Select Speeches of Kossuth

by Lajos Kossuth

And men speak of the future, though they know that such things as heroic Greece once did exist, glorious in its very ruins, and a source of everlasting inspiration in its immortal memory.

Men speak of the future, and still they can rehearse the powerful colonies issued from Greece, and the empires their heroic sons have founded. And they can mark out with a finger on the map, the unparalleled conquests of Alexander; how he crossed victoriously that desert whence Semiramis, out of a countless host, brought home but twenty men; and Cyrus, out of a still larger number, only seven men. But he (Alexander) went on in triumph, and conquered India up to the Hydaspes as he conquered before Tyrus and Egypt, and secured with prudence what he had conquered with indomitable energy.

And men speak of the future, though they know that such a thing did exist as Rome, the Mistress of the World—Rome rising from atomic smallness to immortal greatness, and to a grandeur absorbing the world—Rome, now having all her citizens without, and now again having all the world within her walls; and passing through all the vicissitudes of gigantic rise, wavering decline, and mournful fall. And men speak of the future still with these awful monuments of fragility before their eyes!

But it is the sad fate of Humanity that, encompassing its hopes, fears, contentment, and wishes, within the narrow scope of momentary satisfaction, the great lesson of history is taught almost in vain. Whatever be its warnings, we rely on our good fortune; and we are ingenious in finding out some soothing pretext to lull down the dreadful admonitions of history. Man, in his private capacity, consoles the instinctive apprehension of his heart with the idea that his condition is different from what warningly strikes his mind. The patriot feels well, that not only the present, but also the future of his beloved country, has a claim to his cares; but he lulls himself into carelessness by the ingenious consolation that the condition of his country is different—that it is not obnoxious to those faults which made other countries decline and fall; that the time is different; the character and spirit of the nation are different, its power not so precarious, and its prosperity more solid; and that, therefore, it will not share the same fate of those which vanished like a dream. And the philanthropist, also, whose heart throbs for the lasting welfare of all humanity, cheers his mind with the idea that, after all, mankind at large is happier than it was of yore, and that this happiness ensures the future against the reverses of olden times.

That fallacy, natural as it may be, is a curse which weighs heavily on us. Let us see in what respect our age is different from those olden times. Is mankind more virtuous than it has been of yore? Why, in this enlightened age, are we not looking for virtuous inspirations to the god-like characters of these olden times? If we take virtue to be love of the laws, and of the Fatherland, dare we say that our age is more virtuous? If that man is to be called virtuous, who, in all his acts, is but animated by a regard to the common good, and who, in every case, feels ready to subordinate his own selfish interest to public exigencies—if that be virtue (as indeed it is), I may well appeal to the conscience of mankind to give an impartial verdict upon the question, if our age be more virtuous than the age of Codrus or of Regulus, of Decius and of Scaevola. Look to the school of Zeno, the stoics of immortal memory; and when you see them contemning alike the vanity of riches and the ambition of personal glory, impenetrable to the considerations of pleasure and of pain, occupied only to promote public welfare and to fulfil their duties toward the community; when you see them inspired in all their acts by the doctrine that, born in a society, it is their duty to live for the benefit of society; and when you see them placing their own happiness only upon the happiness of their fellow-men—then say if our too selfish, too material age can stand a comparison with that olden period. When you remember the politicians of ancient Greece, acknowledging no other basis for the security of the commonwealth than virtue, and see the political system of our days turning only upon manufactures, commerce, and finances, will you say that our age is more virtuous? When, looking to your own country—the best and happiest, because the freest of all—you will not dissimulate in your own mind what considerations influence the platforms of your political parties; and then in contra-position will reflect upon those times when Timon of Athens, chosen to take part in his country's government, assembled his friends and renounced their friendship, in order that he might not be tempted by party considerations or by affections of amity, in his important duties toward the commonwealth. Then, having thus reflected, say, "Take you our own age to be more virtuous, and therefore more ensured against the reverses of fortune, than those older times?"

But perhaps there is a greater amount of private happiness, and by the broad diffusion of private welfare, the security of the commonwealth is more lasting and more sure?

Caraccioli, having been ambassador in England, when returned to Italy, said, "that England is the most detestable country in the world, because there are to be found twenty different sorts of religion, but only two kinds of sauces with which to season meat."

There is a point in that questionable jest. Materialism! curse of our age! Who can seriously speak about the broad diffusion of happiness in a country where contentment is measured according to how many kinds of sauces we can taste? My people is by far not the most material. We are not much given to the cupidity of becoming rich. We know the word "enough." The simplicity of our manners makes us easily contented in our material relations; we like rather to be free than to be rich; we look for an honourable profit, that we may have upon what to live; but we don't like to live for the sake of profit; augmentation of property and of wealth with us is not the aim of our life—we prefer tranquil, independent mediocrity to the incessant excitement and incessant toil of cupidity and gain. Such is the character of my nation; and yet I have known a countryman of mine who blew out his brains because he had no means more to eat daily patés de foi gras and drink champagne. Well, that was no Hungarian character, but, though somewhat eccentrically, he characterized the leading feature of our century.

Indeed, are your richest money-kings happier than Fabricius was, when he preferred his seven acres of land, worked by his own hands, to the treasures of an empire? Are the ladies of to-day, adorned with all the gorgeous splendour of wealth, of jewels, and of art, happier than those ladies of ancient Rome have been, to whom it was forbidden to wear silk and jewelry, or drive in a carriage through the streets of Rome? Are the ladies of to-day happier in their splendid parlours, than the Portias and the Cornelias have been in the homely retirement of their modest nurseries? Nay; all that boundless thirst of wealth, which is the ruling spirit of our age, and the moving power of enterprising energy, all this hunting after treasures, and all its happiest results, have they made men nobler, better, and happier? Have they improved their soul, or even their body and their health, at least so much that the richest of men could eat and digest two dinners instead of one? Or has the insatiable thirst of material gain originated a purer patriotism? has it made mankind more devoted to their country, more ready to sacrifice for public interest? If that were the case, then I would gladly confess the error of my doubts, and take the pretended larger amount of happiness for a guarantee of the future of the commonwealth. But, ladies and gentlemen! a single word—the manner in which we use it, distorting its original meaning, often characterizes a whole century. You all know the word "idiot;" almost every living language has adopted it, and all languages attach to it the idea that an "idiot" is a poor, ignorant, useless wretch, nearly insane. Well, "idiot" is a word of Greek extraction, and meant with the Greek a man who cared nothing for the public interest, but was all devoted to the selfish pursuit of private profit, whatever might have been its results to the community. Oh! what an immense, what a deplorable change must have occurred in the character of Humanity, till unconsciously we came to the point, that by what name the ancient Greeks would have styled those European money-kings, who, for a miserable profit, administer to the unrelenting despots their eternal loans, to oppress nations with, we now apply that very name to the wretched creatures incapable to do any thing for themselves. We bear compassion for the idiots of to-day, but the modern editions of Greek idiotism, though loaded with the bloody scars of a hundred thousand orphans, and with the curse of millions, stand high in honour, and go on, proudly glorying in their criminal idiotism, heaping up the gold of the world.

But I may be answered, after all, though our age be not so virtuous, and though the large accumulation in wealth has in reality not made mankind happier; still, it cannot be denied, you are in a prosperous condition, and prosperity is a solid basis of your country's future. Industry, navigation, commerce, have so much developed, they have formed so many ties by which every citizen is linked to his country's fate, that your own material interest is a security to your country's future.