HELOTAGE.
At this point we determine on adverting shortly, or rather reverting, to a
certain Tract of Hofrath Heuschrecke's, entitled _Institute for the
Repression of Population_; which lies, dishonorably enough (with torn
leaves, and a perceptible smell of aloetic drugs), stuffed into the Bag
_Pisces_. Not indeed for the sake of the tract itself, which we admire
little; but of the marginal Notes, evidently in Teufelsdrockh's hand, which
rather copiously fringe it. A few of these may be in their right place
here.
Into the Hofrath's _Institute_, with its extraordinary schemes, and
machinery of Corresponding Boards and the like, we shall not so much as
glance. Enough for us to understand that Heuschrecke is a disciple of
Malthus; and so zealous for the doctrine, that his zeal almost literally
eats him up. A deadly fear of Population possesses the Hofrath; something
like a fixed idea; undoubtedly akin to the more diluted forms of Madness.
Nowhere, in that quarter of his intellectual world, is there light; nothing
but a grim shadow of Hunger; open mouths opening wider and wider; a world
to terminate by the frightfullest consummation: by its too dense
inhabitants, famished into delirium, universally eating one another. To
make air for himself in which strangulation, choking enough to a benevolent
heart, the Hofrath founds, or proposes to found, this _Institute_ of his,
as the best he can do. It is only with our Professor's comments thereon
that we concern ourselves.
First, then, remark that Teufelsdrockh, as a speculative Radical, has his
own notions about human dignity; that the Zahdarm palaces and courtesies
have not made him forgetful of the Futteral cottages. On the blank cover
of Heuschrecke's Tract we find the following indistinctly engrossed:--
"Two men I honor, and no third. First, the toilworn Craftsman that with
earth-made Implement laboriously conquers the Earth, and makes her man's.
Venerable to me is the hard Hand; crooked, coarse; wherein notwithstanding
lies a cunning virtue, indefeasibly royal, as of the Sceptre of this
Planet. Venerable too is the rugged face, all weather-tanned, besoiled,
with its rude intelligence; for it is the face of a Man living manlike.
Oh, but the more venerable for thy rudeness, and even because we must pity
as well as love thee! Hardly-entreated Brother! For us was thy back so
bent, for us were thy straight limbs and fingers so deformed: thou wert
our Conscript, on whom the lot fell, and fighting our battles wert so
marred. For in thee too lay a god-created Form, but it was not to be
unfolded; encrusted must it stand with the thick adhesions and defacements
of Labor: and thy body, like thy soul, was not to know freedom. Yet toil
on, toil on: _thou_ art in thy duty, be out of it who may; thou toilest
for the altogether indispensable, for daily bread.
"A second man I honor, and still more highly: Him who is seen toiling for
the spiritually indispensable; not daily bread, but the bread of Life. Is
not he too in his duty; endeavoring towards inward Harmony; revealing this,
by act or by word, through all his outward endeavors, be they high or low?
Highest of all, when his outward and his inward endeavor are one: when we
can name him Artist; not earthly Craftsman only, but inspired Thinker, who
with heaven-made Implement conquers Heaven for us! If the poor and humble
toil that we have Food, must not the high and glorious toil for him in
return, that he have Light, have Guidance, Freedom, Immortality?--These
two, in all their degrees, I honor: all else is chaff and dust, which let
the wind blow whither it listeth.
"Unspeakably touching is it, however, when I find both dignities united;
and he that must toil outwardly for the lowest of man's wants, is also
toiling inwardly for the highest. Sublimer in this world know I nothing
than a Peasant Saint, could such now anywhere be met with. Such a one will
take thee back to Nazareth itself; thou wilt see the splendor of Heaven
spring forth from the humblest depths of Earth, like a light shining in
great darkness."
And again: "It is not because of his toils that I lament for the poor: we
must all toil, or steal (howsoever we name our stealing), which is worse;
no faithful workman finds his task a pastime. The poor is hungry and
athirst; but for him also there is food and drink: he is heavy-laden and
weary; but for him also the Heavens send Sleep, and of the deepest; in his
smoky cribs, a clear dewy heaven of Rest envelops him; and fitful
glitterings of cloud-skirted Dreams. But what I do mourn over is, that the
lamp of his soul should go out; that no ray of heavenly, or even of earthly
knowledge, should visit him; but only, in the haggard darkness, like two
spectres, Fear and Indignation bear him company. Alas, while the Body
stands so broad and brawny, must the Soul lie blinded, dwarfed, stupefied,
almost annihilated! Alas, was this too a Breath of God; bestowed in
Heaven, but on earth never to be unfolded!--That there should one Man die
ignorant who had capacity for Knowledge, this I call a tragedy, were it to
happen more than twenty times in the minute, as by some computations it
does. The miserable fraction of Science which our united Mankind, in a
wide Universe of Nescience, has acquired, why is not this, with all
diligence, imparted to all?"
Quite in an opposite strain is the following: "The old Spartans had a
wiser method; and went out and hunted down their Helots, and speared and
spitted them, when they grew too numerous. With our improved fashions of
hunting, Herr Hofrath, now after the invention of fire-arms, and standing
armies, how much easier were such a hunt! Perhaps in the most thickly
peopled country, some three days annually might suffice to shoot all the
able-bodied Paupers that had accumulated within the year. Let Governments
think of this. The expense were trifling: nay the very carcasses would
pay it. Have them salted and barrelled; could not you victual therewith,
if not Army and Navy, yet richly such infirm Paupers, in workhouses and
elsewhere, as enlightened Charity, dreading no evil of them, might see good
to keep alive?"
"And yet," writes he farther on, "there must be something wrong. A
full-formed Horse will, in any market, bring from twenty to as high as two
hundred Friedrichs d'or: such is his worth to the world. A full-formed
Man is not only worth nothing to the world, but the world could afford him
a round sum would he simply engage to go and hang himself. Nevertheless,
which of the two was the more cunningly devised article, even as an Engine?
Good Heavens! A white European Man, standing on his two Legs, with his two
five-fingered Hands at his shackle-bones, and miraculous Head on his
shoulders, is worth, I should say, from fifty to a hundred Horses!"
"True, thou Gold-Hofrath," cries the Professor elsewhere: "too crowded
indeed! Meanwhile, what portion of this inconsiderable terraqueous Globe
have ye actually tilled and delved, till it will grow no more? How thick
stands your Population in the Pampas and Savannas of America; round ancient
Carthage, and in the interior of Africa; on both slopes of the Altaic
chain, in the central Platform of Asia; in Spain, Greece, Turkey, Crim
Tartary, the Curragh of Kildare? One man, in one year, as I have
understood it, if you lend him Earth, will feed himself and nine others.
Alas, where now are the Hengsts and Alarics of our still-glowing,
still-expanding Europe; who, when their home is grown too narrow, will
enlist, and, like Fire-pillars, guide onwards those superfluous masses of
indomitable living Valor; equipped, not now with the battle-axe and
war-chariot, but with the steam engine and ploughshare? Where are
they?--Preserving their Game!"