(1769-1860)

prung from the sturdy peasant stock of the north, to which patriotism is a chief virtue, Ernst Moritz Arndt first saw the light at Schoritz, Island of Rügen (then a dependency of Sweden), December 29th, 1769. His father, once a serf, had achieved a humble independence, and he destined his clever son for the ministry, the one vocation open to him which meant honor and advancement. The young man studied theology at Greifswald and Jena, but later turned his attention exclusively to history and literature. His early life is delightfully described in his 'Stories and Recollections of Childhood.' His youth was molded by the influence of Goethe, Klopstock, Bürger, and Voss. After completing his university studies he traveled extensively in Austria, Hungary, and Northern Italy. His account of these journeys, published in 1802, shows his keen observation of men and affairs.

ERNST ARNDT

He began his long service to his country by his 'History of Serfdom in Pomerania and Sweden,' which contributed largely to the general abolition of the ancient abuse. He became professor of history in the University of Greifswald in 1806, and about that time began to publish the first series of the 'Spirit of the Times.' These were stirring appeals to rouse the Germans against the oppressions of Napoleon. In consequence he was obliged to flee to Sweden. After three years he returned under an assumed name, and again took up his work at Greifswald. In 1812, after the occupation of Pomerania by the French, his fierce denunciations again forced him to flee, this time to Russia, the only refuge open to him. There he joined Baron von Stein, who eagerly made use of him in his schemes for the liberation of Germany. At this time his finest poems were written: those kindling war songs that appealed so strongly to German patriotism, when "songs were sermons and sermons were songs." The most famous of these, 'What is the German's Fatherland?' 'The Song of the Field-marshal,' and 'The God Who Made Earth's Iron Hoard,' still live as national lyrics.

Arndt was also constantly occupied in writing pamphlets of the most stirring nature, as their titles show:--'The Rhine, Germany's River, but Never Germany's Boundary'; 'The Soldier's Catechism'; and 'The Militia and the General Levy.' After the disasters of the French in Russia, he returned to Germany, unceasingly devoted to his task of rousing the people. Though by birth a Swede, he had become at heart a Prussian, seeing in Prussia alone the possibility of German unity.

In 1817 he married Schleiermacher's sister, and the following year was appointed professor of history in the newly established University of Bonn. Shortly afterward suspended, on account of his liberal views, he was forced to spend twenty years in retirement. His leisure gave opportunity for literary work, however, and he availed himself of it by producing several historical treatises and his interesting 'Reminiscences of My Public Life.' One of the first acts of Frederick William IV., after his accession, was to restore Arndt to his professorship at Bonn. He took a lively interest in the events of 1848, and belonged to the deputation that offered the imperial crown to the King of Prussia. He continued in the hope and the advocacy of German unity, though he did not live to see it realized. The ninetieth birthday of "Father Arndt," as he was fondly called by his countrymen, was celebrated with general rejoicing throughout Germany. He died shortly afterward, on January 29th, 1860.

Arndt's importance as a poet is due to the stirring scenes of his earlier life and the political needs of Germany. He was no genius. He was not even a deep scholar. His only great work is his war-songs and patriotic ballads. Germany honors his manly character and patriotic zeal in that stormy period of Liberation which led through many apparent defeats to the united Empire of to-day.

The best German biographies are that of Schenkel (1869), W. Baur (1882), and Langenberg (1869); the latter in 1878 edited 'Arndt's Letters to a Friend.' J.R. Seeley's 'Life and Adventures of E.M. Arndt' (1879) is founded on the latter's 'Reminiscences of My Public Life.


WHAT IS THE GERMAN'S FATHERLAND?

What is the German's fatherland?

Is it Prussia, or the Swabian's land?

Is it where the grape glows on the Rhine?

Where sea-gulls skim the Baltic's brine?

Oh no! more grand

Must be the German's fatherland!

What is the German's fatherland?

Bavaria, or the Styrian's land?

Is it where the Master's cattle graze?

Is it the Mark where forges blaze?

Oh no! more grand

Must be the German's fatherland!

What is the German's fatherland?

Westphalia? Pomerania's strand?

Where the sand drifts along the shore?

Or where the Danube's surges roar?

Oh no! more grand

Must be the German's fatherland!

What is the German's fatherland?

Now name for me that mighty land!

Is it Switzerland? or Tyrols, tell;--

The land and people pleased me well!

Oh no! more grand

Must be the German's fatherland!

What is the German's fatherland?

Now name for me that mighty land!

Ah! Austria surely it must be,

So rich in fame and victory.

Oh no! more grand

Must be the German's fatherland!

What is the German's fatherland?

Tell me the name of that great land!

Is it the land which princely hate

Tore from the Emperor and the State?

Oh no! more grand

Must be the German's fatherland!

What is the German's fatherland?

Now name at last that mighty land!

"Where'er resounds the German tongue,

Where'er its hymns to God are sung!"

That is the land,

Brave German, that thy fatherland!

That is the German's fatherland!

Where binds like oak the clasped hand,

Where truth shines clearly from the eyes,

And in the heart affection lies.

Be this the land,

Brave German, this thy fatherland!

That is the German's fatherland!

Where scorn shall foreign triflers brand,

Where all are foes whose deeds offend,

Where every noble soul's a friend:

Be this the land,

All Germany shall be the land!

All Germany that land shall be:

Watch o'er it, God, and grant that we,

With German hearts, in deed and thought,

May love it truly as we ought.

Be this the land,

All Germany shall be the land!

THE SONG OF THE FIELD-MARSHAL

What's the blast from the trumpets? Hussars, to the fray!
The field-marshal[2] rides in the rolling mellay:
So gay on, his mettlesome war-horse he goes,
So fierce waves his glittering sword at his foes.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!

[2] Blücher


Oh, see as he comes how his piercing eyes gleam!
Oh, see how behind him his snowy locks stream!
So fresh blooms his age, like a well-ripened wine,
He may well as the battle-field's autocrat shine.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!
It was he, when his country in ruin was laid,
Who sternly to heaven uplifted his blade,
And swore on the brand, with a heart burning high,
To show Frenchmen the trade that the Prussians could ply.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!
That oath he has kept. When the battle-cry rang,
Hey! how the gray youth to the saddle upsprang!
He made a sweep-dance for the French in the room,
And swept the land clean with a steel-ended broom.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!
At Lützen, in the meadow, he kept up such a strife,
That many thousand Frenchmen there yielded up their life;
That thousands ran headlong for very life's sake,
And thousands are sleeping who never will wake.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!
On the water, at Katzbach, his oath was in trim:
He taught in a moment the Frenchmen to swim.
Farewell, Frenchmen; fly to the Baltic to save!
You mob without breeches, catch whales for your grave.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!
At Wartburg, on the Elbe, how he cleared him a path!
Neither fortress nor town barred the French from his wrath;
Like hares o'er the field they all scuttled away,
While behind them the hero rang out his Huzza!
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!
At Leipzig--O glorious fight on the plain!--
French luck and French might strove against him in vain;
There beaten and stiff lay the foe in their blood,
And there dear old Blücher a field-marshal stood.
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful: they're shouting hurrah!
Then sound, blaring trumpets! Hussars, charge once more!
Ride, field-marshal, ride like the wind in the roar!
To the Rhine, over Rhine, in your triumph advance!
Brave sword of our country, right on into France!
And here are the Germans: juchheirassassa!
The Germans are joyful; they're shouting hurrah!

[2] Blücher

PATRIOTIC SONG

God, who gave iron, purposed ne'er

That man should be a slave:

Therefore the sabre, sword, and spear

In his right hand He gave.

Therefore He gave him fiery mood,

Fierce speech, and free-born breath,

That he might fearlessly the feud

Maintain through life and death.

Therefore will we what God did say,

With honest truth, maintain,

And ne'er a fellow-creature slay,

A tyrant's pay to gain!

But he shall fall by stroke of brand

Who fights for sin and shame,

And not inherit German land

With men of German name.

O Germany, bright fatherland!

O German love, so true!

Thou sacred land, thou beauteous land,

We swear to thee anew!

Outlawed, each knave and coward shall

The crow and raven feed;

But we will to the battle all--

Revenge shall be our meed.

Flash forth, flash forth, whatever can,

To bright and flaming life!

Now all ye Germans, man for man,

Forth to the holy strife!

Your hands lift upward to the sky--

Your heart shall upward soar--

And man for man, let each one cry,

Our slavery is o'er!

Let sound, let sound, whatever can,

Trumpet and fife and drum,

This day our sabres, man for man,

To stain with blood we come;

With hangman's and with Frenchmen's blood,

O glorious day of ire,

That to all Germans soundeth good--

Day of our great desire!

Let wave, let wave, whatever can,

Standard and banner wave!

Here will we purpose, man for man,

To grace a hero's grave.

Advance, ye brave ranks, hardily--

Your banners wave on high;

We'll gain us freedom's victory,

Or freedom's death we'll die!


EDWIN ARNOLD