Expelled from his own land, he had sought an asylum in England.
Having gone through the fanfaron of a national welcome, in the shape of cheap receptions and monster meetings—having passed the entire ordeal, without succumbing to flattery, or giving his enemies the slightest cue for ridicule—this singular man had settled down in a modest suburban residence in the western district of London.
There in the bosom of his beloved family—a wife and daughter, with two sons, noble youths, who will yet add lustre to the name—he seemed only desirous of escaping from that noisy hospitality, by this time known to him to be nothing but the emptiest ostentation.
A few public dinners, cooked by such coarse caterers as the landlords of the London or Freemasons’ Tavern, were all of English cheer Kossuth ever tasted, and all he cared to claim. In his home he was not only permitted to purchase everything out of his own sadly attenuated purse, but was cheated by almost every tradesman with whom he had to deal; and beyond the ordinary extortion, on the strength of his being a stranger!
This was the sort of hospitality extended by England to the illustrious exile, and of which her Tory press have made so much boast! But that press has not told us how he was encompassed by British spies—by French ones also, in British pay—watched in his outgoings and incomings—tracked in his daily walks—his friends as well—and under constant incitement through secret agencies to do something that would commit him, and give a colourable chance for bringing his career to a close!
The outside world believed it had come to this; that the power of the great revolutionist was broken for ever, and his influence at an end.
But the despots knew better. They knew that as long as Kossuth lived, with character unattainted, scarce a king in Europe that did not need to sit trembling on his throne. Even England’s model queen, or rather the German prince who then controlled the destinies of the English nation, understood the influence that attached to Kossuth’s name, whilst the latter was among the most active of those secret agents who were endeavouring to destroy it.
The hostility of the royal family of England to the ex-dictator of Hungary is easily understood. It had a double source of inspiration: fear of the republican form, and a natural leaning to the alliance of kinship. The crowns of Austria and England are closely united in the liens of a blood-relationship. In the success of Kossuth would be the ruin of cousins-german and German cousins.
It was then the interest of all crowned heads to effect his ruin—if not in body, at least in reputation. His fame, coupled with a spotless character, shielded him from the ordinary dangers of the outlaw. The world’s public opinion stood in the way of their taking his life, or even consigning him to a prison.
But there was still the chance of rendering him innocuous—by blasting his reputation, and so depriving him of the sympathy that had hitherto upheld him.