Works of Karl Marx and Frederick Engels 1852
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Heroes of the Exile
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III
With his capture a new epoch opened in Kinkel's life
and at the same time there began a new era in the history of German Philistinism.
The Maybug Club had scarcely heard the news of his capture than they wrote
to all the German papers that Kinkel, the great poet, was in danger of
being summarily shot and exhorting the German people, especially the educated
among them, and above all the women and girls to give their all to save
the life of the imprisoned poet. Kinkel himself composed a poem at about
this time, as we are told, in which he compared himself to "Christ, his
friend and teacher", adding: "My blood is shed for you." From this point
on his emblem is the lyre. In this way Germany suddenly learned that Kinkel
was a poet, a great poet moreover, and from this moment on the mass of
German Philistines and aestheticising drivellers joined in the Farce of
the Blue Flower put on by our Heinrich von Ofterdingen.
In the meantime the Prussians brought him before a military tribunal.
For the first time after a long interval he saw his opportunity to try
out one of those moving appeals to the tear ducts of his audience which
— according to Mockel — had brought him such applause earlier on as an
assistant preacher in Cologne. Cologne too was destined soon to witness
his most glorious performance in this sphere. He made a speech in his own
defence before the tribunal which thanks to the indiscretion of a friend
was unfortunately made available to the public through the medium of the
Berlin Abendpost. In this speech Kinkel "repudiates any connection
between his activities and the filth and the dirt that, as I well know,
has latterly attached itself to this revolution".
After this rabid revolutionary speech Kinkel was sentenced to
twenty years detention in a fortress. As an act of grace this was reduced
to prison with hard labour and he was removed to Naugard where he was employed
in spinning wool and so just as formerly he had appeared with the emblem
first of the rucksack, then the musket and then the lyre, he now appears
in association with the spinning wheel. We shall see him later wandering
over the ocean accompanied by the emblem of the purse.
In the meantime a curious event took place in Germany. It is well
known that the German Philistine is endowed by Nature with a beautiful
soul. Now he found his most cherished illusions cruelly shattered by the
hard blows of the year 1849. Not a single hope had become reality and even
the fast-beating hearts of young men began to despair about the fate of
the fatherland. Every heart yielded to a lachrymose torpor and the need
began to be felt for a democratic Christ, for a real or imagined Sufferer
who in his torments would bear the sins of the Philistine world with the
patience of a lamb and whose Passion would epitomise in extreme form the
unrestrained but chronic self-pity of the whole of Philistinism. The Maybug
Club, with Mockel at its head, set out to satisfy this universal need.
And indeed, who better fitted for the task of enacting this great Passion
Farce than our captive passion 'dower, Kinkel at the Spinning Wheel, this
sponge able to absorb endless floods of sentimental tears, who was in addition
preacher, professor of fine arts, deputy, political colporteur, musketeer,
newly discovered poet and old impresario all rolled into one? Kinkel was
the man of the moment and as such he was immediately accepted by the German
Philistines. Every paper abounded in anecdotes, vignettes, poems, reminiscences
of the captive poet, his sufferings in prison were magnified a thousandfold
and took on mythical stature; at least once a month his hair was reported
to have gone grey; in every bourgeois meeting-place and at every tea party
he was remembered with grief; the daughters of the educated classes sighed
over his poems and old maids who knew what unrequited passion is wept freely
in various cities at the thought of his shattered manhood. All other profane
victims of the revolutionary movement, all who had been shot, who had fallen
in battle or who had been imprisoned disappeared into naught beside this
one sacrificial lamb, beside this one hero after the hearts of the Philistines
male and female. For him alone did the rivers of tears flow, and indeed,
he alone was able to respond to them in kind. In short, we have the perfect
image, complete in every detail of the democratic Siegwart epoch which
yielded in nothing to the literary Siegwart epoch of the preceding century
and Siegwart-Kinkel never felt more at home in any role than in this one
where he could seem great not because of what he did but because of what
he did not do. He could seem great not by dint of his strength and his
powers of resistance but through his weakness and spineless behaviour in
a situation where his only task was to survive with decorum and sentiment.
Mockel, however, was able and experienced enough to take practical advantage
of the public's soft heart and she immediately organised a highly efficient
industry. She caused all of Gottfried's published and unpublished works
to be printed for they all suddenly became fashionable and were much in
demand; she also found a market for her own life-experiences from the insect
world, e.g., her Story of a Firefly; she employed the Maybug Strodtmann
to assemble Gottfried's most secret diary-feelings and prostitute them
to the public for a considerable sum of money; she organised collections
of every kind and in general she displayed undeniable talent and great
perseverance in converting the feelings of the educated public into hard
cash. In addition she had the great satisfaction "of seeing the greatest
men of Germany, such as Adolf Stahr, meeting daily in her own little room".
The climax of this whole Siegwart mania was to be reached at the Assizes
in Cologne where Gottfried made a guest appearance early in 1850. This
was the trial resulting from the attempted uprising in Siegburg and Kinkel
was brought to Cologne for the occasion. As Gottfried's diaries play such
a prominent part in this sketch it will be appropriate if we insert here
an excerpt from the diary of an eyewitness.
"Kinkel's wife visited him in gaol. She welcomed him from behind the
grill with verses; he replied, I understand, in hexameters; whereupon they
both sank to their knees before each other and the prison inspector, an
old sergeant-major, who was standing by wondered whether he was dealing
with madmen or clowns. When asked later by the chief prosecutor about the
content of their conversation he declared that the couple had indeed spoken
German but that he could not make head nor tail of it. Whereupon Mrs. Kinkel
is supposed to have retorted that a man who was so wholly innocent of art
and literature should not be made an inspector."
Faced with the jury Kinkel wriggled his way out by acting the pure tearjerker,
the poetaster of the Siegwart period of the vintage of Werther's Sufferings.
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"Members of the Court, Gentlemen of the Jury — the blue eyes of my
children — the green waters of the Rhine — it is no dishonour to shake
the hand of the proletarian — the pallid lips of the prisoner — the peaceful
air of one's home" — and similar crap: that was what the whole famous
speech amounted to and the public, the jury, the prosecution and even the
police shed their bitterest tears and the trial closed with a unanimous
acquittal and a no less unanimous weeping and wailing. Kinkel is doubtless
a dear, good man but he is also a repulsive mixture of religious, political
and literary reminiscences."
It's enough to make you sick.
Fortunately this period of misery was soon terminated by the romantic
liberation of Kinkel from Spandual gaol. His escape was a re-enactment
of the story of Richard Lionheart and Blondel with the difference that
this time it was Blondel who was in prison while Lionheart played on the
barrel-organ outside and that Blondel was an ordinary music-hall minstrel
and the lion was basically more like a rabbit. Lionheart was in fact the
student Schurz from the Maybug Club, a little intriguer with great ambitions
and limited achievements who was however intelligent enough to have seen
through the "German Lamartine"! Not long after the escape student Schurz
declared in Paris that he knew very well that Kinkel was no lumen mundi,
whereas he, Schurz, and none other was destined to be the future president
of the German Republic. This mannikin, one of those students "in brown
jackets and pale-blue overcoats" whom Gottfried had once followed with
his gloomily flashing eyes succeeded in freeing Kinkel at the cost of sacrificing
some poor devil of a warder who is now doing time elevated by the feeling
of being a martyr for freedom — the freedom of Gottfried Kinkel.
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