For EIGHT DOLLARS, remitted directly to the Publishers, the LIVING AGE will be punctually forwarded for a year, free of postage. Remittances should be made by bank draft or check, or by post-office money-order, if possible. If neither of these can be procured, the money should be sent in a registered letter. All postmasters are obliged to register letters when requested to do so. Drafts, checks and money-orders should be made payable to the order of LITTELL & Co. Single Numbers of THE LIVING AGE, 18 cents, MARSHAL BELLE-ISLE'S RETREAT FROM PRAGUE. [In the last chapter of his " Etudes Diplomatiques," published in the Revue des Deux Mondes of January 15th, the Duc de Broglie reprints a famous couplet which Frederick the Great had already quoted in his "History."] "QUAND Belle-Isle partit De Prague, à petit bruit, Prolongez votre cours!' "Pour un plus grand dessein Josué fit soudain L'astre brillant du jour; The while Belle-Isle did go, From Prague forth on tip-toe, "O Lantern of my days, And Star of Fortune's boon, Prolong, prolong your rays!" For a finer still design, One morn, The brilliant orb of day; Does not the Preacher bid us once and twice Mr. Edwin Arnold has since sent us the following poetic rejoinder : [To H. D. TRAILL, on the Dedication of "The New Lucian."] "At that eternal parting of the ways," Thou say'st, good Friend! looking to see it come When hands which cling, unclasp; arms disembrace; And lips, that murmured love to lips, are dumb. Aye! it will come-the bitter hour!-but bringing A better love beyond, more subtle-sweet; A higher road to tread; with happier singing, And no cross-ways to part familiar feet! Smil'st thou, my later Lucian! knowing so well Hope's under-ache, Faith's fallacies all sped? Yet THAT which gave thee thy fair gift, to tell How in Elysium chat th''unsilenced Dead, Shall some day whisper: "Lo! the Life Im mortal! Enter! For thee stands wide the golden portal!" Spectator. Spectator. EDWIN ARNOLD. From The National Review. THE ARISTOCRACY OF LETTERS. WHO first employed the phrase, "the republic of letters," I do not know; but many generations have recognized its aptness, and its origin, can, I think, be clearly accounted for. In the days when sceptres, swords, and crosiers were not merely the symbols but the actual weap. ons of command, those who handled but the pen were deemed insignificant. They were "little men," but theirs was not yet a"mighty instrument." Ever and anon an Alexander might sleep with Homer under his pillow, or an Alfred win the contested volume after his mother had decided that "the book shall belong to him that can read it." But, as a rule, kings were content to ratify a treaty with an illiterate scratch, and rulers of the world proclaimed their act and deed with the butt-end of a sword-hilt. For the drawing up of State documents they employed learned clerks just as they em ployed scullions or buffoons. The battle axe alone was noble; parchment was somewhat base. Withal, the disdained weapon slowly made its way and gradually asserted its power even in this knightly society. Deep down in the heart of all men lurks a dim consciousness of what is really noble, really praiseworthy, really deserving of honor; and it was not found possible to prevent princes and potentates from occasionally betraying for letters a warmer respect than they had been educated to exhibit. Women too, those inconsequent rebels against the conventions they help so largely to establish, queens, princesses, the fair ladies of tilt and tourney, were not always able to repress the secret admiration they entertained for glowing couplets, to restrain the sympathy they felt for the amorous music of the trouba dour, or to resist the strains of the jongleur who mocked and wept by turns. Men, moreover, masculine men, men who could not sign their name, ever and anon inadvertently allowed that persons who wielded the pen might be deserving of veneration, provided they were dead, or at least, had been dead long enough; while taking care not to be so injudiciously consistent as to spare living writers any of their affected superiority. Occasionally a king, sometimes a queen, condescended to write; and the innovation had to be tolerated out of regard for the august rank of the revolutionist. Thus the minds of men got somewhat confused as to what really were the value and dignity of authorship, and even writ ers themselves began to suspect that they were not such contemptible fellows after all. It was plain they had something in common with the rulers of the earth. What was it? And how was this touch of kinship to be expressed? The man who invented the phrase, "the republic of letters," answered the question, and solved the difficulty. Henceforward it was not only felt, but recognized, that whatever grades of political rank the State might assign to men, literature made them equal in her realm, provided they were worthy of being her subjects. It was a protest on the part of natural dignity against distinctions that were felt to be wholly or in part artificial, an attempt to redress the arbitrariness of custom by the niceties of language. Kings there were, and nobles, and the earth and the fulness thereof ostensibly belonged to monarchs and oligarchs; but there was a republic as well, the republic of letters, which, without degrading the proud, exalted the lowly, and admitted kings, nobles, and simple folk alike to its citizenship. The aspect of the world has greatly changed since a just instinct prompted some ready wit to gain acceptance for the phrase the republic of letters. Happily, monarchy still survives in this country; but if we look either at its original meaning or at its history, we shall be forced to confess that it is, in practice, little more than the convenient symbol of a wise and cautious people. Political oligarchy, notwithstanding the grievance under which certain persons appear to suffer by reason of the continued existence of elder sons, of the House of Lords, and of a preference for having money in land rather than in the funds, is defunct. Titles and wealth, it is true, still exercise influence; but it is probable that the antipathy they excite in some breasts operates as much subtle, more persistent, and more dominant than its own. The highest personages show themselves sensitive, hypersensitive indeed, to criticism that is written; and so surely as democracy, or the power of the many, is the dispensation under which we live, and which will endure long after this generation has passed away, so sure is it that the pen is its chosen instrument, and the written word the passport to its favor. to their detriment as the regard they arouse in others operates to their advantage. If we are to distinguish fact from form, we are forced to acknowledge that the throne, that territorial nobility, that newly acquired wealth, one and all, can make their power felt only by trying to understand and endeavoring to harmonize the wishes of the many. In a word, whether men like it or not, democracy, or the power of the people, is the ruling power in our society. Tempered it is, and let us hope it will long be tempered, by other powers and other influences; just as in the best days of monarchy or oligarchy other powers and other influity, and the sole responsibility of writers ences mitigated their supremacy. The power of the pen once recognized, it follows that grave duties devolve upon those that wield it. There should be no power without commensurate responsibil rous attitudinizer, may in general estimation be regarded as equally a man-of-letters with the finished scholar, the disinterested thinker, or the simple and dignified poet. Literature, as commonly understood in these days, is composed of as many and as heterogeneous elements as were mingled in the magical broth of the, witches in in these days is to their own conscience. It would be strange if, in a world that Happily, we have no Index Expurgatohas thus shifted its centre of gravity in so rius; legal censorship is obsolete; and remarkable a manner, the position of lit there is hardly anything a man can write erature had remained stable. In propor- for which readers will not be found, and tion as kings, statesmen, and nobles have scarcely any style in which he can express felt a diminished authority, the persons himself for which admirers will not be who once were tolerated because they forthcoming. Standard of thought or could write, and in writing prove them-expression there is none. Every one selves useful or amusing, have acquired may write what he pleases, and how he an ever-increasing importance. We still pleases; and some ungrammatical scribtalk of the sceptre, but it is kept well out | bler, some venal gossip, or some barbaof sight; and the sword has become the menial of the pen. Wars are decided upon by men who never fired a shot nor handled a sabre, but who are expert in argument and cunning of literary fence. When they have convinced the nation that armed invasion or armed defence is imperative, the soldier is commissioned to carry out their decision. So consider-Macbeth." able and so widely recognized is their Such being the case, I think the time power, that ambitious soldiers are visibly anxious to propitiate their favor; a circumstance against which old-fashioned warriors who do not understand their age are sometimes heard to inveigh with inarticulate ardor. Statesmen, and politicians hoping one day to be called statesmen, exhibit a kindred anxiety to secure the alliance of this potent weapon, this ubiquitous power. Even the spoken word is beginning to feel that, save when it proceeds from some established oracle, and is therefore printed and disseminated as though it were written, it cannot cope with the written word. Parliament acknowledges in the press an influence more has come to recognize the fact that the republic of letters is an obsolete and misleading phrase; a phrase that no longer protects the deserving, though it gives credentials to the worthless; a phrase that is but a survival from days that were different from ours; a phrase, in fine, that lingers on men's lips after the circumstances that called it into existence and which it accurately represented have passed away. What we want now is not a republic, but an aristocracy of letters. I fear this assertion will, at first, arouse the antagonism, not to say the antipathy, of the very persons whom I most want to convince; of my own kith and kin, if I may say so, viz. men-of-letters themselves. If they will be patient with me, and read on, perhaps I may convert them before I have done. in vigilant judgment upon himself, and is perpetually seeing to his armor, repairing its chinks, and keeping it from corroding rust. I have said that the dispensation under What is aristocracy? A thing can be which we live and are likely to live for any defined only by its qualities; and if one period of which we need take account, is were asked to name the one word that the dispensation of democracy, or the would most comprehensively define aris- power of the many. The word is used tocracy, one would name the Latin word by many persons invidiously, by some virtus, which is rendered into English indeed angrily; so that it may, perhaps, by valor and virtue indifferently, but be necessary to say that, for me at least, which signifies both of these and some- democracy is merely a fact like another, thing more, and the true English equiva- neither to be loved nor hated, but acknowllent for which I take to be honor or self-edged and reasonably dealt with. The respect. - It follows, therefore, that in proposing to supersede a republic or rather rabble of letters in which rabble are to be found not a few lords and ladies, and even some princes by an aristocracy of letters, one is merely proposing that there should be an open and perfectly accessible upper house of literature, to which any writer will belong whose watchword is honor, and who uses his pen with unwavering respect both for it and himself. I think the suggestion thus set forth will not seem either reactionary or repugnant to those writers, to those of my own kith and kin, whose ear I want to gain. Yet the proposal is not a mere abstract one to which a vague assent alone need be given. Once accepted, an aristocracy of letters entails many consequences. Let us see what they are. Honor is a very exacting watchword, and if a man means to maintain his selfrespect there are many things from which he will have to abstain. No man can be said to be governed by honor who is not courageous, independent, and disinterested. No man can properly be said to have self-respect who is a flatterer or a parasite. An aristocrat is loyal to his convictions, steadfast to his friends, fearless but fair to his enemies, magnanimous under all circumstances and all provocation. To complete his qualities, we must add good breeding or courtesy. He is chivalrous even when he is forced to strike. He is the soul of intrepidity, and he has perfection of manner, or so much of it as is permitted to human infirmity. He sits person who, admiring aristocracy, can see between it and democracy nothing but inherent antagonism and a duel to the death, may possibly be right, though I do not think he is. But, unquestionably, he will be of no use in these days, and will write in vain, save for his own amusement and the delectation of those despondent and exclusive persons who think with him. The many, therefore, are in these days sovereign, or as near at any rate to being so as is possible in what is still happily a limited monarchy. But the many are sufficiently powerful, sit upon a sufficiently lofty throne, wield a sufficiently commanding sceptre, wear a sufficiently sharp sword, and dispense sufficiently valuable favors, to make it worth the while of those who are disposed to be courtiers, to flatter, humor, and propitiate the newly reigning king. Now, no writer who is to belong to the aristocracy of letters, no writer who honors himself and respects his pen, can do any of these things. The days have been when men who wrote adulated monarchs, complimented princes, and penned dedications and epistles of a respectful character to powerful personages whom they did not respect. No one who hopes that he may possibly be a humble member of the aristocracy of letters can read these effusions without a retrospective tingle of shame. But because these faults were committed in a republic of letters, shall they under an aristocracy of letters be renewed? I fear there will be found writers only too eager to win the smile, to catch the nod, and to carry off the pen. sions bestowed by the new potentate; |