I - Lack of Moral Criterion

The author claims not to presume to reform the world, but rather to express publicly the patriotic concerns that the educated and propertied reader has privately voiced.

The author challenges the reader not to shy away from naked truth in public, noting that such conventional modesty would be self-defeating since the reader himself discusses these matters privately.

The author clarifies that while the reader has said the country is 'rotted,' he instead argues that the country is 'rotting'—a process that can still be arrested.

The author asserts that in moments of national difficulty, it is both an honor and an advantage for all citizens to work for the redemption of their common fatherland.

The author depicts Portugal as undergoing a severe crisis, with the social edifice creaking and groaning as if struck by biblical curses, with vital national forces weakening in deplorable collapse.

Commerce languishes, industry retreats, and agriculture withers; a suffocating atmosphere hangs over the factors of national wealth—intelligence clouds, capital sleeps, labor grows lazy.

The author identifies the decline of public confidence as the greatest and most destructive of all factors, surpassing the loss of commerce, industry, and agriculture.

The author argues that a people cannot live on material progress alone; without the illuminating spark of public spirit that constitutes a nation's soul, ephemeral material flourishing will wither.

Portugal attempted to keep pace with European civilization through infrastructure and economic stimulus, but neglected the spiritual and moral dimensions of public life, resulting in the current crisis.

The author insists that silence will not warn a people in danger; truth must be spoken plainly, like cautery on a wound, and true patriotism discovers and repairs rather than conceals.

A subtle poison of apathy, relaxation, and egoism is infiltrating Portuguese society and will kill it unless countered by the powerful antidote of moralizing and energetic action.

The author establishes a logical chain: without moral criterion comes loss of rights and responsibility; without these, absence of will; without will, poor politics; without good politics, unstable government; without stability, no public confidence; without confidence, no wealth; without wealth increase, budget imbalance; and budget imbalance leads to ruin.

The author emphasizes that national ruin does not stem solely from occasional physical causes but has its root and trunk in the moral condition of the nation.

If moral vigor is instilled in the nation, what today seems an abyss may tomorrow become merely a confused point in the political geography of a regenerated people.

The author asks whether Portugal possesses moral criterion on a sufficiently large and pronounced scale to give physiognomy to public life, and immediately answers in the negative.

While private transactions do contain basic honesty—a minimal virtue that prevents society from becoming a haunt of robbers—the author notes this is not the criterion for public life.

The author acknowledges that some individuals conduct themselves with scrupulous delicacy, allowing no shadow of doubt to tarnish their reputation.

The author clarifies that the critique concerns not individuals but the collectivity—the nation that elects, legislates, and governs; in short, political Portugal.

In the realm of political Portugal, exceptions overwhelm the general rule; convictions are at the mercy of circumstance, blown about like leaves by the winds of power.

Unbelievers flutter from faction to faction and interest to interest, extracting honey from whichever party they chance upon, especially when it basks in the sun of power.

Party programs themselves are inconsistent, burning with fever in government or freezing in opposition, proving that convictions follow circumstances rather than principles.

In the resulting chaos, nearly everyone is a correligionist with nearly everyone else, treating the budget like a forest where game is hunted by any means available.

The author satirizes the mechanical advancement of nobles—a count becomes a marquis through some accident, certain of dukedom if a republic comes—showing the absurdity of political instability.

Laws constantly change and reform previous reforms; one risks penalties simply by failing to keep current with legislation; many laws remain dead letters despite their existence.

Respect for the principle of authority, without which liberty itself cannot flourish, gradually disappears from the minds of the masses, manifesting in public violence and contempt for the law.

Intrigue and calumny are common currency; lies no longer disturb either teller or hearer; successful mendacity becomes a matter of skill.

All forms of utility invade every body and soul; rising, prospering, enjoying, and winning become cardinal points on the map of beliefs, making scandal itself an excellent recommendation.

Instead of attending to great writers and serious journalism, the perverted popular palate craves only obscene pamphlets filled with insults, lies, and attacks on decency and truth.

The more cowardly the insinuation, the viler the denunciation, and the more infamously phrased, the more the populace savors and delights in it.

The author provides a concrete example of a successful military sedition, after which courtesans flock to worship the victor, abandoning principle for proximity to power.

The author emphasizes the extraordinary and damning fact that a mere sergeant of hunters dared to close the doors of parliament.

Through allegory, the author depicts three contenders—Regeneration (pragmatic), Reform (youthful and naive), and Revolt (demagoguic and destructive)—each bidding for the marshal's favor with promises reflecting their nature.

The author concludes that the marshal accepted Revolt's offer, leading the country into destructive consequences.

The author asks rhetorically whether any moral criterion can exist in a country where power is courted with such notable impudence.

A coup d'état, prompted by the country's inability to resolve its own crisis, removed the marshal; this represents a dangerous remedy applied by royal power.

The author laments that the country lacked sufficient internal strength to overcome the disease itself and thus had to entrust the remedy to the crown—a sad confession of impotence.

The dictator was dismissed and the dictatorship was officially condemned, yet the laws enacted under it remain in force—a constitutional fiction that contradicts logic.

Those who perpetrated the dictatorship, after digesting the spoils, receive appointment to positions of absolute political confidence—a minister becomes an ambassador.

The author observes the absurdity of political circulation: one politician departs and receives benefits; another receives benefits without departing.

The author concludes by asking whether any moral criterion can possibly exist in a country that tolerates such episodes of political corruption and hypocrisy.