Of course, the relationship between the Rothschilds and the wider, poorer Jewish community has long been the subject of myths and jokes. In the classic anecdotes on the subject a stereotyped “Rothschild” is the target for a range of ingenious bids for alms from Schnorrer—those distinctively unabashed scroungers and spongers of the folkloric Jewish community. “Rothschild” is their long-suffering but ultimately indulgent victim, sometimes even entering into the spirit of the game—as when a begging letter thrown through a window onto the dinner table is thrown back with a coin. (“Placiert”—“sold”—mutters Rothschild to himself, as if selling a bond to an investor, when he sees the Schnorrer catch the coin.)4 Such stories—which continue to be republished in anthologies of Jewish humour today—are not entirely fanciful: they are echoes of the era when the Rothschilds, because of their great wealth and apparent political power, had a mythic, talismanic status in the eyes of other Jews: not only “the Jews of the Kings” but also the “Kings of the Jews”—at once exalted by their wealth,5 and yet mindful of their own lowly origins. As such, they were the focus of all kinds of aspiration, ranging from the mercenary to the visionary. The Rothschild archives contain numerous unsolicited letters requesting assistance from Jews and Jewish communities all over the world: the Dublin Hebrew Congregation; the friends of a Jewish doctor in reduced circumstances; the St Alban’s Place Synagogue; the New Hebrew Congregation at Liverpool. These were the real Schnorrer—rarely the cocky figures of legend, more often humble supplicants.
Because copies of outgoing correspondence were either not kept or subsequently destroyed at New Court, it is far from easy to tell which of these pleas were heeded, and therefore even harder to detect a pattern in Rothschild charitability. We know that Nathan subscribed to a number of charities for the poor and sick: the Bread, Meat and Coal Society (Meshebat Naphesh); the Jews’ Hospital (Nevé Zedek) at Mile End, of which he was vice-president and later president; the Holy Society for the Assistance of the Poor for the Needs of the Sabbath in London; the charitable fund of the Great Synagogue, and the Bethnal Green Society for the Relief of the Sick Poor. He also became a Governor of the London Hospital, which had a tradition of providing for Jewish patients, in 1826. But education seems to have been his main charitable interest. He subscribed to the Talmud Torah in London Society in 1820 and a year later donated 1,000 guilders to a society for the education of poor Dutch Jews. In particular, he supported the Jews’ Free School, donating 10 guineas to the building fund in 1817 and helping to pay for the new schoolhouse in Bell Lane, Spitalfields. The school was “a charity he took so decided an interest in” that his widow made a further substantial donation to mark the third anniversary of his death. It has been calculated that the firm of N. M. Rothschild & Sons gave the school an average of £9,500 a year throughout the nineteenth century, a figure which is more than doubled when individual family members’ benefactions are added.
In all this, Nathan may have been consciously following his father’s example; but he was also falling in with the priorities of his Cohen and Montefiore relations. It was one of his sisters-in-law who made him “promise . . . to give to the poor” in 1814; and it was probably his brother-in-law Joseph Cohen who involved him in the Jews’ Free School, of which Hannah herself became a Life Governor in 1821. When Lionel became a trustee of the Bread, Meat and Coal Society, the board was already dominated by Cohens; indeed, his mother was later described as “a zealous advocate of its prosperity & a munificent Contributor to its funds”—not surprisingly, as her father had been one of its founders. Another of Hannah’s pet charities was the Jewish Lying-in Charity. By the later 1830s her sons were actively involved in the Jews’ Hospital, of which Lionel was president and Mayer later steward, and the Jews’ Free School. At the same time, they continued to disburse small amounts to societies like the (Jewish) Society for Relieving the Aged Needy and, through the Great Synagogue, to unfortunate individuals like a mother whose child had a club-foot.
In Frankfurt, Mayer Amschel’s legacy still made itself felt. Like his father, Amschel routinely gave 10 per cent of the Frankfurt house’s running costs (not its income) to the poor. And in 1825 Amschel and his brothers donated 100,000 gulden to the two Jewish insurance funds in Frankfurt to build a new hospital for the community in the Reichneigrabenstrasse, “in accordance with the wishes of their late father . . . [and] as a memorial to filial respect and fraternal harmony.” Curiously, James preferred to keep a much lower profile within the Paris Jewish community, channelling his contributions indirectly through Salomon Alkan, president of Société de Secours, and Albert Cohn, his sons’ tutor (and later a leading light of French Jewry). In 1836 he even stipulated that his donations to the new synagogue in the rue Notre-Dame-de-Nazareth should be kept secret.
At least one contemporary cartoonist suggested that, having made their millions, the Rothschilds were indifferent to the plight of their “poorer co-religionists” (a favourite phrase). In A King bestowing favors on a Great Man’s Friends (1824) (illustration 6.i), a group of ragged Jews—labelled “The Old Stock Reduced”—can be seen to the right of Nathan as he prepares to ascend in a balloon “to receive my Dividends.” One exclaims: “The Lord will surely hear the Cries of the poor.” Another pleads, “O! Look down from heaven and behold that we are become a mockery and derision to be buffeted and reproached.” A third cries: “O Lord, have mercy on us for we are overwhelmed with contempt; overwhelmed is [sic] our Souls with the Scorn of those who are at ease and with the contempt of the proud.” This accusation was unfounded.
Yet it is important to stress that the Rothschilds did not confine their charitable activities exclusively to the Jewish community. At times of economic hardship—1814 in Germany, 1830 in France, 1842 in Hamburg, 1846 in Ireland—they donated money to the poor without religious distinction. Nathan contributed to a number of apparently non-denominational establishments, including the Society of Friends of Foreigners in Distress (though it is likely that some of the “foreigners” in question were poor Jewish immigrants). His children also lent their support to the London Orphan Asylum, the London Philanthropic Society and the Buckinghamshire General Infirmary. Especially unexpected is the fact that in 1837 either Hannah or Charlotte—more probably the latter—was “one of the most liberal contributors” to a new Church of England school at Ealing and Old Brentford. It was not only Jews who applied for assistance to the Rothschilds: the Schnorrer even included the early socialist Robert Owen and a congregation of the secessionist Scottish Free Church!
6.i: T. Jones, A King bestowing favors on a Great Man’s Friends—Scene near the Bank (1824).
“A Heavenly Good Deed”: Emancipation
Although their wealth and influence allowed them to achieve what was in many respects a privileged social status, the Rothschilds never lost sight of the fact that they and their co-religionists remained subject to a wide range of discriminatory laws and regulations after 1815. They remembered Mayer Amschel’s injunctions to “bring to an end all the work” which he had begun “in the interest of our people.” As a result, the history of the Rothschilds is inseparable from the history of what is somewhat anachronistically called Jewish “emancipation”: to be precise, the gradual process whereby Jews (with the assistance of some sympathetic Gentiles) sought to achieve full legal equality in the various European states. Though self-interest undoubtedly was part of the reason for the family’s sustained involvement in this, the principal motivation was a sense of moral obligation to other Jews: a point neatly made by Amschel when he ended a letter to his brothers in 1815: “I remain your brother, who wishes you, and me, and all Jews, all the best, Amschel Rothschild.” Those who assumed that Amschel was concerned to protect his own position misunderstood him. In 1814 he urged Nathan to maintain his “influence at the English court . . . for two reasons: firstly, in the interests of the Jewish people, secondly, in the interests of the prestige of the House of Rothschild.” “It is . . . good that we own so much money,” he w
rote to Nathan and Salomon three years later. “Thus we can lend help to the whole of Jewry.”
What were the handicaps under which Jews continued to labour in Restoration Europe? The situation was perhaps best in France, where the restored Bourbons, despite their devotion to Catholicism, not only preserved the legal emancipation of Jews achieved by the Revolution, but also failed to renew the so-called décret infâme passed by Napoleon in 1808, which had reimposed various economic restrictions. All that formally remained was a special oath which Jews had to take in court, though in practice they were also largely excluded from political life before 1830. In Britain, although native-born Jews were automatically British subjects, they—along with Catholics and Non-Conformists before 1828-9—were excluded from parliament (whether as voters or members), local government and the ancient universities. On the other hand, there were few economic and social barriers.
The position in Germany varied from state to state. Prussia had the most liberal legislation following the emancipation edict of 1812, which granted Jews equal legal rights, though in practice they continued to be excluded from the bureaucracy and the officer corps, and after 1822 were also excluded from schoolteaching and municipal government. In Austria, by contrast, little had changed since the Tolerance Edict of 1782 (which had reduced economic restrictions somewhat): Jews continued to be denied the right to own land in the Empire, had to pay a special poll tax, were subject to marriage restrictions and, if born outside the Empire, required a special “toleration permit” to reside there, renewable every three years. They were also excluded from the civil service, though they could and did serve in the army and some had even become officers during the Napoleonic Wars. When Lionel went on his tour through Germany in 1827, it was only in Vienna that he found the position of Jews so bad as to be noteworthy: “Jews are very much oppressed, they can hold no situation under Government nor possess any land property, not even a house in the town, they are obliged to pay a heavy tolerance tax, and must have a permission to hire lodgings.” All these restrictions directly affected his Uncle Salomon. He had to seek permission from Metternich in 1823, when his cousin Anton Schnapper wanted to move to Vienna to marry a relative of his senior clerk Leopold von Wertheimstein. Ten years later he had to apply for renewal of “toleration” for another senior clerk, Moritz Goldschmidt (who had also been born in Frankfurt). Salomon himself could only rent accommodation in Vienna, and his request in 1831 that he and his brothers be allowed “to convert part of the wealth with which a kind providence has blessed us into a form in which it will be remunerative whatever vicissitudes may befall us” was turned down—despite Salomon’s ingenious argument that this would be “not wholly inconsistent with [the government’s] own advantage, since it cannot regard with indifference the possibility of attracting considerable capital sums to the country which will become subject to taxation.” If such exceptions could not be made even for the state’s most powerful and loyal banker, efforts to improve the collective position of the Austrian Jews were foredoomed to failure before the 1840s.
In western Germany, matters were left in a state of flux by the end of French control in 1814. Dalberg’s 1811 decree giving Jews full rights of citizenship in Frankfurt was effectively suspended shortly after his abdication as Grand Duke. In March 1814 the special Jewish oath was reintroduced in the courts and Jews were dismissed from public sector posts. Later the same year, membership of the citizens’ assembly was once again restricted to Christians. The situation in neighbouring Hesse-Kassel was similar. As we have seen, this reaction partly reflected popular anti-Jewish feeling, which in Frankfurt was distinctly threatening. Amschel’s letters of this period are full of lurid images of impending violence: the Gentiles “could drink Jews’ blood” or even “eat a grilled Jew.” There was, however, a chance to stem this reaction at the Congress of Vienna (1814-15), where the constitutional form of the new German Confederation was to be determined, raising the possibility of a general emancipation applicable to Germany as a whole. Although the Rothschilds were mainly preoccupied with the financial aspects of the post-war settlement, which were largely decided in Paris, they nevertheless took a close interest in this aspect of events in the Austrian capital, where a delegation had been sent by the Frankfurt Jewish community to press the Jewish case. It would appear that the first member of the family to see the need for such lobbying was Salomon’s wife Caroline. On July 21, 1814, she wrote to her husband, who was then in London:
It does not look rosy for us as regards our citizenship . . . As far as I can see from a distance, we still have a long struggle before us. This matter interests me so much that, if I catch a simple word about it, I listen eagerly to what is said . . . I am very curious to know what the result is going to be. Can’t you, my dearest Salomon, contribute to this through your acquaintances over there? This would be a heavenly good deed, which cannot be bought even with very much money. Perhaps a minister there would give you an introduction to Austria, Russia or whomso ever has a say in this matter. You may ask what has a woman to do with public affairs? Better she should write about soap and needles. However, I see what I am doing as necessary. Nobody is doing anything about this matter. Time is passing slowly and we will reproach ourselves for not having done more . . . This matter is now most pressing; and here in Frankfurt nobody is doing anything.
Amschel and Carl needed no such prompting. In August and September the former was in Berlin on business, from whence he relayed news of the likely Russian and Prussian positions on the subject to Isaac Gumprecht, one of the leaders of the Frankfurt Jews in Vienna (the other key figures were Ludwig Börne’s father Jacob Baruch and the lawyer August Jassoy). Carl meanwhile wrote to Nathan asking him whether an “English Lord” then on his way to Vienna—probably Castlereagh—“could possibly help in the question of the civil rights with regard to the Jews.”
From an early stage, the brothers pinned considerable hopes on the Prussian Chancellor Hardenberg, one of the architects of the Prussian emancipation. According to Amschel, he had “a very friendly attitude towards the Jews . . . [H]e obtained citizenship rights for the Danzig Jews. And he did this despite the anti-Jewish representations which the Danzig Gentile merchants made to the King.” He also urged Nathan to “send a few small presents for the Minister’s [probably the Prussian Finance Minister Bülow’s] wife. [He] is most certainly in a position to help the Jews.” The Prussian diplomat Wilhelm von Humboldt received similar blandishments: though he scrupulously refused a gift of three emerald rings from the Jewish delegation at Vienna in 1814, two years later Amschel offered to purchase some caskets from him at what he considered an excessive price “if by it something could be achieved.” Their other great hope was Metternich, though his apparently sympathetic attitude was known not to be shared by other senior Austrian ministers. A letter from Salomon in October 1815 asked Nathan to make a speculative purchase of British stocks worth £20,000 for “the great man who does everything for [the] Jews.” This could refer to either Hardenberg or Metternich, whom Salomon had seen the previous day. Buderus—who had been restored to power by the Elector in Hesse-Kassel—was also seen as a possible source of support, though the fact that the Jewish community owed him money was expected to complicate his attitude.
At first, it seemed as if a compromise could be reached in Vienna. In December 1814, for example, Carl heard that citizenship could (once again) be secured for the Frankfurt Jews in return for a cash payment of 50,000 gulden; following his father’s example, he offered to contribute 5,000, in addition to the 3,000 the community already owed the firm. But there was a serious setback when, at the suggestion of the Bremen Bürgermeister Smidt, article 16 of the German Bundesakte—the loose confederal constitution signed by the member states in June 1815—referred only to rights previously granted to Jews “by” (as opposed to the original “in”) the German states, effectively invalidating all the Napoleonic measures, and leaving future arrangements in the hands of the individual states. Nevertheless,
after the interruption of Napoleon’s Hundred Days, the brothers continued their efforts in the hope of bringing pressure to bear directly on the Frankfurt authorities. In September Amschel sent the latest details of the situation in Frankfurt to Paris, urging his brothers to show them to Metternich and to “Bülow who is a good friend of Hardenberg and promised me in Berlin that he would help . . . If you can help you will be blessed, for Baruch is in Vienna but will be back soon. But with such things you must strike while the iron is hot.” Salomon should tell Bülow what Amschel had told Hardenberg: “That we should not be regarded as aliens. In critical times, we [Jews] served [in the army] as well as any native. I believe you will be doing good if you do this, as we have many enemies and otherwise you won’t get anything; we just have far too many enemies, and I will be very sorry if we end up with nothing.”
Salomon was soon able to report a promise of support from Metternich as well as Hardenberg, which led to letters being sent to the Frankfurt authorities by both Austria and Prussia, urging that the agreement between Dalberg and the Jewish community of 1811 be upheld—or, as Salomon rather optimistically put it, telling them “that the devil may take all non-Jews in Frankfurt and that the Jews in Frankfurt will keep their citizenship.”6 James meanwhile urged Nathan to get a letter from a senior British figure in the same sense. When Hardenberg came to Frankfurt at the end of November, Carl pressed him to receive a deputation from the community, among them Amschel, and was further encouraged to hear him speak “very graciously about our Jewish matters.” “You cannot do too much on acount of the Jewish matters,” he exhorted his brothers. Caroline even wrote to congratulate her husband on his efforts on December 7.
Such congratulations were premature. Amschel sensed the coming disappointment as early as September, when he heard that Baron vom Stein might be given a decisive say in the matter, as Stein was regarded as having “turned against the Jews.” By November the messages he was receiving from Baruch in Vienna were gloomy, while the Frankfurt authorities were unmoved by the Austrian and Prussian letters. Nor was help to be had from outside Germany: according to Nathan, the British representative sent to Frankfurt, the Earl of Clancarty, was “no friend of our people.” Worse, the Austrian delegate to the Confederation’s Diet in Frankfurt, Count Buol-Schauenstein, turned out to share the Frankfurt authorities’ view that “this nation, which never integrates with any other, but always hangs together to pursue its own ends, will soon overshadow Christian firms, and with their terribly rapid increase of population they will soon spread over the whole city, so that a Jewish trading city will gradually arise beside our venerable cathedral.”
The House of Rothschild, Volume 1 Page 30