No More Learning

The number of young lads and of girls of seven-
teen who were murdered by that execrable government is to be
reckoned by hundreds. Babies torn from the breast were tossed
from pike to pike along the Jacobin ranks. One champion of
liberty had his pockets well stuffed with ears. Another swag.
gered about with the finger of a little child in his hat. A few
months had sufficed to degrade France below the level of New
Zealand.
It is absurd to say that any amount of public danger can
justify a system like this, we do not say on Christian principles,
we do not say on the principles of a high morality, but even on
principles of Machiavellian policy. It is true that great emer-
gencies call for activity and vigilance; it is true that they justify
severity which, in ordinary times, would deserve the name of
cruelty. But indiscriminate severity can never, under any cir-
cumstances, be useful. It is plain that the whole efficacy of
punishment depends on the care with which the guilty are dis-
tinguished. Punishment which strikes the guilty and the innocent
promiscuously operates merely like a pestilence or a great con-
vulsion of nature, and has no more tendency to prevent offenses
than the cholera, or an earthquake like that of Lisbon, would


## p. 9417 (#441) ###########################################

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
9417
have. The energy for which the Jacobin administration is praised
was merely the energy of the Malay who maddens himself with
opium, draws his knife, and runs a-muck through the streets,
slashing right and left at friends and foes. Such has never been
the energy of truly great rulers; of Elizabeth, for example, of
Oliver, or of Frederick. They were not, indeed, scrupulous. But
had they been less scrupulous than they were, the strength and
amplitude of their minds would have preserved them from crimes
such as those which the small men of the Committee of Public
Safety took for daring strokes of policy. The great Queen who
so long held her own against foreign and domestic enemies,
against temporal and spiritual arms; the great Protector who gov-
erned with more than regal power, in despite both of royalists
and republicans; the great King who, with a beaten army and
an exhausted treasury, defended his little dominions to the last
against the united efforts of Russia, Austria, and France, with
what scorn would they have heard that it was impossible for
them to strike a salutary terror into the disaffected without send-
ing schoolboys and schoolgirls to death by cart-loads and boat-
loads!
-
The popular notion is, we believe, that the leading Terrorists
were wicked men, but at the same time great men. We can see
nothing great about them but their wickedness. That their policy
was daringly original is a vulgar error. Their policy is as old
as the oldest accounts which we have of human misgovernment.
It seemed new in France and in the eighteenth century only
because it had been long disused, for excellent reasons, by the
enlightened part of mankind. But it has always prevailed, and
still prevails, in savage and half-savage nations, and is the chief
cause which prevents such nations from making advances towards
civilization. Thousands of deys, of beys, of pachas, of rajahs, of
nabobs, have shown themselves as great masters of statecraft as
the members of the Committee of Public Safety. Djezzar, we
imagine, was superior to any of them in their new line. In fact,
there is not a petty tyrant in Asia or Africa so dull or so un-
learned as not to be fully qualified for the business of Jacobin
police and Jacobin finance. To behead people by scores without
caring whether they are guilty or innocent, to wring money
out of the rich by the help of jailers and executioners; to rob
the public creditor, and to put him to death if he remonstrates;
to take loaves by force out of the bakers' shops; to clothe and


## p. 9418 (#442) ###########################################

9418
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
mount soldiers by seizing on one man's wool and linen, and on
another man's horses and saddles, without compensation,-is of
all modes of governing the simplest and most obvious. Of its
morality we at present say nothing. But surely it requires no
capacity beyond that of a barbarian or a child.
By means like those which we have described, the Commit-
tee of Public Safety undoubtedly succeeded, for a short time, in
enforcing profound submission and in raising immense funds.
But to enforce submission by butchery, and to raise funds by spo-
liation, is not statesmanship. The real statesman is he who,
in troubled times, keeps down the turbulent without unnecessa-
rily harassing the well-affected; and who, when great pecuniary
resources are needed, provides for the public exigencies without
violating the security of property and drying up the sources of
future prosperity. Such a statesman, we are confident, might in
1793 have preserved the independence of France without shed-
ding a drop of innocent blood, without plundering a single ware.
house. Unhappily, the republic was subject to men who were
mere demagogues and in no sense statesmen. They could declaim
at a club. They could lead a rabble to mischief. But they had
no skill to conduct the affairs of an empire. The want of skill
they supplied for a time by atrocity and blind violence. For
legislative ability, fiscal ability, military ability, diplomatic ability,
they had one substitute,- the guillotine. Indeed, their exceeding
ignorance and the barrenness of their invention are the best
excuse for their murders and robberies. We really believe that
they would not have cut so many throats and picked so many
pockets, if they had known how to govern in any other way.
That under their administration the war against the European
coalition was successfully conducted, is true. But that war had
been successfully conducted before their elevation, and continued
to be successfully conducted after their fall. Terror was not the
order of the day when Brussels opened its gates to Dumourier.
Terror had ceased to be the order of the day when Piedmont
and Lombardy were conquered by Bonaparte. The truth is, that
France was saved, not by the Committee of Public Safety, but by
the energy, patriotism, and valor of the French people. Those
high qualities were victorious in spite of the incapacity of rulers
whose administration was a tissue, not merely of crimes, but of
blunders.


## p. 9419 (#443) ###########################################

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
THE TRIAL OF WARREN HASTINGS
From the Essay on Gleig's 'Memoirs of Warren Hastings>
9419
IN
N THE mean time, the preparations for the trial had proceeded
rapidly; and on the thirteenth of February, 1788, the sittings
of the Court commenced. There have been spectacles more
dazzling to the eye, more gorgeous with jewelry and cloth of
gold, more attractive to grown-up children, than that which was
then exhibited at Westminster; but perhaps there never was a
spectacle so well calculated to strike a highly cultivated, a reflect-
ing, an imaginative mind. All the various kinds of interest which
belong to the near and to the distant, to the present and to the
past, were collected on one spot and in one hour. All the talents
and all the accomplishments which are developed by liberty and
civilization were now displayed, with every advantage that could
be derived both from co-operation and from contrast. Every step
in the proceedings carried the mind either backward, through
many troubled centuries, to the days when the foundations of
our constitution were laid; or far away, over boundless seas and
deserts, to dusky nations living under strange stars, worshiping
strange gods, and writing strange characters from right to left.
The High Court of Parliament was to sit, according to forms.
handed down from the days of the Plantagenets, on an English-
man accused of exercising tyranny over the lord of the holy city
of Benares, and over the ladies of the princely house of Oude.
The place was worthy of such a trial. It was the great hall
of William Rufus, the hall which had resounded with acclamations
at the inauguration of thirty kings, the hall which had witnessed
the just sentence of Bacon and the just absolution of Somers,
the hall where the eloquence of Strafford had for a moment awed
and melted a victorious party inflamed with just resentment, the
hall where Charles had confronted the High Court of Justice
with the placid courage which has half redeemed his fame.
Neither military nor civil pomp was wanting. The avenues were
lined with grenadiers. The streets were kept clear by cavalry.
The peers, robed in gold and ermine, were marshaled by the
heralds under Garter King-at-arms. The judges in their vest-
ments of state attended to give advice on points of law. Near a
hundred and seventy lords, three-fourths of the Upper House as
the Upper House then was, walked in solemn order from their


## p. 9420 (#444) ###########################################

9420
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
暑
​usual place of assembling to the tribunal. The junior baron
present led the way,-George Elliot, Lord Heathfield, recently
ennobled for his memorable defense of Gibraltar against the fleets
and armies of France and Spain. The long procession was closed
by the Duke of Norfolk, Earl Marshal of the realm, by the great
dignitaries, and by the brothers and sons of the King. Last of
all came the Prince of Wales, conspicuous by his fine person and
noble bearing. The gray old walls were hung with scarlet. The
long galleries were crowded by an audience such as has rarely
excited the fears or the emulations of an orator. There were
gathered together, from all parts of a great, free, enlightened, and
prosperous empire, grace and female loveliness, wit and learning,
the representatives of every science and of every art. There
were seated round the Queen the fair-haired young daughters of
the House of Brunswick. There the ambassadors of great kings
and commonwealths gazed with admiration on a spectacle which
no other country in the world could present. /There Siddons, in
the prime of her majestic beauty, looked with emotion on a scene
surpassing all the imitations of the stage. There the historian of
the Roman Empire thought of the days when Cicero pleaded the
cause of Sicily against Verres, and when, before a Senate which
still retained some show of freedom, Tacitus thundered against
the oppressor of Africa. There were seen side by side the great-
est painter and the greatest scholar of the age. The spectacle
had allured Reynolds from that easel which has preserved to us
the thoughtful foreheads of so many writers and statesmen, and
the sweet smiles of so many noble matrons. It had induced
Parr to suspend his labors in that dark and profound mine from
which he had extracted a vast treasure of erudition; a treasure
too often buried in the earth, too often paraded with injudicious
and inelegant ostentation, but still precious, massive, and splen-
did. There appeared the voluptuous charms of her to whom the
heir of the throne had in secret plighted his faith. There too
was she, the beautiful mother of a beautiful race, the St. Cecilia
whose delicate features, lighted up by love and music, art has
rescued from the common decay. There were the members of
that brilliant society which quoted, criticized, and exchanged rep-
artees, under the rich peacock hangings of Mrs. Montague. And
there the ladies whose lips, more persuasive than those of Fox
himself, had carried the Westminster election against palace and
treasury, shone around Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire.


## p. 9421 (#445) ###########################################

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
9421
The serjeants made proclamation. Hastings advanced to the
bar, and bent his knee. The culprit was indeed not unworthy of
that great presence.
He had ruled an extensive and populous
country, had made laws and treaties, had sent forth armies, had
set up and pulled down princes. And in his high place he had
so borne himself that all had feared him, that most had loved
him, and that hatred itself could deny him no title to glory
except virtue.
He looked like a great man, and not like a bad
man. A person small and emaciated, yet deriving dignity from a
carriage which while it indicated deference to the court, indicated
also habitual self-possession and self-respect, a high and intellect-
ual forehead, a brow pensive but not gloomy, a mouth of inflex-
ible decision, a face pale and worn but serene, on which was
written, as legibly as under the picture in the council chamber at
Calcutta, Mens æqua in arduis: such was the aspect with which
the great proconsul presented himself to his judges.
His counsel accompanied him,-men all of whom were after-
wards raised by their talents and learning to the highest posts in
their profession: the bold and strong-minded Law, afterwards
Chief Justice of the King's Bench; the more humane and elo-
quent Dallas, afterwards Chief Justice of the Common Pleas; and
Plomer, who near twenty years later successfully conducted in
the same high court the defense of Lord Melville, and subse-
quently became Vice-Chancellor and Master of the Rolls.
But neither the culprit nor his advocates attracted so much
notice as the accusers. In the midst of the blaze of red drapery,
a space had been fitted up with green benches and tables for the
Commons. The managers, with Burke at their head, appeared in
full dress. The collectors of gossip did not fail to remark that
even Fox, generally so regardless of his appearance, had paid
to the illustrious tribunal the compliment of wearing a bag and
sword. Pitt had refused to be one of the conductors of the
impeachment; and his commanding, copious, and sonorous elo-
quence was wanting to that great muster of various talents. Age
and blindness had unfitted Lord North for the duties of a public
prosecutor; and his friends were left without the help of his
excellent sense, his tact, and his urbanity. But in spite of the
absence of these two distinguished members of the lower House,
the box in which the managers stood contained an array of speak-
ers such as perhaps had not appeared together since the great


## p. 9422 (#446) ###########################################

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
9422
age of Athenian eloquence. There were Fox and Sheridan, the
English Demosthenes and the English Hyperides. There was
Burke, ignorant indeed, or negligent, of the art of adapting his
reasonings and his style to the capacity and taste of his hearers,
but in amplitude of comprehension and richness of imagination
superior to every orator, ancient or modern. There, with eyes
reverentially fixed on Burke, appeared the finest gentleman of the
age, his form developed by every manly exercise, his face beam-
ing with intelligence and spirit, the ingenious, the chivalrous,
the high-souled Windham. Nor, though surrounded by such men,
did the youngest manager pass unnoticed. At an age when most
of those who distinguish themselves in life are still contending
for prizes and fellowships at college, he had won for himself a
conspicuous place in Parliament. No advantage of fortune or
connection was wanting that could set off to the height his splen-
did talents and his unblemished honor. At twenty-three he had
been thought worthy to be ranked with the veteran statesmen who
appeared as the delegates of the British Commons, at the bar of
the British nobility. All who stood at that bar, save him alone,
are gone, culprit, advocates, accusers. To the generation which is
now in the vigor of life, he is the sole representative of a great
age which has passed away. But those who within the last ten
years have listened with delight, till the morning sun shone on
the tapestries of the House of Lords, to the lofty and animated
eloquence of Charles, Earl Grey, are able to form some estimate
of the powers of a race of men among whom he was not the
foremost.
--
—
HORATIUS
A LAY MADE ABOUT THE YEAR OF THE CITY CCCLX
ARS PORSENA of Clusium
L
By the Nine Gods he swore
That the great house of Tarquin
Should suffer wrong no more.
By the Nine Gods he swore it,
And named a trysting day,
And bade his messengers ride forth,
East and west and south and north,
To summon his array.


## p. 9423 (#447) ###########################################

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
9423
East and west and south and north
The messengers ride fast,
And tower and town and cottage
Have heard the trumpet's blast.
Shame on the false Etruscan
Who lingers in his home,
When Porsena of Clusium
Is on the march for Rome.
The horsemen and the footmen
Are pouring in amain.
From many a stately market-place,
From many a fruitful plain;
From many a lonely hamlet,
Which, hid by beech and pine,
Like an eagle's nest hangs on the crest
Of purple Apennine;
From lordly Volaterræ,
Where scowls the far-famed hold
Piled by the hands of giants
For godlike kings of old;
From seagirt Populonia,
Whose sentinels descry
Sardinia's snowy mountain-tops
Fringing the southern sky;
From the proud mart of Pisæ,
Queen of the western waves,
Where ride Massilia's triremes,
Heavy with fair-haired slaves;
From where sweet Clanis wanders
Through corn and vines and flowers;
From where Cortona lifts to heaven
Her diadem of towers.
Tall are the oaks whose acorns
Drop in dark Auser's rill;
Fat are the stags that champ the boughs
Of the Ciminian hill;
Beyond all streams Clitumnus
Is to the herdsman dear;
Best of all pools the fowler loves
The great Volsinian mere.


## p. 9424 (#448) ###########################################

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
9424
But now no stroke of woodman
Is heard by Auser's rill;
No hunter tracks the stag's green path
Up the Ciminian hill;
Unwatched along Clitumnus
Grazes the milk-white steer;
Unharmed the water-fowl may dip
In the Volsinian mere.
The harvests of Arretium,
This year, old men shall reap;
This year, young boys in Umbro
Shall plunge the struggling sheep;
And in the vats of Luna,
This year, the must shall foam
Round the white feet of laughing girls
Whose sires have marched to Rome.
There be thirty chosen prophets,
The wisest of the land,
Who alway by Lars Porsena
Both morn and evening stand;
Evening and morn the Thirty
Have turned the verses o'er,
Traced from the right on linen white
By mighty seers of yore.
And with one voice the Thirty
Have their glad answer given:-
"Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena;
Go forth, beloved of Heaven;
Go, and return in glory
To Clusium's royal dome;
And hang round Nurscia's altars
The golden shields of Rome. "
And now hath every city
Sent up her tale of men;
The foot are fourscore thousand,
The horse are thousands ten.
Before the gates of Sutrium
Is met the great array:
A proud man was Lars Porsena
Upon the trysting day.
-


## p. 9425 (#449) ###########################################

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
XVI-590
For all the Etruscan armies
Were ranged beneath his eye
And many a banished Roman,
And many a stout ally;
And with a mighty following
To join the muster came
The Tusculan Mamilius,
Prince of the Latian name.
But by the yellow Tiber
Was tumult and affright:
From all the spacious champaign
To Rome men took their flight.
A mile around the city,
The throng stopped up the ways;
A fearful sight it was to see
Through two long nights and days.
For aged folks on crutches,
And women great with child,
And mothers sobbing over babes
That clung to them and smiled,
And sick men borne in litters
High on the necks of slaves,
And troops of sunburned husbandmen
With reaping-hooks and staves,
And droves of mules and asses
Laden with skins of wine,
And endless flocks of goats and sheep,
And endless herds of kine,
And endless trains of wagons
That creaked beneath the weight
Of corn sacks and of household goods,
Choked every roaring gate.
Now, from the rock Tarpeian,
Could the wan burghers spy
The line of blazing villages
Red in the midnight sky.
The Fathers of the City,
They sat all night and day,
For every hour some horseman came
With tidings of dismay.
9425


## p. 9426 (#450) ###########################################

9426
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
To eastward and to westward
Have spread the Tuscan bands;
Nor house, nor fence, nor dovecote
In Crustumerium stands.
Verbenna down to Ostia
Hath wasted all the plain;
Astur hath stormed Janiculum,
And the stout guards are slain.
Iwis, in all the Senate,
There was no heart so bold,
But sore it ached and fast it beat,
When that ill news was told.
Forthwith up rose the Consul,
Up rose the Fathers all;
In haste they girded up their gowns,
And hied them to the wall.
They held a council standing
Before the River-Gate:
Short time was there, ye well may guess,
For musing or debate.
Out spake the Consul roundly:-
"The bridge must straight go down;
For since Janiculum is lost,
Naught else can save the town. "
Just then a scout came flying,
All wild with haste and fear:-
"To arms! to arms! Sir Consul:
Lars Porsena is here. "
On the low hills to westward
The Consul fixed his eye,
And saw the swarthy storm of dust
Rise fast along the sky.
And nearer fast and nearer
Doth the red whirlwind come;
And louder still and still more loud,
From underneath that rolling cloud,
Is heard the trumpet's war-note proud,
The trampling, and the hum.
And plainly and more plainly
Now through the gloom appears,


## p. 9427 (#451) ###########################################

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
9427
Far to left and far to right,
In broken gleams of dark-blue light,
The long array of helmets bright,
The long array of spears.
And plainly and more plainly,
Above that glimmering line,
Now might ye see the banners
Of twelve fair cities shine;
But the banner of proud Clusium
Was highest of them all,
The terror of the Umbrian,
The terror of the Gaul.
And plainly and more plainly
Now might the burghers know,
By port and vest, by horse and crest,
Each warlike Lucumo.
There Cilnius of Arretium
On his fleet roan was seen;
And Astur of the fourfold shield,
Girt with the brand none else may wield,
Tolumnius with the belt of gold,
And dark Verbenna from the hold
By reedy Thrasymene.
Fast by the royal standard,
O'erlooking all the war,
Lars Porsena of Clusium
Sat in his ivory car.
By the right wheel rode Mamilius,
Prince of the Latian name;
And by the left false Sextus,
That wrought the deed of shame.
But when the face of Sextus
Was seen among the foes,
A yell that rent the firmament
From all the town arose.
On the housetops was no woman
But spat towards him and hissed;
No child but screamed out curses,
And shook its little fist.
But the Consul's brow was sad,
And the Consul's speech was low,


## p. 9428 (#452) ###########################################

9428
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
And darkly looked he at the wall,
And darkly at the foe.
"Their van will be upon us
Before the bridge goes down;
And if they once may win the bridge,
What hope to save the town? "
Then out spake brave Horatius,
The captain of the gate:—
"To every man upon this earth
Death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers,
And the temples of his gods;
"And for the tender mother
Who dandled him to rest;
And for the wife who nurses
His baby at her breast;
And for the holy maidens
Who feed the eternal flame,
To save them from false Sextus
That wrought the deed of shame?
"Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul,
With all the speed ye may;
I, with two more to help me,
Will hold the foe in play.
In yon strait path a thousand
May well be stopped by three:
Now who will stand on either hand.
And keep the bridge with me? ”
Then out spake Spurius Lartius-
A Ramnian proud was he:
"Lo, I will stand at thy right hand,
And keep the bridge with thee. "
And out spake strong Herminius —
Of Titian blood was he:
"I will abide on thy left side,
And keep the bridge with thee. "
"Horatius, quoth the Consul,
"As thou sayest, so let it be. "


## p. 9429 (#453) ###########################################

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
9429
And straight against that great array
Forth went the dauntless Three.
For Romans in Rome's quarrel
Spared neither land nor gold,
Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life,
In the brave days of old.
Then none was for a party;
Then all were for the State;
Then the great man helped the poor,
And the poor man loved the great:
Then lands were fairly portioned;
Then spoils were fairly sold:
The Romans were like brothers
In the brave days of old.
Now Roman is to Roman
More hateful than a foe,
And the Tribunes beard the high,
And the Fathers grind the low.
As we wax hot in faction,
In battle we wax cold;
Wherefore men fight not as they fought
In the brave days of old.
Now while the Three were tightening
Their harness on their backs,
The Consul was the foremost man
To take in hand an axe;
And Fathers mixed with Commons
Seized hatchet, bar, and crow,
And smote upon the planks above,
And loosed the props below.
Meanwhile the Tuscan army,
Right glorious to behold,
Came flashing back the noonday light,
Rank behind rank, like surges bright
Of a broad sea of gold.
Four hundred trumpets sounded
A peal of warlike glee,
As that great host, with measured tread,
And spears advanced, and ensigns spread,
Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head,
Where stood the dauntless Three.


## p. 9430 (#454) ###########################################

9430
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
The Three stood calm and silent,
And looked upon the foes,
And a great shout of laughter
From all the vanguard rose:
And forth three chiefs came spurring
Before that deep array;
To earth they sprang, their swords they drew,
And lifted high their shields, and flew
To win the narrow way:
Aunus from green Tifernum,
Lord of the Hill of Vines;
And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves
Sicken in Ilva's mines;
And Picus, long to Clusium
Vassal in peace and war,
Who led to fight his Umbrian powers
From that gray crag where, girt with towers,
The fortress of Nequinum lowers
O'er the pale waves of Nar.
Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus
Into the stream beneath;
Herminius struck at Seius,
And clove him to the teeth;
At Picus brave Horatius
Darted one fiery thrust,
And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms
Clashed in the bloody dust.
Then Ocnus of Falerii
Rushed on the Roman Three;
And Lausulus of Urgo,
The rover of the sea;
And Aruns of Volsinium,
Who slew the great wild boar
The great wild boar that had his den
Amidst the reeds of Cosa's fen,
And wasted fields, and slaughtered men,
Along Albinia's shore.
Herminius smote down Aruns;
Lartius laid Ocnus low:
Right to the heart of Lausulus
Horatius sent a blow.


## p. 9431 (#455) ###########################################

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
9431
"Lie there," he cried, "fell pirate!
No more, aghast and pale,
From Ostia's walls the crowd shall mark
The track of thy destroying bark.
No more Campania's hinds shall fly
To woods and caverns when they spy
Thy thrice accursed sail. "
But now no sound of laughter
Was heard among the foes;
A wild and wrathful clamor
From all the vanguard rose.
Six spears'-lengths from the entrance
Halted that deep array,
And for a space no man came forth
To win the narrow way.
But hark! the cry is "Astur! »
And lo! the ranks divide;
And the great Lord of Luna
Comes with his stately stride.
Upon his ample shoulders
Clangs loud the fourfold shield,
And in his hand he shakes the brand
Which none but he can wield.
He smiled on those bold Romans
A smile serene and high;
He eyed the flinching Tuscans,
And scorn was in his eye.
Quoth he, "The she-wolf's litter
Stand savagely at bay;
But will ye dare to follow,
If Astur clears the way? »
Then, whirling up his broadsword
With both hands to the height,
He rushed against Horatius,
And smote with all his might.
With shield and blade Horatius
Right deftly turned the blow.
The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh:
It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh;
The Tuscans raised a joyful cry
To see the red blood flow.


## p. 9432 (#456) ###########################################

9432
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
He reeled, and on Herminius
He leaned one breathing-space:
Then, like a wild-cat mad with wounds,
Sprang right at Astur's face;
Through teeth, and skull, and helmet,
So fierce a thrust he sped,
The good sword stood a hand-breadth out
Behind the Tuscan's head.
And the great Lord of Luna
Fell at that deadly stroke,
As falls on Mount Alvernus
A thunder-smitten oak.
Far o'er the crashing forest
The giant arms lie spread;
And the pale augurs, muttering low,
Gaze on the blasted head.
On Astur's throat Horatius
Right firmly pressed his heel,
And thrice and four times tugged amain,
Ere he wrenched out the steel.
"And see," he cried, "the welcome,
Fair guests, that waits you here!
What noble Lucumo comes next
To taste our Roman cheer? "
But at his haughty challenge
A sullen murmur ran,
Mingled of wrath, and shame, and dread,
Along that glittering van.
There lacked not men of prowess,
Nor men of lordly race;
For all Etruria's noblest
Were round the fatal place.
But all Etruria's noblest
Felt their hearts sink to see
On the earth the bloody corpses,
In the path the dauntless Three:
And from the ghastly entrance
Where those bold Romans stood,
All shrank, like boys who unaware,
Ranging the woods to start a hare,
Come to the mouth of the dark lair


## p. 9433 (#457) ###########################################

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
9433
Where, growling low, a fierce old bear
Lies amidst bones and blood.
Was none who would be foremost
To lead such dire attack;
But those behind cried "Forward! "
And those before cried "Back! "
And backward now and forward
Wavers the deep array;
And on the tossing sea of steel,
To and fro the standards reel;
And the victorious trumpet-peal
Dies fitfully away.
Yet one man for one moment
Stood out before the crowd;
Well known was he to all the Three,
And they gave him greeting loud:-
"Now welcome, welcome, Sextus!
Now welcome to thy home!
Why dost thou stay, and turn away?
Here lies the road to Rome. "
Thrice looked he at the city;
Thrice looked he at the dead;
And thrice came on in fury,
And thrice turned back in dread;
And, white with fear and hatred,
Scowled at the narrow way
Where, wallowing in a pool of blood,
The bravest Tuscans lay.
But meanwhile axe and lever
Have manfully been plied;
And now the bridge hangs tottering
Above the boiling tide.
"Come back, come back, Horatius! "
Loud cried the Fathers all.
"Back, Lartius! back, Herminius!
Back, ere the ruin fall! »
Back darted Spurius Lartius;
Herminius darted back:
--
And as they passed, beneath their feet.
They felt the timbers crack.


## p. 9434 (#458) ###########################################

9434
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
But when they turned their faces,
And on the farther shore
Saw brave Horatius stand alone,
They would have crossed once more.
But with a crash like thunder
Fell every loosened beam,
And like a dam, the mighty wreck
Lay right athwart the stream:
And a long shout of triumph
Rose from the walls of Rome,
As to the highest turret-tops
Was splashed the yellow foam.
And like a horse unbroken
When first he feels the rein,
The furious river struggled hard,
And tossed his tawny mane,
And burst the curb, and bounded,
Rejoicing to be free,
And whirling down, in fierce career,
Battlement and plank and pier,
Rushed headlong to the sea.
Alone stood brave Horatius,
But constant still in mind;
Thrice thirty thousand foes before,
And the broad flood behind.
"Down with him! " cried false Sextus,
With a smile on his pale face.
"Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena,
"Now yield thee to our grace. "
Round turned he, as not deigning
Those craven ranks to see;
Naught spake he to Lars Porsena,
To Sextus naught spake he:
But he saw on Palatinus
The white porch of his home;
And he spake to the noble river
That rolls by the towers of Rome.
"O Tiber! father Tiber!
To whom the Romans pray;
A Roman's life, a Roman's arms
Take thou in charge this day! "


## p. 9435 (#459) ###########################################

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
9435
So he spake, and speaking sheathed
The good sword by his side,
And with his harness on his back,
Plunged headlong in the tide.
No sound of joy or sorrow
Was heard from either bank;
But friends and foes, in dumb surprise,
With parted lips and straining eyes,
Stood gazing where he sank;
And when above the surges
They saw his crest appear,
All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry,
And even the ranks of Tuscany
Could scarce forbear to cheer.
But fiercely ran the current,
Swollen high by months of rain:
And fast his blood was flowing;
And he was sore in pain,
And heavy with his armor,
And spent with changing blows:
And oft they thought him sinking,
But still again he rose.
Never, I ween, did swimmer,
In such an evil case,
Struggle through such a raging flood.
Safe to the landing-place;
But his limbs were borne up bravely
By the brave heart within,
And our good father Tiber
Bore bravely up his chin.
"Curse on him! " quoth false Sextus;
"Will not the villain drown?
But for this stay, ere close of day
We should have sacked the town! "
"Heaven help him! " quoth Lars Porsena,
"And bring him safe to shore;
For such a gallant feat of arms
Was never seen before. "
And now he feels the bottom;
Now on dry earth he stands;
Now round him throng the Fathers
To press his gory hands;


## p. 9436 (#460) ###########################################

9436
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
And now, with shouts and clapping,
And noise of weeping loud,
He enters through the River-Gate,
Borne by the joyous crowd.
They gave him of the corn-land,
That was of public right,
As much as two strong oxen
Could plow from morn till night;
And they made a molten image,
And set it up on high,
And there it stands unto this day
To witness if I lie.
It stands in the Comitium,
Plain for all folk to see,-
Horatius in his harness,
Halting upon one knee;
And underneath is written,
In letters all of gold,
How valiantly he kept the bridge
In the brave days of old.
And still his name sounds stirring
Unto the men of Rome,
As the trumpet-blast that cries to them
To charge the Volscian home;
And wives still pray to Juno
For boys with hearts as bold
As his who kept the bridge so well
In the brave days of old.
And in the nights of winter,
When the cold north winds blow,
And the long howling of the wolves
Is heard amidst the snow;
When round the lonely cottage
Roars loud the tempest's din,
And the good logs of Algidus
Roar louder yet within;
When the oldest cask is opened,
And the largest lamp is lit;
When the chestnuts glow in the embers,
And the kid turns on the spit;
When young and old in circle
Around the firebrands close;


## p. 9437 (#461) ###########################################

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
When the girls are weaving baskets,
And the lads are shaping bows;
When the goodman mends his armor,
And trims his helmet's plume;
When the goodwife's shuttle merrily
Goes flashing through the loom ;-
With weeping and with laughter
Still is the story told,
How well Horatius kept the bridge
In the brave days of old.
9437
THE BATTLE OF IVRY
[Henry the Fourth, on his accession to the French crown, was opposed by
a large part of his subjects under the Duke of Mayenne, with the assistance
of Spain and Savoy. In March 1590 he gained a decisive victory over that
party at Ivry. Before the battle, he addressed his troops -"My children, if
you lose sight of your colors, rally to my white plume: you will always find
it in the path to honor and glory. " His conduct was answerable to his prom-
ise. Nothing could resist his impetuous valor, and the Leaguers underwent a
total and bloody defeat. In the midst of the rout, Henry followed, crying,
"Save the French! " and his clemency added a number of the enemies to his
own army. ]
Now
ow glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are!
And glory to our Sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre!
Now let there be the merry sound of music and the dance,
Through thy cornfields green and sunny vines, O pleasant land of
France!
And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters,
Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters.
As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy,
For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy.
Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of war;
Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry, and King Henry of Navarre!
Oh, how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day,
We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array,
With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers,
And Appenzell's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears.
There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land;
And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand:
And as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood,
And good Coligny's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood;


## p. 9438 (#462) ###########################################

9438
THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war,
To fight for his own holy name and Henry of Navarre.
The King is come to marshal us, in all his armor drest,
And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest;
He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye;
He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high.
Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing,
Down all our line, in deafening shout, "God save our lord, the King! "
"And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may,—
For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray,—
Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war,
And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre. "
Hurrah! the foes are moving. Hark to the mingled din
Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin!
The fiery Duke is pricking fast across St. André's plain,
With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne.
Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France,
Charge for the golden lilies now-upon them with the lance!
A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest,
A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest;
And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star,
Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre.
Now, God be praised, the day is ours! Mayenne hath turned his rein;
D'Aumale hath cried for quarter; the Flemish Count is slain;
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale;
The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags and cloven mail.
And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van,
"Remember St. Bartholomew," was passed from man to man:
But out spake gentle Henry then, "No Frenchman is my foe;
Down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren go. "
Oh! was there ever such a knight in friendship or in war,
As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre!
Right well fought all the Frenchmen who fought for France that
day;
And many a lordly banner God gave them for a prey.
But we of the Religion have borne us best in fight,
And our good lord of Rosny hath ta'en the cornet white.
Our own true Maximilian the cornet white hath ta'en-
The cornet white with crosses black, the flag of false Lorraine.
Up with it high; unfurl it wide, that all the world may know
How God hath humbled the proud house that wrought his Church
such woe.


## p. 9439 (#463) ###########################################

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY
9439
Then on the ground, while trumpets peal their loudest point of war,
Fling the red shreds, a foot-cloth meet for Henry of Navarr
Ho, maidens of Vienna! ho, matrons of Luzerne!
Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return.
Ho! Philip, send for charity thy Mexican pistoles,
That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls.
Ho! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright;
Ho! burghers of St. Généviève, keep watch and ward to-night:
For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave,
And mocked the counsel of the wise and valor of the brave.
Then glory to his holy name, from whom all glories are;
And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre!


## p. 9440 (#464) ###########################################

9440
JUSTIN MCCARTHY
(1830-)
LTHOUGH Justin McCarthy is not without reputation as a Home
Rule politician, he is primarily a literary man; his adventures
into the fields of history and fiction having preceded his
Parliamentary career. He is perhaps a novel-writer rather than a
historian in the strict sense of the term. His histories are clever
and astute accounts of comparatively recent events, but bear little
evidence of the patient scholarship, the critical research, which are
characteristic of modern historical scholarship. Yet the 'History of
Our Own Times' (a record of English
political and social life in this century),
the Four Georges,' and the Epoch of
Reform,' are not without the value and
interest attached to the writings of a man
of affairs whose dramatic sense is well de-
veloped. Mr. McCarthy writes of the first
Reform Bill, of Lord Grey, of Lord Palm-
erston, of Disraeli, of Gladstone, of Home
Rule politics, in the spirit of one who has
been in the swing of the movements which
he describes, and who has known his heroes
in person or by near repute. Mr. McCar-
thy's talents as a novelist are of use to him
as a historian. He is quick to grasp the

JUSTIN MCCARTHY
salient features of character, and he is sensitive to the dramatic
elements in individuality. His 'Leo XIII. ,' and his 'Modern Lead-
ers, a series of biographical sketches, are successful portraits of
their kind. That Mr. McCarthy does not always see below the sur-
face in his estimates of famous contemporaries detracts little from the
picturesque character of his biographies. He is capable of giving to
his reader in a sentence or two a vivid if general impression of a
personality or of a literary work; as when he says that "Charlotte
Bronté was all genius and ignorance, and George Eliot is all genius
and culture"; or when he says of Carlyle's 'French Revolution' that
it is "history read by lightning. "
Justin McCarthy has been a journalist as well as a writer of fic-
tion and of history. Born at Cork in 1830, he connected himself with
the Liverpool press in 1853, and in 1860 became a member of the


## p. 9441 (#465) ###########################################

JUSTIN MCCARTHY
944I
staff of the Morning Star. In 1864 he became chief editor. His
newspaper experience has had not a little influence upon his style
and methods of literary composition, as his political life has guided
him in his treatment of historical subjects. Since 1879 he has repre-
sented Longford in Parliament as a Home-Ruler.
Since that year,
also, many of his novels have been written. They show the quick
observation of the man of newspaper training, and his talents as a
ready and clever writer. Mr. McCarthy's novels, like his histories and
biographies, are concerned mainly with the England of his own day.
Occasionally the plot is worked out against the background of Par-
liamentary life, as in 'The Ladies' Gallery' and 'The Right Honor-
able. ' Among his other novels-he has written a great number-
are 'Miss Misanthrope,' 'A Fair Saxon,' 'Lady Judith,' 'Dear Lady
Disdain,' The Maid of Athens,' and 'Paul Massie. ' Mr. McCarthy's
style is crisp, straightforward, and for the most part entertaining. Of
all his works, the 'History of Our Own Times' will perhaps retain
its value longest as a vivid, anecdotal, and stimulating record of
English national development in the nineteenth century.
THE KING IS DEAD-LONG LIVE THE QUEEN
From A History of Our Own Times>
BⓇ
EFORE half-past two o'clock on the morning of June 20th,
1837, William IV. was lying dead in Windsor Castle, while
the messengers were already hurrying off to Kensington
Palace to bear to his successor her summons to the throne. The
illness of the King had been but short, and at one time, even
after it had been pronounced alarming, it seemed to take so
hopeful a turn that the physicians began to think it would pass
harmlessly away. But the King was an old man— was an old
man even when he came to the throne; and when the dangerous
symptoms again exhibited themselves, their warning was very
soon followed by fulfillment. The death of King William may
be fairly regarded as having closed an era of our history. With
him, we may believe, ended the reign of personal government
in England. William was indeed a constitutional king in more
than mere name. He was to the best of his lights a faithful
representative of the constitutional principle. He was as far in
advance of his two predecessors in understanding and acceptance
of the principle as his successor has proved herself beyond him.
Constitutional government has developed itself gradually, as
XVI-591


## p. 9442 (#466) ###########################################

9442
JUSTIN MCCARTHY
everything else has done in English politics. The written prin-
ciple and code of its system it would be as vain to look for as
for the British Constitution itself. King William still held to
and exercised the right to dismiss his ministers when he pleased,
and because he pleased. His father had held to the right of
maintaining favorite ministers in defiance of repeated votes of
the House of Commons. It would not be easy to find any
written rule or declaration of constitutional law pronouncing deci-
sively that either was in the wrong. But in our day we should
believe that the constitutional freedom of England was outraged,
or at least put in the extremest danger, if a sovereign were
dismiss a ministry at mere pleasure, or to retain it in despite of
the expressed wish of the House of Commons. Virtually there-
fore there was still personal government in the reign of William
IV. With his death the long chapter of its history came to an
end. We find it difficult now to believe that it was a living
principle, openly at work among us, if not openly acknowledged,
so lately as in the reign of King William.
The closing scenes of King William's life were undoubtedly
characterized by some personal dignity. As a rule, sovereigns
show that they know how to die. Perhaps the necessary conse-
quence of their training, by virtue of which they come to regard
themselves always as the central figures in great State pageantry,
is to make them assume a manner of dignity on all occasions
when the eyes of their subjects may be supposed to be on
them, even if dignity of bearing is not the free gift of nature.
The manners of William IV. had been, like those of most of his
brothers, somewhat rough and overbearing. He had been an
unmanageable naval officer. He had again and again disregarded
or disobeyed orders; and at last it had been found convenient to
withdraw him from active service altogether, and allow him to
rise through the successive ranks of his profession by a merely
formal and technical process of ascent. In his more private
capacity he had, when younger, indulged more than once in un-
seemly and insufferable freaks of temper. He had made himself
unpopular, while Duke of Clarence, by his strenuous opposition
to some of the measures which were especially desired by all the
enlightenment of the country. He was, for example, a deter-
mined opponent of the measures for the abolition of the slave
trade. He had wrangled publicly in open debate with some of
his brothers in the House of Lords; and words had been inter-


## p. 9443 (#467) ###########################################

JUSTIN MCCARTHY
9443
changed among the royal princes which could not be heard in
our day even in the hottest debates of the more turbulent House
of Commons. But William seems to have been one of the men
whom increased responsibility improves. He was far better as a
king than as a prince. He proved that he was able at least to
understand that first duty of a constitutional sovereign, which to
the last day of his active life his father, George III. , never could
be brought to comprehend,- that the personal predilections and
prejudices of the king must sometimes give way to the public
interest.
Nothing perhaps in life became him like the leaving of it.
His closing days were marked by gentleness and kindly consid-
eration for the feelings of those around him. When he awoke
on June 18th he remembered that it was the anniversary of the
Battle of Waterloo. He expressed a strong, pathetic wish to live.
over that day, even if he were never to see another sunset. He
called for the flag which the Duke of Wellington always sent him.
on that anniversary; and he laid his hand upon the eagle which
adorned it, and said he felt revived by the touch. He had him-
self attended since his accession the Waterloo banquet; but this
time the Duke of Wellington thought it would perhaps be more
seemly to have the dinner put off, and sent accordingly to take
the wishes of his Majesty. The King declared that the dinner
must go on as usual; and sent to the Duke a friendly, simple
message, expressing his hope that the guests might have a pleas-
ant day. He talked in his homely way to those about him, his
direct language seeming to acquire a sort of tragic dignity from
the approach of the death that was so near.
He had prayers
read to him again and again, and called those near him to wit-
ness that he had always been a faithful believer in the truths of
religion. He had his dispatch-boxes brought to him, and tried
to get through some business with his private secretary.
It was
remarked with some interest that the last official act he ever
performed was to sign with his trembling hand the pardon of a
condemned criminal. Even a far nobler reign than his would
have received new dignity if it closed with a deed of mercy.
When some of those around him endeavored to encourage him
with the idea that he might recover and live many years yet, he
declared with a simplicity which had something oddly pathetic in
it that he would be willing to live ten years yet for the sake of
the country.
The poor King was evidently under the sincere


## p. 9444 (#468) ###########################################

9444
JUSTIN MCCARTHY
conviction that England could hardly get on without him. His
consideration for his country, whatever whimsical thoughts it
may suggest, is entitled to some at least of the respect which
we give to the dying groan of a Pitt or a Mirabeau, who fears
with too much reason that he leaves a blank not easily to be
filled. "Young royal tarry-breeks," William had been jocularly
called by Robert Burns fifty years before, when there was yet a
popular belief that he would come all right and do brilliant and
gallant things, and become a stout sailor in whom a seafaring
nation might feel pride. He disappointed all such expectations;
but it must be owned that when responsibility came upon him
he disappointed expectation anew in a different way, and was a
better sovereign, more deserving of the complimentary title of
patriot-king, than even his friends would have ventured to antici-
pate.
There were eulogies pronounced upon him after his death,
in both Houses of Parliament, as a matter of course. It is not
necessary, however, to set down to mere court homage or parlia
mentary form some of the praises that were bestowed upon the
dead King by Lord Melbourne and Lord Brougham and Lord
Grey. A certain tone of sincerity, not quite free perhaps from
surprise, appears to run through some of these expressions of
admiration. They seem to say that the speakers were at one
time or another considerably surprised to find that after all, Will-
iam really was able and willing on grave occasions to subordi-
nate his personal likings and dislikings to considerations of State
policy, and to what was shown to him to be for the good of the
nation. In this sense at least he may be called a patriot-king.
We have advanced a good deal since that time, and we require
somewhat higher and more positive qualities in a sovereign now
to excite our political wonder. But we must judge William by
the reigns that went before, and not the reign that came after
him; and with that consideration borne in mind, we may accept
the panegyric of Lord Melbourne and of Lord Grey, and admit
that on the whole he was better than his education, his early
opportunities, and his early promise.
William IV. (third son of George III. ) had left no children
who could have succeeded to the throne; and the crown passed
therefore to the daughter of his brother (fourth son of George),
the Duke of Kent. This was the Princess Alexandrina Victoria,
who was born at Kensington Palace on May 24th, 1819. The


## p.