The Reminiscences of Carl Schurz: Background: The Struggle for Constitutional Government and the Revolution of 1848

The Metternich Policy

THE three monarchs who at last, by the aid of England, succeeded in overthrowing Napoleon were in reality men of only mediocre ability. Francis of Austria was the incarnation of selfishness and narrow-mindedness. From the first he had scented danger to himself in the popular nature of the uprising in Prussia, for liberal ideas of every kind were a bugbear to him. “Omnes mundus stultizat et vult habere novas constitutiones,” “The whole world is foolish and wants new constitutions,” he cried angrily, in bad Latin, to a delegation of Hungarians. Hand in hand with Metternich, a minister after his own heart, he inaugurated a system of persistent political repression that reminds one of the religious tyranny of his bigoted ancestors. Under the remainder of his own reign, and under that of his son, enlightenment was simply crushed out in Austria. The votaries of literature and art went elsewhere, and even the teachings of learned scientists were subjected to rigid censorship. A copy of Copernicus, De revolutionibus orbium celestium, was confiscated in 1848, because of the dangerous sound of its title.

The Holy Alliance

The best and most intelligent of the trio was doubtless the Czar Alexander, in spite of his fickleness and vanity. He asserted himself on all occasions and posed everywhere as the real liberator of Germany, having come to consider himself an instrument chosen by Providence for the restoration of law and order. But his mind was no better balanced than in those early days, when he had sworn such loyalty to Prussia, only to desert her at Tilsit; or when, in reality autocrat of autocrats, he dreamed of becoming constitutional king of Poland. After the victories over Napoleon, he developed a religious enthusiasm, discussed dogmas and methods of doing penance with Frau von Krudener at Paris, and, at last, surprised his royal allies by laying before them the draft of a treaty, which provided nothing less than that the world should henceforward be ruled by the principles of common Christian brotherhood. A new alliance is to be formed, the writing declares, founded on the glorious truths of the religion of the Divine Saviour; the guiding threads of policy are to be the precepts of this same religion, — justice, love, and peace; the monarchs are to regard themselves as brothers, as fathers of their people, as “Plenipotentiaries of Providence,” as rulers over three branches of one and the same people; the nations are exhorted to stand fast in the principles taught by the Saviour; and all powers that do so shall be worthy of reception into this Holy Alliance. Frederick William signed at once. Francis and Metternich, with scorn and mockery in their hearts, followed suit for fear of offending the Czar. Wellington refused, on the part of England, as did also the Pope, who sent word that “from time immemorial he had been in possession of Christian truth and needed no new interpretation of the same.” The smaller powers of Europe all handed in their allegiance; while the Sultan of Turkey, who scented in this outburst of Christian sentiment the preliminaries of a crusade against himself, had to be pacified by an express declaration to the contrary on the part of Alexander. The chief trouble with the Holy Alliance was, that it regarded the people as senseless flocks to be driven by whatever measures the allied rulers might suggest. The treaty proved practically to be a dead letter; nor was even the brotherly concord of long duration. The Holy Alliance is responsible in a measure for the unanimity of the powers in the repression of liberal ideas.

A constitution promised by Frederick William III.

But liberal ideas were in the air now, and the strivings of the German people, for a generation to come, were to be toward their realization. The first draft of an article in the protocol of the Congress of Vienna had read: “In every state of the German Confederation there shall be a constitution in favor of the local estates”; but, by Austrian influence, the “shall” had been changed to a feeble “will,” and no punishment placed on disregard of the provision. While the Congress of Vienna was still in session, — at a time when there was immediate need of raising a new army on account of Napoleon's return, — Frederick William had promised a constitution to his Prussians. As a pledge of his confidence in the nation, there was to be established a sort of parliament. Representatives appointed by the local assemblies of the estates were to meet at Berlin; but they were to deliberate and advise, not to vote. Small as these concessions were, they were never fulfilled. Frederick William could not trust his five and a half million new subjects, who had belonged to as many as a hundred different states, to exalt the Prussian monarchy: he was seized with the same dread of an all-engulfing liberalism which filled his companions of the Holy Alliance. It was two years before the necessary commission was instructed to take the matter in hand; six years more before the preliminary local assemblies were organized on a common basis. Not until seven years after Frederick William's death, was a united Diet to be called to Berlin; and then it was to be of no use, as the country was on the brink of revolution. In other states of Germany, the course of events was similar. In 1818, the only sovereigns who had granted constitutions, were Bavaria, Baden, and the Grand Duke of Weimar; the latter the patron of Goethe and lord of the famous Wartburg.

Metternich opposed to liberal institutions.

That the progress of liberal institutions was not more rapid, is largely owing to the influence of the Austrian chancellor who, for nearly a generation, stood over the kings of Europe, and forced them into the narrow path of his own policy. The name of Metternich has become a synonym for reaction and conservatism. Not content with surrounding Austria by a Chinese wall, he made it his life-work to prevent Prussia and other German states from introducing constitutional government; well knowing that, if the spirit of nationality should invade the many-tongued Austrian dependencies, there would be an end of the recently formed empire. Over the king of Prussia, he not only exercised the ascendency of a stronger and more determined mind — making use of every little popular disturbance, every outspoken paragraph of the news-leaves, to terrify the timid ruler —, but he even threatened to withdraw from the Holy Alliance, should Frederick William refuse to take steps against the progress of revolution.

On the brilliant period of the war of liberation, was following one of petty suspicion and persecution. The days of absolute monarchy were counted, but the sovereigns could not and would not accept their doom.

Ingratitude of Frederick William III.

All the wonderful services rendered to him by his people, all the blood shed in war by men of peace, all the sacrifices made to raise the necessary funds, were now forgotten by the Prussian king; and he gave full credence to Metternich's devilish insinuations that the land was seething with sedition, concerned in which, were men like Arndt and Jahn. When Councillor Schmalz, the rector of the Berlin University, wrote an elaborate pamphlet to prove that the uprising of 1813 had not been the work of the people, but that the latter had simply streamed together at the king's summons as firemen obey an alarm bell: Frederick William saw fit to decorate him with an order, and to command his literary opponents to keep silent.

The founding of the Burschenschaft.

It is safe to say, that at no time in these earlier years was there any conspiracy which hazarded the king's safety or that of existing political institutions. But in one quarter there was a great deal of zeal for reform, a certain amount of incendiary eloquence, and two isolated cases of shocking crime, enough, and more than enough, to focus Metternich's attention on the secret societies in the German universities. These Burschenschaften, as they were called, had been founded in 1815, with the noblest purposes, and in patriotic antagonism to the Landschaften, which represented the separatism of the various petty states. The originators of the association were eleven students of Jena, all of whom had learned the more serious side of life on bloody battle-fields, and had come home with a loathing for the shallow, vicious ideals of the ordinary student societies. Sobriety and chastity were conditions of entrance, and the silly twaddle of the Commers was condemned; while each member was admonished to attend his lectures regularly and to show industry in his work. The watchword of the Burschenschaft was “honor, liberty, fatherland”; and the academic, was to be a model of the larger national life, every moral and physical faculty being trained for the country's benefit. Fichte and Schleiermacher, Jahn and Arndt, were chosen as examples and leaders; and a song of the last-named, “Sind wir vereint zur guten Stunde,” became the hymn, as it were, of the fraternity. Jahn, who had been given a degree from Jena, and who had established there one of his gymnastic training grounds, had been indirectly concerned in founding the Burschenschaft. The glowing patriotism of this exalted and rather ill-balanced man — who seriously suggested allowing a strip of wilderness to grow up between France and Germany and peopling it with wild beasts — found a ready echo in these fiery young hearts.

The Wartburg festival.

From the beginning, it was designed to make the organization of the Burschenschaft as widespread as possible; and within two years it had found footing in sixteen different universities. A common flag had been adopted, made up of the red, black, and gold, which were erroneously supposed to have been the colors of the old Holy Roman Empire. In 1817, it was determined to cement the union of all the chapters by holding a congress, or festival, which should, at the same time, be a memorial of great national events. The day chosen was the anniversary of the battle of Leipzig, and the Landsturm of Eisenach were to join in the celebration; while the place was to be the Wartburg, so memorable in the history of the Reformation, of which this was the three hundredth anniversary. There was a peculiar fitness, moreover, in this young band of patriots holding their assembly within the territory of the Grand Duke of Weimar; for, as was repeatedly emphasized during the proceedings, Charles Augustus was the only prince who up to that date — end of 1817 — had kept his promise and given his people a constitution.

The demonstrations on the Wartburg.

The Wartburg festival has become famous in history, not because of anything really remarkable in the rather harmless and boyish proceedings, but because of the effect that the report of those proceedings had upon Metternich and the sovereigns of Europe. In some of the speeches at the Wartburg it was, indeed, declared that the hopes of the war of liberation had not been realized; but, on the whole, the official program of the 18th and 19th of October was carried through with dignity and moderation. Addresses were made by professors of Jena; and, before parting, some two hundred delegates consecrated the closer union of their organizations, by partaking together of the Lord's Supper. But, on the evening of the 18th, some wilder spirits — in memory of Luther's burning of the Pope's bull — inaugurated an auto-da-fe on the little hill that faces the castle. Into the flames, with disquisitions on their demerits, were thrown a number of books; among them the writing in which Schmalz belittled the work of the patriots of 1813, a history of Germany by one Kotzebue, — who was hated as a Russian spy, — a Code Napoleon, and several writings against the new gymnastics. As emblems of the old military tyranny, there were also burned a corporal's staff, a pigtail, and one of the wonderful inventions by which officers prepared their figures for their faultlessly fitting uniforms.

Excitement at the different courts.

On receipt of greatly exaggerated accounts of what had taken place at the Wartburg, Prussia and Austria sent special envoys to the Grand Duke of Weimar; who, after investigation on the part of his ministry, failed to find that the students had committed any grave fault. But the Prussian minister of police denounced this “band of demoralized professors and corrupted students,” and declared that such “vandalism of demagogic intolerance” had dishonored the classic Wartburg. It was widely believed that, among the books burned, had been the act of confederation of the German states. Metternich saw in the festival the beginning of a widespread conspiracy, which, he declared, was not confined to students; and it was reported that the members of the Burschenschaft had sworn to die, if need be, for their organization.

Repressive measures of Frederick William III.

At a meeting of sovereigns, which took place at Aix-la-Chapelle, Metternich found an opportunity to work directly on the feelings of Frederick William III., — who, indeed, was already half beside himself with fear. He had investigated the case of every Prussian who had been present at the festival, and had set a watch on the Burschenschaften as well as on all the Turnvereine, or gymnastic associations in Prussia; and had threatened to suppress any university where the spirit of disobedience should be found. Metternich persuaded him, that the granting of a constitution would only increase the impending dangers. Had not this very festival taken place in the dominions of a too liberal-minded prince? When, therefore, in these days, a delegation from the Rhine provinces came to ask for the carrying out of those former promises, the Prussian king turned them ungraciously away. He lent a willing ear to Metternich's attacks on the freedom of the press and on the want of supervision over the teachings of professors in the universities. The Austrian recommended the strictest kind of investigation into everything pertaining to student life.

Meanwhile, through this policy of repression, and through the failure of the sovereigns of Germany to keep their promise of granting constitutions, the Burschenschaften really were becoming dangerous; not because of any widely organized conspiracy, but because, in all such associations, there are sure to be extremists ready to draw the full consequences from inflammatory talk. Here and there, it had actually been debated whether it was wrong to kill a prince for the good of his people; whether, indeed, a political murder would not be the best way of stirring men up to great deeds. A party had been formed at Jena called the Unbedingten, or unconditional, which had in mind a radical reform of the whole German system. The sovereigns were to be reduced to the condition of elected officials responsible to the people. The head of the “unconditionals,” Augustus Follen, was credited with the design of calling a mass meeting on the battle-field of Leipzig, for the purpose of proclaiming a German republic.

The murder of Kotzebue by Karl Sand.

A special object of hatred was the publicist Kotzebue, who furnished the Czar with political reports of what went on in Germany, and who was looked upon by the students as the “paid spy of despotism.” Jena was, finally, made too unpleasant for him as a place of residence, and he removed to Mannheim.

But in the heart of one exalted and not altogether responsible student, Karl Sand by name, the conviction had grown up, that the only way of saving the fatherland was to rid it forever of such a traitor as Kotzebue. Sand was a gentle youth, who, according to his own confession, had long thirsted to show his devotion to his country by one decisive deed. There was something fantastic in his nature: he loved to go round in old Germanic costume, to drink out of oak-crowned goblets; while the place where he met with his student friends he had named the “Rütli.” As far as Kotzebue was concerned, Sand did him far too much honor in regarding him as a dangerous enemy. But all the rulers of Europe were now thrown into inconceivable excitement by the news of a crime, that seemed to them but one demonstration of the whole Burschenschaft spirit: how Sand had journeyed to Mannheim, and been admitted to Kotzebue's house; how, as the old man walked unsuspectingly to meet him, the student had thrown himself upon him and stabbed him to the heart. Sand had then tried to kill himself, but, his wound not proving fatal, he was brought to trial, judged guilty of murder, and executed. The trial took the form of an inquiry into a supposed conspiracy, the belief in which was strengthened by the enthusiasm shown for Sand. Many of his fellow-students looked upon him as a second Mutius Scævola, or William Tell. They had at one time contemplated marching upon Mannheim for the purpose of setting him free. As his head fell upon the scaffold many stepped up and dipped their handkerchiefs in his blood, as in the blood of a martyr. Even older men of good standing approved of the motive, if not of the means, and wrote letters of condolence to Sand's mother; while, blasphemous as it may sound, in the mouth of the people the spot where his head had fallen came to be known as Ascension Meadow!

Terror of the rulers.

The rulers of the Holy Alliance looked, not unnaturally, upon the murder of Kotzebue as a manifestation of the same spirit that had inaugurated the Wartburg festival. This Burschenschaft seemed to them a revival of the old Vehmgericht, the members of which had been told off by lot to commit bloody deeds. Its ultimate object was thought to be the overthrow of all monarchical institutions: this murder was but one of a series, and others might presently be expected. And, sure enough, within a few weeks, an apothecary at Schwalbach, Löhnung, attempted to stab and shoot the president of the government of Nassau; and, on being carried to prison, ended his life by eating broken glass. An Austrian minister received a letter of warning. These were unhappy days for the Czar, whose own father had been murdered; for the autocrat in Vienna, but, most of all, for the timid Frederick William. The latter recalled all Prussian students from Jena, and deprived them of the chance of holding state offices. Extraordinary powers were given to the police, and students' letters were intercepted and opened. Great excitement was aroused because one such missive was found to contain a quotation from Goethe's Egmont, “Whenever I see beautiful, proud necks, I think how fine it would be to run them through with my sword.” Other expressions led to the conclusion that an attempt was intended on Frederick William's life; while, at the same time, an agent of the government reported from the University of Giessen, that a plot had been detected to murder all the princes and to unite Germany.

Petty oppression in Prussia.

All this explains, if it does not justify, the severity of the reaction that now set in. In July, 1819, the gymnastic establishments in Prussia were closed. Father Jahn was seized and dragged off to Spandau, and then to Küstrin. A watch was set on the university professors; while many innocent persons were persecuted and their houses searched, their papers read. Even Gneisenau was surrounded by spies, and Schleiermacher placed on parole. Stein, who had founded a society for German history, and was about to start the great collection known as the Monumenta Rerum Germanicarum, was suspected of a design to prove that, in the Middle Ages, princes had no real supreme power over their subjects. Perhaps the worst sufferer of all was
The persecution of
Ernst Moritz Arndt.
Ernst Moritz Arndt, the man who had been untiring in helping to rid his country from French tyranny, and who had been rewarded by a professorship at Bonn. Early in 1819, he had been informed that “his Majesty could not have any teachers in the Prussian universities who laid down principles such as those contained in the fourth part of the Spirit of the Age [which had just appeared],” and that, on the next occasion of the kind, he would be removed from his post. After the murder of Kotzebue and the attempt of Löhnung, Arndt's house was searched and his private papers were carted off in great sacks. In spite of his protest to Hardenberg that he “hated all secret intrigues like snakes of hell,” he was treated as a suspect, and repeatedly examined by commissioners, who happened to be low, ignorant fellows. The charges against him were: secret conspiracy, corrupting of youth, and planning to form a republic. The investigation dragged on for years, and the inquiries extended to the pettiest conceivable matters. Chief Commissioner Pape once pointed out a passage in a letter, written twelve years before, in which Arndt had said that his head was full of so many things he could write no more: Just what things, asked Pape, was Arndt's head full of at that time? and witnesses were summoned to elucidate the point. For twenty years, so long as Frederick William III. lived, Arndt was refused permission to lecture; although, on the accession of Frederick William IV., in 1840, he was made rector of the University of Bonn. He reopened his courses, at the age of seventy, amid demonstrations of the wildest enthusiasm.

The Carlsbad decrees.

This narrow-mindedness at the Prussian court was to no one more welcome than to Metternich. He kept his agents at Berlin, constantly egged Frederick William on, and finally, in the so-called “Teplitz Punctation,” came to a secret agreement as to the policy to be pursued throughout Germany. Moreover he exacted a pledge that it should be carried out. Frederick William was to do nothing in the way of granting a constitution until the “inner and financial affairs of his state should have been brought into perfect order,” — which was equivalent to relegating the whole matter to the Greek Calends. Minister of Police Kamptz, — after publishing a definition of high treason, which made a crime of every expression of a desire for a constitution, — joined with Austria in calling a ministerial congress at Carlsbad to take further steps against the spirit of revolution. The decrees there passed were then made law by action of the Frankfort Diet; and Metternich's followers could boast that they had gained a battle greater than that of Leipzig. If the Burschenschaft — which was now declared dissolved — could be compared to the Vehmgericht, the new Central Investigation Commission, that was established at Mainz, was a second Spanish inquisition. It was to be ever on the scent for “revolutionary practices and demagogic associations,” and, though without power to impose sentence, could and did, as in the case of Arndt, make a man's life miserable for years. Hundreds of innocent persons were arrested, on no stronger ground than an incautious remark or a passage in a private letter. As red, black, and gold were the colors of the Burschenschaft, they might nowhere be displayed, — not even in the popular combination of yellow straw hats, black coats, and red waistcoats. Every writing under 320 pages in length was subject to censorship; while government officials were to watch the professors in the universities, and see that they taught no evil. No wonder a man like Stein was unsparing in his blame of Metternich and Hardenberg. To the former he applied the adjectives “empty, ignorant, blatant, and conceited”; to the latter, “frivolous, licentious, arrogant, false, afraid-of-losing-his-place.” In Prussia, there was a ministerial crisis; and Humboldt, Boyen, and Beyme received their dismissal.

The Vienna Final Act.

Yet Metternich went his way, called a conference to Vienna, and, in the so-called Vienna Final Act, crystallized all his reactionary measures. According to Article 57, “the entire power in state affairs must rest unimpaired with the head of the state.” In certain matters no constitution might bind him, in no parliament were the “lawful limits of free utterance to be exceeded.” The federal Diet was to watch for dangerous expressions of opinion on the part of the state assemblies. On May 15, 1820, the “Final Act” was adopted by the Diet; — “worth more than the battle of Waterloo” was the verdict of Metternich's henchman, the Prussian Gentz.

The Central Commission at Mainz.

The Mainz commission continued its activity for seven years. According to one of its own reports it endeavored to establish the degree of certainty, or of greater or less probability, not according to the rules prescribed by any special legislation, “but according to the principles of historic belief and its own subjective conviction!” Among those who are mentioned as having “caused, encouraged, and furthered revolutionary strivings, though possibly without intent,” are mentioned Arndt, Stein, Gneisenau, Blücher, York, Schleiermacher, and Fichte!

The dissolution of the Burschenschaft.

The dissolution of the Burschenschaft took place, but with results directly opposite to those intended. Far and wide was sung the famous song of Augustus Binzer, “Wir hatten gebauet ein stattliches Haus,” — in which he tells of the happy, free, idyllic student life which has been crushed, like young green shoots of grass, by wicked men: —

“	Das Band ist zerschnitten, war schwarz, roth und gold, Und Gott hat es gelitten! wer weiss, was er gewollt? Das Haus mag zerfallen, was hat's denn für Not? Der Geist lebt in uns allen, und unsere Burg ist Gott.”

On the ruins of the Burschenschaft, arose associations which really were political and revolutionary, and which were modelled on the Italian Carbonari and similar organizations in Spain, France, Russia, and Greece. The watchword of one of them was the seemingly innocent question: “Have you been on the Johannisberg to-day?” — with the answer, “Yes, I was there in May,” or “I shall go there in May.” The doings of another of these secret leagues were exposed in 1824, and some of the members were condemned to death, others to imprisonment; while Metternich, taking advantage of the general alarm, caused the Carlsbad decrees to be renewed, and a stricter watch to be kept on the different parliaments.

The Hambach festival.

The revolution of 1830 in France gave new stimulus to the discontented elements in Germany, and, in several states where crying evils existed, these were summarily swept away. Duke Charles of Brunswick, a bad character who nearly ruined his state by arbitrary taxes and inflation of the currency, was driven out. The same thing happened in Hesse, where the elector, William II., had been in the habit of using his cane, and even his knife, too freely, and was accused of combining with the bakers to raise the price of bread. In Saxony and in Hanover, concessions were demanded and obtained; while in Bavaria there took place a demonstration more serious than the much-decried Wartburg festival. In an immense gathering in the Palatine Castle of Hambach, inflammatory addresses were made, vengeance vowed against tyrants, and the sentiment uttered that “the best prince by the grace of God is a born traitor to the human race!” Metternich brought forward a motion in the Diet, which was passed in an amended form, to the effect that all concessions won from a sovereign by violent means should be null and void; while another decree declared that, if a parliament should refuse taxes to the head of a state, it might be intimidated by troops of the Confederation.

The attempt to raise a revolution in Frankfort.

But these repressive measures led to an exasperation on the part of the radical elements such as had not yet been known. The Burschenschaft awoke to new life, and two of the boldest projects were formed: one to march on Stuttgart and take prisoner the king of Würtemberg, who had revoked his constitution; the other to raise in Frankfort a revolt which, it was believed, would spread all over South Germany; and to capture the federal Diet. Both attempts proved ridiculous failures; — in vain the great bell of the city of Frankfort tolled the signal for uprising; in vain four hundred students marched in behind their black, red, and golden banners. They had miscalculated their own influence, and the citizens would not be roused. The whole extent of the damage was nine killed, twenty-four wounded, and thirty students taken prisoner. But, even had it been much greater, the authorities could scarcely have resorted to severer retaliatory measures. A commission like that of Mainz was once more established, and eighteen hundred cases were tried. A stricter censorship was introduced, and the system of passports carried to such an extent that no one could enter a hired carriage without producing such a paper. In Bavaria, those convicted of treasonable intents were forced to kneel before the picture of the king, which was now set up in every court room, and to sue for mercy. In Prussia, thirty-nine students were condemned to death, their sentences being afterward commuted to long imprisonment.

General commercial prosperity.

On the whole, the revolutionary propaganda was confined to the students, and the dread and terror to the supreme rulers. The main body of the people were not discontented with their lot; and many agreed with Hegel that “whatever is is sensible and whatever is sensible is.” Frederick William III., with all his faults, was much beloved. He had shared the darkest imaginable days with his subjects and was now sharing their peace and prosperity. It was recognized that his refusal to grant liberal institutions was not for the purpose of cloaking bad government, but rather from deep conviction. His general policy with regard to trade and commerce was wise, and the country was growing rich. Taxation was moderate, justice was fairly administered, educational reforms were introduced, and large sums were spent on public works. The first railway was opened in Germany in 1835, between Fürth and Nuremberg, and Prussia secured her full benefit from the change.

The founding of the Zollverein.

A peculiarly beneficent institution, and an important step in developing Prussia's political as well as her mercantile ascendency, was the Zollverein, or Customs Union, established in 1833. It showed what immense benefits in every field could be expected from coöperation. When Prussia reorganized her territory, in 1815, she had found no less than sixty-seven different tariff schedules in operation in her various provinces; while, for one traversing Germany at large, there were thirty-six different boundaries, each with its own custom-house. Nor at any single one of these frontiers, was the coin of the neighboring state accepted, or were the postal arrangements the same. Prussia's first step, in 1818 A.D., was to establish a single tariff for all her own lands; her next to declare her willingness to accept neighboring principalities as partners in her new system. Her policy was not to urge and not to use force. But the advantages were so apparent, the profits so enormously increased, that, by 1842, all the states of Germany, save Mecklenburg, Hanover, and Austria, had been absorbed. Austria, indeed, was not desired, for the reason that no reliance could be placed on all her heterogeneous dependencies. One great result of the Zollverein was, that the smaller states were now bound by strong ties of interest to Prussia.

The opening of the reign of Frederick William IV.

The question of a constitution was allowed to slumber during the last years of the reign of Frederick William III.; but it was revived at the moment of his death, and Frederick William IV., when he went to receive homage at Königsberg, was met by a petition that those earlier promises might be fulfilled. The matter was assuming larger and larger proportions; for the sentiment was gaining ground that Prussia was the natural leader of Germany, and that, in order to fulfil her mission, she must have liberal institutions. All depended on the character of the new Prussian king: did he have the strength and the tact to hold the loyalty of a united German people?

The reign opened well. In a series of brilliant speeches the king let it be known that he meant to make great changes, and he began by pardoning political prisoners. Arndt was reinstated in all his university dignities. Jahn was released from surveillance, and treated with respect and consideration. The brothers Grimm, belonging to the famous “Göttingen seven,” — who had given up their professorships and gone into exile rather than submit to an arbitrary abrogation of the Hanoverian constitution, — were welcomed in Berlin and given chairs in the university. But, popular as these single measures were, a counter current soon set in. Men began to perceive that the promises so abundantly offered by the new king were nothing but glittering generalities. After listening to eloquent speeches that seemed to portend a constitution, they found that nothing of the kind was meant.

The people were very much in earnest if the king was not. Their leading-strings had grown unbearable, and, as year after year went by without their obtaining those liberties which now seem a necessary adjunct of civilization, — political representation, freedom of the press, trial by jury, — it was evident that a struggle must come which, as likely as not, would be a bloody one. It is surprising, indeed, to see how loyal the Prussians remained to the House of Hohenzollern, even while they criticised its momentary representative.

Dissatisfaction with Frederick William IV.

Brilliant as were some of his attainments, there is no doubt but that from the first Frederick William IV. was lacking in mental balance. He would shift at random from one policy to the other, would one day pass a liberal measure and the next go to the opposite extreme. He would publicly profess to despise criticism and then try to stop it by unjust means; even going so far as to suppress all the publications of a printing-house that had displeased him. To a certain poet, Herwegh, who had written against him, the king said affably, “I love a candid opposition”; but later proscribed and banished him, — his ire having been aroused by a caricature in which his love of a candid opposition was contrasted with the heap of books and newspapers confiscated by his orders. Once thoroughly gauged, his very wit and eloquence told against him, and his every action was submitted to a fire of criticism. It was taken ill that he set up his abode in Sans Souci, the little castle at Potsdam so full of memories of Frederick the Great; and he was thought to wish to copy him in other ways. A famous caricature of the time represents him as following in Frederick's footsteps in the snow, but always a little to one side. The great Heinrich Heine wrote of him, with caustic severity: —

“	Ein König soll nicht witzig sein, Ein König soll nicht hitzig sein, Er soll nicht Alten-Fritzig sein.”

The tendency to be “hitzig” or vehement, is shown in almost every letter that Frederick William wrote; there being no end to the passionate interjections, the underscoring of words, the multiplication of exclamation points.

The summoning of the “united Diet.”

Even a Frederick William IV., overflowing as he was with belief in the divine right of kings, could not close his eyes to the discontent and want of confidence shown by his people. In 1842 he tried to stop the clamor for a general Prussian parliament by calling together a committee from the local assemblies. Such a committee, consisting of ninety-eight delegates, actually came together in Berlin; only to find that on all matters of real interest to them the king had already “made up his mind.” Five years later, he took a great step in advance by summoning a Vereinigter Landtag, or united Diet, including all the members of all the local assemblies. The issue of the royal patent of February 3, 1847, caused great surprise and joy, until it was found that the king's main object was to secure a loan for a much-needed railroad between Berlin and Königsberg. For his own part Frederick William meant to grant as little as possible. The Diet was there, he declared, to represent interests, not to offer opinions. When the delegates spoke of vested rights of the people he told them that the assembly had no rights other than those granted by the patent of February 3. When the question of a constitution came up he made one of his usual speeches and gave vent to the famous peroration: “No written sheet of paper shall ever thrust itself like a second providence between the Lord God in heaven and this land.” Members of the opposition were treated to petty slights, such as not being invited to court festivities.

Results from the Diet.

The whole progress of the Diet was very unsatisfactory. The delegates strove in vain to have their own position defined, and the temper of the house was such that the government's demand for a loan was rejected. In itself the demand was timely, just, and reasonable; but even the delegates from East Prussia, which province would have gained most by the proposed railroad, voted against it. The “united Diet” was dismissed with apparently no results; but in reality the gains were important. In the first place, the differences between the crown and the people had come to a head. This king had been given a last opportunity, which he had failed to improve. No one doubted now that revolution alone would bring him to terms. Then, too, a hitherto unheard-of publicity had been given to all the proceedings; and the London Times had had a regular correspondent in the assembly, — so that the eyes of all Europe were on this state struggling for liberal institutions. Finally, this gathering had brought into prominence a number of men who were to be the leaders in the great national crises that were impending — among them Otto von Bismarck, as yet in the ban of narrow social prejudices, and therefore a violent conservative.

The outbreak of revolution.

It was an unfortunate time for Frederick William to fall out with his people; for Europe was on the eve of the most stirring events that had occurred since the fall of Napoleon. France was throwing over, not merely her old dynasty, but the very principle of monarchy as well; and her example reacted on every state of Germany as rapidly as a spark ignites tinder. The unwieldy Diet at Frankfort flew into a panic, and thought, when already too late, to regain its influence by revoking all the objectionable measures it had ever passed in the whole course of its existence. It declared for freedom of the press, voted to modernize its own organization, and asked for delegates from all the states to help it in its good work. The body that had once accepted the Carlsbad decrees now adopted the revolutionary colors of red, black and gold, and the revolutionary emblem of a gold eagle on a black ground. The new flag was soon floating over the hall of assembly in Frankfort. But reform in the government of Germany as a whole, was as much desired by the excited people as a reform in the government of each individual state. One of the common demands of all the revolutionary parties was for a really German parliament as opposed to the slack, inefficient Diet.

In almost all of the smaller German states the revolution was accomplished without bloodshed. The movement was so irresistible that the petitions for a constitution, for freedom of the press, for trial by jury, for the right of the people to bear arms, were almost immediately granted; while a body of fifty-one men, informally constituted, met at Heidelberg and nominated several hundred delegates to form a preliminary or ante-parliament, which should see to the calling of a really national assembly. The governments were preparing to call a separate assembly of their own for the purpose of revising the articles of confederation, when the radical course of the revolutions in the larger states put a stop to their endeavors.

Lola Montez in Bavaria.

In Bavaria, the disorders were complicated by the infatuation of King Louis I. for the famous dancer Lola Montez, — a woman who, to gain notoriety, had once taken off her shoe on the stage of the Paris opera house and thrown it at the men who would not applaud her. After dancing in the capitals of the Old and the New World, she had settled down in Munich, and induced the king to make her Countess of Lansfeld and give her a share in public affairs. She gained such ascendency in time, that ministries were dismissed to please her, and the university, — the better-minded students of which had attacked her infamous bodyguard, the “Alemannia,” — was declared closed. It was said that all Munich was divided into two parties: the ultramontanes, or clerical-conservatives, and the Lola-montanes, or adherents of Lola. The immediate effect of the French Revolution was to give the ascendency to the reform party; and the university was declared reopened, the “Alemannia” dispersed, and Lola told to quit Munich at a day's notice. A story is recorded that shows, in an almost ridiculous way, how little of the true revolutionary spirit was present in the hearts of these Bavarians. After Lola's hasty departure, the crowd was engaged in sacking her villa when the king appeared, and in a loud voice said, “Spare my property!” Then all were silent, bared their heads, and joined in the song: “Hail to our king, all hail!” When, shortly after, Louis foolishly called out the military to protect him, the crowd surged before his palace and forced him into calling an assembly of the estates, and making great concessions, — the chief of which was ministerial responsibility to the people. The desire to be near Lola and the fear of an inquiry into his disposal of state funds, then forced him to the great step of abdicating the throne; and with sentimental, hypocritical assurances he took leave of his subjects.

The revolution in Austria.

By the rushing tide of revolution that spread so rapidly all the way from Paris to Warsaw, Austria and her dependencies were struck with peculiar violence. On the 3d of March, the Hungarian patriot, Kossuth, delivered a fiery speech in the Pressburg Diet, declaring that only a free constitution could ever bind together the scattered provinces of the monarchy. The present state of things, he cried, was unendurable; from the charnel house of the Vienna system was rising a pestilential vapor that paralyzed the nerves and banned the intellect; the future of the dynasty was being compromised, the foundations of the edifice were crumbling, and its fall imminent. In Vienna, police and censorship were openly defied, and Kossuth's speech was widely read. As the news came in of concession after concession granted by the smaller states, and of the complete change of front of the Frankfort Diet, the excitement grew to fever heat. Petitions poured in upon the Emperor Ferdinand, who, however, left all responsibility in the hands of the state conference, of which Metternich was the leading spirit. The estates of Lower Austria, called to meet in Vienna on March 13, drew up in the form of an address the moderate demands they intended to make; while the students of the university, who were destined to play a large part in this whole movement, followed suit, sending a deputation to the emperor himself.

The fall of Metternich.

The 13th of March, 1848, forms a sharply defined date in the annals of Austria, for it marks the fall of a system that had lasted a generation. On that day, the assembly of the Lower Austrian estates was declared opened; and an immense crowd of citizens and students thronged round the hall of meeting. A student read aloud Kossuth's speech. Wild with excitement, the multitude demanded admission to the hall, and six students and six citizens were allowed to enter. But soon came the rumor that these twelve had been arrested, and that the troops were approaching. The crowd burst into the assembly room, and compelled the members of the Diet to send a deputation to the emperor. In front of the chancery cries of “Down with Metternich!” were heard. As the report that the soldiers were advancing became a verity, the mob within the hall of assembly took to throwing down broken bits of furniture on the heads of their assailants, and even wounded one of the archdukes. Then two sharp volleys rang out, and many were killed and wounded; which gave the signal for a general arming. Everything depended on the attitude of the state conference, which had been in session in the castle for hours. Metternich tried to persuade the spokesmen of the people that the whole was merely a street riot, but was told proudly, “This is not riot, but revolution!” As a sop to the excited crowd, it was voted to revoke the censorship of the press, and Metternich withdrew to draw up the act. But, from the adjoining room, he heard how one of the deputies demanded his resignation, and how no one spoke in his defence. With a certain dignity the apostle of repression bade farewell to his office, and to the scene of his labors. He declared that, from his own standpoint, he had always labored for the weal of the monarchy. If it was the general opinion that that monarchy would be endangered by his remaining, it was no sacrifice for him to go. “Your Highness, we have nothing against your person, but everything against your system,” said a civic deputy, “and we must repeat, your abdication alone can save the throne and the monarchy.” Metternich's house on the Rennweg was stormed, and he went off in exile to London; whither he had been preceded by Louis Philippe, and where he was to be followed in a few days by the brother and heir of the king of Prussia.

A constitution granted to the Austrians.

The state conference then granted all that the citizens demanded. A national guard and a student legion were established; and the Emperor Ferdinand, — who so hated the very word constitution, that he is said to have forbidden his physician to employ it, — was forced not only to grant one for his whole monarchy, but to stand at the window of his palace, waving a banner of black, red, and gold.

Frederick William IV. makes concessions.

Even more memorable than these happenings in Vienna were the events that were taking place almost simultaneously in Berlin. Never before nor since has a Hohenzollern played such a miserable role and been obliged to submit to such insults from his own people as Frederick William IV. in these tumultuous days. Cringing in his attitude and liberal with his promises when the mob seemed in the ascendant, he adopted the haughtiest tone when sure of his own safety.

Although perceiving, as did every other sovereign of Germany, the absolute need of making concessions, Frederick William lingered and affixed conditions. His grant of freedom of the press was so in the spirit of Metternich, that the latter had been in the act of transcribing it verbally, for the benefit of the clamoring Austrians, at the moment of his downfall. The Vienna revolution brought matters to a climax. Tumultuous assemblages of the people were held daily in that corner of the Thiergarten known as the “Zelten”; and, at last, the king promised everything that had been demanded, including a written constitution. The so-called “Patent of March 18th” called together the united Diet for April 2; and this and the other concessions were announced in the newspapers and by placards on the wall. The people thronged the streets and crowded into the square of the castle, raising cheers for the king, who appeared twice on his balcony and acknowledged them with thanks.

The shots in the castle yard and the barricade fights.

Just how much sincerity there was on both sides is hard to establish. The crowd took it ill that the castle was strongly garrisoned by troops from other places than Berlin, — there were cries of “Back with the military!” As for Frederick William, he tried in vain to get rid of his countless guests: it was announced that the king wished to work and desired quiet. One of the ministers and the governor of the castle appeared at the gate, and bade the people disperse. At last Frederick William gave the command of his troops to the determined General Von Prittwitz, and bade him put an end to this “scandal” in the courtyard. Assisted by Major Von Falkenstein, he had almost cleared the square, when the sound of two shots, — accidentally discharged as is now believed, — threw the people into a fever of excitement. With cries of “Treason!” “Vengeance!” “Barricades!”, the varied elements of the Berlin population took to arms. The pavings were torn up and the streets rendered impassable; and, from the roofs and windows, missiles, and even vitriol, were thrown down on the heads of the soldiers; while wires were drawn so as to trip them up, and glass strewn to wound them as they fell. For a day and a half, the reign of violence lasted. It was in vain that the king caused a white banner to be raised with the word “misunderstanding” in great letters; in vain that he issued a proclamation “to his dear Berliners,” representing the revolution as the work of foreign agents. A wag placed the inscription “to his dear Berliners” under a piece of a bomb, fired by his own soldiers, that had struck into one of the public fountains. Nothing would satisfy the people but the withdrawal of the troops; and this at last the king ordered — intending them to return to the palace, but so wording his command that, at a moment when the tide was turning in their favor, they felt obliged to retire from the city.

The corpses in the castle yard.

The king was completely in the power of the populace. No attempt was made on his own person, but a spectacle was prepared for him in the courtyard of his own palace such as few civilized monarchs have been called upon to witness. Bedded in flowers and wreathed with laurel, but with their wounds laid bare to the utmost, the most mutilated corpses of those who had fallen in the barricade war were borne under his very window. As the litters were laid down in the presence of an immense crowd, the names and circumstances of the victims were called off: “Fifteen years old, shot at my side, my only son!”; or again, “a widow, mother of seven orphans!” The cry was raised, that the king must come and see his work; and as Frederick William delayed, the bearers started up the winding stairs with their ghastly burdens and threatened to enter his apartment. At last, half dead with fright, the king appeared on the balcony, at his side his invalid queen, — a nonentity in history save for this one trying experience. “Take off your hat!” was shouted from below; and as the Hohenzollern bared his head the corpses were thrust upward toward him. Bidden to come down, he obeyed and bowed before the dead; while at last, content with their punishment, the crowd joined in the solemn strains of “Jesus, Lover of my Soul.”

No further violence was attempted, save an attack on the palace of Prince William of Prussia, who was falsely supposed to have given the signal to fire. In danger almost of his life, the object of general execration, the future idolized emperor of united Germany fled in disguise to England, and took up his abode with the Prussian ambassador, Bunsen. The palace on Unter den Linden was only saved from destruction by the presence of mind of some one who wrote upon it: “property of the nation,” and by a student who pointed out that the royal library would be in danger.

The ride through Berlin.

The last and most extraordinary act in this tragedy of humiliated royalty began with the posting of placards “To the German Nation,” which announced that, for the salvation of Germany, Frederick William had placed himself at the head of the whole fatherland, and, on that very day, March 21, would appear on horseback in the midst of his people, bearing the “old revered colors of the nation.” It was the culminating triumph of the red, black, and gold. One of its banners waved from the castle top, another was borne before the king; who, as did also his princes and generals, wore a band of the same colors on his arm. As he rode through the city, Frederick William stopped at various points and made enthusiastic addresses in favor of the national movement. “I wish no crown, no sovereignty,” he cried, alluding to the proposal to make him emperor of Germany; “I wish Germany's freedom, Germany's unity. I wish order, that I swear to God!” and he solemnly raised his right hand. A proclamation that same evening asked for the confidence of the people, declaring that Prussia would henceforth be merged in Germany. Frederick William later described this ride through Berlin as “a comedy which he had been made to play,” — one is tempted rather to regard it as a symptom of that want of balance which ended with insanity and death.

The burial of the corpses.

This first exciting period of the Prussian revolution closed on the 22d of March, with the burial of those who had fallen on the side of the people. The city was decked in mourning; while black flags waved from the city gates and from the roof of the castle. The two hundred or more bodies were borne in procession past the balcony on which stood the king with bared head. Bells were rung and anthems chanted; and, inasmuch as the bodies of the fallen soldiers were not included, the whole ceremony resolved itself into a triumph of the revolutionary party. It remained to be seen how the Prussian national assembly, called to meet on May 22, would acquit itself of the difficult task of drawing up a suitable and acceptable constitution.

The ante-parliament in Frankfort.

Meanwhile, a few days after the stirring scenes in Berlin, the preliminary Parliament had met in Frankfort, in the old church of St. Paul's, to settle the question of a constitution for all Germany. They were prepared to go very far, these five hundred delegates or appointees of the self-chosen committee of fifty-one, and to decide whether Germany should be a republic or an empire.

The ante-parliament was made up, for the most part, of men who had been before the public eye; and counted many members of local assemblies. Among them, were martyrs to the cause of liberty, like the Bavarian Eisenmann, who had spent fifteen years in undeserved imprisonment, and was now honored with a torchlight procession. As a body representative of all Germany, the Parliament was a failure; seeing that Austria furnished but two members, tiny Baden seventy-two, and Hesse-Darmstadt eighty-four. But more serious than this was the sharp antagonism that developed between the monarchical and the republican parties. Scarcely had the ante-parliament assembled in the venerable church of St. Paul's, in Frankfort, when a certain Hecker came forward with a number of articles, the fifteenth of which demanded abolition of hereditary monarchy and the formation of a confederation — after the model of the United States of America. Foiled in his radical plans on this arena, Hecker became a regular demagogue. He raised a revolt in Baden which cost several hundred persons their lives or their liberty.

The national parliament in Frankfort.

The ante-parliament kept to its programme, declared for a national assembly to be formed by direct popular election, and appointed a committee to take the matter in hand. It did indeed make the important pronouncement that the decision regarding a constitution for Germany was to be the affair simply and solely of the national assembly. It would have been wiser, as the future showed, to pay some regard to the actual governing powers in the separate states. As yet there was no conflict. The governments showed no hostility to the national assembly, which met in Frankfort on May 18; while the Diet even sent it greeting. The members this time had been chosen from all Germany — theoretically one from every fifty-five thousand of the population. They considered themselves empowered to make great and permanent changes. They were, for the most part, men of ability, among them venerable figures like Arndt and Jahn, who were the objects of enthusiastic ovations. In the first session Arndt was called to the platform, and a motion passed that, in the light of recent events, he should be invited to write a stanza to his famous old song, “What is the German's Fatherland?” On the whole, the tone of the assembly was moderate, and, in a time of great ferment, much was hoped for from its action. Its choice as first president of Heinrich von Gagern, a famous minister of Hesse-Darmstadt, was generally approved.

Initial errors of the Frankfort Parliament.

Unfortunately, no draft of a constitution had been prepared, and the assembly lost five valuable weeks before it could take the matter in hand at all, — the only important vote being one in favor of a national fleet, for which six million thalers were appropriated. Then came the unfortunate choice of the Austrian Archduke John as provisional head of the nation. There were legends of his great devotion to the cause of a common German fatherland. He was quoted as having once proposed the toast: “No Prussia, no Austria — one united Germany!” He was believed, because he had married the daughter of a Styrian postmaster, to be democratic in his views. As a matter of fact, in his insincerity, his intolerance, his one-sidedness, he was a true scion of the Hapsburgs; and the mere fact that an Austrian had been chosen to the highest office, if only a temporary one, of the German nation, was a blow to the pride of Prussia, which might be pardoned but not forgotten.

But the greatest error of the Frankfort assembly was to begin its debates on the constitution with a discussion of the fundamental rights of the German man, a list of which had been drawn up in a hundred paragraphs. Days passed into weeks and weeks into months, while the Parliament was still busy with underlying principles, and with disputed points of political economy; and while enemies within and without were rising against it. The iron that might once have been readily tempered was rapidly growing cold. Moreover, various factors came in to distract attention from the matter in hand, — a war with Denmark, an uprising in Frankfort itself, increased rivalry between Austria and Prussia, and bloody happenings in both of those states.

The beginning of the Schleswig-Holstein difficulties.

It was now that the question of Schleswig-Holstein, which was later to be so interwoven with the most fateful events of German history, first began to assume importance. These two provinces in the extreme northwest of Germany belonged, one to Denmark, the other to the German Confederation, and yet for centuries had been considered indivisible. Efforts on the part of successive kings to incorporate them in Denmark, in spite of the fact that the vast majority of the inhabitants were German, led to a revolution, in which Prussia, at the bidding of Archduke John, took the side of the insurgents. Her general, Wrangel, stormed the Danewerk, penetrated into Jutland, and could have brought the Danish king to terms but for a change in the policy of Frederick William IV., whose feelings had been worked upon by the Czar, as well as by England. The leading minister of the latter country, Lord Palmerston, had declared that, were he to meet the red-black-golden flag at sea, he would treat it as the flag of a pirate. Frederick William was fast receding from his recent liberal position. He was tired of this alliance with revolutionists; and he finally consented to the seven months' truce of Malmö, in which the advantages were overwhelmingly on the side of Denmark.

Riot in Frankfort.

The Parliament of Frankfort felt outraged by this act, as well as by the fact that its envoy had not been admitted to the conferences; and only refrained from refusing to ratify the truce, from the consideration that, with Prussia as an enemy and Austria cool and indifferent, the Parliament would have no forces at its disposal at all, save the contingents of the minor states. The people of Frankfort were less philosophical. In the abandonment of the duchies they saw the holy cause of liberty betrayed. Representatives who had preached moderation, among them old Father Jahn, were chased, insulted, and even struck. One session of the Parliament was interrupted and barricades arose in the streets. Troops were called in, and the authorities remained masters of the situation; though at the cost of many lives. Foul and dastardly was the murder, by citizens, of two men of eminence, — the Silesian representative, Prince Lichnowsky, and his friend and companion, General von Auerswald. Lichnowsky had been tied to a tree, and made the target for all sorts of missiles.

The problem of the Austrian dependencies.

It was under the gloomy shadow of these events that the Frankfort assembly, at last, proceeded to the actual task of debating upon a constitution. The very first articles, concerning the territory to be included in the new political creation, involved the assembly in a nest of difficulties: Should Austria be allowed to join the proposed empire with all her non-German dependencies? Would Italians, Croatians, Hungarians, and Czechs be likely to obey, or even to understand, laws made for them in Frankfort by a German assembly? Must the Diet interfere in every small Slavonic quarrel? Austria's alternative was to abandon the idea of her own unity, and enter the new organization for a part only of her lands, and this alternative was finally adopted.

Windischgratz retakes Vienna.

The fall of Metternich was far from ending the disturbances in Austria. The government was able in June, 1848, to put down the revolution in Prague, the imperial general, Prince Windischgratz, having bombarded the city. Against the Hungarians, Jellachich — a Croatian nobleman — was intrusted with the command; while in Austrian Italy, Radetzky gained the victory of Custozza. Everywhere the star of the Hapsburgs seemed in the ascendent; and, in the capital itself, the inexcusable violence of the rabble gave occasion for successful interference. The constitution promulgated almost immediately after Metternich's fall had not been satisfactory. During the month of May, riots and tumults occurred; the emperor fled from the city, and, for a time, the students of the university had practical control of the government. Early in October, Hungarian sympathizers murdered General Bredy and hung the minister of war, Baron Latour, to a lamp-post, after inflicting upon him forty wounds. The Emperor Ferdinand, who had taken refuge in Olmütz, endowed Prince Windischgratz with extraordinary powers, and sent him against Vienna, where the new constitutional Diet was in session. “I do not treat with rebels,” Windischgratz declared, from the beginning, — and he gruffly repulsed two members of the Frankfort Parliament who came to mediate. Before the end of October, the city was taken by storm and treated as conquered territory. Countless arrests were made and a number of persons were executed, — among them Robert Blum, one of the envoys of the Frankfort Parliament, who had, indeed, done his best to further the opposition to the government. The Frankfort Assembly entered its protest against the act and demanded reparation, but with no result. It is believed, indeed, that the very fact of Blum's belonging to that body, had made Windischgratz the more bitter against him. The hey-day of the revolution was already past.

Radical measures of the Prussian Parliament.

If the course of the Frankfort national assembly and the Austrian constitutional assembly had not been smooth, still less so had been that of the Prussian national Parliament, which met in Berlin two months after the barricade parliament, fights. The government treated the assembly with respect, and laid propositions before it as to the nature of the proposed constitution. The fact that the new head of the ministry, Camphausen, and the new minister of finance, Hansemann, were liberals, seemed to augur well for the success of the deliberations. But, if ever a movement failed through the folly of its own promoters, it was, from first to last, this revolution of 1848. What was the need of continually reopening the wounds caused by the barricade fights? Yet, in July, a motion that “those who had fought for liberty on the 18th and 19th of March deserved well of their country” aroused intense excitement, and only by a very narrow vote escaped being passed. A month later, it was decreed that the minister of war should be instructed to issue an order, forbidding officers to enter into conflicts of any kind with civilians, and commanding them to show their sympathy for constitutional government or else leave the army. When the minister of war refused to pass such a decree, the whole ministry fell. The assembly grew more and more radical. In drafting the constitution, in the very first article, — which concerned the title of the king, — it was voted to leave out the old customary “by the grace of God.” By a vote of 200 against 153, nobility was declared abrogated; titles and orders were no longer to be bestowed. Members who voted contrary to the radical element, were repeatedly ill-treated by the mob that surrounded the place of meeting. Once, the crowd penetrated into the hall of meeting itself; once, they stormed the arsenal, and carried off the more valuable guns.

Overthrow of the Prussian Parliament.

One cannot blame Frederick William IV. for turning his eyes to the old safeguard of Hohenzollern prerogative, the Prussian army. The truce of Malmö had just been closed with Denmark, General Wrangel and his troops were free. They were ordered to draw closer to Berlin. The half-liberal ministry that had followed that of Camphausen was replaced by a conservative one, under Count Brandenburg, an illegitimate son of Frederick William II. A protest of the assembly against this nomination gave rise to a stormy scene. “We are here to give your Majesty oral information about the true condition of the land; will your Majesty hear us?” cried one of the delegates sent to Potsdam. As Frederick William walked away, he cried after him, “That is just the misfortune of kings, that they will not hear the truth!” At last, on November 8, a royal decree prorogued the assembly, and ordered it to meet again in the town of Brandenburg. Berlin was declared in a state of siege. The assembly pronounced such acts unlawful; but, two days later, was expelled from its hall by Wrangel. To a deputation from the so-called citizen guard, which declared that it would yield only to force, the rough old general, sitting on a chair in the street, had merely answered: “Tell your citizen guard that force is now there.” He had given the Parliament exactly fifteen minutes in which to vacate the premises. At a hasty meeting, held in another place, the ministers were forbidden to dispose of state funds or to levy taxes. But the king was determined now to carry the fight to the bitter end, even if it were to cost him his throne. Fortunately for him, the better elements of the population were now on his side. When, on the day appointed, the Parliament, in great minority, met in Brandenburg, it was declared dissolved; and the king announced that he would impose his own constitution upon the people.

Frederick William's new constitution.

This, to the joy of all moderate men, proved to be more liberal than any one had expected — so liberal, indeed, that Frederick William wrote characteristically to Bunsen, it made his own stomach ache. The separate clauses were to be revised by the representatives themselves; and not until January, 1850, was the work completed and the constitution as a whole adopted. The more radical elements had been kept in check by the so-called three-class system of voting at parliamentary elections: the small body of the large taxpayers could choose the same number of electors as the larger body of moderately rich persons, or as the largest body of the lower classes. On the other hand, a number of personal liberties and checks to tyranny were assured. A reaction, indeed, soon set in, and, during the next few years, under one pretext or another, the king managed to pursue a most repressive policy. Nor was the Prussian court alone in this matter, Austria going so far as to entirely abrogate her newly granted constitution.

The Austrian question at Frankfort.

Meanwhile at Frankfort, in the matter of pairing German unity with liberal institutions, the hopes of the patriots had been sadly dashed; the blame for the failure of the long negotiations falling, mainly, upon Austria and Prussia.

It was, indeed, one of the most difficult of all political problems to which the formulation of the second article of the Frankfort constitution gave rise, — declaring, as it did, that a power might not enter the German empire save with its German provinces alone. This meant, for Austria, either national disruption, or total exclusion from the new organization. Yet the standpoint of the Frankfort assembly was more than comprehensible. It was the only rational one possible of adoption. Here was Austria, with a population, largely un-German, of thirty-eight millions, demanding entrance into an empire which, without her, would number but thirty-two millions. It meant an absolute Austrian majority in the parliaments; it meant that the most vital questions of German policy must be voted upon by strange-tongued peoples on the banks of the Theiss, the Moldau, or the Po; it meant the renunciation of every hope of real German unity.

Austria takes a high tone at Frankfort.

Austria, though vague in her utterances and dilatory in her tactics, and though offering no solution of the real problem, was very tenacious of her position. At Kremsier, in November, 1848, her ministers formulated the sentiment: “The continuance of Austria's national unity is a necessity for Germany as well as for Europe.” In December came a threatening note from Olmütz declaring that: “Austria will know how to maintain her position in the projected German body politic.” The Austrian delegates at Frankfort founded a party known as the Grossdeutsche, or advocates of a greater Germany; and allied themselves with those liberals who were opposed to any monarchical state at all. There is little doubt but that, in secret, the court of Vienna favored an Austrian empire, of which Germany should be merely an appendage.

The general sentiment of the least prejudiced minds at Frankfort was in favor of a narrower association, in which Austria should have no part; and, at the same time, of another, broader union which should assure her all possible safeguards and privileges. They were growing very tired, these reformers, of having their earnest work persistently ignored. “Waiting for Austria means death to German unity,” declared one of the ministers, Beckerath. Gagern finally procured a vote, authorizing the ministry to treat with Austria, as with an extraneous power, by means of envoys.

Republic or empire?

The second important question: What, with or without Austria, should be the form of the new political creation, and what the nature of its head? gave rise to equally divergent views, and to equally violent opposition. Should there be an emperor, a directory, or a president? If an emperor, should his dignity be hereditary or for life, or for three or six or twelve years, or should it be shared in rotation by Austria and Prussia? The vote to confer the headship of the nation on one of the ruling German princes was finally passed, the vote to make the dignity hereditary, rejected. In February, 1849, a note from the Austrian government formally protested against the notion that an Austrian emperor and his government should subordinate themselves to a central power wielded by any other German prince. Soon afterward, the feeble and yielding emperor, Ferdinand, — who had made promises he could neither keep nor well revoke, — resigned in favor of a youth of eighteen, that Francis Joseph who still, in ripe old age, holds the throne.

The crown of the empire to be offered to Frederick William.

Behind Francis Joseph was a government determined to fight the revolution to the very utmost. In March, 1849, a new constitution, which centralized the administration to the last degree, was imposed upon all Austrian lands. This was the crisis, this Austria's answer and final challenge to the Frankfort assembly: she would enter the Confederation with all of her provinces or not at all; and the new empire, if empire there was to be, must take its measures accordingly. Representative Welcker — up to this moment one of the heads of the Austrian or “greater German” party — now made a motion, that the constitution, as it stood, should be adopted by a single vote, and the hereditary imperial dignity be offered to the king of Prussia. The motion as offered was defeated by a slight majority; but by sacrificing the clause relating to the power of absolute veto, the rest of the section concerning the headship of the empire was passed. It was a solemn moment when the result was announced. “May the genius of Germany preside over this hour,” was the invocation of the Parliament's president; and, when three cheers were given for the “German emperor,” they were taken up by the dense crowds in the streets, and all the churches rang out their chimes.

Frederick William and the German question.

The deputation that left Frankfort for Berlin, on March 30, 1849, had a most important mission to perform. Could Frederick William be induced to subscribe to the Frankfort constitution and accept the imperial crown, the future of Germany was assured; though, possibly, at the cost of a war with Austria. Twenty-eight of the minor states had already promised their sanction to the new constitution. Others would be likely to follow Prussia's lead. And Frederick William had at various times so acted as to strengthen the hopes of the liberals. They could not know of his frequent changes of mind, of his weak susceptibility to new influences, of the incipient disease that was preying upon his brain.

In 1847, Frederick William had been ready to settle the German question “with Austria, without Austria, yes, if need be, against Austria.” In March, 1848, he had proclaimed his intention of placing himself at the head of the movement for a united Germany, and had ridden around under the shadow of the revolutionary banners. But, soon afterward, he declared to a deputation from the Rhine provinces: “I am only the second in Germany;” and wrote to the historian Dahlmann, that none other than the “archhouse of Austria” could ever be at the head of the united fatherland. He meant to retain for himself, indeed, the command over the German military forces, — failing to see how impossible of acceptance such a proposition would be to Austria.

Frederick William and the Frankfort Parliament.

With the Parliament of Frankfort, his relations had been similarly undetermined. “Do not forget, gentlemen,” he had cried to a deputation sent to assist at the Frankfort opening of the Cologne cathedral, “do not forget that there are still princes in Germany, and that I am one of them!” On the following day, however, he had drunk a toast to “the builders of the great work, the present and the absent members of the Frankfort national assembly.” His enthusiasm had then received a rude shock through the September uprising and the murder of the deputies, Lichnowsky and Auerstadt; and more and more there settled down upon him a horror of revolution, and of everything therewith connected.

Frederick William's views as to the offer of the imperial crown.

He stood very much alone at this time, except for a faction of insignificant flatterers. His ministry, at the head of which was still Count Brandenburg, was in favor of conciliation, and received the Frankfort deputation with warmth. His friend and confidant, Bunsen, who was filling the post of ambassador to England, had urged him continually to accept the crown whenever it should be offered; and had prevailed upon him, in January, to send a note to Frankfort, which showed him in sympathy with the plans under consideration there. Three weeks later, Austrian influences had completely changed the king's mood; and a second note showed an entirely different standpoint. In one of his pessimistic attacks, Frederick William had written to Bunsen a letter which well shows the hysterical, extravagant side of his character, as well as his bitter hatred of everything republican. Bunsen had assured him that, although the offer of the crown might come originally from a popular assembly, the princes and governments of Germany would be sure to sanction its acceptance. But Frederick William wrote back, that he wanted neither the crown itself nor a subsequent consent of the princes. The kind of crown he would be willing to wear was not such a one as a revolutionary assembly could give, — not picked from the gutter like that of Louis Philippe, but carrying God's mark and making its bearer king by His grace: “The crown which the Ottos, the Hohenstaufens, the Hapsburgs have worn, a Hohenzollern can naturally also wear; it does him unspeakable honor with its thousand-year halo. The one which you mean, alas, dishonors him unspeakably with its carrion odor of the revolution of 1848.” With floods of invective, the king goes on to castigate this “imaginary crown, wrought of filth and mire.” “I speak plainly,” he writes: “if the thousand-year crown of the German nation, in abeyance now these forty-two years, is again to be given away, it is I and my likes who will give it.”

The reception of the Frankfort deputation.

His reception of the Frankfort deputation was cool in the extreme. An audience was granted, but no court carriages were sent to bring the members to the palace — an omission which the city of Berlin hastily supplied. The very lackeys in the anteroom were insolent, one of them refusing to bring a glass of water for the president, until ordered imperatively to do so. The king delivered his address very formally, standing, in uniform, surrounded by the princes, ministers, generals, and court functionaries. He had carried his conscience to the King of kings, he declared, and had decided that, not only must he await the consent of the princes, before accepting the crown, but, also, must determine with them whether the present form of the constitution was acceptable to one and all. With actual tears in their eyes, the deputation withdrew; these men knew well that, if thirty-six different autocratic governments might pick and tear at their work, not much of it would survive. Before taking their departure, they framed a writing which declared that, since his Majesty denied all right of existence or binding force to the national constitution, he must be considered as having refused the proffered election.

Austria and Prussia against the Frankfort Parliament.

Frederick William still dallied for a while with the national assembly, and summoned all the governments to send plenipotentiaries to Frankfort to discuss the matter — a summons which not one of them obeyed. Austria, meanwhile, had withdrawn her delegates; declaring that never would she bow to foreign legislation, never would her emperor subordinate himself to another prince. “For us, the national assembly no longer exists,” — so wrote her ministers in an official note to Berlin. At this very time, the Prussian lower house voted to accept the constitution. Saxony and Würtemberg seemed wavering; while the national assembly sent out its demand for recognition almost in the form of an ultimatum. Frederick William came forward now with a categorical refusal of the imperial dignity. He had already sent an adjutant to the king of Saxony to harden the latter's heart against the adherents of the Parliament, and to offer armed assistance, should such be needed. He summoned a conference to Berlin of such governments as might care, in view of the mistaken steps that the national assembly had taken, and seemed inclined still to take, to deliberate concerning the needs of the nation. “The Prussian government,” so ran the circular note, “cannot conceal the scantiness of the hope, that the national assembly will lend its hand to altering the constitution on which it has determined.” The official Staatsanzeiger began openly to speak of the parliament as of a “revolutionary” assembly.

Rebellions in Saxony, Baden, and the Palatinate.

All this reacted violently upon the Parliament itself, and gave rise to factions which were its final ruin. The “left” was in favor of encouraging an armed uprising among the people. The “right,” determined on using a purely persuasive means, put through a vote to hold elections for a new constituent assembly, which should confer the crown upon the king of Prussia so soon as he should have recognized the constitution. Not unnaturally, the political agitation spread to the constituents of the members of Parliament. Addresses, words of advice, of encouragement, of blame, poured in upon the different rulers; and at last, in three states, — in Saxony, in the Rhine Palatinate, and in Baden, — the flames of discontent broke out into actual rebellion.

Saxony.

In Dresden, where the dissolution of the chambers and a ministerial crisis had brought excitement to the highest pitch, the government, on the third of May, forbade a projected parade in honor of the national constitution. The crowd surrounded the arsenal and the palace, and the king fled to the impregnable Königstein. His ministers accompanied him; but returned, the same evening, to find a provisional government set up, the head of which was an extreme radical, Tzschirner. The advent of Prussian troops at once put a stop to the movement, and the ring-leaders were punished with long imprisonment.

Prince William's campaign in Baden.

In the Palatinate, and in Baden also, the existing governments were displaced. In Baden the military were drawn into the vortex, and the most republican designs were cherished; the neighborhood of two popularly governed states like France and Switzerland being of especial influence. Recognition of the imperial constitution was written on the banner of the insurgents, but “without the hereditary head.” It was in this struggle that the then crown prince of Prussia, later Emperor William I., gained his spurs as a leader of armies. In response to a call for aid from Bavaria and Baden, Frederick William sent two army corps under William's command. The revolutionary forces, which combined against the Prussians and took numerous foreigners into their service, numbered between thirty and forty thousand men. Commander-in-chief was Mieroslawski, a famous Polish refugee. It needed many skirmishes, and a regular bombardment of the fortress of Rastadt, before this perfectly hopeless and meaningless rebellion could be put down. Many lost their lives on these petty battlefields; many were afterward sentenced to death or imprisonment. The poet Kinkel was given a life sentence; but was rescued from the fortress of Spandau by Carl Schurz, who afterward became a shining light in the political firmament of the United States of America.

Secessions from the Frankfort Parliament.

If the cause of the Parliament of Frankfort had long been losing ground, these revolts and their successful suppression gave it its coup de grâce. Prussia withdrew her delegates, after a vote had been passed that her interference in Saxony had been an unwarrantable breach of the peace. The conduct of affairs came more and more into the hands of the radicals. The feeling gained ground, among the more moderate elements, that they had no longer any positive policy to defend. On the 20th of May, 1849, sixty-five members, including in their number almost all whose names had given brilliancy to the assembly, seceded in a body — declaring their unwillingness to sunder the last legal ties between the governments and peoples of Germany, and to foster civil war. Among them, was old Ernst Moritz Arndt, who for nearly half a century, had sung of a united Germany which he was never to see.

Expulsion and end of the Frankfort Parliament.

Bereft of its sanest members, the parliament ran riot with its revolutionary ideas. The number necessary for a quorum was reduced from one hundred and fifty to a hundred. The place of meeting was moved from Frankfort to Stuttgart, for no other apparent purpose than to be nearer to the disaffected district. The “centre” party had already left because of the refusal to declare roundly, that the only object now aimed at was the furtherance of the constitution, and that all interference on the part of foreign countries was to be deprecated. It had come to be called the rump Parliament, — this survival of a once important body. It now elected a “regency for the empire”; and this “regency” proclaimed to the German people that, in the struggle against absolutism, they were to accept no commands save from itself and its plenipotentiaries. It called for a general arming, and for a credit of five million thalers.

But the “rump” had overestimated its strength. It was fain to obey the commands of the Würtemberg government, which first ordered it to vacate the assembly hall of the estates; then to hold the sessions of the “regency” beyond the state boundaries; and, finally, to move away altogether under pain of “suitable measures.” It was given its quietus by being forced to disperse by soldiers with drawn swords. Thirteen months had the Parliament as a whole been in session, and its immediate results were absolutely nil; though it is safe to say that its deliberations, and even its mistakes, made it easier for the next generation to realize the dream of national unity.

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