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The French Revolution

and the

English Novel x

By

Allene Gregory. Ph.D.

G. P. Putnam 's Sons New York and London

Cbe Iknicherbochcr pre»s

1915

COPYRIGHT, 1915

BY ALLENE GREGORY

Ube fmfcfeerbocher press, flew Jgorft

Co MY MOTHER

PREFACE

r~PHIS study in the tendenz novel was begun •*• with the idea of paralleling Dr. Hancock's book, The French Revolution and the English Poets, I in furnishing detailed consideration of a literary form which Professor Dowden's general treatment of the period necessarily presents in outline merely. 2

It is evident, however, that the Revolutionary poets and the Revolutionary novelists must rest their claims to our interest on different grounds. A discussion of Wordsworth, Coleridge, Byron, and Shelley needs no justification. But it must be confessed that the novelists we are about to consider can not escape the condemnation of mediocrity. There is scarcely one of them whose work has lived through the intervening century. What, then, shall be our apology for invading their well-merited obscurity?

There are two distinct uses of the historical methods in the study of literature. The first, admirably exemplified in Dr. Hancock's book, resorts to a study of the age and its antecedents

1 Albert Elmer Hancock, The French Revolution and the English Poets, Henry Holt and Company, New York, 1899.

1 Edward Dowden, The French Revolution and English Litera- ture, New York, 1897.

v

vi Preface

for the purpose of gaining a truer appreciation of the work of authors whose greatness unquestion- ably warrants such effort. But there is a second use of the historical method with a somewhat different end in view. Some special phase of literature may be studied as a means of gaining insight into the intellectual and (in a broad sense) spiritual life of a historical period.

Considered with the second purpose in mind, there was perhaps no literary form in Revolu- tionary England so significant as these same ob- scure novels. The poets of the time were for the most part only temporarily in sympathy with the Revolution. They were carried away by the tide of popular enthusiasm, rather than expressing their own mature convictions. The drama, in some respects the most social of literary forms, was perhaps the least adapted to express so com- plex and reflective a philosophy. Moreover, censorship, official and popular, during the reac- tion served to eliminate from the drama the later developments of Revolutionism.

All this might seem to indicate that the proper field for a study of political philosophy is in the distinctively doctrinary and propaganda writings of the time rather than in any form of imaginative literature. But Revolutionism was more than an academic philosophy. It was a social religion, in the sense that it was to many men their "serious reaction to life as a whole."

Perhaps every faith by which men have lived

Preface vii

is better than it seems from a mere analytical statement of its doctrines. Such formulations have often much the same relation to reality that an architect's plans and specifications have to the house they represent. The plans afford a general view and valuable information as to the soundness of construction; one would certainly wish to see them before making the house one's own. But the architect's plans do not tell the whole story. Those who have lived in the house may know that certain rooms that appear dark and ill ventilated are really little used; that tor- tuous passages have been made easy by custom; and that the main rooms afford scope for a life of dignity and service.

The real value of the novels we are about to consider lies not in their intrinsic merit, but in the illustrations they offer of the practise of Re- volutionary ethics, as conceived by its sympathiz- ers and its opponents. They are a frank give- and-take criticism disguised as fiction; and in the course of them many values are made plain which the metaphysical treatises somewhat obscured. After reading Political Justice one wonders how any man whose sense of fact was not entirely atrophied could have taken Revolutionism seri- ously. In the novels one sees how sensible and kindly men like Holcroft and Bage made of it an eminently livable philosophy..

I wish to express here my gratitude to Professor Chester N. Greenough of Harvard University,

viii Preface

under whose scholarly guidance it was my good fortune to pursue this subject in post graduate study, and who at every stage of the work has given me most generous assistance. My thanks are due also to Professor William Allan Neilson and Professor Irving Babbitt, to whose kindness I am indebted for much valuable suggestion and criticism.

A. G. ROCKFORD COLLEGE,

September, 1914.

CONTENTS

PAGE

INTRODUCTION — ON THE ECONOMIC INTERPRE- TATION OF LITERATURE i

CHAPTER I

BACKGROUNDS . . . . . .15

Section i. Background of Events . . 15 Section 2. The Background of Ideas . 30

CHAPTER II

A REPRESENTATIVE REVOLUTIONIST . -49 Thomas Holcroft ..... 49

CHAPTER III

REVOLUTIONARY PHILOSOPHERS ... 86 Section i . William Godwin ... 86 Section 2. The Young Shelley . .120

CHAPTER IV

SOME OPPONENTS OF THE REVOLUTIONARY PHILOSOPHERS . . . . . .134

x Contents

PAGE

CHAPTER V

REVOLUTIONISTS AND RADICALS OF VARIOUS DEGREES ....... 161

Section i. The Novels of Robert Bage . 161

Section 2. Novels Representing Miscel- laneous Novelists . . . .180

CHAPTER VI

SOME TYPICAL LADY NOVELISTS OF THE REVOLUTION 191

Section i. Mrs. Elizabeth Inchbald . 191

Section 2. Mrs. Amelia Alderson Opie . 203

Section 3. Mrs. Charlotte Smith . . 213

Section 4. Some Other Lady Novelists . 222

CHAPTER VII

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION AND THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN ....... 231

Section i. Introduction and Background 231 Section 2. Mary Wollstonecraft . . 239

Section 3 . Some other ' ' Rights of Women ' ' Novels ...... 259

CHAPTER VIII

SOME OTHER FORMS OF LITERATURE AFFECTED BY THE FRENCH REVOLUTION . . .270

Section i . The Poets . . . .270 Section 2. The Drama . . . .283

Contents xi

PAGE

CHAPTER IX CONCLUSIONS ...... 293

APPENDIX TO CHAPTER VIII, SECTION 2 . 309

Lists of Plays Showing Tendencies Influ- enced by the French Revolution . . 309

BIBLIOGRAPHY . . . . . .321

INDEX 333

The French Revolution and the English Novel

INTRODUCTION

ON THE ECONOMIC INTERPRETATION OF LITERATURE

PREFACED to Dr. Hancock's discussion of The 1 French Revolution and the English Poets there is a very suggestive "Note" by Professor Gates urging the extension of the historical method in criticism. Under this term he includes not merely an observation of the continuous development of literary forms from age to age, but also a study of the historical events in any given period as an aid to the appreciation of its literature. This conception of the relation of historical fact to literary form and content is so sound that it will bear a fuller development.

Our own time has seen a remarkable change of emphasis in the writing and teaching of history. The lists of battles, treaties, coronations, and other epoch marking events which formerly con-

2 The French Revolution

stituted the historian's stock in trade are now rele- gated to the background as secondary causes. The modern basis for the study of a historical period is its economic and social conditions.

According to this depersonalized method even the Great Man theory of progress, beloved of literary historians for its dramatic value, has been consigned to oblivion as unscientific. Carlyle has been vanquished by Dry-as-dust.

When we have fairly made up our minds, how- ever, to accept the Dismal Science in lieu of Hero Worship, our sacrifice to intellectual honesty is more than rewarded. The Dismal Science is not unlike that Loathly Ladie whom Gawain submitted to wed and found a princess in disguise. The sociological and economic method proves a revealer of new values and unguessed relation- ships whereby both the complexity and the signi- ficance of human events are enormously enhanced.

If history has been so incalculably the gainer through the adoption of this method, the question naturally occurs whether literature may not share in the results of this new accession of fact? One would fancy this suggestion a matter of course, requiring no comment or justification, but for the fact that it is so seldom acted upon except in the most superficial manner.

It may be objected that all this is included in the accepted historical interpretation of literature. That is not altogether true. Economic changes and the resulting social conditions do undoubtedly

And the English Novel 3

affect literature through the medium of the general events which they cause. But they also affect literature in a more direct way, without the inter- vention of those political occurrences which deter- mine the chronology of historical epochs.

Indeed, this chronological vagueness forms one of the chief difficulties in the economic interpre- tation of literature. Industrial developments and the shifting of the balance of power from one eco- nomic class to another take place so gradually as a rule that the fixing of dates becomes a matter, not of "when" but of "how much." This pre- vents the obvious coincidences of dates that are so satisfying and convincing to an order-loving mind, and makes the whole matter of determining the limits of periods distressingly uncertain. All this is very salutary, however. The student of literature can never be too fully aware that he is dealing with infinitely complex reality. Chrono- logical generalizations made in a pigeon-holing spirit are valueless. They are merely matters of convenience, like the imaginary figures one traces among the stars to aid in distinguishing constella- tions. If they are made a fetish and allowed to destroy the sense of continuity they may become positively harmful.

If one accepts the economic factor as a basis for generalization tempered by discretion, however, certain periodic coincidences become apparent. An examination of almost any one of the generally recognized movements in literature will show that

4 The French Revolution

it was immediately preceded by some economic or industrial change of a significant nature, involv- ing a change in the relative power of the economic groups in the state.

For example, in the fourteenth century the general aristocratic and ecclesiastical tone of literature was broken by a curious little strain of pure democracy. This finds expression in the writings of Langland (especially the Vision of Piers Plowman, 1376-1393), and in the records of Wycliffe and his "pore prestes," whose chief contributions to the time were a Bible translation and some very well-organized trades-unions. The historical interpretation of literature contents itself with pointing to the Great Plague (1348), the consequent wage legislation, the preaching of John Ball (1360-1380), and the rebellion under Wat Tyler (1381) as the culminating event. The economic interpreter insists on going back to the common cause behind both events and ideas. During the early part of the fourteenth century there had been a steady rise of the yeoman class, as the villeins were emancipated into a free ten- antry. The lords of the manor, frequently in want of cash, were gradually accepting a rent paid in money for their ancient claims to service. It was primarily an ill-advised attempt on the part of the landlords to revive a rent paid in labour that brought about the Peasants' Revolt. The attempt to extort labour rents was the result of the Great Plague and the consequent shortage

And the English Novel 5

of labour. But it is to be observed that the event alone would have had little effect but for the gradual class development that preceded it.

Here we have a situation not unlike that in England at the time of the French Revolution: a class is gradually gaining in power and import- ance when some event occurs (the Plague in one case, and the invention of the power loom in the other), which precipitates a sharp clash of inter- ests. There is a corresponding conflict of ideas, and a sudden prominence given to revolutionary concepts in literature. But in both cases it was a minority report; a side current in literature, and a political movement of revolt that proved abortive.

Again, the history of a social form of literature like the drama offers excellent material for eco- nomic discussion. The growth of the market towns and the rise and fall of the Guilds have a very direct bearing upon the development of the miracle and morality plays. As the drama was taken up by a wealthier class, and became the concern of men of leisure and learning, it assumed a different form altogether. The closing of the theatres was brought about by a social crisis directly traceable to economic changes. Restora- tion Comedy and the heroic plays were class drama; so were Sentimental Comedy and Domestic Tragedy. The transition between them coincides with a decided increase in the power of the mer- chant and manufacturing classes at the expense of

6 The French Revolution

the land-owning aristocracy. This was funda- mentally an economic change, although it found expression in a political Revolution

All these observations are superficial and com- monplace. But the method which they are in- tended to suggest is not one of facile generalization, but of careful study of the economic conditions and the intellectual temper of a given period with a view to ascertaining causal relationships.

It would be easy to reduce this method to ab- surdity by pushing it too far. But no method of literary interpretation is proof against a student without discretion. It is easy to recognize in the literature of any given period certain prevailing ideas and ideals, in spite of individual variations. It is also easy to perceive periodic changes in economic conditions, resulting in changes in the social structure. In order to establish a causal relation it is not necessary to assume that economic situation actually created the idea. We may say that various ideas being present in the national mind, the economic condition is a prime factor in determining which ones shall be emphasized. An age, like an individual, takes up the problems it is ready for ; understands what it is capable of understanding; and believes, in general, what it finds to its own advantage to believe. The interests of different economic classes are not the same, however. Consequently there fre- quently occur sharp conflicts of ideas, reflecting the conflicting interests. It is the ethical and

And the English Novel 7

aesthetic standards of the dominant class that prevail, as a rule.

Perhaps at this point it may be well to cite the popular theory known as economic determinism. This is our "economic interpretation" carried to an extreme. We may quote an early and authori- tative statement of this conception, by a political and economic thinker the stimulating value of whose writings is in no wise affected by their fre- quent misinterpretation at the hands of over- enthusiastic followers.

At a certain stage of their development, the material forces of production in society come in conflict with the existing relations in production, or — what is but a legal expression of the same thing — with the property relations within which they had been at work before. From forms of development of the forces of produc- tion these relations turn into their fetters. Then comes the period of social revolution. With the change of the economic foundation the entire immense superstructure is more or less rapidly transformed. In considering such transformations the distinction should always be made between the material trans- formation of the economic conditions of production and distribution which can be determined with the precision of a natural science, and the legal, political, religious, aesthetic, and philosophic — in short, the ideological forms in which men become conscious of the conflict and fight it out. Just as our opinion of an individual is not based on what he thinks of himself, so we cannot judge of such a period of transformation

8 The French Revolution

by its own consciousness; on the contrary, this con- sciousness must rather be explained from the con- tradictions of material life, from the existing forces of production and the relations of production. No social order ever disappears before all the productive forces for which there are room in it have been de- veloped ; and new higher relations of production never appear before the material conditions of their exist- ence have matured in the womb of the old society. Therefore mankind always takes up only such prob- lems as it can solve; since, looking at the matter more closely, we find that the problem itself arises only when the material conditions for its solution exist or are at least in the process of formation. *

Protests against the economic interpretation of literature are likely to come from two distinct points of view. The Romantic critic will say that all this is too materialistic; that it destroys the aesthetic and imaginative and spiritual values of literature. The humanist may object that it tends to substitute an over-pragmatistic concep- tion of the development of ideas for the abiding human values ; that it makes for a sense of relativ- ity so strong as to destroy certain fine intellectual disciplines.

The latter, as the more serious objection, we may consider first. If it can indeed be shown that an economic interpretation tends to diminish the

1 Karl Marx, A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy, translated from the German by I N. Stone, pp. 12-13. Date of publication of the original, 1859.

And the English Novel 9

humane dignity of literature, and place "Law for thing" above "Law for man,"1 that objection must be conclusive. Certainly that would be true of any extreme or undiscriminating use of the method. In the hands of the humanist him- self, however, a full recognition of the economic factor in the Zeitgeist may make for a clearer perception of the values that are permanent. After all, it requires an Aristotelian soundness of judgment to profit by a pragmatistic sense of fact. The Romantic protest may receive a less quali- fied answer. Nothing that makes for a truer sense of the complexity of life and at the same time has a synthetic value can result otherwise than in an enrichment of the imagination. The imaginative and the spiritual values can be trusted to take care of themselves, to a far greater extent than their defenders are aware. Keats's dictum that "Beauty is truth, truth beauty," is neither "all we know on earth," nor "all we need to know." But if the Romantic critic is convinced of that (and from his fondness for the quotation one might naturally suppose that he endorses it) , there is no conceivable reason why he should so care- fully guard his cherished conception of "beauty" from the rude contact of facts and ideas. It is really a rather suspicious circumstance when beauty shrinks from honest analysis. This type of protest tends to produce in the critic who is

1 Cf. the discussion of humanism in chapter i. of Literature and the American College, by Professor Irving Babbitt.

io The French Revolution

interested in ideas rather than emotions a not unnatural distrust of Romanticism. It is not fair, however, to misjudge the Romantic ideal because it is defended by Sentimentalists.

Often, however, the Romantic critic meets the economic interpreter half-way. Like the humour- ist who was so deeply interested in the Civil War that he was willing to sacrifice all his wife's rela- tives to preserve the Union, our defender of a sacrosanct and incomprehensible beauty cheer- fully admits that "tendenz" literature may be interpreted in the light of economic conditions: but hands off from true poetry! Now this is a concession which we can in no wise accept. We must have all or nothing; for if we cannot exercise judgment and discrimination in applying the criticism of fact in really important matters, we had better let it alone altogether.

Moreover, this concession involves a fundamen- tally false distinction. In the reaction from di- dacticism and from reform propaganda disguised as literature the very phrase "literature with a purpose" has come to have a damnatory signifi- cance. This has its foundation in a very right feeling that the commonplaces of social and per- sonal ethics and the questions of the day are not problems worthy the consideration of universal and abiding art. But in our time this half-truth has been somewhat over-emphasized. When we turn back to the literary criticism of ages artisti- cally greater than our own, we find no such

And the English Novel n

undiscriminating horror of "purpose." Aristotle was not afraid in his great doctrine of Catharsis to assign to the highest of art forms a purpose — to purify the soul. Milton, Dryden, and Pope were frankly didactic. Even Shakespeare, al- though the profoundness of his moral perception did not admit of expression in convenient aphor- isms, was by no means so purposeless as the advo- cates of "art for art's sake " would have us believe.

The reconciliation of this apparent contradiction lies, of course, in the distinction between a higher and a lower "purpose," between a public spirited interest in such matters as housing reforms and workingmen's insurance laws, and the insight which pierces below the surface maladjustments of the age to the deeper issues involved which are to some extent true for all ages.

It follows from this perception that the Roman- ticist's condescending permission to interpret "tendenz" literature in the light of economic conditions lays open his very citadel to our attack. Shelley, par excellence the poet beloved of Roman- ticists, is among the writers whom we are about to discuss in his connection with the Industrial Revolution as well as the French Revolution.

In his preface to Francis Thompson's impres- sionistic Essay on Shelley, Mr. Wyndham expresses the idea that this is the sort of appreciation that Shelley himself would have enjoyed. Such a generalization cannot be refuted. But the writer has a private conviction that Francis Thompson's

12 The French Revolution

very beautiful little essay is precisely the sort of appreciation that Shelley would have felt as almost insulting. The Shelley that we know, not merely in the poems, but in his prefaces and prose works and in the records of his friends, was rather intensely in earnest about ideas as well as about beauty of form. He submitted quietly to hatred and abuse during his life rather than court success by writing poetry which did not express his unpopular social ideals. One fancies how he would have "enjoyed" being discussed as a per- petual child, no matter how aesthetically the con- ception was expressed! "Bold foot along the ledges of precipitous dream" is a fine phrase for Shelley; but his own phrase is finer, as well as more complete,

A nerve o'er which do creep

The else unfelt oppressions of this earth

Shelley was beyond all doubt a writer with a purpose. In the preface to Prometheus Unbound, which he himself considered the greatest of his works, he has left us a frank confession of his "passion for reforming the world," together with a masterly analysis of the very point which we have been discussing' — the higher and lower "purpose" in literature.

We have endeavoured to indicate some ways in which the study of the history of literature might be enriched through a closer alliance with

And the English Novel 13

the study of economic and industrial conditions, not merely in so far as they are included in the general history of events, but considered as direct influences. We have cited for purposes of com- parison an authoritative expression of the doctrine known as economic determinism, which is the extreme form of our suggestion. We have frankly admitted the need of sound judgment in the use of this method if it is to be made a valuable ser- vant subject to the discipline of that true human- ism to which the student of literature should unceasingly aspire. Finally, we have considered the Romantic objection that although it may do well enough in the case of an inferior form like "tendenz" literature, the economic interpretation is a profanation when applied to the higher imagi- native forms, such as poetry. We have pointed out that the distinction between so-called "ten- denz" and didactic literature and the literature of great ideals is not a distinction in kind, but in depth of insight and artistic skill in expression ; and that even the most spiritual of Romantic poets submits to our so-called economic interpretation by virtue of his concern with the deeper social maladjustments of his age.

In the following discussion of the "tendenz" novels of Revolutionary England we shall endeav- our to illustrate to some extent the practical application of the method here suggested. To a consideration of the English history of French Revolutionary philosophy, and of the stimulus

14 The English Novel

given to English radicalism by the example of France, we shall add some observation of the social maladjustments arising from the Industrial Revolution and their influence on the thought of the time.

For this our treatment must extend somewhat beyond the period of actual Revolutionary events. We may begin our discussion as early as 1780 (the date of Holcroft's first novel) and continue it at least to include the year 1820, the date of the great dramatic poem in which the influences of the French Revolution and the Industrial Revolu- tion converge, Shelley's Prometheus Unbound.

CHAPTER I • BACKGROUNDS

SECTION I : BACKGROUND OF EVENTS

ONE of the most striking characteristics of the literature reflecting the French Revolution in England is its apparent inconsistency. In 1789, poets, novelists, and statesmen are touched with a fine glow of enthusiasm for liberty and the sovereignty of the people. A few years pass, and these same ardent friends of the Revolution, all save a few stubborn or courageous souls, have recanted, and are busily engaged in exposing and denouncing the dangerous tendencies of their former doctrines.

It is not sufficient explanation to charge a whole nation with having been over ready to praise something which sober second thought could not approve. A closer analysis shows us that the term "French Revolution" is a misleading one. It should be, "French Revolutions"; for there was a series of them, as different as possible in character. Not merely the course of events but the principles themselves were changed. A man

15

1 6 The French Revolution

might well approve one without approving all. Perhaps then, it may be well to review briefly the chronology of this extremely complex movement. France during the reigns of Louis XIV. and Louis XV. was apparently in a flourishing and orderly condition. It was the most brilliant of despotisms. English writers, forced to admit the critical supremacy of their ancient enemy, con- soled themselves with complacent references to British liberty and the glories of a constitutional government. But they really accepted the feudal- ism and oppressions of France as one of the unal- terable features of the universe ; ordained, perhaps, to furnish Whig orators with perpetual material for eloquent antitheses. The Bourbon regime, however, was on an increasingly unsound basis. In the extreme centralization of the government the nobles had been deprived of their administra- tive functions, but not of their feudal privileges. These in no wise strengthened their power, and were a source of intense irritation to the non- privileged classes of the bourgeoisie and the pro- letariat. Moreover, what was more important, the brilliant court of Versailles was financially unsound. In spite of the complex and oppressive machinery of taxation, extravagance and mis- management had brought the French government to the verge of bankruptcy. Finally, the brilliant writers of the Enlightenment were furnishing eloquent interpretations of the doctrines of popular sovereignty and political rationalism borrowed

And the English Novel 17

largely from England, and calculated most effect- ively to undermine authority not based on reason.

A corrupt and frivolous court; a government needing money; an angry people; and a Revolu- tionary philosophy ready to hand: this was the situation that confronted the well-intentioned mediocrity of the young Louis XVI. on his acces- sion to the throne in 1774. The first fifteen years of his reign were a series of blunders in the choice of ministers. After the dismissal of Turgot, sporadic attempts at reform under the sententious Necker alternated with periods of incredible mismanagement under the queen's favourites. By 1783 the parlements were growing refractory and demanding the summoning of the almost forgotten States General. The king was forced to submit; and in 1789, after considerable archaeo- logical research as to methods of election, the States General met for the first time since 1614.

Serious disagreements as to methods of voting caused the Representatives of the Third Estate to withdraw and declare themselves the Con- stituent Assembly. By this time the turbulent mobs of Paris were aroused. The Bastile, for centuries the symbol of oppression, was captured by a mob; and the Revolution began to assume a somewhat less academic aspect.

In the midst of increasing popular risings the Constituent Assembly continued serenely to quibble over political metaphysics, and in the course of time produced a Declaration of Rights

1 8 The French Revolution

and a Constitution. These documents, together with the Cahier presented by local assemblies at the opening of the States General, represent the constructive work of the Revolution up to 1791. These Cahier s offered interesting evidence as to the temper of the three Estates. The clergy were the most conservative. They are willing to make some gifts in return for their exemptions, but then expected a grateful nation to reimburse them at once. The nobility, somewhat more liberal, seemed genuinely ready to sacrifice their privi- leges and co-operate in reforms. The Third Estate (represented, as Burke observed, chiefly by lawyers and small property owners, and thor- oughly bourgeoisie in character) sent in Cahiers full of the doctrines of the Social Contract, but also distinctly more specific than those of the other two orders in their demands for social and legislative changes.

As might be expected from such an Assembly, the Declaration of Rights is full of echoes of Rous- seau and Locke. "Ignorance and forgetfulness or contempt of the Rights of Man," says the pre- amble, "are the sole causes of public miseries and of corruptions of government." But the Consti- tution itself is curiously conservative. The king is given full executive power and a suspensive veto, property rights are carefully secured, and a property qualification for the suffrage is insisted upon. On the whole, the machinery of govern- ment was awkwardly planned, although in the

And the English Novel 19

general conception there was much of permanent value. In September, 1791, the Constitution was accepted by the king. In the following month the National "Legislative Assembly was elected, according to constitutional provisions.

This marked the first stage of the Revolution. So far, in spite of occasional outbreaks of mob rule, there had been little of which England could not approve. With the exception of a few thinkers of the type of Burke, popular opinion was strongly in favour of the Revolution. Englishmen con- doned its faults, seeing in it a triumph of orthodox Whig principles. Even the abolition of titles of nobility (June 19, 1790) was viewed without serious alarm.

The Constituent Assembly had been almost entirely bourgeois. But with the year 1792 the forces which had hitherto been subordinate began to take the lead. The plotting of Louis and the court party, together with the menaces of foreign interference were rapidly making a constitutional monarchy impossible. The Jacobin clubs con- trolled the elections. The Girondins, who were the most extreme of the philosophic radicals, domi- nated the Assembly, subject only to the mob in the galleries. The proletariat was taking the Revolution out of the hands of the bourgeoisie.

In June, 1792, the First Coalition was formed against France. The repeated treachery of the king and queen lost them the last remnant of popular favour, and in August they were brought

2O The French Revolution

to Paris and imprisoned in the Temple. A de- mand for a new and more radical constitution brought about the election of a National Conven- tion, which immediately declared France a Repub- lic (September 21, 1792), and promised aid to all nations desiring to overthrow their kings.1 The loss of trade monopolies through the opening of the Scheldt to unrestricted commerce had already aroused a spirit of hostility in England. This action of the Assembly put an end to all former sympathy with the Revolution. In Janu- ary, 1793, when the king was tried and executed, Parliament was on the point of declaring war against France. The Assembly forestalled them. From this time until the battle of Waterloo, war between England and France was almost contin- uous. The treaties were little more than truces.

Events moved rapidly in France for the next three years. The foreign wars, the rebellion in the Vendee, continual fear of a counter revolution, and the even greater danger of mob law made the situation of the party in power a most difficult one. In March, 1793, the Revolutionary Tribu- nal and the Committee of Public Safety were established, The Terror was resorted to, not as a manifestation of lawlessness, but as a govern-

1 In the earlier stages of the Revolution the idea of spreading the doctrines of Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity by example and precept took a firm hold of the French imagination. But when the foreign wars began, the propaganda of a general insur- rection against kings became a threat, and an officially recognized part of the policy of the Republic.

And the English Novel 21

ment measure necessary to secure authority over a lawless nation. But the guillotine became a general resource of the party in power ; and parties changed with alarming rapidity. The Jacobins ousted the Girondins, and they in turn were suc- ceeded by the Hebertists, the Dantonists, and Robespierre. After the execution of Robespierre (July 28, 1794), tne Revolutionary Tribunal was reorganized, an amnesty offered the rebellious Vendee, and the Girondins readmitted to the Convention. The Terror was at an end. In the following year the Catholic religion (which had been replaced by the Worship of Reason in 1793, and by the Worship of the Supreme Being in 1794) was reinstated. By October, 1795, France was again under a Constitution. The period of the Revolution, as it is usually considered, was closed. So far we have observed three distinct stages in the attitude of England towards the French Revolution: (i) 1789 to 1791, general approval of the fall of a despotism. A confident expecta- tion that France would establish a constitutional monarchy on Whig principles. (2) 1792. Rapidly waning confidence in the Revolutionists, as the bourgeoisie lost control and the movement threat- ened to become genuinely democratic. England further antagonized by her economic interests. (3) *793 and 1794. The reaction at its height. War was declared. National hatred and class hatred together reached fever heat. These were evil days for the Revolutionists in England.

22 The French Revolution

During the ten years preceding the battle of Waterloo hatred of France and detestation of anything remotely suggesting Revolution or even reform continued unabated. As the power of Bonaparte increased an element of terror was added. England was fighting literally for national life as well as for the world market her increasing manufactures demanded. Never had the feeling of nationality run so high.

The war period from 1795 to 1815 may be said to constitute a fourth period in the history of English Revolutionism. The last stage, from the battle of Waterloo to 1820, was the worst of the reaction, when the stimuli of anger, fear, and patriotism had ceased and a heavy pall of dis- illusionment and conservatism without ideals seemed to have settled over the whole country.

Such were the five stages of the influence of the French Revolution on popular feeling in England. But a consideration of France alone cannot furnish a sufficient background of events for our discus- sion of so complex a movement as Revolutionism. Another and greater Revolution was nearing com- pletion in England itself, and it is to this that we must look for the explanation of many elements in the thought of the time.

The eighteenth century found English manu- factures under the domestic system; it left them under the factory system. Just what that signi- fies we can perhaps understand better by com- paring any factory town of our own time with

And the English Novel 23

Defoe's description of his trip through Yorkshire in 1724.

The land [he says] was divided into small enclosures of from two acres to six or seven each, seldom more, every three or four pieces of land having a house belonging to them; hardly a house standing out of speaking distance with another. At every consider- able house there was a manufactory. Every clothier keeps one horse at least to carry his manufactures to the market; and every one generally keeps a cow or two, or more, for his family. By this means the small pieces of enclosed land about each house are occupied, for they scarce sow corn enough to feed their poultry. The houses are full of lusty fellows, some at dye-vats, some at looms, others dressing the cloths, the women and children carding and spinning ; all being-employed, from the youngest to the oldest.1

The change in the industrial system came about slowly and inevitably through a succession of great inventions. In 1770 James Hargreave patented the spinning-jenny. In 1771 Ark- wright employed a spinning-machine worked by water-power. In 1779 Crompton combined the two. In 1785 Cartwright added the power-loom. Most important of all, in 1769 James Watt took out a patent for his steam-engine, which was used in mining, and later introduced into factories. To these were added a host of minor inventions and

1 Daniel Defoe, A Tour Through the Whole Island of Great Britain. 4 vols. London, 1724-27.

24 The French Revolution

improvements; and by 1790 the great change was fairly complete.

Closely connected with the Industrial Revolu- tion was a similar and practically contemporary change in the agricultural system. As the own- ership of land was concentrated in the hands of a decreasing body of proprietors, many men were reduced to the status of wage-earning agricultural labourers and many were driven to seek other employment. Common lands were enclosed, to the great detriment of the cottager class. All this was caused partly by the fact that the small land- owning manufacturers, whom Defoe describes, were driven into factories on wages that did not permit of their owning their homes, and partly by the tendency of the growing capitalist class to acquire land for profitable farming on a large scale. Also, in England the ownership of land carried with it a certain social distinction which made it particularly attractive to the social aspirations of the new aristocracy of wealth.

The significance of these profound changes in the economic and social structure of society is hard to estimate. The most obvious result was the enormous increase in wealth that sustained England through the Napoleonic wars (which were themselves brought about partly by the struggle for a world market). The growth of the great fortunes fired the popular imagination, en- couraging an increasingly extravagant standard of living. All classes seemed more determined

And the English Novel 25

than usual to live just a little beyond their incomes. As a result, the debtors' prisons were full, and the literature of the time was pervaded with denun- ciations of senseless luxury.

Besides all this, there was real suffering among the dispossessed working-classes. These formed a discontented, unstable class, given to riots, and an easy prey to Revolutionary demagogues. If there was ever any real danger of the doctrines of the French Revolution gaining a following in England, it was through this class and not through the little group of writers and philosophers whose works we are to consider.

Theories of political economy of course adapted themselves to the dominant interests of the time. The laissez-faire system was in high favour in this age of individualism. Adam Smith's interpreta- tion of this accommodating doctrine (in The Wealth of Nations, 1776) was religiously observed by the parties in power; the right of the individual child of four to sell his labour in open market according to the laws of supply and demand was in no wise interfered with. Consequently the accounts of factory conditions in the Blue Books of the period make somewhat ghastly reading. The prevalence of epidemics among factory populations finally convinced the dominant classes that in self -pro- tection something must be done to remedy con- ditions. In 1802 the Tories overcame their terror of Revolutionism sufficiently to pass the First Factory Act. But many years passed

26 The French Revolution

before Parliament dared venture on anything else in the nature of social reform.

The most fundamental social change growing out of the Industrial Revolution is perhaps less ob- vious. A shifting of power that had been going on for over a century was suddenly completed ; the cap- italist, or the mercantile and manufacturing class had superseded the older land-owning aristocracy as the dominant class in the national life. And in every historical period it is the ideas and the ideals of the dominant class in that period that prevail.

Such changes are too subtle and complex to be indicated offhand. We talk glibly enough about the epoch-making changes wrought by the French Revolution in its eight or ten years crowded with the conflicts of parties and ideas. Its dramatic values appeal to the imagination. But who shall estimate the dramatic values of the great silent Revolution whose shadow is over us still?

The remaining topic in our discussion of the background of events brings us once more to the safer ground of definite political occurrences. The eve of the French Revolution found England apparently on the point of securing certain mea- sures of much-needed parliamentary reform. The American war had just closed with the loss of the colonies. It was evident that there had been flagrant mismanagement from beginning to end. In 1783 the Shelburne Ministry was overthrown by an alliance between the Whigs under Fox and the Tory followers of Lord North.

And the English Novel 27

Never [says Green], had the need of a representative reform been more clearly shown than by a coalition which proved how powerless was the force of public opinion to check even the most shameless faction in Parliament, how completely the lessening of the royal influence by the measures of Burke and Rockingham had tended to the profit, not of the people, but of the borough mongers who usurped its representation.1

In the same year Pitt proposed a reform in re- presentation. But as the Whig majority had no notion of permitting any reforms to their own disadvantage the bill was thrown out. In 1788 Wilberforce brought in a bill for the abolition of the slave trade. This was promptly defeated by the Liverpool slave merchants. It was evident that there was a strong popular demand for re- forms. It was also evident that Parliament was in the hands of those to whose interest it was to prevent reforms. But England had always be- fore been able to bring refractory Parliaments to reason in the long run.

At this juncture, however, the Revolution began in France. Pitt, always liberal, regarded it with decided favour. Burke alone among the promi- nent Whigs opposed it. But Burke had lost his hold over the House and his eloquent warnings had no effect. His own party went over entirely to Fox, whose sympathies were with the Revolu- tion. This led to the dramatic scene in the House

1 Green, Short History of the English People, p. 421.

28 The French Revolution

which ended the long personal friendship between the two Whig leaders. Events soon brought public opinion to Burke's side again, as we have seen; his Reflections on the Revolution in France became one of the most popular books of the time.

The reaction against Revolutionism was so violent that all chance of parliamentary reform was lost for several decades to come. In 1809 Sir Francis Burdett ventured to touch upon the forbidden question. Only fifteen members sup- ported his bill. When a little later he published it in pamphlet form he was promptly committed to the Tower. This ended the discussion of representative reform by Parliament until the period of reaction was past.

Meanwhile, the nation as a whole was by no means so indifferent to the question of Represen- tation as their representatives seemed to be. On the eve of the Revolution there had been started a Society for Constitutional Information, I which distributed pamphlets and drew up a program "which included such advanced demands as uni- versal suffrage, equal electoral districts, abolition of property qualifications for members of the Commons, payment of members, and vote by ballot at parliamentary elections."2 During the Revolutionary enthusiasm of 1790 innumerable

1 To which, incidentally, most of our Revolutionary novelists belonged. This was the society against whom the Reflections of Burke was particularly directed.

3 Ogg, Social Progress in Contemporary Europe, p. 126.

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Jacobin clubs sprang up all over the country, which distributed literature, discussed the most radical reforms, and incidentally did all they could to prepare the country for a Revolution after the model of France. But in 1794 the government had a nervous attack resulting in a fit of persecu- tion. All these noisy little clubs, together with some that were more worthy, were suppressed with a high hand. After this miniature conser- vative Reign of Terror we hear no more of the English Jacobins. J

During the Napoleonic wars the public mind was sufficiently occupied with the national danger ; and agitation for parliamentary reform virtually ceased. After 1815, however, the popular demand for reforms broke out again in full force, and again the government began its campaign of suppression. "The habeas corpus act," says Dr. Ogg, "was suspended until it became almost a nullity." The climax was reached in the "Peterloo Mas- sacre" of 1819, when a peaceable gathering as- sembled in St. Peter's Field, Manchester, to discuss questions of parliamentary reform, was attacked by a troop of cavalry and several persons were killed. This was followed in the same year by the infamous Six Acts, "Whereby public meet- ings for the considerations of grievances was pro- hibited."

This marked the turning point of the Reaction. After 1820 reform legislation began to be forced

1 Cf. account of the trial of Holcroft, in Chapter III.

30 The French Revolution

by public opinion. The nation took up the ques- tion of adapting its laws and government to changing conditions where it had been dropped in 1792. The influence of the French Revolution both as a stimulus and as a check to progress may be said to have come to an end.

SECTION 2 : THE BACKGROUND OF IDEAS

To give anything like an adequate account of even one of the currents of thought that were stirring the public mind in England previous to the outbreak of the French Revolution would require a volume in itself. To cover the whole field even superficially is of course impossible. What is attempted here is in the nature of an enumeration of headings, indicating the basis for a few gen- eralizations.

There is a tendency in most brief accounts of the literature of this period to speak of the group of ideas which we may include under the title Revolutionism, as having come into England with the writings of Rousseau and the Encyclopaedists, and gained a brief vogue through the popularity of the French Revolution in its early stages. This is not an altogether adequate statement of the case. To supplement it, however, we must go back some distance, to the political philosophies of the preceding century in England. It is Chesterton, I think, who observes that all accounts

And the English Novel 31

should begin: "In the beginning God created Heaven and Earth." That is particularly true of all accounts of the historical development of ideas. But we shall be making in all conscience a sufficient deviation from the usual chronology if we take for our genesis the Puritan Revolution instead of Rousseau.

Previous to the Reformation in England the world of political philosophy was a very simple and orderly one. State and Church alike were established upon a principle of unquestioned authority. From serf to emperor, from friar to pope, every one had his foreordained place in the scheme of things, and his recognized superior to whom he owed deference and from whom he received guidance and protection. The keystone of the whole social and ecclesiastical structure was a revealed religion which included the divine right of kings. The recognition of the subordina- tion of the individual to an authority external to himself penetrated every branch of human thought and activity.

The Reformation did not change this concep- tion fundamentally. It was at first merely an attempt to clear away certain deviations from the original revelation. This was especially true of the Anglican Church. So that we may consider the age of absolute authority in England as continuing to the time of the Stuarts.

The old order had made for discipline and

32 The French Revolution

civilization in the ages of violence, but it was inelastic. As the middle classes, the merchants and producers, increased in power they began to find their subordinate place in the established system somewhat irksome. In the early part of the seventeenth century we find such writers as Buchanan, Althusius, and Mariana advancing antimonarchic theories. It was at this time that three significant doctrines appeared in English political controversies: a pre-political state of nature, the contractual origin of society, and the sovereignty of the people. These, it will be ob- served, involve a fundamentally different basis of thought; government derives its authority from man, instead of from God. Changes, then, even the most radical, may be inexpedient, but cannot be sacrilegious.

This changed concept gained wide acceptance, often where its full import was not perceived. Grotius was affected by it; his contribution to political thought was a formulation of the rights between nations no longer held together by the great bond of unity under the Church. His great work, De Jure Belli et Pads, appeared in 1625, the year Charles I. came to the English throne; which brings us to the eve of the Puritan Revolution.

Under the Commonwealth there were two parties opposing the old doctrine of the divine right, representing two entirely distinct interpretations of the new doctrine of the sovereignty of the people.

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(i) The prevailing conception, represented in Parliament chiefly by the Presbyterians, and later by Cromwell, recognized the people in their collective capacity as competent to choose the rulers to whom they will submit. (2) The extreme individualistic conception, represented by the Independents and Levellers, demanded universal suffrage, absolute freedom of speech and opinion, and a government perpetually subject to popular control. It is in this early democratic individu- alism that we have' the true genesis of Revolu- tionism in England. A contemporary writes of this party in terms that suggest! Burke on the French Revolution:

Though the lawes and customes of the kingdom be never so plain and cleer against their wayes, yet they will not submit but cry out for naturall rights derived from Adam and right reason.1

The doctrines of the Levellers were embodied in the "Agreement of the People," framed by the council of the army in 1647. This provided for ratification by the signatures of every individual Englishman, and granted to the government only a delegated authority, subject always to popular recall. Parliament, however, fell into the hands of Cromwell, who had small regard for the Level- lers and their doctrines. The Revolution was carried through by the Rump, under furious

1 thinning, Political Theories, p. 236.

34 The French Revolution

protests from Lilburne and other Independent writers. Democratic individualism disappeared from among the doctrines of English practical politics for more than a century.

Among the political writers of the latter seven- teenth century the issue is between authority by divine right and authority derived from the people, not, be it observed, between the principles of authority and individualism. "Milton never favoured universal suffrage and the rule of the numerical majority," says Dunning, " 'Liberty for all and authority for such as were capable' was his creed."1 Harrington was even less radi- cal; he would rest the supreme authority with those who own most of the property of the com- munity. Algernon Sydney was essentially an aristocrat, modified by the republicanism of classical antiquity. He held that authority must rest upon consent, but his dislike for democracy was manifest.

The leading philosophical opponents to these so-called republicans were Filmer and Hobbes. Filmer's Patriarchia2 takes the extreme stand for divine right, regarding the state as essentially a family, with the king in undisputed paternal supremacy over all subjects. Hobbes, on the

1 Dunning, Political Theories, p. 247.

* The Patriarchia was not published until 1680. The exact date of writing is difficult to determine; but Filmer died in 1653 and this was probably written some years before the time of his death, so that it is safe to say that the Patriarchia antedates Hobbes's Leviathan.

And the English Novel 35

other hand, is in the curious position of attempting to justify the old conception with arguments derived from the new. His rationalism was extreme. He begins with a state of nature, helium omnium contra omnes, in which man is antisocial, governed entirely by passions and instincts, with no distinction of right and wrong. Natural right is the right of every man to do that which is ne- cessary for the preservation of his existence. Natural laws are the rules determined by reason as being necessary to self-preservation. These are three: (i) to seek peace and preserve it, (2) to abandon natural liberty in order to secure peace, and (3) to keep covenants made. Hobbes thus arrives at the conclusion that in order to escape from the anarchic wars of the state of nature, men are forced to resign their liberty to a sovereign power. This is not a contract, for the sovereign promises nothing, the only agreement being among the subjects, who have surrendered their liberty by common consent. Starting with the individual bound only by self-interest, Hobbes leaves him with no rights whatever against the state which his self-interest has forced him to constitute. *

In the long run, however, Hobbes's philosophy worked against rather than for the absolute monarchy which he intended it to support. He had made too many dangerous admissions. Sub- sequent thinkers might accept his premises, but they drew their own conclusions.

1 Hobbes, Leviathan, 1651.

36 The French Revolution

In the Restoration the doctrine of divine right in its most extreme form enjoyed a brief triumph ; one of the significant features of which was the firm alliance between Church and king. Every effort of the Whigs to liberalize existing institu- tions was met by the obstinate resistance of the churchmen. Even Hobbes's rationalization of the obscurantist doctrine was condemned. Dur- ing this period the dissenting bodies among whom the doctrines of individualism had flourished were thoroughly subdued. Henceforth their only polit- ical endeavours lay along the lines of securing for themselves religious toleration.

In the Revolution of 1688 it was the doctrine of modified authority that triumphed. The op- position to the last two Stuart kings was led by men of rank and property, having no affinity whatever with the Levellers and Republicans of the earlier Rebellion. The Whig Revolution found its complete philosophical expression in the writings of John Locke (1632-1704). Locke began as Hobbes did, with a hypothetical state of nature. But he rejected Hobbes's conception of the state of universal war. His state of nature is social, though not political; equality, governed by reason and natural law. Even property rights were respected in such a state, as being based upon each man's right to his own labour, and consequently to those things to which he has added his labour. The state of nature is termi- nated by a social contract, by which men give up

And the English Novel 37

their right of executing laws and punishing of- fences in exchange for protection for life and property. But the power of the sovereign is limited still by the natural rights retained by the individual.

All this adds nothing to the discussion which was not involved in the conceptions of previous philosophers; it is merely a clear formulation of the position adopted by the leaders in the Whig Revolution. The Lockian ideas found popular expression in the writings of Bolingbroke and others.

The next philospher to make any real contri- bution to political theory was David Hume (1711- 1776). Although a Whig himself, Hume did more perhaps than any other writer to undermine the comfortably complete philosophy of modified authority which Locke had made appear so reasonable and the Whigs had accepted so com- placently for nearly half a century. Hume adopted Hobbes's view of human nature, and a consistently utilitarian system of ethics. He rejected abso- lutely the contract theory as a justification for government.

If the reason be asked [says Hume], of that obedi- ence which we are bound to pay to government, I readily answer, " Because society could not otherwise subsist : ' ' And this answer is clear and intelligible to all mankind. Your answer is, "Because we should keep our word. " But besides, that nobody, till trained in a philosophical system, can either comprehend or relish

38 The French Revolution

this answer: Besides this, I say, you find yourself embarrassed, when it is asked, why we are bound to keep our word? Nor can you give any answer, but what would, immediately, without any circuit, have accounted for our obligation to allegiance. T

This brings our discussion of political theory- down to the middle of the eighteenth century, to the beginning of the French influence. To sum up the situation so far: the old conception of an absolute authority of divine origin has given place to the conception of a modified authority derived from the people in their collective capacity, and rendered morally binding by a social contract. The doctrine of democratic individualism has appeared and been for a time supported by a considerable party among the dissenters; but since its defeat in 1647 it has ceased to be a factor in the dominant political philosophies of the eighteenth century. Finally, the accepted Whig basis of authority has already been attacked by the utilitarian scepticism of Hume.

Before we take up the French philosophers influencing Revolutionism, however, there re- mains another aspect of English thought which must be considered: the religious philosophies. We have observed how close was the connection between the doctrine of divine right in government and the Church of absolute authority. The

1 Hume, Essays, Moral, Political, and Literary (1741-42). (Ed. London, 1882. Vol. i., p. 455-56.)

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Established Church and the Whig government maintain a like similarity. The principle of authority remained, but it was a rationalized authority. Revelation was justified by reason.1 But this common-sense faith did not succeed in dominating the religious thought of the time quite so completely as the common-sense government did the political thought. An increasing group of churchmen were dissatisfied with a faith in revelation made perfectly rational. What need, they began to ask, of any revelation at all? Natu- ral religion and Deism, influenced by the empiri- cism of Locke, made rapid headway. In the hands of writers like Shaftesbury, Bolingbroke, Toland, Tindal, and a host of others the Deist controversy became a thing to be reckoned with by orthodox theologians.

Meanwhile, the Establishment, not rational enough to satisfy the Deists, had grown too ra- tional, it seemed, for a very large group of people who demanded of religion something more than a system of ethics. The Wesley an movement, begun as a reform within the Church, resulted in the establishment of a new sect of dissenters. Methodism was primarily a reaction against a narrow rationalism that was limiting and over- defining the religious life. But the ultimate philosophy of the movement involved a complete break with the principle of authority in the name of religious Individualism. Dr. M'Giffert says

1 Cf., for example, the sermons of Tillotson and Barrow.

4° The French Revolution

of Methodism: "It meant a transfer of emphasis from the Church as an institution to the personal religious experience of the individual Christian."1 That is, the cardinal fact in religion was taken to be, not a generally authoritative revelation em- bodied in an institution, but an emotional crisis in the life of each individual which he took to be a direct and personal revelation. This was an assertion of the rights of individual feeling, as Deism may be said to be an assertion of the right of individual judgment. Such were the main currents of thought during the first half of the eighteenth century. This brings us up to the beginning of the French influence, which is usually identified with the English philosophy of Revolu- tionism. But be it observed, not one element of importance came into English radical thought through Rousseau and the Encyclopaedists which was not there already. The main doctrines of the Revolution had been familiar to English philo- sophers since the time of Cromwell at least. But the issue between Authority and Individualism had become somewhat obscured. Authority, in Church and State, was rationalized, and Indi- vidualism, forced out of practical politics, was manifesting itself chiefly in the religious world, and in sceptical philosophies. 2

1 M'Giffert, Protestant Thought Before Kant, p. 163.

* The French philosophers whose writings gained the greatest vogue in England were Voltaire and the Encyclopaedists, Rous- seau, Holbach, and Helvetius. As these are discussed in some detail by Dr. Hancock, we need do no more than mention them

And the English Novel 41

All this is in no way intended to minimize the part the French philosophers had in stimulating English Revolutionism. If they introduced no new concepts into English thought, they restated the old ones with genius. Rousseau especially exerted an influence in England which it would be hard to overestimate. Never had the doctrines of Sentimental Individualism been so alluringly presented. The state of nature previous to the social contract, which was to Hobbes a state of war and misery, and to Locke a state of mere negative excellence, became in Rousseau's hands the earthly paradise. Deism, which not even the enthusiasm of Shaftesbury could make more than a somewhat chilly hypothesis, became a real faith as interpreted by the Savoyard Vicar. The belief that feeling in itself constitutes virtue was carried to its logical conclusion by this arch Sentimental- ist. Julie, St. Preux, Emile, Sophie, and the Rousseau of the Confessions became living ideals in the minds of Englishmen who would never have thought of reading a metaphysical discussion of the philosophy of feeling.

But the true reason for connecting the movement in England, which we are discussing, with the French Revolution does not lie in the stimulus which it undoubtedly received from French writers. It was the events of the year 1789 that

here. But it may be added, if these influenced English thought, they had themselves been previously influenced by English thought.

42 The French Revolution

removed Revolutionism from the realm of purely speculative philosophy to that of active political propaganda, for the first time since the Common- wealth.

In England there was, as we have seen, a grow- ing social unrest due primarily to economic causes. Philosophies of change and revolution were al- ready familiar to the English mind. The fall of the Bastille was symbolic. It was a tocsin call at whose sound the older democratic individu- alism, which had not appeared in practical poli- tics since its defeat in 1647, awoke and became a force to be reckoned with by conservative statesmen.

The situation in England was, as we have observed, extremely complex. Issues were not so clear as those in France. A century of ration- alizing and sentimentalizing on both sides had obscured the ancient conflict between Authority and Individualism. But, as in the days of Inde- pendents and Levellers, it was among the dissent- ing sects that individualism as a political principle found its readiest acceptance. The intellectual affinity between dissent and Revolutionism was perhaps emphasized by the discontent arising from the legal disabilities still attached to non- conformity.

The Revolutionists in England were at no time a large or powerful group, although the ex- ample afforded them by France and the preva- lence of social unrest gave the government some

And the English Novel 43

cause to fear that their doctrines might spread and ultimately result in the overthrow of the monarchy.

The most important among the Revolutionists, fortunately for our discussion, used the novel as a vehicle for their propaganda. There are a few, however, who wrote no novels, but whom we must mention for the sake of completeness. Dr. Price, a dissenting preacher, and Joseph Priestley, a philosophical writer of the school of Locke, were among the earliest if not the most radical of the Revolutionists. ' ' In their writings, ' ' says Sir Leslie Stephen, "we catch for the first time the true Revolutionary tone."1 They are, however, im- portant chiefly as they influenced more prominent men.

Thomas Paine possessed the merit of populariz- ing the doctrines of more intellectual men than himself. It was Paine, not Godwin, nor even Rousseau, whose works were printed in cheap form and read by Jacobin clubs of discontented workingmen. The Rights of Man had hundreds of readers where Political Justice had one. In the type of audiences which Paine found, ideas linger. Curiously enough, Paine's crude but vigorous denunciations of priesthood and tyranny still find readers in certain circles.

Among the opponents of Revolutionism two deserve especial mention. Burke's writings are

1 Leslie Stephen, English Thought 'in the Eighteenth Century, vol. ii., p. 252.

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too well known to require discussion here. But perhaps the answer to Revolutionism which most influenced thought in the following century was not Burke's Reflections, but the theory of popu- lation advanced by Malthus. He perceived the absurdity of the theories on which Godwin's belief in the perfectibility of man and the speedy coming of an age of peace were founded. The objections which he raised, that in such an event the population would outgrow the food supply and civilization be overthrown by the mere strug- gle for existence, continued to trouble social idealists as late, certainly, as the date of Tenny- son's second Locksley Hall, in spite of the floods of "answers" to Malthus which were written from almost every conceivable standpoint. Per- haps it was too sound Darwinism to be answered except by facts.

Perhaps before we turn to the novels, it may be well to quote in extenso a concise and admirably critical statement of the Revolutionary philosophy by a younger contemporary of the novelists whom we are considering. William Hazlitt was not only acquainted with that point of view as it appeared in books, but had the advantage of knowing the authors personally, and hearing their informal discussions of the questions involved. His own attitude is not unsympathetic, although he is writing during the last decade of the Reaction. This summary of the leading doctrines of Revolu-

And the English Novel 45

tionism may furnish a good point of departure for our discussion of its variations at the hands of individual writers.

The opinion of the power of truth to crush error had been gaining ground in this country ever since the Reformation; the immense improvements in natural and mechanical knowledge within the last century had made it appear nearly impossible to limit the discoveries of art and science; as great a revolution (and it was generally supposed as great improvements) had taken place in the theory of the human mind in consequence of Mr. Locke's Essay; and men's attention having been lately forcibly called to many of the evils and abuses existing in society, it seemed as if the present was the era of moral and polit- ical improvement, and that as bold discoveries and as large advances towards perfection would shortly be made in these, as had been made in other subjects. That this inference was profound or just, I do not affirm, but it was natural, and strengthened not only by the hopes of the good, but by the sentiments of the most thinking men.

As far as any practical experiment had been tried, the result was not discouraging. Of two revolutions that had taken place, one, that of America, had suc- ceeded, and a more free and equal government had been established, without tumult, civil discord, ani- mosity, or bloodshed, except what had arisen from the interference of the mother country. The other Revo- lution, that of France, was but begun: but it had at that time displayed none of those alarming features which it afterwards discovered. . . . The pillars of

46 The French Revolution

oppression and tyranny seemed to have been over- thrown : man was about to shake off the fetters which had bound him in wretchedness and ignorance; and the blessings that were yet in store for him were unseen and incalculable. Hope smiled upon him, and pointed to futurity.

With these feelings and with these encouragements, from the state of the public mind, reasoning men began to inquire what would be the ruling principles of action in a state of society as perfect as we can suppose, or the general diffusion of which would soonest lead to such a state of improvement.

In such a state of things (men) believed that wars, bloodshed and national animosities would cease; that peace and good-will would reign among men; and that the feeling of patriotism, necessary as it now is to preserve the independence of states, would die away of itself with national jealousies and antipathies, with ambition, war and foreign conquest. Family attach- ments would also be weakened or lost in the general principle of benevolence, when every man would be a brother. Exclusive friendships could no longer be formed, because they would interfere with the true claims of justice and humanity, and because it would be no longer necessary to keep alive the stream of the affections by confining them to a particular channel, when they would be continually refreshed, invigorated, and would overflow with the diffusive soul of mutual philanthropy and generous, undivided sympathy with all men. Gratitude to benefactors would be forgotten ; but not from a hateful, selfish spirit, or hardened

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insensibility to kind offices ; but because all men would in fact be equally ready to promote one another's welfare, that is, equally benefactors and friends to each other without motives, either of gratitude or of self-interest. Promises, in like manner would be no longer binding or necessary. False honour, false shame, vanity, emulation, and so forth, would upon the same principle give way to other and better motives. It is evident that laws and punishments would cease with the cause that produces them, the commission of crimes. Neither would the distinctions of property subsist in a society where the interests and feelings of all would be more intimately blended than they are at present among members of the same family, or among the dearest friends. Neither the allurements of ease or wealth, nor the dread of punishment would be required to incite to industry, or to prevent fraud or violence, in a state where all would cheerfully labour for the good of all ; and where the most refined reason and inflexible jus- tice actuated the whole community. The labour, therefore, requisite to produce the necessaries of life, would be equally divided among the members of such a community, and the remainder of their time would be spent in the pursuit of science, in the culti- vation of the noblest arts, and in the most refined and intellectual enjoyments.

However wild and visionary this scheme may ap- pear, it is certain that its greatest fault is in expecting higher things of human nature than it seems at present capable of, and in exacting such a divine or angelic degree of virtue and wisdom, before it can be put in practice, as without a miracle in its favour must for ever prevent its becoming anything more

48 The English Novel

than a harmless dream, a sport of the imagination, or an exercise of the schools. x

1 Hazlitt, Memoirs of Holcroft (1816), vol. ii., pp. 123-33.

NOTE. — We shall have occasion to use the term Sentimentalism rather frequently in the course of our discussion. As this is one of the critical terms which each writer uses, apparently, with a slightly different shade of meaning, it may be well to define the sense in which we shall use it here. Sentimentalism is that view of life, and incidentally, that view of art, which regards feeling as an end in itself. Sentimentalism is not a matter of degree of emotion, or even of quality of emotion; it depends entirely upon one's attitude towards one's own emotional experiences. One may value feeling very highly as a stimulus to fine action, or for the powers of insight and imagination which intense emotion some- times releases, without being in the least a Sentimentalist. The Sentimentalist is interested in his emotional reactions quite apart from their cause or their result. Feeling for him has ceased to be a means or a by-product, and becomes the central fact of his existence. When he feels virtuously, that for him constitutes virtue.

CHAPTER II A REPRESENTATIVE REVOLUTIONIST

THOMAS HOLCROFT

THE fact that we are considering Revolution- ism through the medium of the novel gives us one distinct advantage over more general treatments. We are entitled to give the first place in our discussion to the unfortunately little known Thomas Holcrof t rather than to the usually somewhat overemphasized work of Godwin. This arrangement is the more satisfactory one, for several reasons. It is historically correct. Hoi- croft was the older man, and decidedly the more original and independent thinker of the two. Godwin himself admits this and acknowledged his indebtedness. Anna St. Ives was one of the earliest and fullest popular expressions of the Revolutionary philosophy in any form. Certainly it is the earliest and fullest in fiction.

But more important than chronological correct- ness, Holcroft is a truer representative of Revo- lutionary idealism. The new philosophy as it appears in his novels is saner, kindlier, and more

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comprehensible than are the doctrines of the ex-Calvinist Godwin. One can better understand the sudden fervour of devotion with which so many young poets greeted what seemed a new evangel. Since we are to listen in another chapter to the case against Revolutionism, it is well that we may see it first through the medium of a personality so winning as that of Thomas Holcroft.

One of the things which Holcroft always in- tended and always delayed was the writing of his autobiography. In the last year of his life he actually began the task, and in spite of intense physical suffering managed to dictate the first few chapters. The work was completed after his death, with the aid of his diary and letters, by the friendly hand of William Hazlitt. This is a book which tempts to quotation; it is one of the most vital of biographies. But it is enough for our purpose here to indicate in outline as brief as may be something of the life of this "ac- quitted felon" (as his opponents called him), this Revolutionary dreamer who was forced into exile for the faith a generation earlier than Shelley.

Holcroft came naturally by his lifelong finan- cial incapacity; his father before him was one of the chronically unsuccessful. During Thomas Holcroft's childhood, he was successively a shoe- maker, groom's helper, horse trader, and finally, wandering pedlar. But he was an affectionate father, and gave his son the best education in his power. Thomas was taught to read early; at

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the age of four his task was "eleven chapters a day in the Old Testament," which he supplemented on his own account with chapmen's books of adventure, borrowed from a friendly 'prentice lad. This was the extent of his father's ability in the way of "book learning." But he added other lessons which the boy never forgot : to endure hardship without complaining, to despise self- indulgence in all forms, to speak the truth, and to fear nothing but cowardice. Thomas had need of such lessons, for his childhood was not an easy one. As the family fortunes declined and both father and mother took to peddling, the little boy trudged after them through town and country, often faint with weariness and hunger. Before he was nine, he tells us, he was "trusted with business more like an adult than a child,"1 and severely beaten for loitering on errands. The picture is not all dark, however. There were pleasant memories of sunny summer highways, and country fairs and market days where the future comedian listened in rapture to the rude jests of the merry-andrew. Nor was the passion for books quite lost. A stray ballad or so was a very treasure trove. But, he remarks, in naive apology for his deficiencies: "I had little leisure or opportunity to acquire any knowledge by reading. I was too much pressed by fatigue, hunger, cold, and nakedness." He adds: "There was a single instance in which I travelled a-foot

1 Hazlitt, Memoirs of Holer oft, vol. i., p. 46.

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thirty miles in one day. I think this happened before I was ten years of age."1 But there is no trace of self-pity in the telling. Holcroft never sentimentalizes over his forlorn childhood. He records it all in a matter-of-fact way, with evident pride in his childish powers of endurance, and loving respect for his ne'er-do-well father.

Soon after this, thanks to his indomitable cour- age and his stunted growth, young Holcroft at- tained to the summit of his ambitions, the position of stable-boy in a racing stable. Here he was entirely happy. He was not starved, not much overworked, and (after he had thrashed all his young companions) not molested in his eager pursuit of whatever chances of education might fall in his way. Stray copies of Addison and Swift opened new worlds to him. To these were added Bunyan, and Baxter's Saints' Rest. Even as a child Holcroft seems to have had a strong religious sense; but he was always singularly free from superstition or sentimentalism. Of this early fondness for devotional books he writes very sensibly: "I was truly well intentioned, but my zeal was too ardent and liable to become dan- gerous." 2 Holcroft also found time to learn some- thing of music, and finally arranged to get a little desultory schooling in off hours.

At the age of sixteen he left the stables and went to London as an apprentice to his father, who had again taken to shoemaking. His apprenticeship

1 Memoirs, vol. i.f p. 50. * Ibid., vol. i., p. 140.

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was not successful, because "his time was idled away in reading, ' ' and at ' ' spouting clubs. ' ' At the age of twenty, with no prospects whatever, he mar- ried very happily. Holcroft's domestic life seems always to have been ideal. After trying several occupations he was on the point of enlisting for the wars in despair, when a friend persuaded him to join a company of strolling actors. This was in the year 1770. Holcroft remained on the stage for many years thereafter, acting chiefly comedy parts, with moderate success. He began to eke out his uncertain income with hack writing, as his family responsibilities increased . Ultimately he withdrew from the stage, and began to earn his living en- tirely by his pen, writing novels and plays, and translating from the French and German.

Meanwhile his passion for reading continued unabated. Hazlitt's account x>f his literary tastes is interesting. Here, as in everything else, Hol- croft was untainted by Sentimentalism.

Pope always held the highest place in his esteem after Milton, Shakespeare, and Dry den. He used often, in particular to repeat the character of Atticus, which he considered as the finest piece of satire in the language. Moral description, good sense, keen ob- servation, and strong passion, are the qualities which he seems chiefly to have sought in poetry. He had therefore little relish even for the best of our descrip- tive poets, and often spoke with indifference approach- ing to contempt of Thomson, Akenside, and others.1

1 Memoirs, vol. i.f p. 253.

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In 1789 Holcroft stiff ered the greatest grief of his life, the suicide of his only son, to whom he was devotedly attached. Hazlitt says:

The shock Mr. Holcroft received was almost mortal. For three days he could not see his own family, and nothing but the love he bore that family could possibly have prevented him from sinking under his affliction. He seldom went out of his house for a whole year afterwards, and the impression was never completely effaced from his mind.1

Possibly the best-known incident in Holcroft's life was his trial for treason, in 1794. The exact nature of his political opinions we shall consider in connection with the novels. For the present it is sufficient to say, that Holcroft was too earnest and independent a thinker to have remained en- tirely orthodox in his convictions. In the literary circles of London he came in contact with all the newer currents of thought. He became a member of the Society for Constitutional infor- mation, and frequently attended their meetings; but not altogether approving of their proceed- ings, he took little part in the debates. The views expressed in his published works differ somewhat from those held by the majority of the members; in any case, they form rather a system of social ethics than a political manifesto. But when the tide of popular feeling turned against France and the Government became alarmed for

1 Memoirs, vol. ii.f p. 102.

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its own safety, there was no limit to the spirit of persecution. x

The Constitutional Society had no idea that their obscure, semi-metaphysical discussions could possibly attract official attention. But rumours began to be afloat that the Government intended to take action against them. Holcroft was utterly amazed. "Surely," he said, "there have been practises of which I am totally ignorant, or men are running mad."2 And after the lapse of a century, we cannot but feel that his latter suppo- sition was entirely correct. Official insanity reached its crisis when a warrant was issued naming twelve members of the society3 on the absurd charge of High Treason. A rumour of this war- rant got abroad, was contradicted, began again, and was again contradicted. Holcroft, who was on the point of leaving town, changed his plans at the first report and remained in London, lest he might seem to avoid inquiry. He wrote to his daughter with characteristic firmness:

The charge is so false and absurd it has not once made my heart beat. For my own part, I feel no enmity against those who endeavour thus to injure me ; being persuaded that in this, as in all other instances, it is the guilt of ignorance. They think they are doing

xWe have already quoted (in Chapter I.) Hazlitt's vivid account of this reign of unreason.

' Memoirs, vol. ii., p. 153.

» Holcroft, Home Tooke, and Thomas Hardy were the best known of these.

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their duty: I will continue to do mine, to the very utmost of my power; and on that will cheerfully rest my safety.1

Without waiting for an arrest, Holcroft surren- dered himself to the Lord Chief Justice, demand- ing to know the charge against him; a display of dignity and fortitude which considerably em- barrassed the authorities, and exposed him to the sneers of the venial press. The paragraph in the St. James Chronicle was typical :

Mr. Holcroft, the playwright and performer, pretty well known for the democratical sentiments which he has industriously scattered through the lighter works of literature, such as plays, novels, songs, etc., sur- rendered himself on Tuesday at Clerkwell Sessions House, requesting to know if he was the person against whom the Grand Jury had found a bill for High Treason. . . . We do not understand that he is in any imminent danger, and suppose from his behaviour he has the idea of obtaining the reputation of a martyr to liberty at an easy rate.

On which Hazlitt comments sarcastically :

What a pleasant kind of government that must be, which is so fond of playing at this mock tragedy of indictments for High Treason, that the danger arising from their prosecution is made a subject of jest and buffoonery even by their own creatures.2

1 Memoirs, vol. ii., p. 157. ' Ibid., vol. ii., pp. 174, 175.

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The story of the trials is too well known to need repetition. After the acquittal of Thomas Hardy and Home Tooke, the rest were dismissed without trial; which Holcroft regarded as a grave injustice, since, having been publicly accused, he wished to be publicly heard in his own defence. But after examining the report of the evidence against him, one does not wonder that the Govern- ment was not anxious to expose its own imbe- cility by a public trial. Here is a sample of the evidence on which he was indicted :

Mr. Holcroft talked a great deal about Peace, of his being against any violent or coercive means, that were usually resorted to against our fellow creatures ; urged the more powerful operation of Philosophy and Reason, to convince man of his errors; that he would disarm his greatest enemy by those means, and oppose his fury. — Spoke also about Truth being powerful; and gave advice to the above effect to the delegates present who all seemed to agree, as no person opposed his arguments. This conversation lasted better than an hour, and we departed.1 [The witness adds:] Mr. Holcroft was a sort of natural Quaker; but did not believe in the secret impulses of the Spirit, like the Quakers.1

Holcroft published the testimony and his de- fence immediately upon his acquittal. But if he made the Government ridiculous, the Government was amply avenged. Hereafter he was branded

1 Memoirs, vol. ii., pp. 186, 187.

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everywhere as an "acquitted felon." He was an object of suspicion to the authorities at home and abroad, so that passports were actually refused him, on the charge of being a spy. Most seri- ous of all to a professional dramatist, the whole force of popular prejudices was turned against his plays; so that finally he was forced to publish under a friend's name in order to gain a hearing. For years he was forced to live abroad because of the general feeling against him in England. It was only at the close of his life that he returned to his own country, where he died, in 1809, sur- rounded by his children and the friends of his younger days.

It is pleasant to know of such a life. In all the years of struggle against poverty, ill health, and misfortune one finds no records that one would like to forget. When critics declare that his "Frank Henley" and "Hugh Trevor" represent an impossible nobility of character, we hesitate, remembering the stainless gentleman who drew them. All the responsibility of a numerous family with the added care of his aged parents, never forced him to the mean and petty expediencies so common among the literary men who were his friends. Coleridge and Godwin thought the world owed them a living; and they were not backward in asking for it. Holcroft's only remedies for the ills of poverty were self-denial and hard work. He never begged or borrowed. Looking at the long list of his writings, one is amazed at the

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industry of the man. Malice and persecution brought from him a dignified protest, but no aftermath of complaining. As he formulated his political idealism before the flood-tide of Revolu- tionary popularity, so he held it unchanged through the long years of the Reaction. When Words- worth, Coleridge, Southey, and even Blake had recanted, Godwin and Paine had fallen silent, and all the world seemed to have forgotten its vision of Democracy, Thomas Holcroft kept the faith, true knight without fear and without reproach. In his diary for 1798 there is a record of a friend who asked him "whether the universal defection had not made him turn aristocrat?"

I answered [writes Holcroft], that I supposed my principles to be founded in truth, that is, in experience and fact : that I continued to believe in the perfectibil- ity of man, which the blunders and passions of ignor- ance might apparently delay, but could not prevent; and that the only change of opinion I had undergone was, that political revolutions are not so well cal- culated to better man's condition as during a certain period I with almost all thinking men in Europe had been led to suppose. r

Holcroft was the author of four novels. Two of these, the first and the last, we may pass over lightly. The other two 2 contain the full expression of Holcroft's Revolutionism.

1 Memoirs, vol. iii., p. 65.

*/. e.t Anna St. Ives and Hugh Trevor, which we shall consider in their proper chronological order.

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Alwyn, or The Gentleman Comedian (1780) was received with only moderate success, and distinctly unfavourable reviews. The plot as a whole is of little interest to us.1 The political theories are the same as in the later novels, only not so com- pletely worked out. The characters are worth comment, however. Holcroft himself appears as the friend of the hero, under the name of Hilkirk, a young man who betakes himself to the stage on being discharged from his position as a clerk "for his frequenting spouting clubs and billiard rooms": a portrait without vanity, cer- tainly. The other interesting character is Hand- ford, a sentimental gentleman whose ruling passion is the prevention of cruelty to animals. He establishes a humane asylum for cats, and finds himself frightfully imposed on. He says in despair :

I believe all the cats in Christendom are assembled in Oxfordshire. The village where I live has become a constant fair. A fellow has set up the Sign of the Three Blind Kittens, and has the impudence to tell the neighbours that if my whims and my money only hold out for one twelve-month, he will not care a fig for the king.8

This not unkindly satire, Hazlitt conjectures, was directed by the author against his friend Ritson's

1 This novel is summarized by Hazlitt, Memoirs, vol. ii., pp, 2 to 13.

* Ibid., vol. ii., p. 10.

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arguments "on the inhumanity of eating animal food."

Holcroft's second novel, Anna St. Ives (1792), is the story of two young persons who do some quixotic things and say a great many foolish ones, bringing down upon themselves a great deal of well- deserved ridicule. But somehow they keep their idealism while they learn wisdom, and in the end win the respect of their keenest opponent.

The action centres in three figures; Anna St. Ives, the daughter of a baronet, a thoughtful girl with a capacity for fine enthusiasms; Coke Clifton, whom her family intend her to marry; and Frank Henley, the son of her father's overseer. As this is a novel in letter form, there are several minor characters with whom they correspond, but the action is simple and there is no sub-plot.

Frank Henley is a young man with a vigorous intellect and a habit of thinking for himself. He has reached certain conclusions as to the relative values in life, with the result that he takes for the vital principle to which all his thought and action is referred, not self-interest, but service. Just what there was in this to bring down such a storm of protest from Holcroft's opponents one is at a loss to discover. It is a point of view about life which found expression many centuries earlier, on a much higher authority than that of Thomas Holcroft. But from the tone of contemporary criticism one would supose that in Frank Henley the author was promulgating a highly original

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and dangerous doctrine, instead of merely illus- trating the practice of a principle that was safely embalmed in the creeds of the orthodox.

Frank Henley's father, a shrewd business man, represents what was apparently the more usual point of view. Frank says of him: "He despises my sense of philanthropy, honour, and that severe probity to which no laws extend. He spurns at the possibility of preferring the good of society to the good of self."1

To this basic ideal of a life consecrated to the service of society Henley adds certain conclusions which he has reached as to the way of greatest usefulness. He writes to a friend, with wistful whimsicality :

I half suspect, indeed, that the world is not quite what it ought to be. [Then, more seriously], In order to perform my duty in the world, I ought to under- stand its manners, its inhabitants, and principally its laws, with the effects which the different legislation of different countries has produced. I believe this to be the most useful kind of knowledge.2

Ignorance and prejudice are at the bottom of all the ills of the world, he believes. " How incon- stant are the demands and complaints of ignorance ! It wishes to tyrannize, yet complains against

1 Anna St. Ives, vol. i., p. 27.

2 Ibid., vol. i., p. 185. Holcroft had, of course, no conception of social evolution, and the historical method as we understand it. But to break with the past was no part of his intention.

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tyranny. . . . There is no tyranny but that of prejudice."1 Therefore his strongest efforts must always be directed towards the spread of education, and of right ways of thinking. But he recognizes that forms of government have much to do with the progress and happiness of nations. He concludes:

Among the many who have a vague kind of suspi- cion that things might be better are mingled a few who seem desirous that they should remain as they are. These are the rich; who having plundered the defenseless, say to the hungry who have no food, "Labour for me, and I will return you the tenth of your gain. Shed your blood in my behalf, and while you are young and robust I will allow you just so much as will keep life and soul together. When you are old, and worn out, you may rob, hang, rot, or starve," — yet let us not complain. Men begin to reason and think aloud; and these things cannot al- ways endure. Let men look around and deny if they can that the present wretched system of each provid- ing for himself instead of the whole for the whole, does not inspire suspicion, fear, and hatred. Well, well! — another century, and then

Henley loves Anna St. Ives, and feels that they two might find the perfect friendship ; as Holcroft says finely, "the friendship of marriage. Surely if

1 Anna St. Ives, vol. ii., p. 46.

a Ibid., vol. iv., p. 42. Holcroft's having fixed upon our cen- tury as the date for the millennium seems like one of life's little ironies.

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marriage be not friendship according to the best and highest sense in which that word is used, mar- riage cannot but be something faulty and vicious." T Anna is aware of his love; but she hesitates, be- cause her world would not consider him her equal. Her reasoning here is worth noting as an illus- tration of Holcroft's attitude on questions of propriety and expediency. He has an excellent sense of proportion; he gives these things their full value, although he declines to make them the centre of his ethical code. Anna reflects :

My family ana the world are prejudiced and unjust. I know it. But where is the remedy? Can we work miracles? Will the prejudices vanish at our bidding? . . . Though I earnestly desire to reform, I almost as earnestly wish not unnecessarily to offend the pre- judices of mankind. . . . No arguments, I believe, can show me that I have a right to sport with the feelings of my father and friends, even when those feelings are founded in prejudice.2

At this juncture Coke Clifton makes his appear- ance. He is a young man of the world, clever, fascinating, keen of intellect, and with a strong aversion to all forms of cant. He falls in love with Anna's beauty and genuine goodness, but he has no patience with her solemn priggishness. Henley he finds quite intolerable. The letters in which Clifton describes these two young dream- ers are brilliant bits of satire. We who criticize

1 Anna St. Ives, vol. i., p. 107. • Ibid., vol. ii., p. 156.

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Holcroft's heroes for their tendency to preach need not plume ourselves upon any special dis- cernment; Holcroft was perfectly capable of criticizing himself with greater discernment than his opponents have ever shown. Godwin, having neither imagination nor a sense of humour, cari- catures his own theories unconsciously. Holcroft had both, and some knowledge of the world to boot. His faith in the ultimate triumph of social idealism was so deep and serene that he could afford to laugh at the well-meaning tiresomeness of himself and his fellow idealists. Here is a sample of Clifton's account of Frank Henley:

J. cannot deny that the pedagogue sometimes sur- prises me with the novelty of his opinions; but they are extravagant. — The rude pot-companion loquacity of the fellow is highly offensive. He is one of your levellers. Marry! His superior! Who is he? On what proud eminence can he be found? On some Welsh mountain, or the peak of Teneriff e ? Certainly not in any of the nether regions. Dispute his preroga- tive who dare! He derives from Adam; what time the world was hail fellow well met ! The savage, the wild man of the woods is his true liberty boy; and the ourang-outang his first cousin. A lord is a merry andrew, a duke a jack-pudding, and a king a tomfool: his name is Man !

Then, as to property, 'tis a tragic farce; 'tis his sovereign pleasure to eat nectarines, grow them who will. Another Alexander he ; the world is all his own ! Aye, and he will govern it as he best knows how.

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He will legislate, dictate, dogmatize, for who so in- fallible?

As for arguments, it is but ask, and have: a peck at a bidding, and a good double handful over. I own I thought I knew something; but no, I must to my horn-book. Then for a simile, it is a sacrilege; and must be kicked out of the high court of logic! Sar- casm too is an ignoramus, and cannot solve a problem with a pert puppy who can only flash and bounce. The heavy walls of wisdom are not to be battered down with such pop-guns and pellets. He will waste you wind enough to set up twenty millers, in proving an apple is not an egg shell; and that homo is greek for a goose. Duns Scotus was a schoolboy to him. x

Suspecting Anna's partiality for Henley, Clifton takes occasion to quarrel with him, challenges him to a duel, and when Henley refuses, calls him a coward and strikes him. Henley answers quietly : "No man can be degraded by another. It must be his own act."2 Soon after, Henley vindicates his courage by saving Clifton's life at the risk of his own.

Fortified by the knowledge of former conquests, Clifton thinks he need only ask and Anna will be his. To his utter surprise, she answers serenely that he must wait for her decision until they are better acquainted. Clifton, falling into the usual rant on such occasions, offers to "do and dare anything for her sake." This^ brings a spirited reply :

1 Anna St. Ives, vol. i., p. 116 f. ' Ibid. vol. iii., p. 42.

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Dare you receive a blow, or suffer yourself falsely to be called liar or coward, without seeking revenge, or what honour calls satisfaction? Dare you think the servant that cleans your shoes is your equal, unless not so wise and good a man, and your superior, if wiser or better? Dare you suppose mind has no sex, and that woman is not by nature the inferior of man ? Dare you make it the business of your whole life to overturn these prejudices, and to promote among mankind the spirit of universal benevolence which shall render them all equals, all brothers ? [Seeing his amazement she adds somewhat sadly], Your opinions and principles are those which the world most highly approves and applauds; mine are what it daily calls impracticable and absurd. x

This is perhaps the strangest love scene in all eighteenth century fiction. But there is stranger yet to follow. Appreciating Clifton's real powers of intellect, Anna decides that she will marry him, if by so doing she can influence him to a truer way of thinking. Whereupon she goes to Henley, admits she loves him, then tells him the whole situation, asking him to put aside his own love for her and help her win his rival to the truth they serve ! Henley, after a struggle with his own dis- appointment, promises to help her; telling her, however, that he thinks her sacrifice a useless and mistaken one.

Henley and Anna do their best to win Clifton by argument. He, naturally enough, does not

1 Anna St. Ives, vol. iii., p. 156 f.

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enjoy this perpetual sermonizing, and soon be- comes disgusted with the idea of marrying Anna. But he determines to be revenged upon her for his humiliation. For purposes of his own, he feigns conversion, and proceeds to carry their argument further than they intend. He thinks :

She starts at no proposition, however extravagant, if it do but appear to result from any one of her favourite systems, of which she has a good round number. Is it not possible to prove marriage a mere prejudice? — All individual property is evil — marriage makes woman individual property — therefore mar- riage is evil — Could there be better logic?1

Intending to persuade Anna that it is her duty to "be a heroine and defy present necessity," Clifton entraps her with this argument. He puzzles, but cannot convince her. As she writes afterward, she "knew there was an answer, a just and irre- fragable one, though she could not immediately find it." Hearing of this brilliant piece of wisdom on Clifton's part, Henley supplies the answer of common sense, dismissing the whole matter as simple absurdity.2

Baffled in this, Clifton resorts to force. He has Anna kidnapped and concealed in a country house of his from which Henley rescues her. Clifton is dangerously wounded, and is almost

1 Anna St. Ives, vol. v., p. 20 f. William Godwin takes up this very argument in all seriousness, two years later.

* Thereby proving his penetration superior to that of William Godwin, who did not know a reductio ad absurdum when he saw it.

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insane with remorse for the crimes he has at- tempted. Anna and Frank visit him, assuring him, not of their forgiveness, but that they have nothing to forgive.

Of what have you been guilty ? Why, of ignorance, mistakes of the understanding, false views which you wanted knowledge enough, truth enough to correct. "Exemplary punishment is necessary " — so they say — But no, — 'tis exemplary reformation. *

Anna and Henley are married, of course. The book ends, not with a sudden conversion -of Clif- ton to the principles of altruism — Holcroft is far too wise for that — but with his acknowledg- ment of an unwilling respect for these two extra- ordinary young philosophers. He adds, however, with a touch of his old spirit :

These wise people should leave us fools to wrangle, be wretched, and cut each others throats as we list, without intermeddling; 'tis dangerous. But Truth is a zealot; Wisdom will be crying in the streets; and Folly meeting her seldom fails to deal her a blow.

Hazlitt's criticism of this novel is worth noting:

Of the difficulty of exhibiting the passions under the control of virtue, religion, or any other abstract principle, let those judge who have studied the romances of Richardson.2 To have made Clarissa a natural character with all her studied attention to

1 Anna St. Ives, vol. vii., p. 250. » Ibid. vol. vii., p. 120.

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prudence, propriety, etc., is the greatest proof of his genius. Yet even she is not free from affectation. In Sir Charles Grandison, he has completely failed. x

This is a comparison which we cannot altogether admit. Anna's social idealism is heaven-high above the prudence of Clarissa as a controlling virtue. Moreover, Anna and Frank are much less enhaloed by the author than their prototypes in Richardson. One feels that this is the criticism of the age of Reaction, which worshipped prudence and propriety, but was inclined to think that after all there was something rather commendable in having perfectly undisciplined emotions. 2

Holcroft's next novel, Hugh Trevor, is much less open to the charge of exhibiting virtuous abstractions.3 In fact, Hazlitt's criticism here is just the reverse. He has to defend Holcroft from the charge of too great realism and satire.

As a political work [he says] it may be considered as a sequel to Anna St. Ives; for as that is intended to develop certain general principles by exhibiting imaginary characters, so the latter has a tendency to enforce the same conclusions by depicting the vices

1 Hazlitt carries this comparison a step further; Clifton and Lovelace are the same being, and are often placed in situations so similar that the resemblance must strike the most cursory reader. Memoirs of Holcroft, vol. ii., p. 107.

a An age, for instance, that was shocked by the opinions of Shelley, while it revelled in the heroes of Byron.

J Published 1794 to 1797.

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and distresses which are generated by the existing institutions of society.1

The hero is not introduced to us here with prin- ciples already formed. We are allowed to watch an ambitious, hot-headed youth, with more aspi- rations than judgment, while he learns prudence through weary years of disillusionment. But this novel is in no sense a recantation. The social idealism that remains to Hugh Trevor in the end is the same as that of Frank Henley.

Hugh Trevor's childhood is drawn from Hoi- croft's own. a But Trevor is adopted by his wealthy grandfather and sent to Oxford. He takes the university life with exaggerated seriousness ; finally falls under the influence of Methodism; is seen at a meeting of that sect by the university author- ities, and rusticated for a year in consequence. The account of Methodism as Holcroft saw it is worth quoting.

The want of zeal in prayer and every part of reli- gious duty, the tedious and dull sermons heard in the churches, and what Methodists call preaching them- selves and not their Saviour, were the frequent topics of our animadversion.

This was a doctrine most aptly calculated to in- flame an imagination like mine, which was ardent and enthusiastic. Besides, it relieved me from a multitude

1 Memoirs of Holcroft, vol. ii., p. 134.

3 Perhaps there is more of autobiography in this novel than these early incidents. Hugh Trevor's life is not Holcroft's, but the progress of his mental development seems not dissimilar.

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of labours. For as I proceeded, Thomas Aquinas and his subtilizing competitors were thrown by in con- tempt. I had learned divinity by inspiration, and soon believed myself fit for a reformer. The philoso- pher Aristotle with his dialects and sophisms was ex- changed for the philosopher Saint Paul, from whom I learned that he who had saving faith had everything, and he who wanted it was naked of all excellence as a new born babe. To these mysteries which all the initiated allow are suddenly unfolded, descending like lightning by inspiration of the Spirit and illuminating the darkened soul, to these mysteries no man was ever a more combustible kind of convert than myself. I beamed with gospel light. It shone through me. I was the beacon of this latter age; a comet sent to warn the world. I mean, I was all this in my own imagination, which swelled and mounted to the very acme of fanaticism.

But although Trevor refused to recant under pressure, he admits afterwards:

My dereliction of intellect was of short duration, my attachment to Methodism daily declining and at last changing into something like aversion and horror. *

During his year of rustication, Trevor goes to London as secretary to the Earl of Idford, a young lord of the minority party, who says he is "a friend to the philosophy of the times, and would have every man measured by the standard of individual merit."

1 Hugh Trevor, vol. i., p. 154-!

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These liberal sentiments [says Holcroft] were de- livered on the first visit he received from the leader >f the minority. I Anger, self-interest and the desire of revenge had induced him to adopt the same political principles; anger, self-interest, and. the desire of re- venge had induced him to endeavour after the same elevation of mind. Esop is dead, but his frog and his ox are still to be found.2

Holcroft was perfectly aware of the motives affecting many of the followers of the new philo- sophy. He would have been the first to admit that Lucas's satire was not without foundation in fact.3 The Earl of Idford and Lord Marauder are close akin.

Trevor also gets an introduction to a bishop, and in a furious fit of orthodoxy, writes a " Defence of the Thirty Nine Articles." The bishop invites him to a dinner (of which Holcroft gives a highly satirical account),4 and proposes to print this polemic under his own name. Trevor replies by denouncing the amazed bishop, and rushes away, shocked at the discovery that all Church- men are not worthy of reverence. s

1 Probably Fox. * Hugh Trevor.

3 Cf. discussion of The Infernal Quixote, in Chapter V. of this thesis.

* Holcroft often satirizes the intemperance of his time in the matter of eating and drinking. Simple to the point of austerity in his own tastes, he had a fastidious disgust for all forms of self- indulgence.

* As we have quoted Holcroft's account of Methodism, we may also examine his views on orthodoxy, in the person of the

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Trevor has written in the Earl's name a series of political letters, opposing the ministry. At about this time the Earl comes to terms with the ministry, deserts the minority party, and wishes Trevor to change the tone of his letters accordingly. Trevor replies indignantly that "when he wrote against the minister it was not against the man," and that he " cannot hold the pen of prostitution." So end all his prospects, and his faith that church- men and statesmen are ex officio superior to common mortals.

There is something so winning in the very blunders of this hot-headed young idealist that one is willing to excuse his melodramatic rant on the ground of his extreme youth. But Holcroft does not spare him. He comments :

And yet, when the Earl, had asked me to write letters that were supposed by the public the produc- tion of his own pen, I had then no such qualms of conscience. When deceit was not to favour but to counteract my plans, its odious immorality rushed upon me. T

bishop. "He was so sternly orthodox as to hold the slightest deviation from Church authority in abhorrence. What he meant by Church authority, or what any rational man can mean, it might be difficult to define; except that Church authority and orthodox opinions are, with each individual, those precise points which that individual makes part of his creed. But as, unfor- tunately for Church authority, no two individuals ever had or ever can have the same creed, Church authority is like a body in motion. No man can tell where it rests. " (Hugh Trevor, vol. i., P- 285.)

1 Hugh Trevor, vol. ii., p. 24.

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There is in London an old schoolmate of Trevor's named Turl, who was expelled from the Univer- sity for heresy, and is earning a contented liveli- hood as an engraver. Trevor rushes to him in an agony of rage and disillusionment, and tells him his plans for exposing Bishop and Earl in a scathing pamphlet. Turl calmly replies, Trevor was a fool to expect a lord to be more honourable or a bishop more righteous than other men. As for exposing them he adds, even if it could be done successfully:

"You will be to blame — you may be better em- ployed. "

"What! than in exposing vice?"

"The employment is petty; and what is worse, it is inefficient. Such attacks are apt to deprave both the assailant and the assailed. They begin in anger, con- tinue in falsehood, and end in fury. I repeat, you may be better employed, Mr. Trevor."1

Trevor returns to Oxford, but the Earl of Idford manages to have him expelled without a degree. He learns that the bishop has actually published the polemic as his own, without the writer's con- sent. Trevor alienates the sympathy he might have had in the University at large by his vio- lent and incoherent attack on both Bishop and Earl.

Almost penniless, Trevor returns to London and devotes himself to writing a pamphlet denouncing

1 Hugh Trevor, vol. ii., p. 65.

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Earl, Bishop, and University. Turl again tells him he is in the wrong ; that his troubles are more than half due to his own ungoverned temper; and finally that it is absurd to blame the whole structure of society because his own individual happiness and ambition have been thwarted.

There are, indeed, wrongs and injustices in the world which men must not pass by in silence. Speak, but speak to the world at large, not to insignificant individuals: Speak in the tone of a benevolent and disinterested heart, not of an inflamed and revengeful imagination. Otherwise you endanger yourself and injure society. r

Another friend of Trevor's, Wilmot, after wretched years of hack writing at starvation pay2 attempts suicide. Turl rescues him from the river, and tries to bring him to a truer sense of the value of life. This passage is so characteristic of Holcroft's philosophy that it is worth quoting entire:

You demand that I should communicate to you a desire of life. Can you have a perception of the essential duties you are fitted to perform, and dare you think of dying?

You have been brooding over your own wrongs, which your distorted fancy has painted as perhaps the most insufferable in the whole circle of existence!

1 Hugh Trevor, vol. ii., p. 172.

2 Holcroft describes this very vividly. He knew it from ex- perience!

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How can you be so blind? Look at the mass of evil by which you are surrounded! What is its origin? Ignorance. Ignorance is the source of all evil: and there is one species of ignorance to which you and men like you have been egregiously subject; ignorance of the true mode of exercising your rare faculties; ignorance of their unbounded power of enjoyment.

You have been persuaded that this power was destroyed by the ridiculous distinction of rich and poor. Oh mad mad world! Monstrous absurdity! Incomprehensible blindness! Look at the rich! In what are they happy? In what do they excel the poor? Not in their greater store of wealth; which is but a source of vice, disease and death ; but in a little superiority of knowledge, a trifling advance towards truth. How may this advantage be made general? Not by the indulgence of the desires you have fostered but by retrenching those false wants that you panted to gratify; and thus giving leisure to the poor, or rather, to all mankind, to make the acquirement of knowledge the grand business of life.

Holcroft is quite aware of his opponents' answer to such an ideal, and supplies it: "The self-denial you require is not in the nature of man." To which Turl gives his answer: "The nature of man is senseless jargon. Man is that which he is made by the occurrences to which he is subjected."1

Trevor becomes acquainted with an eccentric philanthropist, Mr. Evelyn, who, struck by a certain honesty of intention under all Trevor's

1 Hugh Trevor, voL ii., 280 £.

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mistakes, offers to help him to enter some pro- fession where he can be of real service to society. The passage in which Mr. Evelyn explains his views of the times is more than any other passage, perhaps, an answer to the charge that Holcroft countenanced the violent factions of his time.

It is the moral system of the time [he says], that wants reforming. This cannot be suddenly produced, nor by the effort of any individual; but it may be progressive, and every individual may contribute: though some more powerfully than others. The rich, in proportion as they shall understand their power and their duties, may become peculiarly instrumental; for poverty, by being subjected to continual labour, is necessarily ignorant ; and it is well known how danger- ous it is for ignorance to turn reformer.

Let the rich therefore awake. They are not, as they have long been taught to suppose themselves, placed beyond the censure of the multitude. It is found that the multitude can think, and have dis- covered that the use that the wealthy often make of what they call their own is unjust, tyrannous, and destructive. The spirit of inquiry is abroad. — But when they expect to promote peace and order by irri- tating each other against this or that class of men, however mistaken those men may be, and by dis- seminating a mutual spirit of acrimony between themselves and their opponents, they act like mad- men; and if they do not grow calm, forgiving, and kind, the increasing fury of the mad many will over- take them. *

1 Hugh Trevor, vol. iv., p. 93 f.

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Holcroft knew, as few literary men did, what forces were stirring below the surface of the social order. He calls upon the so-called upper classes to set their own house in order, lest a worse thing befall them. His faith in the saving power of social idealism was not in spite of his knowledge of the world, but because of it.

Hugh Trevor, having reluctantly consented to accept financial aid from Mr. Evelyn for a time, the question of a profession for him is discussed. The law is decided upon, as giving rare opportu- nities for serving society by uprightness. Trevor accordingly goes to London to read law. Gradu- ally he becomes convinced that, however noble and necessary law may be in theory, in practice it is a mass of chicanery. Very regretfully he tells Mr. Evelyn that for him the way of service does not lie in the practice of law.

Mr. Evelyn has a relative, Sir Barnard, who has the disposal of two seats in Parliament. One of these he occupies himself, and the other he gives to some young man who will vote as he does, i. e., in opposition to the ministry. Trevor is, of course, of the minority party from conviction; so he accepts Sir Barnard's offer of a seat and is duly elected. During the pre-election canvassing he finds himself forced into many practices of which he cannot approve. There are no money bribes; but he is expected to make valuable presents to the voters. He develops a considerable gift of oratory, however, and Sir Barnard is delighted with him.

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In London, the young M.P. attends a banquet where he meets his old enemies, the Earl of Idford and the Bishop. Idford is worn with dissipation, and the Bishop is aged by his life of self-indulgence and petty intrigues for power. As Trevor looks at them all traces of his old hatred vanish and give place to a deep sadness that these men should have so missed the durable satisfactions in life.

Trevor's career in Parliament comes to an ab- rupt end. Sir Barnard had opposed the ministry only from pique at being refused a baronetcy. This being granted him he suddenly changes sides, and on Trevor's indignant refusal to follow him, a violent quarrel ensues. Unfortunately, Trevor's patron, Mr. Evelyn, is dead; Sir Barnard has in- herited his estate. Trevor had insisted on giving a note for all the money he received. This note comes into the hands of Sir Barnard, who uses it to have Trevor imprisoned for debt. Trevor might plead exemption from arrest, as an M.P., but he feels bound in honour to resign as soon as he can no longer vote as Sir Barnard wishes.

Trevor accepts imprisonment quietly. But help comes from unexpected quarters. A man who has cheated him out of a large sum of money, compelled to an unwilling respect for his principles, makes restitution. Soon after, a legacy makes Trevor comparatively wealthy, and he marries Olivia, one of the most charming of Revolutionary heroines, whose lifelong love for him has woven

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a thread of romance through this somewhat over- serious novel.

By way of criticism we can perhaps do no better than to give Holcroft's own comment on a French review of the book. x

Read a criticism in La Decade Philosophigue on a French translation of Hugh Trevor, containing great praise and some pointed blame. The chief articles of the latter are, — that the plan proposed is incomplete, (true), that some of the conversations are too long (true), that my satire on professions is unfounded (false), that I have not put my morality sufficiently into action (false again, the law part excepted), that probability is not quite enough regarded (perhaps not) , and that, to make Trevor so suddenly a wealthy man is entirely in the novel style (true; blamable). The following are the concluding remarks: "Malgre ces defauts qu'on peut reprocher, comme nous 1'avons vu, £ beaucoup de romans, celui-ci merite assurement d'etre distingue" par la justesse des observations, la verite des tableaux et des caract&res, le naturel du dialogue, la peinture exacte des mceurs et des ridicules. En un mot, c'est 1'ouvrage d'un homme de talent, d'un observateur habile et exercice, d'un ami des mceurs et de la vertu; disons encore d'un e'criyain patriote, hardi de"fenseur des droits sacre"s du peuple, et de telles productions sont toujours faites pour 6tre bien accueillies. "

Holcroft had to go outside of his own country for a just estimate of his work. The praise of

1 Memoirs, vol. iii., pp. 134 f. 6

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this French critic is well deserved. We are con- cerned here with novels as an expression of ideas rather than from the standpoint of literary excel- lence; but it may not be amiss to observe that of all the novels here considered those of Holcroft are the only ones whose obscurity is in any way to be regretted.

For the last of his novels, The Memoirs of Brian Perdue (1805), Holcroft has chosen the favourite theme of humanitarian radicals: the evils of the English penal system. In this he shows himself truly a representative Revolutionist, for no other form of social injustice so appealed to imaginations quickened by the new ideas. From Caleb Williams to The Prisoner of Chilian there was a continuous stream of literature inspired by the wrongs of the criminal and the convict. It might almost be said that the injustice and cruelty of social punishment is a corollary of the Virtuous Outlaw, dear to Sentimentalists. We shall encounter both themes frequently in the fiction under discussion.

Holcroft's novel directed against frequent and indiscriminate capital punishment shows his char- acteristic moderation. The subject is one on which he as an "acquitted felon" was peculiarly entitled to a hearing. The true source of Brian Perdue is not the Sentimentalists' Virtuous Outlaw, but Holcroft's own experience when he was on trial for his life eleven years before.

The purpose and method in Brian Perdue are best stated in the author's own words:

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Whenever I have undertaken to write a novel I have proposed to myself a specific moral purpose. This purpose, — in the present work [is], to induce all humane and thinking men, such as legislators ought to be and often are, to consider the general and adventi- tious value of human life, and the moral tendency of penal laws.

To exemplify this doctrine it was necessary that the hero of the fable should offend those laws, that his life should be in jeopardy, and that he should possess not only a strong leaven of virtue, but high powers of mind, such as to induce the heart to shrink at the recollection that such a man might have been legally put to death.1

There is little in the development of this theme that merits especial attention. There are signi- ficant attacks upon the ruthless and unscrupulous methods of the rising capitalist class; there are some characteristic pleas for tolerance, for for- bearance in dealing with those whose opinions seem to us mistaken ; for the rest, Holcroft reverts in style to his eighteenth-century models. He digresses in passages of Addisonian reflection, interlarded sometimes with Sterne-like whimsi- calities. Now and again he indulges in conscious neo-classical "beauties," or attempts somewhat laboured satire after the manner of Pope.

The reason is not far to seek. Holcroft is writing as an old man, with a meditative detach- ment impossible in the stirring days that inspired

1 Holcroft, Brian Perdue, Preface, p. i.

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his earlier novels. Freed from youthful urgency in defence of a losing cause, he becomes more of a conscious artist in his attitude. Unfortunately for Brian Perdue, it is not Holcroft's mannered and mediocre artistry that appeals to us now, but the sincere and gentle personality of the author himself.

We have called Holcroft a representative Revolutionist. But it will be observed how sel- dom in his works we find specific mention of the Revolutionary philosophies. Once, in Anna St. Ives, the hero is seen reading the Nouvelle Helo'ise; he half apologizes for it, adding, "I think I know what were the author's mistakes."1 Again, we have Holcroft's own comment on Political Justice, that : "The book was written with good intentions, but to be sure nothing could be so foolish."2 These are the only direct evidences we have of his Revolutionary reading.

This does not mean of course, that Holcroft was not influenced by the new philosophies. His intimate association with the Revolutionists in London literary circles and his connection with the Society for Constitutional Information would insure his being acquainted with all the radical ideas afloat, at second hand, if not from his own reading.

What it may indicate is, that Holcroft's social idealism was less associated in his mind with

1 Anna St. Ives, vol. iv., p. 154.

» Paul, William Godwin, vol. i., p. 116.

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metaphysical conceptions of Reason and Justice or with the political crisis in a neighbouring coun- try than with his intimate knowledge of the social conditions in his own. For Holcroft knew the life of his time at first hand, whatever may have been the case with its philosophies. The profes- sion of actor-dramatist has shown itself a good school of observation since the days of the Mer- maid Tavern. And probably no other writer among the Revolutionists knew from personal experience so many layers of society; from the life of a stable boy to the choicest literary circles of London, with a trial for High Treason thrown in!

Holcroft's Revolutionism, then, may be taken as representative, not alone of a small group of closet-philosophers, but of the more vitalizing currents of social idealism which had their source in the social unrests of the time.

CHAPTER III REVOLUTIONARY PHILOSOPHERS

SECTION I: WILLIAM GODWIN

AMONG our philosophical novelists the second in order of time (and, to my mind, also in order of importance), is William Godwin. As we have already observed, there has been a decided tendency, especially among critics somewhat hostile to political idealism, to regard him as the central figure of the entire movement; an inter- pretation which greatly simplifies the task of dis- missing the Revolutionists as a group of amiable fanatics. If, therefore, the present discussion seem to minimize his originality and underestimate his influence, there will be found no lack of com- mentators who do him justice.

William Godwin1 was the son of a dissenting minister, of Cambridgeshire. The account God- win gives of his father is, as Paul says, "amusing and characteristic."2 "Aiming at the most scru- pulous fairness he succeeds only in giving a very distinct impression that he had but little love for

1 William Godwin, born 1756, died 1836. a Paul, William Godwin, vol. i., p. 7. 86

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his father and no very high opinion of his mental powers." I Godwin's early reading consisted prin- cipally of books of sermons, the Pilgrim's Progress, and the Pious Deaths of many Godly Children. In this "hotbed of forced piety" he grew up a precocious, self-conscious child, whose most char- acteristic features were, as he says himself, "reli- gion and the love of distinction."2

Godwin's schooling was regular, and the in- struction probably somewhat above the average; but not of a sort to counteract his unwholesome childhood. His principal teacher, by whom he was greatly influenced, was, as he tells us, "a dis- ciple of the supra-Calvinistic opinions of Robert Sandeman."3 In consequence, we hear later of the boy Godwin being rejected from Homerton Academy on the suspicion of Sandemanian heresy. In 1773 he entered Hoxton College. We have his own account of his interests during the five years he spent there :

During my academical life, and from this time forward, I was indefatigable in my search after truth. I read all the authors of greatest repute for and against the Trinity, original sin, and the most disputed doc- trines; but I was not yet of an understanding sufficient- ly ripe for impartial discussion, and all my inquiries

1 Paul adds a significant passage from Godwin's account of his mother: "After her husband's death her character became con- siderably changed; she surrendered herself to the visionary hopes and tormenting fears of the methodistical sect. "

1 Paul, Godwin, vol. i., p. 9. 3 Ibid., vol. i., p. 13.

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terminated in Calvinism. I was famous in our college for calm and impassionate discussion. For one whole summer I rose at five and went to bed at midnight, that I might have sufficient time for theology and metaphysics. I formed during this period from reading on all sides a creed upon materialism and immaterialism, liberty and necessity, in which no subsequent improvement of my understanding has been able to produce any variation.1

Soon after this began Godwin's friendship with Joseph Fawcett, another young dissenting minister, "one of whose favourite topics was a declamation against the domestic affections, a principle which admirably coincided with the dogmas of Jonathan Edwards, whose works I had read a short time before."2 It will be remembered that Godwin ranks Joseph Fawcett first among the four oral instructors to whom he acknowledges particular indebtedness; the others being Holcroft, George Dyson, and Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

After a few not altogether successful years as a dissenting minister and tutor, Godwin went to London and became a political writer for the liberal side, contributing regularly to the official organs of Fox and Sheridan. Of the progress of his opinions during these years he has, as usual, left us a careful record. He was always deeply interested in the processes of his own mind.

1 Paul, Godwin, vol. i., p. 15. ' Ibid. vol. i., p. 17.

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In 1782 I believed in the doctrine of Calvin — The Systeme de la Nature, read about the beginning of that year, changed my opinions and made me a Deist. I afterwards veered to Socinianism, in which I was confirmed by Priestley's Institutes, in the beginning of 1783. I remember having entertained doubts in 1 785 , when I corresponded with Priestley. But I was not a complete unbeliever until I787.1

Godwin's life thenceforward was that of the typical London literary man of the period. He attended the Constitutional and Revolutionary societies, was intimate with Holcroft, Coleridge, and Lamb, and acquainted with the rest of the Revolutionary circle. There is hardly a name of literary, philosophical, or theatrical interest that does not appear in his diary.

The publication of Political Justice (1793) raised Godwin at once to a position of recognized eminence among the radical thinkers of the time. We shall see (in the next chapter) that the literary opponents of Revolutionism seized upon Political Justice as embodying the very essence of the radical heresies, the accepted creed of democratic opinion. But it will be observed that practical statesmen saw more danger in Paine's popular discussions, and Holcroft's gentle appeals to an awakening

1 Paul, Godwin, vol. i., p. 26. "Unbeliever" is not to be taken in an extreme sense here. Godwin later states that he "finds the idea of God so easy, obvious, and irresistible as instantly to convert mystery into reason and contradictions into certainty." As a systematic metaphysician, Godwin never could tolerate any loose ends in his universe.

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social sense, than in all the metaphysical subtleties of Godwin. It was not pure chance that Holcroft was brought to trial while Godwin escaped arrest. T As a matter of fact, it is a mistake to suppose that Political Justice was at any time accepted by the Revolutionists themselves as the true and orthodox presentation of their philosophy. Ample proof of this is afforded by the opinions Godwin quotes in his journal (for March 23, 1793) :

Dr. Priestley says my book contains a vast extent of ability — Monarchy and Aristocracy, to be sure, were never so painted before — he admits all my principles, but cannot follow them into all my con- clusions— Home Tooke tells me my book is a bad book, and will do a great deal of harm — Holcroft had previously informed me, that he said the book was written with good intentions, but to be sure nothing could be so foolish.2

The latter part of Godwin's life need not detain us. In 1797 he married Mary Wollstonecraft.3 Within the year she died, leaving two children .under his care. By this time Godwin's views on jthe political injustice of marriage were completely

1 Paul, Godwin, vol. i., p. 80. Political Justice escaped prose- cution because of the expensive form in which it was published. Pitt is said to have observed, when the question was debated in the Privy Council, that "a three guinea book could never do much harm among those who had not three shillings to spare. " The wily Pitt was perfectly aware of the distinction between the philosophy of the study and the propaganda of social unrest.

1 Paul, Godwin, vol. i., p. 116.

J Cf. Chapter VII., Section 2, of this book.

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forgotten; he seems to have proposed to half the literary women of his acquaintance before he was finally married by a scheming widow with two children of her own. A son, William Godwin, junior, was soon added to his responsibilities. From this time on, the diary and letters form an ungracious record of financial and domestic diffi- culties, shabby expediencies, querulous complaints, squabbles with his friends, fading ideals, and in- creasing literary obscurity. Not Godwin but the young Shelley was to be the Light-bearer of political idealism during the dreary decades of the Reaction. Such, so far as it need concern us, was the life of William Godwin. A greater contrast to that of his friend Holcroft could hardly be imagined. All his occupations, as student, preacher, tutor, tended to restrict his experience of life and foster his natural tendency to introspection. Sur- rounded from childhood by an atmosphere of somewhat fussy piety, schooled in metaphysical and theological hairsplitting, there is small wonder that such natural common sense and judgment as he may have had were reduced to a minimum. The traits which he recognized in himself as a child — "religion and a desire for distinction," — remained the dominant characteristics of the man. His "religion" (by which he probably meant his theological bent; his writings show little trace of any genuine religious sense), appears in the meta- physics of Political Justice. The "desire for distinction" — true mark of the egoist — became an

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introspective self-consciousness that intensified his extreme individualistic philosophy. It is this latter quality that appears most strongly in his novels.

The novels of William Godwin which we shall consider are six in number. T The first in time, in merit, and in importance is Caleb Williams. This was published in the year following Political Justice, when the author, as he himself tells us, was still fully in the spirit of that work. The preface announces it as a novel with a purpose :

It was proposed in the invention of the following work, to comprehend, as far as the progressive nature of a single story would allow, a general review of the modes of domestic and unrecorded despotism by which man becomes the destroyer of man. If the author shall have taught a valuable lesson, without subtracting from the interest and passion by which a performance of this sort ought to be characterized, he will have reason to congratulate himself on the vehicle he has chosen.2

1 Caleb Williams, or Things as They Are (1794); St. Leon (1799); Fleet-wood, or The New Man of Feeling (1805); Mande- ville (1817); Cloudesley (1830); and Deloraine (1833). Godwin was also the author of a few earlier romances, but they were little known even in his own time. Paul, his biographer, dismisses them with a word, and Meyer omits them altogether from the very comprehensive bibliography appended to his thesis. The plots of two of them are outlined in Fargeau's Revue des Romans, vol. i., pp. 284, 285. But they have little significance for our discussion.

' Caleb Williams (Frederick Warne ed., not dated), p. I.

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The first line strikes a keynote: "My life has for several years been a theatre of calamity. I have been a mark for ... etc." Before we leave Godwin's novels we shall be very familiar with that mode of introduction. This particular Jeremiad might serve to begin any one of the others equally well. Caleb Williams is of humble birth (a rather unusual circumstance, for our republican friend Godwin likes to write chiefly about people of wealth and title) , and has a Rousseauistic educa- tion, "free from the usual sources of depravity." He becomes secretary to a Mr. Falkland. Here ensues a characteristic description of a recluse. Williams's curiosity being aroused concerning his employer, a friend obliges him with a hundred pages or so of information. Falkland was, it seems, a young man of great talents and liberal culture (no "child of nature" when we come to the real hero, observe). He outshines a boorish neighbour, Tyrrel, thereby arousing in him implac- able hatred. Falkland is warned against Tyrrel by a dying friend, Clare, supposedly a portrait of Godwin's friend Fawcett, but he is unable to avoid continual entanglements with him, culmin- ating in a public insult. Almost immediately afterwards Tyrrel is assassinated. Two of his tenants are accused and hanged. Falkland is completely cleared but lives a recluse ever after, nursing his wounded honour. Here ends Collins's account. Caleb Williams promptly suspects that Falkland's trouble is a guilty conscience. His

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amateur detective activities culminate when Falk- land catches him trying to investigate a mysteri- ous chest. What the chest contained the author takes no trouble to explain, although it seemed important enough to Mr. Colman to furnish the title to the play he based on this story.1 Like the writers of Gothic romance, Godwin seems to think it enough to concoct a riddle; he owes no answer to his readers. But at all events, Falk- land suddenly changes his policy, confesses to Williams, and warns him of the consequences of his curiosity. Falkland's master passion is a desire for the world's approbation. He will go to any lengths to preserve his good name, and he proposes to keep Williams in his power hence- forth. After a time, Williams grows nervous and tries to quit Falkland's service. Then we come to the point of the story. Williams discovers that the laws are completely at the service of the power- ful, and that the very machinery of justice can be wrested to Falkland's purposes. Falkland accuses him of theft. Williams 's protestations of innocence are worthless against a man of Falkland's position. He is imprisoned pending trial.

This gives Godwin an opportunity for describ- ing the English penal system, and he makes the most of it. Here, to my mind, is one of the rare instances in which Godwin's eloquence rings true.

1 George Colman the Younger, The Iron Chest, cf. Chapter IX., Section 2, of this book.

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Usually, as we shall see hereafter, he is interested in emotion for its own sake. He taxes himself to invent situations that may give occasion for it. Consequently his elaborate tirades seem to us utterly insincere and wearisome. Here he is talking of actual conditions. He writes as a humane and intelligent observer. And here, without apparent effort, he attains to real power. The philosopher and the novelist are forgotten for the time; the man Godwin writes simply and understandingly of the lives of men in prison. He shows us the squalid room, the "prison dirt that speaks sadness to the heart," the prisoners, innocent and guilty, condemned and untried, herded together, the young prisoners learning their trade from old offenders, the noisy appear- ance of mirth with ever-present fear beneath, the horror of the slow, monotonous days in lonely cells, and the bitterness that enters into the soul of a man and makes him indeed an enemy of the society that has so fearfully wronged him. Behind the clear and forceful words the moral earnestness of the writer shows plainly. The facts he writes of, of which he has not told the half, have been improved since his day. But when he speaks out against the system he carries us with him not by force of logic but by the great spirit of humani- tarianism which belongs to all times.

" Thank God," exclaims the Englishman, "we have no Bastile! Thank God, with us no man can be pun-

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ished without a crime ! ' ' Unthinking wretch ! Is that a country of liberty, where thousands languish in dun- geons and fetters? Go, go, ignorant fool! and visit the scenes of our prisons ! witness their unwholesome- ness, their filth, the tyranny of their governors, the misery of their inmates! After that, show me the man shameless enough to triumph, and say, England has no B as tile ! . . . I have felt the iron of slavery grat- ing upon my soul. I looked round upon my walls and forward upon the premature death I had too much reason to expect; and I said, "This is society. This is the object, the distribution of justice, which is the end of human reason. For this sages have toiled, and midnight oil has been wasted. This!"1

Williams escapes from prison, and after various adventures in eluding a relentless pursuit, falls in with a band of thieves led by a philosophic and loquacious person named Raymond. The phil- anthropic brigand, a familiar figure in literature ever since the days of Robin Hood, was an especial favourite with the Romanticists. It is worth remarking that Schiller's Die Rauber had been translated into English in 1792, just two years before the publication of Caleb Williams. It may also be remembered that notes for a treat- ment of Eugene Aram in that character were found among Godwin's papers.3 Raymond pro- tects Williams, recognizing in him a victim of tyranny. But Godwin's treatment of the brigand is only half sympathetic. He had no notion of

1 Caleb Williams, p. 80. 3 Paul, Godwin, vol. ii., p. 305.

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changing society by isolated individual rebellions, and he believes in an appeal to reason rather than violence.

In one of the brigands Williams makes an enemy who adds an element of personal animosity to the powers of the law in tracking him down. After a prolonged chase, Williams suddenly turns the tables. He boldly accuses Falkland of mur- der, and they are brought face to face before a court. There the unexpected happens. Wil- liams's purpose fails on seeing how broken Falk- land is, and he declares himself a miserable wretch. Whereupon Falkland confesses his crime, clears Williams, and dismisses him, not to live happily ever after, but to be a prey to remorse.

Such is the story of Caleb Williams, and such, too, is the measure of Godwin as a novelist. He never equalled his first attempt. Most of his later novels are here in germ; situations, ideas, and characters repeat themselves again and again. He searches laboriously for original plots and explains conscientiously in his prefaces. For his was not a facile vein.

Caleb Williams had an immediate success, arousing a storm of conflicting criticism. It was recognized as one of the significant novels of the time. It appeared almost immediately in French and German translations. But there were some dissenting voices. Godwin's friend James Mar- shall declares "the incidents ill chosen, the characters unnatural, distorted, everything on

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stilts, the whole uninteresting."1 Mrs. Inchbald, another intimate friend, herself a novelist, finds it sublimely horrible, captivatingly frightful."2 Hazlitt (On English Novelists) is more discrimi- nating.

There is little knowledge of the world [he says], little variety, neither an eye for the picturesque nor a talent for the humorous in Caleb Williams; but you cannot doubt for a moment of the originality of the work and the force of the conception. The impression made upon the reader is the exact measure of the author's genius.3

Later commentators are apt to be still more cautious. De Quincey, reviewing Gilfillan's pane- gyrics on the book, says: "Other men of talent have raised Caleb Williams to a station among the first rank of novels, while others, amongst whom I am compelled to class myself, see in it no merit of any kind."4

Finally, Sir Leslie Stephen voices the criticism of our own time:

Caleb Williams can still be read without the pressure of a sense of duty. It has lived — tho' in comparative obscurity — for over a century — and must have had some of the seeds of life. Mysterious crimes are always

1 Paul, Godwin, vol. ii., p. 90. 2 Ibid., vol. i., p. 139.

3 Hazlitt, Collected Works (1902), vol. viii., p. 130. * De Quincey, Biographical Essays (Fireside ed.), vol. vi., p. 339-

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interesting. But given the situation, and shutting our eyes to impossibilities Godwin shows the kind of power manifested by Political Justice. *

Pressure of public interest aroused by Caleb Williams, to some extent forced Godwin to continue his career as a novelist. There is a certain note of hesitancy in the preface to St. Leon, however, that suggests that he dimly felt his own limitations.

I was solicited to try my hand again in a work of fiction. I hesitated long. I despaired of finding a topic again so rich of interest and passion. At length, after having passed some years in diffidence and irreso- lution, I ventured on the task. It struck me that if I could "mix human feelings and passions with in- credible situations," I might thus attain a sort of novelty that would conciliate the patience, at least, of some of the severest judges.2

The "incredible situation" he has hit upon is nothing less than the possession of the Philoso- pher's Stone and the Elixir of Life. It is only fair to observe, however, that the subject was in God- win's time neither so remote from public interest nor so hackneyed as it would be to-day. In the second half of the eighteenth century the "Brother- hood of the Rosy Cross" had been revived, and professed to have the Stone and Elixir in its pos- session. The exploits of Count Cagliostro who gave himself out as their agent were common talk

1 Leslie Stephen, Studies of a Biographer, vol. iii., p. 121. 1 St. Leon, vol. i., p. 2.

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within the memory of Godwin. Further, Godwin was the first of his contemporaries to treat the subject, which had enough life in it to furnish material later for Shelley's St. Irvine and Bulwer's Zanoni, Strange Story, and a host of others.

Godwin's treatment is, briefly, as follows: Count St. Leon is a youth of great promise. He conducts himself with gallantry in battle, takes a picturesque part at the Field of Cloth of Gold, and proves himself, in short, quite the proper hero for a novel. After a brief whirl of dissipa- tion— also quite the proper thing for a hero — he reforms and marries Marguerite de Damville, supposedly intended for a portrait of Mary Wollstonecraft. Really she is somewhat more lifelike than most of the "exemplary females" who serve as the pegs upon which Godwin hangs his love scenes. The ensuing period of domestic bliss is broken up when St. Leon goes to Paris to put his son in a school — (shades of Emile! what heresy! Could he not afford a tutor?) — and inci- dentally loses all his fortune at cards. Marguerite arrives at the critical moment to wind up her husband's affairs for him while he indulges in a fit of insanity. The couple moralize exhaustively on the compensations of poverty (Godwin had tried it too often himself to have any delusions as to its advantages), and betake themselves to Switzerland, beloved of Romanticists for its scenery and of Republicans for its government. Here they settle down quite resignedly until their

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property is destroyed by a storm. Thereupon they are forcibly driven away by the inhabitants. Just why is not clear; but mark the tyranny of even a republican government. They find an- other home where they enjoy seven years of do- mestic happiness. Godwin really does these little Swiss Family Robinson scenes very well. His own happy married life had awakened his latent domesticity. He was genuinely fond of child- ren; no man who was not could have written the preface to Baldwin's Fables.

To this model family comes a mysterious stranger who imparts to St. Leon the secret of eternal youth and unlimited wealth. He insists that St. Leon must not reveal the process even to his wife. St. Leon perceives that this will mean the end of mutual confidence. Again, the reason is not clear; but the circumstance furnishes oppor- tunity for extended introspective moralizing.

Calamity after calamity follows, because St. Leon seems utterly unable to find a plausible excuse for having money. One becomes exasper- ated at his inability to construct a good lie. His son leaves him, his wife dies of grief, he is pursued from place to place by the fury of mobs. Finally he settles his daughters on his old estate and starts out alone, a Byronic hero without the fascination of Byron.

He falls into the hands of the Inquisition, es- capes, rejuvenates himself, and sets methodically about his favourite project of benefiting mankind.

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He decides to finance a famine-stricken Hungarian province. Here follow some very sound economic reflections on gold actual versus wealth; did ever alchemist invoke such laws before! It really begins to look as though St. Leon were going to do something interesting at last. But like all Godwin's heroes he is obsessed by the need of a confidential friend. The man he hits upon, Bethlem Gabor, is one whose wrongs have made him an enemy of mankind. Gabor finds St. Leon rather tiresomely priggish (we cannot blame him) and imprisons him. After another long interlude of moralizing St. Leon is freed by his son. This son he really does manage to benefit by giving a dowry to his sweetheart, Pandora, another "beauteous fe- male." Here the book ends ; for no particular rea- son. But we are too much relieved to care for that. This novel also was a success, although not so decidedly as the first. Godwin's friend Holcroft writes to him :

You have repeated to me times innumerable the necessity of keeping characters in action and never suffering them to sermonize, yet of this fault St. Leon is particularly found guilty by all whom I have heard speak of the work . . . yet men must have arrived at an uncommon degree of wisdom when St. Leon shall be no longer read.1

I think we are inclined to agree with the first part of Holcroft's criticism at least, although modesty 1 Paul, Godwin, vol. ii., p. 25.

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may forbid us to claim for our own age "an un- common degree of wisdom." For certainly St. Leon is no longer read. Hazlitt writes: "St. Leon is not equal in plot and groundwork to Caleb Williams, tho perhaps superior to it in execution."1 It "ventures into the preternatural world, and comes nearer the world of common sense." Later, Shelley, on Godwin's saying that writing another novel would kill him, replied in a burst of enthusiasm: "What matter, if we have another St. Leon!1'2 But Sir Leslie Stephen calls it "a semi-historical novel, with all manner of improbable adventures and coincidences, which yet contrives to miss the moral."3 And we are rather inclined to let it go at that.

In Fleetwood Godwin tries yet a third type of interest. He says in his preface :

Caleb Williams was a story of very surprising and uncommon events, but which were supposed to be entirely within the laws and established course of nature as she operates in the planet we inhabit. The story of St. Leon is in the miraculous class, and its design to "mix human feelings and passions with incredible situations"4 and thus render them in- credible and interesting. The following story consists of such adventures as for the most part have occurred to at least half of the Englishmen now existing who are of the same rank of life as my hero.

1 Hazlitt, Collected Works (1902), vol. viii., p. 131. J Hazlitt, The English Novel.

s Leslie Stephen, Studies of a Biographer, vol. iii., p. 151, < Fleetwoodflvol. i., p. v.

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Fleetwood is educated among the wild scenery of Wales in a manner that Wordsworth would quite approve. He goes to Oxford a perfect young Rousseauist, naturally benevolent and good, and full of "sensibility." He gets some of the bloom knocked off his benevolence in the student life there. His education finished, he goes to Paris for the usual period of dissipation, like St. Leon. Then he looks up an old friend of his father's, M. Ruffigny,' — in Switzerland, of course. This M. Ruffigny turns out to be a Republican of the old school, living in a cottage, all virtue and sim- plicity. He had known Rousseau personally' — the only direct mention of him in these novels. This sage gives Fleetwood news of the death of his father. Grief restores him to his original sensibility. M. Ruffigny tells his own story, per- haps as human and enjoyable a bit of narrative as Godwin ever wrote. He was left an orphan in the care of the traditional wicked uncle, who appropriates his property and puts the child into the silk mills in Brussels. The description of the silk mills is to my mind one of the few really fine passages in these novels. Here again, as in the prison passage in Caleb Williams Godwin is really interested in a situation for its own sake, not as an excuse for an emotion ; he is looking out, not in. Godwin was a man who really loved children, in spite of his dry philosophy. At the very time he was writing this, there were chil- dren growing up about him — his own little Mary

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Wollstonecraft, and the stepchildren of his adop- tion. He writes of the children in the mills with a high sincerity and perfect naturalness, for once, too much in earnest to sentimentalize.

Several of the children appeared to me, judging from their size, to be under four years of age. I never saw such children. . . . Some were not tall enough with their little arms to reach the swift; these had stools which they carried in their hands, and mounted when occasion offered. They were all sallow; their muscles flaccid, and their form emaciated.

The child from the moment of his birth is an ex- perimental philosopher: and it is equally necessary for the development of his frame that his thoughts and his body should be free from fetters. But then he cannot earn twelve sous a week. These children were uncouth and ill-grown in every limb, and were stiff and decrepit in their carriage, so as to seem like old men. At four years of age they could earn salt to their bread; but at forty, if it were possible that they should live so long, they could not earn bread to their salt.

But be it so! I know that the earth is the great Bridewell of the universe, where spirits descended from heaven are committed to drudgery and hard labour. Yet I should be glad that our children, up to a certain age were exempt; sufficient is the hardship and sub- jection of their whole future life; methinks, even Egyptian taskmasters would consent that they should

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grow up in peace until they had acquired the strength necessary for substantial service.1

More than a hundred years have passed since Godwin wrote that passage. Much that seemed to his contemporaries worthy of admiration serve only to amuse or bore us now. But this is modern. To our shame be it said, it might be incorporated as it stands in the next report of the National Committee on Child Labour.

From this mill the child Ruffigny makes his escape, and wanders to Versailles in search of the king — a pathetic little figure that Dickens would have loved. He finds that the king is not as he had fancied, the father of his people. But he attracts the notice of Ambrose Fleet wood, grand- father of our hero, who takes him to England and brings him up as the companion and equal of his own son. Ruffigny makes a fortune, saves his foster-brother from bankruptcy, and retires to his native country to live, as we found him, "a Republican of the old model."

At the news of his father's death, Fleetwood shows his "sensibility," like the typical hero of the period, by an utter absence of restraint and a long tirade against the heartless stoicism of any self-control. Ruffigny accompanies his protege on his return to England, but, finding him again drifting into dissipation, leaves him. This effect- ively sobers Fleetwood. He retires to Wales and

1 Fleetwood, vol. i., pp. 164-68.

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"the pleasures of memory and imagination." But he is lonely: he desires a friend after the Romantic pattern. For, like most egoists, God- win's heroes bore themselves fearfully when left alone. He goes to London and mingles with li- terary men. At the age of forty, he meets a delightful family named MacNeil, and falls in love with the youngest daughter, Mary. The others go on a voyage and are lost at sea. Fleetwood marries Mary, whose attractions are enhanced by her grief and "sensibility." He resolves to devote himself to consoling her. But he finds it hard to adjust his old-bachelor ways to even a well-loved young wife. (Query: is this autobiography?) He invites two young kins- men to visit him. One, Kenrick, is virtuous and lovable; the other, Gifford, is a perfectly conven- tional stage villain after the model of lago. The obvious misunderstanding ensues. Gifford con- trives to make Fleetwood jealous. He banishes his wife, disinherits his child, and starts divorce proceedings. Mary protests her innocence and vows she will never see Fleetwood again. But matters are cleared up. She forgives him in spite of her vow, he is properly remorseful, "and they all lived happily ever after."

Not a very powerful novel, certainly. Godwin never had the gift of writing of the real doings of real people so as to make them live and hold our interest. Nevertheless, to my mind this is one of the pleasantest of his novels. There is less strain-

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ing after effect, and there are some really likable people in it; Ruffigny, for instance, and the girl- wife Mary.

In the preface to his next novel, Mandeville (1817), Godwin gives as his sources Joanna Baillie's De Montfort and Wieland by C. B. Brown of Pennsylvania. z There is a historical background of the time of Cromwell, but it is handled rather perfunctorily. The story begins with a massacre in Ireland in which Mandeville's parents are killed when he is a child of three. He is saved by his nurse and brought up in the desolate seacoast manor of a misanthropic invalid uncle. Mande- ville's tutor is a bigoted Presbyterian clergyman who trains him in the fear of the Lord and im- placable hatred of the Catholic Church. Godwin writes of the horrors of theology from experience. The dark childhood of the little Mandeville, "who never was a boy," is drawn with a masterly stroke. Godwin is a thorough believer in environment as an influence in the formation of character. He misses no detail contributing to the gloomy con- sistency at which he aims. This novel is really a study in abnormal psychology.

The Reverend Hilkiah's nagging severity crushes the natural self-confidence of his pupil, producing in its place a rankling self-conscious pride. The one bright spot in Mandeville's life is a visit from his sister who is growing up in a happier environment. After a time young Man-

1 Preface to Mandeville, p.ix;De Montfort, pub. 1798.

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deville is sent to school. Here the results of his abnormal childhood and unfortunate disposition appear. His egoism is intense. Behind a mo- rose and repellent manner festers a morbid self- consciousness. He is obsessed with a desire for admiration. A schoolmate, Clifford, wins easily the popularity Mandeville longs for, and he hates him with a jealous intensity. He sees the un- reasonableness of this with painful clearness; but his hatred becomes a mania. Accidents in- crease it. Mandeville is falsely accused of having an anti-royalist book in his possession. Clifford presides at his trial. Later, at the university Mandeville is promised a secretaryship to a royalist leader only to find that the place had previously been assigned to Clifford.

Mandeville retires from the Cause. To his diseased imagination it seems that he is perma- nently disgraced. A fit of madness ensues. He is nursed to health by his sister who tries to reconcile him to Clifford. Clifford does all in his power to humble himself and appease Mandeville. But circumstances continually throw them together and Mandeville cannot endure seeing the admira- tion his rival wins. It soon appears that Clifford is betrothed to Mandeville's sister. The rest of the book is a melancholy record of mania. The climax is reached when with the acuteness of a deranged mind Mandeville discovers that his own bride is related to Clifford. His violent re- proaches cause her death; he goes in search of

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Clifford and finds him at her grave. They fight, and both are killed.

So ends a sombre, powerful, tedious novel. The character of Mandeville is developed with painfully minute consistency. But we feel that the author has no right to trouble us with the psychology of such a person on any terms. The method is introspection carried beyond the verge of sanity. It needs the light touch of a Meredith to anatomize an egoist; even then it is not a pleasant picture.

Strange to say, this novel found a warm admirer in no less a person than Shelley. He writes :

It is of that irresistible and overwhelming kind that the mind in its influence is like a cloud borne by an impetuous wind. In style and strength of expression Mandeville is wonderfully great, and the energy and sweetness of its sentiments can scarcely be equalled.1

Though Godwin's last two novels are passed over by most commentators as mere pot-boilers, I must confess that I see in them no falling off. But as the others have been discussed in consider- able detail, perhaps these two may be somewhat more briefly treated.

The preface to Cloudsley gives a rather fanciful statement of its origin :

When I wrote Caleb Williams I considered it as in some measure a paraphrase on the story of Bluebeard

1 Leslie Stephen, Studies of a Biographer, vol. iii., pp. 138-39.

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by Charles Perrault. The present publication may in the same sense be denominated a paraphrase on the old ballad of the Children in the Wood. I

At first sight it suggests rather a paraphrase on the Arabian Nights' Entertainment, or on a Chinese "nest of boxes"; a story within a story within a story, and all in the first person until one forgets which "I" is supposed to be speaking.

Briefly, the plot is as follows: Meadows, son of poor parents, becomes a sailor, is abandoned in Russia, incurs the enmity of the powers there by falling in love in the wrong place, is banished, and comes home looking for employment. Lord Richard Danvers engages his services for a dan- gerous mission, with the following confession: Richard was a younger son ; his elder brother was killed in a duel, leaving his wife in Richard's care. She dies at the birth of her son. Richard appro- priates the estate, giving the child, Julian, to an accomplice named Cloudsley to be brought up in obscurity. Richard marries and has four children. But the children die one after another of a mysterious curse. Richard is troubled by his guilty conscience. Meanwhile Cloudsley has taken Julian to Italy and brought him up as his own son. But Cloudsley too is troubled with remorse. He goes to England to remonstrate with Richard. Julian in his father's absence quite innocently falls in with a company of ban-

1 Cloudsley, vol. i., p. iv.

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ditti. (Once more our old friend the philosophic brigand appears.) These accidentally kill Cloud- sley on his return.

The mission Lord Danvers assigns to Meadows is to go in search of Julian and bring him to Eng- land to restore him to his estate. Meadows arrives in Italy just in time to save Julian from being executed with the brigands and brings him back in triumph. Lord Danvers abdicates in his favour. Meadows is retained as confidential adviser.

The last of Godwin's novels, Deloraine is allied in its general scheme to the first. It is the story of a murder and a long and fantastic flight from the law. Deloraine is a brilliant young nobleman. After some years of ideal married life his wife dies and his only daughter, Catherine, goes to live with friends on the continent. Deloraine falls in love a second time, with a young woman — I beg her pardon, a "female of exquisite sensibility" — who has been crossed in love. Her accepted lover William was lost at sea. Deloraine falls in love with her melancholy, and she marries him to please her parents. He becomes very unhappy because his wife does not return his love.

William, the lost lover, was not dead after all. He appears most inopportunely in search of Mar- garet. Finding them together, Deloraine in a fit of insane jealousy shoots William. Margaret dies of shock (or more properly, of the author's desire to get her out of the story), and Deloraine

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accompanied by his devoted daughter begins a long flight from justice. Here too the arm of the law is reinforced by personal vindictiveness. A friend of William's dedicates himself to aveng- ing the murder. The chase leads them all over Europe, into an abandoned castle on the Rhine in true Gothic romance style, ending only when Deloraine in despair returns to England to give himself up. This Catherine prevents by going to their pursuer and appealing to his reason and mag- nanimity. This device is as successful as it was in Caleb Williams. Deloraine is permitted to retire with his daughter to live in contented obscurity.

Whatever was the secret of the success of these novels whose road to oblivion was beset by so many contradictory estimates, it certainly was not Godwin's ability to tell a story. His plots are poorly constructed and worse managed. God- win is in his literary ideas a Sentimentalist; he is interested in feeling for its own sake. He seems laboriously to invent a situation merely as a peg on which to hang an emotional paroxysm. We are perfectly ready to be interested in a novel of psychology rather than of incident, if the author chooses; but even on those terms we feel that the motivation is inadequate, the emotion insincere, and the psychology unsound. Godwin's style, however, we can praise with a clear conscience. It is clear, direct, easy to read; simple, yet with a sustained dignity of manner ; the style of a logician rather than of an artist.

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In recalling these six novels, one is struck by a certain similarity of impression. The theme, in spite of Godwin's conscious efforts not to repeat himself, does not vary greatly. It has been de- fined by some of his commentators as "Man, the enemy of man," or, "The Victim of Society." I prefer to call it "The Sentimental Individualist," or, "The Egoist." The type-hero is usually a man of considerable talents, all the advantages of birth and breeding, and a disposition of Rousseau- istic benevolence. Like all egoists, he is totally dependent on the approbation of his world. This takes two forms ; a craving for general admiration, and the need of a very exclusive and exacting type of friendship. This latter he speaks of always from the standpoint of the one receiving, not of the one giving. Usually he passes through a period of ideal married life. Caleb Williams is the excep- tion, of course, being written under the influence of the ideas in Political Justice. But the next novel is frankly a recantation of Godwin's earlier attitude towards domestic life. Before St. Leon was written, he had married Mary Wollstonecraft and learned a great many things. Godwin's characters are all more or less lay figures, with the possible exception of the type-hero; but women compare very favourably with the men in point of reality. They are all tiresomely good and monotonously beautiful, but occasionally they show considerable force of character. St. Leon's Marguerite and Deloraine's Catherine, for in-

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stance, take charge of very trying situations and manage their respective husband and father quite efficiently. Godwin always succeeds better in treating domestic affection than in passionate love episodes. Some of his pictures of married friendship are rather fine. Surely when Dick- ens and Scott make most of their heroines prigs, we may pardon Godwin.

The type-hero puts an end to his own possibility of happiness by some crime or act of folly, con- cerning which he moralizes morbidly, but into which he is forced, apparently by his own nature when circumstances present the occasion. x The re- mainder of his life is involved in the consequences, external and internal. The nature of this domi- nant characteristic and the resultant act varies. It is Falkland's obsession of "honour" and his murder of Tyrrel; Williams's curiosity and his prying into the chest; St. Leon's desire for wealth and his acceptance of the stone and elixir; Fleet- wood's desire to monopolize the entire attention of his young wife and his yielding to jealousy; Mandeville's craving for admiration and his hatred of Clifford; Richard's wish to be Lord Danvers, and his wrong to his brother's child; Deloraine's longing for Margaret's love, and his shooting of William.

In all these cases, be it observed, the type- hero is not the victim of society primarily, but of his own character. Godwin's view of society

1 Godwin is a necessarian, with a Calvinist training.

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enters into his novels (excepting of course the first), only incidentally. Even in Caleb Williams we should hardly recognize social theory as the main purpose if it were not for the preface and the sub-title. But we catch occasional glimpses of the author of Political Justice. The point oftenest emphasized is the fallacy of regarding our judicial system as impartial or just to the individual. We have already considered the treat- ment of this subject in Caleb Williams; the same ideas are glanced at in all the others.

Economic theories are discussed specifically in one place only: St. Leon's attempt at improving the condition in Hungary by using his gold as a lever to start the production of real wealth. But the Swiss Rufrigny exemplifies in his conduct God- win's theory of justice in the matter of property rights. In Political Justice Godwin declares that the individual's rights over property are of three sorts: (i) each man has a right to the means of subsistence, and to that portion of the general goods which will yield its maximum of pleasure by being appropriated to his use; (2) he has a right of stewardship over that property which he produces; (3) his ownership of property such as lands, and capital in general is recognized for the present, because any system is preferable to the chaos that would ensue if every man appropriated what he thought he had a right to. Rufrigny, it will be remembered, makes a fortune by his own ability and industry, and proposes to retire on

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a reasonable income regarding himself as merely a steward of the rest to be used for others. But he is satisfied to make over his surplus to a single individual, his friend, instead, in order that that friend may continue in the position of a capitalist to which he is accustomed.

A further point upon which numerous passages may be found in the novels of Godwin is education. Here more than ever one catches echoes of a greater individualist, Rousseau. The child is to be interested, drawn out; on no account is his spontaneity to be repressed. But Godwin had been a fairly successful tutor and had also brought up children of his own, which Rousseau never did ; so there are hints of discipline here and there which would have shocked the author of Entile.

But it is in his general attitude toward culture that we find the greatest divergence between Godwin and the pure Rousseauists. Godwin does not regard civilization as the sole source of corruption; he cherishes no delusion of the noble savage in an ideal state of nature. Perhaps his early Calvinism had eaten into his soul too deeply. At all events, he is out of harmony with the school of inspired ignorance, as the following passage shows; Marguerite tells St. Leon she is reconciled to poverty:

But she could never bring herself to believe that ignorance was a benefit. She wished her children to attain intellectual refinements, possess fully the

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attributes of a rational nature, and be as far removed as possible from the attributes of stocks and stones, by accumulating a magazine of thoughts and a rich and cultivated sensibility.1

So far, our treatment of Godwin as a novelist seems to have been devoted entirely to the ungra- cious task of pointing out his failings. But if it is true, as Hazlitt says, that: "The impression made upon the readers is the exact measure of the author's genius," then we must allow these novels some tinge of greatness. They have un- doubtedly in parts a sombre power. They pro- duce in the reader a sense of oppressive, morose intensity; a force of individualism verging toward that evil borderland of reason whereon mania casts its first faint shadow of unwholesomeness. The very dullness of the minute introspective analyses adds to the effect. For there is no depth of soul-weariness like a Cosmos filled with Ego.

It will doubtless be objected that this very unsympathetic treatment of William Godwin's personality leaves unexplained the strong influ- ence which he undoubtedly exerted over some of the finest minds of his time. By no means. William Godwin was a powerful reasoner, with a gift for clear and forcible argument. Certain revolutionary principles he found ready to his hand in the works of earlier French and English

1 St. Leon, vol. i., p. 180.

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philosophers. To these he added certain ideas gathered from theologians like Jonathan Edwards, and carried the resultant theories to their extreme conclusions with a grim, irresistible logic. His only original contribution to Revolutionism was an unconscious reductio ad absurdum. Never- theless, Political Justice is an eminently reasonable book; much more reasonable than life ever is. Moreover, it is written in a style that carries conviction. It is only when one deserts the methods of logic for those of common sense that its absurdity appears.

This very forcible work might, however, have remained unknown outside the circle of logic- chopping metaphysicians but for one important fact. It came at a time when the age was ready for it. It was, as we have seen, one of a large group of books expressing similar philosophies, all of which found their audience awaiting them. Of this group Political Justice was the most ex- treme, though not the most representative. Hence its pre-eminence.

Political Justice stands alone among William Godwin's works; a book dominated by rather than dominating the spirit of the time. It is safe to say he could not have written it in any other year. During the period of the Reaction he employed himself in writing novels which are, as we have seen, the creatures of literary senti- mentalism, touched only with an afterglow of Revolutionary ideals.

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SECTION 2 : THE YOUNG SHELLEY

One does not usually think of Shelley as a novelist. In fact one is apt not to think of him as anything but a poet. That is indeed all-inclusive if one's conception of poetry is high enough. Too often however poet and thinker are used as sepa- rate terms, with an implication that to the poet's imaginative and emotional appeal a sound intel- lectual basis is unessential. From criticism of this type no poet, perhaps, has suffered more than Shelley. In his own time his poetry was con- demned because of the underlying doctrine, but at least it was taken seriously. Now criticism has gone to the other extreme. The poetry is accepted, the doctrine patronized or apologized for. We are all so obsessed with Matthew Ar- nold's fine phrase for Shelley— "Beautiful and ineffectual angel, beating in the void with his luminous wings — in vain" — that we quite forget to listen fairly to what Shelley may have to say for himself. Perhaps, then, by way of restoring the balance, it may not be amiss to turn for a little from Shelley the poet to that younger and almost unknown Shelley before the publication of Alastor, * whose work consisted chiefly of radical pamphlets and prose romances.

1 Alastor, 1816. Shelley's first poetical work with the excep- tion of the lost juvenilia and Queen Mob, which he afterwards wished to repudiate. The poet Shelley belongs to a period rather later than the one under discussion. But Shelley the novelist and pamphleteer was still living under the shadow of the Revolution.

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Only two of the novels of Shelley were com- pleted: Zastrozzi (1810) and St. Irvyne (1811). These are of interest chiefly as they may serve to mark the progress of the poet's mind. They are extraordinary only as the work of a school- boy of eighteen. We may perhaps pause for a moment to summarize them.

The action in Zastrozzi centres in three persons : Verezzi, a young nobleman ; Matilda, a lady who is infatuated with him and to whom he is indifferent ; and Zastrozzi, a mysterious stranger who pursues Verezzi with relentless hatred. Zastrozzi aids Matilda to win Verezzi's love by a deception, using her as the (unconscious) means of reducing him to despair and suicide. Zastrozzi is seized by the Inquisition and accepts torture with calm defiance, saying that his life was dedicated to the task of avenging on Verezzi a wrong done to his mother. x

St. Irvyne, or the Rosicrucian has two plots, very superficially connected. I. A young lady is cap- tured by bandits. One of them, Wolf stein, kills the captain and rescues her. They escape by the aid of a mysterious stranger, Ginotti, who there- after possesses a powerful influence over Wolf stein. It appears that Ginotti possesses the gift of eternal

1 Dr. Hancock (French Revolution and the English Poets, p. 52) says: " Zastrozzi is his (Shelley's) ideal of a virtuous man. " This is hardly a fair interpretation. Zastrozzi is merely the conven- tional villain of the time. He is described as: "A soul deadened by crime" (Zastrozzi, p. 73), which was hardly Shelley's ideal of virtue.

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life and can only end his wretched existence by inducing another to accept it. He imparts the secret to Wolf stein, but Wolf stein refuses to com- plete the transaction by "denying his Creator." Thereupon fiends kill Wolfstein and carry Ginotti living to eternal torment. 2. The other plot is merely the story of a girl who has fallen under the fascination of one Nempere, who, it is explained at the end, was Ginotti under another name.

Shelley says of these novels in a letter to Godwin in i8i2r:

I was haunted with a passion for the wildest and most extravagant romances. . . . From a reader, I became a writer of romances ; before the age of seven- teen I had published two, St. Irvyne and Zastrozzi, each of which, though quite uncharacteristic of me as I now am yet serves to mark the state of my mind at the period of their composition.

Describing the change effected in him by the reading of Political Justice, he adds :

I was no longer the votary of romance: till then I had existed in an ideal world — now I found that in this universe of ours was enough to excite the interest of the heart, enough to employ the discussion of reason. . . . You will perceive that Zastrozzi and St. Irvyne were written prior to my acquaintance with your writings. I had indeed read St. Leon before I wrote St. Irvyne, but the reasonings had then made little impression.

1 Dowden, Life of Shelley, vol. i., pp. 220-25.

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From this it is clear that we need look for no conscious social theorizing in these early romances. Both have heroes of a type very common in the age immediately following the Revolution; the mysterious defiant outcast from society. This is the type of titanism which later became some- what identified in England with the poetry of Byron. Its source, however, is to be found among the German Romanticists. Shelley's treatment of Zastrozzi and Ginotti is in no way character- istic. At most, they merely indicate the appeal of this type to a young individualist in a state of schoolboy revolt against authority.

In this connection a suggestion in Buxton Forman's preface1 becomes significant. On the ground of certain references in letters and certain internal evidence of phraseology, he believes that these are not original compositions, but adapta- tions and translations from the German.

There is mention of several other novels which were planned and even begun, at about this time. Among them was "a fragment of wild romance about a witch," begun in conjunction with Medwin about the beginning of 1809 and "a novel which was to be the deathblow to intolerance, projected at the end of i8io."2

But the only fragment of unfinished novel which remains to us is The Assassins, written in Switzer- land in 1814.

1 Works of Shelley, Forman ed., vol. v., pp. xii £. * Ibid., p. xxvii.

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The Assassins are described as an ancient tribe of Christians driven into exile at the fall of Jeru- salem. They take refuge in the beautiful valley of Bethzatanai, where they live for generations in the loving communism of the Golden Age. Gradually their religious beliefs are modified, "corresponding with the exalted condition of their being." They "esteem understanding to be the paramount rule of conduct."1 Shelley comments on the extent to which the sincere directness of such a people would be at variance with the time-serving poli- cies of civilized society. "No Assassin would submissively temporize with vice and in cold charity become a pandar to falsehood and desola- tion."2

Albedir, a member of this gentle tribe, wander- ing in the forest finds a man impaled among the branches of a cedar, and watched by a serpent and a vulture. He overhears a part of a titanic soliloquy :

The great tyrant is baffled even in success! Joy! Joy ! to his tortured foe ! Triumph to the worm whom he tramples under his feet ! . . . Thousands tremble before thy throne who at my voice shall dare to pluck the golden crown from thine unholy head !3

The Stranger calls to Albedir in a voice "as the voice of a beloved friend." " In the name of God,

1 Works of Shelley, vol. vi., p. 229. * Ibid., p. 232.

3 Ibid., p. 235

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approach. He that suffered me to fall watches thee; — the gentle and merciful spirits of sweet human love delight not in agony and horror."1 Albedir bears the stranger to his home and cares for him tenderly. The fragment ends with a picture of the two children of Albedir playing by the lake with a tame serpent. "The girl sang to it and it leaped into her bosom and she crossed her fair hands over it as if to cherish it there."2

In this fragment there are foreshadowings of Prometheus and of Cythna. Forman says of it :

Intellectual brilliancy, earnestness, great ease in the use of rhetoric, and an egregious practical energy are already among the qualities to be credited to Shelley. But in the A ssassins there is a touch of a new quality, — trace of an infinite yearning over the miseries of suffering humanity, the divine tenderness which is eventually and forever the distinguishing charac- teristic of Shelley. ... In every composition dating after the middle of the year 1814 a new tone prevails.3

These novels may be considered as marking the beginnings and the end of Shelley's early prose period. Zastrozzi is the work of a precocious boy, disliking restraint, whose imagination has been captured by a certain type of titanism in the ro- mantic literature of the time. With St. Irvyne the influence of Godwin through St. Leon, if not

1 Works of Shelley, vol. vi., p. 235. * Ibid., p. 242.

s Ibid., vol. v., preface, p. xxii.

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through Political Justice, has begun. In The Assassins, Shelley 'sRevolutionary political theory is already passing over into a social idealism whose imaginative and emotional intensity forces poetic expression.

The most significant part of Shelley's early work however is not the romances but the political pamphlets. These give explicitly and in its true proportions the political belief underlying the later poetry.

In the light of these prose tracts it becomes apparent that Shelley's political writings fall into three distinct groups, only one of which is adequately represented in the poems. I. In the first group are those writings which form a serious and coherent expression of Shelley's theory of the nature and function of government. 2. In addi- tion to these there are a number of articles and pamphlets directed against some specific abuse or in favour of specific reforms. 3. The third class, consisting chiefly of poems, we may call the expres- sion of Shelley's social religion. Shelley believed devoutly in the ultimate perfectibility of humanity through the principle of universal love, and looked forward to a time when mankind fulfilling its highest possibilities might live without restraint. But be it observed, perfect liberty was to be the result of moral and spiritual perfection, not perfection the result of immediate liberty. *

1 This gives the doctrine of Godwin a somewhat different em- phasis. The nature of Shelley's indebtedness to Godwin, Rous-

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In considering any social or political doctrine of Shelley's it should be made quite clear in which of these classes it belongs. Shelley is not incon- sistent. But if his recommendations as to the most effective method of dealing with the specific abuses in his own time are to be confused with his statements of underlying governmental prin- ciples, or if his impassioned yearning for the kingdom of heaven on earth is to be perverted into propaganda for immediate political anarchy, obviously it will make a considerable difference in our estimate of the soundness of his judgment.

In this connection it may be well to recall the character of Shelley given by his friend Jefferson Hogg (who despised poetry) and endorsed by another intimate friend, Trelawney, as "the only written likeness he ever knew of him. ' ' Hogg says :

It was his rare talents as a scholar that drew me to him. The greatest men are those who compose our laws, and judges to minister them, and if Shelley had put all his mind into the study of law, instead of writing nonsensical rhapsodies, he would have been a great benefactor to the world, for he had the most acute intellect of any man I ever knew. x

With this estimate by way of counterbalancing ancient prejudice against poets in practical affairs

seau, Holbach, Helvetius, and the Encyclopaedists is treated in some detail by Dr. Hancock in his French Revolution and the English Poets, chap. v. For this reason all question of sources is omitted from the present discussion. 1 Trelawney, Records, preface, p. x.

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we may consider briefly the three divisions of Shelley's political theory. Perhaps it may be well to select one document to represent each class and let Shelley speak for himself as far as possible.

The fullest expression of Shelley's principles of government is to be found in the Declaration of Rights, a broadside printed in Ireland in i8i2.T Much of this wise and liberal manifesto seems commonplace now. But many of its passages are strikingly modern in their application. One might undertake to find parallels for all of them in the leading sociological publications of the past decade.

We may quote the most characteristic sections :

Government has no rights. It is a delegation from several individuals for the purpose of securing their own. It is therefore just only so far as it exists by their consent, useful only so far as it operates to their well being.

7-

The rights of man in the present state of society can only be secured by some degree of coercion to be

1 "In an article in the Fortnightly Review for January, 1871. Mr. Rossetti points out the resemblance between this declaration and two such documents of the French Revolution, the one adopted by the Constituent Assembly in August, 1789, and the other proposed in April, 1793, by Robespierre." Works of Shelley, vol. v., p. 392.

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exercised on their violator. The sufferer has a right that the degree of coercion employed be as slight as possible.

9-

No man has a right to disturb the public peace by personally resisting the execution of a law however bad.

17-

No man has a right to do an evil thing that good may come.

18.

Expediency is inadmissible in morals. Politics are only sound when conducted on principles of morality. They are in fact the morals of nations.

19-

Man has no right to kill his brother. It is no excuse that he does so in uniform.

20.

No man has a right to monopolize more than he can enjoy.

29.

Every man has a right to a certain degree of leisure and liberty, because it is his duty to attain a certain degree of knowledge. He may before he ought. x

These are the main points insisted upon in the Declaration of Rights. Twelve of the thirty-one sections are devoted to the right of perfect freedom of belief and discussion.

1 Works of Shelley, vol. v., pp. 393-98.

9

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In the same classification may be included the fragments On A System of Government by Juries and On Reforms, together with numerous passages in works belonging primarily to the other groups.

Of the second group, Shelley's propaganda for specific reforms in his own time, the two Marlow Pamphlets may be taken as representative. ' The first of these is A Proposal for Putting Reform to a Vote Throughout the Kingdom. The closing para- graph may be quoted as a fair sample of Shelley's practical wisdom:

With respect to Universal Suffrage, I confess I con- sider its adoption, in the present unprepared state of knowledge and feeling, a measure fraught with peril. . . . The consequences of the immediate extension of the franchise to every male adult would be to place power in the hands of men who have been rendered brutal and torpid and ferocious by ages of slavery. . . . Mr. Paine's arguments are unanswerable ; a pure republic may be shown by influences the most obvious and irresistible to be that system of social order the fittest to produce the happiness and promote the genuine eminence of man. Yet, nothing can less consist with reason or afford smaller hopes of any beneficial issue, than the plan which would abolish the regal and aristocratic branches of our constitution before the public mind, through many gradations of improvement, shall have arrived at the maturity which can disregard these symbols of its childhood.

'Published in 1817, under the signature "The Hermit of Marlow."

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The second of these pamphlets, An Address to the People on the Death of the Princess Charlotte, is a noble example of almost lyric eloquence in dealing with questions of the hour. Shelley merges the lament for the death of a beloved princess in the deeper and more solemn lament for the death of three ignorant workmen executed on a trumped-up charge of conspiracy through the machinations of government spies:

Mourn then people of England. Clothe yourselves in solemn black. Let the bells be tolled. Think of mortality and change. Shroud yourselves in solitude and in the gloom of sacred sorrow. Spare no symbol of universal grief. Weep — mourn — lament. A beau- tiful princess is dead, — she who should have been the queen of her beloved nation and whose posterity should have ruled it forever. Liberty is dead. Slave ! I charge thee disturb not the depth and solemnity of our grief by any meaner sorrow. . . . Let us follow the corpse of British Liberty slowly and reverentially to its tomb ; and if some glorious phantom should appear and make its throne of broken swords and sceptres and royal crowns trampled in the dust, let us say that the Spirit of Liberty has arisen from its grave and left all that was gross and mortal there, and kneel down and worship it as our queen. r

In this group of occasional propaganda belong An Address to the Irish People (1812), Proposals for an Association (1812), and A Letter to Lord Ellenborough Occasioned by the Sentence which he

1 Works of Shettey, vol. vi., p. 113.

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Passed on Mr. D. I. Eaton as Publisher of the Third Part of Paine1 s "Age of Reason" (1812).

The final phase of Shelley's Revolutionism, his social faith, finds its complete expression only in the poems. Shelley was perfectly aware that the choice of prose or verse as a medium is not a matter of the writer's caprice but is inherent in the nature of the idea. He abhorred didactic poetry. x It is the soul of his Revolutionism that is to be found in his poems. On our own heads be it if we forget to look for the body of his practical teachings where it may be found, in his prose works.

Chronology assumes here a certain relevancy. If we take the period of the Revolution (including the opposition to it in England) as it is frequently taken, to extend from the summoning of the States General to the Battle of Waterloo, it may be said that during this period Shelley belongs among the Revolutionary prose writers. When the last sparks of radicalism had been so completely crushed by the Holy Alliance that even Con- servatism lost its defensive vigour, Shelley's Revolutionism, instead of fading to a mood of half-sceptical revolt like that of Byron, reaches the tragic intensity of faith in the social ideal that gives to Prometheus Unbound its unearthly beauty.

The poetry of Shelley does not properly fall within the limits of our discussion, either in point

1 Cf. Shelley's preface to Prometheus Unbound.

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of time or of form.1 We may say in closing that Shelley the poet lived in an age of conser- vatism but he was not of it. His poetry is the fine flower of the age of Revolution. His own time felt this and repudiated him. He himself was conscious of it, and has left a perfect analysis of his own relation to the age in the lines from Adonais:

Midst others of less note came one frail form, A phantom among men; companionless

As the last cloud of an expiring storm Whose thunder is its knell.2

1 Revolution in the poetry of Shelley has, moreover, been fully treated by Dr. Hancock. A list of the poems which contain Revolutionary doctrines is added to the bibliography of this chapter.

'Adonais, verse xxxi.

CHAPTER IV

SOME OPPONENTS OF THE REVOLUTIONARY PHILOSOPHERS

HOLCROFT, Godwin, and Shelley; these three are the true and orthodox exponents of the Revolutionary doctrines. Of all the phases of that complex philosophy, nothing essential re- mains entirely unrepresented in their writings. In succeeding chapters1 we shall see what varia- tions the main tenets received at the hands of novelists who did not accept them in their entirety. These, however, add little that is original. They are like ripples spreading in circles that grow ever broader and less distinct, until one is finally puzzled to trace their relation to the central force that troubled the surface of the age.

Before we pass on to these secondary radical- isms, there remain a number of novels which deal with the original philosophies directly but from an opposite point of view. These add very con- siderably to our understanding of the period. Unfriendly criticism is often not the least acute. The absurdities of the Revolutionary philosophies

1 Especially in Chapters V. and VI. 134

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were numerous ; he who runs may read them. But besides satirizing the obvious fallacies of their opponents, some of these novels offer, as we shall see, valuable analyses of the systems which they are attacking. They also give explicit lists of the authors identified with the Revolution, and throw some light on the extent to which their doctrines had spread in the nation at large. Finally, and not least important, they indicate the extent to which the age was aware of the economic basis of its own unrests. Veiled under a zeal for law, order, monarchy, religion, or what not, one catches ever and anon strange echoes of the primitive, snarling hatred, born of fear, with which the Classes who Have regard all that threatens to arouse that sleeping beast, the Masses who Have Not. Political and religous bigotry are but feeble motives compared with the bitter unreason awakened by any discussion in which Property is involved.

Two of these anti-Revolutionary novels are of sufficient interest to warrant a somewhat detailed discussion. These will be treated first at some length before passing on to the less important novels of the same group.

The Vagabond, or, Whatever is Just is Equal, but Equality not always Just1 was, as the preface announces :

written with a desire of placing in a practical light some of the prominent absurdities of the many self- 1 By George Walker, published in 1799.

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important reformers of mankind who, having heated their political imaginations, sit down to write political romances, — and turn loose their disciples upon the world to root up and overthrow everything that has received the sanction of ages. On this subject it is impossible to exaggerate, so inimical are the doctrines of Godwin, Hume, Rousseau, etc., to all civilized society. Can we wonder at the vices and crimes of a neighboring people? Or can we wonder that the generality of shallow-thinking men embrace and support them with ardour?1

This was apparently a "best seller" in its time. In the preface to the third edition the author comments upon the fact that, in spite of his refusal to print a cheap edition like The Rights of Man, two editions have been sold within six months. "It gives me considerable hopes that the destruct- ive torpor of the rich is evaporating, and that they have begun to take an active interest in the present crisis."3 Evidently the worthy Walker perceived quite clearly the economic nature of "the present crisis," and to whose interest it was to avoid changes.

In the first chapter the philosophic Dr. Alogos, while walking near his estate reflecting upon the unreasonableness of private property, is at- tacked by a youth who eloquently defends his right to take whatever he needs. The good Doctor, perceiving that he has met with a kindred spirit, takes the youth home with him, and listens

1 The Vagabond, vol. i., p. xix. Ibid., p. xxii.

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to his story. Fenton (the youth's name) had, it appears, a natural desire for learning. He "did not then know that profound ignorance is the real and only state in which man can enjoy felicity." At the university he had a tutor, Stupeo by name, who instructed him in modern philosophy as represented by Tom Paine, Godwin, Hume, Voltaire, and Rousseau. He learned, among other things, that: "To doubt is the first step to be a great philosopher. . . . Those who believe any- thing certainly are fools. (Hume, On Human Nature, vol. i., p. I68.)"1 Also, that as he had never consented to the government under which he lived, to him it was an absolute despotism. He objected at first that the government could not possibly consult every individual as he came of age, but was soon convinced that: "Surely Voltaire, Rousseau, and Tom Paine knew what was for the best."2 He "deserted Aristotle, Grotius, Puffendorf, and even Locke, and ceased to study Latin and Greek."3 He adds:

My imagination was wanned by the glorious and brilliant spectacle of superstition tumbling down and crushing tyranny in its ruins. . . . The time shall come when knowledge is disseminated in all ranks, when the plowman shall sit on his plow reading the rights of man. Then aristocracy and property shall tumble together. 4

1 Vagabond, vol. i., p. 16-21. 3 Ibid., p. 30.

* Ibid., p. 25. < Ibid., pp. 45-47.

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He was expelled from college, to the great grief of his affectionate father, who said: "Stupeo could never sophisticate the common sense dictates of a mind willing to do right."1 A fire broke out near his home; he kept the firemen away from the ladders while he meditated which of the in- mates was best worth saving, according to the teachings of Godwin. Attacked by his indignant neighbours, his answer was to doubt whether there ever was any fire at all, according to the method of Hume.

Fenton then left his home and became a vaga- bond, consoling himself with the thought: "Were I fit to live in society, I should be no real philo- sopher." In his wanderings, he came upon a gathering in a barn where a political ranter was lecturing on the rights of man and the evils of the time. (A note declares this address to be quoted from a real political lecturer.) He winds up with a denunciation of government spies. The crowd applauds vigorously, and departs with a firm conviction that: "England be gone to the dogs as we heard Citizen Ego say, and it will never be as it ought to be until we have another Alderman Cromwell, and no tithes." 2 Afterwards Fenton heard "Citizen Ego" planning to forge letters from imaginary corresponding clubs in other cities. The author adds a note denouncing all political clubs.

Fenton harangued against the luxury and ex-

1 Vagabond, vol. i., p. 64. 3 Ibid., p. 84.

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travagance of the rich, and was answered by a noble lord (the author's mouthpiece), in the following manner:

Luxury fosters arts and sciences, and employs the mechanic, the shop-keeper, the merchant. Without luxury, none of these could meet employ. ... In the present condition of society, it is in the power of every man possessing real abilities to rise to a station equal to those abilities; and therefore we reverence the exteriors of wealth, tacitly bestowing it upon all possessors. z

Next, Fenton fell in with a "No Popery" mob, which forced him into a boxing contest. To the account of this the author adds a note :

See the elegant reasons for boxing, in Anna St. Ives and Hugh Trevor, two novels which the democratic Reviews hold up as examples of virtue and morality. 'Tis true, if blasphemy be virtue and morality, these offspring of the new school have ample claim. a

Finding that the "No Popery" mob was being roused by the new philosophers, Fenton joined in it. There he encountered his old friend Stupeo, who urged him on to the destruction of property. "As long as one single cartload of property re- mains in any country, there can be no true equality."3

1 Vagabond, vol. i., p. 114. The unconscious irony of all this must have appealed very forcibly to thinkers of the type of Holcroft and Mary Wollstonecraft.

3 Ibid., p. 129. s Ibid., p. 144.

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Fenton next associated himself with a woman who harangues him on the rights of women. He says of her: "She reasoned little, but adopted one principle and rejected another by a sort of tact." A note points out that this is quoted from Godwin's Life of Mary Wollstonecraft, and adds: "Those who reason much will readily believe this."1 Fenton's Mary soon left him, however.

On one occasion, while inciting a mob of farmers to protest against the enclosure of public lands, he was arrested. The magistrate at his trial re- peats the argument of the noble lord, with additions :

What can be more easy than to lead people to desire to live without labour, to plunder the rich, and to live without regard to those laws which were made pur- posely to restrain their passions ? . . . The accumula- tion of individual property is the natural and certain consequence of society. The rich, by their luxuries, give employment to the poor. The rich would do much better without the poor than the poor without them. ... In fact it is the middle class of people who bear the great burden of the state. The poor were exactly the same a hundred years ago, and will be always the same under any form of government. Moreover, no Englishman can die of absolute want if