In proposing to the House of Commons to acknowledge, by an humble and
dutiful address, his Majesty’s most gracious message, and to reply
to it in terms which will be, in effect, an echo of the sentiments
and a fulfilment of the anticipations of that message, I feel that,
however confident I may be in the justice, and however clear as to the
policy of the measures therein announced, it becomes me, as a British
minister, recommending to Parliament any step which may approximate
this country even to the hazard of a war, while I explain the grounds
of that proposal, to accompany my explanation with expressions of
regret.
I can assure the House, that there is not within its walls any set
of men more deeply convinced than his Majesty’s ministers—nor any
individual more intimately persuaded than he who has now the honor
of addressing you—of the vital importance of the continuance of
peace to this country and to the world. So strongly am I impressed
with this opinion—and for reasons of which I will put the House more
fully in possession before I sit down—that I declare there is no
question of doubtful or controverted policy—no opportunity of present
national advantage—no precaution against remote difficulty—which I
would not gladly compromise, pass over, or adjourn, rather than call
on Parliament to sanction, at this moment, any measure which had a
tendency to involve the country in war. But, at the same time, sir, I
feel that which has been felt, in the best times of English history,
by the best statesmen of this country, and by the Parliaments by whom
those statesmen were supported—I feel that there are two causes, and
but two causes, which can not be either compromised, passed over, or
adjourned. These causes are: adherence to the national faith, and
regard for the national honor.
Sir, if I did not consider both these causes as involved in the
proposition which I have this day to make to you, I should not address
the House, as I now do, in the full and entire confidence that the
gracious communication of his Majesty will be met by the House with the
concurrence of which his Majesty has declared his expectation.
In order to bring the matter which I have to submit to you, under the
cognizance of the House, in the shortest and clearest manner, I beg
leave to state it, in the first instance, divested of any collateral
considerations. It is a case of law and of fact: of national law on the
one hand, and of notorious fact on the other; such as it must be, in
my opinion as impossible for Parliament, as it was for the government,
to regard in any but one light, or to come to any but one conclusion
upon it.
Among the alliances by which, at different periods of our history,
this country has been connected with the other nations of Europe,
none is so ancient in origin, and so precise in obligation—none has
continued so long, and been observed so faithfully—of none is the
memory so intimately interwoven with the most brilliant records of our
triumphs, as that by which Great Britain is connected with Portugal.
It dates back to distant centuries; it has survived an endless variety
of fortunes. Anterior in existence to the accession of the House of
Braganza to the throne of Portugal—it derived, however, fresh vigor
from that event; and never from that epoch to the present hour, has
the independent monarchy of Portugal ceased to be nurtured by the
friendship of Great Britain. This alliance has never been seriously
interrupted; but it has been renewed by repeated sanctions. It has been
maintained under difficulties by which the fidelity of other alliances
was shaken, and has been vindicated in fields of blood and of glory.
That the alliance with Portugal has been always unqualifiedly
advantageous to this country—that it has not been sometimes
inconvenient and sometimes burdensome—I am not bound nor prepared
to maintain. But no British statesman, so far as I know, has ever
suggested the expediency of shaking it off; and it is assuredly not at
a moment of need that honor and what I may be allowed to call national
sympathy would permit us to weigh, with an over-scrupulous exactness,
the amount of difficulties and dangers attendant upon its faithful and
steadfast observance. What feelings of national honor would forbid, is
forbidden alike by the plain dictates of national faith.
It is not at distant periods of history, and in by-gone ages only,
that the traces of the union between Great Britain and Portugal are
to be found. In the last compact of modern Europe, the compact which
forms the basis of its present international law—I mean the treaty
of Vienna of 1815,—this country, with its eyes open to the possible
inconveniences of the connection, but with a memory awake to its past
benefits, solemnly renewed the previously existing obligations of
alliance and amity with Portugal. I will take leave to read to the
House the third article of the treaty concluded at Vienna, in 1815,
between Great Britain on the one hand and Portugal on the other. It
is couched in the following terms: “The treaty of Alliance, concluded
at Rio de Janeiro, on the 19th of February, 1810, being founded on
circumstances of a temporary nature, which have happily ceased to
exist, the said treaty is hereby declared to be void in all its parts,
and of no effect; _without prejudice, however, to the ancient treaties
of alliance, friendship, and guarantee, which have so long and so
happily subsisted between the two Crowns, and which are hereby renewed
by the high contracting parties, and acknowledged to be of full force
and effect_.”
In order to appreciate the force of this stipulation—recent in point
of time, recent, also, in the sanction of Parliament—the House will,
perhaps, allow me to explain shortly the circumstances in reference to
which it was contracted. In the year 1807, when, upon the declaration
of Bonaparte, that the House of Braganza had ceased to reign, the
King of Portugal, by the advice of Great Britain, was induced to set
sail for the Brazils; almost at the very moment of his most faithful
Majesty’s embarkation, a secret convention was signed between his
Majesty and the King of Portugal, stipulating that, in the event of
his most faithful Majesty’s establishing the seat of his government
in Brazil, Great Britain would never acknowledge any other dynasty
than that of the House of Braganza on the throne of Portugal. That
convention, I say, was contemporaneous with the migration to the
Brazils; a step of great importance at the time, as removing from the
grasp of Bonaparte the sovereign family of Braganza. Afterward, in
the year 1810, when the seat of the King of Portugal’s government was
established at Rio de Janeiro, and when it seemed probable, in the
then apparently hopeless condition of the affairs of Europe, that it
was likely long to continue there, the secret convention of 1807, of
which the main object was accomplished by the fact of the emigration
to Brazil, was abrogated, and a new and public treaty was concluded,
into which was transferred the stipulation of 1807, binding Great
Britain, so long as his faithful Majesty should be compelled to reside
in Brazil, not to acknowledge any other sovereign of Portugal than a
member of the House of Braganza. That stipulation, which had hitherto
been _secret_, thus became _patent_, and part of the known law of
nations.
In the year 1814, in consequence of the happy conclusion of the war,
the option was afforded to the King of Portugal of returning to his
European dominions. It was then felt that, as the necessity of his most
faithful Majesty’s absence from Portugal had ceased, the ground for the
obligation originally contracted in the secret convention of 1807, and
afterward transferred to the patent treaty of 1810, was removed. The
treaty of 1810 was, therefore, annulled at the Congress of Vienna; and
in lieu of the stipulation not to acknowledge any other sovereign of
Portugal than a member of the House of Braganza, was substituted that
which I have just read to the House.
Annulling the treaty of 1810, the treaty of Vienna renews and confirms
(as the House will have seen) all _former_ treaties between Great
Britain and Portugal, describing them as “ancient treaties of alliance,
friendship, and guarantee”; as having “long and happily subsisted
between the two Crowns”; and as being allowed, by the two high
contracting parties, to remain “in full force and effect.”
What, then, is the force—what is the effect of those ancient treaties?
I am prepared to show to the House what it is. But before I do so, I
must say, that if all the treaties to which this article of the treaty
of Vienna refers, had perished by some convulsion of nature, or had by
some extraordinary accident been consigned to total oblivion, still it
would be impossible not to admit, as an incontestable inference from
this article of the treaty of Vienna alone, that, in a moral point
of view, there is incumbent on Great Britain a decided obligation to
act as the effectual defender of Portugal. If I could not show the
letter of a single antecedent stipulation, I should still contend
that a solemn admission, only ten years old, of the existence at that
time of “treaties of alliance, friendship, and guarantee,” held Great
Britain to the discharge of the obligations which that very description
implies. But fortunately there is no such difficulty in specifying the
nature of those obligations. All of the preceding treaties exist—all of
them are of easy reference—all of them are known to this country, to
Spain, to every nation of the civilized world. They are so numerous,
and their general result is so uniform, that it may be sufficient to
select only two of them to show the nature of all.
The first to which I shall advert is the treaty of 1661, which was
concluded at the time of the marriage of Charles the Second with the
Infanta of Portugal. After reciting the marriage, and making over to
Great Britain, in consequence of that marriage, first, a considerable
sum of money, and, secondly, several important places, some of which,
as Tangier, we no longer possess, but others of which, as Bombay, still
belong to this country, the treaty runs thus: “In consideration of
all which grants, so much to the benefit of the King of Great Britain
and his subjects in general, and of the delivery of those important
places to his said Majesty and his heirs forever, etc., the King of
Great Britain does profess and declare, with the consent and advice of
his council, that he will take the interest of Portugal and all its
dominions to heart, defending the same with his utmost power by sea and
land, _even as England itself_”; and it then proceeds to specify the
succors to be sent, and the manner of sending them.
I come next to the treaty of 1703, a treaty of alliance contemporaneous
with the Methuen treaty, which has regulated, for upward of a century,
the commercial relations of the two countries. The treaty of 1703 was a
tripartite engagement between the States-General of Holland, England,
and Portugal. The second article of that treaty sets forth, that,
“If ever it shall happen that the Kings of Spain and France, either
the present or the future, that both of them together, or either of
them separately, shall make war, or give occasion to suspect that
they intend to make war, upon the kingdom of Portugal, either on the
continent of Europe, or on its dominions beyond the seas, her Majesty
the Queen of Great Britain, and the Lords the States-General, shall use
their friendly offices with the said Kings, or either of them, in order
to persuade them to observe the terms of peace toward Portugal, and not
to make war upon it.” The third article declares, “That in the event of
these good offices not proving successful, but altogether ineffectual,
so that war should be made by the aforesaid Kings, or by either of
them, upon Portugal, the above-mentioned powers of Great Britain and
Holland shall make war with all their force upon the aforesaid Kings
or King who shall carry hostile arms into Portugal; and toward that
war, which shall be carried on in Europe, they shall supply twelve
thousand men, whom they shall arm and pay, as well when in quarters
as in action; and the said high allies shall be obliged to keep that
number of men complete, by recruiting it from time to time at their own
expense.”
I am aware, indeed, that with respect to either of the treaties which
I have quoted, it is possible to raise a question—whether variation
of circumstances or change of times may not have somewhat relaxed its
obligations. The treaty of 1661, it might be said, was so loose and
prodigal in the wording—it is so unreasonable, so wholly out of nature,
that any one country should be expected to defend another, “_even
as itself_”; such stipulations are of so exaggerated a character,
as to resemble effusions of feeling, rather than enunciations of
deliberate compact. Again, with respect to the treaty of 1703, if the
case rested on that treaty alone, a question might be raised, whether
or not, when one of the contracting parties—Holland—had since so
changed her relations with Portugal, as to consider her obligations
under the treaty of 1703 as obsolete—whether or not, I say, under
such circumstances, the obligation on the remaining party be not
likewise void. I should not hesitate to answer both these objections
in the negative. But without entering into such a controversy, it
is sufficient for me to say that the time and place for taking such
objections was at the Congress at Vienna. Then and there it was that
if you, indeed, considered these treaties as obsolete, you ought
frankly and fearlessly to have declared them to be so. But then and
there, with your eyes open, and in the face of all modern Europe, you
proclaimed anew the ancient treaties of alliance, friendship, and
guarantee, “so long subsisting between the Crowns of Great Britain and
Portugal,” as still “acknowledged by Great Britain,” and still “of full
force and effect.” It is not, however, on specific articles alone—it
is not so much, perhaps, on either of these ancient treaties, taken
separately, as it is on the spirit and understanding of the whole body
of treaties, of which the essence is concentrated and preserved in the
treaty of Vienna, that we acknowledge in Portugal a right to look to
Great Britain as her ally and defender.
This, sir, being the state, morally and politically, of our obligations
toward Portugal, it is obvious that when Portugal, in apprehension of
the coming storm, called on Great Britain for assistance, the only
hesitation on our part could be—not whether that assistance was due,
supposing the occasion for demanding it to arise, but simply whether
that occasion—in other words, whether the _casus fœderis_ had arisen.
I understand, indeed, that in some quarters it has been imputed to his
Majesty’s ministers that an extraordinary delay intervened between the
taking of the determination to give assistance to Portugal and the
carrying of that determination into effect. But how stands the fact?
On Sunday, the third of this month, we received from the Portuguese
embassador a direct and formal demand of assistance against a hostile
aggression from Spain. Our answer was, that although rumors had reached
us through France, his Majesty’s Government had not that accurate
information—that official and precise intelligence of facts—on which
they could properly found an application to Parliament. It was only on
last Friday night that this precise information arrived. On Saturday
his Majesty’s confidential servants came to a decision. On Sunday
that decision received the sanction of his Majesty. On Monday it was
communicated to both Houses of Parliament; and this day, sir, at the
hour in which I have the honor of addressing you, the troops are on
their march for embarkation.
I trust, then, sir, that no unseemly delay is imputable to government.
But undoubtedly, on the other hand, when the claim of Portugal for
assistance—a claim clear, indeed, in justice, but at the same time
fearfully spreading in its possible consequences, came before us, it
was the duty of his Majesty’s Government to do nothing on hearsay. The
eventual force of the claim was admitted; but a thorough knowledge
of facts was necessary before the compliance with that claim could
be granted. The government here labored under some disadvantage. The
rumors which reached us through Madrid were obviously distorted, to
answer partial political purposes; and the intelligence through the
press of France, though substantially correct, was, in particulars,
vague and contradictory. A measure of grave and serious moment could
never be founded on such authority; nor could the ministers come down
to Parliament until they had a confident assurance that the case which
they had to lay before the Legislature was true in all its parts.
But there was another reason which induced a necessary caution. In
former instances, when Portugal applied to this country for assistance,
the whole power of the state in Portugal was vested in the person of
the monarch. The expression of his wish, the manifestation of his
desire, the putting forth of his claim, was sufficient ground for
immediate and decisive action on the part of Great Britain, supposing
the _casus fœderis_ to be made out. But, on this occasion, inquiry
was in the first place to be made whether, according to the new
constitution of Portugal, the call upon Great Britain was made with
the consent of all the powers and authorities competent to make it,
so as to carry with it an assurance of that reception in Portugal for
our army, which the army of a friend and ally had a right to expect.
Before a British soldier should put his foot on Portuguese ground,
nay, before he should leave the shores of England, it was our duty to
ascertain that the step taken by the Regency of Portugal was taken with
the cordial concurrence of the Legislature of that country. It was but
this morning that we received intelligence of the proceedings of the
Chambers at Lisbon, which establishes the fact of such concurrence.
This intelligence is contained in a dispatch from Sir W. A’Court,
dated 29th of November, of which I will read an extract to the House.
“The day after the news arrived of the entry of the rebels into
Portugal, the ministers demanded from the Chambers an extension of
power for the executive government, and the permission to apply for
foreign succors, in virtue of ancient treaties, in the event of their
being deemed necessary. The deputies gave the requisite authority by
acclamation; and an equally good spirit was manifested by the peers,
who granted every power that the ministers could possibly require. They
even went further, and, rising in a body from their seats, declared
their devotion to their country, and their readiness to give their
personal services, if necessary, to repel any hostile invasion. The
Duke de Cadaval, president of the Chamber, was the first to make this
declaration; and the minister who described this proceeding to me, said
it was a movement worthy of the good days of Portugal!”
I have thus incidentally disposed of the supposed imputation of delay
in complying with the requisition of the Portuguese Government. The
main question, however, is this: Was it obligatory upon us to comply
with that requisition? In other words, had the _casus fœderis_ arisen?
In our opinion it had. Bands of Portuguese rebels, armed, equipped, and
trained in Spain, had crossed the Spanish frontier, carrying terror
and devastation into their own country, and proclaiming sometimes the
brother of the reigning sovereign of Portugal, sometimes a Spanish
princess, and sometimes even Ferdinand of Spain, as the rightful
occupant of the Portuguese throne. These rebels crossed the frontier,
not at one point only, but at several points; for it is remarkable that
the aggression, on which the original application to Great Britain for
succor was founded, is not the aggression with reference to which that
application has been complied with.
The attack announced by the French newspapers was on the north of
Portugal, in the province of Tras-os-Montes; an official account of
which has been received by his Majesty’s Government only this day.
But on Friday an account was received of an invasion in the south of
Portugal, and of the capture of Villa Vicosa, a town lying on the
road from the southern frontier to Lisbon. This new fact established
even more satisfactorily than a mere confirmation of the attack first
complained of would have done, the systematic nature of the aggression
of Spain against Portugal. One hostile irruption might have been made
by some single corps escaping from their quarters—by some body of
stragglers, who might have evaded the vigilance of Spanish authorities;
and one such accidental and unconnected act of violence might not have
been conclusive evidence of cognizance and design on the part of those
authorities; but when a series of attacks are made along the whole line
of a frontier, it is difficult to deny that such multiplied instances
of hostility are evidence of concerted aggression.
If a single company of _Spanish_ soldiers had crossed the frontier
in hostile array, there could not, it is presumed, be a doubt as to
the character of that invasion. Shall bodies of men, armed, clothed,
and regimented by Spain, carry fire and sword into the bosom of her
unoffending neighbor, and shall it be pretended that no attack, no
invasion has taken place, because, forsooth, these outrages are
committed against Portugal by men to whom Portugal had given birth and
nurture? What petty quibbling would it be to say, that an invasion of
Portugal from Spain was not a _Spanish_ invasion, because Spain did not
employ her own troops, but hired mercenaries to effect her purpose? And
what difference is it, except as an aggravation, that the mercenaries
in this instance were natives of Portugal.
I have already stated, and I now repeat, that it never has been the
wish or the pretension of the British Government to interfere in the
internal concerns of the Portuguese nation. Questions of that kind
the Portuguese nation must settle among themselves. But if we were to
admit that hordes of traitorous refugees from Portugal, with Spanish
arms, or arms furnished or restored to them by Spanish authorities,
in their hands, might put off their country for one purpose, and put
it on again for another—put it off for the purpose of attack, and put
it on again for the purpose of impunity—if, I say, we were to admit
this juggle, and either pretend to be deceived by it ourselves, or
attempt to deceive Portugal, into a belief that there was nothing of
external attack, nothing of foreign hostility, in such a system of
aggression—such pretence and attempt would, perhaps, be only ridiculous
and contemptible; if they did not require a much more serious character
from being employed as an excuse for infidelity to ancient friendship,
and as a pretext for getting rid of the positive stipulations of
treaties.
This, then, is the case which I lay before the House of Commons. Here
is, on the one hand, an undoubted pledge of national faith—not taken
in a corner—not kept secret between the parties, but publicly recorded
among the annals of history, in the face of the world. Here are, on
the other hand, undeniable acts of foreign aggression, perpetrated,
indeed, principally through the instrumentality of domestic traitors,
but supported with foreign means, instigated by foreign councils, and
directed to foreign ends. Putting these facts and this pledge together,
it is impossible that his Majesty should refuse the call that has been
made upon him; nor can Parliament, I am convinced, refuse to enable
his Majesty to fulfil his undoubted obligations. I am willing to rest
the whole question of to-night, and to call for the vote of the House
of Commons upon this simple case, divested altogether of collateral
circumstances; from which I especially wish to separate it, in the
minds of those who hear me, and also in the minds of others, to whom
what I now say will find its way. If I were to sit down this moment,
without adding another word, I have no doubt but that I should have the
concurrence of the House in the address which I mean to propose.
When I state this, it will be obvious to the House, that the vote
for which I am about to call upon them is a vote for the defence of
Portugal, not a vote for war against Spain. I beg the House to keep
these two points entirely distinct in their consideration. For the
former I think I have said enough. If, in what I have now further to
say, I should bear hard upon the Spanish Government, I beg that it
may be observed that, unjustifiable as I shall show their conduct
to have been—contrary to the law of nations, contrary to the law of
good neighborhood, contrary, I might say, to the laws of God and
man—with respect to Portugal—still I do not mean to preclude a _locus
pœnitentiæ_, a possibility of redress and reparation. It is our duty
to fly to the defence of Portugal, be the assailant who he may. And,
be it remembered, that, in thus fulfilling the stipulation of ancient
treaties, of the existence and obligation of which all the world are
aware, we, according to the universally admitted construction of the
law of nations, neither make war upon that assailant, nor give to that
assailant, much less to any other power, just cause of war against
ourselves.
Sir, the present situation of Portugal is so anomalous, and the recent
years of her history are crowded with events so unusual, that the House
will, perhaps, not think that I am unprofitably wasting its time, if
I take the liberty of calling its attention, shortly and succinctly,
to those events, and to their influence on the political relations of
Europe. It is known that the consequence of the residence of the King
of Portugal in Brazil was to raise the latter country from a colonial
to a metropolitan condition; and that, from the time when the King
began to contemplate his return to Portugal, there grew up in Brazil
a desire of independence that threatened dissension, if not something
like civil contest, between the European and American dominions of the
House of Braganza. It is known, also, that Great Britain undertook a
mediation between Portugal and Brazil, and induced the King to consent
to a separation of the two crowns—confirming that of Brazil on the
head of his eldest son. The ink with which this agreement was written
was scarcely dry, when the unexpected death of the King of Portugal
produced a new state of things, which reunited on the same head the two
crowns which it had been the policy of England, as well as of Portugal
and of Brazil, to separate. On that occasion, Great Britain, and
another European court, closely connected with Brazil, tendered advice
to the Emperor of Brazil, now become King of Portugal, which advice
it can not be accurately said that his Imperial Majesty followed,
because he had decided for himself before it reached Rio de Janeiro;
but in conformity with which advice, though not in consequence of it,
his Imperial Majesty determined to abdicate the crown of Portugal in
favor of his eldest daughter. But the Emperor of Brazil had done more.
What had not been foreseen—what would have been beyond the province
of any foreign power to advise—his Imperial Majesty had accompanied
his abdication of the crown of Portugal with the grant of a free
constitutional charter for that kingdom.
It has been surmised that this measure, as well as the abdication
which it accompanied, was the offspring of our advice. No such
thing—Great Britain did not suggest this measure. It is not her duty
nor her practice to offer suggestions for the internal regulation of
foreign states. She neither approved nor disapproved of the grant of
a constitutional charter to Portugal; her opinion upon that grant was
never required. True it is, that the instrument of the constitutional
charter was brought to Europe by a gentleman of high trust in the
service of the British Government. Sir C. Stuart had gone to Brazil
to negotiate the separation between that country and Portugal. In
addition to his character of Plenipotentiary of Great Britain, as the
mediating power, he had also been invested by the King of Portugal
with the character of his most faithful Majesty’s Plenipotentiary for
the negotiation with Brazil. That negotiation had been brought to a
happy conclusion; and therewith the British part of Sir C. Stuart’s
commission had terminated. But Sir C. Stuart was still resident at
Rio de Janeiro, as the Plenipotentiary of the King of Portugal, for
negotiating commercial arrangements between Portugal and Brazil. In
this latter character it was that Sir C. Stuart, on his return to
Europe, was requested by the Emperor of Brazil to be the bearer to
Portugal of the new constitutional charter. His Majesty’s government
found no fault with Sir C. Stuart for executing this commission; but it
was immediately felt that if Sir C. Stuart were allowed to remain at
Lisbon, it might appear, in the eyes of Europe, that England was the
contriver and imposer of the Portuguese constitution. Sir C. Stuart
was, therefore, directed to return home forthwith, in order that the
constitution, if carried into effect there, might plainly appear to
be adopted by the Portuguese nation itself, not forced upon them by
English interference.
As to the merits, sir, of the new constitution of Portugal, I have
neither the intention nor the right to offer any opinion. Personally,
I may have formed one; but as an English minister, all I have to say
is: May God prosper this attempt at the establishment of constitutional
liberty in Portugal! and may that nation be found as fit to enjoy and
to cherish its new-born privileges, as it has often proved itself
capable of discharging its duties among the nations of the world!
I, sir, am neither the champion nor the critic of the Portuguese
constitution. But it is admitted on all hands to have proceeded from
a legitimate source—a consideration which has mainly reconciled
continental Europe to its establishment; and to us, as Englishmen,
it is recommended by the ready acceptance which it has met with from
all orders of the Portuguese people. To that constitution, therefore,
thus unquestioned in its origin, even by those who are most jealous of
new institutions—to that constitution, thus sanctioned in its outset
by the glad and grateful acclamations of those who are destined to
live under it—to that constitution, founded on principles, in a great
degree, similar to those of our own, though differently modified,—it
is impossible that Englishmen should not wish well. But it would not
be for us to force that constitution on the people of Portugal, if
they were unwilling to receive it, or if any schism should exist among
the Portuguese themselves, as to its fitness and congenialty to the
wants and wishes of the nation. It is no business of ours to fight its
battles. We go to Portugal in the discharge of a sacred obligation,
contracted under ancient and modern treaties. When there, nothing shall
be done by us to enforce the establishment of the constitution; but we
must take care that nothing shall be done by others to prevent it from
being fairly carried into effect. Internally, let the Portuguese settle
their own affairs; but with respect to external force, while Great
Britain has an arm to raise, it must be raised against the efforts of
any power that should attempt forcibly to control the choice and fetter
the independence of Portugal.
Has such been the intention of Spain? Whether the proceedings which
have lately been practised or permitted in Spain were acts of a
government exercising the usual power of prudence and foresight
(without which a government is, for the good of the people which
live under it, no government at all), or whether they were the acts
of some secret illegitimate power—of some furious fanatical faction,
over-riding the counsels of the ostensible government, defying it in
the capital, and disobeying it on the frontiers,—I will not stop to
inquire. It is indifferent to Portugal, smarting under her wrongs—it
is indifferent to England, who is called upon to avenge them,—whether
the present state of things be the result of the intrigues of a
faction, over which, if the Spanish Government has no control, it
ought to assume one as soon as possible; or of local authorities, over
whom it has control, and for whose acts it must, therefore, be held
responsible. It matters not, I say, from which of these sources the
evil has arisen. In either case, Portugal must be protected; and from
England that protection is due.
It would be unjust, however, to the Spanish Government, to say that
it is only among the members of that government that an unconquerable
hatred of liberal institutions exists in Spain. However incredible
the phenomena may appear in this country, I am persuaded that a vast
majority of the Spanish nation entertain a decided attachment to
arbitrary power, and a predilection for absolute government. The
more liberal institutions of countries in the neighborhood have not
yet extended their influence into Spain, nor awakened any sympathy
in the mass of the Spanish people. Whether the public authorities of
Spain did or did not partake of the national sentiment, there would
almost necessarily grow up between Portugal and Spain, under present
circumstances, an opposition of feelings which it would not require
the authority or the suggestions of the government to excite and
stimulate into action. Without blame, therefore, to the government
of Spain—out of the natural antipathy between the two neighboring
nations—the one prizing its recent freedom, the other hugging its
traditionary servitude,—there might arise mutual provocations and
reciprocal injuries, which, perhaps, even the most active and vigilant
ministry could not altogether restrain. I am inclined to believe that
such has been, in part at least, the origin of the differences between
Spain and Portugal. That in their progress they have been adopted,
matured, methodized, combined, and brought into more perfect action,
by some authority more united and more efficient than the mere feeling
disseminated through the mass of the community, is certain; but I do
believe their origin to have been as much in the real sentiment of the
Spanish population, as in the opinion or contrivance of the government
itself.
Whether this be or be not the case, is precisely the question between
us and Spain. If, though partaking in the general feelings of the
Spanish nation, the Spanish Government has, nevertheless, done nothing
to embody those feelings, and to direct them hostilely against
Portugal; if all that has occurred on the frontiers has occurred only
because the vigilance of the Spanish Government has been surprised,
its confidence betrayed, and its orders neglected; if its engagements
have been repeatedly and shamefully violated, not by its own good-will,
but against its recommendation and desire, let us see some symptoms of
disapprobation, some signs of repentance, some measures indicative of
sorrow for the past and of sincerity for the future. In that case, his
Majesty’s message, to which I propose this night to return an answer of
concurrence, will retain the character which I have ascribed to it—that
of a measure of defence for Portugal, not a measure of resentment again
Spain.
With these explanations and qualifications, let us now proceed to
the review of facts. Great desertions took place from the Portuguese
army into Spain, and some desertions took place from the Spanish army
into Portugal. In the first instance, the Portuguese authorities were
taken by surprise; but in every subsequent instance, where they had
an opportunity of exercising a discretion, it is but just to say that
they uniformly discouraged the desertions of the Spanish soldiery.
There exist between Spain and Portugal specific treaties, stipulating
the mutual surrender of deserters. Portugal had, therefore, a right to
claim of Spain that every Portuguese deserter should be forthwith sent
back. I hardly know whether from its own impulse, or in consequence
of our advice, the Portuguese Government waived its right under those
treaties; very wisely reflecting that it would be highly inconvenient
to be placed by the return of their deserters in the difficult
alternative of either granting a dangerous amnesty or ordering numerous
executions. The Portuguese Government, therefore, signified to Spain
that it would be entirely satisfied if, instead of surrendering the
deserters, Spain would restore their arms, horses, and equipments; and,
separating the men from their officers, would remove both from the
frontiers into the interior of Spain. Solemn engagements were entered
into by the Spanish Government to this effect—first with Portugal, next
with France, and afterward with England. Those engagements, concluded
one day, were violated the next. The deserters, instead of being
disarmed and dispersed, were allowed to remain congregated together
near the frontiers of Portugal, where they were enrolled, trained, and
disciplined for the expedition which they have since undertaken. It is
plain that in these proceedings there was perfidy somewhere. It rests
with the Spanish Government to show that it was not with them. It rests
with the Spanish Government to prove that, if its engagements have not
been fulfilled—if its intentions have been eluded and unexecuted,—the
fault has not been with the government, and that it is ready to make
every reparation in its power.
I have said that these promises were made to France and to Great
Britain as well as to Portugal. I should do a great injustice to France
if I were not to add, that the representations of that government upon
this point to the cabinet of Madrid, have been as urgent, and alas!
as fruitless, as those of Great Britain. Upon the first irruption
into the Portuguese territory, the French Government testified its
displeasure by instantly recalling its embassador; and it further
directed its chargé d’affaires to signify to his Catholic Majesty,
that Spain was not to look for any support from France against the
consequences of this aggression upon Portugal. I am bound, I repeat,
in justice to the French Government, to state, that it has exerted
itself to the utmost in urging Spain to retrace the steps which she
has so unfortunately taken. It is not for me to say whether any more
efficient course might have been adopted to give effect to their
exhortations; but as to the sincerity and good faith of the exertions
made by the government of France to press Spain to the execution of her
engagements, I have not the shadow of a doubt, and I confidently reckon
upon their continuance.
It will be for Spain, upon knowledge of the step now taken by his
Majesty, to consider in what way she will meet it. The earnest hope
and wish of his Majesty’s Government is, that she may meet it in such
a manner as to avert any ill consequences to herself from the measure
into which we have been driven by the unjust attack upon Portugal.
Sir, I set out with saying that there were reasons which entirely
satisfied my judgment that nothing short of a point of national faith
or national honor would justify, at the present moment, any voluntary
approximation to the possibility of war. Let me be understood,
however, distinctly as not meaning to say that I dread war in a good
cause (and in no other way may it be the lot of this country ever to
engage!) from a distrust of the strength of the country to commence
it, or of her resources to maintain it. I dread it, indeed—but upon
far other grounds: I dread it from an apprehension of the tremendous
consequences which might arise from any hostilities in which we might
now be engaged. Some years ago, in the discussion of the negotiations
respecting the French war against Spain, I took the liberty of
adverting to this topic. I then stated that the position of this
country in the present state of the world was one of neutrality, not
only between contending nations, but between conflicting principles;
and that it was by neutrality alone that we could maintain that
balance, the preservation of which I believed to be essential to the
welfare of mankind. I then said, that I feared that the next war which
should be kindled in Europe would be a war not so much of armies as
of opinions. Not four years have elapsed, and behold my apprehension
realized! It is, to be sure, within narrow limits that this war of
opinion is at present confined; but it _is_ a war of opinion that Spain
(whether as government or as nation) is now waging against Portugal;
it is a war which has commenced in hatred of the new institutions
of Portugal. How long is it reasonable to expect that Portugal will
abstain from retaliation? If into that war this country shall be
compelled to enter, we shall enter into it with a sincere and anxious
desire to mitigate rather than exasperate—and to mingle only in the
conflict of arms, not in the more fatal conflict of opinions. But
I much fear that this country (however earnestly she may endeavor
to avoid it) could not, in such case, avoid seeing ranked under her
banners all the restless and dissatisfied of any nation with which she
might come in conflict. It is the contemplation of this new _power_ in
any future war which excites my most anxious apprehension. It is one
thing to have a giant’s strength, but it would be another to use it
like a giant. The consciousness of such strength is, undoubtedly, a
source of confidence and security; but in the situation in which this
country stands, our business is not to seek opportunities of displaying
it, but to content ourselves with letting the professors of violent and
exaggerated doctrines on both sides feel, that it is not their interest
to convert an umpire into an adversary. The situation of England, amid
the struggle of political opinions which agitates more or less sensibly
different countries of the world, may be compared to that of the Ruler
of the Winds, as described by the poet:
“Celsâ sedet Æolus arce,
Sceptra tenens; mollitque animos et temperat iras
Ni faciat, maria ac terras cœlumque profundum
Quippe ferant rapidi secum, verrantque per auras.”[1]
The consequence of letting loose the passions at present chained and
confined, would be to produce a scene of desolation which no man can
contemplate without horror; and I should not sleep easy on my couch if
I were conscious that I had contributed to precipitate it by a single
moment.
This, then, is the reason—a reason very different from fear—the
reverse of a consciousness of disability—why I dread the recurrence of
hostilities in any part of Europe; why I would bear much, and would
forbear long; why I would (as I have said) put up with almost any
thing that did not touch national faith and national honor, rather than
let slip the furies of war, the leash of which we hold in our hands—not
knowing whom they may reach, or how far their ravages may be carried.
Such is the love of peace which the British Government acknowledges;
and such the necessity for peace which the circumstances of the world
inculcate. I will push these topics no further.
I return, in conclusion, to the object of the address. Let us fly to
the aid of Portugal, by whomsoever attacked, because it is our duty to
do so; and let us cease our interference where that duty ends. We go to
Portugal not to rule, not to dictate, not to prescribe constitutions,
but to defend and to preserve the independence of an ally. We go to
plant the standard of England on the well-known heights of Lisbon.
Where that standard is planted, foreign dominion shall not come.