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Serial Revolutions 1848
Serial Revolutions 1848
Writing, Politics, Form
C LA R E P E TT I TT
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For Kitty and Marina
I nostri gioielli
Acknowledgements
In 1848 Europe became newly conscious of itself. But in Britain,

1848 revealed a schism between ‘Europeans’ and ‘Little Englanders’.
A schism which is still with us: I was researching and writing Serial
Revolutions:1848 across the Brexit referendum and up to the final
throes of Boris Johnson’s Brexit negotiations. I finished this book
during the first lockdown caused by the COVID-19 crisis, an
epidemic which pushed Brexit out of the news headlines to reveal
instead the fragility and futility of national boundaries in an
irreversibly globalized world. Just as I was finishing the first draft of
the book, the Black Lives Matter protests started their own serial
global movement. In the US they moved from state to state, in
Europe from country to country, city to city. Unlike the revolutions of
1848, they were largely peaceful and bloodless. But the call to think
politically again about the social was like a déja vue. For nearly two
centuries since Frederick Douglass called out ‘the gross injustice and
cruelty to which [the black woman and man] is the constant victim’,
that cruelty and injustice has shown little sign of abating.1 As
historians, literary critics, academics, and citizens, we need to know
our history better. We need to better understand how European our
‘British’ identity truly is, and how the violence of empire and the
catastrophe of slavery are still determining our modern world. The
nationalisms of 1848 which had briefly seemed to belong to ‘the
people’ were quickly co-opted and they developed into something
much darker in the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Now
nationalism seems to have taken deep root. We live with and in
history, and it is not inevitable that the history of today will
necessarily be any less appalling than that of yesterday. But 1848
also generated ideas of universalism, pacifism, feminism, and
different versions of socialism and communism. Returning to 1848,
we can choose to look back on that ‘springtime of the peoples’ as a
moment of tragi-comic failure, obliterated by the brutalities that
followed, or we can look again, and see it as a proleptic moment of
stored potential, an extraordinary series of events that generated
long-distance and sustainable ideas about global citizenship,
international cooperation and a shared and common humanity which
have not yet been fully understood or realized. The springtime of
1848 has been long delayed, but, with some effort, and more
understanding, we can bring its forgotten meanings back to life so
they can blossom and flourish in the present.
I gave very full acknowledgements in the first volume of this
series, Serial Forms: The Unfinished Project of Modernity 1815–
1848, and as this second volume goes to press only eighteenth
months later, I will not reiterate them all here. I would however like
to thank the people who helped me with this particular book in very
specific ways: Caroline Arscott; Mary Beard; Laurel Brake; Trev
Broughton; Christopher Clark; David Edgerton; Bernhard Fulda; Paul
Gilroy; Isobel Hofmeyr; Richard Kirkland; Julia Kuehn; David Laven;
Claire Lawton; Sharon Marcus; Roger Parker; John Stokes; Harriet
Thompson; Mark Turner; Adam Tooze; and Patrick Wright. My
husband, Cristiano Ristuccia, was an inspiration throughout, having
been taught an entirely different version of the history of the
nineteenth century at his school in Rome to the British-imperial
history that was delivered at mine in Manchester. My elder daughter
Kitty helped me with page numbers and references. Of course, all
the views expressed in this work, and any mistakes in the chapters
that follow, are entirely my own.
Part of the book was written while I was on a Leverhulme
Research Fellowship in 2019, and I am extremely grateful to the
Leverhulme Trust for supporting my work, but I am even more
grateful for all that they do to sustain research in the humanities
more generally in this country. I wrote most of Chapters 1, 6, and 7
at Gladstone’s Library in Hawarden and I thank the staff there for
their welcome and hospitality. I want to thank King’s College London
once more for its commitment to research in the humanities, and its
generous contribution towards image reproduction and indexing
costs for this book. And I again thank Johanna Ward and Domniki
Papadimitriou in the Cambridge University Library who welcomed me
back for this second deluge of digital image orders without flinching.
The Bibliothèque nationale de France was also exemplary in dealing
with my many image orders with great care and efficiency in the
midst of a pandemic.
Jacqueline Norton at Oxford University Press has shown an
ambition on my behalf which has been immensely empowering.
Thank you, Jacqueline. The anonymous reader of this book
manuscript for the Press was generous and attentive to the whole
argument, suggesting specific improvements that were spot-on, and
I thank them wholeheartedly for that. Aimee Wright once again
guided the book through the Press with consummate skill and
attention to detail. Howard Emmens copy-edited this book, as he did
my last one, with great erudition and precision and it is much better
for his input. Vasuki Ravichandran and her team at Straive were
impeccably efficient and kept us all to production deadlines. Hardly
anything in this book has been previously published, but an earlier
version of Chapter 10 did appear as ‘Dickens and the Form of the
Historical Present’, in Daniel Tyler (ed.), Dickens’s Style (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2013), pp. 110–36, and it is repurposed
and republished here with the permission of Cambridge University
Press.
I started presenting material that would eventually find its way
into this book in June 2007, when I gave a conference paper on
Dickens in the 1840s in Genoa, Italy. Since then, I have given
plenaries, papers, and seminars about aspects of 1848 at Hong Kong
University and in Venice, at the Media History Seminar in London,
and in Birmingham, New York, Delhi, Exeter, Los Angeles,
Nottingham, Oxford, Surrey, Warwick, and York. In Cambridge, I
have presented material to the Cultural History Seminar, the
Cambridge Italian Research Network Symposium, the French
Department Nineteenth-Century Seminar, and the Cambridge
University Gender Studies Seminar. My thanks to all these very
various audiences for helping me to discover that this was really a
project about Britain, Europe, and America in 1848, and also a
project about Britain, Europe, and America in 2021.
1 Frederick Douglass, ‘“The Meaning of July Fourth for the Negro”: Oration
delivered in Corinthian Hall, Rochester, New York, by Frederick Douglass, 5 July
1852’, Frederick Douglass: Selected Speeches and Writings, ed. Philip S. Foner and
Yuval Taylor (Chicago: Chicago Review Press, 2000), pp. 188–206, p. 196.
Contents
List of Illustrations
List of Abbreviations
Introduction: Why 1848 Matters
1. Revolutionary Tourists
2. Moving Pictures
3. The Ragged of Europe
4. The Inter-National Novel
5. Under Siege
6. Serially Speaking
7. Slavery and Citizenship
8. O bella libertà
9. Forms of the Future
10. The Grammar of Revolution
Flaubert’s Afterword
Bibliography
Index
List of Illustrations
0.1. Julius Steinmetz, ‘Berlin am 18. und 19. März 1848’ (Meißen,
1848) [Berlin 18–19, March 1848] [Credit: bpk/Deutsches
Historisches Museum, Berlin].
0.2. ‘Alexandre Dumas Borne in Triumph by the People’, Illustrated
London News (11 March 1848): 162. [Reproduced by kind
permission of the Syndics of Cambridge University Library
NPR.C.313].
0.3. Alexandre Lacauchie, ‘Frédérick Lemaître, dans Toussaint-
Louverture’, lithograph (Paris: Martinet, 1850). The white
French actor, Frédérick Lemaître as Toussaint Louverture,
leader of the Haitian revolution in the play of the same name
by Alphonse de Lamartine at the Théâtre de la Porte Saint-
Martin. [© Bibliothèque nationale de France].
2.1. [Anonyme], ‘Le Trône Brulé’: ‘The People Burning the Throne
at the Place de la Bastille, 1848’, French lithograph. [Musée de
la Ville de Paris, Musée Carnavalet, Paris, France © Archives
Charmet/Bridgeman Images].
2.2. Nathaniel Currier, ‘The Burning of the Throne Paris 25th
February 1848’. Hand-coloured American lithograph (1848).
This lithograph was produced in France (see Fig. 2.1). It then
travelled swiftly to America, where its caption was offered in
both French and English. [D’Amour Museum of Fine Arts,
Springfield, Mass. USA/Alamy].
2.3. ‘View of the Conflagration of the City of Hamburg’, Illustrated
London News (14 May 1842): 1. [Reproduced by kind
NPR.C.313].
2.4. ‘Revolution in Prussia: Conflict before the Royal Palace, At
Berlin’, Illustrated London News (1 April 1848): 214.
[Reproduced by kind permission of the Syndics of Cambridge
University Library NPR.C.313].
2.5. Masthead, Illustrated London News (London) (8 July 1848).
[Reproduced by kind permission of the Syndics of Cambridge
University Library NPR.C.313].
2.6. Masthead, L’Illustration (Paris) (26 juin 1847). [© Bibliothèque
nationale de France].
2.7. Illusterad Tidning (Stockholm), (21 Maj 1859). [Credit: Royal
Danish Library].
2.8. Masthead, Illustrirte Zeitung (Leipzig) (1 Juli 1843). [©
Bibliothèque nationale de France].
2.9. Illustreret Tidende (Copenhagen) (12 October 1862). [Credit:
Royal Danish Library].
2.10. Masthead, Il Mondo Illustrato (Turin) (18 dicembre 1847). [©
2.11. Paul Gavarni, ‘Insurgent Prisoners in Paris Receiving Relief
from their Families’, Illustrated London News (22 July 1848):
33. [Reproduced by kind permission of the Syndics of
Cambridge University Library NPR.C.313].
2.12. ‘Les femmes et les enfants des insurgés aux portes des
prisones’, L’Illustration (29 juillet 1848): 325. [© Bibliothèque
2.13. ‘Barricade in the rue St. Martin’, Illustrated London News (4
March 1848). [Reproduced by kind permission of the Syndics
of Cambridge University Library NPR.C.313].
2.14. ‘Barricade in der Rue St. Martin in Paris am 23 Februar’,
Illustrirte Zeitung (11 März 1848): 177. [© Bibliothèque
2.15. ‘Death of Archbishop of Paris’, Illustrated London News (8 July
1848). [Reproduced by kind permission of the Syndics of
Cambridge University Library NPR.C.313].
2.16. ‘Tod des Erzbischofs von Paris’, Illustrirte Zeitung (8 Juli 1848).
[© Bibliothèque nationale de France].
2.17. ‘The Great Sea Serpent of 1848’, Punch, or the London
Charivari 15 (4 November 1848): 193. [Reproduced by kind
T992.b.1.8].
2.18. ‘Apparition du serpent de mer’, Le Charivari (23 décembre
1848), n.p. [© Bibliothèque nationale de France].
2.19. ‘Die Große Seeschlange von 1848’, Illustrirte Zeitung (30
Dezember 1848): 436. [© Bibliothèque nationale de France].
2.20. ‘Newsvendor on the Boulevards’, Illustrated London News (1
April 1848): 211. [Reproduced by kind permission of the
Syndics of Cambridge University Library NPR.C.313].
2.21. ‘Le marchand des Journaux ambulant’, L’Illustration (10 juin
1848): 229. [© Bibliothèque nationale de France].
2.22. ‘Les grandes industries du jour, scènes de moeurs par
Andrieux: ‘Les Crieurs de journaux. – La onzième edition de la
Presse; tirage de l’après-midi’, L’Illustration (1 avril 1848): 68.
[© Bibliothèque nationale de France].
2.23. ‘Das Reichsministerium’, Illustrirte Zeitung (16 Dezember
2.24. ‘Vue intérieure de la salle de l’Assemblé nationale’,
L’Illustration (13 mai 1848): 169. [© Bibliothèque nationale de
France].
2.25. ‘The French Provisional Government: Louis Blanc, President of
the Operatives’ Commission; Garnier Pages, Minister of
Finance; Armand Marrast, Mayor of Paris’, Illustrated London
News (18 March 1848): 181–2. [Reproduced by kind
NPR.C.313].
2.26. ‘Portraits of the French Deputies’, Punch, or the London
Charivari xiv (13 May 1848): 203. [Reproduced by kind
T992.b.1.7].
2.27. ‘Interior of a Chamber – a family of insurgents protecting a
barricade in the Rue St Antoine’, Illustrated London News (1
July 1848): 418. [Reproduced by kind permission of the
Syndics of Cambridge University Library NPR.C.313].
2.28. ‘Inneres einer Abeiterstube bei Bertherdigung einer Barricade
in der Rue de Faubourg St. Antoine zu Paris am 23 Juni’.
[‘Inside of a workers’ room while a barricade is being built in
the Rue de Faubourg St. Antoine in Paris on June 23’]
Illustrirte Zeitung (8 Juli 1848). [© Bibliothèque nationale de
France].
2.29. ‘Ruines de la maison rue du faubourg Saint-Antoine, no.29’,
L’Illustration (1–8 juillet 1848): 280. [© Bibliothèque nationale
de France].
2.30. ‘There is no place like home’. Double-page spread. Punch, or
the London Charivari (20 January 1849): 28–9. [Reproduced
by kind permission of the Syndics of Cambridge University
Library T992.b.1.8].
2.31. ‘Où peut-on être mieux qu’au sein de sa Famille’, L’Illustration
(10 février 1849): 373. [© Bibliothèque nationale de France].
2.32. ‘Horloge indiquant les heures dans les principals villes du
globe par rapport au méridien de Paris’, L’Illustration (14
octobre 1848): 112. [© Bibliothèque nationale de France].
2.33. ‘Die Straßburger-Münsteruhr’, Illustrirte Zeitung (30 Dezember
2.34. Télégraphe electro-magnétique du professeur Morse’,
L’Illustration (26 juin 1847): 260. [© Bibliothèque nationale de
France].
2.35. Detail of the masthead of Il Mondo Illustrato (1847). [©
3.1. Draner [Jules Renard], Robert Macaire. Ambigu, 1823 & 1880
(Frédéric Lemaître)’. This image, made after the actor’s death
in 1876, commemorates Lemaître in his most famous role at
the Théâtre de l’Ambigu. [© Bibliothèque nationale de
France].
3.2. Honoré Daumier, ‘Caricaturana’ or ‘Robert Macaire’, Le
Charivari (20 août 1836): n.p. This was the first of a series of
a hundred cartoons published in Charles Philipon’s daily paper
between 20 August 1836 and 25 November 1838. [©
3.3. Henry Valentin, ‘Theatre de Porte-Saint-Martin. - Le Chiffonier
de Paris, 1er tableau du 2e acte. - Frédérick Lemaître: le père
Jean dans son bouge.’ (1847). [© Bibliothèque nationale de
France].
3.4. Honoré Daumier, ‘Le Chiffonier Philosophe. “Fume, fanfan,
fume…n’y a qu’ la pipe distingue…” (Tout Ce Qu’on Voudra)’ Le
Charivari (28 novembre 1847). [© Bibliothèque nationale de
France].
3.5. ‘Le Chiffon deviendra Papier’ from ‘Une planche
encyclopédique’, publiée avec texte par Le Journal de Mères et
des Enfants à Paris (1850) (‘Rags will become Paper’ from an
educational poster showing the process of paper-making). [©
3.6. ‘The Effects of Our Own Revolution’, Punch, or the London
Charivari (25 March 1848): 130. [Reproduced by kind
T992.b.1.7].
3.7. [Anon.] ‘Dips into the Diary of Barrabas Bolt, Esq.’, Man in the
Moon 3:17 (1848): 243. G.W.M. Reynolds is shown here
fraternizing with a French socialist who resembles caricatures
of the extreme French radical republican Louis Auguste
Blanqui. [Reproduced by kind permission of the Syndics of
Cambridge University Library T900.e.6.3].
3.8. Ackermann’s Print of Benjamin Haydon, ‘Waiting for The Times
(after an adjourned debate)’ (1831). [© The Trustees of the
British Museum].
3.9. Charles Joseph Traviès de Villers, ‘Caricatures du jour: la
lecture des Mystères de Paris: “Après vous, monsieur, s’il vous
plait!” ’ Le Charivari (7 novembre 1842): n.p. [© Bibliothèque
3.10. ‘Literature at a Stand’, Punch, or the London Charivari (13
March 1847): 113. [Reproduced by kind permission of the
Syndics of Cambridge University Library T992.b.1.6].
3.11. Map of Castelcicala, G.W.M. Reynolds, The Mysteries of
London (II, CLXXIV). [Reproduced by kind permission of the
Syndics of Cambridge University Library 8700.b.161].
5.1. Arthur Clough’s Rome Notebook, 1846–48. [Reproduced with
the kind permission of Balliol College Oxford archives].
8.1. Giorgio Mignati, ‘Salon at Casa Guidi’ (1861), watercolour.
[Special Collections, F.W. Olin Library, Mills College].
8.2. ‘Quelli che leggono i giornali con comodo. Attualità Caricature
di Japhet’ [Those who read the newspapers in comfort], Il
Mondo Illustrato (18 dicembre 1847): 809. [© Bibliothèque
8.3. ‘Il Débats messo al Pileri, al caffè dell’Ussaro a Pisa. Attualità
Caricature di Japhet’ [The Débats newspaper put in the pillory,
at the caffè dell’Ussaro in Pisa], Il Mondo Illustrato (18
dicembre 1847): 809. The caffè dell’Ussaro was a meeting
place in Pisa for intellectuals and supporters of the Italian
national cause. [© Bibliothèque nationale de France].
8.4. Tiny sketch by Elizabeth Barrett Browning of Piazza San Felice
during the September procession on the first page of a letter
to her sisters Arabella and Henrietta Moulton-Barrett
(Florence, 13 September 1847) The Brownings’
Correspondence 14, p. 307. The editors explain the locations
in the sketch. In the centre, above the crowd: ‘Piazza San
Felice alive & filled with people’; to the right: ‘viva P. IX’; to
the left: ‘The procession ending up at Piazza Pitti’; vertical in
left margin: ‘our palazzo’ [i.e. Casa Guidi]; above in left
margin: ‘via maggio’; top margin: ‘Palace of the Pitti—
surrounded by balconies of stone, most of them thronged’;
below (starting at ‘balconies’): ‘Foreign ladies being admitted
to the top of the great tower’. [Image courtesy of The
Camellia Collections].
8.5. ‘Dove si dovrebbero mandare. Attualità Caricature di Japhet’
[Where they should be sent], Il Mondo Illustrato (18 dicembre
9.1. ‘The death of Anita Garibaldi at Guiccioli Farm in Mandriole,
near Ravenna, Italy’, The Heroic Life & Career of Garibaldi. A
panel from a moving panorama exhibited in Britain in 1861.
[Anne S.K. Brown Military Collection, Brown University
Library].
9.2. Odoardo Borrani, Il 26 aprile 1859 in Firenze (1861). [Alinari
Archives, Florence].
9.3. Odoardo Borrani, Le cucitrici di camicie rosse (1863). [Alinari
Archives, Florence].
9.4. Silvestro Lega, Canto di uno stornello (1867). [Alinari Archives,
Florence].
9.5. Odoardo Borrani, L’analfabeta (1869). [Alinari Archives,
Florence].
10.1. Giulio Romano, Frescoed Chamber of Giants: Side Wall,
Palazzo Tè, Mantua (1532–35). [Alinari Archives, Florence].
10.2. Giovanni Battista Castello detto il Bergamasco, La caduta di
Fetonte (1560), Villa di Tobia Pallavicino detta delle Peschiere,
Genova, Italy. [Photograph credit: Carlo Dell’Orto].
10.3. Richard Doyle, ‘Trotty Veck among the Bells’ (1844) Full-page
wood engraving for The Chimes: Third Quarter. [© Bodleian
Libraries, Oxford].
10.4. Richard Doyle, ‘Margaret and her Child’ (1844) Full-page wood
engraving for The Chimes: Fourth Quarter. [© Bodleian
Libraries, Oxford].
10.5. Daniel Maclise, ‘The Tower of the Chimes’ (1844) Full-page
wood engraving for The Chimes. [© Bodleian Library, Oxford].
10.6. Antonio da Correggio, Assunzione della Vergine [The
Assumption of the Virgin] (c.1522–1530) Fresco decorating
the dome of the Cathedral of Parma, Italy. [Alinari Archives,
Florence].
List of Abbreviations
AHC Arthur Hugh Clough

AHC Corr. The Correspondence of Arthur Hugh
Clough, ed. Frederick L. Mulhauser,
2 vols (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1957)
AHC Remains The Poems and Prose Remains of
Arthur Hugh Clough: with a
selection from his letters and a
memoir, edited by his wife [Blanche
Clough] (London: Macmillan & Co.,
1888)
CD Letters 3 The Letters of Charles Dickens, vol.
3: 1843–1847, ed. Madeline House,
Graham Storey, and Kathleen
Tillotson (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1974)
CD Letters 4 The Letters of Charles Dickens, vol.
4: 1844–1846, ed. Kathleen
Tillotson, pp. 645–7, p. 646
(hereafter)
EBB Elizabeth Barrett Browning
EBB Letters The Letters of Elizabeth Barrett
Browning, ed. Frederic G. Kenyon
(London: Smith, Elder, & Co., 1897)
vol. 1
EBB/RB Recollections Martin Garrett (ed.), Elizabeth
Barrett Browning and Robert
Browning: Interviews and
Recollections (Basingstoke:
Macmillan Press, 2000)
FD Life and Writings 1 Philip S. Foner (ed.), The Life and
Writings of Frederick Douglass, vol.
1: Early Years, 1817–1849 (New
York: International Publishers, 1950)
FDP1 The Frederick Douglass Papers
1841–1846, ed. John W.
Blassingame et al., Series One, vol.
1
FD Speeches and Writings Frederick Douglass, Selected
Speeches and Writings, ed. Philip S.
Foner, abridged and adapted by
Yival Taylor (Chicago: Lawrence Hill,
1999)
ILN Illustrated London News
JPH James Pope-Hennessy, Monckton
Milnes: The Years of Promise, 1809–
1851 (London: Constable, 1949)
Later Lectures Ronald A. Bosco and Joel Myerson
(eds), The Later Lectures of Ralph
Waldo Emerson 1843–1871, 2 vols
(Athens, GA: University of Georgia
Press, 2010)
MF Margaret Fuller
MF Letters 5 Robert N. Hudspeth (ed.), The
Letters of Margaret Fuller, vol. 5:
1848–1849 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell
University Press, 1988)
RWE Ralph Waldo Emerson
RWE JMN 10 The Journals and Miscellaneous
Notebooks of Ralph Waldo Emerson,
vol. 10: 1847–1848, ed. Merton M.
Sealts, Jr. (Cambridge, MA: Belknap
Press, 1973)
RWE Letters 3 The Letters of Ralph Waldo
Emerson, vol. 3, ed. Ralph L. Rusk
(New York: Columbia University
Press, 1939)
RWE Letters 4 The Letters of Ralph Waldo
Emerson, vol. 4, ed. Ralph L. Rusk
(New York: Columbia University
Press, 1939)
Sad but Glorious Margaret Fuller, ‘These Sad but
Glorious Days’: Dispatches from
Europe, 1846–1850, ed. Larry J.
Reynolds and Susan Belasco Smith
(New Haven, CT: Yale University
Press, 1991)
Stanley 1 Rowland E. Prothero (ed.), The Life
and Correspondence of Arthur
Penrhyn Stanley D.D., Late Dean of
Westminster, vol. 1 (London: John
Murray, 1893)
WEF T. Wemyss Reid, Life of the Right
Honourable William Edward Forster,
vol. 1 (London: Chapman & Hall,
1888)
Introduction
Why 1848 Matters
Stuttering, scattered, and various in their outcomes, a series of

revolutions erupted in the mid to late 1840s which spanned from the
Atlantic to Ukraine, from the Baltic to the Mediterranean, reaching
Peru, Brazil, and Chile, catapulting millions of people across the
European continent into political life and breaking Europe open once
again in ways unseen since the Napoleonic period. By 1851 most of
these revolutions had ‘failed’. Karl Marx announced in ‘The
Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte’ that ‘[f]rom 1848 to 1851
only the ghost of the old revolution wandered about…an entire
people, which had imagined that by means of a revolution it had
imparted to itself an accelerated power of motion, suddenly finds
itself set back into a defunct epoch’.1 Since then the profound and
lasting effects of 1848 on the international construction of modern
political and aesthetic sensibilities have remained
underacknowledged. Rather than just a brief period of international
volatility and rebellion which collapsed, failed, and capitulated to the
reactionary forces of the counter-revolution, 1848 was a game-
changer. The problem was that nobody was quite sure what the
game had changed into.
My three-book series sets out a new historiography of the
nineteenth century by focusing on and establishing the centrality of
the increasing purchase of serial practices. The ‘novel’ in this period,
for example, is not a closed volume, but a series of time-released
parts; the ‘newspaper’ is not a regular daily event, but a variety of
much messier unevenly distributed serial forms; and ‘politics’ is not
an elite conversation, but a fast-evolving popular understanding of
constitutional formats and possibilities.2 Seriality offered a century
that was already on the move a way of modelling movement. The
form of the serial moves onwards through calendar time: by its
dynamic forward trajectory, it seems to unspool into the empty
future. Indeed, I argue that it is actively constructing that very
model of a future in a way that echoes Walter Benjamin’s famous
description of the ‘homogeneous, empty time’ of modernity.3 In my
argument, the nineteenth-century serial is not just a literary
category, but a political, historical, and social one. In a series, each
linked element has something in common with every other element
of a series, but this does not mean they are identical: the series is a
format which allows for growth and development across time and
space. Therefore, the series can achieve commonality without
erasing difference.4 Time-released, it is a flexible and usefully
unstable form that can respond quickly to a changing social
situation. My work starts with print and shows how the gathering
strength of the rhythm of serial print in the first half of the
nineteenth century created a new sense of shared social time and
inaugurated a new politics of seriality too: a politics of connections,
of development, and of international equivalence.
Using seriality to think about history allows us to see how by the
mid-nineteenth century ideas about progressive historical time are
interacting with a live new universalism, and an international sense
of commonality. Historians have used contagion or circulation to
think about the transnational spread of political ideas but such
models obscure historical agency and possibility. Seriality, by
contrast, can reorientate our historical understanding and allow us to
see the things that the traditional historiography has missed. In
1848 the serial conversation was not about ‘nation’, ‘class’, or
‘industrial labour’: it was about raggedness, constitutional
democracy, and the city-polis. In Serial Revolutions I track a self-
conscious pan-European seriality which helps us to rethink the
historiography of 1848. This seriality generated tropes and forms at
the time which have been ignored by subsequent historians, who are
often evaluating 1848 with the benefit of hindsight or with a kind of
catastrophic presentism, which perhaps amount to the same thing.
Thinking with seriality helps us to reopen the live debate of 1848.
Seriality, then, can help us to model the 1848 revolutions much more
flexibly than can such monolithic categories as ‘nation’, ‘class’, or
‘religion’: viewed through the model of seriality these events
manifest as a series of responses to a similar pressure from very
different places and political contexts. This helps to reconfigure the
1848 revolutions not as identical copies emanating eastwards from
Paris, but rather as distributed parallel responses to similar (but not
identical) provocations and forms of oppression.5 And as they roll
across Europe, the self-conscious sense of their own seriality
increases, until they become popularly understood as ‘a series’.
Serial forms emerged to meet the serial revolutions. Historian of
comic strips Andreas Platthaus has noted that one of the earliest
‘serialized’ printed news images in Germany appeared in 1848. A
news sheet produced in Meissen, Saxony represented the Berlin
revolution through a formal sequence of framed vignettes6 [see Fig.
0.1].
Fig. 0.1 Julius Steinmetz, ‘Berlin am 18. und 19. März 1848’
(Meißen, 1848) [Berlin 18–19, March 1848].
[Credit: bpk/Deutsches Historisches Museum, Berlin].
In Serial Forms: The Unfinished Project of Modernity 1815–1848

(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020), I focused on Britain, and
primarily on London, arguing that a daily news culture developed
alongside an emergent popular culture of historicism. The rapid
expansion of print in London after the Napoleonic Wars meant that
the historical past and the contemporary moment were emerging
into public visibility through serial newsprint, illustrations,
performances, shows, and new forms of mediation. As a prequel to
the extraordinary revolutionary event-sequence of 1848–9, Serial
Forms argues that the rhythms of seriality in the early nineteenth
century did not create political subjects out of people overnight, but
that they did crucially start to create the feeling of being part of a
daily politics for more and more British people. Serial Revolutions
traces the onward development of this new understanding of
seriality. This means that seriality is both the subject of the book and
its method. Using seriality as a form to think with, I reinterpret the
world of 1848 and show how the distributive function of the serial
worked to transmit ideas and identities across a Europe which was
already being recalibrated and reconstructed into a newly imagined
space by a shared historicism.
In early nineteenth-century Britain, under a brutal counter-
revolutionary regime of censorship, people were hungry for novelty.
Novelty brought with it new forms of knowledge and at least some
pieces of the apparatus of citizenship. Understanding nineteenth-
century historicism as a series of material practices, and not as a
purely ‘intellectual history’, means that we can investigate what
equipment was newly put within people’s grasp, sometimes quite
literally, and how they chose to use it. What is vital for Serial
Revolutions is how these linkages coalesced through the 1830s and
1840s into new forms of collectivity. John Stuart Mill observed in
1848 that in England the working classes would no longer accept a
‘patriarchal or paternal system of government’ and had irrevocably
‘taken their interests into their own hands’ once ‘they were taught to
read, and allowed access to newspapers and political tracts’, brought
‘together in numbers to work socially under the same roof’, and
enabled by railways to ‘shift from place to place’.7 As Serial
Revolutions will show, all of these factors were important in the
transnational spread of the revolutionary enthusiasm of 1848:
literacy, the press, visual technologies, organized labour, social
collectivity and mobility. It was only when Europe began to read
about itself, to imagine itself, and to see itself represented, that its
nationalisms became possible. Serial Revolutions will argue that the
revolutions of 1848, far from being the failure that Marx claimed
them to be, were the powerful response to a remarkable cross-class
diagnosis of the political failure of governments across Europe.
In its ‘Retrospect of 1848’ the Illustrated London News somewhat
smugly reflected that ‘[i]t is obvious to all that the revolutions and
commotions of 1848 are not things of to-day merely, but that they
took their rise in times far remote…These commotions date, in fact,
from the invention of printing. That invention emancipated the mind
of humanity.’8 But in reality, since the French Revolution of 1789,
ferocious censorship laws across the whole of Europe had been
deliberately hampering this emancipation. Under the Hapsburg
Empire in Austria and Italy the censorship regulation of 14
September 1810 was enforced by a special department for Police,
Censorship and the Press, answerable directly to the Austrian
Foreign Minister Klemens von Metternich. King Ferdinand II of the
Kingdom of Naples and Sicily was draconian in controlling
information. The French Press Law of 1814, the Danish Law of Press
Freedom of 1799, the Karlsbad Decisions of 1819 in Germany, and
the Six Acts of 1819 in Britain: all acted together to ensure that it
was exceedingly hard for ordinary working people in Europe to
follow the news and join in political debates. All the more
extraordinary, then, that these revolutions, which were to be the
‘most dramatic, rapid, and far-reaching spread of regime contention
in history’ happened at a time ‘when networks of communication
and transportation were underdeveloped’.9 Serial Revolutions
suggests that it was a new imagination of social seriality
promulgated by serialized texts that created the European and global
synchronization of the events of 1848.
What Actually Happened?

There were warning tremors well before the full eruption in 1848. In
1846, the Cracow revolt by the Polish Democratic Society against
Austrian rule had been put down so violently and effectively that
there would be no hope of a revolution in 1848, but even so the
revolt provided inspiration to others, including Marx and Engels.
Similarly, the Chartist movement in 1840s England was brutally
repressed by the British secret police and prevented from organizing
mass protests that might have led to revolution. After the
‘Sonderbund War’ of 1846 and 1847, delegates of the Swiss cantons
drafted a new national constitution which was finalized on 12
September 1848 and made Switzerland a federal state. This
represented a victory for the cantons run by socially minded
Protestants over the more authoritarian Catholic-run cantons.
Charles Dickens, who arrived in Geneva in autumn 1846, was deeply
impressed, writing, ‘I believe there is no country on earth but
Switzerland in which a violent change could have been effected…in
the same proud, independent, gallant style.’10 Meanwhile, calls for
reform and national unification were getting louder and louder in the
German-speaking states; the Hungarian opposition had overthrown
the parliament in elections; and there was a series of protests and
riots in Lombardy.11
The year 1848 started as it meant to go on: on 12 January 1848,
the people of Palermo and Messina in Sicily rose in a full-scale revolt
against Ferdinand II, Bourbon king of Naples and Sicily. Ferdinand II
had come to the throne in 1830, the same year as Louis Philippe in
France, and had developed a regime of harsh repression and police
surveillance. Tension was growing across Europe. That January,
American journalist, Margaret Fuller, wrote from Rome that ‘[e]very
day the cloud swells, and the next fortnight is likely to bring
important tidings.’12 In February the storm-cloud began to break
when a rattled Ferdinand granted Naples and Sicily a popular
constitution and the people established a new provisional
government. Other towns in Sicily followed and riots broke out on
the mainland in Naples and in Austria as Metternich threatened to
intervene on the part of the Bourbon king.
1848 has long offered a specifically scalar challenge to historians.
That spring, more than fifty revolutions broke out across Europe
within a period of a few months. They ignited through the cities and
towns of Austria, Prussia, Italy, and the German states with further
uprisings in Spain, Ireland, Denmark, and Romania. The French
1848 revolution began on 22 February, with a demonstration
organized by the radical press in Paris. A huge phalanx of
unemployed and poor people, many of them women, along with
hundreds of students, marched through the streets in heavy rain
loudly singing the ‘Marseillaise’. From 22 to 24 February the
barricades went up in Paris, King Louis Philippe escaped to England,
and the poet Alphonse de Lamartine was declared leader of the
Provisional Government. That February, too, the citizens of Rome
began to organize a revolt. and by November a full-scale popular
revolution had led to the flight of Pope Pius IX and the establishment
of the second Roman Republic. On 13 March, Metternich was forced
to resign as Austrian Chancellor and also fled to England. Two days
later, on the morning of 15 March 1848, Hungarian lawyer and
celebrity-revolutionary Lajos Kossuth started a revolution in the
Pilvax coffee palace in Pest. Revolutionaries marched peacefully
around the city declaring an end to all forms of censorship. Then
they marched directly to the print shops and printed the poet Sándor
Petőfi’s banned nationalist poem together with their constitutional
demands. On 18 March in Milan, a street brawl between Austrian
soldiers and local civilians escalated into the cinque giornate, a
furious five-day battle which temporarily expelled the Austrians from
the whole of north-eastern Italy. And on the same day, 18 March,
the chain of revolutions which had been spreading northward from
Munich to Frankfurt, Nassau, Cologne, and Solingen finally reached
Berlin. After eight hours of street-fighting, King Frederick William IV
of Prussia withdrew his troops from the city and agreed to the
election of a constituent assembly. Four days later, on 22 March
1848, the city of Venice proclaimed the rebirth of the ‘Venetian
Republic’ and established a provisional government with Daniele
Manin, freed from prison by the revolutionaries, as its President.
Large crowds of Venetians gathered in front of the American
Consulate shouting ‘Long live the United States! Long live our sister
republic!’ In London, the Chartist ‘monster’ demonstration of 10 April
was overrun with special constables and dampened by pouring rain.
In truth, the Chartist Movement had already been eviscerated and
many of its leaders and members had been imprisoned or
transported during the 1840s.13
In 1848 American poet Walt Whitman was working in New
Orleans where there were large French and German populations in
exile from despotic regimes. Whitman was the editor of a
newspaper, the Crescent. ‘One’s blood rushes and grows hot within
him’, he wrote in the paper on 31 March, ‘the more he learns or
thinks of this news from the continent of Europe! Is it not glorious?
This time, the advent of Human Rights, though amid unavoidable
agitation, is also amid comparative peace.’14 Violent revolutionary
agitation was ramping up though. When the dissolution of the
National Workshops in Paris was announced on 22 June, workers
took to the barricades to defend the right to labour and the
notorious and bloody June Days (22 to 26 June 1848) followed as
the fragile alliances between the socialists and the liberals collapsed
and divisions appeared between Paris and the taxpayers of the rest
of France.15 In Vienna on 6 October 1848, troops of the Austrian
Empire were preparing to leave the city to suppress the Hungarian
revolution when crowds sympathetic to the Hungarian cause rioted
and attacked the soldiers, and the Austrian Minister of War was
lynched by the crowd. Vienna’s October Days resembled the June
Days in Paris in the severity of punishments meted out to protestors.
On 26 October, Austrian and Croatian troops retook the city and the
leaders of the insurgency, many of them writers and journalists,
were executed. Meanwhile, Russian troops were called in to help put
down the Hungarian revolution, and writers and artists were
targeted and killed there too. In Russia, Czar Nicholas prevented
revolution from starting by extreme and violent repression, ordering,
for example, the torture and imprisonment of the writer Dostoyevski
and others in the Petraskevski circle who had been inspired by the
French Revolution.
After the Paris June Days, 4,000 insurgents were deported to
Algeria, which had been a French colony since 1830.16 England also
used its colonial possessions to dispose of revolutionary elements.
And not only did the imperial and monarchical powers of Europe use
their colonies as a punitive dumping ground, they also brought
repressive military practices from the colonies to the cities of Europe
to use in counter-insurgency operations.17 It was a two-way traffic,
as surveillance methods designed to keep track of radicals in the
capitals of Europe were subsequently adapted and exported to
control and coerce colonial peoples. One colonial strategy of control
was to set a country against itself, so the Austro-Hungarian imperial
command encouraged the Croats against the Magyars in Hungary
and the Czechs against the Germans in Prague; and England stoked
the resentments between the nationalists and unionists in Ireland.18
A Young Irelander uprising (sometimes called the ‘Famine Rebellion’)
in County Tipperary on 29 July 1848 was put down, after some bitter
fighting, by the British-controlled Royal Irish Constabulary.
Resistance was occasionally successful. Abolitionist Victor Schoelcher,
who had just returned from a French posting in Haiti, headed a
commission for the French Provisional Government of 1848.
Schoelcher reported a ‘trickledown’ effect of revolutionary ideas in
Haiti: ‘[t]he slaves, despite the profound degradation into which they
had been plunged, could not long remain strangers to the
movements that were happening above their heads. The colonists
spoke of independence, the petits blancs of equality, the mulattos of
political rights, the negroes in their turn talked of liberty.’19 In fact,
the slaves had already worked it out for themselves, and when the
Emancipation Decree of 27 April arrived in the Caribbean on 3 June,
the enslaved Haitians, through a series of ‘revolts’ or revolutions,
had already established their own freedom.20
Colonies were milked for resources and capital to mitigate the
economic disaster of the 1840s in Europe, as Miles Taylor has
demonstrated for the British case.21 The British Government had
been squeezing all its colonies hard in the 1840s and consequently
there were rebellions in Ceylon, the Ionian Islands, British India, and
the West Indies. Barricades were erected in Montreal and the
Canadian Parliament building was burnt down. In Cape Colony and
Australia there were anti-transportation societies protesting about
their use as dumping grounds for radicals and criminals. There were
fifty-eight deaths during one protest in Cape Colony.22 The events of
1848 were also felt in Chile and Brazil. In Brazil, the Praiera revolt
(1848–52) was an attempt by liberals to oust conservatives from
power. It was eventually defeated by government forces. Also
inspired by European events was the Young Argentina movement,
and movements in Columbia, Peru, and Bolivia. The Chilean
revolution commenced on 20 April 1851, again inspired by France,
but by the end of the year it had been brutally put down by the
conservative government.
1848, then, was not so much a ‘European Revolution’ as a global
event. Or, more accurately, a global series of events.23 In 1849, the
Brazilian Insurgents issued a ‘Manifesto to the World’ which
demanded universal voting rights, the freedom of the press,
guaranteed work for Brazilian citizens, and the establishment of a
federalist government.24 Both within Europe and outside Europe, the
demands of 1848 were remarkably similar: they were the demands
of colonized and oppressed people everywhere. As if in one voice,
they all asked for political representation, civil liberties, self-
determination, self-governance, work, and freedom of information.
The 1848 revolutions, jeered at by Marx as a failure, did deliver
constitutions to most countries in Europe and by 1870 Germany and
Italy were both united and independent.25 (Ireland, however, did not
achieve this until 1921, and even then, the country was partitioned.)
With the exception of Russia, the feudal system was swept away in
Europe after 1848 and counter-revolutionary governments were
forced to deliver social reforms if they were to hold on to power. The
balance had shifted and the social contract was under revision. It is
true that the December 1848 parliamentary elections in France
severely damaged radical republicanism, but they boosted some new
forms of socialism, such as Marxism, non-Marxist communism, and
militant anarcho-socialism as well as the libertarian socialism of
Charles Fourier.
Exiled radicals continued to build international alliances and
associations in the wake of 1848. After the 1830 revolution in
France, Giuseppe Mazzini had sought shelter in London, where he
planned the next stage of his Italian nationalist campaign.26
American thinker Ralph Waldo Emerson, on his European travels,
noticed the self-sufficiency of the German community in Whitechapel
and the French in Spitalfields.27 London hosted large communities of
exiles and also migrant communities of workers, such as young
German workmen on their apprenticeship tours. ‘Why’, The Times
asked, ‘are they here?’ Lady Charlotte Guest thought that the answer
was clear: these foreigners were here ‘to promote anarchy’.28 But on
the whole, the exiles educated their hosts about the horrors of
European tyrannies and fundraised peaceably for their nationalist
campaigns. The 1848 revolutions in their turn created wave after
wave of exiles to London and Paris, some of whom then travelled
onwards to America. A flurry of republican nationalist publishing
started up in New York City, and links developed there between
Giovane Italia, Joven Cuba, and Young America.29 After the putting
down of the Young Irelander Famine Rebellion of July 1848 the
organizers, James Stephens and John O’Mahony, escaped to Paris
where they supported themselves by teaching. In 1856, O’Mahony
left Paris for America where he founded the Fenian Brotherhood in
1858, the same year in which Stephens, who had returned to
Ireland, founded the Irish counterpart of the American Fenians, the
Irish Republican Brotherhood. The ongoing effects of 1848 would be
felt long into the twentieth century and beyond.
These are the bare facts, or some of them.30 They offer some
valuable clues as to what was at stake in this extraordinary year.
Walt Whitman’s use in 1848 of the term ‘human rights’ is important.
More than anything, 1848 was about what it meant to be human,
and, as a direct result, 1848 was a much more important moment
for the global politics of race than has been generally recognized.
The spectacle of the poor and unemployed, the misery and poverty
and neglect of the people in every city in Europe, forced the social
into political visibility in an unprecedented way through a newly
pervasive media. The means of this visibility was important. A free
press and the end of censorship was high up on every
revolutionary’s agenda.
What Did It All Mean? The Historiography of
1848
Historians still do not agree about the significance of the 1848
revolutions. There is a general feeling that they must have been
important. Sir Lewis Namier wrote in 1946 that the revolution of
1848 ‘was super-national as none before or after; it ran through, and
enveloped, the core of Europe’.31 Eugene Kamenka agreed that ‘[i]t
was in 1848, rather than in 1789 or in 1917, that revolutions spread
like wildfire and with remarkable family resemblance in trends and
response throughout the whole of Europe’.32 These revolutions, or,
perhaps more accurately, this serial revolution, had extended much
further than the local or national revolutionary events which had
preceded it, and reached well beyond Europe. Eric Hobsbawm wrote
in 1962 that ‘[t]here has never been anything closer to the world-
revolution’ than 1848.33 Despite an influential Essex Conference on
the Sociology of Literature on the subject of 1848 which took place
in July 1977, literary studies has never organized itself around this
‘hot year’ in history.34 The results and consequences of this
remarkable serial conflagration of 1848 have even now not been
fully examined.
There are complex reasons for this. One is, of course, Marxism.
Marx and Engels published The Manifesto of the Communist Party in
February 1848, but it was not taken up as a manual by the
revolutionaries of that year.35 The Manifesto was only to become the
go-to text for revolutionaries during the Paris Commune of 1871,
and then for the Russian Revolution of 1917 and beyond, after both
its authors were dead. Marx was in Paris in 1848 for five weeks,
arriving on 4 March, and he managed even in this short time to set
up a revolutionary club for German workers and to speak at others
of the Parisian clubs.36 Paul Lafargue later remembered that ‘Engels
told me that it was in Paris in 1848, at the Café de la Régence (one
of the earliest centers of the Revolution of 1789) that Marx first laid
out for him the economic determinism of his materialist theory of
history’.37 But Marx’s ideas had not yet coalesced into the ‘‑ism’ they
were later so powerfully to become. While ‘Marxism’ was not a
motive force during the events of 1848, it was to have a lasting and
profound effect on the twentieth-century historiography of 1848.
After acknowledging the remarkable reach of the revolutionary
moment of 1848, Eugene Kamenka is typical in concluding that the
revolution ‘proved, within one year, to be a momentous failure’.38
Axel Körner, writing in 2000, agreed that ‘the revolution is almost
always described as a failure’, pointing out that even such different
political commentators as de Tocqueville and Marx had agreed on
this at the time.39 That 1848 was a failure remained the consensus
view throughout the twentieth century, and to some extent it still
persists. In 1984, Paul de Man, cogitating on revolution, reminded us
that ‘[t]he future is present in history only as the remembering of a
failed project that has become a menace’.40 In 1994, Jonathan
Sperber neatly summed up the three available historiographies of
1848. The first was the ‘romantic idea’, the gestural performance of
revolution with no political traction: this is the version that belongs
to the hero-revolutionaries such as the Hungarian Kossuth or the
Venetian Daniele Manin. The second, following Marx in ‘The
Eighteenth Brumaire’, is ‘the farce’, in which the revolutionaries are
all professors, dilettantes, and pedants. Sperber tells the story of the
French poet-revolutionary drinking in a café who sees through the
window a crowd of workers go by and springs up and cries: ‘ “I am
their leader; I must follow them!” ’41 And the third version of 1848,
which Sperber says is the most pervasive interpretation of all, is ‘the
failure’ which rests on the evidence that ‘after a shorter or longer—
and usually shorter—interval, the authorities overthrown at the onset
of the revolution returned to power’.42 Nothing happened, and the
revolutions achieved nothing. A. J. P. Taylor’s famous judgement that
in 1848 ‘German history reached its turning point and failed to turn’
still has currency today.43
All history is, of course, the history of the present. Taylor claimed
that in Germany, ‘[t]he success of the revolution discredited
conservative ideas, the failure of the revolution discredited liberal
ideas. After it, nothing remained but the idea of Force.’44 But he was
writing in the post-war devastation of 1945, with Europe lying in
ruins about him. In 1952, Priscilla Robertson wrote that ‘[t]oday
millions of classless, stateless people crowd the continent in hatred
and despair—and in a way they are the end product of the futility
and ruthlessness of the 1848 revolutions’.45 Bitterness about the
fruits of nationalism is understandable, but to blame the
revolutionaries of 1848 for the growth of totalitarianism is surely
unfair, and suggests much too straight a path from Romantic
nationalism, through popular politics, to Nazi and fascist ideologies.
Instead, it might be closer to the truth that the so-called ‘failure’ of
the revolutions in 1848 helped to create both liberalism and
socialism, albeit by complex and indirect means, setting radicals
against the bourgeoisie and decoupling them from their formerly
united struggle against aristocratic absolutism. It was certainly not
true that the authorities who were returned to power were identical
to those who had been ousted at the start of the revolution, and
Marx was wrong to describe the ‘restoration’ as ‘a return to a dead
epoch’. Although his disappointment at the failure of the social
revolution is understandable, a new kind of politics was genuinely to
emerge in the wake of 1848. Marxist readings, powerful though they
have been in both diagnosing and constructing class consciousness
for several generations, have nevertheless continued to distort a full
understanding of this important mid-century moment. Other, quieter
voices have been drowned out, voices that suggested that the real
gain of 1848 was exactly that liberalism excoriated by Marx in ‘The
Eighteenth Brumaire’.46 And even after the apparent collapse of the
revolution, these same revolutionary liberals continued to exert
enormous influence over constitution-making both in the German
States and elsewhere. In many cases, the very same men who had
taken part in revolutionary activities became members of the post-
revolutionary administrations. Marx understood the revolutions of
1848 as being closely connected, but the idea that only the socialist
tradition kept the internationalism of the revolutions alive is not the
whole truth.47 One thing 1848 did undoubtedly deliver was an
internationally minded polylingual technocracy of educated
professionals and administrators across Europe, for good or for bad.
Serial Revolutions is not attempting to ‘recuperate’ liberalism, but it
challenges the traditional historiography which describes the
revolutions of 1848 as a series of failures that were barely registered
in Britain and were rapidly extinguished by a counter-revolution
abroad. Instead, it argues that the changing cultural conditions
which produced the revolutions also enabled forms of
internationalism and a ‘serial’ model of citizenship to embed
themselves in British, Continental European, and American culture
after 1848. For radical American democrat Walt Whitman, writing in
Leaves of Grass (1855), 1848 was a seminal and generative event
that would continue to change the landscape long into the future:
Not a grave of the murdered for freedom, but grows seed for freedom
… . in its turn to bear seed,
Which the winds carry afar and re-sow, and the rains and the snows
nourish.48
Far from the damp squib that Marx claimed them to be, the 1848
revolutions represent an unprecedented moment of urgent European
synchronicity and they have important consequences for political
discourse. Historian of Germany Christopher Clark sees that ‘[t]he
new political synthesis achieved in these years set a pattern for
politics whose imprint can still be discerned in the political cultures
of our own day’.49 He wants to move away from ‘what Hans Ulrich
Wehler once called “counter-revolutionary innoculation” ’ and to
think about the restoration period of the early 1850s as representing
a profoundly significant reordering of priorities that led to the
economic liberalization of Europe.50 Clark is surely right, but perhaps
the even bigger historiographical challenge is to change how we
think about revolutions in the first place.
The historical focus usually squarely remains on the revolutionary
moment and the barricades and battles on the street. Hartmut
Pogge von Strandmann concedes that ‘[t]he long-term failure of the
European revolutions does not imply that their effects were not of
tremendous importance’. Such a statement reveals a structural and
conceptual problem.51 Too much of the focus is on the revolutionary
moment, oddly separated from its ‘effects’.52 This is the problem
meticulously explored by Hannah Arendt in her On Revolution, in
which she criticizes Marx and Engels for their fixation on the
revolutionary coup. Arendt warns against ‘the historian who tends to
place his emphasis upon the first and violent stage of rebellion and
liberation, on the uprising against tyranny, to the detriment of the
quieter second stage of revolution and constitution’, thus
perpetrating the ‘harmful theory that the constitutions and the fever
of constitution-making, far from expressing truly the revolutionary
spirit of the country, were in fact due to forces of reaction and either
defeated the revolution or prevented its full development’.53 Arendt
makes a fierce and uncompromising argument against Marxism’s
seduction by what she calls the ‘social’, and his neglect of what she
calls the ‘political’.54 Marx and Engels, she claims, are not interested
in forms of government as the American revolutionists originally
were, and the early French revolutionists were. Overawed and
overwhelmed by the spectacle of the vast influx of the rural poor
into Paris, the revolutionaries were distracted from the
reconstruction of the polis. The aim of revolution shifted, from
‘freedom for all’ to ‘abundance for all’. And, Arendt argues,
abundance does not necessarily lead to freedom; indeed, it can lead
in the other direction. But Arendt totally separates the political from
the social because she is invested in a classical model of the polis, a
model that ultimately proves overly severe, and allows her to
sidestep issues of social exclusion. Crucially, her model misses the
connections between race, poverty, and social exclusion: it
effectively eliminates the structural enmeshment of racism in political
systems.55 Ralph Ellison was right to see a problematic ‘Olympian
authority’ in her work.56
1848 redefined what ‘politics’ was. Jacques Rancière has
complained that any denomination of ‘the political’ suggests that
there is somewhere else which is ‘not-politics’. ‘The political’ can then
be used to invent and defend boundaries around what qualifies as
‘political’ and what does not, and thereby can operate to obstruct
democracy.57 1848 tore down these boundaries around the ‘political’
sphere. The ‘reform’ debate about the parliamentary relationship
between the representative and the represented was transformed
into a global debate about the contested spaces of representability.58
And in 1848, it was the city that became the primary site of
representation in popular literary, artistic, graphic, and political terms
in a way which powerfully exposed the interconnectedness of urban
Europe. The events of that spring showed that cities were more
closely interconnected across state borders to each other than to
their own rural populations. In the new media age of the 1840s,
‘representation’ shifted from being the subject of discussion about
electoral mechanisms and the extension of the franchise in polite
periodicals and broadsheet newspapers, to a bitter and violent
struggle over visibility, over who gets to be seen at all. As we shall
see, commentators in 1848 were interested in precisely this meeting
of the social and the political: Margaret Fuller remarked of the
situation in France in 1848 that ‘it would appear that the political is
being merged in the social struggle’ and, she added emphatically, ‘it
is well’.59 The German writer Fanny Lewald, who was in Paris in
February and March 1848 before hurrying back to her native Berlin
to catch the March revolution there, felt that ‘[i]t will not only be a
matter of political change; a social revolution will inevitably follow on
its heels’.60 In many ways, making the social political was the
supreme achievement of the 1848 revolution and it was the seriality
of the revolutions, rather than the revolutions themselves, that
brought a new global social form into visibility and made it
impossible ever again to imagine the world as it had appeared
before 1848.
Nationalisms in 1848
Perhaps the greatest irony of the historiography of 1848 is that it
tells us that many colonized peoples, and peoples living under
foreign rule, considered nationhood to be their best hope of
emancipation. The international consensus after 1848 that national
struggles were emancipatory for the people would result in a
hardening of national boundaries, an embedding of monolingual
cultures, a consolidation of ethnic and racial ‘theory’, and a
competitive colonialism between European national powers, which
would eventually and inexorably lead to the First World War.61 I
argue that the 1848 revolutions were remarkably successful in
establishing a new ‘universal’ script for the rights of the people, but
their unfortunate and parallel investment in a seemingly
emancipatory nationalism did develop in unintended ways towards
xenophobic nation-states and the invention of the lie of ‘scientific’
racism in the second half of the century. It is important to remember
the success of the universalism of 1848, though, even as we
acknowledge the slow sinking of the universalist agenda under the
growing weight of competition between increasingly militarized
nation-states later in the nineteenth century.62 The chain of
European events in 1848 cannot be satisfactorily explained as a
nationalist revolution.63 The revolutions were ‘nationalized’ only in
retrospect: they were experienced at the time as European. The
revolutions happened across many states with many varieties of
governance and many diverse forms of social and collective
identity.64 By 1848, after all, the French had absolutely no need to
fight for national identity, and the British Chartists were after
something other than ‘nationhood’ too. Independent national
statehood was not the only, or even the main, driver of these
upheavals.
Again, it is partly a legacy of Marx and Engels that we now think
of the ‘Springtime of the Peoples’ as the springtime of ‘nationalism’.
In truth, in 1848, many revolutionaries were demanding more
federal power within imperial territories.65 Czechs and Germans in
Bohemia, for example, were advocating a federal solution that could
maintain their linguistic diversity.66 1848 was driven by many factors,
and not just the idea of the nation.67 If anything, it might be more
accurate to say that it was less about nationhood and more about
the role and function of the state. Rather than the nation-state, what
1848 actually gave birth to was a brief but grand universal series, a
truly global ‘world history’, but the anti-federalist reaction this
provoked resulted quite quickly in its fracture into individual nations,
each one a small-scale series of its own. The forces of ‘reaction’ and
‘counter-revolution’, for all their brutality, were much weaker and
less sustainable than we tend to remember. The 1848 revolutions
succeeded remarkably easily; the governments that were restored
after them were, in their turn, easily defeated, and subsequent
governments were fragile. It was this fragility, and the need to shore
up wavering power, that spawned ever-hardening nationalisms.
States became nations, ‘politics’ became national politics, ‘literature’
became national literature, and the grand universal world series sank
from view. The post-1848 nation became a singular entity but
crucially it had first come into being as part of an international
series. It was internationalism that had created the modern nation
state, and conservative British historiography has tended to ignore
this fact.
Another reason for the downplaying of this crucial episode in
European and world history in accounts of British history is, of
course, the much-vaunted theory of British exceptionalism. In the
autumn of 1848, the conservative Edinburgh Review felt it could
maintain a haughty distance from the ‘revolutions, which have
threatened to subvert the constitution and the relations of almost
every state, except our own’.68 That Britain famously did not produce
a revolution in 1789, 1830, or 1848, makes the most important
event in British nineteenth-century history the one that did not
happen.69 The very frequency and the brazen inaccuracy with which
the British conservative press gloats over this glorious British
exceptionalism is itself revealing of a deep fear of domestic
revolution. In March 1848, The Times reminds its readers yet again
that:
We possess those things which other nations are everywhere demanding at
the gates of the Palace or the door of the Legislature!—free press,
legislature, etc.…The State becomes a society for the common good, giving
to all its members a rateable share in the common benefit and stock.…The
British Empire is a great friendly society.70
The Times is countering the fear verbalized by Matthew Arnold, who

wrote to his sister in the same month that ‘if the new state of things
succeeds in France, social changes are inevitable here and
elsewhere…but, without waiting for the result, the spectacle of
France is likely to breed great agitation here, and such is the state of
our masses that their movements now can only be brutal plundering
and destroying’.71 Arnold understands the serial possibilities of the
French revolution, and doubts whether the so-called ‘free press’ and
the ‘legislature’ (along with that glib ‘etcetera’), will prove sufficient
to restrain a miserable and desperate British people. In the event, a
revolution did not transpire in Britain, but the surviving public record
is partial and misleading as to the levels of state violence and
insurgent anger in play during the 1840s.
Opinion about Britain’s relationship with Europe and the
importance of European politics to British domestic affairs was hotly
divided then, as it is now. F. B. Smith is right that ‘[t]he debate on
1848 forms a vivid moment in that continuing schism in British life
between “Europeans” and “Little Englanders” ’.72 A representative of
the latter, the pro-Reform politician Henry Brougham, an old man by
1848, complained that the French revolution of 1848 was entirely
inexplicable, ‘without pretext, without one circumstance to justify or
even to account for it’, and he warned darkly that as a result, ‘all
sense of security in any existing government’ is gone.73 J. S. Mill
reviewed Brougham’s pamphlet in the Westminster Review,
‘vindicating the Revolution, and the Provisional Government, from as
unjust aspersions as ever clouded the reputation of great actions
and eminent characters’.74 Mill saw the revolution differently, as the
logical outcome of a set of legible causes, and his deep knowledge
of French politics exposes Brougham’s ignorance and anti-French
prejudice. The Provisional Government had taken over from ‘a
government [which] found itself, in 1848, so feeble that it fell at the
first onset’.75 Mill was right about the French case. But what about
all that did happen in Britain after 1848, some of it as a direct result
of events in Continental Europe? Matthew Arnold felt that social
changes in Britain were inevitable after 1848, and they certainly
arrived. Margot Finn has launched an energetic attack on nationalist
history-making, claiming that ‘[t]he common but false antithesis in
historical writing between nationalism and internationalism acts to
obscure the two concepts’ fundamental interrelation…[and] masks
their mutual contribution to both class formation and liberal popular
politics in the industrial era’.76 Quarantining Britain from the rest of
European history in the nineteenth century under the guise of British
exceptionalism is patently absurd, but remains a remarkably
entrenched approach.
Citizenship in 1848
The revolutions were not exclusively urban, but they were mainly so.
They took place in city squares and city streets. This made them
much easier and faster for the urban press to report than military
engagements on remote battlefields, so that their unprecedented
representation in ‘real time’ inaugurated an urgent conversation
about the politics of the city which would have long-running
consequences. Where did politics belong in the space of the city? In
palaces, parliaments, or on the streets? What should be the fiscal
relationship between countryside and city, which was often hotly
contested?77 How was the (often reactionary) peasantry to be folded
into the idea of citizenship? And finally, and perhaps most
importantly, what did citizenship now mean? The urban sequence of
the revolutions meant that the concept of citizenship was arguably
more important in 1848 than that of nation. But citizenship was a
highly unstable concept. Both the French and American revolutionary
versions of citizenship were energetically entangled and disentangled
and hotly debated. The 1789 French Revolution had been
underpinned by an Enlightenment language of natural rights,
through Rousseau, which meant that the governed had the right to
withdraw their consent to be governed if the government was felt to
have exceeded its limits or to have failed. In Britain, a similar
Enlightenment view was authorized by Locke’s argument that
legitimate government rested upon the consent of the governed and
went back to the ‘Glorious Revolution’ of 1688–9. This was the
language of Chartism and the radical constitutionalism that was used
by the Northern Star in 1839: ‘Every member of a political state is
entitled to certain privileges, which are either the residue of natural
rights, whose surrender was not required for the public good, or
those civil liberties, which society provides and guarantees in lieu of
the natural rights so given up.’78 The American constitutional system,
modelled on ancient classical models of the polis, meant that the
state granted freedom to the people. Men in ancient Greece,
explains Hannah Arendt, ‘received their equality by virtue of
citizenship, not by virtue of birth. Neither equality nor freedom was
understood as a quality inherent in human nature.’79 She goes on to
limn the difference between the French and the American theories of
civic liberty, explaining that under the American Constitution:
all men should live under constitutional, ‘limited’ government. The

proclamation of human rights through the French Revolution, on the
contrary, meant quite literally that every man by virtue of being born had
become the owner of certain rights. The consequences of the shifted
emphasis are enormous, in practice no less than in theory. The American
version actually proclaims no more than the necessity of civilized
government for all mankind; the French version, however, proclaims the
existence of rights independent of and outside the body politic, and then
goes on to equate these so-called rights, namely the rights of man qua
man, with the rights of citizens.80
In Europe in 1848, ‘democracy’ was a term under extreme pressure.

A radical constitutionalism emerged as philosophically distinct from
the liberal-moderates’ concept of representative government.
Republicanism was different again. Nevertheless, Thomas Cooper
lectured on ‘the magnificent themes of the Athenian democracy’ at
the City Chartist Hall in London.81 During the ‘Mexican War’ of 1846–
8, Margaret Fuller turned classical republican models against her
native America: ‘[a]t present she has scarce achieved a Roman
nobleness, a Roman liberty.’82 Whether power was given by or to the
people, and if given to the people, to which people in particular, was
a matter for fierce debate. Ideas of possessive individualism proved
difficult to reconcile with those of republican citizenship. And
republican citizenship, as we have seen, meant different things in
America and France: Alexis de Tocqueville misunderstood American
democracy, for example, by reading it with French eyes. The conflict
between a version of personhood that depends on the freedom to
own property, and a version that depends on being subject to the
common good, is precisely the conflict that is played out in 1848,
particularly in France, but also in European cities elsewhere. America
had already had its revolution, but throughout the 1840s Ralph
Waldo Emerson and Frederick Douglass were both continuing to
wrestle with an inherent conflict between subjection and
emancipation in their appeals to a universalism that is socially
flexible whilst not exclusionary.83 Arendt considers the American
Revolution to have been ‘triumphantly successful’, and she wonders
why it had so little influence in the world as a model of revolution.84
But then fifteen pages later into her discussion, she appears to
remember that ‘abject and degrading misery was present
everywhere [in post-revolutionary America] in the form of slavery
and negro labor’, and she concedes that we are forced to ask
ourselves ‘if the goodness of the poor white man’s country did not
depend to a considerable degree upon black labour and black
misery’.85 What was for Arendt an afterthought about ‘black labour
and black misery’ shaped the American response to 1848. Frederick
Douglass eloquently contended that the American Revolution, far
from being ‘triumphantly successful’, was in reality far from
complete, and America stood in urgent need of re-constitution. The
form and the limits of the state and the relationship of the people to
that state were the fundamental questions of 1848 across a vastly
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And we had begun the atomic destruction of their planet. We had
begun it. We could not stop it. The corrosion keeps growing,
spreading.
I saw them die. Somehow I felt their pain.
But I did not die of it.
I carry it with me. I shall always carry it with me.
That's all there is.

In years to come people on Earth, people who did not see what we
saw, did not feel the pain and guilt we felt, will wonder at our behavior
following that.
Oh there is much to wonder. If there is a civilization, where does their
food come from? If they are able to convert rock to food, why are they
not able to stop the atomic destruction of their planet we have
started? If they are able to so fill us with their own grief for what we
have done that we can think of nothing but to slink away, like whipped
curs caught in vandalism; why didn't they do this before we started
the fire we cannot stop?
Oh, there is so much unanswered. People will wonder that we simply
abandoned most of our equipment, the very project itself; that for a
sick hour we watched, then, with one accord, without anybody
making the decision, we began to withdraw and start for home.
Like small boys, thinking only to vandalize a schoolhouse in their
savage glee, discovering it is a shrine.
Or, perhaps in time, we can rationalize it all away. Perhaps so soon
as during that long journey back.
It wasn't our fault, we shall begin to say. They were as much to blame
as we. Sure they were!
More to blame! They were more to blame than we!
Why didn't they come out of their holes and fight us? With their fists if
they didn't have any guns? Any red-bloodied—er, red-blooded—
Amuri—well, whatever they are—ought to have enough guts to come
out and fight, to defend home, flag and mother!
We'll probably get around to that. It's the normal attitude to take after
vandalism. It's the human way.
But as of now, our only thought is to slink away.
On our abandoned Martian landing field there hangs a man's

discarded spacesuit, suspended from the desensitized prongs of a
Come-to-me tower. It is stuffed with straw filched, no doubt, from
packing cases which brought out so many more delicate, sensitive,
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Although we have not been entirely irresponsible in our head-long
flight back home.
We do bring back some of what we took out; the more valuable of the
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THE END
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In 1848 Europe became newly conscious of itself. But in Britain,

Introduction: Why 1848 Matters

3. The Ragged of Europe

4. The Inter-National Novel

7. Slavery and Citizenship

9. Forms of the Future

10. The Grammar of Revolution

AHC Arthur Hugh Clough

Stuttering, scattered, and various in their outcomes, a series of

In Serial Forms: The Unfinished Project of Modernity 1815–1848

What Actually Happened?

The Times is countering the fear verbalized by Matthew Arnold, who

all men should live under constitutional, ‘limited’ government. The

In Europe in 1848, ‘democracy’ was a term under extreme pressure.

That's all there is.

On our abandoned Martian landing field there hangs a man's

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