As for us, we need, not the applauses of the world, but the sympathy of our countrymen, the word of encouragement, the hand which saves us from the waves which threaten to submerge us in their bosom.
It is not the necessities of material life which hamper us. We may rise superior to those or may supply them with the product of honorable labor, though outside of literature. As little do we seek, the patronage of the mighty. The gilded mean of Horace were unbearable for us if we have to supply in exchange for it a Hymn to Maecenas; the palatial advantages of Virgil would cause us loathing if we had to purchase them by placing the sacred lyre of the aged singer of the Gods at the feet of Augustus.
PLEA FOR A MEXICAN SCHOOL OF WRITING.
We do not deny the great utility of studying all the literary schools of the civilized world; we would be incapable of such nonsense, we who adore the classical memories of Greece and of Rome, we who ponder long over the books of Dante and Shakespeare, who admire the German school and who should desire to be worthy to speak the language of Cervantes and of Fray Luis de Leon. No: on the contrary, we believe these studies indispensable: but we desire that there be created a literature absolutely our own, such as all nations possess, nations which also study the monuments of others, but do not take pride in servilely imitating them.
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Our last war has attracted to us the eyes of the civilized world. It desires to know this singular nation, which contains so many and such coveted riches, which could not be reduced by European forces, which living in the midst of constant agitations has lost neither its vigor nor its faith. It desires to know our history, our public customs, our private lives, our virtues and our vices; and to that end it devours whatever ignorant and prejudiced foreigners relate in Europe, disguising their lies under the seductive dress of the legend and impressions of travel. We run the risk of being believed such as we are painted, unless we ourselves seize the brush and say to the world—Thus are we in Mexico.
Until now those nations have seen nothing more than the very antiquated pages of Thomas Gage or the studies of Baron Humboldt, very good, certainly but which could only be made upon a nation still enslaved. Further, the famous savant gave more attention to his scientific investigations than to his character portraits.
Since his day, almost all travelers have calumniated us, from Lovestern and Madam Calderon, to the writers—male and female—of the court of Maximilian, trading upon public curiosity, selling it their satires against us.
There is occasion, then, to make of fine letters an arm of defense. There is a field, there are niches, there is time, it is necessary that there shall be the will. There are talents in our land which can compete with those which shine in the old world.