The Press. — London, England, 1855-11-03 00:00:00

NOVEMBER 3, 1855. yittratare. Histoire du Consulat et de l'Empire. Vol. XII. By M. A. Thiers. Paris : THE twelfth volume of this great work was ü blished in Paris on Saturday last ; and we hasten to give our readers some account of it. Although of not fewer than seven hundred pages, it comprises the history of little more than a year, beginning with April, 1810, and concluding with May, 1811; but in the narrow compass of that year we see the mighty Napoleon, who held the greater part of Europe in his grasp, assailed with the harassing and insurmountable difficulties arising out of his continental blockade and his squabbles with the Pope—we follow the development of his gross injustice to Holland, and notice some of its consequences—we are plunged into the vicis situdes of the war in Spain from just after the battle of Talavera to the battle of Fuentes d'Onoro and the siege of Badajoz—we witness the commencement of the gigantic prepara tions for the war against Russia—and we see here and there en passant decisive indications that the stupendous tyranny of the great soldier, though still, to the superficial observer, in all its éclat, is about to be hurled down by the implacable wrath of Europe. Through the maze of these exciting and varied events M. Thiers leads us with the sure and energetic hand of the practised statesman, and he re lates them to us with all that marvellous lucidity, and all that unaffected simplicity of style, which have made him, beyond all dis pute, one of the most distinguished historians of the day. Before entering into his subject-matter, M. Thiers makes an address to the reader, which from its peculiar character will not fail to excite general attention. First of all, he an nounces that after fifteen years assiduous labour he has terminated his " History of the Consulate and the Empire," commenced in 1840. It would have been possible, he admits, to have worked more rapidly, but he says that he entertains " such respect for the mission " of history" that he is " covered with con fusion " at the idea of advancing au inexact assertion, and that consequently he deemed it his duty to spare no pains to ascertain the roll truth about every person he had to men tiJn, and every incident he had to record ; f4.r which purpose, says he, I have read, and re-read, and noted with my own hand, the innumerable documents contained in the archives of the State, the thirty thousand letters comprising the per sonal correspondence of Napoleon, the letters not less numerous of his Ministers, his generals, his aides-de-camp, sad even his police-agents—and lastly must of the menu s iript memoirs preserved by families. To such an assertion of M. Thiers assuredly no corroboration is necessary ; but if it were needed, we ourselves could bear testimony to his extraordinary industry, for more than once have we, on being admitted to his study, found him literally buried beneath piles of papers which he was examining with the minutest care, or, perched on the top of a ladder, tracing out step by step the march of armies. We know, too, that no one, whether of high or low degree, whether French or English, Spanish or German, who had been an actor in, or a spectator of, or knew anything about, any of the events he had to relate, could approach him without being eagerly questioned thereon. But still we cannot help taking the liberty of doubting that he has done all that the public were warranted in expecting from a historian of his standing and authority Is he quite sure, for instance, that he consulted foreign documents with the same diligence as he did French ones ? Is he quite sure that he has read even the English versions, printed and manuscript, private and official, of the battles, the events, and the policy he had to record ? Does he, in fact, possess a profound knowledge of the English language ? Can he read a line of German ? To what extent is he acquainted with Spanish ? M. Thiers next makes some rather long reflections on the manner in which history ought to be written, and on some of the prin cipal writers of it. The great quality required for the historian, and which he says is supe rior to assiduous 'observation of men and THE PRESS. events, wit, imagination, criticism, the art of composing, the talent of describing, or any other, is, in his opinion, intelligence; but he gives such a description of intelligence as to make it comprise some of the highest powers of the human mind. Thus he speaks of it : There is one quality essential, preferable to every other, which should distinguish the historian, and which consti tutes his veritable superiority : it is intelligence. I will endeavour to explain what I mean by this word. We often remark in a child, a workman, or a statesman, something which is not called wit (esprit), because it is wanting in brilliancy, but which is called intelligence, because he who is endowed with it seizes at once what is said to him, sees and understands from half a word, comprehends if he be a child what is taught him, if he be a workman the work given to him to execute, if he be a statesman events, their courses, and their consequences. The latter, too, by means of intelligence, divines men's characters and in clinations, the conduct which is to be expected from them, and is surprised and embarrassed at nothing, though often affected at everything. That is what is called intelligence, and in practice that simple quality which does not aim at producing effect is of more utility in life than all the gifts of the mind, genius excepted, because it possesses eclat, force, extent, and promptitude. It is this quality, applied to the great objects of history, which, in my opinion, is the essential quality of the narrator, and which, when it exists, brings after it all others, provided that to the gift of nature he adds the ex perience derived from practice. In fact, with what I call intelligence, the historian separates the true from the false, does not allow himself to be deceived by the vain traditions or the false rumours of history,—possesses criticism ; he seizes thoroughly the characters of men and of the times; he exaggerates nothing; he makes nothing neither too great nor too little ; he gives to each personage his veritable traits ; he removes false colours—of all orna ments the most displeasing in history—and paints justly ; he penetrates into the secret springs of things; he under stands and causes to be understood how they are accom plished ; diplomacy, administration, war, marine, he places these various objects within the reach of the majority of mankind, because he knows how to seize them in their generality intelligible to all ; and when he has thus suc ceeded in possessing himself of the numerous elements of which a vast recital must be composed, the order in which he must present them must be found in the order of events, for he who has been able to seize the mysterious tie which unites them, and the manner in which they produce one another, has discovered the most beautiful order of narra tion, because it is the most natural; and if, moreover, he be net of icy coldness in presence of the great scenes of the life of nations, he weaves the whole strongly together, and presents it with ease and spirit; he leaves to the stream of time its fluidity, its power, and even its grace, forcing none of its movements, changing none of its beautiful windings. Finally—the supreme condition—he is equitable, because nothing calms and diminishes passions so much as the profound knowledge of men. I do not say that that knowledge puts an end to all severity, for that would be a misfortune ; but when a man knows humanity and its weakness, when he knows what dominates and leads it, he has—without hating evil the less or loving good the less—more indulgence for the man who has allowed himself to be led to evil by the thousand seduc tions of the human heart, and he does not the less adore him who, in spite of all base temptations, has known how to keep his heart up to the level of the good, the noble, and the great. As to the style in which history should be written, M. Thiers (with perhaps a malicious allusion to a certain Whig historian of our own country) declares that it should be one which is " neither perceived nor felt,"—fit to be com pared to a glass of exquisite purity. It should be simple, clear, precise,—but at times elevated when the great interests of humanity are in question. This is precisely his own style, and perhaps illnatured people may be tempted to exclaim " Vous etes orfevre M. Jesse !" But, after all, it is not the reflections on the qualities and style proper for the historian which form the most interesting feature of the preliminary address of M. Thiers,—though, assuredly, anything such a man may say on such a subject will arrest the thoughtful reader. What, however, has, as we arc informed, excited most attention in Paris, and what will cer tainly be read with marked curiosity in this country, is a sort of confession of political faith, combined with an appreciation of his great hero, Napoleon. We translate somewhat largely from it : I have passed twenty-five years in public life, and more than thirty in the study of history. I have particularly devoted myself to the annals of my time—of that at least which ended when my youth commenced. After having written the history of the French Revolution, I have en deavoured to write that of the Consulate and the Empire. I do not know what the public will think of my work. There is, however, one judgment which, if Ido not deceive myself, it will pass, and that is, that it is imprinted with a profound sentiment of justice and truth. I began it in 1840, under a king whom I served and loved, although opposing him on some points. I continued it under the Republic, and I terminate it under the Empire, re-estab lished by the nephew of the great man whose actions I have related. I entertain one hope, and that is, that no one will perceive in my writings a trace of these different epochs, not only in the basis of my judgments, but even in 1051 the niceties of my language I hope that it will not be perceived that such a day I *as in possession of power, such a day proscribed, such another peaceably happy in my retirement I do nut say that my personal opinions will not be found; I should be ashamed if they were not to be so: but they will be found in the last volume such as they appeared iu the first. I have always loved true greatness, that which reposes on the possible, and true liberty, that which is compatible with the infirmity of human societies. These sentiments I had when I was born; I shall have them when 1 die; and I have not abandoned them to write the history of Napo leon. But Ido not believe that they have deprived the judgments I have passed on him of rectitude—l believe rather that they have contributed to enlighten them. No mortal in history has appeared to me to unite more power ful and more varied faculties, and after having meditated on the end of his career Ido not change my opinion. But when I commenced his history, 1 thought, as I think in terminating it, that the abuse of his prodigious faculties precipitated him to his fall; and I thought, as I think now, that the impetuosity of his genius, joined to the absence of any check, was the cause of his misfortunes and of ours. Whilst profoundly admiring him, whilst feeling strong sympathy for his grand, active, ardent character, 1 have always regretted that his natural want of moderation, and the liberty which was left him to abandon himself thereto, precipitated him into an abyss. In a poetical point of view, he is not less interesting for his fall—perhaps he is more so. lu a political and patriotic point of view, he deserves just and severe judgment. but at all the epochs of his career, l have endeavoured to represent him such as he was; and he will be found, 1 am convinced, iu the latter pan. of my recital—when in 1811 and 1812 he carried the blindness of success up to delirium—what he was at the beginning The genius of Napoleon in the presence of history is out of the pale of discussion. But what in my opinion is not so, is the liberty which was left him to exercise his will unrestrained and to do everything. My conviction on this point dates, not from 1855 or 1852, but from the day on which I began to think, )!bra man to be able to do all that he is capable of willing is, in my opinion, the greatest of misfortunes. Judges who see in Napoleon a man of genius only do not. see all : for he was a man of the greatest good sense that ever existed, and yet he arrived at. adopting the wildest policy. Despotism can du everytbing wilt, men, since it was able to pervert the sound sense of Napoleon. My readers, then, will find in my book the constant trace of this conviction!, and how could it be otherwise ? It is forty years since 1 began to think, and I have always thought the same thing. 1 shall be told that I am prejudiced, but no matter—the prejudice has lasted all my life. I know well all the dangers of liberty, and, what is worse, its littlenesses : who should know them if those who have endeavoured to found liberty and have failed do not? But there is something still worse : it is the power to do everything left even to the best and wisest of men. It is often said that liberty prevents this or that being done—such a movement from being raised—such a line of action from being exercised in the world. But this is the result of my long reflections—that if sometimes Governments require to be stimulated, they more fre quently required to Le restrained ; that if sometimes they are disposed to inactiou, wore generally they are dis posed to undertake too much in politics, in war, in expense, and that a little restriction on their movements can never be a misfortune. It is said, it is true, " But who will restrain the liberty destined to restrain the power of one man ?" I answer," All." 1 know that a country may sometimes go astray, and I have seen it ; but it does so less frequently and less completely than a single man. After stating that these opinions aro not dictated by personal interest, and that since his retirement from public affairs and resump tion of the literary profession "he was never more happy," M. Thiers thus concludes :- 1 demand pardon for having quitted the lofty regions of history to enter for a moment into those of contemporary controversies. But I was anxious, in avowing the opinions which will be remarked in this bo ok, to invoke an excuse for my perseverance in corrections which date from the first years of my life. It will be seen, lam sure, in these later volumes that I am an ardent admirer of Napoleon, a more ardent friend of France, but that I deplore that that extraordinary man had power to do all—all even to ruining himself. At the same time 1 am immensely thankful to him for having left us, in leaving us glory, the seed of heroes—a precious seed, which has just sprung up again in our country, and has given us the conquerors of Sebastopol. Yes, even without. him, our soldiers, his pupils, have been as great and as successful as they formerly were with hint ! May they always be so, and may our armies, whatever may be the government which directs them, be always triumphant ! The greatest set-off to being nothing in one's country is to see that country be in the world all that, it ought to be. So much for the introduction of M. Thiers. In another article we shall speak of his book. The Works of Professor Wilson. " Noctes Ambrosiante." Vol. 11. Edited by Pro fessor Ferrier. London : Blackwoods. THis volume of the " Noctes," though con taining some brilliant matter, is decidedly in ferior to its predecessor. The style is equally energetic, but it is less fresh, and there is much commonplace in its pages. We Liar that four volumes of the " Noctes " is too much, especially as the editor has confined the publication exclusively to the papers of