MR. SPEAKER:

At so late an hour of the night, I am sure you will do me the justice

to believe that I do not mean to go at length into the discussion of

this great question. Exhausted as the attention of the House must be,

and unaccustomed as I have been of late to attend in my place, nothing

but a deep sense of my duty could have induced me to trouble you at

all, and particularly to request your indulgence at such an hour.

Sir, my honorable and learned friend [Mr. Erskine] has truly said, that

the present is a new era in the war, and the right honorable gentleman

opposite to me [Mr. Pitt] feels the justice of the remark; for, by

travelling back to the commencement of the war, and referring again to

all the topics and arguments which he has so often and so successfully

urged upon the House, and by which he has drawn them on to the support

of his measures, he is forced to acknowledge that, at the end of a

seven years’ conflict, we are come but to a new era in the war, at

which he thinks it necessary only to press all his former arguments

to induce us to persevere. All the topics which have so often misled

us—all the reasoning which has so invariably failed—all the lofty

predictions which have so constantly been falsified by events—all the

hopes which have amused the sanguine, and all the assurances of the

distress and weakness of the enemy which have satisfied the unthinking,

are again enumerated and advanced as arguments for our continuing the

war. What! at the end of seven years of the most burdensome and the

most calamitous struggle in which this country ever was engaged, are

we again to be amused with notions of finance, and calculations of

the exhausted resources of the enemy, as a ground of confidence and

of hope? Gracious God! were we not told five years ago that France

was not only on the brink and in the jaws of ruin, but that she was

actually sunk into the gulf of bankruptcy? Were we not told, as an

unanswerable argument against treating, “that she could not hold

out another campaign—that nothing but peace could save her—that she

wanted only time to recruit her exhausted finances—that to grant her

repose was to grant her the means of again molesting this country, and

that we had nothing to do but persevere for a short time, in order

to save ourselves forever from the consequences of her ambition and

her Jacobinism?” What! after having gone on from year to year upon

assurances like these, and after having seen the repeated refutations

of every prediction, are we again to be gravely and seriously assured,

that we have the same prospect of success on the _same identical

grounds_? And, without any other argument or security, are we invited,

at this new era of the war, to conduct it upon principles which, if

adopted and acted upon, may make it eternal? If the right honorable

gentleman shall succeed in prevailing on Parliament and the country

to adopt the principles which he has advanced this night, I see no

possible termination to the contest. No man can see an end to it; and

upon the assurances and predictions which have so uniformly failed,

we are called upon not merely to refuse all negotiations, but to

countenance principles and views as distant from wisdom and justice, as

they are in their nature wild and impracticable.

I must lament, sir, in common with every genuine friend of peace,

the harsh and unconciliating language which ministers have held to

the French, and which they have even made use of in their answer to

a respectful offer of a negotiation. Such language has ever been

considered as extremely unwise, and has ever been reprobated by

diplomatic men. I remember with pleasure the terms in which Lord

Malmesbury, at Paris, in the year 1796, replied to expressions of this

sort, used by M. de la Croix. He justly said, “that offensive and

injurious insinuations were only calculated to throw new obstacles in

the way of accommodation, and that it was not by revolting reproaches

nor by reciprocal invective that a sincere wish to accomplish the great

work of pacification could be evinced.” Nothing could be more proper

nor more wise than this language; and such ought ever to be the tone

and conduct of men intrusted with the very important task of treating

with a hostile nation. Being a sincere friend to peace, I must say with

Lord Malmesbury, that it is not by reproaches and by invective that we

can hope for a reconciliation; and I am convinced, in my own mind, that

I speak the sense of this House, and, if not of this House, certainly

of a majority of the people of this country, when I lament that any

unprovoked and unnecessary recriminations should be flung out, by which

obstacles are put in the way of pacification. I believe it is the

prevailing sentiment of the people, that we ought to abstain from harsh

and insulting language; and in common with them, I must lament that

both in the papers of Lord Grenville, and this night, such license has

been given to invective and reproach.

For the same reason, I must lament that the right honorable gentleman

[Mr. Pitt] has thought proper to go at such length, and with such

severity of minute investigation, into all the early circumstances

of the war, which (whatever they were) are nothing to the present

purpose, and ought not to influence the present feelings of the

House. I certainly shall not follow him through the whole of this

tedious detail, though I do not agree with him in many of his

assertions. I do not know what impression his narrative may make on

other gentlemen; but I will tell him fairly and candidly, he has not

convinced me. I continue to think, and until I see better grounds for

changing my opinion than any that the right honorable gentleman has

this night produced, I shall continue to think, and to say, plainly

and explicitly, “that this country was the aggressor in the war.”

But with regard to Austria and Prussia—is there a man who, for one

moment, can dispute that they were the aggressors? It will be vain

for the right honorable gentleman to enter into long and plausible

reasoning against the evidence of documents so clear, so decisive—so

frequently, so thoroughly investigated. The unfortunate monarch,

Louis XVI., himself, as well as those who were in his confidence,

has borne decisive testimony to the fact, that between him and the

Emperor [Leopold of Austria] there was an intimate correspondence and

a perfect understanding. Do I mean by this that a positive treaty

was entered into for the dismemberment of France? Certainly not. But

no man can read the declarations which were made at Mantua[16] as

well as at Pilnitz, as they are given by M. Bertrand de Molville,

without acknowledging that this was not merely an intention, but a

_declaration_ of an intention, on the part of the great powers of

Germany, to interfere in the internal affairs of France, for the

purpose of regulating the government against the opinion of the people.

This, though not a plan for the partition of France, was, in the eye

of reason and common-sense, an aggression against France. The right

honorable gentleman denies that there was such a thing as a treaty of

Pilnitz. Granted. But was there not a declaration which amounted to

an act of hostile aggression? The two powers, the Emperor of Germany

and the King of Prussia, made a public declaration that they were

determined to employ their forces, in conjunction with those of the

other sovereigns of Europe, “to put the King of France in a situation

to establish, in perfect liberty, the foundations of a monarchical

government equally agreeable to the rights of sovereigns and the

welfare of the French.” Whenever the other princes should agree to

co-operate with them, “_then, and in that case_, their majesties were

determined to act promptly and by mutual consent, with the forces

necessary to obtain the end proposed by all of them. In the meantime,

they declared, that they would give orders for their troops to be

ready for actual service.” Now, I would ask gentlemen to lay their

hands upon their hearts, and say with candor what the true and fair

construction of this declaration was—whether it was not a menace and an

insult to France, since, in direct terms, it declared, that whenever

the other powers should concur, they would attack France, then at

peace with them, and then employed only in domestic and in internal

regulations? Let us suppose the case to be that of Great Britain. Will

any gentleman say that if two of the great powers should make a public

declaration that they were determined to make an attack on this kingdom

as soon as circumstances should favor their intention; that they only

waited for this occasion, and that in the meantime they would keep

their forces ready for the purpose, it would not be considered by the

Parliament and people of this country as a hostile aggression? And is

there any Englishman in existence who is such a friend to peace as to

say that the nation could retain its honor and dignity if it should sit

down under such a menace? I know too well what is due to the national

character of England to believe that there would be two opinions on

the case, if thus put home to our own feelings and understandings.

We must, then, respect in others the indignation which such an act

would excite in ourselves; and when we see it established on the most

indisputable testimony, that both at Pilnitz and at Mantua declarations

were made to this effect, it is idle to say that, as far as the Emperor

and the King of Prussia were concerned, they were not the aggressors in

the war.

“Oh! but the decree of the 19th of November, 1792.”[17] That, at least,

the right honorable gentleman says, you must allow to be an act of

aggression, not only against England, but against all the sovereigns

of Europe. I am not one of those, sir, who attach much interest to the

general and indiscriminate provocations thrown out at random, like this

resolution of the 19th of November, 1792. I do not think it necessary

to the dignity of any people to notice and to apply to themselves

menaces without particular allusion, which are always unwise in the

power which uses them, and which it is still more unwise to treat with

seriousness. But if any such idle and general provocation to nations

is given, either in insolence or in folly, by any government, it is

a clear first principle that an _explanation_ is the thing which a

magnanimous nation, feeling itself aggrieved, ought to demand; and if

an explanation be given which is not satisfactory, it ought clearly

and distinctly to say so. There should be no ambiguity, no reserve,

on the occasion. Now, we all know, from documents on our table, that

M. Chauvelin [the French minister] did give an explanation of this

silly decree. He declared, “in the name of his government, that it was

never meant that the French Government should favor insurrections;

that the decree was applicable only to those people who, after having

acquired their liberty by conquest, should demand the assistance of

the Republic; but that France would respect not only the independence

of England, but also that of her allies with whom she was not at war.”

This was the explanation of the offensive decree. “But this explanation

was not satisfactory.” Did you _say so_ to M. Chauvelin? Did you tell

him that you were not content with this explanation? and when you

dismissed him afterward, on the death of the King [of France], did

you say that this explanation was unsatisfactory? No. You did no such

thing; and I contend that unless you demanded _further_ explanations,

and they were refused, you have no right to urge the decree of the

19th of November as an act of aggression. In all your conferences and

correspondence with M. Chauvelin did you hold out to him _what terms

would satisfy you_? Did you give the French the power or the means of

settling the misunderstanding which that decree, or any other of the

points at issue, had created? I maintain that when a nation refuses to

state to another the thing which would satisfy her, she shows that she

is not actuated by a desire to preserve peace between them; and I aver

that this was the case here. The Scheldt, for instance. You now say

that the navigation of the Scheldt was one of your causes of complaint.

Did you explain yourself on that subject? Did you make it one of the

grounds for the dismissal of M. Chauvelin? Sir, I repeat it, that _a

nation, to justify itself in appealing to the last solemn resort,

ought to prove that it has taken every possible means, consistent

with dignity, to demand the reparation and redress which would be

satisfactory; and if she refuses to explain what would be satisfactory,

she does not do her duty, nor exonerate herself from the charge of

being the aggressor_.

But “France,” it seems, “then declared war against us; and she was the

aggressor, because the declaration came from her.” Let us look at

the circumstances of this transaction on both sides. Undoubtedly the

declaration was made by them; but is a declaration the only thing which

constitutes the commencement of a war? Do gentlemen recollect that, in

consequence of a dispute about the commencement of war, respecting the

capture of a number of ships, an article was inserted in our treaty

with France, by which it was positively stipulated that in future, to

prevent all disputes, the act of the _dismissal_ of a minister from

either of the two courts should be held and considered as tantamount to

a declaration of war?[18] I mention this, sir, because when we are idly

employed in this retrospect of the origin of a war which has lasted so

many years, instead of turning our eyes only to the contemplation of

the means of putting an end to it, we seem disposed to overlook every

thing on our own parts, and to search only for grounds of imputation on

the enemy. I almost think it an insult on the House to detain them with

this sort of examination. Why, sir, if France was the aggressor, as the

right honorable gentleman says she was _throughout_, did not Prussia

call upon us for the stipulated number of troops, according to the

article of the definitive treaty of alliance subsisting between us,

by which, in case that either of the contracting parties was attacked,

they had a right to demand the stipulated aid? and the same thing again

may be asked when we were attacked. The right honorable gentleman

might here accuse himself, indeed, of reserve; but it unfortunately

happened, that _at the time_ the point was too clear on which side the

aggression lay. Prussia was too sensible that the war could not entitle

her to make the demand, and that it was not a case within the scope of

the defensive treaty. This is evidence worth a volume of subsequent

reasoning; for if, at the time when all the facts were present to their

minds, they could not take advantage of existing treaties, and that too

when the courts were on the most friendly terms with one another, it

will be manifest to every thinking man that _they were sensible they

were not authorized to make the demand_.

I really, sir, cannot think it necessary to follow the right honorable

gentleman into all the minute details which he has thought proper to

give us respecting the first aggression; but that Austria and Prussia

were the aggressors, not a man in any country, who has ever given

himself the trouble to think at all on the subject, can doubt. Nothing

could be more hostile than their whole proceedings. Did they not

declare to France, that it was her internal concerns, not her external

proceedings, which provoked them to confederate against her? Look back

to the proclamations with which they set out.[19] Read the declarations

which they made themselves to justify their appeal to arms. They did

not pretend to fear her ambition—her conquests—her troubling her

neighbors; but they accused her of new-modelling her own government.

They said nothing of her aggressions abroad. They spoke only of her

clubs and societies at Paris.

Sir, in all this, I am not justifying the French; I am not trying to

absolve them from blame, either in their internal or external policy. I

think, on the contrary, that their successive rulers have been as bad

and as execrable, in various instances, as any of the most despotic

and unprincipled governments that the world ever saw. I think it

impossible, sir, that it should have been otherwise. It was not to be

expected that the French, when once engaged in foreign wars, should

not endeavor to spread destruction around them, and to form plans of

aggrandizement and plunder on every side. Men bred in the school of the

house of Bourbon could not be expected to act otherwise. They could

not have lived so long under their ancient masters without imbibing

the restless ambition, the perfidy, and the insatiable spirit of the

race. They have imitated the practice of their great prototype, and,

through their whole career of mischiefs and of crimes, have done

no more than servilely trace the steps of their own Louis XIV. If

they have overrun countries and ravaged them, they have done it upon

Bourbon principles; if they have ruined and dethroned sovereigns, it

is entirely after the Bourbon manner; if they have even fraternized

with the people of foreign countries, and pretended to make their cause

their own, they have only faithfully followed the Bourbon example. They

have constantly had Louis, the Grand Monarque, in their eye. But it

may be said, that this example was long ago, and that we ought not to

refer to a period so distant. True, it is a remote period applied to

the man, but not so of the principle. The principle was never extinct;

nor has its operation been suspended in France, except, perhaps, for

a short interval, during the administration of Cardinal Fleury; and

my complaint against the Republic of France is, not that she has

generated new crimes—not that she has promulgated new mischief—but

that she has adopted and acted upon the principles which have been

so fatal to Europe under the practice of the House of Bourbon. It

is said, that wherever the French have gone they have introduced

revolution—they have sought for the means of disturbing neighboring

states, and have not been content with mere conquest. What is this but

adopting the ingenious scheme of Louis XIV.? He was not content with

merely overrunning a state. Whenever he came into a new territory, he

established what he called his chamber of claims, a most convenient

device, by which he inquired whether the conquered country or province

had any dormant or disputed claims—any cause of complaint—any unsettled

demand upon any other state or province—upon which he might wage war

upon such state, thereby discover again ground for new devastation, and

gratify his ambition by new acquisitions. What have the republicans

done more atrocious, more Jacobinical than this? Louis went to war

with Holland. His pretext was, that Holland had not treated him with

sufficient _respect_. A very just and proper cause for war indeed!

This, sir, leads me to an example which I think seasonable, and worthy

the attention of his Majesty’s ministers. When our Charles II., as a

short exception to the policy of his reign, made the triple alliance

for the protection of Europe, and particularly of Holland, against the

ambition of Louis XIV., what was the conduct of that great, virtuous,

and most able statesman, M. de Witt, when the confederates came to

deliberate upon the terms upon which they should treat with the French

monarch? When it was said that he had made unprincipled conquests, and

that he ought to be forced to surrender them all, what was the language

of that great and wise man? “No,” said he; “I think we ought not to

look back to the origin of the war so much as the means of putting an

end to it. If you had united in time to prevent these conquests, well;

but now that he has made them, he stands upon the ground of conquest,

and we must agree to treat with him, not with reference to the origin

of the conquest, but with regard to his present posture. He has those

places, and some of them we must be content to give up as the means

of peace; for conquest will always successfully set up its claims to

indemnification.” Such was the language of this minister, who was the

ornament of his time; and such, in my mind, ought to be the language

of statesmen, with regard to the French, at this day; and the same

ought to have been said at the formation of the confederacy. It was

true that the French had overrun Savoy; but they had overrun it upon

Bourbon principles; and, having gained this and other conquests before

the confederacy was formed, they ought to have treated with her rather

for future security than for past correction. States in possession,

whether monarchical or republican, will claim indemnity in proportion

to their success; and it will never so much be inquired by what

right they gained possession as by what means they can be prevented

from enlarging their depredations. Such is the safe practice of the

world; and such ought to have been the conduct of the powers when the

reduction of Savoy made them coalesce. The right honorable gentleman

may know more of the secret particulars of their overrunning Savoy

than I do; but certainly, as they have come to my knowledge, it was a

most Bourbon-like act. A great and justly celebrated historian, I mean

Mr. Hume, a writer certainly estimable in many particulars, but who is

a childish lover of princes, talks of Louis XIV. in very magnificent

terms. But he says of him, that, though he managed his enterprises

with great skill and bravery, he was unfortunate in this, _that he

never got a good and fair pretence for war_. This he reckons among

his misfortunes. Can we say more of the republican French? In seizing

on Savoy I think they made use of the words “_convénances morales et

physiques_.” These were her reasons. A most Bourbon-like phrase. And I

therefore contend that as we never scrupled to treat with the princes

of the House of Bourbon on account of their rapacity, their thirst

of conquest, their violation of treaties, their perfidy, and their

restless spirit, so, I contend, we ought not to refuse to treat with

their republican imitators.

Ministers could not pretend ignorance of the unprincipled manner in

which the French had seized on Savoy. The Sardinian minister complained

of the aggression, and yet no stir was made about it. The courts of

Europe stood by and saw the outrage; and our ministers saw it. The

right honorable gentleman will in vain, therefore, exert his power to

persuade me of the interest he takes in the preservation of the rights

of nations, since, at the moment when an interference might have been

made with effect, no step was taken, no remonstrance made, no mediation

negotiated, to stop the career of conquest. All the pretended and

hypocritical sensibility “for the rights of nations, and for social

order,” with which we have since been stunned, can not impose upon

those who will take the trouble to look back to the period when this

sensibility ought to have roused us into seasonable exertion. At that

time, however, the right honorable gentleman makes it his boast that he

was prevented, by a sense of neutrality, from taking any measures of

precaution on the subject. I do not give the right honorable gentleman

much credit for his spirit of neutrality on the occasion. It flowed

from the sense of the country at the time, the great majority of which

was clearly and decidedly against all interruptions being given to the

French in their desire of regulating their own internal government.

But this neutrality, which respected only the internal rights of the

French, and from which the people of England would never have departed

but for the impolitic and hypocritical cant which was set up to arouse

their jealousy and alarm their fears, was very different from the

great principle of political prudence which ought to have actuated the

councils of the nation, on seeing the first steps of France toward a

career of external conquest. My opinion is, that when the unfortunate

King of France offered to us, in the letter delivered by M. Chauvelin

and M. Talleyrand, and even entreated us to mediate between him and

the allied powers of Austria and Prussia, they [ministers] ought to

have accepted of the offer, and exerted their influence to save Europe

from the consequence of a system which was then beginning to manifest

itself.[20] It was, at least, a question of prudence; and as we had

never refused to treat and to mediate with the old princes on account

of their ambition or their perfidy, we ought to have been equally

ready now, when the same principles were acted upon by other men. I

must doubt the sensibility which could be so cold and so indifferent

at the proper moment for its activity. I fear that there were at that

moment the germs of ambition rising in the mind of the right honorable

gentleman, and that he was beginning, like others, to entertain hopes

that something might be obtained out of the coming confusion. What

but such a sentiment could have prevented him from overlooking the

fair occasion that was offered for preventing the calamities with

which Europe was threatened? What but some such interested principle

could have made him forego the truly honorable task, by which his

administration would have displayed its magnanimity and its power? But

for some such feeling, would not this country, both in wisdom and in

dignity, have interfered, and, in conjunction with the other powers,

have said to France: “You ask for a mediation. We will mediate with

candor and sincerity, but we will at the same time declare to you our

apprehensions. We do not trust to your assertion of a determination

to avoid all foreign conquest, and that you are desirous only of

settling your own constitution, because your language is contradicted

by experience and the evidence of facts. You are Frenchmen, and you can

not so soon have forgotten and thrown off the Bourbon principles in

which you were educated. You have already imitated the bad practice of

your princes. You have seized on Savoy without a color of right. But

here we take our stand. Thus far you have gone, and we can not help

it; but you must go no farther. We will tell you distinctly what we

shall consider as an attack on the balance and the security of Europe;

and, as the condition of our interference, we will tell you also

the securities that we think essential to the general repose.” This

ought to have been the language of his Majesty’s ministers when their

mediation was solicited; and something of this kind they evidently

thought of when they sent the instructions to Petersburgh which they

have mentioned this night, but upon which they never acted. Having not

done so, I say they have no right to talk now about the violated rights

of Europe, about the aggression of the French, and about the origin

of the war in which this country was so suddenly afterward plunged.

Instead of this, what did they do? They hung back; they avoided

explanation; they gave the French no means of satisfying them; and I

repeat my proposition—when there is a question of peace and war between

two nations, _that government finds itself in the wrong which refuses

to state with clearness and precision what she should consider as a

satisfaction and a pledge of peace_.

Sir, if I understand the true precepts of the Christian religion, as

set forth in the New Testament, I must be permitted to say, that there

is no such thing as a rule or doctrine by which we are directed, or can

be justified, in waging a war for religion. The idea is subversive of

the very foundations upon which it stands, which are those of peace and

good-will among men. Religion never was and never can be a justifiable

cause of war; but it has been too often grossly used as the pretext and

the apology for the most unprincipled wars.

I have already said, and I repeat it, that the conduct of the French to

foreign nations can not be justified. They have given great cause of

offence, but certainly not to all countries alike. The right honorable

gentlemen opposite to me have made an indiscriminate catalogue of all

the countries which the French have offended, and, in their eagerness

to throw odium on the nation, have taken no pains to investigate the

sources of their several quarrels. I will not detain you, sir, by

entering into the long detail which has been given of their aggressions

and their violences; but let me mention Sardinia as one instance which

has been strongly insisted upon. Did the French attack Sardinia when

at peace with them? No such thing. The King of Sardinia had accepted

of a subsidy from Great Britain; and Sardinia was, to all intents

and purposes, a belligerent power. Several other instances might

be mentioned; but though, perhaps, in the majority of instances,

the French may be unjustifiable, is this the moment for us to dwell

upon these enormities—to waste our time and inflame our passions by

criminating and recriminating upon each other? There is no end to such

a war. I have somewhere read, I think in Sir Walter Raleigh’s “History

of the World,” of a most bloody and fatal battle which was fought by

two opposite armies, in which almost all the combatants on both sides

were killed, “because,” says the historian, “though they had offensive

weapons on both sides, they had none for defence.” So, in this war of

words, if we are to use only offensive weapons—if we are to indulge

only in invective and abuse, the contest must be eternal.

If this war of reproach and invective is to be countenanced, may not

the French with equal reason complain of the outrages and horrors

committed by the powers opposed to them? If we must not treat with the

French on account of the iniquity of their former transactions, ought

we not to be as scrupulous of connecting ourselves with other powers

equally criminal? Surely, sir, if we must be thus rigid in scrutinizing

the conduct of an enemy, we ought to be equally careful in not

committing ourselves, our honor, and our safety, with an ally who has

manifested the same want of respect for the rights of other nations.

Surely, if it is material to know the character of a power with whom

you are about only to treat for peace, it is more material to know the

character of allies with whom you are about to enter into the closest

connection of friendship, and for whose exertions you are about to pay.

Now, sir, what was the conduct of your own allies to Poland? Is there

a single atrocity of the French, in Italy, in Switzerland, in Egypt,

if you please, more unprincipled and inhuman than that of Russia,

Austria, and Prussia, in Poland? What has there been in the conduct of

the French to foreign powers; what in the violation of solemn treaties;

what in the plunder, devastation, and dismemberment of unoffending

countries; what in the horrors and murders perpetrated upon the subdued

victims of their rage in any district which they have overrun, worse

than the conduct of those three great powers in the miserable, devoted,

and trampled-on kingdom of Poland, and who have been, or are, our

allies in this war for religion and social order, and the rights

of nations? “Oh! but you regretted the partition of Poland!” Yes,

regretted! you regretted the violence, and that is all you did. You

united yourselves with the actors; you, in fact, by your acquiescence,

confirmed the atrocity. But they are your allies; and though they

overran and divided Poland, there was nothing, perhaps, in the manner

of doing it which stamped it with peculiar infamy and disgrace. The

hero of Poland [Suwarroff], perhaps, was merciful and mild! He was “as

much superior to Bonaparte in bravery, and in the discipline which he

maintained, as he was superior in virtue and humanity!”[21] He was

animated by the purest principles of Christianity, and was restrained

in his career by the benevolent precepts which it inculcates. Was

he? Let unfortunate Warsaw, and the miserable inhabitants of the

suburb of Praga in particular, tell! What do we understand to have

been the conduct of this magnanimous hero, with whom, it seems,

Bonaparte is not to be compared? He entered the suburb of Praga, the

most populous suburb of Warsaw; and there he let his soldiery loose

on the miserable, unarmed, and unresisting people. Men, women, and

children, nay, infants at the breast, were doomed to one indiscriminate

massacre! Thousands of them were inhumanly, wantonly butchered! And for

what? Because they had dared to join in a wish to meliorate their own

condition as a people, and to improve their constitution, which had

been confessed by their own sovereign to be in want of amendment. And

such is the hero upon whom the cause of religion and social order is to

repose! And such is the man whom we praise for his discipline and his

virtue, and whom we hold out as our boast and our dependence; while the

conduct of Bonaparte unfits him to be even treated with as an enemy?

But the behavior of the French toward Switzerland raises all the

indignation of the right honorable gentleman, and inflames his

eloquence. I admire the indignation which he expresses, and I think he

felt it, in speaking of this country, so dear and so congenial to every

man who loves the sacred name of liberty. “He who loves Liberty,” says

the right honorable gentleman, “thought himself at home on the favored

and happy mountains of Switzerland, where she seemed to have taken up

her abode under a sort of implied compact, among all other states,

that she should not be disturbed in this her chosen asylum.” I admire

the eloquence of the right honorable gentleman in speaking of this

country of liberty and peace, to which every man would desire, once in

his life at least, to make a pilgrimage! But who, let me ask him, first

proposed to the Swiss people to _depart from the neutrality_, which was

their chief protection, and to join the confederacy against the French?

I aver that a noble relation of mine [Lord Robert Fitzgerald], then the

Minister of England to the Swiss Cantons, was instructed, in direct

terms, to propose to the Swiss, by an official note, to break from the

safe line they had laid down for themselves, and to tell them, “in such

a contest neutrality was criminal.” I know that noble Lord too well,

though I have not been in habits of intercourse with him of late, from

the employments in which he has been engaged, to suspect that he would

have presented such a paper without the express instructions of his

court, or that he would have gone beyond those instructions.

But was it only to Switzerland that this sort of language was held?

What was our language also to Tuscany and Genoa? An honorable

gentleman [Mr. Canning] has denied the authenticity of a pretended

letter which has been circulated, and ascribed to Lord Harvey. He says,

it is all a fable and a forgery. Be it so; but is it also a fable that

Lord Harvey did speak in terms to the Grand Duke, which he considered

as offensive and insulting? I can not tell, for I was not present; but

was it not, and is it not, believed? Is it a fable that Lord Harvey

went into the closet of the Grand Duke, laid his watch on the table

and demanded, in a peremptory manner, that he should, within a certain

number of minutes (I think I have heard within a quarter of an hour),

determine, aye or no, to dismiss the French Minister, and order him

out of his dominions, with the menace, that if he did not, the English

fleet should bombard Leghorn? Will the honorable gentleman deny this

also? I certainly do not know it from my own knowledge; but I know that

persons of the first credit, then at Florence, have stated these facts,

and that they have never been contradicted. It is true that, upon the

Grand Duke’s complaint of this indignity, Lord Harvey was recalled;

but was the _principle_ recalled? was the mission recalled? Did not

ministers persist in the demand which Lord Harvey had made, perhaps

ungraciously? and was not the Grand Duke forced, in consequence, to

dismiss the French Minister? and did they not drive him to enter into

an unwilling war with the republic? It is true that he afterward made

his peace, and that, having done so, he was treated severely and

unjustly by the French; but what do I conclude from all this, but that

we have no right to be scrupulous, we who have violated the respect

due to peaceable powers ourselves, in this war, which, more than any

other that ever afflicted human nature, has been distinguished by the

greatest number of disgusting and outrageous insults by the great to

the smaller powers? And I infer from this, also, that the instances not

being confined to the French, but having been perpetrated by every one

of the allies, and by England as much as by others, we have no right,

either in personal character, or from our own deportment, to refuse to

treat with the French on this ground. Need I speak of your conduct to

Genoa also? Perhaps the note delivered by Mr. Drake was also a forgery.

Perhaps the blockade of the port never took place. It is impossible

to deny the facts, which were so glaring at the time. It is a painful

thing to me, sir, to be obliged to go back to these unfortunate

periods of the history of this war, and of the conduct of this country;

but I am forced to the task by the use which has been made of the

atrocities of the French as an argument against negotiation. I think I

have said enough to prove, that if the French have been guilty, we have

not been innocent. Nothing but determined incredulity can make us deaf

and blind to our own acts, when we are so ready to yield an assent to

all the reproaches which are thrown out on the enemy, and upon which

reproaches we are gravely told to continue the war.

“But the French,” it seems, “have behaved ill everywhere. They seized

on Venice, which had preserved the most exact neutrality, or rather,”

as it is hinted, “had manifested symptoms of friendship to them.” I

agree with the right honorable gentleman, it was an abominable act.

I am not the apologist, much less the advocate, of their iniquities;

neither will I countenance them in their pretences for the injustice.

I do not think that much regard is to be paid to the charges which a

triumphant soldiery bring on the conduct of a people whom they have

overrun. Pretences for outrage will never be wanting to the strong,

when they wish to trample on the weak; but when we accuse the French

of having seized on Venice, after stipulating for its neutrality, and

guaranteeing its independence, we should also remember the excuse that

they made for the violence, namely, that their troops had been attacked

and murdered. I say I am always incredulous about such excuses; but I

think it fair to hear whatever can be alleged on the other side. We

can not take one side of a story only. Candor demands that we should

examine the whole before we make up our minds on the guilt. I can not

think it quite fair to state the view of the subject of one party

as indisputable fact, without even mentioning what the other party

has to say for itself. But, sir, is this all? Though the perfidy of

the French to the Venetians be clear and palpable, was it worse in

morals, in principle, and in example, than the conduct of Austria? My

honorable friend [Mr. Whitbread] properly asked: “Is not the receiver

as bad as the thief?” If the French seized on the territory of Venice,

did not the Austrians agree to receive it? “But this,” it seems, “is

not the same thing.” It is quite in the nature and within the rule of

diplomatic morality, for Austria to receive the country which was

thus seized upon unjustly. “The Emperor took it as a compensation.

It was his by barter. He was not answerable for the guilt by which

it was obtained.” What is this, sir, but the false and abominable

reasoning with which we have been so often disgusted on the subject

of the slave-trade? Just in the same manner have I heard a notorious

wholesale dealer in this inhuman traffic justify his abominable trade.

“I am not guilty of the horrible crime of tearing that mother from her

infants; that husband from his wife; of depopulating that village; of

depriving that family of their sons, the support of their aged parents!

No, thank Heaven! I am not guilty of this horror. I only bought them in

the fair way of trade. They were brought to the market; they had been

guilty of crimes, or they had been made prisoners of war; they were

accused of witchcraft, of obi, or of some other sort of sorcery; and

they were brought to me for sale. I gave a valuable consideration for

them. But God forbid that I should have stained my soul with the guilt

of dragging them from their friends and families!” Such has been the

precious defence of the slave-trade, and such is the argument set up

for Austria in this instance of Venice. “I did not commit the crime

of trampling on the independence of Venice; I did not seize on the

city; I gave a _quid pro quo_. It was a matter of barter and indemnity;

I gave half a million of human beings to be put under the yoke of

France in another district, and I had these people turned over to me

in return!”[22] This, sir, is the defence of Austria, and under such

detestable sophistry is the infernal traffic in human flesh, whether

in white or black, to be continued, and even justified! At no time has

that diabolical traffic been carried to a greater length than during

the present war, and that by England herself, as well as Austria and

Russia.

“But France,” it seems, “has roused all the nations of Europe against

her”; and the long catalogue has been read to you, to prove that she

must have been atrocious to provoke them all. Is it true, sir, that

she has roused them all? It does not say much for the address of his

Majesty’s ministers, if this be the case. What, sir! have all your

negotiations, all your declamation, all your money, been squandered

in vain? Have you not succeeded in stirring the indignation, and

engaging the assistance, of a single power? But you do yourselves

injustice. Between the crimes of France and your money the rage _has_

been excited, and full as much is due to your seductions as to her

atrocities. My honorable and learned friend [Mr. Erskine] was correct,

therefore, in his argument; for you can not take both sides of the

case; you can not accuse France of having provoked all Europe, and at

the same time claim the merit of having roused all Europe to join you.

You talk, sir, of your allies. I wish to know who your allies are?

Russia is one of them, I suppose. Did France attack Russia? Has the

_magnanimous_ Paul taken the field for social order and religion, or on

account of personal aggression?[23] The Emperor of Russia has declared

himself Grand Master of Malta, though his religion is as opposite to

that of the Knights as ours is; and he is as much considered a heretic

by the Church of Rome as we are. The King of Great Britain might, with

as much reason and propriety, declare himself the head of the order of

the Chartreuse monks. Not content with taking to himself the commandery

of this institution of Malta, Paul has even created a married man a

Knight, contrary to all the most sacred rules and regulations of the

order; and yet this ally of ours is fighting for religion! So much for

his religion. Let us see his regard to social order! How does he show

his abhorrence of the principles of the French, in their violation of

the rights of other nations? What has been his conduct to Denmark? He

says to her: “You have seditious clubs at Copenhagen; no Danish vessel

shall therefore enter the ports of Russia!” He holds a still more

despotic language to Hamburg. He threatens to lay an embargo on her

trade; and he forces her to surrender up men who are claimed by the

French as their citizens, whether truly or not, I do not inquire. He

threatens her with his own vengeance if she refuse, and subjects her

to that of the French if she comply. And what has been his conduct to

Spain? He first sends away the Spanish minister from Petersburgh, and

then complains, as a great insult, that his minister was dismissed from

Madrid! This is one of our allies; and he has declared that the object

for which he has taken up arms is to replace the ancient race of the

house of Bourbon on the throne of France, and that he does this for the

cause of religion and social order! Such is the respect for religion

and social order which he himself displays, and such are the examples

of it with which we coalesce.

No man regrets, sir, more than I do, the enormities that France has

committed; but how do they bear upon the question as it at present

stands? Are we forever to deprive ourselves of the benefits of peace

because France has perpetrated acts of injustice? Sir, we can not

acquit ourselves upon such ground. We _have_ negotiated. With the

knowledge of these acts of injustice and disorder, we have treated

with them twice; yet the right honorable gentleman can not enter into

negotiation with them again; and it is worth while to attend to the

reasons that he gives for refusing their offer. The Revolution itself

is no more an objection now than it was in the year 1796, when he did

negotiate. For the government of France at that time was surely as

unstable as it is at present. * * *

But you say you have not refused to treat. You have stated a case in

which you will be ready immediately to enter into a negotiation, viz.,

the restoration of the House of Bourbon. But you deny that this is

a _sine qua non_; and in your nonsensical language, which I do not

understand, you talk of “limited possibilities,” which may induce

you to treat without the restoration of the House of Bourbon. But do

you state what they are? Now, sir, I say, that if you put one case

upon which you declare that you are willing to treat immediately, and

say that there are other possible cases which may induce you to treat

hereafter, without mentioning what these possible cases are, you do

state a _sine qua non_ of immediate treaty. Suppose I have an estate

to sell, and I say my demand is £1,000 for it. For that sum I will

sell the estate immediately. To be sure, there may be other terms upon

which I may be willing to part with it; but I mention nothing of them.

The £1,000 is the only condition that I state at the time. Will any

gentleman assert that I do not make the £1,000 the _sine qua non_ of

the immediate sale? Thus you say the restoration of the Bourbons is not

the only possible ground; but you give no other. This is your project.

Do you demand a counter project? Do you follow your own rule? Do you

not do the thing of which you complained in the enemy? You seemed to be

afraid of receiving another proposition; and, by confining yourselves

to this one point, you make it in fact, though not in terms, your _sine

qua non_.

But the right honorable gentleman, in his speech, does what the

official note avoids. He finds there the convenient words, “experience

and the evidence of facts.” Upon these he goes into detail; and

in order to convince the House that new evidence is required, he

reverts to all the earliest acts and crimes of the Revolution; to

all the atrocities of all the governments that have passed away; and

he contends that he must have experience that these foul crimes are

repented of, and that a purer and a better system is adopted in France,

by which he may be sure that they will be capable of maintaining the

relations of peace and amity. Sir, these are not conciliatory words;

nor is this a practicable ground to gain experience. Does he think it

possible that evidence of a peaceable demeanor can be obtained in war?

What does he mean to say to the French consul? “Until you shall, in

_war_, behave yourself in a _peaceable_ manner, I will not treat with

you!” Is there not in this something extremely ridiculous? In duels,

indeed, we have often heard of such language. Two gentlemen go out and

fight, when, having discharged their pistols at one another, it is not

unusual for one of them to say to the other: “Now I am satisfied. I

see that you are a man of honor, and we are friends again.” There is

something, by-the-by, ridiculous, even here. But between nations it is

more than ridiculous. It is criminal. It is a ground which no principle

can justify, and which is as impracticable as it is impious. That two

nations should be set on to _beat_ one another into friendship, is

too abominable even for the fiction of romance; but for a statesman

seriously and gravely to lay it down as a system upon which he means to

act, is monstrous. What can we say of such a test as he means to put

the French Government to, but that it is hopeless? It is in the nature

of war to inflame animosity; to exasperate, not to soothe; to widen,

not to approximate. So long as this is to be acted upon, I say it is in

vain to hope that we can have the evidence which we require.

The right honorable gentleman, however, thinks otherwise; and he points

out four distinct possible cases, besides the re-establishment of the

Bourbon family, in which he would agree to treat with the French.

(1) “If Bonaparte shall conduct himself so as to convince him that

he has abandoned the principles which were objectionable in his

predecessors, and that he will be actuated by a more moderate system.”

I ask you, sir, if this is likely to be ascertained in war? It is the

nature of war not to allay, but to inflame the passions; and it is not

by the invective and abuse which have been thrown upon him and his

government, nor by the continued irritations which war is sure to give,

that the virtues of moderation and forbearance are to be nourished.

(2) “If, contrary to the expectations of ministers, the people of

France shall show a disposition to acquiesce in the government of

Bonaparte.” Does the right honorable gentleman mean to say, that

because it is a usurpation on the part of the present chief, that

therefore the people are not likely to acquiesce in it? I have not

time, sir, to discuss the question of this usurpation, or whether

it is likely to be permanent; but I certainly have not so good an

opinion of the French, nor of any people, as to believe that it will

be short-lived, _merely_ because it was a usurpation, and because

it is a system of military despotism. Cromwell was a usurper; and

in many points there may be found a resemblance between him and the

present Chief Consul of France. There is no doubt but that, on

several occasions of his life, Cromwell’s sincerity may be questioned,

particularly in his self-denying ordinance, in his affected piety,

and other things; but would it not have been insanity in France and

Spain to refuse to treat with him because he was a usurper or wanted

candor? No, sir, these are not the maxims by which governments are

actuated. They do not inquire so much into the means by which power

may have been acquired, as into the fact of where the power resides.

The people did acquiesce in the government of Cromwell. But it may be

said that the splendor of his talents, the vigor of his administration,

the high tone with which he spoke to foreign nations, the success of

his arms, and the character which he gave to the English name, induced

the nation to acquiesce in his usurpation; and that we must not try

Bonaparte by his example. Will it be said that Bonaparte is not a man

of great abilities? Will it be said that he has not, by his victories,

thrown a splendor over even the violence of the Revolution, and that

he does not conciliate the French people by the high and lofty tone

in which he speaks to foreign nations? Are not the French, then, as

likely as the English in the case of Cromwell, to acquiesce in his

government? If they should do so, the right honorable gentleman may

find that this possible predicament may fail him. He may find that

though one power may make war, it requires two to make peace. He may

find that Bonaparte was as insincere as himself in the proposition

which he made; and in his turn he may come forward and say: “I have

no occasion now for concealment. It is true that, in the beginning of

the year 1800, I offered to treat, not because I wished for peace,

but because the people of France wished for it; and besides, my old

resources being exhausted, and there being no means of carrying on

the war without ‘a new and solid system of finance,’ I pretended to

treat, because I wished to procure the unanimous assent of the French

people to this ‘new and solid system of finance.’ Did you think I was

in earnest? You were deceived. I now throw off the mask. I have gained

my point, and I reject your offers with scorn.”[24] Is it not a very

possible case that he may use this language? Is it not within the right

honorable gentleman’s _knowledge of human nature_?[25] But even if this

should not be the case, will not the very test which you require, the

acquiescence of the people of France in his government, give him an

advantage-ground in the negotiation which he does not now possess. Is

it quite sure, that when he finds himself safe in his seat, he will

treat on the same terms as at present, and that you will get a better

peace some time hence than you might reasonably hope to obtain at

this moment? Will he not have one interest less to do it? and do you

not overlook a favorable occasion for a chance which is exceedingly

doubtful? These are the considerations which I would urge to his

Majesty’s ministers against the dangerous experiment of waiting for the

acquiescence of the people of France.

(3) “If the allies of this country shall be less successful than they

have every reason to expect they will be in stirring up the people of

France against Bonaparte, and in the further prosecution of the war.”

And,

(4) “If the pressure of the war should be heavier upon us than it

would be convenient for us to continue to bear.” These are the other

two possible emergencies in which the right honorable gentleman would

treat even with Bonaparte. Sir, I have often blamed the right honorable

gentleman for being disingenuous and insincere. On the present occasion

I certainly can not charge him with any such thing. He has made

to-night a most honest confession. He is open and candid. He tells

Bonaparte fairly what he has to expect. “I mean,” says he, “to do

every thing in my power to raise up the people of France against you;

I have engaged a number of allies, and our combined efforts shall be

used to excite insurrection and civil war in France. I will strive

to murder you, or to get you sent away. If I succeed, well; but if I

fail, then I will treat with you. My resources being exhausted; even

my ‘solid system of finance’ having failed to supply me with the means

of keeping together my allies, and of feeding the discontents I have

excited in France, then you may expect to see me renounce my high tone,

my attachment to the House of Bourbon, my abhorrence of your crimes, my

alarm at your principles; for then I shall be ready to own that, on the

balance and comparison of circumstances, there will be less danger in

concluding a peace than in the continuance of war!” Is this political

language for one state to hold to another? And what sort of peace does

the right honorable gentleman expect to receive in that case? Does he

think that Bonaparte would grant to baffled insolence, to humiliated

pride, to disappointment, and to imbecility the same terms which he

would be ready to give now? The right honorable gentleman can not have

forgotten what he said on another occasion:

“Potuit quæ plurima virtus

Esse, fuit. Toto certatum est corpore regni.”[26]

He would then have to repeat his words, but with a different

application. He would have to say: “All our efforts are vain. We have

exhausted our strength. Our designs are impracticable, and we must sue

to you for peace.”

Sir, what is the question to-night? We are called upon to support

ministers in refusing a frank, candid, and respectful offer of

negotiation, and to countenance them in continuing the war. Now I

would put the question in another way. Suppose that ministers had

been inclined to adopt the line of conduct which they pursued in 1796

and 1797, and that to-night, instead of a question on a war address,

it had been an address to his Majesty to thank him for accepting the

overture, and for opening a negotiation to treat for peace, I ask the

gentlemen opposite—I appeal to the whole five hundred and fifty-eight

representatives of the people—to lay their hands upon their hearts and

to say whether they would not have cordially voted for such an address.

Would they, or would they not? Yes, sir, if the address had breathed a

spirit of peace, your benches would have resounded with rejoicings, and

with praises of a measure that was likely to bring back the blessings

of tranquillity. On the present occasion, then, I ask for the vote

of no gentlemen but of those who, in the secret confession of their

conscience, admit, at this instant, while they hear me, that they would

have cheerfully and heartily voted with the minister for an address

directly the reverse of the one proposed. If every such gentleman were

to vote with me, I should be this night in the greatest majority that

ever I had the honor to vote with in this House. I do not know that

the right honorable gentleman would find, even on the benches around

him, a single individual who would not vote with me. I am sure he would

not find many. I do not know that in this House I could single out

the individual who would think himself bound by consistency to vote

against the right honorable gentleman on an address for negotiation.

There may be some, but they are very few. I do know, indeed, one most

honorable man in another place, whose purity and integrity I respect,

though I lament the opinion he has formed on this subject, who would

think himself bound, from the uniform consistency of his life, to vote

against an address for negotiation. Earl Fitzwilliam would, I verily

believe, do so. He would feel himself bound, from the previous votes

he has given, to declare his objection to all treaty. But I own I do

not know more in either House of Parliament. There may be others, but

I do not know them. What, then, is the House of Commons come to, when,

notwithstanding their support given to the right honorable gentleman in

1796 and 1797 on his entering into negotiation; notwithstanding their

inward conviction that they would vote with him this moment for the

same measure; who, after supporting the minister in his negotiation

for a solid system of finance, can now bring themselves to countenance

his abandonment of the ground he took, and to support him in refusing

all negotiation! What will be said of gentlemen who shall vote in this

way, and yet feel, in their consciences, that they would have, with

infinitely more readiness, voted the other?

Sir, we have heard to-night a great many most acrimonious invectives

against Bonaparte, against all the course of his conduct, and

against the unprincipled manner in which he seized upon the reins of

government. I will not make his defence. I think all this sort of

invective, which is used only to inflame the passions of this House and

of the country, exceedingly ill-timed, and very impolitic. But I say

I will not make his defence. I am not sufficiently in possession of

materials upon which to form an opinion on the character and conduct

of this extraordinary man. On his arrival in France, he found the

government in a very unsettled state, and the whole affairs of the

Republic deranged, crippled, and involved. He thought it necessary to

reform the government; and he did reform it, just in the way in which

a military man may be expected to carry on a reform. He seized on the

whole authority for himself. It will not be expected from me that I

should either approve or apologize for such an act. I am certainly

not for reforming governments by such expedients; but how this House

can be so violently indignant at the idea of military despotism, is,

I own, a little singular, when I see the composure with which they

can observe it nearer home; nay, when I see them regard it as a

frame of government most peculiarly suited to the exercise of free

opinion, on a subject the most important of any that can engage the

attention of a people. Was it not the system which was so _happily_

and so _advantageously_ established of late, all over Ireland, and

which even now the government may, at its pleasure, proclaim over

the whole of that kingdom? Are not the persons and property of the

people left, in many districts, at this moment, to the entire will of

military commanders? and is not this held out as peculiarly proper and

advantageous, at a time when the people of Ireland are freely, and with

unbiassed judgments, to discuss the most interesting question of a

legislative union? Notwithstanding the existence of martial law, so far

do we think Ireland from being enslaved, that we presume it precisely

the period and the circumstances under which she may best declare her

free opinion? Now, really, sir, I can not think that gentlemen who talk

in this way about Ireland, can, with a good grace, rail at military

despotism in France.

But, it seems, “Bonaparte has broken his oaths. He has violated his

oath of fidelity to the constitution of the third year.” Sir, I am not

one of those who hold that any such oaths ought ever to be exacted.

They are seldom or ever of any effect; and I am not for sporting with

a thing so sacred as an oath. I think it would be good to lay aside

all such oaths. Who ever heard that, in revolutions, the oath of

fidelity to the former government was ever regarded, or even that,

when violated, it was imputed to the persons as a crime? In times of

revolution, men who take up arms are called rebels. If they fail, they

are adjudged to be traitors; but who before ever heard of their being

perjured? On the restoration of King Charles II., those who had taken

up arms for the Commonwealth were stigmatized as rebels and traitors,

but not as men forsworn. Was the Earl of Devonshire charged with being

perjured, on account of the allegiance he had sworn to the House of

Stuart, and the part he took in those struggles which preceded and

brought about the Revolution? The violation of oaths of allegiance was

never imputed to the people of England, and will never be imputed to

any people. But who brings up the question of oaths? He who strives

to make twenty-four millions of persons violate the oaths they have

taken to their present constitution, and who desires to re-establish

the House of Bourbon by such violation of their vows. I put it so,

sir, because, if the question of oaths be of the least consequence, it

is equal on both sides! He who desires the whole people of France to

perjure themselves, and who hopes for success in his project only upon

their doing so, surely can not make it a charge against Bonaparte that

he has done the same!

“Ah! but Bonaparte has declared it as his opinion, that the two

governments of Great Britain and of France can not exist together.

After the treaty of Campo Formio, he sent two confidential persons,

Berthier and Monge, to the Directory, to say so in his name.” Well, and

what is there in this absurd and puerile assertion, if it were ever

made? Has not the right honorable gentleman, in this House, said the

same thing? In this at least they resemble one another! They have both

made use of this assertion; and I believe that these two illustrious

persons are the only two on earth who think it! But let us turn the

tables. We ought to put ourselves at times in the place of the enemy,

if we are desirous of really examining with candor and fairness the

dispute between us. How may they not interpret the speeches of

ministers and their friends, in both Houses of the British Parliament?

If we are to be told of the idle speech of Berthier and Monge, may they

not also bring up speeches, in which it has not been merely hinted,

but broadly asserted, that “the two constitutions of England and

France could not exist together?” May not these offences and charges

be reciprocated without end? Are we ever to go on in this miserable

squabble about words? Are we still, as we happen to be successful on

the one side or the other, to bring up these impotent accusations,

insults, and provocations against each other; and only when we are

beaten and unfortunate, to think of treating? Oh! pity the condition of

man, gracious God, and save us from such a system of malevolence, in

which all our old and venerated prejudices are to be done away, and by

which we are to be taught to consider war as the natural state of man,

and peace but as a dangerous and difficult extremity!

Sir, this temper must be corrected. It is a diabolical spirit, and

would lead to an interminable war. Our history is full of instances

that, where we have overlooked a proffered occasion to treat, we

have uniformly suffered by delay. At what time did we ever profit

by obstinately persevering in war? We accepted at Ryswick the terms

we refused five years before, and the same peace which was concluded

at Utrecht might have been obtained at Gertruydenberg; and as to

security from the future machinations or ambition of the French, I

ask you what security you ever had or could have? Did the different

treaties made with Louis XIV. serve to tie up his hands, to restrain

his ambition, or to stifle his restless spirit? At what time, in old or

in recent periods, could you safely repose on the honor, forbearance,

and moderation of the French Government? Was there _ever_ an idea of

refusing to treat, because the peace might be afterward insecure?

The peace of 1763 was not accompanied with securities; and it was no

sooner made than the French court began, as usual, its intrigues. And

what security did the right honorable gentleman exact at the peace of

1783, in which he was engaged? Were we rendered secure by that peace?

The right honorable gentleman knows well that, soon after that peace,

the French formed a plan, in conjunction with the Dutch, of attacking

our India possessions, of raising up the native powers against us, and

of driving us out of India; as they were more recently desirous of

doing, only with this difference, that the cabinet of France formerly

entered into this project in a moment of profound peace, and when they

conceived us to be lulled into a perfect security. After making the

peace of 1783, the right honorable gentleman and his friends went out,

and I, among others, came into office. Suppose, sir, that we had taken

up the jealousy upon which the right honorable gentleman now acts, and

had refused to ratify the peace which he had made. Suppose that we had

said—No! France is acting a perfidious part; we see no security for

England in this treaty; they want only a respite in order to attack

us again in an important part of our dominions, and we ought not to

confirm the treaty. I ask you would the right honorable gentleman have

supported us in this refusal? I say, that upon his present reasoning

he ought. But I put it fairly to him, would he have supported us in

refusing to ratify the treaty upon such a pretence? He certainly ought

not, and I am sure he would not; but the course of reasoning which

he now assumes would have justified his taking such a ground. On the

contrary, I am persuaded that he would have said: “This security is a

refinement upon jealousy. You have security, the only security that you

can ever expect to get. It is the present interest of France to make

peace. She will keep it, if it be her interest. She will break it, if

it be her interest. Such is the state of nations; and you have nothing

but your own vigilance for your security.”

“It is not the interest of Bonaparte,” it seems, “sincerely to enter

into a negotiation, or, if he should even make peace, sincerely to

keep it.” But how are we to decide upon his sincerity? By refusing to

treat with him? Surely, if we mean to discover his sincerity, we ought

to hear the propositions which he desires to make. “But peace would

be unfriendly to his system of military despotism.” Sir, I hear a

great deal about the short-lived nature of military despotism. I wish

the history of the world would bear gentlemen out in this description

of it. Was not the government erected by Augustus Cæsar a military

despotism? and yet it endured for six or seven hundred years. Military

despotism, unfortunately, is too likely in its nature to be permanent,

and it is not true that it depends on the life of the first usurper.

Though half of the Roman emperors were murdered, yet the military

despotism went on; and so it would be, I fear, in France. If Bonaparte

should disappear from the scene, to make room, perhaps, for Berthier,

or any other general, what difference would that make in the quality

of French despotism, or in our relation to the country? We may as

safely treat with a Bonaparte, or with any of his successors, be they

whom they may, as we could with a Louis XVI., a Louis XVII., or a

Louis XVIII. There is no difference but in the name. Where the power

essentially resides, thither we ought to go for peace.

But, sir, if we are to reason on the fact, I should think that it is

the interest of Bonaparte to make peace. A lover of military glory, as

that general must necessarily be, may he not think that his measure of

glory is full; that it may be tarnished by a reverse of fortune, and

can hardly be increased by any new laurels? He must feel that, in the

situation to which he is now raised, he can no longer depend on his own

fortune, his own genius, and his own talents, for a continuance of his

success. He must be under the necessity of employing other generals,

whose misconduct or incapacity might endanger his power, or whose

triumphs even might affect the interest which he holds in the opinion

of the French. Peace, then, would secure to him what he has achieved,

and fix the inconstancy of fortune. But this will not be his only

motive. He must see that France also requires a respite—a breathing

interval, to recruit her wasted strength. To procure her this respite,

would be, perhaps, the attainment of more solid glory, as well as the

means of acquiring more solid power, than any thing which he can hope

to gain from arms, and from the proudest triumphs. May he not, then, be

zealous to secure this fame, the only species of fame, perhaps, that

is worth acquiring? Nay, granting that his soul may still burn with

the thirst of military exploits, is it not likely that he is disposed

to yield to the feelings of the French people, and to consolidate

his power by consulting their interests? I have a right to argue in

this way when suppositions of his insincerity are reasoned upon on

the other side. Sir, these aspersions are, in truth, always idle, and

even mischievous. I have been too long accustomed to hear imputations

and calumnies thrown out upon great and honorable characters, to be

much influenced by them. My honorable and learned friend [Mr. Erskine]

has paid this night a most just, deserved, and eloquent tribute of

applause to the memory of that great and unparalleled character, who

is so recently lost to the world.[27] I must, like him, beg leave

to dwell a moment on the venerable GEORGE WASHINGTON, though I know

that it is impossible for me to bestow any thing like adequate praise

on a character which gave us, more than any other human being, the

example of a perfect man; yet, good, great, and unexampled as General

Washington was, I can remember the time when he was not better spoken

of in this House than Bonaparte is at present. The right honorable

gentleman who opened this debate [Mr. Dundas] may remember in what

terms of disdain, or virulence, even of contempt, General Washington

was spoken of by gentlemen on that side of the House. Does he not

recollect with what marks of indignation any member was stigmatized

as an enemy to his country who mentioned with common respect the name

of General Washington? If a negotiation had then been proposed to be

opened with that great man, what would have been said? Would you treat

with a rebel, a traitor! What an example would you not give by such

an act! I do not know whether the right honorable gentleman may not

yet possess some of his old prejudices on the subject. I hope not: I

hope by this time we are all convinced that a republican government,

like that of America, may exist without danger or injury to social

order, or to established monarchies. They have happily shown that they

can maintain the relations of peace and amity with other states. They

have shown, too, that they are alive to the feelings of honor; but

they do not lose sight of plain good sense and discretion. They have

not refused to negotiate with the French, and they have accordingly

the hopes of a speedy termination of every difference. We cry up their

conduct, but we do not imitate it. At the beginning of the struggle,

we were told that the French were setting up a set of wild and

impracticable theories, and that we ought not to be misled by them;

that they were phantoms with which we could not grapple. Now we are

told that we must not treat, because, out of the lottery, Bonaparte

has drawn such a prize as military despotism. Is military despotism

a theory? One would think that that is one of the practical things

which ministers might understand, and to which _they_ would have no

particular objection. But what is our present conduct founded on but

a theory, and that a most wild and ridiculous theory? For what are we

fighting? Not for a principle; not for security; not for conquest;

but merely for an experiment and a speculation, to discover whether a

gentleman at Paris may not turn out a better man than we now take him

to be. * * *

Sir, I wish the atrocities, of which we hear so much, and which I

abhor as much as any man, were, indeed, unexampled. I fear that they

do not belong exclusively to the French. When the right honorable

gentleman speaks of the extraordinary successes of the last campaign,

he does not mention the horrors by which some of these successes were

accompanied. Naples, for instance, has been, among others, what is

called _delivered_; and yet, if I am rightly informed, it has been

stained and polluted by murders so ferocious, and by cruelties of

every kind so abhorrent, that the heart shudders at the recital. It

has been said, not only that the miserable victims of the rage and

brutality of the fanatics were savagely murdered, but that, in many

instances, their flesh was eaten and devoured by the cannibals, who

are the advocates and the instruments of social order! Nay, England is

not totally exempt from reproach, if the rumors which are circulated

be true. I will mention a fact, to give ministers the opportunity, if

it be false, to wipe away the stain that it must otherwise affix on the

British name. It is said, that a party of the republican inhabitants of

Naples took shelter in the fortress of the Castel de Uovo. They were

besieged by a detachment from the royal army, to whom they refused

to surrender; but demanded that a British officer should be brought

forward, and to him they capitulated. They made terms with him under

the sanction of the British name. It was agreed that their persons and

property should be safe, and that they should be conveyed to Toulon.

They were accordingly put on board a vessel; but, before they sailed,

their property was confiscated, numbers of them taken out, thrown into

dungeons, and some of them, I understand, notwithstanding the British

guaranty, actually executed![28]

Where, then, sir, is this war, which on every side is pregnant with

such horrors, to be carried? Where is it to stop? Not till we establish

the House of Bourbon! And this you cherish the hope of doing, because

you have had a successful campaign. Why, sir, before this you have had

a successful campaign. The situation of the allies, with all they have

gained, is surely not to be compared now to what it was when you had

taken Valenciennes, Quesnoy, Condé, etc., which induced some gentlemen

in this House to prepare themselves for a march to Paris. With all that

you have gained, you surely will not say that the prospect is brighter

now than it was then. What have you gained but the recovery of a part

of what you before lost? One campaign is successful to you; another to

them; and in this way, animated by the vindictive passions of revenge,

hatred, and rancor, which are infinitely more flagitious, even, than

those of ambition and the thirst of power, you may go on forever; as,

with such black incentives, I see no end to human misery.

And all this without an intelligible motive. All this because you may

gain a better peace a year or two hence! So that we are called upon to

go on merely as a speculation. We must keep Bonaparte for some time

longer at war, as a state of probation. Gracious God, sir! is war a

state of probation? Is peace a rash system? Is it dangerous for nations

to live in amity with each other? Are your vigilance, your policy,

your common powers of observation, to be extinguished by putting

an end to the horrors of war? Can not this state of probation be as

well undergone without adding to the catalogue of human sufferings?

“But we must _pause_!” What! must the bowels of Great Britain be torn

out—her best blood be spilled—her treasure wasted—that you may make an

experiment? Put yourselves, oh! that you would put yourselves in the

field of battle, and learn to judge of the sort of horrors that you

excite! In former wars a man might, at least, have some feeling, some

interest, that served to balance in his mind the impressions which a

scene of carnage and of death must inflict. If a man had been present

at the battle of Blenheim, for instance, and had inquired the motive

of the battle, there was not a soldier engaged who could not have

satisfied his curiosity, and even, perhaps, allayed his feelings. They

were fighting, they knew, to repress the uncontrolled ambition of the

Grand Monarch. But if a man were present now at a field of slaughter,

and were to inquire for what they were fighting—“Fighting!” would be

the answer; “they are not fighting; they are _pausing_.” “Why is that

man expiring? Why is that other writhing with agony? What means this

implacable fury?” The answer must be: “You are quite wrong, sir;

you deceive yourself—they are not fighting—do not disturb them—they

are merely _pausing_! This man is not expiring with agony—that man

is not dead—he is only _pausing_! Lord help you, sir! they are not

angry with one another; they have now no cause of quarrel; but their

country thinks that there should be a _pause_. All that you see, sir,

is nothing like fighting—there is no harm, nor cruelty, nor bloodshed

in it whatever; it is nothing more than a _political pause_! It is

merely to try an experiment—to see whether Bonaparte will not behave

himself better than heretofore; and in the meantime we have agreed to a

_pause_, in pure friendship!” And is this the way, sir, that you are to

show yourselves the advocates of order? You take up a system calculated

to uncivilize the world—to destroy order—to trample on religion—to

stifle in the heart, not merely the generosity of noble sentiment, but

the affections of social nature; and in the prosecution of this system,

you spread terror and devastation all around you.

Sir, I have done. I have told you my opinion. I think you ought to

have given a civil, clear, and explicit answer to the overture which

was fairly and handsomely made you. If you were desirous that the

negotiation should have included all your allies, as the means of

bringing about a general peace, you should have told Bonaparte so.

But I believe you were afraid of his agreeing to the proposal. You

took that method before. Ay, but you say the people were anxious for

peace in 1797. I say they are friends to peace now; and I am confident

that you will one day acknowledge it. Believe me, they are friends

to peace; although by the laws which you have made, restraining the

expression of the sense of the people, public opinion can not now be

heard as loudly and unequivocally as heretofore. But I will not go into

the internal state of this country. It is too afflicting to the heart

to see the strides which have been made by means of, and under the

miserable pretext of, this war, against liberty of every kind, both of

power of speech and of writing, and to observe in another kingdom the

rapid approaches to that military despotism which we affect to make an

argument against peace. I know, sir, that public opinion, if it could

be collected, would be for peace, as much now as in 1797; and that it

is only by public opinion, and not by a sense of their duty, or by the

inclination of their minds, that ministers will be brought, if ever, to

give us peace.

I conclude, sir, with repeating what I said before: I ask for no

gentleman’s vote who would have reprobated the compliance of ministers

with the proposition of the French Government. I ask for no gentleman’s

support to-night who would have voted against ministers, if they had

come down and proposed to enter into a negotiation with the French. But

I have a right to ask, and in honor, in consistency, in conscience, I

have a right to expect, the vote of every honorable gentleman who would

have voted with ministers in an address to his Majesty, diametrically

opposite to the motion of this night.

This speech of Fox is said to have made a deep impression on the

House; but it appears scarcely to have weakened the opposition to

Napoleon’s measures as set forth in the speech of Pitt. The address

approving of the Government’s course was carried by the overwhelming

majority of 265 to 64. It was the reasoning of Pitt and the vote

which followed the debate that determined the general line of English

policy till Napoleon was landed at St. Helena. The speech of Fox,

though not successful in defeating the governmental policy, was the

ablest presentation ever made of the Opposition view.