In moments of revolt Albert always thought of leaving his fatherland
forever, but then his love for the land that gave him birth would
return—his innate fondness of the people about him would possess him,
the memories of his childhood on the banks of the Rhine would hold him
with chains of steel. He saw every fault in his compatriots, but the
faults seemed so glaring to him, and stirred him so deeply, because he
loved the people. But what people ever learned that it is its critics,
not its flatterers, who love it most sincerely?
He now found himself torn by a thousand conflicts. The censor was most
annoying—one could hardly give expression to one’s thoughts—and
disobedience meant damp prisons; the officials were arrogant; and the
land was full of Cant, Cult, and Culture. One could hardly breathe for
want of free air in Germany. In order to divert the people from the
tyranny of the nobles and Prussian officialdom the government encouraged
orthodoxy on one hand and heterodoxy on the other. “Let the children
play hard and forget other foolishness”, has always been the motto of
tyrannical governments. Hegelism, Schlegelism, Schellingism,
anti-Semitism—in short, anything to engage the public mind and coerce
it into submission to the tyrant’s will.
Albert thirsted for freedom. True, his biting irony often escaped the
scrutinising eye of the stupid censor—his thoughts emanated properly
censored from his brain, he jested—but he craved a moment’s respite.
For a time he had again retired to Hamburg and buried himself in work.
More songs, the publication of another book, planning new themes,
pondering new subjects, ever yearning for love.
One day he received a call to edit a political journal. He was thrilled.
He wished to awaken Young Germany; Old Germany, he realized, was
hopeless. He meant to speak freely, come what might. He wished to enroll
himself among the warriors for the liberation of humanity. On his
arrival in Munich he was made to feel that his renown was growing; that,
in fact, he was already famous. His name was known, his songs were on
everyone’s lips, his epigrams were frequently quoted. He had learned
with a keen sense of pleasure that while his first two books had made
him many enemies they had also enlarged his circle of admirers.
He felt that the time was ripe for the emancipation of the German mind.
Every great mind miscalculates the minds of the people about him. He
either underestimates or overestimates them; or rather he underestimates
some of its qualities and overestimates others. Albert was no exception
to this rule. While he was convinced that when “asses wish to abuse one
another they call each other men” he attributed to the masses—stupider
than asses—an intelligence and vision equal to his own. He jumped at
the conclusion that the masses would get his viewpoint once it was
presented to them. And because his clarity of vision enabled him to see
the sham, superstition, and hypocrisy of the prevalent fetishes that
passed for creeds, and of the tyrannies that passed for government, he
imagined that others would see these great evils as soon as they were
revealed to them.
The reception accorded his books deceived him. He mistook the people’s
laughter for applause. He failed to see that only a handful understood
him and sympathized with him. Only the chosen few understood that when
one dips his pen in gall his own heart very often brims over with love.
The vast majority only laughed at his mordant irony, called him a
scoffer and an atheist, and hated him. When a friend had whispered in
his ear “Look out for the Jesuits,” Albert only laughed. He thought it
was for them to look out for him. He knew no fear.