Democracy in France. January 1849

by François Guizot

Do those who hold such language serve—do they even understand—the cause which they affect to advocate? Is it by such means that we can advance, or even barely keep our ground, on that glorious path of civilization in which labour acquired its proper rank and dignity? Do we not, on the contrary, mutilate, degrade, and disgrace labour, when we strip it of a part of its noblest claims, and substitute in their stead pretensions which are not only absurd and preposterous, but mean, in spite of their insolence? Lastly, does not such language show a gross misconception and violent perversion of the natural facts on which civil society in France is founded? This, though admitting unity of laws and equality of rights, assuredly never pretended to abolish that variety of faculties, merits, and destinies, which is one of the mysterious laws of God, and the inevitable result of the free will of man.

Let us now turn from civil to political society; that is, the relation existing between men, in virtue of their interests, opinions and sentiments, and the ruling power under which they live. Let us endeavour here to determine also the real and essential elements of which society is now composed in France.

In a free country, or in one struggling to become free, the elements of political society are political parties, in the widest and highest acceptation of the term.

Legally, there are now no other parties in France than those inherent in every constitutional state; the party of the Government and that of the Opposition. There are neither Legitimists nor Orleanists. The Republic exists, and will not suffer the principle of its existence to be attacked; and as this is the indisputable right of every established government, it is by no means my intention to contest or to infringe it.

But there are things so inherent in society, that prohibitive laws, even when obeyed, fail to eradicate them. There are political parties of which the germ lies so deeply buried, and the roots so widely spread, that they do not die, even when they are no longer apparent.

The Legitimist party is not a mere dynastic, nor is it a mere monarchical, party. It is indeed attached to a principle and to a name; but it also occupies a great substantive place both in the history and on the soil of France. It represents all that remains of the elements so long predominant throughout that French society which contained within itself the fruitful and vigorous germs of progress; and out of which arose, after a growth of ages, the France which suddenly burst forth in 1789, mighty, aspiring, and glorious. Though the French Revolution overthrew the ancient fabric of French society, it could not annihilate its elements. In spite of the convulsions by which they were dispersed, and in the midst of the ruins by which they are surrounded, these still subsist, and are still considerable in modern France. At every succeeding crisis they evidently acquiesce more completely in the social order and political constitution which the country has adopted; and by this acquiescence they take their station in it, and change their position without disowning their character.

Moreover, does anybody believe that the party which endeavoured to found a constitutional monarchy in 1830, and which upheld that monarchy for more than seventeen years, has vanished in the tempest that overthrew the edifice it had raised? It has been called the party of the bourgeoisie,—the middle classes; and this in fact it was, and still is. The ascendancy of the middle classes in France, incessantly supplied by recruits from the bulk of the population, is the characteristic feature in our history since 1789. Not only have they conquered that ascendancy, but they have justified their claims to it. Amidst the grievous errors into which they have fallen, and for which they have paid so dearly, they have shown that they really possessed the qualities that constitute the strength and greatness of a nation. On all emergencies, for all the wants of the country in war or peace, and to every kind of social career, this class has abundantly furnished men, nay, generations of men, able, active, and sincerely devoted to the service of their country. When called on in 1830 to found a new monarchy, the middle classes brought to that difficult task a spirit of justice and political sincerity of which no succeeding event can cancel the merit. In spite of all the passions and all the perils that assailed them, in spite even of their own passions, they earnestly desired constitutional order, and they faithfully observed it. At home, they respected and maintained universal, legal and practical liberty; abroad, universal, firm and prosperous peace.

I am not one of those who disregard or despise the power of the affections in political affairs. I do not regard it as any proof of greatness or strength of mind to say, “We don’t care for such or such a family; we attach no value to proper names; we take men or leave them according to our wants or our interests:” to me, this language, and the class of opinions which it discloses, appear to betray far more political ignorance and impotence than elevation of mind or rectitude of judgment. It is, however, indisputable that political parties having no other attachment than that excited by proper names, and no other strength than that derived from personal affections, would be extremely feeble and inefficient. But can anybody for a moment imagine that the Legitimist party, or the party attached to the monarchy of 1830, are of that nature? Is it not evident, on the contrary, that these parties are far more the offspring of the general course of events than of attachment to persons? that they are of a social, as well as a political nature, and correspond to the most deep-rooted and indestructible elements of society in France?

Around these great parties floats the mass of the population; holding to the one or the other by its interests, its habits, or its virtuous and rational instincts; but without any strong or solid adhesion, and incessantly assailed and worked upon by Socialists and Communists of every shade. These last do not constitute political parties, for they do not espouse any political principle, nor advocate any peculiar political organization. Their only endeavour is to destroy all the influences, and to break all the ties, material or moral, which bind the part of the population living by the labour of its hands, to the class occupied in the business of the state; to divide that part of the population from the land-owner, the capitalist, the clergy, and all the other established authorities; and finally to work upon it through its miseries, and rule it by its appetites. One name denotes them all; all are members of the one great Anarchical Party. It is not the superiority of this or that form of government which they preach to the people—it is sheer and absolute anarchy; for one kind of government is as incompatible with chaos as another. There is, however, one striking fact: whether sincere or depraved, blind Utopians or designing Anarchists, all these disturbers of social order are Republicans. Not that they are more attached or more submissive to republican government than to any other; for every regular and efficient government, whether republican or monarchical, is equally odious to them; but they hope that under a republic they shall find stronger weapons to aid their attacks, and feebler barriers to resist them. This is the secret of their preference.

I have thus surveyed French society on every side. I have sought out and exhibited all its real and essential elements, and all my inquiries lead to the same result. On every side, whether in political or civil life, I meet with profound diversities and inequalities: diversities and inequalities which can neither be obliterated in civil life by unity of laws and equality of rights, nor in political life by a republican government; and which endure or revive under legislation of every kind and government of every form.