Volume 10 — OUR FOREIGN RELATIONS: SHOWING (continued 2)

This great instance, constituting an inseparable part of the Protector’s glory, is not the last where England intervened for Protestant liberties. Troubles, beginning in France with the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, broke forth in the rebellion of the Camisards, smarting under the Revocation. Sheltered by the mountains of the Cevennes, and nerved by a good cause, with the device “Liberty of Conscience” on their standards, they made head against two successive marshals of France, and perplexed the old age of Louis the Fourteenth, whose arms were already enfeebled by foreign war. At last, through the mediation of England, the great monarch made terms with his Protestant rebels, and this civil war was brought to a close.[66]

Intervention, more often armed than unarmed, showed itself in the middle of the last century. All decency was set aside, when Frederick of Prussia, Catharine of Russia, and Maria Theresa of Austria invaded and partitioned Poland, under pretext of suppressing anarchy. Here was intervention with a vengeance, and on the side of arbitrary power. Such is human inconsistency, almost at the same time was another intervention in the opposite direction. It was the armed intervention of France, followed by that of Spain and Holland, in behalf of American Independence. Spain began by offer of mediation with a truce, which was accepted by France on condition that meanwhile the United States should be independent in fact.[67] Then came, in 1788, the armed intervention of Prussia to sustain the Orange faction in Holland, followed soon by the compact between Great Britain, Prussia, and Holland, known as the Triple Alliance, which entered upon the business of its copartnership by armed intervention to reconcile the insurgent provinces of Belgium with the German Emperor and their ancient Constitution. As France began to shake with domestic troubles, mediation in her affairs was proposed. Among the papers of Burke, in 1791, is the draught of a memorial, in the name of the British Government, offering what he calls “this healing mediation.”[68] Then came the vast coalition for armed intervention in France to put down the Republic. This dreary cloud was for a moment brightened by a British attempt in Parliament, through successive debates, to institute an intercession for Lafayette, immured in the dungeons of European despotism. “It is reported,” said one of the orators, “that America has solicited the liberation of her unfortunate adopted fellow-citizen.… Let British magnanimity be called to the aid of American gratitude, and exhibit to mankind a noble proof, that, wherever the principles of genuine liberty prevail, they never fail to inspire sentiments of generosity, feelings of humanity, and a detestation of oppression.”[69]

Meanwhile France, against whom all Europe intervened, played her part of intervention, and the scene was Switzerland. In the unhappy disputes between the aristocratic and democratic parties by which this Republic was distracted, French mediation became chronic, beginning in 1738, when it found partial apology in the invitation of several cantons and of Geneva; occurring again in 1768, and again in 1782. The mountain Republic, breathing the air of Freedom, was naturally moved by the convulsions of the French Revolution. Civil war ensued, and grew in bitterness. At last, when France herself was composed under the powerful arm of the First Consul, we find him turning to compose Swiss troubles. He was a military ruler, and always acted under the instincts of military power. By proclamation, dated at the palace of St. Cloud, September 30, 1802, Bonaparte declared that for three years the Swiss had been slaying each other, and that, if left to themselves, they would continue to slay each other for three years more, without reaching any understanding; that, at first, he had resolved not to interfere, but that he now changed his mind, and announced himself as mediator of their difficulties, proclaiming confidently that his mediation would be efficacious, as became the great people in whose name he spoke. Deputies from the cantons, together with the chief citizens, were summoned to declare the means of restoring the Union, securing peace, and reconciling all parties.[70] This was armed mediation; but Switzerland was weak and France strong, while the declared object was union, peace, and reconciliation. I know not if all this ensued, but the civil war was stifled, and the Constitution was established by what is entitled in history the Act of Mediation.

From that period down to the present moment, intervention in the internal affairs of other nations has been a prevailing practice, now cautiously and peaceably, now offensively and forcibly. Sometimes it was against the rights of men, sometimes it was in their favor. Sometimes England and France stood aloof, sometimes they took part. The Congress of Vienna, which undertook to settle the map of Europe, organized universal and perpetual intervention in the interest of monarchical institutions and existing dynasties. This compact was renewed at the Congress of Aix-la-Chapelle, in 1818, with the explanatory declaration, that the five great powers would never assume jurisdiction over questions concerning the rights and interests of another power, except at its request, and without inviting such power to take part in the conference,—a concession obviously adverse to any liberal movement. Meanwhile appeared the Holy Alliance, specially to watch and control the revolutionary tendencies of the age; but into this combination England most honorably declined to enter. The other powers were sufficiently active. Austria, Russia, and Prussia did not hesitate at the Congress of Laybach, in 1821, to institute armed intervention for the suppression of liberal principles in Naples; and again, two years later, at the Congress of Verona, these same powers, together with France, instituted another armed intervention to suppress liberal principles in Spain, which ultimately led to the invasion of that kingdom and the overthrow of its Constitution. France was the belligerent agent, and would not be turned aside, although the Duke of Wellington at Verona, and Mr. Canning at home, sought to arrest her armies by the mediation of Great Britain, which was directly sought by Spain and directly refused by France. The British Government, in admirable letters, composed with unsurpassed skill, and constituting a noble page of International Law, “disclaimed for itself, and denied for other powers, the right of requiring any changes in the internal institutions of independent states, with the menace of hostile attack in case of refusal”; and bravely declared to the imperial and royal interventionists, that, “so long as the struggles and disturbances of Spain should be confined within the circle of her own territory, they could not be admitted by the British Government to afford any plea of foreign interference”; and in still another note repeated that a “menace of direct and imminent danger could alone, in exception to the general rule, justify foreign interference.”[71] These were the words of Mr. Canning; but even Lord Castlereagh, in an earlier note, asserted the same limitation, which, at a later day, had the unqualified support of Lord Grey, and also of Lord Aberdeen. Justly interpreted, they leave no apology for armed intervention, except in case of direct and imminent danger, when a nation, like an individual, may be thrown upon the great right of self-defence.

Great Britain bore testimony by what she did, as well as by what she refused to do. Even while resisting the armed intervention of the great conspiracy, her Government intervened sometimes by mediation and sometimes by arms. Early in the contest between Spain and her colonies she consented to act as mediator, on the invitation of the former, in hope of effecting reconciliation; but Spain declined the mediation she had invited. From 1812 to 1823, Great Britain constantly repeated her offer. In the case of Portugal she went further. Under the counsels of Mr. Canning, whose speech on the occasion was of the most memorable character, she intervened by landing troops at Lisbon; but this intervention was vindicated by the obligations of treaty. Next came the greater instance of Greece, when the Christian powers of Europe intervened to arrest a protracted struggle and to save this classic land from Turkish tyranny. Here the first step was a pressing invitation from the Greeks to the British and French Governments for their mediation with the Ottoman Porte. These powers united with Russia in proffering the much desired intervention, which the Greeks at once accepted and the Turks rejected. Already battle raged fiercely, reddened by barbarous massacre. Without delay, the allied forces were directed to compel the cessation of hostilities, which was accomplished by the destruction of the Turkish fleet at Navarino and the occupation of the Morea by French troops. At last, under the continued mediation of these powers, the independence of Greece was recognized by the Ottoman Porte, and another commonwealth consecrated to Freedom took its place in the Family of Nations. But mediation in Turkish affairs did not stop. The example of Greece was followed by Egypt, whose provincial chief, Mehemet Ali, rebelled, and by genius for war succeeded in dispossessing the Ottoman Porte not only of Egypt, but of other possessions also. This civil war was first arrested by temporary arrangement at Kutaieh, in 1833, under the mediation of Great Britain and France, and finally ended by an armed mediation in 1840, when, after elaborate and irritating discussions threatening to involve Europe, a treaty was concluded at London between Great Britain, Russia, Austria, and Prussia, by which the Pacha was compelled to relinquish his conquests, while he was secured in the Government of Egypt as perpetual vassal of the Porte. France, dissatisfied with the terms of this adjustment, stood aloof from the treaty, which found apology, such as it had, first, in the invitation of the Sultan, and, secondly, in the desire to preserve the integrity of the Turkish Empire, as essential to the balance of power and the peace of Europe, to which may also be added the desire to stop effusion of blood.

Before the Eastern questions were settled, other complications commenced in Western Europe. Belgium, restless from the French Revolution of 1830, rose against the House of Orange and claimed independence. Civil war ensued; but the great powers promptly intervened, even to the extent of arresting a Dutch army on its march. Beginning with armistice, there was a long and fine-spun negotiation, which, assuming the guise alternately of pacific mediation and of armed intervention, ended in the established separation of Belgium from Holland, and its recognition as an independent nation. Do you ask why Great Britain intervened on this occasion? Lord John Russell, in the course of debate at a subsequent day, declared that a special motive was “the establishment of a free constitution.”[72] Meanwhile the Peninsula of Spain and Portugal was torn by civil war. The regents of these two kingdoms respectively appealed to Great Britain and France for aid, especially in the expulsion of the pretender Don Carlos from Spain and the pretender Dom Miguel from Portugal. For this purpose the Quadruple Alliance was formed in 1834. The moral support from this treaty is said to have been important, but Great Britain was compelled to provide troops. This intervention, however, was at the solicitation of the actual Governments. Even after Spanish troubles were settled, war still lingered in the sister kingdom, when, in 1847, the Queen addressed herself to her allies, among whom was Great Britain, the ancient patron of Portugal, who undertook to mediate between her and her insurgent subjects, in the declared hope of composing the difficulties “in a just and permanent manner, with all due regard to the dignity of the crown on the one hand, and to the constitutional liberties of the nation on the other.”[73] The insurgents did not submit until after military demonstrations. Liberty and Peace were the two watchwords.

Then occurred the European uprising of 1848, with France once more a Republic; but Europe, wiser grown, did not interfere even so much as to write a letter. The case was different with Hungary, whose victorious armies, radiant with Liberty regained, expelled the Austrian power only to be arrested by the armed intervention of the Russian Czar, who yielded to the double pressure of invitation from Austria and fear that successful insurrection might extend into Poland. It was left for France, in another country, with strange inconsistency, to play the part which Russia played in Hungary. Rome, after rising against the temporal power of the Pope and proclaiming the Republic, was occupied by a French army, which expelled the republican magistrates, and, though fourteen years are already passed since that unhappy act, the occupation still continues. From this military intervention Great Britain stands aloof. In a despatch, dated at London, January 28, 1849, Lord Palmerston makes a permanent record, to the honor of his country, as follows: “Her Majesty’s Government would, upon every account, and not only upon abstract principle, but with reference to the general interests of Europe, and from the value which they attach to the maintenance of peace, sincerely deprecate any attempt to settle the differences between the Pope and his subjects by the military interference of foreign powers.”[74] This statesman gives further point to the position of Great Britain in contrast with France, when he says: “Armed intervention to assist in retaining a bad Government would be unjustifiable.”[75] Such was the declaration of the Lord Palmerston of that day. How much more unjustifiable the strange assistance now proposed to found a bad Government! The British minister insisted that the differences should be accommodated by “the diplomatic interposition of friendly powers,” which he declared a “much better mode of settlement than an authoritative imposition of terms by the force of foreign arms.”[76] In harmony with this policy, Great Britain, during the same year, united with France in proffering mediation between the insurgent Sicilians and the King of Naples, the notorious Bomba, in the hope of helping good government and liberal principles. Not disheartened by rebuff, these two powers, in 1856, united in friendly remonstrance to the same tyrannical sovereign against the harsh system of political arrests, and against his cruelty to good citizens thrust without trial into the worst of prisons. The advice was indignantly rejected, and the two powers that gave it withdrew their ministers from Naples. The sympathy of Russia was on the wrong side, and Prince Gortschakoff, in a circular, while admitting, that, “as a consequence of friendly fore-thought, one Government might give advice to another,” declared, that “to endeavor by threats or a menacing demonstration to obtain from the King of Naples concessions in the internal affairs of his Government is a violent usurpation of his authority, and an open declaration of the right of the strong over the weak.”[77] This was practically answered by Lord Clarendon, speaking for Great Britain at the Congress of Paris, when, admitting the principle that no Government has the right to interfere in the internal affairs of other states, he declares that there are cases where an exception to this rule becomes equally a right and a duty; that peace must not be broken, but that there is no peace without justice; and that therefore the Congress must let the King of Naples know its desire for the amelioration of his Government, and must demand amnesty for political offenders suffering without trial.[78] This language was bold beyond the practice of diplomacy, but the intervention it proposed was on the side of humanity.

I must draw this chapter to a close, although the long list is not yet exhausted. Even while I speak, we hear of intervention by England and France in the civil war between the Emperor of China and his subjects,—and also in that other war between the Emperor of Russia on the one side and the Poles whom he claims as subjects on the other, but with this difference, that in China these powers take the part of the existing Government, while in Poland they intervene against the existing Government. In the face of positive declarations of neutrality, the British and French admirals have united their forces with the Chinese; but thus far in Poland, although there is no declaration of neutrality, the intervention is unarmed. In both these instances we witness a common tendency, directed, it may be, by the interests or prejudices of the time, and, so far as it has proceeded, it is, at least in Poland, on the side of liberal institutions. But, alas for human consistency! the French Emperor is now intervening in Mexico with armies and navies to build an imperial throne for an Austrian Archduke.

There is one long-continued British intervention, which speaks now with controlling power; and it is on this account that I reserve it for the close of what I have to say on this head. Though not without original shades of dark, it has for more than half a century been a shining example to the civilized world. I refer to that intervention against Slavery, which, from its first adoption, has been so constant and brilliant as to make us forget the earlier intervention in behalf of Slavery, when, for instance, at the Peace of Utrecht, Great Britain intervened to extort the detestable privilege of supplying slaves to Spanish America at the rate of four thousand eight hundred yearly during the space of thirty years, and then again, at the Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, higgled for a yet longer sanction of the ignoble intervention; nay, it almost makes us forget the kindred intervention, at once sordid and criminal, by which this power counteracted all efforts for the prohibition of the slave-trade even in its own colonies, and thus helped to fasten Slavery upon Virginia and Carolina. The abolition of the slave-trade by Act of Parliament, in 1807, was the signal for a change of history. A British poet at the time gave exulting expression to the grandeur of the epoch:—

Curiously, it was the other color which gained the first fruits of this revolution, by triumphant intervention for the overthrow of White Slavery in the Barbary States. The old hero of Acre, Sir Sidney Smith, released from long imprisonment in France, sought to organize a “holy league” for this purpose; the subject was discussed at the Congress of Vienna; and the agents of Spain and Portugal, anxious for the punishment of their piratical neighbors, argued, that, because Great Britain had abolished for itself the traffic in African slaves, therefore it must see that whites were no longer enslaved in the Barbary States. The argument was less logical than humane. But Great Britain undertook the work. With a fleet complete at all points, consisting of five line-of-battle ships, five frigates, four bomb-vessels, and five gun-brigs, Lord Exmouth approached Algiers, where he was joined by a considerable Dutch fleet, anxious to take part. “If force must be resorted to,” said the Admiral in general orders shortly before, “we have the consolation of knowing that we fight in the sacred cause of Humanity, and cannot fail of success.” Less than half a day was enough, with such a force in such a cause. The formidable castles of the great Slavemonger were battered to pieces, and he was compelled to sign a treaty, confirmed under a salute of twenty-one guns, which in its first article stipulated “the abolition of Christian Slavery forever.” Glorious and beneficent intervention! Not inferior to that renowned instance of Antiquity, where the Carthaginians were required to abolish the practice of sacrificing their own children,—a treaty which has been called the noblest of history, because stipulated in favor of human nature. The Admiral who had thus triumphed was hailed as Emancipator. He received a new rank in the peerage, and a new blazonry on his coat of arms. The rank is continued in his family, and on their shield, in perpetual memory of this great transaction, is still borne a Christian slave holding aloft the Cross and dropping his broken fetters. But the personal satisfactions of the Admiral were more than rank or heraldry. In his despatch to the Government, describing the battle, and written at the time, he says: “To have been one of the humble instruments in the hands of Divine Providence for bringing to reason a ferocious Government and destroying forever the insufferable and horrid system of Christian Slavery, can never cease to be a source of delight and heartfelt comfort to every individual happy enough to be employed in it.”[80]

I have said too much with regard to an instance, which, though beautiful and important, is only a parenthesis in the grander and more extensive intervention against African Slavery, which was already organizing, destined at last to embrace the whole human family. Even before Wilberforce triumphed in Parliament, Great Britain intervened with Napoleon, in 1806, pressing him to join in the abolition of the slave-trade; but he flatly refused. What France would not then yield was exacted from Portugal in 1810, from Sweden in 1813, and from Denmark in 1814. An ineffectual attempt was made to enlist Spain, even by temptation of pecuniary subsidies,—and an appeal was made to the restored monarch of France, Louis the Eighteenth, with the offer of a sum of money outright or the cession of a West India island, in consideration of the desired abolition. The Prince Regent wrote with his own hand to the latter, assuring him that he could not give a more acceptable proof of his regard than by consenting to the abolition. Had gratitude to a benefactor prevailed, these powers could not have resisted; but Lord Castlereagh confessed in the House of Commons, that in France there was distrust of the British Government “even among the better classes of people,” who thought that its zeal in this behalf was prompted by desire to injure the French colonies and commerce, rather than by benevolence. The British minister was more successful with Portugal, where pecuniary equivalents led to a supplementary treaty, in January, 1815. This was followed by the declaration of the Congress of Vienna, on motion of Lord Castlereagh, 8th February, 1815, denouncing the African slave-trade “as repugnant to the principles of humanity and of universal morality.” Meanwhile Napoleon returned from Elba, and what British intervention failed to accomplish with the Bourbon monarch, and the Emperor once flatly refused, was now spontaneously done by him, doubtless in the hope of conciliating British sentiment. His hundred days of power were signalized by an ordinance abolishing the slave-trade in France and her colonies. Louis the Eighteenth, once again restored by British arms, and with the shadow of Waterloo resting upon France, could not do less than ratify the imperial ordinance by a royal assurance that “the traffic was henceforth forever forbidden to all the subjects of his most Christian Majesty.”[81] Holland came under the same influence, and accepted the restitution of her colonies, except the Cape of Good Hope and Guiana, on condition of the entire abolition of the slave-trade in the restored colonies, and also everywhere else beneath her flag. Spain was the most indocile; but this proud monarchy, under whose auspices the African slave-trade first came into being, at last yielded. By the treaty of Madrid, of 23d September, 1817, extorted by Great Britain, it stipulated the immediate abolition of the trade north of the equator, and also, after 1820, its abolition everywhere, in consideration of four hundred thousand pounds, the price of Freedom, paid by the other contracting party. In vindication of this intervention, Wilberforce declared in Parliament, that “the grant to Spain would be more than repaid to Great Britain in commercial advantages by the opening of a great continent to British industry,”—all of which was impossible, if the slave-trade was allowed to continue under the Spanish flag.[82]

At the Congress of Aix-la-Chapelle, in 1818, and of Verona, in 1822, Great Britain continued her intervention against Slavery. Chateaubriand, in his history of the latter Congress, pauses to express his admiration of the “singular perseverance” in this cause manifested by her at all Congresses, amidst questions the most urgent and interests the most pressing.[83] Here her primacy was undisputed, and her fame complete. It was the common remark of Continental publicists, that she “made the cause her own.”[84] One of them portrays her vividly, since 1810 waging “relentless war” against the principle of the slave-trade, and by this “crusade,” undertaken in the name of Humanity, making herself the “declared protectress” of the African race. These are the words of a French authority.[85] According to him, it is nothing less than “relentless war” and a “crusade” which she has waged, and the position which she has achieved is that of “protectress” of the African race,—while no less a person than Chateaubriand recognizes with admiration the “singular perseverance” she has displayed in this practical extension of Christianity. Not content with imposing her magnanimous system upon the civilized world, she carried it among the tribes and chiefs of Africa, who, by her omnipresent intervention, were summoned to renounce a barbarous and criminal custom. By a Parliamentary Report, it appears that in 1849 there were twenty-four treaties in force between Great Britain and foreign civilized powers for the suppression of the slave-trade, and also forty-two similar treaties between Great Britain and native chiefs of Africa.[86]

This intervention was not by treaties only; it was by correspondence and circulars also. And here I approach a part of the subject which illustrates the vivacity of its character. All British ministers and consuls were so many pickets on constant guard in the outposts. They were held to every service by which the cause could be promoted, even to translating and printing documents against the slave-trade, especially in countries where, unhappily, it was still pursued. There was the Pope’s Bull of 1839, which Lord Palmerston transmitted for this purpose to his agents in Cuba, Brazil, and even in Turkey, some of whom were unsuccessful in their efforts to obtain its publication, although, curiously enough, it was published in Turkey.[87]

Such zeal could not stop at the abolition of the traffic. Accordingly, Great Britain, by Act of Parliament, in 1834, enfranchised all the slaves in her own possessions, and thus again secured to herself the primacy of a lofty cause. The intervention was now openly declared to be against Slavery itself, assuming its most positive character while Lord Palmerston was Foreign Secretary,—and I say this sincerely to his great honor. Throughout his long life, among all the various concerns in which he has acted, there is nothing to be remembered hereafter with such gratitude. By his untiring diplomacy her Majesty’s Government constituted itself a vast Abolition Society, with the whole world for its field. It was in no respect behind the famous World’s Convention against Slavery, held at London in June, 1840, with Thomas Clarkson, the pioneer Abolitionist, as President; for the strongest declarations of this Convention were adopted by Lord Palmerston as “the sentiments of her Majesty’s Government,” and communicated officially to British functionaries in foreign lands. The Convention declared “the utter injustice of Slavery in all its forms, and the evil it inflicts upon its miserable victims, and the necessity of employing every means, moral, religious, and pacific, for its complete abolition, an object most dear to the members of this Convention, and for the consummation of which they are especially assembled.”[88] These words became the words of the British Government, and in circular letters were sent over the world.

It was not enough to declare the true principles. They must be enforced. Spain and Portugal hung back. The Secretary of the Antislavery Society was sent “to endeavor to create in those countries a public feeling in favor of the abolition of Slavery”; and the British minister at Lisbon was desired by Lord Palmerston to “afford all the assistance and protection in his power for promoting the object of his journey.”[89] British functionaries abroad sometimes backslided. This was corrected by circulars setting forth “that it would be unfitting that any officer holding an appointment under the British Crown should, either directly or indirectly, hold or be interested in slave property.”[90] The Parliamentary Papers which attest the universality of this instruction show the completeness with which it was executed. The consul at Rio Janeiro, in slaveholding Brazil, had among his domestics three negro slaves, two men and a woman; “of the men one was a groom and the other a waiter, and the woman he was forced to hire to nurse one of his children”; but he discharged them at once, under the antislavery discipline of the British Foreign Office, and Lord Palmerston, in formal despatch, “expresses his satisfaction.”[91] In Cuba, at the time of its reception, there was not a single resident officer, holding under the British Crown, “who was entirely free from the charge of countenancing Slavery.” But only a few weeks afterwards it was officially reported from Havana that there was “not a single British officer residing within the consular jurisdiction who had not relinquished, or was not at least preparing to relinquish, this odious practice.”[92] This was quick work. The metamorphosis was prompt as anything in ancient fable. Every person holding office under the British Government at once set his face against Slavery, and the way was by having nothing to do with it, even in employing or hiring the slave of another,—nothing, “directly or indirectly”.

Lord Palmerston, acting in the name of the British Government, did not stop with changing British officials into practical Abolitionists, whenever they were in foreign countries. He sought to enlist other European Governments, and to this end requested them to forbid their functionaries residing in slaveholding communities to be interested in slave property or in any holding or hiring of slaves. Denmark for a moment hesitated, from unwillingness to debar them from acting according to the laws where they resided, when the minister at once cited in support of his request the example of Belgium, Hanover, Holland, Sweden, Naples, Portugal, and Sardinia, all without delay having yielded to this British intervention, and Denmark ranged herself in the list.[93] Nor was this indefatigable Propaganda confined to the Christian powers. With a sacred pertinacity it reached into distant Mohammedan regions, where Slavery was imbedded not only in the laws, but the habits, the social system, and the very life of the people, and called upon the Government to act against it. No impediment deterred,—no prejudice, national or religious. To the Shah of Persia, ruling a vast, outlying slave empire, Lord Palmerston announced the desire of the British Government “to see the slave-trade put down and the condition of Slavery abolished in every part of the world”; “that it conceived much good might be accomplished in these respects, even in Mohammedan countries, by steady perseverance, and by never omitting to take advantage of favorable opportunities”; and “that the Shah would be doing a thing extremely acceptable to the British Government and nation, if he would issue a decree prohibiting for the future the importation of slaves of any kind into Persia, and making it penal for a Persian to purchase slaves.”[94] To the Sultan of Turkey, whose mother was a slave, whose wives were all slaves, and whose very counsellors, generals, and admirals were originally slaves, he made a similar appeal, and he sought to win the dependent despot by reminding him that only in this way could he hope for that good-will which was so essential to his Government; “that the continued support of Great Britain will, for some years to come, be an object of importance to the Porte,—that this support cannot be given effectually, unless the sentiments and opinions of the majority of the British nation shall be favorable to the Turkish Government,—and that the whole of the British nation unanimously desire, beyond almost anything else, to put an end to the cruel practice of making slaves.”[95] Such, at that time, was the voice of the British people. Since Cromwell pleaded for the Vaudois, no nobler voice had gone forth. The World’s Convention against Slavery saw itself transfigured, while platform speeches were transfused into diplomatic notes. The Convention, earnest for Universal Emancipation, declared that “the friendly interposition of Great Britain could be employed for no nobler purpose,” and, as if to crown its work, in an address to Lord Palmerston, humbly and earnestly implored his Lordship to use his high authority for “connecting the overthrow of Slavery with the consolidation of Peace”; and these words were at once adopted in foreign despatches, as expressing the sentiments of her Majesty’s Government.[96] Better watchwords could not be, nor any more worthy of the British name. There can be no consolidation of Peace without the overthrow of Slavery. This is as true now as when first uttered. Therefore is Great Britain still bound to her original faith; nor can she abandon the cause, of which she was the declared protectress, without betrayal of Peace, as well as betrayal of Liberty.

Even now while I speak this same conspicuous fidelity to a sacred cause is announced. The ship canal across the Isthmus of Suez, first attempted by the early Pharaohs, and at last resumed by French influence, under the auspices of the Pacha, is most zealously opposed by Great Britain for the declared reason that in its construction “forced labor” is employed, which this power cannot in conscience sanction. Not even to complete this vast beneficence, bringing East and West near together, for which mankind has waited throughout long centuries, will Great Britain depart from the rule so gloriously declared. Slavery is wrong, therefore not to be employed. The canal must stop, if it cannot be constructed without “forced labor.”

The veteran statesman who did so much in this cause, weaving its golden thread into the tissue of his renown, dwelt on it with pride, and accepted for his country the primacy that had been awarded. Never, in his extended Parliamentary career, did Lord Palmerston rise to a higher mood,—not even when claiming for Englishmen all the immunities of Roman citizenship,—Civis Romanus sum,—than when he pictured the dependence of Africans on their constant friend. “If ever,” said he, “by the assault of overpowering enemies, or by the errors of her misguided sons, England should fall, and her star should lose its lustre, with her fall, for a long period of time, would the hopes of the African, whether in his own continent or in the vast regions of America, be buried in the darkness of despair. I know well that in such case Providence would in due course of time raise up some other nation to inherit our principles and to imitate our practice; but, taking the world as it is, and states as they are constituted, I do not know—and I say it with regret and with pain—I do not know any nation that is now ready in this respect to supply our place.”[97] And can it be that now, instead of the African, a rebellion inspired by Slavery turns to England with hope?

The honorable story of British intervention against Slavery is incomplete without showing how its generous ardor broke forth against our Republic, which was denounced as linked with Slavery. Literature, eloquence, and poetry lent themselves to expose the terrible inconsistency. Lord Russell stepped aside from the easy path of biography, to declare that among us “oxen and horses are better treated than the men and women of African blood,” and then to proclaim “the cry of outraged humanity,” “the current of human sympathy,” and “the decrees of Eternal Justice,” irresistible.[98] Lord Macaulay, in the House of Commons, thundered forth: “The Government of the United States has formally declared itself the patron, the champion, of Negro Slavery all over the world, the evil genius, the Arimanes, of the African race, and seems to take pride in this shameful and odious distinction.… They put themselves at the head of the slave-driving interest throughout the world, just as Elizabeth put herself at the head of the Protestant interest; and wherever their favorite institution is in danger, are ready to stand by it as Elizabeth stood by the Dutch.”[99] Thomas Campbell, fresh from writing “Ye Mariners of England” and “Hohenlinden,” struck at our Slavery in most scornful verses on the national flag:—

If these things, so bitterly said, were true, if Campbell, Macaulay, and Russell were right in their indignant rebuke, if Palmerston was justified in his eloquent pride, then must England make haste to turn away from a rebellion which seeks to reverse that noble intervention where the liberty of the African was a constant guide.

Here I close the historic instances illustrating the right and practice of foreign intervention. The whole subject is seen in these instances, teaching clearly what to avoid and what to follow. In this way, the Law of Nations, like History, gives its best lessons. For the sake of plainness, I gather up some of the conclusions.

Foreign intervention is armed or unarmed, although sometimes the two are not easily distinguishable. Unarmed intervention may have in it the menace of arms, or it may be war in disguise. When this is the case, it must be treated accordingly.

Armed intervention is war, and nothing less. Of course it can be vindicated only as war, and it must be resisted as war. Believing, as I do most profoundly, that war can never be a game, but must always be a crime when it ceases to be a duty,—a crime to be shunned, if not a duty to be performed swiftly and surely,—and that a nation, like an individual, is not permitted to take the sword except in just self-defence,—I find the same limitation in armed intervention, which becomes unjust invasion in proportion as it departs from just self-defence. Under this head is naturally included all that intervention moved by a tyrannical or intermeddling spirit, because such intervention, whatever its professions, is essentially hostile,—as when Russia, Prussia, and Austria partitioned Poland, when the Holy Alliance intermeddled everywhere and menaced even America, or when Russia intervened to crush the independence of Hungary, or France to crush the Roman Republic. All such intervention is inexcusable, illegal, and scandalous. Its vindication is found only in the effrontery that might makes right.

Unarmed intervention is of a different nature. If sincerely unarmed, it may be regarded as obtrusive, but not hostile. It may assume the form of mediation or the proffer of good offices, at the invitation of both parties, or, in the case of civil war, at the invitation of the original authority. With such invitation, this intervention is proper and honorable; without such invitation, it is of doubtful character; but if known to be contrary to the desires of both parties, or to the desires of the original authority in a distracted country, it becomes offensive and inadmissible, unless obviously on the side of Human Rights, when the act of intervention takes its character from the cause in which it is made. But it must not be forgotten, that, in the case of civil war, any mediation, or, indeed, any proposition not enjoining submission to the original authority, is in its nature adverse, for it assumes the separate existence of the other party, and secures for it temporary immunity and opportunity, if not independence. Congress, therefore, was right in declaring to foreign powers that any renewed effort of mediation in our affairs will be regarded as an unfriendly act.

There is another case of unarmed intervention which I cannot criticize. It is where a nation intercedes or interposes in favor of Human Rights, or to secure the overthrow of some enormous wrong,—as when Cromwell pleaded, with noble intercession, for the secluded Protestants of the Alpine valleys, when Great Britain and France declared sympathy with the Greeks struggling for independence, and when Great Britain alone, by splendid diplomacy, set herself against Slavery everywhere throughout the world.

The full lesson may be summed up briefly. All intervention in the internal affairs of another nation is contrary to law and reason, and can be vindicated only by overruling necessity. Intervening by war, then must there be the necessity of self-defence. Intervening by mediation or intercession, then must you be able to speak in behalf of civilization endangered or human nature wronged. To this humane policy no power is bound so absolutely as England; especially is none so fixed, beyond possibility of retreat or change, in hostility to Slavery, whatever shape this criminal pretension may assume, whether the animating principle of a nation, the “forced labor” of a multitude, or even the service of a solitary domestic.

III.

There is a species of foreign intervention which stands by itself and has its own illustrations. Therefore I speak of it by itself. It is where a foreign power undertakes to acknowledge the independence of a colony or province renouncing its original allegiance, and it may be compendiously called Intervention by Recognition. Recognition is strictly applicable only to the act of the original government, renouncing all claim of allegiance, and at last acknowledging the independence in dispute. It becomes an act of intervention, where a foreign government steps between the two parties. The original government is so far master of its position, that it may select its own time in making this recognition. But the question arises, At what time and under what circumstances can this recognition be made by a foreign power? It is obvious that a recognition proper at one time and under special circumstances would not be proper at another time and under different circumstances. Mr. Canning said, with reference to Spanish America, that, “if he piqued himself upon anything, it was upon the subject of time”; and he added, that there were two ways of proceeding,—“recklessly and with a hurried course to the object, which might be soon reached and almost as soon lost, or by another course so strictly guarded that no principle was violated and no strict offence given to other powers.”[101] These are words of wise statesmanship, and they present the practical question occurring in every case of recognition: What condition of the controversy will justify such intervention?

Here again the whole matter is best explained by historic instances. The earliest is that of Switzerland, as long ago as 1307, breaking off from the House of Hapsburg, whose original cradle was a Swiss canton. But Austria did not acknowledge the independence of the Republic until the Peace of Westphalia, nearly three centuries and a half after the struggle began under William Tell. Meanwhile the cantons lived through the vicissitudes of war, foreign and domestic, and formed treaties with other powers, including the Pope. Before Swiss independence was acknowledged, the Dutch conflict began under William of Orange. Smarting from intolerable grievances, and with a price set upon the head of their illustrious Stadtholder, the United Provinces of the Netherlands, in 1581, renounced the tyrannical sovereignty of Philip the Second, and declared themselves independent. In the history of Freedom this is an important epoch. They were Protestants, battling for rights denied, and Queen Elizabeth of England, the head of Protestantism, acknowledged their independence, and shortly afterwards extended military aid. Nor did other powers stand aloof. In 1594, Scotland, Protestant also, under James the Sixth, afterwards the first James of England, treated with the insurgent Provinces as successors of the Houses of Burgundy and Austria, and in 1596 France entered into alliance with them. The contest continued, sustained on the side of Spain by the genius of Parma and Spinola, and on the side of the infant Republic by the youthful talent of Maurice, son of the great Stadtholder. But the claims of Spain were enduring; for it was not until the Peace of Westphalia, eighty years after the revolt, and nearly seventy years after their Declaration of Independence, that this power consented to Dutch independence. Nor do these examples stand alone, even at that early day. Portugal, unjustly subjugated by Spain in 1580, broke away in 1640 and declared herself independent, under the Duke of Braganza as King. A year scarcely passed before Charles the First of England negotiated a treaty with the new sovereign. The contest had ceased, but not the claim; for it was only after twenty-eight years that Spain made this other recognition.

Traversing the Atlantic Ocean in space and more than a century in time, I come to the next historic instance, so interesting to us all, while as a precedent it dominates the whole question. The long discord between the Colonies and the mother country broke forth in blood on the 19th of April, 1775. Independence was declared on the 4th of July, 1776. Battles ensued,—Trenton, Princeton, Brandywine, Germantown, Saratoga, followed by the winter of Valley Forge. The contest was yet undecided, when, on the 6th of February, 1778, France entered into a treaty of amity and commerce with the United States, containing, among other things, a recognition of their independence, with mutual stipulations between the two parties to protect the commerce of the other, by convoy on the ocean, “against all attacks, force, and violence”;[102] and on the 13th of March this treaty was communicated to the British Government by the French ambassador at London, with a diplomatic note, in which the United States are described as “in full possession of the independence pronounced by their Act of 4th July, 1776,” and the British Government is warned that the King of France, “being determined effectually to protect the legitimate freedom of the commerce of his subjects and to maintain the honor of his flag, has taken in consequence some eventual measures with the United States of North America.”[103] A further treaty of alliance, whose declared object was the maintenance of the independence of the United States, had been signed on the same day, but this was not communicated; nor is there evidence that it was known to the British Government at the time. The communication of the other sufficed, for it was an open recognition of the new power, with promise of protection on the ocean, while the war was yet flagrant between the two parties. As such it must be regarded as an armed recognition, constituting in itself a belligerent act, aggravated and explained by the circumstances under which it was made, the warning, in the nature of menace, by which it was accompanied, the clandestine preparations by which it was preceded, and the corsairs to cruise against British commerce, which for some time had been allowed to swarm under the American flag from French ports. It was so accepted by the British Government. The British minister was summarily withdrawn from Paris, all French vessels in British harbors were seized, and on the 17th March a message from the King was brought down to Parliament in the nature of a declaration of war against France. In this declaration there was no allusion to anything but the treaty of amity and commerce officially communicated by the French ambassador, which was denounced by his Majesty as an “unprovoked and unjust aggression on the honor of his crown and the essential interests of his kingdoms, contrary to the most solemn assurances, subversive of the Law of Nations, and injurious to the rights of every sovereign power in Europe.” Only three days later, on the 20th March, the Commissioners of the United States were received by the King of France in solemn audience, with all the pomp and ceremony accorded by the Court of Versailles to the representatives of sovereign powers. War ensued between France and Great Britain on land and sea, in which Holland and Spain afterwards took part against Great Britain. With such allies, a just cause prevailed. Great Britain, by provisional articles, signed at Paris 30th November, 1782, acknowledged the United States “to be free, sovereign, and independent,” and declared the boundaries thereof.

Colonial independence was contagious, and the contest for it presented another illustration, more discussed, and constituting a precedent, if possible, more interesting still. This was when the Spanish colonies in America, following the Northern example, broke away from the mother country and declared themselves independent. The contest began as early as 1810, but it was long continued, and extended over an immense region,—from New Mexico and California in the North to Cape Horn in the South,—washed by two vast oceans, traversed by mighty rivers, and buttressed by lofty mountains fruitful in silver, capped with snow, and shooting volcanic fire. At last the United States, satisfied that the ancient power of Spain had ceased to exist beyond reasonable chance of restoration, and that the contest was practically ended, acknowledged the independence of Mexico and five other provinces. This act was approached only after frequent debate in Congress, where Henry Clay took an eminent part, and after most careful consideration in the Cabinet, where John Quincy Adams, as Secretary of State, shed upon the question all the light of his unsurpassed knowledge, derived from long practice as well as from laborious study of International Law. This judgment must be regarded as a sufficient authority. President Monroe, in a special message, on the 8th of March, 1822, twelve years after the war began, called the attention of Congress to the state of the contest, which he said had “now reached such a stage, and been attended with such decisive success on the part of the provinces, that it merits the most profound consideration whether their right to the rank of independent nations, with all the advantages incident to it in their intercourse with the United States, is not complete.” After setting forth the de facto condition of things, he proceeded: “Thus it is manifest that all those provinces are not only in the full enjoyment of their independence, but, considering the state of the war and other circumstances, that there is not the most remote prospect of their being deprived of it.” In proposing their recognition, the President declared that it was done “under a thorough conviction that it is in strict accord with the Law of Nations”; and further, that “it is not contemplated to change thereby, in the slightest manner, our friendly relations with either of the parties.” In accordance with this recommendation, Congress authorized the recognition. Three years later the same thing was done by Great Britain, after much debate, diplomatic and Parliamentary. No case of international duty has been illustrated by a clearer eloquence, an ampler knowledge, or a purer wisdom. The despatches were written by Mr. Canning, and upheld by him in Parliament; but Lord Liverpool took part in the discussion, succinctly declaring “that there could be no right to recognition while the contest was actually going on,”[104]—a conclusion cautiously, but strongly, enforced by Lord Lansdowne, and nobly vindicated, in an oration reviewing the whole subject, by that great publicist, Sir James Mackintosh. All inclined to recognition, but admitted that it could not take place so long as the contest continued,—and that there must be “such a contest as exhibits some equality of force, and of which, if the combatants were left to themselves, the issue would be in some degree doubtful.” The Spanish strength throughout the whole continent was reduced to a single castle in Mexico, an island on the coast of Chile, and a small army in Upper Peru, while in Buenos Ayres no Spanish soldier had set foot for fourteen years. “Is this a contest,” said Mackintosh, “approaching to equality? Is it sufficient to render the independence of such a country doubtful? Does it deserve the name of a contest?”[105] It was not until 1825 that Great Britain was so far satisfied as to acknowledge this independence. France followed in 1830, and Castilian pride relaxed in 1836, twenty-six years from the first date of the contest.

The next instance is Greece, which declared independence January 27, 1822. After a cruel contest of more than five years, with alternate success and disaster, the great powers intervened forcibly in 1827; but the final recognition was postponed till May, 1832. Then came the instance of Belgium, which declared independence in November, 1830, and was promptly recognized by the great powers intervening for this purpose. The last instance is Texas, which declared independence in December, 1835, and defeated the Mexican army under Santa Aña, making him prisoner, in 1836. The power of Mexico seemed to be overthrown; but Andrew Jackson, then President of the United States, in his Message of December 21, 1836, laid down the rule of caution and justice, as follows: “The acknowledgment of a new state as independent and entitled to a place in the Family of Nations is at all times an act of great delicacy and responsibility, but more especially so when such state has forcibly separated itself from another, of which it had formed an integral part, and which still claims dominion over it. A premature recognition under these circumstances, if not looked upon as justifiable cause of war, is always liable to be regarded as a proof of an unfriendly spirit.” And he concluded by proposing that our country should “stand aloof” until the question was decided “beyond cavil or dispute.” During the next year, when the contest had practically ceased and only the claim remained, this new power was acknowledged by the United States, who were followed in 1839 by France, and in 1840 by Great Britain, Holland, and Belgium. Texas was annexed to the United States in 1845; but at this time Mexico had not joined in the general recognition.

Such are historic instances illustrating Intervention by Recognition. As in other cases of intervention, the recognition may be armed or unarmed, with an intermediate case, where the recognition may seem unarmed, when in reality it is armed,—as when France simply announced recognition of the independence of the United States and at the same time prepared to maintain it by war.

Armed recognition is simply Recognition by Coercion. It is a belligerent act, constituting war, and can be vindicated only as war. No nation will undertake it, unless ready to assume all the responsibilities of war,—as in the recent cases of Greece and Belgium, not to mention the recognition of the United States by France. But an attempt, under guise of recognition, to coerce the dismemberment or partition of a country is in its nature offensive beyond ordinary war, especially when the country to be sacrificed is a republic, and the plotters against it are crowned heads. Proceeding from the consciousness of brute power, such an attempt is an insult to mankind. If armed recognition at any time can find apology, it is only where sincerely made for the protection of Human Rights. It would be hard to condemn that intervention which saved Greece to Freedom.

Unarmed recognition is where a foreign power acknowledges in some pacific form the independence of a colony or province against the claim of its original government. Although excluding all idea of coercion, yet it cannot be uniformly justified.

Here we are brought to that question of “time,” on which Mr. Canning so pointedly piqued himself, and to which President Jackson referred, when he suggested that “a premature recognition” might be “looked upon as justifiable cause of war.” Nothing is more clear than that recognition may be favored at one time, while it must be rejected at another. So far as it assumes to determine rights instead of facts, or to anticipate the result of a contest, it is wrongful. No nation can undertake to sit in judgment on the rights of another nation without its consent. Therefore it cannot declare that de jure a colony or province is entitled to independence, but, from the necessity of the case, and that international intercourse may not fail, it must ascertain the facts, carefully and wisely, and, on the actual evidence, it may declare that de facto the colony or province appears to be in possession of independence,—which means, first, that the original government is dispossessed beyond the possibility of recovery, and, secondly, that the new government has achieved a reasonable stability, with fixed limits, giving assurance of solid power. All this is simply fact and nothing more. But just in proportion as a foreign nation anticipates the fact, or imagines the fact, or substitutes its own passions for the fact, it transcends the well-defined bounds of International Law. Without the fact of independence, positive and fixed, there is nothing but a claim. Now nothing is clearer than, that, while the terrible litigation is still pending, and the trial by battle, to which appeal is made, remains undecided, the fact of independence cannot exist. There is only a paper independence, which, though reddened with blood, is no better than a paper empire or a paper blockade; and any pretended recognition of it is a wrongful intervention, inconsistent with just neutrality, since the obvious effect must be to encourage the insurgent party. Such has been the declared judgment of our country, and its practice, even under circumstances tempting in another direction; and such, also, was the declared judgment and practice of Great Britain with reference to Spanish America.

The conclusion, then, is clear. To justify recognition, it must appear beyond doubt that de facto the contest is finished, and that de facto the new government is established secure within fixed limits. These are conditions precedent, not to be avoided without open offence to a friendly power, and open violation of that International Law which is the guardian of the world’s peace, even if there be not another condition precedent which civilization in this age will require.

Do you ask now if foreign powers can acknowledge our Rebel embryo as an independent nation? There is madness in the thought. Recognition accompanied by the breaking of the blockade would be war, impious war, against the United States, where Slavemongers would be the allies and Slavery the inspiration. Of all wars in history, none more accursed, none more sure to draw down upon its authors the judgment alike of God and man. But the thought of recognition, under existing circumstances, while the contest is still pending, even without any breaking of the blockade or attempted coercion, is a Satanic absurdity, hardly less impious than the other. It would assume unblushingly, that, already Rebel Slavery had succeeded in establishing an independent nation with an untroubled government and a secure conformation of territory, when, in fact, nothing is established, nothing untroubled, nothing secure, not even a single boundary-line, and there is no element of independence except the audacious attempt,—when, in fact, the conflict is still waged on numerous battle-fields, and these pretenders to independence have been driven from State to State, driven away from the Mississippi which parts them, driven back from the sea which surrounds them, and shut up in the interior or in blockaded ports, so that only by stealth can they communicate with the outward world. Any recognition of such a pretension, existing only as pretension, scouted and denied by a whole people with invincible armies and navies embattled against it, would be a mockery of truth. It would assert independence as a fact, when notoriously it was not a fact. It would be an enormous lie. Naturally a power thus guilty would expect to support the lie by arms.

IV.

I do not content myself with a single objection to this outrageous consummation. There is another, of a different nature. Assuming, for the moment, what I glory to believe can never happen, that the new Slave Power has become independent in fact, while the national flag has sunk away exhausted in the contest, there is one objection which, in an age of Christian light, thank God, cannot be overcome, unless, after solemn covenants branding Slavery, the great powers shall forget their vows, while England, the declared protectress of the African race, and France, the declared champion of “ideas,” both break away from the irresistible logic of their history, and turn their backs upon the past. Vain is honor, vain is human confidence, if these nations, at a moment of high duty, can thus ignobly fail. “Renown and grace is dead.” Like the other objection, this is of fact also,—for it is founded on the character of the pretension claiming recognition, which constitutes fact. Perhaps it may be said that it is a question of policy; but it is of policy which ought to be beyond debate, if such fact be established. Something more is necessary than that the new power shall be de facto independent. De facto it must be fit for independence; and, from the nature of the case, every nation will judge of this fitness in fact. Undertaking to acknowledge a new power, you proclaim its fitness for welcome and association in the Family of Nations. Can England gazette such a proclamation, elevating the whippers of women and sellers of children? Can France permit Louis Napoleon to do the same?

Here, on the threshold of this inquiry, the true state of the question must not be forgotten. It is not whether old and existing relations shall be continued with a power permitting Slavery, but whether relations shall be commenced with a new power, not merely permitting Slavery, but building its whole intolerable pretension upon this Barbarism. “No new Slave State” is a watchword with which we are familiar in our domestic history; but even such cry does not reveal the full opposition to the new revolt against Civilization,—for, even if disposed to admit a new Slave State, there must be, among men who have not yet lost all sense of decency, undying resistance to the admission of a new Slave Power with such an unquestioned origin and such an unquestioned purpose as that which now flaunts in piracy and blood before the civilized world, seeking recognition for its criminal chimera. Here is nothing for nice casuistry. Duty is plain as the moral law or the multiplication table.

Look for a moment at the unprecedented character of this pretension. A President known to be against the extension of Slavery was duly elected by the people in the autumn of 1860. This was all. He had not entered upon his duties. But the apostolic Slavemongers saw that Slavery at home must suffer under the popular judgment against its extension; they saw that a vote against its extension was a vote for its condemnation; and they rebelled. Under this wicked inspiration, State after State pretended to withdraw from the Union, and to construct a new Confederacy, whose “corner-stone” was Slavery. A Constitution was adopted, declaring these words: (1.) “No law denying or impairing the right of property in negro slaves shall be passed”[106]; and (2.) “In all territory belonging to the Confederate States, lying without the limits of the several States, the institution of Negro Slavery, as it now exists in the Confederate States, shall be recognized and protected by Congress and by the Territorial Government.”[107] Do not start. These are the authentic words of the text. You will find them in the Rebel Constitution.

Such was the unalterable fabric of the new government. Nor was there any doubt or hesitation in proclaiming its distinctive character. Its Vice-President, Mr. Stephens, thus far remarked for moderation on Slavery, as if smitten with diabolic light, undertook to explain and vindicate the new Magna Charta. His words are familiar, but they cannot be omitted in a complete statement of the case. “The new Constitution,” he said, “has put at rest forever all the agitating questions relating to our peculiar institution, African Slavery, as it exists among us,” which he proceeds to declare “was the immediate cause of the late rupture and present revolution.” The Vice-President announced unequivocally the change that had taken place. Admitting it was “the prevailing idea of most of the leading statesmen at the time of the formation of the old Constitution that the enslavement of the African was in violation of the Laws of Nature, that it was wrong in principle, socially, morally, and politically,” he denounces this idea as “fundamentally wrong,” and proclaims the new government “founded upon exactly the opposite idea.” Here is no disguise. “Its foundations,” he avows, “are laid, its corner-stone rests, upon the great truth that the negro is not equal to the white man,—that Slavery, subordination to the superior race, is his natural and normal condition.” Not content with exhibiting the untried foundation, he boastfully claims for the new government priority of invention. “This our new government,” he vaunts, “is the first in the history of the world based upon this great physical, philosophical, and moral truth.… This stone, which was rejected by the first builders, ‘is become the chief stone of the corner.’” And then, as if priority of invention were not enough, he proceeds to claim for the new government future supremacy, saying that it is already “the nucleus of a growing power, which, if we are true to ourselves, our destiny, and our high mission, will become the controlling power on this continent.”[108]

Since Satan first declared the “corner-stone” of his new government, and openly denounced the Almighty Throne, there has been no blasphemy of equal audacity. In human history nothing but itself can be its parallel. The gauntlet is thrown down to heaven and earth, while a disgusting Barbarism is proclaimed as the new Civilization. Here is a new method, a novum organum, to usher in the world’s future. Two years are already passed,—but, as the Rebellion began, so is it now. A Governor of South Carolina, in a message to the Legislature, as late as 3d April, 1863, takes up the boastful strain, and congratulates the Rebel Slavemongers that they are “a refined, cultivated, and enlightened people,” and that the new government is “the finest type that the world ever beheld.”[109] God save the mark! Such, doubtless, was the speech of the African tyrant, as he sat in state on the prostrate bodies of his subjects and rejoiced in this manifestation of power. A leading journal, more than any other the organ of the Slavemongers, repeats the original vaunt with more than the original brutality. After dwelling on “the grand career and lofty destiny” before the new government, the “Richmond Examiner” of 28th May, 1863, proceeds as follows. “Would that all of us understood and laid to heart the true nature of that career and that destiny, and the responsibility it imposes. The establishment of the Confederacy is, verily, a distinct reaction against the whole course of the mistaken civilization of the age. For Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity we have deliberately substituted Slavery, Subordination, and Government. Reverently we feel that our Confederacy is a God-sent missionary to the nations, with great truths to preach. We must speak thus boldly; but ‘whoso hath ears to hear, let him hear.’” This God-sent missionary to the nations it is now proposed to welcome at the household hearth of the civilized world.

Unhappily, there are old nations already in the family still tolerating Slavery; but now, for the first time, a new nation claims admission there, which not only tolerates Slavery, but, exulting in its shame, strives to reverse the judgment of mankind, making this outrage its chief support and glory, so that all recognition of the new power will be recognition of a sacrilegious pretension,

Elsewhere Slavery has been an accident; here it is the principal. Elsewhere it has been an instrument only; here it is the inspiration. Elsewhere it has been kept back in becoming modesty; here it is pushed forward in all its brutish nakedness. Elsewhere it has claimed nothing but liberty to live; here it claims license to rule, with unbounded empire at home and abroad. Look at this candidate power in its whole continued existence, from Alpha to Omega, and it is nothing but Slavery. Its origin is Slavery, its mainspring is Slavery, its object is Slavery. Wherever it appears, whatever it does, whatever form it takes, it is Slavery and nothing else; so that, with the agonizing despair of Satan, it might cry out:—

The Rebellion is Slavery in arms, Slavery on horseback, Slavery on foot, Slavery raging on the battle-field, Slavery savage on the quarter-deck, robbing, destroying, burning, killing, to uphold this candidate power. Its legislation is simply Slavery in statutes, Slavery in chapters, Slavery in sections, with an enacting clause. Its diplomacy is Slavery in pretended ambassadors, Slavery in cunning letters, Slavery in cozening promises, Slavery in persistent negotiation,—all to secure for the candidate power its much desired welcome. Say what you will, try to avoid it, if you can, you are compelled to admit that the candidate power is nothing else than organized Slavery, now, in its madness, surrounded by its criminal clan, and led by its felon chieftains, braving the civilization of the age. Any recognition of Slavery is bad enough; but this will be recognition with welcome and benediction, imparting new consideration and respectability, and, worse still, securing new opportunity and foothold for the supremacy it openly proclaims.

In ancient days the candidate was robed in white, while at the Capitol and in the Forum he canvassed the people for their votes. The candidate nation, unashamed of Slavery, should be robed in black, while it conducts the great canvass, and asks the votes of the Christian powers. “Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night,” as the outrage proceeds; for the candidate gravely asks international recognition of the claim to hold property in man, to sell wife away from husband, to sell child away from parent, to shut the gates of knowledge, to appropriate all the fruits of another’s labor. The candidate proceeds in the canvass, notwithstanding all history declares Slavery essentially barbarous, and that whatever it touches it changes to itself,—that it barbarizes laws, barbarizes business, barbarizes manners, barbarizes social life, and makes the people who cherish it barbarians. And still the candidate proceeds, although it is known to the Christian powers that the partisans of Slavery are naturally “filibusters,” always apt for lawless incursion and for robbery; that, during later years, under their instigation and to advance their pretensions, expeditions identical in motive with the present Rebellion were let loose in the Gulf of Mexico, twice against Cuba, and twice, also, against Nicaragua, breaking the peace of the United States and threatening the repose of the world, so that Lopez and Walker were but predecessors of Beauregard and Jefferson Davis. And yet the candidate proceeds, although it is obvious that the recognition urged will be nothing less than solemn sanction by the Christian powers of Slavery everywhere throughout the new jurisdiction, on land or sea, so that every ship, being part of the floating territory, will be Slave Territory. And yet, with the phantasy that man can hold property in man shooting from his lips, with the shackle and lash in his hands, with barbarism on his forehead, with filibusterism in his recorded life, and with Slavery woven in his flag wherever it floats on land and sea, the candidate clamors for independent recognition. It is sad to think that there is delay in repelling the insufferable canvass. Can Christian nations longer hesitate? To detest and combat such an accursed pretension it is not necessary even to be a Christian,—it is sufficient to be a man.

If the recognition of a de facto power were a duty imposed upon other nations by International Law, there would be no opportunity for objections founded on principle or policy. But there is no such duty. International Law leaves to each nation, precisely as the Municipal Law leaves to each citizen, what company to keep or what copartnership to form. No company and no copartnership can be forced upon a nation. It is all a question of free choice and acceptance. International Law on this head is like the Constitution of the United States, which declares, “New States may be admitted by the Congress into this Union.” Not must, but may,—it being in the discretion of Congress to determine whether the State shall be admitted. Accordingly, in the exercise of this discretion, Congress for a long time refused to admit Missouri as a Slave State. And now the old Missouri Question, in more outrageous form, on vaster theatre, with “monarchs to behold the swelling scene,” is presented to the Christian powers of the world. If it was right to exclude Missouri, having only few slaves, and regarding Slavery merely as a temporary condition, it must be right to exclude a pretended nation, which not only boasts millions of slaves, but passionately proclaims the perpetuity and propagation of Slavery as the cause and object of its separate existence.

Practical statesmen have always treated recognition as a question of policy, to be determined on the whole case, even where the power is de facto established,—as amply appears in the Parliamentary debates on the recognition of Spanish America. If we go behind the practical statesmen and consult the earliest oracles of International Law, we find, that, according to their most approved utterances, not only may recognition be refused, but there are considerations of duty this way which cannot be evaded. It is not enough that a pretender has the form of a commonwealth. “A people,” says Cicero, in a definition copied by most jurists, “is not every body of men, howsoever congregated, but a gathered multitude associated through agreement in right and community of interest.”[110] Again, he goes so far as to say, “When the king is unjust, or the aristocracy, or the people itself, the commonwealth is not vicious, but null.”[111] Of course a commonwealth that is null cannot be recognized. This same lofty standard is of frequent recurrence in the testimony of the great Roman. But he is not alone. Grotius, who speaks always with the magistral voice of learning and genius, furnishes the just conclusion, when, after declaring that a state is “a complete body of freemen associated for the enjoyment of right and for their common benefit,”[112] he exposes the distinction between a body of men, who, being already a recognized commonwealth, are guilty of systematic crime,—as, for instance, piracy,—and another body of men, who, not yet recognized as a commonwealth, band together for this purpose,—sceleris causâ coeunt. The latter, by happy discrimination, he places beyond the pale of recognition.[113] When before, in all history, have creatures wearing the human form proclaimed the criminal principle of their association with the audacity of our Slavemongers? And yet there is hesitation to place them beyond the pale of recognition. A recent English authority on the Law of Nations adopts the same distinction. I quote Mr. Phillimore, who, after alluding to societies united for the sake of crime, says: “All agree to class such bodies amongst those of whose corporate existence the law takes no cognizance (qui civitatem non faciunt), and therefore as not entitled to international rights either in peace or war.”[114]

It might be argued, on grounds of reason and authority even, that the declared principle of the pretended power was a violation of International Law. Eminent magistrates have solemnly ruled, that, in the development of civilization, the Slave-Trade has become illegal by a law higher than any statute. Sir William Grant, an ornament of the British bench, whose elegant mind was governed always by practical sense, adjudged that this trade “cannot, abstractedly speaking, be said to have a legitimate existence”;[115] and our own great authority, Mr. Justice Story, in a remarkable judgment, declared himself constrained “to consider the trade an offence against the universal law of society”;[116] and the highest professional authorities of our country adopted the same conclusion: I refer especially to the late William Pinkney and Jeremiah Mason.[117] But arguments which are strong against any recognition of the Slave-Trade are strong also against any recognition of Slavery itself, especially when it is the foundation of a new power.

In the determination of present duty, it is not necessary to assume that Slavery or the Slave-Trade is positively forbidden by existing International Law. It is enough to show, that, according to the spirit of that sovereign law which “sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill,” and also according to those commanding principles of justice and humanity which cannot be set at nought without shock to human nature itself, so foul a wrong as Slavery can receive no voluntary support from the Commonwealth of Nations. It is not a question of Law, but of Morality. The Rule of Law is sometimes less comprehensive than the Rule of Morality, so that the latter may positively condemn what the former silently tolerates. But within its own domain Morality cannot be less authoritative than Law. It is, indeed, nothing less than the Law of Nature, which is the Law of God. If we listen again to heathen teaching, we shall confess its truth. “Law,” says Cicero, “is the highest reason, implanted in nature, which prescribes those things which ought to be done, and forbids the contrary.”[118] This law is an essential part of International Law, as is also Christianity itself, and where treaties fail and usage is silent it is the only law between nations. Jurists of all ages and countries have delighted to acknowledge its authority, if it spoke only in the still, small voice of conscience. A celebrated professor of Germany in our own day, Savigny, whose name is honored by students of jurisprudence everywhere, touches upon this monitor of nations, when he declares that “there may exist between different nations a common consciousness of right similar to that which engenders the positive law of particular nations.”[119] This common consciousness of right is identical with that law, which, according to Cicero, is “the highest reason, implanted in nature.” Such is the Rule of Morality.

The Rule of Morality differs from the Rule of Law in this respect,—that the former finds support in the human conscience, the latter in the sanctions of public force. But moral power prevails with a good man as much as if it were physical. I know no different rule for a good nation than for a good man. I am sure that a good nation will not do what a good man would scorn to do.

There is a Rule of Prudence superadded to the Rule of Morality. Grotius, in discussing treaties, does not forget the wisdom of Solomon, who, in not a few places, warns against fellowship with the wicked,—although he adds, that these are maxims of prudence, and not of law.[120] And he reminds us of the saying of Alexander, “that those grievously offend who enter the service of barbarians.”[121] Better still are the words of the wise historian of classical antiquity, who enjoins upon a commonwealth the duty of considering carefully, when sued for assistance, “whether what is sought is sufficiently pious, safe, glorious, or whether it is unbecoming”;[122] and also those words of the Hebrew king, who, after rebuking an alliance with Ahab, asks with scorn, “Shouldest thou help the ungodly?”[123]

The claim for recognition, when brought to the touchstone of these principles, is easily disposed of.

Urge not the Practice of Nations in its behalf. Never before in history has a candidacy been put forward in the name of Slavery, and the terrible outrage is aggravated by the Christian light which surrounds it. This is not an age of darkness. But even in the Dark Ages, when the Slavemongers of the Barbary coast had gathered into cities, the saintly Louis the Ninth was fired to treat one of these communities as a “nest of wasps.”[124] Afterwards, but slowly, they obtained “the right of legation” and “the reputation of a government”; when at last, weary of their criminal pretensions, the aroused vengeance of Great Britain and France blotted out this power from the list of nations. Louis the Eleventh, who has been described as the sovereign “who best understood his interest,” indignant at Richard the Third of England, who had murdered two infants in the Tower and usurped the crown, sent back his ambassadors without holding intercourse with them. This is a suggestive precedent, which I give on venerable authority in diplomatic history;[125] but the parricide usurper of England had never murdered so many infants or usurped so much as the pretended Slave Power, strangely tolerated by the sagacious sovereign who sits on the throne of Louis the Eleventh.

It is not necessary, however, to go so far in history, nor to dwell on the practice of nations in withholding or conceding recognition. The whole matter is stated by Burke, with his customary power.

“In the case of a divided kingdom, by the Law of Nations, Great Britain, like every other power, is free to take any part she pleases. She may decline, with more or less formality, according to her discretion, to acknowledge this new system; or she may recognize it as a government de facto, setting aside all discussion of its original legality, and considering the ancient monarchy as at an end. The Law of Nations leaves our court open to its choice.… The declaration of a new species of government on new principles is a real crisis in the politics of Europe.”[126]

This same rule Burke declared in Parliament, saying, “that the French Republic was sui generis, and bore no analogy to any other that ever existed in the world. It, therefore, did not follow that we ought to recognize it, merely because different powers in Europe had recognized the Republic of England under Oliver Cromwell.”[127] And in his famous “Appeal from the New to the Old Whigs” this illustrious authority proclaimed the new French Government “so fundamentally wrong as to be utterly incapable of correcting itself by any length of time, or of being formed into any mode of polity of which a member of the House of Commons could publicly declare his approbation.”[128]

Another eloquent publicist, Sir James Mackintosh, while pressing on Parliament the recognition of Spanish America, says: “The reception of a new state into the society of civilized nations by those acts which amount to recognition is a proceeding which has no legal character, and is purely of a moral nature”; and he proceeds to argue, that, since England “is the only anciently free state in the world, for her to refuse her moral aid to communities struggling for liberty is an act of unnatural harshness.”[129] Thus does he vindicate recognition for the sake of Freedom. How truly he would have repelled any recognition for the sake of Slavery let his life testify.

At the Congress of Verona, Chateaubriand, as representative of France, replied to a proposition from the Duke of Wellington on this subject:—

“France is influenced by considerations of more general importance with regard to the governments de facto. She conceives that the principles of justice on which society is founded must not be lightly sacrificed to secondary interests, and it appears to her that those principles increase in importance when the matter in question is that of recognizing a political order of things virtually hostile to that which exists in Europe.”[130]

Here the rule is mildly stated, but in harmony with correct principle. A new government, with Slavery as its active soul, must be “virtually hostile” to European civilization, so as to make its recognition impossible; nor can the principles of justice be lightly sacrificed.

No better testimony to the practice of nations can be found than the words of Vattel, whose work, presenting the subject in familiar form, has done more, during the last century, to fashion opinion on the Law of Nations than any other authority. Here it is briefly.

“If there be any nation that makes an open profession of trampling justice under foot, of despising and violating the rights of others, whenever it finds an opportunity, the interest of human society will authorize all others to unite in order to humble and chastise it.”[131]

“To form and support an unjust pretension is to do an injury only to the nation whom such pretension concerns; to mock at justice in general is to injure all nations.”[132]

“The power that assists an odious tyrant, that declares for an unjust and rebellious people, undoubtedly violates duty.”[133]

“As to those monsters who under the title of sovereigns render themselves the scourges and horror of humanity, they are ferocious beasts, of whom every brave man may justly clear the earth.”[134]

“If the maxims of a religion tend to establish it by violence, and to oppress all those who do not embrace it, the Law of Nature forbids us to favor that religion, or to unite unnecessarily with its inhuman followers, and the common safety of mankind invites them rather to enter into a league against such madmen, to repress such fanatics, who disturb the public repose and menace all nations.”[135]

Nor can you urge this recognition on any principle of Comity of Nations. This is an expansive term, into which enters much of the refinements, amenities, and hospitalities of civilization, and also something of the obligations of moral duty. But where an act is prejudicial to national interests, or contrary to national policy, or questionable in morals, it cannot be commended by any consideration of courtesy. A paramount duty must not be betrayed by a kiss. For the sake of comity, acts of good-will and friendship not required by law are performed between nations; but an English court has authoritatively declared that this principle cannot prevail, “where it violates the law of our own country, the Law of Nature, or the Law of God,” and on this exalted ground it was decided that an American slave who had found shelter on board a British man-of-war on the high seas could not be recognized as a slave.[136] The same principle must prevail against recognition of a new slave nation.

Nor, finally, can this recognition be urged on any reason of Peace. There can be no peace founded on injustice; and any recognition is injustice which will cry aloud, resounding through the earth. You may seem to have peace, but it will be only smothered war, sure to break forth in war more direful than before.

Thus is every argument for recognition repelled, whether under the sounding words, Practice of Nations, Comity of Nations, or Peace. There is nothing in practice, nothing in comity, nothing in peace, which is not against any such shameful acknowledgment.

Applying the principles already set forth,—assuming what cannot be denied, that every power is free to refuse recognition,—assuming that it is not every body of men that can be considered a commonwealth, but only those “associated through agreement in right and community of interest,”—that men “banding together for the sake of systematic crime” cannot be considered a commonwealth,—assuming that every member of the Family of Nations will surely obey the rule of morality,—that it will “shun fellowship with the wicked,”—that it will not “enter the service of barbarians,”—that it will avoid what is “unbecoming,” and do that only which is “pious, safe, and glorious,”—and that, above all things, it will not enter into alliance to “help the ungodly,”—assuming these things, every such member must reject with indignation a new pretension whose declared principle of association is so intrinsically wicked. Here there can be no question. The case is plain; nor is any language of contumely or scorn too strong to express the irrepressible repugnance to such a pretension, which, like vice, “to be hated needs but to be seen.” Surely there can be no Christian power which will not rouse to expose it, crying, with irresistible voice,—

No new sanction of Slavery!

No new quickening of Slavery in its active and aggressive barbarism!

No new encouragement to “filibusters” engendered by Slavery!

No new creation of Slave Territory!

No new creation of a Slave Navy!

No new Slave Nation!

No installation of Slavery as a new Civilization!

But all this litany will fail, if recognition succeeds,—from which, good Lord, deliver us! Nor will this be the end.

Slavery, through the new power, will take its place in the Parliament of mankind, with the immunities of an independent nation, ready always to uphold and advance itself, and organized as an unrelenting Propaganda of the new faith. A power having its inspiration in such a Barbarism must be essentially barbarous; founded on the asserted right to whip women and sell children, it must assume a character of disgusting hardihood; and openly professing determination to revolutionize the public opinion of the world, it must be in open schism with Civilization itself, so that all its influences will be wild, savage, brutal, and all its offspring kindred in character.

Such a power, from very nature, must be despotism at home “tempered only by assassination,” with the cotton-field for its Siberia,—while abroad it must be aggressive, dangerous, and revolting, in itself a Magnum Latrocinium, whose fellowship can have nothing but “the filthiness of evil,” and whose very existence will be an intolerable nuisance. When Dante, in the vindictive judgment hurled against his own Florence, called it bordello, he did not use a term too strong for the mighty house of ill-fame which the Christian powers are now asked for the first time to license. Such must be the character of the new power. But, though only a recent wrong, and pleading no prescription, the illimitable audacity of its nature can hesitate at nothing; nor is there anything offensive or detestable it will not absorb into itself. It will be an Ishmael, with hand against every man. It will be a brood of Harpies, defiling all it cannot steal. It will be the one-eyed Cyclop of nations, seeing only through Slavery, spurning all as fools who do not see likewise, and bellowing forth in savage egotism,—

Or it will be the Læstrygonian cannibal, with Slavery a perpetual maw, and terrible to the civilized world as that distant power to the companions of Ulysses, when, according to Homer,

Or, worse still, it will be the soulless monster of Frankenstein, the wretched creation of human science without God,—endowed with life and nothing else, forever raging madly, the scandal to humanity, powerful only for evil, whose destruction will be essential to the peace of the world.

Who can welcome such a creation? Who can consort with it? There is something loathsome in the idea. There is contamination even in the thought. If you live with the lame, says the ancient proverb, you will learn to limp; if you keep in the kitchen, you will smell of smoke; if you touch pitch, you will be defiled. But what limp so mean as that of this pretended power? what smoke so foul as its breath? what pitch so defiling as its touch? It is an Oriental saying, that a cistern of rosewater will become impure, if a dog be dropped into it; but an ocean of rosewater with Rebel Slavemongers would be changed into a vulgar puddle. Imagine whatever is most disgusting, and this pretended power is more disgusting still. Naturalists report that the pike will swallow anything except the toad, but this it cannot do. The experiment has been tried, and though this fish, in unhesitating voracity, always gulps whatever is thrown to it, yet invariably it spews the nuisance from its throat. Our Slavemonger pretension is worse than toad; and yet there are foreign nations which, instead of spewing it forth, are already turning it like a precious morsel on the tongue.

There is yet another ground on which I make this appeal. It is part of the triumphs of Civilization, that no nation can act for itself alone. Whatever it does for good or for evil affects all the rest. Therefore a nation cannot forget its obligations to others. Especially does International Law, when it declares the absolute equality of independent nations, cast upon all the duty of considering well how this privilege shall be bestowed so that the welfare of all may be best upheld. But the whole Family of Nations would be degraded by admitting this new pretension to any toleration, much more to equality. There can be no reason for such admission; for it can bring nothing to the general weal. Civil society is created for safety and tranquillity. Nations come together and fraternize for the common good. But this hateful pretension can do nothing but evil for civil society at home or for nations in their intercourse with each other. It can show no title to recognition, no passport for its travels, no old existence. It is all new. And here I borrow the language of Burke on another occasion:—

“It is not a new power of an old kind. It is a new power of a new species. When such a questionable shape is to be admitted for the first time into the brotherhood of Christendom, it is not a mere matter of idle curiosity to consider how far it is in its nature alliable with the rest.”[140]

The greatest of corporations is a nation; the sublimest of all associations is that composed of nations, independent and equal, knit together in the bonds of peaceful fraternity as the great Christian Commonwealth. The Slavemongers may be a corporation in fact, but no such corporation can find place in that august Commonwealth. As well admit the Thugs, whose first article of faith is to kill the stranger,—or the Buccaneers, those “brothers of the coast,” who plundered on the sea; or, better still, revive the old Kingdom of the Assassins, where the king was an assassin, surrounded by counsellors and generals who were assassins, and all his subjects were assassins; or yet again, better at once and openly recognize Antichrist, the supreme and highest impersonation of the Slave Power.

Amidst the general degradation following such obeisance to Slavery, there are two Christian powers that would appear in sad and shameful eminence. I refer to Great Britain, declared protectress of the African race, and to France, declared champion of “ideas,” who, from the very abundance of pledges, are so situated that they cannot desert the good old cause and turn their faces against civilization without criminal tergiversation, which no mantle of diplomacy can cover. Where, then, is British devotion to the African race, so eloquently proclaimed by the British Minister? Where, then, is French devotion to ideas, so ostentatiously announced by the French Emperor? Remembered only to point a tale and show how nations have fallen. Great Britain knows less than France of national vicissitudes, but such an act of wrong would do something in its influence to equalize the conditions of these two nations. Rather than do this thing, better for the fast-anchored isle that it should sink beneath the sea, carrying down its cathedrals, its castles, its happy homes, its fields of glory, Runnymede, Westminster Hall, and the tomb of Shakespeare. In other days England has valiantly striven against Slavery, winning a truer glory than any achieved by her arms on land or sea; and now she is willing to surrender, at a moment when more can be done than ever before against the monster, wherever it shows its head,—for Slavery everywhere has its neck in this Rebellion. In other days France has valiantly striven for ideas; and now she, too, proposes surrender, although all that she professes at heart is involved in the doom of Slavery, which a word from her might hasten beyond recall. It is in England, where the great victory of Emancipation was first obtained, that now, more even than in France, the strongest sentiment for Rebel Slavemongers is manifest, constituting a moral mania which menaces a pact and concordat with the Rebellion itself,—as when an early Pope, head of the Christian Church, did not hesitate to execute a piratical convention with a Pagan enemy to the Christian name. It only remains that the new coalition should be signed in order to consummate the unutterable degradation. The contracting parties will be the Queen of England and Jefferson Davis, once patron of “Repudiation,” now chief of Rebel Slavery. Then must this virtuous lady, whose pride is justice always, bend to receive the author of the Fugitive Slave Bill as ambassadorial plenipotentiary at her Court.