1636_ The Saxon Uprising - Eric Flint [177]
The Prince of Germany didn’t simply defeat an enemy that day, he erased a national humiliation. For the first time in years, an army that everyone considered a German army had decisively defeated a foreign army—in defense of a German city.
Mike Stearns would always be the Prince after that day. To almost any German, regardless of their political affiliations—regardless of whether they would have voted for him or not for political office, which many of them wouldn’t, then or ever. A title that had begun as a nickname bestowed upon him by radicals had now become an accepted national verity.
His views didn’t matter. His origins didn’t matter. Indeed, there were plenty of Germans who thought God had sent him across the Ring of Fire for this specific purpose. Germans reacted to his victory much the same way Americans in another universe had reacted when Joe Louis defeated Max Schmeling—magnified ten-fold. Most of the people who’d cheered for Louis had had no respect for his race, wouldn’t have voted for him if he ran for vote, and would have had a fit if he’d come courting their daughters.
It didn’t matter. On that day, in that ring, he was the national champion—against a political cause that Americans by and large detested. (Which was quite unfair to Schmeling himself, who was very far from a Nazi. But historical verdicts are often unfair to persons.)
So it was again. Almost every city and town in the United States of Europe exploded that morning, except the few who didn’t get the news until the afternoon—and then exploded.
For the most part, exploded with excitement and joy, which they expressed with impromptu parades and half-organized festivities. Flags were flown, many of them handmade on that same day. Speeches were given, almost of them cobbled together on that day. At least half of the male children born that day were given the name of Michael—a name which had previously been almost completely absent from the Germanies but henceforth became rather popular.
The tavern in every Rathaus did a land office business—or would have, except the town councils often (and in some cases very wisely) offered the beer for free.
The militias in at least three-fourths of the towns held a march celebrating the victory. The militias in the other fourth argued about it. In the months to come, it was noteworthy that the militias which had refused to march had a hard time recruiting new members.
Almost all apprentices celebrated that day; at least four out of five journeymen; and well over half of all guildmasters.
Here and there, the explosions came in darker colors. The city council of Heidelberg had been dominated by extreme reactionaries who had carried out harsh measures against any opposition. But they’d made the mistake of falling between two stools. They’d been more than harsh enough to infuriate a large part of the population but not harsh enough to destroy all resistance. The backlash on February 27 would destroy them instead.
Four of the council members got out of the city alive. The rest all died, several of them quite horribly—and in the case of one, with his entire family. All were burned alive in their home.
Even more savage was an incident in Mecklenburg, just outside of Rostock. A party of Swedish merchants was caught by a mob and torn to pieces. The hapless merchants were utterly bewildered. What did they have to do with the wars of dynasties?
Those were the two worst incidents. There were many instances of beatings and vandalism, but nowhere else did anyone lose their lives.
Except by accident. There were quite a few accidental deaths. Mostly due to the combination of liquor and livestock, or liquor and heights. In what was perhaps the most flamboyant such death, a totally inebriated apprentice fell off the famous tower of the Ulm Minster, the Lutheran church that boasted a steeple one hundred meters tall. He was trying to affix a tricolor flag to the very top. He was within four yards of the top when he fell, holding onto the flag all the way down.
The parade