Klingemann, having intimated to me that it was not his intention to illuminate the mind of Germany that day by any elaborate discourse, was kind enough to place himself beside me, and perform the part of cicerone. My first impression, on surveying the sea of heads in the assembly, was decidedly unfavourable; for I could hardly discern amongst the ranks one single individual whose appearance bespoke him to be a gentleman. The countenances of the members were generally mean and vulgar, and in many cases absurdly bizarre. Near me sate an old pantaloon, with a white beard flowing over a frogged surtout, his head surmounted with a black velvet scull-cap, which gave him all the appearance of a venerable baboon just escaped from the operation of trepanning, and a staff of singular dimensions in his hand. This, Klingemann told me, was Professor Jahn, formerly of Freiburg, and surnamed the father of gymnastics.
This superannuated acrobat seemed to be the centre of a group of literary notables, for my friend pointed out in succession, and with great pride, the burley forms of Dahlman and other thoroughgoing professors. In fact, one large section of the hall was nothing but a Senatus Academicus.
"But where," said I, "are the poets? I am very curious to see the collection of modern minstrels. I presume that young fellow with the black beard, who is firing away in the tribune, and bawling himself hoarse, must be one of them. He can, at all events, claim the possession of a full share of godlike insanity."
"He is not a poet," replied the professor; "that is Simon of Treves, a very intelligent young man, though a little headstrong. I wish he would be somewhat milder in his manner."
"Nay, he seems to be suiting the action to the word, according to the established rules of rhetoric. So far as I can understand him, he is just suggesting that divers political opponents, whom he esteems reactionary, should be summarily ejected from the window!"
"Ah, good Simon!—but we have all been young once," said the professor. "After all, he is a stanch adherent of unity."
"Yes—I daresay he would like to have every thing his own way, in which case a certain ingenious machine for facilitating decapitation would probably come into vogue. But the poets?"
"You see that old man over yonder, with the calm, benignant, nay, seraphic expression of countenance, which betokens that his soul is at this moment far withdrawn from its earthly tabernacle, and wandering amidst those paradisaical regions where unity and light prevail."
"Do you allude to that respectable gentleman, rather up in years, who seems to me to have swallowed verjuice after his coffee this morning, or to be labouring under a severe attack of toothache?"
"Irreverend young man! Know that is Ludwig Uhland."
"You don't mean to say that that crossgrained surly old fellow is the author of the famous ballads!" exclaimed I. "Why, there is a snarl on his visage that might qualify him to sit for a fancy portrait of Churchill in extreme old age!"
"He is the last of a great race. Look yonder, at that other venerable figure——"
"The gentleman who is twiddling his stick across his arm, as though he were practising the bars of a fandango? Who may he be?"
"Arndt, the great composer. Have you men like him in your British parliament?"
"Why, I must confess we have not yet thought of ransacking the orchestra for statesmen. Any more?"
"Yes. You see that tall grizzled man over the way. That is Anastasius Grün."
"Graf von Auersperg? Well, he is a gentleman at least; though, as to poetical pretension, I have always considered him very much on a par with Dicky Milnes. But where are your statesmen, professor? Where are the men who have made politics the study of their lives, who have mastered the theories of government and the science of economics, and who have all the different treaties of Europe at the ends of their fingers?"
"As we are commencing a new era," replied Klingemann, "we need none of those. Treaties, ideologically considered, are merely the exponents of the position of past generations, and bear no reference to the future, the tendency of which is lost in the mists of eternity. Such men as you describe we had under the Metternich system, but we have discarded them all with their master."
"Then I must say that, idiotically considered, you have done a very foolish thing. Where at least are your financiers?"
"My dear friend, I must for once admit that you have stumbled on a weak point. We are very much in want of a financier indeed. Would you believe it? the sum of five florins a-day, which is the amount of recompense allowed to each member of the Assembly, has been allowed to fall into arrear!"
"What! do each of these fellows get five florins a-day, in return for cobbling up the Empire? Then it is very easy to see that, unless the exchequer fails altogether, the parliament will never be prorogued."
"Certainly not until it has completed the task of adjusting a German constitution," observed the professor.
"Which is just saying the same thing in different words. But, pray, what is exciting this storm of wrath in the bosom of the respectable Mr Simon?"
"He is merely denouncing the sovereigns and the aristocracy. It is a favourite topic. But look there! that is a great man—ah, a very great man indeed!"
Without challenging the claim of the individual indicated to greatness, I am committing no libel when I designate him as the very ugliest man in Europe. The broad arch of his face was fringed with a red bush of furzy hair. His eyes were inflamed and pinky, like those of a ferret labouring under opthalmia, and his nose, mouth, and tusks, bore a palpable resemblance to the muzzle of the bulldog. Altogether, it is impossible to conceive a more thoroughly forbidding figure. This was Robert Blum, the well-known publisher of Leipzig, who has put himself prominently forward from the very commencement of the movement; and who, possessing a certain power of language which may pass with the multitude for eloquence, and professing opinions of extreme democratic tendency, has gained a popularity and power in Frankfort, which is not regarded without uneasiness by the members of the more moderate party. As this worthy was a bookseller, and Klingemann still in possession of piles of unpublished manuscript, I could understand and forgive the enthusiasm and veneration of the latter.
Simon having concluded his inflammatory harangue, the tribune was next occupied by a person of a different stamp. He was, I think, without any exception, the finest-looking man in the Assembly—in the prime of manhood, tall, handsome, and elegantly dressed, and bearing, moreover, that unmistakeable air which belongs to the polished gentleman alone. His manner of speaking was hasty, and not such as might be approved of by the practised debater, but extremely fluent and energetic; and it was evident that Simon and his confederates writhed under the castigation which, half-seriously, half-sarcastically, thebold orator unsparingly bestowed. Judging from the occasional hisses, the speaker seemed no favourite either with the members of the extreme left or with the galleries; but probably he was used to such manifestations, for he went through his work undauntedly. I asked his name. It was Felix, Prince of Lichnowsky.
Poor Lichnowsky! a few weeks after I saw him in the Assembly, he was barbarously and brutally murdered by savages at the gate of Frankfort—the flesh cut off his arms with scythes—his body put up as a target for their balls—and every execrable device of ingenuity employed to prolong his suffering. O ye who wink at revolutions abroad, and who would stimulate the populace to excess—ye who, in days past, have written or been privy to letters from the Home Office, conniving at undeniable treason—think of this scene, and repent of your miserable folly! In a civilised city—among a Christian and educated population—that deed of hideous atrocity was perpetrated at noon-day: the young life of one of the most accomplished and chivalrous cavaliers of Europe was torn from him piecemeal, in a manner which humanity shudders to record, and for no other reason than because he had stood forth as the advocate of constitutional order! Liberal historians, in their commentaries upon the first French Revolution, spare no pains to argue us into the conviction that such tragedies as that of the Princess de Lamballe could not be enacted save amongst a people degraded and brutalised by long centuries of misgovernment, oppression, and superstition. They have lied in saying so. A pack of famished wolves is not so merciless as a human mob, when drunk with the revolutionary puddle; and were the strong arm of the law once paralysed in Britain, we should inevitably become the spectators, if not the victims, of the same butcheries which have disgraced almost every country in Europe now clamouring for independence and unity. The sacerdotal robes of the Archbishop of Paris—the gray hairs of Major von Auerswaldt—the station and public virtue of the Counts of Lamburg, Zichy, and Latour—could not save these unhappy men from a fate far worse than simple assassination: and this century and year have likewise been reserved for the unexampled abomination of Christian men adopting cannibalism, and feeding upon human flesh, as was the case not a month ago at Messina! Well might Madame Roland exclaim, "O Liberty! what things are done in thy name!" Poor Lichnowsky! Better had he fallen on the fields of Spain, in the combat for honour and loyalty, with the red steel in his hand, and the flush of victory on his brow, than have perished so miserably by the hands of the cowardly and rascal rout of thefreecity of Frankfort!
"That's Zitz of Mayence," said the professor, as a heavy-looking demagogue stumbled clumsily up to the tribune.
"Oh! that's Zitz, is it?" replied I. "Well, professor, I think I have had quite enough of the Assembly for one morning, and as I feel a certain craving for a cigar, I think I shall leave you for the present."
"Won't you dine to-day at the Swan?" said Klingemann, "most of my friends of the left frequent thetable-d'hotethere, and I should like to introduce you to Zitz."
"Thank you!" said I, "I shall be punctual, and pray keep a place for me;" and so for the present we parted.
"The dunderheads!" thought I, as I emerged into the street and lit an undeniable havannah, "here is a nation which, for thirty years past, has been eating itssauer-krautand sausages in peace, paying almost no taxes, and growing its own wine and tobacco, about to be plunged into irretrievable misery and ruin, by a set of selfish hounds who look to nothing beyond their stipend of five florins a-day! Heaven help the idiots! what would they be at? They have got all manner of constitutions, liberty of the press—though there is not a man in Germany who could write a decent leading article—and a great deal more freedom than is good for them already. And now the world is to be turned upside down, because a parcel of trash, not a whit more respectable than Cuffey and his confederates, and very nearly as stupid, have taken the notion of unity into their heads, and are resolved to buildup, with rotten bricks, the ricketty structure of an empire. Nicholas, my dear friend, there is work chalked out for you, and ready. If these scum presume to meddle with their neighbours, they must be crushed like a hive of hornets; and I do not know any foot so heavy and elephantine as your own!"
Pondering these things deeply, I strolled on from shop to shop, gleaning everywhere as I went statistics touching the manner in which our free-trade innovations have affected the industry of Great Britain. For a year and a half, the boot and shoe trade has been remarkably thriving; the London market being the most profitable in the world, and nothing but British gold exported in return. As to cotton manufactures, Belgium and Switzerland have the monopoly of Southern Germany. The trade in Bohemian glass is rapidly superseding at home the labour of the silversmith. A complete service, so beautiful that it might be laid out on the table of a prince, costs about thirty pounds; and the names of the British magnates, which the dealer pointed to with ineffable triumph as purchasers, were so numerous as to convince me that the deteriorating influence of free trade was rapidly rising upwards. The same may be said of the cutlery, which is now sent to undersell the product of the British artisan in his own peculiar market. When we couple those facts, which may be learned in every Continental town, with the state of our falling revenue, and the grievous direct burden which is imposed upon us in the shape of property and income tax, it is difficult for any Briton to understand upon what grounds the financial reputation of Sir Robert Peel is based, or to comprehend the wisdom of adhering to a system which sacrifices every thing in favour of the foreigner, and brings us in return no earthly recompense or gain.
I duly kept my engagement at the Swan, and was introduced by the Professor to Zitz, Gervinus, and some more of the radical party. The dinners at the Swan are unexceptionable; indeed, out of Paris, it is impossible to discover better.
"What do you think of our German parliament?" asked a deputy of the name of Neukirch, next whom I was seated. "It must be an interesting sight for an Englishman to behold the aspirations of our rising freedom."
"Oh, charming!" I replied: "and such splendid oratory—we have nothing like it in the House of Commons."
"Do you really think so?" said Neukirch, looking absurdly gratified.
"I do indeed. The speech which I had the privilege of hearing this morning from the gentleman opposite—" here I bowed to Simon of Treves, who was picking the backbone of a pike—"was equal to the most elaborate efforts of our greatest orator, Mr Chisholm Anstey. It is not often that one has the fortune to listen to such talent combined with patriotism!"
"You speak like a man of sense," said the flattered Simon. "I believe that I have given those infernal princes their gruel. Lichnowsky had better hold his peace, for the time is coming when a sharp reckoning must be held between the aristocrats and the people."
"Potz tausend!" cried Zitz, "do they think to lord it over us longer with their stars and ribbons? I hold myself to be as good a man as any grand-duke of them all, and a great deal better than some I could name who would give a trifle to be out of Germany."
"And how does the cause of democracy progress in England?" asked Neukirch. "We are somewhat surprised to find that, after all the preparation, there has been no revolution in London."
"As to that," said I, "you must hardly judge us too rashly. Two distinguished patriots, called Ernest Jones and Fussell, were desirous of raising barricades; but, somehow or other, the plan was communicated to Government, the troops refused to fraternise, and the attempt was postponed for the present."
"I see!" cried Zitz, "Russian influence has been at work in England too. Nicholas has been sowing his gold, and the fruit is continued tyranny."
"The fact is," said I, "though I would not wish it to be repeated, thata good many of us are of opinion that we have no tyranny at all, but rather more freedom than is absolutely necessary for our happiness."
"No tyranny!" shouted Zitz; "is there not a chamber of peers?"
"Too much freedom!" roared Simon of Treves; "have you not an Established Church?"
"Is not your sovereign a niece of the odious despot of Hanover?" asked Neukirch.
"Is there not a heavy tax on tobacco?" inquired my friend and preceptor Klingemann.
"Gentlemen all," said I, "these things must perforce be admitted. We have a chamber of peers, and are thankful for it, because it curbs democracy in the Commons. We have an Established Church, and we honour it, because it has taught the people to fear their Creator and to reverence their queen. Our sovereign is a niece of the King of Hanover, and she has no reason whatever to be ashamed of the connexion. And as to the article of tobacco, I may remark to my learned friend the professor, that revenue must necessarily be raised, and that, moreover, I have not smoked a single decent cigar since I set foot in Germany."
"These are reactionary doctrines!" growled Zitz; "I fear you are no true friend of the people."
"A firmer one never sat under the sign of Geordie Buchanan," said I; "but I suspect your estimate of the people is somewhat different from mine. Pray, Herr Neukirch, will you pardon the curiosity of a stranger, if I ask one or two questions upon points which I do not thoroughly comprehend? I observe, from the tenor of the proclamations issued by Herr von Soiron, that you contemplate the erection of one free, united, and indissoluble Germany."
"That is precisely our object."
"Then, am I right in holding that the Reichsverweser concentrates in his own person the whole power and puissance of the different states?"
"Just so. He is president of Germany."
"So that with him and his council rest the whole responsibility of disposing of the troops of the confederation, of making treaties, of proclaiming peace and war, of regulating coinage and customs, and, in fact, of exerting every royal prerogative?"
"Always with consent of the German parliament," said Zitz. "You may believe we are not such fools as to substitute one tyrant for thirty-eight."
"Then, gentlemen, it appears to me that your whole scheme, upon which I am not qualified to express an opinion, resolves itself into one of extensive and entire mediatisation. If the Emperor of Austria and the King of Prussia have no power to declare peace or war—if their armies are to obey the orders of the central power at Frankfort—it will follow, as a matter of course, that their kingly privileges are at an end. The interchange of ambassadors with foreign states will be a ceremony so clearly futile that it must at once be abandoned, and the monarchs will become merely the first of a titular nobility."
"That is the inevitable and glorious consequence!" cried my new acquaintance, Neukirch. "You see the whole subject in its proper light. First, we clip the wings of the princes till they can do no more than hop about their own home-yards; then we control the proceedings of the Reichsverweser by a parliament elected on the principles of universal suffrage; and finally, we can eject the puppet if necessary, and resolve ourselves into a pure democracy."
"One thing, then," said I, "is only wanting for this desirable consummation, and that is, the consent of the princes. I admit that you may have little trouble with Baden, Wurtemberg, and the like, but what say Austria, Prussia, and Bavaria to this wholesale abdication of their thrones?"
"We don't affect to deny that there may be a crisis approaching. Austria has her hands full for the present with Italy and Hungary, and has given no definite reply. But the clubs are strong and active at Vienna, and on the very first opportunity you will see a general rising. 'Anarchy first—order afterwards,' is our motto. Then, as to Prussia, we do not want to push on matters too rapidly there. The king has been playing into our hands; and, to tell you the truth, we depend upon him alone for the continuanceof our five florins a-day. So that, in the mean time, you may be sure we shall be moderate in that quarter. Bavaria may do as she pleases. If the others yield, that power must necessarily succumb."
"Then I want to understand a little about the justice of your cause. You have claimed Schleswig-Holstein as part of Germany, and you have sent German troops, for the purpose of recovering it as your right?"
"Quite true."
"And at the same time Germany, or you as its representatives, have acknowledged the right of all foreign nations to their own independence?"
"We have."
"Then, will you have the kindness to explain to me how it is that your philanthropic parliament, holding such principles, has not thought proper to insist that every Austrian soldier, belonging to the confederation, should be immediately withdrawn from Lombardy and Hungary? How is it that General Wrangel, in the north, has ceased to be a Prussian, and become a German soldier, whilst Marshal Radetsky, in the south, is fighting without remonstrance at the head of troops which you claim as your own, and against that independence of a foreign nation, which you have thought proper expressly to recognise? If Germany claims Schleswig on the ground of unity of race and language, how can she, at the same time, countenance a subordinate German power in infringing the very principle which she has so determinedly proclaimed?"
Neither on this occasion, nor on any other, could I obtain a satisfactory reply to the above question. In fact, from the very beginning, the conduct of the men who have put themselves at the head of the present movement, has been checkered by contradictions of the most glaring and obvious kind. On the fifth of May, the present vice-president, Von Soiron, put forth an address to the inhabitants of Bohemia, Moravia, and Silesia, calling upon them to co-operate and join with the German confederacy, and to send representatives to the union. Two of these states are comprised in the Austrian, and one in the Prussian dominions;but none of them are German. If nationality is to be recognised as the ruling principle—and the scheme of German confederation and empire contemplated nothing else—these countries would fall to be excluded, since, by language and race, they form part of a totally different branch of the European family. But before the ink on their proclamation of strict unity and independence was dry,—that proclamation containing the following remarkable words, "The Germans shall not be induced, on any consideration, to abridge or deprive other nations of that freedom and independence which they claim for themselves as their own unalienable right,"—we find the Germans calmly annexing Polish Posen to their league, proposing to include Bohemia, Moravia, and Silesia in the limits of the empire, and by their official congratulatory address to Radetsky, giving national countenance to the war of subjugation in Lombardy. Even were their case otherwise good, such acts as these form an irresistible argument against their present claim for Schleswig; for upon no principle whatever are they entitled to add, on one side, to the possessions of the empire by foreign annexation, and on the other to repudiate annexation, when in favour of a foreign power.
But it is useless, in their present state, to demand explanation from the Germans. They are like men who, in attempting to cross a ford, have been carried off their feet by the swollen waters, and are now plunging in the pool, unable to reach the shore.Imperium in imperiois clearly unattainable. German unity, as at present contemplated, with a common army, common taxes, and common constitutions, under one central government, can only be achieved by an entire prostration of the princes, and the abolition of the kingly dignity. Austria, Prussia, Saxony, Bavaria, and all the states, must be blotted from the map of Europe, their boundaries erased, their conditions forgotten, and their names for ever proscribed. The republican party know this well, and it is in this conviction that they are still labouring on, taking advantage of the unhappy state of Austria in relation to its foreign possessions, sympathising with the Hungarian revolt,and exciting the clubs at Vienna; whilst, at the same moment, they are availing themselves to the utmost of the weak and foolish blunder committed by the king of Prussia, and appealing to his own declaration in favour of German unity, whenever he shows the slightest symptom of receding from the popular path. There is hardly a shade of difference between the opinions entertained by a large mass of the Frankfort parliament, and those professed by Hecker and Struve, the leaders of the Baden insurrections. The aim of both parties was the same; but the insurgents sought to attain their end by a speedy and violent process, for which the others were not prepared. They proposed to undermine the power of the sovereigns by a continued course of agitation, to arm a burgher guard throughout Germany, as a countercheck to the troops, and, wherever it is possible, to seduce the latter from their allegiance. In this latter scheme, as recent events have shown, they have been unfortunately too successful; and the military system of Germany had afforded them great facilities. The German regiments are not, as is the case in Britain, transferred from town to town, and from province to province, in a continual round of service. They are quartered for years in the same place, make alliances with the town-folks, and become imbued with all their local and prevalent prejudices. They are, in fact, too much identified with the populace to be thoroughly relied on in the case of any sudden emeute, and too much associated with the landwehr or militia, to be ready to act against them. Let those who have not reflected upon this serious element of discord, consider what in all probability would be the state of an Irish regiment, if quartered permanently among the peasantry of Tipperary—exposed, not for a short time, but for years, to the baneful influences of agitation and deliberate seduction, and never having an opportunity of contemplating elsewhere the advantages of order and obedience? The circumscribed dimensions of some of the German states has increased this evil enormously; and the example set by General Wrangel, when, in the case of the Swedish armistice, he declared himself to be an Imperial and not a Prussian commander, cannot but have had a powerful effect in sapping the loyalty of the troops. If Wrangel took that step in consequence of secret orders from his master, as is by no means improbable, he may be personally absolved from blame, but only by shifting to the royal shoulders such a load of obloquy and scorn as never monarch carried before. If, on the contrary, Wrangel did this on his own authority, the Prussian government has evinced lamentable weakness, in not having him tried by a court-martial, and shot for audacious treason.
If the monarchies of Germany are to be preserved, it must be through the resolution of the troops. A congress is at this moment obviously impossible, nor can it be attempted until the Frankfort parliament has ran its course—a consummation which some people think is not only devoutly to be desired, but very near at hand. Things have now gone so far, that it is difficult to see how any kind of order can be restored, without the disastrous alternative of commotion and civil war. There are again symptoms of republican gatherings in the north, which Prussia cannot this time overlook, without sacrificing the fragments of her honour. At Vienna, the insurrection has been successful. The emperor has, a second time, quitted Schönbrunn, and has openly announced that, when he next returns to his capital, it will be at the head of an avenging army. There is nothing improbable in this announcement. The Austrian army is less liable to the impairing influence already noticed than that of any other German state; and though there never was a time when its services were so urgently required at so many menacing points as at the present, there may yet be strength enough left to crush the insurgent capital. Of course, in such an event, all men may be prepared to hear from the liberals the same howl of horror which issued from their sympathising throats, when the populace of Naples manfully and boldly espoused the cause of their legitimate sovereign. Sicilian cannibalism can be pardoned, but Neapolitan loyalty, never!
It is a vain dream to associate German unity with the existing systemof principalities. Whether Von Gagern is really in earnest, in attempting to labour towards this end, or whether he is merely keeping up the appearance of such a union, for the purpose of paving the way to a more sweeping measure of democracy, may be the subject of legitimate doubt. If the former be the case, he has committed a grave error, in allowing the Diet to be annihilated. Though difficult, it was by no means impossible to have adjusted the separate constitutions of the German states upon a liberal basis, and to have devolved upon the chambers the right of nominating the members of the imperial diet. Such a system might have secured as much unity of purpose as was requisite for general administration, without resorting to the dangerous experiment of a parliament elected by universal suffrage. But nothing of this sort was attempted. On the contrary, the Diet fell without a struggle: its old functions had ceased when Prussia deserted it for the carrying out an independent policy of her own; and no one attempted to resuscitate it by the infusion of novel blood.
Notwithstanding such charm as might be derived from the society of Messrs Zitz, Simon, and Co., and the fund of information which professor Klingemann was ever ready to pour into my ear, I soon became tired of Frankfort, and betook myself to the watering-places. This was a good year for calculating what proportion of the company usually located during the summer months at Wiesbaden, Homburg, and Baden, sought those places for the benefit of the Hygeian springs, in contradistinction to those whose main attraction was the Casino. The number of the former class, I should say, was comparatively small. Although one cannot feel much sympathy for such nests of gambling, maintained, to the discredit of the smaller German princes, for the sake of the revenue obtained from the Israelitish proprietors of the banks, it was yet painful to observe the dull appearance of the towns. There was hardly any remnant of that gaiety and sprightliness, which used to characterise these haunts of fashion and dissipation—none of the equipages which were wont to roll along the environs, with ducal coronets on their blazon. The bazaars were deserted: thetables-d'hôtemiserably attended. If thirty people assembled in one of the great saloons, which formerly used to be occupied by two hundred, the countenance of the host relaxed, and lie evidently caught at the circumstance, as a gleam of returning prosperity. There were still one or two desperate gamblers to be seen at the roulette and rouge-et-noir tables, staking their gold with as much eagerness and stern determination as ever; but, in general, there seemed to prevail such a serious scarcity of bullion, that those who possessed any were chary of hazarding their florins. The brass bands still played as of yore, but their music sounded dull and melancholy. Few subscribed to raffles, and the balls were miserable failures.
The state of the small capitals is still worse. Darmstadt, never a lively town, is literally shut up. You may wander through the streets of Carlsruhe, as in the solitudes of Balbec, wondering what on earth can have become of the whole population, and not be able to solve the problem, unless, indeed, you should happen to hear the clattering of the hoofs of the Baden cavalry awakening the dormant echoes of the street. Then, with a shrill whoop of "Hier kommt die Badische cavallerie!" man, woman, and child,—chambermaid and waiter, rush to the windows to admire the exciting spectacle of their native heroes, mounted upon animals not very much larger than ponies, and, the moment the procession has passed, relapse into the same state of somnolency as before. The palaces do not seem to be occupied, and the voice of the syrens on the boards of the theatres is mute.
Perfectly disgusted with the change, which was too conspicuous everywhere, I bent my way towards Switzerland; and there, amidst the mountains, snows, cascades and glaciers of the Oberland, strove to banish from my mind all thoughts of revolution and its concomitant ruin. But Switzerland has suffered, in its way, almost as much as Germany. Although the central point of Europe to which the steps of the tourists tend, it furnishes ample proof of the general consternation and misery in its lonelyroads and empty hotels. There are no English travelling abroad this year. Sometimes you encounter an American party who have crossed the Atlantic, curious to see how the old countries are getting on in their novel craze for republican institutions, but the staple of the travelling commodity consists of Italian refugees from Lombardy. These men also seem to have adopted a kind of mediæval garb, more graceful than that of the Germans, and are, to outward appearance, no despicable specimens of humanity. They vapour and bluster, largely about their exertions for Italian independence, though I never could meet with one who had actually struck a blow in its behalf. They were furious at Charles Albert, whom they characterised as a "traditore sceleratissimo," and vaunted that, but for him and his Piedmontese troops, they would long ago have freed their country from the grasp of the Austrians. I was not altogether able to comprehend by what process of ratiocination these illustrious exiles arrived at this result. It would appear odd if they could not accomplish, with the aid of allies, the very same task for which they asserted their notorious unassisted competency. This is a political riddle of such a nature, that I shall not attempt to solve it.
It is, however, comfortable to remark, that Swiss industry, in many of its branches, still continues undiminished. The squat and unwholesome hunter, who for years has infested the Rosenthal, still pursues his prey, in the shape of the unwary traveller, with perpetual impudence and importunity. Out of his clutches you cannot get, until you have purchased, at triple its artificial value, the wooden effigy of a chamois, a horn whistle, or the image of an Alpine cow; and even after you have made your escape, crossed the bridge, and are in full retreat up the valley, you hear him clamouring behind you with offers of a staff to sell. From every cottage-door rush forth hordes of uncompromising children; nay, they surprise you in the very wastes, far from any human dwelling, and their only cry is "Batzen!" Approach a waterfall, and you are immediately surrounded by a plump of those juvenile Cossacks, seizing hold of your skirts, thrusting their hands upwards in your face, and denying you one moment's leisure to survey the scene. Their yelp for pence is heard above the sullen roaring of the cataract. In vain you take to flight—they cleave to you like a swarm of midges. You leap brook, scale bank, and scour across the meadow towards the road, but you fare no better than the Baron of Cranstoun in his race with the Goblin Page; and at last are compelled to ransom yourself by parting with the whole of the change in your possession.
If I can judge from the present temper of the Swiss, they are not likely to return a very complacent answer to the charge made against them by the central power at Frankfort, of having harboured Struve and his gang. The German troubles have kept back so many visitors from their country, that the Swiss are not inclined to be particular as to the political opinions of any one who may favour them with a sojourn; and in the present state of matters it is rather difficult to determine who are rebels or the reverse. Bitterly at this moment is Switzerland execrating a revolution which has entailed upon her consequences almost equivalent to the total failure of a harvest.
After spending a fortnight among the mountains, I retraced my steps to Frankfort. There I discovered that, in the interim, some little change had taken place in the aspect of political affairs. Prussia had at length taken heart of grace, and had remonstrated against the arbitrary refusal of the armistice with Denmark, which she had been expressly empowered, by the authority of the Reichsverweser, to conclude. This tardy recognition of the laws of honour had, of course, given enormous umbrage to the Frankforters, who now considered themselves as the supreme arbiters of peace or war in Europe; the more so, because they were not called upon to pay a single farthing of the necessary expenses. They appeared to think that,jure divino, they were entitled to the gratuitous services of the Prussian and Hanoverian armies; and, with that sublime disregard of cost which we are all apt to feel when negotiating with our neighbours' money, they were furiousat any interruption of the war unworthily commenced against their small but spirited antagonist. Such, at least, was the feeling among the burghers, in which they were powerfully encouraged by the co-operation of the women. It is a singular fact that, in times of revolution, the fair sex is always inclined to push matters to greater extremity than the other, for what reason it is literally impossible to say. I had the pleasure of spending an evening at a social reunion in Frankfort, and can aver that the sentiments which emanated from the ladies would have done no discredit to Demoiselle Theroigne de Mericourt in the midst of the Reign of Terror.
But other motives than those of mere abstract democracy had some influence with the members of the parliament. Many of them who, in the first instance, had voted for the peremptory infraction of the armistice, were fully aware that they could not afford as yet to affront Prussia, or to give her an open pretext for resiling from the movement party. Such a step would have been tantamount to annihilation, and therefore they were disposed to succumb. Others, I verily believe, thought seriously upon their five florins a-day. Hitherto Prussia had been the only state which had granted a monetary contingent, and to refuse compliance with her wishes would inevitably involve a sacrifice of the goose that furnished the supply of metallic eggs. Therefore, after a long and rather furious debate, the assembly retracted their former decision, and consented to a cessation of hostilities.
A parliament, chosen upon the basis of universal suffrage, is only safe when its opinions coincide with those of the mob. In the present instance they were directly counter to the sweet will of the populace, and of course the decision was received with every symptom of turbulence.
"Professor," said I to my learned friend, on the evening after this memorable debate, "you have given one sensible vote to-day, and I hope you will never repent of it. But, if you will take my advice, you will do well to absent yourself from the parliament to-morrow. There are certain symptoms going on in the streets which I do not altogether like, for they put me forcibly in mind of what I saw in Paris this last spring; and, unless a German mob differs essentially from a French one, we shall smell gunpowder to-morrow. I should be sorry to, see my ancient preceptor fragmentally distributed as an offering to the goddess of discord."
"Don't speak of it, August Reignold, my dear boy!" said the Professor in manifest terror. "I wouldn't mind much being hauled up to a lamp-post, for I am heavy enough to break any in Frankfort down; but the bare notion of dismemberment fills my soul with fear. Well says the poet,varium et mutabile; and he might safely have applied it to the people. Will you believe that I, whose whole soul is engrossed with the thoughts of unity and the public weal, was actually hissed and hooted at as a traitor, when I emerged to-day from the assembly?"
"It is the penalty you must pay for your political greatness," I replied. "But, if I were you, I should back out of the thing altogether. Cobbling constitutions is rather dangerous work in such times as these; and it strikes me that your valuable health may be somewhat impaired by your exertions."
"Heaven knows," said the Professor devoutly, "that I would willingly die for my country—that is, in my bed. But I do begin to perceive that I am overworking this frail tenement of clay. Once let this crisis be past, and I shall return to the university, resume my philosophic labours, and finish my inchoate treatise upon the 'Natural History of Axioms.'"
"You will do wisely, Professor, and humanity will owe you a debt: only don't employ that fellow Blum as your publisher.Apropos, what is Simon, of Treves saying to this state of matters?"
"Simon of Treves," replied my learned friend, "is little better than an arrogant coxcomb. He had the inconceivable audacity to laugh in my face, when I proposed, on the ground of common ancestry, to open negotiations with the Thracians, and to ask me if it would not be desirable to include the whole of the Peloponnesus."
"He must indeed be a blockhead! Well, Professor, keep quiet for theevening, and don't show yourself in the streets. I am going to take a little stroll of observation before bed, and to-morrow morning we shall hold a committee of personal safety."
On ordinary occasions, the streets of Frankfort are utterly deserted by ten o'clock. This night, however, the case was different. Groups of ill-looking, ruffianly fellows, were collected at the corners of the streets; and more than once, beneath the blouse, I could detect the glitter of a furtive weapon. There were lights and bustle in the club-houses, and every thing betokened the approach of a popular emeute.
"You will do well," said I to the Swiss porter of theRussischer Hofon re-entering, "to warn any strangers in your house to keep within doors to-morrow. Unless I am strangely mistaken, we shall have a repetition of the scenes in Paris to-morrow. In the mean time, I shall trouble you for my key."
I rose next morning at six, and looked out of my window, half expecting to see a barricade; but for once I was disappointed—the Germans are a much slower set than the French. At nine, however, there were reasonable symptoms of commotion, and I could hear the hoarse roar of a mob in the distance whilst I was occupied in shaving.
Presently up came a waiter.
"The Herr Professor desires me to say that, if you have no objection, he would be glad to breakfast in your room." My apartments were on the third story.
"Show him up," said I; and my friend entered as pale as death.
"O August Reignold, this is a horrible business!"
"Pshaw!" said I, "how can you expect unity without a row?"
"But they tell me that the mob are already breaking into the assembly—into the free, inviolable, sacred parliament of Germany!"
"Is that all? They might, in my humble opinion, be doing a great deal worse."
"And they are beginning to put up barricades."
"That's serious," said I; "however, one comfort is, that they expect somebody to attack them. Take your coffee, Professor, and let us await events with fortitude. You are tolerably safe here."
The Professor groaned, for his spirit was sorely troubled. I really felt for the poor man, who was now beginning, for the first time, to taste the bitter fruits of revolution. They were as ashes in his academical mouth.
There was a balcony before my window, from which I could survey the whole of the Zeil, or principal street of Frankfort. The people were swarming below as busy as a disturbed nest of ants. A huge gang of fellows, with pickaxes, took up their post immediately in front of the hotel, and began to demolish the pavement with a tolerable show of alacrity.
"Here is the work of unity begun in earnest!" I exclaimed. "Where is your armed burgher guard now, Professor? This is a glorious development of your national theories! Quite right, gentlemen; upset that carriage—roll out those barrels. In five minutes you will have erected as pretty a fortalice as would have crowned the sconce of Drumsnab, if Dugald Dalgetty had had his will. The arrangement also of stationing sharpshooters at the neighbouring windows is judicious. Have a care, Professor! If any of these patriots should chance to recognise a recusant member, you may possibly have the worst of it. For the sake of shelter, and to prevent accidents, I shall even put my portmanteau in front of us; for damaged linen is better than an ounce of lead in the thorax."
In a very short time the barricade, was completed, but as yet no assailants had appeared. This circumstance seemed to astonish even the insurgents, who held a consultation, and then, with tolerable philosophy, proceeded to light their pipes. They were not altogether composed of the lower orders; some of them seemed to belong to the middle-classes, and were the active directors of the defence. We could not, of course, tell what was going on in other parts of the town, for all communication was barred. Better for us it was so, for about this time Prince Lichnowsky, and Major von Auerswaldt were murdered.
A considerable period of time elapsed,and yet there was no appearance of the soldiery. I had almost begun to think that the insurrection might pass away without bloodshed, when a mounted aide-de-camp rode up and conferred with the leaders on the barricade. From his gestures it was evident that he was urging them to disperse, but this they peremptorily refused. Shortly afterwards a body of Austrian soldiers charged up the street at double-quick time, and the firing began in earnest.
"I am a doomed man!" cried the Professor, and he leaped convulsively on my bed. "As sure as Archimedes was killed in his closet, I shall be dragged out to the street and massacred!"
"No fear of that," said I. "Body of Bacon, man! do you think that those fellows have nothing else to do than to hunt out philosophers? That's sharp work though! The windows are strongly manned, and I fear the military will suffer."
The loud explosion of a cannon shook the hotel, and a grateful sound it was, for I knew that, if artillery were employed, the cause of order was secure. It produced, however, a contrary effect on the Professor, who thought he was listening to his death-knell. On a sudden there was a trampling on the stairs.
"They are coming for me!" groaned the Professor. "Ora pro nobis!I shall never read a lecture more!" And sure enough the door was flung open, and five or six Prussian soldiers, bearing their muskets, entered. Klingemann dropped down in a swoon.
"You must excuse ceremony, gentlemen," said the corporal; "we have orders to dislodge the rioters." And forthwith the whole party stepped out on the balcony, and commenced a regular fusillade. Presently one of them dropped his weapon, and staggered into the room; he had received a bad wound in the shoulder. Immediately afterwards a bullet went plump into my portmanteau.
"Oh confound it!" cried I; "if they are beginning to attack property, it is full time to be on the alert. With your leave, friend, I shall borrow your musket."
Next morning I took a final farewell of the Professor. The good man was much agitated, for, besides his bodily terror, he had been suffering from the effects of a violent purgative attack.
"I have thought seriously over what you said, my dear boy, and I begin to perceive that I have been acting very much like a fool. I shall pack up my chattels this evening, wash my hands of public affairs, and return to lay my old bones in peace beside those of my predecessors in the university."
"You can't do better, Professor; and if, in your prelections, you would omit all notice of Harmodius and Aristogiton, and say as little as possible about the Lacedæmonian code, it might tend to promote the welfare of your students, both in this world and in the next."
"Of that, my dear August Reignold, I am now thoroughly convinced. But you must admit that the abstract idea of unity—"
"Is utter fudge! You see the result of it already in the blood which is thickening in the streets. Adieu, Professor! Put your cockade in the fire, and offer my warmest congratulations to your friend Mr Simon of Treves."
Two days afterwards I experienced a genuine spasm of satisfaction while setting my foot on Dutch ground at Arnheim. The change from a democratic to a conservative country was so exhilarating, that I nearly slew myself by drinking confusion to democracy in bumpers of veritable Schiedam.
A Comic History of England would be an exceedingly curious, and even a valuable work. We do not mean a caricatured history, with great men turned into ridicule, and important events burlesqued; such absurdities may provoke pity, but they will hardly extort a smile from any whose suffrage is worth courting. We have had a vast deal of comic literature in this country during the last dozen years; quite a torrent offacetiæ, a surfeit of slang and puns. One or two popular humorists gave the impetus, and set a host of imitators sliding and wriggling down the inclined plane leading from wit and humour to buffoonery and bad taste. The majority reached in an instant the bottom of the slope, and have ever since remained there. The truth is, the funny style has been overdone; the supply of jokers has exceeded the demand for jokes, until the very word "comic" resounds unpleasantly upon the public tympanum. It were a change to revert for a while to the wit of our forefathers, at least as good, we suspect, as much of more modern manufacture. And therefore, we repeat, a comic English history, whose claims to the quality should be founded on its illustration by the songs, satires, and caricatures of its respective periods, would be interesting and precious in many ways; particularly as giving an insight into popular feelings and characteristics, and often as throwing additional light upon the causes of important revolutions and political changes. It would certainly be a very difficult book to compile. Instead of beginning at the usual starting-post of Roman invasion, it could hardly be carried back to the first William. The Saxons may possibly have revenged themselves on their conquerors by satirical ditties, and by rude and grotesque delineations; but it may be doubted whether any authenticated specimens of either their poetry or painting are in existence at the present day. It would not surprise us if King John's courtiers had curried favour with their master by lampooning the absent Cœur-de-Lion; and doubtless when there were men sufficiently sacrilegious to slay a churchman at the altar, others may have ventured to satirise in rude doggrel the pride and presumption of Thomas à Becket. But have their graceless effusions survived? Can they be traced in black letter, or deciphered on the blocks of wood and stone referred to in Mr Wright's preface? We fear not; and we believe that, up to the date of the invention of printing, the history suggested would be very meagre, and the task of writing it most ungrateful. For some time after that date the humorous illustrations would be written, and not pictorial; songs and lampoons, perhaps, but of caricatures few or none. For although caricature, in one variety or other, is ancient as the Pyramids, its introduction is recent into the country where, of all others, it seems most at home. Fostered by political liberty, it has naturalised itself kindly on English soil, but its foreign origin remains undeniable. Already, in the sixteenth century, Italy had her Caracci, and France her Callot; whilst in England we vainly seek, until the appearance of Hogarth, a caricaturist whose name abides in our memories, or whose works grace our museums.
It is evident, then, that the easiest way to write a history of the kind we have spoken of, is to begin at the end and write backwards. At any rate the historian avoids discouragement, at the very commencement, from the paucity of materials. And that is the plan Mr Wright has adopted. Breaking new ground, he naturally selected the spot most likely to reward his toil, and pitched upon the reigns of the first three Georges. He couldhardly have chosen a more interesting period; and certainly, without coming inconveniently near to the present day, he could have fixed on none more prolific in the satires and drolleries he has made it his business to disinter and reproduce.
The contents of Mr Wright's book would sort into two comprehensive classes—the social and the political; the former the least voluminous, but the most entertaining. Political satires and caricatures, under the first two Georges, possess but a moderate attraction at the present day; and it is not till the period of the American war—we might almost say not until that of the French Revolution—that they excite interest, and move to mirth. The hits at the follies of society at large have a more general and enduring interest than those levelled at individuals and intrigues long since passed away. The first ten years of the accession of the house of Hanover were poor both in the number and quality of caricatures; and the remoteness of the period has enhanced the difficulty of finding them. Written satires and pasquinades were abundant, but, to judge from those preserved, few were worth preserving. Of these ephemeral publications there exists no important collection, either public or private. Of caricatures, more are to be got at, although, strange to say, the British Museum contains very few. There was far less of humour and spirit in those that appeared during the early part of the eighteenth century than in those produced during its latter portion. In fact, until the reign of George II., the art could hardly be said to be cultivated. In the first hundred pages of the book before us, which comprise nearly the whole reign of George I., we find only fourteen cuts—a small proportion of the three hundred scattered through the two volumes. And scarcely one of the fourteen has the qualities essential to a genuine caricature. They aim at telling a story, or conveying an insinuation, rather than at burlesquing persons. Sometimes the prints or medals (the latter were a favourite vehicle for the circulation of satire) were simply allegories, and as such are incorrectly designated by the word caricature, which, as derived from the Italiancaricare, implies a thing overcharged or exaggerated in its proportions. As an instance of these allegories, we may cite a Jacobite medal, where Britannia is seen weeping, whilst the horse of Hanover tramples on the lion and unicorn. The English nation was at that period usually personified by Britannia and her lion, until Gillray, much later—taking the idea, it is said, from Dr Arbuthnot's satire—hit off the humourous figure of John Bull, which has been preserved, with more or less modification, by all subsequent caricaturists. Hogarth, who first attracted notice in 1723-4, by his attacks upon the degeneracy of the stage—then abandoned to opera, masquerade, and pantomime—brought up a broader style of caricature than his predecessors, but still he was too emblematical. Then, for a time, caricature got into the hands of amateur artists—female as well as male. Thus a humorous drawing of the Italian singers, Cuzzoni and Farinelli, and of Heidegger the ugly manager, is attributed to the Countess of Burlington. Then, after an interregnum, during which caricature languished, Gillray arose—Gillray, who, coarse and often indecent as he was, (in which respects, however, he did but conform to the tone and manners of his day,) was unquestionably the ablest of his tribe, the most thoroughly English, and the most irresistibly humorous caricaturist we have had. The refined might tax him with grossness, but his delineations went home to the multitude; and to the multitude the caricaturist must address himself, if he would produce effect, and enjoy influence. For a while, during the war with France, Gillray's active pencil was a power in the state. In his turn he was surpassed in coarseness and vulgarity, but not in wit, by his contemporary Rowlandson.
The sketches before us, of the history of England under the house of Hanover, are not to be considered as dependent on the satires and caricatures used to illustrate them. They form a general narrative of the most prominent events of a very important century, with which are interwoven, when opportunity offers, the most remarkable pen and pencil pasquinades of the day. The latter, however, havenot always been obtainable, or are not worth recording. As we have already mentioned, they are scarce at the commencement of the book, which opens at the death of Queen Anne in 1714. When Jacobite plots were rife, and party-feeling ran so high as to produce frequent bloody struggles in London streets, between the Whigs or Hanoverians and the "Jacks," as the adherents of the Pretender were styled by their opponents, there appear to have existed no draughtsmen of much talent for caricature; whilst the poetical satires, judging from the specimens furnished by Mr Wright, are very middling in merit, although exceedingly numerous. If there was little wit, there was much violence and abuse on both sides. On the part of the Jacobites, agitation was the order of the day; and the mob, both in London and the provinces, were incited to many excesses—such as attacking houses, robbing passengers, pulling down Dissenting chapels, and drinking James the Third's health in the open streets. In Manchester, in June 1715, the population were for several days masters of the town. The results were the passing of the Riot Act, and the quartering of cavalry in the places most disaffected. The Whigs, on their part, were not idle, but carried on a brisk war of words, and raked up all the old stories about the Pretender—that he was no king's son, but a miller's offspring, conveyed into the Queen's bed in a warming-pan by the Jesuit Father Petre. Of course such tales as these gave a fine handle to squib and lampoon; and, in reference to the Jesuit's name, the Whigs designated the Pretender as Peterkin or Perkin—an appellation offering a convenient coincidence with that of a previous impudent aspirant to the English crown. To sneers of this kind the Jacobite minstrels manfully and spiritedly replied; and although the muse was less propitious in England than in Scotland, there is no doubt these effusions had a considerable effect upon the people. But the suppression of the rebellion damped their spirits, and with it their poetic fire; whilst the exulting Whigs triumphantly flapped their wings, and crowed a yet louder strain. Perkin and the warming-pan were the burden of every lay, and a peal of parodies celebrated the flight of the Stuart.