“It is to deliver the finest country in Europe _from the iron
yoke of the proud house of Austria_, that the French army has
braved obstacles the most difficult to surmount. Victory in
union with justice has crowned its efforts. The wreck of the
enemy’s army has retired behind the Mincio. The French army, in
order to follow them, passes over the territory of the Republic
of Venice; but it will never forget that ancient friendship
unites the two republics. Religion, government, customs, and
property shall be respected. That the people may be without
apprehension, the most severe discipline shall be maintained.
All that may be provided for the army shall be faithfully paid
for in money. The general-in-chief engages the officers of the
Republic of Venice, the magistrates, and the priests, to make
known these sentiments to the people, in order that confidence
may cement that friendship which has so long united the two
nations. Faithful in the path of honor as in that of victory,
the French soldier is terrible only to the enemies of his
liberty and his government.
“BONAPARTE.”
This proclamation was followed by exactions similar to those which
were practised against Genoa, by the renewal of similar professions of
friendship, and the use of similar means to excite insurrection. At
length, in the spring of 1797, occasion was taken, from disturbances
thus excited, to forge in the name of the Venetian Government, a
proclamation hostile to France, and this proceeding was made the ground
for military execution against the country, and for effecting by force
the subversion of its ancient government and the establishment of the
democratic forms of the French Revolution. This revolution was sealed
by a treaty, signed in May, 1797, between Bonaparte and commissioners
appointed on the part of the new and revolutionary government of
Venice. By the second and third secret articles of this treaty, Venice
agreed to give as a ransom, to secure itself against all further
exactions or demands, the sum of three millions of livres in money,
the value of three millions more in articles of naval supply, and
three ships of the line; and it received in return the assurances
of the friendship and support of the French Republic. Immediately
after the signature of this treaty, the arsenal, the library, and the
palace of St. Marc were ransacked and plundered, and heavy additional
contributions were imposed upon its inhabitants. And, in not more than
four months afterward, this very Republic of Venice, united by alliance
to France, the creature of Bonaparte himself, from whom it had received
the present of French liberty, was by the same Bonaparte transferred,
under the treaty of Campo Formio, to “_that iron yoke of the proud
house of Austria_,” to deliver it from which he had represented in his
first proclamation to be the great object of all his operations.
Sir, all this is followed by the memorable expedition into Egypt,
which I mention, not merely because it forms a principal article in
the catalogue of those acts of violence and perfidy in which Bonaparte
has been engaged; not merely because it was an enterprise peculiarly
his own, of which he was himself the planner, the executor, and
the betrayer; but chiefly because when from thence he retires to a
different scene, to take possession of a new throne, from which he is
to speak upon an equality with the kings and governors of Europe, he
leaves behind him, at the moment of his departure, a specimen, which
cannot be mistaken, of his principles of negotiation. The intercepted
correspondence which has been alluded to in this debate, seems to
afford the strongest ground to believe that his offers to the Turkish
Government to evacuate Egypt were made solely with a view to gain time;
that the ratification of any treaty on this subject was to be delayed
with the view of finally eluding its performance, if any change of
circumstances favorable to the French should occur in the interval.
But whatever gentlemen may think of the intention with which these
offers were made, there will at least be no question with respect to
the credit due to those professions by which he endeavored to prove
in Egypt his pacific dispositions. He expressly enjoins his successor
strongly and steadily to insist, in all his intercourse with the Turks,
that he came to Egypt with no hostile design, and that he never meant
to keep possession of the country; while, on the opposite page of the
same instructions, he states in the most unequivocal manner his regret
at the discomfiture of his favorite project of colonizing Egypt, and
of maintaining it as a territorial acquisition. Now, sir, if in any
note addressed to the Grand Vizier or the Sultan, Bonaparte had claimed
credit for the sincerity of his professions, that he came to Egypt with
no view hostile to Turkey, and solely for the purpose of molesting the
British interests, is there any one argument now used to induce us
to believe his present professions to us, which might not have been
equally urged on that occasion? Would not those professions have been
equally supported by solemn asseveration, by the same reference which
is now made to personal character, with this single difference, that
they would have then had one instance less of hypocrisy and falsehood,
which we have since had occasion to trace in this very transaction?
It is unnecessary to say more with respect to the credit due to his
professions, or the reliance to be placed on his general character.
But it will, perhaps, be argued that whatever may be his character,
or whatever has been his past conduct, he has now an interest in
making and observing peace. That he has an interest in making peace
is at best but a doubtful proposition, and that he has an interest
in preserving it is still more uncertain. That it is his interest to
negotiate, I do not indeed deny. It is his interest, above all, to
engage this country in separate negotiation, in order to loosen and
dissolve the whole system of the confederacy on the continent, to palsy
at once the arms of Russia, or of Austria, or of any other country
that might look to you for support; and then either to break off his
separate treaty, or, if he should have concluded it, to apply the
lesson which is taught in his school of policy in Egypt, and to revive
at his pleasure those claims of indemnification which _may have been
reserved to some happier period_.
This is precisely the interest which he has in negotiation. But on what
grounds are we to be convinced that he has an interest in concluding
and observing a solid and permanent pacification? Under all the
circumstances of his personal character, and his newly acquired power,
what other security has he for retaining that power but the sword? His
hold upon France is the sword, and he has no other. Is he connected
with the soil, or with the habits, the affections, or the prejudices of
the country? He is a stranger, a foreigner, and a usurper. He unites
in his own person every thing that a pure republican must detest; every
thing that an enraged Jacobin has abjured; every thing that a sincere
and faithful royalist must feel as an insult. If he is opposed at any
time in his career, what is his appeal? _He appeals to his fortune_;
in other words, to his army and his sword. Placing, then, his whole
reliance upon military support, can he afford to let his military
renown pass away, to let his laurels wither, to let the memory of his
trophies sink in obscurity? Is it certain that with his army confined
within France, and restrained from inroads upon her neighbors, that he
can maintain, at his devotion, a force sufficiently numerous to support
his power? Having no object but the possession of absolute dominion, no
passion but military glory, is it to be reckoned as certain that he can
feel such an interest in permanent peace as would justify us in laying
down our arms, reducing our expense, and relinquishing our means of
security, on the faith of his engagements? Do we believe that, after
the conclusion of peace, he would not still sigh over the lost trophies
of Egypt, wrested from him by the celebrated victory of Aboukir, and
the brilliant exertions of that heroic band of British seamen, whose
influence and example rendered the Turkish troops invincible at Acre?
Can he forget that the effect of these exploits enabled Austria and
Russia, in one campaign, to recover from France all which she had
acquired by his victories, to dissolve the charm which for a time
fascinated Europe, and to show that their generals, contending in a
just cause, could efface, even by their success and their military
glory, the most dazzling triumphs of his victorious and desolating
ambition?
Can we believe, with these impressions on his mind, that if, after a
year, eighteen months, or two years of peace had elapsed, he should be
tempted by the appearance of fresh insurrection in Ireland, encouraged
by renewed and unrestrained communication with France, and fomented by
the fresh infusion of Jacobin principles; if we were at such a moment
without a fleet to watch the ports of France, or to guard the coasts
of Ireland, without a disposable army, or an embodied militia, capable
of supplying a speedy and adequate re-enforcement, and that he had
suddenly the means of transporting thither a body of twenty or thirty
thousand French troops; can we believe that, at such a moment, his
ambition and vindictive spirit would be restrained by the recollection
of engagements or the obligation of treaty? Or if, in some new crisis
of difficulty and danger to the Ottoman Empire, with no British navy in
the Mediterranean, no confederacy formed, no force collected to support
it, an opportunity should present itself for resuming the abandoned
expedition to Egypt, for renewing the avowed and favorite project
of conquering and colonizing that rich and fertile country, and of
opening the way to wound some of the vital interests of England, and
to plunder the treasures of the East, in order to fill the bankrupt
coffers of France,—would it be the interest of Bonaparte, under such
circumstances, or his principles, his moderation, his love of peace,
his aversion to conquest, and his regard for the independence of other
nations—would it be all or any of these that would secure us against an
attempt which would leave us only the option of submitting without a
struggle to certain loss and disgrace, or of renewing the contest which
we had prematurely terminated, without allies, without preparation,
with diminished means, and with increased difficulty and hazard?
Hitherto I have spoken only of the reliance which we can place on
the professions, the character, and the conduct of the present First
Consul; but it remains to consider the stability of his power. The
Revolution has been marked throughout by a rapid succession of new
depositaries of public authority, each supplanting its predecessor.
What grounds have we to believe that this new usurpation, more odious
and more undisguised than all that preceded it, will be more durable?
Is it that we rely on the particular provisions contained in the code
of the pretended Constitution, which was proclaimed as accepted by
the French people as soon as the garrison of Paris declared their
determination to exterminate all its enemies, and before any of its
articles could even be known to half the country, whose consent was
required for its establishment?
I will not pretend to inquire deeply into the nature and effects of a
Constitution which can hardly be regarded but as a farce and a mockery.
If, however, it could be supposed that its provisions were to have any
effect, it seems equally adapted to two purposes: that of giving to its
founder, for a time, an absolute and uncontrolled authority; and that
of laying the certain foundation of disunion and discord, which, if
they once prevail, must render the exercise of all the authority under
the Constitution impossible, and leave no appeal but to the sword.
Is, then, military despotism that which we are accustomed to consider
as a stable form of government? In all ages of the world it has been
attended with the least stability to the persons who exercised it,
and with the most rapid succession of changes and revolutions. In
the outset of the French Revolution, its advocates boasted that it
furnished a security forever, not to France only, but to all countries
in the world, against military despotism; that the force of standing
armies was vain and delusive; that no artificial power could resist
public opinion; and that it was upon the foundation of public opinion
alone that any government could stand. I believe that in this instance,
as in every other, the progress of the French Revolution has belied
its professions; but, so far from its being a proof of the prevalence
of public opinion against military force, it is, instead of the proof,
the strongest exception from that doctrine which appears in the history
of the world. Through all the stages of the Revolution military force
has governed, and public opinion has scarcely been heard. But still
I consider this as only an exception from a general truth. I still
believe that in every civilized country, not enslaved by a Jacobin
faction, public opinion is the only sure support of any government. I
believe this with the more satisfaction, from a conviction that, if
this contest is happily terminated, the established governments of
Europe will stand upon that rock firmer than ever; and, whatever may
be the defects of any particular Constitution, those who live under
it will prefer its continuance to the experiment of changes which may
plunge them in the unfathomable abyss of revolution, or extricate them
from it only to expose them to the terrors of military despotism. And
to apply this to France, I see no reason to believe that the present
usurpation will be more permanent than any other military despotism
which has been established by the same means, and with the same
defiance of public opinion.
What, then, is the inference I draw from all that I have now stated?
Is it that we will in _no case_ treat with Bonaparte? I say no such
thing. But I say, as has been said in the answer returned to the
French note, that we ought to wait for “_experience and the evidence
of facts_” before we are convinced that such a treaty is admissible.
The circumstances I have stated would well justify us if we should be
slow in being convinced; but on a question of peace and war, every
thing depends upon degree and upon comparison. If, on the one hand,
there should be an appearance that the policy of France is at length
guided by different maxims from those which have hitherto prevailed;
if we should hereafter see signs of stability in the government which
are not now to be traced; if the progress of the allied army should
not call forth such a spirit in France as to make it probable that
the act of the country itself will destroy the system now prevailing;
if the danger, the difficulty, the risk of continuing the contest
should increase, while the hope of complete ultimate success should be
diminished; all these, in their due place, are considerations which,
with myself and, I can answer for it, with every one of my colleagues,
will have their just weight. But at present these considerations all
operate one way; at present there is nothing from which we can presage
a favorable disposition to change in the French councils. There is the
greatest reason to rely on powerful co-operation from our allies; there
are the strongest marks of a disposition in the interior of France
to active resistance against this new tyranny; and there is every
ground to believe, on reviewing our situation and that of the enemy,
that, if we are ultimately disappointed of that complete success which
we are at present entitled to hope, the continuance of the contest,
instead of making our situation comparatively worse, will have made it
comparatively better.
If, then, I am asked how long are we to persevere in the war, I can
only say that no period can be accurately assigned. Considering the
importance of obtaining complete security for the objects for which we
contend, we ought not to be discouraged too soon; but, on the contrary,
considering the importance of not impairing and exhausting the radical
strength of the country, there are limits beyond which we ought not to
persist, and which we can determine only by estimating and comparing
fairly, from time to time, the degree of security to be obtained by
treaty, and the risk and disadvantage of continuing the contest.
But, sir, there are some gentlemen in the House who seem to consider
it already certain that the ultimate success to which I am looking is
unattainable. They suppose us contending only for the restoration of
the French monarchy, which they believe to be impracticable, and deny
to be desirable for this country. We have been asked in the course
of this debate: Do you think you can impose monarchy upon France,
against the will of the nation? I never thought it, I never hoped it,
I never wished it. I have thought, I have hoped, I have wished, that
the time might come when the effect of the arms of the allies might so
far overpower the military force which keeps France in bondage, as to
give vent and scope to the thoughts and actions of its inhabitants. We
have, indeed, already seen abundant proof of what is the disposition
of a large part of the country; we have seen almost through the whole
of the Revolution the western provinces of France deluged with the
blood of its inhabitants, obstinately contending for their ancient
laws and religion. We have recently seen, in the revival of that war,
fresh proof of the zeal which still animates those countries in the
same cause. These efforts (I state it distinctly, and there are those
near me who can bear witness to the truth of the assertion) were not
produced by any instigation from hence; they were the effects of a
rooted sentiment prevailing through all those provinces forced into
action by the “law of the hostages” and the other tyrannical measures
of the Directory, at the moment when we were endeavoring to discourage
so hazardous an enterprise. If, under such circumstances, we find them
giving proofs of their unalterable perseverance in their principles;
if there is every reason to believe that the same disposition prevails
in many other extensive provinces of France; if every party appears at
length equally wearied and disappointed with all the successive changes
which the Revolution has produced; if the question is no longer between
monarchy, and even the pretence and name of liberty, but between the
ancient line of hereditary princes on the one hand, and a military
tyrant, a foreign usurper, on the other; if the armies of that usurper
are likely to find sufficient occupation on the frontiers, and to be
forced at length to leave the interior of the country at liberty to
manifest its real feeling and disposition; what reason have we to
anticipate, that the restoration of monarchy under such circumstances
is impracticable?
In the exhausted and impoverished state of France, it seems for a time
impossible that any system but that of robbery and confiscation, any
thing but the continued torture, which can be applied only by the
engines of the Revolution, can extort from its ruined inhabitants more
than the means of supporting in peace the yearly expenditure of its
government. Suppose, then, the heir of the house of Bourbon reinstated
on the throne, he will have sufficient occupation in endeavoring, if
possible, to heal the wounds, and gradually to repair the losses of
ten years of civil convulsion; to reanimate the drooping commerce,
to rekindle the industry, to replace the capital, and to revive the
manufactures of the country. Under such circumstances, there must
probably be a considerable interval before such a monarch, whatever
may be his views, can possess the power which can make him formidable
to Europe; but while the system of the Revolution continues, the case
is quite different. It is true, indeed, that even the gigantic and
unnatural means by which that revolution has been supported are so
far impaired; the influence of its principles and the terror of its
arms so far weakened; and its power of action so much contracted and
circumscribed, that against the embodied force of Europe, prosecuting
a vigorous war, we may justly hope that the remnant and wreck of this
system cannot long oppose an effectual resistance.
But, supposing the confederacy of Europe prematurely dissolved;
supposing our armies disbanded, our fleets laid up in our harbors,
our exertions relaxed, and our means of precaution and defence
relinquished; do we believe that the Revolutionary power, with this
rest and breathing-time given it to recover from the pressure under
which it is now sinking, possessing still the means of calling suddenly
and violently into action whatever is the remaining physical force of
France, under the guidance of military despotism; do we believe that
this revolutionary power, the terror of which is now beginning to
vanish, will not again prove formidable to Europe? Can we forget that
in the ten years in which that power has subsisted, it has brought more
misery on surrounding nations, and produced more acts of aggression,
cruelty, perfidy, and enormous ambition than can be traced in the
history of France for the centuries which have elapsed since the
foundation of its monarchy, including all the wars which, in the course
of that period, have been waged by any of those sovereigns, whose
projects of aggrandizement and violations of treaty afford a constant
theme of general reproach against the ancient government of France? And
if not, can we hesitate whether we have the best prospect of permanent
peace, the best security for the independence and safety of Europe,
from the restoration of the lawful government, or from the continuance
of revolutionary power in the hands of Bonaparte?
In compromise and treaty with such a power placed in such hands as
now exercise it, and retaining the same means of annoyance which it
now possesses, I see little hope of permanent security. I see no
possibility at this moment of such a peace as would justify that
liberal intercourse which is the essence of real amity; no chance of
terminating the expenses or the anxieties of war, or of restoring to us
any of the advantages of established tranquillity, and, as a sincere
lover of peace, I cannot be content with its nominal attainment. I must
be desirous of pursuing that system which promises to attain, in the
end, the permanent enjoyment of its solid and substantial blessings
for this country and for Europe. As a sincere lover of peace, I will
not sacrifice it by grasping at the shadow when the reality is not
substantially within my reach.
Cur igitur pacem nolo? Quia infida est, quia periculosa, quia esse non
potest.[15]
When we consider the resources and the spirit of the country, can
any man doubt that if adequate security is not now to be obtained by
treaty, we have the means of prosecuting the contest without material
difficulty or danger, and with a reasonable prospect of completely
attaining our object? I will not dwell on the improved state of public
credit; on the continually increasing amount, in spite of extraordinary
temporary burdens, of our permanent revenue; on the yearly accession of
wealth to an extent unprecedented even in the most flourishing times of
peace, which we are deriving, in the midst of war, from our extended
and flourishing commerce; on the progressive improvement and growth
of our manufactures; on the proofs which we see on all sides of the
uninterrupted accumulation of productive capital; and on the active
exertion of every branch of national industry which can tend to support
and augment the population, the riches, and the power of the country.
As little need I recall the attention of the House to the additional
means of action which we have derived from the great augmentation of
our disposable military force, the continued triumphs of our powerful
and victorious navy, and the events which, in the course of the last
two years, have raised the military ardor and military glory of the
country to a height unexampled in any period of our history.
In addition to these grounds of reliance on our own strength and
exertions, we have seen the consummate skill and valor of the arms of
our allies proved by that series of unexampled successes in the course
of the last campaign, and we have every reason to expect a co-operation
on the continent, even to a greater extent, in the course of the
present year. If we compare this view of our own situation with every
thing we can observe of the state and condition of our enemy—if we can
trace him laboring under equal difficulty in finding men to recruit
his army, or money to pay it—if we know that in the course of the last
year the most rigorous efforts of military conscription were scarcely
sufficient to replace to the French armies, at the end of the campaign,
the numbers which they had lost in the course of it—if we have seen
that that force, then in possession of advantages which it has since
lost, was unable to contend with the efforts of the combined armies—if
we know that, even while supported by the plunder of all the countries
which they had overrun, those armies were reduced, by the confession
of their commanders, to the extremity of distress, and destitute not
only of the principal articles of military supply, but almost of the
necessaries of life—if we see them now driven back within their own
frontiers, and confined within a country whose own resources have long
since been proclaimed by their successive governments to be unequal
either to paying or maintaining them—if we observe that since the last
revolution no one substantial or effectual measure has been adopted
to remedy the intolerable disorder of their finances, and to supply
the deficiency of their credit and resources—if we see through large
and populous districts of France, either open war levied against the
present usurpation, or evident marks of disunion and distraction, which
the first occasion may call forth into a flame—if, I say, sir, this
comparison be just, I feel myself authorized to conclude from it, not
that we are entitled to consider ourselves certain of ultimate success,
not that we are to suppose ourselves exempted from the unforeseen
vicissitudes of war, but that, considering the value of the object
for which we are contending, the means for supporting the contest,
and the probable course of human events, we should be inexcusable,
if at this moment we were to relinquish the struggle on any grounds
short of entire and complete security; that from perseverance in our
efforts under such circumstances, we have the fairest reason to expect
the full attainment of our object; but that at all events, even if we
are disappointed in our more sanguine hopes, we are more likely to
gain than to lose by the continuation of the contest; that every month
to which it is continued, even if it should not in its effects lead
to the final destruction of the Jacobin system, must tend so far to
weaken and exhaust it, as to give us at least a greater comparative
security in any termination of the war; that, on all these grounds,
this is not the moment at which it is consistent with our interest or
our duty to listen to any proposals of negotiation with the present
ruler of France; but that we are not, therefore, pledged to any
_unalterable_ determination as to our future conduct; that in this we
must be regulated by the course of events; and that it will be the duty
of his Majesty’s ministers from time to time to adapt their measures
to any variation of circumstances, to consider how far the effects of
the military operations of the allies or of the internal disposition
of France correspond with our present expectations; and, on a view of
the whole, to compare the difficulties or risks which may arise in the
prosecution of the contest with the prospect of ultimate success, or of
the degree of advantage to be derived from its farther continuance, and
to be governed by the result of all these considerations in the opinion
and advice which they may offer to their sovereign.