The Shadow of Great Britain

(Top row: Wilhelm Grimm, Jacob Grimm; Middle row: Wilhelm Albrecht, Friedrich Dalman, Georg Gervinus; Bottom row: William Weber, Heinrich Ewald)

The crowd initially surrounding Arthur suddenly moved toward the riverbank. Gentlemen were pushing each other to get to the front row, and a few ladies even disregarded their shoes getting stuck in stone cracks, lifting their skirts and taking small strides.

Even the youths who were mocking Arthur earlier forgot to continue their sarcasm at this moment, scrambling onto boxes to peer towards the river.

On the Thames River, a small postal boat with a barely noticeable postal flag was approaching through the fog.

Gray-white mist was split open by the bow, the ropes on the ship’s mast flapping loudly in the wind.

”It’s the postal boat from Bremen direction!”

”No mistake, that’s the one!”

”They’re really arriving!”

Several newly recruited police officers were pushed back a few steps by the thronging crowd, clearly not yet understanding the fervor of London’s middle-class citizens for the ’martyrs of liberalism.’

All British readers passionate about political news knew that on November 1st last year, King Ernst I of Hanover, Britain’s Duke of Cumberland, abruptly announced the abolition of the ’1833 Hanover Kingdom Constitution.’

His actions instantly enraged Friedrich Dalman, a University of Gottingen professor who participated with Arthur in drafting the constitution.

Dalman exerted all efforts to persuade the whole school to oppose the new king and personally drafted a protest letter. However, only six professors agreed to co-sign it. Dalman’s protest letter, published on November 18, had an explosive impact; students at the University of Gottingen produced thousands of copies, spreading them across Germany and even Europe.

After the protest letter triggered a massive public debate, Ernst I had to personally take charge of the matter. On December 4, these seven professors were interrogated in the university courtroom. Ten days later, the seven were dismissed from university positions; Dalman, Jacob Grimm, and Gervinus were declared unwelcome in Hanover by Ernst I and ordered to leave the country within three days.

A few days later, the vice-chancellor and four deans of the University of Gottingen, without authorization from the University of Gottingen’s academic committee, submitted a report to King Ernst I at the Rotenkeich hunting lodge, announcing complete severance with the seven professors and condemning their views.

This incident vastly shocked the German academic world, as professors in Germany have always been seen as symbols of national spirit. Ernst I’s smooth act of removal and expulsion only inflamed the situation rather than calming it, angering all German universities. Particularly, universities in Prussia and Saxony publicly supported Dalman and others’ protest, calling the seven professors the conscience of the German academic world.

In neighboring France, Parisian journalists termed this incident as the German edition of the aftermath of the July Revolution, with Republican and Bonaparte Party newspapers even mocking the King of Hanover as an outdated German minor prince.

French scholars especially sympathized with the seven professors, quickly elevating their reputation in the Paris intellectual community, and their works, previously unnoticed in Paris, began selling rapidly.

Danish and Swedish media closely following German affairs also fully covered the Gottingen Seven incident, even presenting it as evidence of the incomplete constitutional modernization in various German states.

In Britain, as Hanover had been a friendly common sovereign with Britain for the past century, attention to this matter was naturally extremely high.

From ’The Times,’ ’The Morning Post,’ ’Chronicle Morning Paper,’ to ’Manchester Guardian,’ almost every somewhat influential newspaper in Britain published critical comments on the matter, accusing the Hanover Government of violently interfering with academic freedom.

The Whig Party further fueled the situation by using it as proof of how fortunate Britain was to have Victoria inherit the throne, persistently implying that the Conservative Party had once closely associated with the Duke of Cumberland.

In the British university circle, widespread donation and support activities ensued, with even Oxford and Cambridge students actively participating.

But which university was the most proactive in this matter?

Undoubtedly, it was Sir Arthur Hastings’ alma mater, the base and training ground of the Radical Liberal Party, the University of London.

As soon as the Gottingen Seven incident reached London, the University of London’s campus began to stir.

Not only did they publish an over 4,000-word public support letter, but they also initiated a petition demanding the British Government condemn the Kingdom of Hanover’s interference with academic freedom.

In response to the strong call from University of London students and the British public’s aroused sentiments, Sir Arthur Hastings, a former academic director of the University of Gottingen and chairman of the University of London’s alumni association, decided to make a very ’bold’ decision amid tremendous pressure.

Even if it might offend royal family members like the Duke of Cumberland, he still, without hesitation, used his private relationship channels to invite the Gottingen Seven Gentlemen to visit Britain.

However, these uninformed crowds even booed Sir Arthur when he personally went to the dock to welcome the seven professors, which indeed saddened the Sir greatly.

Nonetheless, he certainly wouldn’t blame the citizens for their behavior, as they were all in the dark at the time.

Precisely because of this, Arthur felt the need to be here personally to clarify the truth to everyone, to tell them that he has always stood with the liberal camp, whether on the Canadian issue or the Gottingen issue.

The postal boat docked so gently that it was almost soundless.

White mist from the steam valve slowly dispersed along the ship’s side; when the first gangplank was placed on the deck by dock workers, the previously noisy crowd suddenly fell silent, leaving only dense breathing sounds.

Appearing first in the view of everyone was an elderly figure dressed in a dark long coat, slightly sparse in build.

Friedrich Dalman.

He was thinner than depicted in newspapers, more angular, with age’s grooves on his forehead deeper than any caricature’s ridicule.

Dalman was clearly taken aback by the sight before him.

He thought he would be met merely by a few students and teachers sent by the University of London, maybe a few journalists.

But when he set foot on British soil, he saw a whole sea of people, crowding the banks of the Thames River.

Some held newspapers, others held signs with German phrases, and a one penny journalist was pulling out a notebook from his pocket, his fingers trembling with excitement.

Following him, Jacob Grimm squinted his eyes, seemingly not quite used to Britain’s cold wind. However, when he noticed numerous eyes on the shore fixated on them, his expression unconsciously became cautious and solemn.

Wilhelm Grimm, before stepping onto the gangplank, couldn’t help but murmur a phrase in German: ”This scale... probably even Paris wouldn’t have.”

Weber, leaning on a cane, appeared somewhat baffled.

He had prepared a brief speech of acknowledgment, but it seemed insufficient now.

As the professors tried to maintain their composure, someone from the crowd raised a hand pointing towards a position further back on the shore: ”Over there, you see.”

The seven professors followed the direction, scanning across the dense crowd, raised newspapers, and hats, finally spotting a familiar face among them.

The old leader of the University of Gottingen—Sir Arthur Hastings.