Nationalism's Poisonous Allure
Overture: Nationalism... it really grates on me.
It might be useful for internal unity, but it's utterly worthless to us.
"Popular, you're about to become Popular—the way to gain popularity—"
Ah, no, that doesn't work either.
This gives a sense of personal freedom, but nationalism is still a bit off...
I was in my study, flipping through books one by one, pondering what to turn into a musical.
"Your Majesty the Empress."
"Rudolf."
I welcomed Rudolf with genuine delight.
"Here for a book?"
"Yes."
"What do you want to read?"
There was no special reason for Rudolf to visit my study.
Les Misérables.
My study was stocked with books censored in Vienna.
Les Misérables, huh. A critique of political economy—it's right next to it?
"Have you read it before?"
Rudolf nodded.
"What's it about?"
Rudolf's eyes sparkled like never before.
Oh my, look at that passionate gaze. Hard to believe it's the same quiet, pale boy as always.
"It's the story of the oppressed rising up against a rotten, corrupt system after realizing their rights. But what struck me deepest... was how their spilled blood forges the homeland into a true nation."
Huh...?
Rudolf placed a hand on his chest, speaking in a slightly flushed voice as if he were one of those youths atop the barricade.
"Individuals yearning for freedom unite under the name of France, forming one grand spirit. Mother, reading this made me realize: a truly great nation isn't born from authority imposed from above, but when free citizens rally under the single banner of their homeland."
Freedom? Citizens? A nation sharing language and history? The soul of a people united under one name?
France is nearly a single ethnicity, so it's a beautiful romance and revolutionary epic.
More precisely, they assimilated everyone into a single ethnicity.
"Rudolf."
"...Yes."
I gently stroked the suddenly deflated Rudolf's head.
"Want to hear Mom's take this time?"
"...From you, Mother?"
"Yeah, I read about the individuals who vanish under the guise of 'the people.'"
"Individuals?"
"Remember the first line of Les Misérables?"
"It was in the autumn of 1815, one day."
"Who's the protagonist?"
"...Jean Valjean."
"Was Jean Valjean an individual? Or 'the people'?"
Rudolf hemmed and hawed, unable to answer.
"I don't know."
"Jean Valjean was a thorough individual, oppressed for nineteen years by the massive collective of state and law just for stealing a single loaf of bread."
No need to get into the extra years from escape attempts for Rudolf.
"Did he cry 'homeland' like the crowds on the barricades? Did he live for the French nation?"
"No. He simply lived for Cosette..."
"Right. He lived to protect one child named Cosette, and to repay the personal mercy shown by Bishop Myriel."
I met Rudolf's eyes.
"Rudolf, when the revolutionaries atop the barricades shed blood crying out for nation and homeland, what happened to those barricades in the end?"
That grand 1832 uprising ultimately failed. The citizens barricaded their doors, and the youths were brutally crushed.
"They crumbled..."
"Yes. Grand ideologies shouted by the collective can fail spectacularly. But when one individual named Jean Valjean carried another individual named Marius and crawled through the sewers, that life survived."
I wrapped my arm around Rudolf's shoulders.
"The free citizens you mentioned are a beautiful idea. But if those citizens unite only under a massive name like 'homeland' or 'nation,' they end up trampling those who don't belong. That's what revolution is."
Prussia right now is thoroughly suppressing individual freedoms under the ideology of nationalism.
I handed Rudolf Les Misérables and said,
"Many see Les Misérables as a tale of revolution, but its true message is the salvation and conscience of the individual."
"But Mother, didn't Valjean ultimately find salvation within French society?"
"To love another is to see the face of God."
Revolution cannot see others.
"But... wouldn't that love become meaningless without the fence of society? I think Hugo was pointing that out."
I pulled Rudolf into my arms.
Rudolf, when a test asks for the speaker's intent, it's the questioner's intent—not the author's.
"Our boy will understand those lines someday."
And someday he'll grasp how the people shed blood for the masses, only for the masses to lock their doors.
"Shall we read it again from Mom's perspective this time?"
"...Can we have talks like this again?"
"Of course. If you want, I'll come back to Vienna even from London."
Knowing nationalism's endgame, I don't care for it much.
Pan-Slavism, Pan-Germanism.
One vanished after World War I, the other after World War II.
The future will know all—or if not, we'll make it so.
"Ida, write to Grillparcher. Tell him I request a quiet audience immediately."
"Your Majesty the Empress, Franz Grillparcher has arrived."
This elder, nearing eighty this year, had devoted his life to Austria but had all but stopped writing due to censorship and political pressure, living in seclusion.
"Your Majesty the Empress."
"Sit comfortably. Sorry to summon you so suddenly when your health is frail."
Grillparcher leaned on his cane and carefully settled onto the sofa.
"When summoned by Your Majesty, even if one foot is in the grave, how could I refuse?"
Not bad for a first quip from the old writer—there's some bite to it.
Many works were censored in Metternich's era, weren't they?
"You've rarely found joy in the Habsburgs' call over your lifetime, yet such a loyal reply."
His King Ottokar's Fortune and Downfall praised the Habsburg dynasty's greatness, yet censors blocked it for years over supposed rebellious undertones.
"Water under the bridge. Just an old man's past."
A poet who loved Austria was thoroughly suppressed by the Austrian state.
"I have one request for you."
"Forgive me, but I no longer wish to write odes while watching for the censors' glances."
"Is that so? I was hoping to see more of your later works."
Even in self-imposed silence.
This veteran writer, critiquing nationalism since his youth—what ideology does he hold now?
He answered with action.
Grillparcher remains loyal to the Habsburgs.
"What work do you wish me to write?"
"Hell. The hell that ideology brings."
Grillparcher glanced around before speaking.
"Nationalism is indeed a barbaric ideology that forsakes humanity... but."
Whether it's hell, I'm not so sure?
"The road to hell is paved with good intentions."
The good intention of national liberation excludes other ethnicities.
"I want your pen to show what devastation German and Slav nationalisms will ultimately wreak."
"...Not internal, then."
Internal is a problem, but external is too.
"Contrary to what nationalists claim, a universal empire struggles more with expansion."
Hard for Napoleonic-era nationalists to grasp?
"Grillparcher, where does a nation begin?"
"They say from history."
"Then Hungarian nationalism will expand into Wallachia."
Nationalism starts with liberation but devolves into territorial expansion.
"You know its end isn't mere independence."
Grillparcher opened his mouth to argue, then closed it.
Just look at how Prussia and Russia treat Poland compared to us Habsburgs?
"First, I think nationalism is necessary to some degree—a framework for individuals to preserve their identity, language, history, and faith."
But it can't be the only ideology.
"Didn't the Church, pushed to extremes, corrupt itself?"
Crusades into colonies, indulgences into indulgences...
"Even pure ideals corrupt when wedded to power."
I gracefully fanned myself at his words.
As if it's news.
"You still look skeptical."
"Your Majesty, it's been too long since I laid down my pen."
I tapped my fan thoughtfully.
"A master commands his price. Grillparcher, have you read the newspapers and pamphlets flooding from Berlin lately?"
"The warmongering agitprop?"
"Yes. They don't frame this war as mere territorial defense or royal pride. They call it a holy war to save German-speakers and Germanic brethren."
I lightly rapped the table with my folded fan.
"If you follow that logic to its end? There's one place in French territory speaking a Germanic dialect."
"Alsace and Lorraine? Your Majesty, that's been French for over two centuries. Even if Prussia wins, Europe won't tolerate such blatant land grab."
"They will. They have the perfect excuse: reclaiming our people's ancient soil."
From the Meuse to the Memel, from the Adige to the Belt.
"If Prussia annexes it as I predict, you'll write the work I want."
Two months later.
A pile of newspapers towered on my desk.
I slowly unfolded one.
France.
"Will Alsace and Lorraine be torn from France?"
"Cession of Alsace and Lorraine"
"The Mutilation of the Homeland"
I picked up the next paper.
Prussia.
"The Reacquisition of Alsace-Lorraine"
"Securing the Safety of Germany's Western Border"
The same event.
Different languages.
Different justices.
I folded the newspaper.
"Has he arrived?"
I smiled quietly at Grillparcher standing at the door.