Select Speeches of Kossuth · Chapter 28Preface to Kossuth's Speeches. (28)
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[Footnote *: October 5th, 1848] [Footnote **: October 30th, 1848]
I tender the brother-hand of Hungary to the German people, because I am convinced that it is essentially necessary for the freedom and independence of my country. Destined as we are to be the vanguard of freedom, I know well that as long as Germany remains enslaved, even the victory of our liberty would remain insecure; as long as Germany remains an army, whose power is wielded by the criminal hand of the house of Hapsburg; as long as Russia has nothing to fear from Germany, because the two masters of Germany are but underlings of Russia—obeying the command of their master, because he maintains them on their tottering thrones against their own people; so long Russia will always have the arrogance to throw her despotic sword into the scale against the freedom of the world.
I am not the first who say it, that the freedom of Germany is the condition of the liberty of the world; history tells it with a thousand tongues, every statesman acknowledges it, and all the despots know it.
Twenty years past, when the German Princes recovered from the stunning blow of the July Revolution, by finding out that LOUIS PHILIPPE was not in earnest with his phrases of liberty, when, in the year 1832, they united to enslave the German people, and to retract the concessions which they had given in the fright of their hearts; when they curtailed all the Constitutional guarantees, then HENRY LYTTON BULWER, the same who was Ambassador in Washington during the last year, rose in the English Parliament, and claimed that England should not permit the liberty and independence of the German people to be crushed. He claimed the attention of the world to the great truths that the peace of Europe cannot be secured without a strong Germany, and that Germany cannot be strong without freedom. A free Germany is a bulwark against the encroachments of France and the arrogance of Russia. Germany enslaved, is either the prey of the former or the tool of the other. His prophecy is fulfilled; Germany is become half the prey and wholly the tool of Russia. Who then can calculate on security and peace and freedom, as long as Germany is thus enslaved.
You see, dear friends, that the brotherly union with Germany must be of sacred importance to me, and that my heart must beat as fervently for Germany's freedom, as for that of my own people. Therefore, I necessarily wished to bequeath the care of the seed which I have sown, to men urged to this task of love, not only by enlightened American patriotism—not only by the conscience of right and duty and prudence, but likewise especially by love for their old German fatherland. And do I not express only the sentiments of your own hearts, when I say, "The German may wander from his father's house, and may build for himself a new home in a distant country, yet he ever loves truly and faithfully his own old German fatherland"?
I request you to exert your influence, that the idea of the solidarity of the struggle for European liberty may be well understood, and that preparations be made to support the revolution, whenever it breaks out. There is nothing more dangerous than to say: "The Hungarian, the Italian, or the German fights; let us see whether he succeeds; if he succeeds, we too will try the same." By the isolation of the nations the combined despots become victorious. Let everybody support Liberty, wherever she struggles. But, on the other side, the forces of the revolution cannot so pledge and tie themselves, as to be thrown into the abyss by every ill-combined premature outbreak. Not an "EMEUTE," but a REVOLUTION is our aim; and therefore the leaders of the movement of the different nations must combine either in a simultaneous outbreak, or to mutual support; and in this combination there must be absolute freedom and equality.
There are persons in this country who did me the honour to mention that I would lead the German movement. No! gentlemen; that would be a presumptuous arrogance, even if it were practical, which it is not. This idea itself is the most antagonistical to my principles. No!—No! No foreign interference with the domestic affairs of a nation. I will not bear it in Hungary, nor obtrude it abroad. Full independence is my watchword.
But you will ask who are, or who were, the leaders of Germany, with whom I still combine? The question is easily answered; you will acknowledge them from their works. Whoever comes to tender me his hand as a confederate, I do not ask who he is, where he comes from?—but I ask, "What do you weigh? what power do you command? what forces have you organized? or what are your prospects or means of organization?" and then I inquire into the truth myself. I judge the vitality of the intention, and accept or decline the proffered brotherly alliance of mutual support.
This is my way. I do not think that Germany will ever combine under the leadership of one man; but there are many Germans in the different parts of Germany who enjoy the confidence of their countrymen, and have a leading influence. Every one of these can act in his sphere. I, my friends, will be always ready to combine with every one who does, and who has some forces to tender to the league. I do not care for names, for petty party disputes, or for those which belong to the domestic questions.
[Kossuth proceeded, in assent to a special request, to give his advice as to the method of proceeding suitable to the German voters in America; and closed by saying:]
Those are the principles, my dear friends, which should lead you, according to my humble opinion, in the present crisis. And if you take into kind consideration my bequest, and exert your influence and active aid on behalf of the movement for freedom in Europe, I can but assure you, for my grateful farewell, that there are hundreds of thousands in Europe who take those words for their device, which the other day, the German singers sang, as if from the depth of my heart.
"And never shall rest the shield and the spear, Till destroyed we see, and laid in the dust, The enemies all."
May God help me! This is my oath, and this oath my farewell!
* * * * *
[A Lecture in New York.]
The following Lecture was delivered at the Broadway Tabernacle by request of a large number of ladies and gentlemen of New York, for the purpose of obtaining the means necessary to secure to the exiled family of Kossuth, consisting of his aged mother, his sisters and their children, an establishment by which they might earn an independent livelihood.
The New York 'Evening Post' says of the Lecture:—
"Kossuth appears nowhere greater than in this able discourse. His comprehensive politics, his beautiful sympathies, his power over language, his poetic imagination, his magnetic and melting earnestness of purpose, are blended with that depth of religious feeling which gives to his character as a patriot the sanctity and unction of the prophet. His moral and intellectual faculties are shown in harmony, working out the great and beneficent purposes of his commanding will.
"It would be difficult to select any portion of this speech as better than another, and we therefore commend the whole to the reader's careful examination."
Ladies and gentlemen,—During six months I appeared many times before the tribunal of public opinion in America. This evening I appear before you in the capacity of a working man. My aged mother, tried by more sufferings than any living being on earth, and my three sisters, one of them a widow with two fatherless orphans, together a homeless family of fourteen unfortunate souls, have been driven by the Austrian tyrant from their home, that Golgotha of murdered right, that land of the oppressed, but also of undesponding braves, and the land of approaching revenge. When Russian violence, aided by domestic treason, succeeded to accomplish what Austrian perjury could not achieve, and I with bleeding heart went into exile, my mother and all my sisters were imprisoned by Austria; but it having been my constant maxim not to allow to whatever member of my family any influence in public affairs, except that I intrusted to the charitable superintending of my youngest sister the hospitals of the wounded heroes, as also to my wife the cares of providing for the furniture of these hospitals, not even the foulest intrigues could contrive any pretext for the continuation of their imprisonment. And thus when diplomacy succeeded to fetter my patriotic activity by the internation to far Asia, after some months of unjust imprisonment, my mother and sisters and their family have been released; and though surrounded by a thousand spies, tortured by continual interference with their private life, and harassed by insulting police measures, they had at least the consolation to breathe the native air, to see their tears falling upon native soil, and to rejoice at the majestic spirit of our people, which no adversities could bend and no tyranny could break.
But at last by the humanity of the Sultan, backed by American generosity, seconded by England, I once more was restored to personal freedom, and by freedom to activity. Having succeeded to escape the different snares and traps which I unexpectedly met, I considered it my duty publicly to declare that the war between Austrian tyranny and the freedom of Hungary is not ended yet, and swore eternal resistance to the oppressors of my country, and declared that, faithful to the oath sworn solemnly to my people, I will devote my life to the liberation of my fatherland. Scarcely reached the tidings of this my after resolution the bloody Court of Vienna, than two of my sisters were again imprisoned; my poor old mother escaping the same cruelty only on account that bristling bayonets of the bloodhounds of despotism, breaking in the dead of night upon the tranquil house, and the persecution of my sisters, hurried away out of Hungary to the prisons of Vienna, threw her in a half-dying condition upon a sick bed. Again no charge could be brought against the poor prisoners, because, knowing them in the tiger's den, and surrounded by spies, I not only did not communicate any thing to them about my foreign preparations and my dispositions at home, but have expressly forbidden them to mix in any way with the doings of patriotism.
But tyrants are suspicious. You know the tale about Marcius. He dreamt that he cut the throat of Dionysius the tyrant, and Dionysius condemned him to death, saying that he would not have dreamt such things in the night if he had not thought of it by day. Thus the Austrian tyrant imprisoned my sisters, because he suspected that, being my sisters, they must be initiated in my plans. At last, after five months of imprisonment, they were released, but upon the condition that they, as well as my mother and all my family, shall leave our native land. Thus they became exiles, homeless, helpless, poor. I advised them to come to your free country—the asylum of the oppressed, where labour is honoured, and where they must try to live by their honest work.
They followed my advice, and are on their way; but my poor aged mother and my youngest sister, the widow with the two orphans, being stopped by dangerous sickness at Brussels, another sister stopped with them to nurse them. The rest of the family is already on the way—in a sailing ship of course, I believe, and not in a steamer. We are poor. My mother and sisters will follow so soon as their health permits.
I felt the duty to help them in their first establishment here. For this I had to work, having no means of my own.
Some generous friends advised me to try a lecture for this purpose, and I did it. I will not act the part of crying complainants about our misfortunes; we will bear them. Let me at once go to my task.
* * * * *
There is a stirring vitality of busy life about this your city of New York, striking with astonishment the stranger's mind. How great is the progress of Humanity! Its steps are counted by centuries, and yet while countless millions stand almost at the same point where they stood, and some even have declined since America first emerged out of an unexplored darkness which had covered her for thousands of years, like the gem in the sea; while it is but yesterday a few pilgrims landed on the wild coast of Plymouth, flying from causeless oppression, seeking but for a place of refuge and of rest, and for a free spot in the wilderness to adore the Almighty in their own way; still, in such a brief time, shorter than the recorded genealogy of the noble horse of the wandering Arab; yes, almost within the turn of the hand, out of the unknown wilderness a mighty empire arose, broad as an ocean, solid as a mountain-rock, and upon the scarcely rotted roots of the primitive forest, proud cities stand, teeming with boundless life, growing like the prairie's grass in spring, advancing like the steam-engine, baffling time and distance like the telegraph, and spreading the pulsation of their life-tide to the remotest parts of the world; and in those cities and on that broad land a nation, free as the mountain air, independent as the soaring eagle, active as nature, and powerful as the giant strength of millions of freemen.
How wonderful! What a present—and what a future yet!
Future?—then let me stop at this mysterious word—the veil of unrevealed eternity!
The shadow of that dark word passed across my mind, and amid the bustle of this gigantic bee-hive, there I stood with meditation alone.
And the spirit of the immovable Past rose before my eyes, unfolding the misty picture-rolls of vanished greatness, and of the fragility of human things.
And among their dissolving views, there I saw the scorched soil of Africa, and upon that soil Thebes with its hundred gates, more splendid than the most splendid of all the existing cities of the world; Thebes, the pride of old Egypt, the first metropolis of arts and sciences, and the mysterious cradle of so many doctrines which still rule mankind in different shapes, though it has long forgotten their source. There I saw Syria with its hundred cities, every city a nation, and every nation with an empire's might. Baalbec, with its gigantic temples, the very ruins of which baffle the imagination of man, as they stand like mountains of carved rocks in the desert where for hundreds of miles not a stone is to be found, and no river flows, offering its tolerant back to carry a mountain's weight upon, and yet there they stand, those gigantic ruins; and as we glance at them with astonishment, though we have mastered the mysterious elements of nature, and know the combination of levers, and how to catch the lightning, and to command the power of steam and of compressed air, and how to write with the burning fluid out of which the thunderbolt is forged, and how to drive the current of streams up the mountain's top, and how to make the air shine in the night like the light of the sun, and how to dive to the bottom of the deep ocean, and how to rise up to the sky—though we know all this, and many things else, still, looking at the temples of Baalbec, we cannot forbear to ask what people of giants was that, which could do what neither the efforts of our skill nor the ravaging hand of unrelenting time can undo, through thousands of years. And then I saw the dissolving picture of Nineveh, with its ramparts now covered with mountains of sand, where Layard is digging up colossal winged bulls, huge as a mountain, and yet carved with the nicety of a cameo; and then Babylon, with its wonderful walls; and Jerusalem, with its unequalled temple; Tyrus, with its countless fleets; Arad, with its wharves; and Sidon, with its labyrinth of work-shops and factories; and Ascalon, and Gaza, and Beyrout, and farther off Persepolis, with its world of palaces.
All these passed before my eyes as they have been, and again they passed as they now are, with no trace of their ancient greatness, but here and there a ruin, and everywhere the desolation of tombs. With all their splendour, power, and might, they vanished like a bubble, or like the dream of a child, leaving but for a moment a drop of cold sweat upon the sleeper's brow, or a quivering smile upon his lips; then, this wiped away, dream, sweat, smile—all is nothingness.
So the powerful cities of the ancient greatness of a giant age; their very memory but a sad monument of the fragility of human things.
And yet, proud of the passing hour's bliss, men speak of the future, and believe themselves insured against its vicissitudes!
And the spirit of history rolled on the misty shapes of the past before the eyes of my soul. After those cities of old came the nations of old. The Assyrians, the Chaldeans, the war-like Philistines, the commercial republics of Phoenicia and the Persians, ruling from the Indus to the Mediterranean, and Egypt becoming the centre of the universe, after having been thousands of years ago the cradle of its civilization.
Where is the power, the splendour, and the glory of all those mighty nations? All has vanished without other trace than such as the foot of the wanderer leaves upon the dust.
And still men speak of the future with proud security!
And yet they know that Carthage is no more, though it ruled Spain, and ruled Africa beyond the pillars of Hercules down to Cerne, an immense territory, blessed with all the blessings of nature, which Hannon filled with flourishing cities, of which now no trace remains.
And men speak of the future, though they know that such things as heroic Greece once did exist, glorious in its very ruins, and a source of everlasting inspiration in its immortal memory.
Men speak of the future, and still they can rehearse the powerful colonies issued from Greece, and the empires their heroic sons have founded. And they can mark out with a finger on the map, the unparalleled conquests of Alexander; how he crossed victoriously that desert whence Semiramis, out of a countless host, brought home but twenty men; and Cyrus, out of a still larger number, only seven men. But he (Alexander) went on in triumph, and conquered India up to the Hydaspes as he conquered before Tyrus and Egypt, and secured with prudence what he had conquered with indomitable energy.
And men speak of the future, though they know that such a thing did exist as Rome, the Mistress of the World—Rome rising from atomic smallness to immortal greatness, and to a grandeur absorbing the world—Rome, now having all her citizens without, and now again having all the world within her walls; and passing through all the vicissitudes of gigantic rise, wavering decline, and mournful fall. And men speak of the future still with these awful monuments of fragility before their eyes!
But it is the sad fate of Humanity that, encompassing its hopes, fears, contentment, and wishes, within the narrow scope of momentary satisfaction, the great lesson of history is taught almost in vain. Whatever be its warnings, we rely on our good fortune; and we are ingenious in finding out some soothing pretext to lull down the dreadful admonitions of history. Man, in his private capacity, consoles the instinctive apprehension of his heart with the idea that his condition is different from what warningly strikes his mind. The patriot feels well, that not only the present, but also the future of his beloved country, has a claim to his cares; but he lulls himself into carelessness by the ingenious consolation that the condition of his country is different—that it is not obnoxious to those faults which made other countries decline and fall; that the time is different; the character and spirit of the nation are different, its power not so precarious, and its prosperity more solid; and that, therefore, it will not share the same fate of those which vanished like a dream. And the philanthropist, also, whose heart throbs for the lasting welfare of all humanity, cheers his mind with the idea that, after all, mankind at large is happier than it was of yore, and that this happiness ensures the future against the reverses of olden times.
That fallacy, natural as it may be, is a curse which weighs heavily on us. Let us see in what respect our age is different from those olden times. Is mankind more virtuous than it has been of yore? Why, in this enlightened age, are we not looking for virtuous inspirations to the god-like characters of these olden times? If we take virtue to be love of the laws, and of the Fatherland, dare we say that our age is more virtuous? If that man is to be called virtuous, who, in all his acts, is but animated by a regard to the common good, and who, in every case, feels ready to subordinate his own selfish interest to public exigencies—if that be virtue (as indeed it is), I may well appeal to the conscience of mankind to give an impartial verdict upon the question, if our age be more virtuous than the age of Codrus or of Regulus, of Decius and of Scaevola. Look to the school of Zeno, the stoics of immortal memory; and when you see them contemning alike the vanity of riches and the ambition of personal glory, impenetrable to the considerations of pleasure and of pain, occupied only to promote public welfare and to fulfil their duties toward the community; when you see them inspired in all their acts by the doctrine that, born in a society, it is their duty to live for the benefit of society; and when you see them placing their own happiness only upon the happiness of their fellow-men—then say if our too selfish, too material age can stand a comparison with that olden period. When you remember the politicians of ancient Greece, acknowledging no other basis for the security of the commonwealth than virtue, and see the political system of our days turning only upon manufactures, commerce, and finances, will you say that our age is more virtuous? When, looking to your own country—the best and happiest, because the freest of all—you will not dissimulate in your own mind what considerations influence the platforms of your political parties; and then in contra-position will reflect upon those times when Timon of Athens, chosen to take part in his country's government, assembled his friends and renounced their friendship, in order that he might not be tempted by party considerations or by affections of amity, in his important duties toward the commonwealth. Then, having thus reflected, say, "Take you our own age to be more virtuous, and therefore more ensured against the reverses of fortune, than those older times?"
But perhaps there is a greater amount of private happiness, and by the broad diffusion of private welfare, the security of the commonwealth is more lasting and more sure?
Caraccioli, having been ambassador in England, when returned to Italy, said, "that England is the most detestable country in the world, because there are to be found twenty different sorts of religion, but only two kinds of sauces with which to season meat."
There is a point in that questionable jest. Materialism! curse of our age! Who can seriously speak about the broad diffusion of happiness in a country where contentment is measured according to how many kinds of sauces we can taste? My people is by far not the most material. We are not much given to the cupidity of becoming rich. We know the word "enough." The simplicity of our manners makes us easily contented in our material relations; we like rather to be free than to be rich; we look for an honourable profit, that we may have upon what to live; but we don't like to live for the sake of profit; augmentation of property and of wealth with us is not the aim of our life—we prefer tranquil, independent mediocrity to the incessant excitement and incessant toil of cupidity and gain. Such is the character of my nation; and yet I have known a countryman of mine who blew out his brains because he had no means more to eat daily patés de foi gras and drink champagne. Well, that was no Hungarian character, but, though somewhat eccentrically, he characterized the leading feature of our century.
Indeed, are your richest money-kings happier than Fabricius was, when he preferred his seven acres of land, worked by his own hands, to the treasures of an empire? Are the ladies of to-day, adorned with all the gorgeous splendour of wealth, of jewels, and of art, happier than those ladies of ancient Rome have been, to whom it was forbidden to wear silk and jewelry, or drive in a carriage through the streets of Rome? Are the ladies of to-day happier in their splendid parlours, than the Portias and the Cornelias have been in the homely retirement of their modest nurseries? Nay; all that boundless thirst of wealth, which is the ruling spirit of our age, and the moving power of enterprising energy, all this hunting after treasures, and all its happiest results, have they made men nobler, better, and happier? Have they improved their soul, or even their body and their health, at least so much that the richest of men could eat and digest two dinners instead of one? Or has the insatiable thirst of material gain originated a purer patriotism? has it made mankind more devoted to their country, more ready to sacrifice for public interest? If that were the case, then I would gladly confess the error of my doubts, and take the pretended larger amount of happiness for a guarantee of the future of the commonwealth. But, ladies and gentlemen! a single word—the manner in which we use it, distorting its original meaning, often characterizes a whole century. You all know the word "idiot;" almost every living language has adopted it, and all languages attach to it the idea that an "idiot" is a poor, ignorant, useless wretch, nearly insane. Well, "idiot" is a word of Greek extraction, and meant with the Greek a man who cared nothing for the public interest, but was all devoted to the selfish pursuit of private profit, whatever might have been its results to the community. Oh! what an immense, what a deplorable change must have occurred in the character of Humanity, till unconsciously we came to the point, that by what name the ancient Greeks would have styled those European money-kings, who, for a miserable profit, administer to the unrelenting despots their eternal loans, to oppress nations with, we now apply that very name to the wretched creatures incapable to do any thing for themselves. We bear compassion for the idiots of to-day, but the modern editions of Greek idiotism, though loaded with the bloody scars of a hundred thousand orphans, and with the curse of millions, stand high in honour, and go on, proudly glorying in their criminal idiotism, heaping up the gold of the world.
But I may be answered, after all, though our age be not so virtuous, and though the large accumulation in wealth has in reality not made mankind happier; still, it cannot be denied, you are in a prosperous condition, and prosperity is a solid basis of your country's future. Industry, navigation, commerce, have so much developed, they have formed so many ties by which every citizen is linked to his country's fate, that your own material interest is a security to your country's future.
In loving your own selves you love your country, and in loving your country you love your own selves. This community of public and private interest will make you avoid the stumbling-block over which others fell. Prosperity is, of course, a great benefit; it is one of the aims of human society; but when prosperity becomes too material, it does not always guarantee the future. Paradoxical as it may appear, too much prosperity is often dangerous, and some national misfortune is now and then a good preservative of prosperity. For great prosperity makes nations careless of their future; seeing no immediate danger, they believe no danger possible; and then when a danger comes, either by sudden chance or by the slow accumulation of noxious elements, then, frightened by the idea that in meeting the danger their private property might be injured or lost, selfishness often prevails over patriotism, and men become ready to submit to arrogant pretensions, and compromise with exigencies at the price of principles, and republics flatter despots, and freemen covet the friendship and indulgence of tyrants, only that things may go on just as they go, though millions weep and nations groan; but still, things should go on just as they go, because every change may claim a sacrifice, or affect our thriving private interest. Such is often the effect of too great, of too secure prosperity. Therefore, prosperity alone affords yet no security.
You remember the tale of Polycrates. He was the happiest of men; good luck attended every one of his steps; success crowned all he undertook, and a friend thus spoke to him: "Thou art too happy for thy happiness to last. Appease the anger of the Eumenides by a voluntary sacrifice, or deprive thyself of what thou most valuest among all that thou possessest." Polycrates obeyed, and drew from his finger a precious jewel, of immense value, dear to his heart, and threw it into the sea. Soon after a fish was brought to his house, and his cook found the precious ring in the belly of the fish; but the friend who advised him hastened to flee from the house, and shook the dust of its threshold from his shoes, because he feared a great mischief must fall upon that too prosperous house. There is a deep meaning in that tale of Polycrates.