And now--behold the scene changes.
The old Republic of the United Netherlands, once the stronghold of an
incipient liberty, the asylum to which for many centuries fled all those
who were persecuted--this same republic will be regarded by the
disciples of the great French Revolution as another Bastille of usurped
power, as the incarnation of all despotic principles, and will soon be
demolished by its own eager citizens. The ruins will be carted away as
so much waste material, unworthy of being used in the great New Temple
now to be constructed to the truly divine principles of Liberty,
Fraternity, and Equality. The old Stadholder, last representative of the
illustrious House of Orange, alternately the Father of his Country and
the Beast of the Book of Revelation, will flee for his life and will
spend the rest of his days in England or Germany, nobody knows and
nobody cares where. Their High and Mightinesses of the Estates, proud
little potentates once accustomed to full sovereign honours, refusing to
receive the most important communication unless provided with their full
and correct titles, these same High and Mightinesses will have to
content themselves with the even greater honour of being called Citizen
Representatives. Their ancient meeting hall, too sacred to allow the
keeping of official records of their meetings, will be the sight of the
town and will be patronized by the loafers to whom the rights of men
mean a Maypole, the tricolor, free gin, and a brass band. Why go on with
a minute recital? The end of the world has come. The days of tyranny, of
indignity to the sovereign sanctity of the individual, are over.
Regents, coal-heavers, patriots, fish peddlers, officers and soldiers,
soon they are all to be of the same human clay. The vote of one is as
good as that of the other. Wherefore, in the name of Equality, give them
all a chance and see what will come of it. If a constitution does not
suit at the first attempt, use it to feed a patriotic bonfire. After
all, what else is it but some woodpulp and printer's ink? If the
parliament of to-day does not please the voters of to-morrow, dissolve
it, close it with the help of gendarmes. If the members resist, call out
the reserves or borrow some soldiers from the great sister republic,
which is now teaching her blessed creed to all the world. They (the
soldiers) are there for the asking (and for the paying). They are a
little out at the elbows, very much out in regard to shoes, and they
have not seen a real piece of money for many a weary month, but for a
square meal and a handful of paper greenbacks they will dismiss a
parliament, rob a museum, or levy taxes, with the utmost fidelity to
their orders and with strict discipline to their master's commands.
Then, if constitutions and parliaments have failed in an equal degree,
humbly beg for a king from among that remarkable family the father of
which was a little pettifogging lawyer in a third-rate Italian city, and
the members of which now rule one half of the European continent.
After the rights of men, the rights of a single man.
In the great melting pot of the Bonapartistic empire all Hollanders at
last become equal in the real sense of the word. They all have the same
chance at promotion, at riches, and the pursuit of happiness. Devotion
to the master, and devotion to him alone, will bring recognition from
the new divinity who issues orders signed with a single gigantic N. Old
Republic of the United Netherlands, enlightened Republic of the Free
Batavian Proconsulate, Kingdom of Holland, it's all the same to the man
who regards this little land as so much mud, deposited by his own, his
French, rivers.
Vainly and desperately the bankrupt little Kingdom of Brother Louis has
struggled to maintain a semblance of independence.
A piece of paper, a big splotchy N, and the whole comedy is over.
The High and Mightinesses, the Citizen Representatives, First Consul,
Royal Majesty, all the big and little political wirepullers of fifteen
years of unstable government, are swept away, are told to hold their
peace, and to contribute money and men, money and men, more money and
men, to carry the glory of the capital N to the uttermost corners of
the world. Never mind about their government, their language, the
remembrance of the old days of glorious renown. The old days are over
for good. The language has no right to exist save as a patois for rustic
yokels. As for the government, gold-laced adventurers, former
barkeepers, and prize-fighters, now bearers of historic titles, will be
sent to look after that. They come with an army of followers,
tax-gatherers, policemen, and spies. They execute their duties in the
most approved Napoleonic fashion. There is war in Spain and there is war
in Russia. There is murder to be done in Portugal, and there is plunder
to be gathered in Germany. The Hollander does not care for this sort of
work. Never mind his private likes and dislikes! Hang a few, shoot a
few, and the rest will march fast enough! And so, up and down the
Spanish peninsula, up but not down the Russian steppes, the Hollander
who cared too much for trade to bother about politics is forced to march
for the glory of that letter N. Amsterdam is reduced from the richest
city in Europe to a forgotten nest, where the grass grows on the streets
and where half of the population is kept alive by public charity. What
matters it? His Majesty has reviewed the new Polish and Lithuanian
regiments and is highly contented with their appearance. The British
have taken all the colonies, and the people eat grass for bread and
drink chiccory for coffee. Who cares? His Majesty has bought a new goat
cart for the King of Rome, his august son, and is tremendously pleased
with the new acquisition. The country is bankrupt. Such a simple matter!
Some more paper, another scrawly N, and the State debt is reduced by two
thirds. A hundred thousand families are ruined, but his Majesty sleeps
as well as ever and indeed never felt better in his life. Until this
capital letter goes the way of all big and small letters of the
historical alphabet, and is put away in Clio's box of enormities for all
time--
And then, O patient reader, who wonders what all this rhetoric is
leading to, what shall we then have to tell you?
How out of the ruin of untried schemes, the terrible failures, the
heartbreaking miseries of these two decades of honest enthusiasm and
dishonest exploitation, there arose a new State, built upon a firmer
ground than ever before, ready and willing to take upon itself the
burden and the duties of a modern community, and showing in the next
century that nothing is lost as long as the spirit of hopefulness and
cheerful work and the firm belief in one's own destiny are allowed to
survive material ruin. Amen.
I