Clarin: Malas pastillas gasta;........
..................hase untado
Con ungüento de azufre.
(Calderón)[2]
The "well-rounded character",[3] as the barrister Hermann so delicately described his spherical client, the hereditary Vogt of Noughtborough,[4] to the District Court in Augsburg, the "well rounded character" begins his enormous travesty of history[5] as follows:
"Among the refugees of 1849 the term Brimstone Gang, or else the no less characteristic name of the Bristlers, referred to a number of people who after being scattered throughout Switzerland, France and England gradually congregated in London, and there they revered Herr Marx as their visible leader. The political principle of these fellows was the dictatorship of the proletariat, etc." (Mein Prozess gegen die Allgemeine Zeitung by Karl Vogt, Geneva, December 1859, p. 136).
The "Magnum Opus"[6] into which this momentous piece of information had found its way appeared in December 1859. Eight months earlier, however, in May 1859, our "well-rounded character" had published an article in the Biel Handels-Courier which must be regarded as an outline of the more extensive travesty of history. Let us consider the original text:
"Ever since the failure of the revolution of 1849," so brags our Commis voyageur from Biel, "a clique of refugees has gradually congregated in London, whose members were in those days (!) known among the Swiss emigration as the 'Bristlers' or the 'Brimstone Gang'. Their leader is Marx, the former editor of the Rheinische Zeitung in Cologne—their slogan, 'Social Republic, Workers' Dictatorship'—their business, establishing contacts and hatching plots."[7] (Reprinted in the "Magnum Opus", Section 3, Documents, No. 7, pp. 31, 32.)
In the course of eight months the clique of refugees known as the "Brimstone Gang" "among the Swiss emigration" has been transformed for the benefit of a larger public into a mass "scattered throughout Switzerland, France and England" and known as the "Brimstone Gang" "among the refugees" in general. It is the old story of the men in buckram of Kendal green, told so merrily by Karl Vogt's prototype, the immortal Sir John Falstaff,[8] whose zoological reincarnation has forfeited nothing as to substance. The original text of our Commis voyageur from Biel makes it quite obvious that both the "Brimstone Gang" and the "Bristlers" were local Swiss flora. Let us try and trace their natural history. In February 1860, having learnt from friends that a refugee association by the name of "Brimstone Gang" had indeed flourished in Geneva in the years 1849-50 and that Herr S. L. Borkheim, a well-situated merchant in the City of London, could provide more exact information about the origins, growth and decline of that ingenious association, I wrote to that gentleman, who was not known to me at the time, and after a personal meeting I received from him the following sketch which I print without making any alterations.
"London, February 12, 1860 18 Union Grove, Wandsworth Road
"Dear Sir,
"Although, until three days ago, we had not met personally, despite having lived for nine years in the same country, and for the most part in the same town, you have rightly presumed that I, as a fellow-exile, would not refuse you the information you require.
"Very well then, here is what I know about the 'Brimstone Gang'.
"In 1849, soon after we rebels had been forced out of Baden,[9] a number of young men who as students, soldiers or businessmen had been on friendly terms in Germany before 1848, or who had become so during the revolution, gathered together in Geneva either of their own free will or else because they had been directed there by the Swiss authorities.
"The refugees were not in a very rosy mood. The so-called political leaders blamed each other for the failure; the military leaders criticised each other's retrograde attacking movements, flanking manoeuvres and offensive withdrawals; people began to call each other names such as bourgeois republicans, socialists and communists; there was a flood of pamphlets, which did nothing to restore peace; spies were thought to be everywhere and, in addition to all this, the clothes of the majority gradually turned to rags and the signs of hunger could be seen on many faces. In the midst of this misery the young people referred to above held together in friendship. They were:
"Eduard Rosenblum, born in Odessa of German parents; he had studied medicine in Leipzig, Berlin and Paris.
"Max Cohnheim from Fraustadt; he had been an office-boy, and on the outbreak of the revolution, he was doing a year as a volunteer in the artillery guards.
"Korn, a chemist and pharmacist from Berlin.
"Becker, an engineer from the Rhineland.
"And myself, who, after matriculating from the Werder school in Berlin in 1844, had studied in Breslau,[10] Greifswald and Berlin and was serving as a gunner in my home town of Glogau when the 1848 revolution began.
"I think none of us was more than 24 years old. We lived close together, for a time indeed in the Grand Pre, all in the same house. Finding ourselves in a small country that presented so little opportunity for earning a living, our chief occupation was to keep ourselves from being too much depressed and demoralised by the general misery of refugee life and political dejection. The climate and the surrounding country were glorious—we did not belie our Brandenburg origins and accents and found the place 'luv'ly' [fanden die Jegend jottvoll.[11] What belonged to one of us, the others had too, and if none of us had anything we could always find good-natured innkeepers and other friendly souls who took pleasure in lending us money on the strength of our young, vivacious faces. We really must have looked an honest set of madcaps! I must make specific thankful mention here of Bertin, the owner of the Café de l'Europe who was truly indefatigable in supplying us on tick, and not only us but also many other German and French refugees. In 1856, after six years' absence, I visited Geneva on my way back from the Crimea in order, with the piety of a well-intentioned tourist, to repay my debts. Our good old fat Bertin was amazed and assured me that I was the first person to give him this pleasure, but that he did not regret the 10,000-20,000 francs still owing to him from the refugees who were by now long since scattered to the four corners of the globe. Never mentioning the money they owed him, he asked with special affection about the fate of those I had been closest to. Unfortunately there was little I could tell him.
"I return from this digression to the year 1849.
"In those days we drank merrily and sang joyfully. I remember seeing refugees of every political shade and colour at our table, including Frenchmen and Italians. Convivial evenings spent in such dulci jubilo[12] seemed to everyone like veritable oases amidst the otherwise barren wastes of refugee life. Even those of our friends who sat on the Grand Council of Geneva, or were later to do so, would occasionally join our revels for the sake of a little relaxation.
"Liebknecht, who is now here and whom I have only seen three or four times in last nine years, having met him each time by chance in the street, was a frequent member of the company. Students, doctors, former friends from school and university, touring on holiday, would often drink their way through many glasses of beer and many a bottle of that good, cheap Mâcon. Sometimes we would spend days and even weeks on the Lake of Geneva without once going on shore; we sang old love-songs and, guitar in hand, paid court beneath the windows of the villas on both the Savoy and Swiss sides.
"I shall not conceal the fact that our wild behaviour occasionally brought us into collison with the police. On such occasions that dear man, the late Albert Galeer, who was a by no means insignificant opponent of Fazy's among the Genevan citizenry, would read us a sermon, though in the kindest manner possible. 'You are wild lads,' he would say, 'but it is true that to have such a sense of humour amid the miseries. of exile shows that you are no weaklings, either in mind or body—a certain flexibility is indispensable.' The good-natured man found it hard to rebuke us more severely than that. He was a Grand Councillor of the Canton of Geneva.
"To the best of my knowledge only one duel took place at the time, and that was fought with pistols by a Herr R...n and myself. But the quarrel was not political. My second was a Genevan in the artillery who spoke nothing but French, and Oskar Galeer acted as adjudicator. He was the Grand Councillor's brother, a young man who unfortunately later" died prematurely of a nervous disease while still a student in Munich. A second duel, also unpolitical in origin, was to have taken place between Rosenblum and a refugee lieutenant von F...g from Baden, who returned home soon after and, I believe, rejoined the resuscitated Baden army. On the morning fixed for the battle the quarrel was settled amicably before a blow was struck thanks to the intervention of Herr Engels[13] —presumably the same man who is now said to be in Manchester and whom I have not seen again since those days. This Herr Engels was passing through Geneva and we drank many bottles of wine in his entertaining company. The acquaintance with him was very welcome to us, if I recollect rightly, especially because we could allow his purse to take charge of the proceedings.
"We were associated neither with the so-called blue or red[14] republicans, nor with the socialist or communist party leaders. We reserved the right to form our own opinions freely and independently (I will not say always correctly) about the political activities of Imperial Regents, members of the Frankfurt Parliament[15] and other speech-making bodies, about generals of the revolution no less than the corporals and Dalai Lamas of communism. For this reason as well as for other reasons which diverted us we even founded a weekly paper entitled
RUMMELTIPUFF
Organ of Rapscallionocracy[16]
"The paper only survived two issues. Later, when I was arrested in France prior to being deported to this country, the French police confiscated my papers and diaries and I can no longer remember clearly whether it was official ban or lack of funds that brought about the paper's demise.
"To the 'philistines'—and they were to be found in the ranks of the so-called bourgeois republicans as well as among the so-called communist workers[17] —we were known as the 'Brimstone Gang'. I sometimes imagine that we must have given the name to ourselves. At any rate it was only attached to us in its cosy German sense. I am on the friendliest terms with fellow-exiles, who are friends of Herr Vogt, and with others who were, and probably still are, friends of yours. But I rejoice to say that I have never found the members of what I have called the 'Brimstone Gang' referred to by anyone in a disrespectful tone in connection with either political or private matters.
"This 'Brimstone Gang' is the only one known to me. It existed in Geneva from 1849 to 1850. The few members who constituted this dangerous band were compelled, with the exception of Korn, to leave Switzerland in the middle of 1850, as they belonged to the category of undesirable aliens. Our departure meant the end of the 'Brimstone Gang'. I know nothing of other 'Brimstone Gangs', or whether other groups went by the name anywhere else, nor what goals they might have been pursuing.
"Korn remained, I believe, in Switzerland and is said to have settled down as a pharmacist. Cohnheim and Rosenblum went to Holstein before the battle of Idstedt[18] in which, I believe, both took part. Later, in 1851, they sailed to America. Rosenblum returned to England at the end of the same year and left again in 1852 for Australia and I have heard nothing more of him since 1855. Cohnheim is said to have been for some time now editor of the New-Yorker Humorist. Becker likewise emigrated to America in 1850. Unfortunately I have no definite subsequent news of him.
"I myself stayed in Paris and Strasbourg during the winter of 1850-51 and, as I mentioned earlier, in February 1851 the French police sent me to England by brute force—for three months I was dragged from one prison to the other, 25 in all, and for the most part in heavy iron chains while en route. I now live here where, having devoted the first year to learning the language, I am engaged in business. My interest in the course of political events in my native land is as persistent and lively as ever, but I have held aloof from all the activities of the political cliques among the refugees. I am doing tolerably well or, as the English would say: Very well, sir, thank you.—You have only yourself to blame if I have made you wade through this long and at all events not very important story.
Sigismund L. Borkheim"
Thus far Herr Borkheim's letter. In anticipation of its historical significance the "Brimstone Gang" took the precaution of carving its own civic register into the Book of History. For the first issue of the Rummeltipuff is adorned by woodcut portraits of its founders.
The prodigies of the "Brimstone Gang" had taken part in Struve's republican putsch of September 1848. They then sat in Bruchsal Gaol until May 1849[19] and finally fought as combatants in the campaign for the Imperial Constitution, and as a result were pushed across the Swiss frontier. At some point in 1850 two of their matadors, Cohnheim and Rosenblum, arrived in London where they "congregated" around Herr Gustav Struve. I did not have the honour of a personal acquaintance with them. But they established contact with me politically by attempting to form a counter-committee[20] under Struve's leadership in opposition to the London Refugee Committee[21] which was directed at the time by Engels, Willich, myself and others. Their manifesto, hostile to us, appeared in the Berlin Abend-Post and elsewhere over the signatures of Struve, Rosenblum, Cohnheim, Bobzin, Grunich and Oswald.
In the heyday of the Holy Alliance the Charcoal Gang (or Carbonari.)[22] was a mine richly productive of police activities and aristocratic fantasies. Was it the intention of our Imperial Gorgellantua)[23] to exploit the "Brimstone Gang" in the same way as the Charcoal Gang had been exploited for the benefit of ye olde Teutonic burghers? If there were a Saltpeter Gang, it would round off the policemen's Trinity. Possibly, also, Karl Vogt is averse to brimstone because he cannot take the smell of gunpowder. Or is it that, like other patients, he cannot endure a medicine specific to his disease? It is well known that the magic Dr. Rademacher classifies diseases according to their antidotes[24] The category of sulphur diseases would include what Hermann, the barrister in the District Court in Augsburg, referred to as his client's "well-rounded character", what Rademacher calls a "drum-like distension of the peritoneum", and what the even greater Dr. Fischart describes as "the great vaulted belly from France".[25] Thus all Falstaffian natures suffered from the sulphur disease in more than one sense. Or can it be that Vogt's zoological conscience has reminded him that sulphur is fatal to scab-mites, and that it is therefore utterly repugnant to scab-mites that have several times changed skin? For, as recent research has shown, only the mite that has shed its skin is capable of procreation and has therefore achieved self-awareness. What a charming contrast: sulphur on the one hand, the self-aware scab-mite on the other! But in any case, Vogt was obliged to prove to his "Emperor".[26] and to the liberal Teutonic burghers that all disasters "since the failure of the revolution of 1849" stem from the Brimstone Gang in Geneva, rather than from the December Gang in Paris[27] To punish me for my , many outrages, committed over a period of years, against the head and members of the "Gang of December 10", Vogt appointed me the leader of the Brimstone Gang which he has so reviled and which I had not heard of before the appearance of his "Magnum Opus". To render comprehensible the just indignation of this "agreeable companion"[28] I may cite here some of the passages referring to the "December Gang" from my book Der achtzehnte Brumaire des Louis Bonaparte, New York, 1852. (Cf. loc. cit., pp. 31, 32 and 61, 62.[29]
"This gang,[30] dates from the year 1849. On the pretext of founding a benevolent society, the lumpenproletariat of Paris had been organised into secret sections, each section being led by Bonapartist agents, with a Bonapartist general[31] at the head of the whole. Alongside decayed aristocratic roués with dubious means of subsistence and of dubious origin, alongside ruined and adventurous offshoots of the bourgeoisie, were vagabonds, discharged soldiers, discharged jailbirds, escaped galley slaves, rogues, mountebanks, lazzaroni[32] pickpockets, tricksters, gamblers, maquereaus,[33] brothel-keepers, porters, casual labourers, organ-grinders, rag-pickers, knife-grinders, tinkers, beggars—in short, the whole indefinite, disintegrated mass, thrown hither and thither, which the French term la bohème; from this kindred element Bonaparte formed the core of the Gang of December 10. A 'benevolent society'—in so far as, like Bonaparte, all its members felt the need of benefiting themselves at the expense of the labouring nation.
"This Bonaparte, who constitutes himself chief of the lumpenproletariat, who here alone rediscovers in mass form the interests which he personally pursues, who recognises in this scum, offal, refuse of all classes the only class upon which he can base himself unconditionally, is the real Bonaparte, the Bonaparte sans phrase, unmistakable even when, later on, having become all-powerful, he pays his debt to a number of his former fellow-conspirators by decreeing their transportation to Cayenne along with the revolutionaries. An old crafty roué, he conceives the historical life of the nations and their performances of state [Haupt- und Staatsaktionen] as comedy in the most vulgar sense, as a masquerade where the grand costumes, words and postures merely serve to mask the pettiest knavery. Thus on his expedition to Strasbourg, where a trained Swiss vulture had played the part of the Napoleonic eagle. For his irruption into Boulogne he puts some London lackeys into French uniforms. They represent the army.....[34] In his Gang of December 10, he assembles 10,000 rogues who are to play the part of the people, as Nick Bottom that of the lion[35]
"What the national ateliers were for the socialist workers, what the Gardes mobiles[36] were for the bourgeois republicans, the Gang of December 10, the party fighting force characteristic of Bonaparte, was for him. On his journeys the detachments of this gang packing the railways had to improvise a public for him, stage public enthusiasm, roar vive l'Empereur, insult and beat up republicans, of course under the protection of the police. On his return journeys to Paris they had to form the advance guard, forestall counter-demonstrations or disperse them. The Gang of December 10 belonged to him, it was his work, his very own idea. Whatever else he appropriates is put into his hands by the force of circumstances; whatever else he does, the circumstances do for him or he is content to copy from the deeds of others. But he with official phrases about order, religion, family and property in public, before the citizens, and with the secret society of the Schufterles and Spiegelbergs, the society of disorder, prostitution and theft, behind him—that is Bonaparte himself as original author, and the history of the Gang of December 10 is his own history....
"Bonaparte would like to appear as the patriarchal benefactor of all classes. But he cannot give to one class without taking from another. Just as at the time of the Fronde it was said of the Duke of Guise that he was the most obligeant man in France because he had turned all his estates into his partisans' obligations to him, so Bonaparte would fain be the most obligeant man in France and turn all the property, all the labour of France into a personal obligation to himself. He would like to steal the whole of France in order to be able to make a present of her to France, or, rather, in order to be able to buy France anew with French money, for as the chief of the Gang of December 10 he must needs buy what ought to belong to him. And all the state institutions, the Senate, the Council of State, the legislative body, the courts, the Legion of Honour, the soldiers' medals, the wash-houses, the public works, the railways, the état-major[37] of the National Guard excluding privates, and the confiscated estates of the House of Orleans—all become parts of the institution of purchase. Every place in the army and in the government machine becomes a means of purchase.
"But the most important feature of this process, whereby France is taken in order to be given back, is the percentages that find their way into the pockets of the head and the members of the Gang of December 10 during the transaction. The witticism with which Countess L.,[38] the mistress of M. de Morny, characterised the confiscation of the Orleans estates: 'C'est le premier vol[39] de l'aigle',[40] is applicable to every flight of this eagle, which is more like a raven. He himself and his adherents call out to one another daily like that Italian Carthusian admonishing the miser who, with boastful display, counted up the goods on which he could yet live for years to come: 'Tu fai conto sopra i beni, bisogna prima far il conto sopra gli anni.'[41] Lest they make a mistake in the years, they count the minutes.
"A gang of shady characters push their way forward to the court, into the ministries, to the head of the administration and the army, a crowd of the best of whom it must be said that no one knows whence he comes, a noisy, disreputable, rapacious bohème that crawls into braided coats with the same grotesque dignity as the high dignitaries of Soulouque. One can visualise clearly this upper stratum of the Gang of December 10, if one reflects that Véron-Crevel'...[42] is its preacher of morals and Granier de Cassagnac its thinker. When Guizot, at the time of his ministry, utilised this Granier on a hole-and-corner newspaper against the dynastic opposition, he used to boast of him with the quip: 'C'est le roi des drôles','he is the king of the buffoons.'[43] One would do wrong to recall the Regency[44] or Louis XV in connection with Louis Bonaparte's court and clique. For 'often already, France has experienced a government of mistresses; but never before a government of hommes entretenus.[45][46]
"Driven by the contradictory demands of his situation and being at the same time, like a conjurer, under the necessity of keeping the public gaze fixed on himself, as Napoleon's substitute, by springing constant surprises, that is to say, under the necessity of executing a coup d'état en miniature every day, Bonaparte throws the entire bourgeois economy into confusion, violates everything that seemed inviolable to the Revolution of 1848, makes some tolerant of revolution, others desirous of revolution, and produces actual anarchy in the name of order, while at the same time stripping its halo from the entire state machine, profanes it and makes it at once loathsome and ridiculous. The cult of the Holy Coat of Trier[47] he duplicates in Paris with the cult of the Napoleonic imperial mantle. But when the imperial mantle finally falls on the shoulders of Louis Bonaparte, the bronze statue of Napoleon will crash from the top of the Vendôme Column."[48]