Various
Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 60, No. 373, November 1846
The question, how far moral considerations can be allowed in the classification of workhouses, is one of difficulty, and all opinions and suggestions require to be cautiously and guardedly stated. This cannot be done now. It may, however, be thought that, in suggesting a moral classification, we are getting rid of some of our objections to the "strict workhouse system." We may therefore say, that while we think a sound system of out-door relief is the preferable mode of dealing with poverty and pauperism, yet we believe the workhouse to be a necessary adjunct. Under the most favourable circumstances, the Union-house or workhouse is a moral pest-house; but, in the large manufacturing town or populous metropolitan parish, it is a necessary evil. In cities, where wretchedness is seen in its most squalid condition, and where crime assumes its most varied and darkest hues, there must always be a multitude of human beings whose necessities the public charities cannot reach. There are diseases which hospitals will not admit, because they can end only in speedy dissolution, or because they are incurable and lingering. There are cases, compounded of deceit and misery, which private charity passes by. There are aged men and women who have either outlived their children or their affection, or who saw them depart many years since to foreign lands as emigrants, soldiers, sailors, or convicts. And there are young children whose parents have been cut off by fever. There are the children of sin and shame. There is the young woman, overtaken in her downward career by horrible diseases, and who is now pitilessly turned from the door of her who taught her to sin for money. There is the vagrant, the debauched, and the criminal, who are approaching the end of their career. There are those who, by unexpected circumstances, have been deprived of a shelter. And there are those who will not work, who have absconded, and whose wives and children are without home or food. For all these, and many more, an asylum must exist, and this asylum is the workhouse. Is it quite clear that this collection of human beings, representing so many varieties of virtue and vice, cannot be divided and distributed over the building on principles of classification, in which other elements than those of age, sex, and healthiness might be admitted? The subject is worthy of full investigation.
The subject of out-door relief might also be considered by the committee, not so much with a view to ascertain the actual mode in which it is dispensed, as to obtain suggestions from subordinate officers of improvement in its administration. The stoker of steam-engine can point out defects, and suggest simple remedies, which might escape the utmost penetration and official research of the principal engineer. This subject may be most conveniently considered under this head, because, in populous parishes, out-door relief is a prominent feature. In many cases, an apparently trivial change, which might be treated very contemptuously as a mere affair of detail, would lead to important reforms. In the report upon the Andover case, certain stringent remarks appear upon the neglect of the relieving-officer in not filling up the columns in his report-book headed "wages." Now, to those engaged in the administration of relief, the omission is not considered a great fault, it being in fact an omission of a mere form. Refer to the application and report-book, and the pauper description-book, prepared by the Commissioners, and the use of which is enforced in all Unions. They consist in a series of narrow columns. Each column is headed by an interrogatory, and appears to require a very brief answer. Refer to the column headed "weekly earning," &c. In this column, it is the duty of the relieving-officer to enter the amount of wages earned by the pauper. Now, in most populous parishes, the mode of living of those who receive relief is so irregular and precarious, as to preclude the possibility of ascertaining the amount of their earnings. The number of carpenters, bricklayers, smiths, and masons who receive relief is almost incredibly few. There are many who style themselves carpenters, &c. who have no knowledge of the trade. The bulk of the relieved poor consists of such a group as this – jobbing-smiths and carpenters, who are generally old or unskilful; aged men and women, and infirm persons, who do certain kinds of rough needlework, take care of children and sick people. There are cases where the head of the family is sickly, and whose employ is occasional. There are widows who do needlework by the piece – not for tradesmen, but for those who have received the work for those who received it from the tradesmen. There are those who wash and charr by the half or quarter of a day. There are men who make money-boxes, cigar-cases, children's toys, list-shoes, and cloth caps, and send their wives and children to sell them in the streets. If the weather is fine, they go singly; if the night be rainy, they form a miserable group at the corner of great thoroughfares. There are men who frequent quays, docks, markets, and coach-offices. There are those who sell in the streets, fruit, vegetables, and fish. There are those who sweep crossings, and pick up bones, rags, and excrement; and there are those who say they do nothing; and the most searching inquiry is at fault, and yet they appear to thrive. In this multitude, there are thousands who do not apply for parochial relief once in ten years. Now, try to fix the wages of those who really compose the mass of pauperism in towns. Who can conscientiously do it? The most correct statement must be erroneous. By frequent visitation, the officer acquires an intimate knowledge of their condition. When the Board are disposing of the out-relief cases, it is by this knowledge the Board are guided. The column of brief answers, read by the clerk, are so many algebraic symbols to the majority, and convey no particular meaning; and this explains the conduct of the Andover Guardians, which is otherwise inexplicable. They must have had some data before them in dealing with cases, and the earnings of the paupers could not possibly be omitted. There is no doubt that the report-book was tacitly considered as a form necessary to be filled up, because there were orders to that effect, but as having no practical utility. And yet, how easily might the evil have been avoided! The individual who devised and drew up the form should have thought less of its statistical completeness, and more of its practical use. He should have seated himself in the Boardroom, while the business of the week was being transacted, a silent but observant spectator; and then, with his mind imbued with the fact, he might have drawn up a form of report-book which would have been useful, statistically and practically. The principle of the book would have been that of the merchant's ledger, in which, upon reference to a particular folio, an account of business transactions with a person during many years may be seen at a glance. Its construction would be obvious, and its chief feature might be easily shown. It would be a book of the largest size. Each case would have its own double page. On the left side, columns, as at present, might appear; and on the right would appear a most circumstantial account of the pauper's circumstances. If this page had been commenced in 1836, and Mary Miles had received relief, either continuously or from time to time, until 1846, the page would probably be filled; and its contents being read by the clerk upon each appearance of the pauper before the Board, a minute account of the character and circumstances of the case would be disclosed, together with the several amounts of relief ordered or refused, and the several opinions of the Board, as recorded at different times, which would enable the Board to dispense with the verbal statements of the relieving-officer. At present, a case, however often relieved, is essentially a new one. The Board of Guardians is a changing body; the individuals composing it may not attend regularly; and thus the relieving-officer becomes the only person conversant with the facts and merits of the case, and he is enabled, or compelled, to exercise a degree of authority or influence which is highly inexpedient.
How easily may these and other evils be remedied! But how, and by whom? This brings us back to our starting-point. An inquiry must be instituted into the actual working of the existing machinery. It must be conducted in a sober spirit, and without reference to theories; not in a reckless spirit of destruction, but of improvement. The question is, What remedial measures or improvement can be adopted in the administration of the English Poor-Laws? And if this paper has shown any imperfections, suggested any improvement, or should give the inquiry a useful direction, its object would be gained.
PRUSSIAN MILITARY MEMOIRS
Wanderungen eines alten Soldaten, von Wilhelm Baron Von Rahden, ehemaligem Hauptmann in Königl. Preuss. und Konigl. Niederländ. Diensten, designirtem Capitain im Kaiserl. Russ. Generalstabe, zuletzt Brigade-Général im Genie-Corps der Spanisch-Carlistischen Armee von Aragon und Valencia. Erster Theil. Befreiungs Kreig von 1813, 1814, and 1815. Berlin: 1846.
Military memoirs are a popular class of literature. If few non-military men make them their chief study, still fewer do not upon occasion willingly take them up and dip with pleasure into their animated pages. The meekest and most pacific, those in whose composition no spark of the belligerent and pugnacious is discernible, yet dwell with interest upon the strivings, dangers, and exploits of more martial spirits. Even the softer sex, whilst gracefully shuddering at the bloodshed and horrors of war, will ofttimes seriously incline to read of the disastrous chances, moving accidents, and hair-breadth 'scapes that checker a soldier's career. The poetical and the picturesque of military life appeal to the imagination, and act as counterpoise to the massacres and sufferings that painfully shock the feelings. Amidst the wave and rustle of silken banners, the glitter and clash of steel, the clang of the brazen trumpet, and hurra of the flushed victor, the blood that buys the triumph and soaks the turf vanishes or is overlooked; the moans of those who die upon the field, linger in hospital, or pine in stern captivity, are faintly heard, if not wholly drowned. The pomp and pageantry of war, the high aspirations and heroic deeds of warriors, too often make us forget the countless miseries the strife entails – the peaceful peasant's ravaged homestead, the orphan's tears, the widow's desolation.
Although the public mind dwells upon military matters less in England than in France and Germany, neither of these countries has, during the thirty years' peace, been more prolific than our own in books of a military character. We speak not of strategical works, but of the pleasant and sometimes valuable narratives of individual adventure that have flowed in abundance from the pens of soldiers of every class and grade. Not a branch of the service, from the amphibious corps of the marines to the aristocratic cohorts of the guards, but has paid tribute, in many cases a most liberal one, to the fund of military literature. The sergeant and the general, the lieutenant and the lieutenant-colonel, the showy hussar and the ponderous dragoon, the active rifleman and the stately grenadier – men of all ranks and arms – have, upon hanging up the sabre, taken up the pen, and laboured more or less successfully to add their mite to the stores of history and stock of entertainment. The change from the excitement and bustle of active service to the monotony and inertion of peacetime, is indeed great, and renders occupation essential to stave off ennui. In ruder days than the present, the dice-box and pottle-pot were almost sole resources. In the rare intervals of repose afforded by a more stirring and warlike age, the soldier knew no other remedies, against the tædium vitæ that assailed him. When "wars were all over, and swords were all idle," "the veteran grew crusty as he yawned in the hall," and he drank. Now it is otherwise. Refinement has driven out debauchery, and the unoccupied militaire, superior in breeding and education to his brother in arms of a former century, often fills up his leisure by telling of the battles, sieges, and fortunes he has passed; reciting them, not, like Othello, verbally and to win a lady's favour, but in more permanent black and white, for the instruction and amusement of his fellows.
Whilst paying a well-merited tribute to the talents of our English military authors, we willingly acknowledge the claims of men, who, although born in another clime, and speaking a different tongue, are yet allied to us by blood, have fought under the same standard, and bled in the same cause. One of these, a German officer who shared the reverses and triumphs of the three eventful years, 1813 to 1815, beginning at Lutzen and ending with Waterloo, has recently published a volume of memoirs. It contains much of interest, and well deserves a notice in our pages.
William Baron von Rahden is a native of Silesia. His father, an officer in the Prussian service, was separated from his wife, after ten years' wedlock, by one of those divorces so easily procurable in Germany, and returned to Courland, his native country, leaving his children to their mother's care. At the age of six years, William, the second son, was adopted by a Silesian nobleman, a soldier by profession, who had served under Frederick the Great, and who, although he had long left the service, still retained in full force his military feelings and characteristics. The apartments of his country house were hung with portraits of his warlike ancestors; the officers of the neighbouring garrison were his constant guests. Thus it is not surprising that young Rahden's first associations and aspirations were all military, and that he eagerly looked forward to the day when he should don the uniform and signalise himself amongst his country's defenders. His wishes were early gratified. When only ten years old, he was sent to the military school at Kalisch.
The novitiate of a Prussian officer at the commencement of the present century was a severe ordeal, the road to rank any thing but a flowery path, and it was often with extreme unwillingness that the noble families of South Prussia yielded their sons to the tender mercies of the Kalisch college. The boys had frequently to be hunted out in the forests, where, through terror of the drill or in obedience to their parents, they had sought refuge, and when caught they were conducted in troops to their destination. On reaching the Prosna, a little river near Kalisch, they were stripped naked, their hair was cut close, and they were then driven into the water, whence, after a thorough washing, they emerged upon the opposite bank, there to be metamorphosed into Prussian warriors. The same operation, with the exception of the bath in the Prosna, was undergone by the willing recruits. Baron von Rahden gives a humorous account of the equipment of these infant soldiers, and of his own appearance in particular.
"The little lad of ten years old, broader than he was long, with his closely cropped head, upon the hinder part of which a bunch of hair was left, whereto to fasten a tail eight or ten inches long, and with a stiff stock over which his red cheeks puffed out like cushions, was altogether a most comical figure. The old uniform coats originally blue, but now all faded and threadbare, with facings of a brick-dust colour and great leaden buttons, never fitted the young bodies to which they were allotted; they were always either too long and broad, or too narrow and short. The same was the case with the other portions of the uniform, which were handed down from one generation of cadets to another, without reference to any thing but the number affixed to them. I got No. 24; I was heir to some lanky long-legged urchin, into whose narrow garments I had to squeeze my unwieldy figure. A yellow waistcoat of immoderate length, short white breeches, fastened a great deal too tight below the knee, grey woollen stockings and half-boots, composed the costume, which was completed by a little three-cornered hat, pressed low down over the eyes, with the view of imparting somewhat of the stern aspect of a veteran corporal to the red and white face of the juvenile wearer."
Such was the clothing of Prussia's future defenders. Their fare was of corresponding quality; abundant, but coarse in the extreme. The harsh and unswerving enactments of the great Frederic had as yet been but little amended. Moreover, by the system of military economy existing in 1804, both food and raiment were lawfully made a source of profit to the captain of this company of cadets. The director of the establishment Major Von Berg, was an excellent man, zealous for the improvement of his pupils, and striving his utmost to instil into them a military spirit. Under his superintendence strict discipline was maintained, and instruction advanced apace.
The year 1806 brought the French into Prussia. Marshal Ney visited Kalisch, and placed a score of cadets in the newly-formed Polish regiments. In due time the others, as they were given to understand, were to be similarly disposed of. Young Rahden wrote to his adopted father, begging to be removed from the college, lest he should be made to serve with the enemies of his country. But the old officer looked further forward than the impatient boy; he knew that it was no time for the youth of Prussia to abandon the military career; that the day would come when their country would claim their services. His reply was prompt, brief, and decided. "I will not take you home," he wrote; "for then you will learn nothing. Be a Polish or a French cadet, I care not; only become an honourable soldier, and all that is in my power will I do for you. But do not come to me like our young officers from Jena; for if you do, you will get neither bread nor water, but a full measure of disgrace. Your faithful father, T." This letter made a strong impression upon Von Rahden, and he nerved himself to endure what he now viewed as inevitable. For another year he remained at Kalisch, until, in December 1807, news came of the approach of Prince Ferdinand of Pless, who had thrown himself, with a few thousand men, between the French army, then on its march to Poland, and the Bavarians and Wurtembergers under Jerome Buonaparte. This intelligence caused universal alarm in the college of Kalisch, now become French.
"On the broad road in front of our barracks, large bodies of Polish boors, in coarse linen frocks, were drilled for the service of Napoleon by officers in Prussian uniforms; certainly a singular mixture. At the cry – 'The Prussians are coming!' they all ran away, the officers the very first, and this might have given me an inkling of the reasons and motives of my father's severe letter. Under cover of the general confusion, a Prussian artilleryman muffled me and six other Silesian cadets in the linen frocks of the recruits, and hurried us off through field and forest, over bog and sand, to the Prince of Pless, whom we fell in with after thirty-six hours' wanderings. We were all weary to death. Nevertheless, five of my companions were immediately placed amongst the troops, who continued their route without delay; only myself and a certain Von M – , still younger than me, were left behind, as wholly unable to proceed. Of what passed during the next six weeks, I have not the slightest recollection. I afterwards learned that I had been seized with a violent nervous fever, the result of fatigue and excitement, and that I was discovered by a Bavarian officer in a Jew tavern near Medzibor, close to the frontier. The uniform beneath my smock-frock, and a small pocket-book, told my name and profession, and under a flag of truce I was sent into Breslaw, then besieged, to my mother, whom I had not seen for seven years."
After two years passed in idleness, young Von Rahden was attached as bombardier to the artillery at Glatz, and found himself under the command of a certain Lieutenant Holsche, an officer of impetuous bravery, but somewhat rough and hasty, and apt to show slight respect to his superiors. At that time, 1809, the Duke of Brunswick was recruiting at Nachod in Bohemia, within two German miles of Glatz, his famous black corps, the death's-head and memento mori men – the Corps of Revenge, as it was popularly called in Germany. Numbers of Prussians, officers of all arms, left their homes in Silesia, where they vegetated on a scanty half-pay, to swell his battalions; and even from the garrison of Glatz officers and soldiers daily deserted to him, eager to exchange inaction for activity. Subsequently, many of these were tried and severely punished for their infringement of discipline, and over-eagerness in the cause of oppressed Germany, but the year 1813 again found them foremost in the ranks of their country's defenders.
On a certain morning, subsequent to Von Rahden's arrival at Glatz, the young artillery cadets were assembled on the parade-ground outside the gates of the fortress, and went through their exercise with four light guns, drawn, as was then the custom, by recruits instead of horses. Holsche, who was also known as the "Straw-bonnet" commandant, from his desperate defence of a detached work of the fort of Silberberg, which bore that name, was present. Although usually free and jocose with his subordinates, on that day he was grave and preoccupied, and twisted his black mustache with a thoughtful air. It was an oppressive and stormy morning, and distant thunder mingled with the sound of cannon, which the wind brought over from Bohemia.
"By a succession of marches and flank movements, Holsche took us through the river Neisse, which flowed at the extremity of the parade-ground, and was then almost dry. We proceeded across the country, and finally halted in a shady meadow. Here the word of command brought us round the lieutenant, who addressed us in a suppressed voice: – 'Children,' said he, pointing towards Bohemia, 'yonder will I lead you; there you will be received with open arms. There, horses, not men, draw the guns, and many of you will be made sergeants and even officers. Will you follow me?' A loud and unanimous hurra was the reply. For a quarter of an hour on we went, over hedge and ditch, at a rapid pace. A heavy rain soaked the earth and rendered it slippery, the wheels of the gun-carriages cut deep into the ground, until we panted and nearly fell from our exertions to get them along. Suddenly the word was given to halt. 'Boys,' cried the lieutenant, 'many of you are heartily sick of this work; that I plainly see. Listen, therefore! I will not have it said that I compelled or over-persuaded any one. He who chooses may return, not to the town, but home to his mother. You children, in particular,' he added, stepping up to the first gun, to which five young lads, of whom I was the least, were attached as bombardiers, 'you children must remain behind.' Against this decision we all protested. We would not go back, we screamed at the top of our voices. Holsche seemed to reflect. After a short pause, the tallest and stoutest fellow in the whole battery came to the front, and in a voice broken by sobs, begged the lieutenant to let him go home to his mother. 'Oho!' shouted Holsche, 'have I caught you, you buttermilk hero? Boys!' he continued, addressing himself to all of us, 'how could you believe that my first proposal was a serious one? I only wished to ascertain how many cowards there were amongst you. Thank God, there is but one! Help me to laugh at the fellow!' A triple shout of laughter followed the command; then 'Right about' was the word, and in an hour's time, weary and wet through, we were again in our barracks."
The pluck and hardihood displayed on this occasion by the boy-bombardier won the favour of Holsche, who took him into the society of the officers, gave him private lessons in mathematics, and did all he could to bring him forward in his profession. But, soon afterwards, Rahden's destination was altered, and, instead of continuing in the artillery, he was appointed to the second regiment of Silesian infantry, now the eleventh of the Prussian line. In this regiment he made his first campaigns, and served for nearly twenty years. In the course of the war he frequently fell in with his friend Holsche, and we shall again hear of that eccentric but gallant officer.
The year 1813 found Von Rahden, then nineteen years of age, holding a commission as second lieutenant in the regiment above named, and indulging in brilliant day-dreams, in which a general's epaulets, laurel crowns, and crosses of honour, made a conspicuous figure. But a very small share of these illusions was destined to realisation. For the time, however, and until experience dissipated them, they served to stimulate the young soldier to exertion, and to support him under hardship and suffering. Such stimulus, however, was scarcely needed. The hour was come for Germany to start from her long slumber of depression, and to send forth her sons, even to the very last, to victory or death. The disasters of the French in Russia served as signal for her uprising.
"The great events which the fiery sign in the heavens (the comet of 1811) was supposed to forerun, came to pass in the last months of the following year. The French bulletin of the 5th December 1812, announced the terrible fate of the Grande Armée, and removed the previously existing doubt, whether it were possible to humble the invincible Emperor and his presumptuous legions. It was a sad fate for veteran soldiers, grown grey in the harness, to be frozen to death, or, numbed and unable to use their weapons, to be defencelessly murdered. Such was the lot of the French, and although they were then our bitterest foes, to-day we may well wish that they had met a death more suitable to brave men. At Malo-Jaroslawetz, at Krasnoi, and by the Beresina, whole battalions of those frozen heroes were shot down, unable to resist. Do the Russians still commemorate such triumphs? Hardly, one would fain believe. No man of honour, in our sense of the word, would now command such massacres; for only when our foes are in full possession of their physical and moral strength, is victory glorious. But at that time I lacked the five-and-thirty years' experience that has enabled me to arrive at these conclusions; I was almost a child, and heartily did I rejoice that the whole of the Grande Armée was captured, slain, or frozen. The joy I felt was universal, if that may serve my excuse.
"Like some wasted and ghastly spectre, hung around with rags, its few rescued eagles shrouded in crape, the remains of the great French army recrossed the German frontier. Sympathy they could scarce expect in Germany; pity they found, and friendly arms and fostering care received the unfortunates. So great a mishap might well obliterate hostile feelings; and truly, it is revolting to read, in the publications of the time, that 'at N – or B – the patriotic inhabitants drove the French from their doors, refusing them bread and all refreshment.' Then, however, I rejoiced at such barbarity, which appeared to me quite natural and right. One thing particularly astonished me; it was, that amongst the thirty thousand fugitives, there were enough marshals, generals, and staff-officers to supply the whole army before its reverses. Either they had better horses to escape upon, or better cloaks and furs to wrap themselves in; thus not very conscientiously fulfilling the duty of every officer, which is to share, in all respects, the dangers and fatigues of his subordinates."48
The hopes and desires of every Prussian were now concentrated on one single object – the freedom of the Fatherland. Breslaw again became the focus of the whole kingdom. From all sides thousands of volunteers poured in, and the flower of Prussia's youth joyfully exchanged the comforts and superfluities of home for the perils and privations of a campaigner's life. Universities and schools were deserted; the last remaining son buckled on hunting-knife and shouldered rifle and went forth to the strife, whilst the tender mother and anxious father no longer sought to restrain the ardour of the Benjamin of their home and hearts. All were ready to sacrifice their best and dearest for their country's liberation. Women became heroines; men stripped themselves of their earthly wealth for the furtherance of the one great end. In Breslaw the enthusiasm was at the hottest. In an idle hour, Von Rahden had sauntered to the college, the Aula Leopoldina, and stood at an open window listening to a lecture on anthropology, delivered by a young, but already celebrated professor. Little enough of the learned discourse was intelligible to the juvenile lieutenant, but still he listened, when suddenly the stillness in the school was broken by the clang of wind instruments.
The people shouted joyful hurras, casements were thrown open, and thronged with women waving their handkerchiefs. Professor and scholars hurried to the windows and into the street. What had happened? It was soon known. A score of couriers, blowing furious blasts upon their small post-horns, dashed through the town-gates, and the next instant a shout of "War! War!" burst from ten thousand throats. The couriers brought intelligence of the alliance just contracted at Kalisch between the Emperor Alexander and the King of Prussia.
When the clamour and rejoicing amongst the students had a little subsided, their teacher again addressed them. All were silent. Twisting a small silver pencil-case between his thin fingers, he began as follows: "My young friends! It would be difficult to resume the thread of a lecture thus abruptly broken by the sound of the war-trumpet. At this moment our country demands of us other things than a quiet abode in the halls of study. I propose to you, therefore, that we all, without exception, at once join the ranks of our country's defenders, and henceforward wield the sword instead of the pen." This patriotic proposal was received with joyous applause. Professor Steffens and hundreds of his hearers left the lecture-room, exchanged the university gown for the uniform, and from that day were the pith and marrow of the black band of Lutzow. It is matter of history how Henry Steffens, at the head of his wild Jägers, greatly distinguished himself in the field, won the Iron Cross, and by his animated eloquence and noble example, drew thousands of brave defenders around the standard of German independence. Thirty-two years later, at Berlin, Baron von Rahden followed his mortal remains to their last resting-place.