Another branch of the subject is not less important. Considering all
these things, and especially how great powers abroad constantly menace
intervention, now by criticism and then by proffer of mediation, all
tending painfully to something further, it becomes us to see what,
according to International Law and the examples of history, will
justify foreign intervention, in any of the forms it may take. And here
there is one remark to be made at the outset. Nations are equal in the
eye of International Law, so that what is right for one is right for
all. It follows that no nation can justly exercise any right which it
is not bound to concede under like circumstances. Therefore, should our
cases be reversed, there is nothing England and France now propose,
or may hereafter propose, which it will not be our equal right to
propose, when Ireland or India once more rebels, or when France is in
the throes of its next revolution. Generously, and for the sake of that
international comity not lightly hazarded, we may reject the precedents
they furnish; but it will be difficult for them to complain, if we
follow their steps.
Foreign intervention is, on its face, inconsistent with every idea of
national independence, which in itself is the natural and acknowledged
right of a nation to rest undisturbed so long as it does not disturb
others. If nations stood absolutely alone, dissociated from each other,
so that what passed in one had little or no influence in another, only
a tyrannical or intermeddling spirit could fail to recognize this
right. But civilization, drawing nations nearer together and into one
society, brings them under reciprocal influence, so that no nation
can now act or suffer alone. Out of the relations and suggestions
of good neighborhood, involving the admitted right of self-defence,
springs the only justification or apology to be found for _foreign
intervention_, which is the general term to signify interposition in
the affairs of another country, whatever form it may take. Much is done
under the name of “good offices,” whether in the form of mediation or
intercession,--and much also by military power, whether in the declared
will of superior force or directly by arms. Recognition of independence
is also another instance. Intervention in any form is interference. If
peaceable, it must be judged by its motive and tendency; if forcible,
it will naturally be resisted by force.
Intervention may be between two or more nations, or between the two
parties to a civil war; and yet again, it may be where there is no
war, foreign or domestic. In each case it is governed by the same
principles, except, perhaps, that in the case of civil war there
should be more careful consideration, not only of the rights, but
of the susceptibilities of a nation so severely tried. Such is the
obvious suggestion of humanity. Intervention between nations is only
a common form of participation in foreign war, but intervention in a
civil war is intermeddling in the domestic concerns of another nation.
Whoever acts at the _joint invitation_ of belligerent parties to
compose a bloody strife is entitled to the blessings which belong
to the peacemakers; but, if uninvited, or acting at the invitation
of one party only, he will be careful to proceed with reserve and
tenderness, in the spirit of peace, and confining action to a proffer
of good offices in the form of mediation or intercession, unless he is
ready for war. Such proffer may be declined without offence. But it
can never be forgotten, that, _where one side is obviously fighting
for Barbarism_, any intervention, whatever form it takes,--if only
by captious criticism, calculated to encourage the wrong side, or to
secure for it time or temporary toleration, if not final success,--_is
plainly immoral_. If not contrary to the Law of Nations, it ought to be.
Intervention in the spirit of peace and for the sake of peace belongs
to the refinements of modern civilization. Intervention in the spirit
of war, if not for the sake of war, has filled a large space in
history, ancient and modern. But all these instances may be grouped
under two heads: first, intervention in _external_ affairs; and,
secondly, intervention in _internal_ affairs. The first is illustrated
by the intervention of the Elector Maurice of Saxony against Charles
the Fifth, of King William against Louis the Fourteenth, of Russia and
France in the Seven Years’ War, of Russia again between France and
Austria in 1805, and also between France and Prussia in 1806, and of
France, Great Britain, and Sardinia between Turkey and Russia in the
war of the Crimea.
The intervention of Russia, Austria, and Prussia in the affairs of
Poland, of Great Britain among the native provinces of India, and
of the Allied Powers in the French Revolution, under the continued
inspiration of the Treaty of Pilnitz, are illustrations of the second
head. Without dwelling on these great examples, I shall call attention
to instances showing more especially the growth of intervention,
first in external, and then in internal affairs. Here I shall conceal
nothing. Instances seeming against the principles I have at heart will
at least help illustrate the great subject, so that you may see it as
it is.
* * * * *
(1.) First in order, and for the sake of completeness, I speak of
intervention in _external_ affairs, where two or more nations are
parties.
As long ago as 1645, France offered mediation between what were then
called “The Two Crowns of the North,” Sweden and Denmark. This was
followed, in 1648, by the famous Peace of Westphalia, the beginning of
our present Law of Nations, negotiated under the joint mediation of
the Pope and the Republic of Venice, present by nuncio and ambassador.
In 1655, the Emperor of Germany offered mediation between Sweden and
Poland; but the old historian records that the Swedes suspected him
of seeking to increase rather than to arrange pending difficulties;
and the effort ended by the withdrawal of the imperial envoy into
the Polish camp. Sweden, though often belligerent in those days, was
not so always, and, in 1672, when war broke forth between France and
England on one side and the Dutch Provinces on the other, we find her
proffering mediation, which was promptly accepted by England, who
justly rejected a similar proffer most hardily made by the Elector
of Brandenburg, ancestor of the kings of Prussia, while marching at
the head of his forces to join the Dutch. The English note on this
occasion, written in what at the time was called “sufficiently bad
French, but in very intelligible terms,” declared that the Electoral
proffer, though under the pleasant name of mediation (_par le doux nom
de médiation_), was adjudged to be only arbitration, and that, instead
of mediation _unarmed and disinterested_, it was mediation armed and
pledged to the enemies of England.[52]
Such are earlier instances, all of which have their lessons for us.
There are modern, also. I allude only to the Triple Alliance, between
Great Britain, Prussia, and Holland, which, at the close of the last
century, successively intervened, by mediation which could not be
resisted, to compel Denmark, while siding with Russia against Sweden,
to remain neutral for the rest of the war,--then, in 1791, to dictate
terms of peace between Austria and the Porte,--and lastly, in 1792,
to constrain Russia into abandonment of her designs upon the Turkish
Empire by the Peace of Jassy. On this occasion, the Russian Empress,
Catharine the Second, peremptorily refused the mediation of Prussia,
and the mediating Alliance made its approaches through Denmark, by
whose good offices the Empress was finally induced to accept the
treaty. While thus engaged in professed mediation, England, in a
note to the French ambassador, declined to act as mediator between
France and the Allied Powers, leaving that world-embracing war to
proceed. Not only has England refused to act as mediator, but _also
refused submission to mediation_. This was during the last war with
the United States, when Russia, at that time the ally of England,
proffered mediation between the two belligerents, which was promptly
accepted by the United States. Its rejection by England, causing the
prolongation of hostilities, was considered by Sir James Mackintosh
less justifiable, as “a mediator is a common friend, who counsels both
parties with a weight proportioned to their belief in his integrity
and their respect for his power; but he is not an arbitrator, to whose
decision they submit their differences, and whose award is binding
on them.”[53] The Peace of Ghent was concluded at last under Russian
mediation. But England has not always been belligerent. When Andrew
Jackson menaced letters of marque against France, on account of failure
to pay a sum stipulated in a recent treaty with the United States,
King William the Fourth proffered mediation; but happily the whole
question was already virtually arranged. It appears, also, that, before
our war with Mexico, the good offices of England were tendered to the
two parties; but neither was willing to accept them, and war took its
course.
Such are instances of interference in external affairs; and since
International Law is traced in history, they furnish a guide we cannot
now neglect, especially when we regard the actual policy of England and
France.
* * * * *
(2.) Instances of foreign intervention in the _internal_ affairs
of a nation are more pertinent. They are numerous, and not always
harmonious, especially if we compare the new with the old. In the
earlier times such intervention was regarded with repugnance. But
the principle then declared has been sapped on the one side by
the conspiracies of tyranny seeking the suppression of liberal
institutions, and on the other by a generous sympathy breaking forth
from time to time in their support. According to old precedents,
most of which are found in the gossipping book of Wicquefort,[54]
whence they have been copied by Mr. Wildman, in his “Institutes of
International Law,”[55] even _foreign intercession_ was prohibited.
Not even in the name of charity could one ruler speak to another on
the domestic affairs of his government. Peter, King of Aragon, was
astonished at a proposed embassy from Alphonso, King of Castile,
entreating mercy for rebels. Charles the Ninth of France, a detestable
monarch, in reply to ambassadors of the Protestant princes of Germany,
pleading for his Protestant subjects, insolently declared that he
required no tutors to teach him how to rule. And yet this same
sovereign did not hesitate to ask the Duke of Savoy to receive certain
subjects “into his benign favor, and to restore and reëstablish them
in their confiscated estates.”[56] In this appeal there was a double
inconsistency; for it was not only interference in the affairs of
another prince, but it was in behalf of Protestants, only a few months
before the Massacre of St. Bartholomew. Henry the Third, successor of
Charles, and another detestable monarch, in reply to the Protestant
ambassadors, announced that he was a sovereign prince, and ordered them
to leave his dominions. Louis the Thirteenth was of milder nature,
and yet, when the English ambassador, the Earl of Carlisle, presumed
to speak in favor of the Huguenots, he intimated that no interference
between the King of France and his subjects could be approved. The
Cardinal Richelieu, who governed France so long, learning that an
attempt was made to procure the intercession of the Pope, stopped it
by a message to his Holiness, that the King would be displeased by any
such interference. The Pope himself, on another recorded occasion,
admitted that it would be a pernicious precedent for a subject to
negotiate terms of accommodation through a foreign prince. On still
another occasion, when the King of France, forgetting his own rule,
interposed in behalf of the Barberini family, Innocent the Tenth
declared, that, having no desire to interfere in the affairs of France,
he trusted his Majesty would not interfere in his. Queen Christina of
Sweden, merely hinting a disposition to proffer good offices for the
settlement of the unhappy divisions in France, was told by the Queen
Regent that she need give herself no trouble about them, and one of
her own ministers at Stockholm declared that the overture was properly
rejected. Nor were the States General of Holland less sensitive. They
even refused audience to the Spanish ambassador seeking to congratulate
them on the settlement of a domestic question; and when the French
ambassador undertook to plead for Roman Catholics, the States, by
formal resolution, denounced his conduct as inconsistent with the peace
and constitution of the Republic, all of which was communicated to him
by eight deputies, who added in speech whatever the resolution seemed
to want in plainness.
Nor is England without similar example. Louis the Thirteenth, shortly
after the marriage of his sister Henrietta Maria with Charles the
First, consented that the English ambassadors should interpose for
French Protestants; but when the French ambassador in England requested
the repeal of a law against Roman Catholics, Charles expressed his
surprise that the King of France should presume to intermeddle in
English affairs. Even as late as 1746, when, after the Battle of
Culloden, the Dutch ambassador in France was induced to address the
British Government in behalf of the unfortunate Charles Edward, to the
effect, that, if taken, he should not be treated as a rebel, it is
recorded that this intercession was greatly resented by the British
Government, which, not content with apology from the unfortunate
official, required that he should be rebuked by his own Government
also.[57] And this is British testimony with regard to intervention in
a civil war, even when it took the mildest form of intercession for the
life of a prince.
In face of such repulses, all these nations, at different times,
practised intervention in every variety of form,--sometimes by
intercession or “good offices” only, sometimes by mediation, and often
by arms. Even these instances attest the intermeddling spirit; for such
intervention, however received, was at least attempted.
Two precedents belonging to the earlier period deserve to stand apart,
not only for historic importance, but for applicability to our times.
The first was the effort to institute mediation between King Charles
the First and his Parliament, attempted by Cardinal Mazarin, that
powerful minister, who, during the minority of Louis the Fourteenth,
swayed France. The civil war had been waged for years; good men on each
side had fallen,--Falkland fighting for the King, and Hampden fighting
for the Parliament,--and other costliest blood been shed on the fields
of Edgehill, Newbury, Marston Moor, and Naseby, when the ambitious
Cardinal, wishing to serve the King, promised, as Clarendon relates,
“to press the Parliament so imperiously, and to denounce a war against
them, if they refused to yield to what was reasonable.”[58] For this
important service he selected the famous Pomponne de Bellièvre, of a
family tried in public duties,--himself President of the Parliament
of Paris and peer of France,--conspicuous in personal qualities as in
place, whose beautiful head, preserved by the graver of Nanteuil, is
illustrious in Art, and whose dying charity lives still in the great
hospital of the Hôtel Dieu, at Paris. Arriving at London, the graceful
ambassador presented himself to that Long Parliament which knew so
well how to guard English rights. At once every overture was rejected
in formal proceedings, from which I copy these words: “We do declare
that we ourselves have been careful to improve all occasions to compose
these unhappy troubles, _yet we have not, neither can we, admit of any
mediation or interposing betwixt the King and us by any foreign prince
or state_. And we desire that his Majesty, the French King, will rest
satisfied with this our resolution and answer.”[59] On the committee
which drew this reply was John Selden, unsurpassed for learning and
ability in the whole splendid history of the English bar, in every
book of whose library was written, “Before everything, Liberty,” and
also that Harry Vane whom Milton, in one of his most inspired sonnets,
addresses as
“Vane, young in years, but in sage counsel old,
Than whom a better Senator ne’er held
The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms, repelled
The fierce Epirot and the African bold.”
The answer of such men is a precedent for us, especially should
England, taking up the rejected policy of Mazarin, presumptuously send
any ambassador to stay the Republic in its war with Slavery.
The same heart of oak, so strenuous to repel intervention of France
between King and Parliament, was not less strenuous the other way, when
intervention could serve the rights of England or the principles of
religious liberty. Such was England when ruled by the great Protector,
called in his own day “chief of men.” No nation so powerful as to be
exempt from that irresistible intercession, where, beneath the garb
of peace, was a gleam of arms. From France, even under the rule of
Mazarin, he claimed respect for the Protestant name, which he insisted
upon making great and glorious. From Spain, on whose extended empire
the sun did not cease to shine, he required that no Englishman should
be subject to the Inquisition. Reading to his Council a despatch from
Admiral Blake, announcing justice obtained from the Viceroy of Malaga,
Cromwell said, that “he hoped to make the name of Englishman as great
as ever that of Roman had been.”[60] In this same exalted mood he
turned to propose mediation between Protestant Sweden and Protestant
Bremen, “chiefly bewailing, that, being both his friends, they should
so despitefully combat one against another,” offering his assistance
to “a commodious accommodation on both sides,” and exhorting them “by
no means to refuse any honest conditions of reconciliation.”[61] Here
was intervention between nation and nation; but it was soon followed
by intervention in the internal affairs of a distant country, which of
all the acts of Cromwell is the most touching and sublime. The French
ambassador, while at Whitehall, urging the signature of a treaty,
was unexpectedly interrupted by news from a secluded valley of the
Alps, far away among mountain torrents, affluents of the Po, that a
company of pious Protestants, for centuries gathered there, keeping
the truth pure, “when all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones,”
were suffering terrible persecution from their sovereign, Emanuel of
Savoy. Despoiled of all possessions and liberties, brutally driven from
their homes, given over to licentious and infuriate violence, and then
turning in self-defence, they had been “slain by the bloody Piemontese,
that rolled mother with infant down the rocks”; and it was reported
that French troops took part in the dismal transaction. The Protector
heard the story, and his pity flashed into anger. He would not sign
the treaty until France united with him in securing justice to these
humble sufferers, whom he called the Lord’s people. For their relief he
contributed out of his own purse two thousand pounds, and authorized a
general collection throughout England, which reached a large sum; but
besides money, he set apart a day of humiliation and prayer for them.
Nor was this all. “I should be glad,” wrote his Secretary, Thurloe,
“to have a most particular account of that business, and to know
what is become of those poor people, for whom our very souls here do
bleed.”[62] But a pen mightier than that of any plodding secretary was
enlisted in this pious intervention. It was John Milton, glowing with
that indignation which his sonnet “On the Massacre in Piemont” makes
immortal in the heart of man, who wrote the magnificent despatches,
where the English nation of that day, after declaring itself “linked
together” with its distant brethren, “not only by the same tie of
humanity, but by joint communion of the same religion,” naturally and
grandly insisted that “both this edict and whatsoever may be decreed
to their disturbance upon the account of the Reformed Religion” should
be abrogated, “and that an end be put to their oppressions.”[63] Not
content with this call upon the Duke of Savoy, the Protector appealed
to Louis the Fourteenth and his Cardinal Minister, to the States
General of Holland, the Protestant Cantons of Switzerland, the King of
Denmark, the King of Sweden, and even to the Protestant Reformed Prince
of remote Transylvania,--and always by the pen of Milton,--rallying
these princes and powers in joint entreaty and intervention, and, if
need were, to “some other course to be speedily taken, that such a
numerous multitude of our innocent brethren may not miserably perish
for want of succor and assistance.”[64] The Regent of Savoy, daughter
of Henry the Fourth, professed to be affected by this English charity,
and announced for her Protestant subjects a free pardon, and also
“such privileges and graces as could not but give the Lord Protector a
sufficient evidence _how great a respect they bare both to his person
and mediation_.”[65] But there was still delay. Meanwhile Cromwell
began to inquire where in the Prince’s territories English troops might
debark, and Mazarin, anxious to complete the yet unfinished treaty,
joined in requiring immediate pacification of the Valleys and the
restoration of these persecuted people to their ancient liberties.
It was done. Such is the grandest intervention of English history,
inspired by Milton, enforced by Cromwell, and sustained by Louis the
Fourteenth with his Cardinal Minister by his side, while foreign
nations watched the scene.
This great instance, constituting an inseparable part of the
Protector’s glory, is not the last where England intervened for
Protestant liberties. Troubles, beginning in France with the Revocation
of the Edict of Nantes, broke forth in the rebellion of the Camisards,
smarting under the Revocation. Sheltered by the mountains of the
Cevennes, and nerved by a good cause, with the device “Liberty of
Conscience” on their standards, they made head against two successive
marshals of France, and perplexed the old age of Louis the Fourteenth,
whose arms were already enfeebled by foreign war. At last, through the
mediation of England, the great monarch made terms with his Protestant
rebels, and this civil war was brought to a close.[66]
Intervention, more often armed than unarmed, showed itself in the
middle of the last century. All decency was set aside, when Frederick
of Prussia, Catharine of Russia, and Maria Theresa of Austria invaded
and partitioned Poland, under pretext of suppressing anarchy. Here
was intervention with a vengeance, and on the side of arbitrary
power. Such is human inconsistency, almost at the same time was
another intervention in the opposite direction. It was the armed
intervention of France, followed by that of Spain and Holland, in
behalf of American Independence. Spain began by offer of mediation
with a truce, which was accepted by France on condition that meanwhile
the United States should be independent _in fact_.[67] Then came, in
1788, the armed intervention of Prussia to sustain the Orange faction
in Holland, followed soon by the compact between Great Britain,
Prussia, and Holland, known as the Triple Alliance, which entered upon
the business of its copartnership by armed intervention to reconcile
the insurgent provinces of Belgium with the German Emperor and their
ancient Constitution. As France began to shake with domestic troubles,
mediation in her affairs was proposed. Among the papers of Burke,
in 1791, is the draught of a memorial, in the name of the British
Government, offering what he calls “this healing mediation.”[68] Then
came the vast coalition for armed intervention in France to put down
the Republic. This dreary cloud was for a moment brightened by a
British attempt in Parliament, through successive debates, to institute
an intercession for Lafayette, immured in the dungeons of European
despotism. “It is reported,” said one of the orators, “that America has
solicited the liberation of her unfortunate adopted fellow-citizen.…
Let British magnanimity be called to the aid of American gratitude,
and exhibit to mankind a noble proof, that, wherever the principles of
genuine liberty prevail, _they never fail to inspire sentiments of
generosity, feelings of humanity, and a detestation of oppression_.”[69]
Meanwhile France, against whom all Europe intervened, played her
part of intervention, and the scene was Switzerland. In the unhappy
disputes between the aristocratic and democratic parties by which this
Republic was distracted, French mediation became chronic, beginning
in 1738, when it found partial apology in the invitation of several
cantons and of Geneva; occurring again in 1768, and again in 1782. The
mountain Republic, breathing the air of Freedom, was naturally moved
by the convulsions of the French Revolution. Civil war ensued, and
grew in bitterness. At last, when France herself was composed under
the powerful arm of the First Consul, we find him turning to compose
Swiss troubles. He was a military ruler, and always acted under the
instincts of military power. By proclamation, dated at the palace of
St. Cloud, September 30, 1802, Bonaparte declared that for three years
the Swiss had been slaying each other, and that, if left to themselves,
they would continue to slay each other for three years more, without
reaching any understanding; that, at first, he had resolved not to
interfere, but that he now changed his mind, and announced himself
as mediator of their difficulties, proclaiming confidently that his
mediation would be efficacious, as became the great people in whose
name he spoke. Deputies from the cantons, together with the chief
citizens, were summoned to declare the means of restoring the Union,
securing peace, and reconciling all parties.[70] This was armed
mediation; but Switzerland was weak and France strong, while the
declared object was union, peace, and reconciliation. I know not if all
this ensued, but the civil war was stifled, and the Constitution was
established by what is entitled in history the Act of Mediation.
From that period down to the present moment, intervention in the
internal affairs of other nations has been a prevailing practice, now
cautiously and peaceably, now offensively and forcibly. Sometimes
it was against the rights of men, sometimes it was in their favor.
Sometimes England and France stood aloof, sometimes they took part.
The Congress of Vienna, which undertook to settle the map of Europe,
organized universal and perpetual intervention in the interest
of monarchical institutions and existing dynasties. This compact
was renewed at the Congress of Aix-la-Chapelle, in 1818, with the
explanatory declaration, that the five great powers would never assume
jurisdiction over questions concerning the rights and interests of
another power, _except at its request_, and without inviting such power
to take part in the conference,--a concession obviously adverse to any
liberal movement. Meanwhile appeared the Holy Alliance, specially to
watch and control the revolutionary tendencies of the age; but into
this combination England most honorably declined to enter. The other
powers were sufficiently active. Austria, Russia, and Prussia did
not hesitate at the Congress of Laybach, in 1821, to institute armed
intervention for the suppression of liberal principles in Naples; and
again, two years later, at the Congress of Verona, these same powers,
together with France, instituted another armed intervention to suppress
liberal principles in Spain, which ultimately led to the invasion of
that kingdom and the overthrow of its Constitution. France was the
belligerent agent, and would not be turned aside, although the Duke of
Wellington at Verona, and Mr. Canning at home, sought to arrest her
armies by the mediation of Great Britain, which was directly sought
by Spain and directly refused by France. The British Government, in
admirable letters, composed with unsurpassed skill, and constituting
a noble page of International Law, “disclaimed for itself, and denied
for other powers, the right of requiring any changes in the internal
institutions of independent states, _with the menace of hostile attack
in case of refusal_”; and bravely declared to the imperial and royal
interventionists, that, “so long as the struggles and disturbances of
Spain should be confined within the circle of her own territory, they
could not be admitted by the British Government to afford any plea
of foreign interference”; and in still another note repeated that a
“_menace of direct and imminent danger could alone, in exception to the
general rule, justify foreign interference_.”[71] These were the words
of Mr. Canning; but even Lord Castlereagh, in an earlier note, asserted
the same limitation, which, at a later day, had the unqualified support
of Lord Grey, and also of Lord Aberdeen. Justly interpreted, they
leave no apology for armed intervention, except in case of direct and
imminent danger, when a nation, like an individual, may be thrown upon
the great right of self-defence.
Great Britain bore testimony by what she did, as well as by what she
refused to do. Even while resisting the armed intervention of the
great conspiracy, her Government intervened sometimes by mediation
and sometimes by arms. Early in the contest between Spain and her
colonies she consented to act as mediator, on the invitation of the
former, in hope of effecting reconciliation; but Spain declined the
mediation she had invited. From 1812 to 1823, Great Britain constantly
repeated her offer. In the case of Portugal she went further. Under
the counsels of Mr. Canning, whose speech on the occasion was of the
most memorable character, she intervened by landing troops at Lisbon;
but this intervention was vindicated by the obligations of treaty.
Next came the greater instance of Greece, when the Christian powers
of Europe intervened to arrest a protracted struggle and to save this
classic land from Turkish tyranny. Here the first step was _a pressing
invitation from the Greeks_ to the British and French Governments
for their mediation with the Ottoman Porte. These powers united with
Russia in proffering the much desired intervention, which the Greeks at
once accepted and the Turks rejected. Already battle raged fiercely,
reddened by barbarous massacre. Without delay, the allied forces were
directed to compel the cessation of hostilities, which was accomplished
by the destruction of the Turkish fleet at Navarino and the occupation
of the Morea by French troops. At last, under the continued mediation
of these powers, the independence of Greece was recognized by the
Ottoman Porte, and another commonwealth consecrated to Freedom
took its place in the Family of Nations. But mediation in Turkish
affairs did not stop. The example of Greece was followed by Egypt,
whose provincial chief, Mehemet Ali, rebelled, and by genius for war
succeeded in dispossessing the Ottoman Porte not only of Egypt, but of
other possessions also. This civil war was first arrested by temporary
arrangement at Kutaieh, in 1833, under the mediation of Great Britain
and France, and finally ended by an armed mediation in 1840, when,
after elaborate and irritating discussions threatening to involve
Europe, a treaty was concluded at London between Great Britain, Russia,
Austria, and Prussia, by which the Pacha was compelled to relinquish
his conquests, while he was secured in the Government of Egypt as
perpetual vassal of the Porte. France, dissatisfied with the terms of
this adjustment, stood aloof from the treaty, which found apology,
such as it had, first, in the invitation of the Sultan, and, secondly,
in the desire to preserve the integrity of the Turkish Empire, as
essential to the balance of power and the peace of Europe, to which may
also be added the desire to stop effusion of blood.
Before the Eastern questions were settled, other complications
commenced in Western Europe. Belgium, restless from the French
Revolution of 1830, rose against the House of Orange and claimed
independence. Civil war ensued; but the great powers promptly
intervened, even to the extent of arresting a Dutch army on its march.
Beginning with armistice, there was a long and fine-spun negotiation,
which, assuming the guise alternately of pacific mediation and of armed
intervention, ended in the established separation of Belgium from
Holland, and its recognition as an independent nation. Do you ask why
Great Britain intervened on this occasion? Lord John Russell, in the
course of debate at a subsequent day, declared that a special motive
was “the establishment of a free constitution.”[72] Meanwhile the
Peninsula of Spain and Portugal was torn by civil war. The regents of
these two kingdoms respectively appealed to Great Britain and France
for aid, especially in the expulsion of the pretender Don Carlos from
Spain and the pretender Dom Miguel from Portugal. For this purpose the
Quadruple Alliance was formed in 1834. The moral support from this
treaty is said to have been important, but Great Britain was compelled
to provide troops. This intervention, however, was _at the solicitation
of the actual Governments_. Even after Spanish troubles were settled,
war still lingered in the sister kingdom, when, in 1847, the Queen
addressed herself to her allies, among whom was Great Britain, the
ancient patron of Portugal, who undertook to mediate between her
and her insurgent subjects, in the declared hope of composing the
difficulties “in a just and permanent manner, with all due regard to
the dignity of the crown on the one hand, and to the constitutional
liberties of the nation on the other.”[73] The insurgents did not
submit until after military demonstrations. Liberty and Peace were the
two watchwords.
Then occurred the European uprising of 1848, with France once more a
Republic; but Europe, wiser grown, did not interfere even so much as to
write a letter. The case was different with Hungary, whose victorious
armies, radiant with Liberty regained, expelled the Austrian power
only to be arrested by the armed intervention of the Russian Czar, who
yielded to the double pressure of invitation from Austria and fear
that successful insurrection might extend into Poland. It was left
for France, in another country, with strange inconsistency, to play
the part which Russia played in Hungary. Rome, after rising against
the temporal power of the Pope and proclaiming the Republic, was
occupied by a French army, which expelled the republican magistrates,
and, though fourteen years are already passed since that unhappy
act, the occupation still continues. From this military intervention
Great Britain stands aloof. In a despatch, dated at London, January
28, 1849, Lord Palmerston makes a permanent record, to the honor of
his country, as follows: “Her Majesty’s Government would, upon every
account, and not only upon abstract principle, but with reference
to the general interests of Europe, and from the value which they
attach to the maintenance of peace, _sincerely deprecate any attempt
to settle the differences between the Pope and his subjects by the
military interference of foreign powers_.”[74] This statesman gives
further point to the position of Great Britain in contrast with
France, when he says: “Armed intervention _to assist in retaining a
bad Government would be unjustifiable_.”[75] Such was the declaration
of the Lord Palmerston of that day. How much more unjustifiable the
strange assistance now proposed _to found_ a bad Government! The
British minister insisted that the differences should be accommodated
by “the diplomatic interposition of friendly powers,” which he declared
a “much better mode of settlement than an authoritative imposition of
terms by the force of foreign arms.”[76] In harmony with this policy,
Great Britain, during the same year, united with France in proffering
mediation between the insurgent Sicilians and the King of Naples, the
notorious Bomba, in the hope of helping good government and liberal
principles. Not disheartened by rebuff, these two powers, in 1856,
united in friendly remonstrance to the same tyrannical sovereign
against the harsh system of political arrests, and against his cruelty
to good citizens thrust without trial into the worst of prisons. The
advice was indignantly rejected, and the two powers that gave it
withdrew their ministers from Naples. The sympathy of Russia was on the
wrong side, and Prince Gortschakoff, in a circular, while admitting,
that, “as a consequence of friendly fore-thought, one Government might
give advice to another,” declared, that “to endeavor by threats or a
menacing demonstration to obtain from the King of Naples concessions in
the internal affairs of his Government is a violent usurpation of his
authority, and an open declaration of the right of the strong over the
weak.”[77] This was practically answered by Lord Clarendon, speaking
for Great Britain at the Congress of Paris, when, admitting the
principle that no Government has the right to interfere in the internal
affairs of other states, he declares that there are cases where an
exception to this rule becomes equally a right and a duty; that peace
must not be broken, but that there is no peace without justice; and
that therefore the Congress must let the King of Naples know its desire
for the amelioration of his Government, and must demand amnesty for
political offenders suffering without trial.[78] This language was bold
beyond the practice of diplomacy, but the intervention it proposed was
on the side of humanity.
I must draw this chapter to a close, although the long list is not
yet exhausted. Even while I speak, we hear of intervention by England
and France in the civil war between the Emperor of China and his
subjects,--and also in that other war between the Emperor of Russia
on the one side and the Poles whom he claims as subjects on the
other, but with this difference, that in China these powers take
the part of the existing Government, while in Poland they intervene
against the existing Government. In the face of positive declarations
of neutrality, the British and French admirals have united their
forces with the Chinese; but thus far in Poland, although there is no
declaration of neutrality, the intervention is unarmed. In both these
instances we witness a common tendency, directed, it may be, by the
interests or prejudices of the time, and, so far as it has proceeded,
it is, at least in Poland, on the side of liberal institutions. But,
alas for human consistency! the French Emperor is now intervening
in Mexico with armies and navies to build an imperial throne for an
Austrian Archduke.
* * * * *
There is one long-continued British intervention, which speaks now
with controlling power; and it is on this account that I reserve it
for the close of what I have to say on this head. Though not without
original shades of dark, it has for more than half a century been a
shining example to the civilized world. I refer to that _intervention
against Slavery_, which, from its first adoption, has been so constant
and brilliant as to make us forget the earlier _intervention in behalf
of Slavery_, when, for instance, at the Peace of Utrecht, Great
Britain intervened to extort the detestable privilege of supplying
slaves to Spanish America at the rate of four thousand eight hundred
yearly during the space of thirty years, and then again, at the Peace
of Aix-la-Chapelle, higgled for a yet longer sanction of the ignoble
intervention; nay, it almost makes us forget the kindred intervention,
at once sordid and criminal, by which this power counteracted all
efforts for the prohibition of the slave-trade even in its own
colonies, and thus helped to fasten Slavery upon Virginia and Carolina.
The abolition of the slave-trade by Act of Parliament, in 1807, was
the signal for a change of history. A British poet at the time gave
exulting expression to the grandeur of the epoch:--
“‘Thy chains are broken, Africa, be free!’
Thus saith the island-empress of the sea;
Thus saith Britannia. O ye winds and waves,
Waft the glad tidings to the land of slaves!”[79]
Curiously, it was the other color which gained the first fruits of
this revolution, by triumphant intervention for the overthrow of
White Slavery in the Barbary States. The old hero of Acre, Sir Sidney
Smith, released from long imprisonment in France, sought to organize
a “holy league” for this purpose; the subject was discussed at the
Congress of Vienna; and the agents of Spain and Portugal, anxious
for the punishment of their piratical neighbors, argued, that,
because Great Britain had abolished for itself the traffic in African
slaves, therefore it must see that whites were no longer enslaved
in the Barbary States. The argument was less logical than humane.
But Great Britain undertook the work. With a fleet complete at all
points, consisting of five line-of-battle ships, five frigates, four
bomb-vessels, and five gun-brigs, Lord Exmouth approached Algiers,
where he was joined by a considerable Dutch fleet, anxious to take
part. “If force must be resorted to,” said the Admiral in general
orders shortly before, “we have the consolation of knowing that we
fight in the sacred cause of Humanity, and cannot fail of success.”
Less than half a day was enough, with such a force in such a cause. The
formidable castles of the great Slavemonger were battered to pieces,
and he was compelled to sign a treaty, confirmed under a salute of
twenty-one guns, which in its first article stipulated “the abolition
of Christian Slavery forever.” Glorious and beneficent intervention!
Not inferior to that renowned instance of Antiquity, where the
Carthaginians were required to abolish the practice of sacrificing
their own children,--a treaty which has been called the noblest of
history, because stipulated in favor of human nature. The Admiral who
had thus triumphed was hailed as Emancipator. He received a new rank
in the peerage, and a new blazonry on his coat of arms. The rank is
continued in his family, and on their shield, in perpetual memory of
this great transaction, is still borne _a Christian slave holding
aloft the Cross and dropping his broken fetters_. But the personal
satisfactions of the Admiral were more than rank or heraldry. In his
despatch to the Government, describing the battle, and written at the
time, he says: “To have been one of the humble instruments in the hands
of Divine Providence for bringing to reason a ferocious Government and
destroying forever the insufferable and horrid system of Christian
Slavery, can never cease to be a source of delight and heartfelt
comfort to every individual happy enough to be employed in it.”[80]
I have said too much with regard to an instance, which, though
beautiful and important, is only a parenthesis in the grander and more
extensive intervention against African Slavery, which was already
organizing, destined at last to embrace the whole human family. Even
before Wilberforce triumphed in Parliament, Great Britain intervened
with Napoleon, in 1806, pressing him to join in the abolition of the
slave-trade; but he flatly refused. What France would not then yield
was exacted from Portugal in 1810, from Sweden in 1813, and from
Denmark in 1814. An ineffectual attempt was made to enlist Spain,
even by temptation of pecuniary subsidies,--and an appeal was made to
the restored monarch of France, Louis the Eighteenth, with the offer
of a sum of money outright or the cession of a West India island, in
consideration of the desired abolition. The Prince Regent wrote with
his own hand to the latter, assuring him that he could not give a more
acceptable proof of his regard than by consenting to the abolition.
Had gratitude to a benefactor prevailed, these powers could not have
resisted; but Lord Castlereagh confessed in the House of Commons, that
in France there was distrust of the British Government “even among the
better classes of people,” who thought that its zeal in this behalf was
prompted by desire to injure the French colonies and commerce, rather
than by benevolence. The British minister was more successful with
Portugal, where pecuniary equivalents led to a supplementary treaty, in
January, 1815. This was followed by the declaration of the Congress of
Vienna, on motion of Lord Castlereagh, 8th February, 1815, denouncing
the African slave-trade “as repugnant to the principles of humanity
and of universal morality.” Meanwhile Napoleon returned from Elba,
and what British intervention failed to accomplish with the Bourbon
monarch, and the Emperor once flatly refused, was now spontaneously
done by him, doubtless in the hope of conciliating British sentiment.
His hundred days of power were signalized by an ordinance abolishing
the slave-trade in France and her colonies. Louis the Eighteenth, once
again restored by British arms, and with the shadow of Waterloo resting
upon France, could not do less than ratify the imperial ordinance by
a royal assurance that “the traffic was henceforth forever forbidden
to all the subjects of his most Christian Majesty.”[81] Holland
came under the same influence, and accepted the restitution of her
colonies, except the Cape of Good Hope and Guiana, on condition of
the entire abolition of the slave-trade in the restored colonies, and
also everywhere else beneath her flag. Spain was the most indocile;
but this proud monarchy, under whose auspices the African slave-trade
first came into being, at last yielded. By the treaty of Madrid, of 23d
September, 1817, extorted by Great Britain, it stipulated the immediate
abolition of the trade north of the equator, and also, after 1820,
its abolition everywhere, in consideration of four hundred thousand
pounds, the price of Freedom, paid by the other contracting party. In
vindication of this intervention, Wilberforce declared in Parliament,
that “the grant to Spain would be more than repaid to Great Britain in
commercial advantages by the opening of a great continent to British
industry,”--all of which was impossible, if the slave-trade was allowed
to continue under the Spanish flag.[82]
At the Congress of Aix-la-Chapelle, in 1818, and of Verona, in
1822, Great Britain continued her intervention against Slavery.
Chateaubriand, in his history of the latter Congress, pauses to
express his admiration of the “singular perseverance” in this cause
manifested by her at all Congresses, amidst questions the most urgent
and interests the most pressing.[83] Here her primacy was undisputed,
and her fame complete. It was the common remark of Continental
publicists, that she “made the cause her own.”[84] One of them portrays
her vividly, since 1810 waging “relentless war” against the principle
of the slave-trade, and by this “crusade,” undertaken in the name of
Humanity, making herself the “declared protectress” of the African
race. These are the words of a French authority.[85] According to
him, it is nothing less than “relentless war” and a “crusade” which
she has waged, and the position which she has achieved is that of
“protectress” of the African race,--while no less a person than
Chateaubriand recognizes with admiration the “singular perseverance”
she has displayed in this practical extension of Christianity. Not
content with imposing her magnanimous system upon the civilized world,
she carried it among the tribes and chiefs of Africa, who, by her
omnipresent intervention, were summoned to renounce a barbarous and
criminal custom. By a Parliamentary Report, it appears that in 1849
there were twenty-four treaties in force between Great Britain and
foreign civilized powers for the suppression of the slave-trade, and
also forty-two similar treaties between Great Britain and native chiefs
of Africa.[86]
This intervention was not by treaties only; it was by correspondence
and circulars also. And here I approach a part of the subject which
illustrates the vivacity of its character. All British ministers and
consuls were so many pickets on constant guard in the outposts. They
were held to every service by which the cause could be promoted,
even to translating and printing documents against the slave-trade,
especially in countries where, unhappily, it was still pursued. There
was the Pope’s Bull of 1839, which Lord Palmerston transmitted for this
purpose to his agents in Cuba, Brazil, and even in Turkey, some of whom
were unsuccessful in their efforts to obtain its publication, although,
curiously enough, it was published in Turkey.[87]
Such zeal could not stop at the abolition of the traffic. Accordingly,
Great Britain, by Act of Parliament, in 1834, enfranchised all the
slaves in her own possessions, and thus again secured to herself the
primacy of a lofty cause. The intervention was now openly declared to
be against Slavery itself, assuming its most positive character while
Lord Palmerston was Foreign Secretary,--and I say this sincerely to his
great honor. Throughout his long life, among all the various concerns
in which he has acted, there is nothing to be remembered hereafter with
such gratitude. By his untiring diplomacy her Majesty’s Government
constituted itself a vast Abolition Society, with the whole world for
its field. It was in no respect behind the famous World’s Convention
against Slavery, held at London in June, 1840, with Thomas Clarkson,
the pioneer Abolitionist, as President; for the strongest declarations
of this Convention were adopted by Lord Palmerston as “the sentiments
of her Majesty’s Government,” and communicated officially to British
functionaries in foreign lands. The Convention declared “the utter
injustice of Slavery in all its forms, and the evil it inflicts upon
its miserable victims, and the necessity of employing every means,
moral, religious, and pacific, for its complete abolition, an object
most dear to the members of this Convention, and for the consummation
of which they are especially assembled.”[88] These words became the
words of the British Government, and in circular letters were sent over
the world.
It was not enough to declare the true principles. They must be
enforced. Spain and Portugal hung back. The Secretary of the
Antislavery Society was sent “to endeavor to create in those countries
a public feeling in favor of the abolition of Slavery”; and the British
minister at Lisbon was desired by Lord Palmerston to “afford all the
assistance and protection in his power for promoting the object of his
journey.”[89] British functionaries abroad sometimes backslided. This
was corrected by circulars setting forth “that it would be unfitting
that any officer holding an appointment under the British Crown
should, either directly or indirectly, hold or be interested in slave
property.”[90] The Parliamentary Papers which attest the universality
of this instruction show the completeness with which it was executed.
The consul at Rio Janeiro, in slaveholding Brazil, had among his
domestics three negro slaves, two men and a woman; “of the men one was
a groom and the other a waiter, and the woman he was forced to hire
to nurse one of his children”; but he discharged them at once, under
the antislavery discipline of the British Foreign Office, and Lord
Palmerston, in formal despatch, “expresses his satisfaction.”[91] In
Cuba, at the time of its reception, there was not a single resident
officer, holding under the British Crown, “who was entirely free from
the charge of countenancing Slavery.” But only a few weeks afterwards
it was officially reported from Havana that there was “not a single
British officer residing within the consular jurisdiction who had
not relinquished, or was not at least preparing to relinquish, this
odious practice.”[92] This was quick work. The metamorphosis was prompt
as anything in ancient fable. Every person holding office under the
British Government at once set his face against Slavery, _and the way
was by having nothing to do with it, even in employing or hiring the
slave of another,--nothing, “directly or indirectly”_.
Lord Palmerston, acting in the name of the British Government, did not
stop with changing British officials into practical Abolitionists,
whenever they were in foreign countries. He sought to enlist other
European Governments, and to this end requested them to forbid their
functionaries residing in slaveholding communities to be interested
in slave property or in any holding or hiring of slaves. Denmark
for a moment hesitated, from unwillingness to debar them from acting
according to the laws where they resided, when the minister at once
cited in support of his request the example of Belgium, Hanover,
Holland, Sweden, Naples, Portugal, and Sardinia, all without delay
having yielded to this British intervention, and Denmark ranged herself
in the list.[93] Nor was this indefatigable Propaganda confined to the
Christian powers. With a sacred pertinacity it reached into distant
Mohammedan regions, where Slavery was imbedded not only in the laws,
but the habits, the social system, and the very life of the people,
and called upon the Government to act against it. No impediment
deterred,--no prejudice, national or religious. To the Shah of Persia,
ruling a vast, outlying slave empire, Lord Palmerston announced the
desire of the British Government “to see the slave-trade put down
and the condition of Slavery abolished in every part of the world”;
“that it conceived much good might be accomplished in these respects,
even in Mohammedan countries, by steady perseverance, and by never
omitting to take advantage of favorable opportunities”; and “that
the Shah would be doing a thing extremely acceptable to the British
Government and nation, if he would issue a decree prohibiting for the
future the importation of slaves of any kind into Persia, and making it
penal for a Persian to purchase slaves.”[94] To the Sultan of Turkey,
whose mother was a slave, whose wives were all slaves, and whose very
counsellors, generals, and admirals were originally slaves, he made a
similar appeal, and he sought to win the dependent despot by reminding
him that only in this way could he hope for that good-will which was
so essential to his Government; “that the continued support of Great
Britain will, for some years to come, be an object of importance to
the Porte,--_that this support cannot be given effectually, unless the
sentiments and opinions of the majority of the British nation shall
be favorable to the Turkish Government,--and that the whole of the
British nation unanimously desire, beyond almost anything else, to put
an end to the cruel practice of making slaves_.”[95] Such, at that
time, was the voice of the British people. Since Cromwell pleaded for
the Vaudois, no nobler voice had gone forth. The World’s Convention
against Slavery saw itself transfigured, while platform speeches
were transfused into diplomatic notes. The Convention, earnest for
Universal Emancipation, declared that “_the friendly interposition_ of
Great Britain could be employed for no nobler purpose,” and, as if to
crown its work, in an address to Lord Palmerston, humbly and earnestly
implored his Lordship to use his high authority for “connecting the
overthrow of Slavery with the consolidation of Peace”; and these
words were at once adopted in foreign despatches, as expressing the
sentiments of her Majesty’s Government.[96] Better watchwords could
not be, nor any more worthy of the British name. _There can be no
consolidation of Peace without the overthrow of Slavery._ This is as
true now as when first uttered. Therefore is Great Britain still bound
to her original faith; nor can she abandon the cause, of which she
was the declared protectress, without betrayal of Peace, as well as
betrayal of Liberty.
Even now while I speak this same conspicuous fidelity to a sacred
cause is announced. The ship canal across the Isthmus of Suez, first
attempted by the early Pharaohs, and at last resumed by French
influence, under the auspices of the Pacha, is most zealously opposed
by Great Britain for the declared reason that in its construction
“forced labor” is employed, which this power cannot in conscience
sanction. Not even to complete this vast beneficence, bringing East
and West near together, for which mankind has waited throughout long
centuries, will Great Britain depart from the rule so gloriously
declared. Slavery is wrong, therefore not to be employed. The canal
must stop, if it cannot be constructed without “forced labor.”
The veteran statesman who did so much in this cause, weaving its
golden thread into the tissue of his renown, dwelt on it with pride,
and accepted for his country the primacy that had been awarded. Never,
in his extended Parliamentary career, did Lord Palmerston rise to a
higher mood,--not even when claiming for Englishmen all the immunities
of Roman citizenship,--_Civis Romanus sum_,--than when he pictured
the dependence of Africans on their constant friend. “If ever,” said
he, “by the assault of overpowering enemies, or by the errors of her
misguided sons, England should fall, and her star should lose its
lustre, with her fall, for a long period of time, would the hopes of
the African, whether in his own continent or in the vast regions of
America, be buried in the darkness of despair. I know well that in such
case Providence would in due course of time raise up some other nation
to inherit our principles and to imitate our practice; but, taking the
world as it is, and states as they are constituted, I do not know--and
I say it with regret and with pain--I do not know any nation that is
now ready in this respect to supply our place.”[97] And can it be that
now, instead of the African, a rebellion inspired by Slavery turns to
England with hope?
The honorable story of British intervention against Slavery is
incomplete without showing how its generous ardor broke forth against
our Republic, which was denounced as linked with Slavery. Literature,
eloquence, and poetry lent themselves to expose the terrible
inconsistency. Lord Russell stepped aside from the easy path of
biography, to declare that among us “oxen and horses are better treated
than the men and women of African blood,” and then to proclaim “the
cry of outraged humanity,” “the current of human sympathy,” and “the
decrees of Eternal Justice,” irresistible.[98] Lord Macaulay, in the
House of Commons, thundered forth: “The Government of the United States
has formally declared itself the patron, the champion, of Negro Slavery
all over the world, the evil genius, the Arimanes, of the African race,
and seems to take pride in this shameful and odious distinction.… They
put themselves at the head of the slave-driving interest throughout
the world, just as Elizabeth put herself at the head of the Protestant
interest; and wherever their favorite institution is in danger,
are ready to stand by it as Elizabeth stood by the Dutch.”[99]
Thomas Campbell, fresh from writing “Ye Mariners of England” and
“Hohenlinden,” struck at our Slavery in most scornful verses on the
national flag:--
“But what’s the meaning of the stripes?
They mean your negroes’ scars!”[100]
If these things, so bitterly said, were true, if Campbell, Macaulay,
and Russell were right in their indignant rebuke, if Palmerston was
justified in his eloquent pride, then must England make haste to turn
away from a rebellion which seeks to reverse that noble intervention
where the liberty of the African was a constant guide.
* * * * *
Here I close the historic instances illustrating the right and practice
of foreign intervention. The whole subject is seen in these instances,
teaching clearly what to avoid and what to follow. In this way, the
Law of Nations, like History, gives its best lessons. For the sake of
plainness, I gather up some of the conclusions.
* * * * *
Foreign intervention is _armed_ or _unarmed_, although sometimes the
two are not easily distinguishable. Unarmed intervention may have in
it the menace of arms, or it may be war in disguise. When this is the
case, it must be treated accordingly.
_Armed_ intervention is war, and nothing less. Of course it can be
vindicated only as war, and it must be resisted as war. Believing,
as I do most profoundly, that war can never be a game, but must
always be a crime when it ceases to be a duty,--a crime to be
shunned, if not a duty to be performed swiftly and surely,--and that
a nation, like an individual, is not permitted to take the sword
except in just self-defence,--I find the same limitation in armed
intervention, which becomes unjust invasion in proportion as it
departs from just self-defence. Under this head is naturally included
all that intervention moved by a tyrannical or intermeddling spirit,
because such intervention, whatever its professions, is essentially
hostile,--as when Russia, Prussia, and Austria partitioned Poland, when
the Holy Alliance intermeddled everywhere and menaced even America, or
when Russia intervened to crush the independence of Hungary, or France
to crush the Roman Republic. All such intervention is inexcusable,
illegal, and scandalous. Its vindication is found only in the
effrontery that might makes right.
_Unarmed_ intervention is of a different nature. If sincerely unarmed,
it may be regarded as obtrusive, but not hostile. It may assume the
form of mediation or the proffer of good offices, at the invitation of
both parties, or, in the case of civil war, at the invitation of the
original authority. With such invitation, this intervention is proper
and honorable; without such invitation, it is of doubtful character;
but if known to be contrary to the desires of both parties, or to
the desires of the original authority in a distracted country, it
becomes offensive and inadmissible, _unless obviously on the side of
Human Rights_, when the act of intervention takes its character from
the cause in which it is made. But it must not be forgotten, that,
in the case of civil war, any mediation, or, indeed, any proposition
not enjoining submission to the original authority, is in its nature
adverse, for it assumes the separate existence of the other party, and
secures for it temporary immunity and opportunity, if not independence.
Congress, therefore, was right in declaring to foreign powers that
any renewed effort of mediation in our affairs will be regarded as an
unfriendly act.
There is another case of unarmed intervention which I cannot criticize.
It is where a nation intercedes or interposes in favor of Human Rights,
or to secure the overthrow of some enormous wrong,--as when Cromwell
pleaded, with noble intercession, for the secluded Protestants of
the Alpine valleys, when Great Britain and France declared sympathy
with the Greeks struggling for independence, and when Great Britain
alone, by splendid diplomacy, set herself against Slavery everywhere
throughout the world.
* * * * *
The full lesson may be summed up briefly. All intervention in the
internal affairs of another nation is contrary to law and reason,
and can be vindicated only by overruling necessity. Intervening by
war, then must there be the necessity of self-defence. Intervening by
mediation or intercession, then must you be able to speak in behalf
of civilization endangered or human nature wronged. To this humane
policy no power is bound so absolutely as England; especially is none
so fixed, beyond possibility of retreat or change, in hostility to
Slavery, whatever shape this criminal pretension may assume, whether
the animating principle of a nation, the “forced labor” of a multitude,
or even the service of a solitary domestic.