It seems a most mysterious providence that some nations, without being wickeder than others, should have a more unfortunate and disastrous history.
The woes of France have sprung from the fact that a Jezebel de Medici succeeded in exterminating from the nation that portion of the people corresponding to the Puritans of Scotland, England, and Germany. The series of persecutions which culminated in the massacre of St. Bartholomew, and ended with the dragonades under Louis XIV., drained France of her lifeblood. Other nations have profited by the treasures then cast out of her, and she has remained poor for want of them. Some of the best blood in America is of the old Huguenot stock. Huguenots carried arts and manufactures into England. An expelled French refugee became the theological leader of Puritanism in England, Scotland, and America; and wherever John Calvin’s system of theology has gone, civil liberty has gone with it; so that we might almost say of France, as the apostle said of Israel, “If the fall of them be the riches of the world, and the diminishing of them the riches of the Gentiles, how much more their fulness!”
When the English and Americans sneer at the instability, turbulence, and convulsions of the French nation for the last century, let us ask ourselves what our history would have been had the “Gunpowder Plot” succeeded, and the whole element of the reformation been exterminated. It is true, vitality and reactive energy might have survived such a process; but that vitality would have shown itself just as it has in France — in struggles and convulsions. The frequent revolutions of France are not a thing to be sneered at; they are not evidences of fickleness, but of constancy; they are, in fact, a prolonged struggle for liberty, in which there occur periods of defeat, but in which, after every interval of repose, the strife is renewed. Their great difficulty has been, that the destruction of the reformed church in France took out of the country entirely that element of religious rationalism which is at once conservative and progressive.
There are three forces which operate in society: that of blind faith, of reverent religious freedom, and of irreverent scepticism. Now, since the human mind is so made that it must have religion, when this middle element of reasonable religious freedom is withdrawn, society vibrates, like a pendulum, between scepticism and superstition; the extreme of superstition reacting to scepticism, and then the barrenness of scepticism reacting again into superstition. When the persecutions in France had succeeded in extinguishing this middle element, then commenced a series of oscillations between religious despotism and atheistic license, which have continued ever since. The suppression of all reasonable religious inquiry, and the consequent corruption of the church, produced the school of Voltaire and his followers. The excesses of that school have made devout Catholics afraid of the very beginning of religious rationalism; and these causes act against each other to this day.
The revolution in England, under Cromwell, succeeded, because it had an open Bible and liberty of conscience for its foundation, and united both the elements of faith and of reason. The French revolution had, as Lamartine says, Plutarch’s Lives for its Bible, and the great unchaining of human passion had no element of religious control. Plad France, in the time of her revolution, had leaders like Admiral Coligny, her revolution might have prospered as did England’s under Cromwell. But these revolutions, needlessly terrible as they have been, still have accomplished something; without them France might have died away into what Spain is. As it is, progress has been made, though at a fearful sacrifice. No country has been swept cleaner of aristocratic institutions, and the old bastiles and prisons of a past tyranny. The aspiration for democratic freedom has been so thoroughly sown in France, that it never will be rooted up again. How to get it, and how to keep it when it is got, they do not yet clearly see; but they will never rest till they learn. There is a liberty of thought and of speech in France which the tongue-tied state of the press cannot indicate. Could France receive the Bible — could it be put into the hands of all the common people — that might help her. And France is receiving the Bible. Spite of all efforts to the contrary, the curiosity of the popular mind has been awakened; the yearnings of the popular heart are turning towards it; and therein lie my best hopes for France.
One thing more I would say. Since I have been here, I have made the French and continental mode of keeping Sunday a matter of calm, dispassionate inquiry and observation. I have tried to divest myself of the prejudices — if you so please to call them — of my New England education — to look at the matter sympathetically, in the French or continental point of view, and see whether I have any occasion to revise the opinions in which I had been educated. I fully appreciate all the agreeableness, the joyousness, and vivacity of a day of recreation and social freedom, spent in visiting picture galleries and public grounds, in social réunions and rural excursions. I am far from judging harshly of the piety of those who have been educated in these views and practices. But, viewing the subject merely in relation to things of this life, I am met by one very striking fact: there is not a single nation, possessed of a popular form of government, which has not our Puritan theory of the Sabbath. Protestant Switzerland, England, Scotland, and America cover the whole ground of popular freedom; and in all these this idea of the Sabbath prevails with a distinctness about equal to the degree of liberty. Nor do I think this result an accidental one. If we notice that the Lutheran branch of the reformation did not have this element, and the Calvinistic branch, which spread over England and America, did have it, and compare the influence of these two in sustaining popular rights, we shall be struck with the obvious inference.
Now, there are things in our mode of keeping the Sabbath which have a direct tendency to sustain popular government; for the very element of a popular government must be self-control in the individual. There must be enough intensity of individual self-control to make up for the lack of an extraneous pressure from government. The idea of the Sabbath, as observed by the Puritans, is the voluntary dissevering of the thoughts and associations from the things of earth for one day in seen, and the concentrating of the mind on purely spiritual subjects. In all this there is a weekly recurring necessity for the greatest self-control. No way could be devised to educate a community to be thoughtful and reflective better than the weekly recurrence of a day when all stimulus, both of business and diversion, shall be withdrawn, and the mind turned in upon itself. The weekly necessity of bringing all business to a close tends to give habits of system and exactness. The assembling together for divine worship, and for instruction in the duties of Christianity, is a training of the highest and noblest energies of the soul. Even that style of abstract theologizing prevailing in New England and Scotland, which has grown out of Sabbath sermonizing, has been an incalculable addition to the strength and self-controlling power of the people.
Ride through France, you see the laborer in his wooden shoes, with scarce a thought beyond his daily toil. His Sunday is a féte for dancing and recreation. Go through New England, and you will find the laborer, as he lays his stone fence, discussing the consistency of foreordination with free will, or perchance settling some more practical mooted point in politics. On Sunday this laborer gets up his wagon, and takes his wife and family to church, to hear two or three sermons, in each of which there are more elements of mental discipline than a French peasant gets in a whole lifetime. It is a shallow view of theological training to ask of what practical use are its metaphysical problems. Of what practical value to most students is geometry? On the whole, I think it is the Puritan idea of the Sabbath, as it prevails in New England, that is one great source of that individual strength and self-control which have supported so far our democratic institutions.
In regard to the present state of affairs here, it has been my lot to converse unreservedly with some of all parties sufficiently to find the key note of their thoughts. There are, first, the Bourbonists — mediaeval people — believers in the divine right of kings in general, and of the Bourbons in particular. There are many of them exceedingly interesting. There is some
thing rather poetic and graceful about the antique cast of their ideas; their chivalrous loyalty to an exiled family, and their devout belief of the Catholic religion. These, for the most part, keep out of Paris, entirely ignore the present court, and remain in their chateaus in the country. A gentleman of this class, with whom I talked, thought the present emperor did very well in keeping other parties out till the time should come to strike a blow for the true king.
Then there are the partisans and friends of the Orleans family. I heard those who spoke, even with tears, of Louis Philippe and his dynasty. They were patrons of letters and of arts, they say, of virtue and of religion; and these good, faithful souls cling lovingly to their memory.
And then there are the republicans — men of the real olden time, capable of sacrificing every thing that heart holds dear for a principle; such republicans as were our fathers in all, save their religion, and because lacking that, losing the chief element of popular control. Nevertheless, grander men have never been than some of these modern republicans of France; Americans might learn many lessons from them.
Besides all these there is another class, comparatively small, having neither the prestige of fashion, rank, or wealth, but true, humble, evangelical Christians, in whom the simplicity and spirituality of the old Huguenot church seems revived. These men are laboring at the very foundation of things; laboring to bring back the forgotten Bible; beginning where Christ began, with preaching the gospel to the poor. If any would wish to see Christianity in its loveliest form, they would find it in some of these humble laborers. One, with whom I conversed, devotes his time to the chiffoniers, (rag pickers.) He gave me an account of his labors, speaking with such tenderness and compassion, that it was quite touching. “My poor people,” he said, “they are very ignorant, but they are not so very bad.” And when I asked him, “Who supports you in your labors?” he looked upward, with one of those quick, involuntary glances by which the French express themselves without words. There was the same earnestness in him as in one of our city missionaries, but a touching grace peculiarly national. It was the piety of Fénélon and St. John. And I cannot believe that God, who loves all nations alike, and who knows how beautifully the French mind is capable of reflecting the image of Jesus, will not yet shine forth upon France, to give the light of the knowledge of his glory in the face of Christ.
It was the testimony of all with whom I conversed, that the national mind had become more and more serious for many years past. Said a French gentleman to me one evening, “The old idea of l’homme d’esprit of Louis XIV.’s time, the man of bon-mots, bows, and salons, is almost passed away; there is only now and then a specimen of it left. The French are becoming more earnest and more religious.” In the Roman Catholic churches which I attended, I saw very full audiences, and great earnestness and solemnity. I have talked intimately, also, with Roman Catholics, in whom I felt that religion was a real and vital thing. One of them, a most lovely lady, presented me with the Imitation of Christ, by Thomas à Kempis, as a ground on which we could both unite.
I have also been interested to see in these French Catholics, in its most fervent form, the exhibition of that antislavery spirit which, in other ages, was the boast of that church. One charming friend took me to the church of St. Germain l’Auxerrois, pointing out with great interest the statues and pictures of saints who had been distinguished for their antislavery efforts in France. In a note expressing her warm interest in the cause of the African slave, she says, “It is a tradition of our church, that of the three kings which came to worship Jesus in Bethlehem, one was black; and if Christians would kneel oftener before the manger of Bethlehem they would think less of distinctions of caste and color.”
Madame Belloc received, a day or two since, a letter from a lady in the old town of Orleans, which gave name to Joan of Arc, expressing the most earnest enthusiasm in the antislavery cause. Her prayers, she says, will ascend night and day for those brave souls in America who are conflicting with this mighty injustice.
A lady a few days since called on me, all whose property was lost in the insurrection at Hayti, but who is, nevertheless, a most earnest advocate of emancipation.
A Catholic lady, in a letter, inquired earnestly, why in my Key I had not included the Romish clergy of the United States among the friends of emancipation, as that, she said, had been always the boast of their church. I am sorry to be obliged to make the reply, that in America the Catholic clergy have never identified themselves with the antislavery cause, but in their influence have gone with the multitude.
I have received numerous calls from members of the Old French Abolition Society, which existed here for many years. Among these I met, with great interest, M. Dutrone, its president; also M. —— , who presented me with his very able ethnological work on the distinctive type of the negro race. One gentleman, greatly distressed in view of the sufferings of the negro race in America, said, naively enough, to Mrs. C., that he had heard that the negroes had great capability for music, dancing, and the fine arts, and inquired whether something could not be done to move sympathy in their behalf by training them to exhibit characteristic dances and pantomimes. Mrs. C. quoted to him the action of one of the great ecclesiastical bodies in America, in the same breath declining to condemn slavery, but denouncing dancing as so wholly of the world lying in wickedness as to require condign ecclesiastical censure. The poor man was wholly lost in amazement.
In this connection, I cannot but notice, to the credit of the French republican provisional government, how much more consistent they were in their attachment to the principles of liberty than ever our own has been. What do we see in our own history? Our northern free states denouncing slavery as a crime, confessedly inconsistent with their civil and religious principles, yet, for commercial and pecuniary considerations, deliberately entering into a compact with slaveholders tolerating a twenty years’ perpetuation of the African slave trade, the rendition of fugitives, the suppression of servile insurrections, and allowing to the slaveholders a virtual property basis of representation. It should qualify the contempt which some Americans express of the French republic, that when the subject of the slave colonies was brought up, and it was seen that consistency demanded immediate emancipation, they immediately emancipated; and not only so, but conferred at once on the slaves the elective franchise.
This point strongly illustrates the difference, in one respect, between the French and the Anglo-Saxons. As a race the French are less commercial, more ideal, more capable of devotion to abstract principles, and of following them out consistently, irrespective of expediency.
There is one thing which cannot but make one indignant here in Paris, and which, I think, is keenly felt by some of the best among the French; and that is, the indifference of many Americans, while here, to their own national principles of liberty. They seem to come to Paris merely to be hangers on and applauders in the train of that tyrant who has overthrown the hopes of France. To all that cruelty and injustice by which thousands of hearts are now bleeding, they appear entirely insensible. They speak with heartless levity of the revolutions of France, as of a pantomime got up for their diversion. Their time and thoughts seem to be divided between defences of American slavery and efforts to attach themselves to the skirts of French tyranny. They are the parasites of parasites — delighted if they can but get to an imperial ball, and beside themselves if they can secure an introduction to the man who figured as a roué, in the streets of New York. Noble-minded men of all parties here, who have sacrificed all for principle, listen with suppressed indignation, while young America, fresh from the theatres and gambling saloons, declares, between the whiffs of his cigar, that the French are not capable of free institutions, and that the government of Louis Napoleon is the best thing France could have. Thus from the plague- spot at her heart has America become the propagandist of despotism in Europe. Nothing weighs so fearfully against the cause of the people of Europe as this kind of American influence. Through almost every city of Euro
pe are men whose great glory it appears to be to proclaim that they worship the beast, and wear his name in their foreheads. I have seen sometimes, in the forests, a vigorous young sapling which had sprung up from the roots of an old, decaying tree. So, unless the course of things alters much in America, a purer civil liberty will spring up from her roots in Europe, while her national tree is blasted with despotism. It is most affecting, in moving through French circles, to see what sadness, what anguish of heart, lies under that surface which seems to a stranger so gay. Each revolution has cut its way through thousands of families, ruining fortunes, severing domestic ties, inflicting wounds that bleed, and will bleed for years. I once alluded rather gayly to the numerous upsets of the French government, in conversation with a lady, and she laughed at first, but in a moment her eyes filled with tears, and she said, “Ah, you have no idea what these things are among us.” In conversation nothing was more common than the remark, “I shall do so and so, provided things hold out; but then there is no telling what will come next.”
On the minds of some there lie deep dejection and discouragement. Some, surrounded by their growing families, though they abhor the tyranny of the government, acquiesce wearily, and even dread change lest something worse should arise.
We know not in America how many atrocities and cruelties that attended the coup d’etat have been buried in the grave which intombed the liberty of the press. I have talked with eye witnesses of those scenes, men who have been in the prisons, and heard the work of butchery going on in the prison yards in the night. While we have been here, a gentleman to whom I had been introduced was arrested, taken from bed by the police, and carried off, without knowing of what he was accused. His friends were denied access to him, and on making application to the authorities, the invariable reply was, “Be very quiet about it. If you make a commotion his doom is sealed.” When his wife was begging permission for a short interview, the jailer, wearied with her importunities, at last exclaimed unguardedly, “Madam, there are two hundred here in the same position; what would you have me do?” [Footnote: That man has remained in prison to this day.]
Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe Page 797