The French people made, in 1789, the greatest effort which was ever attempted by any nation to cut, so to speak, their destiny in halves, and to separate by an abyss that which they had heretofore been from that which they sought to become hereafter. For this purpose they took all sorts of precautions to carry nothing of their past with them into their new condition; they submitted to every species of constraint1 in order to fashion themselves otherwise than their fathers were; they neglected nothing which could efface2 their identity.
I have always thought that they had succeeded in this singular attempt much less than was supposed abroad, and less than they had at first supposed themselves. I was convinced that they had unconsciously retained from the former state of society most of the sentiments, the habits, and even the opinions, by means of which they had effected the destruction of that state of things; and that, without intending it, they had used its remains3 to rebuild the edifice4 of modern society, insomuch that, fully5 to understand the Revolution and its work, we must forget for an instant that France which we see before us, and examine in her sepulchre that France which is no more. This is what I have endeavoured to do; but I have had more difficulty than I could have supposed in accomplishing this task.
The first ages of the French Monarchy6, the Middle Ages, and the Revival7 of Letters have each given rise to vast researches and profound disquisitions which have revealed to us not only the events of those periods of history, but the laws, the customs, and the spirit of the Government and the nation in those eras. But no one has yet taken the trouble to investigate the eighteenth[10] century in the same manner and with the same minuteness. We suppose that we are thoroughly8 conversant9 with the French society of that date, because we clearly distinguish whatever glittered on its surface; we possess in detail the lives of the most eminent10 persons of that day, and the ingenuity11 or the eloquence12 of criticism has familiarised us with the compositions of the great writers who adorned13 it. But as for the manner in which public affairs were carried on, the practical working of institutions, the exact relation in which the different classes of society stood to each other, the condition and the feelings of those classes which were as yet neither seen nor heard beneath the prevailing14 opinions and manners of the country,—all our ideas are confused and often inaccurate15.
I have undertaken to reach the core of this state of society under the old monarchy of France, which is still so near us in the lapse16 of years, but concealed17 from us by the Revolution.
For this purpose I have not only read over again the celebrated18 books which the eighteenth century produced, I have also studied a multitude of works less known and less worthy19 to be known, but which, from the negligence20 of their composition, disclose, perhaps, even better than more finished productions, the real instincts of the time. I have applied21 myself to investigate thoroughly all the public documents by which the French may, at the approach of the Revolution, have shown their opinions and their tastes. The regular reports of the meetings of the States, and subsequently of the Provincial22 Assemblies, have supplied me with a large quantity of evidence. I have especially made great use of the Instructions drawn24 up by the Three Orders in 1789. These Instructions, which form in the original a long series of manuscript volumes, will remain as the testament25 of the old society of France, the supreme26 record of its wishes, the authentic27 declaration of its last intentions. Such a document is unique in history. Yet this alone has not satisfied me.
In countries in which the Administrative28 Government is already powerful, there are few opinions, desires, or sorrows—there are few interests or passions—which are not sooner or later stripped bare before it. In the archives of such a Government, not only an exact notion of its procedure may be acquired, but the whole country is exhibited. Any stranger who should have access to all the confidential29 correspondence of the Home Department and the Prefectures of France would soon know more about the French than they know themselves. In the eighteenth century the[11] administration of the country, as will be seen from this book, was highly centralised, very powerful, prodigiously30 active. It was incessantly31 aiding, preventing, permitting. It had much to promise—much to give. Its influence was already felt in a thousand ways, not only on the general conduct of affairs, but on the condition of families and the private life of every individual. Moreover, as this administration was without publicity32, men were not afraid to lay bare before its eyes even their most secret infirmities. I have spent a great deal of time in studying what remains of its proceedings33, both at Paris and in several provinces.[1]
There, as I expected, I have found the whole structure of the old monarchy still in existence, with its opinions, its passions, its prejudices, and its usages. There every man spoke34 his mind and disclosed his innermost thoughts. I have thus succeeded in acquiring information on the former state of society, which those who lived in it did not possess, for I had before me that which had never been exposed to them.
As I advanced in these researches I was surprised perpetually to find again in the France of that time many of the characteristic features of the France of our own. I met with a multitude of feelings which I had supposed to be the offspring of the Revolution—a multitude of ideas which I had believed to originate there—a multitude of habits which are attributed to the Revolution alone. Everywhere I found the roots of the existing state of French society deeply imbedded in the old soil. The nearer I came to 1789, the more distinctly I discerned the spirit which had presided over the formation, the birth, and the growth of the Revolution; I gradually saw the whole aspect of the Revolution uncovered before me; already it announced its temperament—its genius—itself. There, too, I found not only the reason of what it was about to perform in its first effort, but still more, perhaps, an intimation of what it was eventually to leave behind it. For the French Revolution has had two totally distinct phases: the first, during which the French seemed eager to abolish everything in the past; the second, when they sought to resume a portion of what they had relinquished36. Many of the laws and political practices of the old monarchy thus[12] suddenly disappeared in 1789, but they occur again some years later, as some rivers are lost in the earth to burst forth37 again lower down, and bear the same waters to other shores.
The peculiar38 object of the work I now submit to the public is to explain why this great Revolution, which was in preparation at the same time over almost the whole continent of Europe, broke out in France sooner than elsewhere; why it sprang spontaneously from the society it was about to destroy; and, lastly, how the old French Monarchy came to fall so completely and so abruptly39.
It is not my intention that the work I have commenced should stop short at this point. I hope, if time and my own powers permit it, to follow, through the vicissitudes40 of this long Revolution, these same Frenchmen with whom I have lived so familiarly under the old monarchy, and whom that state of society had formed—to see them modified and transformed by the course of events, but without changing their nature, and constantly appearing before us with features somewhat different, but ever to be recognised.
With them I shall proceed to review that first epoch41 of 1789, when the love of equality and that of freedom shared their hearts—when they sought to found not only the institutions of democracy, but the institutions of freedom—not only to destroy privileges, but to acknowledge and to sanction rights: a time of youth, of enthusiasm, of pride, of generous and sincere passion, which, in spite of its errors, will live for ever in the memory of men, and which will still long continue to disturb the slumbers42 of those who seek to corrupt43 or to enslave them.
Thus rapidly following the track of this same Revolution, I shall attempt to show by what events, by what faults, by what miscarriages44, this same French people was led at last to relinquish35 its first aim, and, forgetful of freedom, to aspire45 only to become the equal servants of the World’s Master—how a Government, stronger and far more absolute than that which the Revolution had overthrown46, grasped and concentrated all the powers of the nation, suppressed the liberties which had been so dearly bought, putting in their place the counterfeit47 of freedom—calling ‘sovereignty of the people’ the suffrages48 of electors who can neither inform themselves nor concert their operations, nor, in fact, choose—calling ‘vote of taxes’ the assent49 of mute and enslaved assemblies; and while thus robbing the nation of the right of self-government, of the great securities of law, of freedom of thought, of speech, and of the pen—that is, of all the most precious and[13] the most noble conquests of 1789—still daring to assume that mighty50 name.
I shall pause at the moment when the Revolution appears to me to have nearly accomplished51 its work and given birth to the modern society of France. That society will then fall under my observation: I shall endeavour to point out in what it resembles the society which preceded it, in what it differs, what we have lost in this immense displacement52 of our institutions, what we have gained by it, and, lastly, what may be our future.
A portion of this second work is sketched53 out, though still unworthy to be offered to the public. Will it be given me to complete it? Who can say? The destiny of men is far more obscure than that of nations.
I hope I have written this book without prejudice, but I do not profess54 to have written it without passion. No Frenchman should speak of his country and think of this time unmoved. I acknowledge that in studying the old society of France in each of its parts I have never entirely55 lost sight of the society of more recent times. I have sought not only to discover the disease of which the patient died, but also the means by which life might have been preserved. I have imitated that medical analysis which seeks in each expiring organ to catch the laws of life. My object has been to draw a picture strictly56 accurate, and at the same time instructive. Whenever I have met amongst our progenitors57 with any of those masculine virtues58 which we most want and which we least possess—such as a true spirit of independence, a taste for great things, faith in ourselves and in a cause—I have placed them in relief: so, too, when I have found in the laws, the opinions, and the manners of that time traces of some of those vices61 which after having consumed the former society of France still infest62 us, I have carefully brought them to the light, in order that, seeing the evil they have done us, it might better be understood what evils they may still engender63. To accomplish this object I confess I have not feared to wound either persons, or classes, or opinions, or recollections of the past, however worthy of respect they may be. I have done so often with regret, but always without remorse64. May those whom I have thus perhaps offended forgive me in consideration of the honest and disinterested65 object which I pursue.
Many will perhaps accuse me of showing in this book a very unseasonable love of freedom—a thing for which it is said that no one any longer cares in France.
[14]
I shall only beg those who may address to me this reproach to consider that this is no recent inclination66 of my mind. More than twenty years ago, speaking of another community, I wrote almost textually the following observations.
Amidst the darkness of the future three truths may be clearly discovered. The first is, that all the men of our time are impelled67 by an unknown force which they may hope to regulate and to check, but not to conquer—a force which sometimes gently moves them, sometimes hurries them along, to the destruction of aristocracy. The second is, that of all the communities in the world those which will always be least able permanently68 to escape from absolute government are precisely69 the communities in which aristocracy has ceased to exist, and can never exist again. Lastly, the third is, that despotism nowhere produces more pernicious effects than in these same communities, for more than any other form of government despotism favours the growth of all the vices to which such societies are specially23 liable, and thus throws an additional weight on that side to which, by their natural inclination, they were already prone70.
Men in such countries, being no longer connected together by any ties of caste, of class, of corporation, of family, are but too easily inclined to think of nothing but their private interests, ever too ready to consider themselves only, and to sink into the narrow precincts of self, in which all public virtue59 is extinguished. Despotism, instead of combating this tendency, renders it irresistible71, for it deprives its subjects of every common passion, of every mutual72 want, of all necessity of combining together, of all occasions of acting73 together. It immures74 them in private life: they already tended to separation; despotism isolates75 them: they were already chilled in their mutual regard; despotism reduces them to ice.
In such societies, in which nothing is stable, every man is incessantly stimulated76 by the fear of falling and by eagerness to rise; and as money, while it has become the principal mark by which men are classed and distinguished77, has acquired an extraordinary mobility78, passing without cessation from hand to hand, transforming the condition of persons, raising or lowering that of families, there is scarcely a man who is not compelled to make desperate and continual efforts to retain or to acquire it. The desire to be rich at any cost, the love of business, the passion of lucre79, the pursuit of comfort and of material pleasures, are therefore in such communities the prevalent passions. They are easily diffused80 through all classes, they penetrate81 even to those classes[15] which had hitherto been most free from them, and would soon enervate82 and degrade them all, if nothing checked their influence. But it is of the very essence of despotism to favour and extend that influence. These debilitating83 passions assist its work: they divert and engross84 the imaginations of men away from public affairs, and cause them to tremble at the bare idea of a revolution. Despotism alone can lend them the secrecy85 and the shade which put cupidity86 at its ease, and enable men to make dishonourable gains whilst they brave dishonour87. Without despotic government such passions would be strong: with it they are sovereign.
Freedom alone, on the contrary, can effectually counteract88 in communities of this kind the vices which are natural to them, and restrain them on the declivity89 along which they glide90. For freedom alone can withdraw the members of such a community from the isolation91 in which the very independence of their condition places them by compelling them to act together. Freedom alone can warm and unite them day by day by the necessity of mutual agreement, of mutual persuasion92, and mutual complaisance93 in the transaction of their common affairs. Freedom alone can tear them from the worship of money, and the petty squabbles of their private interests, to remind them and make them feel that they have a Country above them and about them. Freedom alone can sometimes supersede94 the love of comfort by more energetic and more exalted95 passions—can supply ambition with larger objects than the acquisition of riches—can create the light which enables us to see and to judge the vices and the virtues of mankind.
Democratic communities which are not free may be rich, refined, adorned, magnificent, powerful by the weight of their uniform mass; they may contain many private merits—good fathers of families, honest traders, estimable men of property; nay96, many good Christians97 will be found there, for their country is not of this world, and the glory of their faith is to produce such men amidst the greatest depravity of manners and under the worst government. The Roman Empire in its extreme decay was full of such men. But that which, I am confident, will never be found in such societies is a great citizen, or, above all, a great people; nay, I do not hesitate to affirm that the common level of the heart and the intellect will never cease to sink as long as equality of conditions and despotic power are combined there.
Thus I thought and thus I wrote twenty years ago. I confess that since that time nothing has occurred in the world to induce me to think or to write otherwise. Having expressed the good[16] opinion I had of Freedom at a time when Freedom was in favour, I may be allowed to persist in that opinion though she be forsaken98.
Let it also be considered that even in this I am less at variance99 with most of my antagonists100 than perhaps they themselves suppose. Where is the man who, by nature, should have so mean a soul as to prefer dependence60 on the caprices of one of his fellow-creatures to obedience101 to laws which he has himself contributed to establish, provided that his nation appear to him to possess the virtues necessary to use freedom aright? There is no such man. Despots themselves do not deny the excellence102 of freedom, but they wish to keep it all to themselves, and maintain that all other men are utterly103 unworthy of it. Thus it is not on the opinion which may be entertained of freedom that this difference subsists104, but on the greater or the less esteem105 we may have for mankind; and it may be said with strict accuracy that the taste a man may show for absolute government bears an exact ratio to the contempt he may profess for his countrymen. I pause before I can be converted to that opinion.
I may add, I think, without undue106 pretensions107, that the volume now published is the product of very extended labours. Sometimes a short chapter has cost me more than a year of researches. I might have surcharged my pages with notes, but I have preferred to insert them in a limited number at the end of the volume, with a reference to the pages of the text to which they relate. In these notes the reader will find some illustrations and proofs of what I have advanced. I could largely augment108 the quantity of them if this book should appear to require it.
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1
constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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efface
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| v.擦掉，抹去 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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monarchy
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| n.君主，最高统治者；君主政体，君主国 | |
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revival
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| n.复兴，复苏，（精力、活力等的）重振 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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conversant
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| adj.亲近的，有交情的，熟悉的 | |
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eminent
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| adj.显赫的，杰出的，有名的，优良的 | |
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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inaccurate
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| adj.错误的，不正确的，不准确的 | |
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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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negligence
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| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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testament
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| n.遗嘱；证明 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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authentic
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| a.真的，真正的；可靠的，可信的，有根据的 | |
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administrative
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| adj.行政的，管理的 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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prodigiously
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| adv.异常地，惊人地，巨大地 | |
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incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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relinquish
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| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
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relinquished
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| 交出，让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 )； 放弃 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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vicissitudes
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| n.变迁，世事变化；变迁兴衰( vicissitude的名词复数 )；盛衰兴废 | |
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epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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miscarriages
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| 流产( miscarriage的名词复数 ) | |
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aspire
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| vi.(to，after)渴望，追求，有志于 | |
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overthrown
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| adj. 打翻的，推倒的，倾覆的 动词overthrow的过去分词 | |
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counterfeit
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| vt.伪造，仿造；adj.伪造的，假冒的 | |
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suffrages
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| （政治性选举的）选举权，投票权( suffrage的名词复数 ) | |
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assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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displacement
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| n.移置，取代，位移，排水量 | |
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sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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progenitors
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| n.祖先( progenitor的名词复数 )；先驱；前辈；原本 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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vices
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| 缺陷( vice的名词复数 )； 恶习； 不道德行为； 台钳 | |
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infest
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| v.大批出没于；侵扰；寄生于 | |
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engender
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| v.产生，引起 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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disinterested
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| adj.不关心的，不感兴趣的 | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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immures
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| vt.禁闭，监禁（immure的第三人称单数形式） | |
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isolates
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| v.使隔离( isolate的第三人称单数 )；将…剔出（以便看清和单独处理）；使（某物质、细胞等）分离；使离析 | |
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stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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mobility
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| n.可动性，变动性，情感不定 | |
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lucre
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| n.金钱，财富 | |
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diffused
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| 散布的，普及的，扩散的 | |
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penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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enervate
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| v.使虚弱，使无力 | |
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debilitating
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| a.使衰弱的 | |
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engross
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| v.使全神贯注 | |
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85
secrecy
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| n.秘密，保密，隐蔽 | |
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cupidity
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| n.贪心，贪财 | |
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dishonour
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| n./vt.拒付（支票、汇票、票据等）；vt.凌辱，使丢脸；n.不名誉，耻辱，不光彩 | |
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counteract
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| vt.对…起反作用，对抗，抵消 | |
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declivity
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| n.下坡，倾斜面 | |
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glide
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| n./v.溜，滑行；(时间)消逝 | |
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isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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complaisance
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| n.彬彬有礼，殷勤，柔顺 | |
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supersede
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| v.替代；充任 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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Forsaken
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| adj. 被遗忘的, 被抛弃的 动词forsake的过去分词 | |
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variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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antagonists
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| 对立[对抗] 者，对手，敌手( antagonist的名词复数 )； 对抗肌； 对抗药 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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subsists
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| v.（靠很少的钱或食物）维持生活，生存下去( subsist的第三人称单数 ) | |
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esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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undue
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| adj.过分的；不适当的；未到期的 | |
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pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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augment
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| vt.(使)增大，增加，增长，扩张 | |
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