not where to lay His head,” spend the money raised by taxation of the
poor, on pomps and luxury worthy of a Darius or a Heliogabalus? Had
they not read the Gospel condemnation of Dives, and the commentaries
of the Church’s Fathers? Was the Christian doctrine of humility and of
charity, even to voluntary property, only understood in monasteries
and convents? Those grandees of the Church must have been completely
blinded by the mistaken sophism which leads to the belief that
extravagance and waste benefits the working man, the real producer.
This unfortunate error is only too harmful at the present day.
During the eighteenth century the majority of the churches of
Würzburg were completely spoilt by being ornamented in that Louis
XV. style, suited only to the interior of palaces. As Boileau says,
“ce ne sont que festons, ce ne sont qu’astragales,” gothic arches
disappear beneath garlands of flowers, clouds with angel’s draperies
in relief and interlacings of “chicorée,” the whole in plaster and
covered with gilding. The altars are frequently entirely gilt. It is
a perfect profusion of make-believe riches. In the towns the façades
of some houses here and there are finished examples of this florid
architecture. Doubtless the radiance of Versailles magnificence urged
Germany to decorate her monuments and dwellings “à la Française,” even
after the Sun there had set.
From my windows, which look out on to the square before the palace, I
see a battalion of troops march past to exercise. Even the guards at
Berlin could not march more automatically. The legs and the left arm
move exactly together, while the guns are held precisely at the same
angle by each soldier. Their steel barrels form a perfectly straight
line as they glisten in the sunshine. The ranks of soldiers are
absolutely rectilinear. The whole move in a body as if they were
fastened on to a rail. It is perfection. What care and pains must have
been bestowed before such a result could be attained! The Bavarians
have naturally done their very best to equal and even to surpass
the Prussians. They do not choose to be esteemed any longer as mere
beer-drinkers, heavy, and somewhat dense. I wonder if this exceedingly
severe drill, so effective on parade, is of use on a battle-field
of the present day, where it is usual to disperse to attack. I am
not competent to answer this question, but it is certain that rigid
discipline accustoms the soldier to order and obedience; two very
necessary virtues, especially in a democratic age. Obedience is
still more wanted when the iron hand of despotism gives place to the
authority of magistrates and laws. The mission of schools and military
service is to teach this lesson to the citizens of Republics. The more
the chief power loosens its hold, the more should free man bend at once
to the exigencies necessary for the maintenance of order in the State.
If this be not so, anarchy will result, and a return to despotism is
then inevitable, for anarchy cannot be tolerated.
In the evening the sound of bugles is heard. It is the retreat sounding
for the garrison troops. It is a melancholy farewell to the day passing
away, and, religious, like a call to rest, from the night, which is
fast falling. Alas! how sad it is to think that these trumpets thus
harmoniously sounding the curfew will one day give the signal for
battle and bloodshed! Men are still as savage as wild beasts, and with
less motive, for they no longer devour their slaughtered enemy. I am a
member of at least four societies whose object is to preach peace and
recommend arbitration. No one listens to us. Even free nations prefer
to fight. I admit perfectly that when the security or the existence
of a country is at stake, it is impossible to have recourse to
arbitration, although its decisions would be at least as just as those
of violence and chance; but there are cases which I call “Jenkins’s
ears,” since reading Carlyle’s “Frederic the Great.”[55] In such as
these, where the question is one of _amour propre_, of obstinacy, and
frequently, I may say, also, of stupidity, arbitration might often
prevent conflicts.
But if man is still hard on his fellow, he has become more tender
towards animals. He has forbidden their being uselessly tortured. I
take note of a touching example of this. I walk up to the Citadel,
whence there is a splendid view over all Franconia. I cross the bridge
over the Maine. In a street where the quaint pinions of the houses and
gaudy sign-posts over the doors would delight the eye of a painter,
I see a sort of sentry-box, on which is written in large characters,
_Theirschutz-Verein_ (“Society for the Protection of Animals”). A horse
is standing there. Why? To be at the disposal of waggoners with a heavy
load who are going up the slope to the bridge, and thus to prevent them
ill-treating their horses. This seems to me far more ingenious and
efficacious than the infliction of a fine.
Würzburg is not an industrial town. There appears to be no special
reason why the population and the wealth of the city should increase
rapidly, and yet the old town is surrounded with fine new quarters,
fashionable squares, pretty walks and fine wide streets, handsome
houses and villas. Here, as elsewhere, that singular phenomenon of
our age, the immense increase in the number of well-to-do families,
is distinctly apparent. If this continue in the same proportions, the
“masses” of the future will not be composed of those who live on wages
and salaries, but of those living on profit, interest, or revenue.
Revolutions will become impossible, for the established order of things
would have more protectors than assailants. These countless comfortable
residences, these edifices of all kinds which spring up in every
direction, with their luxurious and opulent appointments, all this
wealth and well-being, is the result of the employment of machinery.
Machinery increases production and economizes labor, and as the wages
of labor have not diminished, the number of those who could live
without working has increased.
Würzburg possesses an ancient University. It is a very old
sixteenth-century building, situated in the centre of the town. As they
recently did me the honor to confer on me the degree of _Doctor honoris
causa_, I wished to see the Rector to offer him my thanks, but I had
not the good fortune to meet him. On the Boulevard, special institutes
have been constructed for each separate science, for chemistry,
physics, and physiology. Immense sums have been spent in Germany to add
a number of those separate institutes to the different Universities.
The eminent professor of chemistry at Bonn, M. Kekulé, recently took
me over the building constructed for his branch of science. With
its Greek columns, and its palatial façade, it is considerably more
extensive than the whole of the old University. The subsoil devoted
to experimental and metallurgical chemistry resembles immense works
or foundries. The professor’s apartments are far more sumptuous than
those of the first authorities. Neither the Governor, the Bishop, nor
even the General himself, can boast of anything to be compared with
them. In the drawing-rooms and dancing saloons the whole town might
be assembled. This Institute has cost more than a million francs.
In Germany it is very rightly considered that a professor who has
experiments to make ought to live in the same building where are the
laboratories and lecture-rooms. It is only thus that he is able to
follow analyses which need his supervision, at times even at night.
Comparative anatomy and physiology have also each their palace. Several
professors of natural sciences complain that it is really an excess.
They say they are crushed by the extent and complications of their
appurtenances, and especially by the cares and responsibilities they
involve; nevertheless, if exaggeration there be, it is on the right
side. Bacon’s motto, “Knowledge is Power,” becomes truer every day.
The proper application of science is the chief source of wealth, and,
consequently, of power. Nations, do you wish to be powerful and rich?
Then encourage to the utmost your learned men.
I stop a day _en route_ to revisit Nuremberg, the Pompeii of the
Middle Ages. I will not speak of its many interesting churches,
houses, towers, of the Woolding Chamber, nor of the terrible Iron
Virgin, covered inside with spikes, like Regulus’ barrel, which, in
closing, pierced its victim through and through, and opened to drop
the corpse into the torrent roaring a hundred feet below. Nothing
gives a more vivid idea of the refined cruelty of these dark ages. But
I have no wish to encroach upon Baedeker’s prerogative. A word only
as to what I see before the cathedral. I observe there a small Gothic
monument, which reminds me of the Roman column of Igel, on the Mosel,
near Trèves. It has a niche on each of the four sides, under glass.
In the first niche is a thermometer, in the second an hygrometer, in
the third a barometer, and in the fourth the day’s telegrams from
the observatory, and the meteorological maps. These instruments are
enormous, from four to five feet in height at least, so that the
figures may be large enough to be clearly legible. I have seen similar
monuments in several German towns, and in Switzerland, at Geneva, in
the gardens near the Rhone, at Vevey, close to the landing-stage, and
at Neuchatel, on the promenade near the lake. It would be excellent if
all towns would adopt them. I take every opportunity of urging this.
Their cost is but trifling. A perfectly plain one can be made for £40,
something more elegant might cost £80 or £100; they are a source of
amusement and a means of instructing the people, and a daily lesson in
physics for all classes. The laboring man learns there far better than
he would do at school the practical use of these instruments, which are
most useful for agricultural purposes and for sanitary precautions.
Towards midnight I go on foot to the railway station, to take the
express to Vienna. The old castle throws a black shadow over the town,
the roofs of which seem to whiten in the silvery moonlight. This, I
say to myself, is the birthplace of the Hohenzollern family. What a
change has taken place in its destiny since its name first appeared
in history, in 1170, when Conrad of Hohenzollern was made Burgraaf of
Nuremberg! One of his descendants, Frederick, first Elector, left this
town in 1412 to take possession of Brandenburg, which the spendthrift
Emperor Sigismund had sold him for 400,000 florins of Hungarian
gold. He had already borrowed half this sum from Frederick, who was
as economical as the ant, and had even mortgaged the electorate as
security. Being unable to repay his debt, and in want of more money to
defray the costs of an expedition to Spain, he very willingly yielded
up this inhospitable northern “Mark,” the sands of the “Marquis of
Brandenburg,” which Voltaire so turned into ridicule. The Emperor
could not suppose that from this petty Burgrave would spring a future
wearer of the imperial crown. Economy is a small virtue made up of
small privations, but which makes much of little—_Molti pochi fanno un
assai_—“Mony a pickle maks a mickle,” as the Scotch say. Though far
too often forgotten or ignored by rulers, it is nevertheless even more
necessary for nations than for individuals.
A short June night is soon passed in a sleeping car. I wake up and find
myself in Austria. I perceive it at once from the delicious coffee and
cream which is served me in a glass, by a fair young girl in a pink
print dress and with bare arms. It very nearly equals in quality that
of the _Posthof_ at Carlsbad. We are very soon in view of the Danube,
but the railway does not keep alongside it. Whatever the well-known
waltz, “The Blue Danube,” may say to the contrary, the river is not
blue at all. Its waters are yellow-green, like the Rhine, but how
infinitely more picturesque is the “Donau!” No vineyards, no factories,
and very few steamers. I saw but one, making its way with difficulty
against the rapid current. The hills on either side are covered with
forests and green meadows, and the branches of the willow trees
sweep the water. The farm-houses, very far apart, have a rustic and
mountain-like appearance. There is very little movement, very little
trade; the peasant is still the chief producer of riches. On this
lovely summer morning the sweet repose of this peaceful existence
seduces and penetrates me. How delightful it would be to live quietly
here, near these pine forests, and these beautiful meadows, where
the cattle are at pasture! But on the other side of the river where
there is no railway! There are several reasons for this great contrast
between the Rhine and the Danube. The Rhine flows towards Holland
and England, two markets that have been well established for upwards
of three hundred years, and ready to pay a high price for all the
river brings them. The Danube flows towards the Black Sea, where the
population is exceedingly poor, and can scarcely afford to purchase
what we should call here the necessaries of life. The produce of
Hungary, even live cattle, is taken westward by rail to London. The
transport by water is too long. Secondly, coal, the indispensable fuel
of all modern industry, is cheaper on the Rhine than anywhere else. And
thirdly, the Rhine, ever since the Roman conquest and at the earliest
period of the Middle Ages, has been a centre of civilization, whereas
that portion of the Danube the most valuable for traffic was, until
yesterday, in the hands of the Turks.
At the Amstett Station I purchased the Vienna _Neue Freie Presse_,
which is, I think, with the _Pester Lloyd_, the best edited and the
pleasantest paper to read in the German language. The _Kölnische
Zeitung_ is exceedingly well-informed, and the _Allgemeine Zeitung_
is also as complete and interesting as possible; but it is a terrible
pell-mell of subjects, a dreadful muddle, where, for instance, many
little paragraphs from France or Paris are disseminated haphazard in
the six sheets. I would rather read three _Times’_ than one
_Kölnische_, in spite of the respect with which that paper inspires me.
I have scarcely unfolded my _Neue Freie Presse_ than I find myself in
the very heart of the struggle of nationalities, just as I was sixteen
years previously, only that the strife is no longer, as it then was,
between Magyars and Germans. The Deak dual compromise created a _modus
vivendi_, which is still in force. The dispute is now between Tchecks
and Germans on the one hand, and between Magyars and Croatians on
the other. The Minister Taaffe has decided to dissolve the Bohemian
Parliament and there will be fresh elections. The national and feudal
Tchecks banding together will overthrow the Germans, who will no longer
possess more than a third of the votes in the Diet. The _Freie Presse_
is perfectly disconsolate at this, and foresees the most terrible
disasters in consequence: if not the end of the world, at least the
upset of the monarchy. On account of these warnings, the numbers are
seized by Government order three or four times a month, even although
it be the organ of the Austrian “bourgeoisie.” It is Liberal, but
very moderate, like the _Débats_ and the _Temps_ in France. After two
or three months have elapsed, the numbers seized are returned to the
editor, only fit for the waste-paper basket. These confiscations (for
they are, in fact, nothing more nor less, although effected through the
Administration) are absolutely contrary to the law, as is proved by the
reiterated acquittals. Their constant recurrence reminds one of the
worst periods of the French Empire. Applied to a newspaper that defends
Austrian interests with so much skill as the _Freie Presse_, they are
more than surprising. If my friend, Eugène Pelletan, were aware of this
he would no longer claim for France “liberty as in Austria,” for which
saying he suffered at the time three months’ imprisonment. It is said
that the influence of the Tchecks dictates these confiscations, and
this alone is sufficient to show the violence of the enmity between the
races. The Viennese with whom I travel declare that this enmity is far
less bitter than it was fifteen years ago. At that period, I tell them,
I travelled across the country without meeting a single Austrian.
I met with Magyars, Croatians, Saxons, Tchecks, Tyrolians, Poles,
Ruthenians, Dalmatians, but never with Austrians. The common country
was ignored, the race was all in all. At the present day, my
fellow-travellers tell me this is very much subdued. You will find
plenty of excellent Austrians, they say, to-day amongst the Magyars,
and to-morrow amongst the Tchecks.
The reader will permit a short digression here touching this
nationality question. You meet with it everywhere in the dual Empire.
It is the great preoccupation of the present, and it will be in fact
the chief agent in determining the future of the population of the
banks of the Danube and the Balkan peninsula. You Englishmen cannot
well understand the full force of this feeling which is so strong
in Eastern countries. England is for you your country, for which
you live and for which, if needs, you die. This love of country is
a religion which survives even when all other faith or religion has
ceased to exist. It is the same in France. M. Thiers who, as a rule,
so thoroughly grasped situations, never realized the immense force of
these aspirations of races, which completely rearranged, before his
eyes, the map of Europe on the nationality footing. Cavour and Bismarck
were, however, well aware of this, and knew how to take advantage of
this sentiment, in creating the unity of Italy and of Germany.
One evening, Jules Simon took me to call on M. Thiers, in rue St.
Honoré, who asked me to explain the Flemish movement in Belgium. I did
so, and he seemed to consider the question as most unimportant, quite
childish in fact, and very much behind the age. He was at once both
right and wrong. He was right because true union is one of minds, not
of blood. Christ’s saying is here admirably applicable: “Whosoever
shall do the will of God the same is my brother and sister and mother”
(St. Mark iii. 35).
I grant that mixed nationalities which, without consideration of
diversity of language and race, rest, as in Switzerland, on an identity
of historical reminiscences, of civilization and liberty, are of a
superior order; they are types and forerunners of the final fusion when
all mankind will be but one great family, or rather a federation. But
M. Thiers, being idealistic, like a true son of the French Revolution,
was wrong in not taking into account things as they actually are, and
the exigencies of the transitory situation.
This awakening of nationalities is the inevitable outcome of the
development of democracy, of the press, and of literary culture. An
autocrat may govern twenty different peoples without in the least
troubling himself as to their language or race; but if once assemblies
be introduced, everything is changed. Speech governs. Then what
language is to be spoken? That of the people of course. Will you
educate the young? It must be done in their mother tongue. Is justice
to be administered? You cannot judge a man in a foreign language. You
wish to represent him in Parliament and ask for his votes; the least he
can claim in return is that he may understand what you say. And thus by
degrees the language of the multitude gains ground and is adopted in
Parliament, law-courts, and schools of every degree. In Finland, for
instance, the struggle is between the Swedes, who form the well-to-do
classes and live in the towns on the coast, and the rural population
who are Finns. When visiting the country with the son of the eminent
linguist, Castrén, who died while in Asia seeking out the origin of the
Finn language, I found that the latter was more spoken than Swedish,
even in the suburbs of large towns such as Abö and Helsingfors. All
official inscriptions are in the two languages. The instruction in the
communal schools is almost entirely in the Finn tongue. There are Finn
gymnasiums, and even at the University, lectures in this language.
There is also a national theatre, where I heard “Martha” sung in Finn.
In Gallicia, Polish has completely replaced German; but the Ruthenians
have also put in a claim for their idiom. In Bohemia the Tcheck dialect
triumphs so completely that German is in danger of being wholly cast
aside. At the opening of the Bohemian Diet, the Governor made a speech
in Tcheck and one in German. At Prague a Tcheck University has recently
been opened next to the German one. The clergy, the feudals, and
the population are strongly in favor of this national movement. The
Archbishop of Prague, the Prince of Schwarzenberg, although himself a
German, appoints none but Tcheck priests, even in the North of Bohemia
where Germans dominate.
It is certain that in countries where two races are thus intermingled,
this growing feeling must occasion endless dissensions, and almost
insurmountable difficulties. It is a disadvantage to speak the idiom
of a small number, for it is a cause of isolation. It would certainly
be far better if but three or four languages were spoken in Europe,
and better still if but one were generally adopted; but, until this
acme of unity be attained, every free people called upon to establish
self-government, will claim rights for its mother tongue, and will
try to unite itself with those who speak it, unless the nation be
already fully satisfied with its mixed but historical nationality like
Switzerland and Belgium. Austria and the Balkan peninsula are now
agitated with these claims for the use of the national tongue, and with
aspirations for the formation of States based on the ethnic groups.
As we near Vienna the train runs through the most lovely country. A
succession of small valleys, with little streamlets rippling through
them, and on either side green lawns between the hills covered with
woods, chiefly firs and oaks. One might imagine oneself in Styria or
in Upper Bavaria. Soon, however, houses make their appearance, often
charming châlets buried in creeping plants, “Gloire de Dijon” roses,
or jessamine and clematis. These become more and more frequent, and,
near the suburban stations, there are quite little hamlets of villas. I
know of no capital with such beautiful suburbs, save perhaps Stockholm.
Nothing could be more delightful than Baden, Möoling, Brühl, Schönbrun,
and all those little rustic nooks south of Vienna, on the road to the
Sömering.—_Contemporary Review._
ANCIENT ORGANS OF PUBLIC OPINION.[56]
BY PROF. R. C. JEBB.