GENERAL VIEW OF THE SUBJECT
BEFORE bringing this journey to its ultimate conclusion, I would like to take in all the various features of the new world with one final glance and at last offer a judgment of the general influence that equality is likely to have on man's fate. The difficulty of such an undertaking gives me pause, however. Faced with such a huge subject, my vision grows cloudy and my reason falters.
The new society that I have sought to describe and want to judge has only just come into being. Time has not yet fixed its form. The great revolution that created it is still under way, and in what is happening today it is almost impossible to make out what will likely pass away with the revolution itself and what will remain after it has gone.
The world that is on the rise remains half buried beneath the debris of the world that is in collapse, and in the vast confusion of human affairs no one can say what will remain of old institutions and ancient mores and what will ultimately disappear.
Although the ongoing revolution in man's social state, laws, ideas, and sentiments is still far from over, it is already clear that its works cannot be compared with anything the world has ever seen before. Looking back century by century to remotest Antiquity, I see nothing that resembles what I see before me. When the past is no longer capable of shedding light on the future, the mind can only proceed in darkness.
Yet in this very vast, very novel, and very confusing tableau, I can already make out some of the main new features that are just now taking shape, and I shall point them out.
I find that goods and evils are fairly equally distributed throughout the world. Great riches are disappearing. The number of small fortunes is increasing. Desires and pleasures are proliferating. Extraordinary prosperity no longer exists, nor does irremediable misery. Ambition is a universal sentiment, but vast ambitions are rare. Each individual is isolated and weak. Society is agile, far-sighted, and strong. Private individuals do small things, while the state's undertakings are immense.
Souls are not energetic, but mores are mild and legislation is humane. Although heroic devotion and other very lofty, spectacular, and pure virtues are seldom encountered, habits are orderly, violence is rare, and cruelty is almost unknown. Men are beginning to live longer, and their property is more secure. Life is not very stylish, but it is quite comfortable and peaceful. There are few very exquisite pleasures and few very crude ones, and there is little politeness in manners and little brutality in taste. One meets scarcely any men who are very learned or populations that are very ignorant. Genius is becoming rarer and enlightenment more commonplace. The human mind is developing as a result of the combined small efforts of all rather than the powerful impetus of a few. The works of man are less perfect but more plentiful. All bonds of race, class, and country are becoming looser; the great bond of humanity is growing tighter.
If I search these various traits for the one that seems to me most general and most striking, I find that what is happening to fortunes is also reproducing itself in a thousand other forms. Nearly all extremes are being softened and blunted. Almost anything that stands out is being wiped out and replaced by something average — neither as high nor as low, neither as brilliant nor as obscure as what the world once knew.
I cast my eyes upon this innumerable host of similar beings, among whom no one stands out or stoops down. The sight of such universal uniformity saddens and chills me, and I am tempted to mourn for the society that is no more.
When the world was full of men both very great and very small, very rich and very poor, very learned and very ignorant, I used to avert my gaze from the latter to focus solely on the former, and they gladdened my eyes, but I know that my pleasure was a consequence of my weakness: it is because I cannot take in everything around me at a single glance that I am allowed to choose in this way among so many objects those that it pleases me to contemplate. This is not true of the Almighty Eternal Being, whose eye necessarily encompasses all things and sees the entire human race and each man distinctly yet simultaneously.
It is natural to believe that what is most satisfying to the eye of man's creator and keeper is not the singular prosperity of a few but the greater well-being of all: what seems decadence to me is therefore progress in his eyes; what pains me pleases him. Equality is less lofty, perhaps, but more just, and its justice is the source of its grandeur and beauty.
I am doing my best to enter into this point of view, which is that of the Lord, and trying to consider and judge human affairs from this perspective.
No one on earth can yet state in an absolute and general way that the new state of societies is superior to the old one, but it is already easy to see that it is different.
Certain vices and virtues that were once associated with the constitution of aristocratic nations are so contrary to the genius of the new nations that they could not possibly be introduced into them. There are good penchants and bad instincts that were foreign to the former and are natural to the latter. Some ideas occur spontaneously to the imagination of the one yet are rejected by the mind of the other. These are like two distinct humanities, each of which has its peculiar advantages and drawbacks, its inherent goods and evils.
Hence we must be careful not to judge nascent societies by ideas drawn from societies that are no more. To do so would be unjust, for these societies are so extraordinarily different as to be incomparable.
It would scarcely be more reasonable to expect men today to exhibit the particular virtues that derived from the social state of their ancestors, since that social state has collapsed and in its fall has swept away pell-mell all the goods and evils it bore within it.
At present, however, these things are still dimly understood.
I see many of my contemporaries trying to choose among institutions, opinions, and ideas that grew out of the aristocratic constitution of the old society. They are prepared to give up some of these but would like to hold on to others and carry them over into the new world.
I think that these people are wasting their time and effort in honest but unproductive labor.
The task is no longer to hold on to the particular advantages that inequality of conditions procured for mankind but to secure the new goods that equality can provide. We must not try to make ourselves like our fathers but do our best to achieve the kind of grandeur and happiness that is appropriate to us.
As for me, having reached the end of my journey, I can now see, all at once but from afar, the various objects that I contemplated separately along the way, and I am full of fears and hopes. I see great dangers that can be warded off and great evils that can be avoided or held in check, and I feel ever more assured in my belief that in order to be virtuous and prosperous, democratic nations have only to want to be so.
I am well aware that any number of my contemporaries believe that nations are never their own masters here below and are necessarily obedient to I know not what insurmountable and unthinking force born of previous events or race or soil or climate.
These are false and cowardly doctrines, which can only produce weak men and pusillanimous nations: Providence did not create mankind entirely independent or altogether enslaved. Around each man it traced, to be sure, a fatal circle beyond which he may not venture, but within the ample limits thus defined man is powerful and free, and so are peoples.
It is beyond the ability of nations today to prevent conditions within them from becoming equal, but it is within their power to decide whether equality will lead them into servitude or liberty, enlightenment or barbarism, prosperity or misery.
Concerning regions of the West not yet penetrated by Europeans, see the two journeys undertaken by Major Long at the expense of Congress.
In regard to the great American wilderness in particular, Mr. Long says that a line should be drawn roughly parallel to the 20th degree of longitude (as measured from the meridian of Washington, which is roughly equivalent to the 99th degree measured from the meridian of Paris), from the Red River to the Platte River. From this imaginary line to the Rocky Mountains, which border the Mississippi valley on the west, stretch vast plains, generally covered with sand that is unsuitable for cultivation or strewn with granite boulders. These plains are without water during the summer, and empty, except for vast herds of buffalo and wild horses. On occasion hordes of Indians can also be seen, but they are few in number.
Major Long was told that if he had continued in the same direction up beyond the Platte, he would have had the same desert constantly on his left, but he was unable to verify the accuracy of this report for himself. Long’s Expedition, vol. 2, p. 361.
However reliable Major Long’s account may be, bear in mind that he simply crossed the region he describes without making any major zigzags to either side of his route.
The tropical regions of South America produce an incredible profusion of the climbing plants known generically as liana. More than forty different species are found just among the flora of the West Indies.
Among the most graceful of these vines is the passion flower. As Descourtilz tells us in his description of West Indian vegetation, this pretty plant uses its tendrils to attach itself to trees and form undulating arcades, colonnades made rich and elegant by the beauty of their decorative purple flowers, sometimes tinged with blue, whose fragrance is so enchanting; see vol. 1, p. 265.
The great-podded acacia is a very thick, fast-growing liana that runs from tree to tree, in some cases over a distance of more than half a league; see vol. 3, p. 227.
ON AMERICAN LANGUAGES. The languages spoken by the Indians of America, from the North Pole to Cape Horn, are said to be based on a common model and to obey the same grammatical rules, from which it follows that in all likelihood the Indian nations all stem from a common stock.
Each tribe on the American continent speaks a different dialect, but there are very few languages in the strict sense — further evidence that the nations of the New World may not be very old.
Finally, the languages of America are extremely regular. Hence it is probable that the peoples who use them have yet to be subjected to great revolutions and have not mixed, willingly or unwillingly, with foreign nations, because it is generally the union of several languages into one that produces grammatical irregularities.
It is only recently that American languages, and in particular the languages of North America, have attracted the serious attention of philologists. Only then was it discovered that the idiom of these barbarous peoples was the product of a very complex system of ideas combined in clever ways. It was noticed that these languages were very rich, and that great care had been taken to make them easy on the ear.
The grammatical system of these American languages is different from all others in several respects, most notably the following:
Some European peoples, including the Germans, among others, have the ability to combine different expressions when necessary to give a complex meaning to certain words. The Indians have extended this ability in the most surprising way and have thereby succeeded in compressing a very large number of ideas into a single expression. An example cited by Mr. Duponceau in the Memoirs of the American Philosophical Society will help to make this point clear.
Duponceau tells us that when a Delaware woman plays with a cat or a puppy, she will sometimes utter the word kuligatschis. This word is composed as follows: k is the sign of the second person and signifies “you” or “your”; uli, which is pronounced ouli, is a fragment of the word wulit, which means “beautiful” or “pretty”; gat is another fragment, of the word wichgat, which means “paw”; finally, schis, pronounced chise, is a diminutive ending associated with the idea of smallness. Thus, with a single word, the Indian woman has said, “Your pretty little paw.”
Here is another example, which shows how felicitously the savages of America put words together.
“A young man” in Delaware is pilape. This word is formed from pilsit, “chaste,” and lenape, “man”: in other words, “man in his purity and innocence.”
This ability to combine words is most surprising when it comes to the formation of verbs. The most complicated actions are often expressed by a single verb; almost all the nuances of the idea act on the verb and modify it.
Anyone who would like more detail about this subject, which I have only touched on superficially, should read:
1. Mr. Duponceau’s correspondence with Rev. Hecwelder on Indian languages. This correspondence can be found in the first volume of the Memoirs of the Philosophical Society of America, published in Philadelphia in 1819 by Abraham Small, pp. 356–464.
2. The grammar of the Delaware, or Lenape, language by Geiberger, together with Mr. Duponceau’s preface. All this is found in the same collection, vol. 3.
3. A very well done summary of these works at the end of volume 6 of the American Encyclopedia.
Charlevoix gives a history of the first war between the French of Canada and the Iroquois in 1610. The Iroquois, though armed with bows and arrows, mounted a desperate resistance against the French and their allies. Charlevoix, though not much of a descriptive writer, brings out the contrast between the mores of the Europeans and those of the savages quite clearly, as well as the different ways in which the two races conceived of honor.
“The French,” he says, “upon seeing Iroquois bodies lying out in the open, made off with the beaver skins that had draped them. Their allies the Hurons were scandalized by this spectacle. They then began to perform their usual cruelties on their prisoners and, to the horror of the French, devoured one whom they had killed. And so,” Charlevoix adds, “these barbarians gloried in their disinterestedness, which they were surprised not to find in our nation, and failed to understand that it was far less evil to plunder the dead than to feast on their flesh like wild beasts.”
In another place (vol. 1, p. 230), the same Charlevoix describes the first torture witnessed by Champlain and the Hurons’ return to their village:
After covering a distance of eight leagues, our allies stopped and, seizing one of their captives, berated him for all the cruelties that he had visited on warriors of their nation who had fallen into his hands. They told him that he should expect the same treatment from them and added that, if he had any heart, he could show it by singing. He immediately launched into his song of death, followed by his song of war and all the other songs he knew, but in a very sad manner, according to Champlain, who had not been there long enough to know that there is something lugubrious about all the music of the savages. The torture of this man, along with all the other horrors of which we shall speak in due course, terrified the French, who did everything they could to put an end to it, but in vain. The next night, after a Huron dreamed that he was being pursued, the retreat turned into a veritable flight, and the savages would not stop anywhere unless there was absolutely no danger.
As soon as they saw the huts of their village, they cut long poles to which they attached the scalps they had jointly taken and raised them in triumph. When the women saw this, they dove into the water and, upon reaching the canoes, took the still bloody scalps from their husbands’ hands and tied them around their necks.
The warriors gave Champlain one of these gruesome trophies as a gift, along with a number of bows and arrows — the only booty they had cared to take from the Iroquois — and asked him to show these prizes to the king of France.
Champlain spent a whole winter alone with these barbarians, during which his safety and property were never compromised for a moment.
Although the puritanical strictness that presided at the birth of the English colonies in America has already been greatly relaxed, extraordinary traces of it remain in habits and laws.
In 1792, the very year in which the anti-Christian republic began its ephemeral existence in France, the legislature of Massachusetts promulgated a law to enforce Sunday observance. Here are the preamble and main provisions of that law, which deserve the most careful attention:
Whereas the observance of the Lord’s Day is highly promotive of the welfare of a community, by affording necessary seasons for relaxation from labor and the cares of business; for moral reflections and conversation on the duties of the Maker, Governor, and Judge of the world; and for those acts of charity which support and adorn a Christian society: And whereas some thoughtless and irreligious persons, inattentive to the duties and benefits of the Lord’s Day, profane the same, by unnecessarily pursuing their worldly business and recreations on that day, to their own great damage, as members of a Christian society; to the great disturbance of well-disposed persons, and to the great damage of the community, by producing dissipation of manners and immoralities of life:
Be it therefore enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives. . .
That no person or persons . . . shall keep open his . . . shop, warehouse, or workhouse, nor shall . . . do any manner of labor, business, or work . . . nor be present at any concert of music, dancing, or any public diversion, show, or entertainment, nor use any sport, game, play, or recreation on the Lord’s Day . . . upon penalty of a sum not exceeding twenty shillings, nor less than ten shillings, for every offense.
That no traveler, drover, wagoner, teamster . . . shall travel on the Lord’s Day . . . (except from necessity or charity) upon the penalty of a sum not exceeding twenty shillings, nor less than ten shillings.
That no vintner, retailer of strong liquors, innholder . . . shall entertain or suffer any of the inhabitants of the respective towns where they dwell . . . to abide and remain . . . drinking or spending their time either idly or at play or doing any secular business on the Lord’s Day. . . .
That any person, being able of body and not otherwise necessarily prevented, who shall, for the space of three months together, absent him or herself from the public worship of God on the Lord’s Day . . . shall pay a fine of ten shillings.
That if any person shall, on the Lord’s Day, within the walls of any house of public worship, behave rudely or indecently, he or she shall pay a fine not more than forty shillings, nor less than five shillings. . . .
That the tithingmen1 . . . in the several towns and districts within this Commonwealth shall be held and obliged to inquire into and inform of all offenses against this Act. . . .
And every tithingman is hereby authorized and empowered to enter into any of the rooms and other parts of an inn or public house of entertainment on the Lord’s Day . . . to examine all persons whom they shall have good cause . . . to suspect of unnecessarily traveling as aforesaid on the Lord’s Day and to demand of all such persons the cause thereof. . . and if any person shall refuse to give answer . . . he shall pay a fine not exceeding five pounds; . . . and if the reason given for such traveling shall not be satisfactory to the tithingman, he shall enter a complaint against the person traveling, before a Justice of the Peace in the county where the offense is committed.” General Laws of Massachusetts, vol. 1, p. 410.
On March 11, 1797, a new law increased the fines, half of which were to go to the person prosecuting the offender. Same collection, vol. 1, p. 525.
On February 16, 1816, yet another law confirmed these measures. Same collection, vol. 2, p. 405.
Similar provisions exist in the laws of the state of New York, revised in 1827 and 1828. (See Revised Statutes, part 1, chap. 20, p. 675.) There it is stated that on Sunday no one shall be allowed to hunt, fish, gamble, or frequent houses where drinks are served, and no one shall be allowed to travel except for reasons of necessity.
This is not the only trace left in the laws by the religious spirit and austere mores of the first immigrants.
The Revised Statutes of the State of New York contain the following article (vol. 1, p. 662):
Every person who shall win or lose at play, or by betting at any time, the sum or value of twenty-five dollars or upwards within the space of twenty-four hours shall be deemed guilty of a misdemeanor and on conviction shall be fined not less than five times the value or sum so lost or won; which . . . shall be paid to the overseers of the poor of the town.
Every person who shall . . . lose at any time or sitting the sum or value of twenty-five dollars or upwards . . . may . . . sue for and recover the money . . . so . . . lost. . . . The overseers of the poor of the town where the offense was committed may sue for and recover the sum or value so lost and paid, together with treble the said sum or value, from the winner thereof for the benefit of the poor.
The laws just quoted are very recent, but who could understand them without going all the way back to the origins of the colonies? I do not doubt that the penal part of this legislation is very seldom applied nowadays. The laws remain inflexible, while mores have already adapted to changing times. Yet Sunday observance is still one of things that the foreigner in America finds most striking.
Indeed, in one large American city, social life all but comes to a halt on Saturday night. You can walk through the streets at a time that would seem to beckon mature men to business and youth to pleasure and find yourself quite alone. Not only is no one working, but no one seems to be alive. One hears neither the bustle of industry nor the accents of pleasure nor even the incessant hubbub of all large cities. Chains bar the way to churches, and only grudgingly do half-closed shutters allow even a ray of light to penetrate the citizens’ homes. From time to time one may just glimpse a solitary figure silently making his way across a deserted intersection or down an abandoned street.
The next day, at daybreak, the rumble of carriages, the pounding of hammers, and the shouts of people can again be heard. The city comes back to life. Restless crowds hasten to places of business and work. All around, things begin to move, excitement is everywhere, the pace quickens. Lethargic torpor gives way to feverish activity. People behave as though they had but one day to make their fortune and enjoy its fruits.
Needless to say, I do not pretend that the chapter you have just read is a history of America. In writing it, my only purpose was to allow the reader to appreciate how the opinions and mores of the first immigrants influenced the fate of the various colonies and of the Union in general. I was therefore obliged to limit myself to a few unrelated fragments.
I may be mistaken, but it seems to me that, by pursuing the course that I have merely sketched out here, one could paint a portrait of the early days of the American republics that would not be unworthy of the public’s attention and would no doubt provide statesmen with food for thought. Unable to undertake this work myself, I have tried at least to facilitate the task for others. To that end, I feel I ought to provide here a brief bibliography and concise analysis of the works I found most useful.
Foremost among the documents of a general nature that one might fruitfully consult I would place the Historical Collection of State Papers and Other Authentic Documents, Intended as Materials for a History of the United States of America, by Ebenezer Hazard.
The first volume of this compilation, which was printed in Philadelphia in 1792, contains the verbatim text of all the charters granted to immigrants by the Crown of England, along with the principal acts of the colonial governments during the earliest period of their existence. Among other things, one finds here a large number of authentic documents on the affairs of New England and Virginia during this period.
The second volume is almost entirely devoted to the acts of the confederation of 1643. This federal pact, which united the colonies of New England for the purpose of resisting the Indians, was the first example of a union among Anglo-Americans. There were several more confederations of a similar nature leading up to the one of 1776, which brought independence to the colonies.
There is a copy of this historical collection from Philadelphia in the Bibliothèque Royale.
In addition, each colony has its own historical records, several of which are invaluable. I shall begin by examining that of Virginia, which was the first state to be settled.
Virginia’s first historian was its founder, Capt. John Smith. Captain Smith has left us a quarto volume entitled The General History of Virginia and New England, by Captain John Smith, Sometime Governor in those Countries and Admiral of New England, printed in London in 1627. (This volume can be found in the Bibliothèque Royale.) Embellishing Smith’s work are some very interesting maps and engravings dating from the time it was printed. The historian’s narrative covers the period from 1584 to 1626. Smith’s book is well-respected, and deservedly so. The author was one of the most celebrated adventurers of the adventurous century in whose latter part he lived. The book itself breathes the ardor for discovery and spirit of enterprise characteristic of the men of that time. In it, one discovers that mix of chivalrous mores with the knack for trade that proved so useful in the acquisition of wealth.
What is most remarkable about Captain Smith, however, is that he combines the virtues of his contemporaries with qualities that remained foreign to most of them. His style is simple and clear, his stories all bear the hallmark of truth, and his descriptions are not ornate.
The author sheds valuable light on the state of the Indians at the time of North America’s discovery.
The second historian to consult is Beverley. His work, in duodecimo, was translated into French and printed in Amsterdam in 1707. The author begins his narrative in 1585 and ends it in 1700. The first part of his book contains actual historical documents pertaining to the early days of the colony. The second part includes an interesting portrait of the state of the Indians in that remote period. The third part offers some very clear ideas about the mores, social state, laws, and political habits of the Virginians of the author’s day.
Beverley was from Virginia, so that he begins by saying that he begs readers not to be too rigid in their criticism of his work, because, having been born in India, he does not aspire to purity of language. Despite this colonial modesty, the author makes it clear throughout his book that he is impatient of the supremacy of the mother country. There is abundant evidence in Beverley’s work of the spirit of civil liberty that animated the English colonies in America from that time on. There is also evidence of the divisions that separated them for so long and delayed their independence. Beverley detests his Catholic neighbors in Maryland even more than he does the English government. His style is simple; his narratives are often extremely interesting and inspire confidence. The French translation of Beverley’s history can be found in the Bibliothèque Royale.
I saw in America, but have been unable to find in France, a work that might also be worth consulting, entitled History of Virginia, by William Stith. This book contains interesting details but seemed to me long and diffuse.
The oldest and best document on the history of the Carolinas is a small quarto volume entitled The History of Carolina, by John Lawson, printed in London in 1718.
Lawson’s book begins with a journey of discovery in western Carolina, recounted in journal form. The author’s narrative is confused, and his observations are quite superficial. The only items of importance are a rather striking portrait of the ravages done by small pox and whiskey to the Indians of the time and an interesting description of the corruption of their mores, which the presence of Europeans encouraged.
The second part of Lawson’s work reports on Carolina’s physical state and products.
In the third part, the author gives an interesting description of the mores, usages, and government of the Indians of the period.
This portion of the book shows frequent flashes of wit and originality.
Lawson’s history ends with the charter granted to Carolina in the time of Charles II.
The overall tone of the work is light and often licentious and stands in stark contrast to the profoundly serious style of works published in New England in the same period.
Lawson’s history is extremely rare in America and impossible to obtain in Europe. There is, however, one copy in the Bibliothèque Royale.
From the extreme south of the United States I now turn directly to the extreme north. The intervening space was not settled until later.
I should first call attention to a very interesting compilation entitled Collection of the Massachusetts Historical Society, which was first printed in Boston in 1792 and reprinted in 1806. This work cannot be found in the Bibliothèque Royale or, I believe, in any other library.
This collection (which is still being added to) contains a wealth of very valuable documents pertaining to the history of the various states of New England. In it the reader will find unpublished correspondence and copies of documents that lay buried in local archives. The entirety of Gookin’s work on the Indians has been included.
In the chapter to which this note refers, I mentioned several times the work of Nathaniel Morton entitled New England’s Memorial. What I said about it should suffice to show that it merits the attention of anyone who would like to know more about the history of New England. Morton’s book was reprinted in an octavo volume in Boston in 1826. It cannot be found in the Bibliothèque Royale.
The most respected and important document we have on the history of New England is the work of Rev. Cotton Mather entitled Magnalia Christi Americana, or the Ecclesiastical History of New England, 1620–1698, 2 vols. in octavo, reprinted in Harford in 1820. I do not believe that it can be found in the Bibliothèque Royale.
The author divided his work into seven books.
The first recounts the history of the events that laid the groundwork for and led up to the founding of New England.
The second contains lives of the first governors and of the region’s most important officials.
The third is devoted to the lives and works of the ministers of the Gospel who tended to souls in the same period.
In the fourth, the author recounts the founding and development of the university in Cambridge (Massachusetts).
In the fifth, he sets forth the principles and discipline of the Church of New England.
The sixth is devoted to retracing certain events that, according to Mather, indicate the beneficent action of Providence on the inhabitants of New England.
In the seventh, finally, the author tells us of the heresies and troubles to which the Church of New England was exposed.
Cotton Mather was a minister of the Gospel who was born in Boston and spent his life there.
All the ardor and all the religious passions that led to the founding of New England animate and vivify his writing. His manner of writing reveals frequent traces of bad taste, yet he draws one in because his abundant enthusiasm is ultimately communicated to the reader. He is often intolerant and still more often credulous, but one never detects signs of an intent to deceive. There are even some beautiful passages in his work and some true and profound thoughts, such as these:
“Before the arrival of the Puritans,” he says, “there were more than a few attempts of the English to people and improve the parts of New England. . . but the designs of those attempts being aimed no higher than the advancement of some worldly interests, a constant series of disasters has confounded them, until there was a plantation erected upon the nobler designs of Christianity; and that plantation, though it has had more adversaries than perhaps any one upon earth; yet, having obtained help from God, it continues to this day.”
Mather sometimes softens the austerity of his descriptions with images of kindness and tenderness: speaking of an English lady brought to America along with her husband by religious ardor only to succumb soon thereafter to the fatigue and misery of exile, he adds: “As for her virtuous spouse, Isaac Johnson, he tried to live without her, liked it not, and died” (vol. 1, p. 71).
Mather’s book paints an admirable picture of the time and country he sought to describe.
When he wants to tell us about the reasons that drove the Puritans to seek asylum across the seas, he says:
The God of Heaven served as it were, a summons upon the spirits of his people in the English nation; stirring up the spirits of thousands which never saw the faces of each other, with a most unanimous inclination to leave all the pleasant accommodations of their native country; and go over a terrible ocean, into a more terrible desert, for the pure enjoyment of all his ordinances. It is now reasonable that before we pass any further, the reasons of this undertaking should be more exactly made known unto posterity, especially unto the posterity of those that were the undertakers, lest they come at length to forget and neglect the true interest of New England. Wherefore I shall now transcribe some of them from a manuscript, wherein they were then tendered unto consideration.
First, it will be a service unto the Church of great consequence, to carry the Gospel into those parts of the world (North America), and raise a bulwark against the kingdom of antichrist, which the Jesuits labor to rear up in all parts of the world.
Secondly, all other Churches of Europe have been brought under desolations; and it may be feared that the like judgments are coming upon us; and who knows but God hath provided this place (New England) to be a refuge for many, whom he means to save out of the General Destruction.
Thirdly, the land grows weary of her inhabitants, insomuch that man, which is the most precious of all creatures, is here more vile and base than the earth he treads upon: children, neighbors, and friends, especially the poor, are counted the greatest burdens, which if things were right would be the chiefest earthly blessings.
Fourthly, we are grown to that intemperance in all excess of riot, as no mean estate almost will suffice a man to keep sail with his equals, and he that fails in it must live in scorn and contempt: hence it comes to pass that all arts and trades are carried in that deceitful manner, and unrighteous course, as it is almost impossible for a good upright man to maintain his constant charge, and live comfortably in them.
Fifthly, the schools of learning and religion are so corrupted, as . . . most children, even the best, wittiest, and of the fairest hopes, are perverted, corrupted, and utterly overthrown by the multitude of evil examples and licentious behaviors in these seminaries.
Sixthly, the whole earth is the Lord’s garden, and he hath given it to the sons of Adam, to be tilled and improved by them: why then should we stand starving here for places of habitation and in the mean time suffer whole countries, as profitable for the use of man, to lie waste without any improvement?
Seventhly, what can be a better or nobler work, and more worthy of a Christian, than to erect and support a reformed particular Church in its infancy, and unite our forces with such a company of faithful people, as by a timely assistance may grow stronger and prosper; but for want of it may be put to great hazard, if not be wholly ruined.
Eighthly, if any such as are known to be godly, and live in wealth and prosperity here (in England), shall forsake all this to join with this reformed church, and with it run the hazard of an hard and mean condition, it will be an example of great use, both for the removing of scandal and to give more life unto the faith of God’s people in their prayers for the plantation, and also to encourage others to join the more willingly in it.
Later, in setting forth the principles of the Church of New England in regard to matters of morality, Mather vehemently denounces the custom of drinking toasts at the dinner table — a habit he calls pagan and abominable.
He is just as harsh in his condemnation of women who wear ornaments in their hair and mercilessly condemns those who he says have taken up the fashion of baring the neck and arms.
In another part of his work, he gives an extremely long account of several incidents of witchcraft that sowed terror in New England. To him, the visible action of the demon in the affairs of this world is clearly an incontrovertible and demonstrated truth.
The spirit of civil liberty and political independence that was characteristic of the author’s contemporaries is apparent at any number of places in the book. Their principles in regard to government are constantly in evidence. Thus we discover, for example, that in 1630, ten years after the founding of Plymouth, the inhabitants of Massachusetts set aside 400 pounds sterling to establish the university in Cambridge.
Turning now from general documents concerning the history of New England to documents pertaining to the various states contained within that region’s boundaries, I am bound to mention first the work entitled History of the Colony of Massachusetts, by Hutchinson, lieutenant-governor of the Massachusetts province, 2 vols. in octavo. A copy of this work can be found in the Bibliothèque Royale: it is a second edition, printed in London in 1765.
Hutchinson’s history, from which I quoted several times in the chapter to which this note refers, begins in 1628 and ends in 1750. An air of great veracity prevails throughout; the style is simple and unadorned. This is a very detailed history.
The best document to consult on Connecticut is Benjamin Trumbull’s history, entitled A Complete History of Connecticut, Civil and Ecclesiastical, 1630–1764, 2 vols. in octavo, printed in 1818 at New Haven. I do not believe that Trumbull’s work can be found at the Bibliothèque Royale.
This history gives a clear, dispassionate account of all events occurring in Connecticut during the period indicated in the title. The author relied on the best sources, and his accounts bear the hallmark of truth. Everything that he has to say about the earliest period of Connecticut’s history is extremely interesting. See, in particular, “The Constitution of 1639,” vol. 1, chap. 6, p. 100, and “The Penal Laws of Connecticut,” vol. 1, chap. 7, p. 123.
Jeremy Belknap’s History of New Hampshire, 2 vols. in octavo, printed in Boston in 1792, is rightly held in high esteem. See, in particular, chapter 3 of the first volume of Belknap’s work, in which the author gives extremely valuable details about the political and religious principles of the Puritans, the reasons for their emigration, and their laws. One also finds this interesting quote from a sermon delivered in 1663: “New England must constantly remember that it was founded for a religious purpose and not a commercial one. Its profession of purity in matters of doctrine and discipline can be read upon its forehead. Let merchants and others who are busy piling penny upon penny therefore recall that religion and not profit was the purpose for which these colonies were founded. If anyone among us ranks the world as thirteen and religion as only twelve, he is not animated by the sentiments of a true son of New England.” Readers will find in Belknap more general ideas and more forceful thinking than in any other American historian to date.
I do not know if this book can be found in the Bibliothèque Royale.
Among the central states that have already been in existence for some time, New York and Pennsylvania have the greatest claim on our attention. The best history of the state of New York is William Smith’s History of New York, printed in London in 1757. There is a French translation of this, also printed in London in 1767, in one duodecimo volume. Smith provides us with useful details on the wars between the French and the English in America. Of all American historians, he gives the best account of the famous Iroquois confederation.
As for Pennsylvania, I can do no better than to call the reader’s attention to The History of Pennsylvania, from the Original Institution and Settlement of that Province, under the First Proprietor and Governor William Penn, in 1681 till after the Year 1742, by Robert Proud, 2 vols. in octavo, printed in Philadelphia in 1797.
This work is particularly worthy of the reader’s attention. It contains a wealth of very interesting documents on Penn, the doctrine of the Quakers, and the character, mores, and usages of the first inhabitants of Pennsylvania. It cannot be found, so far as I am aware, in the Bibliothèque.
There is no need to add that the works of Penn himself and of Franklin are among the most important documents concerning Pennsylvania. These works are known to many readers.
I consulted most of the books cited here during my stay in America. The Bibliothèque Royale was kind enough to entrust me with a number of them. The rest were lent to me by Mr. Warden, the former consul general of the United States in Paris and the author of an excellent book on America. I do not want to end this note without expressing my gratitude to him.
The following passage can be found in Jefferson’s memoirs: “In the earlier times of the colony, when lands were to be obtained for little or nothing, some provident individuals procured large grants; and, desirous of founding great families for themselves, settled them on their descendants in fee tail. The transmission of this property from generation to generation, in the same name, raised up a distinct set of families, who, being privileged by law in the perpetuation of their wealth, were thus formed into a Patrician order, distinguished by the splendor and luxury of their establishments. From this order, too, the king habitually selected his councilors of state.” (Jefferson’s Memoirs.)
In the United States, the principal provisions of the English law of inheritance have been universally rejected.
“The first rule that we follow in regard to inheritance,” says Mr. Kent, “is this: when a man dies intestate, his property passes to his direct lineal heirs. If there is only one heir or heiress, he or she alone receives the entire estate. If there are several heirs of the same degree, they divide the estate equally among themselves, without distinction as to sex.”
This rule was prescribed for the first time in the state of New York by a statute of February 23, 1786 (see Revised Statutes, vol. 3, Appendix, p. 48). It has since been adopted in the revised statutes of the same state. It is now in force throughout the United States, with the sole exception of Vermont, where the male heir claims a double share. Kent, Commentaries, vol. 4, p. 370.
In the same work (vol. 4, pp. 1–22), Mr. Kent traces the history of American legislation concerning entails. It turns out that before the American Revolution, the English law of entail was accepted as common law in the colonies. Entailed estates per se were abolished in Virginia in 1776 (on a motion by Jefferson; see his memoirs) and in New York in 1786. Subsequently, North Carolina, Kentucky, Tennessee, Georgia, and Missouri followed suit. Entails were never in common use in Vermont, Indiana, Illinois, South Carolina, or Louisiana. Those states that felt obliged to preserve the English law of entail modified it so as to remove its most salient aristocratic features. “Our general principles in matters of government tend,” says Mr. Kent, “to favor free circulation of property.”
What is particularly striking to the French student of American estate law is that our laws in this area are infinitely more democratic than theirs.
American laws divide a father’s property equally, but only when his wishes are unknown, for the law of New York (Revised Statutes, vol. 3, Appendix, p. 51) states that “every person shall have full and free liberty, power, and authority to give, dispose, will, or devise to any person or persons” (except bodies politic or corporate) “by his last will and testament.”
Under French law, the rule is that the testator must divide his estate into equal or almost equal shares.
Most of the American republics still permit entails and limit themselves to restricting their effects.
French law does not permit entails under any circumstances.
Thus, while the social state of the Americans is still more democratic than ours, our laws are more democratic than theirs. This is easier to explain than one might think: in France, democracy is still busy demolishing; in America, it reigns tranquilly over ruins.
SUMMARY OF VOTING REQUIREMENTS IN THE UNITED STATES. All states grant the right to vote at the age of twenty-one. All require residence for a certain period of time in the district in which a person votes. This period ranges from three months to two years.
As for property qualifications, the state of Massachusetts requires the voter to have an income of 3 pounds sterling or a capital of 60.
In Rhode Island, the voter must own real estate worth $133 (704 francs).
In Connecticut, he must have property yielding an income of $17 (approximately 90 francs). One year of service in the militia also gives a person the right to vote.
In New Jersey, the voter must have a fortune of 50 pounds sterling.
In South Carolina and Maryland, the voter must own 50 acres of land.
In Tennessee, he must own property of some sort.
In the states of Mississippi, Ohio, Georgia, Virginia, Pennsylvania, Delaware, and New York, it suffices to pay taxes to become a voter. In most of these states, service in the militia counts as equivalent to the payment of taxes.
In Maine and New Hampshire, it is enough not to be on the poor rolls.
Finally, in the states of Missouri, Alabama, Illinois, Louisiana, Indiana, Kentucky, and Vermont, no conditions are imposed as to the wealth of the voter.
I believe that North Carolina is the only state to impose different conditions on those who vote for senators and those who vote for representatives. The former must own 50 acres of land. To vote for a representative, it is enough to pay a tax.
The United States has a system of protective tariffs. Because the number of customs inspectors is small and the coastline long, smuggling is very easy. Yet there is much less of it than there is elsewhere, because everyone strives to prevent it.
Because preventive measures are not taken in the United States, fires are more common there than in Europe, but generally they are extinguished more quickly, because neighbors are always quick to respond in case of danger.
It is not accurate to say that centralization originated with the French Revolution; the French Revolution perfected but did not create it. The French penchant for centralization and mania for regulation date from the period when legists first joined the government, which takes us back to the time of Philip the Fair. Since then, the importance of both has increased steadily. Here is what M. de Malesherbes, speaking for the Cour des Aides, said to King Louis XVI in 1775:2
. . . Each body, each community of citizens retained the right to administer its own affairs, a right that was not, in our view, part of the primitive constitution of the kingdom, for it stems from a source significantly prior to that: natural right, the right of reason. Yet it has been taken away from your subjects, Sire, and we are not afraid to say that in this respect the administration has fallen into excesses that can be termed puerile.
Ever since powerful ministers made it a political principle not to allow a national assembly to be convoked, one thing has led to another to the point where even the deliberations of villagers can be declared null and void if not authorized by an intendant, with the result that if the community has to make some expenditure, it must first obtain the approval of the intendant’s underling and consequently follow whatever plan he has adopted, employ whichever workers he favors, and pay them whatever he deems appropriate. And if the community wishes to bring suit, it also needs the intendant’s authorization for that. The case must be argued before this tribunal first, before being taken to court. And if the opinion of the intendant is at odds with that of the villagers, or if their adversary has influence with his office, the community is deprived of the means to defend its rights. It is by means such as these, Sire, that every last vestige of municipal spirit has been snuffed out in France, including, when possible, the sentiments of the citizens. The entire nation has in a sense been declared incompetent and placed in receivership.
Could one give a better description of the way things are today, now that the French Revolution has made its so-called conquests in regard to centralization?
In 1789, Jefferson wrote from Paris to a friend of his: “Never was there a country where the practice of governing too much had taken deeper root and done more mischief.” (Letters to Madison, August 28, 1789.)
The truth is that the central power in France had for centuries done all it could to extend administrative centralization, and nothing but the limits of its own strength had ever prevented it from pursuing that course.
The central power born of the French Revolution proceeded further in this direction than any of its predecessors because it was stronger and cleverer than all of them. Louis XIV left the details of village life to the discretion of his intendants. Napoleon left them to the discretion of his ministers. The principle remained the same, but it was extended to ever more minute matters.
This immutability of the French Constitution is a necessary consequence of our laws.
To speak first of the most important of all laws, that which regulates the order of succession to the throne, what is more immutable in principle than a political order based on the natural order of succession from father to son? In 1814, Louis XVIII claimed the right of political succession in perpetuity on behalf of his family and insisted that it be enshrined in law. The men who decided what was to become of this law in the aftermath of the Revolution of 1830 followed his example, only they claimed the right of succession in perpetuity on behalf of another family. In doing so, they imitated Chancellor Maupeou, who made sure that the ordinance establishing the new Parlement on the ruins of the old one stipulated that the new magistrates would enjoy life tenure, just as their predecessors had before them.
The laws of 1830, like those of 1814, did not provide for any means of changing the Constitution. Clearly, ordinary legislative procedures are not adequate for this.
What is the source of the king’s powers? The Constitution. Of the peers’ powers? The Constitution. Of the deputies’ powers? The Constitution. How, then, can the king, the peers, and the deputies join together to change any aspect of the law that is the sole source of their right to govern? Outside the Constitution, they are nothing: on what ground can they stand, therefore, to change the Constitution? There are just two possibilities: either their efforts are powerless against a charter that continues to exist in spite of them, in which case they continue to reign in its name, or else they succeed in changing the charter, in which case the law that gave them their existence no longer exists, hence they themselves have been reduced to nothing. By destroying the charter, they destroy themselves.
This is even more apparent in the laws of 1830 than in those of 1814. In 1814, royal power stood in a sense outside and above the Constitution. In 1830 it is by its own admission created by the Constitution, and absolutely nothing without it.
Hence one part of our Constitution is immutable, because it has been tied to the destiny of one family. And the Constitution as a whole is also immutable, because there is apparently no legal means of changing it.
None of this applies to England. Since England has no written constitution, who is to say that the constitution is being changed?
The most respected commentators on the English constitution seemingly try to outdo one another in asserting this omnipotence of Parliament.
Delolme (chap. 10, p.77) says: “It is a fundamental principle with the English lawyers that Parliament can do everything except making a woman a man or a man a woman.”
Blackstone is even more categorical, if not more forceful, than Delolme. This is what he says:
The power and jurisdiction of Parliament, says Sir Edward Coke (4 Inst. 36), is so transcendent and absolute that it cannot be confined, either for causes or persons, within any bounds. And of this high court, he adds, it may be truly said, Si antiquitatem spectes, est vetustissima; si dignitatem, est honoratissima; si jurisdictionem, est capacissima. It hath sovereign and uncontrollable authority in the making, confirming, enlarging, restraining, abrogating, repealing, reviving, and expounding of laws concerning matters of all possible denominations, ecclesiastical or temporal, civil, military, maritime, or criminal: this being the place where that absolute despotic power, which must in all governments reside somewhere, is entrusted by the constitution of these kingdoms. All mischiefs and grievances, operations and remedies, that transcend the ordinary course of the laws are within the reach of this extraordinary tribunal. It can regulate or new-model the succession to the crown, as was done in the reign of Henry VIII and William III. It can alter the established religion of the land, as was done in a variety of instances in the reigns of King Henry VIII and his three children. It can change and create afresh even the constitution of the kingdom and of parliaments themselves, as was done by the act of union and the several statutes for triennial and septennial elections. It can, in short, do everything that is not naturally impossible; and therefore some have not scrupled to call its power, by a figure rather too bold, the omnipotence of Parliament.
There is no matter on which American constitutions are more fully in harmony than that of political judgment.
All the constitutions that deal with this subject give the House of Representatives the exclusive right to indict, except for the constitution of North Carolina, which gives this right to grand juries (article 23).
Almost all the constitutions give the Senate, or the assembly that takes its place, the exclusive right to judge.
The sole penalties that political tribunals can impose are removal from office and barring from future office. Only the constitution of Virginia allows the full range of penalties to be imposed.
Crimes that can give rise to political judgment are as follows: in the Federal Constitution (Art. 1, Sec. 4) and the constitutions of Indiana (Art. 3, pp. 23 and 24), New York (Art. 5), and Delaware (Art. 5), high treason, corruption, and other high crimes and misdemeanors;
In the constitutions of Massachusetts (Chap. 1, Sec. 2), North Carolina (Art. 23), and Virginia (p. 252), misconduct and improper administration;
In the constitution of New Hampshire (p. 105), corruption, criminal misconduct, and improper administration;
In Vermont (Chap. 2, Art. 24), improper administration;
In South Carolina (Art. 5), Kentucky (Art. 5), Tennessee (Art. 4), Ohio (Art. 1, Secs. 23 and 24), Louisiana (Art. 5), Mississippi (Art. 5), Alabama (Art. 6), and Pennsylvania (Art. 4), offenses committed in office;
In the states of Illinois, Georgia, Maine, and Connecticut, no crime is specified.
It is true that the European powers have the ability to wage great wars with the Union at sea, but it is always easier and less dangerous to wage war at sea than on land. War at sea demands only one kind of effort. A commercial people that is willing to give its government the necessary funds can always be sure of putting a fleet to sea. It is far easier to hide the sacrifice of money from people than to disguise the sacrifice of men and personal effort. Furthermore, defeats at sea seldom compromise the existence or independence of the nation that suffers them.
As for land wars, it is obvious that the nations of Europe cannot wage any that would endanger the American Union.
It is quite difficult to transport 25,000 soldiers to America and maintain them there. Such a force would represent a nation of roughly two million people. If the greatest European nation were to mount such a force to wage war with the Union, it would be in the same position as a nation of two million waging war with a nation of twelve million. What is more, the Americans would have all their resources at hand, while the Europeans would be 1,500 leagues from theirs, and the immensity of the United States would by itself constitute an insurmountable obstacle to conquest.
The first American newspaper appeared in April 1704. It was published in Boston. See Collection of the Historical Society of Massachusetts, vol. 6, p. 66.
It would be a mistake to assume that the periodical press has always been completely free in America. There have been attempts to impose something like prior censorship and surety.
The legislative records of Massachusetts for January 14, 1722, relate the following:
The committee named by the General Assembly (the legislative body of the province) to look into the case of the newspaper known as the New England Courant
finds that the tendency of said newspaper is to ridicule and heap scorn upon religion; that sacred authors are treated in a profane and irreverent manner; that the conduct of ministers of the Gospel is subject to malicious interpretation; that His Majesty’s government is insulted; and that the peace and tranquillity of the province are disturbed by said newspaper; in consequence whereof, the committee is of the opinion that James Franklin, printer and publisher, should in the future be prohibited from printing and publishing said newspaper or any other text until he has submitted them to the secretary of the province. The justices of the peace of Suffolk County shall be enjoined to obtain from Mr. Franklin a bond of surety guaranteeing his good behavior during the coming year.
The committee’s proposal was accepted and became law, yet it remained without effect. The newspaper evaded the ban by placing the name Benjamin Franklin rather than James Franklin at the end of its columns, and public opinion refused to accept the measure.
To be a county elector (that is, a representative of landed property) prior to the Reform Bill of 1832, one had to possess, either in freehold or under lease for life, land yielding a net annual income of forty shillings. This law was promulgated under Henry VI around 1450. It has been calculated that forty shillings from the time of Henry VI might today be the equivalent of thirty pounds sterling. Yet this qualification, adopted in the fifteenth century, was allowed to subsist until 1832, which proves how democratic the English constitution had become over time, though it appeared to remain unchanged. See Delolme; see also Blackstone, Book I, Chap. 4.
English jurors are chosen by the county sheriff (Delolme, Book I, Chap. 12). The sheriff is generally a man of considerable importance in the county. His functions are both judicial and administrative. He represents the king, who confirms his appointment annually (Blackstone, Book I, Chap. 9). His position renders him immune from suspicion of corruption by the parties. Furthermore, if his impartiality is questioned, the jury he has appointed can be recused in toto, whereupon another official is charged with selecting new jurors. See Blackstone, Book III, Chap. 23.
To be entitled to be a juror, one must be in possession of land yielding an annual income of at least ten shillings (Blackstone, Book III, Chap. 23). Note that this condition was imposed during the reign of William and Mary, that is, around 1700, when the price of silver was far higher than it is today. Clearly, the English based their jury system not on capacity but on landed property, like all their other political institutions.
Ultimately, farmers were allowed to serve as jurors, but they had to hold very long-term leases and earn a net income of twenty shillings, independent of rent. (Blackstone, idem.)
The federal Constitution established the jury system in the Union’s courts, just as the states had established it in their courts. Furthermore, the Union did not impose its own rules for jury selection. The federal courts drew jurors from the regular jury lists that each state prepared for its own use. Hence one must study state laws in order to understand the theory of jury composition in America. See Story’s Commentaries on the Constitution, Book III, Chap. 38, pp. 654–659 and Sergeant’s Constitutional Law, p. 165. See also the federal laws of 1789, 1800, and 1802 on this matter.
Seeking a clear picture of American principles in regard to the composition of juries, I examined the laws in widely separated states. Here are the general ideas that emerged from my study.
In America, any citizen who is entitled to vote is entitled to serve as a juror. The great state of New York has, however, established a slight difference between the two capacities, but it is in the opposite direction from our laws: there are fewer jurors in New York than there are voters. In general, it is fair to say that in the United States, the right to serve on a jury, like the right to elect representatives, is extended to each and every citizen, but the exercise of that right is not indiscriminately entrusted to everyone.
Every year, a body of municipal or county officials, called selectmen in New England, supervisors in New York, trustees in Ohio, and parish sheriffs in Louisiana, selects a certain number of citizens from each county who are entitled to serve as jurors and presumed capable of doing so. Because these officials are themselves elected, they do not inspire distrust. Their powers are quite extensive and highly arbitrary, like those of republican officials in general, and it is said that they often make use of them, especially in New England, to eliminate unworthy and incapable jurors.
The names of the selected jurors are sent to the county court, and from this list of names a jury is chosen by lot to hear each case.
In addition, the Americans did everything possible to put jury service within reach of the people and reduce the burden of such service to a minimum. Because the number of jurors is large, each person is not required to serve much more often than once every three years. Sessions are held in every county seat; the county is more or less equivalent to the French arrondissement. Thus the court comes to sit close to the jury, instead of forcing the jury to come to it, as in France. Finally, jurors are indemnified for their service, either by the state or by the parties. In general, they are paid a dollar a day (5.42 francs), apart from traveling expenses. In America, jury service is still considered a burden, but a burden that is easy to bear and readily accepted.
See Brevard’s Digest of the Public Statute Law of South Carolina, vol. 2, p. 338; vol. 1, pp. 454 and 456; vol. 2, p. 218.
See The General Laws of Massachusetts Revised and Published by Authority of the Legislature, vol. 2, pp. 331 and 187.
See The Revised Statutes of the State of New York, vol. 2, pp. 720, 411, 717, and 643.
See The Statute Law of the State of Tennessee, vol. 1, p. 209.
See Acts of the State of Ohio, pp. 95 and 210.
See A General Digest of the Acts of the Legislature of Louisiana, vol. 2, p. 55.
If the constitution of the civil jury in England is examined closely, it is easy to see that the jurors are always under the control of the judge.
To be sure, the jury verdict in civil as well as criminal cases is generally issued in the form of a simple statement covering both matters of fact and matters of law. Suppose, for example, Peter claims to have bought a house: a matter of fact. His adversary objects on the grounds that the seller was incompetent: a matter of law. The jury simply states that possession of the house is to be awarded to Peter; it thereby decides both the question of fact and the question of law. When the English brought the jury into civil matters, they did not persist in the view that the opinion of the jurors is infallible, as they hold it to be in criminal matters when the verdict is favorable.
If the judge believes that the verdict involves a misapplication of the law, he can refuse to accept it and send the jurors back for further deliberation.
If the judge allows the verdict to pass without comment, the case is still not entirely closed; there are several avenues of recourse in case the judgment is unfavorable. The main one is to ask the courts to overturn the verdict and summon a new jury. To be sure, such a request is seldom granted, and never more than twice, but I myself have seen it happen. See Blackstone, Book III, Chaps. 24 and 25.
There are, however, aristocracies that have engaged ardently in commerce and successfully cultivated industry. The history of the world offers several striking examples. In general, though, one has to say that aristocracy is not favorable to the development of industry and commerce. The only exceptions to this rule are the aristocracies of money.
In these there is virtually no desire that does not require riches to be satisfied. Love of wealth becomes, as it were, the highway of the human passions. All other roads either lead to it or intersect it.
The taste for money and the thirst for consideration and power then blend so completely in the same souls that it becomes difficult to make out whether it is ambition that makes men greedy or greed that makes them ambitious. This is what is happening in England, where people want to be wealthy in order to acquire honors and desire honors as a manifestation of wealth. The human spirit is then caught up every which way and dragged into commerce and industry, which are the shortest routes to opulence.
This, however, strikes me as an exceptional and transitory condition. When wealth becomes the only sign of aristocracy, it is very difficult for the wealthy to maintain themselves alone in power and exclude everyone else.
Aristocracy of birth and pure democracy are the two extremes of the social and political state of nations. Aristocracy of money falls in between. It resembles aristocracy of birth in that it confers great privileges on a small number of citizens. It is akin to democracy in that these privileges can be acquired by all in their turn. It often serves as a natural transition between the two, and it is impossible to say whether it ends the reign of aristocratic institutions or is already ushering in the new era of democracy.
In my travel diary, I find the following passage, which is useful for what it reveals of the ordeals to which American women who agree to accompany their husbands into the wilderness are often subjected. This description has nothing to recommend it to the reader other than its complete truthfulness:
From time to time we come to new clearings. All of these settlements resemble one another. I shall describe the one at which we have stopped tonight. It will leave me with an image of all the others.
The existence of the clearing is heralded from a long way off by the little bells that the pioneers hang around the necks of their animals so that they can find them in the woods. Soon we hear the sound of axes attacking the trees of the forest. As we draw near, traces of destruction announce the presence of civilized man. Cut branches cover the trail; stumps half-burned by fire or mutilated by hatchets remain along our path. We continue on our way and enter a stand of forest in which all the trees seem to have been struck dead in an instant. It is the middle of summer, but already they give an image of the dead of winter. On examining them more closely, we see that deep circles have been cut into their bark, thus halting the flow of sap and quickly causing the trees to die. We learn that this is how the pioneer usually starts out. Since he cannot cut down all the trees growing on his new property in the first year, he sows corn beneath their branches and by killing the trees prevents them from casting a shadow on his crop. Beyond this hint of what will some day be a field — civilization’s first step in this wilderness — we suddenly catch sight of the owner’s cabin. It is situated in the center of a field more carefully cultivated than the rest, but showing signs that man is still locked in unequal battle with the forest. Here the trees have been cut but not uprooted; their stumps remain, cluttering the land they once shaded. Around these desiccated remains, wheat and seedlings of oak and plants of all kinds and weeds of every variety grow pell-mell on recalcitrant land that remains partially wild. In the middle of this profuse and varied vegetation stands the pioneer’s house, or “log house,” as it is called in the region. Like the field around it, this rustic dwelling speaks of recent and hasty construction. Its length does not appear to us to exceed thirty feet, its height fifteen. Its walls and roof are fashioned from rough-hewn tree trunks packed with moss and earth to keep out the cold and rain.
As night is approaching, we decide to ask the owner of the log house for shelter.
At the sound of our footsteps, the children, who had been rolling about on the forest floor, spring to their feet and flee toward the house as if frightened by the sight of a man, while two large, half-wild dogs with ears pricked and muzzles outstretched emerge from their house and move toward us, growling to cover the retreat of their young masters. The pioneer himself comes to the door of his dwelling. With a quick and appraising glance he takes us in, signals his dogs to go back inside, and himself leads the way, all without giving any sign that the sight of us has aroused either his curiosity or his anxiety.
We enter the log house. The interior is in no way reminiscent of the peasant cottages of Europe. There is more of the superfluous and less of the necessary.
There is only one window, with a muslin curtain hanging in it. Crackling on the hearth of packed earth is a large fire, which illuminates the whole inside of the house. Above the hearth one can see a beautiful carbine, a deerskin, and some eagle feathers. To the right of the fireplace a map of the United States is displayed, and the wind blowing through chinks in the wall lifts it up and causes it to flap about. Nearby, on a shelf of rough-hewn lumber, sit several volumes, among which I notice a Bible, the first six cantos of Milton, and two plays by Shakespeare. Chests rather than wardrobes line the walls. In the center of the room a crudely made table has feet of green wood with the bark still attached, feet that seem to grow out of the earth they stand on. On this table I see a teapot of English porcelain, silver spoons, some chipped cups, and newspapers.
The master of these premises has the angular features and lank build that mark him out as a New Englander. It is obvious that this man was not born in the solitude in which we have found him. His physical constitution alone is enough to suggest that his early years were spent in an intellectual society and that he belongs to that restless, calculating, and adventurous race of men who coolly undertake to do what only the ardor of the passions can explain and who for a time subject themselves to a savage life, the better to conquer and civilize the wilderness.
When the pioneer sees us cross the threshold of his home, he comes to meet us and reaches out his hand, as custom dictates, but his face remains rigid. He is the first to speak, questioning us about what is happening in the world, and when his curiosity is satisfied, he falls silent. Perhaps the importunate visitors and the noise have tired him. We question him in turn, and he gives us all the information we need. Then, without alacrity but not without diligence, he sets about taking care of our needs. As we watch him perform these acts of kindness, our gratitude runs cold in spite of ourselves. Why? Because in showing his hospitality he seems to be bowing to a painful necessity of his lot: he sees what he is doing as a duty required of a man in his position rather than a pleasure.
At the opposite end of the hearth a woman sits dandling a baby in her lap. She nods to us without interrupting what she is doing. Like the pioneer, this woman is in the prime of life, looks to be superior to her condition, and dresses in a way that speaks of a lingering taste for finery. But her delicate limbs seem frail, her features drawn, and her gaze meek and grave. Her whole face is suffused with an air of religious resignation, a profound peace exempt from passion, and I know not what natural and quiet determination to confront all of life’s woes without fear or defiance.
Her children crowd around her, and they are full of health, rambunctiousness, and energy. They are true sons of the wilderness. From time to time their mother glances at them with a look of mingled melancholy and delight. To judge by their strength and her weakness, it might seem that she has been draining herself to give them life, yet she seems to feel no regret about what they have cost her.
The house these immigrants live in has no inside partitions or loft. At night, the entire family seeks refuge in the sole apartment it contains. Their dwelling is like a small world unto itself. It is the ark of civilization, lost in a sea of foliage. A hundred paces beyond, the eternal forest spreads its shade, and solitude resumes.
It is not equality of conditions that makes men immoral and irreligious. But when men are immoral and irreligious at the same time they are equal, the effects of immorality and irreligion can easily manifest themselves externally, because men have little influence on one another and there is no class that can take charge of imposing order and discipline on society. Equality of conditions never creates corruption of mores but sometimes allows such corruption to manifest itself.
Leaving aside those who do not think and those who do not dare to say what they think, one still finds that the vast majority of Americans appear to be satisfied with the political institutions that govern them, and in fact I think they are satisfied. I regard this state of public opinion as an indicator though not a proof of the absolute goodness of American laws. National pride, satisfaction of certain dominant passions through legislation, fortuitous events, unseen vices, and, most of all, the interest of a majority that shuts the mouths of its opponents can delude a whole people as well as a man for quite some time.
Look at England all during the eighteenth century. No nation ever burned more incense to itself. No people was ever more perfectly self-contented. All was well with its constitution at the time. Indeed, everything about it was beyond reproach, including even its most glaring defects. Today, a host of Englishmen seem to be busy with nothing else but proving that this same constitution was defective in a thousand places. Who was right, the English people of the last century or the English people of today?
The same thing happened in France. Under Louis XIV it is certain that the great mass of the nation was passionately in favor of the form of government that then ruled society. Those who believe that the French character was debased in those days are greatly mistaken. In certain respects servitude could exist in France in that century, but the spirit of servitude certainly did not exist. The writers of the time were in a way genuinely enthusiastic when they extolled the royal power above all others, and not even the obscurest peasant in his cottage failed to take pride in the glory of the sovereign or die for joy shouting “Vive le roi!” These same forms have become odious to us. Who was mistaken, the Frenchmen of Louis XIV’s time or the Frenchmen of today?
Hence one’s judgment of a people’s laws should be based not solely on their attitudes, since these change from one century to the next, but rather on higher grounds and a more general experience.
The love that a people demonstrates for its laws proves only one thing, that one should be in no haste to change them.
In the chapter to which this note refers, I have pointed out one danger. I want to indicate another which is rarer but, should it ever appear, more to be feared.
If the love of material pleasures and taste for well-being that equality naturally suggests to men were to take hold of the spirit of a democratic nation and fill it entirely, the national mores would become so antipathetic to the military spirit that armies themselves might end up loving peace in spite of the particular interest that impels them to desire war. Living amidst such universal softness, soldiers would come to believe that the gradual but comfortable and effortless promotion of peacetime was preferable to paying the price of rapid advancement, namely, the fatigue and misery of camp life. In this spirit, the army would take up arms without ardor and use them without energy. It would allow itself to be led to the enemy rather than marching off on its own.
It should not be assumed that such a pacific disposition on the part of the army would keep it out of revolutions, for revolutions, and especially military revolutions, which are usually quite rapid, often entail great perils but not protracted effort. They satisfy ambition at a lower cost than war. The only thing a man risks in a revolution is his life, and in democracies men are less attached to their lives than to their comforts.
Nothing is more dangerous to the liberty and tranquillity of a people than an army that is afraid of war: no longer seeking grandeur and influence by way of the battlefield, it seeks these things elsewhere. Hence the men who make up a democratic army may lose the interests of the citizen without acquiring the virtues of the soldier, and the army may cease to be martial without ceasing to be a source of turmoil.
I shall repeat here what I said earlier. The remedy to such dangers lies not in the army but in the country. A democratic people that preserves virile mores will always find martial mores in its soldiers when they are needed.
Men see the grandeur of the idea of unity in the means, God in the end. That is why the idea of grandeur leads us into a thousand forms of pettiness. To force all men to march in step toward a single goal — that is a human idea. To introduce endless variety into actions but to combine those actions in such a way that all lead via a thousand diverse paths to the accomplishment of a grand design — that is a divine idea.
The human idea of unity is almost always sterile; God’s idea is immensely fertile. Men believe that they attest to their grandeur when they simplify the means: it is God’s purpose that is simple, while his means vary endlessly.
What inclines a democratic people to centralize power is not only its tastes. The passions of all its leaders constantly drive it in the same direction.
It is easy to foresee that nearly all ambitious and capable citizens in a democratic country will work unremittingly to extend the prerogatives of the social power because all hope some day to lead it. It is a waste of time to try to prove to these people that extreme centralization can be harmful to the state because it is for their own benefit that they seek to centralize.
Among public men in democracies, virtually the only ones willing to decentralize power are those who are either very disinterested or very mediocre. The former are rare and the latter powerless.
I have often wondered what would happen if, given the mildness of democratic mores and the restless spirit of the army, a military government were ever established in some of today’s nations.
I think that the government itself would not differ much from the portrait I have indicated in the chapter to which this note refers, and that it would not reproduce the fierce characteristics of military oligarchy.
I am convinced that what would happen in this case would be a sort of fusion of the habits of the clerk with those of the soldier. The administration would take on something of the military spirit and the military some of the customs of the civil administration. The result would be a regular, clear, precise, absolute chain of command. The people would reflect an image of the army, and society would be regimented like a barracks.
One cannot say in an absolute and general way whether the greatest danger today is license or tyranny, anarchy or despotism. Both are equally to be feared, and both can arise equally easily out of one and the same cause, which is general apathy, the fruit of individualism. Because of this apathy, the executive power is in a position to oppress as soon as it assembles a moderate array of forces, and the day after, if a party can put thirty men in the field, it acquires a similar ability to oppress. Neither one is capable of founding anything that will last, so that what makes for easy success prevents lasting success. They rise because nothing resists them and fall because nothing supports them.
What is important to combat is therefore not so much anarchy or despotism as apathy, which can create either one almost indifferently.
1 Annually elected officials whose functions are similar to those of both the garde champêtre and the officier de police judiciaire in France.
2 See Mémoires pour servir à l’histoire du droit public de la France en matière d’impôts (Brussels, 1779), p. 654.