FIRST then of monarchy; and we will first suppose the succession to
the monarchy to be hereditary. In this case we have the additional
advantage of considering this distinguished mortal who is thus set over
the heads of the rest of his species from the period of his birth.
The abstract idea of a king is of an extremely momentous and
extraordinary nature; and, though the idea has, by the accident of
education, been rendered familiar to us from our infancy, yet perhaps
the majority of readers can recollect the period when it struck them
with astonishment, and confounded their powers of apprehension. It being
sufficiently evident that some species of government was necessary, and
that individuals must concede a part of that sacred and important
privilege by which each man is constituted judge of his own words and
actions, for the sake of general good, it was next requisite to consider
what expedients might be substituted in the room of this original claim.
One of these expedients has been monarchy. It was the interest of each
individual that his individuality should be invaded as rarely as
possible; that no invasion should be permitted to flow from wanton caprice, from sinister and disingenuous views,
or from the instigation of anger, partiality and passion; and that this bank,
severely levied upon the peculium of each member of the society, should be
administered with frugality and discretion. It was therefore, without doubt, a
very bold adventure to commit this precious deposit to the custody of a single
man. If we contemplate the human powers, whether of body or mind, we shall find
them much better suited to the superintendence of our private concerns, and to
the administering occasional assistance to others, than to the accepting the
formal trust, of superintending the affairs, and watching for the happiness of
millions. If we recollect the physical and moral equality of mankind, it will
appear a very violent usurpation upon this principle to place one individual at
so vast an interval from the rest of his species. Let us then consider how such
persons are usually educated, or may be expected to be educated, and how well
they are prepared for this illustrious office.
It is a common opinion "That adversity is the school in which all
extraordinary virtue must be formed. Henry the fourth of France, and Elizabeth
of England, experienced a long series of calamities before they were elevated to
a throne. Alfred, of whom the obscure chronicles of a barbarous age record such
superior virtues, passed through the vicissitudes of a vagabond and a fugitive.
Even the mixed, and, upon the whole, the vicious, yet accomplished, characters
of Frederic and Alexander were not formed without the interference of injustice
and persecution."
This hypothesis however seems to have been pushed too far. It is no more
reasonable to suppose that virtue cannot be matured without injustice than to
believe, which has been another prevailing opinion, that human happiness cannot
be secured without imposture and deceit.1
Both these errors have a common source, a distrust of the omnipotence of truth.
If their advocates had reflected more deeply upon the nature of the human mind,
they would have perceived that all our voluntary actions are judgements of the
understanding, and that actions of the most judicious and useful nature must
infallibly flow from a real and genuine conviction of truth.
But, though the exaggerated opinion here stated, of the usefulness of
adversity, be erroneous, it is, like many other of our errors, allied to
important truth. If adversity be not necessary, it must be allowed that
prosperity is pernicious. Not a genuine and philosophical prosperity, which
requires no more than sound health with a sound intellect, the capacity of
procuring for ourselves, by a moderate and well regulated industry, the means of
subsistence, virtue and wisdom: but prosperity as it is usually understood, that
is, a competence provided for us by the caprice of human institution, inviting
our bodies to indolence, and our minds to lethargy; and still more prosperity,
as it is understood in the case of noblemen and princes, that is, a superfluity
of wealth, which deprives us of all intercourse with our fellow men upon equal
terms, and makes us prisoners of state, gratified indeed with baubles and
splendour, but shut out from the real benefits of society, and the perception of
truth. If truth be so intrinsically powerful as to make adversity unnecessary to
excite our attention to it, it is nevertheless certain that luxury and wealth
have the most fatal effects in distorting it. If it require no foreign aid to
assist its energies, we ought however to be upon our guard against principles
and situations the tendency of which may be perpetually to counteract it.
Nor is this all. One of the most essential ingredients of virtue is
fortitude. It was the plan of many of the Grecian philosophers, and most of all
of Diogenes, to show to mankind how very limited is the supply that our
necessities require, and how little dependent our real welfare and prosperity
are upon the caprice of others. Among innumerable incidents upon record that
illustrate this principle, a single one may suffice to suggest to our
minds its general spirit. Diogenes had a slave whose name was Menas, and
Menas thought proper upon some occasion to elope. 'Ha!' said the
philosopher, 'can Menas live without Diogenes, and cannot Diogenes live
without Menas?' There can be no lesson more important than that which is
here conveyed. The man that does not know himself not to be at the mercy
of other men, that does not feel that he is invulnerable to all the
vicissitudes of fortune, is incapable of a constant and inflexible
virtue. He to whom the rest of his species can reasonably look up with
confidence must be firm, because his mind is filled with the excellence
of the object he pursues; and cheerful, because he knows that it is out
of the power of events to injure him. If anyone should choose to imagine
that this idea of virtue is strained too high, yet all must allow that
no man can be entitled to our confidence who trembles at every wind, who
can endure no adversity, and whose very existence is linked to the
artificial character he sustains. Nothing can more reasonably excite our
contempt than a man who, if he were once reduced to the genuine and
simple condition of man, would be driven to despair, and find himself
incapable of consulting and providing for his own subsistence. Fortitude
is a habit of mind that grows out of a sense of our independence. If
there be a man who dares not even trust his own imagination with the
fancied change of his circumstances, he must necessarily be effeminate;
irresolute and temporizing. He that loves sensuality or ostentation
better than virtue may be entitled to our pity, but a madman only would
entrust to his disposal anything that was dear to him.
Again, the only means by which truth can be communicated to the human
mind is through the inlet of the senses. It is perhaps impossible that a
man shut up in a cabinet can ever be wise. If we would acquire
knowledge, we must open our eyes, and contemplate the universe. Till we
are acquainted with the meaning of terms, and the nature of the objects
around us, we cannot understand the propositions that may be formed
concerning them. Till we are acquainted with the nature of the objects
around us, we cannot compare them with the principles we have formed,
and understand the modes of employing them. There are other ways of
attaining wisdom and ability beside the school of adversity, but there
is no way of attaining them but through the medium of experience. That
is, experience brings in the materials with which intellect works; for
it must be granted that a man of limited experience will often be more
capable than he who has gone through the greatest variety of scenes; or
rather perhaps, that one man may collect more experience in a sphere of
a few miles square than another who has sailed round the world.
To conceive truly the value of experience, we must recollect the
numerous improvements the human mind has received, and how far an
enlightened European differs from a solitary savage. However multifarious
are these improvements, there are but two ways in which they can be
appropriated by any individual; either at second hand by books and
conversation, or at first hand by our own observations of men and things.
The improvement we receive in the first of these modes is unlimited; but
it will not do alone . We cannot understand books till we have seen the
subjects of which they treat.
He that knows the mind of man must have observed it for himself; he
that knows it most intimately must have observed it in its greatest
variety of situations. He must have seen it without disguise, when no
exterior situation puts a curb upon its passions, and induces the
individual to exhibit a studied, not a spontaneous character. He must
have seen men in their unguarded moments, when the eagerness of
temporary resentment tips their tongue with fire, when they are animated
and dilated by hope, when they are tortured and wrung with despair, when
the soul pours out its inmost self into the bosom of an equal and a
friend. Lastly, he must himself have been an actor in the scene, have
had his own passions brought into play, have known the anxiety of
expectation and the transport of success, or he will feel and understand
about as much of what he sees as mankind in general would of the
transactions of the vitrified inhabitants of the planet Mercury, or the
salamanders that live in the sun. - Such is the education of the true
philosopher, the genuine politician, the friend and benefactor of human
kind.
What is the education of a prince? Its first quality is extreme
tenderness. The winds of heaven are not permitted to blow upon him. He
is dressed and undressed by his lacqueys and valets. His wants are
carefully anticipated; his desires, without any effort of his, profusely
supplied. His health is of too much importance to the community to
permit him to exert any considerable effort either of body or mind. He
must not hear the voice of reprimand or blame. In all things it is first
of all to be remembered that he is a prince, that is, some rare and
precious creature, but not of human kind.
As he is the heir to a throne, it is never forgotten by those about him
that considerable importance is to be annexed to his favour or his
displeasure. Accordingly, they never express themselves in his presence
frankly and naturally, either respecting him or themselves. They are
supporting a part. They play under a mask. Their own fortune and
emolument is always uppermost in their minds, at the same time that they
are anxious to appear generous, disinterested and sincere. All his
caprices are to be complied with. All his gratifications are to be
studied, They find him a depraved and sordid mortal; they judge of his
appetites and capacities by their own; and the gratifications they
recommend serve to sink him deeper in folly and vice.
What is the result of such an education? Having never experienced
contradiction, the young prince is arrogant and presumptuous. Having
always been accustomed to the slaves of necessity or the slaves of
choice, he does not understand even the meaning of the word freedom. His
temper is insolent, and impatient of parley and expostulation. Knowing
nothing, he believes himself sovereignly informed, and runs headlong
into danger, not from firmness and courage, but from the most egregious
wilfulness and vanity. Like Pyrrho among the ancient philosophers, if
his attendants were at a distance, and he trusted himself alone in the
open air, he would perhaps be run over by the next coach, or fall down
the first precipice. His violence and presumption are strikingly
contrasted with the extreme timidity of his disposition. The first
opposition terrifies him, the first difficulty, seen and understood,
appears insuperable. He trembles at a shadow, and at the very semblance
of adversity is dissolved into tears. It has accordingly been observed
that princes are commonly superstitious beyond the rate of ordinary
mortals.
Above all, simple, unqualified truth is a stranger to his ear. It either
never approaches; or, if so unexpected a guest should once appear, it
meets with so cold a reception as to afford little encouragement to a
second visit. The longer he has been accustomed to falsehood and
flattery, the more grating will it sound. The longer he has been
accustomed to falsehood and flattery, the more terrible will the talk
appear to him to change his tastes, and discard his favourites. He will
either place a blind confidence in all men, or, having detected the
insincerity of those who were most agreeable to him, will conclude that
all men are knavish and designing. As a consequence of this last
opinion, he will become indifferent to mankind, and callous to their
sufferings, and will believe that even the virtuous are knaves under a
craftier mask. Such is the education of an individual who is destined to
superintend the affairs, and watch for the happiness, of millions.
In this picture are contained the features which most obviously
constitute the education of a prince, into the conduct of which no
person of energy and virtue has by accident been introduced. In real
life it will be variously modified, but the majority of the features,
unless in rare instances, will remain the same. In no case can the
education of a friend and benefactor of human kind, as sketched in a
preceding page, by any speculative contrivance be communicated.
Nor is there any difficulty in accounting for the universal miscarriage. The wisest preceptor,
thus circumstanced, must labour under insuperable disadvantages. No situation can be so artificial
as that of a prince, so difficult to be understood by him who occupies it, so irresistibly propelling
the mind to mistake. The first ideas it suggests 'are of a tranquillizing and soporific nature. It fills
him with the opinion of his secretly possessing some inherent advantage over the rest of his
species, by which he is formed to command, and they to obey. If you assure him of the contrary,
you can expect only an imperfect and temporary credit; for facts, when, as in this case, they are
continually deposing against you, speak a language more emphatic and intelligible than words. If
it were not as he supposes, why should everyone that approaches be eager to serve him? The
sordid and selfish motives by which they are really actuated, he is very late in detecting. It may
even be doubted whether the individual who was never led to put the professions of others to the
test by his real wants, has, in any instance, been completely aware of the little credit that is usually
due to them. A prince finds himself courted and adored long before he can have acquired a merit
entitling him to such distinctions. By what arguments can you persuade him laboriously to pursue
what appears so completely superfluous? How can you induce him to be dissatisfied with his
present acquisitions, while every other person assures him that his accomplishments are admirable,
and his mind a mirror of sagacity? How will you persuade him who finds all his wishes anticipated
to engage in any arduous undertaking, or propose any distant object for his ambition?
But, even should you succeed in this, his pursuits may be expected to be either mischievous or
useless. His understanding is distorted; and the basis of all morality, the recollection that other
men are beings of the same order with himself, is extirpated. It would be unreasonable to expect
from him anything generous and humane. Unfortunate as he is, his situation is continually
propelling him to vice, and destroying the germs of integrity and virtue, before they are unfolded.
If sensibility begin to discover itself, it is immediately poisoned by the blighting winds of flattery.
Amusement and sensuality call with an imperious voice, and will not allow him time to feel.
Artificial as is the character he fills, even should he aspire to fame, it will be by the artificial
methods of false refinement, or the barbarous inventions of usurpation and conquest, not by the
plain and unornamented road of benevolence.
Some idea of the methods usually pursued, and the effects produced in the education of a
prince, may be collected from a late publication of madame de Genlis, in which she gives an
account of her own proceedings in relation to the children of the duke of Orleans. She thus
describes the features of their disposition and habits, at the time they were committed to her care.
'The duke de Valois (the eldest) is frequently coarse in his manners, and ignoble in his
expressions. He finds great humour in calling mean and common objects by their most vulgar
appellations; all this seasoned with the proverbial propensity of Sancho, and set off with a loud
forced laugh. His prate is eternal, nor does he suspect but that it must be an exquisite gratification
to anyone to be entertained with it; and he frequently heightens the jest by a falsehood uttered in
the gravest manner imaginable. Neither he nor his brother has the least regard for anybody but
themselves; they are selfish and grasping, considering everything that is done for them as their
due, and imagining that they are in no respect obliged to consult the happiness of others. The
slightest reproof is beyond measure shocking to them, and the indignation they conceive at it
immediately vents itself in sullenness or tears. They are in an uncommon degree effeminate, afraid
of the wind or the cold, unable to run or to leap, or even so much as to walk at a round pace, or
for more than half an hour at a time. The duke de Valois has an extreme terror of dogs, to such a
degree as to turn pale and shriek at the sight of one.' 'When the children of the duke of Orleans
were committed to my care, they had been accustomed, in winter, to wear under-waistcoats, two
pair of stockings, gloves, muffs, etc. The eldest, who was eight years of age, never came
downstairs without being supported by the arm of one or two persons; the domestics were
obliged to render them the meanest services, and, for a cold or any slight indisposition, sat up with
them for nights together.'2
Madame de Genlis, a woman of uncommon talents, though herself infected with a
considerable number of errors, corrected these defects in the young princes. But few princes have
the good fortune to be educated by a person of so much independence and firmness as madame de
Genlis, and we may safely take our standard for the average calculation rather from her
predecessors than herself. Even were it otherwise, we have already seen what it is that a
preceptor can do in the education of a prince. Nor should it be forgotten that the children under
her care were not of the class of princes who seemed destined to a throne.
11 Chap. XV.
2
'M. de Valois a encore des mani&egravae;res bien désagréables, des expressions ignobles, et de tems
en'tems le plus mauvais ton. A présent qu'il est à son aise avec moi, il me débite avec confiance
toutes les gentillesses qu'on lui a apprises. Tout cela assaisonné de tous les proverbes de Sancho,
et d'un gros rire forcé, qui n'est pas le moindre de ses désagréments. En outre, il est très bavard,
grand conteur, et il ment souvent pour se divertir; avec cela la plus grande indifférence pour M. et
Mde de Chartres, n'y pensant jamais, les voyant froidement, ne désirant point les voir. - Ils étoient
l'un et l'autre de la plus grande impolitesse, oui et non tout court, ou un
signe de tˆte, peu reconnoissant, parce qu'ils croient qu'il n'est point de soins, d'attentions, ni
d'égards qu'on ne les doive. Ils 'étoit pas possible de les reprendre sans les mettre au désespoir;
dans ce cas, toujours des pleurs on de l'humeur. Ils étoient très douillets, craignant le vent, le
froid, ne pouvant, non seulement ni courir ni sauter, mais même ni marcher d'un bon pas, et plus
d'une demi-heure. Et M. le duc de Valois ayant une peur affreuse des chiens au point de pâlir et
de criei quand il en voyoit un.'
'Quand on m'a remis ceux que j'ai élevés, ils avoient l'habitude de porter en hiver des gillets,
des doubles paires de bas, des grands manchons, etc. L'aîné, qui avoit huit ans, ne descendoit
jamais un escalier sans s'appuyer sur le bras d'une on deux personnes. On obligeoit des
domestiques de ces enfans à leur rendre les services les plus vils: pour un rhume, pour une légère
incommodité, ces domestiques passoient sans cesse les nuits, etc.' Leçons d'une
Gouvernante a ses Elèves. par Mde de Sillery Brulart (ci-devant comtesse de Genlis), Tome
II.
