minister; for I give no allowance at all to the difference of success (which, however, is yet uncertain and depending) nor think it the least alleviation to the crime, whatever it may be to the punishment.
I am sensible it is ill arguing from particulars to generals, and that we ought not to charge upon a nation the crimes of a few desperate villains it is so unfortunate to produce; yet at the same time it must be avowed, that the French have, for these last centuries, been somewhat too liberal of their daggers upon the persons of their greatest men; such as the admiral de Coligny, the dukes of Guise father and son, and the two kings I last mentioned. I have sometimes wondered how a people, whose genius seems wholly turned to singing and dancing, and prating, to vanity and impertinence; who lay so much weight upon modes and gestures; whose essentialities are generally so very superficial; who are usually so serious upon trifles, and so trifling upon what is serious, have been capable of committing such solid villainies, more suitable to the gravity of a Spaniard, or the silence and thoughtfulness of an Italian: unless it be, that in a nation naturally so full of themselves, and of so restless imaginations, when any of them happen to be of a morose and gloomy constitution, that huddle of confused thoughts, for want of evaporating, usually terminates in rage or despair. D'Avila observes, that Jacques Clement[1] was a sort of buffoon, whom the rest of the friars used to make sport with; but at last giving his folly a serious turn, it ended in enthusiasm, and qualified him for that desperate act of murdering his king.
- ↑ The monk who stabbed Henry III of France.
