The middle 19th century
During the half century when Romanticism was deploying its talents and ideas, the political minds inside or outside Romanticist culture were engaged in the effort to settle—each party or group or theory in its own way—the legacy of 1789. There were at least half a dozen great issues claiming attention and arousing passion. One was the fulfillment of the revolutionary promise to give all Europe political liberty—the vote for all men, a free press, a parliament, and a written constitution. Between 1815 and 1848 many outbreaks occurred for this cause. Steadily successful in France and England, they were put down in central and eastern Europe under the repressive system of Metternich.
A second issue was the maintenance of the territorial arrangements of the treaties that closed the Napoleonic Wars at the Congress of Vienna in 1815. Metternich’s spies and generals also worked to keep this part of the post-Napoleonic world intact; that is, the boundaries that often linked (or separated) national groups in order to buttress dynastic interests. Except in Belgium, the surge of national, as distinct from liberal, aspirations throughout Europe was unsuccessful in the 1830s. Defeats only strengthened resolve, particularly in Germany and Italy, where the repeated invasions by the French during the revolutionary period had led to reforms and stimulated alike royal and popular ambitions. In these two regions, liberalism and nationalism merged into one unceasing agitation that involved not merely the politically militant but the intellectual elite. Poets and musicians, students and lawyers joined with journalists, artisans, and good bourgeois in open or secret societies working for independence: they were all patriots and all more or less imbued with a Romanticist regard for the people as the originator of the living culture, which the nation was to enshrine and protect.
To be sure, this patriotic union of hearts did not mean agreement on the details of future political states, and the same disunion existed to the west, in England and France, where liberals, only half satisfied by the compromises of 1830 and 1832, felt the push of new radical demands from the socialists, communists, and anarchists. Reinforcing these pressures was the unrest caused by industrialization—the workingman’s claims on society, expressed in strikes, trade unions, or (in England) the Chartists’ demanding “the Charter” of a fully democratic Parliament. This cluster of parties agitated for a change that went well beyond what the advanced liberals themselves had not yet won. Add to these movements those that purposed to stand still or to restore former systems of monarchy, religion, or aristocracy, and it is not hard to understand why the great revolutionary furnace of 1848–52 was a catastrophe for European culture. The four years of war, exile, deportation, betrayals, coups d’état, and summary executions shattered not only lives and regimes but also the heart and will of the survivors. The hoped-for evolution of each nation and would-be nation, as well as the desire for a Europe at peace, was broken and, with all other hopes and imaginings, rendered ridiculous. The search began for new ways to achieve, on the one side, stability and, on the opposite, the final desperate revolution that would usher in the good society.
For although they seemed decisive, the battles of ’48 and after did not, in fact, test the worth of any one idea. Nationalism won and lost in different parts of Europe. Liberalism gained in Italy and Switzerland, but was set back in Germany and France. English Chartism seemed to collapse, yet its demands began to be carried out. The socialist experiment in France (Louis Blanc’s national workshops) also seemed discredited; yet the ensuing regime of Napoleon III made attempts, however clumsy, to deal with poverty by welfare methods. There was peace, but war was imminent; and subversive groups continued to plot and frighten the bourgeois, to try to kill royal heads of state, while machine industry and the resulting urbanization contributed their gains at the cost of the now familiar miseries and sordor.
In these circumstances the mind of Europe suffered an eclipse, followed by a protracted mood of despondency. Many established or emerging artists and thinkers had been killed or torn from their homes or deprived of their livelihood: Wagner fleeing Dresden, where he conducted the opera; Chopin and Berlioz at loose ends in London, because in Paris music other than opera was moribund; Verdi going back to Milan with high patriotic hopes and returning to Paris in a few months, utterly disillusioned; and Hugo in exile in Belgium and later in Guernsey—all typify the vicissitudes in which men of reputation found themselves in mid-career. For the young and unknown, such as the poet Baudelaire or the English painters who formed the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, it was no time to invite the public to admire boldness and accept innovation. Critics and public alike were all nerves and hostility to subversion. To read Flaubert’s masterpiece, Sentimental Education (1869), is to understand the atmosphere in which the first phase of Romanticism ended and its ramified sequels came into being.