I HAD completed my second year at the University, when, in October 1848,
just as I was about to return to Cambridge after the long vacation, an
old friend—William Grey, the youngest of the ex-Prime-Minister’s
sons—called on me at my London lodgings. He was attached to the Vienna
Embassy, where his uncle, Lord Ponsonby, was then ambassador. Shortly
before this there had been serious insurrections both in Paris, Vienna,
and Berlin.
Many may still be living who remember how Louis Philippe fled to England;
how the infection spread over this country; how 25,000 Chartists met on
Kennington Common; how the upper and middle classes of London were
enrolled as special constables, with the future Emperor of the French
amongst them; how the promptitude of the Iron Duke saved London, at
least, from the fate of the French and Austrian capitals.
This, however, was not till the following spring. Up to October, no
overt defiance of the Austrian Government had yet asserted itself; but
the imminence of an outbreak was the anxious thought of the hour. The
hot heads of Germany, France, and England were more than meditating—they
were threatening, and preparing for, a European revolution. Bloody
battles were to be fought; kings and emperors were to be dethroned and
decapitated; mobs were to take the place of parliaments; the leaders of
the ‘people’—_i.e._ the stump orators—were to rule the world; property
was to be divided and subdivided down to the shirt on a man’s—a rich
man’s—back; and every ‘po’r’ man was to have his own, and—somebody
else’s. This was the divine law of Nature, according to the gospels of
Saint Jean Jacques and Mr. Feargus O’Connor. We were all naked under our
clothes, which clearly proved our equality. This was the simple, the
beautiful programme; once carried out, peace, fraternal and eternal
peace, would reign—till it ended, and the earthly Paradise would be an
accomplished fact.
I was an ultra-Radical—a younger-son Radical—in those days. I was quite
ready to share with my elder brother; I had no prejudice in favour of my
superiors; I had often dreamed of becoming a leader of the ‘people’—a
stump orator, _i.e._—with the handsome emoluments of ministerial office.
William Grey came to say good-bye. He was suddenly recalled in
consequence of the insurrection. ‘It is a most critical state of
affairs,’ he said. ‘A revolution may break out all over the Continent at
any moment. There’s no saying where it may end. We are on the eve of a
new epoch in the history of Europe. I wouldn’t miss it on any account.’
‘Most interesting! most interesting!’ I exclaimed. ‘How I wish I were
going with you!’
‘Come,’ said he, with engaging brevity.
‘How can I? I’m just going back to Cambridge.’
‘You are of age, aren’t you?’
I nodded.
‘And your own master? Come; you’ll never have such a chance again.’
‘When do you start?’
‘To-morrow morning early.’
‘But it is too late to get a passport.’
‘Not a bit of it. I have to go to the Foreign Office for my despatches.
Dine with me to-night at my mother’s—nobody else—and I’ll bring your
passport in my pocket.’
‘So be it, then. Billy Whistle [the irreverend nickname we
undergraduates gave the Master of Trinity] will rusticate me to a
certainty. It can’t be helped. The cause is sacred. I’ll meet you at
Lady Grey’s to-night.’
We reached our destination at daylight on October 9. We had already
heard, while changing carriages at Breslau station, that the revolution
had broken out at Vienna, that the rails were torn up, the Bahn-hof
burnt, the military defeated and driven from the town. William Grey’s
official papers, aided by his fluent German, enabled us to pass the
barriers, and find our way into the city. He went straight to the
Embassy, and sent me on to the ‘Erzherzog Carl’ in the Kärnthner Thor
Strasse, at that time the best hotel in Vienna. It being still nearly
dark, candles were burning in every window by order of the insurgents.
The preceding day had been an eventful one. The proletariats, headed by
the students, had sacked the arsenal, the troops having made but slight
resistance. They then marched to the War Office and demanded the person
of the War Minister, Count Latour, who was most unpopular on account of
his known appeal to Jellachich, the Ban of Croatia, to assist, if
required, in putting down the disturbances. Some sharp fighting here
took place. The rioters defeated the small body of soldiers on the spot,
captured two guns, and took possession of the building. The unfortunate
minister was found in one of the upper garrets of the palace. The
ruffians dragged him from his place of concealment, and barbarously
murdered him. They then flung his body from the window, and in a few
minutes it was hanging from a lamp-post above the heads of the infuriated
and yelling mob.
In 1848 the inner city of Vienna was enclosed within a broad and lofty
bastion, fosse, and glacis. These were levelled in 1857. As soon as the
troops were expelled, cannon were placed on the Bastei so as to command
the approaches from without. The tunnelled gateways were built up, and
barricades erected across every principal thoroughfare. Immediately
after these events Ferdinand I. abdicated in favour of the present
Emperor Francis Joseph, who retired with the Court to Schöbrunn.
Foreigners at once took flight, and the hotels were emptied. The only
person left in the ‘Archduke Charles’ beside myself was Mr. Bowen,
afterwards Sir George, Governor of New Zealand, with whom I was glad to
fraternise.
These humble pages do not aspire to the dignity of History; but a few
words as to what took place are needful for the writer’s purposes. The
garrison in Vienna had been comparatively small; and as the National
Guard had joined the students and proletariats, it was deemed advisable
by the Government to await the arrival of reinforcements under Prince
Windischgrätz, who, together with a strong body of Servians and Croats
under Jellachich, might overawe the insurgents; or, if not, recapture the
city without unnecessary bloodshed. The rebels were buoyed up by hopes
of support from the Hungarians under Kossuth. But in this they were
disappointed. In less than three weeks from the day of the outbreak the
city was beleaguered. Fighting began outside the town on the 24th. On
the 25th the soldiers occupied the Wieden and Nussdorf suburbs. Next day
the Gemeinderath (Municipal Council) sent a _Parlementär_ to treat with
Windischgrätz. The terms were rejected, and the city was taken by storm
on October 30.
A few days before the bombardment, the Austrian commander gave the usual
notice to the Ambassadors to quit the town. This they accordingly did.
Before leaving, Lord Ponsonby kindly sent his private secretary, Mr.
George Samuel, to warn me and invite me to join him at Schönbrunn. I
politely elected to stay and take my chance. After the attack on the
suburbs began I had reason to regret the decision. The hotels were
entered by patrols, and all efficient waiters _kommandiere’d_ to work at
the barricades, or carry arms. On the fourth day I settled to change
sides. The constant banging of big guns, and rattle of musketry, with
the impossibility of getting either air or exercise without the risk of
being indefinitely deprived of both, was becoming less amusing than I had
counted on. I was already provided with a _Passierschein_, which franked
me inside the town, and up to the insurgents’ outposts. The difficulty
was how to cross the neutral ground and the two opposing lines. Broad
daylight was the safest time for the purpose; the officious sentry is not
then so apt to shoot his friend. With much stalking and dodging I made a
bolt; and, notwithstanding violent gesticulations and threats, got myself
safely seized and hurried before the nearest commanding officer.
He happened to be a general or a colonel. He was a fierce looking, stout
old gentleman with a very red face, all the redder for his huge white
moustache and well-filled white uniform. He began by fuming and
blustering as if about to order me to summary execution. He spoke so
fast, it was not easy to follow him. Probably my amateur German was as
puzzling to him. The _Passierschein_, which I produced, was not in my
favour; unfortunately I had forgotten my Foreign Office passport. What
further added to his suspicion was his inability to comprehend why I had
not availed myself of the notice, duly given to all foreigners, to leave
the city before active hostilities began. How anyone, who had the
choice, could be fool enough to stay and be shelled or bayoneted, was
(from his point of view) no proof of respectability. I assured him he
was mistaken if he thought I had a predilection for either of these
alternatives.
‘It was just because I desired to avoid both that I had sought, not
without risk, the protection I was so sure of finding at the hands of a
great and gallant soldier.’
‘Dummes Zeug! dummes Zeug!’ (stuff o’ nonsense), he puffed. But a
peppery man’s good humour is often as near the surface as his bad. I
detected a pleasant sparkle in his eye.
‘Pardon me, Excellenz,’ said I, ‘my presence here is the best proof of my
sincerity.’
‘That,’ said he sharply, ‘is what every rascal might plead when caught
with a rebel’s pass in his pocket. Geleitsbriefe für Schurken sind
Steckbriefe für die Gerechtigkeit.’ (Safe-conduct passes for knaves are
writs of capias to honest men.)
I answered: ‘But an English gentleman is not a knave; and no one knows
the difference better than your Excellenz.’ The term ‘Schurken’ (knaves)
had stirred my fire; and though I made a deferential bow, I looked as
indignant as I felt.
‘Well, well,’ he said pacifically, ‘you may go about your business. But
_sehen Sie_, young man, take my advice, don’t satisfy your curiosity at
the cost of a broken head. Dazu gehören Kerle die eigens geschaffen
sind.’ As much as to say: ‘Leave halters to those who are born to be
hanged.’ Indeed, the old fellow looked as if he had enjoyed life too
well to appreciate parting with it gratuitously.
I had nothing with me save the clothes on my back. When I should again
have access to the ‘Erzherzcg Carl’ was impossible to surmise. The only
decent inn I knew of outside the walls was the ‘Golden Lámm,’ on the
suburb side of the Donau Canal, close to the Ferdinand bridge which faces
the Rothen Thurm Thor. Here I entered, and found it occupied by a
company of Nassau _jägers_. A barricade was thrown up across the street
leading to the bridge. Behind it were two guns. One end of the
barricade abutted on the ‘Golden Lámm.’ With the exception of the
soldiers, the inn seemed to be deserted; and I wanted both food and
lodging. The upper floor was full of _jägers_. The front windows
over-looked the Bastei. These were now blocked with mattresses, to
protect the men from bullets. The distance from the ramparts was not
more than 150 yards, and woe to the student or the fat grocer, in his
National Guard uniform, who showed his head above the walls. While I was
in the attics a gun above the city gate fired at the battery below. I
ran down a few minutes later to see the result. One artilleryman had
been killed. He was already laid under the gun-carriage, his head
covered with a cloak.
The storming took place a day or two afterwards. One of the principal
points of resistance had been at the bottom of the Jägerzeile. The
insurgents had a battery of several guns here; and the handsome houses at
the corners facing the Prater had been loop-holed and filled with
students. I walked round the town after all was over, and was especially
impressed with the horrors I witnessed. The beautiful houses, with their
gorgeous furniture, were a mass of smoking ruins. Not a soul was to be
seen, not even a prowling thief. I picked my way into one or two of them
without hindrance. Here and there were a heap of bodies, some burnt to
cinders, some with their clothes still smouldering. The smell of the
roasted flesh was a disgusting association for a long time to come. But
the whole was sickening to look at, and still more so, if possible, to
reflect upon; for this was the price which so often has been, so often
will be, paid for the alluring dream of liberty, and for the pursuit of
that mischievous will-o’-the-wisp—jealous Equality.