Select Speeches of Kossuth

by Lajos Kossuth

I speak therefore out of profound conviction, when I say that, though the heart of the philanthropist must feel pained at the new hard trials to which the French nation is, and will yet be exposed, by the momentary success of Louis Napoleon Bonaparte's inglorious usurpation, still that very fact will prove advantageous to the ultimate success of liberty in Europe. Louis Napoleon's coup d'état, much against his will, has emancipated Europe from its reliance upon France. The combined initiative of nations has succeeded to the initiative of France; spontaneity and self-reliance have replaced the depending on foreign impulse and reliance upon foreign aid. France is reduced to the level amongst nations, obliged to join general combinations, instead of regulating them; and this I take for a very great advantage. Many have wondered at the momentary success of Louis Napoleon, and are inclined to take it for an evidence that the French nation is either not capable or not worthy to be free. But that is a great fallacy. The momentary success of Louis Napoleon is rather an evidence that France is thoroughly democratic. All the revolutions in France have resulted in the preponderance of that class which bears the denomination of bourgeoisie. Amongst all possible modifications of oppression, none is more detested by the people than oppression by an Assembly. The National Assembly of France was the most treacherous the world has ever yet known. Issued from universal suffrage, it went so far as to abolish universal suffrage, and every day of its existence was a new blow stricken at democracy for the profit of the bourgeoisie. Louis Napoleon has beaten asunder that Assembly, which the French democracy had so many reasons to hate and to despise, and the people applauded him as the people of England applauded Cromwell when he whipped out the Rump Parliament.

But by what means was Louis Napoleon permitted to do even what the people liked to see done? By no other means, but by flattering the principle of Democracy; he restored the universal suffrage; it is an execrable trick, to be sure—it is a shadow given for reality; but still it proves that the democratic spirit is so consolidated in France, that even despotic ambition must flatter it. Well, depend upon it, this democracy, which the victorious usurper feels himself constrained to flatter in the brightest moments of his triumph—this democracy will either make out of Louis Napoleon a tool, which in spite of itself serves the democracy, or it will crush him.

France is the country of sudden changes, and of unthought of accidents. I therefore will not presume to tell the events of its next week, but one alternative I dare to state: Louis Napoleon either falls or maintains himself. The fall of Louis Napoleon, even if brought about by the old monarchical parties, can have no other issue than a Republic—a Republic more faithful to the community of freedom in Europe than all the former Revolutions have been. Or if Louis Napoleon maintains himself, he can do so only either by relying upon the army, or by flattering the feelings and interests of the masses. If he relies upon the army, he must give to it glory and profit, or, in other words, he must give to it war. Well, a war of France, against whomsoever it be, or for whatever purposes, is the best possible chance for the success of a European Revolution. Or if Louis Napoleon relies upon the feelings of the masses—as indeed he appears willing to do—in that case, in spite of himself, he becomes a tool in the hands of democracy; and if, by becoming such, he forsakes the allegiance of his masters—the league of absolutistical powers—well, he will either be forced to attack them, or be attacked by them.

So much for France; now as to ITALY.

Italy! the sunny garden of Europe, whose blossoms are blighted by the icy north wind from St. Petersburg—Italy, that captured nightingale, placed under a fragrant bush of roses, beneath an ever blue sky! Italy was always the battlefield of the contending principles, since, hundreds of years ago, the German emperors, the kings of Spain, and the kings of France, fought their private feuds, their bloody battles on her much coveted soil; and by their destructive influence, kept down all progress, and fostered every jealousy. By the recollections of old, the spirit of liberty was nowhere so dangerous for European absolutism as in Italy. And this spirit of republican liberty, this warlike genius of ancient Rome, was never extinguished between the Alps and the Faro.

We are taught by the scribes of absolutism to speak of the Italians as if they were a nation of cowards, and we forget that the most renowned masters of the science of war, the greatest generals up to our day, were Italians,—Piccolomini, Montecucculi, Farnese, Eugene of Savoy, Spinola, and Bonaparte—a galaxy of names whose glory is dimmed only by the reflection that none of them fought for his own country. As often as the spirit of liberty awoke in Italy, the servile forces of Germany, of Spain, and of France poured into the country, and extinguished the glowing spark in the blood of the people, lest it should once more illumine the dark night of Europe. Frederic Barbarossa destroyed Milan to its foundations, when it attempted to resist his imperial encroachments by the league of independent cities; and led the plough over the smoking ruins. Charles the Fifth had to gather all his powers around him to subdue Florence, when it declared itself a democratic republic. Napoleon extinguished the last remnants of republican self-government by crushing the republics of Venice, Genoa, Lucca, Ragusa, and left only, to ridicule republicanism, the commonwealth of San Marino untouched. The Holy Alliance parted the spoils of Napoleon, riveted afresh the iron fetters which enslave Italy, and forged new spiritual fetters; prevented the extension of education, and destroyed the press, in order that the Italians should not remember their past.

Every page, glorious in their history for twenty-five centuries, is connected with the independence of Italy; every stain upon their honour is connected with foreign rule. And the burning minds of the Italians, though all spiritual food is denied to them, cannot be taught not to remember their past glory and their present degradation. Every stone speaks of the ancient glory; every Austrian policeman, every French soldier, of the present degradation. The tyrants have no power to unmake history, and to silence the feelings of the nation. And amongst all the feelings powerful to stir up the activity of mankind, there is none more penetrating than unmerited degradation, which impels us to redeem our lost honour. What is it therefore that keeps those petty tyrants of Italy, who are jealous of one another, on their tottering thrones, divided as they are among themselves, whilst the revolutionizing spirit of liberty unites the people? It is only the protection of Austria, studding the peninsula with her bayonets and with her spies. And Austria herself can dare this, only because she relies upon the assistance of Russia. She can send her armies to Italy, because Russia guards her eastern dominions. Let Russia stand off, and Austria is unable to keep Italy in bondage; and the Italians, united in the spirit of independence, will easily settle their account with their own weak princes. Keep off the icy blast which blows from the Russian snows, and the tree of freedom will grow up in the garden of Europe; though cut down by the despots, it will spring anew from the roots in the soil, which was always genial for the tree. Remember that no insurrection of Italians has been crushed by their own domestic tyrants without foreign aid; remember that one-third of the Austrian army which occupies Italy are Hungarians who have fought against and triumphed over the yellow-black flag of Austria—under the same tri-colour which, having the same colours for both countries, show emblematically that Hungary and Italy are but two wings of the same army, united against a common enemy. Remember that even now neither the Pope nor the little Princes of middle Italy can subsist without an Austrian and a French garrison; and remember that Italy is a half isle, open from three sides to the friendship of all who sympathize with civil and religious liberty on earth; but from the sea not open to Russia and Austria, because they are not maritime powers; and so long as England is conscious of the basis of its power, and so soon as America gets conscious of the condition upon which its future depends, Austria and Russia will never be allowed to become maritime powers.

And when you feel instinctively that the heart of the Roman must rage with fury when he looks back into the mirror of his past,—that the Venetian cannot help to weep tears of fire and of blood from the Rialto;—when you feel all this, then look back how the Romans have fought in 1849, with a heroism scarcely paralleled in the most glorious day of ancient Rome. And let me tell, in addition, upon the certainty of my own positive knowledge, that the world never yet has seen such complete and extensive revolutionary organization as that of Italy to-day—ready to burst out into an irresistible storm at the slightest opportunity, and powerful enough to make that opportunity, if either foreign interference is checked, or the interfering foreigners occupied at home. The revolution of 1848 has revealed and developed the warlike spirit of Italy. Except a few wealthy proprietors, already very uninfluential, the most singular unanimity exists, both as to aim and to means. There is no shade of difference of opinion, either to what is to be done or how to do it. All are unanimous in their devotion to the Union and Independence of Italy. With France or against France, by the sword, at all sacrifices, without compromise, they are bent on renewing the battle over and over again, with the confidence that, even without aid, they will triumph in the long run.

The difficulty in Italy is not how to make a revolution, but how to prevent its untimely outbreak; and still even in that respect there is such a complete discipline as the world never yet has seen. In Rome, Romagna, Lombardy, Venice, Sicily, and all the middle Italy, there exists an invisible government, whose influence is everywhere discernible. It has eyes and hands in all departments of public service, in all classes of society—it has its taxes voluntarily paid—its organized force, its police, its newspapers regularly printed and circulated, though the possession of a single copy would send the holder to the galleys. The officers of the existing government convey the missives of the invisible government, the diligences transport its agents. One line from one of these agents opens to you the galleries of art, on prohibited days—gives you the protection of uniformed officials.

That this is the condition of all Italy is shown on one side, in the fact that there the King of Naples holds fettered in dungeons 25,000 patriots, and Radetzky has sacrificed nearly 4,000 political martyrs on the scaffold; still the scaffold continues to be watered with blood, and still the dungeons receive new victims, evidently proving what spirit exists in the people of Italy.