The Express.
London, England, 1862-09-19 00:00:00

SPEECH OF VICTOR HUGO AT BRUSSELS.

The following is a translation of the speech de-
livered by Victor Huge st the dinner reoenUy given in his
honour at Brunel,:

"Gentlemen,—My emotion cannot be expressed. You
will be indulgent if words fail me. It I had only to reply
to the honourable chief magistrate of Brussels my task
would be easy ; I would only have to repeat, in order to
praise a magistrate who is so popular, and a city which is so
nobly hospitable, what Lain all your minds. I need only be
an echo, but how can I thank the other eloquent
and cordial voices which have spoken of me?
By the side of those great publishers to whom
we owe the fruitful ides of a universal publishing-house—

a kind of preparatory bond between nations, I see journaL
isle, philosophers, eminent writers, the honour of literature,
the honour of the civilised continent. I am troubled and
confused at finding myself the centre of such • fete of in-
tellect, and at seeing so much honour reflected upon me,
who am but a conscience accepting a duty—a heart resigned
to sacrifice. How can I thank you ? how shake bands
with you altogether? The means are simple. What do
you all—writers, journalists, publishers, printers, publi-
cists, thinkers—reprenent? AU the energy of intelligence,
all the forms of publicity, you are mind— Legion—you are
the sew organ of a new society—you are the press. I
propose • toast to the press—to the pram of all nations—
to a free press—to a press powerful, glorious, and fertile.
Gentlemen, the press is the light of the social world, and
wherever there is light there ix something of Providence.
Thought is something more than a right—it is the
very breath of man. He who fetters thought strikes
at man himself. To speak, to write, to print, to
publish, are in point of right identical things. They
ate circles constantly enlarging themselves from in-
telligence into action. They are the sounding W&TAIS
of thought. Of all these circles—of all these rays of the
human mind—the widest is the press. The diameter of the
pre sis the diameter of civilisation itself. With every
diminution of the liberty of the press there is
• corresponding diminution of civilisation. When
the free press is checked, we may say that the
nutrition of the human family in withheld. Gentlemen, the
mission of our time is to change the old bases of society, to
create true order, and to substitute everywhere realities for
fictions. During this transition of social bases, which is
the colossal work of our time, nothing can resist the press,
applying its power of traction to catholicism, to mill-
taryism, to absolutism, to the dense blocks of facts
and ideas. The press is force. Why? Bemuse
it is intelligence. It is the living clarion ; it sounds the
reveille of nations ; it loudly announces the advent of
justice ; it holds no account of night, except to salute the
dawn ;it becomes day and warms the world. Sometimes
however, strange occurrence ! it is it that gets warnings.
This is like the owl reprimanding the crow of the cock.
Yes, in certain countries the press is oppressed. Is it
a slave ? No, an enslaved press is an impossible
junction of words. Besides there are two modes of being
enslaved—that of Spartacus and that of Bpiatetria. The one
breaks his chairs; the other shows hie soul. When the
fettered writer cannot have recourse to the first method, the
second remains for him. No : let despots do what they
will ; I call all those free men who hear me to witness,
and you, hi Pelletal), have recently said so in admirable
language, and, moreover, you and many others have
proved it by geeesous example—there is no slavery for the
mind. Gentlemen, in the age in which we live there is no
salvation without liberty of the press, but, on the COO.
tansy, misdirection, shipwreck, disaster everywhere. There
are at present certain questions which are the questions of
the age, which are before us, and are inevitable. There
is no medium—we must break upon them or take refuge
in them. Society is irresistibly sailing on this stream.
These questions are the subject of the painful book of
which such splendid mention has been made just now.
Pauperism, parasitism, the production and distribution of
wealth, money, credit, labour, wages, the extinction of
proletarianism, the progressive decrease of punishments,
wretchedness, prostitution, the right of women, who consti.
tote half the human ram, the right of a child who demands
—I say demands—gratuitous and compulsory education,

the right of soul, which implies religious liberty—these are
the problems. With a free press they have light thrown
upon them ; they are practicable ; we see the precipices
about them, and the issues from them ; we may attack them
and solve them. Attacked and solved they will save the
world. Without the was there is profound darkness. All
thew problems become immediately formidable. We
can oily distinguish sharp outlines ; we may fail of
fiuding the manure and society may founder. „ Quench
the phases and the port becomes • rock. Gentlemen,
with • free press error is not possible ; there is no
vacillation, no groping about in the programa of man.
In the midst of social problems, of the dark cross-paths, the
press is the indicating finger. There is no uncertainty.
Advance to the ideal, to justice and to truth ;
for it is not enough to walk, you must walk
forward. How are you going ! That is the whole
question. To counterfeit movement is not to accomplish
progress. To make • footprint without advancing may
do for passive obedience—to walk about for ever in the
path is but a mechanical movement, unworthy of man—
let us have an aim—let us know where we are going—
let us proportion the effort to the result—let an idea
guide us is each step we take—let every step
be logically connected with the other—let the solution come
after the idea, and let the victory come after the right.
Never step backwards. Indecision in movement shows
emptiness of the brain. What is more wretched than to
wish and not to wish! He who hesitates, falls back, and
totters, does not think. As for me, I can no more admit
politics without a head than 1 can Italy without Rome.
Since I have pronounced the word Rome, let me
interrupt my thought for a moment and direct it to that
hero who is lying down on his bed of pain. Indeed be may
smile; glory and right are with him. What strikes one
down—what crushes one—is that there can be found in
Italy—in that noble Red illustrious Italy—men who draw
their swords against this virtue. lb thew Hal ans, then,
no longer recognise a Roman! These men call
themselves men of Italy ; they shout out that it is victori-
ous, and do not perceive that it is decapitated. Ah! this
is a sad misadventure, and history will start back indignant
before this hideous victory, which consists in killing
Garibaldi in order that Italians may not have Rome. Gentle-
men, who are the auxiliaries of the patriot ! The press.
What is the terror of the coward and the traitor?
The press. I know it, the press is hated, and this
;is a great reason for loving it. Every indignity, every per.
mention, every fanaticism, denounces, insult', and wounds it
as far as they rap. I recollect a celebrated encyclical, some
remarkable words of which have remained on my memory.
l• this encyclical a Pope, our contemporary Gregory XVI.,
the enemy of his age, which is somewhat the misfortune of
Popes—and having ever present in his mind the old dragon
and beast of the Apocalypse, thus described the press
in his monkish and barbarous Latin, gala igwea, ealigo, im-
petus intmanis Curs strepdu horrendo (a fiery throat, dark-
ness, • fierce rush with a horrid noise). I dispute nothing of
the description. The portrait is striking. A mouth of
fire, smoke, prodigious rapidity, formidable noise. Just
so. It is a locomotive which is passing ; it is the press,
the mighty and holy locomotive of progress. Where
is it going Where is it dragging civilisation!
Where is this powerful pilot engine carrying mt-
. Lions ! The towel is long, obscure, and terrible, for we
may say that humanity is yet underground, so much matter
envelopes and cradles it, so many superstitions, prejudices,
and tyrannies form a thick vault around it, and so much
darkness is above it. Alas! since man's birth the whole
of history has been subterranean. We see nowhere
A the divine ray ; but in the nineteenth century,
after the French revolution, there is hope, thew is am
taioty. Yonder, far in a distance, • luminous mist appems
It increases; it increases ever► moment ; it is the future ;
it is realisation ; it is the end of woe, the dawn of joy;
it is Canaan, the future land where we shall
only have around us brethren and above os
Heaven. Strength to the sacred locomotive ! Courage
to thought ; courage to science ; courage to philosophy.
Courage to the press ! courage to all of you writers ! The
. hour is drawing nigh when men, delivered at last from this
dismal tunnel of SAO years, will suddenly bunt forth in
all its dazzling brightness. Gentlemen, one word more,
and let me make it, with your kind indulgence, a personal
east To be is your midst is • happiness. I thank God,
who hoe given me is my herd life this charming