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If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Ancient Rome and Modern America; - A Comparative Study of Morals and Manners - -Author: Guglielmo Ferrero - -Release Date: December 8, 2021 [eBook #66901] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Turgut Dincer, Charlie Howard, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANCIENT ROME AND MODERN -AMERICA; *** - - - - - ANCIENT ROME AND - MODERN AMERICA - - A COMPARATIVE STUDY OF MORALS - AND MANNERS - - BY - - GUGLIELMO FERRERO - - AUTHOR OF “THE GREATNESS AND DECLINE OF ROME,” ETC. - - - G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS - NEW YORK AND LONDON - The Knickerbocker Press - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1914 - - BY - - GUGLIELMO FERRERO - - - Third Impression - - - The Knickerbocker Press, New York - - - - -PUBLISHER’S NOTE - - -The reader will find in the following pages reference to another work -by Dr. Ferrero which will shortly come into publication under the title -of _Between the Old World and the New_. It is in order to explain -that _Between the Old World and the New_ was brought into print in -continental editions (in Italy, in France and elsewhere) before the -publication of the present work. The author has, however, decided, -that for the English-speaking readers of the two volumes it would be -advisable to change the order of publication and to issue first this -study of Morals and Manners. The second book, _Between the Old World -and the New_, will appear, in New York and in London, early in the -autumn of 1914. - - NEW YORK, - _April, 1914_. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - _PART ONE_ - - WHAT IS PROGRESS? 3 - - - _PART TWO_ - - ANCIENT HISTORY AND THE MODERN WORLD - - CHAPTER - I. ANCIENT SOCIAL SYSTEMS AND CONTEMPORARY AMERICA 21 - - II. QUANTITY AND QUALITY 40 - - III. WOMAN AND HOME 60 - - IV. THE LESSON OF THE FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE 77 - - V. UPS AND DOWNS 97 - - - _PART THREE_ - - EUROPE AND AMERICA - - I. THE AMERICAN DEFINITION OF PROGRESS 115 - - II. FACTS AND MOTIVES IN THE MODERN WORLD 139 - - III. MORE OR BETTER? 161 - - IV. THE LOST PARADISE OF BEAUTY 182 - - V. BEYOND EVERY LIMIT 201 - - VI. THE RIDDLE OF AMERICA 223 - - - _PART FOUR_ - - POLITICS AND JUSTICE IN ANCIENT ROME - - I. THE TRIAL OF VERRES 251 - - II. THE TRIAL OF CLODIUS 275 - - III. THE TRIAL OF PISO 299 - - - _PART FIVE_ - - THE LIMIT OF SPORT 331 - - - - -ANCIENT ROME AND MODERN AMERICA - - - - -PART I - -WHAT IS PROGRESS? - - - - -WHAT IS PROGRESS? - - -The object of the essays collected in this volume, with the exception -of three which recount three curious episodes in Roman history, is -the investigation of the most important differences between the -ancient world and the modern, between Europe and America; in what -way and in what particulars the civilisations of the ancients and of -Europe have been modified respectively by the course of centuries -and by the passage of the Atlantic. The essays were printed in the -first instance in a monthly publication—_Hearst’s Magazine_—for the -perusal of the multitude of hasty readers who are content to skip from -argument to argument, and they are now republished in book form for -the benefit of those readers who may care to dwell on each argument -with greater deliberation. This volume may be considered as the bridge -which connects the _Greatness and Decline of Rome_ with a third work -which, under the title of _Between the Old World and the New_, will be -published shortly in New York and London. - -A comparison between the ancient world and the modern, between Europe -and America, suggested to a writer of ancient history by two long tours -in the New World—such is the subject of this volume; and such is the -subject of the further book which at an early date will again take up -a number of the matters outlined in these papers and will submit these -to more exhaustive consideration. But neither in this volume nor in its -successor must the reader expect the comparison to resolve itself into -a definite judgment; and if he imagines that he has discovered such a -verdict, he may rest assured that he is mistaken. This book, and the -other which will follow it, have been written with the express purpose -of emphasising how vain it is to spend our time, as we do, passing -judgment on the progress or decadence of the times, of nations, and of -civilisations; of showing how easy it is to reverse all the reasonings -by which, impelled by passions, interests, prejudices, or illusions, -we strive now to exalt, now to abase ourselves by comparison with the -ancients and by contrasting the inhabitants of one continent with -those of another; of indicating what an easy and sure target irony and -dialectic have in all the doctrines, opinions, and beliefs with which -man endeavours to establish his by-no-means sure judgments—all the -doctrines, including that of progress, at least in the sense in which -progress is generally understood. - -Including that of progress? the American reader will exclaim, with -some misgiving. But are we not living in the age of progress? Can that -idea of progress which every morning rises with the sun and sheds new -splendour on the two worlds on either side of the Atlantic, and with -the sun arouses them to their accustomed tasks—can it be that this -idea is but an illusion? No. The author of these two books has not so -much confidence in his own wisdom as to try to discover whether man -is really progressing or not; whether he is moving down the valley -of the centuries towards a fixed goal, or towards an illusion which -retreats with each step he takes in its direction. There is one point -only which the author proposes to make clear. There are at the present -day, on the one hand, those who despise the present and worship the -past, extol Europe and depreciate America; on the other hand, those who -declare that they would not give one hour of the marvellous present -in which they live for all the centuries of the past, and who rate -America far more highly than they do Europe. The author sets out to -show that the reason why the eternal disputes between the partisans of -these divergent views are so inconclusive, is that in this discussion, -as in so many others, each side postulates two different definitions -of progress, and in their discussions of the past and of the present, -of Europe and of America, they start from this dual definition as if -it were single and agreed. The result is that they cannot understand -and never will understand, if they discuss for a thousand years, each -other’s point of view. - -The worshippers of the present and the admirers of America argue, more -or less consciously, from a definition of progress which would identify -it with the increase of the power and speed of machines, of riches, -and of our control over nature, however much that control may involve -the frenzied squandering of the resources of the earth, which, while -immense, are not inexhaustible. And their arguments are sound in their -application to the present age, and also to America, if we grant that -their definition of progress is the true one. For though steam- and -electricity-driven machinery claims Europe as its birthplace, it has -reached maturity and has accomplished and is accomplishing its most -extraordinary feats in America, where, so to speak, it found virgin -soil to exploit. But the opposite school indignantly denies that men -are wasting their time and contributing nothing to the improvement and -progress of the world, when they strive to embellish it or to instruct -it, to soothe and to restrain its unbridled passions. In their view, -the masterpieces of art, the great religions, the discoveries of -science, the speculations of philosophy, the reform of laws, customs, -and constitutions, are milestones along the road to progress. According -to these, our age, intent only on making money, ought to be ashamed -when it compares itself with the past. Machines are the barbarians -of modern times, which have destroyed the fairest works of ancient -civilisations. History will show the discovery of America to have been -little less than a calamity. - -So two persons who, starting from these two definitions of progress, -set to work to judge the past and the present, Europe and America, -will never succeed in understanding each other, any more than two -persons who, wishing to measure a thing together, adopt two different -measures. And the discussion will be the more vain and confused, the -less clearly and precisely the thought of each disputant apprehends the -primary definition of progress, which does duty as a measure for each. -Indeed, this unfortunate state of affairs is commoner than is generally -supposed at the present day, with the need for hurry which pursues us -in every act and at every moment, and with the great whirl of ideas -and words which eddies around us. To decide, then, whether our times -are or are not greater than those of the ancients, whether America is -superior to Europe or Europe to America, we must discover which of -these two definitions is the true one. But is it possible to prove that -one of these definitions of progress is true and the other false? How -many to-day would dare to deny that man made the world progress when, -by the use of fire, he launched on the path of victory the locomotive -across the earth and the steamer across the ocean? Or when he captured -and led through threads of copper the invisible force of electricity -adrift in the universe? Or when he embellished the world with arts, and -enlightened it with studies, and tempered the innate ferocity of human -nature with laws, religion, and customs? It is clear that neither of -these two definitions will succeed in putting the other out of court, -until men are willing either to superhumanise themselves completely, -renouncing material goods in favour of spiritual joys, or, sacrificing -the latter to the former, to bestialise themselves. So long as men with -few exceptions continue to desire riches and the control of nature, -as well as beauty, wisdom, and justice, both these definitions of -progress will be _partially_ true. Each will present to us one aspect -of progress. It will be impossible, if we adopt only one of the two, to -decide whether we are progressive or decadent, whether America is worth -more or less than Europe. Every epoch and people will seem at one time -and another to be progressive or decadent, to be superior or inferior, -according as the one or the other definition is the basis of judgment. - -“But,” the reader will say, “why not then combine the two definitions -in one? Why not say that progress is the increase of all the good -things which man desires: of riches, of wisdom, of power, of beauty, -of justice?” But in order to make of these two definitions a single -complete and coherent definition, we should have to be certain that it -is possible by a single effort to increase all the good things of life. -Is it possible, and to what extent is it possible? That is a second -grave question which this book and its successor endeavour to answer. - -Many and various matters relating to Europe and America are discussed -in this book. Still more various and diverse are the discussions -in _Between the Old World and the New_, which presents a series of -dialogues occupying the leisure hours of a two weeks’ voyage, in the -course of which persons of different degrees of culture and diverse -casts of thought discuss Hamlet and progress, machinery and Homer, the -Copernican system and riches, science and Vedanta philosophy, Kant -and love, Europe and America, Christian Science and sexual morality. -These matters are discussed fitfully with mad rushes zigzag over the -universe; and the fits and rushes have somewhat dismayed certain -critics on this side of the Atlantic. “What a jumble!” they cry. “What -an encyclopædia, what an enormity it is! What can Homer and machinery, -Hamlet and America, Copernicus and emigration have in common?” - -In short, the perusal of _Between the Old World and the New_ in the -original Italian has produced upon more than one critic the same effect -as if he had come back to his house to find all his belongings, his -letters, his furniture, his clothes, shifted and turned upside down. -“What demon has been at work here?” he cries in dismay. Such critics -are not altogether wrong from their point of view. Nevertheless, this -demon, which is always urging man to turn his home upside down in the -hopes of arranging it better, no adjuration will succeed in exorcising -from our epoch. I hope that, when presented in the form of a book, -these dialogues will produce a less alarming impression on America. -Accustomed as she is to seeing such demons raging in her house, she -should not permit herself to be prevented from taking breath in the -satisfaction of having done well, by the ambition to do better. To -be sure, between the so-called Homeric question and steam-engines, -between the discovery of America and the tendencies of philosophy, -between the troubles which torment us in private life and the French -Revolution, between transatlantic emigration and the architecture of -New York, there is a connection. It is a profound, an organic, a vital -connection; for, in the last four centuries, little by little, almost -imperceptibly at first, then with a speed which increased gradually -up to the French Revolution, finally, at headlong speed from the -Revolution to the present day, the world has changed in every part, -in form, spirit, and order. And it has changed in form, order, and -spirit, because it has changed the order of its demands upon man. -In compensation for the liberty granted him in everything else, it -has demanded of him a rapidity, a punctuality, an intensity, and a -passivity of obedience in his work, such as no other epoch has ever -dreamed of being able to exact from lazy human nature. - -From the French Revolution onwards, throughout Europe and throughout -America, the political parties, the social classes, and institutions, -and the philosophical doctrines which supported the principle of -authority, little by little, but everywhere and unintermittently, -have given way before the onslaught of the parties, the classes, and -the doctrines which support the principle of liberty. The former have -been forced sooner or later to allow the right of free criticism and -discussion to oust the ancient duty of tacit obedience in the state, -in religion, in the school, and ultimately in the family. Poets -and philosophers have extolled the liberation of man from ancient -servitudes as the most glorious victory man can vaunt. A victory, -certainly; but over whom? Over himself, as it seems; since the limits, -within which man was content to rest confined until the French -Revolution, he himself had erected and invested with sacred terrors. It -is clear that the slave, the tyrant, and the liberator were one and the -same person. Moreover, one may well think that, in gaining his liberty, -man has not been born again to a new destiny nor has he regenerated -his own nature; rather has he learned to employ his own energies in a -different way. Man had lived for centuries within strict limits, which -confined in a narrow compass his curiosity, ambition, energy, and -pride. But within those limits he had lived with greater comfort and -less anxiety than we are living, without racking his brains to invent -or to understand something new every day, not spurred on every hour -to produce at greater speed and in greater abundance, not exasperated -by the multitude of his needs nor agitated from morning to night by -the pursuit of the means to satisfy them. But after the discovery of -America and the first great astronomical discoveries which shed glory -on the beginning of the sixteenth century, there arose in man the first -sparks of ambition to seek new ways in the world outside the ancient -limits. The philosophies of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, -and still more the first discoveries of science, lent boldness to -these ambitions. One day men realised that Prometheus, that clumsy -thief, had stolen from the gods only a tiny spark of the fire. They -planned a second robbery, discovered coal and electricity, and invented -the steam-engine. And behold! the French Revolution, which confounded -and upset, from one end of Europe to the other, boundaries, laws, -institutions, and traditions—ideal and material limits. Then at last -man realised that he could conquer and exploit the whole earth with -iron and fire. At the same time as liberty, a new, untiring, formidable -eagerness invaded the two worlds. All the limits which, for so many -centuries, had confined in a narrow circle the energy and aspirations -of even the most highly venerated of men fell one after the other to -the ground. They fell, because the human mind could not have launched -out into the unknown to essay so many new marvels if those ancient -limits which imprisoned it had remained standing. The multitude would -not have bowed their necks to the hard discipline of their new work, if -in compensation they had not been liberated from other, more ancient, -disciplinary restrictions. - -In short, the great era of iron and fire began, in which the principle -of liberty was destined to assault the principle of authority in -its last entrenchments, and to drive it right away to the farthest -frontiers of political, moral, and intellectual anarchy. But for this -very reason the era of iron and fire has seen the gradual confusion and -reduction to wavering uncertainty of all the criteria which served to -distinguish the beautiful from the ugly, the true from the false, good -from evil. These criteria have become confused because they are and can -be nothing else but limits; limits which are precise and sure so long -as they are restricted, but become feeble the more they are enlarged. -But how can a century, which has made itself so powerful by dint of -overturning the ancient limits on every hand, be expected to respect -these limits in the spiritual world? As a result we find a civilisation -which has built railways, studded the Atlantic with steamers, -exploited America, and multiplied the world’s riches a hundredfold in -fifty years,—we find it obsessed by grotesque doubts and eccentric -uncertainties with regard to the _Iliad_ and the _Odyssey_, in which -generation after generation, accustomed to respect amongst other limits -those imposed by literary traditions, had unhesitatingly agreed to -recognise two masterpieces composed by a poet of genius. So we see the -epoch which has overturned and destroyed so many thrones and altars and -made Reason and Science march in triumph through the smoking ruins of -a score of revolutions,—we see it obsessed on a sudden by a thousand -scruples, halt, ask itself what is truth, whether it exists, and if it -can be recognised. We see it rack its brains to decide whether what -we know is a real and objective something or only a creation of our -fancy. All these scruples and doubts are, as it were, the brow of a -slope down which our epoch slides at headlong speed towards the abyss -of nothingness. And in the century which has given man liberty, the -certainty of food, comfort in abundance, and so many guarantees against -the oppression of individuals and authorities as were known to no -previous century; in the century which, by overthrowing so many limits, -has banished from our midst so many reasons for hatred and war, do we -not hear a thousand voices on every side cursing man for a miserable -slave and accusing the times of being corrupt; crying that conditions -must be purified with fire and sword, according to some, with war, -according to others, with revolution? Having once transgressed the -limits, man has become insatiable. The more he possesses, the more he -wants. He no longer acknowledges any restraint in his desires. - -The quantity which vanquishes quality, the liberty which vanquishes -authority, the desires which blaze out anew each time they are -satisfied—these are the forces and the phenomena which shape and -fashion our civilisation. For this reason we can, it is true, -accumulate vast hordes of wealth and conquer the earth with iron and -fire. But we must resign ourselves to living in a new Tower of Babel, -in the midst of a confusion of tongues. The æsthetic, intellectual, -and moral confusion of our times is the price nature exacts for the -treasures which she is obliged to resign into our power. This book -and its successor have been written with the object of throwing light -on the obscure but vital bond which links together in a living unity -the most diverse phenomena of contemporary life. They have not been -written, as some have thought, with the view of comparing the ancient -and the modern civilisations, Europe and America, to the detriment -of the one or of the other; much less with the view of denouncing -the régime of liberty, on the ground that it corrupts the world, and -of demanding that it be suppressed. To find fault with the tendency -of a civilisation, one must postulate the fact that history has gone -wrong. And what criterion, what standard is there which justifies a man -in declaring to successive generations that they ought to have held -different objects in view, and adopted other means to attain them? - -No: the author’s only object has been to sound the depths of life, in -the hope of tracing that unity from which flow forth and into which -flow back again so many apparently diverse phenomena; that unity in -which alone thought can find some respite from its weary search after -the secret of its own being and of that of things in general. Without -a doubt each one of us attains only provisional success in his search -for this unity; but is not every work of man only provisional, and what -are we but beings destined to live only for an instant? Therefore, I -have endeavoured in this book to reveal, by way of an analytical and -rational exposition, set out in the simplest and plainest terms, the -vital bond of this unity. But, inasmuch as a unity is a synthesis, -and analysis necessarily modifies and disfigures while trying to -explain, I have availed myself in my other work of what is perhaps the -most effective method of representing the phenomena of life in their -synthesis: I mean, art. For this reason I have written a dialogue, in -which I have made my characters begin by wandering haphazard over a -wide field and jumping, apparently at random, from one to another of a -series of widely different topics. But at the end the various topics -are gathered into a united whole, showing the bond which unites them, -in the speeches of the most acute and intelligent of the passengers; -especially in that speech which coincides with the entry of the ship -from the open Atlantic, the free high-road of the new world, into the -Mediterranean, the confined arena of ancient civilisation. _Livre -désordonné et pourtant bien ordonné_ is the verdict of a French critic, -André Maurel. How glad I should be if all my readers subscribed to -this verdict! In truth, this tragic conflict of the two worlds, of -the two civilisations, of man with himself, for licence to dispense -with the limits of which he, in fact, has need if he is to enjoy the -most exquisite fruits of life, is a picture so vast as to overtax the -resources of the painter. But the painter has worked at his canvas with -so much ardour and passion that he hopes to find on the other side of -the Atlantic, as on this, readers willing to view the defects in his -work with the intelligent indulgence of which really cultured men are -always so liberal; readers prompt to feel some quickening in response -to the few sparks of beauty and of truth which the author may have -succeeded in infusing into his work. It is a small thing, no doubt. But -do not even the tiny rivulets which flow through the valleys unite to -form the mighty rivers in the plain? - - - - -PART II - -ANCIENT HISTORY AND THE MODERN WORLD - - - - -I - -ANCIENT SOCIAL SYSTEMS AND CONTEMPORARY AMERICA - - -At the end of the year 1906, while sojourning in Paris, where I had -been giving at the Collège de France a course of lectures on Roman -history, I received an invitation from Emilio Mitré, the son of the -famous Argentine general, to undertake a long expedition to South -America. This invitation evoked general surprise. What, my friends -asked, was I, the historian of the ancient world, going to do in the -newest of new worlds, in ultra-modern countries, in countries without -a past and caring only for the future, where industry and agriculture -fill the place which for the ancients was occupied by war? Why, if I -was willing to leave my studies and my books for one moment, did I not -repair to Egypt or the East, the scene of so much of the history which -I had recounted, where the Romans have left so many traces of the world -which has passed away, and where so many important excavations, tending -to enrich history with new documentary evidence, are in progress? - -I answered my questioners by pointing out that I was not a bookworm, -whose interest was confined to ancient books and archæological -parchments; that life in all its aspects interested me, and that I -was, therefore, curious, after devoting so much attention to ancient -peoples, to study awhile the most modern of nations, the newest -comers in the history of our civilisation. Did my friends suppose -that, because I had written a history of Rome, I had pledged myself -never again to direct my gaze to modern life? But, though I explained -the reason for my voyage in this way, I, no less than my friendly -objectors, was convinced at that time that my travels in America -would be only a parenthesis in my intellectual life. In other words, -I thought that I was going to America in search of an intellectual -diversion, hoping for some relaxation for my mind, obsessed for the -last ten years by ancient history, in bringing it to bear on an -entirely different world. That this diversion would be useful to me, -I had no doubt; but not because America might help me to a better -understanding of ancient Rome, but because to change every now and -again the subject-matter of my studies and to enrich my mind with new -impressions always seemed to me one of the most profitable intellectual -exercises, especially for a historian to whom a wide experience of -human nature is a necessity. To-day, after having made not one, but two -journeys to America, after having seen not only the two largest and -most flourishing states of South America, but also that North America -which, more than all the other states of the New World, represents in -the eyes of contemporaries the more modern part of our civilisation, -the reign of machinery, the empire of business, the rule of money, I -am no longer of this opinion. It is my present belief that a journey -in the New World is of supreme benefit intellectually to a historian -of the ancient world; and that, in order to understand the life and -history of Greek or Roman society, it is perhaps just as important -to visit the countries of America as Asia Minor or Northern Africa. -That is what I said on one of the last days of my stay in the United -States to a genial professor of ancient history connected with Cornell -University, with whom I was discussing the most famous schools of the -present day for the pursuit of historical studies, and the methods -adopted in these schools. “Many of you Americans,” I said, “go to -European universities to study ancient history. It seems to me that -you might well invite many European professors to come and go through -a finishing course in America, studying not only in libraries but in -the live world, and observing what happens in American society. Nobody -is in a better position than are you to understand ancient society.” -My remark may seem at first sight a paradox. But it is no paradox, if -one goes to the root of the problem. For what we, men of the twentieth -century, call ancient civilisations, were really, when they flourished, -new and young civilisations, with but few centuries of history behind -them; and so are the American civilisations of the present day. For -this reason, we find in ancient civilisations, on however much -reduced a scale, many phenomena which are now peculiar to American -social systems; while we should look for them in vain in European -civilisation, which has more right to call itself ancient civilisation -than have the civilisations of Greece and of Rome. This I propose -briefly to prove. - -One of the social phenomena which are most characteristic of North -America, but which would be looked for in vain in Europe, is the -munificence of the donations of wealthy men to the public. Families of -great wealth in America nowadays feel it incumbent on them, as a social -duty, to spend a part of their substance on the people; to encourage -education and culture, to bestow benefactions, to help the more needy -classes, and to assist with their purses the public authorities in the -execution of their functions. In Europe, the case is different. Large -fortunes may be numerous, but they are kept more in the background than -in America. Rich men are much more selfish in the enjoyment of their -riches. Even the richest are, as a rule, content to leave some small -sum in their wills to the poor, or to some educational institution. -But donations in excess of four thousand pounds are rare, and make a -great stir. It is for this reason that certain sections of society -in Europe accuse the upper classes of selfishness and hold up before -them American generosity as an example to follow. But this censure is -exaggerated, for the times and the social conditions are different in -Europe. The history of the ancient world shows that this generosity on -the part of the rich is a phenomenon peculiar to a certain stage in the -development of society, which recurs in all flourishing and prosperous, -but as yet not very ancient, societies. In these, some of the public -functions are assumed by the rich, because the State has not yet had -the time to bring them under its control and to direct them according -to laws by it established. If the millionaires of America have, as a -matter of fact, but few imitators in Europe, they can boast numberless -forerunners in the histories of Greece and Rome. In Athens to begin -with, and, later, in the Roman Empire, to mention only the most famous -states of the ancient world, education, charity, public amusements, -even public works, such as roads, theatres, and temples, were always -in part left by the State to the generosity of wealthy individuals, -who felt it their duty to contribute out of their means to the public -welfare. - -Amongst the inscriptions which have reached us from the Roman world, -and which have been collected in the _Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum_, -we find a considerable number referring to these donations. In all -the provinces of the vast Empire, in all the cities great and small, -stories have been found recounting, often in forcible terms, the -donation by some citizen, during his life or at his death, of a certain -sum to the city, it might be to construct or repair an edifice, it -might be to distribute grain to the people in time of dearth, or to -give bounties of oil on festive occasions, or to assure to the people -the enjoyment of certain periodical spectacles, or to supplement the -finances of the city, which had been thrown into disorder by excessive -expenditure, or which were not equal to all the calls made upon them. -Every city, then, had her own millionaire benefactors, her little -Carnegies, her Huntingtons, Morgans, and Rockefellers in miniature, -whose generosity was necessary to the public good, and to whom were -raised in gratitude monuments, many of which have come down to our time. - -The Roman Emperor himself was, at first at any rate, only the most -generous and the best known of these rich donors: a kind of Carnegie, -Morgan, and Rockefeller of the Empire. Suetonius, for instance, tells -us what sums Augustus spent in the course of his life, out of his -private patrimony, on public objects. Augustus himself, in the famous -_Monumentum Ancyranum_, the great inscription found in Asia, in which -he gives a clear résumé of the story of his life, enumerates many -of the gifts which he made to the public out of his own pocket. On -several occasions, he simply liquidated the deficit in the Empire’s -budget out of his private purse. At another time, he repaired at his -own expense the roads of Italy which after the civil wars had through -neglect fallen into disrepair. On countless occasions, he spent money -for public works, for the relief of famine, for popular amusements, for -all the forms of beneficence then customary, without paying any regard -to the serious inroads he was making on the fortune which he would -have to leave to his own heirs. This is exactly what many wealthy men -are doing to-day in the New World. It would be in accord with the facts -to say that those striking largesses were one of the means by which -imperial authority was gradually concentrated at the heart of the Roman -State, and surrounded itself with so much gratitude, so many interests, -and so many hopes as to be able definitely to secure the principal -position amongst all the organs of the State. - -But if the Emperor was the most generous of the public benefactors, -he was not the only one. The chief men throughout the Empire followed -his example, some of them on so elaborate a scale as to challenge -comparison with the most munificent American millionaires, when account -is taken of the difference in the standards of riches in the respective -epochs. The best-known figure among these donors is Herodes Atticus, an -immensely rich Athenian of the second century A.D. What was his origin, -and whence he got his money, we do not know. Probably he belonged to -one of those families which had accumulated immense property in the -provinces, during the first century of the Christian era, a century -of rapidly acquired and great fortunes. This much is certain, that he -applied himself to study, and became what was then called a rhetor, -corresponding more or less closely to what we term a professor of -literature, not however with a view to earning a livelihood, but with -the object of cultivating his own and other people’s minds. Highly -cultured, erudite, and at the same time one of the richest men in the -Empire, Herodes was a great friend of Antoninus Pius and of Marcus -Aurelius. But, great as was his reputation for wisdom and literary -taste, and notwithstanding the enhancement of his prestige through -the friendships of the two celebrated emperors, he left a name in the -social history of the Roman world more particularly because of the vast -sums he gave away all over the Empire. At Athens, he repaired in a -splendid way the most ancient and famous buildings of that celebrated -city. He presented, repaired, and maintained theatres, aqueducts, -temples, and stadia in the cities of Greece and Italy. - -For the rest, several of the most highly admired buildings and most -imposing ruins in Rome are actually gifts made to the public by ancient -citizens. Out of them all, I may cite the Pantheon, that marvellous -Pantheon, which we all still admire in the heart of Rome, the monument -which stands deathless while the stream of ages flows by. This was -constructed by Agrippa, the friend of Augustus, at his own expense, and -can be compared in this respect to Carnegie Hall in New York. Agrippa -built the Pantheon from the same notions of civic zeal that impelled -Carnegie to endow New York with his great Hall. And the two monuments, -built by the personal munificence of two ultra-wealthy citizens, with -an interval of twenty centuries between them, express the same desire -to extend to the whole people a share in the enjoyment of the donor’s -private fortune. - -Naturally, my earliest studies in Roman history led me to fix my -attention on this bountiful munificence on the part of private persons -in the ancient world, by which the rich, either spontaneously or at -the call of public opinion, took upon themselves a share of the public -burdens. But I had not fully grasped the meaning of this system, until -I visited America, and saw the colleges, schools, and hospitals founded -and subsidised, the museums and universities endowed, and all the other -public institutions aided with millions of dollars by the rich business -men and bankers of America. For Europeans, living on a continent where -nowadays the State has almost monopolised these functions and exercises -them zealously, seeming to resent the interference of private persons, -it is difficult to picture correctly a social system in which private -generosity is at once possible and necessary, the advantages by which -such generosity is accompanied, and the manner in which it is exercised. - - * * * * * - -The munificence of the wealthy citizens is only a special instance of a -more general and more extensive phenomenon in which America approaches -more nearly to the ancient world than Europe; I mean, in that her -society is less essentially bureaucratic. In the ancient world, there -was no bureaucratic organisation in any of the Greco-Asiatic monarchies -founded by Alexander or in the latest period of the Roman Empire which -could be considered to resemble even remotely, on a smaller scale -and merely in broad outlines, that which flourishes in the Europe of -to-day. Now, in the most splendid moments of Greek and Roman history, -we find states in which all the public functions, even the executive -ones, were elective; so that they all changed periodically according -to the whims of an electoral body. The need for technical training and -professional education for the exercise of certain executive functions -was so little recognised that even the command of the military forces -and the chief magistracy were filled by public election. A general -became a general, not in the course of his professional career, but at -the will of the people, assembled in the _comitia_; and with generals -chosen in this way, Rome conquered the world. It is impossible to -imagine a social constitution in more striking contradiction to the -social constitution of contemporary Europe, which entrusts all the -executive functions to a bureaucracy professionally trained, formed -into a rigid hierarchy, and dependent on the State, over which the -people have practically no power. Men in Europe become generals or -judges because they have studied the art of war or law in special -schools, not because the majority of an electoral body have thought it -opportune to entrust the office to an individual who has been clever -enough to appeal to them more strongly than do his rivals. - -This difference was and is one of the greatest difficulties met with -by European historians in the study of the ancient world. I am of -opinion, for example, that this is one of the weakest points in -Mommsen’s history. Accustomed to see bureaucratic states at work, -European historians find it difficult to imagine how those states can -have prospered in which the magistrates changed periodically, sometimes -every year, and in which there was no professional division between -the different functions. Instinctively, they tend also to paint the -ancient state in the colours of the European state, attributing to it -the same virtues and the same defects, and, therefore, representing its -weaknesses as well as its merits in a false light. For an American, -on the other hand, especially for a North American, the difficulty of -understanding the ancient states is much less formidable. Certainly the -principle of professional specialisation is much more highly developed -in modern American society than it was in the ancient societies. Modern -civilisation is nowadays too complex and too technical to admit of -the principle of popular election being applied indiscriminately, as -at Athens or Rome, to all the public offices. What sensible man would -consent to-day, even in the purest of democracies, to the election of -the admirals, for instance, by universal suffrage? Nevertheless, in -the American confederation many of the public offices, which are now -entrusted in Europe to the professional bureaucracy, are elective. And -this fact by itself is enough to represent a distinct _rapprochement_ -between American society and ancient society. - -For this reason, an inhabitant of New York can more easily than an -inhabitant of London or Paris picture to himself certain aspects -of the life of the Athens or Rome of ancient days; especially the -continual and frequent succession of elections, and the complete -change of interests and of directing forces involved in the change -of the magistrates in office. It is true that we in Europe have -periodical elections, as in America. Periodically, in the Old, as in -the New World, the people assemble to exercise their sovereign right -by means of the ballot. But if, regarded superficially, the act and -the procedure are identical, their value and importance are different. -The populace in the old states of Europe elect only consultative and -legislative bodies, while the executive power remains to a great extent -independent of the people, residing in a professional bureaucracy whose -members cannot be changed from day to day. - -In America, on the contrary, as in ancient Athens and Rome, many of the -magistrates who hold in their hands and exercise directly governing -powers are periodically changed at the will of the people, which, -therefore, moulds more directly the government and its different organs -and more directly inspires and controls its particular functions, just -as it used to control them in the ancient states. - -It is not strange, therefore, that we find ancient Rome reappearing -in one of the most important juridical institutions of the United -States, an institution which we should search for in vain in Europe, -great mistress of laws though she be accounted. One of the American -institutions which seems to Europeans most contrary to the modern -spirit, and for that reason most deserving of severe blame, is the -right of “injunctions” with which American magistrates are invested. To -Europe, where the bureaucracy, though immovable and little subject to -control, cannot step outside the precise prescriptions of the law in -the exercise of its functions, this discretionary power of the American -magistrates seems little less than an instrument of intolerable -tyranny. A brilliant European, who is a distinguished professor of -literature in one of the universities of North America, but who, -notwithstanding a very lengthy sojourn in the American republic, has -preserved intact the ideas and the spirit of the Old World, said to me -one day in New York: “In this land of liberty, there is one tyranny -more terrible than all the tyrannies of Europe, that of the judicial -power!” That a magistrate should have the power to give orders, be they -of only momentary validity, which are the expressions of his own will -and not of the letter of the law, seems to the European a monstrous -thing, a relic of the ancient tyrannies, which harmonises but ill with -republican institutions. - -A historian of the ancient world, on the other hand, is in a position -to understand more easily this seeming contradiction. The injunction -is nothing else than the _edictum_ of the Roman magistrate; the power, -that is to say, which the Roman magistrate possessed, and which the -American magistrate, maybe in a less degree, possesses, of making good -with his personal authority the lacunæ and deficiencies in the law, on -every occasion when public order or the principles of justice seemed -to demand it urgently. In the eyes of ancient Rome, the magistrate -was not only, as in the bureaucratic states of Europe, the cautious -and impartial servant and executor of the law. He was also the living -personification of the State and of the general interest, invested with -full powers of exercising his own judgment, over and above the laws, on -behalf of the State and of the general interest, when the law was found -wanting. In short, by reinforcing the authority of the magistrates, -the ancient states endeavoured to make amends for the weakening of the -State which was bound to ensue from the continual electoral changes and -the instability of all the offices; while Europe, on the other hand, -which, with her rigid bureaucracies, has made the power of the State -so strong, can rigorously limit the powers of her functionaries with -laws of immense scope. But one last remnant of the ancient conception, -tempered by the modern spirit of the State, survives in North America, -where, the elective principle being more extensively applied than in -the states of Europe, the tendency is, by way of compensation, to -reinforce by some discretionary power, like the “injunction,” some -at least of the judicial offices. Perhaps we may explain in this way -the fact that some European writers in the nineteenth century have -ventured to assert that the ancients never knew what liberty was, even -in what were apparently the most democratic republics; while others -have maintained that more liberty is to be found in the constitutional -monarchies of Europe than in the authoritative American republics. - -Another instance still more curious is afforded us by those dictators -who, under varying titles and with varying success, have appeared in -almost all the republics of Spanish America, after the emancipation -of these territories from the mother country. The latest of these -dictators was Porfirio Diaz, who governed Mexico for so many years. -Europe has never properly understood these dictators. She has mistaken -them for caricatures, now of Nero, now of Napoleon, and has drawn -the conclusion that the republics in question were impregnated with -the disease of tyranny, and could not exist in a state of liberty. -But a historian of the ancient world recognises at once in these -dictators a modern incarnation of a figure which constantly appears -in ancient history, the Greek τύραννος, the Roman _princeps_. -Pisistratus and Augustus, not Nero and Napoleon, are the prototypes -of these dictators. States based on an electoral system which is not -controlled by organised parties or by other social forces calculated -to ensure its working in conformity with precise and certain rules, -are subject to eruptions of disorder, which end in establishing the -personal power of that individual who succeeds in making the political -and administrative machine work with comparative regularity. Augustus -was throughout forty-one years re-elected every five or ten years -head of the republic, because he had succeeded, by his influence and -personal ability, in making the machine of the _comitia_ and senate run -smoothly, at a time when the Roman aristocracy, which had controlled -it for centuries, could no longer, owing to its own discords, do so. -The reason why the power of Augustus was prolonged and extended in all -directions until it became a dictatorship for life, cloaked under legal -forms, was that he alone seemed capable of ensuring a wise government -and of preventing civil wars. And was not just this the real reason -for the long tenure of power by Porfirio Diaz in Mexico, and for his -prolonged presidency, which was merely a dictatorship masquerading -under republican forms? Anyone who wishes to understand the government -of Mexico during the last forty years might find the history of -Augustus of great service; just as a profound knowledge of the recent -history of Mexico might help to the understanding of the ancient -history of Augustus. - -A profound study of ancient history is, therefore, an excellent -preparation for the rapid understanding of certain parts, at any -rate, of the American constitution and of American society; just as a -knowledge of America should be an excellent aid to the study of ancient -history. In fact, in the course of my travels and observations in -America, after having devoted ten years to the study of a large section -of ancient history, I have realised how much the ancient history, -which I had studied in Europe, helped me to understand America; and -how much the America which I had before my eyes helped me to a better -understanding of the distant reality of that vanished world of long -ago. And if we follow the track of these studies and reflections, I -think that we shall be able to attribute also a more precise meaning to -that epithet of “young,” which is constantly applied to America. Who -does not talk a hundred times a year of old Europe and young America? -Now what do these two much-used and much-abused epithets mean? That -Europe has a longer history than America? In that case the contrasting -terms would not mean much. For that is a simple chronological -statement, which only demands a knowledge of the fact that America -was not discovered till 1492 A.D. Do they mean that America is more -vigorous, more active, more daring than Europe, just as young men -usually possess these qualities in a greater degree than the old? As a -matter of fact, many people do use the two adjectives in this sense. -But, in that case, they assume as proved one of the most complex, one -of the deepest and most difficult problems of modern life, that is to -say, the problem whether a comparison can be struck between Europe and -America, and if so, on the basis of what criterion? That there should -be those who strike this comparison and resolve it in this way, is -not surprising. But no one will be found to pretend that the judgment -contained in those two words “young” and “old,” thus interpreted, can -or ought to be accepted as true by everyone. - -On the other hand, it is possible to agree on a more narrow and precise -interpretation of these words; to say that America is young and Europe -old, because America reproduces some of the characters and phenomena -which we find in antiquity, that is to say, in the remotest epochs of -our history. European civilisation, as the result of her migration to -America, there to found new states and societies, has really become, -in a certain sense, regenerated, because she has again become, in the -light of certain characteristics and certain institutions, what she -was twenty centuries ago. And if the “youth” of America is understood -in this sense, it is not rash to argue that it too will grow old. -The study of ancient history can be of a certain practical value to -those who consider America with the object of divining, in this great -community, the tendencies and inclinations of the future. For students -of that history can bring a plausible criterion of prevision to their -observations. In fact, it is not rash to suppose, at least if some -unknown force does not unexpectedly divert the course of events in -the New World, that all the parts of American life and society which -most resemble ancient society are destined to disappear gradually, -as America grows older and elaborates a complex and artificial -civilisation; just as the ancient institutions and ideas of which we -find so many traces in America gradually disappeared in Europe in the -progress of time, as civilisation in the Old World became artificial -and complex. If this prophecy is not fallacious, we should expect -history, which eternally repeats herself, to require the man of the -New World to witness the same phenomena whose more gradual realisation -they have already witnessed in the ancient world. In the New World -also, we should expect to see a society regulated by elective and -authoritative institutions gradually become bureaucratic and at the -same time fetter every branch of political and administrative powers -with the tight bonds of rigid juridical principles. This will be a -slow, but profound transformation, in the course of which many things -will change their position and value. Perhaps the inexhaustible public -munificence of the millionaires will become exhausted, and the State -will grow in prestige and influence, if not in power. - - - - -II - -QUANTITY AND QUALITY - - -Suetonius recounts that one day a man presented himself to the Emperor -Vespasian, and showed him the models of a machine, thanks to which -the Emperor could have finished off the construction of certain of -his great public works with fewer labourers, and at a great saving -of expense. Vespasian was full of praise for the man’s ingenuity, -and recompensed him with a sum of money; but he subsequently had the -model destroyed, saying that he did not wish to have any machines -which would cause his people to go hungry. Applying the standard of -modern ideas, how should we judge this sentiment and act? Of course, -we should consider it a strange and absurd mistake. Suetonius, on -the contrary, quotes the incident to prove how wise Vespasian was. -In this divergence of opinion is revealed the essential difference -between ourselves and the ancients, between modern civilisation and -Greco-Roman civilisation, for all that these resemble each other in so -many particulars; the principal difference between the ancient world -and America. Although, as I have shown in my preceding essay, America -in certain of its institutions and forms of social life resembles the -ancient world more than Europe, this comparison does not hold true -so far as the instruments of economic production are concerned. In -this respect America is much further removed from the ancient world -than is Europe, and represents to-day the beginning of a new era -and a new civilisation, whose spirit and tendencies would be quite -incomprehensible to a re-embodied Greek or Roman. - -Greco-Roman antiquity never dreamed that it might be a useful, -beautiful, glorious work to invent machines of increasing speed -and power, and therefore never gave a thought to those technical -elaborations which are the pride of our times. It possessed the -elementary machines, the lever, jack-screw, the inclined plane; but -it never tried to combine these into more complicated machines. In -particular, it never called into play the effort to which all the -mechanism of modern times owes its birth; that is to say, it never -tried to endow its machines with a more rapid motion than the muscles -of men or of animals can endow them with, or to search nature for -motive forces of greater power than these. It availed itself only -sparingly and on rare occasions of the force of running water or of -the wind. The latter it used only for navigation, and even then with -regret, hesitation, and fear, as if it were doing an illicit and -shameful thing. It knew of no combustible other than the wood of the -trees. Notwithstanding the fact that Pliny the elder has preserved for -us so much precious information about agriculture and the ancient arts -and industries, his writings contain scarcely a single hint suggesting -that the men of his civilisation had any desire to make the instruments -of economic production more perfect and effective. In one place, the -sail, as compared with the oar, inspires him to write a passage in -which the modern reader imagines just at first that he has lighted on -a sentiment containing a distant echo of contemporary enthusiasm for -progress. “Is there a greater marvel in the whole world?” he writes. - - A grass exists [flax, of which sails are made] which brings - Egypt and Italy so close together that two prefects of Egypt, - Galerius and Balbillus, crossed from Alexandria to the straits - of Messina, one in seven days and the other in six; and that - last summer the senator Valerius Marianus reached Alexandria - from Pozzuoli in a light wind in nine days. There is a grass - which brings me in seven days from Gades, the harbour near the - Pillars of Hercules, to Ostia, in four from this side of Spain, - in three from the province of Narbonne, in two from Africa, as - C. Flavius, the envoy of the proconsul Vilius Crispus, found. - -Does it not seem as if we were reading an anticipation by eighteen -hundred years of that hymn which moderns so often raise to the power -of steam and to the great ocean liners which cross the Atlantic in -five or six days? But ours is only a brief illusion. The wonder and -the admiration of Pliny are soon over, and a sort of awe takes their -place. “_Audax vita, scelerum plena!_” he quickly adds. “Creature -full of wicked daring!” The invention of sails seems to him almost a -sacrilegious impiety, and his view was that of all the ancients. - -In short, the few victories which the ancients had won over nature -were to them a cause of embarrassment rather than of enthusiasm; for -they saw in them merely a proof of the perversity and foolhardiness -of human pride. If a contemporary of Sophocles or Horace came back to -the world, he would probably just at first be terrified by what he -saw all round him, as by the spectacle of a gigantic and unheard-of -madness. Machinery, which to us seems the most marvellous instrument -of our energy and intelligence, appeared to the ancients a danger, an -enemy, and almost a sacrilege: an attempt to rebel against the gods -and their wishes. Consequently, they invented and adopted machines—and -those but simple and primitive ones—only for use in war, especially for -siege-work. The necessity of conquering made them forget to some extent -their usual fears. - -So great a difference in thought and feeling, in a matter which to us -seems of such vital importance, must arise from deep-seated causes. -Why did the ancients invent and construct so few machines, and hold in -such fear the few they had? Why did they wish the hand of man to be the -principal and the most powerful among the instruments of production? -Many attribute the inferiority of the ancients in this department to -the comparatively undeveloped state of science. Vast and profound -knowledge of science, they say, is required for the construction -of modern machines. The ancients did not possess this knowledge; -therefore, they conclude, they could not construct the machines. - -But, in this deduction there are two exaggerations. The services of -science, especially in early times, to machines and their progress, -are exaggerated; so also is the scientific ignorance of the ancients. -Science has helped materially to perfect certain machines, but has -actually invented scarcely one. Many of the marvellous machines which, -at a giddy rate, multiply riches all round us, have been conceived -for the first time in the minds of artisans, _contre-maîtres_, -managers of factories, and other persons more expert in practice -than rich in scientific lore. The founder of the great mechanical -industry, Arkwright, who invented the cotton-spinning machine, was -a barber. Watt, the inventor of the steam-engine, though perhaps a -better-educated man than Arkwright, was not in any sense a great -scientist. For the rest, whoever knows the history of machinery is -aware that science did not begin to concern herself with machinery, -or to inquire whether her studies might help inventors with useful -suggestions, until the great mechanical industry had already invaded -the world. Science, then, only followed a movement which had already -begun, and did not give it the first impulse. - -Furthermore, the scientific ignorance of the ancients is exaggerated. -Ancient science is not so well-known as ancient art and literature; -and it certainly did not make very striking progress during the last -brilliant period of ancient history—the Roman Empire. Therefore to -many, whose knowledge regarding it is comparatively superficial, the -ancient world may seem empty of scientific wisdom. But such is not -the case. If the Romans never applied much thought to the scientific -study of nature, the Greeks for their part had laid the foundations of -many sciences, and had laid them boldly and truly. Even the Copernican -system had been anticipated by Greek astronomers, like Aristarchus -of Samos and Seleucus of Seleucia, who had maintained that the earth -revolved round the sun, and that the firmament was much more vast than -was generally supposed. - -We need not, therefore, believe that the ancients were not able to -construct more complicated machines than those they used, because they -lacked scientific knowledge. It would be nearer the truth to say that -they did not make much effort to raise sciences out of the necessarily -narrow domain of purely theoretical problems, because, independent -as they were of machinery, they had no need of the practical aids -which science, if developed in certain directions, can lend to the -construction of machines. In fact, we men of the present day encourage -the sciences to search and investigate in every direction and to try -every path, not from a disinterested love of the True nor from an -intellectual curiosity to spy out the mysteries of nature; but because -we hope that we shall discover, in the course of our all-embracing -search, laws or bodies or forces which will help us to subdue and -exploit nature. - -The ancients then abstained from inventing and constructing machines, -not from lack of knowledge but from lack of will. The effort seemed -to them useless, nay, pernicious; and the enterprise did not attract -them. It remains, therefore, to consider why the ancients, in their -great struggle to extend the dominion of man over nature, felt no need -of help from swift engines of iron, and, therefore, did not make the -effort necessary to invent them. This is a question of the highest -importance for the history of civilisation, for by its solution -only can we gain an insight into what is perhaps the most profound -difference between ancient and modern civilisation. The difference -consists in this: while our civilisation is a mechanical-scientific -civilisation, the ancient was above all things an artistic -civilisation. Therefore our civilisation tends in the main to multiply -the needs and the consumption of man, so as to quicken production -as much as possible, while the ancient civilisation tended to limit -man’s needs and consumption, to hold up to esteem and imitation -customs of simplicity and parsimony which involved a reduction in -consumption, and therefore in production. If we are to grasp the very -essence of our history, we must understand clearly how indisolubly -united are the artistic civilisation and the ideal of a simple life, -the mechanical-scientific civilisation and the ideal of a life of -extravagance and luxury. - -Even at the present day, many will be found to extol the greatness, -the wealth, and the might of the Roman Empire as a marvel never -surpassed in history. But this is a delusion. The Roman Empire seemed -marvellously wealthy and powerful to the ancients, because they had -never yet seen greater wealth and greater might. But what are the -wealth and the might of the Roman Empire compared with the might -and the wealth of the great modern states of Europe and America? -One observation will suffice to give an idea of the difference. -We are justified in deducing from the great number of facts and -data in our possession that in the most flourishing and wealthy -centuries the budget of the Empire, the sum total, that is, of all -the items of expenditure which the central government at Rome had to -meet—expenditure on the most important public services of so immense -an empire, which comprised the whole basin of the Mediterranean, and -a large part of Europe, Asia, and Africa—fell short, far short, of -the municipal budget of the city of New York. Only the man who is -conversant with the customs of the past in their minutest details -can fully estimate how much simpler, poorer, and more economical the -civilisation of the ancients was than that which has permeated America -and Europe since the invention of the steam-engine and electricity, -when the riches of the New World, exploited intensively with the help -of machinery, began to flood the earth. - -Consuming little, and content with a life of simplicity and poverty, -the ancients had no need to produce much or to produce at great -speed. So they had no requirement for machines, whether steam- or -electricity-driven. The few simple machines, which the hand of man -or the muscular force of domestic animals can operate,—the domestic -loom, the horse-propelled mill,—sufficed. Therefore, they had no need -of science to help them to construct new machines of greater size -and power. They had no need to work at high pressure. They could -work slowly, with their hands and with a few simple instruments, and -with them produce beautiful, accurate, and finished articles, which -aspired to a lofty and difficult ideal of perfection. Accordingly, art -occupied in the ancient world the position which science occupies in -modern civilisation. It was not a refined luxury for the few, but an -elementary and universal necessity. Governments and wealthy citizens -were obliged to adorn their cities with monuments, sculptures, and -pictures, to embellish squares, streets, and houses, because the masses -wished the cities to be beautiful, and would have rebelled against an -authority which would have them live in an unadorned city; just as -nowadays they would rebel against a municipal authority which would -have them dwell in a city without light, or against a government which -placed obstacles and hindrances in the way of the construction of -railways. In those times, the requirement was that everything, down -to the household utensils, even of the most modest description and -destined for the use of the poorer classes, be inspired with a breath -of beauty. Anyone who visits a museum of Greco-Roman antiquities, in -which are exposed to view objects found in rich and highly cultivated -districts,—that of Naples, for example, where so many objects excavated -from the ashes of Pompeii are to be seen,—can easily convince himself -of this curious phenomenon, and realise more vividly, by contrast, the -carelessness, roughness, and commonplace vulgarity of the objects made -by modern machinery. In short, if the quantity of the things produced -by the industry of the ancients was small, for that very reason, and by -way of compensation, their quality was refined and excellent. - -The contrary is the case in the modern world. The quantity of the -things which modern industry, thanks to electricity- and steam-driven -machinery, produces, is prodigious. No century ever witnessed the -realisation of the miracle of abundance in a more marvellous way. But -the quality of the things suffers in consequence. The ugliness and the -crude vulgarity of so many objects, which in much poorer times had an -elegance and a beauty which have now vanished, are the price we pay -for the abundance of our times. The necessities of man have increased -beyond all measure, and to satisfy them lavish and rapid production is -required. The need for rapid production accounts for the invention of -so many machines. But it is not possible to secure the manufacture by -rigid hands of iron of so many things at such speed, and at the same -time to impart to them an exquisitely artistic appearance, revealing -the personal excellence of the artist. It is as much as we can do to -impart to them a coarse and rude appearance of beauty, with a few -ornamentations copied casually from the beautiful things which our -fathers succeeded in creating in poorer and less busy times. Machinery, -driven by steam or electricity, has the advantage of speed over the -hand of man. It can produce in the same time a much greater number of -objects. For this reason it has triumphed in a time like ours, in which -the increased necessities of the world demand an extraordinary growth -in production. But the hand of man,—that living and mind-inspired -machine,—if it cannot compete with machines of iron for speed, is alone -capable of imparting to things that perfection, that grace, and that -excellence of form which can fill us with a joy which is different -from, but perhaps more intense than, that afforded by easy and coarse -abundance. - - * * * * * - -This contrast between ancient and modern times, between the -civilisations which preceded the French Revolution and the modern -American civilisation, should and would have received more attention -than it has, had not the students of antiquity been too prone to lose -their way in the maze of a dead erudition. We are proud of our wealth -and power. We are proud of having extended our dominion over the whole -planet, only a small part of which was known to the ancients, and that -but vaguely. We are proud of having surprised so many of nature’s -secrets, of having deciphered the mystery of so many laws, of having -thrown light on so many lurking-places of disease and death, of having -shaken ourselves free from so many vain fears which tormented our -ancestors, of having released ourselves from so many yokes—political, -moral, and intellectual—which used to weigh upon their necks. We feel -ourselves strong, sure of ourselves and of our destiny as no men before -us in history, in face of the blind forces of the Universe, so many -of which we have subjected to our dominion and forced to serve our -necessities, our ambitions, and our whims. - -Nevertheless, in the midst of all this wealth, this power, and this -knowledge, a dull sense of disquietude vexes men’s souls. Man is -not yet content. Every day he finds new pretexts or motives for -complaining. One of the most oft-repeated of these pretexts or motives -is, that the world is becoming uglier. If in our cities any beautiful -part remains, it is nearly always the old part. In the historical -cities, the new parts are horrible, and form a strange contrast with -the older. The altogether-new cities—especially those which have sprung -up in the last century in America—appear to the artistic eye almost -always like a sort of anteroom to the infernal regions. Architecture -has become a mother of monsters. Sculpture and painting, which were -once upon a time the two most select amongst the decorative arts, -protected and pampered by the great ones of the earth and adored by the -masses, are reduced to the necessity of employing a thousand artifices -to extort orders out of the negligent malevolence of an epoch, whose -ornaments and monuments seem an encumbrance and an excrescence rather -than a beauty. There was a time when the dress of men and women was a -work of art. At the present day, only that of women has preserved a -certain artistic grace and beauty. Let us not dwell upon the countless -other forms of ugliness which have invaded our houses with the -furniture, the carpets, the candelabra, and the china. - -The artistic mediocrity of our epoch is surpassed only by the -superficiality and confusion of its tastes. Each succeeding year sees -that which used to appear the height of elegance and beauty to its -predecessors, despised, neglected, and forgotten. All the styles of -the past and all the styles of the different countries swirl round -us, before the fickle gusts of fashion. Every picture which excites -admiration for a moment is quickly forgotten by the fickle taste -of an age which ransacks every corner in search of the beautiful, -because nowhere can the beautiful be found. Many ask themselves what -is the origin of this strange corruption of taste and of the æsthetic -sense. But no two people agree on the answer. This one attributes the -degeneration to the decadence of traditions, and therefore proposes to -open schools and to institute courses of instruction. That one, on the -other hand, traces the responsibility to the lack of liberty afforded -the public taste and the genius of the artists, a condition of things -for which these same traditions are to blame. Such a one therefore -inveighs against the schools and the rules of tradition, and would like -to see them all swept away. Nobody can explain how it happens that so -rich, so wise, and so powerful a civilisation does not succeed in being -beautiful, and shows itself powerless to infuse a breath of beauty into -anything it creates, be it big or little, into its cities or into the -small objects of daily use. - -But the history of civilisation explains this apparent mystery. A -civilisation cannot deck itself with the most exquisite beauties of -art, if it cannot persuade itself to live with a certain simplicity and -to work with a certain deliberation. What kills art in our civilisation -is the mad desire for wealth, the giddy increase of necessities, the -universal craze for speed, the effort to multiply production, the -general restlessness of body and mind. Beauty is not so simple and -commonplace a thing as to admit of its examples being multiplied by -machinery in furious haste. Whether in big things or in little, it can -only be the result of a long and steady effort of the intellect and the -will, which must be expressed at all costs through the medium of that -living and marvellous machine, the human hand. If we wish to accumulate -round us the wealth of the world at express speed, if we wish to -produce and to consume with giddy rapidity, we must not be too exacting -in our demands for quality and beauty in the things produced. We cannot -have a great deal in this world, and have that great deal beautiful. - -Therefore, speaking still more generally, we might say that in the -ancient civilisation the dominant principle was quality, in the modern -civilisation, on the other hand, quantity. In ancient times, the more -cultured, powerful, and wealthy a nation became, the greater efforts it -made to produce in every branch of human activity but few things, but -to ensure the materialisation in those things of a difficult and lofty -ideal of perfection which should find common acceptance and admiration. -Men of our time, on the other hand, direct their efforts towards -production in large quantities, and at great speed, and are proud of -seeing their power and grandeur expressed in the formidable figures -of modern statistics. That the goods produced are of deteriorating -quality is of small account. Thus the ancient civilisations tended, so -to speak, towards eternity, towards the manufacture of things which, -if not eternal in the precise meaning of the word, should last a long -time, should conquer the ages, and should succeed in conveying to -distant posterity a supreme image of their past existence. In very -truth, after numberless catastrophes and pillagings, the material -remains of ancient civilisations, which are piously preserved to this -day, are very numerous. Our age produces in great quantities, but -maybe not a single one of the buildings and material objects produced -by it in such abundance can hope to conquer the ages. Everything is -precarious, ephemeral, destined to live a few months or a few years; -destined to a premature death from the very first hour of its birth. - -And this diversity crops up again in every branch of human activity; -in industrial as in intellectual activity, in art as in literature. -We look upon the literatures of Greece and Rome as a treasure of -inestimable value, almost as the foundation of our culture; and we -still recommend them as models to all who wish to learn the difficult -art of writing and of speaking with precision, elegance, and clearness. -And yet how little the ancients wrote and read compared with ourselves! -The press did not exist; paper, now the cheapest of materials, was -a rare luxury—the papyrus was a most precious Egyptian monopoly. -Consequently, the number of persons who could provide themselves with -books was very small, and such persons were found only among the -_élite_ of culture or of wealth. The only opportunities of reading -the people had were afforded by the public notices, and by the laws -engraved on bronze or marble tablets. In those times, there was nothing -to correspond in any way at all with the newspapers of to-day. In -view of the very scanty numbers of the readers of books, those also -who wrote them were bound to be few in number; these could not write -much. With but very few exceptions, the works bequeathed to us by the -ancients are by no means voluminous. Of all the qualities commonly -found in Greek and Latin writers, sobriety and conciseness are the -most prominent. These virtues were to some extent the product of -circumstances. For in times in which paper was so dear, and every copy -of a book had to be prepared specially by an amanuensis, conciseness -and brevity were the two qualities of importance to insure the wide -circulation and preservation of a book. - -It was, however, just the circumstance that the ancients wrote -so little that enabled them to carry the art of writing to an -indescribable pitch of perfection; that enabled them to obtain that -clearness, that harmony, that cadence and proportion of phrase, that -concentration which has made them the great masters of the literary -art for all time. And to-day!—A wolfish, insatiable hunger for printed -paper and reading matter is the scourge of our civilisation. Look at -the Pantagruelian literary orgies to which Europe and America surrender -themselves! Every day brings its daily paper, every week its journals, -illustrated or otherwise, every month its reviews and magazines. -Then we have the special publications devoted to a particular art, -a particular profession, a particular industry, a favourite sport, -in number without end. We have, too, the volumes of every kind and -quality with which a crowd of publishers congests the book market: -novels, poems, books of travel, science, political economy, religion, -sport. Who could enumerate all the kinds of books which are published -nowadays? Many of these, it is true, do not find readers, but many do; -and a certain number, so many readers as to be sold in thousands, in -tens of thousands, and to be scattered broadcast all over the world. - -But to satisfy a public which is so greedy of reading, an extraordinary -number of writers is required at the present day, from the obscure -editors of provincial journals to the favoured few who succeed in -winning world-fame, and in reaching the position of sovereigns or, -if you prefer it, satraps of literature. And all this enormous -multitude of writers is compelled to write prolifically and rapidly, -because the public wants to read voraciously. It must choose diverse -topics, and vary its themes according to the varieties of fashion and -events. On the other hand, it is no longer compelled to be concise, -both because the public often likes prolixity, which makes reading -comfortable and easy, and because, nowadays, printing is so cheap -and facile. But the art of writing is being lost through this haste, -this instability of public interest, this prolixity. Every tongue is -becoming a muddy mixture of words and phrases which have dripped from -every point of heaven on to the daily language and literature. Taste is -being corrupted, with writers as with readers, deteriorating now into -negligence and carelessness, now into affectation and grotesqueness. - - * * * * * - -Quality and quantity: these are the two principles of the two -civilisations, the ancient and the modern. They are two opposite -principles, a circumstance which explains why in the last fifty years -the gradual triumph of the civilisation of machinery or of industry on -a large scale, which aims at multiplying the quantity of riches, has -been accompanied by a decline in classical studies. The new generation, -even that portion of it that represents the educated classes, has -broken away from the study of a world which, though resembling the -modern world in so many of its ideas and institutions, differed from -the present era in the fundamental conception of life, and professed an -entirely different idea of perfection. - -However, if the two principles are mutually exclusive, we must ask -ourselves, which is true and which false, which is good and which is -not. Who is in the right,—we, who wish to fill the world with riches, -even at the cost of disfiguring it and making it hideous; or the -ancients, who were content to live a life of greater simplicity, of -more leisurely and more peaceful activity, but wished to spend it in a -persevering effort to materialise their ideals of beauty? In how many -of the confused disputes which set the men of our times by the ears -is this problem obscurely implied, though the disputants are unaware -of it? But the problem is a terrible one, because it involves all the -fundamental problems of contemporary life and the very destiny of -the gigantic operations to which our own generation, and those which -preceded it, have applied themselves with such frenzied activity. - -So I will not attempt to solve the formidable problem. Yet may I -be permitted to express a thought, simple in itself, but one which -presents itself with the smiling countenance of hope. It is, that -“opposite” principles do not mean “irreconcilable” principles. Is it -not just possible that this craze for work, for riches, and for speed, -of which we are victims, may slacken somewhat, and give men time to -collect their thoughts, and to piece together again the shattered -grandeur of the modern world in the image of a more serene and composed -beauty? Are men really doomed to become more insatiable, the richer -they become; or will the day arrive when they will think it wiser -to employ a larger part of the immense riches they possess, not in -producing other riches, but in embellishing the world, seeing that -beauty is no less a joy in life than wealth, and that we ourselves, -though all athirst for gold, prove that it is so, by searching -untiringly in every corner for the few remains of ancient beauty? - -I feel that I have not the courage to answer this question with a -brutal “No”; and I hope that many others will be of the same opinion. -For one cannot help thinking that one of the most marvellous epochs -in history would really begin on the day on which Europe and America -succeeded in reconciling in a new civilisation the two opposite -principles of quantity and quality, and in employing the extraordinary -riches at their disposal in adorning and beautifying the world, which -their energy and audacity have so immeasurably enlarged in recent -centuries. - - - - -III - -WOMAN AND HOME - - -Some years ago, in the course of the excavations which are being made -with such success in Egypt, a papyrus was found which is now known -among archæologists by the name of _The Petition of Dionysia_. This -papyrus, which belongs to the second century A.D., contains on one -side some books of the _Iliad_, on the other a defence presented by a -certain Dionysia to an Egyptian court, before which she was defending -an action brought against her by her own father affecting her dowry -and other questions of interest. To escape paying his daughter and -her husband the sums which they demanded, the father had directed the -husband to return him his daughter, and had dissolved the marriage. -But the daughter, on her side, maintained in her defence that the -father had forfeited his right to dissolve her marriage and to -separate her from her husband, because her marriage was a “written” -marriage—established, that is to say, by an act or document in -writing. If it had been an “unwritten” marriage, Dionysia would not -have contested her father’s right in that case to dissolve it, for no -motive whatever, merely because it so pleased him. - -It would be difficult to imagine a document more strange than this, -from the point of view of the ideas which prevail at the present day -in European and American society. Matrimony is for us an act of so -great social importance that the state alone—that is to say, the law, -and the law courts—can recognise or dissolve it. To leave the destiny -of a family at the mercy of the will of the father of one of the two -parties, to recognise as his the right to destroy a family at any -moment to suit his individual interest, without being accountable to -anyone for so doing, would seem to us a monstrous thing. And yet this -monstrous thing seemed to the whole of antiquity, with few restrictions -and reservations, legitimate, reasonable, and wise. Differences in -the organisation of the family existed in different countries and -in different centuries; but they were but superficial, unessential -differences. On one point, the whole world agreed: that matrimony -should never be considered an act to be left to the will of the -contracting parties, but a business transaction which the young people -should leave to their fathers to arrange. - -Matrimony, as it was in Rome, will serve to give a clear idea of the -ancient world’s conception of the family. In Rome, fathers often -betrothed their sons when they were still children. They made them -marry when they were still quite young, the males before they were -twenty, the girls at about sixteen; and they had the right to oblige -them at any moment to divorce each other, without being forced to -give any reason or explanation. A man might be an exemplary husband, -might live with his wife in the most perfect bliss. If the son’s wife, -for one reason or another, did not suit the fancy of his father, the -son might be obliged any day to put her away. Amongst others to whom -this happened was no less a person than Tiberius, at a time when he -had already become one of the first figures in the Empire, and had -commanded armies in battle. He had married a daughter of Agrippa, -and loved her devotedly. The couple were considered in Rome a model -of affection and faithfulness. But, at a certain moment, Augustus, -who was the adoptive father of Tiberius, judged that for political -motives another marriage might have suited Tiberius better; and he, -accordingly, obliged Tiberius to divorce her. Tiberius was so much -upset, that—as Suetonius tells us—every time he met his first wife in -society, he burst into tears—he, who was one of the most formidable -generals of his time; so that Augustus had to take measures to prevent -their meeting each other. And yet Tiberius had to give way; for his -father, in the eyes of the law and in accordance with the ideas current -in his time, was absolute arbiter in these matters! Not even a man in -the circumstances of Tiberius, who had already been consul, could think -of rebelling against the paternal authority. - -These few facts suffice to prove how often the ideas which to one epoch -and to one civilisation seem the most natural, the most evident, and -the most simple, are, on the contrary, complex and difficult ideas, -at which mankind has arrived only after a long effort, and weary -struggles. Is there anything which seems to us more reasonable than to -leave to young people, who wish to found a family, ample liberty of -judgment and of choice in the matter of the person with whom they will -have to pass their lives? Fathers, it is true, often help their sons -by giving advice. They readily place at the disposal of their children -their own experience. But it is only in very rare instances that they -maintain a struggle _à outrance_, to withhold their children from a -marriage on which their hearts are set, or to force on them a repugnant -alliance. We consider that the individual’s happiness may depend to -some extent on his marriage. It is, therefore, just that everybody -should have ample liberty of choice. If the law purported to restore -to fathers the right to make or unmake their sons’ marriages, we are -convinced that at the present day the vast majority of fathers would -refuse to assume such a responsibility, and would consider such a power -unjust, excessive, and tyrannical. There is not a father to-day who, -however averse he may be to a marriage desired by his son or daughter, -does not end by telling him or her, provided a little firmness is shown -in resisting his arguments, that after all it is not he, but his son or -daughter who has to take the husband or wife in question. Indeed, this -inclination to pliability on the part of fathers towards their sons is -increasing every day. Every day sees a growing disinclination on the -part of fathers to fetter, in a matter of such delicacy and of such -importance to the personal happiness of the young, the freedom of the -latter’s inclinations, the spontaneous rush of their feelings. Besides, -what would be the use of having conquered liberty in so many other -spheres, if it were withheld in this which, especially to the young, -seems the most important of all: the liberty of yielding to the impulse -of that passion which at a certain moment of life is the strongest of -all, love? - -And yet no idea would have appeared more absurd and scandalous to the -men of the ancient world, the contemporaries of Pericles and Cæsar. -The difference is so radical and profound that it must arise from -important reasons. In fact, whoever compares ancient with modern times -easily recognises that the rights of sentiment and the principles of -liberty have been able to triumph in modern society only by virtue of -a complete transformation in social customs and ordinances, which has -stripped the family in our times of much of its social importance. -To-day the family is purely and simply a form of social life in common. -Man and woman cannot live solitary lives. A powerful instinct impels -them towards each other. Even when the instinct is not felt, or is -spent, the man needs to live in the company of other human beings, -to have round him a circle of persons with whom he may find himself -in relations of the closest intimacy. To-day the family performs -this profoundly human office—this office and practically no other. -Nowadays, man and woman study, work, take part in government, compete -for the conquest of wealth and power, and exercise an influence on -society—engage in all these activities quite outside the family. - -But it was not so in ancient times. The family was then an independent -economic organisation, in which the woman had a predominant part. She -wove and spun, providing every member of the family with clothes. -She made bread, she dried the fruits for the winter, she seized the -right moment for laying in the necessary supplies of provisions—a most -important task, in times in which commerce was much less developed -than it is now. In poor or moderately wealthy families, the women wove -and performed similar tasks with their own hands. Rich women learned -to do these tasks as children, but later contented themselves with -superintending their performance by women slaves or freedwomen. But, -especially in the rich families, the woman could contribute a great -deal to the prosperity or the ruin of the house, according as she -was or was not active in the performance of her work, zealous in her -surveillance, energetic and shrewd in giving her orders, moderate in -her expenditure. Even to-day the woman can contribute a great deal, in -the wealthy classes, to the prosperity of the family. But for this she -requires only one negative virtue, for all that this virtue is not too -common or easily acquired: to know how to confine her expenses within -reasonable limits, and not to be too ready to gratify her whims. In -ancient times, on the contrary, if a woman was to be useful to her -family she needed as well a positive virtue: to know how to produce -much and well. This explains how we come to know that certain emperors’ -wives, Livia for instance, directed the weaving operations in their -homes personally and with great zeal, and that Augustus was particular -not to wear any togas but those woven in his house under the eyes of -his wife. The Emperor and his wife by their example meant to recall to -all the Roman women the duty of attending with zeal and alacrity to -their domestic duties. - -The ancient family, especially among the upper classes, was also a -school. The ancient world had few institutions of public education; -and private instruction did not reach a high level of development, -except in the closing years of the Empire. Though Rome was the greatest -military power in the world, the family took the place of military -schools, which were then non-existent. The officers, who all belonged -to the nobility, were prepared in the family. The father was the first -military instructor of his sons, and on him fell the duty of making -good soldiers of them. This, indeed, was one of the reasons why the -aristocracy became indispensable to the Roman Empire; because it alone -could prepare the officers and generals in the family. - -In short, the ancient family was a sort of political society. Its -members were bound to support and help each other in difficult and -dangerous contingencies, to a much greater extent than they are -nowadays. In political struggles, for instance, they were all of one -colour. It was the most difficult and unheard of thing, if indeed not -impossible, for a son or a son-in-law to attach himself to a different -political party from that of his father or his father-in-law. If a -member of the family was implicated in a lawsuit, or financially -embarrassed, the family was bound to help him much more energetically, -and at much greater risk, than in our day. We see this phenomenon -most clearly in Roman history. After the aristocracy split into two -opposing parties,—the conservative and the popular, to borrow modern -expressions,—a man’s position in one or the other party was determined, -almost always, by his birth. He belonged to one party or the other, -according as his own family belonged to one or the other. Take Cæsar, -for example. Why was Cæsar always a member of the democratic party, -and bound to follow its vicissitudes, to the extent of becoming its -leader and occasioning a civil war, overturning the ancient government, -and establishing a dictatorship which, reviving as it did the saddest -memories of Sulla’s reaction, could not fail to be odious to the -majority, and which was the cause of Cæsar’s death? It was not the -result of any special inclination or ambition of his own. Several times -he tried to cross over to the other party, which had much more power -and authority; or at any rate, to reach an understanding with it. But -his effort was of no avail. He was the nephew of Marius, the most -celebrated among the leaders of the popular party, and the one whom the -other party most detested. The first impulse towards the whole of the -great dictator’s extraordinary career was given by this relationship; -he had in the end to bring about a second revolution, because his uncle -had already caused one. - -It is easy then to understand for what reason, in times in which the -family performed so many social offices and was the pivot of so many -interests, marriage was not considered as an act to be left to the full -discretion of the young and to their love, and why the fathers were -conceded the right to decide for themselves in such matters. A marriage -involved grave political, economic, and moral responsibilities for -the members of both clans. Therefore the young people were required -to sacrifice to the common interests of their clan some part of their -personal inclinations. In compensation, they had the advantage, in case -of danger and of need, of being able to count on the family much more -than they can nowadays; the family arrogated to itself, it is true, -certain rights in connection with their choice, but in return did not -abandon them to their fate in the hour of need. - - * * * * * - -In short, the ancient marriage, organised though it was on lines -which appear to us tyrannical, presented certain advantages which, if -considered carefully, will be seen to compensate, at least in part, -for the restricted liberty of choice. In the great transformation of -civilisation of which the modern marriage is the product, men have, -it is true, gained, on the one hand, greater liberty, but have lost, -on the other, certain advantages which, in the ancient world, were -guaranteed to them by the closer and more vigorous solidarity of the -family. Women, on the contrary, have gained much more in the passage -from the ancient to the modern world, because in exchange for what they -have gained, they have lost practically nothing. The organisation of -the modern family is distinguished from that of the ancient especially -by the much greater concessions it makes to the woman. Feminists -complain loudly of the present condition of woman. It is certain, -however, at least to anyone with any knowledge of the history of the -past, that at no epoch have women been so little oppressed by men and -at no epoch have they enjoyed so many advantages as at present. - -In fact, if in the ancient marriage so little liberty of choice was -reserved to the man, it is easy to understand that not a ghost of it -was conceded to the woman. The man had in addition one advantage. -Constrained to submit to the will of the father as long as the latter -was alive, he became, when the father died, absolute master of his -wife, because he could then repudiate her and marry another, how and -when he chose. The almost unfettered liberty of divorce, without any -motive, or for the most futile motives, might well be some compensation -to the man for the subjection in which the father, while alive, kept -him. For the woman, there was no compensation at all. As long as her -father lived, she had to obey the man to whom her father gave her. When -the father was no more, she still remained in the power of her husband, -who could not only repudiate her without any motive, but even marry -her to another. In the history of Rome, especially, the men used and -abused this privilege in a way, which to us seems sometimes ridiculous, -sometimes revolting, and always extravagant. Especially in the last -century of the republic, when the struggles between the parties became -intense, the most eminent statesmen adopted the habit of consolidating -their alliances with marriages. Therefore, we see every political -vicissitude of importance shrouded in a curious web of divorces and -marriages. Now one great man hands his wife over to another, now he -marries the other’s daughter, now gives him his sister to wife. The -poor women wander from one house to the other, change husbands from -one year to another, with the same facility with which, nowadays, a -traveller changes his inn. For all these marriages lasted only as long -as the political combination on account of which they were entered -into. When the combination was dissolved, divorce broke up all or most -of these families, and the husbands set themselves to contract new -marriages. It was so easy for the husband to get a divorce. He needed -only to write his wife a letter announcing his intention! - -Life, then, was bound to be not over-agreeable in Cæsar’s time for -an affectionate, delicate, virtuous woman who desired the quiet joys -of family life. When we contemplate from afar the historical grandeur -and the glory of ancient Rome, we ought not to forget the multitude of -hapless women which Rome was forced to sacrifice—a precious holocaust -indeed—to her fortune and power. How many women’s broken hearts, how -many women’s shattered lives went to make up the foundations of Roman -grandeur! Nevertheless, even the greatest evils are never without some -small admixture of good; and that sorrowful plight of woman in ancient -times, especially of the Roman woman, was offset by one advantage of -which liberty has robbed the woman of to-day. That is, that in ancient -times, a woman, whether fair or plain, clever or foolish, attractive or -insipid, was certain to be married, and that too while she was still -young. The husband could not choose her; but she was sure of finding -him, and that without undue delay. - -In fact, nowhere in the ancient world do we find any striking traces of -a feminine celibacy like that which existed later under the influence -of Christianity in the convents, or like that which is to-day again -coming into prominence for social and economic reasons, without any -religious impress or need of monastic vows, especially in the great -industrial countries. It seems that women of the upper and middle -classes, if they were not positively deformed and physically unsuited -for matrimony, all married. Furthermore, inasmuch as marriages, -especially among the upper classes, were arranged from political and -social motives, no account was taken of the beauty of the bride, but of -her social position, her family, and so on. Historians always tell us -how many wives the numerous prominent figures in Roman history married, -and to what families they belonged. But it is rare for them to tell us -whether they were beautiful or ugly, intelligent or stupid, pleasing or -unpleasing; these details seemed to them of but trifling importance. -One of the few exceptions to this rule is Livia, the last wife of -Augustus. All the writers vie in celebrating her rare beauty (to which -the statues also bear witness), her wisdom, intelligence, and virtue. -But Livia seems really to have been a miracle; for it is a fact that, -having married Augustus in her earliest youth, she succeeded in living -with him all her life. - -Fifteen or sixteen years was considered the suitable age for a bride. -Sometimes girls were married when they were barely fourteen, while -nowadays it is rare for a girl to marry before she is twenty, and the -majority marry between the ages of twenty and thirty. Furthermore, in -many states of the ancient world the legal age for matrimony, both for -the woman and the man, was much lower than it is to-day in European and -American legal codes. This is not surprising. In all times and in all -places in which matrimony is considered not as a personal matter of -sentiment, but as a social act which must be regulated and directed by -the parents, the object is to marry off the young people as quickly -as possible. Often they are actually betrothed when they are still -children, and share each other’s games of running and jumping. This -was a fairly common practice in ancient Rome amongst the nobility, as -it is a thriving custom in the China of to-day. Nor is it difficult to -understand the reason for this procedure, which, considered by itself, -seems to us extravagant and senseless. Love in all times and in all -places is a most intractable passion. It is, therefore, more easy in -such matters, for the elders to impose their wills and cold-blooded -arrangements, on girls of fourteen or fifteen and boys of seventeen -or eighteen, than on women or men of twenty-five. Naturally such -precocious marriages, contracted between young people who had not -yet had a taste of the world, were not free from dangers and serious -inconveniences. But these dangers and inconveniences appeared to -contemporary eyes less great than those which would have arisen, if the -young had been left to follow the dictates of their own feelings. - -In conclusion, another advantage which the ancient marriage, with all -its many hardships and its want of sympathy, assured to the woman was -what one might call the legal protection of virtue. Nowhere was this -protection greater and stronger than in ancient Rome. In Rome, the -legitimacy of a marriage did not depend, as it does now in Europe and -America, on the fulfilment of certain formalities before a priest or -a magistrate, but on the moral situation of the woman. An _ingenua -et honesta_ woman, to use the expression then current, meaning a -free-born woman of irreproachable habits, could live with a man only in -the capacity of his legitimate wife. No formality in the presence of -any magistrate was required. The fact of living with a man and being -_ingenua et honesta_ sufficed to assure to a woman and her own children -all the rights appertaining to a wife and to legitimate offspring. On -the other hand, a woman who had lived a dissolute life, had engaged -in certain employments considered, and justly considered, disgraceful -for a woman, or who had been convicted of adultery, could never become -a legitimate wife or enjoy the privileges and rights of a legitimate -wife. There was no ceremony before a priest or magistrate which could -make a legitimate wife of her. She was by law a _concubina_, and in -that capacity for a long time had no rights. Only in the course of -time could she hope to get the rights, much restricted and of little -importance as they were, which the law gradually conceded to the -_concubina_. - -To transport this ancient conception of matrimony into modern society -would doubtless not be possible, because it contradicts the great -democratic principle of the equality of all before the law, on which -our social organisation rests. But considered by itself this ancient -conception of matrimony is without a doubt more lofty and more noble, -and in particular more favourable to the woman, than the modern -one. For it did not reduce the status of legitimate wife to what is -practically a formality, but made it the exclusive privilege of the -virtuous woman, and therefore assured the virtuous woman of a kind -of privileged legal position, protecting her effectively against the -intrigues and seductions of the attractive and gay women who, in -the modern régime, are usually the more dangerous to the peace and -happiness of the virtuous women, the less austere are their habits. -In ancient Rome, the law guaranteed the virtuous woman that at least -no one of these women should be able to rob her of the post of honour -which she occupied in the family. - -The comparison of the ancient marriage with the modern marriage once -more proves to us, then, how complex are human affairs, and how -difficult it is to pass an absolute and definitive judgment upon -them. Certainly, at first sight, the condition of the woman in the -ancient family seems to us a horrible one, resembling that of a slave. -We wonder how nations that had risen to a lofty level of social, -intellectual, and moral development could have tolerated it. But -when we consider the matter more attentively, we find that even this -condition, wretched though it was in certain respects, was not without -certain advantages, which may perhaps explain to us why women put up -with it for so many centuries. The liberty which the woman of the -present day enjoys has countless advantages; but it has made matrimony -for her a struggle, in which, if some triumph, others are worsted, -and those who triumph are not always the most virtuous and the most -wise. Also, in this order of things, liberty is an excellent thing, -especially for the fortunate and the brave; but the fortunate and the -brave, where marriages and love are concerned, are not always those who -possess the qualities which conduce most effectively to the progress of -the world and the improvement of the human species. Modern liberty has -set a high price on beauty and intelligence in woman, which is all to -the good; but it has also made coquetry, frivolity, and vapidity into -qualities which are useful for the conquest of man, who is not always -a reasonable being and is even less reasonable than usual when he is -in love—which is _not_ all to the good. For there is no doubt that -between twenty and thirty years of age a man is much more sensitive to -the attractions of a frivolous and seductive girl than to those of a -serious and sensible woman. - -All human things, then, have their advantages and their disadvantages, -and that perhaps is why the world never tires of its experiments -in diverse directions and on every topic. Absolute perfection is -unattainable—a fact which should make us careful not to boast too -loudly of the times in which we live, nor to be too ready to disparage -what preceding generations have done. - - - - -IV - -THE LESSON OF THE FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE - - -“_L’histoire est un recommencement perpétuel_,” a French writer has -said. If the forms in which history manifests itself are infinitely -various, the forces which inspire it are always the same, and are -everywhere at work, on a large scale or on a small, openly or secretly. -It is, therefore, not to be wondered at that the decadence of the Roman -Empire is being repeated in our time in the modern world. - -This assertion may seem paradoxical and strange. What! are we moderns -on the downward grade? Why, one hears of nothing but progress on -every side. Never was there an epoch more proud of its loudly vaunted -achievements. The sciences are adding discovery to discovery. The -wealth of the world is increasing with giddy rapidity. Comfort and -culture are spreading in every class and in every country. One after -another, most recondite treasures of the earth are falling into our -hands. We are gradually fighting down all the forces of nature which -for so long a time kept our ancestors at a distance, impeded them, -even threatened them with death, from the law of gravity to the most -insidious maladies. Is it permissible to talk of decadence at the very -moment when man has made himself lord of the whole earth, and is even -learning to fly? History cannot show a richer, wiser, more powerful, -more daring epoch than the present one. No wonder that most people -would resent the suggestion that we, in the flush of our brilliant -successes, are seeing the repetition of that ancient and terrible -history of the last centuries of the Roman Empire, which was one of the -saddest and deadliest episodes in the world’s history. - -And yet that history is repeating itself, to a certain extent at any -rate. The showy wealth and the noisy triumphs of modern civilisation -veil, but do not hide, this _recommencement de l’histoire_ from him who -studies, in a spirit of philosophy, our times and the decadence of the -Roman Empire. It is true that there are immense differences between -the two civilisations and the two epochs. But notwithstanding these -differences, what wonderful resemblances there are! Consider especially -that disease which corrupted the trunk of the Roman Empire, and which -is beginning slowly, subtly, insidiously to eat the heart out of the -modern world. - -The disease which killed the Roman Empire was, in fact, excessive -urbanisation. Neither the attacks of barbarism from outside, nor those -of Christianity from within, would have prevailed against its might -and its massive weight, if the strength of the colossus had not been -already undermined by this internal cancer. But, slowly and steadily, -the disease had spread through the trunk of the Empire, and had -attacked its most vital organs one after the other, fostered on its -deadly errand by wealth, peace, art, literature, culture, religion, all -the blessings which men most long for and most prize. - -In order to understand this extraordinary phenomenon of Roman history, -we must hark back to the generations that lived quietly and in a -relatively happy state in the flowery times of Rome’s real power -and greatness. After two centuries of war, at the beginning of the -Christian era, peace was finally established in the great Empire which -Rome had conquered. In the days of peace, the barbarian West learned -from the Romans how to cultivate the earth, to cut the forests, to -excavate the minerals, to navigate the rivers, to speak and to write -Latin. It became civilised, and bought the manufactures of the ancient -industrial cities of the East. Every fresh market of the West, as it -was opened up, gave a stimulus to the ancient industries of the East, -which found in such market a new clientèle. Contact with the barbarism -of the West rapidly gave fresh youth to the old civilisation of the -East,—Egypt, Syria, Asia Minor,—which had decayed somewhat in the great -crisis of the last century of the republic. Everywhere fresh lands -were brought under cultivation, methods of agriculture were perfected, -minerals were searched for, new industries and new branches of commerce -were opened up. Prosperity and luxury preceding in every nation, even -the most barbarous, and in every class, even the poorest, which -acquired a taste for the luxuries of civilisation. - -An epoch of rapid increase of wealth, of lucky enterprises, of -frequent, close, and varied commercial and intellectual intercourse -between the most distant peoples, began. In every part of the Empire, -in Gaul as well as in Asia Minor, in Spain as well as in Africa, these -new trades, these new industries and agricultural enterprises gave rise -to a prosperous middle class and to provincial aristocracies,—_nouveaux -riches_ families,—which gradually came to form the governing class -of the Empire, migrated to the cities, strode to enlarge them, to -embellish them, and to make them more comfortable, reproducing in every -part of the Empire the splendours of the urban civilisation after the -Greco-Asiatic model as perfected by the practical Roman spirit of -organisation. In every province, the example of the Emperor in Rome -found imitators. In the first and second centuries, every rich family -spent part of its possessions on the embellishment of the cities, -and made provision for the common people of profits, comforts, and -pleasures: they built palaces, villas, theatres, temples, baths, and -aqueducts. They distributed grain, oil, amusements, and money. They -endowed public services and assumed the rôle of pious founders. - -The Empire covered itself with cities great and small, rivalling each -other in splendour and wealth; and into these cities, at the expense -of depopulating the countryside where nobody was willing any longer -to live, it attracted the peasantry, the village artisans, and the -yeomanry. In these cities, schools were opened in which the youth of -the middle class were taught eloquence, literature, and philosophy, -and trained for official posts, the number of which increased from -generation to generation, and for the liberal professions. Thus, in the -second century A.D., the Empire spread, in the sun of the _pax Romana_, -which illumined the world, its countless marble-decked cities, as our -time spreads, in the sun of modern civilisation, the confused and smoky -opulence of its cities, large and moderate-sized, crowded, disordered, -a blaze of light by night, bristling with chimneys and shrouded in -black fog by day. In other words, the most important phenomenon in the -whole history of the Roman Empire, during the first two centuries of -the Christian era, is, as in the nineteenth century, the rapid growth -and enrichment of the cities. - -The phenomenon was not then so rapid nor on so large a scale as it is -to-day; not a single city in the Empire, not even Rome, ever attained, -in my opinion, a population of one million inhabitants. The cities -which seemed big in those days would be only of moderate size now. -Populations and riches were smaller. But the phenomenon in itself was -the same. - -From the third century onwards, the excessive urbanisation in the -Roman Empire, which had been the cause of the splendour and apparent -wealth of the preceding century, began to change into a dissolving -force, which drove that brilliant world back into the chaos from -which urbanisation had evolved it. Little by little, the expenditure -of the urban civilisation, the cities and their increasing luxury, -out-distanced the fertility of the countryside, and, from that moment, -the latter began to be depopulated and sterilised by the cities. -With each succeeding generation, the impulse towards the cities -became stronger. The numbers and the requirements of the modern -population increased. The State and the wealthy classes were inundated -with requests, prayers, and threats, urging them to satisfy these -requirements, to adorn and enrich ever more and more the cities, which -were the glory and splendour of the Empire. - -In order to feed, amuse, and clothe crowded city-populations; to -carry through the construction of the magnificent monuments whose -ruins we still admire; to provide work for the industries and arts -of the cities,—agriculture was, little by little, ground down by -ever-increasing burdens. The position of the peasant, in the solitude -of the depopulated countryside, became ever more sad and gloomy, just -as the cities became fairer, bigger, fuller of amusement and festivals. -The impulse towards the cities increased, and one day the Empire awoke -to find that its cities were swarming with beggars, idlers, vagabonds, -masons, plasterers, sculptors, painters, dancers, actors, singers—in -short, the whole tribe of the artisans of pleasure and of luxury. -But in the fields, which were expected to feed all these men who -had crowded into the cities to work or to idle, there was a dearth -of peasants to cultivate the land. Also, with the disappearance of -the rural population, the problem of recruiting the army, which drew -its soldiers then, as always, from the country, became increasingly -serious. While the cities tricked themselves out with magnificent -monuments, the Empire was threatened with a dearth of bread and of -soldiers. - -It must be owned that the Empire struggled against this menace with -desperate vigour. It introduced the villeinage of the soil. It tried -to bind the peasants to the land. It established heredity of trade or -calling. But the effort was fruitless. Aggravated by one of the most -tremendous intellectual blunders in the annals of history, the crisis -became insoluble. The agriculture of the Empire, and with it the Empire -itself, received its death-blow. The East and the West split apart, -and, left to itself, the West went to pieces. The greatest of the works -of Rome, the Empire founded by her in Europe, including the immense -territory bounded by the Rhine and the Danube, lay a vast ruin: a ruin -of shattered monuments, of peoples relapsed into barbarism, of perished -arts, of forgotten tongues, of laws thrown to the four winds, of roads, -villages, cities razed from the face of the earth, swallowed up in the -primeval forest which slowly and tenaciously thrust out its tentacles, -in that cemetery of a past civilisation, and entwined the giant bones -of Rome! - -But the reader will say: “But that is not happening, and never will -happen, to contemporary civilisation. Even if it cannot be denied -that there is a certain analogy between the history of the first two -centuries of the Empire and that of modern times, the analogy stops -short at this point. The world will never witness another catastrophe -like that of the Roman Empire; or at any rate, nobody now alive will -witness it.” - -I heartily concur in this opinion. Modern civilisation will resist the -ills which assail it better than ancient civilisation resisted them. -But it will be able to do so because it is stronger, not because it -does not contain within itself the germ of the cancer which destroyed -the Roman world. Many symptoms prove this. I will dilate upon one of -them only, the most serious, the most salient, the most generally -recognised and felt, even though few up to the present have seen in it -an analogy and a resemblance to the great historical crisis of the fall -of the Roman Empire. I refer to the rise in the cost of living. - -To-day, Europe and America resound from one end to another with a -chorus of complaints from men and women who have to live in the cities. -Rent, bread, milk, meat, vegetables, eggs, clothes—everything, in -short, is rising in price. Even people in the thirties can remember -having witnessed times of fable, a kind of mythical golden age, in -which things were worth practically nothing compared with their price -to-day. Governments are besieged with entreaties, threats, and prayers -to provide supplies, but they do not know how to do so. What is the -cause, what the remedy, of this strange phenomenon? Some lay the blame -on the taxes; some on Protection; some on the merchants and speculators. - -And indeed, at first sight, the phenomenon seems inexplicable. At no -period of history was there such a determined rush to make money as at -the present time. No age had at its disposal so many and such effective -means of making it. The men of to-day are obsessed to such an extent by -the frenzy for work that they no longer have time to live. Statistics -tell us in exact figures the yearly increase in the production of the -world. So the earth ought to be wallowing in abundance, an abundance -such as the world has never seen heretofore. How comes it, then, that -men everywhere complain, and most loudly in the richest countries, of -the intolerable dearness of everything? What is the object, what the -effect, of the work of the man of to-day, if not abundance but scarcity -is the recompense of daily toil? - -This scarcity is a graver and more complex phenomenon than those who -most complain of it suppose, and is not the fault of government or -traders. It is a veritable _recommencement de l’histoire_, and the -study of the Roman Empire can be of the greatest service in helping -us to understand it. It is the first serious, universally felt -symptom of that excessive urbanisation which was the ruin of ancient -Rome. This modern society arises from the over-development of the -cities, from the too rapid increase in the needs and luxuries of the -multitudes who live in the cities. Men and money concentrate in the -cities, and swell the urban industries and luxury, public and private, -intent on putting into operation all the marvels which the fertile -modern genius, inspired by competition in the race for progress, is -continually inventing. The countryside, on the other hand, has in the -last half-century been left too much to itself, and agriculture has -been too much neglected, exactly as began to be the case in the Roman -Empire at the beginning of the second century of the Christian era. It -is easy to guess what must be the natural consequence of this lop-sided -arrangement. The cities grow bigger; industries increase in number -and in size; the luxury and the needs of the masses, crowded together -in the cities, augment. On the other hand, there is no proportionate -increase in the productiveness of the land. And so the increase in -wealth is accompanied by an increasing scarcity of the fruits of the -earth; and the things which serve to clothe and feed us—cotton, linen, -hemp, wool, cereals, meat, vegetables—nearly all rise in price much -more than do manufactured goods. This explains the scarcity that vexes -the cities in proportion to their growth in size. - -In no country is this phenomenon more apparent and interesting than -in the United States. Which of the nations of the world could more -easily revel in the most marvellous abundance of everything which it is -possible to conceive? The United States has no lack of territories to -cultivate; or of capital, which accumulates every year in immeasurable -quantity; or of strong arms, Europe providing her with immigrants in -the prime of life; or of the spirit of enterprise and of untiring -energy. And yet, in no country of Europe are complaints of the expense -of living more generally and loudly raised than in the United States. -Why? Because in America the disproportion between the progress of -the country and that of the cities, between industrial progress and -agricultural progress, is even greater than in Europe, the home of -populations which for centuries have been accustomed to a country life. -Consequently the scarcity is greater and more vexatious in the United -States, because the wealth of that country is greater than that of -Europe. - -Someone will say: “However that may be, if this scarcity which we are -experiencing is the most obvious symptom of the excessive urbanisation -from which our civilisation is suffering, the suffering cannot be -a very serious matter; it must be far from assuming the grave and -dangerous aspect which it bore in the time of the Roman Empire. So -in this respect also we can consider ourselves lucky; this excessive -urbanisation does not cause us more than a certain material uneasiness, -which is felt by the middle and lower classes in the cities. In the -Roman Empire, on the other hand, it produced a historical catastrophe.” -All that is true, without a doubt, but precisely on this account ought -the lesson, with which the history of the fall of the Roman Empire is -pregnant, to be read and pondered. - -In the Roman Empire, too, for a long time, just as now in Europe and -America, this excessive urbanisation only occasioned a by-no-means -intolerable material uneasiness to the most numerous and poorest -classes of town-dweller. In the first and second centuries,—that is -to say, in the two most prosperous and splendid centuries of the -Empire,—numerous inscriptions remind us of gifts made by rich citizens -or precautions taken by the cities to meet the scarcity of victuals -which pressed hard upon the poorer classes. It is scarcely necessary -to mention Rome in this connection, so notorious is the fact. From the -day when it became the metropolis of a vast Empire, the scarcity of -victuals became a permanent feature of the city; and the State had to -furnish the city with the famous _frumentationes_, which were, in the -last two centuries of the Republic and throughout the Empire, one of -Rome’s most serious preoccupations. Mistress of a mighty Empire, Rome -was for centuries sure of being obeyed in the most distant provinces by -the people that her sword had conquered; but there was never a day in -the year when she was sure of keeping the wolf from the door! - -In the Roman Empire also, then, for a long time the excessive -urbanisation made itself felt in the shape of a troublesome, but by no -means intolerable, rise in the cost of living in the cities. Why did it -gradually bring about a terrific social dissolution? Because the Roman -Empire, instead of leaving its cities to fight down this evil, tried to -abolish it by artificial means; and those artificial means it applied -ever more and more extensively, the more serious the evil became. -The crisis of the cities of the Empire began in the third century, -which saw the depopulation of the countryside, and the diminution -of agricultural production, while in the cities, on the other hand, -victuals were rising in price, and the number of beggars was increasing -in a most alarming way. If the State had allowed this crisis to run its -natural course, what would have happened? Of course things would of -themselves have regained their equilibrium little by little. Part of -the urban proletariat, unable to live in the overcrowded cities, and -seeing themselves condemned to a sort of chronic famine and gradual -extinction, would have returned to work in the fields. When the drain -on the population of the countryside becomes too great, the evil admits -of only one remedy: and that is, that life in the cities should be -allowed to become unbearable to a certain number of the citizens, so -that they may be tempted to exchange it for life and work in the fields. - -But the Roman State could not bring itself to let the evil follow its -natural course. The large cities, beginning with Rome, had too great -influence with the Government; and throughout the Empire the city -beautiful and rich had come to represent the model of civilisation. -Little by little, the State let itself be persuaded to do for each -of its cities what it had done for Rome ever since its earliest -conception of a world-policy under the delusion that it could thus -stave off the impending crisis. With a view to easing the misery of the -urban proletariat, it took public works in hand in every direction, -regardless of their utility. It distributed victuals free or at -half-price. It multiplied philanthropic institutions and encouraged the -wealthy families to imitate and to assist it. But all these schemes -cost money, which the State could secure only by increasing the -taxes on agriculture, while the wealthy families had to spend in the -cities the bulk of the wealth which they derived from their country -property. The result was that life was artificially made easier and -more comfortable in the cities, and harder and more difficult in the -country, whereas the natural trend of circumstances would have produced -the opposite effect. The evil, treated in so ridiculous a way, became -worse. The exodus of the peasants into the cities increased, and -brought a corresponding increase in the demands on the public purse for -the amelioration of the conditions of city life. The intensification of -the evil was met by an increase in the dose of the very remedy which -aggravated it—useless expenditure in the cities, ruinous taxes on -agriculture. Matters went from worse to worse, until the system reached -the limit of its elasticity, and the whole social fabric collapsed in a -colossal catastrophe. - -This is precisely the mistake which modern civilisation must learn to -avoid. The catastrophe of the Roman Empire teaches us moderns one -lesson: and that is, that the evil from which the great cities of the -civil world are suffering at present is a salutary, health-giving, and -beneficent visitation. For it puts a natural brake on the growth of -cities and of their luxury, and keeps the population in the fields, -where the rise in the price of living brings profit, greater comfort, -and improved living in its train. It is, in short, the _vis medicatrix -naturæ_, which tends to restore the balance between agriculture and -industry, between the city and the country, a balance which the -development of modern civilisation has upset. Therefore all the -artificial measures which pretend to mitigate this evil, at the very -moment when the force of circumstances demands that this development -shall stop, must be pernicious. While they tide over a trifling evil of -the moment, they lay up for the future troubles and difficulties and -dangers of infinitely greater gravity. - -Even if modern civilisation adopted in its entirety the policy pursued -by the Roman Empire, and tried to eradicate the evil with the same -deadly artificial measures which only aggravated it, there would -still doubtless be no ground for fearing a catastrophe in the future -analogous to that which overwhelmed Greco-Roman civilisation. Modern -civilisation is too vast, too powerful, too deep-rooted, to have any -fear of a similar fate. But if not destroyed, modern civilisation -might be profoundly shaken and weakened in the event of its imitating -the policy of Rome and seeking to favour the cities overmuch at the -expense of the country;—all the more shaken and weakened, because, -dazzled as we all are by the triumphs of the world in which we live, -and by the surface marks of its powers and grandeur, it is much more -difficult for us than it was for the ancients in a similar case to -discern the signs of old age in it, and the cracks which are spreading -in the edifice in which we live. - -There is a further lesson to be learned by us moderns from the history -of the decadence of the Roman Empire: and that is, not to mistake the -glamour of the external manifestations of wealth and power for signs of -real wealth and power. A civilisation is not always in reality richer -and stronger in times when it bears the most visible marks of so being; -we are rather apt to find that, when it is most dazzling in outward -seeming, its decadence has already begun. We often halt in stupefaction -and admiration before the great ruins of ancient Rome, especially those -offered by the European provinces of the Empire. We think how great, -powerful, and rich must have been the Empire which could rear monuments -so massive that all the centuries have not been able to sweep them -entirely from the face of the earth. And yet, if we are to look at -these relics in their right light, we must remember that practically -all the great Roman monuments whose remains survive to our day on a -large scale, belong to the third, fourth, and fifth centuries of the -Christian era—to the centuries of decadence and dissolution. As the -Empire weakens and ages, its monuments become more and more elaborate -and colossal. A fairly safe rule for guessing the century to which -Roman monuments belong is to assume that the more imposing the ruins, -the later is the epoch to which they should be attributed. - -For Rome herself, the time of the greatest expansion, splendour, -and population was the middle of the fourth century—that is to say, -when her decadence was already far advanced. Not till then did Rome -become, for the number and size of her temples, the magnificence of -her baths, her basilicas, and her private palaces, for the beauty of -her public gardens, for her size and population, the first and most -marvellous city of the Empire: the portent which evokes the admiration -of the whole world. How much smaller, on the other hand, how much more -simple and modest was she in the first century, a time when the Empire -really was at its most flourishing epoch, with its frontiers safe, -its population on the up-grade, its cities developing themselves by a -process of growth which was still a perfectly natural one, agriculture, -trade, and industries in a sound condition, and the State well -organised and strong. - -Nor is this a historical paradox. It is only what always happens to a -greater or less extent. In families as in nations and civilisations, -ostentation, display, the doing on a grand scale everything, even -what might be done on a small scale without detriment, or even -advantageously, are a sign of decadence rather than of progress. The -passion for the colossal and the enormous is not a healthy passion, -nor does it flourish in epochs of strength and sound moral and social -equilibrium; it is a passion which thrives in epochs of decadence, -epochs convulsed by a deep-seated disproportion between desires and -reality, a thirst for excitements and violent sensations, lavish in the -expenditure of labour and of wealth to procure a fallacious illusion -of grandeur and power, spurred on by a spirit of rivalry and of -competition which easily degenerates into false pride. - -Not the least of the causes contributing to the maintenance and -increase in the ancient cities of that sumptuousness of festivals, -ceremonies, and monuments which gradually ruined the Roman Empire was -the rivalry between the big, the medium-sized, and the small cities of -the Empire, between provinces and districts, between classes, families, -professions, sects, and religions. When a city built a theatre, or -baths, or a basilica, at once her sister-cities wanted one too, as big -or bigger. If a rich family built or endowed a temple or baths, the -other families wished to do the same or more. There was a continual -competition between the religions to have the finest temple or the most -sumptuous ceremonial. That explains why a little city like Verona, for -instance, has an enormous amphitheatre, in which the whole population -of the city could be accommodated several times over. That explains why -the provinces, the cities and private individuals, in this competition -of display and magnificence, all showered enormous wealth on that -display, wealth which would have been better spent in defending the -Empire or in preserving its economic resources. Many of those remains -which evoke our admiration to-day meant, in the days when they reared -their proud bulk to the sky, the ruin of the Empire! - -And now let us search our own consciences. Can we honestly declare -that our epoch is untainted by this mania for grandeur and display, -this spirit of sterile public and private rivalry, which caused the -ancient Roman Empire to squander such vast treasures, and cloaked -its fatal decadence with a vesture of splendour? I cannot suppose -that our freedom from such taint would be maintained by anyone who -remarked the headlong growth of public and private luxury, the ever -swelling vanity of nations, professions, and classes, the tendency -to mistake in everything the grandeur of colossal proportions for -the grandeur of intrinsic virtue. Whoever casts his eyes around him, -in America as well as in Europe, sees this impression gaining ground -on all sides and acquiring force. It fouls the stream of politics, -religion, literature, philosophy and art. It corrupts or transforms -the spirit of the upper as well as of the lower classes. Not only -that, but there is a prevailing tendency to consider this impression -a sign of force, a proof of greatness and of progress. The history of -Rome admonishes us, then, to distrust this illusion, and to sound the -spirit of our civilisation to its deepest depths—that spirit which to -us seems a limpid mirror of perfection, while it is really very much -the opposite. If, after twenty centuries of work and study, we find -ourselves, fortunate heirs of an ancient civilisation, in a position to -live more safely and more comfortably than did our ancestors on this -little globe, we are not, therefore, justified in altering the moral -values and virtues to suit our pleasures. The vices, the faults, the -depraved inclinations of twenty centuries ago remain the same to-day -and modern civilisation would be guilty of the gravest of errors if, -deaf to the great lesson preached by the ruins of Rome, she boasted -of those very defects which destroyed in the ancient world one of the -greatest works of human brain and energy that history has to offer. - - - - -V - -UPS AND DOWNS - - -We are always talking about progress. But does “progress” mean only -the multiplication of wealth and of the power and speed of machines, -in other words, of our mastery over nature? This would be a rash -assertion. “Progress” implies further improvement of, and increase -in, the virtues, and the diminution of the vices inherent in human -nature. Now, can anyone who knows the history of ancient civilisation, -the life, the customs, the ideas, and the moral outlook of the Greeks -and Romans, say that we have become better than they? And if he can -say so, how much better have we become? Have we become better in -every department of life, or are there some things in which we show a -falling-off? - -There can be no doubt that we are braver than the ancients. Our control -of fire has obliged us to be continually making calls upon our bravery. -The formidable machines which we set in motion; the explosives which we -use so largely; the murderous forces of nature, like electricity, which -we have brought into subservience; the thousand dangerous exploits on -the sea, in the bowels of the earth, and in the giddy heights of the -air in which thousands, nay millions, of engineers and workmen daily -risk their lives, have steeled our temperaments to quell that blind and -instinctive fear which lies deep down in human nature. - -War is the supreme test of this increased courage. War has become -rarer, it is true, than it was in the ancient world; but how much more -terrible and awe-inspiring has it become, both by land and by sea, -since fire replaced steel as the principal weapon! The only forms -of fire known to the ancients as useful in war were boiling oil, -which was often used in sieges, and the so-called Greek fire, which -was employed in naval battles—a mysterious compound, into which one -suspects, petroleum entered, for it was much used by the nations and -cities of the Black Sea. But both of these were but children’s toys -compared with the guns, shrapnel, and torpedoes of modern warfare. We -are justified, therefore, in asserting that the men who took part in -the battles of Marathon, Cannæ, and Zama did not need to have hearts -so stout or courage so intrepid as the men who faced each other in the -great battles of the Napoleonic era, in the American Civil War, in the -battles between the Russians and Japanese, or in the recent Balkan War. - -But if we are more courageous, we are at the same time less cruel, a -fact which throws our superior courage into greater relief. One of -the characteristic differences between contemporary civilisation and -those which preceded it, up to the French Revolution, is the total -suppression of the bloody spectacles which, under so many aspects and -forms, were one of the most sinister delights of our ancestors. We -find the greatest difficulty in understanding how so highly civilised -a people as the Romans, with so many thoughts and feelings in common -with ourselves, could have been roused to such a pitch of intoxication -by the games of gladiators and the baiting of wild beasts. And yet the -popular passion for these bloody games was such that even the emperors, -in whom they inspired feelings of horror and repulsion, like Augustus, -were compelled to attend the gory spectacles, so as not to appear, by -their absence, to rebuke those who supported them and to run counter to -the absorbing passion of the masses for them. - -On the other hand, if an ancient Roman came back to the world, and -saw an American stadium packed with people from top to bottom, he -would be not a little puzzled to explain what could have induced so -many thousands of persons to have flocked together from afar merely -to watch a football match,—to collect in such crowds, endure such a -long journey, and such discomfort, just to get a distant view of some -youths kicking their legs in the air! It would seem to them a truly -insipid and tiresome spectacle. Their tastes ran to a gory struggle, -reminiscent of war, to fights between men and animals, blood in -bucketfuls. - -Christianity initiated that education of men’s feelings which has -made us gradually turn away our eyes in horror from these atrocious -diversions. But how slow and difficult this education has been! It -can safely be said not to have reached its climax until after the -Revolution. Only the nineteenth century, intent on mitigating and -humanising the penal law in every direction, has finally succeeded in -abolishing the last of these cruel spectacles, capital punishment. -Right up to the end of the eighteenth century, condemned prisoners were -executed throughout Europe with much pomp and in the full light of day, -in the central squares of the cities, at times and places at which -everybody could attend, as if at a public festival. Indeed, executions -were invariably attended by an immense public, attracted by cruel -curiosity to see a man going to his death. By diminishing the number -of death sentences, and by executing culprits in prison yards in the -presence of a handful of witnesses, or, as is still done in France, in -public, but at dawn, with the public kept at as great a distance as -possible, the nineteenth century has put the crown on one of the most -far-reaching and wonderful moral transformations of the human mind, -a transformation which owes its birth to the words of Christ uttered -twenty centuries ago, and has given modern civilisation one notable -reason for boasting itself superior to the ancient. - -But if we are more courageous and more humane, we are, on the other -hand, in no way more sober or more temperate. As far as these virtues -are concerned, the ancient world cuts a much better figure in history -than does the modern. We have deteriorated. The modern world eats -and drinks to excess. It indulges to excess in alcoholic drinks and -stimulants. The only intoxicating drinks known to the ancients were -wine and beer, and wine they always drank mixed with water. They did -not know alcohol, nor consequently, liqueurs, now so numerous and so -highly appreciated; they did not know tea, coffee, or tobacco. We can -assert positively that drunkenness was the rarest of vices in the -ancient world, while frugality was the commonest of virtues. We need -not take too seriously those orgies of the wealthy to which ancient -writers—especially Latin writers—so often allude, or the banquets at -which dishes of parrots’ tongues were served, or pearls dissolved in -vinegar were drunk. These stories bear a strong family likeness to -the legends current in Europe about “the corrupt state of American -society,” and are due to the same tendency. They are the exaggerated -and violent reaction of an ancient puritanism against the natural -advances of luxury and against that kind of moral slackening which -always accompanies the increase of wealth. Just as the dispassionate -and unprejudiced European, when he examines at close-quarters the -so-called “corrupt state of American society,” readily recognises -that the high-sounding expression only indicates certain defects and -weaknesses which certainly are reprehensible, but which are common to -the whole of modern civilisation and not peculiar to America, so the -famous Roman orgies and the banquets, which have made so much stir, -would seem to us, if a miracle allowed us to attend them, very modest -and unassuming affairs compared to our ostentatious displays. - -As far, then, as sobriety and temperance are concerned, we cannot -confront our ancestors with too haughty a mien. And what shall we say -about the purity of our customs? That is a much more difficult problem, -perhaps an absolutely insoluble one. At least I, for my part, do not -feel myself competent to solve it. To judge from Greco-Latin literature -and art, one would say that in the ancient world, with the exception of -a few countries and certain epochs, such as the centuries during which -Rome was controlled by a puritan aristocracy, the customs of both men -and women were very free and easy. But literature and art often afford -untrustworthy evidence on which to base a judgment as to the customs -of an epoch. For vice, wrong, and crime, though they may shock the -moral sense, are more interesting subjects for art than are virtue and -honesty. In short, literature and art always seek to describe what is -rare, exceptional, and dramatic. Therefore, if we wish to judge the -moral state of an epoch from its literature and art, we must know how -far and in what degree the faults and vices described or chosen for -artistic representation are common, what is the rule, and how many are -the exceptions. And how are we to find this out? We shall have to know -the moral state of the epoch, and literature will not help us to this -knowledge. - -Anybody who judged Paris from the novels or dramas which deal with -Parisian life would be forced to conclude that the French metropolis -spends the whole of its time in amorous adventures. But anyone who -_knows_ Paris is aware, what is after all an _a priori_ supposition, -that love occupies in its life a very much less prominent place than in -its literature; and that the writers of dramas and novels go to love -for their subject by preference, because love admits of more attractive -treatment than do struggles for money or the rivalries of political -ambitions and the crosses of the intellectual life. For the rest, when -we wish to judge the customs of an epoch or of a people, we must not -forget that it is not always the epochs or the nations which lament -most loudly the depravity of customs that are the most corrupt. Far -from it! Often the epochs which bewail their own vices most bitterly -are those in which the moral conscience is still lively and robust and, -therefore, protests against the evil. The epochs which are dumb, and -seem most virtuous, have often reached such a pitch of depravity, that -they have become indifferent to the evil. - -A striking instance of this curious phenomenon is to be found in the -history of Rome. Horrible stories are told of the first period of -the Empire,—extending from Augustus to Nero,—during which the family -of the Julio-Claudii were at the helm of the State. History and -literature are full of scandals, and of laments over the depravity of -the times. In the second period, on the other hand,—that of the Flavii -and Antonines,—the scandals and protests cease. The depravity of the -preceding century seems suddenly to have mysteriously disappeared. The -Roman world has, by a kind of miraculous conversion, in a few years -turned virtuous. In fact, not a few historians have thought that this -miracle did come about, and have credited it to the virtuous emperors -of the second century. After so many bad emperors, Rome at last got -some good ones; and the trick was done! But anybody who studies the -facts with a little patience will have no hesitation in concluding that -the times of the Antonines were at least as corrupt as those of the -Julio-Claudii; but that, while in the first century of the Christian -era the ancient Puritan spirit of Rome was still alive and vigorous, -and therefore protested against the deterioration of customs with such -energy that its protests have reached even to our ears, in the epoch of -the Antonines, on the other hand, this spirit was spent. Consequently, -everybody resigned himself to the evil, either despairing of being able -to cure it, or not giving it a thought. And so, of the two epochs, -that which was painted in the blacker colours was, perhaps, really the -better. - -It is impossible, then, to decide whether our customs are better or -worse than those of the ancients. It is certain, on the other hand, -that we are much more human than they. For with us, a sentiment, which -with the ancients was very weak, if not non-existent, is lively and -profound, the sentiment of the moral equality of every individual. -The ancients simply refused to recognise in the slave and in the free -man, in the nobleman and in the plebeian, in the citizen and in the -foreigner, human creatures made of the same clay and animated by the -same spirit, whom the mysterious accidents of fortune had placed in -different situations, and all of whom had certain sacred and inviolable -rights in the supreme domain of justice. A few philosophers dared just -to hint at such doctrines, but without laying too much stress upon -them. And theirs were voices crying in the wilderness. The free man, -the patrician, and the citizen felt themselves creatures of another -species and of a higher nature than slaves, plebeians, and foreigners, -towards whom the former group might have capricious bursts of -benevolence, but to whom they never regarded themselves as bound by any -obligation. Hence came that asperity which appears in all the social -relations of ancient peoples,—in their laws, their customs, their wars, -their political quarrels,—and which often seems to us in so striking -a contrast with the lofty and noble culture which adorned the ancient -states. - -Augustus, for instance, was a grave, well-balanced, and prudent man, -who avoided all extremes. Yet the ancient writers tell us to his credit -that he had amongst his numerous freedmen several men of the loftiest -intellect, of wide knowledge, and of transparent honesty, who had -rendered him great services; but that, though he held them in great -honour, he never invited any of them to his table. Such an act of -familiarity between freedmen and patricians would have seemed to the -ancients derogatory, and so they praised Augustus for having avoided -it. To us, on the other hand, this attitude of reserve on the part of -the great Emperor seems strange and incomprehensible, as it would seem -on the part of a great and wealthy manufacturer who was ashamed to dine -with the heads of departments of his business. - -On the other hand, the difference between rich and poor was much -less marked in the ancient world than it is in the modern. This is, -perhaps, the most striking and important of the lines of cleavage -between the world of antiquity and that of to-day. The idea of the -moral equality of men, who are all sons of God, which was disseminated -by Christianity; the idea of political and social equality, which was -promulgated by the French Revolution, have in modern civilisation -cut at the roots of the ancient distinctions of class, of religion, -and even to a certain extent of nationality. But modern society is -organising itself, in compensation, into a hierarchy of wealth. Men may -consider themselves in theory all equal to one another; but each tries -to associate with those persons who have approximately the same means -as he, because it is they who are able to have the same habits as he -has. Precisely because the modern world is so rich and so luxurious, -the modes of living among the richest, the rich, and the moderately -well-to-do classes show striking differences. And what is true of the -modes of living is also true of tastes and inclinations. Everybody -realises nowadays that differences or resemblances in habits, tastes, -and inclinations are what most attract and repel men and influence them -in treating each other as equals or unequals, when custom and tradition -have established no other moral difference between them. The motor-car -is as powerful a barrier between the social classes of to-day as was -aristocratic prejudice before the Revolution. - -In ancient times, on the other hand, precisely because the world was -then so much poorer and simpler, the difference in the mode of living -between poor and rich was much smaller. Both lived in closer contact, -treating each other really as equals, provided always that they were of -the same rank socially and politically. Augustus, who could not have -freedmen, however enlightened, to dinner, invited poor, but free-born, -plebeians. A rich Roman would never have entertained a freedman in his -house or at his table, or treated him as an equal, even if the latter -had been as rich as, or richer than, himself. On the other hand, he -welcomed and treated as an equal a citizen free-born like himself, -however miserable and reduced to living on his bounty. - -If, therefore, the ancient conception of the social relations was less -humane and less generous than ours, it was not wanting in a certain -moral grandeur that is wanting to ours, inasmuch as in estimating a -man, it subordinated his wealth to ideal qualities, such as free -birth, or good birth, or citizenship. So it maintained in society -certain moral values which were not to be bought with money. The -poorest of Roman citizens was conscious and proud of possessing -something of inestimable value, which the richest and most opulent of -Roman freedmen could not acquire for all his wealth; and this sentiment -was a very real alleviation of, and compensation for, his poverty. Dare -we assert that in this respect our social system does not fall short of -the ancient one? Such an assertion would be, in my opinion, a very bold -one. The gravest weakness in modern society consists precisely in this -continual increase of the power of money, as an all-regulating force -and universal standard. If the social evolution which we are witnessing -continues on the path on which it has started, in a short time there -will be nothing in life worth having which is not purchasable for -money; and then what means will there be left of bridling the greed and -envy of the poor? - -But this superiority of ancient society was in its turn the effect -of a different conception of wealth, of its rights, its duties, and -its objects. It is an exaggeration to credit the ancients with a -simplicity and a contempt for riches, qualities which serve as a -strange contrast with the greed and the insatiable thirst for gold -which possess the moderns. In ancient times, it is true, men preached -moderation in desires and taught the art of being contented with but -little, with greater zeal and success than it is taught in modern -times. Nevertheless, the men of those days, with but few exceptions, -were not less greedy than we, and not less apt to consider wealth as -the greatest of life’s blessings. Those who could, accumulated large -private fortunes with the same frenzy and the same insatiate greed that -inflame so many speculators and business men of the present day; and -many of those who were content to live the simple life were converts -to this noble and lofty philosophy from necessity rather than from -conviction. The wealth of the ancient world was infinitely smaller than -that of the modern world. Consequently a large number of persons had -to be content to live the simple life. On this account the religions -and the philosophers invented many theories and doctrines to prove that -simplicity and parsimony were more desirable than opulence and luxury. -That is the reason for the numberless theories regarding austerity that -antiquity invented. - -But though the ancients desired riches as much as we do, they were not -infatuated by the desire to multiply them to the same extent as the -moderns. In this respect, the ancients may truly be said to have been -more austere and disinterested than we. And the difference between -their thoughts and feelings on the subject and our own is seen most -strikingly in one fundamental principle, which is, as it were, the -keystone of the whole fabric of ideas and sentiments which concern -riches; I mean, the question of putting money out at interest. To -modern society it seems the most natural thing in the world that -money should earn interest. Nowadays, the number of those who lend -or invest capital in the countless ways offered by modern finance is -infinite. Every one of these big and little capitalists, who possess -State bonds, shares in railways or industrials, or bank or commercial -securities, would be thunderstruck if anyone told him that he was -behaving in an unseemly way. Matters have reached a point at which the -distinction between investment and usury is fading from our minds. -And yet numberless generations, and not a few of the most brilliant -civilisations in history, professed the idea that any business of -that sort was unbecoming. The ancients as a rule, with but few casual -exceptions, judged it unfitting for a man of the respectable classes to -earn money in any other way than either from land and houses—realty—or -from direct participation in commerce and the arts; never from money -lent at interest to others. That was usury; and was considered nearly -always, with but few exceptions of time and place, as the exercise of -a degrading profession. Wealthy men, with large sums of money at their -disposal, were able, and were expected, to help those who needed money; -but with gratuitous, not with interest-bearing loans. The letters -of Cicero, for instance, are full of references to these gratuitous -loans, for which the great orator, when short of money, often asked his -friends. When he was in funds, he lent to those who were in need. In -short, the lending of money without interest to upright and honourable -persons was considered in those days a duty of the rich. - -Of course, ideas like these about money and interest were bound to -retard the development of the ancient world and the increase of -wealth. But they were ideas which kept alive in men’s minds a certain -noble disinterestedness of which it would be difficult to find traces -to-day, and which makes amends for many of the asperities of ancient -civilisation. - -Considering, then, the separate virtues one by one, we find that in -some we have progressed, in others we have not. Therefore, in certain -respects we are better than the ancients, in others we are worse. -Must we conclude that the good and the evil balance each other, and -that, therefore, there has been no real moral progress from the -ancient world to the modern? That would be, in my opinion, a very bold -assertion. It is, in fact, undeniable that our moral life is richer in -principles than that of the ancients, because we have retained many of -the ancient principles, and have added to them the moral principles -which were invented by the civilisations which flourished after the -fall of the Roman Empire. We appreciate the virtues of patriotism, -civic affection, and valour in war which were proper to the ancient -cities. To them we add the sense of legality and right, the need for -precise and prompt justice, which were invented by the ancient jurists -and perfected by the moderns. We add charity, mercy, love of our -neighbour, horror of cruel amusements, virtues which Christ taught us. -We add the sentiment of the dignity and the rights of man, which was -created by the philosophy of the eighteenth century and by the French -Revolution. We add certain other brand-new sentiments, the creation -of the civilisation of machinery, which are, therefore, stronger in -America than in Europe: ardour for the new, enthusiasm for progress, -confidence in our own strength. In war, we fight like the Romans, and -in peace, we turn our eyes away from bloody spectacles. We should hold -the gladiatorial games in no whit less horror than the most pious of -Christian monks. We trade like the Phœnicians and we love knowledge -like the Greeks. We appreciate liberty and we appreciate authority. -Does not all this constitute real progress? And does it not suffice to -counterbalance certain other defects of ours, such as intemperance and -the immoderate desire for riches? - -I think so. But that does not mean that we are at liberty to abandon -ourselves freely to our vices and defects, under the pretext that -they are compensated for by other virtues. It is the duty of every -civilisation, as of every man, to make himself as perfect as possible. -And this duty we must not forget, not even in the midst of the -immeasurable triumphs of the richest, most powerful, and wisest -civilisation that has ever yet seen the light of day. - - - - -PART III - -EUROPE AND AMERICA - - - - -I - -THE AMERICAN DEFINITION OF PROGRESS - - -The two visits I paid to South and North America between 1907 and 1909 -were the result of a lucky chance, not of a prearranged plan. In 1906, -after having been plunged for ten years in the study of Roman history, -I had no idea of crossing the Atlantic, much less of writing a book -on America and Europe. I had never dreamt that my long researches in -the great cemetery of the ancient world might start me suddenly one -day along the road which leads to the New World. But destiny willed -it so. In November of 1906, by invitation of the Collège de France, I -delivered in Paris a course of lectures on the history of Augustus, -in which I summarised the fourth and fifth volumes of my _Greatness -and Decline of Rome_. There happened to be at Paris at that time a -distinguished Argentine, Señor Emilio Mitré, son of that General Mitré -who was one of the Republic’s most conspicuous politicians during -the second half of the nineteenth century. He himself was a man of -importance in the political world, and proprietor of the _Nacion_, -which is not only the biggest, most serious, and most authoritative -newspaper in Latin America, but one of the leading newspapers of the -world. I had contributed to this paper for years, so I called on -Mitré in Paris. He came to hear my lectures, and the day before the -concluding one, November 29th,—he was due to sail for Buenos Aires -on December 1st,—he came to me with a proposal that I should go to -Argentina and there deliver some lectures. I accepted, impelled chiefly -by curiosity to see that vast and rich country which, for the last ten -years, had been so much talked about in Italy, and to which during -the last half-century so many Italians had emigrated. I accordingly -prepared my lectures, and on June 7, 1907, I sailed from Genoa for -Buenos Aires with my wife and little boy. Every European who crosses -the Atlantic and can wield his pen with any sort of effect writes his -impressions when he gets back. Naturally, therefore, I too had promised -several reviews and one publisher to bring back with me a volume of -“Impressions of Argentina.” - -At six P.M. on June 8th, we put in to Barcelona. Directly the steamer -came alongside, the Brazilian consul came on board in search of me. He -handed me a despatch from Baron di Rio Branco, the Brazilian Minister -of Foreign affairs, who invited me in the name of the Brazilian -Academy to stop at Rio, and read a paper there. I begged the consul to -telegraph to Baron di Rio Branco that I could not stop on my voyage -out, as I was expected at Buenos Aires; but that on my return I should -be delighted to accept his kind invitation. As the steamer was to put -in at Rio, I could arrange matters with him _en route_. As the steamer -resumed her journey, and passed out of the Mediterranean into the vast -wilderness of the ocean, I busied myself with some books of philosophy -which I had brought along, amongst them, some of Buddha’s discourses, -which had just been published in an Italian translation. - -On June 24th, at 5 P.M., we reached the bay of Rio, one of the most -marvellous spots in the world. But while we were gazing from the deck -in admiration at the gloomy mountains standing round about and the -woods which covered them, at the city rising from the sea towards the -mountains, and the roseate glow of the setting sun upon the bay, we -descried a steam launch laden with people coming towards us. It was a -deputation from the Brazilian Academy and from the Ministry of Foreign -Affairs, which was coming to take us for a motor tour through the city, -and afterwards to take us to dinner at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, -where Baron di Rio Branco was expecting us. We hastened ashore, and -found some motors waiting for us at the Pharoux jetty. We jumped in, -and were off. - -As long as life lasts, I shall never forget that drive at sunset, -between the dying light of evening and the first gleams of the electric -lamps, which were just beginning to light up the marvellous city built -in the midst of the remains of the primeval forest on the borders of -the sea, on the hills, and on the mountains. I shall never forget our -dash through endless streets, with hurried glimpses of multi-coloured -houses, sumptuous palaces half hidden in superb gardens, avenues of -gigantic palms which stretched far away into the night, glorious -promenades along the seashore, and mountain peaks which beetled above -the city. I longed to stop the car. But time pressed, and after -having hurriedly traversed the whole city, we reached, about 7.30 -P.M., Itamaraty (as the palace of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs is -called), where a select company of men and women were awaiting us in -rooms ablaze with light. As soon as we had been introduced, dinner was -served; a most sumptuous dinner, into which, among the most luscious -ragoûts of the French cuisine, the thoughtful Minister of Foreign -Affairs had introduced several Brazilian dishes. I remember the -_palmiti_, a dish of palm-pith, cooked as we cook asparagus, and really -delicious; and _bakury_, a white fruit from the equator, preserved in -syrup, which reminded me strongly of the smell of magnolia and gave me -the illusion of eating marvellous flowers. - -Speeches followed the dinner, whereupon we returned on shipboard, but -before doing so I had arranged in a corner of the drawing-room with -Baron di Rio Branco, Giuseppe Graça Aranha, now Brazilian Minister at -the Hague, and a distinguished writer, who was then the Minister’s -secretary, and Machado de Assis, the great writer who was then -President of the Brazilian Academy, that I would stop a couple of -months in Brazil on my way back, repeat my Buenos Aires lectures, and -visit the country. At 11 P.M., the steamer weighed anchor and left the -dark bay, in which there was nothing now to be seen but the glitter of -an infinite number of tiny lights. - -That night, however, I did not sleep, so stunned and dazzled was I by -that first fantastic glimpse of America, which will remain one of the -most singular experiences of my life, though, so far, my life has not -been devoid of strange and curious chances. I had started from Europe -with no, or practically no, knowledge of the two Americas, excepting -the little I had picked up here and there in books and papers which I -happened to read. Consequently, my opinion of America was the same as -that formed by other Europeans: that it was the country of material -realities, of business, of fortunes made rapidly, of wealth stripped -of every ornament, poetry, beauty, and ideal refinement; that rude and -bustling America with which all cultured Europeans love to contrast -Europe as the continent of the Ideal, where beauty, wisdom, and every -refinement of civil life flourish. And behold! my first impression of -America was as of a strip of India, and the first American city I had -seen reminded me of the East, and especially, for some reason or other, -of Bagdad, or rather, of the somewhat fantastic idea of Bagdad which I -had conceived in the days when I read more often and more ardently than -I do now, the _Orientales_ of Victor Hugo, and the other romantic poets -of the middle of the nineteenth century. And in that city, I had been -present at a succulent and magnificent banquet, at which, amidst the -refinements of the old civilisation of Europe, I had tasted the unknown -rarities of the tropics, in the company of elegant, cultured, and -refined guests, with whom I had discussed in French the latest literary -and artistic novelties, as if we had been on the banks of the Seine. -Was it a reality or a dream? - -Quite other surprises were, however, in store for me on my wanderings -in America. Four days later, on June 27th, we reached Buenos Aires, -where we were joyfully welcomed by a number of kind folk, who had -spared neither trouble nor care to make our stay agreeable to us. -Then began four months of really strenuous life, to borrow Theodore -Roosevelt’s favourite expression. Conferences, receptions, banquets, -visits to hospitals, schools, factories, workshops, and ranches; trips -by boat, train, and motor-car. It was a real _moto perpetuo_. I passed -the month of July at Buenos Aires. In August, I plunged into the -interior, visiting successively Rosario, Mendoza, Cordova, Tucuman, -Santiago, dell ’Estero, Santa Fé, Paraná, and penetrating right up -to the foot of the Andes. I travelled about ten thousand kilometres -in the railway train, observing, collecting documents, asking and -answering questions, and discussing problems. All these, however, were -labours less tiring than another, which became by degrees the principal -preoccupation of my mind during those two months: the endeavour to put -to flight a demon which kept obstinately springing up before my eyes, -in conversations, on journeys, during visits, during dinner-parties, -notwithstanding all the efforts I made to keep it at a distance; and -which seemed determined to reappear at every moment and wound me in the -inmost recesses of my European pride and in my most touchy European -susceptibilities. What was this demon? It was American progress. -Every day I had pointed out to me on my rapid journeys, immense and -marvellous ranches, herds of many thousand head, markets overflowing -with wealth, magnificent schools, and superb hospitals. I was given -descriptions and demonstrations, in figures and in fact, of the rapid -spread of cultivation, the increase of production, the bewildering -prosperity of the banks, the expansion of Buenos Aires, now become the -second city of the Latin world in wealth and population, after Paris. -They were all interesting things to observe and study. Nevertheless, -too many of those who showed them to me implicitly or explicitly -established comparisons between this rapid increase and transformation -in everything Argentine, and the more deliberate advance of the great -nations of Europe, and deduced the conclusion that Argentina was a more -progressive and advanced country. - -The word “progress” is one of those which is much misused in Europe. -I had no sooner landed in Argentina, however, than I recognised that -the word had quite a different sound and significance on that side -of the water from what it has in Europe. The standard by which my new -transatlantic friends were unanimous in measuring progress was the -rapidity of transformation and the magnitude of the results. New, -modern, larger, were to them synonyms of progress and of improvement. -Consequently, they had only to cast their eyes round their own country -to find reasons for self-satisfaction. But this conception of progress -at first somewhat amused and somewhat irritated me, just as the naïve -touches of vanity in the young often amuse and irritate grown men. -Many a time, when we were discussing the progress of Argentina and the -comparisons, tacit or explicit, which were made with Europe, have I -said to my Argentine friends: - -“Undoubtedly the effort which you are making is a noble one, and a -paying one. In thirty years, you have increased your wealth ten-, -twenty-, even thirty-fold. You have been wonderfully quick in extending -cultivation, railways, and population over the vast territory which -Fortune has given you. You are now flooding the world with riches, and, -profiting by the experience of others, you can transform, reshape, and -make perfect your public services, your institutions, and your whole -mode of living in the smallest number of years. - -“You make a great mistake, however, if you think that the contrast -between the rapidity of your growth and your changes and the slowness -and immutability of Europe is any proof of your own nearer approach -to perfection. That rapidity is a phenomenon of youth. A child’s -weight and height double themselves every six months, year, two years, -or three years in the first years of its life; while an adult stops -growing or grows so slowly as to be hardly aware that he is doing so. -Would you deduce from this that a boy of six years of age is superior -to a man of forty? No. Childhood and manhood are two phases of life. -Each has its own necessity, its own function, its own advantages and -disadvantages. It is no more possible to compare them than it is to -compare day and night, dawn and twilight, winter and summer; I can see -no essential difference between the countries of Europe and your own. -We are all children of the same civilisation; we have been nursed at -the same breast. We are all like one to the other, though we may differ -one from the other as brothers, or, if you prefer it, as cousins do. So -an American progress, different from European progress, does not exist, -though there are countries whose transformation, owing to external -circumstances, may be retarded or accelerated. You have political -institutions and social orders of less antiquity, and, therefore, of -less rigidity and less strength than those of Europe. You also have a -territory to exploit which is vaster, very much vaster, and much more -easy to exploit, because civilisation supplies you, ready to hand, with -almost perfect instruments for such exploitation. There you have the -real difference between us.” - -Though these arguments were listened to with courteous attention, they -made but a slight impression on my hearers. I very soon realised -that American progress, the rapid increase, that is to say, of the -wealth of Argentina and the incessant modernisation of the customs and -institutions of the country, were a sort of national religion, which -was accepted by most people with a blind credence. So in the end, I was -persuaded that this ardent faith in progress must be attributed to the -preponderating influence of Buenos Aires, that immense city, almost -half the population of which is composed of European immigrants in -search of wealth. For it is the largest port, the principal emporium, -and the financial centre of the Republic, through which passes most -of the export and import trade, nearly all the great stream of wealth -which flows out from the vast territory over the world, and from the -world ebbs back to it again: a rich American city, after the European -picture of such. It is only natural that a city whose wealth and size -are being multiplied by the rapid development of the country should -have adopted American progress as its religion, and should, through -its influence, have imposed that religion on the whole country. The -conclusion of the matter was, however, that the Argentine conception of -progress was not and could not be anything but the passing exaltation -of a fortunate country which, profiting by circumstances unusually -favourable, could watch its wealth growing round it with bewildering -rapidity. That, at any rate, was the conclusion I came to, and I -thought it both reasonable and justifiable. - -With this idea in my head, after a laborious, agreeable, and -instructive stay of two months in Argentina, I sailed for Rio, making -on my way thither a brief halt at Montevideo. I expected to find in -Rio another American city like Buenos Aires. I was, however, mistaken. -Brazil is not, like Argentina, a single body with one enormous head. -Its economic activity is more diffuse and centres in different -cities,—for coffee, in São Paulo; for rubber, in Manaos; for each one -of the other great articles of production, in other cities scattered -over the vast territory. Rio de Janeiro, though the chief political -and intellectual centre of the Confederation, cannot, therefore, be -called either the emporium or the port, or the economic capital _par -excellence_. Consequently, it differs widely from Buenos Aires. It is -less crowded, noisy, and busy. It lives, I might almost say, in the -shade of its gardens and between the forest and the sea, quietly and -reposedly. It is the only great American city I have visited in which -people walk at a leisurely pace and not at headlong speed; and it not -only lives reposedly, but it thinks, and even dreams a little. - -While at Buenos Aires, we had lived surrounded by men of action; -we found at Rio a coterie composed almost exclusively of -intellectuals—literary men, journalists, historians, philosophers, -and jurists. Most of them were state officials and members of the -Brazilian Academy,—an academy founded about ten years ago and modelled -exactly on the lines of the Académie Française,—composed, like it, -of forty members, elected in the same way, and admitted with the same -ceremonial. In a small inn situated on the slopes of Corcovado, on -the outskirts of the town and the forest, whose roads were shaded by -secular trees, we lived for six weeks, just as Plato and his friends -lived in the gardens of the Academy; discussing art, literature, -philosophy, right, and morality with the friends whom Graça Aranha, the -diplomatist and man of letters chosen by Baron di Rio Branco to do us -the honours of Brazil, gathered round us almost daily. At no moment of -my life have I felt myself so much detached from, and so superior to, -the accustomed preoccupations which form the groundwork of ordinary -existence in the modern world. And when I found myself living amongst -persons for whom the culture of Europe represented the supreme blessing -of life, the greatest pride of civilisation, for a moment I believed -myself freed from that demon of American progress which had dogged me -in Argentina. - -It was an illusion, however, which did not last long. Brazil is a -country slightly older than Argentina. Owing to this reason, to its -much greater size, to the variety of its climates and lands, which -make it impossible to concentrate in a single city the direction of -the whole of national life, and to other contingent reasons which it -would take too long to enumerate here, Brazil has not developed in -the last twenty years so rapidly as has Argentina. It has, however, -developed much more quickly than any European country. I speedily saw -that the rapidity of this progress was the great national pride of the -Brazilians, even of those men of letters, philosophers, and writers, -who professed to be such devoted disciples and admirers of Europe. In -the same way the great national preoccupation was the acceleration, -as far as possible, of the progress and increase of riches, and the -exploiting and modernisation of the country, so that Brazil might -not appear inferior in this particular to the other great states of -America. An energetic administration had just finished the resanitation -of Rio de Janeiro, destroying, at the cost of vast public works, all -the breeding-places of yellow fever which up till then had infested it. -The administration was then renovating it from top to bottom, opening -streets and squares in the middle of the old quarters, constructing -spacious promenades and gardens, and sumptuous public edifices, in a -word, giving air and light and splendour and beauty to a city which was -already beautiful in addition to being placed in a unique situation. I -think there must be very few cities which in a few years have managed -to destroy and rebuild, according to new plans, so large a part of -themselves. Naturally the work has cost millions; but on the few -occasions on which I timidly dared to make a remark to this effect, -I received the laughing answer: “We are optimists; and we believe in -progress!” This ædilitian transformation of Rio de Janeiro filled with -pride all Brazilians, including my lettered and philosophical friends, -on account of its rapidity and grandeur; and their pride was swelled by -the thought that no European states, but perhaps the United States of -North America alone, their great elder brother, could have done so much. - -Everybody thought, moreover, that the whole of Brazil ought to be -modernised just like Rio, from top to bottom. I visited São Paulo, -the great coffee-producing state. I traversed from end to end Minas -Gerães, the great agricultural and mineral state which, as a symbol, as -it were, of its intention to modernise itself entirely, has recently -constructed a smiling and graceful new capitol, Bello Horizonte, in a -most picturesque position crowning the hoary Ouro Preto. Everywhere -I found politicians, officials, professors, literary men, commercial -men, bankers, Brazilian and European immigrants, united in the same -thought: that railways must be built, machinery bought, able engineers -engaged, mines explored, cultivation extended, and industries -founded to increase the country’s rate of progress by modernising -it entirely. It was useless for me to try to prove even to those of -my Rio acquaintances who were endowed with the highest and finest -intellectual culture, that this conception of progress was too simple -and material; that real progress is not to make new or to make quickly, -but to make better; that it is not enough to augment wealth, but that -it is necessary also to put it to good use, a more difficult problem -than the producing of it. I tried to convince my friends that if so -simple and material a notion of progress acquired a strong hold on the -popular mind, the public would infallibly be impelled to create, not -a lofty and noble civilisation, but a sort of opulent barbarism. In -Brazil, as much as in Argentina, my arguments beat harmlessly against -a faith and a passion which demands no proofs. “American Progress” for -the Brazilians too was the great historical force of the future, which -is going to create the new world, and the new civilisation whose dim -foreshadowing seems to be agitating the masses at the present time. - -We returned to Italy in November. I recrossed the ocean from Rio de -Janeiro to Genoa in fifteen days, during which I reread my books -of philosophy. But the pages of Bergson, Kant, and Comte, which I -read in mid-ocean, no longer riveted my attention as they had on the -way out. For in the time for thought afforded me by the crossing, -far from the world and its troubles, I plunged day by day in a more -intense meditation on American progress, which, of all the things and -phenomena I had witnessed, was that which had left on me the liveliest -impressions. It was clear that it was not a theoretical idea, but a -passion, a faith, a religion fervently embraced by nearly everybody. -All the arguments which I had advanced to subject it to criticism had -been fruitless; and not only ignorant men, and those eager to make -money, but the most highly cultivated minds, the very intellectual -élite of America, were blind to the contradictions and logical -shortcomings of this conception. Nevertheless, was not this but an -additional reason for studying this phenomenon thoroughly? It is not -ideas which move and transform the world, but passions; and a passion, -even if it be absurd, is a thousand times more powerful than a wise -idea. - -Now it was not difficult to see what would happen if this religion of -American progress spread through the world. Europe would lose, so to -speak, her rights of historical primogeniture, and all her ancient -civilisation would lose a great part of its value. If the rapid -increase of riches is the supreme measure of civilisation, and if, in -consequence, the efforts of a people must be concentrated on everything -which can accelerate this increase, it is clear that the most ancient, -populous, and glorious countries of Europe will not be able to -keep pace with the young countries and with the nations which are -masters of vast territories; and that, bit by bit, the most glorious -civilisations of Europe will come to be regarded by the eyes of the -rising generations as relics and fossils of another age. This danger -no longer appeared to me so distant and hypothetical as to many other -Europeans. After what I had seen in America, many facts and thoughts -and tendencies to which I had hitherto paid scarcely any attention in -Europe, seemed to me to acquire a new significance. I saw everywhere, -even in the ancient world, traces and proofs of the rapid spread of -the American idea of progress, especially among the nations like -Germany, which have developed industry to a great, perhaps a too great, -extent; and in all the countries, classes, and professions which have -identified their interests most completely with those of industry. So -the enemy who threatened the destruction of the ancient civilisation of -Europe had already invaded the Old World. - -It was while I was meditating on these thoughts in mid-ocean that the -idea occurred to me of writing something different from a book of -impressions on Argentina and Brazil. Too many books of impressions of -the two Americas are written in Europe; and literature of this sort, -as copious as it is useless, has justly satiated the public. Inasmuch -as this idea of progress implies a great conflict of tendencies, from -which may arise a profound upheaval of our civilisation, why should -I not contrast in a book the two conceptions of progress, that which -America has created and is trying to impose on the world, and that -which is even now professed in Europe by the classes most faithful -to tradition, and which they ought to seek to defend? If I succeeded -in giving a vivid representation of this conflict, should I not -have described a living part of America better than if I had merely -accumulated thousands of detached impressions and observations? And so -the idea flashed across my mind of writing a dialogue introducing some -Europeans and Americans who on board a steamer in mid-ocean discussed -Europe and America, that is to say, progress, in the sense proper to -the word as well as in the sense given to it by the Americans. Is not -the dialogue an ancient and glorious literary form? It is true that for -many reasons it has lately been neglected, one particular reason being, -that in modern life, busy and exhausting as it is, it is difficult to -find a scene which will give verisimilitude to a conversation lasting -several days. Modern civilisation is a civilisation of much action and -little discussion. However, there is still one scene left in modern -life on which one can stage with artistic verisimilitude a discussion -lasting several days: a transatlantic liner. A liner is perhaps the -only spot in the modern world where one may find discussion holding the -field. Usually discussions on board ship deal with frivolous and empty -topics. Why might not a writer suppose, however, that for once in a -way, four or five serious-minded persons met on board a liner and began -a casual talk which later developed into a discussion of one of the -gravest of the problems which oppress our own generation, no less than -every one of its predecessors? - -Among the persons whose acquaintance I had made during the voyage, -some appeared to me to lend themselves to the rôle of interlocutor -in the dialogue. So, directly I got back, I began to sketch out -my dialogue. It was then that I experienced a curious phenomenon. -With every fresh attempt I made to embody in certain characteristic -personages the American idea of progress, as I had observed it in so -many of my friends on that side, and the European idea, as I had -many times defended it, both ideas seemed to me to evaporate, and -to lose consistency and colour. That conflict of tendencies, ideas, -and passions which had seemed to me so lively and so profound in my -meditations in mid-ocean appeared to have melted away after I had -touched the soil of old Europe. The dialogue which I was writing seemed -to me cold, dead, and academic. - -I was torn in two directions by these difficulties, uncertain whether -to abandon the enterprise, and asking myself whether American progress -had not been a passing hallucination of the voyage; when towards the -middle of February, 1908, I received from North America a new surprise -of a still greater and more agreeable nature, in the shape of a letter -from Baron Eduardo Mayor de Planches, at that time Italian Ambassador -at Washington, in which he told me that President Roosevelt at his last -diplomatic reception had expressed to him his wish to see me in the -United States, and to have me as his guest for a few days at the White -House before his presidential term ended. At any time, so courteous an -invitation from a man for whose culture, intellect, and statesmanlike -qualities I had so great an admiration, would have given me much -pleasure. My joy was much increased, however, by the fact of its having -arrived two months after my return from South America. A visit to the -United States directly after one to South America was a rare stroke -of luck. For, to tell the truth, in visiting Brazil and Argentina, I -had seen only a fragment of the New World. But to come to know that -great New-World State which by itself personifies America in the eyes -of all, and to come to know the two largest states of South America -into the bargain, was equivalent to saying that I had studied at least -what was most important, characteristic, and deserving of study in -the boundless continent which Columbus discovered. All the curiosity -to which the rumours and legends current in Europe about the United -States had given birth in me, and which was dominant in the recesses of -my mind, awoke to life. I forgot the problem of progress, the doubts -which tormented me, and the problems which I had posed to myself on -my travels in Argentina, as well as the dialogue I intended to write, -in my preparation for my fresh journey and for the lectures in Roman -history which I was scheduled to give at the Lowell Institute, at -Columbia University, and at the University of Chicago. I set to work to -read as many books as I could about North America. I resumed the mantle -of Roman historian to prepare my course of lectures and gave no further -thought to the book on America which I had promised to write. - -On November 1, 1908, I sailed for New York, and a three months’ course -of the intense life began again for me; rapid journeys, incessant -visits, interviews with journalists, hundreds of conversations, -banquets, receptions, speeches, and inquiries. I visited schools, -hospitals, universities, prisons, law-courts, factories, banks, and -co-operative enterprises. I made the acquaintance of millionaires and -artisans, industrialists and professors, lawyers and journalists. I -managed to get a peep into the wealthy abodes of the rich families -of the great cities of the East, and into the little houses in which -the middle classes drag out a crowded and pinched existence. I -witnessed the frenzy for work, the incessant activity, the unending -agitation which wears out every class in America. Most important of -all, however, I saw reappear before me—and this time in gigantic form, -monstrous, unrestrained, almost sublime in its savage energy—that -demon of American progress which had impressed me so much in Brazil -and Argentina, comparatively small though it had there appeared to -me, and which in Europe seemed to me to have almost melted away. Was -it not this which imbued everything American with that startling air -of novelty, extravagance, and grandeur, which stunned and almost -frightened me? So I devoted myself not only to the accumulation of -impressions, informations, and recollections in profusion; I also set -to work in the tumult of American life to think again about American -progress. I made an effort to dive deeper down into the nature of this -strange phenomenon, to guard against its melting away from before me -when I got back to Europe. And at last, one day, I really thought I had -found the clue. - -My wife and I had been invited to luncheon with a cultured and clever -author, who knew three languages, had received an extensive and -liberal education, and lived by her pen, writing for newspapers, -translating, and giving lessons. She belonged, in fact, to what one -might call the intellectual middle class. She lived with a sister in a -street of old New York, occupying a little flat of the kind in which -many middle-class New Yorkers live. One reached it by a little wooden -staircase, and entered it by a little door, opening on to a little -corridor, which gave access to four tiny rooms, whose floors creaked -under foot and whose walls let the voices and noises of the neighbours -and co-lodgers be clearly heard. Outside the windows and extending to -the court-yard, the fire-escapes reminded one that the house, partly -constructed of wood, might at any moment catch fire like a match. -Naturally there were no servants in the house. With her sister’s help -the charming author, when she returned home, laid down the pen and -became cook and chambermaid. The luncheon, considered from an artistic -point of view, gave us clearly to understand, that the hands which had -prepared it did not possess any very considerable technical skill. -That did not prevent us, however, from enjoying ourselves mightily, so -interesting and pleasant was the company. - -Now, while I was eating my luncheon, and looking round me, I thought -that America must certainly be much wealthier than the wealthiest -of European countries. A woman as richly endowed with intellect and -culture as my kind hostess, who lived by her pen in Paris, Rome, or -London, would certainly earn less than she. And yet the foreign woman -could live in better style, keep a servant to relieve her of the most -troublesome and humble of her domestic duties, live in a large and less -inflammable house, and have fresher and better prepared food to eat. If -she married a man of her own station, she could more easily and with -less stint, bring into the world, rear, and educate a family. - -From my hostess, I passed on to think of all the other persons of the -same station in life, of those middle classes which are everywhere -the support and foundation of democratic institutions and the great -reserve of energy of modern civilisation. In New York, Boston, and -Philadelphia, the great cities of the East, I had seen several families -belonging to this class. I had even been the recipient of their -confidences and complaints. At that moment, I realised clearly how much -more difficult and laborious, owing to the greater cost of food and -lodging, the extreme difficulty of finding servants, and the enormous -expense of rearing, and still more of educating, children must be the -life of those middle classes in the great cities of the United States -than in the great cities of Europe. Like my hostess, a business clerk, -a humble employé, or an artisan in the most select industries, though -he gains less in Paris or in London than in New York, can live much -better in the former towns. He can eat better, lodge more comfortably, -employ someone to help in the household, and rear his family without -excessive drudgery. - -Then I asked myself: “But what is the use of wealth, then, if it is -not a means of living better, of securing some extra ease, comfort, -or pleasure? What is the reason for this startling paradox, of riches -turning from a blessing into a torment? How comes it that America, -which has shown such energy in the exploitation of the immense wealth -hidden in her boundless territory, has not followed up her conquests -by converting these riches to the benefit of the whole population? -How is it that, in this fortunate country, it is these middle classes -who suffer most who yet have an influence on the Government such as -they have in no European country? Why can we find in poorer countries -individuals and classes who are happier because they are better -satisfied with their condition?” - -It was by reflecting on this problem that I at last arrived at a -comprehension of the real nature of American progress, and that I -finally lighted on the subject, the frame, and the key of the dialogue -over which I had so long worried. How and in what way, I shall recount -in the following chapter. - - - - -II - -FACTS AND MOTIVES IN THE MODERN WORLD - - -Like every other European, I had gone to North America with the fixed -idea that it was the country of the practical spirit _par excellence_, -and that the Americans were all men who did not lose themselves in -dreams, but lived in reality, intent on shaping it to their own ends, -and acquiring by the most rapid means the tangible and sure blessings -of life—riches, prosperity, power, and the mastery over nature. I -was convinced that they knew better than anyone else the art of -increasing the comforts, and diminishing the difficulties, of life by -the intelligent use of the means furnished by nature, fortune, and -preceding generations. I expected, therefore, to find in America, many -facts and few ideas; an intelligent and vigorous egoism omnipresent; -scanty traces of idealism, and but little faith in the transcendent -principles which so often lead dreamers—individuals and nations—to toil -and fight for fair but unreal chimeras, in the vain hope of distant -glory or grandeur. - -So my first surprise, and a very great one it was, arose from my -examination at close quarters, of the policy pursued by the United -States in dealing with the immense herds of immigrants, who yearly -pour into their harbours from all parts of the Old World. In South -America, I had closely observed the cautious prudence and really -practical sagacity with which the republics try to prevent the -continual immigration of foreigners from disturbing too profoundly the -political balance of the State, by reserving the government to small -oligarchies born and educated in the country, and therefore capable -of directing public affairs with a certain continuity of projects and -of national spirit. This policy of the South American republics is, I -know, severely criticised in Europe, and especially in Italy, by too -many persons who judge the affairs of the New World by the standard of -the ideas of the Old. But to a historian of Rome, like myself, to whom -history has taught the great internal difficulties which were caused in -every ancient state by the μέτοιχοι or _peregrini_, this policy seemed -practical and reasonable, at least if it be granted that the principal -task of every state is that of solving in the best possible way the -problems of the hour and leaving to the future its own problems. - -To grant every year citizenship in a new state to a great number -of men born and educated in distant lands, who come stuffed with -ideas and tendencies, opinions which correspond in no wise with the -utterly different situation they find in the new country; to give them -political rights which they do not want or give a thought to; to make -them, almost by force, the pillars of a political constitution which -they generally do not understand; to hope to transform them in a flash -from subjects of ancient European monarchies into citizens of young -American republics—is not all this to do violence to the practical -ideas of government, and to multiply the already great difficulties -among which every representative régime works, without any compensating -advantage, not even that of planting the immigrants firmly in the new -country? The vast multitudes which are to-day crossing from Europe to -America no longer go, as they did once, in search of liberty beyond -the ocean. They go in search of higher salaries, an easier and larger -existence, and greater probability of bettering themselves. To open to -the children of immigrants on the same terms as to home-born children -the high schools, the professions, and the public offices—in short, -all the roads by which the son of a peasant or artisan can climb to -the higher _bourgeoisie_—is a surer means of planting firmly in the -country the crowds carried to America on the wave of emigration than -the concession to them of electoral rights. And that is just what the -states of South America, with their practical spirit, have done and are -doing. - -With these impressions and opinions, I arrived from South America in -the America which symbolises in the eyes of the world the practical -spirit. And in this America, to my no small surprise, I found the -opposite policy to this in actual operation, with all the effects -which I imagined must follow it; in particular, the growing difficulty -of making democratic institutions work smoothly, with an electoral body -so swollen, so enormous, and so varied and heterogeneous. I often had -occasion, when speaking or writing in the United States, to remember -that the cosmopolitan electoral body which is the base of the democracy -of the United States recalls that of Rome, where the freedmen—the -immigrants of the time—became citizens, and were inscribed in the -electoral lists, whatever their national origin, and even if they -were all foreigners, barbarians some of them, uncivilised the rest. -Nevertheless, there is between the United States and Ancient Rome one -essential difference; and that is, that in the Roman Republic, the -electoral operations were concentrated in the capital, so that the -number of persons who took part in them, the really active electoral -body, was extremely small; while in the United States, the electors -are numbered by millions, and are scattered over a continent. Do not -most of the difficulties and inconveniences of which I have heard -America complain in connection with its internal politics arise from -the enormous size of the electoral body and from its heterogeneity? -For both of these are unique phenomena in the history of the world, as -until now every democracy has governed small, and often the tiniest -of, states. So this experiment, which America is making, without being -compelled to do so by any historical necessity, is a new and bold -one, the final result of which it is difficult to foretell. As a -matter of fact, the ancient national oligarchies, which governed North -America, for so many years after it had gained its independence, did -not open the doors of the constitution to the immigrant multitudes who -threatened, if admitted, to swamp them. It would have been easy to keep -at least the first Europe-born generation out of politics, because—as -I have already said—the greater number of immigrants arrive in America -without the vaguest idea, much less ambition, of obtaining what, in a -democracy, are the political rights of a citizen, and only want big -salaries. - -How, then, has the United States come to this pass? Certainly -historical accidents have contributed to set the Union in this -direction. Historical accidents would, however, not have sufficed, if -they had not been helped by that conception of democracy, not practical -but mystical, so to speak, which I have found obtains among so many -Americans. The rights of the people are not in America a political -doctrine, to be employed by the nation and its governors in compassing -certain ends of general utility, and to be applied only in the measure -and with the limitations and qualifications which make it fruitful of -good results and prevent it from giving rise to inconveniences. It is a -transcendent principle, an article of faith, as it were, to be applied -and developed without too much regard to the immediate consequences, -which must be endured with patience if they are for the moment -unpleasant or dangerous, in the conviction that the principle, being -just and true, must finally produce beneficial effects. - -So, little by little, I was led to ask myself whether by chance, -in politics at any rate, the South Americans and the Europeans -were not more practical than the North Americans, and whether the -North Americans, on the other hand, were not great idealists; at -least, if by the practical spirit is understood the art of solving -present difficulties by the quickest and simplest devices with only -an immediately realisable benefit in view, instead of multiplying -difficulties with future benefits in view or for love of an idea or a -principle. The amazement and uncertainty caused by this preliminary -survey of the very foundations of the American constitution were -increased, however, by my subsequent observation of the numberless -philanthropic works, educational institutions, intellectual, political, -or social foundations which owe their existence to the inexhaustible -generosity of the American upper classes. For though Europeans may -think that every American thinks only of making money, a few weeks of -travel and of observation were enough to convince me that America is -quite as richly, perhaps more richly endowed than Europe with wealthy -men whose only thought it is to spend their money for the good of their -fellows, for the progress of the nation, in a word, for objects of -public utility. - -However, though American philanthropic works may equal and often exceed -those of Europe in number and in value, I have often had occasion to -notice one difference between those of the two continents: and that is, -that the American works are not unusually inspired by a more intense, -I might almost say a more ingenuous faith in the power of man over the -miseries and difficulties of life. The American often addresses himself -with fervour, energy, and great intellectual and pecuniary effort to -the eradication of ills which the European regards as incurable and -irresponsive to treatment. And this American faith in the power to -rectify, revive, and purify nature often struck me, no less than many -other Europeans, as fringing on the chimerical. In short, even in what -are called social works, the American often seemed to me more idealist, -more of a dreamer, and less practical than the European; more ready, -that is to say, to venture on a struggle against the innumerable ills -of life without being quite sure of possessing adequate means for -conquering them, at the summons of a mystical faith in the progress of -the world. - -As the result of all my observations, I kept asking myself whether -by chance the United States, notwithstanding their great practical -activity, might not be a much more mystical, idealistic, and visionary -people than the European gives them credit for. But I did not dare -answer the question with a resolute Yes or No. I could not answer -No, because that would have involved ignoring facts which were daily -obtruding themselves on my notice. On the other hand, I dared not -answer Yes, because I was afraid of being accused of excessive fondness -for paradoxes, and of wishing to do violence to current opinions at -every opportunity and at all costs. So I went groping around for a -truth which so far I conjectured rather than saw. - -I had reached this point in my reflections and observations when I -was invited to luncheon by our friend the author and journalist whom -I have mentioned in the preceding chapter. When I saw her home and -mode of life, I could not help asking myself: For what reason is -the general standard of wealth higher, while that of living is no -higher, in America than in Europe? Why are dwellings in the great -American cities so small, the distances so great, the communications -so difficult, provisions so dear, that notwithstanding the vast riches -of the country, life is for the masses and the middle classes more -expensive and difficult than in many much less wealthy cities of -Europe? The primary answer was not difficult: Because the cities have -become too big and populous, because their growth has been too rapid in -comparison with the progress of agriculture, and because a section at -least of their inhabitants has contracted too expensive habits and is -accustomed to a life of too great luxury. This primary answer, however, -gave rise to a second question: Why have the cities grown so rapidly, -and with the cities the luxury of every class? This too was easily -explained: Because of the rapid development of industries. America is -a vast continent of great natural wealth, where capital accumulates -rapidly. Owing to her ability to accumulate capital readily, and to -find work for the numberless hands which the overcrowded districts of -Europe have been supplying for the last hundred years to those American -countries which have need of them, America has been able, not only to -extend her agriculture rapidly and to exploit her mines, but also, and -in particular, to multiply her industries to the point of packing her -larger cities with so dense a crowd of inhabitants that life has become -difficult for the majority of the town populations. - -At this point, however, one conclusion seemed to emerge from the -preceding observations. Suppose North America, instead of employing -all the capital at her disposal in her many industries, as well as -the capital borrowed from European countries poorer than herself, -had done as France is doing in Europe, namely, had invested part of -her capital in foreign countries, in loans to governments, cities, -railways, industries, trades, and agricultural enterprises, what would -have happened? The demand for labour would doubtless have been less -in America, and therefore the emigration to it would not have been so -startling. Her industries would have developed less, and her cities -would not have increased so rapidly. The United States would now have a -smaller population to support, and one better distributed between the -cities and the country; would have fewer cities, and those smaller. -The band of fortunates who have made huge wealth out of the rapid and -prodigious development of the cities would be smaller, but the middle -and lower classes would enjoy a more comfortable and easier existence. -Their condition would resemble much more closely that of the middle -and lower classes in Europe. They would earn lower wages, but those -wages, though numerically less, would procure them greater comforts and -pleasures. - -It was now that, after my many discussions with others, and my extended -solitary meditation on the difficult problem, I thought that I had -finally confuted the troublesome doctrine of American progress. What -is that progress of which the Americans are so proud but the unbridled -rush of enterprise which has so rapidly multiplied the industries, -enlarged the cities, and increased the population and wealth of the -United States? But in that case it was clear that American progress -contradicted itself. By inciting the American people to gather -together capital and workers, to open their gates to millions of -European emigrants, to invest their gains in new enterprises or in -the enlargement of old enterprises, to redouble and multiply in every -direction efforts and enterprises, so as to form of them a mountain -with which to scale the heavens, the spirit of progress had created in -America an opulence which teemed with difficulties, contradictions, -and embarrassments, and which meant for a large part of the population -a condition somewhat resembling that of King Midas: seeing riches all -round him, and not being able to enjoy them. But to produce riches with -no prospect of enjoying them is an absurdity. Much wiser, therefore, -was old Europe, which, taught by the experience of centuries, refused -to let herself be dazzled by this idea of progress, and instead of -heaping up riches at top speed as does the New World, was more careful -in her choice of new riches to create so that she might enjoy them; -so that she might make of them a fount of well-being, not a cause of -difficulty for mankind. - -This was the moment at which I was inclined to think that all the ideas -of America and the optimistic spirit which animates them, beginning -with the idea of progress, could only be a passing ebullition and the -merry madness of youth. This nation, I said to myself, favoured as it -is at the moment by unusual facilities for the creation of wealth, has -been so much carried away by its success as to make of riches, which -are and can be only a means, an end in themselves. A longer experience -of history will convince America of its mistake. One day, however, as -I was again pondering intently over the facts I had observed, which -seemed to prove that the Americans were often dreamers, idealists, -almost mystics in matters in which the Europeans show themselves -eminently practical, an idea flashed across my mind. What if American -progress, which to me had seemed up to then to be but a youthful -madness, should prove, if thoroughly analysed, to be only an idealistic -and semi-mystical conception of wealth itself? What if this nation, -accused of desiring only the immediate possession of worldly goods, -was wearing itself out in an unbridled and diabolical activity from -dawn till sundown, not with the object of increasing its happiness -and pleasure, but for a distant end, transcending the egoism and even -the consciousness of the individual? What if all, without knowing it, -or impelled as it were by a superior, if not directly mystical force, -were labouring and even suffering for this end—a new end, to which -history can show us no parallel; the conquest of an immense continent -from one sea to the other, by means of a new instrument unknown to our -forefathers: steam- or electricity-driven machinery? - - * * * * * - -From progress, from the democratic and philanthropic ideality of the -Americans, from the economic difficulties with which our kind hostess -had to wrestle, to machinery and to the conquest of the great territory -of the United States, may seem a risky, violent, and unexpected -transition or transitions. As a matter of fact, I could not have -executed so bold a transition unaided. I was helped by my wife, in an -indirect, but, for that very reason, strange and decisive way. In fact, -without her help I should not have succeeded in finding my bearings in -the chaos of my American experiences, nor in understanding how and to -what extent the Old World and the New World are opposed to each other; -as a result, I could not have written the philosophical dialogue on -Europe and America, which will be published shortly. It seems to me -necessary, then, to recount how this help was given me; and I hope -that my brief account will not be read without interest. - -Several years before we embarked on our journeys to the two Americas, -my wife had begun a long and deep study of modern machinery and of the -great mechanical industry. Though a daughter of Cesare Lombroso, who -was a great inventor, she is temperamentally inclined to the ancient -more than to the new, and therefore little disposed by nature to admire -the gigantic disorder of modern society which other minds find so -intoxicating. Her innate antipathy to the civilisation of steam and -electricity had been increased a thousandfold by observation of the -profound perturbation which the great mechanical industry has caused -in a country of ancient civilisation like Italy, densely populated and -living on the resources of a small territory devoid of great natural -riches. But when she at last made of machinery an object of methodical -study, her researches and the evidence she had patiently accumulated -transformed this antipathy into a complex and bold theory, the cardinal -idea of which I think I can express as follows. Machinery produces only -apparent wealth and prosperity, because instead of diminishing the -effort necessary to produce the things we need, and therefore their -price, in reality it increases it. The mechanical industry demands -immense capital to construct the machines and set them going; immense -quantities of raw material to keep the machinery always busy; the -concentration of the industry in places where combustibles or the -motive forces abound; consequently an enormous development in the means -of communication, for the exchange of products and raw materials, and a -dense population accustomed to produce and consume as much as possible. -Therefore, the civilisation of steam- or electricity-driven machines -cannot develop without rapidly exhausting nature, so to speak—mines, or -forests, or the fertility of the soil. That explains why it flourishes -chiefly in vast and naturally wealthy territories, which it rapidly -exploits and impoverishes. Indeed, it explains why it is always seeking -for new, rich territories, seeking to penetrate unexplored continents, -like Africa, as soon as it has conquered America. Nor is it difficult -to understand why nations which live in countries of limited natural -resources get more harm than good, and often become involved in -vexatious crises, from the introduction of mechanical civilisation. It -is clear, too, how that civilisation must result in making life ever -more and more expensive, and therefore forcing men to despoil the earth -and to work ever harder, without ever attaining to satisfaction. - -These ideas were the subject of long and lively discussions between my -wife, her father, and myself. These discussions, as was natural with -discussions arising out of a doctrine which was maturing in the mind -of a patient seeker after truth, were, so to speak, eccentric; they -revolved now round one point, now round another. Nevertheless, the -central point round which they ultimately revolved was this: whether -the wealth for which man has to thank machinery is real or apparent. -I said that, since machinery produces much and at great speed, there -seemed to me no room for doubt that it increased the sum of benefits -at man’s disposal, and therefore enriched the world. My wife replied -that if machinery produces much, it also consumes enormously, more -indeed than it produces, so that a mechanical civilisation must -always feel itself tormented by the necessity of having more than it -possesses, and, therefore, must be always in a state of indigence. So -the discussions went on, lively and long, without either of the parties -convincing the other; and at last I came to the conclusion that our -_amour propre_ must be making us persist in the sophistical discussion -of an unreal question. - -When I got to America, however, I saw that the question we were -discussing was anything but unreal; for it was these ideas and -discussions which enabled me to collate our friend’s economic -difficulties with the mystical spirit which pervades so large a part -of American life, and to understand the nature of American progress. -Were not the economic difficulties encountered especially in the -big cities, notwithstanding the immense wealth of the country, -by the most numerous classes of America, the decisive proof that -really, as my wife asserted, the wealth created by a mechanical -civilisation is to some extent only apparent? That notwithstanding -the great depredation of nature carried out with means furnished by -science, men’s needs increase faster than their riches; therefore -that mechanical civilisation revolves in the vicious circle of an -insoluble contradiction? All the same, if America had set herself with -less eagerness to exploit by means of machinery her immense natural -resources; if she had not welcomed so many millions of men from all -parts of the world; if she had not invested in machinery and industries -and railways such a vast amount of capital, without a doubt we should -find a smaller number of people living, and living more comfortably, in -America to-day; but the conquest of the vast continent would not have -reached its present pitch, and the world would not have witnessed that -unparalleled event in its history, the bewildering development of the -United States. - -In fact, we must not forget, if we wish to realise what a miracle -the civilisation of machinery has succeeded in accomplishing in the -New World, how slow and difficult was the expansion of mankind over -the world up to the end of the eighteenth century, that is, during -a period when men worked with their hands and travelled over their -planet on their own legs, or on those of animals little swifter than -themselves. The great plains acted as so many great barriers in the way -of men’s occupation of the land, because men lost their way in them. -Consequently men tended to settle on little tracts of land, in such a -way as to be near one another, to be able to communicate easily with -one another, and to exchange their products. Everybody knows how slow -has been in Europe the advance of civilisation from south to north; how -many centuries were required for the passage of the Alps and expansion -into Gaul, how many for the crossing of the Rhine and extension as far -as the Elbe, and again for the passage of the Elbe and the advance -towards the Vistula and the great plains of Eastern Europe. In America -itself—in the South as well as in the North—up to the end of the -eighteenth century, the progress of population and civilisation was -very slow and difficult. - -In the twentieth century, on the other hand, a prodigy occurred, thanks -to steam-engines and all the other machines of which the steam-engine -is the parent. With these machines, men can exploit more rapidly and -thoroughly all the wealth of the earth, and with the railways can -export the wealth produced, even from the most remote and buried -regions, which thus can be peopled and exploited. Civilisation, -following the railway-lines, and armed with fire and machines, in -little more than fifty years extended from the Atlantic to the Pacific, -crossing and occupying, however summarily, the immense territories of -the interior, and binding together with a network of communications and -interests, cities, climates, and territories without number from east -to west, from north to south. But machinery is an inanimate instrument, -only to be imbued with creative force by the thought and will of -man. In consequence, this miracle of history would not have come -about if a bold and energetic people had not multiplied machines with -extraordinary rapidity over the whole immensity of their territory; -if they had not subordinated to this supreme end every other good, -æsthetic beauty, the preservation of traditions, the purity of the -national spirit, and even the conveniences of life which wealth can -give. American progress is then a transcendent and mystical idea which -inflames America with passion and impels it to accomplish the new and -rapid conquest of its own territory. And logic wastes its time looking -for and laying bare contradictions in it savouring of the absurd. -Doubtless, to work with frenzied zeal at creating riches in order to -be unable to enjoy them is an absurdity if judged in the light of the -interest of each individual; but are not all ideals absurd, when judged -in the light of the interest of the individual? What does it matter to -the soldier who dies in battle that his country emerges victorious from -the conflict in which it is engaged, seeing that he will not be able -to enjoy the fruits of the victory? From the point of view of personal -interest, it is better to live in a country disgraced and diminished -by a defeat than to die in a country aggrandised by a victory. So the -privations to which I had seen exposed in the intimacy of her home, -that kind hostess of ours, who had offered us luncheon in her modest -flat, no longer seemed an absurd contradiction of life. Her privations -were transfigured into a small personal sacrifice necessary for the -fulfilment of a great national work, transcending the interest and the -wishes of every individual American. - - * * * * * - -Thus at last I had grasped American progress and its apparent -incongruities. It was an ideal of life, born and rapidly matured in -a new continent during the past half century, at a time when the -conquest of the vast territory by means of machinery was becoming -more widespread and more intense. It was the ideal of life which, -overshadowing all the others, had called forth from the depths of -American society the marvellous energy which has staggered the world. -When I had once found the key to this enigma, many phenomena of -American life seemed to me clearer. I could easily explain to myself -why the public attached less weight to politics on that side than in -Europe, and regarded the defects and shortcomings in its political -institutions with an indifference which to Europeans seems strange; in -particular, why it preferred having them in a condition full of defects -and inconveniences rather than any reform which increased the power of -the State and limited the initiative of the individual. I could explain -also how it had succeeded in keeping alive that spirit of liberty, not -in politics only, but in religion, administration, customs, and culture -which often strikes Europeans as either excessive or bizarre. The great -national work—the conquest of the continent—is accomplished much more -by personal initiative than with the help and under the direction of -the State; the important point, therefore, is that personal energy -should be subjected in this great work to the smallest possible number -of limits and restrictions. - -Lastly, I could explain why in American society, to borrow a rather -quaint philosophical expression, the category of quantity prevails -over that of quality. During my first few weeks in America, I used to -smile when I heard some Americans go into ecstasies at the thought -that everything in America was big, from the country to the cities, -the factories, and the statistics of population; when they gloated -over comparisons between their own country and the little countries of -Europe, and statements of the comparative superiority in size of things -in their own country. I no longer smiled, however, when I realised -what American progress represented. A civilisation, whose principal -instrument for the accomplishment of its work and for establishing -itself in the world is machinery, must necessarily consider the -quantitative criterion the supreme criterion of perfection. In what -respect, indeed, is machinery, regarded as an instrument of production, -superior to the human hand? Everybody knows that its superiority -consists not in quality, but in the quantity, of its output. Machinery -produces much and quickly. The hand produces little and slowly. The -hand, however, can attain a standard of perfection which is denied -machinery. Man will never succeed in constructing a machine capable -of sculpturing the Venus of Milo or of weaving the marvellous -tapestries which we admire in the museums of Europe. Everything of -a high degree of perfection is exclusively handmade; _vice versa_, -the hand, however, it may strive and labour and practise, will never -succeed in attaining in its work the giddy rapidity of which steam- -and electricity-driven machines are capable, or in producing in so -short a time so many good things. Consequently, in a civilisation in -which machinery predominates, men will be continually making fresh -efforts to live faster and faster, and to produce and consume more -and more rapidly. They will not be, on the other hand, too exacting -on the score of quality. They will be content with things which look -nice, without demanding extraordinary excellence or finish in details. -They will be better pleased to consume many examples of products of -inferior durability than one single example of products of great -perfection. Consequently, vagaries of taste, continual movement, -ready forgetfulness of traditions, and abundance of mediocrity, will -be salient characteristics of machine-ruled civilisation. The great -works of art which were the glory of past régimes will disappear for -the present, which will see them replaced by objects of medium quality -offered in greater quantity. - -As a matter of fact, I found all these characteristics in North -America, and they no longer offended me. They seemed to me necessary -qualities of a society which sets out to conquer a boundless territory -with machinery. Nevertheless, at this point, having solved the -American problem, I was confronted with the European problem under a -new aspect. If American progress, if machinery, if the quantitative -criterion of perfection are necessary weapons for the accomplishment -of the great historical work to which the United States have set -themselves, how are we to explain the fact that in the states of Europe -also machines are being multiplied, the American idea of progress is -spreading, and the quantitative criterion of perfection is prevailing -gradually? All of them except Russia, which in many respects resembles -the United States, are countries of an old civilisation, live in small -tracts of territory, and have not immense continents to exploit. - -At this point I saw hovering over Europe and America a new, vaster, -and more general problem, which dominates the two worlds and bestrides -the Atlantic like a great bridge: the struggle between quantity and -quality. - - - - -III - -MORE OR BETTER? - - -It is an undoubted fact that Europe is becoming Americanised; that the -American idea of progress—understood to mean the increase of wealth -and the perfectioning of the instruments of production—is penetrating -European society. No profound knowledge of European society is needed -to recognise this. I would even go so far as to say that the only idea -which in the last fifty years has sunk deep into the minds of the -masses in Europe is this American idea of progress. I must, however, -also confess that before I went to America I belonged to that group of -Europeans, numerous enough, especially among the cultured and upper -classes, which laments this “Americanisation” of Europe, and considers -it to be a sort of mental aberration and decadence on the part of the -Old World. The idea is fairly wide-spread in Europe. It may startle -a good many Americans; but it will not seem paradoxical to those who -spare a moment’s reflection for the history of European civilisation up -to the French Revolution. - -There is no doubt that, considered from the point of view of our -ancient history, this idea of progress, interpreted American-fashion, -is a kind of revolutionary dissolving force. Perhaps the upheaval which -it has produced and is producing in Europe can almost be compared with -that which Christianity caused in the ancient civilisation, when it -destroyed in the Greco-Latin world the political and military spirit -which had been the mainstay of that world. Indeed, we must not forget -that from the dawn of history up to the French Revolution succeeding -generations had lived in Europe contented with little, faithful to -traditions, and holding every innovation to be a danger and every -enterprise a revolt against God and against the memory of their -ancestors. It is true that even in those days men usually preferred -ease to poverty and were not insensible to the magnetism of gold. Even -then, each succeeding generation saw an increase in the wealth of the -world and in the spread of population over the face of the earth. But -how slow and spasmodic was the increase! Up to the time of the French -Revolution it is impossible to discern in history any differences in -wealth and population at intervals of less than a century. The change -produced by each generation was so small as to be barely recognisable. -In compensation, the men of that time strove to make the world fairer -and better. Art and religion were their absorbing preoccupation. - - From Greece [says one of the characters in my dialogue], which - taught the world to write and to sculp, up to the Middle Ages - which built the fairest cathedrals and the most fantastic - palaces of all times; from the Egypt of the Ptolemies, - from which the last rays of Hellenic beauty illumined the - Mediterranean world, up to the Rome of the popes and up to - the Venice of the sixteenth century, which flaunted her - marble pomp in the eyes of the world, up to the France of the - eighteenth century, which immortalised her three sovereigns in - three world-compelling decorative styles; from Augustus, who - protected Horace and Virgil, up to Louis XIV, who protected - Racine and Molière, and up to the Marquise de Pompadour, who - strove to make Paris the metropolis of elegance,—was not the - perpetuation of a form of beauty the supreme ambition of every - nation and of every state? Consider the countless efforts made - to establish in the world the reign either of sanctity or of - justice or both, from the Roman Empire which created law, up to - Christianity which strove to cleanse human nature of sin, and - up to the French Revolution, which proclaimed to the world the - age of liberty, fraternity, and equality. - -Such was that old Europe which created the numberless masterpieces -of architecture, sculpture, and painting, now so much admired by the -Americans; that old Europe which discovered America, created science, -and produced the French Revolution. But what remains of that old -Europe? American progress is busy to-day destroying it; in particular, -the artistic spirit is rapidly disappearing from the continent which -for centuries was the world’s teacher of beauty. - - Do you seriously believe [asks another of my characters, he - who in the dialogue defends America and the new ideals of - life] that it is any use nowadays lamenting the fact that some - rare genius is unable at the present day to give birth to his - immortal masterpiece in the solitude of his pride? At a time - when man is inventing increasingly powerful machinery, and is - conquering the earth, the sea, the air, the vast treasures - hidden in every nook and cranny of the universe; with these - marvellous tools in his hand is recognising that he is becoming - the wizard visioned in the legends of centuries; while the - masses are clamouring for bread, victuals, education, ease, - security, pleasures, air, light, liberty, all God’s blessings - in prodigious and yearly-increasing quantities? - -These words are not the vapourings of a fanciful individual. They are -repeated a hundred times daily in Europe, in a more or less elegant -form, for they express the kernel of the thought of the Europe which -is being Americanised. I could quote many examples in support of my -contention. I will quote one only, a characteristic one. A foreigner -may often see in the smaller Italian cities ancient monuments—churches -or palaces—which are gradually falling into ruin. The nonchalance of -the authorities or the ignorance and stinginess of the proprietors -suffer time to do its deadly work, or even help to accelerate it by -befouling the last relics of a past beauty. The foreigner shakes his -head, sighs, mutters harsh judgments, and asks himself _sotto voce_ -whether the inhabitants of that little town are barbarians. His -stupor would be increased, however, if he could speak with one of the -locals and open his mind freely to him. “We barbarians?”—would answer -the local shop-keeper, lawyer, doctor, or artisan. To prove to the -foreigner how wrong he was, they would tell him that that little town -has actually got electric light! The municipality, which cannot find a -few thousand francs for keeping this or that great monument in a decent -state, will spend large sums on lighting with electric light streets in -which after 9 P.M. there is nobody to be seen. The adoption of electric -light is an act of progress, and nowadays even the shop-keeper and -the artisan understand progress in this American sense; while, with -the exception of a few cultured and art-loving persons, who have no -influence whatever, nobody ever thinks it a barbarism to allow an old -monument built by our fathers to fall into ruin. - -This is a trifling instance; but it indicates the new spirit which is -now pervading and conquering the whole of Europe. The most evident -proof of this triumph of American progress is the decadence or -disappearance of all the schools of art. Europe was in past centuries, -in harder and more difficult times than the present, the glorious -mother and mistress of civilisation, because under diverse forms, she -managed to create and keep going schools of literature, sculpture, -painting, architecture, and music. To-day, these schools have almost -all disappeared; and the few survivors, with very few exceptions, are -in a state of decadence. On the other hand, schools of electricity, -dyeing, weaving, mechanics, commerce, and chemistry abound and -flourish; they are the only schools the masses now require. In past -centuries, the states and aristocracies of Europe had in various ways -protected and encouraged the arts; and this protection had been one -of the principal reasons for their progress. Now this is no longer -the case. The wealthy classes of Europe to-day consider it much more -dignified and elegant to build motor-cars and aeroplanes than to -help painting and sculpture. As to the states, if one of them tries -to encourage some art, protests pour in from every side that the -expenditure is a wasting of the people’s money in the most idiotic -way. Italy was for centuries the mistress of the world in every art. -Yet even in Italy bitter complaints are made to-day about the few -millions which the public bodies have spent in the last thirty years -in raising monuments to the great men of the Revolution. On the other -hand, how can sculpture flourish, if nobody will pay the sculptors for -the works which they are capable of executing? And for what reason is -the State, which possesses ancient monuments, unable to spend another -million or two on keeping alive the tradition of an art which has shed -no little glory on the Nation? Is not this tradition, too, a national -heirloom? But the first-born daughter of Beauty no longer understands -these simple truths. Infected by the spirit of American progress, -she protests that the money spent on art is wasted; she is right -willing that hundreds of millions be spent on the encouragement of the -mechanical and iron industries. - -There is no need to wonder, therefore, if many Europeans regret the -Americanisation of the old continent as a kind of grievous madness. -Europe—especially its upper classes—lives a great deal—it could hardly -help living—in its past history. I have already said, that I, too, -when I undertook my journeys to America, was more or less of this -same cast of thought. But in America, confronted with this frenzy of -desires and of works which has attracted from all parts of the world -and fused into one people so many millions of souls, has created so -many cities and produced so much wealth, it was no longer possible for -me to shut my eyes to the fact that so vast and profound a phenomenon -must depend on causes much more complex and grave than a simple mistake -or mental aberration. For what reason was Europe ready to destroy even -her secular tradition of art for the sake of emulating that rapidity of -execution and audacity of enterprise which I was then witnessing in the -New World? This was the problem which presented itself to me, after I -had grasped the meaning of American progress; and which I succeeded in -solving with the help of my wife’s investigations into the history of -machinery. - -“Christopher Columbus,” says one of my characters, in _Between the -Old World and the New_, “not only discovered America, but re-endowed -man with the globe which God had already given him, inasmuch as he -enabled man at last to know it.” Europe had remained content up to the -fifteenth century to live in her little territory, ignorant of how -great the world was. That earlier limitation, however, only increased -the force of the impulse, given to man by the discovery of America, -to scour and ransack the oceans, with the object of discovering and -possessing the whole plane. Between the sixteenth and the eighteenth -centuries, then, Europe saw the world expanding around her. With the -expansion of the world, however, came an increase in the longing to -possess it, to master it, and to exploit it. How was Europe to do -so, with means so scanty, and under the sway of the ancient ideas, -which said to man, “Dare not!” which taught him to change as little -as possible the order of things under which he had grown up, and not -to yield to the temptation of over-ardent desires and of over-lofty -ambitions? - -Then began, in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, that effort of -thought and of will which, slowly at first, was destined gradually to -arm our civilisation with all the weapons necessary for the conquest -and exploitation of the earth. The sciences began their advances. -The first machines were invented and applied. The idea of liberty -of progress, of the rights of man, and of the popular will began to -undermine the ancient beliefs and traditions. Nevertheless, it is -probable that these would have long resisted, and that the ancient ties -which restrained the human will from the great enterprises would have -slackened, but not broken for who knows how many more centuries, if it -had not been for that immense event which convulsed the history of -Europe and America, the French Revolution. The French Revolution and -the great wars to which it gave rise made such and so great breaches -in the ancient prison-walls of traditions and principles in which our -civilisation was confined that man could thereafter easily escape -through them and wander freely over the vast world. - -In fact, after the French Revolution, we see the beginning of a new -history of the world. The ideas of liberty and of progress invade -Europe and America. In every class and in every nation comes an -awakening of new desires for comfort and culture. Industry develops, -railways spread, inventions multiply. Cities become thronged and -increase rapidly. The great new phenomenon of the history of the -world, the intensive exploitation of America, begins. The new wealth, -especially that produced in such abundance in America, whets men’s -appetites. Gradually the desire for comfort, ease, and culture spreads -to multitudes more numerous and to new nations, drives followers along -in the steps of pioneers, in turn prompts others to follow them, and -brings crowding on the heels of riches already realised, the hungry -greed of the masses; in a word, impels all Europe and all America to -the conquest of the earth. - -In consequence, not only America, but also Europe, saw the beginning -fifty years ago of what might be truly called the Golden Age of human -history, the epoch of abundance. - - What has man dreamt of [exclaims one of my characters]—what - has man dreamt of, since the dawn of time, but the Terrestrial - Paradise, the Promised Land, the Garden of the Hesperides, - the Age of Gold, Arabia Félix; one single thing, under - various names, the empire of nature and abundance? Is not the - great myth which centuries have mildly fantasied now at last - materialising under our eyes? - -But every medal has its reverse side; and we have had to pay, and to -pay dearly, for this fabulous abundance which man had vainly visioned -for centuries. - - The modern world [says another of my characters] has crowned - quantity at the expense of quality—which is, after all, an - eternal law. For I can make in a certain time things of a - certain quality, that is to say, resembling a certain model - of perfection which I have before my eyes or in my mind. But - in that case, I cannot make any quantity of it which I may - require. I must rest content with that quantity which I can - manage, working with all my zeal. I can say, on the other hand: - I want so many things of a certain quality. But in that case, - I can no longer prescribe the time necessary to finish them as - my fancy bids me. Or again: I wish in so much time to make such - a quantity. Very well; but in that case, I must put up with - the best quality I can get. So that whoever wants to increase - the quantity, and to curtail the time must abate his demand - for quality. And that is just what we are doing to-day in this - civilisation of ours, in which quantity reigns supreme. - -In the light of this idea that decadence in art, and in so many other -refinements of life, which many Europeans impute to America, seemed to -me no longer the effect of an aberration on the part of the masses, but -a sort of compensation. We pay, and we ought to pay, for the rapid -fortunes so commonly made nowadays. We pay, we ought to pay, for the -speed of the trains, the motor-cars, the aeroplane, the telegraph; -and the price is the mediocrity which pervades everything. We cannot -have, we must not want, everything in this world,—railways as well as -beautiful pictures, aeroplanes as well as the marvellous furniture -which the great French artists used to make in the eighteenth century, -speed as well as good manners. For among the reproaches hurled at -America by Europe is that of having banished from Europe by the example -of her democracy the good manners of our ancient ceremonial, and -substituted for it a rather over-simple and over-casual cordiality. But -can we expect the polished form, for which the eighteenth century was -famous, to survive in the social relations of a civilisation which, -like ours, is always in a hurry? Among men, who live between the train, -the motor-car, and the telephone? - -Every epoch directs all its efforts towards a supreme goal, which -for it is the all-important one. There have been epochs ablaze with -religious fervour, whose chief aspiration it was to diffuse and to -defend the faith. There have been epochs with a profound sense of -the ambition for glory, which fought great wars. Others again have -turned their attention to the fostering of the arts and sciences. Our -civilisation aims, in the first place, at the mastery over nature, and -the intensive exploitation of all the riches of the earth. We enjoy -the advantages of it. We are not inclined to abjure railways and -telegraphs. We have no wish again to run the risk of famine, which was -such an ever-present one to the civilisations of the past. We enjoy -the incredible abundance and liberty of the day and are by no means -eager to return to the pristine régime of discipline and parsimony. -We Europeans also, then, must resign ourselves to paying the price -which all these advantages cost, and to living in an epoch in which -art cannot flourish in any high degree, in which religion will no -longer have the strength to emanate waves of mystical ardour, and -even science will be cultivated only so far as it can be of immediate -service to practical ends, by intensifying and making more prolific -the exploitation of natural riches. For this, too, is a phenomenon -noticeable to-day in every part of Europe: disinterested studies are -falling into disfavour. Rich as it is, the world of to-day is less -capable of searching after the true for the sole pleasure of expanding -the field of knowledge, than it was two centuries ago, when it was so -much poorer. Even scientists nowadays want to see their discoveries -turned into money. - - * * * * * - -The Americanisation of Europe, then, is a fatal phenomenon. Europe, -from the moment when she aspired to great wealth and to the dominion of -nature, was called upon to renounce her claim to many of the treasures -of her ancient and refined culture. This was the conclusion at which -I rested for a moment. And yet at this point, I, as a European, felt -a misgiving. If matters stood thus, was not Europe fatally doomed -to become even more thoroughly Americanised in the future? At the -present time, the appetites and ambitions of all classes in Europe, -even the most numerous, have been given free rein. Everybody, from -the aristocrat of ancient lineage to the most obscure peasant, wishes -to earn, spend, and accumulate as much as he can. There is no power, -human or divine, which can pretend to drive back towards its historical -fountainhead this immense torrent of greed and ambition. Europe, -thus, is fated to become increasingly oblivious of the traditions of -its ancient and disinterested culture; to struggle to imitate and -compete with America in the production of great riches at greater -speed. And, as America with her immense territories and smaller store -of traditions is better equipped for the competition, so Europe must -necessarily become ever more and more decadent in the future. The -continent destined to dominate the civilisation of the future, as -Europe dominated it up to the middle of the nineteenth century, will be -America. - -There are not wanting persons in Europe who take a delight in repeating -from time to time this prophecy, which to the ears of a European sounds -somewhat lugubrious. For a moment, when in America, I, too, somewhat -discouraged by the vitality of which the American spirit of progress -gives proof, felt myself inclined to give ear to these prophets, whom -hitherto in Europe I had always contradicted. Yes, culture in Europe -was destined to become ever more decadent before the invasion of -progress interpreted in the American sense; quantity, that is to say, -the nations with vast territories at their disposal and capable of -rapidly producing vast wealth, would rule supreme in the future, while -the forces of idealism would lose a great part of their ancient empire -over the world. - -America, however, actually America, proved to me that the ancient -culture represented by Europe is not destined to die out, and that, -if Europe is being Americanised, America in compensation is being -induced by an eternal impulse to Europeanise herself! I, like so many -other Europeans, had gone to America, persuaded that the American’s -only thought is to make money. But in America, I, too, ended with -the conviction that no country in Europe expends so much money, -labour, and zeal on founding museums, schools, universities, and new -religions; on fostering, in the midst of the mechanical civilisation -and the realm of quantity, the arts, the religious spirit, and the -disinterested sciences; on preventing the loss of that intellectual -legacy of the past, in which Europe takes an ever-decreasing interest, -occupied as she is in developing her industries and her trade. If, -out of deference to history, rather than to the present day, we -may grant that Europe represents in the world’s history the effort -directed to the perfecting of a lofty culture, artistic, scientific, -religious, or philosophic,—there is no doubt but that America is -to-day becoming Europeanised; is seeking, that is to say, to employ the -vast riches which she has accumulated by the intensive exploitation -of her territory in the promotion of the progress of art, knowledge, -and the religious spirit. Doubtless, not all the efforts she makes are -successful; but they are numerous, intense, and obstinate. Indeed, if -America is open to any reproach in this relation, it is, in my opinion, -to that of feeling too ardent an admiration for lofty culture—art and -science in particular—an admiration which sometimes blunts the critical -sense, and does not permit her to distinguish what in the world of -the ideal is authentic from what is counterfeit, the real gold from -pinchbeck. In fact, one can find in no European country so lively and -profound a trust in science as in America. Europe knows that science -can do a great deal and has done a great deal, but that it often -promises, or raises hopes of, more than it can do. Not so in America. -Among the cultured, as among the lower classes, faith in the power of -science is practically unlimited. There is no marvel which the American -does not expect to see issuing from the scientist’s closet. Even the -mystical movements in America, whose trend is anti-scientific, like to -trick themselves out with the name of “Science,” which has a kind of -magic sound and glamour for the men of the New World. - -There is the same universal enthusiasm for art in America. It might -be said that America is determined to admire everything which might -possibly be beautiful, of every country, every epoch, and every -school. It is true that the most engrossing preoccupation of the -Americans is not that of fostering the arts; they must still keep their -minds fixed on the conquest of their great continent. But it is also -true that, in the moments of leisure, when they can think of something -other than business, they fling open, so to speak, their arms to the -arts of the whole world. Just as all the styles of architecture can be -found in the great buildings of New York, so all the arts which have -flourished in the course of centuries in Asia and Europe have been -transplanted into the New World. America, I might almost say, wishes -to taste and understand all the beauties which the past has created; -classical literature as well as contemporary European literature, -Italian as well as German music, Greek sculpture as well as the French -sculpture of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, Italian as well -as Dutch painting, Japanese decorative art as well as the styles of the -fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth Louis. New York, from this point -of view, is a real artistic cosmopolis. - -If, then, Europe is gradually destroying her ancient culture, and -her great traditions, in order to construct railways and factories, -to found banks and to initiate commercial enterprises, America, on -the other hand, wishes to employ the wealth gained by the intensive -exploitation of her vast continent in creating an art and a science. -How can we explain this contrast? “The snobbery of a parvenue nation,” -it pleases the European, with a shrug of the shoulders, to label it. -But anyone with any knowledge of America and much knowledge of human -nature will not rest content with so glib an explanation. It is true -that, thanks to machinery, to America, and to the idea of liberty and -progress, quantity is to-day triumphant in the world. Men wish to enjoy -abundance. Can they, however, confine their wish to abundance, to the -increase, that is to say, of the quantity of things they possess? -Observe a peasant who comes to town, turns artisan, and earns a higher -wage. What does he do? Does he buy with his higher wage a second pair -of boots, or a second suit in addition to and like the one he wore when -he was poor? No. He adopts the town fashions and buys more elegant -shoes and clothes, in appearance at least, that is to say, like those -worn by the upper classes. In every country of America and Europe, -the differences in dress between the upper and lower classes, once so -great, are disappearing. And why? Because the people want to dress like -the “Swells”; and modern industry spares no trouble to give them at -little cost the means of satisfying their ambition. In other words, the -workman wants to invest his higher wage in the purchase of finer, or -what he thinks are finer, clothes, than those he wore before, because -to possess a suit of superior clothes is to him a greater joy than to -have two suits of the same workmanship as those he wore when he was -poorer. In other words, quantity soon satiates, and at a certain stage -man needs to translate it into quality, and to employ his wealth to -procure for himself, not a greater number of things, but more beautiful -and better things, otherwise wealth is useless. - -If this need is lively and profound in the minds of the people, how -much stronger must it be in the richer classes, those with great -resources at their disposal! A man who possesses ten millions and -another who possesses one hundred cannot eat ten and a hundred times -as much respectively as the modest lord of only one million, live in a -house ten or a hundred times as vast, or buy himself ten or a hundred -hats where the other buys only one. If they used their wealth in that -way, they would be considered mad, and with good reason. They must then -strive to procure for themselves, with their superior wealth, things -of superior beauty or quality, to translate their wealth into beauty -and merit, quantity into quality. There are, it is true, men who desire -wealth only for the pleasure of creating it, and who are indifferent to -the other pleasures which it brings. At no time, perhaps, were these -men so numerous as at present among the great bankers, merchants, -and manufacturers who now rule the economic destinies of the modern -world. But even to-day, these men, who love money as the artist loves -his art, in itself and not for the pleasures which it can give, are -in a minority. And so they will always be, because even if—impossible -hypothesis—anybody in the upper classes developed such a fervid -enthusiasm for banking, industry, and commerce, as to arrive at -considering wealth only as an end in itself, a means of displaying his -own ability, there would still be the women. Unless it be wished that -even in the wealthy classes, women should engage in business and work, -women will be bound always to consider wealth as an instrument for the -advancement of life, procuring for its possessor joys more select and -articles of superior quality. - -In fact, this and no other is the origin of snobbery. Snobbery is, I -know, an obvious target for sarcasm at the present day. And it is easy -to laugh at the _nouveau riche_ who is determined at all costs, even -at the price of sacrifice and snubs, to frequent houses and circles -which formerly were closed to him; who is glad to go for trips in a -motor-car, even if they cause him suffering, or to go to the opera even -if he falls asleep there, because he thinks that by doing so, he is -living up to the standard of the highest elegance. But if he were not -under this delusion, what would be the use of his wealth to him? What -compensation would he have for the fatigues and perils he had incurred -in its acquisition? Snobbery is simply an effort to translate quantity -into quality to which man is impelled by the very increase of wealth. -There never was so much snobbery as there is at the present time, -because there never was so much wealth. - -Without a doubt, modern snobbery is full of grotesque deceptions. -The world never contained so many _nouveaux riches_, unprepared to -enjoy the real refinements of life, and destined to be the victims of -every sort of fraud. How often and in how many instances do we not -see the tragi-comedy of _Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme_, Molière’s immortal -comedy, acted over again at the present day? But one can also find, -in America perhaps more abundantly than in Europe, families whose -wealth dates back several generations, in which families the mania -for the accumulation of riches has died down, and which have time, -inclination, and culture enough to employ their wealth on behalf of -the most lofty activities of the mind. These are the American families -who ransack Europe for works of art, who found schools and museums, -who give work to architects, painters, and sculptors, who directly or -indirectly stimulate an ever-increasing number of the rising generation -not to concentrate on the making of money, but to devote themselves to -those intellectual labours of which, till a short while ago, Europe -had the monopoly. And it is the existence of this portion of American -society and its tendencies that entitle us to say that America is being -Europeanised. - -Europe, then, wishing to live a larger life, after centuries of penury -and stint, is becoming Americanised, and is sacrificing a part of -her splendid traditions of lofty culture to her desire to learn from -America the art of producing new wealth rapidly. America, on the other -hand, having accumulated immense wealth by the intensive exploitation -of her territory, is becoming Europeanised; she is turning, that is to -say, to the arts, sciences, and most lofty forms of higher culture, to -perfect which Europe has laboured for centuries. Yet at this point I -think I hear the reader cry: - -“Is not this all to the good? Does it not establish a marvellous -balance between the two worlds? Does it not prove that our civilisation -is the richest, most powerful, best balanced, and most perfect which -has ever existed? Ought Europe to have gone on living for ever in -misery, intent only on the perfecting of culture, and America to have -had never a thought for anything but the multiplication of wealth?” - -To be sure, if this exchange of wealth and culture between the two -continents could be effected as well and easily as it can be described, -our epoch would be in very truth an epoch of fabulous felicity. -We might claim to be, in comparison with preceding generations, a -generation of supermen. Unfortunately, the difficulties are greater -than they seem at first sight to be. What they are will be seen in -the next chapter; we shall then see that it has become much easier -to produce new wealth than to employ it in the creation of a lofty -and refined civilisation; and that this is the secret torment which -afflicts Europe and America. - - - - -IV - -THE LOST PARADISE OF BEAUTY - - -The bewildering growth in the wealth of America has affected in many -different ways the whole world. Economists are studying its effects -with much zeal. One, and not the least curious, of them, is the rise in -the value of antiques. From Etruscan ceramics to French furniture of -the eighteenth century, from Greek statues to Italian pictures of every -epoch, from Tanagra statuettes to the lace, embroideries, tapestries, -manuscripts, glass, and filigree from every part of the world, all the -artistic furniture of Europe, Asia, and Africa which has survived the -ravages of time has trebled and quadrupled its value. Few financial -speculations proved more successful in Europe than the collection about -fifty years ago of antiques. - -Many instances could be quoted to prove this. Everybody, even in -America, I suppose, has heard recently of the great Paris tailor who -set to work thirty years ago to collect statues, pictures, and French -_objets d’art_ of the eighteenth century. He spent about three millions -on his collection; and he put it up for auction last year and cleared -fourteen millions! An occurrence which made less noise, because it was -on a smaller scale, but analogous to the foregoing, is the following: A -journalist, a man of taste and a great admirer of beautiful antiques, -came to Rome. Everybody called him a maniac, because, though he had -a family, he spent all his savings in buying from the small antique -dealers and in the Campo di Fiori lamps, books, stuffs, and every other -bit of antique he could lay hands on. Well, he died ten years ago, and -left his family nothing but a houseful of fine antiques. The family, -which did not share his mania, sold them, and realised a fortune, the -income of which was, and is, enough to support them in comfort. If the -journalist had been discreet and had invested his savings in shares and -bonds, probably his family would now be living in a very much humbler -way. - -It is unnecessary to quote further evidence in support of so notorious -a fact. Ask any European antiquarian the reason for this appreciation, -and he will reply unhesitatingly, “America.” America for the last -thirty years has been making assaults on the antiquities-market with -all the tenacity of her untiring activity, and the might of her -new-made wealth. Some people in Europe—those who have antiques to -sell—are very glad that it should be so. Others lament, complaining -that Europe is emptying herself of her treasures in favour of the -New World. Most people, however, smile at what they consider a proof -of the incurable snobbery of the New World. Europe is very ready to -accuse America of loving antiques only because they are rare and, -therefore, dear; of fighting dollar-duels about them, only to prove -their own wealth, without any power of judging and distinguishing -between the good and the bad, though even among antiques there are -ugly as well as beautiful ones, representing comparative grades of -beauty. And this accusation too is, in its general application, unjust -and unsubstantial. Anybody who has had any extensive dealings with -the wealthy houses of New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Washington, and -Chicago, knows that they contain many Americans who are competent -judges and buyers of artistic antiques. It is true that, from this -point of view, the big American houses cannot yet challenge comparison -with the big European houses. Nevertheless, numberless are the -marvellous ceramics from the Far East, numberless the magnificent -pieces of French eighteenth century furniture, numberless the pieces -of wonderful lace, glass, and antique _boiseries_ which it has been my -good fortune to see, not without an occasional pang, in America. - -On the other hand, this reproach, which, couched in its usual form, is -unjust, contains a modicum of truth, which however applies to Europe -as well as to America. I have often had occasion to notice in wealthy -modern houses—in Europe as well as in America, but in America more -than in Europe—that they are adorned with many extremely beautiful old -pieces, but that these are too numerous, and too heterogeneous. You -find in a modern drawing-room material of every epoch and from all -parts of the world; from ancient Greece, and from China of the last -century, from the Italian Middle Ages and from contemporary Persia. -Consequently modern houses are too much like small museums, in which -numbers of wonderful little antiques, picked up wherever they were to -be had, are exposed to view, and in which the modern furniture and -adornments serve as the show-case in which the antiques are displayed, -instead of being, as they were in the eighteenth century, the principal -decoration, of which some beautiful antique was the appropriate -ornament and complement. This inversion of the natural order of things -would be inexplicable, were we not all of us persuaded more or less -consciously that old things must necessarily be more beautiful than -modern ones. For this reason we are willing that what we make, the -modern, shall be subordinated and serve as a tool to the antique. - -In short, the antique, in Europe as in America, has acquired nowadays a -value of its own in art, merely on the score of its antiquity. I need -not dwell on the strangeness of this prejudice in favour of antiques -in an age and in countries in which, directly one leaves the field -of art behind, one finds so keen a craze for the modern. Not to be -up-to-date is at the present day the greatest reproach we can fling at -a man in Europe and in America, especially in America. Why then does -modernity in art arouse, not only in old Europe, but also, and perhaps -more, in young America, so much diffidence and mistrust? Why do we, -notwithstanding the attempts which modern artists make to emulate the -ancients or to create new things, turn to the past when we want to -possess or enjoy something really beautiful? May this contradiction -be the effort of a last surviving prejudice? For centuries, man was -educated to consider all antique things, only because they were -antique, preferable to modern ones. In many respects, we have conquered -this venerable prejudice. May our attachment to the antique in art -be the last and most persistent survival of this sentiment, itself -destined to disappear? - -No. This persistent attachment to the antique in art is not prejudice; -it is the effect of the incurable artistic weakness of our epoch. -Men are following a profound and sure instinct when, in their desire -for beauty, they turn to the antique; for art is as it were the lost -Paradise of our civilisation, whose atmosphere we are always breathing, -but to which the entrance is forbidden us. It is a phenomenon of -contemporary life which usually attracts but little attention; and yet -how strange it is! The need for the adornment of life with beautiful -things—for translating quantity into quality, as I said above—has not -diminished among the wealthy classes, and could not diminish, because -it is a profoundly human need. The world’s upper classes never had so -much wealth at their disposal as now, and never had so keen a desire -to spend a considerable part of it in the purchase of beautiful things. -How many artistic masterpieces could have been paid for, and how many -painters, sculptors, and architects of genius liberally rewarded with -half the sums which have been spent in raising fourfold or sixfold -the value of the antiquities of Europe, Asia, and Africa? Indeed the -immense growth in the world’s wealth has profited the dead, not the -living, in the world of art, antiquities and not the modern arts. And -it was inevitable that this should be so. Why? - -Because modern times are not adapted to be a golden age of art, for a -psychological and moral reason, which, however, is not to be sought -in the practical and commercial spirit of modern times. Many of the -fairest palaces and pictures which we admire in Italy were commissioned -by merchants who were no less practical than modern bankers. The reason -is to be sought elsewhere, and it is more profound. Modern civilisation -has conquered with its railways, telegraphs, and steam-boats, the whole -earth. In fifty years, it has succeeded in conquering continents so -vast as North America. It has created riches so fabulous, in a word, -it has achieved so much power, because it has broken through all the -limits within which the spirit of tradition confined past generations. -Escaping from these limits, it has learned to create at great speed. -Speed and the tireless spirit of innovation are the two formidable -weapons which have given our civilisation the victory in her struggle -with nature and with the other more conservative and more deliberate -civilisations. But the qualities necessary to artistic excellence are -just the two opposite qualities: the spirit of tradition and laborious -deliberateness. - -We moderns, victims of the giddy pace at which we live, may be -somewhat oblivious of the fact; but it is a fact that anyone who knows -history cannot ignore. To create and foster an art really worthy of -the name,—Greek sculpture, Italian painting, the French decorative -art of the eighteenth century,—the immense sums at our disposal are -useless, and the sciences of steam and electricity of no avail. I -have already had occasion to prove this in the preceding chapters. -The nations and the generations which have created the most famous -arts and whose relics are still our delight, were poor and ignorant -compared with us. In order to create and foster art, it is necessary -to educate generations of artists to do good work and generations of -amateurs to understand and appreciate it. Neither the artists nor the -public taste can be educated without a spirit of tradition and of -æsthetic discipline, which induces the public to allow the artists -the time necessary for the perfecting of their respective arts in all -their details; which induces the artist to recognise the legitimate -requirements of the public for which he works, and to seek to satisfy -it by adapting his own work to those requirements. - -Anyone can see, however, that nowadays these two conditions have -become well-nigh impossible. In the gigantic confusion of the modern -world, races, cultures, and populations are continually intermingling. -Generations follow each other with the fixed determination not to -continue what their immediate predecessor has done but to do something -different. Ancient traditions are dying out, and no new ones are being -formed or can be formed. Change is the order of the day. Sons but -rarely adopt their father’s professions, and not a few die in lands -other than those in which they were born. Modern society is agitated by -a continual process of renewal, which is the deep-seated source of her -energy and activity, but is also a reason for her artistic decadence. -In this continual mobility of bodies, wills, and ideas; in this -perpetual change of tendencies, tastes, and standards, art is losing -her bearings and, alone in this age of bold enterprises, is becoming -greedy and diffident. - -Public and artists, instead of helping each other, have grown timid. -The public no longer does what it likes. It no longer has any standard -of judgment. It has become timid and diffident. It is obsessed by the -fear of mistaking a masterpiece for a deception or a deception for a -masterpiece. This uncertainty of tastes and desires in the public in -its turn bewilders the artists. When the painter, the sculptor, the -musician, and the poet try to find in the desires and inclinations -of the public the sure indication which in times past used to be the -support and guidance of artists in their creations, they find that -the public is ready to admire anything, but has no marked preference -for anything in particular. The artist is free, but his liberty is a -liberty which embarrasses and paralyses him. - -Under these circumstances, the adroit artists quickly learn the art of -exploiting the uncertainties and inexperiences of the public, and win -riches and honours. The crazy and the charlatans seek to intimidate the -public by perpetrating novelties of extravagant audacity. Serious and -conscientious artists there are nowadays, of course, but everyone has -new formulæ of his own art, differing from those of everyone else, and -proclaims his to be the only true, fruitful, and admirable formulæ, at -the same time denouncing all others as freaks. By what standard are we -to judge these quarrels? Bewildered by so many different attempts and -judgments, the public ends by turning to the antique. It has a vague -idea that the past ages may have been inferior to our own in all other -respects, but in art were superior to it. It knows that a work of art -at least one century old may be more or less beautiful, but that it -is at least a serious work of art, conceived and carried out in good -faith, not for the mystification of an ingenuous public by some daring -theory of novelty. - -So the Europeans are wrong in ridiculing the passion of the Americans -for ancient things. This passion has the same origin on the other side -of the Atlantic as it has on this. In art, our civilisation is destined -to remain inferior to ancient civilisations, which it has overshadowed -with its wisdom, its power, and its wealth. This is the reason for the -rapid growth in the value of the antique in art, even in the age of -modernity _à outrance_. We need feel no shame in avowing it openly. -Civilisations and epochs, like individuals, cannot have and expect -everything; and the share which has fallen to us of the good things of -the earth is so large, that we can readily console ourselves for the -loss of this particular one. - -Who reasoned thus would reason wisely. Nevertheless, the fact is -of greater importance than it appears. It shows that the balance -between the ancient culture of Europe and the spirit of American -culture—that balance which might perhaps have produced the most -brilliant civilisation in history—will never be perfectly secured, at -least so long as the conditions of the world remain what they now are. -America will be able to continue her Europeanisation, and Europe her -Americanisation, as we have seen is the case. But this interchange of -influences will not have as its only result the increase of the wealth -of Europe and of the culture of America. It will give birth in the two -worlds to a discontent and an unrest which nothing will be able to -allay. - -In fact, the more its upper classes come under the influence of the -culture of the Old World, the more ardent will become the admiration -and desire of America for the antique,—for that beauty which the -civilisations preceding our own created with such wealth and -perfection of forms; the more strongly will it be convinced of our -artistic inferiority, and persuaded that one of the treasures of -life we have lost irreparably, and can only enjoy in the relics of -other generations. Every picture or statue or artistic object which -crosses the ocean and enters America, every museum which a rich -Maecenas opens in the New World to the public or which a city or a -state creates, every chair founded, and every book of artistic history -printed,—everything, in fact, which brings the spirit of America into -contact with the masterpieces of ancient European art, and awakens -recognition and admiration for them, makes America at the same time -recognise how comparatively decadent is that which our times produce; -reveals to it that lost Paradise of Beauty around whose closed gates we -are now condemned to hover. This contact with the artistic achievement -of the past becomes, therefore, at the same time a gadfly of discontent -and unrest to the upper and cultured classes. - -By an inverse process, the further the spirit of American progress -penetrates into Europe, the more completely does it detach the Old -World from its past, and, therefore, irritates, grieves, and disgusts -the classes which have enough culture to recognise and admire the -marvellous arts of that past. With every ten years that elapse, we -feel that our past, with all its radiant glories, has receded a -hundred years; that we are plunging into a new world, in which riches, -knowledge, and our power over nature will increase, but which will -be ugly, inharmonious, and vulgar compared with the centuries which -preceded it. Many Americans fail to understand why Europe cherishes -so many latent antipathies to America, which has never done her any -harm, directly at least. The real reason for these antipathies must be -looked for in the artistic decadence which accompanies the development -of modern civilisation. That civilisation has not been created by -America alone, but by America and Europe combined. Europe and America, -therefore, share the responsibility for this decadence. Yet it suits -the European book from time to time to see in America the symbol of the -civilisation of railways, steam, electricity, business, and industry -on a large scale; and Europeans gladly vent on America their spleen -for whatever in this civilisation, pregnant with good and with evil, -offends them and arouses regret. - -In short, there is an insoluble contradiction between progress, as our -age understands the word,—between the “American” progress, as many -Europeans call it,—and art. This contradiction has as yet attracted but -little notice, in the still great confusion in which we live, in the -initial tumult of this new civilisation which is invading the earth. -It will be noticed, however, more and more strongly, as generation -succeeds generation, and in many families the primary hunger for wealth -is satiated and gives way to the desire to “translate quantity into -quality”: as American love for the historical beauties of the Old World -increases, and Europe takes further lessons in the multiplication of -her wealth. There is no escape or salvation for our civilisation from -the discontent and unrest which will arise from this contradiction. It -is a torment which will grow with the growth of wealth and culture; -which nations and classes will feel more acutely the richer and the -more cultivated they become; from which perhaps, one day, America will -suffer more severely than many European nations; which will oppress the -upper classes much more heavily than the people. The latter, indeed, -will not feel it at all, and will alone be able to live in modern -civilisation, as contented as man ever can be in this world. - -History often has strange surprises in store. The civilisation of -machinery tended at its birth to appear as a death-blow to the -working classes, a godsend to the upper classes. For years and years, -socialism, generalising from the initial rubs, predicted and pretended -to prove that the great mechanical industry must enrich a small -oligarchy inordinately, and reduce to the blackest wretchedness the -great mass of the population; that a new feudalism of capitalists, -fiercer than the barons of the Middle Ages, would seize all the good -things of the world. A century passes, and we find this civilisation -giving complete satisfaction only to the workmen, because it can -content the workmen only from the double point of view of quantity -and quality. It gives them an abundance which only a small fraction -of the people enjoyed up to a century ago; and, at the same time, -bestows on them a luxury which fully satisfies their yet simple and -unsophisticated æsthetic sense. We may smile when we see in a workman’s -home mirrors and clocks which are the rudest imitations of masterpieces -of the Louis XV and Louis XVI styles, hideous reproductions from a -German factory; and coarse carpets which are poor European copies of -beautiful Turkish and Persian models, the result of the substitution of -the iron teeth of a machine for the industrious fingers of the human -hand, and of decadent aniline dyes for the brilliant and unfading -vegetable colours. The workman, however, does not know the matchless -models of which these objects are the ugly copies, and, inasmuch as -every æsthetic verdict arises out of a comparison, these reproductions -represent for him the summit of perfection, and entirely satisfy his -need for beautiful things round about him. - -To the upper classes, on the other hand, this civilisation has given -immense and imposing wealth, such as no epoch had ever considered -possible; but it has deprived them of the means of enjoying it. Wealth -becomes nowadays more useless, the greater it becomes, because a -multi-millionaire cannot build himself a house, wear clothes, or buy -objects a hundred times finer and better than the possessor of only -a few millions. We no longer have artists capable of accomplishing -miracles. The men of great wealth are forced to compete with each -other for the relics of past beauty at fabulous prices, when they are -not inclined to spend all their wealth for the benefit of others. -These relics are not sufficient, however, to satisfy the desire for -beauty and art which grows in our times with the growth of wealth and -of culture. On the contrary, they only make us feel more acutely the -decadent vulgarity of everything, with but few exceptions, which our -age produces. - - * * * * * - -Someone will say that, after all, this torment is not a very serious -one; and that men will easily find means of consoling themselves. -No epoch, as I have already said, can have everything; and modern -civilisation bestows on the wealthy classes of our times numberless -compensations for the ugliness of the modern world. One of these should -be enough by itself to content even the most discontented: that kind of -bodily and mental ubiquity which is enjoyed, thanks to the prodigious -inventions of modern genius. Cannot the wealthy, thanks to their -riches, remove from one continent to another, travel, have dealings -and acquaintances in, and receive communications from, every part of -the world, come to know the most distant and recondite beauties of -nature and of art—in a word, live over the whole globe? A modern great -man may well feel himself almost a demigod compared with the men of -two centuries ago, so great is the sway his money gives him over the -forces of nature, so easily can he escape from the tyranny which space -and time used to exercise over men up to a century ago. May not the -intoxication of this proud sway be worth as much as the pleasure which -the works of Phidias, Michelangelo, Raphael, and Houdon gave to our -ancestors? - -It is true that the pride of our knowledge and the intoxication of our -power stun us, and therefore help us to bear with greater patience -the want of more æsthetic pleasures. But this compensation, like all -compensations, is of its very nature provisional. It is not possible -utterly to destroy a need inherent in human nature. There is at the -present day a certain tendency in the world to consider art as a -superfluous frivolity, as a luxury only to be thought of in moments -of leisure. Art and such-like superfluities are contrasted with what -are called the serious occupations, the practical realities of life: -industry, commerce, inventions, business, and wealth. Those who hold -this opinion forget, however, that the sculptures of Phidias and the -paintings of Raphael appeared in the world long before the steam-engine -and the Voltaic pile. Are we, too, prepared in face of this fact -to affirm, with the most advanced champion of the American idea of -progress in my dialogue, that “history was off the track up to the -discovery of America”? That if men had had any sense, they would have -invented machinery and developed the sciences first, and then created -and developed the arts? But even if we were prepared to maintain this -paradoxical theory, another fact of common observation would be there -to prove to us that beauty is not a luxury and whim of gentlemen of -leisure, but a primary, universal, and indestructible need of our -minds, which every human creature seeks to satisfy as best it can. -Do we not see every day that the peasant and the artisan, items in -modern civilisation though they are, no sooner have a little money -than they try to procure for themselves ornaments, either for their -persons or for their homes, which may be as tawdry as you like, but -which to them seem beautiful and well worth the expenditure of some of -the little money they have? Have we not seen that one of the merits -of modern civilisation is that of satisfying the æsthetic needs of -the masses? Why should we not expect, then, to find the same need, -though in a refined and intense form, felt by those to whom superior -intelligence and energy, or the favour of fortune, has granted the -power to accumulate wealth in large quantities, those, in other words, -who have at their disposal greater means of procuring for themselves -the pleasures and good things of life? - -No: the artistic impotence of modern civilisation is likely to prove, -to judge by the first effects which are now beginning to manifest -themselves, a graver phenomenon than is at present realised. The -upper classes in Europe and America will not be able to go on for an -indefinite length of time living with a consciousness that the world in -which they find themselves is ugly, coarse, and decadent in comparison -with preceding civilisations; feeling the inferiority of the present -more acutely the more they study, and at the same time extending -still further their sway over the world and accumulating new riches -to console themselves for it. This would be a state of moral want of -balance; and moral want of balance cannot continue indefinitely, just -as physical want of balance cannot continue indefinitely. Either our -civilisation will abate its aspirations to the level of the mediocrity -which it is capable of producing in art, destroying in itself the -remembrance of and regret for those ancient civilisations which created -so many beautiful things; or it will have to put itself into a position -to satisfy not only the æsthetic needs of the masses, but also those of -the more cultured and refined strata of society. The first supposition -appears improbable, or at least no man of sense will wish to consider -it possible. It would mean a relapse of the world into barbarism, the -end of all the traditions and all the studies which have been and still -are an indispensable element of intellectual and moral refinement. So -we are left with the other hypothesis, which assumes that man will make -up his mind one day to make an effort to create arts of his own, which -will survive comparison with those of the past. - -Yet the task is an arduous one. As I have already said, an art is not -created or perfected without the spirit of tradition and of discipline; -and the attempt in our times to re-infuse vigour into the spirit of -tradition and of discipline, if only in the measure necessary for the -progress of art, is an enterprise, the difficulties of which everyone -can understand without a long explanation. It cannot be effected -without a profound intellectual and moral reform, which will bring -about a change in many things besides the originality and power of the -arts which are to-day languid and decadent. So the struggle between -American progress and art may well be a more important phenomenon -than is at present apparent; and may well entail transformations of -far-reaching extent. - - - - -V - -BEYOND EVERY LIMIT - - -For century after century, our civilisation lay low in its -Mediterranean lair. It knew but a small part of Europe, Asia, and -Africa; and no pricks of curiosity impelled it to ascertain how far the -world extended over land and sea beyond the vague bounds which marked -the limit of its efforts. That small part of the world satisfied the -ambitions of our ancestors, though they certainly were not shy and -craven. Confined in that narrow corner of the earth and with only the -scanty resources which it could provide, they created literatures, -arts, philosophies, states, laws, and religions. Some of these -creations are alive to this day, and help us distant descendants to -shed a little beauty and to impose a little order on the modern world. - -Between the fifteenth and the sixteenth centuries there began a great -change in the history of our civilisation. Impelled by the wish to -reach India by way of the Atlantic, our forefathers began to explore -the earth. Gradually geographical exploration became the preoccupation -of governments, the passion of the public, and the business of a great -number of persons who made almost a vocation of these daring voyages. -And behold one fine day, one grand day, the most fortunate and daring -of the navigators who were exploring the Atlantic in every direction -discovered America. In mid-Atlantic there lay two connected continents, -stretching from one hemisphere to the other, covering many latitudes -and a great variety of clime, and much of this vast territory was still -but sparsely inhabited. It was then that our forefathers realised how -vast and rich was the earth, and how small and poor in comparison -seemed that Mediterranean world in which for so many centuries they had -lived. It was then that they began to pass beyond the limits within -which they had been so long confined, to invade and to conquer the -outside world. - -The Pillars of Hercules, which had been the impassable geographical -limit of the ancient Mediterranean world, were not, however, the -only bounds which they passed; they transcended also the moral and -intellectual limits which until then had circumscribed their thoughts -and actions. All the time that the ancient Mediterranean civilisation, -turned loose into the Atlantic, was striking root and expanding in -America, an uninterrupted sequence of events and movements was taking -place in Europe, destroying ancient laws, ancient traditions, and -ancient discipline; upsetting, in other words, the bounds placed in -the past to the thought, the sentiment, and the will of Man. The most -important of these events were: the Protestant Reformation, the -philosophies of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the advances -of science, the French Revolution and its wars, the birth and the -development of the great industrial movement, and the all but universal -triumph of democratic ideas. - -Little by little, while the aspect of the globe changed, a great -revolution was taking place in the spirit of the ancient Christian -civilisation in Europe, which from being dictatorial and traditionalist -became free and progressive. Religion, which for so many centuries -had been a kind of severe moral discipline, a life of prohibitions, -scruples, rules, precepts, ceremonies, and rites, changed into a kind -of free contemplation of the Deity in which the individual conscience -had full play. Everybody became his own high priest. - -The ceremonial of social life, which at no time had been so -complicated, serious, and exacting, gradually became so far simplified -as no longer to encumber man in his every movement and activity. The -State, which at one time, hand-in-hand with religion, watched over the -customs and life of its citizens, accorded greater and greater liberty -to them. To-day everybody, provided he contributes to society his daily -sum of work, is free to live and think as he likes. Severe laws used -once upon a time to regulate men’s luxuries and pleasures. Every class -was forbidden to spend its money in any way other than that prescribed -by these laws. There were times of the year in which men were forbidden -to amuse themselves, and, when amusements were allowed, the laws took -care that they should not degenerate into vice. Nowadays the whole year -is one long festival and carnival for all who have money to spend; and -together with freedom in pleasure men have acquired also a freedom in -vice which would scandalise our friends the ancients, if they might -come back to life again. - -Every authority is losing power. The people discuss the government and -the laws; children take the first opportunity of escaping from the -authority of their parents. The younger generation is convinced that -it knows more than the older, and values the latter’s experience at -zero. Traditions are losing their force and academics their prestige. -Everyone holds the opinion he likes in religious, artistic, political, -and moral questions; just as he is free to regulate his own conduct, -at his own risk and peril, as he pleases, with the sole obligation of -respecting the limits imposed by the laws, which are for the most part -neither numerous nor embarrassing. - -What is the deep-lying cause of this duplex and contemporaneous -movement? Why has the old Christian civilisation of Europe felt -itself in the last four centuries unable any longer either to contain -itself within the ancient material limits or within the ancient ideal -limits? Why, at the same moment as it advances to the conquest of new -continents, does it destroy within itself all the ancient disciplinary -restrictions? Because in these last centuries it has gradually -discovered that the earth is much vaster and richer than it suspected; -that it contains, in old Europe, as well as in young America, treasures -in much greater abundance than it had ever pictured in its dreams; -and that it can invent tools which bring these rapidly within its -reach. Gradually, as man found that he could rob nature of her immense -treasures, there arose and spread from generation to generation through -all classes in Europe and America a craze for wealth and a mad ambition -to win the mastery over nature, such as the world had never yet seen. - -To satisfy this craze and this ambition, however, it was necessary to -break many of the innumerable bonds—religious, moral, æsthetic, and -political,—which limited the energy and initiative of our forefathers. -How could so many millions of men have brought themselves to emigrate -to America, if the spirit of tradition had not been weakened in Europe, -and if everybody had continued to hold, as they did once upon a time, -that the greatest good fortune a man could have was that of being -buried in the church in which he had been baptised? Even to-day there -are those who lament the diminution, in all the Christian churches -during the last few centuries, of the number, complexity, and rigour -of the rites and ceremonies, just as others lament that the ceremonial -of social life and etiquette is dying out. But would not men who -are obliged to work, travel, and rush about as we do nowadays find -themselves embarrassed beyond the point of endurance by a religion -which made them spend too much time over rites, and by a complicated -etiquette like that which still prevails in the states of the East, -requiring a large part of the day to be spent in compliments and -ceremonies? Europeans often laugh at the architecture of New York; and -I must confess that I, too, found it distinctly bizarre. On the other -hand, could that vast city have grown and renovated itself so rapidly -in the last century, and have found accommodation for the countless -multitudes which throng to it from all the corners of the world, -if those who built it had troubled themselves to observe the rules -formulated by the great architects of the sixteenth century, in the -days when it took as much time to build a palace and a church as it now -does to construct a city? - -Modern society, if compared with the societies which preceded it, may -seem in many of its aspects—and in fact it is—ugly, poor in artistic -beauty, coarse, and brutal. It may even seem atheistic and irreverent, -frivolous and superficial in matters of religion, and, in certain -respects, morally lax or downright licentious. This kind of disorder, -however, which is such a common subject of heart-burning, is only the -necessary effect of the outburst of our energy over the world and -nature on its path of conquest. A civilisation cannot produce, refine, -or perfect arts or traditions of elegance and of social life, or a -morality and a religion, if it does not adopt an attitude of reserve, -if it does not limit itself to some extent, if it does not sacrifice -its other ambitions and aspirations to this object. A civilisation like -ours, whose supreme aspiration it is to extend in the shortest possible -time and as far as it can its empire over the world; to surpass all the -limits which nature seeks to oppose to its restless ambitions and to -the multiform energy of man, must needs sacrifice beauty, refinement, -elegance, and moral delicacy to rapidity, energy, activity, and daring. -The discovery and development of new countries, the marvellous progress -of America, the discoveries of science, the perfection of machinery, -the ideas of liberty which emerge triumphant from political revolutions -and changes in customs, the weakening of the spirit of authority in -every department of social life, the abolition of so many limits which -once entangled the movements of man, are all phenomena which are -mutually and indissolubly connected. - - * * * * * - -“Yes,” many will say; “and they are phenomena which all go to make up -the grandeur and glory of the modern world. We have power, wealth, -knowledge, and liberty, the four blessings of which our forefathers -had little, if any, knowledge. What cause have we then to grumble? And -amongst all the blessings which modern times shower upon us, perhaps -the most precious—more precious than wealth, power, and knowledge—is -liberty. If we have no reason to regret the past, it is chiefly because -our forefathers lived, imprisoned, and in suffering, within limits -which we have overstepped. Is there any greater joy for a man than -that of being able in thought, feeling, and action to follow the inner -impulse of his own conscience, instead of making it bend to an external -will, whether it be that of the law, or that of the public, or that of -a tradition? Surely the modern world is the greatest as well as the -most fortunate which has ever existed?” - -That is what many people think, and thoughts like this breed the -optimism which at the present day cheers so many minds. This -thought is, moreover, partially true; but only partially. For in -the intoxication of their triumph over nature, of the riches which -they have conquered so easily and in such abundance, men seem not to -recognise that this civilisation without limits is little by little -allowing that same unbridled energy to hurry it into excesses which -threaten to drive it back into that very state of barbarism from -which it has made so many efforts to escape. The impetus which it has -acquired, now that it has cast off so many of its ancient restraints, -is great; but the danger is precisely that this impetus may carry it -too far. - -I have already said that amongst the limits abolished by modern -civilisation are those which preceding civilisations had placed on -luxury. How great a change has taken place in men’s ideas on this -subject during two centuries! Simplicity and austerity were considered -for centuries virtues proper to saints and heroes. Christianity -had gone so far as to glorify poverty in so many words. Man, by -increasing his needs, only increased the number of his masters and -tyrants; only multiplied for himself occasions for sorrow. The more -simply a man could live, the freer, stronger, and happier he was. In -short, in ancient times, up to the French Revolution, religion, law, -and tradition set limits on every side to man’s desire to possess -and to enjoy; and these limits were so numerous and so close, that -they entailed no little suffering on the generations constrained to -live within them. That is why we have upset them all. And what is -the result? That we no longer have any sure criterion by which to -distinguish reasonable consumption from insensate waste, legitimate -need from vice. We can no longer say what are the limits at which -it is reasonable and wise for the peasant, the artisan, the small -tradesman, the man of leisure, the millionaire, the multi-millionaire, -the child, the woman, the old man, respectively, to cry a halt to their -desires. All men and all classes arrogate to themselves the right to -desire, to spend, even to waste as much as they can. No one has any -clear idea of a standard by which to distinguish what he may desire -and what he ought to deny himself. A kind of universal prodigality is -becoming obligatory in every class; and modern civilisation is hurrying -towards an unbridled, gross, and oppressive orgy. There is already a -large number of men in Europe and America who eat, drink, and smoke -to excess; who over-indulge in intoxicating and stimulating drinks; -and who spend themselves in that continual whirl of diversions and -distractions which form so large a part of modern life. The number is -fated, however, to grow yet larger, rapidly and indefinitely. Is not -production increasing on every side? Is not progress for us first and -foremost the continual increase of production? And what avails it to -produce more, if the riches produced do not find consumers? - -The modern world, in freeing men’s desires from all the ancient limits -and restraints, has given a vigorous impulse to human industry. In -order to satisfy the increased needs of the masses, man has invented -machinery, and has put a premium on the new countries. But precisely -because there is no longer limit or restraint to men’s desires, -industry, which in the past was the handmaiden of human needs, is now -becoming their tyrant. It is creating and multiplying our needs with a -view to their subsequent satisfaction. In order that it may never be -short of work, it is tempting men in a thousand ways to desire and to -consume more. Therefore our civilisation has made of riches not the -fitting means of satisfying reasonable and legitimate needs, but an -end in themselves. We are obliged to produce them in order to consume -them, and to consume them in order to produce them. Every moment which -a man does not spend in producing riches, he must spend in consuming -the riches produced by others; so that he can never stay still for one -instant, but must jump from occupation to amusement, and from amusement -back again to occupation. He must try to make the day as long as -possible, accustoming himself to do everything at full speed, and -cutting down the hours of sleep as much as possible. Everybody knows -that we moderns, especially in the great cities, are losing the habit -of sleeping. - -We have not yet mentioned, however, the most serious drawbacks of -the present-day lack of any fixed limit to men’s desires. In the -past ages, the efforts of religion were directed to educating men to -self-introspection; to teaching them to explore their own consciences, -to render account to themselves of their own sins and vices, and to -try to amend them. One might even go so far as to say that from one -point of view Christianity was principally a melancholy meditation on -the perversity of human nature, and an effort to purify it through -meditation, suffering, and the love of God. One has only to read -the letters of Saint Catherine, or the _Divine Comedy_, or Pascal’s -_Pensées_ to realise to what an extent the moral refinement which -is the fruit of these meditations preoccupied the loftiest minds, -and, at second hand, the great ones of the earth in past centuries. -A considerable part of the energies of every generation was consumed -in this introspective effort, instead of in action; for centuries and -centuries, saints, moralists, and preachers abounded in Europe, while -men of action, fit to conquer the world and its riches, nature and her -secrets, were scarce. - -This searching of the inward parts was not always soothing by any -manner of means. For the past century and a half, numerous writers and -philosophers have denounced it as one of the refinements of torture -with which religion in the past made men’s lives a burden to them. -Perhaps, however, they are wrong; for this effort, which religion -made for so many centuries to habituate man to self-introspection, -self-knowledge, and self-judgment, demands a less superficial -explanation. However great be the force of the laws and the vigilance -of public opinion, there can be no convenient order in a social system, -if man does not help by exercising some sort of surveillance over -himself, if he does not give ear to an inward voice, forbidding him to -take advantage of every opportunity of doing evil with impunity which -may offer itself. This necessity for self-restraint is particularly -urgent in connection with three duties: the duty of speaking the truth, -the duty of checking one’s own inclination to pleasure, especially in -the relations between the sexes, and the duty of not using one’s own -strength improperly at the expense of the weak. Many are the times when -we could tell a lie with impunity, or even with advantage to ourselves, -if we wished to do so; and yet it is necessary that we should speak the -truth spontaneously, in order that justice may triumph. How easy it is -for the man who has become the slave of vice to evade the eyes of his -fellows and to satisfy in secret his most perverse passions! And what -system of laws can be conceived which will be wise and perfect enough -to bar all the countless ways in which the stronger can impose upon the -weaker? - -Every religion with more or less success—and none with more success -than Christianity—in centuries past helped law and public opinion -to regulate this most important part of morality. They all made a -sacred thing of an oath, which is nothing but a covenant which every -individual enters into with himself to speak the truth, even when -he could lie with impunity or with advantage to himself. They all -created a sexual morality to regulate love, marriage, and the family. -They endeavoured in various ways to awaken in the consciences of the -rich and powerful the recognition of certain duties of moderation and -charity towards the weak and the poor. Nowadays, on the contrary, men -no longer have time to examine their consciences, or to reflect on -their own vices and defects, or on their own duties and rights. The -whole atmosphere of our lives is exterior to ourselves; we are always -moving about and always busy. We have become almost incapable of -meditation and self-introspection. Our times no longer lay any store by -this education of our inner feelings. The only discipline they impose -on man is that of work. Everybody, whether of high degree or of low, -is required, under penalty of losing his daily bread or of dropping in -the social scale, to fill with exactness, precision, diligence, and -correctness, the rôle, be it little or big, which has been allotted to -him in the immense operations of our times. But, for the rest, everyone -is to-day much more free than he was in the past to adjust his line of -action to his own beliefs, and to make for himself his own standard -and his own laws. - -The result is that all the scruples and internal restraints with -which religion endowed the conscience of man in the past are growing -rusty from disuse. Our civilisation, rich and splendid as it is, -threatens to be spoiled by fraud, by evil habits, and by oppression. -There is no doubt about it; not even in these days is the discipline -of work sufficient in itself to keep the State in good order. Man -is not a living machine, destined only to produce riches. When he -leaves his office and comes back into the world, the modern man there -finds a family, sons, parents, friends, persons of the other sex who -may attract him, men richer and more powerful than himself, others -weaker and poorer, political institutions and public problems; in -short, opportunities of doing good or evil, temptations dangerous but -agreeable, and duties painful but necessary. And our times not only -give him practically no moral assistance to conquer these temptations -and to perform these duties, but rather in many ways incite him to -yield to the temptations, and to exercise his cunning in evading the -duties. Fraud in particular is becoming simply second nature to our -civilisation. What is the great industrial movement of modern times -but a continual deception for cloaking the deterioration which it is -bringing about in the quality of things as the price of increasing the -quantity of them? Every day sees an increase in the number of cleverly -faked objects, which are not what they seem; and science—especially -chemistry—is the highly paid accomplice which furnishes industry with -the means of imposing this colossal deception on an inexperienced -and ingenuous public. In other words, commerce and industry, which -play so large a part in modern life, are becoming more and more a -colossal deception in which he succeeds best and makes most money who -is cleverest at lying to the public and at foisting on them goods of -inferior quality though superior in outward seeming. Now if we see -in a social system, on the one hand, a weakening of all the internal -restraints which keep a man from lying and cheating, and, on the other, -a premium put on that same lying and cheating, must we not expect to -find fraud permeating the whole system? And what will our customs be -like, what will life be like, in the days when nobody any longer feels -any remorse or scruple in cheating his neighbour, and when everybody -becomes cheat and cheated turn and turn about, cheat in matters which -he understands, cheated in those in which he has to rely on other -people? - -The growing depravity of customs, furthermore, threatens us with no -less a danger. I do not wish to exaggerate the horrors of the modern -Babylons, as Catholic priests and Protestant ministers are apt to -do. Their grief at seeing the rising generation turn a deaf ear to -their wise counsels makes them take too gloomy a view of the present -state of affairs. Nevertheless, it is certain that the customs of -modern civilisation are hurrying it towards a dangerous crisis. The -internal restraints are being relaxed, and temptations and facilities -are multiplying with the growth of riches and of cities, and with -the increasing mobility of persons of both sexes, so many of whom it -prompts to leave their native village or country. Especially in the -big cities where everyone is unknown, can easily hide away, and is -watched by nobody; where money has greater power over men’s minds -because there is more of it and more of it is needed,—virtue runs -serious and continual risks. Without being aware of it, we are undoing, -little by little, Christianity’s great contribution to the chastening -of our customs, by suppressing many of the limits which Christianity -had established with such labour in the midst of the unbridled licence -of the ancient world. We are travelling, therefore, step by step -back towards paganism, with all its conveniences and all its perils. -Already, in fact, we can see cropping up here and there in the richer -and more highly civilised countries and classes that mortal sickness -which killed the ancient civilisations: sterility. One of the reasons -why all the most flourishing ancient civilisations have perished is -that at the moment of their greatest glory the population suddenly -began to dwindle; and this sterility which killed them was the effect -to a large extent of the licence of their customs. Love remains fertile -only so long as it restrains itself and limits itself. Christianity, -by subjecting men’s customs to discipline—one of the noblest of its -services to mankind—succeeded for centuries in maintaining in Europe -and America an incessant fertility, which has proved to be one of the -most potent causes of the increase of our power. But now we can see, -with the return of the world to paganism, the beginning of a new era -of sterility, especially in the big cities and in the most ancient and -most wealthy states. - -Lastly, I have referred to another danger which threatens this our -social system, victim as it is of its limitless desires; I mean the -increase in the opportunities for the strong to abuse their strength. -This is certainly the least of the three evils; for thanks to the -diffusion of culture and of liberty, the weak have learned and are -able, to unite in their own defence. Some balance of justice is -obtained and will continue to be obtained by opposing force to force. -The balance, however, will be in external things rather than in men’s -convictions. For in this unbridled and limitless chase after money and -enjoyment, of which the world is the theatre, the spirit of charity is -obscured; and men’s minds become accustomed to a hardness and brutality -which may perhaps one day startle the world in a disagreeable and -terrible way. - - * * * * * - -It may seem to some of my readers that I take a delight in uttering -gloomy prognostications of the future of modern civilisation. -Such, however, is not my intention. Who would dare to deny that, -notwithstanding its defects, the civilisation in which we have the -good fortune to live is the most splendid and powerful on which the -sun has ever shone? But its very grandeur, which is to so large an -extent the fruit of our boldness in overthrowing most of the limits -which preceding civilisations had placed to human energy, gives birth -to a new and formidable problem which is already beginning to confront -our speed-loving civilisation, and which is itself, too, a problem of -limits, perhaps of the limit _par excellence_. And that problem may be -expressed in one question: _Quousque tandem?_ Up to what point, in our -desire to conquer the world and its treasures, to multiply riches, and -to increase our power over nature, must we and can we sacrifice beauty, -and the forms, ceremonies, and refinements of life, moral and æsthetic? -Up to what point must we and can we make legitimate use of the liberty -which the modern world has given us; and at what point does abuse of it -begin? - -This is the vital problem which I have posed and tried to dissect in -the dialogue which my travels in America inspired me to write: the -problem treated in the speeches and discussions of the many characters, -European and American, who figure in that dialogue. It may seem -strange, at first sight, that a discussion of the Old World and the -New, in which the contending parties propose to prove which is superior -to the other, should end in this second problem, apparently so unlike -the first; whether it is necessary or not to place a limit on the -unbridled activity and immoderate desires of our times. Anyone who has -read the present series of essays, however, will be less likely to find -this conclusion singular and obscure. I have repeatedly said, and -tried to prove, that there is too great a tendency on both sides of the -Atlantic to find an antagonism between Europe and America. If certain -tendencies are stronger in one of the two continents, and weaker in -the other, these are differences of quantity, not of quality. America -is becoming Europeanised, and Europe Americanised. However little -reflection and cool reasoning the European may bring to his abuse -of America on the score of its excessive zeal in the production of -riches, or the American to his abuse of Europe on account of the scanty -remains of the spirit of tradition and conservatism in the Old World, -each will recognise that he is at the same time inveighing against his -own continent. In fact, Europe applies herself with no less zeal than -America to the production of greater wealth; and America is no less -anxious than Europe to enjoy the advantages which may even now accrue -to the world from the spirit of tradition. - -Consequently the discussion of the question whether America is superior -to Europe or Europe to America is a futile enterprise and labour lost; -because the balance between the differences is rapidly adjusting -itself. Nevertheless, if any difference exists to-day between the two -continents, it is undoubtedly this: that all the phenomena of social -life in America are simpler and clearer, and less overlaid and obscured -by traditions, institutions, and century-old ideas and sentiments -than in Europe. For this reason, the careful observer will find in -America a much more profitable field for the study of the dangerous -tendencies and exaggerations of modern civilisation which are common -to Europe and America. Of these dangerous tendencies, the one which -has struck me most in the course of my travels in America, and has -given me most food for thought, is precisely this, which I have treated -in this my latest work and which forms, as it were, the crown to the -whole discussion of the dialogue. Modern civilisation has accomplished -miracles and marvels without number, since she left behind her the -limits, material and ideal, within which the timid generations of old -confined themselves,—since she outstepped and upset these limits on her -way to conquer the earth, riches, and liberty. Now, however, precisely -because she has crossed all the limits and no longer has any before -her, she finds herself impelled on every side, in politics, customs, -morals, art, and philosophy, to excesses which may one day prove very -dangerous. Men are beginning to have a vague presentiment of this -danger. They do not clearly see, however, the quarter from which it -threatens. They disquiet themselves without thoroughly diagnosing the -evil. And this disquietude may perhaps explain the pessimism which -afflicts a civilisation so flourishing and fortunate in many respects -as that of our own times. - -For this reason, I thought that the great problem of the limits might -grow little by little, on board a transatlantic liner, out of a -discussion about America. An Italian, who has made money in America, -and who, like so many Europeans who have made their fortune thus, is -an admirer of the New World, one evening launches out into a eulogy of -young America at the expense of old Europe. He extols the civilisation -of machinery, progress, and liberty, by contrast with what remains -in Europe of the ancient civilisation whose efforts were directed -to improving the quality of things rather than augmenting their -quantity; which left the world poor while it created arts, religions, -moralities, and rights. The discussion becomes heated, complicated, -and diffuse until, under the guiding influence of an old savant who -knows Europe and America too, it concentrates on this point: Granted -that man was well-advised to exceed the ancient limits within which -preceding civilisations had confined him, to hurl himself on the world -and to conquer it; up to what point may man aspire to liberty in every -department of life, without endangering in the long run the most -precious fruits of his conquest? - -The book does not pretend to solve this formidable problem. No -philosopher, no writer, no book could solve it. It can only be solved -by a radical revolution in the ideas, sentiments, and interests of the -masses. But the book which I have written purports to throw light on -some, at least, of the essential aspects of the problem. It endeavours -to make it clear to the men of our time, by harping on a principle of -great antiquity, great simplicity, and great modesty, which may be -perhaps usefully recalled to the memory of present generations, in -Europe as well as in America. That principle is, that man is a being -of limits; and that he ought, therefore, to observe in his desires a -certain mean. A civilisation must remember that it is the sum of the -efforts of a great many individuals; that these individuals may be very -numerous, but that each one is a small limited being; and that the sum -of their efforts cannot be infinite. Consequently, a civilisation must -not let its desires and wishes extend untrammelled in every direction. -It must learn to confine itself within limits. - - - - -VI - -THE RIDDLE OF AMERICA - - -In Argentina, there are vast and luxuriant valleys, over which the -train seems to creep toward the very edge of a horizon which ever -recedes as the traveller advances. From time to time, four or five red -one-storied houses, clustered behind a station, recall to his mind -the fact that this wilderness is actually inhabited. In Brazil, so -far as the eye can see, there are ranges of mountains, shadowy even -in brilliant daylight, in the midst of which, from time to time, one -mountain stands out more distinctly than its fellows. The shadowy hills -are those still covered by the primeval forest; the others, those where -the timber has been burned off and replaced by coffee plantations; but -even here there is no trace of human life. One must travel long hours -by railroad before even catching sight of a village. - -In North America, or at least in its Eastern States, there are vast -and desolate tracts. From time to time a village appears, bristling -with chimneys. Then the traveller slips on into the deserted country. -Another village appears, only in its turn to disappear. Then all at -once the train begins to rush through the midst of houses. On, on it -goes. The houses never cease to follow it. Huge edifices rise from -the midst of the little dwellings like giants from a crowd of dwarfs. -Automobiles and trolley cars move through the streets. It is a great -city; half a million, a million, two million men are crowded together -there in the shadow of a thousand chimneys, surrounded on every side by -an almost deserted country. What a strange sight are these wildernesses -to a European accustomed to live in one of the crowded countries of the -Old World where men have built their houses everywhere, from the shores -of the sea up to the highest habitable slopes of the mountains! - -In observing a phenomenon so novel to his experience, the historian -of antiquity is deeply interested; and as he studies it, like so many -other Europeans in the presence of the same spectacle, he forgets his -own preoccupations. The riddle of America rises before him and the -desire of finding an answer to it turns him from his former studies. -For America is a true riddle to Europeans. During the past thirty -years, not only the United States, but even smaller American countries -like Brazil and Argentina, have impressed themselves sharply upon the -attention of Europe. The Old World has been compelled to recognise -that America has in her turn become a mighty historic force; and that -she exercises an influence on the Old World which grows continuously -greater. When one reflects that, only a century and a half ago, all -these American states were merely poverty-stricken colonies of Europe, -harshly exploited by their European masters, one cannot suppress -amazement at the rapidity with which their destiny has changed. - -What power is it which has worked this miracle? On this point, it -is impossible to feel any doubt; the power is wealth. These plains -and these mountains which look so deserted are tilled, mined, worked -with intensest energy; and every year, with a generosity which seems -inexhaustible, they yield to the men who have toiled over them -prodigious quantities of cereals, tobacco, coffee, wool, gold, silver, -iron, oil—an enormous torrent of riches which pours over the entire -world. The great industrial cities of North America manufacture these -raw materials with profits so large and swiftly won that to the Old -World they seem fantastic. In these plains, in these valleys, in these -mountains, in these cities, labourers receive higher wages, merchants -and manufacturers make their fortunes faster, capitalists come into -contact with mightier interests, landlords draw higher rents from this -prosperity—all the sources of profit are more abundant than in Europe. -And these conditions have made it possible for a few of Fortune’s -favourites to pile up in the course of a single lifetime wealth whose -vastness makes the brain swim. America has, in fact, succeeded in -producing riches at a rate of speed that man has never yet attained -elsewhere in the world. She has been the principal factor in the -fabulous increase of the world’s wealth during the last fifty years. -Her riches have become one of the historic forces of our civilisation, -and one of the principal preoccupations of the European mind. - -Whence come these vast riches and whither do they go? How is it that -America can grow rich so much faster than Europe? Is it thanks to far -more fortunate physical conditions, which bear no relation to the -deserts of man? Or is it in consequence of moral and intellectual -qualities which are lacking in Europeans? And what will be the ultimate -effect of this economic superiority? Riches may be the goal of an -individual’s efforts; for a nation they can only be means to conquer -the other good things of life which we call civilisation: glory, -grandeur, power, beauty, knowledge, moral refinement. Can America, and -will she, make use of her riches to rob Europe of the intellectual -and moral leadership which the latter still possesses? Or will these -riches, too swiftly won, exercise an evil influence simultaneously upon -Europe and America, by making both continents more materialistic? - - * * * * * - -Such is the riddle of America, which, for some time past, has been -steadily forcing itself upon the attention of Europe. To arrive at an -answer, we must know whether the influence of a too swift economic -development of the New World upon the higher activities of the mind, -upon morals, upon science, art, and religion is beneficial or the -reverse. The detractors of America—and there are many of them in -Europe—affirm without hesitation that the Americans are barbarians -laden with gold; that they think only of making money, and that, -in consequence of their riches, they lower the level of Europe’s -ancient civilisation and infect its beautiful traditions with a crass -materialism. Admirers of America, on the contrary—and of these there -are as many in Europe as there are detractors—will tell you that the -New World is giving to the Old a unique example of energy, activity, -intelligence, and daring. Let old Europe then give heed; beyond the -Atlantic, young rivals are girding themselves with new weapons to -dispute with her the superiority of which she is proud. What must one -think of these conflicting answers to the puzzle? - -Let us begin with the reasoning of the detractors: “Americans are -barbarians laden with gold.” In order to simplify the discussion, -let us limit our examination to the United States, which is justly -entitled to represent contemporary America with all its qualities and -all its defects. No long sojourn within the borders of the United -States is necessary to convince a person that in the great Republic -people think only of making money. A writer partial to paradox might -well amuse himself with proving that the Americans are more idealistic -than the Europeans, or even that they are a mystical people. Anyone -who cares to find arguments to establish this thesis may well be -embarrassed by their number. For instance, would a people which -despised the higher activities of the mind have been able to create -the philosophical doctrine which is popularly known to us under the -name of “Pragmatism”? The Pragmatist affirms that all ideas capable of -rendering useful service are true. He takes utility as his standard -of the measure of truth. This theory has seemed to many writers of -the Old World a decisive proof of the practical mind of the American -people, who never forget their material interests, even in connection -with metaphysical questions. This, however, is a mistake. Pragmatism -does not propose to subordinate the ideal to practical interest. Its -purpose is to reconcile opposing doctrines by proving that all ideas, -even those which seem mutually exclusive, can help us to become wiser, -stronger, better. What service is there then in struggling to make one -idea triumph over another instead of allowing men to draw from each -idea the good which each can yield? In a word, Pragmatism, as America -has conceived it, is a mighty effort to give the right of expression in -modern civilisation to all religious and philosophical doctrines which -in the past have stained the world with their sanguinary struggles. - -A beautiful doctrine this, which may lend itself to many objections; -but true or false, it proves that the people who have conceived it, -far from despising the ideal, have such respect for all ideas and all -beliefs, that they have not the courage to repel a single one. Such a -people wishes to learn all and understand all. - -Another proof of this same characteristic is furnished by American -universities. Europeans have all heard descriptions of these great -American universities, Harvard and Columbia, for example. They are -true cities of learning with vast and splendid buildings, gardens, -pavilions, laboratories, museums, libraries, athletic fields for -physical exercises, pools where students can go to swim. They are -enormously rich and, at the same time, always in dire straits. How -can that be? Because no speciality or item of perfection is allowed -to be lacking. All the languages and the literatures of the world -which have reached any degree of importance, all the histories, all -the sciences,—judicial, social, moral, physical, natural,—all the -divisions of mathematics, and all the philosophies, are taught there by -hundreds of professors. Private citizens of the rich classes, bankers, -manufacturers, merchants, have in a great degree met from their private -purses the steadily growing needs of the universities. - -There is the same tendency in art. That American cities are ugly, I -willingly admit. It would need much courage, no doubt, to brand this -affirmation as false, but it would also be unjust to deny that America -is making mighty efforts to beautify her cities. All the schools -of architecture in Europe, especially that of Paris, are full of -Americans hard at work. The sums which cities, states, banks, insurance -companies, universities, and railroads, have spent in beautifying their -magnificent edifices is fabulous. Not all these buildings, by any -means, are masterpieces, but there are many which are very beautiful. -America has architects of indisputable worth. In Europe, men like to -repeat that Americans buy at extravagant prices objects of ancient -art, or things that pass for such, not distinguishing those which are -beautiful and ancient from those which are inferior and counterfeit. -But those who have seen something of the houses of rich Americans know -that, although there are snobs and dupes in America, as everywhere -else, there are also people who know the meaning of art, who know how -to buy beautiful things, and who search the world over for them. You -will find in the streets of New York every variety of architecture, -just as you find in its libraries all the literatures of the world, and -in its theatres all the music, and in its houses all the decorative -arts. - -“The barbarian laden with gold” is, then, a legendary personage, but it -is not at all surprising that such a conception should exist. Modern -society is organised in such fashion that it is impossible even to -conceive of a people at once rich and ignorant. Industry, business, -agriculture, demand nowadays very special technical knowledge, and -a very complete social organisation; that is to say, they imply a -scientific, political, and judicial civilisation of a reasonably high -order. Thus America is not at all uninterested in the higher activities -of the mind. It would be more just to say that as a nation, and -without regard to individual instances, she interests herself in such -activities less than in industry, in business, and in agriculture. But -is not this also the case with Europe? Who would dare affirm that the -progress of the arts and sciences and letters is at this moment the -principal concern of the governments and of the influential classes of -the Old World? We Europeans have only to listen to what people round -about us are saying. Their talk is all of bringing the cultivation of -the land to economic perfection, of opening coal and iron mines, of -harnessing waterfalls, of developing industries, of increasing exports. -Kings who rule “by the grace of God” publicly declare that nothing -interests them so much as the business of their countries! - -If all this were characteristic only of American barbarism, we -should be obliged to admit that Europe is Americanising herself with -disconcerting rapidity. But this economic effort of Europe in turn -presents nothing that need surprise us; like the American development, -it is only the dizzy acceleration of a vast historic movement whose -beginnings go back to the far distant day when an obscure and obstinate -Genoese set sail, and in the midst of the waters of the Atlantic -crossed the impassable boundary of the Old World. Yes, before that -day, Europe had created admirable arts and literatures, profound -philosophies, consoling religions, lofty morals, wise systems of -justice, but—she was poor. She produced little, and produced it slowly; -she had defied tradition and authority; she had fettered human energy -by a multitude of laws, precepts, and prejudices. To humble men’s -pride, she kept repeating to them that they were feeble and corrupt -creatures. She taught them to use Virgil’s beautiful figure that they -were like “a rower who painfully forces his boat against the current -of the stream. Evil be on his head if for one instant he forgets, and -ceases to struggle against the current’s force; in that moment, he is -lost; the flood sweeps away his fragile boat.” - -One fine day, however, Europe discovered a vast continent in the -midst of the ocean. Then it dawned upon her that Prometheus had been -but a clumsy thief, for he had stolen only a tiny spark of fire; she -discovered mines, coal, and electricity. She created the steam-engine -and all the other machines which have been derived from it. She -succeeded in multiplying riches with a rapidity unimagined by remoter -ancestors. From that moment, man no longer contented himself with -dreaming of the Promised Land. He wished to go there. He destroyed all -the traditions, the laws, and institutions which place limitations upon -the store of human energy. He learned to work swiftly. At a single -stroke, he conquered liberty and riches, and he conceived the idea of -progress. If America seems to-day to symbolise this movement, which has -turned the world topsy-turvy, the movement was derived from Europe. -After having conceived the idea of such a revolution, could Europe -remain untouched by it? - - * * * * * - -It would appear then that the riddle of America is very simple. The -answer contains nothing to make us uneasy. The riches of the New World -threaten no catastrophe to the noblest traditions of our civilisation. -For New York’s wealth is only a part of the riches produced in the -same economic development in the two worlds. The ultimate development -of these mighty riches might be merely a general advance, both material -and ideal, of Europe and America. Rich and prosperous Americans might -try to assimilate the culture of Europe, and on her part Europe, in her -effort to increase her own riches, might seek to equal America. But -a historian of antiquity who returns from America cannot share this -optimism. In the lap of modern civilisation, there are twin worlds -struggling with each other for leadership. But these two worlds are -not, as people are apt to think, Europe and America. Their names are -Quality and Quantity. - -The civilisations from which our own is sprung were poor indeed. -They set limits to their desires, their ambitions, their spirit of -initiative, their audacity, their originality. They brought forth -slowly and a little at a time, and suffered continuously from the -insufficiency of their material resources. They looked upon the -amassing of wealth merely as a painful necessity; but, in all things, -they sought to attain the difficult model of perfection, whether in -art, or in literature, or in the realms of morality and religion. The -aristocratic character of almost all the industries of the past, the -importance which was formerly bestowed on the decorative arts and on -all questions of personal morality, ceremonial, and form—these are -all proofs of it. It was Quality, not Quantity, which carried our -forefathers forward. All the limitations to which these civilisations -were subject, so astonishing to us to-day, were only the necessary cost -of these perfections which men once so ardently desired. We have turned -upside down the world our ancestors lived in. We have made our goal the -multiplication of riches. We have won liberty, but we have been obliged -to abandon almost all the ancient ideals of perfection, sacrificing -Quality in everything. - -How many of the difficulties which torture this brilliant period -of ours so cruelly are the result of this duel between Quality and -Quantity! Look, for example, at the present crisis in the study of the -classics. Why did men formerly study Homer and Cicero with passionate -zeal? Because, in those days, the great Greek and Latin writers were -the models of that literary perfection, so greatly admired by the -influential classes, which was not merely an ornament of the mind. The -attainment of perfection often carried with it the admiration of the -public, fame, sometimes even glory and high rank. In this last century, -however, these models have lost much of their prestige, either on -account of the multitude of literatures which have come to be known and -liked, or because they have proved troublesome to a period compelled -to write too much and too quickly. Just imagine a candidate for the -presidency of the United States who should pronounce ten or fifteen -long orations daily and who should in each discourse show himself the -perfect orator according to the rules of Cicero or Quintilian! The day -when classical culture ceased to be an official school of literary -taste, on that day it was condemned to die; and scientific philology, -which we have sought to set up in its place, can only serve to bury -its corpse. No longer models for posterity, the books of the ancient -authors have become like any others, and are less interesting for the -majority of readers than the works of modern literatures. - -It is the fashion nowadays to discuss the crisis which threatens all -the arts. We must, however, remember to preserve a distinction. We must -divide the arts into two categories: those which serve to amuse men by -helping them to pass the time agreeably, like music, the theatre, and, -to a certain degree, literature; and those which serve to beautify the -world, like architecture, sculpture, painting, and all the decorative -arts. It is patent that the crisis which we are considering is much -more serious among the arts embraced by the second category. No epoch -has spent so much money in beautifying the world as has our own; no -age has supported so formidable an army of architects, sculptors, -decorators, and cabinet-makers; no age has built so many cities, -palaces, monuments, bridges, plazas, and gardens. In the midst of -lavish plenty, why are we so discontented with the results obtained; -why have not Americans, in view of the enormous sums which they have -spent to beautify their cities, succeeded in building a St. Mark’s or a -Notre Dame? They have all the materials,—money, artists, the desire to -create beautiful things. What then do they lack? They lack one single -thing—time. - -One day, in New York, I was praising an example of American -architecture to an American architect of great talent. “Yes, yes,” he -answered with a touch of satire, “my fellow countrymen would willingly -spend a hundred million dollars to build a church as beautiful as St. -Mark’s in Venice, but they would command me, as a condition of my -undertaking the work, to finish it within eighteen months.” - -That is a significant phrase. How is it possible to beautify a world -which is incessantly in transformation, wherein nothing is stable, -and which wishes to multiply everything it possesses—buildings, -as it would furniture? To create beautiful palaces, to construct -beautiful furniture, to attain the distant ideal of perfection, time -is essential—time and wise deliberation, reasonable limitation of -the multiplicity of human demands, and a certain stability in taste. -No one could have built St. Mark’s or Notre Dame in eighteen months, -and France could not have created her famous decorative styles of the -eighteenth century if public taste had been so fickle as ours, and -if everybody at that time had wished every ten years to change his -furniture. - -The crises in classical studies and in the decorative arts are, -however, still relatively slight in comparison with the general -intellectual and moral confusion into which the doctrine of Quantity -has plunged men’s minds, by substituting a standard of Quantity in -place of the traditional standard of Quality. If my phrase is obscure, -examples may possibly elucidate what I say. We all know, for instance, -that, in recent years, the citizens of the United States have waged a -bitter campaign against the trusts, the great banks, the railroads, -and insurance companies; in fact, against all the vast powers of -money. In newspaper articles, in public speeches, and in whole volumes -filled with accusations, these trusts have been charged with being -centres of corruption, instruments of a new despotism not less odious -than the political despotism of old. They are decried as scandalous -conspiracies to despoil honest men of the legitimate fruits of their -labour. The campaign has penetrated to the very heart of the nation; -but in the face of the enormous indignation of the masses, there -has been exhibited both in America and Europe the Olympian calm of -economists and men of great affairs, who have denounced this movement -of protest as a return to Mediæval ideas, and who in the face of a vast -outcry have paid enthusiastic homage to modern finance, its enormous -enterprises, and its tremendous organisation. - -How can there be so vast a difference of opinion in an age so -intelligent and educated as ours? Is half the world struck blind -to-day, and is sight given to the other half alone? No, there is -neither incurable blindness, nor sight vouchsafed only to a few. The -sole reason for the confusion is that men employ different standards -in measuring the same thing, and for this reason find it impossible -to understand each other. If one accepts the quantitative standard, if -one admits that the supreme object of life is to produce an enormous -pile of riches as rapidly as possible, the economists are right. -The injustices and cruelties denounced by the adversaries of high -finance are merely negligible inconveniences in a régime of economic -liberty of which the modern world is naturally proud, for it is to -this liberty that the modern world owes most of its wealth. Yet we -must remember that the idea of leaving the wages of each individual -to be determined by the blind play of economic forces was foreign to -all the civilisations that preceded our own. They always sought to -correct the principles of business in order to keep them in accord -with the principles of charity and justice. To carry out this policy, -they did not even hesitate to limit the development of industry and -business, for example, by forbidding interest on money. Former ages -subordinated economic development to an ideal of moral perfection; they -placed Quality above Quantity. If, however, one applies this standard -of qualitative measure to the modern world, it is these detractors of -high finance who have the right on their side. Many methods employed by -modern finance, useful as they are from an economic point of view, are -for the above-mentioned reason none the less repugnant to a moral and -slightly sensitive conscience. Detractors and defenders may dispute to -the end of time. They will never understand each other, for they start -from different premises, which never can be reconciled to each other. - -It is this continual confusion between quantitative and qualitative -standards which prevents the modern world from steering a true course -amid the gravest moral questions. Take, for example, the question -of progress. Is there an idea more popular to-day, or a word more -often repeated, than “progress”? And yet if to every person who -pronounces this word we were to put the question, “What do you mean by -progress?” few indeed would be able to answer with precision. There is -a thing still stranger. In this century of progress, the whole world -deplores ten times a day the decadence of all things. How can such a -contradiction be explained? The answer is simply that the same act -may be judged as a phenomenon of progress or of decadence, according -as it is viewed from the standpoint of Quality or of Quantity. Set an -architect and a locomotive builder to disputing about the modern world. -The former will maintain that the world is reverting to barbarism -because it multiplies cities, and hastily and hideously constructed -villages without being able to create a single one of those marvellous -monuments which are the glory of the Middle Ages. The latter will -reply that the world moves forward, because the population, number, -and size of the cities, the amount of cultivated land, the extension -of railroads, increase without cessation. The interlocutors will never -come to understand each other, just as two men who look at the world -through spectacles of different colours can never agree on the colour -of their environment. The riddle of America, which for some time -past has bothered Europe so much, is merely another example of this -permanent confusion of standards which characterises the age in which -we live. - - * * * * * - -America is neither the monstrous country where men think solely of -making money, nor the country of marvels boasted by her admirers. It -is the country where the principles of Quantity, which have become so -powerful during the last one hundred and fifty years, have achieved -their most extraordinary triumph. An active, energetic, vigorous nation -has found itself master of an enormous territory, portions of which -were very fertile and other portions very rich in mines and forests, -at the very moment when our civilisation finally invented the machine -which makes possible the exploitation of vast countries and the swift -creation of wealth: the steam-engine. - -Less cumbered by old traditions than the elder nations, and with a vast -continent in front of her, America has marched along the new roads of -history with a rapidity and an energy for which there is no precedent. -Ten, fifteen, thirty times in a single century has she multiplied -her population, her cities, and all the wealth coveted by man. She -has created, in careless and prodigal profusion, a society which has -subordinated all former ideas of perfection to a new ideal; ever -building on a grander scale and ever building more swiftly. No, it is -not true that America is indifferent to the higher activities of mind, -but the effort which she spends upon the arts and sciences is, and -will long remain, subordinate to the great historic task of the United -States, the intensive cultivation of a huge continent. Intellectual -things will remain subordinate, although very many Americans of the -upper classes would wish that it were otherwise. - -In just the same way, it is not accurate to say that, in contrast to -American barbarism, Europe reaps the harvest of civilisation; just as -it would be unfair to say that the Old World is done for, exhausted by -its petrifying, inevitable routine. The ancient societies of Europe -have likewise entered into the quantitative phase of civilisation. The -new demon has also got hold of them. In Europe, as well as in America, -the masses of people long for a more comfortable existence; public and -private expenses pile up with bewildering speed. Thus in the Old World -also the production of wealth must be increased, but this enterprise -is far more difficult in Europe than in America. The population of -Europe is much more dense than that of the New World; a portion of its -lands is exhausted; the great number of political subdivisions and -the multiplicity of tongues increase enormously the difficulties of -conducting business on a great scale. Traditions handed down from the -time when men toiled to produce slowly and in small quantities things -shaped toward a far-distant ideal of perfection are still strong among -its people. Europe, then, has the advantage over America in the higher -activities of the mind, but she cannot help being more timid, more -sluggish, and more limited in her economic enterprises. America and -Europe may each be judged superior or inferior to the other according -as the critic takes for his standard the criteria of Quality or of -Quantity. If a civilisation approximates perfection in proportion to -the rapidity with which she produced riches, America is the model to be -followed; if, on the contrary, perfection is expressed by the measure -of the higher activities of the spirit, Europe leads the way. - - * * * * * - -The riddle, then, seems solved, but the reader may object that it is -solved only by admitting that we dwell in a perpetual condition of -misunderstanding; that the modern world is a sort of Tower of Babel -where men speak a tongue which others cannot understand. If this -agreeable news were the only thing brought back by the historian of -antiquity from his two voyages to America, he might better perhaps have -spared himself the trouble! Such might well be the conclusion of this -long argument! Nevertheless, it is indisputable that the modern world -demands two contradictory things, speed and perfection. We wish to -conquer the earth and its treasures with all possible haste. To this -end, we have created tremendous machinery and have uncovered new forces -in nature. It is a huge task, no doubt, but to accomplish it we must -renounce almost all the artistic and moral perfections which used to -be at once the torment and joy and pride of our forefathers. It is a -painful necessity indeed, against which our age revolts, and from which -it seeks in vain every possible channel of escape. - -Let us strip off the last shred of illusion. Deterioration must -ever continue amongst the ideals of perfection which our ancestors -worshipped, so long as population multiplies and the demands and -aspirations of all classes, as well as all expenses, public and -private, continue to increase on the scale and with the momentum with -which they are increasing at this moment. Even if this formidable -revolution should slacken a trifle, the ideal of Quantity must spread -its empire over the earth, morality and beauty must of necessity be -subordinated to the prime necessities of constructing machines ever -increasing in speed and power, of expanding cultivated land, and of -working new mines. Art, like industry, agriculture, like literature, -will be compelled to increase their production to the continuous -deterioration of their quality, and our secret discontent will grow in -proportion as our triumphs increase. Unable ourselves to decide between -Quality and Quantity, we shall never know whether the great drama of -the world at which we are looking is a marvellous epoch of progress or -a melancholy tragedy of decadence. - -From this singular situation, there is only one possible way of escape; -a method which has no precedent in the world’s history. It is that -very method, however, which men will not hear spoken of. It would be -absolutely essential to create a movement of public opinion through -religious, political, or moral means, which should impose upon the -world a reasonable limit to its desires. To the age in which we live, -it seems impossible to express an idea seemingly more absurd than this. -The material situation of every one of us is to-day bound up with this -formidable movement, which drives men ceaselessly to increase the -making and spending of wealth. Think what an economic crisis there -would be if this movement were to slow down. All the moral systems -which governed the world down to the French Revolution forced upon men -the belief that they would grow more perfect as they grew simpler. When -religion and custom were not sufficient to teach men to set limits to -their needs and desires, then these old moral systems had recourse to -sumptuary laws. In direct contrast to this, the nineteenth century -affirms that man grows more perfect in proportion as he produces and -consumes. So confusing are the definitions of legitimate desires and -vices, of reasonable expenses and inordinate luxury, that in this -century it is almost impossible to differentiate between the one and -the other. - -A vast revolution has been brought into being, the greatest, perhaps, -which history can show; but if the new principles which our century has -borne to the front should be developed until they insured the ultimate -and supreme triumph of Quantity, would it be possible to escape what -would amount to the demolition of the whole fabric of the glorious -civilisation bequeathed to us by the centuries; religious doctrines -and the principles upon which morality is based, as well as all the -traditions of the arts? - -History knows better than do we the dusky roads of the future, and it -is idle for us to wish to see the way along them; but in spite of our -ignorance of the future, we have duties toward the past and toward -ourselves, and is it not one of these duties to call the attention of -our generation to the possibility of this catastrophe, even if our -generation likes to turn its face away from it? Very often during -my travels in America, I used to ask myself whether men of various -intellectual interests might not find in this duty something to -strengthen their conscience for the part which they must play in the -world. - -If we except medicine, which aims to cure our bodily ills, those -sciences which are concerned with discoveries useful to industry, -and those arts which entertain the public, all other branches of -intellectual activity are to-day in dire confusion. Is there a pious -clergyman who has not asked himself in moments of discouragement -what good it is to preach the virtues of the Christian faith in a -century whose dynamic power springs from an exaltation of pride and -an emancipation of passion which amount almost to delirium? What -intelligent historian is there who does not now and then ask himself -why he persists in telling over again the events of the past to a -generation which no longer looks ahead, and which rushes violently on -the future, head down like a bull? What philosopher is there who, as -he pursues his transcendental preoccupation, does not feel himself -sometimes hopelessly adrift, like a being fallen upon the earth, from -another planet, in an age which no longer is passionately interested in -anything except economic reality? What artist is there who seeks not -only to make money, but to reach the perfection of his ideal, who has -not cursed a thousand times this frenzied hurly-burly in the midst of -which we live? - -From time to time, it is true, there seems to be a genuine revival of -the ancient ideal; men suddenly appear who seem to interest themselves -afresh in the progress of religion, in the future of morality, in the -history of the past, in the problems of metaphysics, in the artistic -records of civilisation long since dead. These are, however, only -passing phenomena, and they are not enduring enough to give artists and -philosophers the definite consciousness of playing a well-thought-out -and useful part. - -If all intellectual activities of to-day tend to become either -lucrative professions or government careers; it is because nowadays -such careers aim either at the acquisition of money or the attainment -of social position, and no longer find their end in the careers -themselves. And yet—how many times as he travelled across the territory -of the two Americas, watching all day fields of wheat and rye, or -plantations of maize or coffee, extending to the very edge of the -solitary horizon, how many times has the historian of antiquity -brooded over those fragments of marble wrought by the Greeks in such -perfection, which we admire in our museums, and pondered upon the -fragments of the great Roman system of jurisprudence preserved in the -“_Corpus juris_.” Did not the Greeks and Romans succeed in reaching -this marvellous perfection in the arts and laws because there came a -time when they were willing to cease extending the limits of their -empire over the earth and all the treasures it contains? Have we not -conquered vast deserts with our railroads just because we have been -able to renounce almost all the artistic and moral perfections which -were the glory of the ancients? - -In the light of this idea, the historian felt that he had come to -understand all the better ancient civilisation and our own, and that -his eyes were able to pierce more deeply into the shadowy depths of -human destiny. A civilisation which pursues its desire for perfection -beyond a certain limit ends by exhausting its energy in the pursuit -of an object at once too narrow and impossible of attainment. On the -other hand, a civilisation which allows itself to be intoxicated by -the madness of mere size, by speed, by quantity, is destined to end -in a new type of crass and violent barbarism. But the point where -these two opposing forces of life find their most perfect equilibrium -changes continually from age to age; and any epoch approaches more or -less near this point according to the degree of activity of the two -forces struggling within it. The artist, the priest, the historian, the -philosopher, in moments of discouragement, when they feel themselves -assailed by the temptation to think only of a career or of money, may -well find new strength in the idea that each of them is working in his -different way to preserve an ideal of perfection in men’s souls—it -may be a perfection of art or of morality, of the intellect or of the -spirit. Let them remember that this ideal, limited as it may seem, -serves as a dike to prevent our civilisation from being engulfed in an -overwhelming flood of riches and from sinking in an orgy of brutality. -This task is so great and so noble that those who strive for it ought -surely to feel that they do not live in vain. - - - - -PART IV - -POLITICS AND JUSTICE IN ANCIENT ROME - - - - -I - -THE TRIAL OF VERRES - - -In the early days of the year 70 B.C., a deputation from the cities of -Sicily arrived at Rome and sought an interview with a young Senator, -who was already famed for his eloquence, by name Marcus Tullius Cicero. -What could be the object of the Sicilians’ visit to Rome and to the -modest house of the young Senator, whose strict probity and modest -means made it impossible for him to receive his visitors in a sumptuous -palace? Justice was the object of their visit. For three years, from 75 -to 73 B.C., Sicily had been governed by a young pro-prætor, a scion -of an illustrious house, who had powerful friends amongst the party in -power: Caius Cornelius Verres. Daring, imprudent, covetous, fond of art -and its products and of the pleasures of life, emboldened by a rapid -and fortunate career, the young pro-prætor had certainly much abused -his power in the provinces and had too readily turned to account the -corrupt notions of the times in the amassing of a huge fortune by all -the means, licit and illicit, which a pro-prætor could use and abuse, -though in doing so he had offended the interests and susceptibilities -of others, and had made a great number of enemies. That is the only -conclusion to be drawn from the fact that, after his departure, the -cities, accustomed though they were to insolent and overbearing -governors, decided in this instance to present an indictment and had -recourse to the young Senator who five years before had been quæstor in -Sicily, and who had left behind him in the island a great reputation -for culture, generosity and honesty. When he left the island, this -young Senator had himself said to the Sicilians in a speech delivered -at Lilybæum: “If at any time you have need of me, come and fetch me.” - -The Sicilians had remembered this promise. The laws of ancient Rome -allowed any citizen to cite in the courts any other citizen whom he -suspected of having broken the laws. Would Cicero cite Verres in -Sicily’s behalf? The proposal of the Sicilian cities was a proof -of remarkable confidence, but it was at the same time a dangerous -honour. Verres was a rich man; he was powerful and had any number -of helpers and supporters among the party in power. Of even greater -assistance to Verres than the friendship of the influential was the -feeling of community of interest amongst the dominant faction. This -faction was the faction of Sulla, that is to say, the more conservative -portion of the nobility, which, after a terrible civil war waged -against the Democratic party, had succeeded in seizing the reins of -government of the Republic. It was a faction composed of widely -differing ingredients. It comprised not a few honourable and upright -men, who would naturally wish the provinces to be governed humanely -and uprightly. But great though the desire might be that the Empire -should be governed well, still greater was the desire to preserve, -together with the constitution imposed by Sulla on the Empire, the -power bequeathed by him. At this juncture, the opposite party had -been conquered but not destroyed, and its survivors were restlessly -alert for every opportunity of injuring the dominant faction with all -the arms provided by the constitution, amongst which one of the most -dangerous was precisely the initiation of scandalous charges against -prominent persons. Consequently, legal proceedings and scandals -intended to discredit the State had, since Sulla’s time, been looked -on with much disfavour by the dominant party, even honourable members -of which, faced with the choice between the harm which one of these -processes caused to the party and to the authority of the State and -the injury to justice resulting from the escape of a powerful culprit -unpunished, nearly always preferred the second. - -In fact, for years past, the dominant party had strained every nerve to -prevent these processes, thus encouraging the less honourable governors -to abuse their authority. The result had been the rise in the public -conscience of a feeling of uneasiness, discontent, and irritation, -which the stories, often exaggerated, of the cruelty and violence of -the governors served only to accentuate. And by none at that moment -was this uneasiness more acutely felt than by Cicero. Cicero belonged -to a family of equestrian rank—middle-class we should call it—from -Arpino. He was a _homo novus_, a self-made man, to use a modern -expression, because he was the first of the family to become a member -of the Senate. He was not very rich and, though a man of intelligence -and vigour, he was somewhat lacking in courage. Consequently, he was -not the man to dare open defiance of the wrath, or a frontal attack -on the interests, of the dominant caste; rather were these violent -and terrible accusations so repugnant to his nature that he had never -brought himself hitherto to assume the rôle of prosecutor in any -action. He had always preferred the more humane part of defender. -He was, however, an honourable man, with small affection—like all -the equestrian order—for the faction and government formed by Sulla; -and he was fully conscious of the obligation imposed on him by the -promise which he had made so solemnly to the Sicilians. Besides, he -was young—only thirty-six years old—and was still a man of secondary -importance. A case of great public interest, which set all Italy -talking, and in which he was the popular protagonist, might be of great -service to his lofty and legitimate ambitions. In addition, things had -been moving fast recently, to the detriment of the party in power, who -were accused on all sides of outrage and corruption. The consuls for -that year were Pompey and Crassus, who, though members of the Sullan -party, had come forward as candidates with a Democratic programme, -promising no less than that they would restore to the tribunes of -the _plebs_ those powers of which Sulla had stripped them. There was -a feeling in the air which seemed to promise that just for once the -infamies of a governor might receive condign punishment from outraged -public opinion. - -The young advocate realised that the decisive moment of his life -had come. He agreed to prosecute Verres. But what crime or crimes -should he lay to his charge? At this point emerges the first strange -feature in the history of this strange case. The budget of charges, -recriminations, and denunciations against Verres, which the Sicilians -lodged with Cicero, comprised enough and to spare of crimes of -every sort, some of which were actually of a capital nature. For -instance, Verres was accused of having ordered Roman citizens to -execution—which was a capital offence. But what did Cicero do? He -carefully singled out the least serious charge and persuaded the -Sicilians to lay an indictment _de pecuniis repetundis_—to demand, that -is to say, that Verres should be condemned to pay one hundred million -_prezzi_ (twenty-five million francs) as a penalty for having levied -unauthorised taxes. How are we to explain this forbearance? Cicero -in his speeches against Verres denounces him as a monster and a wild -beast. He launches the most terrible invectives against his villainies. -There is no need, however, to interpret too literally his glowing -periods. Not even Cicero could forget, while he was accusing Verres, -that he himself and the man he was accusing belonged to the same class, -and were members of the same aristocracy, which controlled the vast -Roman Empire. However keen might be the indignation aroused by the -misdeeds of Verres, not even the strictest section of the aristocracy -would have approved too relentless a line of attack, or one which -involved the accused in too serious danger. Personal hatred was a less -powerful factor than the sentiment of caste and the interest each man -felt in securing a mitigation of the severity of the laws in favour of -his fellows, in anticipation of a similar privilege for himself when -occasion might arise. Therefore Cicero acted wisely in his clients’ -interests when he chose that charge which promised the least danger -to the defendant; for he knew that otherwise the latter would have an -easier task in escaping conviction. - -The weakness of the attack, however, as always happens, emboldened the -accused. Verres did not hesitate one moment to make a political matter -of his case. He had recourse to all the most influential members of his -party. He begged Q. Hortensius, who was the greatest orator and the -cleverest advocate of the day, to defend him. In every possible way, he -tried to enlist in his support party interests and caste consciousness. -He represented the indictment as a machination of the Democratic -party, of the opposition, to bring obloquy on the party which had -been restored to power by Sulla. He, Verres, was the victim, in whose -person it was hoped to strike a blow at the whole of the Conservative -aristocracy, and at Sulla’s life work! This view of the matter was -at this juncture not unconvincing, so that Verres, when he began the -struggle, found himself supported by powerful friends. - -His first move had for its object the elimination of Cicero as -prosecutor. The Roman law, though it allowed anyone to constitute -himself accuser of a citizen who had violated the laws, did not permit -an unlimited number of people to get up and accuse a single individual. -For, in that case, the law would have worked oppressively, cruelly, and -unconscionably. The accusation had to be lodged by a single person; -and if several persons asked to be allowed to accuse an individual, it -was the duty of the authority to choose one of them as the accuser. -Verres accordingly tried to find a rival for Cicero. A certain Quintus -Cecilius Negro, a Roman citizen, but of Sicilian origin and a Hebrew -by religion, who had been Verres’s quæstor in Sicily, appeared before -the Prætor, declaring that he wished to prosecute Verres, and demanding -the privilege over Cicero on the pretext that he had been insulted by -Verres in Sicily. As a matter of fact, there had been a violent quarrel -between them about a certain Agonis, a freedwoman of the temple of -Venus at Eryx, who practised the profession reserved in the ancient -world for the slaves of the temples of Venus. - -So a preliminary trial was necessary to decide which should be the -accuser, Cecilius or Cicero, and this trial took place in the early -months of the year 70. Cicero made a powerful speech in which he -clearly insinuated that Cecilius was playing a part with the connivance -of Verres; that the former, if he were chosen to be the accuser, -would conduct the prosecution in the way best calculated to secure -Verres’s acquittal. He added in more precise terms that the case was -of the greatest political importance, inasmuch as it was bound to -prove definitely to the provinces whether there was or was not justice -to be had in Rome; whether the subjects of Rome might expect to find -their rights impartially defended in the courts of the Republic, or -whether—as the enemies of Rome and the adversaries of the dominant -party were repeating on all sides—the aristocracy were nothing but -a corrupt and rapacious association without bowels of mercy for the -victims whom they tortured. - -Cicero was successful in this first skirmish. He obtained recognition -from the court as the prosecutor of Verres, and was granted one hundred -and ten days in which to proceed to Sicily to collect the proofs of his -accusation. He started at once. - -At Rome, the struggle between the party with the purse and the -Democratic opposition, encouraged by the support of the two -all-powerful Consuls, waxed furious. Pompey and Crassus induced -the Senate to restore to the Tribunes their ancient powers. They -re-established the censorship and by the instrumentality of the two -newly elected Censors, they ejected from the Senate many of the more -contemptible of Sulla’s partisans. Marcus Aurelius Cotta proposed -a reform of the courts which would have removed the latter almost -entirely from the influence of the dominant party. - -Naturally, these discussions, these laws, and these proposals served -only to increase the general excitement; and of this excitement Verres -took advantage to identify still further his own cause with that of the -party in power. He placed at the disposal of the party the wealth he -had well or badly earned in his province as well as his influence and -his personality. The party on their side chose as candidates for the -consulship Q. Hortensius, his defending counsel, and Quintus Metellus, -who was a great friend of Verres; for the prætorship, Marcus Metellus, -a brother of Quintus and no less than Quintus a friend of Verres. They -opposed with all their force the law proposed by Cotta, which would -have transformed the courts in a manner most unfavourable to Verres’s -interests. The Democratic party in their turn took the Sicilians’ -cause under their protection, to the extent of choosing Cicero, their -illustrious advocate, as candidate for the ædileship. - -Thus the elections of the year 70 promised to be bound up in the -trial of Verres. They seemed likely to be the means by which the two -parties would endeavour to influence public opinion in favour of the -prosecution or of the defence. Unfortunately, when Cicero, after an -absence of about two months returned to Rome from Sicily, with abundant -matter in the shape of documents and proofs, he found the situation -of the popular party, and consequently his action against Verres—for -its fate was bound up in that of the party—gravely compromised by a -rupture which had arisen between the two Consuls. There was no love -lost between Pompey and Crassus. Each was jealous of the other. In -putting themselves at the head of the Democratic party, they had been -guided by ambition and political calculations. But they were both too -rich, and had too many ties with, and friendships among, the dominant -party—from which both of them came—to be able to infuse much zeal and -sincerity into their services to the opposition. As a result, each had -ended by attacking the other; and these attacks, after some months of -activity, had paralysed the Democratic party, and restored boldness and -confidence to the Conservative party, which was now resolved to wreck -the law of judicial reform and to obtain Verres’s acquittal, the two -triumphs at which it aimed. - -When Cicero returned, the elections were imminent, and because of their -imminence everyone was in a state of preoccupation and uncertainty. -It would not have been prudent for either party to incur the risk of -the trial before the elections. So the trial was postponed without -any difficulty or opposition. It was the month of June; and, in the -following July, the elections would, as usual, take place. Those -for the consulship and prætorship were a great triumph for Verres. -Quintus Hortensius and Quintus Metellus were elected Consuls; Marcus -Metellus was elected Prætor. Verres had conquered all along the line! -The evening of the day on which the Consuls were elected, Verres was -publicly congratulated on the result near the Arch of Fabius by several -members of the aristocracy; and one of them, Caius Curion, told him -in so many words that “the _comitia_ had acquitted him.” Cicero was -naturally much upset; but he did not lose heart. He discontinued for -some time working up his case, and devoted himself entirely to his -election to the ædileship. The Democratic party had realised that, -after their want of success in the elections to the consulship and the -prætorship, a further failure in the shape of Cicero’s non-election -would seriously compromise their chances in the prosecution of Verres. -In fact, Verres and his friends were working like demons against -Cicero, using against him all the resources of money, intrigue, and -calumny. Those were days of anxiety and turmoil for Cicero, the days of -the struggle, but, thanks to the energetic support on this occasion of -Pompey, Cicero was elected. - -The elections over, attention was again directed to the trial, the -opening of which was fixed for the 5th of August; and the two parties -began to sharpen their weapons for the decisive and supreme issue. -There were two phases to a Roman trial; in the initial phase, the -prosecutor had the first word, opening his case, and the defendant -replied; the witnesses also were heard. Then followed a suspension of -the proceedings, after which the prosecutor once more spoke and the -defendant once more replied. Then the jury—for the Court was composed -of a jury drawn by lot from the body of Senators and presided over by -the Prætor—gave its verdict. Those in favour of acquittal wrote an A -(_absolvo_) on the waxed tablet, those in favour of conviction wrote -a C (_condemno_). Cicero’s intention was to abbreviate his opening -statement as much as possible; then to bring forward a large number of -witnesses whom he had brought from Sicily and collected in Rome, so -as to make a complete history of the whole of Verres’s political life -and administration. The charge against Verres was that he had extorted -forty million _sestertii_ from the provincials. But it would not -satisfy Cicero to prove only this point. He wanted to show that Verres -had been guilty of the countless rascalities which the popular voice -attributed to him, beginning from the time of his first occupation -of the office of quæstor; in short, to reconstruct with the help of -witnesses and documentary evidence the whole of his public and private -life. To strengthen the impression made by his case, he intended to -bring the witnesses forward in groups corresponding to the different -charges, and to introduce one group after the other, prefacing the -introduction of each group with a short explanatory speech, in such a -way as to focus the attention of the public each time on a definite -and precise episode in Verres’s career. - -This method of procedure on the part of the prosecution may seem to us -barbarous and inhuman. We should think it atrocious if, even against -the greatest of scoundrels, the prosecution instituted an inquiry -into the whole of his life in order to punish him for, and to convict -him of, a single offence. Against such methods, we should not expect -anyone, however innocent, to be able to defend himself. And yet, so -greatly do feelings and ideas change in the world—Verres and most of -his friends had hopes of finding their best line of defence in this -relentless prosecution. An all-embracing accusation, such as Cicero -intended to make, might, it is true, annihilate a man; but it required -much time, days and days of discussion. Now, time was the ally on which -Verres and his friends counted most confidently. The trial began on -the 5th of August; the 16th to the 31st of August were the dates fixed -for the celebration of the games which Pompey had promised for years -past in memory of his victories over Sertorius. During this interval, -the trial would have to be suspended. Further suspensions would be -necessary from the 4th to the 19th of September, because of the Roman -games; from the 26th of October to the 4th of November because of the -games of Victory; from the 4th to the 17th of November because of the -_ludi plebei_. Thanks to this abundance of games, then, there was a -prospect, especially when Cicero’s wish to amplify the indictment was -taken into account, that the discussion would be unduly prolonged. -Other pretexts for postponement would surely not be wanting. In the -meantime public interest would flag; and, if one could look forward -to the new year, the presidency of the jury would pass to the new -Prætor, Marcus Metellus, who was an intimate friend of Verres. With his -connivance, it would be easy to find a way of bringing the prosecution -to an end with a convenient acquittal. In fact, Hortensius advised -Verres to let Cicero call as many witnesses as he wished, and to let -them talk freely, without contradicting them and without being drawn -into a discussion with them, but listening to them in austere and -contemptuous silence. - -The doubtful and decisive point, then, of this great struggle was -this: whether greater success would attend Cicero in his efforts to -move the public with his tenacious and insistent accusations, or -Verres and his friends in their efforts to tire out that public with -their passive resistance. At last, on August 5th, the trial, the -preparations for which had occupied so many months, began. The public -expectations and curiosity were immense. The struggles and intrigues -of the parties had by now converted the trial into a political event. -The Democratic opposition wanted Verres to be convicted, so as to -inflict a humiliation on the dominant party and to be able to accuse -it of countenancing the pillage of the provinces. The Conservative -party wished for Verres’s acquittal so as to be able to assert that -these accusations of misgovernment, like so many others that had been -launched on previous occasions against other governors, were calumnies -concocted by the Democratic party, and noxious calumnies to boot, -inasmuch as they jeopardised the prestige of the Empire amongst its -subjects. Rome was, during these weeks, full of Italians from the -North and South, who had come for the elections, the games, and the -new census; hence the trial gained in general interest and importance. -During the days of waiting for the Pompeian games to begin, this great -trial, in which Hortensius and Cicero, the Conservative aristocracy and -the Popular party, were to be pitted against each other, promised to be -an interesting way of passing the time for all those strangers who had -nothing to do. In ancient Rome, as in all parts of the world nowadays, -trials were a gratuitous spectacle much to the taste of the public. -Thus, on that morning of the 5th of August, an immense crowd thronged -the Forum, round the benches on which the judges, the prosecution, the -defendant, and his supporters were to take their seats. - -Verres showed a proud and resolute bearing, and appeared surrounded -by a crowd of influential friends. Cicero had the first word, and -made a short speech, in which he did not refer to any of the facts to -which his witnesses were expected to testify, saying that he would -let them speak for themselves. He preferred to deal generically with -the political and moral importance of the trial. He said that the -provinces, nay, the whole Empire was anxiously following the proceeding -which would tell whether there were judges and any hope of justice in -Rome. He concluded with a dexterous reference to the suspicions of -corruption which were flying about, and to the boasts that Verres was -supposed to have made of his ability, with the help of his money, to -flout with impunity every court of justice. It was for Hortensius to -reply to Cicero’s speech; but he complained that it had been so vague -and generic that it contained no single point which he could seize and -demolish. - -Then began a long procession of witnesses, and a fierce and venomous -lot they were, with terrible tales for the ears of the judges and -the public! In order to secure Verres’s conviction and sentence to a -fine of one hundred million _sestertii_, under the _lex de pecuniis -repetundis_, Cicero produced witnesses who accused him of every sort -of crime; of having committed acts of sacrilege, of having gone shares -with the pirates whom he ought to have harried and destroyed, of -having been guilty of numberless acts of peculation and malversation, -and of having condemned Roman citizens to death! To prove these -charges, Cicero had unearthed hundreds of witnesses from every class -of society, of both sexes, and of all ages, who, carefully coached and -prepared beforehand, entered the witness-box to add their quota to the -fierce attacks on Verres. It is difficult to judge how much of these -impassioned and violent stories was true, and how much pure invention, -as we have no documentary evidence relating to this trial other than -the speeches for the prosecution. Besides, Verres, as we have said, -did not avail himself of the right of cross-examination which the law -allowed him. He allowed the avalanche of charges to slide unchecked -down the slope, and to hurl itself into the valley, hoping that it -would stop of its own accord. However, it is not improbable that the -evidence contained no small number of exaggerations. A Sicilian friend -of mine, an eminent politician and a man with a profound knowledge of -his native island, is constantly reminding me that, even at the present -day, the Sicilians throw so much passion into their political struggles -that great circumspection is required in sifting the accusations hurled -by one side against the other, when rivalry and party animosity come -into play. “Only imagine,” he says, “how it must have been in ancient -times.” Besides, everyone who reads Cicero’s speeches cannot help -feeling, from time to time, that the list of villainies he enumerates -is really too long even for the greatest villain that ever lived. - -Although we to-day can pass a dispassionate judgment on the events of -twenty centuries ago, their contemporaries, embroiled in the turmoil -of unbridled passions, were not capable of so great detachment. At -this point, a phenomenon occurred which neither Cicero, Hortensius, -nor Verres had foreseen. Public opinion, which had been grumbling -for a long time at the excesses of the oligarchical government, and -which was ready to extend blind credence to such charges as the subtle -propaganda of the democratic opposition devised, gave birth to one of -those formidable and unexpected movements which no human force can -resist. Day by day, as the evidence of the witnesses spread from the -Forum through the city, was digested, embroidered, exaggerated from -mouth to mouth,—in those days, conversation performed the function of -newspapers, with the same defects, imprecision, and exaggeration, as -the latter,—an ungovernable wave of indignation against Verres swept -over Rome. No one set himself to sift the evidence dispassionately, -or by subtle analysis to separate the true from the legendary. The -weightier and the more terrible the charges against Verres, the more -readily they found credence. Each succeeding day saw an increase in the -public indignation and fury, as well as in the crowd that filled the -Forum. On the day on which a witness deposed that Verres had condemned -to death a Roman citizen who had in vain cried, “_Civis Romanus sum_,” -such a hubbub and commotion arose among the public that the Prætor -was obliged to close the sitting in hot haste, for fear of some great -calamity if the case proceeded. For five, six, seven, even for ten -days, Verres and his defenders faced the storm, hoping that the wind -would shift, that, after the first burst of passion was spent, public -opinion would veer round, regain self-control, and re-enter a state -of calm, conducive to reasoning and discussion. Each morning saw the -inexorable figure of Cicero at the head of a new handful of witnesses, -who came to re-kindle the public indignation by revelations of new -crimes and villainies, real or imaginary. - -When, after fourteen days of discussion, the first phase of the case -came to an end and there was a suspension of proceedings pending the -second phase, Verres, his defenders, and his friends, were obliged to -hold a council of war. The situation was desperate. The hope of tiring -out public opinion with the length of the proceedings had proved a -vain illusion. There was no longer room for hope that the court might -acquit Verres. Even if every one of the judges had been convinced of -the entire and complete innocence of Verres, they would not have dared -to acquit him in face of the excited state of public opinion, for fear -of being suspected of corruption. Rome, Italy, the Empire, would have -declared with one voice that the judges had absolved Verres because -they had been bought with the gold which he had extorted in such -quantities from the Sicilians. The public clamoured for their victim. -Besides, even supposing that the judges had the inconceivable courage -to acquit Verres, his political career, after such a scandal, was at -an end. What use was it then to persist with the struggle, when the -battle was already irretrievably lost? It was best to give in. Verres -had better not show himself further at the trial, and had better go -into voluntary exile. In that case, he was sure to be fined much less -heavily, and to save his patrimony from the wreck of his political -fortunes. - -Verres bowed his head to destiny, which had chosen him to be, in the -eyes of Italy and the Empire, the victim sacrificed to expiate the -misdeeds and the outrages committed by all the Roman governors since -the restoration of Sulla. When the trial began again, for the second -and decisive phase, he did not put in an appearance. He had already -gone into exile. Such was the delight of the judges that, by declaring -himself guilty, he had spared them the unpleasant and responsible task -of doing so themselves, that they inflicted upon him the lightest of -punishments. They condemned him to pay, not _one hundred_ millions, -as the Sicilians demanded, but only _three_ millions of _sestertii_. -A fine of three million _sestertii_ was the judicial imprimatur on a -trial, in the course of which a member of the Roman aristocracy had -been accused by a host of witnesses of the greatest atrocities and -outrages, some of which, if true, would have sufficed to bring him to -the scaffold. - -When we read the violent speeches which Cicero wrote after the trial, -and which he would have pronounced, if it had continued into its second -phase, in order to sum up and point the moral of the terrible evidence -which had been given against Verres; when we compare these speeches -and the charges which they formulate, annotate, and tabulate with the -lenient and light penalty inflicted, we can, at first blush, only -feel surprise. The historian asks himself whether the whole of this -trial—which is certainly one of the most famous in the history of the -world—was not a sort of comedy played by actors of great skill for the -benefit of an ignorant and ingenuous public. Such a judgment would, -however, be too severe. Cicero was an honourable and upright man, and -defended the cause of his Sicilian clients with sincerity and loyalty. -No, this trial was not simply a judicial episode. It was a political -drama, and, like all political dramas, was overlaid with phenomena -which to a certain extent hide its real nature and essence from the -eyes of posterity as it hid these from those of its contemporaries. It -must not be forgotten that all the actors in this trial, the accused, -the prosecutor, the defending counsel, and the judges, belonged to -the same aristocracy. At a certain moment this aristocracy had found -itself compelled, by intestinal quarrels and by a complex political -situation, to sacrifice, in a trial at law, one of its members in order -to satisfy public opinion, Italy, and the Empire; in order to prove -that it was not true, as a whole party was busy whispering about Rome, -that the Roman governors, provided they belonged to the Conservative -aristocracy, were allowed to do what they liked in the provinces and -that their subjects were abandoned defenceless to their caprices and -their greed. But the particular member of the aristocracy whom it was -found necessary to sacrifice, whether he were or were not so great -a villain as his enemies asserted, had friends, protectors, and -supporters who exerted an influence sufficiently great amongst the -dominant party to admit of too ruthless an attack being made upon him. - -Cicero himself who apparently attacks Verres with such fury, in reality -endeavours to do him as little harm as possible. At every stage of -his comments on the serious evidence of the witnesses, he says that, -if Verres is not convicted under the _lex de pecuniis repetundis_, he -will accuse him of a greater crime, as though to persuade him that -the prosecution has had the utmost possible regard for him. In short, -the trial and the condemnation of Verres were a twofold satisfaction -which the Roman aristocracy was forced to offer to the public opinion -of Italy and to the provinces; but, while offering it, she tried, in -every possible way, to temper the blow to the predestined victim. In -fact, Verres, though forced to renounce every political ambition, was -able to live the life of a _grand seigneur_ quietly in Italy. And that -is actually what he did, devoting himself especially to the collection -of those works of art for which he had such a passion. After the trial, -there is no mention of him in Roman history. He disappears; and, after -the year 70, his name does not reappear till more than twenty-seven -years later as one of the victims of the famous proscriptions -organised in 43 and 42 by Antonius, Lepidus, and Octavianus: the same -proscriptions in which Cicero, his accuser, perished. Inasmuch as -Verres had been for the elapsed twenty-seven years but an obscure -spectator of the political struggles of Rome, it is clear that he must -have been included in the lists of the proscribed because his riches -excited the cupidity of the Triumvirs. - -The famous trial, while it cut short Verres’s political career, brought -Cicero’s to the heights of success. The trial of Verres made of Cicero, -who up to that time had been a promising young man, one of the foremost -political figures in Rome. The Conservative aristocracy recognised -in him an orator whose eloquence might be terrible. The Democratic -party was grateful to him for the humiliation which he had inflicted -on the dominant party. Italy and the provinces welcomed in him the -honourable Senator, the disinterested advocate, the intrepid defender -of down-trodden justice, the man who had publicly affirmed, at no small -risk to himself, that Rome owed it to her own honour to govern with -equity and uprightness the immense empire of which fortune had made her -mistress. Assuredly, Cicero deserved such admiration, even though his -attack on Verres had not been so bitter as the public supposed. - -The trial of Verres is the first great page in Cicero’s history. Who -could, however, have prophesied to him, in 70, that history would write -the name of Verres beside his own yet once again, but on the last -page, that of a tragic and glorious death? How life teems with strange -coincidences! These two men who confronted each other in one of the -most famous legal duels in history, who separated with faces turned -towards such diverse destinies—the conqueror to find glory and power, -the conquered to find obscurity and seclusion—were fated to meet once -more in life, at the last hour, on the brink of the same abyss. - - - - -II - -THE TRIAL OF CLODIUS - - -In December of the year 62 B.C., the festival of the _Bona Dea_ was -being celebrated as usual in Rome. This goddess was one of Rome’s -strangest deities. She represented fertility; and the object of the -December ceremonies was to move the goddess to grant that all the -fountains of fertility which nourish the life and prosperity of a -nation might flow copiously throughout the year. Women only were -admitted to the festivities, which were due to take place at night in -the house of the Consul or of the Prætor. The wife of the Prætor or of -the Consul presided; the lady members of the aristocracy took part; -but the master of the house, with all the male slaves, was required -to absent himself. It was popularly believed that the man who dared -to take part in the mysteries of the _Bona Dea_ would be immediately -struck blind. - -In that particular year, the ceremonies took place in the house of -Julius Cæsar, who was Prætor at the time, under the presidency of his -wife, Pompeia, and his mother, Aurelia. Cæsar had left the house, -which had been decorated as the rites required. All the ladies of the -aristocracy had assembled there, and the mysterious ceremonies were -being carried on through the night, as usual, when in one of the rooms -a slave belonging to Cæsar’s mother encountered a musician who seemed -to have lost her way in the huge house, and not to know what she ought -to do or where to go. The slave asked the stranger whom or what she was -looking for. The musician did not answer. The slave, her suspicions -aroused by the other’s silence, persisted with her questions. The -musician was driven at last to say that she was looking for one of -Pompeia’s slaves, by name Abra. But Aurelia’s slave was horror-struck -when she heard the musician’s voice. It was the voice of a man! At -once, with loud screams, she gave the alarm. A man, a man disguised -as a woman, was present at the sacred rites of the _Bona Dea_! The -musician bolted. Cæsar’s mother, a dignified and energetic woman, -suspended the ceremonies, immediately ordered all the doors to be shut, -and, followed by all the matrons, searched the house thoroughly from -top to bottom. At last the musician was found hidden in Abra’s room; -and several of the ladies present believed they recognised in her a -young Roman patrician, famous in Rome for the blueness of his blood, -and for his extravagance: Publius Clodius. He was expelled from the -house, and the meeting broke up. - -Next day, all Rome knew that Publius Clodius had dared to try to -profane the mysteries of the _Bona Dea_; and the news created an -immense sensation. Publius Clodius was the youthful descendant -of one of Rome’s most ancient, illustrious, and famous patrician -houses. His father, his grandfather, his great-grandfather, and his -great-great-grandfather had all been Consuls. Thus he belonged to one -of those families which impersonated in the eyes of Italy the glory, -the power, and the virtue of Rome. That the youthful scion of one of -these venerated families should have dared to commit such a sacrilege -was a thing which would have made a painful impression in Rome at any -time. But the moment was a critical and uncertain one. The impression -made by the conspiracy of Catiline was still lively and fresh. -Everywhere, especially in the more respectable section of society, -a feeling of disgust mingled with fear prevailed. The public was in -favour of severe measures. All seriously minded people gave it as their -opinion that the prevailing licence of manners, and especially the -effrontery of the young men, must be curbed, if the Empire was not to -crumble into decay. If matters had come to such a pass that a Claudius, -a man whose name had for so many centuries spelt to the Romans all the -austere and traditional virtues of the Roman citizenship of old, dared -profane the most sacred rites of religion, what might not be feared at -the hands of a creedless, dissolute, corrupt youth, which was preparing -to invade, with the new generation, the official posts of the Republic? - -Great, therefore, was the public indignation; and the strict party, -captained by Cato, a small party but active and powerful in the Senate, -perceived that now was the moment to make an example. That Clodius -had, up to that time, served the Conservative party, the aristocratic -community which Sulla had restored to power; that in the conspiracy of -Catiline he had zealously helped Cicero and defended the cause of the -order, counted for little, nay, rather was it all to the good. It was -necessary to show the people that the aristocracy could still, as in -the good old times, bring themselves to strike at their own members, -when they failed in their most sacred duties. - -The tales which soon spread among the public as to the reasons for the -sacrilege only served to fan the flame of indignation. It was whispered -that Clodius was the paramour of Pompeia, Cæsar’s wife; and that he had -endeavoured, with the connivance of Abra, Pompeia’s slave, to gain an -entrance into the festivities, for the purpose of an assignation with -her! The sacrilege, therefore, was twofold. The rites of the _Bona Dea_ -were intended to assure the prosperity of the people. It was infamous -that a young aristocrat should have dared to take advantage of them to -further an intrigue of gallantry. An example must be made; this was for -several days the general chorus throughout Rome. The most sacred things -of the Republic could not be left a prey to this corrupt and depraved -youth. The cynicism of a few dissolutes must not be allowed to expose -the Republic to the wrath of the gods! - -An example must be made—certainly! But how? The law contained no -provision applying to such an act as Clodius had committed. Anyone -desirous of prosecuting him would not have known what law to invoke -in order to hale him before the judges. The case was unprecedented; -and it had never occurred to anyone to write it down a crime, with a -definite legal imprimatur attached. The ancient code was extremely -formal, especially in questions of rites and religion, and so Clodius’s -deed remained a wicked, impious, and shameful one, which was calculated -to cover him with infamy, but which could not be punished by the law. -Sensible, cautious, and prudent people, in the Senate, and out of it, -lost no time in convincing themselves on this point; while Clodius, -his friends, and his family, which was a most influential one, began -to intercede, to pray, and to intrigue. It was true that Clodius -had committed an act of unpardonable levity, which would ruin his -political career for all time. But it was an act for which there was no -punishment, save the reprobation of all good citizens. - -So colourless a solution was, however, not at all to the taste of the -public, which was deeply moved by the sacrilege, and roused to fury -against these great families who abused their power in so scandalous a -way. The public demanded a severer punishment. The small Pietist party, -feeling itself backed by public opinion, brought the matter before the -Senate, by the mouth of an obscure Senator named Quintus Cornificius. -Cornificius proposed that the College of Pontiffs be consulted, and -their opinion asked as to the gravity and character of the crime -committed by Clodius. The proposal was an ingenious one. According to -ancient ideas, it was incumbent on the State itself to take precautions -that the gods should have no motive for losing their tempers with the -people and the city, and thereupon wreaking vengeance upon Rome. With -the public thrown into such a state of fear and commotion by Clodius’s -sacrilege, the Senate could not refuse to consult the Pontiffs, to -learn from them whether this act constituted an outrage against the -gods, and, if so, an outrage of what gravity. The College of Pontiffs -answered that the act was _nefas_—the technical expression which -indicated the gravest of delinquencies towards the divinity. Their -answer could not have been otherwise. Nevertheless, however _nefas_ the -act might be, there was no law which punished it. - -So when the answer of the College of Pontiffs reached the Senators, -the latter found themselves confronted with the following situation. -A very grave and scandalous crime had been committed by one of the -best-known members of the aristocracy. This crime had stirred the -public indignation to its depths, and had been declared _nefas_ by the -College of Pontiffs. Yet there was no way of punishing it, because -the arsenal of the law did not provide the weapons necessary for its -punishment. The danger inherent in this state of affairs was obvious. -The public, infuriated and dismayed, would never believe that Clodius -could not be punished—because the laws had never even imagined that -such an abomination could ever be committed by a Roman. The public -would declare that Clodius had escaped his richly-deserved punishment -because he belonged to one of the most conspicuous and influential -families in Rome. The aristocracy was superior to the law; it could -even provoke with impunity the wrath of the gods against the city! -What was to be done? Public opinion, in its agitated state, kept -egging on the Senate; and the Pietist and ruthless party, profiting -by the popular agitation, attempted a daring move, proposing to the -Senate that it should invite the Consuls to make a special law, which -should have retrospective force, and should declare Clodius’s act on -a plane with the crime of incest,—make it equivalent, that is, to the -seduction of a vestal virgin, a crime which, according to ancient law, -was punishable with death, and which fell to be judged by the College -of Pontiffs. Nevertheless, no one, not even Cato, could delude himself -into thinking that the College of Pontiffs would condemn Clodius -to death. Consequently, the law proposed to constitute a special -tribunal,—which would not be that of the Pontiffs, nor the usual jury, -chosen by lot. The Prætor would himself constitute it, choosing it from -the panel of judges. It was hoped in this way to contrive a Court which -would condemn Clodius at least to exile. - -It is not difficult to realise how daring and dangerous it was to -propose such a _privilegium_, as the Romans used to call exceptional -laws, in times of uproar like those, and in the midst of the fierce -discords which already for so many reasons were splitting up the -Roman aristocracy. But the indignation and commotion of the public, -superstitious and fearful as it was, were too lively. Cæsar himself -had felt the necessity of throwing a sop to the public by divorcing -Pompeia; and the Senate dared not reject the rash proposal, even though -many wise men, like Cicero, thought that it would be more prudent to -let Clodius fry in his own grease. The two Consuls were invited to -draft the law and to get it approved by the people. - -From this moment, however, difficulties began; and, in a few weeks, -the prosecution of Clodius assumed a new aspect. It became a political -matter. That the act he had committed was an abominable one, no one in -Rome denied; but that in order to secure his punishment a law should -be passed which would not only be a special one, but—most important -point of all—would introduce the principle of the selection of judges -by the Prætor,—no, to this the Popular, Democratic party could not -consent. Always concerned not to leave in the hands of Sulla’s party, -which was still so powerful in the Senate and throughout the Republic, -too many weapons to employ against their enemies, the Popular party -had recently taken to demanding with the utmost emphasis the most -rigorous observance of legal forms, especially in proceedings in -the law-courts, which were such a convenient means, in the hands of -the preponderant party, of getting rid of the latter’s adversaries. -In fact, at that moment the Popular party had begun an agitation -against the illegalities committed in the course of the repression of -Catiline’s conspiracy. This law, therefore, sounded like a challenge. -As a matter of fact, of the two Consuls whose duty it was to bring -it forward, one, Marcus Pupius Piso, though he had not dared resist -the proposal openly in the Senate, was opposed to it; and, while he -made a show of obeying the orders of the Senate and actually did, -with his colleague, propose the law, he busied himself behind the -scenes to secure its rejection. The other Consul, Marcus Valerius -Messala, on the other hand, was an enthusiastic supporter of the law; -but it was whispered about that a tribune of the _plebs_, if the law -was brought forward, would veto it. Clodius and his relations worked -away vigorously. All the wise and prudent men, even Cicero, held -themselves in reserve, keeping an eye on the progress of events without -compromising themselves too far; so that Cicero, writing at the end of -January, 61, to Atticus, could give him to understand between the lines -that the law would never be passed, and that the whole business would -be brought to a stand-still by the fizzing away of the public anger. -For the rest, this was the secret wish of all level-headed citizens, -who, like Cicero, feared dreadful calamities, if the business were -allowed to assume more serious proportions. - -But all the wiseacres reckoned without Cato and the Pietist party, -and without the obstinacy of Messala, who, irritated by the stolid -opposition of his colleague, countered it with a determined effort to -get the law passed. Between them all, they worked and spoke with such -effect that they succeeded in obtaining the support of Pompey, and -in bringing the law before the _comitia_ in the first fortnight of -February. Piso, however, was no less resolutely determined than Messala -that the law he had proposed should not be passed, and, as it was his -turn to preside over the meeting, he had recourse that day to every -sort of subtle device to prevent the law being passed. He even went so -far as to distribute to the voters only that tablet which they would -use in rejecting the law. When the heads of the Conservative party, -Cato, Hortensius, and Favonius, heard of this extraordinary intrigue, -they hurried to the _comitia_ and began to address the people. Cato -distinguished himself by a virulent attack on Piso. The speeches -were effectual in preventing the law from being put to the vote, and -therefore from being, as it assuredly would have been, rejected. They -could not, however, procure its approval, which, from Clodius’s point -of view, and for the moment at any rate, came to much the same thing. - -Men’s passions began to get the better of them. The _amour propre_ of -the two small factions came more prominently into play the more the -case assumed a political aspect. Inasmuch as the opposition of one of -the two Consuls who had proposed the law was the greatest impediment -to the approval of the law, means must be found for getting rid of -Piso. The Pietists thought of exerting pressure upon him by means of -the Senate. They summoned a meeting of the Senate on urgent business, -and proposed a motion inviting the Consuls once more to join in -recommending the law to the popular vote; in other words, intimating to -Piso that he had better abandon his attitude of obstruction. A lively -discussion ensued. The friends of Clodius opposed the motion with -great energy; but it was carried by four hundred votes to fifteen. A -truly crushing majority! Clodius’s act was so offensive to the public -that few Senators dared openly to side with him, even though they were -conscious that the law which was meant to bring him to book was fraught -with danger. - -Piso, however, did not allow this vote of the Senate to influence him. -The discontent of the Popular party was increasing, and the public -agitation, not in favour of Clodius, but against the law, was gathering -force, being focussed on that particular provision which undoubtedly -was the most dangerous, namely, the authority given to the Prætor to -choose the judges from the panel of jurors instead of entrusting the -choice to the fortune of the lot. The law, it is true, established this -procedure only for the purposes of the action against Clodius. But was -not the precedent a dangerous one? Would it not be possible, after this -first experiment, to try to apply the same method to other cases? -That would result in putting into the hands of the preponderant party -a formidable weapon for the destruction of its adversaries: the giving -to the Prætor in office the power to choose the judges who should be -summoned to decide the numberless cases by means of which that party -sought to deprive their rivals of their most influential leaders. - -So the struggle waxed fiercer and fiercer. Piso would not give way, -and the Popular party supported him, never mentioning Clodius, but -asserting that the law was unjust, dangerous, and deadly—that the -death-blow would be given to the Republic on the day on which a -magistrate, elected by, and bound by ties to, one party, was invested -with the power to choose the judges for every law-suit. The Pietist -party, supported by the majority of the Senate, and by the Sullan -association, adopted the opposite tactics. It made light of the -provisions of the law and the dangers anticipated and denounced -by the Popular party. It protested that Clodius had committed a -horrible sacrilege, and could not be allowed to go unpunished without -compromising still further in the eyes of the disgusted and affrighted -masses the waning authority of the State. Intrigues and plots thickened -on this side and on that. Both sides endeavoured to influence public -opinion, but in this attempt the Popular party was the more successful. -For that party, by dint of dogged and dexterous efforts, and without -paying any regard to the votes of the Senate, which was almost -unanimously favourable to the opposite party, succeeded in persuading -the public that the law was immoderate, tyrannical, and dangerous, -especially in the matter of the powers entrusted to the Prætor. - -The day arrived when the more enlightened men of the Conservative -party realised that the law, in the form in which it had been drafted, -would never be approved. Piso by himself, helped by the Popular party -and by the growing mistrust of public opinion, sufficed to checkmate -the majority of the Senate and the party in power. It was necessary, -therefore, to devise a compromise. And the man who devised it was -Hortensius, the great orator who ten years before had been Verres’s -defending counsel. He proposed that the two Consuls should abandon -their law; and that Fusius Calenus, who was tribune of the _plebs_, -should bring forward another, in which the first part of the preceding -law, that which made of Clodius’s act an incest, should be retained, -but the second part should be modified in such a way that the judges -summoned to administer it should not be the College of Pontiffs but -the ordinary jury, chosen in the ordinary way, that is to say, by lot, -and not, as the law of the two Consuls proposed, by the Prætors. By -this equable compromise Hortensius hoped to satisfy all parties—he -disarmed the opposition of the Popular party, which would not dare, -now that the law had been purged of the provision which aroused the -greatest mistrust in the public, to persist in its opposition, and to -risk appearing too openly to desire the protection of Clodius. He gave -a sop to public opinion, which was deeply stirred and offended by the -scandal. He gave satisfaction to the _amour propre_ of the Conservative -party, by presenting them with the head of Clodius. As a matter of -fact, he thought—and this was the argument he used to persuade the most -recalcitrant of the Pietist party—that it was not necessary to alter -the mode of choosing the judges. Clodius’s guilt was so evident that it -was quite impossible to imagine that a court of law, however corrupt, -could acquit him. - -The first of Hortensius’s anticipations quickly came true. The -law, thus modified, passed without difficulty. At once, several -citizens hastened to indict Clodius of incest. Matters had not gone -far, however, before everyone perceived that Hortensius’s second -anticipation, that the conviction of Clodius was inevitable, would -not be realised so easily. Months had passed; the first impression of -horror made on the public had faded. The Conservative party—the same -that had made such efforts to save Verres—was too deeply committed to -obtaining the conviction of Clodius at whatever cost, for the Popular -party not to take Clodius under its protection, though it did so -covertly and without compromising itself too far. Crassus and Cæsar -in particular, without appearing on the scene, were disposed to do -whatever they could, to help Clodius, and to procure him, if it were -possible, an acquittal, an outcome which in no less a degree than the -conviction of Verres, would have been a rebuff for the party which -Sulla had installed in the government, and which, notwithstanding all -the reverses which it had undergone in recent years, was still so -powerful. Clodius on his side worked with the energy of despair to -escape conviction, which would have shattered his political career -irreparably and forever. - -The trial took place at the beginning of May, in the midst of a -curiosity and excitement which may be easily imagined. The two parties -had by now decided to face each other once again, as in Verres’s time, -in the confined arena of a law-court. The judges were chosen by lot, -and the defendant especially availed himself of the right which the -law conceded to both sides, of challenging a certain number of them. -Nobody was surprised at this, as everyone knew that the struggle would -be a fierce one, or rather a hopeless one, for the accused. Indeed, -how could Clodius escape conviction, when his guilt was so manifest? -In declaring his act to be _incestum_, the law had already condemned -him in anticipation. When, however, the jury had been impannelled, and -the trial opened, an unexpected and dramatic incident occurred. Clodius -defended himself by saying that the matrons present at the feast in -honour of the _Bona Dea_ had been deceived. They had mistaken somebody -else for him. On that day he was actually not in Rome, but at Iteramna -(Terni)! - -Just at first, this alibi made the public laugh. Nobody took it -seriously. It seemed to everyone that Clodius was joking and wished -to make fun of the Court, or that he was trying a desperate coup. But -here, too, they were wrong. Clodius intended that his point be taken -quite seriously, and had prepared his defence much more cleverly than -his adversaries, emboldened by the certainty of victory, supposed. -People were not slow to realise this, as the trial went on and on, -without producing that proof of Clodius’s guilt which everybody thought -so easy and certain, and without destroying his daring alibi. The -first step was to put Clodius’s slaves to the torture,—a step which -was allowed in a case in which “incest” was imputed. This procedure -was, however, barren of results. Clodius had sent the five slaves of -whose evidence he was particularly afraid, partly to his brother in -Greece, and partly to a distant property of his in the Alps. Then came -Cæsar, who had been cited as a witness, and by whose evidence also -the enemies of Clodius set great store. Had he not divorced his wife -immediately after the scandal? This divorce clearly indicated that -Cæsar considered his wife guilty; a state of mind which gave ground for -hope that he would revenge himself by charging Clodius. Cæsar, however, -had too great an interest in pleasing Crassus, whose desire to give the -Democratic party the satisfaction of procuring the acquittal of Clodius -was growing keener and keener. So Cæsar deposed under examination -that he knew nothing and could say nothing, as, in conformity with -religious precepts, he was out of the house that evening. Great was -the irritation and disappointment of the prosecutors, one of whom -thereupon, in order to put Cæsar in a difficulty, asked Cæsar for what -reason, if he knew nothing and could say nothing, he had divorced his -wife immediately after the scandal had broken out. Cæsar then, assuming -a solemn air, pronounced the famous phrase: “Because Cæsar’s wife must -be above suspicion,” a phrase which historians have proceeded to quote -as a proof of his precocious monarchical ambitions and of his masterful -temperament. On the contrary, the phrase was merely a _boutade_, -devised to elude an embarrassing question in a political trial, which -none of those who heard it took too seriously, and in saying which -Cæsar himself knew quite well that nobody would take him at his word. -In fact, the public smiled at the idea of the elegant and debt-laden -demagogue, who was known to all for his somewhat free opinions -and customs, having become all at once so jealous of the spotless -reputation of his house. - -At any rate, as a loophole the answer was a clever one; and the -prosecutors could not press the question. So Julia, Cæsar’s sister, and -Aurelia, his mother, came forward. Both deposed that, on the night on -which the mysteries of the _Bona Dea_ were celebrated, a man had been -surprised in Cæsar’s house; but that they could not say with certainty -that the defendant was the man. We should be doing an injustice to the -memory of the two noble dames if we suspected that this evidence was -not candid, but prompted by concern for the political interests and -friendships of their brother and son. Is it not probable that, in the -confusion and disorder of the just-discovered scandal, neither may -have scrutinised the man in female disguise with so much attention and -particularity as to be able to recognise him subsequently in court, -where Clodius denied the identity with so much assurance? Therefore -this evidence also was in Clodius’s favour; for there was nobody who -could affirm positively that the man surprised in the middle of the -rites of the _Bona Dea_ was the accused. - -Next came the evidence adduced by Clodius, to prove his alibi. It took -the form of a certain C. Causinius Schola, who deposed frankly and -resolutely that the gentlemen of the jury might take it from him that -at a certain hour on the day of the mysteries of the _Bona Dea_, he had -conversed with Clodius at Iteramna, which was ninety thousand _passi_ -distant from Rome. This evidence, after that of Cæsar, Julia, and -Aurelia, made the acquittal of Clodius inevitable. Certain proofs of -his guilt there were none. The improbable alibi, which at the beginning -nobody had taken seriously, threatened to triumph owing to the doubts -and scruples of a few witnesses, the adroit reticence of others, and -thanks to the subterranean workings of Clodius’s friends, backed by -Crassus’s gold. - -Then came a second and even more unexpected surprise. At the very -moment when Clodius seemed to have emerged victorious, there appeared -to destroy his alibi.... Who? Cicero himself. Cited as witness, -Cicero deposed that on the day of the mysteries, three hours before -the hour at which Causinius declared that he had spoken to Clodius at -Terni, Clodius had come to call on him at his house in Rome! What had -happened? Cicero had up to that time adopted a distinctly reserved -attitude, making it clear that he, who since the suppression of -Catiline’s conspiracy had become one of the leading figures in the -State, had no wish to be mixed up in so trivial and stupid an affair. -For what reason did he thus hurl himself all at once, at the close -of the trial, into the thick of the fight, and opposing his evidence -to that of Causinius, seem to challenge the jury to choose between -his word—the word of a man of consular rank, the word of one of the -three or four most famous men in the Empire—and that of this obscure -and probably corrupt witness? Had he yielded to the pressure of the -Conservative party, which, realising that the prey was slipping from -their grasp, had wished to make a supreme attempt to destroy the alibi -which had been so adroitly prepared by Clodius? Had he, upright and -honourable man as he was, yielded to his disgust at seeing a comedy, -which had been staged with such ability, completely successful? Or -had he yielded to pressure and to considerations of the sort of which -Plutarch speaks? Plutarch says that Cicero’s wife, Terentia, was -jealous of Clodia, Clodius’s sister, whom she suspected of having cast -eyes upon Cicero; and had so much worried Cicero, by harping upon the -subject, and accusing him of sparing Clodius out of regard for the -sister, that Cicero, in order to convince her that her jealousy was -groundless, gave the evidence he did. - -Which of these suppositions is the true one we do not know, and we -never shall know. What, however, is certain is that Cicero’s evidence -appeared at once to be the death-blow to Clodius. Clodius’s defenders -perceived this so clearly that they all rose in their seats, hurling -threats and insults at Cicero, hoping to intimidate him and to -obliterate the impression made by his evidence. Cicero retorted in -the same key. One section of the public, that favourable to Clodius, -supported the advocates. An uproar ensued. The judges rose from their -seats, and formed a circle round Cicero, as if to defend him. It seemed -for one moment that the partisans were coming to blows. In short, the -whole affair was a scandal, but one which made Clodius’s position even -more grave. Everyone realised that he considered himself lost. Was -it, in truth, possible that the jury should hesitate between Cicero’s -asseveration and that of Causinius? Clodius himself, as soon as the -uproar had quieted down, realised that he could not accuse Cicero, a -man of such authority, of lying. Indeed, he did not deny that the fact -was as stated; but he said that after having spoken with Cicero he had -immediately left Rome for Terni. To which it was easy to reply that in -three hours one cannot cover a distance of ninety thousand _passi_; and -this reply did not admit of answer, confutation, or sophistication. -The falseness of the alibi was the gravest of proofs against Clodius, -and that which was bound to compromise his cause most gravely in the -opinion of the public and of the judges. - -On the evening of the day on which Cicero gave his evidence, there -was not a soul in Rome who did not think that the great orator had -dealt the youthful and turbulent patrician his _coup de grâce_. -But Cicero’s evidence, the tumult and threats which had succeeded, -the self-assurance of the Conservatives, who were now confident of -securing a conviction, only intensified the bitterness of public -feeling. Strange rumours and whispers began to circulate through -Rome, originating no one knew where. It was said that, on the day the -verdict was given, blood would flow amid scenes of terrible violence. -Some of the judges took fright and asked the Senate for the protection -of an armed bodyguard, which the Senate gave them. Round Cicero the -Conservative party organised a kind of permanent demonstration, -arranging that he should be accompanied everywhere by a number of -friends ready to defend him. The idea was to persuade the public in -every possible way that Clodius intended to sneak away, or even to use -violence, so sure was he of conviction, to shackle the free judgment -of the Court. That conviction was a certainty was the general opinion. -In the midst of these rumours, fears, and suspicions the case drew -rapidly to a close. In the crowded Forum, surrounded by the swords of -the bodyguard supplied by the Senate for the protection of the judges, -the Court finally pronounced its verdict—but how different it was from -that which was universally expected. By thirty-one votes to twenty-five -Clodius was acquitted! - -The surprise, the scandal, the jubilation, the amusement, according -to each man’s disposition and party, were great in Rome when this -result was announced. In truth, whoever, after the lapse of so many -centuries, reads the history of the trial will find no difficulty in -believing Cicero when he accuses Crassus of having secured Clodius’s -acquittal by the exercise of pressure and corruption. In no other way -can be explained the fact that a Roman Court of law, forced to choose -between Cicero and Causinius, believed Causinius. Nevertheless, it is -certain that Clodius was much helped in this struggle by the political -mistakes of the Conservative party, by their blind relentlessness, and -by the obstinacy with which they had endeavoured for so long to bring -about, to the detriment of Clodius, a change in the method of choosing -the judges. At this epoch, justice in Rome was much too much exposed -to the influence of politics. If, however, the times were disturbed, -if the parties were divided by acute discord and men’s minds inflamed -by the memories of a terrible civil war, the sense of justice was, -nevertheless, not yet so much blunted by party passions as to allow -the dominant party to abuse their own power beyond a certain point. -Clodius might be a man little deserving of public interest; but there -were many persons in Rome to whom it was repugnant that, even for the -purpose of punishing a sacrilege, recourse should be had to means so -unusual, revolutionary, and extreme. - -So the Popular party, with the support of the general sentiment of -legality, had succeeded in checkmating the Conservative party, the -Sullan association. The checkmate in itself was, however, not a -serious one, because the trial of Clodius had not been so important -and complex that his acquittal could seriously weaken the strength of -the Conservative party. The indirect consequences, on the other hand, -were most serious. The first was that Clodius went over body and soul -to the Popular party, and became the boldest and most violent of its -leaders. If the Conservative party had followed Cicero’s advice and -abandoned Clodius to the infamy which his act must have brought upon -him, there would have been an end of Clodius. The man who had profaned -the mysteries of the _Bona Dea_ would not have dared to show himself -any more in public. By persecuting him as it did, and by giving him the -chance of posing before the public as the victim of its persecutions, -this unpopular party saved his career, or at least helped to enable him -to continue to play a part in the political world of Rome, and a part -fraught with danger to the State. Clodius, realising that, after the -trial, he could no longer hope for anything from the Conservative party -in which he had grown up and in whose ranks he had fought, turned to -the Popular party; and, in order to make that party forget his origin, -his relations, and the _Bona Dea_ scandal, became the most violent and -turbulent of its chiefs. It is this trial which has made of Clodius the -famous demagogue of whom history tells, who in a few years contributed -so much, with his agitations, his laws, his violent acts, and his -enmities, to the destruction of the little order and concord that were -left in the Republic. The most violent of his enmities was that which -he entertained for Cicero. From this trial dates the deadly enmity -between the two, which was not the least of the causes of the great -disorder into which the Republic fell, which gave birth to the civil -war. - -The trial of Clodius is, then, one of the events which paved the way -for the catastrophe of the Republic. What an object lesson it is for -political parties! In the excitement of the struggle, such parties reck -nothing, while they deal each other slashing blows, of the hatred and -rancour which they sow broadcast. But this hatred and rancour undermine -in men’s minds the sentiments of concord, loyalty, moderation, -tolerance, and equity, without which the social order cannot in the -long run subsist; it is one of the most potent causes of the great -catastrophes of history. A revolution is usually only the ultimate -effect of a long succession of violent acts, affronts, and injustices -which have exasperated the public mind, in which feelings of rancour -accumulate and ferment until one day they explode. - - - - -III - -THE TRIAL OF PISO - - -Nearly a century had passed since the trial of Verres, and more -than eighty years since the trial of Clodius. The quarrels of the -Roman aristocracy, which had given birth to those two extraordinary -and sensational trials, had kindled the spark of two dreadful civil -wars, in the course of which the Empire had narrowly escaped complete -dissolution. Gradually, however, order had been re-established. From -the midst of the discords of the aristocracy, one family had emerged -and succeeded in acquiring preponderating influence: the family of -the Cæsars. First, Augustus for forty-two years, and, for the three -years succeeding his death, his stepson and adopted son Tiberius, had -governed the State as _principes_, or life-presidents, accumulating in -their own hands powers of the most diverse kinds—the supreme command -of the legions, the presidency of the Senate, the high-priesthood, -the surveillance of the most important provinces—and at the same -time making every effort to keep the ancient machinery of republican -government working with as little friction as possible under such -widely different conditions and in control of an empire of so much -vaster extent. No law had laid it down that this power should be -hereditary; but the force of circumstances—the exhaustion of the -ancient nobility, the weakness of the Senate, the dying out of all the -parties and all the powerful cabals which for centuries had bulked -so large in the Republic—made of this family, little by little, the -mistress of the Empire’s destinies. - -If, however, the violent disputes of parties no longer raged in the -Senate; if blows were no longer exchanged in the Forum when the -election of the magistrates or the discussion of the laws was toward; -if the threat of civil war no longer hovered continually over the -heads of all, concord was not, for all that, re-established in the -ranks of the aristocracy which surrounded Cæsar’s family and which -ought to have helped that family to govern the immense Empire. Men’s -feelings were as much divided as ever, though for different motives. -Tiberius, the second _princeps_ in three years chosen by the Senate -as successor of Augustus, was hated by one section of the Roman -aristocracy, which judged him too old-fashioned—too closely bound to -the traditions of the old nobility and of his family, the Claudii; too -stern, hard, and rigid; too much out of sympathy with the new customs -and new refinements that were beginning to flow from Egypt into Italy; -too close-fisted and too keen a professor of a scrupulous and strict -financial policy; worst of all, too cautious in his foreign policy. - -An old warrior, who had passed the best years of his life fighting on -the Rhine and the Danube against the barbarians, a consummate diplomat, -head and shoulders above all his contemporaries in matters of war and -diplomacy, Tiberius had convinced himself that Rome had not strength -enough to extend her empire beyond the Rhine and the Danube, and that, -therefore, she ought to rest content with the empire which she had -already won, which was, after all, vast enough for a tiny aristocracy -like that which was seated at Rome. The malcontents, however,—and -there were many of these, especially among the younger generation,—not -only did not recognise Tiberius’s wisdom, but imputed this sagacious -prudence of his to inexperience, to fear, or to envy of the young and -brilliant Germanicus. - -The son of Drusus, the brother whom Tiberius had so much loved, the -adopted son of Tiberius, who had been enjoined by Augustus to adopt -him, intelligent, brilliant, generous, well-educated, handsome, -affable, inclined to be light-headed and casual like most youths who -are fortune’s favourites, Germanicus was the idol of all the enemies -of Tiberius. He was, and he was conscious of being, their idol, and, -without assuming too openly an attitude of opposition, he willingly -let himself be worshipped and extolled by the faction opposed to -his adoptive father, which faction was strong enough to exercise an -effective pressure on the Senate and throughout the State. In fact, -Germanicus, who after the death of Augustus had been sent by Tiberius -to take command of the legions of the Rhine, had dared to follow a -policy of his own, differing from that of Tiberius, on the Rhine, -crossing the great river on his own initiative, and making a long and -hazardous incursion into the territories abandoned by Rome after the -defeat of Varus. - -This incursion—the first step taken by Rome to avenge Varus and his -legions, which had been betrayed and butchered in the great forest—had -evoked such enthusiasm in Rome and in Italy; Germanicus was so popular; -the expansionist party, always strong and now reinforced by all the -enemies of Tiberius, had made so much of the daring act of the young -general, that Tiberius had not dared to intervene, to repress, or to -moderate the dashing initiative of his young nephew and adopted son. So -he let Germanicus go on. On no account and at no cost would Tiberius, -however, again begin beyond the Rhine a dangerous and expensive -policy of provocation and expansion. Therefore, after having allowed -Germanicus to cover himself with glory through his expedition, to -collect and to bury in the great forests the bones of the butchered -legions, and to lay waste the territories of the tribes which had taken -part in the war against Rome, he called him back, in order to send -him—in the year 17 of the Christian era—to the East, complications -and difficulties having arisen in Cappadocia and Armenia. He was not -prepared to leave this ambitious, active, bold youth, the tool of his -own enemies, too long at grips with the warlike German tribes. He was -afraid that the all-powerful craving for glory might lead Germanicus -to provoke in the end some great and dangerous war. In Rome, the party -which favoured the reconquest of Germany was still powerful. Tiberius -did not want to reconquer that region. In the East, amongst unwarlike -nations, the danger was less urgent. - -So Germanicus was sent to the East—but, by way of compensation for his -recall, he was given unusually large powers. When the time came to -approve the decree which conferred these powers upon him, the party -of his friends in the Senate proposed and carried a motion giving him -power overriding that of all the governors of the separate provinces -of the whole East; the result being that he was constituted a sort of -governor-general or even viceroy. Whether Tiberius was personally in -favour of this decree, which placed half the Empire in the absolute -power of a young man of little more than thirty years of age, or not, -we do not know. The probability is that he was not, and that on this -occasion also Tiberius was the victim of the intrigues and cabals -of the party which favoured his nephew and adopted son. It was very -difficult for him to oppose laws which heaped honours on the public -darling, Germanicus, because the public imputed his opposition to base -motives, such as jealousy, envy, or the fear of opposition. What is -certain, at any rate, is that, after this decree, Tiberius suddenly -changed the governor in Syria, the most important province in the -East, the choice of whose governors rested with him. He replaced the -mediocre person who then occupied the post by a first-rate man, Cneius -Piso, a descendant of one of the most noble Roman families, of a family -which had distinguished itself in the civil wars by its aversion to -the Cæsarian party; of a family, in short, which was aristocratic, -traditionalist, and conservative to the core. Cneius Piso himself was -a determined, conservative, and energetic man, a firm partisan of the -old policy with which Rome had kept in subjection and governed so many -nations for hundreds of years. - -Tiberius’s idea is quite clear to anyone who examines it impartially. -He did not wish to leave the East at the mercy of Germanicus, who -was intelligent and good, but still young, inexperienced, and not -always deliberate, and who was easily influenced by light-headed, -irresponsible, and often vicious and corrupt flatterers. He wished to -place, at Germanicus’s elbow in the East, a serious, mature, energetic, -and cautious man; a man who could, so to speak, counterbalance him, -retrieve his more serious mistakes, keep an eye on everything he -did or said, and in every case warn him in time of the more grave -eventualities. Can we label such a device a crime? Or the sinister -expression of a morbid jealousy, as Tacitus would have us do? Was -it not rather the wise precaution of a cautious statesman, who -did not wish to rob an intelligent youth of the opportunities of -distinguishing himself and of becoming proficient in the government of -a world which would, perhaps, one day devolve upon him, though Tiberius -was at the same time anxious that the other’s inexperience should -not involve too much danger to the Empire and to himself? But the -wisest precautions are on occasions the seed of disasters of the first -magnitude. - -And so they were in this case. In the year 18 A.D., Germanicus and -Piso started, one after the other, at a short interval of time, for -the East, but they lost no time in coming to loggerheads. The first -incident occurred at Athens, which first Germanicus, and then Piso, -made a stage in the journey. Germanicus, who was an ardent admirer of -Greek culture, had wished to do honour in every possible way to the -great city in which the fire of ancient culture had burned with the -most dazzling brightness. He had entered Athens almost like a private -person, with only one lictor in attendance; and had exchanged the most -flowery and amiable speeches with the magistrates of the city. This -attitude, however, had seemed too affable to a Roman of the old stamp, -like Piso, who considered that the representative of the power of Rome -ought never to repose too great authority and confidence in the subject -nations and cities, even if they called themselves Greece and Athens, -and could pride themselves on having listened to Socrates and on having -been the first to applaud the tragedies of Sophocles and Euripides. -So Piso also stopped at Athens, but with the object of cancelling by -a brusque and harsh demeanour the impression which might have been -made by the imprudent affability of Germanicus. He, in his turn, made -a speech, full of stern reproof and almost veiled threats to the -Athenians, which seemed to everybody to be a disavowal of the speeches -of Germanicus; as if Piso intended to convey to the people of Athens -that Germanicus had spoken on his own account and not in the name of -the Roman government. - -Germanicus was an impressionable young man, but really kind-hearted -and conciliatory. He did not take, in bad part, the kind of disavowal -which Piso had inflicted on him, all the more because he knew that -Piso was the mouthpiece of a perhaps harsh version of the admonitions -of Tiberius’s experienced wisdom. Round Germanicus, however, there -stood a large party of flatterers and intriguers who had fixed on -him as the future emperor—Tiberius was already an old man—; also, -Germanicus had to wife Agrippina, a virtuous and highly educated woman, -who loved and admired him intensely, but was at the same time very -ambitious, passionate, and uncritical, prone to mistake for just and -wise everything which appeased her ardent and not ungenerous passions. -Piso was accompanied to the East by his wife, Plancina, a great friend -of Livia, Tiberius’s mother, and a great enemy of Agrippina. The -interested flatteries of friends, the fiery temperament of Agrippina, -her blind love for her husband, and her hatred for Plancina, in a -short time transformed into a violent personal conflict what Tiberius -had intended to be a discreet collaboration between a man of ripe age -and experience, and a young man full of good intentions but at times -lacking in ballast. - -For the rest, the matters which Germanicus and Piso had been sent -to the East to settle were complicated and difficult, and therefore -afforded countless opportunities and pretexts for quarrels. Rome found -herself involved in a grave difficulty in the East. Some years before, -the Parthians, left without a king, had sent to Italy for Vonones, a -son of their old King Phraates, who had been educated in Rome at the -house of Augustus. To have at the head of the Parthian Empire a king -who had been educated on the banks of the Tiber was a stroke of luck -for Rome. The Parthians, however, very soon discovered that Vonones had -become too much Latinised at Rome, and had forgotten too completely the -ideas and customs of his nation. Consequently, they had turned him out -and elected in his stead Artabanus. Vonones had fled to Armenia, and -had succeeded in getting elected King of the Armenians. But Artabanus, -not wishing his predecessor to become king of a vast empire marching -with his own, from which he might retrieve in due course the crown of -the Parthians, had succeeded also by means of various intrigues and -threats in getting Vonones expelled from Armenia. - -The difficulty which Tiberius had charged Germanicus and Piso to -study and resolve on the spot was actually this: whether Rome should -or should not give ear to Vonones’s clamour and replace him on the -throne of Armenia. The difficulty was a serious one, as each of the -two opposing courses promised grave dangers. By replacing Vonones -on the throne of Armenia, Rome might implicate herself in serious -quarrels, and perhaps in a war, with the King of the Parthians, who -was opposed to Vonones’s restoration. By not replacing him, Rome -appeared to sacrifice to the hatred of the Parthian King this faithful -client of hers, whose only fault was that he had been educated in -Rome; to be inclined to recognise that a prince who had been too -thoroughly Romanised could not govern an Oriental state,—a confession -which certainly would not encourage the protected sovereigns of Asia, -great and small, to bring themselves too closely into touch with the -affairs, ideas, and customs of the protecting state. In point of -fact, Germanicus and Piso, who were already embittered against each -other by the incidents at Athens, came into open conflict on this -point. Germanicus and his supporters were in favour of sacrificing -Vonones to the resentment of the King of the Parthians and to the -national susceptibilities of the East; while Piso, more loyal to the -authoritative traditions of the old Roman policy, which were faithfully -reflected in his own more cautious judgment, decided to defend Vonones. -Rome must not abandon the cause of this her faithful servant in the -East! - -Germanicus had, by virtue of a decree of the Senate, supreme powers -in the East; as a result his opinion carried the day, notwithstanding -all the efforts that Piso made to prevent his sacrificing Vonones, -whom Piso by way of compensation entertained, treated with honour, -and openly took under his protection. Towards the middle of the year -18, Germanicus crowned Zenon King of the Armenians in Artaxata, a son -of Polemon, King of Pontus. When, however, Germanicus asked Piso to -send into Armenia a section of the legions placed under his command, -to make an armed demonstration in favour of the new sovereign, Piso -refused. Theoretically and by virtue of the decrees of the Senate, -Germanicus had the right to give orders to Piso, and Piso ought to have -obeyed them. On the other hand, Piso represented Tiberius; and with -Germanicus, as with every other human authority, it was not enough to -possess the power, there was needed also the hardihood to use it. In -the face of Piso’s energy and the authority of Tiberius, who stood -behind Piso, Germanicus did not dare to insist. - -It is easy, however, to picture the fury and rage of Germanicus’s -friends and flatterers, to whom this kind of surveillance to which -Germanicus was subjected became more intolerable, the more it limited -indirectly their own authority. In their fury, they determined to have -their revenge, and they were not long in finding an opportunity, though -it cost them dear. Artabanus, the King of the Parthians, encouraged by -the pliability of Germanicus, sent to ask him to forbid Vonones to -live in Syria, on the ground that, as that province bordered on his -Empire, Vonones could easily use it as a base from which to intrigue -against him. In view of the fact that Vonones was in Syria as the guest -of Piso, the Parthian King was asking Germanicus in so many words to -forbid Piso to protect him. The demand was, in truth, excessive and -somewhat humiliating for Rome; but Germanicus’s _entourage_ saw in -this demand a means of humiliating Piso, and worked and talked to such -effect that Germanicus conceded to it and shut Vonones up in a city -in Cilicia. A checkmate had been inflicted on Piso, but the price of -it was a humiliation for Rome. Piso and his party had good reason for -accusing Germanicus and his _entourage_ of compromising with singular -levity the prestige of Rome in the East. - -At the end of the year 18, then, the conflict between Germanicus, -invested by a decree of the Senate with the general governorship of -the East and supported by a numerous party of Tiberius’s opponents, -and Piso, who, as charged by Tiberius with the governorship of Syria, -the most important province in the East, represented in the East the -will of the Emperor, had become so acute and violent as to upset in a -most dangerous manner the whole Eastern policy of Rome. The conflict -became still more grave in the following year. At the beginning of the -year 19, Germanicus, who was an enlightened young man, and therefore -desirous of travelling and seeing the famous spots, the monuments, -and the customs of various nations, made with Agrippina an extensive -trip through Egypt, impelled by curiosity to visit that ancient -and celebrated country, which even then exercised so mysterious a -fascination on the minds of the peoples of the West. - -While he was on his way to see the Pyramids, however, was interrogating -the mysterious smile of the Sphinx, and was cleaving the sacred stream -of the Nile, Piso profited by his absence to avenge himself for the -checkmate which he had suffered the year before on Vonones’s account. -Either on his own initiative, or, it may be, because he had meanwhile -received instructions from Tiberius, Piso abolished or modified many -of the dispositions which Germanicus, by virtue of his extraordinary -powers, had made for Syria, the year before. Imagine the fury of -Germanicus, of Agrippina, and of his friends and flatterers, on his -return! Was this then all the deference Piso paid to the decrees of -the Senate and of the authority conferred by them on Germanicus? Did -Piso think himself lord of the East, because he was the friend and -representative of Tiberius? On Germanicus’s return there were some -violent altercations between him and Piso. This time, Germanicus, -impelled by passion, by the incitements of his flatterers, and also -by the fear of losing all authority in the eyes of the province if -he should yield once more, plucked up courage to resort to extreme -measures. In the exercise of his extraordinary powers, he ordered -Piso to give up the governorship of the province which Tiberius had -entrusted to him. This step, in view of the fact that Piso was the -representative of Tiberius, was a bold one, but it was quite a legal -one. In disobeying it, Piso was obliged to assume an attitude of open -defiance of the laws. Since Germanicus had dared to make use of this -power, and on this occasion showed that he meant business and was -determined to carry the matter through, it was Piso’s duty to give way -and obey, subject to the right of protest to Tiberius and of obtaining -from him just compensation for the affront he had received. - -Piso resigned his office and left the province; and travelled at an -easy rate in short stages towards Italy. When he arrived at Seleucia, -he was overtaken by the news that Germanicus was seriously ill at -Antioch. He halted, waiting for new and more authentic news; which -arrived in a few days, and announced to him the young man’s death. What -was his illness? We do not know. Untimely deaths were frequent in the -family of Augustus. It seemed as if many of the younger members had -not the strength to stand the life of drudgery and fatigue to which he -compelled them, by way of preparation for the government of the Empire. -However that may be, Piso no sooner knew that Germanicus was dead than -he returned to Syria with the object of re-occupying the province. How -great, however, was his surprise to learn that it had been decided -amongst the friends of Germanicus, after the latter’s death, to entrust -the command of the legions and the government of the province to one -of themselves, Gnæus Senzius! - -This nomination of Senzius was illegal—there can be no doubt about -that. With the death of Germanicus, the extraordinary power by which he -had momentarily removed Piso from the province, himself assuming its -government, came to an end; therefore the province and the command of -the armed forces re-devolved on Piso. The friends of Germanicus had no -right or power to nominate a substitute for him. But for what reason -had they arrived at so grave a decision? Germanicus was surrounded -in the East by many friends, many admirers, and many flatterers, who -had placed their hopes in him, as the future emperor. His death was, -therefore, a disaster for the ambitions and aspirations of many. On -the other hand, it had been sudden, unforeseen, and mysterious; a fact -which, in times when the causes and symptoms of illness were much less -easily recognised than they are at present, readily lent itself to -the engendering of suspicions, especially the suspicion of poisoning, -then so common and so easy. Before the corpse of Germanicus had been -burnt, Agrippina and all the _entourage_ of the dead man’s intimates -were persuaded, and were stating openly, that Germanicus had been -poisoned,—and poisoned by Piso in revenge. Hence arose the necessity of -their preventing Piso, even at the cost of a breach of the laws, from -re-occupying his province, in which they wished to be left supreme, so -as to be able to collect the proofs of the crime of which Germanicus -was the reported victim. For instance, they imprisoned an old woman -called Martina, who was said to be an intimate friend of Plancina, a -witch by profession. Her they accused of having supplied the poison, -and of having sent it to Rome. - -When Piso first heard of the accusation, he did not take it very -seriously, and tried to force a re-entry into the province from which -his adversaries were illegally excluding him. Perhaps he hoped that -when he, the legitimate pro-consul, presented himself, the oppositions, -which the others pretended to be ready to make, would fade away. In -this he was disappointed. Gnæus Senzius resisted, a few insignificant -skirmishes took place, and a civil war on a small scale was about to -begin. The prospect, however, frightened both sides, and, not wishing -that so small a matter of principle should result in a real civil war, -both parties—Piso, Senzius, and the friends of Germanicus—agreed to go -in a body to Rome and to submit the question to the Emperor. And so -they did. - -When, however, they arrived, they found Italy and Rome in an incredible -state of agitation. Germanicus was most popular, not only because he -was really attractive to a great many people, but because everybody in -his admiration and sympathy for him vented the discontent and repulsion -which the rough character and iron policy of Tiberius inspired in one. -The popular voice had gone so far as to say that Germanicus had made -up his mind to restore, when he became Emperor, the republic of ancient -times in every detail, and that Tiberius on this account suspected -and hated him! Not only, then, was his premature death bitterly -lamented by everybody; but the explanation which his friends gave of -it—that Germanicus had died of poison by the contrivance of Piso—was -immediately accepted as true, evident, and proved. Even at the present -day, the masses are easily convinced of tales of crimes and poisonings. -Imagine how it must have been in those days! And the desire for -vengeance followed hard on the general feeling of grief and horror. The -wish was expressed on all sides that Piso should be given an exemplary -punishment; it was impossible to allow so execrable a crime to go -unpunished. Would some noble friend of Germanicus, then, arise and -revenge his death? At the same time, other rumours, no less fantastic, -were being whispered from ear to ear. No; the trial would never take -place. Piso was secretly protected by Tiberius, and Plancina by Livia. -Nobody would dare attack them! - -The arrival of Agrippina, who, at the end of 19 A.D., reached Brindisi -with Germanicus’s ashes; the transportation of the ashes to Rome in -the midst of the most moving demonstrations of grief on the part of -the Italian cities; the solemn celebration of the funeral rites in -Rome, made the situation still more serious. Public exasperation -increased, not only against Piso, but also against Tiberius. Tiberius -and Livia had not taken part in the funeral ceremonies for Germanicus -at Rome; the latter because she was too old and infirm, the former -because he had avoided recently as much as possible investing family -ceremonies with superfluous official importance. The public, however, -began to accuse these two of not being at all displeased at the death -of Germanicus. Of course, that young man had always given umbrage to -Tiberius. Had not the latter recalled him from Germany, so that he -should not cover himself with too much glory? - -It was not long before even graver charges began to be whispered about. -Piso had arrived at Rome by way of the Tiber, disembarking near the -Tomb of the Cæsars, the resting-place of the ashes of his victim, and -with a large retinue of friends had made an ostentatious progress to -his house above the Forum, where he had given a great banquet. It was -clear, then, that he had no fears. He defied public opinion and the -Courts. And his attitude was justified, for he had acted on the orders -of Tiberius, and possessed a letter from him in which these orders were -given. That letter was his shield of defence against every danger! -In point of fact, public suspicion was by now being diverted from -Piso against a higher target. It was being directed straight against -Tiberius and Livia. And Agrippina, whom grief was robbing of the little -sense which nature had given her, added fuel to the enmities and -suspicions in the public and the Senate through her lamentations, her -recriminations, and her accusations, which were as vehement as they -were unfounded. - -When at last, therefore, certain persons,—Fulcinius Trio, Vitellius, -and Veranius,—incited by public opinion, by the friends of Germanicus, -who cried for vengeance, and by Agrippina, who would hear of no -mercy, decided to accuse Piso and Plancina of poison, as well as Piso -and his son Marcius of having tried to stir up civil war, Tiberius -found himself in a most grave dilemma. It seems that trials such as -these, involving persons of the highest rank and acts of a political -character, could not be set in motion without the approval of the -Emperor, who had the additional privilege of deciding whether the case -should come before the ordinary tribunal,—the jury, as in trials of -Verres and Clodius,—or whether he ought to entrust it instead to the -Senate. Tiberius did not believe in the imputation of poison, which was -the only really grave charge brought against Piso,—the other charge, -that of civil war, being more in the nature of a second string. He did -not believe in the poison charge, just as no sensible and impartial man -believed in it, just as Tacitus, years later, did not believe in it, -even though, with his usual malice, he has done all he could to induce -posterity to accept it as true. Tiberius did not believe in it, for -not only was there no proof of the charge itself, but it was in itself -absurd. In fact, the accusers, when forced to explain when and in what -way Piso had poisoned Germanicus, had found themselves reduced to -asserting that, at a banquet to which Germanicus had invited Piso, and -at which Piso was seated at a considerable distance from Germanicus, -Piso, at a moment when Germanicus was looking in another direction, had -poured the poison into his wine, actually in the midst of his host’s -numerous servants and in the presence of the guests! This story may -be taken as a sample of the whole accusation. Tiberius then knew that -the charge was a romance, created and magnified by the political and -partisan enmities which amongst the Roman nobility were so violent, -by the credulity of the public, by the unreasoning hatred the people -felt towards himself and the supreme authority with which he had been -invested. He would, therefore, gladly have cut the trial short at the -very beginning. - -Could he do so, however? This Emperor, whom so many inexperienced -historians have represented as a terrible despot, was in reality -possessed of much less power as head of the State than his present-day -detractors suppose. He was obliged to take into account public opinion, -however obtuse and mad it might be. He was vaguely suspected of having -prompted Piso to poison Germanicus, or at least of having willingly -shut his eyes to the crime. If he prevented the charge being brought, -would not this be the strongest confirmation of this mad calumny? Would -not the whole populace murmur in their anger that the unfortunate -Germanicus had been robbed, first of life, and then of vengeance,—and -by the man who was his adoptive father? This, in the eyes of the -ancients, constituted the gravest dereliction of family obligations. -The trial was a satisfaction which the public demanded; and the -Emperor—that pretended despot, lord of the whole State—had not power -enough to refuse it. - -So Tiberius was forced to consent to the trial. Being, however, a -wise and level-headed man, he remitted it to the Senate, the one of -the two tribunals which might be expected with greater reason to be -enlightened and serene. The other—the _quæstio_, or, as we should say, -the jury—was too closely in contact with public opinion, and not likely -to be able to exercise calm judgment in a case in which public opinion -was so much excited and prejudiced against the principal defendant. -The Senate, on the contrary, was the gravest body in the Republic, -and might be expected to rise superior to popular passions in the -exercise of its judicial functions. Nevertheless, even in the Senate, -the friends of Germanicus and the enemies of Tiberius were to be found -in force. Not only this, but a fierce antipathy divided the ancient -from the new nobility. During the fifty years which followed the end -of the civil wars, many recently ennobled families had entered the -Senate. Amongst these, the families of ancient nobility, those whose -glory dated back to the grand era of the Republic, at this time formed -only a small yet haughty minority, which lived apart, despised the new -nobility, and kept aloof as far as possible. Now Piso belonged to one -of these ancient families, and to one of the most glorious of them. -The constitution of the Senate as the tribunal, meant, therefore, -entrusting the decision of the case to the new, upstart nobility, which -was full of blind rancour against the haughtiness of the old families. - -In any case there was no other tribunal; and between the two evils, -Tiberius could only choose the lesser. However, he realised so clearly -the gravity of the dangers which surrounded the course of justice, in -the midst of so many frenzied passions, in this trial which had been -engineered by insensate hatreds and rancours, that when, as president -of the Senate, he had to open the sessions, he made a speech, the -gist of which Tacitus has preserved for us. Whoever reads it cannot -help recognising the spirit of profound wisdom and equity which -inspires it. Tiberius explained quite clearly to the Senate that -the charge of poisoning levelled against Piso, if true, would be an -extremely serious matter. He reminded them, however, that Piso was a -prominent man, who had rendered eminent services to the Republic and -belonged to one of the most ancient and noble families in Rome. They -must, therefore, bring the most serene impartiality to bear on their -judgment, forgetting who was the accused, if they found him guilty, -forgetting who was the victim, if they found him innocent. However -great his affection for Germanicus might be, nothing would induce him -to wish for the sacrifice on the latter’s tomb, of an innocent man, for -the satisfaction of the insensate mania for revenge which had taken -possession of the public. - -The speech was a wise and humane one; but what could sober words, even -from an Emperor’s mouth, avail when passions are aroused? The Senate -allotted two days to the prosecution, three to the defence. There was -to be an interval of six days between the two sections of the trial. -For two whole days, the accusers talked, reconstructing, as Cicero had -done in Verres’s case, the whole history of Piso’s life. They went -so far as to accuse him of having misgoverned the previous provinces -he had had; they went minutely into the history of his government in -Syria, and repeated the fantastic story of the poisoning. Tacitus -himself recognised that the charges were very weak, especially the -accusation of poisoning, which was the only serious one. Accordingly, -the first impression made by the trial was very uncertain. The public -was prejudiced in favour of the prosecution; in the Senate there -was a strong party hostile to Piso. After all, however, the Senate -was a great political body, and many of its members could not but -recognise that the charges were slender ones. Everybody felt that the -issue depended on Tiberius, who could, according as he showed himself -favourable or the reverse, weigh down the scales on the side of -acquittal or of conviction. Everybody, therefore, looked towards him, -with hope or with anxiety. But Tiberius listened to the prosecution -without moving an eyelid, as impassive as a statue, without allowing -a glimpse into his secret thoughts on the subject. Could he act -otherwise? If he had shown himself favourable to Piso, he would have -been accused of shielding the murderers of Germanicus, through hatred -of his adopted son or even through actual complicity in the crime. He -could not and would not attach himself, however, to the mob which cried -for Piso’s head, innocent or guilty. He was too haughty and too serious -a man to descend to such baseness. Recognise that public opinion was -a force of which account must be taken,—this he was prepared to do; -pander to it like a slave, at the cost of honour and justice,—no. - -Rarely had a Roman Emperor found himself placed, by the suspicions -of the public, by the mad passions of the people, by the perfidious -malevolence of the cabals and _coteries_, in a more difficult position. -The six days that elapsed between the prosecution and the defence must -have been thorny days for Tiberius. Inasmuch as a nod from him could -weigh down the scales, both parties tried to influence him. Piso and -his friends worked to induce him and Livia to make up their minds -to intervene openly in the Senate on behalf of outraged innocence. -The other side endeavoured to frighten him. They accused Tiberius -_sotto voce_ of having favoured Piso unjustly in his speech to the -Senate, in which he had already assumed the charge of poisoning to -be untrue. They circulated the story of the compromising letter in -Piso’s possession which the latter threatened to read in the Senate, -if Tiberius did not help him. Meanwhile Agrippina was filling Rome -with her lamentations and imprecations, and the public agitation was -increasing. Cries were heard on every side that Germanicus must be -avenged. Piso’s position was tragic. But Tiberius would not depart from -the line of conduct, that of impartiality, which he had marked out for -himself—hoping, perhaps, that the trial would furnish him sooner or -later with an opportunity of preserving justice without laying himself -open to suspicions of too debasing a nature. He allowed Livia, however, -to interest herself openly in behalf of Plancina against whom also -charges were levelled; and Livia’s intervention might be indirectly of -service to Piso, as it made it clear, to those who cared to see, that -Germanicus’s own grandmother did not believe in the charge of poisoning. - -Piso was an energetic man. Confident in the justice of his case, -he reappeared in the Senate when, after the lapse of six days, the -sessions again began; and defended himself in a clever, energetic, and -resolute speech. He seems to have been especially happy in the way in -which he shattered the charge of poisoning. He demanded that his own -slaves, and those belonging to Germanicus who had been present at the -famous banquet at which it was suggested that he had put poison in -the dead man’s wine, should be put to the torture. The speech made a -lively impression, and would probably have saved Piso, had not serious -disorders broken out in Rome while he was speaking in the Senate. An -immense popular demonstration invaded the precincts of the Senate, -while he was speaking, howling for his execution, and crying that, -if the Senate acquitted him, they had serious thoughts of avenging -Germanicus by lynching the judges. A section burst into the Forum, -overturned the statues, and made as if to drag them away to the Gemoniæ -and to break them in pieces. It was found necessary to send Piso to his -house with an escort of soldiers, in order to save him from violence. - -What was the origin of these demonstrations? Were they the natural -explosion of popular passion, fed by the ready credulity of the -masses? Were they stirred up by the enemies of Tiberius and Piso, to -impress the hesitating section of the Senate? We shall never know. -All that is certain is that, by the evening of the day on which these -demonstrations took place, nobody in Rome, least of all the accused, -was any longer under the delusion that Piso could be acquitted of the -charge, however absurd and unjust it might be. The Senate, weakened by -so many internal dissensions and by so many civil wars, was no longer a -strong enough assembly to dare resist this mad fury on the part of the -masses. By evening, Piso had lost all heart and had already made up his -mind to give up the struggle. But his sons gathered round him and put -into him fresh courage. Renewed efforts were made to induce Tiberius -to oppose his authority to the torrent of calumny and insensate hate. -Had Tiberius left room for one glimmer of light? or did Piso’s sons -and friends delude themselves and delude him? It is certain that next -day Piso again plucked up courage and returned to the Senate, where -he continued his defence, parrying and countering fresh attacks, with -his eyes ever fixed on Tiberius, the man who more than anyone else was -persuaded of his innocence, and from whom a word might be so useful to -him. Tiberius, however, did not dare pronounce that word. Surrounded as -he was by so many enemies and suspicions, not even he—the lord of the -world, as the historians call him—felt himself strong enough to engage -in open duel with the public opinion of Rome and the majority in the -Senate. So, when he perceived that Tiberius himself could not or would -not help him, Piso abandoned the struggle. Returning home that evening, -he anticipated his certain conviction by committing suicide during the -night. - -The public had gained their victim, to comfort them in their grief for -the premature loss of Germanicus. The enemies of Piso were, however, -not content, and proposed that the name of Piso be erased from the -_fasti_, and that the half of his goods be confiscated; that his son -Marcus be imprisoned for ten years, only Plancina, out of regard -for Livia, being allowed to go unpunished. But Tiberius judged that -the blood of Piso was expiation enough for a crime which nobody had -committed; and, since the public had had their bloody satisfaction, -he intervened openly, and, by virtue of his authority, prevented the -erasure of Piso’s name from the _fasti_, as well as the confiscation of -his goods and the condemnation of his son. - -The trial of Piso was one of the most savage of all the judicial -dramas in Roman history. The trial of Clodius had been a comedy, that -of Verres a tragi-comedy, that of Piso was pure tragedy and terrible -tragedy. For it was an episode in the gradual extermination of the old -and glorious Roman nobility, which was being brought about by the new -social forces which, during the years of peace, had grown up under the -shadow of the imperial authority. How sad a spectacle are these trials -which from time to time recur in history! The penal law ought to be -the sacred instrument of justice, which punishes the wrong-doers, and -defends and comforts the good citizens. The world is, however, full of -wicked passions; and wicked passions find fertile soil in political -parties, social classes, and public opinion—that vague power which -has come so much to the fore in the last hundred years. These evil -passions, from time to time, seize hold of the instruments of justice, -and convert them into instruments of torment and persecution for the -torture, the defamation, and the extermination of the innocent, for -whom there is no way of escape, no refuge, and no pity. - -These trials prove one thing,—a truth which perhaps the modern world, -in which the power of public opinion has increased so much, ought -always to bear in mind. And that is, that the stronger public opinion -is in a state, the more necessary it is for that state to have an -unperturbed, independent, enlightened judicature, armed with a vigorous -and clear doctrine of justice, backed by a powerful government, which -can hold its own against the most violent gusts of public opinion, and -execute real justice in the teeth of the crooked malevolence of the -masses. Otherwise justice can only too easily degenerate into a kind of -tragic farce. - - - - -PART V - -THE LIMIT OF SPORT - - - - -THE LIMIT OF SPORT[1] - - -“Αριστον ὕδωρ,” says Pindar. “Water is good,” as it is often -translated. But why should a hymn in honour of a victor in the -games begin with a sentiment which would be much better suited to -an anti-alcoholic league? ὕδωρ here does not mean water; it is the -corresponding word to the Latin _sudor_, which means sweat,—the symbol -of the physical effort made by the athlete. “Excellent is sweat,” that -is to say, the effort made by the victor in training himself and in -winning an arduous victory. - - [1] Speech delivered at the opening of the Congress of - the Psychology of Sport at Lausanne, May 6, 1913. - -Αριστον ὕδωρ, then, says the clarion voice of one of the noblest sons -of Greece, the great poet who, in honour of the sport of his times, -has clothed in lyric poetry the dazzling myths of Hellenic polytheism. -The motto has travelled down the ages, and we, too, are assembled here -to interpret it after the fashion of our times. Is it not inevitable -that the speech I have to make should be merely a development of this -undying theme, ἄριστον ὕδωρ? And yet you would be justified in asking -why this task should devolve on this occasion upon a man who spends -his whole life in plying a tool—the pen—which is too light to convince -him of the truth of Pindar’s apothegm. It is true that there was a time -when he who has the honour of addressing you was not yet an examiner -of historical documents nor a student of philosophical problems; when -he was, on the contrary, an ardent gymnast. I will even confess to -you that the first time his name appeared in the newspapers, it was -in the accounts of gymnastic and athletic meetings, in connection -with which some amiable reporters thought it proper to comment on -his squirrel-like agility. But those times are, alas! long past. The -over-violent passion for physical exercises which was his between the -ages of ten and fifteen years obliged him suddenly to drop them. He -has allowed his muscles gradually to be invaded and eaten up by that -physical laziness which enervates so many thinkers of the present day, -and which upsets the balance of their bodily forces. - -You see, then, that these far-distant memories cannot give me authority -to claim a right, however small, to address you on this occasion. I -am a stranger in this world of sport, which has developed so rapidly -in the last thirty years. I have followed only at a distance the -movement which has given it birth, and I should find myself in great -difficulties if I had to discuss in its details one of the numberless -questions attaching to this form of contemporary activity. What -authority, then, have I for addressing you on this occasion? None. And -the kindness which Baron de Coubertin has shown in honouring me with an -invitation to address you, though most flattering to me, cannot fill -the void left by manifest incompetence for the task. You will tell me -that I should have done better to remember the wise advice Homer gave -the cobbler, and to refuse this honour of which I was not worthy. And -you will be right. But I would excuse myself by telling you first of -all that it is difficult to refuse anything to so distinguished and -amiable a man and to so ardent an advocate of the causes he makes his -own as M. de Coubertin. Secondly, if I am a sportsman who long ago has -made his final exit, I am also a man who tries, as far as his feeble -wits will allow him, to understand that life outside himself in which -he can take no immediate and direct part. - -Is not that the rôle, and in a certain sense the obsession, of the -historian? The historian must understand all the forms and phenomena of -life; crimes, intrigues, battles, wars, revolutions, loves, hatreds, -perfidies, the hidden weaknesses of great men, the blind impulses of -the masses, the noblest and the basest sentiments which actuate the -human mind. If we were required to have experienced everything that we -are required to understand, the profession of historian would be the -most difficult and the most dangerous in the world; for, in order to -qualify, a man would have at least to run the risk of the galleys or -of the scaffold. Without a doubt, this necessity of understanding all -the forms of the life outside is also one of the great weaknesses of -historians. Often they make mistakes; even more often, the picture they -give of things seems but pale by contrast with the living reality, to -those who have actually lived that reality. I am quite sure that this -will be my fate, if I talk to you about things which you know better -than do I. That, however, is the inevitable drawback of the profession, -and I shall go through with my task, relying on your kind indulgence. - -I shall talk to you, then, about sport in modern life as a man who -has considered it from outside. I shall philosophise awhile about -sport, if you will allow me; for to philosophise about a thing is -often a polite way of talking about a thing regarding which the -speaker has little knowledge to people whose knowledge regarding it -is considerable. And I will ask myself this question: What is and -what ought to be the function of sport in modern society? What is -its rôle, and what are its limits? Put thus, the question is but a -particular form of a more general question which philosophers have -long been asking themselves: What is the mutual and reciprocal rôle of -the different human activities? It is a well-known truth that with the -advances of civilisation social life undergoes an inward process of -differentiation. Commerce separates from industry, industry from war, -war from government, government from the intellectual activities, which -in their turn become specialised,—art, science, religion, etc. We get -professions, corporations, institutions, and classes corresponding to -all these different activities; men, that is to say, who have passions, -ambitions, desires, needs, and interests, and who quickly come into -conflict with one another. What parts ought to be allowed to all these -different activities? Which is the most necessary, the most noble, -and the most exalted? Which ought to be surrounded with the greatest -respect, covered with the greatest honours, and recompensed with the -most considerable rewards? - -Men have answered this question in countless different ways. It is, -however, easy to discover in many of these answers a common tendency -that is a proneness to consider as first and all-important the -corporation, profession, or institution to which each inquirer belongs. -A savant is easily convinced that the end of life is the search after -the truth. In his eyes, the universe must exist only in order that -men of science may discover its laws and its secrets. For artists, on -the other hand, the world has been created to enable them to adorn it -with pictures, statues, or buildings. For the soldier war is the end -of existence, while the merchant sees in commerce the beneficent force -which makes the world go round. And so on. All these theories seem -sober fact to those who formulate them; unfortunately the others, those -who belong to a different class or profession, reject them as absurd -and ridiculous errors. - -How are the various views to be reconciled? A certain number of -philosophers have tried to raise themselves above these too narrow or -too biassed points of view, and to find solutions of general value. -Many have been proposed; now is not the time to discuss the principal -ones. So I will confine myself to expounding to you that one of these -theories which seems to me the simplest, the most ingenious, and -the most useful for the resolution of the problem which we have set -ourselves in connection with sport. It is the theory of the limits. All -human activities ought to be reciprocal limits. - -Take art and morality for instance: What relation ought they to bear to -each other? The question has been discussed with ardour. Artists, and -many of their friends, have tried to postulate a violent schism between -the two, proclaiming that art has the right to search for beauty -wherever she can find it, without bothering herself about morality. -Super-moralists, on the contrary, have tried to make art the slave of -morality, asserting that the former ought to be always ready to obey -its orders and to sacrifice herself to its demands. But would it not -be more reasonable and more human to say that art and morality are -reciprocal limits? Morality is one of art’s limits; without wishing to -make her its slave, it can and must prevent her from seeking beauty -in certain subjects and certain incidents which would be dangerous to -morals or to the pure-mindedness of the public. The forms of beauty are -so numerous. Why should not art refrain for moral reasons from seeking -for some of them? But art on her side is a limit of morality; she is -in no way anxious to dominate it, but she can and must prevent morality -from going astray in its search for perfection. Those who are familiar -with history know that a spice of artistic taste has always been the -best remedy for the most dangerous or the most repugnant excesses of -asceticism. - -Let us take another example. A question which has much exercised -men’s minds is whether art and science ought to set before themselves -practical ends, or whether they are in themselves ends. There are -people who would like to subordinate the rest of the world to art and -to science. This entails requiring of art and science that they should -seek beauty and truth without having in view any utilitarian end, -without troubling themselves to ask whether they are useful or hurtful -to man. Others again propose to subordinate art and science to the rest -of the world, asserting that every art and every science which does -not serve practical ends is a waste of time and trouble. Here, too, it -seems to me that it would be more human to say that science and art -seek truth and beauty, not utility. Utility, then, is not the end of -art and of science; but it is one of their limits. The truths which the -human mind can discover, like the forms of beauty which it can create, -are infinite. - -Is it strange, then, that man, unable to discover all the truths or -to create all the forms of beauty, should choose for preference those -which, in addition to conferring intellectual or æsthetic pleasure, -help him to live? Can anyone see anything absurd in this? If a man set -to work to build edifices with the sole object of pleasing the eye -through harmonious lines, he could build them as fancy prompted him; -there would be no limit either to the variety of forms or to the number -of different constructions. Will anybody be found to maintain that art -has the right to fill the world with beautiful edifices which are of no -use for anything? No, practical considerations have their claim. Even -the epochs in which architecture flourished most bravely built edifices -which, while beautiful to look at, served also definite ends; and -nobody has ever protested against the limitations which this practical -consideration imposed. - - * * * * * - -Similarly sport must, in my opinion, be considered as a limit; the -limit necessary to the excesses of an intellectual and sedentary -civilisation, which exposes the nervous system to formidable trials. -M. de Coubertin has analysed this aspect of modern life so well in his -_Essais de psychologie sportive_, that I beg leave to quote one of the -numerous fine passages from that book: - - La vie moderne n’est plus ni locale ni spéciale; tout y influe - sur tout. D’une part la rapidité et la multiplicité des - transports ont fait de l’homme un être essentiellement mobile, - pour le quel les distances sont de plus en plus insignifiantes - à franchir et sollicitent, par conséquent, de fréquents - changements de lieu; d’autre part l’égalisation des points de - départ et la possibilité d’élévations rapides vers le pouvoir - et la fortune ont excité les appétits et les ambitions des - masses à un point inconnu jusqu’ ici.... Ce double élément a - transformé de façon fondamentale l’effort humain. L’effort - d’autre-fois était régulier et constant; une certaine sécurité - résultant de la stabilité sociale, le protégeait. Surtout, il - n’était pas cérébral a un degré excessif. Celui d’aujourd’hui - est tout autre. L’inquiétude et l’espérance l’environnent avec - une intensité particulière. C’est que l’échec et la réussite - ont dé nos jours des conséquences énormes. L’homme peut à la - fois tout craindre et tout espérer. De cet état de chose est - née une agitation que les transformations de la vie extérieure - encouragent et accroissent. Au dedans et au dehors le cerveau - est entretenu dans une sorte d’ébullition incessante. Les - points de vue, les aspects des choses, les combinaisons, - les possibilités, tant pour les individus que pour les - collectivités, se succèdent si rapidement qu’il faut pour en - tenir compte et les utilises au besoin se tenir toujours en - éveil et comme en une mobilisation permanente. - -This picture of modern life is perfect. Never has man lived in such a -state of permanent and growing excitement. If the men of the ancient -world could come to life again, their first impression, you may be -sure, would be that mankind had gone mad. It is this excitement which -has produced the formidable explosion of energy that we are witnessing -on our little planet, which for ages had lived in comparative -tranquillity. But has not this formidable tension of the world-soul -itself need of limits? Can we conceive its being allowed to increase -indefinitely until the time when the nervous system breaks down as -inevitably it must? Can we conceive our perpetual agitation being -left without any limit save exhaustion, insanity, or death? The -question answers itself. The limits to the over-excitement of our -nerves raise one of the most serious problems of our epoch; a problem -with a thousand different aspects, which involves morals as well as -hygiene, politics as well as the intellectual life. Now sport may -be one of these limits, if it be practised—again I borrow from M. -de Coubertin—with calmness, “s’il devient cet empire du Matin Calme -d’où les deux vampires de notre civilisation—la hâte et la foule—sont -chassés”; if it be made, not one more in the long list of causes of -excitement and exhaustion, but a health-giving diversion, a beneficent -force capable of spraying the nerves with that divine ambrosia, now -so rare and so precious—healthy sleep and peace of mind. No one who -is convinced of the supreme necessity for limits can doubt that this -conception of sport is the truest, worthiest, and most beneficial; -indeed, the only one that is in its turn susceptible of a limit and -runs no risk of losing itself in excesses,—those excesses of sport, in -its quality of spectacle for the masses, whose brutalising and corrupt -effects are notorious. - -A balancing force, a counterpoise to the intellectual excesses of -a sedentary, nervous civilisation which is agitated by a perpetual -excitement, that is what sport ought to be. I hasten to add that I -cannot claim the credit for this definition, not that it is in itself a -very striking discovery. An opponent might even say that it is almost a -platitude; a special application of that principle which is as old as -the hills, and which the Greeks expressed in their formula, μηδὲν ἅγαν, -nothing in excess. Granted; but it is sometimes a good thing to repeat -platitudes, for human wisdom is not an inexhaustible mine of ever-new -principles and ideas. Its treasure-house is stored with platitudes, -which have only become such because man is always requiring their -repetition. Besides, when questions touching moral and social life are -under discussion, the intellectual point of view is not by any means -the most important. Those principles of wisdom which seem the easiest -and simplest to announce are not those which are always the simplest in -practice, and the easiest to carry into execution. μηδὲν ἅγαν—nothing -in excess—has been to men the cry of wisdom since the beginning of -time. Is it not the clearest and the simplest of principles? Need one -be a profound philosopher to understand that moderation in the use of -everything, even of good things, is necessary? This truth is indeed -one which the simplest mind is capable of understanding. Yet life is -but an eternal struggle against excesses of all sorts, to which man is -continually tempted to give way. Why? Because though the precept be -clear and evident, to apply it man has to struggle with his passions, -with his own interests, and those of others, and with the illusions and -errors that assail him on all sides. Consequently, he must be under no -illusion. - -You are at one in a conception of sport which is the noblest and wisest -possible, because it regards sport as a balancing force between the -diverse elements of social life. You band together and join forces in -order to popularise this conception. It is a useful and a wise task; -but it will expose you to wearisome struggles, and you must be prepared -for many a bitter disappointment. In every epoch, those who have wished -to introduce equilibrium into life have had to struggle against this -mysterious force which drives men into every excess. But in no epoch -and in no civilisation perhaps has this struggle been so difficult and -wearisome as it is in contemporary civilisation. It is a phenomenon -which few people nowadays take clearly and precisely into account; but -which is, nevertheless, the keystone of the greatest difficulties by -which our civilisation is beset. Yes, there is no doubt about it, we -are living at an extraordinary crisis in history. Man has never been -so powerful, so wise, so rich, so sure of himself and of his future. -He has dared to lift his eyes and gaze steadily at the sombre mystery -of things, before which he had for so many centuries bowed his head -in trembling. He has conquered the world and torn from it its most -recondite treasures. He has cast aside all the supports which sustained -our ancestors in their toilsome march through life—traditions, -religions, beliefs, all the principles of unquestioning obedience. He -had succeeded to a certain degree in conquering space and time. All the -civilisations which preceded the French Revolution seem, if we compare -them with ours, small, limited, timid, poor, and inadequate. - -Yet modern man does not seem to have any very distinct and sure -consciousness of his actual greatness. He may be elated by an -occasional fit of glowing pride, but as often as not he is -discontented. He grumbles; he sincerely deplores the vices and -imperfections of his day. A broad and deep current of pessimism flows -through the fabulous wealth and the wonders of our times. Why? Because -our civilisation is by the very nature of its constitution unable to -thrive save on excesses; and it can thrive only on excesses because it -has acquired so much power by overturning nearly all the limits within -which previous civilisations had confined themselves. - -How marvellous an epic, but how disquieting in its novelty and its -grandeur, is this gradual awakening of human daring and pride, of -which the history of the last four centuries is full! For its first -appearance dates back to the great geographical discoveries of the -fifteenth century, and to that which was the greatest of all those -discoveries—America. - -A few years later saw the astronomic revolution. Ancient thought, after -long deliberation, had decided to enclose the universe in a confined -system, with established limits. Copernicus took no notice of these -limits, and launched out in thought into the infinite. The impression -produced on the men of the sixteenth century by these two great events -was profound. The bold spirits who had dared to cross the two limits -considered insuperable on earth and in the sky had come back with a -rich booty of land and stars. - -Was the world then greater and man more powerful than the ancients -had thought, and had the ancients been wrong in seeking to limit the -efforts of human genius so strictly? Gradually, during the seventeenth -and eighteenth centuries, the effort of the human spirit to free itself -from the ancient limits continued, increased, and became bolder and -more methodical. Subtle and ingenious philosophies delivered masked -but clear attacks on the limits which marked the bounds of Good and -Evil, Truth and Error; on tradition, on century-old institutions, on -authority in all its forms. They pretended to wish to ascertain whether -the limits were solidly planted in the right place; but in reality they -undermined their foundations. Little by little an idea crept into men’s -minds, an idea which was the negation of all the limits within which -the world had lived until then; an idea which was bound to upset the -conception of social and moral life; the idea of liberty, applied to -religion, culture, and politics. At the same time, by means of science -and fire, man sought very timidly, if not to free himself from, at -least to enlarge, the limits which nature seemed to have set to his -forces. The strata of coal began to be discovered and exploited. Men -set themselves to invent machines more complicated and more rapid -than those of which their fathers made use; the steam-engine, the -fountainhead of all the formidable agitation which has invaded the -world, made its appearance; the great era of iron and of fire began. -And lo! finally a formidable cataclysm, of which man had never seen -the like in a few years, upset traditions, and wrought havoc amongst -states, institutions, and old-established laws. To the strains of the -_Marseillaise_, on the ruins of the Bastile, on the fields of Marengo -and Austerlitz, the work sketched out by Columbus and Copernicus, -continued by Galileo, Descartes, Voltaire, Rousseau, and Kant, was -completed. Man arose, tore up, and overturned all the ancient limits -and planted the new ones with his own hands, at his own good pleasure, -not only for himself but also for the authorities of Heaven and earth, -who had until then imposed their limits upon him. - -Then began the extraordinary drama of which we are the spectators. -Rich, wise, and free, armed with fire and science, mistress of a large -part of the earth and, in particular, of a continent so vast and -rich as America, irked no longer by any limit, not by extent nor by -weight nor by matter and its laws which it has conquered, thanks to -discoveries and to machines, nor by God, whom it has banished to the -infinite, itself usurping His earthly throne, our civilisation expanded -in every direction, as it were, carried away by the intoxication of the -unlimited. Man rose erect like a giant, to face nature and the past; -and like a giant whom none can resist he swept on and conquered the -world. - -Like a giant, indeed, but like a giant who totters at every step. This -civilisation of ours has become so powerful because it has overturned -all the limits; but just because it has overturned nearly all the -limits, it has become increasingly difficult for it to limit itself -in the good as well as in the bad; I mean to say, that the bad tends -to become worse, and the good to become bad. If the strength of the -forces of creation and initiative is in our epoch greater than ever it -was in any previous epoch, the same may be said of the weakness of the -forces of equilibrium, whose function it is to check the most dangerous -exaggerations and excesses. What an interesting comparison might be -made between the present and the past from this point of view; and -how many instances could be cited in proof of this assertion! I shall -instance just one, a simple and homely, but clear, one. Once delivered -from all the bonds which limited his efforts of yore, man has succeeded -in the last century in creating an abundance of material goods such -as the world had never thought possible even when it dreamed of the -Terrestrial Paradise, the Golden Age, and the Garden of the Hesperides; -all of them myths in which man had been pleased, during centuries of -the life of struggle, to objectify his most ardent desires. It is all -very well for men of the present day to complain that life is difficult -and full of struggles. Those who know the difficulties which beset -preceding centuries will feel a strong temptation to laugh at their -complaints. The modern world has contrived abundance in everything; in -the necessities of life, such as bread, and in things which become very -dangerous when they are over-abundant, like alcoholic drinks, tobacco, -and all stimulants. Many are the reproaches hurled against our epoch on -the score of the increase in alcoholism; many are the remedies devised -for this evil. But would not the only and the simplest remedy be that -adopted by our ancestors, the limitation of the production of liquors? -The masses would no longer be able to poison themselves when the -quantity of these liquors was scarcely sufficient—as it used to be—for -the requirements of a moderate consumption. The world, on the contrary, -will continue to get gloriously drunk, so long as the production of -wine, beer, and spirits increases. Now why is it that this, the only -efficacious remedy, is just the one which our epoch cannot bring itself -to apply? Why do we see everywhere governments taking measures of more -or less efficacy against alcoholism and at the same time contributing, -directly or indirectly, to the increase in the production of alcoholic -drinks? - -The reason is, that nothing is more difficult for our civilisation -than to impose a limit on anything. Its impetus carries it too far in -everything. It is almost a law of its constitution. We have, to a great -extent, lost the sense of just measure, because we have weakened or -destroyed nearly all the authorities and moral forces which used to -make the limits respected. Our greatness and our power are partly due -to disequilibrium; and often enough we are called on to pay the tragic -penalty for this at the moment when we least expect the call. - -This is, however, a long digression, and you may with reason ask me to -return to the matter which interests us. I have not lost sight of it; -for this digression has a very close connection with our subject. - -This epoch which misuses everything, misuses and will misuse sport. -It will make it—it has already begun to make it—one more of the -elements of excitement, of competition, and of exhaustion, already -alas! only too numerous. No illusions are possible on this score. -It might even be said that sport is one of the things of which our -epoch will probably make the greatest misuse. History justifies us -in this fear, for it proves to us that even those civilisations, -like the Greek and Roman, which succeeded in limiting themselves in -everything else, misused games. Is it likely that our civilisation, -which misuses toilsome activities like work, will easily preserve -a just measure in amusements? Besides, you have only to look round -you to see interests forming groups, coalitions, and organisations -for the purpose of exploiting, in this field also, the morbid need -for excitement which has taken hold of the masses; their desire for -amusements and distractions and even their incorrigible weakness -for games of chance. Those, then, who wish to purge sport of its -elements of haste and crowd, to transform it—I borrow once more M. -de Coubertin’s happy phrase—into the “Empire du Matin Calme,” will -have a singularly difficult task before them. If, however, the task -is difficult, it is for that all the nobler. The modern world has -need, great and urgent need, of balance, measure, and harmony, if it -is not to run the risk of being stifled by the excess of its energy. -Do not let yourselves be deceived by its assurance, its pride, the -blind confidence in its powers which it affects, the haughty challenge -it so often throws to the humble wisdom of past generations. We are -richer, wiser, more powerful than were our grandfathers. But because -we have discovered America and invented railways we have not become -demi-gods; we are still only men. All the weaknesses of human nature -which the moralists of olden times discovered and analysed so subtly -still subsist in us, and still distract us; we must pay nature, the -great equaliser, the price for the advantages secured to us by the sum -of the work of preceding generations; and many are the forms in which -that payment is made. Nervous illnesses, insanity, and suicides are on -the increase. Sterility is spreading, especially in the peoples and -countries that have been most highly favoured by the development of -modern civilisation. - -A discontent as deep as it is unreasonable seems to pervade the world, -with each improvement in the conditions of every class. One might -say that man has become insatiable. The more blessings are heaped -upon him, the more he complains. The more he possesses, the more he -thinks himself poor and needy. The fewer are the causes for grief and -the dangers around him, the more wretched he feels. These apparent -paradoxes, these inexplicable contradictions are only the warnings -life utters to remind men of the μηδὲν ἅγαν of ancient wisdom. The -modern world suffers from the excesses to which it abandons itself, -even if it will not acknowledge this fact. Those who try to recall the -modern world to a more harmonious ideal of life do it a service whose -usefulness is most strikingly proved by the attitude of resentment it -assumes towards their efforts. - -Ladies and Gentlemen: I feel somewhat ashamed that my contribution -to your work must be merely these few general considerations. -Dissertations on the ends to be aimed at are easy enough to concoct, -but the task is apt to be a theoretical one of little enough utility. -The important thing in all the great social problems is the means of -attaining those ends. That is the point upon which all our efforts, -all our intelligence, all our wills, must converge. I cannot be of any -use to you in that, by reason of my incompetence. I can only attend -this congress as an onlooker anxious to learn, come not to purvey -information but to convey it away. I must then confine myself at the -conclusion of my speech to wishing your task and your labours all the -success which your energy, your enthusiasm, and your faith deserve. But -this wish of mine, though sterile in itself, owing to my inability to -take an active part in your work, is none the less cordial. By birth, -by natural tendencies, and by education, I belong to a culture which -has always tended to harmony, moderation, and equilibrium. I have -passed a portion of my life in studying the ancient civilisations which -created so many beautiful and profound things because they succeeded -in limiting themselves. I have visited and studied also those vast -new civilisations on the other side of the Atlantic, which seem to -be aiming at the realisation of the perfect type of the unlimited -civilisation. - -It is not possible to have been born in Italy, to have studied ancient -civilisations, and to have examined at first hand the tendencies of -modern civilisation in Europe and America, without being convinced that -our epoch is allowing itself to be seduced by too material and gross a -conception of progress. Progress cannot be merely the accumulation of -wealth, accelerated by the inventions and great discoveries of science, -nor the hurried transformation of everything, the perpetual change -which is the mania of our epoch. There is, there must be, another -conception, more lofty than this conception of progress; a conception -of progress as the accumulated effort of generations. Is it not true -that each generation creates forms of beauty, and discovers new truths -and virtues? Can we not say that generations really do show progress, -if they succeed in preserving the creations of preceding epochs, and -in erecting on them as a basis more complex and elevated creations of -their own? - -Often and often, reflecting on the differences between the ancient -world and our epoch, have I said to myself that the history of the -world would be able to chronicle a great step forward on the day that -we succeeded in uniting in modern sport the æsthetic sense of the -Greeks, the modesty and decency for which Christianity is responsible, -and the democratic, practical, and active spirit of our epoch. Is that -simply the dream of an ignoramus who does not know what is possible -and what is not? You may say so. But if your congress can bring our -civilisation any nearer to this ideal, it will have done something for -real progress, a work which will merit the approbation of all those -who wish to see man’s every effort concentrated on the betterment of -the spiritual life. I give you then, my good wishes for your success -in your efforts in this direction; and I hope that you will not take -my good wishes amiss, even though they come from a writer who is not -competent to appraise at its true value the full worth of your noble -efforts. - - -THE END - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes - - -Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a -predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they -were not changed. - -Misspellings of non-English words have been retained. - -Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation -marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left -unbalanced. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANCIENT ROME AND MODERN AMERICA; *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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