Political Institutions and Social Change in Continental Europe in Nineteenth Century [Reprint 2020 ed.] 9780520347359

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POLITICAL CONTINENTAL

INSTITUTIONS

AND SOCIAL CHANGE IN

EUROPE IN THE NINETEENTH

CENTURY

POLITICAL INSTITUTIONS and SOCIAL CHANGE in CONTINENTAL EUROPE in the NINETEENTH CENTURY by EUGENE N. ANDERSON & PAULINE

R. ANDERSON

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA PRESS, BERKELEY AND LOS ANGELES 1 9 6 7

University of California Press Berkeley and Los Angeles, California Cambridge University Press London, England © 1967 by The Regents of the University of California Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 67-21432 Designed by Hans Wehrli Printed in the United States of America

To Hans and Helene Rosenberg

Preface

S

experiences change at all times. When the rate of change diminishes to a scarcely perceptible pace, the institutional structure of society remains little affected. When the rate becomes rapid, as it did in Europe during the nineteenth century, structure undergoes significant transformation. The present work endeavors to explore change specifically in the institutions of government and politics in Europe during the nineteenth century, in an effort to understand change in the structure and character of society. We do not propose to give equal attention to governmental and political organization and to social composition; rather, we concentrate upon the former and treat it from the point of view of the observer interested in political institutions not as a political scientist with a penchant for history but as a social historian interested in perceiving how change in governmental and political institutions affects and expresses social change. We are aware that to complete the study we should analyze change in social structure from the point of view of its impact upon institutions of government and politics. We know that just as there are "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird" so there are many angles from which to consider society. Among these angles are the one that we have chosen, another that would supplement the present study, a third that would consider the role of the aesthetic creators in the society, a fourth that would investigate the social role of intellectuals and the thrust of their ideas, a fifth that would be oriented toward economics, and so on. It will be obvious that other workers must help to cultivate so wide a field. Institutional history is never something to be undertaken lightly; it exacts from the historian a rigorous discipline. Only detailed knowledge of the structure and of the functioning of the forms within which and through which society operates can allow him to OCIETY

vii

PREFACE

achieve results. Since institutions provide society with the framework that enables it to operate as an organized whole, in which individuals and social groups, their symbols and ideas can act and interact, institutional history offers many ways of looking at society without losing sight of its unity. Intellectuals, officials, economic leaders and workers, priests, and professional figures function within the institutional structure and contend for place there. The historian can study the relations among social groups and the relative social power of each group by determining and examining the place of each in the institutional structure. Europe in the nineteenth century constituted a period of social and institutional transformation. The society of the Old Regime and what we may call the society of industrialism or of the middle class contended for the honor of maintaining or erecting institutions through which to assert effective power. The Old Regime possessed a consistent social organization and ideal that it strove to preserve, even if inescapable adjustments to social change here and there marred its consistency. The society of industrialism struggled to develop a social organization according to ideals as yet imprecise, untried, and sometimes unexpressed. Thus an understanding of the century must come through studying the confrontation of two ways of life and through analyzing two conflicting sets of institutions. The nineteenth century partakes of the past and of the future, and because it does it has the special appeal of every period of structural change—the appeal inherent in a conflict where the outcome is crucial to the quality of human existence. The clash occurred at the point where the two sets of social forces confronted one another; that is, where institutions as fixed by constitutions and laws met head on. Basic in deciding the conflict among institutional forms was the struggle over the nature of the instruments for expressing social power, the institutions of government and politics. We are aware of the shortcomings of this study. Few monographs exist to tell the historian how the institutions defined in constitutions and laws actually functioned in the society. Although scholars have begun to explore the field of administrative history, far too few works have achieved the excellence of those by Hans Rosenherg, Heinrich Heffter, Marc Raeff, and a number of scholars writing in Staat und Gesellschaft im Deutschen Vormärz. Studies of social groups, castes, and classes are rare, and little is known about how these groups fared under the existing governmental and political institutions. The studies of G. T. Robinson, Neufeld, Köllmann, Duveau, and a few others need to be emulated. Almost entirely viii

PREFACE

lacking are studies of the professions and of other occupations. Far too little is known about economic institutions and the legal setting for economic activity. Indeed, the history of the bourgeoisie and middle class, the standard-bearers of the new society, has been less explored than that of the nobility, and much less than that of the peasantry and the workers. We have tried in a modest way to follow the models of institutional history set by Otto Hintze, Josef Redlich, and more recently by Professor Jacques Godechot. The fact that we use easily only English, French, and German has limited our investigation. The magnitude of the task has forced us to concentrate on the history of the major states, but we are aware that the small states also made institutional innovations worthy of record. We hope that despite its shortcomings our work may be useful and may stimulate further thought and search along this line of attack. We also hope that by throwing light upon the characteristics of a society in transformation our study may provide a vicarious experience for underdeveloped nations today. These nations exist at a stage roughly comparable to that of European countries at some time during the past century. In particular, these states may learn from the European example the importance of creating institutions that enable social forces in a time of change and transformation to avoid stalemate in the confrontation of opposing cultures and to adjust to each other with a minimum of friction. The authors have quoted directly rather extensively, usually from nineteenth-century authors. For more recent writings they have obtained permission to quote certain longer passages from: Theodor Fontane, Briefe an Georg Friedländer (Heidelberg: Quelle and Meyer, 1954); Irene Collins, Government and the Newspaper Press in France (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1959); J. H. Donnard, Balzac: Les Réálités économiques et sociales dans La Comédie Humaine (Paris: Librairie Armand Colin, 1961); Werner Conze, ed., Staat und Gesellschaft im deutschen Vormärz, 1815-184-8 (Stuttgart: Ernst Klett Verlag, 1962). They gratefully acknowledge their debt to the above copyrightholders. In addition they wish to thank warmly Frau Gertrud Redlich for permission to quote from the work of her husband, Professor Dr. Josef Redlich, especially from Das oesterreichische Staats- und Reichsproblem; geschichtliche Darstellung der inneren Politik der habsburgischen Monarchie von 184.8 bis zum Untergang des Reiches (Leipzig, 1920, 1926), 2 vols., and Zustand und Reform der oesterreichischen Verwaltung (Wien, 1911). ix

Contents

i THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND

1

II CENTRAL GOVERNMENT

26

III LOCAL GOVERNMENT

83

IV INTERMEDIATE GOVERNMENT

125

V BUREAUCRACY

166

VI CIVIL RIGHTS

238

VII THE CONCEPTUAL AND LEGAL SETTING OF POLITICAL RIGHTS

287

VIII SUFFRAGE

307

IX POLITICAL PARTIES

345

X REPRESENTATION

377

XI CONCLUSION

394

NOTES

399

BIBLIOGRAPHY

435

INDEX

445 x

I THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND

~)CIAL STUDY devoted to governmental and political institutions and procedures must be set within the framework of the total social transformation occurring at the time. The present chapter endeavors to erect this framework. It discusses (1) the composition and aspirations of the participating social groups, (2) the search for a new social structure, and (3) the social impact of the accelerated tempo of life. By way of summary it offers quantitative data about certain essential social relations in order to suggest the magnitude of the change considered. Throughout the nineteenth century contemporaries debated the reality of structural change in European society. Some asserted this change had become apparent and urgent; others ignored or refused to recognize the decline of the Old Regime and stubbornly resisted reform. Metternich condemned the demand for reform as a manifestation of "presumptuousness" (1820), which he attributed especially to the intermediate classes; but the period offered examples of restless aspiration in members of all classes. Bakunin's career from Russian aristocrat to anarchist; the rise of the Rothschilds from insignificance to international power; the rise of the middle-class Krupps by means of their steel and armaments industry to fame, a patent of nobility, and friendship with the emperor; the bizarre career of Lassalle and of Louis Napoleon; the melodrama of the life of Garibaldi; the astounding fame of the author of Das Kapital; the remarkable achievements of Pasteur; the sudden comings and goings of Balkan rulers and those elsewhere—these are life histories attesting to a mobile, disorderly, confused society. They symbolize a time of challenge and defense of the institutional framework of society, when social content shifted to such an extent as ultimately to warp institutions out of all recognition, and when new institutional forms, like the representative assembly, the political

1

THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND

party, the corporation, the trade union, to mention a few, evolved to satisfy novel needs. Books and pamphlets about problems of social organization appeared in quantity, and these did not treat merely what Europeans called "the social question," specifically the question of the poletariat. Numerous writings dealt with other classes, touching such issues as whether the nobility should be reformed, and if so in what way, what should be the standards of the bourgeoisie, whether and how the handicraftsmen should be preserved within the middle class, and also exploring in a particularly rich body of literature the future of the peasantry. After centuries of progressing at a snail's pace, society recognized the change in tempo by requiring for immediate use a novel body of law, which governments made available in codes. Population grew so rapidly that the functions of government multiplied. States established statistical bureaus to supply mass data at frequent and regular intervals. As early as the middle of the century the German professor W. H. Riehl, a semischolarly sociologist, wrote that "social policy is the really decisive policy of our age" 1 ; and after studying Russia in the period of Chekhov, the British scholar W. H. Bruford refers to this country as a "veritable economic museum." 2 The phrase could well have included not merely the economy but all aspects of Russian life, and it could have referred to all of Europe as well. When, at the end of the century, Theodor Fontane condemned an aristocrat for treating him, a guest, like an entertainer, he epitomized two of the many conflicting social standards the century presented. The revolutions of 1848 supplied what are only better-known examples of the clash of social groups. Writers found it difficult to identify the elements of their changing social environment. In most areas of Europe the structure of the Old Regime—a term already at that time applied to preindustrial society—remained intact through much of the century, or if not intact, its institutions adapted to the new demands upon them. The Old Regime referred to its basic social groups as castes or Estates (Stände), whereas the new society used the concept of class. The difference in meaning between the two terms appeared in the eighteenth century, particularly on the Continent in France, and the Revolutionary and Napoleonic governments built legal codes around the new concept. In 1875 the German J. C. Bluntschli, a scholarly analyst of government and political theory, contrasted the meaning of the concepts as follows: Classes differ from Estates (Stände) in that the former are regulated by the state and for the state, whereas the foundation of the 2

THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND

latter rests apart from the state. Classes presuppose the unity of the people, whereas Estates disregard this unity. Classes are a national and legal institution for political purposes; Estates presuppose a particular and private-right grouping, the purpose of which neither exclusively nor primarily has political significance. The cleric lives first of all for the Church, not the state; the noble thinks first of himself and his particular social interests; the townsman lives for his business, and the peasant for agriculture. The state is of indirect consideration. In the Estates the natural connection of homogeneous culture and economy is evident, and therefore the vocations separate themselves from one another. Consideration for the state exercises no influence upon these. Classes on the other hand are a cultural phenomenon. Thus we find the system of classes present only among civilized peoples with a developed sense of statehood—among the Greeks, especially in Athens after the Solon constitution; in Rome after the constitution of Servius, from which we derive the term "classes"; and likewise in modern Europe.3 The Austrian writer Count Barth-Barthenheim in 1838 divided society into six Estates: three by birth—noble, burgher, and peasant—and three of vocation (Berufstande)—officer, official, clergy. 4 If the Count had been a German, he might have mentioned a fourth vocational Estate, the Gelehrtenrepublik of the eighteenth century, which in the subsequent period became the Estate of intellectuals and scholars, and to which the newspaper world and other publications later became attached. Sweden preserved four Estates—noble, clergy, burgher, and peasant—until the constitutional reforms of the 1850's abolished legal distinctions and introduced equality before the law. Russia had a similar division, based, however, upon the service to the state rendered by each Estate. 5 The system persisted widely throughout the century. Most of the continental countries did not adopt the legal simplification of the social structure introduced by the French Revolution, but resorted to definition of their social organization by compromise or amalgamation of new elements with old. Especially in central and eastern Europe traditional concepts persisted, and as readers of Balzac and Proust recall, France also lived under two social standards, the written one of the Napoleonic codes and the unwritten one of caste. In two volumes of 1805, The National Wealth of the Prussian State and the Welfare of Its Inhabitants, based upon official unpublished sources, Leopold Krug employed the terms "Estate" (Stand) and "class" without clear distinction. He divided Prussian society into three kinds of classes: the producing, the industrious, and the salaried (produzieriende, industriose, besoldete). Assignment of groups to the first and third classes caused 3

THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND

him no particular difficulty. In the first class he placed nobles, burgher large landowners and renters of estates, and the peasant Estate; the third group clearly consisted of clergy, officials, and teachers. The second class included all those "who own no land and enjoy no salary but seek to draw an income from others by use of their strength and talents; these are artisans and manufacturers, merchants and shopkeepers, day laborers and servants." 6 Manifestly the classification could not adequately contain the society that came into being during the century. Members of the first class continued to have similar though by no means identical interests. The third class, because of the nature of the responsibilities of its component groups, tended to mediate between old and new. The second class soon outgrew easy identification and caused governmental statisticians constant perplexity in the search for rubrics under which to assemble needed data. A classification to which W. H. Riehl adhered in the many subsequent editions of his Die bürgerliche Gesellschaft, mentioned above, succeeded no better than that of Krug. Riehl distinguished between "The Forces of Steadfastness," the peasantry and nobility; "The Forces of Movement," das Bürgertum, among whom he also placed the occupational estates, the clergy, the intellectuals, the officials, and the officers; and a "Fourth Estate." In the last group he included the "Proletariat," that is, those who irrespective of social origin, whether aristocrat, intellectual, or worker, had no possessions and maintained a bare existence. Riehl's classification suffered from oversimplification: the term "Forces of Steadfastness" did not always apply to peasantry and nobility; the analysis of das Bürgertum failed to emphasize the crucial role of the bourgeoisie; and the elements of the "Fourth Estate" had nothing in common but economic want. Social reality mirrored a growing diversity. In laws regarding taxation, education, military service, suffrage, and the like, governments endeavored to identify the components of social structure. Statisticians, collecting and ordering data for official use, turned away from classifications based upon caste or class. Instead, they adopted the neutral differentiation of data according to age, occupation, size of holding in land, size of income, some of which data gave a direct clue to social position. These distinctions, imposed by the state, affected the individual immediately and aroused anger or ambition and hope. Too complex to be identified with class and caste, they heightened the confusion of social categories and made application of a legally accepted terminology increasingly difficult. 4

THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND

Concepts from the Old Regime remained in use, since much of the Old Regime remained in effect; concepts of French revolutionary thought and practice found application, for they likewise identified much of existing society. The peoples of the period thought of themselves under either rubric or under the rubrics of both caste and class. In countries where the Old Regime remained powerful the term "class" never gained full acceptance. Nobles, workers, peasants, and burghers often referred to themselves as Estates, not because of romantic affectation alone, but because "Estate" connoted social position and qualities of stability, dignity, and respect for one's work. A castelike division remained vigorous in some regions and suffered lingering death in others. In some regions an aristocracy had never existed; other regions lacked a substantial middle class. In culturally advanced countries society identified officials, military, and clergy as well-established Estates. Writing on the eve of World War I, an Austrian scholar reported the decline in his country of legal distinctions among the Estates by birth; but he pointed out the persistence of the special rights of vocational Estates: Membership of the individual in a public professional Estate, for example the military, bureaucracy, etc., brings with it implication for the legal position of the individual. For instance, ordinarily exercise of political rights is denied those in active military service, but officials, the clergy and public-school teachers without regard to the amount of taxes they pay have the right to vote in the community and thereby indirectly for the Landtag. Being an official means for him, if he has tenure, right of domicile in the community where he is officially stationed. The same is true respecting the clergy of the legally recognized faiths and the official teaching personnel. These professional connections likewise mean certain exemptions from public duties; for example, from jury duty; especially do state officials enjoy freedom from community burdens. Finally membership in an official profession carries for the individual the duty of dignified behavior, offense against which is subject to special disciplinary law.7

After centuries of use the concept of privilege remained so embedded in society that its ways of thought and forms of expression continued even when no longer wholly appropriate. Where in the nineteenth century the Old Regime began to crumble, there occurred a change in position and social content of nobility, middle class, and peasantry, and a reduction in power and shift in role and social composition of the Estates of official, officer, and priest. The Third Estate in the towns became the most heteroge5

THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND

neous of all social groups, and yet its members possessed qualities in common. Both nobility and peasantry lost numbers to the middle class, and the peasantry, along with the old artisanal Estate, lost as well to the urban proletariat. The peasantry maintained itself as a class or socioeconomic group and increased in size, although it gained few members from other classes. The nobility added to its numbers from the bourgeoisie and the professional groups. Each class received recruits from other classes—the urban workers in such numbers as to form a new class, the proletariat. In the short time before 1914 diversity of origins militated against the development of uniformity of customs, manners, attitudes, incomes, standards of living, cultural interests. The nobility, a group that continued to claim cultural superiority, preserved its traditional division into upper and lower nobility, but it now harbored upper-upper groups and lower-lower groups. Where standards of living differed greatly, the hereditary nobility (i.e., "of the sword") held itself aloof or admitted to parity only those few of the new urban gentry who had amassed too much wealth to be ignored. A banker nobleman might refuse to accept as peer a newly ennobled and poorly paid official. The peasantry remained fairly uniform in its conduct, while admitting a distinction between the peasant who was outwardly bourgeois even though he tilled the soil or carried on a dairying industry in the country, and the peasant who still practiced the two-field system or served as a farm laborer. According to Marx and others the working class formed a homogeneous group ; but a description of its members discloses pronounced occupational differences as to training, compensation, education, expectations. Habits and outlook differed profoundly between workers who came from the handicrafts and continued to utilize their skills as repairmen, technicians in factories, or skilled workmen in the building trades, and workers who originated in the peasantry and for a generation or more retained connection with the land; between male and female workers ; between industrial and factory workers and domestic workers. The new urban and rural proletariat displayed the rich variety of a class undergoing social change ; at the outbreak of World War I the lack of homogeneity in working-class attitudes toward life surprised members of other social groups. The class identified by the adjective "middle" and inherently diverse in composition divided into at least three subgroups. At the top the bourgeoisie wielded social power, whether by virtue of wealth, managerial position, knowledge, official or political role, or social and intellectual prestige. On the lowest level stood those of 6

THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND

petty bourgeois outlook and so economically insecure as to be threatened from time to time with descent into the proletarian horde. Between the two extremes ranged numerous groups of varying income. Possession of property did not constitute a characteristic common to all members of the middle class, and not all consistently pursued the accumulation of wealth. Most of the members adhered sooner or later to liberal or even democratic ideals; a majority—probably more—sought self-sufficiency, a stable income, and participation in public affairs, at least to the extent of feeling some responsibility and of being able to vote. All desired education and cultural opportunities, and all aspired to advance in society or to enable their children to benefit from increasing social mobility. As a group the class had social pretensions and believed optimistically that this moment in history favored its members. Varied social background, training, occupation, and experience, however, made association among the constituent groups difficult, except in the course of business and by use of the manners adopted from caste society with their implied inequality. The designation "middle class" or "town class" was sufficiently nondescript to be apt. Ways of life contrasted sharply from region to region and from period to period. Ernest Renan relates in his Recollections of My Youth that I have been in actual contact with the primitive ages. The most remote past was still in existence in Brittany up to 1830. The work of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries passed daily before the eyes of those who lived in the towns. The epoch of the Welsh emigration (fifth and sixth centuries) was plainly visible in the country to the practiced eye. Paganism was still to be detected beneath a layer, often so thin as to be transparent, of Christianity, and with the former were mixed traces of a still more ancient world which I afterwards came upon again among the Laplanders. When visiting in 1870, with Prince Napoleon, the huts of a Laplander encampment near Tromsoe, I felt some of my earliest recollections live again in the features of several women and children and in certain customs and traits of character.8 Count Tolstoi journeyed to the region of the Kirghiz, where he lived with nomadic tribesmen and drank mare's milk for his health. In northwestern Spain in the 1830's illiterate local officials seized George Borrow as a spy, and only the presence of a constable, who from service with Wellington's army had some slight knowledge of the English, prevented his being shot. In the first years of the century the Serbs still lived as nomadic hog-raisers who dared not settle into agriculture for fear of being too easily raided by their

7

THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND

Ottoman overlords. The Sicilians explained the cholera epidemic of 1830 as mass poisoning. In 1857 false prediction of a comet caused priests in Warsaw to prophesy the impending end of the world, and troops had to be called to prevent slaughter of the Jews by workers hoping thereby to assure entry into Heaven.9 When Chekhov in 1891 traveled for the first time to central and western Europe, in a letter home he enthusiastically described incomparable Vienna, its elegant streets, boulevards and squares, its shops, "utter dizziness, dreams!" He delighted in the neckties, the "things of bronze, china, leather," the great churches "spun out of lace," the "splendid" municipal buildings, the University.10 Even if allowance be made for humorous exaggeration, Chekhov's implied contrast leaves an impression of conditions in the largest cities of Russia. The Ruhr remained predominantly rural until the second half of the century. In France the smells of Paris assaulted the traveler from a distance of several miles, until Baron d'Haussmann put in a modern sewage system. Even then, an epidemic of cholera visited the cultural center of Europe as late as 1892. A person accustomed to European life about 1800 would have recognized much or most of Europe in 1914; yet he would have had to avoid many areas, totally unprepared as he would have been for the cities, the industrial economy, the facilities of transportation and communication, and for the urban tempo. The institutions of the Old Regime faced competition from those that were then emerging and developing according to entirely different principles. A high degree of rigidity either confirmed by law or locally fixed by the natural obstacles to transportation and communication characterized absolute monarchy, caste, and the agricultural economy. Sismondi estimated that in France four-fifths of the population pursued agriculture, and, he concluded (1834) : If in the most barbarous ages one man in five was sufficient to clothe and lodge all the five, whilst four were required to till the ground to feed themselves and the fifth, this fifth assisted by all the powers of mechanics, and all the powers of nature which man has learned to command, must be able to accomplish the same task, and henceforth to do it with more perfection, and more taste.11

In an agrarian society each village could sustain a certain number of peasant landowners and peasant workers, and the distribution of social positions and roles remained the same from generation to generation. In the town a similar condition obtained for a certain number of craftsmen, merchants, and professional personnel. Society organized into private corporations, Estates or castes, guilds, 8

THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND

church, bureaucracy (e.g. tax-farmers); and most of the responsibility for education, poor relief, justice, preservation of order, and the like rested with these organizations. Rules for the exercise of responsibility by private groups were set by what was called private law, that is, law not of individual persons but of individual corporative groups. An individual belonged first of all to a corporation, and through it indirectly he became a subject of the state. As the Prussian official Krug wrote in the early years of the nineteenth century: If the state has the power and determination to assure that the aims of the individual corporations are not opposed to the highest good of the state, it must assure that every inhabitant of the state belong to some corporation. Our poorhouses and workhouses are ordinarily populated only with such persons as do not belong to any corporation or to any community; since if they were members, the corporation or community would have to care for them.12

The first individuals to achieve abolition of corporative controls and limitations belonged to the middle class; the last group to be emancipated was the peasantry. The institutions that subsequently emerged had characteristics directly opposed to those of the old corporations. The state could no longer restrict its duties to foreign affairs, war, certain functions of justice and the economy, and to the financial measures necessary to support these activities and to maintain the court. The bureaucracy expanded to perform numerous duties connected with internal affairs being forced upon the attention of the state by social change; it became a body of experts to guide society, or at least to assist the growth of society in numbers and wealth, and thereby increase the power of the state. In time constitutional government with parliaments, elections and parties, joint-stock companies and corporations, schools and universities, and numerous other institutions developed as media through which change could be initiated and channeled. These institutions suited an open, time-conscious society. Rigidity and localism declined in favor of mobility within a national field. The individual, emancipated from old corporative controls and allowed to act on his own initiative, lived a competitive existence filled with many risks. The subject became citizen. Law ceased to be local or provincial in character or to pertain to caste or corporation; it became statewide and equally applicable to all.13 At the end of the century institutional transformation was still incomplete, a condition particularly evident in eastern and southeastern Europe. Even where new legal procedures and new institu9

THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND

tions prevailed, attitudes frequently remained unchanged or skeptical. Riehl perceived that revision of social creed occurs "not merely as a product of our rational judgment; it is at least half acquired by birth and inextricably interwoven with our origin, education and position in the world." 14 The remarks of Torres Campos in 1881 about the behavior of the Spaniards applied equally to other peoples prior to their achievement of political responsibility. The indifference of many about voting and taking part in public affairs; the ease with which the voters do either one thing or another, not understanding the importance of what they do in casting a ballot; the resistance to paying all kinds of taxes, considering them always as not necessary; the theory which distinguishes fraud with respect to the administration and with respect to individuals; the lack, in sum, of a sense of honesty, of independence, of morality in relations with the state, such are the vices of our actual customs that the political education of the people ought to overcome.15

V. F. Trepov, a senator and the brother of the governor-general of St. Petersburg, noted in 1905 that although outwardly intact the class structure of Russian society was gradually breaking down.16 Modern industry developed under governments whose standards derived from an agrarian and landholding society and a way of life alien to the new economy. Prussian mines remained under patriarchal control and state management until 1865, when the government finally allowed them to organize as a capitalistic industry.17 Count Witte upon his appointment as chairman of the Council of Ministers in 1905 expressed to the editors of the St. Petersburg newspapers an attitude not merely characteristic of himself and of Russians but of most Europeans—an attitude that helps to explain the difficulty of nineteenth-century adjustment: "I am only human," he said, "and do not now possess the necessary balance between feeling and mind. We Russians have so far only developed our intellect, but we cannot control our unconscious reactions. They are out of touch with the present needs. What shall I do now?" 18 The history of the century can be interpreted as an attempt to apply to one set of conditions the values and procedures embedded in the subconscious from another and very different set of conditions. The resulting dichotomy made it difficult for an individual to comprehend his own behavior, for groups to understand each other, and for groups or individuals to act consistently. Millions of Europeans irrespective of caste or class recognized

10

THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND

the fact that, as the Austrian aristocrat Victor von AndrianWerburg stated (1843) : Our century is the century of movement, just as the preceding century was that of pleasure and of contemplativeness. We are no longer allowed to live agreeably in that place which birth and conditions have chosen for us, like a comfortable oyster on its bank. A general stir, a restless ambition is the characteristic mark of our time, and in this general mobility each wants to and must find his place, since it is no longer possible to withdraw from it with impunity.19

In this period of change, as others bluntly declared, a man became either hammer or anvil. Chekhov's story The Peasants reports the fate of those who became anvils, whereas Theodor Fontane, observing industrial society from the vantage point of the city of Berlin, declared toward the close of the century (1890) : "The world has never seen happier days. There is a lot of misery and misfortune," but "anyone who will honorably work" can live "well enough" from his effort, and "more is not necessary." 20 The century abounded in discussions of how best to organize society. Adam Smith's Wealth of Nations was widely translated and read. In the 1830's George Borrow found an avid disciple of Jeremy Bentham in an isolated district of Spain. The works of the Manchester School became available to continental readers, and socialist writings from Saint-Simon, Marx, and numerous lesser figures appeared in quantity. In the decades before 1848, when industrialism had advanced just far enough to attract masses of people to factory regions without being able to assure them steady employment, pauperism spread so widely that prizes were oifered for essays proposing methods for its prevention. A contest sponsored in 1848 by the Bavarian king elicited 656 manuscripts, 547 of them from Bavaria, of which at least 11 appeared in print. The prize-winning plan, the work of a tax official in Augsburg, Baron von Holzschuher, expressed the attitude of a bureaucrat and an expert toward the social crisis and toward the question of how best to promote the new society. Holzschuher wrote: The erstwhile Estates, the elements of the feudal State, have irretrievably declined, and the state must substitute a new, organic structure that will be more than domination by money. It should do this by abandoning the centralized system of administration and by erecting associations and corporations, and likewise by allowing the factory workers to organize trade associations.21

11

THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND

The aristocrat-official based his proposals upon restricted experience within a small state where industry had not taken firm hold. Many variants appeared on the theme of social organization around centers and institutions of power, especially where the nobility and the artisans remained sufficiently strong to keep alive the old corporative sense. Austria produced a number of such plans, and the German Socialists of the Chair struggled with the question treated so naively by the Bavarian official, that of the role of government in developing an integrated society. The cooperative movement arose in the years immediately prior to 1848, and the possibility of creating a new society by association, without repeating the misery of English industrialization, appealed to bourgeois entrepreneurs and to reformers alike. The entrepreneurs as well as the idealists placed their faith in the new science of political economy. Sismondi, the Swiss historian and social scientist, summarized the new creed in 1834 as follows: . . . and they promise that when this theory shall have been adopted by statesmen, when it shall have become a light to legislation and administration, then human society, guided by this light, will be seen to make a rapid progress in power and happiness. Riches, they say, the source of all well-being to men, will multiply; then will disappear indigence and its most frightful consequences, contagious maladies arising from bad nourishment, from excessive labour, from being crowded together in unhealthy habitations, from cold and want of clothes; ignorance too will be subdued, that necessary consequence in the labouring class of the constant toil which exhausts the body, and leaves no freedom for the mind; the different ranks of society will be reconciled to each other, because so much happiness and intelligence will be obtained for all as will secure internal peace and the stability of governments. Still more, the passions producing ill-will will be extinguished, and the most formidable temptations removed, and thus progress of virtue and morality in the human race will be powerfully served.22 Sismondi proffered the ideas of political economy in order to refute them by evidence from experience. The "fifty or sixty years of the new science," he wrote, . . . have brought the most alarming disturbance into the relations and conditions of the members of society. The collective wealth of those nations which the economists considered as the most advanced, has in fact increased, and sometimes in a very rapid proportion, but, at the same time, the number of rich men has diminished rather than increased, the intermediate ranks have disappeared, small proprietors, small farmers in the country, small artisans, small manufacturers, small shopkeepers in the towns, have not been able to compete with those who direct vast undertakings. There is no longer room in 12

THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND

society for any but the great capitalist and the man who lives on wages; and that formerly almost imperceptible class of men who have absolutely no property, has increased in an alarming manner. In fact, all working men, all those who, by the labour of their hands, create the wealth which is spread throughout society, have ceased to have any direct right or interest in the different works which flourish through their means. They are bound to them only by daily wages, by a contract which they and their masters renew every week. Ignorant of those commercial interests which they serve, of the wants of the distant markets for which they work, they are engaged or dismissed in consequence of mercantile revolutions which they can neither calculate nor foresee; they are the victims of all the reverses, of all the mistakes, of all the extravagance of their employers; their own prudence and good conduct are no longer a security to them: their condition is become precarious and dependent, and it is no longer in their own keeping. A t the same time, they have been led into a state of continual warfare, either among themselves or with their masters, to fix the rate of wages; want is continually pressing on them, they underbid one another in the price of their labour, the competition ruins them, and forces them to be content with what is absolutely necessary for daily subsistence. If a momentary prosperity, an extraordinary demand for that kind of work to which they are suited lifts them to-day from this pressure of want, it always threatens them for the morrow. The life of the workman has no longer a future. 23 Sismondi concluded t h a t f r o m this s t a t e of a f f a i r s came a g r e a t increase in the number of crimes, especially a g a i n s t p r o p e r t y ; an increased n u m b e r of illegitimate b i r t h s ; a rise in the consumption of

intoxicating

liquors w h i c h brutalized morals and

threatened

h e a l t h ; and the e n t r y of children into the labor m a r k e t . H e lacked the vision of the entrepreneur and persisted in h a b i t s of t h o u g h t a p p r o p r i a t e to an economy of scarcity. In spite of his historical k n o w l e d g e , Sismondi proved unable to e m a n c i p a t e himself f r o m the s t a n d a r d s of a society now d i s i n t e g r a t i n g and to recognize beneath the transitional phenomena t h e emergence of a society unique in h u m a n experience. S t r u c t u r a l instability implied the presence of personal i n s e c u r i t y f o r everyone and stimulated the h a b i t of r i s k - t a k i n g . T h e e m e r g i n g bourgeois entrepreneurs became experts in r i s k - b e a r i n g as a source of creative action. T h e y developed the m a t e r i a l f o u n d a t i o n s and introduced the mores of calculated mobility. T h e practice of i n d i v i d ual i n i t i a t i v e r a n g e d f r o m the complex to the simplest m a n i f e s t a tions and broke class and caste lines. I t extended to political leaders w h o founded and directed n e w f o r m s of g o v e r n m e n t , m e m b e r s of t h e professions, peasants w h o became industrial w o r k e r s or even

13

THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND

entrepreneurs, aristocrats who built iron- and steelworks on their estates and promoted railroads, eccentrics who may or may not have created something of lasting significance. Among persons who achieved fame, those of modest origin like Pasteur and Krupp stood at one extreme; at the other extreme may stand Bakunin, a Russian aristocrat whose interest in social radicalism led to imprisonment, confessions of error read by two czars, banishment to a penal colony in Siberia supervised by his cousin—the governor-general of the territory—and years of poverty in western Europe. Parvenus appeared everywhere, causing Michelet in 1846 to compare the social change about him to the "Barbarian Invasions." Almost always those who rise are lost because they are transformed; they become mixed, bastard; they lose the originality of their class without gaining that of another. The difficulty is not to rise but in rising to remain oneself. Often today the rise of the people, its progress, is compared with the Barbarian Invasions. The phrase pleases me; I accept it. Barbarians! Yes, that is to say full of new, lively and rejuvenating sap. Barbarians mean travelers on the march toward the Rome of the future, going slowly without doubt, each generation advancing a little, halting in death, but others continuing no less on the way. We have, we other barbarians, one natural advantage; if the upper classes have the culture, we have more of the vital warmth. They do not have the capacity for heavy work, or the intensity, the toughness, the moral force in work. Their elegant writers, spoiled children of the world, seem to glide along on clouds, or proudly eccentric do not deign to look at the ground. How would they fructify it? It asks, this ground, to drink the sweat of man, to be stamped with his warmth and his living manliness. Our barbarians give it all that; it loves them.24

The coming of the "barbarians" profoundly affected social standards. Sismondi summarized the creed of many aristocrats and many conservatives in the towns throughout the century when in 1834 he defended the role of the landowner. He hoped to see peasant proprietors established and all agriculturalists made responsible for maintaining their day laborers in off-seasons, a duty that he proposed to enforce upon industrialists as well. He favored the existence of wealthy landowners . . . because there are faculties of the soul and of the intellect, which cannot be developed without complete leisure, because physical activity blunts the other faculties, because continual attention to worldly interests contracts the heart, because the noblest employments of the human mind must be followed with disinterested views, and not for gain; because a nation composed of men all equally well fed, well

14

THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND

clothed, well lodged, working only so much as is desirable for their health, but incapable of rising to the fine arts, to the highest sciences, to sublime philosophy, would seem to us to be disinherited of the finest gifts of Providence to man; she would not even be in a position to cultivate the social sciences enough to know how to manage herself, and to avoid the loss of all the advantages she enjoyed. Not that those who are destined to enlighten society are born in the class of the rich, but that this class alone can appreciate them, and have leisure to enjoy their works. . . . But landed property also gives to the rich a character which it is important to preserve in the nation; they are more intimately united with the people, they know them better, they are bound by interest and affection to the province and district which they inhabit. . . . The nation may and ought to wish that there should be rich landowners scattered through every part of the country, but by no means that all the country should belong to them.25

In contrast with the value judgment of intellectuals like Sismondi and Michelet appeared the hopes and practices of bourgeois entrepreneurs. Friedrich Harkort, a founder of the German machine industry during the first half of the century, exercised his vocation of engineer-entrepreneur for the benefit of society and at the sacrifice of his own economic security. Gustav Mevissen, a Rhineland entrepreneur, had a deep sense of responsibility to society and expressed it not merely in theory but in the treatment of his own employees and workers. He believed so firmly in the cultural benefits of commerce and industry that during the last years of his life he endeavored to found a university devoted to their study that would equal in quality and prestige the traditional university. Others of the bourgeoisie lacked this idealism. Zola's description in Germinal of a coal strike in France reveals a type, of which Adolphe Thiers offered an example, that concentrated upon power and profits. All members of this new social group, however, claimed a historic role and expected their efforts to produce a new and improved society in a not very distant future. When social ills came to their attention, they were inclined to rely upon the Manchester School panacea of unaided natural law. Discussion of the character of the new society appeared unending, for the rapidity of change provoked constant comment. In the 1880's Theodor Fontane condemned metropolitan life such as existed in Berlin—where everyone sought a career, and "truth, simplicity and naturalness, love of one's fellowmen, knowledge, thoroughness and ability" all suffered a sad decline. I am convinced [he wrote] that the large city makes for alertness, speed, cleverness, but it makes shallow and deprives of the capacity for higher production everyone who does not live apart from it in

15

THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND

isolation. Forty years ago Macaulay wrote: "Fruitful thought is impossible for a London member of Parliament; he is submerged by noise, superficial activity; the smallest shopkeeper of the smallest Scotch town can enrich the world of ideas better than the Londoner who is a "'Londoner!'" How true! The big city has no time for thought, and what is worse, it has no time for happiness. What it creates by the hundred thousands is only the hunt for happiness, which means the same as unhappiness. Among my acquaintances is a pair of such hunters, old gentlemen, their wives naturally in the lead. It is a sad sight. Of course they are privy councillors, who have long been what they wanted to be. But the chase goes on as usual. They can gain no more titles and orders, so the chase has become a trivial running around, a chase to chamber concerts, first appearances, bazaars, where perhaps the Crown Princess will appear, to princesses' trousseaus, to Cumberland, to Stanley, to a fashionable marriage. Something to laugh at if it weren't a matter for tears! 2 6 Fontane thought that the traditional virtues, both human and social, survived in small towns. At the same time he had doubts, since everywhere he saw evidence of snobbism: the loosening of social structure appeared to him to have aroused ambition and envy, superficiality and a search for pleasure; everyone strove to climb the social ladder. The sons of bankers, for example, young Bleichroder, are subject to the greatest disdain in officer and professorial circles, and officers are treated like beggars in banking circles. Professor Oppert, a linguistic expert of the first rank, but who like Ahlwardt always forgets that trousers also have buttons, would be treated in aristocratic and officer circles like Gundling or Morgenstern; Humboldt when he spoke too exclusively about Popokatepetl had to suffer the indignity of having Louis Schneider [reader for Emperor William I] preferred to him. Every social class, every household has a special idol. In general, however, one can say there are only six idols in Prussia and the chief idol, the head darling of the Prussian cult, is the lieutenant, the reserve officer. There you have the prime dish! Had you married—and be glad that this is not the case—into a stiffly-proud professorial family or an artistic family bursting with superiority, you would have escaped the admiration poured upon the lieutenant and reserve officer, but evils would have appeared which would be equally depressing. One must adapt oneself to the fact that there is always someone to be preferred to oneself. Often—in one's youth and before one has established oneself—that is annoying; but in later life it ceases to be irritating because one becomes convinced that no one, not even the greatest, can escape this humiliation. It amounts to the view that 'the other' is always the better. A woman who has a fine scholar longs for an officer in the cuirassiers, and one who has a cuirassier officer longs for a fine scholar. If one is clever, he should be elegant, and if one has elegance, one wishes cleverness. The apostle of freedom confronts the loyal fool, the loyal fool opposes the devotee of

16

THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND freedom. However one arranges matters, one comes out half wrong. Even if one has convinced himself that no other way is possible, momentary anger persists. . . .27

Manners and morals, the entire substance of etiquette being in flux, each person felt justified in his own way of life and at the same time uncertain as to whether others accepted his behavior. Loss by the nobility of the monopoly of social power opened Pandora's box, and among the evils let loose lurked hypocrisy, an evil of which the aristocracy in its prime had been relatively free. At the outbreak of World War I a mobile society had equipped itself with books of etiquette which modified aristocratic forms only to a very limited degree. Individual predilection rather than class or caste affiliation decided one's attitude toward change. Not all those who had positions of power strove to preserve their positions; many such members of the elite group agreed voluntarily to share power with others whom previously they had excluded. Those with substantial influence in one area of national life—for example, the economy—wished to extend their authority into politics or government and other fields as well; many recognized the fact of social transformation without actively furthering this change; others pursued change vigorously along such channels as became open to them. Throughout the century the criteria of social prestige increased in number. Birth remained important, as fictional or anthropological study of the village or small town in any decade reveals; yet it steadily declined in significance, particularly in cities and in areas where social mobility prevailed. Wealth commanded social respect, even, as Balzac shows, when acquired in an illegitimate or shady way. Politics opened an avenue to power and prestige, although a position built upon political success needed to be well buttressed by economic achievement, such as Thiers was able to show. The combination of political and economic power usually elevated an individual into the highest society. Journalism, scholarship, and creative activity in the fine arts brought recognition, but at a level lower than that of birth or wealth. Rise in the bureaucracy and in the army enhanced social position much more than did musical composition or performance, and again birth and/or wealth greatly improved the individual's chance to reach the highest rank; indeed, in most countries they rated as almost indispensable. Politics, wealth, education, military service—all opened opportunity to ability. Although much of the activity during the century endeavored to protect the existing distribution of social power by blocking equality of 17

THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND

opportunity, once the forces breached the legal defense of caste and absolutism, once the restlessly transforming powers of industry and politics and, subsequently, of education gained a foothold, the process of social change became in the long run irresistible. From caste to class, from absolutism to representative government, from agriculture to industry, from illiteracy to popular education, from mercenary army to nation in arms, from private to public law, from guild to modern corporation—throughout the century these and other processes spelled structural change. A number of rulers and many nobles as landowners, officials, and officers denounced forces of change like railroads and heavy industry, calling them destructive of the patriarchal way of life. Frederick William III showed no interest in building a railroad from Berlin to Potsdam: Why should he reach either place a few hours sooner? The Prussian Minister-General von Thile labeled industry "a cancerous growth on the country." 28 Other nobles refused to invest in railroad building, for on rails a peasant could travel as fast as a noble. In discussing a proposal for governmental aid to railroad construction in his state a Mecklenburg aristocrat in 1840 developed the argument: Railroads pertain to countries with numerous population and a highly developed industry, where the demands for speedy and easy transportation are high. In countries with a small population and simple ways of life, they are not needed. Capitalistic speculation and speculators should be able to judge by the prospect of profits when a country has reached the stage at which it requires railroads; the government should not attempt by subsidies to hasten the transformation. "Let us not overlook the point," he concluded, "that railroads remain the means to meet augmented demands, but that it would be wrong to seek to arouse these higher demands by these means." 29 The noble lord's intentions appear clearly. Members of the upper classes recognized that the application of the steam engine to transportation and industry marked a turning point in social relations. In 1842 the mayor of Miinster compared the event to the invention of gunpowder. No state dared to exclude itself from the benefits of this invention,30 even though, as the entrepreneur Friedrich Harkort perceived, the locomotive performed the task of hearse to carry absolutism and feudalism to the cemetery.31 Technological progress extended the mobility of property relations well beyond that of the French Revolution or the emancipation of serfs. Property no longer seemed secure; both its forms and its value changed so rapidly that an owner, even upon an 18

THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND entailed estate, could no longer live in accustomed comfort from revenues; he found it necessary to revise agricultural procedures. New forms of property—property in industry, in land devoted to capitalistic agriculture, in mining, in stocks—steadily undermined the Old Regime by appealing to the instinctive cupidity of the nobility, and by enmeshing the nobility in the fabric of industrial society. The century witnessed more, and more frequent, conditions favorable to entrepreneurship than ever before in history: "changes . . . either on the supply side—through discovery, population growth, capital accumulation, or cost reduction, particularly in transportation—or on the demand side—through widening of the market or changes in taste." 32 The transformation so affected values that in the National System of Political Economy, published in 1841, Friedrich List wrote: Where it is not possible to rise from one social class to another, from the lowest to the highest by means of effort and success; where he who possesses must avoid showing his possessions and their fruits openly because he might be endangered in his property or only noted for pretension and vulgarity; where the productive Estates are excluded from public honor, participation in the administrative, legislative and judicial processes; where notable achievements in agriculture, industry and commerce do not lead to public notice and social and civil distinction—there the strongest motives for consumption as well as for production are lacking.33 List thus placed the entrepreneur, the new bourgeois, the maker and distributor of material wealth, at the center of the process of creating a wealthy, cultured, and powerful society of national states. He preached the spread and acceptance of the profit motive—the greatest social leveler and, at the same time, the greatest creator of a new kind of inequality. Although during the century his publications had considerable influence in many countries, they described forces that, irrespective of theoretical expression, contained their own internal appeal. Evidence regarding the social background to which government and politics related may be summarized in a few statistical data. Within the span of three generations the population of Europe increased from 187 millions (1800) to 401 millions (1900), and the increase occurred in similar proportions in every country (see table 1). Governments had never before confronted populations of such size or of such rapid expansion. The question had to be asked whether the form of government of the Old Regime was competent to serve this mass of citizens and to integrate it into the body

19

THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND

politic. The rapid increase in numbers meant a youthful population, one of hope and ambition. Although no direct correlation between size of population and governmental form can be demonstrated, the statistics suggest that absolutism could not fulfill popular expectation. Depending upon cultural circumstances, sooner or later the governmental form of the absolute monarchy perforce would yield to new political institutions. TABLE

1

EUROPEAN POPULATIONS

(In millions)

Country

European Russia Scandinavia Germany The Netherlands Belgium. Switzerland France Spain Portugal Italy Austria-Hungary Balkans SOOBCE: Dudley Kirk, Europe's 1946), pp. 19, 27.

Population

in the Interwar

1800

1900

35 5 24.5 2 3 1.8 27 11.5 2.9 18 24 12

103 12.5 56.4 5.2 6.7 3.3 39 18.6 5.4 32.5 47 21

Years

(Princeton: League of Nations,

Change in life expectancy at birth affected political outlook. In 1801 length of life in France averaged thirty years. By the middle of the century in countries of advanced culture it had reached thirty-five to forty years. At that time an individual in a social group with a high standard of living could count on reaching the age of sixty, whereas a workingman's life-span on the average fell below thirty. Physicians themselves could anticipate the shortest life-span—twenty-seven years; the educated classes, artists, teachers, lawyers, did not fare much better; the clergy lived longest—an average of seventy years.34 Between 1861 and 1900 life expectancy increased in France from forty to forty-five years of age for men and fifty years for women, and in Prussia from thirty-eight to forty-eight for men and to fifty-one for women; thus, it became about the same in both countries.35 These data are to be contrasted with 31.4 years for Russia in 1900; 34 for Spain; and 39 for Austria.38 20

THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND

Expectation of longer life changed the attitude toward public affairs from one of fatalistic indifference to one of personal interest. Awareness that a longer life-span was possible stimulated demands for public service and for participation in political affairs to gain these services. Individuals would ask why the death rate in one country continued to be high (an average of 34 per 1,000 in Russia in the decade 1891-1900), whereas in another country (e.g., Norway) it sank to less than half that amount.37 Regions within one country differed as markedly in these respects as did countries, and government could not continue entirely to ignore responsibility, lest society conclude that reform was impossible without a new governmental structure. A third quantitative change concerned the proportion between rural and urban populations. Absolutism suited an economy where peasants and agriculture were predominant. Towns and cities had always supplied the stir and excitement of intellectual activity, social aspirations, revolutions; but under absolutism towns were few and everywhere continued modest in size. The difference in social type and behavior between country and town should not be exaggerated, for transitional regions existed. In agricultural areas small towns of 2,000 population or less as well as numerous larger urban communities remained completely local in their interests, and without the example, stimulus, and leadership of towns with an industrial economy, they would have continued to languish. Until 1800 the European population lived almost entirely in rural areas—in Russia, Sweden, and Norway more than 96 percent, in Austria slightly less than this figure, and in France more than 90 percent. By 1850 the ratio of rural to urban population had fallen by only a few points; and as late as 1858 Germany, the future industrial giant, supported 72 percent of its population in rural areas. By 1890 the change in Germany (53 percent rural), France (62.6 percent rural), Austria (67.5 percent rural), and Denmark (67.6 percent rural) had become pronounced; but in Russia peasants still accounted for nearly 88 percent of the population.38 Decline in rural population continued at a greatly accelerated pace until the outbreak of war in 1914. Loss of peasant population to the towns accounts for only a part of the shift in habitat and occupation. Although the peasantry increased in absolute numbers—greatly in Russia where land was still available, much less in countries like Germany and France—its growth did not equal that of the urban population. Between 1858 and 1897 the rural population increased in Russia by two-thirds, 21

T H E SOCIAL BACKGROUND

whereas the urban population doubled.39 In 1796, 1,300,000 lived in towns ; by 1914, more than 19 millions did so.40 A national population usually doubled in a period of fifty to seventy years. In remote areas of France, Germany, and Belgium during the fifty years prior to World War I the agricultural population seldom expanded by as much as one-fourth; in new industrial areas like Westphalia, the Rhineland, Belgium, and northwestern France the population doubled in a quarter of a century." The well-known increase in the size of cities and the growth of towns into cities scarcely needs documentation ; the few examples in table 2 indicate the order of magniTABLE

2

SIZE OP POPULATION

(In thousands)

City

Moscow Odessa Berlin Cologne Essen Paris Lille Milan Rome Barcelona Budapest Vienna Stockholm SOUKCE:

1800 250 6 172 50 4 547 55 170 153 115 54 247 76

1850 365 90 419 97 9 1,053 76 242 175 175 178 444 93

1910 1,481 479 3,730 516 295 2,888 218 599 539 560 880 2,030 342

W. Woytinsky, Die Welt in Zahlen (Berlin, 1926), I, 132-136.

tude.42 The significance of these population figures may be illustrated by an analysis of the social structure of the German city of Barmen in 1861 and in 1907. In 1861 Barmen had 336 members of the upper bourgeoisie; in 1907, 989 members. In 1861 there were 534 merchants and industrialists of secondary economic significance; in 1907, more than 4,000. In 1861, 1,600 employees and artisans resided in Barmen ; in 1907, nearly 13,000. In 1861 Barmen had 19,000 workers; in 1907 there were 51,500.43 Although the influx of workers swelled the size of cities, the bourgeoisie and middle class increased at a greater rate than the workers. At the end of the century the population of every state had changed so greatly in composition since the beginning of the period that governmental forms could hardly remain unaffected. The in22

THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND

crease in numbers of the bourgeoisie and middle class brought new leaders and gave them effective support. Political adjustments by peaceful means or by violence or by both lay implicit in the quantitative changes. Rural and urban populations stood in such proportion to one another, however, that a compromise between absolutism and constitutionalism on governmental and political institutions appeared likely. Comparative figures for the nobility and the workers support the probability of compromise. The workers increased sufficiently to form a new class. In 1804 Russia employed 95,000 workers in factories; of these 45,000 earned wages as free laborers. In 1836 there were 324,000; in 1913, 2,282,000. In percentage the number in 1913 was only 1.41, but the workers were concentrated in a few large cities.44 Germany, which may be used to illustrate the most intensive industrialization among the large countries, employed 300,000 workers in factories in 1802. By 1867 it had more than two million industrial workers; in 1900 almost twelve million. In the Rhineland-Westphalian coal-mining region the number of miners between 1850 and 1870 increased every five years by 10,000 workers ; between 1895 and 1900, by 53,000; between 1900 and 1910, by 70,000 every five years.45 France showed a faster gain in relative numbers of industrial workers than Russia and a slower gain than Germany. In 1824 the department of the Seine afforded employment to 850 workers in foundries and forges, and to 3,150 jewelers. Almost the entire working population consisted of artisans.46 The French census of 1872 gave the number of workers in large industries as 1,112,000, and the number in small industries as one million ; but the data are too unreliable to indicate more than approximate amounts. By 1901, although industry and mining in France employed more than three and a half million employees and workers, one-third of the workers labored in industry scarcely differing from the handicrafts.47 In Italy handicrafts survived to a greater extent than in France. By 1901 the Italian goods-producing industry (i.e., manufacturing, construction, and extractive industry as distinguished from agriculture and allied occupations and from services) employed only 23.8 percent of the work force, a figure not much higher than that which the United States had reached forty years earlier. Indeed, not until 1957 did Italy employ as many workers in manufacturing as in agriculture, a balance achieved in Prussia in 1882 and in France in 1901.48 Politically speaking the growth of an industrial working population entailed mass action, new institutions, new methods, new social demands, the entry of a 23

THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND

new and potentially powerful group into public affairs, the development of a novel order of political existence. In contrast, the nobility could not maintain numerically the place it had held at the beginning of the century. Its power had always depended upon factors other than number; but during the century it failed biologically to fill positions of leadership traditionally held by this group in public and private life. The few statistical data available indicate the small size of the class. Bavaria in 1822 had 1,384 noble families, less than one nine-hundredth of the population.49 In Galicia the number of Polish nobles to the nonnoble population was one to sixty-eight, and in Bohemia the nobles were one to 1,400. The strength of the Magyar nobility on the other hand is evident from the fact that in 1837 it counted one noble to every twenty persons.50 Russian official statistics of 1875 gave the number of hereditary and personal nobles in Russia as 653,000 and 374,000 respectively, or about one million in a population of 77,700,000. 51 Together with the officials they formed one and one-half percent of the population.62 In 1860 Germany had 250,000 members of the nobility, both hereditary and newly created. Of these, 141,860, or about eight per thousand inhabitants, lived in Prussia.53 Sweden in the 1850's sustained only 11,000 nobles in a population of more than four millions.54 These are insignificant numbers compared with the mass of workers, not to speak of the other classes; and although property ownership and traditional position added to the nobleman's social power, just as the machine added horsepower to the arms of the worker, the class sought to supply personnel by accepting members of other groups into its midst. Absolute monarchs had long since turned to the middle class for additional officials and officers; the changes in society in the nineteenth century could be expected not merely to weaken the political position of the nobility but to undermine the form of government in which it had taken a vital role. Quantitative evidence could be expanded. Increase in literacy, which opened the world of print to the masses; compulsory military service, which gave all a personal interest in affairs of state; expansion to all groups above the indigent of tax liability, which directly related the individual to the state; the revolution in transportation and communication, which, by breaking down localism, made national popular politics feasible; an increase in doctors, lawyers, teachers, and other professionals, which aroused expectation of greater services than before—changes in these and many other aspects of life might be statistically documented. Each had its 24

THE SOCIAL BACKGROUND

impact upon the nature of government and politics; however, to discuss them all would, without modifying the basic conception, lead beyond the present purpose of providing background for the subject of this study. Before concluding the chapter we should note Theodore von Laue's statement, apparently based on experience in underdeveloped countries during recent decades, that Friedrich List's dictum that constitutional government favored industrialization did not apply to a backward country like Russia. He concludes: "Russia had to choose between freedom and power," freedom in the form of a constitutional government that would not impose economic sacrifices upon the population, or power as manifested in Witte's autocratic drive to industrialize the country. He conditions the remark by referring to "rapid industrialization." 55 The question deserves further investigation. During the first stage of industrialization every country can be called underdeveloped, and the present investigation supports List's thesis that the trend is toward consistency in the institutional structure of a culture. Europe in the nineteenth century became replete with transitional phenomena, a blend of the ancient régime and the new society, and Witte's Russia exemplified a transitional stage found in other countries as well. In last analysis one cannot prove that the cultural types of ancien régime and liberal industrial society existed, for the concept "type" connotes a purity and harmony of form and content that never appears in one place at one time. We adhere to the line of thinking beginning with Hegel and continuing with scholars like Max Weber, Meinecke, and the social psychologists, who find a "basic personality structure" in a culture. One needs criteria for identifying a culture, and the use of types fills this need.

25

II

CENTRAL GOVERNMENT

D

of social transformation the several forces within society compete for recognition and power. The struggle directly and immediately involves the form and practice of government. It cannot be said that in the nineteenth century the form of government reflected the character of society; the reverse was rather the case, and attempts to harmonize governmental form with the changed and changing social structure led to conflict intensified at times to revolution. In no state did the functioning government satisfy all the national groups; indeed, dissatisfaction with the distribution of governmental power reached such proportions that by 1914 many European countries feared civil violence. Thus the century became a time of attack and defense, a time in which governmental form adjusted to social need by many temporary compromises. In some instances adjustment created governmental machinery that enabled change to occur peacefully in the normal course of social development; more often government did not reform sufficiently to facilitate or to promote social change. Since two types of social structure—each with its individual character, its own ideals, values, and objectives—held the stage, almost every act had political implications, and the form of government represented the difference between old and new. The fact that government wielded ultimate physical power made control of this power seem imperative to both types of society.1 The two societies—one on the defensive, one on the attack—bore the burden of unceasing friction. For the sake of clarity it is advisable to describe the two types of government and the society appropriate to each type; then to compare the changes, concessions, adjustments, and gains made in the legislative, executive, and other aspects of government in the two types. A spectrum analysis running from one type to the other has URING A PERIOD

26

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been undertaken, sacrificing chronological sequence for clarification of the functional change from absolutism to popular, responsible government.2 The Old Regime employed the absolute monarchy, heightened in Russia to autocracy, as its standard form of government. Differences in degree of governmental power between most European countries and Russia may be explained partly on grounds of tradition—the Roman as contrasted with the Byzantine-Mongol; but this difference obtained largely because of cultural conditions. Russian culture lagged by a century or even more, depending upon class and locality, behind that of central and western Europe. No monarch west of Russia would have described his people in the manner that Czar Nicholas I in 1831 described the Russians: "There they lie flat on their faces before their ruler." 3 Throughout the century Russia in many instances set the extreme example of absolutistic governmental institutions and practices. That the czarist government belongs nonetheless among the forms of political absolutism is indicated by the similarity of structure and function between the government of autocracy and that of absolutism and by the great respect in which divine-right monarchs held the czarist regime. The monarchs may not have thought of themselves as being in the image of God, as the czar and his subjects pictured the Russian ruler, but they coveted comparable power. Government by absolute monarchy suited a society maintaining a level of culture at which a central government need not be burdened with work, one at which it could delay action upon affairs almost indefinitely without its inefficiency and incompetence being noticeably disruptive. This form of government was adapted to the qualifications of hereditary royalty with its kinds and degrees of inadequacy ; it could absorb the commissions and omissions of mediocrity in one monarch, or in another the devotion to detail without an accompanying sense of fundamental policy. Flexible enough in scope and responsibility to be effective under a ruler like Frederick the Great, it could endure the inactivity of "good Kaiser Franz" of Austria; and such a government could exercise the power of ultimate decision through one man, possessing the means to implement his decisions, at least sufficiently well to satisfy himself and his important subjects. The central government restricted its interest to a few areas, mainly to foreign relations, war, and the taxation necessary to maintain these functions and the royal court. The overwhelming mass of people had little or no interest in public affairs. 27

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The kind of society that flourished under the absolute monarchy consisted of autonomous units. Most elementary duties of government remained under local authority; for society continued to be organized as Estates, guilds, churches, manors, and other corporative institutions performing functions later considered to be in the public sphere.4 Local bodies exercised most or all police and judicial power; they kept records of births, deaths, crimes, and the like; they administered poor relief and decided policy and procedure in regard to education; they frequently collected and disbursed tax money; they were responsible for military recruitment and for feeding, housing, and transporting troops; they administered the laws and orders of the central government insofar as they were willing to do so or could be held to account; they maintained the facilities for transportation; and they bore much of the responsibility for the economy. In comparison, the central government had minimal functions, those of supervising, setting statewide standards, regulating and utilizing the resources made available by private corporations. The economy was predominantly agricultural. Except for the few large towns and fewer cities, and except for regions so situated as to risk specialization of crops—grapes for wine-making, for example—where transportation facilities enabled the greater part of the food to be imported, each locality supplied its own food and most or all of its clothing and shelter. The tempo of life conformed to that of the seasons, its pace discouraging a sense of responsibility for the course of individual life but favoring acquiescence in the will of God, of the king, lord, mayor, or any exponent of power. Since the forces of nature appeared superior to those of man, individuals looked for aid to God and to His representative on earth, the divine-right monarch. As the people believed in miracles from on High, so they expected an omniscient and omnipotent earthly king to preserve them from ill. Social structure consisted of peasants, servile to a greater or lesser extent, illiterate, religion-oriented, lacking alternatives to their way of life; a few urban workers; a small middle class, mainly craftsmen with purely local interests, and a much smaller number of wholesale merchants, few of them capable of initiative in the direction of change; a sufficient nobility to exercise power of divine right in the provinces, to control the peasants and supervise life in the towns, and to furnish officers and officials to the king; and a well-established Church as the instrument for inculcating political and social beliefs and practices for the preservation of the entire system of society. Characterized by structural rigidity, by emphasis 28

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upon moral discipline, by the caste or corporative spirit rather than the spirit of individualism, by the concentration of responsibility in the king and the relatively few members of the nobility and clergy, the patriarchal society had in absolutism a form of central government appropriate to its needs. For both society and king, except during emergencies such as foreign war, plague, or famine, absolutism seemed to be the best form of government, assuring a maximum of internal stability while allowing an ambitious ruler to muster resources for playing the traditional game of power politics abroad. Indeed, no one expected government to meet an emergency—that is, an act of God such as foreign war, famine, or plague—with efficient countermeasures. Absolutism claimed to be moral, Christian, and suited to the sinful nature of man. One individual, the sovereign, could comprehend the issues of government, relatively few and simple as they were, without great mental effort and proceed to resolve them. Personalities and moral considerations played a more important part in acts of judgment than did technical knowledge. A king as ordinary in ability and diligence as Frederick William III of Prussia derived from experience, as well as from tradition, belief in the limited understanding of his subjects and claimed that no one but the ruler, not even the most gifted and spirited of ministers, could consider all aspects of a problem and reach a decision in the best interests of the entire country. A subject could not surmount the psychology of a subject, no matter how talented. Only a sovereign, trained to rise above faction, personal interest, and prejudice, could, he believed, arrive at objectivity and hence true wisdom. The ruler learned that every subject sought advantage for himself; that the monarch alone bore ultimate responsibility for decisions; that whereas a minister or other official could, after having made a mistake, resign or slip away, the sovereign must face the result of his action. Throughout the nineteenth century the ideal of absolutism persisted in the minds of rulers and their conservative supporters ; those kings who swore an oath of allegiance to a constitution setting up representative government continued to believe in absolutism as firmly as did the czar of Russia, and they tried to act like him whenever they dared. Beginning with the French Revolution social change increasingly undermined the absolute monarchy. In some states controversy over the form of government, especially government at the center, had already begun in the eighteenth century; the nineteenth century stimulated the debate, for after the French Revolution absolute 29

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monarchs faced problems of government with which they as individuals could no longer cope. Change in composition of the ministry offers evidence of this incapacity. Under the Old Regime the ruler used few ministries—those for foreign affairs, war, finance and justice, and occasionally for interior affairs; he divided responsibility as often on a geographical basis, that is, a ministry for a particular province, as on the basis of statewide function. In France reorganization of the ministry along functional lines occurred prior to the Revolution; in Prussia it came first in 1808; in Austria not until 1848. Enhanced expectation of governmental service during the nineteenth century called for more ministries, the Ministry of Interior being the main source of new agencies as its component elements expanded in importance—commerce and industry, agriculture, transportation, social welfare, labor, and others.® Increase of governmental duties aroused such general interest that rulers needed the advice and assistance of the public—a term of flexible meaning at the time—in exercising the responsibilities of political power. The novel character and magnitude of problems required that these not be left to local authorities, or if they already had been assigned to the central power, that they no longer be ignored in case of royal incompetence or indifference. Centrally exercised power became crucial not merely to foreign affairs, war, and public finance, but to a host of internal matters associated with the rise of a new society and with nationalism. Financial inadequacy had led France into revolution; equally formidable in the nineteenth century became the need to enlarge public expenditure. Since the French had introduced to Europe the principle and practice of compulsory military service, great increase in the cost of the military rendered acute the search for funds. Heavier taxation, together with the exaction of military service from all able-bodied males, by affecting all citizens aroused public interest in foreign affairs, a concern hitherto left to the ruler and his small, mainly mercenary army. Growing industrialism brought a host of unknown problems requiring the attention of the central government: state initiative in encouraging introduction of industries; factory and mining legislation; housing and living standards; public sanitation ; education; creation of banking facilities; and above all, and for several decades the most costly item of all, development of means of rapid transportation and communication. Action upon these and other matters demanded revision and enlargement of the central government; regardless of ability and willingness to work, the monarch and the traditional ministries no 30

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longer sufficed. In Prussia by the close of the eighteenth century the bureaucracy, not the king, carried the burden of rule; 6 and during the nineteenth century the imbalance of relative power increased. Since the bureaucracy failed to be well-informed about the reactions and aspirations of the population, it became advisable for rulers, however reluctantly they acknowledged the fact, to find a counterweight to the Frankenstein they had allowed to develop. Many a sovereign felt deeply the contradiction between his vow to preserve absolutism and his awareness that reason of state, given added urgency in the surge of nationalism, demanded sharing power with the public. Where rulers tried to solve problems that lay beyond their capacity, they made mistakes and frequently created further problems. Political conflict during the century arose in part over the incompatibility of absolutism with the emerging society, and many, if not all, monarchs learned from bitter experience that they no longer could guide by traditional means what was coming to be called public opinion. Representative institutions thus first appeared as a device by which to maintain royal direction of the public, and the concession implicit in the use of such institutions amounted in time to recognition of social transformation. The characteristics of the emerging society differed so fundamentally from those of the Old Regime that monarchs on the Continent seldom aligned themselves with modernity. The two rulers who showed some comprehension of the future were Louis Philippe and Napoleon III. Neither qualifies as a legitimate ruler, for both ascended the throne unexpectedly by way of revolution or violence, and both relinquished it in similar circumstances. Both, although unable to claim divine right with any persuasiveness, strove to emulate brother sovereigns. All monarchs found it difficult to comprehend how significant to governmental form was the increase in numbers and prestige gained by the middle classes through industrialism and the spread of wealth. They did not understand the self-confidence of the new groups, whose members contributed so powerfully to the culture and to the unprecedented prosperity of the state and who now demanded that their achievement be recognized, rewarded, and protected by the right to participate in political power. Monarchs were slow to grasp the fact that a few thousand aristocrats no longer sufficed to man and direct the governmental machinery. They tried to preserve political institutions adapted to delay, inaction, paternalism, decision from above without consultation; whereas society increasingly needed government to act according to the criteria of the society itself—freedom, indi-

31

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vidualism, mobility, speed, consultation, contract, pluralism, calculation, and rationality. Few monarchs, if any, realized that a society however large demographically could, by means of modern transportation and communication, enjoy material security and spiritual unity comparable to the unity of a small group in a society of localism ; that technological advance had opened the way to nationalism. To sovereigns whose political beliefs had been shaped in an agrarian, localistic society, the nature of industrialism's impact upon governmental institutions remained obscure. Similarly, the aggressive individualists of the newly developing society and century lacked rapport with absolutism. The confrontation of the two ways of life led alternately to clash and compromise concerning the form of government. Answers to constitutional problems depended upon one side's estimate of the other's attitude and ability. The absolute monarchs placed little faith in the judgment of the masses or in that of any organized group of their subjects; the advocates of popular participation in government trusted the bourgeoisie and middle classes, as well as certain aristocratic and peasant elements, to work for the good of the whole, whereas they feared the effects upon the state's future of the limited understanding of monarchs and their supporters. For a ruler like Frederick William IV of Prussia, firm in his oath never to allow a constitution to come between him and his people, the demands of the century appeared immoral, heretical, or treasonable. Except for the Russian czars, however, few monarchs escaped from some form of constitutional government; even Czar Alexander II considered introducing a few limitations upon his power, and Nicholas II ended the period of European absolutism during the revolution of 1905 by granting a constitution. Once the monarch conceded a written constitution he sought means to ignore or subvert its provisions. By professing to promulgate the constitution of his own free will he might reserve by implication the authority to revise, rescind, or replace it. Royal promulgation posed the question of whether the constitution should declare the king ruler by divine right or by the will of the nation. If the former view prevailed, the ruler might claim the plenitude of power to respect the constitution as long as it pleased him to do so and no longer. Few monarchs dared to revoke a constitution altogether without soon introducing a new one, for example, Spain in 1823, and the kingdom of Naples in 1849. The former country again received a constitution in 1838, and after suffering chronic civil war, it expelled the dynasty and briefly (1868-74) maintained a 32

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republic before restoring the constitutional monarchy. The kingdom of Naples disappeared by invasion and revolution into a united Italy. Constitutions granted in 1848 usually survived in the authoritarian form given them by the restored governments. In 1848 Piedmont-Sardinia drafted a constitution that by virtue of its brevity and generality could be developed in either a conservative or a liberal direction; circumstances and the character of leading personalities like Cavour headed it toward liberalism. Although monarchs normally insisted upon inclusion of the phrase "King by the grace of God," the meaning could be construed so generally as to permit use by both the king of England and the czar of Russia. The French constitution of 1830 merely referred to the ruler as "King of the French," and in declaring himself emperor, Louis Napoleon claimed to conform to the will of the people expressed in a plebiscite. Power depended upon things more substantial than a phrase. The classic statement of reality occurred in the preamble to the French Charter of June 4, 1814. Here Louis XVIII king by "the grace of God" declared that he promulgated the constitution, "voluntarily, and by the free exercise of our royal authority," while promising to "maintain" it and committing his successors to preserve it "forever." He asserted that "all authority in France resides in the person of the King," and he recalled that "our first duty towards our subjects is to preserve, in their own interests, the rights and prerogatives of our Crown." Nonetheless, he stated that "our predecessors," among them Louis XIV, "whose wisdom nothing has yet surpassed," "altered the exercise [of their power] in accordance with the change of the times," and he "recognized" that "the wish of our subjects for a constitutional charter" expressed a real need, that "the actual condition of the kingdom calls for a constitutional charter." Among these conditions he cited "the ever-increasing progress of enlightenment, the new relations which these advances introduced into society, the direction impressed upon opinions during the past half century, and the significant alterations which have resulted therefrom." In other words, the king acknowledged that the French Revolution had occurred, and he . . . hopes that taught by experience, they [his subjects] may be convinced that only the supreme authority can give to institutions which it establishes the strength, permanence, and majesty with which it is itself invested; that thus, when the wisdom of the king freely coincides with the wish of the people, a constitutional charter can be of long duration; but that, when violence wrests concessions

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CENTRAL GOVERNMENT from the feebleness of the government, public liberty is not less in danger than the throne itself. In a word, we have sought the principles of the constitutional charter in the French character and in the enduring examples of past ages.

He thus attempted to "renew the chain of the times, which disastrous errors have broken," and "the dearest wish of our heart is that all Frenchmen shall live as brothers, and that no bitter recollection shall ever disturb the security that must follow the solemn act which we grant them today." He promised "to swear to maintain it [the constitution] with a new solemnity, before the altars of Him who weighs in the same balance kings and nations." 7 Although troubled but not haunted by the memory of the French Revolution, most European rulers in time faced conditions and demands similar to Louis'. Less frank than Louis XVIII in acknowledging the realities of the situation, they emphasized the benefits of absolutism. In theory, and to some extent in fact, they admitted, as had the French king, the necessity of measuring the amount of power that they might conserve by the benefits they brought to their peoples. Since their reign followed the tumultuous years of revolution and the Napoleonic wars, they stressed the value of divine-right monarchy for the preservation of peace and order. For the good of his subjects Louis XVIII claimed absolute power to grant freely a constitution limiting forever royal power. In so doing he set a precedent for fellow rulers, and it is difficult to conceive of another formula by which government could have facilitated with comparable ease for all groups the crucial change from absolutism to constitutionalism. In all countries social and political realities pointed toward a form of constitutional government; in every case promulgation was associated with violence—revolution, the fear or threat of revolution, loss of absolutist prestige through failure in foreign war. Among the earliest constitutions, those of the German states of Baden, Württemberg, and Bavaria prior to 1848 were freely bestowed, although each with the French Revolution well in mind. The constitutions of Prussia, Hungary, and Sardinia-Piedmont resulted from the revolutions of 1848, and the Austrian constitutional experiments of 1860-67 reflected the lessons of the wars of German and Italian unification. The Belgian and many Balkan constitutions found acceptance by imported rulers, who in the case of the Balkans lived in fear of sudden deposition. The German constitution of 1867-71, which took the form of an "eternal union" or "alliance" among the sovereign princes and the free-city republics, was pro34

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mulgated after victory in wars aimed not merely at defeating foreign enemies but at forcing German rulers to sacrifice some of their power in behalf of national political unity. Even the Swiss constitutional reform of 1848 followed a civil war. Changes of constitution in France were all associated with war or revolution or both: 1814-15, 1830, 1848-52, 1870-71; and the Russian constitution of 1905 owed its existence to revolution. A monarch might temporarily abrogate a constitution, as did the king of Hanover between 1837 and 1848, and the Austrian ruler from 1849 to 1860; a number of rulers—in certain German states in 1849, and in Balkan countries at various times—arbitrarily, but with one eye upon public reaction, modified in an authoritarian direction the terms of their constitutions. Most constitutions at one time or another suffered the threat of fundamental revision. In Russia autocracy preserved sufficient power to revise the constitution within a year to allow greater authority for the czar. Toward the close of his chancellorship Bismarck considered abolishing the German constitution in order to negotiate a new and more authoritarian arrangement among the sovereign princes and cities. The Austrian constitution of 1867 ceased to function effectively, not because of monarchical sabotage, but because of conflict among the empire's nationalities. Mecklenburg never had a modern constitution, its government resting upon agreements made in the eighteenth century between its prince and the Estates. In every instance, however, the absolute monarchy, having faltered, reestablished state power by sharing responsibility henceforth with the people.8 In spite of changes in social conditions so extensive as to warrant diminution of power, absolute monarchy continued its constitutional authoritarianism until its disappearance in the twentieth century. World War I disrupted the legal equilibrium that had protected it, deciding in the affirmative the question of whether the king should conform to the constitution. Sovereigns of states with a strong authoritarian tradition refused to be elevated into limbo above the law like the puppets on the British throne. The kings of Prussia and after 1905 the czar interfered openly in political conflicts ; their less confident colleagues did so in secret or by indirection. Royal political action had importance only as one indicator among many of the relative strength of absolutist tradition and of liberal beliefs and practices. The public generally accepted the right of the ruler to exercise an absolute veto over legislation. Depending upon whether a unicameral or a bicameral legislature obtained, conditions specifically named the ruler one of the two or three 35

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institutions sharing legislative authority. In keeping with monarchical tradition and fulfilling a need, he received the power of pardon. Part of royal prestige derived from the practice of equity in cases where the judgment of the law seemed unduly harsh or where there had been a change in circumstances—true repentance, for example. Because it was useful to royalty and beneficial to society, constitutions retained the ideal of the king as God's viceregent on earth, who occasionally performs miracles, who forgives, who dispenses Grace to unworthy and sinful Man. Article 14 of the French Charter of June 4, 1814, succinctly stated the most important of the ruler's powers: The King is the supreme head of all the state, commands the land and sea forces, declares war, makes treaties of peace, alliance and commerce, appoints to all places of public administration, and makes the necessary regulations and ordinances for the execution of the laws and the security of the state.9

Louis Napoleon's constitution of 1852 copied the words almost exactly, and every constitution irrespective of national origin included stipulations to the same effect. It is later shown that other agents frequently emerged to counter the power; a king, however, who appointed all the army and navy officers of significant rank and all the important administrative officials could wield great influence, even though required to share authority with ministers appointed by himself. If on occasion he felt justified and safe in doing so, he could interpret unilaterally the constitution and the laws, and issue "regulations and ordinances for the execution of the laws and the security of the state." Few sovereigns dared to assume such extensive authority, but King William I of Prussia did so during the Constitutional Conflict of the early 1860's, as did Nicholas II from 1906 until the loss of his throne in 1917. In addition the czar succeeded in reserving to himself the control of foreign affairs, the military, and public finance—prerogatives associated with the earliest stages of constitutional government. The czar required the army to take an oath of loyalty to himself rather than to the constitution or to the state, an anachronism in which the king of Prussia also persisted (Art. 108).10 As long as the sovereign could rely upon the personal fealty of the military, the most significant institutional support of rule by divine right, he dared to interpret the constitution in his own favor. Ministers served as intermediaries between the ruler and his people. Analysis of the ministerial role reveals the extent to which a government remained absolutistic, or the extent to which it ac36

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knowledged changed social conditions requiring public participation in state affairs. According to the absolutistic model the sovereign personally decided issues worthy of his attention by ordering ministers to submit all such matters to him in writing with full documentation. Before reaching a decision he might at his discretion consult orally or in writing with any minister or with other persons. Critics like Baron vom Stein complained that this method allowed the king's private secretaries an excessive influence; for although these secretaries argued that being merely private attendants and of low social rank they could not and would not influence action, their constant presence with the ruler gave them an opportunity to offer a final word.11 Prussian reformers of the SteinHardenberg period denounced this system as irresponsible, as did Russian critics after 1905 under similar circumstances. These reformers demanded that ministers be enabled to fulfill their responsibility toward both ruler and public. Baron vom Stein claimed that ministers—aristocratic by origin, trained to be leaders, independent in social position, possessing wide contacts, and conscious of their responsibility for the welfare of all classes and of the entire state—represented the people. He asked that the king be required to preside over a council of ministers, where after due discussion a vote be taken. Although the vote would not bind the ruler, Stein expected the discussion to guide the sovereign's action. Absolute monarchs distrusted the proposal as an excessive curb upon their responsibility. Where the king held primary executive authority the problem of how to relate ruler and ministers never received a solution, and ministers continued to be in part royal official and in part executive with political responsibility.12 Contrasted with ruling aus dem Kabinette by the use of private secretaries, regular consultation with individual ministers marked one step toward responsible government. As long as the king appointed and dismissed ministers at will and avoided facing them as a collegiate body, however, he could protect his personal power. Prior to the introduction of written constitutions, absolute monarchs refused to allow one minister to rank first and to act as intermediary between ruler and other ministers. Although appointed chancellor, Hardenberg in Prussia could not make the role effective, and Emperor Francis II of Austria played Metternich against Minister Kolowrat. Various Russian ministers tried to gain the power if not the title of prime minister, but prior to 1905 never with success; even under the constitution they did so with not much more effect.13 Napoleon III, a plebiscitary 37

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sovereign, adopted the custom of legitimate rulers; and the existence of a constitution did not change the practice in Prussia, where the ministry consisted of equals, one of whom was designated minister-president to preside over meetings. The king dismissed individual ministers while retaining others, and he consulted at will with individual ministers and with outsiders. Bismarck as minister-president complained constantly and bitterly of lack of authority over his colleagues and sought in vain to acquire the power of prime minister. When the imperial constitution was drafted, he arranged that only one executive official, the chancellor, should be declared responsible and that secretaries of state, singly responsible to the chancellor, should direct executive departments customarily headed by ministers. In short, Bismarck introduced between himself, as chancellor, and the secretaries of state the same relationship that absolute monarchs had with ministers. Written constitutions normally contained the assurance that "the ministers are responsible." This brief statement was intentionally vague, and experience during the century, except in the Third French Republic and the small states of northwestern Europe, did not clarify its meaning. If the sovereign expected to preserve power through the ministers, he interpreted the clause as holding ministers responsible to him. The Bourbons appointed and dismissed ministers at will, and they conferred with the ministry as a whole, consulted individual ministers, or settled problems alone as they saw fit. The ministry met regularly, but it had no unity, no formal organization or agenda. Louis Philippe preserved these conditions by selecting adaptable ministers; if forced to appoint a strong minister-president like Thiers, he intrigued with other ministers to undermine the unity of the Cabinet. Since every minister with political aspirations endeavored to enhance his individual position, Louis Philippe found ready allies in preventing the development of cabinet responsibility. During his reign, in contrast with the practice under the Restoration, ministers were chosen predominantly from those with political experience in parliament, in most cases in the Chamber of Deputies. Technicians from the House of Peers or from the bureaucracy usually occupied the specialized ministries— Justice, War and Navy, Education, and Commerce; political leaders from the Chamber of Deputies almost monopolized the political portfolios—Foreign Affairs, Internal Affairs, Public Works, and to a less extent, Finance. The absence of clear distinction between the ministry's authority and the king's power left decision in governmental affairs to the play of personalities. In some instances the 38

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minister-president for a time gained a dominant position; in most cases the king won by pressure and intrigue. Failure on the part of ministers and king to clarify the zone of undefined responsibility contributed to the uncertainties and dissatisfaction that lost the Orleanist ruler his throne.14 The English practice whereby ministers, although appointed by the king, became responsible to Parliament failed, except in Republican France and certain advanced small states, to gain approval on the Continent even from most liberals. Continental experts in parliamentary procedure and jurisprudence like Rudolph von Gneist never understood the essential role of cabinet responsibility. When conservative defenders of absolutism accused critics of wishing to introduce ministerial responsibility to parliament, liberals protested their devotion to existing practice: they tried to avoid placing the sovereign on a par with the British Crown and advocated that he share governmental responsibility with his ministers. Both ruler and public expected the sovereign to wield the extensive powers associated with tradition and reasons of state. Both wished the ruler and the people's representatives assembled in parliament to cooperate for the welfare of all. Napoleon III introduced the system in the 1860's, acting in response to need as Prussia had done in 1849 and as Austria and Russia did subsequently. The fact that ministers, in the words of the Prussian constitution, assumed responsibility for all governmental acts of the king by their power to countersign all measures (Art. 44) created a relationship that might or might not increase ministerial responsibility.15 Circumstances and especially the character of the ruler determined the outcome. If, as in Prussia and in the German Empire, the ruler determined to safeguard his authority, he could do so; if he lacked determination and in addition, as in Austria, faced the difficulties of nationality conflict, he might be forced to retain more authority than he desired. In the polyglot state of Austria constant physical violence in the parliamentary body necessitated governing under the emergency clause of the constitution. Standard practice in most states became known as constitutional monarchism, best exemplified by the authoritarian regime in Prussia and in the German Empire. It meant a strong executive responsible to the ruler and indirectly to parliament, an executive in a position to reconcile absolutism with popular representation and at the same time to play one against the other; it meant an executive not entirely dependent upon either ruler or parliament, but more dependent upon the appointing ruler than upon the checking and 39

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collaborating assembly, and in specific issues able to concede to one or the other without allowing precedent to develop in favor of either royal or parliamentary domination.16 An effective system of government for contemporary society, it also developed in practice in states where the ministry owed nominal responsibility to parliament. In Italy and in Spain after 1873 the ministry, appointed by the king, required the support of a majority in parliament, and politicians soon learned as had France under Louis Philippe and Napoleon III that majorities could be arranged. The centralized system of provincial and local government placed at the disposal of the ministers a machine for winning elections. In these poor countries, where governmental favor could mean to a community the difference between stagnation and a modicum of prosperity, vigorous use of the spoils system brought political reward. Critics condemned the practice of ministerial autocracy; conservatives regretted the loss of royal power; and in fact the system had all the disadvantages of authoritarianism with none of the advantages. Whereas an absolute ruler might attempt to develop the resources of his country, ministerial despots concentrated upon retaining power to exploit the country. In this de facto constitutional ministerialism, the monarch became a lesser figure and the parliament a travesty of itself. By 1914 in no major European state, except possibly France, had the public gained control of the executive and forced it to operate in the interests of true popular government. No public except the French had acquired an opportunity for its representatives to obtain experience in execution of law or policy. None put forward a clear, universal demand for the executive to be responsible exclusively to the representative assembly. In this respect Russia after 1905 did not lag far behind states that had had constitutions for several decades, and the onslaughts made against the Third French Republic by Boulanger, the anti-Dreyfusards, and others indicate that powerful supporters of constitutional monarchism were present in the land of liberty. In all states the psychology of absolutism persisted, evident in many aspects of the position and power of the executive. Princely education did not keep pace with the needs implicit within the expansion of governmental responsibility at the center. Rulers have rarely been proficient in public finance, and by the nineteenth century they found themselves dependent upon experts. Louis Philippe ranked high as a business man, and Louis Napoleon had studied 40

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economics in a superficial way; but no legitimate sovereign tried to master the subject. Princes continued to concentrate upon the two areas of government that by tradition and frequently by training appealed to them most, foreign affairs and the military; and domestic unrest in the nineteenth century required that they also concern themselves with the organization of the police. Naval affairs aroused royal participation, although no ruler achieved in this activity the technical proficiency he exercised upon the army. Rulers might possess some knowledge with which to judge the acts of a minister of agriculture, but they could not evaluate acts dealing with trade, manufacture, or banking in a modern industrial economy. Whether absolute or constitutional, they could wield little influence over the Ministry of Trade and Industry, first established in Prussia, for example, as early as 1817. Ability to designate routes for new railroads qualified the monarch in no sense to decide engineering questions about construction and management of the means of transportation. Although Napoleon III participated in planning the modernization of Paris, he lacked the time, inclination, and knowledge necessary to follow the details of Baron d'Haussmann's financial measures for the work. Problems of social legislation and of labor similarly lay outside the range of royal interest and comprehension. Like the members of the upper classes, who had no such problems among themselves, nineteenth-century rulers regarded social matters as being less within the province of legislative reform than within that of police administration. Education interested them sporadically, but under absolutism popular education had been insignificant, and later most aspects of educational policy escaped royal concern. Although princes had professors as tutors and occasionally attended lectures at the university for a few semesters, none had experienced fully the university discipline. The Church had served traditionally as the important instrument for training the masses in behalf of absolutism and privilege, and rulers interested themselves in continued aid from its hierarchy to inculcate political and social beliefs. Nonetheless the Church and religion steadily lost influence, and no amount of regal piety and concern for the piety and docility of others compensated for inability to keep abreast of intellectual, technical, economic, and social transformation. Absolutism could not compass the diverse, complex, and rapidly changing interests of society; the monarch no longer could maintain close relations with all influential persons and groups. Under constitutional government ministers like monarchs pre41

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served habits from absolutism. In France, Italy, and to a lesser extent in Spain they adapted to popular government far better than in the states of central and eastern Europe; but everywhere they inclined toward authoritarian procedures. Every state had its scandal of the attempt to settle political disputes by duel. The presence of nobles in ministerial posts, especially in countries recently under absolutistic government, made probable the transfer of aristocratic conduct to the political relations of constitutionalism.17 Bismarck never overcame his feeling of superiority over political colleagues, and like a Junker he quarreled with them and challenged them to duels. The Russian ministers after 1905 used police to prohibit the committees of the Duma from hearing "outside persons," among them experts whose advice the committees required in drafting bills.18 Those promoted to ministerial post from the bureaucracy, a favorite source of political talent in an authoritarian state, proved especially deficient in appropriate public conduct. The Austrian official Kleinwachter has analyzed their "pitiful" situation as follows: A life passed in administrative service with its compulsion to adapt to alien views, to overcome obstacles not by struggle but by astute circumvention, forms character largely lacking those qualities that are prerequisites for success in the ruder battle of politics. . . . Accustomed to more or less quiet specialized work, burdened with responsibility within the bureaucracy but always protected against the public by the Minister, an official finds it difficult suddenly to work under the public eye.

In these conditions, Kleinwachter went on, his thinking and acting become confused and indecisive. Furthermore, he noted, as minister the official must completely revise his perspective: accustomed to the role of expert, he must not merely consider "the entire area of his special responsibility but he must also see it as part of the entire administration and this again as part of the entire policy of the state." Most officials upon becoming ministers, he concluded, were not able to compass this intellectual growth, but continued to work as officials rather than to become ministers.19 They drowned in paper. In trying to attend to everything they slowed or stalled the entire machinery of administration. Often they failed in parliamentary debate. "I have known ministers of outstanding special and general knowledge," Kleinwachter wrote, "who in parliament cut a lamentable figure; any first-rate political agitator from the provinces surpassed them enormously in the technique of handling large numbers of people." 20 42

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German officials and officers showed more adaptability to the post of minister or secretary of state than did the Austrians; they delegated responsibility to subordinates, and they had courage in addressing the Reichstag and the public. Their speeches, however, frequently became revelations of superior knowledge rather than means of persuasion, and generals in charge of military budgets appeared to command rather than to explain. In Russia, with rare exceptions like Witte, ministers ran true to form ; like other "superlative clerks" elevated to a ministry they knew one special area of administration and lacked feeling for national life as a whole. When the Russian official Kuropatkin became minister of war in the 1890's, he opposed industrialization of the country by arguing to the czar that excessive industrial development led to wars by forcing governments to compete for markets.21 Once social, economic, political, and intellectual change began, orderly procedure demanded a framework of institutions different from that under absolutism. The people insisted upon supplementing the monarch's authority with bodies popularly elected at short, regular intervals, thus creating a new relation between government and society. The legislature was the institution expressly intended to translate the changed distribution of social power into political power. During the entire century states experimented with forms of legislative bodies, and since pressure from forces demanding institutional reform proved too great to be indefinitely blocked and the Old Regime remained sufficiently strong to hinder reform, the struggle for legislative institutions clearly reflected the instability of social relations. In every major country the legislative branch of government remained weak to the point of frustrating the hopes of at least a large minority of the population; in no country at the close of the century did the legislature rest securely in its existing structure and functions. Monarchy, nobility, and bureaucracy endeavored to preserve their traditional authority within the new institutions of government, and their effort illumines the process of change. Although they never succeeded, rulers tried to discover a way to accommodate the expanding public interest in government without destroying absolutism. Their first step toward a legislative body frequently was to reconvoke the local and provincial Estates and endow them with the right, subject to the ultimate authority of the central government, to consider regional affairs ; however, landholding nobles dominated or even monopolized these local Estates, which at most represented the interests of the peasantry only by indirection and those of the 43

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growing urban population scarcely at all. The plan proved inadequate likewise in that it left a gap at the most critical point, namely at the center; for the king could not revive the Estates General, a body that absolutism operating through a centralized bureaucracy had largely destroyed and that in France the Revolution had replaced by an efficient competitor, the modern representative assembly. As the need for a central assembly became increasingly evident, monarchs introduced an advisory Council of State, composed of ministers, high officials, and other individuals appointed by and subject to dismissal by the sovereign and of such prestige that their presence in the council would recommend to the public the laws the ruler promulgated. Alexander I of Russia established a Council of State in 1801. Although Russian rulers used it or ignored it as they saw fit, and although in the last decades of autocratic rule Czar Nicholas II allowed it to degenerate into an amorphous gathering of elderly, often retired figures devoid of will, the institution continued to be used for approving legislation. The Council of State served as a transitional form between absolutism governing aus dem Kabinette and constitutional government with a legislative assembly.22 As soon as the ruler required more public revenue, he reluctantly took a further step in associating the public with him in responsibility: he convened in extraordinary session the members of the provincial Estates, or he added enough persons to the Council of State to make this body seem widely representative. This device satisfied neither believers in constitutional government nor proponents of the restoration of Estates. The members of the ad hoc body quickly demanded more power and frequent and regular convocation : the conservative aristocrats argued, as Montesquieu had done, that strengthening their own political power by restoring the Estates General would bolster monarchical rule; liberal bourgeois and nobles aimed by the reform to introduce a legislative assembly with constitutional authority. Everywhere except in MecklenburgSchwerin the demands sooner or later led toward the liberal objective. When the form of the legislative power had been determined, controversy centered upon the rights and composition of the new institution. Thus the conservative French constitution of June, 1814, reserved to the king the monopoly of initiating legislation and at the end of the century the Russian czar sought in vain to wield a like power. That the French constitution hedged the condition by allowing the assembly to petition for legislation merely 44

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reflected inexperience: constitutions soon accepted as inherent the right of the legislature to initiate bills. A second means of control appeared in the power to appoint the officers of the assembly. The French constitution of June, 1814, gave the king the right to choose the president of the Chamber of Deputies from a list of five members proposed by the Chamber (Art. 43). Napoleon III retained the power of appointment until 1869, and during the first years he found in the person of the Due de Moray a suave and efficient presiding officer to direct business in a course useful to the regime. Moray decided who should speak, he allowed or closed debate, selected committees, and generally maneuvered in a way impressive to inexperienced deputies. The Austrian political leaders of 1860-61, in drawing up the February Patent, discussed the issue of appointment at some length, using the characteristic arguments to be found on similar occasions in other countries. The Hungarian court chancellor, supported by three of the ministers, maintained that subject to imperial confirmation an elected house of deputies should choose by vote its own president. He believed that an appointed officer could not perform without the confidence of the deputies, whereas a man with that confidence would readily secure election. A majority of ministers regarded the question as purely practical: A chamber composed of politically experienced and well-known persons could be trusted with the free election of its president. Since the new lower house would be composed of "the most heterogeneous elements, of persons who do not know and understand each other, most of them without parliamentary experience and knowledge," it would not "choose fortunately." Use of elective procedure, the ministers said, would involve the choice of president in party politics, and the minority would immediately make difficulty for the new officer.23 Therefore the president should be appointed, and the Austrian constitution of 1861 contained a clause to this effect. Again the restriction did not endure; the significance of the issue soon proved to have been exaggerated, and the discussion only showed the ministers to be as ignorant as the deputies of the nature of popular assemblies. Lower houses, which from the beginning had had the right to decide their own organization and procedure, soon added that of selecting their presiding officer. Since royal appointment implied humiliating mistrust harmful to both executive and legislature, rulers learned to influence popular chambers in ways other than through nomination of their presidents. Napoleon III placed upon legislative power a restriction inherited 45

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from the first Napoleon. Not the ministers who executed the law, but the Council of State, appointed as were the ministers by the emperor, drafted and initiated bills and explained and defended them before the legislative body. The Legislative Corps discussed the measures and offered amendments. The procedure proved unworkable ; the middlemen, the councillors of state, had no responsibility for execution and either lacked practical information about affairs or took their duties lightly. Although reducing the prestige and influence of the legislature in favor of the executive, the system resulted in legislation that often proved to be badly drafted and contrary to the ministers' desires and needs. It was rarely tried elsewhere, and in the second half of his reign Napoleon III himself reverted to standard practice, in which ministers as well as legislators discussed bills in session. Once a legislative assembly came into being its existence encouraged close relations with the ministers, whether for conflict or for cooperation. During the trial-and-error period of parliamentary life sovereigns attempted to deny the public when possible any knowledge of parliamentary deliberation. According to early constitutions either debates occurred exclusively in closed meeting, or a handful of deputies (five members according to the French Charter of June, 1814) could require that a matter be discussed in executive, that is, secret, session. This preservation of popular ignorance about public matters helped the monarch to retain power. Minutes of proceedings, although kept, were not published, and in Restoration France the government sharply censored newspapers that reported the activity of the Assembly. When Louis Kossuth in the late 1830's circulated handwritten reports of the discussion in the Hungarian Tables, he provoked a storm that created his reputation as a liberal. In fact, expectation that the public would be and should be interested in the proceedings of parliament at first appeared a startling innovation alike to monarchs, deputies, and public. Newspapers lost readers through printing reports of debates. Deputies had to learn from experience that they needed to inform the electorate and that they could arouse voters' interest; but the extent of public interest proved to be dependent upon the nature of the society. In this regard the pattern of experience in France during the Restoration recurred in Russia after the revolution of 1905. Royal authority to convene, adjourn, and dissolve the legislative body sounded more impressive in the constitution than it became in reality. Occasionally its exercise subjected the assembly to royal purpose; often the power meant little to the ruler, since other 46

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constitutional clauses stipulated that parliament could not be adjourned beyond a brief period and that in case of dissolution new elections had to be called within a limited time. These clauses, which transferred the conflict from parliament to the electorate, required the monarch inclined toward exercising arbitrary power of adjournment or dissolution to have a strong will and to face possible defeat. Charles X lost his throne in 1830 partially because he abused his authority to dissolve the parliament; whereas King William I and Czar Nicholas II, the one during the constitutional conflict in Prussia in the early 1860's, the other after the introduction of the constitution in 1905, dissolved obstreperous houses and temporarily gained their ends. Such measures were possible in countries relatively unacquainted with constitutional government. In Austria during the last decades of Habsburg rule, the emperor against his will adjourned the Reichsrat and governed under the emergency clause of the constitution because the lower house could not curb its turmoil. In time monarchs learned a subtler technique for gaining their ends than collision with the elected assembly. A written constitution customarily consists of general principles, which in time require interpretation. Since European states did not introduce a system of judicial review as known in the United States, interpretation of clauses depended upon the relative power and determination of ruler and legislature, or of ruler and that branch of the legislature willing to oppose the royal will, usually the lower, popular house. One occasion for clash, that provided by the statement "The ministers are responsible," has been discussed; other examples are as numerous as the subjects for which executive and legislature shared authority. The German Confederation and its member states had constitutions whose terms especially aroused dispute.24 As recognition of the essential participation of the people in the wars against Napoleon, the rulers, in the constitution of 1815, included Article 13: "In all states of the Confederation an Estates constitution {landständische Verfassung) shall be established." Friedrich von Gentz, Metternich's adviser and publicist, distinguished between a constitution "based upon representation by Estates" as under the Old Regime and one "based upon individual representation" as in the House of Commons in England. He thought that the Continent should adopt the Estates form.25 Several German princes, notably those of Bavaria, Württemberg, and Baden in 1818-19, introduced written constitutions in which they attempted to combine features of both types of representation, approving an upper house for the 47

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nobility and other elite and a lower house of representatives elected on a modified Estates basis but sitting and voting in common. In 1820 the princes of the German Diet accepted a formula based upon the example of the South German constitutions: "It is left to the sovereign princes of the States of the Confederation to constitute (ordnen) the internal affairs of their country with consideration of the rights of the formerly existing legal Estates and of the present conditions" (Art. 55). However, the princes further declared (Art. 57) that "the entire state authority must remain united in the hands of the supreme head of the state, and the sovereign with an Estates constitution can be bound to cooperate with the Estates only in the exercise of certain rights." The rulers did not dare entirely to prohibit cooperation in government by a representative body, since several of them recognized in constitutional government a device for molding into a unitary state the disparate elements acquired in the revolutionary and Napoleonic periods. They encouraged one another to limit assemblies to exercise of only a few rights, particularly control over public finance, and they invoked as justification their princely obligations to the German constitution of 1815. The Vienna Agreement of 1820 declared that a ruler's duties to the Confederation could not be restricted by his Estates constitution (Art. 58), and it further enjoined that if necessary to preserve peace and order in Germany (Art. 59), publicity about the deliberations of the Estates should be curtailed or prohibited; that is, the public should be left uninformed regarding public affairs. No criticism of the German Confederation would be tolerated. In 1832 the princes reiterated their demands for conformity, obedience, and silence; and two years later they agreed upon principles for dealing with legislatures, or in their terminology, Estates.26 Without the approval of the ruler, Estates were not permitted to revise or annul their own decisions or those of earlier Estates accepted by the sovereign. Thus the prince became assured of the continued effectiveness of laws however the attitude of the legislature might change. Through his power to veto he could preserve indefinitely the legal and institutional status quo, and the princes agreed that they would allow no reduction in their own power (Art. 15). They declared their right to promulgate decrees "in conformity with the constitution" and to prevent the courts from transgressing their competence in opposing the decrees. They also declared their right to issue decrees even if the Estates opposed them "so long as the Estates' complaints are not accepted as constitu48

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tional." "In general," they went on, "the protests of the Estates cannot obstruct the action of the government; these protests must await settlement by legal means" (Art. 16). In other words, the prince could reject any protests; by his veto power over legislation he could block any measure of the Estates aimed to quiet these protests; and by prohibiting all publicity he could prevent the Estates from gaining popular support. The princes showed particular concern over the question of public finance, the most sensitive issue between them and the Estates. How should they handle an uncooperative legislature? First they prohibited criticism by the Estates and required them to approve payment of dues to the Confederation. Next they repeated the statement of 1832 that the Estates might not make their grant of the necessary taxes for the conduct of government, both by the Confederation and by the local prince, dependent upon extension of the Estates' authority and other reforms. To set such conditions could be construed as incitement to the disturbance of peace and order and a violation of law, justifying suppression by the prince and, if necessary, by other members of the Confederation. Further, even if the Estates possessed the right to approve taxes, they did not have the authority to allocate the sums in the budget for specific expenditures (Art. 20). The prince and his government could shift funds about and thereby use them strategically to preserve or enhance their own power. If the Estates rejected a budget, the issue went before a board of arbitration composed of individuals from other states (Arts. 3-13); in the meantime the government would continue to collect and expend existing taxes (Art. 21). Since the princes selected all members of an original panel of arbitrators, a ruler in conflict with his Estates could be fairly certain of the ultimate decision; that in a specific case the prince chose one-half the arbitrators from this original panel and the Estates chose onehalf paid lip service to an objectivity that did not exist (Arts. 4-5). Princes and their advisers continued to devise ways of harmonizing constitutional government with absolutism. Sheltered by Austria and Prussia, they experimented with means to control legislatures under the constitution, or at least to maintain the existing distribution of power. The experience of the German states before 1848 constituted a practical course in political science, and during subsequent years the executive branch of government in Prussia, Austria, Russia, and elsewhere drew upon this fund of knowledge. An example may be taken from the history of Prussia.27 The Prussian constitution contained a number of clauses that appeared 49

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liberal—for example, a guarantee of civil rights—but received no implementing legislation. A major conflict arose over the failure to define the procedure to be followed in the event that ruler and legislature disagreed over implementation and refused to compromise. In the early 1860's the king and Bismarck clashed with the Prussian lower House over a financial bill to cover the cost of military reforms demanded by the king. The upper house supported the king; the lower house, after temporarily approving the budget increase during a time of indecision, opposed the request. In one clause the constitution provided for annual budgets; but in another clause it declared that a law must be approved by the king and by both houses of the legislature. Bismarck and the king now maintained that a "gap" existed in the constitution, and "since the state cannot stand still" (Bismarck), the existing budget remained in effect in the emergency. The lower house declared the ministry's act to be in violation of the clause stipulating the passage of annual budgets; the ministry cited the clause requiring agreement of ruler and both houses and denied the right of the lower house to block essential legislation. In the ensuing struggle the king and his ministers referred to another clause found not only in the Prussian constitution but in that of other states, and reading as follows: "The existing taxes and duties shall continue to be raised and all terms of existing laws and ordinances which are not contrary to the present constitution remain in force until they are changed by law" (Art. 109). This clause could be and was interpreted as restricting the authority of the legislature over taxation; for unless changed by law the current tax structure would be prolonged and funds would be made available to the ministries regardless of whether an annual budget reached acceptance. The question of disposal of incoming revenue also arose. Should the funds lie idle until the contestants agreed on a budget? Or should the government use funds to cover current expenses? Some legal opinion held that in the event of a dispute over the meaning of the constitution, or in the event of a "gap" in the constitution, the power situation prior to the constitution obtained, the plenitudo potestatis of the king came once more into force, and the royal will prevailed. Whether this view or Bismarck's blunter assertion that "The state cannot stand still" received support became less important at the time than the question of which side wielded the greater physical power. With a docile bureaucracy and a loyal army the king and Bismarck held the trumps. In Denmark a similar conflict endured for more than a decade. In both states the 50

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effects so harmed the two sides to the struggle that a similar clash never recurred; the state developed ways of resolving a crisis through electoral campaigns, political bargaining, compromise—the usual methods of a government in which the public participates through elected representatives. Other terms written into new constitutions suffered from similar obscurity or ambiguity. Constitutions made no provision for the possibility that the legislature might not support ministers approved by the sovereign. They frequently stipulated two ways of eliminating ministers : royal dismissal and impeachment for treason or peculation (French Charter of June, 1814, Art. 56). The Prussian constitution of 1850 added a third—violation of the constitution (Art. 61). The thinking behind these clauses extended little beyond the experience of the Old Regime, when a monarch dismissed and tried a minister for misconduct. Constitutions did not anticipate political disagreement, which inevitably arose with introduction into the governmental process of popularly elected legislatures ; and they referred only to crimes, not to honest differences of opinion. They contained no reference to political parties or to other means of handling inevitable political controversy. In this sense constitutions became out-of-date almost as soon as they were drafted, and no subsequent revision recognized related instruments of political expression for popular government. Ministers learned that in order to carry out a program they needed support within the legislature, and they tried various means of creating a majority ; but up to 1914, in many European states the executive agents of the king depended to a large extent upon royal approval or upon their own ability to obtain a working majority by manipulating elections and trading among political parties. Monarchs and their supporters thus succeeded in arresting the tendency inherent in constitutional government for the executive to become increasingly dependent upon the peoples' elected representatives in the legislative branch. Even though ministers frequently served as regularly elected members of the legislature, they owed their prime allegiance to the king rather than to the legislature, and they did not develop a role as head of a party commanding a responsible majority in the popular assembly. Ministers practiced the doctrine of separation of powers because it fitted the reality of authoritarian rule ; yet they governed most effectively and easily when they had the support of the legislature. In this situation lay the greatest potential threat to constitutional monarchism and the most promising prospect of popular self-government—the form of government that as their interests 51

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developed most groups in society came to favor. The Third French Republic set no very inspiring example toward achieving this popular government after 1870. Liberal constitutions, with one possible exception, accepted conservative standards for the relationship between executive and legislature. Inclusion of the suspensive veto in the constitution of the Frankfurt Parliament of 1849 can scarcely be considered a significant improvement, and the Prussian constitutional proposal of 1848 and that of the Kremsier Assembly (1849) in Austria offered nothing new. The possible exception, the French constitution of November, 1848, invested final authority in a unicameral legislature. The president of the Republic, who exercised the executive power, had the usual responsibility pertaining to this branch of government under a constitution, except that he could not command the armed forces in person, nor could he declare war or ratify treaties without the consent of the Assembly. The constitution curtailed his right of pardon and allowed him only a suspensive veto. If the president did not promulgate laws within three days or one month, depending upon the nature of the law, the president of the Assembly acted in his stead. Article 68 of the constitution of 1848 sought to protect the Assembly against encroachment from the executive. ART. 68. . . . Every measure by which the President of the Republic dissolves the National Assembly, prorogues it, or obstructs the exercise of its commission, constitutes the crime of high treason. By this act alone, the President is stripped of his functions; the citizens are required to refuse him obedience; the executive power passes ipso facto to the National Assembly. The judges of the high court of justice meet immediately upon pain of forfeiture: they convoke the jurors in the place that they designate, in order to proceed to the trial of the President and his accomplices; they themselves designate the public officers who shall be charged with performing the functions of the public ministry. 28

Despite mistrust of the executive, overconfidence in the political judgment of the people misled the constituent assembly into including a clause in the constitution providing for popular election of the president. This stipulation enabled Louis Napoleon to abolish the Republic in favor of a dictatorship. Since both president and assembly received sanction from the same source, in the event of disagreement the president could claim that he expressed the will of the people as much as or more than the assembly. Like constitutions in monarchies, the French document set out to restrict executive authority; but since it had to do with an elected executive and not with a hereditary monarch, it could extend control over the execu52

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tive much farther than could a state like Prussia. It failed to overcome the limitations of continental thinking and experience about the relationship between executive and legislative in that like other constitutions it offered no positive means or method of assuring cooperation between the two branches of government. Except for the laws erecting a system of ministerial responsibility to parliament under the Third French Republic, however, the 1848 document in France presented the most popularly responsible constitution of the century. When during World War I Max Weber proposed reform of central government, he substituted a popularly elected president for the emperor, leaving to the president most of the imperial powers, and he made the ministers responsible to a parliament whose authority was to be considerably less than that of the Reichstag.29 In his thinking Weber remained caught within the authoritarian framework of German constitutional experience ; although he knew Great Britain and the United States from personal experience as well as from studies of their governments, he did not perceive the essential importance of finding a way to respect the responsibility of both executive and legislature while bringing the two institutions into constructive working relationship. The fact that Weber ranked as one of Europe's most astute political analysts indicates how limited was continental understanding of this basic question. The composition of the legislative body depended upon three factors: the power of the monarch; the strength of the upper classes of the old society ; and the degree of pressure from rising social groups. Legal conditions for election as deputy pertain to the present discussion ; the effect of suffrage requirements upon choice is treated in a later chapter. The lower house proved in some respects simpler to constitute than the upper house and in other respects more difficult. It represented numbers, and although the size of the electorate varied according to time and circumstances from a few thousands to several millions, the lower house came to be regarded as intrinsically the more popular institution. It was necessary that the lower house consist of enough deputies to impress the public,30 and the representative purpose made its composition subject to changes within the society—changes that absolutism found impossible to control. Once the government accepted the principle of representation, eligibility for election enabled new social forces to elect representatives by modifying a few details of the law. A high property qualification for eligibility usually gave way to a low one or to none ; age requirement ranged from twenty-one 53

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years to forty years ; citizenship in good standing, the right to vote, and sometimes eligibility for local office completed the conditions. After the property qualification was sharply reduced, the other terms proved widely possible to meet. The legal requirements for a deputy to serve without compensation (France under Napoleon III offered the one important exception) until at the end of the century (Italy, 1912 ; Germany, 1906, as indemnity for expenses), 31 survived from the practices of Old Regime Estates and agreed with the liberal idea of gratuitous public service. This stipulation made it difficult for the poor, whether peasants, workers, or petty bourgeois and artisans, to be deputies. When groups gained the right to organize, as did the workers, for example, they soon found means to overcome the handicap. The popular nature of the lower house implied the right of voters to cast ballots for candidates. Although, as is shown in a later chapter, elections were frequently indirect, that is, in two stages—voters cast ballots for electors in the first stage and electors selected deputies in the second stage—the election itself aimed specifically at choosing deputies. Under the February Patent of 1861-65 and the constitutional laws of 1867, Austria empowered the members of each of the curials in the provincial elected Landtage to choose from their midst deputies to the lower house of the central parliament, the Reichsrat.32 The system proved unnecessarily cumbersome and gave a disproportionate, disruptive amount of political influence in central affairs to Landtag members. Austria abolished it in 1873 in favor of direct election of Reichsrat representatives. A third condition for eligibility, one often discussed and occasionally tried, occurred in the limiting of the right to serve as deputy to residents of the electoral district. Proponents argued that regional and local interests differed greatly, that a deputy should be acquainted with his constituency at first hand, that the constituency would consider itself duly represented only if it chose a local citizen. Governments opposed restriction on grounds that it would prevent them from finding seats for important supporters. They also feared the effects of the disparity between the large number of deputies and the small number of individuals in the entire state competent to serve in parliament. Experience soon indicated that in affecting the choice of deputy conditions of eligibility ranked in importance below those of franchise. Liberals and democrats advocating universal suffrage were 54

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proved to be inaccurate in their prediction that leaders from business, education, and the professions would be elected to political leadership.33 As the conservative agrarians knew, legal restrictions upon suffrage assisted and often made possible the election of a candidate who otherwise would not have gained victory. Since extensive legal limitations upon candidacy as such would have conveyed a sense of caste or materialism, government and society preferred to use other methods for gaining power in an elected parliament. Constitutions usually restricted the legislative authority ; but they left the composition of the membership open, in many countries allowing civil servants to serve as deputies. Composition of the upper house became the object of far more experimentation than that of its lower companion. In the United States the upper house is ordinarily considered similar to the lower, except that it is intended to be more stable and conservative and to serve as a brake upon the popular branch. Among the major states on the Continent, France under the Third French Republic offered the sole example of this type, and the French Senate itself showed certain characteristics of upper houses elsewhere. Membership of upper chambers assured to the social groups of the Old Regime—the nobility, churchmen, bureaucracy, the intellectual and aesthetically creative elements—a continuing opportunity to influence public life. Although representatives from the new industrial society supplemented the traditional elite, the upper houses, intended as bulwarks against the mobile, disruptive forces of the lower chambers, professed to be representative in the sense of the Old Regime; that is, the resident large landowner claimed to represent the peasantry and even the inhabitants of neighboring small towns because his interests in agriculture and in local culture could be considered parallel with theirs. The corporative representation of the Old Regime rather than the individualistic representation of the nineteenth century characterized the chambers of peers. Precedent existed in the First Estate, or in the First and Second Estates where clergy and nobility organized in separate bodies; in the Council of State; and in Germany, in the Diet of the Confederation of 1815. Many of the members and many of the functions of these former bodies found a place in the chambers of peers, and the establishment of the latter seemed in keeping with tradition and social reality. Constitutions rarely lacked provision for an upper house of this kind; it preserved as much as seemed possible the political role of the former elite, and therewith the structure of the old society, through an institution freed from the vulgar limitations 55

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of popular elections. The monarch sustained his power by enabling traditional supporters, along with others added at royal discretion, to serve in the new institution. A few examples may indicate the range of experience employed to erect an upper house that would reflect the composition of the changing social structure.34 The Belgian constitution (1831), considered the most liberal in Europe, created (Art. 53) a senate of persons directly elected by the voters, in addition to two to four members elected by each of the provincial councils, the number to depend upon the number of inhabitants in a province. The Netherlands constitution (1887) provided for election of senators by provincial Estates (Art. 82). According to the Norwegian constitution (1814), the entire legislative body (the Storthing) chose onefourth of its members to constitute an upper house, the remaining members forming a lower house (Art. 73). The Third French Republic selected senators by indirect vote. Each department chose from one to five senators through an electoral body composed of the deputies to the Chamber, the members of the General Council of the department and of the Council of the Arrondissements, and delegates elected by each municipal council. The law of 1875 granted each municipality, irrespective of size, one vote in the departmental electoral college, a provision sponsored by the monarchists in order to mobilize the supposedly conservative villages and small towns against urban republicans. In support of their law the monarchists argued that each commune, or muncipality, formed a social group par excellence, that it was the oldest social unit and the only one in France retaining real autonomy. The Senate, they claimed, should represent these social groups as a counterbalance to the Chamber of Deputies, which represented individuals. In an endeavor to preserve at least a core of monarchists in the Senate, an act that Senator Scherer justified as protection against "the great evil," "the corruption" of the republican regime and universal suffrage, the law declared seventy-five senators selected by the current National Assembly to be immovable.35 When the republicans consolidated their power, except for abolishing life membership they retained the system; in a law of 1884, however, they mitigated the injustice by varying the number of votes in the senatorial electoral bodies in accordance with the size of the municipal councils. Eleven towns, excluding Paris, each with a population of more than 100,000 and with a total population of more than two millions, had 264 electoral votes; whereas 370 communes, each with less than one hundred inhabitants, had 370 elec56

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toral votes. Preponderance remained with rural areas and small towns, and the French Senate as the representative of the petite bourgeoisie wielded less power than the Chamber of Deputies but more than the upper chamber in any other state in Europe.36 During the Restoration, France had employed the most royalist of methods in selecting members of the upper chamber. Under the Charter of 1814 (Art. 27) the king could appoint individuals on a basis of hereditary tenure or for life and without numerical limit. Most constitutions set more specific conditions of selection.37 The Italian king was not limited as to the number of members he chose, but their tenure was only for life. The categories of eligible citizens listed in the Italian constitution included all the important persons in upper-class life, one of the categories being that of "Persons who by their services or eminent merit have done honor to the country" (Constitution of 1848, Art. 33). The Spanish constitution of 1876 defined three groups whose members were eligible to sit in the upper house : (1) those who were "senators in their own right," the sons of the king and the sons of the heir apparent upon reaching their majority, the archbishops, the grandees with a proved annual income of 60,000 pesetas derived from real property, the captains-general of the army and the admirals of the navy, and certain of the highest officials; (2) those who held lifetime appointments from the Crown, a list resembling that of Italy except that it imposed a property or a salary qualification; and (3) those "elected by the corporations of the state and by the larger taxpayers." The third category chose 180 senators as follows : the clergy of each of the nine archbishoprics chose one ; each of the six royal academies and each of the ten universities chose one ; the Economic Societies of the Friends of the Country selected five ; and electoral colleges in the provinces returned the other 150. The electoral college in each province consisted of "members of the provincial deputations, and of representatives chosen from among the municipal councillors and largest taxpayers of the several towns and municipal districts." 38 The conditions for selecting the Russian upper house, the Council of the Empire, which was the last in order of time to be established (1905), may seem more modern than those in other states. The clergy of the Greek Orthodox church could elect six members ; each provincial Zemstvo one ; the assemblies of the nobility eighteen ; the Imperial Academy of Science and the universities six ; the Council of Trade and Commerce, together with the committees of commerce and boards of trade, twelve. The czar reserved the right, however, 57

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to appoint to the Council of the Empire members equal in number to those elected. The presence of the clergy and of members of the noble assemblies at least assured him a voting majority, and the method of election enabled the government to arrange the return of other loyal absolutists.39 Enumeration of the categories of personnel in the monarchical upper houses should suffice to account for the ineffectiveness of these bodies. The Austrian Herrenhaus, for example, consisted in 1891 of 21 archdukes, 66 hereditary peers, and 125 members by life tenure. Among these 125 were 4 princes, 48 counts, 22 church dignitaries; the remaining 51 included barons, generals, bankers, professors, and lawyers.'40 At the time of the great debate over reform of the suffrage law (1906-7), Dr. Lecher, a deputy in the Austrian Reichsrat, deplored the condition of the Herrenhaus as one of decay, a waste of aristocratic talent and ability. He urged that the nobility be required to earn its place in the upper house by competing in public life. "Either the high aristocrats in the Upper House are political zeros, something that I will not assume, and deserve no political privilege," he asserted, "or they have political ability, and it is too bad to hide this talent under a bushel." Among the noble members he distinguished the group that opposed suffrage as such: "This is the group of wornout ministers and retired royal and imperial state saviors." These are people [he went on] who have a fine future behind them, who have long ago produced proof of incapacity, who in the enjoyment of very well-paid benefits recuperate from the damage which they have done the poor fatherland of Austria, who in narrating their great political deeds cannot praise enough what they were twenty years earlier, who only lie in wait until their successors, the active government, blunders, who regard every success of the government as a personal insult.

Dr. Lecher named the scholars and artists as another group. A scholar in Austria who avoids socialist theories and an artist who commits in public no "secessionist" act becomes a member of the Upper House, whether he wishes it or not, when he reaches the appropriate age. He acclimates himself to the Upper House. The honor of being in the Upper House is a manifestation of age, like bad teeth and a sluggish digestion. One sees these persons, who are otherwise accustomed to free flight into the empyrean of art and knowledge, sitting in the Upper House, mute, mute, with hunched shoulders, melancholy, astonished eyes like the eagles in the cage at

58

CENTRAL GOVERNMENT Schonbrunn. . . . Out of these three groups is formed the milieu in which swim like occasional drops of fat those few men who are close to active economic life and to real political life. I believe that it would not harm the Upper House if more of this type of practical individuals were to be brought in. . . .41

Improvement of membership in the upper house, he concluded, would be no less popular than suffrage reform. Dr. Lecher portrayed types that were in fact found in similar institutions in every European country. A high official in the Russian bureaucracy, V. I. Gurko, described such persons in the Russian Council of State.42 The Spanish upper house in 1890 contained 114 officials, not including the clergy, and hence depended upon the will of the ministry. The lower middle class and the workers and peasants had no representatives in this august body; active individuals in agriculture, industry, and commerce similarly remained absent. A well-informed critic called the Spanish upper house in 1913 "a useless wheel in the governmental machinery." 43 Not even the progenitor of all upper houses, the English House of Lords, escaped the decay that loss of direct responsibility to an electoral constituency entails. The old nobility especially appears to have outlived its usefulness for public leadership.44 The two houses usually held commensurate power; exceptions pertained to the minor matter of the right to initiate legislation, especially money bills (in Norway, Art. 76, and in the Netherlands, Art. 117, the entire right of initiative was restricted to the lower house) and to certain extraordinary functions. The upper house served as the high court of justice for "crimes of high treason and attempts upon the safety of the state" and in cases of impeachment of ministers.45 The distinctive character of the upper house as royal in its loyalty and conservative in its political orientation received emphasis from the monarch's authority in many countries to appoint the presiding officer. This vestige of the Old Regime contrasted, as noted above, with the power of the popularly elected lower house to choose its own officers. The right of appointment had largely a symbolic meaning, as the ruler did not need the maneuvers of a presiding officer to hold the devotion of the upper chamber. The Russian constitution contained two clauses, lacking in the constitutions of other states, which reveal cultural backwardness. Article 46 declared: "Laws enacted for a certain locality or for a certain part of the population are not repealed by new general laws unless such new laws specifically repeal them." The existence of such a provision tacitly acknowledged that enlightened despotism 59

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had not performed its usual role of unifying at least the institutions of a country, and that nationalism and liberalism thereby lacked a cultural basis for their leveling impact. Privilege in the social structure and regional differences in law and institutions persisted to such an extent that as late as 1906 the government did not introduce laws and institutions common to all. Peasant customary law in a society still overwhelmingly peasant had not disappeared in favor of the uniform application of written legal codes, and on a lesser scale distinctions amounting to privilege survived in many other social relations. The next clause, Article 47, similarly contradicted standards in other countries. It read: "Every law shall have force only for the future, except in the cases when it is stated in the law itself that it is retroactive, or that it is only a confirmation or explanation of the sense of a former law." The clause made it possible to preserve much of preconstitutional legislation, the foundation of Russia's version of the Old Regime; a conservative legislature could merely transform exceptions into a rule.46 In the above clauses Russia attempted to provide means for dealing with the complicated affairs of an empire. Germany and Austria faced similar problems, which they proposed to meet in part by extensive reform of governmental institutions. Russian leaders never thought of transforming their empire into a federation. Conditions in the other two empires aroused discussion of this possibility, and although the conceptions of federal organization as worked out in the United States remained alien to European experience and little known in Europe, the empires of Central Europe and the Confederation of Switzerland struggled with the question of how to adjust the governance of empire to the form of a modern centralized power like France. The constitution of the German Confederation of 1815 took the form of a permanent agreement or alliance intended "to serve the security and independence of Germany and peace and balance of power in Europe." It did not mention the welfare of the German people; rather it, as well as subsequent elaborations of its terms (1820, 1834), concentrated upon the two aspects of a common objective: how to defend the princely members against attack by one another and by foreign states and against attack from enemies within the states. Attempts to meet these two needs within the framework of a constitution intended to protect particularist sovereignty involved the members in a dilemma: only the rulers of Prussia and Austria could claim to be able to muster sufficient resources to defend their states without help from fellow princes, 60

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and they were exposed to revolutionary or at least critical attack from their own subjects or from Germans living in other states, as were the smaller German princes. If the princes did not sacrifice some of their sovereignty to the establishment of institutions for protection from enemies without and within the boundaries of the Confederation, they might lose their power. If they did make the sacrifice, they would no longer be sovereign in the customary sense of the term. Article 11 of the constitution of 1815 dealt with the matter of protection against other states, German or foreign. Its wording involved a deception. All members of the Confederation promise to protect entire Germany as well as each member state against attack and guarantee mutually all their possessions within the Confederation [not those outside]. In case of a war declared by the Confederation, no member may enter into unilateral negotiations with the enemy or conclude a truce or peace. The members reserve the right to make alliances of every kind; they promise, however, not to enter any alliance directed against the security of the Confederation or its members. The members promise not to go to war against each other or to pursue their disagreements with force, but to lay them before the Diet. This can decide whether to seek mediation by a committee. If this effort should fail and a court adjudication should be necessary, they agree to effect such through a well-ordered body (AustriigalInstanz) whose decision the warring parties must immediately accept.47

These fine phrases appeared acceptable as long as they had no effect; but the member rulers in straddling the issue solved no problems. For protection against foreign enemies they garrisoned several imperial fortresses—show places without strength—and after asserting the formal obligation of each member to protect the others against attack, like the League of Nations they left implementation to future Diets. If threatened or confronted by revolution within, a prince could appeal to the Diet for help, or if he were prevented from appealing, the Diet without formal request might intervene to protect him. To that end it could commission the prince's neighbors to go to his rescue, and it promised to arrange subsequently for payment of expenses (Arts. 26, 33, especially, of the Wiener Schluss-Akt, 1820). Since the members of the Confederation paid dues to the Diet as reluctantly as they assumed any other responsibilities, a ruler who aided a neighbor knew that he must bear the cost alone. Hence the princes undertook no task unless in 61

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their own interest, and fortunately for them all a time of peace prevailed until the wars of national unification. Aware that common language and culture enabled dissident elements in any one state to influence society in other states, the German rulers made feints at cooperative repression. The Diet approved the Carlsbad Decrees for curbing the press, political associations, and universities; but it set up inadequate machinery for enforcing the decrees, as no ruler wanted other rulers to interfere in his affairs. In 1834 the princes agreed that in the event of a difference in interpretation of a state constitution, the issue should be submitted for arbitration to a panel of individuals chosen from other states. If the parties rejected the panel's decision, the Diet could compel acceptance, an arrangement tantamount to inaction: rather than diminish their power voluntarily beforehand by agreeing to compulsory arbitration the princes preferred to run the risk of conflict with their subjects. To the question of defense against foreign enemies neither Metternich nor the Grandduke of Hesse (population in 1864: 853,000) knew the answer; for within the framework of the particularism of princely sovereignty the problem could not be solved. The German imperial constitution of 1871 afforded a succinct example of historicism. It preserved a superficial similarity to the constitution of the Confederation while transferring essential power to the central government. Hoping to avoid the use of the word "constitution," it euphemistically termed itself an "eternal alliance" among His Majesty the King of Prussia, His Majesty the King of Bavaria, His Majesty the King of Württemberg, and so on, "for the protection of the territory of the Empire and the rights of the same," and, almost an afterthought, "as well as for the promotion of the welfare of the German people." In keeping with its character as an alliance predominantly among princes, it omitted all reference to the rights of the German people but elaborated the terms of agreement in a wealth of detail ordinarily put into laws, executive documents, and treaties—matters regarding railroads, postal and telegraph services, taxation, marine and navigation and even military affairs. German princes transferred to the imperial government responsibility for defense, foreign affairs, trade, industry and banking, citizenship, migration, press and association, and certain other matters of nationwide significance. They accepted the addition of a Reichstag whose members would be elected on the basis of manhood suffrage, a certain number for each state according to population, but representing the entire nation rather than 62

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individual states. The "eternal alliance" retained the form of the Confederation Diet by erecting a Bundesrat, the most novel institution of government produced during a creative century. The constitution named the particular powers that pertained to the empire, leaving the reservoir of authority to the states, somewhat as in the United States. As in 1815 it recognized the difference in power through the allotment of votes in the Bundesrat: seventeen to Prussia, six to Bavaria, four each to Saxony and Württemberg, three each to Baden and Hesse, two to Mecklenburg-Schwerin, and one to each of the other members, no matter how small in size the territory might be. The princes and cities as signers of the "eternal alliance" appointed representatives to the Bundesrat. Not merely the method of selection but the requirement (Art. 6) that the vote of each member state be cast "as a unit" blunted any inclination to consider the Bundesrat a popular house. The power of Prussia as praesidium of the Bundesrat to decide cases of "difference of opinion" in this body "with respect to laws concerning the army, or navy, or the taxes specified in Art. 35" (to support the Reich government) "if such vote be in favor of the maintenance of existing arrangements" confirmed Prussia's military and naval dominance. Representatives in the Bundesrat played a fivefold role. Primarily they constituted in the legislative process the upper house, with authority equal to that of the Reichstag. The last clause of Article 7 resembled Article 46 of the Russian constitution in that it recognized the heterogeneous background of the empire. It read: "When legislative action is taken upon a subject which, according to the provisions of this constitution does not concern the whole Empire, only the votes of those states of the Empire interested in the matter in question shall be counted." 48 Secondly the Bundesrat members succeeded to the role played formerly by ministers exchanged among German as well as with foreign courts; the emperor assured them as "plenipotentiaries" "the customary diplomatic protection" (Arts. 8,10). Recognition of this status bore little other than formal significance, but it soothed sensitive princes acutely aware of the loss of sovereignty. Further provisions regarding relations with states that did not belong to the empire gave the Bundesrat greater influence than the Reichstag. The empire could not declare war without consent of the Bundesrat, but consent of the Reichstag was not necessary; and treaties with foreign countries which concerned matters requiring imperial legislation must receive "consent of the Bundesrat" prior to their conclusion, whereas approval by the 63

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Reichstag became necessary only afterward, to "render them valid" (Art. 11). The third area pertained to administration. Article 7 read: "The Bundesrat shall take action upon: (1) the measures to be proposed to the Reichstag, and the resolutions passed by the same; (2) the general administrative provisions and arrangements necessary for the execution of the Imperial laws, so far as no other provision is made by law." Bundesrat and Reichstag both assumed a fourth responsibility—the discovery of defects "in the execution of the Imperial laws, or of the provisions and arrangements heretofore mentioned." Formerly associated with administration, the investigatory duties of the legislative bodies largely needed to be developed. In order to act upon these and other matters the Bundesrat established a permanent committee in each of the eight fields of imperial activity: army and fortifications, marine affairs, customs duties and taxes, commerce and trade, railroads, postal affairs and telegraphs, judicial affairs, accounts, and foreign affairs. The committees were to employ personnel "necessary for the conduct of their work" (Art. 8 ) . Although the Bundesrat and the Reichstag convened annually, the latter could not assemble without the former, whereas the Bundesrat could be "called together for the preparation of business without the Reichstag" (Art. 13). In addition, bills "laid before the Reichstag in the name of the Emperor, in accordance with the resolutions of the Bundesrat" were to be "advocated in the Reichstag by members of the Bundesrat, or by special commissioners appointed by the latter" (Art. 16). Article 23 stated that petitions addressed to the Reichstag should be referred by it "to the Bundesrat or the Chancellor of the Empire." In view of the large and extensive powers given it by the constitution, the Bundesrat had legally the opportunity to become an essential part of the executive. It could have developed a bureaucracy responsible to itself, which might have given to administration a federal character and made the speedy creation and expansion of an imperial bureaucracy under the chancellor either difficult or unnecessary; however, the potential nature of its role proved incompatible with its composition: the Bundesrat was too large and too disunited a group. It represented the governments of sovereign rulers and cities rather than the interdependent society of the nation. Deference to particularist power appeared in two other articles of an executive nature, extraordinary in their frank expression of confederate respect for sovereignty. Article 9 stated: "Each member of the Bundesrat shall have the right to appear in the Reichs64

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tag, and must be heard there at any time he shall so request, in order to present the views of his government, even when such views shall not have been adopted by the majority of the Bundesrat." One may doubt whether the Bundesrat grasped fully the acknowledged importance of the Reichstag implied in this article, and one may question even more whether the imperial chancellor would regard with favor the competition of Bundesrat members in legislative debates in the lower house. Article 19 both recognized and expressed extreme mistrust of the power of state sovereignty. "If the states of the Reich do not fulfill their constitutional duties, they may be compelled to do so by execution [i.e., by armed force]. This execution shall be decided upon by the Bundesrat, and carried out by the Emperor." A fifth area of responsibility of the Bundesrat concerned judicial matters. Article 76 stated that "at the request of one of the parties" the Bundesrat shall adjust "disputes between the several states of the Reich." It further provided that under similar conditions the Bundesrat shall "amicably resolve" disputes relating to constitutional matters in those states of the Union whose constitutions do not designate an authority for the settlement of such differences." If this procedure proved inadequate, imperial law might be used to settle the matter. The terms recall those by which the Confederation of 1815 tried without success to handle the same problems. The difference between the two situations lay in the additional prestige the Bundesrat possessed by virtue of its being an imperial organ with definite authority. Article 77 of the constitution extended the central power far beyond that of the old German Diet and imposed a major restriction upon particularism. It read: "If justice is denied in one of the states of the Union, and sufficient relief cannot be procured by legal measures, it shall be the duty of the Bundesrat to receive substantial complaints concerning denial or restriction of justice, which shall be proven according to the constitution and the existing laws of the respective states of the Union, and thereupon to obtain judicial relief from the state government which shall have given occasion to the complaint." Referral of these matters to a body of plenipotentiaries of the princes and their governments created an orderly procedure by which to preserve authoritarian rule in the several states. The composition and powers of the Bundesrat helped to reconcile particularists to the necessity of institutional unity. Although the clauses discussed would have burdened the Bundesrat beyond its ability to perform, inclusion of them in the imperial constitution 65

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smoothed the transition from the particularism of the Confederation to the increasing centralization of imperial government. Yet the attempt to maintain the prestige of the princes by preserving the character of the Diet of Confederation through the Bundesrat proved abortive. The imperial constitution of 1871, praised by its proponents for avoiding unworkable abstract principles and for using realistic language about practical matters, contained anachronistic provisions. The endeavor to reflect in the constitution the actual distribution of social power did not allow freedom for steady legal development, which a document like the constitution of the Frankfurt parliament employing general formulations would have made possible. Social considerations intimately associated with realpolitik forced inclusion within the imperial constitution of many clauses that were later ignored and of others whose scope extended beyond the original intent. Nor was amendment easy: fourteen votes in the Bundesrat could block any proposal (Art. 78). In this instance historicism respected the past and the present but slighted the future. Although Austrian examples are given above in discussing the relation between central government and society, and although the subject is revived in subsequent chapters discussing intermediate and local government, Austria deserves attention as a special case in the history of efforts to adjust government to changing social conditions. The Austrian problem was a total one, involving not merely the role of the central government but that of the provincial and local governments; not merely the nature of the executive with its bureaucracy but that of the legislature; not merely the character of one house of parliament but that of both houses. Four of these efforts are here discussed in chronological order of their appearance. They took shape in the Kremsier constitution of 1849, the October Diploma of 1860, the February Patent of 1861, and the Austria-Hungarian Compromise of 1867 and the accompanying constitutions for Austria and for Hungary. A possible fifth, the introduction of universal suffrage into Austria in 1907, is described in a subsequent chapter.49 In many respects Austrian experience reversed the order of that in Germany, which needed first to create political unity under a form of government sufficiently centralized to satisfy the demand for a common policy of external and internal defense and domestic service. Austria possessed centralized political power alongside the social and political forces existing within the federal states. Thus its problem became one of decentralizing political and cultural life 66

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in favor of strengthened regional and local government. Germany erected a central government, to which the states transferred limited powers, and within the states the transfer entailed little or no change in intermediate and local governments. In Austria the adaptation of government to social conditions included functional changes all along the line; that is, a redistribution of power and responsibility among the different levels of government. Austria's constitutional problem consisted of finding ways of enabling each nationality to participate in public affairs on a basis of equality with other nationalities. Here the process of relating government to society proved a more complicated and difficult one than in any other country in Europe. In embarking upon it Austria faced three main obstacles: Habsburg devotion to absolutism; a stubborn centralized bureaucracy accustomed to rule; a sense of cultural superiority and of political indispensability to the continued existence of the empire on the part of the German nationality and a similar feeling of superiority on the part of the Magyars of Hungary. Difficulty arising from the persistence of the old nobility and its allies assumed less significance than the above obstacles, even though as elsewhere the conservative aristocrats resisted essential adjustment. The Kremsier draft of a constitution (1849) stated in elementary terms the basis for reducing centralized absolutism in Austria and redistributing governmental functions. Article 34 assigned to the central government those functions that concerned matters affecting the entire empire and left to the provincial government those concerning provincial affairs. Discussion in the critical years from 1860 to 1867 extended the same standard to government in the lower political divisions—county, municipality, and village. Since the definition of function lacked precision, its application either encountered effective resistance from the central bureaucracy or confirmed the fears of absolutists by provoking different interpretations. The Kremsier constitution included one principle for governmental organization which remained unique in Austrian constitutional history. Subsequent constitutions and laws guaranteed equality of nationality in general terms; the Kremsier draft alone institutionalized means for all nationalities effectively to participate in public affairs. Article 3 stated that wherever a province was to be divided into counties, the counties should be delimited "with the greatest possible consideration of nationality," and Article 112, section 3, set the identical standard for the provincial Landtage. Each electoral district could choose at least two and not more than 67

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three deputies (Art. 96), a number that would have enabled nationality groups to reach election agreements. Article 113 stated that imperial provinces of mixed nationality were to introduce into the provincial constitution an institution that after the manner of a court of arbitration would decide disputes of a purely national nature. The other terms of the constitution concerning governmental institutions conformed to usual standards of liberalism— "responsible" ministers, a house of representatives directly elected by the people, an upper house composed of representatives chosen in the provincial Landtage and by the county assemblies, a popularly elected assembly in each province and in each county and community. If the Kremsier constitution had been put into effect, it would have transformed the absolute monarchy governing through a centralized bureaucracy into a state with self-government at all levels, a state in which provincial and other regional and nationality interests could assert themselves in public affairs in freedom and equality. Although restricted to Austria and excluding Hungary from consideration, the constitution offered the only thorough attempt of the century to create a form of government that might have enabled social change to occur in Austria with minimum tension and maximum public assistance. It erected a framework for harmonious relations among the nationalities. Defeat in the Italian war of 1859-60 exposed the weakness of traditional centralized Austrian absolutism. Bureaucrats, police, army, church, and the old feudal, conservative nobility in 1860 gained the approval of the young emperor to introduce a government of decentralization. Ignoring the nationality problem, spokesmen for reform proposed to confine authority of the central government to the essentials of defense, foreign affairs, commerce and industry, taxation necessary to pay for central services, and a few other standard duties, such as codification of law and judicial procedures, confessional affairs, secondary and higher education. Responsibility for all other matters reverted to the provinces, where the local nobility would control provincial and local government through the introduction of a system of representation and voting according to Estates (i.e., the landholding nobility, the burghers, chambers of commerce and industry, and the peasantry) .50 In a memorial of July, 1860, the nobility argued that the life of the aristocracy "through social position, ownership of property, and tradition" is "interwoven with that of the country, its wishes and needs," that the nobility is not merely rooted in the past 68

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and in tradition, not merely responsive to the pressures and forces of the present, but in its immediate interests, feelings, and duties is intimately tied to the future of the country.51 Thus in representing the views of the few the memorial claimed to speak for all. The nobles acknowledged that certain institutional changes in recent generations (e.g., peasant emancipation), however contrary to the ideal, could not be undone; but they opposed further innovations. They urged the monarchy to avoid "the dangerous procedure of personal decree" and to deny "the dubious principle" that it can "bestow and take away rights," a principle that damages no one more than the monarchy. The sovereign should confine his function to that of judge in the "confusion of contradictory legal claims." Although the nobles acknowledged that the Estates had been criticized as anachronistic, they asked that these be retained as the basis of provincial organization. Without Estates, they wrote, "there would remain only the sad choice between institutions founded on a one-sided, materialistic difference between propertied and propertyless, between those who possessed more and those with less [as in France between 1815 and 1848] and institutions founded upon the 'lie' of a general lack of difference." They claimed that the "somewhat nebulous conception of representation of interests, nowhere to our knowledge put into practice, insofar as it encompasses groups as a whole is in essential agreement with the division into Estates"; however it lacks, they asserted, "the natural force of hierarchy, which in accord with the essence of Estates institutions as far as possible assures to the representatives vocational, authoritative positions." Otherwise representation of interests would, they predicted, lead to suffrage based on property qualification or to universal suffrage. The memorial discussed the four-curial system of voting and of representation, which the government had just introduced for elections to the provincial Landtage. In approving this system in principle it requested more voting power for the lesser nobles who owned entailed estates and whose families were traditionally identified with region and monarchy. As the authors of the memorial knew that many of these landed holdings had been and would be sold to nonnobles, they asked that voting rights not be transferred along with title to the land. The nobles argued that "for us the important point lies not in the property but in the position and personal qualifications which the property can provide the owner, and which by and large under certain conditions it would give him. Therefore at least with regard to the future we must wish for such 69

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conditions as will guarantee the existence of those personal qualifications." 52 Recognizing the necessity to strengthen the representation of burgher and industrial elements, "the forces of movement," the memorial asked "that the restless pressure which dominates especially in this status group direct itself toward restoring the lost sense of order in the group itself and that the group cease that aggressiveness which for almost a century it has mainly manifested in attempting to destroy the organization of other spheres and status groups." 53 The authors continued by expressing the hope that in burgher circles "not the cosmopolitan element of money or that of a propertyless intelligentsia gain the upper hand as the main bearers of aggressive striving but the more solid groups closely associated with the soil." We wish that the notables of industry and trade apply themselves first of all to the tasks which formerly occupied the patriciate, that of helping urban life to a renewed and firmly ordered activity, that of helping industry in the rural areas to acquire an effective organization, which at present it almost entirely lacks.

Then it should be possible, the nobles continued, to assure to the lower classes in the towns the "legitimate influence," to which in their "present social isolation and spiritual confusion neither the regime based on property qualification for voting nor universal suffrage, as experience has proved, can help them." 54 The noble lords who composed the memorial suspected the conservatism of the peasantry; to them this conservatism appeared concerned with peasant interests alone. This class, they argued, needed strong leadership, best held in experienced hands such as those of the large landowners; loss of the lords' influence to other interests would endanger conservatism. The nobles referred particularly to officials of the central bureaucracy, whom they accused of destroying the old system of government and of creating the present constitutional difficulties. While recognizing the need for a modicum of central authority, they advocated restoring the governmental system of a hundred years earlier. To that end they sought to restore the former authority of the Landtage and lower instruments of government, all to be controlled by the landholding nobility. They used the phrase "social organism," and they referred to the Landtag as "the highest expression but not at all the totality of the provincial constitution." The real basis of the provincial constitution, they said, "resides in rule by natural authority arising organically out of the 70

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country itself and rooted in the country, authority which encompasses the entire cooperative action of self-administration." 55 Denying any intention to restore serfdom and patrimonial jurisdiction, the lords proposed to revive communal self-government as a lasting substructure for the Estates constitution of the Landtag. Although they wished the communal organism to vary according to the "natural conditions" of each province, they did offer certain principles for communal organization in all provinces: strict separation between town and country, the implied purpose being to prevent townsmen and town governments from influencing the thinking of the peasants; noble estates to be separated governmentally from the village organization, for the nobles wanted to avoid communal obligations and any sense of political equality with the peasantry; general election of local officials only in the communes; elections of officials above this level to be indirect, that is, by officials in the communities. By these means the nobles aimed to maintain maximum independence for themselves with respect to peasants and townsmen, and at the same time maintain their own power over both groups. The memorial concluded with an analysis of two alternative roads awaiting Austria: that of a "unified modern constitutional state," or that in which "activity of public life" would be "spread uniformly throughout the organism, in which it would seek its natural center in the provincial Estates, growing on the foundation of actual conditions and of historical rights," and serving as the source for a body that would support the imperial power and express "the organic unity of the monarchy"—a representative institution dominated by nobles like the Reichsrat under the October Decree. The memorial denounced an imperial constitution as "an impossibility" and "the greatest misfortune"; such a constitution would complete "the inner disintegration" and lead to revolution, dictatorship, and especially, a breach with Hungary. Compromise with constitutionalism would likewise cause destruction; only by accepting tradition would "the order of affairs be placed upon the firm foundation of law," a dam be erected in the "cooperation of municipal and provincial organisms against the pressure of those destructive forces," and a guarantee be gained for the continued strength of central power and for imperial unity. The elaborate rationale of the memorial, full of concepts and phrases of Romantic theory, bore slight relation to reality; the higher nobility had influence only at court and not with the public. 71

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Within a few months the constitution expressing this theory—the October Diploma—disappeared in favor of a third attempt, known as the February Patent of 1861. The inadequacy of the Patent may be clarified by analyzing a proposal, itself impractical, made at the time by one of Minister von Schmerling's advisers, Hans Perthaler. The adviser advocated the creation of a central parliament of two houses, the upper one composed of the peerage, the lower one to represent corporative interests from each province in the manner of the Old Regime. The members in both houses would also constitute the Landtag of the province from which they came.56 Perthaler devised a method of selecting members of the provincial Landtage which would distribute power among the social groups. Rejecting both the system based upon counting heads and that adopting the principle of division into Estates, he proposed that only those who had "participated in public affairs in the lower branches of administration should advise respecting public affairs at the highest levels." Thus deputies to the Landtag were to be selected by the county assembly, the communal committees, the important towns, and the chambers of commerce and industry—that is, except in case of the towns, by local persons who had themselves been elected by the voters. In this way, Perthaler concluded, the Landtage and the Reichstag would consist of "the most judicious individuals tested in autonomous administrative experience, and since they dedicate their personal ability to the commonalty, at the same time they will be the truly and really patriotic members of each crown land, acquainted with the province and with the general interest." However much or little the Perthaler plan recognized social change, it severely restricted the power of the Reichstag. The emperor would consult parliament upon legislation, but he retained full authority and responsibility in formulating and in promulgating laws. Only in matters of taxation had parliament the right of approval, in order that it bear a part of the "odium" attached to taxes. In granting parliamentary control over execution of the law, Perthaler expressed mistrust of the bureaucracy—mistrust shared alike by the feudal nobility, the non-German nationalities, and many of the lower-class Germans. He denounced the "bureaucratic state" as an expensive, fruitless means of information, uninspired, destructive of the spirit, and a waster of paper. These evils a representative assembly might combat in two ways: the hierarchy of executive organs would hesitate to give cause for an interpellation in the Reichsrat; if the bureaucracy did err, only the Reichsrat 72

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would be able to determine and expose the facts and obtain redress. Thus mistrust of the executive led conservatives in an absolutist state to share the view of liberals, at least to the point of demanding the establishment of a parliament with enough power to guard against bureaucratic abuse. Perthaler looked to the past rather than to the future for inspiration. He sought to shift the balance of power from the central bureaucracy to provincial and local self-government, or as it was usually called on the Continent, self-administration. In spite of a universally increasing demand for a strong, active central government to meet new social needs, he introduced only a weak legislative restraint upon the monarch. He failed to allow social groups to legislate for their needs; he made reforms by law in provincial and local governmental bodies dependent upon the will of a monarchy jealous of its prerogatives, sensitive to conservative criticism, and strongly inclined toward caution. In praising his proposed parliament as entirely different from other parliaments, he expressed satisfaction that this parliament would have no place for the shifting majorities of political parties and for governments based upon them. While offering the fruitful idea of common membership in Reichstag and Landtag as a means of training leaders in imperial responsibility, he revealed himself as holding an essentially static concept of Austrian society. In one respect Perthaler showed foresight. He warned Minister von Schmerling against a Reichstag composed of deputies selected from and by the provincial Landtage; "the individual Landtag," he wrote, "would then be master over those selected," and "the autonomous spirit would rule the Reichstag and paralyze the idea of unity." Schmerling ignored the warning, and in the February Patent (1861) he introduced a system of election that allocated to the Landtag of each province a number of deputies to be elected and stipulated (Art. 7) that the Landtag representatives of each of the four curials should have the authority to select Reichstag deputies in proportion to the number of Landtag deputies chosen by the curial. Reversing the order of the October Diploma, Schmerling curtailed provincial authority and concentrated power in the central government. Although introducing a Reichsrat of two houses, the upper house being a chamber of peers that survived in the Austrian half of the empire until 1918, and although endowing parliament with legislative responsibility, he turned the constitution into an instrument of authoritarian rule. The constitution did not give the Reichsrat the right annually to approve the budget; it did not 73

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include standards for limiting executive authority, nor did it guarantee independence of the judiciary and separation of executive and judicial powers. It failed to provide ministerial responsibility, parliamentary immunity, or compensation for deputies. It did not allow parliament the power over taxation and military recruitment; for example, taxes were to continue to be collected until constitutionally changed (Art. 10). It did not protect the constitution and the suffrage law against criminal attack; it lacked a normative statement regarding the relation of nationalities to the state; it omitted any stipulation about the powers and procedures of administrative courts, and all reference to the fundamental rights of citizens. Finally, it included an emergency clause that permitted executive rule (Art. 13).57 Minister von Schmerling restored throughout the empire the power of the central bureaucracy, which he used in Landtag elections under the curial system of suffrage to maintain the hegemony of the Germans over other nationalities. Reputed to be liberal, he showed himself unaware of or indifferent to social aspirations among the nationalities, to Magyar hostility to Austrian domination, to dissatisfaction among German burghers with the continuing power of the Old Regime, and to unrest among the peasants regardless of nationality. Whereas the October Diploma had erred in the way of privilege and decentralization, Schmerling's government erred in the direction of absolutist centralization, and for the empire as a whole it lasted only until 1865. Two years later, at the time of the Compromise with Hungary, the government vigorously revised and adapted Schmerling's constitution to the Austrian half of the monarchy. In an address to the Hungarian Landtag in 1861 the Magyar liberal leader Francis Deak stated the ideal that should guide constitutional reform in Austria and Hungary, as well as the reform of relations between the two parts of the empire.58 Referring to the Habsburg treatment of Hungary, he warned: Compulsory unity does not make the Empire strong. The injured sensitivity of the individual territories [Laender] and the bitterness arising from coercion awaken desires for separation and perhaps for complete division. . . . The restriction of the political rights of a territory is always unjust and always creates painful feelings and dissatisfaction. . . . Common affairs between equal parties can only be settled by mutual trust. But mutual trust cannot be based upon coercion. Where no suspicion and no basis for suspicion exist and coercion does not make freedom of will impossible, common interests provide a basis for the most lasting union.

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Repudiating any desire to break up the monarchy, he proposed to preserve the personal union between Austria and Hungary, for "personal union is also a union in which common interests arise, and we shall always respect these relations." He laid down the terms for such a union in saying: And insofar as the dealings of the two independent governments, especially with respect to the subjects of legislation, possibly do not suffice, we are ready as occasion arises . . . to negotiate freely and honestly and under guarantee of our independence with the constitutional peoples of the hereditary territories [i.e., Austria] as an independent, free state.

For, he continued, "that nation which sees its rights and interests guaranteed under the shield of its loyally protected constitution is not forced to long for another situation, for other relations." Unfortunately Deak's estimate of the effects of government by coercion proved more accurate than did his prediction of national behavior under a free constitution. In 1867 only the terms for an agreement between the Habsburg monarchy and the kingdom of Hungary, not those for free movement within each state, were implemented. When considered from the standpoint of their relation to society, the constitutional reforms of 1867 must be discussed as a whole. The restoration of constitutional government in Hungary, the strengthening of parliamentary power in Austria, and the creation of a new institution of government for affairs common to both parts of the empire supplemented one another. Each of the three governmental bodies affected conditions under which the others worked; the activity of each depended upon the need to consider the others. The constitutional arrangement defies identification by any standard terms: it was not federal or imperial; it did not take the form of a treaty or of an "eternal alliance" between sovereign states. The threefold reform established institutional means susceptible to forces disruptive to each of the two states and to the agreement between them. Governmental structure therefore did not allow the free play of accommodation essential to a rapidly changing society. The arrangement of 1867 pivoted upon the reality of Magyar domination over the national minorities within the kingdom of Hungary. The Hungarian state now restored its constitution of 1848, and the two houses of the Hungarian parliament, conventional in their structure, became instruments not merely of Magyar independence from the Habsburgs but of Magyar rule over the nationalities within Hungary. Power in parliament lay in the hands of the Magyar nobles, the accepted leaders in the strongly en75

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trenched county governments, who manipulated elections through the suffrage law. The Compromise came about at the expense of the Habsburgs, who sacrificed to the Magyar nobility the exercise of direct governmental influence upon the Hungarian population.59 Henceforth this nobility held both a de facto and a constitutional position as master nationality and master class and became more reluctant than before to recognize nationality rights. Its entrenchment in the lower chamber, now an elected, representative body, meant that nationality conflicts, both those between Magyars and other nationalities within Hungary and those between the Magyars as the rulers of Hungary and the Habsburg government of Austria, grew in intensity with every election. Competition for office among Magyars led the outs, irrespective of fact, to accuse the ins of docility toward the Habsburg government and of weakness in defending Hungarian interests. Competition for power between Magyars and other nationalities prompted the Magyar ruling elite to blame all ills, including those of all nationality groups, upon the Habsburg government and to accuse it of inciting conflict among nationality groups. The nature of the government in Hungary encouraged hostility. The Magyar government conditioned acceptance of the Compromise of 1867 upon the introduction of constitutional rule in Austria. Since the Magyars, after much experience, did not trust the House of Habsburg, they demanded the creation of a popularly elected parliament in Austria with power to assume responsibility for executing the agreement. In revising the February Patent for Austria proper, the Austrian government expanded the powers of the Reichsrat while retaining much of the authority of the central bureaucracy. With the aid of the curial suffrage law the constitution henceforth served as the instrument of German political superiority over other nationalities in Austria, as its counterpart served Magyar rule in Hungary; and since the Magyar nobles determined to allow no diminution of Magyar power over their nationalities, they vigorously opposed any effort in Austria to revise the constitution in favor of political equality for the Slavs. The Germans of Austria, as well as often the government itself, believed that Austria could survive only as a German-dominated state, and the government did not attempt to adjust the constitution and governmental institutions to nationality interests and demands, even to the extent of adopting the modest clauses of the Kremsier constitution. The Magyars by virtue of the institutional reforms of 1867 retained a veto over any adjustment in Austria to the demands of the increasingly dissatisfied Slavic minority. 76

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The unique feature of the Compromise of 1867 was the enumeration of terms for jointly accepting the Habsburg monarch.60 Austria and Hungary agreed that responsibility for certain matters should be shared—foreign affairs, military and naval affairs, finances "with reference to matters of common expense." The Compromise declared that certain other affairs should "not indeed be administered in common" but should "be regulated upon uniform principles to be agreed upon from time to time." These matters included: " (1) commercial affairs, especially customs legislation; (2) legislation concerning indirect taxes which stand in close relation to industrial production; (3) the establishment of a monetary system and monetary standards; (4) regulations concerning railway lines that affect the interests of both parts of the Empire; (5) the establishment of a system of defense" (Arts. 1,2). Article 3, stated: "The expenses of affairs common to both Austria and Hungary shall be borne by the two parts of the Empire in a proportion to be fixed from time to time by an agreement between the two legislative bodies [Reichsrat and Diet] and approved by the Emperor." Since conduct of foreign affairs, military and naval affairs, and finance sufficed to arouse endless and continuous controversy, and since agreement over these matters and over the allocation of costs had to be renewed from "time to time," that is, every ten years, the Compromise expressed the initial result of negotiations that were to continue indefinitely and reach a crisis at least every decade. The document empowered the selection of a delegation of sixty members by and from the parliament of each country to act as a legislative body for imperial matters; each delegation, however, met and voted separately. Only in the event of disagreement over a law did the two delegations vote as a common body (Art. 15), and a law passed by the delegations always required the emperor's approval (Art. 15). Although the delegations were not bound by instructions from their respective parliaments, members would not have been selected who disagreed with the will of the parliamentary majority. In Article 36 the Compromise referred to "matters which, though not managed in common, yet are to be regulated upon the same principles." This clause called for concurrence to be reached in either of two ways: " (1) The responsible ministries by an agreement between themselves shall prepare a bill which shall be submitted to the representative bodies of the two parts of the Empire [the Reichsrat and Diet], and the bill agreed upon by the two representative bodies shall be submitted for the approval of the Emperor; (2) each representative body shall elect from its members a deputation composed of an equal number of members, which shall prepare 77

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a bill upon the initiative of the respective ministries; such bill shall be submitted to each of the legislative bodies of the ministries, shall be regularly considered, and the identical law of the two assemblies shall be submitted for the approval of the Emperor." Thus agreement could be reached through the delegations or through the cooperation of the respective ministries and parliaments of each country. Two empires, the German-Austrian and the MagyarHungarian, which had engaged in friction ranging from boycott and passive resistance to war, were to settle their differences by reasonable negotiations between governments based upon popularly elected parliaments, each dominated by one nationality at the expense of other nationality groups. Regardless of the degree of hostility between them on other matters, opponents of change could invoke support from their counterparts in either country to defeat efforts aimed at transforming the institutional bases of their power. When in defiance of Hungarian pressure the government of Austria introduced universal manhood suffrage (1907), thereby taking a first step toward making the Reichsrat representative, it acted too late.61 Feelings of mistrust and hostility and habits of obstruction had already invaded parliament to such an extent that the government resorted to rule by the emergency clause (Art. 14) of the constitution.62 In Hungary the police and the Magyar bureaucracy for years had dominated by both the threat and the exercise of violence. In Austria-Hungary institutions of government had not been invented which would have performed the necessary function of enabling peoples to live together in cooperation, peace, and prosperity. In no country is the evidence more striking than in the Habsburg Empire of the importance to social relations of governmental institutions. Wherever constitutions declared ministers responsible without saying to whom; wherever the executive remained in the hands of a monarch still trying to practice absolutism; wherever ministers were to be removed only by impeachment and no place had been allowed for political parties and majority rule; wherever a government gained majority support, not as in England by competition but by bargaining among parties, dispensing favors, and manipulating elections—there constitutional government remained at the level of constitutional monarchism, or at that of corrupt ministerial absolutism. If the voters repudiated a government, as in Italy and Spain, they faced a new one addicted to similar practices. These conditions of the Old Regime on the Continent, with France being the only possible exception, retarded the development of constitu78

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tions into instruments of popular government. These conditions handicapped governmental institutions in assuming the role of vehicle for the interplay of groups in a free and mobile society; they deprived the upper houses, composed of hereditary and appointed members, of the prestige that active responsibility to an electoral constituency would have imparted; they diverted the efforts of the members of the upper house from the realm of public opinion into other channels for influencing the course of events—connections at court, in the bureaucracy, the army, and in big business; they reduced the power of the lower house to less than what its popular basis should have enabled it to achieve. Limitations upon the authority of the ministers or chancellor diminished their ability to control the actions of monarchy and bureaucracy. Government, public, and many elected deputies continued to accept standards of efficiency set by bureaucratic absolutism rather than by parliamentary rule. The forces of the Od Regime placed a low value on the career of politician, of elected representative, and successfully propagated this attitude among the public. Many able individuals avoided politics, and representative assemblies suffered from competition with industrialism for personnel of requisite competence.63 Monarchs, bureaucratic officials, ministers, politicians, and public—all had to learn about new forms of government. No continental political group, not even in France under the Third French Republic, learned the value of the English cabinet system. French ministers accepting office and resigning from office acted as individuals rather than as colleagues within a responsible, cohesive ministry, or as members of a unified political party. Monarchs continued to hold the balance of executive powers, and like Francis Joseph of Austria they usually mistrusted and avoided appointing ministers of outstanding ability. Bismarck enforced subordination of his executive aides; his conception of executive power derived from absolutism and not from parliamentary rule. Both Bismarck and his Russian counterpart Stolypin were so accustomed to absolute authority, the one as a Junker, the other as a bureaucrat under an autocracy, that they often failed to select the ablest persons for positions under them.64 They had not learned from the rough and tumble of politics under responsible government to gauge and to esteem ability other than that of a loyal and efficient administrator; they chose as ministers under absolutism rather than as ministers under constitutional government with popularly elected parliaments.65 Elected deputies began their new careers ignorant of parliamen79

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tary conduct, since few of them had had opportunity to learn how to deport themselves in public life. In his Recollections, memoirs of the revolution of 1848 in France, De Tocqueville recounts many examples of such ignorance of parliamentary procedure on the part of deputies, and constituent assemblies elsewhere in 1848 had no happier experience.66 Newly elected deputies did not know how to speak in public: priests delivered homilies, lawyers argued briefs, professors lectured; peasants did not speak at all or spoke so simply and modestly as to be ineffective; orators like Lamartine wielded for a short time influence out of all proportion to their political ability or importance because their words impressed those unaccustomed to fluent and emotional political speeches. Each deputy tended to feel an obligation to speak to every issue. The value of a committee system, the importance of forming political groups for collective action with leaders as spokesmen, the need to organize individuals into groups to save time and energy—these elementary requisites of a popular parliament could only be appreciated and developed slowly by trial and error. Each newly elected assembly repeated the educational experience: the Russian Duma had to learn for itself the wisdom gained in France and in Germany and Austria in 1848.67 Bismarck and the Russian bureaucrat Gurko openly expressed their scorn for the behavior of deputies. "Let us listen to the ravings of these hooligans," Gurko loudly remarked in the Duma,68 and in every country many a proponent of the Old Regime echoed this sentiment. The wonder is that constitutional government matured as well as it did, although the experience of 1914-19 shows that grasp of it had been superficial. The century is replete with thinking and action alien to constitutionalism such as had survived from absolutism; the way of parliamentarism proved difficult alike for high and low, for old and new social groups. King Ferdinand II, next to the last Bourbon of Naples, declared in 1830: "I would leave the crown and abandon Naples rather than subscribe to a constitution: in the backward state of civilization in this country its only result would be to encourage excesses and disorders, plunging us into a sea of woes." 69 At the end of the century the Russian statesman Pobiedonostsev denounced democracy for seeking to replace an absolute sovereign with a conscience by a mechanical institution without conscience or personality. He condemned democracy as "the supreme political lie" of the age. In a modern democracy, he said, the parliamentary candidate regards his constituents as so many heads of cattle and himself as their temporary possessor. Once he is elected he ignores the constituents 80

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until he needs their vote again. Then he repeats the "electoral farce," winning support by flattery and lying promises. Men who have a sense of duty to the community, he continued, refuse to descend to the behavior necessary to be elected; they will not solicit votes or cry their own praise "in loud and vulgar phrases." He considered that politicians become irresponsible dictators, working through a monstrous bureaucracy that prepares the way for socialism. Developing quickly a passion for fame and applause, politicians lose a sense of sound judgment, and instinctively perceiving the transitoriness of their power, they exploit their position to acquire riches quickly. Russian autocracy, he concluded, can save society from disaster.70 Pobiedonostsev committed the error common in a period of transition of applying criteria developed for one set of institutions and one culture to an entirely different set of institutions and a different culture. At almost the same time (1897) the Italian statesman and minister Baron Sonnino, writing from the experience of half a century of constitutional rule, made the same mistake: he denounced the parliamentary system in terms reminiscent of the Russian reactionary. The parliamentary system in Italy is "sick," he said. "The general interest of the state is not identical, day by day, with the sum of all particular interests, individually and subjectively considered; much less is it identical with the sum of a varying combination of those interests. . . ." Baron Sonnino denied it was "possible to base every governmental action solely on the principle of pleasing immediately those for whom it is taken, or of obtaining for it . . . the support of the interested party." He accused the Chamber of Deputies of usurping the powers of the executive, and the executive of taking over the powers of the king, a confusion resulting from, in his view, the transformation of the ministers of the king into ministers of the Chamber. This change, he thought, had made the ministers independent of and actual masters in the elected Chamber by being able to exploit governmental patronage and power to win elections. The parliamentary system had degenerated into a corrupt, irresponsible exploitation of power through popular elections, and among other reforms Sonnino urged restoration of executive authority to the king, revival of a true separation of powers.71 Pobiedonostsev, going even further, hoped to preserve autocracy, the realization of "miracle, mystery, and authority," 72 whereas experience had advanced Baron Sonnino beyond the stage of governmental mysticism and taught him to diagnose ills and suggest a remedy. He proposed for Italy the kind 81

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of government that functioned in the German Empire, that had already faltered in Austria because of nationality conflicts, and that in an attenuated form in 1905 came to be introduced into Russia. Constitutional monarchism had eloquent defenders like the German historian Otto Hintze and reluctant proponents like the Russian official Gurko, who could find for it no alternative.73 Gurko recognized that the state apparatus in his country "had absorbed all that was best . . . in the way of talent, of loyalty in the rational execution of duty, and especially of ability to understand state problems."74 Nonetheless he acknowledged that this apparatus could not govern well a population of 180 million souls. What other recourse remained but to associate citizens and ruler through representative institutions and so to start upon the long and tortuous road of popular political activity? Beyond recall lay the society in which Emperor Francis of Austria had stricken the word "Vaterland" from a flaming appeal for popular support (1813) and substituted the word "Kaiser." 75 Social change affected central government last in Russia, but there also the hard mold of absolutism appropriate to an agrarian society cracked under the demand for means to enable the free play of social forces. Governmental institutions began to lose their traditional reputation as expressions of the will of God and to become neutral instruments for social action. They were becoming objects of social-scientific study that subsumed historicism. No government in a large European state, not even that of France, had advanced, however, to the stage of secure acceptance; by 1914 the time of adjustment had been too brief. The wars of the twentieth century forced central governments in all European countries to reform.

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between governmental institutions and practices and social structure appears nowhere more evident than in village and town. The immediacy of contact in the community makes every individual aware of the interaction of government and society which at higher levels of political organization easily remains hidden. The present chapter considers whether local government in the nineteenth century changed sufficiently to reflect the novel composition of social forces; whether local government asserted or obstructed the emergence of individualism, social mobility and means of political education. On the Continent the ideal of local self-government found numerous supporters whose arguments followed closely the British pattern. Such supporters commonly correlated English freedom with English local self-government and both with English individualism and initiative. In the Anglo-Saxon world, they said, local government developed a sense of political participation and individual responsibility which contributed to social mobility. It assisted forces that offered individual opportunity and aroused creative activity in education, the economy, and other aspects of public life. In Europe, on the other hand, admirers of England declared, cultural deficiency resulting from the undeveloped condition of individual responsibility in public affairs prevailed. In an anonymous work published in 1843 Baron Andrian-Werburg described government in his native Austria, deploring the complete absence of the free community: HE CLOSE RELATIONSHIP

. . . this citadel of the citizen's freedom, this educational nursery of a true and useful member of the body politic. . . . A free communal life is the basis of every well-ordered national constitution—it can be an indemnification for many other lacks, but it can never be replaced by anything else. Through the lively and unobstructed par-

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ticipation in communal affairs, interest in public affairs is developed, along with devotion to them, independence and ability to act. The community is the seedbed of character and imparts to it independence, a practical outlook and a feeling of solidarity. 1 Andrian-Werburg saw untold advantages to the state in free local government, for such government would simplify and lessen the state administration's own labors. By means of well-regulated local government (but only with this kind) the [central] government is enabled to entrust its most important official matters in the first instance to the commune; for example, conscription, care of billeting, poor relief, local police, etc.; farming of direct taxes, which in countries enjoying well-being is recognized as in every way the most effective means of collection, is only possible with a well-ordered local government as a basis. The communities constitute the true administrative units of the state, and the example of almost all countries possessing a reasonable local governmental form shows us that this kind makes administrative officials at the lowest level unnecessary because the communities themselves carry out the duties and thereby make possible not only important savings in administration but also a much simplified, decidedly improved and more beneficent administration. 2 Baron Victor contrasted the character of the citizenry where local self-government did not exist with that where it flourished. In the absence of freedom one sees, he wrote, . . . the most respected, the ablest citizens in a condition of ignorance unheard of elsewhere regarding the most important affairs of their community—an ignorance which produces not only an unavoidable backwardness in intelligence and practical usefulness but finally a tragic indifference toward everything that does not directly affect oneself. How much more independent and energetic, on the other hand, does the citizen of a free, well regulated community feel! He knows its concerns, its needs and interests, which of course are likewise his own. He feels himself to be someone who can contribute to their realization, who can make his personality, his influence count with his fellow citizens. And a satisfying devotion binds him to the circle of his immediate surroundings, which likewise are the result of his efforts. Thus little by little there develops in him love of country, self-esteem and a sense of the practical. Thus is born a class of citizens which possesses insight, energy and good will, and which becomes a powerful support of the state. 3 All political and social reformers who on the one hand rejected enlightened despotism and on the other hand feared socialism shared the Baron's faith in the beneficent effects of local selfgovernment upon personality and society. Stein and Hardenberg, Cavour and nationalists like Mazzini, declared local self84

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government and its effects to be essential objectives of social transformation during the century. Whenever and wherever reform penetrated the economy, education, military service, or elsewhere through governmental action, the occasion brought an accompanying effort to arouse a sense of individual participation and responsibility in public affairs throughout the community. The local community appeared to provide the practical training for a new type of common man, to change erstwhile subject into citizen, and to introduce him to public life at higher levels. In the community the individual could be induced to overcome apathy and to involve himself in the welfare of a developing, open society. The most difficult task in the way of achieving the ideals of self-government lay in overcoming the social-psychological heritage of serfdom in the villages. The seasonally imposed routine of hard manual work, the physical and psychological power of noble landlords, and in many regions the weight of absolutist bureaucracy had brought the peasantry to regard public affairs with indifference. In contrast the towns, although handicapped, showed more resistance to subjection, and some of them acted as centers of political awakening. Growing in numbers and possessed of economic strength and intellectual interests, the townsmen stimulated each other. They, rather than the geographically scattered peasants, took the initiative in promoting reform. Prior to peasant emancipation the local lord exercised all powers of local government. For the serfs and freemen living on his demesne who were not organized into a village community he had direct responsibility in all governmental action. Those incorporated into a village he governed indirectly, choosing the village officials and supervising the conduct of all village affairs. In Austria the revolution of 1848 abolished the vestiges of the lords' control over the villages and completed the gradual extension of the central bureaucracy's authority over peasant communities which had been underway since emancipation in the eighteenth century. In Russia at emancipation the lords lost all authority over the mir. Prussian and Magyar noble landlords retained power over the emancipated peasantry, whether organized as a village community or left without political or administrative rights and duties in the manorial district. The village existed as a corporative entity, a legally established association. The manorial district had no legal personality, and its persons had no communal association. Unity came from the subordination of each individual to the manorial lord; the manorial peasants had none among themselves. Manorial 85

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jurisdiction for them took the place of the village association, and the lord exercised all the authority and assumed all the responsibility that the village community undertook as a political unity.4 Thus, in contrast with conditions in Austria and Russia the manorial lords of Prussia and Hungary retained a twofold means of political and administrative domination over the peasants, a fact that helps to explain the lords' extensive power in these two states. The concept of the manorial district in Prussia derived from public rather than from private law. Although historically based, the term manorial district did not come into use until after peasant emancipation, when means were sought to preserve the identity of the lord and manor and keep them separate from the village. The territorial integrity of the manorial district, once defined, gained legal protection, so that sale of a piece of land under jurisdiction of the district did not mean transfer of administrative responsibility to the village or town in which the purchaser lived. The manorial lord retained his regal-like authority. Furthermore the law made the dissolution of a manorial district dependent upon governmental approval, and although manorial districts of lords in economic distress sometimes became absorbed into villages, the law preserved for the owners of noble estates whose districts suffered this fate the traditional noble privileges, such as the right to appoint the local pastor, the right to membership in the nobles' credit association, the right of membership in the House of Lords. The value of the use of governmental authority may be inferred from a few statistics about the six eastern provinces of Prussia in 1858. The region contained 760 towns with a total of 3,675,294 civil inhabitants; 17,456 estates (Gutsbezirke) of 38,227,444 Morgen; 26,969 villages of 44,334,999 Morgen and 9,175,186 inhabitants.5 As the number of townsmen grew, the significance of the towns and townsmen as actual or potential sources of social reform increased rapidly in the next few decades. The number of manorial districts and villages remained about the same, for ownership of rural property changed slowly. Although the precise size of population within the manorial districts remains unknown, it can be assumed that most peasants belonged to village communities. Nonetheless, the data for the amounts of land belonging respectively to the manorial districts and to the villages reveal that the lord's extensive economic power over a region, manorial district as well as village, enabled the head of the manor under ordinary circumstances to dominate local affairs. Village government usually consisted of a mayor and two or more 86

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aides, depending upon the size of the village. All officials came from the peasantry, and particularly in the first part of the century, most peasants could not read or write. The village recruited the schoolmaster for the role of secretary, in fact for all work requiring ability to read instructions and to write a report. About 1850 the English traveler in Hungary Sir John Paget found in Magyar regions a group of village officials larger than that in the usual Russian or Prussian village and including the Biro or judge (the mayor) ; a Notarius, who kept accounts; two Jurassores, who aided the Biro in judicial duties; a Kis Biro or Little Judge; and several Haiduks, who performed floggings for the village.6 Customarily the village assembly elected local officials. Prussian and Russian officials served without pay; Hungarian equivalents, except for the Haiduks, received compensation, and the Biro during his term of service was exempt from robot on the lord's land and from labor for the county, a governmental unit administered exclusively by nobles. A council elected by popular assembly existed only in large villages; in small communities—and most were small—the mayor called a meeting twice or oftener annually to handle local business. All male heads of family who owned land had the recognized right to speak and vote in the assembly, and the range of problems considered depended upon the nature of the social, economic, and political system under which the peasants lived. If serfdom or an institution like the mir existed, the peasant assembly allocated strips of land among the village families, set time for plowing, sowing, and harvesting, and arranged the numerous other details of communal agricultural life. Since each peasant depended upon the support of all, the assembly dealt with questions of individual behavior, attempting to prevent or control misconduct such as drunkenness, immorality, and abuse or neglect of family or work. Many functions of the assembly ceased with the abolition of serfdom and the introduction of personal freedom and individual ownership of land. Although allowed to retain some locally needed responsibility, village government declined to the role of surrogate. The obligations imposed upon the village mayor were common to all countries. The mayor [in Prussia] must report to the community the manorial and governmental laws and orders and see that these are executed. Upon order of the community he collects the taxes and other public revenues and delivers them to the proper authority. He supervises the communal public works and services for the state and arranges the

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The mayor performed police duties and veterinary and sanitation services for the central government, and he and his two assistants sat as a local court to try misdemeanors and to execute certain legal business, such as taking inventories, collecting legal fees, and carrying out court orders. Sir John Paget listed approximately the same duties for the mayor of a Hungarian village, namely "the collection of the taxes, the furnishings of the appointed number of conscripts for the army, quartering the soldiers on march fairly among the peasantry, the supplying horses for Vorspann [relay purposes], the apprehending of rogues and vagabonds, the settling of disputes, and even the summary punishment of trivial offenses." 8 Effectiveness of village government depended heavily upon the roles assumed by the local lord and by the central bureaucracy. In reformed Prussia just as under serfdom either the lord appointed and dismissed village mayors and assistants, or a lord as head of the county government had authority to confirm the selection made by the village assembly.9 In Prussia, should the Landrat or administrative chief of the county veto the peasants' selection of mayor, the county officials appointed an interim mayor, who, in case of continuing failure of the peasants to choose an acceptable official, served indefinitely. Power of veto therefore assured the selection of mayors amenable to the nobles of the county as represented by the Landrat, and thus effectively checked peasant initiative. A similar control existed in Hungary, where the lord nominated three peasants from whom the Biro was to be elected, and appointed the Biro himself if the peasants could not decide upon one of these three.10 In Austria prior to 1848 the county head in theory represented the central government, but close association with the local aristocracy assured the latter a continuing authority in the villages. In Prussia the office of village mayor frequently inhered in ownership of a particular piece of land; whoever held the property served as mayor, if the county chief approved. This anachronistic practice endured until the reform of county government in 1872. A mayoral term of service customarily ran from three to six years, with reelection permitted. Whether election became an honor or a burden varied with circumstances : wherever responsibilities were onerous, peasants tried to avoid election. In Russia the mayor and his assistants collected taxes for thè central government, in88

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eluding payments for land received by the peasants at the time of emancipation. Since the peasants frequently found themselves in arrears, the task of collection became formidable. Sir Bernard Pares tells how one village elected a drunkard as elder or mayor ; if the mayor failed to collect the taxes, the governmental official beat him ; if he collected them, the villagers inflicted upon him the beating his condition invited. Wherever office carried responsibility with sufficient freedom to act for the welfare of the village, the ablest and most respected peasants accepted candidacy and election. According to Sir John Paget, Hungary at the middle of the century enjoyed this freedom, whereas in Transylvania the Magyar lords, and especially their venal and exploitative stewards, so abused the Rumanian peasants that village government remained at the most elemental level. Austrian villages before 1848 likewise suffered from rigid control. Baron Andrian-Werburg described the restrictions as follows : So little free activity is left to the communes that they cannot themselves choose any of their officials, messengers, scribes, etc., but the choice and removal of them are left entirely to the whim of the government, indeed without any obligation to declare the motives which decided it one way or another. Administration of communal expenditures and revenues and of communal property is left to the special supervision of the bureaucracy. No expenditure, not even the smallest outlay, can be made without its authorization, no litigation, no agreement, not a move in the administration of communal property can be undertaken without special permission of the officials. The right of the communities to tax themselves for the defrayment of their expenses, the right to vote for enterprises and to make decisions are each time dependent upon authorization of the officials, and without this approval no assembly for any purpose can be held, nor can it be held elsewhere than in their presence. And these restrictions hold as well for the rural communities as for the towns, whatever their size and importance. When one considers that the imposition, assessment and in many provinces the collection of taxes, conscription and recruitment for military service, and in fact everything pertaining to political and police administration—and where is the dividing line ?—are referred to state officials, then one can gain some idea of the condition of local government in Austria. 11 In consequence of such rigid control, Baron Victor continued, . . . in the old Austrian provinces . . . communities exist hardly in name even—their executive commissions (judges, etc.) are chosen in most cases for life by the manorial or royal power of the district— there is no idea of communal meetings, at least not of definite, periodically recurring ones—and equally little thought of a regular accounting to the community of the administration of its property. 89

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These accounts are presented to the manorial or royal district authorities and reviewed as they see fit. Under such circumstances there is no trace of a communal budget, of regular community representation, of consideration and acceptance by the community of its taxes and expenditures, in short of any regular communal administration. At most upon a very special occasion it may happen that the village head with the special permission of higher authority assembles the members of the village (but even over the question of who is a member of the village there is significant uncertainty) and gains from them an extraordinary communal tax for the special purpose before them. No community meeting can be held without the special permission of the district authority and in the presence of the officials, and no subject can be discussed which has not previously been approved.12

Andrian-Werburg esteemed the local government given towns as well as villages and introduced into Lombardy under Maria Theresa as ideal, objecting only to excessive administrative control found here as elsewhere in Austria. In Lombardy and in Venetia after its acquisition in 1815, two kinds of communities prevailed, one with a council (Gemeinderat) of thirty to sixty members, a second in which the assembly of all those subject to the land tax acted in lieu of a community council. Baron Victor continues: A community with 300 or more persons subject to the land tax had formerly elected a council whose members served for three years; in recent years the central government had changed the system of selection in favor of allowing the council to propose two candidates for each vacancy, and from these the provincial bureaucracy chose one. Much more numerous were the communities so small that in a general assembly each landowner subject to the land tax had a vote, regardless of the amount of tax he paid or the amount of property he owned. The council or the general assembly exercised the decisive power of the community in all affairs within its resort. The administrative functions resided in three deputies elected for a term of two years by the council or assembly and confirmed in office by the provincial bureaucracy. The law required these three deputies to be landowners, and one of them to be among the three persons in the community paying the highest land tax. They served without pay, and their duties were manifold. They handled all current business of the community and conducted the official correspondence with the royal bureaucracy. One among them is charged specifically by the government with the exercise of police power and of other functions belonging to the central administration. Upon their discharge those appointed must present an account to the community; they have the right, if they have received permission

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from above, to call together the Council [the assembly of the voters] in extraordinary session, although they do not conduct this, since a member chosen by the Assembly is given the chairmanship. Besides these extraordinary sessions, there are established by law annually in January and September two communal meetings of the Council. In the first session the community accounts for the foregoing administrative year and the budget report of the outgoing deputies as reviewed by special censors named for the purpose are considered and approved; in the latter meeting the censors and the community incoming deputies are chosen, and the revenues and expenses for the ensuing year are discussed and voted. No outlay, not even one item, can be accepted in the communal budget without authorization of the Assembly; but any community tax resulting from the authorized proposal is collected as an addition to the direct tax by the tax farmer with the same means as the latter and turned over to the village treasury.13

The first local issue that arose after peasant emancipation concerned patrimonial jurisdiction. The central government had depended upon manorial lords for justice and police in rural areas, and the lords had used the authority to sustain their social position. Peasant emancipation posed the complicated question of whether the central government should replace the manorial court and the police with organs of its own. Did it have personnel and the resources to extend authority into the village? Did it wish to reduce the nobles' power in rural society? Would the lords allow the central government to assume jurisdiction without strenuous opposition? If not, were the lords capable henceforth of exercising the patrimonial power, or was the patrimonial system outmoded ? As a result of the frequent sale of estates the relationship between lord and peasant lost its hereditary character and became less and less patriarchal ; rather it depended upon the accident of property ownership. In a situation where the social and political responsibility of property ownership reflected the mores of a bygone society and the economics of property relations pertained to a developing, mobile society, economics prevailed. Social relations adjusted to conform to emerging economic and political realities. By purchasing an estate a citizen did not acquire the social position of lord. He became a parvenu, or an agriculturalist with basically economic interests. Although he might be attracted to landowning and an agricultural way of life by its social prestige and not merely by the prospect of economic gain, he had neither the family nor the traditional status of the erstwhile noble owner. He might entail the estate, but he could also de-entail it, living as he did in a time and a culture of increasing mobility. Conduct of local government ultimately became 91

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transferred to a supposedly neutral agency like the central bureaucracy. Change nonetheless came slowly. For a century power in village affairs continued in the hands of local aristocrats, a situation indicating both the persistence of traditional noble-peasant relationships and the gradualness with which new forces abroad in the state intruded rural areas. The noble delayed social change through control of political power; he exposed himself to loss of social and political influence over the peasants through his desire to secure economic improvement; for he found that the manorial system failed to respond to the needs of capitalistic agriculture. Members of the privileged nobility came to regard as necessary a modicum of popular participation in local government. In addition to recognizing the validity of ideas and arguments like those aptly formulated by Andrian-Werburg, they wished to be rid of the physical and economic responsibility associated with police and judicial authority. Their thoughts usually showed ambivalence: they knew they must retain patrimonial jurisdiction or lose control over the peasants and thereby undermine their patriarchal way of life; with equal clarity they recognized that since legal emancipation of the peasantry patrimonial judicial authority had become too complicated to be managed without trained jurists, whose employment would require financial expenditure. Many nobles could not afford to continue their exercise of judicial power, and patrimonial responsibility for policing the district of the estate grew similarly burdensome. In Austria, for example, during the first half of the nineteenth century the nobility had to assure custody of culprits and transport their persons through or from one estate to the next, an obligation especially heavy upon those with estates along the main highways. As patrimonial jurisdiction weakened its hold, complaints spread about lack of public responsibility for performing these services. Considerations of social prestige, however, retarded decline of the institution. In those countries where the practice existed, local government during the century aimed at its preservation in some form; although the French Revolution abolished patrimonial power, France continued to experience its psychological effects. Debate over the nature and source of patrimonial jurisdiction began at the time of peasant emancipation and continued through the century: the nobility defended their powers until compelled by revolution in 1918 to abandon hope. Aristocratic landowners like those in Prussia and their supporters in the bureaucracy argued: 92

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. . . that in the six eastern provinces as in the other German provinces the police power has for centuries pertained to the large estate as such; that the lordly position of ownership of the large estate has always accompanied development of the power of the prince and is one of the most essential supports of the natural aristocracy of the land; that it has no inner and necessary connection with the personal and material relations of dependence and of service of the peasantry to the lord. 14 Opponents denied the validity of the historical argument. According to the traditional legal system [stated Von Roenne, the great authority for Prussian law] police protection has always been directly connected with judicial power, wherefore both in the older decrees and in the more recent legislation the terms "manorial lord" [>Gutsherr] and "manorial lordly power" [Gutsobrigkeit] are used together. Patrimonial justice and patrimonial police rest, however, . . . not upon a general reason of suitability, according to which the larger landowner as such is best suited to exercise lordly power over his neighbors and tenants, but they derive f r o m the earlier social structure, resting namely in part upon the property rights of the lord in the person and goods of the earlier tenants or upon various rights in both, in consideration of which he acquired the power and responsibility of protection and assistance, as well as upon the correlative of these powers—the patrimonial duty to protect and represent the tenants; in part, however, upon the express delegation by the princes and rulers of the state. In part it originated in the lord's own court and in the manorial court, . . . in which in former times members of the village frequently took part themselves when a court consisted of serfs and villeins. Likewise the manorial police and judicial competence pertained to large landowners not as a constitutional privilege but only to the noble or knights' estates as an honorary right of the nobility, whereas their bourgeois purchasers could acquire them, as they could any honorary privilege, only by special bestowal. 15 The revolution of 1848 abolished patrimonial jurisdiction in Prussia, and the constitution of 1850 confirmed the action. Manorial courts ceased: Article 86 of the constitution declared that "judicial power is exercised in the name of the K i n g through independent courts subject to no other authority than that of the law." In the previous year the government had created a statewide judicial system extending into the villages. Noble landowners refused to acquiesce in defeat, however, and in a law of 1856 they found a w a y of regaining their police power but not their judicial authority. The ministry justified its action in supporting the request of the lords by stating in paragraph 1 : . . . that the manorial police power is derived f r o m the sovereign power of the King, is a right customarily adhering to the possession 93

LOCAL GOVERNMENT of a knight's estate or to other landed estate and provides that this manorial power (police power) can be taken from its owner in no way other than that provided by law.18 The commission report of the lower house of the Landtag asserted that the power henceforth . . . as previously can be gained by inheritance or purchase, except in cases ruled out by law, so that therefore this patrimonial position of the landowner in the narrower sense is not the result of state obligation, which is bestowed through the King, but that the office of police administrator is attached customarily to the possession of an estate and derives primarily from the position of patrimonial authority. On the other hand, the right is not a purely private one but a royal prerogative granted by the state.17 Government and public soon recognized that patrimonial police power could not be indefinitely preserved, since its restoration violated the intent of the constitution, which declared (Art. 42) the authority abolished. As Von Roenne wrote: Patrimonial power over other properties and persons, which rests on no grant, depends upon no qualification, is bound by no oath, and which, finally, derives from the possession of specific estates however this possession may have been gained—this power was compatible neither with the recognition that executive power belongs to the King alone (Article 45) nor with the abolition of all privileges inhering in the estates and the principle of equality of all citizens before the law (Article 4 and elsewhere). Patrimonial police, furthermore, had become an anomaly, since by the legislation of the last half of the century all other political and economic relations between erstwhile manorial dominion and its tenants were extinguished, since the sale and ownership of formerly manorial estates was opened to all, and, finally, since through the recent judicial constitution of 1849, the remainder of patrimonial jurisdiction—the source of the manorial police—was abolished.18 No state proved so efficient as Prussia in settling governmental problems in such a way as to preserve the appearance of constitutionality while retaining essential power in the hands of conservative social forces. The law of 1872 regarding county government in the six eastern provinces imparted to patrimonial police power the status of state power. The law asserts at the outset that police power is exercised in the name of the king, that patrimonial police power is abolished. Every county, except for the towns, is to divide itself into districts for police purposes. The president of the provincial government (who would customarily be a landowner of noble lineage) appoints the police chief of a district for a term of six years. If the district consists of one community, which in East 94

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Elbia would almost never be the case, or of one noble estate (Gutsbezirk), as would often occur, the head of the community or of the noble estate doubles as police officer of the district. Hence the lord of the manor would retain as a state official the police authority that he had exercised as a patrimonial right, and the chief officer of a single community forming a district would find himself in the same position as before, namely responsible as a state official to the Landrat and to the Oberprasident of the province. The mayor and his aides in the village continued to perform the traditional police duties. The law transferred from the lord to the state authority to select village officials—actually a small concession, since police authority passed to the hands of a district officer appointed by an aristocratic landowner as Oberprasident of the province. In the village and on the estate the nature of the duties remained the same. Police power covered matters of security, morals, health, labor, poor relief, roads, water, field, forest, fishing, industry, construction, fire, and so on; that is, the lord acting as state official would continue to control the life of the peasants. The law allowed the creation of a new police district to include villages and manorial estates, but the lords rarely took advantage of the permission. They preferred to retain the existing system of police jurisdiction, which was patrimonial in everything but name. While losing the power as lords to approve the selection of officials by the village assembly, they preserved it as county officials representative of the nobility. A second issue, one of less significance as a source of conflict than patrimonial jurisdiction, arose in regard to the territorial extent of village communal jurisdiction. In France and Italy, where feudal tenure had been thoroughly uprooted, every piece of land belonged to a commune; but in central and eastern Europe the state demesne lands, noble properties and many smaller properties, mills, taverns, and the like, although physically within or adjacent to the village, lay outside the jurisdiction of village government. Not even the towns in Prussia, according to the town ordinance of March 17, 1881, had authority over "the former independent German Imperial estates and their properties lying within the town limits and their inhabitants, and the owners of the other dependent towns with their domainal possessions and their inhabitants, as well as the real property or knights' estates with their inhabitants." 19 The law of 1841 for Westphalia and that of 1845 for the Rhineland, on the other hand, had declared that not merely all landed properties lying within the boundaries of a commune belong to this commune but also that single

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pieces of property that do not belong to any commune are to be attached to a neighboring commune. The landed property of the former Imperial noble estates and in the province of Westphalia the knights' estates with rights of a seat in the Landtag shall be excepted. . . . In the old-provincial eastern provinces, where the Prussian Legal Code [Allgemeines Landrecht] had been introduced, according to Par. 18, II 7 only the peasant properties belonged to the village, and the knights' estates, demesne lands, state forest lands, often the properties of the churches, pastors and schools were excluded from every communal grouping.20

These customary or particular jurisdictions, typical of the Old Regime, persisted until the revolutions of 1918. A corollary of the issue of jurisdiction appeared in the governmental relation between manorial estate and village. In Russia the retention of communal responsibility differentiated the mir so sharply from the lord's privately owned property that the question of uniting mir and lord's estate into an administrative district did not arise. The problem belonged especially to the six eastern provinces of Prussia and to Austria, where in the main both large estates and peasant-owned property enjoyed freedom of sale and certain other legal attributes. Aristocratic landlords, fully supported by landlords of bourgeois origin, refused to allow their estates to be united with peasant villages into a single territorially compact governmental district. In the western provinces of Prussia so few noble estates remained that the question lacked relevance; in addition the French under Napoleon had introduced into the Rhineland and Westphalia the canton (Amt), a governmental unit between the village and the county, to which the East Elbian provinces and Austria had nothing comparable. Throughout the century reformers understood that villages in the eastern provinces lacked material and intellectual resources with which to introduce essential improvements, such as adequate roads and bridges, schools, agricultural services, medical care. Only an administrative district uniting peasant villages and noble estate could muster these resources. In 1848 Austrian liberals went so far as to argue that the principle of equality should be applied and the lord made a member of the local community with the same political and legal rights and duties as a peasant member; the size of his estate and the difference in social position, they asserted, had no bearing upon the case. They wrote this ideal into the Kremsier constitution and into a community law of 1849. Opponents denounced as impracticable the association of two such unequal persons as landlord and peasant. Aware 96

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that the change would subject them to a majority vote of peasants, the lords knew from brief experience in Austria in 1849-51 that the peasants would throw the tax burden upon them for purposes of direct advantage to the village, and that in time the lords' superior social position and political authority in the area would be undermined. Reformers replied that without the union and a sharing of responsibility the lord would avoid responsibility for maintenance of village laborers who became incapacitated or whom he could no longer profitably employ. They feared that if the estate were left a governmental unit, its lord would be able legally to preserve his manorial court—as proved to be the case in Prussia. Acknowledging that it would be difficult for peasants to cooperate with the lords, that the lords would cease to be masters and become leaders, that union would be difficult for both sides, they pointed out that if rural areas were to be raised economically, socially, and politically to the level required by the modern power state, no feasible alternative existed. A proposal to buy estates and divide them among the peasants might be plausible in Posen at the expense of the Poles; it could not be accepted for German regions. Each of the three countries—Russia, Prussia, Austria—tried a different approach to the problem, and none of them found a solution. In Russian Poland after the rebellion of 1863, the Russian government rewarded the Polish peasants for not having supported the rebellion by removing their villages from the lords' jurisdiction and granting them independent authority under the state bureaucracy. That this act did not constitute an ideal solution becomes evident from the experience of Russian state peasants, whom government officials long had exploited financially. In the late 1830's Czar Nicholas I under advice from N. D. Kiselyov had defined with some precision the duties and rights of state peasants and reformed the administration of their affairs. Emancipation of private peasants entailed no important changes in government within the villages, but it abolished the authority of the landed proprietors, whom Nicholas I used to call the "50,000 most zealous and efficient hereditary police masters." 21 The form assigned to emancipation isolated the mir from local leaders and imposed upon it governmental duties concerned with the collection of taxes and redemption fees and the continuation of communal life which the mir proved incapable of performing. The mir now became the victim of peasant ignorance. The law replaced the lords by an expanded police force responsible to the central government, thus compounding ignorance with repression. The peasants suffered from lack of leadership such 97

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as the lords might have provided, and the lords suffered from the alienation of their natural clientele. Governmental officials offered no substitute for natural, local cooperation. The Prussian answer to the problem separated large-estate and village administration and preserved the lord's authority over the village by making him a state official and by instituting a classweighted suffrage law; thus Prussia afforded leadership and a higher degree of efficient administration than existed in any other country. It did so, however, at the cost of the peasantry, which at most rose to the status of a second-class citizenry. Not until 1891, nearly a century after the emancipation of the peasants, did Prussian law provide for village government in the six eastern provinces, and the law belied its ostensible purpose. Reformers proposed to unite estates with villages into administrative districts, in order to assure sufficient resources for introducing improvements into the villages. The nobles denounced the idea as an attempt to burden them with responsibility toward the villages and to lower them to the political level of the peasants. Again they succeeded in preserving their estates as administrative units. The law of 1891 made the compulsory creation of such a district subject to review by the county executive committee, then the district (Bezirk) executive committee, then the provincial council—all bodies dominated by large landowners. In the event of opposition by these bodies the new unit could be established only by act of the entire state ministry (des gesamten Staatsministerium). Similarly, if those affected by it objected, an association for a particular purpose could be formed only with the approval of the county executive committee. The landlords thereby obtained protection against peasant proposals for compulsory associations, which would have benefited primarily the peasants. The lords found double security in the fact that the county executive committee, on behalf of the state, also supervised the acts of village selfadministration.22 Manorial power made the Junker supreme in the rural East, thus providing the strongest obstacle to further attempts during the nineteenth century to erect a system of selfgovernment. In Austria the law of 1862 continued the practice followed since the repudiation of the liberal community law of 1849, whereby lords could withdraw their estates from the village community. It sought, however, to prohibit the lord from exploiting the village as a continuing source of poor relief, and it endeavored to prevent him from reimposing patrimonial jurisdiction upon the peasants. It did so by 98

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asserting "that the separate estate assumes the duties and activities of a commune without having assigned to it any other official power than is necessary to the execution of these duties and activities" (Art. 1). The central government delegated responsibility of implementation to the provincial governments, and the law of 1863 for Bukowina exemplifies the particular meaning applied to the clause. It read in part: The manor (Gutsgebiet) is to assume all the duties and activities of a local community. For execution of these duties and services the manor assumes the official power of a community head and, in regard to the village police, the right inhering in the village executive committee. The right of the community head to punish, however, does not pertain to the manor.

Thus the lord was to assume for his own peasants responsibilities similar to those of a village government; that is, poor relief, taxation, local improvements, and the rest. In exercising police power he could wield not the full authority of a patrimonial lord but only that legally devolving upon a village government, and he was denied outright the village power to judge criminal cases, a power that passed to the district captain. The Austrian system resembled the Prussian rather than the Russian system with its peculiar institution of the mir.23 What were the results of a century of experiment? From his experience in traveling throughout Russia after 1890, Sir Bernard Pares described approvingly village government under the czars before the revolution of 1905. Insofar as peasant life was concerned, Andrian-Werburg's ideal appeared to have been partially realized in one of the least developed countries in Europe. The village, Pares wrote, has had to learn to settle its own affairs, because the central government disposed of no means for "regular interference." Heads of households met "in free council on the basis of one man one vote" to arrange for the management of village property, and Pares believes that in this way the peasants learned "the practice of democratic administration" so that the village was "in principle, an independent and self-governing community." 24 Other writers with first-hand information of village government have spoken in similar terms. Sir John Paget wrote in 1850: "Every Hungarian village forms a Communitas in itself, and is governed by its own elected officers, assesses and collects its own taxes, and manages its own affairs, very much after its own fancy." He adds, however, "The Lord of the Manor has, to a certain extent, the same power in the village as the Monarch in the county." 25 99

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Lords everywhere directed the part of village life that interested them; peasants exercised self-government in matters of little or no consequence to anyone other than themselves. If the lord employed an industrious, arbitrary, and ambitious steward and other officials with similar qualities, the peasants found, as readers of Paget and of Turgenev learn, that independent action and democratic administration did not exist. In every authoritarian state, in Prussia and Austria as well as in Russia and Hungary, the peasants' experience in local government failed to develop a sense for and an understanding of politics. Many of the problems facing the peasantry resembled those that confronted town dwellers and nobles, namely taxation, repair of roads and bridges, schools, and poor relief; however, the peasants handled these matters not on the basis of policy but as administrative details, the adjustment of limited means to specific ends. They acted on so small a scale that discussion of principle seemed absurd, and in addition, they rarely had the power of decision.26 They submitted their acts for approval to authority above them, whether state official or lord, and they expected both to protect them from mistakes. The institutional form of the village assembly failed to prepare the peasants for participation in representative bodies, to teach them about the conduct of government on a generalized, impersonal, and nonlocal scale. Village government trained the peasants merely for "church steeple politics," that is, politics of no concern beyond the limits of the view from the church steeple; and its limited nature and scope helped to preserve rather than to undermine localism. The village did not change noticeably its routine or quicken social mobility. The description of a village assemby in Russia given by Wallace and confirmed by Pares, two of the best informed observers of the country in the decades prior to World War I, depicts the most primitive form of government possible. The peasants, Pares has said, settled matters not by counting votes but by "a kind of acclamation." When a question was posed, the members broke into little groups for discussion, and all seemed to talk at once in loud voices. As soon as the meeting was called to order, the disorder disappeared, and the peasants listened in "silence and attention" to the general discussion.27 The Prussian village, on the other hand, conducted its assembly with more formality, and in the latter half of the century its members learned the advantage of secret balloting. Peasants became sufficiently experienced for the law to introduce the three-class system of voting for certain local elections in the 100

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village, and it allowed multiple voting rights to the largest landholders.28 In the last decades of the century Russian peasants, and those in other countries too, were learning something about politics from participation in regional or statewide elections. Under these conditions initiative for change came from outside, from groups other than peasants. Lords who opposed selfgovernment in order to assure the status quo argued from observation and personal experience. To change their way of life peasants needed encouragement, even coercion, from their superiors or from the central bureaucracy, and under favorable circumstances one or both forces operated as catalysts. Guidance from above toward a better life, however, meant the risk of continued domination, the lords tending to fend off change in order to preserve the aristocratic way of life, the bureaucracy being addicted to the paternalistic interference that Andrian-Werburg found in Austria. Both forces, once the peasants had reached the desired point of social experience, delayed the grant of independence to village members. There were exceptions: at the higher governmental level of the Zemstvo in Russia; in the remarkable work of the folk high schools in Denmark; in agricultural regions around expanding towns and cities, where peasants met the challenge of new markets for the traditional grain, wood, and wool, as well as for novel products like vegetables, fruit, milk, and meat. As a general rule, by 1914 experience of village government in central and eastern Europe had not prepared the peasantry to enter public life as voter or as officeholder on an equal basis with other classes. Reference to the class as misera plebs contribuentium disappeared; but the description, which an English traveler reported to have found in the Hungarian civil code in 1840, continued to be accurate for many peasants in many countries on the Continent.29 It would have been difficult, even with the best of intentions and the most efficient means, to transform recent serfs into full-fledged citizens within two or three generations. In most regions and under existing circumstances peasant government within the village proved incapable of effecting any such change.30 France after the Revolution and Italy after unification prescribed a common form of government to village, commune (in Italy, composed of several villages), town, and city, irrespective of size. Each community had a mayor and assistants, a council, and approximately similar powers and duties. The central government played an identical role in both village and city, frequently imposing duties beyond the ability of village and small town to perform and inter-

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fering unnecessarily in large town or city. In Italy citizens elected officials including councilmen for a term of three to six years, whereas in France, by the law of 1831, the departmental prefect appointed communal officials from members of the popularly elected council. The French prefect could suspend an official; only the king could dismiss him (Art. 3). During the Restoration the prefect had also appointed the councilmen. The duties assigned to local government included the traditional ones—upkeep of roads and streets, markets, lighting, sanitation, schools, cemeteries, poor relief, police and prisons; registration of births and deaths; maintenance of churches; voter registration. Whether officials were appointed or elected appears to have affected results very little. The French Prefect Romieu serving under Louis Philippe in 1833 described the incompetence of those with whom he had had contact: They do not even know the laws. I could name many a mayor who does not even cut the leaves of the Bulletin des Lois, a mounting collection in some old chest, where it is resting, a reserve for gun wadding. The fact is that there are some communes in this region [Brittany] where out of a thousand inhabitants only three or four know how to read. It has even happened that for sixteen consecutive years the municipal council of one of these communes has not met although it was supposed to have regular sessions. The budgets of each service had been drawn up by the mayor, then signed at home by those members of the council who knew how to scrawl their names.

Romieu concluded that "If you leave the communes to their own affairs, you will erect a feudal structure, not in its great forms but in its most vicious ones." 31 His service a decade later as prefect of la Haute Marne strengthened this opinion. He wrote in 1844: In drafting the municipal law the legislator has assumed that election was the surest means of bringing into the communal council the inhabitants most capable and most honored, those whom the general will was accustomed to call upon to direct affairs. But this supposition, plausible in theory, and even clear to a deaf-mute who has had contact only with books, does not take into account any of the usual circumstances of a communal election. It leaves out the apathy of some, the forced service of others, the ignorance of all. It ignores the jealousies and envious hatred, the family conspiracies, so aristocratic in the hamlets; the physical violence without protection, the tyrannies of usury, which everything assists. It neglects to mention above all the tavern, the village forum, where bargains are made, where consciences are bought, where resolutions are for sale, where decisions are taken, and where the most capable and most honored are not to be met with. And then, those men who have your law in their hands observe it in the letter, with some, often a very small minority,

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grouping themselves together; and in the absence of the rest they name themselves, to the exclusion of those whom their conduct has repelled by fear and disgust. This picture, I swear, and no one who has seen these32 things will contradict me, is not exaggerated in a single feature. Prefect Romieu's condemnation is all the more revealing because under the law of 1831 only the elite of a community could vote in municipal elections. Enumeration of the electors indicates the composition of the upper classes in France, the country that regarded itself, and which others considered, as the most politically advanced in Europe. The law of 1831 listed the citizens eligible to vote in local elections as follows: (1) those paying the heaviest direct taxes, that is, onetenth of the population in communes of less than a thousand inhabitants, a somewhat larger number in larger communes, and (2) judges and justices of the peace, members of chambers of commerce, members of councils of manufacturers and councils of ;prud'hommes (employers) for settling or adjudging labor disputes; members of administrative commissions of colleges, hospitals, and centers for poor relief ; officers of the national guard ; members and correspondents of the Institute and of other legally established learned societies ; doctors of law, medicine, the sciences, and letters after three years of residence in the commune ; lawyers, notaries, licentiates teaching in the colleges and residing in the commune; retired officials living on a pension ; graduates of the École polytechnique ; retired officers of army or navy living on a pension ; citizens eligible to vote for deputies to the Chambre des Députés or for members of the departmental General Council, irrespective of the size of the communal tax (Arts. 10-11 of the law) ,33 Restriction upon voting power in the commune to a wellinformed and distinguished group of citizens might be expected to have assured the introduction of local self-government; however, the central government, whether under Napoleon, the Restoration, Louis Philippe, or Napoleon III, never relinquished its hold, and the Third French Republic likewise maintained the fundamentals of the authoritarian system. Although any one of the several laws respecting municipal government might be analyzed as an example, the law of 1884 is considered here because it represents the peak of municipal freedom in France. How much local responsibility did it allow?34 Provision for election of town councillors by secret ballot and by all males aged twenty-one or over who had fulfilled a short resi103

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dence requirement marked a great advance over previous laws. Election of the mayor and his assistants from among the council and by council members enhanced the sense of local responsibility, especially since it needed only to be reported to the subprefect, not approved by him. Communal council and officials could consider only matters of local significance, a standard restriction under absolute monarchs as well as under less authoritarian governments, and aimed at discouraging political activity. Only the President of the Republic through the Council of Ministers could dissolve the municipal council and dismiss the mayor and his assistants; but the prefect could suspend both council and mayor for a month. The prefect also approved the appointment by the mayor of municipal officials and of police. Moreover, lack of precision in the wording of Article 85 gave the prefect opportunity to interfere. This article read: "In case the mayor refuses or neglects to perform any of the acts which are prescribed for him by law, the prefect may, after having demanded it of him, proceed to the duty in person, or by special deputy." The town officials might have one conception of what constituted refusal or neglect, the prefect another, whereupon the prefect's view took precedence. Supervision over decisions of communal government supplemented control of personnel, and these decisions affected almost every subject within the purview of local government. They pertained to: 68: ( 1 ) Conditions of leases the duration of which exceeds eighteen years; (2) alienation and exchange of communal property; (3) acquisition of immovables; new buildings; the projects, plans and estimates of important repairs and of maintenance, when the expense, added to the expense of the same nature during the current fiscal year, exceeds the limits of the ordinary and extraordinary resources which the communes may raise without special authorization; (4) contracts; (5) change in the use of communal property already devoted to a public service; (6) waste pasture land; (7) classification, reclassification, straightening or lengthening, enlargement, abolition and naming of streets and public places, creation and abolition of walks, squares and public gardens, market places, shooting places, or race courses, establishment of plans for laying and leveling of municipal public ways, modifications of the plans of construction adopted, tariff of highway duties, tariff of fees for stands and locations on any part of the main public highways, and, in general, tariffs of the various dues to be collected for the profit of the communes by virtue of Art. 133 of this Law; (8) the acceptance of gifts and legacies when there are charges or conditions or when ARTICLE

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they give way to the demands of families; (9) communal budget; (10) supplementary credits; (11) extraordinary contributions and loans, except in the case provided for by Article 141 of this law; (12) taxes in the cases provided for by Articles 137 and 138 of this law; (13) establishment, abolition or removal of fairs and markets other than the simple markets of supply.35

The government did not content itself with authority to approve the annual budget: it could intervene with respect to the minutest detail. Moreover, when the mayor issued orders for executing decisions of both central and local governments, he had first to gain approval from the subprefect or the prefect (Art. 95). France imposed curbs upon the initiative of the communal governments more appropriate to czarist Russia than to the Third Republic; decision in all matters lay in the hands of the prefect, an official discussed below. Political penetration of French communal government had the opposite effect of what advocates of local self-government had expected. In 1909 the French authority for communal government Joseph Barthélémy portrayed the opposition by local and regional authorities to expansion of economic and social enterprises. He attributed this opposition to the political character of communal institutions and the democratic recruitment of officials. The law allowed the governments to undertake whatever served the general interest in public health, schools, road construction, and the like—none of which was directly of a political nature. Nonetheless, wrote Barthélémy, the councils in the large and medium-size towns acted as nothing more than political assemblies, whose members were chosen according to party, not according to their capacity. . . . the city office [serves as] the first rung of the political ladder and thus [is] especially coveted by ambitious unknowns. In a great number of French towns, even important ones, the majority of the town councillors consists of artisans or workers. Thereby the French communal administration almost always lacks the necessary qualifications to conduct large industrial or commercial enterprises, and the magistrates chosen by them are neither more able nor more scrupulous. Undertakings that because of special circumstances happen to be in their hands are customarily conducted uneconomically ; the unnecessarily large number of jobs for employees forms a booty for the parasites of the successful party. Consequently the officials lack authority, the communal councillors are dependent upon the votes of their underlings. The mistrust of communal administration in France hereby arising has influenced both the legislation and legal administration in

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this field, and these therefore allow the community the creation or extension of economic undertakings only under very cautious conditions and very favorable circumstances.

Therefore, Barthélémy stated, the communes as juridical persons do not have the right to undertake anything that the law does not expressly forbid them ; rather they can only undertake what the law expressly permits, especially with respect to economic enterprises.36 They continued to live under the shadow of fear of the disruptive force of the municipal liberty which the Revolution had experienced and had written into law. The municipality amounted to "a simple collectivity, a purely private association of individuals living near one another and having common rights and interests." The famous Dictionnaire général de Jurisprudence de Dalloz in 1844 ascribed to the commune merely domestic and private functions, not public and administrative functions, and courts still refused in 1900 to call municipal services "public works" and referred suits against a municipality by local employees or private citizens to civil rather than to administrative courts.37 The plaintiff received protection, however, in an immediate and simple way. If a local government proposed to construct a power plant, to build a municipal transportation system, to attempt any measure involving public ownership and operation, the individual citizen whose property rights or other economic interests became affected by the threatened competition or in any other way could appeal his case to the Council of State and demand either veto of the proposal or an indemnity. The plaintiff frequently won his suit ; for the cost of a suit was insignificant, the mores were hostile to public enterprise, and the Council of State actively supported private enterprise. Availability and quality of public services both suffered from the effects of this unenlightened approach to local government. Paris and Lyons each had an adequate water supply and system of sewage disposal, and their police forces sufficed; numerous cities and towns, however, refused to raise or expend the necessary funds for these services. Nor would communes meet the needs by cooperation. The law of 1884 retained the century-old prohibition against their combining resources to erect a hospital, a special school, a waterworks, or to undertake some other enterprise. The restriction also applied to neighboring villages that might have agreed to share a secretary in order to reduce expenses but still pay this petty official an adequate salary. The government did not relax the ban until 1890, and then municipalities from village to large town, having shown 106

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little initiative up to this time, took small advantage of the new freedom of action. Hope that the right to introduce "communal federalism," as it was called, would arouse a spirit of public enterprise and responsibility came to little in fact.38 The departmental prefect was charged with enforcing the laws and supervising institutions of local government; yet administrative detail so burdened every prefect that he had no time for law enforcement. Two examples reveal some of the conditions. Lagging at least thirty years behind neighboring countries, France had no law regarding public health until 1902, when a law requiring each commune to provide a public health code was put into effect. Seven years later a large number of communes still lacked a code or ignored one that had been approved. The law stated that if during three consecutive years the death rate in a commune exceeded the national average, the prefect should investigate the cause and require the commune to improve sanitary conditions. These investigations, however, frequently consisted of an exchange of correspondence between prefect and mayor, after which nothing tangible resulted. Often inexpert or uncomprehending officials kept inaccurate vital statistics; data met the requirement of a report but proved inadequate as a basis for action.39 A second example concerns the condition of the police. After years of experience on the Council of State, Chardon concluded that division of the police among several jurisdictions caused confusion, and that in smaller towns and in the countryside the police hardly existed at all: the local citizens would not pay taxes to support an adequate force. He writes: It is a mystery to no one that crimes and misdemeanors and, with still more reason, infractions of the law very often go unpunished in a great part of France, that if our countryside has remained so far relatively secure, it is because of our general good behavior more than because of the excellent organization of the police. Where assassins and thieves show some astuteness the crime is assured in advance. In a country so populated, so cultivated that the population covers it with a very dense network, in which the administration increases rapidly, the primordial condition of social life, security, is more assured by natural gentleness of the customs and by mutual care one for another than by good police organization. Let an immoral event occur, a strike, a tumultuous outbreak, a concerted refusal to obey the law, the descent of a band of malefactors into a peaceful countryside, the invasion of the dregs of the population, our people are turned upside down and all the laws large and small are violated with impunity.40

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As Chardon pointed out, in emergencies the army had to protect society. In a letter to a voter, dated 1912, he concludes You write me, sir, that no public service is functioning well in your village—not the distribution of water; at the crossroads a few fountains open for an hour in the mornings and evenings; you cannot draw except for drinking and cooking; you are forbidden to wash; moreover the water course passes below a cemetery; no one would dare to think of sewers; the streets infested, a rudimentary lighting system, an insanitary hospital, typhoid permanently in the lower quarters; schools which scarlatina and croup periodically decimate; no hygiene; little [poor] assistance; a ridiculous police force. Nevertheless the municipal budget is exhausted and the town is full of functionaries who do not seem inactive. What are they doing ? Where does the money go ? You are exasperated! Calm yourself, sir: for all France is in the same fix. If you examine coolly our public services you will confirm that everywhere there is an incredibly great disproportion between effort and results; everywhere one finds huge expenditures necessary to obtain a service even approximating the normal.41

In a society where the social structure of the Old Regime no longer had legal validity individuals found a new and assured source of prestige in governmental service. Thus France put its efforts into expanding the number of public positions and sought to control the activity of these officials by administrative detail. As shown in a later chapter, means became an end. The kingdom of Italy inherited conditions of local government typical of European absolutism. Initial reform occurred in the kingdom of Piedmont-Sardinia in 1848, when the government introduced the French system, and upon national unification the French pattern of centralization spread over the entire kingdom. Fearing the disruptive potential of centuries-old communal loyalty, the Italian liberal nationalists imposed centralized authority as a counterweight. The basis for this fear appears in a few data: Comparison shows that in 1860 France with a population of 36 millions had 1,307 towns of more than 2,000 inhabitants, whereas Italy with only 21 million people had 2,914 such towns; in France one-fifth of the population resided in towns of more than 5,000 inhabitants, in Italy, one-half; the average French town had 978 inhabitants, the average Italian town had 2,821.42 The Italian central government retained until 1889 for the large cities and until 1896 for the small communes the power to name, to suspend, and to dismiss mayors from among the communal councillors. In these years it passed laws allowing the communal council to elect the mayor. In 1859 it introduced election of the communal councillors, although it retained the 108

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power to dissolve local councils "for serious motives of public order," and as in France, it supervised and controlled every act of the local government. Since it treated all communes under the same law, it deprived the large towns of initiative, and it imposed upon small communes duties beyond their ability to perform. Toward the end of the century the central government curtailed corruption and bourgeois exploitation in some towns and allowed municipalities to build public baths, to purchase privately owned gasworks, to erect public housing. The influence of socialism in certain towns brought voters' approval of municipal ownership and operation of means of production and distribution of consumers' goods, bakeries, pharmacies, and the like. Yet the socialist-inspired municipal governments operated under the constant threat of intervention by the central government. In all instances Italy like France made local government the tool of national party politics. What began as an effort to overcome communalism by nationalism rapidly degenerated into a spoils system.43 Local self-government in Spain existed only on paper. The municipal law of 1877, on the statute books throughout the rest of the century, improved upon the French model. Had it been implemented, it might have afforded an effective basis for popular, responsible government under central supervision. The central government, however, feared centrifugal results if it allowed the municipalities the freedom of action to which the law entitled them. The ministry, by issuing detailed instructions about procedure, and even by simply ordering local officials to act contrary to statute, interpreted the law out of existence. An authority on local government estimated in 1916 that the ministry had issued 6,000 orders disregarding the law. When Minister-President Moret in 1909 decreed that henceforth the law of 1877 should be applied "in all the purity of its principles," and without consideration of "the administrative regulations having had for object the interpretation of the terms of the law," bureaucrats compared the decree to a coup d' etat. Although more discreet than before, they continued the old practices. 44 In an effort to offset the weakness of the central government those who drafted the Spanish constitution had concentrated control over all lucrative sources of tax revenue in the hands of the state and had left the municipalities dependent for income upon local tolls and fees. Local governments could not raise sufficient funds for improvements. They looked to the central government for special subsidies, which came rarely and remained small in amount. 109

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Nonetheless, the state delegated to the municipalities numerous duties for which local authorities bore the cost; and since the provincial government depended for most of its funds upon contributions from the municipal budget, the financial burden of the Spanish state fell largely upon the level of government with fewest resources. In addition, the state disapproved of municipally owned enterprises in public housing, utilities, and the like, from which municipal governments could have derived an income; thus it assured dependence upon the central government while crushing local initiative. The law set low standards for officials. The secretary needed merely an elementary education; officials could be and often were illiterate.45 They seldom received any compensation, and unless reelected, they served for only two years. Cities with citizens of sufficient wealth and intelligence to undertake civic improvements were governed by the same tight central control over budget and local legislation as were the villages. Local governmental administration had every incentive to avoid acts requiring effort; for years the council in numerous small communes did not bother to meet; it left all matters to the mayor and the secretary. The communes might have surmounted handicaps of bureaucratic domination had they not inherited the extralegal institution of caciquismo or boss rule. Sometimes the mayor wielded the power of boss. In reporting that the mayor of Madrid, the Conde de Romanones, had resigned, a Spanish newspaper added that a special train would carry the municipal employees, appointed by the Conde, to his and their native town.46 The new mayor-boss would apply the spoils system in his own favor. Every village of more than a thousand inhabitants had a paid clerk, whose low salary led him to accept bribes and to become the tool of the boss. The mayor himself, if not a boss, found that at the end of his two-year term his acts became subject to official investigation and that often unwittingly he had violated the law; if he had cooperated with the boss, he felt secure; if he had tried to act honestly, he paid the penalty. Overwhelmed by office detail and boss rule, the village government performed almost no municipal services. Every society lives according to a formal law and an informal law: caciquismo made informal law far more important in the lives of the people than the statutes. Taking its character from the boss, local government amounted to exploitation.47 Unable to cope with the problems of a rapidly growing urban population and economy, absolutism in central and eastern Europe 110

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allowed town government to expand its functions. In rural regions absolutistic practices persisted, but in towns and cities the old system confronted a society of population density, self-confidence, and diversity of interests beyond its experience. Traditional institutions and customs of town rule continued wherever traditional society survived to any extent; in the regions of steady or rapid urbanization, changes in town government came as the first significant concession made by absolute monarchs to public participation in government. The concession did not take satisfactory form, and discontent persisted among elements of the urban population; change, however, is observable. The new type of organization originated in Germany, whence it spread to Austria and Russia. Although the institutions of mayor, council, and popular elections appeared similar to those in western Europe, there developed a distribution of power among these institutions and a relation with the central bureaucracy which differed from that of the West. In addition, unlike the West the form of town government in central and eastern Europe had little in common with government in the villages. Not that France lacked backward, small villages—quite the contrary. France, however, had experienced a revolution, and Italy for centuries had been a land of communes. The countries to the east, except part of western Germany which had been briefly incorporated into France and had received the French system of local government, benefited from no such heritage. Since absolutism, caste, and privilege characterized their social structure, they made to these institutions as many concessions as the changing conditions would tolerate. Town government in these countries avoided state politics; it never became the electoral agent of ministers and deputies, and at its best it provided the ablest, most constructive government at local level to be found in Europe.48 Town government as associated with the Old Regime persisted in Russia at least until the municipal law of 1870, and in many areas there it continued during the entire century. Prussia reformed the towns at the beginning of the century (1808) as part of the process of making the state capable of withstanding the French invasion and recovering and preserving independence. In Austria the old type of town government, weakened by the revolution of 1848, experienced legal transformation in 1862; in Hungary reform lagged far behind that in Austria. Proponents of reform argued that antiquated government in the locality obstructed economic, social, and political improvements, and that a modern society re111

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quired institutions of local government that reflected and assisted the new society. Russia possessed few towns, and during the greater part of the century its merchant class remained small and economically and culturally backward. Aside from the nobility, the clergy, and the lower officials, who resided in towns for all or part of the year, until 1870 the town population legally consisted of three groups— merchants, burghers, and artisans. These groups did not form hereditary castes: individuals might belong to one group one year and to another the next year, depending upon occupation and payment of the necessary dues. Each group formed a corporation, with its own organization, privileges, and occupations. The town burgomaster, council, and guilds—institutions imported from Germany by Peter the Great—had no political responsibility or authority; the town interested the central government only as a unit for collection of taxes, and the welfare of the town's inhabitants continued to be ignored.49 A second type of town government existed in Germany as late as 1862 in New Hither Pomerania and Riigen. In this form the magistracy co-opted its members for life. The members of the municipal boards (Kollegen), especially in smaller towns, served at the will of the magistracy; the burghers did not elect officials, although in a few cases they might choose the officials from a list of candidates submitted by the magistracy. A codified town law did not exist; consequently, the magistracy in the towns of Greifswald and Stralsund frequently did not know the customary law and acted as it thought best.50 Hungarian towns employed a variant of this system. Paget described them in 1850 as following the German pattern of government, Pest having a self-perpetuating senate of twelve members and a council of 120 members chosen for life. The Crown retained the power to propose candidates and had means to assure appointment of preferred persons. Since the number of possible candidates in a town continued small and tenure was for life, individuals could be easily bribed, influenced by favors, or intimidated. If a town challenged the Crown by sending a liberal deputy to the Diet, it suffered punishment: a request to the central government for permission to expend municipal funds for the slightest repair or improvement, such as building a bridge, remained unanswered for years.51 Another type of town government occurred in Austria. In numerous cases the central bureaucracy appointed and dismissed the mayor and other officials, who were often not native to the town, or transferred them from one post to another. Since no town assembly 112

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or council existed as a check, the officials so appointed slighted the interests of the town in favor of the orders or wishes of the bureaucracy. Some towns continued under patrimonial jurisdiction or protection of their manorial lords. In Prussia on the eve of the reform of 1808, the central bureaucracy ruled the towns through appointed officials, often disabled soldiers, among whom the tax councillors (Steuerrate) wielded most authority. The commander of the local garrison possessed extensive police powers, enabling him to interfere in communal life in an autocratic way and to inculcate military discipline into burgher society. The burghers were treated as in Austria and Russia like "minor children or thoughtless spendthrifts." 52 The Hohenzollerns had eradicated abuses common to oligarchy at the cost of local interest, the spirit of freedom, and cooperation between magistrate and burghers.53 The Prussian municipal law of 1808 originated not among private citizens desirous of freedom and individual initiative but among town and governmental officials eager to arouse in the citizenry a sense of individual responsibility. The officials intended to allow or to impose upon the burghers enough freedom in the management of local affairs to generate in them devotion to the nation-state. The law of 1808, issued in the calamitous days of French domination, introduced so much self-government that it shocked an unprepared citizenry into protest, confusion, and occasionally into refusal to relinquish the paternalistic system. Nonetheless the law deserves a place among the principal instruments of free government in modern times. Although within a few years its liberal terms suffered reduction at the hands of the post-1815 bureaucracy, the principle, and to a considerable extent the practice, of participation in the management of local affairs became an integral part of Prussian life, whence its example in time affected town government in much of central and eastern Europe. The law of 1808 erected in the towns a government modeled after that of a constitutional state with separation of powers. A town council, chosen by burghers who met a small property qualification and who were divided not into guilds but, in the larger towns, into geographic districts, formed the legislative body and elected the burgomaster and other town officials. Executive officials served for a specified term—six years for burgomaster, twelve for others—and all received a salary, thereby enabling the career to become professional. In addition to these officials the law introduced mixed commissions for administrative duties—groups established by agreement between magistracy and council and consisting of 113

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officials, councilmen, and laymen serving without pay. These commissions assured continued activity of the citizenry in public affairs; they prodded or checked officials and supplemented with administrative experience the legislative experience gained in the council. The law greatly curtailed state supervision, especially in financial matters; but the towns lost to the state their judicial and police powers, the so-called Hoheitsrecht, the magistracy receiving in police affairs the dual role of official town body and organ of the central government. The state retained the right to confirm the election of town officials; in large towns the council had authority only to propose three candidates for the burgomaster's position, from whom the central government chose one. A part of the law preserved the status quo: it restricted the right of citizenship to owners of real estate and to those conducting a business. Whereas French revolutionary legislation gave citizenship to all inhabitants of the town, the Prussian law excluded those who had permission only to reside in the towns, among them, whether educated or uneducated, all those without real property. When the state abolished serfdom and legal separation of town and country, when geographical and social mobility became general as industrialism developed, population shifted into both smaller and larger towns. Whatever the law, there began a trend away from restricted citizenship and toward an integrated community. The town law of 1853 (par. 3) recognized this change. Instead of preserving political power by limiting community membership, the government through this law concentrated local political power in an elite by means of a new suffrage requirement; now adjusted to the need to allow new groups to live as citizens in the towns, residence rights became extended, whereas electoral rights became restricted. The greatest change introduced by the law of 1808 concerned the position of the executive.54 Citizens sought the dignity and prestige of election to the town council, whose duties they felt competent to perform. The responsibilities of mayor and of officials who must be experts appeared to them too great, particularly in the small towns, and the short terms of service set by the law—six and twelve years—at first alienated professional administrators accustomed to life tenure. To many central-governmental bureaucrats budgetary freedom in the towns seemed too extensive. They feared that councils accustomed to the peculation and exploitation of privileged positions under the Old Regime and hence lacking a sense of public morality would behave irresponsibly in the use of town property

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and of right to tax, to borrow, and to spend. Immediately after the state regained its independence from the French, the Prussian central government had begun to reduce the right of local decision. These revisions now became included in the municipal law of 1853, which remained in effect until the revolution of 1918. Comparison of the Prussian law of 1853 and the French law of 1884 reveals a crucial difference between two systems of local government. In France the council elected the mayor for four years, to serve without compensation. His Prussian counterpart, elected for twelve years, received a salary and assurance of retirement income at the end of one term in amount sufficient to enable him to live in accordance with his social position. The French mayor was an amateur, the Prussian a professional, who frequently secured reelection to another term or moved to a position elsewhere. The election of both required confirmation from above. In case the Prussian town failed to select an acceptable candidate, the central government could appoint an interim official to serve indefinitely; French law made no such sweeping assertion of power, but it did allow the prefect to suspend the mayor and council for a month. Professional qualifications, a career service, twelve-year tenure with the probability of reelection, or in the worst case retirement on an adequate pension, gave the Prussian mayor power of independent action that his French colleague never possessed. He held a more favorable position with respect to the town council than his French counterpart, for he continued in office through several elections of councilmen. A councilman was elected for a term of six years, but one-third of the membership came up for renewal every two years (Art. 18), and an able mayor could muster legitimate means of securing the election of persons who would support his program. The French mayor had no such opportunity, since he served on the council and for the same period of time as its members (Arts. 76, 81). In each country the mayor appointed the expert personnel required for municipal administration. The French mayor could dismiss persons at any time (Art. 88), whereas Prussian officials, selected after consultation with the town council, received life tenure. Because of their insecure position town officials in France fell prey to political malpractice; those in Prussia made a career of their work and could undertake long-term planning for the towns. The French mayor alone was responsible for administration (Art. 8 2 ) ; in Prussia the magistracy, consisting of the mayor, his deputy, and a number of town councillors, and when needed one or several

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paid professional members such as school officials, building technician, and treasurer, acted as a body and decided matters by majority vote (Art. 29). A survival of earlier collegiate practice, the majority vote was subject by law to the authority of the mayor in the following respect: "The Mayor is required, when a decision of the magistracy exceeds its power or is illegal, is harmful to the welfare of the state or to communal interests, to demur to the execution of the decision and to request the decision of the government" (Art. 57). The right of suspensive veto with appeal to the bureaucratic hierarchy, in addition to the other powers of his office, enabled a vigorous mayor to direct community affairs, especially since he exercised the same authority with respect to decisions of the town council (Art. 36). Furthermore the commissions, composed of councillors, permanent officials, and laymen, served under the magistracy rather than the council, an arrangement that enabled the mayor to command expert advice and to mobilize laymen for special projects (Art. 79) and for the conduct or supervision of such continuing specialized functions as education, public works, and poor relief. The French law of 1884 maintained previous practice in allowing the municipal council to appoint committees "charged with studying questions (under the presidency of the mayor) submitted to the council either by the administration or by the initiative of one of its members" (Art. 59). It also allowed the mayor to delegate "a part of his functions" to members of the municipal council (Art. 82). Unlike the Prussian system, the French did not unite a professional, elected representative and an appointed layman for an extended period of public service in specific aspects of community life, and therefore, did not afford a means of civic education. That the Prussian town must secure approval by the district administration of changes in its tax program and of the sale of land and other properties, of proposals to borrow money, of changes in the use of town property, and of the disposal of or important changes in matters of scholarly, historical, or artistic value (Arts. 50, 53) did not restrict the town's activity to the extent that the initiative of a French town was curbed. The Prussian town sent its budget to the higher governmental body merely for information (Art. 66), whereas the French did so for approval. The Prussian town retained control over a wide range of activity; on its own authority the French town could not even undertake repair of streets. In both countries election of the mayor needed confirmation from above, but in France election took place every four years, in Prussia only every twelve years. Utilizing for political purposes the 116

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power of confirmation became frequent in France; the Prussian government rarely exploited its authority, and when it did so it acted not in order to force the mayor to influence elections, as in France, but to exclude from the position too vigorous a critic of the conservative central government. Intervention in Prussia seldom reduced the efficiency of municipal administration. Nor did the French and Prussian laws differ in prohibiting town government from considering matters outside local responsibility; both states retained this limitation from their absolutistic past. The greatest difference between the two systems lay in the right to vote and in the voting systems. The French law granted the right to all males of twenty-one years or over who were not imbeciles, criminals, or clearly incapable (Art. 14). The conservative Prussian town ordinance of 1853 continued restriction of the right to vote to the propertied class (Art. 5), and as a further expression of mistrust of popular will, it introduced into municipal elections the threeclass system of voting. Prussian municipal government institutionalized constitutional monarchism at the local level.55 The French system, although seeming to embody the Third Republic's political ideals of self-government, preserved a lingering distrust of democracy. Austria introduced a type of communal government different from that of either Prussia or France. An Austrian authority, Professor Josef Redlich, covering the local government of England as well as of his own country, declared in 1909 that Austrian towns enjoyed local self-government. He referred to them as administrative republics, and although a proponent of local self-government, he criticized the provincial and the central government for intervening too rarely in communal affairs. The Austrian Social Democratic leader Karl Renner in 1915 supported the criticism by denouncing town governments as devoid of initiative in solving the numerous emergency problems that the war evoked. The sense of local independence, meritorious in itself, proved burdensome without institutions capable of handling large problems. Redlich especially regretted that the central authority did not require local authority to meet the new, higher standards being evolved under rapidly changing conditions. He asserted that in introducing local self-government by the law of 1862, which remained effective until the fall of the Habsburgs, Austria overreacted to the almost total absence of self-rule before 1848. He added: In Austria, with its powerful national and cultural variety, with its bureaucracy, which for a long time had not been indifferent to nationality, and which was far from homogeneous, the persistent 117

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reserve of the centralized state power toward local administration proved in many respects to be a political necessity. 56

Both explanations of Austrian preference for local selfgovernment carry weight. They lack, however, the significance in 1862 of a third point, namely that the new law transferred local control to property owners and taxpayers, who would be expected to pursue loyal conservative policies, and it provided for supervision of communal affairs by both the provincial self-government and by the imperial central bureaucracy. Communal government fitted into a political system of central, provincial, and local checks and balances. This system largely restored an old form of local government, now freed from the weight of bureaucratic autocracy. By introducing the three-class system of voting, it assured control of local affairs to traditional social groups. Since Austria in 1862 stood only on the threshold of industrialism, the government did not take into account the needs of future economic and social change. The law leaned toward decentralization as advocated by the feudal conservatives and written into the constitution of October, 1860. Depending upon whether or not society changed, freedom of local action might either maintain the status quo or develop a vigorous communal activity. The law applied to all communes, large and small. Vienna and a few other cities received separate constitutions, which conformed in all essentials, however, to the general type. Other cities, like Pilsen, and all rural towns and villages acted, as in France and in contrast with Prussia, under common legal conditions. The pattern consisted of an elected council, which chose from among its own members an executive committee and a mayor. Council, committee, and mayor served for three years and could be reelected. Whether any of the personnel received compensation was left to the discretion of the voters. Except in the few cities with special charter, the selection of officials needed no confirmation from above; the voters had responsibility. Free election, no confirmatory requirement, selection from local personnel, brief term of service, appeared also to exclude the development of a professional authoritarian civic bureaucracy like that in Germany. Local citizens could shape local government as they pleased, provided they had the right to vote. The law introduced the three-class system of suffrage. This system—discussed in its national form in a subsequent chapter— divided voters into three classes, each class constituted according to its tax payment. That class which bore the burden of the first third of the direct taxes, i.e., those who paid the highest taxes, cast 118

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one-third of the votes and elected one-third of the town councillors; the second class, paying the next third of the tax, elected one-third; and the third class, paying the remainder of the tax, elected the rest of the members. In all towns the voting system excluded the workers and many from the lowest income group of the middle class from participation in local affairs. If a town or city, such as Wiener-Neustadt, contained industry or showed commercial initiative, the local government usually proved constructive in its program for public utilities, housing, schools, and in numerous other adjustments to economic and social opportunity. Most Austrian towns and villages continued their traditional practices; serving, for the most part, only the surrounding agricultural area, they lacked inducement to change. The suffrage system assured domination of local government by property owners and guildsmen, and in Austria as elsewhere these social elements opposed innovations that raised taxes and threatened the economic and social hierarchy. Industrialism came slowly to Austria in any case, and by their conservatism in local affairs these vested-interest social groups retarded its introduction. Certain professional and intellectual groups—officials, priests, professors and teachers, doctors—could vote, but this vote did not suffice to implement change. Those persons who together paid one-sixth—Lower Austria, one-fifth—of the total direct tax automatically sat in the council; thus, property reigned supreme, and residents who did not pay the required amount of tax could not vote even if citizens of the community, whereas others who owned property in the community and paid taxes could vote even if they did not reside in the town or village and did not hold legal citizenship.67 Any expenditure that would raise the tax burden met with opposition from these latter voters. The law further deferred to the principle of local selfgovernment by distinguishing between autonomous powers and delegated powers. Among the autonomous powers appeared those that in a society of free government lay within the responsibility of local government: schools, markets, roads and bridges, poor relief, security, public health, police.58 Delegated powers applied to those duties the local government performed for the state: tax collection, levying of recruits, assembly of statistics, quartering of troops, certain police functions.69 The delegated powers entailed a heavy or light burden, depending upon the size and importance of the town. The law stipulated that town officials in acting for the central government did so not as officials with a dual character—both local and central—but as local officials called to perform on behalf of the cen119

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tral government. In theory, therefore, the law preserved the exclusive responsibility of local officials to their constituency; however, in all cases of delegated duties, the town paid the costs of administration, an arrangement that as governmental responsibility expanded aroused widespread complaint. Since central government should not depend merely upon the goodwill of local officials to execute duties of the central government, the law included terms requiring local authorities to cooperate with the central and provincial governments or suffer extensive interference in and hence control of local affairs. Upon failure by local officials to carry out delegated duties, the central government acted through the district captain to suspend them from office and require the commune to hire substitutes. It could also dismiss the officials and demand new elections. The district captain, charged with seeing that local officials did not overstep their authority, could demand information or send an official with the right to speak to participate in local deliberations. The district captain could veto the execution of a communal decision considered contrary to law; he heard appeals against acts regarding the exercise of delegated powers, and in these cases rendered judgment. As the district captain had a small staff to deal with all matters pertaining to all ministries of the central government, he proved ineffective in supervising the performance of delegated duties. The communes exercised wide powers of government, not as a right but through default of other agents. In discharge of autonomous powers local government acted under the supervision of a nonbureaucratic body—the provincial executive committee—and not exclusively on its own authority. It needed approval of the provincial executive committee for all except routine decisions concerning communal property, for all major debts it contracted, and for all additions to the customary taxes; that is, the local government could take no financial initiative without review by the provincial executive committee. Theory held here that both governmental bodies, the one for the locality, the other for the province, served in contradistinction to the central governmental agencies of the district captain and the provincial governor, purely as means of self-government. In autonomous matters the law allowed appeals against local decisions to the provincial executive committee, which could request the central government to remove from office local officials guilty of dereliction of duty. The terms of the law scarcely support Redlich's praise of Austria for introducing local self-government. Although the administrative 120

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courts protected the citizen against arbitrariness, both central and provincial authorities to assure efficient administration could interfere in crucial matters of finance and personnel. The distinction between autonomous and delegated powers proved difficult to maintain. If a town government administered autonomous affairs poorly, execution of delegated responsibilities would also suffer. The one side of communal life involved the other side so intimately that conflict of interests between state and province could easily arise. Redlich asserts that neither state nor provincial executive committee intervened in local government to any appreciable extent. In those instances where the central government had an immediate interest, his opinion appears to rest more on the theory of the law than upon practice. To the majority of towns and villages, small in size and almost entirely local in interests, neither supervisory government had any reason to pay other than routine attention. The terms of the law notwithstanding, both central and provincial government allowed most communes freedom of action. Whether either condition justified the use of the term "local selfgovernment" may be doubted. One explanation of Redlich's favorable judgment may proceed from the fact that the law permitted communal authorities to express opinions on any issue, local or state. This right, not inhering in German, Russian, and French towns, led to close association in Austria between local elections and politics on the one hand, and imperial politics on the other. Political parties organized and became national in scope; such a party exerted parallel influence upon local and provincial governments and state affairs. A leader of the dominant party in the town became mayor, and the party gained representation in the town council. Political connections with party leaders in the provincial government and in Vienna furthered agreement at all governmental levels and allowed the towns to conduct their own affairs with minimum interference. Whatever the town politicians, led by the mayor, proposed usually found approval among supervisory officials. As in France, local positions might become objects of political spoils, means of winning elections ; and wherever they did, local government suffered.60 Reform of town government in Russia in 1870 abolished the division of the citizenry into corporations and granted the individual the simple right to belong to the municipality. All persons who held the right could vote, and if householders, could serve on the town council.61 By the outbreak of revolution in 1905, a city like Moscow was according suffrage to males who owned real property 121

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valued at no less than 300 pounds sterling, to merchants with a certain annual income, and to learned or trading societies, which could choose special representatives on the city council. St. Petersburg added in 1902 a category to cover those paying an annual house rent of 180 pounds.62 Voters seem mainly to have elected merchants, whereas professional persons often remained ineligible. Town councils lacked the initiative and enthusiasm of the Zemstvos, the merchants in contrast with many of the Zemstvo nobles being conservative and disinterested in public affairs or in their own region. Interest declined so greatly that in 1892 the government tried to prevent the absence of members at the meetings of town councils by threat of rebuke and fine. The central bureaucracy retained strict control over the activity of town councils.63 The governor of the province could at any time arrest and exile not only the mayor and the town officials, who were elected by the council, but any member of the council as well. He must be informed of all municipal business in progress, and he could stop action at any time by referring the matter to a conference of town and provincial officials under his chairmanship, at which the town could be outvoted. The central bureaucracy, mistrusting all town officials, employed the well-known methods of obstruction: delay for months or years, request for further study, rebuke for infringing upon its own prerogatives, veto. These tactics proved especially detrimental in the decades prior to World War I, when towns urgently needed street lighting, tramways, water and sewage systems, street paving, housing laws, and the numerous improvements associated with industrialism and rapid expansion of population. Autocracy had not yet recognized the fact of social transformation. As Wallace wrote: The central authority, finding itself incompetent to do all that is required of it, and wishing to make a display of liberalism, accords large concessions in the direction of local autonomy [in the present instance, the town law of 1870]; and when it discovers that the new institutions do not accomplish all that was expected of them, and are not quite so subservient and obsequious as it considered desirable, it returns in a certain measure to the old principle of centralized bureaucracy.64

The phrase "in a certain measure" is apt, for needs and pressures were such as to limit autocratic control. The government made concessions grudgingly and with grave misgiving and misunderstanding, and to an extent that merely enabled the towns to perceive what might be accomplished if only they had freedom. It 122

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seems to be a law of politics that in the process of institutional transformation, government arouses the maximum of frustration and hostility on both sides and thereby invites latent or overt civil war. The one side concedes reforms, sees them executed in a manner they had not intended, regrets the change, and seeks to repress; the other side demands, sees some chance of success, becomes aware that partly on account of its own incapacity and lack of preparation, change has not eventuated as it had desired and expected, thinks that with more power and freedom it can solve its problems, blames the other side for failure; in time animosity develops to the point of violence. Such was the course of events in Russia. The presence of two diametrically opposed sets of governmental institutions called for understanding, compromise, and adjustment. Autocracy, which is absolutism become a religion, rejects both compromise and adjustment. The institutions and powers of local government formed the center at which new social forces immediately and directly confronted and challenged the old elite and its way of life. As long as it continued to dominate local government the old elite felt relatively secure. Although it conceded reforms that the national government regarded as essential to national state power, especially in authoritarian countries it retained under a new guise much of its local control. Autocracy, absolutism, constitutional monarchism, did not favor the emergence of local self-government. Caste felt the threat from political and social equality and individual initiative most intensely in the locality and fought to preserve its status. The power state, whether the inheritor of an absolutistic or a revolutionary tradition, rejected local self-rule in favor of bureaucratic mercantilism. The authoritarian forces maintained themselves with most success in the villages; they lost ground rapidly in the centers of creativity—the towns and cities. Where village and town government succumbed to the spoils system of popular politics, as in the Western countries, it failed to satisfy expectations. Where it had to contend with suspicious autocracy, it could scarcely risk any initiative. Under constitutional monarchism its achievement depended upon the nature of the local society. A village dominated by a large landowner, first as manorial lord and later as state official, might be permitted to improve its conditions; it might be encouraged or even compelled to introduce and maintain good schools and the like; or it might be allowed to stagnate until national interest demanded that every locality and region meet nationwide standards. In the towns and cities the local 123

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officials could become either henchmen of political parties, as was frequently the case in Austria, or professional administrators, as in Germany. In Austria local popularity and party connections with Reichsrat and ministry might enable local officials to accomplish much for the town; in Germany they met officials of the central bureaucracy on terms of equal prestige. As experts in local government they appeared better informed and more experienced than the central bureaucracy, and thus defended their proposals against bureaucratic criticism. Villages in the vicinity of towns and cities or in other locations with opportunities for initiative in economic and other affairs shared urban advantages. When an entire state, as in the case of Denmark, sought to achieve an open society, villages and towns participated in the development, and government locally as well as centrally became popularly responsible. By 1914 most of Europe had not reached the stage of selfgovernment; local government reflected the mixed nature of a society moving from the Old Regime into industrialism. In no major country had local government made a notable advance toward cultivating a sense of individual responsibility in public life. Local governments were usually prohibited from considering regional or national affairs. Where indirectly exploited by national parties, local authorities did not rise above party politics and spoils systems to consideration of important state issues. In a country of competent local government, as in the towns of Germany, local officials acted like constitutional monarchs upon whom the populace relied for initiative and efficiency. It will be found that intermediate government likewise reflected the reality of structural change.

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IV INTERMEDIATE GOVERNMENT

HE STRUCTURE OF GOVERNMENT in province, district, and county—the area of government here called "intermediate"— reveals more clearly than that of either central or local government the answer to two essential questions about the organization of society: Did the monarch tolerate centers of natural leadership upon which he could rely in ruling the masses? Had society progressed from the historical stage of castes dominated by the nobility into the stage of modern social mobility? Autocracy installed an intermediate government consisting of officials appointed by and responsible to the central bureaucracy and who submitted to little or no control by intermediate social groups. Absolutism destroyed most of the political power of regional social forces; at the same time it recognized and stabilized regional leadership by using this leadership in administration and by sharing with it some legislative responsibility. One might expect that constitutional government would be consistently applied at all levels—national, intermediate, and local—through the appropriate responsible executive and popularly elected legislature. On the Continent, however, the tradition of the status group proved so strong that no major country reached the stage of thoroughgoing constitutionalism. The stronghold of the nobility and of the middle class, an ally of the nobility under constitutionalism, became not so much the institutions of central power as those of intermediate government. The middle class, customarily called the intermediate social group, stood midway between ruler and peasant-worker group, or between nobility and the masses. Intellectual leaders of the middle class in the nineteenth century formulated a philosophy of society based upon the alleged realization by their class of the Aristotelian just mean. In the preceding century Montesquieu and other writers had praised the nobility as "intermediate" between the divine-right

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monarch and the peasants and small-town dwellers composing the "masses." In the nineteenth century this ideal position continued to appeal to aristocratic aspirations; it furnished justification to the nobility for reviving the intermediate government, which absolutism had slighted or suppressed. Nobles argued that national power depended upon the strength of intermediate social forces and that the influence of these forces could best be judged from the nature of their role in intermediate government. They understood that the term "intermediate" could no longer apply exclusively to the nobility, since the expansion of social and economic power had rendered the bourgeoisie an intermediate social group of consequence. The dilemma common to every intermediate class ensued: the ideal of public participation in government favored a class or classes seeking to wrest from absolutism a share in central government, but it also aroused the ambition of nonnoble classes to participate in intermediate government. The conflict over the structure and social composition of intermediate government came to a head at the same time as that over the form of central government. On the Continent the middle class almost everywhere exhibited more interest in breaching the power structure of central government than in participating in intermediate government. The nobles, however, appreciated the greater importance of intermediate government to the distribution of social power and hence of political power. They recognized intermediate government as sufficiently close to the people to enable the nobility to maintain contact with the masses and to wield effective authority over regional affairs. They knew intermediate government to be far enough away from the people for its leaders to be carefully selected and yet not isolated. The masses, they thought, would for a long time respect the mysteries of government and would acquiesce in leadership by their betters, and in this way participation and/or monopoly of roles in intermediate government would be a means of blocking social mobility. In addition intermediate government concerned itself with matters of sufficient significance to attract the attention of the upper classes; its manipulators might utilize government position not merely for economic advantages, for example, shifting the incidence of taxation to the masses while expending revenues in their own interests; they might also wear it as a badge of social prestige and power, visible both to those below and to those above them. The central government, which until the late decades of the century concentrated upon the traditional responsibilities of foreign affairs, 126

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military, finance, justice, and trade, inclined to think of local government as dealing with petty details and so to neglect it. The nobility's continuing influence on the country—an influence increasingly out of proportion to numbers, wealth, and cultural role—owed most to the position this status group held in institutions of intermediate government. The social groups in control of intermediate government could forcefully express their demands and wishes to the central government and could supervise and direct the activity of local government. Intermediate government thus offers a point from which to survey social change; it reveals the locus of power within the state and the means used by the absolute monarch, the nobility, and then the nobility with the upper middle class to delay or to distort social reform. The division of the European states into territorial units of intermediate government showed considerable diversity. Hungary had only one unit, that of the county; Prussia had a fully developed hierarchy consisting of the county at the lowest level, next the district, and then the province—each with its respective governmental structure. In the 1860's Russia added two new institutions, those of district and provincial Zemstvos, to the older agencies of province, district, and canton. Other countries—Austria, France, Italy, Spain—customarily possessed two intermediate governmental bodies. Usually one particular governmental agency in each country exercised more power and responsibility than the others; for example, the provincial in Austria, the county in Hungary and Prussia, the provincial in Russia, the departmental or its equivalent in France, Italy, and Spain. Whether of similar or dissimilar function, units varied in geographical extent or in size of population or in both respects, and responsibility, authority, and organization differed considerably from country to country. Absolutism in Hungary had never been able to introduce a disciplined government. County governmental structure remained so retarded that from the point of view of constitutional monarchism it appeared almost modern. By virtue of their free county-rule the Magyars in fact claimed to be the English of the Continent. When in 1850 John Paget described his recent travels in Hungary, he expressed admiration for this county government, although he showed some embarrassment over the fact that the ruling county nobles paid no taxes and yet determined expenditure of the revenue. The nobles chose from their local colleagues the head administrator of the county, the Vice-Ispan, for a term of three years. In type the Vice-Ispan resembled the Prussian Landrat, the Austrian district 127

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captain, and certain officials in Russia. He received assistance from a medical officer, jailor, police, finance officer, and others, all elected for life. The Vice-Ispan, who in practice assumed the role of a model sovereign, needed to be well acquainted with persons and conditions in the county, to move about in order to keep informed, and to settle problems as they arose. Hungarian county government drew its distinctive character from the responsibility of all officials to a county assembly, composed of the county nobility and a few clergy under control of their noble patrons. The county assembly met regularly, decided matters covering a wide range, issued to its representatives in the central Diet specific instructions on all business, negotiated with other counties and with foreign governments, and approved or ignored laws passed by the Diet and decrees issued by the monarch. The assembly occasionally acted as moral censor of its members, obliging them to reform or leave the county. County meetings, as Paget wrote, were "little less than provincial parliaments, and the deputies members of a confederation." 1 Hungarian county government became so inadequate to the problems of the century that from 1848 it acquiesced in certain necessary adjustments. First, the municipalities became empowered (1848) to send representatives to the assembly. In 1876 the elected officials of the county were required to be trained in law, and the Vice-Ispan received the status of a "representative of the executive power"; that is, he no longer stood as the head of an independent county. In the same year a county administrative committee came into being, composed of the county officials and ten members elected by and from the county assembly. This committee directed the administration and exercised disciplinary power over the officials. In 1883 the qualifications regarding knowledge of the law became more stringent for official positions, and the county budget became subject to control from above. In 1886 the supervisory authority of the Vice-Ispan over county and municipal government tightened. "The Hungarian law proceeds in this way," wrote the Austrian legal authority Gumplowicz in 1901, "to pursue the goal to nationalize the administration of the county to the extent that the tasks to be solved by the ever-widening administration required by the modern state imperiously demand and to leave to self-administration only those tasks which are compatible with the duties and responsibilities of the modern state." 2 In spite of reform the nobles remained in control. Although they conceded a share in county government to the towns and introduced 128

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a measure of efficiency into administration, they preserved authority in the county as well as in the Diet, and, of greatest importance, kept power over the peasantry. With the county firmly in their grasp the Magyar nobles spoke of their life as the freest in Europe. If one accepts the assertion of an Austrian of the century, "Man begins with the Baron," the Magyar claim is true. In Russia the history of intermediate government during the century deals with the struggle to adjust to developing complexities, not from the extreme of feudal particularism as in Hungary, but from that of centralized autocracy. The traditional system focused upon the governor of the province. Prior to the Crimean War the governor aided by a staff of officials ruled like a minor czar. Inadequate means of communication and transportation, relics of the preindustrial era, enabled and even compelled him to administer the province autocratically, and governors gained notoriety for expensive living and arbitrary action.3 The farther from St. Petersburg their capitals, the more autocratic they could be. Each province consisted of districts, each district of cantons, and below the cantons came manors, villages, and towns. Officials in the districts and cantons easily and for a similar reason played the czar. The head of a district became chief of police, performing the duties of a subgovernor as well; as chief of police with authority over the local police of the towns and villages, he executed not merely the usual administrative functions of a civil bureaucrat, but also until 1899 he and his police subordinates collected taxes from the peasantry.4 In the West such a union of physical coercive power with civil administration had long since disappeared. Inasmuch as the governor and the administrative chiefs in district and canton came from the landholding nobility of the area, practice of manorial rule over serfs was carried over in governance of the entire population. Only nobles and officials who were social peers or who could on occasion call upon the personal favor of the czar and his advisers were excepted from this control. Ability in administration and effectiveness in promoting the welfare of the province or its subdivision might prolong an official's tenure or might curtail it, depending upon the czar's attitude and upon ministerial infighting. Curbs upon the governor's power developed during the century as the central government increased the number of ministries and as each ministry established an agency in the provincial capitals, with subordinate personnel in the lesser political divisions, responsible directly to the minister and not to the governor. The numerous disputes that arose between provincial bureaus of the Ministry of 129

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Finance and those of the Ministries of War and Public Instruction came for settlement not to provincial governors but to ministers at the national capital, where matters ranging from petty to urgent clogged the offices of the central bureaucracy. The elaboration of administrative functions and of staff reflected the expansion of public business and the inability of autocracy under changing conditions to function effectively through the provincial governor. After peasant emancipation the governor and the officials in the provincial subdivisions lost their judicial power to an independent judiciary, at the same time suffering curtailment of their administrative authority. Imperial orders issued through the ministries in St. Petersburg began to overwhelm the governor and his aides, and the post office and telegraph encouraged provincial officials, even the crucially important political police legally subordinate to the governor, to circumvent him. On the eve of World War I the governor's power had declined to that of a subordinate. Emancipation of the serfs entailed the introduction of agencies to assume governmental functions formerly performed by manorial lords. In response to widespread demand and with a vague awareness of the inability of autocracy to deal adequately with the problems of a nonservile society, the czar in 1865 approved the creation of a district administrative unit, the Volost, for the peasants, and of district and provincial Zemstvos for all classes. The Volost, a district created by joining functionally a number of contiguous peasant communes, had first appeared a quarter of a century before on state-owned lands. The institution now was extended to all rural areas; its personnel and jurisdiction pertained exclusively to peasants. Householders of the Volost directly or indirectly elected the Volost assembly, the judges, an "elder" or headman, and other needed officials. The elder held administrative responsibility for law and order; judges tried minor cases and imposed sentences in accordance with peasant customary law— corporal punishment, such as twenty lashes with rods; small fines; and brief imprisonment. 5 Whether the Volost belongs in the category of intermediate government is questionable; it partook more of the nature of local government, and at best served as intermediary between village government and the police officials of district and province. Intended to perform duties for the peasants, duties that small size prevented the mir from accomplishing, the Volost opened no new opportunities or vistas. It arouses interest mainly as an attempt by autocracy to solve problems of an administrative nature by using an institution that satisfied the requirement of 130

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being territorially intermediate. Although responsible for a larger area than the village, the Volost administration, structurally a dead end, could not become politically an intermediate unit. It kept the peasants in isolation and denied other classes the opportunity to work in an institution whose activity concerned the welfare of all. The elected peasant officials of the Volost found themselves overburdened with the police and financial affairs of the central government, and the Volost court faced cases beyond the capacity of peasants to decide. In consequence, as Professor Paul Vinogradoff has written about the courts, "their jurisdiction in civil and petty criminal matters is at best a kind of shifting equity tempered by corruption." Indeed, the same author concludes, "this whole cumbersome system of rural administration is under the meddlesome and by no means disinterested supervision of Government officials and of nominees of the local gentry, who even exercise the power to subject the luckless parish officers to fines and imprisonment." 6 The imperial government introduced into the district and into the province another assembly, the Zemstvo, a body more important than that of the Volost. The provincial Zemstvo consisted of delegates elected from the district Zemstvos, and according to a memorandum accompanying the law, its purpose was to be "as far as possible a complete and logical development to the principle of local self-government." 7 To each Zemstvo came representatives of the nobility, burghers, and peasantry, peasant representatives being required to themselves be peasants. The requirement that voters and the elected representatives of the first two groups meet a high property qualification excluded most intellectuals and members of the professions from the Zemstvos. Until 1890 the nobility returned about 42 percent of the members, the peasants 38 percent; all other social groups supplied the remaining 20 percent. At this time the government, more concerned over the restlessness of the peasantry than over the reform aspirations of some gentry, increased the proportion of noble representation in the Zemstvos to 57 percent and reduced that of the peasantry to 30 percent. The governor now selected peasant representatives from among candidates chosen by the peasantry—a procedure that continued until 1906, when the government, without restoring the original manner of election, allowed the candidates to select delegates from their own number.8 The government aimed to strengthen conservatism, but the difference in effect was minimal: after 1890 as before leadership came from the nobility. The nobles voted directly for their representatives; the towns and the peas131

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ants, indirectly. This difference in treatment did not necessarily imply an effort to preserve authoritarian control in the hands of the former serf-owning nobles; it derived, rather, from the relative ability of the classes to manage public affairs and from the ease of holding an election among the small number of nobles. In any event the leading advocates of reform came from the ranks of the favored nobility. In declaring that there should be local self-government, the central authority had added the phrase "as far as possible." Analysis of organization and function at the intermediate governmental level will reveal the meaning of this restriction. Zemstvos represented classes, although members met and discussed affairs in common. They elected their own executive boards and officials, which served under the presidency of the marshal of the local gentry, who adhered to traditional attitudes and beliefs, had little aggressive energy, interest or initiative, and frequently resisted all effort toward reform. The Zemstvos had been created to promote regional welfare; they held responsibility for roads, health, education, poor relief, and other such tasks with popular appeal. With characteristic indifference to public opinion the central government reserved to itself police and other functions that aroused local hostility. The government took measures, however, to prevent the Zemstvos from gaining public support and to discourage them from anticipating a statewide Zemstvo and a constitution. It strictly censored publication of the minutes of their meetings and prohibited them from negotiating and reaching agreement with one another. In pursuing the policy of divide and rule the imperial government never clearly distinguished between its own authority and that of the Zemstvos. The central bureaucracy constantly interfered in Zemstvo affairs; for example, the minister of education endeavored to restrict the activity of the Zemstvos in his field. In the early years the provincial governor could suspend the action of a Zemstvo only if he thought the action illegal or outside the assembly's sphere of responsibility; disagreement between him and the Zemstvo went before the senate for judicial settlement. Later the governor was authorized to veto any action of the Zemstvo which he regarded as against public good—a phrase susceptible to various interpretations—and disagreements now came not to the judicial senate but to the governor's superior, the minister of interior, who in Russia headed the police force. The Zemstvos were not allowed to express political opinions, and when a Zemstvo did so, the central government dissolved it and exiled its leaders. With approval of the cen132

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tral power the Zemstvo could levy taxes for its own needs; however, the mercantile class with governmental approval succeeded in keeping its own tax burden at an absurdly low level, and as early as 1866 industrial concerns gained exemption from taxes laid by the Zemstvos. The government itself restricted the Zemstvo tax on real property in order to obviate difficulty in collecting the heavy imperial taxes. The permitted increase in the tax rate, amounting in 1900 to only 3 percent of the budget of the previous year, did not suffice for the work of the Zemstvos. Autocratic centralism persisted in lack of differentiation between administration and police, confusion of civil and criminal police action, lack of separation of judicial and administrative functions. The government sought to undermine friendly relations between the gentry and the peasants—with rare exceptions the merchant class lost interest in the Zemstvo institution once it secured a low tax rate on property—when in 1889 it replaced the aristocratic justice of peace, an official successful in settling disputes among peasants, with a land captain (Ispravnik). The land captain received extensive police powers in the district, and although like the justice of peace customarily a local noble, he owed responsibility to the minister of interior and was not an official of local selfgovernment, nor was he committed to orderly procedure. Introduction of this official appeared an attempt to revive in a new guise the authority of lord over serf, and the behavior of the land captain seems to have justified peasant mistrust. The captain exercised practically unlimited authority, settling disputes over land, supervising local rural institutions including the police, judging petty cases, imposing penalties of fine and imprisonment upon the peasants, and interfering in the mir's distribution of land. In the closing decades of the century Gurko found from personal experience that many of these land captains, of whom there existed some 6,000, were devoted to their tasks and accordingly respected; but he acknowledged that some lacked qualifications for their position, and he regarded their main offense to be not the arbitrary exercise of power but laziness and indifference.9 The land captains acted without instructions and under little or no supervision. Since the duties became onerous and remuneration remained small, the office did not attract competent local nobles. Soon after the revolution of 1905, Pares reports, peasants especially resented the interference of these officials and wished the office abolished. In 1906 the government prohibited the land captains from arbitrarily fining and imprisoning peasants, although it did not withdraw power to penalize peas133

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ant officials. The office itself lasted until the revolution of 1917, detested by the villagers, who memorialized it in one of the saddest of folk songs.10 The czarist government never allowed the Zemstvos to develop institutions of intermediate government capable of training the gentry and the burgher class in the responsible conduct of public affairs. It kept the upper classes separated from peasants and workers by not tolerating institutional means of cooperation for public good. Thereby it prevented the nobility, particularly after peasant emancipation made strong regional and local leadership essential, from fulfilling the role held in the West by this class under absolutism and still exercised in Germany and Austria during much of the nineteenth century. For a century and a half or more, autocracy had not permitted the nobility to dominate or share in intermediate government except in the capacity of carefully selected officials of the central government, and it did not reform intermediate government in order to fill the vacuum created at the time of peasant emancipation. The concept of intermediate government, except for the Zemstvo, scarcely applies to conditions in Russia : there government did not have an intermediate role as to duties, rights, or personnel ; rather the central bureaucracy extended its activity into the intermediate territorial units in its attempt to monopolize administration. When the revolution of 1905 occurred, the upper classes lacked experience in public leadership. In the Duma the noble members with rare exceptions showed almost as little training for political activity as representatives of other classes. The constitutional history of Austria as distinct from Hungary in the nineteenth century concerns the search for a form of intermediate government that would enable the agglomeration of territories acquired by the Habsburgs over the centuries to achieve effective political union.11 Habsburg absolutism had failed to transform an empire of kingdoms, duchies, counties, and communities into a modern state. Before the awakening of nationalities, union might still have been possible ; once nationalism appeared, however, unification required the imaginative invention of complicated and subtle means such as never evolved. Thus Austria, unlike France, failed to become a nationally unified and administratively centralized state. A true Austrian polity could be founded only upon institutions that would respect both the centralization necessary to perform the functions of a modern state and the decentralization essential to historical reality.12 The magnitude of the problem in Austria was unique; no other empire had to contend with the 134

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nationality issue on a major scale, for no other comprised so large a variety of nationalities of approximately equal size and strength and with similar historical claims to autonomy. This situation brought to focus the crucial question of the relationship between the empire as a potentially federal form and the Länder as potentially separate states. The years 1848 to 1867 witnessed a constant search for a solution to the problem. By the time of reorganization in 1867 the separate Länder of the empire with the exception of Hungary had sacrificed their sovereignty to the Crown, so that in some respects the reform continued that instituted under absolutism. As late as 1848 the Land or province had a Landtag composed of feudal Estates and overwhelmingly under the authority of the gentry, many of whom on the eve of 1848 requested that to be made more representative these Landtage be allowed to increase participation in their meetings by admitting the towns and the peasantry to representation.13 In 1848 and again after the decade of restored absolutism in the 1850's the Estates became representative bodies, to which each of four curials elected a certain number of deputies. The reform of 1860 placed the gentry and the other rural elite, essentially the membership of the former First Estate, in a curial of large landowners; the Estate composed of representatives of the few privileged towns expanded into the curial of all towns; the new social and economic group of industry and trade gained status as a curial of the chambers of commerce; and in accord with the times the old peasant Estate received a new name as a curial.14 For the center of the empire the reform created a comparable assembly, the Reichsrat, members of which after 1873 sought election through a curial system similar to that for the Landtag. Upon establishment of these representative bodies—one in Vienna, the other in each of the Länder—the competence of each assembly required definition, and not until 1867 did the law establish the principle that "all other subjects of legislation which are not expressly reserved in this law to the Reichsrat belong to the competence of the Landtage of kingdoms and provinces represented in the Reichsrat and are constitutionally handled in and with these Landtage." 15 A reverse order of this distribution of power had been tried for a few years only to be judged unsatisfactory; but it should not be assumed that the law of December, 1867, transferred the plenitude of power to the Länder. The two governments of empire and province depended upon one another, a relationship developed several decades before modern industrialism created the demand for statewide, centralized authority. 135

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Mutual control and balance between the governments of empire and province appeared in executive as well as in legislative functions. The provincial president or governor (Statthalter)—choice of title varied with the province—represented the central government. The emperor appointed him from the higher nobility for a term of six years coinciding with.the session of the Landtag; however, the governor did not preside over the Landtag; the emperor named a second representative to this post. As an officer of long standing under absolutism the Statthalter had been the head of a collegiate body and had been bound by majority vote. In 1868 the law modernized his power by subordinating other officials to his authority. In the dual capacity of administrative officer for affairs pertaining to the central government and representative of the empire in relation to the provincial government, he wielded power and influence sufficient to make him one of the most important officials in the state. Directly under him served the district captain and other imperial officials of the districts—the units into which each province or Land was divided. The district captain, another agent inherited from absolutism, attended to all imperial matters of political significance—military, financial, promulgation of laws and ordinances, collection of statistical data, elections to the Landtag and Reichsrat, supervision of towns and villages, preservation of law and order, factory inspection, social legislation, marriage, roads and waterways, trade, industry and agriculture, public health, hospitals. Appointed by the minister of interior (cf. law of May 19, 1868), the district captain presided over a collegiate body of officials. He and his staff represented the central government in its closest contact with the people, and the list of their duties indicates the considerable role of the empire in political and social affairs.16 Alongside the Statthalter served the Landtag, which elected from four to eight of its members as an executive committee to administer its affairs, to appoint provincial officials, and to supervise the governance of district and communal bodies in regard to provincial matters. Establishment of the executive committee satisfied provincial conservatives, centralists, and liberals alike. The old Landtag and its Estates had had a forerunner to the committee in the Kollegium, composed of nobles who wished the honor and the small salary attached to the office. Whereas the Kollegium had been almost entirely honorary, since the Estates had wielded no power, the new executive committee received certain responsibilities. At the time, however, neither centralists nor conservatives had reason to 136

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fear that Minister von Schmerling would allow the committee to become a means of self-government; liberals, on the other hand, welcomed the committee with the hope that it might become such a means.17 Connection between the executive committee and the central government was physically maintained through the right of the Statthalter to preside over the committee, to be present with his officials at all sessions of the Landtag, and to speak or have his officials speak on any matter. A clear distinction between the area of responsibility of the Reichsrat and imperial administration and that of the Landtag was neither attempted nor feasible.18 The empire, for example, under the law of 1867 possessed authority to set norms for Landtag legislation. Thus communal legislation belonged to the jurisdiction of the Landtage. In exercising this power the Landtage found themselves required to observe imperial laws governing right of domicile and the civil rights of citizens. The Landtage dealt with matters that clearly fell within the area of the province, such as: (1) legislation for the realschulen and poly technical institutes; (2) matters for which the empire established standards and the provinces passed the requisite legislation to implement them, for examples, elementary schools; (3) matters necessitating provincial legislation supplementary to that of the empire, such as matters concerning water supply and water usage; and (4) matters of imperial concern for which the empire delegated responsibility to the provincial assembly, or the reverse, where the Landtag referred responsibility to the Reichsrat.19 Complaints of interference by imperial officials in affairs within the competence of the Land could be appealed to the imperial courts; but if conflict occurred between Landtage and Reichsrat, no appropriate organ of appeal existed. When the upper house of the central parliament proposed to give this power to the emperor, the lower house refused because to do so might enable the emperor to interpret the constitution as he pleased. Questions of jurisdiction became political, and in the name of autonomy the Landtage claimed increased power of decision. Hungary succeeded in pushing this claim to the point of becoming the political equal of Austria. Opponents of provincial "autonomy" countered that "the function of the Landtage is not autonomous legislation within the limits of state law but cooperation by legislation restricted to particular affairs in behalf of Emperor and Empire." 20 In addition to its power as a legislative body the Landtage held the parliamentary right to complain about deficiencies in adminis137

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tration of the province. On the eve of World War I, Ulbrich, an Austrian authority, wrote: They can direct proposals to the Government to provide general laws and to establish institutions needed for the welfare of the province. They can petition the Monarch and with his approval send deputations to him. They can receive petitions, if these are conveyed by a member of the Landtag, and if the regular form of procedure is observed, interpellation can be made by members of the Landtag. Further, the Landtage can be invited by the provincial administration to deliver expert opinion about questions of legislation and administration and have the duty to deliver these opinions. On the other hand the Landtage are not allowed to negotiate with each other, and they cannot issue publications.21

The Landtag served not merely as a legislative, a petitionary, advisory, and investigatory body; it also had administrative competence, Ulbrich continued, "insofar as it exercises through its acts the power of fixing the size of the tax to be added for provincial use to the state tax, the drawing up of the provincial budget, the initiation of credit operations, regulation and organization of provincial agencies and of employees. Likewise it exercises control over the provincial committee and over the provincial bodies of permanent autonomous officials." Its power to tax was limited by the requirement of imperial approval "for administrative acts of the Landtag, by which a sale, permanent lien upon, or the mortgage of the property of the province is intended, or by which more than 10 percent of the state taxes would be affected by the provincial act." 22 And the empire likewise supervised the lower communal associations, "by virtue of which their decisions are subject either to confirmation by provincial agencies or in case of appeals forwarded by plaintiffs to review in regard to legality and purpose and therewith possible modification." 23 In 1862 the government introduced into the district (Bezirk) a type of organization similar to that in the province. A system of four curials, specifying for the first somewhat lower qualifications for voting than elsewhere, elected an assembly of eighteen to forty-two members, according to population. The assembly chose from its midst an executive committee with a chairman, and as in communal government, the committee and its chairman were responsible for administration of such affairs as roads, hospitals, welfare, certain of the schools (secondary, technical)—the usual matters, whether in Russia, Prussia, or France, affecting government of an area the size of the district. Like the Landrat in Prussia, the district captain, usually a local noble, acted as an official of the central 138

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government, but he did not have the dual role of the Prussian Landrat: he did not preside over the meetings of the district assembly and had limited power to interfere in the self-government of district, village, and small town. To describe precisely the nature of intermediate government in Austria it is necessary to distinguish among the functions of imperial officials, for example, the provincial Statthalter and the district captain, and those of the personnel of self-government in province, district, and commune. The empire exercised specific rights of direct control over each level of self-government; each level of selfgovernment had been delegated authority by the empire over the unit of self-government directly beneath it. In Bohemia, Styria, and Galicia, for example, the provincial executive committee supervised the work of the district executive committee and of the selfgoverning towns; and in the provinces without district government—some provinces had too small an area to be divided into districts—it directly supervised the government of the communes. The higher institutions of self-government held the power to assure that the acts of the lower self-governing agencies conformed to the general interest. They approved important acts, especially any of a financial nature, and heard complaints from private individuals against decisions of lower officials. The central administration had the responsibility of preventing district and communal selfgovernments from exceeding their jurisdictions. For this purpose it constantly examined the decisions of the lower authorities. In addition it supervised directly the communal officials to whom it delegated imperial functions—one function being the exercise of police power. It could suspend from office the members of self-governing bodies who neglected their duties, and at local expense it could take measures to assure proper execution of these duties.24 The institutions of Austrian intermediate government bore only a superficial resemblance to those in other major countries. No other state made use of the Austrian method of division of powers. No other state sustained two bureaucracies, one responsible to the state, the other to the province. No other state subjected lower government to two different political hierarchies. In no other state dividing legislative authority between central and regional bodies did the phrase "state sovereignty" seem so inapplicable and the attempt to apply it so confusing. The Austrian form of government for its effective functioning depended upon agreement among its parts about principles, methods, and basic policies; yet it possessed institutions that stimulated antagonism among these parts. Fric139

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tion could be aroused in Landtag and Reichsrat and their respective agencies, where hostile factions supported by a voting public could halt the machinery of government. The situation called for political parties to bridge the differences between the two bodies by parallel policies and public responsibility for close cooperation. The reality of nationalities and of class conflict—the latter to a lesser degree—prevented political parties from effecting the necessary harmony. Instead, existing institutions enabled hostile parties to entrench themselves in the assemblies and administrative agencies, whereby a system intended to transform an old empire into a modern state exposed the empire to annihilation. Institutions erected to involve the public in affairs of government at imperial, provincial, and local levels in order to create a modern, strong state became instruments used by social forces with ever-increasing intensity to combat one another. Austrian experience showed that government responsible to a public fundamentally disunited may aggravate disunity and disrupt the state. Whether a federal system would have proved more constructive cannot be known; a few efforts to apply federalism to the peculiar situation of territorially intermingled nationalities proved successful, but they were too few to be other than the occasion for later regret.25 There was a marked similarity in the forms of intermediate government found throughout Germany, since the conditions and needs of the individual states were more alike than different. At the beginning of the century Germany had no large states, that is, states the size of Spain or France; and many of the German states were very small. The territorial amalgamation culminating in the changes of 1815 did not significantly modify the territorial proportions of the states. In all of them except Mecklenburg-Schwerin, where feudal Estates remained undiminished in power until 1918, the absolute monarch had imposed a central administration and a degree of unity while preserving in rural regions and in towns the institutional forms, however empty, of local self-government. He created a system of government sufficiently flexible to be developed and adapted to territories acquired in the Revolutionary and Napoleonic period and in subsequent years. Prussia offers an example of a state able in 1815 and again in 1866 to incorporate into its administrative system territories large enough on each occasion to double its size. It succeeded not by virtue of unusual administrative talent on the part of Prussian officials, but because of the similarity between the system of administration used in Prussia and that already existing in its acquisitions—a system uniting central con140

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trol and a degree of self-government, or as continentals preferred to term it, self-administration. As conditions of life changed in the course of the century the system proved capable of extension and adjustment, both in the proportions of responsibility allotted central, intermediate, and local organs and in details of procedure. Prussian intermediate government resembled that found elsewhere, but it surpassed all other forms in efficiency of operation. In shaping governmental institutions from the Stein-Hardenberg period to the unification of Germany, from Hegel to Bismarck, the Germans and particularly the Prussians practiced historicism. Rejecting the French procedure of breaking with the past and creating a new set of institutions based upon abstract principles, the Germans built upon the past by adding something here, shifting emphasis there, making concessions without destroying the sources of power. Their sense of power relations proved so sure that time after time existing forces of control compromised with rising social forces. This process comes to light clearly in the sphere of intermediate government, where from the beginning of the century to the end the central bureaucracy shared authority with regional social forces. Here the expansion of governmental responsibility demanded by industrialism and a rapidly increasing population and forced upon the state by acquisition of territory through power politics gave to both central bureaucracy and regional governing bodies opportunity for reform. With each sphere of government needing the other, and the capacity of each being stretched to its limit, neither government found time or occasion for bitter infighting. The nineteenth century became one of administrative expansion, and Germany furnished a model for administration and bureaucratism. Any one of the German states except agrarian, Junker Mecklenburg-Schwerin may serve as an example. Prussia has been chosen here for discussion as the largest and best documented of the states and as the one in which political and social forces and factors involved in administrative adjustment worked at peak efficiency. Analysis of the interrelatedness within intermediate government of central bureaucracy and regional self-government will reveal one of the main sources of power and stability in the Prussian state and of the strength of Prussian tradition. The Prussian system of intermediate government consisted of three hierarchical units—those of province, district, and county— established by King Frederick William I and revised in 1808. The one notable exception occurred in the Rhineland-Westphalia, where some aspects of the French system survived incorporation into 141

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Prussia. The province and the county differed in nature from the district in having a tradition of regional participation in government. The district lay between the other two in size and in many respects in jurisdiction, and at first acted as a purely administrative agency of the central government. In the latter part of the century government at all three levels became similar. The Oberpràsident of the province and the Landrat of the county suffered reduction in their authority as territorial representatives, and increasingly became officials of the central administration. Simultaneously the authority and responsibility of their organs of public participation, the provincial Landtag and the Kreistag, gained scope. In the shift the district administration lost power in favor of the other two and became subjected to popular influence through the introduction of a district commission, intended to associate the public with the administrative agencies, and composed partly of officials, partly of laymen. These reforms of intermediate government came in Prussia, as did similar reforms in other states, after the introduction of constitutions and parliamentary assemblies.20 Reorganization of provincial administration in Prussia between 1808 and 1825 assigned authority to the provincial Landtag and to the Oberpràsident with his officials, distributing authority between them in such a way as to balance central and regional interests. The Oberpràsident, appointed by the minister of interior, was charged (1825) with the following duties : 1) Your competence in the provinces entrusted to you includes (a) personal administration of all those matters which not only pertain to the entire province but which extend beyond the sphere of one district bureau; (b) the oversight of the administration of the district bureaux, of the provincial tax bureau where this exists, and of the general commissions for regulation of lord-peasant regulations; (c) surrogate for state bureaucratic agencies on special duties and on special occasions. . . . 2) In the matters consigned to the personal administration of the Oberprâsidenten you constitute the immediate agent and the provincial bureaus concerned, that is the district bureaus, are your organs. To these matters belong especially: (a) all matters pertaining to the Estates, i.e., provincial Landtage, both those involving cooperation with this group [for example, he decided cases of doubt whether a person was eligible to be a member of the provincial Landtag for the knightly class] ; (6) all public institutes erected for several districts of the province, with the authority to delegate the special administration to the administrative bureau in whose special district such an institute is located; (c) protective measures which extend over more than one district—sanitation, quarantine for cattle diseases, inspection visits, etc. ; (d) plans for new undertakings, improvements, river 142

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and highway construction, insofar as they extend beyond the boundary of one district; (e) negotiations with the commanding generals in all matters which concern the entire army corps ; (/) observance of the jus circa catholicorum according to the wording of Paragraph 4 of the Service Instructions for the Consistory of 1817.27

The Oberprâsident thus had executive, consultative, and supervisory powers, and he was expected to travel throughout the province to inform himself of conditions. Many of his functions critically affected the local population; they could be and frequently were performed in a way to further the interests of the influential landholding nobility. Establishment of the provincial Landtag in the 1820's restored an institution that enabled the nobility to influence the normal course of government. Three separate groups elected the Landtag : the higher nobles and the owners of knightly estates; nobles; the towns ; the rest of the landowners, hereditary lessees of land, and peasants. In several provinces the first class, composed of nobles and owners of knightly estates, elected as much as one-half the membership of the Landtag; in other provinces the first class elected a larger number of members than did either of the other two classes, or at least a number equal to that elected by either class.28 The first class frequently received further support from the landowners in the third class—men of similar social background and interests—and it further benefited, especially in the East Elbian provinces, from continued influence of landlords over peasants. The law assigned powers to the provincial Landtag as follows : 1) There shall be laid before the provincial Estates for discussion only bills which affect the province ; 2) As long as no general assemblies of Estates [for the state as a whole] take place, to them likewise shall be submitted for discussion bills for such general legislation as concerns changes in personal and property rights and taxation, insofar as they affect the province ; 3) The right shall be given the provincial Estates to address to the King requests and complaints relating to the special welfare and interests of the entire province or a part of it ; 4) Communal affairs of the province shall be left to their decisions, subject to the right of royal authorization and oversight.

It was intended that by performing advisory and legislative functions the provincial Landtage would render superfluous the establishment of a central representative assembly. Measures the ruler would have submitted to a central assembly were to be considered by the provincial Estates. These bodies likewise shared responsibility with the Oberprâsidenten for matters directly affecting 143

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local society, particularly the nobility, as for example, poor relief, construction and maintenance of roads (an especially critical issue), fire insurance, institutions of social welfare, agricultural schools, conservation, and soil research. The provincial Landtag had limited power to tax, but it had no financial administration of its own; and lacking the right to appoint and command the services of its own officials, it depended upon the central bureaucracy for execution of its acts. The Landtag offered an invaluable means of voicing local desires, of exerting pressure upon the central government, of reaching the ear of officialdom with complaints, and of maintaining aristocratic control over the lower classes. Its work enabled the nobles and other landlords to retain an important role in social welfare and to locate roads and other improvements where they would be most advantageous to its members. When in 1842 the government permitted the Landtag to elect an executive committee to function while the Landtag was recessed, it created an institution that developed into a small administrative agency for the Landtag itself. Although ultimately subordinate to the central government, the Landtag committee afforded another instrument for influencing action. Introduction in 1849 of a constitution with a central Landtag changed the distribution of authority in only one respect: henceforth the provincial Landtage would not be consulted about matters of statewide legislation. In the second half of the century constitutional rule brought an expansion of governmental responsibility which affected the position of both the Oberprasident and the provincial Landtag and led to the passage of laws in 1875 and 1880 which extended their responsibility and authority. The Oberprasident now became much less a representative of the provincial assembly and more an official of the central government. Elimination of restrictions placed upon the sale of noble lands under the Stein-Hardenberg reforms had already allowed a wider choice of personnel by changing the basis of selection from that of noble status and landownership to that of landownership alone. Especially in the latter part of the century the nobility met with competition from estate owners of burgher origin for administrative positions at all levels of intermediate government. As burgher agriculturalists became absorbed into rural life, they turned more defensively and defiantly aristocratic than their prototypes. Whatever their social origin, occupants of the position of Oberprasident found the work too complicated and onerous for an amateur; the position required a professional, and in the latter part of the cen144

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tury the standards of experience and training required for appointment improved. The increasing responsibility of the Oberprasident led to a second adjustment: in certain matters this official received the power of decision; in others he consulted a newly-created provincial council. The council consisted of the Oberprasident, one of the higher officials in his bureau, and five laymen elected for a term of years by the executive committee of the provincial Landtag from persons eligible to be elected to this body. Since eligibility for election included property ownership, and since the Landtag continued to be an institution controlled by noble and burgher landowners, the new council gave the upper classes yet a further means of affecting governmental decisions. When provincial Landtage learned that their responsibilities required larger funds than provincial resources afforded, state subsidies increased. Social legislation in the 1880's, group insurance to cover accidents in agricultural employment and especially for rural old age and sickness, construction of branch railways, the expansion of modest loan funds into rural banking facilities necessitated employment by the provincial Landtage of trained personnel. Both the agency of the central government and the institutions of self-administration in the provinces required adjustment to these new needs. Administratively and legally the central agency wielded dominant power; but it shared authority with the organs of self-administration over matters that most affected the landholding nobility's social and political position and economic welfare, and its actions always lay open to criticism and to inspiration from the Oberprasident's council, the executive committee of the provincial Landtag, and the provincial Landtag itself. All three institutions depended upon a suffrage law that assured selection of upper-class representatives with common interests and reduced the influence upon government of peasants and townsmen to that acceptable to the nobility and its landholding burgher allies.29 In the first quarter of the century the government of the district received the form of a purely administrative body organized on a collegiate principle and unaccompanied by any elected assembly or council. It acted as the most important agent for the central government, being responsible only in a few matters to the Oberprasident, and receiving orders from and reporting directly to the ministries. It covered all aspects of life, and it possessed power. It had the duty to attend to the royal interests, the advancement of the state and the welfare of its subjects. It should not merely prevent

145

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modern, individual responsibility on the part of the district president.32 The agency thus received an organization similar to that of the province and of the central ministry. The president acquired a council for the district commensurate in size, origin of personnel, and in function with that of the province. To a greater extent he came under the influence of groups with social prestige, especially the Junkers. Nevertheless the government did not strengthen district administration by adding to it an organ of self-administration. In a time when a bureaucracy, no matter how enlightened, needed to respect expressions of public opinion in popular assemblies, in the press, and through the numerous means that developing industrialism provided, the district government continued to be an essentially bureaucratic agency. Being an intermediate institution within an intermediate governmental structure, it lost power on the one hand to the provincial authority, which was nearer to the central government, and on the other to the county government, which especially after the reform of its structure in 1872 stood closer to the masses. The system of county government proved to be more flexible, more responsive to the desires of social groups with influence upon government. Freer from pressure by the elite, the district agency, on the other hand, often comprehended the needs of workers and other townsmen more readily than either the provincial or the county government, although it was seldom able to secure equitable governance for all. In this Hohenzollern state a bureaucratic agency was less effective in affairs of government than a combination of bureaucratic-official and representative body dominated by special and traditional interests with social prestige. Among the institutions of intermediate government in Prussia those of the county changed least. Reorganized in 1825 at the height of reaction, and modified by the law of 1872, county government remained throughout the century the stronghold of Junkers and their landholding burgher allies. From the standpoint of the aristocratic groups in the society it set a model of check and balance between the power of central bureaucracy and that of selfadministration. The Landrat and the county assembly (Kreistag) had a historic past. Under absolutism the assembly declined into insignificance; its revival in the early nineteenth century meant a victory for the nobility. The gain, however, required a sacrifice on the part of the owners of knightly estates, who had formerly held a monopoly of seats in the Kreistag: the reform of 1825 allotted a very modest representation to the other two classes. A few examples of the distribution of seats will indicate the dimensions of the

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sacrifice. In 1857 in one county, 163 owners of knightly estates held 163 seats in the Kreistag; a town of 10,583 inhabitants had one seat, and 62,000 peasants had three seats. In another county the Kreistag consisted of 65 owners of knightly estates, three representatives of 29,000 burghers, and three more of 27,000 peasants.33 Since the Kreistag deliberated in plenum, the assembly remained an instrument of the landholding nobility, and during periods of adjournment an executive committee of six elected, unsalaried members performed its functions. The sole exceptions were counties in the provinces of Westphalia and the Rhineland, where the towns and peasants together supplied larger representation than did the first class of voters. Everywhere the Landrat had to be selected from landholding members of the county; that is, no alien official after the example of the French prefect, unacquainted with the area and lacking interests in common with its society, could be introduced; and no industrialist or merchant as such was eligible, since land and agricultural interests like those of the nobility formed the only recognized criteria. In most counties the owners of knightly estates alone possessed the power to nominate persons, three in number, for the position, and the king with rare exceptions selected one of their candidates. The fact that after 1838 a candidate was required to pass an examination or meet other standards of competence foretold future bureaucratization of the office, but did not widen the choice of candidates to include members of other groups. Particularly in the East Elbian provinces, where the nobility persisted in large numbers and had most interest in controlling the office, the king continued to fill the position from the first class of voters. In other regions he frequently selected burgher landholders. The importance of control over county government becomes vividly apparent from an analysis of the responsibility of each of its two institutions. The law ordered the Kreistag to "associate itself with and support" the Landrat in all county affairs. The Kreistag represented the county "corporations," a term used in the sense of the Old Regime to refer to status groups (Stände) of towns, villages, and noble estates. It distributed the burden of state taxes where no specific law or ordinance existed, and after 1842 it wielded power to levy taxes for county purposes and to decide the assessment. It chose the lay members of the county commission, which drafted recruits for the army. In accordance with a law of 1851, its opinion was solicited in regard to complaints against the class tax (Klassensteuer), and it selected one-third of the members of a 148

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commission to assess annually the amount of individual income tax—the other two-thirds being elected by those persons subject to the tax. It selected members of a county agency to mediate between lords and peasants regarding issues arising from peasant emancipation, and it also selected members of the commission for irrigation. Finally, the Kreistag expressed its opinion upon the dismissal or retention of justices of the peace, and it could always petition the central bureaucracy and the king.34 The powers so given enabled estate owners to shift the burden of taxation to townsmen and peasants; to assess these social groups for local purposes, such as road building, which were largely or wholly of value to landowners; to banish to the army sons of the lower classes because they or their parents appeared socially objectionable, while exempting others; to decide quarrels between themselves and former serfs over the amount and kind of services and payments still due the lord and over the use or distribution of communal property—and there were thousands of such disputes; and to control local justices, the most important officials in the life of the peasantry. Authority in the Kreistag assured to the lords economic advantage and social and political domination, and it attests to the courage of the peasants and the councils of towns within the county jurisdiction that these frequently resisted exploitation. These lower groups appealed against county rule to the district government, and in 1848 the peasants took physical action and succeeded in frightening monarch and nobility into granting reforms. Although the peasants knew too little about government to demand a constitution, their revolt stirred the absolute monarchy to seek popular support by associating itself with representatives of the people. The large landowners, however, weathered the storm and so preserved their traditional authority over county government. The Landrat held a position of dual responsibility: he acted as state official and as leader of the local citizenry represented in the Kreistag, and he mediated between central government and county assembly. He exercised the authority of the district government within the county, and he could be invited to sessions of the district administration, where he could cast a vote. Villages and towns too small to qualify as a separate county came under his charge, and their officials became subject to his orders.35 Liberals in the central Landtag fully recognized the value of the Landrat's relationship to the landed nobility in the Kreistag when in 1860 they sought to introduce into county government responsi149

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bility of the executive to the legislature. They proposed to deprive the Landrat of legal authority to preside over the Kreistag, and following the example of the central Landtag and of town councils, to allow this assembly to elect its own presiding official, whether Landrat or another. The ministry opposed the change: the Landrat and members of the county executive committee, it maintained, were or could be simultaneously members of the Kreistag, whereas the town council and town magistracy constituted entirely different and separate institutions. The Landrat's twofold position as government official and organ of the county corporation made it essential for the Landrat to be both independent of and dependent upon both the government and the county corporation, the argument continued. If he lost the right to preside over the meetings of the Kreistag, he would become a state official exclusively and forfeit the role of representing the interests of the county. If, as a member of the Kreistag, he found himself serving under a presiding officer who had defeated him in an election, his prestige would decline. The vote would indicate whether the Kreistag had confidence in him, and in case of his defeat, relations between the Landrat as a government official and the Kreistag would become strained. Formal practice of the constitutional system, the argument concluded, should not extend to the lowest branches of government; even in constitutional states it appeared not unusual for the Crown to appoint the presiding officer of the representative assembly.36 Hoping to preserve authority in the county for the nobility, the ministry opposed introduction of practices that would arouse political conflict over office and power. In town ordinances as well it moved to prevent an institutional situation in which differences over local matters might become political and so promote factionalism leading to party organization and activity. Conservative government and social elite alike sought to avoid active politics, since to them politics connoted liberalism and constitutional, popular government. The Landrat, a landowner of the county at the head of the noble-dominated Kreistag, signified preservation of the social and political status quo and of economic advantage through governmental power. When in the 1860's circumstances required that county government be reformed to meet new demands upon government and to allow the two lower classes participation in decisions, the central government enacted the sleight-of-hand law of 1872. The reform of 1872 did not appreciably change the method of selecting the Landrat, although it raised standards for the office. The increase in responsibility, however, meant that something more 150

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than noble birth, landownership, good natural judgment, and social prestige were required to qualify a candidate; the office demanded training in law and experience in administration. The balance between functions shifted, tending to weight the office less on the side of Kreistag representation and more on the side of official representation of the central government. Similarly the Kreistag's duties expanded with the growth of social and welfare services, and it became advisable to allow townsmen and peasants a greater share in representation in order to use their ability and knowledge in county government and to facilitate access to their varied tax resources. After 1872, elections to the Kreistag employed a modified version of the class voting system used in elections to the central Landtag. Instead of being divided as under the state law into three classes irrespective of domicile, the voters in each county formed three classes—one class composed of large landowners who paid a certain amount of land t a x ; a second class of citizens of towns, and in the western provinces, of certain communes; and a third class of citizens of villages and of those communes that did not belong to the first class, along with owners of estates and of rural industries who did not pay enough land tax to be eligible to vote in class one. The shift in base from the amount of direct tax paid to factors of occupation, social-class, and geography gave greater security and weight than was possible under the state system to the large landowners in the first line and to the rural voters in classes one and three in the second line. In allocating seats in the county assembly among the three classes, the government first determined the size of rural and urban population in each county; but regardless of proportions, the urban population could not have more than 50 percent of the representation. In a county with only one town, whatever the size of the town, class two received not more than one-third of the number of deputies in the county assembly. The remaining number of seats was divided equally between class one and class three. If, however, in the eastern provinces, stronghold of the Junkers, the number of voters in class one did not reach the number of deputies to which the class was entitled, the number of deputies was reduced to the number of voters. For the western provinces, predominantly burgher and peasant, the law excluded such generosity: it required there be twice as many voters as deputies. Those deputies lost by class one for this reason then accrued, not to the townsmen of class two, but to the rural inhabitants of class three, who were mainly 151

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peasants with economic interests supposedly similar to those of the large landowners and more susceptible to the influence of these landowners than were townsmen.37 The lords, noble and burgher in origin, of class one could be outvoted in the county assembly by representatives of the other two classes; but especially in the eastern provinces their prestige and power enabled them to gain support from representatives of the peasant voters and even from some townsmen. Peasant deputies appeared particularly ready to follow the nobility in transferring the main burden of taxation to the towns without curtailing expenditure for rural needs.38 Equally important in the reform of 1872 became retention of the manorial district as a unit of local government under the Kreistag and the Landrat and apart from the village, and the introduction of a governmental district (Amtsbezirk) to include a noble estate and adjoining villages. In a manorial district the landowner retained the power of government over his peasants; in the Amtsbezirk the owner of the noble estate was appointed head of the government by the Landrat. The system preserved a disguised form of patrimonial jurisdiction, whence county government continued to be the bulwark of aristocratic, landholding power. The combination of central authority and local selfadministration—in Landrat, county executive committee, and elected Kreistag—lent to county government a prestige that steadily rose in relation to the prestige of the bureaucratic district administration; not merely in Prussia but in other German states the county seemed a territorial unit sufficiently large to command resources and to face problems and tasks with modern efficiency. When in 1872 the landowners made concessions to the need for increased public participation, for greater responsibility and efficiency in government than they had previously allowed, they solidified for the duration of the empire their own dominance in rural counties and their great influence elsewhere. Although the organization of intermediate government in France resembled that found in other countries, the distribution of power and the nature of certain responsibilities appear distinctive. Revolutionary and Napoleonic rule transformed the system inherited from the Old Regime into an exclusive instrument of the central government. In 1800 Napoleon instructed the prefect, the key official in the system who took charge of a department, as follows: Your mission extends to all branches of the internal administration. Your responsibility embraces all that concerns the public welfare, the

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national prosperity, the tranquillity of those you administer. . . . Do not think that administration consists merely in cold calculations or adherence to routine; it is necessary that you envisage all the parts as links in a chain of activities for assuring the happiness of your fellow citizens. . . . The influence of your work should be such that in some months the traveller through your department will say with pleasurable feeling, "Here administers an able man."39

In his department the prefect played the role of an enlightened despot, of a Napoleon. Appointed by the monarch or his minister of interior, and under the Third Republic by the minister alone, the prefect wore the two hats of bureaucratic official and political henchman in the department, changing one hat for the other when occasion required. A prefect had assistance from a departmental General Council elected by the citizens, and from a subprefect with a similar council in each arrondissement. He had extensive and discretionary powers of appointment and dismissal—for example, of elementary school teachers and the many officials of the department and the arrondissements. Under the July monarchy the separate ministries established departmental agencies to conduct their respective activities. In his department the prefect acted as administrative head of all these, supervising the work for each ministry, keeping the parts of the structure in balance, guarding against incompetence or overzealousness. Through his hands passed the considerable body of reports, each of which he must sign. His position as administrative official par excellence enabled him to play politics effectively. One example of his activity may suffice. The municipal law of 1884 (Art. 140) authorized him to supervise the levy of taxes by municipal councils. In a nation that, in contrast with peoples under authoritarian government in Central Europe, notoriously shunned taxes, stinted government, and opposed state initiative in economic affairs, this supervisory power supplied a wedge in the door for political interests: the prefect deftly used the issue of taxation to influence elections.40 French writers frequently claim to see a degree of selfgovernment within the department in the relationship between prefect and the departmental General Council. The claim, however, can scarcely be substantiated, at least not before the law of 1871 regarding departmental government, or during the years of transition in the 1870's from monarchy to republic. Before 1871 the prefect ruled largely unchecked. Under Napoleon I the General Council ceased to wield influence, and under succeeding regimes its authority increased little. As political regimes changed—1815, 153

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1830,1848,1852,1870,1878—the prefect, subject to the minister of interior, retained the essentials of his power. The law of 1871 defined the position of the prefect with respect to the General Council, and in its most important clause, established an executive committee of the General Council to function during the months between the two annual sessions of the council.41 Even though composed of popularly elected members, the General Council lost prestige by the infrequency of its meetings and from dependence upon the prefect for initiative, information, and advice such as became necessary in the preparation of measures for action and for execution. The council had no administrative responsibility and no officials other than the prefect and his staff. The executive committee, selected by the General Council to assure itself more or less continuous participation in departmental affairs, suffered from three limitations: the committee did not remain in permanent session; like its source of authority it had no administrative power; and like the members of the General Council its members received no remuneration. The committee therefore could not be expected to show the interest and take the time thoroughly to supervise prefectoral activity. General Council and committee did not act as organs of self-administration; at best they controlled, directed, and criticized the administration of the prefect. The prefect continued to initiate and provide information concerning all matters considered by the committee and council. He prepared the budget as before, and if the council refused to approve the budget, he appealed his case to the ministry, which had the authority and the personnel— through the prefectural staff and the staffs in the arrondissements, cantons, and communes—to collect and disburse funds. This provision, an old one, was intended to prevent the council from refusing to honor regular budgetary commitments, such as payment on loans or for public works, salaries, essential improvements, maintenance of roads or hospitals: the council, elected by and responsible to local citizens, should not be allowed to seek popularity by denying financially burdensome obligations. In cases of intervention, prefect and ministry must accept a budget of standard expenditures; they could not introduce new items. The law in turn restricted the power of the department to tax through the prohibition against tapping any new source of revenue : new revenue should derive only from an additional levy upon four direct taxes collected by the state. Although able to contract loans, the department was not allowed to set up its own tax system. The most important financial function of the council and its execu154

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tive committee continued to be that of allocating the tax burden among the arrondissements. Nor did the council's right to set qualifications, a table of ranks, conditions of service, and rules of conduct for officials limit the appointive power of the prefect. The council's main source of influence lay in its annual review of the work of the prefect, in its right to request this official to initiate measures, and to appeal over the prefectural head to the ministry. Because the council was an elected body, its memoranda commanded respect by the higher body, likewise dependent upon the electorate. On the other hand, as an official of the ministry the prefect could veto or suspend acts of the council should these seem to him in excess of its power or in violation of the law. For example, the law prohibited the council from expressing opinions about any political matter, and much could be defined as "political" by a wary prefect; likewise it forbade one council to negotiate with another without prior approval. That the council elected its own officers and set its own rules of procedure had slight consequence; nor did the fact that the prefect shared with parliamentary ministers the right to be admitted to the council at any time and be heard upon measures under consideration impart to him the quality of an instrument of self-government. Power to review annually the work of the prefect meant less than may appear; for even after the creation of the executive committee, the council had little effective control of an efficient prefect with strong political and administrative support from above. The actual machinery of administration was contained in the prefectural bureau, a group appointed by the prefect, and the council had no staff with which to supplement or to check and counterbalance the activity of the bureau. The diversity of social origins and interests among prefects and members of the general councils deprived departmental government of the unity of outlook that conferred power upon intermediate government in Germany, Austria, and to some extent in Russia. Chateaubriand noted that in the Restoration period general councils consisted of "landowners, merchants, magistrates, that is of the most honorable persons in our provinces."42 Reduced requirements for suffrage and officeholding after 1870 brought representatives of other groups into the councils at the expense of the notables. Persons with the diverse interests of "landowners, merchants, magistrates, that is of the most honorable persons in our provinces" encountered difficulty, even in France, in reaching agreement such as was frequently achieved by Prussian landlords and nobles and by Russian lords and peasants in the Zemstvos. A country of varied 155

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social and economic interests, France expressed this variety through politics. The prefects themselves did not originate in or represent any one class. Aristocratic or middle-class origins affected their conduct less than did training and experience, particularly after 1830, when increasingly prefects were chosen for legal knowledge and administrative competence. They had no definite social outlook, and sudden changes of government promoted among them no particular social or political philosophy but a pragmatic adaptability. The government expected its prefects to be able administrators and even abler political agents: not until after 1870 did the position, subject still to political vicissitudes, tend to become one of career. Departmental government, like that of the arrondissement, canton, and commune lacked a homogeneous social group possessing power; it confronted and reflected an individualistic, largely middle-class heterogeneity of views and interests. The particular character of French intermediate government arose from the fact that this government, shaped by Napoleon I to serve his absolute will, after 1815 continued essentially unchanged as the instrument of power of those who replaced the Emperor, namely until 1870 the sovereign, ministers, and parliamentary deputies, and after 1871 the ministers and deputies. The minister acted as absolute ruler over his ministry, the deputy over his district.43 Both exploited the agencies of intermediate government for political advantage culminating in the act of winning elections, and the prefect served as their tool. Hence they refused to limit his power; they opposed the introduction of rules and procedures for a civil service; they would not curb the prefect's power of appointment or his right to distribute government contracts and other forms of assistance; they remained devoted to the spoils system in both the department and in the lower units of government. Liberty and equality became translated into absence of control over centrally appointed officials by local agencies, and all departmental bodies of self-government and all officials were equally liable to pressure to help win an election. Had Napoleon I returned in 1914, he would have easily and quickly recognized the system of intermediate government; by a few small changes he could have reshaped it to his need. French government suffered from a divided personality that never allowed either the democratic or the authoritarian forces to gain ascendancy over the entire state and nation. Each side found elements in the governmental structure as well as in society to support its hopes, the one in the constitutional-parliamentary system, the other 156

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in the centralized bureaucracy. Apart from the army, the main organ each sought to dominate was the departmental administration under the prefect. Its control by the Right meant the possibility of restoration; control by the Center after 1878 assured the election of faithful republicans. French society divided too sharply for either side, once in charge of the central government, to forego the assurance provided by the presence of a Napoleon-like prefect in the department. When the republican form of government appeared stabilized, elected ministers and deputies sacrificed to political expediency the principle of self-government in the department. Liberty, equality, and fraternity in a Cartesian-minded nation expressed themselves in many forms.44 Intermediate government in Italy and Spain drew from the French model and exhibited most of the shortcomings of the latter. In both Italy and Spain the cardinal issue in government concerned national unity. The fact that one of these two countries had possessed for centuries the political unity first achieved by the other in the nineteenth century cannot disguise the fact that regional loyalty weakened both states. In the name of regional autonomy both countries invited revolution and threat of revolution, so that both imposed a system of intermediate government designed to assure national solidarity. Since differences between systems in the two countries are less significant than similarities, an analysis of one country will suffice.45 The Italian experience is preferred to that of Spain largely because, as subsequent analysis shows, the Spanish system degenerated into caciquismo or boss rule. In Italy an official comparable to the French prefect governed a department. He had assistance from an elected departmental council, which depended upon the prefect for execution of its desires. Although its responsibilities changed from time to time, the council never enjoyed enough authority to qualify as an institution of regional self-government. The prefect reviewed its acts, and the central government imposed upon it so many specific duties that it had little time or money for attending to departmental needs. Restricted suffrage limited membership in the council to the upperclass elements of this frugal, preindustrial society, and the members sought first and foremost to limit expenditures by maintaining a system of taxation designed to burden the poor by, among other means, taxes upon essential foods, and by expanding the number of public offices reserved for their own sons. The prefect lacked the power of his counterpart in France, since the ministries other than that of the Ministry of Interior, to which he was responsible, early 157

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established their own agencies in the regions. These agencies reported to their particular ministries and not to the prefect. The ministries frequently created territorial divisions for their agents with boundaries different from those of the department, and by 1914 the administrative map of the country presented a complicated pattern. The prefect, seldom kept informed, found himself frequently called upon by these agencies for service when they met problems beyond their ability to solve. He had two essential functions: (1) to assure public security—an ambiguous phrase— through supervision and direction of all police in his department; (2) to use the police power, the appointive power, his authority to suspend or veto acts of local government, and his considerable influence in distributing governmental favors to win elections for ministers and other members of the Chamber of Deputies. Coming from the middle class, which controlled Italy, he acted in the interests of this class, and although a political appointee, he readily shifted allegiance from one to another person or group in order to devote his spoils system to the interests of the current incumbents. Nor did he differ in this respect from officials of the other ministries in the provinces. At the end of the century Italians in high position and speaking from experience condemned the system of intermediate government for failing to perform its proper functions. Senator Allievi, a former prefect, and Prime Minister di Rudini were among those who protested the administrative centralization that necessitated the referral of all matters, trivial as well as important, to the central government for decision. They denounced the plethora of officials, the flood of paper work, the anarchy of territorial jurisdictions. Even if located in the same region, field officials of the different ministries communicated with one another through the central administration in Rome, and one agency acted without informing another concerning matters that affected them both. The prefect, critics asserted, possessed no such power of coordination and decision as that held by his colleague in France. He and the agents of the other ministries came to be regarded as political tools; administrative decisions were cynically denounced as determined by political wire-pulling, and the claim of a "rule of law" was considered contemptible. Leaders like Minghetti pleaded without effect for decentralization. The Giolitti system, in power during the prewar decade, brought political corruption to a new height and at the same time introduced social reforms in unprecedented number. As in France, the ministers and deputies in parliament found the present ar158

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rangement so convenient to their interests that they rejected all serious effort toward reform.48 In countries like Italy and Spain, both deficient in economic resources and personal initiative, intermediate government held greater authority than it would in a state of vigorous economy. The educated members of the society sought in governmental service the livelihood denied them by the economy, and officeholding carried great social prestige and power. Except in the southern part of the peninsula, Italy did not reach the depths of corruption prevalent in Spain; but even northern Italy, favored by the presence of cities and a population of considerable enterprise and wealth, did not compare favorably with Germany or with parts of France. The type of boss rule, restricted in Italy mainly to the South, in Spain became associated with the national way of life. The boss might be landowner, priest, lawyer, or other regional dignitary; he dominated intermediate government, and by using the standard means of bribery, blackmail, murder, and other forms of intimidation, he and his allies shifted the tax burden to the masses, utilized public revenues for class or personal advantage, maintained low wages, and preserved the social status quo. Noble landowners set the standard in offenses against political morality and national welfare. They had never received the discipline the Hohenzollerns and to a lesser extent the Habsburgs had imposed upon their aristocracy and other social groups by means of—among other institutions—an honest and relatively competent system of intermediate government.47 CONCLUSION The effectiveness of intermediate and local government in eastern Europe may best be judged from its accomplishments. Autocracy in Russia obstructed creative activity at all levels of government. The peasants of the mirs—poor, ignorant, and isolated from the world—proved rarely able to initiate reform. The system of mir ownership kept the dead hand of serfdom upon a legal condition of freedom. Although toward the close of the century the peasants eagerly sought education and medical and other social and agricultural services, they had little opportunity to acquire them. The Zemstvos afforded a means for the nobles to lead in an effort toward reform for both lords and peasants. These two classes needed many of the same improvements, and after emancipation they found much in common, often including antagonism to autocratic rule. The Zemstvos improved schools, hospital services, and transporta159

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tion in rural areas, although they found it necessary constantly to defend themselves against a suspicious, even hostile autocracy. Thus the reform achieved by them fell far short of that urgently needed and potentially attainable under freedom. Municipalities fared better than the rural districts, since all social groups demanded improved water supplies, sanitation, public health, schools, and other services; and the value of the cities to power politics, in tax returns, in production of goods and munitions, and in the supply of man power and skills became increasingly evident. Although the czarist government found it necessary to permit a modicum of urban initiative to meet social needs, it dominated the municipal institutions and by the use of police spies watched every move. Autocracy refused to allow provincial and local government to perform popularly desired functions. Conditions in Germany and Austria appear sufficiently similar to allow one evaluation of government at intermediate and local levels to serve for both countries. Checks and balances, interlocking controls and responsibilities among the levels of government, from top to bottom, assured performance of tasks considered essential, enabled officials to take initiative, and prevented corruption. Exploitation, especially in rural areas of Prussia, benefited the landlords, and in every state exploitation in the towns benefited property owners; but it was carried on legally and openly through preferential taxation and expenditure of public funds. Government of rural county and village made far less progress than that in the towns. The rural regions had less wealth, less incentive for improvement, and less initiative, and the upper classes felt more fear of decline in social position. The group of large landowners introduced good roads, health services, and schools, which benefited both them and the neighboring peasantry, and they often set an example in agriculture and husbandry such as raised peasant standards. The system of administration under landlord domination, in which peasants and citizens of small towns could also participate, offered many advantages of leadership at the stage of social development reached in these areas; and the spurand-control system of the central bureaucracy, especially in Germany, assured the spread of at least a few benefits among all groups of the population. It is doubtful whether the lessening of aristocratic dominance kept pace with the need for and capability of increased participation by the two larger but still socially inferior classes. The social and political troubles in both Germany and Aus-

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tria after 1914 indicate that the form of government at these levels did not adequately prepare either upper or lower class in the rural areas for political responsibility. Government of towns and cities in Germany and of many in Austria set a high standard of administrative efficiency. Municipalities in these countries had a long tradition of mercantilist enterprise; they owned considerable land and other revenue-bearing properties ; and they never succumbed to Manchesterism. Municipal economic activity owed its expansion in this period not primarily as in England to merchants and industrialists but to outstanding mayors and other officials. Authoritarian in politics and in administration, mayors in Germany had sufficient authority to introduce what came to be called Municipal Socialism, and notwithstanding the difference in tenure from that in Germany, many Austrian mayors proved to be similarly aggressive. The towns benefited from their initiative. In the decades prior to World War I the towns increased so rapidly in population—especially in the number of workers, whose taxable resources were few—that municipal administration urgently needed more funds than it could obtain from taxation. Enterprising mayors, either with the enlightened encouragement of town councils or in the face of grudging acquiescence of cautious property owners, embarked upon public economic enterprises, transportation, gas- and electricity works, waterworks, public housing, sometimes even hotels, newspaper publication, resort facilities, many of which contributed vital revenues for street paving, sewage systems, hospitals, schools, museums, theaters, and numerous services. The mayor and his staff laid out a long-range plan of development; they bought land in anticipation, encouraged industries to settle in the area, and correlated local development with central-government projects of interest to the towns. The form of government prevented the mayor from becoming autocratic and the townsmen from succumbing to the temptation of localism found in France. Small towns as well as large cities profited from the freedom of initiative left them by the central government and from the ambition of the mayor and his staff. None of the other large countries of the Continent compared with Germany and Austria in urban administration; although the two countries differed in its institutional expression, the system of executive authoritarianism and of public participation through elected bodies proved to have institutional advantages for good government. Government alone, however, could have accomplished little without the accompaniment 161

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of a flourishing economy. The Prussian system introduced into France, Italy, or Spain would no doubt have assumed rapidly the local characteristics.48 The mercantilist action of municipal administrations aroused adverse comment in every country. Professor Josef Redlich expressed the least important criticism when in 1909 he feared that the extension of municipal ownership in Austria would cripple the "all too small entrepreneurial spirit" and hinder the development of capitalism.49 Writers condemned socialist town governments in Italy as acting in accordance not with practical economic possibility but with theory. Seeking to create a new society, these governments socialized enterprises such as bakeries, pharmacies, wine cellars, ice factories, slaughterhouses. Many of the enterprises soon failed. One German professor in 1909 blamed the failure in Italy upon the democratic character of communal government and the undeveloped nature of public morality.60 A mayor or subordinate official in charge of a municipal theater, he said, might prescribe the kind of plays or musical programs to be given, prohibiting those that were not morally and politically acceptable. Who was to judge, however, whether these acts were less reprehensible than those of socialist or nonsocialist governments in towns in Italy which spent scarce money on fireworks, opera, or other extravagant, popular entertainment? Irrespective of country, for every Oberbürgermeister Rive of Halle, who although ignorant of art had the foresight, courage, and modesty vigorously to further the art museum in his city, there existed a mayor who preferred the official in charge of municipal artistic activities not to be too competent. "We must have someone," said one mayor, "who is subject to reason." 61 Such defects, however, are relatively minor in comparison with one that contemporaries little appreciated: the restrictions upon public participation in local and intermediate government, with the consequent failure to develop a sense of individual responsibility for the course of public affairs. Governments introduced and executed measures of public welfare, often in spite of popular resistance. Relying upon official leadership, the populace did not create the many civic organizations indispensable to self-government. The public, especially the lower middle classes and workers in the towns and the peasants in rural areas, continued to feel politically inferior. The most effective places for experience in public affairs should have been the villages and towns, the counties and departments. Whether or not these affairs be termed "political," the habit 162

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of dealing with them and of assuming responsibility for them on the part of the members of the entire citizenry afforded personal and direct means of replacing the mores of absolutism with those of civic responsibility. German and Austrian municipal government proved an inadequate instrument for preparing the citizenry to cope with the vicissitudes of the present century; nor did the French system fulfill the hopes of idealists. French misuse of politics in local and intermediate administration aroused mistrust of politics and government, and this mistrust in turn inhibited the use of both for urgently needed services. Neither the combination of paternalism and very limited public responsibility as in Germany nor that of centralization and politics as in France provided ideal government; but in contrast to that in France, the German and Austrian system gave at the least a basically efficient administration. The major European states failed to achieve the uniformity of governmental institutions and procedures at all levels of activity—central, intermediate, and local—that frequently is associated with periods of domestic harmony. Feudalism, absolutism, liberal democracy—each in its historical period characterized the life of the entire society and established a foundation of assumptions for this life. The nature of the governmental structure in Europe prior to 1914 indicates that political and social life consisted of a mixture of all these types. French intermediate and local government offered a constant invitation to coup d'etat. The authoritarian basis of these lower levels of government contrasted with the constitutional, parliamentary central government, and this inconsistency helps to explain the instability of governmental regimes. France never found a uniform system of government, and in failing to do so, it never achieved institutional or social homogeneity. Russia also lacked uniformity ; autocracy was incompatible with the Zemstvo and the elected town council. The czar preserved such great authority and the populace continued so deficient in political knowledge that until almost the close of the period the conflict between autocracy and popular participation in public affairs remained subordinate to social and economic issues—peasant problems, industrialization, social services—issues only beginning to be expressed constructively in politics. Sources of conflict abounded ; institutions for dealing with them failed to develop. Austria had a consistent form of government in a kind of dualism 163

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whose weakness lay in failure to distinguish clearly between the responsibilities and rights of the imperial government on the one hand and of provincial, district, and local self-government on the other. As is known from the constitutional history of the United States, it is difficult under any circumstances for two separate and yet interdependent governmental structures to cooperate. Austria never introduced an institution like the United States Supreme Court for settling in a legal, orderly way inevitable disputes. The omission proved to be especially serious because the systems of government, the political divisions, the suffrage law, and the form of representation favored the German nationality in most of Austria, the Poles in Galicia, and if Hungary is included as part of the monarchy, the Magyars in the kingdom of Hungary, thus augmenting the occasions for conflict among nationalities within and among governmental bodies. Austria never tried to solve her complicated problems by experimenting with federalism. In Germany governmental structure and methods became homogeneous throughout; for in constitutional monarchism the empire and most of its member states had devised a blend of absolutism with parliamentary government that, although unacceptable to large elements of the population, proved to be more stable than the government in any other major country. Nonetheless, the nature of German political institutions of suffrage, representation, and bureaucracy relegated millions of natives to second-class citizenship and evoked severe criticism, from Socialists, Catholics, and nonGerman nationalities, and from upper-class leaders, the latter fearful of the political effect of authoritarianism upon German power. Critics debated at the time whether constitutional monarchism carried a legitimate right within itself as a distinct form of political life or whether it merely served as a stage on the way to popular, responsible government. Each view had supporters; discussion prior to 1914, however, could be only superficial. Experience with previous forms of government seemed no longer pertinent, and post-1914 forms had scarcely been conceived in realistic terms. Historical hindsight shows that no prewar governmental system proved adequate to the critical test of modern war. If peace had been maintained, no doubt all forms of government in Europe would have become increasingly subject to popular participation and control. England and the United States would not necessarily have provided models; but their constitutional history suggested a line of institutional development making popular political activity 164

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feasible. The culture of industrialism contained its own inner drives, and autocracy, constitutional monarchism, dyarchy (as in Romance countries), showed less competence in implementing these drives than the society and institutions of liberal democracy.

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V

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I

European bureaucracy changed fundamentally both its role in society and its composition and character as a social institution. Instead of operating as an instrument of absolutistic control and guidance, it became a civil service, a transformation already occurring in some countries in the late eighteenth century. Three stages of change may be distinguished : an early stage in which bureaucrats were referred to as "royal servants"; a second stage in which they were called "an artificial status group" (W. H. Riehl) ; and a final stage in which they had achieved a "metaphysics of bureaucracy" (Alfred Weber), when they became members of a cult and worshipped their own vocation. No longer acting only as a means, they had attained a way of life sanctioned by a superhuman ideal. In some respects the bureaucracy supplanted the Church as a social institution, and its members claimed to possess knowledge surpassing that of ordinary mortals, while conforming to a code of behavior different from and superior to that of other men. The transformation did not occur uniformly throughout Europe, for conditions of life differed so markedly from country to country and from region to region within a country that the stages of change appeared at different times. The bureaucracy in Russia by 1914 manifested many characteristics found in Austria before 1848 or in Prussia at the beginning of the century. The trend in all European countries, however, ran sufficiently parallel to justify a comparative analysis of bureaucracies, in which, if space permitted, it would be possible to include the bureaucracies of Church, army, and finally, of large-scale business enterprise. The following study concentrates upon the bureaucracy of the state, and since this is the most important of all bureaucracies for the introduction of social N THE NINETEENTH CENTURY

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change, it will treat the institution of bureaucracy as a social unit in itself. Data concerning' the numerical increase in officials during the course of the century continue to be sparse. Victor AndrianWerburg estimated that in 1840 Austria had more than 140,000 officials, with 30,000 more as customs officers (Zollwache) ; these figures did not include the large number of provisional personnel (Aushillfsbeamter und Diurnisteri), of whom in its effort to save money the government used many, and 100,000 pensioners.1 In 1819 the small state of Bavaria employed 8,800 officials.2 The number of higher officials in Prussia in those ministries that assumed responsibility for the affairs of the old General Directory increased nearly threefold between 1821 and 1901.3 In 1906-9 Prussia employed 272,000 officials, among them 167,000 for the railroads;4 and Germany as a whole used 390,000 officials in the postal, railway, and other public services, or a total of about 1,200,000 officials and an equal number of persons employed below the rank of "official." 5 A French analyst estimated in 1908 that the number of officials in France had sextupled during the century,6 and in 1913 another French expert stated that France had over a million public officials in the state, departments, and communes, and in public enterprises like railroads and gasworks. This number indicated one official to every forty French citizens, or one to every eleven voters.7 A French author estimated in 1910 that for every 10,000 inhabitants, Belgium had 200 public officals, France 176, Germany 126, the United States 113, and England 73.8 On the eve of national unification the Italian states employed nearly 63,000 civil servants. After forty years of unity the number, including the free vocations such as lawyer and physician, had risen to 640,000, a tenfold increase.9 In government as well as in business, the number of administrative personnel necessary to the conduct of affairs expands quickly when population, and especially population density, reaches a certain figure. Every European country came to this point at some time during the nineteenth century, since the population of the Continent rose from 187 millions (1800) to 401 millions (1900), increasing in both agricultural and industrial countries. Along with the police and the judiciary all the traditional duties of government multiplied and required staffing. Functions proliferated to such an extent that at some time during the century every European state took over from the Church the task of keeping vital statistics and established a more or less efficient statistical bureau. As the demand 167

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for quantitative information grew, government realized the necessity of maintaining data concerning age distribution for military purposes and data covering occupation, income, ownership, value and types of land in order to reform the tax system and to obtain revenue for governing a state of ever-increasing complexity. When serfdom was abolished the state assumed many responsibilities, especially those of police and justice, from the landed aristocracy. Since in contrast with the lords the central government was expected to perform its duties effectively, the transfer of responsibility brought not only a change of employer to the police and judiciary but likewise a substantial increase in numbers of officials.10 For the sake of efficiency, assessment and collection of taxes and expenditure of public funds in both rural districts and in the towns passed from the hands of amateur elected authorities or private persons to those of state officials. A variety of functions formerly subject only to the indirect control that state officials held over the population through village, manor, and town officials now became entirely controlled by state officials directly in contact with the population. In addition to expansion of traditional responsibility for public finance, police, judiciary, the military, and foreign affairs—each with its bureaucracy—came functions novel in kind or extraordinary in extent. These functions included responsibility for roads, canals, bridges, harbors, and later, for railways and telegraph and telephone, each requiring a corps of officials with a degree of training. Introduction of military conscription necessitated creation of a civilian bureaucracy to administer details and to provide scientific and technological services for a modern army, and on a smaller scale, for the navy. Education, ecclesiastical affairs, and cultural agencies, with the institutions for commerce, industry, and agriculture either entirely new or greatly enlarged, required similar bureaucratic services. Social problems connected with modern industry—factory inspection, legislation for working conditions, poor relief, workers' compensation and insurance, public housing, public health and other services—called for administrative personnel on a large scale; for laws affecting these matters could not be executed entirely by local amateurs, whether elected or voluntary. The numerous functions of Municipal Socialism entailed a bureaucracy not merely of persons of upper-class background and interests but of skilled and unskilled workers as well.11 The ideals projected by democracy, nationalism, and socialism set 168

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new standards of state service, and power politics together with the innovations of an industrial economy increased the pressure exerted by these ideals, just as education, science, and technology enhanced the possibility of their realization. The sacrifices demanded and secured from a population in modern war persuaded the people that in peacetime the state should utilize its powers to provide a decent life for the many. When a people became independent, as did the peoples of the Balkans, or when it achieved political unity, as in Germany and Italy, expectation of a better life motivated the struggle and grew with its success. Where the economy developed too slowly to provide work, as in Italy, the university-trained sons of the middle class demanded bureaucratic positions. The tax bill showed the effects: taxes on real property in Sicily increased from 7,700,000 lire in 1860 to 22 million in 1877; by 1900 Italy had a tax rate of 25 percent on property and income, a rate twice that of England.12 Bismarck sought to avoid an imperial bureaucracy by using instead the bureaucracies of the states, especially that of Prussia. He soon found this plan unworkable; not only did other German states become jealous of Prussian bureaucratic influence upon imperial affairs, but there was an increased number of those problems pertaining to the central government—factory legislation, regulation of railroads, taxation, tariffs, and other commercial legislation. Thus bureaucracy flourished everywhere, and it served as one of the main instruments of institutional change and social mobility. King Frederick William I of Prussia once wrote about his officials: "They shall dance to my tune or the devil take me! They must serve their master with body and soul, with goods and chattels, with honor and conscience and risk everything except salvation, which is from God, but all else is mine." 13 Frederick William planned to use the officials or Polizei to suppress the assemblies of the Estates so that he as absolute monarch might issue by decree the legislation required by modern conditions.14 In the eighteenth century the concept "Polizei" applied to the "activity of interior state administration. . . . which is established as an independent means for achieving general objectives of the state, without consideration for the individual and without waiting until its service is specifically called for." The formulation is that of F. Rettig, whose book Die Polizeigesetzgebung des Grossherzogtums Baden went through four editions between 1825 and 1853.15 In the middle of the century the author still classified as Polizei responsibilities "civil 169

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rights and school administration, public security and poor relief, promotion of agriculture, trade and industry, care for public conduct, marriage and guardianship." 16 In the latter half of the eighteenth century as the practical value of division of function became evident and as the ideas of the Enlightenment began to affect law, the security police were differentiated from the generality of administrative personnel. Similarly the judiciary was separated from administration, to acquire a status and a role of its own. These distinctions never became so sharply marked on the Continent as they were in Anglo-Saxon countries; hence, during the nineteenth century numerous examples of the earlier conception of Polizei persisted de facto and de jure. The habits of absolutism lingered on, and both liberals and conservatives had an ambivalent attitude toward bureaucratic power. Each group disliked the bureaucracy: liberals felt it restrained individual enterprise; conservatives that it curbed the aristocracy and the guilds. Yet all groups in the state needed and sought many bureaucratic services, with the consequence that the modern bureaucracy was erected upon the foundation of mercantilist, absolutistic Polizei, not merely in Germany but in other countries. Acquaintance with the origins of modern bureaucracy is essential to comprehend the characteristics of this institution in the nineteenth century. Otto Hintze, the best informed and most astute analyst of German bureaucracy, attributed its rise to the need of the ruling military and priestly powers and of economic groups in commerce and transportation for instruments of execution.17 The paternalism of the bureaucratic attitude toward the public may be traced to the time when the future official served in the house and court of a great lord. A second characteristic of the service arose in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, when universitytrained lawyers and humanists contracted with the ruler for a stated period as "hired doctors." The terms of these originally private and personal contracts ultimately became fixed in law, whence arose the question, particularly toward the end of the nineteenth century, whether an official served under private or public contract. If he were considered as serving under public contract, he could not undertake action against the state. Although the question of whether the contract was private or public never received a definitive answer, Hintze concluded in 1911: "In general the interpretation of administrative legal rights is inclined to emphasize strongly at installation the state power of disposition and to let the independent assent of the applicant to the familiar conditions of 170

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state service recede entirely into the background." 18 The patriarchal relation of master and servant and the free contract combined with a third ingredient from the seventeenth century, performance of a special or extraordinary charge, to set the nature of bureaucratic service. Persons so authorized to perform became regular officials, and like the intendants in France and the war and domainal commissioners in Prussia, served to uphold absolutism. Through them royal power reached into the daily life of the kingdom; from their activity arose the concept of the mercantilist, police bureaucracy. Hintze has written: The entire relationship rested upon the traditional basis of personal service to the monarch and had a semimilitary character. The term official [ B e a m t e r ] was employed to refer to a renter of a royal estate, who also in that capacity exercised patrimonial power. The officials were generally known as "royal servants," and not until the end of the eighteenth century did the term "state servant" appear, and not until the nineteenth was the concept "official" employed in the modern sense. 19

During the nineteenth century the bureaucracy changed from a collegiate to a presidential organization; that is, from a system wherein a bureau or agency after discussion decided issues by majority vote to a system wherein the head of a bureau or agency exercised the authority of final decision. No direct relationship between the choice of system and the nature of the government appears to have existed. Absolute monarchs usually employed the collegiate organization in order to assure efficiency and justice in an administration; Czar Alexander I, however, sought to gain these ends by introducing in 1802 the presidial system into the ministries and by modeling the bureaucratic constitution after that of Prussia and that of the army.20 Prussia adapted eighteenth-century means to new needs in the reforms of the early nineteenth century, retaining the collegiate organization not merely in the district bureau but in the ministries, where no decision could be reached without participation of other ministries interested in the question at issue, and using the presidial system in provinces and counties, where representative bodies received matters for review and to a certain extent controlled the actions of the head official.21 Prussia did not abolish the collegiate system in the ministries until the constitution of 1849; even afterward a minister advised with colleagues about problems of common interest, and before arriving at a decision the king continued to consult in turn each minister concerned. In the district bureau the collegiate organization persisted until 1872, that 171

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is, more than two decades after the introduction of constitutional government. Austria, the third absolute monarchy, retained the collegiate organization until 1848. In France prerevolutionary practice, as seen in the office of intendant, had replaced the college by one person, and in the nineteenth century the presidial organization prevailed throughout the state ; Spain and Italy followed the French example. The advantage of a collegiate organization disappeared with the emergence of constitutional government, under which the representative parliament performed the functions the college had been expected to fulfill. One bureaucrat need no longer check another to assure good government and to enable the ruler to control his own officials, since parliament through its investigatory and legislative powers performed these tasks. Once the absolute monarch acquiesced in the sharing of his authority, he found parliament a more flexible and useful body than a college of officials. The division of labor between parliament and bureaucracy thus brought about a more practicable arrangement than that provided by the college alone. Extension of education and establishment of the modern press and other facilities for spreading information augmented the means of public control. The collegiate system gave way to unified administrative leadership ; it did not revive until toward the end of the century a new set of functions appeared, such as social insurance, which required the participation of officials and interested private parties in regulatory agencies and governing boards. The change from the collegiate to the presidial system did not result, as Max Weber implied, in loss of "thoroughness in the preparation of administrative decisions the contrary was usually the case.22 Whether under absolutism or under constitutional government, the main reason for the change seems to have been the need for efficiency. The presidial system arose with the demand for speed, initiative, decision, and personal responsibility. Especially after parliament appeared, officials received much better training than before ; qualifications for employment and promotion and the standards of performance expected by the public improved; the status of officials rose from that of king's servant to that of national state official or civil servant. In a society with a constitution, a parliament, modern industry, and a complicated social structure the presidial type proved superior to the collegiate type of organization. Nonetheless, the presidial system assumed the characteristics and standards of behavior of the nation in which it operated ; it in no 172

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way automatically assured achievement of the ideals that its proponents had set. Under a ruler like Frederick the Great the collegiate system proved satisfactory; Francis I of Austria, given to indecision and delay, and his mentally defective successor Ferdinand allowed it to operate at its worst. The Austrian historian Viktor Bibl summarized the verdict of contemporary Austrians like Count Hartig, Pillersdorf, and Andrian-Werburg as follows: Acting according to the principle "all by the government, nothing by the people," the government imposed severe police regulations, a passport system, strict censorship of all printed materials, restrictions on association, a compulsory curriculum in the schools, strict curbs upon the provincial Estates, and so on. These measures degenerated into the notorious "iron police pressure" and were popularly regarded as very unpatriarchal. But the effort to be paternal prevented due punishment of violations, and in consequence liberal ideals were smuggled into Austria, the government lost the respect of the people and came to be hated. Since the entire government acted according to the principle that all power lay with the Monarch, the latter needed a large bureaucracy to implement his will. The bureaucracy became much larger and more complicated than was necessary, for the ruler wished to prevent all injustice. In order to prevent bureaucratic arbitrariness, an excessively cumbersome mechanism of higher and lower bureaus was devised, in consequence of which often the least significant matter ran its course through five or six official levels. The lower bureau reported with detailed evidence to the upper bureau, which in turn submitted a memorandum and despatched the documents to a still higher bureau, or referred it back to the lower for further clarification. The upper bureau deliberated and decided as a collegiate body, even though the other members outside the one in charge of the specific matter knew nothing about the affair, so that participation merely delayed or spread the responsibility for a decision. Often instead of saying yes or no, the members voted down the recommendation of their expert colleague, the majority and minority each justified its action in a memorandum, and indecision received new nourishment. The matter was referred to another bureau or returned to the lower bureau in order to gain time and to protect the rear. Thus the good intention of preventing arbitrariness became a curse: decision was endlessly delayed; it came too late, if it ever came at all. The entire activity of the bureaus degenerated into a "controlling control of the controlling controls." The reason was the demand of the Emperor to use the bureaucracy as the instrument of his absolutism. The ministers also lacked independence; they were allowed to express opinions but not to decide, since decision lay with the Monarch. Because Francis I mistrusted his own judgment, the unfinished business piled higher and higher.23

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BUREAUCRACY As the bureaucracy became entrenched it assumed the divineright prestige and authority of the absolute monarch. The nature of the power it claimed to share appears in a statement contained in a standard work for Allgemeines Staatsrecht published in Austria under Maria Theresa. The author wrote: Just as the individual is subject to the ruler so too is all society. All owe him obedience whether he rules well or badly. Should the people upon conferring rulership wish to make an exception, saying that it will obey only the good ruler, then a relationship would have been assumed which would have depended upon the whim of the contractors and therefore would be void. It must be left to the ruler to decide what is good for the state. When the citizens gave him the rulership, they declared that they are content with his judgment. If he rules badly, it is a misfortune.24 This doctrine permeated the thinking in universities and schools, including even theology. When a bureaucrat acted, he did so in the name of the divine-right ruler; at the time and for the specific purpose he was the emperor. Freiherr vom Stein's transfer of official allegiance in Prussia from the person of the king to the head of state enhanced the position; now the official spoke with the authority not merely of a specific person but of the state itself. 25 As late as 1848 the German-Austrian political theorist Lorenz von Stein wrote about monarchy: Monarchy represents the autonomous power which alone is able, indeed, which is forced by its very nature, to contain within itself the interests of all status groups and classes. By nature it has no special interest but becomes more powerful and felicitous as the life of a people itself becomes more alive and harmonious. . . . first through the royal power the state has recovered its independence outside of and over society.23 The presence of the monarchy made it possible to restrain or avoid struggles within society, but to do so effectively the king needed a bureaucracy. To quote again from Lorenz von Stein: . . . every society contains a number of individuals to whom nature has given the capacity to care deeply for the welfare of the whole, who are especially able to work for the development of the whole and to subordinate to it any special interest. These men are therefore predestined to state service, to service in behalf of the idea of the state. Wherever society alone rules, these individuals will necessarily have as enemies everything that has power, and the more firmly they seek to protect the state against subordination to special social interests, the more violently will they be attacked. . . . Organic, secure and effective achievement by them is only possible where state power assumes a position in which independent of society it can incorporate 174

BUREAUCRACY that which is above society and transform it into living activity. In them is found the natural organism of the state idea in society, for these are the natural spiritual organs and bearers of this idea. These are the true officials. But the condition of their closed, salutary cooperation is the real presence of that idea of the personal state, which needs them; without this, they scatter in society and are hopelessly suppressed by it.27

Other writers shared Stein's esteem for bureaucrats: Hegel referred to the Beamtentum as a "middle status group, . . . which embodies the cultivated intelligence and the legal knowledge of the mass of a people." The statistician J. G. Hoffmann called officials "the educators of the folk." 28 The Rhenish businessman and liberal Otto Camphausen, younger brother of Rudolf Camphausen of 1848 fame, spoke in the 1840's of the Prussian bureaucracy as "the aristocracy of capacity." 29 The Russian reformer Speransky regarded the bureaucracy as the indispensable instrument of reform and good government. Austrian statesmen and writers in addition to Lorenz von Stein held similar conceptions, and the Magyar Eotvos concluded in 1859: However convinced we may be of the beneficial results of a practicable constitution, it is certain that neither the development of the state nor the welfare of individuals, indeed not even their individual freedom, can be guaranteed merely by means of a constitution. All this depends just as much, even perhaps more, upon the administration.30

Bureaucrats regarded the people as incapable of governing themselves in small or great matters. In Prussia, and in France, they referred to the people as "the administered ones." 31 About 1840 Minister of Interior Rochow, the Brandenburg Junkerbecome-bureaucrat, rebuked the burghers of Elbing for an expression of liberalism: "It is not fitting," he declared, "for the subject to measure the activity of the head of the state by his own limited understanding." 32 Speransky, who always mistrusted the ability of the people, believed that the bureaucracy could transform social conditions in Russia, an attitude that persisted in spite of bureaucratic mistakes in applying to Russia measures that did not suit the people. In 1893 Minister Witte explained the objective of his proposed budget as follows: . . . it is within the power of governmental authority to be concerned with everything touching the welfare and needs of the people. . . . Considering the weak development of the habits of self-help among the population, the whole burden of coping with public misfortune falls inevitably upon the government. . . . One must above all aim at removing the unfavorable conditions which

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cramp the economic development of the country and at kindling a healthy spirit of enterprise in accordance with the natural conditions and demands of our national industries.33

And in the latter part of the century Wallace found the Russian government still treating members of all classes "as minors, incapable of understanding its political aims, and not fully competent to look after their own local affairs." The officials naturally and out of self-interest followed the ministry's example, treating the people whom they governed as "a conquered or inferior race." 34 The German poet Georg Herwegh ironically noted in 1840: "It is the pleasant privilege of our century that it has to recognize a truth as truth only if it proceeds from the mouth of a bureaucrat." 35 Prussian officials in the Rhineland, who came into contact with the ablest and finest of the new bourgeoisie, showed equal mistrust. District President von Spiegel in Düsseldorf reacted typically when on November 1,1844, he reported to the government as follows: The notables of the industrial circle of the population like to discuss political questions, and, if one explores their judgment more closely, one easily discovers that it is almost always based upon financial interest or increase of personal prestige. These persons love illusions, play like flies in the sun and are content with everything as soon as they see themselves personally flattered.36

In 1815 the Prussian statesman and scholar Niebuhr declared that freedom depended far more on administration than upon a constitution, that if a constitution were introduced the government would follow the policies of the present administration.37 A few years earlier Speransky in proposing reforms for the Russian government had approved the theories of Adam Smith, adding, however, as bureaucrats did in every country, that his own country was not yet ready for their introduction. When the national industry, strengthened by time and conditions, will have reached, so to say, its full maturity, it can and must be allowed to proceed alone, its path being supervised only from afar. But in its early beginnings, when its weak forces do not allow the consolidation of its enterprises; when experience has not yet fully clarified its prospects; when many areas of the economy are yet unknown—the government has the obligation to guide it [the nation's economy], to show where its advantages lie, to promote it through encouragement and even—where there is lack of capital—to give it subsidies.38

In central and eastern Europe especially, society remained too backward to develop the economy without governmental initiative and aid. The state imported the latest machinery from England and 176

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Belgium, the two countries most advanced in technology; it sent personnel abroad for training; it conducted research in state laboratories ; and it supplied capital and assured markets. Prussia took the initiative in this new form of mercantilism; Austria followed reluctantly and very slowly, since Emperor Francis disliked railroads and mechanical devices; and Russia slowly followed Austria. Particularly in Prussia and Russia, military needs stimulated technology. Georg Siemens studied in Prussian military schools and carried out the research for his invention of the telegraph and cable in an army laboratory. In his memoirs Prince Kropotkin describes the excellence of the scientific training in the elite school for cadets in St. Petersburg. The engineering corps and the service concerned with architecture and construction became especially important as early centers of scientific education and research.39 The state often owned mines, salt deposits, forests, as well as arsenals, and it prepared officials for managing these enterprises, thereby stimulating private initiative along similar technical lines. Government frequently bore much or most of the responsibility for the development of railroads. State aid to the new economy took two other crucial forms: supplying investment capital necessary in an economy as yet deficient in private banking facilities, and providing personnel competent to manage new enterprises. The Rhenish entrepreneur David Hansemann wrote to the Prussian minister Count Alvensleben before 1848 regarding the dependence of new industry upon the services of personnel trained as officials in the state bureaucracy. Private individuals, he went on, lacked not merely the necessary technical knowledge and experience but experience in management as well; nor would a merchant with talent and knowledge of administration possess the capital reserves or be able to spare the time from his business to devote to the preliminary steps in establishing new industry, not to mention the advisory duties that membership on a board of directors entailed. Hansemann proposed that the state lend officials to private enterprise for an indefinite time during the critical months or years needed until industry could train its own managerial personnel. The government would in this way serve as insurance for private enterprise; if the venture failed, the borrowed officials could return to their posts; if it succeeded, they could either return or remain in the new service. Those with ability that clearly suited the entrepreneurial employers, although they were few in number, became doubly useful because of their connections and knowledge of how to maneuver within the state bureaucracy.40 177

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As the economic and social transformation associated with industrialism advanced, the bureaucracy refused to alter its leisurelypace, and even more irksome, to diminish its paternalism. In France during the Napoleonic years officials had often worked to exhaustion ; after 1815 they, and their colleagues in other countries, slackened. Andrian-Werburg indignantly demanded what bureaucrats had done to help defeat Napoleon. As soon as victory came in sight . . . there they came numerous and busy and sat down at the replenished tables and forced out the brave fighters of former days—and since this happened Austria has gone at a snail's pace. . . . All the obstacles which every healthy and productive idea always encounters everywhere are set by the bureaucrats. Through them every advance, every development of the life of the people, every national upturn is frustrated. To them alone is to be ascribed the unholy stagnation within our spiritual and material life, the continually increasing decay of our great, splendid monarchy. . . 41

His accusation applied to the small German states even more than it did to countries the size of Austria.42 Although bureaucratic paternalism aroused the resentment of aristocratic landlords, it stirred the rising bourgeois industrialists and capitalists to vehement protests.43 Until 1851 the Prussian government directed the mines in every important detail. The law of 1851 for the first time transferred responsibility for the number of mine officials, the hiring and firing of workers, the sale of the product, and the accounts of the business to mineowners and their employees.44 Thereafter the mineowners rapidly gained freedom from state domination, and the industry changed from one of small, individual pits to one of large corporations. A second example occurs in banking. A group of capitalists proposing to establish a bank in order to meet urgent local and regional needs and having subscribed funds would approach the government for a charter. The government might delay decision for months—in one case it did so for two years—and then might refuse permission.45 Bureaucracy mistrusted banks and other financial organizations, lest they become too powerful to be controlled. Insurance companies aroused even greater suspicion than banks, especially those dealing in fire insurance, for officials thought that widespread incendiarism would ensue. In one case arising in 1848, when because of the revolution the Prussian ministry might have been expected to bow to change, the bureaucracy succeeded in postponing a decision. More than a decade later under pressure from the Landtag the government finally abolished the requirement to obtain special authorization for 178

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establishing an insurance company and for appointing insurance agents in the field. Henceforth a company could be freely organized but it must report the names of its agents to the police!46 Beginning in the 1880's, Count Witte in Russia fought continually for freedom under which Russian industry and banking could develop. Witte's powerful opponent Plehve, who became minister of interior and died in 1904 at the hands of an assassin, represented a common type of official. V. I. Gurko, another official but one of a different character, has portrayed him as ignorant of economic affairs, claiming that Plehve relied upon machinery of government such as existed in the days of a "natural economy." Plehve considered the Russian people a "colorless, agricultural mass," reminding him of the Sphinx, and his economic policy consisted of trying to balance the budget and keep the state treasury filled. For railroads, industries, mining, banking, the many enterprises of modern economy, he lacked understanding and sympathy.47 At the end of the century the Russian government still required administrative approval of each request for the right to establish a private corporation for economic purposes. Minister Witte inveighed against the restriction; but he did not succeed in freeing enterprise from bureaucratic hindrance, although such hindrance had been overcome in the 1860's in Germany and Austria. Since the Revolution, France had allowed more freedom to economic enterprise than had any country in Europe. Except for corporations with bearer stocks, which continued to require special charter, the government allowed other kinds of companies to be established through registry with the appropriate public agency. Nonetheless, the authoritarian habits of the bureaucracy persisted. Entrepreneurs contended with such official obstruction, indifference, or indecision in regard to railroad construction that by 1848 France ranked behind her neighbors in this essential sector of development. The bureaucracy ignored the business world in determining tariff policy, in planning waterways, and in administering numerous other matters.48 Chambers of commerce, which in continental states usually had official status, found themselves ignored by government, as did private corporations and other large interests. The bureaucrats assumed that they as officials knew better than laymen what should be done. In acting with such self-assurance before 1848, bureaucracy overestimated its ability and strength. It did not escape the bureaucratic dilemma: as the agency most aware of the need for change and best equipped with knowledge and authority to initiate reform, 179

BUREAUCRACY the bureaucracy advocated progress; as an agency with power it feared the effect of social change upon its position both as an institution of government and as a status group. Prince Metternich's criticism of the Court Chamber in 1842 could have been applied to the entire bureaucracy. Our state [he wrote Baron Kiibeck] has everything that is found in old aristocratic institutions that have remained true to their nature ; this is an amassing of things and forces which lie dormant, do not appear to exist and yet form an active, unused treasury. . . . If an orderly spirit obtains control of this Chamber, it is as if a moldering structure were exposed to fresh air.49 Throughout the century control over the bureaucracy meant control of the state; absolute monarchs, conservatives, and liberals alike contended for influence over this institution. 80 The introduction of a constitutional parliament added to monarchy and bureaucracy a third agent of government, the presence of which changed the relative positions of the three powers and therewith the character and role of the bureaucracy. In France the elected minister and parliamentary deputy inherited a bureaucracy shaped by absolute monarchy. They sought to impose upon state officials something of the power their royal predecessors had exerted. The parliamentary deputy aspired to be master in his district. . . . he expects all officials of his district [wrote a member of the Council of State at the end of the period] to be known to him, acceptable and so submissive to him. The Minister wishes that all officials of his ministry be equally known to him, seek to obtain his approbation and depend for their career upon him or upon those in whom he has confidence. Almost all deputies, almost all ministers, some with more esprit, others with more naïveté, approve of this conception of divine right.51 Expansion of the bureaucracy in order to provide more positions to dispense as political favors soon resulted in a qualitative decline of official personnel. As De Tocqueville wrote in 1842, each official "assumes that personal favor, chance, a thousand accidents that an imagination conceives will suffice to pass without great ability through all the bureaucratic grades and to ascend from the base of the ladder to the summit." 62 In portraying the life of bureaucrats in his novel Les Employés (1837) Balzac attributed the confusion to the introduction of constitutional government. Ministers had no time to direct the administration. "Today their Excellencies," wrote the French critic Ymbert in 1825, "must devote to political discus180

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sions all the time that they used to give to work with the fifteen chiefs of divisions." 53 The bureaucracy under the new conditions learned to protect itself and to guard its power. Whereas an absolute monarch endeavors to establish a direct relationship with each official, under a liberal constitutional system this personal relationship with each official becomes impracticable, if only because the state theoretically does not exist apart from its citizens. No longer dependent solely upon the ruler, the bureaucracy would be able to appeal to the public, to wield influence over parliament, and to achieve status as a civil service. Whether or not law confirmed the new status, the bureaucracy gained security and respect from the public, whose need for governmental efficiency aided in the protection of officials from political exploitation. The extent to which public opinion protected the bureaucracy depended upon cultural conditions within a country. In Spain and Italy the spoils system remained in operation; however, by the close of the century France had restricted the use of spoils to exceptional cases, and when Premier Combes in 1902 requested officials to support his party and its allies in the elections, critics denounced his act. The brevity and uncertainty of ministerial tenure under constitutional government provided a second occasion for enlarging bureaucratic influence. Ministers were unacquainted with the affairs of their portfolios and showed political timidity about reaching decisions. In France they frequently defaulted, allowing the bureaucracy to assume responsibility.54 A similar situation existed in Germany, where although better placed for decision-making, ministers found themselves as dependent upon the advice of permanent officials as in France. Gustav Schmoller described (1905) the relationship as follows: Ministers come and go. The bureau Chief in the agricultural ministry said once, "That is the sixth minister that I have had to train." Once when I was talking with Minister Miquel after the fall of Herrfurth as Minister of Interior over appointments to Landrat positions, he told me that Herrfurth had as little influence as Puttkamer before him; Herrfurth had concerned himself with the appointments to the highest four or five places; then like all ministers he had left the matter to the personnel director. As long as the feudal party has a director in this position, it is really of no importance who the minister is. Yes, gentlemen, the privy councillors, the ministerial directors, the undersecretaries rule us all! And I submit—we have never had it better than today; at least not often and not in a long time. Remem-

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ber, our friend Thiel has been in the Ministry of Agriculture for over a generation; similarly Lohmann in the Ministry of Commerce. And I could name many more examples. That is the decisive fact. And therefore I still have today great confidence in our officials. We have a distinguished line of those who in the present regime do not reach the top but who actually attend to everything. In one of the ministries—I shall not say in which but it is not the Ministry of Education and Religion—there was recently a report that the Minister would be dropped and replaced by a narrow-minded reactionary. The crucial ministerial director said to me: "It makes no difference really. In two months I'll have him where I want him anyway." The great traditions of the bureaucratic hierarchy in the ministries are much more important, much more powerful than the changing personalities who now carry the flag for the moment in the eyes of the outside world, who are chosen for their oratorical ability, their influence upon certain parliamentary groups and for similar reasons.55

Under absolutism officials exerted such influence when ministers were lazy or incompetent. Rulers could appoint court favorites to high positions for no other reason than their social connections, and in the nineteenth century monarchs like the Romanoffs and Habsburgs frequently lacked the self-confidence to entrust ministries to individuals with more ability than they themselves could show. In such instances the bureaucracy might take charge, or it might find itself unable to break its routine in favor of creative action. On the other hand, ministers of absolute monarchs often enjoyed an extended tenure rare under constitutional government; they became experts and used the bureaucracy as it should be employed, namely as an administrative rather than a policy-making service. Under constitutional government in authoritarian Germany and Austria the role played by ministers depended upon personal characteristics, not upon political prestige among the deputies and the public or upon court favor. Many ministers became efficient heads of bureaus; others, as Schmoller stated, stood at the mercy of their bureaucratic staff. All ministers, whatever their ability and experience, heeded to a significant extent their professional advisers, particularly when public affairs became so numerous and so complicated as to require the attention of both parliament and a sizable staff of civil servants. At the close of the century the ablest and best-informed observers criticized adversely the condition of the bureaucracy. Otto Hintze, historian of Prussian governmental and economic institutions, softened his criticism by analyzing the essential characteristics of bureaucratic service. He distinguished the psychology of the official from that of the ordinary wage earner and from that of entrepre182

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neurial and business groups. The latter, he observed, work for their own interest and therefore often labor intensively, while the official is induced to great effort more by ambition for prestige than for monetary gain. Competition may spur the higher officials, but in the lower positions of the hierarchy this spur loses effectiveness because results become less evident. In general, Hintze declared, the collegiate spirit replaces that of competition, especially at the lower levels, where unusual activity declines in favor of routine. At the same time the feeling of membership in a collegiate body, like the sense of comradeship in the officers corps, affords one of the strongest moral and social factors in the bureaucracy and is indispensable for public life. This spirit, Hintze argued, has strongly influenced the members of the free professions, especially doctors and lawyers, who have a historical background similar to that of officials and retain many contacts and connections with governmental officials. Each status group, Hintze concluded, has its particular weaknesses and sins. He cited those of the bureaucracy as corruption and laziness, excessive ambition, servility toward superiors, brutality toward inferiors, conceitedness, and narrowmindedness. Yet to offset these defects Hintze found virtues of note—honesty and integrity, respect for law, a sense of duty, industry, love of the common welfare, and simple loyalty. He regarded these virtues as the result of long education, and he denied that the competition of economic forces would have achieved this spirit, which is something "unique, irrational, the presence of which can only be historically proved." 66 The teacher and colleague of Hintze, Gustav Schmoller, doyen of the historical school of economics, objected in 1905 to the rapid expansion of government ownership of industry, citing the inability of officials to manage these enterprises. The official of the years 1713 to 1848 [he said] acted in lieu of both public debate and popular representation. Today where the parties in public discussion and in parliamentary conflict question every state act we must have officials in many positions who obey more readily than was the case earlier; we can no longer tolerate independent bureaucrats in the lower and middle ranks as we did in the small absolutistic states of the eighteenth century.57

The Austrian scholar Josef Redlich condemned the bureaucracy of his country in similar terms. The Austrians, he thought, did not have the capacity to do great things; the bureaucracy had lost the secret of initiative, and the provincial government and the Reichsrat of 516 members had not the capacity to develop initiative or to 183

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arouse the bureaucracy to action. The presence of a parliament caused confusion, for the deputies sought to interfere in administrative details. Politics, he found, permeated the activity of government from top to bottom, causing the government to sink into a morass of individual actions. In the absence of general and inclusive policies, he declared, the Austrian government depended upon emergency decrees as it stumbled from crisis to crisis. The combination of parliament and a traditionally authoritarian bureaucracy evoked the worst qualities of each body.58 The activity of the French bureaucracy, like that of the Austrian, aroused similar criticism for having become lost in detail. Each official individually, Chardon wrote in 1911, would have reached a satisfactory decision, but together they [officials] only perpetrate something mediocre and even detestable. The ensemble of one piece of advice heaped upon another only confuses things. Each scrutinizes his colleague's or his inferior's decision in his desire to justify his own intervention while criticizing the work of others, and all the efforts made end in a travesty of the true interest [of the public] : some matters have been resolved, some signatures changed, some periods, some commas put in, but the important thing, the technical error, the wrong calculation, the doubtful financial operation which will upset the public service, passes through the same controls with extreme ease.59

In addition to the occupational nature of bureaucratic interdependence, critics found the social origin of the personnel a factor in the declining quality of service. The middle classes, including the petty bourgeoisie, and in France workers as well, had begun to gain office by the early part of the nineteenth century. These recruits to the civil service enjoyed the sense of power to be derived from red tape and, wherever required, a uniform. Under the parliamentary regime, bureaucratic prestige and responsibility continued to rise while the new bureaucratic recruits, lacking a tradition of how to wield authority, were psychologically unprepared to govern others. Persons who gained bureaucratic positions without possessing ability quickly sought a voice in every matter remotely connected with their bureaucratic sphere of activity.60 Devotion to red tape became a cult; France lost her way in paper work, and Spain, Italy, and Central Europe suffered from comparable excess. On the Continent the bureaucracy inclined to develop what Max and Alfred Weber both called its own "metaphysics." But in public service all these emotional values that exist today enter, including of course the state mystique. This has created a huge

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religion, which inspires in mankind the special religious factors that bring them, quite apart from power relationships or from the bureaucracy, to submit themselves to an authoritarian force, which binds them far beyond what skill would require of them and which simply absorbs their free personality.61

This type of official, Alfred Weber went on, did not exist in AngloSaxon countries, where the official is merely a "technical functionary" and not something celestial. "The clerk in Anglo-Saxon countries is the person equipped with no special social qualities, who does the same kind of work as that which the Prussian official does surrounded by the dignity and the halo of the privy councillor."82 Manifestations of this metaphysics appeared wherever the bureaucracy had power. In France reverence for the government official seemed equally present in officials and public. In Balzac's novels and in real life mothers prayed that their sons would acquire official posts, that their daughters would marry officials. Office carried prestige that compensated for modest salary; security of tenure, once it became established in fact even when lacking in law, would not alone have made the official career socially attractive. Since monarchism, with a tradition of absolutism, lent more weight to bureaucracy than did republicanism, the Austrian respect for office exceeded that in France. Every state tended to be, in the terms Wallace used to describe Russia, "an abstract entity, with interests entirely different from those of the human beings composing it; and in all matters in which State interests are supposed to be involved, the rights of individuals are ruthlessly sacrificed." 63 The adverb "ruthlessly" may seem relevant only or mainly to czarist Russia; yet the assimilation after 1815 of newly acquired territories by Prussia and Bavaria and other German states, and especially the unification of Germany and of Italy, entailed the use of bureaucratic power to limit or destroy many individual rights. The bureaucracy performed vital tasks that were not within the competence of mere civilians—tasks often misunderstood and frequently opposed by elements of the population. It easily claimed a position somewhere between heaven and earth. Bernard Pares has said that nearly every educated Russian was an "official." He notes a difference "not so much between the official class and the rest of the population as between a man acting as an official and acting as a private individual; in his official capacity the individual became "often a machine, painfully obeying instructions" that he might not understand, whereas in private life he was "possibly a kind, hearty gentleman with a natural leaning for Liberal ideas." 64 185

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In Germany the official personified bureaucratic metaphysics in private life as well. Government officials, including ministers, of necessity came from the aristocracy and the middle class, since these groups alone had sufficient means and culture to train personnel. With rare exceptions artisans, workers, and peasant sons lacked education and opportunity to rise so high. Every country established certain facilities that enabled it to pay lip service to the ideal of equality of opportunity based on ability and irrespective of social background. From Spain and France to Russia, governments offered scholarships ; in Catholic countries the Church often educated young males of promise; and the custom under the Old Regime, whereby noble landowners afforded an education to gifted male children in their service, occasionally continued. In countries with compulsory elementary education—for example, Prussia or the Netherlands—a peasant who owned a farm might encourage a younger son to study. Whereas in the eighteenth century such a son usually chose the priesthood, in the nineteenth century he frequently preferred a university career or the bureaucracy. As a rule, however, Alfred Weber was correct in concluding at the end of the century that the bureaucracy reflects the power structure of society. Accordingly, in the nineteenth century the aristocracy and the middle class remained at the helm.65 The change that occurred in the social composition of the bureaucracy during the century took the form of a reversal of the relative strength of the two classes: at the beginning of the century the nobility predominated; at the close, the middle class shared the power. Notwithstanding the steady growth of a nobility of the robe, the aristocracy had too few members competent to fill even the higher positions, not to speak of the ever-increasing demand for lesser officials. In every country the middle class had not only numbers but capacity for hard, disciplined work; however, the nobility retained those types of positions for which its social life provided experience. By the opening of the century the nobility had generally been adapted under absolute monarchs to governmental service. An exception persisted in Russia, where service to the czar had taken military and financial rather than bureaucratic form. The Russian nobility pursued two major objectives: to keep complete authority over the serfs and to avoid governmental service.66 On the whole, ignorance and lack of discipline excluded it from official service, and far into the century many a Russian noble contentedly rusti-

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cated on his estate and in the society of his district; but in time the rising standard of living set by the bourgeoisie and the increasing cost of maintaining the aristocratic way of life turned the nobility toward governmental service, with the added hope of preserving its interests and culture against the onset of middle-class standards. Economic and social losses from peasant emancipation in Russia and elsewhere accelerated the practice; the gentry and higher nobility began to prepare at technical colleges or at the university in order to compete with the middle class for official positions. The change followed the example of Germans and Austrians in the preceding century. As long as official posts existed in sufficient number to satisfy their needs, the nobles concentrated upon those requiring no specialized education. Family training instilled a knowledge of how to deal with individuals, of the ways of maintaining social contacts, of the administration of inferiors, especially peasants, and of economic activities connected with agriculture—distilleries, brick kilns, sawmills, or in exceptional cases, mining. The nobles learned to command, to direct the work of others, and to negotiate with equals. Social experience equipped them to handle the work of Landrat or of provincial president, offices dealing with their own affairs and with those of peasants and small-town burghers. In the central government they monopolized those positions at the royal court not strictly a part of the bureaucracy. They were prepared to occupy the role of minister, where they set policies and gave orders for subordinates to execute, and they concentrated in offices connected with the conduct of foreign affairs and the foreign service, in which social contacts, courtly manners, poise, and a cool head in a crisis were valuable assets. Accustomed to exercise power and to negotiate from power positions, the nobles easily transferred these habits to the conduct of foreign relations. They knew from practice at court and in aristocratic circles at home and abroad how to maneuver in diplomacy. Family and status training equipped them for these roles much more effectively than any institution of formal education at the time could do, and they had a tradition and a reputation for serving the ruler and through him the state such as other classes first had to acquire. They could think in general terms, and in contrast with the middle class they were not engrossed in accumulating wealth and in acquiring psychological security through official grandeur. Personalities in their own right, they did not need to become bureaucrats in order to be important: they were important as nobles rather than as officials and lent prestige to an 187

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office. Monarchs appreciated these social advantages and hence sought to utilize the nobles as instruments of political power.67 Whenever and wherever the number of needy gentry exceeded the opportunities for employment in the preferred branches of administration, members turned to other positions. Prussian Junkers and the Hanoverian nobles, whose small landed possessions grew increasingly incapable of supporting the aristocratic way of life, began in the eighteenth century to invade all services and to prepare themselves at the universities for positions requiring specialized knowledge. In Hanover nobles preferred a haven in the bureaucracy, while their peers in Prussia preferred the army.68 For the same reason, in the latter years of the nineteenth century Russian nobles moved from the Zemstvos into the central bureaucracy. The remnants of the French nobility differed from nobles elsewhere in being divided into Legitimist, Orleanist, and Bonapartist groups ; followers of all three sought according to opportunity to become minister, prefect, or ambassador. Legal abolition of the nobility during the Revolution by no means terminated the history of the class. Although in France as contrasted with Germany the bureaucratic tradition had been broken by the Revolution and many of the former noblesse de la robe had disappeared, Napoleon and the restored Bourbons, especially Louis XVIII, succeeded in reviving the class and in directing many of its members into public service.69 Subsequent regimes created new nobles, often as a reward for personal or state service, and a number of noble families over several generations furnished officials who gained high rank in the bureaucracy and government. The family of Villeneuve-Bergemon especially deserves mention. An old provincial noble family, it served in the administration under Napoleon and under the Restoration. Four brothers held prefectures at the same time between 1815 and 1830. A fifth member of the family became prefect in the Third Republic. A brother-in-law served as a subprefect, and marriage connected the family with several other prefects. Of the Barante family, a grandfather, father, and son became prefects, and the son's son became a subprefect and general secretary of the prefecture. Numerous other families of the nobility had a comparable history.70 The bureaucracy offered a prime means for the nobility to maintain itself or to revive after near destruction. Official service enabled it to preserve a semblance of its traditional authority and to impart to the bureaucracy much of its own character: its participation proved to be invaluable for inculcating a sense of public service.

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In a cabinet order of 1803 Frederick William III of Prussia warned that harm would result if the state preferred a noble candidate to a burgher when the noble lacked personal qualifications, or if the state ignored experienced and able men merely because of their burgher origin.71 Prussia early began to employ persons from the middle class. The peculiar nature of the Prussian state as a creation of the Hohenzollerns stimulated the founding of a bureaucracy of service, intelligence, and ideals—a bureaucracy as an "intermediate Estate," as Hegel called it. In Prussia, Suarez, the great legal reformer of the late eighteenth century, referred to the officials as an auxiliary Estate (Nebenstand); within a few years other authors called it an Estate or status group in itself. The bureaucracy achieved prestige through its fundamental importance in creating some unity among the disparate and usually antagonistic territories that the Hohenzollerns and their army brought under one rule. The following statement of a provincial president in 1817 might have applied at many other times—1748, 1773, 1793 and 1795,1866. We have perceived that our conglomerate, new and variously assembled state perhaps among all European states rests least upon an instinctive cohesion of the provinces among themselves, upon a natural rounding-out of the country, upon its old custom of first fortifications, with sure weight against outside events and internal activity. Only spirit can hold it together. 72

Prussia is a concept, wrote the philosopher Eduard Gans a few decades later, "which knows how to give itself reality. . . . It cannot be other than intelligent; sustaining itself on no physical and national foundation, it must always be in harmony with the age." 73 He regarded the bureaucracy as the instrument of this harmony, the leader of the state's "progress." Russia in the eighteenth century and Austria at all times in the modern period had need of a bureaucracy similar to that established in Prussia. The historical course of Russia and Austria differed from that of Germany primarily because of the failure of Russian and Austrian bureaucratic organization to reach the excellence achieved in the German states. Crucial to the German success, apparently, was the blending into governmental activity of middle-class personnel and characteristics, including intelligence and sustained, disciplined effort. A similar change in social composition occurred in Russia and Austria; there, however, it failed to effect the amalgamation achieved in Prussia of noble and burgher elements in state service. An explanation of this difference may lie 189

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in the fact that these states were under less pressure from international power politics than was Prussia, that language divided the population, that society and the economy changed more slowly, that Romanoffs and Habsburgs proved less effective than Hohenzollerns as rulers. For whatever reason, the separation of officeholding from ties of family, caste, and landownership, and the opening of official careers to talent, occurred earlier and more thoroughly in Prussia and other German states than anywhere else in Europe, with the exception of France, and the changes took place almost as early in Germany as in France. Several decades after the king of Prussia began to recruit officials on the basis of their qualifications, Minister von Kolowrat in Austria still favored the nobility, rarely appointing burghers even to intermediate positions in the bureaucracy, and advancing burgher officials much more slowly than nobles.74 Before 1848 with rare exceptions members of noble families filled Austrian ministries.75 Alexander I realized that serfdom rendered many of the Russian nobles incompetent morally and politically to act as officials, and he tried to supplement them by turning to the sons of priests and to the small middle class. The social backwardness of the latter groups, however, created difficulty for him. In the early nineteenth century Prince Kurakin treated his private secretary like a servant, and the secretary, feeling like a servant, preferred to eat with the domestics. The remarkable Michael Speransky, son of a village priest, is praised by his biographer as a "virtuoso of bureaucratic operation," but Speransky suffered from social shortcomings that limited his achievement as an official in an autocratic, aristocratic society; namely, his cautiousness, his defensive aloofness, his seeming lack of moral courage and frankness, his attitude of excessive boldness at times and excessive reticence at others.76 Servants of an autocrat in a socially and economically backward country, the Russian bureaucracy became isolated alike from the masses, the educated upper classes, and the intelligentsia.77 In contrast with the Austrian civil service after 1860, the Russian bureaucracy remained isolated. The German states, especially before 1848, manifested similar limitations, although here they remained at a minimum. In the latter part of the century Germany tolerated no such condition as existed in the Russian Council of State. Wallace described the council as "an assembly of chinovniks who knew little of the practical, everyday wants of the unofficial classes. No merchant, manufacturer or farmer ever entered its sacred precincts, so that its bureaucratic serenity was rarely disturbed by practical objections. . . . it occa-

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sionally passed laws which were found at once to be absolutely unworkable." 78 A t the beginning of the nineteenth century, Otto Hintze asserted, class difference in the Prussian bureaucracy had begun to fade before the social significance of official positions "with their rank, their distinctions and privileges, their claims to upper-class training and way of life; a noble-burgher official aristocracy developed." 79 Hintze cited as one important proof "the strong representation of the official class in providing recruits for the service." Indeed, he concluded, not from statistical evidence but from daily observation, "by a kind of inbreeding" the class "perhaps plays the chief role." 80 France developed the same practice.81 Once the bureaucracy became established, in every country the factor of family experience and contacts affected the sons' choice of career. In arguing that this method of recruitment resulted in a healthy source of supply, Hintze wrote: The qualities of a good bureaucrat can be raised to a certain height and maintained by generations of breeding. The process is one specifically of the replacement of natural self-interest by motives originating in a feeling of official responsibility and ambition. Possibly the sense of the practical and a feeling for reality, which are also valuable attributes of a bureaucrat, especially of an administrative bureaucrat, suffer thereby; on the other hand it must likewise be considered that through generations the drive toward business and the love of and capacity for economic competition can be so dulled in a family of bureaucrats that to an individual thus burdened by heredity entrance into a free profession hardly seems attractive.

He thought that an individual in private economic activity could adjust more easily to a bureaucratic career than could an official to the industrial, commercial, or agricultural life. He did not fear nepotism, or that social connections would corrupt selection of officials; and he found it proper that "among equally qualified candidates" the bureaucracy chose a candidate known to "the right people" or a candidate more likely to have "personal qualities, social training, or similar characteristics" because of his social background—human preferences, he noted, that appear in every occupation.82 If they were able to qualify, former soldiers, noncommissioned officers, and the disabled military provided another source of bureaucratic personnel, especially in the middle and lower ranks. Veterans' preference, introduced in the eighteenth century to save money and to strengthen discipline in the bureaucracy and, through it, in the civilian population, spread widely in Germany during the

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course of the nineteenth century, not merely among the imperial and state service corps, but among commercial and semipublic agencies, in lower-rank church offices, insurance, and wherever routine prevailed. Hintze praised the practice. "Military discipline," he wrote in 1911, "with its training in order and punctuality, its promptness to obey and firmness of bearing, is an excellent school for lower officials, in whom intelligence is less important than reliability." He acknowledged that military habits easily inclined a policeman with military background to use a brusque tone toward the public, but he reported that the administration "seriously endeavored to correct this undesirable condition." To the criticism that the English police had no such habits, he replied that England did not need to support a comparable number of noncommissioned officers and that "military necessity" justified the use of these persons in the German civil service.83 Other states also adopted veterans' preference. Russia employed ex-soldiers as rural police; France had long preferred veterans, and Article 71 of the French military law of 1872 reiterating the preference might have been borrowed from a Prussian statute. The Prussian and later the German government merely recruited more officials more thoroughly from the military than did other countries, with the result that Germany paid the penalty of a spread of militarism among the civilian population.84 The middle class predominated in branches of the bureaucracy utilizing the special services and characteristics of this social group. Except mining and agriculture, traditionally associated closely with the aristocracy, most technical services, like the judiciary and all aspects of public finance from tax collection to accounting and disbursement, required personnel with training beyond a high level of general education. Such officials needed to be conscientious, diligent, reliable, accurate in details, experts in matters of their particular responsibility. Capacity for the imaginative, creative force essential to a policy-maker might have been a handicap. The bureaucracy contained roughly three levels of service: the lowest, which attracted personnel from the petty bourgeoisie; the intermediate, which appealed to the average middle-class personnel of modest expectation and ability; and the superior, in which the ablest or best-connected and even wealthy middle class competed with the aristocracy, wherever one existed in strength, for wellpaid, prestigious posts. At all three levels education acted as a prime criterion, although native ability and good fortune helped to 192

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decide at which level a candidate received appointment. Many writers have denied any correlation between bureaucratic recruitment and social status, a denial not without validity. The requirement of secondary and higher education restricted official positions of any importance to middle-class and aristocratic sons. Since education offered one of the most valuable means of social mobility, the middle class, the social group eager to attain social and political power, benefited especially from formal training. Ability and application rather than birth determined success in an official career, where bureaucratic government increasingly relied upon intellectual and moral standards alien to the traditional nobility but congenial to the developing middle class. Nepotism has always accompanied the appearance of a bureaucracy, whether in the medieval Church or at the court of the absolute monarch. In the nineteenth century examples of it existed in every country; but in Central Europe the unbroken development of the bureaucracy from the time of absolutism into constitutional monarchy preserved Germany and Austria from nepotism at its worst. Standards for the civil service actually rose, and bureaucratic morale reached a higher level at the end of the century than it had had at the beginning of it. The lack of a strong tradition in Spain and in much of Italy and the sharp break with the past in France at the time of the Revolution encouraged favoritism. In these countries absence of significant economic opportunity meant that the awakening middle class turned to a career in government employment. The division of political power among ministers and elected representatives made it possible to apply social pressure toward official appointment. Ymbert portrayed the results in France in the 1820's as follows: I have known a foresighted minister, at present disgraced, who placed his relatives in positions where they are invulnerable: he gave his brother an ambassadorship; to his son-in-law [he gave] a provincial receivership; to his oldest son a prefecture; to his younger son a consulate; to his nephew a district receivership; to all his cousins communal tax-collectorships, and to their wives agencies for stamped papers.85

Ymbert and Balzac noted that "bureaucratic mediocrity faithfully reflects political mediocrity. . . . The sons of incompetent families aim at a bureaucratic career. . . . The bureaucratic plutocracy faithfully reflects the political plutocracy. . . . All authentic hierarchy is destroyed and nepotism, expression of the gerontocracy, enormously inflates the bureaucracy." 88 193

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Under the Third French Republic nepotism rapidly declined. The examples of nepotism exposed in the Chamber of Deputies from time to time caused embarrassment to the offenders, and publicity in the Chamber and especially in the press made it advisable to avoid flagrant use of the practice. Service standards prevailed. In Italy and Spain nepotism continued to flourish; for these countries lacked a society sufficiently advanced in economy, education, and in all the institutions and procedures of an industrial milieu to demand efficient government. At the other extreme Russia remained at the stage of development in which court and aristocracy practiced nepotism in the order of things: other classes provided few persons competent to fill the positions offered, or if such persons were competent intellectually, they often failed of official appointment because of suspected political unreliability. On the basis of the meager evidence available, the new entrepreneurial bourgeois group of industry and banking, which led in the transformation of society, appears to have gone through two phases in its attitude toward state service. In the early stage, where constitutional government brought elected parliaments, bankers and industrialists sought positions as ministers, sometimes as diplomats, more often as elected deputies or as appointed members of the upper house. They identified their private interests with the public welfare, and they desired office in order to shape public institutions and laws in a way favorable to the new, free society. They avoided the long-term commitment that acceptance of bureaucratic office would have involved, being primarily concerned with their own business. When Bismarck tried at various times to attract them to imperial service, an industrial magnate, a Krupp, a Count Henckel von Donnersmarck, would not assume the restrictions of a bureaucratic post or even those of a secretaryship of state. Such a figure already exercised within his own enterprise the power of a Bismarck and preferred to be his own master, a view the young Bismarck once held regarding official careers. Before 1890 not a single imperial secretary of state or high official in Germany came from the leading economic group, nor did a single person of significance transfer from private enterprise to governmental service. As governmental administration became increasingly important for the welfare of the private economy after 1890, there occurred an occasional transfer for a limited time and for a definite purpose. Not merely in Germany, but in Russia, Austria, France, and every other state, economic leaders found means for influencing government decisions which were more at194

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tractive than those they had used in the time of absolutism. Whereas forerunners had furthered their interests best by entering service, in the new period industrialists, bankers, and the like worked through politics, the press, and personal contacts. They enticed officials into the private economic sector and utilized the specialized knowledge and contacts of these officials to keep government policies and procedures in accord with their own. The expansion of the civil service to include regulatory agencies, socialinsurance boards, and other bodies composed of officials and representatives of private interests afforded private citizens a share in public affairs without entailing neglect of private concerns. The business leader entered governmental service only in emergencies.87 Statistical analysis of the social origin of officials pertains mainly to Germany. The data indicate the number of nobles and those of middle-class status in certain posts, and the figures reveal little about the structure of a society rapidly changing its composition and objectives. As the century advanced some of the upper bourgeoisie merged with the nobility. Yet we know little about these bourgeois-nobles, the patent nobility or nobility of the robe, which greatly expanded. In Austria every important official who gained a moderately high position received this mark of social elevation; the burgher demand for it seems to have been insatiable.88 The bureaucracy of Baden had become burgher during the first part of the century.89 In Prussia at the beginning of the century burghers largely staffed the judiciary and held a majority of posts in the War and Domainal chambers and in the General Directory. Of the 306 Landräte in 1843, 234 were nobles.90 In 1858 Gutsmuth estimated that 42 percent of officials in Prussia were of noble birth. The nobility still provided 79 percent of the Ober-Präsidenten of provinces and 42 percent of the Landräte, and in the upper administrative positions, including directors of divisions, counsellors, and assessors, the participation of nobles ranged from 24 percent to 36 percent. In the judiciary, both on the bench and in an administrative capacity, the percentage of nobles became even smaller, 22 percent to 6 percent.91 Of thirty-one ministers in Prussia between 1862 and 1890, eighteen were aristocrats. In 1911, of eleven active ministers in Prussia, seven were nobles; of thirty-seven undersecretaries of state and division heads, only eight were noble, and of 244 councillors, thirty were noble. On the other hand, eleven of twelve provincial presidents were noble, as were twenty-three of thirty-six district presidents and 268 of 481 Landräte. Bavaria had thirty-one aristocratic ministers out of seventy-eight between 1806 and 1918, 195

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or 40.8 percent, whereas of its 668 higher officials during that time only 215 or 32.2 percent were nobles. Throughout the century Bavaria drew more heavily upon the middle class than did Prussia. Available statistics show that in the German Empire in the years 1867-1890, 50 percent of the secretaries of state belonged to the nobility upon entry into office; among the bourgeois secretaries, three received a patent of nobility during office and six upon retirement or thereafter. Only 22 percent of the councillors in the imperial service were noble, but in the foreign office, twenty-two councillors out of forty-one were aristocrats, and in the foreign service, 63 percent. In the 1890's only four bourgeois citizens served as ambassadors or ministers, and they were stationed in minor countries. A Reichstag deputy stated in 1914 that the foreign service and the Foreign Office had eight princes, twenty-nine counts, twenty barons, fifty-four ordinary nobles, and eleven bourgeois. After World War I another deputy estimated that in prewar days, of the 484 higher officials in the Foreign Office, 126 were nobles.92 For Austria the following data may be offered: In 1804, 32 percent of the diplomats were burghers; in 1918, the figure had risen only to 44 percent. Of the three or four leading ranks in the Foreign Office, in 1804 none had a burgher incumbent, whereas 66 percent of them had such incumbents in 1918. For the highest posts in the civil administration, the percentages at those dates were 9 percent and 43 percent respectively, and at the highest level, 0 percent and 58 percent.93 In 1920 Kleinwachter, who had had much experience in the Austrian Ministry of Finance, gave a dark picture of the role of the nobility in the Austrian bureaucracy. The members depended, he wrote, upon court connections for appointment and failed to subject themselves to the necessary educational preparation; they soon proved to be incompetent and withdrew from office. The central bureaucracy in 1918, according to the official register for Lower Austria, employed few counts and fewer princes. The largest number occurred in the Foreign Ministry (14) and in the Ministry of Interior (10); none existed in the Ministries of Agriculture, Justice, and Finance, where expert knowledge was essential. "The nobility," Kleinwachter concluded, "had given up the struggle for existence." The noble governor of a province, who formerly had appointed other nobles to offices under him, learned from experience that "it was easier to govern with the aid of well-trained officials even if they were not one's social peers than with that of one's peers." 94 Absolute monarchs in the late eighteenth century had raised

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standards for entry into the bureaucracy, and they attempted to improve educational facilities available to future officials. The ideals of the French Revolution and the demand for efficient government imposed by the competition of Napoleonic power politics augmented pressure for reform. As early as 1808 and 1809 Russia and Prussia required candidates for office to pass an examination—Russia, however, requiring examinations for only two ranks out of fourteen; during the next half century many other states followed suit. The outstanding exception was France, where it was expected that widespread social freedom and the educational system would assure a supply of competent personnel. Napoleon had established an efficient bureaucracy; his successors allowed it to decline in quality below that of a number of German states. It is possible to see something of prereform conditions for official employment from examples taken from data prior to 1817-19 in Württemberg and before 1850 in Austria. In Württemberg the candidate had first to be accepted as volunteer in the office of a high official. Admission depended upon the will of the chief, and the law set no qualifications. The period of trial often lasted several years, during which the candidate performed mechanical tasks such as copying letters. He received no instruction; if he learned anything, he did so on his own initiative.95 From enlightened despotism of the previous century the Austrian government inherited standards prescribed by law and largely ignored. The attitude of Emperor Francis I can be inferred from his remark to one of his officials: "The so-called geniuses and the educated are no good; they always know better and cause delay or are not content to do the daily routine. Healthy common sense and sturdy diligence are best." 96 Candidates for the bureaucracy studied for a period of sixteen years, however, first in a gymnasium and then for a prescribed course of subjects at the university. Baron Andrian-Werburg described the nature of the study as . . . dreadful pedantry, a ruinous neglect of that which is most important in man and in the citizen; it cripples the young spirits, gives them a one-sided, uninspired training, directs their gaze, the flight of their spirit from the heights to the banal, and turns it exclusively toward the dust of the commonplace and the wretched pursuit of daily bread. There is no freedom of discussion and thought, for each discipline there is a prescribed, usually stupid textbook, from which there is never allowed any deviation even in oral comment. There is no companionship between teacher and pupils, only the servility of schoolboy fear of bad marks. The pupil's memory is strengthened at the cost of his understanding, his head is stuffed

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with a mass of useless, impractical things, so that there is no room left for thinking. His character, his moral development is totally neglected. . . . Hence one finds in Austrian educational institutions little or no listeners who are there because of love of knowledge, or interest in what is to be learned. Almost all pupils regard the studies as a necessary evil, as an unavoidable means to achieve some office, or rather to gain the pay which rises before each of them as the only goal of his golden dream.97

In place of a philosophical faculty and courses in history, philosophy, and literature the universities had "a sort of middle course between high school and university." 98 They were mere schools for processing government officials. Although the products of this method of training and selecting candidates performed better than might have been expected, they still appeared inadequately prepared for the tasks of government in the new century. Establishment of constitutional government brought improvement.99 The peculiar combination of competition and cooperation between the instruments of traditional authoritarianism and of constitutional rule curtailed the spoils system in favor of efficiency. The example of the German states became so attractive that after the revolutions of 1848 had exposed the weaknesses in bureaucratic rule, the restored authoritarian government in Austria, by reforming its system of higher education after the German model, prepared to train a supply of competent officials. Edouard Laboulaye, French political leader and professor, who was one of the ablest scholars and writers concerned with the problems of government and politics, about 1840 investigated the system used in Germany for training and selecting officials. He found it standard procedure for the governments there to require candidates to pass a state examination. In preparation for this examination the applicants must have graduated from a gymnasium and studied at a university; after passing the first examination, they were required to serve an apprenticeship of one to four years in the civil service and then submit to a second examination. If the candidate passed this test, he received an appointment to a post. Laboulaye expressed enthusiasm for the system, and after studying practices in several German states, among them Prussia, Bavaria, Württemberg, and Baden, he concluded that those in Württemberg ranked superior to the others. Inasmuch as essentials of the system remained everywhere the same throughout the century, Württemberg may serve as an example. In 1817 Württemberg established a faculty of national economy at the University of Tübingen to prepare officials for state service, 198

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and after 1819 the state allowed no one to hold a governmental post without passing an examination set by law.100 After some years of experimentation the government in 1837 took two important steps. It added a professorship in applied administrative legislation and one in political history and statistics to the four already in the faculty (national economy and finance, agriculture and forestry, technology, and administrative law and practice). More important, it distinguished between the examination for higher office and that for the lower posts and demanded an examination in two parts, one part written and the other oral, for each level. A county commission sitting without university professors examined candidates for the directorship of schools, prisons, orphanages, and for other lower posts on the following subjects: (1) administration of communes and districts; (2) assessment and accounting of taxes and the laws pertaining thereto; (3) Württemberg private law, especially that of contracts, and civil procedure. The candidates must show ability to resolve practical problems arising from these subjects and especially those requiring difficult calculations. The candidates for higher office had to be at least twenty-one years old; they had to be graduates of a gymnasium, a new requirement; and they could not take the examination until three years after this graduation. Although not required to study at the university during the three intervening years, candidates were examined in subjects covered by university courses, and professors served along with a state official as members of the examining committee. After a year of practical experience as an apprentice in two different governmental offices with different jurisdictions, the candidate took a second examination, this one essentially of practical matters, before a committee composed solely of officials. The subjects covered Württemberg public law and its relation to German public law; Württemberg and general private law; church law, both Catholic and Protestant; civil procedure and criminal law and procedure; state economy; administration; Württemberg taxation and accounting, trade, and agriculture. The heads of the bureaus in which the candidate received practical training paid careful attention to the deportment of the candidates and reported to the ministry about diligence, ability, and moral conduct. Official status followed upon successful outcome of the examination and recommendation by superiors. Those who sought appointment in the lower branches of service submitted to similar tests in subjects appropriate to the needs of their fields. Professor Schüz, a member of the faculty of adminis199

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tration at Tiibingen and an examiner, described the results to Laboulaye as the death knell of the old bureaucracy. The method of selection, he said, signifies . . . the emergence of an officialdom in which each member gains the position for which he is suited and trained. Public service has gained in efficiency and prestige. The employees in administration and finance, whom public opinion used to place well below ecclesiastics and jurisconsults precisely because of their poor education, today are resuming the place that belongs to them. The moral force of the state is growing in accord with the capacity of the men who devote themselves to public service; and on the other hand the more these public servants grow in public esteem, the more these posts are sought by men of heart and talent.101

Laboulaye concluded that this system of selecting and training officials, common in essentials to the German states, had resulted in "perfect order in the administration. In no country has more been done with fewer resources; Wiirttemberg is throughout admirable in the matter of roads and in culture, and yet it is a state without riches, and one in which the population is equal only to that of two of our departements." 102 Before the loss of independence to Prussia in 1866 the Hanoverian government had introduced into its civil-service training a variant that many critics regarded as superior to practice elsewhere. After passing the first examination the candidate served for three years, later for four, in a local unit of administration, for example the district or town, where he became acquainted with all classes and participated in the handling of their varied problems. In contrast with the Prussian candidate, who served in a superior office where for the most part written work engrossed his attention, the Hanoverian trainee learned administration at the grass roots and at a leisurely pace. The local administrative chief accepted him into the family and enabled him to learn by personal contact the many intangible qualities of an able administrator. The Hanoverian candidate enjoyed more freedom to act and to decide issues than did the Prussian, and at the same time he received more careful training as a total personality. Proof of the excellence of the system appeared in the appointment after 1866 of many Hanoverians to high positions in the Prussian bureaucracy and in the despatch of many young Prussian officials to Hanover for training.103 Codification of the law and the establishment of the Rechtsstaat at the end of the eighteenth and beginning of the nineteenth century raised law to an essential role in the training of officials.104 The 200

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study of cameralism, zealously pursued in the eighteenth century, declined in prestige, and although everywhere the student preparing for a bureaucratic career took some courses in the state sciences (Staatswissenschaften), emphasis definitely shifted to legal subjects. Some universities of Central Europe organized the study of state sciences, including economic studies, into a separate faculty. Others added these courses to the philosophical faculty, or to the faculty of law itself. Whether a candidate prepared himself in political science (Staatswissenschaften) and economics depended upon the nature of the examinations he must face. The Prussian law of 1869 prescribed that the candidate know "the fundamentals of Staatswissenschaften"; but the examination concentrated upon law. Law had greater prestige, a more fully developed and unified curriculum and method than the Staatswissenschaften, as well as an immediate practical value.105 The effect of legal training upon administrators aroused severe criticism. Laboulaye's remarks of the 1840's could be called as relevant to Germany, Austria, and other countries as to France, and as pertinent in 1914 as in the 1840's. He condemned the legal spirit as inappropriate to an administrator. In France, he wrote, the ideal of the administrator is not the paterfamilias, vigilant, industrious, eager to aid the economy, such as is found in England. Rather, "our officials are grand seigneurs; they are not the first industrialist or the first merchant of the country; they are a magistrate without toga, a rigorous enforcer of legality, intractable about violations of form." 106 After a lifetime of governmental service Bismarck thought of reforming the education of officials in favor of "greater consideration of the 'Humaniora,' " and he wished the higher officials to be trained as "cultivated Europeans." 107 In 1887 an Austrian expert compared the value of the state sciences and law as follows: Emancipation of the man who is in political life from the straightjacket of legal studies is demanded with almost the same ardor with which we want to free the young who are studying practical subjects from the traditional classical curriculum. Just as the graduate of the Realschule wants to be eligible to enter a university, the student trained in political subjects wants government service to be open to him. Just as the grip of the classics should be broken in general education, that of jurisprudence should be broken in the field of public service. An able physican or teacher of the natural sciences does not need to have read Homer and Cicero, and administrative ability does not depend upon ability to read the Pandects. . . . Much more important is that the officials know the 201

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conditions of the iron industry or agriculture, that they possess technical knowledge and be at home in matters of tariffs or accounting.108

No significant reform occurred, and almost two decades later the Berlin editor Matchoss was still deploring the monopoly of legal studies in the preparation of administrators. He suggested that officials be trained in technology and economics as well and that qualifications for office be changed to allow engineers to enter administration. Matchoss cited the recent remark of a mayor to the effect that in administration one legal question arises to twenty technical ones, and he added that "experienced administrative officials, trained in the law, had told him of the great difficulty they had in understanding the connections between technical and economic affairs. They were really at the mercy of their technical subordinates." 109 The entrenched position of law had a demoralizing effect upon students. Forced to study Roman law, history of law, and other legal subjects, which seemed irrelevant to subsequent professional activity, students neglected their studies. Law students became noted for laziness and indifference ; during their first semesters at the university they did little but enjoy life. Professor Schmoller compared their freedom unfavorably with the discipline of the young army officers and with the industry of students of the natural sciences and of theology, philosophy, history, and other subjects.110 The improvement and expansion of courses in the state, political, and social sciences in these years attracted many of the ablest future administrators to study with scholars like Schmoller, Wagner, and Brentano in Germany; Pareto and Mosca in Italy; Durkheim in France. Numerous other students, however, avoided the courses as unnecessary. As long as examinations for the civil service remained predominantly legal in character, students continued to ignore social studies in favor of law, and they expected to imitate business practice in acquiring the necessary practical knowledge of economics and the social sciences through experience in the field. Despite exploration of the increasingly complex relations between law and society and of new conceptions about these relations, pressure for reform of training and for revision of qualifications for the civil service remained so slight that in the late decades of the century it hardly existed. When in 1843 Laboulaye published his long essay about the education and in-service training of officials in Germany, he did so in hope of persuading his own country to introduce a similar system. France at the time supported excellent 202

BUREAUCRACY special schools for training in army, navy, transportation, mining, waterways and forests, and in some aspects of public education, and it set high standards for these services.111 For entry into other services prerequisites remained low or even nonexistent. Judges needed a diplôme de licencié, a mediocre guarantee of training; posts in the administrative bureaucracy became available to anyone after an "insignificant apprenticeship." 112 Appointment entailed no subsequent training ; in fact, almost no facilities for such training existed. Each of nine faculties of law had recently established a chair of administrative law, and Paris supported a few chairs of political economy which rarely offered courses ; this was the extent of the opportunities for study open to ambitious officials.113 The consequences were deplorable. Officials became indifferent, bound to routine, content to apply the most frequently used laws and orders, indifferent to improvement. Indeed, to have ideas, to study at the university became dangerous; an uninformed chief might resent any variation of the routine, as Rabourdin in Balzac's Les Employés discovered. Nor did press and deputies hold education in any higher esteem. France will have no stability [Laboulaye predicted] until together with the judiciary an administration democratic in origin has an influence great enough upon public opinion to make . . . a counterweight to the Chamber of Deputies and the action of the press ; and the bureaucracy will not be able to obtain that power over opinion until the merit of officialdom is guaranteed by a solid education and by the competitive examination for entry into public service. The two reforms are equally essential. The competitive examination is only possible among persons who have received the same education, and one cannot hold young people to serious study unless one recompenses the work with the sanction of an honorable and secure social position.114 From his analysis Laboulaye concluded that the state could be held partially responsible for the corruption of officials. Since the will of a minister or department head decided the fate of an inferior, the latter tried to influence his superiors by intrigue, social connections, favors, special services, flattery—all the petty tricks aptly described in Balzac's Les Employés. Each ministry might appoint a new set of officials, none of them trained, and as Laboulaye exclaimed, "What disappointment, what discouragement when they [the officials] see an honorable position refused them in favor of a new person without an official title, without having rendered any service, but who has the merit of being the son, the son-in-law, or the nephew of a person in an important position !" 115 203

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Preparation of officials in France improved somewhat after the founding of the Third Republic. In 1871 a group of scholars— Boutmy, Taine, Janet, Levasseur, Leroy-Beaulieu, and Laboulaye himself—founded in Paris a private institution, l'Ecole libre des Sciences politiques, for training officials; and universities added a few courses in political economy, finance, public law, constitutional law, and international private law. The École libre became so successful that despite the arbitrary and diverse conditions for admission to the bureaucracy, and despite the continued refusal of ministers and deputies to relinquish their control over appointments and dismissals, it became standard practice for aspirants to higher official posts to study at this institution. For other posts a baccalauréat degree, a law certificate, or a successful examination became standard. No uniform requirements existed, however, and favoritism still played a prominent part in appointment and promotion, as for example, Proust's appointment to the Bibliothèque nationale by Hanotaux. France did not introduce the German-Austrian system of state examinations and in-service apprenticeship. The bureaucracy improved in efficiency but never reached the level of competence found across the Rhine. The civil service had prestige, for, as Max Leclerc stated with considerable exaggeration to a German audience in 1887, "the nimbus surrounding an official position, the almost absolute power which officials possess exerts a significant attraction upon an entire class of educated individuals who aspire more to honor than to money." 116 As was usual in all comparisons with the German, the French replied that their methods being French suited them.117 Wherever politics influenced appointments, in Spain and Italy as well as in France, the standards applied to appointments suffered. Neglect of educational prerequisites manifested the growing pains of constitutional, parliamentary government. At the other extreme Russian autocracy might change prerequisites for service at any time, and arbitrary interference precluded the orderly process of selection. Gurko noted that many Russian statesmen "of considerable education and of important official position" lacked knowledge of economic affairs and that the government's economic policy before Witte had been confined to attempting to balance the budget. Wallace found that Russian administrators in the higher ranks lacked knowledge of the country and always seemed to have "a fair amount of leisure time at their disposal." 118 Most governments differentiated between political officials and career officials. France under the Third Republic laid down some 204

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prerequisites for political officials but none for career officials. In Prussia and Austria certain officials in positions essential for political action—the provincial president and the Landrat in Prussia, the provincial governor and district captain in Austria—although often trained in law did not have to meet any prescribed educational standards or pass any examination. Selected whenever available from the nobility, they served the ruler and his government not merely as administrators but as reliable political and social heads of their respective regions. Officials possessed authority to accept or reject an applicant for an administrative post on grounds of personality ; even though the applicant passed examinations, he must meet certain social qualifications, among them devotion to the political philosophy of the government.119 The bureaucracy everywhere expanded so rapidly that it needed a constitution of its own and a legal definition of the relation between its members and the government. Under the absolutism of the eighteenth century and under similar conditions of rule in the nineteenth, the king appointed subjects to perform duties for him; the relationship assumed a private character. As the concept of an impersonal state clarified, this private relationship became a public one between the individual official and the state. In Prussia the Legal Code of 1794 in formulating the "Rights and Duties of Servants of the State," not of servants of the king, referred to civilians and military alike in declaring that both were "especially intended to help maintain and promote the good order and welfare of the state"; that "over and above the general duties of subjects they both owe special loyalty and obedience to the head of the state"; and that "each one is obligated in accordance with the nature of his office and the content of his instructions to serve the state with special devotion." 120 The Legal Code did not require a civilian to serve by force, as in the case of the military; but it declared that an official might not be permitted to resign if his departure caused "significant hardship." 121 The stipulations of the Legal Code represented a transitional stage in the history of the bureaucracy as it existed in most countries where the essential character of official service had not yet been determined. The service reached the next and, for the history of the nineteenth century, most important stage when government recognized official employment as having a public and a private aspect. The nature of the civil service [the Prussian authority Von Roenne wrote in the third quarter of the century] lies in the service func-

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tions which the state sets and which have a purely public, organic character. These service functions are by nature merely ingredients of the entire activity of the state, and therefore the office cannot be considered a private right or be the object of private transaction. In so far, therefore, the relation is a purely public one. On the other hand in the legal situation of the state official all that is a private right which bears the character of personal legal rights or which must be considered as an essential part of his particular sphere. To this sphere belong especially the right to compensation for damage suffered through the exercise of his office and the right of the official to an assured salary, as well as the right to the particular service and prestige connected with his office. These rights may not be arbitrarily revoked in respect to him.122

Clarification and implementation of this dual relationship continued throughout the century. Official employment involved total personality, the entire way of life. Its implications can best be understood by analyzing various aspects of official vocation—tenure, salary and retirement rights, standards of personal behavior inside and outside office, promotion, and disciplinary action. France resisted the institutional drive of officials to develop a state or civil service with rights and duties fixed by law and treated the occupation of official like that of private businessman. The state withheld rights of tenure in law while, especially after 1830, reluctantly acquiescing in the necessity of tenure in fact. It delayed recognition of the need for a pension system and allowed officials more freedom in personal behavior outside office hours than did the governments in Central Europe. The German states and Austria offered the leading examples of bureaucratic constitutions. Hintze described the position of an official in Prussia as that of "a relation of service and authority of a unique kind, and at the same time a relation of trust." The state provided for the physical wants of officials and their families, in return for which these officials must devote their entire energies to the state. An official could not receive presents or engage in any economic activity for profit without the consent of his superior. He must behave in private life with the dignity befitting his status; he was required to inform his superior of his marriage, and in some instances to obtain his superior's prior consent. No longer to be disciplined by imprisonment, he remained subject to punishment by fine, transfer, suspension, or dismissal. The relation, Hintze concluded, involved "a fund of moral feeling and responsibility: loyalty, devotion, zeal in the performance of duty on the one hand, benevolent, patriarchal care on the other." 123 Security of 206

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tenure rarely resulted from one law; rather it developed from legislation concerning various aspects of service. In 1805 Count Montgelas in Bavaria promulgated a law for the civil service similar to Napoleonic law, which in withholding security of tenure from certain categories of officials granted enough other rights to make security certain in practice. After 1848 it became customary to assure "rights of stability" to more and more officials, rights which in toto assured tenure.124 Prussia never passed a comparable law for the constitution of the bureaucracy; but by making entrance dependent upon examinations (1808), by dividing officials into classes and subclasses (1817), by setting up a system of pensions (1825), by promulgating an orderly procedure for disciplining officials (1844), and by many other laws and decrees during the century the state fixed a tradition of tenure equivalent to security. The German Empire based its law for officials (1873) upon the Prussian system, and the reform of the law in 1907 likewise conformed to general practice in the German states. The Austrian government recognized implicitly the principle of security of employment as early as 1771 and 1781 in creating a pension system, although essential improvements making pensions adequate to need did not come until after 1848. Both Germans and Austrians abused their officials in many ways, particularly prior to the establishment of constitutional government. They early became aware of one truth, however, which the French Counsellor of State Chardon deduced from the history of the treatment of officials in his own country: "When officials request fixed and precise rules about recruitment and promotion, they plead less for themselves than for the civil service and the nation." 125 A maltreated state official did not and could not perform his duties with the devotion that Hintze had enthusiastically admired in the German official. Toward the end of the eighteenth and at the beginning of the nineteenth century every state introduced as a means of control the annual or semiannual confidential report. Austria in the first half of the century seems to have developed the device to its fullest extent. Ignaz Beidtel, one of the officials who suffered from it, has vividly described the effects. He states that promotion depended upon the content of these secret reports, that no one was certain of advancement. The reports contained data not merely about performance in office but also about the entire person of the official—health, education, associations, and conduct outside office. The system, Beidtel complains, turned superior officials into despots, subordinates into flatterers and hypocrites. Within a short time an extensive protec207

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tive system of favorites and dependents spread over the provinces. Mediocrities received many high positions and imposed their standards upon subordinates. Rejecting all so-called initiators of projects, all "critics," all "men of genius," all "friends of literature," all "willful officials," all "patriots," they developed within the civil service a condition of "complete repose." Ministers protected themselves by referring matters large and small to the emperor for approval.126 From experience Beidtel learned the imprecise nature of standards for judging the conduct of officials. A court decree of 1796, which remained in effect until 1848, stated: His Majesty reserves the right to dismiss with or without pension and the customary treatment those officials who make themselves unworthy of the confidence of the Emperor and the public by crime or also merely by the suspicion of questionable actions. They can never be reinstated in or proposed for official position without His Majesty's being fully informed about their dismissal and approving their reappointment.127

The words "crime" and "questionable actions" lent themselves to flexible definition. A decree of 1798 established as the basis for promotion that candidates should be "the most capable and the worthiest," 128 again weasel words. In 1811 a decree stated that recommendation for promotion must be based upon the "strictest accuracy about the knowledge, diligence and moral character of the candidate," 129 and this information of necessity derived from confidential reports about the official. Officials were forbidden to reveal state secrets, although no definition of "state secrets" existed. This prohibition, according to Beidtel, led officials to spy on one another, to initiate disciplinary action, to indulge in personal likes and dislikes ; and the victim accused of revealing a forbidden fact could not defend himself without risking a further chance of disclosure. Many officials, especially in Vienna and large towns (small-town officials were too insignificant to be much affected), lived in fear that they would be reported as imparting confidential information or as being otherwise morally untrustworthy. An atmosphere of lies [Beidtel declared] surrounded the individual from childhood to the grave. The educated public ceased to discuss and express opinions about important affairs. Instead of conversing over serious matters, they turned to card-playing, the theater, novels and balls and to material interests. . . ,130

The light tone of Viennese society during the entire century origi208

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nated as a means of self-protection among its most important members, the imperial officials. Although Prussia in July, 1848, abolished the requirement of secret reports, this act did not terminate the accumulation of confidential files;131 the postrevolutionary government reinstated the old practice while requiring that reports must be based upon verifiable data. The imperial law of 1873 sought to correct one abuse by defining as precisely as possible a "state secret" and established public, orderly procedure to deal with violations. The law declared a state secret to be a matter "whose being kept secret arises from its own nature or is prescribed," with "culpability to be decided by whether a state or a private interest is endangered by the publication or could be endangered." 132 The need for reports arose from the nature of bureaucratic organization, and the formal practice of reports marked an improvement over the previous arbitrary action of king or superiors. Only a century earlier Frederick William I of Prussia had declared that he would "support his officials and would not believe any accusation brought against them, and still less would he condemn them before he personally heard the oral statement of the officials in the presence of the accuser." In 1786 Frederick William II in a similarly patriarchal manner had promised his officials that he "would not dismiss or cast out any upright official without cause and unheard." 133 As the number of officials expanded beyond the limit of the king's personal supervision, the government explored methods of gauging competence in office. In the late period, when absolutism stood on the defensive, moral reliability—that is, reliability in devotion to the moral principles underlying absolutism and caste structure—became more important than intelligence and efficiency. As society outgrew these forms, means of judging officials changed in favor of greater trust, of reliance upon examinations to assure the appointment of effective personnel, and development of a sense of public responsibility in both citizenry and bureaucracy. The public expected the official to perform his duties well; standards improved, and disciplinary action became exceptional. Russia, Spain, and Italy reached this stage, if at all, only at the close of the century. In 1905 the French parliament voted the most inclusive protection so far granted the bureaucrat, expressing confidence in him and in the nation when it wrote into law the following: . . . all civil and military functionaries, all employees and workers of all public bureaus have the right to personal and confidential communication of all notes, descriptive sheets, and all other documents

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The exercise of power exposed the bureaucracy to competition among conflicting social philosophies for official support. Absolutists and conservatives hoped to instill into officials their standards of behavior; liberals wished the bureaucracy to be liberal. The Prussian law of 1852 applied to administrative officials under a constitutional regime standards of behavior and discipline that had been enforced for years under absolutism and had been applied to the official both in his official and in his private capacity. It stated that a misdemeanor occurred when an official violated his official duties; this definition appeared clear, for the list of official duties was quite precise. The law further declared that a misdemeanor took place when an official "by his conduct in or out of official duty shows himself unworthy of the respect, regard or trust that his profession requires." 135 What did this statement mean ? Habitual drunkenness, for example, on the part of an official hurt his prestige and that of his position. Did support of a political party opposed to the government constitute a misdemeanor? Furthermore, upon entering office a civil servant took an oath of "loyalty and obedience" to the ruler and to the ruler's government. Did this oath apply to behavior outside hours of duty, to activity as a private citizen ? Was the official a special kind of citizen, without civil rights such as persons not in public employment enjoyed? And what should be done in the event that his and others' interpretation of the constitution disagreed with that of king and government, as frequently happened in Prussia in the 1850's and 1860's? In 1850 Count Manteuffel in the name of the government under the new constitution declared to officials: I am therefore firmly determined and consider it my duty ruthlessly to dismiss from office in a legal way all those officials who violate their loyalty or do not demonstrate the courage that their position demands or are guilty of a hostile attitude toward the government.

He expected officials to turn their attention to the public welfare and immediately oppose all manifestations and all events which are inclined to exercise a harmful influence upon this welfare. Especially must officials be conscious of the fact that they are the bearers of governmental power. They must exercise this governmental power within their official sphere of activity, not because it seems good to them or is convenient but always because their duty demands it.136

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The courts sustained the legality of the governmental position, asserting (1863) . . . that participation in public demonstrations and agitation against the existing government constitute a violation of the duties that their office lays upon officials. This assertion proceeds from the principle that exercise of the constitutional rights of every citizen is limited in the case of the civil servant by his official duties. Exercise of the political rights belonging to a bureaucrat may not alter the duties of office; a dispensation as to time and subject from the carrying out of official duty because of a conflict between this duty and the official's civil rights is inadmissible. Therefore the behavior of an official in political affairs must be judged from the point of view of his official duty.137

In the next year (1864) the court stated that "an official acts contrary to discipline if in making public his political views he opposes the measures of the government." 138 The government enforced these judgments about the behavior of officials as private citizens in the 1850's and 1860's, again in the late 1870's and 1880's, when Bismarck demanded the appointment of "politically reliable" officials,139 and again in Prussia in 1899, when the Hohenlohe ministry, this time upon encountering conservative resistance to one of its bills, demanded that officials in public actively support its policy.140 At the level of local government mayors of German and Austrian towns and cities discriminated against Social Democrats. Mayor Lueger of Vienna went so far as to force city employees actively to align with his party.141 In spite of these abuses officials in Central Europe suffered far less from political chicanery than those in western European countries. Then and subsequently liberals and many conservatives in Central Europe vigorously protested the exploitation of officials for political purposes. Hintze denounced it as "opinion-snooping and restriction of the rights of the citizen," 142 and the analyst of Prussian law Ludwig von Roenne defended the official's right to have "another political conviction from that of his superiors and to express it in a way allowed by law." He denied that in a constitutional system of government loyalty to the head of state is in any way related to taking sides for or against the ministry. The duty of obedience relates only to the bureaucrat's official activity, and the official remains a human being and a citizen and as such is not required to leave his conscience "at the threshold of state service." The official can be expected, he continued, to do his duty loyally and in the widest sense and not to disobey the legitimate orders of his superiors. He can also be expected to support the fundamental 211

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principles of the constitution and in a constitutional monarchy to be neither an absolutist nor a republican. He cannot be required against his convictions to support the ministry currently in charge of the government or to avoid all opposition to it in situations not connected with his office. Von Roenne particularly defended the official's right under a constitutional government to freedom of the vote and condemned all direct governmental influence in the exercise of this right by the official.143 Questions of tenure and conduct on and off duty involved disciplinary action. In France, where offices had formerly been bought and therefore had belonged to the individual as property, postrevolutionary governments met with difficulty in overcoming the lax discipline associated with traditional behavior. In countries where the absolute monarch appointed officials, the power of discipline lay in the hands of administrative officials, with exercise of this power restrained by the right of personal appeal to the king. The importance of the matter of discipline in the years preceding the nineteenth century arose from the fact that "every official was called to his particular position and served the Monarch for a definite purpose under conditions determined by the actual office. What we today call a transfer (Versetzung) would then have been dismissal from one position and the conferring of a new post." 144 During the course of the nineteenth century governments devised procedures placing the power to discipline in the hands of an objective body and, in extreme cases, giving it to the courts. Prussia introduced the system as early as 1823, Bavaria for many officials even earlier (1805), Austria soon after the revolution of 1848, and France under the Third Republic.145 The Prussian procedure of 1823 was that which other states gradually and to varying extent adopted; it prescribed that dismissal from official service must conform to definite formal conditions and be approved by a body of independent colleagues. In a preliminary hearing all the significant facts and the entire course of the career must be reviewed and the official allowed to submit a defense. The next-higher collegiate body received the report of the hearing and decided the case; in a matter involving a high official the king himself rendered the verdict.146 Notwithstanding its excellence, the Prussian disciplinary action had one defect: on certain questions concerning subordinate officials it placed, as in the days of absolutism, judicial power in the hands of administrative superiors. According to the law of 1853, Von Roenne wrote, 212

BUREAUCRACY The chiefs of those agencies that serve provincial bureaus including the Landräte could impose upon officials under them, as well as upon officials of the bureaus under these, penalties of as much as three thalers. . . . Other chiefs of lower bureaus may impose such penalties only insofar as the right to levy penalties is granted them by special laws or instructions based upon such laws. The officials appointed to the administration of the railroads by the government are given the authority to impose penalties against any of the officials under them to the extent of ten thalers. Provincial agencies are authorized to punish bureaucrats under them with money fines up to thirty thalers but cannot exact from salaried officials an amount greater than one month's service income. Ministers have the authority to exact fines equal to a month's service income from all of those directly or indirectly under them, from unsalaried officials, however, only up to thirty thalers. . . . Only those chiefs who can levy money fines against those under them can also punish them by arrest. Those whose authority to levy fines is limited to three thalers cannot impose imprisonment of more than three days.147

An authoritarian government could easily abuse the right to punish by fine and imprisonment, and the governmental example encouraged businessmen, industrialists especially, to fine their workers. In neither case did the victim have protection except through publicity or recourse to the courts; for fear of being blackballed, few officials used this defense. After 1872 the French made a notable advance by enabling officials to appeal to the Council of State, which protected them against small but humiliating abuses and against arbitrary loss of office and other forms of punishment.148 Analysis of the power to transfer officials shows the importance of precise legal definition and of orderly procedure. The increasing stability of bureaucratic organization made it possible and beneficial for the government to move an official from one place to another and from one post to another. The Prussian government in 1832 established the principle that "the official in his special position does not serve the sovereign but the general interests of the state and must agree to serve wherever he is needed." 149 Thereafter appointment pertained not to a position in a particular place but to the civil service at large. The government, however, repeatedly transferred persons as a form of punishment; an official with a family of marriageable daughters might find himself shifted from Cologne, where eligible young men abounded, to a small country town in East Prussia, and at a reduced salary. The imperial law of 1873 sought justice by distinguishing between transfer as punishment and transfer in the ordinary course of administration. In the 213

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latter category a transfer involved a post of equal hierarchical rank, and the state paid the expenses of removal; in the former category, the state ignored these conditions (par. 4). France did not seriously consider introducing the distinction until nearly forty years later.150 The notoriously corrupt Russian officials did not improve their behavior until the latter part of the century, and even then the Russian bureaucracy remained far from perfect. Readers of Gogol are acquainted with Russian methods for extorting fees, taking bribes, acquiring what was called "sinless revenue." 151 Autocratic government allowed officials thus to supplement their wretched salaries, reserving severe punishment for political offenders. The czars seemed especially lenient toward corruption among high officials, ministers included, and forgave them easily.152 One Slavophile explained the corrupt habits as proving not that the Russian people ranked inferior in morality to the German but that the German system of administration imposed upon Russians "was utterly unsuited to their nature." 153 Gurko, a high official in St. Petersburg in the decades before the revolution of 1917, avers in his memoirs that "the integrity of the overwhelming majority" of his colleagues was "beyond question." It is very possible that graft, simple and unadulterated, is practiced even less in Western Europe than it is with us, but the desire for enrichment is much more strongly developed there and is attained by other means. To hold a governmental position and at the same time to be connected with large financial and industrial undertakings is not only a frequent but a common occurrence in Western Europe. Under such conditions one does not need to resort to bribery. Bribery, a crude, primitive, and slightly dangerous method, has now been supplanted by a method more subtle and modern, one that is perfectlysafe because it is undetectable. A timely notification of some impending act of the government, indirect support of some private enterprise, and a number of other very diverse ways of assisting the profits of some business or bank—these bring much larger returns than primitive, naive, old-fashioned bribery. In the West, consequently, those who work for the government for some time or who are prominent in a political party assemble tidy fortunes.154

The description by Gurko of "the West" applied especially to France prior to the Third Republic. Deputy Gasparin, an advocate of reform, offered the following explanation to the French Chamber of Deputies in February 1846: "In a country in which elections are the basis of power and there are no conditions for entry and ad214

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vancement in the bureaucracy, you necessarily have corruption." 155 The German and Austrian bureaucracies appear justifiably famous for their integrity. Russia as well as central and western Europe had legislation prohibiting officials from becoming involved in questionable economic dealings; the difference lay in the fact that Germany and Austria enforced the law, which even forbade the wife and children of an official from engaging in business or professional life without permission from his superiors. If a German official were expert in forestry, mining, agriculture, or some other occupation, he could not acquire property of a kind associated with his specialization; and in 1874 the government forbade him to serve on the board of directors or the executive board of a corporation, a joint-stock company, or a mining company, or to be a member of a committee to found such a corporation unless he first obtained approval from his chief. Nor could an official accept such a membership if it brought directly or indirectly any remuneration, or any other material reward.156 Officials must shun temptation! The presence of a bureaucracy implied the erection of a hierarchical structure strong enough to assure efficiency and to maintain a sense of fair treatment and satisfaction among personnel. Early in the century Prussia divided officials into three main groups— upper, intermediate, and lower—according to the extent of their education. Upon taking office an individual would know his chances of promotion and would be content to remain in the class for which he qualified by education. To allow limited promotion, each group or class had three to six subclasses. The Austrian civil service organized its personnel into eleven classes, a system the Austrian professor Josef Redlich condemned. He approved the Prussian division into three classes as "extremely healthy." This arrangement, he thought, did not arouse excessive hope of promotion and divided the personnel according to existing social groups. The Austrian system, he said, made too little distinction among kinds of work; it excited false hope and discontent by implying the possibility of advance from the bottom through the hierarchy. It related the size of salary to the class, so that increase of income depended upon promotion to a higher class and not as in Prussia upon years of service. Redlich found the Prussian method more realistic than other systems and hence just.157 The Russian organization produced the most unfortunate effects of all. The government classified officials into fourteen chins or grades, and it expected an official in any one grade competently to perform any kind of service and to be able to transfer from one task 215

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to another regardless of training and experience. It shifted officials within the same chin from finance to transportation to education and so on. Prior to reform of the judiciary in 1864 judges needed no professional training.158 Education speeded promotion by enabling the official to enter service in a higher chin than otherwise ; but the continuing practice of promotion on the basis of seniority perpetuated inefficiency, "ignorance, idleness, slavery to routine and venality." It encouraged place-hunting and the pursuit of external signs of distinction even in learning and the arts, and it discouraged disinterested creative work and individual initiative everywhere. It falsified current values, till many came to think that only those kinds of efforts were worthwhile which were recognized by the bureaucratic slaves of the autocracy and that the supreme act in life was to advance in chin and earn a safe pension, no matter how immoral the means involved.159

The French government never introduced a permanent constitution into the civil service. Officials complained in 1914 of the same hardships described by Balzac in Les Employés (1837). The disturbing effect of lack of regular procedure for promotions became aggravated by repeated reorganization of the ministries. Chardon reported in 1908 that 150 such reorganizations had occurred during the past fifty-eight years. The Ministry of Agriculture had been reorganized eighteen times, another ministry ten times in four years, the Ministry of Commerce more than a dozen times since 1881. Ministerial portfolios changed hands rapidly in the Third Republic, and each occupant sought to leave his mark upon his ministry and to install his followers by reorganizing the personnel as completely as was feasible. Napoleon III had set the best record of bureaucratic stability of any French regime ; before and after his reign French officials in striving to establish the bureaucratic ideals of security of tenure and pension and regularity of promotion and professional standards were always resisted by politicians and ministers.160 The development of a hierarchical organization became closely associated with the question of remuneration. In most states during the first half of the nineteenth century types of payment survived from the period of personal service. The appointee to a particular office received the remuneration traditionally associated with the office. It might be in kind—a house, service, the use of a certain number of horses and carriages, food, and so on ; or it might derive from fees paid for official papers, official approval of agreements, 216

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court services, and the like; it might also consist of preference in renting state land at a low figure. A ruler might pay one official a larger sum than he paid another official in a different location for the same kind of work. Methods of compensation lacked uniformity and regularity ; officials endured inequity of pay, and some officials exploited the state to the disadvantage of others. In the early years of the nineteenth century a lesser official in Hanover could derive a large income from fees and services, for which the public paid him individually. Before 1864 in Schleswig and Holstein a judge received fees from the trial of cases and could increase these fees by protracting the cases he handled. Parsimonious Prussia abolished the abuses in the eighteenth century, as the government always needed resources ; by regularizing salaries it introduced order, improved efficiency, and lowered costs. Other German states and Austria changed to a systematic procedure some time before the middle of the nineteenth century, and the French owed their modern practice of fixed salaries to the Revolution and Napoleon. The increased number of officials resulting from expansion of the functions of government everywhere made it essential to introduce regular salaries, and the increase in wealth enabled the government to maintain the reform. New taxes became possible, from which sufficient revenues derived to sustain pay schedules. By custom an official received an income sufficient to support a standard of living appropriate to his social position. Since living costs at court far exceeded those in a provincial town, an official, irrespective of his duties, usually received more at court than if he were stationed elsewhere. As long as conditions remained relatively simple, the differences inherent in this practice did not appear unjust. Once the unifying forces of the nineteenth century became operative, especially the modern means of transportation and communication and the social transformations of the French Revolutionary movement and of industrialism, the criterion of compensation changed. Disparity between the highest and lowest salaries greatly diminished. It has been estimated that in France in 1900 the differential was one to twenty-five ; a century earlier it had been one to 100 ; by 1950 it was one to six.161 In Balzac's Cousine Bette a councillor of state and a ministerial director had a house, carriages, and a very high standard of living. In Les Em/ployés a chef de bureau employed three servants. A century later such an official had one servant and rented a small apartment, although the law sometimes implied retention of a living standard of former years ; for example, the Civil Code spoke of judicial audiences held by the presiding judge of a 217

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court in his "hotel" or house, but his "hotel" had become a modest apartment. Nor did the assignment of a military guard to the presiding judge of a Cour d'Assises seem in harmony with the simplicity of the judge's way of life.162 When the central European states introduced constitutions and parliaments, bourgeois deputies reduced the salaries formerly paid to noble officials which had enabled such officials to live "according to their social status." Relating salary to bureaucratic class ignored caste differences in living standards, making rank in official service the sole criterion. Even so, salaries were meager. The wife of General von Roon, the Prussian minister of war, in the 1860's appealed secretly to the king for funds to supplement her husband's low and inadequate salary. German and Austrian wits characterized an official as "having nothing but having that securely," and the mass of French officials received compensation that kept them acquainted with poverty. In other states salaries were such as to stimulate the acceptance of bribes. The rigid relation of salary to rank did not solve the problem of remuneration, for it made promotion and hence increase of salary dependent upon retirement or resignation of the next-higher official. Since the normal loss of personnel did not open enough advanced positions for those at low levels and on low salaries, in the last quarter of the century it became practice in Germany to increase salaries within a class according to the number of years of service, so that at the time of heavy educational and other family expenses an official would enjoy an increased income. By 1900 states appeared sufficiently affluent to guarantee this equitable treatment. Regularization of salary and standardization of bureaucratic service on a basis of defined ranks proved to be essential for good government. The development affords another example from this remarkable century of institutional creativity.163 German critics characterized an official as "German, patriotic and entitled to a pension." 164 Others praised the system of pensions as giving the civil servant a feeling of self-confidence deriving from a secure and respected position. It helped to develop esprit de corps, a sense of bureaucratic importance in relation to the head of the state and to the legislature.165 The Austrian professor Gumplowicz justified pensions as follows: It follows from the protective relationship in which the official stands to the state that it is the duty of the state not only to care for the official who has become no longer capable of service but to support his survivors in accord with their status. The state can demand from its

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officials complete devotion to its interests and a thorough identification of their interests with the state's only if it assumes care of officials in case of their disability for further service and likewise commits itself to care for their survivors (widows and orphans) .168 Although governments began in the first part of the eighteenth century to explore ways of assuming this duty, almost a century of experimentation passed before the most responsibly minded of them evolved an institutional solution. In Germany, France, and Austria early provision for elderly officials and those incapable of further service took the form of granting them emeritus status, a form maintained longest in the professions of teacher and pastor. An official emeritus received as associate a young colleague to perform his duties, and the two agreed upon a division of the income of the post. The associate was often a son, son-in-law, or a chosen colleague. Although this device survived into the nineteenth century, not only for teachers and pastors, but for other professions as well, rulers began in the preceding century to grant pensions as personal favors. The first major break with this subjective approach occurred in Bavaria in 1805, when the government divided the official income into two parts—the service salary, which ceased upon retirement, and the status salary, which continued until death. In 1825 the Prussian government regularized pensions by requiring each official to contribute a percentage of his salary to a retirement fund; Austria had a similar system. By this method governments avoided the question of state responsibility for retired and disabled officials. In the second half of the nineteenth century the government in the German states, the German Empire, and Austria assumed entire responsibility for payment of pensions; that is, these states dropped the contributory feature, whereas France continued to use it. The result seems to have been approximately the same with or without contributions from the official, the state being compensated by paying lower salaries under the noncontributory procedure than under the contributory. Care for widows and dependent orphans of officials developed along similar lines. In Germany in the eighteenth century officials formed associations for the purpose, with members paying stated amounts into a common treasury. The associations, without proper actuarial data, soon learned that contributions did not supply sufficient funds to meet commitments, and frequently they appealed to the state treasurer to cover the deficit. Some governments required official approval before a bureaucrat could marry; by delaying mat219

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rimony and reducing the birthrate they hoped to lessen the pressure for salary increases and pensions. The measure failed to lighten the financial load. After consulting the experience and practices of private insurance companies, in the second half of the nineteenth century the state assumed responsibility for widows and orphans of civil servants. As in the matter of pensions, Germany and Austria, but not France, eliminated the contributory feature. France tried several systems of caring for retired or disabled officials. Theoretically, a free national state should govern itself without expert, permanent officials. Thus France first tried (1790) recompensing a small number of officials in lieu of pensions; for the rest it established contributory associations, which then constantly resorted to state subsidies. In 1853 it suppressed the associations and assumed state responsibility, with officials asked to pay a percentage of their salary into the treasury. Instead of creating a pension reserve, the plan called for parliament to vote the necessary funds in the annual budget. These sums were large; yet when the Chamber sought to reduce them, it encountered resistance, since a reduction or abolition of pension rights entailed an increase in salaries. In the effort to reduce costs France complicated the pension structure by having separate systems, one for state officials and another in each department and each commune for the pertinent officials. The decentralization hindered transfer of officials from one service to another: an official changing from commune to department, or from commune to commune lost his accumulated pension rights. In addition, an official who resigned or was dismissed lost his pension rights; if he died before his term of service had expired, his widow and children received nothing from the accumulated pension, his equity reverting to the state. Under the Third Republic the Council of State intervened to declare that widows should receive the funds already contributed toward pensions. In fact the home of the French Revolution remained one of the most backward in caring for its officials and their dependents. Freedom—if nineteenth-century France is to be called a country of freedom—disliked government and public expenditures. Russia and Italy did better by their public employees.166 The absolutistic tradition and the wide range of responsibility made bureaucracy such a power in society that the private individual needed protection. In autocratic Russia the problem had a more primitive force than elsewhere. In the first part of the century the government endeavored to secure execution of imperial laws and orders by officials and to protect private individuals against arbi220

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trary action by using officials to supervise other officials. It empowered those of the Procuracy to participate in and review the actions of officials in central, provincial, and district bureaus. The extent of responsibility, the inadequacy of training of the Procuracy officials, and the hostility of officials under supervision led to the plan's failure. Controlling and controlled officials soon established common social ties; the Procuracy officials retreated into their offices and performed routine paper work. Under the reforms of 1864 the Procuracy was confined to functions similar to those of state's attorney in central and western European countries. Henceforth the government tried to assure obedience to law on the part of the officials through improved education, publicity of misdemeanor through the press, and tightening of central control, which modern means of transportation and communication made possible; however, the employment of officials to secure proper conduct on the part of other officials never disappeared in Russia, where the bureaucracy continued to violate both the orders of the czars and the rights of private individuals. Ministers set an example for such offenses. After the assassination of Minister of Interior Sipiagin (1902), Count Witte told the czar that "Where the government proceeded with administrative violence rather than under the law, the population responded in kind"; the remark does not mean that Witte acted less arbitrarily than any other official.167 In every state during most of the century and in Russia throughout the period, an official who caused injury or damage to a citizen by exceeding or by neglecting to enforce the law could not be brought to trial in the courts without prior approval of his administrative superior, whether this superior was a single person or a collegiate body.168 Napoleon had introduced this stipulation into France, where despite its amelioration through administrative law it lasted until the Third Republic. Austria retained this provision until the constitutional era, and it was retained in Prussia to some extent during the entire century. In the middle of the century Prussia expanded the protection given officials by granting the exclusive right to initiate litigation (Anklagerecht) to the state's attorneys, and in 1852 it declared these attorneys to be political officials subject to dismissal at any time. A citizen who considered himself to have been unjustly treated by an official in a matter of taxation, a press action, a concession to run a tavern, hotel, or bookshop, or in any one of hundreds of other matters could not bring suit, as could be done in England, unless the official's superior agreed to the action, and unless the state's attorney initiated court 221

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proceedings. A German legal authority of the period, Judge Otto Bähr, in Der Rechtsstaat (1864) characterized the system as creating "a police power that can do not much less than it wills to do." 169 After introducing the constitution the Prussian government sought to avoid subjecting the bureaucracy to control by the judiciary. In passing the requisite law in 1854 the ministry reasoned that if the courts were empowered to decide whether a civil servant in his official activity had violated a criminal law or rights of a citizen and made himself thereby liable to the civil party to the case, the authority of the bureaucracy would not only be shattered but the judging of an administrative question would be given to the judiciary and the preservation of state order would be subordinated to the authority of private legal considerations.170 The argument implied acceptance of the current view about "the limited understanding of the inferior" {Untertan), and it offered a convenient and flexible justification for arbitrary acts of a reactionary nature on the part of the government. That the system also suited the administrative way of thinking may be seen from the conclusions drawn by a Prussian official (1894) about his experience. In the judiciary one asks only: What is legal ? In the bureaucracy one asks first: What is expedient? In order then to examine whether that found expedient is compatible with the law. Since almost every administrative official—and we add here especially every minister— seeks not only to execute his opinion but also to create (or to achieve) something which will redound to his honor, the temptation to take lightly the legal question is obvious. Therefrom arises the petty art of interpretation, which operates with every means and which succeeds in making the desired appear to be legal. I have found this disease, as I should like to call it, widespread and most dangerous where political or religious motives are involved. One needs character to avoid them.171

The complexity and variety of administrative problems caused difficulty in formulating a code of public law, especially one of administrative law procedures. Whereas governments codified civil law, criminal law, commercial law, and the law of judicial procedure during the late eighteenth and the nineteenth centuries, no country succeeded in codifying its administrative law.172 As early as 1802 Austria attempted a code, and France did so several times. Governments experimented with ways of assuring justice in administrative cases; Austria, Württemberg, and France tried one form; Prussia tried another, until toward the end of the century it aligned with the other states. The effort of the Prussian government to proceed properly in 222

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administrative cases extends back at least to 1817, when the Council of State (a council of ministers and high officials) assumed the role of supreme administrative court. The council lacked sufficient prestige to assert its authority, so that ministers continued to decide from case to case whether to allow suit against an official in the ordinary courts.173 In 1847 the government created the Court of Competency to determine whether a case should be submitted to the courts. The Court of Competency consisted of a president and a secretary and nine other members, all from the Council of State; of these nine, five were justicial and four administrative officials.174 The Court of Competency occasionally decided that a case be taken into the civil court; its occupational composition, however, predisposed it to the conservative tradition and hence to the wishes of the bureaucracy. In the 1870's Prussia replaced the Court of Competency, setting up administrative courts at three levels. The county executive committee (Kreisausschuss) served at the lowest level, a district administrative court (BezirJcsverwaltungsgericht) at the next-highest level of government, and a superior administrative court at the state level. All three courts tried cases or referred them for trial to civil tribunals. Election of members in the first court by the county assembly and in the second court by the provincial assembly favored the nobility and burgher large landowners; and in the highest court—and that last to be created (1875)—one-half of the total membership came from administrative officials, one-half from the judiciary. The system thus preserved government by the upper classes and entrenched the conservative point of view. In contrast with the system in Prussia, where administrative courts rendered administrative decision, other states—Wurttemberg, Austria after the introduction of the constitution, and France—preferred a Court of Cassation. They established a supreme administrative tribunal that decided the single question of whether an administrative act conformed to the law. They followed a much simpler, much more precisely defined procedure than was followed under the Prussian system, and by the twentieth century their type of court became standard for the whole of Germany, including Prussia. In spite of its excellence the system contained two faults, both of which may be exposed by reference to Austrian experience.175 The Austrian government persisted in requiring official consent to the trial of a bureaucrat, and it frequently refused to assume liability for material damage caused by mistakes or legal violations on the 223

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part of officials. As late as 1912 the following case occurred. A tailor's assistant, father of nine children, was ejected from his lodging, and a Vienna city bureau assumed custody of the furniture. When the father later claimed his possessions, he learned that the city by mistake had auctioned them. The city refused to pay damages caused by the error, and the father brought suit. The case went through five courts. Violation of official duty and damage to the owner of the furniture were proven, yet the Supreme Court rejected the claim on grounds that the government was not financially responsible for the acts of officials.176 In certain states the law declared the personal liability of officials for proven damage, but liability in these narrow circumstances seldom afforded material compensation to the plaintiff. Not until 1909 and 1910 did the German Empire and Prussia assume liability for injury or damage caused by officials.177 Creation of the German Empire did not change the nature of the officials' responsibility to private citizens in the individual states, except in two respects: first, the empire created a supreme administrative tribunal to which cases could be appealed from states lacking a supreme administrative court, an arrangement reflecting the federal nature of the empire; second, it did not adopt the Prussian practice of requiring bureaucratic approval before suit could be brought against an official. The imperial government set up special tribunals to deal with administrative cases in connection, for example, with social insurance, where new relationships and responsibilities called for a change in procedures. The new criminal code and the new law for criminal court procedure adopted by the empire curbed the power of administrative officials to impose penalties on citizens. Inasmuch as Prussia retained its authoritarian system of administrative justice, however, the improvements introduced by imperial law had limited effect.178 During the course of the century the bureaucracy learned it could not succeed in administration unless it allowed a large part of its judicial power to pass to the regular judiciary. Under industrialism relations between government and society became so complex that disputes multiplied in number and did not lend themselves to settlement by official authoritarianism; arbitration afforded a better means of handling them. Whereas in preindustrial society bureaucracy with equal facility licensed beer halls, markets, book peddlers, and parades, it now became unable to surmount the legal problem of chartering modern corporations individually.179 Furthermore, the state early went into business itself, owning rail224

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roads, mines, gasworks, and other enterprises, whereupon the concept of the state as a sovereign power not held liable for the acts or omissions of its officials required a supplement in the concept of the state as an economic enterprise. In the latter capacity it became a juridical person like a corporation, able to make contracts and subject to the law, and its officials assumed responsibilities identical with those of employees of a private corporation. The new concept appeared essential to allow the state to manage its business interests; and the right to sue the state in connection with acts of its officials in the sphere of economic enterprises weakened the state's claim to lack of liability in cases of sovereignty. The Prussian and the imperial laws of 1909 and 1910 referred to above reflected the new experience.180 The great expansion of public economic function by state, regional, and local authorities created the further problem of the status of workers in these enterprises. Should a worker on a stateowned railroad be placed in the same category with one employed on a privately owned railroad? Should he have the right to organize and to strike as in private industry? Or had he a different status? Governments were reluctant to regard workers and white-collar employees as full civil servants, for the additional expenditure in giving them official status seemed greater than the economy could bear; nonetheless, it soon became evident that railways, gas and electric plants, the postal service, publicly owned mines, and other public enterprises required the services of a steady number of skilled or semiskilled workers. In Germany for example, these workers now received from the government relatively stable employment, assurance of a fixed scale of wages, promotion by seniority, vacation rights, longer pay period than workers in private industry, governmental contribution to sickness insurance in accordance with size of wage, housing facilities for workers, and other welfare privileges, all fixed by law.181 Once treated like officials in these respects, state employees soon wished to enjoy the social prestige of official status, and they especially sought tenure and the right to pensions.182 During the prewar decades workers in public employment never entirely escaped from limbo: they neither received the full status of civil servants nor the full rights of privately employed workers to defend themselves by means of organization and the strike. Public enterprises made inconsiderate employers. At the conference of the Verein fur Sozialpolitik in 1909, a meeting devoted to a discussion of publicly owned economic enterprises, Max Weber and other crit225

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ics declared that a civil servant in charge of a state-owned mine shared the attitude, irritations, and desire of the manager of a privately owned mine to reduce costs and to stretch working requirements. Members of the conference generally acknowledged that the government, whether central or municipal, often set one of the worst examples as employer, paying lower wages and demanding longer hours of work than private industry. Some experts opposed expansion of public ownership because of the incompetence of government as employer. Max Weber described a scene in a courtroom in the Saar, where a miner serving as witness asked whether he would be discharged if he told the truth. The manager of the state-owned mine in which he worked remained silent. "That lets one infer," Max Weber remarked, "what qualities of character the state cultivates in its Saar workers." 183 In France miners, elementary-school teachers, railway workers, and postal clerks suffered similar inhibitions.184 The question of whether publicly employed workers should be permitted to organize and to strike aroused extensive debate. In 1887 a group of French elementary-school teachers formed a syndicate under the law of 1884 and asked for official approval. Minister Spuller refused, arguing as follows: A public function is not an occupation just as a salary is not a wage. The wage of the private worker is discussed by mutual agreement between worker and employer. . . . Both demand only one thing from the state—freedom to settle their own affairs by struggle and competition. . . . Salaries, on the contrary, are fixed by law and can only be changed by law. Even if they may seem too low, will anyone maintain that bureaucrats have the right to organize and if necessary by strike to impose upon the state an increase in the wage scale? . . . The law on the organization of occupational syndicates recognizes in them some attributes manifestly incompatible with the very idea of a public function. Can one conceive a syndical chamber of officials clothed with a civil personality outside of and in opposition to the state? If the public schoolteacher was still acting—as formerly—by virtue of a contract mutually agreed upon with the commune, he would claim legitimately the right to protect his interests within the conditions imposed on all by the syndicates. This is what explains, for example, the existence of societies or federations of schoolteachers in countries where the teacher has not yet acquired the character of a public official. . . . Is it not evident that once he has become a member of a national administration, the teacher cannot represent himself as an official and in this capacity receive a fixed salary, claim guarantees of stability or, to speak more clearly, tenure, save in case of a . . . disciplinary penalty, have the right to a retirement pension and then all at once change his role and character to represent himself as a free worker and in the right of association claim means to protect his interests

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against the state, just as a worker defends his job with all its risks and dangers against the employer.185

Although the government refused to allow elementary-school teachers to organize, in 1892 it gave this permission to state railway workers; in 1891 it forbade the postal workers to organize, but in 1899 it permitted them to do so. The law of association of 1901 enabled any group to organize, and between 1901 and 1906, 516 groups of public employees, including regular lower officials, declared their intention of forming syndicates; nonetheless the government still opposed strikes and broke those that occurred. Minister Spuller in 1887 had approved in principle the right to associate in order to advance professional interests but not to form associations having an economic or a political cast, like a trade union or a political party. The French government and the public workers and officials continued to search for means to implement the principle, but by 1914 they had not yet found a solution.186 French public workers enjoyed more leeway to associate than their counterparts in Germany and Austria, but the latter had a higher standard of living. In the first decade of the twentieth century the governments in Central Europe expressed a policy toward organization and strikes on the part of public workers similar to that of the French. Privy Councillor Dr. Thiel declared in 1909 his "absolute opposition to the right of government workers to strike, . . . since it is a question here of the functioning of public life, of things absolutely essential for the peaceful conduct of human society which cannot be left to the vicissitudes of a strike." 187 In fact he opposed all strikes as "a declaration of intellectual bankruptcy of the national economy, which has not succeeded in avoiding this last resort, war, by a sensible regulation of employer-worker relations."188 Professor Otto Hintze undoubtedly expressed the attitude of such officials when he declared: Most workers would not understand if one tried to tell them that a free worker who belongs to a social-democratic organization and can strike under certain circumstances possesses greater esteem as "a person than a lesser official to whom both are denied. It is also very questionable whether the personality of the worker who lives under the terroristic pressure of a social-democratic trade union has freer play for development than in municipal or national employment, where social-democratic activity is prohibited and freedom of association—which is not lacking here—seldom leads to sharp wage disputes and strikes.189

The German and Austrian governments prohibited trade unions and strikes among public workers while in general improving their 227

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economic status through legislation giving them the security and privileges of officials. Athough no state found effective means of assuring justice alike to private citizens, officials, and state-employed workers under the rule of law, France of the Third Republic demonstrated more resourcefulness in the search than did authoritarian states. Evidence is found in the remarkable achievement of the French Council of State. Prior to the Third Republic the French citizen received no better protection against administrative acts than did German or Austrian citizens. In 1790 the French Constituent Assembly in the name of separation of powers prohibited the courts from trying administrative cases, and the Constitution of the Year VIII included Article 75, which read: "The agents of the government other than the ministers cannot be prosecuted for acts related to their official duties except by virtue of a decision of the Council of State; in that case the prosecution occurs in the ordinary courts." 190 This provision remained effective until 1870. Under the Restoration the Council of State came to be regarded as an administrative court, but its effectiveness was limited by the right of the ruler either personally or through his ministers to appoint and dismiss its members and to veto its decisions. The executive could command an official to commit an illegal act and then protect him from the consequences by having his case brought before a handpicked Council of State. The council functioned more as a branch of the executive than as an administrative court, and the citizen had little defense against the bureaucracy. Since many administrative acts raised questions of justice, the French government and legal experts distinguished between acts of authority or sovereignty, which could not be submitted to the courts, and acts of management, which could be tried in court. Seizure of a newspaper or closing a dangerous or unhealthy factory became an act of authority, whereas contracting to buy or sell land ranked as an act of management. The distinction enabled private citizens to take some complaints into court; but its lack of precision caused confusion. The government could also claim freedom from judicial control by declaring a specific act essential to the protection of the state. Under this interpretation it justified seizure of the Orleans family property in 1852, the confiscation of publications, and the repression of anything that a regime considered dangerous to its survival. The Third Republic restored the union of administration and 228

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justice in the same agency, the Council of State, in order to protect the citizen against the bureaucracy. Under the law of 1872 the executive, with the advice and consent of the ministers, appointed the members of the council. Although liable to dismissal by the same authority, members of the Council of State in fact enjoyed life tenure. The council received final authority to decide cases involving administrative acts, the superior power of the executive over its acts being abolished, and within two decades the ministers ceased to serve in administrative courts for cases on appeal. The law of 1872 established a Tribunal of Conflict to decide whether a case should go before the administrative courts or be referred to other courts. The tribunal consisted of members chosen in equal numbers from the Council of State and from the Court of Cassation and sat under the presidency of the minister of justice. Thus the composition of the tribunal assured the assignment of a case to an appropriate court. The Council of State steadily expanded its own range of jurisdiction. It served as a court of appeals from the General Council of the department and from administrative courts for special matters of first instance in a variety of cases. Within a short time the council restricted the category of "acts of state" that lay beyond court jurisdiction to a few, such as treaties and the relations between the executive and the legislative branches. By enlarging the applications of the theory ultra vires it assumed jurisdiction over numerous problems arising from the action of an official without authority, from failure to observe due procedure, and from abuse of power or actual violation of the law. Extending its power beyond that implicit in the doctrine of ultra vires, the council developed a theory of "full jurisdiction," by which it could declare an administrative act null and void. The kind of trial before the Council of State cost almost nothing to the plaintiff and often proved essential, where, for example, taxes had been unjustly assessed or administrative action had caused damages. In these cases the council examined the total situation, heard lawyers for each side, and arrived at a decision that might require the government to pay damages. In the decade or so before World War I the council took the further step of holding state, departmental, and local governmental bodies financially responsible for negligence on the part of officials. For some years jurists had distinguished between faults of service and personal faults of officials; but the distinction, like the former one between acts of authority and acts of management, proved imprecise and susceptible of abuse. In 1905 the council granted an indemnity for a "fault of public service." 229

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Developing a body of jurisprudence from case to case, the Council of State sought to adjust French administrative law, and indirectly administrative practices, to modern conditions. In a simple and inexpensive way it protected the citizen against the bureaucracy to a greater extent than did the common law and the ordinary courts in Anglo-Saxon countries. The French became well satisfied with the system.191 Conforming to a philosophy of economic liberalism the Council of State opposed governmental entry into economic enterprises. It formulated a theory of interest that enabled it to hear and to decide in accordance with its liberal doctrines such cases as the following: A taxpayer objected to the vote of a municipal council conferring free medical service upon rich and poor alike; the Council of State decided in favor of the taxpayer. An officeholder appealed against the appointment of another person as illegal on grounds of violation of this interest; the council heard the case. An irate taxpayer or a busybody could appeal against the constructive act of any public body, and do so with some chance of success. Costs of appeal were small, but the effect of successful appeal eventually prevented France from achieving the advantages that Municipal Socialism and state enterprises brought to Germany and Austria. The Council of State likewise caused delay in introducing and enforcing social legislation regarding public housing, sanitation, factory safety and inspection, and the like. Although largely excluded from hearing cases involving freedom of trade and contract and regulation of hours and wages—cases reserved for the civil courts—the council set an example of Manchesterism which the regular courts followed.192 In the last decades of the century the bureaucracy everywhere conformed in numerous respects to the pattern of mercantilist absolutism. Many officials outside the army were still required to wear uniforms, and others preferred this outward symbol to civilian dress. On a visit to Alsace-Lorraine in 1877, Emperor William I expressed strong disapproval when he found officials in civilian clothes; such clothing did not seem suited, he said, "to emphasize the prestige of office to the people."193 Decorations and orders appeared effective not merely in helping to compensate for low salaries but in assuring devotion to authoritarian government. Prussia had more than one hundred different classes of decorations, and the Handbook for the German Empire in 1890 needed more than ten pages to list the decorations that imperial officials could be awarded. Bismarck understood the value of such awards so well that he re230

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tained in his own hands power to recommend officials for them.194 In Austria, Russia, and France—that is, irrespective of the form of government—public recognition in the form of a medal found equal favor. In addition, officials benefited socially from the special protection given them against insults and physical attack. All governments assure their officials protection against violence; but rarely has the concept of "insult" to an official been extended to the point reached in Prussia and the German Empire.195 To the civilian the official stood for authority, the representative of the divine-right monarch or divine-right state. The attitude of the population disclosed in The Captain of Köpenick resembled that toward the civil servant as well. To question, contradict, or criticize an official involved the risk of incurring a governmental suit for insult.196 Contemporaries judged that the quality of officials in recent decades had declined. In Germany the bureaucracy during the first part of the century had initiated economic and social developments, and in the third quarter it had assisted in unifying the country. Early in the century the private sector of society—industry, for example—had not equaled the creative activity of the bureaucracy, and the ablest members of society sought outlets for their energy in the civil service. Once the new industrialism began to stir society, officials lost the initiative to entrepreneurs, scientists and technicians, political leaders, and others. Compared to the opportunities open to individuals outside governmental service, officialdom seemed less attractive. Ability preferred the freedom of private activity, and entrepreneurs soon learned how to circumvent the bureaucracy. Professor Wiedenfeld noted in 1905 that German officials, the ablest on the average to be found in all Europe, in the recent governmental investigation of the stock exchange and of cartels lost the initiative to leaders of private industry.197 Professor Redlich lamented the passing of traditional leadership in Austria. He attributed it partly to the "Vienna disease" of serving exclusively in Vienna and knowing nothing firsthand about the rest of the country and mastering no other language but German. Each province, he said, closed itself to officials from any other. In addition, the nationality quarrels extended into the bureaucracy, and the incursion of masses of minor civil servants into the stateowned railroads and other enterprises brought into the administrative apparatus a personnel devoid of all sense of historical social purpose.198 The observations of Kleinwächter, a well-informed and experienced official in the Ministry of Finance, supported Redlich's judgment. Nationality conflicts, he wrote, affect the behavior of 231

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bureaucrats. Whom did an official dare to know socially? If he were German, he might be penalized by his superior or socially ostracized by the Germans for associating with Czechs; if he were in Galicia, he might receive similar treatment from the Poles for friendliness to the Ruthenians. Instead of firmness of character and loyalty to ideals, the astute official learned to be sly and to conceal his thoughts. The picture recalls the conditions on a reduced scale of Austrian officials before 1848. 1 " The problems did not pertain uniquely to Austria. The German Empire encountered great difficulty in persuading able officials from the federal states to enter imperial service. Imperial salaries were often lower, living expenses in Berlin much higher than in state capitals, and the difficulty of contending with the Reichstag far greater than that of dealing with state assemblies. Officials in the federal states had more independence of action than under the German chancellor, and they could anticipate a wider choice of assignments. 200 Theodor Fontane condemned the cultural decay of the upper stratum of society, including higher officials. "They know the Odes of Horace, a little Homer and a little Ovid, and sustained by this knowledge they assume the right to regard all modern endeavors in this field as 'rot.'" He cited their limited knowledge and appreciation as one of the main reasons "why we are not entirely considered as equals and are hated by the more civilized nations." 201 Max Weber went still further in declaring German excellence in the civil service a manifestation of weakness in the entire German culture. Even if democratically governed countries have a bureaucracy that is doubtless corrupt to some extent [he wrote], they have achieved more success in the world than Germany with its very "moral" bureaucracy. If one is to judge purely from the point of view of Realpolitik, and if in final analysis it is a matter of power . . . then, he asked, is a private capitalistic organization in combination with a purely business bureaucracy or a state-guided system with a highly moral, enlightened, and authoritarian German bureaucracy more exposed to corruption? Which organization has the greater efficiency? He doubted whether the highly moral German civil service was able to do so much for the country as the perhaps far less moral foreign civil service, in cooperation with the private capital so much despised by some Germans, could accomplish.202 France, Spain, Italy, and Russia had far worse conditions than Germany and Austria. In the best governed of the four countries, France, the civil service remained inefficient, except in specific tech232

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nical lines; it did not assume the initiative in developing the economy or in providing services to encourage private initiative. Since after 1880 private entrepreneurism in many lines lost its initial drive, the country lagged behind its eastern neighbor in economy, demography, and governmental activity. The bureaucracy continued to be popular as one of the few means of social mobility and as an index of social position. When the economy slowed, the civil service attracted far more candidates than it needed. Once appointed and on the way to a pension, officials everywhere succumbed to the bureaucratic temptation to make work for themselves. Italy and Spain more than France continued to be prey to the spoils system— without the justification for corruption that Max Weber perceived in Britain and in the United States. 203 Pares concluded in 1905 that "to the bureaucratic office more than to any other place in Russia we may apply the maxim that it takes three men to do the work of one." 204 The conduct of officials aroused popular accusation of dalliance, indolence, inefficiency, hypocrisy, and in countries other than Germany, Austria, and France, venality; all countries but Germany supported too many public employees. Austria used officials with law degrees to perform tasks elsewhere adequately handled by unskilled young women. Professor Redlich offered in the Reichsrat the following example of the resulting bureaucratism: What happens in Austria if a school employee asks the director of a technical continuation school for a payment of twenty crowns? The director does not simply reach into his pocket but sends the request to the provincial school board with a recommendation for payment. There the request is displayed and then laid before a chief official of the accounting department. This department submits a declaration; on the basis of the declaration a report of the school board to the Minister of Public Works goes forth after it has passed two to three draftsmen in the office of the school board: reporter, approver, reviser, to express it in German. (Laughter) The report comes to the Ministry, is there exhibited—that is very important because thereby it receives a number, is sent from the departmental head to a drafting official for corrections. Eventually a declaration is received from the accounting department, whereupon an order is issued to the provincial school board. . . . I don't want to describe it in the blackest colors, but it can happen that before this still another agreement with the Ministry of Finance is sought. In this case the document is sent to the Ministry of Finance, whence a ministerial decision is prepared. In the Ministry of Finance the decision is worked over by a draftsman, approved by a counsellor and reviewed by a chief of section, as a rule by Herr Baron Engel, who is everywhere where money is involved that passes at least through one hand. Now the order of the Ministry of Labor goes back to the provincial school 233

BUREAUCRACY board, is again displayed and reviewed by a draftsman, and finally the provincial school chief writes an instruction to the director of the school, in which he is apprised that the payment is refused. (Lively amusement)205

Critics have always and everywhere accused bureaucracies of the foregoing evils; officials seem occupationally addicted to such weaknesses, and it requires the strength of a Hohenzollern categorical imperative to act as a preventive. More important, perhaps, in understanding the character of European society prior to World War I is the change that occurred in the social role of officialdom. An Austrian official in testifying before a parliamentary committee at this time declared: "The state official of former times, who represented merely the rulers and stood before the people as an alien figure and in a sense as an enemy, has become a people's servant who does not see his purpose in unthinking but devoted execution of orders often hostile to the public interest but who understands his sole duty to be that of serving the people." Redlich countered with the view that the official "is above all there to do his duty, to obey." 206 Neither statement can be considered correct, and neither is entirely wrong. The nineteenth century appears as one of the great periods in history for exploring the role of the bureaucracy in public life. While experiencing the many new forces and institutions—modern industry, technology, science, education, urban expansion, representative government—the governments of the century could not decide where bureaucracy best fitted into so complicated a society. Redlich's conception survived from absolutism and undervalued the sense of moral responsibility required by the official in dealing with society. The ideal of the anonymous official quoted above did not take into account the presence of representative institutions for ascertaining and formulating the will of the people and the need in responsible, popular government for a loyal, reliable administrative agency to execute popular will with dispatch. His conception could have turned civil servants into autocratic experts, who soon would have concluded that they knew better than the people how best to serve the state. By the close of the century the stage of development reached by any one bureaucracy varied according to the stage reached within the total national culture. Where the economy, education, and other aspects of society showed creative activity, the bureaucracy tended to be efficient; where they continued sluggish and indifferent to public welfare, officials shared these characteristics. France had devised means of protecting the population against bureaucratic 234

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abuse, though at the expense of constructive official initiative. The outstanding example of bureaucratic efficiency in service lay across the Rhine from France. No state had achieved a bureaucracy adapted to changing social conditions; none had realized the ideal of an administrative agency composed of experts and equipped with institutions for making its expertise available not merely to governmental heads but to the interested public. The ideal itself awaited future formulation. Officials who had attained to expert knowledge in the main continued to find their own ways of utilizing their skill, of gauging the practicality of their plans, of achieving useful results. The bureaucracy had made less progress along this road than had parliamentary bodies, and it suffered as well from the conflict of political and social ideals in its own midst and among the political leaders whom it served. In spite of difficulties nations with social mobility moved beyond traditional organization of the bureaucracy into exploration of institutional organizations and of procedure to meet the needs of the time. Although authoritarian in nature and attitude, by 1914 bureaucracy had begun to develop boards and commissions composed of officials and representatives of private organizations for handling matters of common interest, such as social insurance, disputes between labor and capital, and other social issues; and this eventually brought officials and laymen into working relationship on a basis of equality.207 Legalism as the basis of bureaucratic thinking and acting began measurably to decline in favor of social science. The bureaucracy gave signs of willingness and ability to adjust to the modern world. In every major country the long experience under bureaucratic authoritarianism continued to affect public life. When at the close of World War I the Habsburg Empire disintegrated, Redlich attributed the typical Austrian characteristics "good" and "bad" to the training received in the age of Emperor Francis I and Metternich. The habit of futile argumentation of the population, especially of the educated, over all possible public matters; . . . the conception that the sparsely distributed good and the richly present bad always come in Austria from above, and that therefore one has done enough if one vigorously inveighs against the all-powerful bureaucracy but otherwise leaves the dear God, the Emperor and the officials to continue to rule; the complete lack of self-confidence in a population accustomed for generations to such guardianship, and often also the lack of trust in the ability and effectiveness of one's own political and social action; finally the resulting appearance of only a minimal sense of

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In Russia private criticism did not reach the extent of that in Austria until the closing decades of the period; most of the public seems never to have lost faith in bureaucratic rule, even when it desired the czar to introduce reforms. The Germans had far more freedom to criticize the civil service, and they exercised this freedom with more responsibility than either the Austrians or the Russians. They adopted from the officials, however, the characteristically German veneration of the expert. Each civilian endeavored to be an expert in his field, each considered his work a vocation and attributed to it an ethics of complete responsibility that rendered very difficult discussion and criticism of the area of his responsibility or of his performance. Within his particular sphere of activity each person assumed a posture of infallibility, for which the divine-right official set an example. By adopting the social psychology of expertise, individuals in an age of the decline of one social structure and the uncertain beginnings of a new structure achieved self-assurance at the expense of the feeling of security which comes from the characteristics of the enlightened amateur—modesty, give-and-take, poise, and initiative in attacking a variety of social problems. When transferred to the laity, bureaucratic characteristics readily became dogmatism, intolerance, hypersensitivity, excessive standards of efficiency, and defensiveness. In spite of the bureaucratic model, the German people acquired a national ego, a sense of social cohesiveness, a degree of political sense; but the nation paid a penalty for the acceptance of anachronistic standards. Instead of accepting the utilitarian belief constituting each individual his own policeman, they regarded law as a separate entity for the administration to apply and enforce, not as a body of common rules to which all should conform. They thought themselves entitled to outwit the bureaucracy if they could do so with impunity. Germans lived under two sets of mores, one of bureaucratic authoritarianism, the other—associated with popular government, education, industrialism—of individual initiative and social responsibility. The period came too quickly and abruptly to an end in World War I for them to have found a new and appropriate synthesis. The western European peoples had emancipated themselves more 236

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than any other from the habits instilled by bureaucratism. They suffered like the Austrians, however, from a feeling of irresponsibility in public affairs and from extensive mistrust of group action. They took the defensive attitude of extreme individualism, which often proved to have negative and frustrating effects. They indulged in adverse criticism, skepticism, and egoism, and their ambiguous attitude of respect for and mistrust of bureaucracy severely handicapped them in the cultivation of a civic sense. The bureaucracy in these countries as elsewhere faced competitors in civic training; however, the German language and the French as well reflect the long training in bureaucratic rule from above and civic irresponsibility from below. Each language uses a general word widely (man in German, on in French) to refer to something indefinite, for which the particular individual does not consider himself responsible—a bureaucracy or an absolute monarch, for example. The corresponding English words one and they have never gained such extensive usage, for English society has not lived under the domination of the impersonal, sometimes Kafkaesque power of the bureaucracy. Subsequent chapters reveal the deleterious effect of centuries of bureaucratic domination upon the development of a political sense, political parties, and other institutions of popular, responsible government.

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VI

CIVIL RIGHTS

HEORISTS OP NATURAL LAW in the eighteenth century formulated the ideals of civil rights. Although introduced to a limited extent by the enlightened despots, civil rights first became the object of significant activity during the French Revolution. From France the cause of civil rights spread to other parts of Europe, and every demand for these rights reflected the effort to transform the prevailing society of privilege, Estates, and absolutism into a society inspired by freedom of the individual. The forces of the Old Regime aligned themselves in opposition to civil rights, whereas the bourgeoisie, intellectuals, and other harbingers of change were convinced that only by obtaining civil rights could they behold the society of their dreams. When the new society took shape, the bourgeoisie in turn opposed the changes sought by the proletariat and curbed the civil rights of the workers. Bourgeois resistance, however, proved indefensible, for civil rights had by then become embedded in parliamentary government, industrial capitalism, popular education, and other social manifestations, through which social transformation continued at an ever-accelerating pace. Civil rights belong to a family of rights, and all members of this family promote social transformation. Because achievement of political rights, such as equality before the law, the right to vote, eligibility for elective office or for appointment to civil service, relate closely to the social change occurring in government and political life, these rights are discussed in connection with the institutions through which they operated in the nineteenth century. In the economic sphere, the right to freedom of occupation and equal rights to own and dispose of property distinguished the emerging society from that which it superseded; however, since they pertain to economic institutions rather than to government, these specific rights lie outside the scope of the present study. The

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right to an education, formulated many times in previous centuries but first becoming an essential means of social mobility in the nineteenth century, likewise pertains to another subject. Personal rights and civil rights differ from other rights in that they are basic to the realization of all specialized rights. Personal rights in turn are distinguished from civil rights by the fact that the personal rights of freedom of marriage, freedom of domicile, and freedom of movement refer fundamentally to the individual and are preconditions for action. To their number should be added the right of personal freedom, in 1800 a right enjoyed by all but the peasantry in certain countries, who gained it during the course of the century. Civil rights—freedom of press, assembly, and association, and their correlative, freedom of speech—established means by which the individual could influence social organization through government and politics. Where personal rights remained restricted, civil rights had little or no meaning; where both were lacking, political, economic, and educational rights had no social basis. All these rights came into being as integral parts of a process of social transformation. Implementation of them all related to two other achievements, both of them to a large extent the work of absolutism during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries: codification of the law and the establishment of an independent judiciary. Although these two reforms by no means assured civil rights, they proved to be requisite for the introduction of any and all rights.1 After a preliminary sketch of the acquisition of personal rights as a common background for all rights, the present chapter concentrates upon those rights that directly pertain to government and politics, namely freedom of press and of association and assembly. How exercise of civil rights is handicapped by limitations placed upon the other freedoms will be evident as the analysis unfolds. PERSONAL RIGHTS In most societies governmental and other authorities restrict marriage, domicile, and mobility. Factors of health, livelihood, and behavior set the main criteria for controlling the right to marry, to move about, or to reside in a certain place. The distinctive change in the exercise of these rights that occurred in the nineteenth century concerned the extraordinary extent to which governments abolished formal criteria in favor of freedom. Athough Europe by no means introduced during the century full personal and civil freedom, in 239

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most countries the individual probably had more independence of action than had ever before been enjoyed in any complex society. Restrictions upon personal rights had become especially numerous in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries; in the main they owed their severity to fear of pauperism. The central governments lacked staff, experience, and funds for administering poor relief on a national or statewide basis; hence they imposed this responsibility upon towns and owners of manorial estates. Whereas rural society scarcely rated poor relief a problem, towns defended their budgets by limiting the rights of marriage and domicile. Since the right of domicile included the right to poor relief, a town permitted no one to settle within its jurisdiction who could not prove ability to support himself and his family. Curtailment of freedom of domicile spelled legal inability to move from town to town. The complicated legislation passed for the purpose of control included such intangible requirements for rights of marriage and domicile as that of good reputation. Upon introducing freedom of marriage the law of the North German Confederation in 1868 enumerated the restrictions that it now abolished : For entry into marriage or for the establishment of a household connected with it citizens of the Confederation require neither the possession nor the acquisition of membership in a community, and for the right to dwell [they do not require] either the approval of the community or of the local manorial lord or of a poor-relief association or permission of a public authority. In particular the right to marriage may not be limited by failure to have reached an age above that of one's majority or by lack of evidence of having living quarters (Mecklenburg), or of adequate property or livelihood (Württemberg, Hesse), or because of past punishment, bad reputation, present or anticipated poverty, receipt of poor relief (Württemberg) or other police reasons (too youthful age, significant difference in age, invalidity, presence of hereditary illness). Also an entrance fee or other fee (Baden) may not be required of a bride who comes from another community.2

France during the Revolution led in abolishing similar restrictions, which existed or had existed in all European states. Since French communes during the nineteenth century assumed almost no legal or de facto obligations for poor relief, personal freedom remained unencumbered. The Netherlands, Belgium, Denmark, and a few other countries early practiced freedom in the same way. Local and central governments either ignored the problem of relief and left responsibility to private charity, or they dissociated the 240

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right to poor relief from the right of domicile. When, as did Prussia in 1843, a state transferred responsibility for poor relief from the town to a larger political division or to the central government, the town could afford to allow anyone to settle in its midst ; freedom of movement became possible, and freedom to marry could be introduced, since founding of indigent families no longer menaced the town's budget. The largest gain in personal rights came with the emancipation of serfs in central and eastern Europe. The gentry lost their power to decide whether a serf could marry and whom he or she could or should marry, although manorial restriction upon marriage persisted in Austria until 1848 and in Russia until 1861. Peasants acquired legal freedom of movement in Prussia at the time of emancipation; however, in much of Austria they did not acquire this right until 1848, and in Russia most peasants continued to be limited in their mobilty until the twentieth century when Stolypin reformed the constitution of the mir. Release of peasants from serfdom or, as in western Europe where the peasants had been legally free, from feudal obligations such as corvée, taille, and so on, and the growth of population in town and country created pressure for freedom of movement that bureaucratic governments schooled in the thought of the Enlightenment and especially of Adam Smith stood ready and determined to further. The great increase of paupers in the decades after the Napoleonic era aroused town governments in Prussia to complain vigorously against granting freedom of marriage, movement, and domicile; but in these matters the bureaucratic government remained liberal. Construction of railways soon made it practically impossible to deny personal rights, and the developing industries created a new market for labor. In order that paupers might become workers on the railroads, in factories, in the building trades, and in other occupations, they needed the right to move about freely and to settle in centers that required their services. As employment became available, marriage could be freed from prior communal approval. Personal rights won out because the success of the major transforming force of the century, industrial capitalism, depended upon effective exercise of these rights. Their restriction persisted in some regions, such as in much of Russia, where industrialism had not gained access. In considering the character of European society in the nineteenth century the belated introduction of these personal rights must be kept in mind. A hundred-year span allows little time for the 241

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slow, cautious adjustment of social behavior; yet the individual in the most open of European societies, that of France, had only a century or less in which to make the transition from one social system to the other. The worker, peasant, journeyman, and young man or woman of energy and ambition but no income and no immediate assurance of one adequate to support a family may not consciously have felt humiliated by the necessity to obtain permission to marry; but it becomes clear from reports of sympathetic contemporaries like Turgenev that affront to self-respect frequently occurred. The practice of control tended to crush individuality and to destroy initiative. An age struggling to develop a new economy, a new political and social organization, and a new culture could not afford waste of human resources. The delayed bestowal of personal rights in many countries—Germany did not introduce full freedom before World War I—helped maintain or promote extreme reactions such as docility or angry rejection and violence regarding questions of public significance. Where marriage remained limited by the necessity of prior official approval, as in Bavaria, the statistics of illegitimate births indicate the resulting irresponsibility; during the years 1859 to 1868 there was an annual average of 22.4 per 100 births.3 In Austria, where in 1866-68 most provinces abolished the requirement of official permission to marry, Salzburg, a center of clerical dominance, did not relinquish restrictive legislation until compelled to do so by court decision at the end of the century. Tyrol and Vorarlberg retained governmental control until the fall of the empire. Prior to 1918 Austria failed to abolish in their entirety restrictions upon freedom of domicile. By 1900 in Europe personal rights had not become everywhere accepted either in law or in practice; the forces of the Old Regime proved resistant. Although fighting a delaying battle, these forces continued well into the century to preserve control over the personal acts that most condition character. Because of the effect upon character the twentieth century inherited a social malaise so great that Europeans proved powerless to correct it before resort to violence intervened. CIVIL RIGHTS The society of the Old Regime had no civil rights, except in a very loose sense; for the existing social organization made the issue of civil rights irrelevant; that is, rights pertained to the social castes or status groups rather than to individuals as in modern society. During the transition from a society of Estates into a society of 242

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individuals organized into classes or other groups the question of civil rights became acute. Whereas Estates or castes can be rigidly fixed by law, classes need a loose form of organization suitable to the desire of individuals to enjoy a free, flexible milieu. Individuals in the emergent society had many points of reference and many connections: they belonged to groups of varying degrees of precise definition and fixity of organization; they shared many affiliations with common attitudes and mental relationships but not identical in material expression. Civil rights enabled them to develop novel organizations, novel needs and relationships, through which to create a new social structure. These rights served the individual not as ends but as means; they became least common denominators, opening the way to the realization of political, economic, and cultural rights. Most of Europe at the beginning of the century, and much of it in 1914, still preserved a society so local in experience and interests as to preclude awareness of the value of civil rights.4 Areas where the population remained pastoral and nomadic, as in southeastern Russia and in much of future Rumania, Serbia, and Montenegro, continued all but oblivious of civil rights. Simple societies resolved directly whatever problems arose and would have found the press and formal assemblies superfluous. Wherever the rate of illiteracy remained high, as in Russia, Hungary, Italy, Spain, the Balkans, even in parts of France until well into the third quarter of the century, no effective demand arose for a free press. Where rural society continued to live scattered over the countryside, right of assembly had no practicable application. Local society had reached a condition of equilibrium that for the most part only outside forces could disrupt. In this type of society the natural right of education must be implemented before civil rights could become meaningful. The presence of controversy over civil rights, therefore, indicates that social organization has become fairly complicated, that a civitas has formed, that public action deeply affects private interests, and that problems of participation in the conduct of public affairs have reached a crucial stage. In the Old Regime the question of the right of association was solved by organizing the population into corporate bodies—Estates, guilds, parliaments, manors, villages, towns—and by subjecting the activity of these bodies to the regulations of mercantilist absolutistic government. Peasants transacted their affairs in village assemblies under the headman. The towns had mayors and town councils, holding offices sometimes hereditary, sometimes elective among a 243

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small elite, and fulfilling what need existed for collective action. The nobility sat in local and provincial Estates—in Poland and Hungary in a national body as well—and where they lacked the formal right of assembly and association, they influenced the course of government by connections in the provinces and at court. In general a nobility whose position is sanctioned by law works through personal relations among a small number of the powerful, each of whom is known individually to the others; it finds the use of a free press and of the right of free assembly and association antithetical to its mode of life and adopts these instruments reluctantly and for temporary, defensive purposes. Two main forces upset the equilibrium of the society of privilege. One force, the Enlightenment, led absolute monarchs and their bureaucracies to seek improvement of the lot of their subjects, and at the same time it stimulated preindustrial burghers to ask freedom for a life of their own. A second force lay in the middle class or bourgeoisie, a group growing in numbers, expanding the range of its expectations and demands, and slowly creating a new type of leader, the entrepreneur of industrial capitalism and his professional colleagues. The nobility, except insofar as it succumbed to the persuasive ideals of the Enlightenment, did not demand civil rights before the townsmen had set the precedent and before the nobles as a group faced the need to defend their way of life against reform by the absolute monarch and the bureaucracy. Once forced to take the defensive, the nobility in order to appeal for public support increasingly adopted the weapons and methods of the bourgeoisie, methods inextricably linked to exercise of civil rights.5 By comparison the workers' interest in these rights arose at a later date, when proletarian elements substantially increased and developed their own community of feeling. The peasants at no time showed great interest in these rights. Enlightened despots like Joseph II, Frederick the Great, and Catherine of Russia in theory and to some extent in practice considered it an essential part of their function to guide their subjects toward enlightenment, prosperity, and happiness. To that end they trained and directed their bureaucracies, thereby unintentionally developing among officials a vested interest in a certain amount of civil freedom. Officials came to urge freedom of speech and press as a means of augmenting their role in state affairs. Endeavoring to reconcile absolutism and bureaucratism with the theory of natural rights, they sought to make the bureaucracy the agent of the general interest and guardian of the general welfare. In order to ac244

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quaint themselves with the general interest and welfare, officials needed the civil rights of freedom of speech and press; however, as they were organized in a hierarchy and already possessed esprit de corps, they did not consider essential the freedom of association and assembly. For the sake of improved training the bureaucracy required intellectual aid in the form of scholarly research and criticism. To obtain this aid it wished to increase the freedom allowed intellectuals, that is professors, writers, and members of other professions. Enlightened rulers as well supported a cautious increase of freedom of press as helpful to them in their exalted mission. Through the bureaucracy they tried to grant their subjects access to those publications that could foster their cause while banning those that would have the opposite effect.6 Control of the press by enlightened rulers and officials did not constitute censorship in the repressive sense of a later period. Paternalistic officials, including the ruler, often used for constructive purposes what press they had at hand. From the disparate feudal elements they had inherited they wanted to create an active, creative, intelligent, moral, and affluent society, and they regarded the press as an instrument of reform. The people, except in France, had not advanced to the point of developing ideas and ambitions of their own outside the absolutistic plan, but they were learning rapidly. By 1801 the Austrian government found it expedient to entrust the power of censorship to the police, a move that contributed to the decline of enlightened despotism into the defensive absolutism of the nineteenth century.7 The burghers of the Old Regime and especially the new bourgeoisie and their allies among the nobility continued logically along the lines laid down by the enlightened despots. These social groups conceived of freedom of press and of assembly and association as natural rights, necessary for the fulfillment of personality and for the enrichment of society through realization of individual potential. The philosophic arguments in favor of civil rights were succinctly stated by Gustav von Mevissen, one of the prominent leaders in the economic and cultural development of the Rhineland in the nineteenth century. Freedom of press . . . is a demand that appears inevitable as soon as a great people, recognizing its moral worth, its maturity, boldly determines to trust in the creative genius within itself and no longer to trust a regulator outside itself and only too often deserted by spiritual motive. . . .8 To bind the hands of such a people [the Prussians] so that it cannot move freely, to place its spiritual forces under the care of a guardian

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who because perhaps he is not able to grasp the great and lofty thoughts of the people prefers to destroy them at birth—that is a situation which must not continue if the moral dignity of the people, its self-confidence, its strength, its free will are not to be completely undermined.9 The kind of personality and society that the exercise of these civil rights would assist in shaping could not be contained within the framework of caste and Estates, absolutism and bureaucratism. It required a society of free individuals, mobile, intelligent, able to further their own interests while participating responsibly in public affairs—able, in other words, to choose their own reading, to express their own opinions, to meet and organize for action. Only under such conditions would entrepreneurs not merely in the economy but in all aspects of life have the opportunity to create a new society. Metternich condemned the press as "the worst and the most pressing of evils. . . . Everything that formerly appeared fixed in its principles is being attacked and overthrown." He regretted the passing of the day when the press did not exist.10 He saw in the press an agent of presumptuousness, in his view a characteristic of society that unless curbed would bring disaster to the state. In his Confession of Faith (1820) he mustered against presumptuousness essentially moral arguments, as might be expected of the defender of a way of life; but Metternich identified the bearers of this wicked, destructive attitude as the middle classes, or as he elsewhere said with more precision, the intermediate class. Development of the press and demand for freedom of the press he therefore associated with the rise of those heterogeneous elements situated between the government and nobility on the one hand and the peasantry on the other. Whereas he praised the groups in power at the time for their moral sense, their stability (not immobility), their concern for lawfulness and order and security, their respect for tradition and authority and mistrust of reason, their approval of faith, he attributed to the intermediate class those characteristics that aroused dissatisfaction, unrest, zest for novelty, and willfully or unconsciously, for revolution. He denounced the press as bearer of the most undesirable qualities of the emerging society, qualities that appeared to him susceptible of correction by rigid restrictions upon press, assembly, and association and by intensive control of education. Since Metternich lived in a period when ideas possessed power to excite the mind toward structural change,11 he argued that prevention of the expression and exchange of ideas 246

CIVIL RIGHTS would suffice to block the generating and sustaining movement behind these ideas. The overwhelming mass of the population, namely the peasantry, he asserted, lived entirely apart from presumptuousness, and he intended to maintain a Christian, moral society by preserving this pure-minded population from the evil ideas of irresponsible scribblers. His colleagues abroad and the rulers of most European states shared his convictions.12 The laws governing the press conformed to the standards of the Old Regime in being loosely drawn and hence capable of arbitrary interpretation. In Austria a criminal law of 1794 still in force in 1849 made any study of current conditions a dangerous undertaking. Paragraphs 57 and 58 of the law read : 57: Whoever maliciously seeks to impart such opinions to other citizens by speeches, written or visual representations through which can arise disaffection toward the form of government, the administration or the constitution commits the crime of breach of public order. 58 : Under this crime are included as well slanders of the person of the ruler, from which can arise unmistakable disaffection toward the same should they be brought forward in social gatherings or publicly, as well as similar writings or derisory remarks should they be communicated to anyone. "These two paragraphs," commented subsequently the Austrian official Beidtel, "made every historical exposition of that which existed highly precarious." 13 Paragraph 52 defined treason in so inclusive a way that it could have enabled the government to impose the penalty of death upon an author. 52: The crime of treason is committed by (a) whoever injures the personal safety of the ruler; (6) whoever undertakes anything which concerns violence to the constitution of the state, to attracting or increasing the danger to the state from abroad, whether it occur publicly or secretly, from single persons or in association, through conspiracy, advice or one's own word or deed, with or without recourse to arms, through secrets or plots communicated and leading to such purpose, through incitement, recruiting, spying or support or through any other activity aimed at the same end." In 1795 the government forbade bookdealers, so Beidtel reports, to sell . . . their shoddy wares, so-called fliers and single leaflets written to the taste of the mob through the kiosk women or through persons shouting and roaming the streets and houses ; likewise through shops in the annual fairs in the towns and at the gates, as well as to spread them about in other ways. This method of sale of newly printed 247

CIVIL RIGHTS sheets, whether prayers, songs, war news or tricks and buffoonery, is placed under penalty of prison for the seller, and still more severe punishment for the author.15 In 1798 the government closed all reading rooms, and in the next year it prohibited all lending libraries. In the same year it forbade Austrian authors to publish abroad without previous approval of the Austrian censorship.16 In 1802 it ordered that "the forbidden books found in an estate be kept from public sale but be left to the heirs for their disposal"; however, it also stipulated that "these books shall be delivered to the heirs for use only if they are suitable to the possession of the same for technical purposes or in accord with their character or position." 17 In 1803 the government declared that "it is to be completely forbidden the journalists to make any other mention in their newssheets of domestic conditions and of governmental affairs here at home than as it is actually given them by the provincial government or is contained in the Vienna Daily." 18 The restriction the laws imposed upon writers may be judged from the following description of the court newspaper given by Beidtel from his own experience throughout the first half of the century. The newssheet consisted of three parts, and the first part, Beidtel wrote, contained official news of . . . births, marriages, and deaths of the ruling family, royal appointments to higher offices, bishoprics, ecclesiastical and military office, as well as declarations of war and treaties of peace. Here likewise was reported news of those places of battle which the government thought it good for the populace to know. Finally there was given news of the bestowal of orders, civil honors, titles, etc., as well as reports from the provincial newssheets of a reception of the monarch or of this or that archduke, where the required formalities of "general rejoicing, unforgettable days, gracious condescension and humble attendance" are not lacking. The second part of Vienna News, usually separated by a line from the official part, contained news from foreign countries and was ordinarily borrowed from other newssheets, of course only such news as the government found unobjectionable. An official sheet was enclosed with this newspaper, containing judicial edicts and announcements of competitions for vacant offices. Finally the Vienna News contained a classified newssheet in which manufacturers announced their products, physicians their change of residence, booksellers the books they had published, and everyone could make known what he would by paying an advertising fee.18 A similar newspaper graced each province, and in lieu of better fare all were read. Austria did not stand alone in restricting the press; in 1843 the 248

CIVIL RIGHTS Prussian government prohibited publication of the Rheinische Zeitung, a pronouncedly liberal newspaper supported by leading business men in the Rhineland, especially in Cologne, and by some officials. The government gave the following reasons for its action: This paper seeks to undermine the foundations of the Christian religion, to attack the foundations of Prussian government and to sow mistrust of the government's procedures, to antagonize status groups against other status groups, to awaken dissatisfaction with the existing legal conditions, to develop views about deficiencies in the administration, and not in serious, calm, dignified tones but in hateful hostility to the state and its officials, to advocate theories that aim at undermining the monarchical principle and the social organization with its division into status groups, to introduce general mistrust between the agencies of the ruler and his subjects. In a word, it aims to destroy that which exists without being in a position to attempt loyally to indicate any practical way of improving the alleged deficiencies.20 Enforcement of such criteria enabled the government to threaten any publication with prohibition. It meant arbitrariness, and it made insecure the life of every writer, no matter how cautious he might be. The Russian government used a simpler basis for action. Article 140 of the press regulations of 1873 allowed the minister of interior "in case of urgent necessity" to "prohibit the publication or discussion by the press of problems of political significance." During the revolutionary turmoil in 1905 the censors declared to be "of political significance" the issue of whether ballet dancers should shave their armpits. 21 Metternich effectively controlled the Austrian press; after 1815, however, the behavior of the press in Germany alarmed him, for some German states and especially Saxony-Weimar permitted publication of materials that to him appeared subversive. He and his adviser Friedrich Gentz believed that determined governments could easily suppress the troublemakers by steps such as dismissal and silencing of certain professors; curbing of those officials who were unthinkingly liberal; censorship not merely of journals but of the entire output of the press, scholarly as well as popular; strict enforcement of the Carlsbad Decrees against press and assembly and universities. 22 These measures, bolstered by appeal to religion and morality, were designed to hold back the tide of time and of words. In almost all other countries there seemed an equal or even more favorable chance of restraint. In France, hotbed of the ideas and practices opposed by Metternich, the market rather than the law confined publication of news249

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papers largely to Paris. Until the time of the Third Republic the provincial press remained small in number of sheets, poor in quality, and carried little influence. In 1814 only seven daily sheets appeared in Paris (population, 714,000), with a circulation of a few thousand each. The Journal des Débats, the most widely read, had 16,000 subscribers in 1816; the others far fewer. These papers were priced beyond the means of all but a few citizens from the bourgeoisie. Irene Collins, who has made a careful study of the French press in the period from 1815 to 1881, describes the condition of the provincial press under Louis Philippe as follows: Local newspapers were not a paying concern and the provinces were therefore almost a clear field for self-sacrificing legitimists and republicans. Here and there a printer or a group of business men would start a newspaper which was friendly to the monarchy without being actively devoted to it. In such newspapers a short account of parliamentary debates would be followed by clippings from Paris papers and a few items of local news, and perhaps an article on local topography or agriculture. Usually they appeared twice or three times a week, and only once a week during parliamentary vacations. They were harmless, but uninspiring. Prefects usually gave them some help, sending them official information, ordering mayors to subscribe to them, and buying copies to send out free to electors, but it is difficult to see what value they can have had for the Orleanist cause. Prefects were not sufficiently interested to start newspapers in places which were without them, and there remained whole departments in which no newspaper was published. Republicans complained of the large sums of money spent on the Orleanist press, but their estimates appear to have been exaggerated.23 In 1865 the provinces had 260 political journals, most of them subsidized by the government and many of them of poor quality. The Paris press prospered in spite of censorship. In 1852 Louis Napoleon permitted fourteen dailies and several periodicals with political interest to continue, and circulation figures for the dailies ranged from a few thousand to 50,000, a small amount for Paris with a population of 1,700,000 at the time. The masses had not yet become readers of the daily press.24 The condition of the press in other countries was comparable or even worse. In the native district of the Westphalian industrialist and political leader Friedrich Harkort toward the end of the eighteenth century both the press and the book trade were all but nonexistent. During the reign of King Frederick William II the county of Mark supported two printing presses but not a single bookstore, public library, or newspaper, 25 As late as the 1850's the Prussian 250

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government excluded from the press practically all liberal and antigovernmental expression.26 Before Kossuth produced a handwritten newssheet to report the proceedings of the Diet (1832-36), Hungary had no press.27 Readers of George Borrow's classic account of his travels in Spain in the 1830's, The Bible in Spain, will note the lack of a reading public in contemporary Spanish society. At the time of the great famine in Russia in 1891, Chekhov described the press in his country as woefully short of money and competent staff. A newspaper could not send an able person to report on the famine, not only because it needed him in the home office, but because it could not afford the expense. The New York Times, he pointed out, could order George Kennan to visit and report upon every district suffering distress, since it was in a position to spend an amount that a Russian newspaper would consider the wealth of Croesus. Moreover, he added, the Russian correspondents were urbanites, who derived their conception of rural life from novels, and lacked the necessary maps, statistics, reference works, and other aids with which to orient themselves. In making their reports, he went on, the correspondents must rely upon impressions from a quick trip only, and then hope that the "unintentional and unavoidable misrepresentations" in their accounts will not arouse anger. Chekhov blamed their plight upon "black Russian ignorance." 28 By 1890 the Russian press had reached the stage of development the Paris press had achieved in 1830 and the German and Austrian press in 1848. The conditions of society, varying from country to country, appeared to confirm governments in their belief that they could control the press. In the transformation of the social structure, freedom of press, assembly, and association served as means to achieve basic reforms. The codification and rule of law, abolition of tax privilege and the assumption by all citizens of financial responsibility for support of government, equality before the law, individual freedom, and universal military service possessed far more social significance than did civil rights. In a few countries, notably Prussia and Austria, some basic reforms antedated freedom of press, assembly, and association; but all the reforms constituted a unified program, one formulated and activated in consequence of social pressures within the emergent society. Metternich erred in differentiating the movement for civil rights from the movements for basic reform and in supposing that he could prevent the appearance of the latter by restricting civil rights. In spite of the Carlsbad Decrees, the Vienna Decisions of 1820 and 1834, and similar measures against civil 251

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rights, the drive continued for the reforms through which structural change must ensue. After 1815 France for a time occupied a unique position by setting an example for liberals abroad. The Revolution bequeathed to France freedom of press and assembly. This freedom, although frequently violated by the revolutionists and abolished by Napoleon, obtained the grudging respect of the restored Bourbons and their reactionary supporters. The exercise of civil rights in France after 1815 became feasible because much of the social reform mentioned above, as well as the consequent change in social structure, had been effected. Constitutional government, a Chamber of Deputies, a ministry responsible to the king and to some extent to the Chamber, and political parties existed and functioned. For fifteen years under the Restoration both conservatives and liberals as supporters of constitutional government prevented a retreat to the Old Regime. After 1830 the problems connected with freedom of press, assembly, and association in a constitutional monarchy, although fundamentally the same as before, manifested themselves in new forms. The French constitution of 1814 accepted in principle freedom of press, and as long as it felt menaced by reaction the bourgeoisie defended freedom of press with the arguments used by all interested groups. Benjamin Constant, a liberal, and Chateaubriand, a constitutional conservative, both declared a free press essential to inform the citizenry and the government about public issues, to propose alternative solutions to national problems, and to supply information to voters. Freedom of press, they said, could also prevent ministers of the government from manipulating the press in order to keep themselves continuously in power. Chateaubriand devoted much of his public life to defending the civil right of a free press. Police domination of the press, he wrote, breaks the constitutional harmony between deputies and public on the one hand and ministers on the other. Truly constitutional ministers will never demand that in order to spare themselves some unpleasantness the constitution be exposed to danger. They will not sacrifice to the lowly interests of their own amour-propre the dignity of human nature; they will not transfer to the monarchical government the irritations of the aristocracy. "In the aristocracy [says Montesquieu] the magistrates are petty sovereigns, who are not great enough to despise affronts. If in the monarchy some act is aimed at the monarch, his exalted position prevents it from affecting him. An aristocratic seigneur is severely wounded by it." 29

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Chateaubriand offered the practical argument that the public does not believe a journal that has been censored: "Common sense teaches that if such a journal is allowed to say something, it is because the Minister has a secret reason; truth becomes untruth while passing through censorship." 30 He continued: . . . Liberty of the press is today the entire constitution. We are not sufficiently accustomed to representative government. This government has not taken root deeply enough among us to be able to exist by itself; it is liberty of the press which makes it live. It is not the Charter that gives us this liberty, but this liberty that gives us the Charter. This liberty alone is the counterweight to a great tax, to a recruitment that one can increase at will, to a despotic administration left by imperial power; it alone causes us to be patient in the face of the abuses of the Old Regime that revive with the men of former days; it alone makes us forget the scandalous fortunes gained at home in civilian life and that surpass those that the marshals gained on the field of battle. It consoles us for disgrace; it restrains oppressors through fear of the oppressed; it is the guardian of manners, the protector against injustice. Nothing is lost as long as it exists. 31

And he included an argument repeated by every writer about the subject for decades thereafter, that liberty of the press has civilized and purified manners while enlightening the mind. . . . corruption of morals is precisely the result of the greater or less restraint that governments place upon the expression of thought. A writer who is giving his old age to useful work has proved to you that in Paris those quarters where there is more education are the very ones in which there is less disorder. You have been told of the multitude of inferior books. One of your scholarly colleagues (M. Daric), both a statesman and a man of letters, has shown unquestionably that since liberty of the press was granted works about religion, history and the sciences, that is, all serious works, have increased in a proportion that does honor to the public mind. True censorship, gentlemen, is that which liberty of the press exerts on manners and morals.32 The conclusions drawn by Chateaubriand about the relation between a free press and morals proved to be ill-founded; yet by uniting idealism and practicality he lent to the movement for freedom of press the strength needed by a generation inexperienced in operation of the press and ill-at-ease in the society of which a free press formed an integral part.33 Austrian and German reformers, with less experience than the French, likewise recognized the indispensability of a free press to 253

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government and society. Freiherr von Eichendorff, whose fame rests upon his poetry, asserted that to function effectively a free press needs appropriate political conditions. One could simply say: The free press will itself produce that common political life by bringing into the sphere of public activity all the troubles, doubts and wishes of the people. That, however, it has nowhere been able to do and can never do. Only through great, national institutions into which a people grows over centuries through joy and sorrow can a true public opinion be produced; where this core of all public activity still is lacking, the free press too is consumed unproductively, either in learned theories, which do not concern the people, or in unimportant digressions, which only confuse opinion still more. One must first know definitely what one wants before one can successfully talk about it.34

Karl S. Zacharia, professor of political science, set no such high prerequisites. Writing in 1840 he declared that under censorship editors of newspapers and journals had learned the art of saying more than they were allowed to report, and that governments themselves at times gave to the press official statements that infringed upon their own rules of censorship. "If one compares the present newspaper," he concluded, "with that of the previous century, one will find that we live in another, and from the point of view of governmental interest, a better world." 35 Professor Zacharia believed that freedom of press would improve the morality of officials by enabling government to keep informed about the behavior of its civil servants without resorting to measures "that destroy enthusiasm and loyalty"; it would make unnecessary "inquisitions" or the use of "extraordinary visitations" in order to learn how officials were behaving.36 Critics eluded censorship by establishing abroad an emigrant press, which smuggled publications into the closed country. Austrians frequently used the press of Leipzig, where the Grenzboten, founded in 1841, served as an organ for discussion of Austrian affairs. The two-volume Oesterreich und dessen Zukunft (1841-1847), written anonymously by the Austrian Victor von Andrian-Werburg and published by the famous Hamburg firm Hoffmann und Campe, publisher of Heine, created a sensation in Austrian circles by its thorough knowledge of Austrian conditions and its liberal recommendations.37 Russians used similar means to criticize Russia: for safety they wrote, published, and frequently lived abroad. Alexander Herzen's periodical The Bell, published in London, became the most famous and for a time the most influential 254

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in Russia of any of these publications. Socialist criticism as it developed in its many forms was printed almost entirely abroad. Although native writers deplored the fact that censorship compelled them to be either violators of the law, hypocrites, or cowards, Austria before 1848 and Russia throughout the century left them little choice. Writers might try to avoid censorship by clothing their criticism in novelistic or other literary form, but the reaction of censors could never be anticipated. An author might be condemned as a criminal, tolerated, or possiby even be praised as creative.38 The Austrian official Beidtel has portrayed in detail how the system of censorship operated. Trained in the legal profession, especially learned in canon law, and interested in educational problems, Beidtel devoted much of his energy to scholarly research and writing. Both as official and as scholar he was constantly frustrated by censorship. Few of his works appeared in print during his lifetime, and those that did showed scars of the censor. Beidtel described the methods and effects of censorship as follows: For a long time almost nothing had been published in Austria except compilations of laws, commentaries upon these, medical works, historical works—mostly insignificant, prayer books, and occasionally small books of belles lettres. Publication of scholarly books encountered extraordinary difficulty; acceptable subjects were hard to find, and research materials were even harder to locate. There were few libraries open to the public; and these seldom kept their holdings current but devoted their very limited funds almost exclusively to acquisitions in classical literature, philosophy, theology, and mathematics. Intended primarily for students, libraries were closed during several months of the year and open during the other months for only a few hours a day. The borrower was permitted one book at a time, and he was required to use it in the library. The rare private libraries permitted outside readers only under special circumstances. Few persons could afford to buy the books they needed; moreover, bookstores stocked a small number of books at a time, and review periodicals were prohibited in public places. The government frowned upon the official who engaged in scholarly research in leisure time, suspecting him either of neglecting his regular tasks or of being a dissatisfied or an ambitious critic. Should an author complete a manuscript in spite of these handicaps, Beidtel reports, he faced the censor, who upon rejecting the work, notified all the police bureaus in the monarchy to prevent publication. The rebuffed author customarily came under police supervision, and as an official he might expect the worst from his 255

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superiors. A censor or censors might retain a manuscript for two or even three years, during which time the work in question might have ceased to be pertinent. If a department objected to the ideas of an author it too could block publication. Since every department whose activities were discussed in the manuscript had right of censorship over it, the manuscript was returned to the author often so mutilated that it no longer had meaning. If by some miracle it were approved, the author still had to find a publisher, few of whom existed in Austria and all of whom paid meager royalties.39 In one respect the application of censorship succeeded. During the forty-three years between 1792 and 1835, Beidtel tells us, the Austrian press did not publish a single work that discussed freely and critically the Austrian system of government or its leaders.40 The subjects of mathematics, natural sciences, and archaeology alone appear to have been safe.41 A literary review could not sustain itself, for it could not accept or even mention any work from abroad that commented adversely upon principles underlying the Austrian system of education, administration, political economy, religion, or governmental policy. Reviewers found expression so restricted they soon ceased to write.42 Beidtel has told of the destructive effects of censorship upon scholarly production; Grillparzer in his autobiography has pictured the frustration of a creative writer under the system. Grillparzer held so loyally to Austria, however, that he refused to publish abroad, and he had the talent and steady nerves that allowed him to compose a scene for a play while waiting in the censor's office to be rebuked. For fear of the censor he changed the content of his plays and frequently avoided subjects that interested him. If censorship humiliated Grillparzer and many another writer, at the same time it aroused on the part of the public mistrust of all published materials, since under a system of censorship no one could know whether a book or article expressed the author's views or only those agreeable to one or another petty official. Uncertainty of publication dampened or extinguished the urge of writers to be creative. The need to obtain approval from a censor induced writers to be devious in their statements, to cultivate the art of deception and the device known in the next century as "double talk." These and kindred practices in turn undermined moral standards and hindered development of a sense of public responsibility. They aroused mistrust of rationality and order. "It is clear," one contemporary writer observed, "that by such a procedure the way is open to the conventional lie, to dissimulation and hypocrisy, these de256

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stroyers of both social and state life." 43 Society became disrupted and individuals isolated when government and private individuals lacked the opportunity to guide them through public discussion of ideas. Once the bureaucracy lost its reputation for official omniscience, the state had no social forces to which the government could turn for help. "It is better not to write at all," remarked both an Austrian and a Russian censor. This statement explains why critics referred to Austria before 1848 as the China of Europe, and it suggests why an Austrian society never emerged. Deprived of the opportunity to participate in public affairs, what passed for society sought an outlet in music, dancing, card-playing, horseracing—diversions that gave Viennese life its special color.44 In some of the German states and in Austria before 1848 the government forbade entry to the writings of British authors like Hume, Gibbon, Bentham, and Macaulay. Austria excluded many works by Goethe, Schiller, and other German authors. The Austrian upper classes, including officials, ignored the ban and read at will. It became the vogue, especially after the death in 1835 of Emperor Francis I, to discuss socially these forbidden books; professors frequently lectured about them at the universities.45 Nonetheless in Central Europe cases like that of Dostoevsky in Russia in the 1840's occurred, even if followed by lesser penalties. The Russian police discovered Dostoevsky and some associates, spurred by intellectual curiosity, reading French socialist literature. Brought to court, Dostoevsky received a sentence of four years' imprisonment for nourishing criminal projects.46 "In the censorship," declared the Rheinische Zeitung in 1843, "lies the deepest immorality (Unsittlichkeit)"—a remark that a Prussian minister condemned as "the acme of the inadmissible in the printed statement." 47 The 1790 edition of the Spanish Index had gone to 350 quarto pages, with double columns and small type; it banned authors like Luther, Calvin, Voltaire, not by titles but by a single blanket sentence.48 By the 1840's Austrians and others denounced the tyranny of censorship as anachronistic. In a petition of March, 1845, to the government proposing measures for a drastic reform of censorship which actually amounted to freedom of the press, the leading intellectuals, professors, aristocrats, and officials of Austria concluded as follows: Execution of these and similar measures might satisfy writers, booksellers and the reading public of contemporary industrial and commercial Austria. At the same time it might make it possible for the country, which recently has prospered greatly from the successful 257

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completion of the state railroad system, from the efforts of industry and of agricultural organization, and which harbors within itself so many rich spiritual forces, to develop further an Austro-German literature now in an embryonic stage [of development]. The strengthening of this literature is hardly a matter of indifference now when German national life as a whole wants to further a deeper culture. Under these circumstances the importance of creating for Austrian literature the appropriate role, especially in popular thinking, is evident.49

Changes in material existence were forcing adjustments in the attitude toward cultural activities. Not far away lurked revolution, when everywhere the demand for freedom of press would arise. Interdependence of the elements of a developing society fundamentally different from the old society made civil rights as vital as railroads. Under constitutional government the critical question became how to manipulate censorship and other means of controlling thought so that the press, considered by almost everyone to be indispensable to society, would serve ruling power groups. Promulgation of the October Diploma in 1860 raised the issue among the Austrian ministers. Minister Goluchowski advocated ruthless and persistent control by administration. Others, among them the astute Minister of Police Mecséry, favored using money or personal connections to influence owners of the press while relying upon the judicial process rather than upon the police. Mecséry argued: After a constitution was proclaimed on 20 October and organizations implementing it were erected, the previous handling of the press has become completely incompatible with these facts. If we want not to conciliate the press, dictatorship remains the only way open, but at the present time that would be hardly what is indicated.

Minister of Finance von Plener supported this view, for he feared the effects of restriction of the press upon the stock exchange and upon the credit operations planned by the government. Every measure not completely legally justified and thus the very dubious cautionary system, whereby arbitrariness cannot be avoided, harm far more than they help [he protested]. They silence the press or drive the malicious articles into the foreign press. The times are not such as to make the press an impossibility in Austria and to seal it hermetically from abroad.

Moreover, he said, not all journals are antigovernment. Minister von Lasser also proposed that the press be influenced by more sophisticated means than heretofore. Ruling out the use of personal 258

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connections and bribes, he suggested winning "new personnel" for journalism in order to fight press with press. He regarded the press as indispensable for the government and if properly used as highly effective support. Minister von Plener wisely concluded that . . . the journalist does not create the bad opinion—it is already there. He writes only what pleases the public and only gives to existing opinion palatable expression. A journal which goes against public opinion would undoubtedly soon die, and the egoism of the owner would surely prevent such an event.

He and others urged that if the ministry would act so that the public would have no justification for adverse opinion, the press would be able to support the government.50 The ministers, as one can infer from their remarks, still had much to learn about relations between government and press; yet as soon as the government introduced a constitution two of the ministers most aware of reality, the minister of police and the minister of finance, perceived the inappropriate and ineffective nature of censorship. The quest for a suitable relationship between government and press was carried on in France with more subtlety than elsewhere. There social groups, on the whole more diverse than those of any other country, played the new game of politics with abandon. Each group upon realizing political power projected its own particular approach to the press. The Restoration ministers worked out many of the techniques of control that other groups subsequently applied in France and elsewhere at various times and in various degree. Among these methods appear approval of copy before publication; so-called free publication of copy, which under threat of fine and imprisonment must conform to general principles established by law or decree; deposit by the owner or editor of a large sum as caution money or pledge of good behavior; restriction of sales and of use of the mails. The upper bourgeoisie under Louis Philippe acted as harshly toward the press as did Bourbon ministers and sought by subsidies, by granting monopolies for publishing governmental information, by demanding large caution moneys, and by direct censorship to keep the press in the hands of its own careful, moderate, wealthy supporters. After the overthrow of the Orleanist monarchy and then of the Second Republic, Louis Napoleon revived all the previous restrictions and added some of his own. Article 32 of the basic decree of February 17,1852 read: A journal can be suspended by ministerial decision, even when it has not been the object of any conviction, but merely after two warnings showing cause and during a time not to exceed two months.

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A journal can be suppressed either after a judicial or administrative suspension or by measures of general security, through a special decree of the President of the Republic published in the Bulletin of Laws.51 Armand Bertin of the Journal des Débats is reported to have remarked : "This decree makes me the censor of the errors of my own journal and turns me into an unpaid official charged with preventing attacks on the constitution and maintaining order for the benefit of the government." 52 In fact, Miss Collins concludes in her study of the French press : Monsieur le Bureau had his finger in every pie. He grew so accustomed to using it that he could not easily get out of the habit, and much of the red tape which had accumulated during the sixteen years of authoritarian press regime remained in existence for some time after the legislature that had originally supported it had been destroyed.53 By the very nature of its function the press has an interest in attracting new readers. It therefore proved difficult to keep the press in subjection to a specific social group, particularly in a society seeking a variety of freedoms. The difficulty may be illustrated by an analysis of the relation between control of the press and trial of press cases by jury. The simplest way to assure a particular outcome of press prosecution lay in deciding all cases by administrative act, or if that proved impracticable, in trying offenses in secret before individual judges. If secrecy could not be enforced, cases were brought before judges operating without juries. Where judges enjoyed independence of tenure, promise of promotion, as Louis Napoleon found, might turn the trick. Since press convictions could strike anyone outside the contemporary power elite, demand for trial of press offenses before a jury gained wide support. Idealistic as well as practical arguments supplemented self-interest. The citizen regarded both press and jury as popular institutions: the press reported the multiplicity of events in society ; the jury consisted of members of this society who were capable of deciding whether or not a press action constituted an offense against the law. Since press cases differed from other legal cases by involving verbal reports, intentions, and statements of opinion rather than ascertainable facts and positive proofs, the legal status and the specific social effect of press actions could not be fairly decided by one or several professional judges. Constant argued in 1815 : Only a jury is able to determine whether a book or journal in the circumstances has or has not committed a crime. The written law is 260

CIVIL RIGHTS not able to cover all the nuances, to be equal to everything. The general reason, the natural good sense of all men, appreciates those nuances, and juries are the representatives of the general reason.64

In the first half of the century France restricted jury service to that elite group which owned the wealth of the country, voted, and read the press; thus, jury trial of press cases, its supporters contended, would assure sane and fair decisions.55 Like all institutions of truly, and even more of potentially, popular character, juries did not always act in accordance with expectations. Governments constantly complained that juries refused to convict. Jurymen often favored defendants and looked upon the press without alarm. Inexperienced in press cases and confused by legal concepts, juries, and lawyers as well, were frequently uncertain about their role.56 In France under Louis Philippe juries were chosen annually by lot; actually the prefects drew up the list of jurors, and wherever possible they selected members acceptable to the government. Legal procedures enabled the state's attorney to appeal to the prejudices of juries. As courts did not observe strict rules of evidence, the state's attorney . . . could enlarge upon every kind of political and social topic, haranguing the jury on the dangers of communism in the trial of a republican editor and denouncing the wickedness of aristocratic pretensions in the trial of a legitimist editor. He could discourse upon the bad character and previous convictions of the accused, whether these had been put in issue by the defense or not, and in the case of a republican editor evidence of this kind was usually extensive. The prosecution could hamper the defense and confuse the jury by trying one prisoner on a variety of charges or by bringing one charge against a motley selection of prisoners, and it was not unlikely that republican and legitimist editors would find themselves in the box together, accused of provoking hatred and contempt of the government.57

Advocates of jury trial occasionally acknowledged that a jury, even when selected from the responsible middle class, did not possess the prerequisites for deciding issues of such delicacy and complexity. The German poet Eichendorff advocated the creation of a special court for press offenses, whose members should have a "scholarly education." He recommended that the jury or court (he used the words interchangeably) be composed of provincial administrators, university professors, members of superior courts, and deputies of town magistracies. A single court of this kind, for example in Berlin, would not suffice for the entire state, both because of distance and because it would not be acquainted with local 261

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and personal relations affecting the case. Eichendorff proposed that a court be established at the seat of each university, with a court of appeal in Berlin. A court would not merely decide guilt but the penalty as well, for "application of the law is always very simple and the jury would contain legally trained members." 58 Like many other persons, especially before 1848, Eichendorff thought of censorship as pertaining primarily to the writings of an elite group. He had in mind essentially a liberalized Old Regime; he knew little at firsthand about the kind of press that existed in France. The duties of press censorship ordinarily but not always fell to subordinate or even minor officials. Opponents of censorship complained constantly that these petty officials were ignorant and arbitrary. Constant denounced them as bureaucratic tyrants. Beidtel identified the Austrian censors as follows: Officially they were directors of faculties at the University of Vienna together with a few other individuals. No one among them was an important author. In reality as persons already fully occupied they turned the manuscripts over to professors, private tutors, priests, lesser officials. These readers received strict instructions to refer those manuscripts that in any way dealt with the state, its principles, laws and institutions, to the department or departments responsible for the activity discussed. Again lesser officials exercised the real power of decision.59

In central and eastern Europe, with the exception of a few German states, censorship came under no such control as that offered by parliament and its related institutions. The population felt the full impact of bureaucratic despotism. Denial of freedom of press [Mevissen wrote before 1848] assures to the bureaucracy its preponderant weight in matters of state. It prevents public, factual discussion and greatly increases the difficulty of organizing political parties. Thus it is absolutely necessary to the gradually awakening political need of the people to create for itself the required organ in the press.60

In countries under absolutism the exercise of censorship varied in degree of severity. Russia, where the czar's will was law, acted without respect for legality. Prussia, other German states, and Austria might exploit the law to justify arbitrary action. The exserf A. V. Nikitenko (1804-1877), who became a professor at St. Petersburg University, has recorded his experience as a censor. The law of 1837 distressed him by requiring each newspaper article to be approved by two separate censors supervised by a third. He wrote in his diary that the Ministry of Public Instruction required 262

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philosophy to conform to an official program; teachers of logic had to show that the laws of reason did not exist, and teachers of history must transform Greek and Roman republics into Turkish or Mongol absolute monarchies.61 Thirty-five years later Nikitenko denounced the censorship for being as savage as it had been under Nicholas I: it paralyzed Russia's forces, he declared.62 In their petition of 1845 Austrian intellectuals declared that Austria had no law of censorship; they meant that the government forgot or ignored the law of 1810. They wrote: The situation of the press with respect to the censor is, alas, one devoid of legality. The writer is judged by norms which he does not know and is condemned without being heard and without being able to defend himself. The least handworker, the poorest day laborer, indeed every citizen finds in the law protection for his acts. Only the writer is defenseless. His manuscript is designated as "not permitted to be published"; he does not know why, and he must be silent.63

Possibly the Prussian decree of December 24, 1841, contained the quaintest guideline for the action of censors of all such directives: henceforth, King Frederick William IV declared, press criticism of state conditions and institutions must consciously aim at a "noble objective." 64 In the first half of the nineteenth century almost everyone agreed upon the need for a rational censorship. Few individuals had traveled so far along the road toward freedom as to favor personal self-confidence and laissez-faire over mistrustful paternalism. The proposals offered for a censorship that would be beneficial and equitable suggested, even revealed, the existence of a society in transition. Austrian intellectuals in 1845 asked that the censor's power be transferred from the police to other hands. They argued . . . that the institution of the censor as a literary judicature pertains to a scholarly profession, and an effort must be made to keep it at the height of scholarly progress. This is a direction which one can hardly expect to be taken by the police, since they are fully occupied with their responsibility for public security, their preventive disposal of particular disturbances of the law, in the discovery of crime, etc.65

Writers saw little or no justification for censorship of scholarly works, and Eichendorff may be considered a typical exponent of this view. After approving the control of newspapers and pamphlets, he wrote: . . . it is that deeper seriousness, that fruitful, fundamental research alone that in all periods erects new goals and breaks new ground. And

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this is necessarily the subject of scholarly discussion and can be transformed into the practicable only through gradual change ; it can only be communicated vividly to the people in institutions. It is free and must remain so.. . . That the press can be misused and that it is necessary to prevent abuse we almost all agree. In case of scholarly investigations or larger literary works, the danger is small; these books are expensive and not easily comprehended, and they have only a small, educated public, which is fortified against the misrepresentations of narrowness of mind or malice. A preliminary censor is superfluous and unwise here, since in scholarly discussions the state authorities are not qualified to decide in matters of art or between truth and untruth and should avoid the appearance of wishing to do so.66 This esteem of the scholar and scholarly work held true to some extent in Prussia but not in Austria and Russia. Prussian scholars—Hegel, Ranke, and many others—developed theories capable of adjustment to existing situations and propounded general ideals acceptable as norms and objectives, with the result that the Prussian government tolerated them and even learned from them. Baron Andrian-Werburg in 1847 found the relation between public education and government to be very different for Austria : All that is intended in our gymnasia, lycées, universities and their like, whatever they may be called, is to educate officials as the governmental apparatus needs them—and God knows that this does not demand much. Physicians, lawyers, and priests, however, in Austria are almost the same as the so-called state officials. Our public educational institutions are therefore really not much different from cadet academies for civilians, where a certain subject is taught in so many hours by the same and the only professor, always from one and the same textbook chosen by the government. It is understandable that under such instructional methods no great gain for knowledge can emerge.67 Newspapers and other popular publications caused the greatest concern to governments and the educated public. In an earlier society news had been confined to the private circle of an elite; however in the emerging society, news tended to gravitate to the public category. Neither editors, popular writers, nor readers had yet learned to distinguish legitimate news from libel or news of significance to public welfare from malicious gossip. In the early years of the Restoration Constant lamented : Active egoism and lazy egoism contend for our time. The journals that present themselves without our having to look for them; that divert the busy man for a moment because they are short, the frivolous man because they do not demand attention ; that court the reader without holding him and take him captive precisely because 264

CIVIL RIGHTS they do not pretend to dominate him; finally, journals that seize him before he is absorbed or fatigued by the interests of the day—these things are almost the only reading material. This assertion, true for Paris, is still truer of the departments. The works not discussed in the newspapers remain unknown; those that they condemn are rejected.68

A few years later Sismondi from the vantage point of Switzerland noted the shortcomings of the press: All power that is exercised with a view to gain should excite distrust, for it is in the way of being corrupted. The daily press is a power, and its object is not public good but to get the largest number of subscribers. It is not for the advantage of the country; it is that it may be read that a newspaper attacks the institutions of the country, lessens consideration for those in power, plants thorns on every public career, drives from it all those who have not by intrigue acquired a front of brass, spies out the secrets of the state, proclaims its weakness or its irresolution, and reveals its projects to the enemies of the country as well as to its readers. Publicity is no doubt an immense progress in social science, but venal publicity is often an advantage obtained by crime.69

And Sismondi continued: We believe that every nation in Europe would gain by the abolition of the censorship on books; but that only a small number of them could bear its abolition on newspapers. Men of letters must have been long exercised in all the branches of social science before they have learned how to teach the people, before they can be allowed to make their opinions prevail by repeating them every day in the ears of unreflecting minds. In the great free states where the loftiest interests are undergoing discussion, superior men have been seen to descend lightly armed into that arena, and engage in a daily skirmish which has really matured the public mind. In these same states the companies of proprietors of the celebrated journals are so opulent as to attract superior talent among young men still seeking a profession, and who are equally greedy of applause and of ready money. Thus has been formed in Paris and London a school of daily writers, who join to promptitude in labour all the piquancy of mind and elegance of style of the first masters in the art. It was thought that a country might have this advantage without renouncing that of higher kinds of literature. Experience seems to show at this time that it is not so. Such high rewards have been given to facility, and to literature not requiring labour, as to discourage studious men, and thin their ranks. The public particularly, spoiled by the daily press, has by degrees abandoned all reading which requires application and patience. The booksellers of the two great nations which give an impulse to the mind of Europe, agree in saying that the public does not want books, and that they find no sale for the books they publish, except in the countries where they are prohibited. 265

CIVIL RIGHTS In France and England, at least, the daily press makes us feel that they are masters in the art of fencing whom we see combating before us. But in those countries where few thinkers have employed their minds on any of the higher political questions, where writers as well as other citizens are ignorant of almost all the social sciences, when all at once the career of journals is opened to all those who can hold a pen, we are alarmed at the flood of commonplaces, of false ideas and of low passions with which the public is inundated. To make any impression on this public by a book, there must be always, at least, a certain quantity of talent, a certain accumulation of knowledge, a certain fund of ideas, otherwise the book falls from the hands of the reader, or remains with the bookseller. But people subscribe to a newspaper without knowing what it will contain, they read it in a spirit of idleness between half asleep and waking, and they lay it down without reflection, and without giving much credit to what it says: and yet the repetition, day after day, of the same assertions, the same dogmas, or the same calumnies, leaves a deeper impression on the mind than would perhaps have been produced by an opinion subjected to sober examination and serious study. If we run over those journals which have appeared at the period of the suppression of the censorship in revolutionized countries, we shall be alarmed at the ignorance, the prejudices, the virulent passions which are revealed in every line, we shall be ashamed at the degradation of letters caused by such pretenders; and if we reflect that the most distinguished pamphlets cannot compete with the most miserable newspapers, we shall feel that the influence they are allowed to exercise on the public mind, an influence which stifles true talent, would be destructive of all that progress of mind, of all that enlightened discussion, which springs from true liberty.70 In central and western Europe after 1848 a code of newspaper conduct had yet to mature, and the public had still to become accustomed to seeing in print items about itself and about state affairs. Several decades later in a letter to Czar Alexander III the Russian statesman Pobiedonostsev reiterated and sharpened the condemnation. As its most urgent duty, he wrote, modern government must quiet "agitated and unstable minds" and the "ignorant chatter" about public affairs. Until the ruler curbed freedom of press, people would not be content in their limited sphere of activity and no basic reforms could be undertaken. At present, he complained, "any vagabond babbler or cunning tradesman" may establish a newspaper and win readers for it as an organ of public opinion. He noted the reliance on sensationalism in order to gain readers; newspapers thus became instruments of discontent, demoralization, national dissolution. He acknowledged the need for a large measure of freedom for scholarship, but he denied that newspapers qualified 266

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as organs of learning. The press, he declared, needs "more impediments and not more liberty." 71 The conditions Pobiedonostsev described resembled those in France and even in Central Europe in 1815: Pobiedonostsev and men of similar views had doubts about the press such as were being resolved in other states at this time by new social standards. Introduction of constitutions, parliaments, elections, and other public institutions forced government and public to search for a form of censorship that would satisfy both press and public. The search proved difficult because it entailed a new concept of public interest and of governmental function. Another and almost insurmountable difficulty lay in the lack of personnel to assume censorship duties. Eichendorff believed that the ideal censor could be found, describing him as a "considerate, educated man of sound views and knowledge of affairs." Such a censor would follow continuously the publications and would publish "corrections of attacks that occurred, insofar as they deserved attention, or refutations based on true points of view." 72 Eichendorff's description of the censor has the qualities of Biedermeier innocence and reflects the isolation from practicalities of public life which characterized German experience in social affairs. Reality was different. Persons of dignity and self-respect avoided the post of censor, and frequently those willing to take it had the pedantic and suspicious characteristics that made them inconsistent and arbitrary. Emperor Francis I, who could easily have doubled for a censor, ridiculed the officials but approved their repressive action against social change. In Russia Nikitenko, who understood the effects of censorship upon the personality of the censor, spoke of his fear to assume responsibility. The censor dared not deviate from the official line of policy and thus was overly cautious in his "silent servility." Self-respect and personal integrity, Nikitenko suggested, were being replaced by a hypocrisy that had become second nature.73 Inability to find good censors finally brought the entire system into disrepute. When in 1881 the French parliament legally introduced freedom of press, it adduced as conclusive argument the negative fact of failure to find an equitable method of control. Censorship shared the fate of absolutism and caste-privilege. The absolutist governments of Prussia and Austria learned in the years before 1848 that they needed the advice the public could give; without it they misinterpreted desires now amounting to demands on the part of restless and ambitious elements.74 Bureaucracies failed to keep contact with even the most important economic, 267

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religious, and social leaders. The public had ways of demonstrating its views—in spontaneous actions, in petitions, in the proceedings of provincial Landtage—that could not be entirely ignored, especially when events abroad and at home subsequently proved critics to have been correct. The need for railroads, for new banking facilities, for financial aid to a region suffering from English commerical competition made itself felt sooner or later. The bureaucracy learned that it had to act. A free press would have spared it much trouble and loss of prestige by informing it of conditions and opinions in advance. The critical speeches of the deputies in the United Landtag in 1847 shocked the king of Prussia and his advisers; the outbreak of the revolution in 1848 clinched the argument. Surprised and temporarily out of control, monarchs and their governments in the interests of self-preservation allowed some freedom of press. Censorship continued but in a milder or subtler form than before. Government of authoritarian character, like that of Louis Napoleon or of Bismarck, learned how to combine constitutionality with authoritarianism and seeming freedom of press with considerable control of it, less by direct censorship than by indirect use of secret subsidies, curbs on the rights to establish a press, requirements about publication of official communications, and partiality to favored presses in the dissemination of news. Under such limitations Germany and Austria introduced a system of freedom of the press that enabled the government to be acquainted with and to influence public opinion. The leading social group of the Old Regime learned that it too might not survive without the right to express its ideas in public. Reactionary members claimed freedom of press so that they could spread their theories, hoping to achieve the power necessary to crush popular freedom and restore conditions that existed during absolutism or, better still, before absolutism. From the beginning of the century nobles of conservative views had recognized the value of a free press. They had mistrusted and opposed efforts of absolute monarchs and reactionary advisers to restore the Old Regime in France and Italy and in those parts of Central Europe where reforms had been instituted. As time passed and conditions changed, in Central Europe conservatives and some reactionaries deplored the effect of censorship upon the position of the nobility. In the Landtag of Lower Austria in 1847 the reactionaries refused to budge from their attitude, but a group of fifteen conservative deputies urged the government to introduce a program of wholesale reform which would include liberalization of communal govern268

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ment, increased representation of the lower classes in the provincial assemblies, extension and improvement of education, basic changes in lord-peasant relations in favor of freedom, and a considerable relaxation of censorship. The material and spiritual development of the country [the petitioners stated] advances farther today in decades than it formerly did in centuries. Social and political conditions have a complexity and have attained such significance that no assembly even if composed of the ablest members of all Estates can flatter itself into believing that it can throw its light into all the profundities of state life and confidently solve all problems. The present restrictions of censorship suffocate the advice of the Estates. They likewise sever the spiritual ties between the Estates and the province that these represent by compelling secrecy of the deliberations of the Estates; they render the aims of the Estates suspicious, withdraw the confidence of the province from its sole political body and thus threaten to place all historic rights in question.75

Speaking in the Landtag for his fourteen colleagues, some of whom were members of distinguished aristocratic families, Baron Doblhoff voiced opinions identical with those of the liberal bourgeoisie. All classes ardently desire and urgently need this reform, he said. Public opinion has shown increasing strength and is penetrating to the masses. It is certain, he declared, "that this force bears within itself the nature of an elemental power, which if directly opposed will become violent and destructive but if directed into a free but regulated, legal course will become a clear, harmless and beneficial stream."76 As public opinion became a fact within the absolutistic states, reactionaries and conservatives faced a dilemma: if they supported freedom of press, they aided liberalism; if they rejected it, they deprived themselves of an effective weapon. Nobles saw the use of a free press to overcome the threat to themselves from a misinformed public as more than desirable. Competition for popular support, already present before the introduction of constitutional government, placed the press at the center of attention. In most European countries by approximately 1875-80 a new society had consummated in legal form its victory over absolutism and the Old Regime. Austria wrote the rights of free press in the laws of 1862 and 1868; Germany in the imperial law of 1874, which supplanted all state laws. The imperfect Russian laws of 1905 and 1906 were never executed.77 In France the press law of 1881 attested to the eclipse of the power of the upper bourgeoisie. 269

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Italy at the time of unification and Spain in 1883 passed similar laws. Legislation regarding the press aimed to assure freedom of publication to government and the upper classes and to prevent workers and opponents of the national state from exploiting the press for undesirable social objectives. On the whole, the moral force sustaining the concept of freedom gained a victory, and by 1914 enforcement of the press laws was governed by a milder interpretation of these laws than had prevailed at the date of their passage. All national press laws contained clauses that on occasion could be interpreted against opponents of the state. The Austrian law allowed so much power to the government that Austria did not need the Exceptional Laws—laws against socialists and communists passed and enforced in Germany from 1878 to 1890 and in France from 1871 to 1879 and laws against anarchists passed by France in 1894 and by Italy in 1889. In Italy from the time of unification until 1906 the state's attorney in each province could confiscate any issue of a newspaper he thought included illegal material.78 The Austrian government retained a practice common to absolute government everywhere, that of placing the entire publishing business— printing, bookselling, lending libraries, and reading rooms—under a system of official concession to those showing "reliability and integrity." Enforcement of this anachronistic system would have sufficed to assure a reliable press; the Austrian government, in addition, retained until 1894 a provision requiring the deposit of caution money, and also required an official and costly stamp until 1899. Such government-imposed expenses prevented the healthy development of a local press. Large-scale capital dominated and exploited the press in the interests of finance and big business, although the government had not intended this result. Government prosecuted the socialist press; but as the Socialists grew in numbers and their trade unions increased in strength, the political risk of curbing their press became too great to bear, and the press of the nationality groups also proved less and less amenable. By 1914, in spite of the law, Austria in practice had a relatively free press. German and French laws, although asserting the principle of freedom of press, contained clauses that could have been interpreted in a sense almost as restrictive as those of Austria. Article 21 of the German law read: If the content of a publication supports the actual fact of a punishable action, the responsible editor, the publisher, the printer, the distributor . . . are to be punished.. . ,79

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What was a punishable action ? It could be a strike, the expression of socialist opinions—a wide variety of offenses, depending upon the point of view and upon other laws. Both the German and the French press laws dropped the previous requirements of caution money, concession, and good reputation. The French law likewise excluded as a basis for prosecution of the press expressions of disrespect for government, attacks on the concept of property or on freedom of worship, and respect for the laws. As Eugène Pelleton stated in the Senate at the time of the passage of the law : The bill resolutely sets aside all those imaginary dangers, all the arbitrary crimes, which were reminders of the Middle Ages strayed into modern legislation. It makes good public sense the sole judge of doctrines; it relieves the ordinary judge of the embarrassing burden of deciding from his high position whether an idea is an error and if that error is a danger. 80

The law included, however, a list of offenses for which the press could be tried by jury; and this list contained many acts of which either a Socialist or a rightist Catholic might be guilty—insult to the president of the Republic, outrage to public morals, defamation of public authorities of all kinds and grades.81 The nature of government reaction depended not so much upon the terms of the law as upon the interpretation of the terms, and as in Austria, the interpretation became less inclusive with the passage of time and with the decrease in social antagonism. Germany and Austria controlled the press by curbing distribution. German conditions may serve as an example. Except for newspapers, the rural population obtained its reading materials from itinerant hawkers. In order to prevent the spread of undesirable matter the government required hawkers to be licensed and to submit the list of their literary offerings for approval by each local police. Although the law allowed appeal of cases involving refusal or withdrawal of a permit, a rural peddler of cheap reading matter would rarely if ever resist the dictates of local officials by seeking justice in court. The law could benefit the public by raising the level of the reading materials, or it could be applied to withhold literature that might be of particular interest to the lower classes— socialist, cooperative, democratic, and rationalistic writings ; writings in favor of the dissolution of the large estates for the benefit of the peasantry; writings favorable to trade unions—and to spread among them ideas favorable to aristocrat and bourgeois. Few data exist concerning police interpretation of the law. The fact that the peasantry continued to 1914 as a well-defined class, and the fact 271

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that despite its largely peasant origin the urban proletariat did not join forces with the peasantry to advocate reforms favorable to each or to both classes, appear to argue favorably for the effectiveness of the government's policy. FREEDOM OF ASSEMBLY AND ASSOCIATION Except in France the issue of freedom of assembly and association arose later in the century than did that of freedom of press.82 In France the Revolution assured the right of assembly, which persisted to the time of Napoleon; but by the Le Chapelier law of 1791 the revolutionists suppressed the right of association. In those countries of central and western Europe where revolution did not occur, or had not succeeded, critics gave priority to the demand for freedom of press. Only after this right had gained recognition could they sustain a campaign for the rights of assembly and association. Thinking everywhere took the same line. Count Dubouchage, addressing the French Chamber of Peers in 1834, argued as follows : "Freedom of the press is only an auxiliary right, but speech is a natural right. Thus man has the inalienable right of freedom of communication by means of both the oral and the written word." He went on to state : Citizens have the right of associating with one another in order to express their opinions orally, to prepare for action, to execute those thoughts which they have discussed in print but which as long as they remain merely in print and are not translated by assemblies and associations into action remain mere thoughts. Freedom of press attends to the prerequisites; right of assembly and association provides the means for action. . . . A poor, weak being without protection begins to think of the need he has to associate himself with others to resist injustice or to make his legitimate demands count. . . . Speech is a social bond. It exists to be used, but it can hardly be used without the right of association.83

All groups aware of the importance of public activity and opposed to official policies, whether these groups stood on the left or on the right of the government, advocated freedom of assembly and association. Not merely in France but in absolutistic Austria and Germany and, though to a much less extent, in autocratic Russia the ultraconservatives sought these rights in order to be able to condemn governmental action. The programmatic demand and persistent pressure came from the liberals, a term applied here to almost all those articulate individuals ranged between the government and 272

CIVIL RIGHTS the conservatives on the one hand and the urban working masses and peasantry on the other. This large group drawn from the middle and upper classes and using the battle cry of civil rights personified the need to find new social relations as the expression of new interests. As the Brockhaus Encyclopedia of 1838 stated: We live in a period in which the various branches of human activity can no longer be contained within the measured circles in which they had moved for centuries. Hence the tendency toward multifold new combinations of these activities must come to the fore all the more decisively in order to achieve more positive advantages and in order to fend off real or threatening evils.84 The prospect of freedom of assembly and association caused governments great alarm. They might protest most against the wicked press, but they strove longest and most persistently of all to curtail exercise of the right of assembly and association. As the workers grew conscious of their need for this right and began to assemble in order to organize themselves, bourgeois proponents of civil rights aligned with government to resist their efforts. The motives of both the government and the bourgeoisie seem evident. As power groups, both responded in accordance with the laws of nature against the efforts of the submerged groups to improve their position through their own initiative. The transformation within the social structure that would occur once freedom of assembly and association prevailed can be appreciated by comparing the institutions of the Old Regime with those sought in the nineteenth century. Absolutism had subjected the Estates, guilds, and professions to legal regulation and governmental supervision. Each organization knew its rights and duties; each held assemblies and drafted documents in keeping with its legitimate functions. Each had some essential relations with the others, but conditions of life were so localized that a sense of interdependence rarely presented any threat to the established political and social order. Freedom of assembly and especially of association would undermine the social structure by permitting new social alignments. Older organizations had been public or semipublic; the new ones under freedom would be private or semiprivate. The point of emphasis would shift from the organized body to the individual, from regulation to freedom, from dependence to self-reliance, from restriction of personal action to individual initiative, from the closed to the open corporation. Transformation of attitude would express itself in new institutions. 273

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The search for new institutions and organizations begun under enlightened despotism now accelerated in pace and broadened in scope as the middle class and later the proletariat experimented with means to achieve new goals. Since these means did not exist, they could be shaped only after trial and error. The search for them fills the institutional history of the nineteenth century, which in its turn sets the framework of social and political history of the period. Business organizations, corporate banks, railroad companies, associations of lawyers, associations of writers, learned societies, political parties, trade unions—one may expand the list indefinitely and yet scarcely exhaust the expression of free associations, some ephemeral, some long-lived, which the explosive energy of this imaginative age produced. By comparison the society of the Old Regime seems both complicated within its system of privilege and simple because of its formal reliance upon legal definition. Civil rights, especially freedom of assembly and association, provided means to release social energy. The social significance of freedom of assembly and association differed according to country and circumstances. During most of the century France appears to have shown the greatest activity; least concerned with these freedoms were those areas of the Balkans and Russia where herdsmen drove their flocks from pasture to pasture and adult males assembled informally to discuss common affairs. The absolute monarchs had come to power either by destroying the Estates' right of assembly or by depriving these traditional assemblies of control over important matters. In the early nineteenth century the vestiges of local or provincial assemblies constituted almost the only means of exercising the right of assembly under absolutism. The Estates did not claim freedom of assembly in the liberal sense ; their presence, however, created a precedent for representative groups to meet regularly and to assume power over policy matters. A change in the composition of these assemblies and in the source of their power would make them exponents of liberalism, irrespective of intention. In a country like Austria or Prussia the first major victory for freedom of assembly occurred with the transformation of local and provincial assemblies of Estates into representative bodies of the people armed with constitutional powers. In comparison with the right of association the general right of assembly put forward in the liberals' program appears much less important. Writing in the early 1840's Baron Andrian-Werburg discussed at length the civil right of freedom of press and the rights 274

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of the Estates to meet, but he did not mention the further right of freedom of assembly. Austria had not changed sufficiently in social composition for this right to appear necessary. As the nineteenth century progressed, however, the assemblies and associations embedded within the former society proved to be less and less useful. Informal personal relations between the nobility and the monarch and his court no longer sufficed to settle their problems, not to mention those of the other Estates and social groups. Nobles found it essential regularly to convene their assemblies, in which they would be empowered to decide issues. Some desired the introduction of constitutional government, even with a central parliament.85 Bourgeois groups added their demands for assembly and by 1848 assumed the initiative in seeking reform. Peasants and workers sprang into action, too frequently for the comfort of the upper classes, with their traditional means of protest—in the rural areas, burning of manors, slaughter of livestock, and assassinations; in the towns, riots, destruction of machinery, attacks on employers and their homes, and strikes. Even before 1848 individuals widely acknowledged the right of assembly to be less dangerous to society than deeds of violence, provided assemblies could be subjected to precautionary control. An inexperienced population had to learn the proper way to conduct an assembly and to organize and operate an association. The few precedents did not offer useful guides. Aristocratic behavior in meetings of Estates, like that in the riotous Polish Sjem, the Hungarian Tables, and the often turbulent provincial and local Estates, failed to set a model for bourgeoisie or workers. The guilds and guild meetings had become so weak that workers scarcely knew their organization and procedures.86 Peasant assemblies took on a rough and ready character. The bourgeois and middle classes had had some experience in meetings of town councils, but membership had been so limited that few persons had become acquainted with rules of procedure. In 1848 deputies in the parliamentary bodies in Austria and Germany did not know how to conduct and use their assemblies. The Swiss writer Simonde de Sismondi vividly portrayed the risk involved in freedom of assembly. Writing in 1836 he asserted that "the usages, the opinions and the customs of the French do not yet render them fit to enjoy a degree of liberty of which the English preserve peaceful possession." 87 The English, he argued, "know how to meet in a public place or in a great country hall, there to discuss all political questions, to excite one another by passionate 275

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speeches, and afterwards to separate quietly, after having voted a series of resolutions or declarations of principle. The French would immediately pass from deliberation, from a profession of principles to action.. . ." Sismondi denied that what is . . . allowable to an Englishman ought to be allowable to a Frenchman ; their position is not the same; for one sees behind the law the respect of the people, love, and long habits; the other sees behind the law only the ruins which his arm has heaped up in preceding combats.88 The constitutional spirit [he continued] must make great progress in France, the people must learn to be proud of their constitution and of their laws, to feel that every attempt to overthrow them by violence would be a crime of high treason against themselves, before such free customs as those of the English can take footing.89

Sismondi's estimate of the fitness of other nations for freedom of assembly may be seen in his conclusion that "as far as the English are at this day superior to the French, in being able to bear a very strong dose of liberty without disturbance, so far are the French superior to all the other monarchical nations of the continent." 90 His argument ran: All other monarchies, which in the career of liberty are much behind France, cannot think of permitting assemblies, which even in France would be so dangerous. None of them have given their people the right to be content, to be proud of their constitution; none of them have accustomed them to look upon violence with horror. On the contrary, concessions have been probably wrested from their monarchs by fear; the temptation to demand others in the same way would be too powerful; the habit of thinking that the people and authority are in a state of warfare is too strongly rooted for the two armies to be ranged in order of battle opposite one another without imminent danger.91

From this verdict Sismondi excluded only the Swiss. Exercise of freedom of association suffered from similar shortcomings. Society knew and accepted associations that existed as part of the legal organization, and government regarded any other associations as illegal, secret, and therefore dangerous to law and order. The slow tempo of agrarian life persisted in most of Europe and prevented comprehension of the significance of free association to the organization and behavior of a transitional society. Absolute rulers and their officials resisted any conception of a society rich in private activity and organizations. In no way could they have anticipated the ideas and practices of the future pluralistic state. Fearing the possible disruptive effects of lack of uniformity, they had 276

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learned from religious wars and the Jacquerie to beware of minority groups and their associations. Any organization created by these groups threatened the unity of the state and the monarch's own existence.62 Rulers knew that the society lacked national homogeneity, and they mistrusted associations not recognized by and subservient to the government. The French revolutionists had shared this suspicion and had centralized government as a preventive. Circumstances beyond their control forced suspicious governments to allow some freedom of assembly and association. Few absolute monarchs could resist the temptation to increase the resources of the state and thereby to improve the state's position of power, even at the risk of disrupting the orderly life upon which their absolutism rested. Although many rulers of the early nineteenth century intensely disliked modern industry, railroads, market agriculture, and similar undertakings, they dared not deliberately hinder their growth. Contemporary life forced them to allow sufficient freedom for the press to supply economic and technological information; it also called for toleration of assemblies and associations essential to the development of new resources. Businessmen must be permitted to meet and to discuss common problems, to create new forms of business association, and to express their desires in public. Lawyers and other professional men, in their increasing numbers, must have the right to consider together their mutual interests. Scholars and teachers must be given rights of assembly and association as appropriate to their growing prestige. Moreover the urban proletariat was demanding recognition of its particular existence. Self-interest prompted absolutism to take its first steps toward freedom of assembly and association. Upperclass rule everywhere confronted the problem implicit in the dynamics of socal transformation; namely, that the transformation cannot be stopped at a given point chosen to secure the continuing domination of one class or group; it continues until its ideals have become institutionalized in ways appropriate to all the forces involved. Europe did not complete this process in the nineteenth century; however, it advanced so far in the recognition of civil rights that the outcome seemed evident. Legislation adopted regarding the right of assembly and association exhibited certain characteristics associated with a period of transition. Once the state recognized the indispensability of a modicum of freedom, each social group sought to obtain laws that would afford maximum power to its members. Government and the upper classes tried to discover how little delegation of power would be 277

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tolerable; the bourgeoisie and the liberal elements of the population aimed to attain freedom for themselves but not for the urban proletariat; the leaders of the workers, the Socialists and idealistic democrats, endeavored to obtain freedom of assembly and association for all. Although great differences existed between the laws drafted for exercise of this freedom in an authoritarian monarchy like Austria and in a constitutional state like France, the introduction of constitutional government everywhere rendered similar the nature of the issues. Irrespective of country, legal solutions tended to be identical for each stage of social development. In the initial stage beginning with the French Revolution, when demands became so serious as to require some satisfaction, and persisting in most of Europe through the entire century, governments devised means of controlling these rights.93 From the French laws of the 1790's to the first Russian laws in 1906 and the German laws of 1908, governments everywhere used approximately the same means of control in varying degrees of severity. The laws required official notification before calling any public meeting and before organizing any society not concerned with business or purely cultural affairs. An official agency must receive a copy of the agenda of a meeting and the statutes and all publications of an association; it must be supplied with the names of the chairman, of the members of the executive committee or board of directors, and of the persons attending the assembly or belonging to the association; it must be notified one day, several days, or even two weeks in advance of each assembly; or as a great concession, where assemblies occurred regularly and where the meeting received public announcement beforehand, the government, as in the case of Germany under the law of 1908, dispensed with the requirement of previous notification. On the other hand, it might go so far as to require official sanction for each assembly and each association, and the legal elimination of this restriction amounted to an important gain in the cause of freedom. The law might limit the number of persons permitted to attend an assembly without approval (the French law of 1834 fixed the number at twenty), and it prohibited either children under eighteen or women or both from attending certain kinds of meetings or belonging to certain associations. It forbade all assemblies in the open air without previous official consent, and it asserted the right for at least one policeman or other official to be present at an assembly; these officials were empowered to close the meeting if speakers strayed from the agenda or the meeting considered matters outside its jurisdiction as stated in the 278

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statutes, or in the event of any infraction of law and order. The law prohibited an association from having branches in the state or nation and required that associations be locally organized. It permitted political assemblies to be held freely at election time ; at all other times, however, it distinguished between political and nonpolitical assemblies and associations and applied to the former much more rigid controls.94 It imposed on violators penalties of fine and /or imprisonment of sufficient magnitude to advise caution, and in some instances it legalized preventive arrest or prohibition of association and meeting upon mere suspicion. The condemnatory arguments that opponents applied to the terms of the laws reveal the intentions of governments as well as the aspirations of critics. Every law divided the population into two groups. In France in the years before 1848 one group consisted of the pays légal, as the French called citizens with the power to vote and to serve on juries, and the other group was composed of everyone else. In Germany the law of 1908 aroused the accusation from those mainly affected by its terms—the Socialists, the Catholics, and the national minorities—that they continued to suffer the treatment of second-class citizens. In Russia the laws of 1906 did not greatly change the traditional division between officialdom and the rest of the population which before 1848 had characterized absolut i s t s societies of Central Europe. Critics condemned the terms of the laws as placing power of decision in the hands of the government. Where requests to hold a meeting or to form an association needed official approval, bureaucrats determined the legitimacy of purpose ; freedom could not be said to exist in such a situation. The power of a police official to close a meeting, even though higher authorities or the courts might subsequently review his decision, placed actual control over the assembly in the hands of subordinate officials ignorant of the law, untrained in its application, unacquainted with matters being discussed in the meeting, and likely to act severely for fear of doing too little rather than too much. Critics denounced the necessity of prior notification as preventing assemblies from discussing issues that arose suddenly and that called for quick action. They protested their inability to keep lists of members up to date. They found that the government stretched the term "political" to include almost every association and meeting whose purpose it mistrusted or disliked. The Social Democrats, the trade unionists, the Catholic lay societies in Germany, all with evidence in hand, accused officials of supplying employers or other interested groups with information that the latter used to dismiss and to 279

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blacklist personnel. Critics condemned preventive action like that in France after 1834 and in Austria after 1867 as arbitrary and unconstitutional. Exclusion of minors and often of women, they argued, kept these groups from learning about affairs of concern to their families; it deprived them of education in ideals different from those of the government, for example, those of socialism or democracy. At the end of the century the degree of control differed according to country. The Russian law of 1906 empowered the police to dissolve an assembly or association that threatened public security. Sweden had a similar rule of 1864 for assemblies, and Austria a law of 1867 for both assemblies and associations. In Hungary the statutes of associations had to be officially approved. The Portuguese law of 1886 provided police with powers more extensive than those of the French law of 1834; it included the French stipulation requiring official approval of all assemblies of more than twenty persons. Belgium, Denmark, Greece, and Rumania permitted freedom of assembly and association without the necessity of prior official approval, and associations could only be dissolved by court decree. The German law of 1908 not merely allowed assemblies to be held without previous official notification if sponsors gave public announcement beforehand, but also sanctioned the formation of associations without previous approval. The French regulations were complicated by persistent conflict between church and state, which culminated in 1905 in legal separation of these two institutions. The government's attitude may be seen in the fact that the fundamental provisions of the Napoleonic law of 1810 remained in effect until 1881. This law required previous official approval for either assembly or association, approval that by the law of 1834 could be rescinded at any time. The law of 1881 enabled public assemblies to be held freely, but not until 1907 did the government abolish the requirement of prior notification to the police. The law of 1834 permitted associations to be arbitrarily dissolved at any time. In 1901 French citizens obtained right of association without any necessity for previous consent of or notification to the government, and without any consideration of whether the association participated in politics. The law, however, contained a clause (Art. 3) of ambiguous meaning: "Any association formed for a cause or for an illicit purpose, contrary to the laws or to good customs, or which has for its object to attack the integrity of the national territorial state or the republican form of government is null and of no effect." What constituted an "illicit 280

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purpose"? What "good customs"? Advocacy of socialism no longer automatically entailed condemnation, since Socialists supported the ministry that passed the law. By basing the right of governmental ban upon vague generalities rather than upon the commission of a precise illegal act, however, the law permitted abuses.95 By the close of the century freedom of assembly and association, irrespective of the terms of the law, depended upon the character of the government, the political experience of the people, and the degree of harmony among social groups, that is upon the total cultural condition of the implementing nation-state. Germany, Austria, Sweden, and France interpreted and enforced almost identical legal regulations in quite different ways. In regard to social policy and social relations, labor disturbance and the like, on the eve of World War I the public in the leading countries of Europe complained constantly about police action against assemblies and associations and about court decisions in cases of civil rights. Either the judiciary as a whole acted severely, as in Germany, or where the lower courts close to the actual situation applied the law leniently, the higher courts reversed the decisions. Certainly, in comparison with conditions of the first half or three-fourths of the century, by 1914 the right of assembly and association existed and had even spread widely; but officialdom was still pervaded by a sense of its own superiority, and legislation and practice concerning civil rights continued to express upper-class interests and antagonism based on religion and nationality. In the last quarter of the nineteenth century the issue of civil rights in France and to a greater extent in Central Europe became as acute for a few large groups, if not for the general public, as it had been in the days of Metternich. All civil rights were called into question, one side withholding them, the other side demanding them in full. The withholders included governments run by liberal democrats, as in France, as well as conservative governments like that of Bismarck in Germany, supported by bourgeois liberal nationalists. The seekers consisted of two forces hostile to the government and to each other—the Catholic Church and the Socialists and trade unionists. At first the issues at stake seemed to concern the total way of life. The government, justifying its action by appeal to the rights of nationalism as contrasted with the natural rights of freedom of press, assembly, and association, brought against the two groups the full array of its power. Civil rights became the crux of the conflict. The prestige that civil rights had won over the years helped to determine the outcome of the strug281

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gle—a retreat of the government so extensive as to amount to defeat. In the Kvlturkampf, a term that applies to the conflict in France, Austria, and other states, as well as to that in Germany, the Church gained an almost complete freedom of press, assembly, and association. Governments retained restrictions upon the Socialists; but by 1914 they reduced the number of curbs and enforced the remaining ones far less stringently than they had before 1870 against the bourgeoisie. Although the Kulturkampf involved civil rights, the embattled groups shared largely similar views about the necessity for these rights. In this respect the conflict differed from that fought between absolutism and its aristocratic supporters on the one side and the bourgeoisie on the other. Bismarck disliked any freedom that curtailed his power; yet he accepted civil rights as practiced. His supporters in the conflict, victors in the battle for freedom against the Old Regime, could scarcely repudiate their principles. Many Catholics, especially in the hierarchy, still sought to restore the Old Regime. Pius IX in the Syllabus of Errors (1864) had condemned liberalism and particularly had denounced belief in freedom of speech and press. Since the Church no longer had sufficient prestige to control the policies of most governments regarding the press and other matters of civil rights, many churchmen advocated freedom in order to enable the Church without state interference to spread its beliefs. Neither side could distinguish its attitude toward civil rights from that of the other; each utilized civil rights for its own benefit and accused the other of violating these rights. Civil rights did not now imply social transformation, as they had in the earlier period; they were employed in the continuing struggle for power and position in a more rather than a less open society. They served as tools in a controversy over differences of political attitude toward the state—nationalism versus Catholic univeralism. The conflict, moreover, rapidly degenerated into one over freedom of religion, in which civil rights temporarily suffered but ultimately benefited. In the struggle between the dominant groups and socialism, civil rights likewise assumed a place of significance. The Socialists sought to spread their beliefs and to win followers to their cause through press, assemblies, and associations; the upper classes, both aristocracy and bourgeoisie, determined to suppress the movement through denial of all civil rights. Shocked by the Commune, the French government in 1872 passed an Exceptional Law against the Socialists; and after the attempted assassination of the emperor, Germany in 1878 approved a similar law. The Austrian laws al282

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ready contained provisions that enabled the Austrian government to act with speed and thoroughness. The French and German laws made mere membership in a socialist association punishable by fine and imprisonment. The German law contained a more elaborate statement of governmental power of repression than the French law and may be analyzed as an example of how many governments reacted. The German law prohibited assemblies, associations, and the press that supported socialism or communism and advocated the overthrow of existing society. If an organization such as a savings association became suspect, the police had full authority to attend all meetings, to inspect all books and minutes, to prohibit any resolution or action, and to control the funds of the group. Assemblies in which socialist endeavors appeared were to be dissolved, as were those in which the assumption of a socialist purpose seemed justified. Socialist publications became outlawed, and funds could not be collected for socialist ends. Anyone participating in a socialist organization as member or as officer, and anyone permitting the use of his quarters for a socialist assembly would be punished by fine or imprisonment or both. Anyone who participated in these socialist activities, even if unaware of the government prohibition against them, would be fined or imprisoned. Professional agitators in addition to being fined or imprisoned or both could be restricted in their right of residence; that is, they could be prohibited from residing in certain areas. Keepers of inns and taverns, liquor dealers, printers, booksellers, rental-library owners, owners of reading rooms, and distributors of publications, if discovered participating in the agitation, could be forbidden to pursue their occupations. As if it were not enough to prohibit associations, to forbid assemblies on suspicion, to deprive persons of their livelihood, and to prohibit them from living in certain places and to have any kind of press, the law included Article 28, which although intended to apply to Socialists could be used against liberals, democrats, conservatives, almost anyone. The article read as follows: For districts or communities that are threatened by activities with danger to public security, the following orders . . . can be issued for at most one year: 1) Assemblies may be held only with the previously gained permission of the police. This restriction does not apply to assemblies for the purpose of an election to the Reichstag or to the state representative body; 2) Dissemination of printed material on public roads, streets, plazas or other public places is prohibited;

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3) Persons who it is feared may endanger public safety or order can be denied the right to stay in a district or community; 4) The possession, carrying, importation and sale of weapons are forbidden, restricted or are dependent upon specific conditions.98

Liberals, democrats, and Catholics disliked some terms of the law while approving others. The clauses aimed at Socialists could be accepted and even welcomed; but many questioned whether Bismarck, the bureaucrats, and the police would stop at the Socialists. Would they interfere in the activities of political opponents of whatever persuasion? Bismarck clearly intended to obtain power sufficiently broad to curb liberal and Catholic critics, originally requesting much more authority than he received. The law like its equivalent in France contained more stringent terms than that devised by Metternich, the Bourbons, and the bourgeois elite under Louis Philippe. It remained in force in Germany as long as Bismarck continued as chancellor. According to the Socialist leader August Bebel in 1890, under the provisions of the law the government prohibited 155 publications that had appeared regularly and 1,200 other publications. It forced almost 900 persons to change residence. It initiated numerous processes, winning convictions in nearly 1,500 of them; and it dissolved 332 workers' associations of various kinds.97 Official sources reveal that the government banned 2,167 associations and publications.98 During the years of persecution, however, the Social Democratic party increased its following: in 1877 it received 493,000 votes; in 1890, 1,427,000 votes; in 1903, more than three million; and in 1912, 4,250,000. The trade unions grew from 90,000 members in 1888 to more than 300,000 in 1890. Thus denial of civil rights proved a boon to socialism. After 1890 the German government allowed the law against Socialists to lapse, and Socialists were then treated under the civil and criminal codes. France abolished its comparable law as early as 1879. In both these countries, in Italy, and in states using similar restrictive action under the ordinary laws covering press, assembly, and associations, the workers, who were primarily affected by virtue of their affiliation with trade unions and with socialism, were hereby alienated from the state. They felt compelled to oppose the government and the upper classes in order to gain a recognized place for themselves in a national social structure. By 1914 they had succeeded in commanding the grudging recognition of their civil rights. Whereas their political rights stood assured, their educational rights were severely limited; their economic rights, though recognized by some employers, were all but ignored by most large

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employers. Measured by the extent of their participation in the family of rights, in 1914 workers everywhere held only a kind of second-class citizenship. During the Kulturkampf and the conflict over socialism, the issue of civil rights entered a new stage. In an earlier period bourgeoisie and middle class had fought for these rights in behalf of individualism; they had won the battle and attained institutions roughly suited to their need. They could form corporations, participate in government by way of parliamentary assemblies, and organize and express themselves much as they wished. In the latter part of the century the urban proletariat and the national and religious minority groups shifted the emphasis of the civil rights issue from the individual to the social group. The argument of natural rights no longer sufficed to justify demands for civil rights. The upper classes now used "natural rights" to defend individualism, denying real civil rights to the little man by depriving him of the strength and power gained from organization. The upper classes thus employed a logic that in time degenerated into hypocrisy. Civil rights at this point needed to be translated into rights concerning specific organizations and institutions, to be implemented in laws pertaining to trade unions, national minorities, peasant associations, cooperatives, and numerous other concrete organizations that industrialism had produced. The bourgeoisie, especially, failed to anticipate or even to recognize the need; they were forced into this recognition, and although they constituted one of the main nationalistic elements in society, they antagonized the groups subject to their power, making them conscious of class and religious differences and weakening national unity. Lacking in social imagination, extraordinarily deficient in understanding the social effects of their own achievements, they created problems that remain unsolved in the twentieth century. Just after 1900 the Rhineland historian Joseph Hansen analyzed how decades of being denied the exercise of their civil rights had affected the German people. Although he referred specifically to the lack of freedom of press, his criticism applied as well to the deprivation of free discussion and action in assemblies and associations. The newspapers, he wrote of the situation around 1840, were caught between the rising political consciousness of the people and fear of the government. He characterized public speech as "dishonest, sly and confused." If the political training of our people in the past century has remained so far behind, and a clear conception of state objectives and state institutions is found only in small circles, the reason lies in good

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part in the humiliating system of political hypocrisy, which during the first half of the century prevented discussion of the great principles of political and spiritual life in an independent press guided by a public point of view."

The diagnosis held for almost all European countries. At the outbreak of World War I in Russia, Spain, much of Italy, and the Balkans the population remained less enlightened about governmental and political matters than the Central Europeans had been a century earlier. France also suffered from limitations upon civil rights prior to the victory of the Third Republic over Marshal MacMahon and his monarchical supporters. By 1914 the peoples of Europe had had little time and less opportunity to cultivate the potential of the individual to create an open society—four or five decades at most; and during much or all of this time those elements of the population in disagreement with dominant interest groups labored under sharp restrictions. These conditions did not favor the development of politically responsible peoples. The laws and practices concerning civil rights reveal social structure as yet far from stabilized; Europe had not achieved a society of industrialism.

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S

the right to participate in public affairs has qualified as one of the fundamental rights of man. Participation has ranged from serving on juries to voting, campaigning in electoral contests both individually and in organizations, and being a candidate for elective office, whether local or national. As shown above, the right has been intimately associated with the exercise of civil rights; yet political rights have a distinct area of activity. Civil rights allow the individual to find a place in society but do not in themselves indicate the nature of that place. Political rights do both: they afford a means of achieving social position, and they attempt to define the structure of society. In the search for a social organization to supplant that of the Old Regime, the forces of change in the nineteenth century learned that political rights enabled them to undermine caste and introduce a social structure adapted to their desires. They began to employ political rights for this purpose when the voters of Paris in 1789 instructed their representatives to the Estates General to support the principle that "all men are equal in rights," a principle that the Declaration of the Rights of Man (Art. I) later incorporated. By 1795 the French Revolutionists had found the social implications of the statement of equality in rights dangerous: exercise of equality could lead to Babeuf socialism and other forms of radicalism. The Belgian constitution (1831) restricted the formula to read "equality before the law," thereby leaving the way open for the law to reflect unequal changes in the structure of society and the place of the individual in society while imposing only one limitation upon social action; namely, that it should not violate the political right of equality before the law. In this form it came to be accepted as the liberal democratic ideal and to serve as the criterion for political rights. It is the purpose of this chapter and the three INCE THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY

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following to analyze the efforts toward implementing or obstructing these rights. The conflict between traditional and emerging society, together with the endeavors to stabilize society at one or another stage in the process of transformation, is nowhere more clearly revealed than in the story of political rights. Political activity occurs within every regime; caste society in Europe in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries offered no exception. At the court and in the provinces it assumed the form of intrigue among a select few of the upper classes. By means of personal connections nobles acquired special favor, since each count, baron, or squire claimed distinction and regarded himself as worthy of privilege. Members of the lower classes, taking their cue from this type of politics, likewise aspired to personal favor from divine-right monarch or divine-right lord, both reputed to perform miracles. Such politics customarily moved within secret channels and worked against clarification of issues, mutual respect, and a sense of responsibility for the common welfare. Intent upon an egocentric objective, the actor took no account of the relation between his interest and the general good; or if on occasion he formulated a social ideal as justification for activity, he coarsened the effect by using antisocial means. Politics consisted of exploitation by members of a caste; it had little in common with the politics of the polis, except that it perfected methods of intrigue, which the society of industrialism inherited and often applied. A description of the spectrum of political rights and political institutions in the nineteenth century would place the rights and institutions of the French Revolution at one end, customarily called the Left, and those of Russia at the opposite extreme. Czarist autocracy harbored the most elementary conception of political life, persisting in the divine-right theory and condemning all its critics, mild or bomb-tossing, into a common category. Most adherents to the absolutistic form of government and society, irrespective of country, shared this belief in a simple dualism. Those in central and western Europe, however, felt the impact of the French Revolution and Napoleonic conquests upon their country to a much greater extent than did Russia; and after liberation from the French emperor, they faced conditions that raised serious doubts about the possibility of a return to the past. Some rulers wished to take the meaning of the word "restoration" literally and argued only over the date of the model. Others wished not to restore former institutions and mores but to assure the economic, moral and politi288

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cal, military, and educational viability of existing society, trusting to discover appropriate institutions for accomplishing this objective. If monarchs had been as absolute as they professed to be, a purge at court might have resolved disagreement over standards and objectives. Development of a bureaucracy and a large army, however, had enhanced the authority of the monarch while simultaneously imposing restraints upon the monarchy. The army and officialdom possessed such power that the monarch could neither dispense with them nor subject them entirely to his personal will; thus by experimentation extending over several decades he made the necessary adaption to a new situation. The army proved to be more trustworthy and less political than the bureaucracy, which early became the center of political conflict. Indeed, political parties trace their origin to the clash of political ideals among bureaucrats. In a long memorandum of October, 1819, to his king, the Protestant Prussian bishop Eylert clearly distinguished two bureaucratic factions, which in constitutional states with representative assemblies were soon to broaden into political parties. The Bishop praised those officials who loyally supported the king, wished to execute the ruler's orders, and sought to return to the habits of modesty, frugality, and obedience of the period prior to the Stein-Hardenberg reforms. He warned the king against officials who continued to demand reforms. These officials, he lamented, trained in the gymnasia, the universities, and the Church, introduced the spirit of unrest and aroused "the danger of the overthrow of all legal order" by their advocacy of "biased and eccentric concepts of folk power, folk rights, freedom and equality, coming of age of the nation, its deserts and claims, prerogatives of the higher Estates, capacity for self-government, necessity of a representative constitution." "The state," he declared, "carries its most dangerous enemy in its own bosom." Those officials, loud, imprudent, and bitter in their criticism, oppose the will of the king, causing "the great misfortune of half measures." The Bishop urged Frederick William III to restore "fear of the law-giver and of the law"; otherwise discipline and order are impossible, he held, and "without fear and discipline not even the smallest household can survive, not to speak of the state." Instead of splitting into two groups, officials should work in unity: Everywhere there is the wish that the King would use the present opportune time to declare with threatening seriousness that all agencies must act in his spirit, that everyone who acts contrary to his

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aims will be dismissed, that in appointing officials, especially for important positions there be as much regard for loyalty in ideas as f o r intellectual qualifications. Bishop Eylert proposed the purge of the reform faction in favor of those officials devoted body and soul to the absolute monarchy. A t about the same time Metternich urged upon the king of Prussia a plan of action identical with that of the Protestant bishop. A year later, in 1820, he sent a long statement of his political faith to the czar, whose seeming lapse from absolutistic grace caused worry. In this document Metternich offered one of the most revealing portrayals of contemporary political creed that we possess. He posed the fundamental issue in its long-term significance: Kings have to calculate the chances of their very existence in the immediate future. [He was a little premature in his timing; it took longer for kings to be eliminated.] Passions are let loose, and these league together to overthrow everything which society respects as the basis of its existence; religion, public morality, laws, customs, rights and duties, all are attacked, confounded, overthrown or called into question. 2 If one accepts Metternich's association of "religion, public morality" with a particular form of society, the fabric of society in fact stood in danger and during the next hundred years experienced profound change. "Passions" may be too strong a term to apply to liberals and other critics of the existing regime; but Metternich clarified the content of the term as he continued the analysis. The word conveys the sense of moral conflict between two ways of life. Metternich explained this "passionate" attitude of critics as based on presumption, "the natural effect of the rapid progression of the human mind toward the perfecting of so many things," and in words that indirectly disclose his standards he portrayed the beliefs and acts of the "presumptuous" man: Religion, morality, legislation, economy, politics, administration, all have become common and accessible to everyone. Knowledge seems to come by inspiration; experience has no value f o r the presumptuous man; faith is nothing to him; he substitutes f o r it a pretended individual conviction, and to arrive at this conviction, he dispenses with all inquiry and with all study, for these means appear too trivial to a mind which believes itself strong enough to embrace at one glance all questions and facts. Laws have no value for him because he has not contributed to make them, and it would be beneath a man of his parts to recognize the limits traced by rude and ignorant generations. Power resides in himself; why should he submit himself to that which was only useful for the man deprived of light and knowledge? That which, according to him, was required in the age of weakness

290

THE CONCEPTUAL AND LEGAL SETTING OF POLITICAL RIGHTS cannot be suitable in an age of reason and vigor, amounting to universal perfection, which the German innovators designate by the idea, absurd in itself, of the Emancipation of People! Morality itself he does not attack openly, for without it he could not be sure for a single instant of his own existence; but he interprets its essence after his own fashion, and allows every other person to do so likewise, provided that other person neither kills nor robs him.3

The description elaborated by Metternich identified the liberal of the Enlightenment, who becomes the future "political man," the party worker, the aspiring legislator, the individualist ("Power resides in himself") who interprets the essence of morality "after his own fashion and allows every other person to do likewise, provided that other person neither kills nor robs him." The Austrian statesman therein offered the conservative version of the assertion in the Declaration of the Rights of Man, "Liberty consists in the power to do anything that does not injure others" (Art. 4). Metternich found that this presumptuous man aimed to "individualize all the elements of which society is composed," to "create in favor of each individual an existence entirely independent of all authority, or of any other will than his own, an idea absurd and contrary to the nature of man, and incompatible with the needs of human society." 4 He believed that these presumptuous men had been present "in the palaces of Kings, in the drawing rooms and boudoirs of certain cities" 5 where, he said, "the revolution was already completed" before it actually occurred, for these persons had lost faith in God and in orthodox religion, the foundation of all social order. At present "the agitated classes are principally composed of wealthy men—real cosmospolitans, securing their personal advantage at the expense of any order of things whatever—paid state officials, men of letters, and the individuals charged with the public education. To these classes may be added that of the falsely ambitious, whose number is never considerable among the lower orders, but is larger in the higher ranks of society." Metternich did not mention the group of industrial bourgeoisie and the group of scientists and technologists, which soon thereafter supplied most power behind the party of presumption, the party of "lost spirits."6 In 1820 this group scarcely existed in Russia, Spain, or Italy, had barely begun to emerge in Austria, and numbered very few in Germany or France. Metternich identified the "intermediary class placed between the kings and their subjects" with occupations of the Old Regime—officials, educators, lawyers, professional men, rather than with a vigorous urban class.7 He rejected a German liberal definition of public opinion as "the will of the strong man in 291

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the spirit of the party" ; 8 he condemned "faction" and denounced "Levellers" and "Doctrinaires."9 Let monarchs "not confound concessions made to parties with the good they ought to do for their people," he warned, and concluded : Eespect for all that is ; liberty for every Government to watch over the well-being of its own people; a league between all governments against factions in all states; contempt for the meaningless words which have become the rallying cry of factions; respect for the progressive development of institutions in lawful ways; refusal on the part of every monarch to aid or succour partisans under any mask whatever—such are happily the ideas of the great monarchs: the world will be saved if they bring them into action—it is lost if they do not.10

"Factions" and "factious partisans" on the wicked side, absolute monarchs and their governments acting in "liberty" and for "progressive development" in "lawful ways" on the other—these vague terms sufficed to identify for Metternich the contending ways of life. Within a few years the terms became the basis for the organization respectively of conservative and liberal parties. Although governments proved unable to crush "presumption" and "faction" within existing institutions like the bureaucracy, they sought to prohibit the spirit of reform from creating new means for action. The Prussian Code of 1794 included a clause declaring that . . . associations whose purpose and activities are contrary to the general peace, security and order are inadmissible and shall not be suffered in the state.11

A decree of 1798 sharpened the clause by forbidding all associations "whose purpose, chief or subsidiary activity consists in undertaking desired or to-be-effected changes in the constitution or administration of the state or the means by which such changes could be brought about or the measures or proposals to be taken for this purpose, whatever the intent." 12 The decree continued with special condemnation of secret societies and made the formation of political parties impossible. The ruling groups correctly regarded institutions of popular participation in political life as hostile to the constitution and administration of the absolutist state. Critics of the old order seemed, as Metternich suggested, presumptuous, since they considered social and institutional reforms a peremptory need. Aware of the conflict of fundamental views inherent in this presumption, the state tried to deprive its challengers of effective instruments of action. The 292

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German Confederation drafted the Carlsbad Decrees (1819) and the Vienna Agreement of 1820, and the Austrian monarchy passed and tried to enforce identical legislation for the entire realm. The abolition of these legal prohibitions, a process not entirely completed before 1914, became interwoven with the growth of political parties. The government dared not introduce an all-prevasive system of espionage, fearing such an extreme measure would disrupt the society it sought to strengthen. It prohibited nonpolitical associations; within a society already restive and teeming with new interests and interest groups, it suspected even a group like the philologists, who were capable of discussing German nationalism by way of literature. While these restrictions held, political criticism depended upon opportunistic means of expression. A backward economy, predominantly agricultural, and a feudal social structure are usually considered least inclined toward political activity; yet Russians under autocracy found outlets for political resistance in literature, in scientific writing, in scholarship in the social sciences and law, in student riots, arson, and murder of the nobility, and in bombings and assassination of governmental figures. Whatever the governmental climate, individuals seized those means of protest that were open and that suited their convictions and social role. Political activity became scattered, divided among small groups or dependent upon individual initiative, and it replied to governmental extremism in kind. Suppression of all overtly organized discontent and desire for reform left available only the means for which Russian opposition became noted. This activity in turn hindered the people's education in the discipline they needed in a period of controversy and social change to effectively discuss and activate their thoughts. In Naples and Sicily under the Bourbons arbitrary action similarly characterized the legal government and the opposition, with little difference in degree. In Southern Italy, scene of one of the most degraded kingdoms of Europe, political action involved doctrinaire liberals—many of them aristocrats who had read a little in contemporary theory, miserable peasants, reform clergy, feudal lords ambitious for power, medieval blood feudists, printers who demanded less work and more pay, ambitious but needy nobles, restless officials eager to obtain more power, ambitious burghers seeking quick and easy fortune, ideas, nonideas, ignorance, the excitement of drink, and access to arms. Political parties had not yet formed, general slogans stimulated undirected activity, and individuals interpreted liberalism and liberty according to momen293

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tary desire. Settembrini, member of the Neapolitan government, described such conditions as he saw them in Naples in 1848: Everybody asked to be reimbursed for damages they had suffered, to be rewarded for merits acquired in the revolution, for the breath they had expended in shouting. And their manner of asking was furious, crazy and obscene. . . . All the ministers were plagued with petulant and arrogant demands from men who seemed to be drunk, and wanted to be heard by force, claiming everything by force, for they believed that liberty was a banquet at which each had a right to sit down to a hearty feed. They climbed every staircase and shouted in every house: it was a hideous anarchy; and there wasn't a sensible man of any opinion who did not yearn for a strong government, instead of these lawyer-ministers who never stopped blathering about legality and liberty and who only had faith in their blather. After letting everything go to ruin they became panicky and handed in their resignations, as did Ferretti, Imbriani, and Ruggiero.13

A revolutionary period is noted for lack of discipline, for corruption, exalted expectations; the significant characteristic of the Sicilian revolution of 1848, a characteristic manifested in many aspects of revolutions in other absolutistic countries, was the absence of either intellectual or institutional discipline that some form of party organization would have imposed. The population had not yet arrived at that point at which political thinking acquires structure; in this most primitive phase of politics few people had learned to conceive of principles as a basis for responsible political activity. As the Italian statesman D'Azelio said six months after the union of Southern Italy with the new kingdom of Italy (1861) : At Naples we overthrew a sovereign in order to set up a government based on universal suffrage. And yet we still today need 60 battalions of soldiers to hold the people down or even more, since these are not enough; whereas in other provinces of Italy nothing of the sort is necessary.14

Behavior like that in the kingdom of Naples scarcely reached a sufficiently high stage to be called political, nor did that in Russia during the greater part of the century; it might rather be characterized as active confusion under the guise of liberty. Guarantees of the right to form political associations, written into the constitutions of 1848, fell with these constitutions, or in the constitutions dictated by rulers they gave way to a clause sanctioning restrictions imposed by law. Absolute monarchs retreated to the first line of defense, the legislative power. "Political organizations," stated Article 30 of the Prussian constitution of January 31, 1850, "can be subjected to limitations and temporary prohibitions by way 294

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of legislation." 15 Since a representative, elected lower house, an upper house only partly representative, and the king all shared in the legislative process, the government could either rely upon enacting "limitations and temporary prohibitions" to party activity, or if one of the three forces failed to cooperate, it could revert to the status quo ante and enforce old restrictions. In 1850 in most European countries conservatives dominated both houses of parliament and readily approved restrictive laws. In 1850 the Prussian government passed a law regarding associations that set the framework for party organization until the revolution of 1918.16 The Austrian law of 1867 and the German law of 1908 (April 19; Art. 3) reiterated its main terms. Article 2 of the Prussian Law of Association of March 11,1850, read: Presidents of associations that intend to influence public affairs are required to report to the local police the statutes of the association and the list of members within three days after the founding of the association, and every change in the statutes or in the list of members within three days after this change has taken place and must likewise report to the same upon demand any information concerning the association.17

The government made the structure as rigid and bureaucratic as possible by requiring every political party or association to organize formally, to draft a written constitution and by-laws, and to keep official minutes. In this way the government limited the adaptability of the party and curbed the opportunities given citizens to learn the purpose of politics, which contemporaries defined as "the wisest use of all possible means for achieving the goals of the state." 18 The dogmatic and exclusive character of many continental parties, especially in Central Europe, derives not merely from adherence to doctrines—liberalism, democracy, socialism, conservatism, nationalism—but from the structural demands imposed by law. The requirement of an executive committee enabled the government to hold specific persons responsible for the activity of an association and compelled the party to find individuals willing to expose themselves to the hostility of the government. In forcing the association to maintain a formal list of members and to immediately forward the list as well as every subsequent change made in it to the police, the government could estimate the strength of the association and its voting appeal at an election, whence it could gauge the dimensions of its own counter measures. Thus government imposed traditional bureaucratic procedures upon an organization in need of maximum flexibility for expanding or contracting 295

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with public interest or demand, for testing public response with a variety of proposals, and for cultivating the twilight area between formal structure and informal participation. During the nineteenth century, when the relation between form and purpose became the subject of constant examination, the imposition of a formal structure upon parties proved a severe hardship. The resulting rigidity helps to explain the general failure of parties to attract a wide following. The practical scope of the law depended upon the definition of policy and political association. Courts and legists continually endeavored to establish criteria. They defined a political subject as one concerning the state and its organization; politics included "all those matters respecting the state as a living organism," for example, "the discussion of social questions with the purpose of influencing the state organizations and regulations." Von Roenne, the distinguished nineteenth-century analyst of Prussian law, differentiated between Staatsrecht and Politik, writing as follows: Constitutional law (Staatsrecht) means the sum of those legal norms that pertain to the relation between the highest power (State power, sovereignty, government) and the subjects or those governed by the state, the internal public law or constitutional law in the narrower or particular sense. Constitutional law . . . has definitely to do only with legal norms. In this way it differs from politics in the more modern sense (Staatsklugkeitslehre)—the theory of the best use of the possible means for achieving the goals of the state.19

In accord with these definitions the courts identified a political association as "an organization of many which under the leadership of a presiding officer intends to discuss political subjects in local meetings." An association, regardless of its stated purpose, thus became a political association as soon as a single speaker touched upon a political subject. Likewise social questions [reports Von Roenne], even if in the form of their treatment and expression they intrinsically are not necessarily political, immediately assume this character if they touch the state in any practical connection, that is if ways and means for a solution are brought into play which concern a change in existing state organization and herewith also a change in the operating institutions as means to the realization of that known as necessary or useful. In this connection the terminology is not the decisive factor but the nature of the speech given. . . . It is possible and legally permissible from a single given speech of actual political content to gain the conviction that an association also intended to discuss political subjects in its meetings. An association which ordinarily does not intend

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to influence public affairs instantly enters the category of this kind of subject when in one single case it determines upon and exercises such influence.20 The courts defined politics and political association so generally that the government retained wide powers of police interference and control. Although the "social question," for example, referred primarily to political activity of the Socialists, an authoritarian government could stretch its meaning to include liberal or democratic criticism of the "existing organization of the state." When in 1878 Bismarck forced through the Reichstag the Exceptional Law against the Social Democrats, liberals insisted upon including terms to prevent Bismarck from using the law against them. In spite of assiduous efforts government and courts could not precisely define a "political subject," and the difficulty of doing so increased. As the century proceeded politics permeated more and more areas of life, until in the following century it ceased to be a subject subsumed under Staatswissenschaft. Slowly it developed an intellectual discipline of its own, political science, the content of which differed considerably from that of Von Roenne's theory of "State Wisdom." It outgrew the framework of criteria established by the courts, forcing government to acquiesce in an extension of the frontiers of political activity. Just as censorship of the press became too complicated to enforce, so the laws of 1850 and 1867 proved too restrictive. They remained on the statute books, however, enabling government from time to time to interfere in political affairs and so to incur opprobrium not always deserved. Article 8 of the Prussian law, like Articles 30 and 33 of the Austrian law, prohibited women, students, and apprentices from membership in political associations. 21 The law aimed to confine political activity to adult males, who alone could vote. Exclusion of schoolchildren and apprentices served the further purpose of shielding the young from the dangers of indoctrination in party principles; it supposedly preserved their freedom of spirit and mind until as adults they could gauge the relative merits of party programs and governmental policies. Exclusion of women reduced the possibility of strengthening a party's appeal through sociability : the fewer the sources of attraction and the more bureaucratically confined within a narrow conception of politics, the fewer the citizens who might become interested, the less the inducement to the casual voter or the mildly concerned individual, and the smaller the penumbral political area into which parties could spread their influence. The German imperial law of association passed in 1908 297

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(Art. 17) modified the existing limitations in only one respect: it allowed females to participate after reaching the age of eighteen. The Prussian law (Art. 8) further declared that political associations "are prohibited from entering into connections with other associations of the same kind for common objectives, in particular, through committees, managing boards, central organs or similar institutions or through correspondence." 22 It isolated an association as completely as possible in a single locality, and the courts in enforcing the provision elaborated a sophistic code about violations, summarized by Von Roenne as follows: . . . every plurality of individuals united by agreement under one direction for longer or shorter time in order to influence public affairs is a political association. . . . The guilt of the connection of such an association with another of the same kind is not excluded by the fact that both are only parts of a larger central association and have no constitutional independence of their own and no independent initiative and are guided by the directions and leadership of a central agency residing elsewhere.23 The courts then found this definition imprecise, and four years later (1877) they again tried to clarify the law. A mere reciprocal action of two political associations of the same tendency in the form of furthering each other's endeavors does not constitute a violation even if it is intentional. The law regards as prohibited in f a r greater degree a direct connection aimed at the same objective. . . . Such a connection does not arise from the fact that in the assembly of one a meeting of the other is announced and an invitation to attend is issued, as long as the other association does not act correspondingly. Nor is it a violation if members of one association are in part members of the other. Perhaps this can at most justify the actual conclusion that such a connection does exist.24 Another problem then arose for the courts. For the decision as to whether it is a question of the organization of several political associations illegally connected with one another or of a single large association without branches or local associations, the external form which has been given the organization in the statutes transmitted to the government is not decisive; rather, the judge has to examine under free evaluation of all circumstances whether in the local action of the association the character of associations united in a certain measure among themselves appears. The assumption of the presence of a single association will not be affected by the fact that the individuals participating in it have aimed to join a larger association extending over a larger area and that a part of their dues is diverted to this one, insofar as according to the other facts it can be assumed that between the members in the one locality a distinct association also exists. Rather, the constitutional transfer 298

THE CONCEPTUAL AND LEGAL SETTING OP POLITICAL EIGHTS of members' dues to the administrative council of the entire association is an act which because it signifies an organic connection between the local association and the whole association is contrary to law.26

Nor did this statement clarify the issues. For the assumption that the members of a larger association in a certain locality constitute a separate local association, it will suffice that. . . the members knowingly have entered into an actual relation with each other which has the characteristic features of a separate association, even if they are not conscious of being members of a separate association in the legal sense, and even if they believe that their actions reveal the characteristics of membership only in the larger association.28

The law aimed to keep all political associations locally centered and thereby subject to constant supervision by police acquainted with a specific group. It weakened party influence by preventing as far as possible the formation of regional or statewide organizations. Although unable to block all relations among local political organizations, it restricted these to the minimum obtainable by correspondence and informal, personal contacts. It sought to prevent the organization of a statewide political association—an association with no branches and containing the entire statewide membership in a single society—by forcing the members in a locality to constitute a local association. The restrictions hindered the formation and development of political parties into strong forces in public affairs. Citizens dared to vote; but it took courage to affiliate officially with a party. With his name registered with the police, a party member risked exposure to the big and little acts of persecution at the disposal of a government habituated to absolutism; he might even face criminal prosecution. Long after Prussia had become a part of the German Empire, political associations in Prussia could not affiliate with those in other states. National unification stopped at the point where authoritarian conservatism found it necessary to use police control over political parties and associations as a means of preserving its own political power. Until 1899 Prussia retained the prohibition against organizing political associations on other than a local basis. The imperial law of associations of 1908, by omitting any mention of it, dropped the restriction for the entire empire. In Germany political organization on a national scale became legal just a few years before the overthrow of the Second Empire. Austria retained its prohibition upon statewide party organization to the end (1918). 299

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Article 16 of the Prussian law cast further suspicion upon participants in political associations as actual or potential criminals conspiring to undermine or overthrow the government. The article read: If a political association violates the limits set in Paragraph 8 a. and b., the chairman, organizer and leader who act contrary to these provisions are subject to a fine of 5 to 50 thalers or imprisonment of 8 days to 3 months. The judge can also according to the gravity of the circumstances dissolve the association. . . . Whoever continues to act as a member of a political association which is even only temporarily closed will be punished with a fine of 5 to 50 thalers or imprisonment from 8 days to 3 months, and whoever becomes a member of a closed association is subject to a fine of from 5 to 50 thalers.27 Since the election law for the empire ( see Art. 17, par. 2 of the law of 1869) pertained solely to imperial elections and did not affect the provisions of the election law and the law of association of each state, Article 16 of the Prussian law remained in force. When in 1908 the Reichstag passed a comprehensive law of assembly and association, it introduced penalties of comparable severity for violations (Art. 18). The government exploited the reign of law (Rechtsstaat) to make political activity embarrassing and dangerous to freedom and civic reputation. The right of the state's attorney to decide whether or not to bring suit against a violator placed this political appointee in a position to enforce the law in a strict or tolerant manner, as he saw fit. Like the courts, he manipulated the law to help political associations supporting the government and to obstruct those in opposition. This practice of political hypocrisy in the name of the Rechtsstaat rendered politics morally suspect. In an area so difficult to define with precision in law and so open to controversial interpretation, it made private individuals wary of political activity. Under Bismarck the law carried a constant threat of fine and imprisonment; for the extent of Bismarck's respect for the individual, regardless of wealth, social position, or political standing, varied with the degree of his resistance to Bismarckian power. The surprising fact is that despite the law, despite the attitude of government, the Prussian people—and also the Austrian people, who were under similar legal although not similar political conditions—ventured to participate in politics as much as they did. Suffrage laws actually proved a greater deterrent to activity than the laws respecting political associations. Article 21 of the Prussian law of 1850 contained the laconic statement, "Election associations are not subject to the limitations of Paragraph 8." The courts declared in 1860: A political associa300

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tion becomes an election association "if it is exclusively active in connection with a specific impending election." They further decided that "the exception made in Paragraph 21 [for election associations] is not extended to the continuing effort of the members of the organization in the sense of a definite program for the realization of the same through future still undetermined elections" (1875).28 The imperial election law of 1869 contained a similar provision (par. 17). At the time of its passage the clause actually described existing practice, because political parties did little between elections; however, politics grew in complexity and importance; political preparation demanded ever more attention during the interval between elections; and a new type of party appeared upon the scene, the Social Democratic party, intent upon educating its following in a particular philosophy and recognizing the need to employ propaganda continuously. The interested public found confinement of political organization and activity to election time a great handicap. In the first legislation concerning elections the government tried to brand politics an evil because it tended to upset the equanimity within the state; the government deliberately wrote into the law restrictions that might be needed in the future. The restrictions proved so effectively conservative that the imperial law of associations of 1908 retained them, clarifying conditions in only one respect : it specified that election associations could function without being subject to police supervision for a period extending "from the day of the official publication of the election date to the end of the voting" (par. 4). During this brief period of a few weeks a political group could hold meetings without previously reporting to the police, without having a police official present at each meeting, without preparing a list of members or persons present, and without choosing a responsible executive committee to be held liable under threat of fine or imprisonment for unlawful behavior. During this short time the adult population could discuss issues and act more or less freely. Whether the strict control over political associations in the long intervals between elections (five or more years) speeded the learning process for participating in public life arouses doubt; the reality of long control seems to have affected the mores of citizens more deeply than the brief freedom at election time. As in so many institutional aspects of public life, the first Napoleon set the legal conditions for political organization in France, and his provisions lasted throughout the century. Article 291 of the Penal Code (1810) stated: "No association of more than twenty 301

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persons whose goal is to be to meet everyday or upon certain set days in order to occupy themselves with religious matters, literature, politics or other affairs may be formed without the consent of the government and under conditions which public authority will see fit to impose upon the society." 28 The stipulation lay somewhere between that of absolutist states prohibiting political organizations and that of states under constitutional government permitting local organizations regardless of the number of members. Although allowing political associations, it restricted membership therein to so small a number as to render them harmless, and it required governmental approval for each association. Napoleon enforced the law arbitrarily and ruthlessly in his own favor. Subsequent regimes in France interpreted the law strictly or loosely, depending upon circumstances. Its application always loomed as a threat ; yet it occurred so intermittently for the upper classes that the law had little influence upon organization of their political activities.30 It struck harshly against republicans, Socialists, and other critics of the existing forms of government and society. In 1834 the government of Louis Philippe sharpened the terms of the law by increasing penalties for violation and transferring jurisdiction of cases from juries, which had been freeing defendants, to tribunaux correctionnels. When in 1847-48 deputies and public leaders protested against the government, they held banquets, which they claimed did not come within the terms of the law. Nor did the republican constitution of November, 1848, allow full freedom of political association. It stated that associations must respect "the freedom of others and public security," a phrase capable of the widest interpretation. It also required political associations to report to the government the fact of their formation and to hold only public meetings, and it continued to ban all secret political societies. Louis Napoleon revived the requirement for prior governmental approval of political associations, whereby he could utilize those groups favorable to him and his regime and prohibit others. The government of the Third Republic recognized that Article 291 had become anachronistic and could not be enforced ; it hesitated to revise or abolish the article, however, for fear that Catholics and monarchists would exploit freedom in order to overthrow the Republic. Not until laws of freedom in education and in social and economic affairs, especially the law of syndicates of 1884, had proved workable under a republican regime did the government finally (1901) allow freedom of association, in the political sphere as well as in general.31 302

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That France introduced freedom of political association as reluctantly as the recently absolutist states attests to many similarities among them in political, social, and economic conditions. It might have been expected that France would encourage the formation of strong political parties as soon as it introduced constitutional government with an elected chamber (1815). The election of deputies would seem to have entailed facilities for selecting candidates for office and for winning the support of voters. Critics disputed this view,32 and under systems of restricted suffrage they proposed and put into practice other means. In France the animosity among legitimists, Orleanists, Bonapartists, republicans, and Socialists made it difficult for any one group to allow freedom of political association to the others; ultimate political power set so high a stake that no one group trusted the other. Thus the French were divided like the Germans and the Austrians. Analysis of conditions under which Russia allowed political activity to occur may offer a measuring rod for the extent to which the countries of central and western Europe had permitted freedom for politics. After the revolution of 1904-5, the Russian government in a law of March, 1906, permitted freedom of association to those groups not "dangerous or illegal," and placed the responsibility for deciding the matter in the hands of the central bureaucracy. Neither officials nor private notables in the localities showed much knowledge of the law, and they had little respect for legality when it contravened their interests and the demands of autocracy. In matters pertaining to politics they regarded any association with political intent as "dangerous," and in the confusion of Russian law they could find justification for banning any party as "illegal." The government approved as legal only those political parties clearly supporting the regime. By denying legal existence to others, it prevented them from holding party conventions, from campaigning at election time, from issuing lists of party candidates. Anyone who acknowledged adherence to a party declared illegal suffered prosecution as a criminal. Police kept Social Democratic and other deputies under surveillance, disrupted meetings with their constituencies, and placed them at times under illegal arrest.35 The law of 1906 made the use of subterfuge as essential to the Cadet party, composed of upper-class, educated persons, as it was to the radical parties appealing largely to workers and peasants. Having acquiesced in the holding of elections, the czarist government faced the necessity of allowing means for nominating candidates. The legal parties, which could meet and draw up lists, served 303

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the needs of a small minority of the voters. Articles 76 to 82 of the suffrage law of 1907 specified the procedure to be followed by all groups in nominating the two sets of candidates, the electors and the deputies to the Duma. The law imposed restrictions greater than those in any other country. It excluded peasant voters from direct participation in the process by making the cantonal elders responsible for selecting delegates to the district meeting that would choose electors. The law allowed other classes to hold special meetings of voters and of electors before the election to "consult on persons worthy of being elected" (Art. 76)—nowhere did it use the word "candidate"; but it prevented persons of one class or category from influencing voters or electors of another by limiting attendance at a meeting to registered voters of the particular class or category. Political propaganda aimed at creating mass opinion and a mass party became impossible. In comparison with the above, other restrictions imposed by the czarist government upon meetings assumed less significance. That meetings must be held in closed buildings; that they had to be approved by the police at least twenty-four hours beforehand; that meetings of voters had to be attended by a police representative and meetings of electors, although freed from the attendance of the police, had to submit to police check upon the eligibility of those participating in the meeting—these amounted to the normal practices of an absolutistic government in the first stage of acquiescence in the existence of elections and representative assemblies. Nor did the list of acts entitling police representatives to close a meeting contain anything exceptional. This list included (1) discussing subjects other than that of the election; (2) arousing the hostility of one part of the population against another; (3) collecting money against orders; (4) permitting outsiders to be present; (5) disturbing order "by violent shouts or demonstrations or by the praising of criminal acts or the inciting to violence or resistance to authority, or by distributing criminal appeals or publications so that the meeting threatens public order and security."34 These powers enabled the police to stop discussion of almost any subject in the small, closed, local meetings. Unique in Russia was the extent to which government at this late date applied these restrictions and obstructed the emergence of political parties capable of educating and leading the masses toward responsibility in government. Other governments with comparable limitations upon political activity had softened the applica304

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tion of them in practice; Russian officials either ignored the law or enhanced its stringency by the severity of execution.35 They took for granted that the old social structure remained intact, but their action under the law furthered the atomization of a society making its first effort to achieve a political community. Most citizens in all countries, not excluding France with its numerous peasants and small townsmen, were at first unaccustomed to politics and had to learn gradually the fundamentals of political activity. In every country the bureaucracy occupied an essential position in public life and attended to numerous functions that in a country like England devolved upon Parliament. Responsible politics on a popular scale assumes a high degree of literacy, and except for Germany, the illiteracy rate in every major state continued at a high level through much of the century. In France, which might have been expected to set a model for the Continent, one-fifth to one-third of the population was still functionally illiterate by the time of the Third Republic. In the land of liberty and equality as well as elsewhere the mores were identified with class or caste. Economic expansion beginning in the 1860's in Germany and a generation later in Austria and Russia made social mobility possible. In France after 1880 most of the economy stagnated, and Spain and Italy, except for a few centers, never entered the stage of modern economic development. In central and eastern Europe the economic expansion did not transform social conditions fast enough and vigorously enough to establish a firm basis for popular political life. Western European countries did not create an economy competent to sustain responsible politics. In all countries class conflict existed and adversely affected the development of a sense of political responsibility. Where class and party coincided the parties acted not according to political considerations, which are conducive to mutual understanding, compromise, and the development of a sense of the whole, but in conformity with class interests, which divide a people by arousing hostility in the most sensitive of all areas of life, social status. In spite of Article 291 France showed a far better record than any other country in allowing a considerable freedom of political association throughout much of the century and in tolerating those nonpolitical associations—in business, in cultural life, in social relations—which train the population in voluntary activity through group organization. Even with this relative freedom and notwithstanding their enthusiasm for revolution, the French people had not 305

THE CONCEPTUAL AND LEGAL SETTING OP POLITICAL RIGHTS

enjoyed much advantage over other nations in experience with popular political institutions. All European peoples had to learn what politics involved, how to organize for political action, and how to make a system of representation function for them. They reacted alike, although at different times and in different ways, to problems of the organization and practice of political association.

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VIII SUFFRAGE

S

and practices during the nineteenth century reflected both the change in social forces and the effort to stabilize social structure at a particular stage and time. Contemporary discussion of suffrage clarified the concepts of social organization which proponents of the laws endeavored to preserve as well as those which opponents sought to achieve. Voting power meant political influence and social power; the controversy over suffrage rights began with the emergence of new social ideals during the French Revolution; it spread to other countries as absolutism failed to satisfy popular desires and interest in public affairs grew. The issue came to the fore in every revolution of the century, but no ideal resolution of the problem was discovered; persistent social antagonism found its reflection in disputed suffrage rights, and at the close of the century such disputations were still a major form of expression for social competition. Even in the present century Europe continues to search for a proper correlation between the suffrage system and political and social organization. Ideally, government needed and strove to find a method of voting that, in the words of the Prussian ministry of 1849, would prevent recurrence of the "dangerous waverings" of the preceding year, and that would "lead to orderly conditions and assure a representative body that corresponds to the desires of the people, in that within the circle of the Second Chamber it also allows to the several classes of the people that proportional influence corresponding to their actual importance in the life of the state." 1 Difficulty arose in devising a system capable of electing representatives who would reflect "in proper proportion" the political significance of the different elements of the population, since the fact of civil equality became constantly more apparent and hence demanding of social and political recognition. Abolition of economic privilege had deUFFRAGE LAWS

307

SUFFRAGE

stroyed the material basis of caste structure and promoted an unprecedented social mobility. Compulsory military service, by requiring every male citizen to sacrifice time and perhaps his life for the state, created another and inescapable equality. The spread of education undermined the upper-class monopoly of culture and destroyed the argument for privilege ex scientia. New interests and new social groups appeared and demanded admittance to responsible public life through a system of representation. The search for a workable form of this representation can be traced in the suffrage laws. In the nineteenth century, experiments in drafting suffrage laws followed two main lines of policy, each correlated with a specific social terrain. France set the example for western countries when it introduced a suffrage system that accepted the legal simplifications of social structure associated with the Revolution. French voting laws differentiated upon the basis of wealth an upper group, which wielded political power, and inferior groups, to which political power remained denied. The states of Central Europe and Russia adapted the electoral practices of the Estates system of representation to a society of individuals declared equal before the law. Some of the adaptations survived the century; but in many states the laws embodying them were so cumbersome and so palpably unjust that in time government assented to reform. Equal suffrage won acquiescence when other arrangements failed to be practicable. The French suffrage laws of the three decades before the revolution of 1848 aimed to concentrate political power within certain groups that the existing political regime considered trustworthy. These groups with the right to vote constituted the pays légal; the mass of the population stood outside this "legal" homeland. The laws of 1817 and 1820 restricted the vote to those who paid three hundred francs in direct taxes. Since the chief tax rested upon land, landowners, whether noble or bourgeois, received in return for paying high taxes a greater share of the political power than was held or could be obtained by the urban population engaged in commerce and industry. This system enabled the Restoration government to sustain its regime; support rested upon a rural society resembling the power structure of the Old Regime. Reservation of the ballot to those whose material interest in the welfare of the country reflected the amount of direct taxes they paid implied that owners of extensive real property possessed the intelligence, training, and independence of mind needed to promote the general welfare through political activity. A materialistic age correlated prop308

SUFFRAGE

erty and culture; and in the early decades of the century before industrialism increased the tempo of social mobility, this connection may be judged reasonably valid. Later with the appearance of the parvenu it became less so, if not wholly invalid. The laws aroused hostility because of the conservative policies of the designated elect and because social elements largely or completely excluded from politics conceived the ambition to rise socially and to exercise political power. The French deputy Berenger, committee spokesman for the new suffrage bill of 1831, showed that since 1817 the number of voters eligible under the 300-franc qualifying clause had actually declined. He concluded that reduction of the tax limit by a third, a clause proposed in the bill and ultimately approved, would merely restore conditions of eligibility to their intended status under the earlier law. A shift in the tax basis bore less importance: the law allowed license fees and taxes other than the land tax to be included when estimating the 200-franc qualification of eligibility, thereby doubling the number of voters (90,000 to 170,000).2 The tax system, however, continued to favor the landowner over the businessman: an investment of 12,000 francs in land enabled the owner to qualify for the ballot; a businessman needed to invest 36,000 francs in industry or commerce before acquiring the right to vote. Thus between 82 percent and 90 percent of the voters qualified by owning land; among them were numerous businessmen who desired political influence and at the same time sought the social prestige of estate ownership.3 Critics accused the suffrage law of the Orleanist period of establishing a plutocracy, and they characterized the Orleanist monarchy and its political regime by quoting Minister-President Guizot's famous remark that if a man wished the vote he should increase his wealth. The presence of landed deputies and the landed interests of most bourgeois families assured continued representation at the center of largescale rural interests; nonetheless, the voting law of 1831 changed the nature of the government from that of a society partaking of the Old Regime to that of a society accepting in theory and in practice the results of the French Revolution. It revealed the intention to establish a bourgeois constitutional government and to stabilize bourgeois society.4 In reporting the law of 1831 the Committee of the Chamber proposed to extend the franchise, regardless of the amount of tax paid, to include members of the intellectual and professional groups—members of the Institute, lawyers and doctors, army and navy officers in retirement, professors and heads of schools, and 309

SUFFRAGE

members of the judiciary. Berenger, the committee spokesman, justified the proposal as follows: Wherever your majority [of the committee] has found superior conditions, independent and respected functions, professions that assume knowledge and that arouse confidence, it has hastened to bestow the qualification of voting. . . . It has considered that the influence of certain intellectual notables was to be feared, and, if so, the surest way of lessening this influence was to neutralize it by opposing to it some notables of another order, so that by being composed of very different elements the electoral colleges might become the living and active image of society and might be the actual representation of it. 5

Chamber and Senate refused to follow the proposal; they insisted that intellectuals demonstrate their political reliability by earning enough to pay the full amount of the tax. They did allow members and correspondents of the Institute to vote if they paid taxes to one-half the standard amount, and retired officers could vote if they received a pension of at least 1,200 francs and lived in a district for three years. Although agreeing to increase the kinds of taxes to be counted toward the required 200-franc incidence, the parliament refused to weaken the bulwark of order, private property— especially in the case of the intellectuals, who since the eighteenth century had possessed a reputation of irresponsibility. Property was tangible; it could not easily decamp; it implied trustworthiness, stability, social commitment. In an age of change, property offered a stable index to conduct and achievement; it was thought that unless balanced by property, intellectual and professional accomplishments might constitute social threat. The use of property as a basis of suffrage suffered from one grave disadvantage: like constitutional government it encouraged ambition and hence social mobility. In the 1830's Sismondi proposed to overcome this objectionable feature by restricting suffrage to an elite. The nation can only be well governed by the most enlightened and most virtuous of her citizens. It is not that they have, by reason of their virtue and intelligence, any right to sovereignty; it is that the nation, as sovereign, has a right to the intelligence and virtue which they possess. If they were set apart to form a governing aristocracy, it would be giving them an interest of caste, which would probably destroy this virtue and this intelligence; but if from fear of giving them an equal share in the sovereignty, they are left in that minority where they must necessarily originate, all the advantages of this virtue and this intelligence which belong to the nation are lost and the object is not obtained.6

310

SUFFRAGE Thus, with respect to popular elections, we must not say, it is a principle, but it is expedient; we must not speak of the right of every citizen, of every individual, to be represented; but of the right of every individual to be well governed, of the interest of the community that in every case the best possible choice should be made; of the right also of every individual to be respected, to have entrusted to him by the community some participation in political power, which may serve him as it were as a defensive arm, without exposing him to too much danger from his inexperience or his imprudence. In fact, political institutions are only good in so far as they attain this end.7

Sismondi's argument did not explain how to select those capable of making "the best possible choice." Nor did Berenger, in reporting the bill recommended by his committee to the French Chamber of Deputies in 1831, identify the source of the voting right in a way that hedged the right against future extension. "Electoral right," he said, "is neither personal nor nonpersonal but created by law." Thiers in 1840 expanded this view by asserting: In constitutional language when you speak of national sovereignty, you speak of sovereignty of the king, of the two Chambers expressing the will of the nation by regular votes. . . . I know of no other national sovereignty. Whoever at the door of this Assembly [the Chamber] says, "I have a right," lies; he has no right other than that which the law recognizes.8

The two speakers wished to see the regime stabilized and the system of suffrage supporting it affirmed by invoking the sovereignty of the law; yet law changed, as did the distribution of property and the substance of property; neither forms of government nor forms of property remained fixed. Suffrage demands responded to the changes taking place in society.9 Critics noted that a suffrage system appropriate to a plutocracy bore within it the seeds of its own destruction. Once a state introduced the practice of electing representatives upon any other than a traditional, legally defined caste or status basis, candidates for office competed for votes. The loser, in a bid to reverse the decision, soon clamored for extension of suffrage. The French law of 1831 weakened the regime that it proposed to support; it split the middle class into two hostile groups—a group of persons able to vote and a group of nonvoters who wished to participate in public life. In addition, it violated its own principle by carefully selecting the direct taxes to be reckoned toward eligibility. Since the voters actually paid only one-fourth of the direct taxes, the other taxpayers, who belonged in the main to the same social class, nursed an additional grievance.10 The marginal group, the body of citizens just 311

SUFFRAGE

under the line of those able to vote, like those in France in 1847-48 at the time of the Banquets, formed the vanguard acting to expand the franchise. The German democratic politician Schulze-Delitzsch compared citizens excluded from the ballot to Plato's "plucked rooster." He predicted on the basis of past experience that with the recurrence of danger from abroad these nonvoters would lack interest in defending the state. 11 The need to arouse patriotic feeling among all elements of the population acted as a powerful factor in undermining the system of restricted suffrage. Constitutional government could find no stable foundation for a limited suffrage, at least not until it instituted and tested universal suffrage. In the early years of universal manhood suffrage its advocates admitted that the masses lacked a proper sense of responsibility to the state and the commonweal. Sismondi feared grant of the ballot to every Spaniard or Russian. The ignorant populace [he wrote], given up almost everywhere to retrograde prejudices, will refuse to favour its own progress. The more ignorant the people are, the more they are opposed to all kinds of development, the more they are deprived of all enjoyment, and the more are they obstinately, angrily attached to their habits, as to the only possession they have left. . . . Count the voices in Spain and Portugal, they will be for the maintenance of the Inquisitor. Count them in Russia, they will be for the despotism of the Czar.12 In March, 1848, the revolutionary Blanqui warned his colleagues in Paris against the immediate introduction of universal manhood suffrage. Immediate election of the national assembly would be a danger to the Republic. For thirty years the counterrevolution alone has spoken to France. The press, muzzled by fiscal laws, has penetrated only the social epidermis. Education of the masses has been effected only by oral methods, which have always belonged to and still belong to the enemies of the Republic. The notables of vanquished factions, principally in the country, alone catch the attention of the people; those devoted to the democratic cause are almost unknown to them.13 Nearly twenty years later Schulze-Delitzsch declared in Berlin at the time when some leaders proposed to introduce universal manhood suffrage into the North German Confederation: With the indirect voting system such as we have had up to the present, the electors are given a mediating position which facilitates greatly the agreement over the representatives to be chosen. Likewise here in Berlin it may still be easier to come to an arrangement about this than in the country, where many long journeys must be made in order to come together in a general preassembly of the electoral 312

SUFFRAGE

district; unconditional freedom of press, association and assembly is much more necessary to the clarification of views and to agreement over the proper persons than under the indirect system of voting.14

Certainly "unconditional freedom of press, association and assembly" did not exist in Germany, any more than it did in France or elsewhere on the Continent. The masses seemed unprepared to vote and for decades accepted the restrictions upon suffrage which their ignorance of political matters dictated. Especially in the large towns the French took a lively interest in politics. "The very air they [the Parisians] breathe," wrote Mrs. Trollope on her visit to Paris in 1835, "is impregnated with politics." 15 The masses in most countries—for example, the serfs rioting in Russia—had begun to stir; but they had no understanding of politics and had not yet come into the political arena. When a measure of political maturity developed, first in one group and then in another, the jealous holders of the franchise failed to recognize the change and provoked a show of force on the part of the claimants. The groups in power made the mistake, as Blanqui and Schulze-Delitzsch implied they would, of doing nothing to prepare claimants for the vote. Moralists like Balzac and believers in absolutism and legitimacy expressed alarm over the growing emphasis upon material possessions. "Misers do not believe in a life hereafter," wrote Balzac in Eugénie Grandet. . . . The present is everything for them. This thought throws a horrible light on the present day, when, more than at any other time, money controls the law, politics and morals. Institutions, books, men and doctrine, all conspire to undermine the belief in a future life—a belief on which the social edifice has rested for 1800 years. Nowadays the grave is a transition but little feared. The future which awaited us beyond the requiem has been transported into the present. To attain per fas et nefas to a terrestrial paradise of luxury and empty pleasure, to harden the heart and macerate the body for the sake of fleeting possessions, as people once suffered the martyrdom of life in return for eternal joys, is now the universal thought—moreover a thought inscribed everywhere, even in the laws which ask the legislator: What do you pay? instead of asking him: What do you think? When this doctrine has passed down from the middle class to the populace, what will become of the country ? 1 6

The suffrage law reflected the veneration of material goods, and directly or indirectly it affected the life of every citizen by bestowing the blessing of the state upon the pursuit of wealth. Balzac, like many another, anticipated from the pursuit of individual gain a time of trouble amounting to social disintegration. 313

SUFFRAGE

In Germany and Austria the social basis for the franchise differed from that in France because Central Europe had escaped a French Revolution. Notwithstanding the abolition of many legal differentiations—serfdom, guilds, property and occupational restrictions—caste and privilege remained strong in law and in substance. In denoting wealth as the criterion of inclusion within the pays légal French suffrage laws acknowledged the lack of traditional social structure as a means to dictate the terms of these laws. Although castes and other status groups had suffered too many changes to be readily identifiable and generally acceptable as voting classes, German and Austrian society continued to possess the essentials of a social structure suitable as a point of reference when the drafting of suffrage laws became mandatory. The ideal of social hierarchy and class distinction could be a basis for the distribution of voting power. At the same time Prussia and other German states deferred to the social and economic changes about them to the extent of defining voting groups in the central parliament and in local and intermediate governmental bodies by the French criterion of wealth as expressed in the payment of direct taxes. In the law of 1873 Austria also proved unable to avoid full acceptance of this criterion. Prussia and other German states and Austria formulated suffrage laws based on both social status and wealth. As a result these laws emerged more complicated than those in France; for the historian they reveal the prevailing social structure more fully than do the French laws. The three-class system of voting, the device with which the Prussian government in 1849 prepared to restore order in its political life, contained essentially nothing that had not been previously tested. The laws concerning town government in Baden (1831) and in the Prussian Rhineland (1845) divided voters into three classes according to the tax burden. Behind both ordinances and behind the Prussian law of 1849 lay the precedent of dividing traditional society into three Estates, with each status group or Estate choosing its own representatives. The plan of voting by classes did not proceed from the desire artificially to preserve authoritarian government; it was adopted as a method known to the populace from experience. Both the French system and universal manhood suffrage would have been radical innovations. The Prussian suffrage law of 1849 conformed to the policy of the authoritarian government under the constitution of 1850. When in 1856 one of the Conservative deputies questioned whether the guarantee of equality before the law and the prohibition of all caste privileges in the

314

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constitution (Art. 4) should be abolished, the minister of interior replied : Thus far the Government in Article 4 has found and recognized the sense that for similar legal circumstances, relations and negotiations equality of the law in regard to the Estate shall also hold; however the Government has always held it compatible that the particularities in the rights and duties of individual Estates, classes and corporations, which legally exist according to special and particular laws and are stipulated through the organism of the state—that is, such special establishments which are designed for the preservation of an Estate or a corporation belonging to the state organism—are not to be considered abolished through Article 4 without further ado but rather to be regarded as continuing to exist. This interpretation is also recognized as correct in that the constitution itself sanctions such legal particularities for individual classes and Estates, which it could not do if these were in contradiction to Article 4. Hence the privileges and legal restrictions of the military Estate, the privileges of the judges, the privileges of the representatives from Article 84.1T

Most contemporary liberals and many liberals in subsequent decades approved the three-class system as reflecting social reality. The law of 1849 aligned with a tax structure that, according to a Prussian critic in 1894, "by and large corresponded to the social structure of rich, middle class and poor." 18 Liberals approved the plutocratic bias toward the rich and enterprising which denied political power to the uneducated masses. They welcomed the terms for breaking the mold of caste and assuring automatic adjustment of voting power to economic developments and changing incomes. They believed that the bourgeoisie in this way could develop political influence and within a short time would replace the landholding aristocracy and put through a program of liberal and national reforms. The suffrage law appeared to be a means to realize the provisions of the constitution. Conservatives likewise had reason to accept the plan outlined. Unable to prevent the constitution from being enacted or to maintain the former system of representation and voting by Estates, they saw in the three-class system a means temporarily to preserve class divisions even if on an artificial basis. They hoped that as soon as society gained a new hierarchical structure classes or status groups would again become legal, privileged entities, and that the franchise could be readapted to the new structure. Meanwhile the law of 1849 maintained the principle of division of power according to classes. Artificial classes, within which realities of the old castes lay concealed, seemed to conservatives better than plutocratically based groups or no classes. The three-class system of elections to 315

SUFFRAGE

the Prussian lower house exemplified this type of suffrage law. Ludwig von Gerlach spoke at the time (1848-50) for those Prussian ultraconservatives who rejected as arbitrary both equal suffrage and the three-class system. He declared it to be a "fundamental right of the Germans not to be counted piece by piece like herrings" ; nonetheless he wished the monarch to promulgate a constitution and set up an assembly, and he offered an alternative to the three-class system of voting and representation. The assembly, he said, should consist of representatives of "Estates," which he listed as follows: "trade and industry, nobility, burghers, peasantry, workers, church, universities and the Jews." 19 Having accepted the principle of representation by Estates, he soon felt comfortable in the three-class system. The main terms of the Prussian law read as follows. An election should be held in two stages: (1) that in which primary voters cast ballots for electors, one elector to every 250 inhabitants; and (2) that in which the electors or secondary voters choose the deputies to the lower house of the Landtag. The government preferred indirect election because it placed final choice in the hands of a limited number, the electors, who commanded respect for their interest in public affairs, and whose judgment would assure election of qualified deputies. The initial stage of the election, the balloting for electors, occurred in precincts of about 750 persons each. If a community contained fewer persons, it united with one or more other communities to form a voting precinct. If it contained 1,750 persons or more, it divided into several precincts. The voters in each precinct fell into three classes according to the amount of direct taxes they paid. Those voters paying one-third of the total sum of the taxes made up the first class; those paying the second third of the tax total enrolled in the second class; those paying the final third and those paying no tax were lumped together in the third class of voters. Each class elected one-third of the total number of electors. Data published by the government in 1894 revealed the extent of participation in voting. Between 1849 and 1893 the number of voters increased from 3,255,703 to 5,989,538. Of these the percentages entitled to vote—not the percentages actually voting, which were far smaller—in each class were: class one, between 3.52 (1893) and 5.02 (1855) ; class two, between 10.82 (1888) and 13.86 (1855); class three, between 81.09 (1855) and 85.56 (1888). 20 Thus an average of 4 percent of the voters exercised as much voting power as 12 percent and 84 percent respectively. 316

SUFFRAGE

The law used the precinct as the territorial unit for calculating the threefold division of tax payments. A Junker in a poor precinct of East Elbia might be in class one, possibly alone, possibly with a few other Junkers, by paying a tax that was large in proportion to that paid by the other voters in the precinct but insignificant when compared with that paid by voters in class one in a wealthy precinct. Choice of the county as the territorial unit would have enlarged competition for membership in the upper two classes, although it would have relegated to a lower class the poorer nobles, who on a precinct basis might dominate class one and thereby decide the vote of the area. The third class voted first, class two second, and class one last, all casting their ballots by voice in a closed room. The electors chosen by the voters on a class basis did not vote for the deputies by class, but met as a body and voted by voice and in turn for each deputy to be elected. The electors did not necessarily belong to the class of voters which chose them; they were only required to reside in the precinct and to be themselves eligible to vote. Hence peasants, workers, or lower middle-class burghers in small agricultural towns often preferred electors from the first or second voting class, thereby behaving politically as the conservative government and the advocates of the three-class system had planned. The Prussian government designed the law to represent property and culture as these existed in each precinct at the time and so to retain the power as much as possible in the hands of those who already held it; namely, the noble landowners in the agricultural regions, the property owners in the towns. It did not intend to introduce a plutocratic system, and in contrast with the French law before 1848, it introduced no uniform, statewide criterion of the right to vote. By confining to each individual precinct the calculated amount of tax paid it prevented wealth as such from gaining control of the lower house. If service to the state had been measured by the amount of direct taxes paid, the bankers and manufacturers— concentrated in Berlin, a few other cities, and in the Rhineland and Westphalia—would have been entitled to a larger representation than they actually received. Instead, in allocating voting power, the law took into account local leadership and local economic and social status. It enabled the agrarian way of life dominated by the landlords to be represented as the most important economic activity in the state and as the greatest source of manpower for the economy and the army. The government thus used the franchise to preserve the caste society to the degree that seemed feasible. 317

SUFFRAGE

In the early years of the three-class system social discrimination mattered little; peasants and workers had not yet become aware of the value of representation in parliament, whereas the bourgeoisie and middle class succeeded for a time in the 1860's in electing a large majority of the deputies. Political affiliations did not necessarily coincide with class: nobles figured among liberals as well as among conservatives, and the middle class and bourgeoisie, although largely liberal, numbered conservatives among their ranks. Especially after 1870, however, the three-class system became more and more an anachronism. The failure to redistrict after 1860 in accordance with geographical shifts in population enabled the rural interests, predominantly conservative from the 1870's on, to control the Landtag, where they utilized their political power to try in an industrial age to maintain for agriculture its traditional proportion of the nation's income. In this way the three-class system exacerbated the economic conflict between agriculture and industry; it set obstacles to the development of Prussia's power by favoring interests inimical to industry; it continued to restrict the political activity of the peasantry almost to the point of futility and exclusion; and it barred representation of industrial workers, who grew so numerous as to be practically a new class. By 1914 the system represented neither property nor culture; it did not represent the people of Prussia or reflect the social structure. Rather it represented a small minority composed of conservative landlords, many of them bourgeois who had bought estates and turned them into capitalistic enterprises, and of bourgeois who relied upon the three-class system of voting to uphold law and order against the workers and socialism. The distinguished economist Gustav Schmoller predicted in 1910 that unless the law was altered to extend the franchise and provide direct and secret elections, revolution like that in France in 1848 would occur.21 A minority sat so well entrenched in Prussia, however, and enjoyed such support from the imperial government that the few efforts made before World War I to change the law came to nothing.22 In the first decade of its constitutional experience Austria tried several suffrage laws. All of them divided voting power according to social categories. The government eithor ignored the fact that this system violated the spirit of the constitutional clause establishing equality before the law, or it argued that despite the difference in political significance of the votes, all eligible males were equally privileged to cast a ballot. The law of 1873 consolidated previous laws, entrenching a system that lasted until the reform of 1907 318

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established universal manhood suffrage. This system reflected the social structure of the Old Regime more than did the Prussian three-class division of voters. If European suffrage laws could be arranged along a political and social spectrum, universal suffrage would lie at the extreme left and take on the color of the new industrial society; the French system based on wealth would lie next to it; the Prussian system would come close to the center, uniting the left and right; and the Austrian system and even more its later Russian variant would appear at the far right. One can infer from this law that Austrian society lagged so far behind the Prussian and other German societies in occupational composition and spread of intelligence and wealth as to justify the introduction of a more conservative suffrage system than that of the other states. Decisive for the Austrian system was the effort to maintain in their respective regions the control of dominant nationality groups—the Germans and the Poles, for example. Achievement of this objective depended upon allotting preferential voting strength to special social groups, and the law of 1873 took its character from this purpose. The complicated terms of the law require detailed explanation if they are to reveal the structure of Austrian society and the involvement of the nationality groups in the social conflict.23 The law of 1873 fixed the total number of deputies at 353 and allocated to each province a definite number (Art. 6). Then it divided the voters into four curials: (a) large landowners, (6) citizens of cities and towns, (c) members of chambers of commerce and industry, (d) citizens of rural communities. It allocated a certain number of seats in the Reichsrat to each curial in each province, and it divided the provinces into election districts, each of which except in a few cases elected one deputy. The statewide distribution of seats among the curials ran as follows: (a) large landowners, 85; (6) cities and towns, 118; (c) chambers of commerce and industry, 21; and (d) rural communities, 129.24 In 1896 the government added a fifth curial, giving all male adults the right to vote for 72 additional deputies. The increase in the total number of voters in each of the original four curials between 1873 and 1891 is shown in table 3. Even more striking was the disparity in the number of voters per deputy, as shown in table 4.25 The system restricted the right to vote to less than one-third of the males over the eligible age of twenty-four. Adler also compiled a table showing at about 1890 the number of eligible voters per thousand inhabitants in various countries. France had the highest number, 271, followed by the canton of Zurich, 248; Greece had 232, and Germany, 217. 319

SUFFRAGE TABLE

3

INCREASE IN TOTAL NUMBER OF VOTERS IN AUSTRIA, 1 8 7 3 - 1 8 9 1

Curial

1873

Large landowners Chambers of commerce and industry Cities and towns Rural communities Total

1879

1 891

4,931

4,768

5,402

499 186,323 1,062,259 1,254,012

515 196,993 1,088,457 1,290,733

583 338,500 1,387,572 1,732,057

SODKCB: Viktor Adler, Aufsätze, Reden und Briefe (Wien, 1929), X, 25.

TABLE 4 NUMBER OF VOTERS PER DEPUTY IN AUSTRIA, 1 8 6 8 - 1 8 9 1

(By curial)

Curial

Large landowners Chambers of commerce and industry Cities and towns Rural communities

1868

1879

58 23 1,606 8,108

56 25 1,698 8,309

1891

63 27 2,592 10,918

SOUBCE: Viktor Adler, Aufsätze, Reden und Briefe (Wien, 1929), X, SO.

After the reform of 1890, Belgium had approximately 210; Great Britain, 163; Denmark, 139. The number then dropped: Italy, 97; Norway, 91; Austria, 72.26 The curial of five thousand large estate owners had no basis for homogeneity but that of landownership. It elected 24 percent of the deputies in the Reichsrat, a sufficiently large number to enable it to dominate legislation when aided by allies from other curials. If necessary, members of the wealthy classes in the second and third curials could swing elections in the first curial by judicious purchase of estates, and this gave them a vote in the small group.27 In this curial voted not only secular lords and bourgeois owners of large estates but likewise the landowning princes of the Church—abbots, priors, and bishops. Vorarlberg and Trieste had no large estates; hence no votes in the first curial; and in Dalmatia the curial consisted of those who paid the highest taxes. Usually the number of voters in the first curial was small enough to allow each province to form a single election district; the voters assembled in one polling place, or if prevented from coming in person, they could vote by proxy or by letter. Galicia, Bukovina, Moravia and Silesia, and Bohemia constituted exceptions to the rule that a province was coincident with a 320

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voting district. In 1891 in Galicia there were 2,177 voters in the first curial, four times as many as in any other province; and the curial elected twenty deputies. For the convenience of the Polish landlords the province was divided into twenty election districts. The chief reason for the large contingent of voters here lay in the fact that the property tax for eligibility amounted to only 100 gulden. In Bohemia, where this tax rose to 250 gulden, of which 200 gulden were in land tax, the number of noble voters reached only 452, who elected twenty-three deputies. In 1882 the government declared Bohemia to be too large for convenient voting by the first class; it therefore divided the province into six election districts. Five of these were geographic units; the sixth comprised the entire province, in which only owners of entailed estates, to the number of forty-five, could vote. These forty-five then elected five deputies, and the remaining 407 elected the other eighteen deputies. One deputy (Dr. Herbst) complained at the time about the increase in political power of the noble lords: twenty-five of this select group, he pointed out, already sat in the Herrenhaus (House of Lords) as hereditary members.28 By contrast Gorz and Gradiska had 444 members in the first curial, almost as many as Bohemia, although the tax basis there was only fifty gulden.29 The relatively modest landholdings and tax burden meant a reduction in political power; the two little territories elected only one deputy. Distribution of voting power varied widely from province to province and expressed differences in wealth, tax returns, cultural levels, prestige, and nationality pressures. The favored provinces were Upper and Lower Austria, Bohemia, Moravia, and Silesia; those least favored were Salzburg, Galicia, and the southern provinces with Italian or South Slav populations. In Galicia the Polish nobles, ruling a Ruthenian peasantry, held closely together, dominated affairs of the province and in Vienna exercised political influence out of proportion to their number by bargaining with a second dominant nationality group in need of allies, the Germans. The chambers of commerce and industry, first established by law in 1850 as bodies combining private and official functions, in 1868 received additional responsibilities. The chambers kept certain records for the government; they reported annually to the Ministry of Commerce on the state of the economy in their respective regions; and upon request or voluntarily, they advised the government, proposed legislation, and performed other functions inherent in their kind of organization. The government retained authority to found a chamber; and the law restricted membership in each chamber to 321

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between sixteen and forty-eight persons, the number being set by the minister of commerce in agreement with the chamber. Local citizens engaged in commerce, industry, and mining who paid a certain amount of industrial tax (Erwerbssteuer) selected the members for a five-year term. The minister of commerce fixed the amount of the tax in agreement with the regional chamber. Twenty-nine chambers came into being, nine of which had the right to elect a total of twenty-one deputies to the Reichsrat, one or more—in one instance as many as seven—from each chamber. In 1891 a total of 583 members elected these twenty-one deputies; that is an average of twenty-seven voters to one deputy, a ratio twice as favorable as that in the first curial with an average of sixty-three voters per deputy. The members of the other chambers voted, although as a separate group, with the voters of the cities and towns. Members of the nine chambers voted twice—once in the chambers' curial, once in the town curial. The significance of the political power of the chambers' curial arises from the fact that in the election of a city or town deputy its vote at times became decisive; hence the minister of commerce, by having the power to determine the number of members in each chamber and the amount of tax to be paid for eligibility to vote, could profoundly influence the outcome of elections in each city or town allowed to have a chamber. The bourgeois merchants and industrialists with the greatest wealth, a relative distinction varying with the community, were granted membership; artisans and small businessmen were either excluded or were expected to follow the lead of their more successful fellows. The members of this urban curial were less independent from government than were the landlords of the first curial. Both groups leaned toward social and political conservatism, although their economic interests did not necessarily parallel one another and frequently led to conflict in policy and objectives. Whereas the landowners preferred to elect as deputies members of their own group, the chambers increasingly returned men who made politics a profession.30 In 1891 the curial of the cities and towns included a total of 338,500 voters, an average of 2,918 voters to each of the 118 deputies. Four provinces—Lower Austria including Vienna, 19; Bohemia, 32; Moravia, 13; and Galicia, 13—returned 77 of these 118. Each of the other provinces elected a much smaller number: Vorarlberg, Istria, Gorz, and Gradiska, one each; Styria, eight; each of the others, from one to seven. Each city or town constituted a district returning one or more deputies; for example, the inner city 322

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of Vienna elected four deputies; Linz, Cracow, and several others, two each. Many towns had a larger number of voters than these cities and yet could elect only one representative. The reason for the discrimination lay in the difference in wealth and tax payments and the level of education and cultural life, as well as in political reliability and nationality composition. The franchise depended upon payment of a small direct tax, which in 1882 was lowered to five gulden, in 1896 to four gulden.31 Disinclination to pay the tax and inability to fulfill a residence requirement of four years, together with political indifference, had by 1891 reduced the eligible voters in the curial for cities and towns to 61 per 1,000 inhabitants. This figure compares with the ratio in Italy of 74 in 1882 and 97.6 in 1890, and with figures given above for all voters in various countries. The number eligible in the towns actually stood below that (72) for Austria as a whole; however, of those eligible to vote in 1891 in a general election a fairly large percentage (67 percent) cast ballots.32 In 1891 voters in the rural or peasant curial numbered 1,387,572, and the size of the group had not been much smaller when the law was drafted. In this curial voters balloted for electors, who in each deputy-district selected the deputy. The government and its supporters did not trust the peasants' political judgment without the safety device of the electoral filter. Those estate owners who did not qualify for the first curial were entitled to vote as electors in the rural curial. In the province of Galicia they accounted for more than 10 percent of the electors, and in some election districts of this province the proportion rose to 12, 13, 14, and even 26 percent. Having social prestige, economic power, and political connections in a proportion beyond their number, these estate owners influenced the outcome of the election. The law discriminated against certain areas and favored others. The deputy-district of Stanislau had 300,930 inhabitants and 26,929 voters; that of Karolinenthal, 263,930 inhabitants and 11,759 voters; whereas Cattaro had 33,358 inhabitants and 3,856 voters, and Gradiska had 51,395 inhabitants and only 1,386 voters. In 1893 Deputy Viktor Adler denounced the indirect system for preserving apathy in public affairs, and he declared: . . . that is just what is wanted. No system is better suited to the methods we like of getting through a few district bigwigs and wirepullers at the center. The communal heads in small localities are obliging marionettes in the hands of the large landowners and big industrialists, and they hold the results of the balloting in their 323

SUFFRAGE hands. Instead of the people's interests coming to the fore in the decision, the vote is a conflict over local and personal matters. Intrigues of all kinds, personal acquaintanceship, friendship and forced favors play the leading roles. Even in highly developed voting districts like Bohemia it is possible that the great majority of the primary voters do not even know that they have the vote; it happens that these good people believe that they are required by law to choose as electors the president, the secretary or the district captain, if he is there.33 Under this system, Adler continued, whether or not the provincial law calls for the secret ballot, the choice of the individual voter always becomes known. The head of the community greets the voters and concludes by proposing, "I believe that we'll elect so and so," and by acclamation the voters cast ballots for the peasants with the most property (Grossbauer) who are in the habit of running the community. If balloting pretends to be secret, the candidates for electors in a small community know whether their friends support them. "The pressure upon the voters in the choice of electors," Adler concluded, "is enormous." 34 In consequence, as in Prussia under the three-class system, the number of eligible voters in the rural curial casting a ballot averaged about 30 percent, less than half that in the curial of cities and towns. The one possible advantage in the Austrian law compared to the Prussian may have been that voters chose electors from among their respective class, whereas in Prussia they could select them from any class. The intent to assure expression of opinion by the peasants in the body of electors became negated, however, by the presence in this body of lesser estate owners. When in 1881 a deputy in the Reichsrat proposed the introduction of universal manhood suffrage, a colleague replied, "The property owners have the power and are determined to retain it. And that is that!" 3 5 In retaining their power property owners had the special advantage of being popularly credited with paying most of the taxes to the state; in return for their money the suffrage system gave these owners political control. Adler revealed the erroneous basis of this claim: the regular expenditures of the Austrian state amounted in 1890 to 560 million gulden, revenues obtained from direct taxes to 108 million gulden. Of these 108 million, 42 million derived from a house tax and a business tax; the burden of both these taxes the owner shifted to the consumer, leaving only 66 million gulden from bona fide taxes. The rest of the 560 million came from indirect taxes, monopolies, and customs—a consumption tax that yielded more than 94 million; a tobacco monopoly, 51 324

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million; a salt monopoly, 17 million—and these struck hardest the poorer classes voting in the third and fourth curials. These classes paid the larger share of the taxes; the upper classes received credit for doing so and exploited the suffrage system to control the state. Table 5, based on a table published by Bernatzik, an Austrian authority dealing with nationality representation in the Reichsrat, reveals that statistically speaking, except for the Germans and the few Italians on the favorable side and the Ruthenians and the TABLE 5 DISTRIBUTION OF AUSTRIAN NATIONALITY GROUPS

(In percent)

Nationality

Germans Czechs Poles Ruthenians Slovenes Serbo-Croatians Italians Rumanians Magyars in Bukovina

Population, 1900

Number of deputies

35.78 23.24 16.59 13.21 4.651 2.77 2.83 0.90

45.11 20.94 15.70 6.40 7.18

J

3.69 0.98

Contribution of direct taxes

Students in Gymnasien and Realschulen

63.4 19.2 7.0

51.15 24.30 15.35

10.4

9.20

0.03 100.00

100.00

100.00

100.00

SOURCE: Dr. Edmund Bernatzik, Die oealerreichizchen Verfaasungagesetze mit Erläuterungen ed.; Wien, 1911), p. 887.

(2d rev.

Czechs very slightly on the unfavorable side, the number of deputies for each nationality stood in close relation to the size of the population of the nationality.38 The percentage of students in secondary schools, except for the Germans, almost equaled that of the national population; and the distribution of the burden of direct taxes, likewise in the case of the smaller nationality groups, compared favorably with the proportion of the population. The Germans could argue in defense of their large percentage of deputies that they paid 63 percent of the direct taxes; on this score the Czechs and Poles stood defenseless. The overall statistics indicate that the distribution of seats in the Reichsrat among the nationalities, except in the case of the Ruthenians, was not so unjust as to 325

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bring about the breakdown of government. When translated, however, into number of deputies and votes in the Reichsrat, into power that could create political patronage for the nationality group, into laws assisting the nationality, into sources of political and cultural prestige, the disparity became troublesome. Each nationality group knew that a few additional deputies would make enough difference to be worth a struggle. Nationality leaders ignored certain criteria governing distribution of deputies if such criteria militated against their claims, for example, the amount of direct taxes paid; and they favored those criteria supporting their claims, such as population or number of students in secondary schools as an indication of cultural significance. They could always cite the dominant fact that the bloc of German deputies retained control by playing one minority group against another. The curial system encouraged actions that although considered normal practice in a homogeneous state, in an empire of national minorities were condemned as national discrimination. The sessions of the Reichsrat degenerated into riots. Austria saw itself forced to invoke the emergency clause of the constitution in order to govern. The Austrian system erected in 1873 became so thoroughly discredited that in 1896 the government took the first tentative step toward universal manhood suffrage. It added a fifth curial composed of all male citizens over twenty-four years of age, and it made no requirement for payment by them of a direct tax. This curial received in the Reichsrat seventy-two additional seats spread among the provinces. The reform proved of little value, since it had no appreciable effect upon the distribution of political power and only magnified the faults of the curial system.37 Rejection in 1907 of the entire system in favor of universal manhood suffrage came as an act of desperation. Not merely had the Reichsrat collapsed into nationality conflict, but a major crisis had arisen in negotiating the renewal of the agreement with Hungary under the terms of the Compromise of 1867. The introduction of manhood suffrage in Austria, the government hoped, would arouse the Magyar population to demand a similar suffrage law, whereby the power of the dominant group in Hungary, stubbornly claiming almost complete independence from the Habsburg monarch, might be broken. The hope in regard to the Magyars proved illusory. The Magyar ruling classes had long ago mastered the art of authoritarian rule behind a democratic facade. The Hungarian suffrage law of 1874 offers an example of how the elite, here an inclusive term, main326

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tained its power. Elections became direct, voters belonged to no classes or curials, each voter cast a ballot of equal weight with all other ballots, the voting age began at twenty, and each district elected one deputy. Outwardly the system appeared as fair and modern as any in Europe; conditions for voting, however, did not support appearances. The right to cast a ballot depended upon payment of taxes, or in case of rural handworkers, upon having at least one assistant in business. In this way the urban workers and most of the peasants lost the franchise, and since rural artisans usually worked alone, they too failed to gain the vote. The nonMagyar nationalities, poorer as a rule than the Magyars, especially suffered. The law disqualified those "during the duration of the penalty who because of a misdemeanor or petty crime or who because of a political misdeed or a libelous press violation have been sentenced to imprisonment," as well as those who had not paid their taxes for a previous year.38 Considering the flexibility of Hungarian criminal law and its severe enforcement, these terms allowed such practices as jailing leaders of minorities or of oppositional Magyar groups at election time, destroying freedom of the press by a broad interpretation of press offenses, interpreting as criminal efforts to use a minority language in church or school or in social intercourse, and legal condemnation of almost any other activity considered contrary to the interests of the Magyar elite. The upper classes allowed members of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences, professors, artists of academic recognition, doctors, lawyers and notaries, engineers, pharmacists, economists, foresters and mining experts, pastors, chaplains, and teachers to vote, whatever their income, since Magyars or Magyarized members of other nationalities monopolized these occupations. The government could count upon support of intellectual groups, whose members lent cultural prestige and dignity to the system. Their loyalty lessened the opprobrium provoked by the intimidation and corruption made possible by open voting. As a final control, in each royal town and in each county the local authority with a committee drew up the list of eligible voters and heard and judged complaints regarding the list. If necessary, the lists could be purged and the omission of names easily defended.39 The Magyar country nobles, most of them poor and all of them dedicated to preservation of the feudal system, decided elections and returned as deputies local colleagues, whose political insight and political standards reflected those of the rural county. The suffrage system served to preserve government by one of the proudest, most 327

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nationalistic and provincial upper-class groups in Europe. Adler estimated in 1893 that in Hungary approximately 48 persons out of each 1,000 of population could vote,40 compared with 72 for Austria, 271 for France, and 217 for Germany. One of the leading journals of Budapest, the Neue Pester Journal, in an editorial appearing after the turn of the century described the results as follows: Present-day Hungary is a creation of the 60's of the previous century. At that time the Hungarian gentry represented political experience, national culture, and united in their hands the actual national economy, landownership. Naturally the rulership fell to this class, which as the backbone of the old Hungary became the backbone of the new Hungary. And it still has this role today, in spite of the fact that conditions have changed in the last forty years to an extraordinary extent. Alongside the gentry new classes have arisen, alongside the old nation a new one has arisen, which at present is scarcely inferior in political experience to the historical bearers of our public life, but which far surpasses them in political insight, which in a few decades has achieved more for the national culture than the old nation did in a thousand years, and which has freed our national economy from the one-sidedness of an agricultural culture and created for it possibilities of which the gentry never allowed itself to dream. . . . Nonetheless the old nation still holds the reins, we still stand under the domination of the gentry as we did forty years ago. The old nation is beginning to be restless in the feeling of its own weakness and decline. For the past twelve years one gentry revolution has succeeded another and in connection therewith all political and national discipline is loosened. This is the illness from which we suffer. It is just as evident in the counties, which are in complete dissolution, as in the autonomous and central administration, which has entirely ceased to function regularly. The evil will not be overcome until the causes are removed. Therefore the question is not who is put in charge of affairs of state but whether domination by the old gentry persists or whether one concedes to the poor nation its part in state affairs.41 The Magyar elite held such power that it resisted all efforts to broaden the franchise, and in Hungary the Austrian reform of 1907 changed nothing. The Austrian law of 1907 introducing universal manhood suffrage did not abolish all discrimination among the nationalities, regions, and classes. Passage of the law became possible by increasing the proportion of deputies for the Czechs and Poles and by expanding the total number of deputies from 425 to 516. The provinces received mandates not merely on the basis of population but according to the amount of taxes; 4 2 election districts varied in size from one of 12,000 population to one of 80,000, but except for a part of Galicia each district returned a single deputy. Wherever neces328

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sary and feasible the law set boundaries so as to contain a single nationality within an election district. In Bukovina and Moravia, where Germans and Slavs lived intermingled, nationality replaced geography as the basis of representation: Germans formed one election group entitled to return a deputy, Czechs formed another. Galicia also received special terms; the part containing both Poles and Ruthenians returned two deputies per election district, supposedly one for each nationality. This device did not succeed; the Poles with 55 percent of the population in Galicia in 1900 elected 81 deputies under the new law; the Ruthenians with 42 percent returned only 33 deputies.43 In spite of the proportionate increase gained by the Poles and Czechs, these two nationalities still did not have so many deputies as other nationalities. The following data showing the number of inhabitants per deputy disclose the extent of discrimination:44 Italians Germans Rumanians Slovenes Poles Croats Czechs Ruthenians

38,000 40,000 46,000 50,000 52,000 55,000 55,000 102,000

The Ruthenians suffered as a minority under the Poles, who in turn became a minority under the Germans. As a peasant folk and culturally backward the Ruthenians could not protect themselves against the Polish landlords, whereas the latter proved efficient politicians in negotiating favors from the central government. The few Austro-Italians exercised little political influence. The outstanding advantage lay with the Germans, who formed the wealthiest group and the traditional ruling and cultural elite among all nationalities. The Germans suffered a diminution in power after 1907, but still returned 41 percent of the total number of deputies while making up only 36 percent of the population. The one-year residence requirement disenfranchised many workers, who as artisans, carpenters, tailors, cobblers, cabinetmakers, found employment at watering places during the season or worked in one or another town upon demand.45 The introduction of universal manhood suffrage for elections to the Reichsrat failed to moderate political strife among the national329

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ities. Although discrimination was greatly lessened, the persistence of even a slight difference in public role kept animosity alive. No nationality formed a majority of the population of the entire state; each enjoyed the position of dominant nationality in certain regions, and each competed with others for farmland, business, public money, for schools and cultural advantages, and for positions in the bureaucracy. Most nationalities found the Germans to be the chief obstacle to the achievement of their ambitions, although a nationality like the Ruthenian, as soon as it became politically awakened, might look to the Germans, often in vain, for protection against its local nationality oppressor.46 Each nationality sought political influence through more representation in the Reichsrat in order to win state favors. Each quickly learned that the change in the system of election to the Reichsrat had little effect without a similar change in the suffrage laws for the provincial Landtage. These assemblies had wide powers, especially in social and cultural affairs, education, roads, and the like, which appeared crucial for progress in the provinces; yet the members continued to be chosen by the four curials. Since the central elections revealed what a just suffrage law would achieve, the new law made the unjust voting systems in the provinces and in Hungary appear more unfair than before. Instead of bringing the peoples together in a common line of political action, the reform aggravated the frustration of living under two electoral systems. This situation in which the peoples were, politically speaking, at the same time free and unfree caused national animosities to flare fiercely.47 In every country universal manhood suffrage found advocates among extreme right and extreme left groups. After the revolution of 1830 in France a few legitimists favored the system, and for a time in the early part of 1849 French conservatives placed in it "an almost unlimited confidence." 48 They envisaged the peasants and lower classes in the towns as voting overwhelmingly for the conservatives' conception of law and order. To their dismay they soon witnessed the swing of these voters to Louis Napoleon, who came to power on the wave of a large popular vote. The new Bonaparte retained the system of universal suffrage because it favored his aims; but he rendered it harmless by selecting governmental candidates and by applying official pressure to return these candidates. Louis Napoleon's success with the masses gave universal manhood suffrage the reputation of strengthening Caesarism. Guizot had declared during the Orleanist period that universal suffrage would ruin democracy and liberty, and many nobles and bourgeois 330

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agreed with this judgment.49 The sudden increase in voters from 250,000 to more than eight million in 1848 and to almost ten million by 1849 alarmed numerous citizens of the upper classes.50 Nonetheless the belief that the peasants supplied, as Witte said in 1905, "the element most reliable for safeguarding the existing order" continued to appeal to many conservatives.51 When Bismarck faced the problem of deciding what type of suffrage system to introduce into the North German Confederation and later into the German Empire, to the surprise of many conservatives and liberals he repudiated the Prussian three-class system in favor of universal manhood suffrage, and he did so despite accusations of Bonapartist ambitions and predictions of social destruction.52 Bismarck always thought of peasants as ex-serfs obedient to the manor lord and of workers as peasants transferred to the factory. In a brilliant defense (March 28, 1867) of his suffrage plan he revealed the essence of his statecraft. He condensed the idealistic argument of nationalism in support of manhood suffrage to an introductory sentence. The belief that all male Germans should participate in national affairs by casting a ballot does not seem to have impressed him. Skeptical of all ideals, he justified the law by the laconic remark: "I at least know no better suffrage system." He repudiated the accusation of Caesarist ambition, at the same time denouncing the Prussian three-class system, which had confronted him with hostile liberals. A more inconsistent, a more miserable suffrage law [than that of Prussia] has never been conceived in any state, a suffrage law that tears asunder all that belongs together and throws together people who have nothing to do with one another, measures in every commune with a different gauge, throws persons in one commune into the third class who in another community would tower far above the existing first class and alone would fill the first class. . . . If the inventor of this suffrage law had envisaged the practical effects of it, he would never have made such a law.

Bismarck diagnosed the weakness of the French plutocratic system as that of causing "constant discontent," and the three-class system likewise, he maintained, imposes hardship at the point where exclusion begins. We can really explain with difficulty to him who is excluded that because he does not pay the same amount of tax as his neighbor—and he would gladly pay if he could since he does not like the idea of someone's being worth more than he is—he must be a helot and politically dead in this state. This is an argument found wherever the list of those to remain politically qualified is abruptly terminated.

331

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Eliminating the system of voting by Estates as anachronistic, he concluded that "on the whole every suffrage law under the same external conditions and influences produces about the same results," and he thought that it returned about the same persons. Although he acknowledged the difference of opinion over suffrage laws, he believed that no system possessed fewer deficiencies and more advantages than that of universal manhood suffrage. He defended direct elections and condemned indirect elections, calling the latter "a falsification of voting, of national opinion." When one accepts [he argued] that the majority [vote] at each stage in the election needs to be only one over fifty percent; the elector represents only one over one-half of the original voters; the deputy represents only one over one-half of the electors, whose total represents already only something over half of the original voters; if very large majorities have not been achieved everywhere, the deputy in the worst case represents in indirect elections only something over onefourth of the original voters, and the majority of deputies in this case only something over one-eighth of the whole. One of these unavoidable halving steps is excluded entirely by direct elections. Then I have always found in the total feeling of the people more intelligence than in the reflections of the electors in selecting candidates, and I appeal to the rather general phenomenon. . . . that we bring into the House abler persons by direct elections than by indirect ones. In order to be returned in direct elections, one must have greater prestige in wider circles, because the weight of the local dignitaries does not come into play in the extended circles involved in direct elections.53

The speech justified universal manhood suffrage by condemning all other systems; yet implicit in its substance lay Bismarck's subsequent disillusionment and the possibility that toward the end of his career as chancellor of the German Empire he would contemplate a coup d'etat to abolish the constitution, including the suffrage system he now advocated, in favor of a more authoritarian form of government. In every country appeared liberals and democrats who in contrast with Bismarck, supported universal manhood suffrage on idealistic grounds. Exemplifying the idealist point of view, the Prussian Schulze-Delitzsch recognized the danger of Bonapartism in granting the popular franchise but trusted in the good sense of the masses, who, he argued, could be seen to advance in political consciousness and who would not be deceived and misled for long. He found in universal manhood suffrage the means of correcting those mistakes that would at first proceed from its use. Setting as an ideal the freedom of every person to find his proper place in 332

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society, he regarded political freedom as the keystone of "all human, economic and other freedom." 54 The masses, he argued, pay the highest tax of all, the blood tax, for they serve as soldiers; they have an interest in the state, and they should be enabled to show and to mature this interest by casting a ballot equal to that of every other citizen. The leaders of Italy, the other major nation that achieved political unification during the century, did not introduce universal manhood suffrage until the loyalty of the people had stood the test of World War I. An oligarchy of upper and middle classes had unified the country, and it continued after 1860 to monopolize political power. Since the economy had not developed to the point reached in Germany by 1860 of being able strongly to bolster national unity, the principal means of winning the Italian masses to the state consisted of popular enlightenment. As late as 1871, 73 percent of the Italian population remained illiterate, a condition threatening the survival of the state. The high rate of illiteracy, especially in the regions south of Rome, enjoined caution in extending the ballot to citizens who only with difficulty could understand the issues facing the new state. In 1880, out of a population of twenty-seven millions, 620,000 or 2.18 percent could vote. Males could vote at the age of twenty-five, but the poverty of the country remained such that the suffrage requirement of at least eight dollars in direct taxes or ownership of property to a significant value excluded agricultural workers, small farmers, almost all city artisans and workers, and many of the lower middle class. Faith in the educative value of the vote and, more importantly, competition of political groups led in 1882 to an extension of the suffrage. The desire to promote national unity remained as decisive in the extension as the determination of the upper classes to preserve their political domination. The law allowed males over the age of twenty-one to vote if they could read and write, and its terms cut the property qualification in half. This reform enabled 7 percent of the population to vote, although most peasants, artisans, and workers remained disqualified because of illiteracy. Political influence concentrated in the cities and towns, where education proved its social value. Merchants, industrialists, and intellectuals had more social power than landowners, and the North more than the South. At the turn of the century economic and social conditions in Italy remained so far behind those in Germany and France that Italian critics could scarcely appraise the realistic significance of universal manhood suffrage. Arguments advanced by the young socialist in333

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tellectual Gaetano Salvemini in favor of this system recall the idealistic expectations of Germans and French more than half a century earlier. The workers and peasants, however, had no interest in the question; they faced the more immediate difficulty of material existence. Critics of current practices went to the extreme of optimism like Salvemini or to that of mistrust. The extension of suffrage in 1882 had accompanied the breakup of the two parties of the period of unification in favor of small political groups and the rapid substitution of corrupt politics for moral idealism and national objectives. Salvemini saw in universal manhood suffrage the means of arousing the people, particularly in the South, to constructive action. "Help us to become free," he declared, "and we shall do the rest!"55 Premier Giolitti, master politician, hoped that extension of suffrage would further the political education of the workers, urban and rural, who were being attracted to radical doctrines. His argument ran true to history: Many times during the past century in one country after another nationalists had introduced reforms designed to develop among the masses an interest in the nation-state. Conservatives reacted fearfully in Italy, as they had in other countries. Giolitti and supporters of suffrage reform pointed out that the rate of illiteracy in Italy had sunk to 38 percent, although it remained much higher in the South, and that in the near future the country could expect complete literacy. In 1912 the Italian government passed a law increasing the number of eligible voters from three million to eight and one-half millions. All males under thirty who had served in the armed forces and all those over thirty received the ballot, irrespective of their ability to read and write. Peasants and workers joined in the vote as Italy achieved near-universal manhood suffrage. By this time survival of the national state appeared assured; illiterates had proved to be loyal Italians, whereas many literates followed the new gods of socialism and anarchism. When World War I struck, Italian democracy gave promise of vigorous life.66 As the last of the great powers to introduce a suffrage system, Russia could have drawn upon a century of experience in drafting the terms of the franchise; but Russia borrowed only one idea, the Austrian practice of dividing the electorate into curials. The Russian government pursued a single objective, to find a suffrage system that would return deputies amenable to the preservation of autocracy under a constitutional form. It issued each suffrage law by decree, learning from the results of the first two decrees, those of October and December, 1905, what to allow and what to prohibit, 334

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and concluding with a law of 1907 that may be characterized as Kafkaesque. In other countries the suffrage law had reflected a fairly stable social structure or had endeavored either to describe the reality of social grouping or to allow expression of the wishes of powerful groups upon whose support government could rely for constructive action. In Russia the distribution of the right to vote rested upon no consistent social base: the law of 1907 further atomized a society that had already reached an acute stage of disintegration. It showed mistrust of all social groups by sanctioning exceptional treatment of members of each group and by making conditions for voting so difficult that numerous eligible citizens avoided the polling place. Russia closed a century of suffrage legislation in Europe by introducing a law so arbitrary in its terms that it lacked a precedent in any country. By comparison the Prussian three-class system and the Austrian curial system seem logical and progressive. The Russian law reveals not social change but the will to autocratic domination. Russia offers another example of a practice that was very common in Europe—that of twisting the participation of the ordinary citizen in public affairs in such a way as to undermine political ideals and inculcate the cynicism and irresponsibility of particular interests. Inasmuch as the law of 1907 incorporated the results of experience under the previous two decrees, an analysis of its terms will suffice to reveal the Russian conception and practice of suffrage. The law deprived the opposition of many of its spokesmen by excluding from the right to participate in the elections (1) all those convicted of certain criminal offenses—largely offenses against the arbitrary press regulations—even though such persons had later been pardoned, and all individuals under indictment or on trial for these offenses; and (2) for a term of three years all officials dismissed from the civil service by court decision, even if later they had been pardoned. The government further used to advantage the fact that many local assemblies of gentry had barred colleagues who had opposed the government in the first Duma. It rid itself of objectionable local leaders by disfranchising citizens excluded by a class institution from the class of which they were members.57 In setting terms for landowners' suffrage the government assumed, in considerable part correctly, that the large estate owners would loyally serve autocracy. It therefore weighted the vote in favor of them and against the gentry, who had proved in the first two Dumas to be a stronghold of reform. The law permitted the largest landowners to vote in person in the provincial assembly that 335

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elected the deputies to the Duma. The smaller landowners voted in districts for electors to the provincial assembly, and the government varied by district the amount of land necessary to entitle a holder to vote in the second category, an amount as low as 300 acres and as high as 1,200 according to political advantage. In order to further reduce the political influence of the gentry it included in this category of voters the ultraconservative representatives of the Church and the monasteries that owned land in the district. These voters from the ranks of the religious often far outnumbered the small landowners. Article 31 declared that . . . The number of delegates to be chosen by the preliminary assemblies [of small landowners and clergy is determined by the amount of land and by the total value of other property belonging to those who appear at the assembly, so that there shall be one delegate [to the provincial assembly] for each full qualification required for direct participation in the assembly of landowners and represented in the preliminary assembly.58

That is, the number of electors chosen by the small landowners should depend upon the amount of their landholdings in relation to that of the large landowners—a way of keeping the number of their electors small in proportion to that of the large owners. The law allowed the minister of interior at his discretion to divide the provincial assembly of landowners "by localities or by categories according to the franchise right of the voters. . . . The number of electors assigned to each assembly will correspond, in the first instance, to the amount of land and the value of the improvements on land owned both by those who participate directly in the assembly [the large landowners] and those who send delegates." 59 On the basis of this vague directive, the minister of interior sent instructions that provincial officials often could not understand. In some provinces officials divided the lesser landowners into five different categories and subdivided one of these, the clergy, into two.60 Professor Harper concluded after studying the law and the election of 1907, "Even the educated man could not find his place in this complicated system; the uneducated voter was quite lost." In August, 1905, the government had given nearly half of the electoral votes to peasants and Cossacks. In December, 1905, it relied to a still greater extent upon the devotion of the peasantry. In acting thus it had misjudged the mujik's attitude. The law of 1907 drastically reduced peasant voting power and deprived many of the most enterprising peasants of the right to the ballot. Whereas the vote of small landowners and clergy for deputies to the Duma went 336

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through two screenings, that of district assembly and that of provincial assembly, the peasant vote was subjected to three— cantonal, district, and provincial—the government's assumption being the less direct the vote the less interest on the part of the voter and the greater the possibility that conservative or at least docile electors would be chosen. The cantonal assembly, which chose the delegates to the district electoral assembly, was the same body of elders, one to every ten householders, which conducted the normal business of the community. As the ablest peasants avoided the routine office of elder as much as possible, they had no influence upon the ultimate selection of deputies to the Duma. In addition, the law required the cantonal meeting to elect delegates "from peasant householders belonging to the rural communes of the canton or inscribed in it, who, possessing communal land or land procured as private property and living on it for not less than a year, personally cultivate it." 61 The terms excluded two groups of the most enterprising peasants. The first group consisted of those who worked part time on the farm and part time in the town and thus could not fulfill the requirement of a year's residence. Their acquaintance with life and standards outside the village rendered them a possible source of discontent and a danger to order. The second group included those peasant sons who earned a living as householders, tavern-keepers, and the like in village or town and no longer "personally" cultivated the soil. They could not vote as peasants, and since they belonged to the peasant class, they did not qualify as voters in the burgher class. If they owned land outside the commune, being classed as peasants they could not vote in the class of small landowners. Intelligent and aggressive, these men might have served as local political leaders, but the law prevented them from having any active part in the selection of deputies.62 The two laws of 1905 had granted eligible citizens in twenty-six major cities the right of direct election of deputies to the Duma and had permitted those in other towns to vote as one class, with results almost entirely unfavorable to the government. Endeavoring to reduce the liberal representation the government cut the number of cities with direct representation to seven and set a high property qualification.63 It divided the upper-class electorate of the other towns into two curia—that of the large property owners, who might be expected to be conservative, and that of the burghers of lesser income, who had returned opponents of autocracy. The law granted the ballot to "persons occupying private lodgings in their own name for not less than a year" (Art. 33); but it imposed as a 337

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handicap upon the considerable number of people in this group the condition of stating by letter their desire to register as voters (Art. 57). The government complicated this procedure so that many of these potentially liberal voters would not trouble to register. The law of 1907 stated: "Town voters can be divided into categories according to the character of their franchise qualification" (Art. 35), a clause so vague in meaning that as in the case of the small landowners and nationality groups, officials with imagination could interpret it to fit local conservative needs. Stipulations concerning the other class of townsmen, the workers, showed that the government had improved its technique of curbing the political expression of this dangerous group of subjects. Having by the law of August, 1905, almost excluded workers from the vote, in 1907 the government retained the terms of the law of December, 1905, which granted workers a modest representation. It disfranchised workers in most factories by allowing the vote only to those in factories employing at least fifty workmen. Since it feared most the workers in large factories and railway machine shops, where a true proletarian mentality had developed, the government allowed each of the factories employing at least fifty male workers to elect one delegate to the provincial assembly for every thousand workers employed. A factory with 2,999 workers could elect two delegates; a factory of fifty workers could elect one. The authorities counted upon the patriarchal character of labor relations in the factories employing between fifty and 200 workers to reduce the liberal or radical vote, for the number of these factories greatly exceeded the number of large factories. It excluded from the franchise workers in the types of factory not specifically mentioned, for example, bakeries and canning factories.64 The law of 1907 struck hard at representation of the non-Russian nationalities. Previous laws had permitted the election of Polish, Armenian, Georgian, and other nationality leaders, who had consistently opposed the government. The new law sought to exclude some of these critics by requiring all members of the Duma to know the Russian language (Art. 128). The government relied mainly, however, upon its legal authority to divide the nationality voters into arbitrary categories with different voting strength. If the nonRussian voters belonged to the category of small landowners, they could be placed in a separate voting group for each nationality and allotted votes according to the amount of land they owned (Arts. 29-30). For those who lived in towns the law merely stated that the 338

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government could divide them into categories "by nationalities" (Art. 36). After studying the election of 1907, Professor Harper reported that in some provinces the government divided voters into twenty-five categories. "Then all those categories, except the clergy and the Cossacks, were again divided by nationality." 65 One example of the result may suffice: in Vitebsk the first curia of town voters contained 665 Jews, 108 Poles and Germans, 171 Russians; each nationality category chose one elector.68 Division into voting classes and categories by no means exhausted the possibilities of the suffrage law. In Article 26 the government insured itself against the unanticipated by vesting final authority for interpreting the law in the Senate, a sedate body of well-tried supporters of autocracy. The government further declared that deputies to the Duma must be chosen from the electors, concerning whose selection it was taking such precautions. From a total of 442 deputies the election of 194 was governed by stipulations regarding the class of voters to which the deputy must belong, thereby assuring a minimum representation to each class: the peasantry, the town voters—or in some cases to each curia of town voters, the landowners, the Cossacks, the workers.67 The provincial assemblies of electors chose the other deputies at large. Professor Harper has described the effects of this change in the voting system as follows: Before, there were no such restrictions that there must be one member from the landed gentry class, one from the large commercial class (first curia of town voters), one from the workmen. Before, it is true, at least one peasant member had to be elected, but he was elected in a preliminary assembly composed exclusively of peasant electors. Now all electors vote for the one peasant member and, as we shall see, inasmuch as the electors from the gentry class have an absolute majority in many governments and together with the electors from the first curia of town electors, a majority in the other governments, it amounts to the peasant members being appointed by the landowners. The workmen were well enough organized to get around this point by selecting their candidates and ordering all others who were nominated to withdraw. The peasants could not do this. There might be thirty-one liberal peasant electors and one conservative, and the conservative peasant be elected by the landowners who had the majority. This happened in several instances. In the second elections often the peasants had the majority in the electoral assembly and let through only peasant members. Now not only have the landowners and large merchants been given a majority, but they are assured of one place each. This article was understood by the peasant voters and was taken as a direct affront.88

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The October Manifesto of the czar in 1905 had left "to the newly established order of legislature the further development of the principle of universal suffrage." 69 The law of 1907 allocated electoral places, and hence Duma seats, among the classes and categories in a way designed for one purpose—to assure a majority to the landowners and the first curia of the townsmen, the only groups upon which autocracy could rely. The law cut the number of peasant electors almost in half and increased that of the landowners from 31 percent to 50.4 percent of the total. In twenty-eight of the fifty-three provinces of European Russia about which data are available the landowners controlled an absolute majority of all electoral seats; in four others they had a number equal to that of all the other classes; in all others they together with the first curia of town voters held a majority. The landowners alone could elect 255 deputies to the Duma out of a total of 442; in other words, they held a substantial majority. The division of town voters into two curia made it safe for the government to increase the percentage of electors from these two urban groups from 21 percent to 25.3 percent, the electors from the first curia greatly outnumbering those from the second curia. The number of electors from the class of workers dropped from 229 to 164, insignificant amounts in comparison with the totals of 6,164 electors for all curia under the previous law and 5,252 under the law of 1907 for the provinces of European Russia and Siberia. The government applied the law to districts where large landowners predominated as well as to those where they were almost lacking. In one district a landowner and two priests made up the two landowner categories permitted to choose eight electors; the overwhelming mass of peasants selected two, and the town voters three. Non-Russian nationalities fared badly: the number of seats in the Duma allowed the Poles fell from forty-six to twelve, and other nationalities suffered on a comparable scale.70 Under the terms of the suffrage law of 1907 autocracy continued the arbitrary ordering of its subjects as had been its custom for centuries. Acting on the assumption that it still ruled a society characterized partly by caste or class structure, partly by equal subservience of all members to the autocratic czar, the government had advanced far enough in its political education to accept the need for a suffrage law, but it had failed to grasp the most elementary fact about the social implementation of suffrage—a suffrage law that does not at least marginally reflect the actual disposition of 340

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social power arouses greater hostility to the existing order than does outright refusal of a law. It stimulates hope and introduces the masses to institutional means, however inadequate, for realizing these hopes. The Third Duma opposed the government less than its two predecessors "not because the people have been disillusioned," Harper wrote in 1908, "and have withdrawn the demands which they voiced with such unanimity less than two years ago, but because it was elected under a new electoral law." 71 Notwithstanding its mistrust of Russian society as revealed in this suffrage law, the Russian government subjected its people to the severest test of loyalty and unity in modern times, World War I. Malpractice in the execution of suffrage laws occurred in every country, the most inclusive example being set by Spain, where caciquismo rendered elections a travesty. The introduction of universal manhood suffrage in 1890 failed to break the hold of the bosses. Governments everywhere either gerrymandered election districts—France early set a notable example—or as in Prussia after 1860 and in the German Empire during its entire existence, they favored conservative areas and the nobility, peasantry, and small towns by failing to redistrict in accordance with the growth and geographic shift of population. Most suffrage laws created local or district commissions to supervise the registration of voters, and governments allowed these commissions to purge and manipulate the voting lists in other ways. Hungary and Russia excelled at this method of assuring the outcome of elections; other states permitted similar abuse, although not on the same scale. In only one aspect of suffrage did some governments learn the advantage to the state of orderly procedure, the aspect dealing with actual voting process. Society in transition had to discover the way to conduct a fair election; for with improving education and a higher cultural level, methods developed in the age of privilege became unacceptable. English visitors to Hungary have left descriptions of elections occurring about the middle of the century in which almost all voters belonged to the nobility. Several hundreds or even thousands of armed nobles accompanied by armed retainers and family servants met at election time in a centrally located town expecting to enjoy themselves socially. Amid dancing, oratory, toasts, tumults, and fighting, speakers proposed candidates. Since the noble scorned secrecy, voting took place either by acclamation, even though the result might lead to a duel, or by open balloting. Apart from requiring the presiding officer to be impartial under threat of physical 341

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attack, the nobles did not isolate the act of voting from conviviality and electioneering, nor did they introduce for it a neutral and orderly procedure. In Spain and the Balkan countries and in parts of Italy elections often involved intimidation culminating in murder.72 In culturally advanced countries violaters of the right to a free vote devised more subtle means than had been used earlier. When open voting persisted, as it did in Prussia until 1918 and in many provinces of Austria until 1907, a voter could be intimidated into changing his ballot. By forcing him to repeat the name of his preference several times, members of the local elite serving as election judges let the voter understand that his first choice met with disapproval and that insistence upon it would lead to reprisals. The lord of a peasant, the employer of a worker, the patron of a merchant might be present at the election and note for whom his dependents voted; those voting contrary to the choice of the patron might be dismissed or suffer other forms of punishment. In defense of the continued use of open balloting authoritarian governments argued that a voter should have the courage to defend his choice in public. They applied standards of an independent upper class to dependent peasants and workers and lower middle class. When the German Empire passed the first suffrage law, deputies—by no means all of them liberal— succeeded in introducing the secret ballot; but the secret ballot did not stop the use of intimidation.73 Led by the overseer, workers on one large estate marched to the polls and received the "correct" ballot, which they handed to the election official, the owner of the estate. Instead of requiring the voter to write in the name of his candidate on the ballot, as had been done earlier, lists of candidates were printed and the voter merely marked his preference. Extension of suffrage to large numbers made it necessary to improve the balloting procedure. Governments enjoined election officials to be impartial; they prohibited speech-making, dissemination of campaign literature, and carrying arms in voting places.74 The balloting was to take place in an atmosphere of dignity suited to the importance of the occasion. The peasantry adapted its tradition of religious ceremony to voting procedure. On Easter Sunday, 1848, at the French election of deputies to the assembly, an entire village first heard mass, and then carrying flags and to the accompaniment of drums, the voters marched behind mayor and priest to the voting booth.75 De Tocqueville has vividly described how the peasants and other voters of his district marched to the polls, with De Tocqueville and his upper-class supporters arranged in alpha342

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betical order as befitted the 1848 ideal of equality. The villagers almost unanimously voted for him, the local lord.76 In the latter part of the century when the number of voters increased, the government found it advisable to laicize the means for assuring dignity and impartiality to the procedure, among other reasons in order to surmount the technical problems of the balloting. As long as means of transportation and communication remained essentially the same as in the Middle Ages, elections lasted for several days or even a week or more to enable as many as possible to cast their ballot. Reformers proposed, unsuccessfully, that the ballot urn be sent to each voter. Construction of good roads and of railroads solved the problem of bringing voters to the place of the balloting, and it became customary to select convenient polling places. Elections took place on Sunday or on a holiday to permit everyone to vote without loss of working time. By 1914 in countries of orderly government voting procedure had become fair and democratic. A century of experimentation and adjustment had made the act of voting a neutral, nonpartisan, respected way of registering political opinion. In every country extension of the suffrage disturbed the upper classes, whose members feared disintegration of the nation into special interests and cliques. They considered the sole means of restoring morality and unity to lie in the restoration of political control by property and culture.77 Many critics, disappointed and frustrated, after World War I turned fascist. The leading advocates of universal suffrage increasingly became the workers organized in socialist parties and the members of the lower middle classes. Except for France, by 1914 European experience with widespread suffrage had extended over barely half a century. In spite of remarkably effective adjustment by the population to politics and to the ballot, the experience of this short span of time does not allow a valid conclusion to be drawn about the practicality of the hopes of idealists. In any event the suffrage system did not and could not compensate for the defects of the social milieu in which it functioned. Its achievement must be judged in relation to the form of government, the nature and role of political parties, and the character of representation. Restricted suffrage retarded the development of a modern society by slowing down industrialization, education, science, and social mobility, whereas universal manhood suffrage appears to have aided adjustment and the acceptance of change. All suffrage systems augmented political competition for public support, and all contributed to the decline of the Old Regime. The type 343

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of system offers a rough index of the extent of social change. By 1914 acceptance of universal suffrage seemed assured, although it remained far from clear that its introduction would guarantee parliamentary government. Europe still needed institutions to harmonize government and society.

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IX POLITICAL PARTIES

HE POLITICAL PARTY EMERGED in answer to the need for an institution that would enable the public to participate actively in constitutional government. The hostility of absolutist regimes to political associations has already been discussed, and constitutions in ignoring the matter of how voters would organize to select candidates for office, agree upon policies, and assure continuing relation between the governing and the governed did nothing to promote parties. Yet all groups except the supporters of extreme absolutism came to realize the usefulness of a new institution like the political party as an implementing device. The present chapter concerns itself with the experiments aimed at clarifying the function and structure of the party.1 Both scholars and the public accepted the concept of party slowly; politics and political organizations, lying as they did outside formal government, never lost the reputation of being tainted with Jacobin disorder, prejudice, doctrinairism, and passion. Politics in itself seemed so ephemeral and trivial, so lacking in ideals or principles, so flexible and unstable, that few observers troubled seriously to analyze and discuss its organization and methods. A writer on politics emphasized policies, party doctrines, party platforms and political negotiations, debates in parliaments, all matters that related party history to the political history of the state but did not illuminate party function. Development of the political science of parties, as it is known in the twentieth century, confronted obstruction not merely from law and government but from the new institutions, such as the corporation and the trade union, which used means other than parties to influence politics. The term "political party" figured as only one among numerous concepts that designated political organization, and until late in the century the use of the term did not necessarily signify a well-established organization. Although none of the three institutions—party, corporation, and

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trade union—lacked precedents, only within the society of industrialism did each become important enough to constitute a novel social fact. As in the case of other institutions discussed here, the growth of the political party indicates social transformation; the party becomes a factor in modern social history. Metternich observed that political groupings, the early form of parties, inevitably appeared when representatives sat as equals in an assembly. If such a situation occurs, he asserted, ". . . election relationships will play a role which will split the assembly into right, left and center. The split will occur according to political inclinations and will harm the original conception of the assembly as a union of corporations to be kept separate from one another." 2 His remark referred to the Prussian king's convocation in 1847 of the United Landtag, when he advised that in order to prevent parties from forming the deputies of each provincial Landtag should sit as a separate group.® The idea did not appear novel; France and Bavaria already practiced it, and Ludwig Borne in 1833 described its working: "In Bavaria the deputies, chosen for six years, receive their seats by lot in the first session. Like a schoolboy each deputy must retain this seat; he cannot change it. Thus the government seeks to prevent the like-minded deputies from sitting together and forming a party." * The Austrian Chancellor's condemnation of party as a partial thing, a faction, agreed with the views held on this subject by liberals, not merely during the years before 1848 but in many instances after this date. The one upheld the ideal of an absolutist state ruled by law but without parties, the others that of a constitutional monarchy governed in accordance with law and also without parties. 5 Absolutists and liberals condemned each other as factions. The pre-'48 Baden liberals referred to the government as the "party of reaction." Calling themselves "Friends of the Fatherland," they claimed to stand above party and to govern in the spirit of the constitution, in behalf of freedom and of law; anyone who does so, they asserted, rises above partisanship. 6 When for lack of a more descriptive word they referred to themselves as a party, they claimed to be the party of reason (Vernunft). As Heinrich von Gagern stated in the Hessian Landtag (1834): I profess myself to be a party man, and I admit this openly; I belong to the party which strives to uphold and develop the pillars of the representative organization of our constitutional life and the rights of the people. But I challenge anyone who tries to draw me into party strife or accuses me of not having voted at every opportunity accord346

POLITICAL PARTIES ing to my best judgment, independently. I believe that I have the right in this assembly to use the word "party," to refer to the party of those who share my opinion and of those who oppose my view; to refer to the party of the national government which follows views opposed to mine.7 The expression of an all-embracing ideal reflected the conflict between two basically antithetic social structures. It revealed the inexperience of the speaker with the complexities of a society Janus-like in its nature; liberals, not merely in Germany, believed that they had found an ideal and a method of government rendering parties superfluous. In discussing "the question relative to the participation of simple citizens in political power," Sismondi set as the objective: bringing out the true will of the nation; that is to say, accelerating the formation of public opinion, maturing it, and then only causing its authority to be acknowledged. We ask national representatives not to divide themselves into two or three camps, under two or three banners, but to come penetrated with the virtuous wishes and opinion of all the localities, all the bodies, all the sects and all the employments of those who send them; to be prepared to defend them, but also to modify them, in order to make them agree with public opinion.. . . We have very little respect for assemblies which decide instead of deliberating. . . .8 Sismondi condemned parties as obstructing the clarification of the general will. Several decades later Robert von Mohl, Tübingen professor of Staatswissenschaft, deplored the existence of political clubs, regarding them as . . . a temporary means and an indication of a political life in the process of formation. . . . Where in a people the parties have fully clarified themselves and have expressed themselves sharply both as to their membership list and their purpose, it does not need an avant garde in miniature to arrive at common views and decision. Of themselves all matters conform to the principles set for all time, and it is a question only of whether a majority is to be achieved. It is possible that within a large party there are lighter shadings; but these do not go so far as to require a separate existence, and the common goal is too definite for the separated organizations to be able to serve any purpose. Naturally occasional discussions among the leaders of the parties about the course to be pursued will take place, and the party members will keep contact with one another socially; but this is essentially different from division into organized associations, each with its own standing rules.9 Essential to Von Mohl appeared "the firm principles" of a "large party" to guide action. Reputed to be an academician who under347

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stood the realities of politics, Von Mohl did not grasp the complexity of arriving at political decision, nor did he understand the importance of procedure in the effective functioning of a parliamentary body. His inability to comprehend these matters arises from the fact that he lived at an early stage in the development of political forms. Thiers, a politically sophisticated leader in French public life, turned this same ideal of government into authoritarian parliamentarism. In a speech of 1872 he envisaged the elected deputies as being "freely, wisely designated without reference to party, clan or origin, neither from the elite nor from the masses, neither of the right nor of the left but in that light of public esteem." 10 Apart from the implied wish to supplant Bonapartism by Thiersism, the speaker upheld the dream of popular government without parties, without that is, instruments that could make popular government practicable. Intellectuals and members of the upper classes like Thiers, Von Mohl, Sismondi, and many others feared the potential of parties for political action, and they explored ways to avoid the adjustment that popular participation in public life entailed. Acceptance of party organization brought attempts to differentiate among political associations and to categorize parties. Inasmuch as parties became important agents in the several European countries at varying times, a chronological history of party life for Europe as a whole would confuse rather than clarify the subject. In 1842-45 the Swiss Friedrich Rohmer classified parties according to their age and psychological nature. He described the radical party as an infant, receptive and feminine in nature; the liberal, as the young man who had terminated his studies and was entering upon mature life; the conservative, as a man of thirty to forty years, less concerned with acquiring new goods than of improving and increasing those that he had; the absolutist, as a sexagenarian turning toward his childhood and a puerile radicalism.11 Metternich employed the word "party" in the sense of the Old Regime, as a faction, a partial thing.12 And Bismarck always conceived of parties in this sense of partiality: "Politics of partisanship is foreign to me [he said]; at most I practiced it before I entered government service when I was also an angry fraction member; but that is impossible for a Prussian or a German Minister."13 In November, 1881, he wrote in a private letter concerning Virchow and Forckenbeck, two of the most responsible and eminent liberal political leaders in Prussia, that they and their like "are petty and narrow, 348

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neither one works for the whole and each is out for his fraction alone." 14 At the opposite extreme stood those who generalized the concept of party to describe an amorphously inclusive group. Rotteck, one of the editors of a widely read pre-1848 encyclopedia, in 1838 distinguished two opposing parties, "the favored oligarchy with its clientele and the plebeian believing itself neglected or the great mass of the Third Estate." 15 The designation surpassed in ambiguity a favorite contemporary definition of party as an organization of persons adhering to a common set of principles. Throughout the century principles—conservative, liberal, democratic, socialist, legitimist, Orleanist, Bonapartist, republican—found expression through parties. In the early decades of the conflict in countries where the Old Regime remained strong, as in Central Europe and Russia, the distinction made by Rotteck appeared valid—if the term "masses" is used in reference to the articulate individuals supporting liberal views. As the emerging industrial society grew in strength the concept of party and the distinction among parties became more precise and more realistic. On the Continent the clearest analysis of the role and nature of a party appeared in those states where party life was most active— France, Italy, and Central Europe. At the end of the century (1895) the Italian author Micelli assured his readers of a phenomenon that the German Bluntschli had noted nearly a generation earlier. Political parties appear wherever political life flows freely in a state. . . . The richer and freer the political life, the more positively do the political parties advance. The peoples most gifted in politics therefore manifest the most developed party formation. The competition and friction of party difference press the state to the highest creations of which the people is capable and bring to light the wealth of concealed popular powers. Political parties are therefore . . . a condition and a manifestation of healthy political life in a people.. . . Parties are the natural, necessary manifestation and expression of the powerful inner forces that move the political life of the nation.1®

Or as the French writer Charles Benoist said (1904), parties are "active elements and essential organs of national life." 17 Bluntschli distinguished among six types of parties "according to the degree of purity of their political-party formation." In the lowest form, religion and politics are mixed, and the state and politics do not achieve autonomy. At the next stage, parties are based upon province, nation, or tribe, but not upon a unified state; 349

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although they pursue politics, they constitute a danger to the state. Next in order come parties founded upon Estates or castes. These no longer menace the life of the state, but "The hostility among Estates is nonetheless . . . so strong that the union with political parties divides the different levels and classes of the nation more passionately and for longer time than is salutary for the unity of the state and legal equality." At the next level Bluntschli places "Constitution parties," those organized according to constitutional principles—"royalists or monarchists and republicans, aristocrats and democrats, constitutionalists and feudalists, unitarians and federalists, national party and particularists, constitutionalists and republicans, centralist and decentralists, and so on." He regarded these as a transitional type, "of constitutional rather than political significance." Such parties will disappear, he held, with the conclusion of the constitutional struggle. At this point parties emerge that support or oppose the ministry. In France and Germany, he wrote, the terms "governmental" and "oppositional" have a different meaning from that given them in England, since parties on the Continent cannot expect to govern. The one party merely supports the ministry; the other opposes the ministry, not in expectation of eventually assuming power, but in keeping with its role as negative critic. Since neither party has a responsible position in governing the country, neither becomes capable of full political development. The highest form is the purely political party, "which is guided solely by political principles, not religious, caste, constitutional or factual antagonism, and also freely and continuously participates in public life." 18 On the basis of experience in the country that most freely practiced politics the French analyst Leon Jacques drafted (1913) the most inclusive definition of party so far given. One may say today [he wrote] that in France a party is at the same time (1) a set of ideas, inspired by a certain ideal, organized into a set of political, economic and social doctrines, conditioning a method and a program, (2) an ensemble of individuals, leaders, party workers and adherents who share the ideas and who, united and disciplined in a particular organization, (3) pursue in common in the interest of the entire nation the objectives that they set.19

This writer's recognition of the essential role of party discipline and organization marked a substantial advance in awareness of the realities of political action. The author of the article under "Parties" in Brockhaus' Conversationslexikon (1846) had presented the contrary view: "There is nothing to be said against the natural rise 350

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and cohesion of those bound together by similar views and goals but a great deal against parties organized and operating with calculation." 20 This attitude reflected the response of an intellectual, an independent thinker, who cherished his own freedom, and thought of political life in idealistic terms. Having experienced the restrictions of bureaucratic absolutism, like all liberals he feared that organized authority would destroy freedom. Between this fear and the recognition by Jacques and others that some structure appeared essential to effective party operation lay more than half a century of experience. In every country, law, bureaucracy, suffrage systems, and authoritarian government placed such obstructions in the path of parties that a permanent party structure developed slowly. When conservatives and liberals both ceased to regard their respective groups as holding a monopoly of political wisdom, political analysts began to correlate the existence of many parties with state needs. The word "party" indicated "a fraction of the whole"; the party represented the sentiment of only a segment of the nation, and it could not aspire to identity with the nation except by an act of usurpation. One analyst concluded that a party cannot exist alone; it must have other parties to combat, and it receives its own being and life from the existence of others.21 Bluntschli distinguished between a party and a faction. A party, he argued, completes the state by pursuing a political objective that is in harmony with the state and devoted to the common welfare 2 2 ; however, he cautioned: "Parties should not be allowed to become members of the state body but must be bound and restricted by the institutions of the state body." 23 Bluntschli did not mean to imply that parties should be subordinate to the government; rather he saw that provided they accepted the state and society, parties should be allowed the freedom of organization and action they required. Toward the end of his 650-page book dealing with Politik, he spoke of the natural right of parties to exist, and he recognized the possibility of a party's being responsible for government, as in England. In this situation, he declared, the party must rise above partisanship to a regard for the welfare of the whole. Otherwise party declines into faction and becomes an exaggeration, a degenerative agent, bent upon subjecting the state to its own selfish interests. A faction portends the destruction of other factions; a party recognizes the legitimate existence of other parties, "for all are necessary for the richly active life of mankind. The mutual respect of parties is therefore a just demand of humanity and sound policy." 24 Bluntschli urged parties to organize thoroughly for action and 351

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members to accept party discipline as soldiers accept the orders of their commanders.25 He had moved beyond German experience to an understanding, extremely rare in Central Europe, of the political role of party as practiced in England. Bluntschli the scholar understood the ways of politics almost as well as the French practitioner. He accepted the ideals of liberalism, which he identified as the force shaping the century. His conception of conservatism might be called a version of retarded liberalism, and he contrasted these two complementary ideals with radicalism and absolutism at the extremes.28 Like the French he regarded parties as means of harmonizing individual and social action; but handicapped by living in an authoritarian state, he did not equal the precision of French writers in exploring practical problems of party activity. More academic than the French, Bluntschli appears to have gained his knowledge from the study of politics rather than from direct observation. French writers understood the value of party competition in stimulating public debate and in keeping the government abreast of changing conditions of life. On the eve of World War I the French analyst De la Chesnais wrote: Various signs indicate that the voters are more desirous of exercising a little more realistically their theoretical sovereignty. . . . The parties become for the voters collective personages, a first approximation of political life. . . . Parties ought to become the property of all voters.. . . These wish to understand the politics of their representatives and to control them.. . . Organized parties allow a clearer and a more easily controlled policy. 27 Or as another French author explained: Party organization on the one hand enables citizens who have sound ideas and fertile views to make these known to the public, to explain them, to defend them, to propagate them and attract partisans to them; on the other hand it permits men of good will who wish to understand contemporary problems to proceed with preliminary and preparatory work, to the exchange of views that clarifies political questions, to put them in simple and neat terms, to place them within reach of the most ignorant voters. 28 And: Finally the sincere adherence to a political party and the loyal observation of its rules recall to the individual, engaged in many social, religious, professional, literary and other groups, that he has duties as a citizen to fulfill and reduces perceptibly in his own mind and in that of the leaders of the particular associations the exclusiveness, the egoism, the feeling of caste, the in-group spirit. In a word there

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will not fail to develop, if they are not counterbalanced by outside, disinterested and national influence, the meanness of a corporation without breadth of vision and 29the narrowness without grandeur of purely material preoccupations. In sum, he wrote, a regime of strong parties enables the citizen to exercise a part of sovereignty, to participate to some extent in the direction of national affairs.80 These were concepts not grasped by Max Weber as late as 1919.31 In nineteenth-century Europe parties like representative assemblies, corporations, and trade unions became a means for institutionalizing change through cooperation of the governing and governed. Parties both stimulated public enlightenment and made self-government possible. Like other institutions created or matured in this century, they became liable to abuse by special interests, and they produced ambiguous and hypocritical situations in which private interests concealed their selfishness under protestations of public welfare; yet the fact that within a few decades an institution like the political party took form, grew, and assumed a role in society marks a major advance. Parties failed, however, to develop equally in all countries: by 1914 Europe offered examples of this institution in every stage of political growth. Since political parties took form under governments that had developed very little beyond absolutism, in every country government itself set a precedent for party organization.32 Government in countries recently ruled by absolute monarchs—France in the Restoration, the German states adopting constitutions before 1848, Prussia after 1849, Austria after 1860, Russia after 1905— interpreted election laws as sanctioning use of the bureaucracy to return loyal candidates to the legislatures. The conservatives supporting the government depended upon the king and bureaucracy for political guidance and action; they condemned political parties as breeders of unrest, and hoped by minimizing political activity to curb social change. As long as governments remained in the hands of men sharing their views the conservatives correctly regarded the bureaucracy as their electoral machine. They were the last to organize political parties; yet whenever the ministry adopted a neutral attitude toward elections and instructed the bureaucracy to avoid a political role, the conservatives like everyone else resorted to political organization while waiting for the restoration of an authoritarian ministry that would utilize the bureaucracy to win conservative victories at the polls. The bureaucracy, all-pervasive in administrative matters, could 353

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be all-pervasive in politics as well. By using bureaucratic power, governments affected the life of practically every individual in the state. A pharmacist or bookseller, a tavern-keeper or manufacturer, might be denied a license or lose important customers. An agriculturalist might experience pressure through taxation, tariff legislation, or harmful delay in railroad service. A small town might lose the garrison, its chief consumer, to another town or be bypassed in the construction of roads and railroads. Tenants and peasants on state-owned lands—areas of substantial extent in some countries—and those on private estates belonging to political conservatives might receive orders concerning their use of the ballot. In Prussia the state's attorneys, officials subject to dismissal at any time, had the exclusive authority to bring criminal suit, and they could be expected to satisfy a willful ministry by prosecuting political opponents for matters normally overlooked. Organized to reach every individual in the state the bureaucracy had agents in every village and district. A determined government expected the thousands of officials—schoolteachers and pastors; police, sanitary inspectors, building and factory inspectors; and administrative officers in charge of county, province, or department—to do more than merely prevent the opposition from obtaining supporters; it expected them actively to campaign for the government party. Certain governments, the most notorious being that of Napoleon III, named official candidates, and unless conditions were completely unfavorable, threw the full weight of the state behind them. Napoleon III discovered that the government could not undermine the popularity of certain candidates, although such situations arose infrequently. Governmental funds assisted loyal newspapers and subsidized the printing of pamphlets and leaflets for popular dissemination; the opposition press found itself harried and persecuted into neutrality or silence. Although some occupations were less exposed to pressure than others, none entirely escaped. Judges with tenure could be transferred from a desirable to an undesirable post. Lawyers, doctors, and professors, relatively independent and often secure by virtue of their social prestige, might encounter administrative red tape, and a professor might be overlooked for an important chair or face a reduction in research funds. The large landowners and industrial entrepreneurs probably remained the freest, the former by being able to live in spite of governmental hostility, the latter because government appreciated its own considerable dependence upon the 854

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expanding productive and taxable power of industry. Other groups succumbed to economic pressure, and many avoided opposition lest they be denounced for disloyalty. Every party learned that it needed an organization, preferably one with the social coverage possessed by the bureaucracy itself. From the bureaucracy a party learned ways and means of influencing voters, and like the bureaucracy it tended to claim a monopoly of patriotism. Few if any parties, however, wielded power over voters which was comparable to that of the official institution. Those devoted to liberalism opposed the ruthless practices of the bureaucracy, branding them a violation of natural or civil rights and both illegal and immoral; nonetheless, bureaucratic precedent seemed hard to reject, since it sanctioned devious practices that parties found useful. Wherever the government employed officials in election campaigns, the quality of political life deteriorated, and in the long run popular interest in public affairs decreased. Conservatives in government and private life transferred to the activities of politics and parties the attitudes and habits of the society that existed before suffrage, parties, and constitutions; in order politically to maintain themselves, others emulated this example, at least for as long as the conservatives wielded superior power. It took time, experience, and the confidence born of increasing strength for some parties to learn the shortcomings of the official bureaucracy as a paradigm of political organization and to develop form and method appropriate to the nature of political activity. None of the parties ever exercised sufficient power to emulate for any period of time the divine-right attitude of the conservativebureaucratic-state party, and the liberal foundation of the middleclass parties inclined them toward modesty and reason. Something of the divine-right approach revived with socialism, however, the parties substituting social dogmatism for divinity. Political parties with a religious basis rank among the first to have set up a permanent organization. Members of the faith needed only to implement their religious beliefs in a way designed to penetrate the affairs of government and politics. Accustomed to form societies within the ecclesiastical organization for clerical or lay purposes—charity, education, prayer, and edification—they easily extended the practice to the area of politics. Catholics held that the political party should serve a religious objective and be imbued with moral purpose like any other group organization. The Church afforded a point of union, a personnel experienced in public affairs, a 355

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leadership and a form of association that could be easily adapted to political purposes, and a disciplined following. Hierarchically organized over an entire region or country, the Church exerted an influence upon its members comparable to or greater than that of the state over its citizens—greater because transcendentally sanctioned. In fact the religion-oriented party achieved effective organization before almost all other groups and retained the loyalty of its adherents and followers for a longer time and more consistently than most other parties. Conservative party leadership split into several factions, and the following did not always remain loyal. The middle-class and bourgeois parties encountered the weakening effect of emerging varieties of liberalism and democracy. No single party, with the possible exception of the Social Democratic, equaled a church-oriented party in stability, and at least in the nineteenth century even the Social Democratic party experienced its political heresies and fluctuations of appeal. Parties based upon the Roman Catholic church showed most ability and strength in those areas or countries where the Church confronted Protestant competition, as for instance in Germany. The German Centrist party became the ablest Catholic party on the Continent, demonstrating superior capabilities in lay and clerical leadership, intelligent participation in public affairs and education of its followers in these affairs, organization and stimulation to action of the Catholic laity, and in application of its religious beliefs to new conditions. In countries where the population was entirely or predominantly Roman Catholic, the Church did not bestir itself as it did in religiously divided Germany. In these countries the political and social views practiced by the overwhelming mass of the hierarchy continued to be those of the Old Regime—absolutism and caste as opposed to the ideals of the Enlightenment and their expression in liberalism and democracy. Many citizens tended to ignore politics and to leave conduct of public affairs to a divine-right monarch, if one survived, advised by a divine-right church, or to a small elite of laymen. Thus in Spain political life remained confined to a few leaders, among whom the Carlists, like medieval crusaders, used the masses as fighters for a cause that had little or no political relevance to the common man. In Italy after unification the Church banned the participation of Catholics in politics, with the result that political organization took lay forms. Although habits of religious association influenced the structure of political activity, parties developed their own means of attracting the public into politi356

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cal battle. The instability of party organization in Italy indicates the difficulty parties encountered in this warfare, particularly as they were faced with the hostility of the Church, the most efficiently organized institution in the country. An equally inhibiting factor proved to be the practice of ministries in mobilizing the power of the state to rout political opponents. In Austria parties split mainly along lines of nationality rather than along those of religion, and in France conditions became even less favorable to a party based upon the Church and religion. In Catholic countries church membership did not differentiate one person from another sufficiently to be used as a basis for party devotion. Almost everyone in France belonged nominally to the Church; however, widespread indifference, ranging from anticlericalism to agnosticism, prevented a church party from commanding loyalty. Parties formed along lines that either ignored religion or exploited church loyalty for nonreligious objectives. In France Legitimists, Orleanists, Bonapartists, all could and did claim to be Catholic or to be at least favorable to the Roman Catholic church. Republicanism likewise pronounced itself to be merely anticlerical, not anti-Catholic. The large number of agnostics opposed the Church both as the expression of religion and as a political and social institution. The French hierarchy aligned with the most conservative, reactionary group in the society, the Legitimists, and acquiesced in the authority of Bonapartism only to the extent that it furthered conservative, ecclesiastical interests. Catholics, therefore, organized competing parties. No party could use the Church as its political organization; each found itself compelled to forge its own framework for political activity. Since the hierarchy largely condemned constitutional government and parties as manifestations of liberalism, political associations devoted to the interests of the Church found themselves in the position of all conservative advocates of divine-right monarchy and society of privilege; namely, that of using means of which they disapproved in order to undermine the form of government and society to which these means pertained. The German Catholic or Center party did not commit itself to the exclusive support of a vestigial form of government and society; hence it exercised vigorous power in the state. Refusing to relinquish the old ideals of society, the French Catholic hierarchy and its political supporters declined into a faction; they lost ground to those parties concerned with living issues which thought of the Church as one among many forces to be considered in the play of politics.33 357

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The Socialists and Communists shaped parties according to a secular dogma. Justified by a faith outside the field of politics, the Socialists like the Catholics early achieved party organization and discipline. Formulating their dogma and creating their organization apart from and in the main prior to the appearance of labor unions, the Socialists drafted a party constitution as an instrument for effective action in re-forming society rather than for improving the current conditions of the working class. For them the overriding practical consideration became the nature of the government and legal system under which they operated. In an autocratic country like Russia the Socialists worked underground. Some of them envisaged their role as educational or propagandists, advocating a loose organization that approved as members or as allies persons in various stages of acceptance of socialism. Others demanded rigid discipline in a militant party devoted to revolutionary overthrow of the existing society in favor of a socialist dictatorship. Prior to the revolution of 1905, the Russian government had banned all types of socialism. In consequence socialists of varying viewpoints worked in secret and kept the party, wherever one existed, small and disciplined; as a result the party took on the character of a conspirational group rather than that of a political party. In countries like Italy and Spain persecution under the law drove Socialists to act in a similar manner. After Socialist parties had gained legal recognition in Germany, Austria, France, they assumed there, and often in Italy and the lesser countries, many characteristics of bourgeois political parties while preserving the attitude and constitution of a group aiming ultimately at revolution. The party controlled membership and imposed duties: each member paid a party fee, a kind of tax with which to support a nucleus organization for the future society; the member's entire social life and that of his family was concentrated in party activity, which in preparing the way for socialism covered as many aspects of life as possible. The party aimed to undermine the existing social structure and to win supporters for a socialist future. To achieve this objective it functioned like other parties within the framework of existing institutions of government and society, engaging in election campaigns, participating in elected assemblies, maintaining its own press and other propaganda devices; at the same time it differed from other parties in that it prepared to go underground in emergencies and to assume power on the ultimate day, whether peacefully or by revolution. It had to be more than a party, less than a government; it had to be so organ358

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ized as a party that it could gain followers, discipline members, and prepare itself and society for the time when it would capture the government. In the early years of socialism the party could not meet the demands made upon it. In France, for example, before the turn of the century the party lacked sufficient numbers, arid the members, many of them being intellectuals and not workers, rejected the discipline needed for effective organization. In the department of Loir-et-Cher a Socialist electoral meeting at Blois in April, 1914, was attended by the following persons: a doctor, a professor from the local college, a teacher, a merchant, a retailer, four artisans, an employee, and seven workers. The police commissioner noted that this was the usual composition of such a gathering.34 After France accepted freedom of association in 1901, Socialists organized themselves into an association as a legal entity. The party elected officers, held property, and drafted a statute that became so detailed as to read like a political constitution.35 Article 1 stated the party objective of achieving international entente and action of the workers, the political organization of the proletariat in a class party for the conquest of power and the socialization of the means of production and exchange, that is the transformation of capitalist society into a collectivist or communist society.38

Article 2 declared: "The title of the Party is Socialist Party, French section of the Workers' International." The party set up means for achieving objectives that were the same as those sought by other parties—winning elections and influencing the course of governmental legislation; in addition it provided for educators, social workers, conspirators, propagandists, and for defense against hostile attacks. The essential articles in the constitution read as follows: 12: The federations [the Socialist organizations in the several departments] agree to respect the principles and the program as well as the decisions of national and international congresses. ARTICLE

ART. 13: The federations shall not introduce into their statutes rules contrary to the constitution of the party. ART. 14: No one may be a member of the Permanent Administrative Commission [of the national party], permanently appointed for propaganda work, titular delegate of a federation to the National Congress [of the party], candidate for election to the legislature, if he has not been a party member for at least three years.

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ART. 15: Wherever the statutes of the federations have not stated otherwise, the candidates shall be selected by all the sections of the electoral district and approved by the federation, which has the mandate to see to the observance of the party principles. ART. 16: Every candidate must sign an agreement to abide by the principles of the party and the decisions of the national and international congresses. ART. 17: In case for any reason the elected deputy leaves the party he must place his mandate at the disposition of the organization which has sponsored his election and which has the sole right to decide whether he shall retain the mandate or resign. In case of dismissal from the party, the return of the mandate is obligatory. ART. 18: The sections [the local units] of the federations may not organize discussions, meetings or public festivals in cooperation with speakers from outside the party unless a member is officially delegated to speak there. Speakers and propagandists of the party may not participate in a discussion assembly or public festival organized outside the party without the previous consent of the local organization and in case of need of the federation or, if there is occasion, of the National Council. ART. 19: Each time that an agreement is not reached, the minority will have the right at all levels of the party, section, federation, Permanent Administrative Commission and for all commissions or delegations of these various bodies to a proportional representation. The oath of loyalty, exclusion for heresy, indirect elections from lower to higher representative body to assure selection of the most devoted and able candidates, control over member's association with other organizations, a three-year residence requirement for eligibility to hold any important position in order to insure close connection with a locality, its people, and problems as a basis for Socialist propaganda—these requirements indicated ways for attaining party ideals. The party congress held ultimate authority; the Socialist group in the parliament reported to it, as did a Finance and Accounts Commission of nine members selected by the congress. The National Council, which attended to affairs when the congress was not in session, consisted of delegates elected by departmental federations, the Socialist group of parliamentary deputies, and the Permanent Administrative Commission. The members of the last body were selected by and responsible to the National Council. The Na. tional Council took orders from and reported to the annual party congress. The party arranged to arbitrate disputes and all disciplinary matters among members or groups within its ranks; the congress acted as a final court of appeal. Article 64 contained the 360

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ambiguous injunction that all radical organizations impose: "The press has entire liberty of discussion of all questions of doctrine and method, but all Socialist journals and reviews must conform to the decisions of national and international Congresses as interpreted by the National Council of the Party." The statute included precautions in Articles 32 and 36 against the parliamentary group's becoming so powerful that it could dominate the party and weaken the faith by exploiting the party to win elections and to gain advantage in the ordinary battles of bourgeois politics. Socialist deputies did not automatically become members of the party congress or of the National Council. As a group they selected representatives to the council, and this representation remained numerically small. The constitution did not establish so rigid a mold as the Russian Bolsheviks had done, since freedom in France rendered Bolshevik extremism unnecessary; nonetheless, a member understood that he had party obligations far beyond those of a usual bourgeois party member, that he had committed himself not merely to political maneuvering but to the achievement of Socialist society. Except on a few occasions of revolutionary turmoil, as in 1848 and 1870-71, the type of party organization and activity set by the clubs of the French Revolution found no imitators in the nineteenth century. A club such as the Jacobin either faced legal ban along with all other political organizations, or after freedom of association came into play, no longer met a need. Its conspirational character, its usurpation of executive authority, suited a revolutionary condition no longer present in the briefer revolutions of the nineteenth century. The Communards of 1871 and particularly the Russian Bolsheviks borrowed certain practices from the Jacobins; otherwise, political parties adjusted themselves to the conditions afforded by constitutional government, legal election of representatives to public assemblies, and—in comparison with the absolutist past—freedom of speech, press, assembly, and association. The bourgeois and middle classes founded, directed, and supported most parties; and the extent of party organization, methods of action, and influence depended upon the nature of the laws under which parties operated and upon the condition of the society—degree of literacy, presence of modern facilities for transportation and communication, relative proportions of agriculture and industry in the economy, spread of urbanization, amount of social mobility, and type of government. The nature of the individual parties reflected the stage a country had reached in its course from the Old Regime to the new society of industrialism. The parallel, however, is not 361

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exact: some parties lagged behind society; others forged ahead of social conditions. No party expressed the character of the entire society at any one time; rather it accounted for only a part of that character. All political parties, even the Conservative, Catholic, and Socialist, shared those traits essential to any group organized for political action under constitutional government with representative bodies that met regularly and often. Of all groups the bourgeois and middle-class parties most clearly expressed these traits and most easily made adjustments appropriate to the rapidly changing conditions about them. These latter parties concentrated upon politics as a means of dealing with problems arising in the normal course of life within a framework of relatively free government and society. They wished to fulfill the promises of constitutional government and of an industrial, capitalistic, individualistic free economy. They appeared wherever the structure of the Old Regime had been sufficiently weakened to allow them to take root. By this time political activity on the part of conservatives and reactionaries, and absolutists and caste adherents in the main conformed to the standards set up by the bourgeoisie and middle class. These latter groups might have learned from the political behavior of the traditionally dominant political and social groups, but the reverse appears more often to have been the case. The urban upper classes supported by landowning nobles who became interested in the grain trade, mining, and other capitalistic enterprises took the initiative in creating the institution of the political party, just as they did in creating most other institutions new to the century. They acted when they found that government carried far too much importance in their lives and in the life of the nation to be left to the few. During most of the century political groups in France contented themselves with an elementary organization. Legal restrictions proved effective in keeping parties simple and fluid, especially by preserving the localized nature of political activity. Until the Third Republic politics operated almost exclusively to elect deputies from the arrondissements to the national parliament. Suffrage requirements until 1848 restricted the vote at the peak of freedom to 250,000, and limitations upon eligibility for office curtailed the number of possible candidates to a few thousands. In some arrondissements, if exceptions had not been permitted, these restrictions would have excluded from candidacy all the natives. Formal parties here had no raison d'etre. Individuals proposed themselves as candidates and sought support among the officials, especially from the 362

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mayors and prefect, and among local notables such as the priest, the notary, large landowners and other wealthy citizens, and the few families with social power—whether by occupation, birth, wealth, official position, or connections with influential Parisians. Campaigning consisted of visiting the right individuals, issuing a few handbills, speaking to small parties in private homes, intriguing here and there for support in return for promises of future benefits such as an office for a relative or a government contract—the petty spoils of a petty system. This type of political activity, described vividly by Balzac in The Deputy of Arcis and by Stendhal in Lucien Leuwen, reached its zenith during the Orleanist monarchy; but the essentials of this system persisted. Napoleon III used it along with official pressure to elect his supporters, thereby negating the usual effect upon party life of universal manhood suffrage. Except for the years 1885 to 1889, the Third Republic retained until 1936 the single-deputy district (scrutin d'arrondissement). Local political influences obstructed the development of political organization, which would have reduced the social and political prestige and power of the few in the district. As occasions for governmental action multiplied, the citizenry began to regard problems in an individual rather than in a social context, something to be solved on an individual basis. After the introduction of compulsory military service, for example, a father went to the deputy to obtain exemption for his son or a favorable choice of service.'7 Deputies became defenders of local interests in order to dominate the district and assure reelection by building a following through spoils and other means. Their reluctance to subordinate themselves to the discipline of strong national parties met with favor from the local elite, who argued that nationally organized parties would be detrimental to the local interests and initiative that made France distinctive and powerful. Politics gave the local notables one of the few outlets for their social ambitions, bringing them power and the probability of material advantages such as organized parties directed from Paris might threaten. Along with political parties there developed a second means for popular participation in elections—the election committee, a kind of inchoate party. Sometimes the party and the committee appeared simultaneously, complementing each other; sometimes one came shortly before the other; sometimes the committee performed the actual work for a party so loosely organized that it acted as a holding company or even as a figurehead for regional and local committees independent in action and cooperating because of com363

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mon ideals or interests. Both party and committee served as the means for selecting candidates and crystallizing issues, and both undermined by their existence the position and prestige of upper status groups of the Old Regime and furthered the creation of a mobile society. Inherent flexibility enabled the election committee to adapt to many situations. To be effective the committee formed a loose hierarchy. A national and regional structure of committees could satisfy needs as long as suffrage remained so restricted that few persons took an active interest in politics. When the franchise spread, election committees appeared in the localities and in the next-larger territorial units. The many versions of committee organization for any territorial unit—village, town, county, province, state—need not be described: the effort to find a suitable organization for popular participation may be exemplified in the experience of the French department of Loir-et-Cher during the 1870's and early 1880's. This department consisted of rural areas with peasant proprietorships and large estates owned by nobles and of a number of small to medium-sized towns, among them Blois. In 1871 the monarchists set up a departmental committee to direct their election interests. The committee consisted of delegates from the committee in each arrondissement, which in turn comprised delegates from the cantonal committees. Ten years later the monarchists issued a call for a private conference, at which five hundred persons appeared and chose candidates to run for the Chamber of Deputies. The republicans depended upon election committees at the different levels of government, composed mainly of elected officials—members of the municipal, arrondissement, and departmental councils, mayors, and senatorial delegates. A local republican newspaper in 1881 proposed that election committees be composed exclusively of these individuals; in other words, it wished the selection of candidates for the Chamber of Deputies to be in the hands of a small group, an indication of its mistrust of the masses. Another republican journal advocated the form most in keeping with the nature of elections and hence most widely accepted, that of popular assemblies in the towns to which every interested voter was invited. The assemblies listened to the candidates and chose those whom they would support; however, since local and most regional officials in France were popularly chosen, election committees actually fell into the hands of those individauls and deputies who had a vested interest in the outcome. Although abiding by democratic procedure, calling public assem364

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blies, listening to candidates, having the assemblies vote on the selection of party candidates, the election committees nominated candidates agreeable to the elected officials with most power. Membership year after year of the same persons assured continuity of action to committees despite the fact that they appeared only at election time. It also enhanced local independence from central control. As the local citizens interested in politics became more sophisticated and self-confident, they tended to choose as candidates for the Chamber of Deputies local persons rather than those from Paris or recommended by Paris. It then became common for a citizen to enter upon a political career by winning a local election for councilman and then for mayor; next came election as a regional official; and to crown his political activity, he might win nomination for election to the Chamber. Although in use wherever elections took place, election committees exercised most power in the country that elected officials and representatives at all levels— local, regional, and national.38 Introduction of the elective system for municipal and departmental councils, and especially universal manhood suffrage, and the drastic lowering of requirements for office modified the conditions of political life in the early years of the Third Republic. The change clarified the advantage of party organization on a national scale, or should the nation prove too large an area for the party to encompass, on a regional basis. Political ambition now stirred the lower classes; workers, tradesmen, petty attorneys, and others with a gift for argument and a taste for public life successfully employed popular methods of electioneering to win seats in the municipal council or in the provincial council, or to be elected mayor, thereby launching themselves into politics as a career. Competition for office increased; campaigning became complicated, onerous, and expensive; and decline in the caliber of officeholders, especially of the deputies, disturbed the responsible political community. In 1885 the government passed a law changing the geographic basis for the election of deputies from arrondissement to department, thus multiplying the number of deputies for whom each voter must ballot. The new system made it advisable for each political group to submit a list of candidates for the entire department. Although in many departments notables continued to select the names that would appear on the list, it became useful to find a basis for the list other than that of restricted personal preference. Departmental scope of elections favored the organization of parties to draw up the lists and to campaign more systematically than had been necessary in 365

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single-deputy constituencies. Deputies saw the possibility of increasing their own power by heading a list and by helping others on the list to be elected. Political relations still remained largely personal, and organization was confined to election time; but the advantages of organization began to appeal to those who held office and to those who needed assistance in being elected to office. The change lasted only four years. The tradition of political individualism continued so strong in France and the differences among local social, economic, and political situations so sharp that the government soon restored localism of vote by single-deputy district. Nor did the formation of parties as political associations under the law of 1901 significantly affect reality. In accordance with the terms of the law of 1901, parties elected an executive, had a council and formal membership, provided for a congress with sovereign authority over the party, collected dues from members, exercised the right to own property, including their headquarters. The government had drafted the law primarily to give legal personality to religious associations, which henceforth lost their status as government-supported associations. Politicians found the pattern of organization intended for monastic orders adaptable to the field of politics. In following the terms of the law the Parti républicain radical et radical socialiste, a bourgeois party, drafted a statute containing some 6,000 words in seventy-six clauses.39 The document covered all aspects of party life, from the nature and functions of the central bureau to campaign methods, party discipline, organization of the party throughout the country, and party finances. Other political groups drafted similar constitutions. By 1914 the French had been acquainted with well-organized parties for a decade and a half, at least on paper. The future appeared to lie with parties that developed disciplined leaders and followers, but the day when such parties existed had by no means arrived. The law of 1901 notwithstanding, parties remained numerous, party affiliation tenuous, the life and death of ministries an exciting game.40 During most of the century Spain lived under a written constitution that called for popular elections to representative bodies at the local, regional, and national levels.41 Even so, the country experienced many changes of governmental form. Until the restoration of the monarchy in 1874, the people knew at firsthand insurrection, foreign invasion, the persistent Carlist civil war, coups d'etat, arbitrary government, and the disturbances associated with the introduction of parliamentary government. A stagnant economy, to366

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gether with illiteracy among five million of the 9.7 million adult males (1910) meant conditions in which the right of the ballot spelled danger to national life. When restricted by a high property qualification the ballot exposed the voter to the temptation of abusing the power in his own interest. When spread to the masses, it opened the doors to nationwide corruption. Political parties emerged, which in such a backward population could not perform the normal public service expected of them. Spanish politics reversed the relation between political party and political boss: in Spain the boss employed the political party as one of his many tools. When in the early twentieth century Spanish reformers began to criticize caciquismo, they looked upon this phenomenon with mixed feelings. The political leader Maura accepted the cacique as "an indispensable organ of national life, which alone was able to save Spain from anarchy." In Psicología del pueblo español Manuel Salas Ferre concluded: "If one suppresses caciquismo the elections would become veritable pitched battles and life in each locality would be nothing more than a melee of individual interests." He hoped that "the cacique would transform himself into a benefactor" as general culture improved and social bonds grew strong and the collective consciousness became the guide of individual activities. 42 The Countess de Pardo Bazin observed that "the people are very similar to the lower bosses who oppress them, and in many regions the masses are favorable to the bosses." When the masses awaken to public life, she noted, they usually seize the extreme opinions, and if their representatives do gain control of a municipal council, they usually accomplish very little. Local life, the Countess wrote, cannot really exist until the majority of the inhabitants of the locality possess a minimum of culture.43 Under constitutional government after 1834, Spanish ministries came to office by royal appointment, by peaceful revolution, or by coup d'etat. In every instance the ministers sought the support of a majority in the parliament. They therefore called for elections, and to assure themselves of victory they mobilized the aid of local strong men. The masses were apathetic toward politics. Since the conquest of the Moors the only event that had united the Spanish people in a popular cause had been the holy war against the Napoleonic invasion. In the absence of any widespread national interest, the ministers arranged elections according to their need; that is, they expanded the system of bosses until within a short time the ministers themselves became chiefs of the bosses. They created an oligarchy "tempered solely by coup d'etat," and after a coup d'etat, 367

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the winners renewed the cycle. When the constitutional monarchy returned in 1874, ministers ceased replacing each other by violence; instead the heads of the two parties, the Liberal and the Conservative, in all essentials identical, agreed to alternate in power. They had long since transferred responsibility for regional and local government to the bosses. The provincial governors served as the bosses of their respective territories, and they and the lower bosses—sometimes officials, sometimes civilians, priests, or criminals—ruled Spain for the purpose of winning elections for the ministers. The agreement between the two parties lessened the rivalry between the two sets of bosses; it made possible local working agreements between bosses who were in and those who were out by assuring each group its turn at exploiting the people. Critics of caciquismo have compared the system to feudalism. Each boss had a fief, which had been delimited by his chiefs and consisted of a region, a province, or possibly a larger area. He divided the fief into subfiefs—a valley, a village, or town—each under the authority of a sub-boss. As under feudalism, the bosses formed a hierarchy of individuals united by rights and duties, "the right of protection and the duty of fidelity."44 The boss decided all matters in his fief. He awarded contracts, distributed the tax burden, imposed sentences for the courts, determined the location of roads and public works; he attended to all affairs as he saw fit, and he acted with the certainty of protection from his lord as long as he could assure the loyalty of his fief to the chief boss in the central government. Since the task of keeping all bosses, little and big, under constant control proved physically impossible, the government took special precautions at election time. It ordered the governor-boss to suspend from office mayors and municipal councils that showed any opposition to the ministry. Article 189 of the municipal law allowed suspension in two cases only, serious abuse of authority and refusal to fulfill certain obligations. During an election period in the early twentieth century the governors suspended 4,000 municipal councils out of a total of 9,000 for such misdeeds as failure to light all the street lamps. "In Spain," wrote the eminent authority on government Posada Herrera at the end of the century, "administrative law has been converted into a heap of rubbish under the weight of which all Spaniards groan who do not enjoy the favor of those who for the time being govern. . . . It is almost accepted as a maxim with us that the laws and the regulations do not apply to friends."45 Although caciquismo declined in urban centers of modern industry, 368

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the continued predominance of an unimproved agricultural economy in a rural society relatively isolated in local communities assured the persistence of this new feudalism. Spain had not reached the stage of social development at which political parties assume a meaningful role. Italian experience adds little to the history of political parties. Before unification and after as well, Italian parties like those in Germany based themselves upon ideology. Prior to unification the autocratic governments in the separate peninsular states prevented the formation of parties. As a result literary expressions of plans for unification or programs of economic reform afforded the sole means of revealing political inclinations. After unification the party of the Right and that of the Left, similar in social background and in program, served as holding companies for a loose grouping of deputies and their supporters. The law called for the election of a single deputy from each electoral district, and since the centuries-old municipal loyalty everywhere persisted, politics concentrated upon local interests to a greater extent than in any other major country. The deputy's first duty consisted of keeping his district under control, serving its interests; the ministries perforce gave priority to the concerns of the deputies and their constituencies. National welfare appeared to involve not national affairs but a mass of local interests. Party loyalty depended upon the cooperation of independent deputies and their local supporters; rhetoric and spoils took the place of party organization.46 Since many Italian leaders feared for the continued unity of the new nation, they strove to compensate for the shortcomings of history by relying upon a centralized government to perform the educational functions of well-established political parties. If Giolitti may serve as an example, they hoped gradually to develop a political sense among the masses by expanding the suffrage; however, the practice of forming and maintaining a ministry by bargaining among parties or among the loosely confederated elements within parties, a practice called trasformismo, prevented parties from achieving stability as national organizations.47 The first party, appearing only at the end of the century, to break with existing practice and to try to make itself strong, nationwide, and consistent in program was that of the Socialists. During the twenty years of its activity it experimented with ideals and practices and endured treatment by the government ranging from ruthless repression to acceptance and cooperation. The party's example of strong organization found no imitators. 369

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By 1914 Italy had numerous opponents of parliamentary government through political parties, and few Italians appreciated the value to the nation of a politician like Giolitti, expert in political maneuver, in maintaining a ministry in power, and in putting through a wide range of social legislation. In the Chamber of Deputies (December, 1913) a Socialist deputy, Raimondo, expressed his opinion of Giolitti as follows: When parties forget their programs, when those who come here leave at the door the rags of their political convictions, it means that a majority must be achieved by other means, as all personal powers are forced to do: with trickery and corruption. In this way, parliamentary institutions are annulled, party lines annihilated, and transformismo . . . is achieved.48

Critics like Raimondo, however, failed to consider the conditions faced by Giolitti—the weak position of political parties and of the traditional ruling classes and the rejection of the state by the extreme right, by conscientious Catholics, and by groups of the extreme left. Giolitti introduced freedom for all, and by 1914 he was beginning to arouse a sense of nationhood. The chief fault in his work lay implicit in his obstructing the development of instruments by which the masses could act responsibly in public affairs. He left political parties in the same amorphous condition in which he had found them.49 The political associations emergent in Central Europe under constitutional government possessed a sense of unity and an appreciation of the value of discipline and organization lacking among the people of western Europe. Germans and Austrians, accustomed to obedience under absolutism and bureaucratic rule, transferred time-honored political mores to the new associations. Political conflict exhibited no greater intensity in Central Europe than in France, even though in the latter half of the century the Germans and Austrians struggled with social and political issues that France had settled both legally and to a considerable extent in practical life during the Revolution. The Germans, and to a lesser extent the Austrians, wished orderliness in government and administration and in politics; hence, as soon as they were permitted to do so, they organized political associations. Political organization in Central Europe had to conform to the laws of association and adapt to the conditions of voting under the class or curial system. Laws of association, by requiring that political associations be local in character and by obstructing cooperation among local associations, made it difficult to organize a statewide 370

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party directed from the center and employing concerted means to win supporters throughout the country. Interested individuals tried to find a way of organizing under the terms of the law by establishing a single state- or nationwide association, to which each member belonged directly and which had no branch societies and no locals. The advocates of liberal, national unification throughout Germany set the example in 1859 by founding the National Verein, complete with constitution, formal membership, dues, and all the paraphernalia required by law. A short time later the Conservatives followed suit for Prussia with the Volksverein. The National Verein repeatedly encountered official hostility, which prevented it from gaining membership commensurate with expectations. The Volksverein enjoyed toleration by a sympathetic government; however, like the National Verein it dared not violate the terms of the law of association, and its efforts were thwarted by the fact that members active in its behalf in a locality quickly found themselves regarded under the law as a political association, required to register with the local police and subject to restrictions upon political activity.50 The class system of voting handicapped the formation of parties certainly as much as the law of association. By limiting the decisive voting power to a few dozen, a few hundred, or rarely, to a few thousand individuals in each district, it made organized, thorough appeal to the masses in the lowest class or classes of voters scarcely worth the effort. A party leader wishing to prove that the overwhelming majority of the population sided with his party against the government faced the problem of organizing party strength to appeal to each of three, four, or five classes or curials of voters. The effective distribution of time, energy, and funds seemed a greater problem than German thoroughness could solve. Everyone perceived the differences among social classes or groups in regard to culture, standard of living, expectations, interest, knowledge, and initiative in public affairs. A majority of liberal opponents of the conservative government accepted class voting and the upper-class monopoly of political activity and leadership, if not for all time, at least until the masses should prove themselves worthy of responsible participation in politics. Early parties embraced only an elite; leadership was concentrated in the hands of the elected deputies in the parliament; party unity and discipline derived from the common social background and the beliefs shared by the deputies concerned. The leaders agreed upon a program, and they met during sessions of parliament to decide upon their stand and tactics in parliamentary activity. 371

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They formed a party, or referred to themselves by the term Fraction, implying that their group belonged to the general movement or party in its loosest sense of liberalism. They might or might not draft a statute for their group. At election time the fraction or party set up an election committee composed of deputies and some prominent supporters from private life. By publishing pamphlets and broadsheets, by writing articles or letters for the press, by speech-making and arousing leading citizens of the localities through correspondence or personal contact, the committee sought votes for the party. Supporters in turn published their views, signed articles of adherence to the party program, and participated in local meetings of agitation. Although leaders upon occasion solicited the vote of the third class or fourth and fifth curials, they directed their campaign primarily toward members of the upper voting classes, among whom were always a few artisans and peasants. When the Social Democratic party sought to appeal to the mass of workers, the class system of voting prevented it from achieving results that universal manhood suffrage would have made possible. The type of political organization and the methods of political action continued to be those of an elite. As long as a party remained a collection of notables, power resided not in a central committee but in the leadership within the various election districts. The Conservative party in Prussia and the German Empire prior to World War I never organized itself efficiently as a party. It consisted of large landowners, the majority of them nobles, whose local prestige sufficed to assure election without aid from others. The members stayed together not because of party discipline but because of common social and political ideals and because of relationships based on the past and on their agricultural interests. The group acquired a popularly organized ally that soon became its master, the Agrarian League established in 1893, a nonpartisan association of agriculturalists devoted to the defense of economic concerns. The league numbered members in other parties and groups, and the Conservative leadership turned this fact to the advantage of the Conservative party. Liberals found it difficult to reconcile their belief in liberty with the need for a strong central organization. The groups they formed consisted of notables, almost, one might say, as an expression of liberalism, and the emergence of competition from mass parties did not arouse them to more than feeble attempts to escape their dilemma. The liberal parties did not unite, and they had little appeal to the mass vote and membership; by 1914 their program, organiza372

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tion, and method of party activity showed symptoms of decline.51 Acceptance by the empire of universal manhood suffrage in 1869 did not affect political life so much as might have been expected. The party system remained about the same as that of Prussia, which contained five-eighths of the population of the unified country. In the empire and in Prussia, however, party leadership differed somewhat owing to the fact that Reichstag parties included active members from other states. As these other states likewise had a class system of voting, political leadership remained in the hands of the bourgeoisie and middle class. Although their organization and practices expanded in scope in order to appeal to the masses, the parties of the empire remained structurally similar to those in the states. The difference in voting systems between the empire and the states imposed a serious obstacle to the development of popular parties and party activities for the empire. Until 1914, except for the Center party and the Social Democratic party, the state systems of suffrage proved more influential in shaping party activity than did conditions in the empire. Evidence in support of this view appears in the disparity between Catholic and Social Democratic participation in Prussia and in the empire. Already equipped with institutions for mass action in the states, these two parties now had the opportunity to muster their full resources for political action in the empire. By 1914 the influence of the right-wing and liberal parties appeared to be declining in the empire, the Center party continued to keep pace with the increase in Catholic population, and the Social Democratic party had gained a larger popular vote and a larger number of Reichstag deputies than any other party. In Prussia and other states the suffrage laws blocked such an achievement. The elite parties here remained dominant. The laws of political association placed severe handicaps upon a party in its appeal to groups organized for nonpolitical purposes. A political speech or discussion at a social club, church society, guild, shooting club, chamber of commerce, business conference, or an academic congress exposed the society to the necessity of registering with the police as a political association and of conforming to the regulations pertaining to political assembly. Whether action would be brought against the association depended upon the government's attitude toward the speaker and his remarks: if a conservative or loyal supporter of the ministry, he could freely denounce the opposition. The situation also varied with the initiative and diligence of the local authorities, especially the state's attorney. The government, however, proved unable to prevent discussion; the 373

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political interest of nonpolitical associations grew to such an extent that parties knew which associations supported them. Despite the law, relations remained close and parties had more or less organized affiliations. They could expect social groups with particular interests to react to their proposals in a certain way, and they could maintain contact through personal ties with the leaders. As politics was largely the province of an elite, the state's attorney could not be present or represented at every luncheon and private gathering where a few important individuals arranged matters. The rise of the popular press did not fundamentally change this condition. Although the elite party became increasingly inadequate once universal manhood suffrage appeared, by 1914 most observers disagreed with Max Weber's conclusion that the existing structure of politics did not fit the society. As long as there remained a difference in voting systems, reform of party life continued to be obstructed ; but apart from the Socialists, few citizens seemed dissatisfied with the organization of politics. Analysis of party organization and activity in Russia, the last country to introduce political parties, shows the lag between Russian political life and that of other major states on the Continent. At the same time it offers an example against which to balance the achievement of popular politics in other countries, and thus may serve as a fitting conclusion to the discussion of political parties in the major states. Russian experience, which began only in 1905, added little to the history of political parties in Europe. The law of association restricted organized party activity to conservative and rightist groups, which regarded political parties in any form as hostile to the preservation of the czarist regime. The conservative political groups naturally depended upon governmental bureaucracy and the Church as their political organization. The center and left parties, forbidden legal existence, formally consisted solely of the party members of the Duma. Except insofar as they went underground, the center and left parties never developed beyond the stage of organization around notables. The only political association of some novelty appeared among the radical right, whose activity, although not unknown in other countries and quantitatively unimportant in Russia, displayed the inchoate nature of Russian political structure. The radical rightist groups repudiated the concept of party as implying a partial, partisan thing; they claimed to be unions, to have an all-inclusive ideal, to express the hopes and wishes of the entire Russian people. This claim to a monopoly of Tightness offered 374

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nothing new: the conservatives, the early liberals, and the nationalists in other European countries had thought of themselves with similar exaltation. In no other country, however, does one encounter the peculiar combination of messianism, religious orthodoxy, autocracy, and social and political reform akin to nationalism found in Russia; nowhere else the use of violence and prayer, corruption and self-sacrifice, and the union irrespective of class of individuals bent on making a name for themselves as leaders and addicted to in-fighting to attain power at any cost; nowhere else so many claims to purity of doctrine and so many accusations of political heresy as in these radical rightist groups. The names they chose are revealing: the Union of the Russian Folk; the Society of Banner Bearers; the Society for Active Struggle with Revolution and Anarchy; the True Russians; and the most notorious of them all, the Union of the Russian People. The czar and numerous officials, including ministers and many clergy who took their cue from the czar, openly supported these groups. The Union of the Russian People blended religion and politics. It sponsored public assemblies for the masses, who, however, did not appear at them. Its meetings often resembled prayer meetings and evoked mystical experiences. The Union incited pogroms against Jews and democrats, non-Russians and nonorthodox, and occasionally against governmental officials who did not bow to the Union's will. It published propaganda and opened shops, with a very high mortality rate, for distributing its literature. It tried to maintain consumers' stores and cultural centers for its followers in an effort to create a society of the pure. Leaders fought each other over proposals of reform; some found the czar not sufficiently czaristic; others demanded a program not far removed from that of socialism. The high incidence of heresy within the Union meant much civil dissent and many splits. Leaders condemned the bureaucracy for arbitrariness and for being too favorable to liberalism; at the same time they depended upon officials for essential aid. The inconsistencies of the Union reflected the irrationality of the situation in Russia at the time: the fear of revolution pressed conservatives into revolutionary action; the czar and many of the upper classes approved organizations claiming to be popular and given to the use of terror ostensibly in support of autocracy. Governmental support, financial and moral, for a few years enabled the Union and its splinter groups to exert power out of all proportion to their real strength. Individuals of low middle-class origin succeeded for a time in rising to leadership as agitators in 876

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the Union and associating with the elite of Russia. Already before 1914, however, the Russian ruling class had learned "not to entrust the defense of its interests to a movement whose shock troops were recruited from the bottom of the social ladder by appeals to their grievances." 52 The existence of the Union, however, attests to the lag between Russian political life and that elsewhere on the Continent.53 By aligning with reactionary political groups and consistently confusing the activity of other parties with revolution the czarist government eventually turned its erroneous interpretation of events into reality. It permitted so little freedom for development of popular parties that it retarded its own political education and that of its people and allowed marginal manifestations like the rightist groups to try to fill the political gap. It forced the violent confrontation of two concepts of political life, the autocratic and the constitutional, and by 1914 the proponents of neither concept had acquiesced psychologically in the superiority or even the right of existence of the other. The one side was proving daily to be incompetent; the other had yet to show whether it could govern. The crucial test of international war found Russia in the midst of internal conflict.

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R

EPLACEMENT OP THE Old Regime assembly of Estates by the parliament of the nineteenth century brought about a new concept of representation and of the deputy. Caste had been the basis of representation in the Estates, and a particular caste connoted similarity of economic interests and of social background and cultural preparation of each member of the group. Nobles sat for their Estate because of noble status, or they secured election by other nobles whose interests and views they shared. The Third Estate for the most part referred to the burgher caste, and the representative functions of this group likewise assumed the presence of social uniformity. Whether or not the noble served after election, as landowner he claimed to represent the interests of his rural district, including those of the peasantry. Since the assemblies of Estates wielded little power and performed f e w functions, the relevant constituencies frequently bound their elected members by strict orders to refer to them for decision all questions that arose. This inflexible procedure proved to be unsuited to a society impatient of delay, and the elected parliament rejected it in order to promote speedy action. Laws therefore forbade imposition of strict instructions upon an elected member of parliament. The deputy assumed responsibility for decisions and learned later at the polls whether he had satisfied his constituency. Entrepreneurism and individual responsibility, both of proven value in the realm of economics, entered the political field. The deputy ideally and according to law represented not merely his district but the entire country and placed national welfare above local concerns and special interests. This was one w a y in which nationalism became translated into politics. Prior to the grant of universal male suffrage, restrictions upon voting limited the choice of representatives to members of the

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upper classes; the three-class system, the curial system, and property qualifications for the ballot all provided for the return to the national assembly of citizens belonging to the same social groups as the voters. Under the three-class system this power belonged to the nobility and the middle class. In the Austrian curial system each curial returned a certain number of deputies; however, by voting in the rural curial with the peasantry, lesser landlords secured selection of themselves as deputies by the peasants, who had little time, money, or inclination for a mandate. The first two Russian voting laws required the election of active peasants by the rural curial; but the law of 1907, which enabled the electors from the other curials to share in the election of most of the deputies from the rural curial, assured the return of some upper-class representatives. Other European states favored the choice of bourgeois deputies by imposing the criterion of wealth upon the right to vote. As long as restrictive suffrage laws obtained, the representatives chosen conformed to fairly standard social types. When society changed in composition and the ideal of universal manhood suffrage gained in popular favor, the class-curial-property systems of suffrage resulted in return of deputies who represented an anachronistic social structure. The Hungarian minister-president in the years before and during World War I, Count Tisza, offers a striking example. A tall, slender man of energy and staying power, a sportsman and courageous to the point of daring, Tisza on occasion faced political opponents saber in hand; he met his death at the hands of soldiers while defending his villa with a pistol. This formidable figure believed in the right and necessity of rule in Hungary by Magyar nobility.1 Of this nobility the Austrian Treasury official Kleinwachter noted on another occasion a symbolic incident. One autumn morning just before the outbreak of World War I he saw a cab horse unable to gain its feet on the wet, slippery pavement. The occupant of the cab, a Hungarian magnate, emerged and stood a moment undecided as to the course that he should pursue. He was dressed in the elegant, dark-violet costume of a member of the Hungarian Delegation then meeting in Vienna. At his side hung a saber ornamented with jewels and on his head he wore an official headdress surmounted by purple feathers. Around him moved the Viennese life of the streets—automobiles, streetcars, pedestrians. He looked like a fairy prince, Kleinwachter reports, and to avoid the curious crowd that gathered, he retreated into the cab to await developments.2 The noble personified power able to maintain itself because of the habitual acceptance of upper-class domination in 878

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both the political and the economic fields. In other countries the contradiction between suffrage laws and the nature of representation under them on the one hand and the existence of parliaments and elections on the other showed more clearly than in Hungary. It evoked demand for a system of suffrage under which individuals could be chosen to represent not separate status groups but all social elements. Before 1914 no country fully achieved this ideal. Introduction of universal manhood suffrage did not immediately change the kinds of deputies elected. The laws with respect to association and assembly continued to discourage many persons of the upper classes from assuming a conspicuous role in politics and almost eliminated members of the peasantry and working class from public life. Until the last decades before 1914, political and social habit operated to return approximately the same type of representative as in the early years of restrictive suffrage. Peoples had lived so briefly under parliamentary institutions that they had not tapped new sources of political leadership. The point at which professional politicians appeared varied from country to country, France being the pioneer state. Spain produced the professional cacique and Italy the boss. In Germany the professional politician arrived in the 1890's, when career officials of private or semiprivate organizations like the trade associations, trade unions, Catholic groups, and agricultural societies became available to enter politics and to be elected to parliamentary bodies.3 Austria's tardy acceptance of universal suffrage slowed the emergence of new political leaders, and Russia lagged behind Austria. Wherever government continued to be authoritarian—in France under Louis Napoleon and to a lesser extent in Germany under the Second Empire—and wherever as in Spain elections became manipulated, extension of the vote to all adult males did not fully achieve the effect of enabling selection of deputies to express the realities of social change. Adjustment, nonetheless, did take place. In addition to the notables who ran for office as a mark of superiority and as an act of social duty, there appeared as candidates members of other classes and groups ambitious for social power. Nobles, professors, and bureaucrats declined in appeal as representatives; members of the middle class, followed several decades later by members of the working class, succeeded in forming a large majority in the new role. Even so, except in France and Italy, the middle class did not exert in politics nearly so much power as it did in economic and social activity. The attraction a candidate held for voters varied with the stage of development reached on the road from the old to the new society. 379

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As early as the 1830's Sismondi criticized agriculture for affording inadequate experience to develop political judgment. He was writing about the peasant, but his assertions applied equally to the landlord with exclusively agricultural interests. Now, although we believe that agricultural labour is best suited to man, most advantageous to his health, his morality, and his happiness, we believe also, that it is what least prepares him for an acquaintance with the social science. The inhabitant of the country lives very little in society, scarcely ever hears political interests spoken of, does not read, and remains a perfect stranger to the experience obtained by study. In workshops, conversation, newspapers and books, habitually excite political fermentation. The ideas of the working man may not be just, but they are his own; those of the peasant are only a reflection of the ideas of his curé, of his lord or of the attorney of the village.4

If one replaces the phrase "working man" by "bourgeois" and joins the peasant with many a local lord, it is clear why in the choice of deputies the landowner lost out to members of other occupations. Fortunately, agricultural interests sufficed to lead some landowners into commerce, with products like grain or wood, into industry and other capitalistic, cost-accounting enterprises, which broadened their horizon. Many landlords became liberal once they appreciated the direct relationship between their own affairs and the form of government and political activity. Being relatively immune to governmental coercion and free from economic duties during a part of the year, they had time to enter politics and to become elected deputies. Their position and prestige in the community demanded that they adapt to the new form of political leadership. Over several generations landowning families in every country provided some deputies of the type found under the Old Regime, men of noblesse oblige. As industrialism spread, these deputies became fewer, and they inclined toward defense of their aristocratic, agricultural way of life; the end of the century found some of them still active as elected deputies from rural, relatively underdeveloped districts. They were giving way, however, to a new type of large-scale agriculturalist, who entered politics to promote his economic interests—tariff legislation, taxes, transportation, marketing, and many other matters—and who justified his ruthless and egoistic defense of economic interests by the old argument that agriculture and rural life constitute the basis of the moral order. The handicaps peasants faced in being elected as deputies were numerous—ignorance, the tradition of submission, the demands of daily labor, lack of awareness of the connection between their own 380

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interests and the affairs of state, fear of reprisal for a political position not wholly in harmony with the interests of the local lord or of the ministry. In many countries the weighting of the suffrage right against the peasantry meant that even if here and there a peasant were chosen, the number of peasants would be woefully small. Some peasants, however, did stand for election; they served as representatives especially in two types of situations, when peasant-lord relations became critical, and when because of this situation the peasants almost unanimously demanded reform of old abuses. In 1848, for example, the Prussian and Austrian peasants rose in spontaneous rebellion and returned peasants to the constituent assemblies to abolish the vestiges of manorial jurisdiction and to secure a just division of manorial lands. Having tried for the past thirty years to gain property from their former lords through the courts, they finally resorted to violence and then to legislative action. Although probably unaware of the precedent, the Russian peasants responded in the same way in 1905. Bernard Pares noted the extent to which peasant deputies and other peasant leaders translated general ideals like freedom, equality before the law, constitutional government, representation, equity, dignity, and common sense into detailed social fact—a factor evident in Central Europe as well, in 1848 and later. The second and related situation in which peasants became deputies arose as a result of governmental policy. The curial system of voting made possible in Austria and Russia the return of peasant deputies but allowed such small numbers that they were harmless to ruling interests. If, as in Austria in 1848, peasants and lords settled their conflict by law, the peasants regarded politics with indifference. If, as in Russia in 1905 and after, the issues remained unresolved, the peasants used what power the franchise allowed them to protest their status and to request reforms. Usually they accompanied this political action by direct measures such as burning barns and manor houses, or they chose a revolutionary as deputy, because as Pares reports, he "was better used to imprisonment and persecution than anyone else." 5 Toward the close of the period a new type of peasant deputy appeared, the peasant who lived near a big market, had become a farmer or small agricultural entrepreneur, and had begun to exchange his peasant traits for those of a capitalistic producer. He organized agricultural associations and cooperatives, and he promoted his interests through government. These peasants, most often found in the small states of northwestern Europe, also came to the 381

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fore in parts of Germany and France and even in northern Italy. Popular education enabled them to gain some understanding of public affairs, and the opening of the economy and the society to individual achievement irrespective of class origin aroused their ambition to supplement their work by participating in political activity. Especially in western Europe peasant voters often selected a local lawyer or other member of an upper-class group as their representative. Some peasants, however, whose forebears less than a century earlier had been serfs, stood successfully for parliament: in 1912 the German Reichstag contained 19 such deputies; the Second Duma, the impressive number of 111. Men of bourgeois occupations—banking, industry, and commerce—first appeared in significant number as deputies in France after the revolution of 1830 and then in Central Europe in 1848. Their participation coincided with the years when the legal and institutional structure supporting their activity was being revised, when free enterprise asserted its rights against mercantilism, and a constitution and representative assembly loosened the restrictions of absolutism. Once assured of essential reforms, big-business leaders frequently withdrew from membership in parliament and transferred responsibility for political activity to corporation vicepresidents, lawyers, or other individuals who specialized in public relations. Men of medium-sized and small businesses continued to serve in assemblies in considerable numbers. Much less able than leaders of large businesses to protect their interests through personal contests with ministers and officials, they sought public support as deputies by way of the legislature. Until they learned to share expenses through trade associations they could not afford to retain experts to look after their political interests. Heads of big business were inclined to follow the example of landholding nobles, placing lesser business men on a lower social level and denying them the opportunity to be public leaders. The ambitious and aggressive members of this second stratum of the middle class aspired to the mandate of deputy as a manifestation of cultural equality.® In France, stirred into action already during the Orleanist period, they gained ascendancy during the Third Republic; in Germany, Austria, and Italy they felt the additional impulse of nationalism.7 In Russia they scarcely moved outside their economic routine, and in Spain they shared the fate of agriculture and all industry and commerce in being excluded from parliament in favor of lawyers, officials, and political bosses. The engineering profession produced strikingly few deputies. Although this occupation 382

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more than any other had disrupted the caste society and shaped the new social structure, engineers showed far less interest in the social and political impact of their work than did those who exploited technology for profit. Businessmen served as pioneers in adjusting the social and political structure to technological and other material change. Their function as processors, buyers, and sellers placed them in the midst of society. In dealing with the problems of social relations that arose in connection with economics they developed a political sense. As the division of function increasingly characterized the new society, business found that the occupation of lawyer lent itself most readily to politics. The lawyer, acquainted with legislation relating to the economic and social aifairs of the community, held a central position from which to apply pressure here and to grant a favor there, to negotiate, to anticipate problems, and to find a solution for them. He had already performed many functions of the politician before parliaments existed; once the novelty, usefulness, and social attraction of the deputy's life lessened for the entrepreneur, the lawyer or the business executive trained in law and possessing a gift for public relations came into his own. From the lawyer's guild many professional politicians were recruited, expert in formulating policies to be tested with the public, in drafting legislation, in gauging what the public would accept and how far a special interest might press without arousing public hostility, and in negotiating a compromise among several interests while at least minimally protecting the general welfare. The lawyer had few peers in this work; except in France, the journalist, another semipublic figure, rarely possessed the occupational prestige to compete as public leader. From his experience in the French Chamber under Louis Philippe and during the revolution of 1848-49 De Tocqueville, wisest of observers, noted: "Lawyers are rarely able to escape from one of two habits;. . . they accustom themselves either to plead what they do not believe or persuade themselves very easily of what they plead." 8 Both habits disturbed De Tocqueville, but they enabled the lawyer psychologically to succeed in politics: he could seem sincere in supporting or opposing governmental action according to whether or not he thought the action served a useful purpose, and he did not judge only from his own standpoint. De Tocqueville's second criticism, the absence of polite manners on the part not merely of lawyers but of all bourgeois and lower-class deputies, indicates his awareness of the diverse social origin of political 383

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behavior. He found it much easier to deal with the aristocrat De Falloux, with whom he disagreed, than with the bourgeois Dufaure, a political associate. Even though the French Revolution had abolished the nobility, he wrote, it had not wiped out the "invisible signs" by which members recognized one another. He knew what language to speak with noblemen, he felt instinctively what to say and when to remain silent. In the other instance he felt no such assurance. His colleague Dufaure, who condemned aristocratic manners, offended by unintentional rudeness.9 Politics had yet to perform its useful role of inculcating manners common to all irrespective of class for the sake of harmonious interpersonal relations. The nobility was no exception to the rule that members of every class and every occupation, including the vocation of lawyer, must first learn ways of politics as practiced under constitutional government. Family life and caste experience prepared nobles for the position of leader; tradition, however, did not include training in the technique of being elected deputy, or in effective behavior as a member of political associations or of parliamentary bodies. Consciousness of social superiority, so ingrained in the noble from birth as to be almost natural, militated against success in the post of elected representative. Unless favored by weighted suffrage or by the use of corruption and violence, the nobility steadily lost ground as candidates.10 Under universal manhood suffrage they often withdrew from elections because of aversion to popular methods of campaigning.11 Decline of the nobles as political leaders became most evident in Austria, when in 1919 after the disintegration of the Habsburg monarchy, voters returned to the National Assembly not a single member of the class.12 In the early stages of constitutional government voters chose as deputies intellectuals, especially professors, whose reputation for learning recommended them. In the absence of men experienced in governmental affairs under a constitution, the public turned to those who most nearly achieved this standard by knowing from books about constitutional government and its problems. Professorial political activity, however, rapidly declined. Although a few professors, teachers, and writers continued to enter politics and until 1914 to be elected, intellectuals succeeded much more often in the capacity of expert advisers to government rather than as politicians. When constitutional government became well established, the professorial approach to politics seemed theoretical. Likewise the professor found politics less and less attractive: its practical, nonscholarly nature offended his traditional sense of thoroughness; he

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felt more at ease in the study than on the hustings or in the midst of parliamentary debate and negotiations. In western Europe men of culture frequently possessed political appeal through being authors of belles lettres or of books about art and music. De Tocqueville did not share the popular esteem for this type of deputy. He wrote about his colleague Ampere as follows: Unfortunately, he was inclined to carry the esprit of the salons into literature and the esprit of literature into politics. What I call literary esprit in politics consists in seeking for what is novel and ingenious rather than for what is true; in preferring the showy and the useful, in showing one's self very sensible to the playing and elocution of the actors, without regard to the results of the play; and, lastly, in judging by impressions rather than reasons. . . . To tell the truth the whole nation is a little inclined that way, and the French public very often takes a man-of-letters' view of politics.13

Many leading politicians in France continued to- enhance their popularity by taking a lively interest in culture while proving to be as tough-minded and realistic in the game of politics as any nonliterary boss. Clemenceau is one example. The literary deputy criticized by De Tocqueville flourished in Italy and to a lesser extent in Spain. The Italian parliament contained a considerable number of rhetorical extremists. Their violent denunciations of compromise or of any practical proposal as a sacrifice of idealism and their demands for the realization of the noblest hopes of the Risorgimento proved, irrespective of class and education, appealing to a people recently become participant in public affairs. The illogical and inconsistent demands made by these inexperienced deputies kept alive dissatisfaction with the results of responsible government under national unity. These "literary heroes," trained in literature and the law, lacked goals; they came in thousands from the universities, and they failed to differentiate the world of humanistic ideas from the world of politics. Individualistic, impatient of party discipline or self-discipline, critical of political activity and legislation as of a rival's novel or poem, they blinded themselves to reality and constantly urged Italy to "greater deeds." Representative of a "humanistic petty bourgeoisie," in Italy these gadflies had influence.14 Priests and pastors began to participate in politics, a field in which they possessed certain occupational advantages and certain disadvantages. De Tocqueville noted in 1848 that priestly members of the Constituent Assembly cast down their eyes in humility, put their political speeches in the form of sermons, and inclined toward dogmatism. They lacked flexibility in handling controversial politi385

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cal issues, and as media for the grace of God they disliked compromise. Having read the wrong books for drafting constitutions and setting up governments, many clerics of both Catholic and Protestant persuasion entered politics in defense of the old order, identifying absolutism and caste with morality. Pius IX's Syllabus of Errors had a counterpart in Protestant sermons and writings. In every major country under hereditary monarchy, members of the higher clergy sat by royal appointment in the upper house, where they acted in a vicarious capacity after the manner of politics and representation under absolutism. The role of the lesser clergy in the active politics associated with the lower house varied with social conditions and with the circumstances of the time. In general the clergy did not seek the position of political leaders; it preferred the indirect approach to public issues through moral guidance. After national unification the Papacy forbade all Italians—clergy and laity—to participate in politics. Russian priests could rarely be elected: they lived in poverty, were ignorant, and served always under the watchful eye of the czarist administration. They usually acted as a brake upon the secular ambition of the masses.15 In every country, election of clergy as deputies occurred early in the history of constitutional government. If it continued, it indicated the survival of a restricted cultural life or manifested the presence of exceptional conditions. Nationality conflict in Austria and religious competition between Protestant and Catholic in Germany induced the voters to seek as strong and independent a leader as could be found, with the clergy often favored. The public character of priestly function could be extended from religion to politics and gave the cleric the advantage of having morality and God on his side. In a staunchly Catholic country like Spain or in solidly Lutheran areas of Germany, the cleric seldom entered politics: the people remained loyal to authoritarian government and/or the Church without this secular participation. Wherever controversy induced clerics to run for office, they constituted formidable political candidates and opponents; the German Catholic priests especially became efficient representatives and party leaders. Throughout the century a few pastors and priests concerned themselves with the social problems of the rising proletariat; they developed an ideal of Christian Socialism, Catholic or Protestant, and strove to reform social conditions through politics. The occupational trend in choice of representation, however, had shifted away from the calling of priest or pastor. By training and purpose the clergy did not encompass the rich variety of interests 386

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and achievements of civilian life, and clerics lost to others the representational function they had filled in the Old Regime. As many contemporary critics of positivistic faith maintained, the social role of the Church had been for the moment exhausted; yet the dogmatic and institutional rigidity of the Church retarded the adoption of new forms suited to the society in transition. Representation for workers was drawn from two groups, artisans with guild tradition and the new industrial factory laborers. The latter group, notwithstanding Marx's description of the proletariat, contained members of several social origins—peasants, craftsmen, petty bourgeoisie—and developed considerable diversity in social composition. Since the conditions of their life and labor varied from industry to industry and often from region to region, opportunities to be active in politics were circumscribed. Factory workers even more than peasants lacked the necessary economic means to stand for election. A peasant proprietor might be able to afford an absence from his farm for the weeks of the parliamentary sessions; he might leave the work to his family or he might benefit from the landlords' request to hold sessions during the period between harvest and spring sowing. The peasant proprietor was assured of home and food, and he might take a relatively independent stand in politics if he chose. The factory worker shared none of these advantages, and he had received no more basic education than the peasant. Thus until aroused by trade unions and socialist parties and spurred by want he took no interest in politics. A few representatives came from the artisans, a socioeconomic group preserving preindustrial concepts and traditions. These craftsmen did not consider themselves members of the new proletariat; they defended guild interests against modern industrial groups whether of labor or capital. While serving as deputy such an artisan could leave his shop in the hands of family and journeymen, and he frequently had sufficient education, personal pride, and initiative to defend his interests in public. Hence artisans appeared in the national assemblies in 1848, and a few served in parliaments during the rest of the century. They were particularly active and effective in Austria as a result of preferential treatment under the curial system of franchise. Other artisans who failed to maintain their economic status and in consequence declined into the industrial proletariat frequently assumed the leadership of their new colleagues. Superior education and self-confidence allied with higher demands upon life inclined them to seek in the new industrial society a life comparable in 387

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personal dignity and standard of living to that of their past. They often shared in the supervision of emerging and expanding trade unions and socialist parties with intellectuals from the upper classes. In 1903 only two deputies out of thirty-three Socialists in the Italian Chamber came from the proletariat; twenty-eight had an upper-class background and had earned university degrees, and three were of lower middle-class origin. Of the eighty-one Socialist deputies elected to the German Reichstag (1903), however, 65 percent began life in working-class families or in families of craftsmen who became workers, and 18.6 percent as members of the lower middle class; 16 percent derived from the middle class and had been graduated from a university. Belgian party representation resembled the German, whereas in the Netherlands four of the eight deputies had studied.16 In the last decades before World War I political leadership of the workers became increasingly professional. Parties returned to parliament heads of trade unions, newspaper editors, and others holding positions comparable in labor to the secretary of capitalistic economic associations in industry, commerce, and agriculture. Individual deputies occupied positions that fulfilled prerequisites for election: they had an organized mass following and an assured income while they as incumbents sat in parliament; as representatives they could act in behalf of their constituencies while remaining independent of outside pressure. The working-class deputy at least equaled the representatives of other classes in knowledge and experience in public affairs, and he knew as much about the requirements of public leadership as they did. His proficiency in debate, oral or written, often surpassed that of others. By 1914 these deputies for the workers seemed well on the way to becoming the most powerful political group in parliament. Numerically they had gained most in Germany, least in Russia and Spain. The introduction of universal suffrage in 1907 in Austria and in 1912 in Italy promised rapid gains for workers' deputies in these two countries as well; however, in France their influence remained secondary to that of representatives from the middle class and the peasantry. Even though the deputies from the proletariat tended to cease active employment as workers and acquired many characteristics of party and trade-union bureaucrats, they loyally fulfilled the role of representing their fellow workers. Their success in finding a solution to the problem of representation of the propertyless masses adds to the list of creative institutions developed during the century.17 388

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The question of whether to permit members of the civil and judicial bureaucracy to serve as deputies received an entirely different answer in France from what it received in central European states. The French revolutionists had so feared executive power that they deprived officials of the civic right to represent others. The constitution of 1791 prohibited the union of administrative and elected political office, and thereafter every constitution in France either repeated the prohibition or specifically excluded the holders of all important offices from running for the Chamber. In order to prevent exploitation of administrative authority for political purposes, French law required all officials to retire from office a certain length of time (six months according to the suffrage law of 1831) before they stood for election to the Chamber. The foresight shown in imposing the restriction may be judged from the large number of former prefects and subprefects actually elected to parliament. Between 1800 and 1948 the prefectural career supplied two presidents of the Republic, ninety-four ministers and undersecretaries (among them twenty-three ministers of interior), 295 senators, and more than 400 deputies.18 If these officials had been able to stand for deputy while retaining their bureaucratic position, parliaments might have contained few members of other occupations. The German states, the German Empire, and until 1907, Austria permitted officials to serve in parliament, and officials proved so popular as candidates that in the early years of parliamentary assemblies they formed a large percentage of the deputies. The Baden Chamber before 1848, and the parliaments at Frankfurt am Main and in the capitals of the separate states during that year, contained numerous officials. The author of an article in the Universallexikon vom Grossherzogtum Baden (Karlsruhe, 1843, p. 31) explained the social reason for this practice. He found few capitalists and almost no middle class in the state; the peasantry and the artisans lacked the knowledge to become deputies; officials and employees formed the most numerous class, and although the author disliked them as dependent and uncreative for the general welfare, he saw no alternative to electing officials as representatives.19 As in no other country, higher officials in every German state personified intelligence and culture and became bearers of political development.20 Germans and Austrians argued that exclusion of officials from candidacy would limit voters' freedom of choice.21 If the public has confidence, they said, in the independence from governmental pressure of an official as deputy, it should be able to 389

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choose him as its representative. The representative assembly should not have the exclusive purpose of criticizing and opposing the government: it should and will contain members who support and defend governmental policies. Officials possess practical knowledge useful in subjecting bills to thorough examination and in formulating laws. The presence of officials who are also deputies will assure the public against the government's issuing illegal orders, for the government will know that the officials in their role as deputies will bring the illegality to the attention of the public in parliament. Likewise, declared the proponents, experience has proved that officials serving also as deputies do not necessarily support the government. Some are leaders of the opposition. In short, the effectiveness of a deputy depends not upon his position in life but upon his personal character.22 On the eve of World War I a French critic doubted whether it mattered that a German official serving as deputy in parliament opposed the head of his administration, since "the ministers are not responsible to parliament." 23 Certainly officials in representative assemblies often opposed the government. In the early 1860's the lower house of the Prussian Landtag teemed with officials, judicial and civil, who fought and lost a constitutional conflict with the government. In officials the Germans and Austrians possessed a status group that in a predominantly agricultural society assumed the role later to be gained by the bourgeoisie and middle class. Officials had the intelligence, the contacts with the public, and the courage to lead the populace. During the early decades of constitutional government this populace, disliking the government and the conservatives but accustomed to being led, transferred its confidence and loyalty to judges and civil officials. It respected those with expert knowledge, those who knew how to run an administration and could be trusted to act in the public interest. In German states with constitutions before 1848 the parliaments, largely composed of officials, conducted themselves like additional institutions of the bureaucracy; thus the fact that officials held membership in them seemed appropriate.24 After 1848 governments in constitutional states retained the practice. In the 1850's election of officials assured a conservative majority, and in Prussia the government absorbed the cost of a substitute during the deputy's absence from his duties as an official. When at the beginning of the next decade the political tide turned in favor of the liberals, in 1863 the Prussian government with partial success sought to reduce the number of liberal deputies from officialdom by 390

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requiring them to pay their substitutes. The government did not, however, prohibit officials from serving in the Landtag; nor did it impose the requirement of prior permission by a superior before an official could announce his candidacy. Time and social change reduced the gravity of the above issue. The Prussian government under Bismarck forced administrative officials to support its policy, and in the 1880's Minister of Interior von Puttkamer weeded out liberal officials in favor of staunch conservatives. When in the 1890's the Conservative party opposed certain government policies, the ministry in turn compelled proConservative officials to support the government or to keep silent. Caught between two fires, officials were less inclined than before to stand for election. In addition, as occupations and interests grew in complexity and the public in political self-confidence, voters favored the election of nonofficials, who although possibly less expert in state affairs than bureaucrats, represented the public more directly. In the first Reichstag 27 percent of the deputies had been officials. The last election before World War I (1912) returned 10 percent, and most of the number belonged to the Catholic Center party and came from the well-protected judiciary. Acceptance of officials as deputies implied the failure of Germans and Austrians fully to comprehend the consequences for political organization and activity of constitutional government and elected assemblies. Supporters of the practice had not yet differentiated within the legislative process between the roles of politician and expert. They expected favorable results from a combination of the two functions in the deputy-official; the union of two kinds of responsibility, however, caused overwork, confusion, and reduced efficiency. Experience in countries of true parliamentary government has demonstrated that an elected legislator responsible to the public requires qualities of judgment and of personality usually not found in the bureaucrat, and that expert knowledge and administrative skill do not guarantee political decisions acceptable to the public. Those who advocated the use of officials as deputies retained some of the patterns of thought of absolutism: to government responsible to the will of the people they preferred what they optimistically called "efficient" government; they favored the benefits of expert knowledge supplied by the official to those advantages gained by enabling the people to share actively in government through popular representation. Their attitude gave evidence of the fact that for them parliament occupied a position secondary to that of the executive.25 Bismarck recognized the role of the deputy391

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official as dual and contradictory; he condemned it, however, not because it violated the nature of representation but because it undermined bureaucratic discipline and loyalty. In a speech to the North German Reichstag, March 28,1867, he said: There is something wrong in the state when one finds that a bureaucrat publicly opposes his chief and publicly speaks to him and about him in a way which the same official undoubtedly is too well brought up to use in his office to his servant. . . . As Minister I am prepared to receive the strongest representations in writing from an official who is led by his sense of responsibility; but I should find it difficult to remain a minister if I were forced to employ continually in my department an official who denied me publicly the respect which I claim in my position.26

Austria abolished the practice of allowing officials to run for either the Reichsrat or the provincial Landtage when in 1907 it introduced universal manhood suffrage. The difference between the German and Austrian position may be explained by contrasting the role of parliament in the two countries. The intensity of party strife in Austria, particularly among nationality groups, so acutely aggravated the consequences of the contradiction that officialsas-deputies faced a quandary of dimensions rarely found in Germany. The less serious nature of political conflict in Germany made abolition of the dual role seem unnecessary; the government preferred to tolerate the opposition of these deputies in the secure knowledge that it had many subtle means of pressing the individual as official to follow the line as deputy that the ministry indicated. The role of parliament in the empire and Prussia, as a French critic observed, did not require that this body be reformed from an institution partly advisory and expert, partly legislative and representative, into a representative body with power equal at least to that of the executive. Nor did the reform in Austria improve the functioning of parliament, where the trouble lay in the conflict of nationalities.27 Selection of officials as deputies in parliament retarded the development of responsibility in public affairs. Officials were trained for group action in the bureaucracy, an institution with authoritarian inclinations; they did not adjust easily to the discipline of cooperative behavior in political parties. They brought with them to the world of politics the habits of those endowed with superior knowledge, and they spoke and acted in parliament as individuals, persons of authority in their own right. They often found it undignified to acquiesce in the negotiations, compromises, and def392

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erence to unenlightened public opinion of party politics. Either they tried to subject the members, usually men of importance, of their party or fraction to bureaucratic organization, an attempt in which they soon failed, or they continued to dislike party organization and discipline and sought to preserve their own political role as notables. In both instances they obstructed the process of learning the nature and value of institutions like the political party and its many affiliates for popular participation in politics.

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B

when Goethe condemned politics as the activity of the uncultured and the time when Thomas Mann saw politics permeating all society lay a century of structural change. Adherents of the Old Regime looked in dismay upon constitutional government, representative assemblies, popular politics, and political parties as these took form during the socioeconomic revolution of the new century. The novel political mores that outraged tradition expressed the characteristics of a metamorphosing society, so that these political habits became assimilated to the nonpolitical aspects of life. Without the training in individualism, initiative, sense of social responsibilty, cooperative effort, rationality and negotiation, interdependence and self-dependence; without the practice of ambiguity manifested in the subjectivity and objectivity of national liberalism, in the founding of corporations, in the rugged individualism of social thinking and planning; without the penumbral attraction of personal gain through public welfare; without the stimulation of mobility up and down the social scale and across country and state frontiers, the new forms of government and politics, of economics, education, and social relations would all have failed. The entrepreneur in developing his business, the professor in reforming the curriculum of the university, exhibited characteristics of creativity that applied equally to politics and made political thinking and political participation a part of normal life. Each participant in the new society, whether in the economy, in politics and government, or in any other field of activity, learned the new mores by trial and error, but he learned them as a common body of social behavior. In the developing culture political activity became universally essential, and as a real or potential common denominator it engaged sooner or later and to a greater or lesser degree the entire ETWEEN THE TIME

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society. Politics furthered the education of a new type of personality in a new kind of culture. Deep historical roots gave European institutions great strength in resisting social reform. Unlike the United States, where the institutional structure shared the weakness common to a developing society, Europe replaced one body of institutions consistent within themselves, tenacious of life, and based upon legality and vested interests by another and equally logical body of institutions. Promoters and supporters of new institutions had little experience to guide them and possessed no molds for the forms that their needs and desires should assume. They took the offensive for goals as yet shaped merely by ideals and by a tentative reality, goals that could be justified primarily by an act of faith. The constant need of political compromise between the institutions and habits of two competing types of society retarded and complicated all political development during the century. Europe sustained a world of hierarchy, an area where centuries of social rigidity had created a structure that any rapid social change must menace in its entirety. In contrast with the United States, which largely escaped the confrontation of two cultures and hence the emotional intensity aroused thereby, Europe's training in the behavior of politics was impeded and warped by the attitude of a well-institutionalized society accustomed to its own form of closed political life and hostile to the politics of a mobile society. All classes, including the nobility, suffered from this delay in their political education, but at the time the bourgeoisie and the middle class suffered most. Or to put it more accurately: the state suffered because the bourgeoisie and middle class were so generally retarded. During the stage of their greatest political importance, the years before the emergence to a position of power of mass parties, these latter classes should have furnished the state and society with able leaders acting through responsible institutions. They should have been the political teachers of the masses. Persistence of authoritarian government and a rigid political system in the major states rendered fulfillment of this role difficult or impossible; and survival of the habits and institutions of caste and privilege set similar obstacles to the development of responsible behavior in the economy and other aspects of society. Authoritarian disrespect for the party as an institution of government kept upper classes separated from lower classes and assisted authoritarian government in maintaining itself by practicing 395

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the principle of divide and rule. When nations faced the crisis of World War I and of defeat in battle, they lacked the resources of leadership through efficient parties. Parties based upon class or religion or special interests, parties devoid of organization for appealing to all groups in society, parties weak in political experience from never having been allowed responsibility in government— such parties had not trained men to become national leaders capable of meeting a national crisis. Professor Schmoller wrote in 1910: That is the sinister point about all contemporary party leadership in states without a great party history and party discipline. Every party leadership wants to work for the great objectives of the state and at the same time to hold the party together. In most cases it can do this only by acquiescence in the shortsighted triviality and class interests of the party members.. . . All our German parties are still too young and politically immature to escape such weaknesses.1

Supposedly democratic France did not fare much better than Germany. In France, too, government by parties had functioned for only three or four decades prior to 1914. In many European states parties suffered from too much discipline; in the Third French Republic they tended toward anarchy. On the eve of World War I few Europeans understood the procedures and institutions of politics in an open society; the sophisticated citizen like Max Weber recognized the objectionable features of politics in England and the United States rather than the essential characteristics of responsible government. Most of Europe stood in the last phase of the age of absolutism and privilege and on the threshold of a period in which political institutions and mores could be assumed to reflect the interests and views of the entire society. It may well be asked whether the four forces bringing about, and at the same time reflecting, social change in the nineteenth century—the industrial revolution, education, the army, and politics— kept pace with one another or whether by 1914 politics and its expression in governmental institutions had advanced further than other aspects of life toward a mobile society. In the absence of comparative studies the question can receive only a tentative answer. Economic, educational, and military changes in a traditional society like that of Europe are all expressed through laws; and laws proceed from political activity and reveal the distribution of political and social power. Educational reform making schools available to the masses and military reform that expanded the army 896

CONCLUSION

to include all able-bodied males resulted from the increasing international competition for political power, and although to a lesser extent, from the competition among internal social groups. For similar reasons government on the Continent took an active role in the introduction and furtherance of industrialism. No doubt eighteenth-century idealism stimulated reformers, but the decisive drive came from the search for political power. Politics had sufficient impetus to hold the other three forces more or less abreast of it; yet wherever political power appeared sufficiently secure to ignore or forego change in the other three aspects of social life, it tended to cling to the society of absolutism. The foregoing analysis of political institutions reveals the prevalence and frequent ascendancy of authoritarian elements within a governmental structure otherwise committed to the principles of an industrial society. Structural change had occurred, but before 1914 the psychological adjustment of society had lagged. Farthest along in France and least advanced in Russia, although the Balkan states and certain regions of other states had made only token progress, this adjustment remained essential to both social and political stability. In all major states even education and military service continued to recognize class differences. Like government, the schools and the army had adopted institutions and set standards designed for the realization of a mobile society; but by 1914 the realization fell short of the ideal: even though they might become economically successful the peasant and worker only occasionally rose beyond their station, and in the army they served in the lowest ranks. The middle class and aristocracy received identical educations and gained rank in the army commensurate with their social position—the nobility, however, being preferred. The educational system and the military organization thus preserved an authoritarian character, just as did a government with a nominally responsible chancellor or minister-president, an upper house composed largely or altogether of appointees from the upper classes, and a lower house preserved from the taint of popular, responsible politics. By 1914 the major European states had experienced a century of ambiguous relationship between institutional organization and possibilities on the one hand and social realities and expectations on the other. Institutions were adapted to allow the ruling elite to maintain its position while the masses strove for an improvement in theirs; institutions operated in such a way that the elite expected to retain control while the popular elements hoped to reverse the 397

CONCLUSION

order of social power; they permitted one group to cling to its psycholgical characteristics while stimulating the other to develop the psychological traits of an open, mobile society. The future of the issue known as class conflict depended upon the extent to which institutions allowed or encouraged the social composition and experience of the different classes to become varied and satisfying. In Russia and Spain, where the preindustrial order persisted strongly, the possibility of class conflict could not be excluded. In Germany, where industrialism had made rapid inroads, the social components of each class differed so markedly in 1914 from those evident at the opening of the period that society appeared to have overcome the threat of internal conflict, except under the impact of a cataclysm like defeat in World War I. In Austria, where institutions permitted the aspirations of nationalities to flourish and so opened the way to cultural animosities, class hostility gave place to nationality conflict. In France and Italy class antagonism between nobility and bourgeoisie had largely disappeared with the fall of the feudal nobility, giving way to controversy between management and labor or between liberalism and social radicalism. The gradual development of industrialism, however, diminished this antagonism by limiting the expansion of the working class and preventing it from becoming wholly proletarian in character. In every country institutions of government surpassed those of society in general in a clear definition of structure and function. Everywhere the clichés—whether those of social divisions, nobility, bourgeoisie and middle class, worker and peasant, or those of way of life, conservatism, liberalism, nationalism, socialism—did not identify the diversity of elements to which they ostensibly referred. The governing forces of Europe in 1914 did not understand the composition and hopes of their several peoples, and these populations were unaware of the significance of institutional changes that had occurred during the century. The supreme example of the ambiguity between the structure of political institutions and the change in society came in 1914, when each government expected the nation to fight a modern war but would not allow it to become a modern political people. In the twentieth century Europe has paid a heavy price for its failure to keep the several facets of transformation from the Old Regime to modern society in more precise cultural adjustment.

398

Notes

i 1

15,

W . H. Riehl, Die Bürgerliche Gesellschaft

2

(Stuttgart and Berlin, 1930), p.

W. H. Bruford, Chekhov and His Russia (London, 1948), pp. 175-176. J . K. Bluntschli, Lehre vom Modernen Staat. Vol. 1: Allgemeine Staatslehre (Stuttgart, 1876) , p . 200. 4 See Werner Conze, ed., Staat und Gesellschaft im deutschen Vormärz, 1815-1848 (Stuttgart, 1962), p. 68. 5 Marc Raeff, Michael Speransky : Statesman of Imperial Russia, 1772-1839 (The Hague, 1957), p. 336. 6 Karl Abraham, Der Strukturwandel im Handwerk in der ersten Hälfte des 19. Jahrhunderts und seine Bedeutung für die Berufserziehung (Köln, 1955), p. 11. 7 J . Ulbrich, Das oesterreichische Staatsrecht (Tübingen, 1909), pp. 190-191. 8 Ernest Renan, Recollections of My Youth (Boston, 1924), pp. 76-77. 9 R. F. Leslie, Reform and Insurrection in Russian Poland, 1856-1865 (London, 1963), p. 51. 10 Selected Letters of Anton Chekhov, ed. by Lillian Hellman; trans, by Sidonie Lederer (New York: F a r r a r , Strauss & Co., 1955), Letter to Maria Chekhova, 20 March 1891, p. 140. 11 J . C. L. Simonde de Sismondi, Political Economy and the Philosophy of Government : A Series of Essays Selected from the Work of M. de Sismondi (London, 1847), p. 203. 12 Abraham, op. cit., p. 13. 13 See as an example, Ludwig Gumplowicz, Das Oesterreichische Staatsrecht (2d ed.; Wien, 1902), pp. 244 n. 1, 245 n. 1. 14 Riehl, op. cit., p. 15. 15 Yvonne Turin, L'Éducation et VÉcole en Espagne de 187h à 1902 (Paris, 1959), p. 49. 16 V. I. Gurko, Features and Figures of the Past : Government and Opinion in the Reign of Nicholas II (Stanford, 1939), p. 336n. 17 Friedrich Wilhelm Brepohl, Industrievolk im Wandel von der agraren zur industriellen Daseinsform dargestellt am Ruhrgebiet (Tübingen, 1957), p. 92-93. 18 Quoted in Theodore von Laue, "Count Witte and the Russian Revolution of 1905," American Slavic and East European Review, XVII (1958), 38. 3

399

NOTES TO PAGES 1 1 - 2 3 19 Victor Freiherr von Andrian-Werburg, Oesterreich und dessen Zukunft (Hamburg, 1843), I, 48-49. (Pub. anon.) 20 Theodor Fontane, Briefe an Georg Friedländer (Heidelberg, 1954), pp. 122-123. 21 Conze, op. cit., p. 138. 22 Sismondi, op. dt., p. 151. 23 Ibid., pp. 152-153. 24 Jules Michelet, Le Peuple (Paris, 1946), pp. 24-25. 25 Sismondi, op. cit., pp. 172-174. 26 Fontane, op. cit., Letter of 21 December 1884, p. 4. 27 Ibid., p. 236. 28 Dietrich Eichholtz, Junker und Bourgeoisie vor 18U8 in der Preussischen Eisenbahngeschichte (Berlin, 1962), p. 41. 29 Ibid., p. 60n., quoting LH A Schwerin, Landtagsprotokolle 184-0, Malchin, 12 November 1840, fol. 119. 30 Ibid., pp. 87-88. 31 L. Berger, Der alte Harkort (Leipzig, 1891), p. 321n. 32 Charles P. Kindleberger, Economic Growth in France and Britain, 1850-1950 (Cambridge, Mass., 1964), p. 113. 33 Friedrich List, The National System of Political Economy (Philadelphia, 1856), p. 384. Cf. Werke, ed. by Erwin von Beckerath, et al. (Berlin, 1927-1935), Bd. VI: Das Nationale System der politischen Oekonomie (1930), p. 320. 34 H. Haeser, "Ueber die soziale Bedeutung der Heilkunde," Zeitschrift des Centrai-Vereins in Preussen fuer das Wohl der Arbeitenden Klassen (Leipzig, 1859), p. 204. 35 E. A. Wrigley, Industrial Growth and Population Change (New York, 1961), pp. 99-100. 38 J . J . Spengler, "Population Changes, 1900-1950: Socio-Economic Implications," Journal of World History, V (1960), 941. 37 Ibid., p. 939. See also, Wrigley, op. cit., pp. 60-61,167-169. 38 See among others: W. Woytinsky, Die Welt in Zahlen (Berlin, 1925), I, 147; G. T. Robinson, Rural Russia under the Old Regime (New York, 1961), pp. 249, 289, 306; Georg von Viebahn, Statistik des zollvereinten und nördlichen Deutschlands (Berlin, 1862), II, 147. The proportion of the active population engaged in agriculture in 1901 offers another kind of evidence. The figure for Italy (60 percent) was almost as high as that for India (64 percent), or almost double that in France (33 percent). See Maurice F. Neufeld, Italy, School for Awakening Countries (Ithaca, 1961), p. 298; C. P. Kindleberger, op. cit., pp. 172-173, 252-253. 39 Robinson, op. cit., p. 109. 40 Hugh Seton-Watson, The Decline of Imperial Russia 1855-19H (New York, 1962), p. 10; Robinson, op. cit., p. 249. 41 Wrigley, op. cit., pp. 24-25, 60-61, 97. 42 For a comparison of the growth of rural and industrial centers in France and Germany, 1821-1880, see Wrigley, op. cit., pp. 24-25. A table giving for each country the number of cities with a population of more than 100,000 each and population figures for these cities in 1850, 1880, and 1913 is to be found in Maxime Leroy, La Ville française (Paris, 1927), pp. 104-105. 43 Wolfgang Köllmann, Sozialgeschichte Barmens im 19. Jahrhundert (Tübingen, 1960), p. 104. 44 Hugh Seton-Watson, op. cit., pp. 10-11 ; Frank Lorimer, Population of the Soviet Union (Geneva, 1946), p. 21. 45 Friedrich Syrup and Otto Neuloh, Hundert Jahre staatliche Sozialpolitik, 1889-1937 (Stuttgart, 1957), p. 50. 46 E. Levasseur, Histoire des Classes ouvrières et de l'Industrie en France de 1789 à 1870 (Paris, 1903), I, 743.

400

NOTES TO PAGES 2 3 - 3 5 47 George Duveau, La Vie ouvrière en France sous le second Empire (7th ed.; Paris, 1946), pp. 195-198; Handwörterbuch der Staatswissenschaften, II (3d ed.; Jena, 1909), 816; Louis Chevalier, La Formation de la Population Parisienne au 19' Siècle (Paris, 1950), pp. 73, 223; Woytinsky, op. cit., II, 23-25. 48 Neufeld, op. cit., pp. 25-26, 32, 141 if., 298-303. 49 Conze, op. cit., p. 116. 60 Ibid., pp. 75-76; Sir John Paget, Hungary and Transylvania (London, 1850), I, 417, estimated the Hungarian nobility at 800,000. Cf. the figures of 250,000 male nobles given in Ignaz Beidtel, Geschichte der oesterreichischen Staatsverwaltung, 17Ì0-1848 (Innsbruck, 1896-1897), 1,12. 51 Donald Mackenzie Wallace, Russia (New York, 1881), p. 287. 62 Ibid., p. 93. 53 Viebahn, op. cit., II, 309, 311. 64 Die Gegenwart: Eine enzyklopädische Darstellung der neuesten Zeitgeschichte fuer alle Stände, XI (Leipzig, 1855), 60. 65 Theodore von Laue, Sergei Witte and the Industrialization of Russia (New York, 1963), pp. 305-306.

II 1

A third way of life, the socialistic, had little influence during the nineteenth century, except as theory and as stimulus to sporadic revolutionary activity that never succeeded in introducing its theories into governmental practice. In the present discussion its role is treated as a minor one. 2 The work by Ernst Rudolf Huber, Deutsche Verfassungsgeschichte seit 1789 (Stuttgart, 1957-1963), of which three volumes have so f a r appeared, offers the only competent constitutional history of any country for the period under discussion. Huber's purpose differs from that of the present study, in that it emphasizes the legal aspects and the political setting of constitutional development rather than the institutional and social aspects of the subject. It includes a full bibliography and references to essential laws and is indispensable for further research. The detailed Table of Contents in Huber's work renders superfluous any attempt to cite Huber's discussion in our footnotes or to state where and why we disagree with or diverge from his views. 3 Nicholas V. Riasanovsky, Nicholas I and Official Nationality in Russia, 1825-1855 (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1959), p. 126. 4 "Corporative" is a term used in the sense of the Old Regime to refer to any semipublic, semiprivate organization or association, such as the manor, the guild, or the church, with a constitution and legal power of its own. 5 See, as one of many examples, Henri Chardon, Le Pouvoir administratif (Paris, 1912), pp. 220-23. 6 See the revealing study by Hans Rosenberg, Bureaucracy, Aristocracy and Autocracy: The Prussian Experience (Cambridge, Mass., 1958). 7 Text of the Charter as translated in Frank Maloy Anderson, ed., Constitutions and Documents: France, 1789-1907 (2d ed.; Minneapolis, 1908), pp. 457 ff. See also, Duguit, Monnier, et Bonnard, eds., Les Constitutions et les Principales Lois Politiques de la France depuis 1789 (7th ed. by Georges Berlia; Paris, 1952), pp. 168 ff. Many of the constitutions to be quoted from subsequently may be found in Walter F. Dodd, Modern Constitutions (Chicago, 1909), Vols. I, II, and this work may be referred to automatically when other reference is not given here. 8 See Otto Hintze's analysis of constitutional monarchism in Staat und Verfassung: Gesammelte Abhandlungen zur allgemeinen Verfassungsgeschichte, ed. by Fritz Härtung (Leipzig, 1941), especially pp. 349-447, for

401

NOTES TO PAGES 3 5 - 4 9 three essays published in 1911, 1913, and 1914 respectively. There is considerable difference between the first essay and the later two in regard to constitutional monarchism. In the later essays Hintze found weakness in the system of monarchical rule such as he had not recognized at the time of the earlier essay ; he continued, however, to justify constitutional monarchism for Germany on grounds of history and geographic exposure to numerous enemies. In 1913-14 he emphasized German social and religious disunity as a factor in making constitutional monarchy essential, whereas in the earlier essay he showed much more confidence in the country's unity. There is now a second edition of the work (Göttingen, 1962). 9 Frank M. Anderson, op. cit., p. 460. 10 For this and other references to the Prussian Constitution of 1850, see Dr. Gerhard Anschütz, Die Verfassungs-Urkunde fuer den preussischen Staat (Berlin, 1912), I, 633 if. 11 See Stein's Nassau Memorandum of 1807, in Georg Winter, ed., Die Reorganisation des Preussischen Staates unter Stein und Hardenberg, Bd. I : Vom Beginn des Kampfes gegen die Kabinettsregierung bis zum Wiedereintritt des Ministers vom Stein (Leipzig, 1931), Publikationen aus den Preussischen Staatsarchiven, Bd. 93, pp. 189-206. 12 See Adalbert Hess, Das Parlament das Bismarck Widerstrebte (Köln, 1964), p. 47, for the distinction. 13 Theodore von Laue, Sergei Witte and the Industrialization of Russia (New York, 1963), pp. 252-253. 14 C. H. Pouthas, "Les Ministères de Louis Philippe," Revue d'Histoire moderne et contemporaine, I (1954-1955), 102-130. 15 The practice of ministerial countersigning goes back to the eighteenth century, when, however, it was largely a formality. 16 See Hintze, Staat und Verfassung, pp. 374 ff. Hintze overstresses the responsibility of the ministers to the monarch, and in keeping with his aversion to parliamentary government for Germany, he underemphasizes the role of legislative bodies. 17 An outstanding example of this point exists in England, where the influence of the Duke of Wellington for decades postponed needed reform of the British army. 18 Alfred Levin, The Second Duma (New Haven, 1940), p. 88. 19 Friedrich Kleinwächter, Der Untergang der oesterreichisch-ungarischen Monarchie (Leipzig, 1920), pp. 274-275. 20 Ibid., p. 277. 21 Von Laue, Sergei Witte and the Industrialization of Russia, pp. 204-205. 22 In France, where a legislative body already existed, the Council of State acted in an entirely different capacity, as is shown later. For the Prussian Council of State, see Conze, Staat und Gesellschaft im Deutschen Vormärz, pp. 87-88, and Hans Schneider, Der Preussische Staatsrat, 1817-1918 (München and Berlin, 1952) ; for Italy, Robert C. Fried, The Italian Prefects: A Study in Administrative Politics (New Haven, 1963), p. 31. 23 Josef Redlich, Das oesterreichische Staats- und Reichsproblem (Leipzig, 1920,1926), I, 745-746. 24 Here and subsequently for Germany a work that might be used for general reference is: Wilhelm Altmann, ed., Ausgewählte Urkunden zur deutschen Verfassungsgeschichte seit 1806 (Berlin, 1898). See especially Teil I : 18061866. 25 Eugene N. Anderson, Stanley J . Pincetl, Donald J . Ziegler, eds., Europe in the Nineteenth Century: Readings in Intellectual and Social History. Vol. I : 1815-1870 (Indianapolis, 1961), pp. 67-75. 26 Altmann, op. cit., I, 176 ff. 27 For an illuminating contrast of the conceptions of the constitution held by

402

NOTES TO PAGES

49-66

conservatives and liberals, see Hess, op. cit., pp. 30-50. See Anschütz, op. int., for the Prussian texts. 28 F r a n k M. Anderson, op. cit., pp. 522 if.; Art. 68, p. 531. 29 Wolfgang J . Mommsen, Max Weber und die deutsche Politik, 1890-1920 (Tübingen, 1959), p. 334. 30 Cf. Redlich, Das oesterreichische Staats- und Reichsproblem, I, 739. 31 Léon Duguit, Traité de Droit constitutionnel (2d ed.; Paris, 1924), IV, 188-189. 32 Dr. Edmund Bernatzik, Die oesterreichischen Verfassungsgesetze mit Erläuterungen (2d rev. ed.; Wien, 1911), pp. 255ff., 367ff. 33 See the discussion of Suffrage in chap. 8 of the present study for arguments. 34 Dodd, op. cit. 35 Duguit, Traité de Droit constitutionnel, IV, 137, 141 ; also, Duguit, et al., Les Constitutions, pp. 296-301. 36 Duguit, Traité de Droit constitutionnel, IV, 142-143 ; Law of December, 1884, in Les Constitutions . . . , pp. 308-311. 37 Dodd, op. cit., passim. 38 Ibid., II, 203-204. The Prussian upper house resembled in composition t h a t of Spain and in royal power of appointment t h a t of Italy. Cf. Ludwig von Roenne, Das Staatsrecht der preussischen Monarchie (4th ed.; Leipzig, 1881-1884), I, 203 ff. 39 Dodd, op. cit., II, 190-191. F o r f u r t h e r efforts to blend the Old Regime and the new bourgeois society, see the French law of December 29, 1831, replacing Art. 23 of the Charter of 1814, in Duguit, et al., Les Constitutions, pp. 211-212, and the Prussian royal decree of October 12, 1854, in Anschütz, op. cit. The composition of the German Bundesrat is discussed in subsequent p a r a g r a p h s of the text. 40 Viktor Adler, Aufsätze, Reden und Briefe (Wien, 1922-1929), X, 21. 41 Stenographische Protokolle ueber die Sitzungen des Hauses der Abgeordneten des oesterreichischen Reichsrats im Jahre 1906, 393. Sitzung der XVII Session am 16. März 1906, Bd. XXXVIII (1906), p. 35268. 42 V. I. Gurko, Features and Figures of the Past (Stanford, 1939), chap. ii. See also the devastating characterization of the Russian grand dukes, who would be at least nominal members of the House of Peers, in Von Laue, Sergei Witte, pp. 198-199. 43 Angel Marvaud, L'Espagne au 20' Siècle (Paris, 1913), pp. 48-50. 44 For discussion of the upper houses in Prussia and Saxony, see Heinrich Heffter, Deutsche Selbstverwaltung im 19. Jahrhundert ( S t u t t g a r t , 1950), passim; Donald Warren, Jr., The Red Kingdom of Saxony (The Hague, 1964), pp. 18-19. 46 Italy, Art. 36. See similar terms in the Portuguese constitution of 1825, Art. 41, and a variant in the Danish constitution of 1849-1866, A r t . 68. 46 Another example of Old Regime regional governance appeared in the German constitution of 1871. The second part of A r t . 28 r e a d : " I n a decision concerning a matter which according to the terms of this constitution is not common to the entire Reich the votes [in the Reichstag] will be counted of only those members who were elected in states to which the matter pertains in common." The clause was repealed almost immediately (Feb. 24,1873). 47 Altmann, op. cit., Teil I, pp. 11-12. 48 Ibid., Teil II, p. 5. The entire constitution of 1867 and 1871 appears in Altmann. 49 F o r background, see two excellent works in English; Oscar Jaszi, The Dissolution of the Habsburg Monarchy (Chicago, 1929), and Robert A. Kann, The Multinational Empire : Nationalism and National Reform in the Habsburg Monarchy, 1848-1918 (New York, 1950). Vols. I, II. F o r the pertinent docu-

403

NOTES TO PAGES 6 6 - 8 8 ments, see Bernatzik, op. cit.; for discussion, see Redlich, Staats- und Reichsproblem. 50 For an analysis, see chap. 8 on Suffrage. 51 Redlich, Staats- und Reichsproblem, I, 638-640. 52 Ibid., p. 641. 63 Ibid. M Ibid., p. 641n. 65 Ibid., pp. 643 ff. 56 Ibid., pp. 721 ff. 57 Ibid., p. 774. 58 Quoted in ibid., II, 130 ff. °sIbid., p. 587. 60 Bernatzik, op. cit., especially the law of 21 December 1867, sec. 138, pp. 439 ff.; cf. sec. 119. See also, Dodd, op. cit. 61 Bernatzik, op. cit., pp. 752 ff., sees. 187,188. 62 Ibid., p. 399, sec. 133. 63 See Max Weber's advocacy of the occupation in his famous essay of 1918, "Politics as a Vocation," in H. H. Gerth and C. Wright Mills, eds., From Max Weber: Essays in Sociology (New York, 1958), pp. 77-128. 64 The continuing power of autocracy in Russia was evident from the fact that in contrast with Bismarck, Stolypin never gained the authority to select his colleagues in the ministry, the provincial governors, and other high officials. See Bernard Pares, My Russian Memoirs (London, 1931), p. 129. 65 For Stolypin, see Gurko, op. cit., p. 463; for Bismarck, see the evidence in Erich Eyck, Bismarck (Zürich, 1941-1944), passim. 66 Alexis de Tocqueville, Recollections (New York, 1959), pp. 110-111,114. 67 Pares, My Russian Memoirs, pp. 106-109,140-144,176-179. 68 Gurko, op. cit., p. 480. 69 Harold Acton, The Last Bourbons of Naples, 1825-1861 (London, 1961), pp. 52-53. 70 Richard Hare, Portraits of Russian Personalities (London, 1960), pp. 296-299; Konstantin P. Pobedonostsev, Reflections of a Russian Statesman (reprinted from the 1898 ed.; Ann Arbor, 1965), pp. 26-59. 71 "Let Us Go Back to the Constitution," in Eugene N. Anderson et al., Europe in the Nineteenth Century, II, 154 ff. 72 Hare, op. cit., pp. 296-297. 73 See Hintze's two essays of 1911 and 1914, respectively, in Staat und Verfassung, pp. 349-414. 74 Gurko, op. cit., p. 361. 75 Redlich, Staats- und Reichsproblem, I, 54-55.

III 1

Victor Andrian-Werburg, Oesterreich und dessen Zukunft (Hamburg, 1843), II, 105-106. 2 Ibid., pp. 106-107. 3 Ibid., pp. 110-111. 4 Dr. Paul Schoen, Das Recht der Kommunalverbände in Preussen (Leipzig, 1897), pp. 68, 339-340, 345-346. 5 Dr. Georg von Viebahn, Statistik des zollvereinten und nördlichen Deutschlands (Berlin, 1858-1868), II, 83. A Prussian Morgen was .63 of an acre. 6 John Paget, Hungary and Transylvania (London, 1850), I, 551-552. 7 Dr. Ludwig von Roenne, Das Staatsrecht der Preussischen Monarchie (Leipzig, 1881-1884), III, 333 n. 3, summarizing from Das Allgemeine Landrecht, II, 7, pars. 53-60. 8 Paget, op. cit., I. 551.

404

NOTES TO PAGES 8 8 - 1 0 3 9 Donald Mackenzie Wallace, Russia (New York, 1881), p. 543n. In the first edition of his classic book about Russia, Wallace adds this laconic note : "It may be objected that the peasantry always enjoyed a certain amount of communal self-government. This is quite true ; but during the long period of serfage and administrative supervision, the Mir lost much of its independence. On private estates it was almost always under the control of the proprietor or his steward, and on State Demesnes it was under the control of the officials." 10 Paget, op. cit., I, 551. 11 Andrian-Werburg, op. cit., I, 65-66. 12 Ibid., II, 108-109. 13 Ibid., II, 116-117. " V o n Roenne, op. cit., I, 572 n. 4, quoting the commission report from Drucksachen, 1853-54, Nr. 144. 15 Ibid., p. 572n., relying upon both German Privatrecht and commentary upon this, as for example, Kunde, Eichhorn, and others. 16 Ibid., p. 574. 17 Ibid., p. 574n., summarizing from the Report. 18 Ibid., pp. 574-575. 19 Ibid., III, 39 n. 1, abstracting pars. 7, 8 of the Städteordnung. 20 Ibid. See also, Schoen, op. cit., pp. 52-56. 21 Donald Mackenzie Wallace, Russia on the Eve of War and Revolution, ed. by Cyril E. Black (New York, 1961), p. 27. 22 Heinrich Heffter, Die deutsche Selbstverwaltung im 19. Jahrhundert (Stuttgart, 1950), pp. 715-17. See also p. 132. 23 Josef Redlich, Das oesterreichische Staats- und Reichsproblem (Leipzig, 1920, 1926), I, 593-596; J . Ulbrich, Das oesterreichische Staatsrecht (Tübingen, 1909) p. 168; Ludwig Gumplowicz, Das oesterreichische Staatsrecht (Wien, 1907), pp. 219-222. 24 Bernard Pares, Russia between Reform and Revolution, ed. by Francis B. Randall (New York, 1962), p. 82. 25 Paget, op. cit., I, 550-551. 26 Pares tells of a Russian village in the decade before World War I which purchased "a fire engine or other machinery" and devoted funds to poor relief. In Between Reform and Revolution, p. 82. He also reports the remark of a cantonal elder: "My power is to do what I am ordered to do by the Land Captain." In My Russian Memoirs (London, 1931), p. 69. 27 Pares, Between Reform and Revolution, p. 82. See also, Wallace, Russia (1961), pp. 276-278. 28 An excellent analysis of government and of the three-class system of voting in Prussian villages in western Germany is contained in Gerhard Wurzbacher, et. al., Das Dorf im Spannungsfeld industrieller Entwicklung: Untersuchung an den 45 Dörfern und Weilern einer westdeutschen ländlichen Gemeinde (Stuttgart, 1961), pp. 30, 234-241. The study covers villages in a region lacking large feudal owners and estates. The three-class system of voting therefore merely differentiated peasants and nonagricultural villagers, artisans, employees, officials and other burghers, according to wealth as shown in payment of direct taxes. It did not serve to protect the social and political position of the lord, as it did in the six eastern provinces of the state, and the results of the analysis therefore are less significant for our study. 29 Julia Pardoe, The City of the Magyars (London, 1840), III, 196. 30 Wallace concluded on the eve of "World ^ f a r I that Russian villages remained "very much what they were under the Old Régime." (Russia on the Eve of War and Revolution, p. 37). He does not, however, denigrate the significance of the Zemstvo, whatever its failures (p. 38). 31 Quoted in Jean-Hervé Donnard, Balzac: Les Réalités économiques et sociales dans La Comédie Humaine (Paris, 1961), pp. 345-347. 32 Ibid., p. 346.

405

NOTES TO PAGES 103-117 35 Collection complète des lois, décrets d'intérêt général, etc. 1789 , ed. J . B. Duvergier, Loi du 21 mars 1831 sur l'Organisation municipale (IX, Bull, xxv, no. 91), vol. 31, pp. 129 ff. 34 Ibid., Loi du 6 avril 1884, vol. 84, pp. 99 ff. For a succinct analysis of the Revolutionary laws and the laws of 1837 and 1867, see Maxime Leroy, La Ville française (Paris, 1927). 35 Collection complète des lois . . . , ed. Duvergier, vol. 84, pp. 99 ff. The essential terms of the law are found in Albert Shaw, Municipal Government in Central Europe (New York, 1895), Appendix III. 36 See summary of Barthélemy's report to the meeting of the Verein f ü r Sozialpolitik in Vienna in 1909, in Schriften des Vereins f ü r Sozialpolitik, Bd. 132 (Leipzig, 1910), pp. 98-102. 37 Leroy, La Ville française, pp. 121-139. 38 Ibid., chap. viii. 39 Henri Chardon, Le Pouvoir administratif (Paris, 1912), pp. 231-239. 40 Chardon, L'Administration de la France: Les Fonctionnaires (Paris, 1908), p. 205. See also, pp. 185-187. 41 Chardon, Le Pouvoir administratif, pp. 75-76. 42 Robert C. Pried, The Italian Prefects (New Haven, 1963), pp. 77-78. 43 Bolton King and Thomas Okey, Italy Today (London, 1901), pp. 265 ff.; Fried, op. cit., esp. pp. 45-47, 70-71, 77-78, 87-93, 128-134, 149-151; Maurice F. Neufeld, Italy, School for Awakening Countries (Ithaca, 1961), pp. 25-26, 141 ff. 44 Henry Puget, Le Gouvernement local en Espagne (Paris, 1924), pp. 200-201. See also the recent discussion, in Raymond Carr, Spain 1808-1939 (Oxford, 1966), chaps, ix, xii, passim. 45 Puget, op. cit., p. 155. 46 Gerald Brenan, The Spanish Labyrinth ( Cambridge, Eng. ; New York, 1943), p. 20n. 47 Puget, op. cit., pp. 153-55; Angel Marvaud, L'Espagne au 20' Siècle (Paris, 1913), pp. 64-68; Brenan, op. cit., pp. 8, 21n.; J . A. Pitt-Rivers, The People of the Sierra (Chicago, 1961), passim; Carr, op. cit., pp. 366-379. For a discussion of caciquismo, see chap. 9, Political Parties, of the present study. 48 Hans Mauersberg, Wirtschafts- und Sozialgeschichte zentraleuropäischer Städte in neuer Zeit (Göttingen, 1960), pp. 152-153. 49 Wallace, Russia on the Eve of War and Revolution, pp. 182-184. 60 See Motive zur Städte-Ordnung, in Stenographische Berichte des preussischen Abgeordnetenhauses, 1861, Bd. 2, Nr. 15, pp. 102-103. 01 Paget, op. cit., I, 547-550. 52 Gumplowicz, op. cit., p. 207 n. 2, quoting from Ferdinand Stamm, who in 1849 published a discussion of the Gemeindegesetz vom 17. März 1849. 53 Andrian-Werburg, op. cit., II, 110. 54 Ottmar Oertel, Die Städte-Ordnung fuer die sechs östlichen Provinzen der Preussischen Monarchie vom SO Mai 1853 (Leipzig, 1905) ; Redlich, Verfassung und Verwaltungsorganisation der Städte, in Schriften des Vereins f ü r Sozialpolitik, Bde. 117-120 (Leipzig, 1906); Schoen, op. cit.; Hugo Preuss, Die Entwicklung des deutschen Städtewesens (Leipzig, 1906) ; Gerhard Ritter, Stein: Eine politische Biographie (Berlin, 1931), I, chap. ix. 55 For examples of the functioning of Prussian town government, see Helmuth Croon, "Bürgertum und Verwaltung in den Städten des Ruhrgebiets im 19. Jahrhundert," Tradition: Zeitschrift fuer Firmengeschichte und Unternehmerbiographie, IX (München, 1964), 23-42; also the highly revealing memoirs of the Oberbürgermeister of Halle, Richard Robert Rive, Lebenserinnerungen eines deutschen Oberbürgermeisters (Stuttgart, 1960) ; also Herbert MüllerWerth, Geschichte und Kommunalpolitik der Stadt Wiesbaden (Wiesbaden, 1963), chap, viii, pp. 108 ff. On the three-class system of voting in the towns,

406

NOTES TO PAGES 1 1 7 - 1 3 4 see examples in Redlich, Verfassung und Verwaltungsorganisation der Städte, in Schriften des Vereins f ü r Sozialpolitik, Bd. 117, pp. 36-42. 66 Redlich, Verfassung und Verwaltungsorganisation der Städte, Bd. V I : Oesterreich, in Schriften des Vereins f ü r Sozialpolitik, Bd. 122 (Leipzig, 1907), p. 113. 57 Austria never introduced local citizenship as a right based upon residence; it preserved the pre-1848 system of dividing town or village residents into three legal groups: aliens, whose presence was tolerated; associates, who had certain legal rights; and citizens, whose main distinction consisted of the right of poor relief. Aliens and associates received local citizenship only by special act of the local government. After noncitizens gained the right to vote in 1862, the distinction between the last two groups became inconsequential. As industrialism developed, territorial redistribution of population made the restriction meaningless, except as it became invoked to exclude undesirables, e.g., labor agitators. 58 Redlich, Verfassung und Verwaltungsorganisation der Städte, in Schriften, Bd. 117, p. 108. 59 Ibid., p. 110. 60 For Austria, see Redlich's remarks and the reply to Redlich by Professor Fuchs of Tübingen, in Schriften des Vereins f ü r Sozialpolitik, Bd. 132 (Leipzig, 1910), pp. 300-305. See also, Redlich, Oesterreichische Regierung und Verwaltung im Weltkriege (Wien, 1925), pp. 30-31, 72-76; Ulbrich, op. cit., pp. 167-179; Gumplowicz, op. cit., pp. 205-223; Schriften des Vereins f ü r Sozialpolitik, Bd. 122; Karl Renner, Oesterreichs Erneuerung (Wien, 1916), especially pp. 99-115. 61 Wallace, Russia on the Eve of War and Revolution, p. 184. 62 Pares, Russia between Reform and Revolution, p. 324. 63 Wallace, Russia on the Eve of War and Revolution, p. 185. 64 Ibid.

IV 1

Sir John Paget, Hungary and Transylvania (London, 1850), I, 538 if. Ludwig Gumplowicz, Das oesterreichische Staatsrecht (Wien, 1907), pp. 177-178. 3 Marc Raeff, Michael Speransky (The Hague, 1957), pp. 230-231, 282-284. * W. H. Bruford, Chekhov and His Russia (London, 1948), p. 104-05. 5 The judicial powers of the Volost were first reduced in the twentieth century, flogging being prohibited in 1904. See Geroid T. Robinson, Rural Russia under the Old Regime (New York, 1932), pp. 79, 209; Donald M. Wallace, Russia on the Eve of War and Revolution (New York, 1881), pp. 331, 352-354; Sir Bernard Pares, Russia between Reform and Revolution (New York, 1962), p. 287. 6 Paul Vinogradoff, Self-Government in Russia (London, 1915), pp. 54-55. For a description of a cantonal meeting in 1905, see Sir Bernard Pares, My Russian Memoirs (London, 1931), pp. 95-97. 7 Quoted in Wallace, Russia on the Eve of War and Revolution, pp. 27 ff. 8 Ibid., pp. 36-37. 9 V . I. Gurko, Features and Figures of the Past (Stanford and London, 1939), pp. 145,147. See also, Robinson, op. cit., pp. 131-132. 10 Pares, Russia between Reform and Revolution, pp. 145-156; Bruford, op. cit., p. 105; Gurko, op. cit., pp. 144-147; Robinson, op. cit., p. 209; Vinogradoff, op. cit., pp. 65-67. For the earlier history, see Raeff, op. cit., pp. 285-286. 11 See Suzanne G. Konirsh, "Constitutional Aspects of the Struggle between Germans and Czechs in the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy," Journal of Modern History, XXVII (Sept., 1955), 231-261. See also, Oscar Jaszi, The Dissolution 2

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NOTES TO PAGES

134-139

of the Habsburg Monarchy (Chicago, 1929), and Robert A. Kann, The Multinational Empire (New York, 1950), Vol. II, chap. xix. 12 Gumplowicz, op. cit., pp. 123-124; also Kann, op. cit., useful for its coverage of the entire problem of centralism vs. decentralization. 13 The Austrian official and historian Beidtel described the opening and closing of the provincial Landtag in Brünn before 1848 as "almost ludicrous." "The highest provincial officials," he wrote, "paraded ceremoniously along a certain street. According to an old custom each had a coach drawn by six horses, a corps of at least ten servants in livery which preceded them, and four officials of the household alongside the coach. Formerly when the highest officials had their own horses, servants and house officials all this made some impression; now everyone knew—or knew it as soon as the procession appeared—that no one of them had six horses but that the Abbot of Raigern, who had a small stud farm, hired them out each year. Perhaps the governor had as many as four servants, the other provincial officials only one or two, and everyone knew that each of the officials hired a few people for these days and put them into his own livery for a few hours. A similar relationship existed in the case of the household officials. The provincial Captain had perhaps one or two, the other provincial officials none. A part of the onlookers therefore called the whole thing nothing but a masquerade. Formerly rich feasts were given during the first days of the Landtag by the highest of the officials. Now they often wrangle over who must give them, and the Estates had to acquire porcelain and silver so that they could be lent to whoever gave the dinner. In accordance with tradition the court commissar who brought the orders from Vienna had to come from Vienna 'in haste' and so usually appeared in dusty boots. Now no court commissar is sent from Vienna but the orders are given to one of the higher provincial officials, who on opening day betakes himself out of town to the Cloister of the Brothers of Charity in Altbrünn, whence he, likewise in dusty boots, proceeds into the town as commissar. Exactly in the same way were held the speeches and their replies, which seldom any more were appropriate to the changed conditions of the time and so ended in platitudes. The royal orders were listened to silently and accepted, but they touched upon the direct taxes almost entirely, since in the case of the indirect taxes the government acts as it pleases without even pretending to consort with the provincial Estates." See Ignaz Beidtel, Geschichte der oesterreichischen Staatsverwaltung, 1740-1848 (Innsbruck, 1896-1898), II, 60-61. 14 Josef Redlich, Das oesterreichische Staats- und Reichsproblem (Leipzig, 1920,1926), I, 794-795. 15 Gumplowicz, op. cit., p. 123. 16 For a discussion of the relation between the district captain and local government, see chap. 3 of the present study. For an example of the Statthalter, with reference to Galicia, see F. F . G. Kleinwächter, Der Untergang der oesterreichisch-ungarischen Monarchie (Leipzig, 1920), pp. 114-115. 17 Redlich, Staatsund Reichsproblem, I, 794. See also, Kann, op. dt., II, passim. 18 See the list of responsibilities of the government of the empire, in Gumplowicz, op. cit., pp. 121—122. 19 J . Ulbrich, Das oesterreichische Staatsrecht (Tübingen, 1909), pp. 164-165. 20 Ibid. 21 Ibid., pp. 165-166. 22 Ibid., p. 166. 23 Ibid., p. 161. 24 Gumplowicz, op. cit., pp. 217-219; Ulbrich, op. cit., pp. 168-179. See also the terms of the law of 19 May 1868, in Dr. Edmund Bernatzik, Die oesterreichischen Verfassungsgesetze mit Erläuterungen (2d rev. ed.; Wien, 1911), pp. 469 ff.

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NOTES TO PAGES 1 4 0 - 1 6 2 25

See the examples in Kleinwächter, op. cit., p. 57. For an able analysis of intermediate government in English, see Lysbeth Walker Muncy, The Junker in the Prussian Administration under William II, 1888-1914 (Providence, R.I., 1944), chap. v. 27 Dr. Ludwig von Roenne, Das Staatsrecht der preussischen Monarchie (Leipzig, 1881-1884), III, 177-178. 28 August Meitzen, Der Boden und die landwirtschaftlichen Verhältnisse des Preussischen Staates nach dem Gebietsumfange vor 1866 (Berlin, 1871), III, 534 ff. 29 See Heinrich Heffter's opinion of the role of the provincial Landtag, in his Die deutsche Selbstverwaltung im 19. Jahrhundert (Stuttgart, 1950), p. 131. 30 Von Roenne, op. cit., III, 203-204. 31 Ibid., III, 222-223. 32 For the reform, see Herbert Jacob, German Administration Since Bismarck (New Haven, 1963), especially pp. 48 ff. 33 Heffter, op. cit., p. 131. For more data, see Meitzen, op. cit., I, 539, and for complete data, see Preussisches Abgeordnetenhaus, Drucksache, 1860, VI., Nr. 265, Anlage A; ibid, Stenographische Berichte, 1863, V. Aktenstuck Nr. 129, pp. 1117 ff.; Jahrbuch fuer die amtliche Statistik des preussischen Staates. Königliches Statistisches Bureau, 1863, I, 123-131. 34 Von Roenne, op. cit., I, 2. Abteilung, 404—410. 35 Ibid., II, 230-232. 36 Preussisches Abgeordnetenhaus, Drucksache, 1860. VI., Nr. 265, 59-60. 37 The text of the law of 1872 can be found in Wilhelm Altmann, ed., Ausgewählte Urkunden zur deutschen Verfassungsgeschichte seit 1806 (Berlin, 1898). For analysis of the law, see Paul Schoen, Das Recht der Kommunalverbände in Preussen (Leipzig, 1897), pp. 382-385. 38 Heffter, op. cit., p. 556. 39 Quoted in Pierre-Henry, Histoire des Préfets (Paris, 1950), pp. 26-27, 30. 40 See Henri Chardon, Le Pouvoir administratif (Paris, 1912), pp. 265-266; Maurice Hauriou, Précis de Droit administratif et de Droit public (Paris, 1914), p. 242. Also Brian Chapman, The Prefect and Provincial France (London, 1955), chap, i; Alan B. Spitzer, "The Bureaucrat as Proconsul: The Restoration Prefect and the Police Générale," Comparative Studies in Society and History, Vol. VII (The Hague, 1965). 41 See Thiers' criticism, in Frank Herbert Brabant, The Beginning of the Third Republic in France (London, 1940), pp. 463-464, and especially pp. 515521. 42 Chateaubriand, Oeuvres completes (Paris, 1861), VII, 375. 43 Chardon, Le Pouvoir administratif, pp. 177, 178. 44 Cf. the more favorable view in Chapman, op. cit., pp. 43 ff. 45 In 1813 Spain created provinces in imitation of the French departments, each of them administered by a political appointee—a governor—and aided by a provincial, elected council. 48 For Italian intermediate government, see Bolton King and Thomas Okey, Italy Today (London, 1901), chap, xiv; Robert C. Fried, The Italian Prefects (New Haven, 1963), pp. 44-46, 65-71, 86-93,112-119, 128-157. 47 For Spain, see Henry Puget, Le Gouvernement local en Espagne (Paris, 1924). The entire work is essential for understanding Spanish provincial and local government and supplants the brief discussion in Angel Marvaud, L'Espagne au 20' siècle (Paris, 1913). See also Gerald Brenan, The Spanish Labyrinth (Cambridge, Eng., 1943), pp. 7-9, 15-16, 19-21; Raymond Carr, Spain, 1808-1839 (Oxford, 1966), chaps, ix, xii, and passim. 48 See especially, Professor Carl J. Fuchs, Mündliche Referat ueber die Entwicklung und allgemeine Bedeutung der Gemeindebetriebe und ihr Verhältnis zu den Privatbetrieben, Conference of Verein f ü r Sozialpolitik in 26

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NOTES TO PAGES 162-169 Wien, 1909, in Schriften des Vereins f ü r Sozialpolitik, Bd. 132 (1910). This work treats bureaucracy and municipal activities. 49 Ibid., p. 305. 50 Ibid., p. 121. See also King and Okey, op. cit., p. 267. 61 Richard Robert Rive, Lebenserinnerungen eines deutschen Oberbürgermeisters (Stuttgart, I960), passim; Fuchs, op. cit., p. 124.

V 1

Victor Andrian-Werburg, Oesterreich und dessen Zukunft (Hamburg, 1843), I, 77,142. 2 Werner Conze, ed., Staat und Gesellschaft im. deutschen Vormärz (Stuttgart, 1962), p. 117. 3 Albert Lötz, Geschichte des Deutschen Beamtentums (Berlin, 1909), p. 579. 4 Josef Redlich, Zustand und Reform der Oesterreichischen Verwaltung (Wien, 1911), p. 22. 5 See Otto Hintze, Der Beamtenstand (Leipzig, 1911), pp. 5-6, and the data referred to subsequently in Handwörterbuch der Staatswissenschaften, Conrad, Elster, et al., eds. (3d ed.; Jena, 1909-1911). The figures given by Hintze do not agree with those in the Handwörterbuch, but they are sufficiently close to allow their use as indicators. 6 Henri Chardon, L'Administration de la France : Les Fonctionnaires (Paris, 1908), p. 115. 7 Alexandre Lefas, L'État et les Fonctionnaires (Paris, 1913), pp. 38—41. There were 11,539,000 citizens inscribed on the voting lists. 8 Fernand Faure, "Les Fonctionnaires français," Revue politique et parlementaire, LXIV (May, 1910), 334. See table for "Oeffentliche Dienst und freie Berufe" in Handwörterbuch der Staatswissenschaften, II, 833, and corrections for Germany taking into account the census of 1907, ibid., VIII, 1194. 9 Robert C. Fried, The Italian Prefects (New Haven, 1963), pp. 52, 54, and Handwörterbuch, II, 833. 10 See J . A. Freiherr von Helfert, Im Wiener konstituierenden Reichstag: Juli bis Oktober 1848 (Wien, 1904), pp. 184-185. 11 The city of Turin employed about thirty persons in 1824, and moire than 650 in 1859. (Fried, op. cit., p. 50.) By the latter date the great increase of specialized services had already begun in mining inspection, railway construction and operation, telegraph and postal service, etc. Municipal employment in Germany increased during the latter part of the century at a faster pace than employment in state and imperial government. Breslau employed 592 workers in 1895, 3,730 in 1903. Düsseldorf had 775 in 1895, 3,035 in 1907; Mannheim had 759 workers in 1898, and in 1908 it had 1,839 workers. Mannheim had 48 officials in 1870, 717 in 1905, and 1,127 in 1906—or one official to 825 inhabitants in 1870, one to 216 in 1905. In F r a n k f u r t am Main the number of officials and employees rose from 2,165 in 1903 to 2,564 in 1906, but when the number of municipally employed workers is added, the figures rise from 8,893 (1903) to 10,430 (1960). Leipzig had 650 officials and 1,150 workers in 1890; 1,940 and 2,560 in 1908—or 1.82 officials and 3.22 workers per 1,000 inhabitants in 1890 and 3.67 and 4.85 per 1,000 in 1908. See Fuchs, Die Entwicklung der Gemeindebetriebe in Deutschland und Ausland, in Schriften des Vereins (Leipzig, 1910), Bd. 132, p. 30. 12 John A. Thayer, Italy and the Great War: Politics and Culture, 1870-1915 (Madison, 1964), pp. 26-27. 13 Quoted in Hintze, Der Beamtenstand, p. 33. 14 Friedrich Tezner, Die Volksvertretung (Wien, 1912), p. 293. 15 Quoted in Conze, op. cit., p. 161.

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NOTES TO PAGES 170-178 16

Ibid. Hintze, Der Beamtenstand, p. 7. Ibid., p. 9. 19 Ibid., p. 35. 20 Marc Raeff, Michael Speransky: Statesman of Imperial Russia, 1772-1839 (The Hague, 1957), pp. 41-44. 21 Conze, op. cit., pp. 91-92. 22 Hans Gerth and C. Wright Mills, eds., From Max Weber (New York, 1958), p. 238. 23 Viktor Bibl, Die Niederoesterreichischen Stände im Vormärz (Wien, 1911), pp. 8-10. See also, Redlich, Das oesterreichische Staats- und Reichsproblem (Leipzig, 1920, 1926), Vol. I, pt. 1, p. 74, and for a fuller statement, F r a n z de Paula Graf von Hartig, Genesis der Revolution in Oesterreich im Jahre 184.8 (Leipzig, 1850), pp. 26-71. 24 Ignaz Beidtel, Geschichte der oesterreichischen Staatsverwaltung (Innsbruck, 1896-1898), II, 53. 25 Lötz, op. cit., p. 434. 28 Quoted in Conze, op. dt., p. 183. 27 Ibid., pp. 185-186. 28 Ibid., p. 246. 29 Ibid., p. 91. 30 Jozsef Freiherr von Eötvös, Die Garantien der Macht und Einheit Oesterreichs (Leipzig, 1859), p. 93. 31 Conze, op. cit., p. 108-109. 32 im 19. JahrQuoted in Heinrich Heffter, Die deutsche Selbstverwaltung hundert (Stuttgart, 1950), p. 220. 33 Theodore von Laue, Sergei Witte and the Industrialization of Russia (New York, 1963), p. 34^35. 34 Donald M. Wallace, Russia on the Eve of War and Revolution (New York, 1961), pp. 12-13. See also, David Footman, Red Prelude (1944), pp. 6-8. 35 Quoted in Conze, op. cit., p. 91-92. For an Austrian reaction, see ibid., p. 73. 36 Quoted in Joseph Hansen, Gustav von Mevissen (Berlin, 1906), I, 364n. 37 Conze, op. cit., pp. 110-111. 38 Quoted in Raeff, op. cit., p. 53. For Prussia and another example, see Conze, op. cit., p. 102. 39 See the valuable discussion in W. O. Henderson, The State and the Industrial Revolution in Prussia, 1740-1870 (Liverpool, 1958). 40 See Dietrich Eichholtz, Junker und Bourgeoisie vor 1848 in der Preussischen Eisenbahngeschichte, pp. 161-164, 173. 41 Andrian-Werburg, op. cit., II, 24-25. 42 W. H. Riehl, Die bürgerliche Gesellschaft, p. 229. The German Professor Zachariä wrote: "Furthermore, since the police so gladly interferes in everything ; since once it has preserved itself by suppressing its most obvious abuses, it lacks neither well-wishers nor means to strike f a r t h e r afield; and since the f u r t h e r it strikes, the more people are held in lead-strings and are led by the nose, it threatens everywhere where it has entrenched its authority gradually to relax the courage, energy and endurance of the people. Sinister as is rule by force, it does not necessarily enervate the people whom it burdens. All the more surely does a constitution whose support is an omnipresent police result in hypnotizing the people. For deeds of violence encounter opposition or they a r e imitated. But insignificant and repeated acts of harassment, just as the small cares of daily life, bend the backs of the proudest." In Karl Salomo Zachariä, Vierzig Bücher vom Staate. Teil IV (Heidelberg, 1840), p. 298. 43 For complaints of the nobles, see Conze, op. cit., pp. 122, 132-133; L. Berger, Der alte Harkort (Leipzig, 1891), p. 208. 17 18

411

NOTES TO PAGES 1 7 8 - 1 8 8 44

Alex Bein, Friedrich Hammacher (Berlin, 1932), p. 35. See Hansen, op. cit., I, 380-383, for details. The biographies of economic leaders and the economic journals and newspapers of the period, especially until the passage of the Industrial Law (Gewerbeordnung) of 1869 for the German Federation, abounded in similar complaints. Insurance companies took the occasion of the revolution of 1848 to denounce to the government the arbitrariness of the Landräte and lower officials in deciding whether insurance agents were to be allowed to establish themselves in local areas. They cited the stereotyped reply "There is no need" as frustrating to any and all expansion of services. High officials referred complaints back to lower officials who had made the original decision. The Colonia Fire Insurance Company of Cologne, for instance, accused the lower officials of abusing their power in order to protect from competition mutual or private insurance companies in which they had an interest. The Colonia requested the government to define "specific standards according to which the question of need for agents in fire-insurance companies is to be decided." Die Kölnische Feuer-Versicherungsgesellschaft Colonia : Ein Rückblick auf ihre 75. Jährige Geschäftstätigkeit (Köln, 1914), pp. 50-51. 47 V. I. Gurko, Features and Figures of the Past, trans. Laura Matveev (Stanford and London, 1939), pp. 109-112. Also, The Memoirs of Count Witte (Garden City and Toronto, 1921), and Von Laue, Sergei Witte and the Industrialization of Russia, p. 97, passim. 48 See the extensive evidence in Arthur L. Dunham, The Industrial Revolution in France, 1815-48 (New York, 1955), pp. 44-45, 56-57, 67-71, 89, 147-148, 388-420, 426-428. Also Rondo Cameron, France and the Economic Development of Europe, 1800-19H (Princeton, 1961), passim. 49 Kübeck und Metternich : Denkschriften und Briefe, Adolf Beer, ed. (Wien, 1910), p. 29. 60 Compare Metternich's judgment with that of Friedrich List, in Friedrich Lenz, Friedrich List: Der Mann und das Werk (München and Oldenburg, 1936), pp. 358-359. Also, Friedrich List, Werke: Gesamtausgabe der Listgesellschaft (Berlin, 1927), Vol. III, pt. 1, p. 397; VII, 269-270, 286, 295. See Mevissen's denunciation of bureaucracy as "despairingly formalistic and pedantic," in Hansen, op. cit., I, 326, 327, 329, 387. 61 Chardon, Le Pouvoir administratif (Paris, 1912) p. 117. 82 Le Moniteur Universel, 1842, p. 108. Quoted in Lefas, op. cit., p. 222. 63 Jean-Hervé Donnard, Balzac (Paris, 1961), p. 367, quoting Jacques Gilbert Ymbert, Moeurs administratives (1825), I, 71-72. 54 Christian Chavanon, L'Administration dans la Société française, in Aspects de la Société française, André Siegfried, ed. (Patis, 1954), pp. 170-171. 55 Gustav von Schmoller, Referat ueber Das Verhältnis der Kartelle zum Staate, in Schriften des Vereins f ü r Socialpolitik, Bd. 116 (Leipzig, 1906), 426-27. 66 Hintze, Der Beamtenstand, pp. 16-17,108-109. 57 Schmoller, op. dt., 431. 58 Redlich, Zustand und Reform der oesterreichischen Verwaltung, p. 66. 69 Chardon, Le Pouvoir administratif, p. 153-154. 60 See the astute remark made by Chavanon, op. cit., p. 158. 61 Alfred Weber, Ueber die wirtschaftlichen Untersuchungen der Gemeinden, in Schriften des Vereins f ü r Sozialpolitik, Bd. 132 (Leipzig, 1910), p. 242. 62 Ibid., p. 311. 63 Wallace, Russia on the Eve of War and Revolution pp. 12-13. 64 Bernard Pares, Russia between Reform and Revolution, pp. 146-147. 65 Alfred Weber, op. cit., p. 243. 66 Raeff, op. cit., pp. 229-234. 67 See as an example among many, Gurko, op. cit., pp. 201-205, for an 45

46

412

NOTES TO PAGES 1 8 8 - 1 9 6 analysis of the différence in attitude toward the nobility as officials on the part of Witte and Plehve; also, Richard Hare, Portraits of Russian Personalities between Reform and Revolution (London, New York, 1960), pp. 309-310; Alexis de Tocqueville, Recollections (New York, 1959), passim. 68 Lötz, op. cit., p. 468. 69 See Philippe DuPuy de Clinchamps, La Noblesse (Paris, 1959). 70 See Pierre-Henry, Histoire des Préfets (Paris, 1950), pp. 112-113, 151, passim. This book contains much information about the family connections of the prefects. 71 Lötz, op. cit., p. 206. 72 Quoted in Conze, op. cit., p. 90. 73 Ibid., quoting Gans, p. 90 and note. See also p. 91. 74 Ignaz Beidtel, Geschichte der oesterreichischen Staatsverwaltung (Innsbruck, 1896-1898), II, 228. 75 Conze, op. cit., p. 27. Also, Redlich, Staats- und Reichsproblem, 1,1, 39. 76 Raeff, op. dt., pp. 357, 358. See a similar account of M. N. Ostrovsky, who became a minister under Alexander I I I and then a member of the State Council, in Gurko, op. cit., p. 93. 77 Raeff, op. cit., p. 366-367. 78 Wallace, Russia on the Eve of War and Revolution, pp. 25-26. 79 Hintze, Der Beamtenstand, pp. 44-45. 80 Ibid., pp. 46-47. See the statistical table for social origins of the Prussian higher officials prepared for the Prussian Lower House in 1910 ; 47.5 percent of those in the regional administration came from official and officer families, and another 22.6 percent from landowner families. The table is reprinted in Peter Molt, Der Reichstag vor der Improvisierten Revolution (Köln and Opladen, 1963), p. 143. See also the data in Lysbeth W. Muncy, The Junker in the Prussian Administration under William II (Providence, R.I., 1944), chap. v. 81 See Chavanon, op. cit., pp. 159-165 ; Adeline Daumard, La Bourgeoisie Parisienne de 1815 à 18U8 (Paris, 1963), pp. 283-284. 82 Hintze, Der Beamtenstand, pp. 47-48. 83 Ibid., p. 52. 84 See among others, Dr. Ludwig von Roenne, Das Staatsrecht der Preussischen Monarchie (4th ed.; Leipzig 1881-1884), III, 451 ff. 85 Quoted in Donnard, op. cit., p. 368. 86 Ibid., p. 368-369. 87 See Rudolf Morsey, Die oberste Reichsverwaltung unter Bismarck, 1867-1890 (Münster, 1957), pp. 271-272. 88 See F. F . G. Kleinwächter, Der Untergang der Oesterreich-ungarischen Monarchie (Leipzig, 1920), pp. 26-29; DuPuy de Clinchamps, op. cit., passim. 89 See Fischer's essay on Baden, in Conze, op. cit., pp. 143 ff. 90 Ludwig Buhl, Die Herrschaft des Geburts- und Bodenprivilegiums in Preussen (Mannheim, 1844), p. 75, cited in Eichholtz, op. cit., 71 n. 118; also Lötz, op. cit., p. 206. 91 Freimund Gutsmuth, Patriotische Untersuchungen (Hamburg, 1858), I, 21, 25-29. 92 Morsey, op. cit., pp. 244-246 ; Stenographische Berichte des Reichstags, 14 May 1914, p. 8862, and 22 Mar. 1926, p. 6440. See the table on social origins of Prussian officials prepared for the Prussian Lower House in 1910 and reproduced in Molt, op. cit., p. 143 ; cf. the older analysis in Muncy, op. cit., chap. v. See also the older study by Walter Schärl, Die Zusammensetzung der Bayerischen Beamtenschaft von 1806 bis 1918 (Kallmüntz, 1955), pp. 32-33, 41, 49, 56, 67, 68. Schärl gives considerable data on family background, such as occupation of father, which confirm the fact of the aristocratic and burgher origins of officials and show the predilection of the nobles for the ministries and for the Bavarian equivalent of the Prussian provincial and district presidencies.

413

NOTES TO PAGES 196-204 Schärl obtained data about eighty persons; the fathers of thirty-three of these were jurists, most of them state officials; those of twenty-one were owners of noble estates, eight were high officers in the military, three were merchants, one was a university professor, two were elementary-school teachers, one owned an apothecary's shop, and so on. The office of district president, like that of the provincial president in Prussia, demanded special qualifications for entertaining and for dealing with the public; therefore a candidate's social origin and education and the social effectiveness of his wife received careful consideration (p. 56). The study by Nikolaus von Preradovich, Die Führungsschichten in Oesterreich und Preussen (1804-1918) (Wiesbaden, 1955), confines itself to offices and persons so few in number that the results are not very illuminating for social history. The works cited above are more rewarding. 93 Preradovich, op. cit., p. 65. As suggested, these data are f a r from conclusive. 94 Kleinwächter, op. cit., pp. 32-42. 95 Edouard Laboulaye, "De l'Enseignement et du Noviciat administratif en Allemagne," Revue de Legislation et de Jurisprudence, II (1843), 559. 96 Beidtel, op. cit., p. xxix n. 97 Andrian-Werburg, op. cit., I, 56-58. 98 Karl Freiherr von Lemayer, Die Ausbildung zum höheren Verwaltungsdienste in Oesterreich, in Schriften des Vereins f ü r Sozialpolitik, Bd. 34 (Leipzig, 1887), p. 29. 99 For a contrary opinion, see Robert von Mohl, Staatsrecht, Völkerrecht und Politik (Tübingen, 1859), Bd. I I I : Politik, pp. 394-405. 100 Prof. L. Jolly, Die Vorbildung zum höheren Verwaltungsdienst im Königreich Württemberg, in Schriften des Vereins f ü r Sozialpolitik, Bd. 34 (1887), pp. 115 ff. 101 Laboulaye, op. cit., II, 573; also, pp. 547-549, 565-573. 102 Ibid., p. 576. 103 See the statement by Chief Mayor Merkel of Göttingen, "Ueber die Ausbildung der früheren hannoverschen Verwaltungsbeamten," in Schriften des Vereins, Bd. 34, pp. 79 ff. For a summary of the German system of preparation and examination of officials, see J . C. Bluntschli, Lehre vom Modernen Staat, I : Allgemeine Staatslehre (Stuttgart, 1875), pp. 606-611. For the state examination in Prussia, see Von Roenne, op. cit., I l l , 419 if.; Mohl, op. cit., I l l , 405-475. 104 Laboulaye, op. cit., p. 523. 105 See Gustav Cohn, "Die Vorbildung zum höheren Verwaltungsdienst in den deutschen Staaten, Oesterreich und Frankreich," in Schriften des Vereins f ü r Sozialpolitik, Bd. 34, pp. 68-71. 106 Laboulaye, op. cit., pp. 536-537. 107 Morsey, op. cit., pp. 249-251. 108 Von Lemayer, op. cit., Bd. 34, p. 27. los Verhandlungen der Generalversammlung in Wien vom 27. bis 20 September 1909, Schriften des Vereins f ü r Sozialpolitik, Bd. 132, pp. 273 ff. 110 Cohn, "Die akademische Vorbildung fuer die höheren Verwaltungsdienst in Preussen," in Schriften des Vereins f ü r Sozialpolitik, Bd. 34, p. 63, in part quoting Schmoller. See also the complaints about Austrian students made by Archduke Rudolf, quoted in Eugene Anderson, et al., Europe in the Nineteenth Century (Indianapolis, 1961), II, 78 ff. 111 Charles P. Kindleberger, The Economic Growth in France and Britain, 1850-1890 (Cambridge, Mass., 1964) pp. 157-58. 112 Laboulaye, op. cit., p. 525. 113 Ibid., p. 526. 114 Ibid., pp. 529-530. 116 Ibid., p. 599. 118 Cohn, op. cit., in Schriften des Vereins f ü r Sozialpolitik, Bd. 34, p. 186.

414

NOTES TO PAGES 2 0 4 - 2 1 4 117

See Lefas, op. cit., pp. 247-251. Gurko, op. cit., pp. 93-94; Wallace, Russia on the Eve of War and Revolution, p. 13. 119 Hintze, Der Beamtenstand, pp. 140 if. 120 Quoted in Von Roenne, op. cit., I l l , 401. 121 Ibid., p. 407 n. 2. 122 Ibid., pp. 406-407. 123 Hinze, Der Beamtenstand, p. 10. 124 Lötz, op. cit., pp. 524-526. 125 Chardon, Le Pouvoir administratif, p. 119. 126 Beidtel, op. cit., II, 42-45. 127 Quoted in ibid., II, 112. 128 Ibid. 129 Ibid., p. 113. 130 Beidtel, op. cit., II, 119-120; see also 90-91. Beidtel's judgment was confirmed by his contemporaries, Baron Andrian-Werburg, Franz Grillparzer in his Selbstbiographie (Stuttgart, 1887), Graf von Hartig, and by Metternich himself. See also Redlich, Zustand und Reform der oesterreichischen Verwaltung, and Conze, Staat und Gesellschaft im deutschen Vormärz. 131 Von Roenne, op. cit., III, 481-482. 132 Ibid., III, 476-477. 133 Hintze, Der Beamtenstand, p. 534. 134 Lefas, op. cit., p. 87-88; Maurice Hauriou, Precis de Droit administratif et de Droit public (Paris, 1914), pp. 645-647. 135 P a r . 2, law of 21 Juli 1852, quoted in Von Roenne, op. cit., III, 484. 136 Lötz, op. dt., p. 435. 137 Von Roenne, op. cit., III, 473 n. 56. 138 Ibid. 139 Morsey, op. cit., pp. 262-270. 140 Lötz, op. cit., pp. 436-438; Hintze, Der Beamtenstand, p. 39. 141 Ibid., p. 72. See also, Alfred Weber, op. cit., pp. 238-248, 621-623. 142 Hintze, Der Beamtenstand, p. 72. 143 Von Roenne, op. cit., III, 473 n. 5a; 474 n. 5c. 144 Lötz, op. cit., pp. 399-400. 145 Von Roenne, op. cit., III, 481 ff. Also Ludwig Gumplowicz, Das oesterreichische Staatsrecht (2d ed.; Wien, 1902), pp. 187-189; Hauriou, op. cit., pp. 634 if. 146 Lötz, op. cit., pp. 399-400. 147 Von Roenne, op. cit., III, 485 n. 6a. 148 Hauriou, op. cit., pp. 634 ff. 149 Quoted in Lötz, op. cit., p. 399-400. 150 Hauriou, op. cit., p. 635 n. 1. 151 Wallace, Russia on the Eve of War and Revolution, p. 13. See also the remark of Chekhov, Dec. 11, 1891, "The public has no faith in officialdom," in The Selected Letters of Anton Chekhov, ed. by Lillian Hellman; trans, by Sidonie Lederer (New York, 1955), pp. 156-160. Chekhov, a doctor, found a t the time of the famine (1891) t h a t the public refused to contribute money f o r relief because it suspected t h a t the officials would embezzle and commit "outright thievery." 152 Wallace, Russia on the Eve of War and Revolution, p. 13. 153 Ibid., p. 6. See also Footman, Red Prelude, p. 7. 154 Gurko, op. cit., p. 199. Gurko appears to have been overly optimistic. Although the relative numbers cannot be estimated, Russian high officials took "old-fashioned" bribes and resorted to methods "more subtle and modern" as well, such as using confidential information to play the stock market. They liked as much as Westerners to "assemble tidy fortunes." (Von Laue, Sergei Witte and the Industrialization of Russia, pp. 200-201.) 118

415

NOTES TO PAGES 2 1 5 - 2 2 4 155 156

199.

Quoted in Lefas, op. cit., pp. 227-228. Von Roenne, op. cit., III, 469 ; see also, ibid., pp. 466 ff. ; Gurko, op. eit., p.

157

Redlich, Zustand und Reform der Oesterreichischen Verwaltung : Rede gehalten in der Budgetdebatte des Abgeordnetenhauses des Reichsrates vom 26. Oktober 1911 (Wien, 1911), pp. 18-19, 26-27. Also Gumplowicz, op. cit., pp. 185-186; J . Ulbrich, Das oesterreichisches Staatsrecht (Tübingen, 1909), pp. 96-97. 158 W. H. Bruford, Chekhov and His Russia, pp. 92-94. 159 Ibid., pp. 93-94. See also Von Laue, Sergei Witte and the Industrialization of Russia, pp. 200-201. 160 See Lefas, op. cit., passim; Chardon, L'Administration de la France, pp. 139-151, and Le Pouvoir administratif, pp. 342-345. 161 Chavanon, op. cit., pp. 165-169. Further data for salaries are contained in the article "Besoldung und Besoldungspolitik" in Handwörterbuch der Staatswissenschaften, II (Jena, 1909). 162 Chavanon, op. cit., pp. 167-169. 163 On the question of remuneration, see Lötz, op. cit., passim; Hintze, Der Beamtenstand, pp. 147-154; Gumplowicz, op. cit., pp. 183-186; Ulbrich, op. cit., pp. 96-97 ; Redlich, Zustand und Reform, pp. 14-15, 19-21 ; Chavanon, op. cit., pp. 159-170; Lefas, op. cit., pp. 44-60, 235-36; Jules Michelet, Le Peuple (Paris, 1946), pp. 99-107; Chardon, Le Pouvoir administratif, pp. 133-136; Pierre-Henry, Histoire des Préfets, pp. 20, 32,175. 164 Alfred Weber, op. cit., p. 244. 165 Bluntschli, op. cit., p. 611. 166 On the subject of pensions and survivor benefits, see "Witwen und Waisenversorgung" and "Besoldung und Besoldungspolitik," in Handwörterbuch der Staatswissenschaften; Hauriou, op. cit., pp. 652 if. ; Von Roenne, op. cit., III, 531 ff. ; Gumplowicz, op. cit., pp. 189-190 ; Ulbrich, op. cit., pp. 97-98 ; Hintze, Der Beamtenstand, pp. 65 ff. 167 Von Laue, Sergei Witte and the Industrialization of Russia, pp. 207-208. On the Procuracy, see Glenn G. Morgan, Soviet Administrative Legality ( Stanford, 1962), pp. 14-21. 168 Gurko, op. cit., pp. 473—474, 529. Pares writes: "Officials cannot be accused in the ordinary law courts until a Governor's Presence has submitted that there is a true bill. This means that the preliminary trial of officials is administrative, that is, conducted by persons of the same class interests as the accused, that the calling of evidence is not properly guaranteed, and that no further action can be taken if the authorities choose to hush matters up. The ViceGovernor, who is always in residence when the governor is absent, presides over some of these Presences ; he is assisted by two councillors, either of whom may if he wishes, present a minority report. This report will be sent to the Minister of the Interior, who is able to confirm it, and probably will not." (Pares, Russia between Reform and Revolution, p. 141.) 169 Quoted in Heffter, op. cit., p. 210. 170 Von Roenne, op. cit., III, 574 n. 7. 171 Lötz, op. cit., p. 582 n., quoting Ernst von Ernsthausen, Erinnerungen eines preussischen Beamten (Bielefeld, 1894), p. 96, on his experiences in the 1850's and 1860's. 172 See Gumplowicz, op. cit., pp. 195-196. 173 Heffter, op. cit., pp. 209-210. 174 Von Roenne, op. cit., I, 520. 175 Heffter, op. cit., pp. 628-633. 176 Dr. Ernst Ruzicka, Die Entschädigungsklage wegen Übler obrigkeitlichen Verwaltung (Wien, 1913). 177 See the imperial law of 22 Mai 1910 and the Prussian law of 1 August 1909, in Reichsgesetzsammlung and Gesetzsammlung Preussens. The imperial

416

NOTES TO PAGES 2 2 4 - 2 3 2 law also in Quellensammlung zum Deutschen Reichsstaatsrecht, ed. by Dr. Heinrich Triepel (3d ed.; Tübingen, 1922), pp. 284-297 (Law of 17 Mai 1907) ; pp. 312-313 (Law of 22 Mai 1910). The Prussian law made not merely the state but the county and the commune financially responsible for the action of their respective officials. For Württemberg and other German states and Austria, see Heffter, op. cit., pp. 209, 628-632 ; Ulbrich, op. cit., pp. 94-96. For Prussia, see Heffter, op. cit., chap, ii, and Yon Roenne, op. cit., III, 491 ff., and Lötz, op. dt., pp. 619-620. 178 On this subject, see Heffter, op. cit., pp. 633-636 ; Von Roenne, op. cit., III, 578-580. 179 See the Russian experience, where the bureaucracy retained its authority over the establishment of corporations a t the expense of the country's economic development, in Von Laue, Sergei Witte and the Industrialization of Russia, p. 97. 180 See Von Roenne, op. cit., III, 583-585. For vivid details on the administration of state-owned and state-managed economic resources in Russia, see Von Laue, "Sergei Witte and Industrialization of Imperial Russia," Journal of Modern History, XXVI (1954), 64-74. Von Laue states: "Eight m a j o r agencies in one way or another looked a f t e r the government's economic holdings" (p. 74), and similar confusion reigned in the government's supervision of private enterprise. The author concludes that "under these conditions the progress of any comprehensive economic legislation would be difficult" (p. 75). Witte discussed the difficulties in a memorandum of 1899 to the Czar. 181 Hintze, Der Beamtenstand, pp. 67-68. 182 See Mombert and Alfred Weber, op. cit., in Schriften des Vereins f ü r Sozialpolitik, Bd. 132, pp. 156, 244. 183 Max Weber, Gesammelte Aufsätze zur Sociologie und Socialpolitik (Tübingen, 1924), p. 403. See also his speech of 1909, ibid., p. 415, and in Schriften des Vereins f ü r Sozialpolitik, Bd. 132, pp. 284-285, 331-332. 184 Lefas, op. cit., pp. 146,149. 185 Ibid., pp. 144-145. 186 Ibid., pp. 146-152. 187 Mombert and Weber, op. cit., in Schriften des Vereins f ü r Sozialpolitik, Bd. 132, pp. 251-252. 188 Ibid. 189 Hintze, Der Beamtenstand, pp. 70-72. 190 Quoted in Charles E. Freedeman, The Conseil d'État in Modern France (New York, 1961), p. 112. 191 Ibid., pp. 100, 125-126, 167. See also Frederick John Port, Administrative Law (London, 1929), chap, vii, and the illuminating discussion in Chardon, L'Administration de la France, pp. 348 ff. 192 Port, op. cit., pp. 19,105, 129, 161. 193 Morsey, op. cit., p. 275. 194 Ibid., pp. 273-274. 195 See chap. 6 on Civil Rights. 196 See Von Roenne, op. cit., III, 491. 197 See Professor Wiedenfeld, "Das Verhältnis der Kartelle zum Staate," Verhandlungen des Vereins für Sozialpolitik, Mannheim, 1905, in Schriften des Vereins f ü r Sozialpolitik, Bd. 116, pp. 407-408. 198 Redlich, Zustand und Reform der oesterreichischen Verwaltung, pp. 13-14, 27-29. See a revealing case study of bureaucratic initiative and shortcomings, Peter F . Sugar, Industrialization of Bosnia-Herzegovina, 1878-1918 (Seattle, 1963). 199 Kleinwächter, op. cit., pp. 142-144. 200 Morsey, op. cit., pp. 256-257, 261. 201 Theodor Fontane, Briefe an Georg Friedländer (Heidelberg, 1954), Letter of 14 September 1889, p. 114.

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NOTES TO PAGES 2 3 2 - 2 4 3 202 Max Weber, Gesammelte Aufsätze zur Sociologie, p. 416. 203 p o r Spain, see the remark of Jaime Vicens Vives, in L'Histoire du 19' et 20' siècle (1870-19H) : Problèmes et Interpretations historiques (Paris, 1962), p. 397. After the restoration of the monarchy, Vives writes, the personnel of the bureaucracy changed with each ministry. Each official sought to recover during his stay in office the loss of income while out of office. Corruption reigned, and essential public services became neglected. 204 Pares, Russia between Reform and Revolution, p. 138. For a half century earlier, see the same complaints by Nikitenko, a high official, as quoted in Hare, Portraits of Russian Personalities, pp. 5, 6. But see also Gurko's defense of the highest officials, in Features and Figures, pp. 198-200. 205 Redlich, Zustand und Reform der oesterreichischen Verwaltung, pp. 36-37. 206 Ibid., pp. 24-25. 207 See Herbert Jacob, German Administration Since Bismarck (New Haven, 1963), pp. 60-61. 208 Redlich, Das Oesterreichische Staats- und Reichsproblem, I, 72-73.

VI 1

The present analysis does not consider another subject closely related to that of all kinds of rights, that of the organization of the police for executing the laws. The importance of police power may be deduced from the remark made by a Russian police captain to Bernard Pares at about the time of the revolution of 1905 : "They [the gendarmerie or political police] can whisk you off by the administrative system so that you are never heard of again." (Quoted in Pares, Russia between Reform and Revolution (New York, 1962), pp. 139-140.) On the police and political justice in Russia, see three excellent articles that have appeared in recent years : Samuel Kutscheroff, "Administration of Justice Under Nicholas I of Russia," American Slavic and East European Review, VII (1948), 125-138; Marc Szeftel, "Personal Inviolability in the Legislation of the Russian Absolute Monarchy," American Slavic and East European Review, XVII (1958), 1-24; P. S. Squire, "Nicholas I and the Problem of Internal Security in Russia in 1826," The Slavonic and East European Review, XXXVIII (1959), 431-459. For Germany, see the recent study by Dieter Fricke, Bismarcks Prätorianer: Die Berliner politische Polizei im Kampf gegen die deutsche Arbeiterbewegung (1871—1898) (Berlin, 1962). Fricke's Marxist interpretation does not destroy the significance of the rich unpublished sources at the author's disposal. For Spain, see the remarks in Angel Marvaud, L'Espagne au W siècle (Paris, 1913), pp. 51-53. On the political police in France, see the following recent articles: Alan B. Spitzer, "The Bureaucrat as Proconsul : The Restoration Prefect and the Police Générale," Comparative Studies in Society and History, VII (1965), 371 ff.; Howard C. Payne, "Theory and Practice of Political Police during the Second Empire," Journal of Modem History, XXX (1958), 14-24; Howard C. Payne and Henry Grosshans, "The Exiled Revolutionaries and the French Political Police in the 1850's," American Historical Review, LXVIII (1963), 954-973. 2 Handwörterbuch der Staatswissenschaften, Conrad, Elster, et al., eds. (3d ed.; Jena, 1909-1911), III, 603. Quoted under "Eheschliessung" from the Bundesgessetz, par. 1. 3 Handwörterbuch, III, 606. 4 The best descriptions of this kind of society are still to be found in contemporary novels or in modern anthropological studies. See, for example, Zola, The Earth; Balzac, The Peasants, The Country Doctor; Stendhal, Lucien Leuwen, I; Pitt-Rivers, People of the Sierra; Verga's novels and tales of Italy.

418

NOTES TO PAGES 2 4 4 - 2 4 7 6 V. I. Gurko, a Russian high official, states in his memoirs that the Zemstvo Congress of November, 1904, expressed publicly for the first time to the czarist government the demand for civil rights. The nobles dominated the Zemstvos. See Gurko's Features and Figures of the Past, trans, by Laura Matveev (Stanford and London, 1939), pp. 306-307. 6 See Marc Raeff, Michael Speransky: Statesman of Imperial Russia (The Hague, 1957), pp. 51-52, for the story of the founding of a regular newspaper by the Russian government with a view to informing the public of official decrees and to provide summary reports of important public events and articles dealing with political and economic theories. The initiative in establishing the journal came from Speransky. At the close of the nineteenth century, Minister of Finance Witte was still utilizing governmental resources to spread useful economic information among the Russian business community. For a number of years one of the ministry's publications constituted the only learned economic journal in the empire. See Theodore von Laue, Sergei Witte and the Industrialization of Russia (New York, 1963), pp. 98-99. 7 On freedom of press, see the useful article, with bibliography, "Pressgewerbe und Pressrecht" in Handwörterbuch der Staatswissenschaften, VI, 1193-1206; on France, the volume by Joseph Barthélémy, Précis de Droit public (Paris, 1937), contains an excellent analysis of all civil rights in this country. The three volumes by Adolf Dresler, Geschichte der italienischen Presse (München, Berlin, 1933-1934), are useless for our purpose. 8 Joseph Hansen, Gustav von Mevissen: Ein Rheinisches Lebensbild (Berlin, 1906), II, 255. 9 Ibid., p. 257. 10 See among many other statements by Metternich those in MetternichWinneburg, Aus Metternichs Nachgelassenen Papieren (Wien, 1881), II, 416-417; Friedrich Carl Wittichen and Ernst Salzer, eds., Briefe von und an Friedrich von Gentz (München, Berlin, 1913), III, 465-469. 11 Philosophers like Fichte and Hegel and numerous persons in politics, economics, and other fields espoused this view of the role of ideas. Chateaubriand, for example, wrote in 1827: "Ideas that formerly dwelt in a spiritual sphere of their own outside the popular sphere have attained to popular interest. They are applied to all aspects of government. Such is the reason for the resistance that one encounters when one seeks today to repel ideas. We have arrived at the age of political sense. This sense (raison politique) experiences the struggle that moral reason experienced when Jesus Christ brought it upon earth with Divine law. All that remains of the old political society is in arms against political reason, just as all that remained of the old moral order rose against the moral sense of the Savior. The effort is futile! Monarchies no longer possess the conditions for despotism; man is no longer living in conditions of ignorance such as allow him to endure it. If modern monarchies were not willing to remain within the representative monarchy, after some futile efforts a t arbitrariness they would decline into a representative republic. It is pushing us toward the abyss to give us a law that breaks the very support of the representative monarchy by destroying the liberty of the press. These are not foolish theories; they are facts that although of an exalted nature are nonetheless facts, which dominate all matter." See Chateaubriand Oeuvres complètes (Paris, 1861), VII, 483-484. 12 The French province Loir-et-Cher at the time of the coup d'etat of December, 1851, offers a test case of the accuracy of Metternich's conception of the intermediate class. According to the police estimate the most dangerous persons in the province were distributed among the following groups: of the liberal professions, doctors, pharmacists, notaries, and teachers, ten persons or 23 percent; officials, four persons or 9 percent; merchants, twelve persons or 28 percent (eight of them owners of cafés) ; artisans, eight persons or 18 percent;

419

NOTES TO PAGES 2 4 7 - 2 5 4 workers, seven persons or 16 percent; others, two persons or 5 percent. The intermediate group of liberal professions and merchants constituted more than half of the total ; in this largely rural department the peasants hardly figured, and the proletariat likewise provided few of this number. See Georges Dupeux, Aspects de l'Histoire sociale et politique de Loire-et-Cher, 18US-191U (Paris, 1962), p. 381. 13 For these paragraphs and for Beidtel's comment, see Ignaz Beidtel, Geschichte der oesterreichische Staatsverwaltung (Innsbruck, 1896-1898), II, 101. 14 Ibid. 15 Ibid., II, 82-83. 16 Ibid., II, 83. 17 Ibid., II, 84. 18 Ibid. The directions for censors of 1810 contained statements of ideal criteria: Works about the government must be written "with dignity and modesty, and with avoidance of all personalities"; they should "contain nothing against religion, morality and nothing harmful to the state." In a society just beginning to change its structure these ideals were bound to receive at least two contradictory interpretations, the interpretation of the defenders of the status quo, and that of the proponents of change. Since the former wielded the power, their interpretation prevailed, and since each side claimed to be acting morally, the issue of the treatment of the press became an emotional, fundamental occasion of social conflict. See the Directive of 1810, reprinted in Julius Marx, Die oesterreichische Zensur im Vormärz (Wien, 1959). 19 Beidtel, op. cit., II, 86-87. 20 The translation is of Hansen's summary of the document, Hansen, op. cit., I, 277. 21 Gurko, op. cit., p. 321. For an excellent study of censorship in the last years of Czar Nicholas I, see Daniel Balmuth, "The Origins of the Tsarist Censorship Terror," American Slavic and East European Review, XIX (1960), 497-520. See also, Bernard Pares, My Russian Memoirs (London, 1931), pp. 49, 146-147. 22 See the letter from Adam Müller to Gentz, cited by Gentz in a letter of 3 June 1819 to Metternich, in Metternich-Winneburg, op. cit., II, 246. 23 Irene Collins, Government and the Newspaper Press in France (London, 1959), p. 86. 24 Ibid., pp. 5-6, 10, 13, 19-20, 28-30, 120-121, passim. The figures that Chateaubriand gives for the number of items published in France in 1811-1825 and the number of press offenses are impressive by their insignificance. See Oeuvres completes, VII, 472-473. For the population of Paris, see Louis Chevalier, La Formation de la Population Parisienne au xix Siècle (Paris, 1950), p. 284. 25 L. Berger, Der alte Harkort (Leipzig, 1891), pp. 87-91. 26 Ibid., p. 536-537. 27 Die Gegenwart, IX (Leipzig, 1854), 48. 28 The Selected Letters of Anton Chekhov, ed. by Lillian Hellman; trans, by Sidonie Lederer (New York, 1955), Chekhov to Yevgraf Yegorov, 11 December 1891, pp. 158-159. 29 Chauteaubriand, Oeuvres complètes, VII, 178-179. 30 Ibid,., p. 426. 31 Ibid., p. 429. 32 Ibid., pp. 467-468. 33 For the French press, see Balzac's Illusions perdues, and Jean-Hervé Donnard, Balzac; Les Réalités économiques et sociales dans La Comédie Humaine (Paris, 1961), pp. 431-443. 34 Freiherr Joseph von Eichendorff, Sämtliche Werke, Bd. X : Die konstitu420

NOTES TO PAGES 2 5 4 - 2 6 1 tionelle Pressgesetzgebung in Deutschland (Regensberg, 1911), p. 207. 35 Karl S. Zachariä, Vierzig Bücher "vom Staate. Teil IV (Heidelberg, 1840), pp. 304-307. 36 Ibid. 37 The A u s t r i a n government found t h a t it needed the services of a nonAustrian journal, the Augsburger Allgemeine Zeitung, which was widely read in Austria, in order to impart information to its people. I t planted in this j o u r n a l stories favorable to itself and tried to influence the editors in its f a v o r by threatening to prevent circulation of the paper in A u s t r i a , a t h r e a t t h a t control of the postal services would have enabled i t to execute easily. See Beidtel, op. cit., II, 88. 38 Censorship almost erased the frontier between criminality and fame, a line easily crossed. See the statement about smuggling works into Austria in Viktor Bibl, Die niederoesterreichischen Stände im Vormärz (Wien, 1911), p. 308; also cf. F r a n z Grillparzer, Selbstbiographie ( S t u t t g a r t , 1887), and Beidtel, op. cit., II, 89-90. 39 Beidtel, op. cit., II, 318-321. See also the story of Palacky and the censors, in Joseph F. Zacek, "Palacky and His History of the Czech Nation," Journal of Central European Affairs, X X I I I (Jan., 1964), 418. 40 Beidtel, op. cit., II, 84. 41 Ibid., II, 89-90. 42 Ibid., II, 89. For an account of numerous acts of censorship, see H. H. Houben, Der gefesselte Biedermeier: Literatur, Kultur, Zensur in der guten, alten Zeit (Leipzig, 1924) ; C. Brinitzer, Das streitbare Leben des Verlegers Julius Campe (Hamburg, 1962). Literature on the subject is abundant. 43 Victor Andrian-Werburg, Osterreich und dessen Zukunft (Hamburg, 1843), II, 322. 44 Julius Marx, op. cit., denies t h a t in the period covered by his book Austria was the China of Europe, and he attempts to prove t h a t the Austrian censorship received its bad reputation through a campaign of condemnation on the p a r t of liberals. Then he admits (p. 55) t h a t "the A u s t r i a n censorship was the most comprehensive t h a t one can conceive," and the detailed knowledge of sources published and unpublished t h a t he displays does not suffice to r e f u t e t h e accusations of contemporary critics of Austrian l i f e : quite the contrary, in fact, 45 F r a n z de Paula Graf von H a r t i g , Genesis der Revolution in Oesterreich vor 1848 (Leipzig, 1850), pp. 50-52. 46 Richard Hare, Portraits of Russian Personalities between Reform and Revolution (London, New York, 1960), pp. 112-113. 47 Hansen, op. cit., I, 279. 48 See Richard H e r r , The Eighteenth Century Revolution in Spain (Princeton, 1958), pp. 205-206. 49 Andrian-Werburg, op. cit., II, 335. 50 Josef Redlich, Das oesterreichishe Staats- und Reichsproblem (Leipzig, 1920,1926), I, 679-683, where the argument is summarized. 51 Duvergier, Lois et Décrets, vol. 52,17 Feb. 1852, pp. 104-107. 52 Quoted in Collins, op. cit., pp. 128-129. 53 Ibid., p. 135. For examples of press control, see also Philip Spencer, "Censorship by Imprisonment in France, 1830-1870," Romanic Review, Vol. IV (1956) ; Payne, op. cit., pp. 14-24; Payne and Grosshans, op. cit., pp. 954-973 ; Spitzer, op. cit., pp. 381, 387-388. 54 Benjamin Constant, Cours de politique constitutionelle (Paris, 1861), I, 94, 125, derived f r o m a work first published in 1815. See similar a r g u m e n t s presented by Gustav Mevissen in 1847 and quoted in Hansen, op. cit., II, 257-260. 65 Collins, op. cit., p. 23.

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NOTES TO PAGES 66

261-275

Ibid., pp. 24-25. Ibid., p. 74. Eichendorff, op. cit., X, 236-237. 59 Beidtel, op. cit., II, 319-320. 60 Hansen, op. cit., I, 243. 61 Hare, op. cit., pp. 3-6. 62 Ibid., p. 15. Also Balmuth, op. cit., pp. 497-520. 63 Andrian-Werburg, op. cit., II, 318-319. 64 Hansen, op. cit., I, 235. 65 Andrian-Werburg, op. cit., II, 332. 66 Eichendorff, op. cit., X, 208-211, 224-225. 67 Andrian-Werburg, op. cit., II, 100. 68 Constant, op. cit., I, 453. Cf. Madame de Rémusat's views in 1820, in Collins, op. cit., p. 30. 69 Jean Simonde de Sismondi, Political Economy and the Philosophy of Government (London, 1847), pp. 333-334. 70 Ibid., pp. 434-436. 71 Hare, op. cit., pp. 295-296. 72 Eichendorff, op. cit., X, 234. 73 Hare, op. cit., pp. 5-6, 15. See also Grillparzer's experience as recorded in his Selbstbiographie. Grillparzer nonetheless wrote on the eve of 1848 t h a t he would approve of having some f o r m of press control if only one could find censors. 74 See as an example the case in Hansen, op. cit., I, 292-293. The Prussian government proposed to introduce a new code of criminal law into the Rhineland which would degrade nobles to t h e status of burghers as punishment and which introduced punishment by whipping. To the g r e a t surprise of the bureaucracy the Rhinelanders were incensed, and the government withdrew the laws. 75 Bibl, op. cit., p. 307, quoting the memorial. 76 Ibid., p. 308. 77 See Pares's statement of the substance of Russian decrees, in My Russian Memoirs, pp. 146-147. 78 A. William Salomone, Italy in the Giolittian Era, 1900-19H (Philadelphia, 1960), Introductory essay by Gaetano Salvemini (1945), p. xviii. 79 Wilhelm Altmann, ed. Ausgewählte Urkunden zur deutschen Verfassungsgeschichte seit 1806 (Berlin, 1898), II, 112, and Reichsgesetzblatt (Berlin), 1874, pp. 65-72. 80 Quoted in Collins, op. cit., p. 182. 81 Ibid. 82 F o r a succinct analysis of this subject, see "Vereins- und Versammlungsrecht" in Handwörterbuch der Staatswissenschaften, V I I I , 152-171; "Vereinsrecht" and "Versammlungsrecht" in Oesterreichisches Staatswörterbuch, ed. by Dr. E r n s t Mischler and Dr. Josef Ulbrich (Wien, 1897) ; Joseph Barthélémy, op. cit. The important laws, those of F r a n c e of 1810, 1834, 1881, and 1901; those of Prussia of 1789, and of the German Confederation of 1832 and 1854; t h a t of Austria of 1867; and t h a t of the German Empire of 1908 a r e found in the pertinent legal collections. The standard commentaries f o r civil and administrative law may well be consulted. 83 Quoted in Eugene N. Anderson, et al., Europe in the Nineteenth Century (Indianapolis, 1961) I, 88-89, 106. 84 Quoted in Werner Conze, Staat und Gesellschaft im deutschen Vormärz, ( S t u t t g a r t , 1962 ), p. 260. 85 Cf. t h e petition given in the Appendix of Andrian-Werburg, op. cit. 86 In F r a n c e workers greeted joyously t h e law of 1868 permitting public assembly. Among other advantages, they saw in the new freedom an opportu57

58

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NOTES TO PAGES 2 7 5 - 2 9 2 nity to learn how to address a public assembly. See Georges Duveau, La Pensée ouvrière sur l'éducation pendant la seconde République et le second Empire (Paris, 1948), p. 108. 87 Sismondi, op. cit., p. 426-427. 88 Ibid., p. 427-428. 89 Ibid., pp. 437—438. 90 Ibid., pp. 426-428. 91 Ibid., p. 438. 92 Two examples may suffice. The liberal industrialist Friedrich Harkort in the 1840's proposed to found in Westphalia an Association for Elementary Schools and the Spread of Useful Popular Knowledge. The Prussian bureaucracy was so mistrustful of the association, which included many of the most distinguished persons of the region, that it withheld approval for a year. (Berger, op. cit., pp. 300-302.) On another occasion it suspected Harkort because he held a festival in his home to which not merely his family but his workers came. See also the stories in Grillparzer, op. cit. Gurko, op. cit., pp. 169 ff., reports examples of the absence of social intercourse in St. Petersburg as late as 1905 which made it impossible for an official publicly to discuss a reform project. 93 For a useful summary, see "Vereins- und Versammlungsrecht" in Handwörterbuch des Staatswissenshaften, VIII, 152 ff. 94 See the discussion of the right of political association and assembly in chap. 9 on Political Parties. 95 Barthélémy, op. cit., p. 142. For similar reasons Italy after 1900 allowed de facto freedom of association. The state's attorney in each province had exercised the authority to treat as illegal any association he thought would disturb public peace. The growing strength of the Socialist party and of other parties rendered the attorney's power a political liability. (Salomone, op. cit., p. xviii.) 96 Altmann, op. cit., II, 154. 97 Wolfgang Pack, Das parlamentarische Ringen um das Sozialistengesetz Bismarcks, 1878-1890 (Düsseldorf, 1961), p. 239. 98 Dr. Leo Stern, ed., Der Kampf der Deutschen Sozialdemokratie in der Zeit des Sozialistengesetzes, 1878-1890 (Berlin, 1956), I, 9; Fricke, op. dt., p. 319. The figures for trade-union growth are also from Fricke (pp. 206-207). 99 Hansen, op. cit., I, 244.

VII 1

Bishop Eylert's memorandum is quoted in Max Lenz, Geschichte der Universität zu Berlin (Halle, 1910), IV, 387-390. 2 Translated in Metternich's Autobiography (London, 1881), III (1815-1829) 455. The original, in French, is found in Metternich-Winneburg, Aus Metternichs Nachgelassenen Papieren (Wien, 1880-1884), III, 399-420. The translation is accurate. 3 Metternich, Autobiography, III, 459. 4 Ibid., III, 460. 5 Ibid., p. 461. 6 Ibid., p. 466. 7 Ibid., p. 468. *Ibid., p. 469. 9 Ibid., p. 473. 10 Ibid., p. 471. 11 Allgemeines Landrecht für die preussischen Staaten, 179b, and Ludwig von Roenne, Das Staatsrecht der preussischen Monarchie (4th ed.; Leipzig, 1881-1884), II, 185 n. l a .

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NOTES TO PAGES 2 9 2 - 3 1 1 12

Von Roenne, op. cit., II, 185 n. 16. Quoted in Harold Acton, The Last Bourbons of Naples, 1825-1861 (London, 1961), pp. 229-230. 14 Ibid., p. 523. Acton's volume is rich in detail about the political activity of the period. See especially pp. 159-162, 175-178, 471. 15 In Gerhard Anschütz, Die Verfassungs-Urkunde für den preussischen Staat (Berlin, 1912), Bd. 1, pp. 513, 635. See also the discussion in Von Roenne, op. cit., II, 184 ff. 18 Ibid., pp. 513 ff. 17 Von Roenne, op. cit., II, 191-192. 18 Ibid., 1,3-4. 19 Ibid. 20 Ibid., II, 195 n. 7e. 21 Ibid., II, 194-196. 22 Ibid., II, 195-196. 23 Ibid., II, 196 n. 2a. 24 Ibid., II, 195-196 n. 2i. 25 Ibid., II, 196 n. 2k. 26 Ibid., II, 196 n. 21. 27 Ibid., II, 197 n. 2. 28 Ibid., II, 196-197 n. 1, b, c. 29 Quoted in J . M. Jeanneney et M. Perrot, Textes de Droit économique et social français, 1789-1957 (Paris, 1957), p. 121. 30 See examples of its nuisance value under the Restoration and under Louis Philippe, in Alan B. Spitzer, "The Bureaucrat as Proconsul: The Restoration Prefect and the Police Générale," Comparative Studies in Society and History, VII (1965), 371 ff. 81 For a convenient summary, see Georges Burdeau, Manuel de Droit public (Paris, 1948), pp. 152-158. 32 See chap. 8 on Suffrage. 33 Alfred Levin, The Second Duma (New Haven, 1940), pp. 20-21, 72-73. 84 S. N. Harper, The New Electoral Law for the Russian Duma (Chicago, 1908), p. 31. 35 In a few cases Harper's translation of the pertinent terms of the law of 1907 needs to be corrected by the German translation in H. von Lutzau, Die Gesetze ueber die Begründung der Reichsduma und Umgestaltung des Reichsrats nebst Wahlordnung, Instruktionen und Senatserläuterungen (Riga, 1907). 13

VIII 1

Ludwig von Roenne, Das Staatsrecht der preussischen Monarchie (4th ed.; Leipzig, 1881-1884), I, 45 n. 1. 2 See Paul Bastid, L'Avènement du suffrage universel (Paris, 1948), pp. 20-24. 3 See Peter Campbell, French Electoral Systems and Elections, 1789-1957 (New York, 1958), p. 63. 4 Joseph Hansen, Gustav von Mevissen: Ein Rheinisches Lebensbild (Berlin, 1960), I, 451, for expression by the liberal Rhinelander Mevissen in 1847 of his desire to bring "industry and intelligence" into political life on a larger scale than he felt they were employed. 5 Le Moniteur universel, 25 Feb. 1831, 1, 373-378. 6 Jean Simonde de Sismondi, Political Economy and the Philosophy of Government (London, 1847), p. 289. 7 Ibid., p. 303.

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NOTES TO PAGES 3 1 1 - 3 2 1 8 Quoted in Bastid, op. cit., pp. 30-31. See Bluntschli's comparable assertion (1876) : "The right to vote in the state and for state purposes is not a natural right of man, but a state right, a right derived from the state and serving the state. It does not exist a p a r t from the state and may not exist contrary to the state. The voter exercises this right not as a human being but as a citizen." He argued in favor of intelligence tests to be conducted by special, qualified boards to determine the right to vote. In J. K. Bluntschli, Lehre vom Modernen Staat, Bd. I I I : Politik, pp. 421 ff. 9 For an analysis of the occupational distribution and the attitude of voters in Paris, see Adeline Daumard, La bourgeoisie Parisienne de 1815 à 18U8 (Paris, 1963), pp. 38, 44-45, 149, 154, 582-583, 615-616. Paris contained a much larger percentage of eligible bourgeois and middle-class voters than elsewhere because of the economic prosperity of the retail trade and the professions. 10 Peter Campbell, French Electoral Systems and Elections (New York, 1958), p. 63. See also Hermann Schulze-Delitzsch, Schriften und Beden (Berlin, 1911), IV, 416. 11 Schulze-Delitzsch, op. cit., IV, 418. 12 Sismondi, op. cit., p. 290. Among numerous examples, see Dennis MackSmith, Cavour and Garibaldi in 1860 : A Study in Political Conflict (Cambridge, England; 1954), p. 59, discussing the lack of understanding of the ballot on the part of the Sicilians ; the article "Das Königreich beider Sizilien," Die Gegenwart, XI (Leipzig, 1855), 163-164, for the enthusiasm of the Neapolitan Lazzaroni for the absolute monarchy; and the treatment throughout Harold Acton's study, The Last Bourbons of Naples (London, 1961). 13 Quoted in Bastid, Suffrage universel, p. 46. 14 Schulze-Delitzsch, op. cit., IV, 519. 15 Frances Trollope, Paris and the Parisians in 1835 (New York, 1836), p. 138. 16 Balzac, Eugénie Grandet, Modern Library Ed., p. 381. Also, La Comédie humaine, in Oeuvres complètes, V (Paris, 1853), 275. 17 Von Roenne, Das Staatsrecht der preussischen Monarchie (Leipzig, 1864 ed. rather than 1881 ed. previously used), Vol. I, pt. 2, pp. 181-182. 18 J . Jastrow, Das Dreiklassensystem (Berlin, 1894), p. 97. 19 Hans Joachim Schoeps, Das andere Preussen: Konservative Gestalten und Probleme im Zeitalter Friedrich Wilhelms IV (Honnef-Rhein, 1957), pp. 45-49. 20 Reproduced in Jastrow, op. cit., p. 145. 21 Gustav von Schmoller, "Die Preussische Wahlrechtsreform von 1910 auf den Hintergrunde des Kampfes zwischen Königtum und Feudalität," Schmollers Jahrbuch, XXXIII (1910), 357, 361-364. 22 For discussion of the Saxon variant of the three-class system, see Donald Warren, Jr., The Red Kingdom of Saxony: Lobbying Grounds for Gustav Stresemann (The Hague, 1964), pp. 19-24, 89-90. 23 For an analysis of the Austrian suffrage system before the reform of 1901, see Oester reichisches Staatswörterbuch, ed. by Ernst Mischler and Josef U1brich (Wien, 1895-1897), Vol. II, pt. 2, pp. 928-946. 24 Viktor Adler, Aufsätze, Reden und Briefe (Wien, 1922-1929), X, 27-28, reprinting his famous analysis of 1893 of the Austrian suffrage law. 25 Adler also summarized the vote in the Reichsrat election of 1891 f o r each province. Figures for the election of 1897, although not given in such detail, are to be found in Ludwig Gumplowicz, Das oesterreichische Staatsrecht, (Wien, 1902), pp. 102-103. 26 Ibid., X, 22. 27 Ibid., X, 28. 28 Ibid., X, 27-28. 29 Ibid.

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Ibid., X, 28-29. See also, Gumplowicz, op. cit., pp. 102-103, 538-541. Edmund Bernatzik, Die oesterreichischen Verfassungsgesetze (2d rev. ed.; Wien, 1911), pp. 748-750. 32 Adler, op. cit., X, 37. See also pp. 23, 26. The right to vote in the towns and cities depended upon the right of membership in the town or city community. Acquisition of membership appears to have been complicated. When a person moved to the community he could not automatically assume the right to participate in local affairs through the vote; he had to reside in the area four years and be formally accepted as citizen by the town government. Not until 1896 did his right to local citizenship become automatic, and then only after a residence of ten years. (Gumplowicz, op. cit., pp. 223-227.) 33 Adler, op. cit., X, 35. See similar criticism expressed by Schmoller, op. cit., pp. 362-363. 34 Adler, op. cit., X, 36-37. 35 Quoted in ibid., p. 17, from the proceedings of 28 January 1881. 36 Bernatzik, op. cit., p. 887. 37 See the table showing the provincial distribution of the seventy-two seats, in Gumplowicz, op. cit., pp. 102-103. 38 Ibid., p. 114. 39 For the terms of the law, see Gumplowicz, op. cit., pp. 113-115. Also, Oesterreichisches Staatswörterbuch, Vol. II, pt. 2, pp. 1297-1298. The law of 1874 is reprinted in Dr. Gustav Steinbach, Die Ungarischen Verfassungsgesetze (Wien, 1900), pp. 29-35. 40 Adler, op. cit., X, 22. 41 Quoted by Max Garr, in Schmollers Jahrbuch, XXXIV (1910), 24-25 n. 3, from Neue Pester Journal, 39. Jahrgang, No. 6. See also the rest of Garr's article, as well as R. W. Seton-Watson, Racial Problems in Hungary (London, 1908), and Corruption and Reform in Hungary (London, 1911). 42 For distribution under the law, see Bernatzik, op. cit., p. 757. 43 Ibid., pp. 880, 889. "Ibid., p. 888. 45 See Adler, op. cit., X, 271-272, speech in the Reichsrat, 30 November 1905. 46 See Oscar Jaszi, The Dissolution of the Hapsburg Monarchy (Chicago, 1929), p. 146, for the story of the use of Austrian troops in Galicia in 1911 to suppress by violence "with 27 deaths and 87 serious injuries" the Ruthenian peasants, who at election time were opposing the Polish nobility. Evidence to the same effect, in R. W. Seton-Watson, op. cit. 47 For suffrage in Austria-Hungary, see Jaszi, op. cit., pp. 146, 182-183, 296; F. F. G. Kleinwächter, Der Untergang der oesterreichischen-ungarischen Monarchie (Leipzig, 1920), pp. 57, 66; William A. Jenks, The Austrian Electoral Reform of 1907 (New York, 1950). The debates in the Austrian parliament over the electoral reform are more revealing than any secondary analysis can be. 48 Bastid, op. cit., pp. 28-29, for support of the first part of the sentence. The quoted words are from Alexis de Tocqueville, Recollections (New York, 1959), p. 210. 49 T. E. B. Howarth, Citizen King: The Life of Louis Philippe, King of the French (London, 1961), p. 282. The German professor Von Mohl denounced Louis Napoleon's suffrage law as a "war measure" of Caesarism against the upper and middle classes. He cited as evidence the complete power of the head of state, the small power of the Assembly resulting from the elections, the exclusion of the right to vote for any other important officials, the great restrictions upon civil rights, the curbing of the priests in politics. See also Heinz Gollwitzer, "Der Cäsarismus Napoleons III im Widerhall der öffentlichen Meinung Deutschlands," Historische Zeitschrift, Bd. 173 (1952). 81

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331-340

50

Campbell, op. cit., p. 33. V. I. Gurko, Features and Figures of the Past, trans, by L a u r a Matveev (Stanford and London, 1939), p. 358. 52 Robert von Mohl was shocked by Bismarck's introduction of universal male suffrage into Germany and predicted dire consequences; see Von Mohl, Staatsrecht, Völkerrecht und Politik (Tübingen, 1860-1869), III, 716-717. He argued as follows: For selection of competent representatives under the system of universal manhood suffrage, organized political parties are necessary. These a r e possible in towns but not in r u r a l areas, where "the cultured middle class has insufficient influence." Von Mohl accused Bismarck of counting upon the bureaucrats in election campaigns to steer the masses into his harbor, and he predicted failure in this effort. He feared t h a t the Catholic clergy and the socialist or communist leaders in factory and mining areas would control the voters. He regarded this system of voting as "almost incompatible" with the formation of a government from, or at least in the sense of, the decided majority of the representative assembly. A system of responsible government is possible only with the existence of "well-organized parties with firmly established objectives and principles." Parties of this kind are hard to form and maintain "without an historical aristocratic core." Universal manhood suffrage, especially in a federated state like Germany, would not produce such parties; it would bring forth numerous fractions incapable of forming a majority—a parliament built upon quicksand. Bismarck, he wrote, would not regret having such a parliament, but Yon Mohl and many others saw in it a great danger to the political development of Germany. Von Mohl, op. cit., I l l , 720-722. 61

63 Ludwig Hahn, ed., Zwei Jahre Preussisch-Deutscher Politik, 1866-67 (Berlin, 1868), pp. 533-535, where quotations from the speech are reprinted. 54 Schultze-Delitzsch, Schriften und Reden, IV, 517. 55 Quoted in A. William Salomone, Italy in the Giolittian Era (Philadelphia, 1960), p. 56. 56 Ibid., p. 16. See also ibid., pp. xiv-xvi, 56-57; Bolton King and Thomas Okey, Italy Today (2d ed.; London, 1909), pp. 13-14, 357-360; Benedetto Croce, A History of Italy, 1871-1915 (Oxford, 1929), pp. 43, 256-257; Maurice F. Neufeld, Italy, School for Awakening Countries (Ithaca, 1961), pp. 84, 109, 117, 129; Robert C. Fried, The Italian Prefects (New Haven, 1963), p. 121. Especially valuable is the sensible and appreciative conclusion in Salomone, op. cit., p. 114. 57 See S. N. Harper, The New Electoral Law for the Russian Duma (Chicago, 1908), p. 18. 58 Ibid., p. 23-24. 69 Ibid., p. 22, Arts. 29-30. 60 Ibid., p. 23, and note. 61 Ibid., p. 26. 62 See Arts. 37, 61-63, ibid., pp. 27, 29. 63 See Alfred Levin, The Second Duma (New Haven, 1940), p. 341. Five of these cities returned deputies to the Duma by direct election, two of them by indirect election. 64 See Arts. 43-44, in Harper, op. cit., p. 28; also, Levin, op. cit., p. 13. 65 Harper, op. cit., p. 23n. 66 Ibid., p. 51. 67 Ibid., p. 41. 68 Ibid., pp. 33-34. 69 Quoted in Harper, op. cit., p. 48. See also H. von Lutzau, Die Gesetze ueber die Begründung der Reichsduma und Umgestaltung des Reichsrats nebst Wahlordnung, Instruktionen und Senatserläuterungen (Riga, 1907), p. 53. 70 Harper, op. cit., pp. 47-48; Levin, op. cit., pp. 60-65, 340, and Levin, The

427

NOTES TO PAGES 340-348 Reactionary Tradition in the Election Campaign to the Third Duma, Oklahoma State University Publication, vol. 59, no. 16 (1962), p. 43; Geroid T. Robinson, Rural Russia under the Old Regime (New York, 1932), p. 202. 71 Harper, op. cit., pp. 55-56. The two suffrage laws of 1905 and a much larger part of the law of 1907 than Harper supplies are given in German by Von Lutzau, op. cit. In the present study Harper's translation has been used after being checked against the German translation. 72 See Arturo Barea, The Forging of a Rebel, trans, by Ilsa Barea (New York, 1946) ; Traian Stoianovich, "Social Foundations of Balkan Politics," in The Balkans in Transition, Charles and Barbara Jelavich, eds. (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1963), pp. 321-325; Fried, op. cit., pp. 121-125, 149. Bernard Pares tells of Russian peasants guarding the polling boxes all night (1906-7) in order to prevent corruption, My Russian Memoirs (London, 1931), p. 129. 73 Hans Rosenberg, "Die Demokratisierung der Rittersgutsbesitzerklasse," in Zur Geschichte und Problematik der Demokratie: Festschrift für Hans Herzfeld (Berlin, 1958),pp. 478ff. 74 See Sir John Paget, Hungary and Transylvania (London, 1850), I, 544-547; Julia Pardoe, The City of the Magyars (London, 1840), II, 154-173. 75 T. A. B. Corley, Democratic Despot: A Life of Napoleon III (London, 1961), p. 80. 76 Alexis de Tocqueville, Recollections (New York, 1959), pp. 102-104. 77 Alex Bein, Friedrich Hammacher (Berlin, 1932), pp. 135-140.

IX 1

The pioneer study of Continental political parties was made by Robert Michels, Political Parties : A Sociological Study of the Oligarchical Tendencies of Modem Democracy (New York, 1915). The original edition, in German, appeared in 1909. Michels' study considers the experience of socialist and other radical parties, but it also contains many valuable pages about the conservative and liberal parties. Sociological rather than institutional-historical in approach, it supplements the present discussion. Three recent articles about German parties deserve special attention : Theodor Schieder, "Die Theorien der Partei im älteren deutschen Liberalismus," and "Die geschichtlichen Grundlagen und Epochen des deutschen Parteiwesens," Staat und Gesellschaft im Wandel unserer Zeit, pp. 110-133, and 133-172, respectively; Thomas Nipperdey, "Die Organisation der bürgerlichen Parteien in Deutschland vor 1918," Historische Zeitschrift, Bd. 185 (1958), pp. 650-602. Also, Thomas Nipperdey, Die Organisation der deutschen Parteien vor 1918 (Düsseldorf, 1961). This last is an excellent and unique study. 2 Metternich-Winneburg, Aus Metternichs Nachgelassenen Papieren (Wien, 1880-1884), VII, 364. 3 Werner Conze, ed., Staat und Gesellschaft im deutschen Vormärz (Stuttgart, 1962), p. 229. 4 Quoted in ibid., p. 229 n. 42. 5 Ibid., p. 235. 6 Ibid., p. 230. A similar belief was held by the Italian National Society during the Risorgimento. See Raymond Grew, A Sterner Plan for Italian Unity (Princeton, 1963). 7 Quoted in Conze, op. cit., p. 235. 8 Jean Simonde de Sismondi, Political Economy and the Philosophy of Government (London, 1847), pp. 307-308. 9 Quoted in the Kölnische Zeitung, no. 36 (5 Feb. 1862). 10 Speech of 13 Novembre 1872, Assemblée nationale, quoted in Léon Jacques, Les Partis Politiques sous la III' République (Paris, 1913), p. 451.

428

NOTES TO PAGES 348-359 11 See the very favorable analysis in J. K. Bluntschli, Lehre vom modernen Staat (Stuttgart, 1875-1876), III, pp. 665ff. Also Jacques, op. eit., p. 44. Jacques assures the reader: "This arbitrary and artificial classification . . . is completely abandoned today" (1912). 12 See R. P. Leslie, Reform and Insurrection in Russian Poland, 1856-1865 (London, 1963), p. 7, for an example of a similar use of the term. 13 Speech in the Reichstag, 9 October 1878. Quoted in part in Hans Rothfels, ed., Bismarck. Deutscher Staat: Ausgewählte Dokumente (München, 1925), pp. 294-295. 14 Letter of Nov., 1881, quoted in ibid., p. 302. 15 Quoted in Conze, op. dt., p. 231. 18 Bluntschli, op. cit., III, 497-499. Jacques, op. cit., p. 36 approvingly quotes Bluntschli to the same effect. 17 Jacques, op. cit., p. 36. 18 Bluntschli, op. cit., I I I : Politik als Wissenschaft, pp. 510-520. 19 Jacques, op. cit., p. 36. 20 Quoted in Conze, op. cit., p. 233. 21 Jacques, op. cit., p. 40. 22 Bluntschli, op. cit., I l l , 504-507; also, Heinrich von Treitschke, "Parteien und Fraktionen" (1871), in Viktor Adler, Aufsätze, Reden und Briefe (Wien, 1929), III, 611-665. 23 Bluntschli, op. cit., III, 451. 24 Ibid., p. 572. 25 Ibid., especially pp. 504-507. 28 Ibid., pp. 580-637. 27 Quoted in Jacques, op. cit., p. 474. 28 Ibid., p. 475. 29 Ibid., p. 476. 30 Ibid., pp. 479-480. 31 See Max Weber, Gesammelte Politische Schriften (2d ed.; Tübingen, 1958), especially Wahlrecht und Demokratie and Politik als Beruf from 1917 to 1919. See also Wolfgang Mommsen's excellent work, Max Weber und die deutsche Politik, 1890-1920 (Tübingen, 1959). 32 For examples, see Theodore Zeldin, The Political System of Napoleon III (London, 1958); Hans Booms, Die Deutsch-Konservative Partei (Düsseldorf, 1954). 33 Among the large body of literature for Catholic parties, see Karl Bachem, Vorgeschichte, Geschichte und Politik der Deutschen Zentrumspartei (Köln, 1927-1932); Peter Molt, Der Reichstag vor der Improvisierten Revolution (Köln, Opladen, 1963) ; Hermann Wendorf, Die Fraktion des Zentrums im Preussischen Abgeordnetenhause, 1859-1867 (Leipzig, 1916), pp. 5-6, and the statutes of the party, pp. 137-138; Georg Franz, Kulturkampf: Staat und katholische Kirche in Mitteleuropa (München, 1954); Benedetto Croce, A History of Italy, 1871-1915 (Oxford, 1929) ; E. E. Y. Hales, Pio Nono (New York: Image Books, 1962). 34 Georges Dupeux, Aspects de l'Histoire sociale et politique du Loir-et-Cher, 18U8-191U (Paris, 1962), p. 608n. 35 Jacques, op. cit., pp. 525-533. The statute defined the principles on which the party rested; it described the organization of the party into sections, federations, and a national congress, and it enumerated the functions of each of these divisions; it defined the nature and responsibility of the national council, the central administrative body, of the Socialist members of the French parliament, and of the councils of provincial, district, and communal government; it prescribed the relation between these groups of elected representatives and the party organization; it set up means for controlling members and settling internal disputes; and it defined the function and relations of the

429

NOTES TO PAGES 359-382 Socialist press to the party. The articles related to the nature and purpose of the party as those of the charter of a corporation do to a large industry. 38 Ibid., p. 525. The text of the constitution used is that of the revised version of 1911. 37 Dupeux, op. cit., pp. 383-384, 582. 38 Ibid., pp. 480-483, 502-503. 39 See Jacques, op. cit., pp. 510-523. 40 For a good example of party organization and activity in a department, see Dupeux, op. cit., pp. 377, 480-482, 487-488, 506-507, 585. 41 See the discussion of caciquismo, in Henry Puget, Le Gouvernement local en Espagne (Paris, 1924) ; Angel Marvaud, L'Espagne au 20' Siècle (Paris, 1913), pp. 25-42. 42 Puget, op. cit., pp. 198-199; Raymond Carr, Spain, 1808-1939 (Oxford, 1966), pp. 366-379. 43 Puget, op. cit., p. 202. 44 Ibid., p. 201. 45 Quoted in ibid., p. 194. 46 A. William Salomone, Italy in the Giolittian Era (Philadelphia, 1960), pp. xvi, xviii-xix, 13-15,109-113. 47 John A. Thayer, Italy and the Great War: Politics and Culture, 1870-1915 (Madison, 1964), p. 46. 48 Quoted in Salomone, op. cit., p. 113. 49 Ibid., pp. 14-15, 112-114; Thayer, op. cit., pp. 46, 52-53, 80-83. Thayer offers a more favorable estimate of Giolitti than other historians, including Salomone. 60 For the Volksverein, see Hugo Müller, Der Preussische Volks-Verein (Berlin, 1914), pp. 54 ff. For the National Verein the literature is extensive. See among others, Hermann Oncken, Rudolf von Bennigsen (Stuttgart, Leipzig, 1910). 51 For an example of a statute of a conservative election association, see BisLudolf Parisius, Deutschlands politische Parteien und das Ministerium marck (Berlin, 1878), I, 220-221; for a statute of a liberal parliamentary group in Prussia in 1862, see Kölnische Zeitung, no. 19 (19 Jan. 1862). 62 Hans Rogger, "Was There a Russian Fascism? The Union of the Russian People," Journal of Modern History, XXXVI (1964), 405. See also, Hans Rogger and Eugen Weber, eds., The European Right (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1965). 53 Ibid., and Alfred Levin, The Reactionary Tradition in the Election Campaign to the Third Duma, Oklahoma State University Publication, vol. 59, no. 16 (1962).

X 1 F. F. G. Kleinwächter, Der Untergang der Oesterreich-ungarischen Monarchie (Leipzig, 1920), pp. 72-73. 2 Ibid., pp. 73-74. 3 Alfred Vagts, "Dietrich Hahn—ein Politikerleben," Jahrbuch des Bundes der Männer vom Morgenstern (1965), pp. 155 ff., offers an example of such a career, in this case in the organization Der Bund der Landwirte. 4 Jean Simonde de Sismondi, Political Economy and the Philosophy of Government (London, 1847), p. 311. 6 Sir Bernard Pares, My Russian Memoirs (London, 1931), p. 131. 8 Angel Marvaud, L'Espagne au 20' siècle (Paris, 1913), pp. 43-44. See also Donald Warren, Jr., The Red Kingdom of Saxony (The Hague, 1964), pp. 68-61, 89-90. 7 See Wilhelm Raabe's Gutmanns Reisen (1892), and Theodor Fontane's

430

NOTES TO PAGES

382-391

Frau Jenny Treibel (1892). Frau Treibel's husband, a small-scale manufacturer, sought election to the Reichstag. 8 Alexis de Tocqueville, Recollections (New York, 1959), p. 194. 9 Ibid., pp. 142, 243, 248-249. 10 For an example of the advantage the three-class system of voting gave to the Prussian nobles, see Lysbeth Walker Muncy, The Junker in the Prussian Administration under William II (Providence, R.I., 1944), pp. 216-219. Miss Muncy found that in 1908 the membership of the Prussian lower house was 25 percent Junker, that another 10 to 12 percent consisted of higher nobles. 1 1 See as an example the discussion of the elections in the 1870's in the department of Loir-et-Cher, in Georges Dupeux, Aspects de l'Histoire sociale et politique de Loir-et-Cher, 1848-1914 (Paris, 1962), 145-152, 586, 613-614. 12 Kleinwächter, op. cit., pp. 32-33, 42. 13 De Tocqueville, Recollections, pp. 69-70. 14 John A. Thayer, Italy and the Great War (Madison, 1964), pp. 13-14, passim. 15 See the discussion of the Russian church in the writings of Donald M. Wallace and Sir Bernard Pares, and especially in John S. Curtiss, Church and State in Russia, 1900-1917 (New York, 1940). 16 Maurice F . Neufeld, Italy, School for Awakening Countries (Ithaca, 1961), pp. 229-230. 17 For data about the occupational and other background of deputies, data that are fragmentary on the whole, see Theodore Zeldin, The Political System of Napoleon III (London, 1958), pp. 34, 46-65; Eugene N. Anderson, The Political and Social Conflict in Prussia, 1858—1864 (Lincoln, 1954) ; Adalbert Hess, Das Parlament das Bismarck Widerstrebte (Köln, 1964), pp. 57-71; Gerhard Schilfert, Sieg und Niederlage des democratischen Wahlrechts in der deutschen Revolution 1848-1849 (Berlin, 1952), pp. 401-408; Viktor Adler, Aufsätze, Reden und Briefe (Wien, 1922-1929), X, 27-28, passim; PierreHenry, Histoire des Préfets (Paris, 1950) ; Werner Conze, ed., Staat und Gesellschaft im deutschen Vormärz (Stuttgart, 1962), pp. 145, 146-149; Konrad Repgen, Märzbewegung und Maiwahlen des Revolutions] ahres 1848 im Rheinland (Bonn, 1955), pp. 232-235. The ablest analyses available pertain to Germany and are offered in two studies: Peter Molt, Der Reichstag vor der Improvisierten Revolution (Köln; Opladen, 1963), and Karl Demeter, "Die soziale Schichtung des deutschen Parlaments seit 1848: Ein Spiegelbild der Strukturwandlung des Volkes," Vierteljahrschrift für Sozial- und Wirtschaftsgeschichte, vol. 39, no. 1. Molt adds considerably to our knowledge of this question, but an adequate treatment must await detailed studies of each social and occupational group. Suggestive are: Mattei Dogan, "Political Ascent in a Class Society: French Deputies 1870-1958," in Dwaine Marvick, ed., Political Decision-Makers (New York, 1961); G. Sartori, "Parliamentarians in Italy," International Social Science Journal, vol. 13 (1961). 1 8 Pierre-Henry, op. cit., pp. 41—43. Among the number of former prefects were likewise eighty-eight peers of France, more than 300 councillors of state, more than 100 ambassadors and plenipotentiaries, and twenty-four governors of colonies. 19 Conze, op. cit., pp. 148-149. 20 Ibid., pp. 145-149; Hess, op. cit., p. 92. 2 1 Ludwig von Roenne, Das Staatsrecht der preussischen Monarchie (Leipzig, 1881-1884), I, 242-243 n. 26. 22 Ibid. 23 Alexandre Lefas, L'État et les fonctionnaires (Paris, 1913), pp. 287-289. 24 See the discussion by Wilhelm Clauss, Der Staatsbeamte als Abgeordneter in der Verfassungsentwicklung der deutschen Staaten (1906), quoted in Hess, op. cit., pp. 93-95 ; see also pp. 78, 83. 2 6 Hess, op. cit., pp. 92-95, in part quoting Clauss.

431

NOTES TO PAGE 3 9 2 28 Speech given in Ludwig Hahn, ed., Zwei Jahre Preussisch-Deutscher Politik, 1866-67 (Berlin, 1868), p. 537. 27 The only analyses of the occupation of deputies over a period of years are those by Karl Demeter and Peter Molt. Demeter's finding may be summarized as follows for the chief occupations represented:

Frankfurt Parliament

Occupation University professor Gymnasium professor and teacher Judge and legally trained official Officer in active service Evangelical pastor Catholic priest Physician Lawyer Professional writer Owner of large estate Peasant Merchant, industrialist, banker Artisan and small businessman Worker: Actual worker Party or trade-union official Writer and editor Rentier

37 40 188 12 10 16 12 100 35 37 0 c. 30 3

Reichstag, 1912 7 5-8 40 2 0 c. 16 3-7 43 56 47 19 c. 30 c. 24

(1871-1912)

(1871-1912)

2 41 55 4

9

SOURCE: Karl Demeter, "Die soziale Schichtung des deutschen Parlaments seit 1848: Ein Spiegelbild der Strukturwandlung des Volkes," Vierteljahr8chrift fiter Sozial und Wirtscaftsgeschichte, Bd. 39, Nr.l Molt gives tables for membership in the Reichstag during the ninth to the thirteenth legislative period. inclusive. The relevant parts of each of the two tables read as follows:

Legislature

Occupation of Reichstag Deputies

90 32 5

X 1898-1903 83 25 6

XI 1906 70 27 7

XII 1907-9 70 27 6

XIII 1912-18 49 22 2

19

27

15

7

6

24 33 32 11 25 18 37 7

33 36 40 15 23 20 37 5

30 33 37 8 27 24 42 2

26 23 42 24 20 20 56 5

21 25 45 20 25 22 36 4

40 26

33 39

31 61

30 49

24 87

IX 1893-98 Noble Bourgeois large landowner Bourgeois rentier Industrial and commercial wealthy bourgeoisie Industrial and commercial middle class Petty bourgeosie Free professions Teacher, intellectual Pastor, priest, church official Publicist Bourgeois official Retired official Middle-sized and small landowners Party and trade-union official

432

NOTES TO PAGES

392-396 Legislature

Occupation of Reichstag Deputies IX 1893-98 Worker and employee Official of economic association Large landowner, including nobles and bourgeoisie Rentier (former agriculturalist)

X 1898-1903

XI 1906

XII 1907-9

XIII 1912-18

3

3

7

6

105

94

85

80

57

7

7

8

9

4

SOURCE: Peter Molt, Der Reichstag vor der Improvisierten Revolution (Köln, Opladen, 1963), pp. 76-78. The statement in Lefas, L'État et les fonctionnaires, pp. 2S7-289, that as late as 1908 one-third of the Reichstag was composed of officials is an exaggeration.

XI 1 Gustav von Schmoller, "Die preussische Wahlrechtsreform von 1910 auf den Hintergrunde des Kampfes zwischen Königtum und Feudalität," Schmollers Jahrbuch, Bd. 33 (1910), p. 350. See also Adalbert Hess, Das Parlament das Bismarck Widerstrebte (Köln, 1964), p. 93.

433

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Abraham, Karl. Der Strukturwandel im Handwerk in der ersten Hälfte des 19. Jahrhunderts und seine Bedeutung für die Berufserziehung. Köln, 1955. Acton, Harold. The Last Bourbons of Naples, 1825-1861. London, 1961. Adler, Viktor. Aufsätze, Reden und Briefe. Wien, 1922-1929. 11 vols. Allgemeines Landrecht fuer die Preussischen Staaten, nebst den ergänzenden und abändernden Bestimmungen der Reiches- und Landesgesetzgebung. 5th rev. ed. With comments by H. Rehbein and O. Reinecke. Berlin, 1894. Altmann, Wilhelm, ed. Ausgewählte Urkunden zur deutschen Verfassungsgeschichte seit 1806. Berlin, 1898. 2 Teile. Anderson, Eugene N. The Social and Political Conflict in Prussia, 1858-186U. Lincoln, Nebraska, 1954. Anderson, Eugene N., Stanley J . Pincetl, Donald J . Ziegler, eds. Europe in the Nineteenth Century: Readings in Intellectual and Social History. Indianapolis, 1961. 2 vols. Anderson, Frank Maloy, ed. Constitutions and Documents: France, 1789-1907. 2d ed. Minneapolis, 1908. Anderson, Pauline R. The Background of Anti-English Feeling in Germany, 1890-1902. Washington, D.C., 1939. Andrian-Werburg, Victor Freiherr von. Oesterreich und dessen Zunkunft. Hamburg, 1843. 2 vols, in 1. Published anonymously. Anschütz, Dr. Gerhard. Die Verfassungs-Urkunde für den preussischen Staat: Vom 31. Januar 1850. Bd. I. Berlin, 1912. Bachem, Karl. Vorgeschichte, Geschichte und Politik der Deutschen Zentrumspartei: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der katholischen Bewegung, sowie zur allgemeinen Geschichte des neueren und neuesten Deutschlands, 1815-19H. Köln, 1927-1932. 9 vols. Balmuth, Daniel. "The Origins of the Tsarist Censorship Terror," American Slavic and East European Review, X I X (1960), 497 ff. Barea, Arturo. The Forging of a Rebel. Trans, by Ilsa Barea. New York, 1946.

435

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444

Index

Absolutism: nature of society under, 28-29 ; persistence of, in nineteenth century, 35-36 ; and towns, 110-111 ; and bureaucrats, 171, 210. See also Old Regime Agrarian League, 372 Alexander I, of Russia, 44, 171 Alexander II, of Russia, 32 Alexander III, of Russia, 266 Amt (canton), 96 Amtsbezirk (cantonal district), 152 Andrian-Werburg, Victor Freiherr von, 11, 83-84, 89-90, 167, 178, 197198, 254, 264, 274-275 Artisans, 2, 6, 387-388 Assembly and association, Freedom of. See Civil rights Austria : early reactions of, to change, 12; population change in, 21; Old Regime in, 27 ; February Patent and, 45; development of central government and, 66ff.; reforms of, in 1867, 75ff.; intermediate government in, 134ff.; vs. Hungary, 135; compared in intermediate government with other states, 139-140; and bureaucractic reform, 189-190, 195, 196, 206, 207, 219, 227; and freedom of press, 246-248, 253-258, 262, 269, 271; and freedom of assembly, 280; and political rights, 295; and suffrage, 318-330; and representation, 382, 386, 391-392; class conflict in, considered, 398 Baden, 34, 46, 169-170; bureaucracy in, 195, 198; and suffrage, 314; and political parties, 346 ; and representation, 389 Balzac, Honoré de, 17, 185, 193; Les Employés, 203, 216, 217; Cousine

Bette, 217; Eugénie Grandet, 313; Deputy of Arcis, 363 Barante family, 188 Barmen: population analysis of, 22 Barth-Barthenheim, Count (Austrian writer), 3 Barthélémy, Joseph (French writer on local government), 105-106 Bavaria, 11, 24, 34, 47-48, 195, 198, 207, 346 Beidtel, Ignaz (Austrian official), 207, 208, 247, 248, 255, 256, 262 Belgium, 22, 34, 56, 240; and right of assembly, 280; and political rights, 287; voters per 1,000 inhabitants, 320 Bezirk (district), 98, 138; in Prussia, 145-147 Bezirksverwaltungsgericht ( district administrative court, Prussia), 223 Biro (judge, Hungary), 87 Bismarck, Otto von, 35, 38, 42, 49-51, 80, 169, 194, 211, 282, 331-332, 391392 Bluntschli, J . C. (German political theorist), 2 - 3 ; and parties, 349— 350, 351-352 Bolsheviks, 361 Borrow, George, 7, 11, 251 Bourgeoisie, 6-7, 13, 15; and bureaucracy, 176-177, 178-179, 194-195; and political rights, 238, 244, 259, 291-292; as deputies, 382, 395. See also Middle class Bundesrat (upper house, German legislature), 63-66 Bureaucracy, 9 ; growing need for, 31 ; and central government, 88; numbers of, in various European countries, 167; new duties of, in industrial society, 167-168, 179-181;

445

INDEX history of, in Europe, 170-171; attitudes of Hegel and others toward, 175-179, 182-184; organization of, in several European states, 181ff. ; "metaphysics" of, and relation to political power, 184-185; old and new composition of, 186-196 ; standards and education of, 196-204 ; appointments to, 204; codes for, tenure, salaries, etc., 205-220 ; legal protection from, 220-225 ; state employees and strike rights, 224-228; conclusions regarding, to 1914, 228237, 289; power of, over citizenry, 354; bureaucrats as deputies, 379, 390-392 Cacique (local "boss," Spain), 379 Caciquismo, 110, 341, 367, 368-369, 379 Canton, 129,152 Carlsbad Decrees (1819), 62, 249, 251, 293 Censorship, 254ff. Central government: struggle for control of, 26 ; nature of, under absolutism, 27-29; and monarchy, 34-36; legislatures under, 43ff. ; in German Confederation, 48ff.; lower houses, 53fF. ; upper houses, 55ff.; nationalstate constitutions, 59ff. Centralization, 134 Chambers of commerce, 179; in Austria, 321-322 Change. See Social change; Institutional change Charles X, of France, 47 Charter of 1814 ( F r a n c e ) , 33, 36, 44, 46, 57, 252 Chateaubriand, René, 155, 252, 253 Chekhov, Anton, 8,11, 251 Church: under absolutism, 28, 41; in new society, 41; and bureaucracy, 166-167; Kulturkampf and, 280, 282-283; and civil rights, 281, 282; and parties, 355-357, 387 Civil rights: related to social change, 238; defined, 239; history of, 243ff.; forces behind demand for, in nineteenth century, 245-246 ; censorship and freedom of press, 247ff.; right of assembly and association, 272ff.; importance of, to social development, 273-276, 281; and nationalism, 281-282; and socialism,

282-283 ; and the Exceptional Laws, 282-284; crisis of, 284-286 Civil service. See Bureaucracy Class (es) : as new social term, 2ff.; 398. See also Estates (status groups) ; Middle class; Nobility Clergy, 385-387 Collegiate system, in bureaucracy, 171-172 Communards, 361 Commune, 95, 101-106, 108,110 Compromise of 1867 (Austria-Hungary) , 66, 75ff., 135 Constant, Benjamin, 260-261, 264 Constitutional monarchism, 39—40, 47, 78ff., 125, 164, 258, 394 Constitution of 1830 ( F r a n c e ) , 33 Constitution of 1848 ( F r a n c e ) , 57 Constitution of 1852 ( F r a n c e ) , 36 Constitution of 1867 ( A u s t r i a ) , 35 Constitution of 1871, German Imperial, 62 Constitution of 1876 (Spain), 57, 109 Constitution of 1905 (Russia), 32 Council of State: as advisory assembly, 44; upper house, Russia, 59, 190; in France, 83ff., 106, 107, 220, 228-229, 230; in Prussia, 223 County. See Kreis Court of Cassation ( F r a n c e ) , 229 Court of Competency ( P r u s s i a ) , 223 Curial electoral system, 69-70, 319ff., 378, 381 Deak, Francis, 74 Decentralization, 134-135 Denmark, 21, 50-51, 101, 124, 240, 320 Diet (assembly, German Confederation) , 55 Diet (central assembly, H u n g a r y ) , 128-129 District captain ( A u s t r i a ) , 127-128, 138-139, 205 Duma (central assembly, Russia), 80, 134, 382 École libre des Sciences politiques, 204 Education, 41, 173, 186, 187, 193; for bureaucracy, 196ff., 204, 215-216, 239, 243, 382 Eichendorff, Joseph Freiherr von, 254, 261, 263, 267 Electoral laws of 1814,1831 ( F r a n c e ) , 309-312 Electoral law of 1849 ( P r u s s i a ) , 314317

446

INDEX Electoral law of 1867-1871 (Germany) , 331 Electoral laws of 1873, 1907 (Austria) , 66, 78, 318-326, 329ff. Electoral law of 1874 (Hungary), 326-328 Electoral law of 1884 (France), 56-57 Electoral laws of 1905,1907 (Russia), 335ff. Estates (Old Regime legislative assemblies), 43-44; in German Confederation, 48-49, 55; in Austria, 135, 308; and representation, 377 Estates (status groups), 2; contrasted with classes, 3 - 4 ; under industrial conditions, 5-11; and civil rights, 242-243; and modern representation, 377 Exceptional Laws, 270, 282-285 Eylert, Bishop: memorandum of, to Frederick William I I I of Prussia (1819), 289-290 February Patent (1861), 45, 66, 72 Federalism, 134-135, 140. See also Nationality conflict Fontane, Theodor, 2 , 1 1 , 1 5 - 1 6 , 232 Four-curial system of voting (Austria), 69-70. See also Curial electoral system France: and population change, 21; constitutions of 1814, 1830, 1848, 1871, and terms of, 33ff.; lower house (Chamber of Deputies), 56; upper house (Senate), 56-57; intermediate government in, 152ff.; bureaucracy in, 185, 191, 206, 209, 212, 219, 220, 232-233; and public employees, 226, 227, 228-229; freedom of press and censorship in, 249-250, 252-253, 259, 269-270; right of assembly and association in, 280; political rights in, 301-303, 305; suffrage in, 308-313; political parties in, 362-366; and representation, 379, 382, 383ff. Frederick William I (Prussia), 141, 169, 209 Frederick William II, 209 Frederick William III, 29, 189, 289 Frederick William IV, 32, 262

German Confederation, 47, 60-61, 293 Germany (and German Empire): constitution of 1871, 35, 39, 62ff.; Bundesrat, 63ff.; bureaucracy of, 207,219, 227, 236; press law of 1874, 269-270; and press freedom, 270271; association and assembly in, 280; and political rights, 297ff.; representation in, 379, 382, 389, 390392; and class conflict, 398 Giolitti (Italian political figure), 334, 369, 370 Gneist, Rudolf von, 14 Greece: and right of assembly, 280; voters per 1,000 inhabitants, 319 Grenzboten, 255 Grillparzer, Franz (Austrian playwright) , 256 Gurko, V. I., 59, 80, 82, 133, 179, 204, 214-215 Gutsbezirk (manorial district), 86 Haiduk (village official, Hungary), 87 Handicraftsmen. See Artisans Hanover, 188, 200 Hansen, Joseph, 285 Harkort, Friedrich, 15,18, 250 Herrenhaus (upper house, Austria), 58 Herzen, Alexander, 254-255 Hintze, Otto, ix, 82,170, 182, 191,192, 206, 227 Hungary: and central government, 45, 46, 74, 75, 76, 78; local government in, 87, 89; county government of, 127-129; and right of assembly, 280; and suffrage law of 1874, 326327; and representation in, 378

Gemeinderat (communal council), 90 General Council (departmental body, France), 103,153-157 Gentz, Friedrich von, 47, 249

447

Individualism, 17, 83, 238, 242-243, 246; in politics, 363 Industrialism, viii; relation of, to central power, 30; and characteristics of society, 31-32; and bureaucracy, 177,178. See also Social change Institutional (and structural) change: rate of, viii; in nineteenth century, 2ff., 8, 9-10, 17-18; and entrepreneurism, 13-14; and censorship, 267 Intellectuals, 310, 345-346, 385 Intermediate government: importance of, as social index, 125; units of, in European states, 127ff.; Austrian system of, compared with others,

INDEX 139-140; Prussian system of, 140152; in France, 152-157; in Italy and Spain, 157-159; conclusions regarding, 159-164 Ispravnik. See Land captain Italy: and constitutionalism, 40; and legislature, 57 ; local government in, 108-109; bureaucracy in, 209, 232233; and freedom of press, 270; electoral system of, 333-334; political parties in, 369-370; and representation, 379, 382; and class conflict, 398 Junker (s), 92-93,147,187, 317 Jurassores (judges), 87 Kis Biro (little judge, Hungary), 86 Kleinwachter, P. F. G., 42, 196, 231, 378, 379 Kossuth, Louis, 46, 251 Kreis (county, Prussia), 147ff. Kreisausschuss (county executive committee, Prussia), 223 Kreistag (county assembly, Prussia), 142, 147ff. Kremsier Constitution (1849), 66, 6768, 96 Krug, Leopold, 3—4 Kulturkampf (struggle between church and state), 280, 282, 285 Laboulaye, Edouard, 198, 200, 202, 204 Land (province, Austria, Germany), 135ff. Land captain, 133-134 Landrat (county official, Prussia), 88, 127, 147ff., 187, 195, 205 Landtag (lower house, Prussia), 50 Landtag (provincial assembly, Austria), 54, 73, 135, 136ff. Landtag (provincial assembly, Prussia) , 142ff. Lawyer: as deputy, 383-384 Legal Code of 1794 (Prussia), 205 Legislature (s). See Central government; Diet; Duma; etc., and under separate national states List, Friedrich, 19, 25 Local government: relation of, to social structure, 83; organization of, village, 86ff.; mayor in, 87ff.; patrimonial jurisdiction and, 91ff.; communal jurisdiction and, 9Bff. ; and commune, France, Italy, Spain,

101-111; public services and, 106ff.; town government, l l l f f . ; Prussian law of 1853 and French law of 1884 regarding, compared, 115ff.; Austrian communal government, 117121; in Russia, 121; relation of, to social reality, 123-124 Localism: opposed to mobility, 9 Lombardy-Venetia, 90 Louis XVIII (France), 33, 34, 188 Louis Napoleon (Napoleon I I I ) , 1, 31, 36, 37, 39, 40, 41, 45, 103, 259, 260, 330 Louis Philippe, 31, 40, 103, 250, 259, 302, 383 Magyars, 24 Manorial district (and system), 85, 86, 92,152 Marriage rights, 240 Mayor, 87ff. Mecklenburg-Schwerin, 35, 140, 141, 240 Memorial of 1860 (Austria), 68-72 Metternich, Prince von, 1, 37, 246, 249, 251, 290-291, 346 Mevissen, Gustav von, 15, 245-246 Middle class, ix, 5; characterized, 6-7; freed from corporate controls, 9; under absolutism, 28; and intermediate government, 125-126; and bureaucracy and civil service, 184, 186, 192-193; and civil rights, 244; and freedom of press, 267-268, 274; as representatives, 379, 382ff.; 395 Ministers: as index of governmental form, 30, 36-39, 41-42; in various European states, 41-42, 51; and civil service, 182; and press, 259 Ministry: change from that of Old Regime, 30, 129-130 Mir (village), 85, 96 Mobility. See Social mobility Mohl, Robert von, 347 Morgen (unit of land measurement), 86 Municipal Government Law of 1808 (Prussia), 113-115 Municipal Government Law of 1853 (Prussia), 115-116 Municipal Government Law of 1870 (Russia), 121-122 Municipal Government Law of 1884 (France), 103ff.; compared with Prussian law, 115-116 Municipal Socialism, 161, 168, 230

448

INDEX Naples, Kingdom of, and Sicily, 32, 80; and political rights, 293-294 Nationalism, 32, 134; and representation, 138, 375, 394 Nationality conflict ( A u s t r i a ) , 35, 134-135,190, 325, 329-330, 386 National Verein, 371 Nepotism: in bureaucracy, 188, 193, 194 Netherlands, 56, 59, 240 Nicholas I (Russia), 27, 97 Nicholas II, 32, 36, 44, 47 Nobility: and loss of social power, 17; and industrialism, 18-19 ; under absolutism, 28; in local government, 99-100, 123, 124; in intermediate government, 126, 128-129, 150; and bureaucracy, 186ff., 190, 195-196; and civil rights, 244 ; and freedom of press, 268-269; as representatives, 378, 379, 384 Norway, 21, 22, 56, 320 Notarius (local official, H u n g a r y ) , 87 Oberprasident (provincial official, P r u s s i a ) , 86, 94-95, 142ff. October Diploma (1860), 66, 72 October Manifesto (1905, Russia), 340 Old Regime, 2, 5, 8-9; new problems for, under industrialism, 12-13, 20 ; and population change, 21; in struggle over political form, 27 ; and industrial society, 31-32; and constitutionalism, 78-79; and towns, 11 Off.; lack of civil rights under, 242-243, 245-249, 273 Paget, John, 89, 99,127 Parties, Liberal, 373 Parties, political : early views on, 345353; and social change, 353; conservatives, officials, and, 353-354 ; as organs of religious groups, 355-357 ; and Socialists, 358-362; nature of support for, in nineteenth century, 362, 371; and election committee, 363-365; in France, Spain, and Italy, 364-369 ; class nature and handicaps to organization of, 371372 P a r t y , Conservative (Germany), 372 Patrimonial jurisdiction, 91ff., 152 Pauperism, 4-5, 240 Pays légal (electorate, F r a n c e ) , 308 Peasant emancipation, 85, 98,168,187, 239, 241

Peasantry, ix; in nineteenth century, 2, 6, 9; and population change, 2 1 24; under absolutism, 28-29, 70; and local government, 85, 98; and feeling for politics, 100, 101; and civil rights, 241; and Russian eletoral system, 336-337; as representatives, 379, 380-382 Perthaler Plan ( A u s t r i a ) , 72-74 Piedmont-Sardinia, 108 Pobiedonostsev, Konstantin P., 80, 81, 266 Poland, 24; and local government, 97 Population: growth of, 2,19ff.; change in nature of, 21-23; and growth of cities, 22; change in, and new problems, 24-25; and relation to bureaucracy, 167. See also Bourgeoisie; Middle class; Nobility; Peasantry; Workers Portugal: freedom of assembly, law for, 280 Prefect (official, France, Italy), 102, 107, 152-157 Press, Freedom of. See Civil rights Privilege, 4-5, 307-308 Proletariat, 2, 6. See also Workers Prud'hommes (labor mediators), 103 Prussia, 39; conflict between king and legislature of, in 1860's, 47, 49-50; 1850 constitution of, 51; patrimonial jurisdiction in, 93-94; county government law of 1872, 94; local government of, 98; town government in, 113ff.; intermediate government of, 141ff.; and bureaucracy, 189195, 206,209-211, 212-213, 222-224; and freedom of press, 249, 263; and political rights, 295-297, 300-301; and suffrage, 314-318; and representation, 389, 391 Public opinion, 181, 269 Public services, 107,109. See also Municipal Socialism Rechtsstaat, 200 Redlich, Josef, ix, 117, 120-121, 183, 215, 231, 233, 235 Reichsrat ( A u s t r i a ) , 58, 73, 76, 135, 136 Reichsrat (Austria-Hungary), 135, 162, 325-326, 330, 392 Reichstag (lower house, Germany), 64-65, 382

449

INDEX Representation: eligibility requirements and, 53-55; new need for, 377; changing nature of, especially under universal suffrage, 379ff.; peasants as deputies, 380-381; legal profession and, 383ff.; intellectuals as deputies, 384-385; priests and pastors as deputies, 385— 387; workers and, 387-388; bureaucratic and judicial figures and, 389; comparison of, in several states, 389ff. Revolution of 1848: in Austria, 85; in Prussia, 93; and town government, 111, 135, 209; assemblies in, 275, 294, 307, 383 Riehl, W. H., 2, 4 , 1 0 , 1 6 6 Rights, civil. See Civil rights Rights, personal, 239-242 Rights, political, 238, 287ff.; laws regarding, 295-306 Rive, Richard Robert (Oberbürgermeister of Halle), 162 Roenne, Ludwig von, 94, 205-206, 211, 213, 296, 297 Russia: and population change, 21, 24, 25; Old Regime in, 27; and constitutionalism, 32; central government in, 40-41; legislature of, 57-59, 5960; and local government, 99, 100, 112; intermediate government in, 129-134; and bureaucracy, 189-190, 209, 214-216, 221, 236; freedom of press in, 249, 262, 266-267, 269; freedom of assembly in, 280; political rights in, 303; electoral laws in, 334-341; political parties in, 374-376; representation in, 379; class conflict and, 398 Schleswig-Holstein, 217 Schmoller, Gustav von, 181, 182, 183, 318, 396 Sicily, Kingdom of, and Naples, 293. See also Naples Siemens, Georg, 177 Sismondi, Simonde de, 8, 12-14; and freedom of press, 265-266; on freedom of association and assembly, 275-276; on suffrage, 310-311; on parties and representation, 347, 380 Social change, vii-viii; Iff.; reactions to, 15-19; relation of, to governmental form, 26; and absolutism, 29-30; and legislatures, 43ff.; and bureaucracy, 166-167, 180; with

freedom of assembly and association, 273, 274; and political rights, 292-293; and electoral reform, 307; summed up, 394ff. Socialists, 211, 271, 281-284, 358-359, 401 n. 1 Social mobility: lack of, 7; becomes national in scale, 9; Fontane on, 1617; and prestige, 17, 125; and civil service, 167, 168; and civil rights, 239, 273; and suffrage, 307, 308, 309, 314, 333-334; and representation, 378; relation of, to new institutions, 394 Social welfare, 41, 240 Sonnini, Baron, 81 Spain, 7, 40, 57, 59; and local government, 109-110; intermediate government in, 157-159; and bureaucracy, 209, 232-233; and suffrage, 342; and political parties, 366-369; and representation, 379; and class conflict, 398 Speransky, Michael, 175,190 Staatsrecht, 296, 300 Staatswissenschaft(en), 201, 297 Stände. See Estates (status groups) Statthalter (provincial governor, Austria), 136, 139 Stein, Heinrich Freiherr vom, 37, 174 Stendhal (Henri Beyle), 363 Suffrage: relation of, to social change, 307-308; French electoral laws of 1831, 1848, 308-309; Prussia and three-class system of, 314-318; Austria and laws of 1873 and 1907, 318-330; comparative statistics of, in Europe, 319-321; universal manhood, 330-333, 373, 374, 377, 379, 384-388; in, Italy, 333-334; in Russia, 334-341; weakness of, to 1914, 341-343 Sweden, 3, 21, 24, 280 Switzerland, 34, 276 Syllabus of Errors, 386 Tables (legislature, Hungary), 275 Thiers, Adolphe, 17, 38, 348 Third French Republic, 40, 56, 79,194, 214, 250, 382. See also France Three-class system of voting, 118-119, 314, 331, 378 Tisza, Count: and Hungarian nobility, 378 Tocqueville, Alexis de, 80, 180, 383384, 385

450

INDEX Trasformismo aly), 369

(political device, It-

Ulbrich, J., 5,138 Union of the Russian People, 375-376 Verein für Sozialpolitik, 225 Vice-Ispan (local official, Hungary), 127,128 Vienna Agreements (1820, 1834), 48, 251, 293 Villeneuve-Bergemon family, 188 Volksverein, 135,371 Volost (local assembly, Russia), 130131 Voting. See Suffrage; Representation Weber, Max, 172, 184, 225, 233, 374, 396 Wiener Schluss-Akt (1820), 61. See also Vienna Agreements

William I (Prussia, Germany), 36, 47, 230 Witte, Count Sergei, 10, 42, 175, 179, 221

Workers, 6; increase in numbers of, 22-23; as public employees, 225226; civil rights of, 238, 242, 270, 274, 279ff.; and suffrage, 318, 330, 333, 338, 343; as representatives, 379, 387, 388 Württemberg, 34, 47—48; bureaucracy in, 197-200, 222, 223, 240 Ymbert, Jacques Gilbert political scientist), 193

(French

Zachariä, Karl S. (professor of political science), 254 Zemstvo (provincial and district assembly, Russia), 101, 122, 127, 130, 131-134, 159-160, 188 Zola, Emil: Germinal, 15

451