From the Other Shore

of sociality, the closest and friendliest bond between nations, the mildness of governments? . . . although some black clouds still appeared on the horizon of humanity, a bright ray of hope was already gilding their edges . . . We considered the end of our century to be the end of humanity's main calamities, and we thought that it would bring about the union of theory with practice, of speculation with action . . . Where is this comforting system now? It has been destroyed at its foundation; the XVIII century is ending, and the unfortunate philanthropist measures his grave with two steps, so that he may lie down in it with his deceived, torn heart and close his eyes forever.

"Who could have thought, expected, foreseen? Where are the people we loved? Where is the fruit of the sciences and wisdom? Age of Enlightenment, I do not recognize you; in blood and flame, amidst murders and destruction, I do not recognize you.

"The misosophs haters of wisdom are triumphant. These are the fruits of your enlightenment, they say, these are the fruits of your sciences; let philosophy perish. And the poor man, deprived of his fatherland, and the poor man deprived of his home, father, son, or friend, repeats: let it perish.

"Bloodshed cannot be eternal. I am certain that the hand striking with the sword will tire; sulfur and saltpeter will be exhausted in the bowels of the earth and the thunder will fall silent, silence will come sooner or later, but what will it be like?—will it be dead, cold, gloomy . . .