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Policy Networks in Criminal Justice
Also by Mick Ryan

LOBBYING FROM BELOW: INQUEST in Defence of Civil Liberties

PRIVATIZATION AND THE PENAL SYSTEM: The American Experience and the
Debate in Britain (with Tony Ward)
THE ACCEPTABLE PRESSURE GROUP: A Case Study of the Howard League and
Radical Alternatives to Prison
THE POLITICS OF PUBLIC REFORM (co-editor)
WESTERN EUROPEAN PENAL SYSTEMS: A Critical Anatomy (edited with
Vincenzo Ruggiero and Joe Sim)

Also by Stephen P. Savage

CORE ISSUES IN POLICING (edited with Barry Loveday and Frank Leishman)
POLICING AND THE POWER OF PERSUASION: The Changing Role of the
Association of Chief Police Officers (with Sarah Charman and Stephen Cope)
PUBLIC POLICY IN BRITAIN (edited with Rob Atkinson and Lynton Robins)
PUBLIC POLICY UNDER BLAIR (edited with Rob Atkinson)
PUBLIC POLICY UNDER THATCHER (edited with Lynton Robins)
THE THEORIES OF TALCOTT PARSONS

Also by David S. Wall

ACCESS TO CRIMINAL JUSTICE: Legal Aid, Lawyers and the Defence of Liberty
(edited with Richard Young)
CRIME AND THE INTERNET (editor)
CYBERSPACE CRIME (editor)
THE BRITISH POLICE 1829–2000: Forces and Chief Officers (with Martin Stallion)
THE CHIEF CONSTABLES OF ENGLAND AND WALES: The Socio-Legal History
of a Criminal Justice Elite
THE IMPACT OF PACE: Policing in a Northern Force (with Keith Bottomley and
Clive Coleman, David Dixon and Martin Gill)
THE INTERNET, LAW AND SOCIETY (edited with Yaman Akdeniz and
Clive Walker)
Policy Networks in
Criminal Justice
Edited by

Mick Ryan
Professor of Penal Policy
University of Greenwich
London

Stephen P. Savage
Professor of Criminology, and
Director of the Institute of Criminal Justice Studies
University of Portsmouth

and

David S. Wall
Director of the Centre for Criminal Justice Studies
University of Leeds
Editorial matter and selection © Mick Ryan, Stephen P. Savage
and David S. Wall 2001
Chapter 2 © Stephen P. Savage and Sarah Charman 2001
Chapter 4 © Peter Starie, Jane Creaton and David S. Wall 2001
Chapter 5 © B. Fitzpatrick, Peter Seago, Clive Walker and David S. Wall 2001
Chapter 8 © Mick Ryan 2001
Chapters 1, 3, 6, 7, 9 © Palgrave Publishers Ltd 2001
Softcover reprint of the hardcover 1st edition 2001 978-0-333-75024-7
All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of
this publication may be made without written permission.
No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or
transmitted save with written permission or in accordance with
the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988,
or under the terms of any licence permitting limited copying
issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90 Tottenham Court
Road, London W1P 0LP.
Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this
publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil
claims for damages.
The authors have asserted their rights to be identified
as the authors of this work in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published 2001 by
PALGRAVE
Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS and
175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N. Y. 10010
Companies and representatives throughout the world
PALGRAVE is the new global academic imprint of
St. Martin’s Press LLC Scholarly and Reference Division and
Palgrave Publishers Ltd (formerly Macmillan Press Ltd).
ISBN 978-1-349-41209-9 ISBN 978-0-230-52434-7 (eBook)
DOI 10.1057/9780230524347
This book is printed on paper suitable for recycling and
made from fully managed and sustained forest sources.
A catalogue record for this book is available
from the British Library.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Policy networks in criminal justice / edited by Mick Ryan,
Stephen P. Savage, and David S. Wall.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-349-41209-9
1. Criminal justice, Administration of—Great Britain. 2. Pressure
groups—Great Britain. 3. Policy networks—Great Britain. I. Ryan,
Mick. II. Savage, Stephen P. III. Wall, David, 1956–
HV9960.G7 P65 2001
364.941—dc21
2001021607
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
10 09 08 07 06 05 04 03 02 01
 To
Joan Ryan
Nicholas P. Savage and
Harrison, Sophie and James Wall
This page intentionally left blank
Contents

List of Abbreviations x
Notes on the Contributors xii

1 Analysing Criminal Justice Policy-Making:

Towards a Policy Networks Approach? 1
Stephen Cope
The rise of policy networks 2
The policing policy network: a case study on police
reform 10
The fall of policy networks? 12
2 The Bobby Lobby: Police Associations and the
Policy Process 24
Stephen P. Savage and Sarah Charman
Introduction 24
Rank and representation: professional associations
in the British police force 25
Caught in the act: police capture of the policy agenda 41
Conclusion 51
3 Influencing or Influenced? ± the Probation Service
and Criminal Justice Policy 55
Mike Nash
From one to one to all for one 56
Professional associations 57
New friends ± new coalitions 60
New agendas ± reinventing networks from the centre 64
Forced agendas ± forced partners? 67
The power of the probation lobby? 70
4 The Legal Professional and Policy Networks: an
`Advocacy Coalition' in Crisis? 76
Peter Starie, Jane Creaton and David Wall
Introduction 76
The changing nature of `professionalism' 77
The changing socio-legal context 80
The professional bodies of the legal profession 82

vii
viii Contents

The reconfiguration of the legal professional policy network? 91

Conclusion: the legal profession and policy networks 93

5 The Courts: New Court Management and

Old Court Ideologies 98
Ben Fitzpatrick, Peter Seago, Clive Walker and David Wall
The historical development of the court structure 99
New court management and the magistrates' courts 104
Old court ideologies versus new court management 108
Professional associations and representative organisations 112
Conclusions 116
6 Networking and the Lobby for Penal Reform:
Conflict and Consensus 122
Chas Wilson
Introduction 122
Background: penal policy in the 1980s and 1990s 124
Networking for penal reform: evolution and change 127
The PAC 134
The effectiveness of the penal reform lobby:
away from agenda resistance? 138
Conclusions: political science, policy networks
and penal policy-making 143
Update: all change for penal networks 145
7 Networking and Crime Control at the Local Level 151
Adam Edwards and John Benyon
Introduction 151
From crime prevention to `community safety' 153
Local government and community governance 155
Local (police) government and community governance 157
Networking, power-dependence and local crime control 161
The practice of networking in local crime control 164
Conclusion: the strategic dilemmas of networking 172
8 Liberty: Networking Criminal Justice in Defence
of Civil Liberties, 1979±99 181
Mick Ryan
Introduction 181
Background 182
Networking criminal justice, 1979±97 185
Liberty against the Conservative ascendancy, 1979±97 191
Re-thinking strategies and tactics 193
 Contents ix

Advocating with the tide 195

Conclusion 196

9 The Victims Lobby 201

Sandra Walklate
Introduction 201
Policy, politics and process 202
The politicisation of the crime victim, 1945±75 204
The politics of the crime victim, 1975±95 206
Responding to `domestic' violence 209
Responding to murder 212
Conclusion: policy networks, agendas and processes 215

Index 218
List of Abbreviations

ACC Association of County Councils

ACLEC Advisory Committee on Legal Education and Conduct
ACOP Association of Chief Officers of Probation
ACPO Association of Chief Police Officers
AMA Association of Metropolitan Authorities
BMA British Medical Association
CCCP Central Council of Probation Committees
CICB Criminal Injuries Compensation Board
CJA Criminal Justice Act
CoLPA Committee of Local Police Authorities
CPO Chief Probation Officer
CPOSA Chief Police Officers' Staff Association
CPS Crown Prosecution Service
ECHR European Court of Human Rights
GCHQ General Communications Headquarters
HL Howard League for Penal Reform
HMIC Her Majesty's Inspectorate of Constabulary
HMIP Her Majesty's Inspectorate of Prisons
LAA Local Authority Association
LARIA Local Authorities Research and Information Association
LGMB Local Government Management Board
MCC Magistrates' Courts Committee
MCSI Magistrates' Courts Service Inspectorate
MIS Management Information System
MSC Manpower Services Commission
NACRO National Association for the Care and Resettlement of
Offenders
NAPO National Association of Probation Officers
NCCL National Council for Civil Liberties
NCE NACRO Community Enterprises Ltd
NCIS National Criminal Intelligence Service
NCT NACRO New Careers Training
NVQ National Vocational Qualification
OFT Office of Fair Trading
PAC Penal Affairs Consortium
PACE Police and Criminal Evidence Act

x
 List of Abbreviations xi

PGA Prison Governors' Association

PMCA Police and Magistrates' Courts Act
POA Prison Officers' Association
PRI Penal Reform International
PROP Preservation of the Rights of Prisoners
PRT Prison Reform Trust
PSA Police Superintendents' Association
QC Queen's Counsel
RAP Radical Alternatives to Prison
RCCJ Royal Commission on Criminal Justice
RCCP Royal Commission on Criminal Procedure
SAMM Support After Murder and Manslaughter
SNOP Statement of National Objectives and Priorities
WIP Women in Prison
WISH Women in Special Hospitals
Notes on the Contributors

John Benyon is Professor of Politics at the University of Leicester and

was Director of the Scarman Centre at the University of Leicester from
1987 to 1999. He is also convenor of the UK Political Studies Association's
Specialist Group on the Politics of Law and Order, which he co-founded
with Adam Edwards in 1993, and has been Treasurer of the Political
Studies Association since 1992. He has published widely on urban crime
and disorder, race and policing, international police co- operation and
local crime prevention. His books include Scarman and After (editor,
1984); The Constitution in Question (editor, 1991) and Debates in British
Politics (with D. Denver and J. Fisher, 2001). He is currently researching
the politics of gun control and the politics of law and order, including the
impact of elected mayors on local policing and crime prevention.

Sarah Charman studied at the University of Wales, Bangor for both

her undergraduate and postgraduate degrees. She was formerly a
Research Associate and is now Lecturer in Criminology at the Institute
of Criminal Justice Studies, University of Portsmouth. She has published
variously on the role of pressure groups in criminal justice policy-
making, the role of the Association of Chief Police Officers and the
politics of criminal justice policy. Sarah is co-author of Policy and the
Power of Persuasion (with S. Savage and S. Cope, 2000).

Stephen Cope is a Principal Lecturer in Public Policy in the School of

Social and Historical Studies, University of Portsmouth. He has
researched widely into and published extensively on matters relating
to policy networks and governance. He is currently working on a
research project on regulating public services in Britain. He is a co-
author of Policing and the Power of Persuasion: the Changing Role of the
Association of Chief Police Officers (with S. Charman and S. Savage, 2000).

Jane Creaton is Senior Education Officer at the Bar Council. Pre-

viously, she has worked as Lecturer in Criminal Justice Studies at the
Institute of Criminal Justice Studies, University of Portsmouth and as a
Research Officer at the Centre for Criminological Research, University of
Oxford. She has written about DNA profiling and forensic science, and
the treatment of vulnerable witnesses in the criminal justice system.

xii
 Notes on the Contributors xiii

Adam Edwards is Senior Lecturer in the Department of Social

Sciences, Nottingham Trent University. He is also Director of the Eco-
nomic and Social Research Council's research seminar series on `Policy
Responses to Transnational Organised Crime', Chair of the Home Office
working group on Community Safety and Crime Prevention Curriculum
Development and adviser to the Government Office of the East Mid-
lands on the Statutory Crime and Disorder Partnerships. His research
interests include: crime prevention, organised crime, local governance,
and the transferability and evaluation of crime control policies.

Ben Fitzpatrick is a lecturer in the Centre for Criminal Justice Studies,

Department of Law, University of Leeds. His research and teaching
interests lie within the field of the criminal law and criminal justice
processes. He has published articles and chapters of books on `Holding
Centres in Northern Ireland' (with C. Walker, European Human Rights
Law Review), `Provocation' (with A. Reed, The Transnational Lawyer) and
also `Disclosure' (in C. Walker and K. Starmer (eds), Miscarriages of Justice:
a Review of Justice in Error, 1999). With P. Seago and D. Wall, Ben recently
completed research for the Lord Chancellor's Department on the impact
of new public management upon the Magistrates' Courts.

Mike Nash is a Principal Lecturer in Criminal Justice at the University

of Portsmouth. He has a particular interest in the probation service and
was formerly a senior probation officer. His research interests include
criminal dangerousness, criminal justice policy and the changing role of
the probation service. He has published widely in these areas and his
first book, Police, Probation and Protecting the Public, was published in
1999.

Mick Ryan is Professor of Penal Politics at the University of Greenwich,

London. An active member of the Penal lobby he is a former chair of
INQUEST, the subject of his most recent book, Lobbying from Below:
INQUEST in Defence of Civil Liberties (1996). He jointly edited Western
European Penal Systems (1995), and with Tony Ward wrote the first
international study of private prisons, Privatization and the Penal System:
the American Experience and the Debate in Britain (1989).

Stephen P. Savage is Professor of Criminology and Director of the

Institute of Criminal Justice Studies, University of Portsmouth. He has
researched into and has published widely on the politics of criminal
justice and policing. His books include The Theories of Talcott Parsons
xiv Notes on the Contributors

(1981); Public Policy under Thatcher (ed. with L. Robins, 1990); Public
Policy in Britain (ed. with R. Atkinson and L. Robins, 1994); Core Issues
in Policing (ed. with B. Loveday and F. Leishman, 1996 and 2000); Policing
and the Power of Persuasion: the Changing Role of the Association of Chief
Police Officers (with S. Charman and S. Cope, 2000); and Public Policy
under Blair (ed. with R. Atkinson, 2001).

Peter Seago is Senior Lecturer in Criminal Law in the Centre for

Criminal Justice Studies, Department of Law, University of Leeds. He is
also a serving lay magistrate and was awarded the OBE in 1998 for his
services to the administration of justice. In addition to conducting
research on the judiciary and publishing a range of articles and com-
mentaries, his books include Criminal Law (with A. Reed, 1999); Readings
in Criminal Law (ed. with R. Weaver, J. Burkoff and A. Reed, 1998);
Criminal Law (fourth edition, 1994) and Cases and Materials on Family
Law (with A. Bissett-Johnson, 1976).

Peter Starie is Senior Lecturer in Politics at the University of Ports-

mouth. His research interests cover a range of subjects from inter-
national political economy to political theory. He has written about
policy networks in relation to a wide variety of issue-areas, including
the IMF and police reform. He has recently written about globalisation
and European economic integration.

Clive Walker is a Professor in the Department of Law and Head of the

Department of Law at the University of Leeds. He was formerly Director
of the Centre for Criminal Justice Studies at Leeds. He has written
extensively on criminal justice, civil liberties and media issues. His
books have focused upon terrorism: they include Political Violence and
the Law in Ireland (1989); The Prevention of Terrorism in British Law (sec-
ond edition, 1992); and upon miscarriages of justice, including the
books, Justice in Error (1993) and Miscarriages of Justice (1999). He is also
a co-editor of The Internet, Law and Society (ed. with Y. Akdeniz and D.
Wall, 2000).

Sandra Walklate is currently Professor of Sociology at Manchester

Metropolitan Universty. She is author of many books on policing and
victims. These books include: Introducing Policework (with M. Brogden
and T. Jefferson, 1988); Victimology: the Victim and the Criminal Justice
Process (1989), Gender and Crime (1995); Understanding Criminology
(1997); Critical Victimology (with R. Mawby, 1993); Zero Tolerance or
 Notes on the Contributors xv

Community Tolerance? (with K. Evans, 1999); Gender, Crime and Criminal

Justice (2000). She worked actively with Victim Support on Merseyside
during the 1980s and has worked with police officers on Merseyside,
Greater Manchester and West Yorkshire on the issue of `domestic' vio-
lence.

David Wall is the Director of the Centre for Criminal Justice Studies at
the University of Leeds. He has written about, researched into and
taught the subjects of policing, access to criminal justice, the courts
process and also crime and the internet. He is currently conducting
various funded research projects into a variety of policing, courts and
cybercrime issues. His books include: The Impact of PACE: Policing in a
Northern Force (with K. Bottomley, C. Coleman, D. Dixon, M. Gill, 1991);
Access to Criminal Justice: Legal Aid, Lawyers and the Defence of Liberty
(ed. with R. Young, 1996); The British Police: Forces and Chief Officers
1829±2000 (with M. Stallion, 1999); The Chief Constables of England
and Wales (1998); The Internet, Law and Society (ed. with Y. Akdeniz and
C. Walker, 2000); Crime and the Internet (ed., 2001).

Chas Wilson is a Senior Lecturer in Criminology at the University of

Portsmouth. He has particular interests in and published widely on
comparative prison systems, international human rights law and prison-
ers' rights in both British and European prison systems; is currently
interested in the implications for prisoners of the Human Rights Act
1998 and is currently working on the contribution and achievements of
penal reform groups in Britain, with a particular focus on the Penal
Affairs Consortium.
1
Analysing Criminal Justice
Policy-Making: Towards a Policy
Networks Approach?
Stephen Cope

This chapter examines the increasingly fashionable and salient concept

of policy networks as a way of understanding criminal justice policy-
making. More broadly, network analysis has been an increasingly prom-
inent form of analysis in understanding economic, political and social
life (Knoke, 1990; Law, 1992; Castells, 1996). Indeed Castells argued that
`as a historical trend, dominant functions and processes in the informa-
tion age are increasingly organized around networks' (1996: 469). Net-
works are often portrayed as alternative forms of coordination to those
of hierarchies and markets (Thompson et al., 1991; Maidment and
Thompson, 1993; Jackson and Stainsby, 2000). In ideal terms, whereas
the principle of command underpins hierarchies and that of competi-
tion underpins markets, it is the principle of cooperation, stemming
from shared interests and interdependence, that underpins networks. In
reality, of course, a specific system may be characterised by a mix of
these three coordinating principles, with perhaps one such principle
dominant (Hay, 1998: 39). A network is simply a set of relations between
interconnected actors; or, as Castells stated, `a set of interconnected
nodes' (1996: 470), and, as Knoke and Kuklinski wrote, `a specific type
of relation linking a defined set of persons, objects or events' (1991:
175). However, within the burgeoning literature on network analysis
there is more agreement on defining than on delineating a network. For
example, Castells stressed that networks `are open structures, able to
expand without limits' (1996: 470), and Jackson and Stainsby noted that
they `are clusters of relationships which span indefinite ranges of space
and time' (2000: 11); but Frances et al., argued that many networks `are
highly exclusive of outsiders' (1991: 14). Networks, as will be argued

M. Ryan et al. (eds.), Policy Networks in Criminal Justice

© Palgrave Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited 2001
2 Policy Networks in Criminal Justice

later, can be both open or closed, though their `boundary specification'

is problematic and often `poorly understood' (Knoke, 1990: 235). The
question of determining what actors are inside (and for that matter,
outside) a given network is critical in network analysis. Following
Thompson, a network constitutes `a specific set of relations making up
an interconnected chain or system for a defined set of elements that
forms a structure' (1993: 51). This chapter argues that the criminal
justice system can be analysed as a network, and in particular, a policy
network, and that such network analysis offers useful insights into how
criminal justice policy is made.
There is now a rich vein of literature on policy networks, reflecting the
embeddedness of network analysis in policy analysis as well as socio-
logical analysis (Coleman and Skùgstad, 1990; Marin and Mayntz, 1991;
Marsh and Rhodes, 1992a; Smith, 1993; Knoke et al., 1996; Kickert et al.,
1997a; see Bogason and Toonen, 1998; Marsh, 1998a). The policy net-
works approach has been used extensively by political scientists as a way
of understanding policy-making in government (particularly, intergov-
ernmental relations and pressure group±government relations). This
chapter accounts for the rise of the policy networks approach by asses-
sing its contributions to understanding the policy-making process; illus-
trates this approach by examining the policing policy network; and
evaluates the policy networks approach by assessing its strengths and
weaknesses as a way of explaining policy-making.

The rise of policy networks

From government to governance

The rise of the policy networks approach coincided with the rise of
governance, both as an empirical trend and as a theoretical perspective.
In the words of Pierre (2000: 3):

Governance has a dual meaning; on the one hand it refers to the

empirical manifestations of state adaptation to its external environ-
ment as it emerges in the late twentieth century. On the other hand,
governance also denotes a conceptual or theoretical representation of
co-ordination of social systems and, for the most part, the role of the
state in that process.

Rhodes argued that Britain is no longer a unitary state but a ` ``differ-

entiated polity'' . . . characterized by functional and institutional special-
 Analysing Criminal Justice Policy-Making 3

ization and the fragmentation of policies and politics' (Rhodes, 1997 :

7). Governance reflects the view that Britain is no longer governed from
one place (if indeed it ever was), but instead is governed from many
places. The traditional, and largely hierarchical and monolithic system
of government, as depicted by the Westminster model, has been chal-
lenged as a result of globalisation, Europeanisation, privatisation and
decentralisation (Jessop, 1993; Peters, 1993; Rhodes, 1994; Rhodes,
1997; Weller et al., 1997; Cope, 1999). Following Pierre and Stoker
(2000: 29±30):

Governing Britain ± and indeed any other advanced western demo-

cratic state ± has thus become a matter of multi-level governance. To
understand the challenge of governing requires a focus on multiple
locations of decision-making ± in both spatial and sectoral terms ±
and the way in which exchanges between actors in those locations
are conducted and managed.

There is thus a highly complex and dynamic set of interdependent and

consequently interconnected actors, cutting across different levels of
government and different sectors of society, involved in governing.
Governance, according to Kooiman, `takes place in interactions between
actors on micro, meso and macro levels of social-political aggregation'
(1993: 41). Governments do not govern on their own; they increasingly
rely on other actors to govern society. Gamble wrote (2000: 110±11):

The separation of governing as a process from government, a parti-

cular agent, explains the popularity of the term, governance. Govern-
ance denotes the steering capacities of a political system, the ways in
which governing is carried out, without making any assumption as to
which institutions or agents do the steering. . . . The state is always
involved in governance, but often in an enabling rather than a
directing role, helping to establish and sustain the institutions in
society, including crucially markets, which make steering possible.

For Rhodes, networks are `central to the analysis of governance' (2000:

54), and governance can be seen as `self-organizing interorganizational
networks' (1996: 660). Governance, then, is all about steering a myriad
of networks, consisting of a maze of interconnected actors. It is `a new
process of governing' (Rhodes, 1997: 46).
4 Policy Networks in Criminal Justice

From networks to policy networks

Policy networks are specific forms of networks within governance.
The policy networks approach originated in an attempt to explain
relations between central and local government (Rhodes, 1988), and
between government and pressure groups (Smith, 1993). It stresses the
importance of disaggregating the policy-making process into discrete
policy sectors. Benson defined a policy sector as `a cluster or complex of
organizations connected to each other by resource dependencies and
distinguished from other clusters or complexes by breaks in the structure
of resource dependencies' (1982: 148). The power-dependence model of
interorganisational relations is central in understanding the policy
networks approach. This model assumes that all organisations are
dependent on others for resources, and, therefore, organisations need
to exchange resources for them to achieve their goals; such exchanges
of resources involves bargaining within and between organisations
(Rhodes, 1981: 97±133). This interdependence facilitates the construc-
tion of policy networks, because actors within a policy sector are depend-
ent upon each other for resources and are thus connected together as a
network.
The policy networks approach acknowledges that policy- making is
not uniform across government, because network structures vary con-
siderably between policy sectors. The number of interested policy actors,
their goals and resources, and their consequent relations will depend
significantly upon the different traditions, routines and environments
of policy sectors, as well as issues within policy sectors (Harrop, 1992:
123±217, 273±77; Hughes, et al., 1997; Marsh and Rhodes, 1992a; Smith,
1993; Gray, 1994: 120±133; Marsh, 1998a; Cope and Goodship, 1999).
For example, the criminal justice policy network is increasingly multi-
level, with the increasing influence of local authorities, private security
industry, professional associations, pressure groups, the media, the Euro-
pean Union, the Council of Europe and, to a far lesser extent, the
United Nations, thus making the network more resistant to a central
steer. In contrast the social security policy network is hardly multi-level;
central government (mainly the Department of Social Security and the
Treasury) largely steers the array of local social security agencies in a
centralised and hierarchical manner. As policy-making has become
more complex, governments rely increasingly upon professional asso-
ciations, pressure groups, think-tanks and private sector companies for
the formulation and implementation of policies. Indeed Weir and Bee-
tham argued that `organised interests and professional groups play a
 Analysing Criminal Justice Policy-Making 5

significant and often dominant role in government policy-making'

(1999: 271). Following Kickert (1993: 275):

The control capacity of government is limited for a number of rea-

sons: lack of legitimacy, complexity of policy processes, complexity
and multitude of institution etc. Government is only one of many
actors that influence the course of events in a societal system. Gov-
ernment does not have enough power to exert its will on other actors.
Other social institutions are, to a great extent, autonomous.

Furthermore, government is not monolithic, and within government

there exists many agencies, both elected and appointed, operating at
different levels (e.g. local, regional, national, international), and with
different goals and resources. In the words of Smith (1993: 50):

It is not the state that acts but state actors within particular parts of
the state. the state does not have a unified set of interests. Different
state agencies have various interests, and individuals within those
agencies may also have conflicting interests.

Government is thus fragmented, making the task of centrally steering

government itself difficult. For example, within central government
there is much conflict between the Treasury and spending departments
(such as the Home Office) over public expenditure decisions. Central
government is limited to the extent that it can steer the criminal justice
system (especially the courts and police service that enjoy a high degree
of operational independence within their respective remits). This frag-
mentation within government reflects the lack of control that the core
executive can exert over government. The core executive comprises `all
those organisations and structures which primarily serve to pull
together and integrate central government policies, or act as final arbi-
ters within the executive of conflicts between different elements of the
government machine' (Dunleavy and Rhodes, 1990: 4). The core execu-
tive (embracing such actors as the Prime Minister's Office, Cabinet
Office and Treasury) can only attempt to `police the functional policy
networks' (Rhodes, 1997: 14). The core executive is relatively weak, not
strong, because `power-dependence in policy networks is a cause of
executive segmentation' (Rhodes, 1997: 15).
As a result of segmented government and fragmented governance, a
myriad of relationships of mutual dependence exist between actors
within government and between government and non-government
6 Policy Networks in Criminal Justice

actors within a policy sector, involving exchanges of resources in the

making of public policy. Following de Bruijn and ten Heuvelhof, a
policy network is `an entity consisting of public, quasi-public, or private
actors who are dependent on each other and, as a consequence of this
dependence, maintain relations with each other' (1995: 163). A policy
network consists of a set of interdependent actors sharing a common
broad interest and operating within a functionally defined policy area.
Policy networks thus become `(more or less) stable patterns of social
relations between interdependent actors, which take shape around pol-
icy problems and/or policy programmes' (Kickert et al., 1997b: 6).

Different types of policy networks

Policy networks have been categorised and differentiated according to
interests, membership, resources and dependencies. Rhodes developed a
typology of different kinds of policy networks along a continuum rang-
ing from a policy community to an issue network (1988: 235±366). He
identified five different types of policy networks: policy communities,
professional networks, intergovernmental networks, producer networks,
and issue networks ± see Table 1.1.
Policy communities are the most integrated type of policy network.
They are characterised by limited membership of policy actors, invol-
ving perhaps a single government agency and a few privileged `insider'
interest groups insulated from other actors (including the public), and
they `are based on the major functional interests in and of government'

Table 1.1 Types of policy networks

Type of network Characteristics of network

Policy community Stability, highly restricted membership, vertical

interdependence, limited horizontal articulation
Professional network Stability, highly restricted membership, vertical
interdependence, limited horizontal articulation,
serves interest of profession
Intergovernmental Limited membership, limited vertical
network interdependence, extensive horizontal articulation
Producer network Fluctuating membership, limited vertical
interdependence, serves interest of producer
Issue network Unstable, large number of members, limited vertical
interdependence

Source: Adapted from Rhodes and Marsh, 1992: 183.

 Analysing Criminal Justice Policy-Making 7

(Rhodes, 1990: 304). A policy community displays much continuity of

policy, frequent interactions between participating policy actors, a high
degree of consensus between actors, an exchange of resources between
actors, and a `positive-sum game' with all policy actors increasing their
influence. Policy is thus made in a stable and regulated environment
within which policy communities `routinise relationships by incorpor-
ating the major interests to a ``closed'' world' (Rhodes, 1988: 390). For
example, the judicial policy network constitutes a policy community in
that policy is traditionally made by an exclusive and small set of actors,
namely, the Lord Chancellor's Department, the Home Office, the courts'
system, the Crown Prosecution Service and the legal professions (Raine
and Willson, 1993). Only occasionally and sporadically is this relatively
closed network of `insiders' open to `semi-outsiders' (such as the police,
prison, probation and social services) and `outsiders' (such as pressure
groups and the mass media), and often only when a perceived crisis has
occurred ± for example, a miscarriage of justice ± within this otherwise
routinised world of judicial policy-making. That this policy network is
a state-dominated policy community should not be surprising given
that `the maintenance of internal order through coercion and political
socialisation is a primary state function' (McLeay, 1998: 110).
Issue networks are the least integrated type of policy networks. They are
characterised by a `large number of participants and their limited degree
of interdependence' (Rhodes, 1990: 305). The membership of issue net-
works is fluid with actors freely joining and leaving the policy arena. An
issue network displays a lack of continuity of policy, erratic interactions
between participating actors (especially between government agencies
and interest groups), a low degree of consensus between actors, a limited
exchange of resources between actors, and a `zero-sum game' with some
policy actors gaining influence at the expense of other actors. Relations
between government and pressure groups are more likely to be charac-
terised by informal consultation and lobbying, conflict between policy
actors, policy instability, and even `policy messes' (Rhodes, 1988: 87).
Issue networks embody `relationships that are distinguished from the
general pressure group universe' because their participating groups pos-
sess `some interest in the area and minimal resources to exchange'
(Smith, 1993: 65). They thus display regularised (albeit informal rather
than formal) contact between many loosely connected actors. An ex-
ample of an issue network would be that which emerged over gun reform
in the aftermath of the Dunblane massacre in the mid-1990s. The Snow-
drop Campaign was launched by many parents of the gunned-down
children to restrict the possession and use of guns, which enjoyed
8 Policy Networks in Criminal Justice

considerable popular support and media attention. The issue also

attracted other interested actors, such as the Home Office, police service,
and political parties, as well as the gun, sports and civil liberties lobbies.
This inclusive and open network was characterised by a conflict of goals
between many of the actors, and once the issue disappeared from the
political agenda, after the Labour Government implemented some
limited gun reform measures, the network also disappeared (though
perhaps to return if and when another shooting-spree takes place).
A policy community exhibits characteristics of continuity, consensus,
limited membership, significant resources held by all actors, and a
relative balance of power between actors; and an issue network displays
instability, conflict, wide and relatively open membership, an imbalan-
ceof resources, and unequal power between actors. The characteristics of
these two types of policy networks are illustrated in Table 1.2.

Table 1.2 Characteristics of policy networks

Dimension Policy community Issue network

Membership
Number of Very limited, some Large
participants conscious exclusion
Type of interest Economic/professional Wide range of groups
Integration
Frequency of interaction Frequent, high quality Contacts fluctuate
Continuity Membership, values, Fluctuating access
outcomes persistent
Consensus All participants A degree of agreement
share basic values but
conflict present
Resources
Distribution of All participants Some participants
resources within have resources. have resources,
network Relationship is but limited
one of exchange
Distribution of Hierarchical Varied and variable
resources within leaders can distribution and capacity
participating deliver members to regulate members
organisations
Power There is a balance among Unequal power.
members. One group may Power zero-sum
be dominant but power is
positive-sum

Source: Smith, 1993: 60; Adapted from Marsh and Rhodes, 1992b: 251.
 Analysing Criminal Justice Policy-Making 9

A policy community represents a relatively closed, consensual and

tightly knit network of policy actors. An issue network embraces a
relatively open network of actors loosely bound together by their
(often competing and conflicting) interests being affected by a particu-
lar policy. Rhodes presented the different types of policy networks along
a continuum, with policy communities at one end and issue networks at
the other end. Professional networks, intergovernmental networks and
producer networks, as intermediary networks, fall between these two
ends of the continuum. This schema suggested a decreasing degree of
integration from policy communities to issue networks, but Rhodes later
accepted that this continuum may be confusing because these inter-
mediary networks may display similar characteristics as policy commun-
ities or issue networks (Rhodes, 1997: 39). The distinction between
policy communities and issue networks is based upon `their integration,
stability and exclusiveness' ± see Table 1.3, whereas professional net-
works, intergovernmental networks and producer networks differ
according to `which interest dominates them' Rhodes, 1997: 39.
There is a further terminological dispute within the literature on
policy networks, which is not surprising given the ` ``Babylonian'' vari-
ety of different understandings and applications of the policy network
concept to be found in the study of policy-making' (Bo È rzel, 1998: 254).
Dowding noted that the terms, `policy community' and `policy net-
work', were not used consistently in the literature, thus resulting in
terminological confusion (1995: 140). Some writers, such as Marsh and
Rhodes (1992a), used `policy network'; and other writers, such as Wilks
and Wright (1987), used `policy community' as the generic label. How-
ever, the debate over terminology is misleading, and amounts to `a
phoney war of words hiding a deeper conflict over the nature of social
explanation and the role of state theorizing' (Dowding, 1995: 140).
However, it is Marsh and Rhodes's usage of the terminology that has
become `accepted currency' (Jordan, 1990: 335), and consequently

Table 1.3 Continuum of policy networks

Policy community Issue network

stable membership fluid membership

highly insular highly permeable
strong dependencies weak dependencies

Source: Peterson, 1995:77.

10 Policy Networks in Criminal Justice

Wilks and Wright's usage should be resisted. Thus, policy communities

and issue networks are types of policy networks. These terms represent
ideal-types, and consequently, it is important to apply them empirically
to test their usefulness. The next section examines the policy networks
approach in understanding the making of policing policy.

The policing policy network: a case study on police reform

The policy networks approach would begin by identifying the actors

involved in the making of policing policy. The policing policy network
consists of (at least) the following key actors:

. the Home Secretary

. civil servants responsible for policing in the Home Office
. National Criminal Intelligence Service (NCIS)
. National Crime Squad
. MI5
. HM Inspectorate of Constabulary
. Audit Commission
. police authorities
. Association of Police Authorities
. chief constables and other police officers
. Association of Chief Police Officers
. Police Superintendents' Association
. Police Federation
. European Police Office (Europol)

In times of stability, characterised by routine policy-making, these actors

are the `insiders' of the policy-making process. Parliament, the judiciary,
the mass media and the public are the `outsiders', influencing the pol-
icing policy agenda sporadically and normally only when policy-making
has become unsuccessful, more politicised or crisis-ridden. The policing
policy network exhibits the characteristics of a relatively tightly inte-
grated and state-dominated policy community. However, this policy
community is part of the wider criminal justice policy network, embra-
cing a series of interconnected and overlapping policy communities and
issue networks (such as judicial and penal policy networks comprising
actors like judges, lawyers, probation officers, prison officers, social
workers, academics and journalists). Moreover, as successive govern-
ments have adopted a multi-agency approach to tackle crime the pol-
icing policy network is increasingly connected to key actors in other
 Analysing Criminal Justice Policy-Making 11

criminal justice networks, furthering the creation of a single criminal

justice policy network. For example, in 1991 the Home Office estab-
lished the Criminal Justice Consultative Council, comprising actors
drawn from central government, the courts and the police and social
services, as a way of `sorting out the ``rubbing points'' in the system'
(Hoddinott, taken from McLeay, 1998: 126). Furthermore, Rose claimed
that under one former Home Secretary, Michael Howard, the Associ-
ation of Chief Police Officers `found itself in the unfamiliar position of
actually being asked to draft Government policy' on certain criminal
justice matters (1996: 327; see also Savage et al., 1996: 103). McLeay
claimed that `the autonomy of the traditional policing policy state net-
work has been challenged; ``policing'' has increasingly been subsumed
into the broader sector of ``criminal justice'', introducing further influ-
ential agencies and, moreover, groups outside the state', and, as a pos-
sible consequence, `policing policy in future becomes part of this wider
sectoral network' (1998: 131). A policy network thus both comprises of
sub-policy networks and forms part of wider supra-policy networks.
The police play a key role in policy-making because governments need
their consent for many policies to be implemented. Ritchie commented
that `the Association of Chief Police Officers (ACPO) and the Police
Federation are consulted about policing policy and new legislation
. . . [and are] . . . seen as vital partners in the policy-making process'
(1992: 204). However, in the early 1990s the previous Conservative
Government attempted to restructure the policing policy network by
overriding the traditional consultative mechanisms of making policy,
and generally wanted to impose rather than negotiate reform. Leishman
et al. argued that the Government `attempted to use ``despotic power'',
involving the capacity to implement its policy without consultation and
negotiation with affected groups; rather than ``infrastructural power'',
involving the capacity to intervene in society via its interdependent
relationships with groups' (1996: 18±19; on the distinction between
despotic and infrastructural power, see Mann, 1984). It introduced
fixed-term contracts and performance-related pay for senior police offi-
cers, established new police authorities with increased patronage powers
exercised by the Home Secretary, set national policing objectives to be
achieved by the police, strengthened the role of the HM Inspectorate
of Constabulary, and increased opportunities for the privatisation of
policing functions (Leishman et al., 1995, 1996; Cope et al., 1996).
These reforms represented an attack upon the police, which constitute
a significant part of the highly integrated and relatively powerful pol-
icing policy network that traditionally exercised a dominant influence
12 Policy Networks in Criminal Justice

over policy-making. However, many reform measures were dropped or

diluted because of parliamentary and police resistance (Leishman et al.,
1995). For example, the then Home Secretary, under pressure from the
police, conceded that fixed-term contracts should be introduced only
for senior and not all police officers and that he should not appoint
the chairpersons of police authorities. The implementation of police
reform was less than smooth, mainly because of resistance from the
police (especially the Association of Chief Police Officers and Police
Federation), supported by many in Parliament and local government.
The Conservative Government was unable to stand firm against this
campaign not least because of its small parliamentary majority.
The case study on police reform demonstrates that the Conservative
Government was unable to implement fully its reform plans because of
resistance from elsewhere within the policing policy network. It illus-
trates the interdependent world of the policing policy network embra-
cing a few relatively powerful actors who together shape policing policy.
The failure of the Conservative Government to get its reforms through
Parliament can be understood by using the policy networks approach.
The policing policy network is highly integrated as witnessed by the ease
with which many of its constituent parts were welded together to block
the reforms. The Home Office, and especially the Home Secretary, were
left stranded as other formidable parts of the network mobilised political
support amongst politicians and the media against its proposals. The
mobilisation of the many actors within the policy network was facili-
tated by the hierarchical structure of the police, popular concern over
rising crime rates, the small parliamentary majority of the Conservative
Government, and government dependence upon the police to imple-
ment law-and-order and other policies. The reforms represented an
attempt by the Conservative Government to restructure an obdurate
policy network. However, the strength of the police within the policing
policy network and the consequent weakness of the Conservative Gov-
ernment meant that the police reforms were always likely to be (at least
temporarily) blocked. The case study demonstrates the difficulties in
implementing reform in a policy arena dominated by a highly inte-
grated and relatively closed policy community.

The fall of policy networks?

The policy networks approach has become the dominant approach in

understanding policy-making in government. It is superior than the
 Analysing Criminal Justice Policy-Making 13

largely arid constitutional and institutionalist accounts of policy-

making that stress the role of institutions (such as the cabinet and civil
service) in the making of policy (Smith, 1999). These accounts, such as
the sterile debate on prime ministerial versus cabinet government, large-
ly fail to capture the complexity and interdependence of actors
involved in shaping public policy. Neither the prime minister nor cab-
inet governs, for example; but instead a series of interconnected policy
networks comprising interested and interdependent actors drawn from
inside and outside government shape policy, though mediated by the
core executive. Policy-making in government is fragmented, though
there is interdependence within the fragments. The policy networks
approach acknowledges such fragmentation between policy sectors
and the influence of key actors transcending government and non-
government agencies in shaping policy. The approach appreciates the
myriad of formal and informal relations between interdependent actors
within the complex world of multi-level governance.
Though the policy networks approach provides useful insights into
how policy is made (and not made), there is an emerging critique of its
validity (Dowding, 1994, 1995; Kassim, 1994; Mills and Saward, 1994;
Klijn, 1996; Evans, 1998; Hay, 1998; Peters, 1998; Hay and Richards,
2000). Dowding believed that the term, `policy network', is `essentially
metaphorical' relying on a set of images to visualise relations between
actors within a policy network (1995: 137). Bo È rzel argued that `the
concept of policy networks as a specific form of governance does not
constitute a proper theory' (1998: 263). The policy networks approach is
useful in understanding the policy-making process, but there are limits
to its usefulness. It is far better at describing than explaining policy
change. The approach is useful in making sense of a seemingly complex
and chaotic policy-making process, often characterised by inclusion
and exclusion of actors, interdependence of actors, and exchange of
resources between actors. However, the policy networks approach can-
not provide answers to questions about the formation of preferences of
actors and the distribution of resources between actors. For example, it
failed to explain why the Conservative Government wanted to reform
the police but was insufficiently powerful to fully implement reform.
The policy networks approach is useful in understanding how things
get done (or not done) but not very useful in understanding why
things get done (or not done). Nonetheless, the approach captures, by
describing without explaining, the complexity and interdependence of
the policy-making process. There is much empirical evidence that policy
networks exist as sets of `relatively stable relationships which are of non-
14 Policy Networks in Criminal Justice

hierarchical and interdependent nature linking a variety of actors, who

share common interests with regard to a policy and who exchange
resources to pursue these shared interests acknowledging that co-
operation is the best way to achieve common goals' (Bo È rzel, 1998: 254).
However, this evidence only confers the policy networks approach with
descriptive and not explanatory power. The final part of this concluding
section surveys the main criticisms levelled at the policy networks
approach and evaluates the responses from proponents of the approach.

The rescue of policy networks?

Notwithstanding a few definitional and methodological quibbles, there
are three key lines of argument against the policy networks approach,
which have, to varying extents, been countered by its crusading support-
ers. Critics of the policy networks approach have argued that the
approach does not pay sufficient attention to the formation of policy
networks, networking within policy networks, and transformation of
policy networks.
First, how do policy networks form? There was an assumption in the
earlier literature on policy networks that policy networks were given
entities; they just existed. This assumption was far more apparent in the
discussion of the more stable policy communities than the more fluid
issue networks. However, there was little discussion, never mind explan-
ation, of how and why policy networks form. Baggott noted that the
policy networks literature offered `little explanation of how policy net-
works emerge' (1995: 26). Following Hay and Richards, the idea of a
network `is neither a neutral nor an uncontested concept' (2000: 12).
They argued that `decisions to participate in networks are, in some
sense, strategic' (2000: 13), and posited the following three strategic
and contextual conditions for network formation (2000: 17):

(i) the recognition of the potential for mutual advantage through

collective (as opposed to individual) action, i.e. a positive-sum
game for all those participating in a particular network form;
(ii) the recognition of the potential for enhancing the strategic cap-
acities of participant organizations through the pooling of strategic
resources . . . ;
(iii) the recognition and/or establishment of the conditions of network
feasibility . . .

This criticism, though valid, does not make the policy networks
approach redundant, rather it highlights a significant omission in the
 Analysing Criminal Justice Policy-Making 15

earlier literature, which, to a certain extent, has been rectified in the

later literature. Marsh and Smith admitted that policy networks `are
structures that cannot be treated as given' and `are inscribed with
other structural divisions' (2000: 7). For example, in a study of trans-
national local authority networking, Benington and Harvey argued that
a complex set of factors accounted for the formation of such networks
including the recognition of mutual benefits by those participating
actors, such as the European Commission and local authorities (1998:
159±163). Similarly Nunan explained the formation of the packaging
waste policy network as a result of the Department of the Environment,
as the lead actor responsible for implementing the European Commu-
nity's directive on packaging and packaging waste, consulting with only
a limited number of actors drawn from the packaging industry and
excluding other actors that held divergent views to those of the packag-
ing industry, until the embryonic policy network was established (1999:
627±9).
Secondly, how do policy networks work? In the earlier literature little
attention was paid to the dynamics of policy networks. Writers instead
spent more time mapping out the key actors, and their relations, within
a given policy network, and noted the interdependence of the identified
actors (especially within policy communities). Such entrenched inter-
dependence, it was argued, was a significant obstacle to government-
sponsored reform, because governments cannot govern alone. However,
more recent literature has paid far more attention to the `nuts-and-bolts'
of the workings of policy networks. For example, more recent literature
has looked at the networking strategies of key actors within policy
networks (Kickert et al., 1997a; Bogason and Toonen, 1998; Nunan,
1999; Cloke et al., 2000; Hay and Richards, 2000; Rhodes, 2000: 72±6);
and examined methods to identify and measure relations within policy
networks (John and Cole, 1998; Milward and Provan, 1998; Marsh and
Smith, 2000).
However, the policy networks approach is meso-level in that it exam-
ines relations between actors within the state, and also between state
and non-state actors, in making public policy (Marsh, 1998b: 15). The
approach is firmly consistent with the neo-pluralist tradition from
which it stemmed, that stresses the significance of pressure groups in
the policy-making process and the importance of disaggregating the
state to explain policy-making. The policy networks approach is weak
at understanding how individual actors set goals and exchange
resources in their pursuit of goals. For example, Dowding argued that
`the explanation lies in the characteristics of the actors' within a policy
16 Policy Networks in Criminal Justice

network and not with the characteristics of the network itself (1995:
142). Moreover, the policy networks approach, though seeing policy
networks as `structures of resource dependency' (Marsh, 1998b: 11), is
weak at placing such structures within wider structures (such as eco-
nomic structures) that shape patterns of power-relations between actors
within policy networks. Increasing globalisation, Europeanisation, pri-
vatisation and managerialisation of policy-making have had a signifi-
cant impact on policy networks (including the criminal justice policy
network) (Cope, 1999), yet the policy networks approach largely
regarded these developments as exogenous factors impacting upon a
policy network, without unravelling how these factors actually impact
upon a network and, moreover, how actors within a network impact
upon these so-called exogenous pressures. For example, the new public
management-reform agenda facing the police service to a significant
extent emanated from the Association of Chief Police Officers (Savage
et al., 1996, 1997), thus blurring the extent to which managerialisation
of the police service is an exogenous or endogenous factor. The
approach, if it is to fully explain policy-making within governance,
needs to embrace more micro-level and macro-level forms of theoretical
analysis. Following Marsh, the policy networks approach `has little
utility as an explanatory concept unless it is integrated with macro-
level and micro-level analysis' (1998b: 15). This multi-theoretic form
of analysis is beginning slowly to take shape (Bo È rzel, 1998; Daugbjerg
and Marsh, 1998; Hay, 1998; Marsh, 1998c: 192±7; Hay and Richards,
2000; Marsh and Smith, 2000).
In response to this criticism, Marsh and Smith developed a dialectical
model of policy networks, acknowledging that `networks are structures
which constrain and facilitate agents' and that `the culture of a network
acts as a constraint and/or opportunity on/for its members' (2000: 5).
However, unlike the earlier exposition of the policy networks approach
that tended to assume that network structures largely determine policy
outcomes (Marsh and Rhodes, 1992b: 262; Rhodes and Marsh, 1992:
197), they argued that both structures and agents matter. They noted
that `outcomes cannot be explained solely by reference to the structure
of the network; they are the result of the actions of strategically calculat-
ing subjects', but they added that `these agents are located within a
structured context, which is provided by both the network and the
broader political and social-structural context within which the network
operates and those contexts clearly affect the actor's resources' (2000:
6±7). The dialectical model of policy networks acknowledges that
(Marsh and Smith, 2000: 9±10):
 Analysing Criminal Justice Policy-Making 17

. The broader structural context affects both the network structure and
the resources that actors have to utilize within the network.
. The skill that an actor has to utilize in bargaining is a product of their
innate skill and the learning process through which they go.
. The network interaction and bargaining reflects a combination of the
actor's resources, the actor's skill, the network structure and the
policy interaction.
. The network structure is a reflection of the structural context, the
actor's resources, the network interaction and the policy outcome.
. The policy outcome reflects the interaction between the network
structure and network interaction.

Marsh and Smith explicitly argued that relations between actors within
a policy network, the structure of a policy network and the wider struc-
tural context surrounding a policy network are `interactive or dialect-
ical' (2000: 10), thus accepting that micro-level and macro-level, as well
as meso-level, forms of analysis are necessary in understanding how
policy networks work.
Thirdly, how do policy networks change? In the earlier literature it was
easy to leave with the impression that policy was made by a relatively
exclusive set of interdependent and entrenched actors within a policy
network, and that because policy-making was closed, routinised and
stable, policy change was very difficult. Hay and Richards observed
that policy networks are often portrayed as `static, indeed torpid phe-
nomena' (2000: 2), and that a policy network is often seen as `a static
and invariant structure' (2000: 4). This impression was not consciously
sought by the proponents of the policy networks approach, who have
long noted, particularly within issue networks, that policy change takes
place as a result of both endogenous and, moreover, exogenous pres-
sures (Marsh and Rhodes, 1992b: 257±61; Rhodes and Marsh, 1992:
193±7; Smith, 1993: 76±98). However, what was problematic was not
the misplaced criticism that the policy networks approach denied that
change takes place, but that the approach fails to sufficiently explain
change within policy-making. If change is brought about by endogen-
ous and/or exogenous pressures, then, the policy networks approach
lacked theoretical power to explain such changes, not least because
`the distinction between exogenous and endogenous factors is difficult
to sustain' (Marsh and Smith, 2000: 7). As a meso-level approach, it
found itself in `no-man's land'; it did not have the conceptual tools to
explain policy change and consequently failed to understand how pol-
icy networks sponsor, resist and react to change by precisely specifying
18 Policy Networks in Criminal Justice

`the mechanisms through which change occurs' (Smith, 1993: 97). In

response to this static representation of policy networks, Hay and
Richards developed a strategic-relational model of policy networks
that recognised `the observable sequence of network formation, devel-
opment and termination' (2000: 5). Marsh and Smith offered a dialect-
ical model of policy networks recognising `a dialectical relationship
between the network and the broader context within which it is located'
(2000: 7). Both of these refinements of the policy networks model
represent significant advances in understanding and explaining change
within policy networks.
In conclusion, the policy networks approach is a very useful way of
understanding policy-making within governance. However, its earlier
conception was flawed, as outlined above, and in response to these (and
other) criticisms the policy networks approach has been significantly
refined. By drawing on other theoretical perspectives, plus some `back-
pedalling', the later conceptions of the policy networks model provides
a relatively robust and sophisticated theory of policy-making. The policy
networks approach, as a result of concerted empirical application and
considerable theoretical critique, has moved from descriptive to explana-
tory analysis. More generally, Bevir and Rhodes used an anti-founda-
tional approach as a way of rescuing the policy networks approach,
which reduces academics to story-tellers rather than truth-spreaders,
and argued (1999: 227±8):

an anti-foundational epistemology does not treat institutions as

given facts. It is a commonplace observation that even simple objects
are not given to us in pure perceptions but are constructed in part
by the theories we hold true of the world. . . . The social science model
of networks treats them as given facts. . . . An anti-foundational
approach posits that networks cannot be understood apart from
traditions. The individuals whose beliefs, interests and actions consti-
tute a network, necessarily acquire the relevant interests and
beliefs against the background of traditions. . . . In short, an anti-
foundational approach turns the current approaches to networks on
their head, by insisting that networks are enacted by individuals in
part through the stories they tell one another, and cannot be treated
as given facts.

Rhodes further argued that `governing structures can only be under-

stood through the beliefs and actions of individuals' (2000: 86). The
policy networks approach, therefore, is simply `a narrative interpreted
 Analysing Criminal Justice Policy-Making 19

through tradition' (Bevir and Rhodes, 1999: 230), which may be chal-
lenged by other stories but there is `no expectation there will be the one
``true'' account' as all stories are `provisional' (Rhodes, 2000: 85±6).
Rhodes conceded that defining governance as `self-organizing inter-
organizational networks is . . . stipulative', and the policy networks
approach relies on the construction and application of `an ideal type'
(2000: 66). The task ahead is less about furthering the narrative of policy
networks, and more about comparing rival narratives and constructing
meta-narratives as a way of understanding policy-making. However, the
policy networks approach is a very useful antidote to the belief that
governance is government; more often government is only part of
governance, and sometimes governance is `governing without Govern-
ment' (Rhodes, 1997: 47). The policy networks approach challenges and
indeed rejects the simplistic and misplaced belief that governments
govern. The extent of government within governance of, say, criminal
justice is an empirical question.

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2
The Bobby Lobby: Police
Associations and the Policy Process
Stephen P. Savage and Sarah Charman

Introduction

There are particular sensitivities regarding the interface between British

policing and the political process. Unique in the public services, pol-
icing is, at least in principle, governed by the constitutional doctrine of
`operational independence' generally referred to as constabulary independ-
ence (Lustgarten, 1986). While the primary thrust of this doctrine is to
inhibit any attempt by external political authorities to seek to control or
even influence policing policies ± these are to be the exclusive province of
chief police officers themselves ± the discourse surrounding constabu-
lary independence (Savage et al., 1999) draws a more general demarca-
tion line between the world of policing and the world of politics. Not only
must politics not impinge on policing but also the police must not
become embroiled in politics. The apparent quid pro quo of constabulary
independence is the notion that the police should not in turn dabble in
political affairs. However, not only is the concept of constabulary inde-
pendence itself hugely contentious (Lustgarten, 1986), the idea that the
British police have managed to stay aloof from politics is, to say the least,
problematic.
In this chapter we trace a specific area of the involvement of the police
in `politics': the role of police associations in influencing policy relating
to policing in particular and criminal justice in general. Against a back-
cloth of non-intervention in politics, the police have, in a variety of ways,
positioned themselves as key players in the game of policy agenda-
setting and policy formation. This has not always been the case. Indeed
we shall argue that the `Bobby Lobby', the more or less cohesive `pres-
sure group' or, more accurately `pressure groups', that represent the
police service, have been relative latecomers on the policy-shaping

24

M. Ryan et al. (eds.), Policy Networks in Criminal Justice

© Palgrave Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited 2001
 The Bobby Lobby 25

scene. More particularly, we shall demonstrate the extent to which the

most senior police association, the Association of Chief Police Officers
(ACPO), has developed from a fairly loose confederation of members
with limited impact on the wider policy agenda, to a strategic, organised
and effective force with a growing track record of policy successes. In
this respect we draw from our recent research on ACPO1 and from on-
going work on the politics of criminal justice policy-making (Charman
and Savage 1999).
We shall begin with an examination of the constitution and role of
each of the police professional associations before moving on to analyse
the internal and external policy networks which have functioned in
relation to police and criminal justice policy-making.

Rank and representation: professional associations in the

British police service

An understanding of the role of representative associations within the

British police service must begin with rank. As with the structure of
police management, there is a rigid correspondence between the organ-
isational composition of police representative associations and the
rank structure of the service. The existence of a rank-based framework
of professional representation has a key role in the determination of
relative influence and the distribution of power within the `police
lobby'. This does not necessarily always run in the expected direction.
Four bodies now reflect this framework: the Police Federation, the Police
Superintendents' Association (PSA), the Association of Chief Police
Officers (ACPO) and the Chief Police Officers' Staff Association (CPOSA).
CPOSA was, in effect, an off-shoot of ACPO; we shall in this context deal
with them together. These organisations have their counterparts in
Scotland but, based on our research, we shall be considering the situ-
ation in England, Wales and Northern Ireland. Additional research needs
to be undertaken to understand more about the situation in Scotland.

The Police Federation: strength in numbers?

The Police Federation acts as the body representing the `rank-and-file' of
the police service. It represents and is organised around the ranks of
constable, sergeant, inspector and chief inspector. There are Central
Committees for each rank, which combine to form the Joint Central
Committee, the executive body of the Federation. The Federation was
established as a statutory body under the Police Act 1919 in an attempt
by the then Government to crush the rise of the illegal trade union
26 Policy Networks in Criminal Justice

which had emerged during World War I (Judge, 1994). In a real sense the
Federation acts as the `rich relative' of the police representative associ-
ations because of its sheer size and concomitant resources: it has a mem-
bership in excess of 120,000, a heavily staffed full-time Secretariat and
press office, two sponsored Members of Parliament who act as spokes-
persons for the organisation and a monthly journal, Police, which pre-
sents itself as the `Voice of the Service' (as we shall see, a claim much
disputed by ACPO). Its own resources, based largely on flat-rate levies on
all members, are enhanced by the arrangement whereby Federation
functionaries are allowed to undertake Federation business on full- or
part-secondment from their police force, effectively force sponsorship of
Federation activities.
The Federation has traditionally held a position of notoriety among
commentators on the police, particularly those on the left. This has
rested largely on what has been seen as the complimentary `law and
order' discourses of the Federation and the Conservative Party: if the
Church of England was seen as the `Conservative Party at Prayer', the
Federation could be seen as the `Conservative Party in uniform' (Reiner,
1985). The high point in this regard, and possibly an early sign of the
future blurring between policing and politics, was the infamous cam-
paign by the Federation in the run-up to the 1979 General Election in
support of `law and order', seen by many as an open invitation to the
electorate to vote Conservative (Reiner, op. cit.) . There is no doubt that
the Federation has been the most vociferous of the police associations
and has been ever ready to state its preferences on all manner of issues
and not just those relating directly to policing. Beer (1955: 39; quoted in
Jordan and Richardson, 1987) felt that it was more important to study
the groups that had quiet but regular access to government rather than a
focus on the `noisy threats and loud demanding claims' of other groups.
Yates refers to this as `silent politics' (1982: 87; quoted in Jordan and
Richardson, 1987). Therefore what is less clear is how effective it has been
in influencing the policy agenda. While some have viewed the Feder-
ation as a darkly subversive force of reaction (Scraton, 1985), others have
been more sceptical. Kettle, for example, argued that the Federation
tends towards `. . . tilting at windmills, forever launching grand schemes
which have no real chance of fulfilment . . . ' (Kettle 1980: 32). Brogden
in a similar vein stated that `The Federation raises issues in the public
domain as a substitute for direct access to the corridors of power' (Brog-
den, 1982: 95).
In the wake of Federation campaigns subsequent to these judgements
such assessments of the effectiveness of the Federation as a lobbying
 The Bobby Lobby 27

body may need to be revised. In a recent study by McLaughlin and Murji

(1998) it has been argued that the Federation has over time enhanced its
capacity to put its own particular version of the `police view' across and
in doing that has managed to transform its representative status. It has
shifted, they claim, from being a `toothless tiger' to becoming an influ-
ential and powerful pressure group (op. cit., 371). They present this
transformation as being two-pronged. On the one hand the Federation
has enhanced its private lobbying skills and activities. This includes direct
briefing to politicians; issue-based lobbying of Members of Parliament;
the creation of Federation-funded special `advisers' in Parliament (now
involving one Member of Parliament from each of the Labour and
Conservative Parties ± before it was just one); targetted lobbying at
`neutral' or sympathetic opinion formers; `off-the-record' briefings to
selected journalists; and the formation of strategic alliances with other
groups on specific issues ± as we shall see later, this has included the
other police associations.
On the other hand, McLaughlin and Murji argue, the Federation has
pursued a programme of public campaigning. This has included strategies
such as:

(i) Protest meetings; (ii) issuing press releases; (iii) establishing a

higher media profile for their annual conferences and making them
more `media' friendly; (iv) vociferous campaigning against various
`anti-police' critics; (v) submitting evidence to public inquiries, com-
missions and committees; and (iv) placing advertisements in news-
papers to appeal to the general public on particular issues.
(ibid.)

In this respect McLaughlin and Murji trace the role of the Federation
through a range of campaigns, including those linked to police pay, `law
and order' and penal policy, police complaints procedures and police
powers and capital punishment (op. cit., pp. 375±386). However, even
these highly public campaigns look tempered in the light of the Feder-
ation's activities during the debate on `Sheehy'. In 1992 the then Home
Secretary, Kenneth Clarke launched an inquiry into `police roles and
responsibilities', a root-and-branch review of police functions, pay and
conditions of service. The inquiry reported in 1993 with a highly con-
troversial set of recommendations for reform of the service (Home
Office, 1993a). We shall return to the case of Sheehy later, when we
consider police association activities around the wide-reaching police
reform agenda which was formed under the Conservatives in the
28 Policy Networks in Criminal Justice

mid-1990s. At this point what is of note is that prior to and after the
Sheehy Report was published the Federation was seen to employ the full
panoply of lobbying machineries as a means or resistance and opposition
to the emerging framework for reforms of police pay and conditions. This
included the use of a public relations company to lobby the media, a
huge protest gathering at Wembley (with over 20,000 officers in attend-
ance), strategic alliances with other police associations, commissioned
research involving academic consultants and an elaborate programme
of media advertising warning of the threat posed by Sheehy to the
`fundamental traditions of British policing', including statements of
support from high profile political figures (McLaughlin and Murji, op.
cit., pp. 392ff.). The fact that Clarke's successor Michael Howard was at
pains to distance himself from the main thrust of Sheehy, such as the
support for fixed term contracts for police officers and performance
related pay (Leishman et al., 1996) was due in part at least to the
Federation's energies in lobbying against Sheehy at every point. If ever
there was a campaign which the Federation felt to be successful, it was
that surrounding the Sheehy agenda. From our own research one senior
member of the Federation saw the Sheehy campaign as a watershed in
the organisation's lobbying capacity:

`we came of age in . . . [our] . . . political lobbying style . . . we took on

lobbyists as well as communication groups in London, so we knew
who to target'.
(E51)

If the Federation has traditionally been the most vociferous of the

police staff associations ± and it can certainly enforce that with the
huge resources at its disposal ± what is less clear is whether it stands as
the most politically effective of the police staff associations. As we shall
see later, in recent years ACPO has laid claim to that mantle. In terms of
policy networks, what is at issue here is the relative power and influence
of the police associations, what might be called the `horizontal' distri-
bution of power between those associations. Increasingly integral to this
distribution are the articulations of rank and the growing significance of
a divide, both cultural and functional, between `management' on the
one hand and the `workforce' on the other, a divide exacerbated by the
rise and rise of `new public management' (Leishman et al., 1996). With
reference to the relationship between the Federation and ACPO, a senior
Federation member interviewed as part of our research referred to
ACPO's attitude as `the philosophy that ``I'm the boss and you're the
 The Bobby Lobby 29

workers'' ' (E51). In this respect we can now move on up the `rank
hierarchy' and consider the role of the PSA.

The PSA ± `piggy-in-the-middle'?

The PSA was formed in 1920 and currently has a membership of approxi-
mately 1,500 officers of the ranks of superintendent and chief super-
intendent (a membership much reduced over recent years with the
shedding of superintendent's posts as part of the drive to `de-tier' police
management). The work and activities of the PSA have not attracted a
great deal of attention from observers of British policing, perhaps some
recognition that the organisation in a sense sits `in between' its sister
associations. It cannot compete easily with the size and resource-base of
the Federation nor can it boast the level of seniority of ACPO. Brogden
has expressed it thus:

Neither the master or servant, the Police Superintendents' Associ-

ation can at most only make a marginal contribution to the develop-
ment of the power of the police institution within the state.
(Brogden, 1982: 64)

The PSA in this sense suffers a structural weakness as the `piggy-in-the-

middle' of the police staff associations. However, we should be careful
not to underestimate the influence which the PSA has had on policy-
making, particularly in recent years. The police reform agenda of the
mid-1990s, embracing everything from police pay and conditions of
service through roles and responsibilities to police accountability, cre-
ated fertile ground on which all of the police associations could set out
their wares and the PSA was no exception. This was soon coupled with a
growing tendency of politicians to take heed of the `police view' on all
matters relating to criminal justice policy, a tendency symbolised above
all by the then Home Secretary Michael Howard but matched speech-
by-speech by his opposite number in the Labour Party, Jack Straw. What
emerged was an environment in which the associations found them-
selves being courted by senior politicians bent on appearing to support
the forces of law and order (Charman, and Savage 1999). As doors were
being opened the PSA was quick to step inside.
It is never clear whether an organisation's `success' in the lobbying
business is due to environmental factors ± in this case an environment
more receptive to the `police view' ± or factors relating to the organisa-
tion itself such as the growing `professionalism' of its representative
capacities. Government through its policy changes may adopt ideas
30 Policy Networks in Criminal Justice

and suggestions from a pressure group but this does not translate into
success for the group. Pluralists, in particular, tend to ignore the notion
of ideology within politics (Smith, 1990, 1993), a group's policy ideals
may `fit in' with the ideology of the government ± who then is success-
ful? For example consider the supposed `success' of the Institute of
Directors during Thatcher's period as Prime Minister (Holliday, 1993).
If success within pressure group activity is, in part, having coincidental
interests then the resources of that group (financial or otherwise)
become less relevant. In that case, Ryan argues that it is not the
resources of the group that are important but its `clout' (1978: 13). This
has as many implications for the large and heavily financially resourced
Federation as it does for the smaller and less well financially resourced
PSA and ACPO.
It has been argued (as with the other police associations) that the PSA
has `geared up' its lobbying activities and political skills in recent years.
A senior PSA role holder interviewed as part of our research argued it
thus:

In recent years, not to put too fine a point on it, we've [the Super-
intendents' Association] moved from a fairly benign officers' dining
club, more than anything else, to becoming a . . . proactive organisa-
tion which is able to exert considerable influence not only on po-
licing but on conditions of service . . . and the criminal justice system
generally. . . . We have had to turn around from basically being inno-
cuous . . . to being what we consider we are now, a major influence on
policing in general.
(E31)

The implication here is that in so far as there has been an increase in the
PSA's influence over policing and criminal justice policy, this has not
simply been the result of a more receptive environment but is also an
expression of a more proactive and concerted organisational approach
to the art of lobbying. Of course, we need to be cautious about such
claims; there is perhaps an inbuilt tendency of senior role holders of an
organisation to portray that organisation as being more effective than it
had been in the past ± it is in a sense self-supporting to do so! However,
there does seem to be a plausible case here. Certainly in terms of media
exposure, the PSA did score quite heavily in the law and order debates of
the mid-to late-1990s.
It was certainly noticeable that the President of the PSA throughout
this period, Brian McKenzie, made more radio and television appear-
 The Bobby Lobby 31

ances than either of his equivalents in the Federation and ACPO. This
was clearly something of which the PSA was proud, as our interviewee in
this area made clear:

A recent example is where Dimbleby wanted someone on his pro-

gramme and it was Brian McKenzie, our President, who went on
as opposed to somebody from the Federation or somebody from
ACPO.
(E31)

This competitiveness can also be seen by ACPO who have argued,

when was the last time you heard Fred Broughton [Federation Chair-
man] on Today?
(E11)

However, while we would argue that appearance on Question Time or

Radio 4's Today programme is not in itself a performance indicator of
media effectiveness, it is difficult to deny that the President of the PSA or
one of his colleagues were frequently allowed air space and column
inches to state their views and preferences on a wide range of issues,
some of them only indirectly concerned with policing. It was apparent
as well that the `PSA line' on such matters had a tendency to find its way
to the ears of senior politicians. Undoubtedly part of the reason for this
rested with the personal media skills of McKenzie himself. The fact that
on retirement he was made a life peer by the new Labour Prime Minister
could be seen as some measure of that! It will be interesting to see
whether this high profile scheme of the PSA will be able to continue
with a different character at the helm. Nevertheless, there is an import-
ant organisational phenomena here which could be significant to pres-
sure group analysis, at least as it applies to the police.
We have made the point that the PSA lacks both the size of the
Federation and the seniority of ACPO, factors which together could act
to diminish its `clout' in pressure group terms. However, these very
`disadvantages' could in other senses act as sources of organisational
strength. There are group theorists who believe that organisation is far
more important than size (Richardson and Jordan 1979) and those who
argue for the importance of small groups (Grant, 1984). Smaller groups
can be more effective than larger groups because of the pressure to
contribute in a small group whereas in a large group anonymity can
result in inaction (Olson, 1971). So on the one hand the smallness of the
32 Policy Networks in Criminal Justice

PSA can enable it to move quickly, particularly in rapid response to a

crisis or the sudden emergence of a new policy agenda ± something that
was happening frequently during the police reform era of the mid-
1990s. What this means is that, unlike a large and complex organisation
like the Federation, which represents tiers of police ranks with poten-
tially conflicting interests, the PSA does not have to `refer back' to the
central Executive before any commitment is made or any view
expressed. A high degree of autonomy is granted to key role holders in
taking the lead on key issues, as the senior PSA respondent stated:

What actually happens is that we are given the discretion by the

National Executive Committee to make decisions on the hoof.
(E31)

On the other hand this very discretion benefits the PSA relative to
ACPO precisely because of its lack of seniority. As we shall see, a crucial
feature of ACPO as an organisation is the constraining effect of the
discretionary powers of individual chiefs over the formation and adop-
tion of `collective' policing policy. Because of the doctrine of `constabu-
lary independence' (Savage et al., 1999) chiefs frequently assert their
right to individually judge each and every matter of policing policy and
decide upon its merit. The whole machinery of ACPO policy-making is
skewed to take heed of this `right of chiefs'. One consequence of this is
that the President of ACPO and even the ACPO Executive would never
take it upon themselves to formulate ACPO policy without full reference
back to the full committee of chiefs ± Chief Constables' Council ± and
even policy thus approved can be subject to non-compliance by individ-
ual chiefs. What this means is that the sort of `policy-making on the
hoof' open to the PSA and the Federation would be unthinkable in the
context of ACPO. Olson (1971) argued that groups which existed for
reasons in addition to their pressure group role (for insurance, access to
facilities, employee protection, etc.), as the Federation and the PSA do,
required less consultation than other groups. His `by-product' theory
stated that leaders of these groups can act without the consent of its
members in the knowledge that members will tend not to leave the
organisation in protest. Salisbury (1984) supplements this by adding
that leadership of these groups is more autonomous and that the actions
of these leaders are less likely to be justified for membership approval.
The result is a `captive membership' (Olson, 1971: 133). We shall return
to this issue concerning ACPO later. At this point what is of relevance is
that this `discretionary freedom' gives the PSA a distinct advantage in
 The Bobby Lobby 33

responding immediately to new agendas, particularly in terms of

responding at short notice to media requests for comment and a `party
line' on this or that matter of policing and criminal justice policy. It
enables the Association to keep itself in the media spotlight at times
when ACPO would be forced to adopt a low-profile or non-committal
stance. It would be interesting to determine the extent to which this
pressure-group variant of the theses that `small is beautiful' has reson-
ance for other policy sectors.
It is, however, only in recent years that this organisational advantage in
so far as it exists has been brought to bear. As with the Federation's
`coming of age' in terms of lobbying skills and activities, the Sheehy
agenda appears to have been the major spur for this. The PSA had much
at stake with Sheehy: one of the central proposals of the Sheehy Report
was to abolish the rank of Chief Superintendent, one of the two ranks
represented by the PSA. The reform agenda more widely pointed to the
`thinning out' of middle management within the police service ± a pro-
cess which was directed more than anything at the superintendent level
of the police organisation. The PSA were spurred into action as a result
and were forced at short notice to sharpen their lobbying skills. This
entailed the adoption of a higher media profile, mainly through the
public presence of the PSA's President, as we have seen, together with
direct lobbying of politicians and members of the House of Lords ± who
happened to have in their ranks a small number of retired senior police
officers (who were also to prove useful to ACPO). The main focus of this
campaign was on retaining the middle management ranks threatened by
Sheehy. Ironically, it could be argued that it was the Federation rank of
chief inspector, rather than the rank of chief superintendent ± for both
were seen as disposable in the Sheehy Report ± which was to become the
PSA's success story. It has been claimed that, in effect, the PSA were given a
choice between the two by supporters in the Lords (`one or the other
could be saved') and in the end the association opted for the chief
inspector rank:

We saved the rank of chief inspector. Absolutely down to the Super-

intendents' Association that was . . . when the Police and Magistrates'
Court Act wanted to abolish the ranks, we argued long and hard that
was a step that shouldn't be taken. We wish we could have saved the
chief superintendent rank as well but we weren't successful. We
certainly saved the chief inspector rank.
(E31)
34 Policy Networks in Criminal Justice

While the other associations may also claim some responsibility for this
`success', there seems little doubt that the noise created by the PSA had
at least some impact on the eventual policy outcome. This taste of the
lobbying action became an acquired one. As was to be the case with
ACPO, as we shall see, the police-focused successes over Sheehy were to
act as a spur to more wide-ranging and diffuse campaigns by the PSA.
The Association successfully campaigned for the establishment of a
`paedophile register', a local listing of sex offenders convicted of
offences against children which could be used to monitor their move-
ments and actions of those listed. The PSA also took a lead role in the
shaping of gun controls and in particular controls on the possession of
handguns (in the wake of the massacre of 16 children in Dunblane,
Scotland). In both cases the PSA was quick to pounce on the opportun-
ities presented by huge public concern and high intensity media cover-
age of the issues and stamp its mark on the emerging policy agendas.
Relative success had bred relative success.
These cases notwithstanding, it is important not to overstate the PSA's
role in the policing policy network. It is perhaps best to depict the PSA as
more of a `policy-sniper' than an `policy-shaper', able to score on spe-
cific but relatively marginal targets but not well placed to take a leading
role in police policy-making more generally. It is ACPO which has pos-
itioned itself most effectively in this role.

The ACPO: the view from the top

If the Federation has acquired notoriety in the eyes of some for its
vociferous and high profile campaigning (typically in pursuit of anti-
liberal causes ± opposition to new police complaints procedures, support
for capital punishment, etc.), ACPO has attracted critical attention over
its covert activities. The concern over ACPO has been less about `tub
thumping' than about `behind the scenes' agenda-setting and lobbying.
For example, Geoffrey Robertson, writing in the late 1980s, claimed
that:

ACPO . . . has become the most powerful club in the country, promot-
ing policies agreed amongst its members, resisting attempts to intro-
duce measures for accountability and actively entering the political
arena. . . . It reports directly to the Home Secretary, and has the cap-
acity to become a centralised intelligence agency, without any charter
to limit its operations.
(Robertson 1989; 24±5; emphasis added)
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ou de voiles étincelantes; quand les flancs de toutes les montagnes,
depuis les montagnes qui cachent Marathon jusqu'à l'Acropolis de
Corinthe, amphithéâtre de quarante lieues de demi-cercle, étaient
découpés de forêts, de pâturages, d'oliviers et de vignes, et que les
villages et les villes décoraient de toutes parts cette splendide
ceinture de montagnes!

Je vois d'ici les mille chemins qui descendaient de ces montagnes,

tracés sur les flancs de l'Hymette, dans toutes les sinuosités des
gorges et des vallées, qui viennent toutes, comme des lits de
torrents, déboucher sur Athènes.

J'entends les rumeurs qui s'en élèvent, les coups de marteau des
tireurs de pierre dans les carrières de marbre du mont Pentélique, le
roulement des blocs qui tombent le long des pentes de ses
précipices, et toutes ces rumeurs qui remplissent de vie et de bruit
les abords d'une grande capitale.

Du côté de la ville, je vois monter par la voie Sacrée, taillée dans

le flanc même de l'Acropolis, la population religieuse d'Athènes, qui
vient implorer Minerve et faire fumer l'encens de toutes ces divinités
domestiques à la place même où je suis assis maintenant, et où je
respire la poussière seule de ces temples.

LXIII.
Rebâtissons le Parthénon: cela est facile, il n'a perdu que sa frise
et ses compartiments intérieurs. Les murs extérieurs ciselés par
Phidias, les colonnes ou les débris des colonnes y sont encore. Le
Parthénon était entièrement construit de marbre blanc, dit marbre
pentélique, du nom de la montagne voisine d'où on le tirait.

Il consistait en un carré long, entouré d'un péristyle de quarante-

six colonnes d'ordre dorique. Chaque colonne a six pieds de
diamètre à sa base, et trente-quatre pieds d'élévation. Les colonnes
À
reposent sur le pavé même du temple, et n'ont point de base. À
chaque extrémité du temple existe ou existait un portique de six
colonnes. La dimension totale de l'édifice était de deux cent vingt-
huit pieds de long sur cent deux pieds de large; sa hauteur était de
soixante-six pieds.

Il ne présentait à l'œil que la majestueuse simplicité de ses lignes

architecturales. C'était une seule pensée de pierre, une et intelligible
d'un regard, comme la pensée antique. Il fallait s'approcher pour
contempler la richesse des matériaux et l'inimitable perfection des
ornements et des détails. Périclès avait voulu en faire autant un
assemblage de tous les chefs-d'œuvre du génie et de la main de
l'homme, qu'un hommage aux dieux; ou plutôt c'était le génie grec
tout entier, s'offrant sous cet emblème, comme un hommage lui-
même à la Divinité. Les noms de tous ceux qui ont taillé une pierre
ou modelé une statue du Parthénon sont devenus immortels.

LXIV.
Oublions le passé, et regardons maintenant autour de nous, alors
que les siècles, la guerre, les religions barbares, les peuples
stupides, le foulent aux pieds depuis plus de deux mille ans.

Il ne manque que quelques colonnes à la forêt de blanches

colonnes: elles sont tombées, en blocs entiers et éclatants, sur les
pavés ou sur les temples voisins: quelques-unes, comme les grands
chênes de la forêt de Fontainebleau, sont restées penchées sur les
autres colonnes; d'autres ont glissé du haut du parapet qui cerne
l'Acropolis, et gisent, en blocs énormes concassés, les unes sur les
autres, comme dans une carrière les rognures des blocs que
l'architecte a rejetées.

Leurs flancs sont dorés de cette croûte de soleil que les siècles
étendent sur le marbre; leurs brisures sont blanches comme l'ivoire
travaillé d'hier. Elles forment, de ce côté du temple, un chaos
ruisselant de marbre de toutes formes, de toutes couleurs, jeté,
empilé, dans le désordre le plus bizarre et le plus majestueux: de
loin, on croirait voir l'écume de vagues énormes qui viennent se
briser et blanchir sur un cap battu des mers. L'œil ne peut s'en
arracher; on les regarde, on les suit, on les admire, on les plaint
avec ce sentiment qu'on éprouverait pour des êtres qui auraient eu
ou qui auraient encore le sentiment de la vie. C'est le plus sublime
effet de ruines que les hommes ont jamais pu produire, parce que
c'est la ruine de ce qu'ils firent jamais de plus beau!

LXV.
Si on entre sous le péristyle et sous les portiques, on peut se
croire encore au moment où l'on achevait l'édifice: les murs
intérieurs sont tellement conservés, la face des marbres si luisante
et si polie, les colonnes si droites, les parties conservées de l'édifice
si admirablement intactes, que tout semble sortir des mains de
l'ouvrier; seulement, le ciel étincelant de lumière est le seul toit du
Parthénon, et, à travers les déchirures des pans de murailles, l'œil
plonge sur l'immense et lumineux horizon de l'Attique.

Tout le sol à l'entour est jonché de fragments de sculpture ou de

morceaux d'architecture qui semblent attendre la main qui doit les
élever à leur place dans le monument qui les attend.

Les pieds heurtent sans cesse contre les chefs-d'œuvre du ciseau

grec: on les ramasse, on les rejette, pour en ramasser un plus
curieux; on se lasse enfin de cet inutile travail; tout n'est que chef-
d'œuvre pulvérisé.

Les pas s'impriment dans une poussière de marbre; on finit par la

regarder avec indifférence, et l'on reste insensible et muet, abîmé
dans la contemplation de l'ensemble, et dans les mille pensées qui
sortent de chacun de ces débris. Ces pensées sont de la nature
même de la scène où on les respire: elles sont graves comme ces
ruines des temps écoulés, comme ces témoins majestueux du néant
de l'humanité; mais elles sont sereines comme le ciel qui est sur nos
têtes, inondées d'une lumière harmonieuse et pure, élevées comme
ce piédestal de l'Acropolis, qui semble planer au-dessus de la terre;
résignées et religieuses comme ce monument élevé à une pensée
divine, que Dieu a laissé crouler devant lui pour faire place à de plus
divines pensées!

LXVI.
Je ne sens point de tristesse ici; l'âme est légère, quoique
méditative; ma pensée embrasse l'ordre des volontés divines, des
destinées humaines; elle admire qu'il ait été donné à l'homme de
s'élever si haut dans les arts et dans une civilisation matérielle; elle
conçoit que Dieu ait brisé ensuite ce moule admirable d'une pensée
incomplète; que l'unité de Dieu, reconnue enfin par Socrate dans ces
mêmes lieux, ait retiré le souffle de vie de toutes ces religions
qu'avait enfantées l'imagination des premiers temps; que ces
temples se soient écroulés sur leurs dieux: la pensée du Dieu unique
jetée dans l'esprit humain vaut mieux que ces demeuras de marbre
où l'on n'adorait que son ombre. Cette pensée n'a pas besoin de
temples bâtis de main d'homme: la nature entière est le temple où
elle adore.

LXVII.
À mesure que les religions se spiritualisent, les temples s'en vont:
le christianisme lui-même, qui a construit le gothique pour l'animer
de son souffle, laisse ses admirables basiliques tomber peu à peu en
ruine; les milliers de statues de ses saints descendent par degrés de
leurs socles aériens autour de ses cathédrales; il se transforme
aussi, et ses temples deviennent plus nus et plus éclairés à mesure
qu'il se dépouille des superstitions de ses âges de crépuscule et qu'il
résume davantage la grande lumière qu'il propagea sur la terre, la
pensée du Dieu unique prouvé par la raison et adoré par la vertu.

Lisez le Phidias de M. de Ronchaud, et vous comprendrez la

grandeur du monument dans la grandeur du poëte.

LXVIII.
Tel est ce livre de Phidias, cet Homère de la pierre, qui a
reconstruit l'Olympe en marbre comme le premier Homère l'avait
reconstruit en vers plus immortels que ses divinités.

M. de Ronchaud, à son tour, vient de nous traduire en belle prose

française cet architecte et ce sculpteur du Parthénon. Dans chaque
coup de ciseau il a ressuscité le génie de la beauté grecque; il nous
a rendus contemporains de Périclès, de Praxitèle et de Phidias.

LXIX.
Vous qui ne pouvez pas aller admirer ce génie sur place, lisez et
relisez ces pages, et que le jeune auteur de ce livre retourne en paix
dans sa solitude paternelle de Saint-Lupicin, après avoir allumé en
nous le feu de l'enthousiasme pour ce beau lapidaire, puis qu'il nous
prépare en silence à ces leçons sur le beau du dessin et de la
couleur étudiés dans ces grands poëtes du pinceau, Michel-Ange, le
Titien et Raphaël.

Lamartine.
 LXXVIIIe ENTRETIEN.

REVUE LITTÉRAIRE
DE L'ANNÉE 1861 EN FRANCE.

M. de Marcellus.

PREMIÈRE PARTIE.

I.
La mort juge la vie; le glas de la cloche funèbre qui appelle les
parents et les amis aux funérailles d'un homme d'étude, est le tocsin
du cœur pour sa mémoire.

On résume en un clin d'œil sa vie et ses œuvres; on se demande:

Qu'avons-nous perdu?

C'est ainsi que nous fûmes frappé non-seulement au cœur, nous-

même, ami, collègue et voisin de campagne, presque contemporain
d'années de M. de Marcellus, il y a quelques mois, en recevant le
billet de faire part qui nous convoquait inopinément à ses obsèques,
mais frappé à l'esprit; c'est ainsi qu'en nous interrogeant quelque
temps après avec plus de sang-froid sur ce que la France venait de
perdre en lui, nous nous répondions: «La France vient de perdre non
un orateur, non un poëte, non un écrivain de profession, non un
savant de métier, mais plus qu'un orateur, plus qu'un poëte, plus
qu'un écrivain, plus qu'un érudit; elle vient de perdre un homme de
goût!

«Le dernier des classiques est mort!»

II.
Or qu'est-ce qu'un homme de goût? qu'est-ce qu'un classique?
Qu'est-ce que les Anglais appellent un grand scholar, un lettré par
excellence?

C'est un homme qui, sans rien prétendre, aspire à tout; c'est un

volontaire de la littérature; c'est un homme qui, doué d'un doux loisir
et convaincu que les jouissances de l'esprit sont les premières des
jouissances, consacre ce loisir aux études désintéressées qui
remplissent les heures vides de certains jours, et qui les font couler
comme un fleuve fertilisant sur les bords de la vie.

C'est un homme qui a plus de bonheur à admirer les autres qu'à

être admiré lui-même; qui demande pardon de son mérite à ceux qui
en ont souvent moins que de prétention, et qui, ne briguant aucun
renom pour lui, forme ce milieu anonyme, atmosphère vivante de
ceux qui parlent ou écrivent, la galerie qui applaudit, la critique, le
parterre des lettres, sans lequel il n'y aurait point de lettres dans un
pays, le nom collectif, un des noms de ce public d'élite enfin qui
n'affecte aucune gloire, mais qui la donne à une nation, dont la
première gloire est d'aimer ceux qui d'une part de leurs noms lui
font un surnom national et immortel.

III.
 Voilà ce qu'on appelle un homme de goût! Ajoutons que ces
esprits exquis sont en général des esprits classiques, adorateurs des
traditions, imitateurs des modèles transmis par les âges, traducteurs
des chefs-d'œuvre que l'antiquité nous a légués; répugnant aux
innovations de style toujours un peu désordonnées ou hasardeuses
et faisant dresser l'oreille au goût, conservateurs un peu timides des
formes du style; ayant le culte respectueux du beau antique, sans en
avoir le fanatisme; classiques, en un mot, de caractère, d'éducation,
d'habitude, derrière lesquels on peut marcher un peu lentement,
mais avec lesquels on ne risque pas de s'égarer; des guides des
lettres, en un mot.

Le premier des hommes de goût, le dernier des classiques! voilà

ce que la France littéraire venait de perdre avec M. de Marcellus.

IV.
Je ne voulus pas prendre la plume et analyser la perte que la
littérature classique venait de faire en lui, dans le premier moment
de ma douleur: je craignais que le cœur en moi ne faussât le
jugement ou n'exagérât l'éloge; je voulais rester vrai pour être juste.
J'attendis que les quelques jours de liberté que tout homme trop
affairé se donne en automne me renfermassent dans le solitaire
manoir de Saint-Point, déshabité maintenant en attendant qu'on
m'en dépouille, et me rapprochassent de ce château d'Audour,
ouvert il y a moins d'un an à l'hospitalité littéraire, et maintenant
fermé par le deuil d'une veuve muette de douleur, qui n'accepte que
les consolations de l'amitié.

La solitude complète est la consolatrice des pertes trop senties,

parce qu'elle n'essaye pas de consoler l'inconsolable, et qu'elle ne
tente pas de s'interposer entre ce qu'on a perdu et ce qu'on voit
toujours.
 V.
Le château d'Audour, dans une des hautes vallées qui séparent le
Mâconnais du Charolais, était la résidence d'automne, le Tusculum
studieux de M. de Marcellus, depuis que la Restauration, qu'il avait
tant aimée, avait été renversée et proscrite par ceux auxquels elle
avait rendu la patrie, depuis que la République avait remplacé cette
anarchie royale et que le neveu de César régnait en France.

Cet Audour est un immense édifice semblable à un caravansérail

d'Orient, s'élevant seul au sommet d'une colline de sable; les grilles
en sont toujours ouvertes du côté du nord, comme si le passant
avait droit d'asile dans ses vastes corridors, où le colporteur
ambulant dépose sa balle à l'ombre sans que personne l'interroge
sur son droit d'emprunter cette ombre pour se reposer.

Du côté du midi, des enfilades de salles et d'appartements ouvrent

par un perron sur une vallée étroite, reste d'une terrasse, où des
pentes gazonnées, des bouquets de cèdres et de sapins et un lac
conduisent l'œil jusqu'au delà de la vallée, et le font remonter sur
une large colline où la route blanche et vide serpente entre une forêt
de chênes. Quelques rares toits gris, couverts de chaume, y fument
le soir et le matin et indiquent la place des chaumières qu'on ne
découvre au loin qu'à leur fumée dans le ciel. C'est un château de
Marie Stuart dans un paysage écossais.

VI.
C'est une chose remarquable en général, que ces hommes
d'étude, de goût, de littérature exquise et savante, habitent, comme
Walter Scott, des demeures féodales, comme la Brède de
Montesquieu, comme Montbar et sa tour de Buffon, comme le
manoir de Montaigne en Gascogne, comme M. de Marcellus à
Audour.
 Il semble que ces solitaires résidences inspirent à leurs
possesseurs quelque chose du repos, des loisirs studieux, des goûts
conservateurs, des contemplations philosophiques qui caractérisent
ces hommes de paix.

On n'y entend que le bruit des feuilles qui tombent; rien n'y
distrait l'oreille, les yeux, l'esprit; cela force à penser.

Quelque grande salle au fond de l'édifice, au rez-de-chaussée,

renferme hermétiquement une vaste bibliothèque poudreuse, pleine
dans les rayons d'en haut de volumes de toutes langues, presque
pétrifiés dans leurs stalles, sous leur reliure à fermoir, et, sur les
tablettes inférieures, des brochures nouvelles et en désordre
attestent la continuité du maître à se tenir en rapport avec ce que
l'espèce humaine produit de nouveau et son attention à ce qui se
passe sur la terre.

Quand un étranger arrive le soir, c'est là qu'on va chercher le

maître, et qu'on le trouve, à la lueur d'une lampe qui s'use, attablé,
la plume à la main, devant un texte grec ou latin, anglais ou italien,
qu'il quitte avec joie pour accueillir un ami, sûr de retrouver son
texte et sa pensée à la même place le lendemain!

VII.
C'est ainsi qu'en arrivant inopinément à Audour, dans quelque
soirée d'automne, j'étais sûr de trouver M. de Marcellus dans sa
bibliothèque.

—Eh bien, qu'y a-t-il de nouveau? me disait-il en me tendant la

main.

—Il y a de nouveau, lui disais-je selon les temps, que nos amis les
Bourbons de la branche aînée, chassés du trône par l'inconstance du
peuple et par l'infidélité de leur maison, vont errer à travers l'Europe
deux fois victimes.

—C'est notre condamnation à l'exil intérieur que notre fidélité nous

impose, me répondit-il résolûment, quoique tristement. Nous ne
pouvons pas, lors même que nous le voudrions, apostasier nos
maîtres et servir leurs ennemis.

J'ai envoyé ma démission au nouveau gouvernement de toutes

mes fonctions diplomatiques, délices et orgueil de ma jeunesse, et
même la démission des droits à la pairie que le refus de serment de
mon père m'ouvrait, et que le serment exigé interdit à ma
conscience.

Je suis mort d'aujourd'hui au monde, et voici mon tombeau, me

dit-il en me montrant sa bibliothèque grecque; j'y viens vivre avec
Homère et Tacite, amis immortels des imaginations sensibles et des
âmes fermes, qui nous consolent de survivre aux écroulements du
temps!

VIII.
Et moi aussi, lui disais-je, j'ai porté mon refus de service au roi
nouveau, favori, complice peut-être de la fortune.

Je résigne des fonctions honorifiques ou lucratives que je tiendrais

de la faveur du prince, mais je ne résigne pas mon patriotisme; et si
le peuple, revenu de son égarement, me désigne pour le servir dans
ses comices, j'obéirai à son appel. En attendant, je vais voyager
quelques années dans cet Orient que vous déchiffrez aujourd'hui.

IX.
 Ainsi dit, ainsi fait: il s'abîma dans ses études, je montai dans mon
navire.

Quinze ans se passèrent; le peuple, dégoûté d'intrigues, avait

renversé son idole. J'avais porté le poids d'un interrègne, j'avais
contribué à remettre la France debout, et la France sous le nom de
République; la République s'était hâtée d'être ingrate; elle avait
remis l'épée à un soldat. J'étais revenu, soulagé et non surpris, me
reposer quelques jours du fardeau d'une année et réparer mes
forces dans ma solitude; j'allai voir mon voisin, le solitaire d'Audour.

—Eh bien! quoi de nouveau? me dit-il.

—Rien de nouveau, lui criai-je en descendant de mon cheval; de

quelque nom qu'on l'appelle, monarchie ou république, le peuple est
toujours peuple, c'est-à-dire ignorant et mobile. À peine règne-t-il
qu'il est déjà las de son règne; il n'aura pas de repos qu'il n'ait créé
un nouveau règne.

L'opposition libérale a déjà démasqué le bonapartisme, cette

superstition du sabre. Je vois poindre une dynastie populaire
retrempée depuis trente ans dans les légendes de la guerre. Un
Bonaparte, nommé président de la République, couve un empereur.
Espérons qu'il aura plus de génie civil que son oncle n'avait eu de
génie militaire. S'il en est ainsi, ce sera une halte dans les
vicissitudes de l'Europe; je vais voyager de nouveau en Orient. La
République fait peur d'elle-même à la France; la Montagne s'amuse
à jouer à la Terreur, la Terreur est une machine usée qui irrite tout le
monde et qui n'intimide personne. Une république qui joue à la peur
entre un peuple effrayé et un chef ambitieux a bientôt perdu la
liberté. Détournons les yeux, nous n'avons pas pu leur inspirer la
prudence.

Laissons aller le monde à son courant de hasard! Adieu, nous nous

reverrons dans deux ans. Et je partis.
 X.
Quand je revins, la République était l'Empire. M. de Marcellus
continuait de reporter ses regards en arrière, et moi à payer à mes
braves amis le prix d'une vie politique qui m'avait ruiné en sauvant
un jour mon pays. Je ne me doutais guère que je ferais un jour
l'épitaphe de ce cher voisin. Voici sa vie en deux mots.

XI.
Il était né dans le midi de la France, près de Bordeaux, patrie de
l'éloquence des Girondins, de la philosophie sceptique et spéculative
de Montaigne, de la science politique de Montesquieu, cet Aristote
moderne de la France.

Il passa sa première jeunesse au château de Marcellus, dirigé

dans ses études par son père, aussi classique que lui. Son mariage,
sa carrière, l'avaient éloigné de ce lieu; mais son cœur y était resté,
et il y retournait toujours avec bonheur. Le nom de Marcellus venait
d'un camp romain établi sur ce coteau. La terre avait été achetée
d'Henri IV lui-même, et sa famille y ajouta alors ce nom. Ce
Marcellus romain, au lieu de mourir comme Caton ou Brutus, ou de
plier de mauvaise grâce comme Cicéron, avait pris l'exil comme un
intermédiaire entre la persécution et l'abjection; il s'était retiré
volontairement dans l'île de Mitylène; il y vivait d'études compatibles
avec la tyrannie et avec la liberté; il avait conservé ses amis à Rome,
et entre autres Cicéron qui lui écrivait sans cesse d'y rentrer afin
d'avoir un complice de sa faiblesse. Mais Marcellus persistait à
penser que la meilleure place sous un tyran aimable et doux était la
plus éloignée; il vécut à distance et mourut en paix, véritable
homme d'honneur de la République.

Ce que la République était pour le général romain, la Restauration

le fut pour M. de Marcellus: un engagement auquel il ne voulut
jamais manquer, véritable homme d'honneur de la Restauration.

XII.
Sa famille avait adopté avec passion cette cause; elle l'honora par
sa fidélité.

Fidèle jusqu'à la persécution, disait son père, poëte et orateur du

second ordre qui célébrait l'autel en assez bons vers et qui défendait
le trône en assez bonne prose contre les libéraux de 1815 dans les
académies et dans les Chambres. Les épigrammes du côté gauche
pleuvaient sur ses vers et sur ses discours.

Mais il s'honorait de ses blessures comme un intrépide soldat de

cette double cause, et il faisait de ces traits de la haine de parti ce
que les Romains faisaient des flèches des Parthes, des trophées dans
le temple de la Gloire, disant à Dieu et au roi: Voilà les armes que
j'ai bravées pour vous!

Comme M. de Bonald et M. de Chateaubriand, il se sacrifiait à leur

cause; il faut des soldats aux chefs. Ils le récompensèrent de son
dévouement sincère dans sa personne en le nommant pair de
France, et dans ses enfants en nommant M. de Marcellus secrétaire
d'ambassade à Constantinople.

XIII.
L'esprit classique et politique du jeune homme était
merveilleusement adapté à la diplomatie; mais cet esprit, s'il n'avait
pas la chaleur, en avait d'autant plus la clarté. Il avait été supérieur
et prématuré dans les études. Les langues hébraïque, latine,
grecque surtout, lui étaient aussi familières que l'idiome de famille.
 D'un extérieur noble et élégant, il avait une physionomie fine,
mais point audacieuse.

Parlant peu, mais répondant juste, il était alors très-enclin à cette

ironie douce de ceux qui ont bu de bonne heure les eaux de la
Garonne; il en conserva quelque chose toute sa vie, même quand les
déceptions et les révolutions eurent altéré le fond de son âme.
L'ambition honnête de bien servir était sa seule préoccupation.

XIV.
Le gouvernement des Bourbons avait M. de Marcellus le père à
récompenser; il fut heureux, à peu près à l'époque où il me recruta
moi-même pour sa diplomatie future, d'enrichir ses cadres d'un nom,
d'une jeunesse et d'un talent qui promettaient un ministre à sa
cause.

M. de Marcellus fut attaché à l'ambassade de Constantinople sous

M. le duc de Rivière. Le duc de Rivière avait été un des serviteurs du
long exil des Bourbons, mais serviteur actif, dévoué, ayant joué sa
vie pour sa cause; l'ayant perdue dans l'affaire de Georges
Cadoudal, et ayant obtenu la vie du premier consul, à condition de
ne plus conspirer.

Le duc de Rivière était, comme M. de Polignac, un de ces

monuments de fidélité chevaleresque, que Louis XVIII et le comte
d'Artois étaient heureux de montrer à la jeunesse royaliste de 1825
dans les grandes places, comme des preuves vivantes de la mémoire
des princes restaurés.

M. de Marcellus plut du premier coup à cet ambassadeur, obtint

toute sa confiance et toute son affection.

M. de Rivière autorisa son jeune secrétaire à passer par l'île de

Milo pour y négocier l'acquisition de ce beau morceau de marbre
À
appelé depuis la Vénus de Milo. À son retour, M. de Rivière la garda
à son compte et l'offrit au roi Louis XVIII à la fin de son ambassade.

On se récria sur sa perfection; elle règne sur nos musées

provisoirement, reine des marbres, jusqu'à ce qu'un nouveau
Marcellus la détrône par un autre hasard de découverte et de
popularité; car est-il probable que la statue de Scopas, ou d'un
autre, ait été reléguée dans l'antiquité païenne sur la petite île de
l'archipel au lieu de décorer Athènes, Corinthe, Olympie, Éphèse? La
poussière de ces capitales du culte et de l'art ne nous a pas tout dit.

XV.
Quoi qu'il en soit, c'est de là que date la célébrité naissante de M.
de Marcellus. L'Académie des inscriptions lui devait un signe
d'attention: il est mort sans l'avoir reçu d'elle; depuis, il mérita place
dans une Académie plus littéraire, et il mourut sans y avoir été
admis. Il les méritait l'une et l'autre, la première par son bonheur, la
seconde par son mérite. On le reconnaît aujourd'hui, trop tard, mais
son ombre en sourit là-haut. Rions-en comme lui, il y a retrouvé la
société de ces morts illustres avec lesquels il a tant désiré converser
dans leur langue: les Homère, les Phidias, les artistes et les poëtes
grecs ses amis; les Théocrite, les Pline, les Cicéron, les amateurs de
l'esprit humain qui forment l'immortelle académie de tous les âges,
et qui l'ont reconnu à la pureté de l'accent pour un des leurs!

XVI.
Il passa dans l'étude de ces langues mortes et vivantes de l'Orient
trois années à Constantinople; c'est là qu'il acheva véritablement son
éducation classique, pendant les loisirs que la diplomatie, muette en
Orient, laisse à ceux qui servent attentivement, mais presque en
silence, leur pays.
 Nous allons retrouver ces trois fécondes années dans ses
souvenirs, dans ses traductions et dans ses œuvres.

XVII.
Le sort que lui réservaient les premiers maîtres en littérature et en
politique le fit rappeler de Constantinople à Londres, vers 1822, pour
servir de second à M. de Chateaubriand, en Angleterre.

M. de Chateaubriand, qui promenait son ennui à Londres pour

délivrer les ministres de l'embarras de sa présence inquiète à Paris,
le reçut comme un fils dans son ambassade; heureux de reparler
avec ce jeune et spirituel disciple de cet Orient qu'il avait visité
quelques années plus tôt. M. de Marcellus lui plut comme il avait plu
à M. de Rivière.

C'était le moment où l'intérêt diplomatique du monde était reporté

tout entier en Espagne, à Naples, à Turin, et où le congrès de
Vérone devait bientôt appeler sur la scène des négociations toutes
les cours de la Sainte-Alliance. En ce temps-là, les rois, encore tout
fiers de leurs succès, reconnaissaient une cause générale des rois
supérieure à toutes les causes secondaires des jalousies nationales,
des rivalités d'ambition, ou d'influence des cours; une véritable ligue
politique des gouvernements légitimes subordonnait toutes ces
rivalités locales à son intérêt et à une doctrine d'ensemble des
monarchies. L'Autriche venait d'intervenir à Turin et à Naples contre
les carbonari.

Charles-Albert, prince royal de Piémont, tour à tour complice ou

proscripteur des révolutionnaires piémontais, venait de faire
défection à la cause italienne à Novare et de se réfugier en Toscane,
et ensuite à Paris, pour obtenir l'honneur de combattre en Espagne
les carbonari qu'il venait de déserter à Turin; son pardon était au
prix de cette palinodie; il le mérita bien pendant vingt ans d'un
gouvernement asservi aux jésuites. En 1848, il se repentit de son
repentir, et alla mourir vaincu, on ne sait dans quel parti, en
Portugal; la révolution en fit un héros de circonstance. Son fils, le roi
actuel de Piémont, hérita de son ambition et de sa valeur comme
soldat; il fut le premier de ces princes qui préparèrent des armées et
des alliances à la révolution radicale d'Italie, pour y renverser des
papautés, des nationalités et des trônes, et qui posèrent ainsi la
question indécise: Lesquels seront les dupes, après l'œuvre confuse,
des rois ou des peuples? Si ce sont les rois, les trônes auront
disparu; si ce sont les peuples, les peuples seront asservis.

L'œuvre qui se continue aujourd'hui en Italie est encore en partie

l'œuvre des carbonari d'Espagne en 1820.

Nous sommes à la même date, avec le roi de Piémont de plus et la

France.

La fédération des puissances italiques, avec des institutions

représentatives, était le mot vrai de la situation dans la Péninsule; il
n'a pas été prononcé à temps. L'Italie en souffre, et sa marche en
sera retardée par de cruelles réactions.

XVIII.
Or il s'agissait de savoir à Londres, en 1823, si l'Angleterre, qui
avait été, quatre ans avant, le moteur et le payeur de la réaction
européenne de l'Europe contre la France bonapartiste et oppressive
de l'Europe, voudrait continuer à fomenter et à solder la guerre des
rois contre l'insurrection des peuples et contre les sociétés secrètes
de l'Italie et de l'Espagne.

M. de Chateaubriand, très-royaliste et très-anticarbonariste à cette

époque, avait été envoyé en ambassade à Londres pour rallier M.
Canning, le Chateaubriand anglais, à la cause des rois coalisés
contre l'Espagne.
 M. Canning, qui avait écrit dans sa jeunesse l'Antijacobin, élève de
Pitt, ami de Burke, avait changé en avançant en âge, comme M. de
Chateaubriand devait bientôt changer lui-même. La jalousie
britannique se faisait libérale en Espagne, quand la France, par la
nature de son gouvernement, se faisait conservatrice et
antirévolutionnaire au delà des Pyrénées.

M. Canning, pour ne pas perdre toute influence en Europe, en

Russie, en Prusse, en Autriche, n'osait pas rompre ouvertement avec
ces puissances alliées de l'Angleterre, mais il voulait ajourner,
embarrasser, compliquer, et enfin faire avorter le congrès, pour
empêcher la France de prendre la responsabilité de venger la
monarchie de famille en Espagne.

XIX.
Le génie et la passion sont quelquefois politiques.

M. de Chateaubriand avait de la passion et du génie: passion de

jeune émigré pour les Bourbons, dieux de sa jeunesse; génie des
hautes affaires, qui donne aux hommes comme lui les grandes
inspirations pour les républiques ou pour les monarchies. Il sentait
que les Bourbons devaient quelque chose de grand au monde pour
se faire pardonner l'abaissement de la France, qui n'était pas leur
ouvrage, et dont l'injustice publique les rendait responsables.

Il leur inspirait la guerre en Espagne, guerre qui était dans leur

nature, guerre de restauration, de constitution même; guerre
d'intervention contre la démagogie espagnole et contre l'insurrection
militaire, mais guerre désintéressée de toute conquête.

Cette guerre, qui flattait l'ambition de gloire de l'armée, était

surtout politique, en ce qu'elle engageait l'armée mécontente à
servir sous un Bourbon pour un Bourbon, et à tirer un premier coup
de feu pour leur cause. Ce coup de fusil vaudrait mille serments.
 Le premier ministre, M. de Villèle, qui gouvernait alors sagement,
mais sans audace, répugnait à cette guerre et se plaisait à
temporiser; M. de Chateaubriand avait pour M. de Villèle le dédain
secret des hautes imaginations pour les timides conseils; il brûlait de
la passion d'amener un congrès, bien convaincu que l'éclat de son
nom forcerait M. de Villèle à l'y envoyer, et qu'une fois envoyé à
Vérone, en apparence sans parti pris, il serait maître des résolutions
de l'Europe. Pour cela, il fallait vaincre la répugnance de l'Angleterre
en séduisant ou en domptant M. Canning. C'est à quoi il travaillait à
Londres, quand M. de Marcellus l'y rejoignit.

XX.
Les pensées de l'ambassadeur et du secrétaire se confondaient
dans le même royalisme décidé. Ils voulaient l'un et l'autre la gloire
pour les Bourbons, et par conséquent la guerre d'Espagne. Périr
pour périr, ils préféraient périr par une honteuse défection de
l'armée, plutôt que de périr à petit feu par une lâche
condescendance aux jalousies de l'Angleterre. Ils n'avaient aucun
secret l'un pour l'autre.

M. de Marcellus et M. Canning étaient liés par les goûts littéraires

communs que le premier ministre anglais avait conservés de son
premier métier de journaliste. Ils traitaient ensemble dans la langue
classique grecque et latine les affaires secondaires qui sont, sous un
ambassadeur négligent, des détails de la compétence des secrétaires
dans les grandes ambassades. Ces fréquentes occasions de se voir
et de s'entendre avaient noué entre M. Canning et M. de Marcellus
une amitié aussi familière que la politique en permet entre hommes
de deux nations rivales.

M. Canning avait une fille unique, douée d'autant de beauté que

d'agréments d'esprit. Le bruit courut à Londres que le ministre voyait
sans ombrage un gendre futur dans le jeune Français assidu dans
ses salons. Mais, diplomate avant tout, il ne voulait plaire qu'autant
que cette liaison avec la famille de M. Canning ne coûterait rien à
ses devoirs politiques de Français et de partisan de l'intervention
européenne en Espagne.

Sa fidélité à M. de Chateaubriand, son honneur et son ambition,

lui faisaient facilement dominer le goût éphémère qu'on lui supposait
pour la fille du ministre anglais. Entre le cabinet de M. Canning et
son salon, il y avait pour lui l'Espagne; la liaison n'alla jamais plus
loin que l'intérêt des affaires. M. de Chateaubriand, loin de prendre
ombrage de cette intimité entre son premier secrétaire et le ministre
qu'il caressait alors pour l'amener au congrès, redoubla de
confiance, et fit de M. de Marcellus son confident et son envoyé à
Paris.

M. de Marcellus partit, vit M. de Villèle, et lui persuada de

satisfaire l'ambition du grand poëte en l'associant à M. de
Montmorency et à M. de la Ferronays, pour complaire à l'orgueil
diplomatique de M. de Chateaubriand et pour décorer l'ambassade.

XXI.
M. de Marcellus, en son absence, resta chargé d'affaires à
Londres, correspondant secret de M. de Chateaubriand. Il a donné
dans un volume, chef-d'œuvre de diplomatie confidentielle, toutes
ses dépêches à M. de Chateaubriand pendant le congrès, et toutes
les réponses de M. de Chateaubriand, de Vérone et de Paris. Jamais
esprit plus délié dans une situation plus délicate:—entre M. Canning,
qu'il fallait ménager; M. de Chateaubriand, qu'il fallait flatter et
informer; le roi, qu'il fallait intéresser; M. de Villèle, qu'il fallait éviter
de blesser,—n'eut une tâche plus complexe, et ne dut montrer sous
plus de faces la loyauté d'un homme d'honneur, la dextérité d'un
homme de plume, la fermeté d'un homme de résolution, l'agrément
d'un homme de lettres dans le sérieux d'un diplomate; et cet homme
avait vingt-cinq ans!

Ce portefeuille, ouvert sans indiscrétion après la mort de tous les

hommes principaux qui s'y dévoilent, et après la chute de la
Restauration qu'on y voit agir, atteste une supériorité de vues et une
richesse d'intelligence et de caractère diplomatique dans cette
grande négociation du règne de Louis XVIII, qui fait contraste avec
les négociations de la royauté de 1830!

Et cependant ce n'était que la moitié de la France, car la France

n'est jamais tout entière que dans la guerre; dans sa diplomatie et
dans ses parlements, elle ne montre jamais que la moitié de ses
capacités, tant elle est divisée en deux fractions par les partis qui la
déchirent. Les Talleyrand, les Foy, les orateurs, étaient opposés par
esprit de parti à la guerre d'Espagne; M. de Montmorency, M. de
Chateaubriand, seuls la voulaient, avec les amis des Bourbons.

Elle eut lieu, elle accomplit ce qu'elle avait à accomplir.

L'Angleterre et M. Canning restèrent immobiles, murmurants,
déconcertés, confondus. Ils se vengèrent de leur déception en
Espagne, en fomentant et en reconnaissant en Amérique
l'indépendance des Amériques espagnoles, dont trente ans de
guerres civiles n'ont pas encore éteint les conséquences.

M. Canning en mourut. M. de Chateaubriand imita peu de temps

après les oppositions qu'il avait rudement invectivées dans le
ministre le plus brillant, mais le plus illogique, de la Grande-
Bretagne. Sa conduite à l'égard, des deux rois, Louis XVIII et
Charles X, ne fut plus qu'une série de petites vengeances masquées
sous une fidélité d'apparat. La nature avait fait en lui un poëte de
décadence dans une prose qui était le récitatif de la poésie, un
orateur d'académie; elle en avait fait, au contraire, un homme d'État
de premier rang et de première influence, nié par les partis et
perverti par ses propres rancunes.
 XXII.
Voilà comment les partis nous jugent et nous classent pendant
que nous vivons! La mort seule est juste, et dit hardiment à nos
mémoires le bien et le mal; elle nous fait notre épitaphe sur une
pierre de granit, que ni les flatteurs ni les dénigreurs n'effaceront
plus.

On ne peut reprocher à M. de Marcellus qu'un excès de faveur

pour son maître en diplomatie, mais cette faveur même tient à la
reconnaissance et à la bienveillance de son esprit. À cela près, nous
ne connaissons pas un recueil de dépêches mieux senti, mieux écrit,
présentant au lecteur sérieux, dans un meilleur style, plus de lumière
et plus d'agrément.

XXIII.
Autant qu'il nous en souvient, car nous écrivons ceci sans
document daté sous les yeux, et seulement de mémoire, dans la
solitude d'une campagne isolée, M. de Marcellus quitta Londres, peu
de temps après que M. de Polignac y fut arrivé, comblé des marques
de satisfaction du roi. Il fallait lui donner une compensation dans un
poste diplomatique en chef; il méritait qu'on lui en trouvât un: on
créa ce poste auprès d'un prince de la maison de Bourbon
d'Espagne, fils de la reine d'Étrurie, qui régnait alors à Lucques et
qui devait, après Marie-Louise, régner à Parme.

M. de Marcellus venait alors d'épouser, à Paris, une femme d'une

naissance éminente, d'un esprit héréditaire, d'une beauté remarquée
dans son siècle, mademoiselle de Forbin, fille du comte de Forbin,
directeur des musées, homme dont les agréments de figure, les
succès de salon ou de cour sous deux règnes, l'esprit
épigrammatique, et les talents en peinture et dans les lettres,
faisaient un ornement de l'époque impériale, dépaysé dans le
royalisme de la Restauration.

Madame de Duras eut la première idée de cette alliance. Madame

de Marcellus, extrêmement jeune encore, suivit son mari, plus grave
et plus mûr, dans les cours d'Italie. Je l'avais entrevue enfant
pendant mes courts séjours à Mâcon, dans des fêtes chez ma mère,
comme un éblouissement précoce d'aurore qui promet une
splendeur de beauté plus tard; quand la beauté tient ses promesses,
elle devient monumentale, et ce fragile monument de la nature
devient immortel et classique par le souvenir.

XXIV.
Résidant depuis quatre années dans la Toscane, dont le ministère
français détachait Lucques pour en faire une légation de famille en
faveur de M. de Marcellus, je fus obligé d'aller, à la suite de M. de
Lamaisonfort, mon chef, prendre congé du duc de Lucques et
d'introduire auprès de sa cour le nouvel envoyé. Dans ce
démembrement de notre propre légation, j'avais perdu de vue la
charmante ambassadrice.

XXV.
Trois ans après, la révolution de 1830 avait renversé tout ce
bonheur, toute cette cour, toute cette ambition; de ce couple, rien
n'avait survécu que les grâces sévères de la femme, un pli de
tristesse sur les lèvres, une arrière-pensée dans les yeux. Une vie
recueillie et solitaire, dans un vieux château de Bourgogne, au milieu
d'un site froid et âpre, avait remplacé cette belle vie d'Italie par une
existence plus sévère, pleine de vertus pieuses et charitables, et
répandu on ne sait quel deuil anticipé sur ce seuil couvert
maintenant d'un deuil éternel!
 Voilà la vie!

M. de Marcellus n'hésita pas un moment entre sa passion

naturelle, l'ambition, et son honneur de famille: il se retira, triste
mais résolu, dans la campagne et dans les lettres; il passa les quinze
plus belles années de sa vie dans ces loisirs occupés qui lui tenaient
lieu de tout, cariatide de sa bibliothèque à Audour et à Paris. Il reprit
la vie d'étudiant helléniste dans la société de quelques amis: à
défaut de la gloire diplomatique, qu'il regrettait, il aspira
silencieusement à la dignité des lettres, qui ne lui suffisait pas, mais
qui l'intéressait.

Sans jamais conspirer, ni même agiter son pays, il allait souvent

porter l'hommage de sa fidélité à la cour des rois tombés. Il ne versa
jamais sur le seuil de leur exil l'amertume ou le dénigrement, qui
ouvre le sanctuaire de l'infortune, comme cette fidélité d'ostentation
qui montre du doigt aux ennemis du dehors les faiblesses ou les
ridicules de l'intérieur des rois.

Les Mémoires de M. de Chateaubriand sont pleins de railleries

inconvenantes; M. de Marcellus s'en préserva. Il aurait voulu sans
doute conseiller dignement son prince, il ne s'offensa jamais de se
voir préférer les conseils d'autrui.

La République de 1848 lui donna la joie de voir la France libre de

se choisir un gouvernement; il ne se fit pas les illusions des partis
pressés de nouvelles chutes; il ne participa ni aux illusions, ni aux
fusions, ni aux conspirations; il comprit que la fin du siècle était au
tâtonnement, aux essais, aux déviations du peuple en tout sens. Il
se dévoua tout entier à l'étude, région sereine, d'où l'on voit tout
sans s'étonner de rien.

XXVI.
 De cette vie d'étude il sortit successivement pour une demi-
publicité d'élite une longue série de livres, les uns, souvenirs
personnels de ses voyages, fleurs de sa jeunesse, recueillies de vingt
à vingt-cinq ans en Orient, desséchées entre les pages de ses notes
rapides, dont il recueillit à loisir l'essence et l'odeur pour en
recomposer les meilleurs parfums de sa vie; les autres, des
morceaux d'histoire diplomatique et politique, très-neufs, très-
originaux, très-instructifs, qui révèlent au temps présent les pensées
calomniées du gouvernement des Bourbons; les autres enfin,
entièrement d'érudition littéraire, traductions, dissertations,
commentaires sur les textes du grec ancien et du grec moderne dont
il a prodigieusement enrichi la littérature de ces derniers temps. De
ces livres, quelques-uns sont exclusivement réservés aux érudits
hellénistes; d'autres contiennent, à côté des textes grecs, des
commentaires anecdotiques qui mêlent avec grâce et naïveté
l'homme au mot, et qui révèlent les mœurs des peuples par une
leçon sur leur idiome.

Jamais l'intérêt et la grâce n'avaient été plus indissolublement

pétris dans des pages scientifiques; même quand on ne lit pas le
texte, on lit le commentaire, et on emporte des images ravissantes
de tous les pays qu'on a parcourus avec un tel guide.

Dans ses dernières années, M. de Marcellus, persévérant dans son

exhumation des trésors de la Grèce moyenne, traduisait encore le
poëme de décadence de Nonnos, poëte égyptien du IVe siècle, qui
fit une dernière épopée en grec, débauche d'érudition dont M. de
Marcellus s'excuse avec raison, et dont rien ne peut l'excuser que
son loisir.

Ce beau et pénible travail ne pouvait servir que quelques curieux

de l'Académie des inscriptions. Puisqu'il se consacrait au servile et
aride labeur de la traduction, la vraie Grèce, la Grèce originale et
classique, n'avait-elle rien à lui offrir de plus précieux que Nonnos?
Lui, si digne de traduire Homère, lui qui en avait sucé la moelle dans
l'Épire et dans la moindre île de l'Archipel, ne pouvait-il pas lutter
avec ces pédants qui nous traduisent des textes morts au lieu de
nous traduire des mœurs et des lieux dont ils ne peuvent découvrir
le sens à travers la littéralité des vers? Est-ce qu'un poëme populaire
comme celui d'Homère n'est pas une perpétuelle allusion? Est-ce que
l'allusion n'est pas la clef du poëte épique et populaire?

XXVII.
Jamais je ne me consolerai que M. de Marcellus ou M. de
Chateaubriand ne nous ait pas traduit Homère et la Bible; c'était un
travail digne d'eux, et ils étaient dignes de ce travail!

Homère, par M. de Marcellus, la Bible, par Chateaubriand, eussent

été deux livres précieux pour la littérature française; elle manque
d'antiquités, ils lui auraient donné ce qui lui manque. Chateaubriand
ne le daigna pas, Marcellus ne le tenta pas, mais par modestie! L'un
et l'autre furent emportés longtemps, par le courant politique, loin
des études qui immortalisent, vers les grandeurs qui trompent;
quand la politique les rejeta comme des naufragés sur les rivages,
Chateaubriand était trop vieux, Marcellus trop timide. L'un écrivit ses
Mémoires d'outre-tombe, qui ne sont que l'écho trop âpre des
passions de sa vie, un Saint-Simon personnel, chargeant la postérité
de ses petites vengeances; l'autre se contenta d'amuser les loisirs de
sa vie retirée par des éruditions curieuses, par des souvenirs
historiques, et par des traductions d'œuvres secondaires qui
méritèrent bien de ses contemporains, mais qui ne donnèrent pas à
son nom toute la célébrité que ses travaux méritent.

XXVIII.
Parmi ces livres, qu'on pourrait appeler Opuscules, Mélanges,
quelques-uns cependant, quoique écrits d'un ton familier et léger,
sont des fragments très-diserts, très-graves et très-distingués
d'histoire contemporaine, des documents très-intéressants d'histoire
du siècle.

La politique de la Restauration, entre autres, est une justice

sévèrement rendue à la haute pensée de Louis XVIII, le vrai roi de la
liberté moderne, compatible avec la démocratie, vraie pensée du
temps.

Nous l'étudierons tout à l'heure.

XXIX.
À peine retiré dans son honorable repos et dans son volontaire exil
d'Audour, il ne consuma pas son loisir à se plaindre du sort qui se
joue des hommes: il se replia sur lui-même, et il écrivit, tout chaud
encore de ses impressions de jeunesse, ses Souvenirs d'Orient. C'est
une odyssée en prose tout à la fois élégante, badine, pittoresque,
érudite, charmante, de six mois, à travers la mer homérique. On suit
ce jeune homme d'île en île, d'écueil en écueil, de continent en
continent, de surprise en surprise, Homère à la main, de Byzance en
Égypte, d'Égypte en Syrie, de Syrie en Palestine, de Palestine à
Jérusalem, de Jérusalem à la mer Morte, de Jéricho à Chypre, de
Chypre à Scio et aux montagnes de l'Albanie.

La lecture de ces deux civilisations, la Bible, l'Évangile, l'Odyssée

dans les mains, est un cours d'histoire, de poésie, de jeunesse en
action, qui retrempe l'âme dans l'âpre senteur de l'Archipel.

Il me semblait, en parcourant ces deux volumes, que je naviguais

moi-même, comme dans ma jeunesse, sur ces flots classiques, et
qu'au réveil des nuits pendant lesquelles le flot mouvant fait franchir
les distances, le brouillard du matin, dissipé au souffle du vent d'été,
tirait le rideau du ciel sur l'une ou l'autre de ces îles, et les faisait
repasser sous mes yeux avec leur nom, leur histoire, leur poésie,
leurs costumes, leur population: pittoresques étoiles de la mer bleue,
resplendissantes au matin sur le fond clair de ce ciel d'eau.

À chaque île son impression, sa citation, son anecdote, son

souvenir touchant ou local, son enchantement, sa mémoire!
Éternelle jeunesse de la poésie de l'histoire, de la nature, de l'amour,
se répercutant dans la jeunesse du navigateur! Le caractère de ce
livre, c'est la jeunesse, c'est l'ivresse, c'est la fête du cœur et de
l'esprit. M. de Marcellus a vingt ans, et il vogue à travers les illusions
de la vie dans cet archipel des plus beaux songes de l'homme! À
chaque île, il faudrait citer une scène et un vers! Lisez tout, et vous
retrouverez vous-même vos vingt ans.

Il y a là cependant un souvenir qui rappelle les miens plus que

tous les autres: c'est celui d'une femme célèbre, énigme mystérieuse
du roman ou de l'histoire, lady Esther Stanhope, que M. de Marcellus
visita auprès de Saïde, dans la fleur de sa beauté et dans le prestige
de ses aventures, et que je visitai moi-même, vingt ans après, dans
la maturité de ses années et dans la constance de son exil du vieux
monde!

XXX.
Écoutez M. de Marcellus:

«J'étais à Saïde (l'ancienne Sidon) le 15 juin 1820, un mois après

mon départ de Constantinople. Une faible brise de l'ouest amena
l'Estafette à l'abri de l'écueil qui forme à lui seul la rade de la ville,
depuis que le célèbre prince des Druses, Fakhr-el-din (Facardin), en
a fait combler le port pour éloigner les flottes turques.

«À notre arrivée devant chaque ville, avant de saluer le pavillon

ottoman, le capitaine envoyait un officier à terre pour y régler cette
cérémonie. Ici, l'enseigne de vaisseau détaché pour la négociation
revint nous assurer de tout le désir qu'on avait de nous rendre notre
politesse maritime; mais en même temps, le château se trouvant
totalement privé de poudre, le gouverneur turc priait le capitaine
français de lui en faire passer autant de charges qu'il désirait de
coups de canon. Cette réponse égaya l'équipage; et il fut stipulé
qu'on se dispenserait de part et d'autre de l'étiquette. Mais, je ne
sais pourquoi, j'ai plus envie de croire à l'avarice du gouverneur
qu'au dénûment de la citadelle.

«Le mouillage de Saïde étant peu sûr, je vis la goëlette mettre à la

voile pour Saint-Jean d'Acre, où nous nous donnâmes rendez-vous,
et je restai seul sur la côte de Syrie.

XXXI.
«Quelques Français, nés sous cet heureux climat, m'accueillirent
avec tout ce qu'ils pouvaient se rappeler de notre langue, qui fut
celle de leurs pères, mais qu'eux-mêmes ne parlent plus aujourd'hui:
quelques mots usuels leur sont venus par tradition. Le consul lui-
même, familiarisé avec de nouvelles mœurs, avait peine à se
souvenir en ma faveur des habitudes françaises. Mon oreille,
accoutumée aux sons rapides et doux de la langue grecque, aux
articulations lentes et sonores de l'idiome turc, se trouvait
entièrement étrangère au ton de l'arabe vulgaire, et semblait
frappée par instant de quelques phrases harmonieuses au milieu des
cris d'un jargon guttural.

«Cet isolement complet redoubla le désir que j'avais depuis

longtemps de me rapprocher du seul Européen habitant ces
contrées. Je savais que lady Esther Stanhope s'était établie en Syrie,
et qu'elle était alors dans sa maison d'Abra, voisine de Saïde.

«Cette illustre Anglaise avait résolu, après la mort de son oncle le

célèbre Pitt, de voyager longtemps loin de son pays: peut-être
même, dès lors, se promit-elle de ne plus revenir en Angleterre.
 «Elle visita d'abord la France et l'Italie, puis l'Allemagne, la Russie
et Constantinople. Elle passa trois mois dans la ville de Brousse en
Bithynie, au pied du mont Olympe, et fut tentée de s'y fixer pour
toujours. Mais Brousse a une population de soixante mille âmes;
c'est la province la plus voisine et la plus dépendante du sérail; il
fallait autour de lady Stanhope de la solitude et de la liberté.

«Elle passa en Égypte; elle fut la première femme qui osât

pénétrer sous les voûtes de la grande pyramide; puis elle fit
naufrage sur l'île de Chypre. Après avoir vu Jérusalem, Damas et
Palmyre, elle choisit le Liban pour sa résidence. Elle y fit construire
une maison; elle apprit l'arabe.

«Le costume des femmes syriennes lui parut incommode, et

propre seulement à la vie sédentaire et intérieure; l'habit européen
l'exposait trop à la curiosité et à l'attention des Druses; elle adopta
donc les vêtements des hommes du pays.

«On lui fait passer de Londres ses revenus: sa fortune est en Syrie
au moins égale à celle d'un scheik puissant. Elle fait du bien autour
d'elle; elle s'est acquis une véritable considération pour ses bienfaits,
comme par la noblesse de ses manières et son goût pour la solitude,
grande vertu aux yeux des hommes du désert.

XXXII.
«Tous ces détails que j'avais recueillis sur lady Esther Stanhope
excitaient de plus en plus mon intérêt; mais j'étais fort embarrassé
pour obtenir d'être admis dans sa retraite. J'avais appris que
plusieurs voyageurs, qui s'étaient hardiment et sans préambule
présentés chez elle, en étaient partis sans l'avoir vue. J'essayai
d'intéresser à mon tour sa curiosité; et je sollicitai la permission de
la voir par un billet très-laconique, où je n'ajoutais ni mon nom, ni
aucune des politesses de convention en Europe; le billet même
semblait tenir quelque chose de la rudesse du désert; il ne contenait
que ces mots:

«Un jeune Français, passant à Saïde, prie lady Esther Stanhope de

lui permettre de la voir.»

«Lady Stanhope m'a avoué depuis que j'avais en effet attiré son
attention; elle ne pouvait croire, disait-elle, qu'une demande sans
compliments ni emphase fût d'un voyageur uniquement indiscret ou
curieux. Elle y répondit en m'envoyant un guide chargé de remettre
au consul la lettre suivante:

«Monsieur le Consul,

J'ai reçu le billet d'un jeune Français, et je vous adresse ma

réponse pour lui, puisqu'il ne dit ni son nom ni sa demeure. Je vous
serais bien obligée de lui faire savoir que, si la visite qu'il désire me
faire est dictée par un motif de curiosité ou de simple politesse, je le
prie de m'en dispenser, attendu que je suis tout à fait reléguée, et
que je ne vois personne. Si, au contraire, il a quelque chose à me
dire, il peut très-bien vous remettre une lettre pour moi. Et dans le
cas où il serait pressé de partir, et dans ce cas seulement, il pourra
venir avec le porteur—de ces lignes, qui est un homme à mon
service.

Esther-Lucy Stanhope.

«Je me déclarai très-pressé de partir, et je choisis la dernière

alternative que m'offrait lady Stanhope; je me mis aussitôt en route
avec l'Arabe qu'elle m'avait envoyé.

«Le village d'Abra, où elle réside, est à une lieue de Saïde.

J'avançai peu à peu vers la montagne, au milieu des beaux jardins et
des ruisseaux qui entourent la ville; puis, traversant des collines
arides formées d'une couche de roche blanchâtre, je me trouvai au
pied des premières chaînes du Liban. Après quelques minutes d'une
ascension pénible, j'arrivai près de la maison de Cid Milady (seigneur
Milady). C'est le nom que donnent les Arabes à la femme
extraordinaire que j'allais voir.

XXXIII.
«Sur le devant d'une grande maison bâtie en terre, comme la
plupart de celles du pays, était un petit perron que défendait des
rayons du soleil un toit de chaume supporté par quelques piliers.
C'est là que je vis de loin un Bédouin assis sur une peau d'ours; et,
sans m'étonner de reconnaître sous ce costume lady Stanhope, j'allai
directement à elle.

«En me voyant, elle mit la main sur son cœur, à la manière dont
les Arabes saluent, et, sans se lever, elle me fit place à ses côtés. Je
remarquai, avant tout, ses vêtements d'homme asiatiques, dont
l'adoption, l'avouerai-je, ne me parut pas ridicule; bientôt même mes
yeux et mon esprit s'y habituèrent au point d'oublier le sexe de mon
hôte, et ce n'était pas l'habit seul qui prêtait à l'illusion.

«Lady Stanhope portait un manteau de drap jaune foncé; une

tunique rayée, de couleur violette et blanche, descendait jusqu'à ses
pieds; de longues manches ouvertes laissaient apercevoir la
blancheur de ses bras; des babouches en cuir jaune s'élevaient
jusqu'à la moitié de ses jambes; un cachemire blanc couvrait
entièrement sa tête, et un mouchoir peint de mille couleurs, ainsi
qu'on les fabrique à Smyrne, entourait son visage: les deux bouts de
ce mouchoir tombaient sur ses épaules. Elle m'en expliqua l'usage:
l'un servait à assujettir son turban, et l'autre à cacher sa figure,
quand elle ne voulait pas être reconnue. Ce costume est à peu de
chose près celui que portent les hommes arabes; mais, par sa
richesse, il n'aurait pu appartenir qu'au chef d'une tribu.

«J'admirais sous ces habits une femme d'une haute stature; ses
yeux grands et vifs s'arrêtaient autour d'elle avec douceur et bonté.
Sa figure allongée et pâle aurait peint le sentiment, si elle n'avait
voulu lui faire exprimer l'énergie et le courage. Je la trouvai belle, et
je lui aurais donné quarante ans.

XXXIV.
«Lady Stanhope me demanda mon nom: je vis que les journaux
qu'on lui envoyait de temps en temps, malgré ses ordres, ajouta-t-
elle, le lui avaient déjà prononcé; j'ajoutai que des fonctions
m'attachaient à la résidence de Constantinople, d'où je venais; et
elle me parla de quelques hommes d'État anglais que j'avais dû y
voir.

«Le secrétaire-interprète de l'ambassade, me dit-elle, M. Terrik

Hamilton, grand orientaliste, n'a pu néanmoins retracer que
faiblement, dans sa traduction du poëme d'Antar, le caractère
poétique et guerrier des Arabes. Un seul homme était digne de
commander aux Arabes comme au monde. Les rois de l'Europe l'ont
exilé... Ils en seront punis, ils le méritent.

«Depuis que cet homme n'est plus sur le trône, tout est changé;
le trouble reparaît partout; l'Espagne n'a plus de roi; l'Angleterre et
l'Allemagne sont déchirées de factions; un horrible assassinat vient
de recommencer la révolution en France, je vous plains tous et je
vous fuis.

«Mes sentiments, Monsieur, ne doivent pas être les vôtres, je le

sais; mais vous apprécierez ma franchise, et je ne dois point payer
votre visite par une dissimulation qui n'est pas dans mon cœur. Mais
entrons, nous causerons plus à notre aise.

«Je me fis répéter cette invitation, car j'étais plongé dans une
rêverie profonde. Le soleil se couchait dans la mer de Chypre, mes
regards planaient sur la verte plage de Saïde; la chaîne du Liban
chargé de lourds nuages noirs se prolongeait vers le nord; ma
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