THE GERMAN WORKMAN.
That workmen in England may have some clear knowledge of the ways and
customs of a large number of their brethren on the Continent, I here
intend to put down for their use a part of my own knowledge and
experience.
The majority of trades in Germany are formed into guilds, or companies.
At the head of each guild stands an officer chosen by the government,
whatever it may be--for you may find a government of any sort in Germany,
between an emperor and a senate--this officer being always a master, and
a member of the guild. His title differs in almost every German state,
but he is generally called Trade-master, or Deputy. Associated with him
are two or three of the oldest employers; or, in some cases, workmen in
the trade, under the titles of Eldermen, or Masters' Representatives.
These three or four men govern the guild, and have under them, for the
proper transaction of business, a secretary and a messenger. Such
officers, however, do not represent their trade in the whole state or
kingdom, but are chosen, in every large town, to conduct the multifarious
business that may require attention within its limits.
Although all these guilds are, in their original constitution, formed on
the same model, they differ materially in their internal arrangements.
Much depends upon the ruling government of the state in which they are
situated; for, while in despotic Prussia, what is there called Freedom of
Trade is declared for all, in the "free" town of Hamburg everything is
bound and locked up in small monopolies.
In some parts of Germany there are "close trades," which means to say
that the number of masters in each is definitely fixed. This is so in
Hamburg. For instance, among the goldsmiths, the number of new masters
annually to be elected is three, being about sufficient to fill up the
deficiencies occurring from death and other causes. I have heard of as
many as five being elected in one year, and I have also heard it asserted
that this was to be accounted for on the supposition that the aldermen
had been "smeared in the hand," that is to say, bribed.
There are other trades locked up in a different way. There exist several
of this kind in Nuremberg and thereabouts; as, the awl and punch-makers,
lead-pencil makers, hand-bell makers, gold and silver wire-drawers, and
others. They occupy a particular town or district, and they say, "Here
we are. We possess these trades, and we mean to keep them to ourselves.
We will teach no strangers our craft; we will confine it among our
relatives and townsmen; and in order to prevent the knowledge of it from
spreading any farther, we will allow our workmen to travel only within
the limits of our town or land;" and so they keep their secrets close.
In other trades, the workmen are allowed to engage themselves only to a
privileged employer. That is to say, they dare not execute a private
order, but can receive employment from a master of the craft only. In
Prussia, and some few other lands, each workman can work on his own
account, and can offer his goods for sale in the public market
unhindered, so long as they are the production of his own hands alone;
but should he employ a journeyman, then he pays a tax to Government of
about ten shillings annually, the tax increasing in proportion to the
number of men he may employ.
There are also "endowed" and "unendowed" trades. An endowed guild is one
the members of which pay a certain small sum monthly while in work, and
thus form a fund for the relief of the sick and the assistance of the
travelling members of the trade. There are few trades of the unendowed
kind, for the workmen of such trades have to depend upon the generosity
of their companions in the craft in the hour of need; and it is generally
found more economical to pay a regular sum than to be called on at
uncertain intervals for a donation; moreover, the respectability of the
craft is better maintained.
While we talk of respectability, we may add that it was formerly the
especial care of the heads of each guild, to see that no disreputable
persons became members of the trade; and illegitimate children, and even
the lawful offspring of shepherds, bailiffs, and town servants were
carefully excluded. This practice exists no longer, except in some few
insignificant places; but the law is still very general which says that
no workman can become a master who has not fulfilled every regulation
imposed by his guild; that is to say, he must have been apprenticed at
the proper age to a properly-constituted master; must have regularly
completed his period of apprenticeship, and have passed the appointed
time in travel. The worst part of all these regulations is, that, as
they vary in almost every state, the unfortunate wanderer has to conform
to a new set of laws in every new land he enters.
One other regulation is almost universal. Each guild must have a place
of meeting; not a sumptuous hall, but mere accommodation in a
public-house. It is called the "Herberge," and answers, in many
respects, to our "House of Call." This is the weary traveller's place of
rest--he can claim a shelter here; indeed, in most cases, he dares sleep
nowhere else. Here also the guild holds its quarterly meetings. By way
of illustration, let us take the Goldsmith's Herberge in Hamburg; the
"Stadt Bremen" is the sign of the house. In it, the goldsmiths use a
large, rectangular apartment, furnished with a few rough tables and
chairs, and a wooden bench running round its four walls. On the tables
are arranged long clay pipes, and in the centre of each table is a small
dish of what the uninitiated might take to be dried tea leaves. This is
uncut tobacco, which the host, the father of the House of Call, is bound
to provide. The secretary and messenger of the guild of goldsmiths are
there, together with one or two of the "Altgesellen" (elder journeymen),
who perform the active part of the duties of the guild. The minutes of
the last meeting, and the incidents of the quarter--possibly, also, an
abstract of the rules--having been read, and new officers, to supersede
those who retire, having been balloted for, the business of the evening
closes. Then commences a confusion of tongues; for here are congregated
Russians, Hungarians, Danes, Hamburgers, Prussians, Austrians; possibly
there may be found here a member of every state in the German Union.
None are silent, and the dialect of each is distinct. Assiduously, in
the pauses of his private conversation, every man smokes his long pipe,
and drinks his beer or punch. Presently two female harp-players
enter--sources of refreshment quite as popular in Hamburg as the punch.
They strike up an infatuating waltz. The effect is wonderful. Two or
three couples (men waltzing with men, of course) are immediately on their
feet, scrambling, kicking, and scraping round the room; hugging each
other in the most awkward manner. Chairs and tables are huddled into
corners; for the mania has seized upon two-thirds of the company. The
rest cannot forsake their beer, but congregate in the corners, and yell,
and scream toasts and "Lebe-hoch!" till they are hoarse.
Two girls enter, with trifling articles of male attire for sale; stocks,
pomatum, brushes, and beard-wax; but the said damsels are immediately
pounced upon for partners. In the intervals of the music a grand
tournament takes place; the weapons being clay-pipes, which are speedily
shattered into a thousand pieces, and strewn about the room to facilitate
dancing. Such a scene of shuffling, whirling, shouting, and
pipe-crunching could scarcely be seen elsewhere.
We will take a German youth destined to become an artisan, and endeavour
to follow him through the complication of conflicting usages of which he
stands the ordeal. Hans is fourteen years of age, and has just left
school with a decent education. Hans has his trade and master chosen for
him; is taken before the heads of the guild, and his indenture duly
signed and sealed in their presence, they themselves witnessing the
document. His term of apprenticeship is probably four years, perhaps
six; a premium is seldom given, and when it is, it shortens the period of
apprenticeship. The indenture, together with a certificate of baptism,
in some cases that of confirmation (which ceremony serves as an important
epoch in Germany), and even a documentary proof of vaccination, are
deposited in the coffers of the guild, and kept at the Herberge for
future reference.
Obedience to elders and superiors is the one great duty inculcated in the
minds of all Germans, and Hans is taught to look upon his master as a
second father; to consider short commons as a regulation for his especial
good, and to bear cuffing--if he should fall in the way of it--patiently.
If he be an apprentice in Vienna, he may possibly breakfast upon a hunch
of brown bread, and an unlimited supply of water; dine upon a thin soup
and a block of tasteless, fresh-boiled beef; and sup upon a cold crust.
He may fare better or worse; but, as a general rule, he will sleep in a
vile hole, will look upon coffee and butter as undeniable luxuries, and
know the weight of his master's hand.
Hans has one great source of pleasure. There is a state school, which he
attends on Sundays, and where he is instructed in drawing and modelling.
In his future travels he will find the advantage he has acquired over
less educated mechanics in this necessary knowledge; and should he come
to England, he will discover that his skill as a draughtsman will place
him at once in a position superior to that of the chance-taught workmen
about him. He completes his apprenticeship without attempting to run
away. That is practically impossible; but he yearns, with all the ardour
of a young heart, for the happy day when he may tramp out of his native
town with his knapsack on his back, and the wide world before him.
We will suppose Hans out of his time, and declared a free journeyman by
the guild. The law of his country now has it that he must
travel--generally for three years, perhaps four or six--before he can
take up the position of a master. He may work for a short period in his
native town as a journeyman, but forth he must; nor is he in any way
loth. One only contingency there is, which may serve to arrest him in
his course,--he may be drawn as a conscript--and, possibly, forget in the
next two or three years, as a soldier, all he has previously learned in
four as a mechanic. But we suppose Hans to have escaped this peril, and
to be on the eve of his departure.
When an English gentleman, or mechanic, or beggar, in these isles, has
resolved upon making a journey, he has but to pack up his traps, whether
it be in his portmanteau, his deal-box, or his pocket-handkerchief; to
purchase his ticket at the railway or steam-packet station; and without
asking or consulting with anybody about the matter, to take his seat in
the vehicle, and off he goes. Not so Hans. He gives his master fourteen
days' notice of his intention to wander; applies to the aldermen of his
guild for copies of the various documents concerning himself in their
possession; and obtains from his employer a written attestation of his
past services. This document is called a "Kundschaft;" is written in set
form, acknowledges his probity and industry, and is countersigned by the
two aldermen. He is now in a condition to wait upon the
"Herberges-Vater" (the landlord of the House of Call), and request his
signature also. The Vater, seeing that Hans owes nothing to him or to
any other townsman--and all creditors know that they have only to report
their claims at the Herberge to obtain for them a strict attention--signs
his paper, "all quit." Surely he may start forth now! Not so; the most
important document is still wanting. He has, as yet, no passport or
wander-book.
Hans goes to the police-bureau, and, as he is poor, has to wait a long
while. If Hans were rich, or an artist, or a master's son, it is highly
probable that ho would be able to obtain a passport--and the possession
of a passport guarantees many advantages--but as Hans is simply a
workman, a "wander-book" only is granted to him. This does indeed cost
him less money, but it thrusts him into an unwelcome position, from which
it is not easy to escape. He is placed under stricter rule, and, among
other things, is forced, during his wandering, to sleep at his trade
Herberge, which, from the very monopoly it thus enjoys, is about the
worst place he could go to for a lodging.
The good magistrate of Perleberg--the frontier town of Prussia, as you
enter from Mecklenburg--had the kindness to affix to my passport a
document entitled, "Ordinance concerning the Wandering of Working-men."
I will briefly translate its contents. The "Verordnung" commences with a
preamble, to the effect that, notwithstanding the various things that
have been done and undone with respect to the aforesaid journeymen, it
still happens that numbers of them wander purposeless about the land, to
the great burden of their particular trades and the public in general,
and to the imminent danger of the common safety. Therefore, be it
enacted, that "passports," that is to say, "passes," in which the
distinct purpose of the journey is stated, such as a search for
employment; or "wander-books," in which occupation by manual labour is
the especial object, are to be granted to those natives of Prussia only
who pursue a trade or art for the perfection of which travelling may be
considered useful or necessary. To those only who are irreproachable in
character, and perfectly healthy in body; this latter to be attested by a
medical certificate. To those only who have not passed their thirtieth
year, nor have travelled for the five previous years without
intermission. To those only who possess a proper amount of clothing,
including linen, as well as a sum of money not less than five dollars
(about sixteen shillings) for travelling expenses. So much for natives.
Foreigners must possess all the above-named requisites; must be provided
with proper credentials from their home authorities, and may not have
been more than four weeks without employment on their arrival at the
frontier. Again, every wanderer must distinctly state in what particular
town or city he intends to seek employment, and by what route he purposes
to get there; and any deviation from the chosen road (which will be
marked in the wander-book) will be visited by the punishment of expulsion
from the country. A fixed number of days will be allotted to the
wanderer in which to reach his destination, but should he overstep that
period, a similar punishment awaits him; expulsion from the country
always meaning that the offender shall retrace his steps, and quit the
land by the way he had entered it. This is the substance of the
"ordinance."
Hans is ready for the road. He has only now to take his farewell. A
farewell among workmen is simply a drinking-bout, a parting glass taken
overnight. Hans has many friends; these appoint a place of assemblage,
and invite him thither. It is a point of honour among them that the
"wandering boy" shall pay nothing. Imagine a large, half-lighted room; a
crowded board of bearded faces. On the table steams a huge bowl of
punch, which the chosen head of the party, perhaps Johann's late master,
ladles into the tiny glasses. He proclaims the toast, "The Health of the
Wanderer!" The little crowd are on their feet, and amid a pretty
tinkling of glasses, an irregular shout arises, a small hurricane of
voices, wishing him good speed.
What songs are sung, what healths are drunk, what heartfelt wishes are
expressed! The German workmen are good friends to one another--men who
are already away from friends and home, and whose tenderest recollections
are awakened in the farewell expressed to a departing companion. Many
tears are shed, many hearty presses of the hand are given, and not a few
kisses impressed upon the cheek. Little tokens of affection are
interchanged, and promises to write are made, but seldom kept. With this
mingling and outpouring of full hearts, the stream of punch still flows
through tiny glasses: but, since "Many a little makes a mickle," the
farewell thus taken ends sometimes as a debauch.
Hans, in the morning, is perhaps a little the worse for last night's
punch. He is attired in a clean white blouse, strapped round the waist;
a neat travelling-cap; low, stout shoes; and, possibly, linen wrappers,
instead of socks. The knapsack, strapped to his back, contains a
sufficient change of linen, a coat artistically packed, which is to be
worn in cities, and a few necessary tools; the whole stock weighing,
perhaps, twenty or thirty pounds. On the sides of the knapsack are
little pouches, containing brushes, blacking, and soap; and in his
breast-pocket is stowed away a little flask of brandy-schnaps, to revive
his drooping spirits on the road. A stout stick completes his equipment.
A last adieu from the one friend of his heart, who will walk a few miles
with him on the way--and so he is launched fairly on his journey.
Hans finds the road much harder, and his knapsack heavier than he had
expected. Now he is drenched with rain, and can get no shelter; and,
when he does, he will find straw an inconvenient substitute for a bed.
At last he arrives at Berlin. He has picked up a companion on the road;
and, as it frequently happens that several trades hold their meetings in
the same house, they both are bound to the same Herberge. Through
strange, half-lighted streets, along narrow edges of pavement, they
proceed till they enter a court, or wynd, with no footpath at all, and
they are in the Schuster Gasse, before the door of the Herberge. The
comrade of Hans announces them as they pass the bar, and the next moment
they are in the travellers' room, amid as motley a group as ever met
within four walls.
Tumult and hubbub. An indescribable odour of tobacco, cummin (carraway),
and potato-salad. A variety of hustled blouses. Sunburnt and haggard
faces. Ragged beards and unkempt locks. A strong pipe hanging from
every lip; beer, or kummil (a spirit prepared with cummin) at every hand.
Wild snatches of song, and hurried bursts of dialogue. Some are all
violence and uproar; some are half dead with sleep and fatigue, their
arms sprawling about the tables. Such is the inside of a German trade
traveller's room.
Hans and his companion hand over their papers to the "father" as a
security, and their knapsacks to a sluttish-looking girl, who deposits
them in a cupboard in the corner of the room, and locks the door upon
them. Our travellers order a measure of Berliner Weiss Bier, to be in
keeping with the rest, and long for the hour of sleep. At length, a
stout young man enters, carrying a lighted lantern, and in a loud voice
of authority summonses all to bed. And there is a scrambling and
hustling among some of the travellers, a hasty guzzling of beer and
spirits, and a few low murmurs at being disturbed, but none dare disobey.
A shambling troop of sixteen or eighteen, they quit the room, and enter a
small paved yard, preceded by the young man with the lantern. There is a
rough building resembling a stable, at the other end of the yard; and, in
one corner, a steep ladder, with a handrail, which leads to a chamber
above. They ascend, and enter a long, low loft, so completely crowded
with rough bedsteads that there remains but a narrow alley between them,
just sufficient to allow a single person to pass. Eight double beds, and
the ceiling so low that the companion of Hans can scarcely stand upright
with his hat on.
"New-comers this way," shouts the conductor.
"What's the matter, now?" inquires Hans of his comrade.
"Take off your coat," is the answer in a whisper; "undo the wristbands,
and throw open the collar of your shirt."
"What for?"
"To be examined."
So they are examined; and, being pronounced sound, are allowed to sleep
with the rest of the flock. In this loft, each bed with at least two
occupants, and the door locked--without consideration for fire, accident,
or sudden indisposition,--Hans passes the first night in Berlin.
But there is no work in Berlin, and Hans must pursue his journey. He
waits for hours at the police-office, as play-goers wait at the door of a
London theatre. By and by, he gets into the small bureau with a
desperate rush. That business is settled, and he is off again. Time
runs on; and, after a further tramp of good two hundred miles, Hans gets
settled at last in the free city of Hamburg.
With the exception of a few factories, such as the silk-works at
Chemnitz, in Saxony, and the colony of goldsmiths at Pfortzheim, in
Wurtemburg, there are few extensive manufactories in Germany. Trade is
split up into little masterships of from one to five or six men. This
circumstance materially affects the relation between the employer and
employed.
The master under whom Hans serves at Hamburg is a pleasant, affable
gentleman; his apprentice Peter may be of a different opinion, but that
is of no consequence. The master has spent the best years of his life in
England and France; has learned to speak the languages of both countries
with perfect facility, and is one of the lucky monopolists of his trade.
He employs three workmen; one of them, who is possessed of that peculiar
cast of countenance generally attributed to the children of Israel, has
been demurred to by the Guild,--and why? Because a Jew is legally
incapable of working in Hamburg. He is, however, allowed the usual
privileges on attesting that he is not an Israelite.
Our master accommodates under his own roof one workman and his apprentice
Peter. The others, whom he cannot lodge, are allowed each one mark-banco
(fourteen pence) per week, to enable them to find a bed-chamber
elsewhere. They suffer a pecuniary loss by the arrangement. Hans sleeps
in a narrow box, built on the landing, into which no ray of heaven's
light had ever penetrated. His bedding is a very simple affair. He is
troubled with neither blankets nor sheets. An "under" and an "over" bed,
the latter rather lighter than the former, and both supposed to be of
feathers, form his bed and bedding. Hans is as well off as others, so he
does not complain. As for the apprentice, Peter, it was known that he
disappeared at a certain hour every evening; and from his appearance when
he turned out in the morning, Hans was under the impression that he
wildly shot himself into some deep and narrow hole, and slept the night
through on his head.
And how does Hans fare under his master's roof? Considering the
reminiscences of his apprenticeship, he relishes his cup of coffee in the
morning; his tiny round roll of white bread; the heavy black rye-loaf,
into which he is allowed to hew his way unchecked; and the beautiful
Holstein butter. Not being accustomed to better food, it is possible
that he enjoys the tasteless, fresh boiled beef, and the sodden baked
meat, with no atom of fat, which form the staple food at dinner. Whether
he can comprehend the soups which are sometimes placed before him,--now
made of shredded lemons, now of strained apples, and occasionally of
plain water, with a sprinkling of rice, is another matter; but the
sourkraut and bacon, the boiled beef and raisins, and the baked veal and
prunes, are certain to be looked upon by him as unusual luxuries.
The master presides at the table, and blesses the meat with the air of a
father of his people. Although workmen in Germany are little better than
old apprentices, this daily and familiar intercourse has the effect of
breaking down the formal barriers which in England effectually divide the
capitalist and the labourer. It creates a respectful familiarity, which
raises the workman without lowering the master. The manners of both are
thereby decidedly improved.
Hans gradually learns other trade customs. His comrade falls sick, and
is taken to the free hospital, a little way out of the city. This
hospital is clean and well kept, but fearfully crowded. The elder
journeymen of the Guild are there too, and they comfort the sick man, and
hand him the weekly stipend, half-a-crown, allowed out of the sick-fund.
Hans contributes to this sick-fund two marks--two shillings and
fourpence--a quarter. He does it willingly, but the master has power to
deduct it from his wages in the name of the Guild. His poor sick friend
dies; away from home and friends--a desolate being among strangers. But
he is not, therefore, to be neglected. Every workman in the trade is
called upon to contribute his share--about sevenpence--towards the
expenses of the funeral; and the two senior, assisted by four other
journeymen, in full evening dress, attend his funeral. His effects are
then carefully packed up, and sent--a melancholy memorial of the dead--to
his relations.
From the same fund which relieves the sick, are the "wandering boys" also
assisted. But the "Geschenk" (gift), as it is called, is a mere trifle;
sometimes but a few pence, and in a large city like Berlin it amounts to
but twenty silver groschen--little more than two shillings. It is not
considered disgraceful to accept this donation; as all, when in work,
contribute towards the fund from which it is supplied.
And what is the amount of wages that German workmen receive? In Hamburg
wages vary from five to eight marks per week, that is, from seven
shillings to ten and sixpence, paid monthly. In Leipsic they are paid
fortnightly, and average about ten shillings per week. In Berlin wages
are paid by the calendar month, and average twenty-four dollars (a dollar
is rather more than three shillings), for that period; so that a workman
may be said to earn about eighteen shillings a week, but is dependent on
his own resources for food and lodging. In Vienna the same regulation
exists, and wages range from five to eight guldens--ten to sixteen
shillings per week--paid weekly, as in England. But a workman in Vienna
may be respectably lodged, lighted, and washed for at the rate of
half-a-crown a week. In Berlin and Vienna married journeymen are to be
met with, but not in great numbers, and in smaller towns they may almost
be said to be unknown. Dr. Korth, in his address to his young friends,
the "travelling boys," on this subject, emphatically says--"Avoid, in
God's name, all attachments to womankind, more especially to those of
whom your hearts would say, 'These could I love.'" And then the quaint
old gentleman proceeds to say a number of ungallant things, which are not
worth translating.
No! the German workman is taught to hold himself free, that he may carry
out the law of his land to the letter; that he may return from his
travels at the appointed time "a wiser and a better man;" that he may
show proofs of his acquired skill in his trade, and thereupon claim the
master's right and position. He is then free to marry, and is looked
upon as an "eligible party." But how seldom does all this come to pass,
may the thousands who swarm in London and Paris; may the German colonies
which dot the American States, sufficiently tell. Many linger in large
cities till they feel that to return to the little native village, and
its old, poor, plodding ways, would be little better than burial alive;
and some return, wasted with foreign vice and purchased adversity,
premature old men, to die upon the threshold of their early homes.
One more question--what are their amusements? It would be a long story
to tell, but certainly home-reading is not a prominent enjoyment among
them. German governments, as a rule, take care that the people's
amusements shall not be interfered with. The workmen throng in
dance-houses, beer-cellars, cafes, and theatres, which are all liveliest
and most attractive on a Sunday; and, as they are tolerably cheap, they
are generally a successful lure from deep thinking or study. Besides,
the German workman has no home. If he stay there at all in holiday
hours, it is to draw, or model, or sing romances to the strumming of his
guitar.