Germany was tranquil, because the honest pretensions of the ambition of her statesmen were satisfied by the open lists of parliamentary eloquence. The public life of the nation had gained a field for itself in Legislative debates—a benefit not enjoyed for centuries. The professors being transferred to the legislative floor, and the college to the parliament, the nation was gratified by improvements in the laws, and by the oratory of her renowned men, who never failed to flatter the national vanity. It believed itself to be really in full speed of greatness, and listened contented and quiet—like an intelligent audience to an interesting lecture—even in respect to the unity of great Germany. The custom-association (Zollverein) became an idol of satisfied national vanity, and of cheerful hopes; science and art were growing fast; speculative researches of political economy met an open field in social life; men conscious of higher aims wandered afar into new homes, despairing to find a field of action in their native land. Material improvement was the ruling word, and the lofty spirit of freedom was blighted by the contact of small interests.
And yet a prohibited banquet at Paris shook the very foundation of this artificial tranquillity, and the princely thrones of Germany trembled before the rising spirit of freedom, though it was groping in darkness, because unconscious of its aim.
Italy—fair, unfortunate Italy—looking into the mirror of its ancient glory, heaved with gloomy grief; but the sky of the heaven was as clear and blue above, as it ever was since creation's dawn: and it sung like the bird in a cage placed upon a bough of the blooming orange tree. And then Pius IX, placing himself at the head of Italian regeneration, became popular as no man in Rome since Rienzi's time, In 1848 men heard with surprise, on the coast of the Adriatic, my name coupled in vivas with the name of Pius IX. But the sarcasm of Madame De Stael—that in Italy men became women—was still believed true; so that too many of the Italians themselves despaired of conquering Austria without Charles Albert.
Austria had not for centuries, and Prussia never yet has, experienced what sort of a thing a revolution is, and the falling of the vault of the sky would have been considered less improbable than a popular revolution in Berlin or Vienna, where Metternich ruled in triumphant proud security.
The house of Austria was considered as a mighty power on earth; respected, because thought necessary to Europe against the preponderance of Russia. No people under the dominion of this dynasty, had a national army, and all were divided by absurd rivalries of language, kept up by Metternich's Machiavelism. The nations were divided; none of them was conscious of its strength, but all were aware of the united strength of a disciplined and large imperial army, the regiments of which had never yet fought one against another, and never yet had broken the spell of the black and yellow flag by tearing it to pieces with their own hands.
And yet, when Paris stirred and I made a mere speech in the Hungarian Parliament, the house of Austria was presently at the mercy of the people of Vienna; Metternich was driven away, and his absolutism replaced by a promise of constitutional life.
In Gallicia the odium connected with the despotic Austrian rule had, by satanic craft, been thrown upon those classes which represent the ancient Polish nationality; and the well-deserved hatred of aristocratic oppression, though living only in traditional remembrances, had prevailed in the sentiments of the common people over the hatred against Austria, though despotic and a stranger; so much so, that, to triumph over the ill-advised, untimely movement of 1846, Austria had nothing to do but open the field to murder, by granting a two dollars' reward for every head of a Polish land proprietor.
And in Hungary the people of every race was equally excluded from all political right—from any share of constitutional life. The endeavours of myself and my friends for internal improvements—for emancipation of the peasantry—for the people's restoration to its natural rights in civil, political, social, and religious respects, were cramped by the Hapsburg policy. But the odium of this cramping was thrown by Austria upon our own conservative party: and thus our national force was divided into antagonistic elements.
Besides, the idea of Panslavism and of national rivalries, raised by Russia and fostered by Austria, diverted the excitement of the public mind from the development of common political freedom. And Hungary had no national army. Its regiments were filled with foreign elements and scattered over foreign countries, while our own country was guarded with well-disciplined foreign troops. And what was far worse than all this, Hungary, by long illegalities corrupted in its own character, deprived of its ancient heroic stamp, germanized in its saloons, sapped in its cottages and huts, impressed with the unavoidable fatality of Austrian sovereignty, and the knowledge of Austrian power, secluded from the attention of the world, which was scarcely aware of its existence,—Hungary had no hope in its national future, because it had no consciousness of its strength, and was highly monarchical in its inclinations, and generous in its allegiance to the King. No man dreamed of the possibility of a revolution there, and he who would have suggested it would only have gained the reputation of a madman.
Such was the condition of Europe in the first half of February, 1848. Never yet seemed the power of despots more steady, more sure. Yet, one month later, every throne on the continent trembled except the Czar's. The existence of dynasties depended upon the magnanimity of their people, and Europe was all on fire.