[1]Ye knights who have made ready to take part in the great battle of the day, lift your visors and speak clearly: On which side are you fighting? Either—or!Is it for the power of the sovereign or the rights of the people? For spiritual light or priestly superstition? Are you republicans or thralls? No evasion! Answer plainly! Either—or!
[1]Ye knights who have made ready to take part in the great battle of the day, lift your visors and speak clearly: On which side are you fighting? Either—or!
Is it for the power of the sovereign or the rights of the people? For spiritual light or priestly superstition? Are you republicans or thralls? No evasion! Answer plainly! Either—or!
[2]Cf. Moritz Hartmann:Reimchronik des Pfaffen Mauritius. Chap. v. "Apostel und Apostaten."
[2]Cf. Moritz Hartmann:Reimchronik des Pfaffen Mauritius. Chap. v. "Apostel und Apostaten."
[3]I, who am of the land of the Hussites, believe that I have drunk the blood of God; love has been poured into my heart; love is God's blood, my heart hischalice.I, who am of the land of the Hussites, believe in the word made flesh, believe that thoughts become armed cohorts, that every song is a holysword.
[3]I, who am of the land of the Hussites, believe that I have drunk the blood of God; love has been poured into my heart; love is God's blood, my heart hischalice.
I, who am of the land of the Hussites, believe in the word made flesh, believe that thoughts become armed cohorts, that every song is a holysword.
[4]The traitorous friend had tracked me down, the minions of the law had come; my mother turned pale and trembled, my sister's eyes were bathed in tears. But I said: "Dry these foolish tears; my time has come and I must go; the flames of danger hiss around me—I become a salamander in their fiery glow."I was born for danger; dangers, thick and dark, beset my path, yet I know no fear; are they not my destiny? They love me as the lion loves his tamer; 'tis I who have conjured them up, and they serve me as spirits do the magician.
[4]The traitorous friend had tracked me down, the minions of the law had come; my mother turned pale and trembled, my sister's eyes were bathed in tears. But I said: "Dry these foolish tears; my time has come and I must go; the flames of danger hiss around me—I become a salamander in their fiery glow."
I was born for danger; dangers, thick and dark, beset my path, yet I know no fear; are they not my destiny? They love me as the lion loves his tamer; 'tis I who have conjured them up, and they serve me as spirits do the magician.
[5]Moritz Hartmann:Gesammelte Werke, x. p. 16, &c.
[5]Moritz Hartmann:Gesammelte Werke, x. p. 16, &c.
[6]Alfred Marchand:Les poètes lyriques de l'Autriche. Hartmann:Gesammelte Werke, x. p. 23, &c.
[6]Alfred Marchand:Les poètes lyriques de l'Autriche. Hartmann:Gesammelte Werke, x. p. 23, &c.
[7]Keiner Macht der Erde soll es gelingen, das natürliche Verhältnis zwischen Fürst und Volk in ein conventionelles, constitutionelles zu verwandeln, und nun und nimmermehr werde ich es zugeben, dass zwischen unserm Herrgott im Himmel und dieses Land ein geschriebenes Blatt sich eindrängt, um uns mit seinen Paragraphen zu regieren und die alte heilige Treue zu ersetzen.
[7]Keiner Macht der Erde soll es gelingen, das natürliche Verhältnis zwischen Fürst und Volk in ein conventionelles, constitutionelles zu verwandeln, und nun und nimmermehr werde ich es zugeben, dass zwischen unserm Herrgott im Himmel und dieses Land ein geschriebenes Blatt sich eindrängt, um uns mit seinen Paragraphen zu regieren und die alte heilige Treue zu ersetzen.
"Im Hochland fiel der erste Schuss—Im Hochland wider die Pfaffen!Da kam, die fallen wird und muss,Ja, die Lawine kam in Schuss—Drei Länder in den Waffen!Schon kann die Schweiz von Siegen ruhn:Das Urgebirg und die NagelfluhnZittern vor Lust bis zum Kerne!Drauf ging der Tanz in Welschland los—Die Scyllen und Charybden,Vesuv und Aetna brachen los:Ausbruch auf Ausbruch, Stoss auf Stoss!—'Sehr bedenklich, Euer Liebden!'Also schallt's von Berlin nach WienUnd von Wien zurück nach Berlin—Sogar dem Nickel graut es! (Nickel,i.e.Czar Nicholas.)Und nun ist denn auch abermalsDas Pflaster aufgerissen,Auf dem die Freiheit, nackten StahlsAus der lumpigen Pracht des KönigssaalsZwei Könige schon geschmissen."[1]
Thus sang Freiligrath in February 1848, a few days after the revolution in Paris. A long shudder, of pain and at the same time of relief, passed through the whole of Germany. It was as if a window had been opened, and air had reached the lungs of Europe. Example, the one power that can do miracles, was forcing the German people to action. They were also impelled by the fear that absolutism would now venture its last move, would declare Germany to be endangered by the revolution in France, and compel the people of Prussia and Austria to take up arms against the French republic.
In Austria intolerance had gone as far as it could go. In 1846 Metternich's government had actually placed theHerzensergüsseof the Emperor Joseph II., collected and published by a banished patriot, on the list of contraband books. And now the disturbances in the Austro-Italian provinces, which were endangering the credit of the state and the industries of the country, brought dissatisfaction with Metternichs rule to a climax. The decisive defeat he had met with in Switzerland, namely, the collapse of that Jesuitical "Sonderbund" which with all his might he had supported against the Radicals, had given the last blow to men's faith in his invincibility. In one of the provinces of Prussia, Silesia, bureaucratic misgovernment had just produced terrible consequences. Typhus, the result of starvation, had raged for months among the miserably poor industrial population before those in power had made any attempt to remedy the state of matters. Hundreds of dead and dying lay by the roadsides. In the cold of January, poor, solitary wretches starved in their hovels, and naked children pined to death beside the corpses of their parents; no one came to their aid, for the ignorant local authorities had, in order to prevent the spread of infection, made it a punishable offence to enter any infected house. All this time the government officials only appeared to collect the taxes, which they did with harsh regardlessness of circumstances; and when the Governor was attacked because no remedial measures had been taken from August 1847 to the end of January 1848, he answered that no formal appeal for assistance had been made.
In such circumstances the political leaders of the middle classes found it an easy matter to rouse their own class to action, and the working classes, hoping to improve their position, and exasperated by arbitrary police regulations, everywhere followed in the footsteps of the middle classes.
It is difficult for the present generation to enter into the feelings of the men of 1848. The frame of mind which prevailed in Denmark at that time cannot be regarded as typical. There, as elsewhere, it undoubtedly was the instinct of national self-preservation and pride that asserted itself. But whereas the other countries rose in revolt against hereditary rule and coercion, in Denmark a revolt was suppressed by the power of the hereditary monarchy and of insulted national feeling. There was no thought of revolution in the minds of the Danes; it was for old rights they fought, not for new ideas.
Everywhere else in Europe the oppressed peoples revolted. It was long since anything but evil had fallen to their lot, since they had witnessed the triumph of anything but wrong, use-and-wont, and falsehood. Actual and detestable had with them come to be almost synonymous terms. But they had a faith that could remove mountains and a hope that could shake the earth. Liberty, Parliament, national unity, liberty of the press, republic, were to them magic words, at the very sound of which their hearts leaped like the heart of a youth who suddenly sees his beloved.
The aspiring spirits of the generation of to-day do not feel thus. They know that stupidity is a ferocious animal, and the hardest of all to kill—that cowardice, the agile slave that stands at the beck of power, is as strong as courage itself when there is any question of defending ancient privilege—that what is known by the name of progress is a feeble snail. The simpleton in the fable bought a raven that he might see for himself if it was true that ravens live for two hundred years. The friends of progress in our days know beforehand that all the raven-black lies and raven-trickeries of all the privilege-rookeries, great and small, will outlive them—for how many hundred years they cannot tell. At a rare time they have seen good victorious, but never have they heard it acknowledged that it istheirgood which has triumphed. They have always seen truth first abused, then if possible killed—if that proved impossible, maimed and recognised. Therefore they have little hope. Many of them, indeed, have killed hope in their own breasts, as we kill a nerve that gives us too much pain. They have been disappointed too often.
The men of 1848 had never relinquished their hope in the future. They had been oppressed, and they had suffered so long that they had grown accustomed to see brute force and hypocrisy triumphant, accustomed to live in a sort of spiritual twilight. But they believed in the coming day. And now, suddenly, they saw it. First a gleam, then a ray, then a flame, then the whole horizon, as far as the eye could reach, a sea of light. For the first time they heard loud, ringing voices proclaim liberty to be the right of the people, without a voice raised in opposition; and for the first time, with wondering eyes, they saw power, that hitherto immovable mass, the giant bearer of oppression and falsehood, begin to stir like some gigantic elephant, writhe and turn and shake itself, throw off its riders, and move ponderously in the direction of the high-spirited, ardent friends of liberty, the men of the new day, who stood ready to fling themselves on its back and force it to trample down all the ancient abuses.
For the younger men especially it was a moment without compare, a sight that intoxicated them, that drove them wild. They shouted, they sang, they rejoiced, and in their wild exultation they felt it a necessity to act, to risk all, to give their lives if need be—anything, everything, except be behindhand in greeting and ushering in the dawning day of liberty.
True it is that democratic illusions held high revelry; true it is that there prevailed a touchingly naïve belief in the infallibility of popular instincts; and true it is that the ability of theorists to settle practical difficulties was greatly overestimated. But the first impulse was irresistible, the original instinct was correct. Those who really possessed capacity became leaders, took the command without any fuss or parade, and were obeyed, not because of their outward authority, but because their real superiority was felt by all.
The score of students who commanded on the barricades in Berlin may be given as an instance. Many a so-called very ordinary man for a few days of his life showed himself to be a hero. During the first months some of the finest qualities of humanity displayed themselves and shone with astonishing lustre.
It was in Austria that the revolutionary movement began, immediately after the arrival of the news of the Revolution of February in Paris. A speech made by Kossuth in the Hungarian Parliament on the 3rd of March, demanding constitutional government for all the provinces of the Empire, inaugurated the revolution both in Buda-Pesth and Vienna. On the 11th of March a similar demand was made by the Czechs in Prague, and before this, on the 6th of March, the Austrian Industrial Union had presented a petition to Archduke Franz Karl, the presumptive heir to the throne, requesting Metternich's dismissal, and also demanding liberty of the press, the right of voting supplies, of taking part in legislation, &c.
On this followed what has been called the petition storm. Every day, every hour new petitions to the Emperor poured in. On the 12th of March the students held a great meeting at the University, the result of which was also a petition to the Emperor, demanding liberty of the press, religious liberty, and liberty of instruction. The Emperor received the deputation the following day, but gave an undecided answer. In these unforeseen circumstances the 13th of March, the opening day of the Lower Austrian Convention of the Estates, arrived and found the Government unprepared. The populace crowded into the enclosure of the assembly hall, where Kossuth's speech was read aloud amidst excited rejoicings and shouts of "Hurrah for the constitution!" A party forced their way into the hall and began to smash the furniture and throw it out on to the heads of the soldiers; even Archduke Albrecht, who was in command, was struck by a block of wood. Then the order was given to fire, and the first Revolution of Vienna broke out. The Italian troops fired, but the Austrians unscrewed their bayonets amidst the joyful shouts of the crowd. At the Castle the gunners, instead of shooting, placed themselves in front of their guns—as we read in one of the poems of the day, Rick'sDas Lied vom braven Kanonier:
"Vor der Burg in glühender Front,Des blutgen Befehls gewärtig,Vor der Burg in glühender Front,Da stehn die Kanonen fertig.Schon zittern die Thore, sie brechen schier,Jetzt gilt's, du braver Kanonier!Und du trittst vor die Mündung hin,Als wolltest du fesseln den Würger—Und du rufst mit begeistertem Sinn:Erst mich! dann den wehrlosen Bürger!—Dann schweigt das Commando, beschämt vor dir.Hab Dank, du braver Kanonier!"[2]
Towards evening it became clear to Metternich that no concessions would now avail. He who for forty years had led the policy of Austria hurriedly gave in his resignation and made his escape in disguise in the imperial laundry cart. At nine o'clock the same evening the troops were withdrawn from Vienna (exactly a week before the same thing happened in Berlin), and citizens and students mounted guard everywhere. The arsenal was opened, and in one day arms were served out to 25,000 men.
There was some severe fighting in the outskirts of the town. So fiercely resolute were the populace that, all unarmed, they pressed in upon and disarmed two companies of grenadiers who were defending the entrance to Metternichs villa. Those who resisted were trampled under foot.
That same evening the abolition of the censorship and liberty of the press were publicly announced. The intimation produced a feeling of intense relief—it was as if a gag had been removed from the mouth of the nation.
The newspapers, as a matter of course, instantaneously began to give expression to the popular political ideas. It had hitherto been impossible to treat even in poetic form any subject with a social or political tendency; Austria had resembled a forest where the voices of the birds were silent. Now suddenly pipe and call, whistle and song, were heard from every bush and tree, a mighty and confused chorus.[3]
Poems of liberty were published in all the languages of Austria—German and Czech, Slavonian and Croatian, Hungarian, Polish, and Italian. So eager were men to make use of their new liberty that a whole bevy of poems, superscribedErstes censurfreies Gedicht("First poem printed after the abolition of the censure"), appeared simultaneously.
The one generally accepted as the first is Frankl'sDie Universität. During the night between the 14th and 15th of March, one of the professors, fearing an outbreak of the prisoners, requested the armed students to despatch a guard to one of the prisons. Twenty students were at once sent, under the command of Ludwig August Frankl. Whilst he stood on guard that young man gave expression to the feelings of the day in the song:
"Was kommt heran mit kühnem Gange?Die Waffe blinkt, die Fahne weht,Es naht mit hellem TrommelklangeDie Universität.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Das freie Wort, das sie gefangen,Seit Joseph arg verhöhnt, verschmäht,Vorkämpfend sprengte seine SpangenDie Universität."
In 1890, on his eightieth birthday, Frankl published a large volume of able poetry; during his long life he has been an unusually productive poet and writer of biography; he has been presented with the freedom of Vienna and of three other European and Asiatic towns; but this song, of which in course of time at least a hundred thousand copies were printed, was what founded his reputation.
It was not, however, really the first poem printed after the abolition of the censorship, for on the previous night Castelli had written his song of theGarde-National.In the German language alone there are three or four poems which lay claim to the same distinction. One of these is the song of the Vienna student brigade,Erwacht, erwacht o Brüder! Ein grosser Morgen tagt("Awake, awake, O brothers! a great morning is dawning"), and another is Fr. Gerhard'sDie freie Presse, which begins:
"Die Presse frei! Die Glocken lasst ertönenUnd läutet Jubel überall!Und ruft's hinaus zu Deutschlands fernsten SöhnenDie Presse frei, erstürmt der Freiheit Wall![4]
Simultaneously with these poems, which express such an innocent, exuberant delight at being able to speak and write without restraint, there appeared others full of the most childish gratitude to the weak-minded Emperor. In them he is "the good Emperor," "our good Ferdinand," &c., &c. People were ready to forget immediately that every single concession had been, not granted, but forcibly extorted, or else they believed naïvely that this was the way to make their late oppressors forget it. In one of the many songs in praise of the Emperor we read:
"Heil dir, mein Kaiser! in all der LustZu der sich dein Volk ermannt hat,Sei Dir vor Allen ein Heil gebracht,Den es immer als edel erkannt hat."[5]
On the 16th of March the Hungarian deputation, 150 magnates with Kossuth at their head, rode into Vienna, through the Prater, welcomed with deafening cheers and showers of flowers. That day the number of armed citizens had risen to 60,000. In the afternoon a herald appeared on the balcony of the Castle and read the following proclamation: "We, Ferdinand the First, by the grace of God Emperor of Austria and King of Hungary and Bohemia, of Lombardy and Venice, of Dalmatia, Croatia, Slavonia, Galicia, Illyria, &c., have now, in agreement with the wishes of our faithful people, decided to take certain steps." On this introduction follows the announcement of the liberty of the press, the formation of the National Guard, and the convention of an assembly of deputies for the purpose of drafting "that constitution which we have determined to bestow on our country."
Saphir sang:
"Schwert aus der Scheid, aus dem Herzen das Lied!Stimmt an das Lied der Lieder!Jauchzend ertön' es durch Reihe und Glied,Jauchzend durch jubelnde Brüder!Blank wie die Waffe und hell wie der StahlKlinge das Lied von der Garde-National."[6]
Even the mocking-birds, we see, on this occasion ceased from mocking and found voice to join in the universal chorus. In the persistent employment of the French word,Garde Nationale, we have an example of the importation and imitation which so largely characterised the movement.
In turning over the pages of a collection of the German political poems, several thousand in number, which were published in 1848 in Vienna alone, we come upon many unknown names, but also upon almost all that were well known at that time and on many that were destined to become famous. We are struck by a poem of Bauernfeld's,Wien an die Provinzen, weak from a literary point of view, but significant from its indication of the first sign of reaction, namely, an attempt made in the provinces to shake off what was called the tyranny of the capital; in other words, to counteract the influence of the example set by victorious, free Vienna. Friedrich Uhl, at a later period editor of theWiener Abendpost, the official organ of the Government, writes a lament for the fallen revolutionary heroes:
"Das schwarze Band, den schwarzen FlorLasst in den Lüften wallen,Den Todten singt ein Klagelied,Die für die Freiheit gefallen."[7]
There are poems to Lenau, the most popular of living Austrian poets, bewailing that the singer of liberty is now insane and silent, his ears deaf to the victors' joyful shouts. Richard Wagner, as yet unknown to fame, sends a "Greeting from Saxony to Vienna":
"Ihr habt der Freiheit Art erkannt;Nicht halb wird sie gewonnen;Ist uns ihr kleinstes Glied entwandt,Schnell ist sie ganz zeronnen.Dies kleinste Glied ist unsre Ehre,Ehrlos ist, wer es lässt,Mit hellen Waffen, guter Wehre,Drum hieltet Ihr es fest."[8]
Amongst the writers of serious poems we find names like Grillparzer and Hebbel; Saphir and Dingelstedt write mock-heroic elegies on the last of the censors, both of them parodies of Schiller'sNadowessische Todesklage; and there are no end of satiric thrusts at the King of Prussia, who, curiously enough, was considered to have acted heretofore in a more reactionary spirit, and now to be granting concessions more unwillingly than the Austrian Emperor.
Since the beginning of March Berlin had been in a state of the wildest excitement. Directly after the Revolution of February theKreuzzeitungpublished an article advocating war with France. It awakened extreme anxiety; people asked each other if long-suffering Prussia was actually to be compelled to take up arms against the French Republic. It was in these days that all Germany began to deck itself in black, red, and gold, the colours symbolising unity and liberty. Freiligrath wrote of them:
"In Kümmerniss und DunkelheitDa mussten wir sie bergen,Nun haben wir sie doch befreit,Befreit aus ihren Särgen;Ha, wie das blitzt und rauscht und rollt!Hurrah, du Schwarz, du Roth, du Gold!Pulver ist schwarz,Blut ist roth,Golden flackert die Flamme!"[9]
On the 7th of March the first great public meeting was held at In den Zelten. It was resolved to present an address to the King, demanding that he should immediately convene the Landtag and grant a constitution. The address ended with the words: "No war with France! Lawful liberty in our own country! Fraternal union of the whole great German nation!" On the 12th of March a regiment of cavalry charged the crowds at In den Zelten and dispersed them, but they collected again in town, built barricades, and attempted to seize a gunsmith's shop in the Jägerstrasse. Two men were killed in front of the Opera House. Under the windows of the Castle the people shouted "Liberty! Liberty of the press!" and insulted the sentries. On the 14th of March a general Landtag was summoned. So far things had been managed on the whole peaceably; but on the 15th of March the soldiers, who were worn out with night-watching, and with having to hold themselves in constant readiness in the barracks, began to behave roughly to the crowd, to strike with the butt-ends of their guns, &c. Small barricades which some boys had erected at the corner of the Kurstrasse and the Gertraudenstrasse were charged by the Cuirassier Guards from Potsdam, and the boys were cruelly handled.
At one o'clock on the 18th of March a royal proclamation was read in front of the Castle. It declared that Germany was to be from henceforth not a federation of States, but one federated State (Staatenbund—Bundesstaat), with a common Parliament, a common army, free-trade, liberty of emigration, and liberty of the press. At the end of each sentence the crowd answered with thundering hurrahs. Cries were heard of "Away with the soldiers!" and some stones were thrown. The famous General von Pfuel, who was in command, forbade the soldiers to fire, ordered the dragoons to dismount, and praised the discipline they showed in obeying at once, furious as they were. When the town seemed quiet he went home for a short time.
During his absence, in consequence of an order given, no one knows by whom, though the embittered populace during the following days laid the blame of it on the Prince of Prussia, the future Emperor William, a regiment of dragoon guards arrived. The crowd shouted "Away!" The dragoons wheeled round, and the crowd were beginning to cry "Bravo!" when suddenly the soldiers charged in amongst them with naked swords. At the same moment a battalion of infantry marched out at the Castle gate, drew up in line, and also charged with levelled bayonets. Some shots were fired—possibly by accident. With loud shrieks the crowd instantaneously dispersed. Only a moment before joy had been at its height; strangers had been embracing each other, waving their hats, and shouting "Hurrah for the King"; now, as if at a preconcerted signal, barricades sprang up, as they had done in Vienna, over the whole town. There were two hundred of them, built of paving-stones, gutter-planking, and carts. The town was a camp. Men fired on the troops from every roof; those who could not get guns, threw stones. Every axe, every thick stick became a weapon.[10]
The roofs were torn off corner houses, and paving-stones were carried up in baskets. The students met, armed, in front of the University, fastened tri-coloured cockades in their caps, and proceeded to man the barricades. Powder and shot, axes and iron bars, were provided by the merchants. On the evening of the 18th, the artillery opened fire in the Königstrasse. The King looked on from the windows of the Castle, incensed by the deputations that came entreating him to withdraw the troops, but at times condescending to jest; what specially annoyed him was the sight of the tri-coloured flags waving on the barricades. He was ready, he said, to concede much to entreaty, nothing to illegal violence.
Varnhagen, in his Diary, describes what he saw and heard from his windows that night: "Asmall body of citizens under trusty leaders held the streets, doubly watchful because their numbers were so few. For a number of hours absolute darkness and silence prevailed; then, towards morning, the sound of far-off drums was heard; troops were evidently approaching. The citizen combatants were instantly on the alert; we could hear them whispering. A youthful voice gave the word of command: 'To the roofs, gentlemen!' and every man went to his post. This calm, determined command, given with noble simplicity, rang terrible and yet inspiring through the darkness. One felt the dangers which those who obeyed it were braving, for the general resistance was becoming weaker, and it seemed as if they were doomed, after a fruitless struggle, to meet an ignominious death, either by a fall from the roof, by the soldiers' bayonets, or by the hand of the executioner." Varnhagen concludes: "The heroic courage and determination of these daring youths was most undoubtedly worthy of all admiration"—weighty words, coming from the pen of an old, experienced officer.
On the night between the 18th and 19th of March, wherever barricades were being erected or repaired, the windows were illuminated. But the moment troops entered the street all was darkness. The soldiers hewed and sabred right and left in the houses which they entered, and showed mediæval brutality in their treatment of prisoners. Towards morning the arsenal of the Garde-Landwehr regiment was captured by the insurgents; they found that the locks of the guns had been destroyed, but all the smiths of the quarter set to work and repaired the damage.
At last, in the course of the morning, a royal proclamation headedAn meine lieben Berliner!was circulated, in which an attempt was made to explain the events of the day before as being the result of an unfortunate misunderstanding, "It had been necessary to clear the square in front of the Castle with cavalry, ordered to advance at a walking pace and with sheathed swords (im Schritt und mit eingesteckter Waffe); two infantry muskets had about this time gone off by accident, fortunately injuring no one; a company of evil-disposed individuals, chiefly strangers, had taken advantage of this unfortunate occurrence to stir up ideas of revenge in the minds of the excited crowd; the troops had used their weapons, but not until driven to do so by being repeatedly fired at. The King promises that the troops shall be withdrawn from Berlin, and concludes with the hope that both parties will forget what has happened."[11]
Meanwhile the struggle raged on with frightful exasperation on both sides. In treating with the deputations that waited on him on the morning of the 19th of March, the King attempted to make his promise of withdrawing the troops conditional on the dismantling of the barricades. But in the end everything was conceded—change of ministry, release of the prisoners taken during the night, and withdrawal of the troops. Amidst the shouts of the rejoicing crowd, to muffled beat of drum and Chorale-music, the soldiers were marched off to Potsdam, feeling that they had sustained a deadly insult at the hands of their royal commander-in-chief.
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 SchmerzgeberdeDen, 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 WundeIhn 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 entitledErlkönig, 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 nichtWas 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, zerstreuenSich, wandernd nach alien Seiten und Winden,Das Wort des Heiles zu verkünden,Wohl wissend, dass ein langes ExilUnd 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 hisReimchronikHartmann writes mournfully:
"So ruhe sanft und gut, mein Robert!Nicht braucht's der Wunsch, dass leicht dir werdeDie blutgetränkte Wiener Erde,Der Boden, den du dir erobert.Du bist nicht todt, trotz aller KlageDes deutschen Volks, trotz aller Lieder.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Ein Mythus geht: der Robert lebt,Der Robert Blum, den sie erschossenUnd 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 GeisterhändenUnd fängt mit seiner Brust das Blei,Das uns die Fürstenväter senden.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Und wandeln muss er, bis entrafftDas deutsche Volk sich dem VerrätherBis er entfürstet und entpfafftDen 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 WinterwindesUnd 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'sReimchronik des Pfaffen Mauritiusthat 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 ProfessorenUnd Präsidenten und Assessoren,Weinküfer seh' ich und RedakteureSuperintendenten und AccoucheureUnd Börsenleute und Zeitungsschreiber,Astronomen und Steuereintreiber,Lumpenhändler und Alterthumskenner,Biedermänner, Hansemänner, Bassermänner—Allein wo sind dieMänner, dieMänner?"[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.