Metternich did not seem to be ambitious of further territorial aggrandizement for his country; it required all his talents to preserve what she had.  Indeed, the preservation of the status quo everywhere was his desire, without change, and without progress.  He was a conservative, like the English Lord Eldon, who supported established institutions because they were established; and any movement or any ideas which interrupted the order of things were hateful to him, especially agitations for greater political liberty.  A constitutional government was his abhorrence.

Hence, the policy of Metternich’s home rule was fatal to all expansion, to all emancipating movements, to all progress, to everything which looked like popular liberty.  Men might smoke, drink beer, attend concerts and theatres, amuse themselves in any way they pleased, but they should not congregate together to discuss political questions; they should not form clubs or societies with political intent of any kind; they should not even read agitating tracts and books.  He could not help their thinking, but they should not criticise his government.  They should be taught in schools directed by Roman Catholic priests, who were good classical scholars, good mathematicians, but who knew but little and cared less about theories of political economy, or even history unless modified to suit religious bigots of the Mediaeval type.  He maintained that men should be contented with the sphere in which they were born; that discontent was no better than rebellion against Providence; that any change would be for the worse.  He had no liking for universities, in which were fomented liberal ideas; and those professors who sought to disturb the order of things, or teach new ideas,—­anything to make young scholars think upon anything but ordinary duties,—­were silenced or discharged or banished.  The word “rights” was an abomination to him; men, he thought, had no rights,—­only duties.  He disliked the Press more than he did the universities.  It was his impression that it was antagonistic to all existing governments; hence he fettered the Press with restrictions, and confined it to details of little importance.  He would allow no comments which unsettled the minds of readers.  In no country was the censorship of the Press more inexorable than in Austria and its dependent States.  All that spies and a secret police and priests could do to ferret out associations which had in view a greater liberty, was done; all that soldiers could do to suppress popular insurrection was effected,—­and all in the name of religion, since he looked upon free inquiry as logically leading to scepticism, and scepticism to infidelity, and infidelity to revolution.