BARRICADES PROJECT

The Illustrierte Zeitung was a newspaper published in Leipzig. An issue in 1844 focussed on Cologne’s carnival and provided historical background as well as a report on its masquerade processions. It’s cover page bears the title Kölnischer Karneval formed out of soldiers in various states of drunkenness or foolery. These soldiers were part of the Rote Funken, the carnival military of Cologne so to say. The Rote Funken took their name, dress and behaviour from the imperial militia of Cologne before French occupation in the 1790s. It is said, that Cologne was surrendered to the French without the militia putting up a fight, because they were too drunk or were otherwise incapable of organising their city’s defence. Denounced as the most incapable soldiers in German-speaking states, they provided a great historical identity and connection for Cologne’s carnival, bridging the old medieval imperial past with the new romantic bourgeois associational carnival. The humanised lettering can also be found in the 1848 Narhalla, Mainz’ carnival journal. By 1844, Franz Raveaux, future parliamentarian in the Frankfurt Assembly of 1848, split from the Große Kölner Karnevalsgesellschaft to found his own association, the Allgemeine Karnevalsgesellschaft. Disputes about content, organisation and participation were ongoing since about 1827, where the first oppositional carnival’s newspaper criticised the elitist speeches, content and demeanour of the carnival committee. Raveaux aimed to change this as he saw great political, especially democratic, potential in the yearly assemblies, committees, presidentships, masquerades, speeches and celebrations. More specifically, Raveaux aimed to bridge the old upper classes holding power in Cologne alongside the upcoming middle classes of merchants, lawyers and doctors with the smaller merchants and especially artisans that had gained reputation and capital. His vision was a more egalitarian and political one compared to the romantic and elitist one the older carnival association held. The visually stunning issue provides a view on Cologne’s carnival from a Northern German perspective and does not fall short in appealing to its readers to open up more and follow the Southern German wit and humour that seems to be overall lacking. The depiction of the president of, presumably, the older carnival association sporting a hat that bears resemblance to a spiked helmet (Pickelhaube) is especially significant. The Pickelhaube was introduced to the Prussian military in 1842. Depicting the inflexible, elitist carnival association’s president wearing such head gear highlighted the political affiliation of the Leipziger Illustrierte Zeitung as well as Franz Raveaux’ journalistic, business or even political connections across Germany. Women are only depicted as Colonia or as part of a masquerade set. The illustrations highlight how Colonia, the female incarnation of the city of Cologne, has nurtured Hanswurts, or the Schalknarr, into maturity. This is echoed in the accompanying text, stating that Raveaux’ association has established Hanswurst maturity (‘Mündigkeit’ p.3) – referring to his coming of age and thus political say. This newspaper highlights the growing politicisation of carnival in Cologne and its reception ‘abroad’ in the Kingdom of Saxony, to which Leipzig belonged, and elsewhere.

Narhalla is the name of the Mainzer Carnevalsverein’s journal that was published every week of carnival season from about the beginning of the year. It was first established in 1841 by Dr Franz Weißt and printed by Johann Wirth and ran until its ban in 1848. Carnival in Mainz, also called Mainzer Karneval, only emerged in 1838, 15 years after the customary practice was reformed into an associational and communicative practice involving Cologne’s old and new elites, i.e. mayors, merchants, professors, doctors, lawyers. Mainz is situated further south down the River Rhine and fell under administration of the Dukedom of Hesse-Darmstadt, unrelated to the Kingdom of Prussia. Mainz’ revolutionary past was also widely different to that of Cologne. In the March 1793 Mainz propagated itself a republic. This short republican and French occupation was ended by Prussian armies besieging Mainz in July 1793. Associational carnival maintained its broad structure established by the Cologne bourgeois, but incorporated traits unique to the people and location of Mainz. Carnival in Mainz is until now generally referred to as literary-political carnival in contrast to Cologne’s exhilarating version. The carnival journal Narhalla shaped the literary-political theme of carnival. Compared to earlier carnival journals in the 1820s, it was much more tailored towards critique of the lacking freedom of press by pointedly ridiculing the censoring of parts of its issues (see page two of issue 2 ‘Warnung! An dieser verdächtigen Stelle ist ein unvorsichtiger Witz umgebracht worden’ (Warning! In this spot a careless joke has been killed.’). The literary spectrum covered prose, poetry, verses, caricatures, advertisements, announcements and essays enriched by a variety of illustrations that provide valuable political as well as societal commentary in times of censorship and small avenue for artistic, critical expression. Significant is the presence of Francophile writing including admiration for French literature and the French language, alluding to a tension between administration and the populace. Issue 2 of 1848, for example, had illustrations portraying married life through affectionate dealings or even lewd commentary. The depiction of women in Narhalla is significant compared to Cologne’s or other carnival journals. Mainz, namely, allowed women to partake in the carnival celebrations be it through writing or in associational events, while Cologne’s carnival until this day remains a male dominated endeavour. Class or police conflict were also depicted in commentary on dress and noise. Diamond or chequered patterns of dress allude to fools’ dress, as well as headgear like the fool’s hat or antlers. Eight issues were published in 1848. The last was published after the successful barricade fights in Berlin and the establishment of a free press, which was thoroughly celebrated in essays, mock obituaries and caricatures (not all pages of this issue are depicted here). Unique for the 1848 was the cover, especially the title made out of miniature figures (men and women) in carnival costumes forming the letters of Narhalla. This humanesque and carnivalesque depiction suggests a sense of community, an association of individuals, forming a whole, as if carnival is an organic whole formed by individual members’ participation. Such an illustration may allude to the growing sense of German nationalism or rather a form of German identity that was shaped by associational carnival leading up to the 1848 revolution. The depiction of different characters forming the Narhalla also relates to Ludwig I, King of Bavaria’s cultural monument called Walhalla, were marble heads of important German-speaking personalities throughout history were exhibited. Narhalla in this case could on the refer to the institution, the space for carnival events and balls bringing together fools and celebrating their foolishness – a reversal of reality.

The 1833 Letter from the governor of the Rhineprovince regards King Frederick William III’s complaint of receiving petitions from ‘representatives of the people’ outside of the sitting of the Landtag. In the king's understanding, representatives could not exist whenever the provincial assembly is not sitting. It highlights how little the Prussian King was inclined towards ruling in a representative system or allowing the drafting of regional constitutions according to conditions he agreed to at the Congress of Vienna in 1815. Following Frederick William III’s death in 1840, his son Frederick William IV was deemed a promising change of leadership due to his friendly relations to the Rhineland. By 1849, however, the Prussian king’s view on progressive, liberal politics and the establishment of a German state and constitution had reverted back to those of his father and he rejected petitioners from the Frankfurt Assembly offering him the crown of German emperor. The instalment of a Rhenish provincial assembly that sat for the first time in 1826 in Düsseldorf might not have been the most obvious and immediate success democrats had imagined, as it was organised through representation of estates (nobility, privileged land owners, cities, small landowners) and thus restricted access and representation. However, it facilitated formation of public opinion through assembly debates on church-state relations, Jewish emancipation, local government reform, public finances being balanced between eastern and western parts of Prussia. Petitioning became a new means to influence assembly debates in Düsseldorf as well as Berlin, spawning a wave of petitions regarding the new constitution, respectively the attempts of change to the Rhenish law during the 1830s and 40s. This method, under penmanship of lawyers and Rhenish officials, was successful in 1843 as the Rhenish law defeated the Prussian-proposed antiquated Allgemeines Landrecht. While Rhenish law, i.e. French law, has public hearings and juries, Prussian law operated in secret without involvement of the public until a ruling has taken place and is published in writing. Ultimately, the Rhenish law system provided a model for Prussian and German reform following 1848. By 1848/9 petitions that reached the National Parliament in Frankfurt and the Prussian Parliament set out and repeated the demands and content of the election campaigns and manifestos. They comprised of, among others, universal suffrage, freedom of speech, press and association as well as confession and religion, safety of labour rights, personal freedom and the judiciary and state-funded education.

Following the barricade fights in Berlin, a militia was established to ensure public security. Military involvement was to be prevented until absolutely necessary. As defence against overbearing monarchy and thus military it understood itself as democratic and urban-national organisation and was established all over German states in the wake of the brutal suppression of the Berlin protests and barricades. Koblenz’ militia was formed in late March with a statute published in the city’s newspaper. The first paragraph sets out the foundation of the militia, the honour, justice and good will of its members to guard persons and property. (‘Statut’ in StAK KH 127) Articles 2-4 cover the organisational aspects, while 5 and 7 enshrine the wearing of both national and city colours, 6 and 8 define what weapons are carried, where and by whom. A national army was yet to be decided upon in Frankfurt, and remained a divisive aspect between national assembly and Prussian King between 1848-50. Militias filled the vacuum, but the adherence to National Assembly’s decrees on militias created conflict with Prussian and administrative orders locally. This resulted in disobedience against the authorities' orders in Koblenz. The Koblenz Bürgerwehr was disbanded in November 1848, nine days after the Berlin one.

Baldomero Espartero (1793-1879) was one of the most important military and political figures in 19th-century Spain. He was also its first modern public figure, the object of a popular cult that was unique in the country and matched in Europe only by those of Napoleon and Garibaldi. Espartero was the ninth and final child of a wagon maker and his wife in the small La Mancha town of Granátula de Calatrava. His parents were able to send him to the nearby University of Almagro, probably intending that he enter the Church, like three of his siblings. The Napoleonic invasion of Spain changed any such plans: Espartero volunteered for the army and, when the anti-French government opened the officer corps to commoners, he entered its new military academy. Following the end of the war and the restoration of King Ferdinand VII in 1814, Espartero volunteered for the expeditionary force that was being sent to fight against the independence movements in Spain’s South American colonies. He spent almost ten years there, rising from second lieutenant to brigadier general thanks to a combination of reckless battlefield valour and the patronage of superiors. After returning from Peru in 1825 he survived Ferdinand’s political purge of the officer corps and remained in the army. In 1827 he married Jacinta Martínez de Sicilia y Santa Cruz, a sixteen-year old from a wealthy liberal family from the Rioja who would play a major role in his career. When the Carlist War broke out in 1833 Espartero supported the infant queen Isabel II and her mother, Maria Cristina, against the Carlist pretender. His raising of the siege of Bilbao on Christmas Eve 1836 turned him into a national hero and a popular idol. He appeared in various items of material culture, such as the plate shown above, cigar cases, and even roof tiles. As commander in chief he ended the war in the north with a negotiated peace and the theatrical “Embrace of Vergara” with his Carlist counterpart on August 31, 1839. He then went to the eastern theatre and brought the war to a victorious conclusion in June 1840. Espartero was, above all, a supporter of the legitimate monarchy. For most of the Carlist War he refused to take sides in the struggle between the two liberal families, the Moderates and the Progressives, denouncing partisanship for undermining the war effort. By 1839, however, he had moved to the Progressives and came to see himself as the embodiment of the popular will. He was “the Spanish flag” he said to his wife in one of his letters. In the autumn of 1840, he refused to obey Maria Cristina’s order to suppress a Progressive-led revolt which, in turn, led her to abdicate as Regent. Parliament elected Espartero to replace her in May 1841. As Regent, Espartero tried to function as a constitutional head of state but the combination of divisions among the Progressives and the refusal of Moderates to accept his legitimacy undermined his Regency. A military uprising supported, which some Progressives supported, forced him into exile in London in July 1843. During his absence, Espartero was the centre of a popular publishing phenomenon that included biographies, novels, and other items. Espartero returned to Spain in January 1848 and immediately went to his wife’s home in Logrono where he remained until revolution broke out in July 1854. With her throne in danger, Isabel II called Espartero to power and his return to Madrid was met with almost hysterical joy on the barricades. (In one of his columns for the New York Herald, Karl Marx famously described him as “no real man; he was a ghost, a name, a reminiscence.”) As Prime Minister Espartero failed to push through the more radical demands of the revolution and after two years fell victim to a rebellion led by the number two person in his government, the more conservative general, Leopoldo O’Donnell. In fact, as the army shelled the parliament building and defenders of the revolution died on the barricades, Espartero was nowhere to be seen. The new regime allowed him to return to Logrono, where he lived for the rest of his life. Members of the political elite wrote Espartero off as a political force, but political failure did not diminish his great popularity. The Progressive rank and file continued to see him as their party’s leader and his withdrawal to Logrono gave rise to a new image alongside the existing one of the “Pacificador” [Bringer of Peace]. He was “the modest retiree of Logrono”, the austere, honest, and principled man who had given up power rather than shed Spanish blood and was forgotten by an ungrateful queen. Even some republicans admired him. As Progressives, led by Espartero’s younger rival General Juan Prim, and Democrats conspired against Isabel II after 1865, they sought Espartero’s blessing, but he publicly refused to support an attack on the monarch. Once the Revolution of 1868 had chased Isabel II from the throne, however, he offered his support to the new regime. With the revolutionary government looking for a new ruler for its “democratic monarchy”, there was a strong campaign, most significantly embodied in 268 petitions to parliament, to make Espartero king. The campaign continued despite his repeated public protestations that was not interested; in the end he received only eight votes. He immediately swore his allegiance to the new king, Amadeo of Savoy. Amadeo quickly sought to use Espartero’s great popularity to shore up his throne. Early in his reign he visited him in Logrono. Later he gave Espartero a new noble title: Prince of Vergara. This made Espartero one of only two people from outside the royal family ever to be made a prince. Amadeo’s reign was marked by great political instability and Espartero became a kind of necessary man, repeatedly being seen as the solution to political crises although he always refused to return to political life. Amadeo abdicated in February 1873 after only fourteen months on the throne and was succeeded by the First Republic. Although a lifelong monarchist, Espartero pledged his loyalty to the new regime, which he saw as the emanation of the popular will. The short-lived Republic was as turbulent as Amadeo’s reign, and Espartero continued to be seen as the answer to political crises. There was even an attempt to have named president. A military coup in December 1874 ended the Republic and restored the monarchy in the person of Isabel’s son, Alfonso XII. Only six weeks after ascending the throne, Alfonso sought to benefit from Espartero’s popularity, visiting him in Logrono in February 1875. Their meeting was widely reported in the press. Espartero died in January 1879. He was given a state funeral and the state erected monuments to him in Madrid and Logrono. Beyond this, the Restoration regime did nothing to convert Espartero into an official national hero. Nor has any regime since. The most famous and revered Spaniard of his time, the person many saw as the embodiment of peace and constitutional government, was largely forgotten. He has never even been accorded the modest recognition of a postage stamp.

La Tribune des femmes, and its earlier iterations, La femme libre, Apostolat des femmes, La femme d’avenir, La femme nouvelle Affranchissement des femmes, was founded and edited by the Saint-Simonians Jeanne-Désirée Veret (1810-1891) and Marie-Reine Guindorf (1812-1836) between August 1832 and April 1834, when it ceased publication. The newspaper was based at Guindorf’s first-floor apartment in the rue du Caire, and printed and distributed by August Auffray. The newspaper’s founding coincided with the female members of the Saint-Simonian movement being removed from its hierarchy as its leader, Prosper Enfantin (1796-1864) and the male members of the movement shifted toward an increasingly theoretical and mystical understanding of their mission and withdrew to an all-male commune of about forty men at Enfantin’s family home at Ménilmontant in the outskirts of Paris. Veret and Guindorf saw the La Tribune, which operated as a co-operative, as complementing the more theoretical and mystical work of the male members of the movement by publishing articles written by women offering practical and pragmatic responses to the pressing social, economic, and political problems of the day. La Tribune was written and managed by women who were themselves mostly from the working and artisan classes. It combined socialist and feminist concerns, seeing the two as indivisible, and thereby making it one of the first working-class feminist newspapers of its kind. The newspaper’s cosmopolitan perspective meant that it was concerned with the state of women’s and working-class emancipation throughout Europe, and not just in France. Between 1833 and 1834 it published numerous articles on the state of female emancipation in England and France and engaged in a lively debate with the English Owenite newspaper, The Crisis. At the heart of La Tribune’s feminist critique of established social relations was a democratic ideal of equality, and most arrestingly, an ethic of care that emerged from the experience of women. The Wollstonecraftian inspired feminist critique – that private vice corrupts public virtue – was the compass to La Tribune’s editorial orientation. La Tribune argued for the independence of women from men, equality in marriage, including rights over property and decisions over children, the establishment of nurseries and universal schooling for children as ways of promoting female independence and equality between the sexes and classes. It saw the neglect of education was one of the important sources of women’s misery, and, in a direct response to lacunas in the July Monarchy’s 1833 law on public education, argued for the establishment of public schools for girls, especially working-class girls. La Tribune offered a wide-ranging and inspiring critique of established domestic and social relations that its authors contended were defined by a base selfishness and crude instrumentalisation of social relations that were the root causes of a ‘moral decrepitude that threatens to annihilate in humanity all ties, and fellow feeling’. Against this, the women writers for La Tribune developed ideas of solidarity between both women of different classes, and between men and women workers, championing ‘universal association’ – a term with Fourierist connotations – as the means by which they would attain their goal of achieving ‘a unified’ and equal society and polity.

The image of Grandville and Desperet, which appeared in La Caricature on February 13, 1834, represented a duel involving three men. On the right side, the MP Dulong, who has been shot, begins to tip backwards. General Bugeaud, also a member of Parliament, in the foreground and three-quarters back, has just unloaded his pistol into him. Bugeaud had sought retribution for an insult allegedly uttered by Dulong in the Chamber of Deputies on January 25, 1834. Dulong apparently referred (although versions differ) to the "ignominy" of his interlocutor in the conduct of sensitive political affairs. After that phase Bugeaud considered that his honour was sullied; he sought reparation; and both men appeared on the meadow. The third character ghostly present in the cartoon, alongside Bugeaud, is King Louis-Philippe. He is said to have stoked the quarrel between the two MPs so as not to be compromised by Dulong's accusations against Bugeaud – that alluded to a story of the Duchess of Berry's brutal detention at the fortress of Blaye, organized by the king and his relatives, which shines through. The "invisible hand" - the title of the charge – was that royal force had been involved in Dulong's death. La Caricature was seized on the same day as it published "The Invisible Hand"; the newspaper was liable to a conviction for contempt of the king, but was acquitted by the jury. The Bugeaud-Dulong duel, which ended tragically, is just one episode in a fight that began in late 1830 between the July monarchy and its political opponents. It is, among other things, a war of images and words and it raged continuously during the early years of the July monarchy.

Dans l’effervescence qui accompagne à la fin de l’hiver et au printemps 1848 les premiers pas de la République française, de très nombreux clubs se forment pour intervenir dans la vie démocratique ou pour obtenir reconnaissance dans l’espace public. Le Club des blessés des barricades Saint-Merri, est l’un d’eux. Il a pour vocation de prendre en charge les intérêts des vétérans de l’insurrection des 5 et 6 juin 1832. Il réunit sans doute quelques dizaines de membres au maximum. S’il délivre des certificats en vue de récompenses ou d’emplois, il lui arrive aussi de prendre position sur les grandes orientations de la république. Le 30 mars 1848 il envoie une délégation à l’Hôtel de Ville pour apporter son soutien à la politique du Gouvernement provisoire (abolition de la peine de mort, organisation du travail, sage organisation des élections législatives à venir). Les « martyrs de Saint-Merry » prônent la réconciliation au sortir de semaines denses et agitées : « Nous voulons abjurer toute haine, toute réaction, et, les premiers, nous tendons la main à ceux qui, au 6 juin, furent nos adversaires à la barricade, pour ne plus voir en eux que des frères en la sainte République ». Ils mettent au service du gouvernement, sans grand effet semble-t-il, l’expérience acquise aux barricades et dans l’opposition au régime de Juillet. Le Club des blessés des barricades Saint-Merri participe activement à l’organisation d’une cérémonie d’hommage aux victimes du 6 juin 1832, avec le soutien des autorités. Le 6 juin 1848 un office religieux se tient à l’église Saint-Merry dont la façade est recouverte d’une tenture noire puis deux cortèges s’ébranlent, l’un vers la colonne de Juillet, l’autre vers le cimetière du Père-Lachaise. Après la guerre civile de Juin 1848 et conformément au décret sur les clubs du 28 juillet 1848, la dimension politique des activités des clubs s’estompent. Le club des blessés devient la Société des blessés et combattants de la barricade Saint-Merri ; cette société discrète se borne à délivrer des attestations et sa trace se perd au milieu de l’année 1849.

In the spring of 1848, as revolution spread from Palermo and Paris across large swathes of the continent, one country remained conspicuously quiet: Belgium. The reasons for this are not immediately clear. Belgium had come into being through revolution only a few years before in 1830: the country clearly possessed a revolutionary history and tradition. It was close to the epicentre of events in France, and Belgian exiles in Paris were busy organizing propaganda and recruiting among the large number of Belgian migrant workers in France to form a Belgian Legion which could carry armed revolution back over the border. The economic conditions in Belgium were, if anything, even worse than in France, and so ostensibly more propitious for civil conflict. This was especially true in the provinces of East and West Flanders. British competition had effectively wiped out the most important in the region, the linen industry, during the 1840s. The potato blight had ruined three harvests in a row, undermining the peasant farmers’ and smallholders’ ability to feed themselves. Even before 1848 local and national government recognized that the labouring populations of Flanders were suffering a crisis of hunger, poverty and unemployment. One of the authorities’ answers to this crisis was to invest in lace schools which proliferated across the two Flanders. However, the revolution of February 1848 in Paris would deal a blow to this industry too. Flemish lace was made for export, mostly to France. Luxury trades were always the first to suffer during political turmoil. The French fashion houses weren’t buying, which meant the Belgian merchants were left with stock on their hands, which meant that they stopped putting out work to their domestic female workforce. (1) This crisis affected not both rural areas and important towns like Courtrai, Bruges and Ypres where lace remained the most important employer of female labour. The local authorities were particularly worried because, as much male employment was seasonal, over winter whole families depended on the wages that lacemakers brought in. On 13 March, little more than a fortnight since news of the revolution arrived in the city, the lace merchants of Ypres got together to lobby the government in Brussels on behalf of their industry.(2) They sent a deputation to the Minister of the Interior, telling him that in the borough of Ypres alone there were more than 20,000 lacemakers, that lace was the sole industry of any importance to survive the crisis years of the 1840s, but that now this population too was threatened with misery. They warned of ‘grave disorders’ if something was not done.(3)And something was done, as the Government provided 60,000 francs of credit to the lace merchants, so that they could keep putting out orders to their workers. Or at least that was the idea, there is some dispute about what actually happened to the money.(4)‘Lacemakers don’t protest’ wrote one of their foremost Belgian chroniclers, explaining their invisibility in history.(5) And so it proved in 1848, despite the fears of the authorities in Ypres and elsewhere. West Flanders in general remained remarkably calm, despite occasional incursions by radicals and armed groups from France. The border, only fourteen kilometres away from Ypres, was reinforced, adding an extra layer of difficulty for lace exporters (and smugglers). However, there were some attempts to provoke lacemakers to action. Thursday 26 June 1848 was ‘Kleinsacramentsdag’, the Thursday following Corpus Christi. This was the holy day of Ypres lacemakers, and the Wednesday preceding was ‘Mooimakersdag’, the lacemakers’ holiday was usually celebrated in style. The lace schools were festooned with garlands of flowers, while troops of lacemakers in fancy dress, and led by their ‘queen’, were carried off on waggons to picnics in the surrounding countryside. In preparation for this holiday, printers would produce new songbooks which were sold in the market-squares and other public places by street-singers.(6) On 25 June 1848 one such broadside song drew the attention of the authorities, and it is reproduced below. Stemme van den Boterpot no 1 of den Brabanson A la vrienden wilt hier aenhooren, En blyft een weinig staen, Ik zalt u in korte gaen verklaeren, Hoe het in dese stad zal vergaen, Kantwerkster, gy mag het wel weten, t' Is van onze kante marchands, Zy hebben lang genoeg ons herte uitgefreten, Bis Deeze verkens moeten nu van kant. Bis, Bis. De kleermaekers zynder espres gekomen, Uyt de groote stad Parys, Zy hebben het nieuws nu al vernomen, Zy kreygen daer van den eersten prys, Al voor de kazakken te keeren, Van plaidons en kanten marchands, Zy zullen haest de fransch tael gaen leeren, Bis. Dees verraeders moeten uyt ons land. Bis, Bis. Dat zullen deze capoenen gaen vaeren, De plaidons zyn nu afgeschaft, Want wy beginnen daer op te dinken, Dees verraeders hebben te veel gemaekt, Zy maeken met ons geld veele plaisieren, Om te marcheren met trommels en muzik, Wy zullen klouk op hun kazakke vieren, Bis. Tot een exempel voor ons Belzyk. Bis, Bis. Wy zullen onze mode doen floreeren, Door het maeken van een nieuw kazak, En wy ambagsheden zonder mankeren, Hebben ook deeze mode aengevat, Wy zullen drinken en glaezen doen klinken, Tot floreeren voor weird en weirdin, En de marchands van kanten te doen springen, Bis Dat hebben wy al lang in onzen zin. Bis, Bis. Spellewerkster laet het u niet verdrieten, Om tegen dees barbaeren op te staen, Zy zullen ons bloed niet meer doen vergieten, Wy zullen stryden voor ons vaen, Al voor het geld dat zy ons hebben genomen, Van onze kanten en gaeren-bak, Die schoone francs moeten weder keeren, Bis. Dat zy van ons hebben afgepakt. Bis, Bis. Kantwerkster al voor het letste, En laet deeze zaeke niet meer staen, Want ik raent u voor het alderbeste, Eer dat zy bancroute zouden slaen, En laet ons nu defenderen, t'Is voor ons eygen vleesch en bloed, Dan zullen wy ons plaisieren doen ernemen. Bis. Al met het geld van onze kanten zoet. Bis, Bis. Eynde. To the tune of ‘The Butterpot’ no 1 of The Brabançonne To friends who want to listen And stay a while here, I shall explain to you directly How things fare in this city. Lacemaker, you know it already, It’s about our lace merchants They have been feasting on our hearts long enough, These pigs need to get out the way.The tailors [buyers] have come on purpose From the great city of Paris They have heard the news, They expect to get the best price, Ready to turn the coats Of prud’hommes and lace merchants They’ll quickly learn French, These traitors must be expelled. To send these capons packing The prud’hommes are now abolished, Because we’re beginning to think That these traitors have made too much, They have had too much fun with our money, Marching around with drums and music, We should boldly celebrate on their jackets As an example for our Belgium [?] We should make our fashion flourish, By making a new jacket, And then we’ll celebrate without stint, If we get a hold on this fashion, We should drink and clink glasses And so let innkeeper and his wife flourish, And the lace merchants can go take a leap We’ve wanted that for a long time. Lacemaker, don’t let it grieve you To face up to these barbarians, We won’t let them shed our blood anymore, We will fight for our standard, And for the money that they took from us, For our lace and thread casket, The beautiful coins must return, That they snatched from us. Lacemakers, finally, Don’t let this situation continue, Because I urge you for your own good, Before you go bankrupt, And let us defend ourselves, It’s for our own flesh and blood, Then we can enjoy ourselves, With the money from our sweet lace. We admit that some elements of this song, which was discovered by the archivist Joseph De Smet, remain opaque to us.(7) We don’t really understand the author’s interest in ‘kazakken’ or jackets (perhaps it had some dialect meaning). We don’t know the tune ‘The Butterpot’, though La Brabançonne refers to the revolutionary anthem of 1830 which is now the Belgian national anthem. However, we can explain who were the ‘plaidons’ or ‘prud’hommes’ mentioned in the text. The conseil des prud’hommes was an early form of industrial tribunal whose members were elected from both the employers and, in theory, workers. The Ypres tribunal, set up in 1842, consisted of seven members, of which at least two had to be lace-merchants and one a male foreman or senior employee in the industry. However, in practice, almost all the members represented the employers; no employee representatives could be found for the simple reason that there were no male employees or tax-paying artisans of the kind designated by the legislation in the lace industry. No female lace merchant (of which there were several) nor any female lacemaker (of which there were thousands) could participate either as electors or as members of the tribunal. Yet almost the entire business of the tribunal was taken up by the lace industry: in 1846, of the sixty-two cases it judged, sixty-one involved lacemakers; in 1847 out of forty-three cases, forty-one involved lacemakers.(8)And the lacemakers of Ypres were not happy with its rulings. As the local papers observed, whatever the merits of such a system in an industrial town with a clearly defined employing class and a strong, organized and, by the requirements of the legislation, male workforce, it was ‘clearly not fit for the lace industry’ which was diffuse and dominated by a female workforce.(9) If merchants cut lacemakers’ remuneration, claiming the work was shoddy or dirty, the lacemakers could only complain to the conseil des prud’hommes where they found exactly the same merchants sitting in judgement.(10) In particular, lacemakers complained that lace merchants were attempting to force on them the dreaded ‘livret’, or workbook which would effectively end their limited ability to negotiate wages by tying them to a single employer. (11) In June 1847 the agitation had grown so great that the Mayor of Ypres placed public notices in the newspapers (unusually in Flemish) stating that he had written to parliament and to the ministry of Justice to make them aware of the lacemakers’ concerns. In October 1847 a tailor, Pierre Maerten, organized a petition on behalf of the lacemakers against the prud’hommes.(12) Neither action seems to have brought a positive result: of the seven members of the tribunal elected in January 1848, five were lace merchants.(13) This is why the song links lace merchants and prud’hommes together as enemies of lacemakers. The authorities soon got wind of this would-be rebel anthem. The state prosecutor sent a copy to the Governor of West-Flanders on 1 July. The author was identified and arrested: his name was Auguste Plancque, a former NCO in the Belgian army, but then a day-labourer. We do not know what punishment Plancque suffered but it was probably not too serious because when he died, in 1885, he was described as a retired postman, the kind of job that was often thought suitable for military veterans.(14) The Ypres register of births, deaths and marriages also provides an explanation for Planque’s particular interest in the lace industry: in February 1843 he had married Marie de Graeve, a lacemaker.(15)

Claire Démar écrit Ma Loi d’avenir au début de l’année 1833. Son livre ne paraît que l’année suivante à titre posthume : dans la nuit du 3 au 4 août 1833 elle se suicide en compagnie du jeune saint-simonien Desessarts. Lorsque Claire Démar est entrée en contact avec le saint-simonisme (1832), elle avait un peu plus de trente ans – mais on n’a aucune certitude sur sa date de naissance, ni sur l’orthographe de son nom. Elle s’est engagée sans compter, organisant des bals pour recueillir des fonds, correspondant avec d’autres saint-simoniens. Elle a publié en mars 1833 son premier livre – Appel d’une femme au peuple sur l’affranchissement de la femme. Ses combats sont placés sous le signe de l’émancipation. Dans Ma Loi d’avenir elle réclame l’« affranchissement » de tous les exploités, l’« émancipation pour tous, pour les esclaves, les prolétaires, les mineurs, grands et petits ! » Elle ajoute : « Oui, l’affranchissement du prolétaire, de la classe la plus pauvre et la plus nombreuse, n’est possible, j’en ai la conviction, que par l’affranchissement de notre sexe. » L’avenir des femmes dépend selon elle d’une révolution radicale et conjointe dans les sphères domestique et sociale. Car c’est à l’échelle de la vie quotidienne que la vie doit changer. En plaçant la question des rapports de domination et celle de la propriété au cœur de ses textes, Claire Démar veut montrer que la destruction de l’édifice social passe avant l’action politique. Elle démythifie les Trois Glorieuses, journées révolutionnaires qui n’ont débouché sur rien de probant. Elle se sent à juste raison différente de la plupart des femmes et des hommes qui suivent la voie ouverte par Saint-Simon. Suzanne Voilquin, qui assure la publication posthume de Ma Loi d’avenir en 1834, ne parvient pas à s’expliquer le geste de l’été 1833 et la « volupté horrible dans cette fraternité de la tombe » ; elle salue dans sa préface la hardiesse de cette « femme remarquable » mais elle précise qu’elle ne partage pas ses idées.

La « machine infernale » consiste en vingt-cinq canons de fusils disposés sur un plateau incliné et liés par une bande de fer. Ces canons sont chargés de balles coupées, de lingots de plomb et de ferraille. Ce dispositif est mis en action par Giuseppe Fieschi le 28 juillet 1835, boulevard du Temple. Ce jour-là Fieschi cherche à tuer le roi Louis-Philippe 1er pendant une revue qui célèbre des « Trois Glorieuses » de 1830. Lors de la mise à feu, cinq canons ne fonctionnent pas ; trois autres explosent, occasionnant de graves lésions à la tête de Fieschi. Le roi sort indemne de l’attentat mais dix-neuf personnes, dont un maréchal d’Empire (Mortier), perdent la vie sur le coup ou dans les jours suivants. Quarante-deux autres personnes sont blessées. Fieschi a agi sans motivations politiques nettes, contrairement à ses complices Pépin et Morey, l’un comme l’autre républicains. Condamnés tous trois pour régicide, ils sont guillotinés en février 1836. Louis-Philippe est victime de nombreuses tentatives d’assassinat pendant toute la durée de son règne ; la tentative de juillet 1835 se singularise néanmoins par son caractère spectaculaire et par le nombre élevé des victimes. Les lois septembre 1835 sont le signe de l’accentuation du virage répressif face aux attaques contre le régime et le gouvernement. Elles sont adoptées en réponse, entre autres, à l’attentat de Fieschi.

Le journal d’opposition Le Charivari propose à sa « une », le 27 février 1834, un calligramme dont le sens n’échappe à personne : en retranscrivant sous une forme de poire la condamnation pour délit de presse dont il vient d’être victime, c’est au pouvoir royal que le journal s’en prend. Voilà plus de deux ans que le motif de la poire est utilisé par les adversaires de Louis-Philippe 1er. La paternité de la charge revient à Charles Philipon qui, pendant l’audience d’un procès en cour d’assises (14 novembre 1831), a griffonné une série de quatre croquis représentant l’imperceptible mais frappante métamorphose du roi en poire. Honoré Daumier a ensuite redessiné l’ensemble, qui a paru dans La Caricature. L’élan est alors donné : des centaines de poires ornent les lithographies, sont reprises dans les refrains des chansons. Sur les murs de Paris, des poires sont hâtivement tracées par des mains anonymes. En juillet 1833, pendant un banquet patriotique qui marque l'anniversaire des Trois Glorieuses dans le Loir-et-Cher, trois jeunes gens placent avant le repas les poires du dessert auprès du buste de Louis-Philippe ; elles sont retirées ; plus tard, l'un des trois place une poire au milieu des branchages de table et la coiffe d'un drapeau. Un corps ou une face en forme de poire – partie haute étroite, partie basse bouffie –, dénote une impuissance politique mais aussi sexuelle. Selon l'historien de l'art J. B. Cuno, la poire-corps évoque un « fat-ass ». Le corps indigne du roi bafoue l'honneur de la nation. Si l’usage politique de la poire domine le terrain graphique, il est impossible de jauger précisément les effets des attaques, d'autant que les messages sont sujets à divers brouillages. La loi sur la presse du 9 septembre 1835 met en tout état de cause un coup d'arrêt à cette histoire. L'article 18 stipule qu'« aucun dessin, aucunes gravures, lithographies, médailles et estampes, aucun emblème, de quelque nature et espèce qu'ils soient, ne pourront être publiés, exposés ou mis en vente sans l'autorisation préalable du ministre de l'intérieur à Paris, et du préfet dans les départements. » Les contrevenants seront désormais jugés par des tribunaux correctionnels et non plus aux assises. Plusieurs numéros du Charivari paraissent jusqu'à la fin 1835 sans lithographie, uniquement composés de texte, quelques-uns avec une page blanche.

L’un des portraits qui composent en 1833 la série de gravures « Détenus politiques, 5 et 6 Juin [1832] » est celui de Victor Prospert. Né vers 1800, décoré de la médaille de Juillet 1830, cet ouvrier tailleur républicain est déclaré coupable en novembre 1832 d’« attentat ayant pour but de renverser l’autorité royale et d’exciter la guerre civile » et condamné à dix ans de détention : présent le 5 juin 1832 aux funérailles du général Lamarque, il a participé aux premières heures de l’insurrection qui s’ensuivit ; il a été arrêté en fin de journée alors qu’il s’apprêtait à parlementer au nom d’un groupe d’insurgés. Ses déclarations au cours du procès témoignent de convictions républicaines avancées : Prospert dénonce la misère de ses semblables et l’oppression que fait peser le régime de Juillet. Il présente une longue série de revendications politiques, économiques et sociales, parmi lesquelles figurent l’attribution de « droits politiques pour tous les Français majeurs jouissant de leurs droits et payant un impôt quelconque », la « suppression des impôts indirects » ou encore l’« agrandissement des maisons destinées aux infirmes et aux vieillards ». En détention, il s’occupe de redistribuer les secours envoyés par les républicains aux détenus et il n’a de cesse de se faire reconnaître par le pouvoir comme prisonnier politique à part entière. Après l’amnistie royale de mai 1837 il s’installe à Rouen comme débitant de liquides, puis contrôleur des billets au théâtre des arts, puis tailleur d’habits. Au lendemain de la révolution de février 1848 il est membre du conseil municipal provisoire de Rouen puis commissaire central. Mais, soupçonné d’avoir soutenu les insurgés lors des troubles d’avril 1848, il quitte Rouen pour Limoges, puis Paris — il y reçoit des secours comme ancien prisonnier politique —, puis Rouen où il devient commis-voyageur en vins et horloges. Son métier lui procure une indépendance de mouvement qu’il met à profit pour faire de la propagande dans la région rouennaise. Il est arrêté et brièvement incarcéré en octobre 1852 en relation avec les suites du coup d’État du Deux-décembre 1851. Il meurt probablement vers 1855.

L’expression « vile multitude » est employée par Adolphe Thiers dans un discours qu’il prononce le 24 mai 1850 à la tribune de l’Assemblée législative. Elle désigne la partie la plus modeste et la plus fragile de l’électorat. Thiers veut l’exclure du suffrage universel masculin acquis aux lendemains de la Révolution de Février 1848. Il lui attribue une responsabilité écrasante dans les malheurs politiques du pays : « les vrais républicains, affirme Thiers, redoutent la multitude, la vile multitude, qui a perdu toutes les républiques ». Ses adversaires républicains ne l’entendent pas de cette oreille et ils dénoncent le pseudo-républicanisme de Thiers. Les protestations fusent à Paris mais aussi dans le reste de la France. À Dijon, on lit dans le Courrier républicain de la Côte-d’Or du 1e juin : « Voyez-vous ces pauvres gens – au cœur d’une misère tellement profonde qu’elle touche jusqu’au cœur d’un gendarme – pratiquer le principe de la fraternité dans toute son étendue et avec la plus grande franchise ! […] Honneur à de si nobles exemples ! On les rencontre le plus souvent chez les malheureux car ils savant apprécier, eux, la nécessité et la valeur de pareils services. Et voilà cette vile multitude que l’on calomnie avec tant d’insolence ! » Près d’un an plus tard, l’expression refait surface sur trois placards qui fleurissent dans les rues de Dijon au cours de la nuit du 20 au 21 mai 1851. Le commissaire central ordonne qu’ils soient retirés sans délai, et transmis au procureur de la République. On peut y lire : « Pour la vil [sic.] multitude, vive 93 ! » L’insulte devient un titre de gloire ; le souvenir de la Convention refait surface.

In the Vormärz period leading up to the revolution of March 1848 in Germany, a whole host of political themes emerge in songs in which a new oppositional political consciousness is reflected. One of the most well-known is ‘Das Blutgericht’ (The Blood Court), an anonymous protest song, expressing the misery of the Silesian weavers immediately before their uprising in Peterswaldau and Langenbielau from 3-6 June 1844. It is a personal attack on the local factory owners who due to international competition kept reducing the weavers’ wages to the point where they could no longer feed themselves. The factory owners, ‘die Zwanziger’ are cursed as hangmen and thugs. The writer hopes that they will be called to account in the next life, though adding bitterly that such cynical people have neither religion nor beliefs. The poem shows the recognition that profit is gained at the cost of the workers. Several police reports reveal how the song was sung by the weavers during the riots of June 1844 in which, after the intervention of the Prussian military, 11 were killed, 26 injured and 112 arrested. Much of the police investigation centred round the unsuccessful attempt to establish the identity of the author. ‘Das Blutgericht’ was sung to the well-known tune of the seventeenth century ballad ‘Das Schloß in Östterreich’ (The Castle in Austria). It was a widespread practice to use such well known melodies as a vehicle for transporting political messages. The music becomes an intertextual devise whereby its thematic associations in relation to its original text can have either an affirmative or a satirical function. Significantly ‘Das Schloß in Österreich’ is about the unjust imprisonment of a young lad in a castle dungeon at the hands of despotic nobles who account to nobody for their actions. Another famous song of the 1848/49 Revolution is the ‘Das Badische Wiegenlied’ (Baden Lullaby) written by Ludwig Pfau (1821–1894) and first published in his own magazine Eulenspiegel in December 1849. In the form of a nursery rhyme, the text takes a critical stance towards the Prussian troops who had suppressed the Baden revolution in July 1849 after a three-week-long siege of the Rastatt fortress. The effect of Pfau’s text is basically achieved by the sharp contrast between the innocent style of the lullaby and the bitter political content. At the beginning and end of each verse, the mother beseeches her child to sleep quietly and justifies this with reference to the Prussian troops outside, who are taking reprisals against revolutionaries. In the last verse, however, there is a twist whereby the mother changes her appeal: when the day of freedom comes, the child should no longer sleep, but rather scream out that revenge has been taken against the Prussians: ‘Schrei mein Kindlein, schrei’s: / Dort draussen liegt der Preuss’ (Scream out my child, scream out: / The Prussian is lying out there). Even before his poem was issued in Stuttgart, Pfau had to flee to Switzerland because of his participation in the Baden uprising. A little later, his text was set to music by an unknown composer and published as a song with piano accompaniment which circulated among the German refugees in Strasbourg. For "Das Blutgericht", sung by Juergen Wolff, playing with the Leipziger Folksession Band (CD: Loewenzahn, 1998), see https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QRBs9m9rVnA For "Badisches Wiegenlied". in a recording from 1983 by Wacholder, a GDR folk group, see: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=asgg6G6e8to

The Maria da Fonte was a women-led rural tax-riot in Portugal that sparked a provincial revolt (in Minho) and a civil war in the north of the country between the then-ruling conservative liberals (Cartistas) and an ad-hoc coalition of progressives and absolutists (Patuleias). A marching tune was composed by Angelo Frondoni (an Italian musician who made career in Portugal), and it became a popular progressive anthem: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XE4UmdEeL2w Viva a Maria da Fonte Com as pistolas na mão Para matar os cabrais Que são falsos à nação É avante Portugueses É avante sem temer Pela santa Liberdade Triunfar ou perecer Viva a Maria da Fonte A cavalo e sem cair Com as pistolas à cinta A tocar a reunir Lá raiou a liberdade Que a nação há-de aditar Glória ao Minho que primeiro O seu grito fez soar Or, in English: Long live Maria da Fonte With pistols in her hand To kill the government’s forces (PM was Costa Cabral) Who are traitors Forward Portuguese Forward fearlessly For holy liberty To triumph or perish Long live Maria da Fonte With her strong horse With pistols in her belt Sounding the call to arms There shone the rays of liberty That the nation will follow Glory to the Minho which was the first To make its voice heard

On 5 June 1832 thousands of Frenchmen flocked the streets of Paris for the funeral of General Jean-Maximilien Lamarque, a liberal with revolutionary and Bonapartist credentials who had fallen victim to the cholera epidemic that took thousands of lives that year. The mass involvement was not wholly surprisingly, since funerals had become an occasion for massive political mobilization in French political culture. The demonstration turned into an urban insurrection. After the violent repression of the National Guard, hundreds of death bodies were left in the streets of Paris. The insurrection was led by the republican opposition and gathered the support of thousands of French citizens who considered that the monarchy of Louis-Philippe de Orleans had abandoned the principles of the revolutionary days of July 1830 to defend the exclusive interests of the bourgeois elite. Since Lamarque also disapproved the foreign policy of the French government and especially its failure to promote the liberation of other European peoples in the wake of the 1830 Revolutions, many political refugees residing in France participated in the march. Among them was the Spaniard Álvaro Flórez Estrada, who declared in his eulogy that Lamarque’s death was “a calamity not only for France but for the civilized world”. For Flórez Estrada, Lamarque was a champion of the “emancipation of Europe”. Hundreds of Spaniards, Poles, Portuguese, Germans and Italians figured prominently in the demonstration, displaying their national flags, and joined the insurrection, a day that was later immortalised in Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables.

Between 1845 – 1851, the Romanian Neo-classicist artist Gheorghe Tăttărescu lived in Italy studying painting. It was a major period of political upheaval for that country, and the issues of national unity and independence from foreign powers were themes that resonated powerfully with the Romanian. On the first of January 1848, revolution broke out in Palermo. The ‘wave’ reached Romania in March. Among the Romanian revolutionaries’ demands were: the formation of the national Romanian state, educational reform, the improvement of the peasant economic situation, the lifting of censorship, and the replacement of the Parliament by a more progressive and representative body. Even though the revolutionaries lost the battle and their leaders were sent into exile, only a decade later, during Cuza’s reign, most of these aspirations were realized. On 30 May 1848, in Rome, Tăttărescu entered the competition 'Concorso artistico dal Panteon' [The Artistic Competition of Pantheon] held every five years by the Congregazione Artistica dei Virtuosi al Panteon, the highest artistic institution in the city, and sponsored by the Pope. He was awarded the first prize medal for his religious painting representing a scene from the Old Testament – that of Simeon and Levi rescuing their sister Dinah kidnapped by Shechem and King Hamor (the title of the painting - which in Romanian reads: Simeon şi Levi salvând pe sora lor Dina răpită de Sichem şi de regele Hemor). In August the same year Tăttărescu went to Florence where he researched the paintings in the Pitti and Uffizi Galleries. On 7 January, 1849 he returned to Rome, rented a studio in Via Mario di Fiori no 8, and made studies for his allegorical work Deşteptarea României [The Awakening of Romania]. By obtaining the First Prize in Rome at the moment the first news of the [Romanian] revolution arrived in Italy, the artist and his work made his native country known and appreciated. That was the true value of his painting. When the Romanian government opened the first art museum in Bucharest (National Painting Gallery - Pinacoteca Statului) in December 1850, ‘The Awaking of Romania’ was the first work to be displayed (it has as an inventory number ‘1’). Thus, the work that first received international recognition was also the work that was most recognised in his own country.

Comment décrire en quelques mots la Fabrique ? Un canut répond : « La fabrique de soierie est semblable à un très vaste et unique jardin ayant inépuisablement d’eau pour suffire à toutes sortes de besoins, lequel jardin divisé par portions, aurait pour l’exploitation des ces mêmes portions autant de jardiniers libres que de plantes ou de fleurs » (Charnier). Toutefois ce jardin et son exploitation harmonieuse sont constamment menacés par des parasites dont le fouriérisme a désigné le modèle original : le négociant ou le commerçant. Alors, à Lyon se développe une réflexion sur des organisations alternatives pour les ouvriers, tant en matière de production, que, surtout, de consommation. « Au bruit de la fusillade » d’avril 1834, un négociant proche, lui, des ouvriers, un républicain, converti au fouriérisme, réfléchit au moyen d’émanciper les travailleurs ou, du moins d’améliorer leur quotidien. Il publie une brochure puis surtout, dans L’Indicateur, au tournant 1834-1835 une série d’articles « Améliorations industrielles » pour exposer sa solution permettant de « terminer d’une manière définitive la tourmente sociale ». Il propose une « vente sociale d’épicerie », premier exemple en France d’une coopérative de consommation dont le magasin sera baptisé « Au commerce véridique ». C’est un projet apparemment modeste, mais surtout, aux yeux de Derrion, un premier levier dans la réforme qui doit conduire à s’opposer à la « libre-concurrence » qu’il décrit comme « une mêlée où règne le désordre, la confusion, l’anarchie, dans laquelle on fait arme de tout, jusqu’à la fraude, jusqu’à la banqueroute, tout sert à s’enrichir ou à se ruiner mutuellement ». En février 1835 des souscriptions sont ouvertes dans L’Indicateur pour constituer le premier fonds social et ce « commerce véridique » qui permet d’obvier au despotimse du commerçant, ouvrira un premier magasin coopératif quelques semaines plus tard, puis six autres jusqu’à ce que la grave crise économique de 1837 mette fin à cette première expérience. Peu après la fermeture en 1838 du dernier « Commerce véridique », Michel-Marie Derrion (1803-1850) partira au Brésil pour fonder un phalanstère, l’Union industrielle du Sahy (1841-1845).

The Brabançonne is the national anthem of Belgium. The text was written shortly after the outbreak of the Belgian Revolution, which started with riots in Brussels after the performance of the opera La Muette di Portici on 25 August 1830. It was published on 7 September 1830 in the newspaper Courrier des Pays-Bas, which was notorious for its criticism of the government of King William I. This is reflected in the text of the Brabançonne, in which the King is asked to respect the rights of the people of the southern Netherlands: ‘Nassau, consacre enfin nos droits’. The author, Alexandre-Hippolyte Dechet, better known by his pseudonym Jenneval, was a young French actor working in Brussels. After its publication, the text was set to music by the violin player and singer François van Campenhout. From then on, the song's popularity rose quickly, and it was used as a means to express Belgian patriotism. The text was adjusted several times during the Belgian Revolution to reinforce its anti-Dutch and patriotic message. In 1860, the text was rendered more neutral, as the critical references to the former Dutch king William I were left out. Image: Lithography after painting by Antoine Van Hammée (1836-1903): Van Campenhout sings the Brabançonne (source: Wikipedia, Public Domain: https://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Braban%C3%A7onne_(volkslied)#/media/File:Campenhout_chantant.png)