contention, that from the first he meant to break up the Union. Russell affirmed that he meant nothing of the sort; that he had meant nothing at all; that he meant to do right; that he did not know what he meant. Driven from one defence after another, he pleaded at last, like Gladstone, that he had no defence. Concealing all he could conceal,—burying in profound secrecy his attempt to break up the Union in the autumn of 1862, he affirmed the louder his scrupulous good-faith. What was worse for the private secretary, to the total derision and despair of the life-long effort for education, as the final result of combined practice, experience and theory—he proved it.
Henry Adams had, as he thought, suffered too much from Russell to admit any plea in his favor; but he came to doubt whether this admission really favored him. Not until long after Earl Russell's death, was the question reopened. Russell had quitted office in 1866; he died in 1878; the biography was published in 1889. During the Alabama controversy and the Geneva Conference in 1872, his course as Foreign Secretary had been sharply criticised, and he had been compelled to see England pay more than £3,000,000 penalty for his errors. On the other hand, he brought forward,—or his biographer for him,—evidence tending to prove that he was not consciously dishonest, and that he had, in spite of appearances, acted without collusion, agreement, plan or policy, as far as concerned the rebels. He had stood alone, as was his nature. Like Gladstone, he had thought himself right.
In the end, Russell entangled himself in a hopeless ball of admissions, denials, contradictions and resentments which led even his old colleagues to drop his defense, as they dropped Gladstone's; but this was not enough for the student of diplomacy who had made a certain theory his law of life, and wanted to hold Russell up against himself; to show that he had foresight and persistence of which he was unaware. The effort became hopeless when the Biography in 1889 published papers which upset all that Henry Adams had taken for diplomatic education; yet he sat down once more, when past sixty years old, to see whether he could unravel the skein.
Of the obstinate effort to bring about an armed intervention, on the lines marked out by Russell's letter to Palmerston from Gotha, 17 Sept. 1862, nothing could be said beyond Gladstone's plea in excuse for his speech
