[Morgenblatt für gebildete Leser No. 181, July 30, 1840] 
Bremen, July 

As far as I know, no periodical of any note has a permanent 
correspondent in Bremen, and it could easily be concluded from 
this consensus gentium’ that there is nothing to write about from 
here. But that is not the case; for have we not a theatre, which 
only recently had in succession Agnese Schebest, Caroline Bauer, 
Tichatscheck, and Mme Schréder-Devrient performing as visiting 
stars, and whose repertory could compete in quality with many 
other more famous theatres. Have not Gutzkow’s Richard Savage 
and Blum’s Schwdrmerei nach der Mode already been shown here? 
The first of these two plays has by now been discussed to excess; 
I consider that a very recent review of it in the Hallische 
Jahrbiicher, if one leaves out the frequent hostile remarks, con- 
tains very much that is true and, in particular, hits on its basic 
mistake, namely, that the relationship between mother and child, 
as an unfree relationship, can never provide the basis for a drama. 
Perhaps Gutzkow was aware of this mistake beforehand, but he 
was right in not allowing that to prevent him from carrying out his 
plan; for if he wanted to break into the theatrical world with 
a single play he had to make some concessions to established 
theatrical routine, which he could always withdraw later if his plan 

* Universal opinion.— Ed. 

Reports from Bremen 103 

was successful. He had to give his play an original foundation, even 
if this could not stand up to poetic criticism, and even if his scenes 
became melodramatic and effect-seeking. One can find fault with 
Richard Savage, one can condemn it, but one must also admit that 
by it Gutzkow proved his dramatic talent—I would not say 
anything at all about Blum’s Schwdrmerei nach der Mode had this 
play not been loudly hailed as “timely” in many journals. But 
there is absolutely nothing timely about it, neither in the charac- 
ters, nor in the action, nor in the dialogue. It is true that Blum 
performed one service by having the courage to bring pietism on 
to the stage, but one cannot so easily dispose of this sprained foot 
of Christianity. One must at last stop looking for deception, greed 
or refined sensuality concealed behind pietism; real pietism deci- 
sively turns away from such exaggerations and extremes as were 
displayed in K6nigsberg, or such abuses as Stephan from Dresden 
indulged in. When Stephan with his unfortunate company came 
here to take ship for New Orleans, and no one had as yet the 
slightest moral suspicion of him, I myself saw how distrustfully the 
pietists here behaved towards him. Anyone who wants to write 
about this trend should try going to the “Quakers”, as they are 
called here, and see the love these people show towards one 
another, how quickly friendship is established between two com- 
plete strangers who know nothing more of each other than that 
they are both “believers”, with what assurance, consistency and 
determination they follow their path, and with what subtle 
psychological tact they are able to discover all their little faults, 
and I am convinced he would not write another Schwarmeret nach 
der Mode. Pietism is just as right in condemning this play as it is 
wrong in respect of the free thinking of our century.— Hence, 
too, the only notice of the play taken by the pietists here was to 
ask whether it contained “blasphemous speeches”. 

The Gutenberg festival has also been celebrated here, in the 
ultima Thule* of German culture, and indeed in a more gladdening 
way than in the other two Hanse towns. For several years past the 
printers had been putting by something from their wages each week 
to ensure a worthy celebration of the festival. Already at an early 
stage, a committee was set up, but here too difficulties were 
encountered from the state in holding the festival. Small cabals, 
mostly connected with particular personalities, developed, as is 
inevitable in such small states. For a while, nothing was heard of 

? An island lying at the extreme north of the habitable world, mentioned in 
ancient legends and in Virgil’s Georgics.— Ed. 

the whole affair, and it seemed that at most a “craftsmen’s gala” 
was being organised. Only on the eve of the festival did the 
interest become more general, the programme was issued, Profes- 
sor Wilhelm Ernst Weber, well known for his excellent translations 
of the ancient classics and his commentaries on German poets, 
drew attention to the next day’s event by his speech in the big hall, 
and the merchants were undecided whether they ought not to 
grant their office workers a half-holiday next day. The festival day 
came; all ships on the Weser flew their flags, and at the lower end 
of the town were two ships, the mast-tops of which were connected 
by a long line of innumerable flags to form a huge arch of 
honour. On one of these ships was mounted the only available 
gun, which thundered throughout the day. The committee, - 
together with all the assembled printers, marched in a solemn 
procession to the church and from there to the newly-built 
steamship Gutenberg which, with its snow-white, gilt-ornamented 
hull, is the finest steamer that ever sailed the Weser. For this, its 
inaugural journey, it was festively decorated with garlands and 
flags; the procession went on board, cruised with music and 
singing up the Weser as far as the bridge; there a halt was made, a 
choral was sung and one of the printers delivered a speech. While 
all the participants in the festival took part in a luncheon on board 
arranged by the ship’s owner, Herr Lange von Vegesack, the 
Gutenberg proceeded with a speed that did honour to its builder 
through the arch of flags to Lankenau, a pleasure resort below the 
town, thousands of people hailing it with shouts of “hurrah” from 
the bridge and the quayside. It was the festive procession and the 
Weser excursion that gave the celebration the character of a 
people’s festival, but even more so the distribution, at first 
restricted but later liberal, of tickets for an evening in a public 
garden which had been taken over and illuminated for the 
occasion. There the committee repaired after a banquet, and the 
festival concluded under the bright illuminations with music and 
the drinking of Haut-Sauternes, St. Julien and champagne. 

LITERATURE 
[Morgenblait für gebildete Leser No. 182, July 31, 1840) 
Bremen, July 

For the rest, life here is rather monotonous and small-townish; 
the haute volée, i.e., the families of patricians and monied aristo- 
crats, are spending the summer on their landed estates; the 

Reports from Bremen 105 

middle-class ladies even in this fine period of the year cannot tear 
themselves away from their tea-parties, where cards are played 
and tongues wag; and the merchants day after day visit the 
museum, the stock exchange, or their club, to talk about coffee 
and tobacco prices and the state of the negotiations with the 
Customs Union; few go to the theatre.— Interest in the current 
literature of the Fatherland as a whole is not to be found here; it 
is pretty generally held that Goethe and Schiller set the coping- 
stones of the arch of German literature, and that in any case the 
romantic writers served only as later ornamentations. People 
subscribe to a reading-club, partly because it is the fashion, partly 
because a siesta can be more comfortable with a periodical; but 
they are interested only in scandal and anything that the papers 
may say about Bremen. With many educated people this apathy 
may of course be due to lack of leisure, for here the merchant 
especially is always compelled to keep his business in mind, and 
any time he may have left over is taken up by the duties of 
etiquette towards his usually numerous relatives, visits, etc. On the 
other hand, there is a seclusive kind of literature here which has 
an ample circulation, partly through pamphlets, most of which are 
concerned with theological controversies, and partly through pe- 
riodicals. The Bremer Zeitung, tactfully edited and with informa- 
tive reports, used to enjoy a considerable reputation over a 
wide area, which however has decreased since its involuntary in- 
volvement in the political affairs of the neighbouring state. Its 
West-European articles are intelligently written, even if they are 
not definitely liberal-minded. A supplement to the newspaper, 
the Bremisches Conversationsblatt, tried to represent Bremen in 
current German literature and carried clever articles by Pro- 
fessor Weber and Dr. Stahr in Oldenburg; poems were supplied 
by Nicolaus Delius, a talented young philologist who could gradu- 
ally achieve an honourable position also as a poet. But it proved 
difficult to recruit important outside contributors, and so the 
newspaper had to close down for lack of material. Another 
periodical, the Patriot, which endeavoured to serve as a worthier 
organ for the discussion of matters of local interest and at the 
same time to be more valuable from the aesthetic point of view 
than the small local newspapers, died because of the ambiguity of 
its position as neither a local newspaper nor an organ of 
belles-lettres. The smaller local newspapers, which feed on scandals, 
feuds between actors, town gossip, and such like, can boast of a 
more tenacious existence. In particular, the Unterhaltungsblatt,* 
* Bremisches Unterhaltungsblatt.— Ed. 

owing to its numerous contributors (almost every clerk in an 
office can boast of having written a few lines for the Unterhal- 
tungsblatt), has achieved a singular degree of omniscience. If there 
is a nail sticking out of a seat in the theatre, if a pamphlet 
has not been ordered in the club, if a drunken cigar-maker 
has spent a night of merriment in the street, if a gutter has 
not been properly cleaned —the first to pay attention to it is the 
Unterhaltungsblatt. If a militia officer believes that his rank gives 
him the right to ride on the foot-path, he can be sure that the 
next issue of this newspaper will raise the question whether 
militia officers ought to be allowed to ride on the foot-paths. 
This excellent sheet could be called the providence of Bremen. 
Its chief contributor, however, is Crischan Tripsteert, the pseudo- 
nymous author of poems in Low German. It would be better 
for this dialect if it were abolished in accordance with Wienbarg’s 
demand rather than that it should have to let itself be misused 
by Crischan Tripsteert for his poems. The other local newspapers 
are of too low a level for even their names to be merely mentioned 
before the general public. Quite apart is the Bremer Kir- 
chenbote, a pietistic-ascetic newspaper edited by three priests’ to 
which Krummacher, the well-known writer of parables,” sometimes 
contributes. This newspaper is so zealous that the censorship 
is often compelled to intervene, although to be sure this only hap- 
pens in extreme cases, since its tendency meets with approval in 
higher circles. It carries on a continual polemic against Hegel, 
the “father of modern pantheism”, and “his disciple, the ice- 
cold Strauss”, as well as against any rationalist who comes within 
ten miles. Next time I shall say something about Bremerhaven 
and social conditions in Bremen. 

Written in July 1840 paueee according to the news- 
gebildete Leser Nos. 181 and 182, July 30 Published in English for the first 
and 31, 1840 ane 

Signed: F. O. 

* Georg Gottfried Treviranus, Friedrich Ludwig Mallet, and F. A. Toel.— Ed. 
> Friedrich Adolf Krummacher.— Ed. 

S* 

AN EVENING 

To-morrow comes! 
Shelley* 

1 

I sit in the garden. ’Neath the ocean’s rim 

The old day’s sun has slowly slipped from sight, 
And hidden shafts that draw their strength from him 
Now fill the heavens with scintillating light. 

But with day’s brilliance fading from the sky, 
The flowers stand and grieve in silent sadness; 
Meanwhile the birds, safe in the tree-tops high, 
Carol their love-songs full of joy and gladness. 
Ships that have traced the oceans with their wake 
Now lie at anchor in the peaceful bay. 

From end to end the timbered bridges shake 

As the tired people trudge their homeward way. 
The cool wine bubbles in the crystal glass. 

I leaf through Calderén’s great comedies, 
Drinking my fill to very drunkenness 

On heady wine and headier tragedies. 

2 

The radiance in the West is almost gone. 
Patience! A new day’s coming—Freedom’s day! 
The sun shall mount his ever-shining throne 

And Night’s black cares be banished far away. 
New flowers shall grow, but not in nursery beds 
We raked ourselves and sowed with chosen seeds: 
All earth shall be their garden full of light; 

* Written in English in the original. (Shelley, Queen Mab.)— Ed. 

All plants shall flourish in far alien lands. 

The Palm of Peace shall grace the Northern strands, 
The Rose of Love shall crown the frozen wight, 
The sturdy Oak shall seek the Southern shore 

To make the club that strikes the despot down, 

And he who brings his nation peace once more 
Shall wear upon his head the oak-leaf crown. 

The Aloe, flourishing all over Earth, 

Is like the People’s spirit everywhere, 

As prickly, coarse, and lacking grace as they are, 
Till, with a crash, there suddenly bursts forth 
Through every obstacle a blossom bright— 

The Freedom flame, that glowed concealed from sight; 
Its scent is far more like to reach the Lord 

Than all the incense of the pious fraud. 

Only the Cypress-trees are left alone, 

Abandoned in the grove, their meaning gone. 

3 

The birds on their green branches greet the dawn 
With paeans of tumultuous song, and know 

That when the drifting cloudlets have withdrawn 
Their steamy summits to the vales below, 

Then shall the sun begin to mount his throne— 
These birds are minstrel singers, every one; 

Their words fly free as the free winds that blow; 
And winds and words as one united go. 

These songsters do not haunt the castle walls 
(Those stately homes have long since tumbled down), 
But, in proud oaks unbent by howling squalls, 
Boldly they look towards the rising sun, 

Though they be dazzled when his brilliance falls 
To ring the earth with radiant light around. 

I, too, am one of Freedom’s minstrel band. 

"Twas to the boughs of Bérne’s great oak-tree 

I soared, when in the vales the despot’s hand 
Tightened the strangling chains round Germany. 
Yes, I am of those plucky birds that make 

Their course through Freedom’s bright aethereal sea. 
Though I be just a sparrow in their wake, 

An Evening 109 

Rather that little sparrow would I be 
Than the caged nightingale that can’t take wing 
And only to a prince’s ear may sing. 

4 

No longer does the cargo vessel press 

Across the ocean to enrich the few 

Or swell the greedy merchant’s revenue: 

It bears the seeds of human happiness. 

It is a noble stallion prancing high, 

Whose rider slays all hypocrites and crawlers, 
It is the fearless scourge of human dolours, 

It is a thought that dreams of Liberty. 

The flag bears not the royal coat of arms 

For the ship’s frightened crew to tremble under; 
It bears the cloud on which, after the thunder, 
After the lightning bolts of raging storms, 

The reconciling Freedom rainbow forms. 

5 

The bridge of Love shall throw its spans unseen 
Across from heart to heart; between the piers 
Runs Passion’s wild and ever-rushing stream, 

The swiftly flowing torrent of the years. 

The bridge is diamond hard: it will not sag. 
Across goes Freedom’s bravely shining flag. 
Across goes Man. Where’er his feet may lead him, 
Wherever he may choose to cast his eye, 

He sees a friendly roof against the sky 

And knows that food and drink are there to meet him; 
A very home from home awaits to greet him, 
Wherever he may make his bed and lie. 

A bridge of purer faith shall pierce the clouds. 
Man shall ascend it, climbing without fear 

Its heavenward steps to gaze on, humbly proud, 
The Eternal Archetype of All the Spirits. 

Out of his bosom issues forth Mankind, 

And to his bosom Men return again, 

All conscious links in the great spirit-chain 

By which Eternal Matter is confined. 

110 

Frederick Engels 

6 

New wine shall fill your glasses to the brim, 

Pure Freedom wine’s intoxicating brew: 

Not the unwary senses to bedim, 

But jaded senses to exchange for new, 

That with revived perception you may hear 

The spheres in heaven singing high and low; 

That the blood coursing through your veins may clear, 
Transformed into pure Aether, which flows through 
The Infinities; that your eye-beams may spear 
Primordial Space, like warriors bold that go 

To storm the starry summits without fear. 

Between, like Jack-o’-Lanterns in the sky, 

Images of past woe are gliding by. 

7 

And there shall rise another Calderén, 
Pearl-fisher in the tide of poetry, 

With images like flames ascending from 

The layered wood of the sweet Cedar-tree. 

With golden lyre, he shall exalt in song 

The bloody stamping out of Tyranny. 

Mankind shall hear proud Victory’s refrain, 

And Peace shall flourish in the world again. 

He too shall sing how Mankind made a stand 
Against the cruel hordes of Tyranny 

Upon Mantible Bridge; how that brave band 
Fought on through levelled spears to victory 
And so set foot on Freedom’s hallowed land; 
How Doctor of His Honour** came to be 

Man, like The Constant Prince,*** condemned to languish 
In chains until deliverance from anguish; 

How Freedom came, The Daughter of the Air, **** 
Descending earthwards from aethereal space 

To sing her magic songs, so wondrous fair; 

* La puente de Mantible.— Note by Engels. 

** El médico de su honra.— Note by Engels. 
*** El principe constante— Note by Engels. 
*#** Ta hija del aire.— Note by Engels. 

An Evening 11] 

How Life became a Dream* of joy and grace, 
And how the Cup of Happiness shone clear 
Of furious ferment showing not a trace; 

And how the sun shall put the clouds to flight, 
Bringing sweet April-and-May-Mornings ** light. 

8 

But say, when is the new sun going to rise? 
When will the bad old times be cracked asunder? 
We saw the old sun sinking in the skies— 

How long must night’s oppression keep us under? 
The melancholy moon peers through the cloud, 
And white mists, bivouacked in the vales below, 
Hide all that lives on earth beneath their shroud. 
Like blind men tapping through the dark we go. 
Patience! For look, already heavenward bound, 
The sun would chase the gloomy clouds away. 
The very mists that crawl along the ground 

Are Spirits’ dawn-breeze-wakened roundelay. 

The morning star dances his upward way. 

The mists are pierced by shafts of blood-red fire. 
Do not the flowers unfold to greet the day? 

Do you not hear the joyful feathered choir? 

Now half the heavens are filled with radiance bright. 
The snow-capped mountains blaze with ruby light. 
The golden clouds rear up their noble heads 
Like the sun’s fiery chariot-drawing steeds. 

Look yonder, where the densest light rays run 

In joyous throng to greet the new-born sun! 

Signed: Friedrich Oswald 

* La vida es suettio.— Note by Engels. 
** Marianas de Abril y Mayo.— Note by Engels. 

[REPORTS FROM BREMEN] 

AN OUTING TO BREMERHAVEN? 

[Morgenblatt für gebildete Leser No. 196, August 17, 1841] 

Bremen, July 

The Roland was due to leave at six o’clock in the morning. I 
stood leaning against the wheel-house and looked for familiar 
faces in the throng of people pushing to get on board the steamer. 
For today a Sunday outing to Bremerhaven had been arranged, 
and at reduced prices, so everybody took the opportunity to get a 
little nearer to the sea and to look at some big ships. I thought it 
strange that the craze for profit, which otherwise continually 
serves the monied aristocracy, should here for once make some 
concessions to democracy. The price reduction made it possible 
for the more impecunious to join in, and in addition the 
distinction between first and second class had been eliminated, 
which means a great deal in Bremen where the “upper crust” shy 
at nothing so much as mixed company. So the steamer became 
very full. True Bremen burghers, who had never once left the 
territory of the free Hanseatic town and now wanted to show 
their families the port, formed the core of the party; coopers, 
emigrants and journeymen were also there in large numbers; here 
and there a man from the stock exchange was standing apart from 
the crowd since he belonged to high society, and everywhere one 
saw the pawns who are always pushed forward on the chessboard 
of a trading city, the office clerks, who are again divided into 
agents, senior apprentices and juniors. The agent already regards 
himself as an important person; he is only one step from 
independence; he is the factotum of his firm, he knows the 
situation of his house inside out, he is familiar with the state of the 
market and the brokers crowd around him at the stock exchange. 
Nor does the senior apprentice think much less of himself; 

Reports from Bremen 113 

although he is not on the same footing with his master as the 
agent, he already knows very well how to deal with a broker and 
especially a cooper or boatman and in the absence of the master 
and the agent he displays the consciousness that he now represents 
the firm and that the credit of an entire house depends on his 
conduct. The junior, however, is an unfortunate creature; at most, 
he represents the merchant house to the worker who packs the 
goods, or the postman in whose area the office is situated. As well 
as having to copy out all the business letters and bills of exchange, 
deliver invoices and pay them, he must also be the universal 
messenger boy, take letters to the post, tie up parcels, mark crates, 
and fetch letters from the post. Every day at noon you can see the 
post-office crowded with these “juniors”, waiting for the mail from 
Hamburg. And worst of all, the junior must take the blame for 
whatever goes wrong in the office, for it is part of his calling to be 
the scapegoat for the entire office. These three classes also keep 
strictly separate in society: the juniors, who for the most part have 
not yet worn out their school boots, like to laugh loudly and make 
much ado about nothing; the senior apprentices zealously debate 
the latest big purchase made by a sugar merchant, and each one 
has his own conjectures about it; the agents smile at jokes which 
are not for publication and could tell you a thing or two about the 
ladies present. 

[Morgenblatt für gebildete Leser No. 197, August 18, 1841] 
Bremen, July 

The steamer set off. Although the people of Bremen can see 
such a spectacle every day, Bremish curiosity had to make itself 
felt nevertheless in the enormous mass of people who watched our 
departure from every vantage point on the shore— The weather 
was not too promising;. for it was the same old metallic sky of 
which Homer tells, though the side turned towards us, which the 
eternal gods do not have polished every day, had a considerable 
coating of rust. More than once a drop of rain extinguished my 
cigar with a hiss. The dandies who had up to now carried their 
mackintoshes over the arm found they had to put them on, and 
the ladies opened their umbrellas—Seen from the Weser, the 
view of Bremen as you leave it is very pretty; on the left the new 
town with its long “dyke” planted with trees, on the right the 
gardens on the earthwork which stretch down to the Weser here 
and are crowned with a colossal windmill. But then comes the 

Bremen desert, willow bushes right and left, marshy fields, potato 
patches and a mass of broccoli fields. Broccoli is the favourite dish 
of the people of Bremen. 

A lanky assistant insurance broker stood on the wheel-house, in 
spite of the pouring rain and sharp wind, and conversed in Low 
German with the captain who was quietly drinking his coffee. 
Then he hurried below again to a company of second-class 
merchants to report to them on the important pronouncements of 
the captain. The agents and the senior apprentices almost fought to 
get near this respected personality, but he took no notice of them, 
for today he was only speaking to established houses. Now he 
hurried down from the wheel-house with the news: “In a quarter 
of an hour we'll be in Vegesack.” “Vegesack!” repeated all the 
hearers delightedly, for Vegesack is the oasis of the Bremen 
desert, in Vegesack there are mountains sixty foot high, and the 
people of Bremen even speak of the “Vegesack Switzerland”. 
Vegesack is indeed situated quite prettily, or, as one says here, 
“nicely” or “sweetly”, which makes one think of the latest 
consignment of brown sugar from Havana sold so advantageously. 
The view of the place from the Weser is charming; before you 
reach it you see many ships’ hulls on the Weser, some worn out, 
others newly built here. The Lesum flows into the Weser here and 
its hills also form quite ‘‘nice” banks which are even considered to 
be romantic, or so the schoolmaster from Grohn, a village near 
Vegesack, assured me on his honour. Soon after Vegesack the sea 
of sand really tries to send up some decent waves and descends 
fairly steeply into the Weser. Here are the villas of the Bremen 
aristocracy whose gardens add greatly to the beauty of the Weser’s 
banks for a short distance. Then it becomes dull and boring 
again.— I went below and in a little side room of the saloon found 
a crowd of “senior apprentices”, who had hoisted all their sails 
to entertain three pretty tailor’s daughters fittingly; a crowd of 
“juniors” jostled each other at the door, listening eagerly to 
the talk of the senior apprentices; behind them stood the ladies’ 
garde d’honneur, an old friend of the family, growling in anno- 
yance at their behaviour. The conversation bored me, so I went 
back on deck and stood on the wheel-house. Nothing is more 
enjoyable than to stand like this above a crowd of people, to 
watch the thronging and to hear the babel of words rising from 
below. The fresh breeze has greater freshness up here, and if 
the rain is also felt more freshly, it is at least better than 
the drops which a philistine shakes down your neck from his 
umbrella. 

Reports from Bremen 115 

(Morgenblatt für gebildete Leser No. 198, August 19, 1841] 
Bremen, July 

At last, after various uninteresting Hanover and Oldenburg 
villages, came a pleasant change, the free port of Bracke, its houses 
and trees forming an effective background to the ships on the 
Weser. Quite large sea-going vessels come as far as this, and the 
Weser is impressively wide from here on downstream except 
where it is broken up by islands.— The steamer went on after a 
brief stop and an hour and a half later we had reached our goal, 
in about six hours’ sailing altogether. As the fort of Bremerhaven 
came into view a bookdealer of my acquaintance quoted Schiller, 
the insurance broker quoted the Shipping and Mercantile Gazette, 
and a merchant quoted the latest issue of the import list. With a 
splendid curve the steamer entered the Geest, a little river which 
flows into the Weser near Bremerhaven. But in spite of the 
captain’s warnings, the passengers crowded too near the bow of 
the ship, and the water being at its lowest ebb, the Roland, the 
representative of Bremen’s independence, ran aground on the 
sand with a jolt. The passengers dispersed, the engines reversed, 
and the Roland managed to get off the sandbank. 

Bremerhaven is a young town. In 1827 Bremen bought a 
narrow strip of land from Hanover and had the port built there at 
enormous cost. Gradually an entire Bremen colony moved into it, 
and the population is still growing. Hence, everything here is 
Bremish, from the style of the buildings to the Low German 
language of the inhabitants, and the Bremen people of the old 
sort, who were perhaps irritated by the extraordinary tax levied to 
buy the strip of land, can now hardly conceal their pleasure when 
they see how beautiful, how practical, how Bremish everything 
is.— You get the best view of the whole straight from the steamer 
jetty. A beautiful, broad quay with the colossal port building in the 
middle standing out in unsuccessful antique style; the whole 
length of the port, with all its ships; on the left and beyond it the 
little fort which is occupied by Hanoverian soldiers, while its brick 
walls show only too clearly that it is there only pro forma. It is 
thus quite consistent that no one is allowed inside, although such 
permission is easily obtained for any Prussian fortress We 
walked along the quay in the rain. Now and then a side street 
offered a view into the centre of the town; everything is rectangu- 
lar, the streets straight as a ruler, and the houses often still in the 
process of building. Only this modern layout of the place forms a 
contrast to Bremen. With the bad weather and church services not 
yet over, the streets were as quiet as in Bremen. 

[Morgenblatt für gebildete Leser No. 199, August 20, 1841] 

Bremen, July 

I went on board a big frigate the deck of which was full of 
emigrants who stood watching the “yaw!” being hauled up. A yawl 
here is any boat which has a keel and is therefore suitable for 
service at sea. The people were still cheerful; they had not yet 
trodden the last clod of their native soil. But I have seen how 
deeply it affects them when they really leave German soil forever, 
when the ship, with all its passengers on board, slowly moves from 
the quay into the roadstead and thence sails into the open sea. 
They are almost all true German faces, without falseness, with 
strong arms, and you need only be among them for a moment 
and see the cordiality with which they greet each other to realise 
that it is certainly not the worst elements who leave their 
Fatherland to settle in the land of dollars and virgin forests. The 
saying: stay at home and feed yourself honestly* seems to be 
made for the Germans, but this is not so; people who want to feed 
themselves honestly go, very often at least, to America. And it is 
by no means always lack of food, much less greed, which drives 
these people into distant lands; it is the German peasant’s 
uncertain position between serfdom and independence, it is the 
inherited bondage and the rules and regulations of the patrimo- 
nial courts*! which make his food taste sour and disturb his sleep 
until he decides to leave his Fatherland. 

The people going over on this ship were Saxons. We went below 
to take a look at the inside of the ship. The saloon was most 
elegantly and comfortably appointed; a little square room, every- 
thing elegant, mahogany inlaid with gold, as in an aristocratic 
drawing-room. In front of the saloon were the berths for the 
passengers in small, nice little cabins; from an open door by the 
side we got a whiff of ham from the larder. We had to go on deck 
again to reach the steerage by another companion-way: “But it’s 
terrible down there,”> all my companions quoted when we got 
back. Down there lay the dregs who had not enough money to 
spend ninety talers on the cabin class fare, the people to whom 
nobody raises a hat, whose manners some here call common, 
others uneducated, a plebs which owns nothing, but which is the 
best any king can have in his realm and which alone upholds the 
German principle, particularly in America. It is the Germans in 

* Cf. Psalms 37: 3.— Ed. 
5 Schiller, Der Taucher.— Ed. 

Reports from Bremen 117 

the cities who have taught the Americans their deplorable con- 
tempt for our nation. The German merchant makes it a point of 
honour to discard his Germanness and become a complete Yankee 
ape. This hybrid creature is happy if the German in him is no 
longer noticed, he speaks English even to his compatriots, and 
when he returns to Germany he acts the Yankee more than ever. 
English is often heard in the streets of Bremen, but it would be a 
great mistake to take every English speaker for a Britisher or a 
Yankee. The latter always speak German when they come to 
Germany in order to learn our difficult language; but these 
English speakers are invariably Germans who have been to 
America. It is the German peasant alone, perhaps also the 
craftsman in the coastal towns, who adheres with iron firmness to 
his national customs and language, who, separated from the 
Yankees by the virgin forests, the Allegheny mountains and the 
great rivers, is building a new, free Germany in the middle of the 
United States; in Kentucky, Ohio and in Western Pennsylvania 
only the towns are English, while everybody in the countryside 
speaks German. And in his new Fatherland the German has learnt 
new virtues without losing the old ones. The German corporative 
spirit has developed into one of political, free association; it 
presses the government daily to introduce German as the language 
of the courts in the German counties,’ it creates German newspa- 
pers one after another, which are all devoted to the calm, 
level-headed endeavour to develop existing elements of freedom, 
and, as the best proof of its strength, it has caused the “Native 
Americans” party to be founded which has spread through all 
the states and aims to hinder immigration and to make it difficult 
for the immigrant to acquire citizenship.” 

“But it’s terrible down there.” All round the steerage runs a row 
of berths, several close together and even one above the other. An 
oppressive air reigns here, where men, women and children are 
packed next to one another like paving stones in the street, the 
sick next to the healthy, all together. Every moment one stumbles 
over a heap of clothes, household goods, etc; here little children 
are crying, there a head is raised from a berth. It is a sad sight; 
and what must it be like when a prolonged storm throws 
everything into confusion and drives the waves across the deck, so 
that the hatch, which alone admits fresh air, cannot be opened! 
And yet, the arrangements on the Bremen ships are the most 

“ This word is in English in the original — Ed. 
> This name is in English in the original— Ed. 

humane. Everybody knows what it is like for the majority who 
travel via Le Havre. Afterwards we visited another, an American, 
ship; they were cooking, and when a German woman standing 
nearby saw the bad food and even worse preparation she said 
weeping bitterly that if she had known this before she would 
rather have stayed at home. 

[Morgenblatt fir gebildete Leser No. 200, August 21, 1841] 
Bremen, July 

We went back to the inn. The prima donna of our theatre sat 
there in a corner with her husband, its ultimo uomo, and with 
several other actors; the rest of the company was very dull, and so I 
reached for some printed matter that lay on the table, of which an 
annual report on Bremen trade was the most interesting. I took it 
and read the following passages: 

“Coffee in demand in summer and autumn, until slacker conditions set in 
towards winter. Sugar enjoyed a steady sale, but the actual idea for this only came 
with rising supplies.” 

What is a poor man of letters to say when he sees how the 
manner of expression not only of modern belles-lettres but of 
philosophy is infecting the style of the broker! Conditions and 
ideas in a trade report— who would have expected that! I turned 
the page and found the description: 

“Superfine medium good ordinary real Domingo coffee.” 

I asked the agent of one of the leading Bremen merchant 
shippers who happened to be present what this superfine designa- 
tion might mean. He replied: “Look at this sample I have just 
taken from a consignment delivered to us; that description will fit 
it roughly.” Thus I learned that superfine medium good ordinary 
real Domingo coffee is a pale grey-green coffee from the island of 
Haiti, each pound of which has fifteen half-ounces of good beans, 
ten half-ounces of black beans and seven half-ounces of dust, small 
stones and other rubbish. I then let myself be initiated into several 
other mysteries of Hermes and in this way passed the time until 
midday, when we partook of a very indifferent meal and were 
called back to the steamer by the bell. The rain abated at last, and 
no sooner had the steamer “laid” the Geest than the clouds broke 
and the rays of the sun fell bright and warming on our still wet 
clothes. To everybody’s astonishment, however, the steamer did 
not go upstream, but down the roadstead where a proud 
three-master had just anchored. We had barely reached the middle 

Reports from Bremen 119 

of the current when the waves grew bigger and the steamer began 
to pitch noticeably. Who, if he has ever been to sea, does not feel 
his pulse quicken when he senses this sign of the proximity of the 
sea! For a moment he believes he is again going out into the free, 
roaring sea, into the deep, clear green of the waves, right into the 
middle of that marvellous light which is created by the sun, 
azure and sea together; he involuntarily begins to find his sea-legs 
again. The ladies, however, were of a different opinion, looked at 
each other in fright and grew pale, while the steamer, “in a gallant 
style”,* as the English say, described a semicircle around the newly 
arrived ship and picked up its captain. The assistant insurance 
broker was just explaining to some gentlemen, who had vainly 
endeavoured to find the ship’s name on the bow, that according to 
the number on its flag it was the Maria, Captain Ruyter, and that 
according to Lloyd’s list it had sailed from Trinidad de Cuba 
between such-and-such a date, when the captain came up the 
steamer’s companion-way. Our assistant insurance broker met him, 
shook his hand with the expression of a protector, asked how the 
voyage had been, what cargo he was carrying, and in general 
conducted a long discourse with him in Low German, while I 
listened to the flatteries which the bookdealer was lavishing on the 
half-naive, half-flirtatious tailor’s daughters. 

The sun went down in full glory. A glowing ball, it hung in a 
net of clouds, the strands of which seemed already to have caught 
fire, so that one expected it to burn through the net at any- 
moment and drop hissing into the river! But it sank calmly behind 
a group of trees which looked like Moses’ burning bush, Truly, 
both here and there God speaks with a loud voice! But the hoarse 
croaking of a member of the Bremen opposition tried to shout 
Him down; this clever man was straining hard to prove to his 
neighbour that it would have been much wiser to deepen the 
fairway of the Weser for larger ships instead of building Brem- 
erhaven. Unfortunately, the opposition here is too often moti- 
vated by envy of the power of the patricians than by the 
consciousness that the aristocracy resists the rational state, and in 
this matter its representatives are so narrow-minded that talking to 
them about the affairs of Bremen is as difficult as to firm 
supporters of the Senate.**— Both parties convince one more and 
more that such small states as Bremen have outlived themselves 
and even in a mighty union of states would lead a life under 
pressure from without and phlegmatically senile within — Now we 

“ These words are in English in the original — Ed. 

were close to Bremen. The high spire of the Church of Ansgarius, 
with which our “church troubles” were connected, rose from 
moor and heath, and soon we reached the tall warehouses framing 
the right bank of the Weser.