and Napoleon III. had probably no greater admirer than Michel Chevalier.[1]
It may be questioned whether there is not a little stupidity in the admiration of our contemporaries for gentle methods. I see, in fact, that several authors, remarkable for their perspicacity and their interest in the ethical side of every question, do not seem to have the same fear of violence as our official professors.
P. Bureau was extremely surprised to find in Norway a rural population which had remained profoundly Christian. The peasants, nevertheless, carried a dagger at their belt; when a quarrel ended in a stabbing affray, the police enquiry generally came to nothing for lack of witnesses ready to come forward and give evidence.
The author concludes thus: "In men, a soft and effeminate character is more to be feared than their feeling of independence, however exaggerated and brutal, and a stab given by a man who is virtuous in his morals, but violent, is a social evil less serious and more easily curable than the excessive profligacy of young men reputed to be more civilised."[2]
I borrow a second example from P. de Rousiers, who, like P. Bureau, is a fervent Catholic and interested especially in the moral side of all questions. He narrates how, towards 1860, the country of Denver, the great mining centre of the Rocky Mountains, was cleared of the bandits who infested it; the American magistracy being impotent, courageous citizens undertook the work. "Lynch law was frequently put into operation; a man accused of murder or of theft might be arrested, condemned and hanged in less than a quarter of an hour, if
- ↑ "One day Michel Chevalier came beaming into the editorial room of the Journal des débats. His first words were: 'I have achieved liberty!' Everybody was all agog; he was asked to explain. He meant the liberty of the slaughter-houses" (Renan, Feuilles détachées, p. 149).
- ↑ P. Bureau, Le Paysan des fjords de Norwège, pp. 114 and 115.
