Chapter VI (3)

When we hear that “to retrograde to a confederation of states, or to establish a weak federal state, by a powerfully impressed independence of the individual states, would only be to create a mournful period of transition to fresh catastrophes and new revolutions;” that from such a course of proceeding would result the danger “of harbouring in Germany revolutionary movements, or perchance civil war, for a series of years;” that the nation would arrive at “the most undesirable consummation of rendering itself ridiculous for ever by trumpeting to the world German unity and German power, and presenting in reality a spectacle the very reverse”—when we hear that “no dynastic interests can be taken into consideration if the nation wills unity;” that “to construct a new empire, and at the same time to permit an organisation tending to an inevitable contest for the supreme sovereignty between the individual states, would be to sow disunion instead of unity, to create weakness instead of power;” and that, consequently, “the imperial power must, in a degree, absorb in itself the sovereignty of the individual states, abolish the diplomatic intercourse of the individual states at home and abroad, and concentrate it in its own hands, appropriate to itself the unconditional disposal of the national forces, and not allow governments or their constituent State Assemblies to occupy themselves with affairs appertaining to the National Assembly alone, since a perfectly established central state, in which other perfectly established states are encased, would be virtually a monstrosity,”—when we hear all these things, and weigh the tendency of their views, we can see in them no other result than the abasement of the individual sovereigns, an absorption of their power, which would leave them no more than useless and ridiculous puppets, and, consequently, their inevitable overthrow in the course of time, and the establishment of republican institutions, whatever the name given to the new form of republic, whatever the title bestowed upon its head, be it even Emperor, or _Reichs Verweser_, Regent, Protector, Administrator, or President.

On the other hand, when we are told—although “jealousies between individual states, and revilings of the northern by the southern parts of the empire” are stigmatised as “criminal absurdities”—that, “if the many collateral and coexistent interests are too preponderant to be sacrificed to German unity, if the old spirit of discord and separation is still too powerfully at work, if the jealousy between race and race, between north and south, is still too strongly felt, the nation must convince itself of the fact, and return to the old federal system,” already hinted at as _impossible_ without fresh revolutions or long civil wars; and when we know, at the same time, that these jealousies between state and state not only _do_ exist, but continue to increase and ferment still more in the present state of things,—that in fact, the old spirit of discord and separation is still more powerfully at work than ever,—what can we look forward to? Only the other alternative to which we have alluded—those civil wars which the manifesto of Prince Leiningen itself hints at so cautiously.

Since, from the very first commencement of the revolution in Germany, the jealous spirit between the northern and southern states broke out in a decided form, it has only increased instead of diminishing. When the vacillating but ambitious King of Prussia, desirous of coming forward as the “man of Germany” of the day, but “infirm of purpose,” attempted to direct the revolutionary movement in his own states by accepting the call for a United German Empire, and by placing himself, although unavowedly, at its head, the Austrian _Official_ Gazette immediately fulminated a severe, damning, and, under the circumstances, almost cruel manifesto against the ambitious Prussian monarch; in Bavaria, the young men of the upper classes burnt his majesty in effigy in the public market-place of Munich; at Stuttgardt, the picture of the offending sovereign was as publicly hung by the neck to a gallows. Southern Germany was indignant at the thought that an upstart King of Prussia should attempt to lead the movement for a new United Empire of Germany, and presume even to dream of being its future emperor. But when, in the course of events, the provisional head of the newly constituted central power was chosen by the assembly from among the princes of Southern Germany, it was the turn of Prussia to exhibit its spite and anger: its jealousy was not to be concealed. The result of the disappointed ambition of Prussia was exhibited, as already alluded to, in a reactionary feeling against that central power, which it would have accepted probably with acclamation, and been the first to applaud and support, had it emanated from its own country. The exhibition of this feeling in some violent outbreak was so much dreaded upon the occasion of the military homage appointed to be shown to the _Reichs Verweser_ at Berlin, that the ceremony, as is well known, was obliged to be countermanded. The feeling is now still continuing to be shown in a constant exhibition of mistrust on the part of Prussia towards the National Assembly, and as well as in the counter-accusation of that new and vaguely defined political crime “reaction,” laid by the journals of the moderate party, as well as by the ultra-liberals, to the charge of Prussia. With all these conflicting elements at work between the various parts of Germany, and again between these various parts and the central power, placed in the hands of the Assembly, it is very difficult to look clearly as yet towards any possible constitution of that unity which would appear to be the most vague end and aim of the revolution in Germany. To those who attempt to look into the mist of the future, and see visions, and dream dreams—for, in the present state of the cloudy and wavering political horizon, it would seem that all political foresight can pretend to no better name than that—the nearer of the two alternatives to be deduced from Prince Leiningen’s manifesto, would appear to be the disunion, the total rupture, the civil war.

The other alternative, however, seems not without its chances; for, although the old liberals of republican tendencies, the suspected and imprisoned, have now been brought round, for the most part, into the ranks of the moderately progressive party, in the natural course of revolutionary changes, or even been called to the councils of the kings and princes who rejected and persecuted them; yet, on the other hand, the exertions of the moderate party, in spite of the clog that they would now put upon the too rapid course of ultra-democracy, appear to tend, in the efforts made, and the views entertained respecting the unity of Germany, towards the very republican institutions which they disavow, and suppose themselves endeavouring to avoid. The real republicans, at the same time, although without any present weight among the political spirits of the day, are yet composed, as elsewhere, of the young, hot-headed, reckless, active, stirring elements of the time, and are always ready to make up, by violence and headlong precipitation, for what they want in importance and experience. They are aided also in their views by a certain party of the liberal press, which is always preaching the imitation of French institutions and the conduct of the present leading men in France,—as if France and the French did not hold up a lesson and a warning instead of models for imitation—and consoling Germany with the idea, that although it does not possess such enviable men or measures, the men must shortly rise upon the political surface, and that the measures will follow behind them. By a great portion of the press, even that of the moderate party also, a continual irritation of suspicion and mistrust is being kept up against the still reigning sovereigns of Germany; and the cry of that very vague accusation “reaction,” the name of which alone, however, is considered sufficiently damning, is constantly raised upon every movement, of whatever nature it may be, which those sovereigns may make. The moderate party may be acquitted of republican tendencies in their hearts; but they seem to ignore the old proverb, “give a dog a bad name,” and the consequences; and they will make “sad dogs” out of the sovereigns, until at last the consequences will threaten more and more nearly.

Between these two alternatives, however, Germany seems to think that it may find a middle course, and establish its theoretical and vaunted unity without exciting civil dissension, or plunging into the depths of republicanism. May it prove right in its as yet uncertain hopes; but certainly the means by which this desired consummation is to be arrived at, are not in the least degree visible: it remains as yet the vaguest of vague fancies—the how, the where, the when, and even the why, are as yet matters of doubt: not only deeds but principles, not only principles but plans, to this intent, are as yet utterly absent. In fact our question, after all, remains unanswered; and, beyond the main point of “unity,” to be effected somehow or other, revolutionising Germany seems utterly unable to tell us, as we vainly endeavour to find out definitively, “what it would be at?”

_Printed by William Blackwood and Sons, Edinburgh._

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Footnote 1:

See our No. for March 1848.

Footnote 2:

Hide—from _cacher_.

Footnote 3:

Carrion.

Footnote 4:

In Frémont’s expedition to California, on a somewhat similar occasion,
two mountaineers, one the celebrated Kit Carson, the other a St Louis
Frenchman named Godey, and both old trappers, performed a feat
surpassing the one described above, inasmuch as they were but two, who
charged into an Indian village to rescue some stolen horses, and
avenge the slaughter of two New Mexicans who had been butchered by the
Indians; both which objects they effected, returning to camp with the
lost animals and a couple of propitiatory scalps.

Footnote 5:

The Mexicans call the Indians living near the Missions and engaged in
agriculture, _mansos_, or _mansitos_, tame.

Footnote 6:

From a manuscript obtained in Santa Fé of New Mexico, describing the
labours of the missionaries Fray Augustin Ruiz, Venabides, and Macos,
in the year 1585.

Footnote 7:

“Some were so barbarous as to eat their own species.” The sentence
refers to the Scythians, and is in Strabo. I mention the authority,
for Strabo is not an author that any man engaged on a less work than
the History of Human Error is expected to have by heart.

Footnote 8:

_Memoirs of the Reign of George II., from his Accession to the Death
of Queen Caroline._ By JOHN LORD HERVEY. Edited, from the original
MSS. at Ickworth, by the Right Hon. J. W. CROKER. 2 vols. Murray,
London: 1848.

Footnote 9:

“Upon the evening of this long day’s march, the imperial column
approaching Gjatz was surprised to find upon the road the bodies of
Russians quite recently slain, all with their heads cloven in the same
manner, and with their brains scattered around. It was known that two
thousand prisoners preceded the column, escorted by Spaniards,
Portuguese, and Poles. Various opinions were emitted; some were
indignant, others approved or remained indifferent, according to the
character of each. Around the Emperor these different impressions
found no voice, until Caulaincourt burst out and exclaimed, ‘that it
was an atrocious cruelty. This, then, is the civilisation we bring to
Russia! What effect would this barbarity have upon the enemy? Did we
not leave him our wounded and a host of prisoners? Would he lack the
opportunity of horrible reprisals?’ Napoleon maintained a gloomy
silence, but upon the morrow these murders had ceased. The unfortunate
prisoners were allowed to die of hunger in the enclosures into which,
at night, they were huddled like cattle. Doubtless it was still a
barbarity; but what could be done? Exchange them? The enemy refused.
Set them free? They would have hastened to proclaim our destitution,
and soon they would have returned with their companions to harass our
march. In this unsparing war, to have given them life would have been
to sacrifice ourselves. We were cruel from necessity. The fault was,
to have ever placed ourselves in so terrible an alternative.

“On the other hand, during our march into the interior of Russia, our
captive soldiers were not treated more humanely, although the Russians
had not imperious necessity for an excuse.”—SÉGUR, vol. ii. p. 149.

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● Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. ● Used numbers for footnotes, placing them all at the end of the last chapter. ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.