I shall commence, in the first place, by completely laying aside the question whether it was advantageous or not to society that, in the greatest part of European monarchies, royal power should have any other limits than those naturally imposed upon it by the state of ideas and customs. This question some will answer in the affirmative, others in the negative; and I need not observe to what party they respectively belong. To many people the word liberty is a scandal, just as the term absolute power is with others synonymous with despotism. But what is that liberty which the former repel with so much force? what meaning is attached to this word in their dictionaries? They have witnessed the French Revolution, with its iniquities and frightful crimes, and they have heard it continually crying out for liberty: they have witnessed the Spanish Revolution, with its vociferations of death, and its sanguinary excesses—its injustice, its disdain for every thing that Spaniards had been accustomed to esteem the most valuable and sacred; and yet they have heard the cries of this Revolution also for liberty. What was to be expected? Why, what we now witness. They confounded the name of liberty with all sorts of impieties and crimes; and, in consequence, they hated it, they repelled it, they fought against it sword in hand. In vain were they informed that the cortes was an ancient institution; they replied, that the ancient cortes was not like that of their times. In vain were they reminded that our laws ordained the nation's right of interference by its vote on the levying of taxes. They replied: "We are well aware of it; but the nation is not now represented by those who interfere in its affairs; they only avail themselves of this pretended title to enslave both the king and the people." They were told that the representatives of the different classes had formerly the right of intervention in the important affairs of the state. "What class do you represent," they replied; "you who degrade the monarch, insult and persecute the nobility, abuse and plunder the clergy, despising the people, and making their customs and their religious belief a subject for your sneers? What, then, do you represent? Is it the Spanish nation, when you trample on her religion and laws, when you excite social dissolution on all sides, and make blood flow in torrents? How can you call yourselves the restorers of our fundamental laws, when we find nothing either in you or in your acts which marks the true Spaniard; when all your theories, plans, and projects are only miserable copies of foreign books but too well known, while you have forgotten your own language?"

I pray the reader will cast his eyes over the files of the journals, the bulletins of the cortes, and other documents that remain of the two epochs of 1812 and 1820; let him also call to mind the events we have recently witnessed; let him afterwards peruse the records and memorials of anterior epochs,—our codes, our books, every thing, in fine, capable of throwing light upon the character, the ideas, and the customs of the Spanish people; then let him lay his hand upon his heart, and, whatever be his political opinions, let him tell us, upon his honor, if he finds the least resemblance between the past and the present; if he does not, at the very first glance, perceive a striking and violent contrast between the two epochs—a chasm, in fact, to fill up which, I say it with grief, would require heaps of fresh ruins, ashes, dead bodies, and torrents of blood. Were we to place the question beyond the influence of the empoisoned atmosphere of human passions and of bitter recollections, we might, it is true, very well examine the expediency of allowing the royal authority to attain to a growth that set it free from every kind of check or restraint, even in affairs of the most essential importance and in the voting of the government supplies. The question would then have merely a historico-political aspect, could not be confounded with actual practice, and, consequently, would not affect either the interests or the opinions of our time. However that might be, I will not stop to consider or to notice what has been thought and said upon the subject, but will take up the hypothesis, that the disappearance from the body politic, at that time, of every element save the monarchical, was a misfortune to the people, and an obstacle to the progress of true civilization. And whose was the fault? let me ask.

It is remarkable that the greatest increase of royal power in Europe dates precisely from the commencement of Protestantism. In England, from the time of Henry VIII., not only did monarchy prevail, but a despotism so cruel that no vain appearances of impotent forms have availed to disguise its excesses. In France, after the Huguenot war, royal power became more absolute than ever; in Sweden, Gustavus ascended the throne, and from that time kings began to exercise an almost unlimited power; in Denmark, monarchy continued, and became stronger; in Germany, the kingdom of Prussia was formed, and absolute forms generally prevailed; in Austria, the empire of Charles V. arose in all its power and splendor; in Italy, the small republics were fast disappearing, and the people, under some title or another, became subject to princes; in Spain, in fine, the ancient cortes of Castile, Aragon, Valencia, and Catalonia fell into disuse: that is to say, instead of seeing, by the accession of Protestantism, the people take one step towards representative forms, we find, on the contrary, that they rapidly advanced towards absolute government. This is a certain, incontestable fact. Sufficient attention has not perhaps been paid to so singular a coincidence; but it is not the less real, and is certainly of a nature to suggest numerous and interesting reflections. Was this coincidence purely accidental? Was there any hidden connection between Protestantism and the development and definitive establishment of absolutism? I think there was; and I will even add, that, had Catholicism retained an exclusive sway in Europe, the power of the throne would have been gradually diminished—that representative forms would probably not have disappeared altogether—that the people would have continued to take part in national affairs—that we should have been much farther advanced in civilization, much better fitted for the enjoyment of true liberty—and that this liberty would not be associated in our minds with scenes of horror. Yes, the fatal Reformation has given a wrong direction to European society, injured civilization, created necessities that previously had no existence, and opened chasms which it cannot close. It destroyed many elements of good, and consequently produced a radical change in the conditions of the political problem. This I think I can demonstrate.

[CHAPTER LXIII.]
TWO KINDS OF DEMOCRACY.

There is in the history of Europe one leading fact contained in all its pages, and still visible in our days, viz. the parallel march of two democracies, which, although sometimes apparently alike, are, in reality, very different in their nature, origin, and aim. The one is based upon the knowledge and dignity of man, and on the right which he possesses of enjoying a certain amount of liberty conformable to reason and justice. With ideas more or less clear, more or less uniform, upon the real origin of society and of power, it entertains at least very clear, precise, and fixed ones upon the real object and aim of both. Whether the right of commanding proceeds directly and immediately from God, or whether we suppose it communicated previously to society, and transmitted afterwards to those who govern, it always grants that power is for the common weal, and that, if it does not direct its actions to this end, it falls into tyranny. To privileges, honors, and distinctions of every kind, it applies its favorite touchstone—the public good; whatever is opposed to this, is rejected as noxious; whatever does not tend to promote it, is repudiated as superfluous. Convinced that knowledge and virtue are the only things of real worth, and deserving of consideration in the distribution of the social functions, this democracy requires them to be sought without ceasing, that they may be elevated to the summit of power and of glory; it goes to seek them in the midst of the deepest obscurity. A nobleman, proud of his titles and his heraldry, and boasting of the glorious deeds of his ancestors, without being able to imitate them, is, in its estimation, an object of ridicule; it will allow such a man to enjoy his riches, that the sacred right of property may not be violated; but it will remove from his grasp, by all lawful means, the influence he might derive from the nobility of his blood. In fine, if it takes nobility, birth or riches into consideration, it is not for any intrinsic worth of these advantages, but because they are signs which lead us to expect a more accomplished education, more knowledge and probity.

Full of generous ideas, this democracy, placing the dignity of man in the highest degree, reminding man of his rights, and also of his duties, is indignant at the very name of tyranny. It hates tyranny, condemns it, repels it, and is perpetually employed in discovering the best means for preventing it. Wise and calm, as the inseparable companion of reason and good sense must ever be, it agrees very well with monarchy; but we may rest assured that its desires have generally been, that the laws of the country should, in one way or another, place a restraint upon the excesses of kings. Aware that the rock against which they ran the risk of being wrecked, was the excess of contributions levied upon the people, its favorite idea, which it has never abandoned, even when it was impracticable, has been to restrain the unlimited faculties of power with respect to contributions. Another of its predominating ideas has been to prevent the will of man from prevailing in the formation or application of the laws. It has ever sought to guarantee and secure in some way, that the will should not usurp the place of reason. Such has been the force of this universal desire, that it has been indelibly stamped upon European manners, and the most absolute monarchs have been compelled to gratify it. Hence one thing very worthy of remark is, that the throne has ever been surrounded by respectable counsellors, whose existence was insured either by the laws or by the national customs. These counsellors certainly could not preserve, in all circumstances, the independence necessary for the accomplishment of their object, but they did not fail to be of great service; for their mere existence was an eloquent protest against unjust and arbitrary regulations; it was a noble personification of reason and justice, pointing out the sacred limits ever to be regarded as inviolable by the most powerful monarch. This is also the reason why sovereigns in Europe never exercise themselves the faculty of pronouncing judgment, differing in this respect from the sultans. The laws and customs of Europe energetically repulse this faculty, as fatal to the people as it is to the monarch; and the mere recital of such an attempt would excite public indignation against its author.

The meaning of all this is, that this principle, so much extolled, that it is not the monarch but the law that commands, has been received in Europe for many centuries; it was in full force in all the European nations long before modern publicists emphatically enunciated it. It will be said, perhaps, that if this was the case in theory, it was not so in practice. I do not deny that there were reprehensible exceptions, but the principle was generally respected. As a case in point, let us take the most absolute reign of modern times, with the most unlimited royal power in all its splendor, in its apogee,—the reign in which the king could exclaim with too much pride, but yet with truth, "I am the state"—that of Louis the Fourteenth. It lasted more than half a century, with an astonishing variety and complication of events. How many deaths, confiscations, and banishments took place in it, executed by the royal command, without any judicial ordeal! Perhaps some arbitrary acts of this time may be cited; but let them be compared with what was passing under equivalent circumstances amongst the nations out of Europe: let any one recall to mind what took place at the time of the Roman empire, and the excesses of absolute royalty wherever Christianity did not exist, and he will see that the excesses committed in European monarchies are scarcely worthy of being mentioned. This is a proof that the distinction made between monarchical governments, whether absolute or despotic, is not arbitrary and fictitious. Any one acquainted with the legislation and history of Europe must be well aware that this distinction is correct, and he will be forced to smile at those boisterous declamations in which malice or ignorance endeavors to confound the two systems of government.

This limit imposed upon power, this circle of reason and justice which we always find traced around it, derives its origin principally from the ideas disseminated by Christianity, whether it have its guarantee in ideas and manners or in political forms. It is Christianity that has proclaimed, "Reason and justice, knowledge and virtue, are every thing; the mere will of man, his birth, his titles, are of no intrinsic value." These words have penetrated every where, from the palace of kings to the poor man's cottage; and, from the moment that the mind of an entire people became imbued with such ideas, Asiatic despotism became impracticable. In fact, in the absence of every political form limiting the power of the monarch, a voice resounds in his ears on all sides, exclaiming, "We are not thy slaves, we are thy subjects; thou art a king, but thou art a man, and a man who, like ourselves, must appear one day before the Supreme Judge; thou hast the power of making laws, but merely for our interests; thou canst exact tributes from us, but only such as are necessary for the common weal; thou canst not judge us according to thy caprice, but only conformably to the laws; thou canst not seize our property without rendering thyself more culpable than the common robber, nor make an attempt on our lives, of thy own will, without becoming an assassin; the power thou hast received is not for thy comfort or pleasure, nor for the gratification of thy passions, but solely for our happiness; thou art a person exclusively devoted to the public weal; if thou forgettest this, thou art a tyrant."

Unfortunately, however, together with this spirit of lawful independence, of rational liberty,—together with this just, noble, and generous democracy, there has ever been another accompanying it, and forming with it the most lively contrast. The latter has been extremely injurious to the former, by preventing it from attaining the object of its just pretensions; erroneous in its principles and perverse in its intentions, violent and unjust in its mode of acting, its traces have been everywhere marked by a stream of blood. Instead of obtaining true liberty for the people, it has merely served to deprive them of that which they already possessed; or if it actually found them groaning under the yoke of slavery, it has only served to rivet their chains. Allying itself on all occasions with the basest passions, it has attracted to its standard all that was most vile and abject in society, and gathered together the most turbulent and ill-disposed men. By cheating its miserable followers with delusive promises, and exciting them with the prospect of plunder and pillage, it has been a perpetual source of commotions, scandals, and bitter animosities, that have at length produced their natural results—persecutions, proscriptions, and executions. Its fundamental dogma was the rejection of all authority of every description, to overturn which was its constant aim; the reward it expected for its labors was to seat itself upon a throne established amidst universal ruin, to glut itself with the blood of thousands of victims, and to revel in the grossest orgies during the distribution of its blood-stained spoil. In all times, in all countries, riots, popular insurrections, and revolutions have taken place; but, for the last seven centuries, Europe presents these scenes in so singular a character, that it forms a most fitting subject for the reflection of philosophers. In fact, these tendencies towards social dissolution—tendencies, the origin of which it is not difficult to discover in the very heart of man—have not only existed in the bosom of Europe, but have been formed into a theory; as ideas, they have been defended with all the obstinacy and infatuation of a sectarian spirit; and, wherever an opportunity occurred, reduced to practice with unyielding pertinacity and unbridled fury. The system was made up of folly and fanaticism, and carried out with obstinacy, a spirit of proselytism, and monstrous crimes. In every page of its history this truth is attested in characters of blood. Happy our nation, had she not tried the experiment!