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chief would have reached the will; and the spirit of industry would fall under a terrible marasmus, in the midst of the natural resources presented by a rich and fertile soil.
The will, however, is excited by so many stimulants, that it resists a multitude of discouragements and losses: a passing calamity, how great soever it may be, does not destroy the spirit of industry. This has been seen springing up again after destructive wars, which have impoverished nations; like a robust oak, which in a few years repairs the injuries inflicted by the tempest, and covers itself with new branches. Nothing less is requisite for freezing up industry than the operation of a permanent domestic cause; such as a tyrannical government, a bad legislation, an intolerant religion which repels men from each other, or a minute superstition which terrifies them.
The first act of violence will produce a certain degree of apprehension-there are already some timid minds discouraged: a second outrage, quickly succeeding, will spread a more considerable alarm. The most prudent will begin to contract their enterprises, and, by degrees, to abandon an uncertain career. In proportion as these attacks are repeated, and the system of oppression assumes an habitual character, the dispersion augments: those who have fled are not replaced; those who remain fall into a state of languor. It is thus that, after a time, the field of industry, being beaten down by storms, becomes at last a desert.
Asia Minor, Greece, Egypt, the wastes of Africa, so rich in agriculture, commerce, and population, whilst the Roman Empire flourished, -what have they become under the absurd despotism of the Turk? The palaces are changed into cabins, and the cities into small towns; this government, hateful to all persons of reflection, has never understood that a state can never become rich but by an inviolable respect for property. It has possessed only two secrets for governing-to drain and to brutify its subjects. Hence, the finest countries in the world, wasted, barren, or almost abandoned, can scarcely be recognised in the hands of their barbarous conquerors. For these evils need not be attributed to remote causes: civil wars, invasions-the scourges of nature these might have dissipated the wealth, put the arts to flight, and swallowed up the cities; but the ports which have been filled up would have been reopened, the communications re-established, the manufactures revived, the towns rebuilt, and all these ravages repaired
in time, if the men had continued to be men. But they are not so in these unhappy countries; despair, the slow but fatal effect of long-continued insecurity, has destroyed all the active powers of their souls.
If we trace the history of this contagion, we shall see, that its first effects fell upon the richest part of society. Wealth was the first object of depredation. Superfluity vanished by little and little; absolute necessity must still be provided for, notwithstanding obstacles; man must live; but, when he limits his efforts to mere existence, the state languishes, and the torch of industry furnishes but a few dying sparks. Besides, abundance is never so distinct from subsistence that the one can be injured without a dangerous attack upon the other: whilst some lose only what is superfluous, others lose what is necessary. From the infinitely complicated system of economical relations, the wealth of one part of the citizens is, uniformly, the source from which a more numerous party derives its subsistence.
But another and more smiling picture may be traced, and not less instructive, of the progress of security, and prosperity, its inseparable companion. North America presents the most striking contrast of these two states: savage nature is there placed by the side of civilization. The interior of this immense region presents only a frightful solitude; impenetrable forests or barren tracts, standing waters, noxious exhalations, venomous reptiles-such is the land left to itself. The barbarous hordes who traverse these deserts, without fixed habitation, always occupied in the pursuit of their prey, and always filled with implacable rivalry, only meet to attack and to destroy each other; so that the wild beasts are not so dangerous to man as man himself. But upon the borders of these solitudes what a different prospect presents itself! One could almost believe that one saw, at one view, the two empires of good and evil. The forests have given place to cultivated fields; the morass is dried up; the land has become solid; is covered with meadows, pastures, domestic animals, smiling and healthy habitations; cities have risen up on regular plans; wide roads are traced between them; every thing shows that men are seeking the means of drawing near to one another; they no longer dread, or seek to murder each other. The sea-ports are filled with vessels receiving all the productions of the earth, and serving to exchange its riches. A countless multitude, living in peace and abundance upon the fruits of their labours, has succeeded to the nations of hunters who were
always struggling between war and famine. What has produced these wonders? What has renovated the surface of the earth? What has given to man this dominion over embellished, fruitful, and perfectionated nature? The benevolent genius is security. It is security which has wrought out this great metamorphosis. How rapid have been its operations! It is scarcely two centuries since William Penn reached these savage wilds with a colony of true conquerors; for they were men of peace, who sullied not their establishment by force, and who made themselves respected only by acts of benevolence and justice.
If violent causes - such as a revolution in Government, a schism, a conquest-produce the overthrow of property, it is a great calamity; but it is only transitory,—it may be softened and even repaired by time. Industry is a vigorous plant, which resists numerous loppings, and in which the fruitful sap rises immediately upon the return of spring. But if property were overthrown with the direct intention of establishing equality of fortune, the evil would be irreparable: no more security—no more industry-no more abundance; society wouldrelapse into the savage state, from which it has arisen :—
"Devant eux des cités, derrière eux des déserts."
Such is the history of fanaticism. If equality ought to reign to-day, for the same reason it ought to reign always. It can only be preserved by the same violence by which it was established. It would require an army of inquisitors and executioners, deaf both to favouritism and complaint,-insensible to the seductions of pleasure,-inac cessible to personal interests,-endowed with every virtue,—and engaged in a service which would destroy them all. The level must be in perpetual motion, in order to smooth down whatever would rise above the legal line. Watchfulness must be uninterrupted, to restore the lack of those who have dissipated their portion, and to strip those who by means of labour have augmented, or by care have preserved, theirs. In such a state of things, prodigality would be wisdom, and none but the mad would be industrious. This pretended remedy, so gentle in appearance, would thus be found a deadly poison. It is a burning cautery, which would consume every thing till it reached the last principles of life. The sword of the enemy, in its wildest fury, is a thousand times less to be dreaded. It only causes partial evils, which time effaces, and which industry repairs.
287.-SANCHO PANZA IN HIS ISLAND.
[IN our first volume we have given a criticism on Don Quixote,' by Mr. Hallam. We need only therefore preface an extract from that immortal book, by stating that its author, Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, was born in 1547; and that he who stands in the same eminent relation to the literature of Spain that Shakspere does to that of England died on the same day as his great contemporary, the 23rd of April, 1616.]
Sancho, with all his attendants, came to a town that had about a thousand inhabitants, and was one of the best where the duke had any power. They gave him to understand that the name of the place was the Island of Barataria, either because the town was called Barataria, or because the government cost him so cheap. As soon as he came to the gates (for it was walled) the chief officers and inhabitants, in their formalities, came out to receive him, the bells rung, and all the people gave general demonstrations of their joy. The new governor was then carried in mighty pomp to the great church, to give Heaven thanks; and, after some ridiculous ceremonies, they delivered him the keys of the gates, and received him as perpetual governor of the Island of Barataria. In the meantime, the garb, the port, the huge beard, and the short and thick shape of the new governor, made every one who knew nothing of the jest wonder; and even those who were privy to the plot, who were many, were not a little surprised.
In short, from the church they carried him to the court of justice; where, when they had placed him in his seat, My Lord Governor," said the Duke's steward to him, "it is an antient custom here, that he who takes possession of this famous island must answer to some difficult and intricate question that is propounded to him; and, by the return he makes, the people feel the pulse of his understanding, and, by an estimate of his abilities, judge whether they ought to rejoice or to be sorry for his coming."
All the while the steward was speaking, Sancho was staring on an inscription in large characters on the wall over against his seat; and, as he could not read, he asked, what was the meaning of that which
he saw painted there upon the wall? Sir," said they, "it is an account of the day when your lordship took possession of this island; and the inscription runs thus: This day, being such a day of this month, in such a year, the Lord Don Sancho Panza took possession of this island, which may he long enjoy.' "And who is he," asked Sancho? "Your lordship," answered the steward; "for we know of no other Panza in this island but yourself, who now sit in this chair." Well, friend," said Sancho, "pray take notice that Don does not belong to me, nor was it borne by any of my family before me. Plain Sancho Panza is my name; my father was called Sancho, my grandfather Sancho, and all of us have been Panzas, without any Don or Donna added to our name. Now do I already guess your Dons are as thick as stones in this island. Heaven knows my meaning; if my government happens to last but four days to an end, it shall go hard but I will clear the island of these swarms of Dons that must needs be as troublesome as so many fleshflies. Come, now for your question, good Mr. Steward, and I will answer it as well as I can, whether the town be sorry or pleased."
But it is enough that
At the same instant two men came into the court, the one dressed like a country fellow, the other looked like a tailor, with a pair of shears in his hand. "If it please you, my lord," cried the tailor, "I and this farmer here are come before your worship. This honest man came to my shop yesterday, for, saving your presence, I am a tailor, and, Heaven be praised, free of my company; so, my lord, he showed me a piece of cloth. Sir,' quoth he, 'is there enough of this to make a cap? Whereupon I measured the stuff, and answered him, 'Yes, if it like your worship.' Now, as I imagined, do you see, he could not but imagine (and perhaps he imagined right enough) that I had a mind to cabbage some of his cloth, judging hard of us honest tailors. 'Pr'ythee,' quoth he, look there be not enough for two caps?' Now I smelt him out, and told him there was. Whereupon the old knave, (if it like your worship,) going on to the same tune, bid me look again, and see whether it would not make three? And at last, if it would not make five? I was resolved to humour my customer, and said it might; so we struck a bargain.
"Just now the man is come for his caps, which I gave him; but when I asked him for my money he will have me give him his cloth again, or pay him for it." Is this true, honest man?" said Sancho to the