These names were Kossuth and Mazzini.
Despite the influence used to blacken them—the whole power of a corrupted press—they were still sounds of magical import; symbols that at any day might stir up the peoples to strike one other blow for freedom. More especially was this true of Kossuth. Some rashness shown by Mazzini—a belief that his doctrines were too red—in other words, too far advanced for the time—stinted the confidence of the more moderate in the liberal party.
It was otherwise with the views of Kossuth. These had all along been strictly in accordance with conservatism—aiming only at national independence upon a presumed republican basis. Of the république rouge et démocratique talked of in France, he had never given assent to the rouge, and but partially to the démocratique.
If the future historian can ever find flaw in the character of Kossuth, it will be in the fact of his having been too conservative; or rather too national, and not enough developed in the idea of a universal propagandism.
Too much was he, as unfortunately most men are, a believer in non-interference; that sophism of international comity which permits the King of Dahomey to kill his subjects to his heart’s content, and the King of Viti-Vau to eat his, to the satisfaction of his stomach.
This limitation in the principles of the Magyar chief was the only thing in his character, known to the writer, that will exclude him from being considered truly, grandly great.
It may have been only assumed—it is to be hoped so—to contribute to the success of his noble purposes.
It certainly tended to this—by securing him the confidence of the more timid adherents of the revolutionary cause.
But there was another influence in his favour, and against the triumphant despots. All knew that the failure of the Hungarian revolution was due to causes over which Kossuth had no control—in short, to the blackest treachery on record. That with unerring genius, and all his soul’s energy, he had protested against the courses that led to it; and, to the last hour, had held out against the counsels of the wavering and the wicked. Not by his own consent, but by force, had he succumbed to them.
It was the knowledge of this that lent that magical influence to his name—every day growing stronger, as the story of Geörgei’s treason became better understood.