VI YOUNG GERMANY (continued 9)

An enormous crowd thronged to the Castle, partly consisting of those who hoped by the force of numbers to exercise pressure on their vanquished rulers, partly of curious idlers; all the funeral processions from the streets where there had been fighting also made their way there. The corpses were borne on biers, or, where the numbers were too great, conveyed in open waggons, decorated with flowers, ribbons, and scarves, the corpses too being decked with flowers.

Every available space in the neighbourhood of the Castle was closely packed. The crowd demanded to see the King. With a pale face he stepped out on the balcony. "Set the prisoners free!" shouted the crowd, and he was actually obliged to order the release of all those who were confined in the cellars of the Castle. The next proceeding was the carrying of many of the most severely wounded insurrectionists into the Castle, where their wounds were dressed. Now the funeral processions began to arrive, a sight by which the crowd was thrown into a state of the wildest agitation. Whilst the corpses were being carried into one of the apartments on the first floor of the Castle, one orator after another addressed the people. The speech which met with most approval was one made by Karl Gutzkow, the refrain of which was "general arming of the citizens." This the newly appointed ministers, who were moving about among the crowd, vainly attempting to pacify them, were loth to concede, but they were soon compelled to do so, for a scene which occurred at this juncture made it impossible to resist the demands of the people.

A new funeral procession arrived—four corpses were borne on flower-decked biers through the crowd, their bloody wounds exposed to view for the purpose of rousing the beholders to revenge. The biers were deposited below the King's balcony, and the bearers raised a wild shout of "The King! The Queen!" which found a thousand-fold echo among the crowd. Two of the new ministers, Schwerin and Arnim, tried in vain to gain a hearing; their voices were drowned in the cry of "The King! The Queen!"

When the King and Queen actually appeared, on the balcony the people's frenzy knew no bounds. The King to speak, but the bearers held high the biers with their bloody burdens, and the crowd yelled "Off with your hat!" And as each corpse was carried past the King was obliged to uncover.[12] In Freiligrath's grand poem, Die Todten an die Lebenden, written in the following year, the year of disillusion, we read:

"Die Kugel mitten durch die Brust, die Stirne breit gespalten, So habt Ihr uns auf blutgem Brett hoch in die Luft gehalten! Hoch in die Luft mit wildem Schrei, das unsre Schmerzgeberde Den, der zu tödten uns befahl, ein Fluch auf ewig werde! Dass er sie sehe Tag und Nacht, im Wachen und im Traume— Im Oeffnen seines Bibelbuchs und im Champagnerschaume! Dass wie ein Brandmal sie sich tief in seine Seele brenne: Dass nirgendwo und nimmermehr er vor ihr fliehen könne! Dass jeder qualverzogene Mund, dass jede rothe Wunde Ihn schrecke noch, ihn ängste noch in seiner letzten Stunde!"[13]

On the 21st of March, at noon, the King rode out at the Castle gate with a black, red, and gold band on his arm, and himself distributed black, red, and gold favours. He was followed by the royal princes and the Ministers, who were in despair at the humiliating proceeding; at his side rode a veterinary surgeon, Urban by name. One of his generals had in vain attempted to dissuade him from taking this step. He answered: "Non, non, c'est décidé, nous allons monter à cheval." Presently he drew rein and spoke as follows: "I am usurping no man's right when I declare that I believe myself called to be the saviour of the unity and liberty of Germany—that unity and liberty, based on a free constitution, I will defend with the aid of German loyalty." At the University he called for the professors and students, and said to them: "Schreiben Sie sich's auf, meine Herren! Write down my words to you, for they are for posterity. I place myself at the head of the German nation; with its unity and liberty the existence of Prussia is henceforth inseparably bound up. Write that down!" At the arsenal, when he was again pouring forth promises, a piercing voice suddenly cried: "Don't believe him, he is lying; he has always lied, and he is lying now. Tear me in pieces if you like, but I say he is lying—don't believe him!"

In Vienna, a few days later, the following poem appeared:

"PREUSSISCHE MISSVERSTAENDNISSE. Im grossen ungläubigen Altberlin sind nun die Wunder zu Hause, Da wird geschossen, gestürmt, gebrannt zwei Tage ohne Pause, Bis tausende liegen im rothen Sand. Den König betrübt die Wendniss: Die Flinten gingen von selber los. Das war nur ein Missverständniss. Durch's grosse, ungläubige Altberlin gehn wunderbare Witze, Ein König hüllt sich in Schwarz-Roth-Gold und stellt sich an Deutschlands Spitze, Ein König wird Ober-Demagog mit deutsch einheitlicher Sendniss, Doch Deutschland lacht und ruft mit Macht: Das ist ein Missverständniss."[14]

Another poem that bears witness to the irritated, sarcastic feeling provoked by the events of these days is entitled Erlkönig, and begins:

"Wer schiesst noch so spät auf's Volk ohne Wehr? Es ist ein König mit seinem Heer. Er hält sein Volk so treu im Arm, Er fasst es so sicher mit seinen Gendarmes. O Bürger, o Bürger, o hörest du nicht Was Erlkönig in der Zeitung verspricht," &c.

The Revolution of March in the capitals of Germany did not call forth any particularly fine poetical effusions; it gave rise chiefly to street songs, inflammatory and ephemeral verse; but the counter revolutions, the terrible re-capture of Vienna in October and of Berlin in November 1848, inspired a whole host of fine poems. The poets also found inspiration in the martyr deaths of individual liberationists, who either fell in fight or were murdered judicially after the suppression of the revolution. The insurrection of Hungary, too, with its suppression by the Russian army, awakened a sympathy which found expression in touching poems.

The enthusiastic ecstasy in Vienna was of short duration. The democrats did not consider the free constitution free enough. A central political committee was formed as a sort of check on the government. The existence of such a body was declared to be illegal, but popular pressure compelled the government to retract this declaration and to suspend the constitution. In the beginning of May the Emperor fled to Innsbruck. An attempt was made to disband the student brigade, but as this led to a renewal of barricade fighting, the ministry were obliged to desist. The Emperor returned in August. During all this time the capital was in a most excited state; the revolution had put a stop to every kind of business, and the want of employment increased discontent and restlessness. A deep impression was made by the intelligence of the events of June in Paris, Cavaignac's victory being regarded as equivalent to the suppression of the revolution in France. About the same time came the news that Jellatschitsch, the Ban of Croatia, was preparing to invade Hungary. Intercepted letters showed that in this proceeding he had the support of the Court of Vienna and of Latour, the Minister of War; and the consequence was that Count Lamberg, Latour's envoy, was torn to pieces by the mob on his arrival at Pesth (September 28), and Latour himself, having declared his intention of despatching troops to Hungary, was killed (October 7) by the enraged populace of Vienna. In his poem, Der 7 Oktober, which is a eulogy of the murdered man, Dingelstedt takes the opportunity to dissociate himself from the revolution and all its doings.

The Emperor now fled from Vienna for the second time. Whilst Radetzky suppressed the insurrection in Lombardy, Windischgrätz, who had been appointed commander-in-chief, surrounded the capital with his troops. In a struggle which lasted from the 24th to the 29th of October the outworks and outlying parts of the town were captured, and the city had already been driven by want of provisions and ammunition to agree to the unconditional capitulation demanded by Windischgrätz, when the cry was heard in the streets: "The Hungarians are coming." They had been seen from the tower of St. Stephen's Church. There was great rejoicing. The agreement to surrender was disregarded, the arms which had already been given up were again seized at the arsenals, and sorties were made to support the Hungarians, whose cannonading was now heard. But the Hungarian army was completely routed by Jellatschitsch. Windischgrätz entered Vienna on the 31st of October, followed by Jellatschitsch on the 2nd of November. A state of siege was proclaimed, and court-martials, sentences of death, and executions became the order of the day.

Simultaneously with the elections for the first German Parliament in Frankfort-on-Main, elections went on in Prussia for the Prussian Constitutional Assembly, which was opened by the King in May. This body numbered few eminent members, the best men having been sent to Frankfort. Berlin was in an almost anarchic condition; the arsenal was stormed and plundered, the political clubs terrorised and coerced the Assembly. It rejected the constitution proposed by the government as not sufficiently democratic. The result of this was a first change of ministry. The new ministry made proposals which coincided more closely with the wishes of the Assembly, but found themselves unable to agree to the demand of the majority that it should be made a point of honour with all officers who disapproved of the new constitution to leave the army. A third ministry, with Pfuel for its leader, was formed. On the last day of October, while the Assembly was debating an appeal to the government "to support, by every means in its power, the cause of popular liberty, at present endangered in Vienna," a mob broke in on the meeting, attempted to influence its decision by violent means, and insulted the Pfuel ministry. Then this ministry too resigned, and on the 2nd of November the King put the reins of government into the hands of a war ministry, with his step-uncle, Count Brandenburg, at its head. This new government decreed the transference of the Assembly from Berlin to Brandenburg, and brought the troops that had just returned from Denmark under General Wrangel to Berlin. The citizens were disarmed and a state of siege was proclaimed.

The revolutions of Vienna and Berlin had been fruitless; alike fruitless were the proceedings of the first German Parliament (Reichstag), which met at Frankfort on the 18th of May 1848, and was forcibly dispersed by troops at Stuttgart on the 18th of June 1849. The President it chose, Archduke John, did his best to subject it to the domination of Austria; it made a vain offer of the imperial crown of Germany to Frederick William IV. in April 1849; its sacred inviolability was disregarded as early as November 1848, when Windischgrätz ordered the execution of one of its members, Robert Blum, at Brigittenau; it lost importance as a representative assembly by the gradual desertion of its conservative members. When it was dispersed at Stuttgart, the reaction was once more triumphant throughout Europe:

"Da sah man die letzten der Getreuen, Die ausgeharrt beim Heiland, zerstreuen Sich, wandernd nach alien Seiten und Winden, Das Wort des Heiles zu verkünden, Wohl wissend, dass ein langes Exil Und Armuth, Noth und Dulden ihr Ziel, Und Qual und Tod und Kerkermauern. 'Das Wort des Heils wird sie überdauern' Das merkt euch, ihr Knechte und blutigen Horden: Das Wort ist Fleisch und ist Gott geworden.[15]

Thus sang Moritz Hartmann, one of the last of the faithful. He rightly felt that the ideas survived the outward changes.

By the end of 1848 the poets of the revolution had nothing left to sing of but fallen heroes and extinguished hopes. Among these poets Freiligrath and Hartmann rank highest, and as typical of the elegies written on the fallen heroes, we may take the verses composed by these two authors on Robert Blum, whose firm, gentle character, simplicity, and prudence, stamped him in the minds of his contemporaries as the ideal of a popular leader.

In his Reimchronik Hartmann writes mournfully:

"So ruhe sanft und gut, mein Robert! Nicht braucht's der Wunsch, dass leicht dir werde Die blutgetränkte Wiener Erde, Der Boden, den du dir erobert. Du bist nicht todt, trotz aller Klage Des deutschen Volks, trotz aller Lieder. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ein Mythus geht: der Robert lebt, Der Robert Blum, den sie erschossen Und jedes deutsche Herz erbebt: Das theure Blut ist nicht geflossen— Die Hoffnung raunt uns in die Ohren: Entflort, entflort die Trikoloren, Noch, noch ist Deutschland nicht verloren. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Allüberall ist der dabei! Er wendet mit den Geisterhänden Und fängt mit seiner Brust das Blei, Das uns die Fürstenväter senden. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Und wandeln muss er, bis entrafft Das deutsche Volk sich dem Verräther Bis er entfürstet und entpfafft Den heilgen Boden seiner Väter."[16]

And a week after Blum's death, Freiligrath writes the magnificent verses on the commemoration service in the Cathedral of Cologne, where the mighty organ pealed forth Neukomm's requiem music:

"Und heut in diesem selben Köln zum Weh'n des Winterwindes Und zu der Orgel Brausen schallt das Grablied dieses Kindes. Nicht singt die Ueberlebende, die Mutter, es dem Sohne: Das ganze schmerzbewegte Köln singt es mit festem Tone. Es spricht: Du, deren Schoos ihn trug, bleib still auf deinem Kammer! Vor deinem Gott, du graues Haupt, ausströme deinen Jammer; Auch ich bin seine Mutter, Weib! Ich und noch eine Hohe— Ich und die Revolution, die hohe, lichterlohe! Bleib du daheim mit deinem Schmerz! wir wahren seine Ehre— Des Robert Requiem singt Köln, die revolutionäre. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Was greift ihr zu den Schwertern nicht, Ihr Singer und Ihr Beter? Was werdet Ihr Posaunen nicht, Ihr ehr'nen Orgeltuben, Den jüngsten Tag ins Ohr zu schrein den Henkern und den Buben? Den Henkern, die ihn hingestreckt auf der Brigittenaue— Auf festen Knien lag er da im ersten Morgenthaue! Dann sank er hin—hin in sein Blut—lautlos!—heut vor acht Tagen! Zwei Kugeln haben ihm die Brust, eine das Haupt zerschlagen."[17]

It is to Hartmann's Reimchronik des Pfaffen Mauritius that we must have recourse if we desire to view all the successive events and impressions of 1848 in the mirror of poetry. Many of the details of this poem have become difficult to understand; the reader of to-day comes upon lists of names, of whose owners he knows little or nothing—men like Bassermann, the parliamentary debater, and Hansemann, the financier, in their day famous members of the Parliament of Frankfort, now forgotten—but from parts of it, without the assistance of any commentary, he gains a vivid impression of men's feelings, of their exalted frame of mind, in that year of revolution. Very affecting is a final outburst, in which the poet bewails the want of men:

"Ich seh' Gelehrte und Professoren Und Präsidenten und Assessoren, Weinküfer seh' ich und Redakteure Superintendenten und Accoucheure Und Börsenleute und Zeitungsschreiber, Astronomen und Steuereintreiber, Lumpenhändler und Alterthumskenner, Biedermänner, Hansemänner, Bassermänner— Allein wo sind die Männer, die Männer? "[18]

When Hartmann wrote these words he was living on the shores of the Lake of Geneva, a banished man, and the best men of Germany and Austria who had survived the great discomfiture were either in prison or, like himself, in exile.

1848 is a year of no decisive political significance, although it was in this year that the old order of things was for the first time disturbed simultaneously in almost every country of Europe. The local revolutions of 1789 and 1830, whatever they resulted in, were successful revolutions, but the general European revolution of 1848 was nothing in any single country but an unsuccessful attempt.

Yet 1848 is a year of great spiritual significance. After it men feel and think and write quite otherwise than they did before it. In literature it is the red line of separation that divides our century and marks the beginning of a new era. It was a year of jubilee, like that instituted by the old Hebrew law, that fiftieth year, in which the trumpet was to be sounded throughout all the land, which was to be hallowed, and in which liberty was to be proclaimed "throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof" (Lev. xxv. 8, &c). This year, with its quick heart-beat, its all-subduing youthful ardour, was, like that Bible year of jubilee, a year of returning into possession, a year of redemption, in which "they that had been sold were redeemed again." To this day we imbibe youthful enthusiasm from its days of March and learn important lessons from its days of November.

It is the year of jubilee, the year of mourning, the boundary year.

XXX

CONCLUSION

It is a mighty panorama, this, which the study of the feelings and thoughts of Germany, first oppositionist, then revolutionary, between 1815 and 1848, unrolls to our view. We see the spirit of Metternich, a spirit of shallowness, brooding over Austria and the whole of Germany. We follow the new intellectual movement from the time when it first finds expression at the Wartburg Festival in 1817. We see how the assassination of Kotzebue gives occasion to the open persecution of Liberalism and introduces a long period of ruthless reaction and oppression, during which Goethe is regarded as the Quietist foe of liberty and lauded or denounced as such, and German philosophy under the auspices of Hegel becomes, in a rather questionable manner, conservative. The oppositionist tendency finds occasional expression in the writings of poets like Chamisso, Platen, and Heine, but the general intellectual condition is one of depression, relieved by outbursts of self-ridicule. The state of stagnation is put an end to by the news of the Revolution of July 1830, which electrifies public feeling and gives both poets and prose writers new courage and fresh inspiration. The remembrance of Byron's life and death influences men in the same direction, and the Polish revolt awakens sympathy and enthusiasm in spite of the part that Germany takes in the annihilation of Poland as a nation. Börne becomes the most eminent advocate of Liberalism in politics, holds high the banner of liberty and justice, shows a noble example in the matter of strength of character and conviction, but at the same time displays a naïve and fanatical optimism which proves that his is not the temperament required in a statesman. In Heine, the greatest poet of the period, we feel the vibration of its every nerve. In him modern poetry casts off the swaddling-clothes of Romanticism. In love, in appreciation of nature, in his political, social, and religious views, in his descriptive, poetic, and satiric style, he is the man of our own day—fitter, as we pointed out, than any other to grapple with modern life in its hardness and ugliness, its charm and its restlessness, and its wealth of violent contrasts. About the same time, in a different and yet kindred manner, Immermann, in his best book, marks the transition to a more realistic style of art.

The Revolution of July had not only changed the tone of literature, it had also altered the character of the Hegelian philosophy, which from this time onwards is to be regarded as one of the strongest influences in the revolutionising of men's conception of life; from the doctrines of the master who died such a strong Conservative, his pupils draw reformatory or revolutionary inferences and principles. And now, with the echoes of the Revolution of July sounding in their ears, appear a group of young authors; they are influenced by the philosophy of Hegel and the poetry of Goethe, this last interpreted as anti-Christian; Heine and Börne are their masters, Rahel and George Sand their muses; they come to be known by the name of Young Germany. They desire to assimilate literature with life, to subvert existing religious and moral doctrines, to introduce a freer morality in the matter of marriage and divorce and a new species of pantheistic piety. The impeachment of these men by Menzel in 1835 is the signal for a new series of persecutions directed against all that in that day went by the name of the literature of movement (Bewegungslitteratur). Very few of the representatives of the young generation show strength of character when thus put to the test, but both the highly gifted men (Gutzkow) and those of moderate ability (Laube, &c.) develop their talents amidst these persecutions, and works are produced which accurately mirror the hopes and struggles of the age, the thoughts and feelings, temptations, mistakes, and victories of the individual.

Between the years 1830 and 1840 something has been happening quietly, deep down in men's minds—Goethe's poetry and Goethe's philosophy of life, at first championed exclusively by enthusiastic women, have been steadily gaining influence over the cultivated, making them proof against theological impressions but receptive to all great human ideas. The cult of Goethe leads by degrees, even in the case of women, to the cult of political liberty and social reform.

In 1840 German philosophy begins to develop in the direction of Radicalism, and the poets begin openly to advocate the cause of political liberty. The men of this new generation, too, owe their philosophic training to Hegel, but they have metamorphosed his doctrine into an atheistical, anti-monarchical doctrine. They regard the standpoint of Young Germany with contempt as being purely belletristic, and busy themselves with the nature of Christianity and the idea of the state.

On the throne of Prussia at this juncture sits a king with a curiously complex character and many talents, a typical transition figure, whose personality, especially in its relation to the literature and intellectual life of the day, is of great interest. In the south of Germany it is Metternich, in the north it is Frederick William IV., who outwardly regulates the course of events. We see literary and political celebrities being attracted by him, coming into collision with him, and rebounding from him. The invalids of literature, men like Tieck and Schelling, pass their last days under his protection; Herwegh and Freiligrath are first attracted and then repelled by him; Jacoby attacks him, Dingelstedt ridicules him.

And now we follow the development of political poetry, from its founder Anastasius Grün to Herwegh and Dingelstedt, observing what a deep impression such a thinker as Ludwig Feuerbach makes on the intellectual life of his contemporaries. Men like Freiligrath and Prutz, Sallet and Hartmann, are the petrels that foretell the storm; in 1848 we hear the song of certain gifted poets high above the roar of the political hurricane, and we also notice that these unexampled occurrences transform men of minor or undeveloped talent into organs of the great movement of the hour.

During our study of this fragment of literary history we have passed in review a whole gallery of remarkable figures, devoting careful attention to the most important or most typical.

We saw how Napoleon's great personality, in its legendary form, exercised almost as powerful an influence on men's minds as Byron's. Of the great intellectual forces of the eighteenth century, Goethe, Jean Paul, Heinse, and Hegel are those by which our period is most perceptibly influenced. Some of the Romanticists influence as teachers and masters (Wilhelm Schlegel, Brentano, Chamisso), others as antagonists (Tieck). Börne and Heine, geniuses of most dissimilar types, by virtue of that polemical quality which was an essential characteristic of both, influence the whole period.

What a wealth of remarkable, original characters! Glance at our gallery of women—Rahel and Bettina, the friends of Goethe; Börne's friends, Henrietta Herz and Jeannette Wohl; Heine's La Mouche, Immermann's Elisa, and Princess Pückler and Charlotte Stieglitz—gifted women and devoted wives! Or let your eyes wander over our collection of male portraits—authors and men of the world, like Varnhagen and Pückler; stiff, stately figures, like Platen and Immermann; others that are all life and fire, like Börne and Heine; manly eccentrics, like Jacoby; kingly figures, like Feuerbach; grimacing fanatics, like Menzel; independent poets great and small, like Rückert, Hebbel, Ludwig, and Scherenberg; agitators, like Wienbarg and Gutzkow; men of pliant talent, like Laube and Mundt; weak desponders, like Stieglitz; bold singers of liberty, like Hoffmann and Freiligrath; immature characters, like Herwegh; problematic characters, like Dingelstedt and Meissner; brave men, like Sallet, Hartmann, and Prutz. Even when their productions are not of the highest quality, we study the men themselves with interest.

And yet what is presented in this volume can only be fully understood by those who read it in its connection with the earlier volumes of the work of which it forms a part, who regard it in the light of the last act of a great historic drama. The plan of the work is indicated in the introduction to the first volume, and is strictly adhered to throughout all six.

The author's intention, as explained in the first lines of his work, was, by means of the study of certain main groups and main movements in European literature, to outline a psychology of the first half of the nineteenth century. The year 1848, which, as a historical turning-point, marks a conclusion for the time being, was indicated as the point to which he intended to pursue his subject. The six groups which, according to the original plan, have been portrayed, are, the French Emigrant Literature, German Romanticism, the French Reaction, English Naturalism, French Romanticism, and Young Germany. Each one of the six parts of the work has in the course of years either been re-written or revised.

The author's first proceeding was to separate and classify the chief literary movements of the first half of the century, his next to find their general direction or law of progression, a starting point, and a central point.

The direction he discovered to be a great rhythmical ebb and flow—the gradual dying out and disappearing of the ideas and feelings of the eighteenth century until authority, the hereditary principle, and ancient custom once more reigned supreme, then the reappearance of the ideas of liberty in ever higher mounting waves. The starting point was now self-evident, namely, the group of French literary works denominated the Emigrant Literature, the first epoch-making one of which bears the date 1800. The central point was equally unmistakable. From the literary point of view it was Byron's death, from the political that Greek war of liberation in which he fell. This double event is epoch-making in the intellectual life and the literature of the Continent. The concluding point was also clearly indicated, namely, the European revolution of 1848. Byron's death forming the central point of the work, the school of English literature to which he belongs, became as it were the hinge on which it turned. The main outlines now stood out clearly: the incipient reaction in the case of the emigrants, held in check by the revolutionary ideas still in vogue; the growth of the reaction in the Germany of the Romanticists; its culmination and triumph during the first year of the Restoration in France; the turn of the tide discernible in what is denominated English Naturalism; the change which takes place in all the great writers of France shortly before the Revolution of July, a change which results in the formation of the French Romantic school; and, lastly, the development in German literature which issues in the events of March 1848.

It is self-evident that the standpoint here adopted is a personal one. It is the personal point of view, the personal treatment, which presents literary personages and works thus grouped and ordered, thus contrasted, thus thrown into relief or cast into shadow. Regarded impersonally, the literature of a half-century is nothing but a chaos of hundreds of thousands of books in many languages.

The personal standpoint is not, however, an arbitrary one. It has been the author's aim to do justice, as far as in him lay, to every single person and phenomenon he has described. No attempt has been made to fit any of them into larger or smaller places than they actually occupied. It is no whim or preconceived intention of the author that has given the work its shape. The power which has grouped, contrasted, thrown into relief or suppressed, lengthened or shortened, placed in full light, in half light, or in shadow, is none other than that never entirely conscious power to which we usually give the name of art.

THE END