theme. After studying that intellect as there exhibited, it seems to me impossible to characterise it with more accuracy and force than Carlyle has already done in these few words: "Let him [Voltaire] but cast his eye over any subject, in a moment he sees, though indeed only to a short depth, yet with instinctive decision, where the main bearings of it for that short depth lie; what is, or appears to be, its logical coherence; how causes connect themselves with effects; how the whole is to be seized, and in lucid sequence represented to his own or to other minds. But below the short depth alluded to, his view does not properly grow dim, but altogether terminates: thus there is nothing further to occasion him misgivings; has he not already sounded into that basis of boundless darkness on which all things firmly rest? What lies below is delusion, imagination, some form of superstition or folly, which he, nothing doubting, altogether casts away." 1

CHAPTER IV.

EIGHTEENTH CENTURY CONTINUED: ROUSSEAU TO CONDORCET.

I.

THE great and momentous change in the spirit and temper of the French people which made itself outwardly manifest immediately after the death of Louis XIV., became always more thorough and complete until the Revolution, which had been long foreseen and often foretold, at length broke forth. In the writings of Voltaire, Montesquieu, and Turgot, it showed itself in a stage already far advanced, yet in one still essentially moderate and reasonable. As time passed on, however, and as the degeneracy of the ruling classes and the effeteness of the old methods of government became always more keenly felt, dangerous passions also became always increasingly inflamed, extreme and one-sided views more prevalent, hatred to authority intensified, and utopian theories more credulously accepted.

The old order of society could not endure. The only question was, How was it to give place to another? Was it to be through the action of the monarch or of the people? I see no reason for believing that it might not have been brought about in the former way; that the Revolution in the form which it actually assumed was inevitable even at the accession of Louis XVI. Had the ruler then given to France been not that weak well-meaning monarch, but a clear-sighted and resolute reforming king; a man with the intellect and will of a Cromwell or of a Frederick the Great; one who would have kept his wife and courtiers in their proper places; who would

U

have seen to the discipline, and made sure of the loyalty of his army; who would have steadfastly supported his Turgots and other like-minded ministers and administrators; who would have called to such work as was most conducive to their country's good the ablest of the men of talent at that time abounding in France, instead of leaving them to declaim about tyrants and priests, the sovereignty of the people and the rights of men; who would have removed the burdens under which the peasantry groaned, withdrawn unnatural restrictions on individual energy, and abolished unjust and offensive distinctions and privileges: had such a man succeeded to the throne of France when Louis XVI. did, there would have been no French Revolution like that which actually happened, no taking of the Bastille or "night of spurs," no September massacres or Reign of Terror, and yet all the principles and striv ings which led to the Revolution might have been as fully realised. The Revolution may have no more added to the power or influence of the stream of thought and tendency which pervaded and characterised the eighteenth century than the cataracts of Niagara increase the force or volume of the St Lawrence.

When under Louis XVI. the incompetence of the monarchy to accomplish the work of social and political reform which was manifestly indispensable had become apparent to all, the representatives of the people easily seized the reins of power. They eagerly undertook to achieve what the sovereign had failed to effect. But their divisions, their jealousies, their unfamiliarity with governmental practice, their want of appropriate administrative machinery, the vagueness of their theories and schemes, the extravagance of their expectations, and the chaotic excitement of the public mind, made orderly and peaceable reform impossible, fierce struggles and violent measures inevitable. Hence the Revolution. With that event the ideas and passions which had produced it were set free by it to assume even the strangest and most exaggerated forms, and to attempt even the most fantastic and the most hideous applications. The minds of men were agitated to the utmost. They were tossed between the extremes of love and hate, hope and despair, as they have never been since, and as they had

not been for more than two centuries before. The fountains of emotion in the human heart were laid bare as if by an earthquake.

The historical literature of the latter portion of the eighteenth century was deeply influenced by the then prevailing state of public opinion and feeling. Indeed, it was affected by it to an extent most injurious to its character both as history and literature. Not one good popular history was produced during the whole period. Impartiality, self-restraint, self-forgetfulness, strict truthfulness, objectivity, and, in a word, all the primary historical virtues, nearly disappeared. Argument and declamation usurped the places of narration and the disclosure of causation and development. Instead of faithfully delineating the movement and incidents of history, and leaving it to suggest its own lessons, the writers who professed to be historians presented history only so far as they could make it seem to testify to the truth of views in the service of which their passions were enlisted. The great bulk of the so-called historical literature of the period was, consequently, of a controversial and oratorical nature; and large so-called histories were often only bulky political pamphlets. We have here to do with such literature merely in so far as it bears on the development of historical theory.

The influence exerted by Rousseau was, perhaps, not inferior to that of Voltaire. Although it spread less widely, it penetrated more deeply; although it acted on opinions with less direct effectiveness, it impressed the imagination and feelings more powerfully. Voltaire was a man of marvellously quick and clear understanding; of many and varied talents always at their possessor's command; of restless intellectual curiosity and rapid literary productiveness; of liveliest interest in art and science, culture, and refinement; of aristocratic feelings and manners; of shrewdest worldly tact and the most brilliant social qualities. Rousseau was a man of great, although morbid, genius; of brooding imagination and passionate heart; of seductive and overpowering eloquence; a skilful and often sophistical dialectician; susceptible to high ideals and divine inspirations, but also easily overcome by mean temptations and sensuous lusts; unsociable and jealous by temperament, while inordinately eager for noto

riety and praise; plebeian in his tastes and habits; richly endowed with the feeling for nature. Both were the sons of their age, but Voltaire inherited its more general characteristics, and Rousseau such as were less common. Hence the latter is often erroneously regarded as having been a man of greater independence and originality of thought, and less imbued with the spirit of his time. In reality, there was little substantial novelty in his teaching, and even when he opposed certain tendencies of the age, it was in the spirit of the age. Had he been more original he would have been less influential.

He was not, as Voltaire was, an eminent historian; he was not an historian at all, and had little accurate historical knowledge. Plutarch's 'Lives' had profoundly impressed him, and he had loosely read a number of historical books; but he knew no portion of history well, nor apprehended truthfully the spirit of any single people or epoch. His admiration of Athens, Sparta, and Rome was an ignorant admiration; his aversion to the middle ages and to modern institutions a not less ignorant aversion. Yet his literary genius, favoured by prevailing tendencies, caused the most worthless of his historical judgments to be received by multitudes of his contemporaries as oracles revealing the truth and significance of history, and thus gave them an importance to which they were far from entitled in themselves.

It was chiefly, however, by his eloquent advocacy of certain historical hypotheses that he stimulated historical speculation. To these we must now briefly refer.

His literary career began with a 'Discours sur la question: Le progrès des sciences et des arts a-t-il contribué à corrompre ou à épurer les mœurs?' (1750), to which the Academy of Dijon had awarded the prize which it had offered for the best discussion of the question: "Le réetablissement des lettres et des arts a-t-il contribué à corrompre ou à épurer les mœurs?" Rousseau, in answer to the question stated by himself, affirms that the sciences and arts had depraved the morals and manners of mankind. He argues that they had originated with the birth, and grown with the growth, of human vices. He represents the researches of science as unsuited to the nature of the human intellect and as leading to conclusions which yield no