Читать книгу The American Eloquence - Various Author - Страница 19

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The inaugural address of President Jefferson has been given the first place under this period, notwithstanding the fact that it was not at all an oration. The inaugural addresses of presidents Washington and Adams were really orations, although written, depending for much of their effect on the personal presence of him who delivered the address; that of Jefferson was altogether a business document, sent to be read by the two houses of Congress for their information, and without any of the adjuncts of the orator.

It is impossible, nevertheless, to spare the inaugural address of the first Democratic President, for it is pervaded by a personality which, if quieter in its operation, was more potent in results than the most burning eloquence could have been. The spirit of modern democracy, which has become, for good or evil, the common characteristic of all American parties and leaders, was here first put into living words. Triumphant in national politics, this spirit now had but one field of struggle, the politics of the States, and here its efforts were for years bent to the abolition of every remnant of limitation on individual liberty. Outside of New England, the change was accomplished as rapidly as the forms of law could be put into the necessary direction; remnants of ecclesiastical government, ecclesiastical taxes of even the mildest description, restrictions on manhood suffrage, State electoral systems, were the immediate victims of the new spirit, and the first term of Mr. Jefferson saw most of the States under democratic governments. Inside of New England, the change was stubbornly resisted, and, for a time, with success. For about twenty years, the general rule was that New England and Delaware were federalist, and the rest of the country was democratic. But even in New England, a strong democratic minority was growing up, and about 1820 the last barriers of federalism gave way; Connecticut, the federalist "land of steady habits," accepted a new and democratic constitution; Massachusetts modified hers; and the new and reliably democratic State of Maine was brought into existence. The "era of good feeling" signalized the extinction of the federal party and the universal reign of democracy. The length of this period of contest is the strongest testimony to the stubbornness of the New England fibre. Estimated by States, the success of democracy was about as complete in 1803 as in 1817; but it required fifteen years of persistent struggle to convince the smallest section of the Union that it was hopelessly defeated.

The whole period was a succession of great events. The acquisition of Louisiana, stretching from the Mississippi to the Rocky Mountains, laid, in 1803, the foundations of that imperial domain which the steamboat and railroad were to convert to use in after-years. The continental empire of Napoleon and the island empire of Great Britain drifted into a struggle for life or death which hardly knew a breathing space until the last charge at Waterloo, and from the beginning it was conducted by both combatants with a reckless disregard of international public opinion and neutral rights which is hardly credible but for the official records. Every injury inflicted on neutral commerce by one belligerent was promptly imitated or exceeded by the other, and the two were perfectly in accord in insisting on the convenient doctrine of international law, that, unless neutral rights were enforced by the neutral against one belligerent, the injury became open to the imitation of the other. In the process of imitation, each belligerent took care to pass at least a little beyond the precedent; and thus, beginning with a paper blockade of the northern coast of the continent by the British Government, the process advanced, by alternate "retaliations," to a British proclamation specifying the ports of the world to which American vessels were to be allowed to trade, stopping in England or its dependencies to pay taxes en route. These two almost contemporary events, the acquisition of Louisiana and the insolent pretensions of the European belligerents, were the central points of two distinct influences which bore strongly on the development of the United States.

The dominant party, the republicans, had a horror of a national debt which almost amounted to a mania. The associations of the term, derived from their reading of English history, all pointed to a condition of affairs in which the rise of a strong aristocracy was inevitable; and, to avoid the latter, they were determined to pay off the former. The payment for Louisiana precluded, in their opinion, the support of a respectable navy; and the remnants of colonialism in their party predisposed them to adopt an ostrich policy instead. The Embargo act was passed in 1807, forbidding all foreign commerce. The evident failure of this act to influence the belligerents brought about its repeal in 1809, and the substitution of the Non-intercourse act. This prohibited commercial intercourse with England and France until either should revoke its injurious edicts. Napoleon, by an empty and spurious revocation in 1810, induced Congress to withdraw the act in respect to France, keeping it alive in respect to England. England refused to admit the sincerity of the French revocation, to withdraw her Orders in Council, or to cease impressing American seamen. The choice left to the United States was between war and submission.

The federalist leaders saw that, while their party strength was confined to a continually decreasing territory, the opposing democracy not only had gained the mass of the original United States, but was swarming toward and beyond the Mississippi. They dropped to the level of a mere party of opposition; they went further until the only article of their political creed was State sovereignty; some of them went one step further, and dabbled in hopeless projects for secession and the formation of a New England republic of five States. It is difficult to perceive any advantage to public affairs in the closing years of the federal party, except that, by impelling the democratic leaders to really national acts and sympathies, it unwittingly aided in the development of nationality from democracy.

If the essential characteristic of colonialism is the sense of dependence and the desire to imitate, democracy, at least in its earlier phases, begets the opposite qualities. The Congressional elections of 1810–11 showed that the people had gone further in democracy than their leaders. "Submission men" were generally defeated in the election; new leaders, like Clay, Calhoun, and Crawford, made the dominant party a war party, and forced the President into their policy; and the war of 1812 was begun. Its early defeats on land, its startling successes at sea, its financial straits, the desperation of the contest after the fall of Napoleon, and the brilliant victory which crowned its close, all combined to raise the national feeling to the highest pitch; and the federalists, whose stock object of denunciation was "Mr. Madison's war," though Mr. Madison was about the most unwilling participant in it, came out of it under the ban of every national sympathy.

The speech of Mr. Quincy, in many points one of the most eloquent of our political history, will show the brightest phase of federalism at its lowest ebb. One can hardly compare it with that of Mr. Clay, which follows it, without noticing the national character of the latter, as contrasted with the lack of nationality of the former. It seems, also, that Mr. Clay's speech carries, in its internal characteristics, sufficient evidence of the natural forces which tended to make democracy a national power, and not a mere adjunct of State sovereignty, wherever the oblique influence of slavery was absent. For this reason, it has been taken as a convenient introduction to the topic which follows, the Rise of Nationality.