Chapter 36
There is a stirring vitality of busy life about this your city of New York, striking with astonishment the stranger's mind. How great is the progress of Humanity! Its steps are counted by centuries, and yet while countless millions stand almost at the same point where they stood, and some even have declined since America first emerged out of an unexplored darkness which had covered her for thousands of years, like the gem in the sea; while it is but yesterday a few pilgrims landed on the wild coast of Plymouth, flying from causeless oppression, seeking but for a place of refuge and of rest, and for a free spot in the wilderness to adore the Almighty in their own way; still, in such a brief time, shorter than the recorded genealogy of the noble horse of the wandering Arab; yes, almost within the turn of the hand, out of the unknown wilderness a mighty empire arose, broad as an ocean, solid as a mountain-rock, and upon the scarcely rotted roots of the primitive forest, proud cities stand, teeming with boundless life, growing like the prairie's grass in spring, advancing like the steam-engine, baffling time and distance like the telegraph, and spreading the pulsation of their life-tide to the remotest parts of the world; and in those cities and on that broad land a nation, free as the mountain air, independent as the soaring eagle, active as nature, and powerful as the giant strength of millions of freemen.
How wonderful! What a present--and what a future yet!
Future?--then let me stop at this mysterious word--the veil of unrevealed eternity!
The shadow of that dark word passed across my mind, and amid the bustle of this gigantic bee-hive, there I stood with meditation alone.
And the spirit of the immovable Past rose before my eyes, unfolding the misty picture-rolls of vanished greatness, and of the fragility of human things.
And among their dissolving views, there I saw the scorched soil of Africa, and upon that soil Thebes with its hundred gates, more splendid than the most splendid of all the existing cities of the world; Thebes, the pride of old Egypt, the first metropolis of arts and sciences, and the mysterious cradle of so many doctrines which still rule mankind in different shapes, though it has long forgotten their source. There I saw Syria with its hundred cities, every city a nation, and every nation with an empire's might. Baalbec, with its gigantic temples, the very ruins of which baffle the imagination of man, as they stand like mountains of carved rocks in the desert where for hundreds of miles not a stone is to be found, and no river flows, offering its tolerant back to carry a mountain's weight upon, and yet there they stand, those gigantic ruins; and as we glance at them with astonishment, though we have mastered the mysterious elements of nature, and know the combination of levers, and how to catch the lightning, and to command the power of steam and of compressed air, and how to write with the burning fluid out of which the thunderbolt is forged, and how to drive the current of streams up the mountain's top, and how to make the air shine in the night like the light of the sun, and how to dive to the bottom of the deep ocean, and how to rise up to the sky--though we know all this, and many things else, still, looking at the temples of Baalbec, we cannot forbear to ask what people of giants was that, which could do what neither the efforts of our skill nor the ravaging hand of unrelenting time can undo, through thousands of years. And then I saw the dissolving picture of Nineveh, with its ramparts now covered with mountains of sand, where Layard is digging up colossal winged bulls, huge as a mountain, and yet carved with the nicety of a cameo; and then Babylon, with its wonderful walls; and Jerusalem, with its unequalled temple; Tyrus, with its countless fleets; Arad, with its wharves; and Sidon, with its labyrinth of work-shops and factories; and Ascalon, and Gaza, and Beyrout, and farther off Persepolis, with its world of palaces.
All these passed before my eyes as they have been, and again they passed as they now are, with no trace of their ancient greatness, but here and there a ruin, and everywhere the desolation of tombs. With all their splendour, power, and might, they vanished like a bubble, or like the dream of a child, leaving but for a moment a drop of cold sweat upon the sleeper's brow, or a quivering smile upon his lips; then, this wiped away, dream, sweat, smile--all is nothingness.
So the powerful cities of the ancient greatness of a giant age; their very memory but a sad monument of the fragility of human things.
And yet, proud of the passing hour's bliss, men speak of the future, and believe themselves insured against its vicissitudes!
And the spirit of history rolled on the misty shapes of the past before the eyes of my soul. After those cities of old came the nations of old. The Assyrians, the Chaldeans, the war-like Philistines, the commercial republics of Phoenicia and the Persians, ruling from the Indus to the Mediterranean, and Egypt becoming the centre of the universe, after having been thousands of years ago the cradle of its civilization.
Where is the power, the splendour, and the glory of all those mighty nations? All has vanished without other trace than such as the foot of the wanderer leaves upon the dust.
And still men speak of the future with proud security!
And yet they know that Carthage is no more, though it ruled Spain, and ruled Africa beyond the pillars of Hercules down to Cerne, an immense territory, blessed with all the blessings of nature, which Hannon filled with flourishing cities, of which now no trace remains.
And men speak of the future, though they know that such things as heroic Greece once did exist, glorious in its very ruins, and a source of everlasting inspiration in its immortal memory.
Men speak of the future, and still they can rehearse the powerful colonies issued from Greece, and the empires their heroic sons have founded. And they can mark out with a finger on the map, the unparalleled conquests of Alexander; how he crossed victoriously that desert whence Semiramis, out of a countless host, brought home but twenty men; and Cyrus, out of a still larger number, only seven men. But he (Alexander) went on in triumph, and conquered India up to the Hydaspes as he conquered before Tyrus and Egypt, and secured with prudence what he had conquered with indomitable energy.
And men speak of the future, though they know that such a thing did exist as Rome, the Mistress of the World--Rome rising from atomic smallness to immortal greatness, and to a grandeur absorbing the world--Rome, now having all her citizens without, and now again having all the world within her walls; and passing through all the vicissitudes of gigantic rise, wavering decline, and mournful fall. And men speak of the future still with these awful monuments of fragility before their eyes!
But it is the sad fate of Humanity that, encompassing its hopes, fears, contentment, and wishes, within the narrow scope of momentary satisfaction, the great lesson of history is taught almost in vain. Whatever be its warnings, we rely on our good fortune; and we are ingenious in finding out some soothing pretext to lull down the dreadful admonitions of history. Man, in his private capacity, consoles the instinctive apprehension of his heart with the idea that his condition is different from what warningly strikes his mind. The patriot feels well, that not only the present, but also the future of his beloved country, has a claim to his cares; but he lulls himself into carelessness by the ingenious consolation that the condition of his country is different--that it is not obnoxious to those faults which made other countries decline and fall; that the time is different; the character and spirit of the nation are different, its power not so precarious, and its prosperity more solid; and that, therefore, it will not share the same fate of those which vanished like a dream. And the philanthropist, also, whose heart throbs for the lasting welfare of all humanity, cheers his mind with the idea that, after all, mankind at large is happier than it was of yore, and that this happiness ensures the future against the reverses of olden times.
That fallacy, natural as it may be, is a curse which weighs heavily on us. Let us see in what respect our age is different from those olden times. Is mankind more virtuous than it has been of yore? Why, in this enlightened age, are we not looking for virtuous inspirations to the god-like characters of these olden times? If we take virtue to be love of the laws, and of the Fatherland, dare we say that our age is more virtuous? If that man is to be called virtuous, who, in all his acts, is but animated by a regard to the common good, and who, in every case, feels ready to subordinate his own selfish interest to public exigencies--if that be virtue (as indeed it is), I may well appeal to the conscience of mankind to give an impartial verdict upon the question, if our age be more virtuous than the age of Codrus or of Regulus, of Decius and of Scaevola. Look to the school of Zeno, the stoics of immortal memory; and when you see them contemning alike the vanity of riches and the ambition of personal glory, impenetrable to the considerations of pleasure and of pain, occupied only to promote public welfare and to fulfil their duties toward the community; when you see them inspired in all their acts by the doctrine that, born in a society, it is their duty to live for the benefit of society; and when you see them placing their own happiness only upon the happiness of their fellow-men--then say if our too selfish, too material age can stand a comparison with that olden period. When you remember the politicians of ancient Greece, acknowledging no other basis for the security of the commonwealth than virtue, and see the political system of our days turning only upon manufactures, commerce, and finances, will you say that our age is more virtuous? When, looking to your own country--the best and happiest, because the freest of all--you will not dissimulate in your own mind what considerations influence the platforms of your political parties; and then in contra-position will reflect upon those times when Timon of Athens, chosen to take part in his country's government, assembled his friends and renounced their friendship, in order that he might not be tempted by party considerations or by affections of amity, in his important duties toward the commonwealth. Then, having thus reflected, say, "Take you our own age to be more virtuous, and therefore more ensured against the reverses of fortune, than those older times?"
But perhaps there is a greater amount of private happiness, and by the broad diffusion of private welfare, the security of the commonwealth is more lasting and more sure?
Caraccioli, having been ambassador in England, when returned to Italy, said, "that England is the most detestable country in the world, because there are to be found twenty different sorts of religion, but only two kinds of sauces with which to season meat."
There is a point in that questionable jest. Materialism! curse of our age! Who can seriously speak about the broad diffusion of happiness in a country where contentment is measured according to how many kinds of sauces we can taste? My people is by far not the most material. We are not much given to the cupidity of becoming rich. We know the word "enough." The simplicity of our manners makes us easily contented in our material relations; we like rather to be free than to be rich; we look for an honourable profit, that we may have upon what to live; but we don't like to live for the sake of profit; augmentation of property and of wealth with us is not the aim of our life--we prefer tranquil, independent mediocrity to the incessant excitement and incessant toil of cupidity and gain. Such is the character of my nation; and yet I have known a countryman of mine who blew out his brains because he had no means more to eat daily _patés de foi gras_ and drink champagne. Well, that was no Hungarian character, but, though somewhat eccentrically, he characterized the leading feature of our century.
Indeed, are your richest money-kings happier than Fabricius was, when he preferred his seven acres of land, worked by his own hands, to the treasures of an empire? Are the ladies of to-day, adorned with all the gorgeous splendour of wealth, of jewels, and of art, happier than those ladies of ancient Rome have been, to whom it was forbidden to wear silk and jewelry, or drive in a carriage through the streets of Rome? Are the ladies of to-day happier in their splendid parlours, than the Portias and the Cornelias have been in the homely retirement of their modest nurseries? Nay; all that boundless thirst of wealth, which is the ruling spirit of our age, and the moving power of enterprising energy, all this hunting after treasures, and all its happiest results, have they made men nobler, better, and happier? Have they improved their soul, or even their body and their health, at least so much that the richest of men could eat and digest two dinners instead of one? Or has the insatiable thirst of material gain originated a purer patriotism? has it made mankind more devoted to their country, more ready to sacrifice for public interest? If that were the case, then I would gladly confess the error of my doubts, and take the pretended larger amount of happiness for a guarantee of the future of the commonwealth. But, ladies and gentlemen! a single word--the manner in which we use it, distorting its original meaning, often characterizes a whole century. You all know the word "_idiot_;" almost every living language has adopted it, and all languages attach to it the idea that an "idiot" is a poor, ignorant, useless wretch, nearly insane. Well, "idiot" is a word of Greek extraction, and meant with the Greek a man who cared nothing for the public interest, but was all devoted to the selfish pursuit of private profit, whatever might have been its results to the community. Oh! what an immense, what a deplorable change must have occurred in the character of Humanity, till unconsciously we came to the point, that by what name the ancient Greeks would have styled those European money-kings, who, for a miserable profit, administer to the unrelenting despots their eternal loans, to oppress nations with, we now apply that very name to the wretched creatures incapable to do any thing for themselves. We bear compassion for the idiots of to-day, but the modern editions of Greek idiotism, though loaded with the bloody scars of a hundred thousand orphans, and with the curse of millions, stand high in honour, and go on, proudly glorying in their criminal idiotism, heaping up the gold of the world.
But I may be answered, after all, though our age be not so virtuous, and though the large accumulation in wealth has in reality not made mankind happier; still, it cannot be denied, you are in a prosperous condition, and prosperity is a solid basis of your country's future. Industry, navigation, commerce, have so much developed, they have formed so many ties by which every citizen is linked to his country's fate, that your own material interest is a security to your country's future.
In loving your own selves you love your country, and in loving your country you love your own selves. This community of public and private interest will make you avoid the stumbling-block over which others fell. Prosperity is, of course, a great benefit; it is one of the aims of human society; but when prosperity becomes too material, it does not always guarantee the future. Paradoxical as it may appear, too much prosperity is often dangerous, and some national misfortune is now and then a good preservative of prosperity. For great prosperity makes nations careless of their future; seeing no immediate danger, they believe no danger possible; and then when a danger comes, either by sudden chance or by the slow accumulation of noxious elements, then, frightened by the idea that in meeting the danger their private property might be injured or lost, selfishness often prevails over patriotism, and men become ready to submit to arrogant pretensions, and compromise with exigencies at the price of principles, and republics flatter despots, and freemen covet the friendship and indulgence of tyrants, only that things may go on just as they go, though millions weep and nations groan; but still, things should go on just as they go, because every change may claim a sacrifice, or affect our thriving private interest. Such is often the effect of too great, of too secure prosperity. Therefore, prosperity alone affords yet no security.
You remember the tale of Polycrates. He was the happiest of men; good luck attended every one of his steps; success crowned all he undertook, and a friend thus spoke to him: "Thou art too happy for thy happiness to last. Appease the anger of the Eumenides by a voluntary sacrifice, or deprive thyself of what thou most valuest among all that thou possessest." Polycrates obeyed, and drew from his finger a precious jewel, of immense value, dear to his heart, and threw it into the sea. Soon after a fish was brought to his house, and his cook found the precious ring in the belly of the fish; but the friend who advised him hastened to flee from the house, and shook the dust of its threshold from his shoes, because he feared a great mischief must fall upon that too prosperous house. There is a deep meaning in that tale of Polycrates.
Machiavel says, that it is now and then necessary to recall the constituting essential principles to the memory of nations. And who is charged by Providence with this task? Misfortune! It was the battles of Cannaê and of Thrasymene which recalled the Romans to the love of their fatherland; nations had till now, about such things, no other teacher than misfortune. They should choose to have a less afflicting one. They can have it. To point this out will be the final object of my remarks, but so much is certain, that prosperity alone is yet no security for the future, even of the happiest commonwealth. Those ancient nations have been also prosperous. They were industrious, as your nation is; their land has been covered with cities and villages, well-cultivated fields, blessed with the richest crops, and crowded with countless herds spread over immense territories, furrowed with artificial roads; their flourishing cities swarmed with artists, and merchants, and workmen, and pilots, and sailors, like as New York does. Their busy labourers built gigantic water-works, digged endless canals, and carried distant waters through the sands of the desert; their mighty, energetic spirit built large and secure harbours, dried the marshy lakes, covered the sea with vessels, the land with living beings, and spread a creation of life and movement along the earth. Their commerce was broad as the known world. Tyre exchanged its purple for the silk of Serica; Cashmere's soft shawls, to-day yet a luxury of the wealthiest, the diamonds of Golconda, the gorgeous carpets of Lydia, the gold of Ophir and Saba, the aromatic spices and jewels of Ceylon, and the pearls and perfumes of Arabia, the myrrh, silver, gold dust, and ivory of Africa, as well as the amber of the Baltic and the tin of Thulé, appeared alike in their commerce, raising them in turn to the dominion of the world, and undoing them by too careless prosperity. The manner and the shape of one or the other art, of one or other industry, has changed; the steam-engine has replaced the rowing-bench, and cannon replaced the catapult; but, as a whole, even your country, which you are proud to hear styled "the living wonder of the world"--yes, even your country in the New World, and England in the Old--England, that gigantic workshop of industry, surrounded with a beautiful evergreen garden; yes, all the dominions of the Anglo-Saxon race, can claim no higher praise of its prosperity, than when we say, that you have reproduced the grandeur of those ancient nations, and nearly equal their prosperity. And what has become of them? A sad skeleton. What remains of their riches, of their splendour, and of their vast dominions? An obscure recollection; a vain memory. Thus fall empires; thus vanish nations, which have no better guardians than their prosperity. But "we have," will you say, "we have a better guardian--our freedom, our republican institutions; our confederation uniting so many glorious stars into one mighty galaxy--these are the ramparts of our present, these our future security."