Union with England

Sir, there was a levee at the Castle this morning. Gentlemen went there to pay their respects to the representative of royalty: we have met here, this night, to testify our allegiance to liberty. I will not inquire which is the more honourable act; but I think the latter more useful. Where a court resides a parliament should sit. A court, without a senate, can do little for the public good; it may do much for the public harm. The court of the province may distribute favours, and teach a propriety of demeanour. The senate of the free nation distributes blessings, and inspires the community with virtue. Little did the poet hero of Missolonghi, when he passionately rebuked the homage that was paid a sceptred profligate in this city, twenty-five years since—little did he imagine that at this day his words would be so disastrously fulfilled—

‘The Castle still stands, tho’ the senate’s no more,
And the Famine that dwells on her freedomless crags
Is extending its steps to her desolate shore.’

Sir, the Castle has been preserved, whilst the senate has been destroyed, and the blood and poison in which it was destroyed have given birth to a hideous famine. When the English minister introduced the Act of Union into the English Commons, he did not venture to justify his scheme upon the inability of a domestic parliament to legislate beneficially for Ireland. The prosperity of the nation—to which Lord Clare, Mr. Plunket, Mr. Grattan, and several other members bore testimony in the Irish Commons, and to which Mr. Sheridan and Mr. Burdett bore testimony in the English Commons—this prosperity was so obvious, and so distinctly traceable to the efficient legislation of the Irish parliament, that some other argument, besides that of incapacity, should be urged for its destruction. The minister admitted the good that had been done—admitted the commerce that had thriven, the arts that had flourished, the eminent position that had been attained by the country, with the wise assistance of her parliament. He did not charge that parliament with incapacity, for the evidences of capacity met him in the face. He did not charge that parliament with the corruption of its last moments, for his was the hand that planted death where once the sword of the volunteer had infused vitality. He did not charge that parliament with those grievous defects which impaired its character, but which, we must assert, were rather the defects of the age than the defects of the institution. No; he advanced a more serious charge, and appealed from the virtue to the avarice of the people. The Irish parliament was arraigned for standing between the people of Ireland and the blessings of English connection.

‘You have prospered,’ said the minister, ‘under a native parliament. Accept a foreign parliament, and your prosperity will amaze. Incorporate the countries, and you incorporate their interests. Participate in the imperial labours, and you participate in the imperial profits. Recognise London as your chief city, and your nobility will be identified with the proudest patricians in Europe. Consolidate the exchequers, and in the periods of distress which, through the dispensations of heaven, await all nations, you will experience the munificence of the empire. Consolidate the exchequers, and you will revel in the treasures of the colonies. Consolidate the exchequers, and you will feast with us upon the spoils of India. You now stand alone. You require a guardian. The ambition of France will drive her bayonets against your shore, and the Island will be gazetted as the property of the stranger. Unite with us, and you may defy the Corsican—unite with us, and you may defy the world—unite with us, and as we ascend to a height on which the Roman soldier never trod, from which the Spanish merchant never gazed, you will accompany us in our flight, and the states that will bend in recognition of our power, will admire your wisdom, and be dazzled with your wealth.’

Sir, in what year, since the enactment of the Union, will the disciples of William Pitt find the fulfilment of that promise? In 1801, when the English parliament visited this country with an Insurrection Act? In 1803, when that parliament imposed a martial law? In 1807, when the Insurrection Act of 1801 is renewed, continuing in force until 1810? In 1814, when, for a third time, the Insurrection Act of 1801 is renewed, and inflicted up to 1824? In 1836, when the Lord High Chancellor of England spurns you as aliens in language, in religion, and in blood? In 1839, when you claimed equal franchises with the people of England, and are denied them by the Whig Secretary for Ireland? In 1843, when a minister of the crown declares that concession has reached its limits, and an assassin proclamation proscribes your right of petition? In 1846, when the Coercion Bill is levelled against your liberties, and the Arms’ Act is re-introduced by the Whigs? Tell me—is it fulfilled in 1847, when the Treasury confiscates the Island, and famine piles upon it a pyramid of coffins? A lie! exclaims the broken manufacturer. A lie! protests the swindled landlord. A lie! A lie! shrieks the skeleton from the putrid hovels of Skibbereen. ‘Depend upon it,’ said Mr. Bushe, speaking of the Act of Union, in the Irish Commons—‘depend upon it, a day of reckoning will come—posterity will overhaul this transaction.’

Sir, the day of reckoning has come—posterity overhauls the base transaction! The right which national pride had not the virtue to dictate—the right which national enterprise had not the spirit to demand—a national calamity has now the fortunate terror to enforce. Heretofore, the right of self-government was claimed as an instrument to ameliorate; now it is claimed as an instrument to save. Heretofore, it was claimed that the people might be gifted with the franchise; now it is claimed that the people may have the privilege of bread. We demand from England this right. We demand the restoration of our parliament, and we demand it, not as a remote, but as an immediate measure. It is the only true measure of relief. The pestilence came from heaven, but the inability of the country to mitigate that pestilence we ascribe to the avarice of man.

England, in her lust of empire, has deprived us of those large means, that social wealth, that manufacturing capital, which would have enabled our country to meet the necessities of this dark crisis. The Union, as you have been often told, has wrought the ruin of your trade, your manufactures, your arts. It has sanctioned if it has not compelled, absenteeism. It has beggared the mechanic. It now starves the peasant. It has destroyed your home market. It has taken from you the power to devote the resources of the country to the wants of the people. You have no control over these resources. They are forbidden fruit. You dare not touch them. If this be not so, why is your export trade so flourishing, whilst your import trade expires? If this be not so, how comes it that the absentee crams his coffer, whilst the sexton fills the churchyard? If this be not so, how comes it that your city quays are thronged, whilst the village street is desolate? If this be not so, how comes it that whilst the merchant ship bears away the harvest from your shore, the parish bier conveys the reaper to his grave?

Sir, England has bound this Island hand and foot. The Island is her slave. She robs the Island of its food, for it has not the power to guard it. If the Island does not break its fetters England will write its epitaph. Listen to a few facts. I hold in my hand a statement of Irish exports from the 1st of August to the 1st of January. From this statement you will perceive that England seizes on our food, whilst death seizes on our people:

Total export of provisions from the ports of Waterford, Cork, Limerick, and Belfast, from 1st August, 1846, to the 1st January, 1847:

Pork, barrels, 37,123; bacon, flitches, 222,608; butter, firkins, 388,455; hams, hhds., 1,971; beef, tierces, 2,555; wheat, barrels, 48,526; oats, barrels, 443,232; barley, barrels, 12,029; oatmeal, cwts., 7,210; flour, cwts., 144,185; pigs, 44,659; cows, 9,007; sheep, 10,288.

Yet, this is what the English economist would designate the prosperity of Ireland. From this table Lord Monteagle would expatiate upon the benefits of English connection. From this table Mr. Montgomery Martin would prove, with the keenest precision, the advantages to Ireland of the legislative Union. From this table Mr. Macaulay—who threatened us with a civil war in the name of the Whigs, and was answered by the honourable member for Limerick, as a man who threatened despotism should be always answered—from this table Mr. Macaulay would surely conclude that Irish prosperity was a sound reality—that Irish famine was a factious metaphor.

But, sir, I shall dwell no longer upon this dismal theme. For a moment let us forget the famine—‘if it be possible, let this bitter cup pass away.’ It is difficult, indeed, to close our eyes to the horror. Go where you will, and you must face it. Go to the church—in the pulpit it stands beside the priest, and recounts to him its havoc. Go to the social board, and there it sits, and chills the current of the soul. Amid the radiant scenery of my native South its shadow falls and scares you from the mountain and the glen. But you have vowed to win the freedom of your country, and you must wail no more. The voice of Ireland has been too sad. Had it been more stern, it would have been obeyed long since.

For the future we must not supplicate, but demand—we must not entreat, but enforce. We must insist upon the right of this country to govern itself, with the firmness which the importance of the right demands, and which the power of our opponent necessitates. Urge that right on higher grounds than those on which it has been hitherto implored. Demand it, not merely to redress wrongs, but to acquire power. Demand it as the right which a nation must possess if it ambitions fortune, and aspires to station. Deprived of this right, the nation is destitute of self-reliance. Destitute of this great virtue, the nation has no inward strength, no inherent influence. Through the bounty of the ruling state it may exist; but a nation thus sustained, is sustained by a hand from without, not by a soul from within. Should it derive prosperity from this source, the nation, I maintain, is yet more enslaved. It loses all faith in its own faculties, and is soothed and pampered into debasement. The spirit of the freeman no longer acts—the gratitude of the slave destroys it. Sustained by the bounty—participating in the civic rights of the predominant country, it may become a useful appendage to that country—waste its bloods for the supremacy of a Union Flag—gild an Imperial Senate with its purchased genius—be visited by the Sovereign, be flattered by the minister, be eulogised in the journals of the empire; but, sir, such a country will have no true prosperity—will occupy no high position—will exhibit no fine virtues—will accomplish no great acts; it may fatten in its fetters—it will write no name in history.

‘To depend upon the honour of another country, is to depend upon her will; and to depend upon the will of another country, is the definition of slavery.’

This was the doctrine of Henry Grattan—let it be our motto. Union with England, for no purpose—union with England, for no price—union with England, on no terms! Let them extend the franchise—reclaim the waste lands—promote the coast fisheries—improve their drainage acts—ay, let them vote their millions to check the starvation with which we charge them—the Union Act must be repealed. No foreign hand can bestow the prosperity which a national soul has the power to create. No gift can compensate a nation for its liberty.

This was the sentiment of Mr. Foster, who declared that if England could give up all her revenue, and all her trade to Ireland, he would not barter for them the free constitution of his country. This was the sentiment of Mr. Plunket when he denounced the Union as a barter of liberty for money, and pronounced the nation that would enter into such a traffic, for any advantage whatsoever, to be criminal and besotted. This was the sentiment of Mr. O’Connell, in 1800, when, speaking for the Catholics, he declared, that if emancipation was offered for their consent to the measure, they would reject it with prompt indignation—that if the alternative were offered them, of the Union, or the re-enactment of the penal code in all its pristine horrors, they would prefer the latter, without hesitation, as the lesser and more sufferable evil.

Sir, we must act in the spirit of these sentiments. We must rescue the country from the control of every English minister. It was our boast, in 1843, that Ireland was the difficulty of Sir Robert Peel. Let us be just in 1847, and make it the difficulty of Lord John Russell. It is time for us to prefer the freedom of our country to the patronage of the crown. I firmly believe that Ireland has suffered more from the subserviency of her sons than from the dictation of her foes. ‘Liberal appointments’ have pleased us too much. Amongst us, the Tapers and the Tadpoles have been too numerous a class—the patriots who believe that the country will be saved if they receive from £600 to £1,200 a year. Give me a resident nobility, a resident gentry, an industrious population. Give me a commerce to enrich the country, and a navy to protect that commerce. Give me a national flag, to inspire the country with a proper pride, and a national militia to defend that flag. Give me, for my country, these great faculties, these great attributes, and I care not who wears the ermine in the Queen’s Bench—I care not who officiates in the Castle-yard—I care not who adjudicates in the Police Office—I care not who the high sheriff of the county may be—I care not who the beadle of the parish may be. If there be social evils in the country, there will be a national legislature to correct them; and even if that legislature has not the power to correct those evils, the blessings which it is sure to confer will more than counteract them.

The resolution I propose will pledge us to an absolute independence of all English parties, and exclude from the Irish Confederation any member of the council who will accept or solicit an office of emolument under any government not pledged to Repeal. It gives me sincere delight to move this resolution. I know you will adopt it—I am confident you will act up to it boldly. Public men have said that the cause of Repeal is strengthened by Repealers taking places. I maintain that the cause is weakened. The system decimates the ranks. In 1843 where were the Repealers who assumed the official garb after the movement of 1834? Repealers, occupying office, may not abandon their opinions, but they withdraw their services. You cannot serve the minister who is pledged to maintain the Union, and serve the people who are pledged to repeal it. Will a report on the financial grievances, inflicted by the Union, accompany a Treasury minute from London? Will a Repeal pamphlet issue from the Board of Works? The Trojans fought the Greeks, through the streets of Troy, in Grecian armour. Will the Repealers fight the Whigs, upon the hustings, with Whig favours in their pockets? Recollect the Union was carried by Irishmen receiving English gold. Depend upon it, the same system will not accelerate its repeal.

Sir, we must have an end of this place-begging. The task we have assumed is a serious one. To accomplish it well, our energies must have full play. The trappings of the Treasury will restrict them more than the shackles of the prison. State liveries usually encumber men, and detain them at the Castle gates. Not a doubt of it, sir, we shall work the freer when we wear no royal harness. To the accomplishment of this great task we earnestly invite all ranks and parties in the country. It is not the cause of Radicalism. It is not the cause of Sectarianism. It is the cause of Ireland—a noble cause! a cause in which the Irish peer should feel as deeply interested as the Irish peasant—in which the Irish Protestant should associate with the Irish Catholic—in which the Irish Conservative should co-operate with the Irish Radical.

Sir, I will not appeal to the Irish peer, for I am not his equal. Yet I will tell him, that to act as the hereditary peer of this ancient kingdom would be a more honourable distinction than to serve as an elected peer in the parliament of that country which has usurped his ancestral right. In England, where there resides the proudest nobility in the world—a nobility that would not yield to the Contarini of Venice, to the Colonna of Rome, to the Montmorenci of France—the Irish peer is a powerless subordinate. In Ireland, his native land, he would have no superior in rank; if he had virtue and ability, he would have no superior in power. I will not appeal to the Irish landlord, for I have no land, yet I will tell him, that he has too long sacrificed the interests of Ireland, little knowing that by so doing he sacrificed his own, and that now, to save his property, he must save the country—to save the country he must assert her freedom. But, sir, I will appeal to the Irish Protestant who stands aloof, for I am his brother. Let not the altar stand between us and our freedom. Let not the history of the past be the prophecy of the future. Even in that history his eye will glance on brighter chapters than those which record the defence of Derry, or the triumph of Aughrim. On the 4th day of November, 1779, the Protestant Volunteers of this city and county met in College Green and piled their arms round the statue of King William. They met round the statue of that king whom the Irish Protestant has been vainly taught to worship, and the Irish Catholic wantonly to execrate—they met round that statue, not to revive the factions of the Boyne—not that the waters of that river should sweep away again the shattered banner of the Catholic—but that those waters might float for ever the commerce of a free nation.

Protestant citizens! cultivate the fine virtues of that period; embrace the faith of which Molyneux was the bold apostle; renounce the supremacy of England; abjure the errors of provincialism. Let not the dread of Catholic ascendancy deter you. If such an ascendancy were preached, here is one hand at least that would be clenched against it. Yes, here are four thousand arms to give it battle. And now I will appeal to the young men of Ireland—for I am one of that proscribed class. A noble mission is open to them—let them accept it with enthusiasm, and fulfil it with integrity. If they do so, the independence of the nation will be restored, and they themselves shall win a righteous fame. A free nation will vote them to her senate in their maturer years, and when they die, upon their tombs will be inscribed that nation’s gratitude. Let not the sneers of those in whose hearts no generous impulse throbs, in whose minds no lofty purpose dwells, deter them from the task. Men who have grown selfish amid the insincerities of society, who have grown harsh from the buffets of the world, will bid them mind their business—their profession.

Sir, our country is our dearest object—to win its freedom is our first duty. It is not the decree of heaven, I believe, that the sympathies of the young heart, the abilities with which most young minds are gifted, should be narrowed to the trade we follow, the profession we pursue. These sympathies are too large, these abilities too strong, to be narrowed to the purposes of a sordid egotism. These sympathies, these abilities, were so conferred that they might embrace the Island, and be the ramparts of its liberty. To us the God of heaven has thus been good, not that we should ‘crawl from the cradle to the grave,’ doing nothing for mankind, but that we should so act as to leave a memory behind us for the good to bless, and the free to glorify.

Sir, were I to rely upon the effect which my words might have, I should indeed despair. Youth, which brings with it an energy to act, seldom confers authority; and if the appeals which its enthusiasm dictates sometimes have the fortune to move, it more frequently happens that the rashness, of which it is susceptible, has the effect to deter. But the revolution of opinion, which now shakes society in Ireland, gives me true hope. ‘I believe that Ireland will soon be called upon to govern herself,’ said Mr. Delmege in the Music Hall. ‘Ireland shall govern herself’—so insists this meeting.

Sir¹, you who are the descendant of an Irish king—go to the English Commons, and tell the English Commons what you have seen this night—tell the English Commons, that in this Hall—a spot sacred to the people of Ireland, for here, in 1783, the Convention sat, with a mitred reformer at its head—sacred to them, for here, in 1845, their civic chiefs made solemn oath that the independence of this country should be restored—sacred to them, for here, in 1847, has been established the sanctuary of free opinion; tell the English Commons, sir, that here four thousand citizens assembled on this night to decide the destiny of the Union. Tell the English Commons, that these citizens decide that the destiny of the Union shall be the destruction of the Union. Should the minister ask you why is this, tell the minister that the Union sentences the country to ruin, and that the country will not submit to the sentence. Should the minister assure you, that, for the future, there shall be a fair Union, and not a false Union—‘a real Union, and not a parchment Union’—tell the minister that we shall have no Union, be it for better or for worse. Tell the minister, sir, that a new race of men now act in Ireland—men who will neither starve as the victims, nor serve as the vassals of the British Empire.

Have I spoken your sentiments—have I announced your determination truly? Yes, the spirit that nerved the Red Hand of Ulster—the spirit that made the walls of Limerick impregnable, and forced the conquerors of the Boyne to negotiate by the waters of the Shannon—the spirit that dictated the letters of Swift and the instructions of Lucas—the spirit that summoned the armed missionaries of freedom to the altar of Dungannon, and gave to Charlemont the dignity which his accomplishments would never have attained—the spirit that touched with fire the tongue of Grattan, and endowed his words with the magic of his sword—the spirit that sanctified the scaffold of the Geraldine, and bade the lyre of Moore vibrate through the world—the spirit that called forth the genius of Davis from the cloisters of Old Trinity, and which consecrates his grave—the spirit that at this day, in the city of the Pontiff, unfurls the flag of Sarsfield, and animates the Irish sculptor as he bids the marble speak the passion of the Irish Tribune—the spirit which defied at Mallow, and vowed at Mullaghmast—this spirit which the bayonet could not drive back—which the bribe could not satiate—which misfortune could not quell—is moving vividly through the land.

The ruins that ennoble, the scenes that beautify, the memories that illuminate, the music that inspires our native land, have preserved it pure amid the vicious factions of the past, and the venal bargains of later years. The visitation that now storms upon the land has stung into generous activity. Did public virtue cease to animate, the Senate House which, even in its desecrated state, lends an Italian glory to this metropolis, would forbid it to expire. The temple is there—the creed has been announced—the priests will enter and officiate. It shall be so. The spirit of Nationality, rooted in our hearts, is as immovable as the altar of the Druid, pillared in our soil.

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1 William Smith O’Brien.