Alas! what a difference in the success of two like deeds! Have we not done what ye did? Yes, we have. Was the cause for which we did it not alike sacred and just as yours? It was. Or have we not fought to sustain it with equal resolution as your brethren did? Bold though it be to claim a glory such as America has, I am bold to claim, and say—yes, we did. And yet what a difference in the result! And whence this difference? Only out of that single circumstance that, while you, in your struggle, meet with assistance, we in ours met not even with "fair play:" since, when we fought, there was nobody on earth to maintain "the laws of nature's God."
During our struggle, America was silent and England did not stir; and while you were assisted by a French King, we were forsaken by a French Republic—itself now trodden down because it has forsaken us?
Well, we are not broken yet. There is hope for us, because there is a God in heaven and an America on earth. May be that our nameless woes were necessary, that the glorious destiny of America may be fulfilled; that after it had been an asylum for the oppressed, it should become, by regenerating Europe, the pillar of manhood's liberty.
Oh! it is not a mere capricious change of fate, that the exiled governor of the land whose name, four years ago, was scarcely known on your glorious shores, and which now (oh, let me have the blessings of this belief!) is dear to the generous heart of America. It is not a mere chance that Hungary's exiled chief thanks the Senators of Maryland for the high honour of public welcome in that very Hall where the first Continental Congress met; where your great Republic's glorious constitution was framed; where the treaty of acknowledged independence was ratified, and where you, Senators, guard with steady hand the rights of your sovereign States which is now united to thirty others, not to make you less free, but to make you more mighty—to make you a power on earth.
I believe there is the hand of God in history. You assigned a place in this hall of freedom to the memory of Chatham, for having been just to America, by opposing the stamp act, which awoke your nation to resistance.
Now, the people of England think as once Pitt the elder thought, and honours with deep reverence the memory of your Washington.
But suppose the England of Lord Chatham's time had thought as Chatham did: and his burning words had moved the English aristocracy to be just towards the colonies: those our men there [turning to the portraits] had not signed your country's independence. Washington were perhaps a name "unknown, unhonoured, and unsung," and this proud constellation of your glorious stars had perhaps not yet risen on mankind's sky—instead of being now about to become the sun of Freedom. It is thus Providence acts.
Let me hope, sir, that Hungary's unmerited fate was necessary, in order that your stars should become such a sun.
Sirs, I stand, perhaps, upon the very spot where your Washington stood, consummating the greatest act of his life. The walls which now listen to my humble words, listened to the words of his republican virtue, immortal by their very modesty. Let me, upon this sacred spot, express my confident belief that if he stood here now, he would tell you that his prophecy is fulfilled; that you are mighty enough "to defy any power on earth in a just cause," and he would tell you that there never was and never will be a cause more just than the cause of Hungary, being, as it is, the cause of oppressed humanity.
Sir, I thank the Senate of Maryland, in my country's name for the honour of your generous welcome. I entreat the Senate kindly to remember my prostrate fatherland. Sir, I bid you farewell, feeling heart and soul purified, and my resolution strengthened, by the very air of this ancient city of Providence.