Select Speeches of Kossuth · Chapter 8Preface to Kossuth's Speeches. (8)
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Kossuth thereupon replied:—
Gentlemen,—Highly as I value the opportunity to meet the gentlemen of the Bar, I should have felt very much embarrassed to have to answer the address of that corporation before such a numerous and distinguished assembly, had not you, sir, relieved my well-founded anxiety by justly anticipating and appreciating my difficulties. Let me hope, that herein you were the interpreter of this distinguished assembly's indulgence.
Gentlemen of the Bar, you have the noble task to be the first interpreters of the law; to make it subservient to justice; to maintain its eternal principles against encroachment; and to restore those principles to life, whenever they become obliterated by misunderstanding or by violence. My opinion is, that Law must keep pace in its development with institutions and intelligence, and until these are perfect, law is and must be with them in continual progress. Justice is immortal, eternal, and immutable, like God himself; and the development of law is only then a progress, when it is directed towards those principles which, like Him, are eternal; and whenever prejudice or error succeeds in establishing in customary law any doctrine contrary to eternal justice, it is one of your noblest duties, gentlemen,—having no written Code to fetter justice within the bonds of error and prejudice,—it is one of your noblest duties to apply Principles, —to show that an unjust custom is a corrupt practice, an abuse; and by showing this, to originate that change, or rather development in the unwritten, customary law, which is necessary to make it protect justice, instead of opposing and violating it.
If this be your noble vocation in respect to the Private laws of your country, let me entreat you, gentlemen, to extend it to that Public law which, regulating the mutual duties of nations towards each other, rules the destinies of humanity. You know that in that eternal code of "nature and of nature's God," which your forefathers invoked when they raised the colonies of England to the rank of a free nation, there are no pettifogging subtleties, but only everlasting principles: everlasting, like those by which the world is ruled. You know that when artificial cunning of ambitious oppressors succeeds to pervert those principles, and when passive indifference or thoughtlessness submits to it, as weakness must submit: it is the noble destiny—let me say, duty—of enlightened nations, alike powerful as free, to restore those eternal principles to practical validity, so that justice, light, and truth may sway, where injustice, oppression, and error have prevailed. Raise high the torch of truth; cast its beams on the dark field of arbitrary prejudice; become the champions of principles, and your people will be the regenerators of International law.
It will. A tempestuous life has somewhat sharpened my eye, and had it even not done so, still I would dare to say, I know how to read your people's heart. It is conscious of your country's power; it is jealous of its own dignity; it knows that it is able to restore the law of nations to the principles of justice and right; and knowing its ability, its will shall not be lacking. Let the cause of Hungary become the opportunity for the restoration of true and just international law. Mankind is come to the eleventh hour in its destinies. One hour of delay more, and its fate may be sealed, and nothing left to the generous inclinations of your people—so tender-hearted, so noble, and so kind—but to mourn over murdered nations, its beloved brethren in humanity.
I have but to make a few remarks about two objections, which I am told I shall have to contend with. The first is, that it is a leading principle of the United States not to interfere with European nations. I may perhaps assume that you have been pleased to acquaint yourselves with what I have elsewhere said on that argument; viz. that the United States had never entertained or confessed such a principle, or at any rate had abandoned it, and had been forced to do so: which indicates it to have been only a temporary policy. I stated the mighty difference between neutrality and non-interference; so I will only briefly remark that a like difference exists between alliance and interference. Every independent power has the right to form alliances, but is not under duty to do so: it may remain neutral, if it please. Neither alliances nor neutrality are matters of principle, but simply of policy. They may hurt interest, but do not violate law; whereas with interference the contrary is the case. Interference with the sovereign right of nations to resist oppression, or to alter their institutions and government, is a violation of the law of nations and of God: therefore non-interference is a duty common to every power and every nation, and is placed under the safeguard of every power, of every nation. He who violates that law is like a pirate: every power on earth has the duty to chase him down as a curse to human nature. There is not a man in the United States but would avow that a pirate must be chased down; and no man more readily than the gentlemen of trade. A gentleman who came yesterday to honour me with the invitation of Cincinnati, that rising wonder of the West,—with eloquence which speaks volumes in one word, designated as piracy the interference of foreign violence with the domestic concerns of a nation. There is such a moving power in a word of truth! That word has relieved me of many long speeches. I no longer need to discuss the principle of your foreign policy: there can be no doubt about what is lawful, what is a duty, against piracy. Your naval forces are, and must be, instructed to put down piracy wherever they meet it, on whatever geographic lines, whether in European or in American waters. You sent your Commodore Decatur for that purpose to the Mediterranean, who told the Dey of Algiers, that "if he claims powder, he will have it with the balls;" and no man in the United States imagined this to oppose your received policy. Nobody then objected that it is the ruling principle of the United States not to meddle with European or African concerns; rather, if your government had neglected so to do, I am sure the gentlemen of trade would have been foremost to complain. Now, in the name of all which is pleasing to God and sacred to man, if all are ready thus to unite in the outcry against a rover, who, at the danger of his own life, boards some frail ship, murders some poor sailors, or takes a few bales of cotton—is there no hope to see a similar universal outcry against those great pirates who board, not some small cutters, but the beloved home of nations? who murder, not some few sailors, but whole peoples? who shed blood, not by drops, but by torrents? who rob, not some hundred weight of merchandize, but the freedom, independence, welfare, and the very existence of nations? Oh God and Father of human kind! spare—oh spare that degradation to thy children; that in their destinies some bales of cotton should more weigh than those great moralities. Alas! what a pitiful sight! A miserable pickpocket, a drunken highway robber, chased by the whole human race to the gallows: and those who pickpocket the life-sweat of nations, rob them of their welfare, of their liberty, and murder them by thousands—these high-handed criminals proudly raise their brow, trample upon mankind, and degrade its laws before their high reverential name, and term themselves "most sacred majesties." But may God be blessed, there is hope for human nature; for there is a powerful, free, mighty people here on the virgin soil of America, ready to protect the laws of man and of Heaven against the execrated pirates and their associates.
But again I am told, "The United States, as a power, are not indifferent; we sympathize deeply with those who are oppressed; we will respect the laws of nations; but we have no interest to make them respected by others towards others." Interest! and always interest! Oh, how cupidity has succeeded to misrepresent the word? Is there any interest which could outweigh the interest of justice and of right? Interest! But I answer by the very words of one of the most distinguished members of your profession, gentlemen, the present Honourable Secretary of State:—"The United States, as a nation, have precisely the same interest (yes, interest is his word) in international law as a private individual has in the laws of his country." He was a member of the bar who advanced that principle of eternal justice against the mere fact of policy; and now that he is in the position to carry out the principle which he has advanced, I confidently trust he will be as good as his word,[*] and that his honourable colleagues, the gentlemen of the bar, will remember their calling to maintain the permanent principles of justice against the encroachments of accidental policy.
[Footnote *: See the extracts from Mr. Webster's speech at the Washington Banquet.]
But I may be answered—"If we (the United States) avow that we will not endure the interference of Russia in Hungary (for that is the practical meaning, I will not deny), and if Russia should not respect our declaration; then we might have to go to war." Well, I am not the man to decline the consequences of my principles. I will not steal into your sympathy by evasion. Yes, gentlemen, I confess, should Russia not respect such a declaration of your country, then you are forced to go to war, or else be degraded before mankind. But, gentlemen, you must not shrink back from the mere word war; you must consider what is the probability of its occurrence. I have already stated publicly my certain knowledge how vulnerable Russia is; how weak she is internally. But the best clue to you as to what will be her future conduct, if you act decisively, will be gained by examining the extreme caution and timidity with which, in the late events, she felt her way, before she interposed by force.
The last French Revolution broke out in February, 1848. The Czar hates republics,—name and thing; but he did not interfere against the France of Lamartine, any more than against the France of Louis Philippe in 1830. Why not? He dared not. But he resorted to his natural and his most dangerous weapon, secret diplomacy. He sent male and female intriguers to Paris, and succeeded in turning the revolution into a mock republic. But from the pulsations of the great French heart every tyrant had trembled. The German nation took its destiny into its own hands, and proposed to itself to become ONE, in Frankfort. The throne in Berlin quaked; the Austrian emperor fled from his palace, a few weeks after he had with his own hands waved the flag of freedom out of his window. In Vienna an Austrian Parliament met. A constitution was devised for Polish Gallicia, linked by blood, history, and nature, to the Poland domineered over by the Czar; while on its western frontier another Polish province, Posen, was wrapt in revolutionary flames. You can imagine how the Czar raged, how he wished to unite all mankind in one head, so that he might cut it off with a single blow; and still he nowhere interfered. Why not? Again I say, he was prudently afraid. However, the French republic became very innocent to him—almost an ally in some respects, really an ally in others, as in the case of unfortunate Rome. The gentlemen of Frankfort proved also to be very innocent. The hopes of Germany failed—the people were shot down in Vienna, Prague, Lemberg,—the Austrian mock Parliament was sent from Vienna to Kremsen, and from Kremsen home. Only Hungary stood firm, steady, victorious—the Czar had nothing more to fear from all revolutionary Europe—nothing from Germany—nothing from France. He had no fear from the United States, since he knew that your government then was not willing to meddle with European affairs: so he had free hands in Hungary. But one thing still he did not know, and that was—what will England and what will Turkey say, if he interferes?—and that consideration alone was sufficient to check him. So anxious was he to feel the pulse of England and of Turkey, that he sent first a small army—some ten thousand men—to help the Austrians in Transylvania; and sent them in such a manner as to have, in case of need, for excuse, that he was called to do so, not by Austria only, but by that part of the people also, which deceived by foul delusion, stood by Austria! Oh, it was an infernal plot! We beat down and drove out his 10,000 men, together with all the Austrians—but the Czar had won his game. He was hereby assured that he would have no foreign power to oppose him when he dared to violate the law of nations by an armed interference in Hungary. So he interfered with all his might.
It is a torture even to remember, how like a dream vanished all our hopes that there is yet justice on earth. When I saw my nation, as a handful of brave men, forsaken to fight alone that immense battle for humanity; when I saw Russian diplomacy stealing, like secret poison, into our ranks, introducing treason into them;—but let me not look back; it is all in vain; the past is past. Forward is my word, and forward I will go; for I know that there is yet a God in heaven, and there is a people like you on earth, and there is a power of decided will here also in this bleeding heart. It is my motto still, that "there is no difficulty to him who wills." But so much is a fact, so much is sure, that the Czar did not dare to interfere until he was assured that he would meet no foreign power to oppose him. Show him, free people of America—show him in a manly declaration, that he will meet your force if he dares once more to trample on the laws of nations—accompany this declaration with an augmentation of your Mediterranean fleets, and be sure he will not stir. You will have no war, and Austria falls almost without a battle, like a house without foundation, raised upon the sand; Hungary—my poor Hungary—will be free, and Europe's oppressed continent able to arrange its domestic concerns. Even without my appeal to your sympathy, you have the source in your own generous hearts. This meeting is a substantial proof of it. Receive my thanks.
I have done, gentlemen; I am worn out. I must reserve for another occasion what I would say further, were I able. I know that when I speak in this glorious country, there is the mighty engine of the press which enables me to address the whole people. Let me now say that the ground on which the hopes of my native land rest, is the principle of justice, right, and law. To the maintenance of these you have devoted your lives, gentlemen of the Bar. I leave them under your professional care, and trust they will find many advocates among you.
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[Speech to the Ladies of New York.]
The Rev. Dr. Tyng having spoken in the name of the Ladies of New York, and concluded with the words: "And now, sir, the ladies whom I have the honour to represent, knowing your history, and fully aware of its vast importance, desire themselves to be the audience, and to hear the voice of Kossuth, and the claims of Hungary." Kossuth replied as follows:—
I would I were able to answer that call. I would I were able suitably to fill the place which your kindness has assigned to me. You were pleased to say that Austria was blind to let me escape. Be assured that it was not the merit of Austria. She would have been very glad to bury me alive, but the Sultan of Turkey took courage, and notwithstanding all the remonstrances of Austria, I am free.
Ladies, worn out as I am, still I am very glad that the ladies of New York condescend to listen to my farewell. When in the midst of a busy day, the watchful care of a guardian angel throws some flowers of joy in the thorny way of man, he gathers them up with thanks: a cheerful thrill quivers through his heart, like the melody of an Aeolian harp; but the earnest duties of life soon claim his attention and his cares. The melodious thrill dies away, and on he must go; on he goes, joyless, cheerless, and cold, every fibre of his heart bent to the earnest duties of the day. But when the hard work of the day is done, and the stress of mind for a moment subsides, then the heart again claims its right, and the tender fingers of our memory gather up again the violets of joy which the guardian angel threw in our way, and we look at them with delight; while we cherish them as the favourite gifts of life—we are as glad as the child on Christmas eve. These are the happiest moments of man's life. But when we are not noisy, not eloquent, we are silent almost mute, like nature in a midsummer's night, reposing from the burning heat of the day. Ladies, that is my condition now. It is a hard day's work which I have had to do here. I am delivering my farewell address; and every compassionate smile, every warm grasp of the hand, every token of kindness which I have received (and I have received so many), every flower of consolation which the ladies of New York have thrown on my thorny way, rushes with double force to my memory. I feel happy in this memory—there is a solemn tranquillity about my mind; but in such a moment I would rather be silent than speak. You know, ladies, that it is not the deepest feelings which are the loudest.
And besides, I have to say farewell to New York! This is a sorrowful word. What immense hopes are linked in my memory with its name!—hopes of resurrection for my fatherland—hopes of liberation for the European continent! Will the expectations which the mighty outburst of New York's heart foreshadowed, be realized? or will the ray of consolation pass away like an electric flash? Oh, could I cast one single glance into the book of futurity! No, God forgive me this impious wish. It is He who hid the future from man, and what he does is well done. It were not good for man to know his destiny. The sense of duty would falter or be unstrung, if we were assured of the failure or success of our aims. It is because we do not know the future, that we retain our energy of duty, So on will I go in my work, with the full energy of my humble abilities, without despair, but with hope.
It is Eastern blood which runs in my veins. If I have somewhat of Eastern fatalism, it is the fatalism of a Christian who trusts with unwavering faith in the boundless goodness of a Divine Providence. But among all these different feelings and thoughts that come upon me in the hour of my farewell, one thing is almost indispensable to me, and that is, the assurance that the sympathy I have met with here will not pass away like the cheers which a warbling girl receives on the stage—that it will be preserved as a principle, and that when the emotion subsides, the calmness of reflection will but strengthen it. This consolation I wanted, and this consolation I have, because, ladies, I place it in your hands. I bestow on your motherly and sisterly cares, the hopes of Europe's oppressed nations,—the hopes of civil, political, social, and religious liberty. Oh let me entreat you, with the brief and stammering words of a warm heart, overwhelmed with emotions and with sorrowful cares—let me entreat you, ladies, to be watchful of the sympathy of your people, like the mother over the cradle of her beloved child. It is worthy of your watchful care, because, it is the cradle of regenerated humanity.
Especially in regard to my poor fatherland, I have particular claims on the fairer and better half of humanity, which you are. The first of these claims is, that there is not perhaps on the face of the earth a nation, which in its institutions has shown more chivalric regard for ladies than the Hungarian. It is a praiseworthy trait of the Oriental character. You know that it was the Moorish race in Spain, who were the founders of the chivalric era in Europe, so full of personal virtue, so full of noble deeds, so devoted to the service of ladies, to heroism, and to the protection of the oppressed. You are told that the ladies of the East are degraded to less almost than a human condition, being secluded from all social life, and pent up within the harem's walls. And so it is. But you must not judge the East by the measure of European civilization. They have their own civilization, quite different from ours in views, inclinations, affections, and thoughts. We in Hungary have gained from the West the advantages of civilization for our women, but we have preserved for them the regard and reverence of our Oriental character. Nay, more than that, we carried these views into our institutions and into our laws. With us, the widow remains the head of the family, as the father was. As long as she lives, she is the mistress of the property of her deceased husband. The chivalrous spirit of the nation supposes she will provide, with motherly care, for the wants of her children; and she remains in possession so long as she bears her deceased husband's name. Under the old constitution of Hungary (which we reformed upon a democratic basis—it having been aristocratic) the widow of a lord had the right to send her representative to the parliament, and in the county elections of public functionaries widows had a right to vote alike with the men. Perhaps this chivalric character of my nation, so full of regard toward the fair sex, may somewhat commend my mission to the ladies of America.
Our second particular claim is, that the source of all the misfortune which now weighs so heavily upon my bleeding fatherland, is in two ladies—Catharine of Russia, and Sophia of Hapsburg, the ambitious mother of this second Nero, Francis-Joseph. You know that one hundred and fifty years ago, Charles the Twelfth of Sweden, the bravest of the brave, foreseeing the growth of Russia, and fearing that it would oppress and overwhelm civilization, ventured with a handful of men to attack its rising power. After immortal deeds, and almost fabulous victories, one loss made him a refugee upon Turkish soil, like myself. But, happier than myself, he succeeded in persuading Turkey of the necessity of checking Russia in her overweening ambition, and curtailing her growth. On went Mehemet Baltadji with his Turks, and met Peter the Czar, and pent him up in a corner, where there was no possibility of escape. There Mehemet held him with iron grasp till hunger came to his aid. Nature claimed her rights, and in a council of war it was decided to surrender to Mehemet. Then Catharine who was present in the camp, appeared in person before the Grand Vizier to sue for mercy. She was fair, and she was rich with jewels of nameless value. She went to the Grand Vizier's tent. She came back without her jewels, but she brought mercy, and Russia was saved. From that celebrated day dates the downfall of Turkey, and the growth of Russia. Out of this source flowed the stream of Russian preponderance over the European continent. The depression of liberty, and the nameless sufferings of Poland and of my poor native land, are the dreadful fruits of Catharine's success on that day, cursed in the records of the human race.
The second lady who will be cursed through all posterity in her memory, is Sophia, the mother of the present usurper of Hungary—she who had the ambitious dream to raise the power of a child upon the ruins of liberty, and on the neck of prostrate nations. It was her ambition—the evil genius of the House of Hapsburg in the present day—which brought desolation upon us. I need only mention one fact to characterize what kind of a heart was in that woman. On the anniversary of the day of Arad, where our martyrs bled, she came to the court with a bracelet of rubies set in so many roses as was the number of heads of the brave Hungarians who fell there, declaring that she joyfully exhibited it to the company as a memento which she wears on her very arm, to cherish in eternal memory the pleasure she derived from the killing of those heroes at Arad. This very fact may give you a true knowledge of the character of that woman, and this is the second claim to the ladies' sympathy for oppressed humanity and for my poor fatherland.
Our third particular claim is the behaviour of our ladies during the last war. It is no arbitrary praise—it is a fact,—that, in the struggle for our rights and freedom, we had no more powerful auxiliaries, and no more faithful executors of the will of the nation, than the women of Hungary. You know that in ancient Rome, after the battle of Cannae, which was won by Hannibal, the Senate called on the people spontaneously to sacrifice all their wealth on the altar of their fatherland. Every jewel, every ornament was brought forth, but still the tribune judged it necessary to pass a law prohibiting the ladies of Rome to wear more than half an ounce of gold, or particoloured splendid dresses. Now, we wanted in Hungary no such law. The women of Hungary brought all that they had. You would have been astonished to see how, in the most wealthy houses of Hungary, if you were invited to dinner, you would be forced to eat soup with iron spoons. When the wounded and the sick—and many of them we had, because we fought hard—when the wounded and the sick were not so well provided as it would have been our duty and our pleasure to do, I ordered the respective public functionaries to take care of them. But the poor wounded went on suffering, and the proper officers were but slow in providing for them. When I saw this, one single word was spoken to the ladies of Hungary, and in a short time there was provision made for hundreds of thousands of sick. And I never met a single mother who would have withheld her son from sharing in the battle; but I have met many who ordered and commanded their children to fight for their fatherland. I saw many and many brides who urged on the bridegrooms to delay their day of happiness till they should come back victorious from the battles of their fatherland. Thus acted the ladies of Hungary. A country deserves to live; a country deserves to have a future, when the women, as much as the men, love and cherish it.
But I have a stronger motive than all these to claim your protecting sympathy for my country's cause. It is her nameless woe, nameless sufferings. In the name of that ocean of bloody tears which the impious hand of the tyrant wrung from the eyes of the childless mothers, of the brides who beheld the executioner's sword between them and their wedding day—in the name of all these mothers, wives, brides, daughters, and sisters, who, by thousands of thousands, weep over the graves of Magyars so dear to their hearts,—who weep the bloody tears of a patriot (as they all are) over the face of their beloved native land—in the name of all those torturing stripes with which the flogging hand of Austrian tyrants dared to outrage human nature in the womankind of my native land—in the name of that daily curse against Austria with which even the prayers of our women are mixed—in the name of the nameless sufferings of my own dear wife [here the whole audience rose and cheered vehemently]—the faithful companion of my life,—of her, who for months and for months was hunted by my country's tyrants, with no hope, no support, no protection, but at the humble threshold of the hard-working people, as noble and generous as they are poor—in the name of my poor little children, who when so young as to be scarcely conscious of life, had already to learn what an Austrian prison is—in the name of all this, and what is still worse, in the name of liberty trodden down, I claim, ladies of New York, your protecting sympathy for my country's cause. Nobody can do more for it than you. The heart of man is as soft wax in your tender hands. Mould it, ladies; mould it into the form of generous compassion for my country's wrongs, inspire it with the noble feelings of your own hearts, inspire it with the consciousness of your country's power, dignity, and might. You are the framers of man's character. Whatever be the fate of man, one stamp he always bears on his brow—that which the mother's hand impressed upon the soul of the child. The smile of your lips can make a hero out of the coward, and a generous man out of the egotist; one word from you inspires the youth to noble resolutions; the lustre of your eyes is the fairest reward for the toils of life. You can kindle energy even in the breast of broken age, that once more it may blaze up in a noble generous deed before it dies. All this power you have. Use it, ladies, in behalf of your country's glory, and for the benefit of oppressed humanity, and when you meet a cold calculator, who thinks by arithmetic when he is called to feel the wrongs of oppressed nations, convert him, ladies. Your smiles are commands, and the truth which pours forth instinctively from your hearts, is mightier than the logic articulated by any scholar. The Peri excluded from Paradise, brought many generous gifts to heaven in order to regain it. She brought the dying sigh of a patriot; the kiss of a faithful girl imprinted upon the lips of her bridegroom, when they were distorted by the venom of the plague. She brought many other fair gifts; but the doors of Paradise opened before her only when she brought with her the first prayer of a man converted to charity and brotherly love for his oppressed brethren and humanity.