Showing posts with label Poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Poems. Show all posts

Thursday, May 23, 2013

Soulful Soldiers


Dear Reader,


In the modern world, we associate soldiers and militarism with brutality, violence, and masculinity, (and by connection perhaps-stupidity.) Often, we read this stereotype into the past. As far as eighteenth century warfare is concerned reading the present into the past is a severe problem in historical thinking. Christopher Duffy addresses this issue in his excellent book, Military Experience in the Age of Reason. 

As much as modern literature and fiction might attempt to present the past accurately, this is a task for trained and professional historians. A perfect example of this is the excellent web-comic Family Man, by brilliant writer and artist Dylan Meconis. Meconis gives an excellent representation of Central Europe in the 1760s, (if you ignore the occasional vampire or werewolf) down to rabbit and wolf hunting with a Jägerbüsche. However, her detailed representation as just that, a representation. 

In order to be truly "historical," a work of non-fiction needs to draw on the writing of individuals who lived during that time, and other evidence remaining from the past. Returning to the premise of this article, some 18th century soldiers were certainly brutal, pipeclayed, villainous men, who raped, stole and murdered throughout Europe. However, many of the soldiers of the 18th century were not this type of man. Some were Seelenmensch- Soulful men. This was exceedingly evident in the Prussian army. Frederick the Great, for all his spikeness, was a man of great sensitivity and feeling. On the death of his general Hans Karl von Winterfeldt, he remarked, "He was a good man: a soulful man. He was my friend." 

How do we know that 18th century soldiers were soulful, you ask? Their writings. Many soldiers from 18th left behind a plethora of writings on military matters, but some also left poetry about their personal lives. These soldiers played music, wrote poetry, and attempted to bring culture into their world of death. Here is a selection of poetry from eighteenth century soldiers:

Miniatures of Hessian Soldiers

The first poem is by Johann Heinnrich Ludewig Grotehenen, a soldier who served in the Western German army during the Seven Years' War, under the command of Ferdinand of Brunswick. 

Ein Soldate bin Ich eben
I was only a soldier,
und steh vor meinen feind.
and stood before my enemy
In freud und lied muss leben
I must live in joy and song,
wie mirs gott Hat bereit
How God has prepared me!
und wenn ich stehe in feld
For when I stand in the field
und lieg in meinen zelt
and lie in my tent
Hab ich mich gott befohlen
Have I myself instructed God?
Er mags wie es ihm gefält
He makes things how he pleases.

The second is a selection from the 1759 Quebec campaign, by an anonymous author.  It describes the death of General Wolfe. The author here spells it Wolf.

The British at Quebec
The first part of the poem describes a young man who enlists because he is heart broken. The second part begins:

Then this brave youth took to the ocean,
to free America from those invasions;
He landed at Quebec, with his party,
to attack the city, being brave and hearty.

Wolf drew up his men in a line, so pretty,
On the plains of Abraham, before the city.
A distance from the town, the French did meet him.
With double numbers, they resolve{d} to beat him.

The French drew up their men: for death prepared.
In one another's face, they flood and flared.
Whilst Wolf and Montcalm together walked.
Betwixt their armies: they like brothers talked.

Then each took his place, 'twas of attire.
And then this numerous host began their fire.
Suddenly from his horse fell this brave hero,
You may lament his loss in fields of sorrow.

The French began to break their ranks and flying,
Wolf seemed to revive whilst he lay a dying--
He raised up his head, where the cannons rattle,
and to his army said: how goes the battle?

His aid-de-camp reply'd: 'tis in our favor.
Quebec and all her pride, nothing can save her.
She falls into our hands, with all her treasure.
O, reply'd brave Wolf: I die with pleasure.


Thanks for reading,

Alex Burns


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