1856.] Pius IX. and Lord Palmerston. flowers, and the torrent. Lastly, he draws from all that he has said the natural conclusion, and makes us see how real this teaching was, how homely yet how universal, and how the human and the divine were united in it. The theme is one too sacred for us to touch on at length, 345 and we must therefore leave it to PIUS IX. AND LORD PALMERSTON.* M.DE MONTALEMBERT has written, as usual, a pamphlet, which, could it have been pronounced as a discourse from the tribune, would have produced what the French reporters used to call sensation vive et prolongée. It is a defence of Pius IX., lively, ingenious, and eloquent, constructed in the main in strict and sagacious adherence to the wellknown Old Bailey practice of the counsel for an indefensible defendant, of abusing the plaintiff's attorney. In one point indeed M. de Montalembert has overstepped the limits of this prudent reserve, by complaining that the Congress of Paris, while announcing the nonintervention principle, nevertheless made itself a judge of absent and unrepresented sovereigns, and indulged an avid and world-wide public' with a criticism on their authority and a censure on their conduct,' (p. 8). For what does a congress of great powers assemble, but to discuss, criticise, and if need be censure the authority and conduct, of all members of the European family, on all matters important to their common welfare? The free expression of their collective opinion, so far from infringing, seems the only effective means of maintaining and enforcing the principle of nonintervention. That subjects worthy of discussion have been left unnoticed, may be regretted; but this does not impugn the correctness, and ought not to lessen the weight, of decisions deliberately given, each of which history and future ages ought to examine, and will consider, on its own individual merits. For King Bomba-from an ex Pie IX. et Lord Palmerston. Edition. Paris: Jacques Lecoffre. pression in p. 10-it appears that M. de Montalembert does not hold a brief; and the sum and substance of his charge against the Congress and Lord Palmerston is, that in a protocol of the Congress, and a speech of the Minister, the condition of affairs at Rome has been described as abnormal and unsatisfactory. Now the question raised by such a charge as this is precisely the question which M. de Montalembert's pamphlet most carefully and dexterously avoids. In not one of its seventy-two pages do we find his belief distinctly stated, although throughout it is implied, that the condition of Rome is either satisfactory or normal. He does not attempt to show the fallacy of the impression which prevails on the public mind, not only in England and Piedmont, but throughout the world, that if the French troops were withdrawn from Rome tomorrow, the Pope would be ejected next day, to be brought back in a few weeks by another army in the white uniform of Austria. He contents himself with sneering at a European Congress, presided over by a Minister whose name ends in ski, for taking no steps, making no signs towards the restoration of the nationality of Poland, with asserting that England's Indian and Ionian governments have rivalled the severities and atrocities perpetrated in Hungary and Italy, and with weaving an historical argument of needless length, to prove that the principle of Lord Palmerston's foreign policy has always been to bully the weak, and truckle to the strong; and that while he said in his haste that the King of Greece was a Par le Comte de Ch. Montalembert. 20 liar and a cheat, and the Pope a tyrant, he turned, in a spirit of Christian patience, his left cheek -probably with his tongue in itto the Yankee palm, which had so sonorously smitten the right. These sneers, assertions, arguments, may or may not be just and true, they at least raise questions fruitful of debate. But they are all foreign to the point at issue, and that so able a debater as M. de Montalembert should have taken refuge in them, and have so carefully given that point the go by, is to us one of the strongest proofs that that point at least will not bear discussion. It is still more remarkable that M. de Montalembert should have cited the somewhat bombasticallo cution' of Napoleon I. (p. 34), and the sensible speech of Lord Lansdowne (p. 29). Napoleon defends the position of the Pope as an independent temporal sovereign, on the ground that his spiritual decrees, pronounced at Rome, are received by those whom they concern with more readiness and less suspicion than if they were issued by a pontiff seated at Paris or Vienna. Lord Lansdowne says that all countries having Roman-Catholic subjects have a direct interest in the condition of the Roman States, and in taking care that the Pope is left to exercise his spiritual authority without the interference of other Powers. These reasonable opinions appear to us to make rather against than for the argument of M. de Montalembert, who wishes his readers to believe, what he will not himself venture to say, that the present condition of Rome is normal and satisfactory. To ordinary observers, a Pope, maintained in his capital by French bayonets, and delegating his authority in the Legations or elsewhere to Austrian generals, seems to be on the high road to, if not already arrived at, the state of dependence which the French emperor and the English statesman deprecated. A pontiff whose throne and revenues depend on the will of two emperors, must now and then find, we conceive, a good deal of difficulty in keeping imperial fingers out of the papal pie. He may, if he possess the genius of the Pauls and the Clements of other times, succeed in working upon the personal jealousies and interests of his powerful allies; but he can maintain his general independence only by sacrificing 'here a little and there a little' of his sovereign rights in matters sacred or secular. An ordinary man so situated will be as little likely to play his spiritual game off his own bat, as he would be under the arrangements of some new congress which might agree to place the tiara alternately on the heads of the archbishops of Paris or Vienna. One of M. de Montalembert's strictures upon England and her parliament strictures which we admit no one has more right than himself to make, after his liberal appreciation in a former work of the sterling qualities of our institutions -is well worthy of the attention of all the politicians, of whatever degree, to whose sense or nonsense spoken in the two Houses a free press gives a circulation which the mere writings even of men like M. de Montalembert can never command: France, he says (p. 27), is by a great majority of her people, catholic. You boast, and justly boast, of your close alliance with her. Do you believe that your perpetual invectives against her religion will not in the long-run loosen that alliance? What would you think if the authorities, if the leading men of France, were always insulting and ridiculing the Anglican religion and its chief? Why should you suppose the French less thin-skinned than you in this matter? We do not believe that either our present rulers, or any of our legislators likely to become our rulers, have ever insulted either the religion of France or its chief. To say that the condition of Rome, with the Roman pontiff maintained there solely by foreign steel, is abnormal and unsatisfactory,' is, we apprehend, no insult either to the Pope or to the French Roman Catholics. We are also inclined to suspect that there are other subjects on which our lively neighbours, even those of them who sincerely hold the faith as it is in Rome, would be more touchy, and would display what M. de Montalembert calls a more sensitive epidermis.' But we nevertheless recommend Mr. Spooner and 1856.] Aytoun's 'Bothwell!' his friends to take the advice of this French gentleman, an enthusiast like themselves, who has endured political vicissitudes to them unknown; and who writes with a wit 347 and a brilliancy which we, in our capacity of critics, should be well pleased occasionally to find in the fucubrations of Oxford, or Stoneyhurst, or Exeter-hall. AYTOUN'S BOTHWELL.'* AN impatient public has been long on the tiptoe of expectationlooking for the coming of this poem. Its tardy appearance has been heralded by a considerable flourish of trumpets. Somewhat reversing the ordinary course of events, it has been reviewed before the 'profane vulgar' were in a position to estimate its merits. Like the offspring of royalty in the old time, its many excellences have been celebrated by a Northern contemporary, ere yet the world was gladdened by its advent. However, it has at last appeared, and possesses many claims to a careful judgment. There is, as Lord Jeffrey observes, a sort of primogeniture about literary undertakings. A new member' always receives an indulgent hearing. We welcome every one who can add to our enjoyment or our information, warmly applaud success, and are gentle to failure. But when the endeavour is repeated, the reception must become slightly different. We are then called upon not to entertain hospitably a passing stranger, but to assign a definite place in our household to a permanent inmate. Dropping metaphor, the author of a second poetical effort puts forth claims to be recognised as a poet, and, therefore, to the highest honours which literature can afford. These honours must not be hastily conceded. Mr. Aytoun has already acquired for himself considerable reputation by the Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers. They were uniformly vigorous-sometimes pathetic-their subject enlisted on their behalf a wide-spread feeling of romance-above all, there were not very many of them, and in consequence they attracted general admiration. He has now come before the public with greater pretensions. Bothwell claims to be a sustained poem in six parts; its author aspires to win the public suffrage as a poet. The birth of a new poem into the world is no light matter; and Mr. Aytoun can hardly think that he has justice done to his endeavours unless they be tested by a considerably higher standard than before. I have not deviated,' says Mr. Aytoun, in his preface, from what I consider to be historical truth.' The obscurity which hangs over the period to which the poem refers is sufficient to justify any peculiarity of opinion. Nor have we any wish to quarrel with our author's general estimate of Queen Mary's character. The current of fashion now sets against that unhappy princess. Blessed with happier fortunes, as, indeed, with sterner virtues, Elizabeth has become the favourite in the frequent contrast. All honour is due to the memory of our great queen; but we need not therefore deny all sympathy to her rival. Sadder life was never lived in this world than that of Mary. What man is there, of woman born, on whose lips words of condemnation will not falter as he recalls that pitiful story? Born to lofty fortunes, wedded to loftier still;—in earliest youth, queen of a rich and powerful nation, the idol of a gay and chivalrous court-sorrow might not come near her-the winds of heaven might not visit her too roughly-the future held in store only happiness, increasing with length of days. The bright picture soon faded. Torn, like a tender plant, from the nurture of sunny France, she is buffeted by the rude blasts of the inhospitable North. She is a widow while yet a girl— a monarch without a sceptre-a woman, with no man to love her. Scotland is in the throes of a great By W. Edmondstoune Aytoun, D.C.L, 1856. *Bothwell. A Poem, in Six Parts. Edinburgh and London: Blackwood and Sons. VOL. LIV. NO. CCCXXI. convulsion-passing through one of those crises in a nation's life which require for their guidance the hardest head and the coldest heart that can be given to man. To rule the storm which raged around her, Mary's gentle and impulsive nature was all unequal. Treason cast an early gloom over her brief days of peace, not even lightened by the smile of the traitor; plots were hatched under lowering brows; loyalty was broken down by the denunciations of a young and rigorous faith. No knightly heart was found to succour. Her very affections became a curse, for Scotland held no man worthy of her love. They drove her into the arms of a petulant boy, a tyrant to her, a tool in the hands of others, with no force of character to redeem his feeble vices. With his death the tragedy deepens. Fiercer spirits advance upon the scene. The fair vision of purity, worthy a place in any poet's dream of fair women,' has passed away. A cloud gathers o'er her innocence; she rushes into follies which the vulgar can ascribe only to the wayward influences of undisciplined passion. She becomes the wife of a proud, rash, and profligate soldier is rescued from his brutality by rebellion, and condemned to an unjust captivity. A moment's sunshine brings with it a last vain struggle. The struggle was short; and she fled from the rout of her army, seeking, for her shattered fortunes and her withered hopes, the generous sympathy of a sovereign, a cousin, and a woman. She found the living death of a hopeless prison -the bitterness of a brother levelling foul charges against her honourthe indignity of a rival sitting in judgment on her fame. The gloom of captivity darkens over her, hiding in its long agony what a weight of unavailing sorrow no man can tell. The cold policy of Elizabeth brought at last the longed-for end. weary heart, chastened by suffering, hailed the sad repose of the block; and that serene welcome of death will for ever gain forgiveness from all who have learned so to know themselves as to feel pity for the weak and erring. Let our judgments lie lightly on the memory of one endowed with such dangerous The gifts, tried by such arduous duties, visited by retribution so severe. 'Then gently scan your brother man, Still gentler sister womanTho' they may gang a kennin' wrang, To step aside is human. One point must still be greatly dark, The moving why they do it; And just as tamely can ye mark How far perhaps they rue it.' One of Mary's worst acts was her marriage with the hero of this poem. Mr. Aytoun will have it, that this union was forced upon her. His only proofs are, that the statute of Bothwell's forfeiture declares his abduction of the queen to have been forcible, and that she was unhappy after the marriage. Statutes, like the authors of them, sometimes deceive. The Parliament could not very well have admitted that they were passing sentence of forfeiture for an act to which the queen herself had given consent. He might as well argue, that because the statute speaks of 'our dearest mother' and her august person,' therefore the framers of it were actuated by the most devoted loyalty. As to the other point, it was not only marriage with Bothwell which brought misery. 'She consulted her own inclination in marrying Darnley,' says Mr. Aytoun. After that union, also, we find the unhappy lady reproaching the tardiness of death. What, moreover, could have been Mary's motive, save her own wishes? It is absurd to pretend that she was forced to wed in order to avoid dishonour. The shadow of the coming wedlock had been long seen by all Scotland. It had been visible in the tardy steps with which justice had waited upon the murderers of Darnley. The queen's 'deplorable apathy and remissness,' to use the words of a warm advocate, elicited warning remonstrances from her ambassador in France, from the queen-mother, from her uncle the cardinal. The collusive trial occasioned wide-spread discontent, which the queen made no endeavour to appease. Bothwell's daring hopes, upon Mr. Aytoun's own showing, must have been known to Mary before the abduction; and these hopes were in no way checked. Honours were showered upon the licentious traitor. Ambassadors would have remonstrated. They 1856.] Mr. Aytoun's Historic Fancies. were refused an audience with levity, almost with insult. When that farce was being enacted, she opposed but a show of resistance to his violence, and made no appeal for help to the nobles who accompanied her. On her return she evinced no desire for revenge. A coalition of nobles, including a man so devoted to the crown as Sir R. Melvil, was formed to avert the catastrophe. Their assistance was rejected. On the other hand, what political gain could Mary promise to herself? An increase of power? Bothwell was the most unpopular man in Scotland. A councillor on whom to rely? He was infirm of purpose, and easy to deceive. She knew that the signatures to the 'Band' had been obtained by intrigue or violence, and that already many of them were expressly, all practically, disowned. It is foolish to dogmatise on the obscure politics of these troublous times. But we believe Mr. Aytoun's view to be untrue historically; we think it the least poetical, and the least creditable to Mary. To wed a man for motives of policy or fear, and lightly to discard him in his hour of danger, is not the part of a noble and affectionate disposition. It were far more true to poetry, and to the nature of women, to have represented her as loving a villain with misplaced attachment retaining this love even while goaded by his cruelty to thoughts of suicide-parting with it only under the torment of affection rejected, and left to feed upon itself, which no human heart can long sustain, and even then holding by the unworthy object, till his safety could only be purchased by her desertion. Mr. Aytoun gives the following as the farewell scene: The tear was in Queen Mary's eye, As forth she held her hand. Then is the hour of parting nigh! For Bothwell, my command Is that you go and save a life That else were lost in useless strife. Farewell! We may not meet again; But I have passed such years of painSo many partings have I known, That this poor heart has callous grown. Farewell! If any thing there be Which moves you when you think on me, Believe that you are quite forgiven By one who bids you pray to Heaven! No soul alive so innocent 349 But needs must beg at Mercy's doorFarewell!'-She passed from out the tent. O God-I never saw her more! We say nothing, at present, of the total want of anything like poetry in this passage. We look only to the absence of feeling. Whatever had been Bothwell's crimes, he was still Mary's husband; he was leaving her for ever-he was going to almost certain death; and she evinces, under these circumstances, less emotion than would be shown by most women at parting from a dog. We believe, then, that Mary, in the matter of this marriage, acted of her own free will. Mr. Aytoun will, therefore, call us 'calumniators.' We plead not guilty to the charge. It is a melancholy reflection, but, we suspect, a true one, that those of the gentler sex who are most truly women, in tenderness, in a yearning for affection, in a vivid and romantic imagination, love not wisely, but too well. The strong necessity of loving' urges them into hasty attachments-they colour the object of them with a light coming only from the warm sunshine of their own hearts; they awake to find their exacting fondness repaid with indifference-to see the creation of their own fancy wither in the cold light of reality. Mary was essentially a woman in her crimes as in her virtues; and such we believe to be the true explanation of her infatuation for Bothwell. In fact, all Mr. Aytoun's history is extremely assumptional. He vehemently attacks others upon this ground, while himself favouring us with some most remarkable theories. He tells us, without the slightest attempt at proof, that the ambition to become king, or regent, was always a ruling passion in the mind of Murray, and that a morbid love of treason induced Lethington to aid his friend to the fulfilment of these hopes. We are accordingly requested to believe that Mary's deposition had been aimed at from the first, and that, with a superhuman foresight, they devised the plan of blowing up her husband, in full confidence that she would sully her reputation by marrying the murderer: Cecil and Walsingham |