a long list of heroes and statesmen, philosophers | and poets. Whoever, knowing what Italy and Scotland naturally are, and what four hundred years ago they actually were, shall now compare the country round Rome with the country round Edinburgh, will be able to form some judgment as to the tendency of Papal domination. The descent of Spain, once the first among monarchies, to the lowest depths of degradation; the elevation of Holland, in spite of many natural disadvantages, to a position such as no commonwealth so small has ever reached, teach the same lesson. Whoever passes in Germany from a Roman-catholic to a Protestant principality, in Switzerland from a Roman-catholic to a Protestant canton, in Ireland from a Roman-catholic to a Protestant county, finds that he has passed from a lower to a higher grade of civilization. On the other side of the Atlantic the same law prevails. The Protestants Roman-catholics of Mexico, Peru, and Brazil. of the United States have left far behind them the The Roman-catholics of Lower Canada remain inert, while the whole continent round them is in a ferment with Protestant activity and enterprise." We may be excused if we look with suspicion upon a "polity" which has produced such results! Is it true that the Church of Rome employs every species of enthusiasm in her cause, and that Protestantism is wanting in that polity? No, it is not true. The Catholic accepts dogmas unconditionally; he is not permitted to examine them. If he presume to doubt, he is treated as a heretic. Enthusiasm joined with freedom of inquiry is heretical, and is cast out. Not so Protestantism. It accepts and employs enthusiasm. just as Rome employs it; difference of opinion except on fundamental points does not exclude the enthusiasts from the Church, it only creates a sect; and sectarianism is, as we have said, the necessary consequence of the first principles of Protestantism. Thus we see that the "polity" of Rome is in no way peculiar to it; but, on the whole is inferior to that of Protestantism; for, although Rome accepts every variety of enthusiasm, it will not, as its antagonist does, accept variety of opinion as well as of feeling. Macaulay's argument is a curious example of the lively, one-sided view he takes of things. Observe, it is not a passing error; it is not the sort of rapid, imperfect glance which a man may cast upon the hedges which line the road he travels on; it is the main proposition of his essay, the conclusion to which historical investigation has led him. The reader will be tempted to suspect that we misrepresent the argument, and that Macaulay could not have made such a mistake as to identify Protestantism with the "We see "The reluctant admiration" which this figment of his own extorts from him is quite amusing; he creates a "masterpiece," and then falls down in worship before it. The grandeur of Rome, and the extent of her dominion, rouse him to eloquence. no sign," he says, "which indicates that the term of her long dominion is approaching. She saw the commencement of all ecclesiastical establishments that now exist in the world, and we feel no assurance that she is not destined to see the end of them all. She was great and respected before the Saxon set foot in Britain-before the Frank had passed the Rhine--when Grecian eloquence still flourished at Antioch-when idols were still worshipped in Mecca. And she may still exist in undiminished vigor when some traveller from New Zealand shall, in the midst of a vast solitude, take his stand on a broken arch of London-bridge, to sketch the ruins of St. Paul's!" Before we quit this subject, let us briefly recapitulate that Catholicism, in no way superior to Protestantism as far as relates to the employment of enthusiasm, is distinguished by superior unity, and consequently by the wealth and power which such unity bestows. But the boasted unity results at once from the strength and weakness of its principles-viz: its interdiction of all inquiry. The strength and weakness of Protestantism (weakness as a proselytizing agent) lies also in its great principle-viz: liberty of thought. As for Macaulay's argument about "polity," and his prophecies respecting the dominion of Rome, we hold them equally cheap. When he can prove that the fate of Protestantism is bound up with that of the Church of England, and when he can prove that enthusiasm is not as fully employed by Protestantism as by Catholicism, then, and not till then, will we open our ears to his teaching. We have attempted, in the foregoing pages, to characterize Macaulay's excellences and defects, such as they appeared in the three volumes of Essays upon which his reputation was founded. We have said nothing of the " Lays of Ancient Rome," nor will our space permit us to supply the omission. The long-expected "History of England" lies before us, and demands all our attention. The "History of England" is a splendid performance. We have earned our right to say so unequivocally, by the frankness of our previous strictures; and we use that right with greater pleasure, because we have observed, with regret, that in many quarters a depreciatory tone has been adopted, a tone which, although it cannot prevail, is so characteristic of an unwholesome tendency, that we are forced to advert to it. We allude not to the grumblers and snarlers who depreciate whatever others praise; we have no hopes of uprooting envy. But the evil to which we allude may be removed in every mind by a little reflection. It is this; directly a writer achieves a reputation by one kind of work, the wise public insists upon his continuing to produce that kind of work, or else forfeit its praise. A certain notion is formed of a man's powers, and he is not at liberty to disturb that notion by appearing in a new character. Poor Hood to the last complained that he could not get credit for his serious powers. When Göthe astonished Germany with his "Götz von Berlichingen," a bookseller came to him, and wished to give "order" for half-a-dozen more middleage" plays! Göthe, instead of reproducing his Iron-handed hero, produced "Werther; instead of reproducing" Werther," he wrote Clavigo;" and so on throughout his strange career. Every new work he wrote disappointed a public which had formed certain expectations of his doing again what he had already done so well. This irrational tendency of restricting a writer to our confined notion of his power, has operated in Macaulay's case. He has written review articles; he has made a reputation by review articles; and everything else that he may write will be called a review article. Had he never written, or had his articles been dull enough to escape notice, (a success which some of his critics have adroitly achieved,) this History would have been welcomed as a great work, and his reputation would have been fixed as an historian. But now we are told "it is only an expanded review article;" as if its pretensions were settled by that phrase. To judge fairly, we must regard the essays in the Edinburgh Review as experiments in the art of historical an " 66 writing. He has been trying his wings before venturing on continuous flight. Instead, therefore, of bringing down his History to the level of an essay, we ought to regard it as the finished result, and the essays as mere experiments. The same critics who sneeringly talk of review articles complete their objection by the traditional trash about the "dignity of history." They do not accuse the work of inaccuracy, of partiality, or of heaviness; they accuse it of being unconventional! If they could point out errors of fact, if they could expose any deficiency of proper information, or the absence of clear arrangement, we might listen; but to have the assurance to come forward with the foolish old cant about "dignity" and "classic models," merely for the miserable object of depreciating a fine work, deserves nothing but contempt.* It is a pity men know not how insignificant they look when they thus endeavor to exalt themselves above an author. The ignorance of such language is not less than its malevolence. If they knew any "classic models" except Gibbon and Robertson, they would know that Macaulay's History is the nearest approach to classic models that our language possesses, though it never imitates them servilely. History is the story of the past narrated to the present. Every art by which the narrator can make his audience understand that story is legitimate, and the better he succeeds, the greater must be his art. No detail is trivial which makes the story clearer. It is not a question of dignity at all; it is a question of artistic painting. Upon principles of "dignity," it has been asserted that Shakspeare should not have made Othello his hero, because a hero should always be white; and Voltaire has objected to the picturesque use of the phrase "there's not a mouse stirring," because, although he admits it to be graphic, yet it is too "undignified for tragedy.' But one may reasonably ask, what has dignity to do with the object of the dramatist or with that of the historian? He writes to explain and to depict; dignity must take its chance. Some have thought-and Charles James Fox is of the number-that history should be a mere narrative, and that it could not properly admit even of notes. But the word ioropia does not mean narrative-it means nowledge, experience. Nor did the ancients confine themselves to mere narrative; they paused occasionally to refute errors, and to introduce discussions. It would be impossible, in many cases, to make a mere narrative intelligible; discussion and explanation are therefore imperative. But the great art is to dispense as much as possible with discussion, and to tell the story in the directest manner compatible with thorough. clearing up of difficulties. We venture to affirm that in the art of telling a story well, and of bringing vividly before the reader's eye the very "body of the time, its form and pressure," Macaulay's history has scarcely a rival. He does not, indeed, narrate a story with the poetic grace, naïveté, and pathos of Herodotus, some of whose episodes are masterpieces of l'art de conter; he does not deepen his style with the weighty thoughts and grave eloquence of Thucydides; he does not approach the almost Shaksperean power of Livy, nor the gloomy grandeur and terrible concision of Tacitus, the Rembrandt of history. But in the marshalling of facts, in the dextrous use of details, in the fullness of knowledge, and the art of communicating that knowledge so as to leave nothing unexplained, while preserving the continuity and interest of the story, we certainly remember no work which surpasses it. If to understand an epoch, and to paint it, be the primary requisites of an historian, Macaulay has produced a classic work. For those who love to shield their judgments under some classic authority, we will quote the well-weighed language in which Cicero lays down the requisites of a history-requisites which it is impossible to deny Macaulay's having successfully supplied: ans of our own day, his precedence will be manifest. He has the learning and impartiality of Hallam, with a picturesque power incomparably greater; he is more graphic than Southey, without Southey's bigotry and partisanship; he has greater knowledge and mastery of historical material than Bulwer; greater art than Grote or Thirlwall; and is equally free from the astonishing inaccuracy, and from the unparalleled old-womanism of Alison. As far as Macaulay himself is concerned, it matters little what opinions are formed respecting the merit or demerit of his historical method. Success is assured him. His name will make every cultivated reader take up this book; its fascinating contents will not permit it to be laid aside unread. Right or wrong, therefore, his aim is achieved. But for us, as critics, there is another consideration. We cannot regard as unimportant the opinion to be formed of so striking a work; for in that opinion is involved the question of historical art. If Macaulay is wrong, who is right? If he is wrong, how is he wrong? Those who are to write history, and those who are to sit in judgment on it, must make up their minds as to the object of the historian, and the means by which that object is to be attained. Now it seems to us, that the object is to represent the past; the means are those which best enable him to paint it accurately and vividly. If the means employed do actually achieve that object, any traditionary stupidity about the "dignity of history" must be set aside. Macaulay has made up his mind to bear such accusations. "I shall cheerfully bear the reproach of having descended below the dignity of history,” he says, "if I can succeed in placing before the English of the nineteenth century a true picture of the life of their ancestors." No "Vult etiam quoniam in rebus magnis one will dare to say that he has not sucmemoriaque dignis consilia primum, deinde ceeded; no one will dare to say that we acta, postea eventus expectantur, et de have not here an incomparably more graphic consiliis significari quid scriptor probet, et in delineation of the past than any English hisrebus gestis declarari non solum quid actum torian has given us. torian has given us. Exception may be aut dictum sit, sed etiam quomodo; et cum taken to certain opinions; differences of view de eventu dicatur, ut causæ explicentur omnes will of course be elicited; but, making every vel casus vel sapientiæ vel temeritatis: homi- allowance for such individual exceptions, the numque ipsorum non solum res gestæ, sed sum total will be, as we said, that here is a etiam qui fama ac nomine excellant de cujus- splendid performance, such as no Englishque vita atque natura. Verborum autem man can read unmoved. It is a long and ratio et genus orationis fusum atque tractum, sumptuous historic gallery: the walls are et cum lenitate quadem æquabili profluens, lined with pictures, not of one kind, but of sine hac judiciali asperitate et sine sententia- all kinds; here we see a battle-field, there a rum forensium aculeis persequendum est." domestic interior; here a cabinet council, If we compare Macaulay with the histori-there a charming landscape; next the turbu lent insurrection of a maddened people, followed by a glimpse into a coffee-house; the interspaces of the walls are studded with portraits painted with a cunning hand; so that, as we walk along that gallery, the whole life of our ancestors is typically presented the accession of James II. Those who love to find fault have objected to the length of this introduction; but few in reading it have wished it much shorter. He must be insensible indeed to the charms of elegant writing and clear exposition who does not regard it as a masterpiece. To splendor of diction and picturesqueness of grouping there is added a clear and important statement of the constitutional development of our history, which Sunt bona, sunt quædam mediocria, sunt mala plura although not new, has the effect of novelty Quæ legis: aliter non fit, Avite, liber.* to us. We do not imagine the work to be free from serious defects; by the vividness of its presentation. For instance, the growth of law as concurrent with the decrease of violence-the greater necessity of strictly-defined principles of government as checks to the sovereign's caprice in proportion as society advances, and as the classification of labor gives rise to a standing army, with the consequent difference in the importance of revolutions now and formerly -were never more clearly and convincingly stated than in this passage: "They (the people) might, indeed, safely tolerate a king in a few excesses; for they had in reserve a check which soon brought the fiercest and proudest king to reason, the check of physical force. It is difficult for an Englishman of the nineteenth century to image to himself the facility and rapidity with which, four hundred years ago, this check was applied. The people have long unlearned the use of arms. The art to our forefathers; and the knowledge of that art of war has been carried to a perfection unknown is confined to a particular class. A hundred thousand troops, well disciplined and commanded will keep down millions of ploughmen and artisans. A few regiments of household troops are sufficient to overawe all the discontented spirits of a large capital. In the mean time, the effect of the surrection far more terrible to thinking men than constant progress of wealth has been to make inmal-administration. Immense sums have been expended on works which; if a rebellion broke We could Occupy several pages with minute criticism, were we so disposed. Many statements occur which, in the brief and hasty form in which they are given, are not, in our judgment, accurate, and will be cited another day in support of views which are not those of the author. But we admire the general fairness of the narrative. The objections we feel called upon to make are objections to the treatment; and we speak of historical art more than of minute facts. The first of these objections is to what we fear must be called Macaulay's incurable sin of exaggeration. The main facts are correct enough, but his manner of presenting them is false. To cite the instances of Marlborough and James the Second will be sufficient: their portraits are beneath the "dignity" of history, because they swerve from that severe impartiality which we demand in a judge, and descend to the tone of an advocate. James, especially, is contemptible enough; his acts and motives are glaring enough to dispense with all virulence from his historian; yet Macaulay writes of him as if he were an intimate enemy. Another defect, and one more easily remedied, is the frequency of repetition. This looks like carelessness; yet carelessness is the last fault one would expect to find in so elaborate a work. Per-out, might perish in a few hours. The mass of haps it arises from an over-anxiety to make points clear; an anxiety which is increased by the diffuseness characteristic of his writing. Yet we should imagine that the stupidest of mortals would not require the arguments used by churchmen to justify their departure from their dogma of non-resistance, to be recapitulated in the lengthy manner of the present work. As a general rule, the discussion and illustration is too wordy; and the recapitulations quite inde fensible. The work opens with a sketch of the history of England, from the earliest times to * Martial. moveable wealth collected in the shops and warehouses of London alone exceeds five hundred-fold that which the whole island contained in the days of the Plantagenets; and, if the government were subverted by physical force, all this moveable wealth would be exposed to imminent risk of spoliation and destruction. Still greater would be the risk to public credit, on which thousands of families directly depend for subsistence, and with which the credit of the whole commercial world is inseparably connected. It is no exaggeration ground would now produce disasters which would to say that a civil war of a week on English be felt from the Hoangho to the Missouri, and of which the traces would be discernible at the distance of a century. In such a state of society resistance must be regarded as a cure more desperate than almost any malady which can afflict the state. In the middle ages, on the contrary, re sistance was an ordinary remedy for political distempers, a remedy which was always at hand, and which, though doubtless sharp at the moment, produced no deep or lasting ill effects. If a popular chief raised his standard in a popular cause, an irregular army could be assembled in a day. Regular army there was none. Every man had a slight tincture of soldiership; and scarcely any man more than a slight tincture. The national wealth consisted chiefly in flocks and in herds, in the harvest of the year, and in the simple buildings inhabited by the people. All the furniture, the stock of shops, the machinery, which could be found in the realm, was of less value than the property which some single parishes now contain. Manufactures were rude, credit almost unknown; society therefore recovered from the shock as soon as the actual conflict was over. The calamities of civil war were confined to the slaughter on the field of battle, and a few subsequent executions and confiscations. In a week the peasant was driving his team, and the esquire flying his hawks, over the field of Towton, or of Bosworth, as if no extraordinary event had interrupted the regular course of human life. A hundred and sixty years have now elapsed since the English people have by force subverted a government. During the hundred and sixty years which preceded the union of the Roses, nine kings reigned in England. Six of these nine kings were deposed. Five lost their lives, as well as their crowns. It is evident, therefore, that any comparison between our ancient and our modern polity must lead to most erroneous conclusions, unless large allowance be made for the effect of that restraint which resistance and the fear of resistance constantly imposed on the Plantagenets. As our ancestors had against tyranny a most important security, which we want, they might safely dispense with some securities to which we justly attach the highest importance. As we cannot, without the risk of evils from which the imagination recoils, employ physical force as a check on misgovernment, it is evidently our wisdom to keep all the constitutional checks on misgovernment in the highest state of efficiency, to watch with jealousy the first beginnings of encroachment, and never to suffer irregularities, even when harmless in themselves, to pass unchallenged, lest they acquire the force of precedents." We could furnish other examples, but we must be chary of extracts from a work which will soon be in everybody's hands. We cannot pass this Introduction without animadverting on a a serious omission: an omission, indeed, which previous historians have also made, but which no original thinker of the present day, looking at history with his own eyes, instead of looking through the spectacles of others, would have made. We allude to the complete silence upon the most important fact in modern history, the development of the Industrial element. This element it is which has gradually destroyed feudalism; given birth to the true democratic spirit; and changed the whole constitution of society. The historian who overlooks such an element, who does not recognize and depict its influence in every stage of our progress, has missed the peculiar significance of the story he relates. What is it that profoundly separates ancient from modern civilzation? Two things: Christianity and the Industrial spirit. Whatever is peculiar to modern times owes its existence to one of those two agents. Of course we do not deny that ancient society also had its industrial element; but the industrial element plays a part in modern Europe which has no counterpart in the ancient world. And here we do not refer to vious marvels of our industry. We refer to our mechanical superiority merely, to the obthe rise of the industrial classes into power ; to the transformation which they have effected in society, converting it from a state in which the military spirit was dominant, into a state in which the industrial spirit is dominant. Some traces of the ancient feeling still remain, and sneers of trade occasionally curl the lips of those who give themselves aristocratic airs. The notion of a gentleman is still essentially feudal: it is that of a man who does not labor, but for whom others labor. This feeling will not soon die out. Meanwhile, the fact of the whole spirit of society having ceased to be military is indisputable. Labor of head or hand has come to be the necessity of gentlemen as of villeins. The warlike spirit has yielded to the pacific spirit. The much-ridiculed "Peace Congress" is admitted, even by those who laugh at it, to be only somewhat premature: its object is desirable, though Europe may not be prepared to carry it out. But the existence of such a scheme is significant. Utopias even in their extravagance reveal the tendency of an age. Such a project as that of universal peace, which only excites a smile at its prematurity, would have seemed to our ancestors a buffoonery more extravagant than anything engendered by the combined genius of Pulci, Rabelais, and Swift. The broad distinction between the military character of ancient society and the increasing preponderance of the industrial character in modern society is one of the first principles of historical science. Its application is unlimited. Its ramifications run throughout history. All the manifold results of standing armies are traceable to it. That standing armies owe their existence to the increase of the industrial spirit is easily demonstrable. |