making of it up, Persigny’s advice, no doubt, counts for much. It may be taken as a great guarantee of the Emperor’s sincerity, that at so critical a time he has entrusted the direction of his domestic policy to Count Persigny. There is harmony between the measures announced, and the man who has been appointed to carry them into effect.
This resolution of Louis Napoleon’s—independently of its influence upon the future fortunes of the French nation—has a direct and positive bearing upon the results of the time. To us, subjects of the British Queen, it is all important, because it is a pledge of peace. We shrink from an armed contest with France, not because we are under the influence of any unworthy apprehensions, nor that we have any reason to dread the issue of the contest more than our forefathers had, but because we know what the inevitable result of such a war must be. The records of Europe are there to show that during eight centuries England and France have attacked each other under many forms, and with alliances of various kinds; and after years of struggle, and misery, and bloodshed, each nation has remained just where it was as regards the other—but not so far advanced in wealth and civilisation as it would have been had the swords remained in the scabbards. What has been, will be—all Armstrong guns, rifled cannon, steam-rams, Minis and Enfield rifles, Cherbourgs and Portsmouths to the contrary notwithstanding. This nation or that might acquire a slight preponderance at the outset of a contest—it is probable enough that such momentary preponderance would not be in favour of England—but after a few years or months of fighting, and when each nation had brought its full strength into play, there would be little indeed—save slaughter—to show on either side in the way of gain. Therefore it is that all Englishmen of the present generation, who have outlived the first hot fervour of their youth, are anxious to avoid the renewal of struggles which have cost so much, and led to so little. Nor if we had it in our power to ensure the destruction of France, ought we to wish it.
The human race would not be the gainers if the continent of Europe were handed over to the stupid despotism of Austrian officers, nor to the guardianship of the Prussian police, as that notable institution is worked out by the Hinckeldeys and Stiebers of Berlin. We may go further, and say with perfect confidence that no Englishman of common intelligence does desire to see the nation engaged in war with France. The danger is all from the other side—and the danger mainly consists in this, that, from that second day of December on which Louis Napoleon seized the reins of empire with so firm a grasp even until now, the armed force and military energy of France have been at the disposal of a single man, and that man the most sober of speech, the most impenetrable in design, of whom we have had knowledge in these modern days. All the mischief might have fermented in the laboratory of a single brain. The first intelligence we should have received of the attack would have been that the expedition was about to set out, if we had been fortunate; that it had arrived at its destination, if we had at all relaxed in our vigilance and suspicions. What had we in which we could trust but the bare word of the man who invited the Deputies to an entertainment at the Eysée on the very night which he had assigned for their arrest?—who had loudly declared that he was not prepared for war at the very moment when he was about to cover Lombardy with his legions, and to make trial upon the Austrians of his new and formidable artillery? We might indeed suppose that a ruler who has given proof of such strong sense as Louis Napoleon has done would not, save as a last desperate throw for empire, rush into a contest with England—but the calculations even of prudent men are sometimes mistaken.
In a word, all was mystery and darkness, and so it must have remained, had not the French nation been once more admitted to the privilege of self-government. Either the resolutions announced are a sham—in which case nothing is done—or the privilege of parliament at Paris will develope itself into its natural consequences. Freedom of debate means publication of debates. The publication of debates means the liberty of the press, and the liberty of the press means that a nation dwells in a glass-house, very much to their own advantage and to the advantage of their neighbours. If Louis Napoleon is honestly backed by the support of the great French statesmen, who have declined all share in the administration of public affairs since the coup d’état, the parliamentary system may again be established in France. They have the experience of the Past before them. They have seen to what deplorable consequences the abuse of parliamentary privilege, and of the liberty of the press, led during the years 1830-48,—are they willing again to try the event? Whilst Louis Napoleon lives and reigns, France can scarcely be a constitutional country—that is to say, a country where the sovereign is a state-cypher, and the minister a creature of a parliamentary majority. But if Berryer, Thiers, Guizot, in their old age, and other considerable French statesmen who have been too long under eclipse, would lend the Emperor their assistance to build up once more a parliamentary system more in accordance with the genius of the French people than the one which degenerated so speedily into mere licentiousness of speech and writing, happy would the day be for France, and for Europe! It must not, however, be supposed that Louis Napoleon would tolerate any form of parliamentary government which would give to individuals, or to parties, the power of conspiring against his throne or dynasty, or of animating the country to any serious resistance to his authority. Should it ever come to this, there is a 2nd of December in the calendar of every year!
It has been suggested that a minor and secondary object which the French Emperor has in view is to obtain the sanction of a free Chamber, which should in some degree represent the country, to the measures which he may deem necessary for his own extrication from the Italian—mainly, from the Roman difficulty. There may be truth in this. An inference may fairly be drawn from the juxta-position of events when such a man as Louis Napoleon is concerned. The position in which he is placed at Rome seems to us untenable