Le Rhin allemand

FIRST OF MAY OF THE FOURTH SERIES

GASTON RAPHAEL

THE GERMAN RHINE

CAHIERS DE LA QUINZAINE appearing twenty times per year Paris 8, rue de la Sorbonne, ground floor

The cahier that the reader is about to read, requested long ago for the first of May of the fourth series, was ready to go to press on Sunday 26 April. We thought, the author and I, that we could, and that we should, postpone it a month before the necessities of a present action.

Charles Peguy

GASTON RAPHAEL

THE GERMAN RHINE

In 1840, Europe and the Orient were troubled by the Pasha of Egypt, Mehemet-Ali. A soldier of fortune, a conqueror, he was progressively stripping his suzerain, the Sultan of Turkey. European diplomats had already in 1832 obliged the Pasha to recall his troops that were threatening Constantinople. But they had had him recognized, by the convention of Kutayeh (1833), the possession of Syria. Tranquility was restored.

But in 1839, Mahmoud II thought he had reconstituted forces sufficient to defeat the Pasha and annul the convention. His troops invaded Syria. Ibrahim-Pasha, a son of Mehemet-Ali, destroyed the Turkish army at Nezib on 24 June 1839. Once again Europe intervened. To save Turkey, the five Great Powers --- England, Austria, France, Prussia, Russia --- came to an agreement. On 27 July, Prince Metternich handed them in their name a note to the Sublime Porte. They urged it to “abstain from any definitive deliberation without their assistance and to await the effect of the interest they took in it.”

The representatives of the five Powers and that of Turkey opened negotiations in London. No one showed any disposition to hurry them. It soon appeared that they would not succeed, and this through the fault of France. French influence was then preponderant in the Orient, and Mehemet-Ali was the favorite of the French. M. Thiers, president of the council of ministers since 1 March 1840, wished to settle the Oriental dispute alone. His secret agents endeavored to persuade Mahmoud and Mehemet-Ali to conclude directly, without European assistance, an agreement.

Established at Ancona, possessing Algeria, influential in Greece, France would have made of the Mediterranean a French lake.

But Thiers was deluding himself. It was impossible that England should tolerate the formation of an Egyptian empire friendly to France, which would have cut its route to India. Rather break the alliance of the moment with France, the entente cordiale, as it was called. Lord Palmerston, informed of French intrigues, forestalled them. He negotiated with the three other Powers unknown to France. On 15 July 1840 he signed with them the convention of London. The integrity of the Ottoman Empire was to be maintained and Mehemet-Ali was to recall his troops. France was excluded from the European concert.

Toward the end of July the treaty became known in France. It caused a violent emotion.

What was felt first was the affront done to France. To treat her thus, at the very moment when her political supremacy seemed established! Only war could efface such an outrage. “The treaty is an insolence that France will not tolerate,” printed the Journal des Debats, (1) “her honor forbids it.” The Revue des Deux Mondes spoke louder and firmer: “There is a word, a decisive word that must be said to Europe with calm, but with invincible resolution: If certain limits are crossed, it is war, war to the utmost, whatever the ministry.” (2) Baour-Lormian, the enemy of the Romantics, cried out with a Cornelian energy:

“To the Frenchmen whom they outrage nothing is impossible.” (3)

From the outset, the question thus became European. The quarrel was to be settled between France and the four Great Powers.

And thereby were reawakened the painful memory of 1815 and the desire for revenge. Were not the four Powers signatory to the Treaty of London the allies of 1813 and 1815? Was it not the Coalition reforming at the moment when France still suffered, the Holy Alliance at the moment when the ashes of Napoleon I were returning to France, (4) when Beranger, Thiers, Victor Hugo were creating the Napoleonic legend? “It is a new Treaty of Chaumont,” said Marshal Soult. Edgar Quinet published a brochure: 1815-1840, whose success was great. He demonstrated that the malaise in which France languished, the difficulties of domestic politics had their origin in the treaties of 1815, “which weigh upon us like a fatality.” The duty to be fulfilled was imperious: “France must not make a single movement that does not lead her to the deliverance of the public law from invasions, since each of our parties will be nothing but a shadow as long as we have not raised ourselves from the sepulcher of Waterloo.” (1)

It was no longer a question of the Oriental conflict, but of the revision of the treaties of 1815.

The demands became more precise. They did not ask for the entire empire of Napoleon I, but for the left bank of the Rhine that he had occupied. The diplomats had not been content to take this rich region from France, which people had come to regard as a French province. They had stationed German garrisons in Luxembourg, Saarlouis, Landau, Mainz, Rastadt and Ulm, cities they denominated federal fortresses. The invasion routes of the Oise, the Saar, the Vosges and the Doubs remained open. To the regret for lost territory was added the fear of invasion.

Edgar Quinet, a propagator of German ideas in France, a sincere friend of Germany, could not help protesting. In the preface (2) of 1815-1840 he said to the Germans: “There is no one on this side of the Rhine who more sincerely desires your friendship; but if to obtain it one must eternally leave at the feet of your princes, your absolute kings, their foot on our throat, and abandon to them forever in Landau, in Luxembourg, in Mainz the keys of Paris, I am of the opinion, on the one hand, that this is not in the interest of your people; on the other, that our duty is to oppose it to our last breath.” (1) And everyone thought like Quinet, often with more intemperance. For a long time it had been considered indispensable to reconquer as far as Dusseldorf the entire left bank of the Rhine. (2) Now this conquest was being demanded loudly. To take revenge, one had to attack. To free oneself from 1815, one had to retake the Rhenish provinces, to which people were attached above all. Besides, this conquest was to be easy. As in 1790, the Rhinelanders would celebrate the arrival of the French armies, for the war was to be revolutionary. The Treaty of London had not a little excited the hopes of the liberal party. It judged the moment propitious for increasing at home as well as abroad its revolutionary activity. The July Monarchy would not withstand a war. And what an occasion to renew abroad the campaigns of the Revolution! Le National of Armand Carrel counseled carrying the revolution into Italy, into the Rhineland states, into all Germany, into Poland. At the same time it challenged the monarchy to have that audacity. Le Temps printed: “Europe is very weak against us. She can try to play with us the terrible game of war; we shall play with her the terrible game of revolutions.” (3) Le Journal des Debats wrote: “France, if need be, will defend alone the independence of Europe; for this cause which is that of civilization against barbarism, of liberty against despotism, we shall spend to the last drop of our blood.” (1) The movement of French recovery was at once nationalist and internationalist, nationalist and revolutionary.

The manifestations of France’s aggressive mood were general and noisy. Louis-Philippe himself appeared to set the example. When the Treaty of London was communicated to him “he broke out with such violence that the queen had to have the door of his study closed so that his voice would not be heard in the gallery.” (2) To the Austrian and Prussian ambassadors he cried: “For ten years I have been forming the dam against the Revolution, at the expense of my popularity, my peace, even at the danger of my life. They owe me the peace of Europe, the security of their thrones, and there is their gratitude! Do they then absolutely want me to put on the red bonnet?” And later: “You want war, you shall have it. If need be I shall unmuzzle the tiger.” The Duke of Orleans declared “that he would rather die on the Rhine than in a gutter of the rue Saint-Denis.”

Thiers favored the agitation. Supported in the Chamber of Deputies by a coalition of minorities rather than by a majority, he found it well to divert, to distract public attention. He mistook his talents. From frequenting Bonaparte he thought himself ready to imitate him. Judging war inevitable, he prepared campaign plans. He was found lying flat on maps, where, with the aid of green and red-headed pins, he plotted the march of the French armies. He made armaments. On 29 July orders recalled to active service the young men still available from the classes of 1836 and 1839. The Chambers being on vacation, he authorized the credits necessary to increase the naval force by 10,000 sailors, 5 ships of the line, 13 frigates, 9 steamships. On 29 September he created 12 new infantry regiments and 5 of cavalry. On 21 September he authorized more than 100 million for materiel and personnel. Finally he authorized another credit exceeding 100 million to begin immediately the construction of fortifications around Paris. The Chamber later legitimated this expenditure by 237 votes against 182.

Among the public, no one doubted that war was near. On the Bourse, “the Temple of Fear,” as Henri Heine calls it, the 3 percent fell from 86.50 (18 July) to 78.75 (6 August) and to 70.10 (10 August). Shares of the Bank of France fell from 3,770 to 3,000 francs.

However, it was not the sentiment of fear that dominated. On the contrary Heine notes that “the news of the coalition produced a joyful warlike enthusiasm rather than consternation.” (1) Fifty thousand unemployed workers were only waiting for an occasion to amuse themselves. This one seemed good to them. They struck up the Marseillaise, unknown and proscribed for years. On 28 July 1840 the July Column was inaugurated on the Place de la Bastille. The remains of those who had died for the Revolution were solemnly carried there. The king, the princes, the ministers had abstained from appearing for fear of a dangerous demonstration. But 80,000 National Guardsmen headed toward the Tuileries, singing the Marseillaise and uttering threats against the English and the Prussians. The king had to show himself on the balcony. “He was greeted by truly very vivid acclamations, and when the orchestra played the Marseillaise, there was a genuine enthusiasm.” (1) “It seemed to all that France was on the eve of redoubtable events. At moments even, in such and such a department, the news spread that war had just been declared, and the prefect had to officially deny it. Everywhere there were only clamors against the English, singing of the Marseillaise. Into plays they interpolated bellicose phrases, immediately seized upon and applauded.” (2) “Before the recruiting offices they queued as before theaters when there is a notable play.” (3) Abroad, the sailors or soldiers of the various nations observed one another. The slightest imprudence could unleash war. Peace, said M. Guizot, was at the mercy of subordinates.

When they learned of these demonstrations the Germans were stupefied. Their country was only very indirectly interested in the Oriental conflict. They were unaware of the London negotiations. They had no intention of humiliating France. And now France was claiming to avenge upon them an affront made by England? And they came to take the Rhine from them because the Pasha of Egypt had revolted against his suzerain?

The Germans were no less frightened. They were letting themselves drift into peace. Their princes were striving to maintain them in a blissful negligence of politics. They were sleeping. Henri Heine claimed to hear from the summit of the Saint-Gothard Germany snoring under its thirty-six sovereigns. The Marseillaise woke her. Her uneasy eyes thought they glimpsed the armies of a new invasion. She trembled entirely.

Certain Germans replied with threats to French provocations. The reasoning of the year 1813 reappeared. Journalists and poets evoked anew Hermann and the Cherusci: in the year 9 A.D., they had massacred the Roman soldiers of Varus, the first invaders of the German fatherland. They evoked the victors of Dennewitz and Leipzig. The Prince of Prussia, future Emperor Wilhelm I, and the army desired war. There was talk of destroying French immorality. Varnhagen von Ense relates: “General Scharnhorst affirms that we shall have war and that they will divide up France: France represents, he says, the principle of immorality. She must be annihilated; otherwise there would be no more God in heaven.” (1) The annexation of Alsace and Lorraine to Germany was demanded anew. In 1815 the rulers had let the fox escape, it was said. It was a matter of not letting it go so cheaply. Major Helmuth von Moltke published a brochure on the western German frontier. He believed in war. He hoped that this time “Germany would not put the sword back in its sheath before France had paid in full her debt to her.” (1) Some spoke of returning to the Treaty of Verdun between the sons of Louis the Pious.

But the general sentiment of the Germans was different and more complex. At bottom they desired peace. The King of Prussia Friedrich Wilhelm IV found no charm in making an entry into Paris. He ratified the convention of 15 July 1840 only on the condition that Prussia should preserve in the case of war “its entire liberty of action and the right of absolute neutrality.” (2) He refused to levy troops, while the Emperor of Russia hastened his armaments in order to crush the French revolutionaries. As for his subjects, they felt that in any case the war would weigh most heavily on them. This worried them. The newspapers, while speaking of a possible war, hoped that peace would triumph. Besides, the liberal party remained rather sympathetic to France. A sympathy much less effective than French revolutionaries imagined, but real. In November 1840, in certain German cities like Karlsruhe, Mannheim, Heidelberg, they went so far as to open subscriptions in favor of the victims of the Rhone floods at Lyon.

But the concessions stopped there. The Germans desired peace, no doubt. But woe to France if she herself came to disturb it. And since she was precisely threatening it, all were irritated against her, were disposed to resist her. If attacked, they took the defensive. They would not invade, but they swore to repel the invasion. Above all, they were resolved not to yield the banks of the Rhine. At all times this river attracted them with a mystical love. Recently still the last German Romantics sang its legends, the painters of the Dusseldorf school represented its landscapes. A few Germans alone dreamed of taking new provinces. But all were preparing with enthusiasm to prevent anyone from taking the left bank of the Rhine.

The enthusiasm was all the more vivid because France was reviving an ancient and lively desire: the desire for German unity, for the union of all Germans. Under Napoleonic oppression they had gained a clear awareness of this desire. They had never forgotten it. They pursued its realization despite obstacles. The threats of war gave it actuality and a singular power. The comparison with the recent past imposed itself. Through union, Germany could and should repel the enemies as in 1813. The question was being raised for them. More was at stake than the possession of an envied province. At stake was the future unity of Germany. French threats united almost all Germans in a national enthusiasm.

In this sense, German emotion was general and sincere. Thus was it given to an unknown German to express it. Nicolas Becker did in 1840 what in 1792 Rouget de l’Isle had done.

Nicolas Becker was born in Bonn on 8 October 1809, the last of fourteen children. The French were occupying the city. His birth certificate was drawn up in French. His father was a merchant. His mother was one of the daughters of the last mayor of Cologne. He passed through the gymnasium of Duren. He then studied law at Bonn. But it was with difficulty that he passed the first examination (1833). Of weak health, without fortune, without ambition, he did not persist. He occupied a small position at the tribunal of Cologne. In 1836 he went to stay with the family of one of his brothers-in-law, a clerk of the justice of the peace in the village of Geilenkirchen, and took lodgings in the neighboring village, Hunshoven. He needed to restore his health. He worked little. He wrote small poems and frequented a few poets. In 1840 his German Rhine made him a popular man. In 1841 he was named clerk of the justice of the peace at Cologne. On 27 August 1845 he died of consumption, aged thirty-six. The funeral notice states that he was provided with the sacraments of the Catholic Church. On 29 August 1845 the Frankfurt Gazette said of him: “The poet of the German Rhine was a worthy man, inoffensive, modest, whom all who knew him closely esteemed and loved.”

“Toward the end of the month of August 1840, Becker went as was his custom from Hunshoven to Geilenkirchen, to drink a glass of beer at the inn of Conrad Hinz in the company of friends. He found there the recently arrived newspapers, which furnished the gathering the occasion to discuss political events. The universal theme of conversation in those days was the noisy threats of war coming from France. His head filled with the news received from the west, Becker returned home and during the night that followed composed the song of the Rhine (Rheinlied). His family pressed him to publish it. Modest as he was, Becker did not wish to accede to this desire. He sent his poem to his nephew, the government counselor Edmond Oppenhoff, who was in Trier.” (1) “It was in thanks for the trouble that the latter had taken to procure for the poor little employee a better position. Edmond Oppenhoff recognized the importance of this poem, and without waiting for the author’s consent, he had it published immediately in the local newspaper.” (2)

The Rheinlied appeared on 18 September 1840 in the Trier Gazette, without title:

They shall not have it, The free German Rhine, Though like greedy ravens They croak themselves hoarse for it,

So long as, rolling peacefully, It still wears its green robe, So long as, with a clear sound, an oar Strikes its waves!

They shall not have it, The free German Rhine, So long as hearts refresh themselves With its fiery wine; So long as in its stream The rocks still firmly stand, So long as lofty cathedrals Are seen in its mirror!

They shall not have it, The free German Rhine, So long as bold lads Woo slender maidens; So long as a fish lifts Its fin upon its bed, So long as a song still lives Upon its singers’ lips!

They shall not have it, The free German Rhine, Until its flood has buried The last man’s bones!

The poem was signed N. B. a. G. Upon the questions of the provincial president von Schaper, the newspaper published the full signature: Nicolaus Becker aus Geilenkirchen.

The name of Becker became famous. His compatriots organized a demonstration in his honor. On 18 November 1840 a torchlight procession went to the poet’s dwelling and presented him with a wreath of ivy, while poetry of the occasion was sung. Nicolas Becker gave thanks thus: “Almighty God judged me worthy of expressing what, repeated by thirty-six million voices, was to find an echo throughout Europe. It is a unique fact in history that a short and simple song should have sufficed to strike down as if with a single blow the sympathies that a powerful neighboring people dreamed of. Let the honor be God’s! Let us be and remain Germans! And now let them come!” (1) For the Christmas holiday the King of Prussia Friedrich Wilhelm IV had him choose either a presentation of honor of one thousand thalers, or a pension of three hundred thalers for five years so that he might complete his legal studies. The king promised him a fine career in the magistracy. Becker preferred the present and begged His Majesty to grant him a simple clerkship. On 1 January 1841 he was named honorary member of the Society of Former Volunteers of 1813-1815. On 12 February the workers of the Mettlach faience factory sent him a service of seven porcelain cups. On each they had inscribed in colored and gold letters a stanza of the poem. On 24 March the King of Bavaria Louis I sent him, in his quality as Pfalzgraf of the Rhine, an autograph letter and a silver cup. (1) It was richly gilded. The sculptor Schwanthaler had ornamented it. On 18 April Arndt, the old poet of the wars of independence (1813-1815), addressed a poem to him. In September 1841 the cities of Mainz and Karlsruhe sent him a second cup. And that was not the last gift he received.

At the urging of his friends, Becker collected his poems. They appeared in a small volume in March 1841. Not very poetic, they disappointed.

[The essay continues with an extensive account of the French literary responses to Becker’s poem, particularly Alfred de Musset’s “Nous l’avons eu, votre Rhin allemand” (“We have had it, your German Rhine”) and Lamartine’s “Marseillaise de la paix” (“Marseillaise of Peace”). Raphael traces the broader political and cultural significance of the Rhine question in Franco-German relations, examining how the crisis of 1840 awakened German national consciousness and presaged the conflicts of 1870. The essay draws extensively on German and French primary sources, including Heine’s observations from Paris, the diplomatic correspondence, and the poetic exchanges that constituted a form of cultural warfare between the two nations. Raphael concludes by examining the lasting impact of the 1840 crisis on the formation of German national identity and the poisoning of Franco-German relations that would culminate in the wars of 1870-71 and beyond.]