wish to
know still more, come and let us talk the subject over,

TO M. DE CIRCOURT. 415
TO M. DE CIRCOURT. Tocquovillo, July 19, 1858.
Mv dear M. ptc CmcouitT,
I direct to you at Bougival, hoping that my letter
will find you or follow you. I havo been anxious to
thank you for having found time, whilo living among
the chatnois, to write to me such interesting letters.
They breathe the elasticity of mind and body which
mountain air gives to those who enjoy the happiness of
health. It has not been mine for some months.
The. approach of our fetes has driven this country
half wild. As the railway is opened, and a line of
packets between Cherbourg and Weymouth has been
established, it seems that all France and England will
meet in our little, corner. You will easily believe that
the general enthusiasm has not reached me. I always
detested official joy, even under tho governments that
I liked best. The only part of the spectacle wliich
will lead me to Cherbourg is the sight of the combined
French and English fleets. It will be a grand picture,
but I shall see it with the pain with which, on the twen
tieth of May, 1848, I saw the review of more than
100,000 National Guards, in the Champs de Mars.
" Alas 1 " I said to myself as I returned ; " we have
been reviewing two armies wliich will soon be fighting
in the streets of Paris." So it was, as you know. God
grant that it may not be so this time.
While England, however, has her present work to do
in India, she is not to be feared. I think her situation
more formidable and more difficult now, than it was the
day after the insurrection. I have long thought that at
the bottom of all that is going on in the East there is

41 G LETTLUS.
a new and general fact — a universal rising against the
European. Will it succeed ? I hope not. I believe that
we have too much the start of our opponents. But of
the existence of this fact, and of its being the cause of
many edects that we see, I have no doubt.
TO MRS. GROTE. *
Tocqueville, July 23, 1858.
Dkak Mi.*. Gbotjs,
I have received your letter of the 5th, and ought to
have answered it. I have not done so for many bad rea
sons, but among them is not indifference. One circum
stance which has made me lately write but Utile to my
friends is a state of physical suffering, which has com
municated itself to ihe mind, and is difficult to shake oft".
I was at one time much alarmed. A nioiilh ago I had a
little spitting of blood. Eight years ago a frightful ill
ness began in the same way. I feared that I was to have
another attack, and so, and even more, did my wife. She
sent oft" in haste for my brother, who lives near Cher
bourg, and for a physician. Nothing followed, but from
that time I have not been the same man. I am not,
even yet, recovered. I have mentioned this only to in
timate friends, so keep it to yourself. To this physical
uneasiness is to be added a feehng which also I tell only
to intimate friends — my deep distaste for these Imperial
pomps. You see, my dear Mrs. Grote, that you need have no
scruples in talking to me about yourself; for here are five
pages at least about nothing except my own health, and
feelings, and thoughts; but to whom could I write more
freely than to you, who have always been so true a friend
to me, and whose opinions coincide so exactly with my

TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ. 417
I regret much that I cannot sit by Mr. Grote's side,
at the Institute.* I should have liked to see him there.
I am happy in having been one of the first who pointed
out to the public his admirable works. I then thought
very highly of his book, but less highly than I do now
after having carefully studied it.

TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ.
Tocqueville, August 21, 1858.
Mt dear Sknior,
I am inconsolable for the failure of your American
journey. I hoped that your journal would enable me to
again understand a country, which has been so changed
since I saw it, that I feel that I now know nothing of it.
I have been much interested by your visit to Sir John
Boileau. You saw there M. Guizot in one of his best
lights. The energy with wliich he stands up under the
pressure of age and of ill-fortune, and is not only re
signed in his new situation, but as vigorous, as animated,
and as cheerful as ever, shows a character admirably
tempered. I do not so well understand the cheerfulness of some
of your other great friends. For the spectacle now ex
hibited by England, in which a party finds no difficulty
in maintaining itself in power, by carrying into practice
ideas which it has always opposed, and by relying for
support on its natural enemies, is not of a nature to
raise the reputation of your institutions, or of your pub
lic men. Ever yours.
* Mr. Grote had just been elected a correspondent.

27

418 LETTERS.

TO LORD HATHERTON. Tocqueville, September 1, 1858.
I have often inquired after you, my lord, during the
last three months, and have always had good reports.
But I do not like to be so long without direct com
munication with you. Pray promise me that our cor
respondence shall not altogether cease.
Your last letter gives me information as to your agri
culture — interesting, but discouraging — as it shows the
difficulty of introducing among us methods so advanced
as yours. If, as I earnestly hope, you one day give us
the great pleasure of a visit from you, I will show you
that there is reason for my fears.
I think that you will agree with me, that at present
we should chiefly endeavor to improve the rotation of
crops, the manuring and harrowing our fields, the increase
of stock, and its improvement by better feeding, great
care, and judicious crossings. As for the, use of expen
sive machinery and scientific processes, requiring large
capital, large space, and elaborate schemes, I think that
the time is not yet come. Yours is the agriculture of
capitalists — ours is that of peasants.
To understand all this, you must spend some time in
our country. May I hope that you will do so next year ?
In July and August the London season is over, or nearly
so, and that of your country-houses scarcely begun. This
is the period at wliich an excursion into our part of Nor
mandy would give you least trouble, and suit us best.
Promise us, my lord, this pleasure next year. I think
that in a week or a fortnight I could teach you more
about the agricultural, and even the social and political
state of France, than you could learn in Paris in a year.

TO SIR G. C. LEWIS. 419
TO SIR G. C. LEWIS.
Tocqueville, September 5, 1858.
Mt dear Sir George,
Mr. Greg, who has spent some days with us, gives a '
good report of you. But that is not enough. I want
one from yourself, and to hear from you of Lady Theresa
and her children. I do not choose either to be so long
without communicating with you. It is a good habit
which I do not like to lose. Tell me soon where you and
yours are, what you are about, and how you intend to
employ your recovered leisure. It will all interest me.
I take it that you were not tempted by the fetes at
Cherbourg. If I had thought that you meant to attend
them, I should have pressed you to give some days to
Tocqueville. But I know that you are not a lover of
fetes or sights, and it was the duty of the new rather
than of the old ministers to attend on the Queen. I saw
this splendid pageant only from my rocks. Artistically
speaking, the spectacle was superb. These two great
fleets, closely packed together, covered with their flags,
and thundering with their formidable artillery, exhibited
powerfully the strength of man, at least, his destructive
strength. It suggested to me a definition of man not yet
accepted by naturalists. I would class him among beings,
as the animal best endowed with the power of destroying
his fellow-creatures.
Warlike as this interview seemed, I rejoice in it as
favorable to peace. But I fear that the mutual distrust
is incurable. It is curious to see two nations embrace
one another so closely, and yet apply so perfectly the
maxim of La Rochefoucauld, that one ought to live with
one's friends; as if they were to be one's enemies. The

420 LETTERS.
slightest spark would light up in France anti-English
passions. Kindest regards to Lady Theresa and Miss
Lister. TO W. R. GREG, ESQ.
Tocqueville, October 1, 1828.
Mt dear Sir,
You have sent me two numbers of the National Re
view. Of your two articles, one in particular so much
struck me, that I wish to talk to you about it. This
gives me an opportunity of thanking you, and of asking
you for your news.
The article is that on the state of parties in England.
It is as remarkable as are the phenomena which it pro
poses to explain. ,
Your picture of the evils which follow the destruction
of great parties is strikingly true. I have witnessed
them for fifteen years, and I can sincerely say that it is
impossible to describe better the symptoms of that dis
ease. The spectacle of the parliamentary world obeying
no fixed rules, and seeming to wander under the guid
ance of individual interest — this spectacle long continued,
persuaded a portion of the French nation that represen
tative institutions exist for the benefit, not of the country,
but of a few clever individuals. To the evils which you
indicate, I will add one which you have not dwelt on,
and which seems to me one of the greatest.
When there are no longer great parties, linked together
by common interests and common passions, foreign affairs
. become almost always tbe principal matter for parlia
mentary action. They pass out of the hands of the
ministry into those of the houses of parliament. The
cause is obvious. The field of foreign politics is shift
ing; it has room for every parliamentary manoeuvre.'

TO W. R. GREG, ESQ. 421
There are always to be found in it great questions which
agitate the nation, on which public men can separate,
reunite, become enemies or friends, according to the
interest or the passion of the moment. It seems to me
an axiom, that in free countries, if there be no great'
parties, foreign affairs will be managed, not by the min
isters, but by the assemblies.
Such a state of things endangers the dignity and the
safety of a nation. More than any others, foreign affairs
ought to be dealt with by only a few persons, consis
tently, and secretly. The assemblies should control, not
act. But if foreign policy becomes the battle-field on
which the fate of governments is decided, the assemblies
will inevitably take them into their own hands. You
have indicated with great sagacity the conditions on
which great, well-disciplined parties can exist in a free
country. Each of them, as you well show, must repre
sent one of the two great principles which forever divide
human societies, and may concisely be termed aristocracy
and democracy. I am inclined to think with you that
we shall not again see great organized parties in Eng
land until the parliament is sharply divided on the
question whether the few or the many are to govern ;
whether the pure doctrine of the numerical majority is
to be substituted for the sovereignty of those who are
conservative by their interests, and superior by their
wisdom ; whether Law or abstract Right is to prevail.
But I venture to think that the mere determination
of public men that such shall be the state of things will
not produce it, except under new circumstances and in
new events. Will these circumstances and events take
place in England? Have they already partially oc
curred ? I should not dare to express an opinion with-

422 LETTERS.
out great timidity and hesitation. For who can fancy
that he knows a foreign country ? The natives are often
too near to the details to see clearly the whole outline,
but foreigners are always too distant to perceive the
degree in which the particular modify the most general
facts. Taris, October 22, 1858.
¦ P. S. I began this letter three weeks ago. I had
still much to say to you, but I fell ill, and came hither
for medical advice. I am better, but still far from well,
and my physicians send me to the South for the winter.
My letter, therefore, must end as it now does ; forgive
me for keeping it so long. Some day, perhaps, I may
be able to return to the subject. If you write, direct to
me at Cannes. TO M. FRESLON. Paris, October 11, 1858.
My dear Friend,
You were quite right in attributing my unusual silence
to the state of my health. I have been ill for two
months. I felt uneasy sensations in my chest. I came
to Paris, and it was immediately discovered that I was
suffering under bronchitis, called less learnedly catarrh.
The disorder, in itself not very serious, has established
itself in a part of my chest which had previously been
the seat of two other attacks. It requires, therefore,
grent care. I am here, therefore, under discipline. In
a fortnight I shall be on the Mediterranean, and prob-
. ably pass the winter at Cannes. You may suppose how
much I am grieved and dejected, but I must obey my
physicians. If I am tolerably well at Cannes I shall have an ex
cellent opportunity for working. This is the good side

TO THE COMTE DE CIRCOURT. 423
of the picture. Tocqueville, so dear to me, where I
have passed the happiest part of my life, has one fault.
It is too agreeable to be . a good working-place. Great
emotions do not render the mind unproductive. They
are like winds, and make the flame of thought burn all
the better. What puts it out arc little amusing occupa
tions, wliich divert and unsteady tho mind. You see that
I try to gild the pill, but without much success.
I shall write no more to-day. I suppose that you will
not be in Paris before November, so that it will be
spring before we shake hands. I am very sorry, for
you are one of my best and dearest friends.
You shall hear from me as soon as I am at my
journey's end. TO THE COMTE DE CIRCOURT.
Cannes, November 12, 1858.
Mt dear M. de Circourt,
Thanks for your letter of the 8th. Forgive me for
not having answered the one which you addressed to me
in Paris. The state in wliich I was when I received it
will excuse me. It was only six days before I left
Paris (where I was detained till the 18th of October),
that I could get rid of a fever, which had lasted for
a month, exhausted my strength, and also showed that
the bronchial tubes were in a very bad state. I was
weak when I set out, and the journey was unfortunate.
When we left the railroad, we were three days of
voilurier travelling from this place. The whole journey
lasted for eight days, during all which the wind was
icy and boisterous. I was completely exhausted, and
my wife very ill when we reached our resting-place.
We have been established in it for a week. I am

424 LETTERS.
far from having recovered from the fatigue of the
journey, and I fear that it will be long before I do
so. We are well housed, with a southern uspect and a
magnificent view. But the weather is unusually cold,
and the mountains round us are covered with snow.
I am not able, and do not expect to be soon able, to set
seriously te work. I want, therefore, something to read
which may interest and amuse me without fatigue. Who
can tell ine better than you where to look for it ? Can
you point out to me any new or recent publications of
any sort or kind ? I like good travels, containing good
descriptions and information. But none such appear in
Franco, and English books tiro scarce and very dear. I
am curious as to the new African discoveries. I feel
great interest as to what is passing in Eastern Asia, in
Siberia, and as to the Russian conquests on the shores
of the Pacific. Good travels in Siberia, with good maps,
would amuse me much. I ask perhaps, for what does
not exist ; but after consulting you I shall know of all
that does exist. I am grieved by your account of
Madame de Circourt's health. How much suffering and
discomfort have resulted from that unfortunate accident I
Pray tell her that no one sympathizes with her more
than I do.
I need not tell you how I value all tho public and
private news contained in your letters, and your com
mentaries on Ilium. Pray do not spare paper or ink.
Above all, believe in my sincere friendship.
TO M. DE CORCELLE.
Mt dear Friend, Cannes, November 22, 1858.
Your letter and the sun came together, and were very
welcome. To begin with the sun ; we have had a rev-

TO M. J. J. AMPERE. 425
olution in our weather. It has become serene, and as
soft as it was rough and harsh. We find ourselves sud
denly in spring. The change is fortunate for me. I can
get out as much as my strength, still much exhausted,
will permit.
I am improving on the whole, but very slowly. As
my body wants extremely to be recruited — in fact,
to be reconstructed — I am as hungry as a shipwrecked
sailor. But my stomach has more wishes than power
— a state which is not peculiar to stomachs.
I have not been able to get Montalembert's article.
I have written to ask him for it, and to express my
sympathy. . . .
If a representative government can be established in
Prussia, if it takes place peaceably and succeeds, it will
bo a great event for Prussia, and, in lime, for all Ger
many ; not only as respects the home affairs of those
countries, but the policy of the whole world.
But it is not for a poor man, lying sick in his cor
ner, to talk of such things, or even to think about
them. A thousand kind regards.
TO M. J. J. AMPERE.
Mt dear Friend, Cannes, December 5, 1858.
I am told that the newspapers of Paris, copying an
article in a Cherbourg paper, say that my brother has
hurried from NacqueviUe to this place, where I am very
ill. I know that this news has alarmed my friends,
and as I fear that it may reach you, I write to tell
you the facts. Nothing of all this is true, except that
my excellent Hippolyte, hearing of our melancholy soli
tude, travelled straight over the 800 miles that sepa
rated us, to shut himself up in our prison for a month.

42G LETTERS.
As to my health, I will tell you its exact state.
Bronchitis is a serious disorder, and may become a
dangerous one. But there is no present or coming
danger. My health has constantly improved during the
month that I have been here. When I arrived I could
not go a hundred yards without resting. Now I walk
for more than an hour over the mountains that sur
round us. My physician sees already an improvement
in the bronchial tubes. I do not ; but certainly they
are not worse. Such is the truth.
I hope that a winter in this place will cure me ; but
this cannot now be foretold. Ilippolyte's arrival was a
happy interruption of our utter soliludc and stagnation.
Independently of disease, time itself is a heavy burden
when one is away from home, without serious occupation
for the mind, without tbe power of taking much exercise,
far from one's friends and family, and forced to live un
ceasingly on one's own thoughts. The first weeks were
very bard to bear ; we contrived, however, to make our
situation endurable. I sent for books, which I had long
wished for, and never read. As I found reading painful
to me in the evening, I obtained the services of a reader.
I found at Cannes a good young man, looking forward,
I suspect, to entering the Seminaire, who reads to us reg
ularly for a part of the evening, while his mother knits
in the antechamber. It is a great resource. But the
greatest is the return of strength, the possibility of walk
ing over the mountains, and above all the hope of cure,
which reconciles me to the annoyance of remedies. . . .
We are not discontented with our life here, though it
is trying. . . .
I write no more, as I must answer many friends who
ask if I happen to be alive.

TO M. J. J. AMPERE. 427

TO THE SAME. Cannos, Dcccmhor ,10, I85R.
Forgive me, my dear friend, for not having sooner
answered your letter of the 14th. . . . The newspapers
have led me into a long, fatiguing, and depressing cor
respondence. There is nothing in having to tell people,
who think you very ill, that you never were better. But
when one has to explain fifty times over, that without
being, as the newspapers announce, very ill, one is ill, at
last one becomes out of spirits, and almost doubts whether
they may not have told the truth.
Since my last letter things have gone on improving.
In many respects I seem to be in health. I sleep in
general well; I eat well ; my strength has so far returned
that, by making two excursions of it, I can ramble
among the mountains for three hours a day. The
weather is usually magnificent. Yet I must confess
that I think more of the seriousness of my disease than
I did when I arrived, though my state was then so pain
ful, that I can scarcely imagine anything worse. What
alarms me is, that, after all, the irritation in the bron
chial tubes still continues, and as I cannot take the
most appropriate remedies, I do not see my way.
My physician assures me that I shall be cured. But
who can tell what he really thinks ? And I doubt
whether a physician's predictions are worth more than
an astrologer's.
I now come, my dear friend, to the principal subject
of your letter. I assure you, with perfect truth, that
I did not want any proof that if you were not with
me before now, you were kept away by insurmount
able obstacles. I add, my dear and good friend, that

428 LETTERS.
not only I have not expected you, not only am not in the
least hurt, but from the bottom of my heart I most sin
cerely entreat you not to come. I know you thoroughly,
and it is therefore that I love you. I can judge the state
of your mind better than you can. I know that if you
were here you would live in a state of anxiety and agita
tion, which I could not avoid perceiving.
That would give you pain, and to see you suffering
would destroy my pleasure in your society. We must
be governed by circumstances — they are changed, though
your affection is unaltered. The crisis, the worst I think
that I ever experienced, is past. My strength is return
ing. I can employ myself indoors and out-of-doors. It
is true that I cannot set to work seriously, but I can read,
even by candle-light, which was not Ihe case a fortnight
ago. Conversation is scarcely necessary to me, for I am
condemned to silence. My brother, as I mentioned be
fore, is with me and will stay for some time. And, lastly,
my wife, about whom I was so long uneasy, is better.
She is able to resume the immense place in my life
which, as you know, belongs to her.
TO M. LANJUINAIS. Cannes, February 7, 1869.
Mt dear Friend,
I make use of the first beginning pf convalescence, to
resumo my intercourse with you. It is long since I have
written to you, and I assure you that it was absolutely
impossible. Oh, my dear Lanjuinais, what a horrible
January I have passed ! Only the wretch who has had
to endure those four weeks can imagine them. Excuse
me the relation of my sufferings. I try to avoid thinking
of them. Now, with God's help, I am really convales-

TO J. S. MILL, ESQ. 429
cent. Did I not still feel extremely feeble, I should call
myself well.
Though that weakness prevents my writing at any
length to my friends, it does not diminish my affection
for them, or my desire that they will not forget me in
this crisis of my life, and that they will frequently write
to mc. Prudence forbids my reading, or speaking, or in
fact writing. My thoughts are at times so gloomy, that
I am ready to burst into tears. Beg, therefore, all those
whom you know take an interest in me, to be charitable
enough to write ; they will give me the only intellectual
pleasure I have left.
In your last letter, you tell me that you have at last
bought an estate.* The news pleased me, as also the
situation of your new property. But you have not
described it. Pray do so ; I shall take great interest in
it. I end, for my hand and my head are fatigued.
Ever yours, from my heart.
TO J. S. MILL, ESQ.Cannos, Fobruary 0, 1859.
Mt dear Mill,
Your book on liberty found me yesterday at this place,
where my health forces me to spend the winter. I can
not tell you how much this proof of your remem
brance charms me. I have no doubt that the origi
nality and vigor of your mind show themselves in
your book ; weak as I am, I am going to reod il. I
feel that liberty is a field in which we cannot but walk
hand in hand.
* Saint-Frambaut, near La Suze, in the department of Sarthe.

430 LETTERS.

TO THE COMTE DE CIRCOURT. Cannes, February 9, 1859.
Mt dear M. de Circourt,
I cannot thank you enough for the letters you wrote
to me when I could not answer them. Of all my
friends, you have best understood that a man whose
hand cannot use a pen, may still have ears for what is
interesting, and sense enough to comprehend and to enjoy
such a correspondence as yours. The state which I have
described is precisely that in wliich the mind values most
all that can excite and amuse it. A thousand thanks,
therefore, and I pray you not to tire of your intellectual
charity. I am beginning, too, to regain the power of
writing, and I soon shall be able to send satisfactory
answers. My strength is quickly returning, and if the
climate of Cannes will be kind enough to perform the
promises that are made for it, I have no doubt but that
my improvement will be rapid.
Now for a matter that much affects me. The interest
in me which the Duchesse de Rauzan has lately ex
pressed, touches me very much. Pray give her this
message, which is sincerely felt. Her two little notes
show a real anxiety for me. I shall never forget these
proofs of her friendship — a friendship which I prize
highly. I shall write to her as soon as I am again
among the liying. T am now a thing which is struggling
into life.
Though a sort of shadow, I am still silly enough to
feel an interest in the political and even in the literary
affairs of the world ; all that you can tell me on either of
these subjects will be gratefully received. Has any new
book come out, that I can send for ?

TO M. C. RIVET. 431
I am beginning to be tired. Remember me affection
ately to Madame de Circourt.
TO M. C. RIVET. Cannes, February 15, 1859.
I have so many letters to answer, my dear friend, that
I answer none. But I must thank you for yours which
reached me yesterday, full, as usual, of a tenderness
which always goes straight to my heart.
But the beginning put me out of patience. You had
written to me a long political letter, and you had burnt
it because  told you that I did not wish for such
letters. How could such a notion have come into his
head? It is exactly opposite to the truth, and I am
inconsolable at your having followed his advice.
What I have to tell as to my own health is, on the
whole, good. You know that I have passed a frightful
January. But, thank God, its wretchedness seems to be
exhausted. The pain has gone, my appetite has returned,
and with it a part of my strength. I hope, therefore, and
I ask you to hope.
Adieu, my dear friend. Write to me soon, and believe
in my friendship. TO M. DE CORCELLE. Cannes, February 1 5, 1859.
I can write only a few words to my best friends.
The improvement in my health is rapid. Appetite and
sleep have returned, and with them strength ; and, what
is remarkable, my severe attacks during January have
not interrupted the recovery of the bronchial vessels. I
may hope, therefore, to be cured, if God will preserve me
from similar attacks.

432 LETTERS.
I will say a few words ou politics. I have read care
fully the pamphlet called " Napoleon III. and Italy." It
throws great light on our present situation. It proves
that the questions between Austria, the Pope, and our
selves, can scarcely be solved diplomatically, except on
the basis of the plan which it proposes. Now this plan
appears to me to be as unacceptable to the Pope, and to
Austria (unless she is allowed to domineer over the Ital
ian Confederacy), as a Roman Republic would be. I
have not time now to explain my reasons. If we have
really got into this diplomatic cui de sac, I do not see how
we can get out of it, except by war.
TO THE VICOMTE EDOUARD DE TOCQUEVILLE.
Mv dear Friend, Cannes, February 17, 1859.
I must add to Hippolyte's letter a few words of tender
affection. I think of your visit with pleasure and with
pain. I need not say that I was delighted to see you.
But what pains ine is, tho recollection of the irritability
with which I often treated my two good brothers who
came to comfort me. Pardon me, and attribute my
behavior to the sickness, not to the sick man. I was
grieved, too, by thinking that I perceived that my rest
lessness (now almost entirely calmed) hurt your health.
I hope that you have not permanently suffered from my
folly, and I am anxious to hear that my hope has not
been deceived.
Write soon, and believe in my tender attachment.
TO THE COMTESSE niPPOLYTE DE TOCQUEVILLE.
My dear Sister, Cannes, February 25, 1859.
It is now my turn to give you news of the sick man
who, for three months, has been so well nursed by your

TO THE COMTESSE DE TOCQUEVILLE. 433
husband. If I may trust to my physician, and to my
own feelings, he is again in the way of recovery. And
if God will grant that no new attack may interfere with
the excellent condition which I um now beginning to
enJ°yi I hope that the promise of my physician will be
performed, and that he will send mc away cured in the
beginning of the summer. But in such matters no one
should be confident. Towards the end of last December
I felt so well that I thought myself cured ; I had already
recovered my strength, when those dreadful spittings of
blood knocked me down, not so much by the local mis
chief which they did, as by their general disturbance of
all the body, and especially of the nervous system. But
my appetite and my strength have come back. My phy
sician tells me that auscultation shows a great improve
ment in the bronchial tubes. God grant that what he
says may prove true.
The object, however, of this letter was not to tell you
about my health. Hippolyte keeps you au courant. I
wished, my dear sister, to express to you how 1 am
touched by your deep interest in me. Believe that I am
most grateful ; it was scarcely necessary to tell you so,
yet I think that you will not be sorry to be reminded
of it.
I suppose that our good Hippolyte will leave us in a
few days. I never shall be able to express how thank
ful, to the very bottom of my heart, I am for what he has
done. It is easy to feel kindly disposed ; but to set off on
a long journey in the depth of winter, in order to shut one's
self up for three months in a hole, eight hundred miles
from all one's interests, nursing a brother, whom sick
ness often made very irritable, and always very tiresome,
is a hard trial. Such conduct is rare, and ought to excite
vol. n. 28

434 LETTERS.
a gratitude equally uncommon. My excellent brother's
sacrifice will never be erased from the memory of my
heart — a memory far more retentive than that of the
head. This, my dear sister, is all that the patient has to say
to you to-day. Thank again all those who are kind
enough to interest themselves about me, and believe in
my tender and fraternal affection.
TO HENRY REEVE, ESQ.
Cannes, February 25, 1859.
Mt dear Reeve,
It is an age since I wrote to yon. I could not do so.
All January passed in a frightful crisis. No month in
my whole life deserved to be marked with so black a
cross. But let me forget, if it bo possible, those cruel
days and still more cruel nights, and only pray God
never again to inflict such sufferings on me, or on my
friends. During the last three weeks February has been
repairing the mischief of January. I feel that I am
going on as well as possible ; much of my strength has
returned. The bronchial tubes are quickly recovering.
Let us talk of them no more.
Lot me talk of an excellent article on the Catacombs,
which I have just read in the Edinburgh Review. I
have always felt interested in the subject. Yet, perhaps,
I should not have read' the article if I had not known
that it was yours. A letter from Circourt deprived me
of the pleasure of detecting you, which I hope that I
should have done. However that be, the article is most
interesting. You could not have given to your readers
a more agreeable contribution.
Although I followed you underground with curiosity,

TO M. FRESLON. 435
what is now passing on the surface of our little globe
deserves attention. I am posted here on one of the great
military roads which led us in times past to Italy, and it
is doing so now.
The length and desultory character of this letter are
the best ovitlcnce of the state of my health. I am going
to write lo Mr. Grote. Remember mo particularly to
Sir George Lewis and to Lady Theresa. I hope that
Lord Hatherton does not forget me. A thousand and a
thousand regards to all the Seniors. I need not repeat
them to Mrs. and Miss Reeve.
Ever yours from my heart.
TO M. FRESLON. Cannes, February 23, 1859.
I send to you, my dear friend — not a letter, for where
can I find matter for one? — but a bulletin — one I am
sure that will please you. Since I wrote to you, my
recovery has astonished as well as delighted me by its
rapidity. Pray God against a relapse, and my hopes will
be greater than they have yet been.
One proof of my returning strength is that I can enjoy
reading. They are reading to me the memoirs of Miot
de Melitot. Do you know them ? They ought to be in
every library.
I am reading to myself, and therefore slowly, the
"Autobiography of Gibbon," in English, and with the
greatest interest ; but I venture to do so only for short
intervals. Do not you agree with me that nothing is
more interesting than the memoirs of celebrated men
when they can be trusted ? One always hopes to find
the secret of the fine machines -which have worked so
well. Often one is deceived. Gibbon is evidently sin-

43G LETTERS.
cere. It shows how much may be done by a man with
an extraordinary memory, who, in the leisure and the
quiet given by a high social position and an independent
fortune, passes forty years at work, reads all that has
ever been written on an almost boundless subject, retains
it, and afterwards quietly, and without hurrying himself,
brings together all the results, and finds that, almost
without having been aware of what he was doing, he
has produced one of the greatest works of modern litera
ture. What was least to be expected is that this man,
capable of such patient toil (he gives a list of the read
ings of a month ; in a whole year so employed, he would
have done more than would have been done by a whole
convent of Benedictines) — that this man, I say, laborious
to a degree which generally excludes other great quali
ties, should, when he came to compose, have proved a
concise, nervous, and animated writer. But why am I
talking to you of Gibbon ? Adieu 1
TO M. J. J. AMPERE. Cannes, March 3, 1859.
It is an age, my dear friend, since I have been in
direct communication with you. I knew that you heard
my news from my brother, and I therefore was in no
hurry. That news must, I think, have been good. So
is what I have now to tell. If March does not undo the
good of February, I hope lo reach a perfect cure. It is
difficult not to feel well in this weather. Never did the
softest spring play more gently with irritable lungs.
Your letter is just arrived. I cannot forgive myself
for having alarmed you, especially when there was no
reason, as you have seen by what I have just been
writing. My physician tells me that I am going on as

TO BARON BUNSEN. 437
well as possible, and that, if God will preserve me from
new attacks, like those of last January, I am on my way
to recovery.
You repeat that you expect to come to me soon. I
must repeat, my good and dear friend, that I implore
you not to do so. I have opened to you my whole
heart ; you cannot but have felt it. Never was my
affection for you more true, more fraternal. But what
is the source and the preservative of that affection ?
My intimate and complete knowledge of you, which con
vinces me that you could not leave Rome without a
struggle, and that when here you would be devoured by
care and anxiety. To see you so would destroy the
pleasure and the good of your presence. I am going
on well. Really there is no motive for your journey.
Except that I do not work, I have resumed my intel
lectual habits. Only, as far as I can, I avoid speaking.
You would be, therefore, of little use to me, and you
would be miserable. So, let us say no more about it.
Love me as I love you. It is all that I ask.
TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT.
Mt dear Friend, Cannes, March 4, 1859.
I do not know (hat anything ever cost me more than
it does lo say to you, I beg you to come. . . . Come.
Ask Madame de Beaumont to forgive me. But she has
done so already. I embrace you with all my heart.
TO BARON BUNSEN.
Mt dear M. de Bunsen, Cannes, March 6, 1859.
I forgot that, on Saturday, I had an appointment in
consistent with our meeting. ^ Can you put me off till
Monday, or Tuesday ? If not, I will postpone the other
engagement. 28 *

438 . LETTERS.
Such is my value for your conversations, which, as I
said the other day to Madame de Tocqueville, do more
good to my mind than all that Dr. S&ve can do to my
body. Do not trouble yourself to write ; a verbal an
swer to my servant will do. A thousand kind regards.
TO M. LANJUINAIS. Cannes, March 10, 1859.
You letter, my dear friend, received yesterday, not
only pleased me, but did me good. I was much inter
ested by what you told me about public affairs.
Your letters enable me, as it were, to breathe more
freely, by the atmosphere of moral greatness which they
unconsciously exhale. You belong, I may say we belong,
to a moral and intellectual family, which is disappearing.
I am happy when I meet one of its members. I wished
to tell you this while my heart was full of it. Such
letters as you have written to me, of late, do mo real
good. As to my health, I am told that I get on better and
better. My strength is, in a great measure, restored ;
for I walk for an hour at a time, and taking in all
my walks, for several hours in tho day, and without
fatigue. But, without dwelling on these details, you
will be satisfied with knowing, that I advance as rap
idly as is possible towards complete recovery. It is
melancholy to have to add, that, as long as any trace
of this strange malady remains, one is sure of noth
ing. Any accident may throw me back for two or three
weeks. Adieu, my dear friend. This letter is a slight piece
of thanks for yours, and for the warm sympathy which
is seen through the habitual calmness of your style.

TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ. 439
Talk of me to Dufaure, who has given me, during the
last three months, all sorts of underhand proofs of friend
ship ; to our dear Freslon, and to Rivet.
Tho loneliness which oppresses me, and sometimes
almost wears me down, makes the recollection of these
good and noble friends still more dear to me.
TO N. W. SENIOR, ESQ.
Cannes, March 15, 1859.
You say, my dear Senior, that. I like to hear from mv
friends, not to write to them. It is true that I delight.
in the letters of my friends, especially of my English
friends ; but it is a calumny to say that I do not like to
answer them. It is true that I am in your debt: one
groat euuso is, that a man who lives at Cannes knows
nothing of what is passing. My solitary confinement,
which is bad enough in every way, makes me a bad
correspondent, by depressing my spirits, and rendering
every exertion painful.
Mrs. Grote, in a very kind and interesting letter,
which I received from her yesterday, says, that Lord
Brougham, on his late arrival in London, gave a
lamentable description of my health. If he confined
himself to January, ho was right. It is impossible to
exaggerate my sufferings during that month. But, since.
that lime, all has changed, as if from day to night, or
rather from night to day. To talk now of what I was
in January is like making a speech about the Spanish
marriages. I am grieved to find that you have suffered so much
this year from bronchitis. I fear that your larynx can
scarcely endure an English winter. But it is very hard
to be obliged to expatriate one's self every year. I fear,

440 LETTERS.
however, that such must be my fate for some winters to
come, and the pain with which I anticipate it makes me
sympathize more acutely with you.
We know not, as yet. whether we are to have peace
or war. Whichever it be, a mortal blow has struck the
popularity of Louis Napoleon. What maintained him
was the belief that he was the protector of our ma
terial interests — interests to winch we now sacrifice all
others. The events of the last month show, with the utmost
vividness, that these very interests may be endangered
by the arbitrary and irrational will of a despot. The
feelings, therefore, which were his real support, are now
bitterly hostile to him.
I feel, in short, that a considerable change in onr
government is approaching.
Even our poor Corps Legislatif, a week ago, refused
to take into consideration the budget, until it was in
formed whether it were to be a war budget or a peace
budget. Great was the fury of those who represent the
government. They exclaimed that the chamber misap
prehended its jurisdiction, and that it had nothing to do
with politiail questions. The chamber, however, or rather
its committee on the budget, held its ground, and extorted
from the government some explanations.
Adieu, my dear Senior. Say everything that is kind
to the Grotes, the Reeves, the Lewises, in short, to all
our common friends.
TO TnE COMTE DE CIRCOURT. Cannes, March IT, 1859.
Forgive me for not writing to you more frequently, my
dear M. de Circourt. What have I to tell ? I live alone,

TO M. DE CORCELLE. 441
with a malady which I am told is going off, but so slowly
as lo mako mo almost despair.
Tho brightest sky and the finest sea arc before me; but
such sights charm only tho happy, and suggest no emo
tions to a man who has to endure tho weight of exile.
I would givo all the beauties of nature in exchango for
the conversation of my friends. Their letters, however,
are a resource. Pray write to nie, and write often ; it
will bo a work of charity as well as of friendship, for
though I am out of the world, I still enjoy hearing what
passes, more especially when related by you. Politics,
literature, anecdotes, all interest me.
Remember me to Madame de Circourt, and to Madame
do Rauzan, and believe in my sincere friendship.
TO M. DE CORCELLE. Cannes, April 6, 1859.
Though fur from strong, my dear friend, \ must, tell
you how much I rejoice in Ihe lerininaliiin of our great
affair ; * no one is mado moro happy by it than 1 am.
Tell this to the parties principally interested.
B  , who must have seen you as he passed through
Paris, probably told you of the trick which my stomach
has played me, and how, when all seemed to be cured, it
turned against me, and absolutely refused to have any
appetite. This, in time, produced weakness, from which
T am very slowly recovering. Tell our friends the cause
of my silence, mid that it makes ine all the more anxious
for letters. For I am not ill, I am only weak. Write
» This was tho marriage of M. do Corccllo's daughter with the Mnr-
quis do Chnmburn. Toci[Uovlllo could properly call it our aflitir; for his
high estimation of M. do Chnmburn had made him anxiously forward
this marriage Its conclusion was ono of his last pleasures.

442 LETTERS.
to me, therefore, my dear friend — you, and the others.
I repeat, that the completion of our great affair fills me
with joy. I embrace you with all my heart.
TO M. J. 3. AMPERE. Cannes, April 9, 1859.
Mr dear Feizsd,
I must tell you plainly, that your last letter fills me
with delight.*
Never shall I have been more enchanted to see yon,
though I have never been less capable of enjoying your
society. For my wife's throat is in such a state, that she
is forced almost always to use a slate, and I can scarcely
put one foot before another. I only whisper, and that
but little. After being read to for a very short time,
I can listen no more. Yet I say, come ; conic. For
nothing is more selfish than great friendship, except one
other passion, which no one, in my state, ever mentions.
We shall instantly prepare your bed. Your neighbor
will be the only one of us who can speak and write —
my brother Edward. My feelings are greater than my
strength ; so I say no more.
* In that letter, M. Ampere announced that he was leaving Rome
for Cannes, to pass some time with his friend. He left Rome so soon
afterwards, that he crossed this letter. It is the last that Tocqueville
wrote.

THE END.

CAMBRIDGE: PEIXTKD BY H. O. HOUGHTOS.

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