one we have tried has never satisfied us; we have during eighty years
demolished it thirteen times, each time setting it up anew, and always
in vain, for never have we found one that suited us. If other nations
have been more fortunate, or if various political structures abroad
have proved stable and enduring, it is because these have been erected
in a special way. Founded on some primitive, massive pile, supported
by an old central edifice, often restored but always preserved,
gradually enlarged, and, after numerous trials and additions, they
have been adapted to the wants of its occupants. It is well to admit,
perhaps, that there is no other way of erecting a permanent building.
Never has one been put up instantaneously, after an entirely new
design, and according to the measurements of pure Reason. A sudden
contrivance of a new, suitable, and enduring constitution is an
enterprise beyond the forces of the human mind.

In any event, I came to the conclusion that if we should ever
discover the one we need it would not be through some fashionable
theory. The point is, if it exists, to discover it, and not to put it
to a vote. To do that would not only be pretentious it would be
useless; history and nature will do it for us; it is for us to adapt
ourselves to them, as it is certain they will accommodate themselves
to us. The social and political mold, into which a nation may enter
and remain, is not subject to its will, but determined by its
character and its past. It is essential that, even in its least
traits, it should be shaped on the living material to which it is
applied; otherwise it will burst and fall to pieces. Hence, if we
should succeed in finding ours, it will only be through a study of
ourselves, while the more we understand exactly what we are, the more
certainly shall we distinguish what best suits us. We ought,
therefore, to reverse the ordinary methods, and form some conception