Section v

IN these three Compacts, but especially in the Bill of Rights which is the most important, we cannot but be struck by a turn of mind quite foreign to French ideas. Let us pause a moment, and define it by contrasting it with the spirit which pervades French documents of the same nature. The Declaration of Right of 1689, in reality a revolutionary document, has none of the philosophical and humanitarian character which its title leads us to expect, and which a Frenchman would at once expect to be the outcome of a revolution.1

that it was very well to say to the people, "Love order and hate violence," but that it would not do to say that and nothing more. "But while I eschew violence,” he adds, “I cannot—I will not— adopt that effeminate method of speech which is to hide from the people of this country the cheering fact that they may derive some encouragement from the recollection of former struggles, from the recollection of the great qualities of their forefathers, and from the consciousness that they possess them still. Sir, I am sorry to say that if no instructions had ever been addressed in political crises to the people of this country except to remember to hate violence, and love order, and exercise patience, the liberties of this country would never have been obtained."-[Hansard, Parl. Debates, vol. 293, p. 643 (D).]

1 This must, no doubt, be put down to the genius of the English nation, and also to the epoch in which the last and most important crisis took place in England. In 1688, and during the whole of the seventeenth century, in France as well as in England, there is one point which characterizes all speculation in theology, science, or politics. It is, that the highest intellectual effort is devoted solely to the recognition of authority, the registration of prece

In the debates to which it gave rise, in the preamble and the enactment itself, there is no question of principles and axioms, but only of traditions and sources. The Lords indeed speak of an original contract, but in this case it is an immemorial contract between king and people, not an abstract contract between society and its members; there is nothing in it like the theories of Rousseau. The rights claimed are definite ones; the true, ancient, and undoubted rights of the subjects of this kingdom. A little later the Act of Settlement called them birthrights. Birthright is the right of the elder as well as of birth. During this great epoch the nation is full of the pride of a chosen race to whom dents, and the consecration of documents, whence the truths are deduced which form the creed of the nation. Quite a different spirit springs up in the eighteenth century: authorities are contested, their titles examined, documents are criticized and objected to, if they go against common sense. England had the advantage of passing through her political crisis at a time when the rationalism of Voltaire's age had not run riot and more or less taken possession of all Europe. Things consecrated by time were still honoured. England had another advantage in the fact that her past, to which she turned instinctively, could show a picture of liberties upheld with difficulty, but still always upheld, sometimes violated, but always reclaimed, and which she always meant to reclaim. How different it was in France! In 1789 the ancien régime had kept nothing but the appearance of institutions. Many were quite useless or cancelled by royal order; others, as, for instance, the States-General, had been suspended for so long that their procedure had been quite forgotten, and long and intricate researches were needed to make out how things were done in 1614 and before that date. It is not surprising that with this dearth of examples, and the absence of traditions, the minds of Frenchmen should have been thrown upon speculative research, towards which the current of the eighteenth century already drew them.

liberty is a privilege of birth rather than a natural law common to all men, and the demands of the nation are made in this spirit. The nation reminds us not of a theorist discussing his reasons, but of a proprietor with an old title going into court with his title-deeds.

What passed in the English Convention of 1688 is most significant with regard to this state of things. The king had fled, a foreign army was in the country, Scotland was wavering, and Ireland ready for revolt. The Lords and Commons chose this very moment for a long and patient examination of the precedents relating to the vacancy of the throne and to abdication.

Somers produced a parliamentary record of the year 1399, which expressly stated that the throne had remained vacant during the interval between the resignation of Richard II. and the accession of Henry IV. The Lords replied by producing the record of the first year of Edward IV.'s reign, which showed that the precedent of 1399 had been formally overruled. Treby came to the rescue of Somers and produced a record of the first year of Henry VII.'s reign, which repealed the Act of Edward IV. and restored the authority of the precedent of 1399. Before this they had gone back as far as William Rufus and Richard of Normandy.

Shortly after this the state of things became more critical, and the danger more pressing, when the question of settling the title-deeds of the Convention which called William III. to the throne was raised. Long and serious, Macaulay tells us,1 were the discussions on all the circumstances of the deposition of Richard II.;

1 [Macaulay, Hist. of England, ii. 3rd ed., p. 651 (D).]

the whole history of royal ordinances was gone through, the etymology of the word "parliament" was discussed. Antiquarian lore ran riot. At last old Maynard (whose name suggests to me a French origin)1 brought the question back to its true issue, i.e. to a revolutionary one. We are," he said, "at this moment out of the beaten track. If we have made up our minds to proceed only by the beaten track we shall not advance at all. A man in the midst of a revolution, who is set upon doing nothing that is not in conformity with the established rules, is like a man in a desert who stops and says: Where is the high road? I must and will go by the high road. In a desert a man must take the road which is most likely to lead him home."2 Maynard's suggestion was followed unwillingly enough, and only because every one was sick of wrangling.

The exact counterpart of this scene took place in the Corps Législatif of 1815, when Blücher was marching on Paris after the battle of Waterloo. In this case too the sovereign had fled, the foreigner was victorious, the choice of a dynasty was in debate. On July 4th, the Moniteur tells the people that Paris had surrendered to the Allies. On the 5th, the Chamber of Deputies meets at the usual hour. Instead of making use of the time to discuss the danger which threatens the country, they begin a lively debate on a Declaration of Rights presented by Garat:

:

"I. All rights emanate from the people; the

1 [Maynard, the son of a gentleman at Tavistock, was born 1602, and died 1690. See Foss, Judges of England, vii., p. 325 (D).]

2

[Comp. Cobbett, Parliamentary History, v., p. 127 (D).]

sovereignty of the people is made up of the rights of the individuals.

“VIII. The liberty of each individual is limited only by the liberty of other individuals.

"XI. The elements of all the sciences, of all the talents, of taste and imagination shall be taught in a university."

The debate goes on. For several hours all manner of theories are brought forward, every possible definition, whether traditional or given by authorities, is discussed. The debaters are full of animation and earnestness. "It is not a Declaration of Rights, it is a declaration of violence," cries one. "But the English are coming!" interrupts another. "Even if they were here I should demand the right to state my opinion." The sitting breaks up at five o'clock and is adjourned till seven. During the day the Chamber had adopted a Declaration of Rights. In the evening it is busy over a declaration of principles. When the president gives out the result of the voting the enthusiasm is indescribable, all the deputies rise to their feet, stretching out their hands, crowding together, embracing each other and bursting into tears. Let the enemy come, now we can die." The next day, while the Allies are taking possession of the gates of the town, the Chamber is still discussing and voting on fifty-two articles of the Constitution with unflagging interest. The debate on the second section of Chapter IV. is adjourned to the next day. The next day Blücher enters Paris. Here we see plainly enough the two opposite currents of opinion, one historical and the other philosopical. Nothing shows their power over