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TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT. - Alexis de Tocqueville, Memoir, Letters, and Remains of Alexis de Tocqueville, vol. 2 [1861]

Edition used:

Memoir, Letters, and Remains of Alexis de Tocqueville. Translated from the French by the translator of Napoleon’s Correspondence with King Joseph. With large Additions. In Two Volumes (London: Macamillan, 1861). 2 vols.

Part of: Memoir, Letters, and Remains of Alexis de Tocqueville, 2 vols.

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TO M. GUSTAVE DE BEAUMONT.

Compiègne, February 21, 1855.

I received a letter from you, dear friend, the day after I wrote to you; and my wife at the same time had the happiness to receive one from yours.

The return of winter has, as yet, done me no harm. Every day, for the last week, I have walked in the forest for more than an hour. The great trees, covered with snow, remind me of the woods in Tennessee, which we explored, in still severer weather, nearly twenty-five years ago. The most different feature in the picture was myself; for twenty-five years make a complete revolution in a man’s life. I made this melancholy reflection as I was plodding my way through the snow. But, after going over this long series of years in my memory, I consoled myself by thinking that if I had to live this quarter of a century over again, I should not, on the whole, act very differently. I should try to avoid many trifling errors, and many undoubted follies; but as to the bulk of my ideas, sentiments, and even actions, I should make no change. I also remarked how little alteration there was in my views of men in general during all these years. Much is said about the dreams of youth, and the awaking of mature age. I have not noticed this in myself. I was from the first struck by the vices and weaknesses of mankind; and as to the good qualities which I then attributed to them, I must say that I still find them much the same. This little retrospect put me into a better humour; and to make myself quite happy, I reflected that I had preserved the same friend with whom I shot parrots at Memphis, and that time had only drawn closer the ties of friendship and confidence which even then united us. This was the pleasantest thought of all. . . .

I will send to ——— the paper which he asks for. Like you, I shall make it very short. I shall fancy myself in a dream when I am forced to go over my parliamentary life. Is it really true that there ever have been parliamentary assemblies in France?—that the nation took a passionate interest in all that was spoken in them? Were not these men, these constitutions, and these forms of government shadows without substance? Did the passions, the hopes, the fears, the sympathies and antipathies, which once so strongly moved us, really exist in our own time, or are they mere recollections of what we have read in history? In truth, I am tempted to believe it; for what has really existed leaves some trace, and I see none of all we imagined that we saw and felt.

If the past be a dream, let us at least endeavour to seize hold of the present.

Good-bye, dear friend; I need not tell you of our affection for you both.

P.S.—Since I wrote this letter yesterday, a foot of snow has fallen. This will interrupt my American walks.