GEORGE CANNING (continued 2)

I come next to consider the situation of this country. And first, as to our ability for the undertaking of a war. I have already said, that the country is yet rich enough in resources, in means, in strength, to engage in any contest to which national honour may call her; but I must at the same time be allowed to say, that her strength has very recently been strained to the utmost; that her means are at that precise stage of recovery which makes it most desirable that the progress of that recovery should not be interrupted; that her resources, now in a course of rapid reproduction, would, by any sudden check, be thrown into a disorder more deep and difficult of cure. It is in reference to this particular condition of the country, that I said on a former evening, what the honourable member for Surrey (Mr. Holme Sumner) has since done me the honour to repeat, 'If we are to be driven into war, sooner or later, let it be later': let it be after we have had time to turn, as it were, the corner of our difficulties— after we shall have retrieved a little more, effectively our exhausted resources, and have assured ourselves of means and strength, not only to begin, but to keep up the conflict, if necessary, for an indefinite period of time.

For let no man flatter himself that a war now entered upon would be a short one. Have we so soon forgotten the course and progress of the last war? For my part, I remember well the anticipations with which it began. I remember hearing a man, who will be allowed to have been distinguished by as great sagacity as ever belonged to the most consummate statesman—I remember hearing Mr. Pitt, not, in his place in Parliament (where it might have been his object and his duty to animate zeal and to encourage hope), but in the privacy of his domestic circle, among the friends in whom he confided—I remember well hearing him say, in 1793, that he expected that war to be of very short duration. That duration ran out to a period beyond the life of him who made the prediction. It outlived his successor, and the successors of that successor, and at length came suddenly and unexpectedly to an end, through a combination of miraculous events, such as the most sanguine imagination could not have anticipated. With that example full in my recollection, I could not act upon the presumption that a new war, once begun, would be speedily ended. Let no such expectation induce us to enter a path, which, however plain and clear it may appear at the outset of the journey, we should presently see branching into intricacies, and becoming encumbered with obstructions, until we were involved in a labyrinth from which not we ourselves only, but the generation to come, might in vain endeavour to find the means of extrication.

For the confirmation of these observations I appeal to that which I have stated as the last of the considerations in reference to which the policy of the British Government was calculated—mean, to the present state of the world. No man can witness with more delight than I do the widening diffusion of political liberty. Acknowledging all the blessings which we have long derived from liberty ourselves, I do not grudge to others a participation in them. I would not prohibit other nations from kindling their torches at the flame of British freedom. But let us not deceive ourselves. The general acquisition of free institutions is not necessarily a security for general peace. I am obliged to confess that its immediate tendency is the other way. Take an example from France herself. The Representative Chamber of France has undoubtedly been the source of those hostilities, which I should not have despaired of seeing averted through the pacific disposition of the French King. Look at the democracies of the ancient world. Their existence, I may say, was in war. Look at the petty republics of Italy in more modern times. In truth, long intervals of profound peace are much more readily to be found under settlements of a monarchical form. Did the Republic of Rome, in the whole career of her existence, enjoy an interval of peace of as long duration as that which this country enjoyed under the administration of Sir Robert Walpole?—and that interval, be it remembered, was broken short through the instigation of popular feeling. I am not saying that this is right or wrong—but that it is so. It is in the very nature of free governments—and more especially, perhaps, of governments newly free. The principle which for centuries has given ascendancy to Great Britain is that she was the single, free State in Europe. The spread of the representative system destroys that singularity, and must (however little we may like it) proportionally enfeeble our preponderating influence—unless we measure our steps cautiously and accommodate our conduct to the times. Let it not be supposed that I would disparage the progress of freedom, that I wish checks to be applied to it, or that I am pleased at the sight of obstacles thrown in its way. Far, very far from it. I am only desiring it to be observed, that we cannot expect to enjoy at the same time incompatible advantages. Freedom must ever be the greatest of blessings; but it ceases to be a distinction, in proportion as other nations become free.

But, Sir, this is only a partial view of the subject; and one to which I have been led by the unreasonable expectations of those who, while they make loud complaints of the diplomacy of England, as less commanding than heretofore, unconsciously specify the very causes which necessarily diminish and counteract its efficacy.

There are, however, other considerations to which I beg leave to turn the attention of the House.

It is perfectly true, as has been argued by more than one honourable member in this debate, that there is a contest going on in the world, between the spirit of unlimited monarchy, and the spirit of unlimited democracy. Between these two spirits, it may be said that strife is either openly in action or covertly at work, throughout the greater portion of Europe. It is true, as has also been argued, that in no former period in history is there so close a resemblance to the present, as in that of the Reformation. So far my honourable and learned friend (Sir J. Mackintosh) and the honourable baronet (Sir F. Burdett) were justified in holding up Queen Elizabeth's reign as an example for our study. The honourable member for Westminster, too, has observed that, in imitation of Queen Elizabeth's policy, the proper place for this country, in the present state of the world, is at the head of free nations struggling against arbitrary power. Sir, undoubtedly there is, as I have admitted, a general resemblance between the two periods; forasmuch as in both we see a conflict of opinions, and in both a bond of union growing out of those opinions, which establishes, between parts and classes of different nations, a stricter communion than belongs to community of country. It is true—it is, I own I think, a formidable truth—that in this respect the two periods do resemble each other. But though there is this general similarity, there is one circumstance which mainly distinguishes the present time from the reign of Elizabeth; and which, though by no means unimportant in itself, has been overlooked by all those to whose arguments I am now referring. Elizabeth was herself amongst the revolters against the authority of the Church of Rome; but we are not amongst those who are engaged in a struggle against the spirit of unlimited monarchy. We have fought that fight. We have taken our station. We have long ago assumed a character differing altogether from that of those around us. It may have been the duty and the interest of Queen Elizabeth to make common cause with—to put herself at the head of—those who supported the Reformation: but can it be either our interest or our duty to ally ourselves with revolution? Let us be ready to afford refuge to the sufferers of either extreme party: but it is not surely our policy to become the associate of either. Our situation now is rather what that of Elizabeth would have been, if the Church of England had been, in her time, already completely established, in uncontested supremacy; acknowledged as a legitimate settlement, unassailed and unassailable by papal power. Does my honourable and learned friend believe that the policy of Elizabeth would in that case have been the same?

Now, our complex constitution is established with so happy a mixture of its elements—its tempered monarchy and its regulated freedom—that we have nothing to fear from foreign despotism, nothing at home but from capricious change. We have nothing to fear, unless, distasteful of the blessings which we have earned, and of the calm which we enjoy, we let loose again, with rash hand, the elements of our constitution, and set them once more to fight against each other. In this enviable situation, what have we in common with the struggles which are going on in other countries, for the attainment of objects of which we have been long in undisputed possession? We look down upon those struggles from the point to which we have happily attained, not with the cruel delight which is described by the poet, as arising from the contemplation of agitations in which the spectator is not exposed to share; but with an anxious desire to mitigate, to enlighten, to reconcile, to save—by our example in all cases, by our exertions where we can usefully interpose.

Our station, then, is essentially neutral: neutral not only between contending nations, but between conflicting principles. The object of the Government has been to preserve that station; and for the purpose of preserving it, to maintain peace. By remaining at peace ourselves, we best secure Portugal; by remaining at peace, we take the best chance of circumscribing the range and shortening the duration of the war, which we could not prevent from breaking out between France and Spain. By remaining at peace, we shall best enable ourselves to take an effectual and decisive part in any contest into which we may be hereafter forced against our will.

The papers on the table, the last paper at least (I mean the dispatch of the 31st of March, in which is stated what we expect from France), ought, I think, to have satisfied the honourable baronet, who said that, provided the Government was firm in purpose, he should not be disposed to find fault with their having acted suaviter in modo . In that dispatch our neutrality is qualified with certain specified conditions. To those conditions France has given her consent. When we say in that dispatch, we are 'satisfied' that those conditions will be observed, is it not obvious that we use a language of courtesy, which is always most becomingly employed between independent Powers? Who does not know that, in diplomatic correspondence, under that suavity of expression is implied an 'or', which imports another alternative?

So far, then, as the interests and honour of Great Britain are concerned, those interests and that honour have, been scrupulously maintained. Great Britain has come out of the, negotiations, claiming all the respect that is due to her; and, in a tone not to be mistaken, enforcing all her rights. It is true that her policy has not been violent or precipitate. She has not sprung forth armed, from the impulse of a sudden indignation; she has looked before and after; she has reflected on all the circumstances which beset, and on all the consequences which may follow, so awful a decision as war; and instead of descending into the arena, as party in a quarrel not her own, she has assumed the attitude and the attributes of justice, holding high the balance, and grasping but not unsheathing the sword.

Sir, I will now trouble the House no further than to call its attention to the precise nature of the motion which it has to dispose of this night. Sir, the result of the negotiations, as I have before stated, rendered it unnecessary and irregular for the Government to call for the expression of a parliamentary opinion upon them. It was, however, competent for any honourable member to suggest to the House the expression of such opinion; which, if expressed at all, it will readily be admitted ought to be expressed intelligibly. Now, what is the Address which, after a fortnight's notice, and after the menaces with which it has been announced and ushered in, the House has been desired to adopt? The honourable gentleman's Address first proposes to 'represent to His Majesty, that the disappointment of His Majesty's benevolent solicitude to preserve general peace appears to this House to have, in a great measure, arisen from the failure of his Ministers to make the most earnest, vigorous, and solemn protest against the pretended right of the Sovereigns assembled at Verona, to make war on Spain in order to compel alterations in her political institutions'. I must take the liberty to say that this is not a true description. The war I have shown to be a French war, not arising from anything done, or omitted to be done, at Verona. But to finish the sentence:—'as well as against the subsequent pretension of the French Government, that nations cannot lawfully enjoy any civil privileges but from the spontaneous grant of their kings.' I must here again take the liberty to say that the averment is not correct. Whatever the misconduct of Government in these negotiations may have been, it is plain matter-of-fact, that they protested in the strongest manner against the pretension put forward in the speech of the King of France, that the liberties and franchises of a nation should be derived exclusively from the throne. It is on record, in this very Address, that the honourable gentlemen themselves could not have protested more strongly than the Government; since, in the next sentence to that which I have just read, in order to deliver themselves with the utmost force, they have condescended to borrow my words. For the Address goes on: '… principles destructive of the rights of all independent States, which strike at the root of the British Constitution, and are subversive of His Majesty's legitimate title to the throne.' Now by far the strongest expression in this sentence—the metaphor (such as it is) about 'striking at the root of the British Constitution '—is mine. It is in my dispatch to Sir Charles Stuart of the 4th of February, I claim it with the pride and fondness of an author: when I see it plagiarized by those who condemn me for not using sufficiently forcible language, and who yet, in the very breath, in which they pronounce that condemnation, are driven to borrow my very words to exemplify the omission which they impute.

So much for the justice of the Address: now for its usefulness and efficacy.

What is the full and sufficient declaration of the sense of the House on this most-momentous crisis, which is contained in this monitory expostulation to the throne? It proceeds: 'Further to declare to His Majesty the surprise and sorrow with which this House has observed that His Majesty's Ministers should have advised the Spanish Government, while so unwarrantably menaced'—(this 'so' must refer to something out of doors, for there is not a word in the previous part of this precious composition to which it can be grammatically applied)—'to alter their constitution, in the hope of averting invasion; a concession which alone would have involved the total sacrifice of national independence, and which was not even palliated by an assurance from France, that on receiving so dishonourable a submission, she would desist from her unprovoked aggression.' (I deny this statement, by the way; it is a complete misrepresentation.) 'Finally to represent to His Majesty that, in the judgement of this House, a tone of more dignified remonstrance would have been better calculated to preserve the peace of the Continent, and thereby to secure this nation more effectually from the hazard of being involved in the calamities of war.' And there it ends!—with a mere conjecture of what 'would have been'!

Is this an Address for a British Parliament, carrying up a complaint that the nation is on the eve of war, but conveying not a word of advice as to the course to be followed at such a moment? I, for my own part, beg the House not to agree to such an Address—for this reason, amongst others, that as it will be my duty to tender my humble advice to His Majesty as to the answer to be given to it, I am sure I shall not know what to advise His Majesty to say: the only answer which occurs to me as suitable to the occasion is, 'Indeed! I am very sorry for it.'

This, then, is the upshot of a motion which was to show that the present Ministers are unfit to carry on war or to maintain peace; and, by implication, that there are those who know better how such matters should be managed. This is the upshot of the motion, which was to dislodge us from our seats, and to supply our places with the honourable gentlemen opposite. It is affirmed that we are now on the eve of war, the peace which we have maintained being insecure. If we are on the eve of war, will not this be the first time that a British House of Parliament has approached the throne, on such an occasion, without even a conditional pledge of support? If war is a matter even of possible contemplation, it surely becomes this House either to concur in an Address for the removal of the Ministers, who have needlessly incurred that danger; or, as the amendment moved by the honourable member for Yorkshire proposes, to tender to His Majesty a cordial assurance that this House will stand by His Majesty in sustaining the dignity of his crown, and the rights and interests of his people. I trust, therefore, Sir, that by rejecting this most incorrect and inadequate Address—as unworthy of the House as it is of the occasion; an Address contradictory in some parts to itself: in more, to the established facts of the case; and in all to the ascertained sense of the country; and by adopting, in its room, the amendment moved by the honourable member for Yorkshire, and seconded by the member for London, the House will stamp the policy which the King's Ministers have pursued—feebly perhaps, perhaps erroneously, but at all events from pure motives, in the sincerity of their hearts, and as conducive, in their judgement, to the tranquillity, welfare, and happiness, not of this country only, but of the world—with that highest of all sanctions, the deliberate approbation of the House of Commons.