From this dictatorship, which the dangers of the time had rendered necessary, it was an easy transition to the empire, and Louis Napoleon found his succession to the throne of his uncle confirmed by almost the unanimous vote of the French people. It was a tribute to the man, and to his public policy, such as no ruler in modern times has ever received, and for unanimity is unparalleled in the history of popular elections. His marriage followed quickly upon the proclamation of the empire; and in this, as in all his acts, we can discern his manly and independent spirit. He sought not to ally himself with any of the royal families of Europe, for he felt himself to be so sure of his position, that he could without risk consult his affections rather than policy or ambition.
The skilful diplomacy which led to the alliance with England, the campaign in the Crimea, and the repulse of Russia, are too fresh in every body's recollection to bear any repetition. So far as they concern Napoleon III., the world is a witness to his matchless coolness and determination. What could be grander than the heroic inflexibility he displayed in the face of the accumulated disasters of that campaign, and the murmurs of his allies! Misfortune only seemed to nerve him to more vigorous effort. During that terrible winter of 1854-5, he appeared more like a fixed, unvarying law of nature than a man, – so immovable was he in his opposition to those who, pressed by the unlooked-for difficulties of the time, counselled a change of policy. The successful termination of the siege of Sebastopol, however, proved the justice of his calculations, and, while conquering monarchs in other times have been content to see the negotiations for peace made in some provincial town, or in a city of some neutral state, the proud satisfaction was conceded to him by Russia of having the peace conferences held in his own capital.
But while commemorating the success of his efforts to raise his country to a commanding position among the nations, we must not forget the great enterprises of internal improvement which he has set on foot within his empire. Who can recall what Paris was under Louis Philippe, or the time of the republic, and compare it with the Paris of to-day, without admiring the genius of Napoleon III.? Who does not recognize a wonderful capacity for the administration of government in the Emperor, when he sees that nearly all of these great improvements (unlike those of Louis XIV., which impoverished the nation) will gradually but surely pay for themselves by increasing the amount of taxable property? Indeed, the improvements in the city of Paris alone are on so vast a scale as to be incomprehensible to any one unacquainted with that capital. If Napoleon were to-day to fall a victim to that organization of republican assassins which is known to exist in France, as well as in the other states of Europe, he would leave, in the Louvre, in the Bois de Boulogne, in the new Boulevards, and the extension of the Rue de Rivoli, together with the countless other public works which now adorn Paris, testimonials to the splendour of his brief reign, such as no monarch ever left before: of him, as of Sir Christopher Wren, it might be truly said, "Si quæris monumentum, circumspice."
But we must not think that Napoleon has confined his exertions to the improvement of Paris alone. Not a single province of his empire has been neglected by him, and there is scarcely a town that has not felt the influence of his policy. The foreign commerce of France has been wonderfully increased by him, and his favourite project for a ship canal through the Isthmus of Suez is now numbered among the probabilities of the age. When it is considered what a narrow strip of land separates the Red Sea from the Mediterranean, and what an immense advantage such a canal would be to all the countries bordering on the latter, it is not wonderful that Napoleon should find so many friends among the sovereigns of Europe. He has not built the magnificent new port of Marseilles merely for the accommodation of the Mediterranean coasting trade of his empire. His far-seeing eye looks upon those massive quays covered with merchandise from every quarter of the Orient, brought, not around the stormy Cape, nor by the toilsome caravan over the parching desert, but by the swift steamers of the Messageries Impériales from every port of India, through the waters which, centuries ago, rolled back and opened a path of safety to the chosen people of God.
If the old proverb be true, that a man is known by the company he keeps, it is equally true, on the other hand, that a statesman may be rightly known by examining the character of his opponents. And who are the opponents of Napoleon III.? With the exception of a few partisans of the Bourbons, (whose opposition to the Napoleon dynasty is an hereditary complaint,) they are radical demagogues, who delight to mislead the fickle multitude with the words, "Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity," on their lips, but the designs of anarchy and bloodshed in their hearts. Their ranks are swelled by a number of visionary "philanthropists," and a large number of newspaper scribblers deprived of their occupation by Napoleon's salutary laws against abuse of the liberty of the press, and lacking ambition to earn an honest livelihood. Among them may be found a few literary men of high reputation, who have espoused some impracticable theory of government, and would blindly throw away their well-earned fame, and shed the last drop of their ink in forcing it upon an unwilling nation.
Slander, like Death, loves a shining mark. The fact cannot be doubted, if we look at the lives of the greatest and best men the world has ever seen. In truth, a large part of the heroism of the noblest patriots, and the purest philanthropists, has been created by the necessity they have been under to bear up against the obloquy with which enmity or envy has assailed them. The Emperor Napoleon is, beyond a doubt, the best abused man in Christendom. There probably never existed a man whose every act and every motive have been more studiously misrepresented and systematically lied about than his. It cannot be wondered at, either; for he exercises too much power in the state councils of Europe, and fills too large a space in the public eye, not to be assailed by those whose evil prophecies have been falsified by his brilliant reign, and whose lawless schemes have been frustrated by his unexampled prudence and firmness.
And what right has he to complain? If St. Gregory VII. were obliged to submit for centuries to being represented as an ambitious self-seeker and unscrupulous politician, instead of a wise and far-seeing pontiff, a vanquisher of tyrants, and a self-denying saint; if St. Thomas of Canterbury be held up, in hundreds of volumes, as a monster of ingratitude towards a beneficent sovereign, and a haughty and overbearing supporter of prelatical tyranny, instead of a martyr, in defence of religious liberty against the encroachments of the civil authority; if Cardinal Wolsey be held up to public scorn as a proud and selfish prince of the Church, a glutton, and a wine-bibber, instead of a skilful administrator of government, a liberal patron of learning, and all good arts, and the sole restrainer of the evil passions of the most shameless tyrant who ever sat upon the English throne; if Cardinal Richelieu be handed down from generation to generation, painted in the blackest colours, as a scheming politician, in whose heart, wile and cruelty were mixed up in equal parts, instead of a sagacious and inflexible statesman, and a patriot who made every thing (even his religion) bend to his devotion to the glory of his beloved France; if these great men have been thus misrepresented in that history which De Maistre aptly calls "a conspiracy against truth," I do not think that Napoleon III. can reasonably complain of finding himself denounced as a tyrant, a perjurer, and a victim of all the bad passions that vex the human heart, instead of a liberator of his country from that many-headed monstrosity, miscalled the République Française, an unswerving supporter of the cause of law and religion, and the architect of the present glory and prosperity of France. It must be a great consolation to the Emperor, under the slanders which have been heaped upon him, to reflect that their authors and the enemies who hate him worst, are, for the most part, infidels and assassins, and enemies of social order. Whatever errors a man may commit, he cannot be far from the course of right so long as he is hated and feared by people of that desperate stamp. The ancient adage tells us that "a cat may look at a king"; and it is, perhaps, a merciful provision of the law of compensation that the base reptiles which fatten on the offal of slander are permitted to trail their slime over a name which is the synonyme of the power and glory of France.
When the prejudices of the present day shall have died out, the historian will relate how devoted Napoleon III. was to every thing that concerned his country's welfare. He will tell of his ceaseless care for the most common wants of his people, and of his vigilance in enforcing laws against those who wronged the poor by their dishonest dealings in the necessaries of life. He will relate how promptly he turned his back upon nobles and ambassadors to visit some of his people who had been overwhelmed by a terrible calamity, and will describe the kind, fatherly manner in which he went among them, carrying succour and consolation to all. He will not compare the Emperor to his great warrior-uncle; he will contrast the two. He will show how the uncle made all Europe fear and hate him, and how the nephew converted his enemies into allies; how the uncle manured the soil of Europe with the bones of his soldiers, and the nephew, having given splendid proofs of his ability to make war, won for himself the title of "the Pacificator of Europe"; how the uncle, through his hot-headed ambition, finally made France the prey of a hostile alliance, and the nephew brought the representatives of all the European powers around him in his capital to make peace under his supervision.
The man who, after thirty years of exile and six years of close imprisonment, can take a country in the chaotic condition in which France found itself after the revolution of 1848, and reorganize its government, place its financial affairs on a better footing than they have been before within the memory of man, double its commerce, and raise it to the highest place among the states of Europe, cannot be an ordinary man. In 1852, the Emperor said, "France, in crowning me, crowns herself;" and he has proved the literal truth of his words. He has given France peace, prosperity, and a stable government. He has imitated Napoleon I. in every one of his great and praiseworthy actions in his civil capacity, while he has not made a single one of his mistakes. And if "he that ruleth his own spirit is greater than he that taketh a city," this remarkable man, whose self-control is undisturbed by his most unparalleled success, is destined to be known in history as Napoleon the Great.
The character of Napoleon III. is marked by a unity and a consistency such as invariably have distinguished the greatest men. We can see this consistency in his fidelity to the cause of law and order, whether it be manifested in his services as a special constable against the Chartists of England, or as the chief magistrate of his nation against the Chartists of France. And to this conspicuous virtue of steadfastness he adds a wonderful universality of acquirements and natural genius. We see him contracting favourable loans and averting impending dangers in the monetary affairs of France, and it would seem as if his early life had been spent amid the clamours of the Bourse; we see him concentrating troops in his capital against the threats of the revolutionists, or designing campaigns against the greatest military powers of Europe; we see him maintaining a perfect composure in the midst of deadly missiles which were expected to terminate his reign and dynasty, and it would seem as if the camp had always been his home, and the dangers of the battle-field his familiar associations; we see him buying up grain to prevent speculators from oppressing his people during a season of scarcity, or imprisoning bakers for a deficiency in the weight of their loaves, or regulating the sales of meats and vegetables, – and it would seem as if he always had been a prudent housekeeper and a profound student of domestic economy; we see him laying out parks, projecting new streets and public buildings, and we question whether he has paid most attention to architecture, engineering, or landscape-gardening; we see him visiting his subjects when they have been overwhelmed by a great calamity, and he would seem to have been a disciple of St. Thomas of Villanueva, or of St. Vincent of Paul; we see him taking the lead amid the chief statesmen and diplomatists of the world, we read his powerful state papers and speeches, and we wonder where he acquired his experience; we see him, in short, under all circumstances, and it appears that there is nothing that concerns his country's welfare or glory too difficult for him to grapple with, nor any thing affecting the happiness of his poorest subject trivial enough for him to overlook. By his advocacy of the cause of the Church, he has won a place in history by the side of Constantine and Charlemagne; by his internal policy and care for the needs of his subjects, his name deserves to be inscribed with those of St. Louis and Alfred. The language which Bulwer has put into the mouth of Cardinal Richelieu might be used by Napoleon III., and would from him be only the language of historical truth: —
"I found France rent asunder,
Sloth in the mart and schism within the temple,
Brawls festering to rebellion, and weak laws
Rotting away with rust – * * * *
I have re-created France, and from the ashes
Civilization on her luminous wings
Soars phoenix-like to Jove!"
THE PHILOSOPHY OF FOREIGN TRAVEL
Foreign travel is one of the most useful branches of our education, but, like a great many other useful branches, it appears to be "gone through with" by many persons merely as a matter of course. It is astonishing how few people out of the great number constantly making the tour of Europe really carry home any thing to show for it except photographs and laces. Foreign travel ought to rub the corners off a man's character, and give him a polish such as "home-keeping youth" can never acquire; yet how many we see who seem to have increased their natural rudeness and inconsiderateness by a continental trip! Foreign travel ought to soften prejudices, religious or political, and liberalize a man's mind; but how many there are who seem to have travelled for the purpose of getting up their rancour against all that is opposed to their notions, making themselves illustrations of Tom Hood's remark, that "some minds resemble copper wire or brass, and get the narrower by going farther." Foreign travel, while it shows a man more clearly the faults of his own country, ought to make him love his country more dearly than before; yet how often does it have the effect of making a man undervalue his home and his old friends! There must be some general reason why foreign travel produces its legitimate fruits in so few instances; and I have, during several European tours, endeavoured to ascertain it. I am inclined to think that it is a general lack of preparation for travel, and a mistaken notion that "sight-seeing" is the chief end of travelling. The expenses of the passage across the Atlantic are diminishing every year, and when the motive power in electricity is discovered and applied, the expense of the trip will be a mere trifle; and in view of these considerations, I feel that, though I might find a more entertaining subject for a letter, I cannot find a more instructive one than the philosophy of European travel.
Concerning the expense of foreign travel, there are many erroneous notions afloat. There are hundreds of persons in America – artists, and students, and persons of small means – who are held back from what is to them a land of promise, by the mistaken idea that it is expensive to travel in Europe. They know that Bayard Taylor made a tour on an incredibly small sum, and they think that they have not his tact in management, nor his self-denial in regard to the common wants of life; but if they will put aside a few of their false American prejudices, they will find that they can travel in Europe almost as cheaply as they can live at home. In America, we have an aristocracy of the pocket, which is far more tyrannical, and much less respectable, than any aristocracy of blood on this side of the water; for every man feels an instinctive respect for another who can trace his lineage back to some brave soldier whose deeds have shone in his country's history for centuries; but it requires a peculiarly constituted mind to bow down to a man whose chief claim to respect is founded in the fact of his having made a large fortune in the pork or dry goods line. Jinkins is a rich man; he lives in style, and fares sumptuously every day. Jones is one of Jinkins's neighbours; he is not so rich as Jinkins, but he feels a natural ambition to keep up with him in his establishment, and he does so; the rivalry becomes contagious, and the consequence is, that a score of well-meaning people find, to their dismay, at the end of the year, that they have been living beyond their means. Now, if people wish to travel reasonably in Europe, the first thing that they must do is to get rid of the Jones and Jinkins standard of respectability. I have seen many people who were content to live at home in a very moderate sort of way, who, when they came to travel, seemed to require all the style and luxury of a foreign prince. Such people may go all over Europe, and see very little of it except the merest outside crust. They might just as well live in a fashionable hotel in America, and visit Mr. Sattler's cosmoramas. They resemble those unfortunate persons who have studied the classics from Anthon's text-books – they have got a general notion, but of the mental discipline of the study they are entirely ignorant. But let me go into particulars concerning the expenses of travelling. I know that a person can go by a sailing vessel from Boston to Genoa, spend a week or more in Genoa and on the road to Florence, pass two or three weeks in that delightful city, and two months in Rome, then come to Paris, and stay here two or three weeks, then go to London for a month or more, and home by way of Liverpool in a steamer, for less than four hundred dollars; for I did it myself several years ago. During this trip, I lived and travelled respectably all the time – that is, what is called respectably in Europe. I went in the second class cars, and in the forward cabins of the steamers. Jones and Jinkins went in the first class cars and in the after cabins, and paid a good deal more money for the same pleasure that cost me so little. I know, too, that a person can sail from Boston to Liverpool, make a summer trip of two months and a half to Paris, via London and the cities of Belgium, and back to Boston via London and Liverpool, for a trifle over two hundred and fifty dollars. A good room in London can be got for two dollars and a half a week, in Paris for eight dollars a month, in Rome and Florence for four dollars a month, and in the cities of Germany for very considerably less. And a good dinner costs about thirty cents in London, thirty-five in Paris, fifteen to twenty-five in Florence or Rome, and even less in Germany. Breakfast, which is made very little of on the continent, generally damages one's exchequer to the extent of five to ten cents. It will be seen from this scale of prices that one can live very cheaply if he will; and, as the inhabitants of a country may be supposed to know the requirements of its climate better than strangers, common sense would dictate the adoption of their style of living.
I need not say that some knowledge of the French language is absolutely indispensable to one who would travel with any satisfaction in Europe. This is the most important general preparation that can be made for going abroad. Next after it, I should place a review of the history of the countries about to be visited. The outlines of the history of the different countries of Europe, published by the English Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, are admirably adapted to this purpose. This gives a reality to the scenes you are about to visit that they would not otherwise possess; it peoples the very roadside for you with heroes. And not only does it impart a reality to your travels, but history itself becomes a reality to you, instead of being a mere barren record of events, hard to be remembered. At this time, when the neglect of classical studies is apparent in almost every book, newspaper, and magazine, I am afraid that I shall be thought somewhat old-fashioned and out of date, if I say that some acquaintance with the Latin classics is necessary before a man can really enjoy Italy. Yet it is so; and it will be a great satisfaction to any man to find that Horace and Virgil, and Cicero and Livy, are something more than the hard tasks of childhood. Should a man's classical studies, however, be weak, the deficiency can be made up in some measure by the judicious use of translations, and by Eustace's Classical Tour. Murray's admirable hand-books of course will supply a vast amount of information; but it will not do to trust to reading them upon the spot. Some preparation must be made beforehand, – some capital is necessary to start in business. "If you would bring home the wealth of the Indies, you must carry out the wealth of the Indies." It would be well, too, for a person about to visit Europe to prepare himself for a quieter life than he has been leading at home. I mean, to tone himself down so as to be able to enjoy the freedom from excitement which awaits him here. It is now more than a year since I left America, and likewise more than a year since I have seen any disorderly conduct, or a quarrel, or even have heard high words between two parties in the street, or have known of an alarm of fire. In the course of the year, too, I have not seen half a dozen intoxicated persons. When we reflect what a fruitful source of excitement all these things are in America, it will be easy to see that a man may have, comparatively, a very quiet life where they are not to be found. It will not do any harm, either, to prepare one's self by assuming a little more consideration for the feelings of others than is generally seen among us, and by learning to address servants with a little less of the imperious manner which is so common in America. Strange as it may seem, there is much less distinction of classes on the continent, than in republican America. You are astonished to find the broadcloth coat and the blouse interchanging the civilities of a "light" in the streets, and the easy, familiar way of servants towards their masters is a source of great surprise. You seldom see a Frenchman or an Italian receive any thing from a servant without thanking him for it. Yet there appears to be a perfectly good understanding between all parties as to their relative position, and with all their familiarity, I have never seen a servant presume upon the good nature of his employer, as they often do with us. We receive our social habits in a great measure from England, and therefore we have got that hard old English way of treating servants, as if our object was to make them feel that they are inferiors. So the sooner a man who is going to travel on the continent, can get that notion out of his head, and replace it with the continental one, which seems to be, that a servant, so long as he is faithful in the discharge of his duties, is quite as respectable a member of society as his employer, the better it will be for him, and the pleasanter will be his sojourn in Europe.
One of the first mistakes Americans generally make in leaving for Europe is, to take too much luggage. Presupposing a sufficiency of under-clothing, all that any person really needs is a good, substantial travelling suit, and a suit of black, including a black dress coat, which is indispensable for all occasions of ceremony. The Sistine Chapel is closed to frock coats, and so is the Opera – and as for evening parties, a man might as well go in a roundabout as in any thing but a dress coat. Clothing is at least one third cheaper in Europe than it is with us, and any deficiency can be supplied with ease, without carrying a large wardrobe around with one, and paying the charges for extra luggage exacted by the continental railways.
Let us now suppose a person to have got fairly off, having read up his classics and his history, and got his luggage into a single good-sized valise, – let us suppose him to have got over the few days of seasickness, which made him wish that Europe had been submerged by the broad ocean (as Mr. Choate would say) or ever he had left his native land, – and to have passed those few pleasant days, which every one remembers in his Atlantic passage, when the ship was literally getting along "by degrees" on her course, – and to have arrived safely in some European port. The custom house officers commence the examination of the luggage, looking especially for tobacco; and if our friend is a wise man, he will not attempt to bribe the officers, as in nine cases out of ten he will increase his difficulties by so doing, and cause his effects to be examined with double care; but he will open his trunk, and, if he have any cigars, will show them to the examiner, and if he have not, he will undoubtedly be told to close it again, and will soon be on his way to his hotel. I suppose him to have selected a hotel before arriving in port – which would be done by carefully avoiding those houses which make a great show, or are highly commended in Murray's guide-books. He will find a neat, quiet European hotel a delightful place, after the gilding and red velvet of the great caravanseries of his native country. If he is going to stop more than a single night, he will ask the price of the room to which he is shown, and if it seems too expensive, will look until he finds one that suits him. When he has selected a room, and his valise has been brought up, he will probably observe that the servant (if it is evening) has lighted both of the candles on the mantel-piece. He will immediately blow one of them out and hand it to the waiter, with a look that will show him that he is dealing with an experienced traveller, who knows that he has to pay for candles as he burns them. When he leaves the hotel, he will make it a principle always to carry the unconsumed candle or candles with him, for use as occasion may require; for it is the custom of the country, and will secure him against the little impositions which are always considered fair play upon outsiders. It is possible that he will find, when he goes to wash his hands, that there is no soap in the wash stand, and will thank me for having reminded him to carry a cake with him rolled up in a bit of oiled silk. When he wishes to take lodgings in any city, he will be particular to avoid that part of the town where English people mostly do inhabit, and will be very shy of houses where apartments to let are advertised on a placard in phrases which the originator probably intended for English. He will look thoroughly before he decides, and so will save himself a great deal of dissatisfaction which he might feel on finding afterwards that others had done much better than he. Besides, "room-hunting" is not the least profitable, nor least amusing part of a traveller's experience. He will, when settled in his rooms, attend in person to the purchase of his candles and his fuel, and to the delivery of the same in his apartments; for by so doing he will save money, and will see more of the common people of the place.
Of course he will see all the "sights" that every stranger is under a sort of moral obligation to see, however much it may fatigue him; but he must not stop there. He must not think, as so many appear to, that, when he has seen the palaces, and picture galleries, and gardens, and public monuments of a country, he knows that country. He must try to see and know as much as he can of the people of the country, for they (Louis Quatorze to the contrary, notwithstanding) are the state. Let him cultivate the habit of early rising, and frequent market places and old parish churches in the twilight of the morning, and he will learn more of the people in one month than a year of reading or ordinary sight-seeing could teach him. Let him choose back alleys, instead of crowded and fashionable thoroughfares for his walks; when he falls in with a wandering musician and juggler, exhibiting in public, let him stop, not to see the exhibition, but the spectators; when he goes to the theatre, let him not shut himself up in the privacy of a box, but go into the pit, where all he will see and hear around him will be full as amusing as the performance itself; and when he uses an omnibus, let him always choose a seat by the driver, in preference to one inside. I have learnt more of the religious character of the poorer class in Paris, by a visit to a little out-of-the-way church at sunrise, than could be acquired by hours of conversation with the people themselves. And I have learned equally as much of the brutality and degradation of the same class in England, by going into a gin-shop late at night, calling for a glass of ale, and drinking it slowly, while I was inspecting the company. There is many a man who travels through Europe, communicating only with hotel keepers, couriers, and ciceroni, and learning less of the people than he could by walking into a market-place alone, and buying a sixpence worth of fruit. Yet such men presume to write books, and treat not merely of the governments of these countries, but of the social condition of the people! I once met a man in Italy, who could not order his breakfast correctly in Italian, who knew only one Italian, and he was the waiter who served him in a restaurant; and yet this man was a correspondent of a respectable paper in Boston, and had the effrontery to write column after column upon Italian social life, and to speak of political affairs as if he were Cardinal Antonelli's sole confidant. There are such people here in Paris now, who send over to America, weekly, batches of falsehood about the household of the Tuileries, which the intelligent public of America accepts as being true; for it seems to be a part of some people's republicanism to believe nothing but evil of a ruler who wears a crown. I need not say in this connection, that the traveller who wishes to enjoy Europe must put away the habit (if he be so unfortunate as to have it) of looking upon every thing through the green spectacles of republicanism, and regarding that form of government as the only one calculated to benefit mankind. He must remember that the government of his own country is a mere experiment, compared with the old monarchies of Europe, and he must try to judge impartially between them. He must judge each system by its results, and if on comparison he finds that there is really less slavery in his own country than in Europe; that the government is administered more impartially; that the judiciary is purer; that there is less of mob law and violence, and less of political bargaining and trickery, and that life and property are more secure in his own country than they are here, – why, he will return to America a better republican than before, from the very fact of having done justice to the governments of Europe.